Chapter Three: Not-Really Family Reunions

Morning found Harry dutifully cooking breakfast, as per usual, for the Dursleys. Though his mind was not completely engrossed with the task, he knew better than to let it distract him and ruin the food.

Then, just after he had finished buttering the toast, there were two successions of rapt knocking on the door. Harry's heart clenched; he couldn't let himself get too hopeful! Yet, he knew that the Dursleys always made sure that no-one ever turned up uninvited, so they'd be able to make sure that Harry wasn't visible.

It could just be a coincidence that his letter had shown up just the day before, right?

Uncle Vernon grunted at his "Pet-Flower" to tend to the door, and Harry could hear the click of the door opening and the obvious disagreement that followed as his aunt screeched heatedly at whoever was on the other side. He strained his ears as he tried to listen to the conversation whilst simultaneously tending to the breakfast; he'd gotten quite good at multitasking, over the years.

"...No, Lily! No, I told you that if I were to take him in he'd have no part in such freakishness, I told you!"

Harry's heart sped up...were they talking about him? They must be. Who else would his aunt be referring to?

"Tuney...My son...have a right...his letter…" this was another female voice; speaking softly but with clear anger and impatience. Harry almost dropped the toast as he carried it towards Dudley and Uncle Vernon; Dudley who was eating sweets looking unconcerned and Vernon who was getting more and more plum faced by the minute.

Harry heard a venom laced "Fine!" from his aunt being spat as she moved out of the way to let two people through.

His heart sped up as he caught sight of the strangers…

At the forefront was a handsome, dark haired man, his messy hair long and untamed, his features sharp and his warm hazel eyes wide beneath wiry spectacles. He wore an odd style of clothing, coloured deep red and sort of like a toga; the hem reaching down towards his ankles and long sleeves that extended slightly past his hands.

The woman behind him had pale skin and angular features, her vivid red hair tumbling past her waist and her almond shaped green eyes, which, though not as bright as Harry's, were still strongly expressive. She wore normal clothing compared to her husband; pale blue jeans and a flowery blouse.

Harry stood, open jawed and wide eyed as he looked at the people who were, without a doubt, his parents. He could recognise Lily from the one old photograph he possessed of her, albeit in one which she was depicted as a child of roughly fifteen.

He could see the term "My parents", which previously were just words that carried with them strong emotions, bleary figures in the back of his mind from old, old memories of his childhood, suddenly sharpen with clarity.

My parents, who he'd dreamed about since he was one years old.

My parents, who he was told were dead.

He couldn't move, he couldn't, he was stuck to the spot, he was going to faint, he was.

My parents are alive, my parents are alive, they're alive, they're fucking alive, a mantra that coursed through his head as he stared at them in shock, greedily drinking up their features.

He wasn't sure how, exactly, he felt.

He was sad, happy, angry and more emotions that he, as a ten year old, couldn't name; he wasn't even Harry in that moment, he was a storm of raw, unadulterated emotion and the singular thought My parents are alive.

Vernon stood angrily in front of a cowering Dudley, looking as if unsure as to whether or not to direct his fury towards Harry, the man, or the woman (Lily?), or to comfort his son, who was hovering over his pile of confectionery protectively.

"Just what," he spluttered, "My house! I'll have none of that...In here! That boy!" His rage was so strong it seemed that he was unable to string together coherent sentences.

Petunia stood to the side, radiating clear loathing for the couple who stood in front of her, her horse like features bared in something akin to a snarl.

The man grinned at Vernon, his eyes alight and mischievous as he reached out his hand towards him in a gesture of supposed goodwill. "Ah, you must be Vernon Dursley! Pleasure, pleasure. The name's James Potter."

Lily swatted at her husbands shoulders halfheartedly; she could recognise when he was less than saintly in his intentions. "James," she hissed.

Harry stood as still as he could, barely breathing, continually shell-shocked. His parents, Lily and James Potter (God, God those were their names! Harry now had names to the solitary figures that he'd unconditionally, irrevocably loved without fail despite what was being said about them. Harry had only ever heard them being referred to by his aunt as 'lowlifes', 'drunkards', or 'Freaks'), were here, in Number Four Privet Drive.

