The winding road leading down the cliff-side was surprisingly clear of both ice and snow, something that Harry had been thankful for. Though, The ground was much less white than that of the cascade of snow he had been greeted with when he had first awoken from, with the temperature rising quite a bit from the bone chilling cold Harry had walked down from the mountain, the ground becoming a more familiar green and brown that he was more used to in his time of traveling around England, Wales, and Scotland during the war.

With the slow departure of the cold leaving his body, the strain of everything was coming to bare down on both his body and mind in full force, an all too familiar feeling that Harry had mastered in ignoring. While it would have been nice to simply make some sort of makeshift shelter and collapse, Harry still had too many unknown factors to deal with before he could even start thinking about resting... Starting with this little village.

He was close now, the buildings that had appeared as but little outlines at the top of the mountain pass had now finally begun to take shape. Harry felt his body sag slightly in relief, as the first building on the outskirts of the village was obviously a petrol station. A muggle village was much easier to hide in than a wizarding one. The petrol station looked thankfully empty, as Harry couldn't spot any cars parked at the pumps themselves, or at the sides of the building. The lights overhead on the pumps roof gave off a soft orange glow, easily illuminating the pumps, but the building – a small shop - was dark, the only lights that were on was the line of refrigerators in the back. There was no-one inside, the station looking like it was closed for the night.

Good.

Harry took his time in his approach, his eyes scanning about for any sign of someone that could be milling about in the late hour, or taking a midnight drive through the streets. The village itself wasn't too terribly far away, and while the size of the village was rather small, or from at least what he could see from his way down into the valley before the trees had begun to block his view. Harry still didn't want to take any chances, slowing his steps to a crawl as he approached the empty petrol station.

The lightly glowing Esso sign was a familiar sight, but one that didn't exactly narrow it down much. The shop itself was rather simple, two big glass windows with a matching pull glass door. The lower walls that held the windows were painted a dull white, with the lower section of the wall having more than a few noticeable cracks, with nothing else of note. A splattering of advertisements of brands and products were practically smeared over the windows, covering the view inside almost completely. The glass door was thankfully spared, allowing him to see a bit more clearly. While the inside of the shop was almost completely dark, a small bit of light from the refrigerators reflected the shiny floor, allowing him to make out a few bits and bobs – mainly snacks and other small things - that lined the few shelves within. However, there was little else that Harry could see, and so he turned away from the shop, his focus turning elsewhere.

Harry had walked back toward the road, his eyes gazing more toward the village itself. The buildings that lined the road were sparse, mainly small, bricked, box-shaped houses that had seen much better days. The small yards that were barely fenced – if at all - were becoming completely overgrown, the bricks that tried poorly to convey themselves as walls were incredibly faded looking, as if the merest bit of force could just crumble them to dust. The dim street lamp lights didn't help, giving them a pitiful look of age. The roofs upon these homes were little better. The dark shingles looked ready to collapse upon those that lived inside, a lot of them looking cracked with a few missing in places here and there.

Harry took careful measure of the windows and doors of the houses, making sure that as he passed each one that the windows held no light, nor were they open to hear him lightly step his way down the street. As he walked, Harry felt his instincts rearing it's ugly head, always looking toward any advantageous position if he found himself in a middle of a Death Eater ambush. Yet, at the same time, a part of him felt... uncaring. He was already ready to die once, so what if he had met his fate here?... if here was even part of reality, anyway. It looked convincing enough, but he still wasn't fully sure if he was back in the land of the living just yet. For all he knew, this was an elaborate stage that the Veil had setup for reasons unknown. It also wasn't like he could fight back, anyway. He didn't have his wand, and he doubted he could fight off a band of Death Eaters without one.

His brows furrowed as he made his way to the end of the street, which the only building that stood out to him before the road turned and disappeared behind it was a small warehouse that had bundles of stacked pallets, with a few stacks painted a bright blue, stacked within it's chain link fenced yard. The warehouse was in a surprisingly better condition than those before it; maybe having been built a more recently, or better maintained because of it's use and the money to do more upkeep. There wasn't much to say about it, but there was a rather crucial bit of information that was placed on a sign above one of the warehouse doors:

Gardale Lumber Recovery – Pallets/CHEP – Direct Residential/Commercial LTL shipment!

