Did I single-handedly become the world's first billionaire author, after being rejected by twelve individual publishing companies? If not, I don't own Harry Potter. Nor do I make any money whatsoever from this story. Any OC's in this tale are mine, though.
Righto, here's the third chapter of Respective Counterparts. Enjoy at your leisure.
I apologise in advance for any delays that may come to my update rate; I have a few important things going on right now that need addressing.
Minor warning: There shall be a small mention of torture in this chapter — do not worry, it is not graphic. If you don't like to read that sort of stuff, please click away now.
Alrighty. On with the story!
Chapter Three
Awakening
The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 19/06/1996…
"So, Madam Pomphrey? What's the diagnosis?"
She did not reply immediately, staring pensively at the unmoving bodies before her.
The sounds of birds tweeting outside the high, arching windows signified that it was the very early morning after the incident within the Department of Mysteries.
James' unsuccessfully muffled yawn and Rosalyn's body, almost swaying on the spot from exhaustion, also emphasised this fact.
Soon after the unknown boy had made eye contact with Lily and Neville, he'd collapsed to the floor — joining his companions in a similar state of unconsciousness — while the still-awake individuals had blinked confusedly at them.
Within a short amount of time, the red-headed woman's brain had finally switched on, resulting in the three injured people quickly being transported to Hogwarts — only after the dark-haired man's left arm had been checked and inspected. After all, Lily had always been told that it was never harmful to exercise caution — for immediate medical attention.
Said people were currently in a magic-assisted coma, breathing slowly and deeply as they lay upon the crisp, snow-white sheets of their respective hospital beds.
The grey-haired Mediwitch's gaze continued to travel over the three unconscious forms of her patients for a few seconds. Her wand, which previously had been shooting a multitude of charms and spells out of its tip, fell to tap thoughtfully against her stark white apron. The other occupants of the Hospital Wing stood in silence, waiting for its matron to gather her thoughts.
She then frowned, creases appearing on her forehead. "Well, it's as one would expect for individuals coming right out of a fight. Magical exhaustion, largely superficial cuts and bruises, et cetera, et cetera. Though, that magical burn—"
Madame Pomphrey gestured with her wand, pointing out a rather painful-looking, bright red patch of skin in the dark-haired man's side. A thin line of drool escaped the mouth of the comatose figure, whose rather striking facial features — to James, at least — looked oddly familiar.
He was, no matter how hard he tried, unable to fully shake the uncanny feeling of recognising the slumbering man.
"—will need some special attention. Other than a short conversation to determine their mental state after the ordeal that they've been through, and once their injuries have been dealt with, I don't see them requiring any further treatment."
Remus nodded, leaning back against the footrail of the hospital bed behind him. "All right then, Madame Pomphrey. Thank you."
"Although…" she continued, after a few seconds of silence.
James shared a glance with his wife, who was standing rather close to the form of the boy whose hair was as dark as the night — one who, if he wasn't mistaken, looked frighteningly similar to James himself.
"What is it, Poppy?" Lily enquired, suddenly worried.
An expression of utmost bewilderment appeared on the matron's face.
She dismissed their concerned visages with an absent wave of her hand. "No, no — nothing bad has happened. It's just that I've performed Reliqua Magicis four different times and was presented with varying and rather strange results."
James, Rosalyn and — surprisingly — Remus promptly turned to look at Lily, incomprehension on their faces and seeking an explanation.
The subject of their stares rolled her eyes, drawing up the details of that particular spell from the dregs of her mind.
"The Reliqua Magicis is a spell utilised by Mediwizards and Mediwitches to examine the consistency of any residue — magical in origin or not — left upon their patients, when they are examined," Lily dutifully explained. The eyes of her listeners lit up in understanding. "The results gained from the spell are more often than not consistent and comprehensive, allowing the user to determine if further, specialised action will need to be performed upon the subject in question."
Dumbledore nodded, stepping out of the little conversational recess he'd put himself in. "Indeed. Thank you, Lily."
The woman briefly ducked her head in reply. She returned her gaze to the black-haired boy, looking as if she was experiencing a similar feeling to her husband.
"If I may?" he asked, raising his wand and turning towards Madam Pomphrey. The Mediwitch nodded in acquiescence, stepping back from the three hospital beds and giving the Headmaster some room to work with.
Dumbledore slowly ran his wand over the three unconscious forms, muttering esoteric incantations under his breath. His brow furrowing with concentration, the old wizard moved the short stick of wood in a head-to-toe movement over the slumbering individuals, paying particular attention to a patch of what looked like a blue-black liquid on the wild-haired girl's dirty jumper.
The other people in the room waited patiently as the Headmaster performed his magical inspection, his eyebrows rising significantly higher the longer the examination took.
By the end of it, the bushy caterpillars of white hair upon the old man's brows had disappeared well into his hairline; rarely seen confusion and outright shock etched into his weathered face.
James shared another glance with Lily.
His question, though unasked, was obvious — just what had shaken the greatest wizard of modern times so much?
The red-headed woman could only shrug helplessly; she being as clueless as her husband.
"How peculiar. Very peculiar indeed," Dumbledore finally concluded, raising his wand again to extract the residue of a dark, viscous liquid from the girl's pullover.
"Headmaster?" Remus asked after a few seconds of expectant silence, leaning slightly towards the man in question. "What did you find?"
But Dumbledore only shook his head minutely; his demeanour distracted and completely preoccupied with his racing thoughts.
"I shall take this liquid back to my office for further examination — it's exhibiting properties that even I have rarely seen before, and the last time I did was quite far in the past…"
The old wizard trailed off into silence, a pensive expression on his face, as his listeners were forced to look to each other in a vain search for answers; answers that would hopefully resolve their many questions.
"Where did you say you found the three, Lily?" he enquired suddenly, turning to face the tall witch. She jumped slightly, having been engrossed with her own errant line of thinking.
