His parents were alive... Alive! And he had a sibling, a little brother named William. Could life become any more perfect?
Yes it could, if Sirius was still dead in this world too, then life could be more perfect but he was probably alive, then life couldn't be more perfect.

Harry could see that the Harry on the picture hasn't got any scar on his forehead, then Voldemort couldn't have lured him in the Departement of Mysteries and nobody had been killed.
Anyway he wanted to see Sirius now!

He wanted to scream both of joy and frustration. True, why was it always him who ended up in strange situations?
He shut the album and sighed deeply. He needed to find a way to go back home, an aim he couldn't quite achieve in this small room. He stood up and headed for the door.

It was when he spotted a white sheet of paper lying under a bookshelf. He picked it up, it was a drawing. A very good one. It was a portrait Harry recognized at first glance. It could have been him but the man looked a little to old.It was his father, James Potter.

Harry was looking at the picture amazed, whoever had drown it he was quite skilled. He turned it over and found a signature in an awkward writing which was contrasting with the perfectness of the drawing: Harry Potter, seven year old.

Harry was bewildered: his couterpart realised this at on ly seven? This Harry is a much better person than I am, Harry thought bitterly, at least he didn't manage to kill his godfather.Harry's chest clutched with guilt, as it always did when he thought about Sirius.

The imperious need to see him overcame Harry. He opened the door and left the study only to stop in the corridor. It had not occured to him that he didn't know his way around the house. Welle, let's do it the logical way, Harry reasoned, usually kitchen are downstairs ( he was still hungry, you see) then he needed to find some stairs.

The person who walked past him earlier headed toward the right. To the right then. The corridor lead him to a huge stairecase, he still held his wand tightly as he climbed down. You never know what might happen, it could be a trap or a sick joke, in any case it never hurt to be careful.

No sooner had he reached the lower story than he heard sounds of a conversation and dishes being manipulated coming from the left. A laughter echoed through the hall. A laughter that ripped his heart with a mixing feeling of pain and joy. He leant back against a wall beside the doo and slid slowly on the floor.

He heard a feminine voice too. He recognized it immediatly, his mother's voice. He wanted to cry but he had learned the hard way that crying doesn't lead you anywhere. His uncle had been very persuasive while punishing him with his belt.

He gathered all his feelings, put them far inside himself, shook his head to clear it and stood up. He needed to act as if everything was normal, he'll decide after if it would be safe to tell his parents. He put the wand in his back pocket and checked it could come out easily.

He called for all his Gryffindor's bravery, took a deep breath and opened the door. As soon as it opened the conversation stopped.