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Regression of a Wizard by Breven
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Regression of a Wizard

Breven

Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not HPB compatible.

Regression of a Wizard

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Four~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fighting throughout much of the village had been both swift and brutal. Few citizens had put up much of a fight against the ones they had been taught to fear while growing up. The bedtime stories used to frighten children into good behavior became their undoing as most wizards and witches turned and ran instead of putting up a resistance. Those that remembered the first war had no desire to confront the ruthless and often cruel dark robed wizards in the white masks.

The Auror Division had eventually been able to break through the wards surrounding the town. Several small teams had been inserted and began weakening the wards until they collapsed totally, allowing a massive influx of reinforcements from the Ministry to retake the city. The heaviest part of the fighting had taken place in the town center with Hermione and Ron directly in the middle of it all. The casualties had been relatively light for both sides, with the Death Eaters apparating out as soon as the wards had been lifted. Still over two dozen lives had been irreparably shattered by the day's events. A score more were left wounded in the streets and alleyways. Several Dark Marks had defiled the skies for hours afterwards until being dispelled by a trio of Unspeakables. Most of the major damage was done to the buildings and surrounding areas, leaving quite the mess for post battle cleanup crews.

Healers from St. Mungo's and several other smaller clinics from the area came and went in a constant stream, quickly moving the critically wounded into secure medical wards. The nurses tending the Massive Magical Mishap Ward got little sleep that night. Only three people died in the ward over the course of the evening. It was then that one of the Head Healers found that several of their patients had somehow contracted Lycanthropy. The brutal slashes and tears in their bodies had not been an obvious indicator as to the nature of their attack. The whole hospital was flooded with such injuries, both magical and mundane in nature. Investigation had later shown a small contingent of Werewolves had made their way into a small quarter of the village, ransacking and raping at will. The number of small children brutalized and infected immediately led the Unspeakables to identify Fenrir Greyback as the culprit. All the injured fit his victim's profile. Even more disturbing was the number of victims reported as missing. It was unknown how many werewolves had been in the town. They had slipped in and out leaving no traces but the bodies of their victims in their wake. There was no evidence of any additional types of Dark Creatures used in the attack.

In the chaos that followed, it had taken nearly two hours to find Harry. The search for the Boy-Who-Lived was ineffective at best, however frantic. Everyone Ron and Hermione inquired about their best friend's whereabouts assumed he was off with someone else. They had ran around the town checking in with all the Auror patrols, most major shops, and every single student they could find on their way to the castle. When it became apparent that Harry was not, in fact, in the town, the search began in earnest. When it was positively confirmed that he was not inside the castle walls, via a quick glance at the Marauder's Map via Ron, it had seemed that all of Hermione's worst nightmares were coming true.

She had initially feared that he had been captured by Death Eaters or buried underneath the rubble of some collapsed building. Images of a broken and battered Harry, crying out for help into the darkness quickly turned her usually organized mind into something more closely resembling chaos. Hysterical was far too mild of a word to describe her. They kept searching, however, and eventually they made their way towards the shores of Hogwart's Lake. None had realized that he had never actually made it into town. The volume of his screams gave the belayed how far a distance he really was.

It wasn't until the fiery, and somewhat stylish, arrival of Fawkes had things begun to look up. The golden bird had appeared in a flash of brilliant fire, gracefully dropping down to land on Hermione's shoulder. The young witch had looked at the bird with wide, scared eyes fearing the worst. Trilling the most soothing sound anyone had heard, almost like that of pure, liquid comfort, the phoenix had bobbed its head up and down urgently. At the curious gazes from the rest of those assembled, the bird hopped off Hermione and started to fly out over the surface of the water. He disappeared in another brilliant flash of light before quickly reappearing at the far end of the lake. It was hard to miss his rather impressive method of travel.

Only Mad-eye Moody, who had by this time managed to hook up with Ron and Hermione, was able to see the figure down by the water's edge. "It's a body," he growled.

Everyone's blood turned to ice.

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked, making a dash for the lake's edge. Her body flickered rapidly in the cool evening air, instinctively struggling to apparate over to her injured friend before Ron bodily tackled her to the sand.

