Chapter Seventeen

Who ARE You

Six days later, Harry found himself wandering aimlessly through Nocturne Alley, dazed and confused. Things had gone from mediocre to seriously fucked up about five minutes after the quartet walked past the gates of Hogwarts, their minds turned determinedly to gaining access to the entire library, and, in doing so, figuring out how to return home.

None of them noticed, unsurprisingly, the silent alarms that started going haywire when they crossed the threshold, so that, by the time Harry and friends made it halfway to the entrance hall of Hogwarts, spells were being discharged at high speed right at their position.

"Wha-fuck?" Harry asked, six blasting hexes converging on a point five feet to his left, causing an explosion of dirt and grass and stones that sent Harry flying through the air and landing in a heap on the ground, his vision blurred by smoke and the acrid taste of magic. Immediately, his wand was in hand, his green eyes keening for his three defenseless companions. Death Eaters, he thought grimly, sending out his magical feelers, just as Marv had been teaching him to do so that he could try and locate them. Curses were continually coming in a stream, like machine gun fire; clearly his opponents adopting a shoot first ask questions later policy. Harry could feel hard-line Reductor Curses blowing apart the hedges around him, occasionally coming onto their mark, only to be deflected by his shield and sent back into the fray. At first, Harry dared not send out his own curses for fear he would hit Marv or Kittie or Minnie, any of whom could be staggering through the smoke, which was casually being stoked by the spells that his opponents were casting. Thankfully, there were no unforgiveables in the mix, which surprised Harry a little bit, though he decided not to question his good fortune too closely. Certainly if they saw him deflecting with ease their spells, they may very well switch to them. Harry backed away and crouched low to provide less of a target, keeping his shield close and his eyes peering about to see if anyone were trying to pincer him from behind. There's too many, he thought, his mind working furiously. You need to fight back. Incapacitating spells only, he thought, and immediately whispered, "Stupefy," letting a red beam of light arc through the haze and into the direction where a spell had come. At least if he hit one of his own, they would simply fall unconscious, as opposed to being blown apart by a blasting hex.

And where the hell're the teachers? he thought, dodging another spell and sending out his own curse. Belatedly, he realized that some of the others had twigged onto his idea and were triangulating his position based on his spellfire. And you know they're only going to revive each other as you take them down. You need something stronger, he thought. Already, the smoke was dissipating, the spellfire growing less intense as they began to corner him. Harry wished he could create more, even an illusion or something, but he didn't know how, and mentally resolved, if he survived this latest attack, to ask Marv to give him a quick tutorial on illusion charms. A spell grazed him to one side and again, Harry sent out another stunner, whereupon he heard the distinctly satisfying thud of a body dropping, only to have his smugness wiped away by the distinct feel of someone right behind him. He whirled around, taking a bludgeoning hex right to the stomach, breaking his ribs, which, he briefly thought was better than breaking his back. On instinct, even as he fell, Harry silently discharged a blasting hex, catching the figure off guard and striking him clean in the chest, causing the skin to explode and bones and bits of heart and torrents of blood bursting out onto the green grass and Harry's clothes. As Harry hit the ground, he heard someone being enervated behind him, and, bent on stopping the bastards, Harry discharged yet another reductor curse, which hit its mark clean in the head.

For the first time in that battle, Harry heard the chilling words of the killing curse iterated, forcing Harry to take rapid cover. His only saving grace was that he ended up tripping over Minnie's prone body as he stumbled out of the way to one side, sending the darkest hex he knew in retaliation, "Sectumsempra." He heard a gurgled cry from the victim, who clearly didn't expect Harry to get off a shot so quickly, which, Harry realized, was becoming a common theme in the battle. These people seriously need to learn to maintain a shield charm, he thought, picking himself up and looking around. The smoke had thinned out enough that he could start seeing his attackers. To his surprise, they weren't wearing black cloaks and masks, though he still couldn't make out any of their faces. There were six left, two of them having been killed and two still unconscious from Harry's stunners. The six were now closing in on Harry, who was simply watching as they began forming a circle.

Oh no you don't, he thought, knowing that he was clearly outgunned in this fight. Electing to put some of his new skills to good use, he silently cast the imperius on one of the farther back attackers, momentarily surprised by the fight that the person put up before finally breaking, as Harry clamped down hard on the other consciousness, exerting his will with as much force as he could muster, simultaneously quashing his own unease with the knowledge that these were evildoers. Move to the back and exterminate them, he willed. Immediately, his victim complied, leaving Harry to return his full attention to the remaining five. The smoke was all gone now, and, as a result, all five fired curses at Harry, who dodged hard to the left and raised a shield simultaneously, twisting it in one direction and the next to send the curses flying back at the unsuspecting opponents at odd angles, one reductor smashing apart his nearest foe's legs while a full-body bind was returned to the caster. Harry's inside man, to Harry's distinct horror, was using the killing curse to dispatch his opponents. Again, Harry quashed the unease and added his own spellfire as the now two remaining soldiers whirled around in shock to see what was happening. Another one was picked off with the killing curse before the last survivor had the presence of mind to stun his turncoat comrade. Before he could turn around, however, Harry summoned his wand and caught it in midair.

The soldier turned about and, like a veteran condemned to the executioner's block, adopted a grim, resolved expression and faced Harry squarely. To his surprise, it wasn't a male at all. It wasn't Lucius Malfoy, or Dolohov or some otherwise faceless Death Eater. It was Nymphadora Tonks, her hair toned down to a simple brown, her eyes a matching colour.

