WARNINGS IN THIS CHAPTER: character's death.

A VERY POWERFUL WOMAN

By suchsweetaddiction

''A man who wants to die feels angry and full of life and desperate and bored and exhausted, all at the same time; he wants to fight everyone, and he wants to curl up in a ball and hide in a cupboard somewhere. He wants to say sorry to everyone, and he wants everyone to know just how badly they've all let him down.''

– Nick Hornby, 'A Long Way Down'

PROLOGUE

Harry Potter knew without a doubt he was dying. He could feel the previous excruciating pain of every broken bone; every ache and bruise scattered throughout his entire body slowly ebb way together with his consciousness and life force. He was freezing cold, his teeth chattering non-stop, and his extremities already frozen and numb after what it could have been hours or days laid out on the snow in the back garden of his relatives' house.

Strangely enough, with that momentous knowledge, Harry didn't feel fear or sadness for what it would happen to him. No, in fact, the boy was almost eager for everything to be over with, so that he could finally submerse in the merciful oblivion for all eternity and never experience again the hopeless and pitiful and miserable life that he had survived for the last fifteen years.

Ever since Harry could remember, he had known with an abnormal certainty and resignation that he would eventually die somehow this way, beaten and bleeding to death at the hands of his 'caring' relatives. After all, his uncle and aunt had never been shy to show their hatred and disgust for their freakish nephew – be it with words, starvation, beatings, or never-ending housework – and both had taught their only son the way that 'The Freak' deserved to be treated in their normal house.

Anyone who knew Harry Potter – the famous Boy-Who-Lived, Defeater of the Dark Lord Voldemort at the tender age of fifteen months – believed that the boy had grown up pampered and treated like a prince. Each and every one of them purely saw what they wanted to see, and if they happened to note something out of their rose-coloured little world, they dismissed it automatically without a further thought. After all, most of the wizards and witches had a blind faith in Albus Dumbledore and his words. And if the great wizard, Defeater of Gellert Gridenwald, assured them that their precious little boy hero was safe and happy with his muggle family, why should anyone suspect otherwise? Harry thought bitterly, in his fogged mind. He had known, since his first year at Hogwarts, that the old man simply didn't care for his treatment in Privet Drive, as long as his prized little hero was alive and enough healthy to follow his manipulations while at the school.

And his friends were no better. Only once, Harry had tried to explain to them what exactly happened every summer that he spent with the Dursley's, even already knowing that it would be no good – that had been in the beginning of this school year, when he had ranted at them for abandoning him all summer without a single word from anyone – and the answers that he had gotten were not at all what he had wanted, but had come to expect somewhat from them. Ron thought he was exaggerating. Sure, he had seen the bars on the window and the twins had told him about the locks on his bedroom door, but he had seen nothing else that could be called abuse. Hermione, on the other hand, had simply believed that he was outright lying. Her unshakable belief in authority figures, especially Headmaster Dumbledore, clouded her judgement in wherever he was associated, and she insisted vehemently that the old man knew what was best for his students and that Harry should be ashamed for spouting out such outrageous lies about his betters. After that eventful day, their friendship had started deteriorating, and Dumbledore, in his wisest moment yet (no doubt, after Ron and Hermione had complained to the old man about the cold and distant demeanour of his friend), had forced Harry to spend the Christmas Holidays at Privet Drive, so he could 'calm down and think on his appalling behaviour as of late'.

Harry hadn't needed to be a seer to know that these three weeks with his relatives wouldn't go well at all, and the least bit helping him calm down. Sure enough, the Dursley's had not been happy to see him again so soon, and they had to change their plans to travel because they could not merely leave their freaky nephew alone at home. Who knew what he would do without anyone in the house to abstain him of his freakish behaviour? So, his relatives were being even more spiteful and cruel than ever (if it was even possible) towards his nephew these past few days, never losing an opportunity to showing him their displeasure at the forced situation which they all found themselves in.

However, the last drop had been the previous day. Harry had noted that Dudley had been throwing him some odd looks since he had arrived at the beginning of Christmas break, and even though Harry didn't know what to exactly make of them, he was sure that it didn't bear well for him and proceeded to ignore his cousin as much as humanly possible. Harry's luck had ended on Boxing Day, when the two adults had gone out and the boys stayed in the house; Dudley, because he couldn't lose his favourite TV show and Harry, because, as usual, had chores to do and he simply didn't deserve to go somewhere out of the house.

Harry was absented-minded changing the sheets on Dudley's bed when his cousin entered the bedroom without his notice and, from behind, had wrapped his beefy arms around his thin ones and squeezed hard. Harry panicked, caught out of guard, and shoved him away awkwardly. By dumb luck (good or bad, is anyone's guess), Dudley had stepped one foot back and slipped on the dirty bed sheet on the floor and knocked his head hard on the ground after falling on his back.

