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A/N: I edited the contents of the chapter, but it isn't too major. Sorry for the long wait, but I don't think I can upload chapter 2 until another 2 or 3 weeks as I am going overseas on a school trip.


Harry rubbed his face tiredly – his entire body ached and his head pounded painfully. He gingerly made his way to the hospital wing, dreading how Madame Pomfrey would undoubtedly fuss over him and berate him for putting himself in danger, once again. Feeling a little apprehensive, he slowly hobbled in on his good leg, the other having been injured by a particularly well-aimed cutting curse in the fight earlier.

True to his prediction, the moment he walked through the doors, Madam Pomfrey's mouth fell open to form a comical "o" in horror, and her eyes widened as she took in the extent of his injuries.

"Mr Potter! What happened to you?" He dimly registered a shriek. The Mediwitch practically dragged him to the nearest bed and then she waved her wand to vanish his clothes so she could get a good look at his injuries. A year ago, Harry would have been blushed in mortification, but this has happened so many times that he did not even blink an eye now. Sighing, he allowed the Mediwitch to drag him to a bed and gorge him with various potions and cast healing spells, one after another, on his battered body.

"After all this time, you should at least know better! That was absolutely reckless…stupid decisions…I don't understand…rash and foolhardy! Do you have a death wish…has got to stop…not going anywhere…never again! ...saving people thing of yours!" Harry registered fragments of Madame Pomfrey's worried rant.

I swear, she must be related to Hermione somehow…

"Head…hurts," he mumbled softly.

"Well, that ought to teach you something! Alright, drink this, it should subdue the pain a little," the portly woman angrily, but not unkindly, shoved a vial of bright green potion towards the pained boy under her care.

The moment the potion touched his tongue, Harry felt a wave of drowsiness, and he slumped on the bed, letting the blissful relief of sleep overtake him.


He woke up in the middle of the night.

The pain in his head was gone, and the bruises that previously littered his skin were all gone. Harry made a mental note to thank the Mediwitch. Despite all her rather irritating rebukes, she really was a great healer.

He gazed up at the stark white ceilings of the Hospital Wing for a while, recalling the events of the previous day; Voldemort had decided to attack Woodsburgh, a wizarding village near Godric's Hollow. Of course, due to his "saving people thing", he had apparated directly into the fray, and joined the battle. They were lucky this time, only 12 people died and about 40 were injured.

He winced inwardly at the numbers: "lucky", indeed. What a morbid judgment, but unfortunately accurate.

With Dumbledore dead, the Order has been in absolute disarray. Professor McGonagall is trying her best to keep things under control, but Voldemort's forces have been growing exponentially. His amassed army seemed intent on destroying the entire magical Britain, given the wave upon wave of attacks launched at various places the past few months. With every attack, people died, families destroyed, houses burnt and death and depression seemed to infect the entire community like a pandemic, and all they could do was fight their best, but their efforts were a futile one.

Voldemort would win eventually, he knew that. People will get tired of fighting, of all the deaths, and then he would take over. The Light side's numbers are all but dwindling. Remus and Tonks were both dead. Flitwick, Moody, Bones and numerous others were, too. Just a few weeks back, an attack had led to Dean's and Seamus's deaths.


/FLASHBACK/

The scene looked like it was taken straight from a horror movie. Bodies, some battered some dead, littered the bloody ground. The air was thick with the stench of death and acrid black smoke. Screams filled the night – of agony, of fear, of disbelief and of anguish. Jets of stunning scarlet and electric blue and deadly green coloured the picture. The combatants hurled curses left, right and centre, aiming to kill or at the very least maim, even if the thick haze from the burning buildings made it virtually impossible to see if their wands were pointed at a friend or foe.

A sudden loud crack echoed in the night.

Suddenly, several dozens of Death Eaters apparated into the street, their black cloaks swishing like the bloody night sky and silver masks glinting menacingly. They proceeded to support their comrades, and immediately Harry knew all hope was lost.

"Fall back! Everyone return to the Headquarters. Now!" he screamed hoarsely, but it was lost amidst the cacophony of cries and curses of the battle.

He stumbled his way into the fray, grabbing whichever friend he could find and telling them to go back. Then he spotted at the corner of his vision a swish of flaming red.

"Ginny! What are you still doing here? You have to go back now!"

"No! Dean…I can't find Dean!"

"He probably left already!"

"No, he wouldn't leave without me. Harry, help me find him, please!"

"Ginny, there isn't time, Dean will be okay, you have to get out of here now!"

"No!" Ginny insisted breathlessly.

Then they both saw him.