"What are you thinking?!" he demanded angrily, holding her down. "We're in the middle of Hogwart's bloody wards! Are you trying to kill yourself?" She struggled for a moment, held in place by Ron's heavier form, while everyone else began hastily making their way around the lake leaving the squabbling kids behind.

"Get off of me!" She snarled out, her face flushing red in embarrassment. She angrily watched the feet and legs of the searchers file passed, as she squashed down her humiliation at losing control. "I promise I won't go trying to apparate over to him. Now get off of me!" She kicked her legs hard.

Ron slowly stood off of her, watching warily as she stood and hastily brushed the sand off of her arms and legs before taking off at a dead run. Ron sighed wearily and dashed off after her, his longer legs easily matching her frantic pace. She covered ground, quickly overtaking the other rescuers. As they wound around the sandy shores, they passed through a grove of trees. A minute later, they were almost on the other side.

Hermione stumbled to a stop; Ron quickly at her side, as they saw the Headmaster, Fawkes perched upon his shoulder, carrying a small burden wrapped in a tattered cloak. The look on Dumbledore's face was weary and his eyes were devoid of their ever present twinkle. He looked as if he had aged ten years.

"Sir! What happened? Is Harry…?" Hermione's words lodged in her throat, hands automatically covering her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to tear its way out. She had caught sight of the tiny, frail arms and legs dangling precariously from inside the cloak. They were slick with blood.

But the body did not belong to Harry.

"Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger." The headmaster wheezed. "You will have to excuse me if I do not linger to chat. Please, return to your dormitories and stay there!" he commanded sternly. There was definitely no twinkle present in his eyes. "Harry will be taken care of, I promise. Get to the castle." With that, he looked to Fawkes and all three of them vanished in a burst of incandescent fire.

"Dear Merlin," Ron breathed, looking decidedly green beneath his red hair. It was not a fetching combination. "That was just a kid! Who would do something like that to a scrawny munchkin?"

For once in her life, Hermione wished she did not have an answer to a question.

Shaking herself from her disturbing mental images, she looked towards the castle. "Come on, Ron," she said grimly. "We have to do as the headmaster asked and get inside." She looked upward toward the battlements where there were already maroon clad Auror's taking station. "The Aurors are there and it's not safe to linger out here. There's no telling if all the Death Eaters have actually left or just gone to ground. We'll be much safer in the castle."

Ron doggedly followed her as she powered onward towards the castle. "But…what about Harry?" He asked anxiously. "He's still out…"

"I don't know about Harry!" Hermione shrieked. The aftermath of combat, her adrenaline rush crashing in her bloodstream, fatigue, and anxiousness for Harry all seemed to hit her at once. "I don't know where he's at! No one has seen him! I don't know if he's hurt or dying or…or…" She trailed off, stumbling a bit as she broke into tears.

Hermione had never been one much for tears and Ron awkwardly backed off a bit. They both trudged up to the main castle doors, filthy and covered in sweat in grime. The Aurors stationed at the front doors eyed them warily, but let them pass unmolested upon recognizing them as friends of Tonks'.

The two ascended the stairs towards Gryffindor tower in a daze, not really taking anything at all in. The numerous guards, both Auror and Unspeakable, passed by without registering in their weary consciousnesses. They only paused long enough at the portrait entrance to give the Fat Lady the password (Gryffindors go forward!) and fell resigned onto a couch. They spent several hours lost in thought as they carefully watched the portrait hole, willing their best friend to emerge. Each hoping he'd walk though, black hair mussed terribly, grinning lopsided with a bandage or three wrapped around him, but still none the worse for the wear.

He never did.

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*Unknown Time Later - Unknown Location*

He woke to pain. It began behind his eyes, tendrils writhing near his scar and traveling all the way down his spine and into his stomach. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. What was worse was the feeling of a profound violation, something his mind just could not quite grasp.

Emerald eyes opened to reveal a fuzzy, sandstone room, with white, sterile looking walls that were barely visible in the flickering torch light. The room faintly smelled of anti-septic and the peculiar smell of hospital that was unmistakable. Yet, he had no idea where he was.

He was currently lying in a comfortable, if somewhat itchy hospital bed, naked from the waist up and apparently, judging from the breeze, from the waist down too. There was a bedside stand with a pitcher of water and a pair of glasses along with a funky looking stick with a handle.

