What Do We Fight For?

A/N:Thank you to all those that favourited, followed or left a review. This chapter has to happen unfortunately- just setting up the scene.

Chapter 2:

With a burst of blinding pain Harry slowly registered the fact that he was lying flat on his back- the grass brushing lightly against his skin and leaving him with the urge to scratch at it as he blinked several times. Becoming slowly aware of his surroundings his eyes took in the clear blue sky indifferently for a brief moment before confusion hit him.

The first thing he realised was that the storm had somehow ceased and had instead been replaced by the bright gleam of the sun. That triggered another warning bell in Harry's mind because it had been night what seemed like merely minutes before.

Carefully getting to his feet and looking around Harry expected to see some sign that the storm had happened- but the grass wasn't even the slightest bit damp. Slightly disorientated he started to walk blindly in a direction, trying to ignore the dull pain in his head and the sharp stinging of his scar. Something trickled down his face and he wiped his hand across his forehead.

It came away red.

Harry frowned at the crimson smear on his palm that glistened slightly from the sunlight. He couldn't remember an instance where his curse scar had actually bled before and he wasn't sure what to make of it. What did it mean? Voldemort hadn't even been resurrected yet.

Slowly his feet carried him forward, his mind distracted.

Unsure about this turn of events Harry finally saw buildings in the near distance after what felt like hours had past and he aimed towards them, trying to clear his thoughts and focus on the ground in front of him.

As he continued however and came upon a street, Harry realised a second thing. Everything and everyone looked outdated, old fashioned and Harry had to pause in slight bewilderment. As people walked by they gave him strange looks but no one stopped to offer any help to the small boy who was soaked to the bone and had blood dripping down his face.

Shaking his head as though it would clear it and trying his hardest to ignore the piercing pain in his brain, Harry started walking down the street, choosing to disregard all the odd looks everyone was giving him.

Staring dazedly around him his attention was finally drawn to an abandoned newspaper lying forgotten on a wall. Reaching out towards it with a feeling of anticipation rising in his stomach, Harry could only stare in disbelief once he had flipped it over. 1944 the date at the top read though it took a while for his brain to process that fact. 1944! Harry's eyes widened in incredibility. How had..?

He couldn't remember! He didn't know. The lightening maybe? His thoughts were a scramble as his brain worked vigorously to try and figure it out to no avail. Because it just wasn't possible… And yet unless he was dreaming, here he was.

The newspaper dropped to the floor, it's pages flying open and landing in a jumbled mess. Harry didn't even notice- his thoughts too chaotic as theories and ideas scrambled to the front only to be discarded within seconds.

Harry then started walking through the crowd of people, all the time wondering what to do. He had nowhere to go, no one to go to. He still wasn't entirely sure that he believed the newspaper print because traveling back more than 40 years just wasn't heard of. You couldn't do it. Yet everything around him pointed to the possibility that maybe, maybe he had.

And with that thought, that realisation came hope. Because it was different. It was something new and suddenly the future didn't seem so bleak and distinct. Suddenly a whole new range of possibilities seemed to open up because he hadn't lived this before.

He had almost forgotten what it was like not knowing.


Night had completely fallen and all was silent save for the occasional car or breath of wind. Harry Potter stumbled his way through the streets, his small frame feeling week and fragile due to the lack of food and sleep in his system. 15 nights had passed since he had arrived in the past and Harry found himself becoming increasingly desperate.

He had finally accepted the fact that he might just not be in the the 1980's anymore. Number 4 Privet Drive didn't even exist. And while Harry certainly felt no sense of pain or loss at that thought, it did mean that he had no form of shelter to go to nor food to eat.

He'd been forced to steal money when he could but Harry couldn't exactly say he was an expert thief- far from it- however there was little other choice unless he wanted to die from starvation. The nights were cold and all he had was the one pair of worn clothes he had been wearing for weeks now that provided little to no protection from the night air.

His feet hurt from running, the soles of his shoes nearing non existent and he had barely managed to avoid being arrested after one of the muggles had caught him trying to take their wallet. Though the small wizard was currently weighing the benefits of being taken in by the police and was quickly coming to the realisation that it might be his best option.

A cough erupted from from his chest and he spluttered, loosing his footing and stumbling, falling onto the harsh ground.

It took rather a lot of effort but he managed to lift his head, despite the temptation to simply close his eyes and let go, and found himself staring at a dismal grey building.

