OoOoO Chapter 3 - The Order and a Surname OoOoO

James transfigured a book from the hallway table outside into a pair of circular glasses and handed them over to Harry. Harry accepted them and slid them on easily, instantly grateful to the suddenly clear-cut world around him. "How did you know the eye prescription?" Harry asked, looking over to James for the first time without the blurry edges. It really was almost like looking into a mirror. An older mirror.

The sides of James's face tipped up into a smile. "Educated guess."

Harry didn't have time to think about what that meant as in the next moment, Jonathan was turning him around. His eyes traveled over Harry's face and he saw the younger boy swallow. "Yea- looks good," Jonathan said and glanced at his father with furrowed brows.

James flashed a shallow smile. "Come on. Don't want to miss our own party."

Harry followed James and Jonathan Potter through the massive house. It was nice, Harry decided after traveling through one of the drawing rooms. Polished wooden floors covered every floor with thick, and perfectly groomed high pile carpet around the furniture and hallways. Harry could enjoy and ogle at the rooms, as Petunia had made Harry clean so often when he was younger that he knew how to appreciate the luxury textures and furnishings.

The tall windows and the thin, light-colored curtains, made the house look … well, homey. Something completely different from the tornado of the comfortable Burrow, or the pristine Dursley home; it was a nice median between the two. Something Harry decided that he quite liked.

"You have a wonderful home," Harry said out loud.

James looked over his shoulder and grinned proudly. "Potter Manor. It's been in the family for generations actually. The parents wanted somewhere smaller, Lilly and I needed someplace bigger than our last... New memories and all." The grin turned bitter at the end, and Harry realized he must have been talking about himself, or, the other Harry. The Harry that died.

Although, a strange thought came to Harry. Where had the Potter Manor gone in his world? Harry didn't think he owned anything more than Sirius's old home and his family vault of course, but still, where had this house been in Harry's world? Were the others? "Are we not in Godric's Hollow then?" Harry asked, looking out one of the tall windows.

Outside was a grassy field large enough to put in a quidditch pitch in, with large oak trees that rose taller than the upper floors. A small lake covered the far right side of the property. Like something out of a postcard, Harry mused.

"Did your Potters live there too?" James asked with a raised brow.

"Oh, uh, yea. The Potters... for a bit they did. Not there anymore."

Jonathan slowed and fell into step beside Harry. "Well don't skip the details. Where'd we go to? Tell me not America though. Granddad threatened to whisk us all there once, when Hogwarts looked about to fall a couple of years back, and I thought I'd rather move to Beauxbatons than go there."

"What's wrong with the States? And Beauxbatons?" Harry asked lightly, though confused. And Grandfather? There wasn't anything wrong with the Beauxbatons Academy here was there? Was it overtaken? Harry felt a little worried at the thought of Madame Maxime being taken away as Headmistress. Though, if she was half-giant, and nothing had changed from the original War, Harry doubted the Headmistress was still taking care of the school. Or even alive.

"Oh nothing's wrong with it per se, but they're all a bunch of stuck up-"

"Jonathan," his mother warned from behind.

The younger wizard held his hands in surrender. "Course," he whispered in conspiracy, "Bill Weasley would know all about-"

Lily smacked the back of her son's head lightly. Jonathan blinked and cleared his throat.

Harry grinned. "So Bill and Fleur got married here as well then?"

"Soon as they could. Yours?"

Harry nodded. "Summer before my seventh year."

"So they were destined, in both worlds." Jonathan huffed a little like it was a blow to his ego.

"Disappointed?" Harry smiled.

Jonathan shoved his hands in his pockets with a grin. "Nah, kinda made for each other, aren't they?"

Harry silently agreed. He frowned as he thought about where the French lady and Jonathan could have met. Only one idea came to him. "Did you meet her during the TriWizard Tournament?"

Jonathan frowned, confused. "No, I met her at an Order meeting in my third year."

"You didn't... Hogwarts didn't hold the school competition with the Goblet of Fire?"

"When?" Jonathan asked, his frown falling deeper. "Recently? As in, the past few years? Merlin no. Heard rumors about it in my third year, for 'international cooperation' against you-know-who, but the Headmaster thought that it would be too dangerous with its history and how the wards in Hogwarts are set up."

