A Necessary Gift: A Harry Potter Story

by cosette-aimee

The war drags on after Voldemort's defeat and the Order of the Phoenix is fighting a losing battle. When Harry is hit by yet another killing curse, he wakes up years in the past and in an alternate reality. As an unknown child in a foreign world, Harry has a chance to change the outcome of the war - while dealing with new magical talents, pureblood politics and Black family drama.

2. Chapter One - Arrival

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Also, this fic is based on Aya Macchiato's story 'Harry Potter and the Gift of the Morrighan'. With permission.

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A Necessary Gift: A Harry Potter Story.

Chapter One.

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It felt like forced Apparition, only several magnitudes worse. His body was twisted and compressed, there was pressure on all sides, and Harry would have cried out except there was no air left in lungs. The sensations of pain and dizziness grew to almost unbearable levels, before abruptly ending as Harry slammed into solid ground. He lay face down in the dirt, gasping for air with his eyes squeezed shut, fighting off the wave of exhaustion and nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. It took a long moment for his stomach to settle and his breathing to even out, but eventually he was able to drag himself to his feet and look around.

His surroundings were very familiar; Harry was standing in Piccadilly Circus tube station in the exact spot he'd been attacked. He was even wearing the same clothes - a plain black shirt, jeans, and an old pair of dragon-hide boots. Harry blinked dazedly, wondering if he'd simply dreamt everything - dying, meeting Dobby, being sent to another world. The many glaring differences belied that idea, however. The giant billboard to his right was suddenly advertising a very 90s looking Buick; the crowds of people were wrapped up in gloves and scarves where before it had been a warm summer day; and Harry himself was several feet shorter than before.

"Merlin," Harry murmured, torn between awe and horror as he took in the clothes that hung off his skinny frame and pooled at his feet. It seemed Dobby had been as good as his word. The elf had warned Harry that he'd be ten years old again, but Harry hadn't realised just how small and puny that would make him.

He rummaged through his pockets of his jeans for the Elder Wand, intending to cast a notice-me-not charm and shrink his clothes to a manageable size, only to discover it missing. A few minutes of panicked searching revealed that the Invisibility Cloak and Resurrection Stone had also disappeared. Harry had always kept the Deathly Hallows close, not wanting them to fall into the wrong hands, and all three had been in his pockets when he'd been attacked. It appeared they hadn't made the journey with him, however. Was that the price for surviving his third killing curse?

Whatever the truth of the matter, it left Harry wandless, trapped in the body of a child, and stranded in a world he knew nothing about. He hadn't been so vulnerable in years and hated the feeling. He tried to stay calm by reminding himself that, according to Dobby at least, Harry's counterpart in this world had died years before. The Muggles around him weren't paying him any attention and if a wizard saw him they would surely dismiss his strong resemblance to the dead Boy Who Lived as a mere coincidence. For the first time ever, Harry was truly anonymous.

"So, what next?" Harry asked himself. Charing Cross Road was less than a ten minute walk away and it would be easy enough to get someone to open the entrance to Diagon Alley. Once there he'd be able to buy a wand and start gathering information about the new world he found himself in, readying himself to rejoin the Wizarding World. Dobby had told him enough for Harry to feel that a future fight against Voldemort was inevitable and he knew it was vital to prepare.

Yet Harry hesitated. As things currently stood, nobody knew who he was or even that he existed; for the first time in his life he was totally anonymous. Without the pressure of the Prophecy and people's expectations, it would be easy for him to stay far away from Britain. After all, Harry didn't owe anyone here anything; this wasn't his world and the people in it were all strangers. What did it matter to Harry if Voldemort and his Death Eaters took over?

It mattered a lot. Hermione had been right when she'd said Harry had a 'saving people thing'. Knowing that there was a chance he could prevent countless of deaths from occurring in this new world, Harry was simply incapable of walking away. He found the concept of alternate universes hard to grasp, but one thing he was sure of - abandoning any version of his friends to Voldemort was simply unthinkable.

Once he had reached the decision to keep fighting, Harry didn't waste any more time. He let the push of people around him sweep him up the escalators and onto street level, where he attached himself to a chattering crowd of students who seemed to be on a school trip. The last thing he wanted was to attract the attention of the Muggle authorities. Actually, make that second last. The worst thing would be for Aurors to turn up and start asking awkward questions.

