AN: Chapter 1 has been rewritten extensively, in line with the feedback I have received. While no major plot changes has been made, I've changed a lot about how Harry reacts to things. If you haven't read the updated version, I highly recommend giving it a skim, at least! There's a short duel in the beginning that I'm pretty proud of.
Chapter 2
The Offer
A gushing stream of water drizzled down his forehead, trickling down his face and into the pillow. Harry thought this was very strange, since he didn't remember sleeping with his head under a waterfall. As the events of the previous day echoed in his mind, he sat up suddenly, whipping his wand out.
On his bedside, a floating head appeared, showing the startled face of the girl he had seen yesterday: Lily Potter's daughter. Her hand appeared out of nowhere, a finger hovering in front of her lips. Harry straightened his glasses, blinking at the sight in front of him. Having only just woken up, it took him several seconds to register what he was seeing.
"What-"
"Shh!"
She tip-toed across towards the curtain, opened it slightly and peeked through. Seemingly satisfied, she turned to glare at him sternly, reminding him strongly of Madam Pince.
"Don't you know how difficult it is to sneak past Pomfrey, even with an invisibility cloak?" she demanded in a whisper. "I prodded you for like thirty minutes and you didn't even move, alright? I had to use Aguamenti to wake you up."
Realising she was no threat to him, he pointed his wand towards the curtain instead. "Muffliato," he fired. "You can talk freely now."
She gaped at the curtain, before turning back towards him. "Haven't heard that spell before," she said. "But I haven't got much time, so I'll hold on to your word that it works. Okay - what the hell is going on?"
Harry coughed, pointing at his soaked hair and the puddle that had formed in his pillow. The girl scoffed and waved her wand lazily. A second later, everything was dry. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, looking at him expectantly. "Well?"
"Look - it's Elizabeth, right?"
She nodded. "But everyone calls me Liza."
"Right, Liza," he said. "Your mother hasn't told you anything?"
"Not a single knut," said Liza. "All I know is, Madam Pomfrey woke me up in the middle of the night, telling me to go to the Hospital Wing and to bring my invisibility cloak. Then, mum's there and she's crying, and she wouldn't tell me what's going on except 'a miracle just happened.' Then dad appeared and he had this big argument with Dumbledore, and I was sent back to my dorms! You must know what's going on, right?"
"Look," he said. "I don't know how much I can tell you."
Truth be told, he couldn't be bothered for a repeat of yesterday. He was far too sleepy still to try to convince her of his story. It would be far easier if Lily or Dumbledore told her instead.
"Who are you, anyway?" she said. "You look right around my age. You a student? But no, you can't be - I haven't seen you before-"
"Know everyone here, do you?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Yes I do."
She narrowed her eyes at him. He chose not to say another word, instead taking a sip of water from a glass set on the bedside cabinet
"You're a Potter," she accused. "aren't you?"
"No."
"Come on, you look so much like my dad if he was younger," said Liza. When he didn't reply once more, she shook her head. "Okay, I'll stop bullshitting - don't have the time. I have it on good authority that your name is Harry Potter. Why, exactly, are you named after my dead brother?"
He tried to stop the surprise from showing in his face. How did she know? Perhaps she overheard them yesterday, though surely Dumbledore was savvy enough to use a privacy charm. But what else could it be?
The realisation hit him. Of course. She was the daughter of Lily Potter, after all. He would have done the same thing! For a moment, he considered what to do with this information. The kneazle was already out of the bag, and it probably wouldn't hurt to have a bit of fun.
"Ah," he said, leaning back and crossing his arms. "And you'll know this from the Marauder's Map, I assume?"
There was a gleam of triumph in her face, before dropping completely. "Wait, how do you-?"
The curtain swept open. Swiftly, Liza disappeared under her invisibility cloak just as Dumbledore entered. Harry had learned first hand that Dumbledore could see under Invisibility Cloaks, but he didn't say a word, choosing instead to greet the Headmaster.
"Good morning, Harry," said Dumbledore. He conjured a stool beside the bed and took a seat. "I must say, I did not expect to see you awake this early. I was under the impression you were under some rather potent Dreamless Sleep potions." Judging from the twinkle in his eyes, he knew very well what - or, rather, who - woke Harry up. "Nevertheless, did you rest well?"
