Interference

A Harry Potter fanfic

By dreamingofrain

A/N: This is first attempt at delving into the world of Harry Potter. Suggestions and constructive criticism are welcome, but please bear in mind I'm writing this for fun only. It's an idea that's been in my mind for a while now and I've finally decided to give it a go.

Summary: Harry should have known better than to think it was over. After all, when does trouble not find him? Even in death? Now he's stuck in a world that's not exactly his, where Voldemort knows the entire prophecy and both boys that could have been his equal go unmarked. Harry has to figure out how to stop a war, that's not really war just yet, before it's too late. The calm will not last forever, and the final hour is approaching.

Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Harry Potter; those rights belong to J.K. Rowling and all the others that helped bring the series to life.

Warnings: Possible slash and heterosexual relationships, though nothing explicit. Torture, gore, and other not-so-pleasant things that war entails. This chapter alone includes suicidal themes that are not befitting of a hero. Harry doesn't see himself as the hero he is, and that coupled with the manipulations, I could imagine him being depressed after the war. And if someone tipped him over the edge? It would be enough for him to end it. I have personal experience with losing someone through suicide and I do not take the matter lightly, please don't take this as such. But war heroes are more prone to depression and I thought the plot device an appropriate one as loath as I was to use it.

Chapter One - From the Ashes

The war had ended. The long fight against the Dark had reached journey's end and from the destruction there would arise new life. As a phoenix from the flames, the endless cycle of life and death would continue on. It was nothing new, nothing that wasn't expected.

Harry Potter felt strangely empty at the end of it all. His work was done. He had saved the world and lived to tell the tale. But where did that leave him? He grinned bemusedly down at the Elder Wand in his possession, unsure what to do with it. As he had told the Headmaster's portrait all those days ago, he did not want it. There was no longer a need for it. Voldemort was gone. The greatest Dark Lord in over fifty years had fallen at the hands of a novice, a young wizard with everything to lose.

During the last great battle, he had fought for that very reason. For his friends, for his home here at Hogwarts, for the people who had given there lives to ensure that others could live. Those sacrifices would not be in vain, and he had made sure of that. It had not been an easy fight, but they had won. The war was over. It seemed so hard to accept. He had been fighting to live and living to fight for so long that now that it was over, that the fighting was done, he felt he had out-lived his usefulness. He could imagine the look on his best friend's face if he confided that in him. "Are you crazy, mate? You defeated You-Know-Who! Live a little!"

His grin dampened into a sad smile as he rolled the Elder Wand between his fingers. Yes, Ron would be insistent that this was only the beginning. It had to be, they had to keep going and live for those who couldn't anymore. There was only one problem with that and that was the wand. The only thing left to finish. He had to decide what to do with, where to hide it. The idea to seal it back away with Dumbledore's tomb had been reasonable at the time, but he had to think about the bigger picture.

The Elder Wand held a history of violence, one that would not go away no matter how well protected. The best bet was, as he had said in the Headmaster's office, to die undefeated. Then the wand would remain allied to him and him alone. He wasn't scared of death these days and it was an easy choice to make: whether to leave the wand to chance inside the restored white tomb before him, or die and take the power of the wand with him to his own grave. To be honest, his job was done. There was no more need for him, just like the wand.

His friends would try to talk him out of it, but he couldn't let them. He wouldn't allow more people to die. The location of the wand would be found out; it was only a matter of time. The violence instilled by the wand had to end with him. Secure in his decision, he reached into the folds of his robes and withdrew a vial from the inside pocket. It was a fast-acting poison he had been able to brew within the time it had taken him to reach such a decision. And for once it was his own choice on how he would die. There was no prophecy to trap him, no enemy to defeat, only his friends would make life worth living – but he had to leave them behind. The stigma of the Elder Wand had to be stopped.

Uncorking the vial, he raised the blue poison to his lips and reached out a hand to steady himself against tomb in front of him. Then he drank, thinking of nothing but the faint pulsing of magic in his veins. The liquid tasted awful, but then he hadn't been expecting it to taste like treacle tart either. That would have been asking too much.

His insides felt like they were on fire even before he had finished drinking. Understandable, the book had said as much would happen, and he was prepared for it. The intensity of the pain certainly rivaled the Cruciatus Curse, but it was bearable enough for him to keep his mind clear and his objective in sight. Keeping steady, he made sure not to spill a drop. He had to drink it all or there would be the slightest chance of survival, a chance that could easily have someone finding him and giving him an antidote. That couldn't happen.

