A Second Chance
By S.L
Chapter Fourteen: After Effects
It had taken all of his nerve, and a calming draught or two to live through those memories again, but Harry had done so. If he had thought it hard showing them to Dumbledore in private, then showing the entire Order had been nearly unbearable. This was his family, many of whom he had seen die, and yet they didn't know him at all. He glanced over to Mrs. Weasley to see her staring back at him with a thoughtful expression on her plump face, and he had to look away. He had been in her home in one memory. He had been with her family, with her son, and she didn't even know he had existed until an hour ago.
Dumbledore was speaking again, explaining who he was, that he was Lily and James' son, and that his parents had been dead in the memories they had just witnessed. He tuned the Headmaster's voice out and watched his mother's expression. She had revealed to him that very few had known she even had a son, so it was likely that the majority of the people around her never knew there had been a baby before Bran. He watched as her face colored in shame and embarrassment at having this publicly revealed to the Order, but she held her head up and kept her eyes firmly stationed on Dumbledore and ignored some of the glances that were being shot her way.
Everyone had taken a seat again, and Harry had settled for leaning against the far back door so that he could escape as soon as possible. The moment this meeting was over he wanted to get back to Hogwarts and back into seclusion so that he didn't have to confront his parents about anything they had seen or the decision that they had all come to make here tonight.
He wished he had the excuse of blaming Dumbledore for forcing him to attend the meeting tonight, but he knew that was a pointless argument. Even though Dumbledore had suggested it, Harry knew that it would be the only way to get these people to accept Snape. Even the Order in his world had never truly trusted Snape, and that had been after he had spent two decades as a spy proving himself on a constant basis. They wouldn't accept a man they openly knew was a Death Eater just on the word of a boy who shouldn't even exist. He had to provide something more concrete. Using the memories was the way Harry had persuaded Dumbledore, and the Headmaster had suggested the same technique to convince the Order. It hadn't been a long argument, and Harry had known he was going to lose from the beginning. One simply did not say no to Albus Dumbledore.
"Harry would you like to take this one?" Dumbledore said gently, looking back in Harry's direction from the head of the table.
Harry looked up blinking to find the room staring back at him expectantly. He must have dazed off a bit. "I'm sorry; could you repeat it for me?" He asked, pinching the inside of his arm to wake himself up a little more.
"How do you intend to even bring Snape to this world?" Bill asked curiously.
For a moment Harry just stared back. It was ironically amusing that only an hour ago this group had not wanted to even accept he was from another world. However, seeing the memories left little room for deceit. There was no way he could have made those scenes up, and it was obvious that they were of events that had never transpired here.
"It's complicated to explain," he said. "I have come up with a variation of the spell that was used to bring me here and come up with something that I think might work." Merlin he hoped it worked; he had no real way of testing it though. "It requires a potion and a bit of spell work, but I managed to bring over a good amount of the potion that I used to activate the spell the first time, so I won't have to brew a new batch."
"Are you saying," Moody spoke up. "That it would be possible to bring more than one person over."
Harry winced; he did not like that as a possibility. "Theoretically yes, though maybe I should explain a little further. The spell is not exactly light magic; by doing this I will be completely depleting my magic levels for weeks. I have only just fully recovered from my own journey. I will probably be inflicting the same damage on Snape. It is not at all a pleasant experience, but I am willing to undertake it, provided it is beneficial in the long run." He sighed; he really wasn't looking forward to that part, and the first time had been quite painful enough. "As for the potion… I do have some remaining, but only enough really to use for one more spell," he blushed ashamed. "I admit I had not intended to bring anyone else over at all. I had intended to keep the potion in reserve in case something went wrong in my preliminary jump, and I needed to return to my world." He quickly avoided the gaze of his mum as her head snapped up.
"Snape was the original brewer of the potion that I used, and it is probably one of the most difficult potions that I have ever seen. It took nearly a year and a half to finish, under constant supervision. This is really a one time deal." His gaze crossed the room, trying to assess whether or not everyone understood that.
"Lily's a credited Potion's Mistress; couldn't she do it?" Tonks asked, pointing to his mum.
Harry's lips twitched. "I am not just doubting the capabilities of anyone to brew the potion, but there is also a morality issue. In doing this I will be ripping Snape involuntarily out his world. I can assure you that he will have no wish to come here, and will have no prior knowledge before the trip. It is not something I would want to do to anyone else."
"So why," Shacklebolt said his question ripping through the others which were starting up. "Are you prepared to do so to Snape?"
That shut Harry up. There were a lot of reasons really, not all of which he wanted to share with this crowd. Snape was no longer a welcome figure in the Wizarding world, not since Dumbledore's death. He wouldn't object to a new start—if forced into the situation—though he would never ask for one. Also, as much as Harry hated to admit it, he and Snape worked well together. He had been one of the best life teachers he had ever had. The man was rubbish with a classroom full of students, especially in Potions, but his style had always been very unorthodox. More importantly, Harry knew he could control Snape. Snape owed him more than any one man; he owed Harry a Wizarding Dept and he knew if necessary he could coerce him into an Unbreakable Vow. However, he didn't want to tell any of these things to the Order.
