Summary: (AU) The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world. Pity the bloody time-turner isn't working right…
Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only J.K.Rowling
Italics indicate memory/thoughts.
…Chapter Four…
Attack of Dementors
It was out of habit these days that Harry would find himself awake mere hours after the sun first surfaced, with no wish to ever go back to sleep again. Instead he would pass this time before breakfast reading old newspapers, having borrowed stacks upon stacks from the school library. He'd told Madam Pince he was doing a historical analysis of the truth in star gazing. Hermione would have been proud.
And so it was the way his new routine had began; waking, reading, eating, teaching, eating, sleeping.
But all the while, with each second he wasted in the castle, Harry could think of little else but seeing his parents again, seeing Sirius again, and having a half decent conversation with Ron or Hermione or Ginny. And they would not leave him alone, never stopping from the continuous plague on his mind, the faces of dead friends surfacing at the most inappropriate times.
Friday morning came as the end of the much dreaded first week back, beginning for Harry exactly the same as the four days before it had. But as sharp emerald eyes flicked carelessly over a ten year old paper, Harry was startled out of his reverie.
A chill crept down his spine, sending hair to stand on end.
And Harry felt it then. Chilled, scared, drained. Like the happiness was being sucked right out of him. He knew that Dementors were near, and anywhere near was simply far too close.
Harry jumped from the old lounge suite he had been lying on, spilling lukewarm tea down his front. He didn't even see the mug fall further to shatter on the floor; Harry was already spinning around in circles, trying to determine which direction the soulless beasts may be heading from.
At last he stopped turning to face his eastward bound window, looking down upon the shadowed depths of the forbidden forest. In-between the dark treetops Harry stared hard for any sight of the Dementors, but could see nothing of their ghastly forms at all. Harry pressed his nose right up to the cold glass, his eyes darting this way and that, hoping beyond reason that feeling the presence of Dementors that were not even in sight would not mean the only thing it could: that they had come in plenty numbers.
Without thinking any more on the matter Harry reached for his wand tucked securely inside of his sleeve, raised it into the air and whispered the first spell that came to mind, before he even considered what he was doing.
"Alarmiousa."
Sure enough it only took seconds and the alarm bell sounded pounding through the walls of the school, not at all a welcoming to the later rising occupants.
Harry stood frozen where he was, tea spilt down his robes, mouth gaping open. He could not believe that this would happen so soon - that anything normal of wartime would be happening at all. He'd been deluding himself, living in a fantasy, dreaming of such things that were never to have any possibility of really happening.
Because Tom Riddle was still in power, set to devastate all that he could. And where Tom Riddle was, evil would pursue.
And that was the way Harry had set off, this thought triggering him into old habits; down two sets of spiral staircases, three floors of screaming portraits, a double take on a moving stairwell and another five corridors on and he was half way there. By the time Harry reached the Entrance Hall twelve minutes later, panting from the long climb, the whole student body was in an uproar.
Harry could hear Hermione's voice inside of the hall -Head Girl, like she should have been in his world- trying to calm down the frightened students. Harry walked past the slightly ajar doors, peeking in to see the students milling about, picking fights and screeching. Waiting outside the four House hour glasses the Professors crowded in a circle, talking in harassed tight-lipped voices.
"What could it be?"
"What's happening?"
"Is this a prank?"
"Who sounded the alarm?"
"I did," Harry said loudly, speaking over the babble of voices, squeezing into a small opening to stand next to Hagrid. "I sounded the alarm."
Dumbledore turned to him, waving a hand at the others to bring silence. They obeyed without hesitation. "Why? What's wrong?"
"There are Dementors," Harry replied quickly, making sure his voice would not carry into the hall. "A lot of them, coming from the forbidden forest."
"How many, exactly?" McGonagall asked, "can you give us an estimate?"
"Oh, I haven't actually seen them," Harry told his fellow professors, just then realising how odd that may seem. "I can feel them, you know."
Apparently they did not know.
"Dear Merlin," Severus proclaimed, pinching the bridge of his over large nose. "Please do not tell me, Mr Evans, that you called the alarm not being absolutely certain of the immediate danger?"
"Yes, of course I did," Harry snapped back. "These are Dementors we're talking about. Advancing on the castle. What, would you have me invite them in for a cup of tea?"
Snapes' face lost the little colour it usually had then, Harry recognising the sign to be one of boiling rage. Still he sneered back at Snape, looking him straight in the eye. Harry was, admittedly, never one to give in easily - as stubborn as they come.
"All right then," Dumbledore said, ignoring and overriding the silent battle amongst his staff. "Those of us who are able to fight the Dementors will. Filius, if you will floo the Ministry, and Minerva, I leave you in charge of the students."
