A Stranger in an Unholy Land

~~~~ Chapter VI ~~~~

A Reunion...of Sorts

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

Harry watched Ginny spin on the spot at the sound of his voice. Rose who had spotted his movement was already looking in his direction. The room was similar to the bedrooms in Gryffindor Tower. The room was awash with red, which did not reflect much of the fire's light. Shadows filled every corner and Harry was sure that neither of the girls could see him clearly. The flickering flames lit half of their faces, while keeping the other in shadow. Harry could see that his 'sister' did bare a fair resemblance to himself. She had her mother's eyes, his mother's eyes. Her face was more rounded with his, but just as pale. Her hair was as dark as his own, but where as his was as scruffy as could be, Rose's hair was perfectly straightened and was flowing over her shoulders. She was wearing jeans, and a black woollen jumper, which the sleeves rolled, or rather pushed up above her elbows. This was Rose Potter, his sister.

It seemed odd to Harry. Since he was one year old, he had dreamed of a proper family. A mother who loved him, a father who would show him the world, which since he was eleven had been changed to 'a father who would teach him to fly', and maybe even a sibling or two. A family was all he had ever wanted, and according to the Mirror of Erised, it was the deepest desire of his heart. Now he was faced with exactly that. His sister was standing ten feet in front of him, and he didn't know how to feel.

This was his sister, but he didn't know her; he had no memory of her or having any family. She wasn't even from his world. As much as he had tried to deny it, he had accepted Dumbledore's explanation; he was in another world. God only knows if he would ever get back home. But then did he even want to? As soon as Dumbledore had said it, he knew he had to. His world needed him; no one else could defeat Voldemort. He knew that he had to go, no matter what this world could offer him.

But that was all before the two girls had entered his room. He couldn't fight it. She was family, his family. He had dreamed about her, not her personally, but about a brother and a sister for years and now here she was. It was a dream-come-true. For a few minutes, all the worries of war, prophecies and Voldemort vanished.

"Harry?" asked Rose, her voice breaking on the single word. He could see her eye, the one that was not in shadow, glistening with tears in the firelight.

"You were expecting someone else?" said, Harry, failing to keep a smile from his lips. Rose moved faster then Harry had ever seen, darting towards him throwing her arms around him. She hit him with the force of runaway train, and nearly sent the two of them toppling over. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his ribs, her head resting on his chest. He could feel her trembling and hear the quiet sobs as she wept into his chest. Harry did the only thing that seemed to make sense; he wrapped his arms protectively around her, holding her close to him.

He didn't know what else to do. He had never had any experience with situations like these. The closest he had come was when Hermione had given him a hug. Cho had been completely different, as she was...well, one should never, ever think of one's sister in the way that he had once thought of Cho. That was just wrong.

He swayed slightly, trying to comfort Rose. He wanted desperately to say something, but he couldn't find the words. The whole sensation was so new. In his arms was someone who loved him. He had a family. He knew she was crying on his account and he wanted to comfort her, to protect her. But he couldn't think of anything to say. He liked to think he was somewhat more sensitive than Ron, though at this point in time, he might as well be Ron for all the emotion support he was giving Rose.

"Shhhh," he whispered, lightly kissing his forehead. "It's OK, I'm here."

He felt Rose's grip tighten on him. He allowed his head to gently rest against hers, his cheek against her cranium. Over her shoulder he could see Ginny. She looked so different from the last time he had seen her. Her hair was shorter, and tied back in a ponytail, which reached to just below the collar of the pink polo shirt she wore. Harry could see her watching the scene with a combination of interest, but he could see from her body language that she was uneasy with the situation. He saw a flash of fear cross over her face as Harry's eyes caught hers. She quickly looked away then back.

Harry, gently pried Rose's arms loose from his waist and held her upright. She had shed all the tears she could. Her eyes still glistened in the firelight.

"I missed you," she said softly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Harry didn't know what to say. He was going to reply that he missed her too, but she was from another world. He had never known her. Anything else was just rude or would hurt her. He could say, 'no you didn't, you missed your brother and that is not me' or 'I'm sorry, but I can't say the same. I don't know you." He stood gaping for a second before deciding on a reply.

"I've dreamed of a sister since I was a year old, but I never dreamed I'd ever meet you" he whispered back. He placed his hand gently over hers, stroking her knuckles lightly with his thumb. "I even rehearsed what I would say to her if I ever did meet her. Now that I'm here, I'm speechless." It wasn't a lie. Lying alone, locked in a tiny cupboard in the middle of Surrey, Harry had dreamed of a sister, and what he would say to her. The situation was so emotionally charged that he found he couldn't think. All wit left him and his mind seemed blank.

"Is it true?" asked Rose. "Are you from another world." Harry sighed. He knew that this was not what they should be talking about. His answer would invariably send her off into tears. But he couldn't lie. His head sank slowly into a nod.

"But that's a story for another day," he said, trying to comfort her.

Rose sank onto the four-poster bed, kicked off her shoes and sat crossed legged on the bed. Harry was dressed in black trousers with a dark blue shirt on top. He had altered the Room of Requirement into a bedroom of sorts, which had included a full wardrobe. He had to be careful not to leave, as anything the Room conjured will disappear if he left. In the case of clothes, that could leave him in quite an embarrassing situation. His eyes turned back to Ginny who still stood by the fire. Harry slowly started walking towards her. He saw her recoil slightly as he stepped into the light. Her eyes shot immediately to his scar, even though it wasn't famous in this world.

"Good evening, Ginny," said Harry softly.

"Hi," said Ginny quickly. Here eyes were wide, just as they had been when he had fought Malfoy on the train.

"I'm not going to hurt you," said Harry reassuringly. "I'm not who you think I am."

"And the trolley witch?" asked Ginny. Harry cringed, the image of the dying witch instantly flooding his mind.

"GINNY!" snapped Rose.

"No, it's OK," said Harry. He knew he would have to answer to this eventually, and probably many times over to everyone he met. He wanted a chance to explain himself. Did Ginny not realise that that had been the hardest choice he had ever had to make? Did she think he had enjoyed it? If he had been able to do anything else, he would have done. It was a last resort, and he had to live with that. It was his fault and it would haunt him until the day he died. "I know you don't like what I did," he began. "Believe me I like it even less. Have you ever felt the Cruciatus Curse, Ginny? It's awful. Imagine, if you will, a thousand red-hot pokers stabbing you all over your body; picture your skin on fire, as boiling acid pumps through your veins. Multiply that by one thousand and you have some vague idea of what the Cruciatus Curse feels like. What's more is that if the Curse is maintained for long enough, it damages the brain. I couldn't allow the poor witch to suffer anymore."

"So you killed her?" replied Ginny. She clearly wasn't convinced.

"You were not prepared for an attack. I had to buy you enough time to mount one," said Harry. "It was a horrible decision to have to make, but I made it in the hope of saving you. I couldn't just tell them to let her go; they'd kill her, and then me, and then you. It was the hardest choice I have ever had to make, and I have to live with its consequences. I'm impressed by what you did manage, by the way. Was it the DA?"

"DA?" asked Ginny. "I don't know what you mean. It was Rosie who took charge." Harry glanced over at Rose who was sitting on the bed. He saw her smile faintly. Harry nodded to her.

"Impressive," Harry acknowledged her. "To buy you time, I told Malfoy to check the locomotive. It was crumpled and I made the mistake of believing everyone had died. When they brought her out, I realised just how costly a mistake I had made. Where I come from, I've clashed with Death Eaters often enough to know that she was not getting out off this alive unless the Aurors came. I had sent a message to Dumbledore minutes before. I had a choice, allow her to suffer, or allow many of you to die. I made that choice. But once she was being tortured, I found that I could not let her suffer anymore. I did the most merciful thing I could do. Don't get me wrong, I hate myself for it and her face is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. Just like the Death Eater I killed at St Mungo's."

"Two," interrupted Ginny. Harry grimaced. More deaths on his account, and she blamed him for them.

"One was me, the other was friendly fire and I didn't even mean to kill the one I did," said Harry. "I know this is strange for you. It sure as hell is for me. I'm not asking you to instantly trust me. I know what your Harry has done. I've spent the last half hour reading my file. I just want you to know that I am not him. All I ask is that you don't judge me, that you give me a chance to prove to you that I really as a different person." As the words left his mouth, he realised how strange it must sound, and in fact how corny. It was the sort of rubbish an awful script-writer would write for a low-budget science fiction B-Movie, but this situation was so strange that it could have been taken from such a film.

"What's your world like, Harry?" asked Rose from the bed. Harry knew that sooner or later he would have to explain what had happened to him, what his childhood had been like. On reflection he had accomplished so much in his last five years that he could talk for hours. And then there was his childhood. Hundred of uneventful days, spent locked in the cupboard under the stairs, denied any human contact save for the hammering on the door by Dudley as he passed on his way from the kitchen to the lounge, pausing just long enough for the smell of whatever he had just been cooked to waft into the cupboard, making Harry even more hungry. Harry couldn't help but wonder what life had been like for Rose and what his life could have been like were it not for Sibyl Trelawny and her stupid Prophecy. So many people believed that Prophecies hold no value, why could Voldemort not have though the same, why could he not have just dismissed the notion and left the Potters alone? Then he would have a family, just like he had now.

"That's a story for another day," said Harry, skirting the question. "It doesn't really matter. According to Dumbledore I might be stuck here."

"Is that a bad thing," asked Rose, her eyes lighting up at the notion. Harry knew he had to get back and telling her this was not what she wanted to hear. But there was no use lying to her, but then again, did he really have to go back?

"Two minutes ago I would have answered yes wit Hough hesitation," admitted Harry. "Now, I'm not so sure." He sank slowly into an armchair by the fire and crossed his arms. "I feel like this is all a dream and that I am going to wake up any second. It's like a fantasy, everything I want is here, but I know that I am going to have to go back to the real world at the end of it."

"Why?" asked Rose. "Why not stay? You said it yourself, everything you want in here." It was a very good point.

"My world needs me."

"We need you too, Harry," she was almost begging.

"To kill Voldemort?" snapped Harry, feeling angry. "That's all everyone ever wants." He hadn't meant to get angry, but that was one of his sensitive points. Dumbledore had used him in his world and Harry had a nasty feeling he would try it again in this world. He regretted it instantly; he knew he shouldn't take his misfortune out on Rose, and tried to calm himself.

"No, Harry," said Rose. "Because we love you." Harry looked up into her eyes. No one had ever said that to him. He had no clue was love was. To him it was a made up word. It might as well be something that happened to other people. To Harry, love was a complete mystery, one he could embrace as a concept, but nothing more. He wouldn't recognise love it fell on his head.

"Harry, say something," said Rose. Her eyes glistened with tears.

"I know nothing of family," said Harry at last. "I don't..."

"Then for Christ's sake, Harry, stay," said Rose. "Let me show you what you're missing."

"How?" He had no idea what she meant. Harry had dined with the Weasleys, he considered himself part of their family, and he knew Molly felt the same. Was this going to be the same? Part of him desperately wanted to find out, and part of him was too scared to move.

"Come and meet mum," Rose beckoned him. "They're both in Dumbledore's office, and the whole school is asleep. No one would see. Come on." His parents were in Dumbledore's office. That would probably mean they were being told about Harry's situation. Rose obviously knew and so did Ginny. So if Ginny knew, probably more than his immediate family would know by now.

"The Order meeting?" asked Harry, putting two and two together.

"They're all there," confirmed Ginny. "But Dumbledore said you shouldn't meet your parents yet."

"Dumbledore doesn't own me," said Harry firmly. He actually agreed with Dumbledore's suggestion, but in his present mindset he was irrationally rebelling against the Headmaster. After last year, Harry wanted to instantly discount anything the old man said, or maybe he just wanted to prove Dumbledore wrong; he didn't really know. Dumbledore had been wrong last year, very wrong, and although he had apologised, he had justified it to himself. Harry wanted him to know he had made a mistake and accept it. The trouble was that Dumbledore was nearly perfect, and Harry clearly wasn't anywhere close, which seemed to bug him at the moment.

"Harry," said Ginny firmly. "In know this is hard for you. If it's anything like what it is for Rosie, then you'll be on the edge of a breakdown. I've watched her for nearly two years. Her biggest problem is that she refuses to share her pain." She shot a look at Rose, who opened her mouth to object. "Don't interrupt, Marie, you know this is true." She turned back to Harry. "She thinks that she can handle it herself. You seem to feel the same way. I don't know what Dumbledore has done to you in your world, but you need to trust his judgement. We are trying to help you." Harry smiled. That shown of strength was the first resemblance that this girl had shown to the Ginny he knew.

"Two things, Gin," said Harry taking a seat on the sofa. "Firstly, who is Marie?" Ginny's face instantly broke into a grin, while Rose looked rather put out.

"Rosie's full name is Rose-Marie," explained Ginny, trying not to laugh. "She doesn't like being called Rose-Marie and especially not just Marie. I only call her that if it is something really important, or if I'm really angry with her."

"Ah," said Harry making a mental note to call her Marie from time to time. "And secondly, you are right. I don't let people see how much I hurt. But let me tell you a little story. In my world there is a Prophecy. I apparently am the only one who can defeat Voldemort. In your world, the Prophecy doesn't seem to exist. You are loosing this war by the look of it. Now here I am, one who can defeat him. Do you really think that Dumbledore would let me go? Do you really think he cares about my well-being? No, he cares about one thing, and one thing only, that I can end this war for him, for you, nothing more."

"Give him more credit than that, Harry," said Ginny clearly getting frustrated. "He cares for us, he really does. He's a good man, and the only one You-Know-Who ever feared. Trust him, he hasn't lead us astray before." Harry was about to tell her exactly how wrong she was in a not very polite manner, but he realised that she would not have experienced or even witnessed his isolation last year. She didn't know about how the Headmaster had kept him and Sirius house-bound.

"I once believed that," said Harry, managing to keep his frustration in check. "Up until last June, I would have followed him through the fires of hell if he had asked. But then I found that for fifteen years, he had kept my destiny from me. He had let me wander from one near-death experience to the next, without telling me why I have no parents, why I have to live in fear for my life and those around me. He never even told me why I was so important, why my life meant more than those who I cared about, who lost theirs. It took the death of...someone close to me, to get him to tell me the truth. In that instance, I realised that I would always be a tool to him. He let me suffer inhumanely just to preserve me so I could end this war for him. The Dumbledore you know has even more reason than he did to want to use me. You have to admit there is a lot of cause for him to try and manipulate me into working for him. I won't be a tool, Ginny, I am human, which is why I won't let him bully me from pillar to post."

"You can't do this alone," said Ginny. Her initial fear of him had vanished and she stepped closer. "None of us can."

"Do what?" said Harry. "Kill Voldemort? See, there you go, assuming that I will kill him for you. Assuming that I will just 'do my job'. I am not getting involved. This is not my fight."

"What if Rose was killed?" asked Ginny.

"That's a bit harsh," protested Harry.

"Answer the question," said Ginny. "What if your family was targeted and you could prevent their deaths. Would you fight?"

"This is not my fight," said Harry firmly. "I have my own war to fight. I can't take responsibility for both."

"Destiny chooses us, not the other way around," said Ginny. She was beginning to sound like Dumbledore. The notion that she might be Dumbledore with Polyjuice potion passed through Harry's mind but he quickly dismissed it. He found himself wondering about using Polyjuice Potion to assume the appearance of a member of the opposite sex. Harry found himself thinking about how hard it must be to walk in high-heals. The idea of wearing a skirt did not appeal either. Robes he could cope with, but not a skirt. He decided to break the trail of thought there, before it reached it's logical and rather risqué conclusion. He also made another mental note, never to use Polyjuice Potion to become female. He wondered for a second what he had been thinking about before. Ginny was staring at him, apparently waiting for an answer. He suddenly remembered what they had been talking about, and his answer had not changed. He would not fight.

"Very philosophical," said Harry sarcastically. There was wisdom in her words, but she was wrong. It was not his fight. He couldn't get involved. What if he was killed here? He could never get home. But you might not make it home anyway, said a voice in his head. Harry quickly dismissed the thought. He might not be able to get home, but then again he might. In hope of that, he would not foolishly risk his life here. "I can't, Ginny. I know where you are coming from, but I can't."

"So you're going to sit here, twiddling your thumbs until Dumbledore finds a way for you to go home?" asked Ginny, a note of sarcasm in her voice. "That could take months. What are you going to do? Can someone in your position go to classes?"

"I don't know, Gin," said Harry.

"Harry," interrupted Rose. "Let's go and meet mum." Harry was grateful for the change of subject, but the prospect of meeting his mother was so terrifying he found himself wanting to avoid that as well. He didn't know why he felt this way, but he felt like he didn't actually want to meet her, not yet anyway. It was the standard male mindset; anything you are uncomfortable with, put it off as long as possible.

"Rose, it's nearly two in the morning," said Harry, inventing an excuse. "I have had a very long day, I imagine that you all have to. Let's leave it for tomorrow."

"But..." protested Rose.

"He's right, Rose," interrupted Ginny, coming to Harry's rescue.

"Rose, look I will meet them in time," said Harry kindly. "But I have a lot to think about. I have had a very trying weekend. I just found out that I am in another world. I can't take much more at the moment. Tomorrow, we can discuss whatever you want." Rose opened her mouth to protest but quickly closed it, she realised that it was hopeless. She stood and slipped back into her trainers. She tucked the untied laces into the shoes and then hugged Harry.

"Tomorrow," she whispered, as she hugged him. Harry kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"Tomorrow," said Harry.

She released him and after drying her eyes, she walked towards the door. "G'night," she said as she reached it.

"Good night," replied Harry. Ginny followed Rose towards the door, stopping as she passed Harry.

"Harry, I don't know what is happening to you, but I don't want to see her hurt again. Remember it is not just you who is struggling with this." With that she marched out of the room, leaving Harry with a lot to think about.

