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Chapter Text

There were hands reaching for him, he knew, and voices calling out...but they were too slow to react, and by the time they reached him, he was already stepping through the Veil, chasing after Sirius in a singleminded pursuit.

He found himself standing in a room he didn’t recognize. The room held only two items - a few steps in front of him was an old, worn chair, and behind him, when he turned to look, was a familiar mirror.

The Mirror of Erised looked much the same as the last time he saw it, in its dusty and battered silver frame, but that was not the point that caught his eye.

Standing in the mirror stood Sirius Black, smiling happily. As he stared, the man raised a hand and gave a wave, stepping back as he did.

Waving goodbye.

“No,” Harry said, approaching the mirror in long strides and reaching out as Sirius faded from view. “No, come back, don’t-...”

His fingers touched the surface of the mirror, and in the same instant, the glass shattered.

Shards flung outward beneath his hand shot toward his exposed arm, slicing several harsh cuts into it, and he hissed at the sting. Pulling his arm back, he racked his brain for a healing spell, but his panicked state and frazzled nerves scattered all sense from his brain.

The second a spell occurred to him, he pulled out his wand, resting the tip against his arm, and breathed out, “Reparo.”

Pain lit up the entirety of each scar, and he watched the cuts slowly dry out, the blood retreating back into his veins, the skin knitting itself back together in ugly grey lines as it cleared.

“Shit,” he breathed. He could remember, in hindsight, Hermione once explaining that item repair spells and skin repairing spells were different, and that he would have been better suited with an Episkey, but his thoughts kept slipping through his fingers.

In the shattered glass, he saw his own face, looked haggard and utterly devastated, but somehow still not as horrible as he felt.

Where was he? Hogwarts, presumably. He headed to the door, opening it to glance out into the hall.

That bit, he recognized. It was the corridor outside the Room of Requirement.

Harry shot one last look over his shoulder at the broken mirror, and stepped from the room.

The dreamlike feeling didn’t fade from him, the world still feeling fuzzy and distant, and he followed his feet without giving thought to where they were taking him.

Their destination turned out to be the Astronomy Tower. He couldn’t even remember walking up to it, but found himself standing there nonetheless, staring out at the night sky.

His eyes were drawn to the ramparts, and the thin banister that surrounded the outside, a weak protection from anything dropping down. Anything, like a student’s school things, or important equipment-...

...Or a person.

Harry was so close to that bannister, he realized. His hands reached out of their own accord, wrapping around the metal line.

Sirius was dead, he realized. His friends, who he abandoned without hesitation - they were probably dead, too.

There was no one left to miss him.

His foot shifted forward, propping itself against a lower bar of the railings. He pushed himself up a second later, other foot joining the first, so that he was stood on the edge, leaning over into the empty space.

The drop looked endless. The dreamy feeling wouldn’t leave, and he felt almost as if it were speaking to him, phantom hands on his arms pulling him forward.

Harry, whispers in the winds called to him. Harry.

“Harry!”

Something latched onto the back of his robe, and he was yanked back harshly, stumbling back from the edge to avoid being choked by his collar.

Wait.

Robe?

He looked down as he was released, and had half a second to be bewildered by his suddenly reappearing Hogwarts uniform before someone grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.

“What were you doing?” the person demanded.

...A familiar person. He raised his eyes, blinking in shock as he met those of his former teacher.

“Remus?” Harry asked, incredulous. “What are you doing here?”

Remus looked outraged. He reared back, shoving a hand into his own robe, and a moment later it emerged with the Marauder’s Map, which he thrust into Harry’s chest.

“I had that charmed in your third year, Harry,” Remus informed him, entirely nonsensically. “It tells me when you’re up to something. Like standing up on the bloody Astronomy Tower in the middle of the night, well after curfew, when you should be in bed. ”

Harry frowned, looking down at the parchment. It was folded, even slightly crumpled around one side - likely from an angry Remus gripping it too tightly - but he could see most of a symbol there. A snake chasing its own tail spun in a loop, making a neat circle, and within that circle were the words LEGACY MISCHIEF.

Legacy. Him? Was that a reference to his father? Something told him the connection was not meant to be flattering.

“And I find you up here,” Remus continued, “leaning of the side of the tower like a fool. What were you thinking? You could have fallen, Harry.”

Harry glanced toward the ramparts again. He felt like the phantoms were still there, beckoning to him, but they were weaker now. More confusing than enchanting, and his frown deepened at their presence.

What was going on? What were those things? What did they want from him?

...Why did they want him to jump?

“...Go back to your dorm, Harry,” Remus murmured to him. “Please. Just...go back to bed. I’ll deal with you in the morning, when you’re rested. You look like you need it.”

His dorm? Rest? He couldn’t just go to bed while his friends were…

“I have to-...” He started, taking a step toward the edge again, only to be stopped by Remus’ grip tightening on his arms.

He turned offended eyes on Remus, unable to grasp why he wasn’t allowed to go.

Remus, however, was unrelenting. “Don’t, Harry,” he said - almost pleading now. “Let me-...go to bed. Tomorrow we’ll talk about this. You’re not in your right mind right now.”

The cloudy feeling was starting to ease, and when he looked back to the balcony, the phantoms were fading.

“...Okay,” he said, through his confusion. “Bed. I need...I need to sleep.”

Remus’ shoulders dropped a bit, and he reached out, gently prying the map out of Harry’s hands. “I’ll take you back to the dorm,” he said, “and then I’ll be watching this. All night, Harry, so don’t even think about heading back out. You understand?”

Remus was so angry with him. Something else was there, too, but the world was still so fuzzy.

Maybe sleep would clear the fog in his mind.

Remus guided him out of the tower with a hand latched onto his upper arm, the grip bruising without the man seeming to realize it, and Harry found himself scrambling for any bits of sense among the strange dreamy feelings as the influence of the strange force from the ramparts faded.

Where was he? Why was he in Hogwarts, in uniform, with Remus of all people?

What had happened with Sirius? Where was he?

When Harry passed through the Veil...did he die? Was this some sort of afterlife? Did that mean Remus had died, too?

Nothing made sense, and his mind wasn’t cooperating enough for him to piece anything together.

Sleep, then. Or, at the very least, rest, until he was well enough to look into what had happened.

When they reached the Hogwarts dorm, Remus stopped in front of it, looking to Harry.

He didn’t remember the password.

Remus must have caught that Harry wasn’t about to open it - if not necessarily why, judging from his continued annoyance - and offered the password to the portrait instead, escorting Harry through it.

“Go to bed,” he ordered a final time, releasing Harry’s arm. “I won’t do anything about this until we speak tomorrow, but you had best have an explanation for this little adventure.”

Before he left, Remus paused in the doorway, and delivered a last blow in parting.

“You’re lucky,” he said, “that it was me who caught you. I can’t imagine how your father would have taken it.”

He was gone before Harry could ask what the hell that meant.

He stumbled his way up to the dorms in a daze, somehow found his bed, and was asleep before he was even fully in it.

“The hell’s wrong with you?”

Harry groaned, raising himself up off the bed, lifting his face from the pillow it had been smushed into.

His dreams...they’d been so odd. The Astronomy Tower, the phantoms - before that, even, with the mirror, and-...

Sirius. Harry shot up, throwing himself off the bed and onto his feet, scrambling in search for his wand.

He’d left. He’d left in the middle of a battle and if he was lucky, there would still be people left alive to hate him for it. He had to- he needed-

“Whoa, mate, calm down,” the person who’d woken him said, a hand dropping down on his shoulder. Harry rounded on them instantly, wand half raised, to see an alarmed and vaguely apologetic looking Ron Weasley.

“Robins says you got dragged back in by your ears last night,” Ron said. “By Lupin. How’d you piss him off?”

Robins. Demelza Robins? She was in the DA.

She was probably dead, if he’d left her behind, like everyone else. Hogwarts should have been burning to the ground around him.

Instead, it looked perfectly normal, quite the same as it had always been.

That was another point in favor of the afterlife theory - right up there with Remus mentioning his father.

“You must’ve had a night,” Ron continued, looking him over. “Passing out in your clothes and all. Did you sneak off to get pissed? Should’ve invited me. Actually, no, not if you were caught. Last thing I need is your family thinking they need to be watching me as close as they do you.”

Right. Remus said he’d put a special charm on the Marauder’s Map to track him specifically.

In this conjured universe, his troublemaking habits were apparently no better than his ones-...when he was alive? Was that it?

The only thing he could think of was to hunt down Remus and try and get more information.

Which, he supposed, wouldn’t be hard, because the man had been rather insistent that they would talk when Harry woke up.

As quickly as he could manage, Harry freshened himself up - mostly through quick cleaning charms, as he had no sort of time for a shower - and headed out of the dorms and down to the Great Hall.

Once he was through the grand doors, a few things came to his attention:

One.Dumbledore was at the headmaster’s seat, so Umbridge wasn't a problem he had to deal with in anymore. It did, however, mean that if he was right and this was an afterlife, Dumbledore had died and Umbridge and Snape had both lived. An unfair trade.

Two. Remus was not at the Professor's table. His seat was empty. Harry would have to find him elsewhere.

Three. Next to his empty seat was a taken seat, held by a man who was distinctly not Snape. Instead of a long nose, sneer, and greasy hair, this man had soft black curls and a gentle smile.

He also looked disturbingly familiar, though Harry had no name to put to him.

“Bloody hell,” someone said, and Harry looked to the source, a seventh year Gryffindor he didn't recall the name of. “Harry Potter's blessed us with his presence.”

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, not really sure what the joke was meant to be beyond its mocking tone.

“Oh, still too good for the common rabble, even when he shows his face.”

Harry turned a frown on the boy, but didn't get the chance to demand an explanation for what that meant before an arm was dropping around his shoulders.

“Harry!” one of the Weasley twins greeted - Fred, he saw, and when he turned to look, George was grinning at him on his other side.

“I heard the most interesting thing this morning,” George said.

“Yes, yes, the portraits were all whispering about it,” Fred continued.

“So, Harry, w-...”

Harry liked the twins fine, and he would apologize to them later for it, but he was impatient. “I don't have time to tell you the story. I need to find Professor Lupin.”

“He's a professor when he's mad,” Fred mock-whispered.

“He's in his office,” George told him. “Least, that’s where he should be.”

“If he's still watching you,” Fred finished. “Apparently he stayed up all night for that. He's probably in a right terrible mood.”

“He was yesterday,” Harry muttered in reply. Then, louder, he said, “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

The twins looked shocked for a second, but Harry didn't waste the time to analyze that, just headed out.

Halfway to Remus’ office, he caught sight of someone he was not very happy to see.

“Potter!” Malfoy called out, his small following of Slytherins at his heels as he approached. “You didn't show yesterday. Chicken out?”

Harry had no idea what they were even meant to be doing the day before, and thus had no idea how he should respond. This was Malfoy, though, and whether they were still alive or not and whatever was going on, Malfoy was a pain in the ass.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” he told the other boy. “I don't have time for this.”

Malfoy huffed in response. “You’re in a mood,” he jeered. “Must be true, then. The family pet caught you out.”

Harry had been preparing to simply walk past the group, but at those words, he stilled. “...What?”

“What did Lupin give you?” the other boy continued, unbothered by the tense set of Harry’s shoulders. “Detention for a week? Docked points? A letter to your dad?”

Harry turned, taking satisfaction in the way his cool glare halted Malfoy in the middle of his commentary. “What did you call him?”

“What, your dad’s pet?” Malfoy asked, sounding incredulous, as though he couldn’t think of a single reason why that would get Harry so close to hexing him. “Don’t tell me you two have bonded, or some nonsense. Honestly, even you can’t keep up with how many people you hate.”

“I don’t hate him,” Harry defended immediately.

The whole group went stone silent.

“...News to me,” Malfoy said, slowly, watching Harry like he’d sprouted a second head.

What’s going on? Harry thought, looking to the side, taking in all the equally confused Slytherin faces. Why do they think I hate Remus?

Come to think of it, Remus seemed to think Harry hated him, the day before. He was certainly angry at him, and apparently made a habit of keeping track of him, so maybe...Maybe, whatever was going on, they weren’t close. Maybe Remus blamed him for everyone dying?

He looked over the Slytherin faces, frowning. Death Eater’s kids, the lot of them, Harry thought. They had no reason to be dead - much as he would appreciate karma balancing their sides a bit.

Maybe the afterlife theory wasn’t as sound as he’d thought.

So what, then? He’d stepped through the Mirror of Erised when he arrived. Stepped through the Veil, from the other side.

The mention of his father, the implication James was alive, suggested he might have ended up somehow in the world he’d seen in the glass years before.

The phantoms, though. Were those the Veil? Was that hypnotic call to jump the residual effect of that mysterious artifact?

Neither explanation told him why everyone seemed to expect him to side with Malfoy and not Remus.

“I don’t,” he repeated, voice low and slow to make it clear there was no room for debate about it. “And you can keep your fucking mouth shut about him, thank you.”

Malfoy’s nose crinkled up, whole face taking on an honestly disgusted appearance. “What’s gotten into you? Going blood traitor from all the time with that Weasley?”

The next second, several things happened. First, Harry’s temper snapped, and he whipped out his wand, pointing it straight at Malfoy’s face and scouring his mind for the most vile hex he thought he could reasonably get away with on school grounds. Second, Malfoy stumbled back a couple steps, both him and his following reacting with surprise and, if he recognized the looks properly, fear.

Third, a voice shouted out an “Expelliarmus!” and his wand flew out of his hand.

All eyes, both his and the Slytherins’, flicked to the source of the shout, to see the man from Snape’s seat stalking up to them.

“Draco Malfoy, you’re going to be costing your house points,” the man snapped at him. “I’ll figure out how many when I know what happened. Go to class.”

The Slytherins left without question, Malfoy tossing Harry one last confused look over his shoulder.

“And you,” the man continued, looking down to Harry. “What the hell were you thinking?”

That...was not a typical reprimand. Harry imagined it as something McGonagall might say, within the privacy of a closed office. Not something to throw out in the middle of a corridor, with students all around stopped to gawk.

His eyes trailed around them, looking at all the horrified and shocked looks being sent his way.

What was going on?

“Don’t look at them,” the professor said, hand grabbing Harry’s shoulder to catch his attention back. “You’re dealing with me. What on Earth were you about to do to Mr. Malfoy, Harry?”

“...I hadn’t decided,” Harry answered. It seemed to him a fairly neutral answer, as he wasn’t sure how sarcastic or blunt this particular unknown professor would let him be.

He was, as it turned out, wrong.

“You hadn’t decided?” the professor echoed. “Harry James Potter, you don’t point your wand in someone’s face when even you don’t know what you’re about to do.”

His full name made him flinch back a bit, unfamiliar and jarring because of it. It also added another level to this professor’s oddness - this scolding seemed less academic and more personal . Not quite the level of Snape’s biased attacks against him, but he was definitely being singled out for this.

This was something the man had said before, he realized. Whatever strange world he’d stumbled into, Malfoy thought they were allies, and the professors thought he was little more than a troublemaker.

He was really getting sick of being confused.

“What were you even doing?” his questioning continued. “What could possibly make you attack one of your friends?”

“We’re not friends,” Harry snapped back on reflex, only to regret it instantly when the crowds around them broke out in whispers, eyes darting to him and away again as the gathered students reacted to his apparently shocking revelation.

The teacher seemed to finally notice that this was not a good place for their conversation, because he grabbed Harry by the arm - much like Remus had, his fingers almost lining up with the sore points from the night before, suggesting this was common - and starting to haul him down the hallway.

“Go to class,” he addressed the gawkers, who scattered away as they passed. To Harry, he explained, “We’re going to my office.”

“I was supposed to meet-..”

“I don’t care if your friends are waiting for you, Harry,” the professor said. “They’ll just-...”

“No, not my friends,” Harry huffed out, growing annoyed: he was confused and angry and in unfamiliar territory, and no one was fucking listening to him. “I was supposed to meet Remus.”

The professor stilled for a second, before starting off again, at a slightly smoother pace. “Professor Lupin,” he corrected, but it was done in a mutter than suggested it was not something he was really concerned about. “Why were you meeting him?”

“I was out after curfew.”

The professor turned a frown down at him. “And what were you doing that constituted a meeting rather than a detention?”

Harry shrugged - or, attempted to, only really successfully moving one shoulder, as the grip on his other arm tightened in response to the perceived attempt to pull free.

A hum was his only response to that, and a moment later, they were in front of Remus’ office door, the other professor knocking firmly on the door.

Harry leaned away from the door a bit, trying to get himself as far from both men as possible as the door opened. He didn’t know what was going on or what sort of situation he’d found himself in, but he knew both of these people were angry with him, and that at least one of them expected him to be a prejudiced asshole about the werewolf status of the only one he actually knew.

The unknown professor apparently took this shying away as another attempt to flee, as he hauled Harry forward, pushing him by Remus and into the office.

“Regulus,” Remus greeted, sounding tired. “I see you’ve found our fugitive.”

Harry’s spine snapped up straight. Regulus? As in Regulus Black? Sirius’ brother?

...Wasn’t he dead?

Well, Harry supposed. That’s back to the afterlife theory, I guess.

Something really weird was going on in, and Harry was starting to lose track of how many things he didn’t understand.

“I did,” Regulus said. “Found him in the middle of a corridor, trying to hex Draco Malfoy.”

Remus straightened up a bit himself at that, looking to Harry with wide eyes.

Why was that so surprising? He found it really hard to imagine himself in any world being a pacifist, so that probably wasn’t it. Were they really friends here? And where was here?

“Harry,” Remus said, and for once, he didn’t sound angry. His voice was soft, instead, and tired, the way it had gently calmed him after the Dementor attacks. “What’s going on with you?”

Harry felt the grip on his arm ease a bit, and Regulus asked a cautious, “What do you mean, Remus? Harry said you caught him out last night, but wouldn’t say what he was doing.”

Remus looked hesitant for a moment. “I…”

“Remus,” Regulus said, gentle but firm. “He’s my son.”

Harry froze.

...They’d called him Potter, but they’d never named his father when they mentioned him. Had he found a world where he’d been adopted?

By a family of Death Eaters?

“The Map alerted me that he was out at night, and I followed it up to the Astronomy Tower.” Regulus had the beginning of a disgusted breath slipping out between his lips, clearly making an assumption, when Remus pressed forward and added, “Which he was rather close to jumping off of.”

The grip on his arm slackened completely, the hand almost falling away, and Harry took advantage of it to pull free.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he tried to explain. “None of this makes any sense. Why am I even here?”

Both men turned horrified looks on him, and it occurred to Harry that those words from a person they believed to be suicidal were probably not as clear as he’d intended them.

“I mean, why is everything-...” He struggled for words that wouldn’t feed into the misunderstanding further. “Why am I friends with a prick like Draco Malfoy? Why does everyone seem to think I am a prick like Draco Malfoy? Where is-...”

They weren’t looking any closer to understanding. Regulus, in fact, looked a bit like he was wanting to cry.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Harry tried. “Yesterday, I was-...”

“Harry,” Remus interrupted. “You-...”

“Would you-..!” Harry snapped, and all three of them flinched at his shout. “No one is bloody listening to me, and I’m trying to explain that this isn’t... mine . My Hogwarts, my family, my friends - they’re not this. This is something else.”

“I don’t follow,” Remus murmured. “Harry, what are you-...”

“The Mirror of Erised is broken,” Harry tried. “I don’t know how, but I went.. Through it. This is not where I’m supposed to be. I’m supposed to be...Hell, I don’t even know. I don’t know where I’m meant to be, just...not here.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what any of this is. I don’t know how I got here.”

The words weren’t coming. It was like the fog from the Veil again, only in reverse - instead of everything feeling dulled and distant, it felt all too much, piling onto him and suffocating him under a million unasked questions.

“You were using the mirror?” Regulus demanded. “Harry, what- You shouldn’t mess with magical artifacts. That is bewitching. People have gone mad in front of that thing.”

“I know,” Harry said. “I hadn’t looked at it in years. But I did, and before it broke I saw something, but it wasn’t my mum-...”

“Oh, Harry…”

Harry cut off, the and dad lost at the two sad looks being directed at him. The rushing in his ears grew louder, the air in front of him thinning further, words and simple breath both evading him. “What?”

Hands landed on his shoulders, and he flinched under their touch. Remus - the one who’d grabbed him, it seemed - hesitated for a moment at that, but only a split second, before dragging him forward into a hug.

He stood, uncomfortable, in the arms of a man he’d never actually met until today. A man who claimed to be his father here and hugged him like he was dying.

Which, he supposed, they thought he was. He wasn’t even certain they were wrong. Those phantoms had been there, and until he knew what was happening or why they had wanted him to follow them, he couldn’t really say for certain that this wasn’t something that would kill him. Perhaps this was the scheme all along, throwing him through the Veil into a mimicry of their world that was simultaneously his greatest dreams and his worst nightmares. A family, sure, but they hated him. Friends, plenty of them, but mostly blood purist pricks.

Not famous, but infamous. Feared rather than idolized.

They didn’t need to kill him if they just drove him too mad to fight back.

Arguing with the spectre family seemed like a waste of time. Whether they were conjured for a trick of magic or were real within the confines of an unknown universe, they were very obviously not interested in actually learning what he was trying to explain, too set on their firm opinion that he’d simply gone barmy and decided to kill himself.

