Chapter II: Ask Me Why
I'm Fourteen.
That's not quite right… I am fourteen years old. Again.
James cleaned the small mess still on the floor of what is apparently my room and set to making another one. He and my sister Glory had been sneaking into my bedroom to surprise me with a cake when… I still can't explain it.
I'm Fourteen.
Again.
The two of them are in the kitchen right now, the child stubbornly refusing to go to bed until cake is had. I find it amusing that my birthday cake is being used to placate a grumpy eight year old. James seems to be a good dad, the delight he takes indulging my sister clear as day on his face.
My sister. I'm not sure if I can ever see James as my father, but Glory is mine. I never contemplated life with siblings… of course, I was mourning life without my parents at the time. When I was eleven, Hagrid gave me photographs of Lily and James in a small album. For a long time I cherished that beyond all my other possessions because this was definitive proof that, yes, my parents were real people. That they existed beyond the nebulous tales adults would tell me about their bravery. I was so preoccupied with the notion of my parents that I never stopped to think what life could have been like had they lived. If they might have continued to have children. Peeking into the kitchen at a girl with flour on her nose I have an answer…
I want to be a big brother. Here in this place, I am her big brother.
There are pictures all over the sitting room. Pictures with my parents, with me as a baby. The centerpiece over the fireplace is a picture with the whole family. Lily and James with their arms around each other, kissing happily as a much younger version of myself walks around them hand in hand with a three year old Glory. Strangely, this seems to be the most recent photo in this room. I walk into the hallway, careful to avoid the kitchen where I can hear James reading baking instructions out loud. Feeling a little bit like a Niffler digging for something shiny, I try to take in every detail I can from this house. This isn't the little cottage in Godric's Hollow where my parents staged their last stand. It's larger, about the size of the Dursley house on Privet Drive, but without the nearly sterile neatness Petunia kept. With it's electric lights and a set of automotive magazines in a small pile at the foot of a bookcase, the home seems stubbornly muggle. If the photographs on the walls kept still, you wouldn't be able to tell.
I find a restroom at the end of the hall and think it a good idea to wash up. I switch on the light and snicker at a bathroom rug printed in Gryffindor colors. The towels are a bold red while the shower curtain reminds me of the scarf Hermione wore during our winter Quidditch games. Thankful that the mirror doesn't seem to be enchanted to talk, I splash water on my face and consider my ordeal.
I am fourteen years old.
I am in an unfamiliar house where I apparently live.
I have a family.
Grabbing one of the garish towels to dry my face, I finally get a good look at myself in the mirror. It's still me, albeit younger, although my appearance surprises me. I've always been skinny, more so during my years at the Dursleys and over the summer. In fact, one of Hermione's chief complaints about me was that I didn't eat enough. It wasn't my fault, though. Vernon and Petunia fed me just enough to keep me alive when I was younger, and after I started Hogwarts my meals improved enough to keep any inquisitive professors off of their backs. They still forgot the occasional lunch, though, more out of habit than any real cruelty. Now, however, I can hardly see my ribs. I'm thicker in the shoulders and chest than I when I was seventeen. There's muscle there, though not at the level of someone like Viktor Krum. I look healthy.
I am a little disappointed at my height, though. Judging from my memories, I look to be only an inch or two taller than I was the first time around. Coupled with my eyes, my rounder face and cheekbones less defined than my sister's, I am more Lily's son than I ever knew. Running my fingers through my longer hair, I see something that stops my inspection dead in it's tracks.
My scar is gone.
I stumble back towards the kitchen in a sort of shock, leading James to try and send me to bed. Glory jumps to my defense, though I imagine the promise of cake is motivating her just as much as the chance to help her brother. I manage a weak smile at her pout when James explains that there will be cake in the morning when we have my birthday party.
"There won't be cake at all if Harry's too sick to be at his own party." James grins as he watches Glory struggle to find a fault in his logic. Even I can read her like a book. She finally gives a small groan and stomps upstairs. I follow close behind, not really wanting to talk to him if I can avoid it. It doesn't take a Legilimens to see the confusion in James Potter's face. Besides, I have bigger problems.
