A Stranger in an Unholy Land

~~~~ Chapter V ~~~~

Trust

"Sam, come here!" called Margaret. "Honestly, that dog!" she said to her friend Barbara as they pottered through Trafalgar Square. The mutt in question, a Jack Russell named Sam, was charging head long into a crowd of pigeons, scattering them in all directions, much to the annoyance of passers-by as they had to duck to avoid the flock. Sam, on the other hand, was having the time of his life, happily yapping away at the pigeons as they flew out of his reach.

"Oh, he is a one," smiled Barbara as she sank onto a bench. "One reason I never got a dog. I don't have the energy to keep up with one at my age."

"Linford Christie couldn't keep up with Sam," muttered Margaret, taking a seat beside her friend and removing the cup of coffee she had just bought from its paper bag. She removed the lid and sipped the hot liquid. Next to her saw see that Barbara had done the same.

"Love the hair, by the way," ventured Margaret. Conversation with Babs had been hard since her husband Gordon had passed away last week. She seemed so distant, which was why Maggie had invited her out today, to try and take her mind off everything. Babs made the smallest of gestures with her eyebrows as she sipped her coffee. She was never one for needless conversation.

Margaret looked around, seeking inspiration; something to talk about, something to try and cheer Babs up, just a little. It was then that she caught sight of an old man standing beneath the empty pedestal of Nelson's Column. He wore a grey business suit but he looked so...un-business-like. He had a long white beard that flowed down his chest, reaching to his belt. He had long white hair and wore a pair of half-moon spectacles.

"Some people," said Maggie to herself before turning to Barbara. "I mean, look at that man." The two women looked over to the man who stood motionless beneath the pedestal. "That hair should be made illegal."

The elderly gentlemen in question stood perfectly still; apparently oblivious to the fact that he was being watched. The ladies watched as the man took a pocket watch from his inside pocket and checked it. He looked pensive for a few seconds before putting it away.

"I wonder if..." began Barbara.

Suddenly the crowd of pigeons before the ladies took to the sky, scattering in all directions. One clumsy bird even knocked Maggie's scalding coffee into her lap. She was instantly on her feet, trying to brush the boiling liquid off of her skirt, and trying to get the now boiling material away from her skin. She vaguely remembered reading about a woman in America who had deliberately spilt coffee on herself, which had scalded her, and then sued McDonalds for making coffee too hot. Stupid woman.

"SAM!" shouted Maggie. That dog was becoming a nuisance. She would have to put him back on the lead, but it was not the dog that had scattered the pigeons. As the mass of feathers reached the sky, the ladies saw that the disturbance had been caused not by the dog, but by a jogger. The young man was dressed in a grey hooded jumper and blue jogging shorts with white trainers. The hood was pulled up, obscuring his face. Completely unaware of the annoyance he had caused, the young jogger continued over past the fountain.

Maggie let him go and started to dab up the coffee with a handkerchief, helped by Babs. Satisfied with the condition of herself, Maggie looked up. The bearded man was still there, and again was checking his pocket watch. It was almost as if he was waiting for something. Margaret was just about to say something when suddenly the jogger reappeared, the same one who had passed them just now, causing her to spill her coffee.

She watched in horror as the jogger crashed violently into the old man, taking his arm in his hand and spinning him around. They twirled full circle before the jogger forced the old man up against the wall. He was pointing something at the old man's throat. She couldn't see what it was but she could guess: a knife. The jogger's hood was still up, and Margaret couldn't see the young man's face. This was clearly a mugging, in broad daylight!

'Police!' was the first thought to go through Margaret's head. This was a mugging. Where was the Old Bill? There should always be a copper on duty. This country is going to the dogs! Margaret watched helplessly as the jogger said something to the old man.

It was then that two young men wearing identical black suits and sunglasses appeared from around the pedestal. They had been behind the column and were now approaching the alcove. The jogger had his back to the approaching men, so he didn't detect their approach. He suddenly realised they were there, but it was too late. One of the men was holding what looked like a large remote control for a television. Maggie watched as two cords shot out of the box and hit the jogger. There was a second's pause, then the jogger went rigid and collapsed.

A wave of gasps went up from those near enough to see what was happening. The commotion was enough to get the attention of passers by. The two men in suits and the elderly man quickly darted to the fallen form of the jogger. Six more including one with a nasty limp, eye-patch and a crutch appeared through the gathering crowd. Margaret couldn't see what was happening as all the bodies blocked her view.

They all produced wallets from their inside pockets, bearing the insignia of the Metropolitan Police Department.

"Ladies and gentlemen," called the limping man. "Do not be alarmed, we are police officers. There is nothing to see here. Please move along!"

Despite the policeman's orders, the crowd did not disperse. Everyone was trying to catch a glimpse of the fallen jogger. It was quite exciting, after all. How many real-life police sting operations does a normal person see? Through the mass of bodies, Maggie could see that the four men were tending to the fallen jogger. The man's hood had fallen back as he had fallen. He looked no more than sixteen, seventeen; still a child. He had raven black hair that stuck up in all directions.

Suddenly there was a loud blast of a horn beside them, making Margaret jump out of her skin. Barbara, who was also watching the proceedings with interest, knocked her coffee over in surprise. It landed harmlessly on the ground, Babs hardly noticed.

Two large, black Jeeps with tinted windows were making their way in convoy through the crowd, towards the commotion. The driver was moving slowly, blowing the horn every few seconds. The rapidly growing crowd parted to allow the Jeep through. When it stopped, two more men got out with a stretcher. They were both dressed identically to the other men in suits. One looked tired and had a little grey hair starting to show. He quickly pulled a stretcher out of the back and was joined by another man with long black hair. They carried the stretcher to unconscious figure. They quickly loaded the jogger onto the stretcher and put him into the back of the Jeep without a word. The other men stood beside the stretcher, shielding it from view. With the door closed the remaining men climbed into one of the two Jeeps and the convoy made its way through the crowd and off into the busy London traffic.

"Well there's something you don't see everyday," said Barbara.

~~~~ + ~~~~

The lifeless body crashed to the ground with a thump. The tall figure in black hooded robes stepped over the body without a second thought and sank into the armchair by the fire. The figure rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and his hand on his chin. His brow was furrowed in thought. Not even a round of torture could distract him at the moment. Even the feeling of absolute power that comes just before you end a life could not make the feeling go away.

"Something vexes thee?" hissed a voice from the floor.

"Indeed, Nagini," hissed back the figure.

"The boy?"

"You are as perceptive as you are deadly," hissed back the Dark Lord. The snake was one hundred percent right. There had been something about the boy as they had talked yesterday. Nothing Voldemort did, not even the purging of an unworthy Mudblood, could take his mind off what he had seen the night before.

Upon his return, Harry had been...different. Distant wasn't the right word, but unfocussed was not entirely right either. There was the usual determination, but it was mixed with something else. Despair. And it was this despair that concerned Voldemort. Had that curse to the head fried Harry's brain? That was a curse scar and it had hit him right on the forehead. The scar looked quite nasty. Had it damaged his brain? Had the boy had an epiphany? All Voldemort knew was that that was not the same Harry that had left him a week ago. What had gone wrong? That one mission could have won the war for him. His prize would make Hogwarts vulnerable and with Hogwarts levelled to the ground, nothing could stop him. Harry had never failed before and he had gone through tighter security than that before.

Something had happened to Harry. And then, once he was in custody, his behaviour was described as erratic and confused. It had not taken much to acquire the manuscript of the trial. Voldemort had read it over and over. Harry was either being very clever or...or what? He claimed that Voldemort had been defeated. A blasphemy in itself, mused Voldemort. Then he claimed his parents were murdered. Voldemort had worked his magic well. The boy thought of him as a father; the Potters were as good as dead to him. He had even put his sister under the Imperius Curse a year back, though she was unaware of it. But literally dead? And if he believed they were merely dead to him, as the expression goes, why had he claimed that Voldemort himself had killed them? The Potters were Dumbledore's allies; they were inconvenient and the husband was a good Auror, responsible for numerous of Voldemort's pawns residing in Azkaban. But Voldemort did not consider them inconvenient enough to warrant his personal attention.

So why the apparent madness? With his advanced years, and his experience of bending the mentally deranged to his will, even Voldemort could not see the logic in Harry's moves. The apparent insanity could have been a bluff in order to get him off, but surely he knew that Lady Malfoy would have a back up plan. Surely he would know that Voldemort would never allow the infamous Harry Potter to go to Azkaban.

But that could be overlooked. Harry always had his own fail-safes. What bothered Voldemort more than the trial was their conversation last night. There was fear in his eyes, as well as defiance and it was that that concerned Voldemort. Harry was holding something back. Not an outright lie, but a lie of omission. The boy had even raised a somewhat flimsy Occlumency shield. What was he hiding? He did not push at the time because he needed Harry to be at his best to attack the Hogwarts Express. He needed to show the world that Harry Potter was back in action. It would show the country that even the most high profile arrest ever did nothing to stop him. They had arrested his highest-ranking Death Eater and yet they had gained nothing. In fact they had made it worse for themselves.

The Hogwarts Express would be seen as revenge for the capture of Harry Potter, a purely political move. He gained nothing from it. The cost/benefit ratio of the attack had been very low: it had cost nothing to get forty new recruits, some who he knew had lied about their blood and were not pure, but he had still given them masks and set them to work. What was gained was terror. The Dark Lord had big plans, but he needed a constant barrage of small attacks to keep the public in his grip of fear. The impure rabble had done their job: at present hundreds of owls were bound for Hogwarts, parents desperate to see if their children had made it there alive. The statement had been made. Those of impure blood who had survived then provided entertainment for those of pure blood. It had cost so little and the benefit was huge. The Prophet would play it down. But other papers that were not so politically ruled would ask the question: could Crouch cope? It all took attention away from the primary target.

The problem was Dumbledore. As much as Voldemort loathed admitting it, the old man was wise, if somewhat sentimental. He would know the meaning of the attack. Arrangements would already be in place.

