To Dwell on Dreams

To Dwell On Dreams

"There is no reality, only perception." - Dr Phil McGraw

Chapter One -

Through The Looking Glass

Harry held that morning's edition of the Daily Profit numbly in his hands:

Infamous Black Recaptured

Ministry Officials confirmed today that Sirius Black, the only known escapee from Azkaban Prison, is once again secure in the Ministry's custody. One source told press representatives that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement received an anonymous tip-off regarding Black's whereabouts a number of days previous to his finding and subsequent arrest. In 1981 Black was sentenced to life imprisonment for thirteen counts of first degree murder; his escape on July 15^th 1993 will undoubtedly result in further sentencing, but as to what that might entail, the Ministry has so far refused to comment...

The clock on the wall had long since struck midnight, but Harry, Ron and Hermione were still sitting in the Gryffindor common room, just as they had been doing for most of that day. Of all the emotions that had passed through Harry's mind in the last few hours, he was now left with just one: total and utter despair. All the shock, anger, and disbelief had gradually ebbed away to reveal the simple truth - Sirius was as good as dead and there was nothing Harry could do about it.

They had first heard about the arrest early that morning, when the post had arrived as usual halfway through breakfast. It wasn't just Hermione who got the Daily Prophet delivered on top of her toast however, and almost instantly the shouting and cheering had started as people shared the 'good' news with one another.

Curious, Hermione had shaken the paper open. Just as quickly as the celebrating had started all colour evaporated from her face. "No," she'd whispered hoarsely, "Oh God no, please...no! "

Seamus Finnigan had begun to ask if Hermione was alright, when the paper dropped from her hands, knocking the pumpkin juice flying, and she had promptly burst into tears.

When Harry tried to remember what happened over the next few moments, everything seemed to go in slow motion. Ron had gingerly put his arm round Hermione's shoulders, asking what on Earth was wrong whilst looking quizzically over to where Harry sat. Other Gryffindors, and even students from the other tables were looking in their direction wondering what was happening.

Dean Thomas had lent over to pick up the Prophet from where it had fallen. When he saw the cover story he had frowned uncertainly;

"But isn't that good news?" he'd asked Seamus, puzzled, before passing the paper to Harry.

At first, Harry had simply not understood the headline - the words just didn't make sense.

Then slowly, very slowly, he realised. "Sirius."

Ron, being so tall, had been able to read the story easily over Hermione. Without saying anything, he had gently lifted Hermione to her feet, taken Harry firmly by the arm, and steered them both out of the Hall.

Harry had to say, looking back on it, he was impressed with Ron's composure. He'd sat them down at the base of the stairway in the main entrance; saying nothing, most likely as there was nothing that could be said - just simply letting them be. Hermione had shuddered against him, whilst he in turn had put his arm round Harry's shoulders. He was so cold.

They'd sat like that until people had started spilling out of the Great Hall. Here they'd had to get up hastily, in the hope that onlookers wouldn't start asking awkward questions, and began making their own way reluctantly to lessons.

To add insult to injury, first period on a Wednesday morning was Potions. Harry, Ron and Hermione had had to endure Snape's silky taunts for almost two hours, until Ron had finally snapped, earning himself an hour long detention scraping caterpillar entrails off school chopping boards and a smart twenty points from Gryffindor.

The other Gryffindors may have been patiently annoyed at this (even if Ron was upset about something, twenty points was still twenty points) and Malfoy and his Slytherin cronies had found it most amusing, but Harry for his part had been extremely grateful; Ron's support was one of the only high points of what turned out to be a long and miserable day.

When they had arrived for Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid had mercifully told them that they were to be excused from the remaining lessons that day, on orders straight from Dumbledore. Harry was glad, he had personally felt none of them could take much more of the Slytherins and their snide remarks about Ron's delicate temperament. He was also encouraged by the fact that Dumbledore seemed to be involved - he might at least be able to do something for Sirius' defence.

So after that they'd made their way to the Gryffindor common room and there they'd stayed. The other 5^th Years, along with most students in fact, had been wise enough to steer clear of the fireplace that Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting next to. Colin and Dennis Creevey though, had come over twice to see if Harry was okay. The second time Ron seemed close to snapping again, but Hermione was able to lead them tactfully away saying it was a personal problem and Harry really wanted to be left alone.

Now however, the room was empty. The last few students had drifted off to bed taking their questions about Harry with them. Their star seeker, crumbling like old chalk? And was it really something to do with Sirius Black...?

