A Space Between Worlds

Prologue:

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..."

--The Prophecy from The Order of the Phoenix

June 10^th, 1997

Harry sat alone in his dormitory, his eyes unfocused and his mind blank. His glasses lay forgotten on his pillow as he sat cross-legged on his four-poster. It was hard to tell just how long he had been in this position, but when he finally was broken from his trance-like state by the sound of someone entering the sixth year boys' dormitory, he was surprised to see that the sky was now completely black outside his window.

Stretching and running a hand over his rather stiff neck, Harry yawned and glanced at the boy who had entered.

"Hey, Neville," Harry said, getting up off his bed and sliding his glasses onto his nose.

"Hello, Harry," Neville replied. "What are you up to?"

"Oh, nothing," Harry said, avoiding answering the altogether innocent question. Harry trusted Neville, of course, but he was under strict orders from Dumbledore not to tell anyone about his Occlumency lessons.

Neville got into his pajamas without another word and climbed behind the hangings on his bed.

Ignoring the prickling of his scar, Harry decided that he wasn't yet tired enough for sleep, and ventured down the stairs into the common room. He spotted Ron and Hermione at once. Both were sitting near the fire, an uncomfortable silence between them, heads bent over their school books. Harry noticed that Ron kept stealing glances at Hermione, and Hermione, seeming to sense his eyes on her, would look up just as Ron would look away.

The tenseness vanished, however, as Harry stepped over to them, and plopped himself down on the rug between their two chairs.

Hermione smiled at him. "An hour and thirty-three minutes, Harry," she said approvingly. "Quite a good practice time, though you have yet to beat last month's two hour session."

"I'd rather not, actually," Harry replied, leaning back on his elbows. "I could hardly move my neck after that one."

"Still, at least you're doing a lot better than last year," Hermione commented, pushing her bushy hair out of her face. "Has Dumbledore said anything to you about how you're coming along?"

"He says I've been making 'great improvements'."

Hermione beamed at him as if he were her son rather than friend. "I'm ever so glad to hear that Harry."

Harry smiled back and then turned to look at Ron, who was scribbling something on his piece of parchment. "Oh bugger," Harry heard him mutter, as he crossed out whatever it was he had just written.

"What's up, mate?" Harry asked, craning his neck to get a good look at what Ron was writing.

"Transfiguration homework," Ron said with a heavy sigh. He sat back against his chair and looked up at the ceiling. "Why do teachers have to give exams during the nice weather?"

Hermione gave Ron a look that didn't need words to convey her annoyance, but Harry stifled a laugh and said: "School's almost out, mate. Soon you'll have all the time in the world to muck around."

"Until it starts up again in September..." Ron said despairingly. "And next year's N.E.W.T. year, too."

"And our last year," Hermione said suddenly. "Can you believe we've only one year left?" Hermione was looking directly at Ron as she spoke, as though she were hinting at him for something. "One more year to do the things that we always wanted to do while we've still the chance! These are the best years of our lives! We can't waste a day of it!"

Ron gulped and his ears turned red...and suddenly Harry knew. Hermione was trying to get Ron to ask her out. Harry would have laughed if neither of his friends had looked so desperate and serious.

They were quiet for a moment, the air of discontent and tension hanging once more above their heads. Harry was about to say something, when a pang in his scar made him double over onto the rug. Luckily, the common room was still crowded and noisy enough that this went unnoticed by all save Ron and Hermione.

Harry's eyes watered with the pain in his forehead. He felt all of a sudden quite dizzy and nauseas, and would have liked nothing more than to have passed out so that he could no longer feel it. And to top it all off, he was feeling unusually happy...very happy...

Hermione was at his side in an instant, her hands upon his arms, looking at a loss as to what to do and how to help. Ron stood in front of them, shielding them from the view of several third years who were beginning to take some interest in what was going on by the fire.

Slowly the stinging in his scar began to ebb, though the nausea and dizziness remained. He looked up at Hermione and saw that her brown eyes were wide with alarm and worry.

He staggered weakly to his feet and Ron and Hermione helped him into a chair, standing around him anxiously with nervous faces.

"Harry," Hermione whispered so that he could barely hear her. "What is it? Is it...Voldemort, Harry? Is he...up to something?"

Harry shook his head. "I dunno...but he's happy, real happy. That can only mean bad news for us."

"Any ideas of what it could be?" Ron asked shakily.

