Full Summary: AU, OoTP spoilers. Harry Potter is drawn into an alternate dimension where Voldemort never existed, and his other self is an ordinary boy, concerned more with Quidditch and parental scoldings than saving the world. Harry has few magical means of protection and no idea how to get back to his own world. When he does learn of one possible way, will he be able to resist the temptation to take it?

Brief Introductory Notes: Hello. Comments are welcome. Any constructive criticism and Brit-picking is fine (especially Brit-picking, because I know my grasp of it isn't nearly as fine as it should be, and I've only read American editions of the HP books). So are questions about how the plot will go, though I may not answer them.

Warnings for this one are solely for violence and gore, with any luck not too extreme. If you think Harry or any of the others are OOC, please tell me! I've tried to change Harry realistically as I think he would be changed after the events of OoTP, but I'm not sure how well I succeeded. Also, there are no pairings in this, het, saffic, or slash. I have nothing against well-written romances, but I don't want them in this fic.

Disclaimer: I own none of the HP characters or settings; those belong to the wonderful J. K. Rowling and her associates. No profit is being made from this.

The Best of All Possible Worlds

Chapter One: Storms

September 1, 1996

"Don't go outside tonight."

Harry Potter jumped and looked over his shoulder. He had been staring out the window over the lake and brooding about Sirius. He'd been doing it all summer, it was the day before classes started at Hogwarts, why should today be any different?

He'd expected someone to come along and give him a warning, since Ron and Hermione had picked up on his brooding and were all busy helpfulness. But the person standing behind him was so unexpected that it took him several blinks and stares to be sure that, yes, she was there.

"Professor Trelawney?" he asked.

Her hand gripped his shoulder, and her eyes, the least misty he'd ever seen them—except for when she was making that disturbing prophecy about Pettigrew—glared into his. "Don't go outside tonight," she repeated.

"Why?" Harry demanded, shrugging off her hand. He'd had people touching him all today, as though one touch on the shoulder could make up for everything. Besides, this was the woman who'd made two prophecies about his life, neither of which made him feel particularly friendly towards her. "What's outside?"

"Death."

Harry snorted, not even bothering to cover his mouth.

Trelawney glared at him. "I know whereof I speak, child," she intoned. "There is death waiting for you outside. Not the death of the body that I so often speak of to you, but death of the soul and spirit."

Harry shook his head. It would have been a bad idea if he'd still cared about class with the old bat, but he didn't, and he was sick and tired of whispers and touches and pitying looks. "You can't scare me anymore," he spat. "I've seen things that would make you faint and fall out of your tower. I've stood up to Umbridge, which was something you never did."

"How dare you!" Trelawney sounded much more like her normal self suddenly, and Harry was glad. Enough's changed. I don't want this to change, too. "Twenty points from Gryffindor!"

"Can you do that?" Harry asked with pretended interest. "Seeing as you're not a good teacher anymore, and you never really were, you old fraud?"

"Fifty points from Gryffindor!" Trelawney shrieked.

"Why not make it a hundred?" Harry asked. "One for every time you've predicted my death and been wrong?" He had stepped closer to her and rested his hand on his wand without even realizing what he was doing. He glared at her, chest heaving, almost hoping she would take the hundred points. Then he might hex her and feel better for it.

The thought of what Hermione would say about him hexing a teacher, even one as useless as Professor Trelawney, just made it all the easier to do.

Trelawney didn't say anything, and when Harry looked back at her, expecting to see her trembling and foaming at the mouth, he saw only an expression of desperate sadness instead. She actually reached out to him. Harry stepped backwards until his shoulders pressed against the wall. He didn't know what would happen if she touched him, but he didn't think he wanted to find out.

Trelawney pulled her hand back to her side and bowed her head. "I did warn you," she said. "Don't go outside tonight."

"Because my death awaits me there, of course," said Harry, in his best spooky voice.

Trelawney looked at him, said, "Yes, it does," and then turned and paced away.

Harry frowned and let go his grip on his wand. That was strange, he thought as he turned towards Gryffindor Tower. Unless this is just her new method of getting me to believe her ridiculous prophecies, of course.

Feeling considerably better now that he was thinking about it that way, Harry took one step, a second step, and would have taken a third one if he hadn't been stopped by a barked, "Potter!"

This is not my night for avoiding professors. Harry groaned under his breath as he turned back around. Snape stood behind him, black robes hunched around his shoulders exactly like a bat's wings.

He extended one hand until his finger appeared to point directly at Harry's face. "What are you doing here, Potter?"

"I wasn't hungry," said Harry.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "For what, I wonder?" he asked. "Your food or your fame? Your fan club appears to miss you, so perhaps it is not the latter."

Harry laughed.

Snape stared at him as if he had produced a frog from his nose. "And what was that for, Potter?" he asked finally, pronouncing each word distinctly.

"Your insults never change," said Harry, shaking his head. "You aren't as clever as you think you are, and I'm getting tired of dealing with you. Why were you ever put in Slytherin? Does it really take such a small amount of cunning that the Sorting Hat is satisfied if you can come up with one insult and stick to it?"

Snape's face turned several interesting shades. Harry watched him and grinned. This was much more fun than the shouting he'd done last year.

"Thirty points from Gryffindor," Snape hissed at last. "And I did not come to suffer your insults, Potter—"

"You looked as though you suffered from them pretty well," said Harry. Some reckless instinct pushed him to add, "The way that you suffered from my father taunting you, too. Is one more Potter too much for you?"

