November 1st, 1990

Albus Dumbledore enjoyed candy, especially those created by Muggles. If anyone has ever met him, they would know this trivial fact about the man. In fact, several times being the Headmaster of Hogwarts did he create passwords to enter his office as the name of candies. There was always at least one time when he offered a treat to someone. Right now, a lemon drop occupied his mouth, relishing the sweet and sour taste over his tongue.

Sitting quietly and patiently, he waited for a friend he hasn't seen in ages.

It's amazing how serene he appeared to be; anyone else in his place would be acting the total opposite. If Dumbledore had to be truthful, he did feel a bit animated to hear what Hestia was going to explain to him. After all, it's not everyday when someone presumed to be dead was actually alive, with evidence to back up the claim. There was only one other person he suspected was active somehow, somewhere, and it certainly wasn't a child from ten years ago. The brother of the Boy-Who-Lived nonetheless.

Dumbledore still remembers the day when James Potter arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place. Two days passed since The Order last heard from the young couple, and tensions between its members rose on how to deal with this fact. Some members have thought they needed space with their stress of preparing to be parents. Others believed they should try to contact them to make sure they were not in an immediate danger. After Remus and Sirius visited Godric's Hallow to only discover they were nowhere to be seen when everyone became truly worried. However, James had (thankfully) shown up on time before things became hectic.

The room shifted upon him entering the room. For approximately five seconds did everyone's conversations stopped to stare at the expecting father before someone asked, "Where were you?" A chorus other questions soon followed after. "Did Lily give birth?" "Is she in trouble?" "Bloody hell mate, what happened?" Their voices died out upon further inspection of the man. Some even gasped silently.

He looked like a total mess. Hands shoved deeply into pockets, the clothes he wore seemed to have been hastily thrown on together with no thought. Even in his most terrible mood he looked half-presentable than he did now. James' raven hair was always unruly, but his locks appeared to be even messier than usual. Dark heavy bags rested under his usual bright eyes. What struck the most to Dumbledore were his eyes. He never forgot the bleak glint he noticed in them. The same glance one develops when he or she discovers someone they loved has passed away. Albus knew it all too well; he and his family had grown to hold the same look after the death of his sister decades ago. Tragedy had struck the Potter family.

"I'm sorry Lily and I haven't been showing up, but we needed time off." James didn't spoke with the same confident tone he would normally use. He was quiet. This was completely unlike him. "A lot of things have happened."

"What happened, James?" Dumbledore, who had stood up upon seeing him, asked cautiously.

Taking in a shaky breath, he answered, "Lily had the twins." The news should have brought excitement to everyone, but his low tone indicated there was more of the story to come. And it wasn't good. "It was fine at first, perfect even, but our first boy, Henry, he… my son… he…" His voice trailed slowly as his eyes fell to stare at the floor. His hazel eyes moistened. "He's gone. He passed away."

The room remained quietly. A few people wanted to stand up and comfort him, but the shock at his words froze them in place.

"It had something to do with his heart, Lily said. It's called cardiac arrest, and to simply put it, his heart stopped beating." Voices fully of sympathy began to speak up as well as questions. James immediately added, "I can see everyone has lots of questions, but right now we would like time to ourselves to adjust. We would appreciate it dearly if we had some time alone." Alone with our other son. "We'll explain everything further when we come back."

Everyone nodded.

Dumbledore said, "Very well, James. Take all the time you need. All I have to ask before you leave is where you will be residing. Security reasons, that is."

"Her parents' home. Thank you all for understanding. Just know that because this has happened, we will not neglect our responsibilities. As soon as we—"

"Just go, Prongs." Sirius said softly. James, for the first time since he looked down, tilts his head upwards, smiling sadly. The tears remained unshed. Without saying anything he turns his body around. But before he leaves, he forces something else out. "In case you were wondering, our other boy's named Harry." He left.

