Learning to be 'Normal' Chapter Three By Jess

~*~ (Alison's POV)

I stared listlessly out of the window during my grammar lesson for the day. A quick glance at the clock told me it was 3:42, a whole two minutes since I last looked and another three minutes until the final bell rang. My professor, Ms. Breor, worked hard every day to put all twenty-four of her students to sleep; personally, I think she likes to see of she can beat her high score.

In the sweltering heat of the language arts classroom, I suddenly longed almost painfully for the chill of the Potions classroom back at Hogwarts. Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard the haywire heater turn off and I silently thanked God for small miracles

When I thought I could take it no more, the final bell rang signifying the end of the school day and sheer torture that school could sometimes be and the beginning of the twenty-minute walk home. I gathered my belongings as quickly as possible, slung the heavy bag over my shoulders, and made my way towards the door.

The nostalgia that had settled itself into my mind wouldn't shake and the whole way home to Privet Drive I saw the grounds at Hogwarts instead of the mind-numbingly similar houses placed neatly in row after row.

As I turned onto my street I remembered the time before we came to Privet Drive. Mum, Dad, and I tried to live in some of the Muggle-wizarding communities scattered across Europe. But we couldn't stay, there were still too many Death Eaters running around killing Muggles and Muggle-borns. At one point we had an old wizard in one of the communities we lived in place an Inconspicuous Charm on us. Now no matter how long a Muggle has known the three of us or how close to us they may be, they can never remember our hair color, eye color, height, weight, or complexion.

We left shortly there after; we were mistaken for a group of wayward wizards by a rather shifty looking traveler. Mum didn't want to take the chance, so she packed Dad and I up and hauled us to the only reasonable place she could think of, Muggle London.

It was interesting there. Dad and I learned so much, he knew a lot of it already having been married to a Muggle-born, but I was fascinated by all of the unusual things that carried on the Muggle world. It reminded me then, as it still reminds me now, of someone close to me that was even more entranced by the inner workings of the Muggles.

But once again, we couldn't stay long, Mum insisted on roots and a good school for me. Dad just wanted Mum to stop gripping. So we went on numerous house hunts looking through school systems and price ranges. When we found what we had been searching for, I wasn't nearly as delighted as Mum and Dad were.

I remembered the area from my fourth year, when Professor Dumbledore escorted my brother and I there to retrieve Harry Potter to take him away from his wretched family. We hadn't been long at all, but still the Dursleys were dreadful to all of us. It upset me immensely to see how cruel they were to him. They yelled and said things that would make a sailor blush. Harry scooted out of there like a dog being scolded with his tail between his legs. I walked right up to the foul-mouthed little porker and slapped his extraordinarily chubby face. Which of course turned into a full- fledged fight once he opened his mouth to insult me. Professor Dumbledore had to pry me away from Dudley Dursley and keep me held to his side for a full five minutes before I calmed down enough to even pretend to be apologetic.

The memory was there when Mr. and Mrs. Dursley came over in our first week to welcome us to the neighborhood. Mum had blanched when she opened the door and called out a startled 'Petunia!' Dad had to pull her aside to remind her that we were hiding. Mum chalked it up to recognizing her from a gardening show a few years back. Mrs. Dursley went along it and went straight into informing Mum of all the latest gossip. I glared at them with looks that didn't go unnoticed by my parents through dinner and stormed up to my room once I had cleared my plate from the table.

Vernon and Petunia still come over or invite us over every Wednesday for dinner. Sometimes they bring Dudley and I enjoy watching him squirm. I think a part of him recognizes me as the one who beat him up, because he's always nervous and skittish around me.

When I opened the door to number 5 Privet Drive a number of things assaulted me at once; the smell of the beginnings of dinner, one of Mum's CD's drifting about in it's slow melodious way, and Dad's cigar smoke coming from the study. I smiled at what had become so comforting and similar in just two years. I realized with a start how much I'd grown to love my family since I met them. I lingered for a moment more then turned on heel and bounded up the stairs to my room.

