I'm grateful for the response to Jaegerei, but unfortunately, the story began to fall apart as I tried to continue. I think it's partly because Year 5 is far from my favourite year, and partly because I was struggling to make it work properly. After some consideration, I decided to give a different version of the story a go, set during Year 2, and with extra plot elements that will come into play later. Oh, and a new title.

Incidentally, for those of you anticipating my Dark Souls crossover, Quebrith is nearly 8 chapters long now, and hopefully, once I do a few more, will be published as a full story. No promises, though...

ELDRITCH BLOOD

CHAPTER 1:

A RATHER COLD WELCOME

Consciousness came back to him only gradually. But the state he was in could only be called sleep with an overly charitable attitude. It was more like a suffocating void, punctuated by nightmarish images.

But when Harry Potter finally came around, he found himself in bed. He wondered if this was the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. But as he gradually opened his eyes, his unease grew. He wasn't convinced he was in Hogwarts. He wasn't sure if Hogwarts had anything that looked like Victorian paraphernalia, and dark wooden walls, at least in the Hospital Wing.

Memory came back to him. The confrontation with Quirrel. Voldemort's puppet being burned by his touch. Witnessing Quirrel crumble into ashes and cinders right in front of him. And then, the Mirror of Erised seemed to call to him.

Ever since he first discovered it, it seemed to entrance him. Dumbledore did claim this to be the case, but it was like the mirror was familiar to him somehow. He never told Dumbledore, but aside from his parents and ancestors…he saw other things, things he couldn't truly describe, as if hidden in a fog.

As Quirrel crumbled, and an exhausted Harry looked into the mirror, he wished, so desperately, that he could be with his parents. And as Voldemort's spectre rushed at him, Harry stumbled into the mirror, half expecting to shatter it. Instead, the mirror seemed to swallow him whole.

He barely remembered fleeting images of stars and galaxies rushing by. He saw strange shapes outlined and silhouetted against the cosmos. Whispers and rumblings, like wind and distant thunder given voice, reached his brain without going through his ears. Fleeting gazes that felt as heavy as the depths of the ocean. Oddly enough, while part of him was shrieking in fear, some part of him felt…oddly content here. As if this was the home he never knew.

And then, he was hurtled out into an ancient chamber, made of stone. He fell unconscious, though whether that was due to exhaustion, concussion from hitting the ground, being overwhelmed by the whole experience, or some combination of the above, he didn't know. He could afford to be more than a little fuzzy on the details. He did think he heard someone shouting from nearby as he fell unconscious, but he couldn't be sure.

Wherever he was, he didn't know what this place was. It certainly wasn't the place he ended up in, and even that he couldn't be sure it was more than a hallucination. And if he was somewhere other than Hogwarts or any other magical place, he had to be careful, because of the Statute of Secrecy.

A face came into view, that of a young man with a beard, who looked like he had been electrified. "Oh, you're awake," the young man said. "I'll just go and fetch the others."

"Wait…who are you?"

"Oh, my apologies. I am Paarl, a student here," the young man, perhaps even a teenager, said. He seemed to be dressed in Victorian dress, but it wasn't a Hogwarts uniform. "Look, save your questions for later, please. There's a couple of people here who want to ask questions of you. Dunno why a kid was found in the depths of the Pthumerian Labyrinth…" With that muttered aside, he walked out.

Harry didn't have to wait long. A portly middle-aged man came in, looking a bit like a priest, his jowly face nonetheless somewhat kindly. His fine robes contrasted with the more rough and well-worn clothing of the man who followed him, who had a shock of messy dark hair exploding from beneath a wide-brimmed hat. He appeared to be in his twenties. A younger man, also possibly in his late teens, followed, glasses perched on his nose.

"Well, it seems our guest has awakened at last," the middle-aged man said. "You were very lucky. The Pthumerian Labyrinth is no playground, though I doubt a boy your age would be down so deeply by choice. You were lucky Gehrman and Laurence were engaged in an expedition into it."

"Pthumerian Labyrinth?" Harry asked. "Where is that? Greece? Italy? Are we in Britain anymore?"

Their puzzled looks got a sinking feeling forming in him. "What the blazes is the boy yapping about?" the rougher-looking man asked. "Did he hit himself too hard in the head?"