In 'my' room, I start picking up the mess on the floor. I don't even bother trying to scrub the icing out of the carpet when I know James will do it in the morning. Every scrap of paper is studied for hints, any clue that might tell me what this world might be like. What kind of person I used to be. My frenzied cleaning becomes frustration as I tear through the room, through the closets, under the mattress for something! I was never the journal-keeping sort, so I doubt the Harry Potter of this world would be suddenly introspective. There was just… nothing. Was I so shallow a person here, so vapid that I kept nothing that had sentimental value? I reached beneath the bed, the only place I hadn't looked, and my fingers hit something solid. Mildly gratified my search was not in vain, I pulled a wooden trunk out from beneath my bed. There was a thick layer of dust along the top, and lacking anything practical to clean it with, I brushed what I could off in great, fluffy clumps.
Engraved on the lid in broad, fat letter was the name 'Lily Evans'.
I really don't think I can take this anymore. Morbid curiosity my only drive at this point, I open the trunk and gaze at my discovery. The trunk was deeper than it appeared on the outside, housing letters and photographs in a pocket inside the lid. Pulling them out one by one, I start to read, desperate to learn what I could.
Lily Potter was a Potions Mistress and Hogwarts Professor, the first muggleborn ever to hold that position. She replaced Professor Slughorn a couple of years after graduating due to my birth and the need to gain experience in her field. Slughorn happily filled in for her six years later when Glory was born. Judging by the scattered letters of appreciation, she was as well-loved as a Hogwarts Professor could get.
Lily Potter had six envelopes addressed to Petunia Dursley… and another three addressed to Petunia Evans, all invitations to Christmas Dinner with the Potters. All invitations were returned still sealed. It seems odd to think that I was the determining factor that ossified the marriage of Petunia and Vernon.
Lily Potter was dead.
The letter from Dumbledore was nebulous and procedural, giving her cause of death as an accidental overdose from a project in her lab. A final letter tucked away in the far corner of the pocket was an official certificate of death from the Ministry, signed by Amelia Bones. Setting the letter aside, I tried my best to calm the dull ache in my chest. Why am I hurting so much? I should have known when I first woke up, should have put the pieces together sooner. Where was my mother when James and Glory were sneaking into my room for a birthday surprise? Why didn't she help in the kitchen? I had the answers now. It is a strange feeling to bear the grief of someone I never met.
I feel like I'm wearing a stranger. This Harry Potter already grieved for his mother a long time ago, and I am near tears for a woman I've never met. What's wrong with me?
"Hey, son."
James Potter is standing in my doorway, a weary look on his face. I would normally feel violated to have someone who wasn't Hermione or Ron see me like this, but I'm too tired to care right now. He walks a little further in and I know he can see what I've been looking at.
"Hey." It's really all I can muster at this point, and James takes it as genuine communication. He sits at the foot of the bed, sadness in his eyes.
"Feeling nostalgic tonight?" He slumps a little as he talks, as if the words are taking the air out of him, "I can't really blame you, Harry. I forgot that this stuff was even in here."
"I miss her." It's not a lie, no matter how much my mind tries to tell me it is. How can I miss someone I've never met?
"I do too. I think I scrutinized every inch of that box before I finally got the nerve to put it all away. I didn't think she would want me to mope so much."
He grins a little bit before sitting up, "Put it away for now, Harry. Today's supposed to be a good day. She'd like that."
James musses my hair a little before stepping out of the room. He's right… I can't act as though Lily just passed away. I tuck the letters into their pocket before returning the trunk to it's hiding place. Crawling into bed, I try to slow my heart down enough to take it all in. I really wish I had Hermione's head for this. The information just feels heavy in my mind, like it's weighing me down.
I close my eyes wishing for sleep to take me. She obliges without a word.
I can't fault James Potter enough for caring for his children. After last night, I can easily see how he might be a little overprotective. Still, waking me just before noon to check on my fever? I try my hardest to be a good sport about it, but I didn't like it when Madam Pomfrey did it either.