But back to Harry. Voldemort was concerned by what he had seen. Harry had declined to take part in the torture- not unusual in itself, but combined with what he had seen, with Lucius' usual bickering and claims that Harry was less loyal than himself. It all added up to there being something different about Harry, but what? The boy had kept to himself all night and had gone out that morning. Voldemort didn't know when he would be back, and he didn't care. He had more important things to do. He knew that next time he saw Harry he would have to interrogate him, but it was not important enough to justify summoning him right now. He had bigger fish to fry. Still, he could not shake the worried feeling. Ignorance was a new experience for the Dark Lord and he didn't think much of it.

~~~~~ + ~~~~

Rose walked slowly down to the entrance hall, wrapped up tightly in her school cloak. Harry was coming! She didn't dare believe it. Could it truly be real? She hoped that Dumbledore was right, that something had changed in Harry. She could imagine it now; she would have her brother back. Two years of agony would be washed away instantly with Harry at her side. She watched from the archway, as the Ravenclaw Quidditch team darted around the pitch. She could only see them when they flew especially high as the stand got in the way. Chang's obviously an eager beaver this year, she mused to herself.

It had been a strange weekend. Firstly there had been an attack. She was amazed that they had survived, and yet, her conscience was weighted heavily by the deaths of those whom she alone had sent to try and fight the Death Eaters. What had she been thinking? Obviously students were no match for Death Eaters. She should have seen that they were going to get hurt. Her weekend had become even stranger as she had waited yesterday evening for the carriages to arrive. After her very first Order meeting, she had gone to meet Ginny. As the carriages had arrived, Rose was amazed to see that the carriages were no longer horseless. However, they weren't pulled by horses either. What the creatures were Rose did not know. They were horse-shaped but decaying. They were...disgusting. She would have to ask a professor about them at some point. Ginny had been able to see them as well, and Luna claimed that they had always been there. Right now she had had one thought on her mind: Harry.

Those students who were uninjured had arrived in carriages, as per tradition. Those unable to walk or carry on the journey had been sent by Portkey to the hospital wing from the site of the crash. Madam Pomfrey and Rose's mother were being run off their feet with all the injured. Those prefects who had accompanied Rose had been all right, thanks to Harry. The other end of the train had not been so lucky. From what Rose could discern, they had been ambushed. Four were confirmed dead and another fifteen in the hospital, plus some nasty knocks from the crash itself. Four dead: Rose had told them to go and they had. Their deaths were on her head. If she had kept her mouth shut those four would still be alive.

"Rosie?" whispered a voice behind her. She didn't even have to turn around; she knew who it was. "Thinking about those who have passed on?" the voice asked.

"Yeah," muttered Rose, turning to face her godfather. There was no hint of a smile on his face. She was used to seeing him jovial and full of energy. Now he looked old and tired. He had been one of the Aurors that had flocked to the crash-site to fight. She assumed that Dumbledore had called another meeting for tonight. She couldn't think why Sirius would otherwise be there. He was sporting a gash on his cheek courtesy of his deranged cousin. It was covered in a white patch but Rose could see a red line where the blood was beginning to soak through. This was after twenty-four hours. It must have been a curse of some sort. "It's my fault they're dead," muttered Rose.

"What?" said Sirius, fixing her with a piercing stare.

"I told them to fight, I sent them to their deaths," confessed Rose. She kicked a stone irritably. It bounced out of the hall and down the steps into the courtyard. "If I had kept my mouth shut, they'd still be alive..."

"And many more would be dead," interrupted Sirius. "Rose, what you did today saved lives. We're all sorry that four were lost but many more would have died if you hadn't acted."

"I guess, but..." sighed Rose.

"But it still doesn't change the fact that there are four families grieving the loss of their son or daughter today," finished Sirius. "That is part of why you and your friends are kept out of the Order. Sometimes we have to make such choices. None of us like doing it, but it must be done and it does weigh on our consciences, but we can't let him win, Rose."

"I guess," muttered Rose. There was undisputable wisdom in his words, but it didn't take the guilt away. Their faces would never leave her. She felt a certain respect for Dumbledore. He must surely have done this before, he surely must have had people die following his commands. He must carry around so much guilt. "So who were they?"

"All prefects. Two Ravenclaws, one Gryffindor and a Slytherin," replied Sirius.

"A Gryffindor prefect?" asked Rose. "Who?"

"Adrian Westmoor," said Sirius gravely.

"Merlin," sighed Rose. He was in most of her classes. He was a nice boy, who hadn't deserved to die, but had on account of her. "I knew him well."

"There will be a minute's silence, funerals and the parents will visit. But I have a feeling that there is more that is bothering you."

"Harry," said Rose plainly. There was no use skirting the issue. Dumbledore was bringing him in. It was the main thing on everyone's mind at the moment. "Do you think Dumbledore is right?"

"He's a brilliant man, and I want to believe him," said Sirius carefully.

"But..." pressed Rose.

"I just don't know. I've seen the aftermath of what's been done. Don't get me wrong; I hope he's right. I just don't want to count my chickens before they've hatched."

"So why didn't you go with Dumbledore?"

"I need to be here; as much as I would love to go, my place is here, or so Dumbledore says," said Sirius, sounding a little bitter. "This could go very..."

Sirius froze. He glanced down at his watch. After a short pause, he looked directly into Rose's eyes.

"He's here."

~~~~ + ~~~~

The black Jeep pulled up to the entrance of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The ride had taken a mere five minutes, thanks to a little bit of Magic. They had pulled into an alleyway where no one could see them, shortly after leaving Trafalgar Square. The Jeeps incorporated the same spells that worked on a Ministry car, so they could zip through the traffic. Once out of the sight of any nosy Muggles, the Jeep had been transported, along with its cargo, to the gates of Hogwarts. The whole Jeep was, for all intents and purposes, turned into a Portkey. It was a tremendous piece of wandwork, and only Albus would have been able to do it.

The Jeep appeared out of thin air at the Gates to Hogwarts. It was nearly twenty past twelve and the sun was high in the sky. Because of yesterday's attack on the train, today's and tomorrow's classes had been cancelled. Albus could see the Quidditch team practising on the pitch. This was highly dangerous and he knew it. He had double-crossed the boy and who knows what he might be capable off. Albus just hoped that what he had read in the boy's eyes was accurate. If he was wrong, he had just prodded the proverbial sleeping dragon. He also had to bear in mind that Harry could not be seen. News spreads fast in a school and word would make its way back to either the Ministry or to Tom if Harry was seen.

With a flick of his wand, Albus opened the gates and tapped Remus on the shoulder. Lupin then let the clutch up and the Jeep surged forward up the hill. Its tinted windows prevented any students who might be around or who look out of the window at the wrong moment from seeing the precious cargo. Albus was sitting in the back of the first Jeep, next to the unconscious form of Harry Potter. Remus was driving, with Severus in the front and Diggory to his right. The second Jeep had been returned to the Ministry so that the charms could be removed before the car was returned to the dealer from which it had been borrowed. As Hogwarts loomed closer, Albus began to wonder, not for the first time, if those sturdy walls really could withstand a full-scale assault by Tom's forces. As intimidating as they looked, Albus still had his doubts. He also knew that an attack was inevitable. Sooner or later, Tom would come.

The car skidded to a halt before the double-doors that led into the entrance hall. Dumbledore climbed out, along with Cedric and Severus. Remus remained inside the car. Albus looked around, checking to see if they were being watched. This was lunacy, but he had no choice. They had to get Harry inside before he woke up. He was not stunned magically, so there was no telling how long he would be unconscious.

Up ahead Albus could see Sirius and Rose-Marie. He realised he should have sent a message ahead asking that she be kept away from Harry. It was too late now. The girl had a right to know, but her timing was inconvenient. Albus sighed to himself.

"WOW!" said a voice. All of them spun around to see a group of second year Ravenclaws approaching from the front of the Jeep. "What's that for, sir?" asked one of them. They all stared appreciatively at the huge Jeep in front of them. Albus slammed the boot shut, with Harry still inside, stopping anyone catching a glimpse of him.

"Muggle Studies," said Dumbledore quickly. He had seen Severus open his mouth and he didn't want any snide comment making it seem like something secretive was going on. His way would make them lose interest in the Jeep, and it's cargo.

"Any chance of a drive?" said one. "I've always wanted to have a go."

"Do you hold a driver's licence, Mr Crockford?" queried Dumbledore with a laugh.

"Not as such," said the boy. He stood for a few seconds, before the whole party turned around and headed back into the school. Breathing a sigh of relief, Albus threw the invisibility cloak over the stretch and levitated it out of the Jeep. He then began to walk up to the school. Rose-Marie and Sirius were still standing in the entrance. Albus passed by them in silence, and to his annoyance, they fell into step beside the stretcher.

Albus knew that the Hospital Wing would be crowded after the attack on the train. Twelve students were currently at St Mungo's, but a further eight were in the Hospital Wing with less serious injuries. They would be too curious and would peek around any barrier he erected. Still, Albus had another plan.

They laid him down on the bed. With a flick of his wand, Albus transfigured his jogging shorts into a pair of Hospital issue pyjama trousers and vanished his hoody and t-shirt.

"He looks almost peaceful," said Rose softly.

"That he does," said Albus softly. She was right, the boy was unconscious, but his face wasn't twisted in a way that made him appear angry, scared or anything like that. He seemed peaceful. Albus watched as Rose gently brushed his hair from his forehead, revealing a curious scar.

Albus knew at once it was a Curse scar. He had no idea which curse or how he had gotten it, but it appeared quite nasty. Rose had tears in her eyes as she gently stroked his hair. The boy was relaxed but Albus could tell that there was power in that body. His muscular form and collection of scars showed that he really had been through the wars. However, it was the scar on his forehead that interested Albus the most.

"Are you going to wake him?" asked Rose impatiently.

"I'm afraid not," said Albus kindly. He knew she didn't want to hear this and was unsurprised to see a glare on her face. "He was not stunned nor was any magic used on him. We used an electric stun gun, or Tazer to subdue him. It would be unwise to wake him magically. His body still needs to sort itself out after the effects of the Tazer."

"But..."

