Disclaimer: Aren't you just a bit sick of this by now? Me telling you I don't own it? Doesn't it just get a tad repetitive? I don't own it. I don't own it. It don't own it. And screw it, one more time, just for old times sake: I don't own it.


Chapter Four

"A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet"

- Shakespeare


It is a questionable idea that one might live on after death has claimed you. Although many people preach that it will happen – that they shall be preserved through any, and every way, it is never true. None of it ever happens, we don't live on, because we are simply not there.

We – the people who we are inside – are different to the people they portray us as.

Harry Potter was not remembered, because he did not live on.

The-boy-who-lived, however, was remembered.

He was remembered in name alone, however, there were no official records of what he looked like, no body had ever written down his eye colour or his hair colour; how pale his skin was or even his middle name. Harry Potter was not a person, because he was never recorded as one. All he ever was; was an object and a name.

The boy-who-lived.

Who else?

Which meant that when he arrived in the year 2718, not a single soul knew who he was.

And for once, just for once in his life – Harry Potter was normal in this new, new world.

Or at least...

For a little while.


Pain flared into life as he tried to open his eyes, which, he belatedly realised, where not quite taken with the idea of moving in any way. Slowly, as his conscious rose, so did his senses and the sudden feeling throughout his body.

Pain.

Something he was no real stranger to, having lived, and survived in the times he had.

He took a deep shuddering breathe as his lungs ordered more oxygen, and released it as they told him there was enough.

He tried to remember why he could be lying on the ground, or lying at all for that matter, but he couldn't come up with any solid ideas. The last thing that he could remember was the hospital wing, and the sad faces of his friends as he rushed in... a dry sob escaped his lips as he remembered what he had been rushing to.

He had not arrived in time; that much could not be doubted.

In that, his memories were startlingly clear.

Painfully so.

The throbbing that his body felt was nothing compared to the hurt in his soul, the feeling of complete and utter desolation that flowed through every thought he had, and every single memory he could conjure. It was a pain that allowed little peace, a pain that made him want to curl up simply die with the torture it put him through.

It was the pain of losing another he loved.

Another.

Slowly, as salty tears poured down his face, his other, newer memories returned.

The gift his mentor had given him, something that neither he, nor his friends, had ever before had any clue about. Their joy as they had realised the implications that the gift could have, and then the fear as it had delivered them to the one place they most didn't want to be:

The Department of Mysteries.

Somehow, Harry had the feeling the hundreds of years later that building would still be there. It was that sort of an organisation – the one that survived every witch hunt, and always came back even stronger.

He was about to discover just how right he was.

The memories of what had happened once he had stepped through the veil were sketchy at best.

They seemed to be composed of falling and flying and darkness, full of pain and confusion and the knowledge that for once his friends would not be surrounding him as he fought on.

It was not the scariest thing he had ever felt – Harry Potter had lived fear – but it was the sort of feeling he didn't really want to have to repeat.

He shivered convulsively as a gust of wind blew past him. The cold stone floor beneath him had never felt less welcoming as he heard the heavy steps of two people obviously rushing towards him in quite a fast manner.

The depression he had been feeling before was fading quickly and he found himself thanking whichever god that was listening for small favours, although he couldn't keep wondering why they were always so damned small (A/N: The general gist of that phrase is courtesy of the book 'The Blind Assassin' a most wonderful book).

"Oh my god! It's him!" the distinctly feminine voice made its way to him through the mist of pain that had been enveloping him, and he found himself inwardly sneering at the exited exclamation.

Well done, you've found Harry Bloody Potter balling his eyes out on the floor of some random building. Con-fucking-grats The sarcastic, Slytherin thought earned a groan from the Gryffindor side of his brain, which was sarcastically cheering the braveness the girl had to approach him – most people nowadays didn't come near him if they could help it.

The groan that escaped his lips was more annoyed than an expression of pain, or joy.

"No? Really?" this time the voice, also female, was defiantly not as celebratory as the first one, this time far more mocking. Harry had a feeling that she might have been a Slytherin. He allowed the wry grin he was suppressing to finally come out, twisting his face into something of a sneer.

"Do you think he's ok?" It was the other one again, but this time she sounded less exited and more professional, perhaps he had been a bit harsh to judge her by the first sentence.

"He looks pretty beaten up" the second, much less sarcastic also, much more worried.

"Yeah, if you call lying in a pool of his own blood 'beaten up'" this time it was again the first, and Harry had decided that he had definitely made a mistake by taking her for a stereotypical bimbo Hufflepuff; the sarcasm literally dripped from her tone.

"Shut it up Cassie, we've got to check that he's alright, pool of blood or no, he could be in serious trouble" this time it was the second one again, all business.