"No," Harry mumbled, rubbing his fingers against his temples. "I don't really want to know." He looked up and sighed. "And just when I'd finished practicing for the night."

Hermione paled at this statement. "Oh dear, Harry," she said. "Whatever it is that has happened, it must have been terrible to be able to affect you now. I mean, ever since you've started taking Occlumency more seriously, your scar's only affected you a few times, am I right, and never like this."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, his stomach filling with dread. "The last time it hurt this bad was the night that Sirius..." he trailed off. It still hurt to think about his godfather, let alone talk about him.

Hermione nodded sympathetically, though her eyes still held a sense of urgency. "I hope nothing...er...terribly bad has happened."

Harry knew that by "terribly bad" Hermione meant "fatal". He thought about all his friends who were currently out in the world fighting Voldemort, and his stomach gave an unpleasant jolt. He wrapped his arms around his waist, willing his mind not to think about Voldemort's lethal powers, and willing his stomach not to vomit.

"Perhaps you should tell Dumbledore," Ron offered in a rather scared-sounding voice.

Harry nodded, but made no motion to do so. He was afraid if he moved that he would be sick. After several more minutes of sitting there with Ron and Hermione hovering next to him, Harry gripped the arms of the chair and pulled himself into a standing position. He shook his head and looked over at his friends.

"Would you like to come with me?" Harry asked, and he hoped they'd agree to because he wasn't quite sure if he'd make it to the headmaster's office alone.

They both seemed to realize this and the nodded their heads in silent agreement. Then, walking nonchalantly across the common room, the passed unseen through the portrait hole and began the walk to Dumbledore's office.

Harry leaned slightly on Hermione. She was holding his hand tightly in her own, using it as a tool to guide the unsteady Harry down staircases and through corridors. Ron silently walked on Harry's other side, glancing now and then at Harry and Hermione's intertwined fingers, though he made no comment on it.

By the time they reached the stone gargoyles, Harry's vertigo had increased and the strange happiness was still present, forcing him to smile when he didn't want to.

Ron and Hermione looked to Harry to say the password. "Pumpkin pasty," he said in a hoarse voice. The trio entered through the gargoyles and allowed themselves to be carried upwards by the twisting staircase (which did nothing to help Harry's dizziness). When they reached the door that led to the office, they could hear loud voices coming from within. Ron knocked, but the din in the office was so loud that no one seemed to hear.

Ron knocked a bit louder, but still no answer.

"He seems to be having a meeting," Hermione said quietly, as though it were possible that her voice could disturb it.

"We shouldn't bother him then..." Ron said, though he looked disappointed at coming all this way for noting. He turned to Harry. "Maybe we should bring you to the hospital wing instead, mate. You don't look so good..."

Harry shook his head. He had to speak with Dumbledore. He had learned what keeping things like this from the headmaster could do, and he was determined that no one else be hurt or killed because of his "scar omissions". "Try again, Ron."

Ron raised his hand to knock once more, but before his knuckles could connect with the door, a familiar voice from within said: "Potter's here...someone let him in."

Ron stepped back as the light from the now opened door filtered out of the room to meet them. All was suddenly quiet within the office; everyone was staring at the three sixth years.

There were many people assembled there. Most Harry knew, but a few were strange to him. But still the room was quite incomplete: there was no sign of Dumbledore.

Mad-Eye Moody and Professor McGonagall swept forward and ushered the three students into the office, closing the door behind them. Harry looked around at all of the faces. Many Order members were gathered there, as well as aurors, ministry wizards, and even the Minister of Magic himself.

But no Dumbledore.

"Where's Professor D--" Harry began, but was cut off when McGonagall gave a strangled noise beside him.

No one spoke. No one moved. No one even breathed.

Harry began to feel scared, and the more he did so, the more the strange happiness within him grew, until it was becoming almost unbearable. He looked over at McGonagall, and saw that she was doing her very best to fight back tears.

"Harry," said a soft voice breaking through the thick silence.

Turning, Harry saw Remus Lupin looking at him closely, his face paler than usual and his amber eyes full of grief.

"Are you alright, Harry?" He sounded worried.

Harry was about to answer that he was, but Hermione interjected. "No, Remus," she said, her voice unusually high-pitched. "A few minutes ago, Harry's scar hurt him very much. We think something terrible has happened..."

And by the look of it, something terrible had happened. But where was Dumbledore?