Not thinking straight, his mind panicking with horror at the situation and dread of what would happen to him when his cousin regained consciousness and his uncle was told of this, Harry closed himself in his bedroom. Breathing hard and heart pumping away too fast, he slipped on the floor and hugged his legs to his chest and waited with resignation for his fate. He had no doubts that he would be heavily punished for what had happened, even though it was an accident. His uncle had never needed an excuse to beat his nephew bloody.

Sure enough, not long after, he heard his aunt and uncle enter the house and his cousin descend the stairs in a hurry. Harry closed his eyes, inching closer with his back to the far wall and forcing himself not to whimper.

''BOY!'', came the dreaded shout seconds later. Not waiting for a reply that wouldn't come anyway, his uncle proceeded to loudly and heavily start up the stairs and Harry mentally prepared himself for what was to come.

What had happened after that was fuzzy in Harry's memory, but he could guess the gist of it by the wounds and broken bones. The last memory that he had of his uncle was when he threw him outside in the back garden, unconcerned of the soil covered snow and the freezing temperature, and saying that he was forbidden to come inside the house until the next morning if he would be feeling generous then. In that moment, the boy simply knew that was it. He wouldn't survive the night with his currently health state in that freezing weather. He couldn't move an inch even if he wasn't hurting everywhere; both his arms seemed to be broken and at least one ankle was sprained, not to mention his ribs making it hard to breath. Gazing at the starring sky, he thought idly that at least he had a good image of the last thing he would see in life, as he had always loved to look at the night sky whenever he had the chance, especially from the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts.

''Harry…''

Someone was calling him, though he didn't recognise the smooth female voice, through the heavy fog that was his conscious.

''Harry…''

Who are you? He asked, not with his voice, as he couldn't speak because of his broken jaw, but with his mind. He was somewhat annoyed that he could not have some peace even in his last moments of life. However, he was curious and forced himself to pay attention and fight against the numbness that had taken over him.

''My name is Florence Peverell. And believe it or not, I come from an alternative dimension.''

What? How is that even possible? He demanded, suspiciously. And how are you talking in my head? Am I already dead? No, he was still hurting. When one died, one didn't feel pain anymore, right?

''Believe it or not, I had a similar life to yours for sixteen years. Simply put, I am somewhat a female version of you. Before I changed my name, I was known as Florence Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived.'' The voice bluntly and bitterly spat out the last sentence. It was exactly the same way that Harry felt about his hero status; and it was this last bit that told him to wait before denying anything and be open-minded about what he was hearing. After learning that one could go back in time with a Time Turner, it was possible that it existed other forms of time travel. So believing that there were different alternatives universes was not that really much of a stretch of the imagination.

''I battled against Voldemort several times and in the end succeeded in defeating him, though that didn't result in anything good for me.'' The voice went on explaining, turning bitterer and bitterer the more she spoke. ''I thought that after I saved the wizarding world, I could finally be myself with no more expectations but I was wrong. Merlin… How wrong I was…''

Here, the voice paused, seemingly lost in thoughts of the past, before suddenly snapping back.

''Everyone turned against me, even my 'supposed' friends, and in a blink of an eye, from their beloved hero and saviour, I was the next Dark Lady and imprisoned in Azkaban without a trial or a right to defend myself against whatever charges they accused me of.''

Harry thought rather detachedly of his godfather, Sirius Black. He had been imprisoned in Azkaban in the same unfair manner. Even though that at the moment, he was not very happy with the man because of his siding with Dumbledore, when the Headmaster had decided that the best idea was returning him to the Dursley's for the holidays, the boy felt sorry for what had become of his last magical family member.

''Yes, exactly the same way,'' the voice said resentfully; it seemed that she could read his thoughts easily enough, ''and that manipulating old man was the one to blame. It wasn't enough that he had me raised like a self-sacrificed weapon to fight his war for him; when the job was done, he did everything he could to make me the enemy and throw me in Azkaban, fearing that I would take his place in being the greatest magical from him and proceeded to steal everything I had ever had: all my possessions on my trunk and the gold and properties left by my parents for when I came of age. He took everything from me, declaring it was for the greater good. After all, I wouldn't need any of that in Azkaban.''

Wait! What gold and properties? I thought that I had only that one vault at Gringotts. Harry asked, shocked with everything he was being told. Sure, he had not been impressed with Dumbledore mostly of the time; however he would never imagine that he could be that immoral and cruel.

''Dumbledore has hidden many things. The Potters' Vaults are only one of them. And that is why I am contacting you. I have been searching for some time for a universe similar to my own. You see, many things happened here that shouldn't have; one of them being that magic was discovered by the muggles worldwide and consequently war broke between both that resulted in the almost extinction of magic and humans alike. The muggles feared magic and their way of thinking was that if they couldn't have it for themselves, then they would actively destroy every magical being, be it human or animal. In their mass destruction, the muggles used everything they could against us, making the first two muggle world wars seem like a children's play in comparison. If they could kill at least one wizard or witch, they would hardly care if they had to destroy an entire village of muggles with them if they were in the way. It quickly turned out into a surviving and running game for magicals, as the muggles somehow found a way to detect magic with their technology and nowhere was safe enough for long. In the end, there was only an half a dozen magicals at the most, though it was already too late at that point as the planet was starting to self-destroy after years of the muggle poisoning it with toxins, radioactivity and anything they could create to attack us with.''