Gardale... maybe the owners name? The villages name itself? Harry didn't pass by any road markers as he walked into town, so this was one of the only pieces of information he had gotten. It was a start, but he was more unsure about everything than he was before. Why this place-

Harry sighed heavily. His legs automatically carrying him onward, there was no point in thinking in circles. He needs more information, then he can try and decipher the whole point of this is. Again, he thought, this could just be one big ruse for his dead soul. There was no point in dwelling in the small details until he could find a big one to connect them too.

So, he walked on.

Harry noticed that the further he went into town, the more dense it became. Yards turned into lots, the houses becoming more clean and well kept, with the shops that dotted between them were more mundane retail chains that didn't help him. However, as he walked closer to the village center, a peculiar stand stood out to him. It looked like a newspaper stand, or maybe a magazine stand at the least.

As he strode over to the closed up stand, he could spot a small display box on the side of the stand; papers still filled within. The owner might have forgotten to empty it after his shift, but his small mistake meant the world to Harry. As he got closer, he could make out that the box actually was a newspaper holder, a small thought going through his mind.

'How long have I been gone?'

It was... a strange, but needed question. It was the 23rd of May, if he remembered correctly. Before he could think on it any further, his eyes gazed down at the newspaper, his eyes flicking toward the top. In big, bold letters read:

Irish Independent

The next block down, read the headline:

New attack by loyalist bombers is feared

Harry looked questionably at the paper. He was in Ireland?... at least, wherever this village was had Irish newspapers, and bomber attacks? A odd feeling crypt up in his chest, something telling him something wasn't right. He knew for a fact that the Veil absolutely wasn't just a simple portal to a different part of the world, as he was sure if that had happened Sirius would have came back to him... hopefully. Yet, as his eyes gazed upward once more, he felt his lips frown in confusion.

The date read May 23rd, 1994...

"What?" Harry whispered aloud, unsure of what to think. It was obviously an old print, but what was it doing sitting here, 17 years later? Did the owner just not care about it? He must of, as he could see the coin slot wasn't blocked, and there was still quite a few papers stacked in the back, meaning some unsuspecting person could try and get the day's newspaper, only to be greeted with... this. No, no... that doesn't make sense. Someone would have said something, and there would have been no way they could have kept all of the papers for 17 years...

A pit began to form in his stomach. Something was deeply, deeply wrong here. Just the mere thought that Voldemort was... was alive. No. He refused to think of that.

His mind turned back toward when he had first appeared here. The Mirror, the flashing colors that had enveloped him in the darkness... there had to be an answer here somewhere. The date itself had to be a clue, but Harry could only draw blanks to it. It was nearing the end of his third year, exams were just around the corner. He tried to think of anything that had happened then, but it was so long ago that many of his memories of before the war felt like a lifetime ago. No matter how hard he tried, his mind came up with nothing. What could it mean, then? If the date wasn't the clue, then why show him this?... then again, this might not mean anything at all. He had entered the Veil on the same day, and could just be his fragmented, dying mind had cobbled together in his last moments, but even now he still felt like he wasn't truly dead. Whatever happened after the Veil, he was still very much alive, somehow.

Once again, Harry felt like he was fumbling in the dark. More questions had bubbled up before even one was answered, and now he was unsure of what to do next. Harry sighed sharply, looking upward from the questionable newspaper and toward the empty village center. He wasn't sure of the exact time, but from how long it took him down here and with the moon still high in the sky, he would have a few hours before the first rays of the sun would appear over the horizon. His body felt heavy, his mind and energy drained, everything seemingly catching up with him at that exact moment.

Maybe a bit of rest would do him some good. He could think about what to do next.

