It's been 6 years but I'm back! Do you guys really read the author's note?

Disclaimer: I don't own or make money off of this.

A/N: If you read the last chapter of the original story, I said I would make Harry a female but I lied and Harry is a male... The one main reason Harry was adopted by the Delacours is that I wanted him to have a happier life, which is easier to write. And I wanted to get Fleur in their to pair with a certain wolf cause I thought it would be fun.

SUMMARY: Rather than being given to the Dursleys, Harry was adopted by the Delacours and attended Beauxbatons with his sisters, Fleur and Gabrielle. Years passed, the war ravaged many lives and, ultimately, the wizarding world was now at peace. But somewhere else in a different time, where magic herself was dying and desperate, she reaches out for help through time and space and catches the one and only Harry. Now whisked away from his bubble bath and dropped into the Feudal Era, all Harry can do is not freak out, find a way to restore magic, and learn to accept the developing love between him and one Lord Sesshomaru.


His head violently broke the surface of the river, his arms flailing to grasp a hold of anything to be afloat. Fleur taught him how to swim but he was never the strongest tuna in the ocean and his quick thrashing of limbs synced with his thundering heart. Some hardened strokes and labored breaths later, his feet finally touched the rocky riverbed and he dragged himself on to dry land, his arms giving beneath him.

Sand and grass flew in his mouth from his brutal breathing and his ears beat with a hard thrum of his heart. His eyes roamed the blurry horizon, searching the shadowed trees for a sense of familiarity. The last trace of sun fazed the yellow sky to dark blue, peaking the hostility of the surrounding forest that dwarfed him.

"Where the fuck am I?" he wheezed, his eyes shifting to his shivering limbs. Small pebbles and twigs, sand, and bent grass indented themselves in his exposed naked flesh.

He turned to glare at the river he broke from but scowled in disappointment at the sight of not a river but a stream. "Pathetic…" he grumbled.

In his peripheral were large insects skittering in and out of the tree line, their loud fluttering wings dampened when returning to the woods then dissipating to nothing. What hid in the depths of the thickness Harry didn't want to know and he didn't want to know.

"Am I in Germany?" he muttered under his breath, chuckling a little at his feeble attempt to lighten the situation.

Harry scrambled to his sit on his heels and began wiping debris from his body only to halt as something large stumbled from the forest. He had never seen anything like it before, or maybe he had but he didn't have his glasses. As far as he knew, they were still settled on the bathroom windowsill. It looked akin to a heavy weightlifting purple troll with horns protruding from its mouth and what he hoped was a loincloth covering its nether regions.

Harry, naked in all his glory, knew the creature would no doubt notice him. He was a bright beacon, shining water droplets glistening from the oncoming light of the moon. Slow as he could he raised himself to his feet and crept towards the tree line, sweat from anxiety and fear mingling with the layer of water on his skin. Of course, he had faced worse through his years in Beauxbaton and especially the war, but that was when his trusty want was grasped in his hand. Wandless magic was not uncommon in France and among his family, but he was not going to risk it with something he didn't know nor see clearly.

A silent prayer ghosted his lips, hoping it would not look his way, but alas, he neared the bushes close to the trees and another strange animal skittled away at his presence. Never had the sound of tiny twigs breaking and leaves rustling been so loud in his ears.

"Fuck," he mouth as the troll huffed in his direction. Harry looked only a for a mere second to see smoke billowing beneath its nose and without a thought he darted through the bushes and sprinted into the forest.

Loud thuds from the troll echoed through the forest, masking Harry's softer steps. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, his unconditioned legs working overtime to scrape against the shrubs as fast as he could. His feet throbbed at every rock and root he stepped on and his calves began to burn. He didn't know how long he was running, most likely not long at all, but he knew the troll was closing in.

His foot caught on a soft protrusion and his arms came forward to break his fall. His body slid across the mud and grass, chafing and scratching his forearms, knees and chest. Harry raised his head and looked back at the source of his demise only to have dread blanket his face. There sat a deflated man against a tree, his head lulled to the side and his arms lazily splayed downward against his side. Harry had tripped on his leg splitting out on the path, his feet facing a disgustingly incorrect direction. There were dark and yellow bruises littered over every inch of the man's body.

He strained a surprised groan. "… I tripped over a dead guy…" he croaked.

The troll's steps grew closer. Quick, he had to think.

"I'm sorry," he whispered and crawled to the dead man, pushing him to the side and curling underneath his saggy and spongy body. For once, he was thankful of his small frame, but dutifully guilty at his intrusion of the dead.

The thunder of the troll's feet shook the ground and paused where he had fallen. Through the crack of the dead man's back and the tree, Harry saw the troll scrutinize the skid marks he had made, and, with dread and despair filling him, saw the troll's gaze land at the dead body above him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck… Fuck! He internally screamed, his eyes growing to saucers with shaking and frightening anticipation.