So many questions, Harry couldn't even begin to think of them all. Why did they abandon him?, and variations of this question stood prominent. Was it because they didn't want him, or were they forced to give him up?

Presently James (Harry briefly pondered referring to him as "Dad" in his head, but then decided against it; he didn't want to set himself up for disappointment) James retracted his hand when Vernon refused to let his own meaty hands grasp them.

"Now, where's Harry? We presume that you've all seen the letter? We're on a tight schedule, y'see, we really need to pick Liam up…" Ignoring Vernon's indigent squawks, James craned his head, looking around presumably for Harry. He cast a hesitantly distasteful look towards Dudley, but Lily shook her head at him in silent disagreement.

Head spinning, nearly breathless, Harry stepped out of the shadows wherein he'd previously been cowering uncertainly in. Ignoring Vernon's hissed threats and Petunias glares, even though he knew that he would be in trouble, in so much damn trouble when they left, Harry gave a hesitant smile towards the couple, trying to straighten out his hair slightly, even though James's hair was way worse in comparison.

"Hi," he said, nearly curling in on himself.

James and Lily looked at the child, their child, in front of them. He was a small, unassuming thing, in comparison to his twin counterpart who was all big bones and confident stature.

He was dressed scruffily in rags that were way too large on him, and was pale as a sheet, like he'd never seen sunlight before.

The boy, Harry James Potter, had emerald green eyes with the slightest flecks of gold, that shone with emotion and were unnervingly luminous. They were bespectacled by circular glasses that had been broken and fixed many times with a muggle adhesive known as Sello-Tape. His hair, black as night, was like his father's; hopelessly untamed even as he attempted to give it some semblance to neatness.

Lily smiled softly in a detached sort of way towards the boy who could have been her own, had she wished it to be so. She knew that she had to be the mother Liam needed and that she couldn't afford to dedicate her time to anyone else other than her husband, so why, in Merlin's name, was she feeling guilty? Lily suppressed the feeling as soon as it arose, she knew it would be no good to dwell on these things, she was just here to pick the boy up, and then, then she could forget, even though he would live in her familys' home…

"Hello, Harry," she said quietly, feeling an inexplicable urge to embrace him but deciding against it at the last minute. She instead chose to lay a hand on his shoulder, and felt an indescribable emotion when he violently flinched away from him, seemingly as a product of habit.

The signs were all there, the skittishness, the thin frame, the used clothing...yet, either consciously or subconsciously, the two decided to ignore what screamed at them right in front of their faces, for they could not bear to be wrong.

James spared an amicable grin for Harry, as though they hadn't just met him, as though Harry didn't have a million and one questions. "Harry, great!… Go 'n get your things, we'll be leaving soon!"

Harry looked at James, equal parts confused and hopeful. "L-Leaving? W-What...I mean...They told me you were dead!" He was so frustrated he didn't stop to consider the consequences of speaking out of turn or raising his voice...but, then again, James Potter didn't seem the sort to hand out punishments, so it was easier to forget in comparison to being faced with, say, Uncle Vernon.

James turned towards Vernon, frowning.

"Is this true?" he asked, his tone mildly threatening. He didn't like that his sons victory was forgoned.

It was Petunia who answered, her pent up frustration finally released: "Yes! Yes, okay, we told the boy that his parents died in a car crash, and they might as well have been for all you cared! Nine years, nine bloody years we kept this boy, fed and clothed him and tried to squash the freakishness inside him! Nine years and you never contacted him, never stopped by, what were supposed to tell him?! Take him the fuck with you and don't you dare bring him back after he's corrupted by that freak s-school like you were!"

By the end of tirade, Harry's Aunt was flushed and breathless in a most Un-Petunia like way. Harry watched with a detached morbid fascination.

"Oh, Tuney-" Lily began sadly, realising where her sisters reproach for anything magical came from.

