If Only Life Were Like This
By Josh McCusker

A/N: Thank you again for all of your reviews! It's so great to hear your ideas and theories ;o) There was apparently a bit of confusion on the last chapter, however. To make it clear, Tom Riddle is there to see James, not Harry. Other than that, it seems like things are getting across rather well. Sorry for the delay in the next chapter, but I had an emergency trip to Florida to help a friend with his sick mother. Now that I'm back, I hope to get things updating more frequently ;o)

Chapter Three

Changes

Harry tried not to feel smug as he rode the spiraling stair up to Dumbledore's office. For the first time since he'd come to Hogwarts, Harry felt like he was actually in control, and that he knew as much as the Headmaster. It felt good to be in control of himself and it was something he hoped to hold on to. He tried not to think that he owed this bit of triumph to Snape of all people. That he could worry about later.

"Well," Dumbledore said as they all settled into chairs in front of his desk. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, young Harry?"

Tom Riddle, whom Harry was keeping a close eye on, was currently smiling warmly and awaiting Harry's response just as the Headmaster was. If Harry didn't know him better, he might actually believe Tom was just a benevolent Minister there to visit his father.

"This isn't right," Harry announced tactlessly. There was no time for tact he told himself. "This whole… situation. Things aren't as they should be."

"What do you mean, dear boy?" Tom's face looked pleasant, but confused – genuinely confused. Harry stumbled for a moment, suddenly caught off-guard. "I haven't been informed of any improper magic taking place. Albus? Have you noticed anything?" Tom was looking to the Headmaster as if they were old friends, causing Harry to worry that this wasn't a dream or a charade, but something real. Was his father really sitting next to him?

Shaking his head to clear the doubts creeping into it, Harry continued. "Professor, surely you must know." Harry thought suddenly back to the Headmaster's attempt to use Occlumency on him and wondered, his thoughts losing their coherency.

When he didn't say anything for another minute, the three men shifted in their chairs and Riddle made to continue. Dumbledore cut him off: "Maybe I should speak with young Harry alone. Why don't you two go down to the trophy room and catch up?" With polite nods and concerned glances at Harry, the two men disappeared. For a few minutes, Harry and Dumbledore sat in silence while Harry pondered the events of the morning and tried to make it all make sense.

"Harry," the Headmaster started. "I suppose I should be blunt with you. I've never had a student, in my history as both professor and headmaster, whom was able to recognize and deflect my attempts at Occlumency." There was a twinkle in his eye, something Harry nearly recognized from his own version of Dumbledore as he continued. "You, though a bright young man with many talents, are not well-known for advanced studies offered to seventh years."

"Everything's changed," Harry said dumbly, his brain still on overload.

"How so?"

"Riddle – he hates muggles. He wants them all dead. He killed my parents and has tried to kill me every year since I've come to Hogwarts. He – he – I fell into his trap and – Sirius…"

"Sirius Black? He's your godfather, I believe. Did the Minister also kill your godfather?"

Harry would have thought he was being facetious, but he could tell that he was asking a serious question. Harry nodded.

After a few moments more thought, he continued. "You do seem very different. Even your appearance seems somewhat off, though I admit I wouldn't have noticed had you not said anything. My boy, what –"

"Potter!"

The door had slammed open and Draco Malfoy was standing there looking for the entire world as if he'd just flown across England, landed in a puddle of mud and fought with a Hippogriff to get there. Harry had never seen the Slytherin looking so distraught or off-guard and it only added to the sudden despair he was beginning to feel.

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, standing up and making to come around his desk. "What are you –"

"Oh shut up!" He rushed over to Harry and grabbed up his right hand, pulling it to his face and staring at the ring on Harry's finger. "I knew it! It was you! You bloody fuck!"

"What are you on about, Malfoy?" Harry's sneer and his response came so automatically that he felt himself coming to, righting his thoughts and suddenly sane. At least something hadn't changed.

"You did this! You changed everything! My mum! She's bloody nice and she hugged me! And my father is dead!" He looked like he was going to pull out his wand and curse Harry into next week; Harry almost kissed him. "You fucking bastard! You killed my father!"

Harry stood up and yanked his hand out of Malfoy's. "I didn't kill your father, you slimy Slytherin prick! I –"

"I suppose you think that's funny, do you?" Harry's eyebrow arched, so Malfoy continued. "You must know I'm not a Slytherin here. You made me a – a – Fuck! You made me a fucking Hufflepuff!"

Harry felt it emerge before he could control himself; he laughed. It started off slow, stifled; Harry tried to hold on to his anger, but it grew into a guffaw and then he was bent double in fits of laughter.