A part of Lily and James Potter died along with their son. They no longer smiled nor laughed as passionately as they did before. Anything relating to "hospital" or "twins" brought tears in their eyes and was topics generally avoided. But little by little with each passing day, the pain didn't hurt as much. The couple accepted the sad fate Henry was destined to have. Dumbledore—or anyone for that matter—could tell their hearts still ached at the fragile life taken away from them. Yet they were finding ways to cope with the death, mainly due to the fact of finding joy in raising Harry. With time, they would heal. Dumbledore could even say they were almost the same people as before.

And then Voldemort attacked three months later.

It seemed the odds were against Mr. Harry Potter having a normal home life. A little more than a year after he lost his only sibling, the dark wizard Voldemort seized away his parents' life before trying to take his own, yet lived. Dumbledore was forced to send him to his only living relative's left: Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, Lily's sister and her husband. Lily's parents had passed away five months before October 31st. James' own mother and father also died several years ago. One could assume he was meant to be an orphan. Or at least end up in the situation he was in.

Raindrops began to pelt softly against the window. The lemon drop he was enjoying melted into nothing more than a tiny piece of what it used to be. He lets it slide down his throat as his eyes scanned across his desk. Sitting half-folded was the letter Hestia sent him yesterday, next to an opened bag of assorted candies. Dumbledore pushed them aside, opened up the letter, adjusted his reading glasses, and read the contents again for about the tenth time or so since he received it:

Dear Dumbledore,

It's been quite a while, hasn't it? It's Hestia. I bring you urgent news. Remember Lily and James' second son, Henry? To simply put it, he did not die that night. He's alive. I request we meet in private for me to further explain this. As soon as possible.

Please do not tell anyone about this.

- Hestia

A phoenix squawks, catching Dumbledore's attention. His eyes flicker to his pet. Fawkes was in the stage of an adult. Watching intently at the entrance, head tilted to the side, he awaits for who was going to enter in. "Our visitor is here," murmured the man. He refolded the paper in its original state and set it back down on the desk.

"Dumbledore?" Hestia calls out as she walks up the spiral stairs. Footsteps echoed throughout the room each step she took. Recognizing the woman, Fawkes lets out a softer squawk and relaxed.

"In here," he replied. His lips curl into a smile upon seeing her once again. They may have been united to battle against a dark force during dark times and disbanded since then, but The Order of the Phoenix did share their close moments. It was more than just a group of people—they were like a second family. They did all need support when faced with danger every day. "It really has been a long time, hasn't it? Please, have a seat."

"Yes." He wasn't sure whether or not she referred to her question, accepted his offer, or both. At the moment it did not matter. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the overwhelming sight of books and contraptions. She walked through the room and sat in the chair placed in front of Dumbledore's desk. Her hands crossed together, legs pressing together tightly. "I never would have imagined seeing you again… for something different other than You-Know-Who, y'know?" She chuckled, humor trying to cover up her nervousness.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Don't be so edgy, Hestia. It's just you and me. No one knows about this," he smiled warmly. "Friend to friend." Hestia relaxed under his gaze. He leaned forward. "Tell me, how is Henry alive?"

"Friend to friend," she repeated. Her main concern was whether or not the media would find out. Hestia didn't want her family to be forever dubbed "delusional" and looked upon as freaks as other families have been. People tended to remember family names for all the wrong reasons, depending on the situation. But she knew she could trust Dumbledore. He always meant his word. "Well, you know about my brother Ares, right?"

He noted how the way her lip curled downwards at the mention of "brother".

Ares Jones. Dumbledore has never met the young man face-to-face. He only knew Hestia and Gwenog, and that was because of their attendance to Hogwarts. He knew small bits about him after Hestia mentioned a few large events going on in her life involving him (the two being a wedding and an adoption). But like many families in the wizarding world, he was never truly brought up; it was a social taboo of being born without magical abilities in a magical family. It was considered an embarrassment to the family's name.

