NIGHTMARE
New York, United States of America
November 26th, 1999
None of those things he'd read in the newspaper made any sense to the eighteen-year-old Slytherin boy. A second wizarding war? There hadn't even been the first one from where he came from. The Lord Voldemort? If he wished to go all evil on them all, couldn't he have picked a name that sounded less like some sort of a very hilarious joke? How could anyone have taken him seriously with that name? Yeah, Harry thought, certainly he'd been regretting that name choice not soon after his terrible naming decision.
After all, no mother would be cruel enough to name their child Lord Voldemort. Even someone who would sire a murdering psychopath like Lord Voldemort.
Harry flipped the next page, feeling quite amused indeed by the whole prospect that the wizarding world would be run down by someone that had such a name. Certainly, he'd been terrifying enough to make people all over the world to fear him so much. But coming from the world where the wizarding kind neither feared any man or the war he had brought to the world, Harry couldn't quite bring himself to understand it. Regulus had told him once that only after you've been in his shoes that you do understand a man's pain, and struggle he'd suffered through after the act. Well, Harry obviously hadn't been in anyone's shoes here, much less in the shoes of his alternate counterpart here.
Speaking of his alternate counterpart, Harry gazed confusedly at the newspaper headline, his parents had been married here? It certainly sounded so much worse than anything he'd read about this world he found himself somehow trapped in today. After all, from an experience Harry knew every time his parents crossed paths every now and then, they always ended up hurling insults back and forth. So, he really couldn't understand how they even managed to stay married without someone trying to murder the other.
Harry sighed down his throat, and jumped on his feet once more, feeling more confused than he ever did in his entire life. He really needed to find Regulus. If there was one thing he knew about his life, it was that every time he went looking for an answer, Regulus always had some kind explanation hidden in his massive, library-sized brain (well, not literally, of course).
So, first thing first. Go back to London. Find Regulus, try to convince him this madness even he wasn't sure he believed. And knowing his step-father, he would listen thoroughly without a comment and make a completely logical explanation as to why he found himself trapped in this nightmare-like world.
He just wanted to get pissed drunk for once in his life. Damn it. If he'd known this would have happened, he never would've agreed to that fucking dare.
Harry whipped the slight dirt on his expensive designer-made dark robes, and in the matter of a mere second, gone and apparated.
London, England
12 Grimmauld Palace
HERE LIES REGULUS A. BLACK
(1961-1979)
BELOVED SON
Harry fell down to his knees in front of the grave, feeling utterly lost for the first time in his life. Tears filled his eyes abruptly, falling down his cheeks to his lips, the sour taste of the tears bitter on his tongue. He would have thought everything would have been fine even if his parents were gone and dead in this world if only he was here with him to support him. It may sound cruel to some people, but Harry had always loved him the most out of his parents (even if he wasn't biologically, his parent).
Regulus had raised him. He had taught him how to read (with the ever supporting help from his mother, of course), how to play Quidditch without ever having to cheat his way to win and how to duel properly, to defend himself and others from the possible harm that they may encounter. Regulus had been there for him his entire life. But now that in this strange and confusing world where everything seemed to have gone wrong, Harry was no longer certain how to proceed with his life.
His father would tell him he was an adult now (even if he hadn't felt like his father for an awfully long time), and therefore, should start making his own decisions. His mother would tell him he could always go to her for the help if he thrived it, but his mother wasn't here to help him out. She was dead, buried under the ground with the husband she loathed more than anything somewhere on the goddamn planet. As for Regulus? Dead before his time, only at eighteen. The same he was right now.
He couldn't even imagine dying so young.
"Harry?" A familiar voice rang on the other side of the courtyard and Harry lifted his head to look, to look at the familiar face of Hermione Granger approaching him with slow, uncertain steps. "Are you alright?"
"No." he confessed. "I don't think I am."
"Come here. I'll make you a cup of tea, and we can talk." She smiled at him comfortingly and offered him her hand. "How does that sound, my friend?"
