Hey, everyone! Thank you so much for coming to read my story. This fanfic will also be available on Ao3 and Wattpad so you can check it out there as well! There will be minimum bashing in this fic. If it seems as if there is, that is most likely just me trying to make the characters as canon like as possible.
Summary: When a battle hardened Harry Potter tumbles into an alternate universe where his parents are alive, have a family, and have been fighting Voldemort for the past five years in the worst war since Grindelwald, the first thing that comes to mind is: Death is an arsehole.
Then he starts growing attached to this new world and conflicted feelings arise. Will he keep trying to find a way to go home or let himself have the one thing he's longed for ever since the war ended?
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Do you know what it feels like to know your life has been so much alike to that of a war that you don't know how to live without it?
Do you know what it feels like to have the bloodlust of battle singing in your bones and vibrating in your mind?
Do you know what it feels like to think you are so irrevocably changed that you don't feel you belong anymore?
Do you know what it feels like to know you don't belong anymore and that you probably never will?
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This was the seventh time Harry's had to return the Elder Wand to Dumbledore's grave. This was the fourth time he's had to throw the Resurrection Stone into somewhere, anywhere else. And this was the twelfth time his invisibility cloak has wrapped around his shoulders like a cape when it was absolutely uncalled for.
Harry was starting to get really tempted to damn it all to hell and snap the bloody wand in half. He didn't think Death would like that very much though.
Death, the one and only, was currently staring him down with a look of such resigned exasperation that Harry felt the idiotic feeling of heat rising at the back of his neck.
Git. The stupid git was annoying and Harry really wanted to punch him in the face.
Said git stared down at Harry with pursed lips, a hand outstretched with the stupid wand balanced between his fingers expectantly. Harry looked down at it. Then he looked at Death. Then he looked down at it again, and turned to Death again. Then he said, "No." The arsehole raised a brow at him, giving the wand a little wiggle as if that would convince Harry.
It didn't. All it did was tempt Harry's short temper.
"I said no," Harry gritted through his teeth, giving the deity a ferocious glare. Death didn't so much as blink. "It's not mine," he pointed out for the seventh time. Death raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say oh, really?
Merlin, Harry despised him.
The twenty year old wizard has had enough dreams of Death's intentions to know exactly what would happen if he took the wand and used it. And frankly, though he appreciated the gesture, it was really unnecessary. Finally, Death seemed to realize he wouldn't be winning this round, gave Harry an amiable, suspicious smile and left in a puff of black, cold smoke.
After everything, he knew that wasn't the end of it. That didn't convince him to particularly care though.
Spells flew in every direction, lights of fatal magic that soared at unnerving speeds. Years of Seeker reflexes and Auror training was the only reason Harry hadn't been killed from every which way. Curses, hexes, and jinxes danced on the tips of his tongue, rolling from his mouth with practiced ease and the familiar feeling of adrenaline making his magic sing.
Harry's eyes — Killing Curse green — practically glowed with power, an impossible amount of Light magic rolling off him in waves and dissipating spells like they were nothing but smoke. Harry could feel his Animagus form, twitching and singing with the need to be released from its confinement.
Harry shouted a warning at Ron, who ducked out of his hiding spot just as an onslaught of spells tore it to shreds. He shifted just as Cormac –– who'd finally matured after graduating Hogwarts –– slid into the spot next to him, spells burning off the tip of his wand. Harry let out a thin layer of his magic, feeling out for the stray followers of Voldemortaround him. There were only four and they were scattered throughout the warehouse. It was even, Harry, Ron, Cormac, and Neville against the four others. He thinks Neville might've called for an extra couple of Aurors to come in case they tried to escape but he couldn't quite remember through the haze of vicious adrenaline clouding his mind. Harry fed off of it like it was a drug, accepting for once that this was where he was truly in his element.
A scream tore its way through the high ceilings and Harry saw Ron tackle the follower to the ground, dragging his unconscious body behind a stack of stuffed bags just as Neville got another. Using the distraction to his advantage, Harry muttered a quick word to Cormac and the other wizard followed his lead without a moment's hesitation.