For what seemed like hours, the troll stared eerily at the dead body but eventually growled and turned away. Harry let out a breath he didn't know he held and tentatively listened to the retreating steps before it disappeared.

"I need clothes..." He shivered. Slipping from under the man, his eyes searched the figure before him. The man's clothes were not an option; a disrespect he was not going to perform, nor did he know what was under those clothes. Under the man's other awkward leg was a brown sack. "I'm sorry," he whispered again as he slipped it from him.

"Oh, thank goodness," he sighed. Inside was a dark blanket, whether washed or sullied, it was the only option to cover himself. He rummaged for more but only found a knife, a small bag of something that sounded like coins and pieces of paper. He left the paper in the bag and placed it back underneath his leg. Perhaps he could find a merchant or a village to purchase goods and travel with the bag of coins.

"Thank you," he said to the dead man, nodding with a bow for respect. Harry cut a strip of the blanket as a belt and donned on his makeshift skirt. He tied the knife and the bag of coins to his waist. "These should be handy if I live long enough..."


A few moments before...

Harry Delacour played with his wrinkled fingers watching the sunbeams through the bathroom window. The lavender scent from a bath bomb faded a long moment ago and the bathwater turned past lukewarm. Fleur pounded on the door at some point but Harry's mind was too far from his brain to clearly remember, or even notice.

The pseudo-graduation for his class for Beauxbatons was nearing and to say Harry was having an existential crisis was an understatement. A student from Hogwarts, Neville Longbottom, had become famous for saving the wizarding world a few weeks ago and everyone involved was desperately trying to move on with their devastated lives, some more than others, and Harry had been one of them.

He had stayed behind to defend those on the outskirts of the war against enemies straying from the main battle. The consequence of the constant dementor kisses, the dreaded spell of death from death eaters, and death itself tore through every kind of reserve he had. Those unrelenting days of the war was the unfortunate and inevitable weakening and fracturing of his very soul.

His bath time was occupied by the memory of the moment he was near death's door and defied its beckoning. That day, his magic was immensely depleted from the many times he conjured his patronus, and his body severely battered with cuts and bruises from death eaters around him. He had been surrounded by those who were still standing, their wands at the ready, pointed straight at him.

His baser instincts to survive clawed for control. A bright ringing sang in his ear to a crescendo till his ears buzzed and he saw a dark shadow blanket his vision. He watched his hands reached outwards against his will and a green glow emitted from his palms. The death eaters clutched at their wands to attack but were frozen as their eyes rolled, their jaws slacked, and their arms swung limp to their sides. Thick blood fell from the both corners of Harry's eyes, more blood trickled down his nose and from his ears, and his breath caught in his throat in a silent scream. He watched a bright white light slowly emit from the death eaters' bodies before concentrating at their chest.

Harry's eyes widened. Seeping from their chests were orbs of concentrated bright lights like white dwarf stars. He saw his head tilt back and his fingers curling, the white orbs floating to his waiting body and morphing into him. The feeling of being full and buzzing with raw energy wafted his whole body. A shiver blazed through him, the satisfaction and the lustful hunger for more brought a fear he had never experienced.

The death eaters dropped to the blood-drenched earth, their once colored pupils turned hazy white and their skin dried and gray as if every ounce of liquid were guzzled from their body. A wisp of white smoke escaped Harry's mouth, his wide eyes tinted red and rimmed with blood.

Utmost trepidation and desperation coursed through him. He saw himself move against his will. It was an out-of-body experience for the next 5 hours… His body floated through the forest like a violent wildfire, the plant life beneath him withering to dust and leaving a thick charred streak of dark and dry dirt... all the while consuming souls and energy from any unlucky victims that crossed his path.

Dread filled him when he saw people fleeing from danger and towards him only to die by his soul-hungry hands... Desperation for control wracked his mind when he passed unfortunate villages and towns, leaving nothing in his wake but wrinkled and lifeless bodies of innocent witches and wizards.

It seemed his need for more would not stop until he felt his magic finally satisfied. His unconscious mind cried with joy. He watched his body stop, floated to the ground, kneel slowly with a grace he had never seen his body do, and settle back on his ankles. His chin tucked down to his chest, his hands folded on his lap and he found relief as he blacked out, still in a seated position.

A group of villagers found him later that night and settled him at a local hospital. They recalled his face was masked with dried and fresh blood and his wild untamed hair peppered with white strands which eventually returned to their dark color.

He awoke the next morning to the celebration of the end of the war, and though he was relieved beyond belief of the fact, he was dreadfully confused at what he had done. Those witches and wizards had died by his hands through the violent purloining of their souls due to his own desperation for life, and there was no explanation that made sense for the mysterious and macabre ability he now had. Fortunately, it had not happened since, and he greatly wished it would never happen ever again.