"Tonks?" Harry asked in disbelief. For the first time, he took a moment to scrutinize the robes of the people he was fighting and realized that they weren't the classic Death Eater black because they were standard uniform grey. Grey for aurors.

"What're you waiting for?" Tonks asked, her voice dripping with contempt.

"Er," Harry began awkwardly, his brain racing to catch up with the events that were rapidly unfolding around him. He could see that Kittie and Marv were nowhere in sight, clearly having taken off to God knows where. He only hoped they were free and safe, and silently thanked the stars that Marv was familiar with the wizarding world and that Kittie had superior legilimantic powers. However, that didn't really help Harry very much, since he was now in need of medical attention and he had to get Minnie out of there. And time was running out, as he watched professors come pouring out of the castle entrance, wands in hand, prepared, obviously, to do battle against the forces of evil; those forces, Harry was starting to realize, being him.

Oh my God, he thought, a feeling of lightheadedness and nausea slowly stealing over him, like a gambler who just bet his life savings away. How the hell was he going to explain this? he thought. Oblivious to the fact that Tonks was looking at him half-curious, half-determined. You could tell them you thought they were Death Eaters, he thought, that'll do. Except for the fact that you used the fucking Imperius Curse. And you've got no Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free Prophecy to bail you out this time. Harry pursed his lips in annoyance.

Keeping one wand trained on Tonks, he used the other to levitate Minnie and send her floating towards the edge of the grounds, he then levitated Tonks and sent her cannonballing towards the teachers, hoping she would slow their progress, all the while Harry turned tail and bolted after Minnie, casting a magical shield behind him as he ran, biting down on the pain spreading out from his torso, praying a spell wouldn't reach him until he got past the anti-apparation wards and managed to disapparate - after figuring out how to do so with another person in tow. And then, after he had managed all of that, he could begin lamenting about how he had effectively murdered several aurors and casting an unforgiveable, which would promptly be reported to the authorities.

From there, his situation managed to go from bad to worse. Harry, being effectively broke, took to casting the dreaded unforgiveable rather often, as it were, as a matter of merely surviving. He was careful not to use it for extended periods of time, not knowing quite what the effects of prolonged exposure were, and not wanting to attract the attention of any individuals who would be able to identify the curse. Eventually, Harry took to simple thievery and cheap muggle disguises to hide himself while he was in wizarding places, as his image found its way plastered onto shop windows and lightposts. Worse yet, they seemed to know his name, which had the effect of confusing him to no end. All told, things rather sucked.

"So where are you going today?" Minnie asked, her slender form splayed across the bed, her body half-obscured by the covers, her honey blonde hair matted and looking even more beautiful than usual.

"Stop that," Harry said irritably, staring out the window, thoroughly dissatisfied with the whole mess. It had been five days and he still had no clue what he was doing. Apart from hunting and gathering, at any rate.

"Stop what?" she asked innocently.

"That pheromone thing."

"Phooey. Harry, you're no fun," she said, pouting.

Good God, he thought, here we are fugitives from the law, a hair's breadth from having tea for eternity with dementors, and she wants to run around having sex like a nymphomaniac. Worst of all, it was all he could do to fight the feeling off. How does she do that anyway? It occurred to him that he could probably use that particular skill if he were going to go into Diagon Alley. He would have to distract, confuse and cajole people into doing what he wanted with minimal effort and before they scrutinized him too carefully. And he would have to do it all wandlessly and in a way that didn't set off curse alarms, not that he knew of any curses short of the Imperius which could manipulate human behaviour in a seamless fashion. Confusion and suggestion charms tended to disorient the victim, not that it mattered, since he couldn't cast one for the life of him. If it didn't come down to brute force, he was rubbish at it.

"Well, what are we going to do then?" she asked. "I mean, we've been here for days and I'm tired of being cooped up. A girl needs to get out and live a little."

Harry sighed. She was right; it was cruel and unusual. "All right," he said. "I'll make something happen today. But first, I could do with a bit of assistance." With that, Harry got his first lesson in psychic pheromones.

And so, after that rather confusing and awkward lesson, in which he had ended up stripping off Minnie's shirt and drooling all over her neck before he managed to get a hold of himself, Harry set out to Diagon Alley to piece together a plan of action that would hopefully get them in touch with Marv and Kittie, and also create a more suitable living arrangement. What I need, he thought, is the bloody Fidelius. Harry's first stop was Gringotts. He had decided at some point that it was worth a shot to go in and try to access an account. He only hoped that there was a Harry James Potter in this world that had one also and that whatever means of identification that goblins used would be fooled by the fact that he was an identical replica of the real one, right down to his very blood. He doubted that even Gringotts took into account inter-dimensional travellers when designing their security systems.

The familiar imposing white walls and large open doors, with the goblins outside watching the witches and wizards passing by brought a pang of nostalgia to Harry. He remembered the first time he ever gazed upon the magnificent building, finding out he was rich, learning just a bit more about his parents, taking the cart ride down into the underground on what he could only have described as exhilarating. Shoving those thoughts away and cutting through the haphazard traffic, Harry crossed the bank's threshold, felt the wards kicking in, examining him, though for what he couldn't tell, listening to the click of his shoes on the polished marble floors. Harry maneuvered himself to a teller and politely inquired, "My name is Harry James Potter. I would like to withdraw some money."

The goblin, not paying attention in the least to his name, which was synonymous with Bellatrix Lestrange, thanks to the fiasco five days ago, responded, "Key, please."

Crap, I knew I was forgetting something, he thought, admonishing himself. "Er, I don't have one," Harry said in what sounded to himself like a rather feeble voice.