Determination won over the fresh waves of agony and he forced back the last of poison just as his legs gave out. The vial rolled from his hand and he rested his sweat soaked forehead against the white marble of the tomb, panting heavily in a desperate attempt to draw in breath. It hurt to breathe, to think; it was a battle to keep his eyes up and he gave up, closing them and drawing in a shallow, uneven breath of air.

It was a nasty little potion he had decided on, but he had thought it was fitting. A hint of an ironic smile curled on dry lips as the pain intensified. Surely Professor Snape would have approved of his demise. Through the haze engulfing his mind, he registered the Elder Wand slipping through his slack grip, a piece of rolled parchment fluttering to the ground beside it.

Then Harry Potter knew no more.

+.+.+

"Really, Ron. Even you aren't that dim-witted. How could you believe what Malfoy was going on about? It's absurd."

Two lone shadows were prowling the castle grounds of their once school, the sun setting on the horizon. An hour ago their best friend had been seen sneaking off and they were determined to find him, to put and end to the rumours. So far they had had little luck in their pursuit.

"Think on it, though, Hermione. He's depressed. Hell, we're all depressed. We lost just as much as we gained. This … I could see Harry doing this. And I don't like it, not one bit. The prat's always going off, thinking he knows best."

"Yes, but Ginny …" The slimmer shadow sighed and tailed off as the focus of the conversation shifted into treacherous waters.

"I know what you're trying to say. Don't. She didn't mean it. I know that. You know that. Hell, even Harry knows that. And the bloody prat shouldn't have mentioned him in the first place."

"Ron!" scolded the voice of a woman, high-pitched and worried. "This isn't the time to go venting about it. What's more important, that or Harry?"

"Harry," her friend mumbled. "But he's still a right prat, Hermione."

"I never said he wasn't," allowed Hermione with a roll of her eyes, "though that's not what matters. If anything, that should be the reason we're out here looking for him and not up at the school enjoying the feast. We have to drag his prat of an arse back up there and force him to eat. He looks like hell warmed over, Ron."

The young man at her side spared her a glance and shrugged. "No worse than usual, is it? Well, I'm not complaining. I have no problem dragging his sorry arse back. Just let me get a good kick up it first."

A withering glare later and the two of them were quickening their pace, channeling their disquiet into physical discomfort. It went unspoken how worried they were; it was always that way when Harry ran off without them. Even now with the war over they couldn't help but be on the alert, ready to stand by their friend. There were still plenty of Dark wizards out in the world awaiting their revenge; they wouldn't let one of their closest friends go down without a fight.

The white tomb that sat at the edge of the lake swam into view through the fading light. In front of it they could barely make out a crumpled form, but it was enough to have the two of them running to the grave. It couldn't be what they thought it was, they kept telling themselves.

The closer they came to the water's edge, the harder it was to pretend it wasn't true. The messy black hair, the robes of deepest emerald, the wand made of elder resting on the dew-strewn grass, it spoke of only one person they knew of. The mantra of no, it can't be kept going, but the reality of the situation began to sink in. Hermione collapsed halfway to the tomb, too shocked to move, but Ron kept going forward with the tried and true tenacity of a Gryffindor.

"Get up," the redhead ordered the prone form on the ground, bending down and shaking a shoulder roughly. "Get up, you lazy git!" He didn't let panic override his mind, concentrating on waking Harry because his friend could not, would not, be anything but alive. His fingertips brushed the back of Harry's neck by accident and he pulled away immediately, hissing. Burns had appeared down the side of his hand and they were anything but pleasant. "Hermione, get over here!"

The force behind his words spurred the young witch into action. She let out a soft gasp as she neared her friend and took Ron's hand in her own. Shaking, she whispered aloud, "No. No, he wouldn't …"

"Hermione?"

The young witch dropped his hand and fixed her gaze on the unresponsive form that lay on the ground. Her eyes were too bright to be natural. "T-That's Dragon's Breath, Ron." Her voice was unsteady, but the finger she used to point out the vial did not waver. "We're too late." There was a hollow sort of resignation in the way she said it that made Ron stand a little straighter.

"Too late? What's that supposed to mean?" He reached down as if to shake Harry again, but Hermione stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. With sheer force, she dragged him away.

"It was poison, Ron," she spoke softly, as though speaking to someone recovering in the hospital. "And if that's the case, we can't do anything. Not unless we want to be burned within an inch of our lives." Her gaze fell to the burns on Ron's hand, causing him to flinch. "We have to wait for the fire to burn out."

As the sun sank lower over the horizon, the shadows deepened. The two friends stood huddled together, waiting, unable to look away and unable to help. It was one of the worst feelings in the world.