I'm having a birthday party today. In an hour to be precise. More importantly, it's a chance to meet the important people in Harry Potter's life, in my new life. I am curious, though… do I have the same friends? I'm still in Gryffindor, judging from the unfolded scarves on the floor of the closet, but what could have changed? A few hours of sleep did help after last night… I can think a little more clearly now. It will be hard, though, to see people who I have personally seen die. James told me to 'act surprised' when Sirius gives me my gift. I could only nod dumbly at his words while I tried to comprehend that my godfather was still alive. Even I can spot the irony there. This world is different, though. Not just in my relationships with people, but something large that I just can't put a finger on yet. As much as I love Glory, I have a hard time believing Lily and James would bring another child into a world where people like Tom Riddle exist. Especially when they were actively taking part in a war.
No, something else is going on… and it has to do with my scar.
I showered a little while ago and took the time afterward to check myself again… still gone. As embarrassing as it was, I decided to check the rest of my body in the off-chance that it migrated. No scar. Curious if I was still a Parselmouth, I nearly conjured a snake before thinking twice – given my prior experiences, I didn't need another letter from that Hopkirk bint. I briefly entertain the notion that perhaps Neville has it… but I ran into James downstairs, writing a letter to Frank and Alice Longbottom. Something is wrong with this world… I just can't see what it is.
I finish changing and start to head downstairs, nearly forgetting my wand in the process. My wand… there's another change. I half-expected to find my old Holly wand waiting for me when I got here. No such luck. This one is Hawthorn and Dragon Heartstring, a good two inches shorter than my old one. After using Draco's wand for those few months, you would think that I would be used to strange wands. This one was different, feeling positively alien in my hands. Still, I have to keep up appearances, so I stick it into my pocket and walk downstairs.
Glory is waiting for me, dressed plainly in a red t-shirt and shorts that clearly demonstrated just how much more athletic she is than I was at her age. If she's any good on a broom, I can easily see the two of us tearing through a line of Chasers. Thinking about Quidditch, I hope I'm on the house team at school… call me vain, but I kind of want to see what my newly athletic frame can do. She squeals upon seeing me and I am nearly tackled onto a lounger. I easily scoop her up with one arm and sit her next to me, waiting for James to come downstairs.
He doesn't disappoint, stalking down the stairs a minute or two after me. He rolls his eyes at the sight of us tangled on the couch and pulls a small mirror out of his pocket. He taps it with his wand and a hazy reflection not his own comes into view.
"Are you ready to go, Padfoot?"
"Just a second James! I'm trying to gather presents for the munchkin."
"Did you just now get him something?" James gives me a knowing wink and I snicker a little at his implication. He'll think I am a tremendous actor when this is all said and done.
"Oh, hush you. I'm coming through."
The fireplace flickers a second before roaring to life. A flash of green later and Sirius Black is standing before me.
He isn't my Sirius Black, that much I can tell immediately. His hair is still long and beard neatly trimmed, but he doesn't have that odd, haunted look in his eyes my Sirius had even in his best of days. I suppose there was no Azkaban for this sharp-dressed man before me. But familiarity takes me and I rush to hug him as tightly as I can. Glory follows suit, although I don't think she knows what it means to me.
"Whoa, Harry! A little excitable there, aren't you?"
For a moment, just one moment I hold onto Sirius as tightly as I can. I want to beg forgiveness from him, to weep and tell him just how much I've missed him. I don't cry, but I know this is the last time I can ever feel this way about the man. After a second, I release him, and I put every feeling I've ever had about Sirius Black in a box and put it away. I don't know this man. I don't think I'll ever know him again.
"Sorry about that." I mumble, trying to clear my throat before James gets suspicious.
Too late. "Harry, are you feeling alright? We don't have to do this if you don't feel up to it."
"Hey, you promised me cake at Harry's party! We're going!" Glory pouted and folded her arms across her chest, as resolute an eight year old can be.
I smile and slipped an arm around her, "You heard the girl."
Sirius about dies laughing at our display, "Since when did you two start acting so chummy?"
Oops. I look down at the beaming child beside me as she answers, "When he started acting weird last night."
"Oh hush. I thought you wanted cake." She sticks her tongue out at my reply.
"Alright, let's get this show on the road. The Weasleys are probably waiting for us."
Weasleys… am I still friends with Ron? James walks over and looks me in the eye, "Harry, the Weasleys are doing this as a favor to me. Please, please be polite to them."
Perhaps not… what kind of person am I? I begin to dread what the answer might be. "I will."