"We found them in one of the Department of Mysteries' Artefact Storage Rooms — next to the Time Room, just off the Death Chamber," she replied, her gaze falling — seemingly of its own volition — to rest upon the black-haired boy sleeping on the bed next to her.
"The man and the girl were out cold when myself, my daughter and Neville walked into the room. He—" Lily nodded down to the form she was standing next to. Everyone's eyes eventually drifted to the slumbering figure. "—was awake and, amazingly, managed to briefly talk with Rosalyn before joining his companions in unconsciousness. Oh, what was his name, dear?"
Rosalyn rubbed her eyes tiredly. "He said…he said his name was Harry—" she unsuccessfully managed to suppress a very wide yawn. James felt the exhaustion he'd been pushing back for the last few hours creep into his mind. "Harry Potter."
Absolute bafflement — and not insignificant amounts of scepticism, along with hints of incredulity — promptly manifested in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts.
"Harry Potter, did you say?" Dumbledore inquired, intrigued. The girl nodded in reply, trying and failing to stifle another yawn.
Going by his expression, Remus was as dubious James himself. Lily's was unreadable; her emerald eyes having fixed again on the small, black-haired figure next to her.
The Headmaster turned to look at the brown-eyed man. "Well, James? Is there a Harry Potter anywhere in your ancestral line?"
"No, Headmaster, not that I know of," he responded, glancing with concern at his wife again. "I'd have to check again when I'm able to go to the Manor — it's been a rather long time since I last looked at the tapestry, anyways. Although—"
Lily smoothly picked up his sentence when he paused for breath, her fingers fiddling absently with a bedsheet as she recalled information from her mind.
"—we did have an idea of naming a child of ours — if we had a boy instead of a girl — Harry. Though, as we did not, that notion fell on the wayside of things."
A light seemed to appear in Dumbledore's eyes, as if he'd finally made the connection between two previously unlinked subjects.
He nodded appreciatively, rising slowly and starting to amble towards the oaken double doors.
"Okay. Thank you, James and Lily, for the information. I think it'd be best if we retire for the night, as after the ordeal in the Ministry—"
Rosalyn let out her third yawn of the past twenty minutes, thereby unconsciously supporting Dumbledore's statement. James' lips twitched into a slight grin.
"—we are all, understandably, exhausted. Madam Pomphrey, if you'd keep me updated on our visitors' status throughout the night…?"
Madame Pomphrey ducked her head in acquiescence, already turning to Heal her patients' injuries and placing Monitoring Charms over them.
"Then I shall see you tomorrow, and I bid you all good night," Dumbledore concluded, striding out of the heavy doors to the Hospital Wing in a swirl of baby-blue-and-purple robes.
The other occupants of the expansive room eventually copied the Headmaster's example, Remus wandering into Madam Pomphrey's office, going through her personal Floo — at the silver-haired woman's invitation — to his residence in Yorkshire, near to the opulent yet modest home of the Potters. James and Rosalyn exited the Hospital Wing in the same manner as the Chief Warlock, though without the admittedly impressive exhibition of clothing aerodynamics.
Lily lingered behind, a waved hand encouraging her husband and daughter on when they saw that the red-headed woman wasn't following them.
Within a short amount of time, she was alone in the Hospital Wing, only the quiet inhalations of its unconscious occupants permeating the still silence.
The elder female Potter looked, once again, towards the raven-haired boy — who still deep in the realm of Morpheus — and finally gave in to the urge to brush the black strands out of his now-clean forehead, thus revealing what looked like a very faint, thin, lightning-bolt-shaped scar.
"Wherever did you come from, Harry?" she whispered, her voice a mere decibel above the wind blowing quietly outside the ancient walls of Hogwarts; continuing to stroke the inky tresses beneath her fingers.
The sleeping boy seemed to lean into her touch, his face shifting ever-so-slightly to increase the contact.
She sighed.
There was, of course, no reply.
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 19/06/1996…
The first thing that Harry noticed, when he awoke from the deepest slumber of his life, was the smell.
A heady scent of what unmistakably was disinfectant, ever-present within the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts — a fact that Harry only knew by virtue of him having spent multiple nights in the mentioned room.
Blearily blinking open his eyes, the raven-haired teen took in the blurry expanse of white that was duly presented to him. He blinked again, a low groan escaping his parched throat, as his right hand blindly fumbled on the bedside table for his rounded frame glasses.
Upon realising that the surface didn't hold the item he was looking for — along with being devoid of any other objects — Harry craned his neck around the room, searching for his elusive spectacles.
The high tones of birds twittering in the fresh morning air drifted into the expansive room, gently breaking the still silence with a beautiful rendition of natural sounds. Soft beams of golden sunlight shone through the large, arched windows, illuminating the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts in all of its colourless glory. That smell of antiseptic was still present, along with the slightest whiff of some flowery scent that Harry could not fully identify but thought was quite pleasant indeed.
He sat up further, glimpsing the forms of Hermione and Sirius in their respective beds — his best friend was as awake as him, while his godfather was still out like a light.
After realising that his glasses had been placed on the bedside table to the left — Harry had rolled his eyes at his own stupidity in failing to check both sides of his bed — the raven-haired teen glanced over at Hermione, who was rubbing her eyes groggily as she also sat up in her bed.
"Hermione? Are you alright?" he enquired quietly, hesitant to disturb the peaceful silence any further. Hermione stretched her arms above her head, pleasantly surprised at the lack of expected pain that flowed into her brain.
"Mm-hmm. Yeah, I'm good. How about you?" she replied in an equally low voice, her gaze briefly falling upon a slumbering Sirius before returning to her green-eyed best friend.
He nodded in response, finally placing the black, wire-thin frames upon his nose. Concern in his gaze, his eyes perused the other teenager, searching for any visible discomfort or blatant injuries.
