Destiny Reversed

Harry was dreaming. Or had he always been dreaming? He couldn't tell; in the feverish haze of his mind, he couldn't tell top from bottom, right to left. He wasn't how long it had been, but it seemed like an eternity. All he could hear or feel was another's pain, accompanied by Voldemort's sadistic delight in torturing his victims. If Harry could think clearly, he might have wondered why he wasn't just seeing this through Voldemort's eyes like he usually did; but then, he may have just dismissed it as another strange occurrence in this twisted world.

However, it didn't really matter at the moment. His current concern was the fact that Harry was trapped in a man's mind, experiencing his agony, and his corporeal body unable to scream along with him.

"Scream," Voldemort's cold voice hissed, pure pleasure underlining his complacent tone. "Crucio."

Harry collapsed onto the ground and began writhing in agony, twitching uncontrollably for every single sensation of knives piercing his skin. A thousand bolts of lightning surged through his body, incomprehensibly numbing agony coursing through his veins as his mind clouded.

Viciously, he bit onto his lip, holding back the scream that was clawing its way out of his throat, surprisingly able to taste the bitter, sour blood in his mouth through the pain. His eyes watered and tears flowed freely and uncontrollably as the last shred of Harry's self restraint and sanity began to fade away from his grasping fingers.

At last, he could hold it in no longer. A screeching, almost inhuman sound burst out of Harry's throat until he screamed his throat raw, never ceasing even as the curse was abruptly removed.

Unable to hear Voldemort's next words, his vision blaring red all around him, he didn't have time to anticipate the flash of brilliant green light before he found himself back in the haze.

Groggily, Harry tried to summon the strength to rise, to get away from the horrors he had just experienced. Unfortunately, his body wasn't listening to him, only managing to slowly open an emerald eye. There, he found something impossible -Sirius Black, his godfather, staring worriedly back at him. I must be dead, he thought groggily, but his thoughts were hard to grasp, and he found himself forgetting and remembering inconsistently.

He'd always heard stories about heaven, how angels were supposed to greet the newly dead at the gates to ease the transition. It suddenly made sense; that's what Sirius was, why he -but now his godfather was talking, saying something about him being alive. Harry almost choked on his laughter, the unbelievable lengths Sirius went to comfort him, or a Death Eater went to trick him. Feeling himself falling into darkness again, Harry informed him of the impossibility of Sirius's words, how he had seen him falling through the veil.

However, the last thing he saw before re-entering Voldemort's consciousness were confused eyes and knotted eyebrows.

Harry swiftly glided around the corpses scattered at his feet, indifferent to unequal amount the Blood Traitors and Death Eaters lying there. Robes billowing behind him with eerie grace, Harry knew he emulated of power and regality.

With his exceptional sense of smell, Harry could smell everything from the crisp night air to the burnt bundle of flesh sprawled beneath his feet. He smiled twistedly, still able to feel tingles of pleasure from his latest kill. The rush he always experienced during a slaughter or particular enjoyable session was unrivaled by anything. Inhaling the scent of fresh blood, he reveled in it. There, all around him, were the weakness of mortals -their own mortality. Harry was overcome with an elated feeling of invincibility. No one could stop him.

Scanning the area coolly, Harry lazily directed his wand behind him, sneering, "Avada Kedavra!" and smirking in satisfaction when he hard the muffled thump of a corpse falling to the ground.

At least Dumbledore's lot and the Ministry have something in common, Harry thought in disdain, feeling an urge to laugh at the fool for trying to sneak behind Harry like that. He may be a Dark Wizard, but at least he had the courage to look both his enemies and fear in the face. He hoped that person wasn't a Gryffindor -what a disgrace that coward would be if he was, further ruining an already stained House of Blood Traitors.

Eyes searching the seemingly forlorn street, Harry was pleased to see another Dark Mark joining the myriad others floating forebodingly in the sky.

Harry heard a pop, and was disgusted to see known members of the elite Order of the Phoenix Apparate in front of him. But he knew as well as they did that they were no threat; their numbers have declined severely since they last met. Glancing up at a sky alit with ghostly Dark Marks, Harry reached up beneath the left sleeve of his robes and touched the original. Seconds later, numerous Death Eaters answered his call.

