Chapter 5: Reluctant Acceptance

AN: Edited 08/08/2006. Again, the chapters might not quite mesh, but I'm getting there.

Harry walked through the back door, wanting nothing more than to go straight to Dumbledore and demand that the old wizard send him home. Unfortunately, that brought up the unpleasant reminder that Dumbledore believed him to be a Death Eater. He groaned, and hoped that wherever his friends were, they were ok. His groan had alerted his presence to his waiting mother and sister, and they both turned their heads his way. He looked at the both, feeling emotionally drained.

"Harry? Are you ok?" Kaylee asked softly,not meeting his gaze. He frowned--she was avoiding his eye contact. She only did that when he was mad at her--but he wasn't mad at her. So what was wrong?

He nodded. "Yeah," his voice was hoarse, though he couldn't figure out why. "I'm fine."

An awkward silence filled the room. Harry didn't know what to say, and he was pretty sure that Kaylee had something to tell him because she kept fidgeting. She was sitting down next to Lily, and she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs or messing with her fingernails. He just stood there, knowing she'd probably burst any second.

He was right.

"Oh—Harry! Will you sit down? I tried to explain to mum—but she doesn't quite believe me. You'll have to help me," she rambled, breaking the silence. She turned to Lily, and said desperately, "Mum, he'll show you, and you can test it to make sure he's not hiding it. Sit down, Harry."

Harry just stared blankly at Kay, totally confused. What in the name of Merlin's beard was she going on about?

Lily sighed, and looked over at her daughter. "Oh honey, it can wait for tomorrow. I just got overly excited today. Let's do this tomorrow when we all have the energy and the patience," she said wearily.

"No! We're going to straighten this out tonight! I'm tired of having to keep it a secret!" she answered hotly. "Harry, to start with, sit down!" she ordered.

Harry almost laughed at the face she was making, but decided it would be detrimental to his health to laugh at his sister when she got in a mood like this. He sat down on the couch across from his mother and sister, who were sharing a large armchair.

Kay started up once he sat down. "Harry, first of all, I told mum everything; what happened at the beginning of the summer, what you're like, and things like that."

"She said you don't have the Dark mark," Lily interrupted, like a young student eager for information. "And I know it's not possible to hide it, I mean, you could probably cover it up with make-up, but I was wondering...if you could show me," she said, losing her courage at the end. Harry frowned wearily, but lifted his sleeve to show his unblemished arm.

Lily looked it over, and muttered a spell. A bright light glowed around his arm for a second, and then the light faded, leaving his unmarred arm. Lily broke out into a huge smile, and engulfed Harry in a huge hug. Surprised, Harry froze, not knowing what to do. The only other hug he'd received from a mother-figure was from Mrs. Weasly. Helet out asmall smileas he realized that it was HIS mother giving him the hug this time.

When she pulled back, her eyes were lit with a fire that Harry hadn't seen before. They looked like Hermione's eyes whenever she was determined to know something.

Hermione! What had happened to Hermione? With all the confusion from Kaylee, he hadn't had time to ask about 'Mione. Before his mother could start asking him questions (which he knew she was going to do) he blurted out his question.

"Can I ask you a question?" Without waiting for a real response, he asked hopefully, "Do either of you know Hermione Granger?"

Lily shut her eyes and leaned back into the chair, her grin gone. Kaylee frowned, her forehead crinkled in confusion. She looked as though she was trying to place a name with a face. Harry froze—this was the reaction he didn't want. He panicked.

"What happened? Is she dead? I saw...a memory...please, tell me...she isn't dead, is she!" He said, all with extreme rapidity. "She can't be dead! Please! I...it wasn't me, I swear!" he said, incredibly confused and afraid. He hadn't tortured her—butPotter had. What if he had killed her? Could he live knowing(even though this wasn't his 'Mione) that he had killed his best friend, that in this world, Hermione Granger was...dead? Even if she was alive, was it possible that she was sane? There were too many possibilities! Why weren't they answering his questions?

"Harry, why do you want to know? That's just unpleasant memories, honey," his mother said softly. Harry cringed. That could mean nothing good.

"Please—what happened to her? I have to know," he said desperately.

