Chapter IV... Nowhere Man
"Harry!" The jovial man at the doorway called, my little sister slung across his shoulders, "Glad to see you in one piece! I knew Audrey would have had you right in no time."
The sound of drums pounded in my chest, echoing in my ears so loudly I wanted to hunch over and cover them... but I know I can't do that. I can't give a single hint, a whit that something is amiss. In my mind's eye I can see the shrunken, pitiable beast Peter Pettigrew had become, a man so enveloped by fear it affected his very appearance. A man who chose to live as an animal rather than grow a backbone and confess his crimes.
A man who stared at me helplessly as the silver hand Tom "gifted" him with choked the life out of him at the mere thought of sparing my life.
Nothing like this man before me.
Nothing at all.
I forced a smile onto my face and stood up, "Can I take your coat?"
For just a moment, Peter looked at me as though I had grown a second head. Then he burst out a deep belly laugh, Glory screaming in delight as she bounced on his shoulders.
"Of course you can! Let me just rid myself of this gremlin I've acquired..." With a speed I had never seen from the man, he smoothly heaved my sister over his head to cradle her in his arms... just before dumping her face first onto the couch. She bolted back upright with a cheeky grin on her face before running headlong into the dining room. James was trying his damnedest not to giggle, and Sirius was failing miserably at it, almost bent over with laughter.
Peter strode over to me and shed his overcoat, revealing an almost deliberately Muggle button-up shirt and Tie, "It's ridiculously frigid in the Ministry these days, so the monkey-suit is a benefit I suppose."
As I walked over to the closet by the stairs, I tried to glance his right arm from the corner of my eye – not that it helped, given his choice of long sleeves. At least it was flesh and not the ominous glitter of silver. With a sigh, I completed my task and walked back into the den, only to be greeted by Sirius at the doorway.
"Why don't you go help Romi with the dining room? We'll be in there in a minute or two."
I tried not to feel too relieved at being separated from Pettigrew and nodded in reply. My nerves returned to me as I walked away, though I just couldn't shake that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
This too shall pass.
With us forever.
I guess it should be counted as a good thing that Dinner wasn't horribly awkward. Upon entering the dining room, Romilda seemed to immediately detect something was wrong with me, though I did my best to placate her. She didn't seem too convinced, but she let the matter drop. My biggest anxiety was almost immediately dissolved when Pettigrew sat down right in front of me and rolled up both his sleeves to dine. Aside from the fact his forearms were as thick around (and greatly resembled) tree trunks, there was no Dark Mark.
No Dark Mark.
And Pettigrew was funny! He worked as Undersecretary of the Department of Magical Creatures and Game, and he never failed to get a laugh out of Sirius and James. Even I had to chuckle at a story he told about Dolores Umbridge trying to chase down – and end up chased by - a rogue Unicorn to transport to a reserve, though I don't think they found it funny for the reasons I did. This sparked a discussion about cloven-footed creatures, which in turn led to Umbridge's deviant sexual fetish for cloven feet... which led to Glory being sent upstairs to bed, and me to prepare Romilda's room for the night. Somehow, the shock of Pettigrew's story and exceedingly detailed description numbed me to the fact Romilda Vane was staying the night.
I wasn't sure how I felt about that – I liked Romilda, for all of the one day I knew her at least. She certainly liked me, and she made very certain I knew it too. All evening she would glance over at me only for a second or two at a time, as if she were studying me. It didn't take a genius to figure out she was at least mildly concerned for my well being. Not to mention the fact her hand would often find itself clinging to my arm or resting on my leg. In a roundabout way, this kept me 'in-character' in James' eyes because I really did not know how to react to her, so I took to looking down and studying my food intently at his raised eyebrow. I did find it very sad that I was mentally eighteen years old and still had no idea what to do about a girl who might fancy me.
Which brings me to my current problem... there is a girl in my house who apparently has her own room. It's a guest room, judging by the distinctly unfeminine oak furniture that decorates it - yet there is a wardrobe full of girl's clothing too large for Glory to wear, and a sheet set in a distinctly familiar shade of green I've been tasked with dressing the bed in. I've dressed a bed too many times to count for it to be a real issue, but the fact that James trusts her so implicitly sticks in my mind. Romilda, at least this Romilda, isn't obsessed with the Boy-Who-Lived. Without my scar, I doubt I'm even the Boy-Who-Lived to begin with. This Romilda isn't pushy or brash... but as I think about it, I didn't really give her a chance in my old world. Of course, insulting Neville and Luna to their faces and injecting chocolate cauldrons with love potions was entirely the wrong way to try and win my favor.
