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Last time:
"M'tired," he tried to explain for a last time, as his eyes shut and the pins-and-needles that had taken over his body went numb.
"Thank god," someone breathed the next moment, "The antidote worked."
Antidote? Harry shot up, glaring at whomever the comment had originated from, intending to chew them out within an inch of their lives for such a- a- Big, green eyes stared at him from the side of his hospital bed and someone held his hand on the other side. Is that a mirror and why am I a woman? His Common Sense kicked in with a caustic, Go to hell for stupidity; it's your doppelganger's parents, but only the nya-na-nya-na-boo-boo tone really registered as Harry came to the same conclusion. "Mum?" A glance to the other side, and his older, identical twin came into view, with large, gushing tears making dual trails down his cheeks, "Dad?"
"How can he recognize us?" Lily whispered anxiously to the yellow robes hovering just out of Harry's vision.
Shit. While the forensics Auror fed the Potters some bull about possible remnants from their one year together, or the Dursleys having pictures (apparently, Harry's mention of an Uncle had prompted a more in-depth investigation, and the Dursleys had been found, entirely shocked that the Potters were alive and with no memories of a rainbow potion or the initial kidnapping. After some surreptitious Legilimency, the dumbfounded Aurors watched as they happily signed muggle custody back to Lily and her husband), Harry burrowed sullenly into his blankets. It was too late now, but if these two replaced the parents he was meant to see in the afterlife, he was going to find those stupid Powers and stab them through the eye with that pen they'd been scribbling with when he met them. Then, tell them they "weren't ready for that, were they?" just to rub it in. It may have been worrisome to the others in the room if Harry rubbed his hands together and cackled, so he kept it on the inside and twitched his fingers towards his wand. Surprisingly, he still had it on his person; they obviously hadn't expected him to own one yet.
"Harry, I'm so glad you know who we are, and I promise we will never, ever let something like this happen to you again," James looked like he was gearing up for another cry, and, wide-eyed, Harry cast about for something to stop the impending waterworks.
"...I know," he smiled, weakly, and James burst into tears, grabbing Harry in a bear hug that lifted him off the hospital cot while Lily squeezed the hand she still held with a smile. He endured it for a good minute. Alright, 45 seconds. But it was suffocating! These weren't his parents, and he hadn't needed parenting in a good century. In fact, he actually did most of the parenting he'd ever experienced! So he could be forgiven for squirming out of his sobbing DNA-providers' anaconda-death-hold. They made to lunge at him again, but he got his hands up in time with a squeaked, "Stop!"
"What's wrong, honey?" Lily made as if to take his hand again, but stopped herself just in time, her hand retreating to her lap as the concern shone blindingly from her motherly face, "Are you injured?"
"I don't like..." Harry made a strange flapping gesture to encompass the both of his parents and settled on, "Touchy-feely." And strangely, when it came to these two, it was true. With his own kids, he'd always been the guy to go to for a hug or a toss in the air, but this world seemed to have thrown him right back into his pre-Hogwarts mentality of touch is bad. He was pretty sure he could still offer some sort of comforting touch, but having it happen to him didn't... It didn't feel right. It was suffocating. And Harry knew suffocating from hands-on experience.
"Alright," Lily nodded, shooting a glance at James, which he intercepted like a pro and answered with one of his own. "I'll tell your sister so."
"Wait a tick." Harry turned that sentence over for a moment, as if searching for hidden meaning or a trap door. Finally, his poor, beleaguered brain caught up with reality, "I've got a sister?"
"A real troublemaker of one, too," James confirmed with a fond smile, already distracted.
And with that, Harry had his plan for obscurity back in place.
There had been the basic questioning the Aurors put him through before the Potters could take him home, and the basic bending of the truth Harry employed right back. He'd been with the Dursleys for as long as he could remember. They didn't treat him too badly. He hadn't seen any suspicious figures. He'd learned about Lily and James from an old wedding photo. No one ever came to check on the family. The Dursleys had no old family friends. He didn't have many muggle friends, himself.
His elaboration on that one, "I have a muggle best friend named Garrett and Mr. Ollivander is my best magical friend, at the moment," had the Aurors send someone to check out the wandmaker, who'd confirmed the statement with typical creepy glee, but also reassured the Aurors that they'd only met that day. His parents had exchanged another weird glance, but otherwise avoided comment on their son's choice in friends. Granted, they did not yet know Garrett's age or his connection to Harry, but it was still a commendable show of restraint.