Remus looked carefully at Harry. Until that moment, Harry hadn't realized just how much he was leaning on Hermione for support. Normally he would have felt embarrassed to be acting to weakly in front of people, but he felt so sick that he could hardly care.

"Where's Dumbledore?" Ron asked loudly, as though he just realized the old man's absence.

No one in the room seemed to want to answer. Finally, Remus sighed and spoke in a gentle, fatherly voice to the three of them.

"He's at St. Mungo's..."

So that was it, Harry thought, feeling sicker than ever. Voldemort had got to Dumbledore. He'd injured him somehow.

"Will he be alright?" gasped Hermione, who was beginning to tremble.

"You don't understand," Remus said in a choked voice. "He's at St. Mungo's mortuary..."

"How are we supposed to fight this war with Dumbledore dead?" lamented Hestia Jones, as the room was immediately thrown into loud discourse again. But Harry heard none of it. There was a loud buzzing in his ears; he could feel the blood draining from his face; he could see the world becoming slowly dimmer.

Without warning, his knees gave way and he passed out upon the polished wood floors.

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When Harry awoke, eyes still closed, but mind slowly returning to consciousness, he felt quite comfortable and quite relieved. It was only a dream, he told himself happily. No, it was a nightmare, that's what it was.

Feeling awake enough to open his eyelids, Harry was surprised to see that, instead of the familiar red hangings, he was staring up at a stone ceiling, dappled with the light from the late morning sun that was shining through a large picture window at the back of the long, rectangular room. He was in the hospital wing. His heart sank.

It hadn't been a dream after all.

He turned his head to see Remus sitting in a chair beside the bed, reading the Daily Prophet with a creased brow. As he flipped through the pages, Remus glanced up and saw that Harry was awake. He put down the paper and leaned over to get a good look at him.

"How are you feeling?" Remus asked.

Harry had the grace to suddenly feel tremendously embarrassed for passing out in front of so many people, but he nodded weakly and said: "I'm fine."

Remus stared intently at Harry's face as if making sure he was not being lied to, and, convinced that the boy did indeed feel much better, he settled back into his chair.

Harry reached over for his glasses and put them on. As he did so, he caught sight of the Daily Prophet's front page. It was plastered with memorials for Dumbledore. "He's really gone, then?"

Remus nodded sadly. "I'm afraid so, Harry." He seemed suddenly very old to Harry, his face more lined than usual, his hair almost completely grey. He spoke in a tired voice that told Harry that he wanted more than anything to be able to get away from this war and rest at last.

Harry couldn't bear to look at the sadness and utter sense of hopelessness that were so blatantly mirrored in the werewolf's eyes. Harry knew that his own eyes probably conveyed the same message. Hestia Jones was right. How were they supposed to fight this war with Dumbledore dead?

Not only that, but Harry had felt as though he had lost a member of his family. Dumbledore had always been like an adored and admired grandfather to him. He was someone who had taught him so much, not just about magic, but about life and people and what was good and decent. Once more, this war had killed an irreplaceable person in his life.

"How did it happen?" Harry heard himself ask, as though from far away. He still didn't quite believe it. Not until he had heard all the facts from someone he trusted, someone like Remus, would he begin to accept Dumbledore's death as truth.

"Well," said Remus, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Last night, the Order received a warning about a Death Eater raid on the Ministry. They were after some important documents that we couldn't let them get their hands on. So, Mad-Eye, Tonks, Kingsley, Hestia, and I set out to see what we could do to stop them. Well, there were a bit more of them there than we had expected, including some of the real big fish like Lucius Malfoy, who's escaped from Azkaban (no big surprise there), and--" Remus's voice suddenly became a low hiss--"Bellatrix Lestrange."

A dark shadow passed across Remus's face, and Harry didn't blame him. He, too, hated the woman who had killed Sirius with an undying passion.

"So, what happened?" queried Harry, breaking Remus out of his darkened state.

"We fought," the werewolf said simply, "but we were outnumbered. So, we called for help, and the next thing we knew Dumbledore had come," his eyes narrowed, "and Voldemort...

"We all just stood there like idiots and watched them fight. It was..." he searched around for the right word, "...incredible..."

Harry nodded. He witnessed a Voldemort/Dumbledore fight last year, and was still amazed by the skill and knowledge in which they had faced each other when he thought back to it.

