Chapter 2: Trust Issues

AN: I have edited this chapter.

WhenHarry stepped out of the fireplace, he seemed to be in the Great Hall.

The teachers were eating dinner, and they had stopped and started talking to Lily. Lily had gone straight to Dumbledore, telling him she needed to talk to him immediately. There was a man who looked very familiar to Harry sitting at the lunch table. It was his godfather. Harry couldn't believe that Sirius would ever become a professor, even in a world so incredibly screwed up as this one. Most of the professors were glaring at Harry so intensely that he almost shrunk back before he realized that there was nowhere to go. Snape was actually looking at him with something akin to confusion (not hatred), which confused him even more. He tried to think of something to hide his discomfort. The constant stares were disconcerting.

Kaylee was standing next to him, and he whispered, "Sirius is a professor? Did Dumbledore finally go mad?" Kaylee giggled, despite the circumstances.

"Nope, Sirius is our Defense against the Dark Art's professor. You two don't really get along," she said. "That's the only class you're failing, because you don't participate." Harry shook his head at the absurdity of it all. DADA was his best class, and Sirius was one of his favorite people. Well, he used to be, Harry thought painfully. Not now, Harry, he told himself sternly. Not now.

In the meantime Dumbledore had excused himself and led them up to his office. Harry was relieved to find that it was the same as always. Fawkes was sitting on his perch, looking quite pleased about something. He immediately flew over to Dumbledore, and rested on his shoulder. Kaylee was standing next to their mother, and she looked ready to burst. Harry gave her a look, one that said let me handle this. He didn't want them thinking he'd bewitched Kaylee as well. She was the only who he could talk with right now.

"Please, have a seat. Now, Lily, what is this you're going on about?" Dumbledore said, glancing at Harry with an unreadable expression on his face.

"He's under some kind of spell- I couldn't find one but I thought maybe you'd be able to," she said, nervously tapping her foot. She seemed nervous, and the same time, tired. Maybe this was a regular occurrence?

Harry frowned. "I am not under any kind of spell, I already told you that," he said, annoyed.

Dumbledore sent a calculating look towards Harry, one that Harry didn't ever want to see again. That was the type of look reserved for Draco Malfoy. He's not going to believe me if I tell him, Harry thought desperately.

"I hope you will understand, Harry, that your judgment could be impaired by a spell," he said. "However I do not want to find that you are joking with your mother. This is your last warning. Remember what happened last time," he said gravely. If Harry didn't know any better, he'd say Dumbledore was threatening him. His eyes narrowed.

"Fine! Do whatever you have to do to undo the supposed spell I'm under," he said, with a touch of anger.

Dumbledore's eyes hardened and Harry gulped, but refused to show his fear. An angry Dumbledore was not a good Dumbledore, as he'd seen before, but having that stare on you was very unnerving.

"I'm serious, Harry, you better not be fooling your mother," he said. This time Harry was sure it was a threat. Harry just stared back at the Headmaster, unwilling to give into the old man. Well, since he already sees me as a snotty Death Eater, I'm sure he can handle a bit of stubbornness.

Dumbledore waved his wand and began muttering all different types of things, similar to what his mum had done earlier. Before he was done, however, someone very familiar burst through Dumbledore's door.

"What have those Death Eaters done to my son, Dumbledore?" Arthur Weasley stepped through the door, oblivious to the fact that the headmaster was busy. His face was red and splotchy. Harry stared in amazement—he'd never seen Mr. Weasley this angry, not even that time in the book store with Lucius Malfoy.

"What do you mean Arthur?" Dumbledore asked patiently.

"Ron woke up this morning and was acting strange. He actually told us that Harry Potter was his best friend, and when we laughed at him he became mad at us and eventually started hexing us! Molly practically forced me over here." Ron stood behind his father, angry until he stepped all the way in and saw the office. He stared in awe, and lost a touch of his anger. Harry guessed it was the first time he'd ever been in Dumbledore's office before. When he spotted Harry, he grinned. Harry groaned inwardly. This is not going to make things easier, he thought.

