Harry landed with a crash on a hard, stone floor. The force of the impact winded him, and the first thing he remembered since what had happened in his mind was gasping for breath in the pavement of the street where he lay. Once he could breathe again, he opened his eyes, and blinked many times. It was daytime. He tried to make out where he was, but his vision was foggy. He wasn't wearing his glasses. He swallowed a few times to try and sooth his dry mouth and throat, but it didn't help very much. He felt paranoid with his vision impaired, so he pushed himself up off the ground with haste and stood up, checking his pockets to find his wand.

Mercifully his wand had been lying under him, so he picked it up off the ground and held it in his hands for comfort. As he felt it under his fingers he remembered that it was Draco's wand still, for his had broken so long ago… Well, that was better than no wand at all, even if it still didn't feel right to him. He felt his other pockets, looking for his glasses, but couldn't find them. On the last pocket he searched in he found an object that he had nearly forgotten about – his invisibility cloak. He was glad that he had the cloak, for he might need it, but it made him wonder. If what had happened when he blacked out was real – which he doubted, somehow – why was everything he held before that time here except for his glasses?

Perhaps his glasses had fallen off when Voldemort threw the killing curse at him… Yes, that would explain it. The killing curse again… but Harry couldn't get anywhere with reflecting upon that idea. Where was he now? Harry pointed his wand to his eyes and did something he really should have done long ago – he repaired his vision. His eye–sight wasn't perfect, for he wasn't very good with the spell, but it was better than it had previously been. He took in his surroundings.

He was standing in what seemed to be an ordinary Muggle street. Now that he listened, he could hear the sounds of pedestrians and cars not far away, and with his nearly repaired vision he even saw a few forms moving on a street at the end of the road he stood upon. Along the street he stood, there were no people. Sunlight streamed down from the sky, but Harry didn't know if the sun was raising or setting, for he knew not which direction was north. Then an idea came to mind. He put his palm out, facing the sky, and rested is wand upon it.

"Point me."

His wand spun around nearly a hundred and eighty degrees to point towards north. Harry worked out that this meant it was only morning, which was probably better all and all. The only problem was that he didn't know where he was. From what he could see, it looked like he was in the middle of a city, most likely London. He was in half a mind to Apparate elsewhere, but he couldn't think of anywhere to go… The Battle of Hogwarts was supposed to be going on, but here he was, in the middle of this city. He couldn't return to the Battle… he just couldn't. Should he wander the streets for a while? He'd be able to find out where he was then, and perhaps think of destination to go. He wondered how much time had passed since he supposedly died… and he knew he hadn't died yet, for all his senses were in tact.

But he needed a disguise. He couldn't just walk around in broad daylight like this, not while Voldemort and all the Death Eaters were so keen to kill and capture him. He made his was quickly to an alleyway, and waved his wand to conjure a mirror, peering at his reflection slightly reluctantly. He didn't want to look at himself, not since he had made all those horrible mistakes… He was a monster to even his own consciousness. The reflection that met his eyes showed him the same person he had always seen in the mirror; except he seemed older since the last time he looked. Harry mused the fact that he could be in just another transfiguration class for his years at Hogwarts, practicing human transfiguration again. The only difference was that this time he had no Hermione to help him, not matter how important this situation was… He tried not to see himself properly as he changed all he could in his own appearance.

He could have changed his hair's natural shade, or the colour of his eyes, or the shape of his face, but quite honestly he didn't want to make anything quite so different. He just wanted to look like the same person he felt, he wanted to be himself, to leave his darkened tired eyes, chapped lips and generally eerie appearance. This is whom he had made himself, and he didn't want to hide behind any mask of handsome features. Anyone who knew him wouldn't recognise him now anyway, for he appeared different by nature because he felt different by nature.

