I do not own any of the source material for this story. Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated.

…

Scilly Isles, Great Britain, April of 2001

Harry felt warm air around his face. He seemed to be lying on a hard, rough surface, judging from the killer ache in his back and his head. A musty smell filled his nostrils, which didn't help his dizziness. Why was he dizzy if he was on his back? He tried to move, to open his eyes, but found that he couldn't. He felt tired and sluggish, as though he'd run a marathon. It took him a moment to remember where he was and what had happened. Then it all came rushing back in a torrent of vivid memories.

The darkness. Dormammu. The fiery entity. Teddy… Teddy!

Adrenaline surged through Harry's veins, like fire on a gas line, and he sprang up, glancing about frantically. The dizziness faded. He was still in Teddy's room at Potter Manor, as far as he could tell, but something was wrong. Yes, there were the same sky-blue walls, only the paint had cracked and faded, leaving the bare stone underneath exposed. The same cradle-bed where Teddy now lay sleeping peacefully was there too, but the wood looked decayed, the sheets and pillows ratty and frayed. The soft carpet floors were gone too. Looking out the window he saw that the glass was cracked and dull, but the same view was still visible; the blue waters of the North Atlantic surrounding a green landmass with white sand beaches, with several neighbors on the horizon. The sun shone brightly, the source of the warm light that had woken him.

Potter Manor had been built in the Scilly Islands, a British territory southwest of Cornwall. His parents had moved here just after his grandparents died only to leave the prominent home behind when they learned of the prophecy, a month after Harry was born. They'd hidden in Godric's Hollow under various protective spells, but they'd been found within six months. They'd changed hiding places three more times before returning to the cottage where he was born, intending to rely on the Fidelius Charm. They'd been betrayed within a week…

Harry hastened to Teddy's now decrepit bed and scooped the toddler into his arms, checking for signs of injury or distress. Aside from his hair turning white, however, which Harry recognized as the young metamorph's universal signal of displeased surprise, he looked perfectly fine. After a few minutes Teddy's hair began to fade to the mousy brown that was its default, and Harry reluctantly set him down to examine himself. The fake Moody in his fourth year had once told him that it was always wise to examine your own appearance if you woke up in an unfamiliar location and weren't sure how you got there, because it was the easiest way to determine whether you were in possession of all your faculties. It struck Harry as an odd lesson at the time, but his experiences during the war had shown him it was a good rule of thumb.

Potter men, he knew, usually did not go through their major growth spurts until their late teens, as had been the case with both him and his father, but Harry had been much too scrawny for most of his Hogwarts years. During his sixth year he'd secretly used the heavily modified recipes in his graffitied copy of Advanced Potion Making to brew himself a course of corrective potions that had cured him of the lingering effects of his upbringing with the Dursleys (Snape's portrait had smirked at him when he thanked it through gritted teeth in lieu of the dead professor). After the war ended Harry had gone into the muggle world and had his eyesight corrected by laser surgery. He'd also taken to working out and learning magical martial arts, to varying degrees of success.

Now Harry stood at 6 feet tall and weighed 180 lbs., built rather like a swimmer, similar to how Remus had looked, minus the grey hairs. The mess that was his jet-black hair now appeared more artfully disheveled than ratty, and he'd been told that his emerald green eyes had a piercing quality to them, not unlike Dumbledore's. His determination to stay fit had resulted in a respectably toned, muscular body, but the various scars he'd accumulated throughout the war resisted all attempts to heal them, since they'd been inflicted by dark magic, so he relied on glamour charms only he could see through to avoid drawing attention to them outside the wizarding world.

He wasn't a bodybuilder, but more than one muggle had offered him a position as a photography model, though he'd declined every time. He'd had quite enough of people ogling him in person, thank you very much. Pictures of him that would wind up on display in clothing stores where anyone could see them? Forget it.

As he examined himself, Harry realized at once that the surroundings weren't the only thing that had changed. As he clenched his right hand, he found to his surprise that the scar of I must not tell lies was gone. Not concealed by his glamour, but replaced with smooth and undamaged skin, as though he were a newborn baby. Almost on reflex he checked his other hand and found that it too was unblemished. Harry whirled around and dashed for the nearest bathroom. The wooden door, he noticed, was decayed and creaked loudly on its hinges. The bathroom looked as though it hadn't been updated at all in the last century. Staring into the cracked mirror Harry took in his own slightly disheveled appearance. Pulling his shirt off, he saw that the glamours he wore on a daily basis were gone. Instead of scars, however, he saw healthy, undamaged skin.

The burn over his heart inflicted by the locket Horcrux? Gone. The snake bite from Nagini? Vanished. The spot on his right arm where he'd been stabbed by the basilisk fang? Like it never even happened. In fact, it looked as though he'd been cleansed of the remnants of every single injury he'd ever endured, right down to his broken nose from all the times Dudley had punched him in the face.

Well, almost all of them. Only one mark remained.