Harry nodded.
"Good," he said. "Because we do have a lot to discuss. How did the talk with The Unspeakables go? I trust it went well?"
"It was fine, I suppose," he said. "I had thought it would be a bit more… exciting, but they just asked me about history and magical theory."
"Yes, there are scarcely any subjects they are more interested in than the theory of magic," said Dumbledore. "I suspect finding inconsistencies in the magic between the two worlds would prove to be useful in their research, especially on the quest to prove Waffling's Universality Conjecture - but then, even without the dimension travel, they must have found you sufficiently interesting indeed…"
Dumbledore seemed to be talking more to himself than Harry, staring curiously at the scar in his forehead. "But I digress. I expect you have a myriad of questions, and I shall do my best to answer them all."
"Voldemort," he said. "Is he truly dead here?"
"Yes," he said. Seemingly knowing what Harry was about to say, he continued: "and so are his Horcruxes. Indeed, I have spent the decade after Voldemort's defeat tracking down and destroying them. Rest assured, Lord Voldemort is dead for good. And I am certain, Harry, that the same could be said for the Voldemort in your world."
Harry's heart fluttered at the reminder. He wasn't sure how Dumbledore could be so confidently optimistic.
"Perhaps," he said vaguely. "But how did it happen here? How did Voldemort die?"
"I assume you are aware of the Prophecy?" asked Dumbledore. "Then you must know that the Prophecy could have applied to either The Potters' son, or The Longbottoms'. Months after he attacked Godric's Hollow, Voldemort laid siege on Longbottom Manor, having finally conquered their Fidelius Charm with dark magic. The Longbottoms called for The Order at once, and there was a battle which ultimately led to Voldemort's defeat. You must know that The Potters were instrumental to his defeat."
They were interrupted by Madam Pomfrey, who entered holding a large, wooden tray, on which sat an array of foods: a bowl of cereal, a cup of pumpkin juice, and a stack of fruits. The tray hovered above his lap, shaking slightly with every nudge. He thanked the mediwitch, who gave Dumbledore a sharp look as she left.
Dumbledore chuckled. "Please, Harry, eat, lest I suffer Poppy's wrath," said Dumbledore. "Now, speaking about The Potters… As it stands, I have talked with The Potters last night and they have agreed to offer you a place within their home."
"They did?" he asked.
He was surprised they would treat him so, especially after seeing Lily's reaction yesterday.
"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "In fact, James insisted on seeing you yesterday, though you were still deep in conversation with The Unspeakables at that time. They would very much like to help as you gather your bearings in this world."
"I don't - I don't want to impose," he said, after swallowing a strawberry. "I mean, they've already got a family, haven't they? I could find somewhere else…"
He knew in his heart, though, that there was nowhere else. He had no money, so he couldn't even stay at The Leaky Cauldron. It was late June already, and Hogwarts was closed for the summer, so he couldn't stay at Hogwarts. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, presumably thinking the same thing. He was lucky the Potters were kind enough to do this, but even so…
"I'm not their son," he said. "They're not my parents, either. And I'm not a kid, I'm of age - if they're doing this out of a misplaced sense of obligation-"
"But why would such a sense be misplaced?" asked Dumbledore. "You may not truly be their son, but why would it make their concern for you any less valid? Indeed, I might argue this makes their concern more genuine, more selfless…"
He paused to let Harry ponder his words.
"I'm not sure, Professor-"
The curtain rolled open, revealing the face of Lily Potter. Harry was struck at once by how similar she looked to her daughter, except Liza had black hair. He briefly wondered whether Liza, like him, got comments on how similar she looked to her parents.
"Harry," she greeted. She was much more composed than yesterday, a kind smile on her face, but there was a slight hint of nervousness in her expression. "Albus talked with me - and suffice to say, I believe you now. I apologise for how I reacted yesterday, I probably didn't make the greatest first impression-"
"It's fine," he said quickly. "I would've acted the same way if my parents suddenly appeared in my world… I'm sorry for knocking you out in the duel, though. I tried to tell you I didn't mean any harm…"
Lily smiled at him. "Yes, we apologise for that - Minerva and I were rather rattled, seeing a man appear out of nowhere, in the middle of the night. I was quite impressed with your duelling skills, actually. You must have had some practice."