Harry aimed his wand, an onslaught of arrows erupting from his wand and straight towards the ropes holding tons of bags of Merlin knows what. As it dropped, Cormac shouted a spell that sent it soaring to the left, towards the two other fugitives hiding behind stacks of boxes and powerful shields. Harry shouted another spell and the bags flowed red for a second before going back to normal. The second that happened, the bags crashed into the shield and boxes and toppled them like a pyramid of cards.
A stray spell soared towards them from the side, knocking Harry to the ground just as shouts of victory came from his friends as they apprehended the last of the fugitives. A hand shook his shoulder and Cormac's worried face appeared in view. "You alright, Harry?" He asked, checking him for injuries. Harry grunted, waving him off and blinking at the sight — or lack thereof — before him.
"Where's my glasses?" He asked, groping around. Something was placed gently into his hand and he sighed, realizing quickly that his glasses were broken. Again.
Harry squinted, sighing exasperatedly. He really needed to get his eyesight fixed or at least stick his glasses to his face during missions. This was the fourth time this week he had to fix his glasses. The familiar adrenaline from action still flowed through him and he shook out his body to try and calm down his jittery nerves. Muttering bitterly under his breath, he took out his wand and uttered a quick, "Oculus Reparo."
He shoved the glasses on the second he knew they'd been fixed, only to blink, disoriented, at the clearest sight he's ever had. For a second, he thought he put too much power into the spell on accident, then he felt the indent of a ring on his finger, the weight around his shoulders, and realized that the wand in his hand did not feel like his wand—
The last thing Harry saw before his vision went black was Ron and Neville running towards him, shouts of alarm filling the air of the invaded building as he was consumed by a familiar black smoke and Harry's vision went black.
Harry woke up to the feel of biting cold and shrieking civilians. The heat of spells and feel of magic, sharp and vicious, colouring the air stung his nostrils and made him dizzy and lightheaded. Shouts filled the air, spells that rang true and others that missed their target, feeding to the cold like wind and wood to fire. The familiar adrenaline that never really left made his heart nearly beat out of his chest as he scrambled up, clutching the Elder Wand tightly in his hand. He wasn't sure where his wand had gone but now really wasn't the time to think about it.
Harry flicked a finger and a spell kept his glasses in place –– thank Merlin he'd remembered this time –– and he scanned the area, vision sharp and clear with his newly improved glasses. Harry gripped the wand, trying to find the source of the problem when he saw the cloaked figures, spreading cold throughout the normally bright town like a deadly disease to unsuspecting civilians.
Dementors.
Harry cursed up a storm, watching hundreds of Dementors swarm the place as people panicked and tried to escape. There weren't any Aurors around, their red uniforms nowhere in sight amongst the dreary darkness. There were others fighting though, the brave few who knew how to conjure a Patronus all hiding and shooting out thin, desperate sparks of it to ward them off from crowds. Others were trying to get to all the different Floos in the area but most were stuck and have been tampered with. Apparition wards were covering the town and more and more Dementors were entering the area.
Harry felt the swell of his magic, the spell on the tip of his tongue, the adrenaline flooding through his tired limbs. He gripped the Elder Wand in his hand, summoned as much power as he possibly could and yelled, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
A bright stag erupted from the wand, so light and vivid that it looked nearly solid, and dashed straight for the Dementors, chasing them off with a renewed vigour. The effect it had was near instant. The ones trying to cast stood straighter, the amount of them dwindling severely, and their Patronuses –– that had once been little whisks of smoke and vapor –– glowed brighter as the light spread like a wildfire throughout the small town. Harry grit his teeth, deciding to deal with most of the Dementors and directed his stag towards the crowds of them while the others hopefully warded them off from the crowds. The stag, a creature of bright, brilliant light zoomed around the town, chasing off the dreaded creatures left and right. Each time though, more and more came.
