Chapter Text
There was a flash, screaming, and then darkness.
“Hush,” Harry grumbled with a scratchy voice, brows furrowed in frustration, driving his head deeper into the pillow, attempting to soften the blaring sound of his alarm clock. Already being jolted awake by a strange dream anyway. He flung a hand toward the noise, a sense of relief washing over him as it quieted. The box falls to the ground with a loud clunk. Hearing it hit the floor, the glass display audibly shattering, he cringed at the bang and the rolling of the batteries.
Harry pushed himself up, slouching as he let his feet rest on the chilled hardwood floor. Vision blurry; mindlessly reaching for his glasses, feeling for the thin, cold metal on his bedside table. Placing the lenses atop the bridge of his nose, eyesight mostly restored aside from his view being distorted by drowsiness. Harry’s eyes lazily focus in on the room around him. It was cramped with only two rooms, the main room and a bathroom, but it was cheap. The kitchen was even smaller with plates beginning to pile up. On a bedside table lay a brightly colored sticky note reading ‘interview at the london fog cafe at 9:30 am!!’ scrawled in a way that must be his handwriting but he couldn’t seem to recognize. However, when Harry’s eyes snapped to meet the clock on the wall, a cold stream of icy panic ran through his veins. “Shit!” He cursed under his breath, scrambling up off his cushioned mattress with a start.
Harry hurried to the bathroom with a clouded mind; an unshakeable brain fog which was making it significantly harder to remember things exactly. Finally making it to the sink, Harry ignored his messy and uncooperative dark colored hair like always, quickly brushing his teeth. He pushed the loose metal frames above his hairline to lay in the tufts there, splashing his face with chilled water. The glasses drive his fringe back, revealing a jagged lighting bolt scar on his forehead. Taking just a moment to squint, Harry can vaguely make out the details of his face (the only things that so far don’t make him confused); His pair of emerald green eyes and thick eyelashes, a few red blotches of acne scattered on his forehead and cheeks, and a very minimal amount of dark stubble on his chin.
After quickly stalking back, Harry pulled on a tight fitting white dress shirt contrasting his warm tanned skin, folding the sleeves' cuffs’. Styled with a baggy pair of black jeans he doesn’t distinctly remember buying.
Harry Potter was by no means a normal kid, as much as he can recall. His parents died when he was only a year old, in a car accident (according to Vernon and Petunia Dursley), leaving him with his only living family members and the small scar hidden behind his curls. The Durselys were your typical white, suburban family in the 1990’s: working husband, stay at home mom, and a son of which was spoiled to filth. Harry grew up as a pariah to the Dursley family who were pretty forward with their distaste in his existence. Harry’s whole life was spent determining his value based on favors he could do for the family, a family who could care less what his fate was.
Harry opened the window, looking out at the city of London wide awake and bustling. The sun streaming through, lighting his flat with bright yellow beams. That dream last night must’ve really messed with him, he could’ve sworn the city looked more familiar in his memories.
Shaking the thought away, Harry closed the window again. Hearing the chatter of the crowd almost instantly muffle once the panels shut tightly. The hinges squealed stubbornly, their obvious age evident in their decayed appearance.
A thought forced through his mind, demanding his attention. Uncle Vernon refusing to pay for the dingy flat any longer, as he had to start paying for his cousin’s university fees. The unclear recollection filtered through his mind, reminding him of why the interview was scheduled in the first place. They originally offered it to keep Harry out of the house. Why wouldn’t they just kick me out? Thinking about it too much made his head ache with confusion, so he decided to leave it for later. The two room flat was located in a rather sketchy part of town, he justified. The alley right beside him always had problems: loud crashes in the middle of the night, flashing lights following weird exclamations, shady characters lurking by. A quick look out the window and it was clear there was another one of them, stood just outside the building his flat was located in and off to the side, slouched against a wall with their hat low. Harry keeps note of that in his mind.
