Title: Lindin Pass
Summary: Two polar opposites. Two eternal rivals. Twenty years into the past. Harry Potter is locked in a deadly duel to survive with his fiercest rival, one Draco Malfoy. A freak accident or a coincidence sends them hurtling back in time. MWPP
Disclaimer: Any characters you don't recognize are most probably of my own invention, but everything else belongs to JK Rowling.
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Malfoy just stared.
"What?" He asked finally, incredulous. A mocking grin crossed the dark-haired boy's lips.
"Open your senses, Malfoy." He said lightly, stretching out on the floor on his back, his head cushioned on his arms. Malfoy stared and him, shell-shocked.
"What?" He asked again. Harry flopped over, annoyance barely evident in his eyes.
"Feel your surroundings, Malfoy. Loose the mental walls and let feelings envelop you."
Slowly, skeptically, Malfoy did as he was told and lowered his hard placed Occlumency shields...and was nearly bowled over by the rush of fierce calm that flooded his senses.
"What the hell..." He asked in wonder, basking in the swirling, calming emotion that existed in the room. "Potter, you'd better start talking before I curse you."
"You won't." Potter said easily, sprawled prone on the white floor.
"How do you know?" Malfoy asked, his voice vicious but his intent was not. Harry only laughed.
"Try." He said, his eyes drifting closed. "I dare you." And Malfoy did try, but he couldn't seem to work up the malice, the hate, that he'd always felt for Potter. No matter what. The blond let his wand clatter back to the floor, and Potter laughed again.
"Where are we, Potter?" Malfoy asked wearily, slowly building his mental walls back up to stem the emotion, letting his mind start moving again. Potter sighed and sat up, pushing himself to his feet and drawing his wand. A quickly whispered cleaning charm and Harry's robes, skin, and hair were spotless, and an anti-crease charm applied to his clothes ensured a clean-cut appearance. Malfoy stood and followed suit.
"This, Malfoy, is where I sent us to save us from certain death. Do you know what that magic was that our two failed spells created?"
"No."
"I thought not. It was, essentially, pure malice. Evil intent. It was living, not technically, but it was aware of itself and had the ability to...change, itself, I guess. Like a body, really. When we created that malice, it's intent was to send us to a place called Hell's Height, which is the stereotyped hell, burning flames, rotting corpses...eternal pain...you get the idea. Obviously, I did not want to end up at the Height, so I redirected the magic against it's will to deposit us in a place that only I, Ron, Hermione, and Albus Dumbledore know exist...and only I can find."
"And where is this place, and what is it?" Malfoy asked exasperatedly. A wry, mocking grin crossed Potter's face, his head tilted slightly downward so his eyes looked up through raven hair to look him in the eye.
"This, Malfoy, is the place that I go to escape the pain...and no, it's not called heaven or anything else, although it would be more fitting. I did not name it, it already existed long before Albus Dumbledore was born, long before Merlin, with it's own name. Malfoy...you're in Hell. The Thirteenth Hell, to be exact." There was a very pregnant pause.
"You're bloody joking." Malfoy said flatly, entirely sure of himself. Harry's only response was that small mocking grin that Malfoy was beginning to loathe.
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"Okay, say your not joking." Malfoy said in frustration, yanking at his hair as he paced back and forth. "But how the hell are we supposed to get out of here?" Harry looked up, suddenly devoid of any mirth and strangely reluctant.
"I can get us out..." He stated softly, hesitantly.
"Then why don't you?" Malfoy exploded, pacing furiously. "This endless white is making me crazy!"
"Because I don't know where we are." Harry said softly. Malfoy stilled.
"What?" He yelped. "I thought we were in this...this...Thirteenth Hell!"
"We are. I suppose I didn't explain that well. I know where we are, but I don't know where the Thirteenth Hell is, I got us here too fast to pinpoint an exact location. The Thirteenth Hell moves, I don't know where we are."
"Well," Draco exploded. "How are we ever going to find out it we don't get out of here!" Harry shrugged.
"I can get us out, Malfoy, but you need to realize that for all I know, we could come out at the bottom of the ocean, or inside the earth, encased in lava."
"You're joking." Malfoy said firmly. "You're effing joking, and have no idea what you're talking about."
"You're right, Malfoy." Harry said lightly. "I don't have much of an idea, about the Thirteenth Hell or anything to do with it. This is the Last Hell, because there are thirteen. Hell's Height in the Ninth Hell. I know about it only...and only because I'm evenly spaced between Darkness and Light." Malfoy chose to ignore that, feeling like his brain was going on overload.
"Okay, okay...so...can you bring things here, when you're already here?" Malfoy was getting dizzy as he tried to keep track of it all, and the blasted, endless white was making his eyes hurt and his head throb. He nearly screamed in frustration when Potter shook his head.
"Well, at least try to get us out!!" He shouted. "I'm going insane!!"