"Anyway," Remus said, and his voice began to waver slightly as he spoke of the next part, his eyes focusing on some unseen image before him. "As they fought, Dumbledore seemed to get the upper hand, though he also seemed determined not to kill him. Funny..." Remus mused, and he was suddenly lost thought for a few moments. "Well," he said bringing himself back to the present, " Voldemort struck back so suddenly and so violently that none of us, not even Dumbledore, saw it coming. The curse struck him before any of us could react..."

Harry felt a very strong surge of anger when he remembered how happy Voldemort had been last night.

"We all thought that we were goners, right then and there," Remus continued. "We thought that Voldemort would kill us. But he didn't. He simply disappeared after that, as did his Death-Eaters. They didn't seem to care a single Knut about whether the rest of us got away or not, just as long as Dumbledore was dead and the documents retrieved. He seemed to think that with Dumbledore gone, we're no big threat to him anyway." Remus sighed heavily. "And he's right."

A silence fell between the two while Harry tried to process everything that Remus had said. Dumbledore gone...it was still such a shock, such a fresh wound in his heart.

After a while, Remus laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I have something to give you," he said sadly. He got up and pulled his long, muggle overcoat from off of the chair where it was hanging. He reached into one of the pockets and pulled out a package.

"What is it?" Harry asked, as Remus handed the package to him.

"No idea," Remus said, peering at it just as curiously as Harry was. "It's not from me, it's from Dumbledore."

Harry looked up at him sharply. "What?" he asked utterly nonplussed.

"After Sirius--well, a year ago--Dumbledore gave me this package with the instructions that I shouldn't open it, that it was meant for your eyes only, and that I was to keep it safe until I was to give it to you in the event of Dumbledore's death."

Harry looked at it closely, turning it around in his hands. It looked so very ordinary, so innocent, just a box wrapped up rather messily in plain brown wrapping paper, which meant only one thing where Dumbledore was concerned: it was very special and extremely important.

Harry began to slowly unwrap it, and as he did so, Remus quickly averted his eyes so that he didn't see anything that he shouldn't. Harry was grateful for that.

When he succeeded in pulling off the old, brown paper, and took the lid off of the box, he found not another Philosopher's Stone like he had half expected to find, but instead a two pieces of parchment. One of them seemed to be a very long letter, and so he picked that one up first and read it through. It was from Dumbledore.

Dear Harry,

If you are reading this, then I am gone, and the time has come for you to fulfill that which the Seer foretold. I have taught you well, and you have learned much, but I have one last thing to teach you.

The way to destroy Voldemort completely is far too complicated for me to explain in a mere letter, but I will do the best that I can.

What I am about to tell you involves the Intermundia Charm. This charm has never been used before and has been thought for years to be only myth. You, my dear boy, will be the first to use it.

The Intermundia Charm allows the caster to enter into a separate dimension, a twin world to the one in which we are living. In that world, you will find things both different and similar to your own world. An example of the similarities between the two dimensions is that Voldemort is alive in both worlds. An example of the differences is that, in our world, your parents died to save you; in the other world, they were unable to do so. They are alive in that world and you are dead.

You may wonder how I know so much about a world that I have never been to and is thought not to exist. In truth, I have been in contact with my counter-part, the other-world Dumbledore, if you will, for many years. I have learned much from him and he from me.

He told me that hidden somewhere in his world there is a magical object of unknown origin. The object has the power to destroy all evil, though no one knows where or what it is exactly. Many have searched for it, but none have ever found the Legendary Object, as it is called. This thing does not exist in our world, so in order for us to obtain it and use it in the war against Voldemort, someone from our side must pass through the boundaries separating out worlds, search for the Object, and bring it back to our world.

Not just anyone can take on such a task, though. The person who attempts to cast this charm must only exist in one world. If they exist in both worlds, the consequences could be disastrous. You, Harry, as I said, are dead in the other dimension. You only exist in one world.

It seems that you were meant to take on this task. I have faith that where others have failed to find it, that you will. You were meant to do this thing, Harry. It is your destiny. Only you have the power to defeat Voldemort. And you will. I know you will.

There is, however, a small price to pay on top of everything else that you must do. The other-world Dumbledore has given his permission for you to come to his world, and take the Object, once you find it, back to our world. But, he says that if you are to do this, that you must do him a favor and destroy the Voldemort in his world before you destroy the Voldemort in your own. It seems, Harry, that you were meant to be his downfall on both sides of the universe.