"Rose," said Dumbledore kindly. "I know this is hard, but I must talk to him first. I cannot allow you near him until I know more. I must know why he is here and that it is safe for you before I allow you near him." The poor girl looked sadly up at him. She must know he was right but she wasn't happy. She finally had seen her brother again. He was so close, but Albus couldn't let her see him. Not yet. She was so near, but yet so far from having Harry back.

~~~~ + ~~~~

The night was still and silent. Not a creature was moving except for the figure in a black hooded cloak. He had appeared in a flash out of thin air. The figure looked around cautiously, before throwing a coat hanger to the ground and heading towards the house. The quaint cottage was surrounded by a large lawn and flowerbed, and bordered by an ivy-covered stone wall. There were trees in the garden, which the children of the house had once climbed. The moonlight cast shadows over the garden and the whole lane.

Harry walked slowly down the lane, his footsteps making no sound thanks to his soft-soled trainers. The lane was not tarmac but gravel that had set in mud, making it solid, but with many loose stones. His hooded cloak kept him warm enough; the trouble was it ruined his peripheral vision. He was like a horse with blinders, but he couldn't afford to be recognised, not that there was anybody around, but one could never be too careful. The moonlight would make it easy for him to be seen.

He walked silently up to the gate. There was a silver plaque attached to it. It read,

GODRIC'S HOLLOW

Harry paused for a second. He looked both ways down the lane and, satisfied that he was alone, he hopped over the gate.. He knew all too well that it squeaked and that the occupants would know instantly if it were opened. Harry hadn't been back here in more than a year. Looking up at the warm and cosy house, Harry felt a pang of regret; no...he wouldn't let himself think like that. He was a Death Eater and proud to be one.

Putting such thoughts aside, Harry crept up to the front door. There were no lights on inside. The curtains were drawn and the house was quiet. Perfect.

"Alohomora!" he whispered, pointing his wand at the lock. There was a soft click and Harry opened the door and stepped in. The hallway was dark as he shut the door. To his surprise he found that his picture was still on the wall. The fools actually believed he would return.

Don't hold your breath, thought Harry with a smirk. Looking around Harry saw himself and Rosie waving back from countless pictures. There was the smell of cooking on the air. They had had curry for dinner. He could still smell the spices on the air. The house was warm, cosy and inviting. There was a family atmosphere, yet he could almost taste the air of sadness about the house. This was his test, his ultimate test. He was confronted by the temptations of his former life. He would not fail; he was truly loyal to the Dark Lord. The pithy temptations would not sway him, would not alter his purpose. He had no wish to return to his purposeless life amongst Mudbloods and scum. That mundane existence held no appeal to Harry. There is only power and those too weak to seek it. I am not weak!

Harry cast a cleaning charm over his shoes to stop him leaving footprints. He crept forward, up the stairs, carefully avoiding the two that squeaked. At the top of the stairs he turned left and opened the first door on the left. It was his old room, and nothing had been changed. The room looked exactly as it had the last time he had been there, except for the fact that it had been tidied. He scoffed that he had ever lived like this. Shaking his head, he retreated out of the door.

Directly opposite was Rose's room and it was here that Harry had business tonight. He silently slipped into her room. A figure was asleep on the bed, curled up in a foetal position, wrapped in a red duvet. He could see her long black hair on the pillow. She seemed to be sleeping soundly, with a small smile etched on her face.

Happy, are we? thought Harry. Was she smiling now that he was gone? It didn't really matter. The room itself had hardly changed. A half full glass of orange juice was on her bedside table and a bowl containing a pool of melted ice cream was on the floor beside her bed. Harry picked up the bowl and placed it on her desk on the far side of the room. The room was silent, except for the faint breaths of the sleeping girl. Harry felt like Dracula, creeping into a young virgin's room in the dead of night, to perform dark deeds. He remembered watching horror films when he was younger. Harry gently sat on the end of the bed next to his sleeping sister and brushed her hair from her face. She looked like his mother, except for her raven coloured hair.

She looked so peaceful, so serene. For a second, Harry wondered what life had been like for her since he had become such a public figure. How was she treated at Hogwarts? He quickly quashed the thought. She didn't need or merit his pity. Slowly he took out his wand, ready for business. This was not a social trip, after all.

He leaned over her head, his nose centimetres from her cheek. She must be able feel his breath on her skin. Ever so gently he leaned down and kissed her softly on the cheek. "Sleep now, my little angel," he whispered. "Tomorrow, you have work to do. Imperio!" A blue glow came over Rose for a second as the curse took effect. Harry smiled to himself, how weak the minds of the righteous are. He then whispered into her sleeping ear the instructions sent down by the Dark Lord himself.

Finished, he then placed a teddy bear, one that he knew to he her favourite, under her arm and slipped silently out of the room. He turned and went swiftly down the stairs.

As he came to the bottom, Harry found himself no longer in Godric's Hollow, but somewhere else entirely. The room was an office of sorts. There was a desk and chair at the far end of the room, with its back to a large floor to ceiling window. The entire far wall was a window, through which the London skyline could be seen. They were about six to ten floors up and were looking directly over the river. He could see the Houses of Parliament in the distance and barges sailing up and down the Thames. The building obviously had layers and was much wider at the bottom. He could see the roof of the lower floors stretching out before him. Harry turned back to inspect the office itself.

The office was obviously Muggle. There were filing cabinets along one wall, with large landscapes framed above them. There was a coffee maker on a table in the corner and a pair of sofas around a coffee table to his left. The floor was wooden with a zebra skin rug on the middle. Harry crossed to the window. The lights from many other buildings twinkled in the evening sun. The sky was a dark blue but the sun had not yet set.

"What are you doing in my office?" snarled a voice.

"Not a very polite way to greet your employer," said Harry coldly as he turned to face the man. He was at least fifty and was short and balding. He was wearing a suit without the jacket and his armpits were drenched in sweat. The man was obviously unfit or very nervous.

"You again!" spat the man. "I'm calling security."

"That would be a waste of time," said Harry calmly. "It is very hard to answer a telephone when one's hand has been cut off."

"You murdered them?" gasped the man, visibly paling.

"Not me personally," said Harry calmly. "But they will not be joining us."

"You'll never get away with this," growled the man. "We have video cameras. They'll see your face, they'll find you."

"Do you mean this tape?" asked Harry, removing the cassette from within his robes. "Your cameras are not recording, your security are incapacitated. You belong to me now, Mr McGowan."

"Look, I fulfilled my end of the bargain," snarled the man. "The deal is over."

"Indeed you did," said Harry. "With a perfect degree of success. With that in mind, we have one more...request."

"Request?"

"Precisely," said Harry. "You see you are not the only man in government who knows of our kind. There is one man in particular who interests me."

"And you want me to do what."

"The man in question is a Colonel. We know much about him. We know he was born in Suffolk, he attended University College London and then joined the army. He has done two tours with the SAS and at present is in charge of a highly classified and very shady operation codenamed Artic Thunder."

"Fascinating," said the man. "How does this involve me?"

"To protect the Colonel, he is in hiding," said Harry. "He is using an old MI6 safe-house, and you work for MI6. I want to know which one. Surely you can find out which one."

"What do you want with him?" asked the man.

"Information about his little experiment," said Harry. "Now do we have a deal or not?"

"And why should I help you?"

"Because if you refuse, I'll visit your family," said Harry icily. He saw a flash of fear flick over the man's face.

"Come on," pleaded the man, "Don't involve the family. They have nothing to do with this, leave them out."

"Are you trying to play on my sensitive side?" asked Harry.

"Even you must have a family!

Even you must have a family!

EVEN YOU MUST HAVE A FAMILY!"

Argh! Harry was suddenly awake in the bed. He was dripping with a cold sweat and his glasses and top had been removed. He was wearing a pair of hospital issue pyjama trousers and nothing else. The sheets were pulled up to his neck. Every muscle in his body ached and he felt ill. His head was throbbing, though not from Voldemort's anger. He could recognise that instantly. This was just a plain old headache, if somewhat severe. He felt like he was going to be sick and as he sat there covered in sweat, he found himself shivering. He was in what appeared to be the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. All the other beds were empty and the door to Madam Pomfrey's office was shut. The sun was shining thought the windows, and reflecting off the polished floor. The smell of potions and ointments lingered on the air.

"Good morning, Harry," said a kindly voice. "You've had a rough couple of days." Harry found himself looking up into a pair of twinkling blue eyes. They were twinkling! Dumbledore hadn't forsaken him. Wait a minute! He had just woken up in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, Dumbledore didn't hate him anymore, and he felt like death warmed up. It had been a dream! He must have been in a coma; that was why he hadn't been able to wake up! That is why the pinches and the pain from the fights hadn't woken him; he was in a coma, not asleep. When Voldemort's Killing Curse had hit the Chalk Circle, it must have almost killed him and put him in a coma. It had all been one long Nightmare! People didn't hate him! He was home!

"Thank God," smiled Harry weakly. "I thought I was never going to wake up." Harry tried to sit, but he felt his limbs aching as he moved. He still felt really sick and the weight of the sheets and blackest on his stomach was not helping. I hate comas, thought Harry bitterly. Was this what it is like to wake from one? "What happened, Professor?" he asked softly. "The last thing I remember was you coming to rescue me on Aunt Marge's farm and then that chalk circle trick of yours saved me and then everything went weird."

"Weird?" echoed the Headmaster, a kind smile etched on his features. How Harry had missed that smile. He had been so resentful of the Headmaster after their conversation last year, but all was now forgiven. He was so glad to see the old man again.

"I was having this weird nightmare," said Harry. "It was horrible. Everyone thought I was a Death Eater, a murderer. You and the Wizengamot even tried me and probably would have sent me Azkaban if...and this is the even weirder part... if Voldemort hadn't sent Narcissa Malfoy to defend me and a Heliopath to get me out and...it was really weird. People believed Voldemort had never fallen, and instead of the Boy-Who-Lived, I was his second in command. For a time, I actually thought it was real, I thought I'd never get home, I thought...I don't know. I almost believed that my parents were alive and everything." Harry let out a short laugh.

"That's quite a story, Harry," said the Headmaster.

"I know," smiled Harry weakly. "The world just turned upside down and then I wake up back here in a bed. It had to be a dream. I should have realised it earlier. I should have realised that that place was so bizarre when a Heliopath appeared. Luna told me that the Ministry had an army of them; that was why they feared the DA so much because it might rival theirs. You know how paranoid Minister Fudge can be. Anyway, Luna claimed there was an army, and Hermione insisted they didn't exist. She's the more...academically able of the two and so when Luna was proved right I should have realised that that place was just a weird dream. I was half expecting a Crumple Horned Snorkak to appear at any moment," joked Harry. Dumbledore smiled softly, though Harry had a feeling he didn't understand the joke.

"Harry," said the Headmaster gravely. "Could you describe the event you spoke of with the Chalk Circle?" Why would he want that? thought Harry. He was there.

"I could," said Harry softly. "But you were there. You saw what happened." Harry saw something odd cross the Headmaster's face, a look that he couldn't read.

"I was," he said carefully. "But sometimes if one alters one's perspective, one gets a completely different picture of what is going on."

"Some things never change. You still speak in riddles," smiled Harry.

"Voldemort appeared and then you did. You gave me the sword and chalk. I drew the circle and he couldn't touch me. His Killing Curse hit and I ended up in the field...no! I ended up in a coma until I awoke here. I was trying to get back here to ask you how I could get home, but I've woken up now so we can forget that. Any chance of a cup of tea?"

"I'll have some brought up," said Dumbledore softly. "Could you tell me about your scar."

"I..." Harry froze mid-sentence. Something was wrong! Dumbledore would never ask about the scar, he was the one who always told Harry about it. This Dumbledore was not his Dumbledore. But hope was sparkling in his eyes. OH GOD! NO! He was still in the 'weird place'. Everyone still thought he was a Death Eater; everyone still wanted him dead. GOD DAMN IT!

The memories came flooding back. He had been double-crossed; the images of his ambush flashed across his mind. These feelings of sickness were not because of his coma; it was the results of having hundreds, maybe thousands, of volts surge through your body. The arseholes had used a Tazer on him. That was why he felt sick. He had been stupid to confuse it for sleep-induced sickness. Dumbledore had betrayed him! How dare he!