The interrogation continued. Yes, he'd left the Dursleys of his own free will. He'd known of Diagon Alley from his aunt's rants. He'd asked Garrett's family to drive him. Not a lie, Harry told himself, Garrett is, in fact, related to himself. When he'd told them he'd wandered through Diagon Alley on his own after supposedly escaping the place his kidnappers had contained him, his parents' faces had miraculously become less boring. Not long after that, they demanded to bring him home, and as they took up post on either side of him, practically frog-marching him to the public Floo, Harry wondered if his plan to distract them was as foolproof as it seemed.
He was really, really counting on James retaining that immaturity he'd been known for. Well, that and little sister being too young to notice.
His parents shuffled him into the house at Godric's Hollow, and nervously showed him around. At first, there'd been a didactic, informative slant, but Harry had gently informed them that the "big blue poles" he'd "accidentally brushed up against" had already filled him in on the family history. As well as a few other things buried somewhere in my subconscious; although, all the in-depth Potter knowledge comes from my own timeline, Harry mused to himself as James heaved a suspiciously relieved sigh and Lily poked him with a sharp elbow. He tried to keep smiling, bringing up long ago memories of the time Sirius had offered to take him away from the Dursleys to get the proper expression. They anxiously showed him his room and Harry made the proper exclamations over having his own room and how big it was. James wanted to bring him down to the kitchens and have a private "We Got Harry Back" party, but Lily cut in, saying that Fennel was in bed already and Harry was probably tired as well.
After a hasty confirmation, Harry could tell they still felt unsure how he felt about them. Which, was exactly how Sirius had been all those years ago, and Harry thought he might know how to deal with it. It had to work- his Common Sense agreed with him and everything. The two elder Potters were fidgeting, as if they wanted to go tuck him in or perform some other little show of affection that would just destroy him entirely. "I'm so glad you guys are alive," Harry dashed another quick smile in their direction and entered "his" new room with a quiet click of the door behind him. He was so eager to escape their presence, he missed the way the couple behind him exchanged worried glances in yet another of their infamous silent conversations.
That was sick and twisted, Harry decided. If the Powers thought this simulacrum of his parents would be any sort of... Of compensation for being robbed of his one-way ticket into the afterlife, they had another think coming. He didn't really want to get to know these two copies. They'd lived years his real parents had never had, had another child, even, and lived with the terrible uncertainty of a stolen son.
Eh. There might have been a slowly rising sense of guilt accompanying Harry's thoughts, but that didn't change his plan. His sister would soon be a complete prodigy if Harry
had anything to say about it. When choosing between a strange son that seemed fine, if with a tragic past, and the daughter they had raised that would soon require special attention to keep her sudden grasp of magic under control... Well, of course the Potters would try to be fair, try to pay equal attention to both of them.. But, oh, little Fennel's powers would be so very troublesome, and her accidental magic beyond what a young child should do... Harry would suggest that she was too young to understand that having a brother didn't mean losing her parents, imply they were maybe neglecting her a bit, perhaps she was jealous...
Hopefully, it would all fall into place. No chance, his Common Sense advised him cheerily, but he paid it no mind.
Shit. A few mornings later, Harry was pulling a spoon through his porridge at the breakfast table with a sigh and flicked a bit of it at the brat across from him. She was ten years old with dark red hair and bright green eyes, and looked just like his own daughter.
Except she was spoiled silly.
"Mum! He threw porridge at me!" Fennel cried, pointing dramatically at her elder brother and wiping frantically at the tiny, invisible globlets of porridge with her other hand. She honestly had been looking forward to it when she'd been told her older brother had been found. Her mental image had been of a big, tall guy that would protect her from jerks and teach her cool things, but what she got was a shrimp just a bit shorter than she was that talked like an old man when her parents weren't in the room.
Harry raised his eyes to hers, his spoon deep in the depths of his bowl and his gaze full of concern, "Sorry if I splashed you, Fennel; I'm just so hungry that I forgot my manners."
"No excuse for bad manners but," Lily hmm'd, looking down at Harry's honest chagrin with a stifled fond expression, "I suppose I can let it slide this once."