In my desk drawer was a notebook full of small pieces of paper, every piece covered in a variety of colors. Each one held at least one person, though it was more common to find a large group of people, and almost every head was covered with fiery red hair. A lot of them were pictures of photographs as I remembered them from my family album at my old house. I treated the notebook like the photo album it could have been and smiled at the memories each once held.

I pulled out the one I was currently working on and stared at it a minute. On the far left there was a grown man with longer red hair tied back to expose an earring that would get him a lecture or four from his mother. Next to him was an unlikely pair of men. One with shorter red hair and a carefree expression and another with red hair just a touch longer, glasses, and a very serious expression. And on the far right was a set of boys that were identical in every aspect, right down to the mischievous glint in their eyes. Kneeling near the bottom were two teens, one that standing could have towered over almost everyone, and a girl with long red hair and a shy smile.

I grabbed the kit of oil pastels from under my desk and tied my hair back with the elastic on my wrist. I settled myself down on the folding chair in the back garden and began to color.

~*~ (Harry's POV)

I glanced up at the house that was never a home and shook my head in exasperation. The Dursley's never failed to amaze me. I'd received an owl from a Muggle post office that had no return name, just an address. But whom it was from was unmistakable just from that address, 4 Privet Drive. They said it was urgent and that if I ever wanted to repay them for everything they'd done for me, then I'd come as quickly as my unnaturalness could get me there. They needed me to make a love potion so that Dudley could get married some day.

So here I was to make them some strong flavored tea to pass as a love potion, and I seriously considered turning around now and going back to Hermione's for dinner. But I knew they'd never stop hounding me until I produced what they wanted, so here I was. I padded cautiously up the front walk but was stopped from a voice next door.

"Hello there, are you looking for the Dursley's?"

I turned and eyed the woman who spoke; she was watering her begonias and wore a baseball cap with her long auburn ponytail pulled through the back. Crossing the Dursley's lawn to hers, I nodded. She smiled pleasantly at me and her gray eyes twinkled. "They aren't home right now. They've gone to the market to get a dessert for dinner here. Can I ask why you're calling? I can tell Petunia when she comes home."

"I'm. uhm... her nephew. She called me to come over, but I can come back when she is home."

The woman dropped the gardening hose and her jaw fell. "H-her nephew?"

She seemed to mentally shake herself and retrieved the hose. "In that case you're welcome for dinner. Go on in and get yourself freshened up a bit. We'll be eating as soon as the Dursley's arrive. Your cousin is in the back with my daughter, Alison. My name is Lydia Clairmore and my husband is Jacob. He'd be in the kitchen preparing the feast."

Lydia resumed her watering while I stepped into the house. Along the walls in the hall were a couple family portraits. They all seemed to be fairly recent, within the past year or two. As Lydia described, a middle-aged man with messy blond hair stood over a plate covered in pork chops and chicken breasts. He glanced up at me and gazed at me cautiously.

"Can I help you?"

"Uhm. no thank you. Your wife invited me in. I'm Vernon and Petunia Dursley's nephew."

I received another startled reaction; Jacob dropped the chicken breast he was marinating back onto the plate and splattering juice all over his 'Kiss the Cook' apron.

"Can you tell me how to get into the back garden?"

He pointed wordlessly and I moved slowly, as if afraid any sudden movements would cause him to jump at me.

When I stepped onto the porch I saw Dudley leaning his chair back while he played a video game of some sort. The girl, Alison, sat with a pair of headphones over her ears that were clearly attached to her CD player. She mouthed the words and colored on something I couldn't see. I moved to get a better look and was stunned by what I saw. She was drawing the Weasleys. I could see all of them clear as day, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny.

"Harry! What are you doing here?"

Dudley's call had startled the young woman I was leaning over. After shooting him a nasty glare she looked up at me and gave a startled yelp. She scrambled away from me like I had grown three or four more heads right in front of her and knocked over her colors in the process. She tripped over a moderate sized rock and started to fall until I grabbed her arms. At that point both her Mum and Dad were on the patio and I realized how the situation might look to her startled parents. I opened my mouth to explain but I first heard a Stupefy then everything was black.