Now the goblin glanced his way and scrutinized him. "Harry James Potter?"

"Er, yes," Harry said, suddenly tensing in anticipation of a brawl. He had blithely assumed that since Sirius had managed to pull together three thousand dollars in his third year, and assuming that he had gotten it from Gringotts, Harry just figured that the goblins operated under laws different from those of the Ministry's.

"You don't have an account here," said the goblin. "As it's been reported that you've been dead for the last fifteen years, it should hardly stand to be a surprise to you."

"Oh," said Harry, his brain not quite able to conjure up a response. Finally, he asked the only intelligent thing he could, desperate to keep the conversation going in order to garner some more scraps of information, and just because he had gotten kind of lonely having no one to talk to except Minnie, who was not exactly the sharpest tack on the wall. "Er, how do you know that I'm supposed to be dead?" Harry asked lamely. Was he famous in this world too? Was he Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Died?

"Mr. Potter, are you feeling all right?"

Let's just pray to God you got the goblin with a soft heart. His Slytherin edge evincing itself for the first time since he arrived, Harry leaned forward conspiratorially and said, "To tell you the truth, I have a bit of amnesia. My current circumstances are a bit beyond me, if you understand what I mean. If you could fill me in on some of the highlights regarding what's been going on, that would be great. In particular if it has some bearing on how I could score some galleons."

The goblin seemed somewhat skeptical, but, given that there really weren't that many people about on a weekday afternoon, the goblin decided to oblige, and started speaking, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named supposedly murdered you on Halloween night, nineteen eighty-one. For what reason, no one knows. However, not a minute thereafter, he turned his wand to Lily Evans Potter and cast the killing curse, intending to wipe the Potters out completely. However, the curse backfired, reducing him to a shadow of his former self. Only recently has he been resurrected and has been terrorizing the world ever since. Since 1991, after he penetrated Hogwarts and extracted the philosopher's stone. You are famous, because your mother is famous. After all, she repelled You-Know-Who by reflecting a curse that was thought to be unblockable."

"Holy crap," Harry muttered. "Holy crap."

"Indeed Mr. Potter. Holy crap indeed."

"Does that mean she's alive?" Harry asked, suddenly unsure as to what kind of answer he wanted anymore. Did he even want to know?

But then the goblin spoke and took away any of Harry's ability to process anymore information. "Yes. Both she and your father." The goblin went on to discuss the possibility that, with consent of the father or upon his death, Harry would be eligible to take hold of some or all of the assets, depending on his father's will. The goblin even went so far as to offer sending a request for Harry's name to be added in accordance with the usual parent-child privileges that many pureblooded families had regarding their vault assets at Gringotts, to which Harry politely declined, still dazed by the information that his parents, or, at least some version of them - one not altogether removed from the ones he should have had, were alive and together. Immediately, a rosy glow formed in his mind's eye of the family they would have made, the living room of Godric's Hollow warm and tinged with warm colours from the fire dancing merrily in the hearth, his mother and father putting up Christmas decorations on a freshly cut tree, Christmas music in the background, both of them laughing and being merry and stealing glances at one another, glances still full of that warmth and love from their youth, it never having been extinguished despite the passage of time. Harry wandered aimlessly down the streets of Diagon Alley, his mind still whirling with the possibility. Could he go see them? The answer to that, he knew, was simply a yes. All he would need was a broomstick and a map, and he could set off to Godric's Hollow, where he knew they must still be living. He would go there and he would just watch, maybe from a tree, maybe from behind some shrubs or from a distance, he would watch them go about their daily lives, able to revel in the marvelousness of seeing them for the first time in his life, in the flesh, exactly as they would have been, should have been, could have been.

If it weren't for Voldemort.

Yes, he was going to see his parents, come hell or high water and by God there wasn't a being on Earth that was going to get in his way. Compelled by the same unwavering drive that had sent him to the DOM, the same drive that sent him barreling headlong after Snape on that warm moist night back in June, Harry went straight to Quality Quidditch supplies, unconsciously unleashing the full force of his new talent, which he still did not know how to control, creating a throng of women glazing over, some of whom began trailing after him in his wake. Oblivious to his haywire emotions, that part of him that was still a little lonely child locked in a cupboard yearning desperately for love and belonging spurring him on to get a glimpse, the way a crack addict convinces himself about stealing money to get that one last little rock. So, Harry, practically having left his disguise on the cobblestone walkways of Diagon Alley, strode into the Quidditch store and simply took one of the brooms, his newfound control after his torture session at Tom's hands reasserting itself and shattering what amounted to rather feeble anti-theft wards when compared to the force of Harry's will.

"Hold on a second!" a man was calling from some distant place - probably the manager, Harry mused; some silly person naively wandering into his path. Harry, ignoring him, simply walked out of the store, looked around at the few women that had gathered around the entrance in search of him, and simply shrugged, mounting his new broom - the Orbital. Harry took off, just as aurors were apparating in to arrest the thief that had swiftly and wandlessly cracked commercial wards without breaking a sweat.

Minnie knew she would never be the smartest girl in her class, or the most athletic or the most musical or artistic or kind, compassionate, thoughtful, logical or the tallest or one of those people who had a knack for solving complex puzzles really quickly. Apart from being gorgeous and having the ability to seduce men and leave them as befuddled as though they had been hit with a strong befuddlement charm, she really couldn't claim anything, apart from an average level of street smarts. Still, she tried, dammit, and she tried hard, even if it meant carving out a niche somewhere in the nether reaches of a fringe world, where nobody cared about her one bit. Nobody except a big oaf named Jack, who doted on her like she were a queen; a person that she could trust in to be her rock, to care for her, and in return ask only to be cared for. Life had seemed pretty ordinary and that was fine by her, for, as was the case with all inhabitants of the fringe worlds, her story was a sad one, and she was merely thankful that she had found peace.

