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*

11. Birthday Times

This chapter hasn't been beta'd. She is very busy with school work right now. :)

On a lighter note, I have uploaded a short story called 'Remember there's Hope', as a gift to my hundredth reviewer Jessebellesilver, that is based in this universe. I recommend you go over and read it after this!

One more note-I know that I've been writing a lot from James' point of view and I hope no one is bothered by it. I'll try to diversify it in later chapters.

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***Canon Harry, AU world***

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Harry came to a semi awareness with the feeling of someone tapping him on his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw a bleary figure crouched over him. His mind didn't register who it was. He closed his eyes, drifting back into unconsciousness, but the figure above him was persistent. He felt the tapping on his cheek once more and he wished for the strength to swat the annoying hand away.

"Gonna make it, kid?"

Harry tried to move but his entire body was felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds and his nerve endings felt as though they were on fire. His scar was still pulsing with skull-deep pain and he felt a sticky warmth sliding down the side of his face, tickling his ear. His left leg gave a random twitch.

The person above him tapped Harry harder on his cheek, and then gave his shoulder a quick shake, "You with me?"

Feeling as though his brain was sufficiently rattled, Harry lifted a clumsy hand; it felt strangely heavy and detached from his person. He dragged it slowly across his face and held it up to see glistening blood smeared on the back of his fingers. "Ugh," he groaned, blinking fast to clear his blurring vision. This time his arm twitched and he let it drop back to the floor with a dull thump, where it twitched again.

"Let's sit you up," said the voice, breaking the hazy fog settling in Harry's mind. "You're blocking the hallway."

"Siri-Sirius?" Harry's voice caught in his dry throat, sounding distant to his own ears. He licked his lips and tried to swallow, but mouth felt like sandpaper. He blinked some more as Sirius attempted to pull him to a sitting position. His face started coming into focus.

"Surprised you didn't end up choking on your own blood," the man commented, his expression impassive as helped Harry remain upright. Both of his shoulders twitched, and he struggled to keep his head from lolling to one side.

"You'd like that," Harry muttered drunkenly after a moment, his body starting to shiver. He had never felt this way after a vision before and it disconcerted him. Usually there was pain and then it would pass, but now it felt as though he was in a bout of a serious flu.

"Oi!" Sirius suddenly shouted, giving Harry a start that made his heart leap spastically. "James!" the man kept a steady hand around Harry's shoulders.

"C'n I lay down?" Harry asked faintly, his head spinning, and his eyes feeling too heavy to keep open. His left leg twitched again.

"No," said Sirius, his voice void of concern. To himself, he muttered: "I called that man three times already."

"I might be sick," warned Harry, swallowing convulsively. His breathing quickened and he stared at the floor as he tried to decide where it would be best to direct the vomit.

"Oh fuck," Sirius made a mild gagging noise and gave Harry a little shake. "Don't you dare!"

Harry huffed out a ragged breath and glared at the animagus as the man propped him up against the wall, his face tinged green.

"James!" Sirius yelled out once more, his voice more urgent this time. Harry gritted his teeth and decided that if he were to sick up, he'd aim for Sirius' feet.

He groaned softly and pressed a hand to his forehead, where his scar continued to throb. The images he had seen were confusing and he was having trouble remembering what exactly had happened. It was like waking up from a disturbing dream that had already begun to fade from memory no matter how hard you tried to grasp at it. Again, his torso twitched. He closed his eyes, wanting to sleep.

"What'd you do?" another voice broke through Harry's haze.

"I gave him a good punch in the nose," answered Sirius sarcastically. "I found him like this, you jackass."

"C'n I lay down?" Harry repeated, sounding rather drunken even to himself.

"Merlin," James hurriedly crouched down and pressed two fingers to Harry's twitching wrist. "You were fine a couple minutes ago—what happened?"

Harry's right arm made a spastic movement; he opened one eye to watch James examine him, "Dunno…scar…"

"He keeps twitching," supplied Sirius.

"Damn, you can't seem to catch a break, eh?—Sirius, keep him up…"

Harry blearily saw James light his wand and he winced when the light shone in his eyes. He felt James peel back his eyelid as he moved the light. He grimaced. "Pupils are slow to react," he said to no one in particular as Harry's left shoulder gave a twitch. "Huh."

Harry closed his eyes again as Sirius replied, "What"

"It's almost like he's suffering from the after effects of the cruiciatus curse."

"The fuck?" Sirius exclaimed loudly. "How?"

"C'n I…c'n I lay down?" Harry muttered again.

"Okay, kiddo," James replied soothingly, nothing like the aggressive voice he had witnessed in the kitchen. "Sirius, can you help me lift him?"

"I'll just carry him myself, you weak ass," said Sirius. Harry felt the floor beneath him vanish suddenly and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter as he fought back the swoop of nausea in his stomach, his head falling back rather painfully.

"Watch his head, idiot!" he heard James say angrily. "You'll snap his neck!"

"For Merlin's sake, Prongs, you sound like a pregnant woman."

James retorted something in return but his voice was too far away. Harry found he rather liked the falling darkness and he drew in a deep breath and knew no more.

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***James, AU world***

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James recast the monitoring charm on Harry's still body before he lit another candle and shut the door to the guest bedroom. Overhead, rain pounded the rooftop and with a flash of brilliant lightning, the lights flickered then went out.

"Dammit," he muttered, pulling out his wand and giving it a tiny flick. White light emitted from the tip and he headed down the staircase. He passed Remus in the fireside room. who was sleeping on the couch, one arm slung over his eyes, his dog lying on the floor next to him, and snuffling in its sleep. It must be near a full moon.

In the kitchen, he found Lily lighting a candle with the tip of her wand.

"Power's out," he said, stating the obvious.

Lily glanced at him with a slight smile, "As many times as our power has gone out, you'd think we'd keep all of our candles in the same place so they'd be easier to find."

"You'd think," he agreed, finding a seat at the table.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Fine, I guess," answered James. "Poor kid can't catch a break. I have no idea what to do for him."

"Just do the best you can," said Lily distractedly with a furrowed brow.

James drummed his fingers against his thigh as he watched Lily rummage through the cupboards in search of more candles. "We really should think about changing our muggle lights. It's beginning to feel like we're living during the stone age."

"You'd fit right in," Lily huffed out an aggravated sigh before pulling out her wand, "Accio candles!" –About a dozen candles flew out of the cupboards and landed in a scatter on the kitchen table.

They both looked up when Remus entered the kitchen in jeans and a thermal Henley, looking as though he had just woken. Winston came lumbering in slowly behind him, drool swinging from his muzzle, his droopy eyes zeroing in on the food bowl by the rubbish bin. Remus' eyes were puffy, his face was pale but he gave a slight smile when he saw the assortment of candles. He pulled out his wand and began to help Lily light them.

"Just sit there and do nothing, James," Lily said with a look.

"Sorry," said James hastily; he pulled out his wand and prodded the closest candle which immediately came to life with a yellow flame.

"I heard about what happened to the younger Harry," Remus began, stiffly pulling a candle closer so he could light it.

"He's fine," said James. "I gave him a nerve regenerative potion and I'm letting him sleep it off."

Remus looked contemplating at the candles and he prodded some liquid wax with the tip of his finger. "I think he had a similar 'episode' with that scar yesterday as well," he said suddenly. "I was waiting outside the bathroom and when he came out, he was awfully pale and I smelled blood. You know how heightened my senses are right before a full moon," Remus gave a bit of a humorless laugh. "And he's not a very good liar."

James sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "I don't understand that scar," he said in frustration.

"Dumbledore said something about a connection," Lily took two of the lighted candles and placed them carefully on the window sill.

"I'll give him a neurological exam to check if it's been affecting him at all," said James as he finished off the last, pink candle. "Kid needs to start speaking up," he felt his face fall into a sour expression and tried to rearrange his features. He was upset that Harry felt the need to hide when something was wrong. It reminded him of his own son, though his Harry had improved on that aspect.

He remembered a time when Harry was ten and had spent the night throwing up and he didn't try to wake James or Lily up. In the morning, they had found him shivering and dehydrated on the bathroom floor. James' first reaction was to be angry that Harry hadn't at least called out for them.

And now he felt angry at this younger Harry.

"He's probably used to taking care of himself," Lily said, correctly reading James' expression.

James gave a shake of his head but said nothing. A rumble of thunder outside seemed to make the cottage tremble. Lily turned to look out the window.

"I hope this passes soon," she remarked softly, smoothly changing the subject.

"It is getting rather tiring," agreed Remus with a wide yawn, his head drooping slightly.

"Why don't you go back to sleep?" James looked at his friend with raised eyebrows. "It's not like you have anything to do."

"Eh," replied Remus. He folded his arms up on the table and buried his head in them. After a few moments, he became very still with his fingers limp, breathing deeply. James assumed he had fallen asleep.

"What an idiot," he remarked with a fond shake of his head. He tapped Remus on the top of the head, but the man didn't move.

"Oh, leave him be," Lily said, moving a candle away from Remus' hair. "If he wants to sleep at the table, then let him."

"You never let me sleep at the table," pointed out James.

"Because I don't like you," answered Lily. James laughed.

They spent the next half hour chatting quietly before Sirius joined them with a cup of cold tea in his hand. He sat next to James who tapped the cup with his wand to get the tea steaming again.

"Thanks," said Sirius after he took a sip. "I can never manage that spell."

"I know," said James, thinking back to the time that Sirius had exploded a cup of coffee and had received a glass shard in his chin.

"Full moon is in two days," Sirius reminded him, looking pointedly at Remus.

"I know," said James, not bothered. "We'll be all right."

The sound of the screen door made them all turn in time to see Harry enter, windswept and soaked to the bone.

"What on earth?" Lily gasped and pointed her wand at him. His clothes instantly dried.

"I was checking the perimeter," Harry explained after thanking his mother. James smiled slightly. Harry looked at the still form of Remus, narrowed his eyes briefly, and then shook his head, dismissing whatever he was thinking.

"How does it look?" asked Sirius with a slight smirk that Harry seemed to miss.

"Fine," said Harry, taking a seat next to him. "I'd almost pity the Death Eater attempting to stand out in that—if there was one."

"Doubt it," stated James when he saw the look of fear pass over Lily's face.