Fennel pouted, James dragged himself downstairs, and the adults joined them at the table, making idle chitchat with their offspring for an attempt at normalcy and Harry let his mind wander. Interestingly, it was much easier to multitask after he'd been shoved into this body. It was probably the benefit of having more soul than entirely necessary, but it could have just been a slight genetic difference between his original body and this one. Or the fact that he was suddenly much, much younger and, if not in the peak of health, healthier than he had been before. Fennel flipped her hair, looking very much like his little Lily whenever she didn't get her way. It was as if the Powers, knowing that his children would be missing from the complete set of clones, wanted to provide him with as much of a reminder of what he'd lost as they could. Not lost, Harry corrected himself firmly. He would die, and he would wait for them in the afterlife. They would be reunited, or he would go completely batshit. Which reminded him.
"May I be excused? I've really got to use the loo." Harry gave a bashful fidget, shamelessly taking advantage of his "parents'" desire to make him feel happy and safe with them to escape once more.
"Of course, Harry, go ahead," James nodded, waving him off and Harry left the room, heading up to the far bathroom, located directly across the house from the kitchen. He could always pass it off as still being unfamiliar with the house, and remembering that one best if he was questioned later. In reality, he just didn't want to be within hearing range of the Potters.
Holy heavens. Harry shut the bathroom door and rested his too-small head against it, taking a nice, deep breath and resisting the urge to jump out the small, curtained window. Why was this atmosphere so stifling? Hell, he'd enjoyed his time with Ollivander more than this. He'd spent no more than an hour at a time in the Potters' presence, but they were always glancing at him and treating him like a glass figurine. Maybe...
Harry lifted his head from the door; maybe it was because they were treating him like a child. Granted, he was sort of a child. And he did rather fancy his flights of childish whimsy. But no one else he'd spent any real amount of time with in this world had bothered treating him as such. The Dursleys had never treated him like a human, Garrett had always known he was slightly off, and Ollivander seemed to think him some kind of peer. Not that he'd spent a significant amount of time with Ollivander, but it was true the odd wandmaker hadn't exactly reacted to him as one would a kid.
Enough angst, Harry scolded himself, pushing off the door and pacing the small, pastel-toned bathroom with deliberate, quiet steps. Fennel was far too old for his previous plan to work. Plus, the amount of time he'd have to spend in her presence would kill him. With Garrett, Harry had been fully aware of all the differences in physique and personality between the elder man and James Jr. (here, his Common Sense snorted, oh, really?), but Fennel was so... So very physically similar to little Lily ("I'm over a century old, too, Dad; stop calling me little," Harry could recall her protesting once towards the end) when she really had been little.
There were wards on this house that detected any sort of serious harm done to its inhabitants, too. That was one skill that didn't go away with his minimized magical core; Harry could feel the damn things pressing on him the moment he walked in the door. Like the wards were just waiting for him to hurt himself. With the way James and Lily had left him on his own more than once, he could assume that they either weren't tied very closely to the wards, or that they assumed the wards were detecting his intent to hurt the other occupants of the house. Harry hoped for the former, but anticipated the latter. Lily had always been only a room away when she'd left him alone with Fennel, always just within range of a scream, and she had reappeared suspiciously quickly when Fennel had let out an irritated "Oh!" of surprise at Harry's apparent unwillingness to let her see his wand. He'd learned that lesson with Albus. Even allowing a glimpse could turn an innocent, awestruck child into an ill-willed, devious thief. Granted, Albus was the only one of his children to ever nick his wand but he'd stuck to his guns through a string of grandchildren, and not a single one ever tried for his beloved magic stick so long as their first glimpse of it was after they had their own. Ginny called him biased, but Ron called him a genius.
His redheaded pal had been laughing at the time, but no matter.
I digress, Harry rolled his eyes with a quiet, sardonic bark of laughter. He was still a nostalgic old man on the inside, after all, rambling even without an audience. Though he was the only one of his friends who had fallen victim to that particular stereotype.
Maybe he could just get the wards to kill him. James and Lily would notice that, probably, but if it was the last death, he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences. No; no, he couldn't. Not where a kid (no matter how spoiled) could so easily find his body. Plus, she'd likely never visit this loo again. Water closets would be ruined for her and Fennel would pee in a chamberpot for the rest of her life, bathing in a engorgio'd bucket until at long last old age eliminated her last defenses and any children she had would just plop her bodily in a bathtub and scrub her screaming form twice a week. Albus had gotten a color-changing hex to the face when he'd tried bathing his own poor, decrepit father. Harry had washed himself since he was old enough not to drown in two inches of water and would not be surrendering the privilege upon reaching 162, thank you very much. ...Harry tilted his head to pull his thoughts back in the right direction.
