Harry Potter was not an ordinary boy. He did not go to an ordinary school.
He did not have an ordinary life. He did, however, have a pretty ordinary
haircut, but that's beside the point. At the moment in which this
narrative begins, Harry Potter is in a world vastly different from our own:
the world of magic. He wasn't doing what a 'normal' person would do if
they suddenly found themselves in a place where they could do magic; in
fact, he wasn't doing magic at all. He was fighting with Draco Malfoy.
"Four eyes!" came Malfoy's taunt.
"Two feet!" Harry shot back. Ron and Hermione stood to one side of the hallway watching this childish display of testosterone. On the other side the rest of the boys from Harry's dorm were placing bets on how long before a teacher came to break the fight up. Harry finally remembered his wand and pulled it out of his pocket, shouting a curse. Malfoy dodged it and, spotting Professor McGonagall marching up the corridor angrily, spat out a highly complicated curse that was very hard to pronounce. At the same time, Professor McGonagall shouted out "Expelliarmas." Both spells hit Harry squarely in the chest and he went down like a bad simile with a cold. The crowd winced as Harry smacked his head on the hard ground.
"Make way, make way," Professor McGonagall shouted. She rushed up to Harry's motionless body. The crowd made their way back into a huddle around the two. That two turned into three when Draco Malfoy, his complexion a more deathly shade of white than normal, fell to a shaking heap beside Harry. He seemed unable to say a word, mutely following Professor McGonagall to the Hospital Wing.
* * *
Madame Pomphrey was in her office having a quiet cup of tea, waiting for the next student to come rushing into the Hospital Wing suffering from some magical ailment or injury that could have been prevented if they just weren't so careless. She looked at the clock on the wall. It had been exactly 6 minutes and 17 seconds since the last patient had been treated. She counted down.
"5...4...3...2..."
The hospital doors flew open. Madame Pomphrey set down her cup and stood up.
"No rest for the wicked" she murmured to herself, straightening her uniform before heading out of the room.
A drop of blood made its solitary way down the side of the vacated cup.
* * *
Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape all gathered around Harry's bed. Madame Pomphrey stood awkwardly to the side, waiting for them to leave before she could begin her work. Draco Malfoy was in the bed next to Harry. He hadn't said a word since his spell in the corridor, and no one knew exactly what to make of it. The curtains had been drawn around his bed and the professors assumed he had fallen asleep. He was, in fact, listening carefully to any word of Harry's condition. Despite the whole evil appearance he had to keep up for the sake of his father, he actually cared what happened to the boy who lived. If word got out that Draco Malfoy felt responsible, guilty even, about what had happened, there would be hell to pay. He wondered if he could throw himself into a sympathy coma. At least then he would remain by his side.
Dumbledore cast a worried glance around the room before announcing his verdict.
"Harry Potter is not unconscious, nor is he in a coma." Dumbledore wondered if he should continue, but he knew he absolutely trusted everyone in the room; and Draco Malfoy was asleep or unconscious, presumably from shock or from wanting to get out of being punished.
"He has somehow crossed the barriers of time without magical aid. He is now in either the future or the past. How far away from this time we can only guess. His mind is closed to us. If we could somehow connect with him... but that is impossible in his current state.
"This has happened but twice before. A wizard whose name I cannot remember fell into a similar state hundreds of years ago. After a few days his body simply disappeared." Dumbledore trailed off, looking wistfully into nowhere.
"And the second person..." McGonagall prompted. Dumbledore sighed.
"Once, when I was much younger than I am now, I myself was also in the state young Harry is in now." Pomphrey gasped and McGonagall narrowed her eyes. Snape gave no sign that he had even heard. Dumbledore continued.
"A certain experiment went wrong and I woke up to find myself three hundred years before. I lost part of my memory and didn't realise until later that I was in the past. Someone from my present, it turned out, had been talking to my empty body and somehow some of their thoughts managed to get through. I had to make a choice when I finally worked everything out. Whether to stay in the past, or return to my rightful destiny. I returned, obviously." The twinkle was almost gone from his eyes as he said the next part.
"Hardest thing I've ever done. My guess is that if I'd chosen to remain in the past, my body would have disappeared. That's what I think happened to that other fellow. He chose to stay."
"And how'd you get back?" Snape finally decided to input.
"Clicked my heels together three times and said 'There's no place like home.'" The twinkle was back.