"Because," Harry said slowly, trying to make it up as he went along. "I know he won't be happy about the change, but I also know that he would do everything in his power to fight Voldemort no matter what the situation; in this world and the next. He's a guilt-ridden man, with many demons, and he would spend his entire lifetime trying to make up for the things he did during the few years he actually was a loyal Death Eater." Harry stopped as he remembered Dumbledore's death. "As well as for the things he did while pretending to be a loyal Death Eater."
"Well, what about the Order, then?" Moody snapped. "If the Death Eater is so damn special, then won't they resent us taking 'em?"
Harry shook his head. "Snape's value is useless in the war now," because the war was over, but he wasn't going to say that, no sense it getting anyone's hopes up. "He's cover was blown some time ago. He can no longer be a spy."
They seemed to accept that; a few of them nodded and started whispering in groups again.
"If this spell is so difficult," James asked suddenly. It was the first thing he had said since agreeing to Harry's plan. "Why should you be the one to do it?"
For a moment Harry just stared back into James' sad eyes, wishing he could convey what he felt in his own gaze so that the man would understand. He didn't want to alienate his own father that he had worked so hard to know, but things always got messed up for him. He couldn't tell him that he was more powerful than any of the other Order members, and at least as powerful, if not more powerful than Dumbledore himself. He couldn't tell him that he doubted that anyone else even had enough magic to use the spell without killing themselves.
Instead Harry settled on one answer. "I've done it before. I came here. I know what it's like. I know what to expect. I've experienced it. I have more experience with this spell, and I've done more research and more preparation than anyone else in this world. I'm the only logical candidate."
"I think," Dumbledore said, standing up again. "That any other questions are going to have to wait for another day. It's getting very late now and it's about time all of us headed out."
Gratefully Harry straightened up as he watched many of the others do the same and was ready to head for the door, but someone grabbed him by the arm.
Bill had jumped up from his seat and ran across the room before anyone else could get to him and pulled him to one side. Expecting a question Harry opened his mouth to ask what this was about, but Bill just jerked his head behind him.
Moving much slower than her son, Molly walked over to the corner with Harry and Bill and gave him a small smile. "Hello, Harry, it's very nice to meet you." She stuck out her hand, and Harry shook it, feeling very strange.
"It's nice to meet you too, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, though the situation felt very wrong. He shuffled his feet and tried not to look too uncomfortable.
She smiled at him gently and reached her arm out to grip Harry's shoulder. "You were at the Burrow," she said simply.
"Yes," Harry admitted with a sigh. It felt good to be honest about things for once. He didn't need to pretend they didn't know one another; at least Mrs. Weasley knew the truth. "I've spent a lot of holidays at the Burrow, since…" he looked over her shoulder in the direction of his own parents who were conversing with Sirius and Remus in low tones. It seemed that no one wanted to approach Harry while Mrs. Weasley had him cornered. "Well, I didn't have anywhere else to go," Harry finished. "Ron was my best mate."
Mrs. Weasley nodded as if this was what she had expected. "Yes, that would make sense. I just wanted to let you know that if you ever need anything Harry, I don't want you to hesitate to call on the Weasleys. You must have been one of the family in your… world… and I want you to know we're here for you in this one as well."
Harry felt touched. It was probably the kindest offer he had ever heard. "I'm sorry," he said, confused. "Why are you doing this for me? You really don't know who I am; you don't know if you can trust me or anything."
Again, Mrs. Weasley smiled, but she let her son, Bill answer. "You were wearing a Weasley jumper, mate," he said, slapping him good-naturedly on the back. "Mum has only ever made them for her children."
It was like a huge weight had just been taken off his shoulders. Harry felt better than he had in a long time, he laughed. "Merlin!" He cried out. "Given away by a jumper!"
"Yeah," Bill said, and then he leaned in conspiringly. "And if you want to return the favor, you can tell me who that blond girl with me was."
Though Mrs. Weasley japed her son playfully, she looked as if she expected an answer as well. Harry laughed at the ironic twist, Mrs. Weasley had hated Fleur, and it had only taken Bill being attacked by a werewolf for the two women to even reach an understanding.
"Fleur Delacour," he told Bill, smiling. "You met when you took a desk job, and she was working there part time to 'emprove 'er Eenglish.'"
"French!" Bill cheered, and threw his hands up in the air.
"Part Veela," Harry added with a wicked grin that left Bill gaping.
"Good lord," he groaned. "Maybe I really should come back and work that desk job then."
"You mean you're not?" Harry asked him.
"No," Mrs. Weasley said stiffly. "We've been asking him to do so for ages." Then she smiled. "Maybe now he will have some—incentive. Bill, could you collect my things so we can return to the Burrow; there's something else I want to ask Harry."
"Sure, Mum," Bill, said, then he patted Harry on the back again by means of goodbye and headed away. He didn't make it two steps before Tonks, who was bouncing up and down, accosted him with questions, but he seemed to be brushing them aside. Harry looked back at Mrs. Weasley who was looking grave.
"Harry," she said hesitantly. "I also noticed that… Ginny," she choked up and held a hand to her chest to regain control.
"Oh," Harry said, rocking back on his heels in understanding. "Yeah, she was there, at the Burrow, you mean?"
Mrs. Weasley just nodded.
