CHAPTER 1:

FRACTURED MEMORIES

The cold made his wounds ache worse. Even with the gift he had, he was struggling to regenerate them. But he needed to persevere. He needed to avenge those he cared about. Avenge what had been done to them.

But finally, he caught up to the figure in black in front of him, aiming his rifle at him. "GRINDLEWALD!" he shouted hoarsely. It was stupid, warning him of the coming attack, but he wanted this monster in human form to know why he was coming for him.

The man turned, his skin pale, his hair a ghostly pale blonde. His eyes were mismatched, one icy blue, the other dark. He was holding a large jar under one arm, and with another hand, he wielded what looked like a wand. Beneath his moustache, his lips quirked into a smile. "My word…you really are a tenacious one, aren't you?"

The pursuer didn't reply, firing bullet after bullet at the man, who batted them aside with spells. The gun was torn from his hand by another spell, and he was flung into a drift. "I'd also suggest you have been rude, but…" Grindlewald's face fell. "I regret what happened to those young ladies. You were close to them, weren't you? Unfortunately, it seems I should have chosen those whom I brought here with more care. Good help is hard to find, I believe that's the cliché."

The pursuer struggled out of the drift of snow, glaring at the wizard. "…Is that all you have to say? It's bad enough that you stole a Cadou from my aunt, made her think I was a traitor, but your pet thugs raped my friends, used them and left them to die! I'm not even sure the Mutamycete can help them."

"So you killed my men. I do have to say, I'm impressed. They were competent, at least as far as magic is concerned. I'd ask you to join me, but you're clearly not amenable. Is it too late to apologise?"

"Damn straight it is! Now, du-te dracului!" With that snarl in his native tongue, he allowed his physical form to dissolve into the punishing dark cloud his gift gave him. He surrounded his foe, not giving him any chance of escape.

But Grindlewald watched in admiration, at the dark whirlwind that surrounded him. "Magnificent…if I didn't know any better, I would say you were an Obscurial. If only you had known young Mr Barebone…well, back when he was known by that name. But…you made a grave mistake in cornering me. Even a cornered mouse would fight a cat with everything it has, and I am no mere mouse. FIENDFYRE!"

Flames burst from the man's wand, and almost instantly began to consume him. He felt agony across his form, and tried to reform his body…too little, too late. His charred remains flopped to the snow. He knew death was coming soon, and he was nowhere near the Megamycete. A rasping cry of agony emerged from the charred remains of his mouth.

His killer stood over him, an oddly solemn look in his eyes. "…As I said, I am truly sorry for what was done to your friends. Know, then, that you will join them in the Next Great Adventure. La revedere, Henric. I will remember you."

He wanted to spit at him, to show all his hate and contempt for the man. But he couldn't. As Grindlewald walked away, the last remnants of Henric Stan gave up his last thoughts to the void, the face of a red haired young woman being the last sight he saw as his mind shut down.

Daniela…I am sorry…


Emerald eyes opened, and the owner took a moment to realise he was safe…relatively speaking. Then again, how safe could he be when there was a deranged psychopath coming for him, one who had escaped from the supposedly secure Azkaban? He wasn't sure what to believe, considering how many people seemed overly worried about his safety.

Rain pelted against the window, obscuring much of the view outside of the Hogwarts Express, though it was getting darker now, presumably close to evening. His friends, along with a ragged-looking man who was probably his next DADA teacher, were seated in the compartment. "Hey, you all right, mate?" Ron Weasley asked, the gawky redhead peering at him in concern.

Harry Potter shook his head, though this was less a denial than more a need to get rid of the cobwebs in his skull. "Sorry, I haven't been sleeping well, not since last year," Harry said. "Nightmares." Which was a half-truth.

Hermione frowned, the bushy-haired witch looking thoughtful. "…I thought I heard you speaking something while asleep. If I didn't know any better, you were speaking Romanian."

Harry waved a hand dismissively. "Dudley pestered my aunt and uncle to let him watch an old horror movie that had some dialogue in Romanian," he lied. "Anyway, how do you know Romanian?"

"My godfather has an old friend there. My parents took me there on holiday back in 1990. I don't know much, just a few words here and there."