Looking to his right, a small, darkened alleyway between the two shops that were behind the newsstand would have to do. It wouldn't have been the first time Harry had to sleep in such conditions, and he doubted it would be the last.

Taking a few precautionary measures, he checked out his resting spot for anything that might bug him during his rest, but thankfully there wasn't anything that stood out to him. A singular tin bin was the only thing in the alleyway, with the other end opening up to the next street over. Sitting down on one side of the tin, Harry tried his best to get himself comfortable, but there wasn't much comfort in the cold, hard ground and the a cold metal can to rest against. Still, even with that, Harry was simply too exhausted not to slip into an uneasy sleep.

Harry dreamed of nothing. It was always a blessing when his mind finally managed to shut away the war for once, letting his always tired body a few hours of rest. He didn't think there was ever enough sleep to remove the deep exhaustion he had gained over the years, the everyday discomfort was much a part of him now as was the scar on his forehead. He had wondered in the later part of the war, when he still had that sliver of hope, that once he had killed Voldemort for good, could he ever sleep like he did at Hogwarts ever again? It was one of the few places he had ever felt having a full nights rest, waking up the next morning not feeling like death. It was such an alien memory to think about, when he didn't have to be constantly on the move with – at best – four or less hours of sleep. He had gotten so used to it, that it was difficult to even think about the time before-

A harsh sound of a door slamming shut pierced the air. Harry jolted upright, his eyes wide and alert, his back and head sharply protesting the sudden movement, but he ignored the feeling. Did Death Eaters managed to track him down again? His hand immediately going to his wrist to grab at his wand, only to make his heart jump into his throat as he felt nothing. What happened to his wand?! Where was-!...

Then, as sudden as his awakening, Harry remembered. The Mirror, the lake, the village; the alley...

Right. He fell asleep here.

Voldemort was dead, along with his damned Death Eaters.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down, Harry slowly looked toward each entrance of the alleyway, the light of the sun barely illuminating the streets. It was still as quiet as it was last night, whoever had made the noise disappearing into one of the shops beside him. It still seemed a bit too early for the small village to be awake, with only a few exceptions getting their shops ready for the day. Carefully Harry stood up from the ground, his body aching slightly at the stiff feeling felt throughout his body, one of the small "perks" of sleeping against and on hard objects. He gently brushed off a few pieces of dirt, but was rather a motion of instinct rather than cleanliness as his pants were still as heavily stained and dirty as they ever were.

Harry took a few moments to steady himself before he walked toward the entrance of the alleyway, stopping just before to check out the streets. He slowly looked out from the alleyway, the sidewalks and streets just as devoid as life as last night, the only thing that was different was...

The newspaper display box was open, the papers from last night now gone.

Harry stared at the open case, a feeling of uneasiness began to creep up in his body. Why would someone care to take those old papers?

The door next to him slammed open, making Harry jump back into the alleyway to hide himself.

"Good for nothing lazy arse... gonna have to talk with the little bastard when he gets back here tonight..." A man grumbled, heavy footsteps against the pavement harsh in the quiet of the morning. A heavy set of... something was then placed harshly on the metal display cases, the sound echoing for only a moment before he heard the man shove the pile into the case, before he shut the lid and locked it up. The man hesitated for a moment, before he muttered something that Harry couldn't quite make out before he shuffled hurriedly back inside, once again slamming the door.

Harry waited for a moment, making sure the man wasn't going to come straight back out. He slowly peaked his head out again, looking at the display case that was now shut – but more importantly – filled with more newspapers. Harry almost wanted to jump out and go look, but a paranoid part of him wanted to be absolutely sure that the man wouldn't just pull out a wand and take Harry unaware. So, he waited a minute or two, hearing a few muffled footfalls and creaking wood as the man moved inside, but after almost five minutes, Harry figured he wouldn't be coming outside any time soon. He'll be quick...

Harry strode out from the alleyway, his eyes glaring at the display case as he came closer, a feeling of Déjà vu coming over him as he got close, ignoring the headline and looking straight at the date.

May 24th, 1994.

