The End of Days

This is the rewrite of 'A Second Chance for Life' however; since this has been posted up I've come along and... tweaked it a little. I'd been writing myself into a small, inescapable corner since Chapter One. So I've tweaked it for a little more leg room.

:D

Full Summary

AU. Half-Blood Prince never happened. Alternative Realities a-hoy.

Harry Potter won the war, but not without a price. Everyone he knows and loves is dead and gone, he is wanted for war crimes by the Americans and the world now no longer has a need for their weapon. So he leaves. With the help of Selene the Lady Chaos, Harry leaves his world and enters into another one. He chose to fight again because war was all he knew. Only in this new world, Voldemort's campaign of terror continued and conquered Europe before spreading out to conquer the world. Hogwarts is now the thrown of the Dark Lord, his crowning achievement, his Citadel. But Harry knows a select few who would never bow to the Darko Lord, The Order is still alive and still fighting back. Its time for Voldemort's tyranny to end. Once. And. For. All.

WARNING

Character Death, SLASH, het, femme slash, non-canon pairings, canon pairings, child abuse, drug abuse, slavery, mentions of rape and torture, character bashing, graphic violence and bad spelling/grammar.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

I do not own Harry Potter or any characters affiliated with it, anything else I do not own will be listed at the bottom of each chapter along with credits. All spells and characters and scenes not recognised in the canon are mine. Please no touchies.

Flamers will be eaten by Norbert.

Chapter 1: who Am I?

What was going on?

Why is it so cold?

... Who was he? Where was he? ... Was he even a 'he'?

The pain was back again.

Pain.

Why did it haunt him so?

Who was he?

A grubby looking pub, a sign declaring it 'The Leaky Cauldron' an equally shabby interior and a huge man, twice as high and five times as wide as normal people were. A gruff voice, yet friendly eyes, compassion for all living things, an orphan, like him. Like him?

People suddenly crowding around him, offering their hands, all smiles, eyes filled with awe and delight at the sight of him.

"Welcome back Mr Potter, welcome back."

Potter? Was that his name?

And who was the large friendly man?

... Yes, he remembered now, Harry Potter.

Harry James Potter.

That was his name, he remembered now. And the other man was Hagrid, Rubeus Hagrid, the Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts... wait, that wasn't quite right... what was missing? A little later he became something else as well...

He remembered, something about a Hippogriff... what was a hippogriff?

"Curious... curious..." a rather batty looking old man with wispy white hair, parchment (what's parchment?) pale skin, and eerie clear blue eyes behind a pair of glasses. Another voice, young, sounding slightly confused and not a little shaken.

"Sorry, but what's curious?" those eerie blue eyes pinned him to the spot.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happened that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar."

Shock, horror, confusion... a skittering of anger.

"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter... After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things –terrible, yes, but great."

Bewilderment, anxiety, wariness... again that skittering of anger, deep, deep down, out of the way, unknown at the time.

Ollivanders. Yes, that was where he got his wand, his first wand, Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. Fawkes, yes, his wand core came from Fawkes the Phoenix...

There was something big there, behind Fawkes, a deep seated resentment... respect and longing... how is it possible to be so hateful and yet so fond at the same time?

A train carriage, bright red scarlet steamer train, heading up north... to Scotland, from a platform that shouldn't exist. A red head boy, with lots of freckles and brothers, a smudge of dirt on his nose. Friendship and exhasperation rooted within him. Brotherhood. A young girl, the same age, a bossy voice and long brown hair, slightly frizzy, brilliant... but scary. A bit of a Know-It-All... but then she did know it all...

A blonde haired boy and two guards, hulking in size, small in brain power. Not quite hatred, not quite like, confusion and dismissal. Anger and amusement. So conflicting.

A rat. HATRED

So much hate!

He hated rats?

No, no, no. There was something there, even more important that behind Fawkes, such hatred, such deep rooted bone deep hatred, so cold it burns. No, that was no normal rat and his hatred was far too much for a simple phobia of rodents.

His parents, a wolf and a dog. Something to do with them... them and a rat.

A table filled with children, a ragged hat, an argument over lions and snakes, students cheering, red haired twins dancing and chanting: "We got Potter! We got Potter! We got Potter!" red and gold uniforms, an old man at a table in front of four others. A smile and a twinkle, again, that resentment and fondness rose up.

