He had been walking for a little over an hour. Though, thankfully whatever had him feeling better hadn't been entirely a fluke since his strength didn't drain away after only a few steps. He also determined that the forest he was in wasn't any he had been in before. The trees were . . . large, to put it simply. They were spaced apart enough for the sky to be seen above and their branches didn't seem to tangle too much, but they were also so incredibly tall; trees this old . . . either he was in another magically protected section of forest, or he wasn't in England anymore.
He greatly hoped for the latter.
Eventually the passive pale face of the moon was veiled by thick clouds above, draping the wood in velvety swaths of darkness. Harry had to cast a wandless lumos from the tip of his finger so he could see where he was stepping and maintain the point me spell on his wand at the same time. The unfamiliar coat he had found in his pouch exceeded all of his expectations for warmth and comfort. He didn't know how it came to be, or how he managed to have his pouch returned to him, but all he could do was be grateful.
Harry sighed in relief as he finally spotted a break in the trees, canceling his lumos. He kept walking with his eyes trained on the sight of plush grass beyond the tree line. He hoped it was a paved road he could follow—or better yet, a town! He was still weak and exhausted from everything he went through earlier, he could seriously go for sleeping in a real bed tonight—even if he had to use magic to get past the muggles since they likely wouldn't except his galleons.
His stomach clenched emptily, causing his throat to tighten as he grimaced and picked up his pace.
He may no longer be feverish, but the aching in his extremities and the sore pulse of his shoulder and calf where his old wounds were told him loud and clear that not everything had been magically fixed. Harry knew a handful of healing spells, but they probably wouldn't do much on already closed wounds. He could certainly try later, but his tired mind was one-tracked at the moment as he finally breached the forest and came out on the top of a tall hill.
His brain sputtered in its tracks, struggling to process what lay before his eyes. It was not a cement road, nor the edgings of a town. It wasn't more forest or an empty field. Itwas . . . itwas . . . what was it?!
Stone. Pale as desert sand under the moonlight, structures of fair stone stretching as far as the eye could see. Long dirt and cobbled streets lined with torches and very old-looking oil lamps. Balconies littered with banners and laundry alike. Fluttering stretches of brilliantly died fabrics hung between buildings to protect from the sun during the day and keep in the warmth at night. Even from such a distance, he could see people and hear the distant, dull thud of drums. A city. But none like he had ever seen before. There were stone towers and huge structures full of archways, there were pale bridges over the wide river running through the city.
Rising from what seemed like the center of the city, was some sort of palace. It was enormous, it looked big enough to house at least half the population of the bustling city around it. It seemed like every window in said palace was lit with a warm glow and he couldn't imagine how monstrously huge the place would be up close. It was certainly larger than Hogwarts—one could probably fit several Hogwarts' inside such a place—and looked far grander and older than the castle he had been schooled in.
Harry could only really see what lay far off in the distance, as his immediate view of the city was blocked by the biggest and most intimidating wall he had ever seen. It had to have been at least fifteen meters high, patrolled by men in white who walked between the towers built into the wall and watching for disturbances. They looked tiny and indistinguishable from where he stood.
Harry may have lived in England all his life, but he knew enough of the world to know that a place like this simply did not exist. A place this huge and so densely populated, with this kind of intricate and ancient architecture void of cars or any modern conveniences did not exist! So, how was it that Harry had stumbled upon it?
His mind was whirring and spinning so much it made him dizzy.
Had he gone back in time?
That was his first thought, feeling both confused and discombobulated by the sudden turn of events, he struggled to piece it all together. Time travel would explain what he was seeing now, but not how he had managed to go back in time. Time travel had only every been safely done over a few hours—not centuries—and even the most dangerous and daring wizards and witches had only managed to go back a few months before, no one had ever gone any further back than that.
Well, there was only one way he'd find out more about his current situation, and if it meant he also found some food and a place to sleep later on, then he wouldn't spend too much time debating over it. Pulling up the fur hood of his coat, Harry slipped his wand discretely into his sleeve and began the trek towards the gates.
The gates were open, beams of reinforced wood as thick as tree trunks bound together by bands of steel and iron. They looked like doors made for giants, and he didn't wish to know how many people it took to open or close them. Harry kept his head low as he passed through the gates along with a few weary-looking travelers either weighed down by their bags or guiding the reigns of oxen that pulled their carts.
He glanced around under the lip of his hood as he passed, noting that there was a higher concentration of guards here at the gates, but thankfully they weren't stopping and checking every person who entered. Harry kept his head low and tried not to stare too long at the sheathed swords strapped to their hips, feeling an odd fluttering in his gut at the formidable sight.
