Disclaimer: No ownage of this material is of the happening. Nope. Just a lonely author enjoying the journey.

I finally figured out how to allow anonymous reviews… It was a bit different six years ago when I had my first/original account. Hehe, my bad.

Oh, the sections that are all in italics are memories.

Chapter Three

Harry snarled as he thrust himself bodily onto the ground, glaring in the direction that the red blast of a spell had come from. From his position, though, he could not see the perpetrator, only the corner they hid behind.

Around him the room was falling to pieces, parts of ceiling hung dangerously from above, ready to crash to the ground at any moment. Stools and tables were nothing more than a heap of shattered wood, their sharp splinters everywhere.

There was a rush of movement, and suddenly his opponent was running across the clearing for the door, robes billowing out behind her. Harry, seeing the opportunity, shouted a Stupefy, and was only slightly frustrated when the dark-haired woman ducked at the last moment, propelling the door open as she drove out onto the street.

Up from his position half under a destroyed booth, Harry pursued. Looking both ways, Harry caught a glimpse of black disappearing around the corner to his left and across the street. 'How the hell did she move so fast?' he thought as he pushed onward.

Reaching the building, Harry paused, pressing his back against the storefront of Honeydukes. Pulling in a breath, he spun around the corner and was shocked to see Bellatrix trapped against the wall, his best friend holding her at wand point.

Feeling some of the tension ebb away, Harry jogged up, standing beside the redhead.

Ron cast Harry a quick glance. "You good?"

Nodding, Harry glared at the witch before them. "Yea, you?"

"Better than her, at any rate."

"Are the children alright?"

"Seamus has them holed up around back of Zonko's. We're still waiting for back up. Where is everyone?"

Shaking his head, Harry shrugged. "Haven't a clue." He looked at the last of the black family. "Lets finish this so we can go home." Another raid, another attack, another standoff. They were blurring into one long horrible day.

"Incar-" Ron was abruptly cut off as an explosion rocked the ground, sending Harry back a few steps to regain balance.

Bellatrix took advantage of the momentary distraction, grabbing her wand from Ron's stunned grip and pointing it at him, a mad grin spreading her face. "Poor little Weasel," she cooed, a glint in her eye. "Confringo!"

Harry dove into Ron, taking them both to the ground, but was not fast enough as the blasting curse ploughed into his back on the left side. As breath exploded out of Harry's chest a terrible pain shot through him, and as he landed roughly, he noted that his ribs were most defiantly broken. Badly.

Darkness pulled itself into his vision, swimming rapidly.

"Harry?"

Hearing Ron's slightly panicked voice brought Harry closer to consciousness. "Yea," he whispered, and he could feel the blood building in his lungs.

"How bad is it?"

Coughing wetly, causing sharp stabs of pain in the process, Harry looked around. Bellatrix was gone, obviously having ran when he had dove to grab Ron. "Could have been worse." That much was true. He could be dead, or even more horrible, Ron could be. "Go see if Seamus is alright. The explosion came from the East. Zonko's."

Ron nodded in understanding. "I'll be back for you. Stay alive long enough, will you?" The words were light, but the tone and expression behind them were not.

"I'll try," he said dryly, "after all, how would I be the Boy Who Lived if I were dead?"

Ron frowned. "Say anything like that again, and I'll kill you myself." And than he was gone, running out from between the shops and to the left.

Grimacing and attempting to sit up, Harry wrapped his right hand around to feel under his robe. Gasping, Harry coughed roughly, his head spinning. The blasting curse had caught him somewhere between his fifth and seventh rib, crushing the bone and bruising the flesh. 'Merlin, if that hadn't been a glancing blow…'

Black was dancing across his vision, and Harry gasped in a few harsh breaths, battling to stay conscious.

A cough rose in his chest, bursting out from his mouth in a painful wave, bringing flecks of blood along. Staring at the red smeared grass, Harry felt the pull at his mind deepen, and with a last prayer reaching out for his friend, he fell to the side, eyes closed and mind blank.

-

As Harry came upon the castle an odd feeling clenched his bleary mind. Shock had overcome his body long ago, before he'd even awoken on the plush grass. It made his mind slow and his body weak, nausea rising and falling in his stomach.

The walk had been painful, but thankfully without surprise or interruption. But along the way Harry's bleary mind, unable to focus as it was, had begun to question his whereabouts. That he was at Hogwarts was easily recognizable, but something played at the edge of his thoughts, telling him that this should not be possible.

The front oak doors loomed overhead just as they had each time Harry had stood before them, and like every other time, they opened, yawning inward to allow him passage into Hogwarts.