***

"Harry," Hermione said gently, easing the Daily Prophet out of his hands, "he's only in custody at the moment, there's still time." Her eyes were smudged and red, but as always, was now falling back on logic to comfort herself. "The Dementors abandoned Azkaban months ago, all they can do is lock Sirius up-"

"There are plenty of ways to execute someone Hermione," Harry interrupted emptily, "not just a Dementor's Kiss."

Hermione didn't have anything to say to that. Ron took the paper from her and looked at Sirius' mug shot - it was just as dead and hollow as ever. Sirius didn't actually look like that any more, but the Ministry wouldn't care about that.

"But who?" Ron wondered out loud, "who could have known where to find him?"

Harry looked out of the window where a thunder storm was raging. Forks of lightning pierced an inky sky; the yellow and gold webbed across his view of the grounds - it was haunting and so violent.

"Does it matter?" he burst out savagely. He stood up and went over to the window; his wand grasped so tightly in his hand he was in danger of breaking it. "Whether it was Lucius Malfoy or Winky, they're still going to kill him. You know the Ministry's not going to be any more interested in the word of three teenage wizards now than they were two years ago, and Cornelius Fudge has made it blatantly clear he and Dumbledore are no longer even on speaking terms, let alone willing to listen open-mindedly to one another."

"But there must be something we can do," implored Hermione, "Harry, you can't just give up, you never give up, and this is Sirius we're talking about..." Her words trailed off. She could probably see the hopelessness of the situation as well as any of them.

"I'll send an owl to my Dad," Ron suggested, "he'll be able to help us, wont he?" Hermione nodded in agreement, "I mean, maybe at the very least he can work out some way we can talk with Sirius-"

Harry spun round suddenly and started walking towards the portrait entrance. "I have to go," he announced. And he did.

***

As the portrait of the Fat Lady swung shut she called after Harry; "you shouldn't be out at this time of night," but Harry ignored her. He half expected Ron and Hermione to come running down the corridor after him, but they seemed to have realised he wanted to be alone. Or it might have been that they didn't want to end up shackled to the wall in one of Filch's dungeons, Harry wasn't sure. He was however sure that he himself didn't even remotely care about being caught out of bed at night. It really wasn't important.

Harry had half a mind to go to Dumbledore's office but he knew it would be a wasted visit - the headmaster was already doing all he could about Sirius; Harry's presence wouldn't achieve anything. He therefore seemed to be twisting and turning aimlessly around the castle just trying to figure out his thoughts. One of which was to think how ironic it was that the only time he'd chosen to go out at night with neither his Invisibility Cloak nor Marauder's Map there appeared to be a severe lack of teachers around to catch him doing it.

Suddenly Harry stopped in his tracks; the door he had just walked past looked oddly familiar but he couldn't explain why. Automatically he backtracked his steps and went into the room.

Oh.

That was why.

This was the old History of Magic classroom Professor Lupin and he had used in Harry's third year to practice the patronus spell in. It looked just the same as before; old desks and chairs piled up against the walls, a dusty chalkboard Peeves had a liking for scribbling rude words on and a number of torches opposite the windows that probably hadn't been used since Harry's last visit here.

But Harry didn't take much of this in. His memories of this room were sharp, raw and painful...

Dementors...

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him!"

"It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black...The Ministry have given the Dementors permission to perform it if they find him..."

"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please - I'll do anything-"

"He deserves it"

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-"

"He deserves it!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl!"

"HE DESERVES IT!"

BANG!

Without even thinking Harry had thrown one of the chairs into the wall on the left. He didn't care who he woke up, all he could hear was the blood throbbing through his head. He picked up another one.

SMACK!

That was Cornelius Fudge for being so pig ignorant.

SMACK!

Draco Malfoy...Lucius Malfoy.

CRASH!

For Cedric.

CRACK!

Crabbe, Goyle, McNair.

The throbbing in his head had now turned into a banging of its very own Harry snatched his wand from out of his robes and pointed it at a table. "WORMTAIL!" Harry yelled at the top of his lungs as the table flew off the ground and smashed through the window, spraying shards of glass in every direction.

An incredible flash of lightening filled the sky, thunder shook the walls of the castle, the wind howled, swirled, swept up around Harry and split the night.

And then quite suddenly, everything was black.

***

Harry's whole body ached. He felt like he was spinning, or falling; or maybe both? His fingers tingled, his eyes were dry and his head was still pounding. He got the impression he was lying down. Yes, he was definitely in a bed, and he could feel someone's hand on his forehead - what was happening?

"Harry?"

Oh, now he remembered what he'd been doing - was he still in the classroom though?

"Harry?"

That was a girl's voice. "Hermione?"

"Erm, no."