His lack of any proof of identity wasn't the problem; the Magical world relied on blood and magic over flimsy pieces of paper. However, even in the Wizarding World children weren't allowed to wander around without adult supervision, making avoiding Aurors a necessity. With that in mind, Harry combed his fringe to cover his scar and ducked his head down as he entered the Leaky Cauldron, careful not to make eye-contact with anyone as he slipped into Diagon Alley behind a loud, laughing family.

Harry couldn't help staring in fascination at the bustling crowds and colourful window-displays. It had been a long time since Harry had seen such a carefree gathering anywhere in Magical Britain and the relaxed atmosphere left Harry with oddly mixed feelings. It certainly drove home that he was in a different world. He was glad the people here were at peace, with the experience of war only a distant memory, yet he also despised their wilful ignorance of the dangers he was sure were lurking beneath the happy facade. If this new world was anything like the one Harry had left behind, then there were darker undercurrents present that everyone was content to ignore.

The crowds were at least useful, in that they allowed Harry to wander down the street without anybody paying him much attention. In a daze he passed by shops and people that were at once comfortably familiar and jarringly foreign, needing all his self-control to keep acting normally and not let his creeping panic overwhelm him. The situation he was in was outside anything he had ever imagined or experienced, but Harry did his best to focus on the immediate future. First he needed a wand and a disguise, and only then would he let himself think of the madness of his current position.

With that in mind, Harry paused when he reached the front steps of Gringotts, thinking of all the gold locked inside the imposing white marble building. Harry needed money but unfortunately he couldn't think of a way to get large amounts of it without resorting to outright theft. His counterpart had probably had a trust vault, but Harry wouldn't be able to access it without revealing his identity - and maybe not even then, since with the other Harry's death his property had surely been inherited by someone else.

In the end Harry's desire for secrecy won out over the slim possibility of getting his hands on a heap of galleons and he reluctantly continued on down the street. Being without a wand was making him increasingly uneasy and the only way to fix the problem was by buying one. Fortunately for Harry, he'd learnt a lot from watching the Weasleys shop for school supplies over the years, and he knew of a small junk shop on the corner to Knockturn Alley where he hoped he could get everything he needed.

As he walked he examined his surroundings and found ever growing proof of being in a different world. Where Harry expected to see a second hand robe shop there was instead a run-down café; 'Obscurus Books' appeared to have been renamed 'Opus Obscurus'; and - most astonishing of all - a white marble statue of a five-year-old Harry Potter stood on a pedestal in the middle of the street.

Harry stumbled to halt in front of it, tilting his head up to stare at the small stone figure. A shiver ran down his spine as his eyes traced over the familiar features - the messy hair, the pointed chin and, of course, the lightning bolt scar. At the base of the statue the simple words In Memoriam were carved, but other phrases were scribbled in graffiti alongside it. Thank you, Harry! Down with Dumbledore! Avenge the Boy Who Lived! Death to all Muggles! The messages were many and varied, but Harry was disturbed by the numerous outpourings of hatred against the muggle world. He didn't remember there being such blatant anti-muggle feeling from his old world before Voldemort's return.

Harry wasn't sure how long he would have stood there staring at the statue in morbid fascination if one of the many street-peddlers hadn't approached him.

"How abou' some flowers, eh? To lay at little Harry's feet?" The peddler waved a tray of lilies under Harry's nose and gestured to where dozens of wreaths already littered the ground in front of the statue.

"No," Harry said, pushing the tray away. "Thanks," he remembered to add, then hurried past the peddler before the man could get a good look at his face.

The statue made it even more imperative that he buy a wand and disguise himself, and Harry was relieved to find that at least his memories of the junk shop matched the new reality he found himself in. The single shop window didn't give much of a hint as to the available merchandise and once inside Harry was confronted with a confused jumble of different items. Books were stacked in towering piles along the walls while baskets of second-hand clothes, broken scales, old broomsticks and various other knick-knacks covered every other available surface.

The shopkeeper sat reading a magazine with his feet up on the counter and paid no attention to Harry as he browsed the shop. Harry was happy to be ignored, not keen on dealing with intrusive questions such as why he was wearing clothes that were several sizes too big for him or why he wanted a wand in the first place. Many wizarding children practiced magic before they started Hogwarts but they normally used family wands. It was rare for a child to buy a wand before the age of eleven, considering it generally took until then for their magic to become mature enough to find a proper match.