The emptiness in the Entrance Hall pierced his mind, and he wandered dimly if something was wrong.

Before he could take a step forward a voice rang from somewhere to his right.

"Hello? Can I help you?"

Minerva McGonagall gazed at the figure, taking in the raven black hair and pale skin, the slumped stature and tattered robes. The blood. Concern and alarm blared in her mind as she approached the man.

Harry couldn't breathe. 'Minerva?'

Mouth dropped in shock and eyes wide, Harry managed a weak groan as the pressure and stress mounted to a peak, his body giving out from under him. Black slid over his eyes and the darkness of unknowing flowed all around.

Minerva, who had been perusing Harry, saw the moment he lost consciousness, and quickly drew her wand to stop his fall.

-

Eyes cracking open, Harry was met with the tall roof of the Hospital Wing. 'What…' his mind dropped its thought as Harry remembered where he was and why. 'Ron,' he gasped to himself, horror dawning.

With a shaking hand he levered off of the hospital bed, barely able to stand, and somehow made his way to the door of the Hospital Wing. 'What happened?' he thought in an almost frantic way. The last thing he remembered was Ron running to check on the children.

"Mister Potter!" came the stern voice of Poppy. "What are you doing out of bed? Hmm? Do you have a death wish, young man?" Frilly apron billowing around her, Poppy Pomfrey bustled over, guiding him back to the bed. It was then that the twinge in his side let itself be known.

Harry was glad when he sat down, slumping deeply to relive the pressure from his side.

"Walking around in your state! What did you think you were doing?"

Madame Pomfrey sighed in exasperation, prodding him with professional touches, sending healing magic through his body accordingly, and muttering to herself the whole while.

"Poppy?"

"Yes, Mister Potter?"

It took a moment for the words to come. "What happened?"

A look of sorrow glazed the mediwitch's eyes as she paused in her work. "Do you remember the battle?"

"Yes. A group of Death Eaters were in Hogsmeade. They were attacking and we, Ron and I, were trying to stop them. But… Did the children get out? Is Ron alright?" Dread trailed his words.

Poppy gave him yet another look, this one filled with a hint of pity. "The children are fine. They were unharmed except for a couple cuts and bruises, at the worst a broken wrist." She paused.

"And Ron?"

"I'm afraid Mister Weasley fell in the battle. He saved the children."

-

The familiar ceiling of the Hospital Wing was not so familiar this time. As Harry lay, half in sleep, and stared at the impressive heights, his eyebrows furrowed, questioning the slightly different cracks that crept along the length of the building. They looked almost the same, just… Not quite as pronounced.

Confusion muddled his brain, and clear thoughts seemed lost to him as he tried to remember why he was laying in a bed in the hospital wing. It was obvious he was injured; he could feel the twinges of a recently healed bone in his arm, and deep tremors racked his body, a sign of the Cruciatus. Had he been in a battle?

Letting his wandering eyes drift to the side, Harry was met with a sight he was quite familiar with. Albus Dumbledore sat at his side, looking at him with twinkling blue eyes and stroking his long white beard.

Shock.

Harry felt a wave of cold course through his veins, felt as his heart quickened. Goose bumps rose on his flesh and the blood rushed from his skin, leaving his normally slightly bronzed colour to fade into a deathly pallor.

Images broke a dam within his mind, crashing down upon him in a rush of pain, blood, sorrow and anger. So much anger. But even more sorrow.

Groaning, Harry clenched his jaw in anguish. Voldemort. He had been at the final battle, had been fighting to end the war, end the suffering. But it had been a disaster. A total and almost incomprehensible disaster that ripped the life from so many people.

He could see all their faces frozen in death, an eternal picture that was etched into his mind. Into his soul.

Stifling a desperate sob, Harry bit into his cheek, relishing in the feel of his skin as it split under his teeth, spilling forth a small gush of blood. It was heavy and coppery in his mouth, seeming to slosh about, some trickling down his throat.

He suddenly wanted to laugh, to break into giggles until he was red in a face and could not breathe. The slightest of sounds escaped his lips and he choked on the blood pooled in his mouth, sputtering incoherently.

Grasping his arms tightly around his chest, holding to his upper arms, Harry shook with a terrifying mixture of sobs and laughter, feeling as though it was bubbling in his chest, boiling over and spilling out from his lips. It was like a giant yawn about to break forth, tingling mercilessly up his throat and out of his mouth in torrents.

Harry could hear someone keening loudly. It was animalistic. It was coming from him.

