Disclaimer

I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters and I'm not making any money from this.

Author's Note

Well ... I've finally got out a new chapter of Disappear. A year later. I'm really really sorry to everyone who's been following this story. I've just had such a rough eight months that all of my creative hobbies (writing, drawing, music) pretty much disappeared. I'm determined to change that now though, and I'm going to try to get back into writing regularly.

Thanks to everyone who's still reading, I hope you enjoy!


Fixing Harry

Harry yelled and gripped his hair with his hands. It had been almost three hours that he had been left in here, and his anger had been gradually rising for every minute longer he spent in there. He had tried yelling that he was sorry several times through the wall but no-one had answered.

He pressed his back against the wall and kicked his legs against the floor, trying to let out some of his anger. He wasn't going to let Voldemort do this, he wasn't, he wasn't. He scrunched his hands together and folded his body over, hugging his knees and tensing his entire body.

He stood up suddenly and started pacing quickly around the room, glaring angrily at the blank space in the wall where there should be a door. So maybe it wasn't really his anger but it still felt good to let out some of his emotions.

And after all, didn't he have a right to be angry anyway? He'd tried to them the truth but they all refused to listen, preferring to spin their own theories as to what was wrong with him. If they'd just listened.

"You can't keep me in here!" he yelled. "I'm innocent, I haven't done anything!"

There was no reply. He ran up to the wall and slammed his palm against it. "Bastards!" he screamed. It felt good. He started punching it and kicking it, shouting out every swearword he knew.

There was no reply. He stared at the wall, breathing heavily, before running over to bed and attempted to turn it over, but finding it magically sealed to the floor. In a loss of anything else to do he grabbed the bedsheets and threw them onto the floor. They lay there on the floor for a second before picking themselves up and rearranging themselves into a perfectly made bed again.

With a howl of anger Harry ran over to the wall and pummelled it furiously, shouting the whole time.

"You fucking Order people! I hate you! You never bloody listen! Well now I'm not going to tell you anything! You hear that! I'm – not – going – to – tell – you – anything!"

There was the distant sound of a door opening and someone yelling at him to shut up. Harry screamed and called the man the worst swearword he knew. There was an ominous silence for a second before he heard the sound of a door slamming somewhere and quick footsteps.

Harry backed away from the wall, breathing furiously, feeling just about ready to attack the person when he came in. There was a slight shimmering in the air and James Potter strode in, his face like thunder, Lily following, although it looked like she had been trying to stop him.

"Will you just shut the hell up!" James yelled the moment he walked in. "Stop being such a spoilt brat!"

"You can't tell me what to do!" Harry shouted back, his fists clenched. "You're not my dad!"

At this, James face went purple. "I am your father and you will do what I say!"

"I won't!" Harry screamed, and he began to feel detached from the scene, as though these emotions weren't actually his. "You can't make me do anything!"

He had a glimpse of James' face twisting in anger before he was hit hard around the face and flung onto the floor. James stood there for a few seconds frozen in shock, his fist still raised in the air before he was pushed aside by Lily.

She ran forwards and knelt down beside her son, trying to help him up but he shoved her away violently and raised himself shakily into a sitting position, not looking at either Lily or James.

He sat there for a few seconds, breathing heavily before suddenly yelling and punching the floor. Lily jumped and James, shocked out of his stupor, stepped forwards, his speech shaky.

"Harry, listen I-"

"SHUT UP!"

There was a ringing silence after Harry's outburst, and he clenched his fists, grinding the next words out of his mouth.

"Just ... don't-don't go near me," he said, his teeth gritted. "I'm not myself, so go away, go away, I don't want to hurt anyone!"

"What do you-"

"Can't you just take me at my word for once!" he shouted. "He's in my head, he's angry and I can't - I can't stop him if you stay there!"

James looked over at Lily, his face showing confusion and worry, she nodded slightly and stood up, touching James softly and leading him out of the room. Harry watched them steadily until they left, letting out a breath he had been holding.

Another flash of pain hit him and he grimaced, curling himself into a ball and clutching his hair, rocking forwards and backwards, muttered words streaming from his mouth.