All along the walls, there were various cabinets with colorful liquids and flasks; each containing what was obviously medicine. Sitting up, he glanced warily around. From his vantage point in the far corner of the room, he saw that several of the beds were occupied. Most of said occupants were sleeping soundly. Off across the room, a fire burned merrily away in the fireplace.

What sort of hospital has a fireplace of all things? Rather silly, really.

His eyes squinted through the pain as he surveyed the room. Slowly everything came into focus. A connected office had several figures in it, visible through the glass window. The door was shut tightly, reducing their raised voices to a slight muffle. Whatever they were arguing about, it was not pretty. He sighed warily. Adults always argued. Or yelled at him. Neither were particularly pleasant to witness.

He watched carefully, making sure that those in the office was not paying him any attention, and stealthy slipped out of bed. His feet hit the cold floor with a plop, sure enough he was naked, and began to searching for something to use as clothing. He totally ignored the wand and glasses on the stand. Nearby, someone snorted and shuffled restlessly in their sleep and the boy froze in place instantly. He was used to having to creep around quietly. He waited patiently until whoever it was had settled before resuming his search for coverings. It was so cold in there!

He spied a spare pillowcase on a table by an unused bed. He snagged it and glimpsed a sharp scalpel on the adjourning table. He was a resourceful lad. Putting two and two together, he soon had a makeshift pair of pants and a shirt that fit fairly well, if somewhat loosely. He felt better covered, not nearly as exposed or vulnerable.

He still had absolutely no idea where he was at. The last thing he remembered was his Aunt and Uncle yelling at him for smashing one of the pretty vases kept on the fireplace mantle. Naturally, Dudley had been the one to hit the favored décor with his shiny, brand new sling shot. Of course, his Uncle wouldn't have listened even if he had tried to tell him the truth, so wisely he had kept his mouth shut, even while taking his beating and being thrown back into his cupboard.

Life wasn't fair, he had realized fairly early on. He had learned to take a beating (literally) and keep on ticking. He tried so hard not to let anything get him down, hard as it was at times. There was nothing he could do about his life, so why let it bother him? This was the way things were and there was nothing to be done about it. With this mindset, he had learned to be adaptable. While Dudders wasted his mind away on videogames, television shows and mindless eating, he kept himself busy by watching and learning. He observed those around him carefully, figuring out concepts that most three times his age never understood. He learned. He went with the system and tried to use it, such as it is, to his best advantage. He was smart. He had been taking care of himself for as long as he could remember.

This was just another odd puzzle to figure out.

With this mindset, he silently crept to the door and, feeling particularly brave and grown up about it all, opened the door to slip out.

He promptly ran into a ghost. Or, to be more precise, he ran through a ghost. The sudden chill from the drop in temperature had his hair standing on end and goose bumps running clear across his entire body. He spun around quickly, eyes wide in fear as he took in the ethereal form before him. He couldn't quite believe what was in front of him.

"Why, hello there young Harry!" Sir Nicholas cheerfully greeted his young Gryffindor with a tip of his hat. He never quite counted on the reaction he got as his partially severed head, along with his hat, came away with a wet squelch.

Harry's face drained of color, turning nearly white, before he turned and ran screaming all the way down the hall. As the sound finally began to die in the echoing hall, Sir Nicholas turned with a defeated sigh to one of the portraits on the nearby wall.

"Would you please find the Professor and let him know that his wayward charge is up and gallivanting through the hallways?" To his credit, the anxiety in his voice was kept to the bare minimum. "Let him know I'll try and keep an eye on young Mr. Potter until he finds us."

The lady in the painting giggled lightly at him before waving and trotting off and out of the frame. After she had disappeared from view, Nicholas turned back towards the direction Harry had taken and let out a huff of non-existent breath. Fat-bloody lot of good it would do to have a ghost to keep him out of trouble. Sighing warily, the ghost took off in chase of the lad.

Harry, meanwhile, was doing his best to get himself well and thoroughly lost. After tearing out of the hospital wing's main corridor, he ended up taking a series of turns that took him gradually deeper into the bowels of the castle. As little as he liked to admit it, he was scared out of his wits.

That had been an honest to goodness ghost! What was worse was that it had seemed to know him by name! Harry could only image that it was here to collect his soul or something. Because that's what ghosts did. Naturally, fearing for his life, he ran for it. It quickly became obvious, even to his young mind, that this place…this castle, was far from ordinary.

