Hi everybody. It's been a long while since I've written anything and I apologise. Life has been keeping me busy, but with the pandemic going on I may get some more writing done. However, This is just an idea I had in my Craft of Fiction class in College and wanted to share. I plan on possibly revising it more and making it longer, but this is just a taste of the idea I had in mind. Let me know what you all think!

Nightmare at the Ministry

Harry could hardly believe it. Everything happened so fast in the last couple of weeks. They blurred. It was like a horrible dream.

A nightmare.

The fight at the Ministry of Magic was brutal, and left its mark, but he did it. Voldemort was finally dead, but it wasn't without casualties.

Mr. Weasley, Tonks, Kingsley… they all went down so fast.

He had seen them in the beginning, when everything first went to hell with a hasty plan to rescue Sirius. Hermione, Ron, Luna, and Neville had gone with him to make sure he didn't get in over his head, how he wished they didn't.

*Flashback*

They had just entered the corridor to help them, the floo's green flames bursting out to announce their arrival, when they were promptly hit in the back by the sickly green color of the Killing Curse. A couple stray Death Eaters were struggling in the back, as if waiting for the Order to come and rescue their stray children, their black hooded cloaks and white masks obscuring their identities.

They were waiting behind those huge fireplaces and instantly struck the first people they saw in the back. It was barely a minute before they fell down limp. Forever.

*Flashback End*

Moody lasted longer.

Him and his constant vigilance. He must have hung back in the floo to survey the area when he saw the three fall.

Harry could only speculate over what had happened since he was also battling to survive, but what he did see was how Mad-Eye Moody was once a great and feared Auror with how fat he was able to cast a spell. The different colors they created would have been pretty if the outcome of them weren't so devastating.

*Flashback*

Multiple colored spells were flying all around him. He did his best to dodge, especially the ones he didn't know, but some ended up nicking his skin, a cutting curse, making him bleed, and another making it hard for him to breathe.

He stumbled, trying to catch his breath, when his eyes caught movement by the floos where the three had fallen.

Mad-Eye threw spells at great speed. It would have seemed blurred if it wasn't for his ability to track the snitch at great speeds. He never stopped, his body in constant motion with his magic eye frantically rotating to keep track of the three Death Eaters that surrounded him, but it was all for naught.

Maybe if he was younger he could have been faster.

Maybe if he still had both legs, instead of a wooden stump for one, he could have dogged.

The Death Eaters had him surrounded with no escape. Madeye was trapped. Harry swore that he saw acceptance and determination on that scarred face. The Death Eaters all let loose the Killing Curse, but before the spells hit Mad-Eye, he cast his own spell that ripped them apart. All of their bodies began to tear apart like there was some invisible being stretching them until they tore and bacme pieces. Their screams were piercing before they began to gurgle in their own blood, but Moody was spared when the sickly, killing green that was the Avada Kedavra hit his body, and he too fell.

It was only the sound of a high pitched giggle near him that took him out of his daze.

Bellatrix had engaged Sirius in a battle. Her piercing, insane giggle and shrieks of uncontrollable rage had echoed through the corridor along with his godfather's barking laughter and sarcastic remarks.

*Flashback End*

From the short time Harry knew him, Sirius never took anything serious.

Sirius's time locked up in Azkaban with the Dementors, along with being caged in Grimmauld Place where he was surrounded by the memories of his terrible childhood, must have messed with his mind.

Harry knew it wasn't good for him. Harry, too, would have snapped if he had to live with the Dursley's forever, but he didn't realize how short of a fuse Sirius had before he snapped.

He could clearly remember them.

They were so close, but all he could do was watch. No one even bothered him while he was distracted by what he was seeing.

*Flashback*

Bellatrix and Sirius looked like they were dancing. One would take a step forward, the other a step back before they twirled and started again. The curses being thrown seemed to almost be an afterthought if it weren't for their disastrous effects and the area around them.

"Come, now, Bella-bitch." Sirius droned, his face filled with mirth. "Did Azkaban affect you that badly? I would have thought you'd do better with your casting, if only for your oh-so-precious Voldy."

She screeched with unbridled anger, "How dare you talk about my Lord you flea-bitten mutt! At least my Lord cared enough to come and get me. How did that work out for you? Abandoned and forgotten. Shamed for betraying the Potters..."

"That wasn't my fault! That rat sold them out and..."

"But no one came for you. They believed that you sold them out, not icky-wittle-Pettigrew." She sang in her whiney voice. "They left you there to rot. To be put down like the mad dog you are. The Black blood must run strong in your veins for them to treat you so suspiciously, even when you fought with them in your pathetic Order filled with mudbloods and blood traitors." She yelled, spittle flying out of her deranged mouth.

"Shut-UP!"

"Did I hit a nerve, ickle-wittle-Sirikins? Or, did I just open your eyes to the truth all along?" Their dancing became more frantic, almost like flying. Unknowingly spinning closer and closer towards the towering Veil of Death.

"I said, SHUT-UP" Sirius finally screeched in agony, planted right in front of the dancing black curtains. He was distracted by the agonizing screams of denial that echoed inside his head, shaking to get them out.

"Toujours Pur. Blacks will always be pure, and those who dare to taint our ways will be put down like the filthy dogs they are. Reducto!" With that spell she sent Sirius careening towards his doom.

The blasting nature of the spell sent Sirius flying backwards before landing back on his feet. He continued to stumble backwards from the force.

Falling into the black, open curtains of the Veil of Death.

