Chapter Two

Harry regained consciousness slowly, groaning as his head throbbed painfully, compounded by the ringing in his ears. Squeezing his eyes shut, he simply lay where he was, sucking in deep breaths, feeling as though he had just run a marathon.

Finally, after taking a few minutes to catch his breath, he gingerly opened his eyes.

He was lying on his back in what appeared to be a village, though from what he could see, nobody had lived there in quite a while. Windows were broken, buildings were crumbling, and the trees he could see from his position were dead and withered. The empty shell of a clocktower stood to his right, though the top portion had long since collapsed, and the tower's bell was embedded in the ground, cracked and corroded. The night sky above shrouded everything in a cloak of shadow, giving the entire area an atmosphere of foreboding.

Confused, Harry tried to sit up, only to fall back with a gasp as spears of agony shot through his upper body, nearly knocking him out again. He grit his teeth so hard he thought they might break, muttering foul oaths under his breath as the pain slowly withdrew. After taking a moment to regain his composure, he glanced down at his body.

It was a horrible sight; his cloak, vest, and boots were completely destroyed, with the tattered remnants of his shirt clinging stubbornly to his shoulders. His entire upper body was burned severely, with ruptured blisters oozing over the raw flesh, mixing with the blood from the myriad of small cuts dotting his torso. The edges of the wounds were charred slightly, likely from the heat of the detonation.

Harry's lower body, however, suffered relatively minor injuries comparatively. One trouser leg had been burned off at the knee, the leg beneath it covered with minor cuts and burns, while the other had a long tear reaching from kneecap to ankle, exposing a long, bloody cut beneath it.

Harry swore violently as a fresh wave of pain crashed over him. His head was pounding so hard he thought it might burst. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he forced himself to a sitting position, barely biting back a scream as his wounds throbbed angrily. He sat there for a moment, breathing heavily; his chest and arms felt like they had been dipped in magma. Finally, with a herculean effort, he managed to climb unsteadily to his feet, leaning heavily on a nearby wall for support, his legs trembling beneath him.

An ominous rumbling drew Harry's eyes skyward, where dark clouds roiled angrily above him.

"Bloody fantastic," he muttered under his breath. The last thing he needed right now was to be caught outside in a godforsaken storm. Gritting his teeth, he took a shaky step forward, then another, hugging the wall as he slowly made his way towards the nearest house.

The downpour hit just before Harry made it to the door. Almost immediately, sheets of rain began pelting the ruined buildings, while the howling wind caused the withered trees to sway, creaking ominously. Harry ducked his head against the storm, trying to avoid being blown over as he staggered the last few steps to the door, which squealed loudly on its remaining hinge as he stumbled through, slamming it behind him. The roar of the storm dropped instantly, and Harry sagged against the door, breathing heavily. He felt completely drained, even though he'd only gone a short distance. Looking down, he grimaced–several of his cuts were bleeding freely, and his burns needed serious attention.

Harry swore under his breath, wishing not for the first time that he'd bothered to learn some more advanced medical charms–some of his injuries were more severe than a simple Episkey could handle. Bracing himself against the door, he pushed himself upright and limped further into the house.

He passed through a long entry hall before arriving at what could only be the living room. A small wooden coffee table sat in the center of the room on what was once an expensive rug, though age and moths had taken their toll. On one side of the table was a pair of old, high-backed armchairs and an overturned sofa, while a fireplace was set into the opposite wall, and to the left of that was another hallway. Everything in the room was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the fireplace had cobwebs in it. Deciding to return to the room later, Harry moved around the sofa and made his way to the other hallway.

By a stroke of good fortune, the first door he tried led to a bathroom. Harry quickly divested himself of his ruined clothing and Vanished them–they were far beyond any hope of repair–before glancing down and waving a hand over his torso. "Tergeo," he muttered, and watched, wincing slightly, as the dried blood and fluid from the ruptured blisters was siphoned away into nothingness. Satisfied that his wounds were at least somewhat clean, he set to work on bandaging them.

He started with the cut on his leg, which was mercifully less severe than it originally appeared after the blood was cleaned. It stretched from just below his kneecap to the top of his ankle, and twinged uncomfortably whenever he flexed his foot. Luckily, though, it was a relatively shallow cut–Harry simply cast a Numbing Charm on it to dull the pain, then conjured some bandages to wrap around it.

The injuries on his upper body, however, were another matter entirely. To Harry's limited knowledge, there was no spell that could heal a burn, though he vaguely remembered Madam Pomfrey treating Cedric Diggory with a foul-smelling orange paste after his encounter with a dragon during the ill-fated Triwizard Tournament. Unfortunately, he didn't have any on hand, which meant he had to let them heal naturally, so he conjured some more bandages and wrapped them carefully around his upper body.

Harry glanced at his handiwork and nodded to himself. It was by no means a perfect solution, but until he could get proper medical attention it was the best he could do. Satisfied, he waved his hand once more and conjured a pair of plain grey sweatpants, carefully slipping them on before exiting the bathroom. He was tempted to explore the rest of the house, but between his injuries and the overall stress of his current situation, he was completely exhausted. He could figure everything out after he'd had a few hours' rest. With that in mind, he slowly trudged back to the living room.