Upon seeing that there were none, Harry's head fell somewhat as guilt made itself present in his voice. "I'm—I'm sorry, Hermione. I should've listened to you before running off to the Ministry—"
Hermione cut him off gently, leaning back against her pillows. "Yes, Harry, you probably should have taken a moment to think. But I understand why you did it — you thought that Sirius was in trouble and you, being your migraine-inducing but no less endearing self, rushed off to assist him."
Harry opened his mouth, intending to object against her statement.
But he was interrupted by the entrance of a person who, undoubtedly, was Madam Pomphrey, yet the navy-blue robes sitting beneath a white apron and the distinct lack of wrinkles in her face made Harry doubt his recognition of the witch.
"Oh, good. You are awake now," she said, marching briskly towards Hermione's bedside only because his best friend's bed was closer to the old matron's office than his. "Are you experiencing any pain, dear? Discomfort, headaches, anything of the sort?"
"N-no, ma'am," Hermione almost squeaked in reply, surprised at the Mediwitch's uncharacteristically speedy entrance and no-nonsense attitude. The individual in question gestured sharply with her wand, nodding her head minutely at the various magical readings that were presented to her.
Madame Pomphrey then turned her brown gaze upon Harry — a fact which led to the boy doubting his previous assessment even further — as she approached him with the same efficiency with which she had entered the room.
"And you? Aches, soreness of any type?" she asked not unkindly, again making acute movements of her wand over his sitting form.
"I'm rather surprised you're even asking me that, Madame Pomphrey, given the amount of time I've spent in the Hospital Wing," Harry joked, attempting to lighten the mood.
He felt disheartened that the grey-haired Mediwitch did not react in the way he was expecting.
Harry also noticed with not a little shock that she appeared to not even recognise him; the glimmer of almost fond exasperation normally present in her eyes distinctly absent.
There was a short, awkward silence, in which Harry was unsure whether he should attempt to crack another joke or remain silent in his embarrassment.
Hermione's brows were furrowed; the expression on her face indicating that she was thinking very hard about something.
Madame Pomphrey did not appear to be as affected as Harry, moving over to Sirius to perform another flurry of diagnostic charms and spells.
Once her task was complete — the still unconscious, dark-haired man had not reacted to her presence in any way, other than producing what sounded like a snort and mumbling incoherently about… poppies? Harry wasn't too sure. — the Mediwitch flicked her wand again.
Small bottles and glass vials clinked loudly as a trolley laden with the mentioned items serenely rolled towards her.
"Okay. Your diagnostics are looking good," she said, nodding once in the direction of Harry and Hermione respectively.
The raven-haired teen, however, still hadn't fully recovered from the fact that she didn't recognise him.
"Your blood pressures are back to normal levels, internal body temperatures within acceptable parameters and your white and red blood cell count are now in high enough quantities that I am satisfied. However, your magical reserves haven't fully refilled — as a result, you may experience a bit more sluggishness and fatigue than usual. When he wakes up—"
The matron tipped her head at Sirius, who had somehow flipped onto his front as his right arm dangled off the side of the bed. The sound of loud snoring emanating from him told Harry that his godfather was still fast asleep.
"—make sure to tell him to take it easy, alright? I will take a look at that magical burn scar later to see how it is progressing. Understood?
Hermione nodded, ardently committing the information to memory.
Harry, however, did not — his eyes had glazed over vaguely around the point that the matron had mentioned 'body temperature'; his attention to her little speech quickly waning completely after that point in time.
"Mm. Right. I will check on you three again in a few hours, then," she continued, her eyes briefly flicking — Harry thought, though, again, he wasn't too sure — to the space on the left side of his bed.
"Thanks, Madame Pomphrey," Hermione thanked, a quick, discreet glare resulting in a slightly comatose Harry immediately copying the bushy-haired Gryffindor.
Madame Pomphrey tipped her head once in response. The grey-haired matron then spun on her heel, marching back towards her office with the same spryness with which she had entered the room.
Her trolley of medical supplies and potions silently rolled after her retreating form.
Within a short amount of time, Harry, Hermione and Sirius — who, unsurprisingly, was still not awake — were alone in the Hospital Wing, the heavy silence of before falling upon the expansive room once again.
Harry leaned back against his pillows, savouring the peaceful quiet as his mind whirled chaotically.
Unfortunately for him, it did not last for a long time.
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 19/06/1996…
"Aha! So your name is Harry Potter. How interesting," commented a disembodied voice, no more than a metre from his left ear.
The boy in question let out a very loud shriek, literally jumping out of his bed and directly onto the cold, hard stone floor.
"Oh, did I scare you? I'm so sorry," the voice continued apologetically.
A head — a floating head — materialised in the space on the other side of his bed. Long, copper-red hair flew askew as the person repositioned what obviously was an invisibility cloak onto their shoulders.
Emerald green eyes — the exact same shade as that of the teenager currently lying on the floor — stared back at the raven-haired Gryffindor. "I didn't mean to startle you. Honest."
Harry placed a hand on his chest, attempting to calm his racing heart.
He was marginally successful.
"P-please don't…don't do that again," he requested, shakily climbing to his feet and glancing over at Hermione.
Though her face was perfectly straight, her shoulders were shaking as the girl tried and failed to suppress her amusement.
The traitor.
Harry glared at her, finally standing up and leaning against the rail of the bed behind him.
He turned back to the levitating head, whose own lips were twitching slightly.
"Hey, uh…Rosalyn, right? Could you remove that cloak, please?" Harry asked, staring at the space where he expected her body to be. "It's just a bit…jarring to speak to a levitating head."
She immediately whipped off the item in question; the garment flowing off her form like a watery liquid of the smoothest silver.
Now with the cloak removed, Harry could see that she was dressed in casual, Muggle attire — dark blue jeans along with a simple grey cardigan, over a light purple blouse.
