Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, it would be dosed heavily with yummy slashiness.

My head is hurts. Make it stop. The words pulsed through Alison's head. Groggily, she opened her eyes and let out a little moan. The room was bright, as if someone was reflecting the sun of a mirror and into her eyes. From what she could tell, it was also empty. "Where am I?"

The question was rhetorical and the teen didn't expect an answer, but one came anyway, "Physically your knocked out in the Hospital Wing. Technically you're dreaming."

The voice was undeniably male, "Too make a long story short, you passed out. Were brought to Madame Pomfrey and this is all just a dream. You'll be waking up in a minute."

"Wait, I'm not done asking-" Alison began, but was interrupted.

"Your mum and Draco are really worried. We can talk later. Until we meet again."

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"Ginny, she's awake! Oh Merlin, you scared us. Don't ever do that again," Dad jumped as soon as he saw Alison's eyes open.

"Mep?" Was the only response she could give however, because Mum launched into the bed, hugging her tightly.

"Mrs. Malfoy, my patient needs to breathe if she is to recuperate!" Snapped Madame Pomfrey as she pushed her way through a sea of Weasleys, "How are you feeling?"

"Me?" Alison blinked dazedly, "My head is all fuzzy feeling. Is that normal?"

"Considering you've been unconscious for nearly twelve hours after hitting your head on a sink and bleeding on the bathroom floor, I'd have to say yes. You'll be healthy as a hippogriff by tomorrow morning. But, everyone excluding your parents will have to leave."

There was a fair amount of grumbling as everyone left, mostly from Bryan, who was shooting the nurse death glares. As soon as the room emptied, Madame Pomfrey locked the door. She gave the three a sad nod, "Take all the time you need dearies."

Dad nodded mutely and Mum picked a shoebox of the end table. It looked old and Alison recognized the scrawl as her mother's. Harry, it was the only writing on the box. Harry, who was he? Surely not Ron and Hermione's son, he was too young. The only other Harry she had ever heard of was…

"Harry Potter? The boy who killed Him all those years ago?"

Dad nodded as Mum placed the box in her lap, and carefully removed the lid, as if the whole thing would shatter if handled to roughly. She pulled out what seemed to be letters tied with a green ribbon and handed them to her daughter, "If you want, you can read them later, but first I want to show you the pictures."

Alison set the yellowing parchment aside and stared attentively at her parents. Dad gave Mum's hand a light squeeze and she continued, "I knew Harry very well. He was best mates with Ron and Hermione, he spent nearly every summer at The Burrow."

In the picture, Uncle Ron and Auntie Hermione were standing outside The Burrow, a dark haired boy in between the two of them. They all waved energetically and none of them looked a day older than fourteen.

"Harry was in Gryffindor and played Seeker ever since his first year, if you don't count the time he was banned during his fifth by that stupid Umbridge woman," Mum scowled slightly.

"Stay focused love, Umbridge can't bother us anymore," Dad chastised lightly.

Mum passed another picture. Harry was alone in this one, broomstick slung over his shoulder. He was smiling cheerily and his eyes looked amused. Alison had to admit; there was something adorable about the way his glasses were slipping off his nose. He looked older than her.

"We dated shortly in my fifth year," Mum said, "He was very endearing."

"What about dad?" Alison asked, not quite able to tear herself from the green eyes.

Her mother looked amused, "Draco was a bit of a git back at school, but he grew out of it. A little bit anyways. Hey! Be nice!"

She had just dodged an incoming hand; "We broke it off a few weeks later. Right after Dumbledore' s funeral, he wanted to keep me safe, but it didn't quite work. I think he was in love with me, but all I had was a schoolgirl crush. Then, he went to fight in the war. I joined even though I was underage."

Harry was not smiling in this picture. Those green eyes looked dim and his face seemed thinner. He looked grave and was discussing something intently with Uncle Ron. Their lips moved noiselessly, with the occasional gesture of hands. They didn't even seem to notice that Alison was watching. She flipped the picture over; on the back someone had written summer 1999.

"He looks so old. Nothing like that last photo," Alison said quietly.

