The Real World.
Harry's eyes snapped open, and he let out a terrible scream of rage and fury, his head aching from the influx of information after spending so long immersed in the projections shown to him by the Room of Requirement.
There was just…so much in his mind, that it was difficult for him to concentrate and process what he had seen, and he was extremely groggy as a result of his experiences.
He looked around feverishly in his panic, frowning as he remembered the cramped dim lighting and claustrophobic feeling of the Scourer's base in America; it was a shock to find himself in the Room of Requirement, and as he looked around, he noticed other discrepancies, as he stood up, and he realised he seemed…shorter.
Looking down at himself, he was dressed in a rather rumpled Hogwarts uniform; in the last year, Harry had grown to hate the magical world and Hogwarts, and Gryffindor even more.
Then he remembered.
Harry was not 15 or 16 years old; in truth, he was still 11 years old. He was still a first year at Hogwarts, and half of the events he'd gone through hadn't happened yet, or they wouldn't happen at all since they were only a possible future; if there was one thing the RoR had made extremely clear to him when he had started looking into the future, it was the future was not automatically set in stone.
Harry concentrated on what was important as he felt himself coming back to normal and could think properly again. His mind had travelled forwards into the future, a possible future, yeah, but one that seemed.…so real, so cruelly real.
When he had found the Room of Requirement after hunting down for places in the castle like an urban explorer, and discovered the principles it worked on, Harry had spent many hours visiting it and summoning books, scrolls, and texts from wherever in the world he could find them, and learn magic from there.
At the same time, thanks to the properties of the Room itself, Harry was able to create simulations where he could pretend to be a student of another magical school, not only Hogwarts.
And he had learnt more about magic from that combination than he had ever done in any of the lessons he'd attended so far at Hogwarts, even learning magic from subjects that he wasn't even ready for, such as healing, wandless magic, alchemy, potions, and charms. Some of them he had taken to, like a duck to water, some of it, not so much, but he had not let that stop him. And his persistence had worn off in time, and now he felt much better, especially since he had learnt magic far more advanced for a Hogwarts curriculum. Speaking of which, he had created simulations of himself being in a classroom centuries before his time, and he had found himself stunned to discover that the Hogwarts of 300 years before, was far more advanced.
Yeah, they had classes like Healing, which was compulsory for the third year upwards. When he had researched why it was ditched, along with other subjects, Harry was disgusted.
Dumbledore, it seemed, had taken out those subjects when he had begun teaching, worming his way into the ears of Armando Dippet, a weak-willed wizard, who had allowed Dumbledore to whisper into his ear. Dumbledore had told Dippet the class was too advanced and it should be taught at wizarding hospitals, and while Dippet had refused at first, he had found himself complying with Dumbledore's wishes.
Dumbledore had reasoned they were advanced, yes, but the old man's motives were more sinister. In truth, Albus Dumbledore had done it all because he wanted to be seen as the only knowledgeable one in the world. He didn't care what it cost, he didn't care about how Hogwarts would soon be classed as a joke internationally when compared to Castelobruxo, Ilvermorny, or Uagadou.
Harry had noted those other schools were better, but it was not long before he discovered he could see the future.
Okay, granted, he couldn't see that far ahead in time; just a few years, and even then the projections were incredibly vague, hypothetical. Once he had calmed down, Harry closed his eyes to try to make sense of everything he'd experienced. The problem with the projections of the RoR was they actually threw the mind and soul forwards or backwards in time as if you were in a cinema.
It was all so real, but Harry was just left praying his future self's cold manner didn't brush off him for long. He was more than grateful he had found the RoR, that he had learnt it could travel through time, otherwise he wouldn't have been forewarned. He would have been in there longer if the Room hadn't snapped him out of it if Harry himself had decided enough was enough.
Truthfully, Harry couldn't take anymore.