It took some rummaging around, but eventually Harry found a basket of old and battered wands behind a stack of dog-eared Martin Miggs comics. One by one Harry picked them up and waved them around, hoping to find a wand that suited him. Finally, one gave off a few sparks and Harry smiled in satisfaction. He tilted his head to read the label tied to the worn and scratched handle. 'Birch, serpent scale core. 9 1/2 inch. Gregorovitch.'

Harry doubted whether the battered old wand really was a Gregorovitch creation, but decided it would have to do. Buying his Phoenix feather wand from Ollivander would not only be too expensive but would also draw unwanted attention. Maybe later once he knew more about the world he found himself in, he could risk purchasing the Dark Lord's brother wand, but for the time being he'd have to settle for a half-decent temporary one.

"Oi! You buying or what?" the shopkeeper demanded.

"Oh, right, yeah." Harry shook off his thoughts and moved over to the till. Bending down he tugged off his too-big dragon-hide boots, then dropped them and the wand down on the counter.

The shopkeeper snorted. "Whatcha do, kid? Steal your dad's boots?"

"None of your business," Harry retorted. "They're yours in exchange for the wand and some old clothes. What d'you say?"

The shopkeeper didn't bother to haggle much, clearly more interested in returning to his Quidditch magazine, so it didn't take long for them to strike a deal. Harry handed over the dragon-hide boots (a very generous birthday gift from Charlie Weasley) and in return he got a wand, four second-hand robes, and a pair of ratty muggle trainers. He even managed to get a box of old Daily Prophets thrown in as well, and by the time Harry left the shop he was smiling and wearing clothes that actually fit him.

It was a relief to be dressed more inconspicuously and to feel the reassuring weight of a wand tucked up his sleeve. Harry knew there was no reason to expect any trouble considering the world he was in was safe enough as far as he could tell. But with a wand Harry could ensure that no one would connect him to the dead Boy Who Lived, giving him enough breathing room to figure out what exactly he wanted do with his new life. Covering his scar with his fringe was a very flimsy disguise.

With that in mind, Harry hurried back down the street to the Leaky Cauldron and ducked into one of the public toilets. He locked the door behind him and threw a sticking charm at it to be on the safe side, then turned to peer into the grimy mirror hanging over the equally grubby sink. He sucked in a startled breath - it was almost like looking into the face of a stranger. They were undoubtedly his features reflected back at him, but it was unsettling to see a small child staring back at him instead of the adult wizard he had so recently been.

Once the initial shock was over, Harry began carefully studying his reflection and deciding what changes to make with a few simple glamour charms. After just the first spell, however, he was alarmed to realise that not only his body, but also his magic, was that of child. All the control built up over years of spell-casting had vanished, leaving his magic erratic and unreliable. Harry cursed as his half-thought-out plans involving powerful magic vanished up in smoke.

With his powers completely untrained, it ended up taking several tries to get the spells to stick. It was exhausting to struggle to direct his magic and Harry was relieved when, after hiding the famous lightning bolt scar and changing his eyes to a pale grey, he could lower his wand and rest. He had only made a few small changes, but hoped it would be enough to ensure he wouldn't be linked to the Potters.

Later he might have to experiment with human transfiguration, which was easier to maintain and harder to dispel, but for the time being the glamours would have to do. It would be too risky to attempt any complicated spells at the moment. Human transfiguration could go badly wrong if not properly cast and Harry's magic was as immature as any ten-year-old's.

"All right, here goes," he said to himself as he stared at his new reflection. "I've been given a second chance and I can't afford to mess it up. The Boy Whole Lived is dead and is going to stay that way if I have any say in it - I'm just an ordinary ten year old wizard."

"Right you are, love," the mirror told him in a motherly voice. "But you'd best sew up those holes in your robes if you don't want to end up starkers."

Harry ignored the mirror's advice, the state of his clothes the very least of his worries. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he unlocked the bathroom door and moved out into the main room of the Leaky Cauldron. With a wand in his pocket and his glamour charms in place, Harry finally let himself relax and take in his surroundings.

He was immediately reminded of the first time he'd walked inside with Hagrid accompanying him. The pub was certainly as crowded as it had been back then before the second war. There were dozens of witches and wizards either chatting over meals or sitting anti-socially at the bar nursing glasses of firewhisky. Some of them Harry recognised; he saw Hestia Jones enjoying an early lunch with one of her colleagues, both of them dressed in red Auror robes, and he was pretty sure one of the wizards gathered around a wizarding radio listening to a Quidditch match commentary was Alicia Spinnet's father.

