AN: Hi I've taken this story on from Of-butterbeer-and-frogs so Of-butterbeer-and-frogs owns these first 3 chapters, along with the general plot line. The story was originally called Down the Rabbit Hole. Anyways Enjoy!
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter related things belong to JK Rowling, and these first three chapters belong to Of-butterbeer-and-frogs. I am gaining no profit from this story.
He was running. The green field, stained red with innocent blood, was a blur beneath his feet. He ran for freedom, for hope, for peace. But most of all, he ran for those who could not. Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus, Tonks…the list went on forever. With a pang of deep sadness, he realized that Ron and Hermione were now on that list. The sight of their mangled bodies rose before his mind's eye…
"Stop that," he told himself firmly, slowing his frantic footsteps to a walk. "Don't think about that." He turned into a building and went inside. Looking around at the high stone walls and elegantly-carved oak doors, his despair only deepened.
"The only home I've ever had," he thought as he ran his hands along the smooth granite. "And now it's almost completely destroyed."
He sighed and made his way to the Great Hall. Pushing open the doors, he expected to see a herd of reporters waiting for him. Instead, he was met with a terrible sight.
Every single body that had been out on the battlefield a few hours ago stood facing him. Numbly, he noticed Ron and Hermione among them, faces drawn into snarls as their claw-like fingers scratched at the air.
Mind reeling from shock, he managed to think only one word: "Inferi."
Harry woke with a muffled yell, sweat pouring into his eyes. Shaking, he got up and went to the little kitchen in the run-down shack and fixed himself a cup of tea.
"That's the third night in a row," he mumbled tired to himself as he poured the water over a teabag. "This has got to stop."
Head bowed over the steaming mug, his thoughts strayed to his dream. He had been having it often. It was the scene a few hours after the 'final battle', when he thought it'd all been over. How very wrong he'd been.
Voldemort's forces had attacked Hogwarts. It wasn't surprising; the school was the one place both Harry and Dumbledore were sure to be. The Dark Lord had ripped through the school's defensive wards, killing any student in his path. Throughout it all, his sole attention had been focused on Harry as he stood on the grounds with every single able-bodied witch or wizard-among them Harry's two best friends and former girlfriend. The students managed to slay the Death Eaters while Harry killed Voldemort, but at a terrible cost. Over half of them had been brutally tortured and murdered, including Hermione, Ron, and Dumbledore.
In fact, the only one of Harry's friends that survived was Ginny, and he hadn't spoken to her in months. The thought sent him deeper into depression as he gulped his tea, welcoming the burning in his mouth and throat.
After he had learned of his friends' demise, he had holed himself up in Gryffindor tower, refusing to come out. The reporters, however, had had other ideas, and they began to actually break down the door in their haste to interview him. Not wanting to answer any questions, Harry had grabbed his Firebolt and flown out the window, not to be seen again until 2 hours later, where he was confronted by over 200 Inferi made from the bodies of his friends and comrades.
Nobody had ever found out who had done such a terrible deed, but the ministry suspected a group of Death Eaters who had avoided capture. Either way, Harry didn't really care. All that mattered was that he had been forced to kill each and every one of them. Even though he knew they'd already been dead, it still felt as though the blood was on his hands. Sighing, Harry went over to the sink and washed his cup.
"What would my parents think of me now?" he wondered to himself. "A bitter, haunted man of seventeen years, hiding from the world in a beat-up cabin all alone." Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, but he did not shed them. He hadn't cried when he found out his friends were dead, and he didn't intend to now. "What's the point?" he thought as he made his way back to his room. "Crying solves nothing."
Burying his face in his pillow, he willed himself to fall into a dreamless sleep. One filled with flying and broomsticks, and not with the demons of his past.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
"James Michael Potter, pay attention!" snapped Remus for the thousandth time.
"Oh, sorry," the black-haired boy replied, coming out of his daze. At the werewolf's doubtful look, he explained. "Look, I just don't feel right, is all. I didn't mean to doze off."
"What do you mean, you don't feel right?" questioned Sirius, who was sitting across from James, his back to the fire. He looked at his friend worriedly.
"I dunno," James replied as he ran a hand through his hair. "Something's wrong. Well, maybe not wrong exactly, just off. Yeah, that's it, something's off."