'No. There's no way.' Harry thought harshly. It's not 1994. It's 2011. Voldemort is gone. This was not real, there was no way that he could have traveled 17 fucking years into the past- Harry stopped. A simple answer to this insane situation. His tent in the Forest of Dean. If that was there, it would prove him right, but if it wasn't...

Harry blocked the thought off. He'd rather avoid having to do that, but if he had no other choice, he would.

He wasn't going to go in a straight shot, he hadn't done something like this in years, and he doubted he could do what he had done before, but a few jumps from where he was should work.

Harry quickly backed up into the alleyway once more, taking a deep breath before he closed his eyes, concentrating on the place he wanted to go. It was a small, abandoned shack that he stayed in for a few weeks when he had tracked down some information leading to one of Voldemort's hideouts in Wales. Even though he wasn't exactly sure where he was in Ireland, he hoped it would be too far of a jump. With a harsh crack, Harry felt himself being pulled into a small tube, a feeling he would never get used to, but thankfully was gone in the just a few moments as he felt himself land next to the old, rundown cottage. Harry took a few moments to gather himself before he readied himself again-

A familiar opening came before him. The first, and last place he had setup the magical tent, the one that should still...

Harry slowly looked around him. The tent wasn't there. No, no it was here. It was... it had to be! He was so sure that this was the place, he...

Another crack of thunder roared through the forest, with Harry appearing at another location. Then he left just as quickly as he arrived, then he continued on, a frenzied desperation overcoming him as he searched the forest for any sign of his tent. It had to be here, there was no possible way that it couldn't be. Yet, as he ended up on the spot when he first started, the only thing that greeted him was the snuffed silence of the forest around him. Nothing was disturbed, nothing that indicated that he was ever here. Harry stood completely still, his eyes still looking on in disbelief... Yet, this still didn't prove anything.

Voldemort was not alive. He was not.

He'll go to Diagon Alley. It will be the husk that it has become. It will put him at ease, and from there he could figure out what to do next.

With one last destination in his mind, he thought of the alleyway just down the street from the Leaky Cauldron. Harry will see Deborah at the bar, and he'll promptly take his leave into Diagon Alley. As one last thunderous crack echoed through the forest, Harry appeared in the sound-warded alley.

The towering concrete walls that surrounded him were a stark difference to the smaller, bricked ones he had slept beside that night. The sounds of automobiles and footsteps was a jarring difference from the peaceful woods. The alleyway he had appeared in was devoid of anything, as was expected. Harry made his way out of the alleyway, pulling up his hood as he took a right, joining in the light early morning foot traffic. He kept his head down, trying not to brush up against the others as he walked. Thankfully, most of the people he was walking with seemed preoccupied with some thing or another, making it much easier to weave himself through them. It was only a minute or so walk before he spotted the entrance, the worn sign the same as it ever was.

Slowing down, Harry moved away from the group and simply walked into the Leaky Cauldron.

It... Harry had no words as he looked up. The place was packed.

The tables were alive with chatter and merriment, filled to the brim with both wizards and witches talking to one another, enjoying their breakfast. The bar was equally as full, a few of the patrons sitting quietly and eating off their plates, but a couple were talking animatedly with the bartender...

It was Tom. There was no mistaking it. The old man was obviously telling a story of some sort, but Harry had never seen him so happy before. Even when he had first arrived in his first year, he seemed a bit reserved. Harry had never seen him like this before he... died.

Tom was dead.

Yet, as Harry continued to stare, he wasn't. The Leaky Cauldron was brimming with customers, and Tom was alive. He couldn't believe his eyes, he just... simply couldn't. Nothing was making any sort of sense, and him mind was scrambling trying to make everything right again. His stomach had twisted painfully, feeling nauseous with each passing second feeling like the bile was rising up farther up his throat than before. It's wrong. It's all so wrong!

His legs suddenly moved forward, leaving a few of the patrons to look at him oddly as he sped toward the small courtyard in the back. Reaching the back brick wall, Harry automatically tapped the enchanted bricks, making the wall before him change. The bricks moved, creating a neat archway leading into Diagon. Harry wasted no time in stepping thorough, expecting it to be-

It... it was... alive.