* * *
It was only after everyone else had left that Draco Malfoy finally managed to speak. He stumbled out of his own bed and sank down in the armchair next to Harry's, grasping his hand and holding on tightly.
"What have I done?"
"Four eyes!" came Malfoy's taunt.
"Two feet!" Harry shot back. Ron and Hermione stood to one side of the hallway watching this childish display of testosterone. On the other side the rest of the boys from Harry's dorm were placing bets on how long before a teacher came to break the fight up. Harry finally remembered his wand and pulled it out of his pocket, shouting a curse. Malfoy dodged it and, spotting Professor McGonagall marching up the corridor angrily, spat out a highly complicated curse that was very hard to pronounce. At the same time, Professor McGonagall shouted out "Expelliarmas." Both spells hit Harry squarely in the chest and he went down like a bad simile with a cold. The crowd winced as Harry smacked his head on the hard ground.
"Make way, make way," Professor McGonagall shouted. She rushed up to Harry's motionless body. The crowd made their way back into a huddle around the two. That two turned into three when Draco Malfoy, his complexion a more deathly shade of white than normal, fell to a shaking heap beside Harry. He seemed unable to say a word, mutely following Professor McGonagall to the Hospital Wing.
* * *
Madame Pomphrey was in her office having a quiet cup of tea, waiting for the next student to come rushing into the Hospital Wing suffering from some magical ailment or injury that could have been prevented if they just weren't so careless. She looked at the clock on the wall. It had been exactly 6 minutes and 17 seconds since the last patient had been treated. She counted down.
"5...4...3...2..."
The hospital doors flew open. Madame Pomphrey set down her cup and stood up.
"No rest for the wicked" she murmured to herself, straightening her uniform before heading out of the room.
A drop of blood made its solitary way down the side of the vacated cup.
* * *
Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape all gathered around Harry's bed. Madame Pomphrey stood awkwardly to the side, waiting for them to leave before she could begin her work. Draco Malfoy was in the bed next to Harry. He hadn't said a word since his spell in the corridor, and no one knew exactly what to make of it. The curtains had been drawn around his bed and the professors assumed he had fallen asleep. He was, in fact, listening carefully to any word of Harry's condition. Despite the whole evil appearance he had to keep up for the sake of his father, he actually cared what happened to the boy who lived. If word got out that Draco Malfoy felt responsible, guilty even, about what had happened, there would be hell to pay. He wondered if he could throw himself into a sympathy coma. At least then he would remain by his side.
Dumbledore cast a worried glance around the room before announcing his verdict.
"Harry Potter is not unconscious, nor is he in a coma." Dumbledore wondered if he should continue, but he knew he absolutely trusted everyone in the room; and Draco Malfoy was asleep or unconscious, presumably from shock or from wanting to get out of being punished.
"He has somehow crossed the barriers of time without magical aid. He is now in either the future or the past. How far away from this time we can only guess. His mind is closed to us. If we could somehow connect with him... but that is impossible in his current state.
"This has happened but twice before. A wizard whose name I cannot remember fell into a similar state hundreds of years ago. After a few days his body simply disappeared." Dumbledore trailed off, looking wistfully into nowhere.
"And the second person..." McGonagall prompted. Dumbledore sighed.
"Once, when I was much younger than I am now, I myself was also in the state young Harry is in now." Pomphrey gasped and McGonagall narrowed her eyes. Snape gave no sign that he had even heard. Dumbledore continued.
"A certain experiment went wrong and I woke up to find myself three hundred years before. I lost part of my memory and didn't realise until later that I was in the past. Someone from my present, it turned out, had been talking to my empty body and somehow some of their thoughts managed to get through. I had to make a choice when I finally worked everything out. Whether to stay in the past, or return to my rightful destiny. I returned, obviously." The twinkle was almost gone from his eyes as he said the next part.
"Hardest thing I've ever done. My guess is that if I'd chosen to remain in the past, my body would have disappeared. That's what I think happened to that other fellow. He chose to stay."
"And how'd you get back?" Snape finally decided to input.
"Clicked my heels together three times and said 'There's no place like home.'" The twinkle was back.
* * *
It was only after everyone else had left that Draco Malfoy finally managed to speak. He stumbled out of his own bed and sank down in the armchair next to Harry's, grasping his hand and holding on tightly.
"What have I done?"