Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, 'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,' by the wonderful Njchrispatrick. It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them

"I'm sorry?" Harry's voice was thick with disbelief. This couldn't be true. How could Peggy Carter of all people know that Steve Rogers was his biological father? True, they looked scarily similar, which unnerved Harry to this day, but to strangers it could be written off as a freakily accurate coincidence.

"I know you're his son." Harry closed his eyes. This couldn't be happening. There needed to be a reasonable explanation for this. Surely, there was one. He would find out.

"How can you know? We literally just met. For all you know, I could just look freakily like him." As he said the words, Harry knew that Peggy wouldn't fall for it. She was far too sharp minded and astute for that.

Peggy shook her head. Well, he had been right there. "When you look that much like someone, it isn't a coincidence. And, besides, I'm part of the reason you're alive." A strange buzzing began to fill Harry's ears. Black spots sparked on the edge of his vision as his hands tightened around the pillow he was currently strangling to death. How. How was she part of the reason he was alive. This couldn't be possible. It had to be a bad dream. A bad, confusing fever dream where twists and turns were thrust at him at every turn and he failed every single one.

"What?" Harry gaped at her. "How can you be a part of why I'm alive. This can't be true!"

"I donated Steve's sperm."

That was all it took. Harry slumped back on the couch, arms slack and eyes blank. His mind was wiped of all thoughts, replaced by a white vastness filled with nothing and everything. He made a small noise, similar to a cat getting strangled, and managed to pull himself back from his near stupor. He didn't feel like going into another one of those anytime soon. He couldn't get away from the thing that Peggy had just said, though. That was impossible.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what to say." He returned to clutching the pillow. Everywhere he went, bad luck was just thrown his way. In fact, Harry was just wishing he'd stayed home and worked through the days he was meant to be on holiday. Then, at least, things would be relatively normal. He could still hide the truth from anyone who looked at him, not having to face the truth. Even though that was only three days ago, it felt like a lifetime. A much more desirable lifetime.

"I'm not expecting you to say anything. In fact, if you want to ignore me, that's fine. You look like you've been hit by a bus." Her tone was gentle. It infuriated him. She couldn't just drop something like that on him and use such a gentle tone, like she was expecting him to be alright.

"Well, yeah," Harry scoffed. "This isn't exactly something normal to find out. I thought I was done with surprises."

"But, you're not normal, are you, Harry?"

"You have no idea," he muttered. Peggy smiled gently.

"I have quite the idea. In a few days, I'll show you where the New York Wizarding District, so you can get a new wand."

Harry's eyes widened. Well, another curveball that was thrown his way. What did one more matter? Why don't all of the surprises get thrown my way, Harry viciously thought. It wouldn't be anything he was unfamiliar with. Honestly, at this point, he could be the dictionary definition of curveball. "You know about magic?"

"You can't exactly be me without knowing about the wizarding world. I've been keeping tabs on you wizards for decades."

"So, you know about me," Harry said dully. Just one more person who knew more about him than he knew about himself. Brilliant.

"Yes, I know about your different appearance and what you sacrificed to save the people you loved. I've been keeping tabs on you for quite a while, Mr. Potter. It's incredible how much like Steve you are." Her eyes were soft, but Harry's hardened.

"Don't compare me to him," Harry said sharply. "Just because you're indirectly responsible for me being alive, doesn't mean that I have to like what you've done."

"Of course."

Harry paused for a second. "Did he know?" She knew exactly who he was talking about, even though his name was never uttered.

"About me taking the sample?" Her eyes flicked down to the floor. "No, he didn't."

"What made you think it was alright?" Harry whispered.

"Steve always wanted children."

"But he didn't know. Your morals aren't exactly straight, ma'am." Harry breathed deeply. He was suddenly overwhelmed by an overpowering desire to leave the large apartment, which was becoming claustrophobic. It was like his fear was pressing down on his. Abruptly, he stood. "I'm sorry, I just need some time to think. I'll be back later." He left the apartment, almost running down the stairs.

He didn't see Peggy getting on the phone to call someone.

Harry found himself on an unfamiliar street. Perfect. This was what he needed right now. A strange area to roam, to absentmindedly walk around in and get lost in. It didn't matter where he was going. What he needed right now was to get away from that apartment and the terrible truths it held.

He knew it was going to take a while to get his head around the fact that Peggy had stolen and donated the sperm. Steve Rogers hadn't even known that there was the possibility of him to have children through a sperm bank. The thought made him feel slightly uncomfortable, like there were ants crawling underneath his skin and boring through his muscles.

He shook his head and cleared his mind, eventually just meandering pointlessly around the city until he came to a park with a bench and sat down. His feet were killing him, so sitting down was a sweet reprieve.