"Yeah, sure Tawny, we should probably get him back to Thea and R'shiel, they'll be pissed if we don't tell them we've found a mystery, not forgetting our motto" The footsteps, which had stopped several metres away suddenly came closer and Harry could see one of the women leaning over him, seeing if he was ok, either that or trying to figure out how to lift him without aggravating his wounds.

He decided to surprise her.

"Hi" his voice was raspy and surprised even himself.

She screamed


The first thing that Sara noticed as she rose to consciousness was not pain.

It was not fear.

It was not terror

It was not anything bad in any true sense of the word.

But it was something that confused her beyond any total confusion.

She was not where she had been when she had collapsed, that much was certain. She was not in the grand ball room that she had been, not at all. Instead of the extravagant hall she had been dancing in before she was now lying on the floor in a room that was filled with white beds, that all had white sheets and, lo and behold, white pillows.

That in itself wouldn't have been so amazing, if not for some of the items that lay scattered around, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they either hadn't existed for a very long time or were highly illegal and hard to attain, the very building she was in, not to mention the sky she could just see outside.

Something was very, very wrong.

If she didn't know better, she'd almost say that she'd gone several hundred years back in time.

She knew better.

The second immediate thing she noticed was the very small fact that she was transparent.

Which, she thought, might just explain what was happening to her, or, it might not. She wasn't sure.

She stood up, finding that although she might be see through, her weight and balance had all survived whatever trip just fine and she felt perfectly normal, apart from the fact that she could see the floor through her feet. The sensation of touch had also survived, although she was quite sure that it had dimmed a bit.

She walked towards the door, wondering if she might go straight through it instead of having to turn the door nob at all, as insubstantial as she was.

She didn't go straight through however, and with small grin to herself, pushed the door open.

It was clear that she had been in some sort of infirmary, and an ancient looking one at that, but as she stepped out she became less certain – whatever building she was in; it was unlike any she had ever seen before.

The hallways were paved with stone, pictures and portraits lined the walls and a soft plush carpet ran zigzag like down the corridor. Huge glass windows with reds and blues and greens let in a flood of light that illuminated everything, showing the floating dust that drifted through the air aimlessly. Outside the window was the bluest sky she had ever seen, fluffy white clouds drifting high in the sky like fluffy white sheep. There was a lake that was such a crystal blue that she was stunned and the green grass that surrounded it almost blinded her with it's beauty.

Wherever she was, she didn't want to leave.

As she drifted along the corridor, she could hear talking and voices coming from behind a huge double door, but she was reluctant to enter. If she could touch and feel things then it was likely that she could be seen, and wherever she was, it was not her home, and she may, therefore, not be welcome.

But you're a Potter a part of her mind whispered, informing her that wherever she was, she was welcome, wherever she went, people had to respect her. But that part of her mind was being pushed further and further away as the bigger part of informed the smaller part that what she had taken for truth for so long, was really nothing more than a complicated, interwoven and startling lie.

She was not a Potter.

She was not even an adoptive Potter.

She was nothing more, nor nothing less, than a common, peasant. She was the type of people her mother scorned – and disposed of – whenever she saw fit. But their blood, Sara realised, had made them nothing less than they should have been, but far, far more.

It was not a happy thought.

Before she could start to walk in the other direction – away from the two doors, they burst open and someone came rushing out wearing a weird dress like thing with tears pouring down her face.

The girl had a load of fiery red hair that fell halfway down her back, tied up in a French pony tail it was out of her face, exposing soft hazel eyes that, at the moment, were red rimmed. Her pale skin and porcelain like face was streaked with salty tears. But Sara only had a moment to register all of this before, with a painful bang, the two of them were sent tumbling to the floor.

Well, she thought sarcastically that solved the problem of being seen

"Oh... I'm sorry... I just..." this time the red head didn't continue, she was staring at Sara, or rather, the wall behind Sara. The sixteen year old girl pouted at the pitying look she received from the red-head and glared at her.

"Yes?" Sara asked snobbishly, her background and breeding taking over "Is there a problem miss..." she trailed off, obviously waiting for the other girl, who looked about her age, maybe a bit older, to fill in her name.

"Weasley. I'm Ginny Weasley. And I'm sorry for being so rude it's just... I didn't know Hogwarts had a new ghost and you gave me rather a shock, especially how I tripped over you... I didn't think ghosts were meant to be physically touched" her tears had dried and open curiosity was displayed on her face, but something the girl had said had sent Sara into a spiral of confusion.

"Weasley?" Ginny sniffed, but nodded to the question.

"Yes, my brother's Ron, surely you've heard of him?" Sara had not. Sara had heard of other Weasley's, Weasley's that were not called Ron, or Ginny and Weasley's that wouldn't be caught dead talking to her in the kind yet curious way that Ginny was, Weasley's that would kill themselves before they were seen, by anyone, to have tear tracks down their faces.

