Familiar Strangers

Prologue

Harry sipped at his bottle of Odgen's Finest, staring into the dying flames. His final fight with Voldemort had been tiring, but no one had thought it would have more consequences than a severe case of magical exhaustion.

Hermione had found out that his magical core had been strained to the point that a bit of it had strayed into some type of rip in the fabric of the very universe itself, straining for more ambient magic to help it's owner. That in itself wouldn't have been very worrying, as normally, the magic would have just been called back when the wizard recovered. But when had anything concerning Harry turn out to be normal? Harry snorted as he remembered the look on Hermione's face as she revealed his problem to him.

"You see Harry," Hermione shifted nervously under Harry's piercing gaze. "Powerful wizards who are very in touch with their core allow a part of their personality and sentiments to seep into their very magics. So when that part of your core latched onto the alternate universe, it found there what you had been longing for – a family perhaps, or the fact that the prophecy hadn't been placed on your shoulders – and… well, to put it frankly, because it contains your personality, it doesn't want to leave."

Harry blinked, realization dawning upon him.

"And because a wizard can't survive for very long without a complete core…"

"That piece will be slowly dragging you towards that universe." Hermione completed.

"Which in effect would mean in who knows how bloody long, I'll leave, against my will, and never get to see you guys again." Harry had summarized bitterly.

It was, Harry mused, in a way very much like dying - the next great adventure, and all that.

While, in this other world, he would probably get to see Sirius, and possibly his parents, there was no telling if Voldemort was still alive there, and how bad the war was going for them. Hermione had even drawn up several scary scenarios where he had gone Dark, to prepare him for his coming journey.

A journey that was drifting closer every second the clock ticked away. His eyes fell on the hourglass he kept on his desk. It was nothing more than an amusing trifle he'd bought to entertain Teddy, but now, seeing the sand slowly trickle to the bottom, he was reminded of all he'd be leaving behind.

Ginny, at least, did not have to live to see his life come to this – always waiting, waiting for the moment he would be uprooted and flung to another universe entirely. The firelight glinted a shining, coppery red on the glass of the sand-timer, the exact same hue of Ginny's hair under the sunlight, sitting by the Hogwarts lake, what seemed like lifetimes ago.

Harry downed his firewhisky, just for something to occupy his mind other than Ginny, and to stave off his rather impromptu and utterly unwanted trip down memory lane. As he stared broodingly into the fire, he didn't notice the golden mist seeping out of him, leaking from his chest, until it was almost too late. He had just enough time to quickly summon the trunk he had prepared, in which were all of the contents in the Potter and Black vaults, his Firebolt, photo album, and other meaningful paraphernalia of his life.

He strapped on an array of daggers with practiced movements, and snapped his wand into its holster. There was no time to think, no time for sadness. He had to be prepared for anything. He could well be materializing in a battlefield.

In a flash of blinding golden light, Harry Potter disappeared from his world. All he left behind was a letter, which he had written long ago.

To the wizarding world:

I have been your savior, your hero, and sometimes, your scapegoat. I have long forgiven you for abandoning me, slandering me, in my time of need, having long since realized that it was a action made not in spite, but in fear, which can cloud even the brightest of minds. The world is peaceful now, the government less corrupt, and more efficient. I feel useless, sometimes, sitting here in my mansion. When I am idle, the memories sometime overtake me, and a few times I have almost drowned in my despair.

Is it selfish, I wonder, to sometimes be happy, happy that I might be sent to a world where there is still work to be done, so that I might escape this feeling of helplessness? Perhaps, perhaps. But I'd like to think I've earned my self a right to be selfish for once, haven't I?

Forgive me, old friends, for what you may see as abandonment. But so as long as the bright changes that I have been privileged to bring upon this wonderful world is upheld, and, of course, the things I've fought for maintained, I shall never truly be gone.

Yours graciously,

Harry Potter