"No! No, Lily Potter," She spat the name out like it was acid on her tongue. "You have five minutes to take that boy and your-your husband! Away from my family. We shan't be tainted by the likes of you any more!"

She said the last sentence with an air of finality before turning around and walking out of the kitchen, muttering obscenities underneath her breath.

Uncle Vernon looked torn between staying with Dudley, who was now continuing eating his sweets piggishly and unabashedly, and running off after his wife.

Lily was staring at in frustration at the direction her sister had just left in. James continued to be oblivious, as he turned towards Harry who didn't really know what to think. It was true that his parents had abandoned him, but they must have had a good reason, right? Right?

He certainly couldn't think of anything a one-year old would have done to cause their parents to leave them alone for ten years. Anyway, it's not as if Harry had much of a choice in the matter; Aunt Petunia had made it very, very clear that he wasn't welcome anymore at Number Four Privet Drive underneath any certain terms, and like hell Harry was going to turn his mysterious parents down, anywhere was better than here.

James said to Harry rather brightly: "Righto then, kiddo. Pack your bags and we'll give you some time to say goodbye to your -um- family," He looked at Uncle Vernon and Dudley with obvious disgust as Lily once again swatted him lightly, "and then we'll take you home!"

Home. Harry wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Home was a somewhat foreign concept to him; it was either the Dursley's house or the cupboard...Home insinuated somewhere where he felt comfortable and safe, and indeed Harry had never had a home before. The closest he could ever say he felt home was when he was reading books, and yes, Harry did realize how pathetic that was.

So...this man, James Potter, offering him, the freak who was a burden, who no one would ever, could ever, want, a home? Harry felt that he was entitled to being skeptical. But still...He could try. If he kept in mind not to become too attached, not to give too much of himself to an equation doomed to fail, since Harry Potter and positive words like happiness, success and loved, did not go in the same sentence.

(Oh, If only Harry knew, back then, knew how heavily he'd fail at distancing himself emotionally, and that from the first time the couple stepped through the door at Number Four Privet Drive they possessed every emotional advantage over him, a gaping weakness within his seemingly unbreakable armour)

The boy gave another hesitant smile in answer to the blinding one given to him by James. "Y-Yes,... sir?" It came out as a question as Harry fidgeted slightly, unsure as to what to call his biological father by aloud.

James, for the first time since entering, showed physical discomfort, and even Lily winced slightly. He turned towards his wife in askance and then turned towards his son again. "Call me...Call me Dad? No, not Dad," for even he could figure out that they would never quite be father and son, not that he desired it to be so, after all, he had his hands quite full with Liam.

But if Harry was to be living with them, then he couldn't address him so formally. "Call me James." And then he grinned happily again, as though nothing were wrong.

Either the man had an iron grip over his emotions, or he was just painfully oblivious.

Harry blanched slightly as James as good as told him that he didn't want Harry as a son. Well, fine then, Harry didn't particularly want a dad who abandoned him for nine years without an explanation. But still, the option of declination would've been appreciated.

"Okay, James," Harry rectified, testing the name on his tongue.

It actually tasted quite sour, come to think of it. He hesitated slightly, and then edged past Lily who was hovering with uncertainty, and practically ran past Uncle Vernon just in case he decided to try something.

After he escaped from the kitchen, he scuttled cautiously towards the cupboard, not wanting his not-quite-parents to know where he was sleeping- in case they didn't already know, keeping where the letter was addressed in mind.

He grappled around for the small knapsack that he used when he had to stay over at Mrs Figg, the residual crazy cat lady (before she'd passed away), when Dudley and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon went on trips.

Harry packed all of his clothes; which consisted of three faded t-shirts, two pairs of jeans and four pairs of odd socks, all of them Dudley cast offs, naturally. He then, after a moment of consideration, packed his small "treasures" which he had accumulated over the years, which were a few books, a tattered analogue wrist watch which he had salvaged from the rubbish bin after watching Dudley throw it away; a worn down photograph of his mum which he had also found in the rubbish bin after his Aunt had him clean out the attic (he briefly considered setting this on fire, in an act of petty rebelliousness, but then decided not to until he heard the explanation as to why his parents allowed him to think them dead, which better be mighty good) and finally his Hogwarts letter, which he decided to stuff in the bottom of his bag.