Dumbledore. Yes, Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster, Fawkes's familiar... or was it the other way around? What did he care, that feeling behind Fawkes, the betrayal and longing and anger, such anger yes. It was directed at the Headmaster.

What was going on?

Was he reliving his life?

Wind in his hair, the ground rising up like an iron hammer, pull up on the stick, reach out and grab. Smooth glass under finders, toes brushing the ground. Gentle topple to the floor.

You caught it.

Quidditch! Flying! Yes!

His home, his legal drug, the youngest seeker in a centaury. And he was damn proud of it!

Flying meant freedom. Freedom that he so rarely tasted, yes he remembered now, making the Houseteam was probably one of the few things in his life that hadn't been planned or manipulated. It hadn't even been encouraged, he made it on his own, without help.

Quidditch was something he could say he was good at. And no one could say otherwise.

Greasy hair, over sized nose. Long sleeved robes (Why was that important?) and a cruel disposition. The blonde's godfather. The Potion master. His father's childhood victim. Seeing him as his father, not as him. resentment and... pity?

Yes. He pitied the black haired man. But why did he deserve his pity? He didn't understand.

Snape. Yes, he pitied him more than he hated him. Betrayers are a curse unto themselves.

Betrayers...

His life was dictated by betrayal. There was far too much of it in his life to truly trust again. But... how did he know that? And why... why did it feel like this was leading up to something, something terrible?

A man in a turban. Two faces in one head. A blood red stone.

A magic mirror.

A reflection of his parents and father's family...

A pasty face, bloody red eyes, snake like nostrils. Pain. Searing blinding pain across his forehead, HATRED! Yes! He HATED! HATED that snake faced bastard!

Voldemort.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The hatred was blinding. And he remembered.

The Boy-Who-Lived. Dumbledore's Golden Pawn. The Gryffindor Golden Boy. The Wizarding world's tragic little hero, martyr and political punching bag all in one. His first year at Hogwarts... Hogwarts, his home.

The castle he owned as the Lord to all four houses. The second Parselmouth to grace its halls since Salazar himself, the first ever multiple Animagus to walk the corridors since Rowena Ravenclaw, the first capable of using all the elements since Helga Hufflepuff, the finest Spell-crafter since Gryffindor himself, the only one to ever slay a Basilisk before he was even shaving. Yes Voldemort and Dumbledore had tried, everything besides the Basilisk slaying part, but they only ever had the blood of one founder in their veins. Harry had all four, in his magic and in his blood.

Harry snorted from where ever it was he was drifting. Good grief, Lord to all four houses. Gryffindor when Dumbledore gave it to him upon his death bed, not knowing that Harry already had a claim through his father's blood, the oldest and most magically powerful of the Ravenclaw heirs through his mother, fifth in line for Lordship of Hufflepuff, given to him when everyone save Neville died, and then Neville handing it to him the eve of his death –knowing he would not survive the battle. And Slytherin when Voldemort transferred a portion of his powers on that fateful evening in 1981.

'The founders needn't die with us. They live on in you.' Harry wasn't sure if he hated everyone then, or loved them.

Yes he remembered everything now. Everything.

Even the war, in all of its bloody horrific glory.

And everything after.

He leaned against his Cold Magic scythe, swathed in blood and gore, panting heavily his violet orbs slowly receding back into his more recognisable Avada Kedavra evergreen irises. The 21-year-old had grown very little since he was 15, now standing at 5'6" in height, his long powder-fine feathered black hair dripped with gore, his body wreathed with an unholy armour of dark metallic green vines –wicked scythe like red thorns running the length of the magical armour, ready to deliver a fatal dose of venom to anyone stupid enough to attack. He was a slender boy, his black clothing sticking to him like a second skin, emerald eyes tired as his breathing heaved from his partially open mouth, the scent of blood and death all around him no longer registered upon his senses.

Six years of hard, bloody, vicious battle had desensitised him to the scent of death and blood and the sights of the battle field.

Funny how everything ended in the very place it started.

The ruins of Hogwarts stood out proudly, her jagged edges pressing against the blood stained sky wispy golden clouds drifting lazily as an unnatural wind swept across the battlefield of the Hogwarts grounds. Dead bodies littering the ground, the once green grass now a withered black and blood-soaked charred wasteland; figures in black robes and bodies sporting a gently burning red/gold feather somewhere upon their person lay still and unmoving.

Aside from Harry's panting, the faint sounds of flapping clothing, the soft whispering of lingering souls born upwards by the wind... everything was silent.