"He and his wife—ex-wife I mean, adopted a baby after they found out they couldn't have any. Recently, my sister-in-law Kai and my nephew Henry have tried to find his birth parents at the hospital he was born in, but say there wasn't a kid born under his first surname 'Carter'. There was only Henry Potter, Harry Potter, and Harvey Carter on his birth date. Kai kept Henry's first and middle name out of respect for his parents, so it should have been 'Henry Alan Carter.' But he never existed. We think he was switched. On purpose? Not likely."

Dumbledore leaned back into his seat. He waited for more information, but when it became apparent she was finished with her speech, he asked, "Is there more evidence?"

"If you even just look at them, there is no denying their relation. Except for a few things, a few things that you can tell are different. But my Merlin do they look alike." She paused. "And there's something else too, sir."

The man continued to listen. "Yes?"

"There are these… dreams he has."

"Dreams?"

"Dreams. This will most likely be the craziest thing I will say today, but hear me out. Henry says he has dreams where he is seeing things through someone else's perspective. He describes it as watching things in someone else's eyes and believes this person is Harry. The main one was when he says he sees someone enter the Potters' home. And he actually sees Lily and James. The attack, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named killing Lily, everything."

After letting the information sink in before promptly asking, "Has he been raised in the wizarding world?"

Hestia understood where he was going. "No. Ares is a squib and Kai's a muggle," she said. "There is no reason why he would be raised knowing this stuff. It was kind of why they moved to America in the first place. As far as I know, Americans weren't too concerned with Voldemort. It wouldn't be likely he found a book about Harry and started fantasizing being related to him."

Could this really be? The story indeed sounded plausible, and he knew Hestia would never make up something like this without a reasonable motive. If this was indeed a false accusation, why would they bring it up now? Harry hasn't even make an appearance at Hogwarts yet, which would be the timing a scammer would use.

"Remarkable," he said, "I must speak to him. Will today be good?"

"Oh course! Kai won't mind."

"Just give me a moment."

Standing up, Dumbledore walked around the desk. Hestia also stood up, but stayed in her spot to wait. He walked up the flight of stairs to the second floor into his sleeping chambers. It was simple; a king-sized bed, a dresser with a box of tissues on top across the room, a closet adjacent to it, and above the dresser was a portrait of The Order standing proudly in a group. Without saying words, he pulls the picture off the wall to reveal a smaller door with a handle: a lockhouse.

Dumbledore pulls out his wand. Pointing at the handle, he whispered, "Alohomora." Almost instantaneous the handle turned ninety degrees to the right, and the door opened ajar. He pulls it open completely. Inside was what he placed his most valued possessions. He slipped his wand back into his pocket to pull out James' invisibility cloak, carefully examining the collar. Delicately, he plucked off a single dark lock. James' lock. He knew it was truly his; his own hair had never been as dark as it used to be for years and no one else wore it. Since his death, it has remained in his possession, carefully under his watchful eye.

He folded the cloak the way it was before and placed it in its original spot. "Colloportus." The door slowly moved backwards to shut itself. The spells were relatively simple, but his room was charmed so only the current reigning Headmaster or Headmistress could enter. The opening and locking spells were a mere safety precaution.

Levitating the picture back to cover the secret vault, Dumbledore smiled wistfully at the figures of James and Lily standing in the farther side in the group. He pulled a single tissue from the box. After folding it carefully, he placed the strand of hair in the middle and folded it once more. The elder wizard then placed the tissue on top of the drawer and pulled out another tissue, also folding this one.

Despite his skepticism, Dumbledore wanted this to be real. He was certain Voldemort was still alive and would one day return. Harry would need all of the support he could get. The only downfall out of the situation was that if this all became true, then James and Lily would have gone to the grave believing they have left Harry all alone.

Kai almost shrieked at seeing the two people apparate from thin air five feet from her. She may have been used to the oddities of witches and wizards, but this was one of the things she never got used to. If she was holding something, the woman would have more than likely dropped it.