According to a discarded Daily Prophet Harry grabbed from a nearby table, the date was the 7th of February, 1991. Depending on how one looked at it, it had either been eleven years in the future or less than a day ago that Harry had died and been sent to another world. Harry felt the beginnings of a headache throbbing in his temples. The jump into the past, coupled with the familiar but still different surroundings, left Harry feeling disoriented and off-kilter.

He was used to bizarre and unlikely things happening to him, and so could just about handle suddenly being ten years old again. What he couldn't quite grasp was that the world he found himself wasn't his world. He had to remind himself that no matter how similar she looked, the Hestia Jones in front of him wasn't the same woman who had been killed by a blasting curse during a skirmish in Knockturn Alley. He didn't actually know anything about the witch seated a few tables away. For all Harry knew, she was living in sin with Stan Shunpike and had three illegitimate children and a pet Kneezle.

Anything was possible. It was another world and despite the superficial similarities, Harry knew he couldn't let himself assume things were the same as his old world. The biggest difference he'd found so far was that his counterpart had died at the age of five - that change alone would have massive consequences for everyone he knew. The Dursleys for one were probably much happier, Harry thought with a snort. Dumbledore had probably had to change all his plans, since without the boy 'marked as his equal' the Prophecy was useless - or maybe he had focused all his efforts on poor Neville. As for the Wizarding World in general, the Daily Prophet must have had a field day when the Boy-Who-Lived was killed in a muggle car crash.

Harry was overwhelmed thinking of the sheer number of changes that could arise from a single event. He'd have to do some research - get his hands on some history books and read old newspaper articles - to find out the main differences between worlds. He wouldn't be able to make any reliable plans until he knew exactly what he was getting himself into.

First things first, Harry reminded himself. He had a wand and a disguise, now he needed food and shelter.

"Can I get you anything, lad?" Tom the barman asked, distracting Harry from his busy thoughts.

"Hello, sir," Harry said, putting on a shy smile. "I was wondering if you needed any help around the pub? You see, I really want to buy some stuff from Gambol and Jape's joke shop, but I… I don't have any money and was hoping maybe... you might hire me? I'm a hard worker, I promise!"

Tom frowned as he took in Harry's thin face and tattered second-hand robes. "But where're your parents? You haven't run away from home, have you lad? It's not safe for a young boy like you to be out on your own."

"I don't have any parents," Harry told him, hoping to gain the man's sympathy. He knew from experience that many adults had a soft spot for orphans and Merlin knew there were a lot of them after the first war. "I live in a Muggle orphanage not far from here. I don't like it there much, but that's all right 'cos soon I'll get to go to Hogwarts! I'm so excited!"

Tom chuckled at Harry's childlike enthusiasm, but his worried expression soon returned. "What're you doing by yourself though, lad? Won't the adults at the orphanage be worried?"

Harry scoffed. "Them? They don't care. They just want us out from under their feet every day. That's why I'm here. I'd hoped I could, you know, spend time in the Alley after school every day, maybe earn some money to buy myself lunch and stuff. I love being around magic, you see."

"Why, of course you do!" Tom exclaimed, patting Harry on the shoulder. "A young wizard like yourself should be amongst your own kind, not surrounded by muggles all day long! You come by whenever you want, lad - I'll let the other shopkeepers know to keep an eye out for you, and perhaps they'll have a few errands you can run."

Harry was relieved that Tom had bought his story. He felt a bit guilty about misleading the kind-hearted barman and using the widespread distrust of muggles to do so, but shrugged it off. This was the best way he could think of to stay close to the wizarding world and learn more about the society he found himself in. "Really? Thank you!" he said. "Can I begin working right away?"

"Eager to start, eh?" Tom smiled knowingly. "Tell you what, how about I bring you a bite to eat first and then later you can help me out in the kitchen in exchange. Sound fair?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir!"

"Then take a seat and I'll get you some shepherd's pie," Tom said. "It'll take but a minute."

Harry settled down at a table in an out-of-the-way corner where he could sit with his back against the wall, and within a few minutes Tom returned as promised. The barman ran a wet rag over the table before setting a huge plate of food down on the still grimy surface. Harry was quick to thank him and dug in hungrily - his small body was starving and it had been years since he'd last had the opportunity to eat Tom's hearty cooking.