Snape closed his eyes, and stood still. Harry watched, his cheer swiftly ebbing away. Such a calmness could only mean an explosion that would probably put Gryffindor in negative points and result in the worst Potions classes yet. Harry had gotten enough O.W.L.'s to enter Potions, much to his amazed disgust.

Snape opened his eyes at last, and gave Harry a look of such hatred that he flinched. This wasn't hatred for James anymore; it was personal. Harry didn't know how he could tell the difference, or why it upset him so much, but he could and it did.

"I came to warn you," said Snape at last, voice on the edge of a whisper. "But why does it matter? Someone such as you are will probably take the chance and be glad of it."

He turned and swept down the stairs, robes billowing behind him. Harry watched him, and blinked.

That had sounded eerily similar to Trelawney's words. Could there be some danger lurking around the castle?

Harry snorted. "More likely he couldn't think of anything to respond with and just wanted to scare me," he said, marching towards the Tower.

The more he thought about that explanation, the better it seemed. By the time he reached the Tower, he was more than satisfied with it.

~*~

"Harry."

Harry opened one eye, blinked for a moment, and then reached for his glasses. The world around him rippled hazily into view, and he glanced at his fellow Gryffindor sixth-years, wondering who had wanted to wake him up.

No one, it seemed. There were four still boys and four snores, as usual. Harry frowned and looked out the window, wondering if this was someone's idea of a prank. He had already reached for his wand again. He really did want to hex someone. It would provide a satisfaction he thought could stand the loss of points.

There was no one visible, though. The lash of a lightning bolt made the darkness burn and Harry jump, and a moment later he heard the rain following. He relaxed marginally. If Trelawney really did want to convince me she was right, she could have just told me about the storm.

"Harry. Come back here right now." The voice was affectionate and scolding, and sounded as if it were right outside the window. "I told you that I wanted you to get to bed early tonight. The headmaster said we could Apparate in tomorrow. I've barely seen you all summer, what with Sirius's adventuring. Sit down, young man!"

Harry stared wide-eyed into the storm. This was a very odd prank, if it was a prank. He racked his brain for memories of a Dark creature who could imitate a voice like that, and then shrugged it off. He didn't even know the voice. What would be the point?

The storm seemed to pause, and the voice came through again, apparently answering an unheard complaint. "Because I am your mother, young man!"

Harry's breath hitched. He closed his eyes for a moment, and listened to the conscience that argued he should stay inside, not follow the voice, not be that stupid, not act the way he had when Sirius was killed.

But no one's going to get killed this time, he reasoned with himself. I'll take my Invisibility Cloak. I'll take my wand. I'd even take my Firebolt if it wasn't raining. I'll be careful this time.

I just have to know… Mum?

He pulled his Cloak free from his trunk, draping it swiftly over himself as Ron sat up in bed. The other boy blinked for a moment at his bed, and Harry held his breath. If Ron noticed he was missing, he would have to pop back out, and maybe not go at all.

"Harry!" The voice outside sounded truly exasperated now. Harry tried not to think that it might go away.

But Ron just mumbled something that sounded like "Transfiguration homework, bloody McGonagall…" and lay down again. Harry drew the curtains closed around his bed and started down the steps.

The Fat Lady opened for him, at least as sleepily as Ron had sat up. "Late to be going outside, isn't it, dear?" she mumbled.

"I'm just going for a walk," said Harry, and pulled the cloak over his head.

"Of course you are," she said, and fell asleep again.

Harry skittered through the halls, keeping a close eye on any shadows that moved. The very last thing he needed now was to run into Snape, or Malfoy, or even Dumbledore. Harry shuddered. Dumbledore might actually be worse. He'd take me up into his office for…for a chat, or something.

Harry still wasn't sure how he felt about the Headmaster's having kept the news of the prophecy from him for so long. Of course, he was angry. He was betrayed. But the conscience that had insisted on making itself heard more lately was wondering what else Dumbledore could have done. Wouldn't the news have crushed him even more if he knew it earlier?

But if I knew it, Sirius might not have died.

That was so far his one unanswerable argument. His conscience shut up, and Harry eased out into the storm.

It was even fiercer than he had thought it was. Lightning danced around him, flashing and dazzling him in and out of blindness until Harry pulled out his wand and whispered, "Lumos." That allowed him to see, but didn't do anything about the brutal rain soaking his cloak, or the wet grass that made him slip and scrabble across it. Harry was already cursing himself when he heard the voice again.

"Harry, get off that broom! If I have to tell you one more time to come inside and go to bed, then I am going to—"

The roar of the wind cut the words off, but Harry had had time to fix on them. They were coming from near the lake.

He hurried forward, no longer caring if Voldemort and a few Death Eaters were waiting for him. It would give him his opportunity to hex someone, and if Bellatrix Lestrange was there, Harry was almost sure he would get Crucio right this time.

The rain was pelting down so thickly now that Harry couldn't see more than a few feet ahead. He kept looking for a light, the glimpse of a black robe, a hissing snake, anything, and only darkness and silence answered him.

He just managed to stop himself from falling into the lake, and looked around, panting and gasping as rain hit him full in the eyes. His glasses were worse than useless now, and he pulled them off, wiping them.

Something spat and growled right above him. Harry looked up, gripping his wand, ready to see some beast out of the Forbidden Forest waiting for him.

He never knew later why he remembered it so clearly. It should have come too fast for him to see it. It was a bloody lightning bolt, after all.

But he had time to see the white expanding light of it, to trace the progress of the bolt as it leaped, to almost feel the searing pain that went through his body and his scar at the same moment before he collapsed into unconsciousness.