Too Far from Home

by story2tell

Transported into a parallel universe, Harry finds himself in the shadow of an evil growing force. Amidst old and new faces and the chance for a family that he never had, Harry must come to the terms that although there are two worlds, there can only be one hero. *AU Dimension travel, No slash, Abuse, Contains Angst*

10. A Trip Out

To the anonymous reviewers, thank you for your kind words.

Thank you to my awesome beta: Brainfluff. She is truly amazing and I would sound like a cave man without her.

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***James Potter, AU World***

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"You look tired," said Lily as James fumbled with the last button on his emergency healer robe.

"You would be too, if you were up half the night," James muttered as he situated the robe over his shoulders. He looked over at her where she sat on the bed; the jabs of sunlight streaming through the window fell on her face and shoulders and it looked like a golden halo circling her and making her hair look like bright fire.

"I heard you get up last night," she said, unaware of James' stare, "What was wrong? Was it Willow?"

"No, it was Harry—the other Harry, I mean. I forgot to lift the monitoring charm on him and it woke me. Turns out the kid's been having nightmares about Voldemort's return—seems to think that the death of a fellow student was his fault; stupid kid."

A look of shock flitted across Lily's face, "How could he think that?"

James shook his head, "I've no idea—but it doesn't seem as though anyone from his world has tried speaking with him about everything going on—apparently they're all idiots. He keeps it all bottled up—he's going to explode one day and, if our Harry was right about the raw magic the kid displayed saving Sirius, then it won't be pretty. Someone needs to teach him how to control that magic or things can get out of control very quickly."

"Well, we can do that," announced Lily with no hesitation.

"Yes, I suppose we could," James glanced at his blurry image in the mirror; his hair seemed as haphazard as ever and there was nothing he was going to be able to do about that. "Do I look okay?"

"Are you planning on meeting someone?" Lily asked accusingly but when James turned around, she had a mischievous glint in her green eyes. He grinned at her and began searching around for his spectacles.

"How long will you be gone?" asked Lily as she pulled a brush from her night stand and began running it through her bed-tussled, red hair.

"Not long," replied James as he looked around, squinting, "Have you seen my glasses?"

"They're on you head," Lily answered dryly.

"Oh, bloody hell," James pulled them down, laughing at himself. "I'm going to tell Harry I'm ready to go—he said he wanted to come. Our Harry, I mean."

Lily tossed her brush to the side and stood, fluffing out her hair "Just be careful," she insisted as she straightened, looking worried. James went to her and pulled her close, feeling her nice warmth against him. She tucked her head under his chin and sighed in what James was sure was contentment. He peppered her hair with several tiny kisses before withdrawing and saying: "Don't fret yourself—we'll be back before lunch. You won't even have time to miss us."

Lily smiled faintly and stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, "I believe Harry's still asleep."

"Lazy bum," he muttered after he bid his wife farewell and headed down the hall towards Harry's room. He paused at the guest room and listened hard. After a moment, he was sure that he heard the sound of the younger Harry moving quietly about the room. James placed an indecisive hand on the handle, pausing for a moment before changing his mind and continuing on to the end of the hall. He gave his son's bedroom door a hard rap before entering.

Harry was sprawled on top of the covers, hands buried under his pillow, his mouth slack and his glasses askew.

James gave his son a good shake and he stirred before immediately shooting up, reaching for his wand.

"Late night?" asked James in bemusement as Harry gathered his bearings and dropped his wand back onto his pillow. He smelled a hint of alcohol on his son's clothes and narrowed his eyes disapprovingly.

"Merlin, dad," Harry grumbled, "I nearly cursed the fuck out of you."

"I think I can handle you," James said dryly, "Get ready, we're leaving in fifteen minutes."

"Ugh," Harry groaned and dropped his head back his pillow. "I changed my mind."

"Too much to drink?" asked James scathingly, pointing his wand at the drapes and they flew open, flooding the room with bright, golden light.

"Merlin, dad!" Harry complained and buried his face in his pillow, "What's it to you?" he continued in a muffled voice.

James rolled his eyes and glanced down at his watch, "Be down in fifteen minutes and I might have a hangover cure for you."

Obviously keen on that potion, Harry appeared down stairs ten minutes later, wearing dark jeans and a zip up jumper.

"You're not wearing your Auror robes?" questioned James with a frown.

"Why?" snapped Harry, his face pale and his eyes deeply shadowed. "I'm not on duty."

James shook his head disapprovingly, but let it go. "It's rather dangerous to go around impaired these days," he scolded instead, holding the potion Harry wanted.

Harry gave him a savage glare that would have made a basilisk cower and held out his hand, "Just give me the damn potion."

James raised his eyebrows, rather enjoying himself.

"Please," Harry snarled after a moment of realization.

James gave him the vial and Harry tipped it back immediately, his face cringing at the taste, "Did you put your dirty socks in this shit?" he said, still grimacing as he handed back the vial.

"No, my dirty underpants," James deadpanned as he put the empty vial by the sink. "And watch your mouth—it's been rather foul lately—all thanks to Sirius, I suppose."

Harry grinned cheekily, obviously feeling the effects of the potion, "You sound like mum," he said.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"I guess not—though I'm worried you might come down stairs one day dressed like her."

James cuffed his son and steered him to the front door.

"What happened to the Marauder that you used to be?" asked Harry cheekily.

"I only pull him out on special occasions," said James as they exited the house and headed for the apparition point. "Oh, I forgot," he fished out another vial from his pocket and popped off the cork. "For your stomach."

"Ugh," Harry made another face.

"We'll be heading to St. Mungo's first—I need to stop by my office to restock on my home supplies."

Harry stilled and eyed his father accusingly, "You didn't tell me we were going there."

James gave him a sideways glance, "Is that a problem?"

"No." said Harry fiercely.

"Okay, then," said James, "See you there." He turned on the spot and spun in darkness for several suffocating moments and then suddenly, the pressure was released and he found himself in an alley near the St. Mungo's building. Harry appeared seconds later next to him, looking slightly green.

"You gonna make it?" he asked his son, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Maybe if you stop hitting me."

James laughed, unperturbed "Someone's in a touchy mood," he remarked as they walked out of the alley and towards the abandoned department store.

"No," said Harry, sullenly, "Just tired."

"Where'd you go last night?"

"Well, after I got the papers for Moody," Harry said, "I stopped by Ginny's flat to see if she wanted to get a few drinks—I was bored. Luna, Ron, and Neville were there already, so we all went out—no big deal."

James suppressed a smile at Harry denying he went to Ginny's flat as someone looking for something more than a friendship, "How's Ginny doing?" he asked rather innocently.

A dark look passed over Harry's face and he kicked a loose pile of pebbles, "She's fine, I guess. Got some sort of boyfriend."

The reason for Harry's mood suddenly clicked, and James glanced at his son sympathetically, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Harry asked in an aggravated tone. "I don't care about her—if anything you should be sorry for the boyfriend—heard Ginny's a bitch to date."

"Harry!" James reprimanded, looking at him in shock. "Do you have no filter whatsoever?"

"Sorry," Harry muttered and James released a breath, eyeing his son who avoided his stare.

"Who's she dating?" he finally asked.

"Some bloody Gryffindor named Dean—the bloke's an idiot." Harry paused and tugged at a sleeve of his jacket. "Do you think it's because I was a Slytherin?" he asked quietly, making James nearly stop mid step. Harry hardly ever opened himself up and to hear him sound so unsure of himself threw James off a beat.

"No," James said quickly, shaking his head, "House affiliation—it comes across so damn important in Hogwarts, but that stuff doesn't really matter once you're graduated. There's nothing wrong with being a Slytherin."

"You and Sirius used to think Slytherins were horrible people,"

"Well, we were also fifteen and stupid," reminded James, grimacing. "And that was before Lily started inviting Severus over for dinner and then you being sorted…"

Harry laughed softly, "I was so scared to write that letter home," he remembered.

"Well, I'm sorry we made you feel like you had to hide it—though I have to say, your mother starting panicking when you hadn't written for more than a week," said James, laughing as well. "It was a shock—but as I said, it's just a house. I think Dumbledore once said that it's our choices that truly define us or something like that. Peter was a Gryffindor and look at what he turned out to be!"

"Good point there," Harry just as they arrived at the dummy with the ugly green pinafore.

"Need to get into my office for supplies," James told the dummy, which nodded and gestured to them. They passed through the glass and appeared in the busy atrium.

