This is quite a weird one. But it's Harry Potter so it was destined to be strange from the start. Good old HP, my first literary love! I consider myself an enthusiast. I don't quite know where this fits into Rowling's storyline, per se, but by the end it ought to come back around and squeeze back in so that her resolution is still applicable. Everything is going to fit together, sort of. Just trust me and we'll see where it goes, eh? As usual, please forgive any mistakes, whether they be in spelling, grammar, plot, or elsewhere. I do try to keep things straightforward, but sometimes I completely overlook a plot mistake that confuses everyone and makes the story so much less enjoyable... let me know if that happens. I sincerely hope it doesn't.

Disclaimer: These characters and this world are, without question, not mine. They're the creations of JK Rowling, obviously, and I take no credit for anything aside from the story I've placed them in.

Looking a Little Skyward

Harry awoke to a jarring headache, throbbing behind his old scar.

"Ah…" he groaned, pressing his palm against his forehead.

He lay there for a moment, listening to his heartbeat and heaving long, slow breaths. Then, as the world clarified around him and the ache in his head diminished, he opened his senses to his surroundings. He could hear the distant whisper of wind in trees, echoing in the cool, moist air that lay heavily around him. He was sprawled out on his back, he realized, on a very uneven surface; something was jabbing painfully against his ribs.

And then he remembered.

Voldemort.

With a ragged gasp, he hoisted himself to his knees, fumbling frantically around him for his wand. His vision was blurred; it seemed he'd lost his glasses, too.

"Damn!" he hissed, opening his bleary eyes wide and staring around him. It was dark, and the silvery light bathing his surroundings told him that a full or nearly full moon gleamed overhead. The ground beneath him was rocky and pressed hard. He guessed that he was crouched in some sort of road.

He had started to drag himself to his feet, when hoarse voices shattered the still night.

"Lumos!" They cried, and two points of light blossomed before him.

Harry staggered back, falling to the ground with a startled shout.

One of the voices rang out, husky and menacing. "Get up, you piece of filth!"

What the hell do you think you're doing here?" another voice said. "You murdering scum should know bet—"

The person, whoever he was, fell silent mid-sentence.

"I'm not… I didn't… I…" Harry stammered, stunned.

"It can't be…" said one of the figures looming over him.

"Oh my God…" rasped the other, and Harry thought he saw them both reel back.

He found his voice. "I'm sorry!" he blurted. "I don't know how I got here, but I swear I'm not going to hurt anyone! Please, just let me… explain…"

He realized then what he ought to have realized from the beginning.

He had no idea where he was. He didn't know how he'd gotten here. He couldn't explain. He had no wand and he couldn't see properly.

And these people had his at wandpoint, ready to blast him apart.

He had no idea what to do.

Then, out of the darkness, a low, third voice echoed, and it was charged with the shock and bewilderment that filled his own jumbled mind. A voice that sounded oddly familiar.

"H-Harry?"

He stared around him, blinded by the lighted wandtips before him. "Er… Yeah?"

The wands fell away, dropping to the sides of the wizards who held them. Harry blinked owlishly, holding himself very still.

"No… No, this can't be happening…" the familiar voice whispered faintly. Harry tried to place that voice; he knew that he knew that voice… But the adrenaline and fear that flooded him coupled with the dull ache in his head foiled coherent thought. All he could think about was not dying at the hands of these shadows.

"Please…" he said, but he couldn't think of anything else. He didn't even know what he was pleading for. To his shock, however, a tall, dark figure swept around the two that stood over him, stepped to Harry's side, and knelt.

"Harry… Harry Potter…" the man breathed. Harry felt extremely uncomfortable. He leaned away from the figure, but didn't dare the move. He tried to unobtrusively feel about for his wand or his glasses, or anything, for that matter, that he could use to defend himself. The kneeling man noticed.

"Accio glasses," he whispered, and Harry glimpsed a small, dark shape hurtle to the man's indistinct hand. To his surprise, he pressed them into Harry's hand.