The first thing to greet him upon entering the gates was a statue three times his height. Carved from stone as white as snow and smoother than porcelain, a woman draped in robes with an equally pale veil over her wavy hair stood meters from the gates. Her head was bowed so her unblinking carved eyes could always see those who entered the city. One of her hands was pressed over he heart, while the other hand was stretched out towards him. Cupped with her palm facing the sky like she was either asking for or giving something, though her hand remained empty. Piled at her feet were flowers, foods, candles and an assortment of coins, wooden toys, and other unidentifiable objects. There were even several people who stopped whatever they were doing and knelt down before the statue to either pray or pay respects of a sort.
Harry, seeing this, figured the woman depicted must be some sort of goddess or figure of importance for the city. He did not pretend to pray to her, but if she really was their deity, he silently hoped she watched over him. He needed all the help he could get.
As he followed the majority of the people who had entered the city with him, he took to carefully observing everything. He felt like his suspicions of not being in his own time were confirmed by taking a good look at what the other people wore and how there was absolutely no inkling of the modern world present in the darkened streets he was walking through. He didn't know whether to be relieved or worried. Perhaps a healthy mix of both would do him good.
Harry was staring at the compact dirt path of an alley way that he was passing through, when he came out on the other side and he was startled by the lively street he had stumbled upon. The area was lit by oil lamps everywhere and even though it was fairly late in to the night, the street was packed with people shuffling from different buildings and portable carts that had been set up. The air here was much warmer with all the bodies and the savory scent of food.
Somehow, he had found the thriving night life of the city, but he was glad, as this was exactly where he needed to be. This clearly wasn't the wealthiest part of the city, but it was where he could meld into the blur of people and get what he needed. And what he needed, was food and a place to sleep.
Harry kept his hood up and his head low, but he did raise it enough to be able to eye the buildings around him in order to try to find an inn of sorts. Though, Harry had just barely started walking along with the river of bodies when he came across a crowd that took up nearly the whole street as they watched something and cheered for whatever it was. Curious, Harry weaved through the ring of people, as he couldn't see over anyone's heads. When he finally made it through, he froze at the sight before him.
Men donning similar colorful garments spun and flipped to rile the crowd with their acrobatics, however, that wasn't what caught his attention so raptly. No, what chained the wizard to his spot was the arcs of flame that followed the fingertips of the performers like brilliant billowing scarves. They weren't powerful and Harry had certainly seen more impressive feats of magic—but that was exactly the problem, this was magic, and yet he could feel that most of the people around him had not a drop of magic in them. There was even a smaller group of women on the other side of the men in long, richly dyed skirts commanding ribbons of water and trails of droplets with just the flick of their wrists as they danced and twirled to the jovial music being played for them somewhere on the other side of the crowd from him.
There were—essentially—muggles everywhere, and yet these people were performing magic just for the entertainment of them. Harry felt utterly shell-shocked. What the hell is going on? And the more he took in about the situation, the less it made sense.
The performers were using wandless magic, yet from what he could feel, they actually held very little magic themselves. Though, even more troubling than that, is the fact that Harry knew that what he was seeing shouldn't be possible. History of Magic may have been a dreadful subject during his Hogwarts years, but he had at least learned enough to know that never, in all of history, have muggles and magic-users ever co-existed like this!
Not only that, but the magic they were using was completely foreign to him as well. It was real magic, he was sure of it, but it wasn't like anything he had encountered before. It was . . . simpler, more rudimentary and nature-based than what he had experience with. He doubted any of the performers before him could work magic like a normal witch or wizard, doubted they could cast even a first-year spell, but they still had magic.
It didn't make sense, didn't fit. 'This,' had never been a part of history. Harry felt a cold finger of dread sinking into his guts as the odd pieces seemed to fit together in ways they shouldn't. Harry wasn't in the past. He hadn't somehow time traveled. Wherever he was, it wasn't his world.
Harry felt the air rush out of his lungs all at once. The person next to him must have mistook his dawning horror for awe as the man turned and flashed him a sly smirk.
"Impressive, innit? People thinks only them fancy nobles and creatures be born with such gifts." The man shook his head with a bitter curl to his upper lip. "Even the lowest of us can be born with a bit of a spark. After that, all it takes is a good bit a learnin' to be able to work a bit o' magic!"
Harry watched the man with wide eyes as he went back to watching the show with his arms crossed and thin lips pursed. This man, who was obviously human and magic-less, spoke of it as if it was just common knowledge—and perhaps it was common knowledge here.