"Morning, Healer Potter!" a mediwitch carrying a clipboard called out. James waved at the elderly woman and continued on, smiling at familiar healers and giving direction to a lost warlock.

"I hate this place," James heard Harry mutter as they walked towards the lifts of St. Mungo's, weaving their way through a group of witches who had just stepped out. James turned his head to study his son, who appeared jittery and rather flushed.

"You didn't have to come," James reminded him, with his eyebrows raised. Harry tugged at the collar of his jacket and then unzipped it; he shoved his hands in his pockets as James said: "Seventh Floor."

"I wanted to put in some leave as well," said Harry as the lift shuddered then began to rise. He worked his jaw and let his head fall back with a shuddering breath. James realized that being here probably brought back unwelcome memories for his son and he felt for him. Though, hearing that Harry wanted to put in leave with Moody took him by surprise.

"I wasn't aware of that…you're in your first year as an official Auror—Alastor might not like it," James looked at Harry questionably.

"I don't care what Alastor likes," Harry muttered barely audible, tapping his foot loudly against the tiled floor. "You lot are what's important. If this kid is the key to Voldemort's downfall—I'm going to make sure he gets to that point—even if I have to take him every step of the way. I already taught him how to strengthen his Patronus charm."

James furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to reprimand Harry's wayward thinking but the lift doors opened and a dull voice said 'Seventh floor'. "Come on," he gestured to his son, who pulled his hands from his pockets and ran a frenzied hand through his hair. James laid a brief, and hopefully calming, hand on Harry's back and guided him out of the lift. Harry shook him off once they were in the hall.

"I'm fine," Harry stated, looking around as though he was embarrassed to be given comfort by his father. James rolled his eyes but brushed it off.

James' office was only five doors down to the right. Upon reaching it, he tapped his wand on the wooden door and it immediately swung open. He surveyed the messy space for a brief moment then opened his bag. "Go ahead and gather all the corked potions and ingredients," he told Harry who turned towards a large cabinet in the far corner of the room. James himself began to clean out his storage of bandages and ointments and other first aid supplies. "I have a feeling we're going to be needing all this in the coming weeks," he muttered to himself more than anyone else, but Harry caught his words and turned to watch him, several vials of concentrated potion cradled in his hands.

"You really think we're going to need all that?" asked Harry, looking skeptical. "Are you expecting an oncoming apocalypse?"

James eyed his son over the rims of his glasses, "I thought we were already in one," he said drily.

Harry made a face, "I wouldn't say it was that drastic."

"I just want to be prepared, just in case. That kid cleaned out a lot of my supplies the few days I kept him from bleeding to death."

Harry shrugged and tucked the bottles into James' bag, "Whatever makes you feel better," he commented.

James rolled his eyes, thinking about reprimanding Harry for his callous attitude but figured it wouldn't do him any good. His son seemed to view things carelessly sometimes, and, at times, it frustrated James who liked to be prepared for everything. Harry was a lot like Sirius in that regard, preferring to take things as they came and living on a whim. Harry was the sort to make split decisions whether he was under extreme pressure or not—which was great working in the field, but Harry seemed to take it all to a whole new level. It drove James barmy and sent Lily into panics when Harry took off on one of his rails.

It took about a half hour for Harry and James to gather up everything that James wanted and the sun was blazing high in the sky when they stepped back outside. They apparated out of eyesight of muggles and headed into the Ministry of Magic by toilet and appeared in the atrium in flashes of emerald fire.

"Let's make this quick," James muttered to Harry who was lingering by the front service desk, looking at new, various pamphlets detailing how to keep yourself protected during a death eater attack.

"Have you ever read those?" asked Harry when he caught up to James who was speed walking across the atrium.

"Yes and they're ridiculous," said James, speeding up his pace.

"Is there a race I'm unaware of?" commented his son as they reached the lifts.

He gave Harry a look, "No, I just told your mother we wouldn't be gone long—I don't want to worry her."

Harry rolled his eyes.

Thanks to James' haste, they made it to Alastor Moody's office in record time. The door was open so James gave a single rap to the wood before stepping in, Harry close behind him.

"Potter," Alastor grunted upon seeing them. "And Potter." The scarred man closed a thick file he had upon his desk and tossed it onto a separate desk behind him. "I suppose I owe this pleasure of your company to that letter I received this morning from you, Potter."

Harry furrowed his brow, "I didn't send—"

"Not you, idiot, your father," he interrupted with a snarl, banging his flask against his desktop. "Is this leave you're asking due to the delicate matter that was discussed in our previous meeting?"

James suppressed a bit of a smile, "It's important I'm with my family right now. Longbottom has been trained sufficiently."

"Of course he has," the man glared at the two of them. "He had you as a trainer."

James let out a light laugh, knowing the auror was being serious. Alastor gave him a deeper glare then looked at Harry with equal intensity. "I'm guessing you would like to take leave as well?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're only months into your first year as an auror, Potter. You find this wise?"

Harry shifted and glanced briefly at James who raised his eyebrows slightly.

"My family comes first, sir," Harry answered after a pause, "I feel it is my duty to remain with them at this time."

"I suppose I'll be losing all my aurors, now?" barked Moody, banging his flask once more. "Is Black seeking leave as well? Am I supposed to hold the Death Eaters off all on my own?"

"You would be more than capable, Auror Moody," Harry said with a hint of humor.

"Do not cheek me, boy!"

"Sorry, sir." Harry gave his boss a rather meek look that James knew was pure bullshit.

"I'm not aware of what Sirius plans to do," said James in diffusion. "I don't think he's going to take leave."

"Very well, then," Alastor said with a gravelly sigh as he leaned back in his chair. "When can I expect your return if I permit this leave?"

A flash of frustration welled within James. He felt Harry tense next to him, and he spoke quickly before Harry could let loose his tongue. "I don't know how things are going to turn out at this point," James rested a hand on the auror's desk and lowered his voice. "I've already had three dementors attack my fourteen-year-old daughter because of this kid—I'm staying where my family is, even if I have to quit."

"Keep your knickers on, Potter," Moody said gruffly. The man shook his head slightly and tapped his gnarled fingers on his desk. "I suppose it's a moot point though I thought you'd understand my side now there are two You-Know-Whos lurking around."

"That's exactly why I had hoped you would understand."

Moody sighed, "I'll have the paperwork in before I leave."

Harry opened his mouth to say Merlin-knows-what but James quickly cut him off, "Thank you."

Moody grunted in reply.

"Have the death eaters we caught last week been interrogated?"

For a moment, Alastor didn't respond and James thought briefly that the man was going to ignore him, but then he pushed his chair back and pulled open a desk drawer, rifled through some papers and pulled out a thin file. He tossed it to James.

"Turns out that they were in Bursing that night for the boy," he said.

"Really?" Harry grabbed the file before James could. "I knew it." He flipped it open and skimmed the first page.

"This is the dialogue from the interrogation. Seems they expected the boy to be as injured as he was—to make it easier for them to capture him, suppose," said Moody. "Rather baffling that they expect a fifteen-year-old boy to be difficult to capture."

"How could that be? The kid told me that it was his uncle that put him in that condition and it was the inscribed portkey that worsened the injuries," James frowned. "How would death eaters from another universe know what condition he would be in?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?" asked Moody as Harry flipped to another page and examined the contents. James peered over his son's shoulder to get a glimpse.

"Were they under veritaserum?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Potter—and if you had read the preface you would see that notated," Alastor glared at Harry, whose cheeks tinged pink. James suppressed a smile.

"Sorry, sir."

"Another thing you have yet to learn," said Alastor with a snarled expression.

"Yes, sir," said Harry, still embarrassed. "Can I take this home to read?"

Alastor grunted and narrowed his eyes, "Do what you want."

"Thanks!" Harry tucked the file under his arm and looked expectedly at James.

"We should be heading out, then," said James, catching Harry's cue and offering a hand to Alastor who stood clumsily and took it. They shook hands briefly, Alastor's face still twisted, and they bid him good day.

"That man drives me barmy," stated Harry as they headed back down to the lifts.

James laughed, "Well, Mad-eye is barmy, but he's also a hell of a good Auror."

"I know that," said Harry. He made a face, "Doesn't mean he has to be so intense all the time."

"After a couple years, you'll just find him humorous," said James, smiling. "He nearly made me wet myself when I was seventeen but now I have to work at it to make him think he intimidates me. I'm not a death eater, so there's no reason to be bothered."

"He told me once I had dark tendencies," said Harry quietly as they waited for the lift, glancing around to make sure no one was listening in.

