A Thing of the Past
Chapter One:
He was dead.
Once you stopped breathing, you died.
Or so Harry heard.
The sand had suffocated him. It was dark now. Was this what death was like? If it was, Harry was disappointed. You weren't supposed to feel pain when you died. And the throbbing in his head could definitely be classified as pain.
To Harry's surprise his body shook as he greedily took in a gulp of air. So he wasn't dead after all, common sense told him that. Blinking furiously, Harry pushed himself up off the ground. He lifted his hand to his forehead, as something sticky gently trickled down his cheek. With a dull sort of recognition Harry realized it was blood.
A glittering blue light seemed to be filling the room. Harry knew he had seen it before; it filled him with a sort of peace that made him feel uneasy. The room was coming into focus now, and Harry suddenly realized that he was still in Department of Mysteries, in the room with the large bell jar.
The only problem was he was the only one in it.
He stood up quickly, and automatically wished he hadn't. His legs felt like they were made out of Mrs. Weasley's chocolate pudding. Harry's blood stained hand went for the wall to steady himself. It was quiet now. Hermione's worried whispers seemed to have vanished, the signs of their battle gone.
It was like none of it had ever happened.
Harry leaned back and studied the wall he was leaning against. The glass cabinet was there, the various hourglasses reflecting the swirling light. With a dazed look on his face, his fingers shakily pressed against the glass.
What happened?
A horrible sense of dread was filling him now. Where was Hermione? A flash of freckles ran through his mind. Ron. Bottlecaps. Luna. A swirl of red hair. Ginny. Neville. His stomach dropped and he suddenly felt like he couldn't stand anymore.
Where was Sirius?
Harry took in a few deep gulps of air, trying hard not to vomit. He sank back down to the floor, his back sliding against the wall. Strands of his dark hair fell into his face as he hung his head down, eyes squeezed shut. He felt like he was going to be sick. Vomit was rising in his throat and Harry pressed his shaking fingers to his temples, trying to stop the ringing in his head, ignoring the fact that another trickle of blood ran down his palm.
"How could I have been so stupid?" Harry thought weakly, wishing he had listened to the advice of people who were much smarter than he was. Hermione had told him no. Told him to wait. But he couldn't listen.
Hermione.
The Death Eater was going to kill her. Harry had barely stopped him in time, blindly jumping at the man's knees. Was she dead now? The thought only made the feeling in his stomach worsen. He could see her, body spread on the cold floor, her large brown eyes wide with worry, frozen in time by that flashing green light. His name was on her lips.
Harry leaned over and vomited.
The voices were coming back now. Harry groaned, completely exasperated with the fact that he seemed to be going crazy. A set look of determination appeared on his face, a feverish heat etched into his eyes, Harry forced himself off of the ground. Crazy or not, the people he cared about were still in trouble. He had to help them.
Good that'll do. You're the one who led them into a trap in the first place whispered a voice in his head.
"Shut up," Harry mumbled, dragging his feet slightly.
You're the reason they could be hurt.
He was getting closer to the door. How did he get out again? Harry suddenly had a fond appreciation for sunlight. The memory of homemade strawberry ice cream at the Burrow made a tired smile appear on his face. But when that happy image was replaced with Ron's body on the dusty floor of Number 12, Harry felt as if he was going to collapse again.
You're the reason they're dead.
Harry stopped moving. He swayed slightly on the spot. Anger was bubbling up in his blood. He didn't want to feel anymore. The guilt was gnawing at him. He had just done what he thought was best!
It was best breaking into the Ministry of Magic where you knew you'd have to fight Death Eaters, the people you've survived out of sheer dumb luck? They're all dead now because of you!
Harry slammed his fist hard against the wall, before finally letting his forehead follow after with a dull thud.
"They're not dead," he growled, though, even to him, his voice was completely unconvincing. Suddenly, a voice burst through the memories, the darkness, the ringing that filled his head. It was more than a voice that haunted him. It was real.
"He's in here!"
Harry's hand drew out his wand, though he found his arm wavered as he aimed it. There was an ominous moment of silence, when even the clocks seemed to stop their ticking, and then an eruption as Harry was thrown to the floor, red light exploding from behind him. His blood stained wand clattered to the ground, the heat scalding his back from the spell.
Harry closed his eyes as the pounding footsteps echoed in his head. The pain was almost unbearable now, he couldn't even let any sigh or groans, let alone a scream, escape from his lips. Stars erupted behind his eyes as his stiff body was turned over. He could hear the unfamiliar voices, angry and cold boring into him with an unusual amount of cruelty. Blinking furiously, Harry tried to see through the haze that was over his eyes. The pain seemed to have blinded him. The figures were towering over him, and one of them gripped his arm, as if the charm that had immobilized him wasn't enough to keep him from escaping. Harry subconsciously winced at the harsh touch.