"Something like that, yes," he said dryly.
"I was just telling Harry of your offer, Lily," said Dumbledore.
"Ah, yes," said Lily. "Harry, Albus told me the Unspeakables will sort the legalities out for you, but… you presumably don't have any money yet, nor qualifications and a home. James and I would like to help in any way we can, including offering you a place to stay."
"I don't want to be a burden, Mrs Potter-"
"Lily is fine," she said firmly. "But James and I insist. You would not be a burden at all. We have a spare bedroom that no one uses, and we would very much appreciate your company. James always likes it when the house is busier."
Harry hesitated. If The Potters really wanted him to stay there, then who was he to say no? It's not like there was another alternative. He supposed he could go camping and live off of the woods, but he had had enough of that the past year.
He couldn't rely on The Potters forever, though; he needed to find a job. While he didn't have his NEWTs yet, The Unspeakables will send him his official OWL results soon. His marks were decent enough to find a simple job somewhere in Diagon Alley. Then, after graduating, he could move out and repay the Potters for their help…
"If you and Mr Potter really don't mind," he said slowly. "I guess I could stay for the summer. I still have to do my final year at Hogwarts."
"Great!" said Lily, looking elated. "Today's the last day of the term, so James will be picking you up this morning by broom. I told him to use the Floo, but he insisted on flying. Never misses a chance to fly, James."
"But can I attend Hogwarts directly into my seventh year?" he asked Dumbledore. "Everyone starts from first year, right? I haven't seen a transfer student before…"
"It can be arranged," said Dumbledore. "You certainly won't be the first student to transfer into Hogwarts. Hogwarts also has free tuition, so there is no need for you to worry on that front. Your NEWT classes will be selected based on your OWLs. I assume the Unspeakables have…?"
Harry nodded.
"Good," said Dumbledore. He looked down at his watch. "But I suppose that is all, Harry. Do not hesitate to send me an owl if you have any inquiries, anything at all. I look forward to meeting you next term. Lily, shall we make our way to the Great Hall?"
"Actually, I need to give this back to Harry," said Lily. From her pocket, she pulled out his Invisibility Cloak, putting it on the desk beside him. "When I first saw you with the Cloak, I thought it looked awfully familiar to Liza's - the cloak that's been passed through generations upon generations of Potters…
"Even after everything Albus told me, I still didn't quite believe it, until I compared your cloak to Liza's. They were identical, with the same magical signature, which should not remotely be possible… I knew then that it was true. You're my son. I know it's not the same, but I'd still like to get to know you."
He felt a surge of discomfort when she called him his son, but his heart swelled nonetheless at her words.
"I'd like that too," he said stiffly.
For a fleeting moment, he thought Lily would embrace him, but she just leaned forward and patted his hand. "Albus told me there was no way for you to go back," she said, so quiet it was almost like a whisper. "I'm sorry, this must be very strange and terrifying for you. Your parents must be so worried. I know I would be."
He hesitated, but he knew what happened to his alternate self - it was only right that she knew what happened to her alternate self, as well.
"My parents died when I was one," he said lightly. Not wanting this to quickly turn to a pity party, he continued: "But I'll be fi-"
"When you were one?" asked Lily, dawning horror eclipsing her face. She glanced at his scar and swayed slightly.
"Really, I'll be fine Mrs Potter - Lily," said Harry. "I'll miss my friends and they'll probably miss me - well, hopefully, I'd be a terrible friend otherwise - but I'll be fine."
Lily didn't seem to be listening to him. She closed her eyes as if in great pain, and gripped his hand tightly. After a moment, she let go and put on a reassuring smile. It did not reach her eyes.
"We must go," she said shakily. She turned towards Dumbledore, who was looking away politely. "I'll tell James to meet you at Hogsmeade in an hour. You do know how to get to Hogsmeade, right?"
He nodded, and the two Professors left soon after. Feeling rather dazed, he continued eating. After a year of scavenging for food, every bite brought an explosion of mouthwatering flavour in his mouth.
A floating head appeared beside him, and he jumped in shock. Thankfully, his tray didn't flip over, instead floating towards the roof like a balloon. Liza Potter fully took off her invisibility cloak, an awed expression on her face.