"I agree," Sirius took a drink of his tea. "They're just trying to get in our head; there's no way they can get past the wards—unless Dumbledore gives them the location, so the worst they could do is make faces at us and think nasty thoughts." He laughed at his own dry humor.

"That's beside the point," Harry waved off the topic, "We need to come up with a plan to get that stupid book."

Sirius leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back legs as he thought. James tapped out a little number on the table with his fingers as he rested his chin in his free hand, staring out the window, his brow furrowed. He knew Harry was of age and well trained as well as naturally talented, but it still made his gut curdle when he thought of his son going into dangerous situations such as this.

Lily leaned against the counter and folded her arms over her chest, a slight frown pulling down her lips. She was studying Harry, and James wished he knew legilimancy so he could delve into what she was thinking. Was she regretting agreeing to this in the first place? It still baffled him that she had went along with the idea—especially since he knew how much she cared about the younger Harry. Probably about as much as she hated the idea of an extra Voldemort running about.

Remus cleared his throat as he lifted his head from his arms, his face groggy; his forehead was bright red where it had rested on the skin of his arm. "I suppose we should first think about how we should go about getting around any apparition wards that will most likely be in place."

"Good point," said Sirius, letting his chair fall back into place with a slam of the wooden legs. He rested his elbows on the table top. "I don't know about you guys, but I don't think I can run faster than an Avada kadavera curse."

"Broomsticks?" asked Harry.

"Nah—that wouldn't work."

"Why not?"

"Leaves too much room for error and riding on a broomstick while being chased by death eaters would leave you too exposed while trying to escape."

Harry seemed to reluctantly agree, for he fell back against his chair and scratched the bridge of his nose, his eyes staring unseeingly at the wall, obviously deep in contemplation.

"You could always just drive a car," Lily suggested, her green eyes surveying them.

There was an odd moment of silence and then Sirius barked out a short laugh, his face lighting up with genuine mirth. James suppressed a smile and turned his face away, pretending to be adjusting the sleeve of his button up, not wanting his wife to see him trying not to laugh.

"Nice one, Lily!" Sirius held up his hand in invitation for a high-five.

Lily's eyebrows drew together in disconcertion, her arms still crossed, "I'm serious."

"No, I'm Sirius—"

The other occupants of the room simultaneously let out groans of annoyance at the old pun.

"I'm going to pull out my own eyeballs if you keep doing that," Harry stated matter-of-fact, putting his face in his hands.

"Merlin," Sirius made a face, "Tough crowd."

"No, really," Lily approached them and rested her hands upon the table top. "What's wrong with the idea of using a car as a 'getaway'?"

"Several things, actually," Sirius retorted. "First off—how muggle can you get?"

"You drive a motorcycle," Harry said, giving his godfather a strange look.

"A flying motorcycle," Sirius said with a gesture of the obviousness of it all. "Anyway—how on earth would a car be any better than a broom?"

"Not if you use a cloaking spell on it," Lily said argumentatively. "I mean, it would cause coverage if you were having spells shot at you. If one of you gets injured you wouldn't be able to fly anyways. Just throw 'em in the back and take off."

"I think you've been watching too many movies, mum," Harry said almost sympathetically. "A car would be able to withstand a tickle jinx maybe, but a reducto? Or a blasting curse? A car would be blown to bits!"

Lily narrowed her eyes, "You could reinforce it with magic."

James pressed his lips together and thought, tapping his fingers against the wood grain, "It might not be a bad idea."

"Oh, for merlin's sake," Sirius threw his arms up into the air. "None of us even know how to drive!"

"I do," offered Remus with a yawn.

"Oh goody," the sarcasm dripping from Sirius' voice was thick. "So we're just going to drive a little muggle car right up to the Lestrange's door, pop in for a quick 'hello', then go chugging back up the lane again!"

"Don't be juvenile, Sirius," Remus rolled his eyes and rested his cheek in the cup of his hand. He studied each of them in turn with blood shot eyes, scrunched up his nose and then said, "I don't think it's that bad of an idea. Lily has a point—they wouldn't expect such a menial thing for us to use."

"Well, let us hope you're not the one popped off or we'll have no ride home!"

"Don't talk like that, Padfoot," James said, smacking him across the back of his head. "No one's going to die."

"Okay—so let's say we 'drive' a car to Cardiff—which would take forever by the way—what will we do from there? Transportation can't be the only plan we come up with to get this damned book."

"We can only apparate there and then rent a car," suggested Lily.

"Ugh, whatever. But what about after that?"

Silence. Harry rubbed the skin between his eyebrows, looking strained. James leaned back in his seat as Lily sighed; he patted his knee and she eased into his lap and leaned against his chest. Her soft, red hair tickled his nose and he caught the scent of the melon shampoo that she showered with.

Remus laid his head back into his folded arms, and heaved out a long breath. James wasn't sure whether or not he was going back to sleep or thinking extremely deeply. Sirius reached for a sugar cube and dropped it into his tea; he picked up his cup and swirled it around gently to mix it up before taking a sip.

"Polyjuice potion?" Harry spoke up suddenly, his eyebrows rising.

"No," James shook his head. "Too risky. It would be incredibly difficult to get a death eater whose status would be unquestioned to be in that house. If said house exists, of course."

"Maybe Severus will help…?" Lily said carefully. "I mean—he was in the inner circle…"

"Key word 'was'," James said gently, so as not to offend her. "If he went near any death eater, he would be murdered on sight."

"But he might have some insight."

"Of course he would," sneered Sirius. "He's a death eater."

"He's a spy," Lily shot back, tensing. James placed a calming hand on her back in an attempt to settle her down before she got too riled up.

"It could be worth speaking to him—maybe he knows for sure if Cardiff is where the Lestranges are actually holed up." Harry drew in a deep breath, looking satisfied with this. Being a Slytherin during Hogwarts, Harry had had Snape as his head of house and the two had developed an odd sort of relationship that James couldn't understand and Sirius was disgusted with, but had Harry content whenever the man graced them with his presence during dinner time. It was a sort of guardian/brother relationship—Snape's sarcasm and biting comments always made Harry laugh—he never let it get under his skin like Sirius did.

"I could send him out an owl," Lily said. "I'm sure he'd agreed to meet with us."

"Harry's birthday is tomorrow," James reminded them and smiled when Harry's face blushed red. "We could have a nice celebratory dinner and invite him over."

"Ugh," Sirius made a face. "I'll lose my appetite, then."

"Oh, bugger off," Harry snapped at him and then relaxed. "Don't forget it's my counterpart's birthday tomorrow too."

Sirius rolled his eyes, but had the smarts to say nothing.

"Did you guys get him anything?"

James hesitated then nodded, "Yeah, I got him a professional standard snitch."

Sirius shot him a strange look. Harry smiled though, one of his genuine smiles that made his green eyes light up.

"Does he play Quidditch?" asked Remus as he raised his head, obviously not having been asleep.

"Seeker, actually," James said.

"Makes sense," Sirius seemed to be struggling to not care. "He's definitely got the build."

"He was the youngest to be made seeker in a century," Willow had entered at the moment, apparently having heard the last bit of their conversation.

"Is that right?" James felt mildly impressed. "I don't know if he'll accept the gift, though considering the looks he was giving me after the whole scuffle with you."

A strained look came over Harry's features, "Well…" he toyed with the cuff of his sleeve, where loose threads were coming out. "You were somewhat aggressive towards him—I mean, no matter how he denies it, he still was abused by his relatives."

James felt a feeling of uneasiness come over him. He stared at the small of Lily's back, where a small slit of skin showed from her blouse riding up. He didn't like the image of himself that popped into his head when he thought about how he reacted. It made him feel somewhat sick. He usually didn't lose his temper so violently, but the subject of Harry attempting to kill his sister hadn't been brought up for a very long time, and the look that had crossed his son's face had pierced him to the core. But then again, the younger Harry's expression was hardly any different. James pushed up his glasses as he rubbed his eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.

Willow moving towards the fridge caught his eye and he watched as she pulled a butterbeer from the top shelf, and then leaned against the kitchen counter as she popped off the top.

"So where've you been hiding?" Sirius asked her.

"She's been hiding in her room," Lily said in a teasing voice.

Willow smiled but to James it was forced. Her face was white and her eyes were shadowed. He bit back a question of concern, knowing she would be embarrassed to be called out in front of everyone. James recalled her wanting to tell him something before the whole fiasco between the two Harrys, and made a note to sit her down and talk to her before the day was over. With everything that had been going on between the two boys, James had unintentionally placed his daughter on the back burner and now, seeing her tired, overwhelmed face, he felt a sliver of regret wedge itself into someplace above his gut and settle there like an awful splinter.

Willow caught James staring and returned his look with a gaze of confusion, her lips pressing together in an annoyed gesture that was pure Lily. He waggled his eyebrows at her teasingly and she rolled her eyes and turned away from him, settling into the seat next to Remus. Her hands clutched her butterbeer though she hadn't taken a drink from it yet.

Remus stirred once more and sat up, his hair sticking up haphazardly in the front.

"Are you okay, Uncle Remus?" she asked him, her hazel eyes concerned.

"Just tired," he answered as he stretched his arms above his head, offering her a smile. He dropped one of his arms about her shoulders and James felt a sudden twinge of inexplicable jealously. She was his daughter. She should be seeking comfort from him and not Remus.

Idiot, his mind whispered to him. Don't be childish. He blamed his sudden feelings on lack of sleep and moved on from it, offering a distant smile when Sirius told a joke that had everyone laughing except for Harry who was staring down at the table, his face tense and unreadable. James wasn't sure what had caused the sudden mood shift, but he had an inkling of an idea when he saw Willow glance at Harry with a look akin to resentment.

Something had transpired between the two and he was itching to find out, and was dreading that it might have something to do with what the dementors had Willow remember. He leaned back in his chair and studied his two children, noting Harry's clenched jaw and Willow doing her best to act as though he wasn't there.

James sighed and rubbed his eyes under his glasses, wondering when he was going to catch a break.

"Are you all right?" Lily asked him softly, rubbing her hand up his back in a soothing sort of gesture.

James nodded, "Just tired," he reassured her.

"Why don't you go take a nap then," she suggested. "You're not going to miss anything."

"No, I'm fine," James adjusted his glasses. "Nothing a cup of coffee won't fix." He gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder to budge her, and she stood from his lap and took his chair when he stood. He set the coffee to brew. "I'm gonna go check on the kid."

