"All right, Ron?" asked Harry at breakfast on Monday, watching his friend poke holes in a sausage with his fork.

"Huh?" Ron looked up. "Oh. Yeah. All right, I guess. How come?"

Harry pointed. Ron regarded his plate for a moment, then shrugged and sliced the sausage in half. "Just thinking," he said, picking up one half on his fork and taking a bite from it. "This'll sound weird, but do you ever have dreams that feel like they're trying to tell you something? Like there's something coming along for you, something special and good, and you just have to hold on long enough to get there?"

"Sometimes." Harry glanced up at the teachers' table, where Hogwarts' two adjunct professors sat side by side, and from which a particular dark-haired figure was conspicuously absent. "Why, do you?"

"I do, yeah." Ron grinned a little sheepishly. "Don't tell the twins, they'd never shut up about it, but I used to dream about meeting a girl out in our orchard who'd help me throw snowballs back at them. Then after Christmas, when Meghan came along, that actually happened. And I've been dreaming ever since the holidays ended that Snape decided to stop teaching our year, and now that actually happened, with Professor Freeman coming on instead. D'you think I'm turning into a Seer or something?"

"Maybe a little bit." Harry took another sausage for himself. "But I remember my aunt used to say that most people have a dozen dreams every night, and the only one they remember is the one that made the biggest impression. So maybe you're dreaming a bunch of different ways that things could go, but you only remember one of them because that's the one that ended up happening."

"Yeah, that sounds right." Ron bit the other half of the sausage off his fork. "Fanks," he said around it.

"Don't mention it."

Morning classes finished, Harry headed for the Owlery, his hand protectively over the hole in the corner of his bag. He had fed Owl Treats to a small, heart-faced barn owl and a sleek barred owl and was just offering one to a ruffled-looking tawny when he heard two other sets of footsteps on the stairs.

"All right, here we are," said Hermione, stepping inside with Draco behind her. "Now what in the world did you want to meet up here for?"

"There's something I realized I hadn't told you yet." Harry set down his bag, careful not to jostle it. "It's about Sirius."

"About his being innocent?" Draco frowned. "Come on, Harry, you have to've known Tonks would tell me that. And I thought you said you'd written it to Hermione."

"He did." Hermione held out a hand to one of the owls, which nibbled politely on her fingertips. "Coded, but I understood him. It must be something else. But…" She stopped, her eyes going wide. "Wait, you don't mean—"

"I didn't want to write it down. Not even in code. But Letha thinks it's true, and so does Professor Lupin." Harry drew a deep breath, nerving himself up. "Sirius is alive."

"But—how?" gasped Hermione. "When the Ministry—"

"The Ministry decided he was a crazy criminal who murdered people," Draco cut in. "Just because that's what it looked like on the surface. How much do you really trust them, Neenie?"

Hermione skewered him with a glare. "We are a very long way up right now," she said in a tone of deceptive calm. "It'd be hard for anyone to prove how an irritating Hufflepuff just happened to fall out the window of the Owlery. Wouldn't it, Draco?"

"Witness." Draco pointed at Harry. "Standing right there."

Harry cast his eyes up to the ceiling, whistling pointedly off-key.

"Traitor," grumbled Draco.

"Shush." Hermione slapped his shoulder lightly. "But Harry, that's wonderful news! If he's alive, that means there's still a chance to clear his name, and then you could go and live with him! With them, I should say, I'm sure Healer Freeman and Meghan will want to be there too." She laughed a little. "But I don't think you'd mind that."

"Letha, no. Meghan…depends on how often she starts singing those songs of hers." Harry couldn't seem to stop himself from smiling. "But I'd a million times rather have her than the Dursleys. And now I might actually get what I wished for. My family, my real family, the people that care about me and want me around—"

His eyes fell on Draco, and he stopped short. His friend was staring at the straw-strewn floor, the tops of his ears bright pink.

"Mal, what's—" Hermione began, frowning. Then she made a little eep noise, and hurried across to hug him. "I'm so sorry! I never even thought!"

