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Chapter 1: The strange new world
Harry felt a surge of energy surround him all at once. His limbs froze instantaneously as the spell cast by Voldemort enveloped him. It felt like it was consuming him from inside, eating away his magic and destroying his soul. Harry had never felt like this before. This was probably how death felt; cold and unforgiving. He looked around himself, trying to find one last thing to stare at that would make him feel happy, but there was nothing in the ruins of Hogwarts that he could find. The chaos had enveloped everything, and all his friends were either fighting in the distance or were already dead.
Everything went blank. The light died, and the sounds disappeared like a fading whisper.
His corpse was left behind on the ground in the ruins of the place that had become his home. And like with everything in the world, his life simply ended.
Sounds reached him after what felt like an eternity. He was sure he died, but maybe the spell didn't finish its work. He needed to move, but he was so tired. Maybe death wasn't bad after all. He could simply lie there and relax and let it just end.
It was comfortable. This was the first thing that stirred the growing panic in his mind. How was he feeling so comfortable? It felt like he was lying on silk sheets and surrounded by the softest pillows and a warm blanket. He could feel the smooth touch of the material sliding over his bare legs.
This seemed wrong.
Harry groaned. His head hurt. He must have fallen on the concrete block and torn his head open. His brain was probably spilling all over the place.
"Master," it was a quiet voice, gently speaking and nudging him. It almost sounded like Dobby. "Lord Riddle is angry. He is waiting outside. He wants to see you. I told him master Harry is sleeping, but he insisted."
It went over Harry's head what was being whispered. He wanted to sleep. He moved his legs, and the soft touch of the blanket lulled him further into the sweet cocoon of slumber. He pushed a leg out to let the cool breeze touch his bare leg.
"Mhhm," he mumbled. "I am good."
There was a loud knock on the door. It was incessant. Unstopping.
"Ugh," he groaned again, pushing his head into the lap of pillows.
The knocking was making his headache worse.
"He is furious," the voice whispered and then gently rocked him. "He got mad when he read the news. It must be the article on the front page about master Harry."
Front page? Article? He had no idea what these words meant, but he wanted all the sounds to stop so he could continue sleeping.
"Open the door," he heard an irritated demand come from distance, punctuated with rough knocking sound. "You need to explain yourself. I will break the door if I have too."
Harry opened his eyes.
He squinted, trying to adjust to the brightly illuminated room. His eyes instantly teared up in response. He swept away the teardrops on his cheeks with the sleeve of his nightgown, vaguely noticing that he was wearing a needle-embroidered slip.
The room was huge. Harry had never been in such a big bedroom. It was a beautiful room with tall ceilings and enormous windows. The heavy curtains with the most intricate lace were drawn aside, and the light was rushing inside through the glass panels. The furniture was cream and gold with the most elaborate woodwork, and there were vases of roses everywhere; on the window-sills, the shelves, the dresser, the bedside tables, the table in front of the plush sofa and even on the vanity desk.
The place practically looked like a bridal photoshoot studio room or something to that effect. Harry was never too interested, nor had enough time to know, and the constant impending doom prevented him even to flip through a magazine.
He slowly took in his surroundings, and the panic set in.
What in the bloody hell was going on? Where was he?
He turned his head and looked at the timid elf, standing by his bed, staring down on the floor skittishly. "Dobby?"
How could this be? His heart leaped as soon as the elf lifted his head and looked at him with worry. He wanted to sprint forward and hug the elf and make sure he was real, but the knocks on the door became more chaotic and demanding, snapping his attention from the house elf.
"I will not tolerate this disrespect," Harry heard them say. "You need to open the door right now."
"He is furious," Dobby supplied as if an explanation of the emotional state of whoever this was was needed.
Harry slipped out of the bed and realized with horror that he was wearing something really strange. It was a sheer nightwear with embroidered silk sleeves. Someone must have given him whatever clothes they had, because this outfit was bizarre and definitely didn't belong to him. He looked around, trying to spot his wand.
