The day was dreary. Rain fell outside, tapping the glass windows of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The halls of the castle were eerily silent, with students asleep and in their dorms. The entire castle felt as if it were waiting for something, something big, to happen. Indeed, if one were to walk for a while in the opposite direction of the castle for some time, stand upon a distant hill, and tilt their head just right, they would see the castle leaning just slightly to the left, as if in anticipation. This went unnoticed by most everyone, except for one wily teacher, and the headmaster.

Severus Snape prided himself on being able to listen to the tide and know when something was coming. There was many a time when if he had not listened to such a sixth sense, he would have ended up dead. Which is why on this night he was standing in headmaster Albus Dumbledore's office, trying to get the daft old coot to listen to him for once.

"Albus, surely you sense it. The winds of change are coming, and if you would pull your head out of your arse and stop drugging yourself on lemon drops, you would see it." Severus was frustrated. Albus, curse him, was not listening. Again.

"Calm down, Severus. A change is coming, yes, I have sensed it, but that does not help us very much. We can only wait and watch. It is impossible to know what is coming, unless you have become a Seer and have abstained from telling me." Dumbledore offered a smile at the obviously incensed potion master, popping a lemon drop into his mouth. "We do not have any notion of what to prepare for, Severus. Perhaps, though, I should go get my lucky socks. They have helped many a time." Here, he adopted a thoughtful expression, only further infuriating Snape.

"Albus, I sincerely doubt socks of all things are going to help with this. This is big, very big, I can feel it. This will change the tide of the war. This will change everything." Here, he took a breath, trying to calm himself down. It would not do to lose his composure. The headmaster scrutinized him for a moment, realizing the man was truly worried about this. "Nonsense, Severus, warm feet can help everything. Why, how else would I get around on this cold stone floor?" Sobering slightly, he said gently, "Truthfully, there is nothing we can do. It will come and we will deal with it as it comes. We must be vigilant, Severus. We cannot allow this to sneak up on us, or we may finally lose this war."

Snape nodded, his expression shadowed. "We are close to losing. Surely you realize this. Your precious Gryffindor golden boy has been gone for a two years. The only reason we have not lost yet is because the Dark Lord is gathering his mind. He is not insane anymore. He has…reason." His lip curled around this word with a certain amount of awe and fear. A Dark Lord with his intelligence and reason intact was much more of a threat than an insane one.

Dumbledore nodded, his face suddenly exhausted. The reminder of Harry was a punch to the face. He had failed the boy, spectacularly so. Now, the boy was gone, and Voldemort was about to move in. The Ministry was useless and corrupt. Voldemort was winning, and the only person who could stop him had been gone for a very long time. Everything he had tried had failed in locating Harry. Falkes couldn't locate him, even his strongest locator spells couldn't locate him. It was as if Harry Potter did not exist anymore, yet that was impossible. The heart monitor connected to him still shone, showing he was still alive. The light was strange, a sickly red, yet it still shone. Every time he looked at it, Dumbledore felt a sense of foreboding. He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"I fear for the future, Severus. I fear for the children, for the school, for Harry, for our lives." The words were whispered, a deep weariness embedded within them. "I have done all I could, under the circumstances. It seems that it does not matter. I have felt myself losing hope day by day. Yet it is all I have, and I grasp it with all the strength I have left. We must trust Harry to come back. It is all we have."

Snape sneered, an expression of deep distaste on his face. "I had trouble believing the boy could do it before, and I say it again. He is just a boy, Albus. A foolish, arrogant boy who takes after his father far too much. Even if he were to come back, I am not convinced."

Silence stretched through the office, deep and oppressive. "If you do not think he can do it, then who can, Severus? You? Me? I am but an old man. I can hold Tom off, perhaps, but that is my limit. No, Severus, Harry is all we had." He sighed, a gust of air expelled through lungs. Silence stretched once again.

"If that is all, Albus, I will take my leave." Snap said stiffly, his face carefully blank. Dumbledore nodded, his eyes sad as they followed him out the door. Things were bleak, very bleak indeed.

-2 Years Earlier-

Harry James Potter was confused. Very much so. One second he had been in the Dursley's house, waiting for midnight on his seventeenth birthday, and for the Order to come get him, and the next second he was...not. He was standing on some street, who knows where, and there were...carriages? His mind felt like a balloon, and all it would take would be a too sharp thought and he'd pop. It was a strange feeling.

How did he always get himself into these situations? Merlin knows Snape thought it was for attention, not that he'd ever see anything in him but his father. He hadn't even tried this time! There was no chance to run, to fight, nothing, he was just here. Wherever here was. His stomach roiled uncomfortably, and his headache started to grow worse. The clack of horse's hooves on cobblestone seemed to drive into his skull. It was for the best, he decided, that he get off the street. Not that he knew where to go. Wherever he was, he had no house or room for himself anywhere.

He glanced around. Brick buildings lined a cobblestone street. Women in rather large and old fashioned dresses walked next to men in suits he knew only existed in the Victorian era. Carriages attached to horses trotted through the street. A smell of dirt and poop filled the street, most likely from the horses. He wrinkled his nose. It smelled awful. The men and women walking glanced at him, distaste and suspicion written on their face. A rather snobbish looking man with brown hair and jowls rivaling that of a pit bull shoved past him, knocking him into the alley he hadn't realized was behind him.

He was starting the breathe heavily, and with it, the nausea in his stomach was turning to pain. He realized, belatedly, that he was still turning seventeen, and his inheritance was fast approaching. Thinking quickly, he drew his wand from his pocket, thanking Merlin that he'd kept it in his pocket. He shakily drew the pattern for a silencing charm and muggle repelling charm, incanting under his breath. He wouldn't be disturbed, and right on time, for as soon as he finished the pain in his gut and head increased tenfold. He didn't fancy doing this in a dirty side alley in Victorian wherever, but he had no choice.

His vision swam, and black spots filled his vision. His nails dug into his palms, drawing blood. He clenched his teeth, trying not to scream. This was pain like none he'd ever felt before. It filled him, all-encompassing, driving out any sensation except pain, pain, and more pain. His nerves felt as if they were on fire, screaming. It felt remarkably similar to a crucio.

It was too much. Soon, all he knew was the darkness of unconsciousness.