Harry poured more and more power into his stag, directing it towards the crowds that threatened to be overrun by Dementors. The cold of the creatures bit into his skin, his glasses clouding with each breath. Desperation and despair seeped into Harry's bones and the adrenaline faded instantly, leaving him tired and broken as he struggled to maintain his stag. A burst of light in the corner of his vision and––
A Ceryneian Hind appeared. It was a Patronus –– though Harry had never seen one in the shape of a mythological creature –– and its antlers glowed golden. The Hind shoved at the Dementors near him and Harry straightened, energy filling his body. He didn't bother looking for whoever did it, deciding to thank them later and instead focus on his Patronus and the people that still needed to get out.
Anger welled inside him, frustration making him want to scream but he held back, looking for some way to get everyone out of here alive. Could he tear through the wards? Would that even work right now? Harry didn't know but it was the only plan he had. The wizard ordered his Patronus to chase off as many Dementors as possible and reluctantly turned away from the panicking crowd. Harry let out a bit of his magic, feeling for the wards. They were powerful, rushed but powerful. Whoever made them must've been cocky enough to think that no one would bother to try. Or stupid, probably stupid.
Harry felt for his magic, a well of raw, Light power with no bottom for miles that was one of the only things that had kept him alive for so long while in his cupboard, starving half to death every other day of the week. It roared like a lion and trilled like a Phoenix, warming his heart and a ghost of a smile shadowed Harry's lips. Harry summoned that familiar power, dragging as much of it to the surface as he possibly could and aiming it at the wards with a push of his arms.
After spending so much time fighting against Voldemort's forces, on the run, and as an Auror, Harry had adopted quite a few skills. One of his favorites though was sensing the magic around him. It was beautiful to see magic in its truest, purest forms; in the ways few others ever had the chance to see it. As far as Harry himself knew, Dumbledore was the only person that could do such a thing as it was a skill one had to be born with and hone over years of practice and experience.
Because of all this, he could see and feel the way his own magic tore through the wards and –– though it was a bit violent –– it was a gorgeous sight to see. Whoever cast the wards had to have been a Dark wizard or witch because of the way his magic reacted on impact with it and the way plumes of smoke seemed to fill the air. Harry was sure no one else could see it but he knew they sensed it, sensed the way Light and Dark magic (of what had to be two powerful people) collided and the aftermath broke through the battlefield like sirens. It was the first pop of Apparition that made Harry smile in relief as all of the others that were in the area quickly left as well, taking along with them their family and friends. Soon, no one but himself and the other individual that had the other fully formed Patronus were left fighting the Dementors and Harry grinned, the smile with just a little too much teeth as he charged into the hundreds of Dementors, Prongs right on his heels.
Exhilaration and a roar of adrenaline filled his ears, drowning out the cold that bit at his skin and the curious glances he got from the other wizard, dark red hair standing out amongst the cold darkness. Harry had always had a knack for dueling but over the years (especially with Auror training), he'd finally honed his skills and was not someone to be messed with on the battlefield. Prongs leapt from Dementor to Dementor, chasing off multiple at a time and, despite the strain of so many, only ever seemed to glow brighter with each of the shadowy creatures that fled.
Soon enough, they stopped coming and the amount of Dementors thinned to the point that the two Patronuses, tired and running off pure determination at that point, were able to ward them off together, working uncannily as one. When all had stopped and there was nothing but the roar of wind in Harry's ears and the magic, Dark and Light, that curled in the air, his adrenaline faded and panic started to set in.
He only knew the bare bones of what Death had been trying to push him into doing, having never taken the time to have it clarified since he never thought it'd actually happen. Harry sighed, anger and irritation welling in his chest as he glared at the sky. This is your fault, he wanted to say, knowing full well the skeletal git would've heard him just fine but the other wizard was starting towards him and he was looking at him a bit oddly. Sighing internally, Harry fixed a stiff smile on his face, knowing full well he looked like a poorly carved statue with how awkward he was.
The other wizard didn't look very wary, which Harry thought was a bit concerning since he himself certainly was and considering Harry was a complete stranger to the unknown man. If anything, the bloke just looked curious and mildly impressed. He stopped in front of him, the silence stretching awkwardly for a moment before he said, "I thought no one else was able to slip through the wards before they closed." Harry's brows furrowed. What was he talking about?