"Oh right!" Malfoy yelled over the laughter, his face red to the roots of his hair. "Laugh! Fine! Fuck you, Potter! You and your stupid mudblood friends think it's funny to curse me!"

"Mr. Malfoy!"

Both boys started at the sound of the Headmaster, whom they had forgotten was even there.

"I will not tolerate such foul language in my office! You will apologize to Mr. Potter at once!"

Draco stood still, staring at Dumbledore in disbelief. He looked as though he'd never thought the man would do so much as speak to him out of line. After a few minutes of silence, the Headmaster staring Draco down with only a slightly confused look, Draco nodded and turned back to Harry, his head bowed. It was so mumbled that Harry wouldn't have known what he was saying if it hadn't been ordered.

"Mr. Malfoy, when we apologize – " Harry gave Dumbledore a look and shook his head a little. Dumbledore got the hint, even though Harry couldn't figure out why he'd given it, and stopped.

"So wait," Harry said suddenly, realization dawning. His gaze went immediately to Malfoy's hand and he saw what he'd expected. "You know too!"

"Bit thick, aren't we Potter?" Draco's scowl looked so normal that Harry almost cried. "Took you this long to figure out that I was raving about changes and you only now connect it with the rings?" Malfoy had seen his own ring. "Let me guess; a letter? 'Wear this and remember'?" he quoted. Harry only nodded. "Bloody hell," Malfoy intoned, shaking his head and sighing. "I should have known you couldn't be behind this."

"Boys, I think it is time for an explanation," the Headmaster said, indicating the chairs for them to sit in. Harry began the tale, telling all about Voldemort killing his parents, the Order, everything. Malfoy stayed pretty quite, smirking at certain moments and making nasty faces at others. When Harry finished, Dumbledore looked as though he'd swallowed another foul version of Bertie Bott's beans.

"Well, that's quite a story," he said finally. Harry was struck with just how pathetic this sounded after what he'd been told and was suddenly quite angry. "Things are quite different here, of course." He smiled, his eyes twinkling; both boys glared at him. "Well, yes, it seems our questions might be answered if we bring in the Minister and your father and see if we can find out how this happened."

Dumbledore stood and moved away, out of the room. When they were alone, Malfoy stood up and began to pace back and forth. Harry sat trying to ignore him.

"Must you do that?"

"It keeps me sane, Potter. Otherwise I'd be forced to kill you."

"Go ahead and try, Malfoy."

They glared at one another for a few moments before Malfoy's face lost its edges. "Did your letter – I mean, was there anything about…"

The question hung in the air while Harry tried to remember his letter. Sometimes even Harry knew he could be thick, but when it struck him just what Malfoy was getting at, he blushed.

"It did! Whoever is behind this is mad! Love you? I could never love a filthy git like you!"

"Love me?" Harry's anger suddenly flared up. "You wrote that letter!"

"Not I," Malfoy assured him, his face red. "At least, not… now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry was on his feet now, his hand on his wand. Malfoy hadn't even noticed as he was currently busy studying the flagstones of the floor.

"My letter was written by someone claiming to be me – from the future."

"The future? What rubbish is this?"

"It said that you had died, and we'd been lovers."

"LOVERS?" Harry shouted. He turned to face the door, worried someone might have heard. He turned a light shade of red and said, more quietly, "Lovers? Are you insane? I hate you, Malfoy!"

"Don't get me wrong, Potter, I hate you as well. It's not like I've suddenly turned into a real Hufflepuff. That's what the letter said. You died. I loved you. I went back to make things right."

"Fucking arse," was all Harry could say. He sat heavily in his chair, wishing the Headmaster would come back and assure him this was all a dream. Harry pinched himself just in case, but when it hurt he just sighed. So Malfoy's a pouf, so what? Why did he have to bring Harry into this? He did do it to save your life. Harry pushed the thought aside.

"Can you take it off?"

"No."

"Me either." Malfoy sounded petulant, like a child tired of a game. "This place is horrible. My father's dead and I'm a Hufflepuff. What the hell else could go wrong?"

It was as though in a movie, when timing was everything; the door swung open and the Headmaster reentered followed closely by Harry's father. A moment later Tom Riddle came in, his pin-striped cloak and suit looking impeccable and his smile was as warm as a grandfather's. Harry felt his stomach turn over in some unrecognizable emotion. It would take him a long time to think of this man as just a man.

"My Lord!" Malfoy shouted, genuflecting suddenly at Riddle's feet. Harry nearly died. "My Lord, I knew you must be behind this! I am here to do your bidding! Just tell me what you wish – "

"What's this?" Riddle said, genuinely confused. He reached down and pulled Malfoy to his feet, looking into the boy's eyes. His face went suddenly pale and he coughed. "Draco Malfoy. My boy, I'm so sorry," he said with honest sadness. Harry was starting to feel something shatter inside him.