Harry's brow knit suspiciously. He felt the glasses in his hands, recognized the chips and bends along the frames and knew that they were indeed his. He held them for a moment, hesitant, then, deciding that there was nothing else for it, shoved them onto his nose. The world jumped into focus.

The figure beside him lit his wand with a quiet "Lumos", and the immediate area was illuminated by a brighter white light. Harry turned, and met the eyes of...

"Mr. Weasley?" he cried.

Astonished, he looked up at the figures above him, now recognizable in the dim glow of wandlight. Charlie and Bill Weasley stood over him, gaping at him with the strangest expressions on their faces…

"What's happened?" Harry asked, alarmed by the sadness and fear and their eyes. "Where…"

Then Harry stopped, noticing something strange.

Bill's hair was cut short. Harry had never seen him without his long ponytail, without his fang earring, which, Harry realized, was also strangely absent. And there was something else… his face, wrinkled by scars, was different…

Harry's gaze darted to Charlie's astonished face, and he saw the same change in his wide brown eyes. His hair was messy, unkempt, his face haggard… If Harry didn't know it to be impossible he would have believed that Charlie looked… that he was…

Then, Harry met the twinkling eyes of Mr. Weasley, and his stomach flipped.

He was older. Much older.

Mr. Weasley's normally vivid red hair was entirely white, sticking out from his temples like cotton. His face was wrinkled and his shoulders were hunched. He was thinner than Harry could remember seeing him…

Harry fell backward, heaving great gasps.

"Wh-what… how… Oh God…"

Mr. Weasley met his gaze unflinchingly, and seized Harry's arm in a deceptively strong grip.

"Are you Harry Potter?" he hissed harshly. Harry swallowed. He'd never seen Mr. Weasley like this before… he'd never directed this hard, piercing gaze at Harry…

"Y-yes!" he stammered. "Of course I am, Mr. Weasley! Don't you know me?"

"During Harry's first year at Hogwarts, what happened at the Halloween feast?" Mr. Weasley demanded.

"I-I didn't go to the feast… I was at a Deathday Party with Ron and Hermione… Mr. Weasley, what's going on?"

"Who was Harry Potter's true godfather?" Bill growled, eyeing Harry suspiciously.

"Sirius Black," Harry responded automatically. "But you know that, Bill!"

"Who was the Potters' Secret-Keeper? Who betrayed Harry Potter and his family?" Charlie asked, his expression unreadable.

"Peter Pettigrew!" Harry cried angrily. "Wormtail! He sold us out to Voldemort and framed Sirius. Why are you doing this? I'm me, I swear I'm me! Now tell me what's going on!"

No one said anything for a long moment. Harry could hear his heart thrumming in his chest.

"I don't know what to think…" Mr. Weasley finally said, staring at Harry as if he'd never seen him before. He lifted a wrinkled hand and gently brushed the dark hair away from his forehead, stroking the thin scar with a feather-soft touch. "I don't know what to believe…"

"L-let's take him to Fred and George, Dad," Charlie murmured. His voice sounded unusually wobbly. "They'll know… if anyone will know, it'll be them."

"No," Bill said quietly. "If anyone will know, it will be—"

"Bill," Charlie cut in. "We can't do that to him. Not after everything he's been through… everything he's lost."

"If anyone deserves to be a part of this, it's him!"

"He isn't strong enough! This could push him over the edge!"

"He would take that risk! You know he would!"

"Boys," Mr. Weasley interrupted. "That's enough. We'll take this boy to Fred and George. For now, that's our best option."

Bill and Charlie nodded silently, conceding to their father's decision.

Harry didn't understand much of what they'd said, but he was surprised by how much it stung to be referred to as 'this boy'. He was more confused than he could ever remember being. He was lost, alone, and apparently thought to be an imposter. And now that he could see, he noticed his wand poking out of Charlie's left pocket. He was unarmed and utterly helpless.

But it sounded as if the Weasleys were taking him to see Fred and George. Harry allowed a little hope to sparkle in him: maybe they would believe him. Maybe they would believe that he was really really Harry Potter. He had to hope that they would.