Harry threw the covers off him and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He wore only a pair of hospital pyjama trousers. He was just about getting used to seeing his changed body. The first time he had noticed the muscles and the six-pack he had been shocked. Now as he sat topless on the bed, he found it wasn't a surprise. The memories of the last week were now as vivid as ever. The image of the dying Tea-Lady stuck in his mind. Her eyes would haunt his dreams until the day he died. Why did everyone think he was a Death Eater? He looked down at his left forearm. There was no Dark Mark; he was not Voldemort's servant. He was the only one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord.

Suddenly Harry was aware of an odd feeling in his head. It was very subtle, not even irritating. It was just there. It felt almost familiar...Legilimency! Quickly Harry raised as much of a shield as he could, with the pitiful training he had received. Empty my mind! Dumbledore must have realised he'd been detected. Immediately the feeling was gone.

"I remember everything," said Harry softly, his tone was icy. He suddenly looked up fixing the Headmaster with an icy glare worthy of McGonagall. "You've got guts coming in here after that," snarled Harry. "I said alone, I said I only wanted to talk and you set Mad-Eye and your bloody Order on me." The Headmaster sighed, knowing full well that the pretence was up. He had taken a risk in trying to fool Harry, and it had not worked. Harry felt angry, couldn't he take him on faith? Dumbledore was famous for it. He was famous for giving second chances, Hagrid for example, Malfoy, why not Harry.

"We would have been overheard, I was making sure this meeting was private" replied the Dumbledore.

"A pathetic excuse," snapped Harry. "I had a Portkey for that purpose. Don't lie to me. You wanted me taken down. You were willing to condemn me to Azkaban in the trial; I saw your eyes, and now you want me handed over again."

Dumbledore slowly sat down on the end of the bed, two feet from Harry. Harry couldn't see a wand, but it didn't matter. He didn't stand a chance against Dumbledore. The Headmaster was not going to attack him; it was not in his nature. He felt so angry with the man sitting next to him, yet despite the fact that they were on opposite sides, he didn't feel in anyway threatened.

"I apologise, Harry," said Dumbledore gravely. "It was not my intention to deceive you. Remember I did not say anything to you; you jumped to your own conclusions when you woke up." Harry knew this was true, he had assumed he was in a coma. Dumbledore hadn't lied to him, he had just stayed silent and let Harry make his own mistakes. "You are also mistaken about something else," continued Dumbledore. "I do not want to hand you to the Dementors. Minister Crouch, does not know this meeting is taking place. I assume you wish to keep it that way."

"No one but the two of us were supposed to know, and the girl I sent the message with," said Harry. "Thanks to you, at least a dozen people must know. I know you can't un-ring a bell, but at least make sure what is said goes no further."

"Out of the question," said Dumbledore, to Harry's surprise. "I will not broadcast this meeting but there are a select few who need to know."

"The Order," sighed Harry. "McGonagall, Snape, Moody, Kingsley, Remus...I got Pettigrew by the way...Tonks and those lot."

"Amongst others," agreed Dumbledore. "And Miss Tonks sends her thanks for saving her life. I feel quite odd talking to you like this, Harry. You seem wise beyond your years, yet there is nothing but pain and despair in your eyes. I was expecting a raging anger."

"Like Riddle. Sorry to disappoint you."

"Not at all, I am most pleased," smiled Dumbledore. "I am also impressed that you know of Tom's origins."

"I know enough," said Harry. "I know that he is a Half-Blood, just like me. Oh the irony."

"I must confess, Harry," said Dumbledore reverting to his grave tone. "I had given up all hope of your redemption..."

"I don't need to be redeemed," said Harry defensively. He had not done anything, and he was not coming crawling back! "I am not what you think I am, I am not a murderer!"

"Please, let me finish. I had given up all hope until I saw you at the trial. Minister Crouch did not pass on your request for an audience to me. Had I known, I would have given you the benefit of the doubt, mainly out of respect to your family."

"I have no family," said Harry, cutting him off. His parents were dead and the least Dumbledore could do would be to let them rest in peace. Using their names would not get Harry to tell him what he didn't need to know. "Riddle saw to that."

"You may have to elaborate on that, Harry, but please let me finish," said Dumbledore softly. There was that phrase again, 'let me finish'. It was fast becoming irritating.

"I would have given you an audience, as I would almost anyone who requested it."

"Even Tom?"

"Even he," said Dumbledore. "It is against my principles to believe that anyone is inherently evil. Tom Riddle was a perfectly likeable young man when he first came to Hogwarts, when he first learned of the new world that had been laid out before him."

"But by the seventh year, he was angry and evil enough to open the Chamber of Secrets and set the basilisk on Moaning Myrtle," finished Harry. "Are you asking me if I've turned?"

"Not entirely, Harry, I can see from your eyes that you are not fuelled by anger and hatred," said Dumbledore with a small smile. "The eyes can tell so much about a person. I am also surprised at your depth of knowledge. Not many people know the legend of the Chamber of Secrets and even less know that the attacks of fifty years ago were thought to be from Slytherin's monster. Only one person knows who opened it, the culprit himself. And you believe it to be Tom? I suspected it myself but there was never any proof."

"Trust me, it was him," said Harry. He didn't want to get into that story. This Dumbledore wouldn't even remember it. "But we have gone seriously off topic."

"True. My point was, and don't get angry, just hear me out. My point was that you have committed some of the worst atrocities in this war. The name Harry Potter is synonymous with terrorist attacks. Your calling card is a large scale attack with massive destruction of property and loss of life. Harry Potter was fuelled by anger, I have seen him once before and he was. You are not. We have done a blood test, and you are indeed Harry James Potter. So, what has changed in you?" It was a fair question. The dreams he had been having, still seemed so real, so vivid. Harry had a sneaking suspicion now that he knew what a bastard the Harry they thought him to be actually was, that they were memories of that other Harry. But then how could they be? How could he have someone else's memory? It is the control curse trying to break through? He knew for a fact that he hadn't done those things. If they were more than dreams, if even half of it was true, Dumbledore had every right not to trust him.

"Harry Potter is dead," said Harry, wording his answer very carefully. He didn't want to give too much away. "I'm all that's left."

"What do you mean by that?" asked the headmaster. "Are you saying that you are not Harry Potter?"

"Oh, I'm Harry all right," he replied. If he were to get Dumbledore's help, then he would need to give him some information to work with. "I don't know what happened in Devon, but when I woke up, I was a new man, literally."

"What do you mean?" repeated Dumbledore patiently.

"I mean that two days ago I woke up in the middle of a field in Devon armed to the teeth and hunted by those I once called friend, and I have no memory of anything they are accusing me of."

"Are you saying your memory has been stolen?" asked Dumbledore, wearing a curious look that bordered on disappointment. This conversation was going nowhere. He was not getting anything useful out of it and he was in danger of telling Dumbledore more than was necessary. Until he knew exactly what was happening and exactly why the Dumbledore was different, he didn't trust anyone. He wasn't going to tell him anything that was not necessary until he knew for a fact who he was dealing with.

"Quid Pro Quo," said Harry. He remembered hearing the phrase before. This way he could get some information back. It involved an exchange of information, and Harry had no idea what Dumbledore would ask. He also knew that any lie would instantly be detected. This could go wrong but it was the best strategy he had.

"As you wish, Harry," sighed the Headmaster, removing his spectacles and polishing them on his robes. It was then that a thought occurred to Harry. His contact lenses, the ones Aunt Petunia had begrudgingly bought him over the holidays should have been replaced the day before. Harry reached up with a hand, and summoned them to him. What surprised him was that nothing happened. He was no longer was wearing them. He was not wearing any form of lens yet he could see perfectly. How had that happened? How were his eyes suddenly cured? That thought had to be put on hold as Dumbledore was now ready to answer his question. Dumbledore placed his spectacles back on his nose and looked Harry dead in the eye. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know if there is a spell or curse or something like that that could theoretically act like an Imperius Curse over a large number of people. Let's say the entire country, that would change their memories and make them act differently." Brilliant, Potter, very subtle, thought Harry to himself. That had given the game away. He should have thought about his question more carefully. Unsurprisingly Dumbledore gave him a calculating look, clearly assessing if it was wise to tell Harry. After all, if he thought Harry was a Death Eater, he could wreak a lot of havoc with that curse; as much as Harry was, ironically, experiencing at the moment.

"Why would you want to know that?" asked Dumbledore.

"It's not your turn for a question yet," snapped Harry. Come on; answer me, thought Harry. A simple yes or no could shed new light on what was happing to them all. "Answer the question."

"Not that I know of," said Dumbledore. "There may be such a spell, but I am unaware of it. To my knowledge the only way to get control out of large numbers of people is to give a potion to them. But as with the Imperius Curse it can be fought and the more powerful wizards and witches would resist and find the antidote. You couldn't govern a country like that. Also it would not alter their memory." He clearly suspected that Harry had asked the question because he was looking to perform such a spell. Although he had no intention of it, he couldn't blame Dumbledore for his suspicions. In his position, Harry would think the same. He did actually admire the Headmaster, because although he clearly suspected ill intentions, he had told Harry that he could infect people with potion. He had shown a certain amount of trust in Harry.

"I see. And your question is..."

"Why did you run away?" asked the Headmaster. Harry's head shot up and looked Dumbledore in the eyes. It was the last question he had expected. "What was so bad about life with your family that you ran away and joined Tom?" What was he talking about? Life with his family...did he mean the Dursleys? He hadn't run away, it had been an accident: it was the chalk circle that had sent him away. He had not done it on purpose. At the trial they had claimed he had run away before his fourth year. There was no use speculating and if he asked, he would get the same response he had given the Headmaster when he asked a question out of turn. He had no idea why the chalk circle had sent him somewhere else. He had to answer, and answer honestly.

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head and closing his eyes. As soon as he did it he realised it was a mistake. He hadn't looked Dumbledore in the eye. It looked even to the untrained eye like a lie.

"Harry, I answered your question truthfully..." sighed Dumbledore. He had clearly detected that Harry was holding something back.

"So did I," interrupted Harry before he could finish. "I don't remember a thing before I woke up on the farm and found that everything was back to front. I don't know why I was arrested. I don't know why people are scared of me. I don't know why Voldemort thinks I'm a Death Eater. He killed my parents, everyone knows that but for some reason everyone thinks I've joined him."

"Harry, I am..." began Dumbledore, but again he cut the Headmaster off.

"A Legilimens, I know," said Harry looking the old man in the eye. "Look at me, I am not lying. I don't remember any of what I am supposed to have done."

"You are amnesic?" asked Dumbledore.

"It's not me, it's everyone else," said Harry exasperatedly. This was it, the main point. Would Dumbledore believe him? "I am just a little stressed because everyone is acting strangely. I've spent my life since I was eleven fighting Voldemort and now everyone seems to think I'm his loyal terrier. All of a sudden, I have horrific dreams, which seem so real. Voldemort now looks almost human, I apparently have a sister, and Mr Crouch is still alive when I saw him killed. You'll have to excuse me if I am a little tightly wound." There: he had listed what was wrong, would Dumbledore at least hear him out?

"Were it not for the truth I see in your eyes, I would dismiss you as a lunatic," said Dumbledore gravely. "Harry, you seem to be highly stressed, confused and angry."

"Really?" said Harry sarcastically. Couldn't he say something a little more useful? Dumbledore ignored him.

"But you are not lying, or at least you are telling me what you believe to be the truth. You keep mentioning a farm, I am assuming this is near where Mr Longbottom picked you up." Did this mean he was going to hear him out?

"My aunt's farm," answered Harry. "It's near a village called Mary Tavy."

"You mentioned a chalk circle earlier and a duel with Voldemort. I don't presume to know what has happened to you. Perhaps you'd better tell me."

"Tell you what? How it was before, or what happened between you and Voldemort on the farm or what?"

"What do you feel I need to know?" said Dumbledore calmly. This just seemed to make Harry feel even more exasperated.

"Just that the entire world is suddenly back to front."

"How can I help you if you hide behind a veil of secrecy, Harry?" pressed Dumbledore.