"Harry, its bloody good to see you, mate! Can you believe this? My whole family's gone insane!" Harry smiled faintly; this was the Ron he knew, at least. He wondered if the same thing had happened to Ron. Harry would have laughed had the situation not been so serious. Dumbledore was now looking at Ron with concern.

"Arthur, we already checked him over for curses, but we can check again, if you want," he said kindly, much kinder than he had spoken with Harry. He pulled out his wand, and looked over at Harry with a speculative glance. Harry had to talk to Ron, without all of these people around. He realized that his next move was going to be a very stupid one, but he had to find out if this Ron was his Ron.

"Would you please? I'm going to hurt those Death Eaters who kidnapped him," Mr. Weasley said, looking right at Harry. Harry gulped, for the third time today, not used to the murderous glare coming from Mr. Weasley. Ron opened his mouth to say something, but Harry stood quickly to stop him.

"I don't think this matter needs to be solved right now, do you? Why don't we have some dinner?" Harry said quickly. Before Dumbledore and the others could say anything, Harry practically dragged Ron out the door.

"Ron, I don't know what happened! One minute I'm in bed, the next I'm in a new bedroom standing next to a girl who claims to be my sister! My mother and father are still alive, and I have a brother who looks like me!" Harry said, all very quickly. He was extremely confused. He turned down a corridor, and started walking quickly. He needed to explain things to Ron.

Ron stared at Harry. "You mean, that's who those two were in there? Your mother and sister?" he asked. Harry nodded, glad he didn't have to explain again. His stunt had only bought them a couple of minutes, as Dumbledore was probably right one their heels.

"Yeah, and apparently I'm some sort of Death Eater, I can play the piano, I'm in Slytherin, and I don't play Quidditch," he said. Ron looked disturbed at the Death Eater part, and the Slytherin part, but he was truly shocked by the time Harry got to Quidditch. Trust Ron to look most scandalized about the Quidditch, Harry thought.

"What do you mean, you don't play Quidditch? And you're not a Death Eater!" Ron said, as if trying to argue that to Harry. Harry almost rolled his eyes.

"I know, I think we might be in some sort of alternate plane," he said, trying to find a solution, "but I have no idea how or why." He didn't know what he wanted Ron to say—something, anything, that would make him feel better about their situation.

Ron's face had mixed feelings flittering around on it. He finally settled on confusion. Harry didn't blame him—at least he'd had pretty much a whole day to process this situation.

"So, if we're here, where did the other Harry and Ron go? Back to our world?"

Harry could only shrug. He had no idea—and that was a truly disturbing thought. Harry, the Boy-Who-Lived with the Dark Mark? Rita Skeeter would have a field day with that one. He heard voices shouting throughout Hogwarts, and he frantically got his mind back on track.

"Potter! If you harm a hair on his head-"

"Harry, get back here!"

"Mister Potter!"

Harry groaned. He stopped walking, and grabbed Ron's arm. Ron looked back at him, confused.

"See what I told you? They think I'm a Death Eater who's bent on destroying Hogwarts," he said. Ron looked furious.

"Why don't you just tell them the truth Harry? I can't believe they think you're a Death Eater!"

Harry could hear the voices getting louder.

"Listen, Ron, whenthey get over hereyou have to pretend to hate me," he said. When Ron started to argue, he stopped him. "No, listen. If they think that we're friends they'll assume that I put some kind of curse on you or something, and they'll probably send me away to Azkaban or God knows where. You have to pretend, Ron, or I'm toast." Ron nodded slowly as the voices got louder. Harry knew he didn't want to, but he couldn't think of any other solution on such short notice.

"Harry, how are we going to get back?" Ron asked, a bit of worry in his voice. "Why are we here?"

Harry just shook his head in desperation. "I don't know Ron, I just don't know." He stopped talking, listening for a moment. He could hear the footsteps getting louder. "Here they come," he whispered. "Just pretend I'm Malfoy or something." Ron looked helplessly at Harry before his father came down the corridor they had stopped in. Harry immediately started yelling at Ron.

