Title: Bound By Prophecy
Author: Elpin
Warnings: Character deaths, violence, slash, sexual situations, mpreg(implied) (more may be added later if I feel like it) Please note the warnings!
Summary: During the final battle The Dark Lord Voldemort is killed, as is the Boy Who Lived. That should be where the story ends, but it's not. It has barely begun.
Pairing: This is Harry/Draco. Yes, Harry does die in the beginning, but you'll understand once you read (No necrophilia!). Also: Ron/Hermione, and more if my muse demands it.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter and do not make any money, at all.
This fic does not have any spoilers for DH.
Note: Yes, I am from Norway and that is why the Rosén family lives there.
Chapter 1: Alex and the Rosén family
"Alex!" A shapely woman called out over the garden. She was a of average height and build. The flowers stood in full bloom and their scent filled the air. It was still a bit chilly, the mansion being pretty far above sea level, but the sun warmed wherever it reached. The woman flipped her long light brown hair over her shoulder and stepped further out into the protected garden. "Alex!" She called again, pronouncing the name in her native tongue.
"Here, Mum!" The little boy, just over four years old came running out from behind a bush. "I think I saw a garden gnome!" He said, pointing to the bush. The woman frowned slightly, making a mental note to floo the gardener. She looked down at her son and smiled softly.
"Mother has a meeting with her Witches Guild in a moment. I want you to stay inside while I'm gone. Father will be home before me. Ok?" Alex nodded, used to being left alone occasionally. "The house elf will bring you dinner." She gestured for him to go inside before her and he ran inside with childish enthusiasm. She followed at a more dignified pace. Alex stopped running once inside, knowing his mother didn't approve of that and turned to wait for her. She came through the French doors and stepped over to the fireplace in the large drawing room. She waved goodbye and was soon gone in a burst of green flames. Alex returned to his room, which took about ten minutes considering the size of the place. He decided to play with some of his toys.
The wizarding community in Norway wasn't as large as in Britain. There is after all only a little over four and a half million muggles living there. However, due to the large expanses of wilderness in the country there was a lot of room to build and hide great wizarding homes. There were several large pure-blood families, Alex' being one of them.
The Rosén family could easily be compared to the Malfoy family in Britain, except for the fact that they never had anything to do with the war, and were quite more involved with the muggle community that surrounded them. Elisabeth Rosén worked tirelessly with her Witches Guild, operating alongside muggle organizations to preserve the many fjords and the wilderness she loved dearly. Kenneth Rosén worked in the Ministry, though he used to play professional Quiddith for the Karasjok Kites. He would never miss an opportunity to brag about the fact that his family could be traced back to Ingolfr the Iambic, who had first made Quiddith popular in Norway. The Roséns made a very loving family.
Alex was only four, but mature for his age. He sat playing with a few wizard toys, Quiddith figurines in particular, and imagined himself on a broom flying like his father used to. His father had promised him he would get one once he turned eight, but even then he would only be allowed a few feet off the ground. He had tried to steal one from his father's from the trophy room, but had unfortunately been caught.
The room seemed to grow darker, but the little boy paid it no mind, absently thinking some cloud was simply blocking out the sun. Alex was feeling heavy headed suddenly. He stared off into space for a moment, his toys slipping from his fingers. For a moment he thought he saw something in the shadows of the room, or perhaps in the shadows of his mind. Why it happened at that particular moment is hard to say. Alex was just thinking about Quiddith, something he did quite often, and then he wasn't thinking about the game at all. Something sprang at him, but not physically.
Groaning as if he was in unbearable pain Alex fell back on the bed, hands coming up and clutching at his skull. He started to sweat and pant, and all he wanted to do what make everything go blank, but he felt as if his head would never be blank again because it was so full. Either his head needed to explode or he needed to pass out. In the end the latter won out fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, indeed it is hard to say.
That was how Mrs. Rosén found her son, lying on the bed and looking deathly pale. She had been called upon at work by a house elf, who had been unable to wake up little Alex for his meal. She immediately rushed over to her son and smoothed away the hair sticking to his clammy forehead.
"Alex?" She asked, a slight desperation in her voice. She felt his pulse, which was strong, and felt some relief at that. She shook the boy gently, calling out to him again.
