The Abuse in a Violently Different Dimension
By Juu & Jek
4. With you
I woke up in a dream today
To the cold of the static and put my cold feet on the floor
Forgot all about yesterday
Remembering I'm pretending to be where I'm not anymore
The morning was certainly very clear.
The sun fell straight onto Harry Potter's face and the Gryffindor threw drowsy an arm over his eyes, trying in vain to hang onto the last wisps of his peacefull sleep. He failed miserably though, as the morning demanded to be acknowledged.
He pushed the covers off his body and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Then he tried for a moment to sit up, but let himself fall exhausted backwards onto the mattress again.
He felt tired and sleepy. As if he was drained of all his energy and to add to that, a firm headache was starting at the back of his head. Gradually the pain seemed to infect his whole body and within moments everything was aching.
Harry cursed the sun for waking him up.
Finally after a long time he tried to sit up again and he miraculously succeeded. He squinted at the nightstand for his glasses, but they didn't appear to be there. He quickly swept with a hand over it just in case, but he couldn't feel it either.
With a groan he leaned over the other side of the bed where his clothes lied in a heap on the ground. He fumbled through them, found his wand and mentally cursed himself for not keeping his wand under the pillow. What if he needed it at night? Or in an emergency?
He sat back up again on the bed and waved shortly. "Accio glasses."
After a moment, he was hit against the head by the glasses and he swiftly grabbed them out of the air before they could land on the bed. He put them on and blinked.
"Why the hell is everything so… purple?"
A quickly glance around the room proved that he definitely wasn't in the Gryffindor Dorms. Before he could wonder why he wasn't there, his memory finally caught up with him.
The memory of Dumbledore's final betrayal. The statue. The happenings in the Forbidden Forest. Snape. The Deatheater. His own fierce outburst in the corridor. The paintings absolute denial of him being a Gryffindor. Ending up sleeping in the Room of Requirement.
Harry rubbed his brow as he pondered over these things. Since yesterday, everything had been more abnormal then he was used to. And that is saying a lot, as he had been in quite odd situations before.
Now there were three things he needed to find out.
One; why did everything seem to be just not like they were supposed to be? Why were the paintings different? Why did the castle in its whole just feel a bit… unfamiliar? Why did that teacher, who he never had met before, and the paintings think he was a Hufflepuff?
Two; how would he be able to control his newfound power? He knew he had to find some way, or he might end up destroying Hogwarts. The statue had called him an 'elemental' and said he should come back to her. Perhaps she could help?
And finally number three; what should he do about Dumbledore? … and Snape for that matter?
A loud grumble interrupted him from working himself up into a hissy fit again and he chuckled softly to himself.
"Okay," he said as he leaned over to grab his clothes. "I'll go eat something first, ignore Albus and Snape the best I can and be pissed off at them later, skip classes and go talk to the statue and after that… I will see further."
With that decided he got out of bed and put his clothes on, noticing the soreness had largely disappeared. The only thing that still bothered him was his headache, but he would use the same tactic on it which he used for Dumbledore.
Moments later, Harry found himself walking through the familiar hallways of Hogwarts. He tried not to pay too much attention to the paintings and such he walked by, knowing that they, just like the ones in the corridor outside the Room of Requirement, were unfamiliar to him or hung on different places than he was used to.
He was relatively close to the Great Hall when someone came towards him in the opposite direction. A closer look showed that it was the unknown teacher from the night before.
"Morning Harry," the man said with a quick nod and smile, before walking past him. Harry turned around to watch frowning the retreating back of the man.
Who the hell IS he?
Shaking his head in confusion he resumed walking towards the Great Hall, wondering if he were to find something totally out of place there too.
And he did.
Harry was either having a dream or a vision send to him by Voldemort for whatever insane reason the just as insane Dark Lord had come up with.
Or he was in an alternate reality, like Hermione once had written a nine foot paper about for History of Magic.
I mean, what other reason can there be?' Harry wondered as he gazed around the Hall. What other reason can there be for everything to be so damn blue?
It was as if he was looking through glasses with blue lenses. The once wooden benches and tables were blue, the plates, utensils and goblets were blue. The candles floating up in the air were blue. There was even a blue carpet on the ground! Why so blue? Granted, they were all different shades of blue. For diversity, he thought distractedly. But…? Why?
Still shaking his head slightly in shock, he walked over to his usual place at the Gryffindor table. He was about to sit down as someone called out to him.
He turned to face Neville, who he knew the voice belonged to, and then stared flabbergasted at the Gryffindor. He didn't look like the Neville he knew. Harry could still vaguely see his old friend in him, but that was all. This Neville looked stronger, more confident and certainly broader shouldered.
Neville gave his friends around him an odd, half-amused look. "I know that people can't help being in awe of my great person, Potter," he said with a gracious smirk. "But stop staring or people might take it wrongly."
Harry just stared at him as if he had sprouted another head (or a different one for that matter) and raised a questioning brow. Had Neville just sounded arrogant? Well, that was one thing he had never expected from the guy.
Neville, in turn began, to feel uncomfortable. He had expected the shy Hufflepuff to blush and stutter an apology like he normally would. Harry did seem different today. Neville decided not to pay too much attention to it. Whatever it was, it would be over soon, he thought.
"Potter, go to your own house table. I don't think anyone here has invited you to sit with them," he snorted and took a gulp of his pumpkin juice. "Why would they," he added with a soft chuckle, which was promptly joined by others at the Gryffindor table.
Harry started to scowl, but turned around and walked away.
"What's up with him?" he heard someone ask and then another muttered something about the stability of his mind. Was it not that even Harry was doubting his sanity; he would have turned around and told them to shut up so he could think.
It's not as it should be, he thought rapidly as he walked out of the Great Hall, opting to go to the kitchen instead of his so called house table, which was most likely Hufflepuff as it had been mentioned so much to him.
This is not my world.
To Be Continued