"Yes, the name's Rosalyn. Nice to meet you again," she replied, tying up her red hair in a quick ponytail.
Harry nodded. "You too, Rosalyn."
She then looked curiously at Hermione, who took the presented chance to introduce herself.
"Uh, hi," his best friend said, looking up from the bedspread beneath her fingers. Rosalyn smiled at her, securing her lengthy tresses in a hairband. "I'm, um, Hermione."
"Pleasure to meet you, Hermione."
"How long were you standing there, if you don't mind me asking?" Hermione asked hesitantly, uncomfortable with the awkward silence that had fallen. The strangest and most intense feeling of déjà vu she'd ever felt briefly drifted through her mind; the bushy-haired witch pushing the mental notion away dismissively.
Rosalyn shrugged, sitting down on a free bed and gathering her invisibility cloak in her lap. The upper parts of her legs consequently disappeared, which resulted in Harry having to continually remind himself that she did, in fact, possess a midsection.
"Only for a few minutes — I snuck in here just as you started to wake up," she replied, muffling a small yawn behind her right hand. Leaning forward slightly, her eyes suddenly lit up. "So, tell me about yourselves. Where did you come from? How did you get into the Department of Mysteries? What is your—"
"Rosalyn Potter! Do not overwhelm our visitors with your questions, young lady. They've only just woken up, after all," a female voice interrupted from the doorway, somehow sounding firm yet fondly exasperated at the same time.
When Harry glanced over, it was to see the figure of a certain, auburn-haired individual who he'd honestly thought he would never get to see.
Lily Potter — the raven-haired teenager only recognised the approaching figure by virtue of him having looked at magical photographs of his late parents many, many times — strode into the Hospital Wing, a marginally annoyed expression on her face. "What have I told you — multiple times, may I add — about conversational tact?"
The girl shrugged again, completely unrepentant. "What can I say? It's just my irrepressibly inquisitive nature at work here."
"Which you got from me, Rose, so you'd better be grateful," another voice put in — and judging by the timbre of it, the speaker was male. The head of James Potter poked itself through the oaken double doors, his tall body following soon after. "Just imagine where you would be if you hadn't! Oh, Merlin, the horror."
Rosalyn crossed her arms, sticking her tongue out in a very mature fashion.
The older witch rolled her eyes, her gaze falling upon Harry and Hermione.
She nodded her head at them. "Good morning, you two. My name is Lily Potter, this here is my husband, James, and I suspect you already know Rose. Did you both sleep well?"
Harry, however, was unable to reply — he had frozen; his expression like a deer caught in the headlights of an approaching vehicle.
Though she too was undoubtedly shocked at the Potters' apparent return from the dead, Hermione managed to reply for both herself and her best friend. "Y-yes, we did, thank you. I am Hermione Granger, ma'am, and his name is Harry…Potter, too?" Her voice had taken an uncertain lilt by the end of her sentence.
Lily decided to ignore the small fact that the dark-haired boy apparently possessed the same last name as she did.
The red-headed woman waved her hand dismissively, wearing a slight, bemused smile. "No, no, none of that ma'am business. It makes me feel very old. Call me Lily, instead."
James nodded, an easy grin on his face. "Me too. You'll have to call me James — or Mr Potter, if that takes your fancy."
"Okay, will do," Hermione acquiesced easily.
There was a short, comfortable silence. Hermione fidgeted with her hands, biting her lip uncertainly as if preventing herself from performing some action.
Lily noticed this almost as quickly as Harry did.
"If you've got a question, feel free to ask," she said, taking a seat at the foot of Harry's bed. The teenager's rather vacant gaze had tracked after her form like a hawk locked onto its prey.
The bushy-haired girl's bottom lip disappeared between her teeth; her tangled tresses absently being twisted between two elegant fingers. Harry eventually managed to stop admir— observing Hermione's rather dexterous digits. "Uh, are you sure? My question might be…uhm, a bit personal…"
He had rarely, if ever, seen such hesitant behaviour to this degree in his usually very inquisitive best friend.
Lily smiled encouragingly. "Go ahead, Hermione. I'm all ears."
An intriguing procession of expressions flitted across the girl's face in under a second, ranging from blatant curiosity to outright confusion.
"How are you — and you, James — still alive?" Hermione babbled, very rapidly, as if she had given up on trying to find an alternate way of wording her question.
A minor frown wormed its way onto Lily's face. James' expression lost some of its joviality, and Rosalyn let her red hair curtain her face slightly.
She hastened on to justify the enquiry at the expressions on her listeners' faces; her words amalgamating into a near incoherent rush of sound.
"I'm sorry, Lily—it—it's just—oh, blast, how do I say this—it's a well-known fact that the elder Potters didn't—didn't survive the Godric's Hollow incident, yet you obviously did because here you are and I don't understand it one bit—"
Lily raised a hand, cutting off Hermione's increasingly disjointed speech.
"No, don't worry, Hermione. It's a valid question," she said, a look preventing her husband from interrupting.
James shut his mouth, his gaze unconsciously falling upon the slumbering form of Sirius, who was beginning to show hints of possibly awakening. Finally.
"I'll tell you how…how we survived that fateful night."
Hermione wrung her hands, a guilty expression on her face, but remained silent.
Emerald green eyes becoming somewhat vacant, the woman turned to gaze out a nearby window. James silently took up position behind his wife, resting a supportive hand upon her shoulders. Rosalyn drew her legs to her chest and buried her face in her knees, brilliant-copper-red hair splaying out upon them.
Taking a deep breath, Lily began her tale; her husband seamlessly taking over when she was paused for breath.
"This story begins on a dark night, roughly fifteen years in the past…"
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
The Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 11/08/1981…
"He took Sirius."
No one in the room misunderstood who James was talking about.
The man continued to pace the breadth of the Headmaster's office, grinding almost visible marks into the stone floor with each step he took.