"Oh," Harry said again. He wasn't sure quite how to explain this, especially to a woman who had just shown him so much kindness. "Listen, Mrs. Weasley," he said. "Ginny was a very different person in that world, in many ways." He bit his lip, how could he phrase this. "I fell in love with her," he said bluntly, trying not to blush. "Shortly after the memory you just witnessed at that Christmas. She was the most fantastic girl I had ever met in my entire life, and I would have married her if I was given the opportunity." Harry looked down at his feet as he realized that was true. It was the first time he had ever admitted it aloud, but it felt good to say, and he knew he meant it with all his heart.
"But," he continued, trying to work out the phrasing in his head. "She isn't the same person here; she's a Slytherin where there she was a Gryffindor, yeah Gryffindor." Harry told her when she perked up at the idea. "She's had a completely different life, and has a completely different attitude." Harry smiled widely at her. "And it doesn't matter a bit."
"I'm sorry?" Mrs. Weasley asked, not sure she had heard him. Harry shrugged.
"It doesn't matter at all. I let Ginny slip through my fingers once," he told her. "And I am not about to let that happen again. Just because she is in a different house does not mean that she is a different person. Deep down, somewhere, she's still the girl I used to love. We've spoken, and I think," he tilted his head. "I think she tolerates me," then he smiled. "But I'll make her love me; I won't give up. She might be with Malfoy right now, but I know she doesn't want to be with him. He is holding something over her; I know that he is. I promise Mrs. Weasley that I am going to do everything in my power to get her back."
She gave him a sad smile, and patted him gently on the arm. "I'm glad to hear you say she had the potential to be something better than what she has become, but Harry you need to realize," she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I love my daughter; she's the only one I have. I will always love her. But I know she isn't a good person, no matter what she was in your world. You can't expect her to be the same person. It's not that she is just in a different house; it's like you said; Ginny has had different experiences. She isn't going to be the same person you… you said you loved."
Harry sighed, he knew that was true too, but he didn't want to let that get to him. "I know, Mrs. Weasley, I really do. But I'm a risk taker," he smiled at her lopsidedly. "I took a risk in coming here, I'm taking a risk in proposing to bring Snape here, and I will take a risk on Ginny. You never know what might work out."
She nodded and smiled. "I really do mean what I just said Harry. If you ever need anything, you are always welcome in my home."
"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, the words barely coming out of his choked throat.
Then to his delight she hugged him, just as she had so many times before, and patted his back. When she broke apart she smiled, joined her son by the fireplace and flooed back to the Burrow.
"That was some show," Sirius said jumping up to sit on the counter next to Harry.
Harry looked over at him and nodded. "The Weasleys are a special type of people, you know? I don't think anyone else could ever compare."
"The Potter's are pretty unique too," Sirius said dryly and pointed to where Lily and James were locked in an embrace looking as if they were trying to talk one another into something. They looked very intimate, and their fleeting glances around the room gave away a sense of urgency. Harry looked away in shame. How had he managed to do this to them?
"Don't beat yourself up about it, kid," Sirius said when he noticed Harry's expression. "It's hard on them, you know. I mean they are really the only people you never knew in your world and as much as you might want to get to know them, you still trust all these people more.
"I mean, me," Sirius said. "I was your godfather: we had a bond, you trust me, and you get along with me. There isn't any ice that needs breaking, and I like that. I like that we can get along so well and that you can talk to me. The same goes with Remus; you're comfortable with him. I saw you two talking a lot over Christmas; you didn't keep things from him." Sirius pointed to Dumbledore. "Obviously you don't have a problem around Dumbledore; you don't hold anything back there. We saw from those memories that you were probably close enough to rage at one another," he laughed. "Trust me, that was a shocker. I don't think any of us has ever seen someone scream their head off at the Headmaster.
"We've all heard you say the Weasley's were like family, and watching you interact with Molly and Bill just now was enough proof. But still, where Lily and James are concerned…" his voice trailed off a bit. "You try, I don't doubt that you do, but…"
"I know," Harry admitted to the floor. "I should be trying harder. It's just so much easier to confide in the people who I already have a history with. They," he raised a hand and motioned towards his parents, now in a conversation with Moody. "They are like a dream to me, Sirius. I mean I've spent my entire life wishing I had parents, and now that I do," he shrugged, "I just don't know what to do with them. I don't know how to react. I don't know what to tell them. I just don't… know!"
Sirius reached a hand over and ruffled the hair on the top of Harry's head. "Welcome to life, kid!" He said. "It's all about not knowing! But I'll tell you this; I think James and Lily would settle for just not being kept in the dark all the time. Have you told them about being a parselmouth yet, for instance?"
"No," Harry said. "I will, but… Sirius, it's really not as simple as all that."
He jumped down off the counter and shook his head sadly. "It never is simple, Harry. We just have to buck up, do the best we can, and hope it all works out in the end," he shrugged.
The words were nice, and Harry knew Sirius meant well, but it really was more complicated than that. "I'll try; I will, Sirius. Though things are going to get very busy, very soon and I've got a lot of things to focus on."
"You know, Harry," said Sirius. "No one expects you to save the world or anything. You're just a kid, not even old enough to get out of school yet. Even if you have come from another world and had a few more experiences than most, no one thinks you're any different than the next bloke. Normally, someone as young as you are would never even attend an Order meeting. Dumbledore made an exception. You came here tonight, you'll do the spell, set up Snape, and be done with it. Maybe we'll ask for your help in a few years, if you're still willing, but in the mean time there are professionals to take care of this. You've done enough already."