Dean was huddled on the ground over a dead body, sobs wracking his frame. Behind him, stood a Death Eater, who was smirking.

They watched as if in slow motion; how the Death Eater whispered the deadly curse, how the sickly emerald curse left the end of his wand and hit Dean straight on the back, and how Dean immediately crumpled on top of the body beneath his, dead.

Ginny screamed. Tears of horror and denial streamed down her face, but she knew even as she ran towards Dean that she was too late, that her fiancé was dead. She clutched desperately at his limp form, shaking him and begging him to wake up. Then Ginny felt a pair of arms around her, and she was tugged into apparition.

"Shhh, Ginny…Ginny, it'll be okay…"

Ginny only shook her head, crying even harder.

"No, it isn't. You know that. We'll all die, Harry…"

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he only hugged her trembling frame, his eyes staring unseeingly in disbelief at the lifeless body of Dean, and the corpse, which Dean was holding on to, of Seamus.

That night, he couldn't sleep. How could he? The night felt too stifling, too silent. The absence of Dean's snores and Seamus' loud breathing rang far too loudly in his ears.

Every time his eyes fell shut, he saw their faces, eyes fixed open in a glassy stare; their bodies, caked in blood and bruised black and blue. Harry recalled how Dean ecstatically announced he was engaged to Ginny. He reminisced how Seamus giddily introduced to them his new boyfriend, whom he was going to move in with. Then he remembered them lying on the floor of the Headquarters, dead.

He gritted his teeth as the sting of the loss of his two friends lanced through his heart. He let the tears fall as grief ravaged him, once again, far too many times.

/ END FLASHBACK/


His stomach clenched – their deaths still were painfully fresh in his mind. One would think that by now, he'd be numb to all the deaths.

Now, everyone who still lived was exhausted. Harry felt a small bloom of pride, though. The remaining members of the DA had made it clear that they would not stop fighting to their last dying breath. He only wished that there was an actual chance of winning.

"What a joke," Harry thought bitterly. He was supposed to be the Chosen One, but there was nothing he could do to stop the monster's rise to power. He gritted his teeth at the sudden burst of guilt and helplessness he felt.

"No, I can't give up. Not now. Not to that monster."

He sighed and got out of bed. He needed a place to think, to plan, and the sound of owls hooting outside the Hospital Wing windows were simply far too distracting.

He silently crept out of the Hospital Wing, feeling a little bad about how Madame Pomfrey would probably get a heart attack at the sight of him gone.

Harry absently wandered the corridors, debating with himself where to go.

He suddenly stopped in his tracks, recognizing the familiar surroundings. Deep in thought, he hadn't realized that his feet had carried him to the corridor in front of Moaning Myrtle's chambers. Feeling somewhat nostalgic, he went inside, deciding to pay a visit to the Chamber where he had defeated Voldemort five years ago. It felt like a lifetime ago, really.

He opened the door to the bathroom and looked around before stepping in, just in case anyone should see him entering a girls' bathroom. He smiled a little fondly as he recognized the cracked windows, grubby floors and Myrtle's sobbing sounds. Slowly tracing the small snake engraved on the sink, he hissed softly in Parseltongue and watched the sinks open and a black void in the centre appeared. He stood at the edge of the opening, somewhat reluctant to jump in and get his robes all dirty.

Feeling a bit foolish, he hissed out, "Sstairsssss."

Harry jumped back in shock. He watched incredulously as stairs appeared in the pipes – and to think he ruined his robes sliding down that slimy pipe all those years ago.

Carefully, Harry climbed down the spiral staircase. He wrinkled his nose when he saw the basilisk skin at the bottom. Frowning, he made his way to the chamber, easily stepping through the opening in the cave-in that Ron made. He hissed once again at the door that led to the Chamber, now wondering why he decided to come here. It certainly wasn't bringing back any good memories.

Harry almost choked at the stench of death and decay that immediately pervaded his senses once the door opened. He realized he should probably have sent someone to harvest the basilisk, it sure would have been worth quite a bit of fortune.

He waved his wand and took a relieved breath as the horrid stench dissipated. He hesitantly made his way towards the gigantic corpse, feeling weirdly awed that his younger self actually managed to kill it. Of course, he probably would have died if it wasn't for Fawkes. It looked quite fresh for a corpse. Maybe it could still be harvested, after all.

Harry cautiously explored the Chamber, wary of any spells that may have been put in place to ward off intruders, although, if there were, they were probably already set off years ago when his younger self ran around the Chamber to flee from the basilisk.

