The Otherside
Chapter One

Thank you for reading!

Every beautiful beginning arises from a bitter ending.

That's what Harry felt as he stood exhausted, beaten, but unflinching in front of Tom Riddle. Death eaters surrounded the seventeen year old teenager on all sides, and the Forbidden Forest was unnaturally quiet, outside of the gruff, muffled moans from Hagrid, being held hostage by no other than Bellatrix Lestrange.

He knew he was meant to say something. Something sharp and witty; a final poke at his arch-nemesis, but he felt selfish. This was his end. His whole life he had been held high on a pedestal, unable to truly choose his own path, unable to fight against the tendrils of destiny and prophecy.

Now, at the very end, with the elder wand pointed at this chest, there was no reason to uphold everyone's faith in him.

His job was finished.

No longer was he the Boy-Who-Lived. No longer the saviour of the wizarding world.

Finally, he was just Harry. Just Harry Potter.

"Avada Kedavra," Riddle spoke, almost softly, but there was an unmistakable malice hissing through the incantation.

The earliest memory Harry had was of a bright green light, when he was less than a year old. He supposed it was only fitting that his life ended the same.

Pulsing green enveloped his existence, and instead of the expected pain, he felt a cool embrace.

And that was all.

"You're sure this will work, Albus?"

"I would hope, Minerva, that a reflection of my previous experiments would give good foresight into our desired outcome."

"That statement provides me with little reassurance."

"Precisely! Now, let us concentrate…"

Several witches and wizards stood scattered within the unused classroom. It was a relatively nondescript room. Chalky dust powdered the vacant desks, pushed haphazardly to the edge of the room. Remnants of magical graffiti flitted across the remaining blackboard, vaguely stating something obscene about Snape.

The professor in question seemed to be staunchly facing away from the blackboard, whereas Remus and James seemed to be snickering at the offensive words. James seemed on edge though, his laugh less easy-going, an unfamiliar tone of stress tainting it, but it was nothing compared to that of his wife.

Lily paced anxiously back and forth, quickly enough to stir up a small chalk dust cloud by her flats. She had her hands clasped, picking at the edges of her fingers, and if one looked closely they would notice the worn down nails, chewed at to the quick. James placed a reassuring hand on her lower back, and she smiled gratefully, her stress momentarily fading, but then he turned away and she returned to pacing.

Dumbledore stood in the middle of the room, discussing the intricacies of a particular cup with Flitwick. Whatever the two charms experts were discussing, it was advanced enough that McGonagall stood a full meter away from them, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"The wey lines from the second intricacy will only provide enough power if the adjunct node is activated from the parallel plane," Flitwick chirped in his recognisable high pitched voice. He wobbled slightly from his precarious stack of books, and Dumbledore steadied him with a soft hand.

"I understand, my dear friend, but that is if we were utilising the power in a generic fashion. What we're attempting is to bypass the wey lines, not attach to them. It changes the necessity to utilise the parallel plane, thus not running the risk of draining the final outlet."

"In that case, you're limited to soul siphoning."

"Thus the necessity of abandoning Warnicke's Law."

"You know my thesis was on the importance of upholding that law."

"Alas, I apologise, dear friend."

"Albus, as fascinating as this is, do you think we can begin?" Lily approached Dumbledore as she spoke nervously. The wizened wizard sighed. It pained him to see the, usually so vibrant green eyes, downcast and defeated.

"Let us begin," he replied simply.

The mood in the room shifted. Everyone stopped fidgeting and drew their wands, facing the centre of the room, where the gilded, golden cup lay dormant.

"Fudge will have your head if he finds out you stole the Goblet of Fire," McGonagall reprimanded.

"Ah, but I didn't steal it, young Remus did," Dumbledore replied, a twinkle in his eyes, while James muffled a chuckle.

"You wouldn't throw your favourite pupil under the Knight Bus like that, surely professor," Remus joked, but he did look marginally guilty.

"Lily, the parchment, if you please," Dumbledore asked gently, to which she passed him a piece of paper, heavy creases marking the middle, as if it had been opened and closed often in a short period of time. Dumbledore pried it open, and revealed the two words written within.

Harry Potter.

