AN-This is a story that I adopted from SlytherinMafia, one of four that I have taken over. The first chapter will be the same as her previously posted version, with corrections made to the over all flow of the story, but following chapters will be my own work. Any one who has read this story before, I do have her full permission to post and continue this, so please no flames and cries of plagiarism.

Summary-Harry Potter has done the impossible and defeated Voldemort, and expects to spend the rest of his life doing nothing but living life, until a long buried secret comes to life and changes everything. He finds himself in a different dimension, with an overprotective blond who seems determined to take care of him. And what's this about an arranged marriage? Things will never be the same.

Pairings: 06/HP, 01/02, 03/05/04, RW/HG, past Draco/Harry

Rating: T-M

Disclaimer-I own nothing.

Chapter One

Harry paced the small room he had been placed in, his hands in his pockets and his head down.

This waiting was torture. The not knowing, the tension, was going to drive him insane. And maybe that
was their plan, when it was all said and done.

If they were going to kill him, he wished that they would hurry up and do it already.

All this, all this pain that he had caused, both on himself and those around him, wasn't even his fault. It wasn't even something he could control. It was all because his mother had tried to ease his father's grief.

And her own guilt.

He shook his head, correcting his thoughts mentally. He had to get those words out of his head.

They weren't his mother, and father.

Never had been.

They were Harry Potter's mother and father.

Not his.

He wasn't Harry Potter.

Not anymore.

All he was was a nameless soul inhabiting what was once Harry Potter's body. Just a corpse that should have been dead and rotting in the ground.

The boy that should have been Harry shivered and wrapped his arms tighter around himself.

If only he had let it go.

If only he had laughed it and chalked it up as a secret that wasn't his to know, just moved on.

But No, he was the Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who Defeated Voldemort. It was his right, his privilege, to know everything and anything that went on in their heads. After all, he was the one who had faced certain death every year to protect them, the one who had lost everything he knew before he even had a chance to remember it, just because a crazy Professor had made a prophecy. What was wanting to know a secret against all that he was owed. Especially one that concerned him.

He scoffed at himself now.

He was such a fool. Aa arrogant fool. At twenty, most people got over their urge to think they were the center of the Universe, they moved on to think that maybe they weren't, maybe there were things bigger in the world than one teeny person. In the Wizarding world anyway.

Harry never had...until it was too late.

The Boy Once Called Harry sank down onto the lone bench in the small room, leaning his arms on his knees and hanging his head in his hands, trying to breath and keep himself from panicking more than he already was, wishing, and not for the first time, that he had Hermione's Time Turner, to go back and fix his mistake.

But he didn't, it had been destroyed after third year, and so he would have to live with his mistakes.

For how ever much longer he lived.

Flashback

Harry laughed and drank down another shot of Odgen's Best, watching as Sirius did the same. That Animagus looked a little shaky, even sitting firmly in a chair done in bright Gryffindor Red and Gold, and Harry couldn't help but feel smug.

"Why Paddy, you've gotten soft!" Remus plopped down beside his school friend and smacked him on the shoulder, his own eyes bright with joy and not a small bit of Alcohol. "Letting the Pup drink you down? What happened to the man who could out drink the whole of Gryffindor House?"

Sirius frowned at the werewolf, sticking out his tongue as Remus laughed.

"I have not gotten soft, Moony" He reached for another shot, his hand wavering slightly. "The very idea is absurd! You just forgot the one person who could drink me under the table without getting the slightest bit tipsy" He gave Harry a disgruntled look as Harry took another shot, barely blinking as the alcohol burned its way down his throat.

"Yet another thing I'm like my father in. Not just the flying talent." He gave a salute with his glass to his parents memory. He didn't question who they were comparing him to. After all, in the eight years

he'd been a part of the Wizarding World, there was only one person that they were always telling him he was like.

He was therefore shocked when his Godfather and Honorary Uncle got gave him large, drunken grins, and shook their heads at him.

"No, Prongslet, Not Jamie Boy. Lily." Harry felt his jaw drop. His mother? The picture they had always painted of Lily, the picture that everyone painted of Lily, was that of a Saint similar to that of the Virgin Mary.

Well, except for when she wasn't, but the point was still the same.

He just couldn't imagine the Lily Evans he had always been told about drinking Sirius Black, Head Hedonist of Hogwarts, under the table.

"Huh?" Remus and Sirius broke into howls of laughter at the look Harry's face, leaning on each other for support. Harry frowned, not thinking that he looked quite that ridiculous, but that just made the two of them laugh harder.