He'd had more than enough of the betrayals, the lies, the manipulations. He'd had more than enough of the Wizarding World hampering his plans and interfering in his life.
But honestly, Harry saw the fakeness of the unfolding simulation he had seen. The whirlwind romance with Sally even if he was intrigued by the possibility of meeting her and having something with her but at the same time he was realistic enough now he'd had a chance to calm down, nothing would happen.
Harry didn't even know if Sally-Anne would look twice at him.
He didn't know if they were compatible or not.
Hell, Harry didn't even know if he was capable of love or not.
But so many moments in the RoR had been the RoR itself trying to present positive moments; his 16-year-old mind, addled by darkness of Azkaban and real life, had pessimistically made his family in America treat him like that behind his back.
And he had no idea about the moments when he had seen Grindelwald, his follower Natalia, never mind that witch who was helping the Scourers; it was possible the RoR had sensed he had become tired of the whole thing and had given him an easy way out.
However, the biggest sign the whole thing was fake was during the trial, shortly after he'd killed Voldemort; why would he ever reveal his secrets like that? Why would he ever reveal the existence of the RoR?
Harry Potter would have never revealed such an important secret to anyone.
Or maybe there was a chance it was a possible future?
Harry had been locked in place for what seemed like hours, actually, more than 5 years, watching as the possible future unfolded in front of him in horror as his entire life was torn apart, he snapped himself out of it while having a few possibilities for what happened afterwards, and he was still reeling from the aftershocks to truly know how long he had actually been here. But he truly didn't care.
But now he was left with the pieces; right now he was filled with rage and horror towards the magical world for what they could and would do to him, all on circumstantial evidence; it was bad enough they did it and he was sent straight to Azkaban - oh, he knew about the place now - but the way he was accused in a year's time if the timeline didn't change, enraged him.
Screwing his face up and burying his head in his lap, Harry made a vow.
He was going to escape Hogwarts and the magical world. He didn't care about Voldemort, the Death Eaters, the Scourers, or the potential disasters in the magical world. Why should he, it wasn't his problem.
But his mind was still reeling, his head was still throbbing with the overload of knowledge it had taken. Harry needed time to think, to clear his head, and to come up with a plan to do what he needed to do to survive. He needed to get all the knowledge of magical time travel, of essence transfer, but he couldn't do that while his brain was throbbing and he needed to form a plan to get ready.
But as he looked around the Room of Requirement, thankful for what it showed him of the future, Harry swore never to trust anyone in this fucked up society again - he wondered about his American family, over in the MACUSA, and wondered if they really were that bunch of jerks he had met in that reality but decided he would try to find out as soon as he could make contact with them.
Harry stood up, tottering on his legs. He was exhausted, and while he looked around, tempted to stay here until he'd slept it off, he knew he couldn't since Weasel and Granger would inform someone he hadn't been in the tower all night, which would lead to dozens of unpleasant and nosey questions. He would have to return to Gryffindor Tower, even if he wanted nothing more than to burn down the whole place and those treacherous bastards before they could cause him any real harm.
With a sigh, Harry made sure he had his wand, and then he walked out of the Room of Requirement; he drew upon the knowledge Voldemort and the Death Eaters possessed, and he cast spells to prevent anyone from knowing he was there, and he walked towards the tower, cursing Godric Gryffindor for making sure his House resided there.
-8-
He didn't remember the password, so he had to perform a condundus charm on the Fat Lady as well as a memory charm to prevent her from remembering what he had done before he snuck in. When he got to the boy's dorm, Harry cast another spell to make sure all the boys slept and didn't make a sound. He got ready for bed and soon slipped into the four-poster, sneering in disgust the whole time. He hated this place (while he was momentarily scared of the oath he'd sworn in that reality kicking in, he was delighted that it didn't kill him, as it didn't exist, and things like that didn't apply to him in his real reality), and he got in bed, already wishing he could leave it forever.
-8-
A Soulless Angel will be revisited...later.