No one left to miss you, the phantoms had cooed. Maybe this was what they meant - not that everyone who knew him was dead, just that he’d entered a realm where no one would mourn him if he did die.

“You know I have to tell your dad, right?”

Harry frowned as Regulus released him. Had he not just said that he was Harry’s father? Oh, Merlin, what if he was a stepfather or something? His parents had been an ideal love story whenever people talked about it to him, but people embellished all the time. Maybe in a world where James lived, they got divorced and Lily went and married somebody else.

Like a Death Eater.

…He really hoped he was wrong, there.

At least he’s not Snape, Harry thought, which brought a grimace to his face before he could catch it.

“And I think you should take a few days off from classes,” Regulus continued. “Head back home for a bit, spend some time with family, try and…” He gestured vaguely. “I don’t know. Just feel better, I suppose.”

“I’m okay,” Harry answered flatly. “But the Mirror-...”

“Harry, forget about the Mirror,” Remus said. “We’re worried about you.”

“And I am worried about the Mirror,” Harry snapped back. “I don’t know how to fix it, I don’t know why it changed before it broke, I don’t even know how I broke it. I don’t know what happened when it broke, either, because there was definitely some kind of magic on it that backfired when it shattered and made everything feel like I was asleep, and then I was on the top of the Astronomy Tower and something was trying to tell me I’d gone and buggered up enough to make sure there was no one left to miss me.”

Regulus’ breath caught, to his side, and Harry winced.

Remus, luckily, seemed a bit more focused, eyes narrowing. “You think you were under a spell?”

“I know I was,” he said. “Something the Veil did-...”
“The Veil?”

“Of Death,” Harry said. “It’s-...”

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Remus breathed out. “From the damn Department of Mysteries? Did you break into your dad’s office?”

...Was his dad an Unspeakable?

Not relevant, he told himself. Not yet, anyway. For now, he faltered, before asking, “Can I ask you something odd? Will you promise just to answer, and not ask why I want to know?
“No,” Regulus said immediately, voice still sounding a bit choked. “But ask anyway.”

At least he was honest. “Can you tell me everything you know about Voldemort?”

Regulus’ eyebrows rose. “Harry,” he said, slowly. “Your grandparents may have followed him for a bit, but the Aurors took him down for a reason. Don’t go entertaining his ideals.”

“Aurors,” Harry breathed. “He was killed?”

Looking incredibly confused, Regulus nodded. “Decades ago. When I was still in school. It’s barely even qualified as standard history, Harry, why is this important?”

“I…”

No Voldemort. A rather garbage Harry Potter, it seemed, but no Voldemort.

His worst nightmares, but also his greatest dreams.

“...I think he used the Veil,” he said. “I think…”

He looked around, taking in Remus’ office. It looked cozy, and he could see lots of soft things scattered about on chairs and such, and pictures hanging on one wall. The largest of those depicted a wide smiling young Remus standing side-by-side with equally young Sirius Black, who was holding a baby with familiar brown skin and black curls.

That baby should have had a scar across his forehead. That baby should have been left on a doorstep. That baby should have grown up in hell.

“I shouldn’t be alive,” he realized. “He was supposed to kill me.”

Beside him, he thought he heard Regulus finally break, starting to softly cry. He couldn’t focus on that, though. The fog was back, crawling up to cover his mouth, and between breaths it took him under.

His last sight before passing out was a flash in the photo he’d been staring at, the faintest flicker on the baby’s forehead, showing the phantom of a scar he’d not ever received.

Chapter Text

“...and he just fainted?”

The world was swimming, and Harry was far too tired to try and pry his eyes open, choosing instead to simply listen to the conversation he’d awoken into the middle of.

“I think he had a panic attack,” Remus said, his gentle tone offsetting the harshness of the admittance. “We were talking about some...stressful things.”

“I didn’t know,” a hoarse, rough sounding voice added. Regulus, Harry realized. He sounded much different than his angry voice. He’d definitely been crying. “Merlin, Remus, how long has he been-…?”

“Been what?” A third person asked, and Harry’s sleepy brain eventually matched it to Madam Pomfrey. He was in the medical wing, then. “Don’t tell me he’s been taking something. Hunting down an illegal potions supplier within Hogwarts is-...”

“I imagine it’s difficult,” Remus said, voice a bit tense, “but I don’t think he’s on anything. He mentioned thinking he was under a spell at one point, after messing with an artifact, but I don’t know if I think that has anything to do with..the rest of it.”

“Are either of you going to tell me what I’m treating?” Pomfrey demanded. “Or am I just supposed to guess?”

“Depression,” Remus told her.

There was a silence over them.

“...I’d ask if you were joking,” Pomfrey said slowly, “but I can tell by your faces you aren’t. How’d you find out?”

“Stopping a suicide attempt.”

“Merlin.”

Harry struggled to try and wake up fully, to respond, to add any kind of denial, but instead, he was just dragged back under into sleep.

Regulus was having one of the worst days of his life.

It had started off perfectly normal, right up to the point where he found his son attacking a boy he’d thought Harry was friends with. The attack itself wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever caught Harry doing on a whim, but the only bit of the argument that he’d managed to catch were the words blood traitor and Weasley, and he didn’t want to know how awful an insult the Malfoy boy hurled at Harry’s classmates to make him actually get defensive.

But maybe he was just having a bad day, because according to Remus, he was a day off an attempt on his life.

And now, with his admissions done and his energy exhausted, they were free to examine Harry for any hidden problems - which, unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey actually found .

“Heavens above,” the matron whispered, before dissolving into incomprehensible murmurs that sounded an awful lot like creative cursing.

“What?” Remus asked, stepping up to her. “What did you- oh.”

Regulus didn’t even have the strength to say anything, just walked up behind them, and let out an involuntary wounded noise when he saw what they were on about.

Harry’s arm was covered in scars, the sort of thick and ugly ones that must have been agonizing to put there.

“Reg!”

Regulus let out a harsh, relieved sigh, turning to watch as James stormed into the room. Sirius came behind him at a slightly more sedate pace, looking more concerned where James looked furious.

“Moony, what the hell is going on?” James demanded. “They wouldn’t tell me anything, just that Harry was-...”

He cut off as Regulus grabbed at him, dragging him into a hug.

“Reg, what’s happened?” James murmured, holding him gently, finally calming a bit at his husband’s distress. “It’s not like you to get this worked up about something.”

“Something’s wrong with Harry,” Remus explained. “He-..he’s not doing well.”

“What does that mean?” James snapped. “What’s wrong? Is he sick, or hurt? Did someone attack him?”

“He attacked himself,” Regulus murmured to him. “Come, look.”

He pulled back from the hug, dragging James forward with him to Harry’s bedside.

“Bloody hell,” James breathed. “That’s…” He leaned over, fingertips resting against his son’s arm, trailing over the lines there. They were jagged in some places and straight in others, scattered at all different angles, with different dips and discoloration that suggested some had been significantly deeper than others. They all looked old, but that didn’t mean anything, with magic involved.

...Magic, indeed. He looked closer, squinting at the outer edges of one of the scars.

The uneven lines he’d seen were made up of smaller, perfectly straight lines, overlapping each other in a crosshatch pattern.

“Oh, Merlin,” James cursed. “Just as bloody stupid as I am, aren’t you?”

“What?” Regulus asked, hand on his shoulder as he leaned in to look as well.

“It’s a stitch line,” James said. “He used some sort of fabric repair spell, not a healing charm.”

“Why would he…?”

James looked up at Remus. “I don’t know,” he said. “It would have hurt like hell. Especially if he did it more than once.”

Remus and Regulus exchanged a long look, clearly taking more from that information than James had.

“What’s going on, love?” Sirius murmured, stepping up to Remus’ side. “Tell us.”

So, Remus took a deep breath, and did.

When Harry woke again, it was easier, and he managed to blink his eyes open right away this time.

Which, of course, he immediately regretted, because he looked up to find a cluster of adults all in various states of distress at his bedside.

Regulus was off to the side, fingers pressed against his mouth as he paced back and forth. Closer to the bed stood Remus, and - to his surprise - Sirius , the two murmuring to each other quietly.

Right at his bedside, hand on his arm, was James Potter.

“...Dad.”

James startled, eyes snapping up to meet Harry’s. “Harry,” he breathed out, sounding relieved. “You scared us.”

A second later, all four men were gathered close at the edge of his bed.

“Harry James Potter,” Regulus said, low and shaky, “don’t you ever do that to us again.”

“He used the full name,” James murmured to him. “That’s how you know he’s scared.”

“He...used it earlier,” Harry informed him, hesitant. “When he was yelling at me.”

“Yelling?” James echoed, before turning to look over his shoulder at Regulus. “When did you yell at him?”

“When he was about to hex a boy in the hallway,” Regulus replied.

James looked back to Harry, eyebrows up. “Starting fights?”

“Finishing them,” Harry said. Then, before he could be interrogated further, he asked, “Why are you here?”

James’ face fell a bit, the light-humored grin he’d been sporting becoming strained. “They asked me to. Said you were...sick.”

There was something off about his voice as he said that, and Harry slowly turned to look over the other faces in the room.

Remus looked apologetic; Regulus, just plain guilty.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry thought, dropping back against the mattress.

He must have said it out loud, because James scolded a weak, “Language.” At Harry’s incredulous look, he shrugged, and abandoned the token parenting to try and ask after his health again. “Harry, why didn’t you-...?”

“Stop,” Harry said, sitting up. “Stop, don’t ask me why I did or didn’t do anything, I don’t know. I should be-...”

“You shouldn’t-...”

“Would someone let me finish a sentence?” Harry snapped.

Silence fell over the room.

Harry let out a low, unhappy breath, and considered his circumstances. A father he’d never met was at his bedside, convinced that he was in a depression slump or something, while another man he’d never met that was also apparently his father, was standing nearby looking guilty for having been the one to mislead him in the first place. He was in some strange world, adjacent to their own, where there was no Voldemort and everyone was still alive and presumably doing well. The trade off was that he was apparently friends with Draco Malfoy, a blood purist asshole, and a generally shitty person.

His eyes sought out Sirius, locking onto his face, not seeing anything in the sorrow there that suggested he remembered a world where these things were so different, where he’d wandered through the Veil of Death and vanished.

He looked back to James, who was watching him intently, lips pressed into a thin white line. He looked like he was biting something back, probably waiting for Harry to use the silence he’d demanded to say something - anything at all, good or bad, whether an explanation or an excuse.

He had nothing. He didn’t know where he was, he didn’t know why the Veil had linked to the Mirror or why it had spat him out here. He knew of time travel magic, but was it possible that there was even more divergence in the realm of magic, that a second world could exist so loosely tied to his own, so different despite it having the same basis?

...Could he go home? Or was he stuck here, forever, among strangers who’d known him his whole life?

“...I’m fine,” he said. “I...what R- Professor Lupin saw, it was a spell. It backfired on me after I broke the Mirror, is all. I’m fine.”

To his side, James snorted.

Harry turned a bewildered (and somewhat offended) look to his father, who reached out and took his wrist again, dragging his arm up and into the light.

It was covered in scars. It took a moment for Harry to remember the glass shards that had blown into it, and the agony of the botched spell to fix them.

“Kid,” James said, “I know you don’t think it, but you’re a shit liar.”

Harry scowled, yanking his wrist back. “I’m not lying,” he said. “Why am I the one who has to explain myself? I’ve got nothing but accusations and shouting from any of you. You lot are determined to think what you want about me, so I don’t know why I should even have to be here. You can argue amongst yourselves over what you think is wrong with me, and I can go back to the Room of Requirement and see if I can’t figure out what went wrong with the Mirror.”

“Harry Potter, watch your mouth,” James told him, in a warning tone he usually hear from professors before they started docking serious points. “We’re just worried about you. We want to know the truth.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Yesterday,” he said, “I stepped through the Veil of Death.”

James frowned. “...You died?”

“No, literally,” Harry corrected. “The one in the Death Room at the Ministry.”

James froze, and then his eyes narrowed into suspicious squints. “How do you know about that? Have you been through my work things again?”

“I haven’t done anything,” Harry said. “This time yesterday, you were dead, and so were you-...” he nodded to Regulus, “And those of us that were alive were fighting to stay that way, in the Ministry. Then Sirius went through the Veil, and I followed him into it, and then I was spat out of the bloody Mirror of Erised and nothing makes any sense anymore.”

James moved, and a second later, he was pressing his wand’s tip against the crease of Harry’s elbow.

“What are you-...?”

“Testing for potions,” Remus explained. “Seeing if you’ve taken anything.”

“Inteligo,” James muttered.

The tip of his wand flared out a light, and it soaked into Harry’s skin. The glow faded for a moment, then hit his vein, flaring up brightly, visible through his skin.

James said nothing, just pushed up out of his chair and headed out of the room. Regulus shot Harry one last look before hurrying after him, and Sirius sighed out, “I’ll get them,” and followed them both out.

“They gave you a calming potion,” Remus said. “I’m not sure James realized that. I’ll explain when he calms down.”

“So you believe me?” Harry asked. “Or, at least, you don’t think I’m on drugs.”

“I think something’s happened to you,” Remus said, speaking each word as though they were chosen deliberately. “It doesn’t matter what it was. What matters is that it’s clearly bothering you, and we haven’t taken the time to notice, and for that, I’m sorry.”

“So you don’t believe me,” Harry summarized, letting out a low, defeated sigh. “I don’t know why I bothered. No one’s listened to me all year.”

“All year?” Remus echoed. “Having a bad one, are we?”

“Getting worse every day,” Harry confirmed, and then immediately winced, rushing to add, “I’m not-...”

“Relax, Harry,” Remus said. “We’re your family, and we love you. I know you don’t like us crowding you, but you’ve just...really scared us all. We’re worried.”

“I’m fine ,” Harry insisted. “I have no idea what’s going on here, I’m not even sure what day it is now, and I owe Malfoy a punch in the fucking mouth, but other than that, I’m fine.”

“What did Malfoy do?” Remus asked. “I was under the impression you two were friends. Regulus claims you said otherwise, though.”

“ If he considers himself my friend,” Harry said, because he very much doubted that could be possible in any universe, “he should keep your name out of his mouth. Does he know-.. What?”

Remus was looking at him with wide eyes, completely stunned. “You...He was talking about me? That’s why you got angry with him?”

“...Yes?”

Remus blinked, giving a short, surprised laugh. “He must have said something awful for it to have crossed a line with you.”

Harry remembered the confusion of the Slytherins when he said he didn’t hate Remus, and wondered - as he was doing often - what sort of prick he’d been in this world.

His current theory as to his situation was that this was a trick of Voldemort’s, trying to prove to him that his existence wasn’t the damaging part of Harry’s life - that he was perfectly capable of destroying everything all by himself.

If that were true, though, Voldemort had a lot to learn. Harry had grown up with a ‘family’ that hated him for every breath he drew. If everyone was still alive, he could bear them not liking him. He’d worry about being loved when he was back with his friends.

He wasn’t sure how much of this world was real, and how much was an illusion, but…

...Even if the world around him was just a spectre, it felt wrong to leave things how they were.

“Remus,” Harry murmured, catching the man’s attention. “You know...You know I don’t hate you, right?”

Remus looked at him with the same kind of open awe and adoration that Harry had once been met with in a pub, introducing himself at eleven to witches and wizards who admired him for something he hadn’t even done on purpose, and that was answer enough.

“Merlin,” Harry breathed. “I’m a right arse, aren’t I?”

Remus let out a startled huff of laughter. “You’re not so bad,” he said. “You’re...you’re a handful, certainly. Very opinionated, not very patient...but you’re ours. We love you.”

“So you said,” Harry muttered.

“Because it’s true.”

“Mm.”

Remus reached out, catching one of Harry’s hands in both of his own. “Harry,” he said, low and serious, “We do love you. We’re just...We’re so tired, Harry. Your parents, especially. You don’t make it easy on us.” He looked down, hands moving up to trail over the skin of his forearm, along the scars. “And...I know things aren’t easy for you, either-...”

Harry pulled his arm back, uncomfortable with the assumptions, but didn’t waste his breath on arguing further. “So what happens now?” he asked. “None of you are going to let this go, I can already tell.”

“We were thinking you’d take a week off classes, and go home with your dad,” Remus said. “Your papa and I will stay and teach, but we’ll come over by floo in the evenings.”

Papa. Not step-dad, then, but an actual parent’s title.

“Remus?” Harry asked, gently. At the man’s acknowledging hum, he continued, “...Where is my mum?”

Remus blinked, then looked slightly sad. “I think she is in Greece at the moment,” he said. “I could send her a letter, if you-...”

“No,” Harry said, cutting him off. “No, that’s fine. I just…” He’d just wanted to make sure she was alive, was all. “...What’s she doing in Greece?”

“Maybe you should write to her,” Remus said, rather than give an answer. “She’d come by in a heartbeat if she knew you were missing her, you know that.”

He didn’t, actually. He didn’t know anything about her, except that she had died to save him, and that she’d loved him so fiercely it had branded him. In this world, though, something else must have been going on, because she was nowhere to be seen.

...That brought up another question, though, and this one he couldn’t get away with asking outright: how the fuck did he have two dads?

Unless…

“...Dad,” Harry said slowly, “and...Papa?”

“Yes?” Remus asked. “What about them?”

Harry fumbled for a subtle way to ask are they together? without leading back into more bad explanations and offensive drug testing. “Ah, nothing,” he said, finally, figuring it wouldn’t be too hard to find out on his own if he did end up going back with them. “Just… sorting some things out in my head, is all.”

“A noble pursuit,” Remus murmured, lips quirked up in an amused little smile.

Any further commentary was cut off as the door opened again, Sirius slipping through it. There was arguing to be heard in the hall behind him, but it muffled enough when the door swung shut that it was almost immediately forgettable.

“Warzone out there,” Sirius breathed out, crossed the room to drape himself across Remus’ back. “We’re not like that, are we?”

“We’re worse,” Remus replied, without hesitation.

“It’s ‘cause he married a Slytherin,” Sirius sighed. “Terrible idea.”

“He married a Black,” Remus added. “He was doomed from the start.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sirius said. “You love me and you know it.”

Remus turned his head, smiling up at Sirius, who responded by leaning forward and giving him a gentle little peck of a kiss.

Harry looked away quickly, scrambling to process that. He supposed that answered his question about his parents, at least, if it did also give him a million more questions to ask.

“They’re not arguing about you, just so you know,” Sirius told him - which, honestly, Harry hadn’t even taken a moment to be concerned about it until he mentioned it.

“They’re not?” He asked, incredulous.

Sirius hesitated a moment. “...Anymore. Technically. They’ve moved past that, I think.”

Harry looked toward the door. “What is it now, then?”

“Probably scheduling,” Remus said. “They’ll spend a while trying to decide who stays with you through the week and who still works.”

“They could both work,” Harry said. “I’m fine.”

“Unlikely,” Sirius replied. “Eventually your papa is going to have his way, and they’re both going to be at home with you.”

“I’m by myself, then, am I?” Remus asked, not sounding particularly surprised. “Thrilling.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Harry tried again. “I don’t even-...”

“Give it up, kid,” Sirius told him. “Reggie is a stubborn bastard, and your dad can’t resist his puppy eyes to save his life.”

“Puppy eyes,” Remus echoed, sounding like he was trying not to laugh. “ Regulus has puppy eyes?”

“Maybe kitten eyes,” Sirius amended. “From an angry, spiteful little kitten.”

Harry considered what he’d seen of Regulus so far - his grief at Harry’s apparent struggling, and before that, his sharp anger at his confrontation with Malfoy. Annoyed as he was with the man, he felt bad for his father for having to deal with that turned on him.

The door swung open again, this time revealing Regulus, who crossed the room in long and deliberate strides.

“Harry,” he said, as he reached the bed. “A house elf is collecting your things at the moment. You’re spending a week at home, with us.”

His tone was firm, leaving no room for debate. His face, too, was set in harsh lines and utter stone.

Arguing with them, he’d already learned, was pointless. Instead, he just sighed, and offered a mutter of, “If I must.”

Regulus gave a single, sharp nod. “I’m going to inform the headmaster that you and I will be absent for a week.”

He didn’t wait for an agreement or dismissal, just turned and left. On his way out, he breezed right past a very tired looking James, who was on his own way back to Harry.

Sirius let out a low whistle. “You pissed him off something awful, didn’t you?”

“He’s in a mood,” James muttered, dropping down in a chair beside the bed. “He’ll calm down.”

Harry wondered if this was common, or if he’d just upset the balance of this strange world with his arrival. Likely the latter was at least partially to blame, as he’d done nothing but stress them out since he showed up, and they were still struggling to come to terms with things that weren’t even true while firmly ignoring anything he said as a nonsensical alibi.

“Sorry,” Harry offered, with that in mind. “I imagine that’s my fault.”

Everyone looked at him, various combinations of surprised and suspicious.

Right. He was a prick. How could he forget?

Rather than try and offer explanation or justification for his being suddenly decent, he leaned back again, looking up at the ceiling to avoid eye contact.

Maybe he could doze back off, manage a brief nap before he was dragged off into yet another area of unfamiliar territory.

As he closed his eyes to try, he missed James pulling out his wand, casting a muffling charm over the bed he was laid out on.

“Alright,” James said, when he was satisfied Harry would not be able to hear them. “What did you want to say?”