"Did it work?" The dark haired male rasped; his voice raw from chanting those finishing words, Wild Magic burning and clawing its way through every pore in his body to pour out into the world and obliterate the splintered festering soul of Voldemort.

'I need to know. Need to see this... this end. Please... This needs to end.' He thought taking a deep breath and using his scythe as a crutch to stagger toward where the concentration of dark magic and highly destructive Wild Magic was beginning to taper off; floating shadows of neon colours visible in the magic enriched atmosphere... he finally understood what Ryuu meant when he said lost souls looked beautiful.

No one answered him and the scent of death and magic was thick in the air as the eerie swirling wind died, Harry narrowed his eyes, leaning dangerously on his scythe to peer into the crater, his Avada Kedavra green eyes sharp and hard as he surveyed the rotting remains of Voldemort's constructed body. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the slowly decaying corpse in front of him, without the soul to hold the various Magicks used to create it, the constructed frame was slowly turning to ash, supported only by Harry's wildly fluxing aura, the magic enriched atmosphere and the lingering souls of the battle field.

All the tension left Harry's body as a wave of pure relief and disbelief and shock slammed into his system, his muscles suddenly went lax causing the boy to topple into the arms of someone who'd skidded under him, gore and blood slicked arms wrapping around him in a protective embrace. The Cold Magic scythe melting into the void from whence it came.

"Its over." Soothed the soft, war torn voice of the figure cradling him in her lap, Harry nodded tiredly burying his face in her body finally allowing the shaking and shock to take him as she held him, rubbing circles across his back. "Shhh, it's over. He can never hurt you again."

Selene Dulcis Greyback looked over the wasteland with almost grey cobalt blue eyes, her black hair lank and ratty with blood. Her own Magical armour twitching just under her skin with the open eerie atmosphere, the American witch sighed deeply shifting slightly, her mangled leg sending screaming pain up to her mind but stopping short due to the torn nerves connecting that leg with the rest of her body.

Harry closed his eyes sighing wearily as he cuddled to his cousin. Selene smiled slightly, smoothing his blood sodden hair from his forehead; after Sirius' death... everything just went tits-up for the Wizarding world, then there was the whole debacle with the Horcruxes, and then Harry discovered his true lineage when he turned 17-years-old and an entirely new branch of his mother's family who were, indeed, magical. The mind boggled. About five generations up Harry's family tree, the family split off, one branch seeming to disappear off the face of the earth and the other to walk the lonely road of a Muggle life. Selene Dulcis and her younger sister Anayla Dulcis were direct blood cousins of Harry through his mother. Before the first war Selene and Anayla had been separated at Aya's birth when some rogue Dark Wizards attacked a muggle settlement and obliterated it, along with their parents. Anayla was sent off to an Orphanage in Russia while their father's sister took Selene back to America, having promised her brother to take care of her. Several years later and Selene was a Necromancy, Cold Magic and Wild Magic student at a very selective and harsh school set in an Arial city above China, it was there that she met her Soul Mate, one Ixion Greyback, the younger brother of Fenrir Greyback. It was during the start of the First War, when Ixion had brought Selene back to England to introduce to the family that the raven haired woman was rendered incapable of ever having children by her husband's jealous older brother. Incapable of having children, she planned to adopt Harry when she discovered of his Orphaned status, after all, she was his only magical relative, however, her request for adoption was firmly shot down by both Dumbledore and the Ministry on the grounds that she wasn't an English citizen. So when her recently discovered younger sister was killed along with the oldest and two youngest of her children only two years prior to the beginning of the Second War, she adopted her remaining nephew, Ryuu Thomason. Harry's cousin, two-years his junior, and the second most powerful of the Ravenclaw male Heirs, Selene, obviously, being the most powerful.

When the war started, she had moved over to Europe to help out in the war effort along with her husband, Ryuu and a few of their old school friends who were more than capable of taking care of most fights. Harry knew that it was because of them that they even had a chance of defeating Voldemort, Harry had to admit, the students of the Heinlin Academy of Magic were far superior to those from Hogwarts. For one, they learned completely different branches of magic that were branded as Dark in Europe but were not actually anything remotely dark.