~~~~ + ~~~~

Harry was awoken the next morning by the smell of scrambled eggs wafting up his nostrils. He sat up in bed, the world around him coming into focus. Next to his bed was a tray, containing a plate of scrambled egg on toast, a glass of orange juice and a pot of tea, there was also a rolled up copy of the Daily Prophet. Harry had not heard anyone come or go. He assumed it had been a House Elf who had delivered his breakfast. Harry's first reaction was to reach for his glasses, before realising that a, he didn't have any, and b, he didn't need them. On reflection, this was the first morning on which he hadn't woken up and instantly thought it had all been a dream. When he had woken today, he instantly knew where he was and why he was there. He was surprised at this. Maybe he was beginning to accept it. He sat up in bed and rested the tray across his lap. He began to tuck into his breakfast, and opened the Prophet.

On the front page showed a large picture of Harry Potter. Harry stared at the boy in the picture. His eyes were cold; despite the black and white print, Harry could see that his counterpart's eyes were dull and emotionless. He had no scar on his forehead, or any hint of a smile. Harry realised just how different he was from this boy. They really were chalk and cheese. The other Harry stared out from the picture. At first, Harry thought that it was a still photo, but it wasn't. The picture was moving, but Harry Potter was in no mood to wave from the picture. He glared out from newspaper, fixing the reader with a piercing glare that would reduce lesser men to tears.

"If you are in my world," said Harry to the picture. "You'd better pray that you are gone when I get back, because if we ever meet, only one of us will walk away." This boy was Harry's main concern at the moment. After last year, Dumbledore would want to include Harry in Order operations to try and win back his trust. If he thought that the other Harry was him, and there was no reason why he shouldn't, then he would be handing Voldemort key information. The Order would be hunted down one by one as Voldemort's reign of terror grew and grew. There was no one in his world with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. Voldemort would take power, completely unchallenged.

Harry had read the Auror file on Harry Potter. This was a very disturbed little boy. He had committed his first murder at the age of fourteen. That murder had been the Minister of Magic. The report and newspaper article described the events in which Harry Potter had lead six men and destroyed Diagon Alley. They had burned the Christmas tree, murdered he Minister and many more besides. The article was detailed enough to enable even the simple minded to paint a clear picture of what had happened. The trouble was that Harry already had a mental picture. He remembered one of his dreams vividly. He could still smell the burning pine tree; still hear the screams as he close his eyes at night. With every line he read, new memories came to the surface.

As Harry was eating, he noticed a cardboard box sitting on the table opposite his bed. Once he had finished, he decided to investigate. Upon closer examination, he found it to be full of his belongings, or rather the other Harry's belongings he had been wearing upon his arrest. Harry opened the box, using his breakfast knife to cut the duct tape with which it was sealed, and peered inside. On top, there was a chest plate of armour, made from Dragon Hide. Dragon Scales were amongst the hardest substances known to wizards, this was heavy-duty armour and obviously very expensive. He had been wearing it when he awoke in the field. It had a scratch across the front of it, presumably front some form of blade, but was otherwise in perfect condition. Harry had a feeling it had saved his life before, but he didn't want to remember the circumstances under which it had happened. Next he pulled out a bundle of fabric. It consisted of a pair of black combats, and a long-sleeve, black t-shirt. He pulled out a pair of boots, leather gloves and a set of straps and holsters. Underneath all this were the more controversial items. Two wands, one he recognised as his own, and the other he had never seen before, but he felt a clear sense of Déjà vu. The other Harry obviously used it. He somehow knew that it belonged in a holster behind his back, just in case. There was also commando knife, a stun baton and lastly a Katana.

Harry removed the sword from its scabbard. The blade was infinitely sharp, and gleamed in the artificial sunlight that bathed the Room of Requirement. Looking at the beautiful, but deadly weapon, Harry couldn't help but wonder how many innocent lives it had claimed.

It was half past eight when Dumbledore returned. He had brought Madam Pomfrey to conduct a medical examination. Dumbledore then left while Madam Pomfrey set to work. The procedure took about thirty minutes. She then left to write up her notes and Harry once again found himself alone.

At half past nine, the door once again opened. Harry immediately dived behind the bed. The last thing he needed was to be seen by a student who was skiving off a lesson, or coming up here for a cigarette. To his relief, Harry saw Albus Dumbledore come through the door, followed by a man Harry had never seen before.