After he had eaten his fill, Harry was put to work washing dishes for an hour, giving him time to consider what his next step should be. The Wizarding World was more lax when it came to children working so Harry should be able to earn a few Knuts with which to buy food, but that still left him without a roof over his head. He couldn't stay at the Leaky Cauldron - for one thing it would be too expensive and for another it would make people suspicious. Harry didn't want Tom to question his orphanage story, since otherwise he could find himself actually ending up in one. Living under close adult supervision would interfere with Harry's plans and would be bloody annoying to boot. He thought he could handle acting like a child for short stretches - he'd managed to convince Tom easily enough after all - but he didn't fancy having to keep up the act full time.

So once he was finished in the kitchen, Harry sought out Tom to thank him for his help and then made a big show of having to get back to the orphanage before dark. He left the pub by the door to muggle London, but as soon as he was out of sight he made several short apparition jumps to the Shrieking Shack on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It was the only place Harry could think of where he could stay without fear of discovery.

The Shrieking Shack was old and dilapidated, having been home to a rampaging Werewolf on a monthly basis, but it was safe. Since it was considered to be haunted by violent spirits, no one would dare investigate any loud noises or strange sightings. Harry would be able to do almost whatever he liked there and no one would notice.

There was no indoor plumbing and water was leaking through the roof, but Harry told himself there were much worse places to live. When compared to the Dursleys' unwelcoming home, the Shrieking Shack might as well be a palace. With his basic needs met - food, clothing, shelter - Harry could concentrate on other things, such as what the hell he wanted to do with his new life.

He made himself comfortable on the grimy floor and tried to remember exactly what Dobby had told him about the world he was in. The elf hadn't been very informative, but he'd said enough for Harry to know that, while some things were no doubt very different, Trelawney had still made a Prophecy and Voldemort remained a threat. Harry wondered whether the Prophecy in this world applied to him, but in the end decided it didn't really matter. Right now his number one priority was not to let himself be turned into the Wizarding World's favourite symbol, celebrity, and scapegoat. While he was prepared to fight Voldemort, he wanted to do so on his own terms. If people knew the truth, Harry could easily find himself being interrogated by Aurors, vilified by the press, and hunted by Death Eaters. Secrecy, he decided firmly, was the better option.

Which meant that Harry had to create a new identity for himself and, since he was stuck as a ten-year-old, that identity should preferably include an appropriate parental figure. He didn't want to have to hide out in the Shrieking Shack for the next seven years until he came of age and his lack of money was already an inconvenience.

Fortunately, Harry thought he knew a way of solving most of his problems in one fell swoop. It was likely that Sirius Black was currently rotting away in Azkaban and Harry was determined to get him out. The man had suffered so much; he'd fought in a war against his own family, lost his best friends, and then been turned on by the very people he had fought alongside and tried to protect.

Harry was convinced that saving Sirius the right thing to do (he couldn't imagine any world where Sirius Black deserved to be locked up in Azkaban) but it was also the practical choice. If Sirius was free, then Harry hoped he could explain the situation and persuade him to take on the role of Harry's guardian. Sirius was the only adult he'd ever completely trusted, and while Harry did remind himself that the Sirius currently in Azkaban wasn't his Sirius, he still cared about the man and wanted to help him if at all possible. Harry had been given a second chance and by Merlin he was going to make the most of it.

The plan he came up with was simple enough. Harry would pass himself off as the illegitimate son of Sirius Black and one of his many lovers, then use his familial connection to get Sirius' case reopened by the Ministry. Once Sirius was freed Harry hoped to be able to talk him into going along with the pretence, thereby adding credence to his story. If all went well, Harry would be considered part of Sirius' family and his identity would be established as a young wizard who was most emphatically not Harry Potter.

"And then I'll be free," Harry said to himself. "So long as the plan works… and so long as Sirius agrees… but I've got to trust someone..."

Decision made, the only thing that made Harry hesitate was choosing the right woman to be his so-called mother. It would need to be a woman close to Sirius' age, preferably a pureblood, if possible attractive, and most importantly of all - dead. He couldn't give anyone a reason to suspect him of lying. If such a conveniently deceased witch didn't exist then Harry supposed he'd have to choose a random muggle instead, but he wanted to keep that as a last resort. He was determined not to let the Death Eaters come to power in this world, but he knew that would be a lot easier said than done. Harry would need to be in a position to influence events and people, especially those wizards and witches who believed in Pureblood Superiority. Belonging to an important wizarding family would strengthen his support amongst the Noble and Ancient houses which would be a useful advantage to have.

