Harry was dreaming. Or had he always been dreaming? He couldn’t tell; in the feverish haze of his mind, he couldn’t tell top from bottom, right to left. He didn’t know how long it’d been, but it felt like an eternity. All he could hear and feel was another’s pain, accompanied by Voldemort’s sadistic delight, an emotion that violated his bones. If he could think clearly, he might have wondered why he wasn’t just seeing this through Voldemort’s eyes like he normally did.
But it didn’t really matter at the moment. His current concern was the fact that he was trapped in a man’s mind, experiencing his agony, and his corporeal body unable to scream along with him.
“Scream.”
“Please “I’ll do anything “”
“Crucio.”
Harry collapsed onto the ground, gritting his teeth together as invisible knives cut through his skin, his blood, his bones. Mind-numbing pain seized his nerves as they cried out in protest, liquid fire igniting his entire body.
Viciously, he bit onto his lip, holding back the scream that was clawing its way out of his throat. He was surprised to be able to taste the bitter, sour blood in his mouth through the pain. His eyes watered and tears flowed freely as the last shred of his self restraint and sanity began to fade away from his fingers, grasping desperately at the pavement.
At last, he could hold it in no longer. A screeching, almost inhuman sound burst out of his throat until he had screamed his throat raw. A part of him registered the curse being lifted, but the pain was so much, he needed to scream, needed to have himself heard in the dark silence of the night.
Fingers twitching, he reached for his wife’s golden locks, her roots tinted red.
Unable to hear Voldemort’s next words, his vision blaring red all around him, he didn’t have time to anticipate the flash of brilliant green light before he found himself back in the haze.
Groggily, Harry tried to summon the strength to rise, to get away from the horrors he had just witnessed. Unfortunately, his body wasn’t listening to him, only managing to slowly open an emerald eye. There, he found something impossible “Sirius Black, his godfather, staring worriedly back at him.
I must be dead. His thoughts were hard to grasp, and he found himself forgetting and remembering inconsistently.
He’d always heard stories about heaven, how angels were supposed to greet the newly dead at the gates to ease the transition. It suddenly made sense; that’s what Sirius was, why he “but now his godfather was talking, saying something about him being alive. Harry almost choked on his laughter, the unbelievable lengths Sirius went to comfort him. Feeling himself falling into darkness again, Harry informed him of the impossibility of Sirius’s words, how he had seen him falling through the veil.
Why did he look so confused?
Harry swiftly glided around the corpses scattered at his feet, indifferent to the Blood Traitors and Death Eaters lying there. Robes billowing behind him with eerie grace, he knew he emulated of power and regality.
He loved it, basking in the sweet stench of death.
With his exceptional sense of smell, he could detect everything from the crisp night air to the burnt bundle of flesh sprawled beneath his feet. He smiled twistedly, still able to feel tingles of pleasure from his latest kill. The rush he always experienced during a slaughter or a particularly enjoyable session was unrivaled by anything. Inhaling the scent of fresh blood, he reveled in it.
“How weak.”
Scanning the area coolly, he lazily directed his wand behind him, sneering, “Avada Kedavra,” and smirking in satisfaction when he hard the muffled thump of a corpse falling to the ground.
At least Dumbledore’s lot and the Ministry have something in common, he thought in disdain, laughing at the fool trying to sneak behind him. He himself may be a Dark Wizard, but at least he had the courage to look both enemies and fear in the face.
Eyes searching the seemingly forlorn street, he was pleased to see another Dark Mark joining the myriad others floating forebodingly in the sky.
He heard a pop, and was disgusted to see known members of the elite Order of the Phoenix Apparate in front of him. He smirked.
They were no threat, and they knew it; their numbers have declined severely since they last met.
Glancing up at a sky alit with ghostly Dark Marks, he reached up beneath the left sleeve of his robes and touched the original. Seconds later, his Death Eaters answered his call.
He noticed that three people, adorned in Auror robes, were slightly ahead of the others, leading the group. He instantly recognized two of them with a knowing smile.
“Ah. The Potters.”