Lily's lips pursed, her eyes alight with sadness and sympathy.
Little Rosalyn, asleep in her mother's arms, tossed and turned slightly; unaware of what her parents were discussing.
"Why would V—Vol—You-Know-Who take Sirius specifically, though?" Dedalus Diggle — a new member to the Order; a small, thin man with slightly sagging skin — asked. His burgundy top hat fell into his eyes; the excitable man pushing it out of the way, irritated.
James did not reply, having strode over to a nearby bookcase to, seemingly, peruse the tomes it held. Only Lily could see how his shoulders subtly shook with barely repressed fury, however.
"Voldemort maintained the belief that Sirius possessed highly significant information," Dumbledore put in, rubbing a weary hand against his wrinkled forehead. The Leader of the Light then dropped his arm, fixing his cerulean blue eyes upon the newest associate of the Order to the Phoenix, whose face had lost some of its healthy pallor. "Information that undoubtedly would have benefited the forces of the Dark in this conflict. So, Voldemort dispatched his Death Eaters to capture and, presumably, interrogate him for said information."
"Severus, have you received any word from Tom?" he enquired after a few moments' silence, turning towards a slightly darkened corner of the room.
The black-robed man stepped out of his little recess, an ever-present sneer upon his sallow face.
"No, I have not, Headmaster. The Dark Lord has not explicitly said anything to me," Severus drawled. He took a dramatic pause; Lily rolling her eyes at her former friend's unnecessary theatrics. "However, recently he seemed to be in a better mood than usual — during these past few days, fewer Death Eaters have been treated to the wonderful embrace of the Cruciatus Curse."
She winced marginally at the casual mention of such a horrible spell.
"Alright, Severus. Thank you," Dumbledore replied. The spy nodded, slinking back into the shadows of his corner.
"We need to rescue him," James spoke up suddenly, determination in his voice.
He spun on his heel, fixing his brown gaze upon Dumbledore, who was sitting behind his cluttered desk with wrinkled hands steepled before a very bearded chin.
"He needs us — the more time that Sirius is in Voldemort's grasp—" the Order members present collectively flinched at the Dark Lord's name, a few of the less weathered individuals letting out shrieks of alarm. James resolutely ignored them, keeping his eyes fixed on the Headmaster. "—the longer that he shall be tortured for. So, we need to plan a rescue for him."
Snape snorted disparagingly, crossing his thin arms and stepping into the light. The sneer became more prominent on his face.
Lily felt a sinking feeling in her gut.
"Are you suicidal, Potter, or just a moronic imbecile?" he spat sarcastically, the indifferent tone to his voice suggesting that the Potions Professor didn't care one whit if the Potter patriarch was the latter or the former.
James' wand arm twitched in response.
"You want to storm an outpost of the most powerful Dark Lord of all time himself, in a pitiful attempt of rescuing your little friend? Ha! Do you even know where Black has been taken? No? Wow, how surprising. No doubt a direct result of that asinine, foolhardy Gryffindor brain of yours—"
Her husband visibly held himself back from attacking the dour man; only fear of Lily's disapproving stare preventing him from marching over to Snape's corner and forcibly reconstructing his hooked nose.
So, instead, he fired back his own snide reply. "You would know, though, wouldn't you, Snivellus? After all, it's your master who took him in the first place—"
The Order watched on with slightly wide eyes; the verbal duels between the two having become somewhat legendary in occurrence by then.
Snape snarled, his right hand flying towards his wand—
Rosalyn suddenly awoke, opening her small mouth to cry out her displeasure—
"Enough, James, Severus!" Dumbledore thundered, annoyance and the first hints of anger on his face. Lily bounced and rocked the child in her arms, cooing quietly, and her daughter eventually went back to sleep. "Now is not the time for such arguments! We cannot afford to bicker among ourselves in such a tumultuous period as this."
The combatants glared balefully at each other before reluctantly disengaging — James silently returned to his vigil, again inspecting a bookcase, and Snape retreated into his darkened section of the room in a dramatic swirl of black robes.
"Now, James, you know that — despite how Severus tactlessly worded it — a direct attack on one of Voldemort's strongholds would not be advisable," Dumbledore continued, staring at her husband. Though scowling heavily in annoyance, he sharply nodded.
"Alright. If there are no other items for discussion…?" he trailed off, glancing around his Expanded office. No one spoke up. "Then I propose that we adjourn this meeting for now and reconvene at a later point in time."
With their leader's dismissal, the Order of the Phoenix rose to their feet, choosing to exit the Headmaster's office in a variety of ways.
Most opted for the simple option of walking through the secure Floo terminal, quietly whispering their destinations as they stepped into its hearth — suspicion was rife; too many Order members had found their homes and families mysteriously attacked by Death Eaters after said members had announced their targeted places a bit too loudly.
Others chose to stroll out the ornate oaken door, proceeding down the revolving staircase and eventually out of Hogwarts' iron-wrought front gates.
Of course, there were the exceptions to this as well.
Mad-Eye Moody, in particular, chose the rather humorous method of whipping out a study looking broom from Merlin knew where and mounting it, zooming out into the night through Dumbledore's conveniently open window.
Lily had also stood up, rearranging Rose to sit upon her hip. The one-and-a-half-year-old had — once again — awoken, and the red-headed woman had given up on trying to get the girl to go back to sleep.
James wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders as they silently strode towards the Floo; malachite green flames briefly engulfing their forms before they were whisked away to Potter Cottage.
The scowl on his face had not abated one bit in the time it took for the Potters to return to their home.
"I don't like this, Lily," he stated outright, brown gaze briefly scanning the living room of their residence. The medium-sized room, its carpeted floor a warm mural of homely browns and its walls a soft beige, dominated by various pieces of worn-from-use furniture, was expectedly empty of other occupants. James then closed his eyes, silently reaching out to the wards of the property.