"Good. Let's be off then, shall we?"
James goes first, "The Burrow!"
I follow in a puff of soot, and tumble through right into a low table. James is already there to help me up and repair the damage. Floo Travel isn't any more fun here than it was before. The fireplace flares, and Glory dives into my shins, the two of us tangled on the floor for a second time today. Sirius calmly steps through, breaking into another fit of giggles when he sees the two of us.
"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, Padfoot." I mutter as I help Glory to her feet. No sooner than I dust myself off do I here an incredibly familiar voice.
"Oh, this must be them now. Arthur! Go Fetch Ronald, his guests are here!"
So I am friends with Ron. Mrs. Weasley walks over and smothers me in a hug, "Oh, this must be Harry. Such a dashing fellow isn't he? Looks so much like his mother."
I blush a bit at the thought. I think that is the first time someone has ever compared me to Lily without mentioning James first. She lets me go and proceeds to hug Glory, although she struggles a bit in Mrs. Weasley's grasp. Good luck with that, sis. You're on your own there. I walk around a bit in the Weasley's sitting room, marveling at the familiar sights and sounds. How something can be so different yet so alike. I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I nearly miss what Mrs. Weasley is saying.
"… and the kitchen is already set up. She said she was taking the Knight Bus over here, something about how she didn't want to get soot all over her clothes."
Hermione's coming? Is it possible that I made the same friends here that I did before? Something odd strikes me though… since when has Hermione ever cared about cleaning off a little soot from the Floo?
I hear rumbling from down the stairs, and I look up to see Arthur Weasley. Like his wife, there was little difference in his appearance, although he regarded me with a cool expression. I hadn't met the man in this world, judging by Mrs. Weasley's reaction to me, so why did he look so cold?
"Oh Arthur, this is Harry. Doesn't he look like Lily to you?"
The man regarded me for a second, as if he was trying to make up his mind. Finally, he shook his head and smiled at me, though his eyes kept that odd look to them, "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter."
I had always wondered where Percy managed to get his stiff personality from, given how laid back most of the family was. Apparently Arthur's business demeanor rubbed off on him, "Likewise, sir."
There was another stirring down the stairwell, and Ron Weasley walked into the sitting room, yawning and scratching his head. He looked just like my best friend, though it seemed as though he hadn't really cleaned up at all for the party. His hair was mussed and his shirt rumpled, giving the impression of someone who just rolled out of bed and threw something on. Mrs. Weasley clearly didn't approve and stalked over, "Ronald Weasley, you will march back up to your room and change clothes this instant!"
"Aw, mum! It's just Harry and-"
"That's right! You need to wash up too if a young lady is coming over. I'll drill proper manners into you yet!"
Ron gave an ugly grimace before stomping back upstairs. I think it strange he fought at all, considering Hermione was coming over and he usually tried his hardest to impress her. Then again, we are fourteen. I don't remember when it was he started to notice girls.
"Harry, will you be a dear and wait outside for your friend?"
I nod at Mrs. Weasley and walk out the door. I can hear the sudden frenzy of activity behind me and I smile a bit. The gardens look the same, and I'm sure that the Orchard out back is still standing. It's quite peaceful out here, the breeze kicking up a little to offer relief for such a hot day. I still can't believe that I'm having a birthday party, with my family no less. Well, it's hard not to think of them as my family - James, Glory, Sirius, and now the Weasleys. I barely know these people, but I'm trying desperately to fit in. I can accept that, at best, this is my new life. I haven't really thought about what the worst could be.
The worst could be that I'm stuck here.
And that's the heart of it, I think. I do not want to get attached. If I do, and this is a nearly-perfect world, I don't want to be yanked out of it. It's a beautiful dream to have a family… I want it so badly I can taste it. I actually have it here, though not in the way I wanted. In a perfect world, my mother wouldn't be dead.
It isn't a perfect world. It isn't a reward for everything I've done in my life thus far. When I died, something happened…
I hear the deafening crack of the Knight Bus down the road. I sit up from my reverie and smile at the thought of my other friend. Ron didn't seem to have changed much, I wonder if Hermione is any different? The Bus rolls to a stop near Mr. Weasley's garage, and I step outside the gate to welcome my friend.