I've known her all of a day. The Other Harry has known her since the day she started Hogwarts and was likely spooked by teenage girls to begin with... am I really that different, even if my reasons for keeping a safe distance are?
I'm eighteen years old, and the sum of my experience with women is a failed, sopping relationship with a girl who thought I could replace her dead boyfriend and my best friend's little sister. And we were together for less than a month in both cases. I fall backwards onto the four-poster, my hands on my face – the sad truth is I am about as experienced as the average fourteen year old. Fate has a sick sense of humor.
At least I'm not dead.
"Hullo, Harry."
I look towards the door to find the girl in question with a towel on her head... and wearing my Quidditch jersey.
Oh.
Oh boy.
She gives me a toothy smile as I notice her outfit, "I hope you don't mind that I borrowed it. I don't usually keep nightclothes here and I wasn't going to Floo home and spend the rest of the night washing soot out of my hair."
Romilda is about my height but I'm considerably more filled out than she is, so the jersey came to a modest mid-thigh length on her. She walked over and plopped down on her belly next to me, "Besides, I think it looks better on me anyway."
I was inclined to agree. I don't really consider myself an great expert on beauty. I thought Cho Chang was beautiful, but I can easily say the same thing about Luna or Hermione. Romilda was different, though. She wasn't a delicate waif like Cho or Luna – both meals we shared together definitely proved that point – nor was she as sporty and compact as Ginny was. I thought Romilda was pretty when I first saw her on the train a lifetime ago, but her personality there skewed my perception. It didn't matter if she was the most beautiful girl in the world, that she thought my friends were beneath her was enough for me to close the door on her completely. But it's different here. James Potter, in all of the day I've known him, is incredibly over-protective of his children, to the point his friends comment on it.
Yet he trusts Romilda in his house with his kids. How did that happen? When?
"What are you thinking, Harry?"
I could tell her exactly what's on my mind... though it's anyone's guess what would happen. If I do it... what would happen? I would get taken away by St. Mungo's at the very least, given that there was no physical evidence of how I came to inhabit this body. I would terrify Romilda.
I would break Glory's heart.
I would shatter James Potter beyond repair.
I can't leave. Not with my family, my family in this state. I don't even know what happened to the Other Harry... did I simply erase him? Or did we switch places, leaving him to die in my stead? If that happened... was there even a point to it? I was being manipulated again, and I don't have any idea of who is doing it.
Or what.
"Can I ask you a question?"
Romilda perked up at this, and she pulled herself up to my line of sight, "Anything."
"If you had a choice," I whispered, trying my best to articulate my thoughts, "Would you fix something that was broken, or leave it for someone else?"
She pondered this a moment, biting the tip of her bottom lip before answering "What would be the cost?"
"The cost?"
"Yes. If it didn't cost you anything you would do it anyway, choice or not."
"Oh." I consider this, doing my best to ignore the fact her arm was resting across my stomach. What would it mean to me if I stayed? What would it cost me? It would cost me my other life altogether if I were to take the plunge and really become Harry Potter, James Potter's son instead of Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived. I would lose the Ron and Hermione I know, my best friends, the only real family I've ever known.
That's even if I could find a way back without dying.
If I were to stay here... I have Glory and James Potter... I have Sirius. I have a family to put back together because I really think I have the strength to do that. I have a life without the weight of being The-Boy-Who-Lived. I could live here... maybe.
Something else, Harry Potter...
There just might be a reason I'm here in the first place.
I feel Romilda shift upwards again, this time laying eye-to-eye next to me, "Harry?"
"The cost would be the time it might take to fix what's broken," I said, just letting my instinct guide me, "I could fix it. It might be hard, the hardest thing I've ever done. But all I would need is the time."
"Then why rush?" Romilda giggled, reaching a hand up to muss my hair, "Silly Harry... you can take your time and get it right."
She took the opportunity to snuggle up against me, and I immediately jerked up, deciding that this was enough closeness for one evening, "Goodnight, Romilda."