He noticed that three people, adorned in Auror robes, were slightly ahead of the others, leading the group. He instantly recognized two of them with a knowing smile.

"Ah. The Potters."

* * *

Remus and Violet had been watching Harry for the past few minutes. Despite the comatose boy's complete stillness before, his eyelids twitched violently as his facial features contorted into an expression Violet really didn't want to know the cause of.

"Is Harry going to die?" Violet asked softly.

Attempting to smile reassuringly, the werewolf replied, "I'm sure he'll be fine." However, it didn't do much to placate Remus's own worries, and, judging from Violet's disbelief, hers either. He had to admit, he'd seen many horrible things in his lifetime, including the reactions of numerous friends who'd just learned they'd lost a loved one. But watching his "niece's" blank expression scared him tremendously. Even in these times of danger, James and Lily's normally carefree daughter was determined to defy fear and continue to laugh.

Then again, Remus thought sadly, this is an extreme occasion. She was holding it together extremely well for a girl whose parents had just left on a dangerous mission, leaving her to watch her twitching brother writhe from an unseen force, unsure if he'll pull out of it completely intact.

The only other time Remus had seen Violet let go of the happy mask she always wore was at her friend's funeral, whose family had been brutally murdered by Death Eaters. That tragedy had taken place a couple of weeks ago, but she was still mourning inwardly.

Every time someone asked Violet if she was okay, she would reply with a huge grin that she was perfectly fine, unfazed by the destruction that plagued their world. But that grin never reached her sad, grave hazel eyes, leaving her parents worried that she would attempt something regretfully brash and stupid, such as going after the Death Eaters herself.

Right now, watching Violet stare at Harry with bright, teary eyes and a pained expression, Remus saw the tears she fought hard to keep from falling. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, eyes glistening, and smiled faintly in gratitude.

Remus, unfortunately, had no comfort but the hope that his nephew would wake up soon.

* * *

James, Lily, Sirius, and many other members of the Order of the Phoenix Apparated to the desolate, destroyed street, trying unsuccessfully to resist the chills of fear running down their spines at the sight of Voldemort, his piercing, inhuman red eyes bright with malice.

As James scanned the area, his heart registered with a pang the numerous unmoving corpses around him, mostly Aurors. He even thought he recognized some of them, people he'd worked, trained, and joked around with. It made him feel sick to his stomach, as it always did. Turning his attention to Voldemort, he resisted from flinching as the abomination spoke his icy words.

"Ah," Voldemort hissed, an amused, complacent smile on his unnervingly pale face. "The Potters."

James unconsciously gripped Lily's hand tighter, recalling that moment sixteen years ago, in Dumbledore's office with Frank and Alice Longbottom, as they learned that one of their sons was to be fated a hard destiny. He would always be eternally grateful that Voldemort hadn't chosen Harry, and feel inexcusably selfish for it, but the Potters annually visited the Longbottoms' graves even after all this time. They had sacrificed their lives for their son, just as James and Lily would have been prepared to do if Harry had been marked.

He felt such empathy for Neville; from what Harry told him, the Boy-Who-Lived didn't have many friends at Hogwarts, and was detached from everyone else. Harry had grown up knowing that it could have been him bearing the scar, and was encouraged by his parents to make a point to greet Neville and talk to him. Harry had definitely made an effort, but according to him, Neville had difficulty opening up, and barely spoke to Harry when he did.

Now, standing in front of him, was the monster that had murdered Frank and Alice, leaving Neville an orphan. James was filled with rage; he gripped Lily's hand tighter. There was nothing more he'd like to do than make sure Voldemort died a very agonizing death.

Unfortunately, that was not going to be up to me, James reminded himself. It's Neville's burden.

It didn't seem fair that Neville had to go through so much so young, and lose what should matter to him most before he had it. And to imagine a seventeen-year-old having to face Voldemort alone . . . James didn't know what he'd do if that had been Harry's fate. He loved his family more than anything, and would not have been able to stand it if anything happened to them.

This was why he now stood at the front of the pack defying Voldemort's reign of terror, determined to stop him. Some would call it foolish, trademark Gryffindor bravery and recklessness but James considered it knowing what he wanted. And what he wanted was to fight; his wand hand practically tingled in anticipation of riding the world of some more Death Eaters, one by one. Justice was about to be served.