~*~

When I woke up one of two things happened at once. Albus Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley each grabbed a hand and pulled me to my feet and my aunt stormed over and tugged on my ear.

"What were you thinking? Coming over here to our dear friends' home with your. your. unnaturalness."

I shrugged as best I could with Aunt Petunia still clamped firmly to my ear. I saw the Clairmores on the other side of the garden. Jacob was holding Lydia's shoulder and she looked ready to tear something to bits. I silently hoped it wasn't me. Alison was watching me with a fearful fascination. Aunt Petunia hissed again before letting me go. "I'll deal with you later, boy."

Dumbledore took one step toward the Clairmores. "We received a notice of unregistered magic. Which one of you is a witch or wizard?"

Aunt Petunia shrieked from the other side of the garden, "He is. he's the one. My nephew is the freak around here."

Dumbledore plastered on an inpatient smile. "Mrs. Dursley, your nephew is already registered with the Order and I hardly think he stunned himself. Now if you'd kindly return home I'm sure these people will catch up with you later."

The Dursleys took offence to being spoken to in such a tone and I bit down a laugh that threatened to erupt. They huffed out of the garden and upon returning home, slammed their door so we'd know they were upset with us.

Mr. Weasley stepped in front of the girl and asked, "Do you know who cast the spell? Who is a witch or wizard here?"

She nodded in affirmation. "We all are."

He smiled. "I see. I need you all to cast a spell for me so that we can get you registered down at the office. Alison Clairmore, correct?"

Alison shook her head. "Alison Clairmore is a Muggle."

The smile faded from Mr. Weasley's face. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't understand."

Lydia took a step forward and put her arm around her daughter. "We aren't really the Clairmores, or at least we weren't. These names are our aliases."

Dumbledore nodded, cast a Recording Charm, and handed it to Lydia. "Tell me your real name and cast a spell so we can have you registered, please."

Alison put her hand out to stop her mother. "Sir, if we tell you our real names will it change anything? Will you make us split up? I'm not sure of my mum or dad's real names and they don't know mine. But I don't want things to change. Promise me it won't."

Dumbledore smiled at the girl and nodded. "I promise."

She nodded and let her mother continue. "Avis!"

A flurry of pure white doves shot out of the end of the wand and she handed it back to Dumbledore. He muttered "Finite Incantatem" and the Recording Charm ended. "Now, your real name please."

Lydia looked from her husband back to my former professor. She took a deep breath, seemingly steeling herself from whatever may come. "Lily Potter."

I gasped and dropped to my knees. She smiled weakly at me while Mr. Weasley handed his wand to her husband. He shouted "Accio glasses!"

A pair of black rimmed glasses shot through the open sliding glass door. He took out a pair of contacts and placed the glasses on his nose. His once blue eyes now shone a warm brown and he looked to me. Lydia, or should I say Mum, took out her contacts too and the gray eyes that were so warm and friendly to me earlier now were green again.

Tears flooded my eyes and I stood, rushing to them. I didn't care how childish I felt right then, it didn't matter. I had my Mum and Dad back. They hugged me close and Mum murmured how much she loved me and Dad told me how fine of a young man I was. It was almost everything I'd ever hoped for in my entire life. Only Ginny could make everything complete.

Alison had taken a step away from the couple when I had run to them and was now off collecting her things. Dumbledore turned on her expectantly but she shook her head. "Oh no, I want to know what's going on. Four out the six people here are supposed to be dead. I watched," she pointed to Mr. Weasley, "you and," she pointed to me, "you die. And I know the Potters died the Halloween before I was born. This is impossible."

I grudgingly stepped away from my parents and pulled her aside. "Let me explain."

~*~

Author's Notes: I almost think that I'm rushing the whole reunion thing, but then I reminded myself that this isn't just about Harry finding Ginny and his parents and living happily ever after. It's about everything in between too. Also, I want to thank Jewels, my beta, for putting up with me slaughtering the English language. Oh, and by the way, I don't own Harry Potter. If I did do you honestly think I'd be writing fanfiction?