How the wards were set up?

Jonathan glanced at Harry after his words. "But I'm guessing there was one in your world then. Were you in it?"

Harry looked down the hallway to a balcony overlooking the backyard. He only just realized that it was daytime, probably lunch by the sun's position.

"Won it," Harry admitted softly.

Jonathan seemed to choke on air, and James glanced at Harry too fast for him to see. "You won the competition?" Jonathan marveled. "The eternal glory? The galleons? What about the challenges? McLaggen swears he heard Flitwick say there could have been dragons!"

It was the longest thing Jonathan had ever said to him, and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the mention of the daft Gryffindor who had hit Harry with a bludger in his sixth year. He opened his mouth to answer, but Lily beat him to it.

"What year were you in Harry?" she asked.

"My fourth," Harry answered truthfully. "Not that I had a choice," he mumbled under his breath, only heard by Jonathan who turned to give him a weird look.

"Fourth year?" Lily echoed. "Surely, there was an age limit for such a competition?" she said, making the statement sound more like a question. "The history of the games should have disbanded the Tournament from the beginning by itself. To play it again, and in the times of you-know-who's war with such a young student should have been forbidden."

"It's a magical contract Mrs. Potter, no one had a choice."

"But a fourth year?"

Harry didn't like where this conversation was going, and with each question, he began to get more and more uncomfortable. What could he say? What would be too much? Should he say anything? Did they need to know?

Harry ran a hand through his hair again and sighed. "Mrs. Potter, it's a long story."

And with the tone of his voice, the conversation was dropped.

The Potter family and Harry stepped into a large kitchen with a small side door that looked about the size for a house elf. James stopped and turned around, picking up a small butter knife in the process. He turned and faced Harry.

Harry froze, looking at the butter knife, and then at James, instinct taking over and a foot sliding back in preparation for a dodge or quick movement.

James caught the action, and immediately lowed the butter knife back to the table and putting his hands in the air. "It's alright. You don't have to say anything you don't want to. I know you must be..." James trailed off, unsure how to proceed and Harry didn't step forwards to help him. James looked down at Harry and sighed. "...disoriented."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "That's a word for it," Harry agreed lightly, though he didn't look away from James.

James turned away first and pulled out his wand. "We'll be traveling by portkey to Headquarters. Ready?" James asked, looking around first to Lily, then Jonathan and Harry.

Harry nodded, and James muttered a spell under his breath at the butter knife. The knife glowed blue, and James held out the butter knife to everyone around the table. Harry didn't hesitate. "On three," the older wizard said. "One." Harry reached out and touched the tip of the knife. Jonathan followed his lead and touched the blunted edge. "Two." Lily reached out afterward and locked eyes with her husband. "Three."

The world spun around Harry, his chest compressed inwards, and his stomach rolled. Harry felt as though he were in the center of a spinning wheel traveling much too fast and that was slowly compressing him into a rubber tube. Harry closed his eyes against the swirling colors and waited for it to stop. The spinning lasted for a second longer before Harry was released to an unmoving floor and strong walls. Harry leaned against the first solid piece of house he could find and Jonathan clasped a hand at his shoulder like he was trying to be a comfort. "Not used to travel by portkey?" he asked.

"I prefer broomstick if I had the choice," Harry said honestly, trying to remember how to breathe.

Jonathan laughed lightly, apparently completely at ease. "You're like my dad. Love to live his life on the back of a Nimbus. Never liked portkeys either." Jonathan walked ahead of him down a familiar hallway.

"Is everyone going to be here?"

Jonathan's eyebrows rose. "What, the whole Order? Bloody hell, no." He laughed. "Do you know how many of us there are around the world?" He shook his head. "No, this is will most likely only have the heads of operations and maybe close family members. Most aren't actually allowed to Order meetings here, only for the top leaders and such, but your arrival's probably changed a little bit of that. Everyone's going to want to meet you."

Harry grimaced. This was getting worse and worse. "Where's the meeting held at?" he asked.

"Where was yours?" Jonathan challenged walking in step with him.

"Dining room," Harry answered automatically. He looked at Jonathan and raised an eyebrow.

