Harry had been drifting.
Drifting through the years. Through worlds. Through universes.
He was cursed.
He had known when he had allowed Voldermort to shoot the Avada Kedava curse at him that he would die... but this was worse than death. A half life, forever as a ghost (and where was that phase familiar...oh wait...).
No one could see him or hear him, he couldn't touch anything or knock anything over to let them know he was there. He couldn't take control of anyone nor could he influence the radio or tv to show his Image. No matter how he screamed in their ears, no one heard him.
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Harry had to think that every ghost movie had been utter bollocks.
The only good thing that came from it was that with his death, Voldermort had perished, crumbling to dust.
So he lived invisibly, miserable as all hell, only able to watch those he loved as they grieved and mourned for him. A funeral with an empty casket as his body was never found was a depressing affair.
Hermione thought he had perished in the same way as Voldermort, blown away as dust in the forbidden forest. Ron didn't want to belleve it at first, but the more they searched, hours spent combing the forest floors had him losing hope as the days went by with no evidence or trace of Harry,
Everyone had rejoiced and mourned and it all seemed to come to pass. The more years that crept by the more the Wizarding world seemed to heal and people began to move on.
Harry watched as the Weasley family grew with children of their own. Every night he would lean against the bedroom door frame, listening to bedtime stories and tales of their adventures of 'Your Uncle Harry' with a sad smile.
He stood as guardian over them, always nearby.
And the years all seemed to blur as Harry remained unchanged at 17, as Ron's hair thinned and he gained the bald patch just as Arthur had, and Hermione's hair greyed but never lost its frizzy volume.
He watched over their children's children and before he knew it he was standing by their deathbed as they were surrounded by 4 generations of Weasleys who had been blessed with Wizarding longevity.
Harry had thought that with the passing of his two friends they may join him but as he stood by their bedside and placed a hand on their joined hands, he felt their heartbeats slow and stop in sync and their eyes come to dose.
A whisper of his name left their lips and then they were gone.
Harry wished he could cry as he felt the hands beneath him began to lose their warmth and he remained alone.
Harry hovered by their side, his chest aching with a sharp pain as the only family he had ever known were now gone.
He had nothing now.
He had let out a wall and had crumpled, and as always, the crying people around him didn't notice him at all.
The pain in his chest began to grow and Harry gasped out in shock.
A light began to glow within his chest.
As Harry looked down, seeing the pulsing white within his grey, see through chest, he felt the familiar pull of a portkey before he was whisked away.
That was how it started.
Harry didn't know where he had landed but he soon found a pattern with his jumps.
First, the places he would be taken to by whatever forces controlled the white light were not of his own world and he never returned to the same world twice.
Second, he always seemed to be drawn to one person who he would seemingly watch over. He could not leave them, always having to be in the near vicinity. He had tested the limit once, and being apart across a city seemed to be the greatest distance he could travel.
Third, the white light always came when that person died. It came a few moments after, as a pain in his chest, and then the soft glowing would begin.
Fourth, every few worlds he would meet someone who could see him.
The first place he had been sent to after leaving the Wizarding World behind was a strange place. It had been full of people with abilities and Harry had been called to the side of a boy called Max who was being held in a Jewish concentration camp in Nazi occupied Poland. And Harry watched as he became Magnus who then became Magneto. Harry could only hover invisibly as Max spiraled down a dark path, one that was very similar to Tom Riddle. With Magneto redeeming himself and dying with the only one he ever care for by his side, Charles, Harry was whisked away to another world.
And so it continued like that. Harry would learn and adjust to the new worlds. He would be able to see new places and learn new languages.
Every few worlds where people could see him would be different every time. Sometimes there was a war and Harry was the perfect infiltration spy. In another world Harry kept a little boy company on a moving castle filled with wizards and magic until he himself left to study magic and he helped others just as his master had done.
He would pass on his own experiences and the more he travelled through worlds, the more he learnt and the more he gained in knowledge and in the ways of humans and their emotions, Being dead really taught him a lot about how hard it really had been a human and to be alive, feeling all those human needs like sleep and food and being so dependant on feelings and emotions.
Harry stood by as those old and young passed. Those who could see him and those who couldn't. Harry came to care for them all. He knew for whatever reason he kept jumping from place to place, whether for a purpose or not, he had to appreciate people and their living, human ways.
So when the light came and took Harry to the next world and he emerged inside a room filled with stean, the sound of running water let Harry know he was in a bathroom.
The room was so blurry with steam Harry felt like he blended in with his surrounds, his ghostly grey blue mixing in with the white tiles on the floor and walls.
Harry took his usual moment to grieve the loss of the past world.
Harry moved to leave the bathroom, not wanting to spy on the person who he'd be tied to.
He turned, startled to see red eyes staring at his with a glare.
Harry turned to look around, was the guy looking at him.
"Who the fuck are you?" The dark haired man seethed, dark eyes pinned to Harry. Weren't they just red...? Was Harry imagining it?
Harry perked at the familiar language. Lucky. Otherwise he'd have to learn a new one again, and he'd only just spent the last world trying to learn Beast-speak.
"tim. Hi. Sorry to drop in like this." Harry spoke, his Japanese rusty.
"Who. The, Fuck. Are. You." The man touched a tattoo on his wrist and a blade appeared in hand.
"What's going on Sasuke?" Another voice said, walking through the steam and yelling at the sight of Harry, quickly clutching his nether regions in an attempt to hide himself. "What the hell!?"
Harry raised his hands in surrender. "I don't mean any harm."
The man named Sasuke snorted.
Harry began to back away, towards the tiled wall behind him, hoping he could disappear through it.
"Don't move." Sasuke ordered, red eyes beginning to swirl,
"I think I'll just leave you to bathe, Harry said, in complacency to try and soothe the irate man.
Before Harry knew, the large katana was plunged through his chest, but there was something different this time. Sasuke didn't fall through him like every other person had.
No.
His hand that clutched the hilt was pressed, warm and solid, against his chest.
"Oh."
"What the fuck! A ghost!" The blonde yelled as he began to freak out. "Sasuke! Pull your sword away! He'll haunt us and kill us!"
"Shut up, Dobe!" Sasuke growled, pulling his hand back and vanishing the katana in a showy display of smoke.
Sasuke Instead went to grab Harry who was still standing shocked, "He can't be a ghost if I can touch him."
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