He rummaged through the drawers of the bedside table, trying to find it and in the process realized that his arms were thin. It was almost like he had lost a lot of his muscle mass. He was never particularly well fed, but this screamed starvation. He must have been in bed, recovering from whatever nasty curse it was for months.
Something was different though, and he couldn't ignore the fact that Dobby was well and alive standing beside him. His head still ached like the sound of millions of tiny grass mowing machines were being broadcasted in his brain.
"Who is that screaming person outside?" he asked Dobby, wincing and clutching his head. The pain throbbed like war drums of the knocking door that wouldn't stop.
Dobby gave him a worried look like Harry was insane. "That's your husband, master Harry."
Husband? Yes, maybe Harry was insane. He was having a hallucination where Dobby was alive, and Harry was married and had a husband. He only barely dated Ginny and had a peck with Cho. And he was supposed to believe he had a husband?
"Dobby," the man outside spoke in a clear, authoritative voice. "Open the door. I know you are there. If you do not obey, I will punish you."
Dobby looked at Harry only for a short second with an apologetic look in his eyes, and then he appeared by the door and opened it.
The man standing in front of the door, dressed in an immaculate suit with his dark hair neatly brushed, walked inside. He stared at Harry, rage burning in his eyes. And Harry recognized him.
"Leave us," his eyes were focused on Harry, as he spoke brusquely to Dobby—his rough, low voice came in a firm command, making the elf vanish immediately.
The tiny hair on the back of Harry's neck stood up in fear. The intense gaze concentrated on him almost made Harry squirm. He recognized him right away. He looked young, healthy, and the strange disfigurement, that incited fear, wasn't present. The red, snake-eyes were not there either, but his beautiful grey eyes still managed to fill Harry's brain with dread. He was tall and looked imposing in the suit he was wearing. His perfect jaw and cheekbones making him look-like a supermodel from those high fashion magazines.
The enraged expression on his face didn't take away one bit from his striking beauty. Harry scrambled backwards, not seeing any other way to protect himself and fell down on the bed in panicked frenzy. Young and handsome looking Lord Voldemort, not only seemed furious, he also looked irritated like he couldn't be bothered with this and didn't have time for this bullshit.
His wand wasn't drawn, but it comforted Harry very little because he could see the wand holster. It appeared the rejuvenated dark lord didn't perceive Harry as much of a threat as he didn't even try to reach for his wand and strode forward towards Harry in measured steps.
He was holding something in his hand that looked like rolled up Daily Prophet, and part of Harry suspected there was a hidden wand inside the newspaper.
"What is this?" young Voldemort threw the newspaper on the bed. Harry moved further away from him until his back hit the plush headboard of the bed.
Newspaper rolled open, and Harry caught an image of a couple in a passionate hug on the front page with the title "Trouble in Paradise? Minister Riddle's socialite husband Harry Potter Riddle caught in an intimate shot with a sweetheart from Hogwarts"
Harry scowled. Dobby's words came to mind and cold sweat rushed through his body. This was his supposed husband? Tom Riddle? This didn't make any sense. Even magic had its bounds.
"Must you ruin my reputation?" he demanded, angrily, coming closer to Harry. "I warned you. I told you to behave, but you just can't help yourself, can you?"
Harry's brain short-circuited. He was completely baffled and at a loss how to respond. He couldn't imagine how he was married to Tom Riddle as the article claimed. They didn't even live in the same era to meet anyhow and for the self proclaimed dark lord not to try to murder him.
He looked young, but it must have been magic, right? The only thing Harry could think of was that somehow he was in a different reality where Tom Riddle wasn't Voldemort and was born in the same era as him. But if it was the case how did he even end up here?
Harry was still stunned to make any comments or even try to get away.