James felt a twinge of anger but squashed it down before Harry could notice, "Pay him no mind," he demanded. "Alastor knows your background so that gives him a weapon against you. Seasoned Aurors have always been known to intimidate the newbies. You're no exception; you just have more on you than most recruits."

"Gee, thanks dad, that helps…" Harry rolled his eyes as they headed back out into the scorching sun. "Damn, the weather did a complete three-sixty."

James tilted his chin back to gaze into the blue-white sky. He couldn't spot a single cloud, "Strange."

"Better this than freezing my bollocks off," Harry announced.

"Lovely image," James led the way towards the alley where they could apparate out of way of muggle eyesight. "Do you need another potion for your stomach?"

"No, I'm fine," answered Harry.

Just inside the alley, James paused to readjust the strap to his bag.

"Take your time," his son said sarcastically, tapping his foot.

"You don't have to wait for me," James reminded him with a look, "I was under the assumption you were able to apparate without assistance."

"Oh, you're bloody hilar—DAD!"

James jerked his head towards his son, the panic in his voice sending a stab of fear through his gut. He heard the rush of magic, he reached for his wand knowing he wasn't going to be fast enough, and then Harry threw out a hand and a vibrant, gold shield shot up in front of James just as a jet of dark purple magic reached him. It ricocheted off the shield and hit the opposite stone wall; an explosion of stone filled the air. James was thrown backwards into the wall behind him, bloodying his elbows, and leaving him breathless in shock. Rubble rained down on him and sharp pain lanced up his back as he slid to the pavement. He was stunned into paralysis for a brief moment, then the healer in him started to assess his body one limb at a time, moving his fingers first then slowly turning his head to see if he could still move. Gritty pieces of rubble grated the skin of his temple.

"Dad! Dad!" someone was shaking him, bringing his hazy awareness back to the present. "Dad, get up!"

James groaned and opened his eyes in time to see the backside of his son moving away from him. "Your wand, dad!" Harry shouted back at him as he disappeared into the clouds of settling dust. "Your wand!"

With a surge of adrenaline, he snapped out his haze and rolled onto his side, whipping out his wand, erecting his own shield, and searching for his son. His back was protesting in pain but he ignored it. "Harry!" he called in panic. "Harry, where are you!? Come back!"

"Stupefy!" James heard Harry yell and through the fog of dust saw a flash of red.

"Harry, you idiot!"

"Death eaters!" Harry called back. James ran though the dust towards his voice, ducking just in time as another curse shot his way. The dust began to clear and James saw the last glimpse of a sneaker as Harry disappeared around the corner.

"Harry, no!" he roared, running after his idiotic son, his back searing in response. When he rounded the corner, he felt a brief relief to see that Harry had not gone far, but that relief was trampled when he saw the three robed figures firing off spells as Harry dodged and twisted. They had ended up in a sort of cul-de-sac, and when James whipped around to view his surroundings, the windows of the flats appeared boarded up and the buildings abandoned.

"Impedimenta!" Harry shouted at the closest, hooded figure but the death eater blocked the attempt and both Harry and James had to duck when the spell bounced back.

"What are you doing here!" said James loudly, edging his way towards Harry but keeping his eyes on the three.

"We want the boy," answered the farthest death eater, his voice revealing a heavy, southern accent. James couldn't place it.

"I'm pretty sure there are plenty to choose from throughout Britain," answered Harry scathingly. He held his wand at the ready, his green eyes dark and intense.

"You know whom I speak of," the death eater spat back.

"Keep your back to the alley," James muttered to his son whose eyes flickered briefly to him to show he was listening. "Don't let them edge us around—keep them away from the alley…"

"I know," Harry hissed back, his lips barely moving.

"The boy you took from Bursing," continued the man, raising his wand slightly. The tension in the air was palpable.

"He's obviously not here," said Harry, his voice taut with warning.

"We know you have him—and he belongs to the Dark Lord."

"Stupefy!" Harry, apparently having come to conclusion that talking was a waste of time.

James, taking the cue from his son, conjured up a freezing charm and aimed it at the nearest death eater.

The man blocked the charm, "Confringo!"

Harry flung himself to the side and the blasting curse struck a window which shattered and rained glass and splintered wood on Harry.

"Expelliarmus!" James shouted and again his spell was blocked. Two more spells charged his way and he blocked the first one and flattened himself against the alley wall to miss the second. A third spell, this one a brilliant blue, grazed his face, sending a spike of pain through his temples.

He pointed his wand around the corner and aimed an impedimenta; it missed the death eater by a hair and the masked man sent out a succession of blasting spells. James ducked, cringing, his heart racing within his chest.

Peering around the corner, James saw his son aim his wand at the death eater shooting spells at James and the man suddenly sprawled spectacularly along the pavement, his head smacking the ground, his wand skidding from his hand. Seizing the moment, James leapt forward for the wand in an attempt to take it—

"Crucio!"

A horrible cry rent the air. James twisted and saw to his horror that Harry had collapsed on the ground and was convulsing in a sickening fashion. Guilt and panic mixed themselves into one huge ball of emotion and plunged itself into his heart. Wild with fear, he shot out a jinx towards the man aiming the curse at his son but the remaining death eater blocked it. He, in turn, sent a sectumsempra towards James. He spun out of the way, made a split decision, and aimed his wand at the overhanging stone over the death eater's head.

"Reducto!" the spell escaped his wand with a flash of red. The stone exploded and then collapsed into a heap onto the death eater. Harry abruptly stopped moving and laid still, heaving with gasping breaths.

"Harry!" James yelled, scrambling towards his son.

"I'm fine!" Harry shouted back, staggering to his feet and shaking himself off. "Stupefy!"

James turned in time to see that the death eater had recovered and had retrieved his wand; he had attempted to spell James with his back turned.

"Pay attention!" Harry demanded of him, sweat rolling from his hairline. He was visibly shaking, but appeared to be otherwise all right.

"Give us the boy!" shouted one of the death eaters, making a slashing movement with his wand. James erected a shield in time to feel the power of the curse shove him backwards.

The death eater James had exploded the stone over was stirring from the mess and clambering to his feet. His mask had been knocked off, revealing a pale face and long nose.

"Malfoy!" a feeling of pure hatred shot through him; James aimed a curse and Malfoy had to duck. Harry followed in suite and aimed a stunning curse towards the blond man. With his wand, Malfoy knocked the spell away and fired a blasting curse that James side-stepped out of the way and then had to duck as bits of stone exploded near his head.

And then suddenly the other two unnamed death eaters shouted something—James didn't hear and Harry wasn't fast enough. A blaze of hot orange struck his halfway erected shield, spilling over and striking him in the chest. He was blown backwards, off his feet and into the building behind him. He slumped to the ground and crumbled into a heap, lying very still.

"Harry!" James shouted, frustrated and panicked at the same time. "Sectumsempra!"

The spell stuck Malfoy's arm and blood spurted from the wound and made interesting patterns on the cobblestone beneath his feet. Malfoy yelled out and grabbed his arm, "Leave him!" he shouted unexpectedly. "Go! Go!"

Three resounding cracks echoed through the air, leaving James shocked and baffled, unsure of what had caused the sudden change.

But they were gone. He didn't spare another moment thinking about their abrupt departure. His heart pounding out of his chest, James stowed his wand, and ran for his son who hadn't yet moved. He found relief when he felt a strong pulse against his fingers where he pressed them into the side of Harry's neck.

"I'm fine," Harry suddenly groaned, his eyes flickering open.

"Where do you hurt?" James demanded, still feeling the last vestiges of his panic driven adrenaline; he tugged at the zipper on Harry's scorched jacket to reveal a nasty looking burn glistening along Harry's shoulder and collar bone.

"I'm fine," he repeated as his body gave a shudder—obviously an after effect of the cruiciatus curse. James felt a ripple of concern.

"Can you sit up?"

"Gimme a minute," Harry's voice came out slightly slurred and when James ran a hand through his son's messy hair, he felt a sticky liquid tickle his fingers. Sure enough, when he drew his hand back, it was red with blood.

"Merlin, you hit your head," James prodded Harry's skull with his fingers, checking for any other wounds.

"Ow," said Harry and he pushed his father away before struggling into a slouched sitting position. James helped him lean against the wall. "I'm fine."

"Yes, you keep saying that," James gave him a wry look and summoned his bag that he had left somewhere back in the alley. He dug through its contents and pulled out several potion vials before checking the labels and choosing one to hand to Harry. "Drink this—it's a regenerative nerve potion."