"Same. Biggest place without screaming portraits," he shrugged.

Harry almost laughed. When Grimmauld Place had been burnt to the ground, the 'art' had been burnt as well, so he didn't have to worry about waking up to Mrs. Black causing him morning headaches. It was one of the rare times he was grateful the Death Eaters had been there.

Harry kept walking but stopped himself in front of the suddenly present closed dining-room door. The Order was behind the door, and behind that, were faces lost to his world. Sirius. Remus maybe? Mad-Eye? Snape? Harry froze and didn't think he could move to open the door. He wanted to open the door. Oh, Merlin, he wanted to see Sirius and Remus. But in the same thought, he didn't.

They didn't know. Didn't share the same experience with him that he had had with their memories. He was just a memory lost to them. A shadow of the boy that could have been in their world.

Harry could hear faint voices through the door, but none that he could distinguish between. He put his hand on the doorknob, trying to force his body to just keep going, but his fingers wouldn't move for him. He couldn't open the damn door.

"Harry?" Lily asked behind him.

Of course, they were standing behind him and watching.

Harry didn't let go of the door, but he looked behind him over his shoulder. Lily looked confused for a moment before her lips parted in understanding and she looked across to James beside her with sad knowing etched in the wrinkles of her eyes. "I just need to…"Harry let himself trail off, unable to really say anything else. Until what? He was okay? This wasn't okay, and he wouldn't be. Not with reliving this. These people were dead to him.

"Take your time. There's no hurry," James said lowly, nodding to the door.

"I hadn't even thought about…" Lily said softly, trailing off to her own inner thoughts.

A vein in James's cheek ticked. "No one did Lils, it's not your fault."

Lily looked at the hand Harry had wrapped around the door handle with white knuckles.

Whatever had paralyzed his hand from moving released him as hot anger rushed through his blood and across his face. Like she was pitying him. He turned the door handle and let his anger wash out the dread in his stomach. Just need to get home. Get back home. Do this and he got to leave.

He ignored looks from the Potter family behind him and walked through the door into the dining room.

Conversation stopped.

Heads turned and Harry gazed over every head in the room but didn't keep his gaze focused on one person for too long. He kept his eyes moving, taking in every face, and burying his feelings from showing. "Afternoon," Harry said softly, looking over Mrs. Weasley, Fleur, Fred, and George. They all nodded back, but Harry could only stare for a moment longer at both of the red-haired twins. Both of them. They were sitting close together from their heads previously bent together over a scrap of paper, muttering under their breaths like they were keeping a secret only they could manage.

Harry kept his face blank as he passed them, but he didn't think he could up and speak if someone had asked him to at that moment.

Behind him, Harry heard James talking quietly, "Sirius back yet?"

"Not due back till after five," a deep voice answered. Kingsley?

Someone stood up from the left side of the room, and Harry immediately followed the movement, his eyes finding periwinkle blue staring at him through half-moon spectacles.

"Dumbledore," Harry breathed out. Why was he surprised?

The older wizard smiled softly at Harry. "You know me from your world, my boy?"

Harry watched the man smile from the corners of his mouth. Something he'd seen so many times before but hadn't realized he'd missed it until just then. Good Merlin, Dumbledore was standing right in front of him. "Honestly Headmaster, I doubt there are very few people who don't know your name from either world."

Fred and George Weasley laughed from across the room and another pair of men closer to Dumbledore hid scoffs behind broken coughs. Harry turned to them, and surprisingly, recognized them. Fabian and Gideon Prewett. With matching red hair, identical grins, and wrinkled faces, Harry was surprised to not have noticed them sooner. They wore different clothes, but they held themselves in the same way matching brothers would. It was uncanny, how much they shared likeness to Fred and George.

Harry spoke to Dumbledore. "The Potters told me the Order needed to speak with me. I'm here."

Dumbledore gazed at him over his glasses like Harry was a puzzling book in another language. "Yes, I dare say you are," the aging wizard said softly, staring unabashedly. It was quiet for a moment before he straightened suddenly like he had come to a decision. Inside, Harry cringed. Dumbledore had had a habit of doing that, and when he did, the grandfatherly aura disappeared and instead, a strong sort of determination seemed to ooze from him. And it was currently, all aimed at Harry.