"We'll be here," Harry answered, his chin resting on his fist, his eyes faraway as he tapped some personal beat on the table top.

James knocked once very lightly on the guest bedroom door, but there was no answer so he went on in. The candle on the dresser had burned low and wax was dripping on the wood. James blew it out and replaced it with a new candle from the drawer. He lit it with his wand and then lit a lantern and carried it to the bedside table.

The boy was still deeply asleep on his side, the blankets tucked tightly around him. Even in the warmth of the flickering candles, he seemed too pale and too still. James sighed and pulled the arm chair over to the side of the bed and sank into it. He reached for Harry's hand to check the boy's pulse, and nearly jumped from his skin when the hand was ripped away from his fingers.

"Leave me be," his voice came muffled from the pillow. Harry turned his head and he stared glazed-eyed with pain at James hovering over him.

"You're awake," James stated in surprise. "How're you feeling?"

Harry mumbled something unintelligible and closed his eyes, his lips parting as he drew in a deep breath.

James reached for his wrist again and this time Harry let him. His fingers twitched slightly as James checked his pulse.

"Are you still awake?"

"Maybe a little," he answered faintly. His eyes opened again.

James studied him, "Do you remembered what happened?"

Harry's eyes didn't blink. He stared back at James for several moments, and then his brilliantly green irises rolled away from him and towards the window. "Is there light?"

James looked towards the window, "Just the lightning."

"It's storming again," the kid stated, his voice fading.

"Yes." James stood anxiously, and leaned over the boy and checked his pupils. They were narrowed to pinpoints. "Do you know who I am?" he asked as he check the boy's reflexes and response times. He was a bit slow and seemed not totally aware and it concerned James. "Do you know who I am?" he repeated.

Harry didn't answer again. He continued to stare out the window.

James sighed and settled back into his chair, "You're just one complicated twist after another, aren't you?"

"No," he said.

James let out a breathy laugh that was void of humor. "Since I have you in the muddled state, I'd like to apologize again and perhaps you'll forgive me for earlier. I lost my temper—and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"I'm fine," said Harry, turning his head back towards James. His eyes were unsteady as he watched the man, devoid of the anger that had been there earlier. He looked so young without his glasses on and his face looked oddly naked. Without the spectacles, James could freely see the smatter of freckle dust across his nose and upper cheeks. His eyes were more green, his face seemingly paler.

"Of course you are," James muttered.

"I wasn't scared."

James hesitated, "I was—am."

Harry said nothing in response. He didn't even seem to have heard James at all.

"You scare me. Isn't that funny? Me. Afraid of a fourteen-year-old kid. You're just such a peculiar thing, being here. Well…I don't want to get close to you—I'm afraid you will bring harm to my family, but I'm also afraid you'll end up getting too attached before I send you back. I don't want you to get hurt more than you have to…

"You have to go back, you know. Dumbledore insists it's the right thing to do. You belong in your world—I belong in mine. Makes perfect sense, actually. But what's right about sending you back to a place where you have no family—no love?"

"I have Ron," Harry whispered, his face screwing up slightly. "And Hermione. And Sirius. I have my owl."

James smiled slightly, "I suppose that's all you need then, eh? I doubt Sirius is a very good father to you—more like a brother, I would think. And you always go back to Dursley's every summer. Don't you hate it there?"

"I have to. Professor Dumbledore says so."

"And what Dumbledore says, goes." James propped his elbow up on the arm of the chair, and placed his chin in his hand, frowning.

Harry turned his eyes away and stared at the ceiling, frowning as well.

"Was your bedroom really a cupboard under the stairs?"

"Yes," said Harry, quietly, his face still turned away. "I deserved it."

"Who said that?" demanded James.

"My Uncle."

"That's bollocks," James crossed his arms over his chest, feeling a touch of anger.

"My uncle didn't think so."

James ran a hand through his hair, '"Just doesn't seem right that a kid has to deal with all that—awfully lonely."

Harry sighed softly, "I'm good at being alone—I learned to be—I had to be…"

"So it's a learned trait, then?" said James wryly. "Being alone?"

"I'm used to it."

James drew in a deep breath, "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Harry closed his eyes then for several long moments and then they flickered open and flitted across the ceiling, glazed and unseeing before closing once more. His face shined with perspiration in the candle light. The room went very silent, then.

"Have you gone from me?" James whispered, leaning forward to take Harry's cold hand. He didn't answer at first and James was sure he had passed out, but then he drew in a shuddering breath,

"I'm here." He opened his eyes sluggishly, looking slightly ill.

James felt a pang of worry, "Has your scar always affected you so strongly?" he didn't know what to provide for Harry. He had never experienced this sort of illness before and he worried how it would affect Harry in the long run.

"Almost once," he whispered back, turning his head. "When Voldemort brought me to his father's grave and got his new body. Peter cut me for my blood and Voldemort can touch me now without burning. It hurt. But not as bad now."

"That's horrible, Harry," said James, feeling sickened.

"Yes. My mum and dad saved my life," he said.

"I thought we—I mean—they were dead…"

"They were echoes from Voldemort's wand," said Harry. His voice was barely a whisper now, and James had to strain his ears to hear him properly. "They helped me escape," Harry closed his eyes. "I was ready to die brave like my dad. I wasn't scared then. But then he saved me. Him and mum….just like before."

James had nothing to say after that and Harry didn't seem to want to speak anymore. He closed his eyes and turned on his side, his back towards James and he went very still; James leaned back in his chair, feeling a weariness deep in his bones, his head suddenly aching with a dull pain. He removed his glasses and set them gently next to Harry's on the bedside table. He rubbed his face with both hands.

"I'm good at being alone," Harry's quiet voice broke through the stillness, startling James. "But I don't like it. Being alone, I mean."

His back was still towards him; James replaced his glasses, "Of course you don't; who would?"

Harry turned back around, looking more lucid than he had moments ago. He looked something akin to desperate, his face flushed with fever, "Do I have to go back? Can't I just stay here and live with you?"

James froze, feeling his breath caught in his throat. He stared into those eyes that were so much like Lily's—more so than his own son's and couldn't find a single word to say. He gritted his teeth, his stomach suddenly roiling with emotion. What could he say? What did he want to say? What would be the truth? "Harry," he swallowed hard. "Do you know where you are right now?"

"I'm not sure…" Harry murmured. He squinted his eyes as though he was trying to clearly see the answer but couldn't.

"Do you…do you know who I am?"

"You're my dad, aren't you?"

A strange feeling seared though James, making his heart pick up its pace unexpectedly. He stared at the kid with a screwed up face, "You're not going to remember any of this when you wake up," he told him.

Harry didn't reply for a moment. Then he said, "Why?"

"Because I believe that your mind is resetting itself in an attempt to heal from your earlier attack from Voldemort."

Harry said nothing. His cheek sank into his pillow, his glazed eyes watching James intently, waiting silently.

"Yes," James whispered. "You can stay."

---

***Canon Harry, AU world***

---

It was light when Harry blearily opened his eyes. Broken shafts of yellow rays streamed through the crooked shutters, illuminating swirls of dust clouds hanging in the air. His right leg was twitching spastically under the sheet,s and he slowly reached down a hand and pressed it to his thigh in an attempt to still the movement. It stopped after a few more moments, though his nerves continued to buzz as though electrified.

He lay still for a while, staring up at the ceiling, counting the tiny cracks in the plaster, feeling heavy and muddled. Bits of what happened came to him slowly and he rolled his head to the side, grimacing as the movement made his head thump with pain. He stayed like that for several more minutes, willing the pain to recede. When it had dulled to a mild throb, Harry placed a hand over his face to block out the light, trying to remember what had happened and why he was feeling as though he had just gotten over a wicked flu. His skin was clammy, and his body felt very empty, though he wasn't hungry in the slightest. He started to remember more bits and pieces—he knew his scar had hurt and he had seen images in his mind from Voldemort but he couldn't recall what they were. He remembered Sirius being there and maybe James.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut wishing he could remember what he had seen in case it had been important, but his brain seemed determined to not allow him even a fleeting of an image, and he eventually gave up.

"Ugh," Harry groaned and turned slowly onto his side, away from the window. The sun was still sending a painful throb up through a place behind his eyes. He wished to shut the drapes, but that would require movement and energy. He felt as though he could just lay there forever and never move again. He stuffed a hand under his cheek and sighed, about to drift back to sleep when a small piece of paper on the bedside table suddenly caught his attention as it fluttered from the warm breeze wafting in from the outside, held in place by a vial of potion. He achingly propped himself on one elbow and fumbled for his glasses. He moved the vial and tilted his head to view the slanted scrawl.

If you wake up and I'm not there, drink this. It'll make you feel better.

-James

Harry blew out a breath and made a face as he tipped back the vial. The potion was like sludge running down his throat and he held a hand over his mouth in case it decided to make a second trip back up into his mouth. His stomach roiled for a moment, but there was no second appearance. In fact, he was already feeling infinitely better. The achy feeling was seeping away and the light didn't hurt his eyes so much, so he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rotated his shoulders, testing his limits. There was no pain from the movement so he stood up and reached for his toes, finding satisfaction in the stretch, and then he straightened up and went across the room to the dresser drawers in search of socks and a change of clothes. He didn't want to look like a hobo going downstairs wearing the same clothes as he had yesterday.

After a quick shower in the bathroom down the hall, he pulled on a pair of jeans and a dark blue Henley that fit quite well, and Harry wondered if these clothes had been bought just for him. That gave him a funny feeling. He pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, slipped on his sneakers, and headed downstairs in search of food. He stopped in the fireside room, but there was no one there.

"Hello?" he looked around but the room was empty and the fireplace was nothing but cold ash. He frowned and felt a stirring of uneasiness. Where was everybody? Had something happened? Did they all leave him alone in the house?

His heart rate picked up slightly as he entered the kitchen to find this empty as well. "Hello!" he repeated, but no one replied. On the table, a small box caught his eye, wrapped in colorful paper and finished off with a garish, oversized bow. Puzzled, he approached it slowly, feeling unsure.

To: Harry

It read on a little open note on top, written in bold, black lettering. Surprise filled Harry and made the very core of him tingle. A present? For him? Realization dawned on him and he had to drop into the chair beside the small gift for shock had made him weak in the knees. It was his birthday. Today, he turned fifteen.