* * *
Remus and Violet watched Harry with tired eyes. Despite the comatose boy’s complete stillness before, his eyelids had briefly started twitching violently as his facial features contorted into an expression Violet really didn’t want to know the cause of.
“Is Harry going to die?” Violet asked softly.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
“He can’t die. Who’s going to have pillow fights with me? Who’s going to be annoyingly protective? Who’s “”
“Violet.”
“Sorry, Uncle Remus.”
Remus smiled reassuringly. “He’s strong, Vi, like your mum and dad. He’ll make it.”
Despite himself, even his own words couldn’t placate his worries and, judging from Violet’s expression, hers either. Remus closed his eyes, suddenly reminded of how death seemed to constantly surround them in these times. Every happy interval seemed to be broken by the crushed faces of someone receiving news of lost loved ones “but Harry won’t die. He has to believe that, because he’s only seventeen, full of promise and with so much ahead of him. He wanted so badly for this war to be won so that the next generation doesn’t have to continue their fight.
Too many lives have been consumed by this war, and he can’t imagine Harry’s generation only knowing fighting, death, and survival. He just can’t. He won’t. He knows too much about suffering to wish that upon anybody.
Violet looked terrible. He knew how important laughter is, and she usually supplied it, but her solemn, blank eyes reminded Remus that no one is left unscarred.
Then again, Remus thought sadly, this is an extreme occasion. She was holding it together extremely well for a girl whose parents had just left on a dangerous mission, leaving her to watch her brother writhe from an unseen force, unsure if he’ll pull out of it completely intact.
It wasn’t fair. Her close friend’s entire family had been brutally murdered by Death Eaters a mere couple of weeks ago, and now this?
Every time someone had asked Violet how she was, she would reply with a huge grin that she was perfectly fine, unfazed by the destruction that plagued their world. But that grin never reached her sad, grave hazel eyes, leaving her parents worried that she would attempt something regretfully brash and stupid.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she smiled faintly at him in gratitude, struggling to keep her tears from falling.
Remus, unfortunately, had no comfort but the hope that his nephew would wake up soon.
* * *
James, Lily, Sirius, and many other members of the Order of the Phoenix Apparated to the desolate, destroyed street, trying unsuccessfully to resist the chills of fear running down their spines at the sight of Voldemort, his piercing, inhuman red eyes bright with malice.
As James scanned the area, his heart registered with a pang the numerous unmoving corpses around him, mostly Aurors. He recognized many of them, people he’d worked, trained, joked with. It made him sick to his stomach, but it always did. He turned his attention back to this abomination, hating that he’d made loss such a routine.
“Ah, the Potters.”
James unconsciously gripped Lily’s hand tighter, recalling that moment sixteen years ago, as they learned that either Harry or Neville would have to face a hard destiny. He would always be eternally grateful that Voldemort hadn’t chosen Harry, and feel inexcusably selfish for it, but the Potters annually visited the Longbottoms’ graves even after all this time. They had sacrificed their lives for their son, just as James and Lily would have been prepared to do if Harry had been marked.
He felt such empathy for Neville; from what Harry told him, the Boy-Who-Lived didn’t have many friends at Hogwarts, and was detached from everyone else. Harry had grown up knowing that it could have been him bearing the scar, and was encouraged by his parents to make a point to greet Neville and talk to him. Harry had definitely made an effort, but according to him, Neville had difficulty opening up, and barely spoke to Harry when he did.
Now, standing in front of him, was the monster that had murdered Frank and Alice, leaving Neville an orphan. James was filled with rage; he gripped Lily’s hand tighter. There was nothing more he’d like to do than make sure Voldemort died a very agonizing death.
Unfortunately, that’s not going to be up to me. It’s Neville’s burden.
It didn’t seem fair that Neville had to go through so much so young, and lose what should matter to him most before he had it. And to imagine a seventeen-year-old having to face Voldemort alone . . . James didn’t know what he’d do if that had been Harry’s fate. He loved his family more than anything, and would not have been able to stand it if anything happened to them.