Harry's emerald eyes rolled in their sockets for a brief moment, and then, with an unsteady hand, Harry tipped the vial back, spilling some down the front of his shirt. "Ugh," he groaned, looking apologetically at James.

"That's all right," said James, taking back the vial and tossing it into his bag. Harry sighed and closed his eyes as his head lolled to one shoulder.

"Don't sleep," ordered James, flicking his son's cheek.

"Bugger off…do wha' I want…"

"I don't doubt that," said James in slight humor. "Lean over so I can heal your head wound."

Harry grunted and dropped boneless-ly forward, his forehead resting on James' shoulder, muttering unintelligibly. James rolled his eyes and carefully ran a hand through Harry's jet black hair, revealing about an inch long gash still oozing blood.

"Is i' bad..?" Harry muttered.

"Head wounds always bleed profusely," answered James in comfort. He administered a few a drops of essence of dittany on it, and then prodded the wound with his wand. It sealed up immediately. "You may have a concussion."

"Brill…brilliant."

James felt Harry shift slightly against his shoulder and he gave his son a pat on the back and then coaxed him into letting James help him stand.

"Whoa," said Harry once on his feet, blinking rapidly and swaying dangerously.

"Yep, definitely a concussion."

"Damn death eaters," Harry mumbled as James gripped his arm to keep him upright. "I'll kill 'em all."

"You can save that thought for later, please," James pulled Harry close to his side, "Hang on, I'm going to apparate us."

---

"What happened!?" Lily cried in panic as she spotted them hobbling up the pathway to the cottage. She and Remus hurried to meet them and helped James support Harry into the house.

"He'll be fine," assured James quickly as she glared at him accusingly. "Just a concussion."

"A concussion!"

"Death eaters ambushed us," explained James as they dropped Harry carefully on the couch, whose eyes flickered up at the three adults looking at him and then he promptly fainted. James sighed, "This idiot here tried to take on all three."

"What about you?" asked Remus as he found a blanket and dropped it over Harry's limp body.

"I'm fine," said James confidently as he removed his bag from his shoulder and opened the flap.

"Is that why the back of your shirt is all bloody?"

"Seriously?" James twisted around in an attempt to see his back and sure enough, it was splotched crimson red. "I suppose it makes sense—I was thrown into a wall."

Lily, shaking her head in disbelief, tugged up his shirt and examined him, "It's just scraped and bruised," she announced after a moment. "You'll definitely be feeling that in the morning. I'll apply some dittany to it."

"Later," replied James as he bent over his unconscious son, checking his pulse and peeling back his eyelids to check his pupils. "He'll be fine. Just let him sleep it off and I'll give him a potion in the morning." He opened a jar of ointment and pulled back Harry's collar to apply some of the gel-like substance to the glistening, bright red burn.

"Is he all right?" said a new voice and he turned his head to see the younger Harry standing in the archway leading into the fireside room.

"Of course," said James. "Just concussed."

Harry craned his neck to view his older counterpart's unconscious form, his eyebrows pushed together in thought, causing his glasses to slide down the bridge of his nose. He pushed them back up. "What happened?"

James frowned and opened his mouth, though he was unsure of what he was going to say.

Suddenly, the fireplace blazed green, lighting up the room in emerald, stopping James from talking. Sirius stepped out, brushing soot from his shirt. He seemed surprised to see everyone standing there until he saw his godson passed out on the couch and his eyes widened. James grimaced.

"What happened?" Sirius rushed to Harry's side and peered down at him; he gave him a gentle pat on the cheek but Harry didn't respond. "Is he okay?"

"We were ambushed by death eaters right outside the Ministry," James answered.

"Bloody hell," Sirius turned to look at him, his unshaven face displaying his shock. "Why didn't you call for help?"

"Didn't have time," said James.

"What did they want? Why were they attacking you?"

James hesitated and briefly glanced at the younger Harry who was still lingering in the back of the room, looking unsure of himself. His eyes caught James' and his face turned red with a blood blush. "They wanted…well… they wanted the kid."

Sirius' face turned a paper white in suppressed fury and James immediately regretted telling the truth. Sirius turned towards the younger harry, his eyes alight with unmistakable hatred. He drew his wand—

"No!" cried Lily, flinging herself in front of the fifteen-year-old boy. "Don't you hurt him!"

James surged to his feet, wand ready but Remus was faster. He stepped in front of Lily and Harry, and placed an unyielding hand on Sirius' chest. "Back off, Padfoot," he said in a voice of steel. "Only a coward harms a child—you do not want to be like your father, do you?"

This seemed to freeze Sirius in place. He visibly clenched his teeth and seemed to be thinking through his options. "Fine," he said after several long moments. "Have it your way." He stuffed his wand away and turned away from the three.

"You need to control yourself," James said angrily, his hands shaking. "Harry's going to be fine. And that Harry is under our protection—my protection. You go against him, you go against me!"

"Oh, rack off, you bloody show pony," Sirius snapped. "I already said you can have it your way."

There was a moment of tense silence then the younger Harry, who was still being blocked by Lily, spoke up: "Did they really attack you because of me?" his voice was troubled and when he pushed past Lily, his face was pale and his eyes were dark with some raging emotion.

"They would've attacked us anyways," said James carefully, shooting a glance at Sirius. "They caught us off guard—so it's more our fault than anyone else's. With the times we are in right now, we should have been paying closer attention to our surroundings."

Harry didn't seem to buy it. He looked down at his trainers and he seemed to fold into himself, as though he was trying to squeeze his already diminutive frame into an even smaller space. It disturbed James to witness this—to see a person who thought so little of himself that he felt as though he should attempt to disappear to avoid causing anyone trouble.

"Hey, kiddo," James grasped him by his thin shoulder and Harry looked up, "Shake it off."

Harry gave him a bit of a weird look though his face didn't seem to be as hardened as it was moments ago.

---

A few hours later James was sitting in the love seat near the couch Harry was still passed out on, flipping through a book. Lily was curled up next to him, asleep with her head pressed against his upper arm.

"Ugh," Harry suddenly moaned, stirring from under the blanket. "Is anybody else finding this day rather difficult? I've got this sort of banging in my head."

"That would be a concussion," James said with a vague smile. He stood up, fluffing out a pillow to take the place of his arm for Lily. He sat down on the coffee table beside Harry and handed him a potion. "Drink this; it'll make you feel better."

"Thanks," muttered Harry. He pressed a hand to his forehead for a moment before pulling it down his face.

James pulled out his wand, "Lumos," he said and leaned over his son. "Look at me."

"That light is killing me," ground out Harry with a pain-filled glare.

"It's just for a moment," James chastised. "Now follow my finger…well, good reactions from your pupils…everything seems good. Nox."

Harry closed his eyes and began to sit up, "I was thinking—"

"While you were unconscious?"

"No, just now," Harry swung his feet over the edge of the couch and stretched his legs, as though testing them out, "I was thinking we should go get that book that the shopkeeper was talking about."

James stared at his son, fearing that maybe he had been too quick to decide Harry was healed. He relit his wand and shined it into his green eyes, "Can you follow my finger again?"

"Oh, bugger off dad," said Harry, pushing James' wand away. "I'm fine."

"Then why are you spouting idiocy?"

"I'm not," Harry brushed his hair back from his eyes. "I'm serious. We can make a plan: you, me, Sirius, and Remus can sneak in, grab that book, and sneak out."

"Harry, have you gone 'round the bend?" James demanded. "We don't even know where the Lestranges live! Or even if the book would be there!"

"You don't know. But I do," Harry's eyes looked alight with adventure.

"You really are insane," stated James, shaking his head. "How on Merlin's green earth do you know that?"

"The copy of the interrogation," answered Harry. "While I was reading it in Moody's office—one of the death eaters mentioned meeting the Lestranges over in Cardiff. Maybe that's where they're in hiding."

"So you don't know where they are," clarified James. "You're just guessing."

"No, I'm making an educated assumption."

"You're guessing."

"Ugh, dad," Harry stood and looked as though he immediately regretted the movement. James had to grab his arm and push him back onto the couch as he swayed slightly.

"You cracked your skull against a stone wall this morning," he scolded. "Take it easy."

"Dad, we have to do this. If we want to get rid of the extra Voldemort, we need that book!"

"Your mother would never allow it," said James.

"I'm an adult—I'll go by myself!" Harry swelled up like an angry puffer fish.

"I would never allow it! My roof, my rules!"

"Dad, don't you think you're being melodramatic about this whole thing?" Harry asked with a wild gesture. "How else are we going to translate those runes?"

James sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"He's right," said a quiet voice behind him. With a start, James turned and saw Lily had awoken amidst their brief argument.

"What?" Harry gaped, shocked.

"I said you're right," Lily repeated. "From what Hermione and your father have told me, that book is one of a kind."

Harry gave James a smug look.

Lily stood from the love seat and wrapped her hair up upon her head, "You need to make a solid plan and get who you need to get on board. If you are going to do this, at least do it smartly and don't go barging in without putting some thought into it."

"Excellent," Harry rubbed his palms together; he made to stand up again, but grimaced as he did so.

"Not until you get a day of rest!" James ordered sternly. "I'll stick you to this couch if I have to!"

"When did you get to be so uptight?" Sirius asked, breaking into the conversation as he entered the room with a grin on his face.

"When I grew up," said James with a half-smile. "Which is something you have yet to do."

"Ouch," Sirius dropped onto the couch next to Harry and loped his arm about his godson's shoulders. Harry's cheeks tinged pink at the contact though he made no move to break it. "Good to see you're still alive."

Harry rolled his eyes, "It'll take a lot more than me hitting my head to kill me."

"Let us hope—it'd be pretty dull without you around driving everyone barmy," Sirius stretched out his legs and looked at Lily and James. "So what were you guys talking about? That little leech you're housing right now?"

Lily glared at him, "No, we were actually talking about making plans to retrieve a book."

"Oh hell, did you give Harry the wrong potion?" Sirius turned his head to scrutinize his godson. "Tell me, what did they do to you?"

Harry shook him off his shoulders—he was never one for prolonged physical contact—and said: "It's not just any book. It's apparently the one book Hermione needs to translate those ancient runes on that portkey bracelet and the Lestranges have it."

"So you're planning a mission?" said Sirius eagerly.

"Not an official one," James cut in. "This one will be more under the table—if Alastor got wind of it, he'd put his foot down."

"Even better!" Sirius looked too much like a little boy told he was allowed to have his run of Honeyduke's. "Just like the old times—breaking rules, getting into trouble, risking our lives—"

"Oh bother," James heard Lily mutter.

"I want to go," a voice that sounded like Harry's interrupted them though Harry hadn't opened his mouth to speak. James turned to see the younger Harry standing just by the kitchen door, apparently having been eavesdropping.

"No," answered James immediately, surprised that he would even ask such a thing. "You're not of age."

"So?" the younger Harry said rather brazenly. "I could help—"

"Absolutely not," James cut him off and stood to face him, momentarily bothered by how small he seemed compared to his own son and daughter—and this only spurred him on. "You're only going on fifteen and you haven't learned complete control of your magic—let alone how to defend yourself against death eaters."

"That's a load of dragon dung," Harry interrupted, his face turning a cherry red. "I was eleven when I first faced Voldemort and I dueled him two months ago surrounded by death eaters—how many times have you done that?"

"Several times, actually," James said evenly. "So that doesn't change my answer."

"I killed a basilisk when I was twelve!" Harry stubbornly pressed.

"How the hell did you end up running into a basilisk?" asked Sirius, looking rather impressed by the notion. James, himself, was momentarily stunned and wondered if perhaps the boy was lying.

"That's not the point," said Harry. "I can help! I know my magic—I learned a load of spells for the Triwizard tournament—and this is about sending me and Voldemort back and I should have a part in it."

"Rather entitled, isn't he?" Sirius said nastily.

"Oh, buck off Sirius," said the older Harry. "The kid has a point—maybe we should let him tag along; it wouldn't hurt."

"No, it'll only result in him getting killed or one of us dying trying to protect him," James said.

"I don't need protection," announced the younger Harry. "Please, I want to help!"

"No!" James raised his voice and Harry immediately stilled, his shoulders bending forward slightly as though he was bracing himself. Feeling a touch of guilt, he lowered his voice again, "It's not a risk I'm willing to take."

Harry seemed to struggle within himself for a moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching, when he suddenly said, "You're not my father, you can't tell me what to do."

James felt a flicker of brief emotion, though he couldn't exactly pin point what it was; he stared hard at the boy, who met his gaze with equal intensity without the hint of a flinch. James could see in his mind this wisp of a kid, standing before Voldemort with nothing but a wand and fool-hearted bravery and it made him sick to his stomach.

"No, I may not be your father" he picked his words slowly. "But I'm an adult and you are a child staying under my roof and therefore, you will heed my word. You will not be coming; you will stay here with Willow and Lily. If you came, you would only be an added hindrance—a hindrance I'd rather not deal with."

And James saw it, that tiny bit of hurt flashing across those brilliant green eyes, and he couldn't find it in himself to be too sorry for his words for they had done the job and won the argument. He saw Lily looking at him, her face rather stunned and Sirius was staring at the fireplace though there were no flames to watch.

"Damn, dad," remarked the older Harry, true to his callous self. "Way to be harsh."

James clenched his teeth, unable to explain how he felt at that moment and turned back to face his son's younger counterpart. The boy was gone, though, having left the room as quickly and silently as a ghost. He sighed and checked his wrist watch, "It's getting late, so why don't you hit the sack Harry and let your body finishing healing. We have a lot to work out tomorrow."

---

***Willow, AU World***

---

Breathe.

Willow's sweaty palms slipped on the slick porcelain of the rounded sink edge. She tried to still her chattering teeth and clenched her eyes shut; her senses were hyper-aware—she could hear the dripping of the tub faucet in little pitter-patters and the smattering of rain on the window pane. Her lips tasted of salt from sweat and the feeling of the cold sink's edge bit into her skin. When she opened her eyes, the flickering of the overhead light hurt her pounding head.

The nightmare lingered, like something nasty clinging to her that she couldn't shake off. The images were distorted as if she was viewing the scene from under water. Even now, standing in the bathroom with the creaking of the pipes coming from within the walls, she could still feel Harry's hands digging into her bare flesh as he held her under. She shook her head to rid herself of the pictures, feeling as though it was still difficult to breathe, and she used a trembling hand to turn the knob for the faucet. The cold water was something concrete against her skin, something tangible. She let the water pool in her palms before splashing it on her face several times until her ratty, thermal shirt became damp around the collar. She remained bent over, letting the water drip from her face for several moments, before straightening and slicking back her hair.

There was another face in the mirror, not hers, smiling back at her.

A shriek tore from her throat, fear exploding through her like a faulty grenade. Willow spun around, losing her grip on the sink and nearly falling to the floor, her eyes bulging from their sockets.

But there was no one there. The bathroom was empty save for her. With her pulse throbbing in her throat, she whirled back to the mirror, and then jerked back around to search her surroundings. There was nothing; just the thrumming rain and the rush of the water flowing from the faucet. This didn't calm her though.

That face, that girl smiling back at her in the mirror was the same girl on the cliff with the inky-black hair and the bright green eyes. Forgetting about the running water, she scrambled for the door, fumbling with the doorknob. Her fear was like a giant splinter, only this one was just above her stomach, digging deeper and deeper. She shot out of the bathroom, intent for her parents' room, and ran straight into the arms of her older brother.

"Blimey!" he wrapped his arms around her instinctively, "Are you all right? I thought I heard you scream."

Willow struggled out of his hold, her face feeling hot and sweaty.

"What's going on?" Harry said, letting her free, his face a picture of confusion.

Chest heaving, she looked at her taller brother with wide eyes, "What are you doing up here?" she asked breathlessly, pushing back her damp hair with trembling hands.

Harry stared at her, his eyebrows raised, his face clearly visible in his white wand light. "I heard you scream." He stepped towards her but froze when she backed up against the wall.

"How? You room is on the other side of the house. How'd you hear me scream?" she couldn't keep the accusation out of her voice and she saw a flash of emotion flicker across his face.

Harry lowered his wand slightly, casting his face into deeper shadow, "I was in the kitchen having a cuppa," he said slowly, as though he was picking his words carefully, his green eyes studying her face. "Couldn't sleep—I've got this awful headache."

Willow said nothing, fighting herself to keep her teeth from chattering. Her damp shirt was cold against her skin; she tugged at her collar, feeling claustrophobic and wanting to seek out the refuge of her parents' bedroom.

"Are you all right?" he asked her when she didn't reply to his explanation. "Did you have a vision?"

"No!" Willow said forcefully, her face twisted with emotion as she thought of the girl she saw staring back at her.