Harry supposed it was rather petty of him to get upset over it. The lightning bolt scar left behind by Voldemort's failed Killing Curse was the one injury he'd been the most desperate to get rid of, yet not even absorbing an incomprehensibly powerful cosmic entity and transporting himself through space and time to who knew where had done the trick. Perhaps if he'd had better control of the power?...

The scar had once been dark red, as though the cut was infected, which he supposed it had been. After the destruction of the soul shard within it had faded to a soft, burnt pink like a normal scar. Now it was pure white and thinner than ever, so that it was almost invisible against his fair complexion, especially from a distance. That at least, he had to admit, was an improvement. Harry studied his reflection for a moment longer and noticed a healthy glow in his skin that hadn't been there before. He felt… renewed.

Satisfied, Harry put his shirt back on and went back to Teddy's room. Leaning over the toddler's bed, he saw that his godson was beginning to stir. Teddy had his mother's heart shaped face and his father's honey brown eyes and mousy hair, but he changed the colors with his metamorphosing so often that they were usually only visible when he slept.

From what Harry had read about metamorphmagi, they gained control of their shapeshifting abilities as they aged in the same way that all human children learned to speak. As newborns the ability was completely uncontrollable, and they changed appearance constantly. As they grew up their hair and eye color would shift based on mood or the appearance of the person who held their attention, though the meaning of each color varied between individuals. By the age of seven they could switch between colors and make minor adjustments to at will. Most metamorphmagi could make themselves look however they wanted by age eleven, though maintaining an altered appearance was still difficult. The ability refined itself further throughout adolescence until they had full control over every aspect of their appearance, save their age. However, control could be completely lost when they experienced powerful or turbulent emotions.

Harry remembered all too well how Tonks had been affected by her attraction to Remus and his initial refusal to be with her because of his condition, and she was an adult who'd already mastered her powers.

Harry flicked his arm, summoning his wand from its undetectable holster, and prepared to cast a few diagnostic spells to make sure all was truly well. That was when he noticed something that made him stop cold. The wand in his hand did not feel as warm and familiar as it should have. Instead it felt, there was no other word for it, scared. It took Harry a moment to realize why.

It was only after Voldemort's final defeat that Harry realized just how debilitating the soul fragment in his scar had been. It was like having a metal spike stuck in his head, and he'd lived with the pressure so long that he didn't know how painful it was until it had gone. He'd been able to think more clearly than before, and magic had become much easier. With that clarity came an improved ability to control his emotions, which made it easier for him to learn Occlumency. He no longer had to worry about trips into Voldemort's head, but that didn't change the fact that he was privy to sensitive information that a Legilimens could pry from his mind. That didn't mean that Occlumency was suddenly easy though; on the contrary, his shields were the product of years of hard work. He'd also gained a burning new desire to master magic. Before, he had nothing but Voldemort in his future, and he hadn't expected to survive into adulthood. With the threat of the dark lord gone he was free to pursue his dreams and be who he wanted to be.

Examining his own magic with his improved senses, Harry noticed right away that something had changed. Drastically. In his studies, Harry had found he had a particular talent for fire magic, but that didn't account for the blazing fireball that appeared in his mind's eye. Where before he perceived his magical aura as a green and gold nimbus of warm light, he now saw a miniature sun. There was so much energy flowing through him it was a wonder he didn't spontaneously combust with it. He knew with utter certainty that if he tried to use a wand, the power would overwhelm and destroy it. Harry exited the self-examination trance and eyed his wand. It had been broken once before, and it had felt like losing a friend, or a limb. He would not let that happen again, even if it was now unusable.

Returning the wand to its holster, Harry raised his right hand and made a complicated little motion with his fingers. This type of magic was the easiest to perform wandlessly, after all. An aura of golden light swept its way over Teddy like a radar scanner, and Harry was relieved to find that nothing was highlighted. His godson was perfectly healthy, but Harry was confused. He distinctly remembered that particular spell producing blue light...

Teddy opened his eyes, which almost instantly turned to the exact shade of green as Harry's, while his hair turned black. In spite of everything, that made Harry smile slightly. "Hawy?" Teddy murmured.

"Morning, Teddy," Harry said quietly. He had no idea what time it was, so it was entirely possible that it wasn't morning at all. For all he knew, this version of Earth, for he had no doubt that he'd brought himself and Teddy into a parallel dimension, was a nightmare-scenario ruled by a dystopian government. With his luck…

"Wha happened? Why was it dawk?"

Harry's heart sank. Teddy had woken up a second or two before the Phoenix entity appeared, which meant that he'd glimpsed the encroaching power of Dormammu. It would have been so much easier if Teddy hadn't remembered. Better to save that conversation for when he was older. "I don't know," he hedged.

Teddy looked unconvinced, so Harry hastily changed the subject, scooping the toddler into his arms and leaving the room. Three-year-olds, even three-year-olds capable of forming complete sentences, were easily distracted. Teddy was immediately curious as to why the house was suddenly decrepit, but Harry was saved the effort of explaining that when he got them outside. Teddy wandered about in the slightly overgrown grass of the front lawn, quickly going into self-entertainment mode. Harry was reluctant to test his suddenly super-easy wandless magic on his godson, but he couldn't let him wander around unsupervised. At the same time, he had to take stock of their surroundings.