"Perfect, actually." It was only then he did realize just how sore his throat felt compared to before. How much tired he'd felt after everything that happened today. Maybe if he slept now, he would come back home and this nightmare would come to an end. Maybe he would then be finally able to wrap his arms around the shoulders of his quite alive parents, tell them how much he appreciated, and loved them. He didn't think he ever thought about how much he would miss them if they were to die until today. Well, after today, he didn't think he would ever forget.
"So, let me get this straight. You think you are from another world where the war had never happened and your parents are very much alive, only divorced."
"You don't believe me."
"Of course, I believe you, Harry. You are my best friend. I am simply struggling to wrap my head around all of this."
"Believe me, I would too if I were in your shoes." Well, he had in her shoes few hours ago. So, there was that.
"Can you tell me one thing, though?"
He blinked at her confusedly. "Are we friends?" she asked. "You and me, and Ron?"
"Ron?" he slowly repeated, confused. "Why would I even be friends with that food-obsessed, red-haired wanker?" It sounded horrible. In fact, it sounded like something he would never dream of doing. Why in the world would he befriend such a fiend? But then again, he supposed his counterpart was someone entirely different from him. Therefore, it only made sense he had different friends.
But, still.
Why?
"So, I take that as no, then." She curled her lips upward somewhat awkwardly. "Are we friends then?"
"I meet you on the daily basis. Does that count?" He really didn't think she would appreciate him telling just whom she'd been shagging in the other life. From what little he could gather of this world, his friend's family didn't have the best reputation.
"Well, beggars can't be choosers, can they?" She gave him a small smile. "So, then, shall we go back to Hogwarts?"
"Why?"
"If we wish to find a way to return you to your world, we need a help. Someone adult that could help us. And with Dumbledore dead, she's the only one we can count on right now."
"But, how can we be assured she would even help me out, Granger?"
Granger's face dropped at the name. "Because you are the chosen one, whether you are from another world or not." She told him pointedly. "And believe me when I say that counts as something in here."
He wasn't so certain.
After all, he didn't fight in the war, did he? He didn't know any of the pain these people have gone through. So, how could it even count? Despite his disagreement, Harry nodded his head anyway, and stalked after her, silently apparating after her.
Hogwarts, Scotland
"Maybe he just hit his head?"
Harry shook his head. "Believe me, Professor. If I actually hit my fucking head, I wouldn't have conjured up something quite like this. I probably would've told you I thought I was an eleven-year-old orphan boy who lives with his cruel muggle relatives, or something like that." And he'd only met his aunt Petunia thrice in his life. Once when he was eight, and twice when he was fourteen. Even then, she hadn't made the best impression on him.
Hermione stared. "Language," she warned. "We are in the polite company. Therefore, you should be more polite."
"I grew up around Sirius Black. Much to my step-father's chagrin, of course. Believe me, even if I wished to, I couldn't help how I talk."
"Step-father?" McGonagall asked, now sounding all too curious. "Your mother remarried?"
"Frankly, I don't see how that's any of your concern, but she did. And she was happier than she'd ever been in her entire life." Well, as far as he knew, of course.
She gazed at him knowingly, like she knew something he didn't know. "Well, I cannot say I quite believe you right now without a valid proof that could support your word, but I can promise you I would look up similar cases."
"Thank you, Professor."
And they jumped to their feet and stalked away, walking down the stairs into the almost empty hallway. Hermione turned to him once they were a safe distance away from the Headmistress' office (he still couldn't believe the old man was dead here), and smiled at him slightly, a secretive look in her brown eyes.
If he were his blonde friend, he probably would've said something equally flirty, and downright confusing by now.
"If it brings you any consolation, I do believe you, Harry. I would always believe you."
He smiled. "Thank you, Gran… I mean, Hermione."
"You can call me Granger if you wish." She then added, "Though, I must admit it does sound strange coming from your mouth."
"Granger, then."
Hermione smiled. "Good night, Harry."
"Good night."
Then, they walked their separate ways.