"Get out of my head Voldemort, get out get out get-"


Harry was poking morosely through his food when one of the four walls of his room made a crunching noise and rearranged itself into a door. He looked up, feeling slightly bored and not in the mood to talk to anyone.

The fact that it was Dumbledore did nothing to improve his mood. He had come to realise that this Dumbledore was different to the one he had known back home.

"So what now?" he said surlily. "Come to enlighten me on another one of your theories? What it is this time? I'm being controlled by aliens? Or perhaps I've got an evil twin?"

Dumbledore only fixed him with piercing eyes and Harry looked away, glaring at his food. He heard Dumbledore conjure a chair and sit down. He could feel he was being stared at and he kept his gaze resolutely downwards.

"We need to talk Harry."

"…"

"A few weeks ago, at the end of your trial, you mentioned a prophecy. What did you mean?"

Harry snorted and turned away before speaking quietly. "… If … I talk to you … then you've got to help me out of here."

A sigh. "I can't promise something like that Harry, we don't release-"

"No, I don't mean that!" said Harry sharply, looking up. "I mean to … to research something, I don't know, about alternate universes, see if there's a way to send me back to mine."

Dumbledore paused for a second, his face revealing a mild curiosity. "Alternate universes…?" he said quietly, almost to himself. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean…"

Harry looked away nervously, chewing on his thumb before saying. "It's the only thing that makes any sense. Everyone is so different here. Where I come from, I-I'm not a Deatheater, Voldemort ... well, he hates me ... my parents are dead over there, Sirius as well ... there's a war going on ... and I-"

"Ah yes, I see," said Dumbledore, his expression closed. "Another universe … you're innocent, you're not the same Harry Potter."

"Y-yeah," he stuttered nervously. "I mean, yeah, that's right. So … do you think you can help me, have you heard about something like this before?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore sharply. "It's remarkable what lies Deatheaters make up when they're cornered. Tales of time-travel, ghosts who possess humans, multiple personalities, I've heard it all. I suppose I should have expected it from you eventually."

"That's-that's … you think I'm lying?" said Harry increduously. "I'm telling the truth! I just found out, you – I need help getting back to my world! I thought you'd help me!"

"I'm not interested in any more lies," said Dumbledore, flatly. "I came here to find out what you know about a certain prophecy."

"Wha-?" said Harry, before his face turned red with anger and he yelled childishly,"I'm not telling you anything if you don't believe me!"

"A few weeks ago, at the end of your trial, you said that you were the one from the prophecy. What did you mean by it?" said Dumbledore, ignoring him.

Harry glared back, his mind ticking away. Was crossing worlds a bit like time-travelling? Hermione had said it wasn't allowed to change things, was it the same here? Would he be messing something up if he let them know something they hadn't known before? If he ... changed something?

"Is it ... a prophecy about ... someone born at the end of the July?" he said, choosing his words carefully.

"Yes."

All of Harry's doubts vanished from his mind. It was enough having to deal with the prophecy over in his world, he wasn't going to go anywhere near it over here.

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about," he said abruptly.

Dumbledore expression rapidly darkened. "This isn't a game, Harry," he said.

"I just told you I don't know anything about it," he replied, smirking, having fun riling up Dumbledore.

"Harry..."

"What? If you won't listen to me then I won't listen to you," Harry countered, his expression challenging.

Dumbledore paused for a second before sighing and saying, "We've done all we can to help you Harry ... but we can't help anymore. Your actions these last few days, all seem to point to you being, if not a Deatheater, at least dangerous. We can't keep you here any longer. In a few days we'll hand you over to the Ministry. I believe that in light of your most recent behaviour and numerous escape attempts it is unlikely they will send you to St Mungo's again..."

He stood up, his shoulders hunched seemingly in defeat and walked out of the room, leaving Harry sitting there.


Harry was lying curled up in his bed, sleeping deeply. A faint booming sound reached his ears but he didn't wake up, his brain merely incorporating the sound into his dream. There were sounds of yelling now and he moved slightly, a frown on his face, his dream taking an unpleasant turn.

He awoke suddenly, jolting, when something boomed loudly close to him. Bits of plaster were falling on his face from the ceiling and he brushed them off, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The room shook from another explosion and Harry sat up, jumping off the bed quickly.