Harry knew that the real reason wandless magic was so difficult was because one had to concentrate the energy for the spell through sheer force of will, without the aid of a wand to focus the spell into the desired shape and location. That led to slower and less efficient spellcasting, and complex curses with convoluted effects, like the nasty purple one Dolohov had used to defeat Hermione in the Department of Mysteries, simply would not work. It was the difference between trying to paint with a brush and with one's fingertips. Still, it looked as though wandless magic was his only option now. After a moment's consideration, Harry decided that recon could wait.

He spent the next few hours entertaining Teddy, deliberately exhausting him. It wasn't easy, since Teddy was an energetic toddler, but Harry managed. Once Teddy started complaining, he knew he'd done enough. Harry reached beneath the collar of his shirt and pulled out his mokeskin pouch, a birthday gift from Hagrid. Reaching inside he pulled out a shrunken trunk, set it on the ground, and muttered a command word. Instantly the trunk expanded to full size. Harry touched the keyhole with the tip of a finger, and the lock clicked open.

A Summoning Charm ought to be safe enough. Sure enough, when Harry used the spell his tent shot out of the bottomless trunk and into his arms. Laying it out on the ground, he pulled a curious Teddy away and muttered "Erecto." Instantly the tent sprang up and assembled itself. It looked barely large enough for two people, but when Harry led Teddy inside, they walked into a spacious apartment with cloth walls and comfortable furniture.

First order of business: food. Harry had become rather paranoid about the possibility that he'd have to go on the run after the Battle of Hogwarts, so he, Ron, and Hermione had together purchased and enchanted trunks and tents that would be the ultimate survival tools. Granted, Hermione had done most of the enchantments, but Harry helped where he could. A few ingredients summoned from his trunk (thank Merlin for preservation charms), gratuitous use of duplication charms, and some fiddling with the stove later he'd cooked up a modest meal for himself and his godson. When they finished, Teddy's eyes began to droop. Harry led him to bed and read him to sleep.

When he walked outside the tent, Harry noticed that the sun was getting lower in the sky. He was tired and relying entirely on Occlumency to keep his emotions in check, but he still had work to do. He spent the next few hours testing his altered magic. He'd never attempted to create protective wards without a wand, and by all rights he should not have been able to. Yet, impossibly, it only took an hour or so of practice to figure out how to cast wandless versions of the spells he needed. Eventually he managed to wrap the tent in a veil of silence, camouflaged it, and covered the space around it in a defensive barrier.

Once he was finished, night had fallen, revealing that it was a waning crescent moon. That was fortunate, since Teddy was physically unable to sleep during the full moon. That odd quirk, along with the superior senses of a wolf, were the only side effects of having a werewolf father, for which Harry was extremely grateful. He walked back inside the tent, collapsed into his own bed without changing, and relinquished his Occlumency.

The gravity of his situation crashed down on him, and grief clenched his heart. His entire world was dead, or worse. Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, Hagrid, Ginny, and everyone else who had survived the war against Voldemort, along with the rest of the planet, the entire dimension, all gone. Harry buried his face in his pillows and began to weep.

...

Heimdall watched the Phoenix host struggle to secure himself on Midgard. The young man seemed to have the gift of magic, and the Phoenix Force had altered and strengthened it. Interestingly, the host had a young child with shapeshifting abilities, though Heimdall had the impression they weren't actually related by blood. Odin had tasked him with watching the Phoenix's Chosen One and getting his measure. Asgard would not interfere unless it was absolutely necessary to do so. Heimdall could sense that the host was not native to this reality. He was lost with a child and new powers he did not fully understand, grieving for a lost world. He was tempted to use the Bifrost to bring them to Asgard, but he didn't think the host would appreciate that just now.

Kamar-Taj Compound, Kathmandu, Nepal, April of 2001

The Ancient One surfaced from the Eye of Agamotto, shaking her head to dispel lingering visions of the future. His mere presence had upset the timeline, and certain possibilities that would not come for years yet had been accelerated, while others had been erased and replaced by new ones. Nearly a week had passed since the Phoenix Force's Chosen One arrived in this dimension, but the strain of the journey had rendered him and his progeny comatose until now. This was the first time since their arrival that she'd dared use the Eye to look into possible futures. What she'd seen filled her with terror and hope in equal measure. One thing was certain; the Phoenix host was a fundamentally good man, but he was hurting deeply. He had lost everything and had a young child to care for. He needed her help just as badly as she needed his.

She replaced the Eye of Agamotto on its pedestal, sent word to Masters Mordo and Hamir that she was leaving, and donned her Sling Ring. Taking a deep breath, her thoughts set swirling by what she was about to do, she conjured a portal to the Scilly Islands and stepped through. Slowly.