Ice Age

Cold 1.1

I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling and wondered if I was dead.

Then the pain hit me and forced a groan of discomfort from my throat. Depressingly, I had enough experience with injuries that I could make pretty accurate guesses as to what the causes were—cracked or broken bones, burns, and a few other things. I gave a moment's thought to being in hell, but no—I was pretty sure I was alive.

It took a moment for the implications of that to really sink in.

I was alive, I realized. How? The Veil, the Killing Curse, and the Department of Mysteries collapsing should each have been fatal on their own. Together? I should have had about as much chance of God descending from Heaven to rescue me as I did of surviving on my own.

And yet here I was. Slightly worse for wear, but almost certainly alive.

I laid there for a minute, just staring at the ceiling. Soaking in the revelation that I was still around and kicking. Honestly, it felt kind of shitty, physically, but that was just my body whining—I'd spent months facing the certainty of my own death and here I had somehow…well, not died. I could have a life, I realized belatedly; live beside my friends, get a job, get married, have kids, do…something besides die. All those things that sound really amazing when you're faced with the knowledge that you'd never get a chance to do any of them—I had a chance to do them.

Go life.

I took a breath, winced, and then had to chuckle when I realized that when Hermione asked how I was doing, I'd be able to say it only hurt when I breathed.

Hermione, I thought suddenly. Ron. The others. Had they saved me somehow, brought me to a safe place to heal? Maybe Mungo's was still being watched by whatever Death Eater's hadn't been at the Ministry; clean up could take a while, so laying low was probably the right choice.

Except, if so…why was I still in pain? Had I been hurt that badly?

I sat up, though I had to pause about half way up to take a breath and muster the will to go the rest of the way. I blinked once and squinted, trying to make out the room I was in without my glasses. I didn't have much luck picking out details, but I did see a small pile near the bed I was in that looked like it might be my belongings. Taking another bracing breath, I swung my legs out of the bed and onto the ground—and promptly collapsed onto the ground the moment I tried to stand on them.

I closed my eyes, controlling my breathing. It hurt, sure—but it was no Cruciatus Curse; the mantra I repeated to myself whenever I was forced to face one agony or another. The real issue was that my legs just weren't going to support me, which was rather embarrassing, but no matter. I pulled myself across the wooden floor to the pile, a wordless growl rising in my throat at the pain from my legs. As I got close, I noticed that my things had been neatly organized; the remains of the clothes I'd been wearing was folded and placed on the bottom, the sack I'd taken to carrying my belongings in on top of it, two wands lying parallel beside it, and my broken glasses in front.

It was the wands that captured my attention. One, of course, was mine—eleven inches, Holly, Phoenix Feather, all that. I fingered it for a moment before moving my hand to the other, longer wand. The Elder Wand.

Maybe surviving apparently-not-certain death was making me slow, but it took a moment for me to understand what that meant. With the Cloak in my pack, the Stone in my pocket, and the Wand here, I had them all. The Deathly Hallows united for the first time.

I was the Master of Death.

I rolled it between my fingers, musing. I'd never really given the matter any thought before; beyond knowing Voldemort had the Elder Wand and that it made him even more unbeatable in a duel, I had concerned myself much with the last of the Hallows. Bringing all three together had never really been my goal, but it seemed to have worked out that way.

I gestured with it towards my face and casually conjured a new pair of glasses, bringing the world back into focus just as the door opened.

The woman who walked into the room—the one who had probably done all this for me to begin with—was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. Fair white skin, dark hair that hung loose, and pale green eyes, she managed to look stunning even while wearing a dirtied, worn tunic dress. Which was saying something, especially since she was standing in what was apparently a one room wooden hut of some type. Her eyes widened when she saw me on the floor and she quickly rushed towards me with a gasp.

Before she reached me, I put the pieces together and got 'Muggle.' Well, actually, I got 'Muggle?' because unlike most wizards, I'd spent enough time around normal people to see this house and see the way she was dressed and start getting questions. But there wasn't enough obvious weirdness about her or this place for me to assume she was a witch, which meant she was probably a muggle—which meant casting magic in front of her would break the Statute of Secrecy.

On the other hand, I was in a lot of pain and waiting for her to leave would be annoying, so I didn't really care—and I could always Obliviate her, if I had to. Besides, I'd reduced the Ministry of Magic to a hole in the ground; they probably had bigger things to worry about right now.

I murmured the words, not really needing to but not wanting to take chances with a healing spell, especially an advanced one. I was gladdened to see that it worked in my hands as well as it had worked for Snape, and I immediately felt my wounds begin to close. The woman abruptly came to a halt halfway to me, eyes widening as her mouth dropped open. I had expected to need to cast the spell three times, but with the Elder Wand, my wounds completely healed in one and I slowly rose to my feet.

"Thank you for all your help," I said, glancing down and tugging on the cloth that had been wrapped tightly around my chest. "It was you who saved me, wasn't it?"