"Oh yeah? Something tells me I could beat you in the first minute of a duel!" he said. Ron's eyes widened, but they he caught on.

"In your dreams, Potter. Why don't you go back to your Death Eater buddies and kill off a couple of them for us, huh?" Ron's face was one of malice, but his eyes told Harry otherwise.

"Are you implying something, Weasel?" Harry said. Ron was stopped from saying anything else when his father put a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's go Ron, I want to get you checked for spells and out of here as soon as possible," he said, glaring at Harry. Harry gulped. He hated to see Mr. Weasley so mad at him—but it was nothing compared to the horrible look on his mother's face.

"Mr. Potter, I believe you should go back to your house now," Dumbledore said. "I have already sent your family back. One wrong move, Mr. Potter." he said, turning back to his office. Harry shuddered. No wonder Dumbledore was the only wizard that Voldemort was ever afraid of. That look made him want to melt into the floor, and never come out.

Harry flooed back to his house, stumbling out, only to find his whole family sitting in the living room. His mother was close to tears, and his father looked murderous. Kaylee shot Harry a sympathetic look, one that he ignored in favor of staring at his parents.

"Harold James Potter," his father said softly. "I will not have you in my house if you continue your dark activities. Be you my son or not, if you continue to associate with those...people...then you will no longer exist as part of this family." James was looking very murderous. Harry felt like flinching; he hated seeing that amount of distrust on his father's face.

"Look, I didn't do anything, I swear! I don't know what happened to Ro- er- Weasley but I didn't do anything!" he said, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be cold. Merlin, anything to get rid of that look on his father's face.

Lily just cried harder and James' face turned colder.

"Why don't you go," he said, but it wasn't a request. It was an order. Harry winced at the tone but walked out of the living room. He found himself wandering around, not noticing his magic was responding to his emotions. As he passed things, they turned lost any light they held, and the hallway looked very dull and grey.

How on earth was he going to get back to his world if no one believed him but Ron and Kaylee? He'd finally gotten his parents back, something he'd wished for his entire life, and they hated him for something that he hadn't done—that other prat had done it. He found himself suddenly furious at the other Harry. What the hell was that prat thinking? He had his mother and father, and two siblings who obviously cared very much for him, and he was running off to be a Death Eater! Why would he want to see that horrible disappointed look on their father's face, or the heartbroken on their mother's face? What could possibly be worth that?

He wandered for ten minutes before his feet led him to the huge room with the piano in it. He crossed the room and sat on the bench, staring at the piano angrily, as if it was the piano's fault his parents hated him. A snippet of a memory suddenly came to him.

"I now accept you, Harry James Potter, as one of my loyal Death Eaters. You will serve me to the death. Rise, and greet your fellow Death Eaters."

Harry was suddenly cut out of the memory by someone tapping him on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm sorry they won't believe you. It must be hard to come here and have your parents hate you. I'm sure they aren't like this where you live," she said, almost as if she were ashamed of her parents. Harry laughed bitterly.

"I don't know my parents, Kaylee. I never did," he said almost harshly, and she didn't push it.

Kaylee just looked at her brother. He sat there helplessly, and she had no idea how she could help him. She felt compelled to protect him somehow, and she had no idea why. She knew he wasn't her real brother, but still...

She wondered what he had meant when he said he had never known his parents. Did they hate him or ignore him where he lived? What happened? This Harry seemed perfect, compared to her Harry. How could their parents not love him? He reminded her of her Harry, the boy he'd been before he'd become a death eater. He was fiercely protective of her and Tom, even though he'd still been quite young himself.

Kaylee was pretty sure that Harry had become a Death Eater in training his first year of school. Something had happened, and he came home different. She never knew why Harry was sorted into Slytherin. It had shocked their parents, as well as Tom. Tom had felt betrayed. Before that, he had idolized his older brother. She had as well--he'd been the best older brother. Protective of them, cool enough to teach them magic he knew (Harry knew lots before going off to Hogwarts), taking the blame for the little things that she and Tom had done wrong so they wouldn't get in trouble. Her eyes watered up as she thought of her oldest brother--she was worried for him. What had pushed him over the edge? Why had this new Harry turned out so much better than her real brother?

