Chapter 3

Even having gotten used to magic over all the years she'd spent living in a world filled with it, Lily still startled every time someone apparated without warning. So when James apparated into the kitchen and immediately started yelling for her, she jumped at least a foot into the air. Usually James would tease her for jumping at something that anyone raised with magic was used to. Despite the teasing he tried to always make sure she was warned in advance. For once he ignored her start and instead shouted for her to clear the table. She complied and was further confused when James nearly shoved her out of the way in order to place a large bundle on the table.

"James, what's," Lily began only to trail off when her husband pulled back the heavy crimson robe to reveal their son's face. There was no color in his skin and his chest lacked the slight movement associated with life. She stepped back to be caught in James' arms. When she had composed herself enough to speak, she tried again, "But he's."

"I know," James cut her off. It didn't really matter. He knew. He knew that Harry was dead. He knew that Harry was upstairs suffering from paranoia. He knew that none of this was possible and yet they were living through it. "Sirius found him. I think he's ours. I…"

Terrified of everything that could result from it, she slipped out of trembling arms. Stepping up to the table she pulled the cloth farther away from his body in order to get a better look. It was her son. The longer she looked at him the more she came to doubt the young man upstairs. This boy was taller, more muscular, and not nearly as skinny. He had lost the healthy rose from cheeks but not the slight scar on his left ear. A scar she wasn't sure she would find on the tortured boy in her son's room.

"He's not. It's not really him. Harry is upstairs. He's fine." She insisted putting her back to the body. It wasn't true.

"Lily," James tried. He reached out to hold her; she dodged him and he watched her go.

She couldn't stop the tears from falling freely onto the stairs as she sprinted from the kitchen. Yanking the door open she immediately panicked when she didn't see him. Hollering his name through ragged breath, Lily threw herself on the bed tearing the covers apart. A slender hand gripping the far window sill stopped her frantic search.

Strewn across the floor in a similar fashion to how she had first seen him at her sister's lay Harry. She gathered him into her arms and with a little difficulty despite his slight figure. A magical slumber kept him still as she sat down on the bed and held him close. There was no scar on his ear from when he'd nearly lost the top half to a not-so-harmless prank. It didn't matter. His warm breath was constant against her chest as she sobbed into his hair. He was still alive, and the body downstairs was just that: a dead body. It wasn't her son. She had her son back and nobody was going to take him from her.

"Mum?" A hesitant voice asked as the form in her arms stiffened.

"Yes, Harry," she replied stifling her sobs. He began to pull away and she let him afraid of the accusations from before. "I am your mum."

"Strictly speaking, I'm afraid that is not true. Your son is dead."

Both mother and son looked up to find Dumbledore striding into the room wand stretched out in front of him. Harry began to struggle to get free, out of her arms and off the bed but before he could make it very far he found the handle of his own wand held out to him. He took it cautiously and looked to the adults in the room. Despite his confusion there was a surge of empowerment and comfort that ran through his blood at having his magic connect with his own wand.

"The body downstairs is Harry James Potter, the son that you gave birth too." Dumbledore said as Harry moved to a good distance for his own personal comfort. James had followed the old man into the room and added an extra wand to the equation.

"What's going on here?" The teen demanded holding his wand at ready; shifting his gaze every few seconds between the others in the room. Constant Vigilance: he had survived worst situations.

"I have a suitable explanation if you would allow me to give it." Dumbledore said patiently but with a look that dared Harry to challenge him. When Harry didn't, the old man began again "Before that though it seems necessary to establish a few facts: despite your preconceived notions regarding reality, I am Albus Dumbledore."

Harry's eyes narrowed only to find them in very direct eye contact with the old man's bright blue. It was startling as Harry had never been aware enough to know when someone was entering his mind discreetly. Slightly panicked, he reached to clear his mind only to find it was already mostly clear. Calming from his own strength under pressure cleared it the rest of the way allowing him to keep Dumbledore's invasion minimized. Immediately the headmaster's tactic changed pulling back a little so that it was the lightless of brushes but still staying very clearly within Harry's consciousness. The legilimenswas aware that Harry could occulude, if poorly; he making a show of his own power.