"Fine," said Harry. "There was I, sunbathing on the farm, minding my own business. I wanted to be alone. I was not coping with Sirius' death very well. I still feel that it was my fault and I just wanted to be alone. Next thing I know, the animals were panicking and bleating and running around like headless chickens. I could feel something was coming so I ran back towards the farm. Next thing there's this whistling. It was so loud that I collapsed. And Voldemort appeared, and then you did. You duelled with him and then you gave me Gryffindor's sword. You said that as long as I stayed in the circle, no Slytherin magic could enter. It sort of worked; the Cruciatus Curse just bounced right off. Then he tried the Killing Curse. When it hit the shield there was this whistling again, a bright light and pain; I felt like I was being stabbed all over, worse than even the Cruciatus Curse and then I landed in a field. It was night time and I just passed out. Next thing I know, I am being arrested for being a Death Eater. Me, a Death Eater, honestly."

"I assume there is some irony there," said Dumbledore.

"Boy Who Lived," muttered Harry. He didn't want to explain, it would take far too long.

"Excuse me?" asked Dumbledore

"Yes, there's some irony in it," said Harry. He rubbed his stomach. He was still shivering, though the sweat had dried, and the feeling of sickness was still there. He felt awful and very cold.

"Are you all right, Harry?"

"Fine, there's nothing quite like getting zapped by a Tazer, it's an invigorating experience, I suggest you try it," he snapped sarcastically. He still couldn't get over that. Why did he ever think it was necessary to do it? He had asked to meet in a public place surrounded by Muggles where he couldn't do Magic. Surely that was a sign that he didn't want trouble?

Dumbledore calmly picked up a clean white shirt from the draw beneath his bed and handed it to Harry who put it on. Not feeling much warmer, he didn't even bother to button it up.

"So what do you think happened to me?" he asked. "I mean to you...oh, you know what I mean?"

"I can't say," said Dumbledore. His brow was furrowed in thought.

"Come on," said Harry desperately. "You're the most powerful wizard in centuries and it's only you and Voldemort who are clever enough to help me put an end to this. Frankly I don't fancy telling Voldemort that I am not loyal and that I am the only one who can defeat him. You are my only hope."

Harry saw Dumbledore's eyes flicker as Harry mentioned his destiny. Dumbledore thought for a few seconds before speaking again. "Let's go through this slowly," he said. "You said you were sunbathing, so I imagine it was daytime?"

"Around one or two in the afternoon," confirmed Harry, couldn't he make this a little quicker?

"And then you said it was dark when you appeared in the field?" continued Dumbledore.

"Yes."

"So I imagine some time must have passed from the time the Killing Curse hit and the time you awoke in the field?"

"I didn't wake up. I was conscious the entire time. The Curse hit, there was light, pain and a whistling and then I hit the ground hard. I was conscious for a few seconds, long enough to register that I was in a field and that it was dark. I saw the sword stop glowing before I passed out. From my point of view, it was half a minute, no more from when the curse hit until I hit the ground," said Harry.

"If the shield stopped the Killing Curse, it must be very powerful," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "No one has ever survived the Killing Curse..." Harry couldn't help himself; he snorted a laugh. Dumbledore gave him a quizzical look.

Trying to keep the grin off his face, Harry answered, "More irony." Thankfully, Dumbledore didn't press.

"So we have a tremendous amount of energy in one place at one time. Then we have some 'missing time'. That's one thing to consider. It's good to go through things slowly, you can pick up on things that a quick glance might miss. And now you say that people are acting strangely."

"It's more than that," began Harry. "It's...everything. I mean Crouch is back from the dead. My parents are allegedly alive and they're the most famous deaths in history, give or take. And then there is Voldemort. He is so different. I mean when he got his body back, the potions and everything he used changed him. He looked like a sort of snake monster. He had no nose, just slits, and no hair. He was a monster and he wore a monster's face. Now he has none of it. He looks almost human, except for those eyes. And everyone thinks he's never fallen."

"But you believe he has," said Dumbledore.

"I know he has. It was me that did it. Well, my mother mainly," said Harry. "I've met him many times and he's tried to kill me so often but he doesn't remember it. I seem to be the only one who does."

"Perhaps it is all in your mind," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. No, it evidently isn't you idiot! thought Harry. He was not stupid, he had not dreamt up his entire life.

"Meaning what? You think I'm insane?" he asked the Headmaster icily.

"I mean, that you are the only one who has any memories of Tom falling, not even Tom himself," said Dumbledore. "It may be you that has changed, rather than the rest of us. Perhaps it is your mind that is under some control or some sort of curse. It is entirely possible that while you were at St Mungo's someone altered your memories. I have heard of this being done in the USSR and the Far East. It was used during the Cold War. They removed many memories and replaced them with ones of pain and suffering. They make it seem that the 'patient', though to be fair, they are more like victims, think they are on the edge of a breakdown. They make it seem as though one single person has ruined their lives. They implant false memories, to turn a loyal supporter into the ultimate assassin." Harry listened carefully, but with every word he felt more and more sure that this was wrong. His memories were real and he had the scars to prove it.

"You think Crouch butchered my mind to get me to kill Riddle?" said Harry slowly. Harry rolled up his sleeve, revealing his muscular arms. He still wasn't used to seeing himself like this. He had been scrawny until three days ago and now he was well toned. He didn't need glasses or contacts anymore. His body had changed. Unless he was mistaken, his hair felt a little shorter as well. He rolled the sleeves up to his shoulder. He would show Dumbledore the scar left by Wormtail's dagger, when his blood was stolen. Madam Pomfrey had done a hell of a job, but the scar was still visible for all to see. He would show Dumbledore the scars he had collected from five years of fight Voldemort.

But he was in for a shock. The scar was gone; so were all his other scars. He had others though. There were more on his arms but he couldn't remember where he had got them.

"The scar is gone," said Harry softly. "It was right here. Wormtail's dagger cut me when Voldemort stole my blood. I had a huge scar; it was there three days ago. I don't even know where I got all these." He gestured to his new scars.

"I believe Mr Longbottom would like to take credit for that one," Dumbledore gestured to a scar on near Harry's collarbone. "Apparently it went straight through. You have an exit wound on your back. You see, Harry, this is what I mean. I can account for these scars, you cannot. The ones that you remember are not there. It is as if you have this world in your head, but no physical evidence to back it up. This is consistent with the Mind Butchers scenario."

"My memories are real!" snapped Harry. "I have not lived sixteen years in a dream-world." It couldn't be true. His life was not a lie; it was real. He was real. He was not a Death Eater.

"Can you be sure?" said Dumbledore.

Harry suddenly had an idea. "How would I know that you don't eat Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans because you ate a vomit flavoured one when you were young? I also know that you and Nicolas Flamel invented the Philosopher's Stone, which is now in Vault 713 of Gringotts. Or perhaps you can tell me how I could possibly know that you never get sent socks for Christmas, only books." Dumbledore looked visibly startled by Harry's outburst. "Where would the Mind Butchers get those memories from?" The Headmaster didn't say anything for a few moments. After which, he smiled.

"On the bright side," said Dumbledore carefully, "We can discount another theory."

"Let's make the next one a little more feasible, shall we," said Harry, growing impatient. "The truth would be good."

"As you wish, let's move on. The scar on your head; am I right in thinking that is no normal scar?"

Harry smiled at the question. For some reason he found it amusing, since he would never ever be asked that question under normal circumstances.

"It's a Curse scar," said Harry. "It also symbolises a psychic link between Voldemort and myself, though for some reason it doesn't seem to be working at the moment."

"How did you get it?" inquired the Headmaster.

"Voldemort used the Killing Curse on me," said Harry plainly. Dumbledore had clearly not been expecting that.

"I see no lie, but..." said the Headmaster slowly.

"Surviving it is not an everyday occurrence," finished Harry. "I know. It forged a link between us. I can feel his presence, his emotions and sometimes I can see things through his eyes. Or at least I used to be able to."

"Legilmency?" suggested Dumbledore.

"He used it on me, I can't do it. You had Snape teach, or at least try to teach me Occlumency. It didn't go too well. Though I could tell that you were snooping around in my mind when you came in here earlier."

"What did you mean you used to be able to?" asked Dumbledore, avoiding the accusation. Harry let it go; it didn't matter.

"I mean when I saw Voldemort two days ago, I couldn't sense anything. It's like the link is broken or something. Don't get me wrong; it's a relief. I don't like having a migraine every time he loses his temper, but I don't like strange things happening. I'd rather know why it has stopped."

"A Mark like that is not merely physical," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "It is imprinted on your soul, so to speak. Take the Dark Mark for instance. If you remove a Death Eater's arm, the Mark appears elsewhere. It is printed on the soul of the Death Eater, just as that scar is on yours."

"Meaning what?" said Harry. The headmaster was speaking in riddles.

"I may be completely wrong, but let us stick to what we know. I believe it was Sherlock Holmes who said 'If you eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' We know that you remember growing up in a different life, one in which Voldemort was defeated and since you said he appeared three days ago I assume he rose again, correct?"

"Yes."

"And everyone else, remembers growing up in a world where he never fell." Harry couldn't see where this was going. He wished Dumbledore would make his point.

"Himself included, yes," said Harry. "At first I thought he had everyone in the country under a control curse and memory charms."

"Hence your first question to me," said Dumbledore. "It makes sense now. Anyhow, assuming that neither of us are lying or mistaken, it would seem that you grew up in a different place, a different world. Are you aware that a line has one dimension, a square has two and a cube has three?"

"3D shapes," said Harry. "Yes, we did them in primary school."

"Are you also aware that there are more than three dimensions?"

"I go to Hogwarts, not the National Institute of Quantum Physics," said Harry. Why couldn't Dumbledore get to the point?

"I will take that as a no. The fourth dimension is time. I do not believe that ventures into this situation, except that you lost a few hours. However, the fifth dimension, space, is much more relevant. I believe you have moved through space. Sideways in time, as it were." There was an uncomfortable pause as Harry let the words sink in.

"You have gone right over my head," he said slowly. "Are you saying that I am in a parallel universe?" How could that be true? Inter-dimensional travel was something out of Doctor Who, not reality. Was Dumbledore winding him up? He had betrayed him and led to him being stunned by a Tazer. In hindsight, it had been naïve to assume he would come unarmed and alone, it was a fool's hope and foolishly, Harry had trusted it. In Dumbledore's shoes, he would have done the same. So did that mean he trusted the Headmaster? He honestly didn't know anymore. All he knew was that he couldn't really be from another universe...could he?

"It is one possibility," said the Headmaster.

"But it's impossible," protested Harry.

"It is improbable, but as Mr. Holmes once said, it is invariably true," said Dumbledore. "It would be very naive indeed to assume we have already discovered every spell. No one knows the full extent of magic. Just because it has never happened before, does not mean that it is impossible. Before the Wright Brothers in the early twentieth century, Muggles knew for a fact that flight was impossible. Now Jumbo Jets are a taken for granted. You are here now, in a world similar yet very different from your own."

"But..." stammered Harry. It couldn't be true! How would he get home? There must be some mistake. "There has to be another possible explanation."

"Do you have a better explanation?"

"A mind control curse..."

"That can raise the dead and give you a sister who was never alive?"

"I..."

"There might be another explanation that seems to fit," said Dumbledore. "Think for long enough and you may find one, but that does not make this one invalid. You remember a different world and have grown up in one. Now you are here with everything different, yet we all feel the same. It would be consistent with my theory. It could also be possible to be living in a altered timeline. Someone could have journeyed back and changed something."

"But time travel is..."

"About as likely to happen as someone moving between universes," finished Dumbledore. "But you were protected, you retained your knowledge of how it was before. Unless you travelled in time yourself, you would not remember that, you would remember growing up in this world, which it is clear that you do not. I think we can discount that theory." Harry knew something about that. He experiences with the Time Turner at the end of his third year had taught him that only those who travel remember how the world was before. So it was true? Was he really in a different world? But there were still things that didn't fit.

"But if I have crossed into an alternate universe, then why do I not have my body?"

"Excuse me?"

