The Mudblood Chronicles

Summary: After dying during the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry finds himself in the future... where Hermione Granger has become the new Dark Lord, because the only person she ever loved, Harry Potter, had died.

A/N: This is an extension to the Harmony Discord Tuesday Drabble posted 09/09/20. I have also, unfortunately, got stuck after reaching a 20k word count, but I've decided to just post what I have anyway.

Chapter One

The Time Traveller

Harry Potter was sprawled across the rock-hard earth of the forest floor, his face pressed against the dirt, the smell of death filled his nostrils as he tried to breath. Everything was cold, from the ground he lay on, to the tattered robes that clung to his body and the coolness of the hinge of his glasses, digging into his nose. His body ached all over, his chest felt heavy, his legs had pins and needles, his arms were numb and right in the square of his torso, where the Killing Curse had hit, was burning him.

At first, he did not move. He didn't even know if he could move. He half anticipated the sound of celebration echoing around him, or at least some form of recognition that he had been killed, once and for all. But his ears met silence. In fact, because such a long time passed without sound through the evening air, he began to wonder if he could hear anything at all.

He tried his luck and barely opened one eye to assess the scene. His line of sight was limited, he could only see one side of the clearing from where he lay, but to his great surprise, what he could see, was emptiness. Where there were once lines of Death Eaters, and a half-giant tied to a tree, there was now nothing.

It's a trick, Harry thought to himself, the one eye he had open was scanning around for a sign, any sign, that there were still rings of enemies surrounding him. Don't get up.

He closed his eye, dared to tilt his head in the dirt ever so slightly, and opened his other eye, searching the opposite side of the clearing. Again, no one. There was no Lord Voldemort, no Bellatrix Lestrange and no hoard of Death Eaters advancing on his position, hoping for the news of his death. But then he had the horrible thought of, what if they were simply hiding beyond the tree line, waiting to jump out at him when he moved, and yell surprise.

He had the horrible picture in his head of Voldemort jumping out from behind a tree and saying 'boo' before coming to realise how silly that was. And after much deliberation, Harry decided to move, at least as much as he could. If his movement was going to trigger some sort of reaction, then he would rather it happen sooner rather than later.

He groaned and moaned and pushed himself up into a sitting position. His limbs creaked like they hadn't moved in years; his arms shook dangerously under his own weight and his head was spinning like crazy. And yet, when he opened his eyes and looked around, the forest remained still, quiet and unmoved. However long-ago Voldemort and his gang had been there, they weren't there now, and they had gone believing Harry was dead, not even bothering to take his body with them.

Another scenario played out inside Harry's head as he scrambled to his feet. Perhaps he was actually dead? It seemed illogical that someone as theatrical as Voldemort wouldn't parade Harry's dead body around with him, proving once and for all that only he, and he alone, is untouchable. And so, if Harry was no longer alive, is the Forbidden Forest considered heaven to be in or hell? Could he find his way out to Hogwarts and stay there forever? Because that would be his ideal version of heaven, walking those hallways for eternity with his best friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.

His stomach turned over at the thought of them, as if he's missed a step going down the flight of stairs. He didn't care if he was dead and this was heaven or hell, he just hoped that they had managed to survive, and finish what he'd started. He tried not to cry, but he couldn't help himself; his emotions were running high, he was in pain with every step he took and the thought of his friends dying as well was too much.

He reached for his cheek and wiped a tear away. He looked down at his finger, the water was real, he could feel it. If he was dead, he wouldn't be able to cry, to hurt or to feel the solid ground beneath his feet. He wouldn't have had difficulties breathing or struggled to walk under heavy legs or experience the sensation of tingles running up and down his arms.

He was still living.

As Harry struggled his way through the forest, stumbling from one tree to the next, he wondered what use he would be if he discovered the Battle of Hogwarts was still raging on. He wasn't exactly in fighting shape. However, before now he had not even noticed that, to his great surprise, the Invisibility Cloak and his wand still, somehow, remained in his possession beneath his tattered robes.

What exactly had happened to him back in that clearing?

Harry finally began to see the gaps between the trees widening, he was reaching the edge of the forest, and yet his ears were telling him the opposite story to what he had imagined. He had assumed, perhaps selfishly, that his death would have triggered the resumption of the fighting between the two parties. Instead, the air remained as silent as it had when he had been deep in the forest, and when he finally broke the tree line, his eyes couldn't believe it.

The grounds of Hogwarts were empty. There were no bodies. There was no blood. If there had been a war here, it had been over long ago, almost forgotten. The place was flourishing with pure green grass, blooming flowers, twittering birds and early morning owls. The castle itself was completely intact, which in itself was baffling, because the last time Harry had seen it, and entire wing had been in ruins after being trampled on by giants.

What was going on? Perhaps he was dead.

