AN: Thank you for all the comments and follows - I'm glad you liked the first chapter and I hope that you will enjoy the second one as well. It seems a little bit too melodramatic for me, but well, I couldn't help it.

~~A boy who leapt through time~~

Chapter II

~~The Phantom~~

"You know, he looks strange..."

"Well, maybe you're right, Leo... It's probably because of his clothes, they're so..."

"... sloppy?"

"I would rather say that they're unusual, Abraxas. Have you ever seen such a shirt?"

"Certainly not in our manor!"

Harry was listening to that thought-provoking discussion for a few moments with his eyes still closed. Experience has taught him that sometimes it's better to play dead... or at least unconscious.

Though he couldn't see anything, Harry was sure he was in a train - he felt and heard the rattle of rolling wheels. Probably he was lying on the couch in a compartment and a few people were leaning over him. Until this point the reasoning seemed quite logical, though there were still some inexplicable issues...

"Maybe he's American?" asked someone, emphasizing the last word with clear contempt.

"Does any of you remember his name?" Second voice - that certainly could be described as slightly worried - entered the discussion.

"It was something like... Potter? Harold Potter?"

Harold? Harry felt that he likes this discussion less and less with every word. Say what you like, but every wizard knew his name. And that Abraxas... Where had he previously heard that name, uttered in a strangely similar tone?

There were several possibilities. The first that came to his mind was a collective amnesia of the wizards' community. They have all forgotten who he is, what is his name and how he looks and it seemed to him so funny that he barely resisted laughing out loud. He was unable to control the slight grimace though and it didn't escape his companions' attention.

"I think he moved a little!" The owner of anxious voice let out a strangled cry. Harry had the impression that this guy is a bit younger than the others.

"It must have been imagination."

Yes, leave me alone for a moment. I have to think, Harry thought, considering the second option - his whole life has been an illusion or a dream, he wasn't named Harry Potter, he was not a wizard, he didn't fight with any Lord Voldemort, he had no scar on his forehead...

"Look, he has something here" somebody whispered curiously and unceremoniously touched the scar.

"Oh!"

"Maybe he was dueling with someone?"

"Do you think he's good in it?"

I'm pretty good, Harry commented internally and the second vision was overthrown. His trademark was still where it should be, and if passengers were talking about duels with such interest, he could be pretty sure that they were on their way to Hogwarts.

So maybe he has just imagined that whole scene with Voldemort?

"Tom said..." The younger boy started, but then something cut the air with a whistle and that something sounded suspiciously familiar to a heavy book landing on someone's head. "Hey, that hurt!"

"You should be glad he's not here, because it would have hurt much more," said someone in a serious tone. "You know he doesn't like when we use that name."

I knew only one man who disliked his own name so much, Harry thought, starting to seriously worry about his own situation. He was not afraid, not yet, but he was slowly overwhelmed by a feeling of being enclosed in a trap. Because if these people knew that Tom, he'd thought it was a sticky situation. And if Abraxas was the grandfather of one blonde Slytherin, the conclusion could be only one.

"Well, well, Rufus, we all know that you are faultless." A new, nonchalant voice joined the conversation. "What did he say?"

"That Harold's in shock! Do you think he'll be ok?"

Harry. And yes, I'm in shock. Not every day you meet bloody indestructible Lord Voldemort. And not every day you have the opportunity to listen to a discussion of people who for some time should be dead.

"Isn't it strange that he brought him here? I don't think that he would bothered so much for any of us and that guy is a complete stranger..."

Jealous?

"Jealous?" Someone uttered aloud his thought and he couldn't avoid giggling.

Of course silence fell immediately.

"You laughed at me, Black!"

"I!? He laughed!"

"You blame it on the unconscious? Where is your ancestral honor, eh? I'd recognize your fatuous laugh everywhere!"

"Don't mess with my family!"

"Now, now, calm down, unless you do want to get detention before the feast..."

"There are no teachers in the train, Malfoy, don't play so cool!"

"Don't loose your temper so easily, Nott. Your family owes my father enormously many acres under the Goblin's Hill!"

"What?! Everyone knows that your grandfather lost them in cards in 1876!"

"How dare you say that about my ancestors!"

"Stop it, you'll drop the trunks right on our heads!"

"Get out of my way, Black, unless you want to know what is Malfoy's anger!

"I assure you that when we, the Blacks, has been able to conjure up selfcleaning dishes, your grandparents didn't know how to use cutlery."

"What?!"

"Well said, show him his no aristocracy!"

"Oh, Avery, your ancestors at that time probably were still living in caves."

