Greetings and salutations! My name's LAXgirl, a recent crossover writer from the Lord of the Rings fanfiction world to the Harry Potter universe. This is my first attempt at writing a Harry Potter fanfic and I'm pretty much just putting it out there to see if I should continue with this or not. I'm American so if you ever see anything that's not quite British English correct, feel free to point it out to me. Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters are not mine and belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. So don't sue me!

Chapter One: An Unfortunate Chance Meeting

Harry stared at the roll of parchment in front of him with distant, unfocused eyes. He was only partially aware of the parchment's title glaring back up at him in bold, black ink. Explain the different properties and uses of powdered monkshood leaves, diluted bat blood, and shaved earwigs; and list what three types of antidotes they are the major ingredients in.

It was his summer homework. Potions, to be exact. Even after being excused from end of term exams because of his participation in the Triwizard's Tournament, Snape still seemed determined to assign Harry a workload of essays for the summer to make up for his year of missed Potions exams.

Harry ran his eyes over what he had already written. Powdered monkshood leaves, his essay began... and that was it. The dark haired fifteen year old tapped the tip of his quill against the desk top agitatedly and glanced up at the small calender hanging above his bed. August seventeenth the calender said. It was only two more weeks until his scheduled return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. (He had gotten his Hogwart's letter only a few days before.) Only two more weeks till start of term and he still hadn't finished his summer homework.

But somehow Harry couldn't seem to make his mind focus. The properties and uses of powdered monkshood leaves and diluted bat's blood, or even the knowledge that his already tenuous grade in Potions hung in the balance what he wrote in this essay, just didn't seem to matter to him. Nothing seemed to matter to him anymore. Nothing since June twenty-fourth of last term. Not since the third task of the Triwizard's Tournament...

Harry heaved a heavy sigh and set his quill back down. It was no use. He just couldn't seem to make himself think about essays or schoolwork right now. No matter what he did, he couldn't escape memories of that fateful night barely two months ago. Even in his dreams he was haunted by images of Cedric Diggory's body laying dead on the ground and the wretched, red-eyed form of Voldemort rising from the surface of a bubbling cauldron.

Harry stifled a shiver at the mere memory of it and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a tired hand over his bloodshot eyes. He hadn't been able to get a decent night's sleep since Voldemort's return. He felt constantly on edge, waiting to hear even the smallest inkling of news about the risen dark lord. He had even taken to hiding outside under the window of the living room in his Aunt Petunia's hydrangeas to listen to the evening Muggle news. But as of yet he had heard nothing. Not even from his friends Ron or Hermione, or Sirius. He received a steady flow of letters from all of them, but all their letters basically said was that they couldn't tell Harry anything about Voldemort or what was going on, and that he should be careful until they saw him next. Nor had they mentioned anything about him coming to stay with them at the Burrow for the remaining week or so of break.

The thought of being totally in the dark and feeling like he was being left out and forgotten was starting to grate on Harry's nerves. Why wasn't anyone telling him anything? Shouldn't he – the person who had actually been there when Voldemort returned – have a right to know what was going on!

Seized by a sudden surge of helpless frustration, Harry took his summer Potion's essay, rolled it up, and angrily threw it across the room at his school trunk. Hedwig, who had been dozing in her cage with her head tucked under her wing, startled and gave an indignant hoot for being woken like she had. Harry paid her no mind.

Getting up out of his chair, Harry began to pace his room like a caged animal. It wasn't fair! They didn't have any right to keep him in the dark like this! He had a right to know!

"BOY!" a sudden voice boomed from downstairs, so loud that it seemed to resonate from the very floorboards. "GET DOWN HERE NOW!" It was Uncle Vernon.

Great... Just what I need right now... Harry grumbled to himself. It was bad enough that none of his friends or godfather wanted to tell him anything, but he had also been stuck all summer at number four Pivet Drive with his Muggle aunt and uncle who hated everything and anything to do with magic and made a concerted effort to let Harry know this every possible opportunity they got.

"BOY!" came another booming yell from below.

"Coming!" Harry shouted back, just managing to keep the bitterness out of his voice for having to do such a thing.

Descending the stairs to the front hallway of his aunt and uncle's house, Harry was met with a very purple-faced Uncle Vernon. "Where have you been, boy?" he roared as Harry finally came to the last step. "I had to call you twice! What's the matter? Got rocks in your ears?"

