Disclaimer : Not much of this is mine.
I freely admit that I have read one or two fics with very similar plotlines, but unfortunately that was a while ago and I can no longer remember which fics they are. That means that, while I would like to check if it's ok that I steal an idea or two, I don't know who to contact. So, basically, please don't yell at me. If I've offended anyone, I'm sorry. Just leave me a review.
Oh, and just to give you a basic idea, Harry is 19 years old, and has been transported to another world, one where Voldemort is undefeated.
"Urgh, my head!" moaned Harry, screwing up his eyes in pain against the sunlight. "What happened last night?"
As far as he could recall he had practised his Wronkski Feint move, then retired calmly to bed; nothing warranting a hangover that felt as if he had drunk the entire contents of a wine cellar.
Blinking, he opened his over-sensitive eyes, wincing at the bright light that assaulted him.
"What the hell?" he exclaimed, gazing around in consternation.
He was lying in a field surrounded by grazing cows, and he had absolutely no recollection of getting there or even seeing the place before.
Instinctively he opened his senses, searching for ill intent or danger, but found nothing except a rather angry bull who was debating the merits of trampling him.
Quickly so as to avoid any ensuing unpleasantness, Harry apparated to Diagon Alley. Arriving, he was hit with a wave of dizziness and swayed on the spot.
"Merlin's teeth, what's wrong with me," he complained, silently swearing not to touch any alcohol for months. Deciding that some food might make him feel better, Harry wandered over to Florean Fortesque's, rummaging in his robes for some galleons, which he luckily found.
He had just held up a handful of coins triumphantly when he caught sight of the shop, which was boarded up.
'Huh, strange,' thought Harry, and for the first time looked around the street properly. There were very few people to be seen, but then it could be attributed to the early hour, Harry reasoned.
'But then why do they look so nervous,' pointed out an annoying voice in the back of his head. It was true, the few witches or wizards in the alley were scurrying around in small groups, but there was no laughter or chatter; people did not stop to exchange greetings.
Harry felt a cold shudder run down his spine. The behaviour reminded him strongly of when Voldemort returned to power, but Voldemort was dead, had been for over a year.
What had happened while he slept?
Seeing a stall selling newspapers, Harry bought a copy of the Daily Prophet and glanced at the front page.
The Headlines "The Ministry's new Measures" and "Assassination of Amelia Bones Averted," leapt out at him.
'But she's already dead,' said Harry blankly. Flicking through the pages Harry's eyes caught the words "You-Know-Who", "Deatheaters," "Many dead" and "Child of Prophecy."
"What?" Harry frowned again. Boy-Who-Lived, Chosen One, those names were familiar to him, but "Child of Prophecy" was a new one.
Looking closer Harry read,
"During last night's scenes of terror at the Ministry of Magic, a large group of Deatheaters attacked a Press Conference hosting our Saviour, Neville Longbottom. Mr Longbottom, also known as the 'Child of Prophecy', fought valiantly, and is unharmed…"
Harry's mind closed down in denial.
Neville the Chosen One? Voldemort still in operation?
'What is going on,' Harry screamed inside his head.
"Ok, calm, I just have to stay calm," breathed Harry, attempting to delude himself into thinking that he was not hyperventilating in panic. Forcing himself to think rationally, he ran through all the possible explanations for his situation, and came to the conclusion that either he was insane, or else everyone else was.
"I'm not crazy, am I?" thought Harry rather helplessly. "I feel sane."
Then he paused, something stirring in the depths of his memory. He had read something, hadn't he? When he was studying in the restricted section…
'An obscure theory exists where multiple, alternate Universes are possible. These worlds supposedly split off when a major historical event takes place, creating a world similar but still substantially different from the one it originated from. It is unknown how many such worlds exist, or even if the theory is valid, but Wilbert Hunt insists…"
Harry remembered casting the book aside at that point to continue searching for information on the Theory of Raw Magic.
"Could I be in a different world, another Universe?" wondered Harry. It was the only vaguely reasonable explanation he could think up. Shaking his head, Harry wandered down the street, examining the buildings and people he passed. Everything was dull and dilapidated, beggars and grubby, half starved children lurked on shop corners and buildings were bordered up. He had to exercise great self-control when he saw not only ruins where once there were shops, but also people that his mind insisted were dead walking around oblivious to the fact that they were supposed to be deceased. Seeing Stan Shunpike, a man Harry had personally witnessed being tortured to death, arguing over the price of some potions ingredients was, to put it lightly, a shock.
"Magic knows no boundaries except those we believe in," quoted Harry with a wry smile. "This definitely proves that theory."
Gaining some curious and fearful looks from passers-by, Harry soon realised that he was being quite conspicuous, so he sat down at the only café open, ordering a coffee.
So the current facts were that he was in an alternate universe with no idea how he got there, and therefore no idea how to get back. Did he even exist in this world? Neville, poor clumsy Neville, was acclaimed as the Child of Prophecy, did that mean Voldemort had attacked the Longbottom's home that Halloween night? Was that the 'major event' required to create a new world?
Suddenly struck by a horrible thought, Harry grabbed the newspaper again. "Am I even in the same timeline?" Harry looked at the date only to swear loudly. "Now I know for certain," thought Harry bitterly. "Fate's a bitch." Not only was he in another freakin' dimension, but he was also four years in the past! How much more messed up could it get?
Leaning back in his chair, Harry felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. "I feel as if I've trampled by a rampaging hippogriff," groaned Harry. Closing his eyes he reached out to his magical core so as to enervate himself, only to find that it was almost completely depleted. Where once was a power so concentrated that it could cause an explosion to consume the entirety of London, there was now only a faint echo. Holding out his hand palm upwards, Harry muttered a simple fire spell.
He had only once before been so weak; after duelling and finally killing Voldemort.
Knowing he had to rest in order to rebuild his core, Harry struggled to his feet. He forced himself to stagger to the Leaky Cauldron and get a key from the suspicious innkeeper, before collapsing onto a bed, dead to the world.
A/N So, here's the first chapter. Please review and let me know what you think !