He jumped when a floating head appeared beside him. Thankfully, his tray didn't flip over, instead floating towards the roof like a balloon. Liza Potter fully took off her invisibility cloak, an awed expression on her face.
"It's true, then?" she asked, bewildered. "You come from another world? This isn't some joke Mum's pulling on me?"
"You're still here!?" exclaimed Harry. He was reaching for his tray, but it was too far up. "I thought you left earlier - what-"
"You're my brother," she said.
"Well-"
"Is it true there's a Prophecy? You're in the Prophecy? That's why Voldemort came after mum and dad?"
He was now kneeling up, stretching his hand towards the tray. With great effort, he caught the tray right before it hit the roof. Pulling it down carefully, he glanced at Liza, considering how best to answer her question.
"Er, yes-"
"That's wicked!" she said. "Of course Neville's a part of the prophecy - he meant Neville, right, by the Longbottoms' son? I don't think Neville has any cousins his age - but how did you get here? I didn't know it was possible to go through worlds!"
"It's complicated," he said, feeling rather overwhelmed.
Liza gaped at him, her mouth forming a perfect O. This felt very familiar to Harry, the Boy Who Lived. It didn't mean he had to feel comfortable with it, though.
"I thought you said you had no time," he pointed out.
"Oh, shit, yeah, I haven't finished packing," she said. "But you'll be at home, yeah? You can answer all my questions then?"
"Sure," he said wryly.
She nodded at him, before putting on her invisibility cloak and slipping away through the curtain.
Slightly bewildered, Harry finished his meal quickly. The tray disappeared with a pop right as he discarded it to the side. He got off the bed, stretching his stiff, achy body.
Exiting the confines of the curtain, he expected to see Pomfrey. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of a tall young woman, sorting a stack of potions on Pomfrey's desk. Her blonde hair was set in a bun, highlighting her sharp cheekbones.
"Hello," she said, blinking. "You're Madam Pomfrey's mystery patient, are you?"
"Yeah," he said. "Where is she, anyway?"
"Madam Pomfrey is busy, I'm afraid," she said curtly, scowling as she opened a drawer on the desk. From it, she pulled out a small, leather sack. "Here. She told me to give this to you."
Harry strolled towards the desk, racking his brain to remember who she was. He was sure he had seen her before, in his old world, but he couldn't think of a name. He couldn't even remember where he had seen her. Was she a student? Was she a Healer at St. Mungos? No, she seemed a tad too young for that…
"There are seven Dreamless Sleep potions in there," she said as he took the sack. "These are only to be taken whenever you feel it necessary. There are also four Eximometus Draughts, to be taken once a week for a month. These are to treat symptoms of spell shock… and, finally, five Calming Draughts, taken whenever you feel the needt."
She peered at him curiously, as if wondering why he needed all these potions.
To avoid the inevitable questioning, he quickly changed the subject. He motioned at the stacks of vials on the desk. "What're these for?"
"Never you mind," she snapped. "Now, remember not to overuse your Dreamless Sleep potions and Calming Draughts. The side effects of overdosing on these potions don't tend to be pleasant; they are meant to be used sparingly."
"Right, thanks," said Harry. He was about to turn and leave, but he couldn't help satiate his curiosity. "Are you a student here, by any chance?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm shadowing Madam Pomfrey, at the moment." Seemingly taking his questioning as an open invitation for her to reciprocate, she asked: "What about you? Madam Pomfrey wouldn't tell me who you were, but you seem young enough to be a student. Though I don't believe I have seen you before."
"I'm a - er, transfer student," he said. "Seventh year. I'll be starting next term, though. Just had to sort some stuff out with Dumbledore."
"We shall be in the same year, then," she said. Judging from her look, she seemed well aware he was not telling the full story. "I'm Greengrass. Daphne Greengrass."
Ah, Greengrass - that was it. She had been a Slytherin in his year, part of Pansy Parkinson's little gang. He didn't think he had ever uttered a single word to her before. They were in completely different social circles, and Greengrass was not nearly as loud or confrontational enough to garner his attention, unlike Malfoy or Parkinson.