Harry padded over to the door, bending down to lace up his shoes. Nothing fancy, just some white sneakers. Knowing there was no food in the kitchen, Harry snatched a dark brown coat and his set of keys and rushed out of the door with a haziness and an attempt at confidence. After making his way down the stairwell, Harry is greeted with the late August chill and the morning rush of people going to work and to class. To wherever, really. Harry admired people with that sense of purpose, determined to complete or create. Those people who always looked put together, with that sense of accomplishment. Something bubbled up in his stomach, envy perhaps? Or maybe dedication to achieve that same sense of purpose, of belonging, of accomplishment. To create some real change, to push more light into the world, to counter the evil.
The cafe was a short walk from his flat. Short enough that even though it was already 9:15, he still had enough time to slow down and people watch. With all of the uncertainty of the morning and the increasingly mystifying dream, Harry needed a moment to feel less out of place. Already, the universe seemed to have other plans for him because he could feel a pair of eyes on him at the moment. Perceptive of every move. He created a sort of mental list, checking each point off as he went through it: Was he wearing something odd? Had he dropped something? Maybe something was smudged against his cheek? But he had a feeling it couldn’t be those, as there wasn’t anything on his cheek (he wiped them both just in case), his outfit wasn’t particularly jarring, and he only had his coat and keys (both of which are still in his hands.) Looking around, nobody was really fixed to him in particular. Really, what had he done in his life to warrant any negative attention anyways? With that, Harry just ignored the lingering questions in his head and approached the cafe entrance.
Harry carefully pulled the see-through doors open, feeling the warm air entice him further inside against the chilliness of mid morning London freeze. The cafe was a lot more sophisticated than he was expecting. Classical music sounded through the space against the grinding of coffee machines and the quiet chatter of patrons. A few people waited patiently in line, dressed like individuals who belonged there with clean pressed suits and angular, monochrome dresses with chunky jewelry. A nervous sweat formed at his temple and his hands shook as he stood a bit lost at the front. Harry took a deep breath to push away the urge to walk out and stepped from the door, making his way up to the coffee bar. Carefully approaching a distracted woman polishing the glass cover to the pastry shelf.
“Morning,” Harry greeted politely, the woman’s head snapping up to meet his eyes. Her lips turned up in a customer service friendly smile.
“Good morning!” She chirped back, throwing the polishing towel over her shoulder, placing a hand on her hip comfortably. “Can I help you with something?” The woman asked, arching a brow in curiosity.
“Oh, yes,” Harry mumbled out, feeling a wave of embarrassment hit him. “Sorry, I have an interview today?” He said with uncertainty. “I’m Harry Potter.”
“Right!” The woman exclaimed with a look of recognition, clapping her hands together as if to punctuate her sentence. She scrambled around for a moment, placing the towel behind the bar. “Follow me,” She instructed, gesturing toward an ‘employees only’ door which she opened for him. The woman led him down a warmly lit hallway toward a back office. Harry peaked around in interest as they walked, clocking the barrenness of the staff room.
Once they’d reached the back room, the woman closed the door behind them with a soft click. It was clearly a manager’s office of sorts; a desk made of cherry wood, a comfortable looking chair behind it, and two smaller less comfortable blue chairs in front of it. The room was neatly decorated, if you could even call it decoration. It looked clean, for sure, but unused. Like the room was rarely ever touched, especially with all the dust collecting on the surfaces around them. The woman strode over to the big chair behind the desk, looking at it with reserve for a moment before carefully and unnaturally settling on it. Her arms frigid. Not even bothering to move her legs to a more comfortable position.
“Please, sit.” The woman motioned stiffly to the seats in front of Harry. He nodded and offered an appreciative smile, gingerly sitting on one of them, gently folding his coat across his lap. “My name is Judy, it’s nice to meet you,” The woman— ‘Judy’--- greeted, holding a hand out for Harry to shake.
“Nice to meet you too,” Harry responded with a nervous grin, shaking her hand firmly before placing his palm flush against his knee.