McGonagall pursed her ever-thinner lips, Flitwick nodded.
The alarm still resounded behind them, bouncing louder and louder, creating more panic than Peeves could have dreamed of.
Those able to do the Patronus charm - a small five in total, including Sinistra, Snape, Lupin, Harry and Dumbledore - followed the Headmasters lead, bringing them out the front doors of the school to stand on the threshold viewing the lake and, most importantly, the forest. They wasted no more time.
The morning sun was hidden under a cloud, the sky looming dark and sinister before them. Harry looked quickly to his left, part of the forest obscured from the castle. The staff ran out further onto the grass, heading with caution to the forest. They stopped a hundred metres from the tall pines, panting, having planted themselves directly between the onslaught and the school.
Four men, one woman, robes billowing in the morning breeze, wands raised in stiff hands. Waiting. Watching.
"I think I can just see them now," Remus said, his voice soft. Though, when Harry looked at him, it seemed much more like he was sniffing the Dementors.
They stood there, not another word being uttered, for the next five, six minutes. Slowly, black dots peeking between the bark, the Dementors appeared in Harry's sight. With them, a confirmation of his initial feelings, came the familiar icy, dank morbid dread.
"…as if… As if you'd never be happy again," Harry supplied dully.
"How long will the Ministry take?" Harry asked Lupin quietly, not taking his eyes off the trees.
"I'm not sure," Remus replied, a frown creasing his forehead.
"Only," Harry hesitated but continued, "this could be a distraction."
Remus looked at him then, as did Dumbledore and Snape.
"And what do you mean by that?"
"Well," Harry sighed, his own dim memory of a Dememtor attack on Hogwarts coinciding suspiciously with a greater battle elsewhere. "When was the last time an attack was made without Deatheaters?" His eyes flicked to Snape without thinking.
No-one answered, keeping their gaze locked straight ahead.
"Get ready. They're almost within distance."
And then Dumbledore rolled his shoulders, drew himself up as tall as he could, and practically bellowed "Expecto Patronus!"
A shimmering Phoenix erupted from the tip of his wand, shooting towards the line of Dementors forming about the trees, illuminating the vast number of black hooded figures.
Harry just watched, knowing he needed the Dementors to be closer, but dreading and hating them with every fibre of his being. In the light of Dumbledores' Patronus they saw the Dementors coming in, a loose line floating ominously towards them - towards the castles main entrance, their stench filtering through the morning air. Tainted. Intoxicating. Harry futilely began to count, reaching twenty three before he gave up. There were hundreds, more than thrice that he had encountered in his third year. Likely, the whole group to ever of inhabited Azkaban was gathered there today, bent on destroying the school. Destroying, that is, by way of murder.
And it was at this thought that the first terrible memory absorbed Harry's mind, drowning out the protests like only Dementors could, throwing him back through time to one of the worst moments in his life.
… … … …
She smiled, chocolate brown eyes gazed unseeingly forward, though the body was limp in his arms.
"Ginny? Please get up."
He shook her, he kissed her, he squeezed her, and he cried over her cold body, but still she would not be awoken. She could not be awoken.
… … … …
Harry bit his lip, heaving deep breaths.
Happy, happy… he had to think of something happy…
When Dementors came like this - in these numbers, as the opposition, he had to be prepared with a good, happy memory. His parents? But no… he needed something more than that now… more than he had ever needed in his life… And it came to Harry like the golden Snitch always did; jubilant and proud.
The elated feeling of triumph.
Because through all that he had lost, through all it had cost him, Harry Potter had won out in the end. He had done it. He had been victorious. And by Merlin, he could do it again.
"Expecto…" his voice was feeble, so soon exhausted. "Expecto Patronus."
A faintly silver stag dripped from Harry's wand tip, alike four other ghostlike animals beside him. Together the five Patronus' danced forward, meeting the line of Dementors head-one, attempting to chase them back.
Attempting, being the operative word.
The black clad figures laughed at the pathetic attempt - laughed, and ridiculed and mocked.
Because in no way whatsoever were five small non-existent creatures going to drive back the Great Lord Voldemorts' Army of Dementors.
Harry took a step back, keeping to the right of the line the Professors had formed. To be standing against such huge a force seemed crazy now, completely beyond comprehension. Had Harry gone though so much to meet death at such an end? To live a week in another universe, have his hopes raised so far, and die without anyone knowing even his true name?
Harry turned, watched Dumbledore emit another Patronus, watched Snape take another step back, watched Remus ready his wand to no avail, watched Sinistra fall to her knees.
And yet again Harry was sucked into his own mind, forced to live through another few seconds of self-torture.