He wondered if Voldemort was dead. If maybe, in his last defiance against the disgusting creature of a man, he had succeeded. Killed him.

Killed.

A pained cry tore into the mess of noise, and Harry pulled his legs to his chest, curling in on himself.

Harry felt a sharp pain in his arms, and he realised that he was grasping himself with a bruising force, digging his fingers into his flesh and damaging the tissue. He was breaking all those small vessels that ran beneath the surface, making them bleed. Making him bleed.

Hands grabbed his shoulders gently, warm fingers prying his whitened fingers from his arms. He struggled against the touch, writhing to move away, but whoever was touching him was persistent, brushing off all of his attempts.

"-… Albus…-"

"-… Grab…-"

His teeth once again dug into his cheek, further breaking the skin, tearing away a large chunk, which was quickly followed by warm blood. It poured into his mouth from his opened flesh, filling his mouth, clogging his throat. Cutting off his air.

Harry inhaled, choking, and jerked as the warm fluid filled his trachea, making it impossible to pull in any air.

"…Choking… turn… get me…-"

Voices broke into Harry's perception, but he was coughing and coughing, pain spiking from his throat as he felt the hands return.

"…Anapneo…"

The blood was gone, and Harry dragged in a ragged gasp as his lungs were filled with air. His darkened vision, swimming with a haze built upon lack of oxygen, cleared. Albus' dead face was inches from his own. Perfect in death, no injuries… No blood.

Harry creased his brows, and wondered in the miasma of pain and confusion how a dead man could move. Could blink. Talk. Albus was talking to him.

But Albus was dead.

Albus Dumbledore had been felled by Voldemort.

Harry panicked, struggling to move away from the spectre, backing away as hastily as possible. And then he was falling backwards, shock crossing his features, arms flailing. 'Am I dreaming?' Maybe he was falling back through the rabbit hole, back out of a horridly beautiful dream, back into a reality of destruction. Of war. Death.

Jarring heavily against a hard floor, Harry was shocked into motionlessness. There was a hard, unyielding surface beneath his hands, and there was no abrupt return to consciousness. No mad whirling or confusion as he woke from a dream. He wasn't dreaming.

He was awake. He was awake and caught in the gaze of a very stunned and concerned Albus Dumbledore. A very much alive Albus Dumbledore.

'What…' Harry thought, confused. "A-Albus?"

Blue eyes widened in shock, their wizened depths caught in the surprise of the familiarity, thoughts whirling.

Harry, having been so involved in his old- dead- Headmaster, did not notice as the front of his hospital robes were slowly dyed red as blood dribbled from between his parted lips, or as the infirmary door opened.

A gasp rang out. "What-?"

Albus and Poppy turned away from the young man, their heads whipping around to meet shocked hazel ones.

Harry's mouth hung open in astonishment, and he started to shake his head, eyes never leaving the new arrival in the hospital wing. 'Fuck…' he thought. 'I've gone mad. Absolutely insane.'

His father. James Potter. Prongs. Alive.

"Albus, w-what is-" The dark haired man cut himself short, eyeing Dumbledore with raised eyebrows.

Albus nodded at the man in greeting. "I'm not sure. Did you need something, James?"

Shaking his head, James stepped forward, than paused, as if unsure what to do. "I was just coming to get a Pepper Up Potion. But it can wait, really, and you look busy so I- I'll just-"

"You're dead," Harry whispered, his red-stained lips moving minutely.

James looked at the dishevelled younger man in surprise, confusion obvious. "No, I'm quite alive, actually."

Harry snorted, and was involuntarily pulled into a parody of a smile. "No. No, you're dead. Dead and gone, and-" He stopped. 'All dead. All gone…' Blood and anger, hate and death. He laughed, chest heaving in the effort, and then the laughs turned to cries, and then there were tears.

Madame Pomfrey looked at the Harry, her mouth twisted in horror. "Albus…"

"I know, Poppy."

Moving to the sobbing youth, Poppy grabbed his shoulder, glad not to be pushed away as she had been earlier. She pulled a vial from her robes, uncorked it, and attempted to push it into a clenching fist, wary of any violent movements. "Take this. It's a Calming Draught."

Harry, holding the glass tightly, made no move to drink, instead closing his eyes and leaned back into the wall he had landed near when falling from the bed. His shoulders still shook.

Poppy gave the dark haired youth a sad look and took the vial back, pressing it to the now silent lips. When it had been emptied and Harry had swallowed, she stood from her crouch, glancing at Albus than back again.

The effects of the draught were instantaneous, and Harry felt a calm settle over him, allowing his warring mind to still, his fierce thoughts draining into more of an ebbing flow.