That’s why he now stood at the front of the pack defying Voldemort’s reign of terror. That’s why he brushed aside accusations of being foolish and reckless Gryffindors, knowing that it was what he wanted to do, that it was necessary. Seeing all he had, growing up just as Voldemort’s power expanded made running away impossible. He ran his fingers over the smooth wood of his wand, reassured by the surge of magic underneath his fingertips.
As expected, a swarm of Death Eaters Apparated around their master, masked and prepared for a fight.
“Ready, Prongs?” Sirius muttered from the corner of his mouth, his grey eyes fixated on a Death Eater standing next to Voldemort. James’s eyes followed Sirius’s gaze and recognized the distinct, psychotic confidence of Bellatrix Lestrange.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t know who cast the first spell, but flashes of red temporarily blindsided James before he recovered enough to shout “Protego,” and block an incoming curse. A flurry of shouts, cries, and sparks filled the air, igniting a desperate struggle for survival.
Losing all apprehension in the adrenaline of the battle, James gave himself over to instinct, hexing the despicable Death Eaters faster than his brain could register. His honed Quidditch and Auror reflexes helped him dodge spells coming from various sides, but he was too busy to intercept the hex that hit him squarely in the chest.
He staggered backwards, clutching his chest and struggling with the searing pain the curse had inflicted, wheezing heavily. He managed to collect himself and raise his wand, but found himself face to face with Voldemort. Hatred beyond anything he’d ever felt for anyone, even Snivellus, coursed through his veins at the sight of the monster who’d taken so much. In that moment, he’d turned a deaf ear to the screams of agony suffocating the air and a blind eye to Sirius’s vicious duel with Bellatrix nearby.
All he could see was that pallid, sunken face sneering at him.
“Crucio!”
James dodged just in time as a Death Eater caught the receiving end of his master’s Unforgivable. James grimaced and gratefully tore his eyes off the grisly sight. “Expelliarmus!”
Voldemort lazily blocked the spell.
James spotted Lily’s unmistakable red hair dueling with two Death Eaters at once, and Sirius and Bellatrix still circling each other with no indication of either tiring or weakening. But he could also see the majority of the Order taking some hard hits; some were being triple teamed and cornered by the Death Eaters, who, possessed the upper hand. And odds,, he realized. James could see it was nearly hopeless; if this carried on any longer, there wouldn’t be anyone left to file a bloody report.
He got to his feet and launched a distracting jinx at Voldemort, who was caught slightly off guard due to his attention on knocking an attacking Order member into the far wall. But with a dismissive wave of his wand, the counter-jinx had rid him of the effects, and focused his attention on James again. James held his wand up as he bellowed various curses at the wizard while carefully blocking or dodging Voldemort’s own, knowing well that to be hit with one moment of staggering weakness would result in his death.
An image of Harry, lying in the hospital with Violet beside him, clutching her brother’s hand in worry, and Lily, her beautiful green eyes gazing at him with all the love in the world, filled his vision, and James fought back more determinedly than ever.
But the Order was starting to lose their grip on the battle, and the Death Eaters were well on their way to coming out on top. Finally, Moody’s harsh, echoing voice filled the night“
“RETREAT! APPARATE OUT!”
James, exhausted, paused to register Moody’s words, giving Voldemort an opening.
“Crucio.”
His insides were on fire. The pain seemed to continue for hours until it very suddenly came to a stop. James rolled over on his stomach, sweaty and sore. Summoning the strength he had left, he lifted his head to see a blurry Voldemort staggering off to the side. His eyes focused, and James saw his fellow Auror, Dawlish, lying on the ground directly behind where Voldemort had just been standing, his wand out. He panted heavily, ignoring the blood flowing freely from a nasty head wound. James threw him a grateful look and struggled to his feet, one eye warily on Voldemort.
Quickly, he scanned the area for Sirius and Lily. Lily had spotted him and was running over, throwing occasional curses over her shoulder at her pursuers. Sirius was still fighting with Bellatrix, and James was not going to leave without him.
“Stu “” James began, his wand held up shakily, but was too worn out to continue.