She hesitated before replying in a language I didn't understand, though I saw her glance to the side and when I followed her eyes I saw what seemed to be a crudely made sword leaned haphazardly against a corner of the house. When I did nothing but raise an eyebrow, she tried again. It was odd—occasionally, I thought I heard words I could somewhat understood, but it was only enough to make me try to understand the rest and fail miserably. I spared the weirdness of her possessing a sword of all things some thought but couldn't say I was afraid of it and she didn't go for it besides.

I focused on her instead, frowning as I looked at her face. I hadn't given it any mind when I first saw her, but she looked a bit odd, I supposed. No, odd was a mean way of saying it. Exotic? I'd thought she was European at first, but there was something I wasn't familiar with in her…what? I couldn't put my finger on it. The color of her skin? The shape of her face? I wasn't sure.

Either way, she didn't seem to speak English. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised to have wound up somewhere odd. After everything that had happened in the Department of Mysteries, if I'd just been blown to a foreign country I'd have gotten off unbelievably light.

Still, it made thanking my rescuer difficult. Even if I'd have to make her forget all this, I wasn't such a heel that I'd leave her with nothing when she'd gone to such lengths to help me—especially since it didn't look like she had much to give to begin with.

I could turn this tiny house into a mansion, go Cinderella and give her beautiful dresses and such, but that'd draw a lot of questions. I'd have to adjust a lot of memories to make it work and I'd probably get in trouble—though, then again, given how I'd shoved the entire Ministry down a hole, maybe not. I doubted any one was in any condition to slap my wrist, right now, and if they were it wouldn't be for this. Still, it was probably too blatant and, worse, probably wouldn't help her much, on its own.

Nothing blatantly magical, then. No animated servants, transfigured houses and clothes, or unsubtle potions, but…yes, perhaps simple was best, here. I could give her money. Not normal money, of course, since it could easily be revealed as frauds, but there were other things that were valuable.

I gestured towards my chest and the cloth bound there unwound in a second. Grabbing it with my left hand, I took a breath and focused. I should be able to do this—I'd seen Voldemort conjure the stuff and I had the Elder Wand, so it shouldn't be difficult, right? That in mind, I gestured again and it dissolved, falling apart into hundreds of pieces of pure silver. I lifted an eyebrow at the large pile and at the easy the Elder Wand had created it, but nodded to myself. I wasn't sure what the price of silver was in the world at the moment, but it had to be something. Just in case, I multiplied the coins several times, making the pile grow with the clicking sound of the rubbing of metal. It grew large enough that my rescuer stumbled back and away from it with wide eyes, looking stunned, though whether at the amount or at the way it was made, I wasn't sure.

Still, I took that as a good sign and stopped, leaving about thirty or forty thousand coins on her floor.

I gestured from my bare chest to the coins and then to her, bowing my head slightly in an attempt to convey my thanks. When she didn't react, I repeated the gesture until she gave a shell-shocked nod.

Looking down at myself, I saw the dried stains on my chest and siphoned them away with a silent spell, leaving my bare chest clean. I looked at the plain trousers I was wearing, likely another gift from my rescuer. Taking my other wand and my sack, I looked at the ruins of my robes, took out the Resurrection Stone, and was debating whether I should repair them or just transfigure new ones when I heard the clattering of coins.

I turned towards the woman, watching as she crossed them to approach me, grabbing my hand with both of her own and speaking to me. I couldn't understand a word she said and I was pretty sure she knew that, but her tone conveyed what her words couldn't—she was pleading with me, begging for...something. Something that made her all but ignore the silver on the floor, after she got over her initial shock.

I hesitated for a moment before conjuring a tunic instead of robes and making myself some plain boots and, giving her a nod of consent, I let her pull me towards the door.

As the door open, I was forced to squint at the sudden light, blinding me for a moment—and then the moment passed and my eyes widened in shock as I began to realize what I was looking at.

I nearly stumbled out the door, feeling numb as she pulled me out the door. I looked around, paradoxically soaking in everything around me and barely seeing it. The town, the buildings, the way the few people who were outside were dressed, the general state of the tools they were using—

I shut my eyes.

Bloody Hell. Was I ever not in Kansas anymore.

I tried to calm my suddenly pounding heart, tried to tell myself that I shouldn't make any assumptions or accept the worse yet. It could be a coincidence—I could have been thrown to some tremendously out of the way place in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere like…not Africa, since they didn't look it, but…some Third World country, maybe?

But…it was hard to believe it. Now that I was faced with evidence that something had happened, and given the Time Room and the broken Veil and the, dare I say it, Power of Love, it was oddly easier to believe the worse than believe I'd walked away as untouched as I'd first thought.

Which meant that I was fucked. Well and truly, absolutely, positively fucked. From the front, from the back, upside-down, and sideways. I may, in fact, need to invent an entirely new word to describe the extent to which I was currently screwed.

The town I was in looked like something out of the pages of one of Hermione's history books—all wooden buildings and straw roofs. What was the word for that? Thatched? Thatched roofs. I saw a blacksmith—as in, I could see it, because most of it was outside—and from there I could see what looked like crudely shaped tools that I'd briefly thought were made of steel before recognizing the darker metal as iron. The items around it, mostly weapons, seemed hurried and new while the forge itself seemed badly damaged, but I barely noticed that before turning my gaze elsewhere—to the people.