Soon, someone sat down on the bench next to him. "You alright?"

"Yeah, fine," said Harry sarcastically. "Look at me, sitting on a bench, being all happy."

"Fair response." Harry looked up and saw a man with dark skin. The second thing he noticed was his hands, which were horrendously scarred. Harry wondered what had happened to cause them. It would have been painful, whatever it was.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

"No, but I know you."

"Of course you do." Harry made to stand, but the man put a hand on his shoulder, making him sit down.

"Peggy called me out here to talk to you." Harry scooted away, down to the other end of the bench. The man sighed. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Dr. Glenn Hannigan. I performed the procedure that made you...alive." He frowned at the words. "I've certainly lost a lot of my articulation over the years.

"I really don't want to talk to you now," Harry hissed. Honestly, couldn't his problems just leave him alone? And now the man who had fricken created him was here, trying to console him. He didn't need a babysitter.

"Yes, I realise that," said Dr. Hannigan. "But if you run away from this talk now, when will you ever return? You'll be running away from the truth forever, never facing up to your fears. What you did earlier today was progress, but you immediately squandered it by leaving. You can't keep doing that, because one day all of your running away from the truth is going to catch up with you."

"See if I care."

"You should. Please, listen to me. I would like to tell you a story."

"And how is that going to help me? I can't get away from you people. First Peggy and now you? It's like I'm being stalked."

"She wasn't stalking you."

"Well, it may seem that way to you. To me, it's a total invasion of privacy."

Dr. Hannigan ignored his previous statement. "Listen, please."

"Fine." Harry grumpily flopped backwards, arms crossed like a petulant toddler. He wasn't going to give this man proper posture. "Tell your story, then leave me alone. I really don't need to be followed right now. What I actually need is to be alone. Completely alone, with my thoughts."

"Of course. I just want to give you something to think over."

"Well, get it over with."

Dr. Hannigan smiled softly. "This story begins around thirty years ago. A little boy's parents were murdered right in front of him, traumatising him for life. Nobody around him offered a shred of support or love, causing him to internalise the pain and never talk about it. Over the next few years, this little boy became a very secretive, angry person. But, not angry with the world.

"No, he was angry with himself, blaming the death of his parents on himself. Eventually, from not facing the pain, not letting himself see the truth, he decided that he didn't deserve to live anymore. He tried to burn down his house and die inside, making it look like an accident. Even though he didn't want to live anymore, the shame of people finding out what he'd done was even more powerful.

"Before he could die, though, the firefighters arrived and pulled him out of the wreckage, to safety. His hands and feet were burned along with his back and chest. The recovery took years, but at the end of it, he realised that he wanted to stop others from going through his pain. So, he became a doctor.

"Do you want to know this little boy's name?"

"Sure, why not." Though the reply was sarcastic and apathetic, Harry was feeling more than a bit sad inside. For some reason, the story had hit quite hard at home. "Fire away."

"Glenn Hannigan."

"You?"

"How do you think I got these scars?"

"I didn't know how."

"And I don't expect you to. But, Harry Potter, take this into account. I won't let you end up like I did, on a perpetual downwards spiral. Your parents, may they rest in peace, would have told you the truth of your conception as soon as they thought fit. I talked with them for hours and came to know them rather well. I will tell you this once, and only once. Your parents were proud of you and didn't care what you looked like or that James wasn't your father. So, you can stop acting like it's a shameful thing that James isn't your father. It isn't something you need to be ashamed of.

"So take the step now and realise that. I promise that from there, things will come easier." He stood, putting his hat back on. "I bid you good day, Mr. Potter." And with that, he left, leaving Harry in a stunned silence, sitting on a park bench, lost in thought.

"The entrance is through here." Peggy pointed him towards a totally ordinary looking grove of trees in Central Park. "To gain entrance, you need to press a knot on an oak tree. I won't be coming with you, as I have things to do." She was being very kind to him, which he didn't understand. For the last few days he'd been lashing out at her, being all around rude and disrespecting her. It wasn't something he realised he was doing until it was done and a disappointed frown sat upon Peggy's lips. The guilt was potent, but he acted like it didn't bother him. Of course, being Peggy Carter, she saw right through his facade.

"Thanks," Harry said. Though he was still a bit frosty around her, after Dr. Hannigan's talk with him, he was coming around to her. It would take a little while.

"Goodbye," she said abruptly, about turning and striding off. Harry blinked in shock. That was...quick. Then again, he didn't need her to show him everything about the grove.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Bye."