He had not expected this. Not one bit. What did this mean? Why would they get him anything? Didn't they already have a Harry to buy birthday presents for? For a long while he only sat there, staring at it, unsure if he should open it or not.

It's your present, said a condescending voice within him. Of course you should open it!

So he did. He lifted the little box and carefully pulled the bow apart before gently peeling back the paper. The box seemed unassuming. Feeling a tiny thrill of excitement, he pried open the lid and—

BOOM!

Harry was rocked off the chair and he hit the floor in a blinding cloud of thick dust, coughing, gasping, and stunned. His elbows were throbbing where he had smacked them on the floor.

"Oh Merlin!" somebody's gasped from the other side of the settling dust.

Harry slowly lifted himself up from the floor still coughing, confused, and slightly hurt. He removed his glasses and wiped them clean. He pushed them back on and saw Willow standing in the doorway, looking flabbergasted, a hand over her mouth; her eyes crinkled in suppressed mirth. She wasn't looking directly at his face but at him as a whole. Fearing the worst Harry looked down at himself and to his utmost bewilderment saw that his skin and clothes was a violent, ruby red. He rubbed at his arm, but the stuff didn't budge, "Bloody hell—!" what in fresh hell was this stuff?

"I'm—so—sorry!" Willow gasped as she laughed, nearly doubled over at the waist, looking as though she was having trouble staying upright. "That was supposed—to be for-for my—brother! Please-please don't—be—mad!"

Harry stared at her wide-eyed, struggling between being angry and amused. She was still giggling uncontrollably, her red hair in a wild, curly cloud about her head. He looked back down at himself, the blazing red so bright it nearly stung his eyes. He started to smile despite himself, more because of her reaction than anything. "Does this stuff come off?" he asked in a raised voice to be heard over her gasping bouts of laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, hang on!" she left the room with pounding feet, her laughter fading as she moved away, and then growing louder again as she returned a minute later with a spray bottle. "Hold your breath!" she said, grinning wildly.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut as she sprayed a foul-smelling mist onto him. It was cold and ticked and he had to force himself to keep his lips pressed firmly together.

"There!" she announced and he sucked in a quick breath. "Back to normal."

Harry looked down at himself and was relieved to see that he was his own color again, and looked none the worse for wear. "What was that stuff?" he asked her.

Still smirking, Willow tucked the spray bottle into a cupboard under the sink, obviously attempting to hide it. "It's some kind of everlasting color from the Weasley twins. They needed someone to test it out and I volunteered so I could use it to get back at my brother."

Harry quirked his eyebrow, "Get back at him for what?"

Willow appeared to have gone momentarily deaf as she plucked the box from the floor, and tossed it into the rubbish bin.

"So it only comes off with that spray?"

"Yeah," answered Willow. "I was going to make Harry—the other Harry—stay red all day. Merlin, he would've been so pissed! He hates the color red."

"Why?"

"Well, it's not really the color, per say, but the fact that it's Gryffindor's color—red and gold."

Harry stared at her, "Was he not a Gryffindor?"

"Nope," her lips popped on the 'p'. Her laughter was fading away and a severe look was falling over her features. "He's a snake."

Harry gaped over her. He knew he must be missing something that was causing her animosity, but this new information had him inwardly reeling. "You mean he was in Slytherin?"

Willow rolled her eyes and flexed her fingers as though she was contemplating hitting something, "What else would it mean?"

Harry blinked and turned his face away from her so she wouldn't see the expression on his face. So Harry's behavior made sense—though being Slytherin didn't justify trying to drown his sister—it now made more sense why he would attempt such a thing.

Willow was watching his reaction and when he turned back to look at her, she was eyeing him with an odd expression. "It's not like he's evil or anything," she stated bluntly, as though reading his mind. "Peter Pettigrew was a Gryffindor and look what he turned out to be."

"Then what were you trying to get back at him for?" asked Harry skeptically.

"None of your business now, is it?" she snapped at him.

This was a whole other side he hadn't seen of her yet and it made him slightly baffled. Was it that time of the month when girls become moody time bombs? He wasn't sure and it made him somewhat queasy to think about such things.

Maybe she realized she was being somewhat aggressive, for a lighter expression came about her face, and she gave him a gentle punch in the shoulder. "Sorry," she said flippantly. "Anyways, stop being so serious and come out onto the porch with me."

"Why?" Harry asked suspiciously, wondering if he was going to be the victim of another prank.

"Why not?" she grinned a mischievous grin that reminded him of the photos of his dad and of the way Sirius had looked a couple times when he spoke of breaking the rules. Still feeling cautious, he followed and found that she was leading him not to the front porch, which he thought she had been talking about, but the one out back he hadn't explored yet.

"What's going on?" he demanded right before she opened the door, folding his arms over his chest.

She gave him a funny look, her freckles all scrunching together, "Paranoid much? Relax, my dad just wants to make sure you're ok."

"Oh," Harry relaxed. Now that made sense. He didn't remember much of the fiasco from yesterday but he figured, with James being a healer, that the man would make sure Harry was feeling better. He wasn't exactly looking forward to seeing him—ever since that fight between Harry and his counterpart, he had felt uneasy towards James. When his father had been described to him back in his own world, people would tell how brave James was, or how smart, or how much he was a troublemaker during his Hogwart's days. But no one ever mention how intimidating he could come across, or how aggressive he could suddenly be. No one ever told him that James' temper would make him think of his Uncle Vernon in the times he would advance upon Harry with the intent of a thrashing.

His father would never hit him, scolded his inward self. But James wasn't his father—his real father anyways.

"Are you just going to stand there all day," Willow prodded him back to the present, "Or are you going outside with me?"

"I'm coming," said Harry impatiently and she pushed open the back door and gestured him to follow.

"SURPRISE!"

Harry lost his breath from the sudden blast of noise that met him upon stepping outside. He gaped at the nicely-sized group of people standing around on the deck, all of them beaming at him like they had just accomplished the best thing of their lives.

Was this for him? Harry wondered as he wildly jerked his head around to see if they perhaps meant the surprise for someone standing behind him—maybe his older counterpart. But there was no one there and he turned back to face the group, coming to the terms that it had been him that they shouted at and no one else. He looked for affirmation from Willow who was grinning toothily at him, looking quite pleased for herself at tricking him.

Harry looked around, rooted to his spot, feeling suddenly sweaty from embarrassment. There were more people here than just the Potters. He spotted Dumbledore towards the back of the porch, standing next to Professor Snape who looked as though he would have given his left arm to be anywhere but here. He spotted a cluster of red heads, which he reasoned to be the Weasleys and sure enough he spotted the tallest one waving at him. Ron? He was taller than his own Ron, and not gangly in the slightest but had broad shoulders and muscular arms.

Harry had to struggle for several moments to remember how to breathe. Sirius was even there, sitting slouched in a chair next to Harry's older counterpart. The two were chatting to themselves, though the older Harry raised his bottle towards his younger self in a toast. He saw Hermione and, he could hardly believe his eyes, Neville Longbottom, and he thought he even spotted Professor Mcgonagall but he couldn't be sure.

There were other people there but Harry didn't know who they were. Maybe part of the Order—maybe just close friends of the Potters. Surely they weren't all there for him. No. No way. They had to be here for his older self. Yes. That had to be it. Or maybe they had been curious of the dimension traveler. He wouldn't put it past them.

Harry found he couldn't think straight.

Perhaps sensing his overwhelming feelings, Willow took his arm and dragged him forward into the throng of people. He felt hands thump him on the back as he passed and he saw prying eyes staring at him—particularly at his scar which bothered him. Hermione planted a kiss on his cheek as he neared her, making him blush furiously.

"Happy birthday, Harry!" she congratulated with a small smile. "How old are you again?"

"Fifteen," he told her somewhat vaguely.

"I wonder why there's such a time difference…" she lifted her eyes to the sky thoughtfully.

"Oh, gosh, come on," Willow rolled her eyes and tugged Harry to continue. Hermione didn't seem to notice their departure. They came upon James and Lily sitting side by side on a bench across a small table from Remus and a young woman. They all smiled as he neared and James stood, setting aside a tall glass of what Harry was sure wasn't pumpkin juice. He schooled his face and gritted his teeth, wrinkling his noise slightly at the smell of alcohol.

"All right, Harry?" James stepped forward and swept Harry into a tight hug, his chin pressing against the top of Harry's head. He tensed, completely surprised by the sudden affection, but James didn't seem to notice or care that Harry didn't return the gesture. "We sure surprised you, didn't we?" he looked proud of himself and grinned like a little boy. He ruffled Harry's hair. "You looked as though you had swallowed a lemon!"

"It felt like that, too," Harry said flatly, pulling away from James and the smell of drink.

The people closest to them laughed at his remark, even though he was being serious.

James seem to study Harry for a moment, looking deep in thought, "How're you feeling?" he asked finally, in a low voice.

"All right," Harry answered testily in the same sort of low voice. "Why does it matter to you?"

James pressed his lips into a thin line, his eyes tightening slightly, "Do you remember anything from before?"

Harry debated on not answering for a moment; he ground his teeth together and then clenched his fists behind his back, "Not really. Just my scar hurting. Am I supposed to remember something?"

"Not really," James echoed, a wry, somewhat sad sort of smile spreading across his face. "Come, Harry, sit with us—we'll have cake and present time in little while."

James took him by the shoulder before he could get out of his reach and lead him to the seat next to him. Harry was feeling bewildered and detached from the whole thing, as though he was outside his own body and was watching everything happening as a bystander.

Lily poured him a glass of pumpkin juice from a frosted pitcher and pushed it over to him, "Did we surprise you?" she asked him with an excited grin, her green eyes sparkling like sunlight over emeralds.

Harry stared at her as though she had sprouted another head—he couldn't help it, "Yeah," he said in a vague sort of voice.

The four occupants of the table all laughed at his response or facial expression—he wasn't sure.

Remus, a smile still on his tired face, gestured to the woman sitting next to him. "Harry this is Lucy Pond; she's my…ah…friend from my Hogwart's days."

"Hello," she greeted him, somewhat shyly in his opinion. She was pretty, in an odd, unique sort of way. He wondered if perhaps she had been involved in some sort of accident for her skin was as pale as snow, except for the smattering of cinnamon freckles on her cheeks, nose, and forehead. She twisted the end of her ash white hair around her finger and smiled at him, her gray eyes developing a hint of green when the sunlight hit them. She had elfin like features and when she glanced at Remus, her face was suddenly tinted pink like the blushing color of a rose.

