Disclaimer; I do not own Harry Potter. This all belongs to J.K.

Thank you all so much! The response for this story is heart-warming and so lovely. I'd like to thank all the reviews, anonymous and logged-in alike. Your words are uplifting and as promised, I've produced a longer chapter. If this story does seem ambivalent at times, remember that loose ends will be tied up and everything will make sense sooner or later.

Enjoy the rest of your day. I sure will.

Perhaps the hardest time in Harry's life ever to have occurred in the large, infinite scale of time was of course: facing Voldemort and not knowing whether he was going to ever come back out of it with his dear friends and his life - the two most important things to him during his struggle for survival. So he did lose beloved friends and family like Fred Weasley and Remus Lupin because of this never ending struggle over power but he came out of it in largely one piece.

Maybe with life-changing, forever-altering memories that would always torment him and haunt him to some degree but Harry was so still grateful that he hadn't gone the same way as his parents, so grateful...

He just wondered why God wasn't very grateful too.

Why did this have to happen to him? After all he has and had done; defeating the Dark Lord, restoring harmony and peace in the British Wizarding World and emphasising how little it mattered to be Muggleborn or Pureblood. But the most important factor is that after everything he has been through and all he's done, he did not deserve this.

In his hand, clenched between his pale, tense fingers whilst a matching gesture is mirrored on his face, Harry holds the only thing he remotely recognises: the Daily Prophet. Well, it's called the Daily Follower but he fails to notice or care.

It has the date on it; 20th February 2000. The date from his time written in the same language with the same main characters in the stories; you know, people like Malfoy, Bellatrix and the likes. What Harry does however stare at (his jaw dropping open in wonder) is when he learns of the country's Prime Minister.

Severus Snape.

Harry bites his lip. He's not completely sure what to think and looks up at Hermione and Ollivander. 'Excuse me,' he says to them in a voice sparse of confidence and hope. 'Do you know who Severus Snape is?' asks Harry.

'Of course,' Hermione says. 'He's the first half-blood that has ever been Prime Minister, despite him denouncing his half-Mudblood status and claiming that at heart he will always been a Pureblood.'

The green-eyed man of nineteen years old sighs and bites his lip. He's so shocked at how quickly things have flipped around - from a day where things were verging on the edge of being bitterly bored to now being sucked into a world where right is wrong and bad is really just good. He turns to look back at Hermione and shivers from detached affection and pure confusion.

A girl he has known for his whole wizarding life has suddenly transformed and she's no longer his Hermione. Does he even have any claim to calling her that? Then a redhead flashes through his mind and he barks before he can restrain himself, 'Ron! Where's Ron? Is he here-… do you know where he is... can you tell me?'

'Shh, please, don't raise your voice. I don't want any Life Eaters patrolling outside to hear up.' Hermione hisses, eyes dancing fleetingly around the room as though she can see past the walls and into the background. Her eyes settle, clearly a little alarmed on Harry.

He lowers his voice and says softly, 'What d'you mean by Life Eaters. Is that code for a group of people? Is it actually a type of Magical Creature-'

'Don't be stupid.' The aged and calm voice of Ollivander's wafts around Harry and he closes his eyes for a very brief second. Harry turns to watch the old man with transfixed interest. He tries not to be too conspicuous or obtrusive but fails when he catches sight of Ollivander's frustrated face and can't look away for the life of himself. Ollivander's eyes are closed with a type of tiredness that doesn't come with age but comes with the sort of abuse that tears down a person. Harry watches with wanton, deliberate enrapture and doesn't turn away even when the old man turns to face him. 'The description for Life Eaters lies amongst the two words.' He murmurs. 'They eat life. They are the inhumanity and cruelty of this world. They are the scum and the evil and the destroyer of lives.'

Ollivander's grey eyes flicker with an emotion Harry can't recognise. But he understands what Ollivander is telling him; they are Voldemort and everything he is about.

'And Lord Vold-'

'Silencio,' hisses Hermione. Harry opens and closes his mouth but no noise comes out. When his eyes meet the hazel of the pierced, bushy-haired "friend" of his, he shivers. 'Never,' she whispers, 'say that word aloud.' With a flick of her hair she turns away from Harry and clenches her eyes in anger. It takes her a whole minute of silence to calm down enough. When Harry turns to face Ollivander, he regrets it.

'This is our prophecy. This confused child besides us. I don't trust the word of anyone if this is what I am expected to put my trust into.' His voice is bitter and cold now, like he feels let down.

Hermione's eyes flicker to Harry's worryingly before she looks away and cocks her head at a door to Ollivander. The old man seems to read her mind; he stands and without another look spared at Harry, leaves the room through the door.

'Wait here,' Hermione says to him. Her voice and expression are both a little colder; not at all directed towards Harry, he soon realises, but more like she's remembering something that chills her to the bones. Albeit the smile she gives him, he can tell that the impression of himself that he has given her is not all that great.

'Hermione,' he calls and she turns around, expectant and a little impatient. His eyes go to the scar running across her face and he shivers. 'I'm sorry.'