On cue, a swarm of Death Eaters Apparated around their master, still cloaked and masked, although James could warrant a guess at who was in their ranks.

"Ready, Prongs?" Sirius muttered from the corner of his mouth, his grey eyes fixated on a Death Eater standing next to Voldemort. James's eyes followed Sirius's gaze and recognized the distinct aura of psychotic confidence of Bellatrix Black.

"Yeah," James answered, gripping his wand tightly.

Suddenly, the tense atmosphere broke as the first spells were cast, flashes of red temporarily blindsiding James for a moment. But with a quick shake of his head, he recovered fast enough to shout "Protego," and block an incoming curse. A flurry of shouts, cries, and sparks filled the air, igniting a desperate struggle for survival.

Losing all apprehension in the adrenaline of the battle, James gave himself over to instinct, hexing the despicable Death Eaters faster than his brain could register. His honed Quidditch and Auror trained reflexes helped him dodge spells coming from various sides, but he was too busy to intercept the hex coming from right in front of him.

James staggered backwards, clutching his chest and struggling with the searing pain the curse had inflicted, wheezing as his breathing became difficult and ragged. He looked up determinedly, wand ready, and found himself face to face with Voldemort. Hatred beyond anything he's ever felt for anyone, even Snivellus, coursed through his veins at the sight of the monster who'd taken so much from his generation. Right now, he couldn't hear the screams of agony suffocating the air or see Sirius viciously dueling Bellatrix nearby. All he could see was that pallid, sunken face sneering at him. James's determined, blazing hazel eyes met Voldemort's crimson, malicious ones; they stood there for a mere fraction of a second before the monster struck again.

"Crucio!" Voldemort hissed, directing the spell quickly at James, who rapidly dove out of the way, glancing briefly behind him to see a Death Eater caught on the receiving end of his master's Unforgivable. James grimaced as shrill shrieks of agony and gratefully tore his eyes off the grisly sight, shouting "Expelliarmus!" which Voldemort lazily blocked.

James spotted Lily's unmistakable red hair dueling with two Death Eaters at once, and Sirius and Bellatrix still circling each other with no indication of either tiring or weakening. But he could also see the majority of the Order taking some hard hits; some were being triple teamed and cornered by the Death Eaters, who, unfortunately, had the upper hand due to the unequal numbers. And odds, he realized. James could see it was nearly hopeless; if this carried on any longer, there wouldn't be anyone left to file a bloody report.

He got to his feet and launched a distracting jinx at Voldemort, who was caught slightly off guard due to his attention on knocking an attacking Order member into the far wall. But with a dismissive wave of his wand, the counter-jinx had rid him of the effects, and focused his attention on James again. James held his wand up as he bellowed various curses at the wizard while carefully blocking or dodging Voldemort's own, knowing well that to be hit with one moment of staggering weakness would result in his death.

An image of Harry, lying in the hospital with Violet beside him, clutching her brother's hand in worry, and Lily, her beautiful green eyes gazing at him with all the love in the world, filled his vision, and James fought back more determinedly than ever.

But the Order was starting to lose their grip on the battle, and the Death Eaters were well on their way to coming out on top. Finally, Moody's harsh, echoing voice filled the night, "RETREAT! APPARATE OUT!"

James, exhaustion catching up to him, paused to register Moody's words, giving Voldemort an opening.

"Crucio."

His insides were on fire as James screamed in agony, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of the excruciating pain of the Unforgivable Curse. Suddenly, it all came to a stop. James rolled over on his stomach, sweaty and sore. Summoning any strength he had left, he lifted his head to see Voldemort staggering off to the side. His eyes fully focused, and James saw his fellow Auror, Dawlish, laying on the ground right behind where Voldemort had just been standing, his wand out. He looked like he was in pretty bad shape. James threw him a grateful look and struggled to his feet, one eye warily on Voldemort.

Quickly, he scanned the area for Sirius and Lily. Lily had spotted him and was running over, throwing occasional curses over her shoulder at her pursuers. Sirius was still fighting with Bellatrix, and James was not going to leave without him.

"Stu -" James began, his wand held up shakily, but was too worn out to continue.