Harry pouted, and pouted more, until Remus finally gained enough control over himself again, to wipe his eyes and explain, snickers escaping him every few words.

"Can't believe it Harry?" Harry shook his head, still pouting slightly, his drink in his hand. By the look of the hyperventilating with laughter Sirius, their drinking game was going to be put on hold for an indefinite length of time. "I suppose we have given you a rather...innocent view of Lils. But its true. Lily and Sirius had infamous drinking contests at least twice a month, from fifth year on, and sometimes they played rather dirty." An evil look crossed his face, and he slanted his eyes towards the still howling Sirius, oblivious to the dirt that his Godson was about to be given. "I'll never forget the time that Lily slipped a potion into Sirius' drink, never knew how he didn't see it, it turned the stuff bright green, and turned his..." Sirius shot up, Remus's words finally getting through to him, and slapped a hand over the wolf's mouth, cutting off any dirt that his Godson might have gained from the story.

"Now Now Mooney old pal, Harrykins doesn't need to hear that story." His face was bright red, Harry wasn't sure it was from the remembered story or because he had laughed hard enough to burst a blood vessal or seven. "Point is, Harry" He looked over at his godson, eyes slightly clearer but still drunk as a skunk, "Lily wasn't as nice as we've told you. She had a bad streak in her." Sirius grinned fondly. "When your dad won her over, she was a brilliant addition to the Maruaders, though not as cruel as we preferred." Over the last year, Sirius had accepted that the Maruaders were not the Saints that he had liked to proclaim them, but he still hadn't apologized for anything. Knowing Sirius, he wouldn't.

He wore it more like a badge of honor, to never apologize for things in the past, saying that words wouldn't make anything he'd done better, so he wasn't going to waste the air.

"If she didn't, she never would have attempted it and we never would have had you back."

It was a soft mumble, a drunken ramble that Harry wouldn't have paid any attention to if it wasn't for the way Remus snapped his head over to look at Sirius, who seemed to have no idea what he'd said, and he kept talking, despite the wild mumblings of the werewolf who's mouth he still controlled.

Harry leaned forward, unsure as to what he was talking about, but knowing that it was something to do with him, some secret that they'd never meant to tell him, and in Sirius' current state, all he had to do to find out what it was, was push. Just a little nudge.

The Grimm was nothing if not a drama hound, pun intended. And loved to talk about the past glory days.

"Wouldn't do what, Sirius? I'm sure its not something the Great Padfoot wouldn't have attempted as well." Sirius got a dark look on his face, at odds with his normal, almost bubbly personality, and Harry sat back in his seat a little. That wasn't a look that he wanted to see again, it made the shared blood between Sirius and the Bitch Bellatrix that much easier to see.

"I wouldn't have done it, not matter how much I love you Pronglset, I wouldn't have done that. A spell like that, there are prices higher than you should be willing to pay. It marks your soul, and you have to pay for it, sooner or later." The sounds of the room around them faded into the background of Harry's mind, and all there was was Sirius and Himself.

And the Secret. The Secret that held more importance now to Harry than any other secret ever had. Even the Prophecy.

"Do What, Sirius?" Harry's voice changed without his conscious thought, became more commanding this time, the voice of the General, the War Leader, the voice of the Defeater of Voldemort. Sirius blinked at him, seeming to not believe that his Godson would command him like he had commanded their troops on the battlefield. Remus had fallen silence, Sirius letting his hand fall from his friends mouth, and the werewolf wore a resigned look. He knew something was about to happen, something that would have more far reaching consequences than any in the room knew.

He didn't want to tell Harry, and he knew that if Sirius was in his right frame of mind he wouldn't say anything either, but Sirius wasn't, and now Harry knew there was something they hadn't told him, and he wasn't going to let that go.

There was no choice now.

He just hoped that the consequences weren't as bad as they could be.

As bad as they could be if the ministry found out, that is.

Remus had no doubt that Harry was going to think differently about all of them once he found out the truth, the truth they had been hiding from him at all costs.

Sirius took a deep breath, and looked Harry in the eye, a hard thing to do now, ignorant of Remus's inner musings. Even at Twenty, Harry had seen more than the oldest wizards in their society, and it was quiet a feat to be able to stare him in the eye for even two minutes, let alone long enough to have a conversation with him.

Especially knowing what he knew, and knowing what he had done.

But Sirius did it. He wasn't going to back down now.