A figure slid into focus through the haze of pain that covered his eyes. The man's hot, putrid breathe washed over him in a very unpleasant manner. Harry could only close his eyes, but he felt a smart against his cheek
"Don't close your eyes on me boy!" hissed a callous voice. Harry, while wanting to be defiant, reluctantly opened his eyes. The man's hand was pushing into his shoulder with unnecessary force.
"You'll be in Azkaban before the day is over, so you'll do best to cooperate with us," the man whispered through his teeth, his frigid eyes never leaving Harry's. The man studied him for a minute, with disgust on his face that was unsettling. Finally he stood, and, to Harry's dismay, pointed his wand at his chest.
"Ennervate."
Harry felt his body relax, his back curving slightly as the curse was lifted off of him. Not caring that the entire group that was staring at him aimed their wands as he sat up, Harry went to his knees and placed his palms on the ground, trying to regain his breath. Ragged coughs passed through his lips, the rusty taste in his mouth gagging him once again. But his captors, all of whom Harry had never seen, didn't seem to be feeling merciful. The rough hands pulled him to his feet, and started pulling him out of the Department of Mysteries. Harry didn't resist; in fact he was glad. The clocks, if it was even possible at that point, were driving him insane.
"My wand…" he muttered, but the two bulky figures who were leading him out of the room just looked at him. One of them, the man who had talked to him earlier, gave out an odd laugh.
"You won't be needing it anymore."
One of the men came up to Harry and poked him in the cheek with the blood-stained wand. Harry snapped his head and stared at the man, fury in his eyes. His better judgment told him it was better not to say anything. For some reason his better judgment seemed to sound a lot like Hermione.
"But don't worry. I'll take good care of it," the voice whispered in his ear. Harry's forehead furrowed as the frown deepened on his face. Suddenly the man who was holding his wand gave a grunt as a hand slammed aside his head. Harry stared.
"Follow procedure," came a coarse, raspy voice. Harry turned to see a gruff looking man with a slight limp, following closely behind the group. Harry couldn't advert his eyes, perhaps more out of the weakness that was slowly clouding his mind. The man, sensing Harry's stares, shot him a cold look that made it clear he was not a friend.
He struggled to keep on his feet, the soles of his sneakers rubbing loudly on the floor, creating quite a harsh sound against his ears. Harry's knees buckled as the rounded a sharp corner, and he winced in pain as one of the men jerked him upright. Perhaps it was the sudden bursts of sunlight that reached his face through the various rooms they passed, but Harry realized that the fog around his mind was lifting. For that reason alone, he opened his mouth and spoke once again.
"What happened to his others?"
It was a simple question, and it was the only thing that was really on Harry's mind at the moment. Unfortunately, it turned out to be the wrong thing to say. Completely forgetting that with one word Harry could be incapacitated, the man with the putrid breath had his meaty hand's wrapped around Harry's neck, pinning him against the wall. Harry thrashed against his weight as the man's eyes blazed.
"What others?" he snarled, pronouncing every syllable.
Harry tried to speak, but the lack of air was causing him to choke. The haze was coming back, his mind was growing dim. The harsh white colors of the walls were burning his eyes, the faces of the people around him swimming in front of him. The man seemed to be getting a sadistic sort of satisfaction from the fact that Harry was trying to fight against him, his breath coming out in short splutters of breath. He let the struggle go on for a moment before letting Harry drop down to the ground. There was a moment of silence as Harry gasped and took in his second life saving breath that day.
The man grabbed his shoulder and pulled him up, the look of madness fainting away into the etches of his tired face. Harry was honestly getting tired of the whole routine and resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes. The man leaned in closer and Harry leaned away, a flash of anger passing over his green eyes.
"They were attacking us," Harry hissed, his eyes narrowing. The man just looked at him. Completely frustrated, Harry finally had enough strength to ruffle his hair. It almost produced a cathartic reaction.
A moment of harsh silence passed over the group. The man didn't seem to comprehend what he was saying. Soon, all Harry could hear was the sound of his own breath, which was trying desperately to fill his lungs up. Finally, the man started to drag him silently down towards the elevator. With an ominous clear tone, the elevator door slowly opened. Harry blinked as a lavender envelope slammed into the man's head before spinning and zooming off down the hall. Though no sound escaped Harry's lips, an odd little of bubble of laughter seemed to erupt in the pit of his stomach. The man, however, seemed to sense that and stars erupted behind Harry's eyes as he was pushed hard into one of the desks. With a fumble he tried to maneuver his way around it with as little damage as possible. He didn't even pay attention to the second clear bell that rang out around him till a shocked voice came from the elevator door.
"Let go of my son!"
Author's Note: Please review and tell me what you think. Is it better than the other version? Things are going to be different…