Fortunately, Lily understood what he was trying to do and trained her wand carefully on Bellatrix, shouting, "Stupefy!" The hex reached its mark, and Bellatrix fell to the ground stiffly. Sirius looked surprised and followed in the direction of where the spell had come from, and seeing Lily's frantic gestures for him to Apparate out, he shook his head, wand trained on his unmoving cousin.

"Padfoot, get out!" James roared, his voice cracking. Sirius glared reluctantly at Bellatrix's prone form, but disappeared with a pop.

"Let's go," Lily said urgently, immobilizing another Death Eater coming at them. "I think everyone else has already retreated . . ."

"Dawlish," James said weakly, noticing that Dawlish hadn't left yet. What was he playing at? Did he want to get killed?

Unfortunately, Voldemort had noticed this as well, and, infuriated at being attacked from behind and temporarily forgetting the Potters, turned to face the Auror. "Avada Kedavra," he hissed, eyes flashing, and the Auror's raised head hit the floor with a sickening thump, his hollow, blank eyes staring at the Potters.

James, knowing that Dawlish's death would only buy them a few seconds, swiftly seized Lily's arm and Apparated, taking them away from that nightmare.

A second later, they arrived at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, where nothing short of utter chaos was ensuing. People were running left and right, tending to the wounded or inspecting injuries. Healing Potions and bandages flew through the air, the seriously wounded lying on stretchers to be carried up to one of the bedrooms upstairs for further treatment. Several others, only sustaining minor injuries, stood in solemn silence to wait their turn. A young, miserable looking wizard was talking to various people, a charmed quill writing on a piece of parchment in midair beside him. James recognized him to be the one who kept track of who had made it back, who was in bad shape and -James closed his eyes- who didn't make it.

Judging from the mournful expression on his face, there had either been many casualties or seriously wounded. Dawlish's empty, dead eyes filled James's vision, and everything caught up to him. His knees felt weak all of a sudden, and he started to feel the after effects of both the Unforgivable and the strain from the battle. That's what I get for dueling the most feared wizard alive, he thought humorlessly.

"James!" Lily said in alarm, feeling her husband slump slightly beside her. She wrapped his arm over her shoulder, helping to support him. "We need to get you to a Medi-Witch." She said firmly.

"No . . . there are others worse off," James said, shaking his head ruefully. "I just need to sit down, that's all . . ."

"PRONGS!"

The Potters looked up to see a relieved Sirius striding towards them, completely ignoring the protesting Medi-Witch who had been attending to his Bellatrix-inflicted wounds.

"Where the bloody hell have you two been?" Sirius demanded loudly. "I Apparated here and didn't see either of you for a minutes! I thought Voldemort had -had done you in!"

"Calm down, Sirius," Lily snapped, sensing that her husband's impending collapse. "We need to let James sit down somewhere."

Sirius, snapping out of his anger, grabbed onto both of them and Apparated them to an empty guest room upstairs. Together, he and Lily placed James onto one of the beds and sat down beside him. Although James wanted nothing more than to lie there and fall asleep, he resisted it and pulled himself up into a sitting position.

"You know you just Apparated out on a very put off Medi-Witch, right?" James asked, attempting to smile weakly.

Lily sent him an incredulous glance.

The sides of Sirius's lips twitched, but he didn't respond, instead asking, "What took you two so long? I almost Apparated back to get you."

James and Lily exchanged pained glances, and Lily sighed, accepting the pleading look in her husband's eyes. "Dawlish was still there, and before we could take him with us, Voldemort . . . Voldemort murdered him," she said quietly, feeling a definite pang in her heart. Saying it out loud clarified it, that Dawlish really was dead.

Sirius cast his eyes downwards. He had known Dawlish pretty well; he was a good person, and a darn good Auror.

"Oh bloody hell," Sirius said suddenly, realization dawning on him. "What are we supposed to tell his wife and kids?"

"Gina's an Order member too. Someone has to tell her," Lily said quietly, horrified at the thought of breaking the news to her. How were you supposed to tell someone that their husband was dead?

"I'll do it."

Both Sirius and Lily turned around to face James, who had a tired, resigned expression on his face.

"You don't have to," Lily said softly. "We can just tell that bloke downstairs with the list and he can tell her -"

But James cut her off fiercely, "No! No," he repeated, his tone gentler. "It's my fault he died; I'll tell her."