"Interesting," Dumbledore said. "You're a fascinating young man, Mr. Potter. Within the interest of keeping you listening, I have returned your wand to you and would appreciate that you limit your accusations of what you believe to be true. Very powerful magic is in play here and if you have any doubt as to the validity of that statement I suggest that you go downstairs and introduce yourself to the young man who lost his life to an ancient ritual."

The headmaster slipped out of Harry's mind when it became apparent that Harry had no intention of arguing with him. His demeanor also relaxed and he resumed his more grandfatherly persona.

"Cuntus Libenter," he said and then paused waiting for any recognition from his audience. When there was none he sighed and continued on, "Little is available on the ancient communion but I've been looking into it since the intial disappearances. The result of the ritual and its exact ceremony have been lost to myth and rumors. It is well documented however that it requires thirteen willing sacrifices," he paused to nod at James' look on horror and Lily's gasp. "It is said that the ritual fell out of practice even before the dark ages not for its use of human sacrifice but for how it could go terribly wrong. If one of the willing participants had a change of will in the middle of the ceremony and they were powerful enough to match the incantor they could alter the entire outcome."

The story Harry was being told was supposed to alter reality somehow. While Voldemort had handed him is wand before he'd only done it in order to have a mockery of a duel. Dumbledore (and he used the name simply out of convenience) had handed it to him to incite trust which was a very Dumbledore thing to do. His actions made him seem so much like the headmaster, and Harry wasn't completely sure the woman was a death eater anymore either. Voldemort couldn't have possibly have contrived the manner in which she had held him sobbing. Harry knew him well enough to know that the snake couldn't even imagine a mother's love to the level that Lily had displayed. Even the situation was nowhere near the realm of believability.

"The death of all thirteen bodies dates to night that this young man was found at your sister's," Dumbledore said turning his focus to Lily and James.

"I don't understand," James said from where he stood next to his wife. He didn't appear to believe it anymore than Harry. "This ritual what made him? Why did our Harry have to die for it?"

"Nothing made me!" Harry hissed.

"Your son did not die in order to create this young man." Dumbledore explained patiently despite the heated looks Harry and James were giving each other. "I believe that he may have regretted his own death when he finally realized that it was actually going to happen. He could have channeled the magic into his grief that you'd be losing your son. In this way it is possible that he provided you with a son. A son if I am not mistaken that grew up without parents."

"This is crazy," James exclaimed in response while Lily just sat staring at Harry.

It was eerie to have his own eyes stare back at him with such grief. He found that he couldn't meet them.

All that Dumbledore had said made a sort of sense. Something had happened that night, and the Dursely's hadn't acted like he lived with them. They'd treated like a barely tolerated relative not a barely tolerated relative they actually had to live with. Also the Death Eaters should not have been able to remove him from his aunts because of the blood protection wards, unless the wards were gone. He wasn't of age yet so the only way to the wards could have been gone was if they'd never been there to begin with—never been there to begin with because they'd never been activated by his mother's sacrifice.

"How old were you when they died?" Lily asked much to the surprise of everyone in the room.

"One," Harry replied keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. This could actually be an alternate future. These were his parents even if they didn't physically give birth to him.

"You lived with my sister and her husband? That's why you were there in their house?"

He nodded.

"Why didn't you go to Sirius?" James asked despite the fact that he didn't appear entirely convinced with Dumbledore's story.

The boy's eyes shot up to connect with James' the moment the name was out of his mouth. Dumbledore relaxed at the reaction and Lily's brow furrowed with confusion.

Harry immediately began to control his reaction. Sirius would be alive here. The other Harry would have lived an entire life with not only his parents but also Sirius. The other Harry had never had to worry about Voldemort or the prophecy. He had everything that Harry had ever wanted. There was no noxious fame follow his every moment.

The teen winced. The other Harry was dead. It was horrible what had happened to the other boy but…

He could be a normal boy here. No ridiculous title and fame. No prophecy. No Voldemort. He could get to know the people his parents might have been and even if this couple didn't want to take him in, he could still live in obscurity. He wouldn't have to push himself to become the kind of person that would murder in order to avoid his own death. He was going to be Harry James Potter here. Not the Boy-Who-Lived.