"Hi," Harry responded after a beat, trying hard not to stare when Remus causally put an arm about the backside of her chair. He felt extremely awkward.

"How old are you now?" asked Lucy in an attempt to be conversational. Her voice was soft and was a bit hard for Harry to hear above the noise.

"Fourteen," answered James for him.

"Actually, fifteen," Harry corrected mildly, his face heating up. He did his best not to look at James either, though it was hard for he was so close next to him. He tried to relax for he was holding himself so tense that his muscles were beginning to ache. He clasped his hands together and stared as the skin turned white when he squeezed as tight as he could. His eyes pricked from the tinge of pain it caused but he ignored it, feeling the blood pulse and watching how the skin around his knuckles filled with a bright red blush.

Willow dropped down to the seat on the other side of Harry, pushing back her hair with both hands. "Can I have some pumpkin juice?"

"Of course," said Lily. Willow poured herself a glass from the chilled container.

Harry looked around at the party once more, still feeling flabbergasted at the amount of people who were there. He glanced at James who was taking a drink from his tall glass, "Are all these people in the Order?"

The man nodded, setting his glass down and wiping his mouth his finger. "They wouldn't be here otherwise. Only those who can be trusted know of your existence."

"It's still very strange to see you though, as the duplicate of our Harry," Lucy commented, dimples appearing on her freckled cheeks as she smiled. "You look very young."

"Well, he is very young," Lily smiled, her green eyes sparkling.

"I dunno," said James in mild disagreement. He gave the small group a half grin. "He turned fifteen today—he's practically a man now."

Harry could feel his face burning from all the attention. He knew they were teasing him and yet he wasn't really that upset about it. He took a sip of the juice, enjoying the sweet taste as it bubbled on his tongue. "I'm not a duplicate of anybody," he said abruptly.

"What?" asked Remus.

Harry looked pointedly at Lucy, "You said I was a duplicate of Harry. I'm not. I'm me." He shifted uncomfortably, realizing from the silence of the table that he had sounded rude though he wasn't exactly trying to.

Lucy glanced at Remus, looking a tad flustered, "Of course not, dear," she said finally. "I didn't mean it that way—"

"It's all right," Harry said hurriedly. "I wasn't trying to be rude."

Lucy smiled.

"Lighten up, Harry," James nudged him with his elbow and Harry once more caught a whiff of the fire whiskey in his hand. "It's your birthday!"

Harry tensed again and leaned slightly away from him. He wiped a hand along his glass where moisture was beginning to gather, hoping James didn't notice and become upset with him again.

Remus seemed to have picked up the movement for he was studying Harry now with his infuriating gaze, making Harry redden under the scrutiny. He quirked an questioning eyebrow at Harry who averted his eyes and instead watched as his older counterpart approached the table, butterbeer and plate in hand, Sirius trailing behind him, looking somewhat reluctant.

"Looking better there, kid," Sirius said in an almost accusatory voice, his eyes cold.

Harry gave him a thin lipped smile that didn't reach his eyes. The older Harry sank into the seat next to Remus and grinned at everybody, looking quite happy. "Brilliant, isn't it?" he said directly at Harry who nodded quickly. "Merlin, I love my birthday."

"Careful there," Remus teased lightly. "Your Sirius is showing."

"Bugger off, werewolf," Sirius gave the man a gentle punch in the shoulder though Harry only smiled wider.

"Can't help it," he said with a shrug, digging a fork into his plain vanilla cake. "This is good, thanks mum."

"You're welcome, dear," Lily looked rosy from the compliment.

"Gimme some," Willow reached across the table. Harry pushed his plate towards her and she fingered a chunk of icing off and stuck it in her mouth.

"Willow!" Lily scolded with widened eyes. "Manners! We do not reach across the table and take food off of other people's plate with our fingers! Were you raised by wolves?"

Willow's snorted, appearing to be choking on her mouthful of icing, and she swallowed and shot a sly glance at her mother, "I kinda was…"

The younger Harry suppressed a smile and his counterpart snickered across the table. Sirius openly laughed while Remus calmly took a sip of his drink, an easy-going look on his face.

Lily's face turned crimson as she realized what she had said. "Oh, Remus, I didn't mean…"

"It's quite all right, Lily," Remus said mildly as the older Harry continued to snicker behind his cake.

"Speaking of wolves," Sirius cut in, "Are you ready for tomorrow night?"

Remus' face remained lighthearted but the younger Harry could have sworn he saw a flicker of anxiety pass across the man's eyes. "Yes," he said softly, his fingers lightly tracing the rim of his glass. Harry thought he saw that they were shaking. "It'll be you and Harry with me, right?"

"If that is all right with you," the older Harry put in, looking suddenly serious.

"Yes, yes," Remus spoke hurriedly, looking as though he would give anything to not be having this conversation.

"Sorry, Remus," Sirius gave his friend a grimace, "I should've waited till later…"

"No, it's fine—I've been going through this most of my life—I shouldn't be so touchy about it."

"Wait," Harry furrowed his brow and the table looked at him. "What are you lot talking about? Is tomorrow night the full moon? Why does Sirius and Harry need to be there?"

No one spoke for a moment and Harry felt a bit embarrassed for asking; he wondered if perhaps he spoke out of turn.

Finally, Remus said softly: "I keep my mind better when there are other animals around."

"You're an animagus?" Harry asked, surprised as he stared at his older self.

"Cheers," the other Harry raised his glass with a smirk.

"What are you?"

"A snow leopard, actually," he answered a bit smug-like. "Surprised everyone when I first transformed."

"Yeah, I thought for sure you'd take after your dad," said Sirius.

"No," Remus shook his head. "Their personalities are too different. I thought he was going to become something in the dog family. Like a wolf or a coyote."

"I'm surprised he wasn't a snake," Willow put in with snark.

"Har, har," her brother made a face at her but she only stuck her tongue back at him.

"But why?" Harry pushed, looking back at Remus. "Can't you just take your potion?"

Remus gave him a confused look, "There is no potion. Nothing can help my transformations. Believe me, I've tried."

Harry leaned back in his seat briefly, staring at Remus in shock, then he leaned forward again, "That's strange," he stated with a wrinkled forehead. "In my world, Professor Lupin had to take this potion…I think every day for a week before the full moon and he would just transform into a harmless wolf and he could just curl up in his office and wait for morning. He kept his mind and everything."

Despite the noise of the party, everything seemed to have gone very quiet around the table. Everyone who sat there was staring at him with wide eyes.

"You're not joking, are you?" Remus spoke in a harsh whisper, his eyes suddenly wild. He leaned forward so fast that Harry jerked back in surprise, his pumpkin juice sloshing over his glass. "Do you know what is in this potion? Can you tell me? Have you ever seen it brewed?" he reached across the table and seized Harry by the wrist, looking desperate.

"I-I dunno…" Harry said, taken aback. "It's an advanced potion—I'm complete pants in class to begin with…I know, um, that there's-there's…uh…monkshood in it but that's all I know…I'm sorry," he wrenched his wrist from the man's grasp, feeling slightly alarmed by Remus' reaction while at the same time feeling a sweep of pity for the werewolf. He was clearly stressed by his transformations.

Remus slumped back into his seat, his face looking rather hollow, and his eyes distant as though imagining not having to suffer through violent transformations.

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated weakly, biting his lower lip.

Remus said nothing for several moments, and then he drew in a deep breath and forced a smile, "It's all right," he assured softly, his eyes gentle once more. He looked at Harry for a moment than down at the table. "It's quite all right."

There was another awkward silence around the table. The older Harry began mashing his cake with the broad side of his fork, looking deep in thought, his eyes blinking rather rapidly as though he had a nervous tic.

"Well hey," Sirius spoke suddenly, looking as though he was trying to lighten the mood. He clapped a hand on Remus' back, "At least you have something to look forward to, eh, Moony?"

"He's right, Remus," Lily added. "Sooner or later, they're bound to come up with this potion. Now we know there is a possibility of controlling some of your, er, symptoms. After that, who knows…a cure, maybe?"

"Let's not push it too far, Lily," Remus said wryly.

"Just trying to look on the optimistic side of things."

"I know."

A silence settled over the table, punctuated by the conversations of the party guests milling around them, oblivious to the sudden tension among the small group.

"Hey," James said suddenly, making the younger Harry jump. "Would you like some cake? Lily made it just for you."

Harry's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, surprised and a bit pleased by the gesture. "Really?"

James stood, "Everyone!" he called out above the noise. "It's time to cut the cake!"

The noise rose to an excited level as Lily maneuvered herself off the bench and into the crowd.

"Here, Harry," James gestured to Harry. "Sit here so everyone can see you blow out your candles."

"Wait, what?"

But James had grabbed him by the arm and was pulling him out into full view of the gathering people. Lily was returning, a large platter in hand, on which sat a beautiful, chocolate swirled cake decorated with thick, chocolate icing. Little, edible golden snitches sat upon the top, their candy wings fluttering lazily. She sat the platter in front of Harry, her face beaming like a proud sunflower.

There were fifteen lit candles nestled into the chocolate icing. Harry counted them with wide eyes, feeling as though he was having an out of body experience that could only be explained with the fact that someone must have spiked his juice. Or maybe he was just dreaming. Yeah. That had to be it. Because how could something so wonderful happen to him?

Happy Birthday, Harry! was written in glittering gold icing on top. A dull roar rose to Harry's ears and for a moment he thought he was fainting and it took him several moments to realize that, no, he wasn't losing consciousness and yes, everyone was actually singing the song 'happy birthday' to him. Even Sirius had joined in.

And then the song ended and the silence was more deafening then the song. He stared at the cake, his mouth open.

"Well, go on then," said a familiar voice to his left. He looked up and saw Ron Weasley grinning at him.

"Do what?" asked Harry faintly. He looked around at all the faces, his own face heating up at all the attention.

"Make a wish and blow out the candles," Sirius clarified for him. "Quickly before the candles start dripping wax on the cake!"

Harry swallowed hard and looked back at the cake. He shut his eyes and thought hard, I don't want things to ever change from this moment. I want it to stay like this forever. I don't want to go home. And he drew in a deep breath and blew out all fifteen candles among cheers and glass clinking. During the ruckus, he sat back, stunned at the wish that had popped back into his head. What about all his friends back in his world? What about Sirius? And Dumbledore? And Mrs. Weasley? Could he really forget about all them in favor for this world?