Harry locked eyes with Dumbledore and felt a brush against his mental shields. He jolted upright in surprise.

The warm feelings of seeing his old Headmaster disappeared. "Albus..." Harry hissed low, his eyes narrowing dangerously. People around the room tensed at the sudden anger, and the professor himself stood with a neutral face that pissed Harry off even more. "I'd think it would be a common courtesy to stay out of other people's heads," he spat, the unresolved anger of the dead Headmaster fresh within his words.

"Albus?" McGonagall asked, her eyes switching from Harry to the older man. Harry could see Jonathan looking at Dumbledore confused and Lily and James staring back and forth at them with a dawning realization.

"Albus," Lily echoed McGonagall with an entirely different tone. Like a warning.

Dumbledore said nothing and Harry felt the wizard retreat from his head. Harry's eyes swept around the room and felt gazes trained on him varying from caution to outright distrust.

"I have been a very patient man so far," he addressed his old Headmaster. "I've come from eating my breakfast outside my home to waking up two days later in a whole new world, quite literally. I've saved my questions because of the kindness that the Potters have shown me, but do not mistake this for ignorance. Do not take me as a pawn because I've played this game before," he turned to look at the eyes of the assembled Order, "and I won."

McGonagall. Tonks. Oliver Wood. Fleur. Moll Weasley. Ted Tonks. Faces of wizards and witches that Harry had seen both dead and alive in his world. Their gazes were trained on him, taking in his words.

"Manipulation and legilimency will not make me more susceptible to doing something for you." Harry's eyes blazed. He was back all of five minutes and already people were trying to get into his head. See what he was made of. Get hold of whatever secrets they thought he had.

"Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked to the right of Dumbledore.

"Harry," Lily said quietly, "he won't try legilimency on you again. It was just-"

"-old," Harry cut her off. "Getting in my head has gotten old." But he could see other Order members pulling out their wands from the corner of his eye, and he still didn't have one of his own.

He let go of his anger.

Dumbledore had lost the twinkle behind his glasses, but he lowered his head a fraction at Harry. A nod of acknowledgment, maybe even an apology if Harry was feeling kinder. "I'm quite all right Minerva. Just a little taken back is all," Dumbledore said, brushing his beard over his chest. "A slight miscalculation really."

The sudden rush of anger had surprised Harry, he didn't know where it had come from. Maybe leftover from the war, all of the funerals he'd been to recently, the stress of leading the Wizarding World into a New Era, the change… Harry sighed deeply.

"It won't happen again Mr…" Dumbledore said, still standing away from Harry.

"Harry," Harry answered. "Just Harry."

"You've no surname boy?" A rough, gnarled voice asked from Harry's right.

Harry glanced over to the speaker and fought to keep a smile from his face. Mad-Eye Moody looked exactly the same from the last time Harry had seen him. Maybe a few more scars across his face, but the patchwork looked the same. His magical blue eye whirled around in its socket every couple of seconds, but Moody's normal one blue one was strained on Harry's face darkly.

"I do," Harry said slowly.

"Is it a secret you can't share with the class?" Moody asked, narrowing his one good eye at him.

Harry opened his mouth, and then abruptly shut it. Well that was the question, wasn't it? "I… I think it best if no one knows my last name just yet Mad-Eye."

If Moody was surprised to have Harry recognize him, he didn't show it on his face. He only leaned forwards on his staff. "Oh, and why's that?"

"I've dealt with time travel before," Harry explained. "I know the rules, and even if this isn't the same, I think it's close enough. I don't know what has happened in your world, what you know, or what you've done to get where you are now. If I give information that you're not ready for, I doubt anyone would like the end result."

"That's not for you to decide boy," he grunted back. "You're only here to give us information! No matter the bloody cost of what you think!"

Hermione's voice echoed in Harry's ear from third year. Terrible things happen to wizards who meddle, she had said. And while this wasn't time travel, Harry would pursue the more cautious sides in situations like this. "Mad-Eye," he started, "whatever horrors you think you've seen, I can assure you, if given the right opportunity, they could grow far worse than you can even dream."