Slowly, Harry found he could open his eyes; everything was fuzzy. "Glasses?" he managed to utter, his head felt like it was home to a heard of rather angry Hippogriffs. The girl, who seemed to be perched on the side of his bed, reached over to a bedside cabinet presumably for Harry's glasses. She had red hair. "Ginny?" he tried again.

She laughed; "who are all these girls in your life Harry?" She slipped his glasses on.

It was his mother.

***

"Mum? "

Lily Potter smiled and pushed Harry back down in his bed. "You gave us quite a fright there Harry, passing out like that. Could do with a bit of a warning next time - you were this close to drowning in your lasagne and ruining you hair...I'm not too sure which would have been worse." She grinned.

It had to be a trick. Some sick joke of Voldemort's, or even Wormtail's; though Harry doubted Pettigrew was clever enough to pull something like this off. Whatever it was Harry knew it couldn't be real.

Impulsively he tried to get up. Pulling the bed covers back he swung his legs around to stand up, catching a look at his clothes as he did. They were very different to what he normally wore. For one thing they actually fitted instead of being three sizes too large, but they were also, well, nice. The only other person Harry had seen wearing clothes like this was Draco Malfoy, so they naturally must have been expensive.

"Er, Harry, you've been out cold for hours, jumping up and down might not be wise." Lily tried to pull him back down again, Harry snatched his arm away.

"What the Hell is going on," he snapped standing up and backing away. The bedroom swayed violently, he probably was too dizzy to be up but he didn't care. "Two minutes ago I was in the common room with Hermione and Ron and now..."

"You were where with who?" his mother interrupted.

"Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley," Harry elaborated, though why he was explaining things to an apparition he wasn't quite sure.

"Harry, that's not funny," Lily said quietly, her eyes dropping to his bed spread. "The Weasley's were a good family, you shouldn't say things like that..."

"Were?" repeated Harry dryly. He sat back down on the bed. Everything looked so real...

"Can you do something for me," he said in a quiet voice, "no matter how weird I may sound, can you answer some questions for me?" His mother looked sympathetic and worried, perhaps she really wasn't a dream...he realised she was nodding so he went on. "The Weasleys...what - er - happened to them?" At this she seemed confused and quite distressed, but answered all the same.

"They were murdered by You Know Who about six years ago - you went to the ceremony...Harry, are you feeling alright?"

Something very nasty seemed to plummet in Harry's stomach. This dream-world was becoming more of a nightmare every minute. Not Ron? Surely?

Harry took a deep breath.

"Why - why aren't I at school?"

"Hogwarts, but Harry...?"

"Please," he implored, "please answer."

"Well, it was closed, three years ago this March-"

"Why," Harry interrupted before he could help himself. He knew he was probably sounding pretty crazy to her with his new and exciting amnesia, but he didn't care, he had to work out what was happening. Lily was looking out of the window; it was early afternoon, trees with brown and orange leaves were swaying in the garden.

"I don't know why you've brought this up all of a sudden Harry, but I'll tell you if you want, I know your head must be felling funny, collapsing like that..." He nodded, so sighing she went on. "It was three years ago. You Know Who managed to penetrate the defences at Hogwarts, we think he was looking for Severus Snape, but it could easily have been Susan Bones or...anyway, since they'd all gone into hiding it didn't matter. You Know Who was livid, out of shear spite he killed the Longbottom's son and a good few others before Dumbledore could reach him in the Great Hall. They duelled for hours. Eventually You Know Who was driven back to wherever it was he went, but Dumbledore was left extremely weak."

She paused, probably considering why she was explaining her son's life history to himself, but the desperate look on Harry's face seemed to convince her enough to continue. "I guess after that it just didn't seem safe to keep the school open, everyone was sent home and we've done our best at home-schooling ever since; I mean, they'd closed the school to Muggle-Borns ages ago, closing it completely was inevitable at some point."

Harry's mind seemed blank, totally devoid of all thought. Wherever he had found himself to be, it was a place where Voldemort had never been defeated, where Ron had been murdered, but how could that be...?

Harry stood up again, this time making sure his footing was secure before going across to the other side of the room where a mirror hung next to a grand oak wardrobe. Without thinking Harry placed himself in front of the mirror and lifted his fringe.

There was no scar.

Behind him he could hear his 'mother' saying something about his fever having gone already, but he wasn't listening. He knew. This was real. Everything; the blue curtains that clashed with the carpet, the dirty clothes under his bed, his Firebolt propped up next to his desk, which in turn was littered with Herbology text books and past issues of 'Loaded' magazine. No scar. It was real. He could feel it.

He turned round slowly and went back to sit on the bed with his mother. She looked like the wedding photos, the pictures at the beach, graduation, but...older. She smelled faintly of butter he noticed, her nails were all different lengths and her jeans were slightly worn at the knees.