Fortunately, Lily understood what he was trying to do and trained her wand carefully on Bellatrix, shouting, “Stupefy!” The hex reached its mark, and Bellatrix fell to the ground stiffly. Sirius looked surprised and followed in the direction of where the spell had come from. He saw Lily’s frantic gestures for him to Apparate out, but he shook his head, wand trained on his unmoving cousin.
“Padfoot, get out!” James roared, his voice cracking. Sirius glared reluctantly at Bellatrix’s prone form, but disappeared with a pop.
“Let’s go,” Lily said urgently, immobilizing another Death Eater coming at them. “I think everyone else has already retreated “”
“Dawlish,” James said weakly, noticing that he hadn’t left yet.
Unfortunately, Voldemort had noticed this as well, and, infuriated at being attacked from behind and temporarily forgetting the Potters, turned to face the Auror. “Avada Kedavra,” he hissed, eyes flashing, and the Auror’s raised head hit the floor with a sickening thump, his hollow, blank eyes staring at the Potters.
James, knowing that Dawlish’s death would only buy them a few seconds, swiftly seized Lily’s arm and Apparated, taking them away from that nightmare.
A second later, they arrived at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, where nothing short of utter chaos was ensuing. People were running left and right, tending to the wounded or inspecting injuries. Healing Potions and bandages flew through the air, the seriously wounded lying on stretchers to be carried up to one of the bedrooms upstairs for further treatment. Several others, only sustaining minor injuries, stood in solemn silence to wait their turn. A young, miserable looking wizard was talking to various people, a charmed quill scratching on a piece of parchment in midair beside him. James recognized as the wizard responsible of keeping track of who had made it back, who was greatly injured and “James closed his eyes“ who hadn’t made it.
Judging from the mournful expression on his face, there had been many casualties or seriously wounded. Dawlish’s empty, dead eyes filled James’s vision, and everything caught up to him. His knees felt weak, and he began to feel the after effects of both the Unforgivable and the strain from the battle. That’s what I get for dueling the most feared wizard alive, he thought humorlessly.
“James!” Lily wrapped her husband’s arm around her shoulder, alarmed when she’d felt him slump slightly beside her. “We need to get you to a Medi-Witch.”
“No, no “there are others worse off,” James said, shaking his head ruefully. “I just need to sit down, that’s all “"
“PRONGS!”
The Potters looked up to see a relieved Sirius striding towards them, completely ignoring the protesting Medi-Witch attending to his Bellatrix-inflicted wounds.
“Where the bloody hell have you two been?” Sirius demanded loudly. “I Apparated here and didn’t see either of you for a minutes! I thought Voldemort had “had done you in!”
“Calm down, Sirius,” Lily snapped, sensing that her husband’s impending collapse. “We need to let James sit down somewhere.”
Sirius sighed and grabbed onto both of them, Apparating them to an empty guest room upstairs. Together, he and Lily placed James onto one of the beds and sat down beside him. Although James wanted nothing more than to lie there and fall asleep, he resisted it and pulled himself up into a sitting position.
“You know you just Apparated out on a very put off Medi-Witch, right?” James asked, attempting to smile weakly.
Lily sent him an incredulous glare.
Sirius’s lips twitched, but he didn’t respond, instead asking, “What took you two so long? I almost Apparated back to get you.”
James and Lily exchanged pained glances, and Lily sighed, accepting the pleading look in her husband’s eyes. “Dawlish was still there, and before we could take him with us, Voldemort “Voldemort murdered him,” she said quietly. Saying it out loud clarified it, that Dawlish really was dead.
Sirius cast his eyes downwards. He had known Dawlish pretty well; he was a decent person, and a damn good Auror.
“Oh bloody hell,” Sirius said suddenly, realization dawning on him. “What are we supposed to tell his wife and kids?”
“Gina’s an Order member too. Someone has to tell her,” Lily said quietly, horrified at the thought of breaking the news to her. How were you supposed to tell someone that their husband was dead?
“I’ll do it.”
Both Sirius and Lily turned around to face James, who had a tired, resigned expression on his face.