"Hey, what's going on!" he yelled, starting to panic. "Let me out! What's happening out there?"

The ground shook and Harry lost his footing, falling to the ground. He coughed, having accidently inhaled some of the dust and crawled over to the nearest wall.

"Hey! Let me out!" he yelled, in between coughs, banging on the wall. "Someone! Hey-"

He heard something, a voice yell something on the other side, a light seemed to glow from inside the wall and the next second he was flung back through the air. He hit the ground, rolling over a few times before coming to a halt.

He groaned and tried to pull himself up but his breath caught and he started coughing uncontrollably, trying to get rid of all the dirt and grit in his lungs. Finally he was able to stop, although he breathed shallowly, not wanting to start another coughing fit.

Someone was standing over him. He stared up, trying to see through the dust in the air. The person reached forwards and grabbed his hand in a tight grip, bringing their face into view.

"You!" Harry managed to choke out. He coughed again and tried to wrench his arms back but Malfoy's grip remained solid. "Don't tell me you've come after me again! How many times ... do I have to tell you! I don't want to come back!"

Malfoy shrugged and waved his wand; a thin light blue rope appeared and tied Harry's hands together tightly, attaching them to Malfoy's left hand.

"So what?" he said, not looking at him. "We've come to find you anyway. Doesn't matter if you don't want to come back." He paused and looked at Harry, his fae serious. "We're going to fix you, okay? We'll get back you back to normal."

Harry pulled his hands back abruptly, disgusted. "Fix me? You listen here. I'm not your Harry, okay! I'm from - I'm from a different universe! I never was a Deatheater!"

Malfoy appeared utterly unaffected by Harry's little speech. He stared blankly at him and said, "You finished?" Harry could've screamed.

Malfoy stepped forward before stopped suddenly and saying "Oh yeah, I forgot."

He stretched out a hand and slapped Harry lightly on the neck, who jumped back skittishly. Malfoy held up his hand, showing something that looked a bit like a see-through band-aid.

"Tracking device," he stated, smiling slightly. "I planted it on you when we fought yesterday. You didn't think I really let you go, did you?"

"You-" Harry started, furious that Malfoy had tricked him but stopped when a wand was suddenly pointed between his eyes. His mouth went dry and he found himself unable to say another word.

Malfoy was looking at him with a hard, but slightly pitying look. "Come on," he said simply. He grabbed Harry's hands and lead him out of the room, still keeping his wand pointed at him.

None of the lights were on in the corridor outside, the blackness only broken occasionally by flashes of light. Harry stood stock still, hearing the yells close by and turned in shock to Malfoy.

"You attacked?"

"It's okay," said Malfoy reassuringly. "There's hardly any Order members here, and we're getting out of here before any reinforcements show up."

"Not you! What about my - I mean, James and Lily are here! You could hurt them!"

Malfoy started walking down the corridor, sticking close to the walls, dragging Harry along with him and talking, though Harry's mind wasn't really concentrating on his words.

"-never cared before, you won't care when we get you back to normal either, I mean-"

"Dad! Dad!" Harry suddenly shouted and Malfoy whirled around. Behind them, to their left, James Potter was climbing up some stairs, his hand clutching at his side, his mouth open and panting. He was obviously injured.

"James! Quick!"

Harry was still yelling. Malfoy shot a silencing curse at him, grabbed his tied hands and ran down the corridor, narrowly avoiding a curse sent by James. Harry wasn't sure who he had been aiming for.

Their desperate flight was stopped when Malfoy halted suddenly. Harry ran into the back of him and then peered over his shoulder.

Dumbledore was standing a few paces in front of the two, seeming to fill the corridor with his anger. Malfoy, Harry noted, had gone very pale.

"Hands up Malfoy," said a weak voice from behind.

Malfoy spun around, his movements panicked, dragging Harry around with him. James was leaning heavily against the wall, his wand pointed steadily ahead and his eyes hard. Harry smiled with relief at him but James avoided his eyes steadily.

"You're not taking Harry away again!" yelled Malfoy, his voice panicked and slipping higher. "He's ours! You can't have him!"