"Sorry," he offered through dry lips, "my head was spinning, y'know? I feel better now." Lily gave him a tired smile.

"I'm not going to rule out shipping you off to St. Mungo's, but if you feel hungry I can get you something; an empty stomach probably wont be helping the crazy talk." Harry nodded gratefully, so she left, shaking her head, presumably to go down to the kitchen.

Harry wasn't too sure where he'd landed, or how exactly he'd got himself there, but whinging about it probably wasn't going to get him very far. Maybe the best thing would be just to accept the situation and move on - find his own way to get back home - that would be the kind of thing Hermione would do.

Ron, however, would want to check out the shelf near the window covered in shields and trophies; the ones with Harry's name on them. So Harry (naturally listening to Ron's advice) slid off the bed and made his way over to where they were glinting in the sunlight:

Player of the Year 1989, Under 11s Squad Team Captain, Award for Outstanding Achievement 1994 - these all seemed to be from a local Quidditch club called the Darby Green Dynamos. The one that interested Harry the most however was a relatively large silver trophy standing in the middle of the shelf with a gold medal on purple ribbon draped over the handles. On the cup were inscribed the words:

England Under 15s Squad

International Quidditch Association

Annual Play-Offs 1995

Second Place

Whereas the back of the medal said:

Most Promising Seeker, Harry Potter

IQA, 1995

"Wow," said Harry softly. He'd always loved flying, and there was no denying that Gryffindor currently (to him anyway) had the best side they'd had in years - after all, they had only lost one match in all the time Harry had played with them, and that wasn't even his fault. But this, this was..."Wow," he said again.

"Ah," said Lily, re-entering the room with a plate, "looking at that again are you, you can't have hit your head too hard. Do you have any idea how long that thing takes to polish?" She was pretending to sound annoyed, but when Harry turned round she was smiling. "Those damn Italians hay, but we'll whip them at the Under 16s I bet. I got you a corned beef sandwich by the way, how's that sound?"

Before he could answer there was a bang of a door downstairs and a voice cried; "Hey! Is anyone home?"

Lily put his sandwich down on his desk, "I guess that'll be your dad," she said cheerfully, and went out to great him. Harry however had gone week at the knees. His dad? Slowly, breathing deeply, he made his way to his door and out to the landing.

Their house was obviously big - a number of doors led off in various directions and there was a second flight of stairs leading upwards. Clinging to the banister, Harry took one step at a time downstairs, barely noticing all the photos that adorned the wall he was walking next to. As he turned the corner in the middle of the flight, Harry saw him standing at the foot of the stairs.

James Potter. His Father.

"Hey you! How's your head?" James called out cheerily, pulling off his gloves. Harry's knees finally gave way in response and he sat down sharply on the step. "Ah, that good hey?"

Concern crossed over both his parents' faces again, but Harry quickly assured them that he was actually feeling much better, just a little light-headed still. He didn't want them fussing.

Maybe there really was someone, some being out there that had decided to give him this second chance at his life. Whatever the case, Harry wanted to make the most of it whilst it lasted.

They walked down the corridor a little further to a closet where James proceeded to hang his coat. Harry knew they were talking about him, but he didn't care. He was watching them intently - his parents.

His father, his mother; they were standing right there. How long had he been wishing, dreaming for this moment - all those hours in that cupboard, lying awake at night, willing to hear the sounds of their voices, feel the touch of their skin. Harry felt he should say something more important, more momentous, but he couldn't think of anything. Something was better than nothing.

"So, er, where you been?" Harry asked his father, thinking about getting off the steps, then deciding better of it.

He wasn't really too sure how to talk with his parents, after all they were nothing like the Dursleys, and he had only occasionally spoken so casually with Sirius...Sirius! With a pang of guilt Harry realised he'd almost forgotten about Sirius. What had become of his godfather in this world he wondered?

"Me and Sarah went to chuck the Quaffle around for a bit," said James, "her aim's getting much better y'know," he added to Lily, whilst Harry considered who Sarah might be.

He didn't have to wait long for an answer; a moment later a young girl with long black hair tied behind her head walked through the archway from the living room. She wore a forest green cloak and was pulling off a pair of Quidditch gloves - the fingerless kind Harry himself wore.

"Ah, here's my little champion," remarked his mother, "I hear you didn't knock anyone unconscious this time round."

"Oh mum! " said the girl, who Harry could only assume to be Sarah.

He had a sister.

