Crisis
Summary: What happens when you're the only real person in a world of stories? Moments after the Chosen One's defeat of Voldemort, time freezes. A different writer shows Harry the shocking, bleak truth of the real world now that his story is over. AU. No spoilers for DH.
1. The Shell Outside of Time
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Expelliarmus!"
The beams rebounded head-on and struck their respective casters. The dark-haired young man staggered back and the wand flew out of his hand, spinning high in an arc, but victory was his - for his enemy, Lord Voldemort, scarlet eyes still gleaming with rage, fell backwards onto the floor. The soft thump, as of a bundle of cloths dropping, was magnified by the silence. In that moment the boy knew that his nemesis was finally dead, beyond any doubt; he knew that the terrible war was finally over; and he knew that once the shock had passed the grand hall would almost literally explode with celebration.
He blinked; no, nothing had changed. The pause was too long. Shakily he walked forward, noting from the corners of his eyes the still figures of his friends, his classmates, his teachers. The trouble was that most of them were standing.
He dared to touch one, a younger boy he didn't know. Its arm was warm but there was no pulse. It stared ahead, glassy-eyed, at the equally still spectres in front.
Abruptly the living youth turned and walked over to the wand lying on the floor. For a moment he feared that it would not move, as many of the people in the hall were frozen improbably in place without visible means of support, but it came away from the worn stone floor as easily as any similar stick of polished wood will do.
Another soft noise; the boy whipped around, raising the wand defensively. He stared.
One other thing in the filled yet silent hall was moving. Voldemort's body was still on the ground, but another, apparently solid, self had stood up. Its feet were somehow through those of its prone body.
"Oh dear," it said in a familiar cold, high voice. "You weren't supposed to be aware of me. No matter; it is only a slight variation, and one easily corrected..."
It gave a ghastly smile and extended a hand. "Give me my wand, Harry. My wand, and that notebook in your pocket."