Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter either. It belongs to its creator J.K. Rowling and probably Warner Bros. too. I'm not too sure about that. This piece of literature is simply the work of a humble fan. I also credit Jim Butcher for various themes, subjects, or references that I may use.
Author Notes: This is a Harry Potter crossover with the Dresden Files the book series. All my knowledge of the Dresden Files comes from the books. I've never seen the TV series. For the timeline that will be stated later. Thanks to the folks at DLP for help with editing.
Awaken Sleeper.
Chapter One: The Games We Play
By: Water Mage
He was an idiot. The stray thought hit him like a solid fist, and left him feeling like a first year. He was nobody's prisoner. He jumped up from the bed smirking. Wand or not he could still apparate. No one could take that skill away from him. If he was really across the pond and in bloody America, it would take an extremely focused and careful apparation to journey back to England, or he would be more than splinched. So no rushing. He could do that. Closing his eyes, Harry called up his destination. He determinedly willed every fiber in his gut on holding up the image in his mind, shaping it, letting the destination become his only thought. He moved with deliberation and turned on the spot, feeling into that point of nothingness and… did a complete 360 degree turn.
"Smashing," he drawled, frowning heavily at the door of his room.
His fists clenched and unclenched as rage bubbled in his gut, threatening to spill over. Okay then, he thought. Okay. It was a mantra he often repeated since the days of early training. It calmed him, centered his thoughts, and made him realize he had some thinking to do. What could prevent him from disapparating out of here? He didn't feel the lurch of anti-apparation wards stop him. He felt nothing in fact. He sat his weak body back on the bed, a tired sigh leaving his lips. He paused, an idea bouncing in his head. If his body was psychically exhausted then maybe, just maybe he was magically exhausted as well. It made sense, but he had no way of accurately testing it without a wand.
A knock sounded at the door and Harry tensed. A blond head appeared in the cracked doorway. Seeing Harry, the person smiled and the body followed the rest of the head. It was the nurse from earlier he realized. He sized up the petite blonde and when he looked at her brown eyes, they were twinkling under a raised eyebrow.
"Do I pass?" she asked with a teasing smile.
Harry shrugged, still not completely relaxed. "Do you need something?"
"The doctors thought you might like to use the shower room," she said in that same caring voice that the doctors used.
It grated against Harry's nerves. He wasn't used to be coddled, and never would be. He accepted her offer partially surprised his capturers were letting him out of his cage. Nurse Jennifer Hewett, "just call me Jen", was in her early thirties and had worked at Summerholm for five years. She prattled on about so many things making his ears ache from the constant stream of chatter. He tuned her out the best he could, frankly he was more interested in the building that held him.
"Well here you go," she smiled, jerking a thumb at the door behind her.
Harry nodded. "Thanks, Nurse Hewett."
He refused to call her by some nickname. The familiarity was just a ploy, bait used to develop trust, and Harry wasn't falling for it. The nurse's smile dimmed a bit with confusion, but she left Harry alone after he gave her a short nod. He slowly opened the door, and cautiously stepped into the room. The bathroom was normal enough. It was communal with a dozen showerheads spaced in a row toward the back. Sinks lined the wall to his right and to his left was a large bin for dirty laundry. Cabinets were marked with tags naming their inner contents of towels, scrubs, and patients' clothes. He grabbed a set of fresh clothes, identical to his own, and a towel. The towel of course matched the white of everything else in this place. He was getting real sick of white.
Harry slipped off the slippers and padded across the cold tiled floor to the shower. He tugged off his clothes and stepped under a spray of blissfully warm water. The water massaged his skin and felt good against his tired muscles. His long hair weighed heavily on his head as he stared at his toes. He reflected on the decision he made just before Nurse Hewett had come into his room. He had to continue playing the game. He really had no other options. He couldn't apparate, and if he did manage to fight his way out, who knows what type of security awaited him. He needed more intel before making that call.
This was too confusing. There were factors he was sure he was missing, but his brain felt like someone had set off a bomb within it. It was all too much information to take in. Where was Hermione when he needed her?
He shut off the water and crossed the room to the sinks. He grabbed the towel he had laid there and diligently began to dry his body. He looked himself in the mirror. The man who greeted him had pale, snow white skin and dark green eyes. He had definitely seen better days. Harry pushed back the wet hair that dragged across his shoulders. With the movement he revealed his forehead that was…scar free.
"Fuck me," he swore, unable to take his eyes away from the sight.
There was no scar. Not even the tiniest traces of a scar that had once been. Impossible. He rubbed his forehead harshly, as if the action would cause his scar to reappear. This wasn't right. Nothing could remove a curse scar. It was created by dark magic and had seeped into skin, bone, and soul. Once it was there, it was there for life. He expected the scar to even follow him in the afterlife.