"Oh my goodness," she gasped.

Seeing her expression, Hestia quickly apologized. "I'm so sorry Kai. I didn't mean to scare you! Umm," she began awkwardly, "Dumbledore, this is Kai. Kai, this is Dumbledore."

Dumbledore holds out a hand, to which Kai shakes. After she regains her composure with a sheepish smile, she says, "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Would you like some tea? Or coffee perhaps?"

"Oh no, I'm fine, thank you very much."

Hestia simply shakes her head.

"Please, have a seat and make yourself home," Kai offered. Dumbledore glanced around the room they were in currently. It appeared to be a living room. Modestly, he sits down in the loveseat. Hestia sat next to him. Kai sat in the armchair.

"What is it you need, Mister Dumbledore?" The mother asked to the elder man.

He smiled.

Henry loved rain. Sure, it made mud and mud was a mess to clean up, but nearly everything after it rained turned better. The usually boring, white, fluffy clouds became darker and more interesting. The sound of rain tapping on the roof of the car became a soothing rhythm. Splashing in the puddles was fun too. Though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, he liked the way the asphalt smelt after it rained. All he wanted to do was run around in the rain, letting the water droplets soak up into his hair (even if he had to endure his mother's scolding for a whole hour on him getting sick). His thoughts were consuming his attention and didn't pay attention to what his mother was saying as they exited the car.

"There's someone here to meet you." She called out loudly over the rain. Being outside, the rain's volume intensified, and took a bit more effort for her to say anything.

"Who?" With an arm holding a strap of his backpack, he held out a palm, collecting the beads of water that fell from the sky. He let the collected water slip through his fingers as they rushed up the creaky stairs onto the porch.

Her loud tone quieted down when they were outside out the front entrance. "A man. His name is Albus Dumbledore. Be on your best behavior. He's here to talk about Harry. Don't be afraid of him. He's a nice man."

Saying that name brought most of his attention up front. But it wasn't just about Harry. Hearing "a man" made Henry feel dread meeting him, despite knowing he could possibly help bridge the gap. Henry's mind cognates a possible image of what he looked like: beefy arms, height towering above him, thick, meaty fingers… not all men looked like that he knew. Still, that's all he saw in them, no matter their looks. They were all the same: out to get you.

But as long as his mother was there he felt safer.

"All right," Henry said, keeping the nervousness at a minimal.

Upon Kai opening the door, they stepped into the room. Sitting in the loveseat was Aunt Hestia and the man he presumed to be Albus Dumbledore. He was literally not what he expected; he thought the man would be younger. Much, much younger. Although his face looked to be clearer of wrinkles for a man at his age, what caught Henry's attention was his beard. Cascading downwards, it was a milky white tone, almost whiter than snow. Henry was reminded of Santa Claus if the fictional man's facial hair grew. The dark cloak he wore was alike to what the wizard's in the articles he read.

Dumbledore was also studying him. There was no denying the relation between him and the Potters if he were to completely base it on looks; same reddish-brown hair (even if a little darker) as Lily, same hazel eyes as James, holding a similar curiosity he always had, and a similar facial structure as him. But there was a glint of alertness, an alertness he wasn't sure it was just from meeting him for the first time and being suspicious. Despite feeling taken a little aback, he remained calm.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Dumbledore stood up and greeted him. "Hello, Mister Jones." He stood up. Henry felt even smaller under his gaze.

"Hi Mister Dumbledore, sir."

Dumbledore held out a hand. Henry glanced at it. There wasn't anything particularly wrong with it that he could tell. It looked normal for a man his age. Yet he found it more difficult to reach over and shake it than it would be if it were a woman; his arm moved rigid and fingers curled tighter than they should have. He was sure the man must have noticed, but his face didn't give away an indication.

