When Harry woke up, he was in terrible pain, which was a good thing because it meant he wasn't dead yet.
He was lying on his back and the only thing he could see was the sky. He knew he should move because he might still be in danger, but he couldn't bring himself to. Not dead, he thought. Not dead. It had a nice ring to it.
He finally shifted his head a bit to the right and saw a house. Then he shifted his head a bit to the left and saw a fence. When he finally gathered enough energy to pull himself to his feet, he saw that he was surrounded by group of dumbfounded looking Muggles, and that one of them was standing behind a grill that was in danger of catching fire.
He looked at them, and the Muggles looked back, and there was complete silence. Then Harry cleared his throat and said, "Your hamburgers are on fire."
And then he walked quickly away before they could recover from their shock. He really didn't need one of them to call the police and report that a strange man had suddenly materialized in their yard.
Once he was about two or three blocks away, he leaned against a tree to assess the situation. The yard he had just left, the patio he had just left with the grill—that was the same patio he had destroyed not ten minutes ago. It was definitely the same little enclosed patio, except that now it was in perfect repair, there were no Death Eaters, and Muggles were having a cook-out in it.
He closed his eyes and struggled to remember. He had been hiding out in a deserted Muggle neighborhood for a few days (deserted because of a 'gas leak'; actually, it had only taken a few well-placed phone calls and confundus charms to evacuate a small section of the neighborhood) and then the Death Eaters had found him. They had placed anti-apparition wards around the whole neighborhood and then spread out across the area to search for him. It had been like a perverse game of hide-and-go seek. Many brave men liked to face their problems head on, but Harry was not one of these—neither a brave man nor someone who liked to face their problems.
No, instead he had hid in various clumps of dense shrubbery, looking for a gap in the Death Eater patrols for a chance to make his daring escape, and then he had been found. And then he had tried to use his time-turner as a way out of the situation. Hadn't that worked out well.
He remembered now, frighteningly clearly, how he had died. Well, how his past self had died. When that happened there had been pain, lots of it, and then he and his past self had kind of… merged. They had turned back into one person and Harry was sent spinning into a great void of nothing. And then had been…. blackness.
So that brought him back to the current problem: what the hell had happened? The patio looked like it had never been touched, and there was no sign of Death Eaters anywhere.
He cast his mind about for different theories, and two explanations in particular jumped out at him. Either he was in a different time or a different place. It seemed absurd to him that either one of these could be true, and yet…. Magic was extremely absurd. And there was this feeling, deep inside his bones, of an inherent wrongness. The world looked the same, felt the same, heck, even smelled the same, but for some reason it felt different. Maybe it was just his near-death experience speaking.
The time theory could be easily checked. All he needed to find was a newspaper. And as for the 'different place' theory, Harry guessed he just had to poke around and see if anything was different. He remembered Hermione once talking about alternate universes and wondered if this was one of them. But then that got him thinking about Hermione, so he stopped. He had failed her like he had failed all of his friends, in the end, and feeling guilty about his past would not make it any better.
He considered his options. He still had his usual assortment of supplies (string, knife, watch, gum, wand, and galleon) although the time-turner had turned black and was now smoking slightly. He doubted it would ever work again, and even if it did, he wouldn't want to use it. He was rather… off time-turners at the moment.
He removed the galleon from his left ankle and twirled it between his fingers. If this really was an alternate dimension… He smiled. The possibilities were endless.
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The first thing he did was get a newspaper. It was a Muggle one, but that didn't matter. The date checked out and his watch affirmed that it was 5:48, not an unlikely time. It didn't suggest time travel of any sort.
The evidence was leaning towards the alternate dimension theory, but he needed to be sure. And if he was in an alternate dimension, he needed to know how it was different. He needed to find a bookstore, and preferably a wizarding one. He considered Flourish and Blott's in Diagon Alley, but then thought that if Harry Potter was still number one on Voldemort's hit list in this dimension, strolling into Diagon Alley was probably not the best idea.
So. A little known wizarding bookshop. There was one on the outskirts of Ottery St Catchpole, if he remembered correctly, and it probably wasn't a hot spot of Death Eater activity.
He pictured the bookstore in his mind, turned sharply on one foot, and with a pop, was gone.