"Nott?" he seethed. "You decided to get drunk and throw yourself into Nott's arms? I don't care what you do with your time, but I won't tolerate you dragging my name though mud, humiliating me with your conduct. I told you if this happens again, I will kill whoever you find yourself in bed with."
Harry blanched at his words.
Riddle leaned closer until Harry could feel his hot breath on his face. Under normal circumstances, he probably would have reacted differently to having Voldemort so close in his personal space, but everything was happening all at once, and Harry was frozen in place as an avalanche of conflicting emotions were at war in his head. He was close... too close. Harry could smell him.
He smelled like rainforest frozen in time.
Cool, icy, fresh...
It was strangely enticing and that fact was messing with his head.
He tried to move himself further, but Riddle grabbed his chin violently and pulled it up until their eyes met. "Did I not warn you?" he asked in a low threatening whisper. "Why can't you be good and do once as you are told, huh?"
"Let go," Harry managed through gritted teeth, grabbing his hand and trying to free himself from his grip.
His grip was too tight or Harry's body was too malnourished and weak to be able to move him away. He struggled trying to pry Tom's fingers open, but he was unmoving and his expression was dark and harsh. Harry was pretty sure that a bruise would be left on his face if he didn't let go. He tried to slap him on his arm, but instead Tom let go off his chin and grabbed his hand, stopping his movement.
"You, dimwitted, dumb brat," he snapped. "Do you even understand how much trouble you have created?"
Harry hurried to rub his aching chin and glared at the man still hovering over him. "You think I am going to let this slide?" he asked. "You know that Nott works for me, right?"
Harry didn't care about Nott, and he had no idea what he had done other than wake up in this strange place after battling Voldemort. Maybe he was dead and this was hell.
"I don't understand what you are talking about," he mumbled, trying to push Tom away, but he remained seated on the bed, looming over Harry, still firmly clutching Harry's arm.
"My lord," it was someone else's squeaky voice that interrupted whatever this was. Harry looked up. Tom's broad shoulders had obscured the sight, and he couldn't see who was standing by the ajar door to this bedroom which he assumed belonged to him.
Tom turned his head. "Pettigrew," he growled. "Wait outside. I didn't give you the authority to roam in my house."
"I am sorry, sir," he stuttered. "The meeting at the Ministry with Mr. Malfoy is scheduled for 9."
"Close the door, Pettigrew," Tom ordered.
Harry couldn't see anything, but he heard the door shut. Riddle turned to him and glared at him. "This isn't over," he warned him. "Try to behave. I need to go. On top of all of my work, I need to sort the mess you have created, brainless little bitch."
Wow! Harry decided to just ignore him and hope Tom Riddle would go away. This made no sense. He needed to find out what happened to him and he clearly couldn't do anything while the dark lord was hanging around calling him names.
"I will see you in the evening," he told Harry curtly as he got up. "Be ready for the dinner and try not to act out."
Harry remained still on the bed until Riddle left and closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. He needed to find his wand and come up with a plan. Hermione was the one who always came up with good plans. He wished he could see his friend. He had no idea what happened to her and if she was still alive.
"Dobby," he called.
The elf immediately appeared in a quick pop. Harry couldn't get used to this even after so many years.
"Master Harry?" he looked concerned. "Can Dobby help?"
"Where is my wand, Dobby?" he asked, quickly turning to the elf and grabbing his tiny hands. "I really need to figure out what's happening?"
"Master has locked master Harry's wand in his safe after the last accident," Dobby told him and added regretfully. "Master Harry knows that Dobby can't open Master Tom's safe."
"What accident?" Harry wrinkled his nose. This wasn't good. Things seemed worse and worse. He was completely defenseless and living under the same roof as Voldemort.
Dobby gave him confused look. Harry realized that the elf must have found it strange that Harry didn't know details from his own life, but instead of explaining anything to the elf, he just looked hopeful and squeezed the elf's hands reassuringly which seemed to surprise the elf more.