"Sorry," Harry murmured, though truthfully not very sorry at all. "I was doing homework..."

Uncle Vernon made an angry, strangled sound somewhere deep inside his throat. "Homework, eh? Probably practicing pulling rabbits out of a hat or something like that if you ask me." Harry didn't say anything and merely stood there, staring back at his uncle and waiting to hear why he'd been called downstairs. "Petunia, Dudley and I are going in to London to get Dudley some new shoes for school," Vernon said, glaring down at his nephew.

"I won't touch anything while you're gone," Harry said, immediately assuming Uncle Vernon was about to give him the usually speech about not touching the TV, stereo, or refrigerator while they were gone. "When do you plan to be back?"

Uncle Vernon eyed Harry distrustfully for a moment, then said, "I'm not going to have to worry about you using your little voodoo magic around the house because you're coming with us."

Harry stared at his uncle dumbfounded. "What?"

"I said you're coming with us. You probably need to buy stuff for that abnormal school of yours and I refuse to drive you back there just so you can go shopping. You'll come with us now and get what you need. But don't expect us to pay for anything. I refuse to put any of my hard-earned money towards buying you cheap magic tricks."

Harry stood there for a long moment of shocked silence, staring at his uncle in disbelief. Were the Dursleys really going to take him with them into London instead of locking him in his room for the afternoon? Not that the idea of spending a day with his aunt, uncle, and cousin was really something he would have willingly chosen to do, but the prospect of getting out of the house for a little while was an offer that sounded almost too good to be true. Over the course of the summer he hadn't gone anywhere besides walks around the neighborhood and maybe to the park. The thought of being able to get out and let himself become lost in the hustle and bustle of busy London was something he was not about to pass up.

"Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Go get ready! We're leaving in five minutes, and don't think we're going to wait for you!" Uncle Vernon yelled, breaking Harry out of his trance.

"Alright," Harry said, turning on his heels and heading back up the stairs to grab his school list and money pouch.

Well, at least something that summer was starting to look up...

When Uncle Vernon finally parked the car and shut the engine off, Harry flung the door open and literally rolled out of the car with a great gasp of relief. Over the past year his cousin Dudley had to have put on a good forty pounds, and now took up almost the entire backseat of his uncle's company car. Harry had had to spend the entire ride into London tightly pressed up against the door with the doorhandle painfully jabbing him in his ribs. But even then Dudley had complained that Harry was taking up his side of the car, which had then inevitably led to Uncle Vernon yelling at Harry to stop crowding Dudley and stop taking up so much room. Harry was actually surprised the Dursleys hadn't made him ride in the trunk (though in all honesty he would have rather ridden there than squished up against the door). He supposed they were just afraid of what the neighbors would say if they saw him climbing into the trunk and having the hood shut on him...

A light drizzle had begun to fall from the slate gray sky overhead, filling the streets with a fine, misty haze.

"Be back at the car by seven o'clock," Uncle Vernon said, opening an umbrella and holding it up over Aunt Petunia's and Dudley's heads. (Despite Uncle Vernon's best efforts though, Dudley' head was the only thing not getting wet by the rain; over half his bulk protruded from under the umbrella). "And you'd better plan to find your own food for supper; Petunia, Dudley and I are going out to eat." With that, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley then turned and began walking away down the street, leaving Harry behind, standing alone in the rain.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Harry pulled the hood of Dudley's baggy, second-hand sweatshirt up over his head, and started walking the opposite direction his relatives had just gone. It was at least ten blocks to the Leaky Cauldron and its magical gateway to Diagon Alley.

At least it'll give me time to clear my head, Harry thought as he started off, wiping away water from his glasses as he went. Truth be told, he really didn't mind the thought of walking ten blocks to the Leaky Cauldron. There was something indescribably soothing about walking in the rain. The soft patter of raindrops on his head seemed to help clear his mind and make everything in the world much simpler, though he still probably wouldn't have minded having an umbrella.

Who knew, maybe his little walk through the rain would even give him time to think about what he was going to write for Snape's essay.

But as Harry made his way down the misty street, head lowered to the rain running in his eyes, the Boy Who Lived failed to notice a dark, shadowy figure slip out of a narrow alley and follow him down the street.

If there was one thing in the world Professor Severus Snape, Potion's Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hated above all else, it was rain. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was just something about it that instantly put him in a dark and unpleasant mood. Perhaps it was how it made everything in the castle feel cold and damp. Or maybe it was how it made everything look so dismal and bleak. Whatever the case, he hated rain and woe be to any Gryffindor he had to teach on a wet and dreary day.