Just as Lily was ready to start talking, James walked in.

"Harry—you're back. Are you ok?" he asked, coming up behind his wife and placing a hand on her shoulder. Harry just ignored him—he wanted to know if Hermione was alive.

"Just tell me if she's alive," he begged. He kept his eyes on his mother's. Her eyes were moist with tears.

"Yes---she's...alive," she whispered. Harry sighed with relief. Hermione wasn't dead!

James looked confused. He looked at his wife for an explanation, but she had started to get up.

"I'll go start dinner," she announced, and left the room quickly, wiping unshed tears from her eyes. Harry just watched her go, wondering what she knew that she wouldn't tell him.

The next day was less stressful. Most of the day was spent in the Potter's living room. It appeared that Lily had informed her slightly confused husband about what Kaylee told her about Harry, and he was just as anxious to know if it was the truth.

The living room was a beautiful room, decorated in gold and dark green. The walls were a very light green, and the ceiling stretched at least two stories high. The carpet was a fuzzy dark forest green that squished between Harry's toes. There were two couches, both upholstered in a comfortable green fabric with gold trim. There were two chairs as well, both a dark green with gold pillows. Harry felt it was the perfect blend between the two colors.

He chose to sit in one of the chairs, and James sat in the other one. Lily and Kay took one of the couches. Tom was over at a friend's house, but he'd be back in about an hour.

James, apparently not one to wait long for anything, started out with a question. "Is the Dark mark gone?"

Harry nodded, and lifted his sleeve (the second time in the last twelve hours). When James was satisfied that no disguises remained, a rather large grin appeared on his face.

"So—you've convinced me that you are definitely a different person than our Harry—and I know you're not using polyjuice potion—"

"How?" Harry interrupted.

"Well, your magical aura would be corrupted. In my specific branch of the Auror department, we're trained to recognize certain clues that a person is using polyjuice potion. And, I don't want to brag," he said with a smile and wink towards Lily, "but Sirius and I were the best in our division."

Lily huffed, but couldn't help smiling.

"Sirius!" Harry said, shocked. It sounded bad, but he hadn't thought of Sirius's death since the first week that he'd been here. He'd had so many new memories and things to deal with that he hadn't given his death a second thought. A sudden pain filled his heart, but he pushed it back. He'd deal with that when he was alone. He didn't want to depress his family.

James stopped smiling. "Yeah, Sirius. He doesn't really like you all that much. I think he sees you as a coward. He had to grow up with his horrible family, and then Voldemort tried recruiting him, and he still refused to become a Death Eater. However, we're not a dark family so according to Sirius you had no reason to go dark—er, that's Sirius's logic for you. I can't really understand him sometimes," James said, giving a small chuckle.

"Er—can you tell me something?" he asked, pausing to get the question worded correctly. "Did Voldemort come after you about fifteen years ago?"

Lily frowned, thinking. "Well, about the time you were a year old, Harry, we received inside information that Voldemort was going to come after us, for some reason. We were told to go into hiding. Dumbledore wanted us to have a Secret Keeper. The Fidilus charm is a spell hides you from everyone. Even if someone was standing in the same room as us they wouldn't be able to see us unless our Secret Keeper told them where we were. James wanted to use Sirius, but Sirius thought it was too obvious to use him. He suggested either Peter Pettigrew or Remus Lupin. Dumbledore wasn't sure about that—he wanted to be our secret keeper."

Harry, having already heard the story, wondered if the prophesy existed in this world. The Potters weren't dead, so obviously something had changed there. It seemed like his world and this world were the same until fifteen years ago. Something changed, and from that point on everything was different.

"Well, I suggested we use Remus Lupin. I had always trusted him more than Sirius or Peter anyways," Lily said. "Sirius, however, wasn't sure that Remus was completely on our side, because he was a werewolf. Voldemort had been recruiting them for years."

"Lily finally decided we should just use Dumbledore as our secret keeper. We didn't want to harm any of our friends by placing them in obvious danger, and we knew that Voldemort was already after Dumbledore, so it wasn't placing him in more harm than before," James said.

Harry's thoughts wandered back to the prophesy. If it did exist, but Voldemort hadn't marked him, Harry Potter, as an equal, then did that mean he didn't have to kill Voldemort? Maybe that job was left to---Neville Longbottom.