Now, the Intermundia Charm is extremely difficult not to mention very dangerous. But believe me when I say that I wouldn't have suggested that you use it if I did not have complete faith in your abilities. I have written up the directions on how to proceed, so read them very carefully, and follow it exactly. One wrong move, no matter how slight it is, may result in catastrophe.

When you enter the other world, you are not to tell anyone other than Dumbledore about your true identity and mission. He will explain everything to you when you get there. When you see him, let him know it is you by stating your true name and the false name that you will go by in that world. Your false name shall be Apollo Hero. When he hears you say this, he will know that it is truly you. You must also hide your appearance in that world, too. Looking too much like James Potter may bring about unwanted suspicions. I believe Minerva taught you a great deal about transfiguring yourself.

Also, if you are reading this letter before your seventeenth birthday, I must ask you not to go until you come of age. And whatever you do, do not tell anyone, not even your closest friends (that means Ron and Hermione, too), what you are intending to do. With me gone, you are the only one in our world who knows about the other dimension. You must keep it secret.

Good luck, Harry Potter. I hope that you succeed for our people's sake, and for your sake. I feel sure that you will. Remember everything that I have taught you, and look inside yourself for courage, love, and strength when you need them.

I hope to see you on the other side again someday, when we continue our adventures in the life that comes after this one.

Farewell,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry felt completely overwhelmed. So many things seemed to be happening at once. First Dumbledore's death, and then his letter; a letter that not only told him of a quest that he must pursue, but that he must journey into a world where his parents are alive! It was all so surreal.

Feeling dazed and at a loss as to what to do next, Harry turned his attention to Remus who had once more settled himself in his chair, reading the newspaper. Feeling the brilliant green eyes upon him, Remus looked up at Harry and was taken aback by the look on the boy's face.

"Harry, what is it?" he asked alarmed.

Harry shook his head. "I can't say...it's just...oh my...I can't believe this is really happening. First Dumbledore's killed, then this..." he motioned blankly at the note he still held in his hand.

Remus smiled sympathetically, though he couldn't have possibly understood the significance of what was going on.

Harry put the note back in the box, now wishing that it had been a Philosopher's Stone. He didn't bother reading the Intermundia Charm directions yet. He'd go over them later when he wasn't feeling so damn shell-shocked.

In the meantime, He leaned back against his pillows and waited for the inevitable to happen. And happen it did, so suddenly that it not only startled Remus, but Harry as well.

Harry burst into tears.

He covered his face with his hands, feeling embarrassed for the second time that morning. Well, at least now he wasn't fainting in front of a whole room full of people. There was only Remus here this time. He still hated crying though, and hadn't done so in front of anyone since he was four years old.

Remus put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but said nothing, much to Harry's relief. They stayed that way for a while, Harry sobbing into his hands, and Remus sitting beside him ready to give his support if need be. The weight of two worlds had just been dropped upon his back and he couldn't even share that with anyone. He was alone in his grief and in his fear and uncertainty. So many things could go wrong. He could be killed...or worse, he could fail in this quest. Lives in both worlds depended upon him.

Eventually Harry stopped, though he still kept his hands over his face. His breathing came out in ragged hiccups as he tried desperately to regain his composure. "I...c-can't be-believe...that this is...h-happening..."

"I know," Remus said in a drained voice.

Harry looked up at him, his cheeks wet and his eyes red. For a moment he thought that perhaps he wouldn't go along with this other world mission. Yes, that's it! He would pretend he never got a letter from Dumbledore. Besides, no one would ever know what he had done, or rather, what he hadn't done. No, a small voice in Harry's head (that sounded a lot like Hermione) said firmly, you must do this. If you don't, Voldemort will gain complete control on all your lives. More of your friends could die. Think about it! Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Remus...all of them! Even you could be killed! You have the chance to stop this war once and for all, Harry Potter, don't throw it away. Remember what Dumbledore said to you just a month ago? "If you find that you must choose between what is hard and what is easy, choose the hard because in it lies the good." Well, this is going to be hard, but it will be worth it in the end.

As Harry looked over at Remus, he felt a certain determination settle upon him. In that moment, he knew that he had to do this. Everyone had suffered so much, and Harry would have done anything to make it stop, even if it meant going into another unknown world.

"Remus?" he asked.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For giving me this package, for being alive, for being Remus."

Remus gave a weak smile. "You're quite welcome, Harry, believe me."