Remus shook his head, frowning at the boy, who appeared to be on his way back to sleep. “I really think something happened to him. He’s...different.”

“Different?” Sirius parroted back. “Different how?”

Remus wrung his hands. “He...He’s apologized more than once now, for things he would have snapped at us about only yesterday. And he claimed- well, apparently, his fight with the Malfoy boy was about me.”

James blinked. “What about you?”

“He said Malfoy was saying things he didn’t like, was all,” Remus said. “And when I wondered what could be so bad as to offend him, he got rather upset.” After a moment, he quietly added, “He told me that he doesn’t hate me. I must have looked surprised, because he just...he looked devastated, James.”

James looked to Harry, pushing his glasses up on his nose a bit, watching his son curiously. The boy had always been difficult, and none of them had ever really figured out why. James’ penchant for mischief and general lack of respect had combined with Lily’s sharp tongue and iron spine to create a bane upon all authority, family included.

If he was having a change of heart, James would take it...but he really didn’t want to know what could have caused it.

“There’s something else, James,” Remus said, slowly, sounding reluctant to mention it at all. When their eyes met, he quietly informed him, “I think he misses his mother.”

James straightened a bit. He and Lily had gone their separate ways when Harry was very young, her gravitating towards magical research that took her on journeys across the globe whilst James preferred his work in the Ministry, which made him better suited to be the one who kept Harry. No one had ever been bitter or angry about it, as far as he knew, but…

...Maybe he hadn’t looked close enough. Harry was old enough, then, that he might have taken offense to her leaving. Old enough that he would resent them for her being away, resenting them more the longer Lily went between visits.

“He was talking about the Mirror of Erised,” Remus continued. “And he let it slip that what he saw in it originally was his mum.”

James examined Harry’s face as he slept, noting how restful it wasn’t. His features were all pinched and strained, and he looked almost as though the sleep was more taxing than being awake had been. Which, honestly, was saying something, because he looked absolutely knackered, and Regulus had claimed it had been even worse when they caught him originally.

Was the answer that simple? That Harry possibly just resented them for the idea that they might have been the ones to make Lily leave?

If so, what changed? Why come around now?

Maybe he had taken something - the test was useless, apparently, because Regulus reminded him that they’d poured a calming potion down the boy’s throat immediately when they found out what was happening - and his babble about the Ministry and death was from some strung out potion dream.

Or, maybe, someone had said something to him, or- or done something, he didn’t know, possibly he got into a fight or-...

Speculation didn’t get him anywhere, though. He was an Auror, they dealt in facts.

The facts he knew were that Harry was unwell, and that he was taking whatever was wrong out on himself. And, of course, that whenever he tried to explain, he dissolved into babbling.

….Oh, no, he couldn’t have. Could he?

James stood up again, dropping the muffling charm to come up to Harry’s side. Yet again, he pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Harry’s forehead, murmuring the diagnostic spell and dragging it downward along the length of his body.

Around his throat and chest, the spell revealed a thick purple smoke, unlike anything James had ever seen.

“What is that?” Sirius asked. “It looks like-...”

“A curse,” Remus breathed out. “There’s a curse on him. That’s why he can’t tell us what’s happening. Someone’s cursed him to keep silent.”

“Find out who,” Sirius said, voice such a low growl James was almost convinced he was about to shift into his animagus form right there in the hospital wing. “I’ll-...”

“He could have done it to himself,” James suggested, reluctantly. “It wasn’t cast with a wand, it’s too tightly wound around his throat. This is the kind of connection you get from spell rebounds, or potions, or-...”

“Artifacts,” Remus breathed out. “The Mirror. He said he shattered it, and fell under a spell. Could that be it?”

“Could be,” James allowed. “It could have been enchanted so that no one could disassemble it to find out how it worked, so no one would try and make another. Perhaps there was a secret inside it that needed to be protected. Unspeakables put those kinds of curses on almost every artifact they work on.”

“If he were using the room with the Mirror as his escape,” Remus said, working it out,  “and broke it, cursing himself, it might have blocked out everything to do with those trips. Putting a lock on any loopholes in the restriction. It took him forever just to get around to mentioning the Room of Requirement.”

“Can we remove it?” Sirius asked.

“I’ll talk to Regulus,” James said. “I think there’s a potion that will work, but I’m not nearly skilled enough to make it myself. It would be difficult even for a potions master.”

“So, naturally, Reggie will get it right on his first try,” Sirius chirped.

James huffed out a laugh. “Let’s hope so.”

“Harry?”

Harry stirred as his shoulder was gently shaken, reaching for the side table to grab the glasses someone must have pulled off him at some point.

“I’m back,” Regulus told him, once he could see. “Are you ready to go?”

Harry gave a short, succinct nod in response, and moved to climb out of the bed.

As soon as he was on his feet, Madam Pomfrey appeared, pressing a ribbon-wrapped wooden box into his hands. “Calming draughts,” she explained. “Take one each morning, and there are three extras for emergency. Do not drink them all at once, do not ask for more. Ten in a week is pushing it as it is.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest that he really didn’t need them, but she turned and left without even waiting for a response.

Regulus gestured to the end of his bed, where a folded set of clothes was sitting. “Get dressed, and we’ll leave. They’ve opened a floo network in the fireplace down here, so that we don’t have to go far. They’ll be leaving it open, but restricted, so you can come back here if you need to.” He paused, looking at Harry sternly, and emphasized, “If you need to, only. Don’t go wandering about if you just get bored.”

Harry couldn’t imagine a scenario in which he’d be so bored, the hospital wing of Hogwarts would be more interesting. His cupboard at the Dursley’s was more entertaining than Madam Pomfrey. He knew better by now than to jinx himself by saying so out loud, however, so he just nodded and complied without a word.

“Harry?”

Harry paused, letting the shirt he’d changed into drop down into place but not moving to keep getting dressed yet, prompting Regulus with a quiet, “Yeah?”

“I love you,” Regulus told him, quietly. “We all love you. I don’t know what we’d do if we’d have lost you.”

Guilt rose in Harry, because even if Regulus didn’t know it, they had lost him. The version of him they knew was gone, and he didn’t know how to get him back.

...Merlin, he hoped the other Harry wasn’t out there with his friends, taking command of an army he didn’t know in a war he couldn’t possibly understand.

He couldn’t say anything like that, though, nor could he honestly return the sentiment. Instead, he just gave a shallow nod, and turned back to his clothes, hoping no one would look closely enough at him to see the turmoil rolling inside him.

Chapter Text

Harry wasn’t really sure what he expected to see when he stepped out of the floo-linked fireplace into the Potter estate, but it wasn’t...this.

This being a rather cozy looking living room, that was large and well decorated but otherwise completely normal. There were none of the superfluous fancy paintings or tapestries he’d come to associate with pureblood wizarding families, despite supposedly belonging to two of them.

Instead of cold and impersonal aesthetic choices, the furniture was soft-looking and worn down a bit with use, and all the pictures on the wall were of - presumably - their family.

Harry turned behind him, to the mantle, and scanned through the photos there as the others chatted amongst themselves about plans and rooms and other practical things they absolutely should have already had sorted.

There were several Marauder-era photos, such as one featuring young James catching Sirius with an arm around his shoulder, the magical image forever looping the eye roll he received. There were two separate wedding photos, side by side, which seemed odd, considering they featured they same person with two different spouses. One had Lily, radiant in a wedding dress, hitting James on the shoulder while she tossed her head back with laughter. The other featured the couple’s toast of James and Regulus, and Harry was amused to find they’d chosen to display the few seconds that spanned James lifting his elbow where it was wrapped around Regulus’, causing them both to spill their drinks over their face. The last frame before the loop started over featured them both hunching in, and he could practically hear them fighting not to inhale wine while they laughed about it.

They were both exceptionally happy photos, and Harry mourned that he’d never been able to see his parents like this.

Moving on, he skimmed over a photo of Sirius lifting Remus up in the air, which was being visibly protested, and landed on something even more interesting that the wedding photos.

It was him, he thought, though it was hard to recognize his younger self when the Dursleys had never chosen to take or display photos of his growth, and the scar wasn’t there to verify his identity. That was definitely his mother holding the child, though, and so it was most likely him. He looked young - around six or seven, maybe - and holding something up for the camera while his mother giggled behind him.

Closer inspection revealed his prize to be what looked a bit like a snitch, but bulkier and matte, looking more like plastic than metal. A toy version, maybe.

He reached out, picking up the photo, memorizing the details of it. The crinkle beside his mother’s eyes, the way her lips pressed together to smother her laugh, the way her grip flexed on his arms to accommodate his squirming about - all of it.

His mother looked so happy. Every part of him ached over it, and he pushed down the discomfort crawling up into his throat and sat the photo’s frame back down.

Mantle photos complete, he moved to the ones hanging on the wall, making a slow circle around the room. There were a lot of him: decked out in gear for a Quidditch team he didn’t actually know at a game around age ten, as a toddler trying to shove an entire chocolate frog into his mouth, around five and peering over Regulus’ shoulder to look in a cauldron, each adding to the image of a wonderful childhood.

While the pictures of himself as a small child were plentiful, though, older versions of him were scarce. Most of them appeared to be his first few years at Hogwarts - a nervous-looking eleven-year-old waving goodbye at the train station, off to school for the first time, was the first he spotted, and the rest seemed to be similarly tied to landmark achievements. There was a newspaper page in a frame that spoke about him as a promising student seeker, a few scholastic awards, an acceptance for publication from a wizard’s monthly journal, all sorts of things that suggested he did well...but nothing with his face. The few times he did appear, photos presumably taken over the summer holidays, he was either avoiding the camera or scowling at it, clearly unhappy to be a part of them.  

He found himself freezing in front of a photo, hiding away in a little frame in the middle of a bunch of much larger and happier photos, that featured the first picture of him smiling as a teen that he’d seen.

He was grinning widely, not looking at the camera - likely not even realizing it was there. He was in Quidditch practice gear, standing in a grand manicured yard, holding a broom in one hand and a snitch in the other. Both hands were raised in celebration, and as he watched, the victorious image of himself crossed the grounds to meet someone rushing to congratulate him.

Someone that, from behind, appeared to be Draco Malfoy.

They weren’t wrong, then. He and Draco were friends. Another thing he’d probably gone and buggered up, but it was too late now. He grimaced at the thought - this other him had best not have to come back to this, not with Harry offending his friends and landing him on suicide watch.

“You know,” a voice came over his shoulder, making him jump. Regulus let out a low laugh in response, saying, “Sorry. I was just going to say - I don’t know what’s going on with you and Malfoy, but you two have always seemed like such good friends. I’m sure if you explain-...”

“I won’t apologize to him,” Harry muttered, eyes locked on the photo. “He crossed a line.”

“Remus said you defended him?”

Harry shot a slightly annoyed look at Regulus over his shoulder, because the disbelief in his tone was unappreciated, but he dropped it almost immediately. They weren’t thinking poorly of him, not really, just the version of him that they knew.

“He crossed a line,” Harry repeated, and left it at that, moving on from the photo.

He found himself examining a photo of Sirius and Remus that appeared to be from their own wedding, totally oblivious to the Potter family gathering around to watch him.

Remus had never seen Harry like this: distant, contemplative, taking in the photos in the room like he’d never seen them before. He had seen similar disgust on the boy’s face - often directed at them - but never seen it turned on the image of himself, the way his scowl appeared at each photo of his surly teen self.

He paused the longest on photos featuring his mother, which convinced Remus that he was going to have to contact her, even if Harry wouldn’t admit to missing her. When he’d cycled the full room, he stopped back in front of the mantle, picking up the picture of his seventh birthday again.

Harry had loved the practice snitch they’d gotten him, and spent weeks dragging them out of bed each day to play with him. When the school year started, he’d stopped, not having as much fun without the only actual seeker in their family away for work. Regulus, at the time, had joked that he was Harry’s favorite.

That was before he withdrew, before he became hostile, back when things like that could be said and treated as light-hearted jokes. Now, no one claimed to be his favorite, even in jest. Any jokes about favoritism were replaced with darker humored references to his low opinion of them, if anything was said about it at all.

But now...Now, Harry seemed to be aware of them, in a way he hadn’t before. He seemed hesitant, reluctant to speak too harshly or start any fight. The faintest of apologies dropped from his lips on occasion, offhand but sincere.

I don’t hate you, he’d said. His face had read nothing but a desperate honesty, begging Remus to believe him.

He thought of the spell they’d seen around his throat, and his gut churned. He hoped Regulus was able to break it, because as grateful as he was for the reemergence of Harry’s softer side, certainly nothing good could have brought it out.

Something had convinced Harry, somehow, that his behavior was wrong, but in doing so had also convinced him that he was wrong, that there was an issue in who he was fundamentally rather than the choices he made.

He seemed disgusted with himself, to the point of self-hate. Remus remembered the look on his face when he didn’t assure Harry that he knew he wasn’t hated.

The marks on his arm suggested this wasn’t an overnight thing, either. How long had this been going on, with them just not noticing?

...Did they drive him to this? Had he tried, first, to change, and grown frustrated when no one realized it? Had they been the ones to make him give up on himself?

Remus pushed away the speculation, knowing it would get them nowhere, and focused on Harry again.

He had the frame of Lily’s photo in both hands, studying the image with focus he usually devoted only to the most difficult of assignments.

He turned, intending to catch James’ eye, but the man was watching Harry himself, a tense set to his lips.

“I’m going to owl her,” Remus murmured to Sirius, who nodded to acknowledge him, and slipped from the room.

Whatever had happened to Harry, he needed his mom.

A pop sounded behind Harry, startling him, and he spun to the side to catch the eye of the suddenly appearing house elf.

The house elf let out a squeak, recoiling from him and taking a few steps back.

A few steps back in fear, because Harry had been surprised, and they expected him to react. The house elf was scared of him.

Harry was going to find this other version of himself he’d stolen the life of and fucking strangle him. Given that everyone believe he wanted to kill himself, it was a rather ironic thought.

“Mosely,” James greeted the elf, stepping between them. “Is Harry’s room set up?”

“Yes, sir,” the elf breathed out, looking a bit less terrified with someone in the way.

Harry was going to be sick. He was going to be sick, and then he was going to find a time turner and back up a few days to beat his own face in.

Actually, that was a pretty good idea - back up a couple days and ask himself what the fuck was going on. Apparently, it would be remarkably like dealing with Malfoy, but he could deal with that if it meant getting some actual answers.

“Excellent. Thank you, Mosely.” James turned around, smiling thinly at Harry. “We’re good to go, then. Maybe you should get some rest.”

“I’ve been asleep for ages,” Harry reminded him, but between sleep and sitting here being stared at, he’d take sleep.

Or, at least, hiding for a few hours, until it was safe to explore the house unobserved.

If he wanted to fix some of this other Harry’s messes, though, this might serve as a good starting point. He leaned to the side, around James, and asked, “Ah, Mosely?” When the house elf startled, he gave his best attempt at a reassuring smile and asked, “Can you take me to my room?”

The elf looked like he was about to pass out at the request, but gave a weak nod, squeaking out, “Y-yessir, Master Potter.”

Harry very pointedly did not look at anyone’s face as they left the room. If they were shocked, or pleased, or concerned, he didn’t want to know. Instead, he followed close behind Mosely, trying his best to draw a mental map of the house as they walked through it.

It didn’t seem ominously large, again subverting his ideas of pureblood wizards, and when they walked up a set of stairs it looked as though it were the only one. Two floors, then, and unless there were hidden corridors, both were rather straightforward layout of rooms.

The third door on the left off the stairs was the one Mosely stopped to open, and Harry stepped inside to see a rather neat bedroom.

Harry looked around it, confused, because he didn’t see anything in it that indicated it belonged to him, beyond his trunk against the foot of the bed. There were no pictures, no posters, nothing personal.

“Is the charm to Master Potter’s liking?” Mosely asked, hands worrying at the hem of his sack shirt.

Charm?

Oh. A charm. Of course.

“Break it,” Harry said.

“P-pardon?!” Mosely startled. Harry looked at him, concerned, but the house elf must have mistaken it for a threat, as he squeaked in fear and quickly snapped his fingers.

The neat, basic bedroom image fell away, revealing a much more comfortably looking space. Gryffindor colors shimmered here and there, a Quidditch poster hung on the wall, and a picture sat on his nightstand. In the photo, a beaming Harry held up a trophy shaped like a snitch, flanked on one side by Draco Malfoy and the other by two boys - Ron Weasley at the edge of the frame, and, standing right next to Harry, Cedric Diggory.

Harry felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Cedric. Of course - no Voldemort, no interference in the Triwizard Tournament, no death.

He was probably still alive. They might be friends.

His stomach turned. Looking at Cedric’s face was making his throat close and his eyes burned, and he moved quickly, setting the picture face-down on the dresser.

The other Harry had so many good things, and he didn’t appreciate a single one. Meanwhile, the thought of a parent loving him or having a friend who had not been murdered for the crime of knowing him made him physically ill.

He was finding it hard to breathe, actually.

Not your family, the phantoms whispered in his ears.

“Go away,” he hissed to them.

A pop announced Mosely’s departure.

“Shit,” he swore, and vowed to make a better effort at that later. He didn’t have time to worry about it, right now, though.

Right now, the overturned frame his hand still rested on felt like a hot iron, burning his fingers where they touched it, and he yanked his arm back and stumbled away from it.

Something else. He needed something else to focus on.

What was that?

Harry stepped closer to his dresser, tipping his head back and forth, watching the unusual shimmer of one strip through the center of it.

He reached out, tapping a fingernail against the spot. A chime like a bell rang out, and he did it again, listening to the sound. A tap on the normal glass beside it did nothing, and using a fingertip instead of a nail made a deeper sound, like a drum.

“What are you?” Harry murmured, pressing his fingers up against the glass, pushing in on it.

Instead of making another noise, though, a square of the mirror sunk inward under his hand, and when he pulled back, the square popped back up and swung open, revealing a hidden compartment.

Inside, hanging from a silver hook, was a little golden key, about the size of Harry’s pinky finger.

He plucked it from its spot, examining it closely, absentmindedly closing the compartment he’d taken it from as he did.

This implied, of course, that there was something locked in this place, with the key hidden behind an enchantment that was in turn hidden behind a charm. Something that warranted that level of protection and secrecy - his curiosity was definitely piqued.

“Harry?”

Harry startled, fingers snapping shut around the key, hiding it on instinct as he looked up to see who was speaking to him.

It was Regulus, who was blinking at the room in shock.

“There was a concealment charm over it,” he offered in explanation. “I asked Mosely to take it down, though.”

Regulus gave a soft, amused huff. “Of course there was.” Then, slightly more somber, he asked, “Are you okay? Mosely seemed upset…”

Harry grimaced at the reminder. “I think I scared him,” he admitted. “Snapped at him. Didn’t mean to.”

Regulus leveled him with a considering look. “He’ll be okay. It’s hardly the first time you’ve frightened him.”

Harry winced.

“I knew it,” Regulus declared, sweeping into the room. “You’re really trying to fix that, aren’t you? Merlin, Harry - don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of you being a bit kinder, but...you know you don’t have to do this for us to love you, right?”

Harry let out a breath. “No, I know,” he answered, which was mostly true. They loved him, even if the version of him they knew was a massive twat. “It’s-...this is for me.”

There was a moment of heavy silence, where Harry held his breath, and then Regulus beamed at him.

“Just making sure,” Regulus said, stepping close. His hand cupped the back of Harry’s head and dragged it forward, placing a kiss on his forehead. He held Harry there for a moment, before murmuring, “You haven’t let me do this in a long time.”

Harry gave a noncommital hum, stomach tying itself in knots at the parental affection from someone he didn’t even know. His only reference for a loving family were the Weasleys, and he couldn’t help but compare Regulus to Molly - a temper and a whirlwind of emotions, loving so fiercely in spite of anything.

If one of her kids had turned out to be a prick, she probably would have still loved them, just like this. It would have hurt her, but she was always a mother first.

The comparison made Harry slightly sick, because this version of him had two parents who refused to give up on him, and his alternate had been shoving them aside and scorning them for years. Why? What could possibly have justified that in his mind? Harry had never been particularly malicious to the Dursleys, and he had plenty of reason to be.

(Granted, that would have likely ended badly for him, but still.)

Harry wanted to say something, but got stuck trying to think of how to address Regulus, because his name was a definite no and the title ‘Papa’ didn’t sit naturally in his mouth. By the time he’d made the decision to just start speaking and hope he paid attention, Regulus released him, heading back out the bedroom door and pausing at it for a moment.

“We’re in the kitchen, if you need us,” Regulus said. “If we don’t see you, I’ll send food up, so don’t worry about dinner.”

Then he just...left, walking away like that exchange was perfectly normal and not something Harry had been desperate for for years.

Harry eased the door shut once he was gone, and looked back down at the key in his palm for a moment, before slipping it into his pocket.

He’d explore a bit, he decided, and see if he couldn’t figure out what that went to. He was dying to know what his alternate was hiding.

A peek into the hall revealed no one waiting outside the door, and so he slipped out, looking around at the doors around him. There were six, including his own, three on either side of the hall in a staggered pattern.

He checked the door closest to the stairs, first, and found a bathroom, which was simple enough that he was content to shut the door and move on. The next door on that side was his room, so he skipped over that, and the third door revealed a bedroom that appeared to belong to Remus and Sirius, judging by the photos of the two that were displayed within it.