Overwhelmed by emotions, she got up and left, wanting to get away. She headed towards the broom shed out back. Flying always helped her relax.

Harry sat there by the piano long after Kaylee left. It really helped that she believed him, but it killed him that this might be the only chance he would get to know his parents, and they absolutely hated him. He had a family, and he might never get a chance to know them. He looked down at his arm, free from the black mark. It was probably the easiest decision he'd ever made. Of course he wasn't going to be a death eater.

Harry put his head down on the piano to rest his eyes, but he immediately got another memory.

"Come on, Harry, just do it. It's just a mudblood!" Draco said impatiently, his eyes darting around. Harry would have thought he sounded nervous except for the fact that Draco was never nervous. It was a new expression on his face, and Harry was intrigued. Draco looked almost human—and since when was he Draco and not Malfoy—and something struck a chord with Harry.

"Draco, I can't! He'll never know, we'll just cover our trail. We can transfigure something into the dead body..." Harry said desperately, trailing off, as if he lost steam. He looked like he was a second or third year student. In front of them was a stupefied man, who looked about twenty or so. Harry looked at his best friend, and knew that Draco knew exactly what he was feeling.

"Harry, just kill him and be done with it! We have to go!" Draco said, this time with a definite edge to his voice. He looked at Harry with concern, and stopped himself from saying something else. He composed himself, and said, "Think of your family!"

Harry frowned as he thought frantically about his family, and it seemed to help him make up his mind. He hardened his face, but not before a single tear made its way down his face. What if this man had a family, depending on him? Kids? A wife? No—he couldn't look at this man as anything but a body. No name, no face, no life. He'd go insane otherwise. He gulped, closed his eyes, and pulled out his wand.

Harry immediately stood up, frightened and at the same time, intrigued. This memory seemed to imply that Harry didn't want to kill this man, although, Harry gulped, it looks like he did the job anyways. It was obvious this was some kind of Death Eater mission, maybe a test to prove himself to Voldemort? There were two things bothering him about this memory: the killing, of course, was one of them, but the other was the odd behavior of Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy was supposed to be his best friend here. He'd heard that much from Kaylee. He just hadn't comprehended exactly what that had meant until just then. Malfoy looked like he actually cared about Harry, and even more, he looked just as afraid to kill the man as Harry had. Granted, they were both thirteen years old or so, but Harry had always assumed Malfoy was a mini-Death Eater from the moment he'd learned what Death Eaters were. Here, Malfoy had looked hesitant and afraid, just like any other teenage boy would have been. It showed that he wasn't the total bastard Harry had come to know.

And somehow in his mind, with that one memory, 'Malfoy' had been replaced with 'Draco'.

He glanced at the piano, wondering why he kept getting these memories when he touched it. He put his hand on top of it, and immediately received another memory. His anger had melted away into fear and curiosity.

"It's alright, Harry. Don't worry about it," Draco said, trying to calm the anxious boy down. Harry was a wreck. The two forth-years sat by the lake, where no one could easily here their conversation. There were no tears in either boy's eyes, but Harry's voice was crying for him. It was desperate.

"Draco, what don't you get? If I don't, he'll go after Tom, and Kay. If I do, Dumbledore will be after me. It's a lose-lose situation. How can you tell me not to worry about it?" he asked, scowling.

"One would think you're going soft, Harry," Draco said, grinning a bit, trying to get his best friend to smile. "I mean, who cares what Dumbledore thinks? Just because you practice dark magic does not make you evil."

Harry had to pull his hand back, it was too weird watching Draco Malfoy being nice to anyone. He wondered briefly if Draco was acting. But, Harry reckoned, if he is my best friend, he'd have to be somewhat nice, right?

Harry had never been more confused, but it seemed that he had solved a question he'd had. Why had Harry become a death eater, and given up his family? Well, the answer was simple. He'd done it to protect his family. From what or whom exactly—well, that was another question. Voldemort? Death Eaters? Those seemed like the logical answers, but Harry had a suspicion that it wasn't the whole story.