As I said, I wrote up at least 6-7 chapters, so I'm uploading another today. The story's moving a bit quickly, but it'll all be explained.

Harry was jostled into consciousness. An ache spread throughout his body, and he held back a groan.

"Get up, Potter," George was saying gruffly. "It's time for breakfast."

Harry sat up painfully and grumpily. Matthew generally tried to coerce him into giving him most of his breakfast. Harry was able to eat a reasonable amount, but it was irking to have the more palatable food taken from him.

He pulled on the simplest clothes he could find, a large gray t-shirt and dark jeans, and slowly made his way to the kitchen. It was already packed with boys. He took a tray of food and sat down on the far end of the table. It was quieter there.

A rowdy group passed him. He could see Matthew in the middle of it, and hunched over in a half-hearted attempt to be invisible. It was ineffectual. Matthew's hand shot out as he passed and grabbed his roll from his plate.

"Thanks, Potter!" he shouted boisterously.

Harry was left to eat a rubbery hard-boiled egg. He poked it moodily.

A shadow fell across his plate and he started. His foster mother, Mrs. Kensington, was staring at him sympathetically.

"Harry," she said gently. "There are a couple of visitors for you."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. "I'm sorry," he said regretfully. "I don't think you have the name quite right, Mrs. Kensington. I don't know anybody well. Not even at school. Unless..." he was gripped suddenly with fear, "unless it's one of the teachers?"

"No," she reassured him. "It isn't. I believe they said they were friends of your father."

To say that Harry was disturbed was an understatement.

"What do you mean?" he asked in consternation. "Friends of my father? They've waited this long to make contact with me? I'm not sure I really want to meet them."

"You must," the woman said firmly. "Come right along with me."

He followed her, torn between reluctance and exhilaration. Mrs. Kensington led him to her study. Two men were standing in the room. Harry studied them. One was old, and white-haired, and wizened, with a long beard and twinkling blue eyes. The other was younger, probably in his mid-thirties. His hair was a light, sandy brown, already shot with some gray strands. He had a pleasant, sincere face, but looked rather weary. Their clothes looked rather mismatched and ill-fitting.

"Come along, Harry," Mrs. Kensington prompted him, not unkindly. Harry obediently stepped forward.

"Good morning, Harry," said the older man. He held out a hand for him to shake. "My name is Albus Dumbledore."

It was a rather strange name, Harry thought. He shook hands politely.

"Pleased to meet you."

But he wasn't quite sure if he was. The younger man did likewise.

"Hello, Harry," he said quietly. "Remus Lupin."

Harry nodded with a gulp. He felt a little uneasy, meeting strange men, both of whom claimed to have known his late father.

"May we speak to Harry alone?" Dumbledore addressed Mrs. Kensington.

"Of course," she nodded. "I'll be in the office next door if you need me."

She smiled briefly at Harry, who was not quite able to return it. The door closed behind her with a click. The room was silent for several moments.

"So, out of school, eh, Harry?" Lupin said conversationally.

"I'm on holiday," said Harry bluntly.

Lupin nodded.

"I'm sure you're wondering why we never came to see you before," he began. He seemed ill-at-ease. "I'm sorry about that."

Harry cleared his throat. "It's all right."

"But we haven't been idle,' Lupin continued. "There's something very important you need to know."

"What's that?" Harry asked. He felt apprehensive. After all, it could be anything. But he had to confess that he was unprepared for what it was.

"I see no sense in beating around the bush," Lupin said hurriedly. "I'll tell you straight out. You were adopted by James and Lily Potter, Harry. We - that is, Albus and I - have spent the last few years trying to track down your biological family."

"What?" Harry asked, rather stupidly.

Lupin rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry. This must be quite shocking for you. Let me explain a little more, please. You were not born to James and Lily Potter. They found you on their doorstep when you were about two years old. I promise, we tried every way we could at the time to find out who you were and where you'd come from. It all led to nothing. No one had ever seen you before. We placed advertisements in the Mug... in all the newspapers. There were absolutely no results."

Harry was quiet for a few moments. He was hardly able to absorb this staggering information. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "I can't... I don't... I'm not getting all this. I don't even know you. I've never seen you before. How do I know you aren't lying to me?"

"I can't make you trust us," Lupin admitted. "But I'll give you this photo of your real parents that I was able to dig up. Just think about all this for a bit. If you want, we can come back in a few days and talk about it more. You don't need to act right now."

He handed Harry a square photo. A happy couple smiled at the camera. The man had dark brown hair and dark eyes. His jaw was strong and defined, giving the impression that he was a man with considerable force of character. But it was the woman that caught Harry's eye. A thrill of recognition shot through him. Her face was gentle and her lips smiling and her eyes a deep, brilliant green. Her hair was light blond, long and straight.

Harry sat down abruptly on the nearest chair and bent over the photo.

"I..." he swallowed. "Who are they?"

"Their names are John and Mary Winchester. That's really about all I know about them. They've been moving almost constantly over the past years; that's why it's been so hard for me to track them."

"They have a queer last name," said Harry. "Isn't it an American brand of firearm?"

"Yes, it is actually. The Winchesters are Americans."

Harry closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just having trouble putting together all these bits of information."

"It's quite all right," Lupin assured him. "I would as well, were I in your place."

"So, here's how I understand it," Harry said slowly. "I'm not really a Potter. I'm really an American, and my parents are named John and Mary Winchester. Somehow, I appeared on my par... the Potter's doorstep, and that's really all you know about my history."

"That's right," said Lupin.

"Well, I think you're both bonkers," Harry blurted out. "Not only is this unrealistic, but I'm not about to go traipsing about the world with two strangers. I don't even have any proof besides your own word that you knew my parents. Yes, my parents, because James and Lily Potter really are my parents and I don't believe otherwise."

He rose in his chair angrily.

"Wait, Harry."

Dumbledore spoke for only the second time.

"Something about that photo made you pause for a moment. What was it?"

Irritated, Harry opened his mouth to reply. Dumbledore held up a deprecating hand.

"Take a moment to calm yourself. We're not going to force you to do anything. It would be very helpful if you could tell us, though."

Harry took a deep breath.

"Can you tell us?" Dumbledore asked. His voice was firm; Harry knew that it was more an order than a question. He sat down again.

"The woman," said Harry finally. "I have one memory of my mother. I've always wondered about one little detail. She was singing to me, but then she kind of... she kind of leaned over me, and her hair was blond, it wasn't red. I guess I've always thought I got mixed up because I was so young." He looked up. "But I'm not ready, I can't go anywhere. I need time. It's so boggling. I don't know what to think."

"I know it must be," Lupin said quickly. "Of course we'll give you time. Day after tomorrow sound all right?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess."

They shook hands. Lupin's eyes looked wistful for a brief moment.

"Goodbye, Harry," he said softly. "Do think it through."

"All right," said Harry.

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