Greengrass was waving impatiently at someone behind him, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Well, come in, then!"
A girl wearing Hufflepuff robes was loitering by the door. At Greengrass' orders, she waddled nervously towards them, eyes set firmly on the floor. "Hello. I - um - I need the - um -"
"Moon potions?" asked Greengrass lightly. The girl nodded fervently, scarlet spreading up her neck. "Go on, then, take some."
She snatched a handful of the vials from the desk, pushing them down her pocket. "Thank you, Miss!" she yelped out, before jogging out of the room.
Harry snickered. She looked at him and smirked.
"What?" she asked dryly. "Do you want some for yourself?"
He barked out a laugh. "No, I think I'm good," he said. "Nice to meet you, though. I'm Harry. Thanks for the potions. Say thanks to Pomfrey for me"
The Hogwarts Corridors were uncharacteristically devoid of activity, its usual inhabitants occupied with either last minute packing or breakfast. Nobody wanted to miss their last meal at Hogwarts, after all.
It occurred to him that this was the first time he was truly alone since he had arrived in this strange world. This only made his lingering turmoil grow, like a swelling of weight on his shoulders. He felt the urge to barge into the Great Hall at once, to perhaps catch a glimpse of Ron and Hermione, and most of all, Ginny…
He ignored the urge, burying it deep below his mind. Ron, Hermione and Ginny did not know him here, and who was to say they were similar to the friends that he knew? But just like Dumbledore was still the slightly barmy genius here, surely some things stayed the same… He could see no world where Hermione was stupid, for instance, or where Ron was unfunny, or where Ginny was bad at Quidditch. These must be universal constants.
Not for the first time, he wondered how they were doing, back in his old world. Perhaps they had defeated Voldemort by now. If so, he wondered who it was that delivered the last blow. Morbidly, he thought about what would happen to his body. How would his friends react, upon seeing his limp form? How would Ginny…?
He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw at the thought. Ginny's blazing look had been his last thought in his old world, when he was sure he would die. They had reunited at last, only to part ways forever. He suddenly regretted not saying goodbye to her, to Ron and Hermione, and to the rest of his friends. He had feared that if he stopped to say his goodbyes, he would have not wanted to leave, that his bravery would have faded upon seeing what he would miss. If only there had been any other way to remove the Horcrux in his head-
Harry felt something hit his foot, and he stumbled head-first into the ground with a crash. Gathering his senses, he pushed himself up to look at who was responsible, his fists clenched. He spotted the perpetrator: the infamous mischievous armour stand of the third floor corridor, who was known to extend its leg to trip passerbys. Although Harry was invisible, the armour stand had no problem pointing right at him and cackling.
For some reason, the way it cackled, the way he had fallen… a burgeoning fury arose from deep within his heart.
He held its head with one hand, and began pummeling it with his other. All he saw was red. With one final, devastating blow, the armour stand shattered to pieces, collapsing towards the floor. Harry stumbled back, panting, adrenaline coursing through his blood. He wasn't sure why, but he felt the need to destroy more items, to fling items across the room, like he had done years ago at Dumbledore's office…
"Why I never!"
A woman from the portrait across him was looking at the broken armour stand, scandalised. He felt the urge to roar at her, to tell her to shut up, but the words died at his throat. For some strange reason, this broke him out of his stupor, and he stared in horror at what he had done.
Shit, he thought. This was the armour stand Neville used to trip over every time. It was a running joke - he, Ron, Seamus and Dean used to keep a tally over how many times a week Neville would trip over. It was an infamous fixture of Hogwarts, something well known to everyone residing in the castle… Harry, himself, had quickly learned in his first month at Hogwarts to avoid that side of the corridor, after a handful of incidents.
Staring dully at the mess he made, he pointed his wand and said: "Reparo."
There was no reaction.
"Reparo," he repeated. "What the hell? REPARO!"
The pieces began to float at once, rearranging itself to form a mildly mangled armour stand. There were still several holes in its chest, its head was tilted slightly down, and its arms were oriented the wrong way. Harry frowned. He had long since advanced past struggling with simple spells like the Mending Charm, which was taught in his second year. In fact, he had gotten used to doing the spell nonverbally.