He fumbled in his pockets for something, bringing out a piece of paper and crumpling it up hastily. His movements were stopped suddenly when Dumbledore shot a stunning spell at him. He fell heavily, dragging Harry down with him.

Harry tried to sit up, fumbling with the ropes tied around his hands. His hand brushed against the piece of paper Malfoy had screwed up and immediately the view around him blurred, fading away, to be replaced by something darker.

His scar started burning as soon as he hit the ground. His free hand pressed tightly against his forehead, he tried to edge away from the pain, half-pulling Malfoy with him but his pathetic movements were stopped when he hit a soft form behind him. Dimly he realised black cloaked figures were standing all around him but the pain was so much that he felt only the slightest bit of worry.

The tallest figure waved one deathly white hand and immediately Harry's eyes rolled back in his head and he felt himself falling ... falling...


Harry slowly opened his eyes, his vision blurred and his head aching, feeling as if he had been unconscious for an age. Thick vapours hung in the air and there seemed to a lot of activity around him. He tried to turn his head but his body didn't seem to respond.

Someone bent over him and a man's voice said, "Here, drink this." A heavy goblet was pushed to his lips and Harry drank it, too weak to protest. The room seemed to spin upside down and he clung onto the table that he was lying on, terrified that he was going to fall.

"Any reaction?" came a voice Harry recognised as Snape's.

"Not in any useful way," said the other man. "Maybe if we change the catalyst we could get a better result."

A sigh. "No, we'll need to substitute the wormswort for something stronger…"

The voices faded and mixed together into a howl of sound, the world was spinning and Harry let himself slip away again.

The cycle seemed to go on for an age. Now and then he woke up, like a swimmer briefly touching the surface, before slipping into the dark waters of the unconscious again. He was given potions to drink, spells were performed on him and occasionally he was asked a few questions. Sometimes there were people around him, sometimes he was alone, but he never had enough energy to stay awake for more than a few minutes.

The next time he woke he was hovering in mid air and several witches and wizards were standing around him, some leafing through ancient books and other scribbling frantically on pieces of parchement. Harry realised with mild curiousity that his whole body felt numb, as though he had just been dunked in icy water.

He tried to move his arm and brought it up way too quickly, smacking it against the side of his head. He stared at it and tried again but the movement felt clumsy, as if he was moving someone else's body.

A wizard next to him waved his wand, muttering a spell and any feeling in his body disappeared, he felt as light as air, nothing was weighing him down. The wizard waved his wand again, Harry's feet touched the ground and he collapsed immediately. He pushed himself carefully up into a sitting position and found he had to keep one hand on the ground to stop himself falling to the floor again.

"Do you think that's enough pain reducing charms?" the wizard asked the witch beside him. She looked over at Harry and raised her eyebrows.

"I should think so. Any more and he won't be able to respond to questions."

She walked over and kneeled by Harry, taking his hand and carefully pricking one of his fingers with a needle. She might as well have stuck the needle in a block of ice for all the effect it had on him.

"Harry, can you hear me?" she asked.

Harry, who was carefully prodding his finger and examining the tiny droplets of blood with curiosity, looked up and nodded. He tried to reply, to ask something but his tongue refused to cooperate and he could only make an indecipherable mishmash of sounds. He frowned and tried again, with the same result.

The witch sighed in exasperation and looked over at the wizard. "He can't speak," she stated. "Great spell. You should have been put in Hufflepuff, Holding. It's a wonder you ever received a Hogwart's letter at all."

The wizard's cheeks flushed with anger and he hissed back, "You'd better watch your back the next time we're on a mission together or I might find myself accidently mistaking you for a Muggle, although that wouldn't be very difficult to do."

"I'd rip out your throat before that ever happens," replied the witch icily.

The two looked about ready to take out their wands and start dueling when a brown-haired man ran through one of the doors into the room. "Is he ready?" he asked, looking around quickly. "Come on, the Dark Lord's coming, get him on his feet."

Two Deatheaters ran over to Harry, grabbing him under his arms and wrenching him into a standing position. Someone ran over to the door and opened it, bowing as Voldemort walked in.