"Not your fault," said Draco indistinctly into Hermione's hair. "Yours either," he added to Harry as Hermione let him go. "You're not allowed to be sorry about getting what you want just because I won't have the same thing. Besides." His sidelong grin made an appearance. "If Father keeps going the way he has been, pretty soon it won't be a problem anymore…"

"Might I have a word with you, Lucius?"

"Of course, Narcissa." Lucius frowned as his wife stepped into his study, pointedly shut the door, and charmed it and the window for privacy. "What in the world—"

"What do you think you are playing at?" demanded Narcissa, glaring at him. "I am willing to overlook a great deal, husband, but this time you have gone too far. Three attacks in five months, the last one in broad daylight? The Ministry may be short-sighted and foolish, but even they will not miss the signs of your involvement in such things forever. It ends now, Lucius. Or would you rather I have to summon Draco out of his classes at Hogwarts, to explain to him that his father cares more for a rumor than for his own son?"

"A rumor?" Lucius shot to his feet behind his desk. "The Dark Lord's return is hardly a mere rumor, Narcissa!"

"What else would you call it," returned Narcissa readily, "when you have only the hearsay report of one man? A man, I should add, who may well have been suffering from some injury or illness of the mind, given that he vanished immediately thereafter and has never yet been located! If the Dark Lord himself came to our door and commanded your attendance on him, that would be one thing. Or if he summoned you by your Mark, or sent some messenger you were sure you could trust. But on no better authority than the word of Walden Macnair?" She shook her head, her voice growing softer. "I know how much you have wanted to see him return, Lucius. But wishful thinking is unworthy of you. This must end."

Lucius let out his breath in a soft growl. "I cannot say you are wrong," he said, sitting down without grace. "I had hoped, so much, that he would hear of our endeavors. That he would contact us, tell us that we were fulfilling his will, direct us in further strikes against those who threaten our way of life. But months have passed, and nothing. Perhaps you are right, Narcissa. Perhaps Macnair was ill or confused, or perhaps he only dreamed of the Dark Lord speaking to him." He smiled wanly. "I envy him that, whatever else may have befallen him."

"Indeed." Narcissa nodded once. "Then I have your word? You will lead no more of these attacks until and unless you have some better reason?"

"You do." Lucius laid his hands against the desk, gazing down at the patterns within the wood.

"Thank you." Two soft rushes of air, a series of clicks punctuated by a thump, and Narcissa was gone, off to whatever mysterious pastimes filled the majority of her day.

"Fight hard for us, my child," murmured Lucius, thinking of his Draco, trapped by his own choice among the common rabble and surely loathing every passing hour which kept him there. "I may no longer raise hand or wand in defense of our ancient ways, so you must stand as my champion on the field. Guide Harry Potter into the paths of proper thinking, or if you cannot, lull him into believing you harmless, so that you may either bring him safely into our fold or be the instrument of his defeat as needed…"

"Here we go, Badgers, here we go!" Stomp stomp. "Here we go, Badgers, here we go!" Stomp stomp.

"What're you singing that for?" demanded Ron under the noise of the Quidditch spectators, glaring at Meghan. "You're not a Hufflepuff!"

"I'm not anything, yet." Meghan swung her scarf above her head, grinning. "And I've already got two friends in Hufflepuff. Three, if you count Tonks." The Auror apprentice had been introduced to Meghan at the group's usual get-together on the first Friday in February, and had expressed her admiration for Meghan's imaginative ideas about the trouble 'Harvey Plotter' was causing at St. Brutus's. "Why shouldn't I cheer for their team?"

"Because you've also got friends in Gryffindor, if you haven't noticed!" Ron jabbed a finger into his own chest. "And we could really use the win! If we get this, we move up into the lead for the House Cup, on track to beat Slytherin for the first time in years—"

"Look, there she goes!"

"Come on, Rosie!"

"Diggory's seen it too!"

Everyone's eyes shot skyward, to a slender form in crimson robes and a bulkier one in golden yellow, both speeding down the pitch in pursuit of a barely-visible shimmer. Two arms stretched out, two hands closed—

Cedric Diggory peeled away and did a swift loop, holding up his hands in surrender. "She's got it!" he called down to Madam Hooch, as Rose McGann pulled back on her broom's handle, waving the Snitch aloft. "Gryffindors win!"

