Finding Home

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise from the Harry Potter books belong to me. It all belongs to J K Rowling *pauses to bow down to her sheer genius* and I am not making, nor ever will make any money from playing with her characters. Disclaimer applies to the whole story.

Genre: Friendship/ Hurt and Comfort/ Romance

Rating: M

Warnings: Character death later on in the story, some intimate scenes, occasional swearing.

Summary: Following the Final Battle, Harry is transported to another reality; one where Neville, the Boy-Who-Lived, died without defeating Voldemort. Surrounded by people he has seen die, and with the threat of Voldemort looming one more, Harry begins life anew.
Follows canon up until DH, where the trio spent five months 'camping' and then five months in an Order safe house, training. Everything after the battle is AU.

Extra Notes: Sections of italics indicate spells or thoughts, or in later chapters, flashbacks or dreams, and S italics S indicates parseltongue.

Prologue: 'Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.'

'Avada Kedavra!'

Green light. A piercing scream. Darkness, such thick darkness.

Then nothing.

.o0o.

'Who is he?'

Whispers surrounded him, forcing their way into his cloud-filled mind.

'Is he dangerous?'

He tried to move his arm, but found he was in too much pain. Why was he in pain?

'Don't be ridiculous, he's just a boy! And a skinny little thing, at that – Oh my! Look at his arm!'

Skinny? How dare they! Little? And what was wrong with his arm? Shifting his eyelid a fraction of an inch - allowing vague, half-formed images to drift in front of him – Harry tensed, realising with a sudden weight in his stomach, that he was surrounded.

'Molly, could you wake Poppy please. It appears that our guest is in need of urgent treatment.' A more powerful voice; authoritative, familiar... Harry mentally frowned, though careful not to allow anything to show on his face. Why was the voice familiar?

He heard the sound of someone running, and a distant cry of, 'Poppy!'

'Albus - ' a voice began.

Albus? Albus Dumbledore? Impossible! Harry felt his brow crinkle, despite his determination to remain still, and at once heard the whispers die down.

'He's waking up.'

Taking as deep a breath as he could manage, owing to his current position, laid down on a hard, stone floor – how had he gotten there again? – and the growing pains in his chest, Harry opened his eyes, and screamed. Stood around him were not only Albus Dumbledore, but Arthur, Charlie and Ron Weasley, Sirius, Remus, Professors McGonagall, Snape and Trelawney, Hermione Granger, Parvati Patil and Draco Malfoy. War-heightened senses kicking into action, Harry kicked out with his right foot, hissing in pain and tripping the nearest bystander – Charlie – before rolling over and up onto his feet. His wand clutched firmly in his right hand, Harry cast an invisible protective shield around himself, before crouching into a protective stance, facing the person who looked like Albus Dumbledore. Shocked cries filled the room, as those nearest pointed their wands at Harry, apparently unnerved by his rapid movements.

The pain in his chest had worsened, every breath now feeling as though a knife were stabbing through the middle of his ribcage. He was aware that his left arm was hanging limply by his side, his shoulder throbbing, and that his right knee was trembling. He tried to move his arm, only to cry out in pain. He steadied the arm holding his wand, gripping it tightly, noticing as he did so, the congealed blood covering the area between his wrist and elbow. He looked back towards the group of people, who had now all moved to stand in front of him.

Death Eaters. They have to be Death Eaters.

How?

Polyjuice.

Malfoy could have organised it. Could have arranged the whole thing – Harry frowned, struggling to think through the pain emanating from so many parts of his body. No, Polyjuice needed fresh ingredients. Remus, Arthur, even Snape might have been possible, but Hermione? Dumbledore? There was just no way... the potion wouldn't have worked. But what else could they have used? Malfoy couldn't have known many other methods of impersonation, and he was the only one there who Harry knew was a Death Eater...

Looking back towards the person who looked like Albus Dumbledore, Harry felt a rough probing at the corner of his mind. Instantly locking down the protective mind-shields he had built up during the war, Harry was gratified to see the person who looked like Severus Snape hiss, as though he had just been burned, and flinch ever so slightly away from Harry.

'His mind-shields,' the man whispered, in response to the questioning glances he was receiving. 'They're impenetrable.'

Shocked murmurs started up once again around the room, and Harry instantly felt more and more tiny probing energies in his mind. They were weak though, and, if he was honest, far more of an annoyance than a threat. His leg had now begun to shake violently, and he hissed in pain, not sure how much longer he could remain standing.

At that moment, a woman who looked like Mrs Weasley came rushing back in, accompanied by a woman who looked exactly like Madame Pomfrey.

'You,' she warned, glaring at the person who looked like Dumbledore, 'had better have a good reason for – oh my!' She had spotted Harry, and her glare disappeared, her eyes widening as they surveyed his damaged body. 'Who in Merlin's name is this?' She moved to take a step closer to Harry, only to have him turn his wand steadily on her.