He didn't always have this unexplainable hatred for rain. No, in fact, in his younger years he used to always love a good thunderstorm, complete with forked lightening and clapping peals of thunder. But ever since he began working as a spy for Dumbledore in Voldemort's ring of Death Eaters, he had acquired this strange abhorrence for storms. Perhaps (though he did not like to ponder the thought overmuch) it was because such storms always seemed to remind him of his dark and turbulant past.

Snape, however, pushed these thoughts from his mind and turned his attention back onto what he was doing. Madam Pomfrey was in need of a fresh supply of pain relieving potion before the start of term. Lord only knew what kinds of accident were bound to happen this year. After last term, Snap wasn't about to put it past any student to let a hex or two fly at some other unsuspecting classmate. And then there had been that whole disaster with the final task of the Triwizard's Tournament...

Snape began to pound harder at the pickled beetle brains in the stone mortar he was working. If only they had figured out Mad-Eye Moody really wasn't who he said he was sooner... Then perhaps none of this would have happened.

Damn that Potter... Snape cursed, his thoughts almost instantly turning towards the scarred, prodigal wonder boy that seemed to be the living embodiment of everything he hated and loathed. Arrogant. Rash. Self-centered. No sense of rules or authority. The list went on.

If only that boy hadn't gotten himself into the whole mess and chosen as a school champion, or managed to get to the Portkey that had been disguised as the Triwizard's cup before anyone else... Then none of this would have happened... Then Voldemort wouldn't have been able to rise even stronger than he was before and ready to wage a second war on the Wizarding world.

But then again, Snape was unable to stop himself before he'd already thought it. It wasn't the boy's fault he was entered into the Goblet of Fire under the name of a fourth school, or played as a pawn through the entire tournament to be nothing more than a catalyst for the Dark Lord's return...

Snape snarled at himself and his own treacherous thoughts. The pickled beetle brains he was grinding were now nothing more than a fine brown power at the bottom of the bowl.

That boy is nothing but trouble, he told himself firmly, just like his father.

Giving the now thoroughly powderized beetle brains a few more pounds just for good measure, Snape dumped them into the simmering cauldron he was working over. The viscous material instantly turned a brilliant shade of green and let off a smell that was vaguely reminiscent of wet grass and frogs. Perfect, Snape smiled, stirring the bubbling concoction with a long wooden spoon. It never ceased to amaze him how he could always brew the perfect potion without fail.

Setting his spoon to the side to give the potion a little bit more time to simmer, the dark haired man turned from the table and slowly made his way across the room to one of the small openings in the upper portion of the wall that served as his dungeon-office's only form of windows. Outside he could hear the soft patter of falling rain.

For a few minutes, Snape just stood there, listening to the rhythmic pounding of rain, unable to tear himself away from its hypnotic sound. Though he could not explain it, he suddenly felt like a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach that something very bad was about to happen. Something that could possibly affect him and all those around him. Something that could very well determine the fate of the entire world as he knew it.

Feeling unsettled and distinctly ill at ease, but unable to think of anything that could have caused such a strange feeling, Snape turned away from the window back towards his simmering cauldron of lime-green potion.

Damn rain...

Harry wasn't sure when the feeling started, but he felt as though he was being watched. It was an unnerving, persistent feeling that refused to go away. Several times now he had felt compelled to look behind him. But every time he did he saw nothing out of sorts. There were only a few other people out walking the rainy streets with him. They were all Muggles by the looks of it. A mother with her young daughter close in tow hurried by him the opposite direction, several shopping bags tucked under her arm and her bright pink umbrella bobbing up and down with every step. A few other people sat on metal chairs under the awning of nearby cafe, sipping coffee and nibbling on scones. Several other people sloshed past Harry down the street, hurrying to get themselves out of the rain. But that was it. Nothing else out of the ordinary or the least bit suspicious.

Shrugging his shoulder, Harry couldn't help but wonder if Mad-Eye's own paranoia of being constantly hunted by dark wizards had started out like this:a constant, nagging feeling he was being followed. Harry had to laugh at the idea. I wonder what they would call me if I started acting like Moody. Probably something like Mad-Cap Potter or Nut-Head Harry.