So Harry sat down with the stack of old Daily Prophets he'd got from the junk shop earlier that day and began skimming the obituary sections for any likely targets. He found a few witches who seemed as if they might fit his requirements, having all died during the war, but further digging showed that they were unsuitable. It couldn't be a woman with a close family that was likely to investigate the sudden appearance of a long lost son, nor someone who had been too much in the public eye.

It took a week of research in between his work at the Leaky Cauldron before Harry narrowed the options down to one witch who fit all the requirements. Her name was Evelinda Aubrey and she was a Gryffindor from an old and predominantly Slytherin family. Harry found mentions of her in several old articles about her older brother, Bertram Aubrey, who was described as a rising star in politics. He was pictured in several photographs alongside a young Lucius Malfoy, Rabastan Lestrange, and one of the Carrows. The Aubrey siblings had apparently been estranged for years due to their political differences, but when Evelinda died in a terrible house fire her poor brother turned up at the funeral - with several reporters in tow.

Reading between the lines, Harry gathered that Bertram Aubrey had been a Death Eater, or at least an unmarked supporter, who had disowned his sister because she refused to join the Dark Lord and then had taken advantage of her death to drum up public sympathy and political support.

The fire that killed Evelinda did more than burn down her home, it had also destroyed her body. Which meant there was no real proof that the woman was actually dead - Harry could claim that she'd left Britain before the fire or had faked her own death or something. Considering the panicked state of the Wizarding World back then, it wouldn't be unreasonable for her to have done just that. Many witches and wizards had ended up fleeing Britain and going into hiding during the war. There would be no reason for anyone to suspect Harry of lying about any of it - after all, the truth was much more implausible than the lie.

Checking the dates, Harry worked out that Evelinda would have been only a year older than Sirius and that she had died during the height of the war, two years before Sirius was sent to Azkaban. It fit perfectly; according to the stories Harry had heard, Sirius had slept with every attractive witch he met back then so it wouldn't be outside the realms of possibility for Evelinda to have fallen pregnant with his child. His story could be that Evelinda hadn't wanted herself or her son involved in the war (and later hadn't wanted to live in the country that had thrown Sirius in prison) and so had left Britain to live quietly abroad, keeping her son a secret from everyone.

The rest of the details were easy enough to invent. Harry chose the name Orion Aubrey for himself, after Sirius' middle name, and made up a half-way believable history of the last ten years. He decided he would pretend to have been born and brought up in France, where his mother had home-schooled him. Then when Evelinda had died a few months ago from some sort of lingering illness (perhaps Dragon Pox?), Harry had made his way to Britain in the hope of proving his father innocent. France was close enough to England to make that possible for a ten-year-old, right? He could tell people he had stowed away on a muggle ferry.

By the end of the day Harry was mentally and physically exhausted, but pleased with everything he'd managed to get done so far. He would have to do more research to make sure he hadn't overlooked anything, but Harry was pretty sure his made-up background would stand up to scrutiny. Well, so long as he didn't have to speak much French and Sirius agreed to go along with everything.

Even with doubts pressing in on him, Harry fell asleep minutes after collapsing into his make-shift bed. His sleep was plagued by nightmares though, and he woke up several times in a cold sweat, his hand reaching for his wand and his heart beating wildly in his chest. Only one of the dreams was about his last panicked moments during the attack in Piccadilly. The others were all based on older memories; hearing Hermione's screams as she was tortured in Malfoy Manor, seeing Luna hit by a cutting curse in the middle of an ambush outside the Burrow, and - most vivid of all - watching his godfather disappear forever behind the Veil of Death.

"Sirius," Harry whispered to himself as he lay awake, staring blankly into the darkness of the Shrieking Shack. But for once the crushing sense of loss that his nightmare always invoked was lightened. He had a chance, here in this new world, to save Sirius. "I'll make sure he's freed," Harry told himself fiercely. "I'll do everything right this time. I swear it."

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A/N I love reading what people think of my writing, so please review! Compliments and constructive criticism are always welcome. I'm not having my story beta read, so if there are any glaring mistakes feel free to point them out.

Because reviewers keep bringing it up, let me just say that Harry doesn't need to speak perfect French for his cover story to work. I myself grew up in a French speaking country, but my mother tongue is still English and although I do speak French, I'm far from fluent and my accent is atrocious. So it's perfectly reasonable for Harry to pretend to have grown up in France and not be completely fluent in French, especially since he could claim to have lived entirely under the radar and have never gone to school, instead being taught at home by his mum.

Oh, and while the name Bertram Aubrey is actually canon, the rest of the family history is pure fanfiction.