"You were just a tot, Harry, just learning to walk around without having your Mum and Dad there with you. Lily had taken you outside for some fresh air, to let you look around while your dad was at work, to help you get the feel of the place. You loved being outside, and the wards, she thought the wards would protect you. You were Potter blood, after all." He gave Harry the saddest look he had ever given him, even after he escaped from Azkaban. "There was a sound, a dog that your mum thought was me, she...she turned her back from only a second. But that was all it took. You'd toddled to the edge of the hill that Potter Manor was built on, she didn't realize how close you were, and you...you fell, all the way to the bottom. By the time she got to you, it was too late." Sirius took a gulp of Odgens again, forgoing the glass for chugging from the bottle itself. "You were dead, Just a baby, and dead because Lily didn't pay attention."

Harry's blood ran cold.

What?

He sat back in his seat, and oped that what he thought was happening really wasn't.

It was the alcohol, he wasn't really hearing this.

"None of us blamed her, of course. Potter manor was known for playing tricks on those not of its blood, even wives and husbands who married in. In all honesty, she probably didn't see the hill, probably always thought it was straight ground on that side of the manor." Sirius had misinterpreted his look, of course, he almost always did, unless it was in a battle situation. Then he was on of the most intuitive duelers Harry had ever seen. "But she took it hard, blaming herself and drinking every day. James," Sirius frowned, tears in his eyes at the thought of his best mate suffering like he did, "James was inconsolable. He sat in your room, crying to himself, every day. He wouldn't talk to us, wouldn't talk to Lily. He was wasting away." Another gulp. "Lily finally couldn't take it anymore. She was going to bring you back, if not for her sake than for James. None of us had any doubts that James wouldn't' last much longer. He was falling apart, his grief eating away at him like a disease. So, Lily brought you back." Harry heard a roaring in his ears, and his blood seemed to be turning to ice in his veins.

He died?

He couldn't have died,not by falling down a hill. His magic would have saved him, Potter Manor would have saved him. He'd been to the house, and the wards wouldn't even let him get a paper cut, never mind falling down a hill to his death for Merlin's sake.

Sirius had to be mistaken.

Besides, there was no spell to bring back the dead, everyone had explained that from the moment he stepped into the Wizarding World.

Its why they couldn't bring back his parents, or bring back Cedric...Harry forced his mind away from Cedric. That was one wound that would never heal.

And how could it? He'd loved the other boy with everything in him, even if he would never have admitted it. The Savior of the Wizarding World was not supposed to be Homosexual, it wasn't in the cards of their picture perfect version of the Savior.

But magic couldn't bring back the dead. He was alive, therefore, he couldn't have been dead.

"How'd she do it?" Here's where he would poke a hole in their prank, call them from the cruel jokesters they were, and everything would go back to being normal.

But Sirius shook his head, a deathly afraid look in his eyes.

A look that not even Azkaban and the Dementors had put there.

"I'm not going to tell you that Harry. Even knowing the spell can get you a life sentence in Azkaban." He shivered at the mention of the prison. "Its worse than the Unforgivables." He took a long gulp Whiskey again, draining half of what was left...not that that was much. "And if anyone." Harry read the ministry. "Found out that was spell was cast on you, I don't even want to think of what'd they'd do." He leaned back, and Harry did the same, the joy gone from the evening. "Better to just be thankful she did it and move on."

Small talk filled the rest of the evening for the trio, strained and lifeless, but they put on a front of being alright..

None of them noticed that the Minister was standing in the Shadows behind the couch, at first waiting on his chance to speak to the Boy Who Lived, and now nearly shaking with glee.

Harry Potter would never threaten his command of the Wizarding World Again.

~*~End Flashback~*~

Harry had woken up the next morning at the wand point of three Aurors, men he had commanded and celebrated with only days before, with the worst hangover he'd had since Fred and Angelina's wedding.

He'd been forced to the Ministry, put through enough tests for him to pity Lab Rats, and then Fudge had gleefully proclaimed him an interloper and a product of the Maxius Mortis spell, the darkest spell in the Wizarding community, punishable by permanent exile.

Why it was exile and not death, Harry had no idea.

He didn't like the sound of either one.

He also didn't like that he'd found himself in this small cell, friendless, wandless, and in his estimation about to be lifeless

How they were going to exile him, he had no idea.

All because his mother couldn't stand his father in pain, and because Cornelius Fudge was a power hungry toady who though Harry wanted his job.

The door at the other end of the small room creaked open slowly, grinding against the stone it rested upon and Harry winced. The Auror, wand pointed at him even though his prisoner was unarmed and incapable of preforming the slightest bit of magic, motioned sharply and Harry stood up, moving against the wall and waiting for the Auror to attach the magic dampening handcuffs around his wrists.