Lily handed him a large bit of cake and he decided that yes, he could, if it meant this moment and moments like this. He twirled the fork in his hand for a brief moment of hesitation, then took a large bite of cake, and nearly choked. Willow thumped him on the back. People began to return back to the party, leaving Harry with Remus, Lucy, James, Sirius, Willow, and his older self.

"Here," James said to him once his cake had vanished from his plate, crumbs and all, a garishly wrapped gift in his hand. "This is for you." And he handed Harry the little box wrapped in gold paper that glittered where the sunlight hit it.

Harry took it slowly with his heart suddenly pounding. That's when the spike of panic hit him out of nowhere like a knife in the back. What was going on? What had he been thinking? This gift was like someone squeezing his heart as hard as they could. No matter that he wanted to live here, he couldn't. They would never let him. He would soon return to his own world, with his gray bedroom, and barred windows, with people who forgot he even had a birthday. Why were James and Lily doing this? Why were this being so nice to him—wouldn't they realize they're making it worse for him when he did finally return? Didn't they know this would only make the loss hurt even more than it already would? This gift came with a price. A price that he refused to accept.

"I can't…" Harry muttered, trying to hand the box back to James. "It's technically only his birthday…" he gestured to his older counterpart.

The young man shook his head. "Don't be stupid. I had my birthday earlier today—got me a load of presents. It's an all day party."

James pushed the package back into Harry's hands, "If you don't open it soon, Christmas'll come around, and we'll have to count it for both," He teased.

Aware of the awaiting stares and realizing he had no choice, Harry gingerly held the gift, tensing himself so people wouldn't see his hands shake. He peeled back the paper carefully, taking care not to rip a bit of it, thinking he would keep the wrapping for when he returned to his world—like a memory. Upon removal of the paper, a small black box was revealed decorated with a fancy silver clasp that snapped it together. He flexed his fingers once, his heart doing a funny little flip in his chest, before flipping back the clasp and opening the lid.

His eyes popped.

There, nestled in delicate tissue paper was the most beautiful snitch he had ever seen. Its gold shell glittered brilliantly, and when Harry gingerly touched it, writing appeared across the top.

To Harry, it said in fancy script, with love and wishes for many more birthdays to come.

"Well?" James pushed when Harry hadn't said anything. "Do you like it?"

Harry found the words were caught somewhere within his stomach. He didn't raise his head for fear everyone watching would see the moisture unwillingly gathering in his eyes. There was a burning sensation in his chest, and the sound of his heart beat thrummed in his head.

"It's a professional standard snitch," James continued, a bit hesitantly this time. "You won't find something like this at a Hogwarts game." He laughed once.

Harry gritted his teeth, hating himself for the way he was feeling, and wanting to be like a normal kid who didn't get emotional over a stupid snitch.

"I don't really know the things you like," said James in a halted voice. "But I knew you liked Quidditch…so…"

Harry finally lifted the thing from the box and its silver wings extended and began fluttering against his hand, as though aching to fly. He felt as though two separate people were tugging at his arms, trying to pull him in different directions and his body wasn't meant to be stretched so much. Why? Why were they doing this to him? He blinked several times to will back his emotions and finally raised his head, "It's brilliant," his voice cracked, betraying him and yet James' smile grew. "It's great. I like it."

"I knew you would," he said simply.

"Can I see it?" asked Willow and Harry reluctantly handed it over. The snitch's wings stopped fluttering when Willow grasped it. Her eyes were wide as she studied to golden ball.

"Thank you," Harry said after a deep breath, glancing up briefly to make sure not many people were watching him. "That's the nicest thing…I mean…I wasn't…well, I wasn't expecting that at all."

James' smile faded a bit and the look in his eyes became somewhat introspective but Harry didn't have time to pounder this.

"Well, wait until you open your other gifts before you start choosing your favorites," the older Harry butted in with a smirk, shoving a broad box across the table. Again, Harry was left speechless. He opened the gift faster this time, heart pounding, and was surprised to see a book of defense spells.

"I told you I'd show you some dueling," his older self shrugged like it didn't matter. "You gotta know spells to be able to actually duel."

"Thanks," Harry breathed, flipping to the first page but was halted when Remus handed him another present to open, explaining it was just a little something. It turned out to be a travel sized wand polishing kit along with a pocket book called 'The Fifty Spells every Wizard should know'.

"I know, I know," Remus made a face, "Not very imaginative, but I was unsure of what you'd like."

Harry shook his head faintly in an attempt to convey that it didn't matter how small the gift was. Over the next fifteen minutes or so, he lost count of how many presents people handed him, and Harry found himself sitting next to a generous pile of gifts after all was said and done. Lily had gotten him several sets of new muggle clothing—though how she knew his size, he wasn't sure. The Weasleys had given him several boxes of assorted candies and Hermione had given him a book about dimension traveling that he would probably never read. Willow had handed him a small box of pranks and silly gadgets, and Dumbledore had given him a packet of wizard playing cards. Even Sirius gave him a wand holster that strapped to his leg.

The snitch fluttered about his head as he gingerly laid a pocket sneakoscope from Neville Longbottom next to a glittering quill that changed colors as you wrote. He couldn't even remember who that was from. He felt overwhelmed and a tad high. Most of the party guests had returned to milling around and the occupants of the table had begun conversations of this or that. Harry paid them no mind.

Nobody seemed to notice the enormity of this moment. Nobody seemed to understand the mountain of emotions that were trapped somewhere between his stomach and heart. He felt as though he could explode, though he couldn't decide if that were a bad thing or a good thing. Lily had settled into the seat beside him and had planted a kiss on the side of his forehead, leaving behind a tingling sensation where her lips had been. He had the insane urge to scrub it off but used all his will power to not move.

Even Sirius' mood seemed to have brightened. He had opened the book of spells Harry's counterpart had given him and was showing Harry the visual movements needed to enact a shield. Harry barely paid attention though, his mind racing. He vaguely noticed his snitch still fluttering above his head, and Willow sneaking a bite of his second piece of cake. He could smell the alcohol from James' half empty glass still sitting near him and it made him nauseated. So much so that he excused himself for the loo and made it barely in time to vomit in the toilet. All that chocolate cake he had eaten, now making a rather disgusting reappearance.

"Better not tell mum you thought that low of her cake."

"Just go away," Harry groaned right before he heaved again.

"Ugh," his older counterpart turned away. Harry clutched the sink's edge as he bent over the porcelain bowl.

"Why'd you follow me?" asked Harry once he was done. He flushed the toilet and splashed cold water on his face. His new snitch had followed him in here and was now fluttering about the ceiling, never too far from him. He wanted to smack it out of the air.

"Your face was as green as a ghoul's," answered the older Harry, his back still turned away. He tapped his foot on the floor. "I was curious. Was it the cake that actually made you sick, or was the amount of presents you received just too much for you to handle?"

"Shod off," said Harry, his anger replacing the nausea. He shoved past the young man and headed back towards the deck. He could hear he was being followed but didn't bother to turn around. He paused at the door to the outside though, reluctant to join the crowd.

"I was never one for a large group, either," commented the older Harry rather lightly.

Harry ignored him. He stared out the window at the happy faces, and wondered what it would be like to live here forever, and not have to worry about being sent away.

"Why did getting all those presents bother you so much?" asked the older Harry rather suddenly, obviously not one for pretense.

Harry clenched his fists, "I don't see why that matters."

The older boy shrugged carelessly, "Were your relatives lousy about giving gifts?"

"If they even remembered my birthday," Harry said with a dark laugh. "I got a coat hanger once—I think that must've been my favorite."

The older Harry narrowed his eyes as though he was trying to decide if his younger self was lying or not. "That's a load of dung," he said finally. "Though I guess it could be practical if you were terrible at organization."

"Just bugger off, will you?" Harry snarled; he made to go outside, but his older self blocked his way. "I'll knock you in the face again if I have to," he warned but the older Harry only smirked, as though he found younger Harry's threat amusing.

"Whatever, I was just kidding, relax!"

Harry clenched his teeth, his nerves stretched thin. The golden snitch was still flittering about over his head

"Look, Harry," his other self said in an odd sort of voice that made the younger Harry turn. The young man's face had a twisted expression, "I was never abused by my parents, or locked in a cupboard. They never withheld birthdays from me—hell, they probably came close to spoiling me—so I don't know what that's like.

"But I do know what it's like to feel like you're an outsider…the one person who never really fits in right. I know the frustration and the confusion…"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry said cooly.

"Oh, shut-up, you idiot. You're not fooling no one," the older Harry folded his arms over his chest, looking as though this conversation pained him as much as it did his younger self. "I'm trying to tell you…well…I was kidnapped when I was four years old by Voldemort's followers—"

"I know," Harry said abruptly. "Your dad told me that already."

"I know he told you—now for fuck's sake can you please stop interrupting me or I'll knock your head off your shoulders," The older Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "What he didn't tell you was that Voldemort kept me and a number of other children for nearly four years. My parents thought I was dead, but I was found and rescued by Dumbledore, and brought back when I was eight."

Harry was stunned upon this new information; he stared at his taller self, "Why did Voldemort keep you all that time?"

"It's a complicated story, but to make matters short, he wanted a group of purely raised death eaters with absolutely no conscience. Now, it's more complicated than that but I'm keeping things simple. I came back, with a terrible sense of right and wrong. I was angry and hateful and jealous. I made life a living hell for everyone that I could. But I wanted mum and dad to myself. I believed they had replaced me, and that was why I tried to drown Willow."

Harry felt a surge of shock, sympathy, and guilt. He looked away from the older Harry, trying to process it all. "How…how did you get better?"

"It took a lot of time and patience, I suppose. They put me in St. Mungo's, and I stayed there for a little over a year and a half."

"That's a long time."

The older Harry laughed darkly, "Well, I was a pretty messed up kid."

Harry couldn't find anything to say to that. He looked back out the window, at everyone as they milled around with cake and drink. He found he despised their happiness. "Why are you telling me this?"

His older self tilted his head slightly, as though scrutinizing his younger counterpart. He leaned against the wall and stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'm telling you this so you understand that although we're different, we've both been through our own bit of hell. I'm telling you because I know to a degree how you feel. And I'm telling you this because I saw the way you were looking at dad while he drank his firewhiskey; you know he's not a raging alcoholic, don't you?"

