For those who are unaware, this story had been up a few days prior before being taken down. It is now reuploaded. I apologize for such an action.

This oneshot will serve as a sequel to From Another Time and will serve as a prelude to future sequel installments in the future. It is highly recommended to read From Another Time though not required.

Harry Potter dreamed of smoke and ashes. He dreamed of burning cities, monoliths of malevolent giants. They were burned to the ground. He could smell the smoke, the burning ashes. Taste it in his mouth. The flames around were like a festering invasion of elements. His mouth was dry, quickly leaving his throat parched.

As Harry witnessed this very situation he was in, he was also aware that he was physically in this environment of this dream of ashes.

He did not know why. He attempted to make sense of both his situation and what would have possibly occurred to have this dream, but he could not. Hagrid had spoken to him about the basic principles of magic upon his letter to Hogwarts to gather his supplies to Britain's most recognized school of magic, as he recalled his dreams in Privet Drive being one of Sirius's motorcycle and his mother's demise.

Yet that dream was one of pain of the scar, the scar of what he would never have in his greatest desires, the scar he received from a man he utterly despised.

The burning cities around him granted him little understanding. Though he understood that he was in it, he could not control it. Oh yes, he could walk around and speak, but his interaction with objects was limited to nearly nothing. He was powerless.

Powerless just as he was against Bellatrix. Powerless to save Sirius.

Too weak to save Sirius, fate condemned him for being inept to do anything, so they showed him a burning hell. Perhaps this is what he deserved after all. He was weak. If just to push that very fact in, he was stuck in a desolate land of fire, ashes, and smoke with not a clue how he got here or a way out. The jeers and taunts of Voldemort's followers continue to hush in his ears, whisperings of words that intended to cut deep into his heart and soul.

Before he could dwell on the matter of his own failures, voices came up from behind him. Distant, they were distinctly feminine, but low. He was no longer alone, for there had been others concocted.

He heard voices from the south. He turned around but his approach was cautious. After the Department of Mysteries, Harry could trust little anymore. He was not even sure he could trust his own judgment, a part of him that made his individual decisions and thoughts and feelings.

This dream of burning ashes was one that Harry did not trust, did not put thought into. Hesitation colored his actions, down to the way he walked, in an awkward gait, even though the Dursleys left him alone, and he could move fine, like any other normal person. It wrinkled his brows and face, unsure that this action was even right. Was anything he did right? Right was subjective. But Harry didn't know if it was right at all.

He still moved. Harry was spurned on forward by his own will. It didn't matter. Whatever he made right here and now would have no bearing on the realities of life. This was a dream, a dream of one of manmade thoughts and actions, but it felt all real, and he had never dreamed of this before.

"You expelled a large amount of power. You should rest. We will keep watch for now."

Harry hid behind a large slab, watching intently.

"Not yet… There's still work to be done."

A figure, a young woman, was hunched down. Her dark attire matched the landscape before her, as her hand rested on a large blade that seemed abnormal. Besides her, Harry swore was a towering figure that would have put even Hagrid to shame. His own dark wardrobe was fitted with two weapons that Harry would have pictured it to be from a fantasy novel he read.

Silence followed. Harry felt like he was an intruder that should not have been here, should not have seen them at all. Could they see him? Harry's hand dropped to his waist for his wand, only to realize a second later it was not there. He was a defenseless witness.

It was suddenly much hotter. Harry felt it. And it came directly from the woman. He didn't know, but he was undoubtedly certain, and as he turned his gaze to the burning buildings, that burned hotter than perhaps even Voldemort's Fiendfyre, Harry just felt that same terror when he felt the all excruciating pain of the Cruciatus Curse in the Triwizard Tournament, as Voldemort told him that he was going to die, that he could not wait to see the look on Dumbledore's and his friends's face when they found his body.

He felt that same one now, and he felt that he should run. Flee. Disapparate out of there. But fear overridden his senses and nerves. And he had no magic.

"Whatever that green spell was… It killed instantaneously."

The Killing Curse?

The golden sulfuric gaze followed to the hilt of her wide blade, and the ground sizzled and burned to nothing. Harry could only watch as she performed a magic unlike any other. Yet Harry's gaze followed her face. She was fatigued. Even so, she attempted to stand.

The towering being stood in front of her.

"Chernobog can wait a moment longer. Don't be impatient."

Chernobog?

"It's likely they're gone. We should recall Crownslayer, Mephisto, and the others."

He watched as she followed her gaze up the large figure of horns, clipping her blade to her side, not knowing they had a witness watching.

She nodded, "Do it then."

He unclipped something from his belt Harry recognized as a radio, clicking into the device and speaking into it. Harry heard voices of distinct males and females, accompanied by static, and then it was silent.

"Boy!"

The images twisted and warped. Harry could only watched as everything was sucked from within. The imagery and burning picturesque slowly began to be eaten alive by the unknown. Harry could do nothing, as he had no control.

"BOY!"

A loud thumping noise rang out. It cracked once more, and Harry Potter's eyes flashed open. His head whipped around to a dark room.

There were no burning buildings. The taste of ashes vanished.

That woman and… man were gone.

He was back in his room in Privet Drive. Harry turned to examine his surroundings, until he saw Hedwig.

Aunt Petunia was there as well, a livid expression on her face.

Yet even as he could see her, all he could picture was the woman and man.

He had no knowledge of them. They were complete strangers, and yet they felt so dangerous that Harry felt as if their gazes ever met him…

"BOY!"

Harry's eyes blinked rapidly as his body flinched from the shout. He looked up to who shouted it.

"Did you not hear what I said?! Get your butt up and cook breakfast! Dudley and Vernon are waiting downstairs. I'm not telling you again!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

As Harry dressed out of his hand me down pajamas to his clothes, and went down the stairs. "Well, boy? Hurry up!"

The pan was sizzling with the smell of bacon.

Even as Harry cooked, he found he could not keep his mind off that dream.