Harry opened his shirt, revealing a muscular torso. If he had been transported to another universe, then why was he was suddenly muscular? How had his body changed? "Three days ago I was a scrawny little thing. I weighed eight stone. Now I look like...this. And I am not wearing glasses. I was wearing contact lenses when I was on the farm. I have the thirty days ones and I've been wearing them for so long I don't even feel them. It was only just now that I noticed I am not wearing them at all, but I can still see perfectly. My hair is a little shorter than before, not exceptionally so, but it definitely is. My scars are gone...with one exception."

"And that one exception is what makes me believe that you truly have crossed worlds. The mark is imprinted on your soul, not your body, just like the Dark Mark; and I know for a fact that Harry Potter bears the Mark, and an associate of mine saw you receive it, yet now your arm is bare. The soul of Harry Potter does not reside in that body, but when I performed a DNA test to positively identify you, I found that that is in fact his body." So Harry's soul was in the other Harry's body. He was in that murderer's body.

"This is his body, not mine," said Harry. " I don't want it. I don't even know him but I hate the little...I've been having these dreams, I think they're memories of his. I see them in my sleep. That and I seem to have his instincts, his...I don't know. I can fight. I was a pretty good duellist before, I was even teaching a club of sorts, but I've never had any martial arts training or anything like that. But I can wield a sword like Errol Flynn. I can punch and kick like Jackie Chan. I scare myself. At St Mungo's when I got a wand, and I was fighting those Death Eaters, my instincts were telling me to kill. It was hard to stop myself. And when I did, when I hit that man, I never meant to kill him, it was an accident, but...I felt nothing. No remorse, or anything. The Tea Lady on the other hand. I...I had to do something...I ended her suffering..."

"You made a difficult decision and it allowed the prefects enough time to mount a defence. That doesn't make the decision easier or make the guilt go away but it is true. I know something about that."

"I can imagine," sighed Harry. "So anyway..." There was an uncomfortable pause.

Suddenly a terrifying thought occurred to Harry. "Now that I'm here in his body, does that mean that he's in mine, back home?" asked Harry. If the Dumbledore back home met the other Harry and put any form of trust in him, he would go straight to Voldemort. Voldemort would probably kill the other Harry but what if he managed to convince Voldemort, just as Harry himself was convincing Dumbledore now? What if the other Harry had joined the Voldemort that Harry knew? His world would surely fall, as its only hope of freedom was stuck in another world. What if...Harry didn't even want to imagine it.

"I could not say," said Dumbledore. "You are the first inter-dimensional traveller I have ever met."

"So he could be? My world could be up the creek because the only one who can defeat the Dark Lord is now replaced by a loyal Death Eater who, from what I gather, is nearly as bad as Riddle himself. Jesus, I have to get back." Harry leapt to his feet and started looking for something to wear. Dumbledore, on the other hand, remained still. He sat on the edge of the bed, calmly watching Harry.

"We do not know that he is there," he said. "For all we know he could be dead."

"So you believe me? You believe that I'm not the cold blooded killer that everyone thinks I am?"

"You have not told me any outright lies," said Dumbledore. "There have been many lies of omission. I know you are holding something back, but that is understandable. What convinced me was the fact that you summoned Fawkes. You could not have done if you were not loyal to me; for this reason I think I can trust you. You may not want to share details of your other life with me. What I do know is that you honestly are not a Death Eater. The Dark Mark cannot be removed and yet you do not bear it. Instead you bear a mark that symbolizes hope. You have survived the Killing Curse and I can see in your eyes that you still fight on."

"Who else will?" muttered Harry.

"Exactly," said Dumbledore with a smile. "Who else will? But we have you now. You are highly capable and highly motivated. You could swing this war for us thanks to your abilities, your knowledge and the sheer notion that Voldemort's number one has defected." Harry felt a flush of anger at this statement.

"Two things; one, I am not defecting since I was never on his side. Two, I don't remember what I...he...Harry Potter did. I only have dreams, which I believe are his memories. And lastly I will not be your puppet. Where I come from, you used me for the last year without giving a damn about me. You kept things from me, things I needed to know and the closest thing to a parent I have ever known died. I will not let you mess me around."

"I could apologise for what my counterpart has done, Harry," said Dumbledore, his tone grave. "But you would only think I was patronizing you. I am not he; just as you are not the Harry I know. That is what can give hope back to a dying nation. We have to get the word out." He could not deny the truth in the Headmaster's words. He was asking Dumbledore to believe that he was not the Harry who had wronged him; the least Harry could do was to stop treating him like the Headmaster that had wronged him. But he was taking no chances. He would not allow the same things to happen in both worlds.

"I will not let you use me," said Harry hotly. "I am not your little soldier. We've been through this before. You stick me out in the lime-light and make me Voldemort's number one target. You use me like a pawn, and those around me start dying. Cedric Diggory was killed for no reason other than he happened to touch the Portkey with me. And then there's me. I become a public figure and then everyone forgets about the real me. Trust me, I know. Everyone sees this legend, this warrior, the fall of the Dark Lord. None of them know anything about me. And then if I succeed, you all forget about me because I am redundant. My purpose is done and then there is no one left who knows or wants me around."

"Are you always so pessimistic?"

"PESSIMISTIC! This is how I live! This is what happens to me. Everywhere I go, people point and stare at the Downfall of the Dark Lord. At the one who defeated him, not at me. Not at who I am but at what I am. I'm sick of it. All I have ever wanted is to have my family back. To grow old and die surrounded by those I love and who love me. I can't go anywhere in the Wizarding world without someone knowing me. I got all my schoolbooks free one year because the shopkeeper recognised me. No one seems to know or care that I would give it all up in a second for a chance to live with my parents. Don't you dare talk to me about what people think of you! Don't you dare claim that you have my best interest at heart! I saw your eyes in the trial. You looked at me like a criminal, like I was nothing, but now I am useful, your eyes are twinkling." He felt the anger boiling within him, like it had in the Head's office last term. His attitude of not telling Dumbledore anything that wasn't strictly necessary had gone right out the window. Harry didn't care anymore. Dumbledore had believed him, but even this Dumbledore was using him. Was it really that hard to understand that he was a person, that he had feelings?

"Harry, I have no knowledge of your past," said Dumbledore calmly. "You know things I don't and vice versa. At least let us work together. Together we can prevent the mistakes of the past. I won't make mistakes if you are there to point them out. That is why we have to fight together."

"Don't count your chickens yet, Professor!" said Harry. "I am not getting involved. I did what I had to do to get to you. Now that I know what is going on, or at least your interpretation, I need you to help me get home."

"Harry, you have just told me that what you want more than anything else is a life with your parents," said Dumbledore. "That is now within your grasp, in this world." Harry knew that Dumbledore was trying to convince him to stay in this world, to be the hero once again. This world, however, was not his. He didn't belong here.

"I know what you are going to ask and the answer is no," said Harry. "I'm sorry, but I don't belong here. I have a war to fight. It is my destiny to fight, to suffer. I am not happy about it, but it is a fact. They need me; I have to get home. I have friends that care about me. I have school to go to, friends who will miss me, who need me. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, hell, I'll even be glad to see Snape again." He could see the disappointment in Dumbledore's eyes.

"Harry, I do not know the magic that brought you here, let alone how to get you back. Before you get angry, I promise I will help you; I will try to find a way, but it will take time. You will have to stay here for a while." What? No, he had to get home now. After the duel, his Dumbledore would have taken Harry back to Hogwarts. The other Harry was probably already in the midst of the Order. Who knows what he could have told Voldemort. His world could be falling apart. He had to get back, and get back now.

"How long?" asked Harry desperately.

"I would not like to guess," said Dumbledore calmly. For some reason, his calmness irritated Harry. He wasn't concerned with getting Harry home. He had a new hero and that was more important than Harry's own struggle. Dumbledore didn't care about Harry's world, so why should Harry care about his? No. He would not fight. He had made the right decision. But how long would he have to sit twiddling his thumbs?

"What? Days, weeks?" pressed Harry.

Dumbledore suddenly looked his age. The old man sighed and, wearing a grave expression, he looked Harry in the eye. "You may be the first one to cross world in the history of this world. There may be no resources available to research that type of travel."

"I'M STUCK HERE?" Harry thundered. No, it couldn't be true. Dumbledore never fails. It just didn't happen. There has to be a way. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. There must be some way, some spell that would take him home. It occurred to Harry that maybe this wasn't true. Maybe he could get home, but Dumbledore was lying to keep him in this world, to use him for his own ends. The mistrust was back with a vengeance. "You'd better not be lying. I told you I am not getting involved. When you find something, you tell me, instantly. You don't keep me around to do your dirty work for you."

"Is my counterpart so bad that you mistrust me so deeply?" asked Dumbledore sadly.

"We had a difference of opinion last year," snapped Harry, his anger bubbling inside him. "But that doesn't matter. Can you get me home or not?"

"Harry..."

"Don't tell me that you will try! That's not good enough. While I'm here, he could be in my world. My friends could all be dead because they trusted someone they thought was me! He could potentially cripple the Order in my world; millions could die, so I don't want to hear 'I'll try"..."

Dumbledore sighed. There was a second's pause before he rose and walked to the end of the bed. "I will do my very best, Harry. I promise you I will look and should I find anything, you will be the first to know. But have no illusions, I can make you no promises. For now I must get back to my office. I have much work to do. This has been very informative, Harry. Get some sleep, you'll feel better in the morning. I will have the House Elves bring up some clothes, tea and food. In the meantime, if you want to do some research, you might find this of interest." Harry watched as he reached down and opened a filing cabinet that Harry was positive had not been there a few seconds ago. He opened it and removed a beige envelope filled with papers. Where had that filing cabinet come from? He was sure it hadn't been there when he had woken up. How long had they been chatting? He checked his watch. It read 22:05. Ten o'clock? But the sun was still shining outside.

Suddenly Harry understood how a filing cabinet could appear and how the sun could shine at night. They occurred because Dumbledore wanted it to. "We're in the Room of Requirement," said Harry. It wasn't a question.

"You are very perceptive. A good likeness to our hospital wing, is it not?" said Dumbledore handing him the file. Harry took it and read the cover. A shiver went down his spine as he read.

MINISTRY OF MAGIC

DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT

POTTER, Harry J

CLASSIFIED: FOR AUROR EYES ONLY

"It is not a pleasant read," said Dumbledore. "But you will need to know it if you are to stay here. You know how the Room of Requirement works. Customise it how you will. I cannot let you leave tonight. I will return tomorrow after breakfast. Good night, Harry."

With that he headed towards the door.

Harry couldn't move. He just stared down at the title. Had those dreams really been memories? Had he done those terrible things? He could still feel the colonel's son in his hand, smell the burning Christmas Tree and the phrase 'even you must have a family' from his most recent dream was still echoing through his head. As curious as Harry was, he didn't want to read on. He didn't want to know what his counterpart had done. Dumbledore had mentioned massive casualties; the trial had mentioned beheadings. This Harry Potter was a sick man. Harry was scared to open the file, knowing all too well what he would find inside.

"One more thing, Harry," said Dumbledore, as he reached the door. "You mentioned that when you landed, you just had time to see Gryffindor's sword stop glowing before you passed out." Harry nodded. "Where is that sword now?"

"I..." Harry was at a loss. He hadn't had it when he had woken up. He had his Katana, but not Gryffindor's sword. He had had his Katana, but not Gryffindor's sword. He hadn't picked it up; come to think of it, he was fairly sure it wasn't there when he had awoken. "I don't know," he said. "I think it must be where they found me, but I don't recall seeing it when I woke up."

"I shall send someone to pick it up," said Dumbledore. With that he strode out of the room. Harry could feel the blend of emotions welling up in him. He was relieved that he had found Dumbledore, but at the same time he was disappointed and scared by what he had heard. He found himself feeling homesick, as well as a sense of despair as he might be trapped here forever. He was almost mourning his friends. If the other Harry was in their world, they could all be dead. Harry made a silent pact with himself. He would find a way home. One way or another, Harry was going to get home. Finally, Harry had amassed enough courage to open the file. With a heavy heart he flipped the file open and began to read.