"Sir?"

"Your father, it's so sad. I can only imagine how you must have felt, growing up without him. I knew him, of course. He was a very good man." Malfoy looked utterly confused. "Oh, well, I daresay you look just like him. You are Draco Malfoy, are you not?" Malfoy nodded. "Well then, I…" He stopped, confused, and looked to Dumbledore.

"Tom, I believe an explanation is in order." He indicated the sofas and chairs in the lounge area of the office and they all sat. Riddle looked put-off, which was apparently something he wasn't used to. "Tea anyone?"

"Oh yes," Tom said, suddenly smiling. "I would love a cup of Earl Grey with just a bit of lemon."

The Headmaster waved his wand, which appeared suddenly in his hand and was just as quickly gone, and a tea tray appeared on the coffee table. The polished silver and steaming pot of tea made it seem as if a house elf had brought it in. When the tea was served, the minister's Earl Grey, Harry's regular, Malfoy's Ginseng and Harry's father's coffee, they all settled in.

"I believe you should repeat the story to the minister, Harry."

And so he did. Throughout the story, Tom Riddle's face blanched several times, his face contorting with an array of emotions from disgust to disbelief.

"It's an outrage! I could never!" He was standing, though he seemed surprised to be. He looked around at everyone sheepishly and adjusted his tie, settling back into the sofa and returning his tea cup to its saucer. "I could never harm any muggle, let alone a wizard!"

"Tom, I don't believe Harry means to imply you would do these things, but only that another version of you did."

"Well, of course," he said with a sniff. "My father is quite alive and well. I saw him just last week for tea. He's rather old of course, but then my father's family is quite known for their long lives."

"Your father's alive?" Harry remembered, for some reason, that Tom's parents should be dead. His mum at childbirth and his father later on, though he couldn't remember how Tom Senior had died. The minister simply nodded, so Harry went on. "Well, if you see him, then, you didn't grow up in an orphanage?"

"Of course not," Tom said with a laugh. "Orphanage – How drole." He laughed as if he expected everyone else to join in, but when no one did he just shaded red and went back to his tea.

"Well, can we at least be sure that this isn't some sort of dark magic?" James had been silent throughout most of the story, having only given Harry looks of concern and nervousness when his son had spoken about growing up with the Dursleys and without his parents.

"I would assume it is dark magic," Malfoy said matter-of-factly. "If I performed it, it must be."

James sniggered. "You?"

"I will assure you, Mr. Potter," Malfoy said the words with only a slightly blanketed contempt, "That I am quite proficient in the dark arts. Whether my counterpart in this world was man enough to choose the right way or not – "

"Oh shut up, Malfoy," Harry spat. "Your dark lord doesn't exist here, so pull your nose out of his arse for five seconds and grow up." Malfoy just gave him a hurt expression and sulked. "So, Headmaster, if this was really put into play by some Malfoy from the future, and he went back and changed something, does that mean that this is real? What about the other events? Did they still happen?"

"I'm afraid, Harry, that you are asking questions that we wizards are still trying to answer. I believe there are even muggles who think along these lines. In fact, the Ministry of Magic even has a department with a devoted team on the matter."

"The Unspeakables, yeah," Harry said. Three pairs of eyebrows went up. "I … broke into the Ministry to save my godfather a year ago," he explained. "Botched it up, though," he said with a bit of sadness. Suddenly he asked, "Dad? Sirius?"

"What about him?" James looked perplexed, but then he seemed to acknowledge the question in light of the story he'd been told. "Yes he's perfectly fine, Harry. He and Remus are just back from their second honeymoon, actually," he said jovially.

Harry turned red, his breath caught. Sirius and Remus? Another time, he thought.

"Well, now that this is all settled, I do have a lot to do before the end of the day," Tom said suddenly, standing and grasping Dumbledore in a hug. "It was so good to see you again, Albus. Thank you for the tea." He smiled and shook James's and Malfoy's hands and left. Harry watched him until he was gone, trying to think of this man and Voldemort as separate people.

"What about me?" Malfoy asked suddenly. "My father is bloody dead. My mum is crazy and I'm a Hufflepuff!"

"Mr. Malfoy, I believe you will find that being a Hufflepuff is not nearly as bad as you seem to think." Malfoy just gave the Headmaster a disbelieving glare and sulked.

"Well," James breathed, standing and indicating it was time for them to go as well. "Draco, I assume you'll come with us?"

"Why would I come with you?" His tone was so full of disgust that James actually looked shocked.

"Well I – just assumed – what with you and Harry…"

"Harry and I what? You don't think I'd seriously consider dating that troll, do you?"