It was a dauntingly majestic place, he decided, as he took in the sight of the elaborately carved pillars and the shining black marble floor. But the rotting basilisk corpse decidedly ruined the grandiose of the place.

He was walking round the back of Salazar Slytherin's statue when he noticed a faint rectangular outline at its base. He approached it and jerked back in surprise when he realised it was a door hewn into the rock. Coming to a decision, he recklessly pushed it open and stepped in, inwardly blaming his Gryffindor traits for his thoughtless actions.

Harry gasped at the sight that greeted him.

The room inside seemed to be a workplace of sorts. Ancient tomes, undoubtedly invaluable and rare, lined two walls. On another wall, a silver spiral staircase rose upwards to lead to the second floor. The last wall was draped with a huge banner depicting the Slytherin crest. At the centre of the room, a magnificent silver candelabra hung down the ceiling, its candles all lit up with eternal fire. There was a huge table at the corner, with scrolls and journals scattered atop it. At the far side of the room, a working station supporting complicated potions apparatus and dozens of test-tubes and bell-jars containing various potions and ingredients that would undoubtedly make Snape salivate. But it wasn't the majestic interior or the room's undoubtedly priceless contents that drew the sharp intake of breath from him.

Right at the centre of the room was a body, crumpled and seemingly dead.

Heart hammering in his chest, Harry slowly approached the lifeless figure, wary of a trap.

He noticed at once that the body was strangely perfectly preserved. It was of a girl, a very pretty one at that. Her dark, chocolate coloured hair was spread like a halo around her sweet face. Her features were delicate. She had red, slightly pouty lips; prominent cheekbones that only seemed to enhance her sharp features; dark, thick eyelashes and rosy cheeks that makes her look very much alive.

Harry found himself wondering what colour her eyes are, and his hand inched forward to lift her closed eyelids.

Then, he froze in horror, and mentally slapped himself.

"Merlin, Potter, you sick, sick fuck. How can you think of adeadgirl as attractive? Get a grip on yourself, dammit!"

"But how can someone dead look so alive?"

Confused, he reached out cautiously to hold the girl's wrist. His eyes widened in shock when he felt an extremely weak pulse, but a pulse nevertheless, under his thumb. He quickly picked up her body and rushed out of the chamber.


Harry ran down the halls to the Headmistress's office, past the muttering and curious portraits. He practically screamed the password to the gargoyle barring his way and climbed up the moving staircase two at a time.

"Professor! Professor, you need to come here now!"

A bookshelf slid open and McGonagall stepped out, her hair in curlers and wearing a night gown, her face sleepy.

"Mr. Potter! What could be the problem? You do realize it is past midnight?"

No sooner were the words out of her mouth that she noticed the limp figure in Harry's arms. Her hand immediately shot up to her chest in surprise, "Mr. Potter, what is this? Who is the girl?"

Harry gaped at the sight of McGonagall's hair in curlers for a moment before shaking his head quickly, not really understanding what was going on either. The Headmistress quickly conjured a bed and motioned Harry to set the body down, and threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and called for the Mediwitch in an urgent voice.

Madame Pomfrey flooed into the office, her hair disheveled and expression furious.

"Mr. Potter, how dare you leave the Hospital Wing without my permission! You nearly gave me a heart attack, you did! For all I know, you could have been kidnapped! You could have been-"

"Poppy, the girl," McGonagall cut in.

Madame Pomfrey whirled around to see the body on the bed and gasped in shock. Immediately recovering, she began casting various health monitoring charms and malady detection spells.

Harry and Professor McGonagall watched her work her magic anxiously for what seemed like hours. The mediwitch cast various healing charms and awakening spells to no avail, shaking her head and muttering under her breath as she worked. Finally, she stepped back, wiping her brow, a befuddled expression on her face.

"She's alive, but barely. She will be fine. It seems like her body has somehow been kept in a time stasis. She has not aged since whenever it was that she became like this. Judging by the style of her robes, it was quite a while ago. I'm not entirely sure how this happened…"

"But is there a way to fix it?"

She frowned for a moment. "I believe there might be a potion that could help, Mr. Potter. It would take me a week to brew, though. Meanwhile, she can stay in the Hospital Wing."

Professor McGonagall nodded in acquiescence, before her lips tightened into a frown.

"Mr. Potter, do you have any idea at all who she is?"

The two adults both turned to look at him, but Harry only shook his head, equally confused.

Then, a familiar, intrigued voice spoke up.

"I believe I do know."

Three heads whipped around to face the source of the voice.

"Her name is Callista Rose Cross, Head Girl of year 1944, along with Head Boy Tom Marvolo Riddle."

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