The red-clad section of the stands exploded into cheers.

"It was a good match," said Harry down at Hagrid's hut later, handing around butterbeers to everyone. "I'm happy we won, but it could've gone either way really easily."

"Just you wait until next year," grumbled Draco halfheartedly, uncorking his bottle with his wand. "I'll be trying out for the Quidditch team first thing, and then you'll see what real flying looks like…" Absently he slid the cork into his pocket, frowning as a crinkle of parchment sounded. "What—oh, that's right. I had a letter this morning. I was going to open it before the match, but I forgot. Wonder who it's from."

"Pull it out and let's see," said Ron, opening Meghan's bottle for her.

"Right." Draco extracted the letter. "Oh, it's from my friend." He paused, glancing over at Hermione, then directing his eyes towards Hagrid.

"Did you hear that?" asked Hermione, getting up to open the back door and leaning out. "I think it's somewhere in the Forest…"

As if on cue, a horrible screeching erupted from within the trees. Hagrid sighed and got to his feet. "Be righ' back," he grumbled, picking up his umbrella. "Fang! Here, boy!"

Hermione stepped out of Hagrid's way, then shut the door behind him. "And that's how it's done," she said with a smile, sitting down and tucking away her wand. Orion's tail thumped against the floor. "What is it, Mal?"

"It's our answer. About Nicolas Flamel." Draco unfolded the parchment. "Here, I'll read it to you:

"Thank you so much for being patient. I've finally been able to track down that name for you. Nicolas Flamel is an alchemist, quite a famous one. He and Professor Dumbledore have worked together for a long time, but his biggest achievement came hundreds of years before that. He's the only person who's ever successfully created—"

"The Philosopher's Stone!" Hermione finished in chorus with Draco. "Of course, of course! I knew the name sounded familiar! I read about him in one of the books I borrowed from the library!"

"That sounds important," said Harry. "What does it do?"

"I was getting to that part," said Draco, glaring around the room, and continued reading over snickers from Ron, Neville, and Meghan. "The Philosopher's Stone is what all alchemists are trying to create. Once you have it, you can touch it to anything made of metal and turn that thing into gold, and you can also make the Elixir of Life, which means you'll never die so long as you keep drinking it. Mr. Flamel and his wife are both over six hundred years old, so you see it really does work."

"A stone that makes gold and lets you live forever?" Neville repeated into the silence. "That sounds really important, and really valuable. Why would it be at Hogwarts?"

"Maybe because Hogwarts is a very safe place." Meghan ran a finger around her butterbeer bottle, collecting condensation. "Wizards and witches have been coming here to learn for a thousand years, which means that's how long hope and happiness and magic have been building up. It would probably be hard for a Dark wizard to break in through all of that."

"Besides, Hogwarts has some of the most comprehensive wards in the wizarding world." Hermione swirled two fingers in a circle. "You can't Apparate or Disapparate on the grounds at all, and you need special permission from the Head to come in most other ways, like broomsticks or Portkeys. Even the Floo fires can be monitored."

"And there are students everywhere, almost all the time." Draco refolded his letter and tucked it back into his pocket. "If they saw a stranger, they'd notice."

"So if you wanted to get away with stealing it, you'd have to be something to do with the school." Ron looked around the room. "How about Snape? Nobody'd think twice about seeing him down any particular hallway. That description Quirrell gave back at Halloween could fit him. And now he's taking a leave of absence, right in the middle of term. Definitely suspicious."

"No." Meghan shook her head hard. "It's not about that. And yes, I do know what's going on with him, but I can't tell you," she added impatiently as all eyes turned to her. "Mom made me promise. But it's not anything bad, really it's not."

"Well, if Healer Freeman knows…" Hermione nodded reluctantly. "All right. So now we've found out what Fluffy is guarding. And that's still the silliest name I've ever heard for a three-headed dog," she added. "Or any kind of dog, really." She glanced down at Orion. "No offense meant." Orion nudged at her hand, and she rubbed his ears. "What do we do next?"