Remus studied him for a moment. "You sure you don't just have Dragonpox like Peter? Do you need to go home?"
"No, no!" James answered quickly, shaking his head. "I'm fine, really. Besides I want to spend Christmas with you guys, not cooped up in my room." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Imagine, three Marauders alone in the castle, with no one but Dumbledore for company."
Sirius and Remus smiled in relief, glad their friend wasn't sick. It was bad enough Peter couldn't stay, but to have James go home as well would ruin the fun.
"Yeah," Remus said as he stretched out in front of the common room fire. "It's great that everyone else went home. I mean, we really should have expected it. We are, after all, in the middle of a war, and everyone wants to see their families as often as they can."
"Except us," said Sirius, grinning.
"Except us," James agreed, a matching look on his face.
They lapsed into silence for a moment before Sirius rose from his chair. "Shall I fetch the map?" After receiving two nods of consent, he bounded up the stairs, coming down a few moments later with the Marauders Map in hand.
"You ready?" he asked Remus, who simply took out his wand as a response and began to speak. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Spirals of ink appeared on the parchment; swirling together to create a perfect map of Hogwarts. The brunette nodded in approval, then made it all disappear by saying, "Mischief managed." Immediately, it was blank again.
"Okay," he began, facing his friends. "We know that the map works. But now I think we need to add a little bit of Mooney, Prongs, and Padfoot to that bit of old parchment. Ready?"
"Ready," chorused James and Sirius, grinning madly.
"Righteo, chaps. I'll say the incantation, and then we'll each take a turn listing our own comments, which will appear on the map then fade and appear again at the appropriate timing. I'll go first, then James, then Sirius. Got it?"
"Aye, aye, Captain Moony," Sirius said impishly while James just nodded.
Rolling his eyes, Remus cast the spell. "Wordio Copya."
The map flashed bright green, then settled back into its normal color. Remus nodded to himself before saying, "Mr. Moony would like to greet the owner of this most extraordinary map." He watched as the words curled across the page.
"Mr. Prongs seconds that welcome," said James, not missing a beat. "And asks that the owner please state his or her name by writing it onto said parchment, so that we may know exactly who we have the honor to meet."
"Mr. Padfoot agrees with Misters Moony and Prongs," said Sirius, "and would also like to add that if said owner is a disgusting Slytherin, he would do well to put this down and walk away, lest he be insulted to the point of death by the marauders three."
At this, James stifled a snigger, and even Remus looked faintly amused. Just as he opened his mouth to begin the next line, slightly messy handwriting, differend from all the marauders, began to appear on the page.
"Don't worry. I'm in Gryffindor."
The three 17-year-olds looked at each other, startled. Bravely, Sirius asked, "Who are you?" The words faded on the parchment, only to be replaced by the words, "Who are you?"
Sirius looked to his friends for guidance. Deciding to take a chance, Remus replied, "Sirius Black, James Potter, and Remus Lupin. Your turn." They waited with bated breath for a moment until more words appeared in that unknown script. "What year is it?"
Taken aback by the strange question, James answered, "1977."
Another breathless moment, then, "Oh. Wow. Um…it's the year 1998 here. Remus, you must have done the charm wrong."
The boys stared at each other, dumbstruck. For one thing, whoever was writing to them claimed to be from the future, 20 years into the future to be exact. Furthermore, he appeared to know who Remus was, or at least that he was the "smart one" of the group and therefore did a lot of the charm work. Coming to a decision, they nodded to each other and turned back to the map.
"How old are you?" asked Sirius, watching as the lazily-curled script melted into the page.
"17." Came the reply. "You?"
"Same," answered James. "Can you tell us apart?"
"Is this James?"
"Yes."
"Then yeah. The one who asked me how old I was was Sirius, and Remus is the other."
"How can you tell?" asked Remus, curious.
"You're handwriting's different." came the simple reply.
The werewolf nodded in agreement. "So, what's your name, anyway?" he asked.
Silence. The person on the other end didn't reply for a long time.
"Hello?" Sirius said, bored with waiting. "You there?"
"Yeah," came the reply, and the boys noticed it was slightly shaky, as if the writer couldn't grip the pen properly. "Yeah I'm here."
"Well then, answer the question," Sirius said irritably. "Who are you?"
Another long silence, then, "My name is Harry. Harry James Potter."