Harry groaned, his every muscle feeling as if he had run a mile, and squeezed his eyes shut tightly.
"Alex?" a voice called, sounding very distant to his ears. His mind immediately cried out 'Mother' and this sent a jolt through him. He felt as if there were two people inside his head, but he couldn't separate them. He tried remembering the last time he had been awake, only to be confronted by two completely different memories. In one he was just playing with his favourite toys. In the other he had been saying goodbye to Draco before the Killing Curse had hit his back. His head still felt like exploding, though it seemed to be containing itself for the moment. Harry knew he should open his eyes and reassure his mother. She was calling out to him again. Harry then mentally shook his head. Wait one second. His mother? But that was who this person was, his mind held no doubt.
Finally he opened his eyes and saw his mother smile in relief. She was stroking his face and murmuring nonsensical things. It was completely impossible to describe his state of mind at that moment. He knew this woman, he loved her dearly. Yet, this was not Lily Potter. He remembered his name, Alex, just as easily as he remembered his "first" name Harry. He knew he was both and yet the very idea was impossible. Most arguably because he was absolutely positive he had died.
"Alex, please say something," his mother pleaded.
"I'm ok, Mum," he said. His voice was at once completely familiar and alien to him. So childlike, yet he couldn't exactly recall how it was suppose to sound.
"Takk gudene!" she breathed in her native language, thanking the gods. "What happened?" He frowned in thought. What had happened? At the moment it felt like he was neither Alex Rosén nor Harry Potter. He was observing both from a distance. How could he be both? How could he be any of them? Both seemed strange. The idea that he was somehow the dead Boy Who Lived was just as amazing to him as the idea that he was just a normal kid, living with his mum and dad in the mountains where he'd somehow always lived. But he hadn't always lived there.
"I'm not sure," he said at last, thinking it best not to say anything to his mother about suddenly having the memories of a famous dead person in his head. "I think I just fell asleep."
"Fell asleep? But the house elf couldn't wake you, sweetie. Are you sure you didn't hit your head or anything?" He wanted to cry suddenly. He wanted to curl up into his mother's arms and sob his heart out. There were so many conflicting emotions, too many memories flashing randomly through his mind.
"Maybe," he croaked out, feeling the lump in his throat and the sting in his eyes. Another thought flashed through his mind: That he couldn't remember the last time he had cried, while at the same time remembering crying after falling on his arse just yesterday. His mother wasted no time and gathered him into her arms.
"Oh, poor baby. Does it hurt? We'll get a mediwitch to come see you right away. Don't worry." She carefully ran her fingers through his hair, but didn't find any bumps. Harry let out a gasping sob, not knowing why exactly, perhaps just crying over the injustice of it all. "Oh, sweetie. Where does it hurt?" His mother sounded so worried, but that only made it worse and he buried his face against her stomach, hands clinging to her desperately. She continued to stroke his hair, murmuring nonsensical words of comfort again.
Harry wanted nothing more than to never move again. With each passing second he became more aware. His memories from both lives became clearer and he sobbed with the conflicting realization: That he somehow had a loving family now, and that he hadn't been allowed to die and forget like a normal person. Instantly his mind flashed him an image of Draco and he sobbed harder, feeling as if he had lost the boy forever, which he probably had. His mother picked him up like a baby in her arms, and carried him out of the room. His sobbing subsided as she neared the drawing room and laid him down on the couch, kneeling beside it and looking into his eyes.
"Alex, I'm going to call the mediwitch ok? Just stay put for a moment."
"I'm fine, Mum. Don't call anyone. Please? I was just… I'm fine," Harry finished lamely, knowing his mother would not be satisfied with it. Was this woman his mother? Of course she was! One part of his brain screamed. And yet another asked tentatively: What about Lily? Whose mother was she? Mine, of course! And as Elisabeth leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead he felt that there was nothing more logical than having two mothers who both gave birth to him, and he felt like crying again, but held it in. He wanted things to go blank again. Sleep was better. Maybe all those memories from Harry Potter would just go away in his sleep and he wouldn't have to worry about them tomorrow.