That side’s options exhausted, he crossed the hall, letting himself the room across from Remus and Sirius’ bedroom.

It was also a bedroom, and unlike the previous one, it was occupied.

James looked up from where he was sitting, hunched over at the foot of his bed, glasses off and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

He looked tired. Harry wondered if that was because of him, or if his father was tired for many reasons, and this whole thing just happened to be one of them.

“Hey, kiddo,” James greeted him, joking tone ruined a bit by how utterly weak and exhausted he sounded. “A little old to be hiding in your parents’ room, aren’t you?”

Harry wouldn’t really know. He had no frame of reference for what sort of family behavior was normal at what point, considering that he’d had a family for all of about a day so far. He couldn’t say that, though, and he didn’t think he’d be able to get away with just turning around and leaving. He was debating pretending to have gotten lost, trying to figure out how one would explain forgetting the layout of their own house, when James let out a heavy sigh.

“Your papa is pissed at me,” James told him. “Apparently a potions test was an ‘insensitive’ move, even if you were babbling about- Merlin, I don’t even know what. Ministry nonsense you definitely shouldn’t have been on about.”

Harry didn’t know about insensitive, but… “They had already given me a potion,” he reminded James. “A test was useless. The only thing it did was tell me you didn’t believe me.”

“Believe you?” James sat up straight. “ Believe- Harry, you were talking about restricted access areas, places even I can’t get into. If it’s think you’ve taken something funny and haven’t slept it off yet, or think you broke into the Ministry to find out about those things - believe it or not, son, this is the benefit of the doubt.”

“If you’d listen to me-..”

“So you can lie ?” James snapped back. “Harry, what did you do to your arm?”

Harry faltered, confused, before he remembered the cuts. “...When I broke the mirror-...”

“I don’t mean actually cutting them in,” James said. “I got that part-...”

He most certainly did not, and Harry would have loved to tell him as much, if he had a single chance to speak.

“-...I meant the healing. You used a stitching charm on it. You don’t stitch a cut, Harry.”

Many things passed through Harry’s mind then, but sarcasm was always his first response, and so what came out of his mouth was a wry, “Muggles do.”

“What?”

“Sew cuts,” Harry clarified. “If they’re too deep to heal on their own, muggles stitch them up, and they heal around the thread.”

James gave an exasperated-sounding sigh. “We’re not Muggles, Harry.”

There was the faintest disdain in the way he said that, and Harry couldn’t help but think of the Slytherin man his father married in this world, the pureblood status he casually bore. Was he, perhaps, one of them? One of those snobbish elite who Harry despised?

James seemed to catch the anger on his face, and shook his head, shoulders slumping. “I don’t mean to sound-...I don’t want to sound like one of those Pureblood fanatic arseholes, or anything. I just- why would you make things harder for yourself?”

They stared at each other for a long moment in silence.

“...Harry-...”

“Prongs-..!”

James and Harry both startled, looking to the door, where Sirius had just entered.

He let out a soft, awkward, “Ah,” looking between the father and son. “Reggie’s temper tantrum’s reached a low point for the evening, we think, so it’s probably safe to come down. Uh, you, too, Harry. If you’re hungry.”

And then he turned and left, all but running away from them.

“Well,” James breathed, moving to stand. “I guess that’s my cue.”

“Are you-...” Harry started to ask, then stopped, biting the question back.

“Am I what?” James prompted.

“...Are you two going to be okay?” Harry asked, quietly. “Do you argue like this a lot?”

James blinked at him, looking stunned. “I-....yes, Harry, we’ll be fine. He’s not actually mad at me. Trust me, if he gets really angry, you’ll know it. He’s just upset, and he’s mean when he’s upset. We’ll both get over it when we’ve calmed down.”

Harry gave a small, hesitant nod.

Petunia and Vernon had never fought, as far as Harry had seen. There was a pecking order in their family, with no room for arguments. Vernon’s will first, then Dudley’s, then Petunia’s, and then the opinions of neighbors and church friends and second cousins and generally anyone who wasn’t Harry, and then sometimes there were still things left they didn’t mind Harry choosing, like which of his chores to do first.

Molly and Arthur Weasley, on the other hand, did occasionally squabble, but he’d never seen them in a fight where they genuinely stopped speaking to each other, as James and Regulus were currently.

If James claimed it was normal, then, Harry would have to take his word for it. It wasn’t as though he had any room to challenge it. He couldn’t even claim to know regular behavior for either of them individually, let alone them together.

As he stepped out into the hall after his father, he spared a glance to the two doors he’d still yet to open. After dinner, he thought. As soon as everyone was settled in for the night and he thought he was safe to roam, he’d look into what else was upstairs.

For now, though, he would see what all else was downstairs.

He followed James down the stairs and into the dining room, where a handful of house elves were setting out dinner.

One of them caught sight of him as he stepped through the doorway, let out a loud squeak, and vanished immediately. The noise must have been a warning, because almost in an instant, the four or five house elves that had just been filling the room were all gone.

“What was that about?” Harry asked the room at large.

Remus shook his head, lips curled up in wry amusement. “Mosely implied you’d gotten upset, so you father gave them permission to avoid you for the time being.”

“Meaning they think I’m going to hurt them, and no one believes I wouldn’t.”

Remus frowned. “No one thinks your going to-...Merlin, Harry, you really are putting yourself down lately.” He gestured to the chair across from him, and Harry took a seat. “No one thinks you’re going to hurt anyone. You just...You can be rather cold when you’re in a mood, and verbal abuse is still a mistreatment they shouldn’t have to deal with.”

Harry grimaced. “I didn’t mean to snap at Mosely earlier.”

“You snapped at him?”

Harry hesitated - first, because he’d assumed that was what they meant by him ‘implying’ he’d gotten upset, but also because he couldn’t tell the true story without having to explain oh, yes, and I’m also hearing voices, and they’re oddly insistent that I should be dead.

Wouldn’t really help his argument that there was nothing wrong with him, that one.

“Did you?”

Harry looked up to lock eyes with a curious looking Regulus, peeking out of the kitchen doorway.

“He just said you kicked him out,” Regulus explained.

“I did,” Harry said. “I just- I was rude about it, was all.”

Both men stared at him, incredulous.

Harry was just going to have to stop talking to them, because that was going beyond annoying.

Luckily, he didn’t have to come up with anything else to say - a house elf appeared, barely sparing Harry a nervous glance before stuttering out, “M-misses Evans for you, Masters Potter.”

James’ head appeared over Regulus’ shoulder. “Evans? Did you call-...?”

“I did,” Remus interrupted, before looking to Harry. “I hope you can forgive me butting in, but...you seemed like you could use a talk with her.”

Her. Evans.

Lily Evans.

He was about to meet his mother.

Chapter Text

“Remus Lupin, I will wring your neck!”

Remus grimaced, looking to the house elf who had come to fetch him. “Can you take Harry back upstairs?”

“What?” Harry squawked. “You brought my mum here and I don’t even get to talk to her?”

“I’ll send her up,” Remus said. “I just need to talk to her first.”

Harry reminded himself firmly that it would not help the sulky teen image he’d tripped into if he stormed off in a huff. Instead, he took a very dignified retreat, with a heavy roll of his eyes once he was out of view.

“Master Potter?”

Harry faltered on the stairs, looking down at the house elf who was escorting him. “Hm?”

“Rogger is sorry for bothering Master Potter,” the house elf said. “B-but...Rogger is being in the service of Missus Evans first, and the Masters Potter after, and the Missus is wanting to see her son more than she is wanting to be angry with Mister Lupin. She...she wouldn’t be wanting you to be sent away.” The house elf backed up a bit, jerking his head to the side. “Rogger could be hiding Master Potter, if he is wanting to hear what is being said about him?”

“You’d do that?” Harry asked. “Yes! Yes, please do, thank you. I want to know what they’re talking about.”

Rogger nodded, and snapped his fingers, before starting to quietly creep back toward the room, grabbing the door and creaking it back open.

He must have put an invisibility spell of some sort over Harry, or cast some type of silencing charm or notice-me-not, because the five people in the room didn’t even glance their way.

James and Regulus were seated on the couch in the room with the floo fireplace, sitting stiff side-by-side, with Remus in the remaining open seat, and Sirius perched on the arm of the couch beside him.

Lily, on the other hand, was standing in front of them, and was in the middle of shouting about something.

“-Sending me a cryptic letter like that!” she was saying. “‘Harry needs you,’ and nothing else, you absolute arse. If you’re about to tell me he is anything short of dying-...!”

“Careful what you wish for.”

Remus’ eyes slid close, letting out a low breath at Sirius’ input. “Love,” he murmured, “Perhaps don’t.”

“...What are you talking about?” Lily asked, voice low and dangerous. “Remus, what the hell does he mean? What is wrong with my son?”

“We don’t know,” Remus said. “Not really. He won’t tell us.”

Harry had to physically bite down on the scoff he wanted to give at that one.

“He babbles about it when you ask,” Sirius offered. “We think he’s got a curse on him, keeping him from properly telling us what’s going on.”

“A curse?” Lily snapped, before turning sharply to the other end of the couch. “James, explain. Right now.”

“We think Harry’s depressed,” James said. “Or, well, we know he is, we just don’t know why.”

“Depressed?” Lily echoed. “Why do you-...”

“He tried to kill himself.”

Silence fell over the room.

“Very tactful, James,” Regulus said.

James rolled his eyes. “None of you were any gentler to me about it.”

“He…” Lily looked stunned, eyes darting between each of the men in front of her. Eventually, they landed on Remus - the only one who would meet her eyes. “What did he…?”

“I caught him trying to jump off the Astronomy Tower,” Remus said. “And we’re pretty sure it isn’t the first time he’s hurt himself.”

“...Master Potter?”

Harry looked down, to Rogger, who was looking horrified. Not sure how solid the charm hiding them was, he simply shook his head, and mouthed ‘I’m fine.’

“No, Master Potter,” Rogger said. “Missus Evans won’t stay down here much longer, not after she is hearing that . We need to go.”

“But-...” Harry looked up, back toward his mother, who he still hadn’t gotten to speak to. He didn’t know her, not yet, if he could just-...

“She’ll come up!” Rogger insisted, tugging his arm toward the stairs. “We must be leaving!”

With a sigh, Harry relented, letting the elf drag him back upstairs.

Once returned to his room, he collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling in frustration. A glance sideways made the happy photo look mocking, and he stared at the smile on his prick alternate in disgust as he waited.

It didn’t take long before the door opened again, and Harry sat up to watch Lily Evans enter the room, looking at him with teary eyes.

“Harry,” she said. “Hey baby. You doing okay?”

“I-..” Harry had a denial of the whole thing on the tip of his tongue, ready for another attempt at convincing someone that this was just a massive misunderstanding, but it failed him at his mother’s face.

He’d never met this woman. She’d died for him, protected him for life with the force of her love, and he’d never met her.

“..I’m okay.”

Lily crossed the room in a few quick strides, collapsing on the bed next to him, throwing her arms around him. She held him close, petting his curls as she did, and he could feel her taking shaky breaths.

“I’m really okay,” Harry tried again - he didn’t know what to do with the concerned motherly affection, something he’d never received even a facsimile of. This wasn’t meant for him, it was meant for a mirror version of him (who, in Harry’s humble opinion, did not really deserve it).  

“Remus told me…” she started, then stopped, pulling back a bit. She cradled his face in her hands, tipping it up to look at her. “Sweetheart, was I what you saw in the Mirror of Erised?”

Harry hesitated, unsure of how to explain, but that moment of pause gave him away.

“Oh, Harry,” she breathed. “Let me tell you something, alright?”

“I’m really-...”

“Hush,” Lily said, and Harry’s jaw snapped shut, but he didn’t have time to be annoyed by another interruption before she kept speaking. “You need to know this. When we had you, it was the happiest I’ve ever been. Never once did I want anything more than you. When your father took an office position with the Ministry instead of being a free-roaming Auror, though, I got fed up with being a housewife, and I knew he wasn’t happy, either. We would have made each other miserable, and that would have made you miserable, so...I left. I promised to never take two trips in a row without a visit, and I suppose I thought visiting enough would make up for the time I wasn’t around. But I must have miscalculated.”

She leaned forward, then, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Sweetheart,” she murmured to him, “I love you. You are the single most important thing in my life. That has always been the case, and it always will be. No matter what happens, no matter how often I see you, know that there is nothing in this world that means more to me than you.”

Harry shouldn’t be getting this speech. Harry was taking this from someone else, from someone who had a family, while he-...

He was dragged back into a hug, and he realized he was crying.

Oh.

He couldn’t help it, though - this was something he’d only ever dreamt of, and never once had he come up with imagined words that reached the part of him Lily’s real ones did. His mother’s love was not a fluke of his universe, after all, like he’d been quietly fearing since learning she wasn’t around for this Harry. No, she loved him just as strongly, she just thought everyone would be happier with her a step removed.

Harry could relate to that, he supposed.

“Anything you need from me,” Lily said to him. “ Anything, you send me an owl straight away. Actually, bugger that-...”

Harry choked out a surprised laugh, which Lily met with a giggle of her own.

“I’m going to get you a speaking-glass,” she said. “It’s like a two-way mirror, but more open. It can connect to different places. I have to carry one for work, to file reports on the go, but I’ll give you one you can contact me through whenever you need- or even just want to. I’ll answer, or if I miss it, I’ll call you back as soon as I can. I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m too far away, or that you aren’t every bit as important to me as I’ve told you.”

She pulled back again, then, letting him go except for resting her hands on his shoulders. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, Harry,” she said, making his stomach sink, “but...your father is an idiot.”

Harry’s surprised laugh returned, this time even harder to recover from.

“He is!” Lily insisted. “Absolute bloody moron, that one.”

Harry’s lips curled up in a smile, and he went along with it in spite of himself, prompting, “Which one?”

“Both,” she said. “James is who I meant, but Regulus married him, so he’s just as bad.”

“... You married him.”

She waved him off. “I was young. Girls, Harry, are told their whole lives that the most important thing they can do is get a husband. By the time we’re old enough, we’re not nearly as picky as we ought to be.” She leaned forward, kissing his forehead again. “I love him, of course, but...we are better as friends.” She tapped the tip of his nose with a finger. “But he gave me you, so I’m glad for those years all the same. That’s not what I meant, though.”

Harry blinked at her, waiting.

“No, see,” Lily said, “your father is an idiot, in this instance, because he thinks you took something or some nonsense, and this is all just the after-effect.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Harry said. “I stepped through the Veil of Death.”

Lily paused, gaping at him for a moment. “...Metaphorically, or..?”

“Literally,” Harry countered. “From the Department of Mysteries.”

Lily blinked. “How do you…?”

“We were fighting there,” Harry said. “Sirius fell through it, and I followed him, and ended up here.”

“Here, as in…?”

“This world,” Harry confirmed. “Two days ago, I was an orphan, Sirius was an escaped convict, and I was fighting for my life against Voldemort and his followers. Then I stepped through the Veil and popped out on the other side of the bloody Mirror of Erised, which broke as soon as I touched it, and I’ve been trying to convince everyone that I’m not supposed to be here since.”

“But you babble,” she realized. “This rambling you’re doing now, it’s that, but worse?”

Harry gave a hesitant nod.

“Harry, I’m an Unspeakable,” Lily whispered to him. As he straightened, she reached into her shirt, pulling out a little charm necklace. “I’m an Investigator. This charm is a subtle one that prompts for honesty, making people a little more willing to speak openly. It’s the only thing that can break through the Confundus Charm we place on Ministry objects.”

“That’s what’s on me?” Harry asked. “So that-...wait. You believe me?”

“Of course. Should I not?”

“My dad thinks I took a dodgy potion,” Harry confessed.

Lily snorted. “Ah, yes, the classified information revealing potion. I’m familiar.” She rolled her eyes heavily. “Honestly, that man. No, Harry, I believe you. Like I said, the charm makes one naturally more inclined to honesty - you’d have to be a damn good liar to appear this honest while fighting it. Not to mention that particular Confundus is very distinct- it doesn’t scramble your memories, it scrambles your ability to speak on them. That way, you can’t tell anyone what you know, but Unspeakables can still pull the evidence from your mind and then cleanly erase it all.”

“So you could look at what happened?”

“I couldn’t, unfortunately,” Lily said. “I’m not a Legilimens. But…” She pursed her lips, taking a moment to deliberate, before telling him, “I’ll figure something out. We’ll find out what happened. In the meantime…”

She blinked, apparently catching up with herself.

“...You were at war?” she murmured.

“With Voldemort,” Harry confirmed. “He-...when I was a baby, he killed you and my dad, and tried to kill me. He failed because you protected me.”

“He used the killing curse?” Lily asked. When Harry nodded, she swore under her breath. “A sacrificial protection stronger than an unforgivable - I must have put everything I had into it. What happened?”

“It rebounded and destroyed him,” Harry said. “But it didn’t actually kill him. He escaped, and came back later, when I was in school.”

Lily pursed her lips. “You said Sirius was a convict? Why was he arrested?”

“They said he told Voldemort where to find you, and killed muggles in the process.”

“Bullshit!” Lily snapped. “Sirius would never-...!”

“He didn’t,” Harry assured her. “He was framed. Peter Pettigrew was the one who sold you out.”

Lily blinked at him. Weakly, she murmured, “Blasted rat. And here I thought I had enough reason to hate him for the shit he said to James here.”

Intrigued, Harry raised an eyebrow, prompting her to explain.

“Ah,” she said. “I guess you wouldn’t remember that, if we were dead, huh? When James got with Regulus, it took Sirius some time to come around, but Peter...he never did. Said some right nasty things about them, and that was it. All those years, thrown away.”

Harry sighed, feeling bad for how relieved it was. He’d been worried that his parents still had their traitor as a friend, and that he’d have to deal with convincing them that he was a coward first and foremost and not to be trusted.

“If Sirius was a criminal, where did you two hide?”

Harry shook his head. “I didn’t live with Sirius. I didn’t meet him until I was a teenager.”

“What?!” Lily straightened. “Who did you stay with?”

“...Aunt Petunia?”

Lily blanched. “Please tell me she is nicer with me gone.”

“I think she got worse, actually,” Harry offered. “Uncle Vernon was the real problem, though.”

Lily hunched forward, burying her face in her hands. “Why? Why would I leave you to them?”

“You didn’t,” Harry promised. “Dumbledore did.”

Lily sat straight again, looking outraged. “Albus Dumbledore, our great and powerful headmaster of Hogwarts who everyone’s worshiped at the feet of for years, hailed for being fearless and all-knowing, gave my son to my sister?”

Harry suddenly felt very bad for Dumbledore, regardless of what version of him, that had to face Lily Evans after this for any reason. He was probably going to get an unpleasant surprise.

Taking a deep breath, Lily started back at the beginning, summarizing what she’d been told. “So your parents were murdered, you were under a protection charm, and you grew up with muggles who hate magic. Then you went to school, and your parents’ killer shows back up to try and kill you again?” At Harry’s nod, she continued, “And you ended up in a fight at the Ministry, where you stepped through the Veil of Death, and ended up here?”

“On the other side of the Mirror of Erised,” Harry reminded her. “Which broke.”

“Right.” Lily shook her head, letting out a huff. “Why would it-...Oh. Oh.”

Harry perked up at the realization that was crossing her face. “What? What is it? Do you know why-...”

Lily’s hand shot out, splaying out across Harry’s chest, stopping him short. Before he could ask what she was doing, she murmured an unfamiliar spell, staring as the space under her fingers lit up with intertwined green and gold lights.

“It’s trying to kill you,” she murmured. “Oh, Harry- somehow, the Veil couldn’t kill you in your world. Maybe it was my protection, maybe the dark wizard did something, maybe you’re just special...but it couldn’t kill you. So it took you somewhere where it could.”

“Somewhere Voldemort didn’t exist,” Harry breathed. “Somewhere I was ordinary. So that’s what the phantoms are- it’s still trying to kill me?”

“I believe so,” Lily said. “The Department of Mysteries doesn’t make a habit of letting people mess with their things and stay able to talk about it. The Veil of Death hides something, even I don’t know what, but the price for looking through it is-..well, death. Whatever secret it shows, only two groups of people have seen: the dead who were lost in it, and the Haunted.”

“The Haunted?”

Lily nodded. “Unspeakables who have used an artifact, and somehow lived, but we scrambled by the protection magic. There’s a hospital ward, deep beneath the Ministry, just for them. They’re-... mad is forgiving, Harry. Think how hard is is for you to make yourself understood to the others, while your wits are still about you. These people have that, and their thoughts are...scattered. Whatever they saw ate at their brains, and half the time, they don’t seem to even know what the world around them is.”

“I need to talk to them,” Harry said immediately. “Maybe- maybe if we can figure out what is beyond the Veil, what the Veil was trying to show me when it sent me here , I can figure out how to go back.”

Lily shook her head, but not in denial - more like defeat. “They’ll never let you in there, it’s beyond top secret. They’d have my tongue just for implying it existed, let alone outright telling you. But…”

“But?” Harry prompted, leaning forward slightly, hanging off her every word.

“I can see what I can dig up,” she said. “If...if you really want to go back.”

Harry’s stomach sank, ice coming up to circle his throat. He thought of the war, the death, the suffering-...but also of his friends, Ron and Hermione and the DA and-...