"The war was hard on everyone. But especially Harry," Dad was talking now, "He tried to be optimistic, but after a while he stopped. People were dying and he had suddenly become the leader of the light side. I had just become a spy for him. We were eighteen and already qualified soldiers."

It was a party. Everyone had crowded into the photograph, all surrounding Auntie Hermione and a cake with 21 written on it in blue letters. She was smiling, but it looked strained. Alison searched and finally found Harry, holding a little girl in his arms. She looked curiously at him with big brown eyes. She seemed to be about two, it was probably Emma.

"That was the last photo taken with Harry in it. It was in September. We began two weeks later. Harry died on Halloween, but he took Voldemort with him," Dad's voice was almost a whisper.

"There are more pictures if you want to look at them. I also have some of Harry's old things. He left them for me," Mum's head was bowed.

"This is all fascinating. But why are you telling me about him?" Alison asked.

The adults shared a mournful look. Mum replied, "Since you can't meet him in the flesh, I thought you had every right to know about your birth father."

"No, you're lying." Alison said calmly.

"I'm so sorry Alison, I wish it wasn't true. I wish we didn't have to tell you. It would be an insult to his memory if you didn't know." Draco said, voice cracking.

"Daddy, stop lying! Why are you lying to me? You always said lying was wrong." Alison looked around franticly.

Mum was crying pitifully, "I'm so sorry. So sorry, baby. I wish it were a lie. I'm a terrible mother. Draco isn't your birth father. I'm so sorry."

"No. No. No."

"Alison please stop."

"Lies! You lie! No!"

"I'm so sorry baby."

"NO! NO! IT'S ALL LIES!"

"I'm so sorry, love." That was the last thing Alison heard before the man she once held the title of 'Daddy' stunned her.

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"You're back sooner then I thought. I assume it didn't go well." The voice was gentle.

"They've been lying all my life. How could they?" Alison sat head in her hands.

"They just wanted to keep you safe. They both love you very much. You would have found out sooner or later, anyway," The man sighed, "It's better to know now then on their deathbed's. Please, open your eyes."

Alison obeyed and saw the room was a deep blue. Bits of furniture was scattered around. In one corner was a young man with blue eyes and soft brown hair. He was wearing jeans and a fading polo shirt, "Do you like it?"

The girl nodded, "It's very nice, but why blue?"

He shrugged, "Blue is a calming color. Do you want me to change it?"

"No, it's nice. Relaxing. Who are you anyway?"

"A guardian angel thing? I dunno, really. I've just been watching over you, making sure you don't get into any serious trouble," The brunette sighed, "I can't tell you my real name, but you can call me Harceler. It's French, I think."

"Harceler? I can check it. I take lessons with Professor Lupin, but you probably knew that. Do you live here?" Alison surprised herself with her serene voice.

"Yes, I stay here when I have free time, or when I want to visit you. Otherwise I can go anywhere and see anyone," Harceler had a crestfallen expression.

"You're able to go anywhere? It must be amazing to have that freedom," Alison heard her voice dim.

Harceler stood up, "It's one of the good things about being dead."

The room was spinning, reminding Alison of ocean waves in the storm. "What's going on?" She asked to the young man, who was becoming steadily less visible.

"You're falling into a deeper sleep, too deep for me to keep our connection," The voice was still there, though the face and body had already died away.

After the girl had disappeared and the brunette man stood in the middle of the room, waiting. A door appeared and he could hear the other's calling. Giving the place where Alison sat on last mournful glance he whispered, "Bonne nuit, mon doux fille, maintenant vous rêvez."

A/N: The Good:

Almost the weekend, meaning I'll have more time to work on updates.

The Bad:

My first midterm exam is tomorrow.

The Reviewers:

simply infatuated: Sorry, you won't see the external changes until the next chapter. :gives out moose track ice cream:

The Allknowing Tonks: You're right again. :gives out moose track ice cream:

raberiteist: I'm okay, but there is always room to improve. Also, I needed someone with features easy to insult, so why not pug faced Parkinson:gives out moose track ice cream:

jimmy-love-hermione: I won't be giving up for a while. :gives out moose track ice cream:

Look at all them people, with their delicious sugary food! Review and you can join their noble ranks! Don't feel shy; even the smallest review is greatly appreciated. Until I update again!

M.