Her reply was muffled by her laughter, and I couldn't help but smile a bit as I walked out of the room.
It was ridiculously early in the morning, even for my Petunia-reinforced standards. Getting so lost in my thoughts last night, I had forgotten to ask Romilda why she was staying over. It seemed James had asked her to while I was minding my bandages before dinner last night – she was tasked with sitting Glory while James and I went on our morning errand.
We were going to Ollivander's.
It made so much sense that of course it escaped my notice completely – James was overprotective enough that he wouldn't allow me to go without a wand for long. And we were to arrive as soon as he opened due to James' aversion to crowds. Thinking back to the stories Hagrid and Sirius would tell me about my father, it's hard to see how the confident, somewhat arrogant young man he was would become so... different. He is a good parent, any idiot could see that, but he's almost turned within himself. Diminished.
Then again, I think about my small breakdown at the thought of Lily Potter and I can understand it a little better. The numbness I've felt since arriving in this world, since my death is going away. If I'm really honest with myself, I've been paying attention without really seeing the world around me. That has to change.
Diagon Alley is much as I remember it, though it's mostly deserted right now. Shopkeepers are outside cleaning windows and arranging displays for the day ahead, but James has no interest in their wares right now... I can already see the Wand Shop.
Ollivander's is bright and inviting, and like my first trip when I was eleven I could feel a weight in the air here, a comfortable warmth like a shawl across my shoulders. Seeing a small stack of boxes on display, I move closer to their table. I reach out, not quite touching them, trying to decipher what it is I'm feeling. It's almost like moving my hand through water, the thickness of air above them. Their untapped power.
I could hear them singing in tiny voices...
"Master and Mr. Potter." Mr. Ollivander's voice snaps me out of my trance, and I stumble backwards right into James, "Are you alright, son?"
I shake the cobwebs out of my head as James steadies me, saying something I can't quite hear. When look up, I notice Mr. Ollivander is standing right in front of me, his pale, crystalline eyes full of wonder, "What did you see?"
"What?"
"This table, Mr. Potter. What did you see?"
"Harry, are you-"
"I didn't see anything," I muttered, finding my voice suddenly thick, "I felt something."
Mr. Ollivander reached out and gently grabbed my healing hand, studying the new skin for a moment before speaking again, "I take it your first wand is no longer with us?"
"No, sir." I said, flexing my fingers as he turned back to the table, "It exploded in my hand yesterday."
"Of course it did, Mr. Potter." He said as he plucked up the top two boxes from the pile, "Hawthorne and Dragon Heartstring, nine inches and rigid. Far too rigid for you now. No room to grow."
He pressed an ebony box to my forehead for a second before casually tossing it aside, "Ukrainian Iron Belly. Dependable, but no longer suited for you."
Another box, this time a reddish wood I didn't recognize got a reaction from the older man, and he opened it to reveal a brown wand with dark veins, rose petals carved into the handle "Rosewood and Unicorn Hair, ten inches. Give it a wave, Mr. Potter."
I did as I was told, and it felt like a dead stick in my hands. Almost immediately, Mr. Ollivander snatched it away and opened another box, "Teak and Dragon Heartstring, Hungarian Horntail this time."
I hadn't but touched it when he pulled the box away, this time pulling another two boxes from beneath the table. The first was a thirteen-inch Maple wand that leaped out of my reach of it's own accord before James had to wrangle it into it's proper box. The second...
"Holly and Phoenix Feather, eleven inches and supple."
I saw my wand looking back at me. And it was looking. I felt it call to me the moment I walked in the shop. It was mine...
I reached down and pulled the wand free of it's box. No sooner had I wrapped my fingers around it, my vision dimmed and I felt light-headed. Giddy, almost. A giggle escaped my mouth as I waved the wand in the air and a massive gout of red and gold flames burst from the tip. The table in front of me was instantly incinerated in the blast, and the flames started twisting of their own accord. A could see a swarm of birds inside the fire, beckoning me to release them. I knew the incantation... I had even seen it performed a few days ago...
"Fiend-"
Suddenly I was flying through the air, arcing backwards right into James' waiting arms. My vision clear again, I tried to stand up but felt my knees buckle. I clung miserably to James as my wand flew across the store and into Mr. Ollivander's free hand. He returned his own wand to his sleeve and shook the soot off the front of his jacket, "That was curious."