Apparently Fudge wasn't taking any chances with the Once-Saviour-of-The-Wizarding-World. He hadn't thought that one up, it was splashed across the headlines every day. Yet another product of Rita Skeeter, now first editor of the Daily Prophet.

"Move." Harry rolled his eyes. Great conversationalists these Aurors. He did as instructed however, knowing from recent, painful experience that they weren't above using physical force to make him comply. They may not use Dark Magic, but they weren't lily white either. Dark magic wasn't the only thing that hurt like hell.

They walked down a stone hallway that Harry didn't recognize, heading deeper and deeper into the ministry, and every click of their heels against the stone made Harry's heart beat harder and faster.

This was it. They were marching him to his death. Exile, death, it was all the same, and Harry doubted they were going to exile him if they were still in the ministry.

No, Death was way more likely.

The Auror escorted him to a plain wooden door, pushed him through it with the wand in the middle of Harry's back, and then closed the door when Harry was on the other side.

He pointedly didn't come in, didn't even step towards the threshold.

Harry moved forward. He was a Gryffindor, magic or not, and he wasn't going to face his fate standing in the shadows of a door.

He would go out bravely.

It was the last thing he had, after all, his courage.

He made his way down stone steps, keeping his balance with difficulty and long practice. Having his hands tied together in front of him threw his balance into question, but he would not fall flat on his face.

He wouldn't give the figure he saw standing at the bottom of the steps the satisfaction.

Fudge was waiting for him, standing with his hands behind his back in front of a structure that Harry couldn't' make out, but that filled him with fear. He had a big smile plastered over his face, as if he was giving away a thousand Galleons, not sending someone to their doom.

Fudge always was a twisted bastard.

"Harry my boy!" Harry blinked at the pleasant greeting. "I bet you're excited, aren't you?"

Harry blinked again. What the bloody hell was going on here? Of course he wasn't excited, for Merlin's sake, he was going to die! Anyone who was excited about that deserved psychological treatment!

He told the man as much.

"Fudge you are being even stupider than normal." Harry was past being polite. Way Past. He didn't like Fudge, and he wasn't going to die with the man thinking they were buddies. Or whatever the man thought.

"Now Harry." Fudge didn't even blink at the comment, the grin staying on his face. He was getting rid of his competition, of course he had something to smile about. "No need to be unpleasant about this. You're going home, after all. Who wouldn't want that."

Huh?

Harry blinked, something he had done a lot in the last few days.

If he was going home, then why in the name of Merlin was he still here?

If he was going home, why had his wand and personal items not been returned to him?

Why was he still handcuffed?

"Huh?" He blinked at the Minister, who just grinned wider and waved a hand at the structure next to him, waving his wand with his left. Lights came on in the room, illuminating more than just the Minister, and Harry almost took a step back.

What was that?

The structure next to the minister was revealed to be a stone arch way in the middle of the room, a tattered black veil attached to the middle.

Whispers were coming from the arch, the fabric blowing in an unseen wind.

Harry ignored his courage, and took a step back.

Then another three.

Whatever that thing was, it wanted him, and he knew that without a doubt, he did NOT want to touch it.

Or be on the same continent as it.

Fudge never stopped grinning.

"You're going home." He repeated. "Oh, not here of course." He must have been smart enough to read Harry's face correctly, or even he knew how stupid he seemed. "This plane isn't your home." He smiled again. "I'm not sure which one is, to be honest, the spell wouldn't tell us that, but I'm sure you'll be much happier there among your own people by any rate."

And not my voters went unspoken, but well understood.

Harry backed up another step. He was happy on this plane, thank you very much.

He'd like to stay that way too.

"No Thank you minister. I appreciate the offer, but I think I'm better off staying where I am." He backed up yet another step, back and up onto a stone step. It gave him an advantage, but he didn't like the malicious grin that settled onto Fudge's face.

So much for his Gryffindor Bravery.

Fudge just smiled and pulled out his wand, shaking his head.

"I'm afraid Harry, that you don't really have a choice in the matter. You don't' belong here, you don't fit in here. Its time for you to stop plaguing us with your presence." He waved his wand and began to speak, intricate ruin tracing themselves into the air. The veil behind him began to wave with more ferocity, as if it sensed its prey was near and almost weak enough to be taken.

Harry tried to move, tried to back up another step, but found himself completely unable to. He looked down, groaning.

His feet were stuck to a glowing stone. A glowing ritual stone.

He was trapped, and it was all because he'd tried to run.

His Slytherin side always gave him trouble in the end.