Shaking the water out of his bangs, Harry started off again. But after only another block, the same feeling that he was being followed struck again, this time stronger than ever.

Whirling around on his heels, Harry scanned the street behind him. He was just about to declare the street clear again and himself paranoid when out of the corner of his eye he saw what looked like a dark, cloaked figure slip down a narrow side street half a block behind him. For a moment, Harry wondered if he wasn't beginning to see things -that stress was finally starting to take its toll. But after another moment of hesitant indecision, Harry knew he had to investigate and find out who it was he thought he saw.

Turning back towards the street he'd seen the mysterious stranger disappear down, the fifteen year old wizard pulled his wand out of his back pocket. He knew he wasn't suppose to do magic outside of school because he was under aged, but somehow just having the familiar feel of his wand in his hand made him feel better. Better safe than sorry, as his Aunt Petunia always said whenever she insisted Dudley wear his galoshes when it rained.

As he made neared, Harry pressed himself against the side ofa building and peered down the street. He knew how he must look to anybody that might happen to stroll past at that moment. But the rain had begun to pick up a little more, and the street he was on was now almost completely deserted. Only a few people sitting in a nearby cafe could have seen him, and none of them seemed to be paying him any mind.

Looking down the street, Harry saw no one and slowlystepped into it. This street looked almost exactly like the one he had just come off except it was slightly narrower and seemed to have less shops lining it. But like the other it looked completely deserted and devoid of human life.

For a moment Harry just stood there and stared down the empty street. Great... Now you really are acting like Mad-Eye Moody, he thought sourly. Shaking his head, Harry turned back towards the street he'd just come. But just as he was about to put his wand back into his pocket, he heard a low, deep voice speak almost right behind him.

"Well, well, well... If it isn't the famous Harry Potter..."

Harry almost jumped a foot in the air and whirled around on his heels. There, standing barely even five feet away, was a tall, dark cloaked figure with his hood pulled low down over his face. A jet black wand was clutched in his right hand.

"I thought that was you when I saw you getting out that car with those Muggles," the mysterious man said, his voice low and somehow dangerous.

"Who are you?" Harry demanded, aiming his wand at the other man's chest. "Why are you following me?"

"I thought that was you," the man went on as if he hadn't even heard Harry. "But I couldn't help asking myself how such a pathetic looking little boy could have possibly been the reason for my Master's defeat..."

Harry froze, his blood running cold. Great... How was it that he always managed to somehow get himself alone and cornered by one of Voldemort's disgruntled ex-servants?

"But my Master is now returned," the man went on, "and by your blood no less. And wouldn't he reward me if I returned to him with you dead by my own hands" Even without being able to see his face, Harry could picture the evil smile etched across the man face by the gleeful anticipation in his voice. "Oh, Lord Voldemort would reward me well! I would become his most trusted servant and second-in-command. With your death, my Lord would finally be able to achieve everything he desires."

Harry griped his wand tighter and pointed it at the cloaked Death Eater's chest. "Well, I'm sorry to ruin your day but I don't plan on dying any time soon."

"What a foolish little boy you are," the man laughed. "I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter." Then lifting his wand, the Death Eater leveled it at Harry's chest. "Avada– "


Both shouting their curses at the same time, Harry was able to stop the man from finishing his curse, but the hooded Death Eater quickly leapt out of the path of Harry's Disarming Spell and fired off another hex.

Harry managed to block the curse, but was driven back several feet by the force of the blast. "Stupefy!" Harry cried as he saw the Death Eater coming at him again with his wand held high to deliver the fatal curse. The hooded Death Eater once more blocked Harry's spell and deflected it to the side with a wave of his wand like he was doing nothing more than shooing away a pesky fly.

Harry was beginning to panic. He needed help. He didn't know how he was going to defeat this man. The Death Eater seemed able to block every one of his spells without even the batt an eye. He was undeniably one of the strongest dark wizards Harry had ever had to face (except for Voldemort of course).

And he just kept coming...

Unaware of his own actions, Harry took an unconscious step backwards from the approaching Death Eater. The man was raising his evil looking black wand again, a faint greenish haze beginning to form at its tip.

No... Please, someone help! Harry wanted to cry out as he saw the greenish haze begin to grow darker and more condensed. He tried to raise his wand to fire off another Disarming Spell, but all he could manage were a few red and gold sparks.

The man was once more speaking.