~~~~ + ~~~~

Four students had died in the attack on the train. Rose had made them go and fight. She was responsible for their deaths. Rose hardly ate a thing during the feast; her guilt was eating her alive. She picked at her food, staring into space. Those four students were dead because of her. There had been undeniable truth in Sirius' words, but they brought no comfort. Rose now had some idea how the Headmaster felt; he had sent people to their deaths time and time again in the Order. Their deaths must weigh heavily on Dumbledore.

She sat with the Weasleys and Lavender at the far end of the Gryffindor table. She had begged Dumbledore to let her wake Harry, but his answer had been the same. Her mother had then ordered her to leave. She knew full well that her mother would then have begged Dumbledore herself, just as Rose had been doing. She could see the logic of the Headmaster's moves, but she didn't like it. She wanted to be with Harry. Instead she had gone back to Gryffindor tower and now, four hours later, was eating in the Great Hall with her friends. As expected, the continuous barrage of rumours and whispers was following her around. More than just the present group had seen the demise of the Tea-Lady; every one of them had seen Harry give the order to kill. It had finally come home to them. For years he had been a name in the Prophet, but it was always happening to someone else. Now they had seen him; now people they knew were dead and they had seen first-hand the terror he was capable of. There was a new level of fear to his name. He was fast becoming referred to as Him around the school. That was only one step short of You-Know-Who and then Rose really would flip her lid.

Then there was Rose herself. She was being treated slightly differently. She still got the stares that were part of being the sister to a mass murderer. She had always been regarded with a sort of fear due to her brother, and she still resented him for it. But now she had a chance to speak to him about it to find out the question she had asked herself so many times over the years: why? What had caused him to run away, why did he become a murderer and was it her fault? But in the last twenty-four hours she had noticed a slight change amongst some students, mainly prefects. She had received an occassional 'thank you' from younger students, a few nods from prefects who had fought. She seemed to command a little respect now. Having overtly stood up to the Death Eaters, having duelled her brother, or so the game of Chinese whispers had led many to believe, many now thought of her with respect as well as fear.

Malfoy had been his usual unbearable self. The stuck-up prick was completely unfazed by the attack, and his arrogance was starting to get to Rose again. She had only bumped into him once and that had been as she was leaving her mother's living quarters, which were attached to the Potions office. She had been to see her mother and was on her way back up to Gryffindor Tower. As she passed the Defence rooms, she saw Malfoy come out with the Defence Master. As head of Slytherin House, Snape favoured the Slytherins overtly. He finished talking to Malfoy and swept off. It was then that Malfoy had caught sight of Rose.

"Well if it isn't our resident action hero," Malfoy had sneered. Rose remembered thinking that since no one was around and Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere in sight, she could take Malfoy. She hadn't because firstly, Harry was coming back soon and secondly, she had a feeling that as soon as a spell was fired, Snape would return and give her a month of detentions before term had even started.

"Go away, Malfoy," Rose had sighed, as she sidestepped the Slytherin. The blonde mirrored her movement, blocking her path.

"What's the matter, Half-Blood?" growled. "You can't walk away from this. Harry will be back, and you'll be sorry, just like all those Mudbloods that died today."

"You clearly have nothing going on in your pointless little life if all you can do is mock people who have lost theirs," snapped Rose. How could he say something like that? Does the man, no the boy, have no conscience? She shot him a glare.

"Angry, are we?" smirked Malfoy. "I suppose it is hardest on you; after all, you convinced the Mudbloods to fight, you..."

That was as far as he got, as Professor Potter came around the corner at that particular moment, just as Rose's wand came flying out of her pocket. Malfoy already had his in hand behind his robes.

Just as they levelled their wands at each other, a voice cried, "EXPELLIARMUS!"

Both Malfoy and Rose's wands flew out of their hands and soared towards the Potions Mistress. Lily Potter stood in the corridor looking tired, but livid.

"Both of you back to your common rooms, NOW!" she barked. With a flick of her wand, she hurled Malfoy's wand back at him, and the Slytherin turned and, after shooting Rose one last glare, disappeared down the corridor. Her mother hadn't been that mad; it was just for show. She let Rose off like Snape would Malfoy, but at least had the honour to make it appear that Rose was in trouble, unlike Snape, who let Malfoy get away with murder.

That was two hours ago; now she was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, picking at her food, while Ron and Seamus discussed Quidditch. One of the fallen students had a brother in Ravenclaw who was now shooting glares over at Rose. It was clear to see that he hated her. She wasn't surprised; she deserved it. If only she had kept her mouth shut. But then more would be dead, said the voice of rationality in her head. It was right, but her conscience was far from clear.

"Something wrong?" asked Ron during dinner, his mouth full of Cumberland sausage.

"I'm fine," said Rose, dismissively as she half-heartedly skewered a potato on her fork. It was an obvious lie; she didn't even bother to hide it.

"And my name is Severus Snape," whispered Ginny, bringing a small smile to Rose's lips. She knew better than to say it so Ron could hear. The prefect in question went back to his meal. "Rose, this isn't healthy," continued Ginny. "Do you want to talk about it?" She appreciated Ginny's gesture, she really did. She had kept it all bottled up for so long, and yet now she had a reason to speak, she just didn't know where to start. So much had happened in the last few days. But none of it mattered. All that mattered was Harry. Rose trusted Ginny completely.

"Can you keep a secret?" whispered Rose with a sigh.

"Of course," said Ginny.

Rose took a deep breath, preparing to take the plunge. "Harry is here, in the building."

"He's what!" hissed Ginny, her eyes wide. "They caught him again?"

No, thought Rose. She was taking this all wrong! She hadn't been in the meeting. She didn't understand. Harry was...what, a better person now? Rose didn't know what he really was. She hoped in her heart that he was coming back, but on reflection, she had nothing to prove that. He wanted to talk to Dumbledore and he had called Fawkes; that was all she knew. She had created this hope that he was coming home and had convinced herself that that was the case, in hindsight, she really didn't know. Maybe Ginny was right; maybe she should be more scared than she was, but no, Harry was here. He was coming home; he had to be, he just had to.

"No," said Rose, with a small smile. "Dumbledore...it's fantastic...I'll tell you after dinner."

They finished quickly and Dumbledore gave his notices. It was a sombre occasion as he told the school of the four deaths and how brave the prefects had been. Thankfully, he didn't mention Rose, she had enough to deal with as it was. Anyway, half the school knew what she had done anyway. She could tell by his tone of voice that Dumbledore was feeling distracted as well. The notices lasted no more than a minute and then the school broke up and headed back to their common rooms to catch up on what everyone had done over the summer, and more importantly, to discuss what had happened on the train. And what a story I have to tell, thought Rose, not that she actually would say a thing.

Rose pulled Ginny to one side, just out of the Great Hall. Once they were sure they were out of range of any snoopers, Rose turned to Ginny. This was it; she had to convince her best friend.

"You saw what he did on the train," began Rose. The images of the battle instantly swept into her mind. A few seconds and four Death Eaters were just...it had been scary to watch.

"I know, it was amazing," said Ginny. " He just -" Rose cut her off.

"Protected a young girl, and fought four Death Eaters to protect us," said Rose. "Why would Voldemort's - get a grip, Gin - second in command care more about us than his henchmen?" Rose was slightly irritated that Ginny wouldn't say Voldemort's name, but she let it slip. This was about Harry, not her.

"I don't -" began Ginny, but again, Rose cut her off.

"Dumbledore called me to his office yesterday, right after the attack, for an Order meeting," said Rose. Oops, thought Rose. She should have told Ginny sooner. She saw a look of annoyance spread over Ginny's face, but thankfully, Ginny let her annoyance go.

"You were in a meeting?" asked Ginny in disbelief. She looked impressed; not even Fred and George were allowed in meetings, and they were of age.

"Yeah, only the one, because it was about Harry," replied Rose impatiently. "Look, Dumbledore said that there was something different about Harry, that he had changed. He had summoned Fawkes to him; you know, Dumbledore's phoenix, and he could only do that if he didn't want to kill Dumbledore, or something like that, I don't quite understand. Anyway, it all means that he isn't evil." Rose knew she was babbling, but she didn't care. She was full of hope. Harry was back and she couldn't keep a smile from her face. She knew it was wrong to get her hopes up, but she couldn't help it.

"Rose, I don't mean to be nasty, but look what he did to the witch who runs the sweets trolley," said Ginny carefully, ever aware of Rose's fragile mental state. Rose felt like a lead weight had landed on her shoulders. He had done that; there was no denying it. But now, she could find out why.

"OK," sighed Rose. "He did do that, we all saw him, but Dumbledore says that Harry has changed, that there is something new about him. Harry kept trying to talk to him. And that's why he's here. He..."

"Might be coming back," finished Ginny. Yes! She understood! Rose felt like hugging her, but Ginny didn't look happy, like Rose expected. What was wrong? "Rose...do you think that perhaps you're...I don't know, I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"It's OK, Gin," said Rose. She suddenly had an idea. "I know it'll be OK. In fact, let's go."

"Go where?" asked Ginny.

"Dumbledore's office," said Rose, a smile plastered all over her face. With that she took hold of Ginny's hand and headed up the stairs towards the gargoyles. She was moving so fast, Ginny was almost being dragged along. It seemed like ages to Rose, but finally they arrived. The stone monsters were already aside when they arrived and so the girls marched straight up to the door and knocked.

After a second, the door opened a few inches, revealing a young woman. Rose recognised her as the one who had been in the Order meeting earlier. She had pink hair and was dressed as an Auror.

"Who is it, Nymphadora?" came the Headmaster's voice from inside. Nymphadora, what a name, thought Rose.

"Professor, it's Rose and Ginny," called Rose. There was a pause filled with hushed whispers from inside and then the Headmaster appeared at the door. He slipped out of the office and closed the door behind him. The three of them were alone on the staircase.

"Rose," said the Headmaster gravely. "You should not be here."

"He's still my brother," said Rose defiantly. She could see the look of disappointment in his eyes, but she didn't care. Harry, think about Harry! "What has changed since yesterday's meeting?" asked Rose. "What are you planning to do to him?"

"I should have known you would come," said Dumbledore; he shook his head, but he was smiling. "You have your father's curiosity, and your mothers stubbornness. I had planned to notify just the inner circle of the Order at first, but I don't suppose he would mind Ginny knowing. If memory serves, he called Ginny a friend."

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Ginny, voicing what Rose was wondering herself.

"I'll explain inside." He beckoned them to follow him.

"GINNY!" cried a voice the second they crossed the threshold.

"ROSE!" came another shout.

The girls came face to face with Molly Weasley and Lily Potter. "What do you think you are doing?" screamed Molly.

"Molly," said Dumbledore firmly, "This affects them as much as it does anyone here, in fact probably more so than most."

"How does this possibly involve Ginny?" snapped Mrs Weasley. Rose had seen her angry with the twins before, but never at anyone else, certainly not an adult, and definitely not Dumbledore. Still, she thought she was protecting her daughter; she could be forgiven. Thankfully, Rose had never been on the receiving end of her wrath.

"It you will just let me explain," said Dumbledore calmly. He quickly conjured two chairs for the two new arrivals before taking his seat behind his desk. While he did this, Rose took the opportunity to look around the room. She knew most of the Order members who were present. Sitting opposite her were her parents; then on her father's left were Sirius, Remus and Peter. To his right sat Ginny's parents. Next to Arthur Weasley were the teachers, Snape, McGonagall and Flamel. Lastly to Rose's right there were the Aurors Mad-Eye, Kingsley, Frank Longbottom and next to her sat the woman with the pink hair, named Nymphadora.