And then there was Harry. That blasted scrawny little pipsqueak with his busted up glasses and oh so cute hair and dazzling eyes, his lean frame, tough as nails attitude, made only cuter by his moments of extreme naiveté. Minnie sighed just thinking about him. Stu had warned her that he had the same effect she had had on others; Stu had said to be careful around him, to keep a few steps away at all times, for she didn't want to be giving her man any ideas. Still it was hard, because Harry represented something deeply fundamental that she couldn't describe; an inarticulable sense that they were connected somehow. He was like her; shared the same talent as her, was immune to her charms. And that excited and terrified her in ways that she couldn't begin to understand. He was somebody who, unlike all the men who came before him, could appreciate her for who she was. Not realizing it, Minnie was falling for Harry for the same reason that Kittie had fallen for him way back when they had been sitting together on that lumpy foam cot in one of the less used backrooms at the Red Cherry.

Sometime around mid-morning, Minnie felt an unusual spike in the air, like an energy, faint yet pulsating was flowing through the room, sourced from a particular direction. She knew the feel immediately. It was Harry; his burgeoning new talent being released in torrents as he was clearly confronted with an emotionally devastating blow. She could feel it moving ever so slightly as he walked westward, and, before long, she felt it coming closer, as though he were riding on a very fast motorbike, and, before she knew it, she could feel him overhead, making her think that maybe he was on a plane, except that when she checked out the window, there wasn't a plane in sight.

He was going somewhere, probably using magic, and his emotions were out of control. Making a snap decision, Minnie got her things together and went after him, knowing instinctively that trouble tended to find Harry wherever he went and that she would be there for him if he needed her.

It was late evening when Harry silently touched down at the mouth of a quiet, countryside lane. The sun was occluded by the scattered farm houses that littered the valley around Godric's Hollow, blanketing the area in an ever-growing shadow, the sky turning to deeper and darker shades of blue with each passing minute. It had taken him the better part of the day just to figure out where he was supposed to be going a fact that greatly annoyed him to no end, since he felt he should have at least known where the murder of his parents had taken place. Somebody should have brought me here long ago, he mused, or I should have made it my job to come here. Back in that other world - his world - this place was one of the few repositories of information that could tell him anything about his parents.

Suddenly though, standing alone on that quiet gravel street, the light twinkling out of existence, the moon rising, a broom in one hand, Harry wind-swept, cheeks flushed, he found that his resolution of seeing his parents from earlier that day started to waver. There was no question that he wanted to see them; that was not the concern that was holding him back. It was more of an internal alarm bell that was ringing in his head, though this time it had nothing to do with Death Eaters or vampires or crazed half-giants. No, this time he was afraid of himself. Maybe you want to see them too much, eh? a part of him spoke up. Can you really just go take a look and then walk away? Can you bring yourself to the brink of the abyss and not throw yourself in, to lose yourself in that fantasy that this world can offer you? Turn away, find your friends and go home.

But Harry didn't do that. Instead, he slung his broom over his shoulder and gently walked down the street, content to take his time and savour the feel of the light breeze, the scent of a country summer evening, the faint smell of horses and of grass, the absence of the pollutants from the city, the constellations of stars above shining down and looking bright and full and glistening with their due intensity. It was like a fine wine, like a warm-up before what he knew would be a truly wonderful experience, even if the sight of them cut through him like a spray of glass shards, opening all the emotional wounds and sorrows that had scabbed over through the years. All he knew was that he wanted it, the bitter pleasure, the sweet pain, like black tea with an overdose of lemon and honey.

The Potter residence seemed to be set apart from the other homes, though Harry wasn't sure if it was just a trick of the light or the intense magical wards that guarded it. His magical senses, which were alive and attuned to the world around him, easily picked up the edge of the wards, feeling them thicken and turn acrid and suffocating as he neared the dwelling. They were trying to push him away, as if they didn't recognize him, as if they didn't recognize his blood. That thought made him feel heavy and he stopped for a moment to gaze up at the house, absently thinking he should disillusion himself or creep around to the side of the house or find a bush to hide under. Again though, any desire for stealth or secrecy was simply washed away by the flood of emotions, by the magnitude of what stood before him.

Harry, still not willing to light his wand despite the looming dark, walked across the front lawn, scanning around himself to see if nosy neighbours were about, a skill ingrained in him from years at the Dursleys. Thankful that there was no one, Harry quietly nestled himself into the recesses of a tree, and peered into the front window, glad to have found a good vantage point from which to spy on his parents. The living room looked surprisingly plain, with white walls and occasional photographs, both wizard and muggle, hanging idly at evenly spaced intervals. He saw a landscape picture with oxen grazing in a valley, and he saw one of an imitation Monet impressionist painting. Rather banal, isn't it? he thought, unconsciously shifting his mental picture of his parents to incorporate these new details.