… … … …
So many people had turned up, more than he could ever have dreamed of. They crammed together, tightly packed, compressed, openly declaring love and forgiveness. Together, one. United. They cheered him on, stamped their feet on the ground, shook their fists in the air. The sound was deafening, unrestrained and excited.
Because they had hope. Because they believed in him.
And for the first time in a very long while, Harry Potter had smiled.
But then a resounding crack, a dull thud, and the wards had broken. The Deatheaters had arrived.
And they were all going to die.
… … … …
Dumbledore's hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him. "Hadi!" His voice was loud and clear, shouting in his ear. "Stay with us, Evans."
Snape cursed and blanked out, collapsing in a pool of mud, his body convulsing. Remus conjured a hazy cloud and Sinistra was down too, pulling chunks of dark hair from her own scalp.
The Dementors were twelve metres away, eleven, ten, nine. But there were too many, far too many, and Harry could then not think of anything at all, but the one stubborn emotion that was always with him. His obligation. His gentleman-like courtesy. Harry couldn't ignore these people and their problems, no matter that they didn't even know his real name. He couldn't… and he wouldn't.
Just as suddenly as Harry had woken from one tragic memory, Remus was down, kneeling beside him. His hands clung to his face, nails scratching fleshy cheeks to leave deep gouges, blood spilling everywhere. For a moment all Harry could do was stand and stare, his mind racing through the nightmares his colleague may be reliving.
Faintly the bell still rang in his head, drifting in the breeze from the castle.
Then Harry kneeled too, gripping the werewolf's arms and pulling him to his feet. They would stand strong, defend the castle together. Himself and Remus, almost like old times.
The Dementors were just seven metres away now, moving faster, more excited.
"Expecto Patronum!" Harry yelled again, and pearly white wisps escaped his wand, hovering mere feet in front of him. It wasn't enough.
They had one job now to do; keep the Dementors at bay, keep them from entering the school at all costs, to withstand the torture of their presence till the Ministry would sent their Aurors' to take over.
Again all good thoughts left Harry to the horror of ill ones.
… … … …
A half empty bottle of firewhisky sat in front of him, taunting and tempting. His head spun, grief clinging like tape to his soul. The alley he rested in was dirty and unsafe, but still he could not muster enough inside of himself to go. To carry on. He couldn't be fucked.
It was all too much… Too much for even the Boy-Who-Lived to cope with.
Anyone but Hermione. He had promised Ron, and failed yet again.
Hell would be incomparable to Heaven, as the wreck he now faced. Death would come with rejoice.
"Get up!" Snape cursed, appearing out of no where, pushing Harry against the cold stone wall. He showed no mercy, no pity. "You must get up!"
"Why?" Harry had asked, blood shot eyes accusing. His voice came slurred, and he only loathed himself the more for letting Snape hear it. "What's the point?"
"The point?" Snape spat, pale and furious. "Because you must! Because no other will, and no other would stand a chance." He cursed again, pulling Harry up from the scruff of his robes. "You owe it to your parents, to your friends, to the innocent.
It's your duty, your obligation. You owe it to yourself!"
And he had got up, lived another day, killed another dozen. Because he could never, no matter what else may happen, ever let the Potions Master see him again as he was that night.
… … … …
There were shouts behind him then, drowned out by more screams of terror. Maybe the Aurors had finally showed up. Maybe, just perhaps, they might make it through.
Maybe the army of Dementors had broken into the castle.
Harry started, waking to find himself on the ground, Sinistra writhing and screaming beside him. A Dementor held her robes, bent over her body, soaking her in. Seven more were lined up, like waiting for service at a cafe. Snape was out of his sight, Remus standing again somewhere just behind him. Dumbledore had backed away, sweat beaded on his face, dying wisps still escaping his wand.
Fighting, on and on and on. Never giving up. Never looking back.
And, yes, Harry could see them now - a hazy line of Auror's, running their way from the gate. But they weren't fast enough. They wouldn't make it in time.
Dumbledore knew, Harry could see it in his eyes. Still though, there was hope. Hope until the very end, looking bright lurid green in the eye.
Harry was too familiar with this point in the battle - bringing out the last of your recourse's to meet the end. One last blast, going out with a bang. He took a deep breath, summoning all within himself. If he could do it at thirteen, he could do it again now. He knew he could.
A Dementor stood over him, black rags flying in the wind, stooping to reach his level. It's hand outstretched greedily, showing brown-yellow knobbed skin, long needle thin fingers.
Closer, closer, reaching, clutching.
Voldemort was dead. Defeated. He had won. …The one with the power…
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
A stag. Ghostlike, fierce, angry. It embodied his emotion, growing with raw energy.
It charged.
And Harry fainted.
…pppqqq…
A/N: Phew. Comments, whether they be good or bad, are all welcomed :)