Harry actually threw back his head, and snorted when no laugh came out. It really would be nice to believe that no one expected him to save the world, but the truth of the matter was he was the one who had to save the world. "Sirius," he said. "I really appreciate it, but the truth is, I'm not doing enough. I'm doing a hell of a lot less than I should and if you only knew…" he shook his head, but didn't complete the thought. "I disagree," he said simply. "It's not up to the professionals, and that has been a big part of the problem all along. It's why you're losing the war, yes losing," Harry said. "I think it's time you learned to take the help offered at every opportunity."
"Maybe, Harry," Sirius said, though he didn't look convinced at all. "I'm just asking you to relax a bit, and spend some time with your family." He shrugged. "I learned a long time ago that if you obsess and devote your entire life to the war and holding off Voldemort, you've given him your life itself. Don't let him control your life; it's no better than death. You need to take the time to appreciate the family and friends you have around you."
Harry blinked and looked away. In that much, he knew Sirius was right. It hit too close to the target. That was what Harry's life had become back in his world. He had watched as all of his friends die, obsessed over killing Voldemort, and never took the time to appreciate what he had. He'd always thought of what he'd lost.
"So why aren't you asking me any questions about my memories?" Harry asked, wanting to get off the subject.
"There will be time enough for that later, Besides," he smiled, "I think you'll have plenty of people asking you about them over the next few days. We'll talk later, or you can expect a heavy letter from me tomorrow."
"Thanks, Sirius," Harry said gratefully.
Sirius just shook his head and walked off, leaving Harry alone.
As his godfather left him, Harry looked around the room to see who would approach him next. His parents were speaking with Dumbledore now, and only the Aurors remained still sitting at the table. Tonks, Shacklebolt, and now Sirius. Remus was nowhere in sight.
Shacklebolt looked up and met his eyes briefly, nodded, but then returned to his conversation. Harry looked over at his parents next, and thought about what Sirius had said. Then he sighed, shook his head and walked out the door into the hall. He left the pensive and his memories on the table. Dumbledore would bring those back to him later; he didn't much feel like collecting them now.
"Harry," a hand reached out to grab him. Remus was standing just outside the door.
"Hey, Remus," said Harry, waiting to hear what question he would have.
"I just wanted to say be careful going home tonight; it's starting to rain."
Harry stared at the older man for a minute and then he smiled. "Is that it? No comments? Questions? Anything?"
Remus smiled back at him. "No, I, like Sirius, have plenty of questions. I just think it would be better to let you answer to Lily and James before I try and butt in."
At that Harry's smile faded. So that's what they had been deciding after the meeting ended. He glanced towards the doorway and saw Tonks lingering just on the other side, most likely waiting for him to leave so she could have a moment alone with Remus.
"Goodnight, Remus," Harry told his old friend.
"Goodnight, Harry."
Then he turned around and headed for the front door and left.
Rather than using the Floo network, Harry apparated back to Hogsmeade and opted for the long walk back. Even though it was beginning to drizzle, as Remus had told him, he knew the extra time to think would do him good. Besides, he still intensely disliked the sensation of the Floo network, and even though apparating wasn't much better, it was still his favored option.
The rain was cold and chilled him to the bone, but he didn't conjure up an umbrella or cast a charm to keep him dry. Instead he let the rain wash over him. On some days one just felt like having a lonely walk in the rain. It seemed fitting for the situation.
He needed to have a talk with Lily and James. He needed to explain things to them as he had to Dumbledore. Dumbledore was easy though; it felt rather like cheating since the old man always seemed to know about everything anyway. He was rarely ever surprised.
Not that Harry had told him much. He had still kept a great deal of his secrets. However, Dumbledore now knew that Harry had played at least a minor role in the war, he knew he had been in the Order, and had been tutored by many of the Order members after he left Hogwarts. They hadn't breeched the topic of the horcruxes yet, or the fact that Voldemort had been defeated in his world. As far as Dumbledore knew, Harry was just an unusually bright and perceptive young wizard who had taken an active interest in the war. Although the fact that he had told him Voldemort had been targeting him was probably seen as an incentive.
Though Harry had not told Dumbledore about the prophecy, he had hinted that such a prophecy existed to judge the Headmaster's reaction. As far as Harry could tell, Dumbledore didn't know about any sort of prophecy, so Harry had to assume that no such prophecy was made, or at least overheard. Harry had apologized and said that he was sorry; he didn't know what the actual prophecy was, (and he was careful to omit that it included him), but that it was common knowledge that a prophecy had been made about Voldemort's demise, and he was determined to bring down the Order and anyone associated so that it could not be fulfilled. That, at least, explained why Voldemort had targeted him on the few occasions Harry had admitted. Well, also the fact that Harry had said that after his parents had been killed Voldemort had been after him so that he could finally end the Potter line.
He would have to tell his parents something, something that at least lined up what he had told Dumbledore. It was strange; he had never really cared how his friends knew about him back in his world, and it had simply been accepted. He had always been The-Boy-Who-Lived and anyone close to him knew that. But now, with his parents, he didn't want them to know anything. He wasn't sure what he was afraid of—rejection perhaps? Being powerful, intelligent, and accomplished wasn't anything to be afraid of when you thought about it. He had no real reason to hide that. No, what he was afraid of was everything else that came along with it. He had come here to be normal, to have a second chance, and that was that.