"Voldemort couldn't find us, and a few years later, gave up looking, I guess. Dumbledore removed the charm, but we still don't go out very often. Just in case."

So no one got rid of Voldemort's powers—that meant he'd been at full strength the whole time! Who knew how powerful he was now. Harry shuddered—a reborn Voldemort was bad enough—but imagine one that hadn't lost fifteen years in his reign of terror. How could there still be life left on Earth?

"So he's been alive this whole time..." he muttered to himself. "Did he attack any other families at the same time he was looking for you?" Maybe in this world, Neville was the boy-who-lived.

"Yes...I believe he went after the Longbottoms as well, but he couldn't find them. I'm pretty sure Dumbledore recommended the same thing for them as he did us. They used to be good friends of ours, but during this war you don't know who you can trust anymore. With you--er--Harry being a known Death Eater, they started to avoid us," James said.

Harry looked over at his father, wondering if he knew anything about the prophesy—if it existed. It appeared that Voldemort hadn't marked either of the boys his equal. The question rang through Harry's mind---how were they going to kill Voldemort if nobody had succeeded yet?

"Onto happier subjects," James suddenly said. "Lily told me that you were in Gryffindor!"

Harry grinned at his father's sudden change in mood. He nodded.

"Why don't you tell us about your world, Harry?" Lily said. "Kay told us some things, but she didn't know much about you."

"Um—where should I start?" Harry asked. There were some things that would be better left unsaid.

"How about school? How are you doing in school? What's your favorite subject?" Lily asked, getting a little excited. James just laughed.

"Lily—he doesn't want to talk about school—what about Quidditch? Do you play? I saw you on a broom the other day—pretty good. Although, you got some pretty good genes," James said with a joking smile on his face.

Lily scowled at her husband. "At least you didn't acquire your father's big head," she said shortly. James just laughed again. Harry watched with amusement as his parents started bickering like teenagers. He smiled as he realized how much he was missing in the other world.

"Actually," he said, breaking up the mini-argument, "school is fine. I like Defense against the dark arts classes the best. They're the only classes that I actually do pretty well in. I'm ok at everything else---well, except Potions, but I think it's just because Snape teaches potions."

James got a sympathetic look on his face. "I feel your pain. I would hate to have Snape as a professor. He teaches Potions here, but Harry absolutely loved that class." James shook his head in wonder. "I have no idea why, though. So enough about school, what about Quidditch?"

He needed to get to the Department of Mysteries. That, or talk to Dumbledore. Considering how Dumbledore had reacted before, Harry didn't really want to go that route. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life in little pieces, thank you very much. He had to have some kind of evidence for Dumbledore, something more than just arm free of the Dark mark, if he wanted Dumbledore to believe that he was who he said he was. Dumbledore probably knew of some way that you could remove the Dark mark—after all, if Voldemort could put it on, why couldn't Dumbledore take off the mark?

The reason he wanted to go the Department of Mysteries was because he needed to know if the prophesy existed. For some reason, that damn thing wouldn't leave his mind. He'd tried forgetting about it, but it seemed permanently attached to his brain. He'd subtly asked James and Lily about it, but neither let on that they knew anything about it. He'd even asked Kaylee, but she hadn't heard of any prophesies (which was to be expected).

He also needed to talk to Ron—he wondered how his best friend was doing. He hadn't heard from Ron since the day that they'd both been at Hogwarts. He was afraid to send an owl to Ron in case it got him in more trouble.

But the person he was really worried about was Hermione. He knew that she was alive—but he didn't know much more than that. Had his Hermione come with Ron and himself? Or was the other Hermione still here? What exactly had happened to the Hermione here? He found himself constantly worrying, for some reason. Why did he need to know so much? And did he even want to know what had happened? What if it gave him nightmares for years to come?

Pushing any unpleasant thoughts out of his mind, he started to think of his plan to get into the ministry. He could probably find the right floor, but did they allow visitors to just waltz in? Harry frowned—this would take some researching. He wondered how much trouble he'd be in if he was caught sneaking into the ministry of magic.