It seemed like only a moment later when a witch in a uniform was standing over him and checking him with all sorts of spells. She and his mother stepped away and spoke in hushed whispers for a while. Then the witch left and his mother knelt beside the couch again.
"She says there's nothing wrong…"
"I'm fine, Mum." She nodded and smiled, the expression not quite reaching her eyes and she stroked his cheek.
"Are you hungry?" Harry wasn't hungry at all. He still felt full all over, but he nodded, knowing it would worry her if he refused. She sighed almost imperceptibly in relief and helped him up. "Me too," she said, smiling more and offering her hand to him. He took it and they walked into the familiar dining room. Yet Harry couldn't help but look around a bit as if he'd neverseen it before.
"Don't you have to go back to work?" Harry asked once they'd settled themselves at the table.
"No, I'm staying right here," she said and Harry suddenly felt like crying again. But he just smiled and tried to eat with enthusiasm once the house elves put his favourite food in front of him.
…
His mother, for that was whom Elisabeth Rosén was without a doubt, stayed with him for two whole days. She was not a woman who liked uncertainties, and didn't like to leave Alex alone when she wasn't sure what had happened. When Kenneth came home for dinner she told him what happened. Harry was sitting on the couch in the drawing room, flipping through a book, secretly amazed that he could suddenly read as well as his former self. His father came forward and knelt in front of Alex, looking him over.
"How are you feeling, son?" he asked. Harry wanted desperately to jump into the man's arms, but held back.
"I'm fine," he said in a small voice, then he realized it was because he was only four years old and his voice was suppose to sound like that. He mentally shook himself, going from one to the other all the time was disconcerting.
"Well, you don't look like you're about to faint," his father mused, then he smiled. "How about I give you a broom ride to the dining room?" For a brief second Harry was confused, but almost immediately he grinned and nodded eagerly. Kenneth picked him up around the waist and placed him over the tall man's shoulders. He held onto Alex' legs and the little boy squealed with joy when his father set off at a run, sometimes ducking and swerving to mimic a broom ride. Mrs. Rosén stood shaking her head and smiling after them. When they reached the dining room Kenneth was doing commentary.
"And Rosén is closing in on the snitch, the other team doesn't stand a chance!"
"Where is it! I don't see it!" Alex laughed. Kenneth fished out a golden galleon from his pocket.
"It's right there!" he said and flipped the coin in the air right in front of Alex. The little boy's hand flew out and grabbed the coin out of the air. Kenneth raised his eyebrows at the fast catch; secretly thinking his son would perhaps make a fine seeker one day. "And the Kites win the championship!" he cried and Alex laughed as his father lifted him down and placed him in a dining room chair. Alex tried to give the coin back, but his father stopped him. "You keep it, you caught it after all, didn't you? My little seeker." He ruffled the dark hair affectionately. It was a bit odd that their son had such dark hair and green eyes. Everybody in their family that Kenneth could recall had light brown or blond hair with grey or blue eyes. Still, they thought the combination quite beautiful.
"Alright you two, enough Quiddith. Let's eat," Elisabeth said as she seated herself. They all knew she was indulging them because she was still worried about what had happened. Alex smiled gratefully at his mother and giggled when his father winked at him. Inwardly Harry was near tears, tears of joy.
The only thing he could think of was that this was his second chance somehow. This was his chance at a normal life, a wizard life even! Like he was supposed to have had all along. He knew he wasn't really four years old, but he didn't care. He was going to enjoy his second childhood. He felt so many emotions he had never known before. Most of all a desire to make his parents proud. When he had caught the galleon and his father had called him a seeker he made up his mind that he would become a Quiddith player, just like dear old dad. No more fighting bad guys for him! Harry tucked into the meal with enthusiasm, not least because his mother had once again provided his favourites.
…
A week passed and Harry was allowed to have a play date with some of the other wizarding boys his age. They came through the floo with their mothers, all members of the Witches' Guild, coming to have tea with Mrs. Rosén. The boys played outside mostly, being watched carefully by a house elf. Harry tried joining in, but the more time passed the more he remembered who he really was. It was harder than he had imagined being a child. The other boys even teased him when he had sounded too grown-up for them. It wasn't anything like the teasing from his first childhood, but it still reminded him that he would never really have one. Perhaps this wasn't his second chance? Why would he need to remember anything from Harry Potter if it was? Could there be some other reason why he was sent back?