"Good Morning, Harry," said Dumbledore, politely. The two old men watched in amusment as Harry picked himself up off the floor. "I trust you slept well?"

"Near enough," muttered Harry. He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to keep his face neutral. He knew Dumbledore was a Legilimens, and that he had no hope of being able to lie, but he didn't want to give too much away, yet.

"I would ask if the room was not you your liking, but given the function of this particular room, it would seem a pointless question," said Dumbledore. "I trust your belongings were delivered to you? They were confiscated upon your arrest. I had Mr Shacklebolt bring them over. He also wants to meet with you."

"Aren't I the popular one," muttered Harry.

"An interesting toy, you have there," commented the man who accompanied Dumbledore, pointing at the dormant Stun-Baton, which lay on the table. He was old, far older than even Dumbledore. He looked like Santa Claus, right down to the red robes he wore, except that his beard was much longer, so long, in fact, that it rivalled Dumbledore's.

"And you are...?" asked Harry. He didn't mean it to sound as rude as it did, but he had to know to whom he was talking.

"Harry, this is Professor Nicolas Flamel," said Dumbledore, introducing his accomplice. Harry recognised the name instantly, having spent a good few hours in the library looking for it, under the watch of Hermione.

"A pleasure to finally meet you," said Harry politely, shaking the old man's hand. "And how is your wife?"

"Perenelle is as healthy as can be," said Flamel politely.

"As well as a three hundred and sixty three year old can be," said Harry, attempting humour.

"Touché," smiled the alchemist. "I was saying, your Stun-Baton, it is highly modified, is it not?"

"Sorry," said Harry. "I don't know. I've never even seen one before. I wouldn't know if it has or hasn't. When I arrived, I just somehow knew what it was and what to do."

"Right," said Flamel, hiding his disappointment. Harry didn't know how it was modified, but it was probably an impressive piece of spell-work if Flamel was so interested in it.

Harry," said Dumbledore. "Professor Flamel and myself are here to discern..."

"Whether I am useful to you, and whether I can be convinced to fight," interrupted Harry. He knew what they were trying to do and he would not be fooled by it. Dumbledore could dress it up in as much verbal diarrhoea as he wanted, but point was always the same, and Harry's answer would always be the same: he would not fight. He had always fought, for five years he had done nothing but fight. Fate owed him a little time off and this is what this 'holiday' was: time off.

"We are here to determine the differences between your world and ours," Dumbledore corrected Harry. "This is aimed at making your stay a little more comfortable. During our conversation yesterday, you hid behind a veil of secrecy. We have to know who you are, if not how can we ever trust you."

"Of course," said Harry, feigning a smile. Dumbledore and Flamel took seats on a sofa which appeared out of thin air.

"So do words and thoughts often come to you?" inquired Dumbledore. He was presumably referring to what Harry said about just somehow knowing how to use a Stun-Baton.

"Not really," said Harry. "It's just that since I've been here, I can just...I just know things. I've never used a sword before, but I can wield one like Errol Flynn. I've never even seen a Stun-Baton before, or even heard of one, but here I am using one. It just comes to me. I think they are your Harry's instincts."

"It seems like a fair statement," said Flamel, thoughtfully. "From what Albus tells me, your transition between worlds was not done in any conventional way."

"Conventional way? As in it has happened before, I can get home?" asked Harry, hope rising in his heart.

"I mean you did not use any artefact, and you assumed the body of someone else," said Flamel. Harry's heart sank. Flamel seemed to sense what Harry was thinking and gave Harry a sad nod. "You see, told Albus that you are now far more muscular than before and your hair has changed. I gather that you have, pardon the expression, possessed our Harry's body. The conventional way would be to travel in your own body by some unknown way. Had you done that, you would have kept your own body and we would have two Harry's in this world. As it is, we have one. One part of this session is to discover where the old one is."

"In my world?" said Harry. With every passing second, he was more sure that that was where the evil Harry had got to.

"I can't deny that that's one possibility," began Flamel, but Harry cut him off.

"That is why I have to go, why I can't fight your war for you. I'm needed back home."

"Harry, no one is asking you to do anything," said Dumbledore kindly.

"Yet!" snapped Harry. His anger had been ever so close to the surface recently. He managed to regain control quickly and luckily, Dumbledore changed the subject.

"Our conversation yesterday raised some interesting question," he said "We need some answers, so we know how best to proceed. From what Severus - I assume you know about his situation" Harry nodded. " From what he tells us, you will be missed if you do not return to Voldemort within forty-eight hours from the time you left. That means that in twenty-six and a half hours, he will be looking for you. We need to know who you are before we decide what to do. How do we handle your defection, how do we reintroduce you to our society? We can't very well tell that that you are a new person, or that you've seen the error of your ways. The truth is unthinkable. We need to decide how to act, and to do that, we need more information."

"I see," said Harry. He had a fair point, but there were things that Harry did not want to share, not yet at least. "I reserve the right not to answer."

"As you wish," said Flamel. "But remember, Mr Potter, we are here to help you."

"Famous words," said Harry sadly. "I've heard many times them before, usually right before I'm asked to do something I really don't want to do."

"May we begin?" asked Flamel. Harry nodded. "You referred to the Order by name. Does it serve the same purpose here as it does in your world?"

"I haven't seen it here," said Harry. "But if it is a resistance group, run by Dumbledore, then yes. Key members include McGonagall, Snape, Shacklebolt, Lupin, Tonks, Arabella Figg and..." Harry trailed off, he had been about to say Sirius, but he chocked on the words.

"It would seem so, Nicolas," said Dumbledore. "Here we have a few more, whom you will meet in due course. Most significantly, for you at least, your parents, godfather and Mr Pettigrew."

"Wormtail!" Harry's head snapped up. "Arrest him!"

"What?" asked Dumbledore.

"That little rat is a Death Eater," said Harry.

"He is one of your parents' closest friends," said Dumbledore.

"He sold them out to Voldemort," snapped Harry. "That little prick is the reason..." he managed to stop himself before he told Dumbledore something that he wanted to keep to himself for the moment. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He was trying to do that a lot lately. It was a stressful situation, granted, but he felt that he had been angry a lot lately. He had to try and sort that out. "Trust me. You're a Legilimens, arrest and confront the lying little bastard!"

"Let's move on, Albus," said Flamel. "We should follow up this accusation, but for now, let us continue. There are the Aurors, Shacklebolt, you mentioned, Frank Longbottom is another."

"What is my history with him," asked Harry. He remembered that his last encounter with said Auror nearly ended with Frank killing him and saying that he had died resisting arrest. "He seemed pretty mad when he caught me. He said Neville was..."

"Frank has had a difficult year," said Dumbledore, removing his spectacles and polishing them on his robes. He replaced them on his nose before he continued. "Firstly, there was his eldest son, Neville. We do not know if it was you yourself or if it was done by your command, but Neville was subjected to the Cruciatus Curse repeated. Prolonged exposure to the curse can result in..."

"Insanity," finished Harry. The image of Neville screaming in pain flowed into his mind. Harry didn't know if it was the incident the Department of Mysteries while Lestrange convinced Harry to hand over the Prophecy, or if it was one of the other Harry's horrific memories.

"More of the old Harry's knowledge?" asked Flamel. Harry shook his head.

"I wish," muttered Harry. Then, to his audience, he said, "Where I come from, it was Frank and Alice who were tortured. After Voldemort fell, Bellatrix Lestrange and her friends caught them. They though they knew where Voldemort had gone. They tortured them to insanity. I met them once at St Mungo's while visiting Arthur Weasley. But Neville...Neville is my friend. I've known him for five years. He put his life on the line to save me, last year. I would never hurt him."

"Frank will find it hard to adapt," said Dumbledore solemnly. "I think it best if you avoid him at first." Harry nodded. He didn't want another encounter with the enraged Auror.

"You just mentioned the fall of Voldemort," said Flamel. "Would you like to explain?" Harry paused. There were certain details he didn't want to share. He would be meeting his family later; he didn't want them to judge him by sympathy. All his life he had been judged by the events of the past, events he didn't even remember. This was his chance to get away from that, even if it was only for a little while.

"I don't want to say too much," said Harry carefully. "Let's just say that Voldemort came for me. He tried to use the Killing Curse but my mother had given me protection. The curse rebounded, almost killing him and leaving me with nothing but a scar."

"What kind of protection?" pressed Dumbledore. He was hungry for details that Harry didn't want to give. Harry knew he couldn't lie and felt more and more like he was backed into a corner. His palms were sweaty, but he wasn't lying.

"The kind only a mother can give," said Harry, hoping no one would press further.

"Why did Voldemort not die?" asked Flamel. Harry paused. He didn't know. The curse rebounded, but it was his curse, the most powerful Killing Curse on the planet. It only held that status as Dumbledore was too noble to use such a spell. Voldemort was powerful enough to kill; he had proved it time and time again. None who had felt the curse had survived. Why had Voldemort himself not died when it had hit him? At the re-birth party he had mentioned that he had taken, 'steps along the road to immortality'; Harry wondered what they were.

"I don't know," said Harry.

"Why did he want to kill you?" asked Flamel. He had hit the nail on the head. "You said he had been after you for fifteen years, and he came for you himself rather than send a follower; that doesn't often happen. You must be a worthy opponent to merit his personal attention. If my maths is correct, that would mean he deemed you to be a personal threat at the age of one."

"There was a Prophecy," said Harry. He had decided that in this case, truth was the best policy. It would eventually out, and Harry saw no reason for keeping it a secret. He was already incredibly valuable to the Order, but he needed Dumbledore's trust to do anything. The best way was through the truth and through the Prophecy. He began to quote, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord shall be born as the seventh month dies, born to those who have thrice defied him. And the Dark Lord shall take him, and mark him his equal. But he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not. One must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord shall be born as the seventh month dies."

Silence had fallen over the room. Four eyes regarded Harry in awe. Part of him was glad he had shared the Prophecy; they say that a problem shared is a problem halved. Part of him regretted it; he had given them a way to end their war, he had made himself irresistible to them.

"That Prophecy was made sixteen years ago," said Harry. "To protect me, you sent me to live with the Dursleys. You never told me about that Prophecy. I wandered from near death experience to the next, and you still didn't tell me. Once Voldemort returned and tried to acquire it, you still didn't tell me, and the closest thing I have ever had to family was killed. I know what you're thinking. I know that I could conceivably end this war for you, but I can't get involved. That Prophecy has ruined my life. I doubt it even applies in this world, only in mine."

"And Voldemort knows of this Prophecy?" asked Dumbledore, looking thoughtful. Harry could almost see the cogs whirring in his head.

"In my universe, yes, or at least half of it," said Harry. "His spy was discovered halfway through. He knew that I had the power to destroy him, and that I'd be born on the thirty-first of July. He came for me based on that information and unwittingly marked me his equal when he failed to kill me." Harry gestured to his scar.

"He might know it here as well," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "What if we never heard it, but he did."

"Would he not just kill Harry?" pointed out Flamel.

"True," conceded Dumbledore. "I was thinking that maybe that was why he took Harry. But then again, why wait thirteen years to recruit him. Why not kill him instantly, what would he have to gain by recruiting the one who can kill him? Surely death is more logical."