"Yeah, duh," said Harry intelligently.

"Your Uncle was drunk that night, wasn't he?"

Harry tossed his hands up into the air, exasperated, "I don't know why everyone keeps bringing that up. It's done. Over with. I don't care about it anymore."

"You're obviously lying," the older Harry stared down at Harry with the hint of a humorless smile. It made him appear intimidating, whether he was trying to or not. "You wouldn't be human if something like what happened to you didn't affect at all, and it's all right to be bothered for a good while—everyone understands. And it's not just the alcohol I'm talking about. Most people are able to keep themselves together when given gifts for their birthday—so I'm guessing your relatives were somewhat lacking in that department—probably lacking in every department…"

"I was fine," Harry retorted.

The older Harry looked as though he really was going to knock younger Harry's head off his shoulders but then he drew in a deep breath, "Look, I don't know why the people back in your world have never tried to talk to you about any of this, but here there are people who can help. People who are willing to help."

Harry rolled his eyes and turned his head away, knowing he was appearing somewhat melodramatic, "Who? I have no one."

"Are you bullshitting me?" his older self stepped closer, making Harry back up into the wall. It still stunned him how much taller older Harry was than his own self. "What do you think all that out there was for? Shits and giggles? My parents want to help you. They want to give you better than what life's been dishing you."

"Your father hates me," Harry stated through gritted teeth.

The older Harry stared, as though trying to figure out if his younger self was as stupid as he thought he was. "No, he doesn't. Dad…he's just torn between protecting his family and wondering where you fit in in all that. He's not very good about showing his emotions very well and he's very protective—to the point it's overbearing. Ever since I was kidnapped, he's been a nut case when it comes to us. You've threatened us—not to your fault—" He stated when Harry opened his mouth to angrily interrupt. "And that's why he's been somewhat…aggressive. But he wants to help."

"I don't need anyone's help."

"Are really such an idiot?"

"Well, maybe I am!" Harry raised his voice, jutting up his chin to glare at his older counterpart. "What's the point? I have to leave here soon anyways and go back to my world. Why should any of this matter? It changes nothing for me."

The older Harry's face relaxed slightly. He took a step back from his younger self, his eyes almost becoming sympathetic. "Kid, no one's going to make you go back. Stay here. Mum would love that."

Harry felt a stab of emotion hit him in the gut, "I can't. I have to go back. My friends are there. And Sirius. And-and the prophecy…."

"Fuck the prophecy. You're a fifteen-year-old kid. You shouldn't have to deal with it alone. I can help. We can help."

"Your Sirius wants me gone. He hates me."

"So what if he does?" the older Harry shook his head in annoyance. "Why do keep focusing on the people that hate you? If your goal in life is to get everybody to love you—then you're going to be miserable until you die. There's always going to be someone who hates you. That's life. Besides, Sirius'll come around eventually."

Harry adjusted his glasses, the words his older self were speaking were sinking in like an anchor in a boiling ocean. Older Harry smiled suddenly and gripped his younger counterpart's shoulder, giving him a firm shake.

"Cheer up, kid," he said. "It's okay to be happy every now and then." He laughed at his own dry humor. "Now let's back to our party. People are going to start wondering where we are—might think we're snogging or something."

Harry gave him a horrified look, "That's disgusting!"

"I know, right?" his older self smirked. "And the sad thing is, I've seen weirder." He punched Harry's shoulder and they reentered the party.

The rest of the day went by in something of a blur. After returning to the guests, he had been passed around like a quaffle—everyone was so interested in meeting the dimension traveler, and it was annoying to be regarded as some fascinating object. Hermione had trailed him for a good part of an hour, asking his bizarre questions about his own world. Ron had come up to him and interrogated him about his favorite quidditch team, and then had joked about how short he was. Harry had trouble finding the amusement in that statement.

Mrs. Weasley fussed over how thin he was and Harry was comforted by the familiarity of it. She invited Harry over whenever he wanted. Even Ginny was there in the background, chatting with his older counterpart. She was taller than him as well, and her red was like flames in the sunlight. She definitely had more confidence than the Ginny in his own world, and when she had spoken to him, his face had felt hot.

Later that evening, when most of the party guests had left, the rest of them migrated inside to avoid the rain started to drizzle down. Harry settled on the couch nearest the fireplace, propping his elbow on the armrest. In the quietness of the fireside, he was given a chance to process it all. The older Harry's words were still ricocheting inside his mind, and the conversations were just a buzz in the background. He stared at the red and yellow flames, wondering if the older Harry was correct about all the things he had said. He wondered if it was the right thing to do to choose not to go back, to let everyone believe that he was gone forever. Could he really do that?

"Have you gone from me?" James' voice sliced through his deepening thoughts. Harry blinked quickly, and raised his eyes to see the man smiling a half smile at him. Harry furrowed brow.

"I'm here." Harry muttered, letting his arm fall and sitting up.

James tilted his head, his eyes looking to be deep in thought, as though remembering something that had happened.

"Feeling well?"

Harry nodded.

James sat down next to him and rested his forearms on his knees, looking deeply thoughtful. Remus was sitting opposite of them both, looking sleepy but content, and Willow sat curled up next to him, Harry's snitch in her hand. She was playing with it, her reflexes nearly as good as his.

"Good day, eh?" asked Sirius as he leaned against the back of his sofa seat, a glass in his hand.

"Very good," the older Harry agreed.

For the first time since Harry had arrived, he felt content. The room was comfortably warm, despite the wind and rain outside. James was sitting close on his right, but he didn't feel awkward or tense. He still felt a bit weird about the whole party, though, so in his mind was like this tiny ping pong table and he kept bouncing back and forth between being happy and being confused. Maybe Remus saw this, for he spoke suddenly to Harry, breaking through his thoughts.

"You look like you're having an inner battle with yourself over there," the werewolf commented.

Harry flushed when he felt all eyes turn to him. His glanced at his older counterpart who raised his eyebrows slightly, as though saying, 'well? What of it?'. Harry took in a deep, "I just-I don't understand why you guys did all that for me out there." There. He said it. And he didn't implode, either. Harry considered that an accomplishment.

"Why wouldn't we?" asked James with a frown. "It's your birthday."

He couldn't stop himself, "But…but what about…well…your Harry?" He glanced at his other self, who was rolling his eyes, "Today's his birthday too—and, well, he's your son."

Everyone exchanged glances, as though uncomfortable with the whole discussion. Willow let go the snitch which flew back over to Harry and hovered. Feeling suddenly aggravated, he snatched the thing out of the air, and stuffed it unceremoniously into his pocket.

"Nice reflexes," said Sirius.

"Shut-up," Harry snapped back without even thinking. The man didn't say anything back but Harry was pretty sure that he was thinking some nasty thoughts. No one spoke for a moment and Harry was sure they were thinking about how unstable he was, and then James took in a deep breath and put his arm about Harry's shoulder. He stiffened in surprise and immediately tried to pull away, but James' hold tightened.

"Harry's had years of birthdays and that party was for both of you. We had a little thing with him last night, but it was actually partially his idea to throw you the party."

Harry looked everywhere else but James, uncomfortable with the arm on him, yet at the same time, he felt the spark of warmth in his belly from the contact.

"He's right," agreed the older Harry.

"Besides, Harry," James continued slowly as though carefully choosing each he was going to say, giving Harry a gentle shake, his face tone suddenly serious. When Harry glanced at him, he seemed to be fighting with himself. "You may be from another world, but you are our son, too."

There was a strange buzzing in Harry's head. He forgot how to blink, how to breathe, how to even move. He sat there, frozen stiff, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm within his chest. Everything within his eyesight seemed to have grown brighter, and he distantly wondered if this was perhaps a dream that he would soon wake from up and realize that the world was still a cold, cruel place. Then he thought that maybe he was fainting, which would be a very embarrassing thing to do. He struggled to take in a ragged breath.

"I know things have been chaotic and I've been thinking…" James was saying, though to Harry it was though he was speaking from someplace underwater. "If this had happened to my other Harry, I would've been ready to beat some people up if they had treated him the way we've treated you. I'm sorry the ways things have panned out, it's just…"

James' voice trailed off when Harry leaned forward in a jerk like sort of motion and buried his face into his hands. He needed a moment to process what James was saying and to let the blood return to his head. He wasn't sure if the burning sensation behind his eyes meant he was about to cry or that the firelight was perhaps too bright to handle. Either way—he just needed to shut everyone out for just a moment.

No one had ever said those words to him before. No one. The Dursley's had always made it abundantly clear that he wasn't part of their family, and though Mrs. and Mr. Weasley had always made him feel welcome, he always seemed to be on the outside looking in.

Did James fully realize the impact of his words? Did he understand that each syllable he spoke was like a needle puncture into a festering, ancient wound? All the bad stuff within him seemed to be oozing out. After several minutes of nothing but silence, he felt a tentative hand patting him on the back.

"You going to make there?" asked James from above his head. Even now, his voice sounded so far away, like Harry had been removed from the situation and was a third party, listening from the other side of a wall. His relatives' hatred towards him was at the core of who he was. He'd built his whole life around the irritation of their hurtful words, like the grain of sand at the center of a pearl.

His life was never meant to be easy. He was never meant to be part of a family, to be loved.

That was why, as hard as it was, Harry kept his polite distance from the Weasleys and now from the Potters. As much as it chafed him sometimes, he knew that this was his life, and this was how it was supposed to be.

Now, James' words were erasing the one certainty Harry had had about his life—that he'd never have a true family. Harry's head was spinning.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," said Harry as he straightened, blinking fast, schooling his face into what he hoped was a normal expression. "Just a bit of a headache."

"Is it your scar?"

"No, no—I'm fine…" Harry's voice trailed off. He didn't know what his face looked like but Remus stood suddenly.

"I'll go brew us all a cup of tea," he announced. It didn't take him very long, or maybe it was because Harry was lost so deeply in his thoughts, that he didn't notice time passing. Remus returned with a tray and offered Harry a steaming cup of tea. The cup burned his fingers but he didn't release it. The pain anchored him down to reality and allowed him to merge back into the present.

"Are you sure you're alright?" asked James in concern.

"Yeah, yeah."

"I meant what I said," he continued, in a somewhat tentative voice. "I hope it doesn't bother you that I said that. I'm not trying to undermine your father back in your own world."