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The elderly wizard who owned the store looked at him extremely strangely when he first entered the shop, and for a split second Harry thought, with a sinking heart, that it was the typical "Oh my gosh, it's Harry Potter!" reaction. Then Harry caught his reflection in one of the windows of the store, and realized it was probably because it looked like a bomb had gone off near him. In a way, that was true.
His Muggle attire was also probably unusual, and it didn't help that his T-shirt was burned away slightly in the back and full of holes and his jeans were ripped in multiple places. He was covered in scrapes and dirt, and his hair looked like it had been electrocuted. When Harry muttered a vague "Hello," to the wizard as he entered the shop, the wizard glanced briefly at the scar on his forehead but made no comment or appeared to recognize it at all.
"Looking for anything in particular, lad?" wheezed the old wizard. "Books on personal grooming, perhaps?" he said, giving a couple coarse chuckles at his own joke.
Harry tried to smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. "Not this time. I was looking for history books. Especially recent historical events, if you have any books like that….?"
"Ah, right this way." He pointed to a dusty pile under the window. "This probably has what you're looking for."
As the old wizard returned back behind the counter, Harry picked up two near the top of the pile. There was one called Recent Political Developments and another called Dark Arts in the Modern Era.
Scanning Dark Arts in the Modern Era, Harry found multiple chapters devoted to Voldemort. Ah, so old snake face was alive and kicking, then. It was too much to hope for that he wouldn't exist in this world.
His heart nearly stopped beating when he saw the word 'Potter' in one of the last chapters of the book, a chapter concerning Voldemort. Hands shaking, he leaned closer to read what it had to say.
"One of the most mysterious events surrounding the so-called Dark Lord was his temporary demise. On October 31,1981, Lord Voldemort attacked the Potter residence. James and Lily Potter were away at the time, at, if rumors are to be believed, an Order of the Phoenix meeting (the Order is a secret Light organization whose existence has not been proven), and their son Harry was alone in the house with his babysitter Peter Pettigrew. What happened next is not known, but both Voldemort and Harry were killed in what appears to be an explosion. Peter Pettigrew's body was discovered as well, but he appeared to be the victim of the killing curse. Most contemporary historians theorize that Mr. Pettigrew was killed by Voldemort and then Voldemort attempted to kill the infant Harry Potter. Why an explosion occurred or who caused it is a mystery, but most of the wizarding population have adopted the popular idea that it was the baby Potter who finally vanquished the Dark Lord.
Alas, young Mr. Potter did not finish Voldemort permanently, as four years ago the Dark Lord rose again and resumed his terror campaign on the wizarding population.
However, many questions have been raised by this incident. How was the baby Potter able to defeat the most powerful wizard of a generation? Why did Voldemort target the baby Potter in the first place? Why did he kill Pettigrew, who was later proven to be working for the Dark Lord after it was revealed that he was the Potters' secret keeper? And…"
Harry looked up. He was… relieved. More than that, he was ecstatic. Sure, Voldemort was still alive, but as far as he knew, Harry was dead. Doors were suddenly opening up all around him. It was a chance at a new life! Nobody had any expectations from him. He could be anyone he wanted. There was no fate, no destiny of certain doom, no thrice-damned prophecy. Nobody expected him to be a hero, and for once in his life, he was nobody's savior.
Nobody's savior. A huge grin split his face.
He practically bounced over to the register and plopped the book down on the counter. "I'll take this one, thanks."
The wizard looked up in surprise at his sudden change in demeanor, but rang up the book dutifully. "Six sickles, please."
Harry produced his galleon and cheerfully pocketed the eleven sickle change he received in return.
He sauntered out of the store and called out, "Have a wonderful day, mister!"
Throughout the entire portion of his life that he had spent running and hiding from the oppressive fear of Voldemort, Harry had had a secret dream. It involved a house in a relatively deserted area with a scenic view, lots of beer, and plenty of peace and quiet.
For the first time ever, this dream was possible, and Harry intended to see it through.
Voldemort was somebody else's problem now.
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Just before Harry apparated to the Leaky Cauldron, he repaired his clothes and attempted to scourgify most of the dirt off of himself. He used a basic healing spell on most of his scrapes, which made them look a couple of days old instead of brand new, and then ran his fingers through his hair.