"A nightmare, then?" a slight smirk came over his features, or so it seemed to Willow. A horrible sort of mixture of fury and terror welled within her. She stared at him, wild-eyed, unsure if she should fight or run. Harry's brow furrowed; he came closer to her, obviously worried, "Hey, are you sure all right? You look awful…what happened?" he came so close to her, she could smell the cinnamon tea on his breath.

Without even thinking, Willow placed both hands on his chest and gave him a hard shove backwards, "Stay away from me!" she shouted, her body heaving with her gasping breaths. She was reacting on pure adrenaline but later, when she would finally calm down, the flash of hurt that crossed Harry's face would give her a nasty pang of guilt.

But now, with the terror rippling through her, and her mind going a hundred miles an hour, she couldn't think straight. She kept feeling his hands gripping her arms as he pushed her under water so many years ago, and the girl's smiling face reflecting in the mirror was seared across the forefront of her brain.

"What's your problem?" Harry called after her in bewilderment after she turned away and ran down the hall. "Hey! Willow! Are you drunk or something?"

She ignored him and half fell, half sprinted down the staircase, through the kitchen and to the other side of the house, with the gut wrenching feeling that something terrible was chasing her. But as she climbed the stairs, her pace slowed. Three steps from the top, she stopped completely, her hand gripping the banister. She was shaking so hard, her muscles ached from the tension.

What was she doing? Wasn't she too old to freak out over a nightmare? Indecision kept her frozen, one foot on a higher step than the other. It was very dark; she could barely see the outline of the top steps. The air was still and chilly—her breathing sounded too loud and she wondered why her parents hadn't sought out the noise yet. A tiny thread of guilt wormed its way into her emotions as she thought of the look on Harry's face when she shoved him. But that guilty pang was so small that she pushed it down and focused instead on the acid-like fear burning its way through her.

"Willow?" Harry quietly called out to her from the bottom of the staircase. She gave a start and looked down, unmoving, and saw Harry standing with his wand light held high, his face looking as though he feared for her sanity. "Willow, what's going on? Do you need me to get mum or dad? Or even Remus?"

Willow felt as though her words were caught in her throat and that if she tried to speak, she would choke. Harry's wand light created moving shadows on the lower part of the staircase, casting Harry's form into sharp relief. The darkness of the house felt suffocating and the rain beating against the roof top sounded like footsteps overhead. The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she jerked around, her eyes staring blindly into the gray-dark above her. She saw nothing.

"Willow?" repeated Harry, sounding alarmed, and he climbed up several steps before halting, "Did you find Sirius' secret stash of weed?"

"What?" Willow demanded, turning back towards him. "No, I'm fine—I just—I—" she let her words fall flat, her weak half-explanation causing Harry to climb up several more steps and when his light hit Willow's eyes, she squinted.

He studied her pale face, his brilliant green eyes piercing in the darkness; he lowered his wand so they weren't blinded by the light it was emitting, "What did those Dementors make you remember?" he asked quietly, his lips pressing into a hard line.

Again, Willow felt as though her words were lodged somewhere between her throat and her aching stomach. She pressed her face into her hands, willing back every emotion that was threatening to overwhelm her. She felt his hand touch her arm and she jerked back unwillingly.

"It was that day, wasn't it," said Harry when she gave no indication she would speak. "That day I tried to drown you."

Willow dragged her hands down her face and looked at her older brother; his jaw was visibly clenched, his eyes were hardened. "Yeah," Willow whispered, defeated. "Yeah, it was."

Harry looked away from her; she saw the muscles in his face twitch.

"Harry?" she asked in a voice that was barely a whisper.

He looked back at her sharply, his eyes suddenly blazing like emerald fire, "What do you need me to do?" he asked her in a quiet, harsh voice. "Do you need me to apologize again? Keep my distance? Move out?"

"Harry, stop it!" Willow begged, a sob hiccupping out of her. "Look, I don't know what to do—I think I'm going mad—!"

Harry stepped down several steps, his wand light following him and Willow was in darkness again. "I get it," he said softly. "I tried to kill you—that's not something that you just forget."

Willow scrubbed at the tears stinging her cheeks.

"I'm not that boy anymore."

"I know, Harry, and I'm sorry—I just—I can't –I can't—"

"Can't what?" he interrupted, his voice raising. "Can't stand to be near me? Can't handle me touching you?"

Willow let out another strangled sob, her vision blurring until Harry was an indistinct shape.

"I can't change how you feel," he said in a strained voice, as though he was fighting back emotion as well. "I've tried to prove to you that I would never hurt you again!"

"Why are you mad at me?" Willow cried, "This isn't my fault—I can't control what the dementors make me remember!"

"I know, Willow!" he stressed. "I'm not blaming you—how could I blame you—? But…" his voice trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.

There was a silence with only the rapping of the rain against the roof.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked so quietly, Willow almost didn't hear him.

"Why are you asking me that?" she said, feeling her heart skipping a beat.

"Are you?"

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes wearily, "I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered finally, her stomach clenching.

He didn't ask what she was sorry for. He didn't say anything for several long moments of deafening silence. Then: "Nox," and Willow was plunged into complete darkness. The tear escalator within her rose fast as she heard Harry walking away. For a moment, she almost chased after him to beg for forgiveness for her cruelty towards him but then a swell of anger overtook her.

Why was he so upset with her? Shouldn't she be given at least a little slack? She didn't make him hold her under water in an attempt to end her. She was four, for merlin's sake! She dug her nails into the flesh of her palms, gritting her teeth so hard that her jaw smarted. Harry was an ass—that's all there was to it—an ass who had no regard for anyone else's feelings. She hated him! She hated him!

Willow sat down hard on the stairs, torn between wanting to have a good cry and wanting to break something. She was at a loss; part of her wished that someone had heard their conversation and come to investigate so she wouldn't be alone but apparently her family was filled with a bunch of deep sleepers who didn't care if anyone in the house needed them.

After what seemed like an eternity, Willow slowly got to her feet, her back sore from sitting in such an awkward position for so long. Wishing she had her wand on her, she quickly made her way back to her room, feeling that weird prickle on the back on her neck that one gets from being followed by an unknown something. She didn't come across Harry at all and wondered where he went off to, feeling worried momentarily until she brushed that off. What did she care what Harry did?

Once in her room, Willow locked her door and switched on the lamp on her desk, feeling better once the light filled her room. She climbed into bed and pulled her covers up to her chin. Despite the clock reading that it was two in the morning, her eyes seemed as though they were tacked open. She squeaked when a tree branch tapped the window and buried herself under the covers, her heart racing away, her fear like a living thing writhing within her.

A sudden creaking above her sent her heart leaping for her throat. She threw back her covers and grappled for her wand on the bedside table, a stupefy on the tip of her tongue. There was nothing there—her room was empty besides the random clutter scattered about. It was then that she regretted begging her parents to allow her to have this room for herself. Right now, with her fear rising within her like blisters on her skin, she never felt so far away from everyone else.

Remus' room was closer than her parents, but she wanted to curl up against her father's chest. She was also nearly too scared to leave her room and navigate through the dark house without a light. She wasn't allowed magic outside of Hogwarts and she didn't have any matches in her room. Wandless magic couldn't be detected though the only thing she had been able to achieve was accidental wandless magic.

With trembling hands, Willow scooped out a candle stick from her bedside table drawer and stared at it as though it was the key to surviving.

Light. Light. Light. She thought violently, squeezing it with her fist, willing the magic to flow through her fingertips. Nothing happened. Angered, she hurtled the stupid candle across the room where it slapped against the wall and broke in half.

Willow sat on her bed, still trembling, but feeling silly for her feelings of flight. She should slip back under her covers and go back to sleep. The morning would be here fast and this troubling night would be behind her.

And then another creak froze her, like a door opening but she knew that was impossible for her door was locked and there would've been a click had an alohomora been used.

It's just the wind against the house, she told herself in panic, her hands fisting the covers, her body stiff like a wire. She was too afraid to turn around, though she knew nothing would be there. She was gasping now, too petrified to cry.

She felt it then—gentle fingers brushing her shoulder blade, and then resting lightly on her shoulder. "Harry?" she whispered raspy voiced. The hand tightened in what she guessed was an affirmation. She turned her head, eyes bulging, and saw blue-ish, cracked fingers clenching her shoulder. They tightened and pain lanced up her neck. A scream building in her throat, she turned like a whip, flailing her arms, and saw no body attached to the hand that had been holding her.

Willow ran for her life.

---

*** James, AU world***

---

"Daddy?" a voice from very far away pulled James out of a strange dream filled with dancing pygmy puffs and he stirred and pulled his covers tighter around him, slipping back into a deeper sleep.