It was just like he had remembered it, all those years ago when Hagrid had brought him to do his shopping. The shops bright and full of life, wizards and witches eagerly going about their day, the street full of smiling faces and mirthful talk. He watched a witch gently guiding a younger boy to Flourish and Blotts, who seemed to be eager to run about inside and collect a few of the tomes inside, while the witch watched him closely with a stern, but heartened look. His mother, if he had to guess. Another group caught his eye, this time being an older group that seemed to be from Hogwarts. They all wore their school robes with the most of the group consisting of Hufflepuffs, with a few smatterings of Ravenclaw and, surprisingly enough, the rest wearing the green badge of Slytherin. They were talking loudly among themselves, each talking about one topic or another, but the one Harry had focused onto were two Hufflepuffs that were closest to him who had been talking excitedly about the World Cup League.

"Luxembourg has absolutely no chance! I don't know why-" The smaller of the two, a brunette girl exclaimed, before she was interrupted by the much taller blonde boy.

"Oh- shove it, Leah. Luxembourg is totally gonna win with not just the Golden Snitch in hand, but with easily over 100 points against anyone else! You'd be daft to think that if Klein isn't going to just catch the Snitch the moment it appears – and if somehow he doesn't, which I highly doubt – Hoffmann and Kesseler are gonna be flying circles around everyone else scoring points like the madmen they are. I'm telling you, they're gonna make it to the World Cup this year because..." The boy passionately explained, Leah had begun to shake her head as she simply listened to the boy's tangent. As they got further away, their conversation had begun to muddle in with the rest of the noise around him.

Harry simply stared after them, yet soon they had rounded the corner, and were gone from his sight. It reminded him of the conversations he had with Ron, talking late into the night discussing about certain teams and who could beat who in hypothetical scenarios. It was just... so normal. So carefree, it was such a jarring thing to hear.

His eyes returned to the street and shops that lined it. The sights before him looked almost mythical, in a sense. For Harry at least, it certainly was. Again, all Harry could do was stare, his eyes telling him a story that his mind couldn't even begin to believe.

Gone was the feeling of dread and emptiness that he had seen and felt when he last came through Diagon Alley. The street, filthy and broken from years of disuse, with not a soul in sight that dared to show themselves in the broken remains of the once great market. The shops were dull, boarded up and abandoned from those who fled – or were killed – in the war, much of them just husks of buildings that once held high importance for the everyday life in the magical world, but had long since been looted for everything valuable, with the rest being left to rot. The once amazingly magical place had become nothing but a pile of rubble and painful memories. A reminder for those of the times before, and a warning for those now coming into the wizarding world.

It was so incredibly difficult to see it now, as it once was. A perfectly reconstructed reminder of his failure. To see life as it was, and what it should have been.

It made him think about how many years Harry had thrown away in his completely pointless try in being something he was not. To think, if he had just... done what needed to be done, he could have spared so many. To think that Voldemort was alive, plotting and scheming once again set his blood alight. A vicious feeling of murderous intent overcame him, his mind focusing on that point with scarily inhuman focus.

A monster is needed to fight monsters. He felt his hands clench into a hard fist, his nails biting hard into his calloused palm, his lips turning downward into a dark scowl, his eyes turning hard.

Harry didn't care about redemption or forgiveness, it was far too late for that, nor would he want them if they offered. He didn't know why or how he had managed to travel into the past, or if this was just a dying man's fantasy, he didn't care. Voldemort will pay for his actions, and Harry will not let him destroy everything like before. No, Harry was not the hero Voldemort will expect him to be.

With that, Harry focused on his first of many destinations that he had planned ahead. And to those that had been glancing at the odd looking wizard, watching him disappear in a blink, only to give the now empty spot a half-hearted curious look before turning back to what they were doing. A small oddity during their day, but nothing major to really think about.

It could have been anything farther from the truth.