"What's that?" Ron was already kneeling down even as he spoke. When he next stood, there was a piece of parchment in his hand. He unrolled it and held it out for Hermione to read as well.

If you're reading this, I guess I went through with my plan after all. Rest assured, I had my reasons. Give my love to Ginny and tell Ron and Hermione I'm sorry. This was something I couldn't avoid, though. As my final request, please find a way to bury the wand I took from Voldemort, and if you can, bury it with Professor Snape. He was truly the bravest man I ever knew.

Crumpling up the parchment, Ron threw it aside. His eyes were stinging and he rubbed insistently at them. "Who does the bloody prat think he is?"

Hermione didn't answer. She didn't have to. Instead, she enveloped him in a hug and buried her face in the crook of his neck to bite back a sob.

+.+.+

The tick, tick, tock of a million clocks awoke the young man passed out on the floor. With a groan, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and blinked to dispel the heavy fog clouding both his mind and eyes. When it cleared, he could see – and that in its self sent off warning bells in his head. Since when could he see so clearly? He thought back to the last thing he could remember and cursed aloud. This isn't King's Cross. Am I still alive, or is this truly what death is like?

Harry Potter was of the opinion that not even death would allow him some semblance of normality. That would be too easy and altogether impossible after his rather short life of not normal happenings. Pushing a hand through his hair, he cursed again and began to get to his feet. Then, noticing his state of undress, he closed his eyes and visualized the formal robes he had been wearing for the Memorial Ceremony earlier. And there they were, lying innocently on the floor of this strange room, folded and ready to be worn.

He dressed quickly and then perused the room, taking in the many oddly shaped clocks and watches. There were even stone sun dials and hourglasses, though they were few and far between. One hourglass in particular struck him as interesting and he approached it with wary footsteps. After years of dealing with the strange and the extraordinary, he knew better than to think anything harmless. That, however, had never stopped his curiosity.

Reaching out a hand, he made to touch the fine wood the hourglass was crafted with, but stopped abruptly when a sound behind him caught his attention. Green eyes narrowed in suspicion and he pivoted on the spot, looking for the culprit of the noise. He took a step back when he noticed he wasn't alone.

"Welcome, Harry Potter, to the Hall of Eternity." Harry mouthed the word 'hall' in bemusement. It was awfully small to be a hall. "No doubt you're wondering about the size. Well, how to put it …" The tall, hooded figure of the person hummed to itself as it settled on what to say. "Time has been fickle in the past and likes to have everything, shall we say, together. Far easier to interact with those seeking a new adventure."

"And who are you?" It seemed the more pressing matter than what made a 'Hall of Eternity' a hall. Harry, for one, didn't like being in the presence of people who knew his name and didn't extend the same courtesy. To him, the only good thing that had come about was he now had reason to believe there was an exit since the archway behind the stranger had yet to close. If he could just cause a diversion, maybe he could get out of here before –

"Thinking of escaping, are you?" The stranger laughed and waved a hand, dissolving the archway back into nothing less than solid wall. Clocks swayed and moved back into place. There was no way out without barging through pendulums and concrete. "My name is easy to guess, child. For I am Time itself. It is the end of your life and yet it is not. Therefore I come before you asking that you accept a task that only you can take on."

At a loss to understand, he dimly replied, "Huh?"

"Ah, right. I should explain. Please, have a seat." As if by magic, two chairs materialized in the center of the room. But there was no wand or incantation, only Time and the lone young man who had supposedly died. Cautious to a fault, Harry edged towards the nearest chair without letting the stranger out of his line of sight. "No need to worry, my boy. I mean you no harm."

"Yeah, well, I get that a lot," he couldn't help but reply sarcastically. "Somehow, I always end up hurt."

Time merely laughed again and brushed back the hood that shadowed its face. The features of a plain young man were revealed, average in every sense of the word, and yet as Harry continued to look upon the features they changed and aged and then melded back into the same shape of the person before him. It was a bit disorienting, but he tried to focus on the here and now, not the 'what could have been's that were staring him in the face.

"So, er … why am I here?" Shouldn't I be off to my next great adventure or something? He thought wistfully of Dumbledore and wondered why he couldn't be back at King's Cross, finally boarding that train that would have taken him to be with his parents and everyone else.

"Because, Harry, your next adventure lies in another time. Though it is very similar to your own. On some level you could call it an alternate reality."

"An alternate reality?" Harry repeated the phrase blankly. "Are you telling me there are other … other …" He couldn't get the words out and left it at that. It was too far-fetched to believe.