His thoughts trailed again to Mrs. Weasley and Bill. He couldn't believe how much their acceptance meant to him. They hadn't questioned him. They hadn't accused him. They had just taken him in without a second thought. All it had taken was the sight of him sitting in their parlor with a heavy Weasley jumper on. It was amazing. Of course, he still couldn't expect for that to be an instant relationship, even if they had told him to stop by the Burrow at any time. It had been a gesture only, and even Harry knew that they would have to get to know him first before they really, truly welcomed him into the family. But he intended to be a part of the Weasleys lives again. Already he knew he would tell Ron eventually who he was, and Hermione too. Just as he knew he had already resigned himself to breaking the truth to his siblings. But he wouldn't be ready for any of that for a while. First he had a lot of work to clear away before he could really take the time to build up personal relationships again.
Then there was Ginny. He had promised Mrs. Weasley that he was going to become a part of Ginny's life again, and Harry knew he meant it. In his world he'd pushed Ginny aside so many times, trying to protect her, even when he knew she knew what was best for her. He had only realized how much she really meant to him shortly before her death; by then it had been too late. She had died, as he had always known she would if he let them be together, but he had, and now she was gone.
This Ginny was so different, but so similar at the same time. He didn't think she really was as jaded and cynical as she made herself out to be. He thought he had caught a glimmer of her compassion and loyalty in there somewhere; he only needed to find a way to bring it out. That meant getting her away from Malfoy and getting her to want him instead. He thought she already did want him, at least enough to spike her curiosity. Although he hadn't spoken to her since the day he had fought with Malfoy, he had caught her staring at him at meal times, and occasionally in Potions class. All trace of her former games and teasing were gone. These glances were thoughtful and meaningful. He was just waiting for the next time he caught her on her own.
By now Harry was climbing the steps into Hogwarts, and he was soaked. The rain hadn't been very constant or heavy, but it had been enough to leave him damp and his shoes muddy. It was already very late; most students would be in their common rooms by now, and Harry really should be thinking about getting to bed. First though, he wanted a nice warm shower, or a nice soak in the tub. After that, and a good night's sleep, and maybe he would be ready to deal with all of the problems tomorrow would bring.
As soon as he opened the front door, he knew that was too much to ask.
James was sitting, obviously waiting for him, at the foot of the main staircase. His head was in his hands, which were resting on his knees, and he looked as if he was willing to wait all night if necessary. He looked up as Harry came in, soaked and dirty, dripping on the floor.
"You're going to make me explain myself now aren't you?" Harry said dejectedly. He really had been hoping to be able to sleep on his thoughts before having this confrontation with his father. Also he had been hoping to get to Lily first so that she could soften James up. Lily was a much more understanding person, and James took a little convincing before he came around.
"Right in one," James said and straightened up. He looked Harry over and waved his wand.
"Thanks," Harry said, James hadn't done much for the mud, but at least now he was dry. Though he really had wanted to have that bath. "Do you think we could at least talk in the kitchens then? I didn't have a chance to eat, and if we're going to do this then I'd like a huge serving of something with caffeine in front of me."
"Very well," he said and they started walking in the direction of the kitchens.
"So," Harry said to fill the time as they walked. "You just want to talk, you and me?"
"Yeah," James said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and stashing his wand away. "Lily's going to bed. She said she could wait to talk to you in the morning."
"I take it you didn't think you could wait that long then?" Harry said, still hopeful. James gave him a look so Harry said, "I guess not."
The rest of the walk passed in silence, and Harry stood back while James tickled the pear and they stepped into the kitchen.
There were still a few House Elves about who were only too happy to collect food and drink for the pair of them and set them up in the corner so they could be alone. To Harry's surprise, the House Elves were just as excited to see James as they were to see him. James was very polite with all of them, and seemed to know most of them by name. Although, Harry thought, he wasn't sure why he thought they wouldn't. From what he had heard, the Marauders had been frequent guests in the kitchens during their Hogwarts days, and since James was a professor now, it only made sense for him to be a regular.
"Comfortable now?" James asked rather stiffly. He had given Harry the chance to down a few bites of the dinner the House Elves had insisted on supplying, but obviously he didn't want to wait any longer to start the discussion.
Harry reluctantly put down his fork and nodded.
"I want you to tell me the truth, Harry. I want you to be completely honest with me. Now. Not later. Right now." James said.
Just as serious, Harry nodded again, taking in what James was saying. "I don't think I can do that," he said slowly. "I will be honest in everything that I tell you tonight, but I think I need to ask you to respect the fact that I have secrets, and I always will. There is only so much I am willing to share, even with you."
"Very well," said James, but he didn't seem too happy about this. "Let's start with why you didn't bother to tell Lily or I about the plans you revealed tonight."
"Honestly?" Harry said. "I'm not entirely sure. I—" he reached for his cup of tea, and let his hand wrap around it's handle. "Sirius brought it to my attention tonight that I have been acting like a complete pillock, and I have to say I agree with him."
James made no move to argue, so Harry continued.
"I think… I think I'm having a problem being around you and Mum," Harry admitted and then quickly glanced at James to gage his reaction. James hadn't even blinked. "Right, well, that is to say, that I'm not used to you. Everyone else here, I know—for years in some cases. Even the Order members tonight, I know each by name, have spent time with them at some point or another. All of my teachers and classmates are people I knew…"
"And Bran and Mare?" said James.