"I have an idea." Harry took a sip from his butterbeer. "But you'll have to trust me…"

XxXxX

"Dad? Can I talk to you?"

"Isn't that what you're doing right now?" Ryan Blake chuckled, and caught his son's fist on an open palm. "Hey, none of that. I may not be able to give you detention, but I can always ask your mom to do it. What's going on, Henry?"

"That locked door on the third floor, the one we're not supposed to go near." Henry's eyes met Ryan's, clear green boring into silver-gray. "Is that because it's got the Philosopher's Stone behind it?"

Ryan grinned. "Would you step into my office, Mr. Blake?" he requested, indicating the door behind him, which led to the quarters he shared with Thea and Pearl. "I believe we have matters to discuss."

"Just asking straight out, Henry?" John Reynolds shook his head, regarding his nephew, second from the left in the little row of students who were seated within Ryan and Thea's quarters. "Right to the point, no run-up, no hedging?"

"You always told us, if we had a question, just ask," Henry countered. "If you could answer it, you would, and if you couldn't, you'd tell us why not."

John traded rueful looks with Gigi. "Is it always this disconcerting to hear your own words coming back at you?" he asked, and dug a hand into his pocket. "And while I'm thinking of it, here." He ceremoniously counted four Sickles into Ryan's palm. "Don't spend it all in one place."

Ryan cackled, jingling his palmful of silver. Ron and Neville looked bewildered, but Mal had flushed and Jean groaned under her breath. "They bet on us figuring this out," she said, leaning out from her chair to address her friends. "Probably on when and who. Though if you thought it was all Henry, you're wrong," she added. "He did find out one important piece in the middle, but I started things off, and Mal got us the rest of it."

"Ah-ha!" John extended a hand. "Two of those back, if you don't mind, Mr. Padfoot."

"Tapping your usual source for esoteric magical knowledge?" Gigi asked her son, who nodded. "Good thinking. Never do it badly yourself when you can ask someone else to do it well. Unless you're trying to learn how to do it, of course. But that's another story."

"In any case, to your question." Thea leaned against the side of the square table which served the Blakes for meals, her eyes roving across the row of students. "Before we go any further, I want one thing clearly understood. This is not a matter to discuss with anyone. Not even among yourselves, once we're finished here. I'll explain to Pearl, since I know how she behaves when she thinks she's being left out of things…"

Neville raised a tentative hand, and John nodded to him. "Your parents already know," he said. "They helped to set up the security, as it happens. Still, it's best if you don't write about it, or even hint. Once you're at home, of course, use your own discretion."

"Understood, sir." Neville sat back in his chair. "So it is there."

"Yes, it's there." Ryan clasped his hands behind his back. "The one and only Philosopher's Stone. Moved to Hogwarts at the end of July, which was lucky, since someone broke into the Gringotts vault where it had been kept shortly after it was moved. But now the big question, and the one you're probably all wondering about." He let his eyes rest on each young face in turn. "Why?"

"Well, yeah," said Ron after a few moments of silence. "I mean, we know Hogwarts is a pretty safe place to keep stuff, but we found out what's going on, and we're not exactly the best wizards and witches out there. Except for Jean," he added in the direction of that witch, who stuck her tongue out at him. "But even then, we're none of us older than twelve. If we could figure it out, how's it supposed to be kept safe from somebody trying to steal it? Somebody grown-up, who knows loads more magic than we do, and probably really Dark spells we've never even heard of?"

"An excellent question." Gigi nodded. "But I'm afraid we can't answer it. Not because we don't trust you," she cut off the cries of indignation before they had fully begun. "But because it's not the right question to ask."

"Forgive the Muggle metaphor, but it's fitting." Thea hadn't moved from her spot. "What do the Philosopher's Stone and a space station near the moon of Endor have in common?"

Ron looked baffled and Neville frowned in confusion, but Henry and Mal's eyes both widened, and Jean gasped in comprehension. "Of course, of course! It's a Muggle movie, all about an evil Empire and the Rebels fighting against it," she explained hastily to the two boys. "The Empire has this powerful weapon called a Death Star, and the Rebels think they've found out how they can stop it from being finished, but they didn't! The Empire gave them that information, so they'd all come to attack it and the Empire could wipe them out!"