The still unnamed wizard with dark red hair and hazel eyes must've noticed his confusion and frowned slightly. "You are an Auror, aren't you? I mean, you're wearing the robes," he began just as more pops of Apparition filled the air and Harry's panic spiked the moment he realized he was outnumbered.
"Henry!" A voice called out in relief, jogging over to him. She had raven black hair and shared his hazel eyes. Judging by her bone structure, they might've been siblings but Harry wasn't sure. She frowned when she saw him, turning to Henry. "An Auror managed to slip through the wards? How? Not even we were quick enough to get through! We didn't even realize they'd fallen until the battle stopped," she said, glancing between them. Henry's frown deepened and his grip on his wand tightened. Harry bristled as he heard the sound of more footsteps coming their way.
"Isn't he an Auror?" Henry asked her, turning to Harry expectantly. His heart sped up and his panic blared in his ears but he was rooted to the spot, staring at the two for reasons he couldn't quite understand. The moment she shook her head, Henry was on the defensive, turning to him with suspicious eyes.
"Who are you?" He demanded, beginning to raise his wand when someone else called out.
"Henry!" A man with black hair and stormy grey eyes appeared, handsome features stretched into a grin that faltered when he saw Harry––
Sirius Black frowned. Harry stopped ignoring the warning bells in his head, turned heel, and ran, apparating away just as they called out to him.
"Wait––" But Harry was already gone.
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Sirius frowned, turning to his godson. "Who was that?" He asked curiously, fingers fiddling with his wand when Henry gave no answer. Sirius nudged him, raising an eyebrow when Henry blinked at him. "Well? Is he a new Auror or something? I don't think I've seen him before," he told Henry, and it was true, oddly enough. With all the Order's connections running through so many different parts of the Wizarding World, it was difficult not to know everyone going in and out of the Ministry these days.
Henry shook his head, mumbling something. Rose stomped on his foot, smirking when he cursed and glared at her. "Is he?" She prompted impatiently, tapping her foot against the stone pavement. Henry rolled his eyes.
"I don't know," he admitted reluctantly, going back to staring at the place the other wizard once occupied. "He felt familiar though," Henry conceded. Sirius snorted.
"'Course he did, pup. He looks exactly like Prongsy," Sirius pointed out, frowning again as he thought about it. Why did he look so much like James?
"Who looks exactly like me," James himself asked as he walked up to them. The three turned towards him and Henry explained, "The bloke that was just here. He was fighting off the Dementors. He had a stag Patronus and everything." Henry shook his head, bewildered. James frowned, looking concerned. "You should've seen it, dad," Henry started again with a grin. "Never seen a Patronus that looked so solid in my life!" Henry bounced on the balls of his feet, looking ridiculously excited. "Is he an Auror?" James shrugged though he still had a smile on his face, looking about as curious as his son. Sirius snorted.
"If he is, he's definitely young for an Auror. He didn't look much younger than you, Henry," Sirius mentioned, waving over the other Order members and Aurors that had arrived on the scene.
Henry gave his report, mentioned in as much detail as he could of what he knew of the mysterious hero, and they all went back to the Headquarters to discuss the most recent attack.
By the time all the leaders and original members had gotten to the Headquarters, Henry was already helping Marlene with trying to identify James' look alike. Marlene was really good at Divination and Mind Magics so Dumbledore decided she'd be the best for the job. Rose was conversing quietly with the leader of the American Order –– a tall, willowy woman of her early forties with dark skin and long braids –– as the two talked about any and all updates on the happenings in the US.
Nothing was getting too bad over there since You-Know-Who still had his main focus on Wizarding Britain but many of the nearby countries like France and Bulgaria were struggling with many attacks as well, from what Rose knew. The leaders of the French and Bulgarian Order were in the corner, looking exhausted and beaten as they discussed strategies and sharing what they knew.
Ever since You-Know-Who rose to power five years ago, the war he started against the world's Wizarding leaderships had quickly escalated into something far worse than what any of them had ever imagined. As his forces grew and he made alliances all over the world, the Order did as well. They had partnerships and alliances with most Wizarding governments (other than the few that sided with You-Know-Who) and had bases and Headquarters in nearly every influential country.