His mouth hung open and then Harry shut it wordlessly. How did he explain his relationship with Bran and Mare? "They—well, we're kids. It's easier when you're kids. Besides, they don't know the truth, so they have no reason to care how much attention I give them, or what I say around them."
Though he did have to admit that they were acting rather strange around him recently, Hermione too. Like they were walking on eggshells around him, and Mare had suddenly become very emotional. Only yesterday, when she had seen him outside the library after lunch she had flung her arms around her neck and refused to let go until he gently explained that he was going to be late for class.
This time it was James' turn to look embarrassed. "They should be told, but Lily has to be ready first. I have to let her make the final call on this one," he shook his head, and Harry wondered if this was something his parents had disagreed on. "Very well, I suppose I can accept that," he sighed. "Harry, I just want to know what's going on. I just want to know you."
"Do you, really?" Harry said, and met James' eyes. His Dad met his gaze solemnly and nodded. Harry licked his lips and took a deep breath. "Fine then, crash course on Harry Potter…" he paused to think. Annoyingly the standard biography the Prophet used to print whenever he was mentioned in the paper popped into his head first. He pushed that thought away and tried to think of something else.
"I haven't had an easy time of things, obviously. The war started up after my fifth year at school, though that isn't to say that each of those five years previous hadn't been enough to deal with. Since I didn't die with you and Mum that night, I've been targeted for pretty much my whole life. I've had more defense teachers try to kill me than teach me." He glared at James mockingly. "You aren't trying to kill me are you?"
James did not find the comment funny.
"Okay… well, I know you didn't agree with me about the other day," Harry continued, referring to his duel with Malfoy and later confrontation with Lucius. "I suppose it would be too much of a stretch to tell you I know what I'm doing—" at least I think I know what I'm doing, he added in his own head. "—Without explaining a bit of history, so I'm sorry I didn't tell you what was going on. See…" he screwed up his face as he tried to think of the right words. "I was involved with the war in my world. I'm not used to just sitting on the sidelines and letting other people do all the work. I've fought too, and I've won." At a price, he added in his head, before quickly pushing away those thoughts. "I'd be an Auror today if I was still in my world, and if the Ministry hadn't wanted to manipulate me."
"Harry," James said finally speaking. "That's the point I am getting at. This is not your world. You made a conscious choice in coming here and…" he sighed. "Don't get me wrong, I am still glad you did, but… You have to try to accept the reality of the situation. Things aren't going to be the same. You aren't going to be treated the same. You can't be the same person."
James words were softly spoken and sincere so Harry stared back at him for a moment as he thought them over. He was right, and Harry knew it. He stared down at the table top in front of him and closed his eyes.
"I know," said Harry. He thought he sounded weary even to himself. "I know," he repeated and opened his eyes so he could look at James while he spoke. "Unfortunately this isn't just about me. I—I know things about Voldemort, about the Order, about the war…" he swallowed heavily. "Things that can help. By keeping that knowledge to myself I could be condemning hundreds of people to Voldemort's twisted games, or even death at his hands. What would you have me do? Sit aside and watch him kill the people I love all over again?"
There was a long string of silence. The only sound was of James' fingernail as it slowly tapped the side of his chair.
"No," said James finally. "I'd have you tell me these things, tell Lily and Dumbledore, give us the information and then we can take it to the Order. We can act on what you give us, but there is no reason for you to do so."
Bitterly, Harry smiled. "What if it isn't only information? What if it's me?"
"I don't understand," said James.
Almost moving on its own accord, Harry's hand reached up and pushed away his fringe so he could finger the long scar that ran down his forehead. How do you tell someone that you are connected to Voldemort? His fingers stroked down its length and then his hand fell back down into his lap heavily.
"Harry, this is what I was asking for," James told him gently. "You can tell me."
His mouth opened, as Harry searched for the words. But nothing came out. For a few short moments his mouth worked around the nonexistent syllables until he sighed. "There's so much you don't know," Harry said as his mind wandered to everything he had learned over the past few years—Voldemort, the horcruxes, his scar and the prophecy. How could he possibly explain all that?
"Then tell me, Harry," James insisted and for the first time Harry detected a hint of desperation in his voice.
He looked at James and felt like he was seeing him for the first time. His dad looked so tired and so worn. He was worried, that much was clear. But it wasn't that which drew Harry's attention. It was the love that he saw in his eyes, the look that he had seen mirrored on so many faces from his past. Sirius, Ginny, Hermione and Ron, Mrs. Weasley, Dumbledore… James really wanted to help him.
"I'm a parselmouth," Harry said suddenly.
James drew back and blinked, caught somewhere between surprise, disbelief, and horror.
Harry blinked back, trying to figure out what had prompted him to say that. For some reason it was the first thing that popped into his head. He remembered earlier that night Sirius urging him to tell James.
Slowly James licked his lips and nodded. "Okay," he said and then Harry knew why he had just told James something so out of the blue.
He wanted to see what James' reaction to that would be. Getting him to accept that he had a very obviously Slytherin trait might help him understand his connection to Voldemort and everything that went along with it.
"So," James said next, trying to work along that train of thought. "Voldemort is also a parselmouth, which meant that you could… I don't know… communicate with him where no one could… or turn his snake against him… what?"