"Yes, there are other worlds out there. Other realities. Every choice you have ever made as had an equal and opposite reaction. Stemming from those choices are new realities, wherein a different decision was made, a different life was lived." Time paused to give Harry a chance to catch up. "Do you see now what it is I will ask of you? No? There is a time in which you should be alive, but you aren't. The repercussions of your decision to end your own life not only hurt yourself, but yourself in another time as well. In other words, an opening was made so your soul could live on. Death cannot accept a soul that still has a purpose. And your purpose, Harry Potter, is to continue where the other left off."

"But why -" There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but they fell flat in light of a more pressing matter. "I can't take over someone else's life," he stated fiercely, crossing his arms. "Why would I want to?"

Time smiled and held out a hand for Harry to take. "Would you like to find out? Maybe see why he no longer has a purpose?"

Against his better judgment, Harry did.

+.+.+

It was comparable to Legilimency, the feeling was as if someone was shuffling through his thoughts and memories, except the memories weren't his own.

There were flashes of friends and family that weren't his, of fires glowing in hearths that weren't Gryffindor's. There was a girl sitting beside him in the library, reading a magazine upside down while they laughed together. Two boys were picking on a younger boy who only wanted his toad back and Harry stepped in to help. The pain of being pushed down overwhelmed him for a moment since the boys refused to back down. Then the images began to slow and finally stopped at one memory in particular, the details sharper and much more obvious than the others had been.

A person that could have passed for him, if not for the absence of a curse scar, strolled through a forest with a blatant look of frustration set upon his face. In the distance there was a scream and the not-Harry was thoroughly startled before realization took over. He was off and running like there was no tomorrow towards where the sound had originated from.

The memory skidded to a halt as the scene unfolded. A little girl had slipped and fallen into an underground cavern that had been hidden among the fallen leaves and tree limbs. Beside her was a beautiful golden collie that stood guard over the girl, peering up distrustfully at the new arrival. The collie was favoring its front paw too, Harry noticed, leaning more to the right to keep on its feet. An injured dog and a scared little girl, what did that have to do with him?

"Just keep watching," Time insisted, and the memory started back up with a vengeance. The girl called out in a panic-stricken voice and the not-Harry was already soothing her nerves by telling her not to worry, he wouldn't let anything happen to her. It was working for the most part, but the girl refused outright to let go of the dog when he reached her.

It would have been easy to use magic if the girl weren't a Muggle. As it was, the girl had to be convinced he was there to help her as well as the dog. Once that was done, it was another few painstaking moments before he had the little girl safely back on solid ground. Then the not-Harry was going back for the dog, and that was when things started to go wrong. Loose soil caused him to slip on his way back down and he fell, spraining his wrist. The collie was by his side in a heartbeat, nudging him to get up while the little girl from above cried, her tears going unnoticed as their hero collected himself.

The not-Harry wasn't someone to gave up easy, though, and he was already on his feet and calculating how best to lift the dog. He settled on surreptitiously casting a Weightless Charm since the girl was distracted and attempted to brave the climb upwards with the dog under one arm. It was rough, slow work, but this Harry was nothing if not persistent. Much like me in that respect, Harry thought with approval, I wonder how different we really are, then.

One major difference was the not-Harry tired out faster than the one currently watching the events unfold. He managed to get the dog up and out, but he lost his balance in the process and fell once more into the depths of the underground chasm. When he hit the ground this time, he was knocked unconscious. The little girl was crying harder, consoled only by her dog. It would have been all right if the girl had gone for help, but she was too young and too scared to know what to do.

By now the storm that had been brewing lashed out, rain and lightning splashing against morning sky and darkening it. Harry watched in horror as the chasm filled with water. Even if the girl took off and ran to the nearest town and back, there would be no hope of surviving. He understood now how this Harry had died, but he couldn't quite figure out what any of it meant.

"Do you see why he no longer had a purpose, Harry?"

As if coming out of a tunnel filled with fog, he shook his head to clear it and looked straight at the man sitting opposite him. "I don't see anything, to be honest." The irony had him smirking slightly. "So are we going to get to the point, or should I just sit quietly and hope for the best?"

"Cheeky brat." Time was smiling again, as if he expected nothing less. "Well, it seems your other self was quite the hero you turned out to be. If he hadn't saved two lives that he thought were more important than his own, he probably would still have had a purpose to stay in that world. As you can tell, that's not the case."

Harry shook his head again, refusing to believe. "You can't tell me life's based on just that. Isn't there … well, isn't there more to it than that?"

