'Harry, say goodnight to the children and bring the Prophet on your way won't you? It's on the sideboard.' Said Ginevra Potter sleepily, yawning and stretching as she heard the muffled "goodnight, dad" that came from her daughter Lily Luna Potter's bedroom, and the loud scuffling noises that followed which only meant that her husband, Harry Potter, was tackling his two sons, Albus Severus Potter and James Sirius Potter, into bed. The latter two boys shared a room, and Lily had her own room because she was responsible, mature, and well, she was…a girl.

'JAMES SIRIUS POTTER, I WILL JINX INTO THIS BED IF I HAVE TO; DON'T LET IT COME TO THAT!' Came Harry's thunderous voice. James cackled maniacally and then erupted into a loud, unmanly shriek as Harry pulled out his wand and aimed it at his oldest son. All of them knew Harry loved his children too much to even cast an immobulus over one of them (James especially) but the older boy's reaction was priceless all the same. 'Alright, alright! I'm getting into the bed, keep your hair on!' Laughed James as he scurried under the covers.

Just then, a wild-haired Ginny burst into the room, her satin nightdress crinkled and a murderous look in her eyes. 'James, your father may be reluctant to jinx you, and I don't blame him for that-' She added quickly, noticing Harry's look of slight hurt and irritation. '-but I am not in the least concerned to raise this wand against you and keep you in this bed until September the first!' She yelled. James made the zipper-lips action, and then grinned sheepishly as he held up what he hoped was an "okay-dokey please spare me because I'm so adorable right now" thumbs up.

Ginny shook her head with a groan and was about to open her mouth to tell him off for language that one could use in the house, when Harry grabbed her by her shoulders and steered her out of the room, managing a whispered nox that was aimed at the lights as he did so.

As they passed by the staircase, Harry noticed the afternoon's Daily Prophet lying obediently on said sideboard and stuffed it into his back pocket. Ginny was muttering something under her breath and kept muttering as Harry changed into pyjamas and climbed into the bed. 'Care to join me, love?' He said, hand ghosting over his face tiredly. Ginny huffed and took Harry on his offer, turning to his and taking his glasses off. She put them on the nightstand and sighed.

'Before I forget, Ron and Hermione are coming tomorrow. They're bringing Hugo and Rose, and Ron wants an "adults-only" Quidditch Match before we go to Diagon Alley to buy the children's things for the school year.' Ranted Ginny, settling into the crook of Harry's arm. 'Ron? On a broomstick? After all these years? But he's awful at Quidditch!' Protested Harry. Ginny laughed. 'And that'll be the shortest game in the world, wont it then?' Harry couldn't help but agree.

'G'night Gin. I love you.' He murmured, the slow pull of sleep tugging at him relentlessly as the lights went off and he closed his eyes, darkness surrounding him. 'I love you too, Harry.' Whispered Ginny softly.

And then all was quiet.

When he opened his eyes again. Harry was in a white, empty place. It looked like, no it was, King's Cross Station, like that dream he had had so many, many years ago, when he had defeated You-Know-Who. Dumbledore was in that dream. He had been dead in that dream, wasn't he? Was he dead now? He touched his face involuntarily. His glasses were still there. That didn't make much of a difference to him, since he still didn't know what he was doing in this strange place, but it offered some comfort.

Harry looked straight ahead, and suddenly a figure materialized. It was a man. A man who had an unruly mop of black hair, round glasses, a mischievous grin. He looked an awful lot like Harry.

Harry, the real Harry, at least, bit his lip and wondered whether it was some kind of mirror he was looking at, but the man didn't bite his lip, so it wasn't a mirror after all.

Then Harry looked into the eyes of the Other Harry, and realized that it wasn't him at all. The eyes were the wrong color. Instead of a striking green, they were a soft, dark hazel color.

'Harry, Harry, Harry.' Said the Other Harry Who Wasn't Harry. The Real Harry gasped and made a choking, retching sort of noise as it dawned on him who the man was. 'You.' He managed to croak. The man strode towards him and smiled a little sadly. 'It's been long since I last saw you. You've changed so much since then. As I recall, you didn't have this-' He touched his glasses, indicating Harry's own pair. '-or this-' here his hand grazed his cheek, indicating Harry's unshaven one. '-or this.' He finished, tapping his forehead with two fingers.

He was gesturing to Harry's scar.

Harry felt his stomach twist and bile rise in his throat. He wanted to speak, but no words came out. Instead he found himself opening and closing his mouth feverishly, like a fish out of water. The man advanced and put his hands on Harry's slumping shoulders, pretty much holding him up. 'You-You're not real. You're d-dead.' He stammered in a voice that didn't sound like his own when he managed to get it back. The man only chuckled. 'Oh, but I am. Here, I'm just as real as you are, Harry.' He said, drawing out the syllables of Harry's name as he said it.

Harry stared at him in disbelief. The man frowned, then the grin returned to his face as he took a step back and held out his arm for Harry to take. Harry managed to wrap his fingers around the offered hand, and the man began to shake it firmly. 'I don't believe we've been formally introduced.' Harry sucked in a deep breath.

'The name's Potter. James Potter.' Said his father with the most shit-eating grin he had ever seen on a human's face.