"Er—no, that's not what I meant," Harry said. How could he salvage this? "Well, yes, but… I mean, I could talk to his snake, but it wouldn't do me much good since the thing wanted to kill me as badly as its master did… and I could talk with Voldemort, but…" He shook his head and tried to reconstruct his thoughts. "What I was getting at, was that a lot of the things in my past aren't—good, per se. No, that's not what I mean either," he sighed again. "I mean, there are things about me that aren't good, but I mean them in a good way?"
"I'm trying to understand here, Harry, really I am," said James. "But you aren't making much sense to me here."
Slowly Harry's hand fell and made contact with the table, which issued a dull thud sound. "I suppose I should start at the beginning then? Work my way from there?"
"The beginning is usually good," James said and leaned back in his chair.
"I was, um…" Harry picked at a splinter at the table and tried not to look at James. "Well, a big deal, I guess," he glanced quickly up to see James trying not to smirk at the statement. Harry didn't find anything funny about it. "Because Voldemort couldn't kill me," James' smirk faded. "He tried, and instead…" he shrugged. "I killed him, only not really."
A twitch of a grin was back on James' face; clearly he didn't believe what Harry was saying. "I'm sorry, you killed Voldemort?"
Not the time I'm talking about, Harry thought. "No. You can't kill Voldemort—that's my point. It isn't possible, not anymore," he said.
"What?" said James.
"He's taken steps towards immortality; even if you had your wand to his temple when you spoke the killing curse, he would only lose his body." Harry didn't want to see the expressions that were passing over James' face so he looked back at the table. "I did that. When I was a baby. Only then, no one knew about his immortality. Most people thought he died. No one knew how I did it, but his killing curse rebounded off me and hit him instead. That's why I was famous," he looked up at James again into his wide eyes. "They called me The-Boy-Who-Lived."
"I'm sorry, Harry," said James then. "I'm trying to believe you here, but… this isn't true is it?"
For a fleeting moment Harry considered smiling and taking this last opportunity to pass everything off as a joke. The moment quickly passed and Harry remained staring solemnly back at James.
His dad closed his eyes, rubbed his temples and leaned back in the chair. "Go on then," he said.
"Dumbledore made me live with the Dursleys in case any remaining Death Eaters decided to come after me," Harry said. "I didn't know anything about who I was, or what I was until I was eleven and then I went to Hogwarts," the corners of his lips twitched. "And that's when things got interesting. I came face to well… a sort of face with Voldemort by the end of my first year. He was trying to return to the body I deprived him of so many years earlier. The trend only continued from then. If it wasn't Voldemort trying to kidnap or kill me, it was one of his Death Eaters. A few weeks before my fifteenth birthday he had regained a body, then just before I turned sixteen the Ministry and the Wizarding World had to finally recognize that Voldemort was back."
Harry glanced over at James to try and see what his expression would reveal. His dad looked oddly serene, as if he was listening to a whole different story than the one Harry was telling him.
"Er… then things just broke apart," Harry said, now feeling a little hesitant about continuing. He wasn't sure what sort of a reaction he had expected, but he thought there might be some sort of questions or disbelief… any sort of emotion at all might be nice. "The war started up, as did the Order, and suddenly everyone was looking to me for a solution… I—I'm sorry," Harry said finally, unable to take the placid look on his father's face any longer. "But are you alright?"
Sadly James smiled and nodded. "I think I understand things a bit better now, Harry, and I'm sorry I pushed you to speak. I think you were right, this is a conversation best had on a rested mind, how about we talk tomorrow instead?"
Harry blinked and furrowed his brow. "Tomorrow? I thought that you wanted all your questions answered and to know me and all that?"
"I do, Harry, I do," James said, reaching a hand across to pat Harry's gently. "But you've already given me much to think about and it has been a long night hasn't it?"
"But…" something wasn't right with the way this conversation was ending. That much was clear to Harry. What on earth had gotten into James; didn't he believe him?
"Tomorrow, Harry. We both need rest," James retracted his hand and gave Harry an odd smile. Then he stood up and waved to the House Elves in the corner. "Thanks for the dinner, guys, I'll see you later, and Harry," he nodded to his son. "Why don't you come by my office tomorrow afternoon if I haven't seen you by then?"
Even if he had the time to respond before James turned and left the kitchen, Harry wouldn't have known what to say. Had everyone in this damn world gone mental? After all this time spent worrying about whether or not he should keep his secrets he finally opened up and to what?
Now adding angry and confused to his previous list of discomforts that had included tired, thoughtful, a headache, and still muddy clothes Harry thanked the House Elves himself and retreated back to the now pitch dark corridors of Hogwarts.
As he walked all the other emotions faded into the background until all he felt was dizzy. His head was aching again, a reminder of his past turning to taunt his present and predetermine his future. Somewhere out there he knew Voldemort and his Death Eaters were holding court to further their evil.
Harry felt like a kid again, not the twenty-year-old young man with age gained through experience. No, he felt as if he were back in his early Hogwarts days, discovering his destiny all over again. No one listened to his warnings, no one would accept his help, and no one was doing anything!
Suddenly furious, Harry smacked an open palm against the wall, startling the portraits round him.
"Watch it, boy!" An elderly wizard in a powdered wig chided him from his frame.
"Sorry," Harry muttered back as he continued on.