The man turned towards Kai. "May we talk in private?" His initial plan was to interview the boy personally and observe his actions to see if the boy was sincere. He didn't tell this part of his plan to either Kai or Hestia; Dumbledore needed to see him premature in case the story was false and someone was telling Henry or giving him signs.

Hestia and Kai glanced at each other. "Sure, we'll wait in the kitchen," Kai says.

A stone dropped in Henry's stomach.

She placed a kiss on Henry's temple. "It will be all right," his mother whispered to him, so low he could barely hear her. The two women left them by themselves. Henry tries to send her a pleading look, a final form of protest for her to stay. But she was gone. In his peripheral vision, he could see the bearded wizard sit back down. Instead of standing around awkwardly in his own home, he sits in the armchair and set down his backpack next to his feet. He closed his legs, hands linking together to fit through the spacing between his fingers. It was almost the same posture as Hestia shown.

Dumbledore couldn't help but chuckle. Henry's defensive stance somewhat loosened, eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.

He explained, "You're a lot like your aunt. She was nervous too when she came to see me earlier today. It's quite funny considering you were not raised here, correct?"

"No, sir. I was born here, but for most of my life I lived in the U.S."

"The United States? What city?"

"Lake Tahoe, California." It was obvious to tell his rigid was at the maximum level.

"Ah, California. A beautiful place. So many different landscapes represented in a single state. Would you like to see something fascinating?"

"Umm, okay, sure."

Dumbledore reached into his pocket and pulled out a silvery lighter. Eying it carefully, Henry watched him flip open the top hatch. Pressing the latch down, the room suddenly became darker when the orb of light emitted from the light bulb on the top of the ceiling. The only light source emanated was from a lamp in the corner of the room.

Henry's wide-eyed expression caused Dumbledore to chuckle again. "This is my own invention. Pretty nifty if I say so myself. It's called the Puter-Outer."

For a while, they made small talk about little insignificant things, things obviously skirting around the topic. Although Henry could tell something was up, he did allow his body to relax; his shoulders slacked significantly and hands no longer were together. One of his elbows was plopped upwards. But mentally, he held the same amount of suspicion, if not more, that he seized at the beginning of their conversation. But there was something about the man that he found comforting. Something… almost grandfatherly. The boy wasn't positive on how to react. He's never had a grandfather before. Would a grandfather be like this?

Halfway through their conversation, Tiger decided this was the time to find Henry. Meowing as it sauntered towards him, Tiger pawed at his shin, the signal for Henry to pick him up. Henry does, and stroked from behind his ears to all the way to his tail.

"He's quite a big feline," Dumbledore said. "What's his name?"

"Tiger. He's about seven months I think."

"Interesting. From the looks of it, 'Tiger' is a fitting name if he's this size already. He must be at least three-quarter Kneazle, half at the least."

"Kneazle? What's a Kneazle?"

"Kneazle is a magical feline. It's like a cat, but considerably larger and tend to have a higher intelligence rate. They are able to breed with normal cats, so it would explain the size."

"So… Tiger will grow bigger?"

"Much, much bigger."

For the first time since he arrived, Henry smiled, even though his smile didn't meet his eyes. "Cool."

More talk. An hour must have passed already. Was he interested in Henry's idea, or getting to know him? It certainly felt like it on the outside, but Dumbledore started to ask questions that were more relevant: "When did your dreams of Voldemort begin?" "What happened?" "Were there any more of these dreams?" Henry felt relieved they have finally moved on to the subject matter they both wanted to know.

"Henry, your mother and aunt tell me that you were the one who created this theory of being Harry's brother, correct?"

"Yeah."

"I will not chastise your idea. Quite frankly, I am open to it," Henry smiled again, a more brighter, wide smile. "There is something we can use to find out if you really are. It's a potion called Saeta Compositus. Gathering the ingredients is a complicated process, and the result afterwards takes several weeks to complete. For it to work, I will need a sample of your hair. After creating the potion, I simply will drop it in the liquid along with a sample of the family's hair strand.