The more Florence talked, the more horrified Harry became. Despite knowing that he wasn't long for this world (though he was feeling pleasantly numb ever since the voice started speaking in his mind), and lately being spiteful at the world at large – muggle and wizarding worlds alike –, he couldn't even entertain the abysmal thought that if the muggles really discovered magic was actually real, they would save no means to destroy them all.

And what are you exactly searching for? He forced himself to the moment and asked; the images in his head too awful to contemplate anymore. I don't know if you can see, but I'm already dying. I am no use for you in whatever way you are thinking of.

''I know that you are dying, yes, though you shouldn't have been. Once again, the old man meddled where he shouldn't and that is the result.'' Florence spat disdainfully. Harry could see that she really, really loathed Dumbledore with her whole being. ''It's because that you are dying that I have a proposition for you.''

What proposition? I'd rather die in peace and forget everything and everyone in this world, thank you very much. He said, sounding spiteful. He had already been hurt enough on his life. He felt that he deserved at least a peaceful death.

''To put it bluntly, I seek retribution from everyone that had betrayed me in my world. The problem is that they are all dead here already, killed by the muggles, though they hadn't paid even a fraction for what they have done.'' She explained, tone cold and hard, without remorse or shame. ''I am one of the last surviving on my planet and the only fate that awaits me is misery. I have nothing to lose anymore. So I decided to travel to another dimension where I could exact justice on my own. It needed to be somewhere where my other self was similar to me in as many aspects as possible, and thus I had found you: living with the Dursley's, manipulated and lied by Dumbledore, treated as a hero a moment and a criminal and liar the next by everyone and wanted dead by Voldemort. In fact, the only major differences that I could spot until this moment in both our lives was that one was born female and the other male, and I hadn't been sent to Privet Drive for the winter holidays. The only drawback is that there cannot be two of us at the same time and I can only take my place in the new universe when the original one is no more. Through my research, I found out that the easiest way to pass through is being invited by the original self in the moments before Death takes him.''

Harry was tempted to do it right away just out of spite to everyone that had turned against him. If Florence took revenge on them all, he could die a happy man, despite everything. He really didn't care what she planned on doing; for all he knew she could side with Voldemort and torture and kill any wizard and witch who stood against the Dark Side. After all, since the previous summer, the major part of the wizarding world called him an 'attention seeking liar' and he had been submitted to daily torture sessions by that toad-like Umbridge, which the others professors had turned a blind eye to.

And what happens to me if I accept your offer? He needed to know. The idea of payback was very appealing, though he really didn't care that much to continue staying alive; he was sick and tired of his pitiful life and was ready to leave everything behind.

''Whether you accept or not, to you, it will be the same. At this moment, I stopped somewhat your body from giving up, it is in a stasis spell, you could say, so I could make contact with you, but as soon as I let go, nature will follow its course and your body will shut down and you will finally have your so awaited oblivion.'' The voice responded matter-of-factly, as if it was a professor lecturing its student. ''If you allow me my wish, I'll travel automatically to your side and from there I'll put my plans in action. I'll be very grateful to you, and I'll do everything possible to avenge us both of the cruelty of the people that hurt us without a care.''

Harry pondered some more. Really, he had nothing to lose. He'd still get what he wanted and Florence could do whatever she pleased. If there was an after-life (he didn't really believe that there was one; when you died, that was it, no more suffering, regardless of your deeds in life, what it existed was pure oblivion), he would eagerly watch what would become of the world that had abandoned him carelessly.

Alright, how do we do this? He finally agreed feeling no regrets.

''Just call my name in your head and wish for myself to come to you.'' Harry could feel her eagerness and gratefulness in her voice.

This is it, he thought oddly calm in the face of what was happening. This is what I wanted. Florence, give them all hell for me. And with this parting sentence, he called for the woman with all his might before slipping into the long-awaited oblivion.

If one was watching the back garden of the number four of Privet Drive around three in the morning, one would bear witness to the last breath of Harry Potter, laid out forsaken in the cold and white snow, almost glistening under the clear starry sky.

And if so, one would have been also able to witness a thin figure wrapped in black robes appearing out of nowhere at his side a moment later, moving its arm in odd patterns while holding a wooden stick and silently gazing at the boy for a few moments, before vanishing in the night without another glance at the boy hero of the wizarding world.

And if one would be standing next to them, they could have heard a female voice whisper, her tone like a promise:

''Rest in peace and don't worry, Harry. I promise, everyone will pay for all the hurt that they caused both of us.''