If he was going to pull this off he needed to hide who he had been. There could be no tragic beginning for this Harry. It would be hard to ignore the war after all he'd said already but he could be just another parentless child, rather than The-Parentless-Child. His words were carefully placed to answer the question but without being too specific, "It was safer with the Dursleys."

"Doesn't look like it was safer," James replied giving Harry a once over. His sallow complexion and unnatural thinness were not a testimony to his story.

"The world you came from is at war isn't it?" Dumbledore asked breaking the tension mounting between the two male Potters.

"World?" James asked dubiously before Harry could respond. "He crossed worlds now?"

"He is without a doubt Harry Potter, a child we both unfortunately know to be dead and you are James Potter, a man he without a doubt knows to be dead. Yet you both stand before us, if you have a better explanation I'd love to hear it." Dumbledore explained as if breaking things down in order to help a small child understand. James seemed cowed enough for now, so the headmaster turned to Harry in order to have a few things explained that had not made sense before. "The order then is one faction?"

"Your resistance against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, professor," Harry explained using the ridiculous title assigned to the Dark Lord in hopes of downplaying his involvement as much as possible.

Dumbledore nodded simply in a patient, grandfatherly fashion. He knew all too well the fear that a dark wizard could inspire in the people. While he would have loved to indulge his own curiosity regarding the life of this Harry, they needed to finish out the conversation he had planned from the moment he heard of the body. "I'm afraid a decision must be made, regarding the future of both Harrys."

"My son doesn't have a future," James said curtly. "He's dead. You said so yourself. He's dead. The boy I've loved since before he was even conceived is gone."

"James," Lily chastised, lightly touching his arm.

"I know, and it's a tragic thing what happened to all those who died," James scowled at Dumbledore. "But it would be best if you were to mourn your Harry privately and let this Harry fill the gap left by him."

"My son's not an expensive broom. There is no product replacement plan. You can't just give me a new one because he stopped working." The man that might have been Harry's father shook off his wife's hand and stepped out of the room without another glance to any of them.

The conversation seemed to have taken a turn for the conclusion but Dumbledore needed to finish his agenda. So despite the silence usually left alone that had settled between Harry and Lily, he continued on. "Harry, what do you want?"

The implications of the question made the teen physically recoil. Never in his life had anyone ever asked him what he wanted when it really mattered. Sure Ron and Herminone had asked him plenty of time when the question resulted in whether they'd play exploding snap or start their homework. His life had always been shaped by the adults around him without a single inquiry in what he'd want. Sirius had tried once: to ask what Harry had wanted but in the end it didn't matter what Sirius or Harry wanted. Sirius had been on the run and had to take care of his own freedom first. Then he had died and once again, the teen had been plunged into disappointment and everyone else's expectations.

He was no one here and how he lived his life didn't affect the entire wizarding world.

When faced with what he really wanted the first thing he thought of was what he didn't want. He didn't want to be forced on a family that didn't want him. Even if they were supposed to be his parents, he didn't want to live constantly compared to the other Harry as he had been to Dudley. If James and Lily didn't want him then he didn't want to be there.

"I don't want to be a bother," he said at last.

The redhead scowled at him. "What makes you think you'd be a bother?"

Glancing at the door James had just exited was enough to let convey to Lily what he was thinking about. Her Harry would have told her outright what he was worried about but this boy seemed reserved in letting people onto his thoughts. He wasn't her son and she needed to remember that. Even physically there were differences.

Her son had had shaggy black hair as well but it seemed that there was a purpose to the length of this Harry's. When it moved just right, she got glimpses of a scar or perhaps a birthmark. It was hard to tell and she was reluctant to ask about it. He seemed so use to keeping it covered that she doubted his hiding it was even conscious anymore.

The reserved young man may not be her son but her Harry had done this with his last wish, if Dumbledore was right. The whole situation warranted more investigation but for now she would do anything she could for him. "Let me talk to James."