"Daddy?" Came the voice again, breaking through his sleepy haze and he lifted his head to see the outline of a gray figure standing in his doorway.

"Huh?" James groaned, blearily. "What is it?" his voice sounded thick.

"Can I sleep with you?" it was Willow, her voice cracking in her effort to keep her voice low.

James closed his eyes, his head full of cobwebs, and he sighed and pulled back the blanket, "C'mere," he muttered. Quiet footsteps, and then James felt the bed dip slightly as Willow joined him, immediately curling up against him and burying her head in the crook of his arm. He was beginning to awaken more and he was disturbed to feel his daughter trembling against him.

"Hey," he whispered, bringing up his arm around her thin shoulder. "What's wrong? Why are you shaking?"

He felt Willow shift slightly beside him, and she wrapped a near suffocating arm around his neck, "I don't know," she answered finally, sounding tearful.

James was too tired to press the issue. He sighed and sank his head back into his pillow, staring up at the gray ceiling, feeling Lily stretch in her sleep on his other side. Willow pressed tighter against him, seeming intent on squeezing him until his head popped off, and he resignedly moved his arm to pull the blanket up around them both.

The next morning, James woke feeling unbearably hot. He saw the slightly blurred form of Willow still curled up next to him, her wild hair tickling his cheek and neck. The warmth of her body made the blankets stifling and as much as he wanted to fall back asleep, he knew it would be impossible at this point. He internally groaned.

"Hey," whispered Lily, startling him. He turned his head to see her lying on her side, her head propped up on one elbow. She was smiling fondly. James found he couldn't share her sentiment.

"I've come to the conclusion that I'll never have a proper night's sleep again with these kids in the house," said James grumpily. The arm Willow was lying on with tingling with lack of blood flow. Carefully, he slowly pulled it free and he felt his body creak as he sat up stiffly. Willow rolled over, still fast asleep.

"Did she have a nightmare?" asked Lily, looking up at him as he shook out his heavy arm, trying to get feeling back into it.

"I don't know," answered James, "She wouldn't say."

Lily frowned at this and sat up as well, summoning her robe as she slid out of bed, "Did she tell you what the dementors made her remember?"

James carefully reached over his sleeping daughter and retrieved his glasses from the bedside table, "No," he answered as he cleaned the lenses with the hem of his shirt. "But I can guess."

"She told me yesterday morning when I went to check on her," Lily continued to whisper as she glanced down at Willow and tied the sash to her powder green robe.

"Hell," James muttered, rubbing his face and easing out of bed. "Does Harry know?"

"I'm not sure," said Lily, looking stressed. "I hope not—it would devastate him."

He gave her a look of disagreement, "I'm not sure about that—but it would make him angry."

Lily shook her head, "No, he only acts as though he's angry, which usually means he's actually hurt."

James only shook his head and pulled the blanket back over Willow's shoulders.

"How's your back?"

"Ugh," James twisted around and tried to pull up his shirt to examine the dark bruise darkening his lower back in the mirror. "I'll make it."

"Maybe I should put some ointment on it," said Lily, gently touching his skin where the bruise was.

"No, it'll be fine," he assured her, releasing his shirt and letting it fall back into place.

"Maybe you should be more careful," she accused.

James rolled his eyes, "I'll do my best not to be thrown into any more walls."

Lily made a face at him and turned away, brushing out her hair and twisting it up into a bun.

"Are you going to make breakfast?" asked James hopefully, watching her appreciatively as she bent to clean up a few stray dirty clothes.

"Didn't you just put in leave?" said Lily. "You have plenty of time to make your own breakfast."

"You don't even work during the holidays," said James.

Lily glared at him, "I'm working on very complicated curriculums for first to seventh years."

"Poor kids," James smirked. "Maybe you shouldn't make things so hard for them."

"If I didn't challenge them, how would they learn?" Lily looked at him haughty-like. "Besides, I'm their favorite teacher."

"Maybe for the boys," James waggled her eyebrows and Lily shoved him away as he attempted to pull her close.

"You're vile," she declared, before marching out of the room, but not fast enough to avoid the smack on the bum from James. "You are ridiculous!"

"Shh!" he hushed after her. "Willow is sleeping!"

"'m not anymore!" Willow groaned in a pillow-muffled voice.

James turned towards his bed. Willow was in the process of sitting herself up, her red curls in a violent mess about her head. Her eyes were puffy and her face had lines on it where the pillow creases had been pressed into her skin.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

Willow let out some sort of intelligible response and rubbed her face with both hands.

"Do you think you could tell me why you decided to hog my bed last night?"

Willow shook her head, "Cuz I felt like it," she said vaguely.

"Oh, well that narrows it down," James dropped down next to her daughter in time to see tears well within her hazel eyes. "Hey," he said in concern, feeling a slight pang of concern. He frowned and put in arm around her hunched shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"Dad," her voice cracked and her red rimmed eyes darted around as though checking the corners for something out of place. James felt a stronger wave of concern this time. Willow drew in a long breath, "I think…I think I'm going mad…"

James furrowed his brow in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"I keep seeing these…these…"

CRASH!

"What the hell?" James jumped to his feet. "Stay here!" His brain racing with possibilities and wand drawn, James sprinted down the stairs, through the breezeway and arrived in the kitchen out of breath in time to see Remus pulling apart the two Harrys with great effort. "The hell is going on?" James demanded angrily as his own Harry wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

"The little fucker attacked me!" he shouted, flinging his hand towards the younger Harry who was standing on the other side of the kitchen, his shoulders heaving, his shirt ripped, and a fresh bruise blossoming on his right cheek. Remus still had ahold of his arm.

"And what on earth possessed you to do that," ordered James the smaller Harry who instantly stilled and shot James a rebellious glare.

"He goaded me," he answered through gritted teeth.

"That's bullshit!" yelled the older Harry. "I was just asking questions about his universe!"

"Is this true?" James asked the younger Harry who was still quivering with suppressed rage. James crossed his arms and waited for Harry to speak; when he didn't, James looked to Remus who only shook his head.

"I only came in time to see them brawling," said Remus, still holding onto Harry's arm in caution. He gave both boys a disapproving look. "I suppose muggle dueling is the proper way to handle disagreements these days."

"It was none of his business," Harry said suddenly, shooting a scathing look towards his older counterpart.

"But did that give you a right to hit him?" said James, looking sternly at the younger Harry.

Harry looked as though he believed he had every right to hit the other Harry, "It was none of his business," he repeated.

"Yes, you mentioned that," said James with a shake of his head.

"It's not what he asked, it's what he said!" Harry elaborated, his voice rising to a slight octave higher.

"What did he say?"

"He-he said," Harry seemed to be struggling with his words, his face turning so red that James wondered if he should summon a calming potion to keep the kid from having a brain aneurism. "He said some things about my relatives."

"Good Merlin, this is ridiculous," James ran a haphazard hand through his hair and turned to the older Harry. "What did you say?"

His son grabbed a towel from a hook near the sink and pressed it to his mouth, which was still bleeding, "All I said was that he should've stood up to his uncle instead of allowing himself to be used as a punching bag."

There was an uneasy silence.

"I didn't mean anything by it!" he continued with a wild gesture.

"You don't understand anything!" the younger Harry shouted.

"I understand that you let a muggle who fears magic beat you senseless."

"Harry—!"

A wild-eyed look came about younger Harry, "At least I've never tried to kill a member of my own family!"

The look on the older Harry's face was somewhere between surprise, embarrassment, and pain. Fury swept through James' veins followed by a powerful sweep of protectiveness. He advanced upon the younger Harry, unable to bridle back his anger.

"How do you know about that?" he demanded loudly.

"Dad," the older Harry said faintly. "Dad, just forget it…"

"No!" James jabbed a finger towards his son and then swung back towards his younger counterpart. "How do you know?"

"W-Willow told me," Harry answered quietly, taking several steps back from him.

"You have no right to bring that up as a weapon against my son—do you understand me?"

"Yes," Harry muttered, taking another step back and his back brushed the wall behind him.

"What was that?"

"Yes, sir." Harry said louder, his eyes flashing up towards James and back to the floor.

"Now apologize to him," ordered James.

"What? But he—"

"Apologize!" he took a step closer to the kid and Harry flinched minutely, his arm rising highway to shield his face.

"James!" Remus stepped forward suddenly, placing out a calming hand.