It wasn't fair of him to think that way. Not everyone was ignoring his suggestions. Wasn't it just that night that he had addressed the Order? Wasn't he the one who would be undertaking the dangers of arranging for Snape to cross-worlds? Dumbledore wasn't ignoring Harry's talents and offers of help. Dumbledore knew that Harry could prove beneficial to the movement.
But Harry hadn't crossed worlds to please Dumbledore. He had come to have a family, for James and for lily. And now James clearly thought he was unbalanced.
Harry shook his head in disgust and glanced around, taking in his surroundings for the first time since leaving the kitchens. He had been on autopilot heading towards Gryffindor Tower, but as he glanced at the sleeping portrait of the Fat Lady he realized that the last thing he was ready for was bed. Despite the late (or very early morning) hour the thought of trying to calm his thoughts enough for sleep was unthinkable.
Abruptly he turned and headed instead for the Astronomy Tower. The hour was absurd enough for students to have finished with their cross-House trysts. He would be left alone long enough to battle out all that had occurred that night.
As it was Harry had barely settled himself near the edge of the ledge when an all too familiar scent was caught on the wind and brought to him. He groaned aloud; whether in desire, relief, or despair he did not know. He turned to see Ginny sitting a little ways off, blinking at him curiously. He blinked back. She almost smiled. He did not.
They both turned to look over the battlements together in recognition of their mutual thoughtfulness. Both had come to this secluded spot to be alone, there was no reason that they couldn't accomplish that just as easily together. The irony of their location didn't escape his attention.
For a long while they were silent, but Harry could already feel his conscious mind calming. He put the comforting feeling down to Ginny's presence. The situation was almost reminiscent of their dating days at Hogwarts when they used to spend long hours silently thinking parallel thoughts about the war.
"It is very rude not to say hello you know," said Ginny.
Harry did not turn to look at her. "Hello then."
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Thinking. Aren't you?"
"No," she did not elaborate.
He tilted his head so he could gauge her answer. He had a profile view of her face. Her cheek was pink and her eye rimmed in red, she had been crying. He himself had caused that reaction in her often enough to readily recognize it.
She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, but he saw her eyes harden.
They settled back into silence. Harry let his vision drift towards the Quidditch Pitch and he realized that he still hadn't had the chance to play. Then there was a slight rustling of cloth and he felt rather than saw Ginny move to sit next to him. She stopped a hands span away and sat, not too close to touch, but near enough to be intimately personal.
"Do you think I'm pretty, Harry?"
Harry held his breath at the question, but didn't answer.
She tried again after a brief pause. "Are you attracted to me, Harry?"
He remained quite and glanced down at his hands folded in his lap.
"Then why," she demanded, her voice now resembling the confident tone he remembered her for. "Did you have to interfere with Draco?"
She had turned her face so he had a broad view and watched him. Harry took in her watery eyes and puffy features then found his gaze wandering downward. Her scarf had been unwound from her neck to hang loosely around her shoulders. As a consequence her neck and collarbone were bare, despite the night chill, and Harry saw the clear hand shaped purple bruise marked around her shoulder and throat.
He felt something constrict around his own throat as if he was the one who had his oxygen threatened. For a moment, for the first time in his life, he felt more hatred for someone other than Voldemort. The dull pain of his scar faded into an ignorable pulse.
Ginny had turned back, but Harry could see the other mans mark burned into his vision.
"Gin," Harry whispered. It was the first time he had called her as such. "Why are you with him?"
At first he thought she might not have heard him, or if she had, that she had chosen not to answer. Then she laughed, loudly and bitterly. "Why, Harry?" she laughed again. "Why not? Malfoy, Zabini, Flint? What difference does it make?"
Harry reached a hand up and placed a tentative finger against the bruise on her throat. It struck him how cold and dead she felt. He reminded himself that it was only the cold of the air around them that made her feel that way. "This," he said as he touched her softly then slowly pulled away. "Is the difference."
"Who are you?" she said, voice choking on unshed grief. For a brief second he thought she meant the question literally, as if she were asking for his name, but then she continued. "Who are you to think you know me?"
"You deserve better, Gin," said Harry softly.
She leaned towards him until he felt her lips against his ear. "Are you going to save me, Harry?" she whispered. He shivered in response; he could even feel her lips form a smile before she continued. "Do you think I need a hero to take me away from all of my problems?"
Harry pulled away, separating them again and tried to force his arm up between them. "Ginny, stop it. Don't do this."
"Just answer the question," she added boldly. "Are you going to stop Draco from hurting me? From sneaking into my dorm at nights?" she laughed; it was harsh and twisted, nothing at all like the full bursts he knew. "You don't know what happens in the Slytherin common room do you, Harry? What control he has… what power his father has—the Malfoy influence." She moved her lips forward and attached them to the side of his neck, just below his ear and gave him a little nibble.
Disgusted at the turn her attitude had taken Harry screwed his eyes shut and wrenched his body away.
"What's the matter, Harry?" she taunted. "I thought you cared for me. Don't you want to see what I can do for you?"
He refused to look at her and instead just concentrated on keeping his breathing under control.
"I thought not," she said in quite a different voice. She had stood up, straightened her scarf around her again and returned to her usual cold manner. "You don't know what you want, Potter. You don't know what you're getting involved with at all."
Then without another word she was gone.
Harry did not leave until morning.