Chapter Text
The mornings start before dawn at the castle. Before the sky clears into opaque blue, loud boots sound on the staircase, followed by even louder voices. The grey guards change shift at dawn. Their last mission is to march as loudly as possible to wake up the sleeping Death Eaters. It is a dreary routine. One thump, two thumps, a curse and heavy boots running past the courtyard. Harry wakes up to the familiar sound of boots and stretches languidly against the bedpost. The cool air brushes against his bare chest where the scars of battle draw a shiny pattern.
The castle is always heavily guarded; in addition to the invisible magic surrounding it like a stormy cloud (tasting of copper, sharp as blood) human guards are placed on the walls and on top of the ancient towers. The castle is almost a prison but not quit; after all it is more of a hiding place for a Dark Lord, perhaps an elaborate vacation house. Far away from the soils of Britain, Voldemort fled after the burning of Hogwarts.
Harry remembers that day vividly.
"My Lord," Lucius Malfoy bows deeply before Voldemort, "Hogwarts is ours!" The old castle stood proudly in contradiction to Malfoy's brazen words. Voldemort was standing or more like hovering above the gates. His robes torn to pieces; there is blood on his pale face and around his mouth. He looks rabid and real. The Death Eaters look no better, grazed from countless curses they appear almost fearful.
Hogwarts proved to be a real challenge after all. The cause was the death of Harry Potter or so they whisper. A curse was activated, sending countless Death Eaters, werewolves and other monsters flying up the air, banished from the school grounds. Voldemort preened at the challenge, waved his wand and then his arms and started chanting in a whispery language, but to no avail. Nothing was working. They tried everything but the more magic was thrown against the wards, the more the curse Dumbledore placed has strengthened. This was Hogwarts end.
Harry knows because he was there, sweat clouding his vision, his left hand numb from clutching his wand. He was there but he thought he was dreaming. He remembers marching with the others, a giant to his left and a chubby Death Eater to his right. They marched and Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. Harry followed the others and watched events unfold. He watched without paying too much attention, high on adrenaline. He saw Voldemort appear in front of the castle gates to meet a middle-aged woman with hair tied in a tight knot and a stern expression. She stood silent and fearless even though Voldemort was speaking to her. Harry and the others leant forwards to try and catch Voldemort's words but the wind was too loud.
Harry sees the woman's expression darken and her mouth tighten. Voldemort kept whispering something to her, her expression fell and Harry saw it was is McGonagall. He wants to say something or run to her and shield her from Voldemort. But his legs are rooted to the ground. This can't be happening. McGonagall casts a look around; her eyes pierce Voldemort's army without fear and with something glinting underneath the surface. Harry thinks he has never seen her so desperate and yet so calm. She lifts her chin and her voice carries loud and clear "you shall never have Hogwarts".
Before Harry can process, she lifts her boney arm and it is in flames. Voldemort screams and Harry is shocked by the sound. It is too late. The flames are hot red and they envelop everything. Everything burns in seconds in a hot fire that can't be stopped. Hogwarts is burning and Harry finds the scent is horrific. Harry hears someone crying and realizes it is him. All the other Death Eaters are on their knees in pain, their dark marks glowing like the brands they are. Voldemort is still screaming or crying in agony. Harry remembers blacking out from the pain in his left arm at some point. His last thought is strange, he sees Fawkes, the loyal phoenix, rising from the ashes, larger then Harry remembers him. He has big golden wings and he is flying east, like a promise of hope.
After Hogwarts burned down, Voldemort wasn't the same. Which was fitting, considering Harry wasn't either. Voldemort woke up from his victory to find he lost his most precious. He raged for months, leaving ashes and ruin across Britain. Harry's memories of the time are hazy. Sometimes he was there and sometimes he wasn't. He can't say where he went in between. Only that it was calm and quiet. At times, he woke up to observe things happen. Villages burning under the force of Death Eaters in blood lust, meals taken at camp around a fire followed by the constant apparition that left him feeling nauseous. Gradually, the memories sharpened. Harry could feel himself become solid, and his body ached. He felt warm, cold and sometimes he felt happy. He knew things, like how to throw dark curses or how to bow the right way when the Dark Lord was around. He knew mundane things too, like that he had a little sister called Mary and his favorite food was corned beef. Sometimes, he was just Harry, observing but silent in a stranger's body. It was like seeing through a kaleidoscope, vivid with colors and different shapes that shifted too fast to comprehend.
At camp, the Dark Lord was majestic, powerful and Harry's knees trembled with the need to bow. At camp, the Dark Lord was Tom Riddle, handsome and holding a little black book before his smile turned to poison. And sometimes at camp, Voldemort was just Voldemort and Harry wanted him dead. But most of the time, the Dark Lord was simply there. When they reached London and Voldemort took his time securing his rule. The Death Eaters and Harry among them were sent to "have a little fun". They drank and they drank, and partied and thrilled on the fear of others. They could do whatever they wanted. Harry had corned beef and he slept with a pretty girl with bright red hair. He remembers thinking her face was wrong, but he liked her hair even though it made his heart skip a beat.
The next morning, swaying and buttoning his robes, Harry walked outside the girls apartment. The streets of London were littered with black ribbons, symbols of Voldemort's victory. Harry felt alive and maybe slightly pissed from the night before. And that is when he noticed something was missing, Voldemort wasn't there. The familiar suffocating presence of his magic was gone and Harry felt naked and alone without it.
He reached Oxford Street; it was usually overcrowded, especially during the summer months. It was now eerily deserted. The shops were closed, some were vandalized. Harry started walking around but the sky greyed and raindrops fell in a growing rhythm. "Shit" Harry raised his collar and ran across the street, looking for shelter while manically laughing. This was a nightmare or maybe a dream. He was the only living soul around and the rain kept soaking him until he was trembling. Still laughing Harry reached a small shed and folded against it.
The scent of rain cleared his mind. A small dog carefully crossed the street towards the park. "Hey, doggie, come here! Won't you?" The dog ignored him and his offer for shelter.
Harry looked down into the swiftly forming puddle on the pavement. His face stared back at him, distorted. Harry knew who he was, but he also knew who he wasn't. He was Shimael who swears, kills muggles and sometimes misses his mum (who was still alive and unhappy with her son's career choices). He was also Harry Potter. Only now he wasn't so sure about being the boy who lived. Harry caught himself laughing in panic again.
He made his decision that day. He will kill Voldemort.