"You know the accident at the Black house," Dobby told him slowly, and it seemed like there was something more that Harry needed to know. "You almost killed master Sirius when you casted a drying spell wrong. Master Sirius spent a month at St Mungo's. Master Tom took your wand away after that since it wasn't the first time..."
Harry laughed. He was a moron? No way. It must have been orchestrated by Riddle, trying to restrict his access to magic. Harry felt wave of anger pass through his mind, and he fisted his hands. He couldn't get angry. He needed to stay calm and reason rationally to get out of this situation. He moved about the room anxiously trying to come up with a solution. He wished Hermione and Ron were with him to help him make sense of this.
Clearly this was a different world or maybe he had time traveled. He needed to find out for sure. The half rolled newspaper was still sitting on the bed. The date on it that could give him a clue. He reached over and grabbed it.
"May 2nd, 2002?" he read out loud, baffled.
This meant he was 4 years into the future? This couldn't be true, because Dobby wouldn't be alive and neither would Sirius for him to be almost killed by an incorrectly cast drying spell. Harry still had the headache and thinking about this was making it worse.
"Dobby, where is the library?" he asked, turning to the elf.
Just because he couldn't use his wand, didn't mean he couldn't use magic. Harry had done some minor wandless magic. The situation was dire, and if he knew the right spell, maybe he could find out what happened to him.
Dobby looked even more confused by Harry's behavior and looked at him like he had a second head newly grown and attached to his neck.
"You don't like the library, master," he informed him.
Harry blinked. "That's fine Dobby," he sighed. "I am just trying to clear some things up. Just show me the way."
Dobby nodded dutifully. "Dobby will take master Harry to the library."
Harry followed the elf, and as he was passing by the large vanity table, he caught glimpse of his own reflection and froze in his tracks. The face looking back at him looked almost nothing like him. He slowly moved closer to the large mirrors and stared at himself, moving his arms up and down as if to make sure that he was actually looking at his refection and not some enchanted painting.
"Bloody hell," he screamed.
What was going on? What was up with his face and body? He didn't look like teenager anymore. His facial features were more refined and soft. His eyes were the only thing that he truly recognized. They still looked the same. Everyone told him he had his mother's eyes, and he kept that thought as a warm escape to go to whenever he was feeling lonely.
He was taller than before, skinner too and the girly nightclothes he was wearing didn't do much to make him look like himself. He wondered if these clothes belonged to him. They seemed a little going too far.
"Is master Harry okay?" Dobby asked cautiously.
Did he have veela blood or something? He somehow looked otherworldly like a beautiful, ethereal creature that could seduce a person to its death. It was clearly him, but very different at the same time. He couldn't detect any magic on himself indicating of glamour charm so it must have been part of whatever this was.
"Yes," he mumbled absent-mindedly a little dazed that he looked like a goddamn nymph. "Do I have any robes I can put on? I don't want to prance around in this?"
He gestured the clothing he was wearing. Dobby vanished and popped back with pair of fluffy dark green robes. Harry would have scoffed if he cared enough, but the bloody thing was warm and comfy. He didn't have the best life and never even indulged in the niceties of life-be it muggle and wizard. Now wearing the fluffy robe, he felt regret. This was nice even if it was rum.
Dobby took him through a large corridor to a very spacious hall, and then they walked into the largest library Harry had seen his life. Hogwarts library didn't have this many books. This place was enormous. The house itself seemed very big. He could probably hide in here, and nobody would find him unless they used magic.
"Thank you Dobby," he told the elf warmly.
The elf nodded and vanished. Harry looked around. It was going to be a challenge to find the right book.
It was hard to say how much time he spent in the library, going through piles of books, trying to find something helpful, but he guessed that had he had his wand, this would have gone much faster. He wanted to give up and take a break when he stumbled upon a book; "Travel between Worlds".