Harry slipped from the crowd and began thinking as he walked. It was like he had slipped into some sort of fairy tale or something! The rational part of his mind chased the thought from his head. He hadn't been sucked into the pages of a book, he'd gone through the archway (which must have been some sort of portal or gateway, a tear between worlds) and now he was in another world. Or, more practically speaking, he was in a parallel universe. Both muggle and magical societies had speculated about parallel universes, the existences of dimensions beyond what they could see or feel. Neither had obtained a concrete answer about their existence, but there was enough theory out there to suggest it was quite likely.
So, if he was in another universe, it would make sense that both history and magic could be very different. For all he knew, even the geography could be different. He could see that there were obvious differences in the two worlds, but it couldn't be that different if these people also spoke English.
That is, unless they weren't speaking English and he just didn't know it because he could understand their language. It the same way he could speak parseltongue but to him it still only ever sounded like English. Obviously something had happened in that archway—the subtle changes in his body's condition, the dissolving of his core, which he still had yet to explore the full consequences that would have on him and his magic—if the purpose of whatever happened there had been to prepare him to enter this new world, it stood to reason it might have allowed him to understand the language(s) spoken here.
Harry sighed as his weighted thoughts tangled themselves together as he attempted to comprehend everything, creating a dull throb of pain in the forefront of his skull the more he tried to think. Deciding to take things one step at a time, Harry refocused on his surroundings. He had more urgent problems to solve anyways. Like, how he was going to get the money for an inn. He didn't have currency that they used here and he doubted anyone here would take his galleons. They may be gold, but this was likely a rougher part of the city, people here were more cautious and wouldn't take payment unless they knew it was good. Also, galleons were fairly distinct looking and the less that could be connected to Harry or made him stick out, the better.
Harry needed money immediately, and there weren't a whole lot of options. There also wasn't anything he wouldn't do for the safety of his child. It was an easy conclusion to come to. He didn't have money, so he would take someone else's.
Perhaps the old him would have refused to steal out of some sort of misguided morality, but this wasn't about right and wrong. This wasn't about avoiding doing absolutely anything dubious out of fear of corruption. A lot had changed for Harry, and if he really was in another world, no longer watched by the entire English magical community, then he no longer had to check his behavior. No more walking on egg shells, he could put all of his focus on protecting what was most precious to him.
Harry pulled back from the stream of people, standing instead in the shadows between buildings to watch them and think of the best way to do this. Harry wasn't really a stranger to stealing. As a child, if there was anything he wanted or needed, he would have to steal it since Petunia would never buy it for him.
Mostly, he had stolen from convenience stores and shops—if caught stealing there he could slip away while they tried to ring the cops or the fake phone number he'd given them for the Dursley's, if the Dursley's caught him stealing from them, there was nowhere to hide and he would be locked in his cupboard all day. It had been quite a long time since Harry had stolen on the regular, but the memories and desperation were still there and he had always had very quick and nimble hands. There was a reason he suited the position as seeker the best. Of course, he had to stop once he entered Hogwarts, but he never forgot.
Harry even had a bit more help this time around.
Moving deeper into the shadowed alley way, once Harry was out of sight, he reached into the pouch in his pocket and pulled out his invisibility cloak. Donning the cloak, Harry slipped back into the street unseen. He was careful not to bump into anyone as he skirted the edges and scoped the area for a mark.
It wasn't hard to find one. The majority of the people about at this hour were stumbling in and out of pubs—or would 'tavern' be a more suitable name—and were all fairly drunk. Those that were busy during the day making any wage they could, flooded these streets to drink, eat, commune, and occasionally find the company of another. People still smeared with dirt, soot, oil, and so on refused to leave until their bellies were full and tankards empty. Men who couldn't walk straight and women with open blouses, hiked skirts, and piercing gazes looking for marks of their own. It was not a place of innocence and Harry held no pity for the man his gaze locked onto.
He was slumped against the ground at the mouth of an alley, unseen by most passerby. The man was clearly unconscious, the front of his shirt still wet with spilled ale and his head bent forward at an almost painful angle. Harry's nose wrinkled as he approached and even under the thin cloak he caught the smell wafting off of the man. A foul mix of body odor, alcohol, and vomit. The drunk man was absolutely pungent. Not wanting to get any closer than he had to, Harry wandlessly accioed a small linen pouch of coins and walked away before he could wake.
Harry found another secluded spot to take his cloak off again and wandered around with his stolen coins to get hot, savory food from different stalls. Which also served to help him understand the currency he held a bit better before he found a seedy inn in what he assumed was the rougher and poorer district of the city.