"Now Henry, if this does turn out you aren't related to him, the rest of your life will go on. No one but us will ever know we met for this. But if otherwise, and you decide to pursue a relationship with him, then this will eventually come out. The media tends to twist the story, and they will take any chance at tarnishing your name—I've had enough experience to know this as a fact.

"This decision is too big for a boy your age to make on your own, so I consulted with your mother before she left. She believes you are strong enough to handle the attention and the benefits would outweigh the negatives. What do you want?"

"When can we start with the potion?"

"We can start today if you wish."

Bringing up a hand, Henry gripped a thread of his hair and plucked it out. He gritted his teeth, the pain receding after seconds. "Will this do?"

November 22th, 1990

Saeta Compositus (or "Hair Match" when translated) was one of the most complicated potions a wizard or witch could do. There were so many technical steps required to take, even the most advanced potion master would need to retry the potion a few times, but gathering the ingredients was the more complicated process: grounded unicorn horn, the sap of a weeping willow, a troll's tears, ect. Locating certain ingredients required knowing the right people; Dumbledore had these connections. But it took several weeks to gather a majority of the needed elements, and he now held the last thing needed.

The moon above shone brightly in the night sky. Dumbledore estimated the time to be about ten o'clock. The majority of the inhabitants inside the castle would be undoubtedly sleeping. No him, though. Neither him nor the Potions master he enlisted for help.

When he made his way through the dungeons, he entered a secret corridor specifically bounded off from the student body. He enters a room, seeing the man with dark hair stand next to a bubbling, small black pot with a ladle.

"Here is the last thing you need," Dumbledore told him, setting down a jar full of small crickets on the table nearly full with other things. The man didn't even acknowledge what he said; his mind was too keen on slowly stirring the clear liquid in the dark kettle, the beginning process of the potion. He picked up a vial and emptied the contents into the pot. A puff of smoke arose.

Silence. "If you don't mind me asking sir, who is this for? And why did you need my help? You are more than capable enough of preparing a batch of Saeta Compositus," the man said.

"Ah Severus. We both know I am capable, but we also know how easy it is for someone to misuse or miscalculate what's needed and then have to start over. With you in charge, there is a less chance of having to. I cannot tell you who this is for due to a promise that I mustn't give out information, but you'll soon find out."

With Dumbledore watching, the potion teacher continued to mix ingredients, carefully measuring out the amounts and timing when to put them in. This went on for an hour, the room dimly lit by several floating candles.

Snape didn't question further, preferring to continue to work in silence. He's learned for a long time to listen to Albus with no question.

After grinding the crickets into a sickly-looking paste, Snape dumped the last needed thing. What used to be insects plopped into the goop. In anticipation, they wait to see if he had successfully generated the potion. The clear liquid slowly shifts into a light, almost turquoise color.

Dumbledore smiled. This was what they wanted.

The older man pulled out the tissues. He opened the one containing James' hair and dropped it into the kettle. He does the same for Henry's. The two hairs adhered to the surface of the liquid, side to side, before sinking in seconds later.

And now began the waiting game.

December 17th, 1990

Deoxyribonucleic Acid, usually shortened to DNA, is fundamental for most living things. The "set of instructions" contains genes that tell the cells of a body how tall a person will be, their eye color, and countless of other attributes. A person is defined how they will look at the moment of conception. They are given a set from their mother and a set from the father.

Saeta Compositus causes the DNA chromosomes (the long strand structure) to slowly untwine from each other, demolishing the double helix design. The potion would recognize if the strands matched. When each gene matched one with the DNA of the other hair, the liquid morphed different colors. Although this sounded relatively simple, the process went on between two to three weeks, which was why Severus Snape checked on the potion every day to check the results. Although it could prove if two people were either close or distant relatives, the results would depend on the color.

And know the liquid shifted into the dark blue color.

Severus Snape glanced down at Advanced Potions, glancing through the different colors listed that would show what relationship the two subjects held. Dark blue was the color for father and son.