"And you've experience in this?" someone else familiar asked. A soft voice, worn and wearied, but comforting. Harry followed the voice and turned his head to look at a graying, aging, middle-aged man with tattered clothes and old eyes. Remus.

"Experience?" Harry asked. "No, thankfully. I had a friend stop me before I did anything stupid." Harry looked down at Remus's hand and saw no wedding ring. So he wasn't married to Tonks then. Or had had Teddy yet.

Remus stared back at Harry and frowned in thought. "Are you ... well?"

Harry blinked away from Remus and nodded. "Yea. It's been - well, it's been a while since I've seen most of you, or - you're counterpart."

Remus blinked and bowed his head. "When did I die?"

"Four months ago," Harry answered quietly. A flicker of surprise crossed over his face and was gone before Harry could blink.

"You can answer that, but you can't tell us your last name!" Moody barked angrily.

"That's completely different," Harry argued, turning away from Remus.

"Like a Death Eaters bloody left testi—"

"Alastor," Dumbledore interrupted quietly, cutting Moody off. "I do think Harry only has our best wishes in mind. He does not seem the type to…" Dumbledore looked to Harry. "…scare easily."

Harry sighed. "I think we ought to start from the beginning. You tell me why I'm here and I'll—"

"What? Lie to us and make yourself a cover to hide under?" Moody asked.

"No, but I'll consider telling you my story."

"That's not good enough!"

"That's all I can give you."

Moody turned to the wizards surrounding him. "We haven't tested him. He won't tell us his name and he admits to hiding secrets. He can't be trusted."

"Alastor that does not—"Dumbledore tried.

"Hey!" Harry yelled. "You were all the ones that summoned me here, remember? I was fine where I was, but you brought me to this place. I should be the one asking questions!"

"Your eyes deceive you, Albus, this is no ordinary boy! I can see him!" Moody yelled, slamming his staff to the ground. Red sparks erupted from the end of his staff and Harry nearly jumped from his skin. Merlin, he'd forgotten how loud that man's voice could get.

"What do you mean, you 'see him'?" James asked, glancing at Harry.

Moody pointed at his magical eye. "This doesn't miss much. Not much at all. It's kept me alive through dark wizards and idiots alike at my neck and it knows when it sees something bad. Something dark."

Harry frowned. "I am no Dark Wizard Mad-Eye."

Moody turned to him, and his magical eye stayed strained on Harry. The back of Harry's neck shivered uncomfortably. "A part of you is."

Harry's frown deepened and annoyance cut through his voice. "What do you mean 'a part of me'—" Harry stopped his sentence and stared at Mad-Eye is coming horror. What Moody had meant, what he said, it couldn't be right. Be real. "That's not possible," Harry whispered. "It was killed."

Moody narrowed his good eye. "Apparently not."

Harry felt the world spin and he backed up ungracefully as the world tilted in front of him. He held out his arms to catch himself but fell backward onto, surprisingly, a cushioned chair. His backside hit the back of the seat and he leaned forwards in the chair so his elbow was on his knees and his head was in his hands. The room was silent.

"Harry?" Jonathan asked.

Harry shook his head. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to negotiate with Moody. He thought back to the sudden flash of pain he'd gotten when he'd 'passed' through to this world. Had that been… Oh, Merlin. Harry ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on its end, and looked up tiredly.

"It is you, isn't it?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes falling over the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

Harry grimaced. He shook his head and stood up. Everything was all too much. His dead parents, dead friends, a new world, a bleedin horcrux again. He swallowed and looked away from the intense gaze of his old Headmaster. "Don't," he said. Pleaded. Begged.

"Your name is Harry," Dumbledore answered, eyes shining across the room. "Harry Potter."

Gasps crossed the room. Adults stood from their chairs, and the younger generation like Fleur, Fred, and George frowned in confusion at the uproar.

"Oh Albus," Professor McGonagall said, staring wide-eyed at Harry.

"That's not possible," Remus breathed out in shock, his eyes fixed on Harry.

Moody moved forwards from the group and coughed lowly. "Is it true? Your surname boy," Moody said quietly, if not gently, "is it Potter?"

UP NEXT: The meeting continues and the truth comes out

~Missmusicluver