"Erm – "

"I think we've been dating, Malfoy," Harry said with sudden delight. Anything that ruffled Malfoy's feathers did just right by Harry. "Seriously enough that my father thought you'd proposed."

"P-proposed? Are you mad?" Malfoy's face had paled, though one wouldn't notice unless they knew him well enough as his face was already so pale.

"Oh you've been dating for years," James said happily. "Lily and I were so glad Harry had found such a nice boy. And from such a nice family," he added. Malfoy looked like he was going to be sick; Harry was beaming.

"I'd rather date that mud—" Draco stopped, looking at the headmaster with concern. "That Hermione Granger!" He looked at everyone in turn, his eyes nearly popped out of his head, then turned and stormed out of the office. Harry was so happy he felt like the world was just perfect. His parents were alive, Sirius was alive, he had a sister and Malfoy was going to be sick! Nothing could make Harry happier.

When they arrived home, it took nearly an hour to explain everything to Lily and Sarah. Neither of them seemed to believe what was happening, but rather chose to think it was all some sort of prank. It took Harry demonstrating his knowledge of things about the Maurauders, which Lily tried to dismiss as Sirius being too open for his own good (threatening to have words with him, which seemed to be quite a serious threat from the reactions of Sarah and James), but James assured was not something even Sirius would tell Harry. When that still wasn't enough, Harry took the chance to see if the ring had also kept his physical appearance the same since the Headmaster and noted some physical differences. To his dismay, the scar was indeed still there on his forehead, which had been hidden by his rather overgrown fringe.

"It's unthinkable," Lily said quietly. "How terrible for you to have grown up so alone," she said with tears filling her eyes. "And how could Petunia be so horrible to you? She was always so…"

"Now Lily, we both know that if it weren't for your persistence she and Vernon would have ceased speaking to us the moment you met me." She didn't say anything, but Harry took that as acquiescence. "Now Harry, I don't want you thinking this means you get to slack off." There was a twinkle in his eye as he said it, but Harry knew he was serious. How little they knew him. "Alright, bedtime."

"Dad!" Sarah's plea was met with stern looks that led her to a pathetic show of disdain and immediate retreat to her room.

"You too," he added.

"But dad," Harry said, not even noticing how easily the words came to him. "I'm seventeen!"

"Seventeen or twelve, you're under my roof and I say that at eleven o'clock you should be in bed! You have work in the morning."

"Work?"

"Oh," he chuckled. "Right. Well, you see you work in a muggle shop for summer hols. You know, to earn some extra cash."

"For that damned bike," Lily said with a hint of anger. "I still don't like it," she added.

"Oh Lily, he's a man now. Let him make his own mistakes."

"What bike?" Harry had no idea how he was going to put up with trying to fight for things he had never wanted in the first place.

"You wanted a bike like your godfather's," James said dismissively, apparently forgetting himself. He turned back to his wife to continue the fight, but Harry didn't stay to listen.

Smiling to himself as he trudged up the stairs, it wasn't until he was at the top that he realized he had no idea which room was his. The house itself was rather larger than the Dursleys small up and down in Little Whinging. It's layout was also quite different as it seemed to be from an older time. Harry guessed, from the paintings and framed photos on the stair and on the landing that this had been his grandparents' home. Having never met them, Harry was glad to see a painting of them watching over him. He knew it was them by the fact that his grandfather looked a lot like his own father with only a difference in hair color. It seemed that Harry and his father got their dark hair from his grandmother.

"Well boy, aren't you going to bed?" His grandfather's tone was quite stern, that of a man who was used to a sensible household, but also gentle. Harry remembered that these were the people who took in his godfather when he fled from the terrible home into which he'd been born.

"You're my grandparents, then?" They looked at him quizzically, his grandmother's gentle face filled with concern. "You see, I'm not the same Harry," he explained. It still felt a bit odd telling these things to a portrait, even though he'd lived with the Fat Lady and even Sirius's mum. Growing up muggle had always given him that slight distance. "It's a long story," he added dismissively. "Do you know which one is mine?"

"That one over there, dear," his grandmother said gently, pointing towards the door at the end of the hall to his right. It lay slightly ajar, so he nodded to the portrait and made his way to it. The framed photos were all moving and watching, some waving and others not paying attention, but Harry was suddenly too tired to concern himself with nostalgia. Apparently he'd have plenty of time to visit it.

Without even bothering with the light, Harry used the shadows to find his way to the bed, which he collapsed on. It was after he threw everything on it to the floor, rubbed his sore arm where he'd been poked by something and found his pillow half buried between the mattress and the headboard that he was finally able to fall asleep.