'Wool's Orphanage.'

A rusty sign read and Harry could have cried with relief. The name seemed slightly familiar, tugging at something in his memories but for now he put it to the back of his mind and with his last hidden strength, forced himself to stand and staggered towards the small ray of hope. Making it past the old iron fence he weakly knocked on the door, resisting the urge to fall forward, and waited impatiently for someone to answer.

When the door finally did open, it was to a strict looking woman with greying hair and sharp eyes that took in the figure before her for only a second before opening the door wider... To which he promptly collapsed.


"... his parents?"

"Maybe he doesn't have any. What with the war I wouldn't be too surprised. Too many children are ending up orphans because of it Martha."

A sigh, "It's terrible really..."

Harry frowned and pressed his eyes even more firmly together, trying to block out the noise. All he wanted was sleep.

Unfortunately, his wish was not granted for their voices continued and finally, he shot his eyes open in annoyance.

"...and I.. Oh, he's awake!" A feminine voice called out and he sat up in bed to see the women that had opened the door to him earlier and another girl, perhaps in her mid twenties, staring at him in concern.

The older woman peered at him for a moment before speaking, her voice sharp and firm, "Do you remember how you got here boy?"

Harry merely shook his head, noticing that he was no longer wearing his torn and dirt covered clothes but was instead dressed in an itching grey uniform that scratched against his skin unpleasantly.

"What about your parents, do you know where they are?"

"Dead." Harry replied bluntly.

Hearing this, the younger woman's eyes widened considerably and filled with a sadness Harry didn't care to see. "Oh I'm so sorry!" The woman- Martha- said, staring at him with pity.

Harry merely shrugged, so used to the useless platitude by now that in truth, did nothing.

The other woman stared at him with sightly softer eyes, though it did little to lesson the sharpness of her face, "How old are you?"

"Six." Harry replied though he would admit that he had long since lost count of his real age. 300. 400. 500. The years all simply blurred together.

"And what's your name sweetie?" Martha asked him kindly.

Harry paused, what name should he use? After a few seconds of silence, Harry decided to keep his name. There was no harm in it after all... no one would recognise it. Besides, he didn't really want to start having to answer to another name which was no easy feat.

"Harry."

"Do you have a last?" Martha's voice was kind and comforting as she smiled down at the small scrawny boy who felt as if he was undergoing an interrogation.

"Potter."

Behind Martha, the other woman spoke up though her voice had lost it's sharp quality, "Well Mr Potter, it seems you will be staying here for the near future."

Harry gazed at her through blank eyes, "Here?"

"You are at Wool's orphanage and I am the matron, Mrs Cole."

Once again, Harry was struck with the strongest sense of familiarity.

"Do I have to stay? Miss." He added the honorific as an afterthought. If he was going to be staying in the orphanage- and Harry wasn't entirely sure whether he would or not- then there was no reason to not try and get on the matron's good side. If she had one. Harry wasn't sure she did however he could at least try to avoid her bad one.

"For the time being yes. At least until any relatives come and claim you."

"And what if I don't have any relatives?"

She stared at him inquisitively, "Then I'm afraid that this will be your permanent residence."

Harry merely nodded. He doubted the matron would really be able to stop him from leaving if he wanted to. Then both women turned to leave, Martha shooting him a quick smile he was sure was meant to be reassuring.

Mrs Cole faced him once more just before she left, "I expect you to be down for breakfast in 20 minutes and you can meet the other children. The rules will be explained to you later but for now you should rest."

Harry simply nodded once again and watched as both women left, shutting the door behind them and leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Glancing around the room that he would be staying in for at least the near future, he noticed it was very dull and plain, with only a small bed, a wooden desk, window and a bed-stool next to him with a old looking lamp on it. The wall paper was a filthy cream colour and was peeling in most places while the ceiling looked to be covered in dust and cobwebs. A small sigh escaped him, it might not be the nicest of places but it was better than living out on the streets in the cold with no food or shelter.

He couldn't help but wonder if this place would be any better than the Dursley's.


After around 20 minutes of doing nothing but lying on his back, there was a knock on his door and a gruff voice calling through. "Breakfast!"

Harry blinked, time to see the other people of this orphanage. He had no interest in making friends however, especially not with muggles that would turn against him the moment they realised he was different. Besides, forming attachments to people… it would only hurt more when he started again.