Harry's eyes flickered open as his thoughts fell away and he detected a suspiciously void area with his empathy, he stared at her mangled leg, "You're hurt." He croaked, Selene chuckled, her features smeared with blood,

"I noticed." She teased a brief shadow of pain flickering through her eyes. Harry nodded and pulled away, his Wandless magic was acceptable, he could cast as well with his hands as he could with a wand; his wand had been snapped a few years ago when he'd been caught and tortured by Voldemort for a month. A less than fun period in his life. And any other wand just felt wrong in his hands, so he went without.

"My healing isn't bad, but I'd rather wait until we can get Ryuu to fix it up." Selene nodded, not voicing their shared thoughts of 'If he's alive.'

Yes, the moments after Voldemort was destroyed.

The moments when Selene discovered her Soul Mate's death, when she saw one of their allies lift himself from the wreckage carrying her nephew's corpse. Harry could distinctly remember the cold ball of tangled emotions when he saw Donovan Caliga, the oldest of their Vampyre allies and the Occlumency&Legilimency professor at Heinlin, lift himself from the wreckage, carrying the blood-smeared corpse of his own Soul Mate, 19-year-old Ryuu Thomason, his hair freed from its customary braid, dark crimson hair dripping with gore and blood shining like a war banner in the dying light. Harry would never forget those moments.

Loosing a Soul Mate was one of the most painful experiences in your life. Literally, half your soul, half of your being was torn away. Not many survived it.

Harry remembered praying that his cousin was alive, praying until he saw Donovan approaching with the red head in his arms, if anyone would have survived the backlash of Wild Magic Harry used, it would have been Ryuu. The red head was practically a creature of Wild Magic, that and as he so eloquently put it after both he and Harry had been locked up in one of Voldemort's strong-holds for a week, he was like a cockroach, you simply couldn't kill him. Harry choked on his laughter remembering that particular jaunt; he doubted if Snape would be forgetting the spitfire red head anytime soon. It was hard to forget the face of the brat who ripped your left eye out.

Harry wouldn't forget anyone. Like Sirius, like Remus, like Ron and Hermione and like the rest of the Weasleys', Neville and Luna... Ryuu was part of his family. His inner circle of 'leap-in-front-of-Unforgivables-for' friends. He remembered staring in sick horror at the red-haired corpses clustered around the great mound of black scales that had once been Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback that Hagrid loved more than was healthy.

Percy and Arthur Weasley were the first to die, not even a month after the first siege of the Ministry of Magic in his fifth year, Voldemort struck again, obliterating everyone in the building. The news rocked the family to the core. Then at Bill and Fleur's wedding, half way through Harry's sixth year, Death Eaters attacked again, knowing full well that most of the Order of the Phoenix –Dumbledore's private army of the Light, would be assembled. Bill died in the attack, mauled by Fenrir Greyback who later met his end at his little brother's claws.

When Bill died, on her wedding day no less, Fleur became driven by revenge. Harry smiled vaguely at the memory, the French Veela was icy cold and burning in her fury, she became a fearsome adversary and the Death Eaters learned to fear her very, very quickly. The French girl fought fire with fire and knew more Dark Curses than Harry thought existed –and he shared a mind with Vol-diddle. She rallied the French Veelas and the Centaurs, who were more inclined to listen to another magical based creature; she even helped negotiate with the Fae to form an alliance. The Fae would not outright go against Voldemort, their Magicks were not made for fighting, but they would provide relief and aid. Their healing Magicks far outstripped that of a human's and in their presence it seemed that those on the brink of death could be brought back to the land of the living. Harry remembered closing his eyes when he caught a flash of the woman's silver moon hair, lying beside the prone body of Mrs Weasley and her younger sister Gabrielle.

Molly Weasley was a lioness in battle. Harry choked back more tears as he thought of his first surrogate mother, Tonks and Selene coming in close second once they'd met him. The proud red headed Matriarch was a lioness in battle, it came as no small surprise when they discovered her Animagus was a lioness, she held her head high and dug in deeply against everything the Death Eaters threw at their family, she never hung her head nor backed down from the challenge. She stood proud and strong against the tide of darkness and despair, picking everyone up and dusting them off before forging ahead through the chaos. If Harry was their saviour... Molly Weasley was their Strength. Simple as that.

The twins, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Neville, Luna, Charlie, Dimitri, Ilia, Remus, Tonks, Hagrid, Mrs Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Fleur, Gabrielle, Krum, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Miho, Tsukasa, Nirvana, Pandemonium, Tanya, Akira, Moody, Flitwick...

His friends, His family, His mentors.

His fault.

It was then he saw. And all the blood ran from his features as he stared into the glassy amber eyes of his surrogate father...