The two Deatheaters holding Harry bowed low, one pressing a hand down on Harry's neck, forcing him to bow as well. He stared down at the ground until the pressure on the back of his neck was released, enabling him to look back up.

Voldemort was standing no more than two paces away from Harry but curiously, he felt no fear. It was as if the pain reducing charm had numbed his feelings, or maybe the lack of pain in his scar had lulled him into a false sense of security.

He stared at him with those emotionless red eyes before striding forward and carefully touching one finger to Harry's scar. Harry felt neither the touch of Voldemort's finger nor the pain that usually came from such contact. He stared straight ahead, his eyes unfocused.

"Good," said Voldemort. "He doesn't feel pain from his scar."

A spindly hand touched Harry underneath the chin, lifting his head up until he was staring into Voldemort's eyes. The room started to spin around him and suddenly his head was filled with pain and images were flashing past him.

He was sitting in front of a desk facing the healer Smethwyck from St Mungo's. A bewitched quill was waiting on a parchement of paper. Smethwyck folded his hands together and said, "We'll move onto your childhood now Harry, tell me about life with the Dursleys."…

He was standing in front of the portrait with the snakes, they were talking to him in parseltongue. Regulus was bowing in front of him…

…"Harry, we're your parents, can't you trust us?"…

The memories flashing by started to go further back and Harry's body tensed. No! He couldn't let Voldemort see before he arrived here, he couldn't let him know. The presence in his mind seemed to sense the resistance and pushed harder to get through this barrier. Harry tried to harden his mind, to clear it, tried to remember what Snape had taught him but one memory was being pulled out, he couldn't stop it.

A voice echoed.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...

"Aaaarrgggh!"

The scream stopped abruptly as Harry was released from the spell. He hung limply in the two Deatheater's arms, his body shaking uncontrollably. Voldemort was standing in front of him, his eyes glinting with anger.

"What did you see?" he hissed. "What does it mean!" he moved forwards and grabbed Harry by the face, forcing him to look at him. Harry however just shut his eyes, finding comfort in the darkness.

The hand holding onto his face hit him hard, knocking his head to the side and the arms keeping him up suddenly let go, letting him fall numbly to the ground. Harry opened his eyes and pushed himself onto his back, feeling like he didn't have enough energy to sit up.

"What does it mean!" Voldemort demanded again and Harry started to laugh. He opened his mouth and let out a few nonsense syllables, laughing at the look on Voldemort's face.

"What have you done to him!" he yelled, now rounding on the other Deatheaters, who shrank back.

There was a second's silence before the witch that had spoken to Harry before suddenly said, "It was him!" pointing to the Deatheater standing beside her. "He did the spell wrong! He made it so Harry couldn't speak! He should've been put in Hufflepuff he's so-"

"Shut up!" hissed Voldemort, looking almost apoplectic with rage. He aimed his wand at Harry who was still laughing and said, "Finite Incantatem!"

The laughter was suddenly transformed into screams as the pain in Harry's scar came back to life. Voldemort passed a hand over his face and said in a voice barely controlling his anger, "Take him away," he said, motioning to the two Deatheaters that had been holding Harry up before.


The Deatheaters had dragged Harry to his old blue and gold room, leaving him lying on the bed. Exhausted, he had fallen asleep almost immediately.

He woke up a few hours later, coughing, his bedclothes crumpled and kicking onto the floor. His head swam and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the dizzy feeling to pass. His skin felt uncomfortably hot and a horrible lump was forming in his throat.

Finally he sat up and half crawled his way to the bathroom, before throwing up in the toilet. He slumped down next to it, pressing the flush button and gripping onto the towel rack, trying to make the pain go away.

"I'm sorry."

He looked up to see Malfoy standing by the bathroom door looking uncomfortable.

"I know all these potions and spells must be pretty bad … but they're all to help you, to try to get you back to your old self. Does it – does it hurt a lot?"

Harry could only stare back, gasping uncomfortably for air. He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead in an effort to cool his skin. He tried to clear his throat but only succeeded in triggering a coughing fit.

"I need-" he finally managed to say, his voice scratchy and hoarse. "I … need some water."