But here, he had family. Here, he was someone who may not have been great, but wasn’t irredeemable either.

“I…” He chewed his lower lip, thinking it over. “There’s a war. They’re counting on me. And- it’s still trying to kill me, right? Even if I don’t go back- well, if I can’t- I still need to know how to break whatever curse it put on me.”

“Settled, then,” Lily sighed, moving to stand. “I’ll get to work on that right away. Oh, and Harry?”

“Hm?”

Lily gave him a kind, soft smile, and pulled him to his feet, dragging him in for another hug.

“I may not be the same version of her that died for you,” she murmured, “but you are still my son, and I love you every bit as much as she did.”

She pulled away, kissing his temple, and winked at him. “Keep this quiet, for now,” she told him. “I’m about to break a whole lot of rules, so let’s keep it between us, yeah?”

Then she turned, leaving the room in the haste of a woman on a mission.

Harry collapsed back onto his bed, stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, and tried not to cry.

The same second Lily re-entered the room, all the men in it were on their feet, practically tripping over each other trying to ask after Harry.

“James Potter,” Lily said sharply, catching her ex-husband’s attention. “We’ve spoken, I know what’s going on, and I’m handling it. You are going to pull up your good old Charms affinity and making him a speaking-glass, so that he can speak to us whenever he needs, and then you are going to stop trying to figure out if he’s taken something or been hexed or gone loony, because you’re just showing him that you don’t trust him, and that’s not going to do anything but drive you apart.”

“Lily-…”

“Don’t you ‘ Lily’ me, Regulus,” she snapped at the man as he cut in. “I’ve talked to him, we’ve worked something out, and you lot are going to help me. Now, I ran out of a meeting, so I need to make sure I didn’t start an international incident. While I’m gone, maybe take the time to remind your son that people love him?” She crossed the room, stepping into the floo fireplace. “Something tells me he doesn’t hear it near enough.”

She tossed the powder down, spat out “Greek Ministry” like a curse, and vanished.

“Well,” James breathed out. “She didn’t kill me, at least.”

“A near miss,” Regulus said. “She’ll get around to it, one day.”

James turned a small, amused smile on his husband. “Is the joking a sign that you’re done being cross with me?”

Regulus shoved his shoulder in response. “Quit being a prick about this, and we’ll see.”

“At least Harry told Lily what’s going on,” Remus said. “Or, well, that’s what it sounded like she was implying. Maybe we can-...oh.”

Everyone looked to the doorway as Harry appeared, arms wrapped around himself, looking around the room with that curious expression from when they’d first arrived.

The tip of his nose and the white of his eyes were both tinged with red, which everyone noticed, but no one pointed out.

“Harry,” Remus greeted. “Did you need us?”

“...We were going to eat,” Harry reminded him. “Before my mum showed up.”

“Right.” They’d all honestly forgotten, but Sirius was quick to head back into the kitchen at the reminder, James close at his heels.

Regulus hovered for a moment, before heading in as well, leaving Remus and Harry standing in the drawing room alone.

“I hope you forgive my butting in,” Remus said. “But I really think that contacting her was the right thing to do, and if it helped at all, I don’t regret it.”

“No, you’re okay,” Harry murmured in reply. “I-...That was a conversation I needed to have. I had things I needed to say, and she’s-...well, no offense, but she was much easier to talk to.”

“That’s Lily,” Remus said. “Remarkably good listener, if you’re willing to put up with whatever biting commentary she has to offer when you’re done.”

“She called my dad an idiot,” Harry told him. “...A couple times, actually.”

“Yes, well,” Remus nodded toward the kitchen. “She’s met him.”

Harry let out a surprised little laugh, and Remus’ heart soared at the first sign of happiness he’d seen from the boy in a long time. How had he never noticed, until now, how rarely Harry smiled? How long had it been since he heard that laugh - not cruel and taunting, but genuinely amused?

He didn’t know. He didn’t like that at all.

“Luckily,” Remus offered, “It sounds as though your dads have declared a truce, so maybe James will be a bit less harsh in his judgement from here on out. He’s going to be making you a speaking-glass, by the way, so you can call us or your mom whenever you need us.”

Harry looked surprised. “He is?”

“Yes,” Remus said. “Your mother suggested it. Did she not warn you?”

“No, she said she’d get me one,” Harry said. “It’s just- well, that’s before we really talked. I didn’t know if she still wanted-...”

Something tragic must have shown on Remus’ face, because Harry caught his eye and abruptly cut off.

“Nevermind,” Harry said. “Let’s-...I’m hungry. Can we eat now?”

“Of course,” Remus agreed, gesturing to the doorway. “After you.”

As Harry passed through the doorway, he pressed a hand into his pocket, feeling the mystery key he’d discovered earlier.

His mom was going to investigate the mystery of where he’d come from, which meant that it was up to him, in the meantime, to figure out who he’d been.

Chapter Text

“Miss Evans?”

Lily gave a bright smile to the receptionist, leaning against her counter, trying to act casual. “Yeah, hey. I came back for a little visit, y’know.”

The receptionist watched her with undisguised suspicion. “To...the Ministry?”

“To my favorite Auror.” 

The receptionist let out a soft sigh, moving aside the overturned box that hid her wand from view, taking it and tapping it against the proper square on the map beside her. “Door’s open for you,” she informed Lily in a bored tone. “Try not to upset him.”

“When do I ever?” she replied, darting off before the poor woman could inform her just how annoying Lily’s visits tended to be. 

Aurors, unlike muggle policemen, were not hired in very large numbers. Wizards were a significantly smaller population to begin with, magic only cropping up in roughly a third of the humans on Earth, and wizarding laws were usually fairly straightforward and easy to follow. Unforgivables were hard to use and impossible to practice, charms and enchantments took months of work -  ‘ dark wizards’ were hard to come by, and so not many were needed to track them down.  The ones who were selected for this task typically earned their own office and a healthy amount of respect from their peers.

The office thing was universal, but the latter half had an exception. 

Lily threw open the door of her best friend’s office without care to knock, interrupting an argument taking place inside. 

“The Malfoys have not made any outright criminal moves in decades,” the auror at the desk was stressing. “We have no logical reason to be searching his estate.”

“If you would just look-...”  

“Arthur Weasley!” Lily called out, watching the man’s spine snap straight, before he turned to offer her a weak smile. 

“Lily,” Arthur greeted. “I was just speaking to your friend about-...”

“Lucius Malfoy?” she guessed. “If you get him on something, take Narcissa down, too. I’ll adopt her son.”

“Draco?” Arthur looked like he was trying very hard not to show his disgust. “That’s right, he and Harry are friends, aren’t they?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Reggie says they’re fighting right now, but I’m not sure how much of that is just the mood Harry’s in. He’s-...”

“Lily,” a voice interrupted her. “Did you need me for something, or did you come back from Turkey to socialize?”

“I’m hurt, Sev,” Lily quipped immediately. “I’ll have you know I was in Greece.” 

Severus Snape gave her the slow blink that usually meant he was trying not to roll his eyes. “Noted. And now you are here, because…?”

“I’ll take that as my cue,” Arthur said, inclining his head. “It was good to see you, Lily.”

Lily waved to him, waiting for the door to shut firmly behind him, listening for the subtle shift in the air that meant the silencing charm of the office was active before turning back to Severus. 

“Keep your door closed,” she said. “If anyone asks, I was in here the whole time.”

Severus narrowed his eyes at her. “Lily, what laws are you breaking?”

“Several,” she replied easily. “I need to get into the basement.”

Severus quirked an eyebrow at her. “You have clearance to the first seven sublevels.”

“Lower than that.”

Severus gave her a slow blink, then recoiled, sitting back in his desk chair and watching her with disbelief. “You want to enter the medivault?”

“It’s important,” Lily assured him. 

“It had best be!” Severus snapped in response, but shifted, digging through a desk drawer for a moment before passing something over - a tiny green charm necklace. 

“Ugh, Slytherin?” she said as she took it. “Typical.”

“If you’re caught, you stole it.”

“Always,” Lily replied. “Thanks, Sev. Dinner when I’m back for real?”

Severus ignored her completely, turning back to his paperwork as if she didn’t exist.

Lily rolled her eyes, taking a moment mourn the amount of stubborn and stupid men she had to deal with in her life, before heading out to go downstairs. 

She had to tuck the charm away once she put it on, hiding it in her robes so that no one would recognize it as an Auror’s investigative pass. She wasn’t meant to have one, as a non-Auror, but she needed it to access the passage to the very lowest basement level. Once she was at the entrance for the tunnel, she’d have to remove it and hide it, lest she have the trespassing recorded on Severus’ pass. Then it was a simple matter of following the tunnel, not dying in whatever traps lay along it, and sneaking into the medivault to talk to people who were further gone than Azkaban prisoners. 

Easy.

If Harry had occasion, at any point in the future, to be handling amortentia, he imagined the smell coming from it would be a lot like that of the dining room when they entered it.

That was not to say, however, that he was loving the situation, because once he’d taken a seat, he’d been dropped back into the reality of how awkward it was. 

Everyone seated around him had settled into serving themselves immediately, sometimes grabbing things and passing them to another without having to be asked, clearly very used to dining together. No one spoke, though, and eyes kept flicking to Harry and then very deliberately turning away. 

Harry knew he probably looked awful when he came down from his room, having been unable to fully recover from the emotional toil of his conversation with his mother, but he had failed to anticipate exactly how uncomfortable that would make this dinner. 

The silence was starting to get suffocating, and Harry could swear his ears were ringing with it.

Or- no, no, something was ringing. A harsh whistling noise, coming from somewhere nearby.

None of the others seemed bothered by the sound. No one so much as blinked, continuing to shuffle through their servings without a glance toward its source. 

Harry looked around, trying to pinpoint the origin of the sound. His eyes scanned the room around them, and then the table in front of him - no doorbells, machines, or kettles that he could see, but-...

There. Glinting and singing, something on the table.

Behind the whistling started a strange sound, something like whispers. He tried to listen closer, to make out the words, but they were just ever so slightly too distant. 

Who was talking?

Something settled on his shoulders, weight pressing down. The whispering grew louder, but not any clearer. His head felt foggy. The ringing continued on, pitch raising, reaching higher and higher, his head was splitting-

“Harry?”

Abruptly, all noise stopped. Harry looked behind him, as though he could chase down the sounds and bring them back, to discover the meaning of the whispers. 

“Harry, is everything alright?” 

Harry looked back, frowning, to where Regulus was watching him with mounting concern.

Phantoms, Harry realized. The whispers had been the same as those echoing from the Veil of Death back in the Department of Mysteries. 

A glance down revealed the glinting object to be a knife, and he quickly looked away, scanning the length of the table for something safer to focus on.

“‘M fine,” Harry murmured. “Spaced out for a second.”

A snort drew his attention to his side, where Sirius was sitting, grinning at him now. 

“Careful,” his godfather said, “You sound like me, there.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Remus said, from Sirius’ other side. “Do you think your potions would help Harry at all?”

Harry blinked at them, not sure how to respond to that when he had no idea what sort of potions Remus was referring to. 

“Dunno,” Sirius said, looking at Harry in an appraising sort of way. “Can’t imagine they’d hurt anything, though.”

“Absolutely not,” Regulus said, from the other end of the table. “If you think we should try it, I’ll make a diluted version, but yours is far too strong for even starting off an adult, let alone a teenager.” 

“I don’t know,” James chimed in, speaking hesitantly. “Remus, you said he was spaced out bad when you caught him, right?”

“Definitely dissociated,” Remus confirmed. “As bad as one of Sirius’ worse episodes.”

Sirius leaned forward a bit, then, toward Harry, who met his eye in time to be given a bright grin. “They like to talk about us like we aren’t here, don’t they?”

“I’m used to it,” Harry answered, almost laughing at the commiseration. “At this point I’m more surprised when someone actually does loop me in.”

“You should’ve heard them earlier,” Sirius said. “Remus pointed out that you’re only a few weeks out from your O.W.L.s-....”

“Wait,” Harry said, confused, but then paused. Now that he thought about it, Regulus had said something about him taking a whole week off classes, which didn’t really make any sense, as they’d completed their year already, minus the distribution of exam results and the end-of-term feast. 

He wanted to ask what day it was, but there was no way to phrase that question that wasn’t highly suspicious. 

“Am I really going to have to stay here a whole week ?” he asked, instead, because that did seem excessive to him. 

The table fell silent. Harry looked around to see all faces turned toward him.

Regulus’ lips were pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. “Time away from the school would do you good,” he started to argue, but Harry cut him off.

“This year’s insanely busy, with the O.W.L.s,” Harry argued - despite the fact that he didn’t actually know much about the schedule of this Harry’s schooling. “A week is too much to miss, especially if we’re close to the exams.”

“My point precisely,” Remus chimed in. “Regulus-...”

“Don’t,” Regulus said, low and dangerous. “The stress-...” 

“It’ll be more stressful trying to catch back up if I miss a whole week of classes,” Harry argued.

Regulus’ eyes slid shut, and he let out a low, irate exhale. 

“We’ll see how it goes,” James said, intervening. “Don’t worry about it right now.”

Harry, well used to recognizing pointless arguments after this past year, let it go, turning his attention back to his food and stubbornly ignoring the rest of the table for the duration of the meal.

“I swear, his whole family was outside the hospital wing.”

“He has a family?” one of the other Slytherins replied to the fourth year speaking. “I always thought he just sort of sprung up, directly from hell.”

The gathered students erupted in titters, and Draco froze, doing his best to keep his eavesdropping subtle. Were they talking about…?

“I’m serious!” the original speaker insisted, cutting through the laughter. “His dad and Professor Black were in the hall arguing, and another man was there who looked like he was related to Professor Black, and he said that he was going back inside ‘with Remus,’ which is Professor Lupin’s first name!” 

That confirmed it - Harry. They knew something about what was going on with him, perhaps why he had been missing all day. Draco strayed as close as he dared to listen in. 

“Why would Potter be in the hospital wing?” someone asked. “Please tell me someone hexed him.” 

“Well, see, that’s the thing that gets funny,” the girl telling the story replied. “I was talking to Avery Blake, from Ravenclaw, and she says she was sneaking up to the astronomy tower last night to meet her boyfriend, and saw Potter heading up there, too. So she said she hid, and then Professor Lupin ran by, and then he came back dragging Potter back to the Gryffindor tower.”

“And then this morning Potter freaked out on Draco,” one of the others completed. “...Were they meeting up there, do you think?” 

The group giggled again, and Draco flushed.

They weren’t meeting up there. They had been meeting in the shut-down girl’s bathroom, because Draco had found a banishing spell, and they were planning to make a valiant effort to remove the school’s second most annoying ghost.

Harry hadn’t shown, though. Why had he gone to the tower? Had he gone to meet someone else? 

Draco’s stomach turned over, and he got to his feet, leaving the common room quickly, a new goal in mind.

There was only one person Harry would have ditched Draco to go meet. Only one, he was certain of it.

He had to find Cedric Diggory.

“Ugh,” Hannah groaned. “Snake approaching.” 

“Oh, great,” Ernie sighed. “It’s him .”

Cedric looked up, startled. “Harry?”

“Not Potter, thank Merlin,” Hannah said. “Here he comes…”

“Diggory.” 

Cedric let out a sigh, turning to look. “Hello, Draco.”

“What were you doing last night?”

Cedric’s eyebrows knit together. “...What time? Honestly, Draco, we haven’t spoken in-..”

“It’s about Harry.”

Cedric’s mouth snapped shut. 

“If it’s about Potter, piss off,” Ernie said. “If he fought someone, it wasn’t one of us. We’d be celebrating if it was.” 

“Ernie,” Cedric warned. 

“He’s not wrong,” Hannah said. “What he did-...”

“Harry went to the astronomy tower last night,” Draco said. “I want to know why.” 

Cedric’s stomach churned at the very idea. 

It’s Harry Potter, he reminded himself. No point getting worked up about it. He’s always been the same. 

“It had nothing to do with me,” Cedric said. “Why can’t you just ask him?”

“He’s not in the castle.”

Cedric froze, staring at him. “What? You can’t find him?”

“He’s not here,” Draco said. “He didn’t go to a single class, and no one’s seen him. He was in the hospital wing this morning, and now he’s just...gone. There’s a rumor they took him to Saint Mungo’s. Some people said he got pulled out of school entirely. I don’t know.” 

“He’d tell you if something went wrong, though,” Cedric said. “You’re-... You’re the person he tells everything.” 

“Well, he spoke to me exactly once today,” Draco snapped, “and it was to point his wand in my face and threaten me.”

“Welcome to being the rest of us,” Ernie muttered. “That’s just standard Potter, for everyone but you.”

“Everyone but me,” Draco echoed, stressing the last part. “I haven’t done anything to him. Something happened last night, and Harry’s not-...something’s wrong with him.”

“Besides his personality, you mean?” Hannah asked.

Draco bristled, but Cedric held up a hand, gesturing the other two back. 

“He’s right,” Cedric said. “That’s out of character, even for him, and he’s missing now - something’s happened.”

“Well, if he’s gone, let him stay gone,” Ernie said, snapping his book shut. “We’ll hear about him in a few years, when he’s gone and tried to become a dark lord or something and been shut away in Azkaban.” 

Cedric frowned, thinking. Harry didn’t-...he drew a lot of attention to himself. If he’d gotten a new girlfriend or boyfriend, everyone would know about it.

Unless he was ashamed of them, something inside Cedric whispered darkly. Another Gryffindor... or even a Hufflepuff.

“Where’s Professor Black?” Cedric asked. “He’ll know.”

“Also missing,” Draco said. “And Lupin, too.” 

A stone settled in Cedric’s stomach. “That’s...that’s really bad. If it’s serious enough they both left school…”

“Maybe he got expelled,” Ernie suggested. 

“Fuck off, Macmillan,” Draco growled. “Harry’s books and things are all still here. Only some of his clothes were taken out. He’s coming back, I just don’t know where he is right now.” 

“Neither do I,” Cedric said. “I suppose we just have to wait and see.”

“Good riddance to him, I say-...”

“Ernie!” Cedric snapped.

Ernie’s mouth snapped shut, face pinching as he seemed to recognize he’d gone a bit too far - most likely because Cedric rarely lost temper with anyone. “Sorry. It’s just...you know what he’s done, Cedric.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Cedric said, flatly. Looking back to Draco, he said, “Will you tell me if he comes back? Or if you find anything?”

“I’m sure you’ll hear about it,” Draco said, reluctant. 

“Please, Draco,” Cedric said. “I’m going to worry about him.” 

Draco scoffed. “You’re pathetic, Diggory,” he said. Ernie and Hannah both bristled, but Draco spoke again before they could say anything, telling Cedric, “I’ll let you know as soon as I know something. He’s probably gotten into some sort of underground duel, and his parents are having to bargain for him not to be expelled. He’s pureblood, though - they won’t kick him out.” 

Cedric’s stomach clenched.

Except he’s not, he thought, but he didn’t say that. Harry had trusted him with exactly one secret, and no matter how they’d left things, he wasn’t going to give it up. 

Harry valued other people’s opinions so highly, and held his own prejudices so close - Cedric might have thought it was bullshit, but it wasn’t his place to decide what Harry was willing to share with others. If he wanted to let people assume that his Potter blood was all he had, that wasn’t Cedric’s choice. 

Still, though...if blood prejudice was the only thing that was keeping Harry safe…

Well. It was a good thing he wasn’t petty, anyway.

Harry didn’t get the chance to search the house again, after dinner - Remus and Regulus both lingered a while before returning to the school, so the upstairs was in use by all four adults, leaving Harry to simply barricade himself in his room and take a moment to process.

I’m not an orphan, he thought, because that was the most jarring part. I’m a Gryffindor, but act like a Slytherin. I’m friends with Draco Malfoy. Ron is sort of my friend, still, but probably only out of convenience. Cedric Diggory is alive, and we...might be friends?

It didn’t really add up to him. Cedric had been a really nice, friendly, popular guy. If Harry was some scumbag, why would they have ever hung out? 

If Harry hadn’t been a champion in the Triwizard Tournament, they never would have even spoken at school. Even Harry as he was, in his own history, would not have been someone Cedric sought a friendship with, without their helping each other for the competition. A Harry that was also a complete arse-...

He dug out the key he’d found, staring at it.

This Harry had secrets. Mountains of them, given the amount of information he was uncovering as he went. A whole lifetime of things he’d built that Harry had no clue existed, given that he hadn’t lived a life anywhere near the one from this world. 

He closed his hand around the key.

But do I want to know? 

The responsible thing to do would be to simply keep his head down, waiting for his mother to find out if he could go back. To research on his own, perhaps - to break into the Ministry again, if all else failed. He needed to go back, to return to the fight he’d vanished from, to make sure everyone was safe. 

If time is still passing there, though… 

There was no doubt about it. Harry was a few weeks behind where his world had been, but if he came back to find time a full day ahead of where he’d left it, the timelines passing parallel, if staggered-

….If a full day had passed, his friends were dead.

His chest seized, and he hunched in on himself, dropping back against the wall beside his door. 

Hermione, Ron - he’d brought them along without question. He needed them, they were vital to his survival - without them, what was he?

Luna, Neville, Ginny - he hadn’t even...He had been annoyed when they wanted to come. They had offered to risk their lives for him and he’d brushed it off as an inconvenience. 