It was some time before anyone actually showed up. His mother came home first, dressed in white robes typical of a healer. It appeared as though she had apparated directly from work, given that the first thing she did was run upstairs and into what Harry assumed to be her bedroom, from which she emerged just a few minutes later, having changed into casual muggle attire. She had fixed her hair into a tight bun, which was darker than it looked in the various wizarding photos he had of her. It was like dark gold lit aflame, a few stray curls falling down around her softly lined face, still smoothed, still unscarred from the horrors of the world, of Voldemort. He had half-expected to see her sporting a lightning-shaped scar on her forehead, just like his, but there wasn't anything of the sort. Maybe he aimed the curse lower, Harry thought, or maybe it was because she was older when it happened, or that she received immediate magical medical attention. Maybe she was a healer at the time, or training to be one and had a salve on hand to treat it. Harry decided it wasn't really worth interrogating and instead returned to mom-gazing, as it were. People had always told him - the Dursleys excluded, of course - that she was radiantly beautiful, and the pictures he had of her seemed to confirm this. However, looking at her now, she seemed shorter than he expected. Maybe five foot four, or five foot five. Possibly he had always expected in his mind's eye that, should he ever see them, they would tower over him like parents were supposed to do to little children; that thought was like another cut on his soul, reminding him that he was all grown up, that any childhood he could have had with them was gone and that, in all honesty, it was for the best if he were to fulfill his destiny. Pretty lives weren't for murderers.

Funny, how I was so terrified of the thought of becoming a murderer or victim at the end of my fifth year, and here I've slaughtered innocent people, and it hardly bothers me.

Lily had disappeared before long, moving into what Harry decided was probably the kitchen, intending to make food. The thought of it made Harry acutely aware that it had been several hours since he himself had eaten. However, he dared not conjure food, as substandard as it was, for the distinct pressure of the wards was still around him, searching, scanning, pressing down upon his body, and he couldn't tell if any of them were attuned to magic usage. Certainly it wasn't that hard to erect a magical detection ward; the Ministry had them all over the place for underage witches and wizards, and it would be a surefire way to protect yourself in a muggle environment. Marv had mentioned that he needed to learn the three different types of perimeter charms as well as bolstering his occlumancy if he wanted to be a truly proficient soldier. Harry, of course, had never learned such finesses, and hadn't been very interested in them, until Marv pointed out that anyone could sneak up on him without them, and that in a duel, any legilimans would simply pick his next actions right out of his head before he executed them.

Before long, Sirius Black popped into the living room, dressed in a rather regal looking black robe with red and gold embroidery etched into the edges. Harry couldn't help but smile at the blatant use of Gryffindor colours. The sight of his dead Godfather caused a lump to form in his throat. It was different seeing Lily, because she had always been an abstraction borne out of his own longing, a dream, a nostalgia. The sight of Sirius reminded him acutely of so many distinct memories where he was happy, where he could forget about the wizarding world and its problems, and he could forget about the Dursleys, where he could trust others to take care of them, where he could trust that one person who would guard him unconditionally, never leave him, love him, make him a priority. Another cut.

It was a distinct surprise when Sirius came bounding back into the living room, a goofy grin on his face, Lily in hot pursuit, waving a... frying pan? Sirius doubled back, deftly evading a half-hearted strike with the makeshift weapon and catching Lily around her waist, encircling her in his arms, and then lifting her in the air so that she shrieked in surprise, her voice, which sounded like phoenix song to Harry, sprinkling distantly through the glass wall that was between him and them. After Sirius finished spinning her about, he let her down and then held her close in what was clearly a lover's embrace, his face expressing all the emotions of love and tenderness. Then, before Harry's very eyes, he saw them kiss. It was deep, it was long, it was extremely eye opening for Harry. What the hell? he wondered.

Before he could fully process the fact that his mother-clone was snogging his Godfather-clone right before his very eyes, Harry felt the distinct thrust of a wand jabbing into his back. Immediately, he stiffened, the reality of his situation crashing down on him, the murders, his non-existence, the fact that he was trespassing on some heavily guarded property.

"Not a move," said the voice. He could tell the person was female, despite the hushed tones she was using, though he couldn't pin her age, nor could he catch sight of her reflection in the glass. There was too much backlighting, and she was clearly on the other side of the tree, her wand being pushed through the branches and around the trunk in order to reach him. Well, she hasn't hexed you yet, he thought. Maybe you can talk your way out of this. Or then again, maybe she's waiting for back up. You did single-handedly take down like ten aurors at Hogwarts, and lived to tell the tale; not that it was that impressive, when he thought about it. The idiots had hurled curses left, right and center and managed to miss all their targets - hopefully all their targets - as though they were terrified firsties. It was like they walked into that battle expecting to die, he mused, like they were facing Lord Voldemort himself. But, of course, that was ridiculous, since Lord Voldemort wasn't there, he mused. I mean, it was just me and three- Suddenly Harry realized it, and it suddenly made his blood run cold. Oh no, he thought, oh no, no, no. Not only had he killed a bunch of aurors, but he was in the presence of Lord Voldemort, or, at least, a version of him, and now everyone would think that he was in league with the Dark Lord and... dammit! Damn that blasted horcrux all to hell, Harry whined.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" said the female voice behind him, which Harry now could tell was clearly the voice of somebody young. Like, Hogwarts pre-OWLs young, Harry thought.

"Er, sorry?" Harry asked, about to turn around before getting the wand jabbed more firmly in his backside.

"I said, not a move," she continued.

"Again, Harry tried to effect a conciliatory tone. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. What were you saying?"

The girl gave out an audible humph before repeating herself. "I said, who are you and what are you doing skulking around my home?"

"Your home?" Harry asked curiously, his own surprise getting the better of him.

"Yeah, my home. Now start talking. Who are you?"

You've got about three seconds before it starts to look like you're stalling, so make it quick, his mind told him. "Er, Marv. My name's Marv."

"And?" she pressed.