Perhaps it was his wand. He was still using Draco Malfoy's wand, after all, and it had never felt quite as right as his old one. Still, the wand had never failed him this much before. Or perhaps, in his anger, he had destroyed the armour stand to such a high degree that it could never be rebuilt - not properly, at least.
Whichever the case, the infamous mischievous armour stand would never again trip another unsuspecting Hogwarts student. It stood lifeless, slightly broken, never to move again.
Harry took a step back, releasing his clenched fists. He looked around and was thankful that no one was there to see his embarrassing display of rage, even if he was invisible. After steadying his breath, he walked away, a strange mixture of guilt and grief washing over him.
He was not far away from the secret entrance now. Lily had told him to take a carriage to Hogsmeade, but he knew a better, faster way.
Finally, he reached the entrance: a statue of the one-eyed crone. He pointed his wand at the old woman's face and whispered: "Dissendium."
The statue shifted to the side, revealing a thin, dark hole. It was much smaller than he remembered, but his scrawniness ensured that he would still fit. Having the foresight to light up his wand first, he scooted in and launched himself down, sliding through the hole for a considerable amount of time, before hitting the ground with a loud thud.
He began his trek towards Honeydukes, letting the light guide his way. In the darkness, his thoughts only grew louder. There were no sights to distract him, now, no whispers of gossip from the portraits to keep him entertained.
As much as he hated himself for it, destroying that armour stand had brought him some sense of satisfaction. He wasn't sure where that burst of rage came from, but he was thankful it stopped before he lost all control. Even so, that urge to destroy still lingered fresh on his subconscious. He kept his mind singularly focused on the road in front of him.
Finally, he reached the foot of a long, winding staircase. He hiked up the stairs, wishing dearly he had used a broom instead. After what felt like a thousand steps, he reached the wooden trapdoor. He took a moment to catch his breath, before slowly pushing the trapdoor open, peeking his head slightly to see if anyone was there.
Satisfied that the coast was clear, he continued into the cellar and climbed up another set of stairs. This one was not nearly as long, and soon enough, he found himself behind the counter of Honeydukes. The owner, Mr Flume, was sound asleep with his head on the counter. A copy of the Daily Prophet was perched on his lap. Out of sheer curiosity, he approached the man and took a peek at the paper's headline.
HOGWARTS CHAMPION FOUND DEAD AT 47
Meredith Smith, winner of the now infamous 1967 Triwizard Tournament hosted by Castelobruxo, was found dead at her home early this morning. Early reports suggest no involvement of foul play…
The picture showed a stern-looking woman, but the rest of the text was either too small to read, or covered by Flume's body. Keeping the strange article in mind, he exited the counter. Honeydukes was deserted at this hour, and so was the rest of Hogsmeade.
He vaguely wondered whether it was always this way whenever Hogwarts students weren't visiting, but he slowly started to notice signs of activity. Several wizards were lounging on the outdoor seating of the Three Broomsticks, and there were far more people in Sluggs and Jiggers than Harry was used to seeing. This could be attributed to the sign plastered in front: 50% DISCOUNT ON DOXY EGGS, 8 SICKLES A SCOOP.
One particular shop caught his interest. He had never seen that one before. It was a circular building, tall and sprawling. Several rectangular areas - rooms, perhaps, jutted out of the main building. Large, arched doors were plastered on the walls of most of these areas, although they were so high up that there was no possible way for any humans to reach them. This, however, was not the most interesting part of the building. He jogged closer to read the front sign better, until it was in clear view.
The sign read: The Marauder's Broom. Feeling his heart thudding, he tried to look inside through the front glass, but the shop was obviously closed. It was quite dark inside, so he couldn't see much. Several brooms hovered on display behind the glass, though. He leaned to get a closer look, his nose almost touching the glass.
The brooms were of a different design than any he'd seen, and as a former Quidditch player and captain, he had seen his fair share of brooms. They all varied in size and colour. The top most broom was dark brown in colour. Two small horns protruded out just behind the broom head. On the handle, the text MARAUDER was engraved in gold. Below it was a smaller engraving, which said: PRONGS. The broom below was colored black, and the handle seemed to be made of a different, highly polished, material. The engraving said: PADFOOT.
He took a step back, amazed.