Outside, he could here what sounded like the whisper of waves lapping at stone and wood alike and figured there must be a harbor somewhere nearby, which would explain the more run down area he was in—cheap lodging for those who were just passing through.
There were some carts and stalls here, and he could tell that the street around him was likely much busier during the day, but it wasn't food, drink, and entertainment these folks were selling. There weren't lanterns lighting these streets and any people Harry passed were walking quick, sure, and with their heads hung low so he never could make out any faces.
Harry could tell just by looking, that this place held dangerous people. Criminals. Clouded with the same dark and foreboding energy that had clung to the winding narrow passageways as Knockturn Alley. Instead of feeling dread or apprehension, Harry settled smoothly into the shadows of the area. This was more familiar to him. Besides, this was exactly the kind of place that was meant for Harry. He may be carrying a child, he may one day soon become a parent, but Harry was still a fugitive. Even in another world, if someone here ever found out what he's done in the past, he would surely be labeled a criminal.
He was a war criminal. He has killed people. He led a faction of people into battle and even dismantled his own government—regardless of it's corruption. He's used forbidden magic countless times—and would do so again if the need arose. He didn't even mean that he was the "cause" of some people's death's—that was unquestionable—no, he has killed people. During duels with Death Eaters, during the battle of Hogwarts, even in Diagon Alley when he was ambushed trying to flee the country, even then he had thrown out deadly curses in his desperation and knew they had hit their mark quite a few times.
Harry was a criminal. He had blood on his hands. Blood that he hadn't regretted spilling. He was dangerous, unfortunately very experienced, and desperate. Harry had his wand now, and though he still knew little about this world and the magic it held, he knew his own capabilities and did not fear walking along those darkened streets. He was safer amongst those who minded their own business and could recognize when they were outmatched.
And so, he found a decrepit little pub that held an inn up the stairs on the second floor. Honestly, it reminded Harry a lot of the Hogshead, and he wondered when this strange new world would stop reminding him of the one he had left behind.
The woman behind the bar was haggard, with frizzy bright copper hair and a mean sneer on her face. She was plump, layered in worn old clothing, and had round ruddy cheeks that did little to soften her glower. The pub had a few patrons, almost all of them sitting alone, drinking or eating quietly to themselves, causing an odd hush to clog the air.
Harry, whose bones were beginning to ache from his horribly taxing day and all the running and walking he'd been doing, walked up to the bar before his knees could give out right there in the doorway—as he doubted anyone there would be generous enough to help him up if they did. He could tell the woman's patience was wearing thin before he'd even approached the bar.
"Whatta you want, boy?" She spat out just as he opened his mouth. Harry's teeth audibly clicked at both her venous tone and the grating, condescending title tacked onto the end. He'd never liked being called that in the past. Everyone who had insisted on calling him that instead of his name had all left him with scars that no one but he could see.
"A room." His face settled into something blank—a default of frigid aloofness—and his tone, though scratchy, was practically glacial. Before the woman could reply with more drivel, Harry carelessly tossed his stolen sack of coins onto the dirty bar between them. The man hadn't been carrying much money on him, but what was left should at least get him a night or two.
The woman pursed her chapped lips as she plucked the bag from the dark wooden top and curiously peeked inside. A flicker in her eye assured Harry that his night would be spent indoors for the first time in weeks. Her scrutiny became no less abrasive, but she did tuck the bag of coins into the dark folds of her skirts without complaint.
"You've got three nights. After that you'll be needin' to pay more to stay longer. There aint much in the way of rules, just keep your plights outside of these walls. And there'll be no fightin' in here, boy." She finished with a putrid curl to her lips, revealing blackened teeth rubbed with charcoal to fend of rot and decay.
Harry ducked his head and strode away without another word, ignoring the shrill cackling of the woman at the bar as he ascended the narrow stairs at the back of the room. Harry claimed the first empty room he found and the first thing he did was withdraw his wand and put up heavy wards. Harry didn't know whether it was his lack of using a wand and only using wandless magic for so long, or whether it had something to do with what had happened to him while passing through the gate, but his magic rose above and beyond his beck and call. Every little thing he did felt almost detrimentally overpowered, but he was far too exhausted to fully assess the situation.
As soon as Harry saw the small bed pushed up into the corner, all thought leaked from his mind as he shuffled over and climbed on top of the lumpy mattress. He didn't even bother shedding his coat or slipping under the wool blanket. He just curled up on his side and dropped off into a slumber that would even make the dead envious.