"SIRIUS!" Harry screeched, dodging the few hands that tried to grab him before throwing himself at the slowly disappearing figure of his godfather, the man who was like a father to him and gave Harry the love he craved after so many years of abuse and neglect at the Dursleys. Harry also began to sink into the black abyss bit by bit. It felt like hands were grabbing him, trying to tear him apart and bring him further in, before a set of scarred hands joined his own in dragging Sirius out. Only when Sirius was completely free, but unconscious, did Harry see who helped him.

Remus.

He was also like a father to him, who was also Sirius' mate.

Remus was catatonic as he began shaking while staring at his unresponsive mate, tears leaking through his unblinking eyes.

Harry was a mess. One parental figure was probably dead and the other a mess.

He didn't know what to do.

He was barely aware of rough hands dragging him further and further away from those he loved.

*Flashback End*

It was his fault. He should have known that it was a trap. He should have trusted in Snape to check to see if Sirius was fine after their heart-to-heart over the past. After Harry removed the slave-link connected to Snape's dark mark. But he didn't.

Harry heard the tales of those who were sent into the Veil of Death when he had to travel through the Department of Mysteries for his hearing over improper usage of underaged, and how they all died once completely submerged.

Sirius was only halfway, but who knows what kind of damage could have been done to him? He was still unconscious when the mediwizards came, and Remus seemed like he was only a breath away from having a panic attack.

At least Sirius would have the chance to be saved instead of being Kissed since he was proven innocent by the dead body of Voldemort and his followers, Peter Pettigrew among them.

*Flashback*

Pettigrew, the disgusting rat, held Harry in place so he couldn't escape, but he was not mentally aware of his surroundings. His despair and grief over possibly losing the only two people who ever treated him like 'Harry' and not 'Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived' could leave him.

Could hate him for not doing better, for being the freak of nature his relatives said he was.

His emerald green eyes, vibrant from the magic within, dimmed as his magic, more sentinent than what was deemed 'normal' for the Wizarding World, made him retreat into his mind to cope while it stayed vigilant to protect its host.

He was never aware of the lanky form of Voldemort approaching, or how the pale, snake-faced man ran his red eyes across his limp body before grasping his chin and raising it to meet Voldemort's face.

"Harry Potter, come to die." The man hissed in pleasure. "It has been too long since your unfortunate escape, but it is now time to right that unfortunate error." Voldemort threw Harry's face before withdrawing his wand. "Wormtail," he addressed Pettigrew. "Make sure Potter can't wiggle away, we wouldn't want to let him escape another time, would we?" He glanced at Harry's form. "Though, it seems as if the loss of his family and friends has finally caught up to the so-called savior. It would be kind to put him out of his misery, no?" He took a breath before raising his wand. "Avada Kedav-"

Harry's magic, feeling the malicious intent from the spell and the familiar essence from when he was first hit with it, retaliated with great force and ensnared Voldemort in its embrace. It attacked the Dark Lord's very being along with those he tied to himself, and drained their very source of life; their magic.

The force of the attack withdrew Harry from the recesses of his minimal mindscape and made him immensely tired from the massive magical drain he was under.

*Flashback End*

He had never felt so weak before, even when he was a child under the Dursley's thumb.

He remembered the Ministry workers finally arriving through the Floo Network, probably for work, and the massive outcry from seeing all of the bodies.

Voldemort's body.

Mediwizards must have been called because their distinct white robes from St. Mungo's swarmed the area. He hoped Sirius would be fine.

Dumbledore, along with Snape, picked him up, and he saw the full outcome of what the corridor looked like. The once pristine marble walls and floors were missing pieces, probably from blasting curses, smeared in black magic residue, and soaked red in blood. He also saw a lone red leg that looked to belong to someone his age.

*Flashback*

Whose leg was it? Hermione's? Luna's? No, it was too bulky to be theirs. Harry had both of his still, he wasn't too numb to miss that, but who did it belong to? Harry's head swiveled as fast as he could manage before stopping at the sight of Neville, pale, sweating Neville surrounded by Mediwizards and Witches trying to reduce the bleeding that poured out of his stump.

But he was alive.

Luna was by him, one hand holding his while another was wrapped around her neck.

It looked red, but another mediwizard was with her.

He continued his quick scan, knowing that once Dumbledore got everything settled with the Ministry and Press, he would whisk Harry away.

His eyes stopped at two red heads, Molly and Ron. She held Ron tight to her as he shook. He was concerned for his best friend but he really wanted to find Hermione.

He found her.

Her curly hair, that she finally managed to tame after all these years, poked out between the two huddled red heads. He moved his head to get a better look and locked his emerald eyes with her blank brown ones.

She looked paler than Headless Nick, the blood surrounding her body to make the paleness of her skin stand out even more.

She had a slit in her neck.

He was going to be sick.

The brightest witch of her age. The one friend that never turned her back on him. The one person he viewed as a sister, gone.

His body did the only thing it could do, and passed out, but not before he felt the sickly sensation of being pulled through a straw before oblivion greeted him.

*Flashback End*

He expected to wake up to the stench of sterilization and in his usual bed that Madam Pomphrey assigned him in the medical wing, recovering from magical depletion.

Instead, he woke up in a muggle hospital in Atlanta, Georgia. Across the pond in America all because Albus Wulfric Brian Percival Dumbldore decided to stick his nose where he was unwanted, and sent him back to his relatives.

Now, he was stranded in a country he didn't know, with his magic blocked from his use, and a massive unknown pandemic seemingly taking over the world.

He looked over to see he had a roommate. A disheveled older man seemed to be resting in the bed next to him. The nameplate on the bed read 'Rick Grimes".

He turned around and covered his eyes, despairing over what has become of his life. The last thought that crossed his mind before he fell back into the comforts of his mind was "Nothing more could add to this nightmare".