A girl I don't immediately recognize steps off the Bus. Her hair is long, dark, and curly, with wide eyes and a strong chin. She's wearing a powder blue tank top with the thinnest straps I've ever seen on an article of clothing, and a pair of shorts I think would give Mrs. Weasley a coronary. I can't but think she looks familiar when she smiles, and she walks right up to me, inches away from my face. So close I can see the freckles lightly sprinkled on her cheeks and nose. The girl leans in, and for a second I think she is going to kiss me before she turns her head and hugs me instead. No… hug isn't the right word. This isn't a rib-crushing hug I would get from Hermione or Glory, nor is this the smothering motherly hug I get from Mrs. Weasley. This is intimate. I don't even think Ginny ever held me like this.
"Hullo, Harry." She lets me go and reveals a toothy smile, "Happy birthday."
Realization hits me like a shot and suddenly I know that everything is going to be different than it used to be. I know this girl.
"Hi, Romilda."
I blow the candles out on my rather magnificent cake, watching the smoke writhe it's way out of existence. James, Sirius, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sit on the far side of the table while I sit between Glory and Romilda with Ron on the far side. It's a scene so surreal I could have never imagined it myself. Glory cheers and I feel a hand squeeze my thigh as James starts to cut the cake. I jerk backwards a moment and look at Romilda, who has a cheeky grin on her face.
Romilda Vane is my best friend. From what I can tell we aren't dating, although she is rather aggressive in her physical contact with me. James likes her well enough, and I do appreciate the way she jokes with Glory. I am very quickly becoming dependant on my little sister as a barometer for my social interactions. Ron doesn't really impress her, which bothers me, but other things are on my mind. For a birthday party that has clearly been planned, I don't really have a wide social circle to celebrate it with. Aside from the parents Weasley, who helped throw the party, and wallflower-extraordinaire Ginny, who is skulking around the sitting room working up the nerve to come to the dinner table, I only have Ron and Romilda as real friends here. Granted, a lot of the time at Hogwarts it was mainly Hermione, Ron, and myself, but I could think of a number of people that would have enjoyed coming. Am I even friends with Neville or Luna here? I'm finding that as the day goes on, there seem to be more questions than answers.
After cake is had and my sister on the brink of a sugar rush, James and Sirius produce a large box covered in gold wrapping paper, and I swear James winks at me as Sirius tells me that he wasn't sure what to get me, so he guessed. I doubt I'll need to 'act' surprised. Ron eyes the gift with a greedy look in his eyes I don't like, but I shrug it off and tear the paper off. I grin as I see a box full of Zonko's best products, including vanishing paper, a massive supply of Filibuster Fireworks, and a handful of dungbombs. I'm earnestly thanking Sirius for the gift when I see a hand reach in to rummage through the box. With reflexes I hadn't used since my last game of Quidditch, my hand darts out and grabs the offender by the wrist.
"Oi, let me go!" Ron struggles in my grip, "I just want to check out your loot."
I release him, a little peeved that he didn't ask me first. Both James and Sirius are looking at me strangely now, no doubt because I'm acting 'out-of-character' again. Romilda takes this as her cue to pull a tiny box out of her pocket. She draws her wand and enlarges the package to the size of a shoebox, and before I can question how she is managing to get away with performing magic she slides the gift over to me.
"Go ahead, it won't bite."
I gently pry the lid off and I am shocked at it's contents. There is a beautifully framed photograph of a younger Romilda trying to teach a five year old Glory how to play Exploding Snap on my bed, stopping every so often to pull an equally younger me into a reluctant hug. Ron appears to be entranced by my Gwenog Jones poster. I pull the photo out and see that there is an engraving on the bottom. It reads 'Harry Potter, 2nd year, Romilda Vane, 1st year. Christmas.' On the back there is a handwritten message:
To my first, best friend.
Yours Forever, Romilda.
This gift… the only thing like it I have ever received was my precious photo album from Hagrid. It's thoughtful, intimate, and completely at odds with the creepy stalker I knew Romilda to be in my old world. I am shaken from my thoughts by an undignified snort from Ron. It doesn't look as though he's terribly impressed by this gift. Nonetheless, he reaches for this one as well. Before I can stop him, Romilda beats me to the punch.
