Back For The First Time, Harry?

Toms and Alastors

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Oh, am I really dead this time? Harry couldn't help but wonder. Or is this another weird dream in my head? He blinked uselessly against the light.

But even with his eyes screwed shut, it was like they were wide open. There was nothing but brightness. Oddly enough, it didn't hurt. When he died in the Forest, with Voldemort looking on, it hurt.

Dead or alive... wherever he was, it was not France. He lets out a heavy sigh. So much for that occupation. He could read the headlines now: Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived is Lost via Apparation!

The light subsides, out of nowhere, just enough for outlines to appear. It looked like... people? They didn't come any closer, and Harry couldn't really move, so he just watched them and waited.

A cry pierced the stillness.

Mangled and nothing at all like a crying child should sound, it was so much deeper than that, but all the same Harry knew it was a child.

In front of him the outline of chair came into view. It was one of those low, metal ones with the weird holes all over it, like some sort of cage wiring. Very muggle.

Underneath it was a familiar sight from mere weeks ago. A deformed, bloody, whiter-than-white baby swaddled in a rough cloth.

It let out another shrill cry, so very piercing in the utter nothingness, and it shook Harry down to his core. The baby, well 'Horcrux' if we're to be technical, was the only solid thing here. This time there was no Dumbledore, no train station, just that damned chair and the baby. Harry'd forgotten all about the vague outlines in the distance.

Suddenly he could move, and he jolted forward with shaking legs to kneel in front of the chair. The Horcrux, the baby, the whatever, seems to sense him. Its eyes were screwed shut but it reached out tiny arms and fingers for Harry. It cried out again, but it was not the piercing, haunting call it made earlier. This one was curious.

Harry had forgotten all about Hit Wizards and headlines now.

"Hey there," he said cautiously. Not reaching out, even as its little arms seemed to strain harder. When Harry still didn't touch it, it opened its mouth for that horrible, initial scream, and Harry hastily went to grab the swath. It hissed.

Hissed at him.

He pulled it out from under the chair and onto his folded legs. It was still now, and silent. It's lipless mouth (was that a mouth?) seemed to curl into a smile.

"Talk about codependent," Harry muttered.

"Back again?" Harry jolted, his neck snapping up. But it wasn't Dumbledore. He didn't recognise this man at all. He was old but without a beard. He had only a shock of thick, white hair on his head instead. That too, was a perfectly normal length.

"I suppose so," Harry said with all the calmness he didn't feel. The headache was making itself known again. He'd never had a hangover this bad before. He was only seventeen after all. "By any chance, do you know why?"

"No," the old man said pleasantly.

"Ah." Harry looked between him and the Horcrux-baby-whatever. "Sorry, but do I know you?"

"Well," he looked most surprised. "That's a good question, isn't it! Always the hard ones. That's very in-script." Harry blinked and squinted but for all the ambiguity and riddles the guy still looked and sounded nothing like Dumbledore. "I suppose you would say yes, but could just as easily say no. Or maybe most hopeful of all, not yet. Yes I like that one best."