They pinged back a soft green — how colours somehow played into the status of magical protections, the tall man had no clue — indicating that they were intact and hadn't been tampered with.
"Me too, James," she replied, shifting Rose further up her hip just as the small girl laid her head on her mother's shoulder, yawning and scrunching her face up cutely. Lily's green eyes compassionately met his as she strolled into the hallway, intending to go upstairs. "I know how you feel about the situation."
James felt inordinately grateful that his wife understood his feelings; that he would not have to make voice to them.
Anger, at the fact that Voldemort had dared to capture one of his closest friends. Frustration, for both Dumbledore's and the Order's unwillingness to attempt a rescue of Sirius. Intense dislike — dimmed somewhat by time but still very much present — of the existence of a certain, greasy-haired git.
And, above all, mind-numbing fear for the life of his captured best friend, and by extension the continued safety of his wife and child.
He stopped the red-headed figure at the foot of the large staircase by wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. She silently turned in his grasp, placing her forehead into her favourite crook located on the left side of his neck, closing her eyes. A tiny, delicate hand — despite its owner being distinctly and deeply asleep — somehow landed on the front of his robes, clenching tightly.
James too shut his eyes, his head drooping as he inhaled slightly; savouring the smell of fresh roses, slight antiseptic and jasmine that drifted into his nose.
With the two pillars of his very existence held within the protective embrace of his arms, the Potter patriarch made a vow to himself — he would not let Voldemort, the Dark Lord, or whatever pseudonym the creature was using, harm his family; utilising any and all resources at his disposal to ensure their wellbeing.
Even if it cost him his life.
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
Potter Cottage, Godric's Hollow, 30/9/1981…
There still was no word of Sirius.
His best friend, who had recently been taken by the forces of Voldemort, had been held captive for a little over two months now — no doubt being tortured daily for information on the Potters' whereabouts.
The only reason — in James' mind, at least — why he and his family hadn't been attacked in their home was Sirius' ardent and unwavering refusal to give in; allowing him to resist the Dark Lord's advances in extracting the information he sought from the last Black's brain.
The black-haired man, while undoubtedly distressed over his long-term friend's (presumed) increasingly bleak condition, was eternally grateful that his family had remained safe.
In a fit of momentary rebellion, James had been tempted to launch a rescue attempt himself, regardless of what Dumbledore and rational logic dictated — but, at that exact moment, his daughter had looked up at him from her position on the floor with large, soulful, green eyes, and raised her small arms towards him.
As if she knew what he was thinking.
He had immediately picked up the toddler — who clenched a fist on the front of his robes, placing her head on his shoulder when her legs left the ground — and his half-formed plan to retrieve his best friend evaporated like smoke in the wind; the terrifying possibility of not seeing his dear little girl again too great to dismiss.
Upon noticing the re-prioritisation of the individuals in his life, he sent a mental apology to Sirius, wishing that the man in question was here, in Godric's Hollow, with him.
The Potter patriarch let out a melancholic sigh, absently applying slick polish to the handle of his trusty broomstick, which was balanced precariously across his lap — a well-used Falcon Mk III, equipped with custom moulded foot stirrups and a windswept design to its twigs and bristles.
In addition to the worry and fear for Sirius' health — which had only increased as larger amounts of time went by without news of the man's retrieval or escape from Voldemort's clutches — James was missing the Manor.
He would have greatly preferred to continue residing in the larger, much more spacious house, had Dumbledore not 'subtly' encouraged them to move, under the justification that they needed to go into hiding under more potent protections.
According to reports which James had reluctantly deemed accurate, the Dark Lord's forces had paid a lot more attention to him and Lily recently — even going so far as to probe around the outskirts of Potter Manor's formidable ward matrix, hinting at a possible, future attack on the residence.
Thus with pre-emptive intentions in mind, the Potter family had migrated to their more cosy residence in the sleepy town of Godric's Hollow, upon which the legendary Fidelius Charm had been placed.
The only reason why they hadn't simply placed the Charm on Potter Manor was that the defensive runic arrays of the ancestral residence were 'full', for lack of a better term, resulting in it being impossible for such a powerful spell to be sufficiently grounded there.
It was at this moment in time that said spell decided to make its presence known again to the occupants of the Potter Cottage.
Something briefly flashed in the corner of James' eye; the brown-eyed man snapping his gaze to the nearest window.
Outside was illuminated beautifully by a sheen of soft, golden light; the Fidelius charm flaring into the visible spectrum as some component of it was irrevocably solidified.
A dull boom — much like a hammer striking a gong, and with a foreboding sense of finality — echoed eerily into James' ears.
Lily shot into the room; her wand held in one hand as the other clutched a scared-looking Rose to her body. "James, are you okay? Did you see that?"
His wand also drawn, the mentioned individual stood up and marched over to the window as his broom clattering uncaringly to the floor. "I'm alright, Lily. Yeah, I did see it — what does it mean, though?"
Her brows furrowed in concentration, green eyes half-closed as his wife tried to recall details from her mind.
"Fidelius charm…faint, deep, gong-like sound…soft, yellow light…come on, Lily, come o—"
Lily's eyes suddenly flew open, outright horror and shock held within them as her wand hand rose of its own accord to cover her gaping mouth.
James stared confusedly — and not with a little concern — at the shell-shocked woman. "What? What is it, Lily?"
Tears streaming down her cheeks, Lily silently stepped forward to embrace her husband; Rosalyn automatically starting to cry upon seeing her mother deeply upset.
He could only hug his wife back as he waited for her to regain her composure; whispering comforting platitudes as his hands moved in soothing gestures upon her back.
It was a short while until Lily was able to speak again.
"The—" a sob ripped itself out her throat. James felt the worry in his gut rocket right into anxiety and apprehension. "The Fidelius f-flaring like that—it—it means that the Secret has been Sealed. The Charm can't be undone now, James, which means Sirius—" a deep, shuddering breath, "—is dead."