"He's not done yet, Ronald." She says with a glare that would cow Tom given half a chance. Ron grumbles as he decides to rifle through the other box, shooting me a dirty look I probably would have missed had I not been paying attention. What was wrong with him? Romilda pulls the box back to her, and she reaches in and draws out a small, silver bracelet with a small cross hanging from the end of it. There is a small ruby embedded on one arm while a green peridot decorates the other. She unclasps it and reaches for my wrist, gently tracing the outline of my hand after she fastens it into place.
"I know Wizards don't really care for this sort of thing, but a little extra protection never hurt anybody." Romilda lets my hand free so I can inspect it. The jewelry isn't garish at all, understated even. You wouldn't be able to tell there were gems there unless you really looked. The Cross was interesting, though. I never attended Services with the Dursleys, not for lack of faith at the time, but more for the fact they didn't want to congregation to know there was a second child living under their roof. Once I received my Hogwarts letter, it became a moot point anyway. Still, I appreciate the sentiment involved. I lean over and hug Romilda – I feel her tense for a second before relaxing into my arms.
"Thank you." She looks at me curiously before smiling again.
Ron gives me a box of Chocolate Frogs, which I missed during our long trek in the woods, but doesn't quite compare to Romilda's gift. It isn't his fault really, he didn't think his gifts through in the old world either.
"Go ahead and shrink your gifts, Harry, so we can head home." James is helping with the clean up, and I can't really ask him the question that's been bugging me for a while now… Romilda clearly didn't get a letter from the Improper Use of Magic office, and James is asking to perform magic. Unless this is a fairly elaborate prank, I suppose I can chalk it up to a difference in the worlds. I pull the hawthorn wand out from my pocket and prepare to shrink the box with the photo in it. It's so bizarre, handling this wand. I feel like it's actively trying to resist me using it. I tap the box twice and mutter the incantation. No response. I try it again, and I feel something tug at me on the inside.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Romilda has a puzzled look on her face, and I feel my frustration growing.
"My wand is fighting me. I can't shrink this bloody box!" I do it one more time, and this time the alien wand reacts… it explodes in my hand, throwing me clear across the room into the grandfather clock.
My vision is fuzzy and growing dimmer by the second… oh hell, not this again. The last thing I see is Glory and Romilda racing towards me before I slide into the darkness.
Not dead yet, Harry Potter.
"… and that little Weasley snot was trying to take off with half of those fireworks! Do you know how much I paid for those?"
"Calm down, Sirius. That's not helping us right now."
It's always funny how I always manage to wake to people talking, usually about me. I can't really open my eyes yet, so I settle for listening in and figuring out what the hell just happened to me.
"He's been off since last night. Glory and I tried to surprise him for his birthday, and he just sat up screaming his lungs out. When he came to, he acted like…"
"Like what, James?"
"… like he didn't know us. And he was burning up. I thought about bringing him here last night, but he told me he was fine, and-"
"Hush, James. You did the best you could given the circumstances. He probably did feel fine at the time. When will the Healer be in?"
Healer? Damn, I'm at St. Mungo's. It's time to make a bit of noise. I try to protest, but all that comes out is a dry groan. It's enough to startle Sirius and James into action. I put my glasses on as Sirius hands me a glass of water. I feel absolutely parched for some reason, and the cool drink is a welcome relief. My right hand is wrapped in smelly bandages, giving me the impression someone dunked it into a bucket of Pine Oil. I can hardly feel where a magical explosion undoubtedly burned the flesh off of my palms. I remember reading about the dangers of trying to wield an incompatible wand in Charms class, the very class where I learned the stupid shrinking charm! In a way, I'm glad I wasn't in a fight when this happened. I don't think they could have found all the pieces to put my hand back together.
"What Healer?" My voice still feels quite rough, but I can deal with it.
"Audrey Collins. She'll come in and make sure everything is fine." James said in a tone that indicated there would be no protests, "Romilda offered to take Glory with her while she went home to get a change of clothes. They should be back before Audrey gets here."
So I'll have an audience when this unfamiliar Healer pokes and prods me… and scans me, finding something very wrong with this Harry Potter.
Now what?