"I'm sorry!" Harry shot out before Remus could say anything else, glaring at James who had frozen to the spot, his brain going on overdrive. His anger was seeping away, and in its place was an acid-like guilt. He had never made a child flinch before and the savage look that Harry was giving him was not similar to a rebellious teenager, but reminiscent of a cornered dog that had been kicked too many times and was only putting up a protective front.

James drew in a very deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose; his hands were quivering and the rush of emotions had left him feeling drained and empty. He reopened his eyes after several moments and looked down at the younger Harry was now staring resolutely staring at the floor, the tips of his ears red.

He turned to his son, "Harry, what you said was insensitive so I would like you to apologize as well."

His son shifted his feet and shrugged, "Sorry kid, I talk without thinking almost all the time."

The younger Harry didn't acknowledge the apology. He raised his eyes again, shot James a nasty glare, and turned and walked out of the kitchen, brushing by Lily without a single word.

"Harry, dear, what's wrong?" she asked but received no answer. She turned to the remaining occupants of the room. "What just happened?"

No one said anything for a moment then Remus cleared his throat. "I suppose having two of essentially the same person is bound to create some friction."

"I'll go talk to him," said James with a sigh.

"I don't think that would be wise at this moment," replied Remus with a sympathetic smile.

"What did you do?" Lily said, looking upset.

James made a faint gesture but couldn't find anything to say. Harry made up for James' inability to speak and when he finished recanting the story, Lily looked flabbergasted.

"Men," she growled. "I'll go talk to him since you three seem incapable!" and she stormed off.

"What did I do?" Remus asked in a distantly confused voice.

James shook his head, clenching his teeth and mentally kicking himself in the ass.

---

***Canon Harry, AU world***

---

Harry didn't turn around when he heard the screen door open and slam shut. He kept his eyes on the ocean, watching the way the water lolled in and out in gentle succession.

"Are you all right?" Lily asked as she joined him on the steps, stretching her legs out as she sat down next to him.

Harry shrugged, feeling too awkward to look at her. He hadn't had much one-on-one time with Lily and the thought that he was sitting next to his could-have-been mother rendered him silent.

"I heard what happened," she said, seeming not to mind his silence. "I think everyone was in the wrong—even you, but James didn't mean to frighten you."

Harry was insulted, "I wasn't frightened!" he protested. He shifted uncomfortably, "I just…I dunno…"

Lily sighed, "What you brought up was a very touchy subject in our family."

"Obviously," Harry muttered. Lily gave him a mildly disapproving look. "Sorry."

"One day you might know what drove our Harry to attempt that, but I think that if I told you today, you would have trouble accepting our Harry for who he was."

"Do you really think that badly of me?" asked Harry.

"No," answered Lily. "I just know how James and I felt during the time and I know it's a hard thing to process."

"Must have been bad," pondered Harry hesitantly, glancing at her out of the side of his eye.

"It was," Lily agreed. "What you've been through was bad—is bad as well."

Harry said nothing.

"Harry," Lily placed a hand on his back, "You know that what your Uncle did to you was wrong, right?"

"Well, yeah!" Harry withdrew from her hand, giving her a barely tolerable look, and then he slumped over. "It's just…just…my Uncle—well, he would knock me around some or call me names or whatever and sometimes he would send me to my cupboard without dinner but he never beat me, really…until that night."

Lily remained silent, her breaths were quiet and even beside him.

"I don't know what happened—he came home drunk and he just…well…attacked…" Harry looked at his hands, studying the lines in his palms, "I never thought he was capable, really though…it's confusing, actually."

"Even if he hadn't done that, Harry, everything else that you just told me was just as wrong. No child deserves to be unloved, starved, or locked in a cupboard."

Harry sighed and leaned his head back, staring up at the sky with sightless eyes, "You get used to it after a while, I suppose. And Dumbledore didn't want me to grow up spoiled because of my fame."

"Oh that's poppy cock," Lily said harshly. "I'm sure there were a number of families who would've taken you as their own and would have raised as family—nothing more or nothing less. And I if knew your mother and father—which I do—they wouldn't have left you behind without several options for you to be raised with. Sirius Black wouldn't be the only one they would have had in line for you—that would just be irresponsible!"

Harry looked her thoughtfully, his eyebrows furrowed, "Do you really think so?"

"I know so."

Harry puffed out a breath of air, "Then why would Dumbledore leave me at my Aunt and Uncle's then?"

"Didn't you say something about blood magic?" asked Lily.

"Well, yeah, but…"

"But you still deserved a place to call home," Lily finished with a heavy voice. "It's awful how things can turn out so differently. It seems both of you Harrys have been torn apart but in different ways. That must be why you both butt heads so often—you're so alike."

Harry laughed humorlessly, "I don't know about that. He may have had a rough patch in his life but he still got everything that I always wanted. Doesn't seem fair."

Lily gave him a gentle smile, "In case you haven't heard, life is rarely fair," she nudged him gently with her elbow and Harry smiled slightly back in return.

"I think I have heard that before…"

"Beside, you're here now, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but it isn't mine."

Lily sighed and seemed at a loss of words. Harry stretched out his legs and glanced at his bare feet, suddenly realizing that it had been a while since he had worn a pair of shoes. The cobblestone of the steps bit into his skin. A comfortable silence settled between them. The sound of the ocean was soothing and the warm breeze that weaved its way through the nearby trees made the leaves rustle softly. Distant seagulls gave faint cries that echoed through the beach.

Beside him, Lily suddenly shifted and ran a hand through her red hair and he looked at her as she smiled, her eyes crinkling up, "You know," she started with a waggle of her eyebrows, "Tomorrow's your birth—" she was interrupted by the sound of the screen door opening and James stepped out, looking solemn.

"Hey," James said quietly, settling down on Harry's other side, resting his elbows on his knees.

Harry looked down at his feet, suddenly tense. The pleasant atmosphere that had settled over him and Lily was suddenly had vanished like a wisp of smoke in a sudden wind.

"I came to apologize," said James evenly after several moments of stillness.

Harry said nothing.

"I didn't mean to lose my temper with you," he continued. "But you brought up a rather touchy subject and used it as weapon against my son." Harry clenched his teeth and bit back a nasty reply burning at the tip of his tongue. Maybe Lily smelled the smoke for she spoke rather suddenly, "What's your favorite kind of cake?"

"Cake?" asked Harry, thrown off by the random question, making him momentarily forget his anger. He looked at the pretty woman with a frown.

"For your birthday," clarified Lily. "It is tomorrow, isn't it?"

Harry felt uncomfortable. He had forgotten all about his approaching birthday. He shifted uneasily and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "You don't have to do that," he said, feeling hot around his collar.

"Nonsense," she said with a wave of her hand. "I'm making a plain, vanilla cake for my Harry—his tastes have always been rather boring and I was wondering what sort of cake you preferred."

"Erm," he cleared his throat, "I don't know…it doesn't matter, I guess…"

"Well," James said with a hint of impatience. "What sort of cake do you usually get for you birthday?"

This time, Harry flushed a bright red—not with embarrassment but with anger, he looked away briefly, staring out at the ocean. "Why would you care?" he said rather rudely. James' eyes tightened and Harry glared at the ground, "I didn't—I mean…I didn't usually get a cake…" He clenched his fists, feeling their prying eyes on him, "Well, that's not exactly true—Hagrid brought me a chocolate cake for my eleventh birthday so I guess I like chocolate cake."

Neither James nor Lily smiled at his bad attempt at humor.

"Oh Harry, that's awful," Lily whispered. "A birthday should be a wonderful occasion."

Harry shrugged, his defensiveness fading, "It's not that big of a deal—" Harry saw them exchange looks. He ran a hand through his hair and shifted as his awkwardness increased. "I need the loo," he said, standing quickly. "And don't bother with a cake—I'm fine…really."

"Wait a minute, now," said James, standing as well. "You don't have to act like that."

"What? What's the big deal? It's just a stupid cake."

"That's not what I meant. I mean the-the whole kitchen ordeal…I am really sorry about all that—I want you to understand that."

Harry struggled with himself. One part of him wanted to forgive James but the other part, a very convincing part, remained stubbornly resistant. He just couldn't figure why it was okay for his older counterpart to say what he said, while Harry, himself, was verbally blasted.

"I have to use to the loo," he repeated and turned away.

Feeling oddly ill, he entered back into the house and headed for the stairs. He thought that maybe after using the loo, he'd lay down a bit and he would be all right. He reached the top of the staircase and was three steps down the hall when he experienced pain so severe he thought that someone must have sliced into the top of his head. He didn't know where he was, whether he was standing or lying down, he didn't even know his name…

The world gave way to darkness.

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