"I am still here," interrupted Harry. He was annoyed that they were discussing his death so frankly in front of him.

"Apologies, Harry," said Dumbledore. "You must know better than anyone the implications of this Prophecy. We will need to make certain that the Prophecy was not made in this world. If it was and we are unaware of it, it would be...inconvenient."

"If it was," said Harry. "It is safe to assume that Riddle doesn't know it either. He wouldn't take the risk that I might grow to oppose him. He would see to it that I died. That was why he came for me, even with the protection. Were it not for my mother, he would have succeeded. I see no reason he would not do the same thing here."

"Recruitment..." began Flamel.

"Would not solve it indefinitely," said Harry, "There is a chance of defection. And if he wanted to make sure I would never oppose him, why did he give me all the power and training he did? I read what he allegedly has done to me. That turned me into a monster, but a powerful monster that could possibly threaten his power. What he gave me made it more likely that I could oppose him. There is of course one more fact I didn't mention. From the records, there were two possible male Wizards born on the thirty-first of July to parents who had escaped Voldemort three times. The second was Neville Longbottom. In this world, Voldemort could have tracked me down through the records and chosen to recruit me at the age of thirteen. Unlikely, but he could have. If he did, then why not recruit Neville, or kill him?"

"I mean no offence, Harry, but he had you do it," said Flamel.

"Last year, though," said Harry. "If he was planning on recruiting me, but killing Neville, why not kill him when he was one, and save himself the hassle. Perhaps he tried to recruit Neville and he refused so he sent me after him. But according to my record, I was sent after Neville to prove to Frank what would happen if he didn't release a few captive Death Eaters, not to punish Neville himself."

"He has a point, Nicolas," said Dumbledore gravely. "As I matter of principle, I feel that although it is almost certain it does not, we should still investigate and make absolutely certain that the Prophecy does not exist."

"I agree," said Harry. "So what happens now?"

"There are a lot of people who need to see you, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Your parents for one."

Harry knew this. For years he had dreamed of having a family, but now that he did, now that he was so close, he found himself almost wishing that he didn't. What would he say to them? What would they think of him? He remembered Lupin once telling him that his parents gave their lives to save his, he should not repay them by putting himself needlessly at risk. That had been his third year, after the episode with Snape and the Marauder's map. Those simple words had hurt Harry more than Snape's barrage of insults of five years. But now, three years later, Harry still had not headed those words. Again and again, he had risked his life, and now Sirius had lost his. That was yet another person who had given their life to save his and he still hadn't learned his lesson. Would they blame him for it, scold him for it? All he had ever wanted was to make them proud, but he knew that he didn't? He had treated his friends disgracefully last year. He was now a killer as well. He would disgust them. Harry's lack of enthusiasm must have showed.

"That doesn't appeal to you?" asked Dumbledore, softly.

"I...I'm just worried that I'll disappoint them," said Harry. "They gave their lives so that I could live."

"And you feel that that is a debt you can never repay, that they'll hold mistakes against you," finished Dumbledore. Harry nodded "I can't pretend that I know how that feels. I have never conversed with the dead, except our resident ghosts. But surely you know that they are you family, and your family will love you no matter what. Surely you know that?"

"I don't know what it is to be loved," said Harry sadly.

"Your Aunt and Uncle must love you," said Dumbledore. "I would not..."

"Wouldn't you?" said Harry, with a dry smile. He laughed softly at the irony. "To protect your saviour, you sent me there. You admitted to me that you knew I would suffer. They hate Magic. They thought if they could keep my downtrodden enough, they could crush the magic out of me. Until I met Ron on the Hogwarts Express when I was eleven, I had never had a friend. I lived in the cupboard under the stairs, for God's sake. I had my first Birthday present when I was thirteen. It wasn't until my third year that I had anyone I could even vaguely call a parent. He died on account of me last June."

"You have suffered beyond what I would permit," said Dumbledore. "My counterpart seems to have been blinded by his goal. But trust me, Harry: your parents love you, and always will, you just have to let them."

Harry rested his head on his hands. He could feel tears coming, but fought them back. Maybe I should tell them everything, he thought, maybe if I appear weak enough they'll get off my back. Swiftly, he dismissed the idea. He knew they were right, but it was all such a new experience for him. Self-doubt filled his mind.

"How did it go with your sister and Miss Weasley?" asked Flamel. "I assume you knew Miss Weasley before you..."

"Fine, I think," answered Harry. "Ginny has changed, but that is to be expected. In this world, she never knew thirteen years of peace, she never..." He paused. He had been about to mention her crush on him, but that would be presumptuous. If it got back to her, she would think that he expected her to like him and...it was a complication that he needed to avoid. She was as good as a sister to him...but now he had a real sister, Ginny was...step-sister was the closest analogy he could think of; or a distant cousin perhaps, distant, but still family.

"As for Rose or Rosie...what should I call her?" asked Harry.

"I believe she goes by Rose, most of the time," said Dumbledore. "Except when she has done something she should not have, in which case your mother uses her full name, Rose-Marie,' he added with a smile.

"She seems nice enough," said Harry. "More trusting that I would be in her shoes. Then again, I haven't been dragged through such an emotional nightmare as she has. It's understandable that she be a little delicate."

"Too trusting," commented Flamel, amusement written on his face. "If anything I would say she is the opposite. She bottles everything up inside, refusing to trust anyone. A lot like someone else I have recently met," he shot Harry a glance, making it obvious he was talking about him. "Ginny, her closest friend, knows more than anyone, but there are still things that Rose hides. She refuses to let people see her bleed, as the expression goes."

"She seemed to trust me from the off," said Harry.

"She wants you back so badly," said Dumbledore. "For her, this is a dream come true; it is for all your family. She wants it so much she will throw caution to the wind."

"It's what I've always wanted, but then why do I feel so nervous. Part of me wishes, I was back home, even if I had to lose them."

"It is only natural that you would feel a little apprehensive," said Flamel comfortingly. "All I can suggest is that you be yourself; let them choose. One more thing, give them a chance."

"Thanks," said Harry. He did actually mean it. He did feel a little better for having had this conversation.

"Oh, Harry," said Dumbledore. "I sent my man to the farm where you were found. He found no sword."

"I don't have it," said Harry. He hadn't picked it up, but it definitely had arrived with him. "So where is it?"

"We will of course continue to look," said Dumbledore. "I felt you should know." Harry nodded his appreciation.

The two professors left after their conversation. Harry was to be introduced to his parents during lunch that day. Shortly after Dumbledore left, Harry had the House Elf assigned to guard him go to Diagon Alley, more specifically, Milton's Muggle Marketplace to pick up a set of clothes. Meeting his parents for the first time dressed as an assassin or as a patient wasn't right. Also he couldn't leave the Room of Requirement in the clothes he currently wore, as they would disappear as he left. That would be embarrassing to say the least.

The House Elf returned after five minutes, with some simple clothes; a pair of trainers, jeans, underwear and a shirt. All were black. He didn't feel at all colourful at the moment. The Gold had come from the account of one, Robert Steven Randellson. Mr Randellson was a phantom, a man who only existed on parchment. His account was a slush fund for Death Eaters, where their 'loot' was kept for when it was needed. After all a terror campaign was not cheep. Harry wondered where they got their robes from. He initially thought of Voldemort walking into a tailor's and asking for two hundred pairs of robes and masks (one size fits all), before realising that they were easily conjured. Being raised by Muggles, he was often slow to realise what, to a wizard, was perfectly obvious. The account was however one of the more useful things Harry remembered. It was technically stealing, but as Harry reasoned, if he didn't spend it, it would be used to buy things that hurt people.

