Disclaimer: I own none of what is written here, save for the plot and any original characters or aspects. J.K Rowling owns the rest.
15 year-old Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived, rushed down the dark staircase in the Order of the Phoenix's Headquarters, 12 Grimmauld Place, his hair mussed by recent sleep. His two best friends, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, followed behind him worriedly.
He leapt down the last few steps, his slightly too heavy form landing loudly on the floor, before moving quickly to the imperturbably charmed kitchen door, wreathed with holly, and knocking urgently.
"Really, Neville, I'm sure this could wait, maybe he was an Order member, have you thought of tha—"
Hermione cut herself off as a harried looking red-haired woman opened the door in annoyance. "This better be important, boys, because I have told you too many times to count not to interrupt during an Order meeting."
"Mrs Weasley! I have to speak to Professor Dumbledore!" Neville spoke this all in a tone of voice that was hurried and urgent.
Looking closely at Neville's face, she moved and let them inside. The conversations all around the table stopped upon seeing the three teenagers enter the room. Some members moved to cover up the maps spotted all over the long, dark oak table. Neville's parents frowned at his appearance, as did Ron's elder siblings.
Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, in candy-cane spotted festive robes, and had been talking in low tones to James and Lily Potter before the entrance of his students. He stopped now, and raised an eyebrow at the three of them, causing the Boy-Who-Lived's companions to shift embarrassedly, as though they had been caught doing something wrong. Neville, however, was too frantic and worried to bother reacting to the Headmaster's gaze.
"Misters Longbottom and Weasley, Ms Granger, may I ask as to why you felt it so urgent to speak to me?"
"Professor, I just got a vision from You-Know-Who! Yunno, the ones where it's from his point of view?" A few members shifted uneasily at the reminder that their saviour had such an intimate connection with the current Dark Lord. Ignoring this, Neville continued, though he stumbled over his words, not sure what to tell him and the Order first, "I…It was…there was this…and a…I have to show it to you, sir! Can I use you're pensieve? I, I think it's important you see it yourselves."
Sensing the importance of Neville's vision, Dumbledore nodded. Neville brought his wand up to his temple, concentrating on the memory that has so recently interrupted his sleep. His wand tip, trailing a thin silver thread, was slowly brought away from his head and he placed the memory in Dumbledore's pensieve, stirring slightly.
Nodding at the Order, they all gathered around, placing fingers in the shimmering liquid and mentally falling into the vision. Left alone in the room, with just empty and unresponsive bodies to keep them company, the three teenagers looked at each other simultaneously, before Hermione walked forward and dipped a digit in also, Neville and Ron a moment behind her.
They landed in a dark and heavily draped room that looked eerily similar to a vampire's lair. Neville immediately looked to the ostentatious desk in the corner, where Lord Voldemort sat, poring over some old tomes in another language, while the some of the Order examined the room, some the books in the large bookshelves, and some stared in shock at the Dark Lord.
Nymphadora Tonks was staring hard into the eyes of the former Slytherin Head Boy, having, after overcoming her initial fear of the intimidating wizard, begun attempting to match her eyes with the sole figure actually present in the memory. Her concentration was broken when, suddenly, an alarm started blaring and a map on the wall, presumably of the castle Voldemort was residing in, lit up with a flashing light, the dungeons highlighted.
A single glance at the map had Voldemort on his feet in one smooth motion, and he apparated silently, causing the viewers of the memory to be abruptly relocated. A moment later they found themselves in the dungeons, looking on as a lone Death Eater glanced up from creating a portkey at his master's arrival.
Instead of dropping to his knees like they, and undoubtedly the Dark Lord, expected, though, the figure used the moment of surprise to finish the spell and throw the newly created escape route to a group of prisoners that were watching fearfully. One of the emaciated figures caught the pebble with surprising reflexes and the rag-tag assembly disappeared, leaving the dungeons empty save for the infuriated wizard, the Death Eater, and the uninvited viewers.
With a roar of rage, Voldemort threw a collection of nasty and painful hexes and curses towards his insubordinate follower. Neatly sidestepping the majority, and batting a few away with ease, the figure took off his mask and stepped forward, smiling benignly, his bright green eyes flashing with mischievousness and his hand extended.
"Hi, Mr Voldemort, I'm Harry – actually, you can just call me Harry. Can I call you Tom?"
Broken out of his shocked stupor, Voldemort hissed, ignoring the hand and the question, "What is the meaning of this?!"
"Oh, I was just freeing some malnutritioned and tortured prisoners. Your malnutritioned and tortured prisoners, in fact. Not the best way to get some Stockholm Syndromed captives, I'd say."
"You are a DEATH EATER! What have you DONE?!"
The figure, no older than 18 years old, laughed. "I'd think it rather obvious, actually. D'ya want a detailed account?"
Silently fuming, the Dark Lord raised his wand again, ready to blast the man, child, to smithereens. The Order just watched it all with dumbfounded looks on their faces, completely speechless.
The figure, Harry, was still speaking, " –- So, I actually only became a Death Eater so as I could find where your dungeons were and so I could examine your wards. And, thanks to a nifty little potion, I managed to get rid of your icky and self-important cattle brand. Really, a skull and snake? What were you thinking?"
Harry dodged the spell that turned the victims guts into garters and peered sharply into Voldemort's eyes, before smiling.
"So, I figure I should go now, as it looks as though you're not going to offer me any refreshments, but, seeing as I just know that Neville'll show this to Order, let me just say one more thing…Merry Christmas." With a smirk, Harry twirled on the spot, disappearing just as silently as Voldemort had appeared, just missing being hit by the Killing Curse sent by an enraged Dark Lord, and the memory faded.
A shocked silence was all that could be heard in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, that, and the slightly insane sounding God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs being sung by the hunched and emaciated house-elf in the corner.
AN: I never could work out why in the world Harry would, after being involved in exciting adventures for the entirety of his school years, get married to Ginny Weasley and have a regular life. Surely he'd have gotten addicted to the adrenaline rush, yunno, more than being an Auror could satisfy. I mean, really. So, in my version, after breaking it off with Ginny, Harry went dimension hopping for kicks. How fun?!
P.S Not Betaed (though none of my writing ever is) so go easy...