An expectant/respectful silence fell over the room as Dumbledore was now seated. He took a deep breath, as if amassing the courage to begin the meeting. Finally, he unfolded his hands and began to speak.

"I know there have been rumours flying around about Harry Potter's mental state and the reasons behind his recent actions," said Dumbledore slowly. "What I am about to tell you does not go beyond this room. Harry Potter has indeed come back to Hogwarts."

There was a gasp amongst the adults. Rose could see that her mother had gone deathly pale and was on the edge of tears. Her father sat stony faced. They had known they were going to try and catch him, but to hear that he was here now was still a shock. There was silence, Dumbledore allowed the words to sink in.

"I spoke with Mr Potter less than an hour ago," began Dumbledore calmly. "And what I have learned is highly unusual, so please have patience and let me explain. There is no easy way to say this, so I am just going to 'take the plunge' as it were. This Harry is not the same Harry that we have been hunting for the last two years."

"What's that supposed to mean?" spat Frank Longbottom. "He's had an epiphany and seen the error of his ways. It's a trick, Albus. We all know what that little bastard is capable of." Rose's mother looked like she wanted to strangle Frank then and there, but managed to stay calm and silent.

"If that were the case I would assume it were a trick as well," said the Headmaster patiently. Rose was anxious that he get to the point. This seemed to be taking forever. "No, Frank, the truth is even more unbelievable," continued the Headmaster. "This Harry appears to have come from another world."

There was utter silence in the room. Not a person moved. Rose was completely at a loss. What could he possibly mean? Another world, as in, he was an alien? It was mad. Or another universe perhaps, but that's impossible.

"Come again, Albus," said Sirius, looking as confused as Rose felt. "He's from another..."

"A parallel universe," said Dumbledore. "I know this is a little hard to accept, but it appears to be the truth. I spent an hour with the boy and between us this is the best solution we can come up with for our current situation. He was definitely not lying to me. He remembers a completely different world than us. That explains his apparent confusion and why he didn't know why he was being arrested."

"Can you be sure?" growled Moody. "Sounds like a load of codswallop to me. It isn't even possible, and he put two of my Aurors in St Mungo's during his escape, and two in the morgue, and that was lucky. That Heliopath could have killed a lot more."

"We are not one hundred percent sure," said Dumbledore. He turned to face Professor Flamel. "Nicolas is the expert in that area. In time, he should speak to Harry, but for the time being, let it be known that the boy did not lie to me. He honestly does remember a completely different world - a world where he never became a Death Eater. As to your point about his aggression, Alastor, the boy is confused and we have all treated him like a murderer when he is innocent. That would cause anyone's patience to waver."

"That boy is not innocent," growled Frank. "He killed my entire family."

"Our Harry did," replied Dumbledore. "Do not hate this Harry for something someone else did."

"But how could this happen, Albus?" asked McGonagall.

"Exactly how he managed to tear the fabric of space and time is uncertain," said Dumbledore. "It seems to have happened during a three way duel. Myself and Harry were, according to him, fighting Voldemort and he was hit by the Killing Curse. I gave him some ancient protection involving the use of Gryffindor's sword and somehow, he was accidentally thrust sideways in time. This is quite vague, but in time we hope to learn exactly how this was achieved. It also appears that he has retained all of our Harry's abilities and instincts."

"So he's just as bad as he was before," said Frank. "He's still..." Frank wasn't letting this go; Rose couldn't blame him. The man had lost everyone he held dear due to Harry. But could it be true? Was this Harry from another world? So it wasn't her Harry? Rose didn't know how she should be feeling. Harry was good, he was rejoining them, but it wasn't her Harry. She felt so confused, so excited, so disappointed. She was a mass of emotion.

"On the contrary," smiled Dumbledore. "This is the most extraordinary part. In his world, Harry is the one destined to vanquish the Dark Lord." He paused to let his words sink in. Harry? Kill Voldemort? Rose's head was spinning. "Again, I do not know all the facts, but Harry has had a very different life, one in which I sent him to live with his aunt and uncle."

"Petunia?" gasped Lily. "Why in heaven would..." Rose nearly retched at the thought of living with Dudley Dursley. Memories of that fat oaf pinching her behind on the one and only time she had visited them filled her mind. Fortunatelty she managed to not be physically sick. She had then taken to wearing her wand where it could easily be seen. That had stopped the fat oaf touching her.

"I did not want to press too hard in our first conversation," said Dumbledore. "My counterpart in his universe seems to have wronged Harry quite spectacularly; he is sitting on an awful lot of anger. I do not think it wise to take my questioning too far until I can build up a little trust. He is not the most open person. I believe he has had a very hard life."

"Like what?" asked Sirius. His jovial personality seemed to have evaporated. He looked serious and it was clear that he was feeling as confused as Rose was. Sirius was family after all, in practice if not by blood.

"If you were the number one target of Voldemort, your life wouldn't be so simple," said Professor Flamel. "I imagine the boy would have survived many attacks, and there is a high probability that those he cares about will have been caught in the crossfire. We have seen how vicious Voldemort can be to any of us, and we don't pose as much of a threat to him as this boy claims to. If he is telling the truth, and I would like to think that Albus is a good enough Legilimens to know that he is, then this boy will have endured things as painful as any of us." Rose's heart went out to Harry. Had he really suffered like that? Had others died on account of him? Rose could relate to that after the attack on the train. They had so much in common. She felt so sorry for Harry.

"Correct, Nicolas," said Dumbledore. "Reading between the lines, Harry is a target and those around him have already suffered on his account. He mentioned two fatalities just because the person in question happened to be standing next to him." The senselessness of it, the idea that it could happen at any time for no reason, was hard to understand for Rose and it sent a chill down her spine. People died just for standing around him. People would avoid him like the plague. She knew how that felt. He must have been so lonely. That was yet another thing that they had so much in common. There was a pause as the horror of these words set in. Even Snape looked slightly shaken. After a few seconds, it was Mad-Eye that spoke.

"Is he willing to fight?"

"Moody!" snapped Lily. "He is not...going to go off fighting. I have lost him once, I will not lose him again." Rose felt the same way. She couldn't lose Harry again. She was already thinking of this Harry as her own. It didn't matter. They were so alike, and she missed him so much. He wasn't evil. He was like she remembered Harry. He really was back. As sad as she was for him, she felt like a dream had come true, that he really was back. It was as though a great weight had lifted from her shoulders.

"That may not be up to you, Lily," said Dumbledore, with an expression Rose couldn't read. "But take comfort from the fact that he is very reluctant to get involved. He says that this is not his war. He wants to go home."

"But..." protested Lily. Home, no, he couldn't leave. Rose couldn't believe it. He had to stay. He had a home here; he should stay. He couldn't leave her again!

"If you are concerned about seeing him," said Dumbledore. "None of us know how to get him home at present. He will be here for some time. By that I mean here, in this world. Obviously with his current legal status, he cannot stay where he is."

"I want to see him," said Lily. Rose felt the same way; she had to see him. He was her brother. She had a right to see him.

"That would be inadvisable," said Dumbledore. Rose felt a flush of anger. He had to let her see him! It wasn't fair! "He needs to warm up." What? Rose didn't understand. Neither did her mother.

"Warm up?" asked Lily.

"Lily, James," said Dumbledore gravely. "As hard as you are finding this, remember that Harry is also finding it hard as well. He said he went to live with his Aunt, which he wouldn't do unless..."

"Unless we were dead," finished James.

"In which case, I would take him," said Sirius.

"Unless you were dead too," said Snape, his eyes portraying a glimmer of happiness at the idea.

"Remus?" offered Rose.

"Again, unknown," said Dumbledore. "He also stated that and I quote, "the closest thing to a parent I have ever known" was killed. He has clearly been alone much of his life. I don't think it would be a good idea to expose him to you, especially if in his mind you are dead; at least, at first. You must allow his mind time to adapt."

"But..." protested Lily.

"He's right, Lil," said James, putting an arm around his wife. Rose knew her father agreed with her mother. He wanted to see him, but he knew that Dumbledore wasn't going to be swayed. He was obviously having as hard a time at the moment as Rose and her mother, but he didn't show his pain and that gave Lily and Rose strength. Rose admired him for it, but at the same time knew that his bottling pain up was not healthy. Her father continued, "I want to see him too, but that kind of shock could..."

"What do you suggest?" asked McGonagall. "Whoever you send first must be able to defend themselves. But should anyone take a wand into the same room as him?"

"Minerva," said Dumbledore. "You still think of him as the boy you once taught. This is someone else entirely."

"So," said McGonagall. "Who then?"

"A teacher," suggested Peter. "Someone he knows. But obviously not Lily because she's his mother but... Severus?"

"I believe," said Dumbledore with a small smile on his face. "That the mistrust between the names of Snape and Potter are just as strong in his world. He only mentioned Severus once, and I got the impression that there are conflicts in his past."

"Good boy," muttered Sirius.

"My suggestion," said Dumbledore. "Would be, with their parents' permission, to send our youngest companions."

All eyes turned to Rose and Ginny. One could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. Rose's stomach flipped at the words. Her? She would get to see Harry? Her heart skipped a beat. She couldn't believe it. Now that she was going to, she almost felt scared.

"Us?" stammered Ginny, looking nervous.

"Indeed, my dear," said Dumbledore kindly. "He mentioned that you and he were friends in his world, and as for Miss Potter, he has already met her. It is the next level up from Ginny, to use the steps analogy. First he sees a friend, then someone who doesn't exist, then someone who should be dead by his reckoning. Do you see what I mean?"

"OK," said Rose, before her parents could contradict her. She was so desperate to see him.

"Hang on," said Arthur Weasley, speaking for the first time. "I'm not entirely happy about putting Ginny in the same room as him. What if you are wrong and by some feat he has tricked you? What if you are wrong and he is the same person who destroyed Diagon Alley? How can we be sure that your, no offence, Albus, but what if your affection for him is clouding your judgement?"

"A valid question," said Dumbledore. "I cannot be one hundred percent sure, but having talked to him, I believe what I have said to be true. I believe that we really do have a living miracle in our custody. Of course as a parent, you have every right to stop Ginny going anywhere near him."

"I'm in," said Rose.

"Rose!"

"I'm going, Mum," said Rose defiantly.

"Me too," said Ginny. If she was doing this only for her sake, Rose didn't know. But she appreciated it. Both of their mothers stared at them for a few seconds before sighing and nodding to Dumbledore.

"So be it," said Dumbledore. "If you will excuse us, we have more to discuss, if you would like to make your way to the Room of Requirement. To make you feel safer," he handed each of them a sickle. "These are Portkeys that will bring you back here if you feel threatened. Bear in mind, though, that he is not who you think he is. Give him a chance."

"Now?" gasped Ginny. Dumbledore nodded.

It was a five-minute walk to the seventh floor. The door was already there, signalling that the room was in use. They stood outside in silence for a few seconds, summoning the courage to open the door. Neither of them knew what they might find inside. Rose was scared that this was a trick, not because she might die, but because Harry might not be coming back. She could only guess how Ginny felt. The girls looked at each other and took a breath. Rose reached out and twisted the handle.

Inside the room was large, yet cosy. It looked similar to the Gryffindor common room. There was a large four-poster bed to one side, the kind that were in the dormitories. A fire was burning in the fireplace to her left, which cast an orange glow around the room. There was a sofa and coffee table by the fire. The room was mostly dark, lit only by the fire. It was nice, but a bit creepy. It was then that she saw something moving in the shadows, and a voice spoke.

"I guess this means you really are my sister."