It was then he realised that his cousin was trembling, ever so slightly, but she was. Harry pushed himself up and wrapped her in a tight hug, ignoring the blood that squelched cold and unpleasantly against their skin as he did so.

Selene buried her face in his shoulder and screamed. Her Voice Magic shrieking across the battlefield and tearing into Harry's Occlumency shields. Harry closed his eyes, fighting off his own tears as the woman trembled and screamed against his shoulder. That sound would haunt him until the end of his life.

The death of a Soul Mate...

It is the worst pain imaginable.

Harry bit his lip, remembering the pain in Mrs Weasley's face when she felt her Soul Mate's life snuffed out in the Ministry attack. Selene had clung to Harry like a lifeline for three hours, shaking violently as the realisation finally sunk in. Half of her soul had been torn away from her, straight out from her chest. That day, half of her died.

Harry had no idea how long he held the 40-year-old woman as she sobbed upon his shoulder but the sky finally started to darken when someone else moved. He found it hard to believe that anyone had survived the aftermath of the Wild Magic in invoked, anyone save Selene and Ryuu, turning slightly he eyes the dark hair of the Vampire as he eased himself up, moving stiffly as if in pain, cradling something or someone Harry couldn't see at the time. When Ryuu had gone missing three weeks ago, everyone assumed he was pulling one of his solo missions again, they never expected that he had been kidnapped by a Death Eater spy. When Voldemort approached Hogwarts for the final battle, he dragged Ryuu with him. The 19-year-old was, surprisingly, kept in good health. His elbow length glossy red hair pulled back into its customary braid, blue eyes sharp and smouldering with anger from being restrained with Cold Magic infused iron manacles. Preventing him the use of Wandless magic and Accidental magic.

At some point during the battle, Donovan managed to free his Soul Mate from those restraints, after killing the guards assigned to keep the red head under lock and key. Next to Harry, Ryuu and Selene were the most destructive weapons their side had at the final battle with Donovan not far behind.

Sure Ryuu was only 19, and Donovan was roughly hitting his 4500's but their relationship was very complicated. Add to that, it was inevitable. Soul Mates could not be separated, even if Donovan hadn't been a Vampire, upon his death he would have been re-incarnated again and again and again to the point where the two of them could be together on more even terms. However, that didn't happen. So, they were kept under watch, having met quite a few years ago –and having to put up with three years of denial, they finally reached an agreement which made everyone happy and there would generally be no maiming of any parties. They would wait, wait until Ryuu was over 20 before taking things up a notch, they would wait until Ryuu was ready for it. It was a fairly simple solution for a highly complex situation, which often caused Harry some amusement, as did Ixion's reaction upon finding out that his nephew and a vampire were Soul Mates.

Harry caught himself as pain tore savagely at his heart, reminding himself that Ixion was dead, reminding him of the reason Selene had been sobbing into his shoulder.

"The American's are hunting you down." Selene commented bluntly from the door frame, after the death of her Soul Mate she seemed to care less and less about normal things. It was worrying Harry greatly, she wasn't grieving; she was killing herself slowly through means of apathy. Donovan had already passed away with the shock of loosing Ryuu, not two days after the accident, Harry could tell he tried to hang on to life, clawing at it desperately. But in the end he failed, and passed on.

"What are they planning on charging me with?"

"War crimes. –Use of an Unforgivable. –Use of Dark Magic. –Use of an Unregistered wand. –Use of an unregistered Animagus. –Use of underage magic. –Breaking the Statute of Secrecy. –Murder. –Manslaughter. –Torture. –Consorting with halfbreeds: Vampires, Werewolves, Centaurs, Veela, Fae, Dementors, Mer-people, Giants, ect ect. –Destroying: Azkaban, Riddle Manor, Malfoy Manor, Crabbe House, Goyle Manor, various other pureblood properties, Drumstrag school of Magic, the British Ministry of magic and various properties in Russia, Germany, Scotland and France. –Aiding and abetting a wanted criminal or three... The list goes on a bit, but those are the most prominent." She reeled off listlessly watching as Harry tied his boots.

"Funny how they dump a couple of Voldemort's attacks onto me as well." He commented almost cheerfully. Selene didn't bother reply or even acknowledging the comment and instead handed him an envelope.

"Here." She stated bluntly, waving it a little to catch his attention. "Hermione left it for me to give to you after this was over."