Unsure of what to expect Harry made his way to the kitchen, following some other children who were also heading in that direction. In silence, Harry joined the line and tried his best to blend in. It wasn't hard, he was already in the undesirable uniform they were required to wear and he had the advantage of being small- causing most to overlook and ignore him completely.

After receiving a meagre portion of something Harry didn't think deserved to be called food, he glanced around the tables, looking for a secluded area he could sit in. Almost immediately, his eyes were drawn to a small table at the back of the room that everyone else seemed to avoid like the plague. He frowned, but then shrugged, making his way slowly over and dropping himself down on a stool.

For some reason, this gained the opposite effect to what he was trying to achieve and he soon felt all eyes go to him much to his confusion and annoyance. His confusion however, was answered moments later when a shadow fell across his tiny form.

Looking up Harry felt genuine surprise when he was greeted with what appeared to be the splitting image of teenage Voldemort from the diary. For a moment Harry could only stare, wondering if he was supposed to feel anger, hatred, something.

But if the feelings were there they had dimmed considerably with time and were instead buried deep inside and Harry found his mask slipping back over his face.

"This is my table." The teenage Dark Lord spoke softly, his voice low and calm and it wouldn't take a genius to hear the danger in his voice . Anyone else would have scurried away in fear and never come near him again but Harry Potter never had been and never would be a coward.

And despite everything, at that moment Riddle was nothing more than an ambitious teenager.

"Oh?" He asked instead before picking up his spoon and scooping up some of the slop, watching with distaste in those jade eyes as it dropped back onto his plate in a sticky mess and all the while watching the future Dark Lord out of the corner of his eye, feeling slightly satisfied at the annoyance that one word created.

"Yes. So move." Harry merely gazed at him, unaffected and with what he hoped was an unimpressed expression.

"I didn't realise this table had your name on it." He empathised the word, showing just how stupid and petty he thought the argument was and had to stop the grin that wanted to spread across his face at the look he was currently being shot by the teenage dark wizard. Suddenly Harry got the impression that Riddle was just barely restraining himself from shooting a crucio at him.

Whatever inner turmoil Riddle was going through he managed to avoid acting on it. Instead he stiffly took a seat and Harry watched with slight amusement as the future dark lord sat down as far from him as possible, his anger evident. Both ignored the other and Harry started to eat what was on his plate with no amount of pleasure. He wouldn't have even bothered touching it if he didn't need some food in him to survive.

As soon as he had finished he left, deciding to wander round a bit and figure out his bearings. Walking around, he discovered a lounge area with a small radio device and couches, the back door which led to a rather large garden and swing-set as well as learning that all the children's rooms were on the second floor. He also discovered there was a library which was by far the most interesting aspect. Not that it was very big or contained that many books but it was something for him to do to pass the time before he figured out what to do from here.

Heading back to his room Harry was struck with the strangest sense of excitement. Something he hadn't felt for years and figured it might just be because for once, he didn't know what the next day would hold.

Once he was sat on his bed Harry thought about the latest turn of events. That was why the name of the orphanage had seemed so familiar. It was the one that Voldemort had attended and Harry was confused about how he should feel at that.

This was Voldemort- the man who had made it his personal mission to make Harry's lives miserable and yet, Harry could feel nothing towards him. He'd defeated him more than once and Voldemort had become nothing more than a constant in his lives. An insane and powerful man that lusted for control and power and Harry eventually came to the realisation that it was just who he was.

Harry could no longer see the world in just black and white and after so many years of fighting against the Dark Lord he had began to accept that it was just how things worked. And that, although you'd be insane to call Voldemort good or anything of the sort, Harry couldn't fault him either. Tom Riddle hadn't exactly had a happy life or a good experience with anything non magical.

There was also the fact that Harry had lived for so long now and lost so much that it was hard to care. Hard to feel like he once did. Everything would be only be undone anyway and, eventually, he stopped pretending.

Though from his short meeting with the Dark Lord to be Harry did notice that his scar hurt even more around the teenager. For some reason, since his arrival in the past, his scar had constantly been causing him a dull pain though it had yet to bleed again. It was nothing he couldn't handle but it did beg the question as to why? Maybe it was the horcrux. Maybe it was something else entirely but one thing was certain:

Things had finally gotten interesting.


A/N: Wow that was tedious. Not much interaction yet- between anyone- but I should get to that soon thank God.