Everyone that joined the Order had to be considered an adult in whatever country they would be based in and went through a year of training, slowly being integrated deeper and deeper into the happenings of the war. Sometimes, the more talented Order members in other countries would be asked to join the British Order –– the main Order Headquarters as well as the largest of them –– and train under the official leaders of the entire Order of the Phoenix to help with the main battles in the country.
The Daily Prophet and the Ministry were currently milking whatever they could from the recent attack, leaning heavily on the fact that the famous Henry James Potter had saved the day yet again along with his mysterious friend. It had been confirmed that no one knew of any Auror anywhere who matched the description Henry gave so the James-look-alike was still an irritatingly unexplained mystery.
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Harry stared at the Elder Wand, patience slipping severely. "I know you can hear me, Death," he said through gritted teeth, gripping the precious wand so hard that distantly, he wondered if it'd snap. Harry could've sworn he saw it try to wiggle out of his grip when his hand tightened on the base of it and rolled his eyes. "Quit being so dramatic," he muttered bitterly, "You're an inanimate object."
And the wand slipped out of his hand, whacking one of his fingers and flying to a little corner of the woods he turned into a makeshift place to sleep. "Ow!" Harry cursed, rubbing his finger and glaring moodily at the sulking Elder Wand. "You're a brat," Harry growled. He could practically hear the wand's reply: I thought I was an inanimate object?
Harry was sorely tempted to snap the stupid, useless thing in half. He groped around, looking for his mokeskin pouch and digging inside for his tent, relieved that he'd taken it with him. Hermione, after the war, had bugged him and Ron about keeping things like the tent, his Invisibility Cloak, a spare wand, etc. with them at all times. Honestly, Harry was just glad that, unlike Ron and Hermione, he could keep it all in his mokeskin pouch.
It took him a bit to set up the tent, shuffling around quietly and tensing at every sound. He managed eventually and heavily warded the area in the most creative, complicated, undetectable ways he could think of with the little energy he had. Harry yawned, choking on it when he heard a hoot from behind him. The wizard whirled around, wand at the ready and eyes wide with alarm when he came across a familiar snowy white owl.
"Hedwid," Harry croaked, elation burning tears into the backs of his eyes. He grinned happily, petting her lovingly when she landed on his arm. She seemed a bit younger than she was last time he'd seen her so Harry concluded she was probably the Hedwig of this universe. His brows furrowed and he glanced at the note she clutched, plucking it from her and uncurling it.
Don't be mad at me.
Your friend, Death.
Harry scowled at the note, crumpling it and throwing it into the trees. He felt a great sense of disappointment, however, when the note flew right back into his face, nearly flying into his mouth. Harry sputtered indignantly, glaring at Hedwig when she hooted in amusement at his little predicament.
"Arsehole," Harry muttered bitterly, wondering distantly if he could burn it. A glance at Hedwig made him think better of it. If anything, Death would probably send another note made from water. That sounded like something the git would do.
Sighing, Harry turned to face the overdramatic Elder Wand and muttered, "Sorry." It was clipped, short, and mildly disbelieving. Harry still couldn't believe he was apologizing to an inanimate object but for everyone's sakes, he didn't say that out loud. The wand wiggled slightly but didn't move from its little corner of the tent. Harry's eye twitched and he sighed again. "I'm sorry for calling you an inanimate object, Elder Wand," he apologized unenthusiastically.
Be more sincere, the words rang through his head and he glared viciously at the wand. "That's the best you're going to get," he snapped, turning grumpily back to his bed to try and get some sleep. He'd deal with the wand in the morning.
Harry felt a nudge on his leg and looked down, seeing the wand. It looked… kind of ashamed. (Distantly, Harry wondered when his life got so depressing that he could recognize the emotions on a wand.) Opening his palm, the Elder Wand happily flew into it, wiggling as if to get comfy. Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring the little smile that played on lips and let the wand find a comfortable spot near his pillow.
He'd find a way home later. For now, Harry just wanted to rest.