“You don’t have to,” Lily said softly. “We can just tell that bloke downstairs with the list and he can tell her “”
But James cut her off fiercely, “No! No,” he repeated. “It’s my fault he died; I’ll tell her.”
“How’s it your fault, mate?”
James didn’t answer for a moment, instead choosing to stare determinedly up at the ceiling. “I let myself get distracted,” he explained, his shoulders rigid. “Dawlish cursed Voldemort just as he was about to “you know. And Dawlish paid the price. I “I have to be the one to tell her. I owe him.”
For a while, nobody broke the silence that had settled between the three Aurors. Finally, James made a waving motion at Sirius, indicating that he should move out of the way.
“Where’re you going Prongs?”
James didn’t turn around. “To break the news.”
* * *
A few hours later, three extremely tired Aurors Apparated into St. Mungo’s lobby, hoping to hear some good news about Harry’s condition. James hadn’t said much after leaving to speak with Dawlish’s wife, and Sirius and Lily hadn’t pushed the subject. They’ve all seen co-workers, friends, and acquaintances die in this war, but this particular death seemed to be taking a toll on James.
Lily was worried about him. He was blaming himself when it wasn’t his fault, not truly. Dawlish had made a brave choice to help him, and died for it, but James shouldn’t take the burden of his death on his shoulders. Merlin knows they already had enough to worry about. Voldemort had killed him “and it was his fault alone. Lily scowled. He’d targeted her son and murdered two of her good friends, leaving their son parentless and carrying the weight of the prophecy on his small shoulders.
Shaking her head to clear her head, they walked into Harry’s ward. At first, she could only take in the lack of worry lines on Remus’s face, but a bright smile lit her face when she saw Harry sitting up and awake on the hospital bed, his black hair disheveled beyond repair.
“Harry!” She barely noticed the his surprise as she kissed his forehead eagerly. “I was so worried!”
“When’d he wake up?” James asked Remus quietly.
“A couple hours ago, but we only just got here. Violet was hungry, so we went out to grab something to eat.” Remus examined his friend carefully. James looked as if he’d gone through hell and back; there was something about James’s defeated air that concerned him greatly. Remus made a mental note to ask Sirius what had happened during the Death Eater raid.
Violet waited until her mother had stopped smothering Harry to ask her question. “Mum, are you okay? What happened?”
Lily sighed and let go of Harry, now running her hand through his hair, tousling it further. “There was a big fight; that’s all you need to know.”
Her daughter frowned, frustrated at the lack of information but didn’t press the matter. She knew it had been bad, judging from the scorch marks on her mum’s robes and the violent cuts on Uncle Sirius’s face. Violet had expected her dad to run over the instant he saw Harry; instead, he hung back with the other two Marauders, unusually subdued.
It must have been a really horrible fight.
“You’re all right then, Harry?” Lily asked, still trailing her fingers lightly on his hairline.
“What? Ye “yeah, I’m all right.”
But he wasn’t. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was right now, but it sure as hell wasn’t “all right.” Having spent a good chunk of the day in a coma, where his thoughts had been hazy and dream-like, he had expected to wake up with a worried Ron and Hermione hovering over him, debating whether or not they should whack him with a stick in an attempt to wake him up.
Harry frowned; he had thought the connection would’ve ended when the battle was over, but it seemed that Voldemort's elated happiness could last for quite a long time, especially when he went for some stress relieving Muggle hunting afterwards, knowing the Aurors and Order were too preoccupied tending to their wounds to even attempt to stop him.
Harry glanced over at his father and felt a guilty knot in his stomach. Of course, he hadn’t been the one to perform the Unforgivable on his dad, but he had seen it all through Voldemort’s eyes, and had, in a way, been there when it had happened. He knew it was illogical, but he had felt Voldemort’s pleasure as he tortured his dad, and “he couldn’t even think about it anymore. Instead, his thoughts wandered to when he’d actually woken up from the coma.
It had really hit him in that moment, as he jolted up from his laying down position, and took in his surroundings “Remus sleeping on a chair next to his bed, and a familiar red haired girl he had at first mistaken for Ginny (Ginny . . . Merlin do I miss her, Harry thought with a pang) sitting on his other side, that this really wasn’t a dream. He really was stuck in this world.