“I’m just going to ask some questions, if that’s alright?” Harry nodded and she continued, “Alright, let’s start off easy, what do you think is your best skill?” Judy’s gaze trained on him, pen in hand.
“Hmm,” Harry hummed, unsure. Blanking on any good traits and how to properly use them in this setting. He settled on mentioning the first positive thing that came to mind. “I’d say I’m hardworking. I always had good quiz scores in school, when I put my mind to it, and I try my best to succeed with any task I’m assigned,” Harry replied, voice lacking confidence. Not because he didn't believe he was hardworking, but because he couldn’t really remember if he got good marks in school. Judy scribbled something onto a piece of paper in front of her that Harry hadn’t noticed before.
“Great—“ Judy mumbled, the kind curve of her smile still ever so present on her face. As was her awkward posture. A few questions later and a nervous glance at his watch and Harry’s interview was over.
It wasn’t as if the interview was particularly long by any means. Not that Harry had anything to compare it to. However he felt completely discouraged, so much so, the moment he’d cleared out of the building he let out a crestfallen sigh which definitely sounded significantly more like an annoyed whine. Lingering outside and to the side of the front door, a few people skirted past him and headed inside the cafe, ringing the little bell above the door repeatedly. Out of spite, Harry silently thanked whatever god could be out there that he wouldn’t have to work there. If not only for the annoying chime that bell made.
His thoughts abruptly halted for a moment as the sound of a distant and faint horn of a train declaring its departure signaled deep within his mind. As if it weren’t really happening but rather it was a memory; a memory he couldn’t see, like the sound of the bell triggered a flashback, a deep recollection that Harry wasn’t aware he had before it had appeared. Along with a number planting firmly into his mind, '9 ¾', on a shiny train ticket. Blinking rapidly, the image and sound dissipated just as quickly as they had appeared.
Spotting rickety metal chairs and equally unstable tables placed outside the cafe, Harry thought it rather brilliant to slump into one of them to clear his mind; bracing his hand on the table as he eased onto the seat. He took a moment to admire the surrounding area, seeing the different cloud patterns and the leaves blowing in the air. Something he’d always done to ease his thoughts, making a mental list of things, any things. Things he knows to be true, things he has to do, things he can see. Such as: one, the sky was still very much bright, it had to be around ten thirty am at this point. Two, the pavements seemed to clear out just a little bit from the morning rush. And three, there was someone, just around the corner wearing all black and lurking in the shadows, that very plainly held a distinct gaze on Harry. At first, he could just hear them, then he could visibly see them out of the corner of his eye. Immediately, Harry recognized the figure from this morning, sneaking around his building.
Hands shaky, Harry calmly rose from the squeaky, weatherworn chair and slowly made his way across the road; trying for ‘uninterested’ but knowing the concern and paranoia were evident from the crease in his brow and the slouch of his shoulders. Walking, despite the urge to jolt up and book it down the road until he was safe in his flat.
Unsure of what to do next, Harry continued down the street. He had much time to kill (he assumed). Unlike the helpful reminder of the interview this morning, there weren't any more notes about a class or any sort of meeting today. Not that it mattered, he wouldn’t know where to go either way. It all seemed trivial with the tension stiffening his limbs. Without really paying attention, Harry was headed toward his flat anyways. Resigned to spending the day alone, trying to decode the randomness of the last few hours.
Just a few moments later and Harry was nearing his flat, the telltale signs of his street around him. The broken lamp, check. The crooked pipe, check. The orange rusted bin, check. A group of three kids came into his vision up ahead, right at the corner where he'd turn into his building’s stairwell. Truthfully, they were probably around his age. They stood by the street, right in front of a graffitied lamppost. Even though it was past the morning rush, the complete lack of other people on this side of the pavement was unusual.