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 19/06/1996…
A sombre silence soon fell after Lily stopped speaking.
It was promptly broken by a decidedly alive Sirius yawning himself awake — At last! Harry had started to think that his godfather would sleep through the entire morning — and slowly sitting up in his bed.
"Morning, James, Lily," greeted the black-haired man sleepily, stretching his arms above his head. The mentioned individuals blinked out of their subdued stupors, bemusedly waving back at the awakening figure.
And then Sirius realised just who he had spoken to.
"James!" he exclaimed, his eyes going wide with shock as he dived at the brown-eyed man.
Well, attempted to dive — Sirius's feet, still caught under his covers, failed to find sufficient purchase with the ground as he abruptly swung his legs off of his bed.
Harry's godfather consequently fell to the hard, tiled floor in a tangled heap of white sheets and muttered curses.
A smirk appeared of its own volition on James' mouth. Lily snorted reflexively, surreptitiously wiping tears out of her eyes. Rosalyn and Hermione both giggled, amused at Sirius' antics.
And Harry shielded his eyes with the thumb and middle finger of his right hand resting on each temple, highly embarrassed on his godfather's behalf.
Sirius somehow managed to stand up, freeing himself of his soft bindings in a flurry of flailing limbs and increasingly colourful profanities.
Thus with the bed sheet restraints ceasing their hindering effect on him, Sirius lunged at James and wrapped him into a tight embrace.
James, nonplussed and not a little perplexed at the black-haired man's reaction, hesitantly patted him on the back.
"Oh, Prongs—you're alive—thank Merlin—" babbled Sirius, pulling back to gaze wondrously at James. The recipient of his scrutiny stared right back, hopeful yet complete disbelief starting to become apparent as James realised who the incoherent person looked awfully similar to.
The Potter patriarch then attempted to extricate himself from the other man's surprisingly strong grip, doing an awkward backwards shuffle to try and transmit his intentions.
The endeavour failed completely; Sirius simply stepping forwards every time that James took a pace back.
He sent a helpless glance towards Lily, who, with her arms crossed and green eyes sparkling, looked incredibly amused at his plight.
Eventually, she took pity upon her husband.
"Come on, let's get you a seat," she instructed in her calm Healer voice, gently but firmly taking hold of the recently awakened man's arms and removing them from James' shoulders.
Sirius, in response, latched onto the red-headed woman like a leech, rambling incoherently about her still being on the mortal plane of existence.
It was James' turn to look amused as Lily had to deal with the five feet and eleven inches of blubbering mess that was leaning against her shoulder.
Fortunately, the black-haired man disengaged his arms after a few seconds. Stepping back, he abruptly rubbed his eyes as if what they were reporting to his brain was incorrect and highly fictitious.
"Ho—how can this be?" Sirius asked in an amazed yet completely bewildered tone. The expression on his face indicated that he thought he was in a dream—a very detailed one, but still a dream nonetheless.
"I believe that I have a viable explanation."
The voice of one Albus Dumbledore echoed from the entrance to the Hospital Wing. As everyone's gazes snapped in that direction, the old wizard casually strolled further into the room, fixing his gaze upon the only unknown individual in the room.
"Mr Sirius Black, I presume?" he enquired.
At the man's eventual nod, James harshly sucked in a breath as Lily's face went white.
Dumbledore ignored this, Conjuring a baby blue chintz armchair and sinking back into it. "I am Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Mr Black. If you would all please take a seat, I shall elaborate on my conjecture."
The other people present sat down on the nearest hospital bed at an inviting sweep of his hand.
Waiting until they were comfortable, the Headmaster then began to speak.
The fact that he had enacted some rather strong Privacy Charms before doing so informed James that the ensuing conversation would probably be quite significant indeed.
"You have, undoubtedly, observed that there are a few major divergences in your collective recollection of certain events."
Dumbledore's statement had not been directed at any specific individual. As such, everyone nodded their heads in assent.
"While quite a strange occurrence indeed, such an event—statistically speaking—occurs much more regularly than one would expect. It could be nothing but mere happenstance; a coincidental incident no more noteworthy than two individuals, who know each other quite well, happening upon a simultaneous convergence in a completely random place at some arbitrarily random time. Intriguingly, a recent Muggle study into the phenomenon known as the 'Mandela effect' could be the culprit at work here—"
Lily cleared her throat politely, aware of the Headmaster's tendency to ramble on unnecessary tangents when discussing thought-provoking subjects.
Dumbledore cut himself off, a slight, apologetic smile on his weathered face.
"But I digress. When I examined this substance—" Dumbledore slowly pulled a small tube containing a small amount of some viscous, pitch-black liquid from the vast swathes of his extravagant robes. Hermione stared at the test tube; an inkling of possible recognition along with healthy amounts of déjà vu floating through her mind. "—I found it to possess the very same consistency and molecular make-up as that of the liquid that features in the Cimmerian Basin, stored within the depths of the Department of Mysteries."
A light appeared in Hermione's eyes as the girl finally made the connection. "Oh! Are you talking about a pool filled with a black liquid, surrounded by a low stone wall?"
The Headmaster sent an approving nod towards the bushy-haired witch, though he looked slightly alarmed at how she was aware of the not-well-known item in question.
Hermione beamed upon receiving the Headmaster's praise.
"Indeed. How did you know of the Basin, my dear?" he asked, looking towards her. "Such a detailed description is not common knowledge among those in the Wizarding World."
"Oh, Harry, Sirius and I all fell into it — or something awfully similar — back in the Ministry," Hermione replied flippantly, as if doing so was an everyday occurrence. She missed the looks of concern that the elder Potters directed towards her, as her own gaze was fixed upon the Headmaster.
Dumbledore blinked, momentarily nonplussed. "All right, then. Back to what I was saying," he continued after regaining his wits.