"Black, do you really want me to demonstrate my Neanderthal strength on your filthy face?"

"I love to look at your argument, my dears, you are like an old married couple."

"Malfoy, I'll give you Avery as a wife, if you want him so badly."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Really? Apparently Orion saw how you looked into the bathroom when..."

"One more word, Nott, and you will be able to smell the flowers of Goblin's Hill from the bottom."

"Don't want to tell us who you were looking at? It's better to confess now!"

"Take your dirty hands off me, Black!"

"Shut up finally, you'll wake up Harold!"

"Harry," he said aloud before he realized what he was doing.

And when he was about to open his eyes to face the inevitable future (or perhaps past?), he heard his name, real name, as if someone had called him from a huge distance, somewhere... on the back of his head? He could not be sure, but he thought that the voice was familiar. And it was becoming louder and louder, as if he slowly floated to the surface of a lake and in a moment, just in a moment was to emerge on the other side. He was feeling just so - as if he was drifting in a heavy, dark water. The rattling of the wheels disappeared somehow and his head became suspiciously light. The voice was now coming from somewhere up above and Harry wasn't really sure what to think about all this. Besides, thinking has become very difficult, because he imagined that it begins to lack oxygen and he used all the power of his will to get closer to the source of the voice, and - perhaps - to the surface of water. He held out his hand...

... and waved helplessly, opening his eyes, because someone was shaking him with determination.

"Wake up finally, man!" Apparently Ron was trying to overturn his guts on the other side.

"Not so hard, you'll do him harm!" Hermione was clearly worried. Harry guessed that he heard her voice before.

"Wrackspurts mixed up in his head for sure," said Luna carelessly.

"And what if he doesn't wake up?" Ginny gave a pessimistic note.

"We have to find that guy that hurt him!" Neville said in a tone that brooked no opposition.

"But I think there's nothing seriously wrong with him?"

"I'm not sure, Ginny, there are still a lot of people that would like to see Harry's death."

"For example Rotfang conspiracy."

"We'll have to tell Professor McGonagall."

"Do you think that any students would..."

"Oh, I think he woke up." Luna drew the attention of all present to The Chosen One lying on the floor.

"Harry!" Hermione rushed to his neck, hugging him tightly. "Are you all right?"

"Who did this to you?"

"Don't worry, we'll get him soon!"

"Who was it?"

Harry suspected that confessing the fact that he saw Voldemort in the train is not the best idea. After all he could be wrong. He could only think that he has seen him.

No... Somehow he couldn't believe it.

"Harry?" Ginny looked at him with obvious concern. "What happened? You don't look well..."

He was about to say that it's nothing - he just fell over during a spectacular leap, but when he was about to open his mouth, he felt pain - the kind of pain that he hasn't felt for several months.

Scar. His scar was hurting.

It was not a terrible pain, not like usual. He felt a dull throb, like an unpleasant reminder.

Harry instinctively put his hand to his forehead.

"Harry, is your..." Hermione began, but she was interrupted:

"It's nothing, Hermione, I just hit my head when I jumped to the train."

Friends quickly exchanged glances, as if to consider whether they should believe in this story.

"So you were not attacked?"

It seemed to him that he heard some disappointment in Neville's voice.

"Stop it, you really don't think that there is a potential murderer at every corner, do you?" He wanted this remark to sound like a joke, but his friends were silent.

Luna broke the silence with her dreamy voice:

"I've heard that this year school will be protected by Heliopaths."

"Heliopaths?" Neville asked curiously and Harry knew that the rest of the way to the castle he could avoid further discussion of the susppicious swoon.

...

Whispers. Looks. Fingers pointing at him. He had to admit that he had expected all of these and he wasn't disappointed. Younger students looked at him with a mixture of admiration, concern and fear and he thought that he won't have any problem with them - he can give away a few autographs, take some pictures and it'll be over. Students who had seen him before also directed their eyes at him, but they were different - they were insolent. Of course it didn't refered to all of the student - at the gate of the castle he came across a group of Hufflepuffs - Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones really welcomed him as a friend - and at the Gryffindor table, as he expected, he could count on the undying support. The other students, mostly - why wasn't it surprising? - Slytherins, were staring at him with or without enthusiasm, as if they were trying say "What do you all see in him?". The latter bothered him the most - why couldn't people finally give him a little bit of peace and quiet? Maybe he should separate one day - let's say Saturday for example - to meet with fans, so that he can feel at least some freedom on other days of the week?