The tallest one of the group ahead: a rather goofy looking blue-eyed ginger with freckles painting his ivory colored skin, out of the three, he seemed the most friendly. That thought gave him pause, what would give him that sort of idea? The only girl, upon inspection, had deep brown skin along with neatly coiled, umber hair. She was short, at least shorter than the two boys that accompanied her, and she had her eyebrows creased in thought. The last one, who was a startling porcelain with almost white-blond hair, stood tall and had a posh sort of look, like he always turned his nose up to things. Not an imperfection to his appearance, like he’d never done any work in his life or even seen a bit of sun. Harry was half surprised the poor guy didn’t burst into flames right there in the rays of sun. As if on cue, his eyes lock with the girl’s just as he’s getting ready to turn away and retreat up into his flat. She seemed to absolutely light up in relief. Harry was close enough for her to just reach forward and tug him into an embrace. The other two visibly relaxed at the sight of him.
“Harry!” She cried, holding her arms tightly around him and tucking her face into his shoulder solemnly. The feeling oddly seemed…familiar, like he’d met her before or at the very least hugged her. Which, now that he really considered those exact ideas, didn’t make any sense. Saying as he had no memory of ever meeting this person in his entire life.
“Mate, we’ve been all around London looking for you,” The redhead explained nonchalantly, as if they needed no introduction. Like they’d been friends for years. “Where ‘ave you been all this time?” He asked, looking at Harry with serious curiosity. Harry very quickly stepped backwards, forcing the girl to break the embrace.
“I’m sorry– have we all gone mad? Am I supposed to know you or something?” Harry spoke, feeling absolutely crazy at the moment, licks of anger heating his blood unnecessarily. Keeping his hands up in a defensive move with a look of pure confusion. Keys smushed in his pocket, coat tucked against him; right arm holding it against his side. From the dream, to the people watching him, to the weird flashback he had, to the stalker; which he’s sure is still following him by the way. Everything was going too fast; overwhelming all his senses. The three of them looked incredibly alarmed as they continued to observe his state.
“Are you being serious?” Scoffed a voice so arrogant and high class, it could only have come from the blond who was, strangely, standing behind them. He raised an eyebrow as if challenging Harry to a fight. Harry clamped his hands shut into a fist and let them drop to his sides, resisting the urge to punch the prat right in the nose.
The three of them huddled together, as if trying to solve a murder mystery and Harry was their biggest clue. Sparing a few pitiful and scrutinizing glances his way. Harry should’ve left when they turned away from him. His breath was still coming in fast, chest rising and falling at a distressing rate. The girl turned to him with a disappointed and resigned look. Eyes trained on the concrete they stood on, too upset to raise them to meet Harry’s gaze.
“Um, Harry, you were raised by your aunt and uncle right? Can you tell us what happened to your parents?” She said hesitantly, as if she were testing a theory. The other two looked with furrowed brows, watching quietly, waiting for his response.
“Oh now I get it, is this some joke? Did Dudley put you up to this because I swear–-” Harry began, voice rising in volume as his anger hit higher thresholds. He was sure his face was turning red at the cheeks and his eyes were flashing with annoyance.
“Potter, we were not hired by your imbecile of a cousin. Just answer the question,” The blond one interjected with an exasperation only someone really fed up could muster. The gaze coming from him only further painted just how frustrated he was becoming. Harry clenched his jaw as confusion and fear continued to morph into irritation.
“They died in a car crash when I was baby,” Harry grumbled through his teeth, eying them anxiously. Uncertainty prickling up his spine and a wave of nausea rolling into his stomach. All this unknown bullshit, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Was his name even Harry? And even if he did really believe that, how could he be sure?
“Oh, Harry…” The girl muttered softly with a deep sadness filling her words, as if being able to read his mind, “What did they do to you?” She spoke, even quieter and with even more concern Harry almost believed she was really there to help him. With what? That was what he wasn’t sure about. She took a deep breath and approached him once more, with a hand outstretched and a friendly smile that was pulled a little too tightly at her top lip that it was clearly fake. There was too much heartbreak swimming in her eyes anyway. “I’m Hermione, we– um, we were good friends,” The girl— Hermione— managed. Harry took her hand and shook it with skepticism. She held him tight for a moment before letting go.