Harry's mother suggested a nice bath would help him settle his racing mind. He sighed and settled deeper in the water, large bubbles erupting from his nose. Only Fleur was made aware of the event, and only dementors were known for stealing souls, so both conjured a plan for Harry to traverse the wizarding world for an answer while Fleur stayed to research tombs and any legends and tales of such an occurrence.

Harry closed his eyes and submerged himself deeper, feeling the cold water envelop his head. At the time of his soul-stealing, he didn't even have his wand; when he was discharged from the hospital the nurses said the villagers found him without it. He followed the scorched trail he made from when he was found, albeit with a bitter taste of regret and sadness in his mouth, to the start of his selfish destruction. Harry's face drooped and his chin quivered; beside where he started his soul-pilfering was the wood chips that made his wand, scattered to small burnt pieces.

Now what was he to do? Learning wandless magic was like starting from level 1. Exhausting... he sighed. Maybe another wand will choose him.

He opened his eyes and popped out of the water... And maybe he popped out too fast too late, but his vision slowly blurred. The room increasingly spun, and his lungs refused his plea for breath. He struggled to cry out, but it was too late; the bright green of his eyes faded and his head rocked back to land on the edge of the tub. There he lay unconscious with his mind gone and his chest slowly rising with shallow breaths.

The bathroom door clicked to unlock and Fleur walked in, grabbing her bottle of perfume and spritzing her body.

I wonder where Harry is, Fleur thought, gazing at the now cold water in the bathtub. Probably in his room.


There was no light but the moon above him. Sweat stung the deep scratches all over his body.

A few hours had passed since the first troll left him, but from then on, others had come. Some were bigger but slower, and some were his size and much faster. Oh, they were so much faster. Many times he had been caught only to slip away due to the layer of sweat. Other times, the knife he had commandeered came in handy and he had lopped off a hand or two. The knife was lost though, imbedded in the heart of a creature.

No doubt Harry surpassed his limit. The constant running, the perpetual thunderous steps, the swift fluttering leaves from leaping creatures, their dark presence getting closer and closer, all of it had his mind wracked with deep apprehension.

His numb legs gave out for the umpteenth time and his body sailed downwards, his shoulder crashing into the crevice of some thick roots of a tree. Only desperation was his motivation to get up and keep running. The creatures chasing him were not the kindest nor the most innocent in their action. He didn't like how they smirked as their tongue darted out to lick their slobbering lips or his exposed flesh… how their hands wafted over parts of his body that ushered a deep gag.

A soft grumbling sounded behind him.

Harry willed his feet to go further, running, jogging, wobbling till he broke through into a clearing on a cliff, a hard wind cooling his body. He was now wheezing, doubled over with his hands on his knees. There was no where else to hide. Underneath his fast beating heart, he could hear a roaring river that divided the land into two cliffs.

Exhaustion was at the forefront of his mind; while thinking of his aching legs, raw throat and the ever-beating auras of the creatures behind him, he hadn't noticed the radiating being watching him from the side of the wide ravine.

The loud creatures finally stepped into the clearing and he heard them stop at the edge of the forest. Ever curious, he peered over his shoulder and found them grunting with a hint of hesitation. Are they afraid of a little cliff? He internally chuckled, a little smile weak on his lips.

Some of the creatures took a step back and slowly blended with the trees. The bigger and faster creatures stayed, their eyes narrowing, and their teeth bared in a snarl.

Harry's smile wavered. Are they afraid of me? He stood to full height, which was not much, his gaze still on them. "Why are you afraid now?" he muttered between breaths. Now he worried. Was the ravine that deep? Can they not jump?

Finally, he turned his head to look forward and no longer was his breath heavy. No, his breath was trapped in his throat. A different type of shiver coursed through him, nothing like the fear-ridden shakes he had since he landed on this monster infested forest.

There was a man standing on the other side… No, this wasn't a man, at least no ordinary man. This man was different, dressed in white and pristine clothes, flowing and dancing beside his long silver hair. The breath he held came out as he tilted his head in wonder. Oh, how Harry wished he had his glasses to see the man's face. I bet he's pretty…

A roar from behind him broke his trance. He peered over his shoulder once more, just in time to see the very large creatures surging forward. He sucked in his breath, his eyes growing to saucers, and without thought, he ran towards the man. Perhaps he could help get him out of this.

He ran with what little energy he had left, his gaze never leaving the white being on the other side. Closer and closer, he ran towards the edge of the cliff and the echoing rapids, the other creatures following. With a hard grunt, he pushed with all his might and leaped, the earth crackling down from his foot, tumbling down to crashing waters. His arm stretched out, his hand desperately reaching for him, Harry's eyes longing and pleading for the man to do something.

And he did. A clawed hand raised to meet his own. Slender fingers opened to welcome his hand. But it was too late. Harry was too far. And he fell.


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-BonBonHunny