"And what?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Er, bird-watching?" he offered lamely, already mentally berating himself for his slow wit. Take down a basilisk, no problem, slaughter demons, kill innocent people, cross dimensions (by accident, no less), all in a day's work. Conjure an intelligent thought, where? Who? How?

"Bird watching?" she asked.

"Er, yeah. It's that time of year," he continued, still wincing at his own words, thankful she couldn't see his expression. Smooth, he thought, real smooth.

"From the bushes," she added, her tone turning skeptical, once she managed to process his words.

"Can I plead insanity?" he asked.

"No one's even supposed to be able to get within a hundred metres of this place without a million and one alarms going off. So I'm asking you for the last time, who are you and what are you doing here? If you don't answer, I'm going to shoot first and ask questions later."

Harry didn't bother pondering the frank stupidity of her last statement, and instead chose to focus on figuring out a way out from under her wand. He doubted she would pose much threat, given that he could probably wandlessly disarm her or at least block whatever incoming jinxes she could throw at him, being that she couldn't have had more than five years magical education. Still, he wasn't keen on letting this escalate to the fighting stage, since that would surely draw the attention of Sirius and Lily, and he wasn't exactly prepared for that. Also, he knew better than to underestimate school kids, because there was always one or two out of the bunch who proved to be exceptional, like Hermione, or who had unusually vicious experiences that prepared them early on for dangerous situations, like himself.

"Listen, I swear I mean you guys no harm," Harry said. "My story's a bit of a long one, and, frankly, I'm not terribly inclined to discuss it at wandpoint. Would you mind maybe putting it away so we could talk face to face? That might help you understand who I am."

"Oh no you don't," she responded instantly. "Don't think for a second that you're going to get away that easily. I know exactly how you thugs are. No, you're going to stay right there and tell me everything, or else you're going to find yourself being carted away in a body bag."

Body bag? Harry thought. Christ, who is this kid? "A death threat's rather excessive, don't you think?" he asked finally.

"Listen to me. You've got a wand pointed right between your shoulder blades, your back turned to an unknown enemy. You've just got to ask yourself one question. Do I feel lucky?"

"Er-" Okay, what the hell do I make of that? he wondered.

"Well, do you?" she pressed, digging the wand tip a little deeper into his skin.

"Er, do I what?" he asked, growing more and more bewildered. Was this some sort of pureblood wizard protocol? Why do I have to be so ignorant of everything, he lamented silently.

"God, you must be really brave or really stupid."

"I'm a Gryffindor," he said, shrugging. "Brave and stupid are my middle names."

"Gryffindor? Really?" she asked, surprised. "I'm a Huffelpuff, myself. what year?"

"Um, maybe we should get this conversation back on track," he said, sidestepping the issue. "You were trying to pump me for information, remember?"

"You don't really act like a dangerous criminal," she said, more to herself than to him.

"Obviously," he added. "That would be because I'm not." Minus the several dead bodies.

"Still, you know I can't just lower my wand. That would be downright stupid.'

"You're right," Harry agreed, silently deciding to take her down and regain control of the situation. "That is why I'll make it real easy on you." With a casual wave of his hand, which was all for theatrics anyway, Harry hit his unknown assailant with the full body bind, her wand falling uselessly to the grass, her body snapping into place like a set of Lego pieces, her expression still one of intense concentration that was slowly morphing into surprised horror. Harry turned around just as she was falling to the floor. He knelt down and picked up her wand, examining it curiously as though it were a potential new discovery, all the while carefully feeling the wards to see if there were any signs of change, any indication that the occupants of the house had been alerted to the use of magic. "Now," he said in a calm, relaxed tone, "I'm going to unbind you, and I would appreciate it if you didn't scream. I promise you I'm not going to hurt you-" he briefly considered adding a condition that she not hurt him first, but decided she was probably too panicked to understand higher order logic and so continued on without the qualifier. "I hope that, by unbinding you and giving you your wand, you will trust me a bit more. Is that okay?" he asked, undoing the bind on her neck and upper back. Harry maneuvered around the tree and came next to her, sitting himself down on the grass in a cross-legged position, hoping that it would come across as a non-offensive posture. "Well?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Good," he said, taking a deep breath and undoing the bind. He then gently laid her wand in front of him and sat there watching her. The stranger flexed her limbs experimentally, clearly not having experienced that particular curse before, and then, deciding she was unharmed, picked herself off the grass and knelt down to sit across from Harry. In the dim light, he could see that she was indeed younger than he was. Her hair was black and her eyes a startling blue. Sirius's blue.

"You're Sirius's daughter," Harry said in a neutral tone.

She nodded. And then, in the ensuing silence, answered Harry's unasked question. "And Lily's daughter."

"Right," Harry said. "Of course."

"Of course?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smiled. "I have to admit. I was a bit surprised to see... to see Lily with Sirius. I had expected her to be with..." With my father, he thought sadly, sighing to himself, letting the little picture of perfection that he had created for himself shatter into tiny pieces and get blown away by the image of the young teen sitting before him. In some ways, Harry hoped that James had been murdered, so that he could cling to the belief that they would have been the kind of couple that would have remained madly in love with another throughout their lives.

The girl in front of him must have been studying him very carefully in the dark, because her next statement was spot on. "You're Harry," she said simply.

Well, there's no point lying now, he decided, so he simply nodded.

Seeming to understand things, she continued. "You expected to see mom with James Potter. She's - she's your mother too."

Harry didn't know whether to agree to that or not, since he didn't know whether she was his mother anyway. So he simply remained silent, casting his gaze down to the dark blades of grass and letting his mind drift from one aimless thought to the next. Of all the things he had expected, a half-sister was not one of them.