Harry nodded absently, before returning his musings to the events that had befallen him beforehand. The nightmares and dreams had been happening more and more since the Chamber of Secrets, since nearly dying to the Basilisk. He'd discovered strange shapeshifting abilities quite by accident while on sojourns away from 4 Privet Drive. At first, they disturbed him, but now, he felt like they could help him. He even used a disguise for sojourns into Diagon Alley after that whole debacle with Aunt Marge.

Oddly enough, the nightmares had ways to help him. He found that he could speak Romanian, and quite fluent Romanian at that. His mind had been filled with medical and biological knowledge, particularly about mycology, the study of fungi. Most of it corresponded to stuff he read in a textbook he'd snuck out to read at a library earlier this summer.

So where did these nightmares come from?

Another odd incident came when he snuck out into Knockturn Alley while he was in Diagon Alley. He'd come across an odd shop, one that had been run by an extremely rotund man who seemed to recognise him, while he was disguised. The man, oddly enough, had given Harry a journal, one that he could read, despite it being in Romanian. Names half-remembered from the nightmares, like Miranda, Dimitrescu, and Heisenberg were present, even if the journal seemed to be mostly about vague experiments with something called the Cadou or 'gift'. He couldn't even begin to comprehend exactly what was going on, or what it was about.

He kept the journal in his trunk for now. He didn't want his friends, especially Hermione, getting suspicious for him being able to read Romanian. It was already disturbing to him, to wake up and realise he knew a language he didn't have any reason to know in the first place. He had never been to Romania, never been outside Britain.

He wasn't looking forward to this year. Already, he had to deal with his Aunt Marge's xenophobic bullshit, the fact that someone was coming after him in the form of Sirius Black, and now Malfoy's usual taunts, shortly before he had his snooze. And there were those ominous discussions of the Azkaban guards. The way Arthur Weasley spoke of them, they didn't sound human. And not in a good way.

Deciding he needed a distraction, he asked, "Hermione, what do you know about mycology?"

Hermione blinked. "Mycology? Harry, are you interested in it?"

"I stumbled across a textbook on it. Mycology in particular, but microbiology in general."

"Mike-what?" Ron asked.

"Microbiology is the study of micro-organisms like bacteria, viruses, eukaryotic micro-organisms, prions, and so on," Hermione said. "That includes disease-causing pathogens. You know, germs? Mycology means the study of fungi. Mushrooms, toadstools, mould, that sort of thing."

"…If you say so. Knowing about germs does sound useful if you're a Healer," Ron mused.

"My godfather got me interested in microbiology. He's a virologist and geneticist. Viruses in general are fascinating. Used in the right way, they can be potentially used for gene therapy, potentially curing the worst genetic diseases. I'll admit, mycology doesn't interest me as much, but my godfather did tell me that I'd be surprised at the potential locked away within fungi. Small things can have the potential to have a huge impact. He cited the Spanish Flu epidemic back at the end of the First World War as an example. He met someone once when he was young who had witnessed what had happened to her loved ones, apparently."

Harry was about to ask who her godfather was, but the train suddenly began slowing. And he was fairly sure that they were nowhere near Hogsmeade yet.

And that's when things took a turn for the worse…


From that point on, things were, admittedly, a little fuzzy. He remembered the train coming to a halt. He remembered the lights going out, and Professor Lupin had woken. He remembered Neville and Ginny piling in.

And then, the cold creeping in. The cloaked figure. The hideous rattle of breath. The screams of a woman, and a too-familiar cold and high voice demanding she step aside.

And then, something inside his skull seemed to break. Like a pane of glass cracking. No, more like a dam beginning to crumble. He felt something beginning to trickle, and then gush into his mind. No, not into it per se. It's like his mind held something locked away, dammed up, and now, it was being released.

He could have drowned in the flood that followed, the flood of memories of a life long since past. But he kept his head above water, metaphorically. Two lives joined as one. Memories were reconciled.

Not that he was consciously aware of this. He didn't realise something was different until he woke from his slumber to find a few concerned faces looking at him. It took him a disconcertingly long time to put names to those faces. The stoic features of Madam Pomfrey. The stern features of Professor McGonagall. The careworn features of, he presumed, Professor Lupin, his face marred by a scar. All concerned.