"While there are signs of a minor concussion, it didn't appear to be worrisome, at least according to Dr Archibald," the youngest member said. "Gehrman, if I didn't know any better, he didn't seem to know what a Pthumerian Labyrinth is."

"Bollocks, Laurence. Everyone in this part of the world knows about the Pthumerians, and his accent is pure Yharnamite," Gehrman said. "Well, everyone who ain't stupid, and I doubt the boy's stupid."

"Precisely. That mirror we found him from…perhaps it was from another plane? Caryll's translation was incomplete, but her report did indicate that…"

The older man held up a hand. "I know, and I have been over her report with a fine-toothed comb, just as you have, Laurence. But the blood we took from him appears to be human. My apologies for that, young man, but we wanted to be sure you weren't suffering from some sort of contagion."

Harry felt a little ill at ease at that. And a little insulted at being thought inhuman. "…It's fine," he lied. "But my name's Harry Potter. Who are you? And where am I?"

"Ah, yes. I presume you are feeling disoriented. Well, allow me to introduce myself. I am Provost Willem. And allow me to welcome you to the hallowed halls of Byrgenwerth…"

There is a secret room within Hogwarts. Well, this wasn't anything new, as the castle infamously had many secret nooks and crannies, and even parts of its architecture like stairs or doors shifted, changed or even vanished. This room, however, was fairly consistent in its secrecy. One could go one's entire career as a student, even as a teacher, and not even suspect its existence, let alone find it.

The House Elves knew where it was. They called it the Come and Go Room, though they also knew it to be the Room of Requirement. Usually, it was used as a storehouse to store things unwanted by students and staff alike. And within the darkened recesses of this room was a mirror.

The mirror was ornate and large, and had, across the frame, a phrase in backwards English. It read, I show not your face, but your heart's desire. This inscription was actually a later addition, etched into the frame by a waggish Ravenclaw who thought himself more clever than he actually was. The rest of the mirror was ancient, even eldritch. And after certain disastrous events some months ago, it was stored away here, reflecting little more than the dim light of the unused Room of Requirement.

And yet, the mirror's reflective surface began rippling and warping. Eventually, violently, the mirror's surface bulged violently, and disgorged a pair of figures, who tumbled along the floor. Sensing the presence of the two figures, the Room of Requirement began raising the light levels to accommodate them.

"Oh, it's even worse the second time around," groaned one of the figures. The voice was male, but the clothing was concealing, so few could tell much more. Dark trousers, shirt, and a shoulder cape, all battered and covered in blood. A wide-brimmed hat and a scarf concealed most of his features. "Maria, are you okay?"

His companion got off the ground. Her skin was utterly pale, deathly so, and silvery-white hair framed a face that had a cool, aristocratic beauty, heightened by her icy blue eyes. When she spoke, it was with an accent that sounded vaguely Slavic or perhaps Czech. "Of course not!" she snapped. "…I have not been okay, as you put it, for a long time. Not since Rom was turned into that…thing at the Fishing Hamlet. But now…a man I admired and looked up to as the father I never had…he lusted after me, and wished you dead because we had the temerity to be in a relationship."

"…I know. I thought of Gehrman like a father too. And while I thought he had a thing for you, I didn't think he'd go so far, and…gods, Maria. I'm sorry I dragged you with me, but…"

"Do not apologise. I had thought I had found a home at Byrgenwerth, instead of that incestuous cesspool I was born in. But Byrgenwerth merely hid its depravity better than Cainhurst." She looked around. "So…is this the place? Is this Hogwarts?"

The young man turned, and peered at the mirror. "…It could be. This looks like the Mirror of Erised. I don't know the room, though. Then again, I don't think I visited anywhere near all of the castle."

"Fair enough. Still, how do you think they would view your miraculous return?"

"…I don't know. It's been over a decade. If Voldemort ever came back to life properly, then I've probably been gone for too long. I tried not to think about it, but…"

"We shall cross that bridge when we come to it," Maria said. "Come, let's go…"

"It hasn't changed much," the young man mused as they walked down the corridors. "And it's not in ruins, so Voldemort hasn't done much. Hopefully."

"Perhaps, but…"

"Hold on a moment. I hear a voice."

Maria frowned. "I can't hear anything."