Cannon World, AU Harry

Harry looked around—his house was in ruins! He forced himself not to panic—it was never good to panic in such situations. He looked around, checking to see if there were any sign of attackers still left—always a good thing to do. Someone could come up right behind you when you found yourself faced with a startling situation.

Convinced no one was hiding in the bushes or cloaked with invisibility, Harry made his way closer to the ruins. He hoped that his family had gone out for breakfast this morning. Looking around the rubble, he realized something odd. The ruins looked—old. They were aged, worn down to practically nothing for what looked like years of weathering.

Harry frowned. Maybe he had accidentally transported himself through time, and this was his house ten years from now. It seemed highly impossible, but how else could you explain the ruins on which he stood? This attack on his house certainly hadn't happened this morning.

A sudden, chilling thought occurred to Harry. Just who had attacked his house? He had Voldemort's word that his family would go untouched if he (Harry) agreed to serve Voldemort. It couldn't have been Death Eaters, unless Voldemort was willing to face his wrath. He felt a cold fury build up inside. If he found out that Voldemort or his mindless followers had anything to do with this attack, there'd be hell to pay. Harry was not a force to be reckoned with.

Where was that stupid book? It was bound to be dusty because it was such a boring book. He knew it was red (or maybe blue?) He'd seen Hermione reading it a time or two, but even she had to admit it was frightfully boring. It was a book on the different levels of the Ministry. It described, in full detail, what kind of people worked in each section of the Ministry (save those in the Unspeakable department), and who was allowed on each level with certain levels of clearances.

The Potter library was no where near the size of the Hogwarts library. It would have made it a lot easier to find what he was looking for if he knew what it was called or who wrote it. He was so involved in his search that he didn't realized that someone had come up behind him.

"Harry?" a voice asked. Harry jumped a little, startled, and turned around to find Tom behind him, a hopeful expression on his face.

"Oh, hi Tom. What are you doing in here?" he asked.

"Looking for you, actually. Dad has his broom out, as well as Kay, and we were wondering if you'd come join us for a bit. You've been in here all morning," he said. "Please?"

Harry sighed, but managed a small grin. "Sure—I'll be out in a second, ok?" he said. Tom whooped and ran out of the library. He'd told Harry earlier that the library always gave him the creeps.

Harry glanced over at the shelf one last time, and as he turned to leave, a book caught his eye: 'How to Be a Villain: a Guide to the Inner Workings of a Criminal Mastermind', by William Warner Willcock. It intrigued Harry, so he grabbed it and ran it upstairs to his room. He laid it on his bed, before grabbing his broom and heading back downstairs. He'd have to remember to take a look at it later.

Outside, everyone was waiting for him. Lily was sitting on a checked blanket on the ground, with a book in one hand. She didn't seem to be reading the book, though. Her eyes were locked on her two children and her husband who were all in the air trying to knock each other off their brooms.

Harry grinned as Tom dove straight for James, barely missing him. The look on his father's face was priceless. Before James could retaliate, Kay spotted Harry.

"Oy! Harry's here—now we can play a real game. Harry's on my team!" she cried, flying down to meet Harry. Harry grinned at his sister, for once forgetting about the prophesy.

"Let's see if you're as good as Kay claims you are," James said, grinning at his oldest son. "She tells me you were seeker for Gryffindor."

It appeared James believed his story—especially after Harry and Kay killed him and Tom in a two-on-two match.

"Rematch! I want a rematch! There is no way you could have caught the snitch already!" James cried. Despite his words, his face broke into a proud grin. His son was the best flyer he'd seen in a long time. He belonged in the air. He never had to adjust his position on the broom, or stop to catch his breath—it was all fluid motion. James could tell that Harry really loved to fly.

He'd never seen Harry on a broom before—and actually enjoying the experience. This probably convinced him more than the lack of a Dark mark that Harry was who he claimed to be.

This was how he always wish Harry would have turned out—a Gryffindor, Quidditch maniac who loved spending time with his family. Harry didn't complain about anything, he even volunteered to help with cooking sometimes (Lily liked to do things the muggle way, and to tell the truth, they always tasted better). This Harry was almost perfect in every way.