"Avada Kedav–"

But Harry never heard him finish the curse. For just at that moment, he suddenly heard the sound of screeching tires and squealing brakes, and felt a large, powerful mass slam into the right side of his body. He felt himself violently thrown off his feet, sent flying through the air. And just before everything went black, the strangest, most peculiar thought happened to cross Harry's mind:

He never did get a chance to finish his summer potions essay for Snape...

Professor Snape looked up from his work and looked around in confusion. He had just been in the process of pouring his finished pain relieving potion into individual glass vials when he suddenly felt the phantom sensation of something large slamming into his side. Looking down, he saw that he had spilled some of the lime-green potion he'd been pouring.

Grabbing a towel, Snape quickly began sopping up the liquid before it could drip down over the side of the table onto the floor. Damn it... he cursed as he patted and mopped the spill. Finally finishing, he tossed the sodden towel to the side and glanced around at the empty room.

What the bloody hell was that? he wondered, moving away from the table and standing in the middle of the room. Unable to answer his own question, Snape wandered over towards the small, barred windows on the other end of the dungeon, feeling shaken and distinctly ill at ease with the sudden sensation he'd just experienced. Looking through the bars into the driving rain beyond, the Potions Master was once more seized by an unexplainable surge of dread and the unshakable certainty that something very bad had just happened.

But whatever that could be, he could not say...

The first thing that registered in Harry's brain as he felt himself return to consciousness was the cacophony of unintelligible shouts coming from all around him. Groggily blinking his eyes open, Harry forced himself up into a sitting position on the cold, wet ground.

"Oww," he groaned as he felt his whole body protest. He felt like he had just been hit head on by several runaway bludgers. His whole body ached with a pain that seemed to sink into the very marrows of his bones. His head pounded and ears rang with the shouts filling the air.

"I didn't even see him! Oh my God! Oh my God, what have I done? I'm so sorry! I just didn't see him! It was like he came out of nowhere!"

Wincing as he forced his throbbing body to stand, Harry looked around to find a crowd now filling the once deserted street. Just a few feet away Harry saw a younger man in his early twenties with close cut blonde hair standing beside the open door of a running car. Several other people were standing around him, trying to calm him. But the man didn't even seem to notice them and continued to stare at a spot half a dozen paces in front of his car, his hand clamped over his mouth as if he were about to be sick and his eyes filled with a wild, horrified look.

"I swear I didn't even see him! I just couldn't stop in time. I tried to brake, but with the rain on the road... Oh God, is he alright? I didn't even see him, I didn't see him! Please tell me he's okay!"

Looking where the man continued to stare, Harry saw another group of people kneeling over something in the middle of the street.

"Someone call an ambulance!" an older man with thinning grey hair called from where he knelt next to a motionless form. Harry could not make out what it was though through the press of bodies crowded around it.

"Tell them to hurry!" a woman beside the man exclaimed. "Oh God, the poor thing..." she breathed, turning her attention back down onto whatever it was everyone was huddling around.

More and more people were filling the street, drawn out of the surrounding buildings and shops by the drama taking place in the middle of the street.

Harry quickly scanned the faces of the growing crowd. He couldn't see the hooded Death Eater he was fighting; he must have run away when whatever accident just happened here occurred. Somewhat relieved by that thought, Harry turned his attention back to the small group of people in the middle of the street.

What happened? The last thing he remembered was fighting the mysterious Death Eater in an almost completely deserted street. And now it looked like he had woken up in the middle of some terrible car accident... What happened?

Seized by a sudden surge of morbid curiosity, Harry slowly made his way towards the huddle of people. People moved and hurried about him in an almost chaotic fashion, as if they weren't quite sure what they were suppose to do. But none of them seemed to pay him any mind. Drawing near, Harry stood back and watched as several people kneeling on the ground suddenly stood and moved aside– and froze.

The thing everyone was huddled around and yelling over was a person. But not just any person. It was a boy. A boy in a large baggy sweatshirt and jeans several sizes too big for him with wild black hair that seemed to stick up in every which direction. He wore thick glasses and just under his wild mess of bangs Harry could make out the thin outline of a lightening bolt shaped scar...

The boy was him!

Harry stood frozen to the spot, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. It was him laying on the ground. But he was standing right there! Surely this had to be some kind of mistake or horrible dream. This just couldn't be right!