Point being, he would not kill himself in Godric's Hollow. The irony alone would drag him kicking and screaming back to life. But he couldn't live here, either.
Just make it through to Hogwarts? He cajoled himself futilely. No, he couldn't bare staying around those three living reminders of his stolen afterlife for another second. How could he get out of this, though? There was no way an escape attempt wouldn't be noticed by the wards and countered by the elder Potters, and it wasn't like he really wanted to hurt any of them trying to get away. It wasn't their fault he couldn't stand them. What connections did he have right now? He'd met the Longbottoms, a Marley, Olli-
Harry tapped his fingers against the sink counter pensively.
No, no, no, Common Sense badgered, I know exactly where you're going with this and I don't like it. Harry brushed off the lingering misgiving with a simple mental image of Li- Fennel's smug little face. But- A mental dump of the accumulated tension and upsetting memories for good measure and Harry had his Common Sense firmly under control once again. I don't think Common Sense can get "out of control," it murmured sullenly and weakly under the weight of the memories of little Lily at Fennel's age before it went quiet.
Ollivander had said he wanted a friend. Ergo, Ollivander was lonely. Ergo, Ollivander wanted to be around other people who wouldn't die easily. Ergo- Oh, Merlin curse it. Harry would send off a little proposition to the old wandmaker and see how he reacted, then bring it up with the proper dramatics to his- the Potters. Almost entirely certain his plan would work, Harry's mood lifted dramatically and the damn buzzing wards eased slightly in their incessant closeness. Practically humming to himself, Harry twiddled through his pockets for a bit of paper and wandered out of the bathroom to acquire a quill and ink. A bit of doggerel nursery magic could probably get his missive to the wandmaker within the day and with any luck, he'd be gone by tomorrow evening.
He sent off the paper with a rushed, toneless recitation of, 'Oh, blow the winds o'er the ocean; oh, blow the winds o'er the sea; oh, blow the winds o'er the ocean, and bring back my bonnie to me." The sentiment was not exact, but such was the way with this limited wandless magic. Though he finally had a wand once more at hand, he did not like the way the wards pressed around him when his fingers twitched for it, and toeing the line by using it so blatantly within the house wards seemed to be asking for unnecessary trouble. Sharp thinking, his Common Sense commented with a tone of honest surprise. Harry wondered for only a moment if blasting away a bit more of his frontal cortex would eliminate the part of him that insisted on disassociating from the whole but shook his head. I'm probably not that crazy, yet.
It was literally thirty minutes later when a stray gust of wind blew in under the Potter's front door and made its lazy way to the sitting room, where this universe's Potters plus transdimensional guest had retired after dinner officially concluded. James was trying to keep Fennel's attention with a story about his day, but the girl obviously had no interest in how the Aurors' office worked and he was losing steam fast. Like a popped hot air balloon. Harry, on the other hand, was the subject of most of the little girl's attention as she shot glares and rolled eyes in his general direction between her father's increasingly pleading attempts at engaging her interest. Harry mostly ignored this since Lily was refusing to let his attention wander as she kept up an almost one-sided conversation peppered with questions and queries and "I was wondering's" about Harry's life and hobbies and friends and...
Harry wondered if James was really in Interrogation or if that was sort of like the Black-Pettigrew deal and Lily was the true professional.
Anyway, in the midst of all this, an innocent scrap of parchment floated further into the room, landing with a sudden precision in Harry's lap. He'd picked up the message, preparing himself for the possibility of an outright no, or more questions on what exactly would be happening, or even an acceptance with questions about how to go about it, and read,
When can you get here? :)
Harry stared at the parchment as if the letters would rearrange into the real message and for once he and his Common Sense were entirely on the same page as they echoed, ":)" ? Had Harry really thought this plan through enough? Maybe he needed to reassess his options.
When Lily realized her recently recovered son was holding a mysterious bit of paper that appeared without her notice, she paled, understandably panicked, and then slapped the message out of Harry's hands. "Don't just pick up magic paper!" She scolded unthinkingly, her voice strangely weak in comparison with her word choice and automatic finger waggle, "You want to be kidnapped again?"
"Ah, I knew who that was from," Harry replied, his hands still out in front of him as he turned over that creepy little smiley face one more time in his mind's eye.