There. Now he looked like less of a murderous lunatic.
He needed a drink, but before he could get a drink, he needed money. And money was simple enough to get.
When he had been living with the Dursleys, he had been constantly jealous of all the things Dudley had gotten. More seriously, he often didn't get enough to eat, and resorted to what he felt like was the most natural thing.
He became extremely good at stealing. Bumping up against people in the streets and slipping his hand into their pockets when they weren't paying attention became almost second-nature to him, and he perfected the 'helpless little kid' routine. Cry a bit and ask for some money to put into the public phone booth, and strangers rarely say no.
He soon found himself in the Leaky Cauldron, and made his way quickly to Diagon Alley. He reveled in the anonymity of it. Nobody recognized him or questioned him or so much as looked his way.
Stealing wasn't exactly the epitome of moral righteousness, but sometimes, Harry thought, you have to do what's necessary. It only took a couple of minutes in bustling Diagon Alley before he had lifted several fat money pouches, and decided on one last target.
A heavily bearded, distracted man was winding his way down Diagon Alley, and Harry started walking casually over to him. Without even rustling the man's robe, Harry deftly extracted the contents of the man's pocket. There was a money pouch—expected, and much appreciated—but also a strange blue-and-green orb.
Harry was eyeing the orb curiously when the bearded man stopped halfway down the street, a little ways from Harry. The man suddenly burst into motion, whipping out his wand and sending a ball of light into the air with a huge bang. "For Voldemort!" he screamed, and plunged a hand into his pocket to pull something out. Which he discovered wasn't there.
The man spun wildly around, looking up and down the street, until his eyes landed on Harry and the orb in his hand.
Shit, thought Harry.
The street full of shopping witches and wizards had gone deathly silent at the volley of light and the bearded man's proclamation. They had all stopped what they were doing to stare wide-eyed at the man like a bunch of frightened rabbits.
Then, almost as one, when the man reached into his pocket and then paused, the crowd of people began screaming and made a mad dash towards the exits of the alley. Harry thought they had the right idea with this running business, and was more than happy to be swept along with the crowd.
The man (probable Death Eater) had other ideas, however, and began sprinting towards Harry with hatred in his eyes. The man had long legs and was an incredibly fast runner, and was gaining on Harry with every step. The multitude of curses that were skimming over his head were also becoming more accurate with every passing moment. Making a split-second decision, Harry feinted right but instead half-turned to grab a long, oaken walking stick from a store's outdoor display. Then, before the bearded man could react, Harry whipped around and cracked the stick over the man's head, sending him reeling backwards.
The man swayed but began to lift his wand again, pointing it at Harry.
"Oh, no you don't," said Harry. He quickly disarmed the disoriented man and stunned him for good measure. "I've put up with this shit for way too long to be brought down by a lone Death Eater who forgot how to shave."
As the Death Eater dropped to the ground, Harry took a deep breath and collected himself. Not dead yet. And now I have some new goodies, he thought, patting the pocket where the money pouches and orb was.
He looked around, and saw that there was one man who had stopped running and was looking at him like… like…
"Oh, no," said Harry.
"What?" said the man.
"You have that expression on your face," replied Harry.
The man looked confused. "What expression?"
"The one people make when they're grateful about something."
The man looked astounded. "Well, of course I'm grateful! You took down that Death Eater. You saved us! You're our sav- "
"Ahh!" said Harry. "Stop that! Stop it right now!"
A woman had joined the man and asked him, "Is this the man that stunned the Death Eater?"
The man was about to reply, but Harry interrupted him. "NO. I was running away with everyone else!"
The man was looking more and more confused. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, and then turned to the woman. "He— " he began, but never got to finish, because then Harry punched him in the face.
Harry really didn't need to be anyone's hero, not now, not ever. He was looking forward to nice, new, peaceful life of fading into the background, and he didn't want some misguided story getting out of how he was an anti-Voldemort vigilante.
The woman let out a shriek of surprise and the man dropped like a stone. "Have a nice day!" called Harry over his shoulder, and resumed his previous sprint up the alley. It was time to get that drink.
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A/N Reviews much appreciated.