Harry woke up with a sharp gasp, his body racked with pain. Blinking away the blurriness in his vision, he attempted to sit up but winced as a searing ache shot through his chest. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was Bellatrix's piercing laughter, the green flash of the Killing Curse, and crashing through a sea of spinning Time-Turners.
Memories of the battle at the Department of Mysteries flooded his mind; Going to the Ministry to save his Godfather, Sirius Black... Learning that it was all a ruse to lure him there so that he could collect the prophecy... the prophecy... Fighting off the Death Eaters and trying to escape... His friends fighting for their lives but they were no match against experienced wizards...
His friends needed saving, he had to save them! There was no way he could leave them to die like that. Determination surged within Harry as he tried to push past the pain. He needed to go back. He needed to make things right.
Clenching his fists, Harry forced himself up, leaning against the cold brick wall behind him. But as he began to take in his surroundings, his heart sank. He realised that he was in was in a deserted alley that was dimly lit by a flickering streetlamp. The buildings were taller, darker, and had an eerie, unfamiliar feel. It wasn't a place he recognised, why was he in a dark cold alley? How did he even get there?
A shiver crawled down Harry's spine, panic threatened to consume him, but he had to stay calm. He had to figure out where he was.
As Harry stumbled out of the dimly lit alley, the sharp pain coursing through his body intensified with every step. The taste of blood lingered on his lips, a grim reminder of the brutal encounter he had just endured. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he discovered the streets surrounding him in utter chaos.
Buildings stood damaged, their windows shattered, and smoke billowed into the night sky. The deafening sounds of sirens wailed in the distance as emergency vehicles hurriedly filled the streets. The scene resembled the aftermath of a battle, but Harry couldn't fathom how this had happened. He was at the Department of Mysteries just moments ago, battling for his life against Voldemort's followers.
Feeling the weight of his injuries, Harry clutched his chest tightly, his heart pounding faster than ever. Every breath was an excruciating reminder of the curse that had been cast upon him. He mustered his strength, reminding himself of his sole purpose – to save his friends and ensure their safety.
Lost in a daze, he barely registered the approaching figure – a man wearing a dark blue uniform and a helmet.
"Excuse me son," The man's voice broke through the chaos, calling out to Harry.
Harry blinked slowly and turned to face the man, whom he now recognised to be an officer of some sort.
"Me?" Harry asked confused, coughing and clutching tightly at his chest.
"Goodness, it's miracle that you survived the blast!" The Officer commented, "Are you injured?"
"No," Harry paused, slowly thinking about the question, was he hurt? He didn't think so, "No, just a little sore."
"A miracle indeed," The officer stated, he had a stern face, a bushy moustache, and a badge that read "PC Jones".
"What just happened?" Harry coughed once more, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion and worry, he glanced around himself at all the damaged buildings, "Where am I?"
"You don't know what happened or where you are?" The Officer asked in disbelief, suspicion leaking into his voice, "Lad, the Germans just dropped another of their bombs! You must have hit your head! That must explain why you can't remember... You're in Lambeth."
"I don't understand," Harry whispered in confusion his head was starting to pound.
"I don't think anyone understands anymore," The officer stated, gesturing for Harry to follow him away from the war-torn streets, "While the peak of the Blitz may be over, the Germans seem determined to keep hitting us with sporadic bombings, you seemed to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, didn't you hear the warning sirens?"
"No, I didn't... I..." Harry abruptly stopped talking, his mind whirring with this new information, the Blitz? But that happened back in the 1940's... What on earth was going on?
"What were you doing here in Lambeth?" The officer asked, raising an eyebrow as he stopped and turned to face Harry.
"Umm, I was..." Harry swallowed, thinking hard about what to say, he decided to stay as close to the truth as possible. "I was supposed to be visiting some friends."
"Hopefully your friends made it out alive like you," The officer said, and Harry felt sick to his stomach. He thought back to the ministry and he wasn't so sure, he really had to find out what was going on, something wasn't right.
"I hope so," Harry whispered shakily, his voice barely audible over the din of sirens and explosions. He followed the officer over to an olive-coloured truck that had a box-like body and red cross symbols on the sides. It looked like a makeshift ambulance, but Harry doubted it had any medical equipment or supplies. He felt a surge of fear and nausea as he wondered what would happen to him.
"Excuse me there, Mary," The officer called out, waving his hand at a woman who was wearing a white apron and a red cross armband. She looked like a nurse, but Harry noticed that she had a weary and grim expression on her face. She had probably seen too many horrors and tragedies in this war. "I have a survivor here, if you'd be so kind and check him over?"
"Of course, officer Jones," Mary the nurse replied, forcing a smile. She walked over to Harry and gave him a quick once-over. She noticed his pale and sweaty skin, the way he clutched at his chest. She also noticed his strange attire, his lightning-shaped scar, she wondered who he was, and where he came from. "Hello, dear. What's your name?"