'It's … it's okay Mr Potter. There's a cup of coffee over there and half a sandwich, tuck in.' Then she leaves the room and closes the door behind her. Harry's eyes the plate with half a sandwich edgily before hunger wins and he devours it; a groan ripples low in his throat and suddenly the sandwich is gone. Shortly followed by a cold cup of coffee; delicious, black coffee. He looks down at his stomach upon hearing a low, ominous grumble.

Five minutes pass in silence, laying on the dirty old bed and waiting patiently for Hermione and Ollivander to come back in - maybe he can ask them for a burger or something. Any source of food, really. Even a glass of water would suffice.

Ten more minutes fly by and with the ten minutes comes a chance for Harry to reflect. Is danger as eminent as they make it seem? Who is he in this world? Does he even exist? Or is he merely a figment of destiny and imagination?

The orchestral piece ringing through the room, his stomach that is, increases in pitch - each note is followed by a bass note in response. Harry throws his head back in frustration and calls out for the first time, 'Mr Ollivander?' There's no answer.

'Hermione?' No one replies. 'Hello?' Despite his comfortable position, Harry forgoes it to see if anything is the matter. He hopes nothing bad has happened - Ollivander and Hermione are the only people he can rely on right now; this world is nothing like his own and yet strangely similar in the sense that danger lurks at every street corner and he is just as important back home than he supposedly is here. Harry opens the door, or rather, attempts to. But it's no use. It's locked.

His voice takes on a hysterical note now: 'Hello? Hermione? Why am I locked in here-?'

There's a piercing shriek and without a second thought, Harry Disapparates. The blinding sort of pain, you know, all-consuming pain that does not leave a single part of your body untouched, rips through Harry. Apparating and having a broken tailbone do not go hand in hand.

He muffles a shout with his hand as he slams down onto the ground. It doesn't hurt as much; he's healed after all, but it's like touching an old bruise. The pain is still lingers in the background. Harry doesn't recognise where he is. But sirens are wailing around him.

So, you must be wondering, what his answering action is...

Harry does what he does best. He gets up, thinks for a brief moment and without another thought, sprints. He runs as fast as he can which is pretty damn fast. His feet beat against the ground whilst the clouds about him grumble and groan. They soon start crying and he's soaked to the bone with rain.

But Harry doesn't stop running. If it's the last thing he does, he won't ever stop running. He wonders for a second before, for a second time on this planet his consciousness is stolen, where the sirens are coming from. His body makes a soft, wet thud as he collapses on the soft grass of the field he has run in to.

Arms wrap around the limp body of the young man and haul him over a shoulder. 'Where the hell did you think you were going to, eh?' the gentle voice of one Mr Remus Lupin asks. The werewolf shrugs and Apparates to the one place he knows he can trust; Grimmauld Place.

xo

'This is starting to happen a little too often,' a melodic voice says softly from beside Harry.

Groggily, he opens his eyes and trembles. ''Mione...'

'Mr Potter?' she replies in that same, level-headed, familiar voice of hers.

'What happened?'

When his eyes open, he looks around the brilliantly bright room. Her pale face is thrown into the light of the room. Her scar, like a frozen river running over her face, is deep and pink - like it's fresh. 'It's not fresh,' she murmurs, like she can read his mind.

Can she?

'It's a wound from a werewolf. They always look like this-'

'Lupin-'

She nods. 'I was keeping him company when I learned of his feelings for me. I told him that us being together wasn't a good idea and he ... or rather, his wolfy-self scratched me. Don't worry though, I'm fine. And I got a hot boyfriend out of it.'

'What?' Harry breathes. Then he shakes his head. 'Please! Don't surprise me. I'm too tired and in too much pain right now to laugh-'

Her hazel eyes flash. 'Laugh at what? How absurd our relationship is? I've heard that enough times!' she sighs tiredly and then says, 'Why did you run off? I hope we haven't upset you.'

'No, it's not that. I was …' his face turns red and he laughs at the ridiculousness of this situation. 'I was a little hungry. I just wanted to get a burger.'

'You fucking had me chase after you across three blocks with Life Eater patrols screaming at us and Dementors right on our tail because you were hungry?' a new voice interjects. It's a rich and melodic voice. The sort that you can fall asleep listening to because it's so soothing and calming. With the voice of course, comes a body. He's a tall man with a frame that is deceivingly thin; Remus Lupin is a lot more muscular than an impartial observer would first perceive. His large blue/green eyes are piercing and hold more knowledge than a library of books. He has a few scars on his timidly handsome face and lips that are contorted into a wide grin when his eyes meet his girlfriend's.

Hermione's.

They're actually together, Harry concludes, when Hermione jumps up and falls into her boyfriend's arms. They kiss briefly and then Remus turns to face Harry. He watches the boy for a second and stares at him with a calculated coolness, his face impartial now. But then he breaks into a laugh and smiles radiantly. He pulls Harry up into a standing position and hugs him.

'Harry,' he says, 'it's an honour to meet you.'

The messy-haired young man closes his eyes and enjoys the embrace. It's almost like Remus is his father and he is the sad child; in need of affection and nothing else. Familiarity is something Harry is coming to love and crave in the one day he has spent on this world. Didn't he hate it before? Didn't he condemn his relationship with Ginny for being too familiar, a little too boring.