"Curious!" James shouted incredulously, "What the bloody hell just happened to my son?"
"Something rare, but not unheard of I assure you." the old man straightened his collar and returned my wand to it's box, "It happened to me when I was your son's age. He requires a... different touch than I would normally serve."
"What does that even mean?" I coughed, slowly feeling my strength returning, "That was the one! That was-"
"It is, Mr. Potter. Or at least it will be." Mr. Ollivander waved his right hand over the charred floor and ruined table, restoring it to it's previous luster, "Your wand is a perfect match for you, so perfect that when you wield it there is no longer a filter between you and your magic."
I thought about that for a moment, "But isn't that a good thing?"
"Only if you have perfect control over your magic, Mr. Potter." Mr. Ollivander chuckled, "Most adults never reach that point, but their wands always provide something of a buffer for the inner maelstrom. Without that, instead of you controlling your magic, your magic controls you."
I still feel the fire in my hands, the murderous flock that nearly made me... I almost cast Fiendfyre!
Ollivander must have seen the blood drain from my face because he walked over and put a hand on my shoulder, "Don't worry, Mr. Potter. We weren't in any danger beyond the superficial damage you caused to my showroom. And even that was easily remedied."
He leaned down to meet my eyes, "I had another young man like you once. Very determined, very focused. He found the perfect wand, and in his delight he blew a hole in my roof. His mother was mortified, obviously, but I let that young man keep his wand because he demonstrated incredible control over his power."
"Will you do that with me?"
The old man tilted his head, looking thoughtful, "I don't think so. You have that young man's power, but none of his control. We will try a different tactic with you."
He turned on his heel and retrieved the box my wand rested in, "I will hold onto this for now. I will not sell it to anyone else, this I promise. I will guard it in exchange for two things, Mr. Potter."
I remembered how very right having my wand in my hands, and I could feel it's gentle warmth coax me along, "Anything, sir."
Mr. Ollivander smiled at that, "First, you will need a training wand to get your magnificent strength under control. I believe Master Potter will have the perfect tool for that resting in your own home."
I glanced over at James, and he looked perplexed at first. Something must have clicked in his head, because I saw him give the old man a nod, "I understand, Mr. Ollivander."
The old man turned around and started shelving boxes that had fallen loose during my magical tantrum, and confusion dawned on me, "You said there were two things."
"Indeed I did, Mr. Potter." He said without turning around, "The second thing you will have to discover for yourself. I don't doubt you will find it before long."
It is dark in my room – Romilda had gone home for the day after a lazy afternoon cavorting with me and Glory. James and Sirius held a hushed discussion in his study that ran so long I ended up having to feed my sister and guest. The look on James' face when he noticed I hadn't burned the house down was priceless, though. After Glory had been put to bed and I escorted Romilda to the Knight Bus, James sat me down in the den, a long, thin box in his hands.
"I think this is what Mr. Ollivander wanted me to give you, Harry." James looked torn as he opened it, "I haven't looked at this wand in almost ten years... maybe it was meant to be yours."
He handed the box to me and looked away, "You are too young to remember your Granddad, Harry. He was a complex man... nearly 60 years old when I was born. He had been through a lot in his life. Hell, his dedication to building this family up is what lets us live so comfortably now."
Ebony and Powdered Nundu Claw, thirteen inches and slick... my grandfather's wand. I gave it a wave and a stream of silver sparks issued from the end. It didn't sing to me, not like the one meant for me, but I felt a gentle... purring as it sat in my hands.
"This wand is more than a hundred years old. I think he would have been happy that another Potter was able to use it."
My room is dark, and I hold my new wand at arm's length trying to focus on it in the dim moonlight. Charlus Potter defended his country, his home from Gellart Grindelwald with this wand. He used it to build the Potter Fortune I realized my family lives on, and he died with it in his hands.
"Expecto Patronum."
My room fills with unearthly light as the silver mist that issued from my wand materializes into a beast, a giant spotted cat with a lean body and foggy breath. The creature looks at me, sizing me up before it bows it's massive head and curls up on the floor next to my bed. A predator, a beast protecting it's home... and so am I.
This is my family's home. I have a piece of my family's legacy in my hands.
Charlus Potter rebuilt the House of Potter from it's razed foundations. I can put the pieces of my family back together. I have a life again.
And I will protect it.