"Possibly, but if there is, it is not my place to say. You'll have to make due with what you know. You're a resourceful boy; make the best of the situation."

Before Harry could further the argument, there was a flash of blinding light and he was drifting in a sea of nothing but black. When he next awoke, he was positive it had been a dream. A very vivid dream, but a dream nonetheless. The problem: he was drowning, and in his world that wouldn't have been happening. His hand automatically went to search for his wand while he choked on water he hadn't been prepared for. Panic started to set in when he couldn't find it in his back pocket. Trying to remember where he had seen the other Harry put his wand, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the hidden wand, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

Now to get out of here without scaring the girl … He preformed the bubblehead charm quickly to give himself some time to think, blinking away blood that had dripped into his eyes. Must have hit his head on the way down. There was no way of getting around the girl seeing him perform magic, he decided, and propelled himself up and out of the chasm. The girl didn't seem to notice, her face buried into the collie's thick fur as she sobbed. Breathing a sigh of relief he removed the charm and approached the girl slowly. He had to check her for injury, make sure she was okay.

"Are you hurt?" He was surprised at how hoarse his voice was, but didn't let it show. After all, he had almost drowned and the other him had done more than an almost. To be surprised at his own circumstances would give him away, especially if the girl knew him better than he knew her. He crouched down at her side and attempted a half-hearted smile when she looked up, disbelief marring her childish face. "All right there?"

"You … you're alive!" The little girl launched herself at him and he flinched when she jarred his injured side and wrist. "O-Oh, sorry. Should I, um, should I go call for help, mister?" Ah, that took care of whether or not he was supposed to know her.

His smile turning a bit more genuine, he shook his head and answered, "No, I'm fine; I can find my own way back, thanks. You, on the other hand, need to be getting home. Where do you live?"

A guilty look flashed across her small face and she started to pout. "But I don't want to go home. No one wants me there."

Harry could sympathize with that, but it was for the best she went home where she would at least be safe. Because trouble always seems to find me, no matter where I am. "Are you sure they don't miss you? How do you know your family's not worried sick?"

"I – I sort of had a fight with Daddy." The girl shuffled her feet while the collie nudged her side, wanting attention. "He doesn't like Albie," Harry guessed that was the dog as she sent the poor thing a sorrowful look, "and if I can't keep him, I don't know what I'll do. Daddy and Mum are always away on business, so it's just me and the housekeeper …" She trailed off, looking far too lost and alone.

Sighing, and knowing he was going to regret this, Harry suggested, "Why don't I keep Albie until you can get your dad to see reason? You can come visit, if you like. I won't keep him from you. But you have to promise me you'll go home, all right?" He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms with some difficulty, waiting for her to take notice of his no-nonsense stance. Sweet Merlin, I feel like a dad. The girl seemed to think so, too.

She shuffled her feet a bit more and then looked up, biting her lip. "And you'll make sure he's feed, mister?"

"Of course. And my name's Harry. What's yours?" And I'm sore, so let's hurry this along so I can find a quiet place to nurse my wounds.

"Emily," she brightened at the introduction, a smile gracing her tear-stained face. "Can I come by tomorrow to see Albie?"

"Er, sure. How about we meet here again?" At her confused expression, he explained, "I'm not supposed to have friends over during break." It wasn't too far off from the truth. At the Dursleys he really wasn't allowed to have friends over, and before Hogwarts, he hadn't had any to begin with. Though, does this Harry live with the Dursleys or somewhere else? Gee, thanks, Time, for being oh-so-helpful on keeping me informed. He figured he would have to take everything in stride if he was going to keep his sanity here. First things first, getting the kid home. "How far do you live from here?"

"Not far." Emily pointed off in the distance, through a small cluster of trees that seemed to thin out quicker than the rest. "I'll be all right on my own. Just take care of Albie, mister." She hesitated and then held out one small hand. "Shake on it? A promise?"

Without missing a beat, Harry shook her hand, stating confidently, "It's a promise. Same time tomorrow, Emily."

"See you!" Then she was off and he was left alone with an injured dog and his own wounds to look after.

He gave Albie a considering look and then pulled out his wand. "Guess we'll fix you up first, shall we?" The Second War had ensured he knew his fair share of healing spells, if nothing else. Hermione had seen to that. A dull ache started up in his chest when he thought about his friends, the people he had left behind. I was selfish thinking it had to end, that it could end. Now he would have to pay the price, the ultimate price for his selfishness.

There was no better place to start than to take care of the little girl and the injured dog this Harry had saved. He was a hero, a true hero. I wonder what that makes me.