Harry slammed his palm on the sink. "Who the fuck are these people!"
He dropped the towel on the floor, and bent over snatching it from the floor. His head cocked and he stared at the hanging appendage between his legs. Something was…His eyes widened to the size of saucers and he couldn't help the dropping of his jaw. He poked it with his finger once then again. Harry swallowed heavily, and wrapped the towel around his waist. He quickly ran his eyes up and down his body looking for other changes. The scar from where Wormtail sliced his arm for Voldemort's resurrection ritual was gone.
He didn't have his glasses and could see perfectly. He corrected that with magical surgery last year, cost a shitload of galleons, but it was worth it to not have glasses in the field. All a dark wizard would have to do is summon his glasses from his face, and he was a blind target. So having perfect sight wasn't telling. He racked his eyes carefully over his body and noticed for the first time a definite difference in musculature. He was skinny and had none of the tone and definition he was used to seeing on his body. A nagging cord of doubt tugged inside him. This was going way past the fucking M.O. they schooled Aurors on about dark wizards. He dismissed the thought, swatting it down and locking it away. This was a trick.
"Okay then," he sighed, clutching the sink in a white knuckled grip. "Okay."
He took deep breaths to center his mind. He still wanted to grab a wand and lay waste to every one of these bastards, but with each exhale the overwhelming urge faded till it was only a quiet thought. He had to get out of here. He couldn't take the sight of his reflection anymore. That wasn't him. He didn't care what a mirror showed him. He was not Harrison fucking Potter. He knew who and what he was. Scar or no scar, he was Harry Potter and magic ran in his bloods, as sure as oxygen filled through his lungs.
Harry stepped from the shower room and was immediately greeted by Nurse Hewett. She noticed his blank, neutral face but made no point in stopping her endless monologue that Harry obviously had no interest in.
They walked past the door to his room and he snapped his head toward her. "Where are you taking me?"
"There, there," she said quickly. "We're just going to Dr. Martin's office."
Harry nodded slowly, turning away and losing interest in her once again. She watched him with that confused smile once again, as if she was unsure of her own self. Probably wasn't used to people deliberately dismissing her. Welcome to the club. She led him to a room with an opaque window, Dr. Martin's name emblazoned on its surface.
"Well here you go, I'll see you later," promised Nurse Hewett all bubbly and sunshine.
Harry hated her. A captor with a nice personality he could not handle. It turned his stomach seeing her smile, knowing that she was merely biding her time. Dr. Martin was seated behind a huge desk, and stood up once Harry entered. He glanced around noting the filled bookcases, worn brown couch, and long, rectangular window that threw golden sunshine onto the furniture.
"Ah, Mr. Potter," said Dr. Martin, smiling politely. "Please, have a seat."
Harry sat on the couch he gestured at, and gauged the doctor who took his place on an adjacent armchair. Dr. Martin's dark hair was gray, and he looked to be well in his fifties, but his eyes were intelligent and sharp behind a pair of thick frame glasses.
"How are you feeling?" asked Dr. Martin.
Harry shook his head. "Bugger that," he snapped, his eyes narrowing with sudden anger. "Would you mind telling me something?"
Dr. Martin started in surprise at the abrupt anger. "What?"
Harry leaned closer, staring him down like a hunter watching prey. The anger he squashed down in the shower room when he noticed his body's state rose to the surface. His teeth clenched and he couldn't hold back the glare he leveled the physician with.
"Why in the hell am I circumcised?"
There was a pause that lasted two beats.
"I'm sorry you had to find out in such a way," replied Dr. Martin, regaining his senses. "When you were seventeen you were diagnosed with pathological phimosis. This is basically a hardening of the foreskin, and prevents it from being retractable. Circumcision is the most effective surgical solution and your parents consented to the operation."
This guy was good. Harry actually found himself seriously nodding along for a moment. Cutting his fucking foreskin was above and beyond a fucking mindfuck, but they were pulling out all the cards with this trap. That nagging doubt grew stronger. Something else was going on. Maybe there was truth in his words. His scar was fucking gone—No! He was not going to fall for this. His life wasn't some psychotic dream of a madman. He was Harry James Potter. Harry James Potter. Harry James Potter. Harry James Potter. Harry James Potter.
"Are you alright, Mr. Potter?" asked Dr. Martin, frowning.
"I'm fine," he answered with a fake smile. "Just remembering something."