Out of the corner of his Seeker-trained eyes, he spotted movement. He squinted at that part of the sky - he could've sworn he saw…
There it was! Far in the distance loomed a figure on a broom, steadily getting closer. Harry took off his invisibility cloak to let himself be seen. This must be him, he thought. Sure enough, as the figure got closer, he could see that it was a man. He was still high up enough that his hair brushed the tip of the clouds. He seemed to be aligning himself with the street.
Suddenly, he pitched his broom down in a Wronski Feint, soaring down with such speed that he was sure to crash. At the last moment, with his feet a mere inch above the ground, he pitched his broom up. He decelerated like an aeroplane, slowly coming to a halt. He had heard enough stories from Sirius about his father's flying abilities to know with certainty who this man was.
The man looked around, and upon seeing Harry in front of the shop, smiled and strolled towards him.
"Don't tell Lily I did that," he said with a wink. He patted Harry on the shoulders. "It's nice to meet you, Harry."
While there were certainly striking similarities in their appearance, it wasn't to the extent that he had been led to believe. Perhaps it was due to the fact that they were now decades apart in age, but Harry was not an exact copy of James Potter. They were the same height, but James was bulkier with broader shoulders, which contrasted rather heavily with Harry's skinny frame. He had a longer nose, and his hair, while still messy, was slightly tidier than Harry's.
"You too," he said. "That was great, by the way - the Wronski Feint."
"I'm glad you appreciate the merits of flying," said James, smiling. "You were just admiring my shop, I see?"
"You make brooms?" he asked, awed.
"It's what I do for a living," said James. "Don't tell me The Marauder's Broom doesn't exist in your world! What broom do you use?"
"Er, no, actually - I use the Firebolt," he said.
"A respectable broom," said James begrudgingly. "But it has nothing on the Prongs X, let me tell you that. Unfortunately, the shop is closed on weekends. I'll have to show you around someday when it's open. Now, have you had your breakfast yet? We can get a quick bite at the Three Broomsticks, if you want."
"I ate at the Hospital Wing earlier," he said quickly. Strangely eager to know more about the shop, he asked: "Do you run the shop alone, or…?"
James sent him a thoughtful look. "Remus runs the business side of things while I handle the design and manufacture… we also have a couple of employees."
"What about Sirius?" he asked, holding his breath as he eyed the elegant black broom. That broom was named after him, surely he was involved! While he knew the Sirius here could very much be different than the Sirius he knew, it would be great to meet his godfather once-
"I'm sorry, Harry," said James, a pained expression on his face. "But Sirius has been dead for fifteen years. I… assume you know him very well, being his godson."
"Yeah," he said, feeling a lurch in his heart.
For a moment, he thought James would ask him more, perhaps ask what Sirius had been like, but he seemed to think better of it.
"We should head home," he said gruffly. "I've brought an extra broom with me, but I understand if you'd rather apparate. Clayfoot Cottage is around fifteen minutes away from here."
"Flying sounds good," he said.
He dearly missed flying, especially after a year without it. Nothing else mattered while he was in the sky. All thoughts, all worries would disappear the instant his feet left the ground.
James unshrunk a broom from his pocket. This one was colored grey, and the broom head was much more fluffy. He had a fairly good guess on what the broomstick was named - and sure enough, MOONY was engraved on the broom handle. He took the broom without complaint.
"Can you fly?" asked James. Judging from his smirk, he knew exactly what the answer was.
"Of course," he said. He couldn't resist the urge to add: "Seeker since first year."
"For the Gryffindor team, I hope?"
"Naturally," he said.
"You are a Potter, aren't you?" said James, a proud smile on his face.
Harry smiled back. "Er - thank you, by the way, for offering me a place to stay," he said. "You didn't have to. I really appreciate it, Mr Potter."
An alarmed expression crossed James' face.
"Of course we'd offer you a place to stay - I've told you, you're a Potter," said James. "And don't call me Mr Potter, either, makes me feel like my old dad. James is fine."
"Alright," he said.
They fell into uncomfortable silence. After a moment, James clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, we should get going."
Moments later, right in the middle of the street, he watched as James kicked off the ground and shot towards the sky.
Harry hesitated, fidgeting his broom, before making his decision and following James shortly behind.