Harry surveyed the cupboard, knowing, hoping, that he wouldn't see it again, at least not for a long time. He looked at the folded bedspread, which had been torn and mended many a time, that hadn't been replaced since he was three years old and must've been, at one point, white, but was now completely a rusty brown color due to all the blood that had been washed off and then reapplied over the years.

Harry then spared a single, though bittersweet in nature, smile for the small spiders that had come to be his only friends over the years, and incidentally perhaps the only thing he would miss about this damn place. Zipping the misshapen duffel shut, he slung the thing over his shoulders as he shut the cupboard door behind him.

He timidly walked back to the kitchen, where Lily and James stood, almost awkwardly, as they were waiting for him. Uncle Vernon was decidedly ignoring the two of them as he ate (read: attacked) his now cold breakfast, and Dudley was whining to no one in particular that he wanted more sweets, with Lily almost imperceptibly sending questioning, borderline disgusted glances towards him, making no move to offer conversation with her nephew.

"Ready, Harry?" she asked, who looked more than happy to leave after the disastrous confrontation with her sister.

Harry gave an apprehensive nod, shifting from foot to foot, as he himself was ready to say farewell to the blasted half-life he'd lived 'till now.

"Well, I'll just let you say your goodbyes then. We'll be waiting in the car."

Lily smiled at him as she nodded towards James, who was striding eagerly out the kitchen faster than a ghost could say boo. Lily gave a slightly apologetic look towards the occupants of the house currently in the kitchen, before gliding out, no less enthusiastically, after her partner.

Uncle Vernon gave a single of his nastiest glares that he usually reserved for when he'd had the worst days at work towards the direction they departed in, and then turned towards Harry, who blanched, and then took to the urge to cower in a corner. After all, those glares were usually the last thing he saw before the world blurred around the edges, and all he knew was pain, pain, pain.

Vernon grinned wolfishly at Harry, speaking softly, yet with a sense of urgency…

"Oh, Boy...You think that this'll be your happily ever after, do you now? Think that your new family will whisk you away from the naughty Dursley's, and that you'll tell the rest of those freaks how we treated you, hmm? Think that they'll come after us and you'll get your revenge? Well... THINK AGAIN!"

Harry jumped at the sudden volume of his voice, as Vernon roared the last two words, and then calmed down slightly as he carried on in that same even tone.

"They don't care about you Boy." He continued condescendingly, his voice slightly pitying, bordering on mocking, as one would address a dog who they knew lack the intellect to grasp the intensity of the situation.

"They don't give a shit, y'know? They prefer your brother over you; one twin over another. Rather sad, isn't it?" He said, in a tone of voice that made it seem as though he thought the opposite.

Harry let out a slight gasp at this, light headed, still frozen in fear; he had a brother; a twin! A twin brother, a twin brother.

Vernon let out a low chuckle that sent shivers down Harry's spine before continuing: "Yes...Your brother. Defeated some poncey Dark Lord or another, he did, and they abandoned you, let some old coot throw you at our doorstep without more than a letter of warning... So, like it or not, you owe us, Boy: you belong to us, you always will, and let me tell you, you won't breathe. A. Single. Fucking. Word. About anything we may or may not have done to you...I mean, more than likely they won't even give a shit, perhaps they'd even thank us, seeing as you'll likely be no more than a freak even among your lot,"

It obviously took a lot out of his Uncle to refer to them as a whole at all even without speaking the sole term 'wizard.'

"Anyway...just thought I'd give you a little present, a reminder, if you may, before you left."

Vernon let out an evil grin, and Dudley seemed to take a more active interest in what was going on with vindictive pleasure, more than happy to give his father a helping hand.

Harry flinched violently and briefly considered fleeing to the relative safety of James and Lily, before deciding against it, as Vernon's size and eagerness would trump over his own speed and reflexes. The child could only curl in on himself in a poor attempt to brace his body for what was to come.