Dr. Martin took his word. He started talking about Harry's miraculous recovery, and wanted to try and figure out how Harry did it. He wanted to develop a working method to use on other patients with similar conditions. And this is where Harry began to improv like it was going out of style. Since they knew all about his "delusions" he just fleshed out what they already knew, and spoke of how he started to realize that being a hero for an entire world was a curse, rather than a blessing. It was almost partial truth, but Harry hadn't felt like that in years. After truly killing Voldemort he rightfully earned his hero status. Dr. Martin didn't need to know that however. Harry spoke of how he became increasingly disillusioned with his wizarding life, and strived for normalcy. Now all he wanted was to live his life as just a normal man, and put the past behind him. It was a bloody pile of dragon shit, but Dr. Martin ate it up. Harry inwardly rolled his eyes. What were these people going to gain by this? The doubt screamed at him, and he shoved it back. This was not going to break him.
Dr. Martin made a mark on a notepad and stared at Harry with his assessing eyes. "What do you feel right now, Mr. Potter?"
"Relieved." Confused.
"Happy." Pissed.
"At peace." Irritated.
Dr. Martin nodded, pleased. "That's good to hear," he said, a slow smile spread across his face "I have some good news for you."
Harry leaned back on the couch. "You guys are going to let me go now?"
"Not quite yet, Mr. Potter, but there are some people who would like to see you."
Harry sat up. He studied that odd glint in Dr. Martin's eye. It was I know something you don't know look, and he didn't like it. Was this where they brought in the torturer? Has the curtain finally fallen?
"What if I don't want to see them?" asked Harry defiantly.
The glint became amused. "I'm sure you do."
Harry stamped down the urge to kick him in the chest, and mustered a simple, "Oh?"
"When you regained your senses we informed your parents. They came straight here," said Dr. Martin, a small smile gracing his face. "We've had quite a time keeping them in the lounge."
He stilled. He couldn't move. That buried fleeting hope exploded in his heart. Its force nearly sent him reeling. Harry took deep calming breaths. His parents were dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dumbledore's wise voice penetrated his thoughts no magic can bring the dead back to life. He took that and used it to compose himself. These dark assholes wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing him break down. He adopted a smile, forcing it wide and bright.
"Well let's see them then," he said, chuckling. Let's see the bastards that attempt a pathetic impersonation of dear old mum and dad.
The doctor went to his desk and spoke into an intercom. Harry frowned at his tapping foot. He laid a hand on his leg and realized it was shaking. Fuck. He clenched his hands into fists. His nails bit into his palms and he tightened them harder. Focus on the pain Potter. The pain was real. The pain was a feeling he created. The world around him may be false, but as long as he could feel the pain in his hands then he wasn't completely living a lie. The door opened and he jerked his head around, and simply stared.
James and Lily Potter were in their late thirties. James was tall and his black hair was peppered with gray. His hazel eyes were bright behind a pair of thin glasses. Lily's hair had darkened to deep red, and she had similar wrinkles as James at the corner of her eyes, where their faces tightened up from frequent laughter. They were dressed in muggle clothes from head to foot. Lily in a short dress and denim jacket, and James was clad in jeans with a blazer over a t shirt. Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he drank them up with his eyes. They did the same except their eyes were shiny with wetness, and tears swiftly began to trail down Lily's cheeks.
"Harrison, do you—" James trailed off, choking up.
Harry couldn't help the gasp that left his mouth, hearing his father's voice. "Dad?"
"Oh, baby," cried Lily, rushing forward and throwing her arms around Harry
His father joined the hug and they muttered words of thankfulness over and over, crying and generally squeezing the breath from his lungs. He was as still as a statue. They didn't seem to notice so caught up by emotion. Harry ignored their teary murmurs of "Harrison, my little boy" they kept repeating as if in benediction.
Lily leaned back, smiling tearfully. She ran a hand down Harry's face. "Mum's here, baby."
Harry's eyes widened as he stared into her green eyes. Those shiny, tear filled eyes were the same eyes he saw in the mirror everyday. They say that a child will always know the sound of his mother's voice. No matter how much time has separated them. Her words echoed in his mind and struck a chord deep in his soul. He knew this was a trick, but he couldn't fight his arms rising on their own accord wrapping around them, joining the hug.
He swallowed heavily, his voice coming out a mere whisper. "Mum."
Lily broke into a wide smile, so bright and overwhelmingly full of love that it made his heart ache. That nagging doubt that he kept at bay hammered down every defense he put up around it. It rolled over him like a sea dragging him under, and filling every part of his body with a throbbing intensity. Harry returned the hug embracing them tightly, as a new feeling coursed through him. Panic. It screamed through his body rising up so thick and powerful, that he could almost taste it.
Deep magic. What if this was real?
The reviews for the first chapter were really positive and motivated me to get this chapter out quickly. This story will be different and I think readers will like the direction it will go in as far as Harry being in the Dresdenverse.