"How's it your fault, mate?" Sirius asked, confused.

James didn't answer for a moment, instead choosing to stare determinedly up at the ceiling. "I let myself get distracted," he explained, his shoulders rigid. "Dawlish cursed Voldemort just as he was about to -you know. And Dawlish paid the price. I -I have to be the one to tell her. I owe him."

For a while, nobody broke the silence that had settled between the three Aurors. Finally, James made a waving motion at Sirius, indicating that he should move out of the way.

"Where're you going Prongs?"

"To break the news," James replied without turning around, opening and closing the door with a decisive slam.

* * *

A few hours later, three extremely tired Aurors Apparated into St. Mungo's lobby, hoping to hear some good news about Harry's condition. James hadn't said much after leaving to talk to Dawlish's wife, and Sirius and Lily hadn't pushed the subject. They've all seen co-workers, friends, and acquaintances die in this war, but this particular death seemed to be taking a toll on James.

Lily was worried about him. He seemed to be blaming himself when it wasn't his fault, not truly. Dawlish had made a brave choice to help him, and died for it, but James shouldn't take the burden of his death on his shoulders. Merlin knows they already had enough to worry about. After all, James hadn't been the one to kill him -Voldemort was. Lily couldn't stop the scowl that emerged on her face at the thought of that monster. He'd targeted her son, and even worse, murdered two of her good friends and left their son parentless and carrying the weight of the prophecy on his small shoulders.

Shaking her head to clear her head, they walked inside Harry's ward to see Violet looking happier than she had when they'd left her and the worry lines on Remus's face gone. A bright smile lit Lily's face when she saw Harry sitting up and awake on the hospital bed, his black hair disheveled beyond repair.

"Harry!" she cried out, rushing over to her son, extremely relieved. She barely noticed the shell shocked expression on his face as she kissed his forehead eagerly. "I was so worried!"

"When'd he wake up?" James asked Remus quietly.

"A couple hours ago, but we only just got here. Violet was hungry, so we went out to grab something to eat," Remus replied, examining his friend carefully. James looked as if he'd gone through hell and back; Sirius and Lily both looked pretty bad off too, but there was something about the James's defeated air that concerned him greatly. Remus made a mental note to ask Sirius what had happened during the Death Eater raid.

Violet waited until her mother stopped smothering Harry to ask her question. "Mum, are you okay? What happened?"

Lily sighed and let go of Harry, now running her hand through his hair, making it even more tousled. "There was a big fight; that's all you need to know."

Her daughter frowned, frustrated at the lack of information but didn't press the matter further. Violet had seen the state of her mum, dad, and Uncle Sirius's appearances, knowing that it must have been bad. There were scorch marks on her mum's robes, and Uncle Sirius had a couple of cuts on his face where spells had grazed his face. Violet had expected her dad to run over the instant he saw Harry, but instead he hung back with the other two Marauders, unusually subdued. His face was expressionless, but Violet had expected him to be extremely thankful that Harry was awake now.

It must have been a really horrible fight, Violet mused.

"You're all right then, are you Harry?" Lily asked, turning her attention back on her son.

"What?" Harry asked, snapping out of his thoughts. "Yeah, I'm all right."

But the truth is, he really wasn't all right. Harry wasn't sure what he was right now, but it sure as hell wasn't "all right". Having spent a good chunk of the day in a coma, where his thoughts had been hazy and dream-like, he had expected to wake up with a worried Ron and Hermione hovering over him, debating whether or not they should whack him with a stick in an attempt to wake him up.

Harry frowned; he thought the connection would have ended when the battle was over, but it seemed that Voldemort's elated happiness could last for quite a long time, especially when he went for some stress relieving Muggle hunting afterwards, knowing the Aurors and Order were too preoccupied tending to their wounds to attempt to stop him.

Harry glanced over at his father and felt a guilty knot in his stomach. Of course, he hadn't been the one to perform the Unforgivable on his dad, but he had seen it all through Voldemort's eyes, and had, in a way, been there when it had happened. He knew it was illogical, but he had felt Voldemort's pleasure as he tortured his dad, and -he couldn't even think about it anymore. Instead, his thoughts wandered to when he'd actually woken up from the coma.