Later that day after the boys and their mothers had left, but before Alex' father came home, he snuck into the large library, which was also his father's study. The room was decorated in dark green colours, with mahogany furniture. Along one side were very tall windows, in front of which stood a big desk. A huge stone fireplace with a set of chairs and couch in front of it was across from the doors. To Harry's right were the bookshelves, so tall there was a ladder with wheels that could be moved along a rail at the top. There were also several glass-cabinets with artefacts within, and above the fireplace there was a display of Kenneth Rosén's Quiddith trophies, brooms and an old Quaffle.
Harry tiptoed inside and went straight for the first bookshelf. He scanned the titles, finally landing on the one he was looking for among the biographies, Harry Potter: Boy Who Lived, For Love. It was one he had seen his mother read on occasion, apparently she was a closet-romantic. Harry grimaced as he grabbed it and opened to a random page. He started reading.
During Harry Potter's fourth year at Hogwarts he entered into the Triwizard Tournament, a very dangerous competition with an age restriction of seventeen. Though he maintained he did not put his name in the Goblet of Fire for as long as he lived, one cannot help but wonder, considering his past adventures, if he feared it would be a dull year at school if he didn't enter. Draco Malfoy, according to many of his year-mates, sported a support Cedric Diggory badge. Is this an indication that their forbidden love had not yet bloomed? Blaise Zabini, who has contributed vast amounts of knowledge on Draco Malfoy during his younger years, confirms, however, that Draco Malfoy was 'in hysterics' when Harry Potter did not emerge on time from the second task, an underwater rescue of his best friend, Ronald Weasley. Pansy Malfoy (former Parkinson) denies this incident, as she does many others. Since Draco Malfoy refuses to comment at all on any subject relating to his deceased lover, we cannot rightly know, though future events would suggest that their love was kept hidden long before it became public knowledge.
Harry was frowning as he read. The book was irritatingly correct on some points, and completely wrong on others. Harry's heart felt like shattering when he read the name Pansy Malfoy. When had that happened? Had Draco gotten over him so quickly? Four years and nine months… it wasn't that long a time to get over the love of your life, was it? And when had they gotten married anyway? And wasn't Draco gay?!
One thing was for sure: He was definitely Harry Potter reincarnated. Harry slammed the book shut and marched over to one of the glass-cabinets. He stared at his reflection. He didn't look like his parents, or at least not his current ones. He still had James' dark hair, though it wasn't as wild as before, and Lily's green eyes. Harry lifted his fringe and squinted. He wasn't sure, since it wasn't a proper mirror, but he was sure there was supposed to be a very faint birthmark there. With relief Harry realised he didn't need glasses this time around, then he shook himself. It was weird when completely normal things, like not needing glasses or getting enough food, would suddenly surprise him. He hoped it was a side effect from the shock of all of his old memories returning.
Harry opened the book again and realised suddenly that it was English. He had been reading not only a grown-up book, but one in a now foreign language. He had never known another language before, except if you counted Parseltongue, which he didn't, and the awareness that he knew two now was… odd.
Harry put the book back and returned to his room. If he could read as well as before, could he do other stuff, like spells? He knew he wouldn't be given a wand until he was nine at most. Harry lay down on his bed, his thoughts going over everything he remembered from school. He discovered he remembered almost everything, as if he had died only yesterday. He could still feel what it was like to cast spells, how to ride a broom.
He resolved to read up on a few things, like what had happened since he died, and what exactly happened right after his death. How many of his friends were still alive? What about Ron and Hermione!? Harry knew it probably wasn't the best source of information, but he would have to borrow that horrible book again for starters. Right now, though, he felt a bit tired after playing with his friends all day. He needed a nap, and so he fell asleep.
[So, what do you think of the Roséns?
If anyone out there is Norwegian: It was my mother who suggested the name!!! Yes, I know, I know! I only had Alex and when I asked her for a last name that could be easily said in English she said Rosén... I kind of regret using it now, but too late. Consider it an inside joke! For you non-Norwegians: Alex Rosén is kind of a celebrity. I say kind of because I hate the guy.
So, comments???