Dressed in his new clothes, there was nothing Harry could do but to wait. Seconds felt like hours, and hours like months as he waited. In a room with infinite possibilities, Harry Potter could not think of a single thing to do.

~~~~~ + ~~~~

"Come," hissed a voice of pure ice. The voice was lined with anger at the interruption. Lord Voldemort was sitting in a large red armchair by the fireplace to the left of the room. The curtains were drawn, blocking out all light from outside. In the grate, the dying embers cast little light into the room. It was almost perfectly dark inside, the light from the grate just enough to pick out the coiled snake at his feet and the empty crystal glass that sat on the arm of the chair. The Dark Lord was thinking, or at least he had been, until the interruption. Someone would pay for breaking his trail of thought.

A bright light suddenly shone in the room as the door opened and the light from the hall gushed in. Had the Dark Lord been facing the door he would have been blinded, and that would not have improved his anger with the newcomer. As it was, he was facing away from the door. He knew for a fact that only one who bore that Dark Mark could enter the room, so he was safe, not that anyone would dare to attack him. Come to think of it, he had given explicit orders that he was not to be disturbed. Many Death Eaters were still at Grimmauld Place, or back with their families among society, waiting patiently, or impatiently in some cases, for his call. He was alone in the mansion, until now.

Lord Voldemort sat perfectly still as the Death Eater came closer, knelt and kissed the hem of his robes.

"You said I was to come to you before noon today," said the Death Eater calmly. The Dark Lord recognised the voice instantly as one of his more usefully placed contacts. On reflection, he had told the Auror to come to him at noon today when they had met last week. In light of Harry's recent actions, he had forgotten all about it, not that he would admit it. Lord Voldemort was becoming increasingly concerned about the boy. He still could not come up with a logical reason for the boy's actions. The boy made no sense. In the last few days, everything he did was so unlike him. The more research he did, the more the realised that by all accounts, Harry's behaviour was different. Allegedly he had claimed that he could defeat Lord Voldemort. There was no one who could defeat him and everyone knew it. If there was such a man, it was certainly not a sixteen-year-old boy. Harry was good, his raw power was phenomenal, not too far behind Voldemort's own, but he still had a lot to learn. Until Voldemort knew exactly what was going on, he would not rest easy.

"Master?"

"Patience, is a virtue," snapped the Dark Lord. "I will speak to you if and when I am ready, or perhaps you feel that your convenience is of more important than mine?" He withdrew his wand and pointed it at the Death Eater.

"No, never master," said the Death Eater quickly. One did not need to be a Legilimens to tell that the man was scared. "I was just concerned."

"Touching," said Lord Voldemort rising from the chair and lowering his hood. "So you believe that I am incapable of looking after myself, do you?"

"I..." that was as far as he got.

"Crucio!" muttered Voldemort lazily. He held the curse for a mere ten seconds, nothing compared to any normal session. At the moment, torture seemed to have lost its appeal. He had things to think about and he wanted to get back to them. "Now we have cleared up a few ground rules, what have you to say?"

The Death Eater rose slowly and shakily to his feet.

"Four days ago, the night when Harry Potter was captured, my team were dispatched to Devon. We weren't told much, just that a facility of some importance was under attack and that we were to defend it."

"I know this," said the Dark Lord impatiently. He debated whether to kil the Auror. He had interrupted him, and he was not providing anything useful.

"But listen, Master," said the Death Eater quickly. Voldemort cut him off.

"I am, and I am waiting for you to get to the point. So if I were you, I would make it a very good one," said Voldemort icily. His tone was clear; if he didn't like what he was about to hear, the Death Eater would not leave this room alive.

"I managed to stop my Team Leader from killing the b...Potter on the spot. While they were binding him, I noticed what Potter had dropped." From within his robes, the Auror produced a long, jewel encrusted sword. He held it horizontally in both hands for his master to see. "At first I thought nothing of it," he continued. "But then I read what is engraved on the blade." The dying embers cast little light into the room. The Dark Lord bowed his head to read the ornate lettering on the blade.

GODRIC GRYFFINDOR

For some unknown reason, a chill went down Voldemort's spine. This could be very bad. "You are certain, absolutely certain, that Harry had this; it was him who dropped it, not one of you?" The man seemed to detect that he was on to a winner here and that his chances of surviving this meeting had just exceeded ninety nine point nine percent. He may be made to pay for his arrogance later, but for now, the Dark Lord wanted answers.

"Positive, M'Lord," said the Auror. "None of my team carries weapons like this. The only one who was even in that house at school is my team leader Longbottom." The name was familiar, Harry had had dealings with Longbottom in the past.

"Potter's 'friend'?"

"The same," smirked the Auror. "He holds a lot of hatred for Potter, and he is a good Auror. It is a duel I would not mind seeing. Anyhow, he would not carry the sword. Since there was no one else, it must have been Potter's." Voldemort's mind was going at Mach Three. That sword was buried along with its owner over nine hundred years ago somewhere beneath Hogwarts. How could Harry have come into possession of it? How could Harry possibly wield it, even it he did? According to history, Gryffindor's sword could only be wielded by...oh, no.

"You have done well," said Voldemort slowly. "In time you will be rewarded, but we have to act very quickly and very quietly."

"There is more, Master," said the Death Eater. "Dumbledore had high influence in the Ministry. There are some who are obviously in very close league with him. Potter, Black, Shacklebolt, Tonks, Dawlish to name a few. During the attack on the Hogwarts Express, we got a message in the fireplace from Dumbledore. He knew that the train was about to be attacked a few minutes before it even happened. I believe someone tipped him off."

"Evidently," said Voldemort impatiently.

"The following morning, while we were still processing the captured Death Eaters - I have Malfoy's location should you wish to spring him. We didn't get Black, I assume she made it back safely - I noticed that five of Dumbledore's associates left within five minutes of each other and arrived back two hours later within five minutes of each other with no explanation. They left at around eleven thirty. He didn't use the more noticeable ones, Potter, Black and the others. They were at Hogwarts at the time. Apparently Dawlish granted them time off to visit his wife and daughter. Anyhow, I knew they were all close to Dumbledore and that since they all left at the same time and came back in the same manner wearing such similar attire, I was positive that they were doing Dumbledore a favour. I noticed that upon their returns they wore Muggle clothing. As I passed their desks, I caught a brief glimpse at a receipt for the rental of two black Jeeps. I know a little about Muggles and I know that they are a form of vehicle.

"Now at the time I didn't think it was too significant. I made a mental note to inform you at this meeting, but I had nothing concrete. The next thing happened by luck. Malfoy's son has been feeding him information from inside Hogwarts. He sent an owl to his father, which obviously ended up at the Ministry. Luckily I managed to intercept it. It seems that yesterday at around quarter past twelve, two Black Jeeps drove up to Hogwarts. Young Malfoy didn't see what was in it, but he said Dumbledore was there and he seemed pretty secretive. I would not think that Dumbledore himself would go on any mission, this had to be something special."

"And he had no idea about the contents of the Jeeps?" asked the Dark Lord.

"None. He said, they pulled up, Dumbledore got out, along with several men he had never seen before, and Professor Severus Snape."

"I see," said Voldemort thoughtfully.

"What would you have me do?" asked the man. "I could find out the location of the hire company. I could scour the local rags. I might get lucky."

Voldemort nodded. "Do so, but don't make it seem obvious. Anything you find is to come to me. You are to make no aggressive moves of any kind, you must not be compromised, the penalty for which will be severe. You will receive further instructions in the usual manner. Be swift, my friend. Time is against us."

The Auror bowed, turned and swiftly felt the room. Voldemort stood still for a moment, replaying the conversation in his head. He had a lot to do, and to start with, he needed to speak to another well-placed Death Eater.

~~~~ + ~~~~

"Mum, I'm fine," said Rose as Lily fussed over. "He's not bloomin' royalty. He's not going to care what I am wearing."

Over the course of the morning, Rose had noticed her mother become increasingly agitated. She couldn't sit still. Rose had had a wonderfully nightmare-free night's sleep that night, for what seemed like the first time in weeks. Ever since Harry had been caught, her dreams had been plagued with death and destruction. Seeing Harry last night was...she couldn't describe it if she tried. He was perfectly polite; he was not the killer that filled the Prophet. She had been right. Harry had come back and he was better than ever.

All the insults, the stares, the rumours that had plagued her footsteps for two years didn't mean anything anymore. She knew full well that she couldn't tell anyone, as much as she would like to. People could say whatever they liked, it didn't matter, because she knew. Harry was back and they were going to be a family again. She had heard something about destiny and fighting Voldemort, but Harry wasn't going to fight. He was going to stay with her. She would convince him to stay. Once he met their mother and father, he would stay and things would be just like they once were. A few days from now, Dumbledore would find a way to re-introduce Harry. All charges would be dropped and Harry could come back to school. They would be like any other family on the light side.

That was Rose's dream, her fantasy, which hour by hour was coming closer and closer to being a reality, or so Rose believed. Ginny had been a little doubtful, and she had every right to be. Rose would see where she was coming from. Ginny was just trying to protect her, and Rose appreciated her concern, but she had been wrong. Harry was back!

At the moment, Rose was trying to convince her mother that she didn't need to brush her hair and put on dress robes. She had met Harry the night before, her mother had not. Rose didn't know what her mother was expecting, but she seemed to be making sure everything was perfect. According to her father, Lily had come close to hitting Dumbledore when he told her that she would have to wait to the morning to see Harry. Rose felt a little bit awkward, as she had already seen him. Lily had reluctantly agreed and the meeting was set for noon, during the lunch break.

Rose checked her watch.

"It's time." Technically, it wasn't; they still had four minutes, but she could just claim that her watch was fast. Her impatience was rivalled only by that of her mother. Her father, on seventy-two hour leave from the Aurors was also present, but was making an effort to appear calm, if only for Lily's sake.

They left the Potions office and headed towards the staircase at the end of the hall. There was, in fact, a shortcut behind one of the paintings along the corridor, but neither Rose nor her father was going to point it out. Lily Potter was a Professor after all. The climbed the staircase and headed along another passage. Rose wanted to run ahead. Having met Harry already, she felt almost like a tour guide; she wanted to demonstrate her knowledge of him, but couldn't find a reason to start a conversation. As they turned right, they each noticed that the gargoyles were parted, revealing the staircase to the Headmaster's office.

"Hang on," muttered her mother irritably. "I'd better check in, make sure he hasn't invented another excuse to keep us apart."

Rose followed her parents up the staircase to the study. As she entered the office, she noticed that there was a small ceramic bowl full of silvery liquid on the desk. Dumbledore had his wand out. Was it some form of potion? wondered Rose. In front of the Headmaster's desk, sat Professors McGonagall, Flamel and Snape.

"Ah, all ready for your big reunion, I see," greeted the Headmaster jovially. "I spoke to him again this morning along with Nicolas. He is most anxious to meet you. As you can see, you have caught us in the middle of something. He is in the Room of Requirement. Your charming daughter shall be able to get you in."

"Though your husband has far greater knowledge of that which he shouldn't, thanks to his lawlessness in his youth," added Snape, shooting a look of daggers at Rose's father.

"Professor Snape," her father acknowledged him. "How go your classes?"

"Why?"

"Some graduates are lacking in certain areas, namely defence," smirked James. "Any advice you may need on how to teach defence, don't hesitate to ask."

"The day that that happens," shot back Snape, rising to his feet. "Will be the day I..." he froze, inhaling sharply and grasping his left forearm, his brow furrowed in pain. Rose was well aware of the Defence Instructor's past and knew what it meant, though she could never let on that she did. She would suffer from Snape, and her father from Dumbledore and her mother, for having told her.

Snape's moment of pain lasted only a few seconds. He sighed and stood up straight. For a second, Rose felt sorry for the Defence master. There was something in his eyes that she had never seen before: it was fear. But also, there was stubbornness, a refusal to back down. She knew where he had to go and what would likely happen to him. She knew that she could never live as Snape did, but that didn't stop her from disliking him.

"Headmaster," he said quietly. Dumbledore nodded gravely, as Snape crossed the room.

"Good luck, Severus," said her father as he passed. No joke was intended. Her father was a professional and as much as he disliked Severus Snape, he respected him for what he did. He would never make a joke at the sacrifice that Snape made for the Order.