"Where is that ambulance?" the woman kneeling beside his motionless body demanded, gently taking one of his hands into her own as if trying to offer comfort. "And where are his parents? No child should be let to wonder the streets alone in the rain. Oh dear, he looks no older than my own son..."

"Has someone called the authorities?" someone else called.

"Yes. They should be here any minute. I just hope the ambulance gets here though..." the older man said. "I think this is serious..." Shrugging his suit coat off, he bundled it under Harry's head as a makeshift pillow againstthe pavement.

"What happened?" another person asked from the ring of people.

"Don't know. Driver of the car said the boy just jumped out in front of him. Tried to stop but couldn't brake in time. Hit the kid head on..." someone else replied.

"God... poor kid... Do you think he'll make it?"

Harry stared in horrified disbelief, the words of the huddled group only numbly registering in his brain. This just wasn't right!

"No! I'm right here!" Harry began to frantically shout, trying to make himself heard over the background murmur of yells and shouts. "It's alright, I'm right here! I'm right here!" But no one even looked up at him as he pushed his way to the edge of people kneeling around his body. No! This wasn't right! He was right there! Couldn't they see him? "I'm right here! I'm right here!"

"Where's that ambulance?" the woman once more shouted, her voicealmost hysterical.

"Don't worry," someone from the back of the group called. "I think I hear them coming." Even as they said it, somewhere in the distance the muffled warble of approaching ambulance sirens could be heard.

"Can't you hear me?" Harry shouted almost right in the older man's ear. "I'm right here!" But the man didn't even flinch let alone turn his head to look at the boy who stood barely five inches away from him, desperately shouting into his ear.

Why can't they hear me! Harry wanted to wail in growing panic. Why won't anyone look at me!

But just then another man approached the group of people surrounding Harry's body and came to stand right next to Harry where he stood watching in growing panic. So close that he could have brushed right up against Harry's shoulder. Only the man didn't brush up against him. Rather the man's body went right through Harry as if he wasn't even there.

Giving a startled cry, Harry lept back from the man in surprise. He was shaking now as comprehension slowly began to dawn. No! no! no! Please no! Looking down at his hands for the first time since waking, the teenage wizard felt his stomach drop out from under him as if he had been turned upside down on his head. No! no! no! NO!

His hands! His hands! What happened to his hands? No longer were they fleshy pink and solid, but rather a pale transparent grey! He could actually see his feet through them! He was a ghost!

"NOOO!" he wailed in terror. "No! It's not real! I'm not dead!" But looking at his still, lifeless body in the middle of the street, Harry could not deny that what he was seeing was real.

"Make way! Make way!" someone began shouting. "The paramedics are here! Move aside!"

Harry watched in sickening helplessness as the people crowded around his body broke up and began moving away to the sides. The woman holding his hand gave it one finally squeeze before she too slowly stood and stepped away, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she sadly looked at him before being swallowed from sight by the crowd.

Pushing their way through the crowd, a pair of paramedics suddenly appeared and hurried towards Harry's body, pulling a gurney piled with bags and other equipment behind them. Kneeling beside the motionless boy, one paramedic leaned down over Harry and peeled one eyelid back as she shined a tiny flashlight into his empty green eye. On the other side of Harry, the other paramedic was cutting away Harry's sweatshirt to press a stethoscope to his chest.

"Did he regain consciousness at any point?" the female paramedic demanded to the hovering crowd.

"No," someone called back. "He's been like this the entire time."

The paramedics worked quickly, examining Harry's body and taking vital signs.

"We have to get him to the ER," the male paramedic finally said as he leaned back and ripped the stethoscope from his ears. "He's suffered several broken bones and possible internal damage, and his pulse is dropping fast."

Working together, the two paramedics hoisted Harry's broken body up onto the gurney as gently as they could and strapped him down, all while Harry stood barely five feet away watching in a numbed sort of trance.

"Make way! Coming through!" the female paramedic called, pulling the gurney with Harry's body as she and her partner hurried back towards their waiting ambulance with their injured patient in tow.

For a moment, Harry just stood there, lost in what felt like a terrible whirlwind of confusion. What was he suppose to do? Should he follow them or stay here? He just didn't know. What were you suppose to do when you suddenly woke up and found yourself a ghost no one could see or hear? This wasn't exactly a situation he could have prepared for. He felt like he had suddenly been set adrift in a turbulent sea of choppy water that was trying to drown him in its dark, watery depths.