Harry skimmed through the book quickly, trying to find any information that would seen relevant for his case. He couldn't be certain that he was altogether in a different reality, but other than that, his other theory was that he was dead stuck in a bizarre afterlife or or had simply time travelled.
The book went on for pages on how it was nearly impossible to travel to a different version of reality, but insisted those existed, and the travel would require enormous amounts of energy and soul magic which was so dangerous that no sane witch or wizard would even think of meddling in it.
A piece of Voldemort's soul was inside him, and the man was insane. So, yes there was soul magic involved in his case.
"Travel would leave a magical mark on the traveler's body," Harry read. He flipped through the pages to find the supposed symbol that would be left behind if he indeed traveled through dimensions and realities. He pulled out his robe and started looking at his body, trying to see if there was any marks or symbols. There seemed nothing until Harry lifted his foot and stared with horror at the symbol depicted in the book.
"No!" he grumbled.
This was bad. The book stated that the only way to travel was to actually die and have magic transport his soul into an available and corresponding form in the other reality which would need to be dead or dying too. This is what made this type of travel especially dangerous and nearly impossible. This meant this version of Harry was either dead by the time Harry found himself transported into his body or dying.
This version of Harry was married to Tom Riddle. Of course, he would die young. But Riddle didn't seem surprised to find him alive. Harry wondered what really happened to this version of himself.
The book didn't give any instructions on how to go back, but Harry realized that there was no going back since his body in his own reality was probably dead. He was stuck here.
He closed the book and tried to take a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves. Well, he could just lay low and live a peaceful life, maybe find a way and get rid of Riddle or maybe even better just go and live as a muggle and leave this whole magical mess behind.
"Master Harry," Dobby's voice startled him, and he dropped the book.
The elf looked worried. "Mistress is here. She wants to see you, and she looks worried."
"Mistress?" Harry wondered who the mistress was, and if it meant more problems for him.
"Mistress Lily," Dobby said. "Your mother."
Harry's heartbeat became faster. This was a different reality. This is where Tom Riddle probably never became the Voldemort and never killed his parents. He rushed forward.
"Where is she?"
"In the drawing room," Dobby replied.
Harry bolted forward, feeling his heart leaping out of his body and realizing he had no idea where the drawing room was.
"Dobby," he called. "Can you perhaps take me where she is? I am feeling a little unwell and can't orient myself properly."
"You had too much firewhiskey yesterday," Dobby explained. "Master was very upset about that. He brought you home in his arms because you couldn't walk."
Well, this version of Harry sure seemed something. He wondered if he died of alcohol poisoning or Riddle was involved in the death, after all.
Dobby took him to the most over-the-top room with paintings on the walls and beautiful antique furniture comfortably arranged around. His hands shook when he spotted his mother. Lily Potter looked just like he remembered her from all the photographs he had of her. She didn't look old at all. Dressed in a beautiful gown and her hair carefully styled, she looked so beautiful. Harry's eyes teared up, and he rushed towards her and wrapped his arms around his mum.
"Mum," he cried. "I have missed you so much."
She seemed a little startled by his emotional welcome.
"Aww, sweetheart," she mumbled, wrapping her hands around him. "It's going to be alright."
Hot tears went down his face. He never had the chance to hug his mother, feel her love. Her love saved him, but he needed her affection growing up and daydreamed of being able to spend time with her.
"Your father is angry about what happened," she told him, patting his back gently. "But I will speak with him, don't worry."
Harry didn't let go. He squeezed his arms around her tighter, trying to feel safe. His father was alive. His family was alive. Maybe things weren't as bad after all. Lily stroked his hair gently.
"What has happened, darling?" she asked. "I saw the news. Tom must be furious. Didn't I tell you to be more discrete about these things."
Harry sobbed, still overwhelmed with the realization that his parents were alive.
"Oh," she cooed. "It will be fine. I am sure we can resolve this. Tell me what happened. I will talk your father. He will take care of it."
Lily Potter fussed over him like he was a little child. And Harry watched his mum with awe and affection.