"…Maybe I was imagining things. Or maybe what Kos inflicted on me is…wait, do you hear footsteps?"

Indeed, they did. Hurried footsteps rushing away from a nearby corridor, splashing through the water that covered this floor. They went to pursue, only to all but collide with a pair of kids. Both were young, twelve or thirteen, one a boy with red hair and freckles, the other a bushy-haired girl. "Oi, watch it!" snapped the redhead. "Hey, who are you two?"

"We are visitors. We were looking for the Headmaster," Maria said. "Tell me, is Professor Dumbledore still in charge?"

"Umm, yeah? Why wouldn't he be?" the redhead asked.

"…Impossible," the young man whispered, staring at the two.

"What's impossible? Who are you two? Why are you looking for Professor Dumbledore?" the bushy-haired girl asked.

Before either of the visitors could answer, the redhead yelped, "And what the hell is that?" He pointed at a wall not far from them.

On said wall, painted in ominous red liquid, were sinister words. THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS IS OPEN. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

And hanging from a torch bracket was a cat, seemingly dead. "…Mrs Norris?" whispered the young man.

Before anyone further could say anything, a bunch of students came through, only to halt when they saw the message and the cat. But then, a blonde boy with pinched features pushed forward, and then, with delight, howled, "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

And then, a grizzled-looking old man came along. And that's when things got complicated. As he wailed over his cat, the man then glared at the redhead and the bushy-haired girl, and advanced on them, murder in his eyes. "You…"

Maria, however, held up a gloved hand. "The four of us found your cat like this. You dare attack a child with no reason or evidence, and I will strike you down."

The man lunged at her, only for her to grab him and slam him against the wall. "Do that again, and you will regret it for the rest of your miserable life."

"My dear lady, would you be so kind as to release Argus? He is feeling rather emotional, and understandably so."

Maria and the young man turned to find an elderly man with a long beard, and wearing rather colourful robes. "…Are you Professor Dumbledore?" Maria asked, releasing the man who tried to attack her.

"Indeed I am. And you are?"

"Lady Maria, formerly of Cainhurst. I doubt that these names mean anything to you, but my associate and I have travelled a long way to get here. It seems our arrival was a case of extremely bad timing."

"Then you and your associate will have no objection to coming with me?" Dumbledore asked. "Along with Mr Weasley and Miss Granger?"

"Of course not. It may save time on explanations later."

A blonde, rather foppish wizard came forward. "My office is nearest, just upstairs, Headmaster, so feel free to…"

"Of course, Gilderoy. Thank you," Dumbledore said. And with that, they left…

Soon, Dumbledore, with an old, stern-looking woman called McGonagall and a greasy-haired man called Snape looking on, discerned that Mrs Norris was petrified rather than dead. Not that it stopped her owner, whom the girl said was Mr Filch, from accusing the quartet found at the scene of doing the deed. But the young man finally spoke up.

"Professor…I believe that, when you see my face, you'll believe that I didn't do it. But I will only show my face to people I trust. That is yourself, Professor McGonagall, Ron and Hermione."

The blonde fop blinked. "But I am Gilderoy Lockhart!"

"…Good for you," the young man said.

Snape made to protest, but Dumbledore silenced him, before muttering something to the sullen, greasy-haired man, who left grudgingly, as did Filch and, with bemusement more than rancour, Lockhart. Dumbledore turned back to the young man once they had left. "I must confess myself curious. Why specify two younger students, and by name, when you just met them?"

"You'll probably find it hard to believe, but…I know them. What date is it?"

"October 31st, 1992," McGonagall said.

"…Four months. But for me, it's been more than a decade." With that, the young man removed his hat, revealing a messy, matted shock of black hair, and a pair of emerald eyes behind glasses. A faded scar was on his forehead, like a lightning bolt, half-concealed by his hair. He tugged down the scarf, revealing a face somewhat familiar to them, but aged. Maria knew why they were in shock and disbelief. She was having a hard time believing herself. But she had learned to go with the flow for such things.

"Hi, everyone," Harry Potter, now an adult, said wearily. "I'm back…"

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

Well, while four months may have passed for Earth, for Harry, it's been about twelve years. And he has a classic case of bad timing. Damned Potter Luck…

No numbered annotations this time.