All he decided to do was change the cut of his hair so as to hide his scar better with a rough side parting and lingering fringe, and to try and fix his eyesight a little more accurately. He could think of nothing else to do besides this. Yet it was rather unwise to leave everything so unchanged… What features did he have that might make the sight of him connected to who he was? There was nothing to change. It felt very foolish to do no more, but he was simply at a lack of ideas. He transfigured his dusty black robes into Muggle clothes as a last resort. This would be good enough for now anyway, because he was about to enter a large crowd.

He made the mirror disappear, and then headed for the street ahead of him. He contemplated the idea of his invisibility cloak, but that might be a bit difficult to use while weaving through such a large crowd of people that formed when he hit a main street. He drifted amongst the pedestrians without seeing any of them as he thought. He didn't like the idea of going back to Hogwarts; in fact he hated the idea. Did this mean Voldemort was dead from that curse, or had someone else managed to kill him now? But they couldn't have killed him. Not if he, Harry, was still alive…

What on earth had happened with Dumbledore? That had to be a dream. Harry could see no effect from the event, except for the fact that he was now in the middle of this city. Suddenly he remembered that he was supposed to be paying attention to what was around him, to read signs and work out where he was. He lifted his eyes to search for a signpost, but something else caught his attention, and he stopped.

"Excuse me!" A Muggle crashed into him as he stopped dead in the middle of the street, but then they carried on walking without another word, merely shaking their head at the oddly dressed boy and forgetting him a second after.

Now that Harry looked, there were a lot of people staring at him. If everyone didn't appear so solemn and worried, he would suppose that a few people might have raised an eyebrow or laughed at the sight of him, but for now all they did was linger on his form with their eyes as they hurried past. That fact didn't bother Harry though; he was too distracted by the fact that there were so many Muggles in very old-fashioned clothing. All the women wore dresses in shades of pastel and cream, with purses, gloves and jewellery. The men wore suites and held briefcases, though there didn't seem to be many men around in general. They all cast confused glances at Harry's red T-shirt and jeans, and wondered why a boy dressed so outrageously gaped at them all. Many of them panicked at the though that he might be foreign.

Harry wondered for a long moment if he was on some sort of movie-set, and contemplated finding the nearest exit to the street. But everyone seemed quite convincing in his or her own act of going somewhere they wanted to go. There seemed to be quite a lot of them as well, and no sign of anyone looping back around to make the crowd seem bigger than it was. Harry didn't know what to do as he felt stuck, but he moved with the people after a while of lingering, just to be less obvious in such company.

Harry saw many odd sights, such as people carrying heavy metals around or escorting groups of pigeons to places, and he was still baffled to know why all these people were dressed like this. Even the shops, signposts and general decor around him seemed old fashioned. He read a sign and saw that he was indeed in London, and knew roughly where a few selective places were from here – most importantly of all, the Leaky Cauldron. From there perhaps he would understand what on earth was going on.

He weaved through many streets, knowing that the Wizarding pub would be somewhere around him soon. Finally he found it, and stopped. Was this some kind of joke? The pub was also completely different… Maybe this is a dream, Harry thought. Maybe his mind was trying to make him feel secure before he was dropped back into that horrible reality that was the ending of his life. This was a pretty bad excuse for a calm atmosphere if that was the case. He felt great anxiety at the sight of the pub changed. It had been about a year before he saw the place, but it was still too different to have changed since his last visit. He stepped forward slowly, and transforming his badly disguised Muggle clothes into robes again when he knew no Muggle would see him. Once in his familiar Wizarding robes, he walked towards the door of the pub, and entered.

He knew it couldn't be a dream as he entered the building, but it may as well have been one, for his senses seemed to become numb as he saw how different the inside of the pub was. The tables were all in new places, as well as the stand where the barman stood. All he knew was that the stairs to the upper floors and the exit to Diagon Alley were in tact. Harry lingered at the door for a long moment before walking towards the bar. Tom the barman had his back to Harry.

"Hello, Tom."

The barman turned around, and Harry nearly jumped. The barman Harry knew was elderly and stooped, this man was around thirty and healthier looking. Now that Harry thought of it, even from the back he really should have recognised that this wasn't the same Wizard. It did sort of look like the barman he was used to, so perhaps it was a new employee that was related to him.