"Well," said Dumbledore after Snape had left. "I believe you have a reunion to attend." All three nodded, and departed leaving the Headmaster, Flamel and McGonagall alone.

~~~~~ + ~~~~

Click!

The two balls collided with the echoless clink of ceramics. Having found nothing to occupy himself with, Harry had begun to experiment with the Room of Requirement. He had changed it several times already that morning. At present it contained a pool table on which he was demonstrating his fairly poor skills at pool. Obviously he didn't know the rules and had no one to play with, so he was absently trying to pot balls.

He remembered Ginny saying the night before that he couldn't possibly stay here for weeks alone with nothing to do. At the time, he had shrugged it off, but now he knew what she had meant. He had been waiting for nearly two hours. The game of pool was not really interesting and between every shot he paused to look at the clock. The problem was that because of the way the room worked, the clock showed what time he wanted it to, namely twelve o'clock. He was so agitated that he couldn't relax enough for the clock to work properly, if he relaxed it would tell the time properly, like it had been all night. However, he was so desperate for the clock to reach midday that it had. Luckily his cheap wristwatch worked perfectly. It was almost time: four minutes to go.

He was dressed in his newly purchased clothes, and had been pacing for hours. With every minute that passed he became more agitated. The questions that had plagued his mind earlier came rushing back. What would they think of him? What if he revolted them? He had killed a man in St Mungo's; there was no escaping that. Would they reject him? What would he do then? Harry tried to calm himself. He sipped at some water, but nothing took away the nerves. Three minutes to go. His hands were moist with sweat and he was finding it hard to grip the cue properly, making his game impossible. He put down the cue, and the table and balls melted into nothing.

He walked to the window, wandering who was out and about. He stared for nearly ten seconds before realising that it was a false window. He was in the middle of the building; it would have no window. This was false and would show him whatever he wanted to see. Harry kicked the wall in annoyance. He checked his watch: two minutes to go!

They say that having everything you want won't make you happy. Up until then, Harry had assumed that was a fable to try and stop people being so greedy. He knew that film stars had so much money they could have anything they wanted and lived good lives. At this moment in time though, Harry realised that he could have anything he wanted in this room, but he wouldn't be happy. He couldn't fill two hours with all the possibilities of this room. He couldn't bear to be stuck here for another few weeks while Dumbledore half-heartedly tried to get him home and whole-heartedly tried to get him to fight.

He also wondered about Flamel. He had only heard stories before, but the man seemed wise. He had been Dumbledore's friend for years and had the wisdom of centuries. Harry wondered that he taught. It must be Defence reasoned Harry, that's the only job that keeps going and there are large shortages of staff for the jinxed job. Except Snape of course, but Dumbledore would never give him the job. Harry felt a glimmer of satisfaction knowing that. He couldn't bear his best and most useful subject being taught by that creep. Potions on the other hand, he didn't like, or think that an Auror would need. McGonagall had told him otherwise and he knew it was a requirement. He still didn't see the point personally, but wasn't going to argue. Snape was a git and that was the main reason he disliked Potions. He wondered if he had been taught by a better teacher, would his ability be better? But then again, are all Potions master's so nasty?

Suddenly Harry was jolted from his thoughts.

Knock! Knock!

It was time. Harry turned slowly, to see the three figures in the doorway.

Harry's voice disappeared in an instant. His stomach made a sharp trip north, ending up in his throat. In the doorway stood James and Lily Potter. Lily...his mother was more beautiful than he dared imagine. Her red hair billowed in the draft; her brilliant emerald eyes sparkled with tears as she stared at him. Her eyes were red, the obvious aftermath of tears, and in her hand was a tissue. She wore long black robes, with red seems which stopped half an inch of the ground. She looked pale and tired, but her eyes sparkled.

"Harry?" was all she managed to say. Before he could respond, the room changed. It shrank, which caused Harry to be instantly shifted to within two feet in front of her. The next thing he was aware of was a pair of arms being thrown around him, as his mother pulled him into a tight hug.

The sensation was entirely new. The closest he had come was when Molly Weasley had hugged him. He had in a way always thought of her as a surrogate mother. She gave him a small insight into what it felt like to have a family and there was no doubt in his mind that the Burrow was the place in which he felt most at home. But that was wrong. Now he had a mother, a real one. He had seen her in the Mirror of Erised, heard her screams when Dementors came too close, and seen her in his dreams time and time again, but now she was real. Harry wrapped his arms around her, holding her as tightly as she held him. He was home, for the first time in his life, Harry Potter felt what love is. For the first time, he was no longer an outsider looking in, as he was at the Burrow; he was part of a family, a family who loved him.

"Mum?" he croaked, finding his voice at last, a simultaneously unleashing a watershed that had been building up since the night Sirius had...Harry still couldn't say it. All the pain, guilt and anguish flooded out of him, as he sobbed onto his mother's shoulder. All that mattered were the three people in the room with him.

"I've missed you so much," wept Lily, joining Harry in the sea of emotions. Tears rolled down both their cheeks, dripping onto the other's robes. Fifteen years of pain for Harry, two for Lily came out at once.

Looking over her should, his vision hazy with tears, Harry saw his father. Their eyes locked. Harry had been told time and time again that he looked like his father, only with his mother's eyes. He could see it now; there was a definite resemblance to himself in the man in the doorway. He wore glasses, just as Harry used to, his hair was a mess, just as Harry's was, though it was longer. His eyes were a deep blue, which also sparkled with tears. Harry could see that he was trying to remain strong, to be a pillar, to help his family get through.

To his side, stood Rose. Harry dragged his eyes, away from his father to look at his sister. She had a glow on her face. It was a sort of lopsided smile that made her thoughts clear. People often said that he wore his emotions on his sleeves, but that was nothing compared to Rose. It was written all over her. She was positively glowing with relief and happiness. She gave Harry a brief nod.

He released his mother from the tight grip in which he had held her for what had seemed like an age. How much time had passed, Harry would never know. He approached the figure of James Potter who stood, leaning against the doorframe. Although he was trying to keep his composure, his emotion showed. Harry did not need to be a Legilimens to be able to see that. They stood for a second, looking into the other's eyes. Harry didn't know who moved first, if it was he or...his father, but before either of them knew it, they were locked in a firm embrace. Harry did not know the extent to which his family had suffered in this world, nor did he want to, having read Harry Potter's criminal record. They clearly had though, and it was showing now. The Auror failed to keep his emotions in check. Harry could feel his father shaking slightly as he wept.

It was a very surreal moment for Harry. Embracing two people who had been dead for fifteen years was not exactly common practice. He was reminded continuously of the Mirror of Erised. His photo album, the only visual representation of his parents he owned, had depicted a warm, loving environment, one Harry had longed to be part of ever since he had seen the photo. The album itself was at present in his top draw at number four Privet Drive, but that didn't matter. Harry had something better than a photo: he had the real thing. But were they real? They were from another world. Stop It! At the end of the day, did it matter? He had a family, those who loved him, those he had dreamed about for fifteen years. His heart was awash with emotion; he couldn't make sense of it. Tears came feely now.

Harry noticed that while he was engaged with his parents, his sister had slipped past them into the room. Harry had been so enthralled that he hadn't even noticed the room change. The room was large again, the bed and sofas were gone, and only the fireplace remained from his room. In the middle was an oval shaped wooden table, covered in a brilliant white tablecloth. Crystal glasses and silver cutlery were perfectly arranged for four people, with an ornately folded silk napkin in the middle of each table setting.

"What's this all about?" said Harry, trying to keep his voice steady as he released his father.

"Consider it a welcome home, banquet," said Rose, failing to keep the smile off her face. A quick glance either side revealed that both his parents, though their eyes were still watering, were wearing broad smiles on their faces. "Mum kind of figured that prison food wasn't up to scratch."

"Touché," muttered Harry. He couldn't tell if she was teasing him or if she was being serious. It didn't really matter. It would take a lot more than that to offend Harry.

"It'll be the best roast you've ever had," said Rose, gesturing Harry to place at the table. "Mainly, because Dad didn't cook it." Harry glanced across to see his father feigning outrage.

"Best ever?" echoed Harry. "No great achievement considering that it would be the only one I've ever had, except of course for Hogwarts Sunday Lunches and Christmas."

"Petunia can't cook?" queried Lily, taking a seat to his left. Harry paused for a minute. If she knew about the Dursleys, how much else did she know? His youth was not a topic of conversation suitable for the dinner table. Also, he wanted to keep some things secret. It wasn't right to tell them too much. He didn't want a sympathy vote, but also he didn't want them worrying about him.

"I wouldn't know," said Harry, his eyes downcast. He managed to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but couldn't look his parents in the eye. "I suppose she'd have to be, given the size of Dudley." Harry was worried about the direction this conversation was taking. Much more and he would get on to the subject of his youth and that was what he wanted to avoid. Telling his parents that he couldn't tell them for every question they asked would get awkward. It was better to avoid the subject entirely. Luckily, he was spared from elaborating by the arrival of four House Elves wearing the customary tea towels. Harry was about to ask the nearest one if Dobby was around, but then he remembered that in this world he had never set Dobby free. Dobby, if he was still alive, was still Draco Malfoy's punch bag. Harry grimaced at the thought. Luckily his expression went unnoticed.

The House Elf nearest him picked up Harry's napkin, unfolded it and spread it across his lap. Harry sat motionless, completely unsure of what to do. The closest he had come to this was at Uncle Vernon's golf club social the year before Harry had gone to Hogwarts. Vernon's employer owned the club and his wife had invited the entire family to the meal. She had insisted that Harry should come. It had all gone well until Dudley had pushed Harry down the stairs, resulting in him crashing into the Guest of Honour, the Lord Mayor's wife, spilling red wine all over her new lilac dress. The Dursleys' had been livid at the embarrassment he had caused. Harry tried to keep the blank look of his face as the Elf, spread the napkin and then put a bowl of soup down in front of him.

"Thanks," said Harry to the Elf. He was about to pick up his soupspoon when he noticed that the other three were staring at him. He had no idea what was wrong, but he felt the blood flow to his cheeks. His mother looked surprised, James looked curious and Rose looked like she was trying not to laugh.

"What did I do?" he asked.

"In your world, do you regularly thank House Elves?" inquired James.

"If you want Hermione to shut up, you do," said Harry with a grin. It then occurred to him that they had never had to endure the SPEW idea. Noticing their blank looks, Harry continued. "Never mind, it's one of those in-jokes. Joking aside though, no, well I don't know. This is the first time they have ever directly waited on me. I mean Dobby...I set him free and he kind of idolises me but...okay, now I feel stupid." All three of the Potters chuckled at Harry's expense. He was blushing and he knew it. Rose was trying to hide her laughter by bowing her head over her soup.

Harry decided to hold his comeback. He had a feeling that anything he said would dig him even deeper than he already was. He felt awkward. He couldn't talk about his life, Voldemort, and having had no contact with them before, he couldn't think of a single thing to say. Rose and James had already started, so to avoid further conversation, Harry picked up his spoon and dipped it into his soup.

''Do you play Quidditch?" inquired James as Harry took his first mouthful of soup. He tried not to cough as the hot liquid burned his throat. He took a sip of water before answering.

He was grateful that the conversation was about something less serious that he was expecting. He didn't know if they had been told not to quiz him or if his discomfort showed, but the conversation over dinner stayed clear from politics, Harry's past or Voldemort. It was a remarkably civilised affair, which Harry surprisingly found that he was enjoying. As soon as they had mentioned a meal, his heart had sunk. He knew that sooner or later he would have to face his past, but he was determined to put it off as long as possible. The topics of conversation ranged from Quidditch to NEWTs to girls.

It was the last topic that Harry found most embarrassing to talk about. Quidditch was easy enough, though he managed to resist re-enacting his favourite moments. NEWTs were brushed over as he told them that he hadn't had his results yet. Harry was shocked to discover that his mother taught Potions at Hogwarts. Maybe I'll do all right in this world, thought Harry. This wasn't because he was expecting favouritism, just that as long as Snape wasn't breathing down his neck he might just do okay. It also begged the question of what Snape was doing. Dumbledore mentioned that he was a spy, so where was the old fart?

"Severus is still here," his mother informed him. "He teaches Defence..." Harry chocked into the goblet he was drinking from. He coughed as he tried to wipe the spilt drink from his chin.

"Defence?" he coughed. "Dumbledore let him teach Defence?"

"Something we need to know about Snape?" asked James. Was he hoping Harry would say that in his world Snape was a Death Eater?

"Not really," said Harry. "The slimy git-" he noticed his mother giving him a disapproving look "- was once a Death Eater but is now a spy for the Order. We don't get on at all, but Dumbledore trusts him. He compromised Remus' condition to the whole damn school and Dumbledore did nothing. He's really...I'm rambling, but never mind. He teaches potions where I come from." He had stopped using the phrase 'in my world'. It made him sound alien, and it wasn't nice to say; 'where I come from' flows better and invites fewer questions. "He's been after the Dark Arts job for years but never gets it. I think Dumbledore doesn't want to put him near the temptations of that subject."

"Sounds fair enough," said Rose. "So who's teaching Defence? Flamel?"

"I don't know where Flamel is, or if he is even still alive. The Philosopher's Stone was destroyed in my first year." Lily and James shot him a surprised glance when he mentioned the stone. It was obviously sensitive information. Something even he was not supposed to know.

"The Philosopher's what?" asked Rose.

"Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies," said Harry in response. Their parents clearly didn't want him to tell her, so he skirted the issue. "It's a bit hush-hush. Back home, the Dark Arts job is said to be jinxed. Since I came to Hogwarts we've had five. First was Quirrel. He was a nervous wreck, but he knew what he was doing. The minor inconvenience of Having Voldemort possessing him was a bit of a downside. He was killed at the end of my first year." The other three gasped, clearly amazed that he could talk so casually about something so dangerous. Harry shrugged it off, it was in the past.

"Next came Guildroy Lockhart," he continued. Rose and Lily's face reacted instantly, a smile appearing on each of their faces. James rolled his eyes. Harry decided to get them back for teasing him earlier. "Don't get your hopes up. He's a fraud. A failed Obliviator, who found real heroes, wiped their memories and took credit for their work. He oblivated himself at the end of my second year."

"But his books," interrupted Rose. Harry couldn't keep the smile of his face.

"Are sexed up accounts he received from the wizards who actually banished that Banshee and fought that werewolf and did all that other stuff," he explained. "He gets their stories, wipes their memories, adds embellishments to the tale and writes the books. Could you really take a man seriously whose dream is to market his own brand of hair care potions?"

James snorted into his wine. Lily and Rose shot him a disapproving glare before turning to Harry.

"You're sure?" asked Lily.

"Well, when he obliviated himself, his wand backfired. He was trying to wipe my memories after I...discovered he was a fake."

James looked like Christmas had come early, Lily and Rose looked more sober. Harry realised that he had probably crushed one of their dreams, but he didn't really care. It was better to do it this way than meet Lockhart and be disappointed. When he had had that misfortune, he had lost every bone in his left arm.

"Anyhow," said Harry. "Where was I? Third year. An old friend, Remus Lupin took the job. He was fantastic until Snape opened his mouth to the entire hall. Parents wouldn't want a werewolf teaching their children so he was forced to resign, or rather he did so before Dumbledore was forced to force him to."

"Prejudiced little..." began James, but stopped under a glare from his wife. "Remus is harmless. I assume you know about Wolfsbane?" Harry nodded.

"You don't need to lecture me," said Harry. "I'm all for him returning. He's a good man. Sadly, public opinion can't see through it. He was the best we had. The first two were useless. Fourth year was a Death Eater using Polyjuice Potion to pose as Mad-Eye Moody. Next came Dolores Umbridge. She was willing to used the Cruciatus Curse on me and Hermione because she thought we knew where Dumbledore was hiding."

"She was going to..." stammered Lily. "Is it not illegal in your world?"

"It is, but it didn't stop her. She sent Dementors after me in the summer. She wouldn't let a technicality like the law stop her."

"You mentioned a Blood Quill at the trial," said James thoughtfully.

"Another of her little toys," said Harry, absently rubbing the back of his hand. His father's eyes picked up on the movement and were fixed on his hand. Luckily the ladies did not see it. "Look I know we have a lot to catch up on, but can we leave it there. This tale is quite gory and not suitable for the dinner table. Can we pick this up later?" The three nodded silently.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" asked Rose boldly. Harry felt the blood rushing to his cheeks again. Rose's eyes widened, a grin appearing on her face, at Harry's reaction. "You Do! Come on, who is it? You're a Gryffindor, right? Lavender? Parvati? Maybe a year older, Bell perhaps, or Lucas? Not Granger, surely. Tell us, who is it?" She had put two and two together and come up with seventeen. He had no girlfriend, but he was blushing enough to make anyone think he had. Why was he always so touchy about this subject?

"Rose-Marie," said her mother firmly. "Do not pressurise your brother. He can answer if and when he feels comfortable." Harry appreciated her help, but felt better to answer.

"Sorry to disappoint you," said Harry, trying not to grin. "I do not have a girlfriend."

"An eligible bachelor like you?" pressed Rose, trying not to laugh. "Not found the right one, yet?" James snorted into his wine again. Harry was beetroot red and could feel himself burning up. James and Rose found this hilarious, his mother seemed to be trying to be annoyed with them, but found herself joining in.

"Glad I amuse you so much," said Harry. "So what about you, Mademoiselle? Is there a dreamy hunk in your life? Do you want to tell me?" It was Rose's turn to blush.

"Do you care?" she challenged him.

"Not as such," conceded Harry. "It's your life. I've seen the anguish Ron causes Ginny by trying to protect her. I'd like to think I have the courtesy to let you make up your own mind. Who you chose is not my affair, unless he hurts you...or unless it is Malfoy."

Rose looked disgusted and feigned being sick into her bowl of ice cream.

"I'd rather sha..." she trailed off under the glare of her mother. Now it was Rose blushing while Harry sat smugly smirking at her discomfort.

"Roses are red," began Harry, looking directly at the blushing girl. She instantly shot him a semi-serious glare. "Violets are blue," he continued. "Revenge is sweet, and so are you."

"You've been practicing that, haven't you," she said, attempting a comeback.

"No, it's spontaneous," said Harry. "It's called wit."

"Kids," interrupted Lily, though she was still smiling. "Less of the bickering."

"Apologies, Professor," said Rose, again semi-seriously.

RING! RING! Harry's ears rang as the bell sounded.

"Damn," muttered Lily. "That's the end of lunch. Rosie, I believe you have Minerva's class to attend."

"Can't I...?" began rose.

"No!" said both of her parents instantly. His mother continued, "Harry, I trust you are not going anywhere?"

"Well I hear that Fiji is nice this time of year," replied Harry, draining the last of his drink. Lily gave him an unimpressed glance so he continued. "No, I won't be going anywhere."

"I'll be back tonight," said Lily, marching Rose towards the door. "I know this is boring for you, but try to amuse yourself."

Harry nodded as his parents left. As the door closed, he felt a wave of relief. Why did he feel relieved? It wasn't as though he had gotten away with anything. He hadn't pulled the wool over their eyes or anything. Harry left the table and sat back down on the sofa. Instantly, several House Elves appeared to clear away the dirty dessert bowls and the rest of the cutlery. Harry took the opportunity to ask for a large pot of tea.

As he sat sipping his tea, the conversation they had just had played over in his mind. He went over what he had found out. Snape taught Defence and his mother Potions. He wondered what Flamel taught and made a mental note to ask his mother later. A smile appeared on his face at that thought. I'll see my mother later. It seemed so obvious now. He knew he would see her later, and suddenly it didn't seem so unusual. It seemed like years ago that he had been an orphan. If it were not for the fact that the other Harry, the evil Harry might be in his world, and that he had a Prophecy to fulfil, Harry would have been more than happy to settle down and live here. I might retire here, thought Harry to himself. If I make it back alive.

He knew it was not healthy to think so negatively, but he couldn't help it. His future was uncertain. He needed to get back and he didn't know if Dumbledore was even going to help. He had to get back; he just had to. As much as he loved being here, as much as he wanted to stay, he knew he couldn't. He had everything he ever wanted here, but he had to let it go. Fate had chosen him to suffer and now he was being made to suffer more intensely than ever before. Presenting him with a dream and then ripping it cruelly away. But staying was not an option. During the meal he had forgotten about trying to get back. All that had matter had been the present, the meal, the family. His world had gone right out the window. Harry was worried that if he kept seeing his parents like this, he would give up on getting home entirely. Maybe that was Dumbledore's plan. No, he wasn't that cruel. Harry considered making sure he kept his distance from his parents to make their parting of way easier when the time came. But he knew deep down it wasn't going to happen. He had planned to be cautious during this meal but had then blabbed royally about almost anything they asked. Not that he hadn't enjoyed it, he had, immensely so, once he had gotten over the uncomfortable shock of meeting two people who had died to protect him, and one who had never existed. The fact of the matter was that he loved being here, that the last hour had given him hope that maybe his life wasn't all about pain and misery, but he knew that at the end of the day, he would have to pass it all up and go back to suffering. Damn that prophecy!