The wall on his back felt nice and solid, supporting his weight, and Harry was suddenly glad he'd wound up slumped against it. His strength had been sapped from him, and with the volley of emotions dampened, he had a chance to actually think.

Coughing weakly, aware that he probably looked horrendous, Harry examined the three others in the room. It seemed impossible. But it felt so real. He wondered that if he shut his eyes the image would change. So he did.

It didn't.

The confusion must have been showing, because suddenly Dumbledore was squatting next to Harry, his long and elaborate robes spread out around him, his blue eyes looking into Harry's green ones. "Do you know where you are?"

Harry licked his lips to moisten them, and then cringed at the taste of iron. Poppy, noticing, flicked her wand at him, clearing away the mess, than flicked it again, sending a mild healing spell. Harry nodded appreciatively at the mediwitch.

Noticing that Albus was waiting for his answer, Harry cleared his throat. "Hogwarts," he croaked. "In the hospital wing."

Albus nodded, than turned back to James, who had been standing at the door to the hospital wing, frozen in place. "James, would you mind?" He gestured to Harry.

James walked forward, passing the rows of beds lining the room and to where Harry was slumped against the wall, far too exhausted to move. He hesitated before reaching out, lifting the younger man off the floor with gentle hands and depositing him on the bed.

Harry was shocked. Again. When the man who looked like his father had come forward, Harry was sure some sort of elaborate disguise would wink out of existence and some other person would stand in his place, but that didn't happen. Instead he remained solid, lifting Harry back to the bed, where he was propped against a mound of pillows.

Dumbledore smiled at James, hiding the apprehension and confusion he felt at the situation. "Thank you, my dear boy."

"W-what happened?" Harry stammered, feeling much too calm to be dealing with this. 'They're dead. They're all dead, but they can't be because they happen to be standing here. Talking to me.'

The elderly wizard looked back imploringly. "I do not know. We were hoping you could answer some questions."

Harry nodded, his eyes wary and tired.

"How did you come to be within the Hogwarts grounds?"

Harry drew in a deep breath. "I was in battle-"

"Battle?" Dumbledore asked, while his white brows rose up toward his hairline.

"Yes," Harry said slowly, giving the old man an odd look, thinking, 'How could he not know?' "You don't know, Sir?"

Albus looked on curiously. "No," he said. "There have been no battles that I know of." With a look of preponderance he added, "At least, not in the last many years.'

Harry frowned. "But, Albus, the battle was at Hogwarts! How could you…" he trailed off, eyes widening. "You- but- there wasn't a fight, was there?"

Dumbledore shook his head, eyes narrowed. "No, there hasn't been."

Harry chewed his bottom lip. "What year is it?"

Eyes alight with a sudden understanding Albus glanced around, then sent a locking charm at the infirmary door and locked eyes with Madame Pomfrey than James respectively. "Do not speak a word of what has happened here. To anyone." They both nodded, amazed.

'Oh Merlin… What if I'm in the past? If my dad is still alive than maybe- maybe I can change-'

"1994," Dumbledore interrupted Harry's thoughts. "November the twenty fourth, 1994."

Harry's chest contracted, and his hands started to shake. He wasn't in his the past, then. 'But… That means I would be in my third year. How is my dad here? What?'

"I-I don't think I'm supposed to be here." He looked up into Albus' blue eyes. "I mean… I wasn't here. I mean, oh Merlin."

"When are you from?" Albus asked, an unusual seriousness in his lax demeanour.

Harry gulped. "1999. But, this isn't right!" he said, the end of the sentence picking up a hint of panic. "There- this isn't my past."

Albus Dumbledore could honestly say he was surprised. Not that having a traveller from a different time wasn't surprising enough, but parallel universes…

"Are you sure?"

The wild black hair ducked in a nod. "Yes."

Sighing and leaning forward in his chair, Albus pressed his spread fingers together in thought. "Tell me what happened."

Harry, feeling more than inundated by the situation, fiddled absently with the cuff of his pyjama top. "As I said, I was in battle, fighting for Hogwarts," he saw James and Poppy exchange glances. "Voldemort had brought his Death Eaters and the dark creatures together in a final attempt to destroy what left of us, and we gathered in Hogwarts." Harry saw Dumbledore frown, and asked, "What's wrong?"

The old man's brows were pulled, and there was a crinkling to his eyes that questioned Harry's words. "That is a rather unusual name, Voldemort."

Harry's mind stuttered to a stop.

-

A/N: Well… That was fun! Review? What do you think?