Unable to think of anything else, Harry turned and sprinted after the paramedics. They had already begun to lift the stretcher with his body on it up into the back of the ambulance. His body lifelessly bounced around as the gurney was jostled about and shoved into place. Securing it, the two then jumped up into the back of the ambulance after it and took their places on either side of Harry's body.

Harry barely even managed to throw his incorporeal self in as well before the two shut the door behind them and signaled the driver to go. Sirens blared to life and the ambulance was off. Dazed and terrified beyond words, the fifteen year old wizard hunkered down in the corner of the speeding bus, watching as the two paramedics set to work on his broken body. IV lines were inserted into veins and an oxygen mask fitted over his mouth and nose.

This is all just a bad dream, Harry kept telling himself as he watched them begin sticking tiny circular pads across his heart and chest. Just a bad dream... That's all this is, just a bad dream... But no matter how long he sat there watching the two paramedics fight to save his life (the irony of them doing that whilehe sat there watching as a ghost hopelessly lost on him) he did not feel himself drawing any closer to waking up from this hellish nightmare.

Dumbledore will know what to do, he suddenly thought. If nothing else, Dumbledore will know what to do... When he finds out about what happened and comes, he'll know exactly what to do... But somehow even this didn't seem able to totally banish the terror that was steadily building inside.

He suddenly felt the ambulance make a sharp left and speed up a smooth driveway. As the ambulance came to a fast but smooth stop, the two paramedics leapt forwards and threw open the back doors. The male paramedic quickly clambered down and turned to help his partner lower the gurney out of the ambulance and prop it up on its legs so they could wheel it through a set of glass doors with the words emergency room stenciled across them in bold white letters. Harry followed close behind, still feeling as if all of this was just some sort of terrible dream he couldn't yet wake up from.

His body was swiftly wheeled into a large, white, sterilized looking room off the main corridor of the hospital with several doctors and nurses already waiting.

"Status?" one of the doctors asked as he bent over Harry's body with a stethoscope in his ears.

"Blood pressure eighty-three over thirty-two and still falling. Kid was hit by a car. Sustained three broken ribs, a fractured tibia, and possible internal damage" the female paramedic said, backing away to let the doctors closer. "No known family was there with him at the scene when we arrived."

"Get me two bags of O neg blood, Marge, and then go see if you can't find any information on this boy's family from the police. We may need to get them here fast..." the doctor said as one of the nurses turned and hurried out the door. Marge quickly returned only a few minutes later with two pouches of dark red blood and disappeared again.

It looked like utter chaos to Harry as he watched the doctors and nurses frantically work over his thin, motionless body.

"Blood pressure sixty-five over twenty! Heart rate at thirty-three!" one nurse yelled.

"Someone go call Mathers up in surgury. Tell him we're gonna have a serious car accident victim coming up soon," another doctor called.

"Heart rate at twenty-two and still falling!"

"I need more blood over here! The kid's bleeding out!"


"I need five Ccs of adrenalin, stat!"


A long, loud drone suddenly filled the room.

"The kid's flat lined. Someone grab a crash cart!"

Harry watched in frozen helplessness as one nurse turned and pulled a large boxy machine on wheels over to the table. One of the doctors quickly grabbed two identical paddles up from it and waited as another nurse leaned forward and spread some thick jelly like material on them.

"Ready?" the doctor called, pressing the paddles to Harry's chest. "CLEAR!"

Harry's body arched up over the table and flopped back down, his head lifelessly lolling to the side. The electronic whine continued to drone.

"Again! CLEAR!"

Harry's body once more jumped and fell.




Still nothing. The high pitched, somehow finalistic sound of the electronic drone seemed to bore into Harry's brain, drilling into him the unquestionable, horrifying truth of the whole scene.

One of the others doctors ripped off his gloves and angrily threw them onto the floor. "Do you want to call it?" he asked the other doctor with the metal paddles still in his hands.

No! No! No! I'm right here! Can't you see me! I'm not gone! I'm right here! Harry wanted to rant and rave until the doctors finally heard him or his voice grew hoarse from trying. But no sound seemed able to escape his constricted throat.

"Yeah... Time of death, three thirteen in the afternoon..."


But there was nothing to change the horrible truth of the matter. Harry Potter, the legendary Boy Who Lived, was dead.

To Be Continued...

Like it? Hate it? Should I keep going with it or not? I accept any and all forms of response and constructive criticism and hope to hear what you thought.

Well, til next time!