When Harry opened his eyes again, he sluggishly blinked awake his mind and body feeling remarkably different from usual. Not in a bad way, but his mind felt clear and his body felt rested and lighter than its felt in months. With a quiet groan he pushed himself upright, as he repeatedly blinked to try to blink away hazy vision that distorted the world around him. Glasses, he reminded himself as he looked to his bedside, looking for the small shelf that was always beside his bed in the Gryffindor rooms.
That was when he realized he wasn't back at Hogwarts with a well rested sleep in the Gryffindor dormitories. Memories flew back into his mind, destroying his momentary ignorance to all that occurred.
"Hermione? Ron?" Harry called hesitantly his voice somewhat frantic as he looked around, the sleepiness being thrown harshly from his mind with his eyesight being surprisingly sharp. Too sharp for the usual. That didn't matter to Harry at the moment, he stumbled out of bed and looked around the room, his room. The room only had the one bed that he just rolled out of, there was a large desk in the corner of the room that had a massive stack of books with a meager amount of parchment sprinkled around it, the room was almost completely barren other than that. There was no bedside table, no dresser, no shelves, just a nearly empty room and himself.
Loneliness gnawed at him, as he realized the experience with dying may have actually happened. Ron and Hermione haven't even been born yet, their parents aren't even alive yet-he was in the time their own grandparents were in their youth. Harry was alone. In the silence of the room he felt cold, even if the love he shared with the fraud Ginny was a lie, his friendship with Ron and Hermione was mostly real. Like every summer, he missed them and no time had drifted past him yet from the last time he saw them. Only, that time was the last, and they were mourning above his dead body after Lucius Malfoy murdered him.
"No, no, not now," Harry mumbled to himself as he looked around for an exit to the room he was in, Grindelwald would be trying to capture him soon. Death told him he needed to get captured by them to get to Hogwarts where he could make his own life for himself, without the shadow of Voldemort or Dumbledore. No Greater Good to be forced to abide by, he was free. There were two doors, both looking exactly the same as the other. Almost like a copy paste effect, but that didn't matter.
Harry's skin seemed to be alien to himself, his bones begging him to move as they could arrive any moment to take him away. Only this time, he wasn't in the mist of Horcrux hunting with Ron and Hermione, with every day having a chance of being the last as they ran from Death Eaters. Harry was alone, with the best choice for him to be captured by Grindelwald's men, Alliance if Harry recalled correctly. Everything he ever learned he recalled so easy, nothing felt muddled, and he was truly confident they were the Alliance. If only he was like that in Potions, Harry thought to himself as he advanced towards the nearest door.
The door appeared to be oak, the door knob bright and shined as it glimmered up at him. Callously he swung the door open, finding a small bathroom. The bathroom had all that was needed, nothing more nothing less. The tile flooring seemed well maintained with the sleek gray walls looking monotone with no imperfections, the sink was almost eye bleeding with how white it reflected, the same with the toilet and shower. Harry almost retreated from the bathroom but with a small influx of curiosity he stepped in. To the direct left of the door was the sink, above the sink was a mirror that showed his form.
Death had said he would look like himself, scars and all except a few minor changes. Harry somewhat agreed with that assessment, his skin was the same pale white, his eyes gleamed an emerald that made him recall the cold grasp of the killing curse as it harshly yanked his soul from his body, his hair was the same raven black. Only, his hair was longer and went slightly beyond his shoulders, with it grown out it didn't look like a birds nest but rather a fluffy ruffle of fine black hair.
YOU ARE READING
Foresaken (Old, being rewrote)
خيال (فانتازيا)Harry was forsaken his whole life, nothing ever stayed the same and if it did it endangered or hurt Harry in some way shape or form. This revolves in all things, and his pass with fortune ends when after he finally destroys Voldemort, a Death Eater...