"Oh. Er, Sorry, I thought you were-"

"Have we met?"

Harry suddenly remembered that he shouldn't have said hello even if this really was the right barman. He wasn't supposed to be recognised. "Erm, no – no, I don't think we've met before," Harry replied firmly.

"Then how did you know my name?" The young man asked.

"Er… I – I though you were someone else."

Tom, if that was really his name, eyed Harry curiously for a minute, before putting down the glass he was cleaning, evidently deciding that it didn't matter whether this odd newcomer knew his name or not. "So, what'll it be?"

"Er, a butterbeer please."

The barman was about to fill a glass of butterbeer, before Harry remembered something.

"No wait, sorry – I haven't got any money on me…"

Tom turned around to frown at Harry a little.

"Sorry," Harry repeated. "I'll just go and grab some now, yeah?"

"Sure," The barman said, slightly impatient.

Harry nodded curtly more to himself than anyone else, and headed towards the exit of the bar to see if he could get some money out of Gringotts. When he met the crowed of Wizards outside the back of the shop and beyond the wall, he stopped again. This time it wasn't because they were oddly dressed, or that he himself was out of place – for he seemed more or less in style – but there seemed to be an awful lot of people in Diagon Alley today, and they were all so happy. This took Harry completely by surprise.

The first glorious thought that came to his mind was that perhaps Voldemort had died, but they weren't that happy. They were merely content, as though there wasn't a care in the world. Did they not understand how much danger they were facing? Were they unaware of all the death that was smeared across histories' pages because of the battle he had just arrived from? Diagon Alley looked like it had when Harry had first visited it at age eleven. It had a cheery air about it that made Harry feel sick, and he saw many people stopping to chat, and young children smiling, as they seemed to be buying school supplies, though if Harry recalled, it wasn't even close to September yet.

Yet again, everything looked older than it should. But old in a new way, oddly enough… Harry tried to ignore it this time, choosing instead to follow the crowed and navigate his way towards the Wizarding bank. Sight of the great marble building towering above him made him remember the day he had first entered the Wizarding World. That was like a different life now. It was simply too far away for him to remember how it felt to be happy and excited with seeing the building.

He had put his foot on the first step towards the building, when he remembered two very important points, and stopped again. Many people stared as he paused and looked into space blankly. If he had just come back from the Battle of Hogwarts… why wasn't the street swarming with Ministry workers trying to fix the damage Ron, Hermione and himself had made with breaking through the bank with that dragon? The bank should certainly be closed, and the Goblins eager to recognise his face. Even with that fact, how had he expected for even a minute that he could walk in there and access his vault?

He couldn't go in and say "Hello again. Yeah, sorry about before and all – but could I access my vault? Name? Harry James Potter." First of all, the Ministry of Magic would arrest him, and a Death Eater or two would find out about it, to soon steal him away from the already corrupted Ministry. He would be brought straight to Voldemort, where he would be killed very slowly and securely most probably, for Voldemort would want to be sure that he died this time… None of this answered why the ground was still whole, and why the people were still merry and calm.

But Harry needed some money. He needed to stay in the Leaky Cauldron for a day to get his mind straight, because he was still very disoriented. He'd need a new name as well. What do to about that? He'd think of something, a name he would remember easily. All he needed now was money, because he had nowhere to go at this very second. The Burrow and Shell Cottage were too dreadful to even think about returning to… There was literally nowhere for him to go. He contemplated Hogwarts yet again, but he imagined the school to be covered with dead bodies. Harry felt the urge to hide at this thought, so didn't dwell on details. He wanted to go somewhere where Voldemort wouldn't expect – if it was that Voldemort was still alive.

The happy Diagon Alley made Harry feel sick, because it felt so unreal. It wasn't possible that all these people could be so blissful – it was wrong. Harry decided that the only way he'd be able to get through this was to steal money. He didn't even feel bad about it either, for what did money matter compared to staying alive? This was a situation in which he had no choice. The people were all so blankly happy anyway, and it wasn't as though he was going to steal any life scarring amounts of cash. He only needed just over eight Galleons to last.