"Where are you going?" Fennel asked curiously, holding the message she'd recovered while her parents were silently freaking out over Harry's brush with danger.
James snatched the parchment out of her hands and read it once without registering it, opened his mouth to speak, and then let his jaw snap shut as his widened eyes darted back to the missive for a second and third read-over. "Is this," James' voice stumbled and he cleared his throat awkwardly, "Are you communicating with your kidnappers?"
"What?" Lily surged forward and grabbed the message from James' hand, and after hearing it again in another's voice, Harry could confirm that the warble in James' tone had been betrayal. She looked up, "Harry?"
Well, he hadn't betrayed anyone. Some part of him still stung at the implication, but he could be civil and sort out the misunderstanding. Maybe it'd make them more accepting of his request, since it was much better in comparison. "It's not like I know who kidnapped me," Harry began, pseudo-logically, "So I can't really answer that question." James looked a little green about the gills as Lily's fist clenched. Good show, his Common Sense mocked and Harry had to admit he hadn't exactly tackled that with the maturity he'd been aiming for. Try again. "That's Ollivander, though. And I doubt he's ever kidnapped me."
"Mr. Ollivander?" James repeated, looking back down at the unembellished handwriting and creepy little smiley face.
"He's one of my best friends," Harry defended flatly. Come on, now, pull yourself together. If he thought it through a bit more carefully, it wasn't really that shocking. Ollivander always had a penchant for creepiness and he'd been counting on the older man's enthusiasm for company. A shake of the head and Harry was all business once again, "I was wondering if I could spend the rest of summer with Ollivander, to see how a wand shop really functions and help him out a bit since he's so lonely."
The elder Potters exchanged a troubled glance and James started hesitantly, "We thought we might use this time to get to know one another, Harry. I'm not sure-"
"Of course. We could meet in the Alley or at Ollivander's," Harry cut in, pulling from his other-world knowledge and deciding that the two Ollivanders likely weren't that different at all, "That man really enjoys entertaining."
"Harry, wouldn't you rather stay with us?" Lily began, almost pleadingly, as if she knew the true answer would be in the negative, but hoped for the best.
How to phrase this nicely. "I think it'd be better for all of us to have some space," the soothing tone was exactly how Harry used to tell Albus and little Lily that James Jr. would be staying at Hogwarts for this break or that, "So we could get to know each other without your stress about a stranger in your home or any sense of obligation to one another."
"Harry, we're your parents," James berated, looking just a little lost at the way this conversation was going, but Lily cut in with a slight frown.
"Maybe you're right, that there's some tension living so close when we don't really... When we don't really know each other." A pensive stare at Harry's poker face and Lily let out a tiny, bitter laugh, "You are our son, and there's a part of me that's saying only your mother could know you best, but you're right. There's another part of me that looks at you and sees a stranger, since the son I knew was a babe that smiled at everyone and the son I've got is much older, and has gone through so much without me..." Lily glanced down and Harry realized with mounting horror that she was about to cry, "I hate whoever did this; I hate that we aren't... I hate that so much time was lost." Tears were trailing down her cheeks now, and Harry noted with slight vindication that neither Fennel nor James seemed very comfortable with this situation either. Her voice, when it breached the still air again was little more than a whisper, "Are you sure this is for the best, Harry?"
Oh, definitely, after that display, Common Sense put in, all I can do here is fail to live up to your expectations. Who wanted an old man for a son when they'd expected a young child? While Harry was certainly more childish and spritely than other men his mental age, he'd never be as dependent and trusting and... light as the Potters deserved. Well, if I hadn't come around, their son would be a drooling husk, Harry scratched his knee in a nervous fidget, but I'm still an impostor. "I think so," he finally managed, clearing his throat while his eyes avoided the two Potters trying to catch his gaze. It would take a day or so for the Potters to truly give in, but the tide had turned in Harry's favor that night.
OMAKE (meaning a fun tidbit not included in the storyline):
Fennel and Harry stared at each other over the coffee table.
"Fennel," Harry started thoughtfully, "That's some sort of yellow-flowered celery, right?"
"It's a flower," Fennel corrected tightly, "that means 'worthy of all praise.'" Her hands clenched into little, white-knuckled fists.
Harry and Fennel stared at each other over the coffee table.
"That makes much less sense," Harry pointed out.
The shriek of indignant fury covered up Harry's repetitive "ow"s as Fennel beat him senseless with a throw pillow.