"And you came here to see your mother," the girl concluded thoughtfully. "That must be why you were able to get past the wards. It recognized your blood."

"Yeah," he confirmed. "Makes sense." Harry wasn't really sure what to say to her. He had imagined, in the deep recesses of his mind, conversations with his mother and his father, all the things he had wanted to say to them over the years; professions of his longing for a family, how he would be a good boy, do what he was told, never disappoint them, work hard, so on and so forth. However, he had never even contemplated the thought of a younger sister; it had never factored into his calculation, so, now, sitting across from such a person, he felt distinctly awkward, at a loss, as if they were two strangers forced together by peculiar circumstances and neither knew quite how to proceed. That was, of course, actually the case, and it was complicated by the fact that they were only half-siblings.

"My name is Sylvia," she said, her soft voice carrying in the quietude.

Harry focused his attention on the girl in front of him. She was lean like he was, only without the look of emaciation with which the neglect during his childhood had contorted his frame. He smiled at her, recognizing her attempt to break the ice. "It's nice to meet you, Sylvia," he said, extending one hand.

"It's nice to meet you too," she replied, accepting the handshake.

"So," Harry said, searching for a workable topic and deciding on Hogwarts. "You're a Huffelpuff."

She nodded, and Harry could feel more than see her blushing. "It's not exactly Gryffindor, is it?"

"There's nothing wrong with Huffelpuff," Harry responded instantly.

She merely smiled. "Yeah, that's what mom and dad said the second I told them."

"Do you play Quidditch?" Harry asked, determined not to let the conversation drift into stormy waters.

The question seemed to be a good one, because she brightened up considerably. "Seeker," she said instantly. "Youngest in a century too," she said, and then blushing again, realizing that she probably sounded as though she were bragging.

"Brilliant," Harry said, ignoring her embarrassment, elated to hear that his half-sister was just like him. "I bet you're a natural on a broom."

"Yeah," she said, the feel of warm memories lacing her voice. "Dad was proud."

Harry supposed that, if things were a bit different, he might have been jealous of her, but, knowing all too acutely the absence of family, the solitude and the sorrow, he found nothing but a wonderful warmth radiating through him at the fact that Sylvia made her dad proud, like protecting what they had was his job; it was what he lived for.

"Next time you play Slytherin, be sure to kick their ass extra good."

Sylvia smiled even more widely. "You better believe it. We shut them out last time. Caught the snitch in under half an hour. Caught it right out from under the other seeker's nose."

"Brilliant," he said again, echoing his earlier statement.

A silence fell again between them, neither knowing quite what to say. Eventually, Sylvia asked in a hesitant voice, "Would you like to come inside? You could, you know, meet them."

"That may not be the best idea," Harry said, stifling the multitude of emotional pangs that were cutting into his soul. "Some things are happening, and I think I might have accidentally gotten myself into the middle of them. It's best I don't disrupt things."

"Oh," she said, slightly crestfallen. And then, after a moment, she continued. "Is it because of me?"

"You?" Harry said, baffled. "Why would you think that?"

She merely shrugged. "I s'pose because you really didn't know about me and all that. I just figured maybe you were hoping to come back to your parents and be accepted, and now that you've discovered it's not what you thought it was, you were going to run away again. You know, because of dad and because of me. I didn't think you would have come back just to hide in the bushes and watch, you know? It's like, it seems a bit far and a bit of a long time to stay away just to return for a look."

"Oh," Harry said, not sure what else to say to those comments. They all sounded reasonable, and he wasn't sure how to go about giving her the right impression without delving into all the complexities of his life, including inter-dimensional travel. Finally, he settled on, "I murdered a bunch of aurors the other day." Not to mention being identified in the presence of Lord Voldemort's company. "I doubt your parents would be terribly thrilled to see me at this point."

It was now Sylvia's turn to absorb some very heavy information. At first, all she said was, "Oh," but then, after a time, she continued, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you murder them?" Funnily enough, Harry couldn't detect a trace of fear in her voice; she simply expressed genuine curiosity.

"They thought I was in the presence of the Dark Lord, and they opened fire on me. I didn't even realize it was aurors until the smoke had cleared, and by then I had downed about eight of them."

"Eight?" she asked, now seeming incredulous. "Eight aurors? On your own?"

Harry nodded.

"Creepers," she said. "How'd you do that?"

Harry shrugged. "One of them was a woman named Nymphadora Tonks-"

"you killed Tonks?" Sylvia cut in, her eyes widening in shock.

"No, no, I didn't. She was one of the two left standing. No, wait, there was a couple of more that were just stunned. I think it was only six dead, three stunned and Tonks disarmed. Once I saw her, I knew I wasn't fighting Death Eaters, and so, doing the only thing that made sense, I ran."

Silence fell once again. Eventually, they heard the front door opening and Lily calling out for her daughter in the darkness. "I guess I'd better go," she said quietly, getting to her feet and pocketing her wand.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, a lump rising in his throat as he watched his parallel reality half-sister walk away, desperately wishing he could follow her into the warmth of that family home, into the warmth of his mother's embrace. Belatedly, he realized that he never even found out if his father were still alive.

Sylvia had been surprised, to say the least. Meeting her supposedly dead half-brother, who she hadn't heard hide nor hair about since she had asked about the round-faced little green-eyed boy in some of the family pictures seven years ago, had distinctly unnerved her. He radiated this strange sort of icy calm, as though he had been touched by death and had, not only survived it, but grown accustomed to it. He didn't seem evil, but he didn't seem overly bothered by having murdered people either; nor did he think that taking down trained dark wizard hunters was a big deal. He seemed incredibly sad, and yet, his eyes lit up when she mentioned her accomplishments, much like she would expect a parent to do when reflecting on nostalgic memories.