'Don't move,' he whispered; his voice, no matter how soft, reeking of authority.

She took a step back, nonetheless saying, 'You need treatment.'

Harry shook his head, causing a sharp pain in his left cheek.

'Albus, do something!' the woman who looked like Mrs Weasley cried, looking at Harry – who had started to sway very slightly on the spot – in growing concern.

'For Merlin's sake don't be so stubborn – '

'Shut it, Malfoy!'

The boy froze, aristocratic mouth hanging wide open, his sentence left unfinished.

Harry laughed, bitterly, ignoring the shocked looks the rest of the room's occupants were giving him.

'How do you know my name?' Malfoy demanded.

'I'm hardly going to forget it, am I?' Harry snapped, his breathing ragged, his voice laced heavily with sarcasm, 'After all the fun we've had over the years.'

The boy gaped at him. 'I've never met you!'

'What the hell are you going on about?' Harry shouted. The boy's feigned ignorance made no sense. There was no reason for him to pretend not to know Harry. Turning then to face the Dumbledore look-a-like, around whom the rest of the people seemed to be gathered, Harry pointed his wand steadily at the man's chest. 'Who are you?'

The man smiled. 'My name is Albus Dumbledore, former Headmaster of - '

'I know who Albus Dumbledore is,' Harry snapped, feeling the tension in his arm beginning to ache, straining the already cut and bruised limb, and his leg shaking beneath him. 'Who are you; why have you made Malfoy forget me and who in God's name is everyone else?'

The man frowned. 'I'm not sure I understand what you mean - '

'Legilimens!'

Memories flew before Harry's eyes. A young Dumbledore was playing with Aberforth, pretending to fly on a muggle broomstick... A slightly older Dumbledore was receiving his Hogwarts letter, dancing around in joy, as his mother looked on proudly... Studying... Flying... Making friends at Hogwarts... A teenage Dumbledore was meeting Grindlewald; the secret midnight correspondences, the plans, the fall-out... the pain, heartache; Harry watched as Dumbledore's family was ripped apart... plans altered, changed; disappointment, anger, guilt, as his whole life was put on hold to take care of his family... awards... acclaim... meaningless trophies... Hogwarts... An adult Dumbledore watched as Hagrid was blamed for the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, guilt almost overwhelming him, as he watched the one he knew to be responsible walk away. But he had no proof... Voldemort... the prophesy... A Dumbledore much closer to the one Harry had known was carrying a baby; knocking on a door; handing the baby over, but the house was all wrong. The door was green, the pot plants too tall, and the woman took the baby lovingly into her arms. This wasn't the Dursley's house. The baby shifted, and Harry registered, that it wasn't really a baby at all. The toddler lifted his head above Dumbledore's shoulder, allowing Harry to see a brown head of a hair, brown eyes, a clear, un-marred forehead...

Harry cried out as he was forcibly pushed out of the man's head, and stepped back as far as his protective shield would allow. Facing the man who looked like Dumbledore, Harry saw that he was sweating profusely, and breathing heavily.

'That,' the man panted, 'was quite a show.'

Ignoring this comment, Harry focussed in on the man's eyes. Those piercing blue irises, that annoying, ever-present twinkle; no spell or potion could ever re-create that. And the memories... the memories had all been real.

'You're Albus Dumbledore,' he whispered.

'Yes,' the man replied, slowly regaining his breath.

'Impossible.'

The man frowned. 'And why would you say - '

'Because you're dead!' Harry screamed, feeling a panic rising up inside his chest. 'You're dead! And you!' he cried, turning his head to face the person who looked like Professor Snape, 'And you!' – McGonagall – 'And you!' – Parvati – 'And you!' – Hermione. 'You're dead, all of you. You. Can't. Be. Here. You're - ' Harry trailed off, his eyes widening. What if Malfoy hadn't forgotten him, what if he'd never known him? What if this wasn't the Malfoy he knew? Theoretically it was possible –

He screamed as the pain in his leg intensified, cutting off his thoughts. As his eyes momentarily rolled back in their sockets, he vaguely heard his wand drop to the floor. The shaking in his knee was spreading. He fell to the floor with a strangled cry, as his whole leg began to convulse. He reached down, clutching the bottom of his torn and bloodied jeans, and pulled the right leg up and over his knee.

Several cries went up around the room.

'Shit,' he breathed, softly.

Across his knee was a long, deep cut, stretching from the top part of his shin to just above his knee cap. It gaped wide open, leaving the flesh inside fully exposed. It was black. Small blisters were forming in the walls of the wound, angry red swellings growing up around them.

The woman who looked like Madam Pomfrey made to move towards Harry once more, but was thrown back by the shield he had erected around himself, which glowed momentarily as she made contact with it.