So she nodded her agreement to knowing exactly who this Ron was.

"The name sounds familiar" Ginny nodded slowly, again looking at the transparent midriff that Sara had exposed.

The clothes she was wearing were a relatively new fashion in the year 2716. Something of a mix between the ancient dress of the founders and the modern, new age clothes, they were certainly out of place next to the dress like robes that Ginny was wearing. Sara blushed a bit and wrapped her arms around herself, waiting for the red head to say something.

"I don't think I've seen those sorts of clothes before, um... where do you come from exactly?" Sara flushed again, rocking backwards and forwards about a foot above the floor.

"Well they're pretty normal where I come from and... well... I come from the Northern Global Hierarchy Head Quarters, at least, I live there, but before I came here I was actually at a ball with my family and to tell you the truth I'm not exactly sure where 'here' is and I'm a bit confused as to why I'm sorta see through cose I don't much remember dying or anything and I woulda though I might be, if not for the fact that some pretty weird shit's been going on around me lately and I just don't know what to think" she sighed and shock her head again, feeling stupid for babbling as much as she had been.

The red-head seemed to agree. She had a look of confusion on her face as she sorted through what Sara had said.

"Um... well... what's your name again?" Sara blinked and then realised she hadn't even introduced herself to the older girl. She felt even stupider as her cheeks coloured.

"Um... I'm Sara, Sara Potter, actually. It's a pleasure to meet you Ginny; I think I might now some relatives of yours, or something like that, because I know some people who are Weasley's, Benjamin and Kitty, actually. Do you know them?" she was confused, undoubtedly she was confused, and the sudden warily stunned look on Ginny's face told her that she was a little too confused.

"Potter?" Ginny's voice was suddenly faint, as if she was remembering something.

"Um... yeah. Potter. Normally I'd be proud, but, like I said; some pretty weird shit's been happening to me lately, and I'm not exactly sure what's happening. I swear – one second I'm secure in the knowledge that life is going fine and normal like, and then bam! My sister goes and tells me some stuff and... why am I telling you this?" Ginny seemed to have spaced out a bit, but the question brought her to her senses and suddenly Sara found herself at the point of one very dangerous looking piece of wood.

She looked at it curiously, wondering exactly what Ginny was planning to do with the wand.

It was known that the only people capable of using wands were the Potters – every other pureblood or a five generation muggle, had to have a magical emblem to be able to perform any magic at all, apart from accidental magic of course.

"I know you can't use that" Ginny rose an eyebrow at the snobbish tone she used, looking at her as if she was mad.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Well, I am a Potter" as if that explained it.

"As if that explains it" Ginny, ever the red-head, was suddenly very, very angry.

"And I'm a Weasley. So that'll explain to you why if I decide to wring you like a washer she'll stay wringed for a very long time. I don't appreciate you using my best friends name as your last and then flaunting it like there's no tomorrow!" Sara's head snapped up, she knew that she was the only Potter of her generation – and Benjamin the only Weasley.

Which meant that somewhere, there had been a miscommunication of information.

"I don't think we're on the same wavelength here. Let's forget our names – they've only ever given people the wrong impression, and try and figure out why I'm transparent" Ginny looked reluctant for a moment, before pocketing her wand and nodding her agreement to Sara's assessment of blindness because of names.

"Yeah, ok then"

"Do you know where we are?" stupid question, Sara the internal critic in her brain informed her sarcastically, laughing at how idiotic she sounded.

Ginny was giving her an odd look.

"Why yes, I do, and I don't mind admitting I'm a hell of a lot confuse that you don't" Sara blushed again and looked down, cursing herself for her suddenly red face.

"Yeah, well, like I said I come from the NGHHQ and we don't much go around to small places like this" she was, of course, assuming that it was small. Ginny was giving her another look.

"Small?" Sara looked confused

"Well, yeah. I mean, if this place was big I'd know it; we don't go to many of the muggle sites but magically I've been to virtually every single popular place" Sara said, noticing that Ginny was looking confused now as well.

"What's the N-G-H-H-Q? It doesn't sound familiar at all" Sara gave the petit red-head an incredulous stare, as if to say... you wha...?

"I'm sorry?"

"I've never heard of the NGHHQ, umm... what is it?" Sarah flopped down onto a cushion of air and looked up at the ceiling.

"I'm going mad. That is the only reasonable explanation" Ginny couldn't help the reluctant grin that graced her face at Sara's bland comment.

"No, I think I am"

"No, me"

"No! Me!"

"NO! ME!"

"NO! ME!"

"Um... Ginny? Are you alright?" the new voice, which sounded female also, was tentative, as if she expected Ginny to explode at the very question. The red-head looked up in surprise as a bushy brown haired girl rounded the corner, peering around before she came.