A tired wave of his hand had the overturned sofa righting itself, banishing the years' worth of dust and grime, and restoring the dry, cracked leather to its original quality. A second wave conjured a large quilt and a thick, squashy pillow, both colored the rather outlandish red-and-gold of Gryffindor. 'Old habits die hard, I suppose,' thought Harry as he slowly lowered himself onto the sofa, careful to avoid irritating his injuries.

Then his head hit the pillow, and he was asleep in seconds.

[Break]

When Harry awoke, it was already late morning. The storm had passed during the night, and sunlight streamed through the nearby window.

Harry sat up slowly, grimacing as his injuries twinged in protest. A wave of his hand Vanished the quilt and pillow as he got to his feet and made his way to the kitchen. As the house had clearly been abandoned for quite some time, there wasn't much in the way of food, but by a stroke of luck, he stumbled across several cans of preserved fruit in the otherwise-empty pantry, and after a cursory inspection, deemed them safe to eat. It was quick and altogether not very filling, but it was better than nothing.

As he ate, Harry reviewed his current situation; he was injured, in unfamiliar territory, and had lost contact with his team–a worst-case scenario by any stretch of the imagination. He needed to find out just where he was before anything else. With that in mind, Harry wolfed down the rest of his meager breakfast and Vanished the remains, before heading back through the living room to the opposite hallway.

The first room in the hallway was the bathroom, so he bypassed that door and moved on to the one opposite, which turned out to be a closet. Unfortunately, all that was inside were a few moth-eaten towels and bedsheets, so he left it alone.

The third door led to what could only be the master bedroom. The room itself had been ransacked–dresser drawers had been opened and emptied, their contents scattered across the floor. The only thing that looked relatively untouched was an old, ornate wardrobe that stood in the corner.

Curious, Harry moved into the room and opened the wardrobe. The clothes within were musty and slightly moth-eaten, but otherwise in decent condition, so Harry selected a long-sleeved black shirt and some faded jeans, along with a pair of boots and a brown leather cloak. It wasn't like the previous owners would be using them anymore.

He ended up having to shrink the clothes slightly before repairing them–the previous owner had been a good deal larger than Harry was. With that done, he quickly changed, taking care to avoid irritating his burns as he pulled the shirt over his head, and threw the cloak over his shoulders before glancing down at himself.

It wasn't dragonhide, but it would do.

Satisfied, Harry moved on to the last room, which turned out to be a study, although like the bedroom, it too had been torn apart. A heavy wooden desk sat near the back wall, turned onto its side to act as a barricade. Off to the side, what had once been a rather ornate bookshelf now lay broken and splintered, and the books it held now lay strewn across the room. A fireplace was set into the back wall behind the desk, which had long since gone out. There were no windows, and everything was shrouded in darkness. With a flick of his wrist, Harry conjured a small, pulsing orb of light and moved further into the room.

Each of his senses were on high alert as he glanced around warily, his hands shrouded in magical energy, looking for anything that might jump out at him. It was a by-product of constantly looking over his shoulder during the war against Voldemort, and it had carried over into his career as an Auror; Ron had often joked that Harry was becoming the next Mad-Eye Moody.

Harry disagreed; after all, it wasn't paranoia if people were really out to get you. His arrest record was proof of that.

The werelight cast a flickering glow around the room, throwing the ruined furniture into sharp relief and casting ominous shadows on the walls. Dark stains covered the floor, starting from the center of the room and trailing behind the overturned desk. A sense of unease settled over Harry; those stains could only be blood. Steeling his nerves, he slowly edged his way around the desk, his right hand enveloped in the crimson energy of a Cutting Curse.

It was a grisly sight. A single human skeleton lay slumped against the underside of the desk, impaled through the ribcage by a rusted sword, still dressed in its evening wear. A large bloodstain covered the floor beneath it.

Harry sighed and lowered his hand, dispelling the Cutting Curse with a flick of his fingers. Kneeling down, he willed his werelight to illuminate the sword pinning the skeleton to the desk. It seemed to be of Western design, similar to the broadswords used by medieval knights, with a cruciform hilt and a flat, double-edged blade.

Harry frowned as he rose to his feet. Just how far back in time was he?

He didn't have time to ponder this new development, however, as a rumbling growl filled the study. Whirling around, Harry had barely raised his hand, a spell on his lips, when something huge and heavy crashed into his chest, sending him crashing through the wall and tumbling out into the street.

Harry's breath left him in a harsh gasp as he slammed back-first into the hard cobblestones, pain flaring through the burns on his chest; it felt like he'd been hit by the Hogwarts Express at full steam. Gritting his teeth against the renewed burning in his torso, Harry forced himself to his feet just in time to catch a glimpse of what had attacked him.