I'd glanced over the clothing of the woman who'd rescued me, just noting that it was somewhat dirty and worn. When I noticed how much better it seemed then the clothes everyone else had, I paid more attention. They weren't just dirty or worn—they seemed like they'd been handmade and most of them in the same styles and materials. I didn't notice much difference in color or design, either. Turning to the people wearing the clothes, I saw cuts and bruises, callouses and hard muscle, and deep-set tans. Though pretty much everyone seemed to be wearing odd-looking hats, I didn't see a watch on any of them. Or glasses. Or much of anything else, besides an occasional handmade necklace or something.

Of course, that might have been because the whole town couldn't have contained more than five hundred people. Probably not even half that, realistically, with a pretty huge chuck of them gathered around something in the streets—the same thing the woman holding my hand was pulling me in the direction of, for all that I felt numb.

As we got closer, people quickly took notice of us and moved out of the way. For a moment, I thought I was the cause, but while I was given a lot of glances, most were directed to the woman by my side. Respect? No—fear? Suspicion? Disgust? Something else?

Either way, they got out of our way and revealed the corpse on the ground.

It probably said something that the sight of the corpse barely affected me. Part of it was the general shock I was in, sure, but it was more than that—once you've seen the leftovers of Death Eaters terrorizing a town or the results of Dementors being unleashed in a Muggle city…

It was just another body. I didn't really feel anything looking at it, though I felt bad for not feeling anything. Maybe if it had been someone I'd known, but the idea that a person had died or been killed? In and of itself, it didn't really affect me much. Another innocent person that had been wronged, another I couldn't save, another to be avenged—but in the end, just one more nameless face on a list I couldn't have remembered the entirety of if I tried. I mainly felt tired, a part of me that I tried to silence complaining childishly about how I'd just beaten Voldemort and how I deserved a rest and a break before someone else caused problems.

And in the context of the realization I had probably been thrown through time and that I had no way back? It was just a drop in the bucket.

I…I had to see Hogwarts, I thought. Maybe, maybe, I was wrong. I'd walk back into its halls and see…see what? God, I hadn't seen Hogwarts in what seemed like years. Hadn't seen anything but the inside of the Department of Mysteries in almost that long. Who was in charge now? The Death Eater's had taken control of it—did they hold it still?

If they were, if I could get home, I'd throw them out myself.

But even if I was in the past, it'd still be around, right? Hermione had told me when it had been built at some point, though I hadn't really paid attention at the time. What had she said…the ninth century? The tenth? Something like that. A thousand years ago or so. Even if I was…I couldn't be further back than that, could I? I looked around again, but I couldn't say why—I knew even less about Muggle history then I did about Magical History, which was saying something. If there was some hidden sign of what year it was, I couldn't see it.

Where else could I check? How old was the Ministry? I sort of knew that one, had seen a plaque somewhere—16…16-something. Diagon Alley…I had no clue how old it was, but something about it made me remember something. Olivander's had been around since…a long, long time ago. They had to be somewhere. I had to find some of them, had to…

Do what? What could I do?

I'd figure it out when I got that far.

Another tug on my hand made me focus. The body. Right. I forced myself to concentrate, to take in the details even though I felt like I was in shock and wanted to be somewhere else. One way or another, I probably owed this woman my life, however uncertain I was of the situation I was in. For that, if nothing else, I'd figure out was going on, deal with it, and then I'd go.

I started with the obvious. Dead in the middle of what I assumed was the equivalent of a town square. Put there? Probably—out in the open to let everyone see, scare them. The Death Eaters did that a lot. But it took me a moment to realize the most important detail.

There was no blood. I'd seen my fair share of the stuff, from Death Eaters who liked to get personal with their victims and the monsters in Voldemort's army, but I was more used to seeing the victims of the Killing Curse or Dementors so it hadn't really stood out. But being bloodless wasn't the standard for Muggle murders, was it? I wasn't really an expert on that, to be honest. It could be poison, maybe? Or…strangulation?

Or could it be evidence of magic?

I crouched down, looking for some sign of what happened, and found it after a moment. There was no blood, but there was a wound. Teeth marks on the neck. As in, all the teeth, not just fangs like I would have expected—but given the lack of blood and the wound, there was only one thing I could think of, despite having only seen one before.

"Vampire," I stated, hiding any uncertainty I felt. I wasn't sure why, since I knew well that the woman couldn't understand me and might not know what a vampire was if she did. But I guessed it wasn't really about telling her what was happening as much as it was about conveying that I at least knew what was happening.

Rising back to my feet amidst the attention I'd garnered from the crowd, I kept a hold of the woman's hand as I pulled her back towards her house. This was good. If it was vampires, I could probably wait until night fall. Since it seemed only a bit after dawn, that gave me the whole day to try and find what I was looking for.

Now, I just had to somehow explain that to a woman I didn't speak the same language as.

Maybe I could use fucking charades.

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