Maybe this isn’t so strange a world, after all, he thought. Maybe, in a world where he’d never had to worry about anything but normal school things, his selfish side had been able to encompass him. Maybe this Harry took Malfoy’s hand at the start of school, let him spin tales of how purebloods ruled the earth. 

Except, why would Malfoy have offered it?

Harry wasn’t the Boy Who Lived, here.

He was just...some prick.

Harry had always wanted to just be another child among many, allowed to live his life with concerns about studying and dating and what he looked like and all those other trivial things he’d never really prioritized. He’d finally given up on that when Cedric Diggory fell dead, when the first crucio had hit, when he had to tell the world that Voldemort was back-...

...When his godfather tipped through the Veil, lost forever.

Even if I go back…

Sirius, his Sirius, was dead. He’d waved goodbye in the mirror, and he was gone. 

Depending on the physics of the Veil, his friends could be dead, too. The whole world could have fallen, followed his loved ones to the grave. The world could have lost their Boy Who Lived and simply given in, letting Voldemort conquer. 

Dumbledore would beat him, Harry told himself. It was never up to me. It was going to be him. He’s who Voldemort fears.

But…

Was he?

Was Voldemort afraid? When he’d waltzed onto their school grounds more than once, undetected? When he’d not hesitated to kill one of his students, had attempted to kill the other? When he’d had a spy working for Dumbledore - two, even, if he believed Snape to be loyal only to him?

Actually, Harry still wasn’t sold on that one. 

Is there anything to even go back to?

He...didn’t think there was. 

I’m the only one left, Harry thought, staring down at the key in his hand. No matter where I am...The only person left…

...Is me. 

The sob that ripped through him was unexpected, though it shouldn’t have been. He dropped, sliding down the wall, curling his knees up to his chest, fist closing tight around the key.

You’re so selfish, a voice whispered, and he couldn’t tell if it was his own thoughts or the phantoms of the Veil again. You finally got a family, and you’re mourning your darling reputation? 

That’s not it, he thought back to it. I want my friends.

He wanted…

There was a crack, and he looked up, startled, to see wide eyes watching him.

Familiar wide eyes. 

“K-Kreacher?” Harry spluttered. Quickly, he reached up, scrubbing his face clear with his sleeve. “What are you-...?”

“Master Harry is hurting,” Kreacher observed. “Master Regulus sends Kreacher to help...Master Regulus worries about his child.” 

Kreacher sounded about as contemptuous about Harry as ever, and-...

And it drew a soft, surprised laugh from him, because at least that was familiar. 

“You don’t have to bother with me, Kreacher,” Harry told him. “I don’t need anything from you.” 

“Kreacher is not answering to Master Harry,” Kreacher said. “Kreacher is answering to Master Regulus only.” 

Right, Harry thought. It would be that Kreacher still only liked the main Black family, hating everyone else regardless of the universe. He could only hope that Regulus wasn’t earning that loyalty by being a raging blood-purist asshole, but-...

...But, he didn’t like Harry, who was apparently that kind of blood purist asshole himself, so he was probably just crazy.

“Well, fine, then,” Harry said. He sniffed once to ensure his crying had firmly ceased, and climbed to his feet. “If you want to sit there and stare at me, feel free. I’ll just go to bed.”

He approached the bed, but stopped after only a couple of steps, as a thought occurred to him.

“...Kreacher,” Harry said, turning around. “You know the whole house, right?”

Kreacher squinted at him. “Kreacher knows,” he confirmed, clear suspicion in his voice. “What is Master Harry seeking?”

Harry turned the key over in his hand...and then, very reluctantly, pinched it in his fingers, showing it to Kreacher. “Do you know where this goes?”

Kreacher scowled. “Master Harry’s undercroft,” he said, sounding annoyed - like he thought Harry had asked as a test. “Kreacher knows his orders, Master Harry. Expansion charm is still holding, Masters Regulus and Potter have not been told.”

It really is a secret, Harry thought. Leaning forward, he extended the key out. “Take me to it.”

Kreacher’s squint narrowed even further. “Master Harry is not needing an escort, certainly.”

“Yes, well,” Harry said, turning the key over, clutching it in his fist again. “You were told to help me, right? This is what I want you to do.” 

Kreacher hissed, but stiffly moved, reaching out to grab the wrist of Harry’s outstretched fist, before they both vanished with a pull of Harry’s gut and a loud pop. 

The second they were solid again, Harry stumbled, getting his bearings again, and looked around. 

They were in the living room again. 

Hidden entrance, Harry realized. Trying to act as casual about it as possible, Harry reached back out, extending the key to Kreacher again. “Open the door?”

Kreacher gave Harry an unimpressed look. “Kreacher is not knowing snake-speech, Master Harry,” he snarled. “Kreacher cannot unlock Master Harry’s enchantment.”

Snake-speech?

Parseltongue? He thought. 

There went Dumbledore’s theory, he supposed - it seemed his parseltongue wasn’t tied to Voldemort, after all. 

Can my dad do it? He wondered. Or is that just...me?

Still. Parseltongue was the key, then, so he took a deep breath, looking around, trying to find some place that might have been where he hid something.

There. 

The fireplace had a long, silver box, on the top of which there was an engraving of a coiled snake. 

He picked it up, toying with it, but it wouldn’t open, and he couldn’t feel anything hidden on it.

Maybe…

“Open,” he hissed to the snake.

Beneath his thumb, along the crease of the box, a keyhole opened. 

“I really wanted to hide this, huh,” he muttered, jabbing in the key, popping it open. 

A translucent silver powder sat inside. He frowned down at it, before turning, holding it out to Kreacher. “What do I-...?”

Kreacher scowled at him. “Kreacher is not taking tests well, Master Harry,” he snapped, but stuck his grubby little fist out, snatching up a handful of powder, and turning to the fireplace, tossing it in.

“Undercroft,” he said, as though summoning a floo gate. 

In the fireplace, silver flames erupted. Harry watched them for a second, before they died out, quick as they’d come...and, in their place, where the back of the fireplace had been, there was now a dim-lit stone staircase. 

“Huh.”

That was an interesting enchantment. Had...had he done that? Was he that good at charms? 

I suppose, when your dad is a teacher…

He really hoped he didn’t disappoint them too badly when he took this Harry’s exams and bombed them all. Something told him that his single, solitary O would not cut it. 

“The stairs will be hiding soon, Master Harry,” Kreacher prompted him. “Is Master Harry to be going down, now?”

Harry turned, looking at the staircase leading upstairs. “Can they use the floo while I’m down there?” he asked. “To go back to Hogwarts?”

“They can,” Kreacher said, still impatient.

Well...alright then. 

Harry turned, stepping forward, making his way slowly down the first few steps. 

Kreacher came rushing past him, suddenly, stopping at the bottom of the stairs, and Harry heard a great scraping of stone, turning over his shoulder in time to watch the back wall of the fireplace slide back up out of the ground, covering the entrance. 

“We can get back, right?” Harry asked. “Without that box?”

He looked down the stairs, where Kreacher was watching him with a strange look, finally not irate for a moment, though Harry had no idea what he was thinking. 

“There is a box in the Undercroft,” Kreacher said. “It will let us be going back up.”

He didn’t sound impatient, but honestly, that worried Harry more than his temper. What’s he thinking? He wondered, starting down the stairs. What’s he decided that changed his attitude? 

He reached the door at the end, and shoved his worries about Kreacher aside, focusing on the bigger mystery.

The door was flat, with no doorknob, but a carving in the wood of a snake head, mouth open in a hiss. 

What’s with me and snakes? He wondered. 

“Open,” he hissed again. 

There was a soft whoosh of air, and the door parted from the wall, swinging inward. 

Alright, he thought, looking in.

Let’s see what I’m hiding. 

Chapter Text

The space was small, a single room, about the size of one of Hogwarts’ smaller classrooms. In the center of the room, there was a cylindrical podium, yet another snake sculpted spiraling around it. On the top, there was a basin, and the snake’s head rose off the podium and arced around, mouth open, serving as a faucet for the fountain, water continuously pouring from it. 

Or-...not water. Something else.

Soft, silver light- a pensieve. 

“Oh, brilliant,” Harry breathed, crossing the room. He looked up, casting a glance around the room, then back to Kreacher. “Do I have any memories stored?” He asked, daring to hope.

Kreacher kept giving him that unreadable new stare, but crossed the room, to a section of wall in the back of the room. He passed his hand over it, and a cabinet revealed itself, doors opening to show him a single shelf of neat glass bottles, wisps of light swirling within. 

“Finally,” Harry said, taking a step toward them. “Some fucking answers.”

A hand caught his wrist.

Harry stopped, looking down at Kreacher, brows furrowed. “What?” he snapped, harsher than he meant it to be. “I need to-...”

“Master Harry has forgotten something,” Kreacher said, lowly.

Harry frowned. “What? What have I forgotten?”

“Kreacher doesn’t know, sir,” he said, looking between Harry and the vials, then back again. “But he is looking for it, isn’t he, sir ?”

Harry swallowed. 

So Kreacher had caught on. 

“I-...I broke a magical artifact,” Harry said, hesitantly. “You can’t tell anyone, Kreacher. Yes, I’ve forgotten some things, but I’ll be fine. It’ll go back to normal soon, I’m sure. So don’t tell anyone, alright, Kreacher? That’s-...”

Hermione was going to kill him.

“That’s an order,” he stressed. “You can’t tell anyone about this. No one else can know I’ve forgotten anything, alright, Kreacher?”

Kreacher scowled at him, but gave a nod regardless. “Master Harry shouldn’t be keeping secrets,” he said, lowly. “Master Harry’s parents will be very unhappy.”

“Mum knows,” Harry said. “And she’s helping me, okay? It’s just - don’t tell my dad or-...um, my dads. Don’t tell them, okay?” 

“Kreacher won’t say,” the house elf agreed. “But what is Master Harry looking for? Kreacher does not think he will find anything pleasant in those.” He shot a scornful look toward the bottles. 

“Why?” Harry asked, leaning forward eagerly. “What’s in them? What do I use this room for, Kreacher?”

Kreacher grimaced. “Master Harry made the room for happy memories, sir,” he said. “But he did not keep it that way. Master Harry keeps his worst memories here, so that they don’t stay so loud in his mind, sir. He hides them here, until his birthday.”

“My birthday?” Harry echoed. “What do I do on my birthday?” 

“Master Harry hides down here,” Kreacher said. “And he puts them all back...and he gets angry.”

“Angry..?” Harry asked. “I just- I piss myself off for my birthday?”

“Master Harry doesn’t mean to,” Kreacher said. “He means to remember why, sir. But when he puts them all back, he gets angry. He takes them all out again, and puts them away. He makes himself forget them. And then he’s angry, so angry, and he can only remember pieces. So he gets mean.”

Harry’s stomach sunk. “The reason- the thing that makes me such a twat,” Harry said. “It’s this room?”

“It’s Master Harry himself,” Kreacher said. “He hides it in this room, though, yes.” 

Harry looked to the vials, and, very carefully, crossed the room and picked one up.

“Alright, Kreacher,” he said, staring down at it. “Which one is first?”

He’s young. Maybe six or seven, if he had to guess, though if he remembered his own growth well, he’d be willing to believe he was older and just small. Malnutrition might not have been entirely to blame for that. 

His mother is sitting in front of him, on the floor, holding his hands. 

“America’s full of loony wizards, Harry,” she said, in a conspiratorial tone. “So they call us loony wizards of England to come be loony with them once a year, and pay us a lot of money to sit in a big circle and talk about nothing important at all. And, unfortunately, I’m not allowed to skip it, even if I really want to.”

“But it’s a month,” Harry whined. “And…”

Lily’s smile faded into a concerned frown. “What is it, love?” She reached up, cupping his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“Dad works all the time, too,” Harry murmured. “And I’m always with Uncle Sirius, but they don’t want me there.” 

Lily’s eyes widened. “What makes you say that?” 

“They don’t stay with me,” Harry said. “Uncle Remus doesn’t like me at all, and Uncle Regulus always seems so mad.” 

Lily’s brows pinched. “They- It’s not you, sweetheart,” Lily said, petting his hair lovingly. “Uncle Remus and Uncle Sirius- they’re both sick, very often, you see. And Regulus is a potions master, and has to make the potions that keep them well, and - well, he doesn’t want them around other people without a lot of help, especially a child.” 

“‘M not a kid,” Harry muttered bitterly. “If they’re sick, why don’t they go to the hospital?” 

Lily winced. “Uncle Sirius has a doctor,” she said. “And Uncle Remus is...a different kind of sick. There’s really nothing you can do for him except control it, and...he probably doesn’t want to give it to you, is all. He doesn’t want you to get hurt, even if it means he can’t play.” 

“What kind of sick?” Harry demanded. “Why can’t he get better?”

Lily’s lips pressed into a hard line. “That’s- It’s not my place, Harry.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I can’t tell you, love,” she said. “It’s up to-...”

“Why not?!” Harry shouted. “Why can’t I know? If he really doesn’t hate me, why won’t he spend time with me?”

“He’s just afraid, sweetheart,” Lily tried to tell him. 

“That’s stupid!” Harry snapped. “He’s stupid! Why won’t anyone tell me anything?”

Lily’s face hardened. “Harry, calm down,” she said, in a stern voice. “Getting angry won’t-..” 

Harry yanked his hands free. “Stop acting like you care!” he snapped. “Go back to stupid work! I can take care of myself!”

Lily’s face pinched, and her mouth opened, but Harry felt a yank on his gut, and found himself forced out, standing beside the basin of the pensieve again. 

He heaved a hard, heavy breath. He- he had been so angry, and Harry could almost understand why, but it-..it was also like looking at a young Dudley Dursley, upset about things that Harry would have been overjoyed with, because their experiences were just so different from each other. 

Of course, that was aided by the fact that he, an older, alternate Harry, knew exactly what Lily wasn’t saying.

They’d implied, at dinner, that Sirius was on some sort of psychiatric care potion. ‘Black Madness’ indeed - this version of Sirius had not had Azkaban as an excuse for being a step shy of sane. Remus, on the other hand, was a werewolf. He got nervous enough around the children at Hogwarts, reluctant to be anywhere near them for days on either side of the full moon. It was no wonder he’d take his godchild(-in-law?) and panic over risking being around him. 

Was that why Harry and Remus didn't get along? Childhood spite?

Only one way to find out. 

"The next one, Kreacher," Harry said. "Please."

He's in the front of the great hall, and they've just called his name for sorting. 

Little eleven year old Harry crosses to the chair and settles in, overlarge hat dipping over his eyes. 

"Hmm…" Harry heard the wizened old hat say, though he knew an actual outside observer would not have. "Interesting. Very interesting...sharp as a tack certain, and wit, however biting...but loyalty, if hard earned, that is fierce and unyielding...a desire to succeed, to prove oneself...and an undaunted heart, determination unfailing. You could go many ways, young one, many ways."

Little Harry's eyes screwed up. “Gryffindor,” he whispered. “Like my mom. Gryffindor.”

“Gryffindor, hm?” the hat replied, an odd contrast to Harry’s own sorting. “There is courage in you, indeed….but the hunger to be great...You would do so terribly well in Slytherin, you know.”

Young Harry’s whole face crumpled. 

There’s a familiar attitude, at least, the elder Harry thought. What happened to that?

“Ah…” the hat murmured. “But you harbor hatred in you, so very strong...Hatred, and anger...No, it’s true, you will need bravery to mount the obstacles you built around yourself. Slytherin would nuture you, yes, but it would breed something darker….better, yes, better it be-...”

The hat yelled out ‘Gryffindor!’ and the hall clapped jovily, the red-and-gold table cheering.

Harry’s eyes were drawn to the side, where the teachers were - where, specifically, Regulus and Remus were sitting.

Regulus gave an overdramatized sigh, while Remus beamed and clapped. 

“James will be insufferable,” Regulus said. 

“Don’t worry,” Remus said. “He’ll try out for seeker, next year, and you can take your turn to gloat.” 

“Don’t know why you’re so happy,” Regulus said. “You were hoping for Ravenclaw.”

“Well, this is better,” Remus said. “And it’s not Slytherin.” 

Harry looked back to his younger self, and found him looking in the same direction, eyes fixed on the two teachers.

He looked...satisfied. Proud to be where he wanted to be?

Or...proud not to be where they wanted him? 

The yank on his gut was less jarring that time, and when he blinked the memory from his eyes, he found himself more confused than anything. 

“What was that about?” Harry asked, though he didn’t really expect any answer. “It was just a sorting…”

“Master Harry made the room for happy memories,” Kreacher reminded him. “They are ordered by age...not happiness. Some are good things. Master Harry is never dwelling too long on the good things.” 

Harry grimaced. “Can you-...?”

Kreacher passed the next vial over without a word.

They were in Remus’ office.

It looked the same as it had in Harry’s actual class with him, though with a bit more clutter, decorations having built up over the years. Harry’s eyes were drawn immediately to a picture on his desk, where a black-and-grey Sirius was snoozing against the frame. 

“You lied to me!”

The scream startled Harry, and he looked over to see his younger self, more furious than the elder Harry could ever remember being. 

“I didn’t,” Remus protested, holding his hands out in a gesture of surrender. “We were going to tell you, eventually-...”

“Eventually?!” Harry shouted. “Eventual-... when?! When did you think would be good to tell me?”

“When you were older,” Remus said, voice sounding strained. “When you’d understand-...”

“Understand what?” Harry snarled, pure rage dripping from every word. “That you’re a monster?” 

Remus flinched.

So did the older Harry.

Harry must have found out about Remus being a werewolf, he thought, eyeing his younger self. He didn’t look much older than the last memory - in his first year, still, most likely. He’d probably noticed Remus dipping out of classes, or something. Harder to hide something like that in close proximity, especially when everyone implied this world’s Harry was more on Hermione’s level of intelligence. 

“Harry,” Remus said, pleadingly. “Understand- it’s controlled, I keep my mind, it’s simply-...”

“An illness,” Harry said, stiffly. “That ‘illness’ everyone always said you had. The one I got in trouble if I asked about? It was this?” He waved a hand out, wildly. “What about Sirius? Is he something freakish, too? What else do you hide from me?” 

Remus’ mouth pressed into a hard line. “Sirius’ illness is different. No, he’s not- not a monster. That’s...just me.” He took a deep breath, before pressing on, “We don’t hide anything from you, Harry.”

“Don’t hide anything?” Harry said, laughing bitterly.

Remus frowned, face fading from stern to confused. “What is it? Did you hear something else?”

“I know you’re a werewolf because you were talking to Regulus about it!” Harry snapped. “And I heard you! I heard every word of it.” 

Remus continued to frown, and then...blanched. His face went oddly flat. “You heard-...”

“They’re engaged!” Harry shouted. “Everyone bloody knows about it but me! Who was going to tell me? When? Would I just come home and find out they got married?” 

“They were going to tell you soon,” Remus said, quickly. “They just didn’t know-...”

“Is he why?”

Remus blinked. “Is-...Is who what, Harry?”

Harry, still fuming, grit out through clenched teeth. “Is he why she leaves?” 

Remus’ face went slack.

Harry drew back, apparently taking his own answer from that. “Forget it,” he spat. “You’ll just keep lying to me.”

“Harry…”

“Don’t talk to me,” Harry snapped. “I hate you. All of you.”

He turned harshly on his heel, storming out, his lack of attention fuzzing the memory of Remus, but not before Harry got a glimpse of his devestated face. 

Harry left the memory, standing still a moment, processing that.

Was he just...lonely? Harry thought, gripping the sides of the basin. Was that all it was?

“Kreacher…”

The house elf passed another vial to him. Harry took it, but hesitated, looking down at him.

“Do these…” Harry said, gripping the bottle. “Do these get worse?”

“Master Harry is not kicking Kreacher out by this point...but he does later, sir.” 

“When?” Harry asked, looking to the cabinet. “Which memory?”

“Two more, after that one, sir,” Kreacher said. “Master Harry will not watch the last with Kreacher here. No one is permitted to see Master Harry while he remembers.” 

Harry was a bit worried the glass in his hand would shatter with how tight he was holding it, so he dragged it to the basin, uncapped it, and poured it in.

“Three more,” he murmured. “Let’s go, then.” 

He was in the potions classroom - immediately obvious to him by the fact that there were cauldrons at every table, and his younger self and an eleven-year-old Draco Malfoy were hunched over one of them, squinting at the contents. 

“It’s done,” Draco said. 

“No it isn’t,” Harry countered. “He doesn’t like it until it’s darker.” 

Draco eyed him. “You’re using your advantage, again.” 

“What?” Harry said. “Knowing potions?”

“Knowing Professor Black.” 

Harry snorted. “Using that is only fair,” he said. “Anyone could turn in absolute garbage and get a better grade than me giving him a technically perfect potion. It’s like he thinks he needs to make sure nobody thinks he likes me.” 

“It could be worse, you know,” Draco said, casually, stirring their potion. “Your dad could be marrying some muggle. At least it’s another pureblood.”

Harry blinked, looking at him in confusion. “What’s that mean?”

Draco turned incredulous eyes on him. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of those, are you? Those blood traitors who think muggles are so great?” 