"What's wrong?' her mother asked, seeing Sylvia's intense thoughtfulness. She briefly considered not telling her parents, but decided that, despite the conversation and the implicit trust that he inspired in her, her loyalty was ultimately to her parents and they, quite frankly, knew best. Especially since he could breach the wards, and that, at least, was something they should know about.

"Well, mom," she began. "I met someone today. A boy, in fact."

"Oh?" said Lily, continuing to slice carrots muggle-style and instinctively glancing at the kitchen entrance to see if Sirius were trying to sneak in again. "You met him at the park?"

"Er, no. He was hiding in the bushes spying on you."

Lily's knife stopped dead in mid slice, and she looked up at Sylvia, who was still trying to figure out how best to say the words 'Harry Potter'.

"You met a boy who was hiding in a bunch of bushes spying on me?" Lily asked, echoing her daughter's words as if trying to taste them.

"Yes, actually."

"When? Where? Who was he?"

"It was right here, and I was talking to him right up until you called me in."

Lily now put down the knife with an audible click as it touched down on the cutting board. "I think you'd better start making sense, because I'm growing somewhat concerned. Sylvia, what are you talking about? Who was this person? Is he dangerous? How did he get onto the property? Is he magical?"

Sylvia supposed she should have simply blurted out the name from the outset and then let the confusion clear itself away, because it probably would have been less hassle than going through the tedious process of simply trying to ease her mother into the news. "He must be about seventeen, yes he's magical, and his name is Harry. Harry Potter."

A long silence ensued in which Sylvia could actively see the words filtering through the various layers of her mother's consciousness, the import of Sylvia's words hitting her, the magnitude of it, the impossibility and the beauty and terror all coming together. "Harry?" she asked softly. "Harry Potter."

"Er, yes."

"He was here?"

Sylvia nodded. "Reckon he came to see you."

Lily continued to mouth words silently, as if reciting a long poem and trying to memorize it for an upcoming performance.

"Mom?" Sylvia asked.

"So it's true," Lily said, looking off into the wall, no longer seeing her daughter. "It was him at Hogwarts. But it can't be. he's dead; it has to be a glamour or, or polyjuice or a muggle costume or a likeness or something. It-"

"Mom," Sylvia cut in. "It was him. I think, I think maybe he had amnesia or something, or maybe he has been gone from Britain for a really long time, because he didn't know certain things." Except that he said he was a Gryffindor, Sylvia thought, realizing suddenly that his story didn't quite add up. How could he be a Gryffindor? How could he have gone to Hogwarts, when her father worked there? Suddenly Sylvia was terribly unsure of herself. Who had she just spent the last twenty minutes talking to? It couldn't have been him, since he's dead and since - again, Sylvia's thoughts were cut off when she remembered that he had penetrated the wards. Ever since the return of the Dark Lord, Lily had erected enchantments on their property so complex and so sound that no one on Earth could break them. She had spent ten long years developing some of the most intensive magical structures for home protection, committing herself to never let the fate of her first child befall any of her future children.

"You say you're sure it's him?" Lily asked in a quiet, yet commanding voice. "Why?"

Sylvia shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose it's because he seemed sincere, and because he seemed, well, sad, I guess. He asked me about school, and I told him I was in Huffelpuff. He told me it's a wonderful house, and that he was proud of me being a seeker. It just sounded... nice. Brotherly, I guess."

"You should have come and gotten either me or your father, Sylvia. We have no idea who came here, and we have no idea how he managed to breach the wards. This is serious. What were you doing just chatting with him?"

"I couldn't help it," Sylvia said. "When I saw him skulking around in the bushes, I-" However, Sylvia found that she was at a loss to explain just why it was that she hadn't gone inside. Had she been trying to prove something by capturing him? "I thought I could stop him. You know, disarm him and be an adult. Do adult things, you know? I'm sorry, mom. I should have just gone in and gotten you."

Lily reached out and drew Sylvia in to an embrace. "It's okay," she said. "Just, just don't do that again. God, how I worry about you. I worry about you everyday. I swear, if this is some kind of a cruel joke..."

"It's okay. He didn't hurt me. He could have; he could have done all kinds of things to me, but he didn't. I swear. He even disarmed me and used that petrificus totalis spell we learned at school-"

"He cursed you!" Lily exclaimed, gripping Sylvia's shoulders and looking intensely into her eyes.

"No, no, it's not like that," Sylvia said. "I threatened him. I'm surprised he let me continue threatening him as long as I did. He didn't even seem the slightest bit bothered by it; as though the whole thing were kind of amusing to him. "And then, he just waved his hand around and cursed me, without even uttering a word, without a wand, and then he just asked me not to scream and uncursed me and gave me my wand back. Then we sat down together on the grass and talked."

"And he said his name was Harry?"

Sylvia nodded. "Yeah. He said you're his mum. He's my half-brother."

"It can't be," Lily said, repeating herself from earlier on. "It just can't be."

It wasn't long before Sirius was filled in on the details, shortly after which they were contacted by Albus Dumbledore no les, who informed them of the theft at Quality Quidditch and the identified perpetrator being the butcher of Hogwarts. And so, it was a long, restless night for the Blacks, all of whom had mixed feelings about the stranger that had come into their lives, the main question in all their minds being, Who are you?