"What father?" Harry muttered darkly. Aware of the stares from the other occupants of the room, he pressed his fingers tighter against the ceramic cut, relishing the burn that stilled his racing mind. "No, I'm fine—it's fine." Inwardly, he was still reeling. He felt as though he was riding on the back of a hippogriff again, completely out of control. At any moment he could fall away and plummet to the earth.

James didn't look convinced. "Drink your tea."

Harry did. The tea was bitter and he didn't particularly like the taste so he set down the cup, frowning and feeling James still watching him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man open his mouth as if to speak, but he was interrupted by Lily and Snape entering the fireside room. Sirius instantly tensed, his body coiling like a wire.

"What's he doing here?" he snarled, his hand straying for his wand.

"Easy, Padfoot," said Remus mildly.

"Severus," James greeted. He stood and shook the other man's hand in the shortest hand shake Harry had ever witnessed. "Thank you for coming."

Snape said nothing though his face showed a slight sneer. His black eyes lingered on Harry and Harry felt his face grow hot under the scrutinization. "Dumbledore insisted I come," he said darkly.

"Severus, have a seat," Lily offered and the man seemed to balk at the idea but looked as though he didn't want to be rude to Lily. He sat in a single arm chair, away from everyone, and glared at the group.

"There is not much information I can offer you to help succeed on your….quest," Snape spoke in a slow drawl, his dark eyes glittering.

"Not surprising," said Sirius in a scathing tone.

Snape sneered, "The Lestranges do live in Cardiff but their house is heavily warded. It would require quite a bit of intelligence to gain access…intelligence that I believe your group may be somewhat… lacking…."

Sirius made to move, but James quickly held out a hand towards him, "Sirius, quit it!" he demanded.

"Are you seriously going to let him insult us like that?" sputtered the animagus.

A slight smirk pulled up the corner of Snape's mouth. Harry noticed that Lily seemed particularly interested in her nails. She picked at her fingers, refusing to raise her eyes.

"Can you please cut the smart-ass remarks, Snape," James said in a forcefully calm voice. "And just tell us if you can help us or not."

Snape's face seemed to twitch for a moment, as though his next words would cause him great agony, "I am an animagus as well. I can get you into the house. My animal self is smaller, and hard to detect."

"Why would you help us?" Sirius barked, his body still tense.

"I don't particularly want to help you," answered Snape. "But I do not like the idea of having two Voldemorts here, either. Not exactly on my Christmas wish list."

"I think it's brilliant," put in the older Harry, his face looking a bit too lighthearted for the conversation. "I mean, unless they have something to detect animagus forms."

Snape's eyes glittered as he looked upon older Harry, almost as though he was mildly impressed, a look that the younger Harry had never seen graced upon his face. "I have a dark mark," he said. "Once I get inside the wards, I can transform then. There are no wards against certain people; as long as you have a dark mark, you are free to enter."

"How convenient," said Sirius.

"Very," said Snape.

The younger Harry watched the volley of words with a squeezed chest. He wanted more than anything to help. He hated be viewed as a child who needed to be left behind. He wanted to speak up, to ask to come again but he was afraid of James' reaction, after all the man had said and done for him today. He didn't want anyone to think he was ungrateful or a prat. He leaned his head back against the couch cushion and stared at the ceiling, watching the flickering shadows made by the dancing flames in the fireplace. He tried to fight down that stubborn independence that was ramming about in his head. What right did James have to tell him what he could and could not do? Wasn't he the one prophesized to defeat Voldemort in the end anyways? So why shouldn't he have a hand in helping with the mission?

The more Harry thought about it, the more he was determined to go, no matter what it took.

"You know, we could make this fun," suggested the older Harry, breaking the younger Harry from his thoughts. "We could make it a road trip. Actually drive down to Cardiff, make a couple stops along the way. We can just apparate on the way back."

"What are you, a muggle?" Sirius gave Harry a barely disguised look of revulsion.

"What's wrong with muggles?" demanded Lily.

"Nothing! Muggles are fine, but we're not muggles! Why should we travel like them?"

"We can't leave Lily and the kids that long by themselves," agreed James.

Harry suppressed a snort. He wasn't a 'kid'.

"I'm perfectly capable of handling things on my own."

"I didn't say you couldn't—it's just that you shouldn't be alone that long."

"Well, maybe Lucy could come over and stay for a couple days," Lily looked at Remus imploringly. Remus shrugged.

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"I still don't know why we're still considering a car to begin with," Sirius complained. "I don't want to sit all cramped like that for two days! We can't we just apparate?"

"Didn't we already explain that?" challenged the older Harry. "There's going to be apparation wards around the house and we don't know how far they extend. If we have to make a quick get-a-way, are you willing to run two-three miles until we find the borders?"

"You have two Voldemorts and a number of death eaters on the lookout for you," Snape joined the conversation suddenly. "Lily and Harry might be right. No death eater would think to look for you four traveling in a motor car."

"Oh, this is perfect, an auror using a muggle car to drive to his next assignment—"

"No one is forcing you to go, you bloody idiot!" Remus' voice rose to a near shout effectively shutting Sirius up. The werewolf surged to his feet, his amber eyes more golden than Harry had ever seen. "If we decide to take a car, we'll take a fucking car, and you can walk your damn self!" Remus flexed his fingers, as though considering strangling Sirius. Then he apparently decided better of it, and stalked from the room, leaving a shocked silence in his wake.

"Brilliant, Sirius," James said once Remus was gone, shooting the taller man an annoyed look.

"Oh, shod off," Sirius snapped, though he looked unsettled. He leaned against the fireplace ledge, frowning darkly.

"You know how he is right before a full moon," Lily said reproachfully as she stood, "You should know better than to push him!" She left the room as well, apparently deciding to go after Remus.

There was a stretched silence. Willow looked long bored with the whole thing and was curled up against the arm of the chair, staring in the flames, looking lost in deep thought. In the firelight, her hair was golden and light danced in her eyes. But she seemed melancholy and tired. Harry wondered if it had anything to do with what happened with the dementors.

Snape seemed to be enjoying the spat. He was leaned back in his chair and his arms were folded over his chest. He was smirking darkly and his eyes studied the occupants of the room with sharp intensity.

Harry leaned back against the couch again, sighing softly. He knew that most of the tension that was in this house right now was because of him and the guilt returned, his scar suddenly prickling with pain. He winced, gritting his teeth in an effort to not draw attention to himself.

And then he remembered. He remembered the vision he had seen yesterday. Or some of what he had seen. The room had been dark and the large, bay window on the far side of the room showed that it was storming outside. Both Voldemorts had been there and another man as well, but the room had been so dark, he couldn't remember making out a recognizable face. But they were torturing him and his agonizing screams were making the room vibrate. And the Voldemorts were laughing as they took turns.

And then the door had flown open and the room had flooded with white light. The tortured man remained in darkness and another figure entered the room. Small, bent over with a mousy face and greasy, thinning hair. He said something and Harry couldn't remember but both Voldemorts had gotten angry and then they were arguing first in low, hissing voices and then they started shouting, shooting spells at each other in such a fast succession the colors of the curses blended together.

"Hey, you all right?" James broke through Harry's hazy memory. He realized he was trembling. The room came back into focus.

"I'm fine," Harry answered automatically. "Just-just cold…"

"I'll add another log to the fire," the older Harry offered as he stood and he fished a large log from a metal container and carefully placed it into the dying flames. He stoked the flames for a moment and then settled back down onto the couch. Harry realized that they had been planning again, and he had been so lost in his thoughts, that he hadn't heard a word.

"Better?" asked James, unaware of Harry's internal struggle. He slung an arm along the back of the couch and over Harry's shoulder, pulling him closer to James' side. Harry stiffened at the contact, uncomfortable by the gesture, but James paid him no mind.

"So can we all agree on the car, then?" asked the older Harry, eyeing Sirius as though daring him to object. The man rolled his eyes and spread his hands in a defeated sort of gesture.

"Look, mates, I have nothing against, muggles. I really don't! Hell, I've had my fair share of muggle girls in bed—"

"Ugh," the older Harry groaned.

"—I still think this idea is insane, but if that's what the major decision is, I'll be there."

"That really was hard for you, wasn't it?"

"Watch it there, kid! You may be my godson, but that doesn't mean I won't knock you into next week."

The older Harry made a funny face, "Oh no, I'm terrified."

Sirius grinned, "Not yet, you're not."

"But we digress," James cut in. "Remus knows how to drive, but we need…"

James' voice became a mild buzz in the back of Harry's head. So much had happened today. He felt like a human pendulum, except instead of swinging to and fro between two separate emotions, Harry had swung through a multitude. He had never really thought of himself as an emotional person and he blamed the whole swapping universes on it. Was there such thing as 'jet-lag' that included traveling to another world? Harry was sure there was. As he began to nod off, he felt James' arm tighten around him and found it didn't bother him.

He didn't know how long he had been asleep, but movement under the side of his face made him blearily open his eyes. It took him a moment to gather his bearings. He had fallen asleep with his head slumped against James' shoulder and when he realized this, he straightened fast, praying to any kind of god that he hadn't drooled.

"Sorry," James whispered. "My arm was falling asleep. Everyone else has gone up to bed."

Harry nodded, feeling muddled and off balance from suddenly being woken. He blinked, rubbing at the sore spots on his face where his glasses had dug in.

"Come on," said James. "Let's go to bed before you fall back asleep. There's no way I'm carrying you—I'd break my back."

Maybe he was teasing, but Harry was so tired that he just nodded again, attempting to flatten his haphazard hair. James took him by the arm and helped him to his feet. Together they ascended the stairs in comfortable silence. Once they reached the guest room, James seemed to become awkward.

"Well," he rubbed the back of his head. "Make sure you go straight to sleep—don't stay up or anything."

Harry nodded.

"Ok then," he ruffled Harry's hair. "Night."

Still in a daze, Harry let James shut the bedroom door. He stumbled through the room in search for his pajamas. Once he was changed, he collapsed on his bed and buried himself under the covers, forgetting to take off his glasses.

That night, Harry slept so deeply, he didn't dream.

---

So there! A slightly happier chapter! Yay!

Songs that inspired:

"Whisper" by A Fine Frenzy-this song inspired the scene where Harry was given birthday gifts and he is torn between the loyalties to both worlds. Didn't write out like I saw it in my head but that's okay.

Please review, it makes me happy.