Quietly, Dumbledore dropped the parchment in the cup, which released a soft flicker of green in response as it greedily enveloped the paper. He then raised his wand, long, with small wooden knots marking the length, and began to manipulate the flow of power.

Flitwick sighed unhappily when the goblet began to sputter to life, angry green flames roaring as high as the half-dwarf.

"There goes Warnicke's law," He muttered.

By now, everyone had their wands raised and pointed at the cup. Their expressions were harsh, and unforgiving. Yet, no one was prepared when the goblet exploded.

Bright green flames burst up towards the ceiling, colliding with the stone surface, before willowing out to the side, stretching like the waves of the ocean. They threw their wands up to the ceiling, casting protective domes around themselves, but the flames carried through. They gasped, as instead of a burning sensation, they felt an auspicious cooling sensation pass through their skin.

As quickly as the flames erupted, they then died away. The green flames trickled to the corners of the room, where they seemed to sink into the heavy floorboards. White chalky dust settled slowly in the aftermath.

"Did it- did it work?" Lily asked, coughing halfway through, whether from the dust or her anxiety.

Dumbledore didn't respond. He was staring at the centre of the room, where the Goblet of Fire had once stood. It was gone, nothing remained except the wooden base it had been attached to. In its place was a teenage boy, sprawled uncomfortably across the top of the desk. The glasses on his face were askew. His denim jeans were torn, and his shirt was ripped and bloodied. He had a weak grip on his holly wand, and the room watched, as if in slow motion, as the wand slid from his fingertips. It hit the ground, and the thunk of wood on stone resonated throughout the abandoned classroom.

"It's him," Remus snarled, pointing his wand directly at the dark haired teen, and marching forwards.

"Stay away from my child," Lily shouted, positioning herself between the two, her own wand drawn, threatening Remus.

"James, he's responsible. You know this. He deserves this!" Remus growled, glancing away from Lily, only to look at his old friend. James, meanwhile, looked marginally conflicted, but nevertheless moved to stand with his wife, although his wand lay limp at his side.

"I'm sorry, James and Lily, but Remus is right," McGonagall added, standing with Remus. Like James, her wand wasn't drawn, but her eyes were cold like steel, unforgiving and unflinching.
Sparks crackled from the tip of Remus's wand, and Lily reacted quickly, a blast of air emanated from around her, and causing the occupants of the room to stumble backwards.

McGonagall righted herself, and with a thin line on her lips, shot a red stunning spell at her pupil's direction. James' wand was up in a heartbeat, reflecting the spell, which narrowly missed Dumbledore, who was resting heavily against an unused desk, exhausted from the ritual. Flitwick, squeaked loudly for everyone to stop, but his voice was drowned out the crackling spellwork.

"Lily, Remus, stand down!" Severus said, his voice dour and soft, but cutting through the air like sharp wire.

"Sev, stay out of this, and stay away from my child!"

"That is not your child!" Severus bellowed,narrowly dodging a jinx that passed over his shoulder. The fighting stopped as his words echoed in the enclosed room.

"What do you mean that's not my-"

"That," Severus snapped, pointing at the groaning teen sprawled on the desk, "Is not Harry Potter."

"I believe Severus is correct." Everyone turned to face Albus, as he spoke with a weary voice. The elderly wizard in question was standing up, but his shoulders were hunched forwards and his eyes displayed the magical exhaustion. "Despite some similarities he may bear, he is not Harry Potter.

The silence in the room was heavy, and impressive, until…

"What do you mean, I'm not Harry Potter?"

Everyone in the room spun back around to the centre, where the teenager had picked himself up, and was standing warily. However, his eyes were narrowed, and his brows furrowed, as if something had ticked him off.

"I've spent half my life wishing I wasn't born Harry Bloody Potter, and now that I've finally come to terms with it, I've got a bunch of half-baked dead memories telling me otherwise? Thanks, but no thanks."

Minerva scrutinised the teen in front of her. He was taller than she remembered. His hair was longer too, not that that couldn't be changed easily with magic. The eyes were the same, although they were hidden by a pair of frames. That was unusual. Her eyes went wide as she glanced at a parting in his fringe.