He began to sweat as Fudge's voice got louder and more commanding, magic swirling in the air around them. Harry realized that, despite the disparaging marks and idiotic things they'd said about the man over the years, Fudge was not magically incompetent. He may be weak in many ways, but magically wasn't one of them. He may not be the most intelligent being on the planet, or the bravest by means on any scale, but when one had power, you didn't need the others.

And Fudge certainly had magical power. In spades, if the strength of the spell currently being performed was anything to go by.

And Harry was going to die.

He closed his eyes, thinking of all the people he hoped would miss him, or at least mourn him a little when he was gone, when a voice he never dreamed he'd hear again echoed through the stone chamber.

"CORNELIUS!"

Dumbledore was angrier than Harry'd ever heard it, angrier than he was when the Dementors flooded onto the field during fourth year, but none of that mattered to Harry at the moment. He just grinned at the sound of the Headmaster's voice.

He was saved, he was going to live.

And the first thing he was going to do when he got off this stone was hit Fudge in the face. Hard. Very, very Hard.

"Ah Dumbledore, so nice of you to join us." Fudge paused, the spell waiting patiently in the air like a dog on a leash. Harry had no doubts that if let go, this dog would bite, and bite hard.

Cujo, a movie that he and Dudley had actually watched together a few summers ago, came to mind.

"You're just in time to give your pupil a fond farewell, in fact." He grinned evilly, and swished his wand through the air. The spell snapped back into action, complete and unleashed. It headed towards Harry, a whirling vortex of Silver and Gold, and all he could do was brace for the impact, placing his hands in front of his face to shield himself as much as he could.

"NO!" The spell hit him just as Dumbledore's denial washed through the air, and Harry felt himself lifted off his feet and tugged fast towards the veil. He turned his head, reaching out for anything that could help slow his movement, and caught a sight of the abject fear and sorrow on the Headmaster's face because he entered the veil and his world went black.

Albus Dumbledore stared in shock as the body of Harry Potter tumbled out the other side of the veil. It lay there motionless, lifeless, for a few moments, before nature stepped in to do what it was slated to do years before. The body began to deteriorate, faster and faster, until there was nothing left but a pile of gray colored dust.

The headmaster felt older than he'd ever felt as he stared at the pile of ash, a tear rolling out of one eye.

He couldn't believe it, this was not supposed to have happened. Harry was finally supposed to have had a normal life, the life he should have had from the very beginning, the life he had always wanted. Out of the spotlight, free of conflict and pain.

If only Dumbledore himself had been stronger, had been able to withstand the curse that had kept him unconscious in the hospital wing until minutes before he'd arrived there. He could have stopped this mess, could have kept Fudge from making the worst mistake of his life, and his career.

But it was too late now.

The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort was dead, and this time there was no coming back.

Dumbledore would make sure that Fudge paid for that, if it was the last thing he did.

Harry came to consciousness violently, pain racking every cell in his body. It felt like fire was burning through his veins. He tried to scream, tried to thrash, but the only thing that he took in was dirt.

Dirt that he was surround in, buried in.

He was buried alive.

Harry began to panic.

Was this Fudge's master plan? Scare him with a spell and then bury him alive when he went unconscious?

It didn't matter. He was quickly losing air and if he wanted to live beyond this insane plan of the Minister, he would have to conserve his air and get out of this grave, NOW.

He began fighting, clawing at the dirt around him. He wasn't going to last long, he knew that, but the knowledge only made him fight harder to reach the surface. He wasn't going to die, not like this, not without trying.

He kept fighting, dirt giving way inch by painful inch, as he felt his air diminishing. He was struggling to breath now, and he was sure he had swallowed half the dirt that made up his grave, but he was close to the surface. He had to be.

His fingers broke the surface, his hand following halfway, and he could feel the air caressing them as his world began to dim.

At least he could feel freedom while he died, if not partake of it.

His world was beginning to white out, his lungs gasping for air and receiving nothing but earth, when he felt another hand take hold of his and pull.

Hard.

He had no strength left to help his rescuer, the Savior of the Savior, and gladly let his eyes close.

Doing so caused him to miss the shocked blue eyes the scanned over his form as he was pulled completely free of the grave, dirt clinging to the uniform and blond hair of his rescuer, and the word that hit the air almost in a prayer.

"Alexander"

AN-There is the first chapter. The next update, as well as update on my previous BTVS story, should be up in the next two or three weeks, hopefully sooner. I try to put aside at least one day a week to focus on writing. Any reviews are appreciated, and all mistakes are mine.

KLW