Harry tried not to think about it or at least to think as little as possible so as not to spoil the whole pleasure of returning to school. After all this place was his home for so many years - the first and truest home he ever had. Somewhere between one thought and another he saw a picture of another boy who felt the same way in his head, but he quickly threw it away and helped himself to some jelly with fruits.

When the feast was already coming to an end and the prefects took care of the first year students, someone grabbed Harry from behind. He was about to pull out his wand when he saw Minerva McGonagall, the new headmistress.

"Let me kidnap you for a moment," she said, not even waiting for Harry's approval and pulled him to the side door.

He was in the same room in the fourth grade, when he had to accept the fact that there was the fourth participant in the Triwizard Tournament. It seemed so far away - Cedric Diggory was still alive and Fleur didn't know Bill Weasley yet! In retrospect events of that year were as hidden in mist.

"Is there something wrong, Professor?" Harry asked politely, though he hoped that soon the interview will end, so that he can easily go to bed.

"I'm supposed to ask you this question," said McGonagall, looking at Harry sternly. "Why didn't you report to me immediately that you fainted on the train? I should be glad that Miss Granger is your friend, otherwise I'll probably never know about that incident."

"But nothing happened," Harry sighed. It could be expected that Hermione won't leave the matter run its own course.

"Let me be the judge. I've heard that your scar hurts again?"

"What?" He was truly surprised. "I didn't say anything about it."

"Miss Granger maintains that after waking up you've raised your hand to your forehead," said the headmistress in a sedate voice.

"I ... I banged my head. I was almost late for the train and when I jumped into the open door I hit my head" He tried to smile, but the whole story was perhaps not too convincing.

"Well, if you say so... " It seemed that McGonagall believed him. At least for now. "You can go to the dormitory. Just remember, Harry - I'm on your side. Nothing has change in this point."

"Thank you, Professor."

...

When we finally arrived at the tower, avoiding all unnecessary meetings with students, he didn't find Ron and Hermione in the common room. They were waiting for him in the boys' dormitory, discreetly left by all the other roommates.

Hermione probably felt a little guilty seeing Harry's face as she said:

"You know, I had to..."

The boy ignored that remark. He really didn't want to talk about everything that happened.

"You really looked bad," Ron said, trying to placate him.

"We're just worried about you", Hermione added. "So little time has passed..."

"I saw Voldemort on the train," said loudly and clearly Harry, watching his friends' reaction.

To his surprise no one fell off the chair, no one has stopped breathing, dropped his glasses or showed surprise in another way.

"Well, I expected that something like this could happen," Hermione said quietly, staring at Harry with concern. "You were after all so quiet, too quiet. Such things are affecting people in the most unexpected moments, Harry."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, cocking his head to one side, as if Hermione was talking to him in Chinese and he couldn't really understand it.

"You know, when I saw that you're touching the scar, I thought it might be something like a phantom pain. I occurs when, for example, an injured person..."

"I know what a phantom pain is, Hermione," Harry interrupted her with evident exasperation. Apparently they wanted to make him look insane.

"No need to get upset right away." The girl was probably a little sad. "I just want to say that it's no wonder that you see and feel things that are not there. In your state..."

"In my state?!" Harry burst out. He was tired of that conversation. -"Do you think I'm an idiot, Hermione? What's next? Maybe you'll put me in St. Mungo? Maybe you think I'm a madman?"

Hermione got up without a word and quickly left the room, hiding her face in hands. Ron ran behind her, casting a look of reproach.

It was exaggerated, said a voice in Harry's head.

"No, it wasn't," he answered and threw himself on the bed, trying to sleep.

Some time later he heard his friends returning to the room. They talked, laughed and fooled around. As if everything was as before.

But for Harry nothing was as before.

The light went out and Harry thought everyone had gone to bed, but he still squirmed from side to side, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. Phantom pain? It seemed to him that it wasn't a proper term for a scar gave with a Killing Curse. And yet he was not crazy. Probably. Who normal would think that he met Voldemort himself, followed by a whole bunch of dead people? After all it was only his imagination, wasn't it?

"I can't sleep," he said aloud, but no one answered.

Harry stood up and pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk. He had to go somewhere. He would also like to talk to someone, but in that moment he realized the undeniable fact - he didn't have anyone to share his problems with. Sirius was dead. Just like Dumbledore. Even Snape seemed to him a relevant trustee at the moment, but - could he be wrong? - he didn't really have a chance to talk to him now.

Harry walked alone through a long, empty corridor, and the moon brightened his way.

Suddenly he stopped and held his breath.

Someone was watching him.