Well, either that, or he was going clinically insane.
Harry started to panic. His parents were alive, alive, and he had a sister! He frowned; he was “well, he didn’t really know how he felt, but he wasn’t reacting to his parents as strongly as he had when Sirius had waltzed through the door like nothing had changed, like he hadn’t died. He met his mother’s concerned gaze.
He didn’t know them. He supposed he unconditionally loved them, or at least their memories, he didn’t love them like he loved Sirius.
To him, Sirius was real, more than a faint memory or a story he had heard. Honestly, the only emotion that registered with him was shock and wonder that they were alive, but those feelings were nothing compared to the heartbreak of seeing Sirius again.
Nevertheless, it was overwhelming to see his parents, dead of seventeen years, in front of his very eyes. It was uncomfortable yet comforting to feel his mother’s hand stroking his hair, not caring that she was making it messier. Harry was torn between wanting to hold on to them and never let go, a privilege he had never experienced, and running away as fast as he could.
He was scared. How was he supposed to act around them? He had no idea what they were like, what they did for a living. The only sure fact was that they were still in the Order, like they had been before they’d died. Looking at them now, tangible and skin “Harry could see the strong resemblance strangers were always reminding him about. His father’s face, his mother’s eyes “he saw reflections of them in the mirror every day.
Unsure of what exactly he was feeling right now “relieved, worried, disbelieving, elated, sad, suspicious, whatever“ Harry struggled to control his emotions, and the understandable impulse to run over and hug Sirius in an unmanly way without caring at all. He was alive, and that’s all that matters.
Instead, he turned his attention to his still throbbing forehead, rubbing it gently. Frowning, Harry suddenly realized that hid scar seemed to be absent from his forehead “but no. It couldn’t be; nothing could ever take that curse scar away. He must have merely missed it. Carefully, Harry trailed his finger along his forehead, making sure to cover every single place, and failed to find it.
“The scar,” Harry murmured.
“Scar? What scar?” Lily asked as she looked Harry over. Then, looking satisfied, she turned back to her son. “There’s no scar here. A few cuts, but no scar, I think.”
“Er “can I get a mirror?” He needed to see for himself that it wasn’t there.
A scoff came from his other side. Harry turned around and saw his sister looking incredulous. “You just wake up from a coma, and the first thing you ask for is a mirror? Way to be vain, Harry.”
“Violet!” Lily snapped, shooting her daughter a stern look. She took her wand out and, with a wave, conjured up a mirror, handing it over to him.
Harry studied his own reflection carefully, eyes wide. Was it really gone? But if it was, how could he have seen those events through Voldemort’s mind? He was connected to him because of the scar; it didn’t make any sense at all.
“Ah, good, you’re here.”
“How long before we can take him home?” James asked quietly.
The Healer sighed. “We can’t seem to figure out what’s wrong with him, but we’d like to keep him a little bit longer for further examination. Other than that, there’s no reason to keep him here “”
Lily turned to James. “What do you think, James?”
Instead of answering, James focused his attention on Harry, whose eyes were pleading with him not to leave him at St. Mungo’s. Feeling resigned, James answered, “We’ll take him home.”
The Healer frowned somewhat disapprovingly, but didn’t say anything else. “All right, but if anything like this happens again, take him straight here. If you’ll come and sign the release forms, he can be discharged.”
Harry sighed in relief. He really hadn’t been looking forward to staying in St. Mungo’s any longer. Frequent visits to Hogwarts’ hospital wing hadn’t made him very fond of white, sterile environments. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if going “home” was any better.
Well, we’ll just have to see what happens.
Destiny Reversed by chattypandagurl
Chapter Notes: I'm so sorry for the long wait! Again, this isn't where I mainly post chapters (there's 17 so far), so I tend to get lazy about editing and re-posting them here, especially the early ones. I'll definitely work on that, and "new" chapters should be coming out more frequently. Thanks for everyone who reviewed!