It had really hit him in that moment, as he jolted up from his laying down position, and took in his surroundings -Remus sleeping on a chair next to his bed, and a familiar red haired girl he at first mistook for Ginny (Ginny . . . Merlin do I miss her, Harry thought with a pang) sitting on his other side, that this really wasn't a dream. He really was stuck in this world.

Well, either that, or he was going clinically insane.

Harry started to panic. His parents were alive, alive, and he had a sister! He frowned; he was a little bit shell shocked now that he realized that this wasn't a dream, but he wasn't reacting to his parents as strongly as he had when Sirius had waltzed through the door like nothing had changed, like he hadn't died. Harry realized the sad part about this was that he didn't know his parents, and though he supposed he unconditionally loved them, or at least their memories, he didn't love them like he loved Sirius.

To him, Sirius was real, more than a faint memory or a story he had heard. Honestly, the only emotion that registered with him was shock and wonder that they were alive, but those feelings were nothing compared to the heartbreak of seeing Sirius again.

Nevertheless, it was overwhelming to see his parents, dead of seventeen years, in front of his very eyes. It was uncomfortable yet comforting to feel his mother's comforting hand stroking his hair, not caring that she was making it messier. Harry was torn between wanting to hold on to them and never let go, a privilege he had never had, and running away as fast as he can.

Harry was scared. How was he supposed to act around them? He had no idea what they were like, what they did for a living. Although it's obvious that they're still in the Order judging from what Harry saw through Voldemort's mind. My dad was a good dueler, Harry noted. And when people said Harry looked exactly like James Potter, they weren't kidding. Of course, Harry had seen pictures of him, but to see him in real life allowed Harry to see the strong physical resemblance. And his mum's eyes were a bright, lively green, just like Harry's.

Unsure of what exactly he was feeling right now -relieved, worried, disbelieving, elated, sad, suspicious, whatever . . . Harry struggled to control his emotions, and the understandable impulse to run over and hug Sirius in an unmanly way without caring at all. He was alive, and that's all that matters.

Instead, he turned his attention to his still throbbing forehead, rubbing it gently. Frowning, Harry suddenly realized that a certain scar seemed to be absent from his forehead -but no. It couldn't be; nothing could ever take that curse scar away. He must have merely missed it. Carefully, Harry trailed his finger along his forehead, making sure to cover every single place, and failed to find it.

"The scar . . ." Harry murmured under his breath, thoroughly confused. But his mum heard him and immediately began an inspection of his head.

"Scar? What scar?" Lily asked as she looked Harry over. Then, looking satisfied, she turned back to her son. "There's no scar here. A few cuts, but no scar, I think."

"Er -can I get a mirror?" Harry asked tentatively. He needed to make sure for himself that it wasn't there.

A scoff came from his other side. Harry turned around and saw his sister looking incredulous. "You just wake up from a coma, and the first thing you ask for is a mirror? Way to be vain, Harry."

"Violet!" Lily snapped, shooting her daughter a stern look. She took her wand out and, with a wave, conjured up a mirror, handing it over to him.

Harry studied his own reflection carefully, and his eye widened as he noted the absence of his scar. Was it really gone? But if it was truly gone, how could he have seen those events through Voldemort's mind? He was connected to him because of the scar; it didn't make any sense at all.

But the entrance of a Healer put a stop to his thoughts.

"How long before we can take him home?" James asked quietly.

The Healer sighed. "We can't seem to figure out what's wrong with him, but we'd like to keep him a little bit longer for further examination. Other than that, there's no reason to keep him here -"

Lily turned to James. "What do you think, James?"

James, instead of answering, focused his attention on Harry, whose eyes were pleading with him not to leave him at St. Mungo's. Feeling resigned, James answered, "We'll take him home."

The Healer frowned somewhat disapprovingly, but didn't say anything else. "All right, but if anything like this happens again, take him straight here. Now, if you'll come and sign the release forms, you can be discharged."

Harry sighed in relief. He really wasn't looking forward to staying in St. Mungo's any longer. Frequent visits to Hogwarts' hospital wing didn't make him very fond of white, sterile environments. But he was also apprehensive about going back "home".

Well, we'll just have to see what happens.