Yes, the letter, it explained everything. How Harry could just disappear.

The veil.

It could take him somewhere else; like that 'Stargate' that Hermione was always so fond of watching on the TV. Harry couldn't help but smile as he floated. He lived with a bunch of Sci-Fi freaks, even Ron was beginning to like the idea of Sci-Fi, it took a lot of work on Hermione's part but he finally managed to admit defeat and enjoy Star Wars.

Selene was all for it when Harry explained the whole process to her.

She had nothing to live for, at least this way; she could go out doing something to help him.

The Veil needed to be powered with a fairly powerful Soul. The more powerful the better, it would take longer to consume the Soul, giving Harry enough time to slip through and slip out somewhere else. And Selene had a MASTERs in Necromancy, Cold Magic, Wild Magic, Voice Magic and Anicent Curses, her soul was the strongest they were going to get in the circumstances and it was only proved by the way she survived Ixion's death.

She was the only one capable of powering the Veil long enough for Harry to slip through.

"Selene, are you certain about this?" Harry asked for what had to be the fifth time since she agreed. The woman gave him a blank cobalt-grey look, if Harry didn't want to do this then she would walk through the Veil anyway and he damn well knew it. "Right, of course you are." He muttered, shivering under his towel. To ensure a good transition, he had to be naked. Harry was despising that part; imagine stumbling out of existence in the middle of a crowded street completely butt-naked? How the hell was he supposed to explain that?

'Yeah, I just came from another reality; to get here I had to be naked. Sorry for mentally scarring your 4 year old daughter ma'am. Won't happen again. D'ya think you can point me in the direction of some clothes?'

Good god, if he did they they'd either arrest him or throw him in St Mungos brain-damage ward. Neither were a very pleasant option.

"Just remember what Hermione wrote and I'll do the whole 'Sacrifice' bit." The woman deadpanned turning to the veil. Harry swallowed and took a deep breath, shivering ever so slightly he stepped toward the veil and dropped the towel, beginning to chant.

Wild magic, Cold Magic and Voice Magic swarmed up from the ground, around them, causing their magical armour to itch, their Animagi to awaken, their spell wounds to tingle and burn. Harry's curse scar began to burn again, an old feeling, like a long-lost friend. And still they continued to chant, slowly delicately shaping the Wild Magic to their wills.

Selene's voice hit a creshendo and held it as she stepped through the veil, the seemingly moon-lit arch turning a deep blood red.

And then, Harry summoned his armour and stepped through.

And there he was, still floating around in limbo... maybe it didn't work?

Oh well, he kinda liked the floating, it was neat.

He was kinda sad that he never saw Sirius, or Remus, or mum and dad. It would have been kinda cool to see everyone else too, 'specially Ron and Hermione. He wondered if they were happy. Before Hermione died she'd just given birth to their first child, a little girl who they called Lily after Harry's mother, they named him and Ryuu her godfathers and Selene and Luna her godmother's. He just hoped that Aunt Petunia would be kinder to Lily than she had ever been to Harry, and he'd threatened her to ensure it, but Aunt Petunia actually seemed happy to have the little girl. She was lonely in her little cottage in the South of France, the place where Harry had relocated her when Death Eaters attacked Littlewhinging, he'd been too late to save Vernon and Dudley and Petunia had been heart broken. It had taken some strong words on Ryuu's part to shake her out of it.

He hoped they were together, living happily ever after. Lily and Petunia, Ron and Hermione.

Burning.

Everything suddenly burned. It felt as if something was trying to tear him in half, being pulled one way and then another. It hurt and burned and froze all at once.

And then there was light.

Harry choked and coughed, his stomach rebelling and expelling whatever it was he managed to force down his throat that morning. He was freezing, yet burning. What was going on?

He shivered, curled up in a foetal position, his skin felt slimy.

Suddenly someone touched him, Harry hissed trying to jerk away from the burning hands, what were they doing? Prodding him with a hot iron pole! That hurt dammit!

He croaked at whoever it was to get the fuck lost but it came out like 'eeaaummsst.' The hands jerked back and he heard a familiar voice,

"He's alive! Someone go tell Poppy to get ready."

Flinching back against the harsh sunlight over head he cracked open an eye, a blurry yet familiar face peering over him, her hazel eyes worried as she nibbled the bottom of her lip.

"Are you alright?" Hermione Granger asked.

Black.

There ya go! Tweaking finished!

Review pleasums!

Araceil