***

When Harry had been younger, he'd often dreamt of someone - maybe long lost family of some kind - coming to whisk him away from his spider-filled cupboard, and take him somewhere, somewhere far away, where you were allowed to lick the icing from the bowl, even though it would probably make you sick. Somewhere with loud music, a bed you could hide under when the witching hour began and a garden with gnarled trees for climbing. Someone who had a dog or a cat named Spot, someone who could laugh until they cried.

But most of all, more than anything else, he'd wanted a brother or a sister. And now suddenly, he had exactly that.

Sarah, Harry guessed, was probably in her second year of Hogwarts (or would be rather) and looked extraordinarily like himself, except she wasn't wearing glasses. Her whole face was animated; especially those green eyes. She was looking straight at him...

No, Harry suddenly realised, she was talking to him, and he hadn't heard a word of it.

"Er, sorry?" he said apologetically, "I missed that."

"Honestly Harry," said Sarah, rolling her eyes, "if you were any dozier you'd be a flobber worm and I'd have to feed you lettuce." She came and sat down on the next to him, their parents had gone through the living room, and sounded to be in the kitchen.

"I said: 'How's your head, it's not going to fall off is it 'cuz it's big and heavy and we'd have to kick out the door 'cuz no one could pick it up' and then I asked you out for Cho Chang, but you're obviously not interested so I'll just have to go tell her no." At the end of this she gave Harry a rather innocent look that reminded him strongly of Fred and George Weasley. I think I'm going to like having a sister he thought with a grin.

"So, Cho Chang?" he asked. Sarah nodded, still keeping the oh-not-so-sincere look splashed all over her face. He laughed. Maybe some things never change, even in Alternate Realities.

"Hey, do you want to put my Firebolt away with me?" said Sarah getting up, "you could see Hedwig, she only came back a couple of hours ago."

Apparently there were other things that hadn't changed either.

***

Sarah took Harry out the back door into a very large garden. It was nicely kept with colourful flowers spilling out all over the place - neater than the Weasleys, but a mess compared to Aunt Petunia's...which really wasn't a hard thing to accomplish when you considered that Aunt Petunia tended to measure the grass with a ruler.

Poking their heads out of the various forms of plant life were all sorts of little stone ornaments; cute gnomes with big hats, gargoyles, toads and griffins. Angels adorned the water feature to Harry's left, and they winked and waved as he and his sister walked past.

Harry stopped and turned round to take a good look at his house. It was even bigger than he'd initially thought, and appeared to be in the middle of nowhere - or at least well back from any town. He could see the Quidditch trophies by his own window shinning in the weak sunshine. Other windowsills contained the backs of photo frames, ornate crockery and fat teddy bears. Through one of the pairs of curtains on the ground floor he could see a piano - maybe Sarah was learning? It never occurred to Harry that he might be the one who tinkled with the ivory.

Then without warning, Harry was hit with images of a night fifteen years ago, when someone from a very different place had arrived at this house to find it in ruins, and Harry himself crying helpless amidst the debris. He shuddered. For four and a half years that had been his nightmare, and now he felt he was looking at a ghost.

"You alright?" said Sarah, "not going to faint again or anything?" With some effort Harry pulled him self away from that vision, for now at least, it had never happened.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he assured her. She rolled her eyes.

"You do realise I'm going to be thirteen in a few months," she said as she put her hands on her hips, "you can stop treating me like a two year old." She poked her tongue out and strutted off. Was this how all teenage sisters acted? Harry couldn't help but wonder.

Swaying up ahead in the November breeze were the trees Harry had seen from his bedroom window; now he could see them more closely they looked almost as gnarled as the ones he used to daydream about. Harry stuck his hands in his pockets, and shivered slightly - it was pretty damn freezing out here. His breath looked like baby Norbert's steam, though with a little less sparkage.

Sarah put her broom in a shed set into some evergreen trees - there were a couple of rusty bikes in there (could Harry ride a bike in this reality he pondered?) as well as the usual gardening tools and a growling old fridge-freezer - presumably generated by magic, not electricity. Sarah then led Harry to their own little owlery.

"She's a bit tired," Sarah informed Harry, "she only just got back from Galway - but she'll be well pleased to see you I bet." She walked under the covered archway where five or six owls of varying sizes and colours were sleeping. Harry wondered fleetingly why his owl would have flown to Southern Ireland, but then a familiar hoot reached his ears and the snowy white bird swooped gracefully down onto his shoulder.

"It's good to see you here," said Harry softly, scratching Hedwig's head. She nipped his ear affectionately. He couldn't believe she was here; what were the chances? He smiled, "I should have known you'd find me - you always do..."

Harry had a thought.

As Sarah filled up the owls' water bowl, Harry whispered something even softer into Hedwig's ear:

"I have a job for you old friend."