Harry knelt down to pick his holly wand from the ground, but as his fingers neared, it zipped out of his reach into Remus' outstretched hand. Frowning, Harry flicked his fingers towards him, and Remus yelped as the wand was torn out of his fingers, settling in its owner's hand.

"I'll ask that you don't touch what's not yours, Remus," Harry said, disappointment tingeing his voice. Harry seemed oblivious to the shocked looks at his casual display of wandless magic. In fact, he seemed oblivious to most of the occupants of the room, and only now seemed to be taking in his surroundings.

"Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall," Harry introduced, nodding slightly, "Snape," he continued bluntly, and despite the lack of title, it was said surprisingly amiably. Harry turned to the headmaster, and his own eyes scrutinised the man.

"You're meant to be dead," he stated simply. Dumbledore coughed weakly in response.

"Not yet, dear boy." There was an amused twinkle within his blue eyes. "However, I imagine my counterpart has not fared as well as me."

"Depends, what year is it?"

"1994"

"No, you're about on track, sir," Harry responded, "You might want to think about updating your will soon though."

Dumbledore chuckled grimly.

"Duly noted."

"Albus, what's going on?" What happened to my son?" Lily asked, a flare of her infamous temper lighting her voice from beneath the confusion.

"I'm afraid we have failed quite spectacularly," the headmaster explained, dusting his hands on his purple robe, "For some reason, we have not summoned the Harry Potter from our reality, but rather, a different Harry Potter, from an alternate reality."

There was a profound silence.

"That's impossible," McGonagall exclaimed.

"It should have been, if we had followed Warnicke's Law," Flitwick chirped in.

"Isn't that the law that prevents soul siphoning during elongated enchantments?" Harry asked the tiny man.

"Yes indeed!" Flitwick said excitedly, "admittedly a very fundamental explanation, but in layman's terms, indeed."

"I'm afraid I don't know anything further than that," Harry admitted," Hermione was the one who explained it to me when she enchanted our bottomless bags."

"Ah, so there is a Hermione Granger in your reality as well?" Dumbledore asked curiously, to which Harry nodded.

"There's an alternate all of you. Well, except for you guys," Harry said, gesturing to James and Lily. "You two died when I was a baby. I mean, I guess that's technically the alternate you, but I didn't get to know you. Nice to meet you, by the way."

Harry held out his hand to James, the latter who stared at it cautiously. Slowly, Harry withdrew his hand.

"Mum?" Harry asked, facing the red haired witch.

"You're not my son," Lily whispered softly, staring at him with wide eyes. A flicker of emotion flashed in his green eyes, but he dropped his head, hiding his expression for several seconds. When he looked back up, his eyes were steeled, devoid of emotion.

"I thought it'd be more emotional meeting my parents for the first time. Well, second time," Harry added, remembering Priori Incantatem. "But you guys aren't really my parents. Not really. Or you wouldn't be alive.

"Is that a threat?" James asked menacingly.

"Hardly. Just a reflection on your parenting skills," Harry replied quickly. Turning to look at the shattered remains of the Goblet of Fire, Harry then turned to Flitwick.

"I don't suppose there's a way to send me back to my world? I was kind of in the middle of something important there."

Flitwick shook his head sadly, and Harry sighed heavily.

"I thought as much."

"You are awfully calm for being thrown into such an uncomfortable situation," Dumbledore mentioned, staring at the boy like an unsolved enigma.

"I had to get used to dealing with unexpected situations," Harry replied, smirking slightly, "This is hardly the weirdest thing that has happened to me."

Dumbledore's blue eyes flashed brightly.

"Also, I have the strongest Occlumency shields of anyone in Great Britain," Harry remarked, tapping the side of his head with a finger. "I wouldn't try that again, sir."

"Apologies," Dumbledore replied, but he seemed even more intrigued than apologetic.

"This is a complete waste of time," Remus snarled from the corner of the room. He pulled his tattered cloak tightly around him and made to leave. The rest of the room began mumbling, and began drifting away. They paused when Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly.

"We can't just leave the boy," He remarked, looking pointedly at the Potter family.

"He's not our son," Lily replied, refusing to look at the teen.