He walked forward into the grove of trees. All of them were very similar, the bark patterns almost identical. After a while of feeling totally clueless, he noticed that one similarity they all had was the smoothness of their surfaces. There were no knots on any of them except a surprisingly large oak. Ah. So that was his entrance. As soon as he pressed the knot into the tree (after making sure no muggles were looking, of course) a door opened, the bark peeling back, wood underneath turning into blocks and folding back, not unlike the bricks at the entrance to DIagon Alley. A flight of stairs led down. Harry groaned.

Of course it was stairs.

At the bottom of the extremely long staircase, which was so lengthy it was almost unnecessary, there was a heavy, well worn door with a heavy handle. Harry pushed it open and his mouth fell open in sheer awe. He felt like he was a kid again, seeing Diagon Alley for the first time.

The entire New York Wizarding District was a giant underground cavern, the ceiling a polished stone with beautiful murals covering it. Brightly coloured luminescent crystals reached out of the ceiling, reaching down and casting gentle hues all over the market. The buildings that filled the cavern were numerous, coming in all shapes and sizes. Some were short and fat, others tall, thin and painted neon green. The colours, which would usually clash, somehow worked, making the space seem welcoming. And the people roaming around in it were no less eccentric. It was like Tonks had made hundreds of clones and they were all following her clothing and hairstyles.

In short, Harry was amazed that something so vibrant could hide in the middle of New York. Then again, Diagon Alley was hidden in the middle of London, so…

He began wandering around, but didn't find the wand shop. He didn't even know its name. Then again, he was getting horribly distracted by all the buildings and displays around him. For the second time in his life, he wished he had eight pairs of eyes to be able to take everything in. He approached a woman who was walking past, who was wearing outrageously bright clothes, fitting in with the entire place. Harry was beginning to feel particularly drab, dressed only in blacks and greys.

"Excuse me, do you know where the wand shop is?"

"Oh, Juniper's?" Her nose was pointed, and voice cheerful. "Yeah, it's just down the end of this street. It's quite easy to miss. He doesn't like to make a spectacle of his shop. Compared to the others here, it's actually quite boring." She leaned in closer to Harry. "If I were him, I would do it up. A lot. The front especially could do with a spruce up. A nice lime green, or perhaps orange. Or both! Ooh, that would be absolutely stunning. What do you think?"

"Sure, yeah," Harry said hastily. He needed to get away from her. If he didn't, he could already tell she was going to yatter on until he was nothing more than a skeleton. "I've got to go, alright?"

She deflated slightly, before brightening again. "Nice meeting you!" She waved cheerfully, before skipping of in a manner reminiscent of Luna Lovegood. What a strange woman.

Harry followed her directions and found Juniper's, painted a fading grey. Compared to the shops around it, it was definitely the less fancy. Harry appreciated it. At least his eyes weren't being blinded by shocking pinks and highlighter yellows now.

He stepped inside the shop and was greeted with a smell very similar to Ollivander's store. A second later, an ancient man with even more wrinkles than Gladys Jones rushed out. His eyes were wide and darting around everywhere.

"Hello, how can I help you. No, I'll stop you right there. A wand. You're here for a wand. I'll go and get one." Harry's first thought of the strange little man was that he was very twitchy. A minute later, he returned, carrying several wands, all without cases.

"I'm Harry, if you wanted to know."

"I know, I know. Now, try this." A wand was thrust into his hand. Harry took it and didn't feel anything. Somehow, he knew this process was going to take a long time. "That isn't right." The man was so similar to Ollivander it was unnerving.

Surprisingly, it was on the third wand that he felt the telltale spark. Immediately, he knew that it was the wand for him, even if the feeling of it was very different than his holly one, which he sorely missed. Juniper merely nodded at him.

"Good. Take this card. Get going. Enjoy your wand." Juniper handed Harry a card and shooed him out of the shop, after taking the eight galleons required to pay for the wand. Harry hastily exited. Something about the shop made him shiver. Wanting to put his mind on another tracks, he looked down at it and read the details of the wand.

Wood: Maple

Core: Phoenix feather

Length: 13 ¼ inches

Meaning: This wand was made when a phoenix went up in flames, the feather the only remnant of its old self. The phoenix feather and maple wood combined signify rebirth most strongly, with themes of rebellion and healing mixed in.

Harry snorted. Of course, his wand was just like his current situation. But, he thought, did it really matter? Things were looking up for him now. And he was going to make the most of it.

Yet, the second he had a shred of privacy, he threw the glamour back on without hesitation.

Woohoo, another chapter. Also, we reached 20,000 views already. This is phenomenal. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Also, what do you think of Dr. Hannigan? I really like his character and am contemplating bringing him back. I feel like there's so much more I can do with his character.

If you want to, you can join my discord server. You can talk further about my stories with me, if you like, and I give out previews to the next chapter around three hours before I update. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in.

/Kb9zJgV

Sincerely,
Mariadoria