"'It's a trap.'" Mal started to grin. "You want them to try for the Stone. Whoever's after it, I mean."

"The security might even be set up the other way around from what they're expecting." Henry formed a cage with his fingers. "So they'll be able to get in, and they'll think they're so smart, but then…" He flattened his hands together. "Caught."

"Excellent reasoning." Thea applauded softly. "But it comes with a corollary, and I need you all to listen to me very carefully." She met each set of eyes in turn, blue, green, brown, gray, brown. "The final aspect of the security around the Philosopher's Stone should be completely unbreakable—to the person who's trying to steal it. It might not stand up so well if somebody else came along. Especially some of you." Her gaze returned to Henry and held his for several seconds. "Please, for your own good, for everyone's good, do not go through that door." A little smile flickered onto her face. "It would be the outside of enough to catch our own children in the trap we set for the nasty evil wizard."

"The nasty evil wizard," repeated Neville thoughtfully. "So it is a specific person, then."

"Yes." John exchanged glances with Ryan, who scowled, but nodded. "And you could probably put a name to him, if you tried. He'd be trying to get to Hogwarts this year in any case, just to see if a certain student turned up on schedule."

"Wait." Ron paled. "You don't mean—not You-Know-Who? But he's dead! He died back when the war ended, when he tried to kill Harry Potter!"

"His body was destroyed," Gigi corrected, her voice brittle. "His power was diminished. But no, Ron. He didn't die." Her eyes shifted to Henry for a moment, then returned to Ron. "And that's part of the reason Harry Potter isn't here at Hogwarts this year. Because the people who became his guardians, after his parents died, knew that Voldemort—" She ignored Ron's shudder. "—would definitely try to kill him again. Whether that were out of a simple desire for revenge, or the belief that killing Harry would magically give him back what he lost."

"Would it?" asked Jean, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands were clenched tight in her lap, as if she were keeping herself in her seat by force.

"Don't think so." Ryan shook his head. "Killing somebody by magic has plenty of side effects, but that's not one of them. In any case, Harry Potter's safe where he is, so is the Philosopher's Stone, and you lot have enough information to be going on with. Any more questions?" He paused for a moment, then flicked his fingers at the door. "Off you go, then. And remember, not a word. Not even to each other."

Five heads nodded, and the little group got up and filed out, once Thea had removed the charms from the door.

"Well," said Gigi when the door had closed behind Mal, sinking down into one of the Blakes' kitchen chairs. "That was not a conversation I thought I'd be having today."

"Still, I think we handled it right." Ryan tossed and caught the two Sickles John had paid him before tucking them away in his pocket. "Best way to get a bunch of kids to go poking around in anything is to turn it into some big fascinating mystery."

"Whereas if we satisfy their curiosity about one topic, they might not follow up on the question we actually don't want them asking." John crossed the room to stand behind his wife, laying his hands on her shoulders. "Namely, if we're expecting Voldemort to come after the Stone, is it possible he's already here?"

"At least we found him out early on." Thea shuddered once, all over. "Good God, that voice. If I never had to hear it again, that would still be too soon…"

Back in Gryffindor Tower, Henry was about to return to his armchair and the book he'd set aside, but Ron caught his sleeve. "Can we talk?" his friend said, his freckles standing out more than usual but his expression resolute. "Upstairs?"

"Sure." Henry followed Ron up the spiral staircase to their dorm and shut the door, sitting down on the edge of his bed, facing Ron. "What's on your mind?"

"Your aunt. Mrs. Reynolds." Ron was gripping the edge of his mattress, staring at the floor. "She said Harry Potter wasn't at Hogwarts this year. And everyone thinks that's true." He raised his head and looked directly at Henry. "But is it?"

Slowly, Henry raised a hand to his forehead and swept aside his bangs.