"Harry, sweetheart," she cupped his face in her hands gently. "Tell me everything."
"I don't remember anything," he said with a smile, wiping his tears away.
"You shouldn't get caught with Nott anymore," she told him like this was a normal mother-son conversation. "It's best if you stop seeing him at all and deny having any involvement with him if your father or husband ask you."
"What?" Harry stared at his mum, not quiet understanding what she was trying to convey.
"Your husband will kill him if your father doesn't first," she told him. "They are too concerned about their reputation, and you should have been more careful-"
"Mum, I don't care about Nott," Harry stopped her. "I am not with Nott or anything."
He waved his hands awkwardly, wondering if this version of himself was actually having a romance with Nott, cheating on the dark lord. Why did he even marry the man in the first place?
"But the picture in the Daily Prophet," she mumbled confused. "How did that happen?"
"I was drunk," Harry said, remembering that Dobby told him he came home really drunk. "I don't even know what happened myself. I was so drunk I couldn't even walk. Tom carried me. I must have fell down or something and maybe Nott caught me."
He just made up whatever seemed would make his mother feel at peace and seemed probable enough.
Lilly sighed, looking relieved. "I am going to rip that bitch Rita Skeeter's hair," she said indignant, surprising Harry. "She just likes writing trash about you. And you know how people are. They like jealous gossip. You should really be more careful, sweetheart. Your husband is the Minister of Magic and people watch your every move."
Minister of Magic? Riddle sure had chosen a more interesting path. The article did mention that, but Harry somehow didn't think about it until know.
"All of these people trying to get a piece of you," she sighed dramatically. "The lurne blood giving you those looks, and no one can resist you."
Harry had no idea what a lurne was, but he suspected that there was some mythical blood involved since he truly looked almost unreal.
"It's a blessing and a curse," she brushed his hair back with her fingers. "I know you don't like Tom. But your father does, and he knows best."
Harry raised an eyebrow. This slowly was turning into a very uncomfortable situation. James Potter wanted Harry to marry Riddle? Why? And why didn't Harry have any say in the decisions concerning his life? Was he like a housewife in the 50s or something?
"You know what," Lily said, getting up suddenly. "We need to go shopping. Couple of nice outfits at Madam Malkin's, and you will make everyone forget about the bad press. Besides, the dinner party tonight is very important for your father, and I think we both should glam up with some new robes."
That's right. Riddle mentioned something about evening dinner. Harry couldn't give less fucks about outfits, but any time spent with his mother meant time spent happily, so he smiled and got up, showing excitement.
"So I will see dad?" he asked hopefully.
Lily didn't read this as eager enthusiasm, because she pursed her lips and nodded. "But don't worry, I will speak with him and explain that the whole thing with Nott's son Theo was a misunderstanding. Your dad's going to forget his anger the moment he sees your pretty face, my darling."
The relationship dynamic with his mother and father seemed very unusual. Harry realized that this version of himself must have been very close with his mum. It still felt strange, and Harry had an uneasy feeling in his stomach.
"Thanks Mum," he said smiling sweetly at her even though he didn't care about whatever the situation was with the whole news article about him and Nott. That was old Harry, and if he liked Nott, he liked Nott. Clearly, his dad was a controlling person in this universe who saddled Harry with a literal psychopath. Riddle never shied from killing people, splitting his soul, or engaging in other disturbing activities. And this guy was his husband chosen by James Potter.
Harry loved his father, of course, but he recognized that he didn't know the real James Potter, the pureblood hotshot who bullied Snape, his mother's best friend. His mother, on the other hand, was a literal sweetheart no matter the universe and reality.
"Of course, baby," she smiled back at him. "As for Tom, we will get something so stunning for you that he will forget he was ever mad at you."
She winked. Harry almost vomited into his own mouth. He gave his mum a strained smile, pretending that he was on board. There was no need to worry her.