"Harry," Harry said weakly, feeling a pang of pain as he spoke. He hoped that the nurse wouldn't ask him any more questions. He didn't know how to explain his situation, he just wanted out of here.
"Well, Harry, you're a lucky boy. You've survived a bomb blast, but you need some medical attention." Mary the nurse said gently, trying to sound cheerful. "Come on, let's get you inside the truck. There's a cot for you, and some water."
"Can't you just check me over and send me on my way?" Harry asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt a surge of urgency and anxiety, knowing that he had to leave this place as soon as possible. "I don't mean to be ungrateful, but I really must be going".
"I'm sorry, dear, but I can't do that. You need more than just a check-up. You need proper medical care and attention." Mary replied trying to get Harry to hop into the medical truck, "You've been through a lot, and you might have some serious injuries, you can't just go wandering around in this war zone. It's too dangerous."
"Please, I'm fine really." Harry pleaded desperately, his eyes wide with fear and urgency. He tried to come up with a good enough excuse, one that would convince the nurse to let him go. He didn't want to stay here. He had to find a way back to his friends. "I'm not injured, I don't want to take up a spot that somebody else might need more than I."
"Fine!" She sighed, the nurse looked at him with a mix of pity and frustration.
She felt a pang of guilt, as she turned away from Harry and reached into the truck to grab something, but she also felt a sense of relief. She had other patients to attend to, other lives to save. She couldn't waste her time on one stubborn boy.
"I suppose I can't make you if you don't want to." Mary continued, as she turned back to face Harry, "But I insist that you at least take this bottle of water. You look like you need it."
"Thank you so much!" Harry exclaimed, feeling a wave of relief wash over him as he accepted the bottle. He gave the nurse a small smile, a faint glimmer of gratitude in his green eyes. He swiftly turned away from her and the destroyed street, where smoke and debris still lingered in the air. He made his way out of that part of London, hoping to find somewhere that was familiar.
Harry had escaped from Lambeth a couple of hours ago, he now found himself wandering along a lonely street, where the only signs of life were the occasional stray cat or rat. He shivered in the cold night air, his clothes torn and dirty from the blast. He wondered if he could summon the knight bus without a wand. Deciding to try his luck Harry stuck his wand arm out facing the kerb and closed his eyes hoping.
Harry barely had time to stick out his arm when he felt a gust of wind on his face and heard a loud bang. He opened his eyes to see the startling, yet familiar sight of the purple double decker bus that towered over him. Harry felt a surge of relief and hope.
"Greetings, young wizard," said the conductor, who stepped out of the bus and approached Harry. He was not Stan Shunpike, the friendly and talkative conductor that Harry had met before, but someone completely unfamiliar. He was a tall and thin man, with a long nose and a pointed beard. He wore a purple uniform and a matching hat, and had a badge that read "Ernie Prang".
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, the emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Ernie Prang, and I'm the conductor of this fine vehicle. And you are?" he asked, extending his hand to Harry.
"Harry, just Harry." Harry replied, his voice hoarse and weary. He shook Ernie's hand in gratitude, feeling a faint warmth in his cold fingers. He was glad that the Knight Bus had arrived, even though he didn't have his wand on him. He wondered how the bus had sensed his need, and how it had found him. "Thank you so much for coming. I wasn't sure you would, since I don't have my wand on me."
"No worries, lad." Ernie replied, his voice cheerful and friendly. He let Harry onto the Knight Bus, which was spacious and comfortable, with plush seats and curtains. The bus was empty, except for a few sleeping passengers.
"It's all magic and intentions, you see." Ernie smiled at Harry. "You needed help and we came, it's that simple. Besides, we can't leave a youngster like yourself out there all alone, who knows what might happen to you. What with this war the muggles are fighting and Grindelwald lurking about, it's better to be safe than sorry."
"Right," Harry replied, his voice hoarse and weary. He took a seat on the nearest couch and tried to relax, but he felt tense and nervous. He wondered if his friends had gotten out of the ministry or if the Order of the Phoenix could help.
"So, where you off to?" Ernie asked, smiling at the young wizard. He leaned against the railing, and looked at Harry with curiosity and kindness. "You look like you need a good rest in a warm bed and a shower and maybe some food."
"That would be great, honestly," Harry responded, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He felt a pang of hunger and thirst, and a longing for a hot shower. He thought of the Leaky Cauldron, the old and cozy pub that was the gateway to Diagon Alley. "I was thinking about the Leaky Cauldron."
"Excellent, we'll get you there in no time," Ernie replied, grinning. He was glad that Harry had chosen a destination, and a simple one at that. He didn't want to deal with any complications, or any trouble. He wanted to make this trip as smooth and pleasant as possible. He turned to the driver of the Knight Bus, who was sitting behind a large steering wheel. He was a short and stout man, with a round face. "You heard the lad, take us to the Leaky Cauldron!"