"All right, all right!" Potter said quickly, looking alarmed, and he turned away to stare off into the never ending blankness, and to Malfoy's interest, began to speak in English.
'From here to there,
Then and now,
We have no options left to tear,
Take us back, these words to tell,
Farewell to the Thirteenth Hell.'
There was a pause, and nothing happened, and the two boys were left staring into whiteness. With his brow furrowed, Harry repeated the rhyme, and again nothing happened. Malfoy rounded on him.
"What the hell is going on, scar-face?" He screamed, fright lacing his voice. Anger crossed Harry's face.
"Watch your mouth, ferret-boy." Harry snarled. They were facing each other now, Malfoy screaming accusations and Harry snarling in defense. Neither boy noticed when shapes began to form in the endless, colors melted into the white, and surroundings, familiar ones at that, began to swim into existence.
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In 1975, on October 15th, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew were sitting down to eat dinner, laughing uproariously at something.
The Great Hall was filled with chattering students, all the tables were nearly full. There was the sound of clinking forks against plates, and laughter, talking, and shouts permeated through the huge Hall.
But an ominous cloud began to form over them, not literally, but a sort of mood damper settled over the students, settling the once rowdy crowd to a murmur.
But faint screams started sounding, as though from a great distance, and words, distorted and muffled, were spoken. Slowly, ever so slowly, the air in the center of the great hall gave a tiny ripple, and forms started appearing, faint and translucent but growing more and more solid. The hall went silent, and Headmaster Dumbledore stood up. The two figures, boys, very similar in height and build, began to get clearer, grow color, and their shouting reached the regular volume, instead of sounding far away.
"What the hell is happening, scar-face!" One of them, paler in color than the other, was screaming, his pale, pointed face growing red with the intensity of his shouts. The other one, holding himself ram-rod straight, responded in a waspish growl.
"Watch your mouth, ferret-boy."
"Idiot!" The other boy shouted. "We could be stuck in here for ever!"
"We will be if you don't shut your bastard mouth!"
"Don't call me a bastard, you're the one who brought us here!"
"Oh yes, I'm sure you would rather be in the Height, where there is absolutely no chance at escape and a life of non-living, eternal pain! And I'll call you what I damn well please!"
"You're the one who can't get us out of this damn place, you idiot!"
"I'm the one that saved your life, you coward!"
"SHUT UP, SHUT UP! I'm going mad with all this blank, never ending, goddamn white!" And the boy gestured wildly with a shaking, pale hand, and his eyes broke away from the dark-haired boy turning to the Hall, and he froze. The dark one followed suit.
The entire Hall was frozen, nobody moved a muscle. Some students were stopped in mid-chew, others had their mouths open in mid-word or about to take a bite. But every single eye in the hall was frozen on the two boys...until someone at the head table cleared their throat.
Both boy's, who had been wondering if it was some sort of three dimensional picture they were in, both yelped and spun around, slamming together back-to-back with their wands raised.
"May I help you?" Headmaster Dumbledore had stood up, his eyes looking curiously at the two figures, and although his eyes were friendly, his stance was not, his wand held lightly but firmly in his hand. The boys turned and looked at the Headmaster. A split second later the boy with messed silvery hair yelped, and launched himself over the table as if to run. The dark one followed, but instead of running with the other, he lunged forward and caught him, spinning the blond boy around.
"Stop...look!" He said loudly, attracting his companion's attention. "It's not him!"
"That the bloody hell are you talking about, of course it's him Pot..." His voice trailed off, taking in the visage of a younger Albus Dumbledore, who had less lines on his face and the merest trace of light auburn remaining in his hair.
"Bloody Hell!" He shouted. "It's not him!"
The black-haired boy was laughing when he let go of the blond, and stretched out his arms to his sides, his fingers splayed. He spun around, and tilted his head back.
"We're free!" He shouted. "Oh my god, I'm fucking free! Don't you get it? There're no obligations here...were nothing in this place!"
The blond boy's face, drawn with worry, suddenly began to relax, and he drew in a deep, shuddering breath as he felt the worries of being a caught Death Eater evaporated.
"You mean...?" He whispered, and turned to stare at the Head table. The teachers had stunned looks on their faces, but Dumbledore had suddenly relaxed, his eyes twinkling brightly. Every single face was either not familiar, or twenty years younger. As he turned to stare at the students, he saw familiar features, but no familiar faces. A glance at his watch showed that time was still ticking, but the calendar had vanished.
He looked up and saw that Potter had frozen, his mouth slack as he stared at someone at the Gryffindor table. Malfoy followed his eyes, and felt his jaw drop.
There, sitting with exactly the same expression on his face, was another Harry Potter, but this one had different glasses, hazel eyes, and no scar. Even Malfoy recognized the face of the famed James Potter.
"Oh my fucking god." He muttered, and promptly sat down.
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