"As that particular artefact has been known to exhibit certain magical properties," Dumbledore took a slight pause, heightening the anticipation in the room, "upon further consideration, it has been speculated that the Basin is, actually, a portal to another plane of existence."
Silence.
Dead, shocked quiet permeated throughout the Hospital Wing, its occupants save one staring incredulously at Dumbledore. He did not react negatively to their disbelieving looks, instead choosing to smile benevolently at his audience.
"A portal, you say?" James bluntly clarified.
Dumbledore nodded benignly in reply.
"The pool is a portal, leading to other planes of existence. Are you saying, Headmaster, that these three—" the man gestured towards Harry, Hermione and Sirius respectively. "—came from another dimension?"
His question was tinged with large amounts of scepticism.
"No, it makes sense," said Harry, speaking for the first time in the presence of James, Lily and Dumbledore. He absently rubbed a hand against his forehead; his gaze directed down to his white bedspread.
He blindly pointed towards an arched window, the drapes of which were pulled back and varied ever so slightly in length, in addition to the curtain on the left also being a marginal shade lighter in colour than its counterpart.
"If this Madam Pomphrey was the one that I knew, she wouldn't tolerate such inconsistencies — in this case, those curtains' difference in length and colour," Harry explained, his eyes briefly darting up to the rest of the room.
Upon noticing its undivided attention on him, he flushed a slight red in embarrassment. "She—she's well-known for keeping things completely symmetrical and orderly. Anything else simply wouldn't do."
"You concluded that you were in a different reality from the status of curtains?" Hermione said incredulously, not a little bemused as well.
The flush of before promptly returned to Harry's cheeks; the boy abashedly averting his gaze.
She shook her head, smiling ruefully. It seemed that her earlier reticence had largely disappeared. "Only you would do that. Don't ever change, Harry."
Rosalyn suddenly perked up from her position against the headboard of her hospital bed-turned-seat.
"So, you guys are from another dimension? How cool," she gushed, standing up and moving towards Harry's bed to plop herself down on it. Upon reaching her destination, she excitedly grabbed Harry's arm, questions spilling from her mouth.
The poor boy looked awfully surprised at her sudden proximity.
"What's the weather like there? What types of food is there? Do you have chocolate chip ice-cream in your dimension? How does the schooling system work? Oh! Please say you guys have Quidditch—"
"Rose! Slow down, dear, you'll overwhelm him," Lily interjected, correctly identifying the slightly inundated expression on Harry's face. He sent a grateful glance towards her; the red-headed woman smiling warmly back in response.
The mentioned girl grimaced, squeezed his arm apologetically. "Sorry, Harry. I'll ask my questions more slowly."
Sirius' stomach decided to loudly make its current empty state known at that very moment.
Dumbledore chuckled, rising to his feet as he clapped his hands twice. A short, thin figure—dressed in an equally small uniform, which featured the emblems of the four Hogwarts Houses—popped into existence at the Headmaster's feet.
"I dare say that some filling breakfast shall be the next item on the agenda, wouldn't you think?" he said.
The only reply he got was Sirius' stomach rumbling again. Everyone laughed.
"Mospy, if you would, please?"
The little House Elf grinned toothily up at the tall wizard. "Of course, Headmaster Dumbly-door, sir! I's be bringing good and healthy brekkie-fast for yous!"
She snapped her bony fingers and a waist-high metal trolley, mounted on silver wheels, materialised in the Hospital Wing.
It held an almost intimidating array of breakfast food — ranging from steaming sausages accompanied by pots of baked beans and fried tomatoes, to hash browns and ham-and-cheese omelettes, cooked exquisitely to a slightly golden tinge. Pitchers of water and—hopefully—orange juice sat upon the trolley's upper levels, alongside a mouth-watering display of fruit salads and yoghurts.
Dumbledore gestured towards the tempting display of sustenance, sending a grateful nod towards Mospy and thanking her for preparing the delicious feast.
"Feel free to help yourselves," he invited, multiple flicks of his knotted wand resulting in his preferred breakfast floating serenely towards him; a white plate helpfully materialising before the food could touch his hands.
Harry served himself a healthy portion of eggs, sausages and bacon as he thought upon the situation, taking a seat on the bed next to Hermione's as the girl was engaged in conversation by Rosalyn.
The brunette, though acting a tad reserved, haltingly replied to the redhead's prompting words, nibbling quietly on an apple.
If the Headmaster was correct — and the black-haired boy was highly doubtful that Dumbledore wasn't — then he, Sirius and Hermione had, indeed, travelled to another dimension, in which his parents had survived the dreadful night of Godric's Hollow.
He started to feel excitement at the prospect of finally getting to know them; of learning their likes, dislikes, habits and hobbies.
And, in some small, nearly inaudible corner of his mind, feel the warmth of his mother's embrace.
But what about Ron? And Neville? Ginny and Luna, too? How about the Death Eaters, and Voldemort? What about them?
Deciding to be uncharacteristically selfish for once, he dismissed the thoughts of his friends and the dimension of his origin; choosing instead to savour the time he had in this plane of existence.
Lily turned from her conversation with James and Sirius to look at Harry, a mischievous smile upon her face. "So, Harry. I hear that you are interested in Quidditch, just like my quite possibly insane husband here?"
James dutifully protested but was soon distracted by Sirius enacting some tale — fathomable to only he and his one-person audience — with ardent and increasingly humorous gestures of his hands.
Feeling the stirrings of something undefinable in his chest, Harry hesitantly grinned back at the red-headed woman.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that…"
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
Author's Note:
03/09/2020
Righto, third chapter has now been completed. Hope you enjoyed the read.
As mentioned in the A/N at the top of the chapter, I apologise in advance for any delays that may occur to my update rate.
Alright, that shall be all for now. See y'all next time.
Cheers,
Avaxius