The embrace ends and Harry steps back to admire his father's best friend. 'It's very nice to meet you too.' He turns to face the bushy-haired woman and almost laughs at the lovestruck expression on her face. 'Hermione, why were you screaming back at the place?'

'I wasn't screaming. Well I was, but from happiness. I hadn't seen Remus for two weeks before today. I was happy. I'm sorry that I led you to believe otherwise.'

Suddenly, they're all laughing at how stupid the situation is. 'This is absurd,' the chuckling voice of Hermione interrupts. When they calm down, she asks her boyfriend a question. 'So, what are the damages?'

'None as of yet. Apart from the fact that our base in Diagon Alley is no longer usable now.'

'Who cares? I never liked it anyway. It was too dangerous. Grimmauld Place however-'

'HELLO RIDDLESVILLE,' a booming voice from seemingly nowhere aside from thin air fills Harry's ears and he cries out, covering his ears and turning to look at the couple beside him who are the same as they were before, like this is a regular occurrence. Despite this however, they still do pay the utmost attention to the voice with no origin; the sound with no home.

'HOW ARE YOU TODAY, MEMBERS OF RIDDLESVILLE? I WOULD LIKE TO MAKE THE ANNOUNCEMENT THAT FROM TODAY, IT WILL BE ILLEGAL TO TALK TO MUGGLES UNLESS THEY ARE YOUR PROPERTY. ANYONE CAUGHT TALKING TO A MUGGLE WHO FAILS TO SHOW IDENTIFICATION OR OWNERSHIP OF SAID MUGGLE WILL BE SUBJECTED TO TWENTY-FOUR HOURS IN THE PRESENCE OF A DEMENTOR. IF IT HAPPENS THREE TIMES, AN AZKABAN SENTENCE WILL BE ENFORCED.'

The voice pauses for a second and there is almost complete silence across the nation. In regards to Harry's current state, he's stuck in a whirlpool of bitter memories that sting him and make his eyes burn. That chilling voice...

The voice that haunted his dreams for years. The voice that is the definition of death and cruelty to him. It freezes his bones and tears apart his mind's shield in less than a second.

He's no longer Harry Potter, but instead that helpless little half-blood orphan.

'THANK YOU.' The voice says before the energy rippling through the room fades and no one speaks another word for a few minutes. It seems the werewolf is the one to break the silence.

'So, Mr Potter,' he says. 'You've witnessed the first National Message, projected by the Department of Mysteries. What do you think?'

Harry wonders how to answer and then says softly, 'I'm not sure. Does that happen often?'

The couple deliberate and then say simultaneously, 'About once a week. Maybe twice if we're lucky.' Strangely enough, Harry knows that they don't really mean lucky. They're mocking the system because sometimes it's the only thing the oppressed can do.

'Are there always laws that are being passed?'

'No,' Hermione replies, 'they range from warnings to laws to sometimes even just messages like "ONE MILLION MUGGLES HAVE DIED, HOORAY".'

Harry nods to himself and mentally stores what he has been told. It may well come in use one day. 'How did this all happen?'

Hermione laughs and shakes her head. 'It's only been around for the last … what, fifty years? Not very long. But the fact is that it all happened very quickly, especially for me. One day parents, granted … they were slaves but they were together, when my mother wasn't off getting raped,' she spits the last sentence. '... But they had me and they loved me. Until I turned seven and my slave masters, the Malfoys, found out that I was magical. My parents were killed for supposedly stealing magic and giving it to me and I …'

Harry's mouth falls open and he feels the urge to hug this strange, unfamiliar girl but he restrains himself even more so because her boyfriend is right beside her. 'You...?'

'I became a slave.' Tears run down her pretty face and she shivers. 'For four years, I was a slave. I was a woman too - if you think that girls become women when they have sex for the first time. But I wouldn't call it sex … it was rape … who cared though? No one cared.'

The next question that comes out of his mouth is a hesitant question. 'H-how did you get out? If you don't mind my asking...'

A smile, true and bright as day, covers her face and she looks at Remus. 'The Malfoy son, he helped me get away. Just far enough so I could ask for help. And then I came across Remus and Kingsley and they took me away.'

Harry shivers and looks at Remus when he asks his final question. 'Who was it who helped you?'

'The Malfoy son. I don't know why I'm pretending like I've forgotten his name.' She pauses and looks out of the window when she says the last part of her sentence, 'His name is Draco Malfoy.'

His hand goes to his wand at the same time that he replies with, 'Take me to see Draco Malfoy.'

It's even more surprising when Remus answers the statement with, 'Only if I can come with you.'

Harry ponders and uses his brain extensively for the first time since arriving here on this weird planet. It's a lot harder to just sit and think than it seems. He's always liked avoiding things, especially the less pleasant situations. But now he is confronted with an ugly truth and an even uglier possibility. So he closes his eyes and thinks and when he opens them he comes to terms with an answer that he is happy with; not content or satisfied or annoyed but happy. When was the last time he was happy with a decision?

'Can we leave tonight then?'

'I shouldn't see why not.'