Harry frowned. “I’ve met... some muggles,” he said, and the older Harry was immediately certain he meant the Dursleys. “I don’t much like them, but…”

“Yes, well,” Draco said. “They’re all a menace. They don’t understand magic, and so any one of them that finds out about it immediately goes stupid, and we have to waste wizards’ time to go and wipe their memory so they don’t go mental. It’s ridiculous. And then, some wizards go and marry them. And then they’re usually disgusted by magic. They think we’re some kind of freaks. They see all wizards as something like-...like-...”

“A werewolf?” Harry suggested.

“Oh, awful,” Draco said. “But, yeah, I suppose. Muggles are stupid, and they think we’re dangerous and should be locked up or something. But, see, most pure-blood wizards think its them that need to be done away with. And those ‘wizards’ and ‘witches’ that come from them, too. They’re hardly proper wizards.” He gave Harry a look. “My father says it’s probably mudbloods that started blood curses in the first place, you know. If no wizard had ever been with a muggle, we’d probably never have even gotten abominations like werewolves to begin with.” 

“Really?” Harry sounded fascinated. “Is blood that important?”

“Of course!” Draco said. “Look at the grades, alone - you and I are the top of this class, and it’s all mudbloods and halfbloods except you and me. Purebloods are just naturally better wizards.” He eyed Harry again. “Your father never told you any of this?” 

Harry scowled. “When would he?” he said. “He’s Head Auror, so he’s always busy. I spend most of the time with my godfather.”

“Oh?” Draco said. “Who’s that, then?” 

“Uh,” Harry faltered. “It’s, um. It’s Professor Black’s brother.” 

“Oh, brilliant,” Draco said. “You know, my godfather’s an auror, too. Severus Snape.” 

“Snape?” Harry echoed. “I think I’ve heard my dad mention him before, yeah. Hasn’t told me anything, but sometimes I hear him complain about work to other people, or something, so I get bits.” He lowered his voice, and asked, “Did you know they get in through toilets?” 

“No way,” Draco said. “You’re making that up.”

Harry turned at him and beamed. “Do you want to eat lunch with me?” he asked. “I’ll tell you all the secrets I’ve gotten.” 

“Definitely,” Draco said. “But don’t just take the piss! I know they don’t go through toilets.” 

“They do, too!”

“Shut up.”

The memory faded away gently, spitting Harry out again. 

So he had his mother leaving, followed by his sorting, followed by finding out Remus’ secret, followed by befriending Malfoy?

“There’s two more, then the bad one, right?” Harry said.

“Just those three,” Kreacher confirmed.

If they followed the same pattern, it’d be a bad one, then a good one...then a really bad one, apparently. 

Well. 

No time like the present.

Professor Flitwick looked the same in the memory as he ever did, and Harry was instantly concerned, because if this was a bad memory, it took place during a class, which was not a great time for Harry to have had one of the total meltdowns from the other two memories. 

“You’re saying it wrong,” a painfully familiar voice said, in its painfully familiar know-it-all manner. “It’s Levi- oh -sa, not Levio- sah.” 

Harry turned around, very reluctantly, to look at Hermione, coaching Ron on the correct way to levitate a feather.

“Brilliant, Granger,” another painfully familiar voice said - this one his own. He looked, watching himself turn around in his seat, grinning at her. “Muggleborn, but can still pronounce your vowels.”

Hermione’s face flushed, her lips pressing into a thin line, and Harry was suddenly furious, wanting to cross through the memory and strangle himself. 

“It’s not her parents’ fault she’s insufferable,” Ron muttured, and Harry wasn’t sure whose side that was meant to be on.

“Mister Weasley!” Flitwick snapped. “And you, too, Mister Potter! Shame on you both. Leave Miss Granger be. If you think you’ve got it better, perform the charm yourself.” 

Ron’s face burned red as his hair, which Harry thought was only fair, but his younger self simply snorted, picked up his wand, and twisted around in his seat.

“Mister Potter!” Flitwick cried, warningly, but it was too late.

He flicked his wand through the air, pronouncing deliberately, “Windgardium Leviosa,” and the ink pot on Hermione’s desk rose up into the air.

No, Harry thought, watching it as though in slow motion. You’re not- you absolute twat-

The ink pot dropped, tipping as it did, bouncing against the table surface. Ink spilled out, covering the notes she’d been furiously scribbling throughout that lesson, and splashed up on her robes and across her nose.

There were cries of half amused delight, half outrage, while Harry proceeded to ignore all the noise - Flitwick’s yelling included - and look at Ron, simply saying, “You were saying it fine. You were just focusing too much on the wand movement, so you weren’t actually thinking about making it float.”

“Oh,” Ron said. “Brilliant, thanks.” 

A chair squeaked across the floor, and Hermione was suddenly on her feet, practically sprinting from the room.

Hermione, leave in the middle of a class? 

It was a good thing none of his suicide watch were around, because if Harry had ever wanted to kill someone in his life, it was this alternate him, right now. 

What was worse, he probably thought this was a good memory. He probably recalled it for satisfaction of beating an enemy and the origin of his friendship with Ron. 

As the memory faded, Harry sprung free scowling.

“Kreacher,” he said. “Why the hell did anyone let me be this way?” He looked down at the house elf. “Three parents, and none of them throttled me for being such a little shit?”

“Master Potter tries, sir,” Kreacher said. “Master Regulus is always kind to Master Harry, even when he’s worried. But neither could change it. Master Harry was always the same, no matter what his family did.” 

Harry’s stomach churned. 

“Last one, right?” he asked. “Before the bad one?”

Kreacher simply passed the bottle. 

The young Harry in this memory was older - not that much younger than Harry was at the moment. 

Fourth year? He guessed.

He was heading somewhere, and so the older Harry followed him, until-...

“Hey! Diggory!”

Harry froze.

In front of his eyes, he watched a living, breathing Cedric Diggory stop, turning to wait for Harry to catch up, leaving them standing alone in the grass just by the lake. 

Even if it was just a memory...Harry’s heart pounded, and his vision swam. 

Even if it was just a memory, Cedric would still look like that. Cedric would be in his last year at Hogwarts. 

Cedric wasn’t dead. 

“Yeah?” Cedric asked, as Harry reached him. “What is it, Potter?”

“Oof, that’s not even a little friendly,” Harry said. “I’m doing you a favor, you twat.” 

Cedric’s eyebrows drew together. “A favor? I don’t need any favors from you.”

“Sure you do,” Harry said, and then leaned forward conspiratorally. “The first task is dragons.” 

Harry’s stomach dropped. They’d still held the tournament? He supposed it had been arranged outside of Voldemort’s schemes, and the dark lord had simply taken advantage of it, but it wasn’t a pleasant thought. 

“I’m not that stupid,” Cedric said, though he sounded suspicious, rather than just annoyed. “They’re not making teenagers fight dragons.”

“They absolutely are,” Harry said. “Lupin and the groundskeeper went to look at them together last night. They’re smaller than I thought they’d be, but I suppose they don’t want you fighting any proper dragon.” 

Harry stared at himself, incredulous. ‘Proper’ dragon? The dragon he’d gone against could have crushed him under a single nail. 

Cedric pursed his lips. “Why are you telling me this, then?” he asked. “If you are telling the truth.”

“Because,” Harry said. “Fleur’s rejected Ron twice, and Krum is dating Granger now, so I personally want them both to lose. Hufflepuff you may be, you’re our only chance to win this.” 

“I’ll try not to take offense to that,” Cedric said, dryly. “Knowing it is a dragon - if it is-.. .”

“It is.”

“I still don’t know what I’m meant to do about it.” 

“I had some ideas for that,” Harry said. 

Cedric squinted at him.

Harry beamed in response. “Top grades in potions, charms, and defense - and all three of those teachers hate me. Let me help you win.” 

“I’m not cheating,” Cedric said. “No matter what I do, I’m doing it as honest as possible.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Harry said, not sounding like he particularly cared if this rule was followed or not. “You and me, then, Diggory. They’ll never know what hit them.” 

He held out a hand, and after eyeing it carefully a moment, Cedric hesitantly took it, shaking it. 

“Don’t make me regret this, Potter,” Cedric said.

“Oh,” Harry replied, cheerfully, “You will.”

“This...is the bad one,” Harry said, looking at the last bottle. “The really bad one?” 

“It is,” Kreacher said. “Will Master Harry be wanting Kreacher to leave, now?”

Harry took a deep breath, staring at the bottle. Part of him wanted to keep Kreacher there, simply to spite his other self if nothing else, but…

...If this was bad enough to cause one of those well-remembered meltdowns, he would probably want privacy, lest he announce to anyone else the degree to which he hated himself. 

“I’ve got this, Kreacher,” Harry said, hand closing tight around the bottle. “You can go.”

Kreacher dipped a bit forward, almost a bow, and vanished with a pop. 

Uncapping the bottle, Harry kept breathing steadily, pouring the memory into the basin. 

“Alright, you little shit,” he muttered. “Let’s see what you’re really hiding.”

They were in the Leaky Cauldron, and as soon as he saw the scene, he knew what was coming. 

This little fuck, Harry thought. I didn’t- Someone tell me I did not do this.

But, there he was: last year’s Harry, sitting at a table, across from Rita sodding Skeeter. 

“I told your little camera beetle,” Harry said. “I’m not interested in giving an interview. I’ll give you a quote or two on how much the other two can shove it, but a spill-all about Cedric isn’t happening.”

Oh. Harry felt almost guilty, having jumped to that conclusion. Had he befriended Cedric, after all? Gotten close to him and genuinely liked someone that wasn’t a major prick?

“Such a good boyfriend,” Rita said.

Harry eyed her, unsure if that term was being using like Dudley had used it, or…

..Or genuinely.

Younger Harry’s face revealed nothing, looking perfectly disinterested and increasingly annoyed. “That’s me. A real winner.”

“Yes, yes,” Rita said. “But, what I wanted to speak with you on, actually, was to get some quotes on another story I might have picked up via one of my, aha, ‘bug cameras,’ you said?”

Harry narrowed his eyes - both of them did, actually, though only the elder one knew what that beetle on campus actually was. 

“You see,” Rita said, and she pulled up her bag, unzipping it, dragging her stupid quill and all back out, going through her whole setup. “It appears to be as though a Hogwarts professor is harboring a major secret.”

The young Harry quirked an eyebrow. “You find Flitwick in his pants, we’ll do without the story, thanks.” 

“No, no, nothing so... basic,” Rita said, leaning forward. “You see, it seems one of the professors has a nasty little habit...this monthly, ah, appointment to keep.”

Both Harrys stiffened, though the younger one was a bit more subtle about it, face going flat and stern. 

“It would seem that each month, rather in line with certain lunar activity, one of your professors-...”

“Alright,” Harry said. “I get what you’re implying. It’s garbage. That’s a schoolyard rumor, at best. Weasley twins have been following him for years, and seen nothing. It’s an urban legend.” 

“Oh?” Rita said, propping her chin up on her hand, obnoxiously long hot pink nails curling. “Interesting, though, that you chose to deny a rumor about a teacher you’re rumored to despise, when confirming it would certainly be more beneficial to you.”

Harry’s jaw twitched, and his older self winced. It was an obvious tell - all three of them knew Harry had given her exactly what she was after. 

Confirmation...and the idea that he cared. 

“Oh, you know, beast rights are such a hot button right now,” Rita said. “New bills passing every day, things like that. Dreadful news to here, some of the treatment those sorts receive-...”

“What do you want, Skeeter?” Harry snapped. 

She turned a predatory, red-lipped smile on him. “A story,” she said. “Whether you provide a quote on the relative safety of a werewolf in Hogwarts-...” She smiled wider at his wince, “Or an expose on your rumored beau, the Hogwarts champion Cedric Diggory…”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. “He hates the press,” he said. “I say one word to you, and it’s over. He’ll never speak to me again.”

Rita tipped her head, eyes trailing to the quill beside her, then back again. “Well, then, I suppose you could tell me about the quality of your latest Defense lessons..?”

Harry’s eyes slid closed. Pain and frustration showed on his face, and he took a deep breath, before opening his eyes back up.

“Alright,” he said. “You win. What do you want to know?” 

Rita leaned forward eagerly, positively beaming. “Everything.”

Chapter Text

Harry stood at the edge of the basin a moment, processing. 

He bargained for Remus’ sake, he thought. Even though he claimed to hate him- even though he resented him-...

Even with that, Harry had been unable to let someone ruin Remus’ life. 

Even if it cost him a relationship that he clearly cared about, that he’d put some sort of effort into, that looked to even have had a positive effect on him - if he had been changing for Cedric, and then made the call, deciding that the social impact would hit Remus harder than it would hit him…

He wished there were more memories. He wished there were more answers, explanations - did the other Harry think about his own reputation, when weighing his options? Consider whether he’d prefer to be the snake that played a man for fame or the godson of a werewolf who’d infiltrated a school? 

“I can’t-...” Harry shook his head, staring down into the pensieve. 

A pop sounded behind him. 

“Kreacher, when I’m gone, someone tell the ministry Rita Skeeter is an unregistered animagus.” 

“When you’re gone?” 

Harry jumped, spinning around. Kreacher was there, yes, but beside him, little shit of a house elf clinging to his trouser leg, was Regulus. 

“You..!” Harry looked down at Kreacher. “I told you not to tell him!”

“Master Harry told Kreacher not to talk about his memories,” Kreacher said - probably taking thrill in being able to oust him there, too. “Just as Master Harry has told Kreacher not to mention the undercroft. But when Master Harry is in the undercroft, it is safe to apparate into, and Kreacher has never been told not to.”

Harry stared, incredulous. “You absolute shit.” 

“Harry!” Regulus scolded. “This- how long have you been hiding this down here?” He looked around. “It’s-...! How did you even…?” He looked back. “And what’s this about your memories?” 

“I, ah…” Harry looked from Regulus, to the pensieve, and back. “It’s a...thinking place.” 

“Tell me you made this from the school,” Regulus said. “Because you’re not meant to be doing magic at home. That’s not just for muggleborns, Harry, it applies-...”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Harry said. “It’s not- Well, I mean, if you didn’t get a letter saying they felt magic here, then I must not have, right?” 

“Don’t be smart with me,” Regulus said. “Just because you aren’t getting caught-...” 

Harry huffed. “I haven’t done anything, and I’m still in trouble?” 

“Harry James Potter!” Regulus snapped. “You have a secret basement under the house, locked by fidelius charm.”

Is that what he did? Just put a charm on the basement that already existed, and let the magic do the hard work of making everyone forget it was even built there?

It was a lot less impressive sounding than building his own ‘Chamber of Secrets,’ but it was also much more reasonable.

Leave it to a house elf to be able to pop in and out of a charmed location anyway. 

“Well,” he said, because he simply couldn’t leave well enough alone, “Not anymore, I don’t.” 

Regulus sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, and opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. He stood, silently fuming a moment, before tersely prompting, “Rita Skeeter?”

“Unregistered animagus,” Harry said, holding up pinched fingers. “She turns into a beetle, about this big. It’s how she gets her ‘exclusive’ stories.” 

“...I see,” Regulus said. “Is this how she managed to contact you about that story last year?”

“About that-...” Harry said.

“I don’t want excuses,” Regulus said. “What you did was cruel-..”

“Yes, but-...”

“And Cedric never did anything-...” 

“Yes, but-...”

“And you betrayed his trust-...”

Harry let out a strangled noise of frustration. “This! This is the problem we have, you realize? I’ve been trying to talk since I got here and not a single person has let me speak!” 

“We know what you’re going to say, Harry,” Regulus said, cooly. “You always say the same things.” 

You don’t, though, Harry wanted to scream, but-...

But Harry’s memories had showed him a lot of yelling, and he knew well enough that when you were used to shouting, it was hard to appreciate the moments of quiet as anything more than ticking time bombs, counting down to the next blasted ear drum. 

He wanted to just come out and say it, tell him all of it, but- but he wouldn’t be able to tell him about the Veil, or any of that, and his mother had asked him to lie low. 

He forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath. 

He turned around.

“Harry, what are you-...?”

Harry lifted his wand, using it to stir the pensieve once, before lifting them up, tapping them to his temple, storing them safely inside his own mind.

Flashes of yelled words and hurt faces filled his subconscious, but he pushed them back, turning around.

“There,” he said. “I’m done, now. Do you want the key?” 

“Harry,” Regulus said, voice strained. 

“The ‘memory’ bit was me forgetting something,” Harry said. “But I’ve remembered it now, and I’m going to bed.” 

“We’re not done here, Harry,” Regulus said. 

“Yes, we are,” Harry said. “Memories put away, yelling at each other checked off, what’s next? I vote bed.” 

Regulus stared at Harry, an unreadable look on his face. 

Frustration welled up, ever stronger. “What?” 

“What did we do, Harry?” he asked, softly. “Why don’t you feel like you can trust us?”

Harry stared. “...Really?” he replied. “You tell me I can’t speak, because you already know exactly what I’m going to say, and then get mad when I don’t say anything at all? I can’t even trust the house elf, apparently, and he’s magically bound to listen to me.” He threw his hands up. “Not to criticize your parenting, but none of you are bloody Molly Weasley.”

Regulus huffed out what was almost a laugh. “Molly Weasley? That’s your prime example of a parent?”

“Yes, well,” Harry said, thinking of the young Harry from the memory, not understanding why no one wanted to spend more time with him than strictly necessary. “None of her children have ever doubted she loved them, for certain.” 

Regulus flinched, and Harry immediately felt terrible.

He was just- something in him was so angry, a ghost of the anger that lived inside the other Harry. Even in a world where he’d been given everything, people wouldn’t let him be. He would never, in any universe, just get to be Harry, the unremarkable wizard boy. He was determined to osticize himself somehow, regardless of which direction it went. 

And, in between those memories, Harry had grown up believing that he was, primarily, an inconvenience. He’d taken hesitant and reluctant attitudes in the adults around him to mean that being near him was some sort of chore, and he’d gone about making that chore as difficult as possible, waiting for someone to give up.

And, from what Harry could see….it worked. 

That really was his problem, he thought. He was just...incredibly lonely. 

It was a bit like realizing Draco had grown up under the thumb of Death Eaters, though - knowing why someone was a scumbag didn’t make them any less obnoxious. Given the chance, he’d still give the other Harry a good punch in the mouth. He’d just maybe be a bit nicer afterward. 

“I can’t stay here a week,” Harry said, making up his mind. “I’m getting restless, and it’s only been a day. You and I clearly can’t stop screaming at each other-...”

“Harry…”

“So the simplest solution would be to let me go back to school and do something bloody well productive , wouldn’t it?” 

Regulus sighed, watching him with sad eyes. “Go to bed, Harry,” he said, weakly. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Right,” Harry said, stepping around him and heading for the stairs. “Goodnight, then.” 

A hand caught his arm.

“What am I going to do?” Harry asked, exasperated. “Throw myself down the stairs? Single flight here, hardly worth the effort.”

“...Goodnight, Harry.”

Harry stopped short, and flushed, embarrassed at getting so caught up in his own frustration.

This was a man who thought that his son was suicidal, who genuinely believed that someone he loved both hated him and hated himself - the second half of which was getting disturbingly closer to being true.

He deliberated a second, there, before pushing aside his own discomfort and anxiety, and stepping forward, wrapping his arms around Regulus in a hug.

The man went stiff, a moment, clearly shocked-...and then clung back like his life depended on it.

Harry felt like a right arse.

“In my memories,” he said, carefully, into Regulus’ shoulder, “I’m always talking. In the good ones...someone listens.” He pulled back, turning away, heading up the stairs. “Goodnight,” he said again, stepping quickly through the door, and making his way straight up to his room.

I hope that helps them, Harry thought. I ought to leave this Harry a note...

...If I leave, that is.

He tried not to dwell on that, and instead crawled into bed, forcing himself to lie there until sleep finally came.

Regulus returned to his and James’ room, going through his nightly routine in a fog, until he found himself standing at the foot of their bed. 

“What’s wrong?” James asked, only to wince immediately. “I-..You know what I mean.” 

“We had a basement,” Regulus said.

James blinked. “We...did?”

“It’s still down there,” Regulus said. “Harry’s gone and put a bloody fidelius charm on it. Not a particularly strong one, but he’s only fifteen.” 

James sat up. “That’s an impressive spell to pull off, even weak,” he said. “And he did it-...what, just now?” 

“I don’t know,” Regulus said. “I have no idea how long it’s been down there. He’s got a pensieve in it. I don’t- we don’t have one of those, James.” 

“We don’t,” James agreed. “So Harry’s marked off our basement and filled it up with things without us noticing. And he told you about it?” 

“No,” Regulus said. “The charm was failing, so Kreacher showed it to me.” 

James stiffened a bit, alarmed. “A charm like that shouldn’t fail unless something happens to the caster,” he said. “Especially not if it was holding that well before now.”

“Well, he’s not okay,” Regulus said. “He was talking- before he saw me, he told Kreacher something about-...what to do ‘ when he’s gone.’”

James grimaced. “He’s really not okay, huh?”

“He was a bit like his usual self when he saw me,” Regulus said. “But-...Harry, normally, he’d have been furious. If I’d invaded a space he’d gone out of his way to make private, he’d unleash hell. Just now...Harry barely yelled. He was annoyed at worst. He barely even yelled at Kreacher, and you know how bad he is about that. And-...”

James’ eyebrows went up. “What is it?” he asked, softly.

Regulus climbed into the bed, coming into the arms that outstretched toward him, settling, tired, against James’ chest. “He hugged me,” he murmured. 