He skidded haphazardly to a stop in the middle of a dank, dingy hall. Suits of armor lined the walls, while overhead several dim chandeliers flickered in draft. Every dozen or so feet, there was a torch set into a recess giving off an orange, sinister light. He pressed his back up against the cold, rough stone, eyes flickering from one end of the hallway to the other. He did his best to hide in the shadows. What on earth was this freakish place??

The noises coming from all around him gave him the chills. He could hear the clanks and rattle of chains, the hushed murmur of a hundred different voices echoing quietly throughout the building. There was something in the air. Something he could feel crawling across his skin; its tingle warm and beckoning. He had felt it before, but couldn't for the life of him remember where. He could almost taste it on the wind.

"Whassa matter, dearie?" a voice suddenly asked from right next to his ear. Squeaking like a trapped mouse, Harry whirled around, jumping away from the wall. His eyes darted around for the person who'd snuck up on him. The corridor was empty. Nervously he licked his lips.

"I say! Are you ok? You look a trifle lost there lamb." His eyes slowly slid over to the painting on the wall. There sat an old (mid-twenties) woman sitting on a tree stump, holding what looked to be a gardening shovel. She…was moving.

Harry slowly backed up until he came in contact with the opposing wall. His mouth worked soundlessly as he gaped at her. It was a picture! A picture was talking to him!

The kindly looking woman had a look of concern on her face. "Do you need some help dearie?" She at least sounded nice.

"Erm…no…no thank you…uhm...ma'am." Harry stuttered awkwardly, backing away as slowly as he dared.

To his disbelief, she simply walked into the next picture frame closest to him. "You do look a mite small to be wondering around the castle at a time like this!" she said, peering at him closely. "You look a bit familiar. You need to…" she was cut off as he hastily leapt further backwards.

"I'm fine!" he squeaked before once again taking off down the hallway.

"Well I never!" the woman huffed. "Young kids these days. They keep gettun' ruder and ruder, even the little `uns." At this, she trotted off to find a professor.

Harry tore down the hallway as if the hounds of Hades themselves were chasing after him (which he was convinced that they were). Torches flickered wildly as he flew past, his coming and going leaving a shimmering orange luminance to mark his passing. Left, right, right, up the stairs...he wanted out of this place and he didn't care how he got out. This castle must be massive; he had yet to pass a single window open to the outside.

Castle...he'd never seen an actual castle before, only glimpsed of them in pictures and when he was able to catch a sneak peek at the telly when his relatives were watching it. They all seemed to be monstrous places, huge brick and block houses that the rich people lived in. Or...royalty lived in castles too, didn't they? Maybe, just maybe this was some king's house?

If this was a king's house, did that mean that there was a princess? And didn't all the kings keep their daughters locked up in the towers? It all made sense in a weird kind of way. Harry skidded haphazardly around a corner and up a spiraling staircase. He briefly spied another dark recess in the wall and quickly hid in it, letting his body be lovingly submerged into the shadows. It all made sense, he thought. If this was a castle, then the king must be evil! Who else would keep ghosts around and those poor people trapped in paintings?

No, that can't be right. There was only one king in England at the moment and Aunt Petunia said he was nothing but a pompous git. They were annoying, but not evil. Then again, he had no clue where he was. He might not even still be in England. He had to get out of there.

He was not completely sure of his reasoning, but it helped on deciding a course of action, however flimsy it might be. He would work under that assumption until he could figure something else out. The first thing he knew he had to do was to get out of the castle and find an adult. If he was really lucky, it would be a policeman. He paused, his face scrunching up in thought. Ok, so that was as complicated a plan as he could come up with, but it was better than nothing.

Harry carefully peered around the corner, his eyes darting around searching for anything that was a possible thread. Assured that the coast was clear, he darted down the hall, stopping at various nooks and crannies to listen for anyone moving about.

He felt like a British secret agent.

A crash came from somewhere behind him followed by several voices protesting loudly. Not wanting to take a chance at being seen, Harry double-timed it around the corner and few up another flight of stairs. He abruptly came to a darkened, mirrored corridor that stretched into the distance. Harry looked back down the stairs and he could hear the voices approaching, getting progressively louder the closer they got.