At first glance, it looked similar to a transformed werewolf; it had longer forelegs than hind legs, with large, vaguely humanlike "hands" tipped with wickedly sharp claws, and a short, tufted tail, but the similarities ended there. Its entire body was covered in pitch-black fur, and white, bonelike spikes jutted from its spine and legs, and a mask-like growth covered the upper part of its head and snout, through which two crimson eyes glared malevolently at Harry.

The beast snarled as Harry scrambled to his feet, revealing a gaping maw lined with sharp fangs as big around as Harry's thumb. Crouching low to the ground, it suddenly lunged forward with a roar, drool flying from its mouth, claws raised to slice Harry to ribbons. Acting on instinct, Harry raised his hand and shouted "Protego!"

The beast hit the hastily-erected Shield Charm headfirst; for a moment it seemed to hang in midair, then there was a sound like a bell being struck, and it was flung away, landing heavily several yards away. It got to its feet slowly, its crimson orbs filled with unrestrained malice, but it did not charge again; instead, it threw its head back and released a spine-tingling howl that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck rise., and a sense of dread filled his stomach.

The unearthly howl slowly petered off, and the creature returned its hateful gaze to the black-haired wizard. For a moment, nothing happened; then, from the corner of his eye, Harry caught a flicker of movement. From an alleyway between two ruined houses stalked another beast similar to the one before him, taking up a position on his left, while yet another climbed out through the broken window of a shop on his right, effectively surrounding him.

Harry swore under his breath, glancing between each of the monsters as they slowly circled him. Suddenly one lunged, taking a mighty swipe at Harry with one massive paw. Ducking under the wild swing, Harry let the creature pass over him before firing a powerful Cutting Curse at its undefended back as it landed; there was a sickening squelch, and the monster collapsed, bisected at the waist. Spinning around, Harry raised his hand just as the second creature lunged at him, catching it in the chest with a Bludgeoning Curse and sending it crashing through a nearby house. Another wave of his hand brought the roof crashing down, burying the monster beneath a mountain of rubble.

Harry grimaced as he lowered his arm, breathing heavily. He flinched as another pain shot through his chest; his burns were sapping his energy, and the bandages were beginning to itch uncomfortably. Sweat poured from his brow as he turned to face the third creature, the only one that had not yet attacked him.

This creature was larger than the other two; the bonelike spikes on its body were larger as well, and there were more of them, forming a crude armor over the beast's jet-black hide. Red lines also crisscrossed the mask-like growth on its face, forming an intricate pattern that glowed faintly.

The monster paused its pacing and roared challengingly at him. Then, in one fluid motion, it crouched, then sprang forward with a speed the other two creatures hadn't possessed.

Not prepared for the monster's sheer speed, Harry was an instant too late in casting his Shield Charm. He'd barely uttered the first syllable when the beast's massive paw connected with the left side of his body, and Harry felt his arm break as he was flung a dozen yards away; his head smacked against the hard cobblestones as he landed heavily and skidded to a stop in the middle of the street. Stars danced before his eyes as he tried and failed to sit up, his left harm tucked securely against his abdomen as he fell back, his vision blurring.

The monster, sensing weakness, roared triumphantly and charged the downed wizard, spittle flying from its gaping maw. Harry grimaced, trying to fight through his blurred vision and the pounding in his head and cast a spell, but it was no use. He couldn't move his left arm, and his right felt like a solid block of lead. All he could do was lay there helplessly as the beast closed in for the kill.

Then there was a deafening BANG, and the monster roared in agony as its foreleg exploded, sending it crashing to the ground ten feet away from Harry.

Confused, Harry glanced around blearily, eventually locating his savior on a nearby rooftop.

He was a tall man with slightly-graying black hair, red eyes and a noticeable five o' clock shadow. He wore a gray shirt and black pants with black dress shoes, and in his hand he carried a large sword unlike any Harry had ever seen. The man's crimson gaze flickered over Harry's form briefly; then, with supernatural grace, he leapt from the rooftop, falling the fifteen or so feet and landing with no visible strain.

The wounded monster roared as the man approached and tried swiping at him with its remaining foreleg; the giant sword flashed, and the top part of the beast's head hit the ground with a splat. With an errant flick of his wrist, the man shook the blood off his blade and turned to face Harry.

"You okay, kid?" he asked. His voice was rough and scratchy, as though he'd spent a great deal of time yelling.

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, a wave of exhaustion crashed over him. The last thing he registered before passing out was the man's worried face as he rushed towards him.

Then everything went black.

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GUESS WHO'S BACK, BABY!

Thank you all so much for the kind words and well-wishes! It's been a hell of a year, but I am happy to announce that I am officially cancer free! WOOT!

That being said, I'm still playing catch-up with a number of things, so while I will continue to update this story, I can't promise it will be fast. Some things take precedence, namely work. Once I've caught up with everything, my updates will hopefully be more frequent.

Again, a huge thank-you to everyone who commented with prayers and well-wishes! They, along with my family, are what kept me going throughout this whole ordeal.

Stay classy, y'all!

Beacon Alum