~~~~ + ~~~~

Dinner that evening was a much as lunch had been. House Elves brought food to the Room of Requirement, where the Potters dined. Harry made it through another meal without revealing too much. He reminded himself again, or rather the voice of reason in his head reminded him, that he would have to face his past sooner or later, but his typical male mindset, of putting everything off until later, kicked in once again. The talk was mainly about Quidditch, which to Harry's delight was Rose's pastime too, this meant that she wasn't trying to constantly change the subject back to Harry, as she enjoyed Quidditch.

As it turned out, James and Rose were big fans of the Holyhead Harpies. All was going well until Harry was asked who he supported. His first reaction was to reply that he supported the Chudley Cannons, out of respect for Ron. But then again, did he really? He had only been to the World Cup match; that was it, aside from Hogwarts games. He told them that he didn't really follow the game, outside of Hogwarts, but that he played for Gryffindor and that he had been to the World Cup game.

James and Rose were green with envy when he mentioned that he had been in the top box. Apparently, the game had occurred in both world and had finished with the same result. Harry decided to rub it in further by telling them that Victor Krum had briefly come to Hogwarts for most of that year and that they were friends, but rivals. He didn't tell them why Krum was there, or what he was a rival in, and definitely not the events in the third task, but it didn't matter. They assumed he was talking about Quidditch and for the time being, he was willing to leave it there. The look on Rose's face when he mentioned that Hermione had gone to the ball with Krum, was fantastic.

After dinner, they all took seats around the fire. To Harry's relief, James pulled out a copy of the Evening Prophet, while Lily produced a stack of parchment, presumably essays to mark. He had been worried that having finished dinner, his interrogation would begin. Luckily, it was not so. Maybe they were waiting for him to tell them when he was ready. Harry challenged Rose to a game of pool. After complaining that she had never played before, Harry pointed out that he hadn't either. They managed to get a game going. It would have been amusing to watch for both of them had little to no talent for the game, but neither could think of anything to do.

"What are you doing, Lil?" asked James, folding the Prophet.

"Marking fifth year essays," muttered Lily, chewing the end of a quill. "I think I should suggest to Professor Dumbledore that English be taught at Hogwarts. The spelling in this lot is atrocious."

"But technically it wouldn't make a difference," pointed out James. "Let's face it, a Bezoar and Veritaserum are not in the dictionary. Gullible was, but it has been taken out."

"Really?" Rose asked. Harry and James both snorted a laugh, and even Lily managed to smile. Rose immediately went bright red and missed her shot spectacularly.

"Two shots to me," said Harry, not bothering to hide his grin.

"Well, Mister Perfect," his mother teased him. "What are the effects of Polyjuice Potion?" Harry had been worried that she was going to ask a harder question. Telling Snape he didn't know in his first year was embarrassing, but in front of his family, to his mother? It would be worse. Luckily, this particular question was a godsend. His answer wasn't quoted from the textbook, nor was it literature, but it got the message across, more or less. Lily gave him a small smile and went back to her marking. Harry was sure he heard Rose mutter the word 'smart-arse' as he bent down to take his next shot.

A tragically timed cough from Rose caused Harry to miss the yellow he was aiming at entirely and pot the black, causing Harry to instantly lose, despite being two balls ahead of Rose.

"I think I'm coming down with something," said Rose innocently. Harry put the cue down and went back to the sofa. His father had discarded the Evening Prophet so Harry picked it up. A chill ran down his spine as he read the headline.