Now to work out whom to steal from… Harry decided against using the invisibility cloak for it would draw more attention to have a hand filtering though bags unattached to a body. The cloak wasn't useful when it came to stealing, it was only to hide, and anyway, Harry felt it was fairer if he earned his money with the risk. He took a deep breath, scanning the people around him. He ignored all the mothers and young people; for that was pretty low all and all. His eyes searched for someone who really looked worth stealing from.

And then he saw the person. It was a man with a pompous air about him, dressed in rich robes of maroon and gold, and currently adjusting an eyepiece on his face as he sat down on an outside table of a restaurant. The sight of him may have been quite comical to Harry, had there not been more pressing matters to think of. Harry needed to steal the wallet that was sticking out of the edge of the bag neglected upon a chair near the rich Wizard… He stood for about five minutes just staring at the man who did not see him, bracing the moment where he'd walk over and steal what he needed. Once Harry thought the routine through a few times, he descended the step he stood upon and made his way towards the Wizard in a way that wasn't to be considered anything but a normal manner.

He walked along the same side of the street that the man and the restaurant rested upon, estimating how much time he had. Just then a waitress came out of the building and asked the Wizard what he would be ordering, and Harry was relieved. This was the perfect time. He slowed down not too much as he came closer, letting people walk between him and the Wizard in his sight. The man was still distracted, but for only a few more seconds now… Harry walked closer. He had about ten seconds to go. At eight seconds, the waitress was still taking notes. Six seconds, the rich Wizard talked a little more. Five seconds, Harry was in their sight. Four seconds, the waitress confirmed the order for the last time. Two seconds, Harry was next to the bag. One second, Harry gently scooped up the wallet in his hand, and pulled away.

He pocketed it, thinking he had gotten away, but just as he turned to go, just as he was about to sigh in relief while the Wizard couldn't see, a hand grabbed his wrist. The Wizard was at his side, yanking Harry's hand and the wallet from the pocket of Harry's robes. He hadn't even seen the Wizard get up…

"What do you think you are going with this, young man?" The Wizard asked, his expression livid as he help up his wallet for Harry to see.

"I…" But Harry didn't know what to say.

"Thief! How dare you attempt to take my possessions! What is your name?"

"Harry – Moore," He made up for no reason at all. Moore was the first common name that came to his head.

"Well, Mister Moore," the man said angrily, "I'll have you know that I work for the Ministry of Magic, and now have the right to see your identification! I could get you in a lot of trouble for such substandard and despicable behaviour! What if I were to be carrying important legal documents, eh? What about then?"

"I – I'm sorry, I just – I didn't meant for-"

"Silence! Identification, please."

"Sorry?"

"Identification!" He almost shouted.

Harry gaped at the Wizard still gripping his wrist very tightly.

"Sorry, but… I don't know what you mean."

The man's angry eyes became even smaller slits in his pudgy face. "Don't you play dumb with me, boy!"

"No, I'm telling the truth! I don't know what you mean about – about identification!"

The man looked a little surprised, but more like he didn't believe Harry's words. "How old are you, boy?"

"Seventeen."

Harry was surprised if the man could see with how contorted his eyes were at this point. "When is your birth date?"

"July 31st."

"Year?"

Harry blinked, "Nineteen eighty."

"Nineteen eighty? Nineteen eighty? You, boy, are a liar and a thief! You're coming with me – to the Ministry of Magic to answer to the law!"

"W-what? No! You can't take me there! I don't know what you're talking about, I can't go back there – I –!"

"SILENCE!"

The man cast a spell before Harry could take out his own wand, and the next thing he knew a full body-binding curse was being used on him, and he couldn't run away or use magic. This seemed like a rather pathetic way to get caught – it was so simple, yet Harry wasn't expecting it. He was caught off guard.

The next thing he knew, they were Apparating to a new destination.