Something bugged James though—why did Harry look so worn down all the time? It looked like he'd been through hell and lived to tell the tale. There was something wrong about that look on a fifteen (almost sixteen) year old boy.

The Potter family walked into the house, and Lily went to get supper ready. Kay, Tom, and Harry walked into the living room, as they often did, and Harry sat down on the piano bench. James started towards the kitchen, determined to get a taste of what they were having for dinner that night.

He smiled as he heard his children laughing at something, but frowned as the laughter abrubtly stopped. He walked back to the living room, wondering what was wrong. He called for his wife when he saw Harry on the ground, looking at the piano like it was Voldemort himself. He called for his wife, and went over to his oldest son.

"Harry, what's wrong? What happened?" Lily asked frantically, once she entered the room and saw Harry.

Harry whispered quietly, "Hermione's in a coma." His eyes were sad and tired, and there was a bit of darkness that James feared. He'd seen that darkness in his son's eyes before, and it frightened him.

Lily eyes waterd slightly as shesighed. "Yes, she was so badly beaten that her body lost all consciousness and went into shock. She's been in a coma for a little over a year," she said, softly.

James frowned as he remembered Dumbledore telling him that his son had tortured a student to the brink of insanity. It had been a year and a half ago. It had shaken Lily up so badly that she refused to come out of her room for a week.

"Did you know her in your world?" Tom asked, curiously. Harry nodded.

"Yes, she's my best friend. 'Mione's always been there for me—even when Ron wasn't—and seeing her tortured by, well, me, is horrible...I don't know how to explain it, I know that this Hermione isn't my 'Mione, but still..." Harry said, trailing off.

James decided that he needed something to take this sad memory off his son's mind. He didn't enjoy seeing those eyes filled with fear and self-hatred. For some reason, Harry and Lily's eyes were horrible at concealing emotions. It was one reason why he didn't like to get Lily truly mad at him. That woman could be scary when she was really angry.

"Harry, why don't we go grab some dinner," James suggested. He had an idea—one that would surely cheer up his son.

While Harry was busy eating, James contacted Arthur Weasly via Floo Powder. When his head appeared in the Weasly fireplace, he found himself staring at three red headed boys. Two of them looked incredibly identical, and the other looked to be about Harry's age. This one was probably Ronald.

Ron saw the head first. "Harry? Bloody good to see you, mate," he cried happily, coming over to the fireplace. James grinned.

"Sorry, Ron, I'm James, Harry's father. Can I speak to you for a second?" he asked. James decided it would be better to speak to Ron about Harry's birthday.

"Er—sure. What about?" Ron asked, a bit confused. Why would Harry's dad want to talk to him.

"As you probably know, Harry's birthday is tomorrow, and I was wondering if you wanted to come to our house for a bit to help celebrate."

Ron grinned. Finally, he'd get to talk to Harry. It'd been so confusing here all summer—his family was a bit different than he remembered them. They were all so serious, and the twins were surprisingly mature. It was unnerving.

"I'd love too—although," he said, suddenly thinking of something, "I don't know how thrilled my dad's going to be. He doesn't really like Harry."

James reassured him. "Don't worry, I'll think of something."

Voldemort stared stonily at the youngest Malfoy. For someone who was so promising, the boy sure was dense sometimes. He wanted to know why Potter wasn't at the last meeting, and all this blond prick was giving him was excuses.

"Malfoy," he said, his voice cold, "did I ask you if Potter was sick? No. Did I ask if he couldn't escape his family's eye? No. I asked why he was not at the last meeting. Your answer should have been that he is dead, because that is the only thing that should keep him from attending," he hissed.

Outwardly, the boy showed remarkable self restraint. He merely lifted an eyebrow, and said, "That is what I was able to discern, my lord. If you believe someone else more capable of gathering information, by all means, I will relinquishmy job to them."

The boy said this with no hint of sarcasim, and yet Voldemort was sure that the little snot was mocking him. Or perhapshis followers--but he wasn't sure. The brat had an air of sincerity, even whenVoldemort subtly scanned his mind.

"Nevermind that, Malfoy, I've got a new task for you. And you had better show more promising resultss than thiss," Voldemort said, his voice slightly sibilant. "I want you to go to the Ministry."