"It's fine. I lived without parents for seventeen years. I think I'll survive," Harry said coldly. He analysed the occupants of the room. "Considering a quarter of you wanted to kill me, a quarter of you only care about the other Potter, and the other half can beat me in a duel, I think I'll stay with Snape."

"You- what?" Severus spluttered.

"Professor Flitwick is a duelling master," Harry commented, "Or at least he is in my world. And until I trust you people, I'd rather be able to hold my ground against whoever's holding me captive. No hard feelings, sir," Harry directed the last part at Flitwick, who waved his hand nonchalantly, blushing slightly at the praise.

"And you think you best me in a duel?" Severus asked threateningly, raising himself up, his cloak billowing out behind him.

"Undoubtedly," Harry replied, a grin on his lips.

"You pride will be your downfall, you arrogant toerag."

"I'll take that as an invitation. Cheers Snivellus."

Snape stood, mouth open, eyes wide, as Harry made a large gesture with his arms.

"After you."

"Potter, I liked your counterpart as much as I enjoy teaching first year remedial potions. However, I am quickly finding that you're even less tolerable."

Harry stuck his head out of the fridge, frowning at the dour professor.

"It's not my fault you don't have anything to eat. What does your body subside on? Flobberworms and unicorn horn dust?"

"...Chinese food, mainly," Snape admitted.

"That would explain the greasy hair. Way too much oil in chinese take away," Harry commented, ignoring the fridge and turning to the liquor cabinet, which was locked.

"How dare you! Also, stay away from there," Snape complained.

The lock clicked open, and Harry turned to stare at Snape, apologetic. The effect was lost though when a grin cracked through, and he began sifting through the various bottles of firewhisky.

"You're going to be the death of me," Snape sighed, slumping heavily into a kitchen chair.

"Technically correct," Harry replied, popping open a half empty bottle of Odgen's Finest, and pouring two glasses.

"What?"

"Alternate you died about 45 minutes ago," Harry answered, floating the two drinks to the kitchen table wandlessly. "Well, technically in about 4 years time, but 45 minutes ago for me."

"Oh."

"To Snivellus. He shall be missed," Harry proclaimed dourly, and proceeded to drain his glass.

Snape stared at Harry, but his eyes seemed to seeing through the raven haired boy. Eventually, his fingers found the glass of liquor, and he drained his glass as well.

"I never thought I'd be toasting to my own death," Snape commented, his stomach feeling warm, and his tongue feeling lighter.

"Also don't call me that."

"Sorry."

"You don't sound sorry at all."

"I'm not."

Harry snapped his fingers softly, and the bottle of Odgen's floated over from the cabinet to his hand. Two quick pours later and the glasses were refilled.

"You're not going to ask me how you died?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

"Will knowing help me in any way?"

"I suppose not." Harry admitted.

The kitchen was quiet as they sipped on the glasses. It was a simple home. A house built in the middle of a muggle street. The kitchen was made of aged wood bricks, and the floor was worn, dark brown timber. A fireplace could be seen in the living room, but was unused during the hotter summer weather. The house was surprisingly Muggle, with its use of electronics, such as the fridge, and the electric lights on the ceiling. It reminded Harry that Snape wasn't a pureblood. He was, afterall, the Half-Blood Prince.

"You were misunderstood your entire life," Harry said softly, speaking to the bottle of Odgen's. "And when you died, you were hated by all. And then I learnt that you were the bravest man I had ever known."

Snape swallowed heavily, his throat suddenly dry. He grabbed the bottle and refilled the glasses.

"And then about half an hour later I died, and here I am!"

Snape raised a glass.

"To the Potter brat, he shall be missed."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but grinned nevertheless, and clinked his glass against the other.

"Cheers."

They drained the glasses, both sighing in content as the liquor burned.

"So, about that Chinese food," Harry asked.

"The phone's by the kettle," Snape replied lazily.

Harry nodded, and with a flick of his fingers the phone lifted of it's receiver, and floated towards the table. However, halfway through, the device crackled, and began smoking. Harry stared at the device in surprise. He tried pressing some of the numbers and holding it up to his ear, but it appeared completely fried.

"There's something wrong with your phone."