39 DEAD AS THE DARK LORD ATTACKS CONCERT

"Jesus!" breathed Harry.

"Shocking isn't it," asked his father, glancing over at him.

"Thirty-nine dead, a further seventy injured, fourteen of which are in a critical condition," read Harry, skimming over the text. It had happened during a concert by a Muggle artist, Madonna. The star was unharmed but many in the crowd were not so lucky. Witnesses report over fifty figures in black cloaks and white masks. Voldemort had just murdered forty Muggles. Why? What good had killing music fans done? None, he had simply done it to enforce the wave of fear, maybe even because he was bored. It brought him no advantage tactically; it was just for fun. The bastard! "What's being done about it?"

"What can be?" asked his father. "The Aurors are stretched as it is. That's the third attack since August began." It was only the fourth of September. Three attacks, no, three massacres, in just over a month.

"Are they always this often?" asked Harry, a nauseous feeling taking over his head.

"Usually, more so," said the Auror. "Normally they are smaller but often. Three large ones in a month is unusual. Albus believes it is the quiet before the storm." Harry didn't know why, but he somehow knew he was right. Voldemort was planning something, something big.

"What is Crouch going to do, how is he going to stop Voldemort?" asked Harry. His father sighed.

"Honestly, I don't think anyone can stop him," said James solemnly.

It was as if the mists suddenly cleared. For the first time since his arrival, Harry was thinking clearly. He now saw beyond his own selfish intent. Inaction is the same as opposing what is being done. In doing nothing, he was helping Voldemort. He was the only one who could defeat him, and that was what this world needed. Dumbledore had said that he couldn't escape his destiny and he had been right. He had crossed the boundaries of space and still the Prophecy ruled his life. Those damn words would follow him around until his death, which he hoped would not be in this world. He couldn't fight it; if he put it of, more and more would die and every one of those deaths would weigh heavily on his shoulders. He had to do something.

"I can," said Harry firmly. His mind was made up. It had taken forty deaths for him to see the light, and no one was going to change his opinion. It was nearly ten o'clock at night; every student should be asleep. Harry didn't honestly care if he was seen. He marched to door.

"Harry, where are you going?" asked Lily, looking up from her marking.

"I'm going to show the world that Riddle isn't as tough as he claims," said Harry firmly. He grabbed the box containing his wand and sword off the table as he passed and strode out of the door, ignoring the calls from his family. He marched with pace and intent, directly to Dumbledore's office. He knew he shouldn't be somewhere where he would be so easily seen, but he didn't care. Thirty-nine lives had strengthened his resolve beyond anything anyone could say.

The gargoyle was open, saving him the inconvenience of reeling off sweet names. He didn't even bother to knock; the pleasantries seemed inconsequential compared to what he was about to do. He was breaking a promise to himself, and risking his life and in turn the lives of everyone in his world, but that didn't matter to Harry. He couldn't stand by while others died. Dumbledore had known it, Harry had been too proud to see it.

He barged into the office, unwittingly interrupting a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. Presumably they were being briefed on Harry's situation. A brief glance told Harry that it was almost all of the entire inner circle. Tonks, Kingsley and Frank Longbottom sat to his left. On either side of the Headmaster's desk were McGonagall and Flamel, then Lupin, then...Harry froze. Instantly tears came back to his eyes. Sitting next to Nicolas Flamel, looking perfectly healthy was Sirius Black.

Instantly, nine wands were pointed at Harry, but he hardly noticed. Sirius was alive! He looked...perfect. His hair was long, just as it had been last Christmas. He wore the robes of an Auror, just as James had when he had arrived. Sirius was alive! The thought echoed time and time again trough Harry's head. At a gesture from Dumbledore, the Order members lowered their wands, all that is, except Frank Longbottom. Harry saw it in his peripheral vision, but didn't react. It didn't matter; all that mattered was Sirius. Harry stood transfixed, staring into those bog round eyes, no longer bearing the dull vacancy that comes with twelve years of Azkaban.

"Sirius," Harry choked, finding the single word hard to utter.

Sirius sat, staring back, a bewildered look on his face. On reflection, Harry realised that there was no good reason Sirius wouldn't be alive here. Dumbledore had even mentioned him, not by name, but he had mentioned him in their talk that morning. He had been a fool not to expect this. Expect it, he should have done, but nothing could prepare him for it. Emotion filled his heart. It took enormous restrain and a prompt from Dumbledore to get him back on track.

"Can I help you, Harry," asked Dumbledore.

"Send me back in," said Harry, fixing the Headmaster with a stare. He noticed that Longbottom's wand was still aimed at him, but made no move.

"I thought you wished to remain inactive," said Dumbledore, though Harry could see that there was triumph in his eyes.

"That was before forty people died for the sole purpose of amusing Riddle," said Harry. "You can't stop him, I can."

"Bullshit," interrupted Longbottom.

"Professor Flamel, is there any reason to believe that the Prophecy would not apply here? It was made in my world, but does that mean it only applies here. We are talking about the same Dark Lord. Granted, he is not as powerful as my one, but he's still Tom Riddle," said Harry.

Flamel glanced at Dumbledore. He thought for a few seconds before answering.

"It is possibly," he replied. Prophecies are so vague. It could have meant in this world the whole time and not your own. We may never know. Prophecies and the whole art of Divination are very vague."

"So I might be able to stop him," reasoned Harry. "Look, even if I can't feed him cyanide, I could still...Snape's good, but he isn't that high up. I have his ear and his right hand. Imagine what I could give you. I know I have no experience of this, but if I am compromised, you still have Snape."

"Are you sure this isn't a rash decision, Harry?" asked Flamel.

"Perhaps, but I can't sit by while he knocks off forty at a time for no reason other than he's bored," said Harry.

"And your parents?"

"They'll understand," he replied. He hoped he was right. They had suffered enough on his account. He was interrupted by the arrival of those he was now discussing. The remaining three Potters came charging into the office.

"What's happening?" demanded Lily.

"It seems your son has had a change of heart," said Dumbledore coolly, not taking his eyes of Harry.

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning," said Harry, "That I am going back in."

"You're what?" she gasped. Looks of horror occupied the faces of his family.

"I've got to go back to him," said Harry.

"No!" said Lily, tears coming back to her eyes. "I can't lose you again."

"You won't," said Harry. "But I do have to go. I don't have a choice."

"You do!" she interrupted. "Stay with us."

"I can't. As soon as he realises I'm not coming back, he'll assume the worst. If word gets out I've 'turned', as it were, moral will rise. To crush it, he'll kill hundreds. Someone has to fight him. Every time he attacks, you pull back. You are backed into a corner. The line must be drawn here; no further!"

"But why you?"

"Because I am the only one who can," said Harry. "It's not what I want, but it's what I'm stuck with. I can't stay. He'll hunt us down, one by one. We can't hide not from him, and even if we could, I can't live in fear. We wouldn't be living; we'd be surviving. Could you live in fear, looking over your shoulder every second of every day, for fear for your family?"

"No," said Lily sadly. "You're right."

"You could conceivably hide," said McGonagall calmly. "I do believe there is a certain spell in which..."

"The Fidelius Charm," interrupted Harry. "It didn't work the last time."

"What last time?" inquired Flamel.

"The last time they were betrayed," said Harry, his impatience and anger allowing him to let slip what he had never meant to. "Voldemort found us, and it doesn't take a genius to work out what happened next." He realised he'd gone further than was wise. He stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself. After a pause he said, "The only way we can ever be free is after he's...gone. I am the only one who can kill him. Please, let me do my job." He had never really thought of it as his job, more his destiny. To him it was something he would eventually have to do, but hadn't given it much thought. He had been too wrapped up with Sirius and trying to survive that he had never really thought about it. Being his job, was just a figure of speech, but when he thought about it, it was startlingly accurate. It was his job, his obligation. Try as he might, he could never escape it, today had proved it.

"There is no hope of changing your mind, is there?" said Dumbledore. "Harry, you are either incredibly brave, or incredibly foolish to attempt this."

"I think it's a little of both," said Harry. "Snape would say it is the latter."

"I assume in your world, that you and Severus have personal issues," said Dumbledore. "Some things never change. Harry, I am going to be honest. You are a very useful ally; we both know that I would like to have you on my side. However, this is not what I had in mind. There is too much danger for you."

"Those people died for no reason, and we know for a fact that more will die if I don't do this," said Harry. "I have to do something."

"Very honourable of you," commented Dumbledore. "I can see that I am not going to be able to deter you."

"No chance."

"Then let me give you advice," said Dumbledore. "Don't go looking for information. Take what comes to you, but don't dig. Don't make it seem you are looking into things. You are too valuable to throw away your life." It was a cold thing to say. Harry picked up on it instantly. Dumbledore was once again thinking of him as a tool, but it didn't matter to him at the moment. He was a tool; he had just decided it was his job. They were two different perspectives on the same concept. Harry had to do it, he was born to do it, there was no use arguing about how someone phrased it.

"Albus," snapped his mother. "Can't you..." Harry interrupted her before she could finish.

"It's no use, mum," he said. He paused for a second. He had never used the word before, not like this at least. It felt odd calling her that. He shook it off; this was not the time for sentiments. "I have to go, I am going. I know this is hard, but please don't try and stop me."

"He's right Lily," said Dumbledore. "His mind is made up, and not you, me or anyone else is going to discourage him. We both know he is very powerful, resourceful and the best, no, the only man for the job. If I am right, if the Prophecy Harry spoke of is right, I believe we are witnessing the turn of the tide."

Lily looked from Harry to Dumbledore to her husband and daughter, no doubt looking for support. In her heart of heart, she knew it was pointless. She knew Harry had to go. It was written on her face. She gaped a few times, before finally finding a voice. "Good luck," she squeaked, enveloping him in a tight hug. "Hurry back." Harry could feel he shaking against him, and he knew he had once again brought her to tears.

"I will," said Harry. "One way or another, I'll be back."

"Good luck," said Albus softly.

"Thanks," muttered Harry. "I'll need it. Do me a favour though."

'What?"

"If anything happens to me..."

"Harry..." interrupted his father. His mother was clearly sobbing now.

"Please, keep my family safe. They've suffered enough on my account."

All Dumbledore could do was nod. "You can do that yourself when you come back."

"I can," agreed Harry, though he was far from certain that he would, but for his parents' sake, he added, "and I will."

He let go of Lily, and after a quick glance around at nine bemused faces, he stepped into the fire and was gone.

~~~~ + ~~~~

It was a cruel twist of fate that he moved so quickly. Another few seconds and he would have spared himself a lot of pain and trouble. Not two seconds after Harry disappeared from the fireplace in Dumbledore's office, the door burst open and in charged a figure dressed all in black, his hood lowered and a glowing white mask hanging loosely below his neck.

"HEADMASTER!" All eyes turned to see Severus Snape who stood panting in the door, his forehead dripping with sweat, obviously from a long run. "Stop him!" panted the Defence Master.

"Severus...I," began Dumbledore.

"The Dark Lord knows he's turned!" panted Snape, cutting of the Headmaster. "Potter is walking into a trap!"