Undo, Retry
Prologue

by Olafr )

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and associated milieu, characters, and situations are owned by J.K. Rowling and her licensees. This is a work of fan fiction, produced solely for enjoyment. No infringement of rights is intended.

Rating: PG (so far)

Last updated: 28 August 2004.

Author's Notes: After real life took me away from working on a recalcitrant Time of Change, my muse brought me here, demanding that I write. Who knows if this story's going to go anywhere?
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This late at night, the hospital wing always seemed to have a strange feel to it. It was both forbidding and welcoming... although perhaps it was merely familiarity that made it so, Harry Potter mused to himself.

Today had been the day of the final Quidditch match of the year, Ravenclaw verses Gryffindor – and Harry's last game of Quidditch for the Gryffindor team, ever. It was early Spring of his final year, his NEWTs were hard upon him... and he had made a first-year mistake today that had left him in the hospital wing while his classmates were up in the common room celebrating the victory while he lay here in the hospital, the bones of his legs reconstituting themselves.

He never thought it would happen. Sure, he had been injured through the action of others, but not since his first year had he made a mistake on a broom that resulted in hurt. When he flew, he had a feeling of invincibility and freedom, and no matter what he did, his Firebolt had always brought him through. And today it was the same as always. He had gone after the snitch recklessly, with abandon and without thoughts for the consequences as his faithful broom had always brought him through. But today, almost as soon as the snitch had rested, fluttering, in his hand and he had jerked his broom out of its almost-vertical descent, he knew that he wouldn't be getting out of this one unhurt.

The impact, when it came, was almost soft. The world slowed, and then the broom dug into the pitch and sent him tumbling out of control. It seemed to take forever for him to hit the base of the Slytherin stand. He felt nothing but a rising tide of blackness.

He had awoken here to Madam Pomphrey's grim smile and the news that he would be in overnight... again. In his bed, Madam Pomphrey had informed him with a wry smile and a twinkle in her eyes as she turned away to retire to her rooms for the night.

So now he lay here, the prickling pain of the Skele-Gro reforming the bones of his legs just one degree from driving him crazy from the frustration of being unable to move. He couldn't even study, since his books were all up in his room, and that only added to his frustration. Now, only a month out from the NEWT examinations, he could feel their weight pressing down upon him, and every spare moment he and his fellow seventh years had was spent studying.

The frustration of the pain in his legs and their enforced immobility, added to the sense of wasted time spent here in the wing and perhaps a vague sense of abandonment that Susan had not come to visit him, made him wrench his head back against the pillows. Holding his clenched fists against his eyes, he groaned and fought to keep from drumming his feet, an act he was certain would hurt like a royal bitch.

Suddenly he felt his attention pulled to the door. A lifetime a paranoia told him that somebody was about to effect a stealthy entry, and he smiled to himself. Perhaps it was Susan?

The door crept open, and he saw the vague shimmering that indicated a disillusionment spell. As the door closed itself once more, however, Harry felt a vague sense of wrongness. He was certain that the visitor wasn't Susan. He reached for his wand, but he never quite made it. A sweet smell came, and his muscles fell limp.

Harry watched in horror, trying his hardest to scream for help, as spells were cast: An area silencing spell, locking charms for the outer door and Madam Pomphrey's office, and finally... Draco Malfoy shimmered into sight.

No, not Draco. It was Lucius!

The elder Malfoy's eyes were hungry as he advanced on the helpless Harry. They glittered hatefully as he looked down at him. Malfoy's wand pointed down between Harry's eyes.

'We meet again, Mr Potter,' he said, his tones jovial. Harry lay limp as he searched his mind, frantically looking for anything that would help him. He could feel it, a certain something within him that would help, but he could not reach it. Lucius Malfoy smiled at him, and continued politely, 'I thought I should give you the pleasure of knowing it was I who won in the end. Goodbye, Mr Potter.' He paused a beat, then uttered, 'Avada Kedavra!'

Harry watched helplessly as a terrible green light erupted from the end of the wand. It paused, gathering strength, and to his amazed gaze it appeared to pull streamers of energy in from the world around before launching itself from Lucius Malfoy's wand. It filled his vision, his world, and then he felt it ripping at his soul, tearing him loose from...

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Dark. It was dark, and cold, and his head hurt like it was split open. He could not move very much at all. Is this the afterlife? The next great adventure? If it is, then where are my mother, my father? Where are you, Sirius, you old dog?

He could not help it. He wanted his mother, giver of warmth and love. He missed her so, and he could not control himself. Where was she? He cried out, hoping against hope that someone friendly would hear him. 'Mama?!' he cried...

Light, there was light, although it seemed very bright. He wanted to bring his hand up to shield his eyes, but he still could not move. Now the floor shuddered, massive footsteps that shook the world. A huge, dark shape loomed above him, and again he could not help it, he cried out in terror as a massive hand reached for him, lifted him up towards the massive creature's mouth, the enormous head looming over him, when the sound of the creature's voice gave him pause.

'There, there, little Harry, you'll be alright now, just you wait.'

It was Hagrid. But huge, larger than a giant, Hagrid on a scale so great that it staggered the mind just how large he had become.

He let go of the cloth he was clutching, not even aware that he had been grasping something.

The world moved as Hagrid carried him somewhere, and he became aware of other sounds around him. The almost musical thunking of timber and plaster as Hagrid stepped over it, dislodging it or kicking it out of the way. The night sounds, which explained why he felt cold. The sound of the approaching motorcycle. Hagrid stopped at that last, and Harry watched as a dark-clad rider brought a flying motorcycle in to a two-point landing nearby. The rider got off and stepped into the light from Hagrid's lantern. It was Sirius... a younger, healthy, worried-looking Sirius.

It was then that everything came together for Harry. It was Halloween, 1981, and he was fifteen months old.

The baby's wail split the night, ignored as the two men argued.