James blinked. “He...what?”

“He said-...He just wants us to listen,” Regulus said. “I was short with him, and he just-...he just asked us to listen.” 

“We are listening,” James said. 

Regulus snorted. “No, we’re not. We keep telling him we know. But...what if we don’t? What if something changed, and we had all already given up? How long have we been tuning him out?”

They sat, for a moment, in silence.

“He wants to go back to school,” Regulus added. 

“Of course he does,” James sighed. “He can’t get away from us here.” 

They’d changed the portrait password, that evening, as scheduled, and that was the only reason she bothered. 

She could have gone to bed. She should have, actually, she absolutely should have been resting for her next day’s classes, so that she was as prepared as possible for the upcoming exams. 

But, the thing was, she was a Prefect, and that meant that it was her job to ensure all the students were in the dorm and in bed on time, and if a student hadn’t returned, she had no way of knowing if they would know the new password. So she didn’t have a choice, really - if she wanted to do her duty, she had to stay up, and wait for them to knock at the portrait. 

Except, the thing was, it was almost midnight, and Hermione had seen no sign whatsoever of Harry Potter. 

Normally, that was a good thing, but…

“Heard they were shouting outside the hospital wing, arguing, ‘cause Potter had gone and sliced his arm all up. They say they dragged him down from the Astronomy Tower, too- maybe he’s decided to become a people pleaser after all.” 

It was a stupid rumor. Harry Potter was many things, but-...

She picked at the sleeve of her robe. 

...But what if it was true?

A noise startled her, and she jumped quickly to her feet, lit wand snapping up from where she’d been using it as a book light. “Potter?”

“Potter?” Weasley echoed, staring at her in disgust from the foot of the stairs. “Why, you waiting for him?” He gestured to her outstretched wand. “Gonna duel him? He’ll wipe the floor with you.” 

She flushed scarlet. “Why are you out of bed?” she demanded. 

“Why are you?”

“I don’t have to answer to you,” Hermione said, sternly. “I asked as a Gryffindor prefect.” 

“You gonna dock points from your own house because I fancied a walk down the stairs?” Weasley asked her, nastilly. “I’m down here for the same reason as you. Waiting for him.” 

She faltered, lowering her wand a second, before straightening back, conviction firm. “He’s not coming,” she said, admitting it to herself at the same time she observed it out loud. “Wherever he is, whatever’s happened with him…he’s not coming back to the dorms tonight.” 

Weasley let out a frustrated huff. "And you know this why?" He asked. "Don't suppose they bothered to tell you where he's gone to?"

"They haven't, no," Hermione admitted.  "But Professor Lupin and Professor Black both took the past two days off, despite it being exam season, so…" She looked to the door. "So it must be bad."

"Rumors are getting bloody ridiculous," Weasley said, flopping down into a chair. "Heard he shagged someone in the astronomy tower and got dragged out when they found him with his cock out." 

"Don't be vulgar," Hermione scolded. "And...and if that were the case, someone else would have been there, too. They would have also gotten in trouble."

"True," Weasley said. "Like that better than the other ones, though."

Hermione looked at him. In the worn lines of his face, she could see the truth: he was thinking of the same rumor she'd heard herself. 

"...He wouldn't have," she said, quietly. "He wouldn't have gone to jump. ...Would he?"

"How the bloody hell should I know?" Weasley snapped at her. "He doesn't keep a diary . Not like he's telling me everything that bothers him." He folded his arms. "Only one he ever got close to like that was-..."

He cut off abruptly. 

"Malfoy?" Hermione guessed. 

Weasley scoffed. "No," he said, shifting in his seat. "Malfoy's a lackey, that's all. Only person he ever really cared about…"

Hermione blinked. Fourth year sprung up, the whirlwind of the Tournament, and the rumors that flew as Harry Potter suddenly started to hold back. He fought with her less, he apologized when he ran into people, he was less sarcastic when asked a question, he hung out primarily with Hufflepuffs instead of Slytherins…

And then it had all come crashing down as he revealed it had all been a ploy for his own fame. 

"...Not Diggory?" 

Weasley scowled at her. "Yeah, yeah, tell me what everyone else does. 'Harry used him to get famous,' all that toss." He shook his head. "Harry came back from that interview looking-..."

He cut off again. 

"Why am I telling you this?" He demanded. "It's none of your business. Why you even care about this, anyway? You two hate each other."

Hermione pressed her lips together. Her throat burned, and she lowered herself into the chair across from him.

"Because…" She said, quietly. "Because...if it's true. If he did." She picked at her sleeve. "If he did...I understand."

Weasley's eyes flicked to her sleeve, then back again. "...Yeah?" He asked, voice quiet and raspy. 

She gave a sharp nod. 

"...Sorry," he murmured. "I know- I know it's mostly us that gives you shit."

"Not you, really," she said. "I've noticed that. It's just him. Actually, it's usually Malfoy, but he...he does it too."

"And you're still worried about him?"

"That's not something anyone deserves, I don't think," she said. "It's just horrible."

Weasley eyed her for a moment. Then, apparently coming to a decision, he cleared his throat, and told her in a low voice, "He cried."

Hermione's head snapped up, eyes wide. "What?"

"I-I mean, I didn't tell you that, or anything," Weasley said. "And I can't prove it, either. Didn't even see it. But he got back from that interview and...he just looked like hell. And he drew all the curtains around his bed and cast a bunch of charms to block out all the sound...and he didn't come out for a long time. And when he did, he looked even worse. Wouldn't talk about it." He folded his arms. "And he- he wouldn't brag about the article, or anything. Never even confirmed he'd done the whole thing as a gag. He just...let people talk."

Hermione frowned. "Do...do you think she did something to him? To make him give the interview?"

"Thought she might've, yeah," Weasley agreed. "He-...I know nobody else buys it, but he was different, last year. With Cedric, I mean. He wasn't faking that." 

"Maybe...maybe then," she said, sitting forward. "Maybe he didn't want to do it, and hearing everyone just...believe he did it on purpose, and hate him for it…"

"Maybe it was too much?"

Hermione bit her lip. "...You don't suppose...you don't think Professor McGonagall would know anything? I could ask her in the morning…"

"She won't tell you anything if she does," Weasley said. "And she hates Harry, anyway."

"I'm going to ask," Hermione declared, firmly. "...And we should get to bed." 

Weasley rolled his eyes, but stood, stretched, and started back toward the stairs. 

"Oh, and- Weasley?"

Weasley turned to look at her, eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

"...Thank you. For telling me."

Weasley looked away, giving a quick nod. "Right, yeah. Just...don't saying anything about it, alright?" He paused a moment, before shifting, and adding, "...And it's Ron."

And then he was gone, darting back up the stairs to the boys' dorms. 

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione greeted, as she was let into the woman's office. 

"Miss Granger," the professor returned, sounding weary. "To what do I owe the pleasure? It's rather early - too early to be discussing exams, so if-..."

"It's not exams," Hermione assured her, quickly. "Though-.."

The woman gave her a sharp look, and Hermione quickly corrected herself. 

"Right," she said. "I wanted to ask...I wanted to ask if you knew anything, ma'am, about-..."

McGonagall suddenly looked even more tired, the clear exhaustion aging her. "About Harry Potter, you mean?"

Hermione nodded. 

"It is nothing for you to be concerned with, Miss Granger, I assure you," McGonagall said. "The only people who need to know anything about it already do, and it is being handled as well as it can be. For now, you-..."

A ringing sound filled the air, and McGonagall sat up, sharply, reaching across her desk to retrieve a small silver disk. It was emitting both the noise and a soft light, and McGonagall muttered a curse and sat it down, moving to stand. 

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but I have to open the floo line, and I cannot do that with you here. Please go about your day as scheduled - I promise there is nothing more you can do, here."

Hermione nodded, and turned to leave. She'd only just stepped outside the door, though, when a horrible thought occurred to her...and the whim won out. She turned, slipping out her wand, and eased the door shut, taking advantage of the creak of it to cover a quickly whispered listening charm just inside the doorway. That set, she fled, ducking into the next empty classroom to cast the receiving charm, and listen in. 

There was shuffling, the sounds of McGonagall moving about to open the line, and then-...

"Remus!" McGonagall cried. "I was worried- how is-...?"

"Terrible," Professor Lupin's tired voice replied, and Hermione sucked in a sharp breath- her hunch had been right. This was a report on Harry, she was sure of it. 

"Terrible?" McGonagall asked. "Terrible how?"

"He's...like a stranger," Lupin said. "I'd call it catatonic if he weren't moving and speaking, he's so just...detached. Lily came by to see him, and he…" There was a moment of silence, which she imagined was filled by a gesture of some sort, before he pressed on, "He fell apart. He spoke to her in private, and she didn't tell us much, but...she implied he considered himself unloved."

"Dear boy…" McGonagall murmured. 

"Regulus said he keeps talking as though- as though it's inevitable. Caught him giving Kreacher instructions for 'when I'm gone.'" 

McGonagall hissed in a breath, and in the other room, Hermione covered her mouth, heart pounding. So he really did…

"He wants to come back to school, now, apparently," Lupin said. "But no one can tell if he wants something to do, or cares about exams, or if he just...doesn't want to be home." 

"I can't imagine this is a good environment for him, in this state," McGonagall said. "The students- he has quite the reputation, Remus, and the rumors are already reaching incredible heights. He will not be left alone."

"But he's miserable," Lupin said. "He just...carries it around, all the time. It's coming off him in waves." 

There was another moment of silence, this one longer. 

"....I can place monitoring spells in the dormitories to ensure his safety," McGonagall offered, softly. "But I can only hold the students back if they choose to act where I can see or hear them. Bringing him back here puts him at risk of being brought over the edge. And given that we don't know what caused this-..."

Hermione sat up, eyes wide, heart pounding. Their theory- if she told them, maybe they could-...

...but that would mean admitting she was listening, and admitting what Ron told her, all for the chance she might know the root of this. 

And, as much as she hated it...she couldn't take that gamble. 

"..I think I'm going to vote to bring him back," Lupin said. "I have to return to teach, for exams. Regulus, too. If nothing else, I don't want to leave him alone. I'd rather he be with us."

"Right," McGonagall said. "Then I will prepare the charms. When do you imagine he'll return?"

"Tonight, I think," Lupin said. "I'll let you know for sure when we've decided."

Hermione waved her wand, breaking the charm, and rushed back to the dorms. 

As she was entering through the portrait, she caught sight of Ron getting ready to head to breakfast, and rushed up to his side. 

"Ron!" She called. 

Ron looked to her, sharp and panicked. "G-Granger?! Don't-..."

Right. It was probably embarrassing for him to be seen speaking to her. She sniffed, hurt, but pressed past it, stepping in close, and telling him quietly, "He should be back tonight."

Ron stared at her, wide eyed...and then gave a small nod, and murmured back, "Thanks, Granger."

"You're welcome," she said. "And it's Hermione."

And with that settled, she turned, rushing up to her dorm. She had to hurry, or she'd be late to class. 

Chapter Text

Harry woke up screaming. 

He supposed that was to be expected- a few days ago, he was fighting for his life, watching his friends crumple like puppets with cut strings. 

Now, he might be okay, but ghostly specters haunted him, taunting him to his death, and people he loves looked at him like a stranger, and strangers looked at him with compassion and pity. 

If he wasn't tortured by nightmares, he wasn’t sure he'd even be human. 

Still, he wished that he'd had the foresight to silence the room, as his door blew open immediately, his various cheaply-gotten new relatives pouring in, all displaying various levels of panic and undress. 

"Harry!" 

It's Remus who burst in first, and somewhere in Harry's exhausted, frazzled mind, he recognized that the man was probably the best equipped for it- it'd been heavily implied that Sirius was no stranger to mental illness himself, and it's entirely possible Remus was on nightmare duty every night. 

But it worked out for Harry, because of the two strangers, the man he chased through death to arrive here, and Remus, he most wanted the comfort of the man who has never been anything but a source of it to him. 

Without even being fully aware of it, he reached out for the man, grabbing at his sleeves and tugging him forward until Remus sits on the edge of his bed. 

He stopped short of hugging him, but he did not let go, just sat there holding the man's sleeves. 

Remus eyed him with open concern, if a little wariness. "Harry? Are you alright?"

"It's just a nightmare, love," Regulus soothed from the side. "You're okay."

"That was not just a nightmare," Sirius said, standing in the doorway, eyes shadowed. "That was a night terror."

Harry shook his head furiously. "I'm- I'm okay." He flexed his fingers, but couldn't quite force himself to let go of Remus. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake anybody up." 

"Oh, we weren't sleeping the best anyway," James said- clearly aiming for a joke, but it was said so wearily that it landed a little flat. 

Right. Probably up worrying about Harry, and here he was, giving them another reason to. 

He forced himself to pull away from Remus. 

"I'm okay," he said, steadying his voice. "I... What time is it?"

The men all exchanged looks, but Sirius chimed from the door, "Round about quarter three." 

Harry winced. "Go back to bed," he told them. "I'm fine. I had these all-..."

All year, he almost said, or all summer before that. Dream after dream after dream of Cedric hitting the ground, of Voldemort's horrible amalgam being lowered into a foaming cauldron, of a graveyard at midnight. 

But he had to stop, because suddenly he was getting four identical horrified looks. 

"...The silencing charms," Regulus finally breathed out, in clear horror. "McGonagall has reported you so many times for casting them in the dorms- that's why?"

Harry twitched. He has no way of really knowing that, but he was not really in the place to communicate that without making things even worse, so he just said dryly, "Ah yes, because screaming in the middle of the night is the only reason I would want privacy in my room. The room I share with three other teenage boys, with only curtains between us. That room." 

Sirius snorted a laugh in the door, and James had to bite his cheek to keep from joining in as Regulus eyed them both judgmentally.

“...I’m fine,” Harry emphasized again. “Go back to bed.” 

No one moved.

Harry gave a heavy sigh, and shifted, swinging his legs off the bed. 

“Well, if you’re all going to hover, I can’t sleep again,” he said. “So we may as well all get up, hm?” 

James sighed, and stopped leaning on the doorframe, taking a half-step into the hall. “I’ll make some coffee,” he said. 

“So, Harry,” Sirius said, throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Want to talk about it?” 

Harry looked ahead, into the kitchen, where all the others were pittering about making coffee. Only Remus glanced over to them, and it occurred to Harry that they might have sicced Sirius on him on purpose - the one who would get it the most, to address the issue directly.

“Not really,” Harry muttered. He didn’t have to cooperate.

“Yeah, didn’t figure,” Sirius said. “Always the worst part of it, the first time you talk about it, y’know. Makes it real. Before that, it’s all in your head, and you can tell yourself it was just a dream - but when you say it out loud, and they look at you like you’re bleeding out, because they can’t imagine seeing what you do when you go to sleep - that’s the moment you have to face the idea something might be really wrong with you.” 

Harry’s stomach sank. He could respond, could commiserate - but how could he? How could he explain to Sirius that his nightmares were about things that, as far as the man knew, never happened? That he saw each night the murder of a boy who was still alive and well at Hogwarts? That he felt the burning of a scar he no longer had? 

His lips pressed together, blanching into a white line, while he debated what to answer. 

“...Mine are usually Remus,” Sirius said, after a beat.

That startled Harry, and he looked over in confusion. “Remus?” he asked, baffled. “You have nightmares about Remus?”

“About him dying, mostly,” Sirius clarified. “Though sometimes it’s darker than that, even - me being in a panic and lashing out at an intruder, but it turns out just to be him, and I’ve hurt him anyway. Or him losing control on a full moon, and I can’t talk him down, and we’re both cornered and put down. Feral dogs, and all.” 

His tone was horrifically casual, for such gruesome nightmares. 

That opinion must have showed on Harry’s face, as Sirius smiled. 

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Harry,” he said. “If you tell yourself a nightmare is no big deal, it’s just a silly dream, but you won’t talk about it - or you talk about it like some horrible monster lurking around the corner - you’re giving it more power than it deserves. If my mind tells me, you’re going to kill your husband, because you’re a monster, and I look at Remus and say, ‘Sorry, love, my brain thinks I have to stab you now,’ he’ll usually answer something like, ‘Well, let me finish my coffee, first,’ and we’ll both have a good laugh. Because it’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t hurt him. And even when I don’t believe that, he always does - and that makes it a lot harder to be afraid of the thought when it comes around.” 

Harry looked down, thinking about that. His nightmares weren’t like that - weren’t silly fantasies or horrible intrusive thoughts. They were memories. 

But… some weren’t. 

“...I think I’m going to get everyone I love killed,” Harry said, very quietly, refusing to look at Sirius. “I think someone is going to want to kill me, and no one else will have the good sense to step out of the way.” 

Sirius’ hand squeezed Harry’s shoulder, pulling him close to his side in a comforting pressure. They both looked into the kitchen, watching their family start their morning several hours too early. 

“Well,” Sirius said. “I’ll shove James to the front of the line. I think Reggie would like a break.” 

Harry feels a little bad for laughing, but weirdly, it helps. 

It’s about an hour into their impromptu coffee session that it’s brought up. 

“We were thinking,” Regulus said, slowly, “That you might want to go back to school.” 

Harry straightened up. “Yes!” he said, quickly. “Yes, thank you, I’m going insane around here.” 

“I recommend it,” Sirius chirps, lifting his mug. 

Shooting Sirius a judgemental look, Regulus continued, “However, we’re not sure how good an idea that is, given…” 

He hesitated to finish, but Harry had a good idea what could be going unsaid. 

“Because everyone there hates me?” he finished, lightly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to it.” 

Everyone looked various degrees of pained at that, but it hadn’t been a lie - for either their original Harry, or for the one sitting in front of them now. He thought of the year everyone thought he was the heir of Slytherin, or when everyone was convinced he’d put his own name into the Goblet of Fire. 

At least this time around, some people were on his side. 

“If everyone really starts being a nightmare, I’ll just hide out in Remus’ office, or something,” Harry said, casually. 

Remus blinked, and then gave a surprised smile. “Yeah?” 

Harry shrugged. “I don’t really think I’ll need to, but yeah.” 

And then, he felt a little bit weird about it, and looked to Regulus, adding, “Or yours, I guess, also. Just more things for me to do in the Defense room than Potions.” 

And he actually knew Remus, but Regulus didn’t know that, and he felt bad for ignoring the man that was his counterpart’s parent. 

Regulus gave a small smile, though it looked like he very much understood he was just being placated - but still appreciated it. 

Harry felt even worse. 

“If you’re certain,” Regulus said, “We can try it. But you’ll need to check in regularly, alright? And if anything happens, you come straight to one of us. If we find you’re hiding things, we’ll bring you home.” 

Harry sighed, but nodded. “Alright, alright. I’ll do my best.” 

Draco wasn’t really sure what to do with himself.

Harry had been weird when they’d last seen each other. Something unsettling in his eye, a wand pointed angrily in Draco’s face, eyes hard.

Draco had never seen him like that. 

And now, these horrible rumors circled the school, saying Harry had done any number of things - up to and including trying to end it all. 

Draco wasn’t sure what the truth was, but he did know something had been wrong about Harry before he’d been pulled out of school, and he needed to know why. 

He only had two options outside himself of people who might know anything worth knowing about Harry Potter, and one of them had been a dead end… So Weasley it was, it seemed. 

He went to him at breakfast, looming over his shoulder at the Gryffindor table.

“Weasley,” he demanded. “Any word from Potter?” 

Ron stiffened, eyes shifting down the table, settling somewhere Draco didn’t get a good chance to check before he’d looked away again. 

“No,” Ron said. Turning to look at Draco, he asked, “You either, huh?” 

Draco huffed, aggravated. “I even asked Diggory,” he admitted, in a low tone. “Not a word.”

Ron’s brows shot up to his hairline. “You really thought Harry would have told him where he was going?” 

“No,” Draco said. “But if he did what he said they did - well, people usually leave a letter or something, right?” 

Ron’s face pinched. “You think he’d leave his to…?” 

“If not him, who?” Draco snapped.

The two stared at each other a moment, both acknowledging the truth: nobody. If Harry didn’t say goodbye to Cedric, he didn’t say it to anyone. 

“...So you think he did try, then?” Ron asked, quietly. 

“I think he nearly tried to kill me the next morning,” Draco said, shortly. “And he looked like-...”

He cut off, but luckily, he didn’t have to finish what he was saying. 

All attention, instead, was drawn to the doors of the dining hall, as they swung open.

Standing in the doorway, back in his school robes and looking for all the world like nothing happened at all, was Harry bloody Potter.

“Are you certain you want to go to breakfast?” Regulus fussed, following at Harry’s shoulder. “We just dropped your things off, you could come to my office-...” 

“Sooner everyone sees I’m still alive, the sooner we can get over the nonsense,” Harry said, firmly. Avoiding people had never worked for him before, he didn’t see it starting now. 

But as the door swung open, and every eye in the room swung around to settle on him, he was thrown immediately back into his second year - the suspicious glares, the curious whispers.

The, ‘ do you think he did it’ s. 

Only, this time, they weren’t talking about a curse. 

He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. 

“Well,” he murmured. “Let’s get this over with.” 

“Come to me if you need me,” Regulus reminded him, patting his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, lowly, looking around. “Thanks, dad.” 

He walked into the room without really noticing how Regulus stayed back, stunned into silence.