Ignoring the woman now shouting at him to let her come near, he stared, transfixed at his knee, which was still shaking uncontrollably, and had now begun to smell. The skin around it was peeling away, almost as if some invisible force was pulling at it, and a shadow was creeping in around the edges of the wound. Closing his eyes, momentarily forgetting his audience, Harry took a deep, painful breath, and focused his magic into his hand. Reaching out, he allowed his right hand to hover over his knee. A few second passed, before he drew his hand back, screaming.

'Shit,' he breathed again, 'holy shit.'

He could sense the magic in it.

Dark magic.

Panic now began to take over his body, as he realised just how dangerous a situation he was in.

'You must let me help you!' the woman who looked like Madam Pomfrey was shouting.

Harry turned to face her, his face white with fear. He nodded, slowly. 'Hold out your hand,' he whispered, his voice hoarse.

She obliged, and, focusing his magic once again into the palm of his hand, he allowed it to reach out to her. A gold mist surrounded her hand, drawing a pale, blue light out of it. Pulling back his hand, Harry raised it to touch the protective shield around him. It glowed bright white, before he pulled his hand away, nodding to the woman. 'You can pass through it. It will recognise your magical signature.'

Only vaguely aware of the stirs this piece of magic had caused, Harry watched the woman hurry over to him, passing through the barrier without problem. She crouched down next to Harry, drawing in a sharp breath as she visually examined his knee. 'What is this?'

Harry, his breathing now becoming increasingly erratic, hissed through gritted teeth, 'a curse.'

'Excuse me?' she asked, looking intently at him.

'A curse,' Harry gasped, the blisters on his leg now shuddering, starting to move towards one point at the bottom of the wound, 'dark, dark magic; the spell that did this.' He looked wildly up at her. 'I need help.'

He didn't know who she was, and at that point, didn't much care. What had previously appeared to be blisters were now moulding themselves into one, large, white lump – standing in stark contrast to the blackened skin – writhing as though gaining life. As pure, unadulterated panic kicked in, Harry looked up at the woman resembling Madame Pomfrey in desperation. 'Help me, please!'

She hesitated, and Harry let out a scream of pain as the white lump grew, twisting itself into something long, slimy.

'What do I do?' she asked, softly.

He looked at her, pleading, begging her with his eyes not to question him. 'Burn it.'

Her eyes widened, and had the situation not been so dire, in that moment Harry would have thought her quite comical.

He screamed again, as the lump of white lengthened further, beginning to rise up out of the wound.

She's not going to help...

Gritting his teeth, he picked up his wand in his now trembling hand, and cast a binding spell on his right leg. He could feel it shaking inside, but outwardly, it stilled. Casting a charm to stick his leg to the floor, he placed his wand back down on the floor beside him, pausing to take another deeply painful breath, before holding out his right hand. Fire burst into his outstretched palm, evoking further cries from the people surrounding him, and a harsh flinch from the woman beside him. Now trembling violently, he closed his eyes, and turned his palm over. Screams filled the room, as the smell of burning flesh spread sickeningly.

Someone screamed, and Harry was vaguely aware of another person approaching him, only to be thrown back by the shield. His hand drew instinctively back after mere seconds, and Harry cursed loudly. He couldn't do it. There was no way he could do it.

He turned to the woman beside him, trying one, last time. 'Please,' he whispered, faintly. 'It will kill me.'

She stared at him, horrified, before nodding.

Immediately he grabbed her hand, holding it over his now writhing knee. 'Can you conjure fire?' he asked.

'With a wand.'

He let go of her hand, allowing her to retrieve her wand from the pocket of her robe.

'Burn it.' He said, his voice shaking. 'Don't stop until it's out, even if I beg you.' He looked at her, in earnest now. 'Please, don't stop.'

She nodded.

'Now,' he whispered.

She hesitated.

'Now!'

Fire shot out of her wand, and Harry threw his head back, and screamed.

Stay still.

Don't move.

The smell of burning flesh filled the room, and Harry could hear the sounds of someone retching. He instinctively made to pull his leg back, but found it bound by the spell he himself had placed on it.

Don't pull away!

His hands moved down towards his knee, clawing at the flesh surround it. Pain shot through his leg, and he howled as his knee visibly burned, beginning to cave in on itself. The white mass had fully formed now; a white snake, crawling sickeningly out of the wound on his leg. It was screaming with Harry, burning alive as his knee blackened and charred. It raised its head to look at Harry, hissing in pain.

'S Stop it! S,' Harry screamed, tears now streaming down his grubby face, 'S Just die! S'

The snake hissed angrily at him, 'S Silly, silly boy... S,' before it exploded in a myriad of colours. A white mist rose up, the faint echoes of the snake's screams reverberating through it.

'Stop!' Harry screamed.

The fire died immediately.

Throwing up his right arm, Harry desperately mumbled a spell, encasing the white mist in an impenetrable, grey bubble, before turning to his right, and vomiting all over the floor.

'Thank you,' he whispered, hoarsely, before slumping forwards, the protective shield around him disappearing as he slipped into unconsciousness.