"It's electronic, you dunderhead! You can't use magic on it!"

"Reparo," Harry intoned, and jumped when the device blew up in his hands, plastic fragments flying across the room. "Right. Duly noted."

"You'll be paying for that."

"I suppose we can just apparate to the shop," Harry suggested after an awkward pause.

"Drunk apparating is strictly illegal," Snape intoned, almost automatically.

"Right. I forgot you were a stick in the mud."

"I'm sorry I don't feel the need to flaunt my superiority to society's basic laws, which help maintain relative peace and stability."

"Man, you really did hate my dad didn't you."

"The Potter spawn was worse."

"Hey!"

"Not you, you dunderhead."

"I thought you said I was worse than the kid."

"That's correct."

"Now you're just being confusing on purpose."

"Perhaps your small brain simply cannot keep up."

"Hmph." Harry crossed his arms in a sign of defeat. For the first time that night, Snape realised that the kid actually looked like a kid. He spoke and acted with a confidence that belied his age. It was easy to forget that he was only seventeen when he displayed such control over magic. In fact…

Snape grabbed the bottle of Odgen's from Harry before he was able to pour another glass.

"You're underage, you little brat," Snape exclaimed. Standing up (and swaying slightly), he returned the bottle to the cabinet, locked the door, and for an extra precaution, placed an immovable charm on the cabinet doors. Harry huffed, but looked buzzed enough to not really care.

"So, what's the deal with the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry asked. "He can't be that special. His mum's still alive and all."

"Why do you keep mentioning that?" Snape asked.

"Mentioning what?"

"Lily dying."

Harry blinked dumbly.

"I guess it went differently in this world. For me, dad died fighting Voldemort. When he got to me, mum sacrificed herself instead. Then, he attacked me, and boom." Harry mimed an explosion with his hands.

"Voldemort died. I lived, and was sent to live with my shitty relatives for the rest of my life."

Snape stared at Harry, his eyes haunted.

"Lily died?"

"She did."

"I must've been a right old bastard in your world."

"You sure were."

"And yet…?"

"As I said, bravest man I knew."

Snape really needed another drink. He got up to go back to the cabinet, but blinked in surprise when the bottle of Odgen's clinked against his glass. He glanced at Harry, his hand outstretched, then at the cabinet, which was once again open, and then back at Harry, who was grinning victoriously.

Another glass was poured, and quickly downed.

"I was a Death Eater," Snape admitted, glancing at Harry nervously. He was unsure as to why he felt the need to have the brat's approval, but he felt relieved when Harry didn't react to the admission.

"I overheard a…" His words caught in how own mouth, as if a large, invisible ping pong ball was lodged down his throat.

"A prophecy." Harry completed. Snape's eyebrows rose in surprise, but he nodded in confirmation.

"Immediately, I told the Dark Lord, for at the time, I believed in his cause. My only wish was that Lily would not be hurt."

"You loved my mum."

Snape chose to ignore the comment.

"Am I really the bravest man you knew? A man who sentenced a father, and two children to their deaths."

"We all make mistakes Snape," Harry murmured. "Some worse than others. It's how you respond that shows who we truly are."

They settled into another comfortable silence, disturbed only the sound of glasses tapping against the wooden table. Snape seemed content staring into space, his eyes cloudy as he delved back into his past. Harry, however had his brows furrowed in confusion, as his half-drunk mind tried to concentrate.

"Hold on, did you say two children?"

AN/

For those who know my previous stories. I am sorry. In case it wasn't quite obvious, I have been in a pretty bad writing slump. I have tried countless times to continue writing the other stories, particularly The Amplitude series, but alas, words fail me.
Thus, this story is an attempt to bring back my love for writing.

Bear with me (hehe, imagining bear paws now). The Amplitude will be finished one day. The others... we'll see. For now, I would love to have your support in this new series!

Descriptions are minimal, pairings are not announced. I would like for this to be an adventure of unknowns, for both the reader, and the writer (although I probably shouldn't be admitting that)!

Also, I added William the Pukwudjie into the character list because it was an option on FF. Just thought it sounded cool.

To new and old fans alike:

Cheers

-Council