Harry was caught in his trance, he was staring unblinkingly up at the castle, but somewhere he heard barking echoing in his head, and the ground began to shake. It brought him out of his deep reverie, he looked around aimlessly, two familiar shapes came bounding towards him, one brandishing its teeth and the other a crossbow.

'Oi!' came a deep booming voice, as the figures approached at a threatening pace. 'What're think yeh doin'? Out o' bed, this time o' the mornin' and comin' out o' the forest no less!'

'Hagrid?'

Harry's voice faltered. It was dry, hoarse, and almost unrecognisable. The half-giant didn't even register who he was.

'An' look at the state o' yeh!' Hagrid went on, thrusting the crossbow towards him. 'Jus' what 'ave yeh been doin', huh? What's yeh excuse? It'd better be good, or the Headmistress will be given' yeh detention! Best hope yeh not Pureblood. Who are yeh, anyway?'

'Hagrid it's me,' Harry said a little bit more clearly, taking a small step forward as the dog began barking again, 'Harry Potter—'

'Rubbish,' Hagrid said dismissively, 'don' be soilin' a good man's name. Tell me who yeh are before I hand yeh over—'

'Hagrid, it's me,' Harry said desperately, his looked down at the dog, 'at least Fang remembers me.'

Harry took a half-step towards the dog, went to reach forward and scratch it behind the ear, when it lunged out towards him and started barking again. It only didn't attack because Hagrid was able to pull the large beast backwards and away. But Harry's words seemed to sit with the half-giant, who was eyeing him up and down suspiciously.

'How do you know about Fang?' he asked curiously, Harry wished he would lower that crossbow.

'What do mean how do I know?' Harry asked with a laugh, pointing to the dog. 'He's right there.'

'Tha's not Fang,' Hagrid said boisterously, 'tha's Harold that is. An' jus' like me, he has no idea who yeh are. So, spill!'

'Harold?' Harry said, looking down at the dog in confusion. 'What happened to Fang—? Wait, Harold… you named your new dog after me? Hagrid, what's going on?'

Hagrid was gripping the crossbow rather firmly now. He was looking Harry up and down a lot. Obviously, he was having a difficult time coming to terms with the fact that he was suddenly standing with someone who both looked and sounded a lot like the late Harry Potter.

'Alrigh',' Hagrid said, swallowing hard, 'if yeh are who you say yeh are, then, yeh'd be able ter tell me something only the real Harry would know.'

Harry blinked. What was going on? How long had he been left to lie dead in the forest? Had people forgotten about him? Moved on? What had this world become? Perhaps he was dead. Or at least, still dreaming, and he was really back in that clearing, barely clinging to life. The only way he was going to find out answers, was if he could convince the people he loved that he was still alive, and that whatever war they were still fighting, they now had him.

'Do you still have a Hippogriff called Witherwings?' Harry asked curiously, looking intently at Hagrid for his reaction. 'Or should I say Buckbeak?'

There was the faintest of reactions from Hagrid, whose eyes widened slightly, and mouth opened ajar, but he shook his head and waved away the thought.

'A lot o' people know that now,' he said dismissively, 'that all came out after the war—'

'After the war?' Harry asked quietly. 'So, the war is over then? Is Voldemort dead? What about Ron and Hermione—?'

Hagrid shuddered, gasped, and then looked around quickly. It was like he was expecting something horrible to converge on their position, but when nothing happened, he snapped his head back around at Harry and raised his crossbow again.

'Yeh can' be goin' around sayin' that name!' Hagrid said, his voice booming loudly. 'Yeh lucky yeh at Hogwarts, or a snatcher'd be all over yeh! Idiot! Everyone knows that. Yeh'd have to be livin' in a cave to not know that—'

'Or dead,' Harry said, gesturing to himself, 'come on Hagrid, you know it's me, you have to know it's me, how else would I know about Buckbeak, or Fang, or Fluffy, or Norbert, or Aragog, or those damned Blast-Ended Skrewts—?'

Hagrid wailed. He dropped his crossbow, stooped down and pulled Harry in a rib cracking hug, whilst he began to sob into Harry's shoulder. If it wasn't all so emotional, Harry would have called him a little pathetic, but given the situation, he patiently patted him on the back.

'Harry!' he said miserably, as Harry struggled to hold his weight. 'Yer back! Yer finally back!'

'Hagrid,' Harry said, attempting to push the half-giant off of him, 'could you please tell me what's going on?'

Hagrid shuffled backwards and stood back up to his full height, his giant dustbin hand wiping away a tear from his cheek. He beamed Harry up and down, before quickly looking back towards the castle and then bending down to pick up his crossbow.

'Not here, Harry,' he said desperately, shuffling forwards, 'c'mon, if they hear yeh sayin' her name—'

'Her name?' Harry asked curiously, as Hagrid began to push him towards his hut.

'Harry, please. I'll tell yeh everythin'.'