Malfoy almost tripped over himself in his haste to get a glass. He filled it up at the sink and brought it over to Harry, who took it with one shaking hand. He drank a few sips but even that much made his stomach turn. He set the glass down on the ground and pressed his arms against his stomach, folding himself over as he tried to stop himself being sick in front of Malfoy.

"Do you – do you want me to call a mediwizard or something?"

Harry shook his head. When the sick feeling passed he unfolded himself, looked up and said, "What's the point?"

"…The point…?"

"The point!" repeated Harry. "I mean I'm … never going to … go home, am I? I may as well … get used to … this place being my home … ha, ha … I guess that would make … Voldemort my dad, eh? And … and I suppose you'd be my brother. Well,at least it's better than the bloody Dursleys!"

He started laughing, coughing intermittently. Malfoy was looking very worried now, he ran out of the bathroom, and Harry heard him open the door and yell at someone in the corridor outside.

"Oh … don't bother about … a doctor," said Harry when Malfoy came back in. "I don't want … to be cured … I'd really much rather … be left here to die, preferably … in a very painful and long way." He laughed again. "Do you think … you can arrange that?"

Malfoy's shocked and scared expression made Harry laugh even harder and he was still laughing when another Deatheater ran in, presumably the Mediwizard. Harry's stomach was hurting now from laughing so much but he didn't stop, at least that pain was better than the horrible sick pain from before.

"He's ill," said Malfoy, trying to explain. "I mean, he's-he's saying things and I don't – I don't-" sensing his jabbering wasn't helping matters he bit down on his lip and managed to shut himself up.

The mediwizard brought out a small glass bottle and took off the top, waving it under Harry's nose. The vapours seemed to stick to the back of his throat and he started coughing violently. Blackness gathered around the edges of his vision and finally he slumped down on the floor.


Draco ran out of his best friend's room, wiping his face and slipping his Deatheater mask on quickly, hoping no-one had had time to see the tears running down his face. He sprinted the last few metres to his room and shut the door quickly, leaning against it heavily.

This was even worse than he'd thought. Why was Harry acting like this? He was meant to be the same when he came back. Draco had followed everything to the letter, he'd done everything he was meant to ... so why hadn't his best friend come back?

He slid down to the floor and rubbed at his eyes through the mask. It had been a few days since they'd got Harry back, but he'd only been awake for maybe only a few hours altogether, and he hadn't exactly been in his right mind.

The Dark Lord didn't know why or how Harry had come back, and Draco wasn't sure if he was ever going to tell him, since the book he'd used had come from the Dark Lord's collection. But he needed to tell someone, he needed some help.

Normally, the person he'd go to would be Harry, pretty ironic, seeing as he was the one person he couldn't go to. Draco laughed and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. How pathetic was he? He didn't have any friends other than Harry that he could talk to.

He lost himself in thoughts of self-pity for a while before his brain starting thinking again.

Someone from the Department of Mysteries would maybe know something. They had access to all sort of strange stuff there, maybe there'd be documents about people who had tried this kind-of thing before. He sighed. How was he meant to get help from them? They were all in the Muggle-lover's pocket.

But ... wasn't there someone who...? Luna! Harry's old girlfriend ... her mum was an Unspeakable, wasn't she! Draco sat up, hope rising. Hadn't she helped Harry just before? That's what he'd heard, and she was getting questioned for it by the Order. Surely she would-

He jumped up and ran over to his desk, leaning over and leafing through his writing parchement quickly. What the-? Why was all of the paper here only ever black? He gritted his teeth, flicking through again, trying to find some parchement that didn't look too evil and suspicious.

Finally he settled on plain black paper with a small logo of the Dark Mark at the top right hand corner. He looked at the logo for a second before scribbling it out as much as he could and drawing a little smiley face next to it. Well, that would have to do for now.

He dashed off the letter, making it as unthreatening as he possibly could. He didn't sign his name, only labelling himself as a friend. He'd never met Luna before, all he knew about her was what Harry had told him so he didn't want to take any risks.

He folded the parchement over, writing Luna's name on the front and grabbed a handful of black powder from a jar next to him, sprinkling it over the letter. It sparkled for a few moments before disappearing. Draco let himself relax.

All he had to do now was wait.