He knew he should report this to Dumbledore, but for some reason found he was unable to move; he felt he was somehow connected to these results, yet couldn't comprehend how. He leaned against the table, staring into the kettle in front of him. Instead of dwelling on the feeling, he left the room, off to tell the elder man the results.

"Henry, you have to be faster than that!" Hermione squealed, kneeling over to grab a handful of snow and threw the sphere at Henry. It landed straight into his left leg. Stopping subsequently, he stuck out his tongue at her before continuing to chase her across the snow-covered blacktop. Although they tended to sit in the quiet library, Henry convinced her to go outside with him when the first layer of snow fell from the sky. She was reluctant at first, believing the other students would take this opportunity to bully her. But so far they haven't, and he was glad; Hermione appeared to be having the time of her life playing with him and actually doing something outside of reading and doing homework.

But his mind was not in their game of tag. Today was the day, the day he was going to find out if he is the son to the Potters and the brother to Harry. It's been a month and a half since he last heard from Dumbledore, and when his mother told him they would be expecting him again today, he nearly bounded out of his seat. Henry was confident the results would be in his favor, but there was that little voice in his head that tried to bring him mood down.

His fingers brushed against her back. "Tag! Gotcha!" The two bodies halted. Henry slipped off his gloves, holding the somewhat damp material with the crook of his arms as he held his hands together, rubbing furiously in an attempt to warm his freezing hands.

"Is there something going on? You catching me took way to long for someone as fast as you."

"Nu-uh, nothing is going on." Hermione gave him an all-knowing look, almost like she saw through him. To be honest it scared him a little. He ran a hand through his hair. "Well, except…"

"You can tell me. I promise I won't tell anyone else."

He asked skeptically, "You promise?"

"I promise," she smiled.

Should he tell her? Henry knows that it would be wrong to tell her every single detail. But he wanted to tell someone how he was feeling. Maybe it would be fine if he just left out the magical aspect of his life. That would be fine, right? Yes, he reasoned.

"Okay. Let's go sit in the hallway so nobody will hear me."

After walking for a minute and making sure no one else was around, Henry explained his story, making sure he left out the dreams, the moving newspapers, and anything else in between. Most importantly, he explained to her what was bothering him. "The man is coming over today after school, and we'll find out if I'm related to Harry. If I am, how am I going to be a brother? I don't know how to."

"I don't have siblings either, but I think what you would have to do is just being a friend: talk to him, have fun, and be there for him no matter what."

"So, like us," He stated.

Her face reddened. "Like us," She repeated.

"Miss Jones, after careful testing, the results have shown Henry is indeed Harry Potter's brother."

A huge grin plastered across the young boy's face. He knew in his heart he had to have some ties to Harry, but the dread of being told he was only contriving the ideas in his head was liberating. All of the confusion of the dreams that plagued him was somewhat answered, yet now he could only focus on one thing:

"When can I see him?" Henry asked.

"Mister Jones, I believe you meeting him in person would not be the best course of action." The boy frowned. "Let me elaborate. I'm afraid showing up at his doorstep claiming you are his brother might put him into a state of shock. I propose the best way to approach this rationally is through a letter. That way he could allow the news to process in his mind."

Henry slumped in his chair. The worst part of this solution was that the man had made sense. He would be pretty freaked out too if strangers showed up at his doorstep like that. "A… a letter?" He faltered. "Okay, I guess that makes sense. But… I don't know where he lives."

Dumbledore said, "Don't worry, I know the address. I'll send an owl to pick up your letter at seven in the morning tomorrow to send to where he resides. Owls move a lot quicker than any mailman. When you see it, it will have a letter with it already; I too have to send a letter to his guardians explaining the situation. Do we have a plan?"

"Yeah," Henry said. After the man left, he ran upstairs to start on the letter immediately, not knowing it wouldn't reach the recipient it was meant for.