“I’m Ron,” The redhead introduced gently, with a half smile and a small weak wave. Ron’s stare flicked down, posture slumping in as he became aware of something. Like the relief and excitement from seeing Harry initially had just faded away and left him with a dark realization. Harry shifted his gaze, the blond simply rolled his eyes at this display.
“Draco Mal—” The last one began, not getting too close or offering a hand. Harry was just formulating a thought when Draco shouted, “Get down!” A shot of color whisking over all four of them as they duck quickly, looking up to see someone about four meters behind Harry holding up something long. At first he thought it was a gun but the more he squinted, it looked more like a glorified stick.
“They’ve been following me all morning,” Harry blurted out as the image of this person clicked into his brain, adrenaline coursing through his veins. “What are they holdin—”
“A wand, Potter,” Draco bites out, snatching a dark, similarly shaped, stick from his back pocket. Looking closer, Harry can see the other person whose ‘stick’ seems more menacing with the context of it being a wand. Draco stood quickly, moving in front of Harry. “Flipendo!” He yelled out, thrusting his arm forward. A quick flash of bright purple light shoots from the end of his wand, sending the other person backwards in a flip. “It’s a Death Eater,” Draco so helpfully announced, as if those words make any sense put together. The others seem to recognize the word and nod in understanding. As the ‘Death Eater’ crashed against the floor, Ron gripped and tugged Harry’s bicep in an attempt to pull him up.
“Come on, Harry,” Ron urged, pulling with more force. Harry obliged, figuring the people protecting him right now were probably his best bet. Ron, still holding his arm, started off running in one direction just as the other two began in the same fashion. The severity of what he just said hits Harry like a fucking brick to the forehead. Racing past an assortment of trash cans, cars, and filling storefronts.
“Can someone please explain what is going on right now? Did you just do magic?!” Harry rambled indignantly as he rushed alongside them. Head turning to each person individually to gauge some sort of reaction or answer. Finding that he could keep up with them quite easily, despite not having ever done much physical activity as a kid.
“Harry, do you feel like your memory is extremely hazy? As if you’re not entirely sure who you were before today?” Hermione asked quickly as she sprinted in front of him, looking back momentarily to speak to him. “They’ve messed with your memory somehow! You’re a wizard, you’re our friend and—” Another flash of staticky magic hits close to them, missing Ron by a hair.
“Hermione, we have to do something!” Ron shouted nervously with a voice full of fear, pulling out his own wand from a holster attached to his hip.
“I’m trying!” She responded, harshly grumbling as she tried to push forward both with running and problem solving. Harry couldn’t explain a single thing that was going on to anyone he passed by, unable to explain it to himself. He half thought this was some weird dream and he did miss his alarm. The three continue to turn back, thrashing their arms and shouting unrecognizable phrases at the person following them.
“They’re calling for backup, we need to disapparate!” Draco warned, looking behind them to see another person dressed very similarly join in on the hunt. Throwing spell after spell at them.
A sudden light shot from the side of Harry and a force kicked him off his feet. Consciousness faded away quickly as lights continued to flash around him, muffled shouting ringing in his ears.
A scream replaced his thoughts; high pitched and painful. It sounded familiar, like a scream that would haunt someone’s nightmares and keep them awake. He couldn’t tell who exactly it was meant to be coming from but it felt like it was tearing at his eardrums. Perhaps this is what death felt like, just endless pain. An image blinked through his mind, someone with pale gray skin and a serpent-like presence. A cloak dripping from their frail body. They looked increasingly mad, shouting something as a green burst of energy produced and filled Harry’s vision.
Finally, it was just dark. Like he was floating in a sea of nothing. Hoping more than anything he wouldn’t wake up.