"Finally, you're awake, Mr Potter," McGonagall said, her tone giving the lie to her somewhat perfunctory words.

"Never have I seen such a bad reaction to Dementors," Pomfrey muttered, before shoving a mug of hot chocolate, of all things, into his hands.

He looked at it in bemusement, before Lupin said gently, "Chocolate is an excellent restorative when it comes to Dementor exposure, Mr Potter."

He looked at it, shrugged, and then drank it. Oddly enough, it actually helped chase away the lingering remnants of whatever that thing was. "Dementors?" he asked.

"The guards of Azkaban. Vile creatures. They boarded the Hogwarts Express, supposedly to search for Sirius Black, but I daresay it was actually to feed on the passengers," Lupin said bitterly. "But I haven't heard of a reaction quite as bad as yours, Mr Potter. It's past midnight now. People have fainted around Dementors, but to be in unconscious for so long…" He turned to the others. "I'll leave him in your hands for now."

As he left, Pomfrey harrumphed. "A Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who actually knows his remedies. Will wonders ever cease? And what in blazes is Fudge thinking, allowing Dementors near here?"

"I reckon he isn't," her patient snarked, even as he finished his hot chocolate.

McGonagall flashed him a smile briefly. "Be that as it may, Mr Potter, we are stuck with them now. I'm afraid that you missed the Welcoming Feast for this year, so perhaps I should give you the salient points. Dementors are stationed all around the school and in Hogsmeade, as a precaution against Sirius Black coming here. They are vicious, vile creatures who care little for excuses or pleas, and are not fooled by disguises or Invisibility Cloaks. The Headmaster wished to make that point very clear."

His eyes widened in realisation. "Professor, that reminds me…my…relatives refused to sign my permission slip for Hogsmeade. Is there any means by which I can have a waiver?"

"…I'm afraid not, Mr Potter."

"Excuse me? Professor, my uncle held it over my head, used it to ensure I was on my best behaviour while my aunt was around, even when she insulted my parents with vile slurs, and I reckon he wouldn't have signed it anyway even if things didn't go pear-shaped. I had to pretend I had to go to a reform school, for goodness' sake. If I can't get it from them, how will I?"

"That is a problem that may be moot for this year, Mr Potter," McGonagall said. Despite her stern features, he could tell that she didn't like this any more than he did. "Unfortunately, you need a parent or a guardian to sign this, and staff at this school do not count as guardians for the purpose of this form. Still…I see I may need to have a word with your guardians. Reform school, indeed! This is not a borstal! In any case, there is happier news. Professor Lupin is our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and I daresay he will be better than previous incumbents. And Hagrid is now the teacher for Care for Magical Creatures, as Professor Kettleburn has retired."

Well, that was good news. Small comfort, compared to what he just heard. "That explains the textbook," he mused out loud. "I'm sorry for asking, but am I able to leave?"

"I'd like to keep you overnight, Mr Potter, for observation," Pomfrey said. "It's rare that Dementor exposure causes such an extreme reaction, but it's not unheard of. And there's oddities with your magic that I need to get to the bottom of."

"Oh joy," he snarked, lying back.

But in a way, he was glad. Some time to himself would help him come to terms with what happened. The realisation that he was no longer Harry Potter, or rather, not just Harry Potter. Even now, he was still trying to process it, figure out exactly how it happened.

Because half a century ago, he had lived a life as another person. A Romanian microbiologist and physician called Dr Henric Stan. And the nephew, and a trusted confidant, of the leader of an isolated Romanian village called Miranda…

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

Oh dear. Harry is the reincarnation of the nephew of Mother Miranda?

Now, this is actually a little different to my usual reincarnation stories, as the method of reincarnation is actually an established part of Resident Evil lore. The Megamycete can hold the minds and memories of those who died while infected with it, hinted at in the seventh game with that scene with Jack Baker, and confirmed in Village. We'll go into detail in later chapters, but a big hint was in the flashback: the Cadou Grindlewald pinched.

No numbered annotations this time.