"Oh, hi Hermione. I'm fine now, I was just a little upset, I mean... Harry..." she trailed off, apparently thinking of why she had run, crying, into Sara to begin with. Sara was unsure what she should do, the brown eyed girl made her incredibly nervous for some reason.

"I understand Ginny, don't worry, he'll be fine" she looked up and noticed Sara for the first time.

"Oh, um, hello. Who are you?" Sara noticed that the new girl also had a wand, a mystery that was worthy of the department that handled them.

"Oh, my name is Sara. It's a please to meet you... Hermione? Was it?" the brown-haired girl nodded, looking at her suspiciously.

"Yes. Pleasure, I'm sure. Do you know that you're see-through"

"Blunt, aren't you?" as soon as the comment had escaped her lips Sara was horrified and threw both of her hands over her mouth in shock; no Potter had been bred to be so rude, even if not in any company she could recognise. But the girl laughed instead, seemingly completely unaffected that Sara had been so rude.

"Well? Do you?"

"Yeah, I did notice actually. Surprise, surprise"

"Are you a ghost?"

"Not that I know of"

"What sort of clothes are you wearing?"

"Fashionable ones!"

"Uh huh. Sure. What's your last name?"

"Erm... at the moment we're not doing last names"

"Oh, right. I see. Last name?"

"Nuh! The whole Shakespeare thing: a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet?"

"I think you know as well as I that that does not apply to many things in real life. I don't know you, and I don't know why you're here. There has just been a stinking long war in which I have lost far too many friends and am not willing to loose any more. Therefore if you are a nice, kind, lovely person then so be it, but your name will have an influence on me, mainly because it will mean that you grew up with people who could have influenced you. Now, last name?" Sara blinked.

"Uh..." Ginny, seeing that Sara was occupied in trying to work out the brown-haired girls logic stepped in.

"She says her last name is Potter, and apparently she knows some people with the last name Weasley, although I sure don't know any relatives we have; one of the reasons we have such a large family is because both mom and dad lost people in the first war" Hermione was barely listening to the end of the sentence, favouring instead gaping at Sara.

"You're trying to tell me that your last name is Potter?" Sara would have stamped her foot, if she had have been on the ground, but as it was she was floating just above them, amber locks floating eerily around her head, suspended in the air.

"I'm trying to, but so far I haven't been able to say anything!" Hermione huffed and looked at her calculatingly.

"It's pretty dirty saying that your last names Potter, especially to us of all people" Hermione's voice was quietly chiding, as if Sara was a little girl who had done something wrong. Said little girl scowled.

"It's my name!"

"Related to any one called Harry?" if Sara hadn't been feeling very, very creeped out she would have scoffed at the very idea. Related to any one called Harry? What exactly did she mean by that?

"You could say"

"Do you know him personally?" now Sara was really pissed off. They were asking if she knew Harry Potter? As in... Harry Potter? They were mad. It wasn't her after all. It was them. They were mentally unstable.

"Well... no. Not personally, after all, he's only been dead for seven hundred years!" all three girls blinked.

"You mean, Harry James Potter?" Sara frowned; no body knew his middle name.

"I mean the boy-who-lived, Harry Potter"

"You mean Harry James Potter." Sara scowled.

"Whatever"

"You are mad."

"No, I've already decided that you are"

"Trust me, we're not mad at all, you are the crazy one"

"No, trust me it's you"

"It's you"

"It's you"

"This is enough!! Harry is not dead!! He's just gone missing for a while!! He'll be back!!" Sara turned to look at the furious Ginny. She felt like laughing.

"I swear it's like we're talking across time periods or something!" at Sara's words, the girl's eyes grew wide with the sudden realisation of what might have happened.

"Oh my fucking god"


Notes:

The whole Sara thing: I have to admit this was, is, not part of the real plot. I've just sent her back for fun. She will learn virtually nothing and then wiz bang fiz, she'll be back in Sara-time, and not Harry-time. It's end up next chappie, I can assure you, she may not even remember it.

NGHHQ: Wow. My little baby. Yeah, well, it's a place she lives! She has to have a home! Why not put her at the HQ? Works for the HP universe it can work for The Definition.

The whole Harry thing: This is a bit complicated, but all in all, no one recognises him because, essentially, there are so many stories about them that they don't know the real thing. So when the real thing turns up bang in the middle of their lives... heh. Who knows? I'm gonna have some fun with this.


A/N: Suspiciously few notes. Please review; I really do like the encouragement.

Also, go read my other fic: The Song we Sing if you haven't already. It rocks. Or at least, I think it rocks.

This chapter is especially long because I am so nice. If you want long chapters then you have to review; a preview of what you could have...

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