Ron closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "I thought I was making it up," he said in an undertone. "Sticking together things out of my dreams and the stories Mum used to tell me. But I wasn't. It's true. You really are—"

"I was." Henry finger-combed his bangs back into place. "It's the name I was born with, and one I might still need someday. But it's not the one I use right now, and this is why," he added with some exasperation. "Because I hate people acting like I'm this big damn hero, all because of something that I don't even remember! I just want to be me. A normal Gryffindor first year. Mal and Jeanie's cousin. Your and Neville's friend." He smiled a little. "I'm sorry for lying to you, if that helps any. But I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. Like, ever."

"I guess I can understand it." Ron cast a glance downwards, towards the office they'd come from. "If You-Know-Who really is out there somewhere, and wants you dead. Probably all the Death Eaters'd love to have a try too."

"One of them did once." Henry's smile turned into a grin. "That's how we got Mal."

"Yeah, I was meaning to ask about that." Ron sat up straighter. "What with his name, and there being another famous missing kid about our age—" He shook his head in wonder as Harry nodded. "That's crazy! So who're your mums and dads, then? Or who were they, before everything started happening?"

"Dad's my godfather, and Uncle John's a friend of his. They were two of my birth dad's best friends from school. Dad and Mom were dating back during the war, when she used to run a safehouse for the people who were fighting against Voldemort. And no, I'm not going to stop saying it." Henry made a face at Ron, who had winced away from the name. "He can't exactly want to kill me any more than he already does."

"But isn't that why you're in disguise in the first place?" Ron looked Henry up and down. "So he won't know it's you he wants to kill?"

Henry frowned. "You might have a point there. But he's not around to hear me, so what does it matter if I say his name?"

"Plenty, especially in a place as magical as Hogwarts!" Ron whisked his hand around the room. "Names have power, they're meant to get a person's attention, and that's one person's attention I don't think either of us wants! Especially not you!"

"Fine, fine." Henry sat back on his bed, pulling his legs up under him. "So what else did you want to know?"

"Honestly? Everything, or as close as you can tell me." Ron copied his friend's movements, scooting along his bed to lean against the pillows. "It's been one of the biggest mysteries in the wizarding world as long as I can remember. What really happened to The Boy Who Lived? Where did he go?"

"2319 Tudor Lane, Creedsdale, Pennsylvania," recited Henry with another, broader, grin. "Though obviously that's not where we all started out…"

1 November, 1981

Remus Lupin Apparated into a narrow alleyway in a particular London suburb, taking a moment to be sure everything was still attached. He'd been badly shaken by what he'd just heard shouted out to him by a passing witch near the shabby lodging house where he'd been staying during his current mission for the Order of the Phoenix.

Voldemort gone would be a miracle, especially with how poorly we've been doing against him lately. It's like he always knows where we'll be defending, and either changes to another target or brings a force large enough to beat us anyway. But the price we might have paid for it—James, Lily, Harry—not to mention what else that has to mean, whether Sirius was captured and forced to give up their secret or he handed it over willingly—

The odd dreams he'd been having for nearly a year, in which he'd met and befriended a stranger whose entire world had collapsed, were suddenly making a horrible kind of sense.

What if they've been warnings? Trying to tell me that my world might be about to fall apart?

He smiled to himself, stepping out of the alley and heading for the front door of the semidetached where he knew the Order's safehouse was located. Though if they are, I can't imagine what last night's little ceremony has to do with it. Not that it wasn't pleasant, in its own way, but rather nonsensical in the way of warning me about anything…

Ringing the doorbell, he waited.

"Just a moment!" called a voice from within the house.

Remus frowned. The voice was female, and familiar to him, but it didn't sound right for Aletha—

The door swung open. "Can I help you?" inquired the person on the other side.

Everything froze as Remus stared at the woman beyond the door. Bushy brown hair hanging just to her shoulders, regular features marred only by a slightly off-center nose, intelligent and inquisitive brown eyes fixed disconcertingly on his—

"I married you last night."

(A/N: As promised, one iconic line. And also as promised, the beginning of a story you've all wanted to hear!

Yes, the next couple chapters are going to consist mostly or entirely of flashbacks, and tell the tale of how the alterworld got so very different. A lot of questions you've had will be answered, so please let me know if you are still reading and enjoying! Every review is very, very much appreciated!)