Making his decision, he began stealthily making his way down the hall. He paused halfway down, and looked at himself in one of the mirrors. He stared hard at his emerald green eyes, his pale complexion and absolutely hated what he saw. At best, he looked all of three and a half years old, much younger than his true 5 years of age. He didn't know why he looked much younger than his other primary school classmates, but he loathed it. `Wee baby Potter', they called him.

It was all Dudders' fault, he thought savagely. It was he and his older friend that started calling him the names that had, much to his chagrin, stuck. How he hated that name. The boys would crowd around Dudders, chanting that infernal name in those ridiculous baby voices. He could hear it echoing in his mind.

Wee baby Potter…go home to your mum wee baby Potter…he can't…baby Potter's mum's dead…

Rage built up in his mind, his vision slowly clouding into a haze of red. The mirror reflecting his image suddenly twisted and rippled before shattering into a million pieces. Shards of glass came raining down like liquid metal raindrops upon the stone floor, the sound echoed harshly in the quiet hallways.

Harry looked at it in shock. He knew he did that. Somehow, he had destroyed that mirror when he lost control of his emotions. The voices that previously had been murmuring down the stairwell went silent a moment before escalating into furious shouts. He could hear them trampling up the stairs after him.

A moment of blind panic surged through him and before his eyes, every single mirror in the rippled and exploded outward, one right after another. Lethal fragments of glass rebounded off the walls and ceiling, ricocheting about in a furious, silvery storm.

Harry was cut and bleeding, but he didn't care. He never stopped for an instant as he bolted from the hallway, blindly searching for a way, any way, out of the castle. Dimly in the back of his mind, he could feel its growing presence. It was that suffocating, all encompassing thing that saturated the very air of this place. He could feel it whispering to him, urging him forward as it wrapped around him warmly. He couldn't escape from it and it was slowly driving him mad.

He abruptly came around a corner and skidded to a stop barely six inches from the ledge of a sheer drop off. Harry's eyes widened in amazement as he looked downwards then followed the empty chasm back up to the ceiling. He was in a giant room filled floor to ceiling with different staircases that moved and shifted about. There were dozens of walkways and doors that led in every direction. Nearly very square inch of the walls was covered with those odd moving paintings. Torches and candles flickered everywhere, adding their fiery glow to the surreal movement of the paintings. It almost made the room look alive.

He watched in fascination as a staircase slowly swiveled around to stop directly in front of him for a moment before continuing on its way. Harry was jerked back to the real world as the shouts echoed up the hall directly behind him. Whoever was after him was close.

He looked in despair at the slowly retreating staircase that was slowly inching its way from him. He needed to go now.

"Get back here and help me!" he cried in frustration. To his absolute amazement something did happen. The strange warmth, that odd presence that had continuously enveloped his entire being shifted, bent its shape to his will. He could feel it reach out and anchor itself to the stairs. The staircase halted in its tracks for an instant before making its way back to Harry.

Harry, for his part, stood amazed at what happened. Dimly he was aware of that warmth as it seemed to caress his mind for a moment before giggling and withdrawing a bit. To him, it was as if the stairs had listened and obeyed his command.

Cool!

He flew up the stairway as quickly as his short, little legs would carry him. He was not aware of the staircases shifting behind him the instant he stepped onto the next. His pursuers would have a very frustrating time trying to follow as they learned the stairs were temporarily stuck in place and refused to budge an inch for them.

Once Harry reached the top, he paused a second to catch his breath. It was a good thing that he was so used to running from Dudders and his friends. If you looked at their cruel games in a positive light, at least they kept him in good shape. He leaned out over the abyss and glanced down six floors to the landing that he just came from. He saw several people milling about, apparently confused as to why the staircases weren't responding. One ugly man with long stringy hair looked directly up at Harry and cursed, shaking his fist at the young toddler.

Harry gave the crotchety old man a cheerful wave before turning and trotting on down the corridor, the screams of outrage quickly fading away into the darkness.

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Author's Notes: Ahhh yes. The part most of you have been waiting for. We get our first glimpse into the mind of a young Harry Potter. Let me know if you liked it or noticed any mistakes that need to be corrected. Anyone wanting to submit an idea for some mini adventures for our young hero, then feel free. As always, leave me some love. Reviews make the world go round after all.


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