James sat staring far beyond anything that he could actually see. His worst nightmare since the little black haired boy had stole his heart, the nightmare he'd had every night since his son had gone missing had come true. The magic was gone from his son's core and with it the life from James' time on Earth. Each day that had passed without Harry coming home, James had known that this was coming. He had whispered comforting words to Lily without believing them himself. Then he'd gotten his boy back, only to discover an imposter and a dead body.

The emotionally shot man stood and refocused his eyes on reality in order to find a drink. He knew that there wouldn't be anything nearly strong enough in his house; he and Lily had made an agreement years ago that it was better not to keep heavy alcohol in the house. Sirius would have some though. Sirius always had the good stuff around for a party or if they had had a particularly rough case.

Making it all the way over to the fireplace, the man scowled remembering that Sirius was still at work. He could always go find Remus or Peter but they had a store to run. He didn't really want to bother anyone at the moment. Perhaps he could just pop over, borrow the liquor and then come straight back.

"James," Lily called her steps light against the stairs.

That's right: it wasn't a matter of not wanting to bother anyone so much as not wanting to be bothered.

Her footsteps stopped and he glanced to the right to see her standing at the foot of the stairs. She was so willing to replace their son. He knew it was because it was easier for her to deny their son's death and she'd been given an easy path to do just that.

It would take a lot of alcohol for him to be willing to discuss the things that Lily wanted to talk about. It was a bit of a surprise when instead of demanding a conversation she began listing on her fingers.

"Sirius, Peter, Celine and Remus, your parents, Alice, Frank, Neville, of course," Lily paused to stare at the number of fingers she had up.

James sighed but was intrigued just enough to ask, "What are you doing?"

"It should be a small funeral," Lily replied. It was so responsible and organized and very Lily. She had taken her grief and already channeled it into healing those around her. Her strength had always marveled him. "Maybe Petunia and her boys."

"No," James said firmly, resting his arms on the mantle of the fireplace. This day on gone on long enough and he was tired.

"No, it shouldn't be a small funeral?"

"No, I don't want to deal with your sister and her 'boys'," he applied a mocking emphasis to the last word. The bovine nature of the Dursely men was hardly fitting for the description of boy.

"Alright, no Petunia." Lily sat down on the stair at her feet.

"I can't plan my own son's funeral," James said shifting his gaze to where the body still lay on the table.

"I'll do it," Lily hugged her arms to herself.

"I'm going to find whoever did this to him," James casually announced coming to terms with his own need for validation in his son's death.

"I know. He needs an identity," Lily wasn't talking about their son's killer and they both knew it.

"I'm not asking you to take him out back and play quidditch with him." Lily started only to have James reach for the floo powder. She jumped to her feet and stalked over to the fire place. Swatting the porcelain, Lily felt it shatter against the tile in a spray of blue shards and green powder. Her voice was low and demanding, "I will finish."

Hazel met emerald with only inches to separate them as James acquiesced to hear her out.

"Just let him live with his own name. He can't have had a good life, growing up in the middle of a magical war— especially if he had to do it with Petunia and Vernon. They've never loved magic and I as much as I'd like to pretend that they could love my son, I can see in his eyes that it's not true." She reached a hand out to his cheek and just held it there. With her other hand she pulled out her wand and wordlessly repaired the vibrant pot. Once all the powder was back inside the pot floated up to the mantle and landed there. "Please."

A nod of his head and their foreheads rested together. They took a deep breath in near unison and James turned his inner detective on.

"We should have a necropsy done: verify exactly how the ritual killed him." They separated again as he spoke. Each had their own task to complete.

"If we're going to claim that Harry isn't dead, that could be difficult,"

"I'll find a way around it," The solutions wouldn't be legal but there was a lot you could get away with in the more shady areas of the wizarding world with an auror's robe. Not to mention despite working in law enforcement, James Potter had always considered rules more of a guideline. With a plan beginning to form in his mind, James gathered his son into his arms and nodded to his wife before apparating away.

With the door left open it was tempting to listen in on what was being said between the couple in the kitchen. However Dumbledore stood between any notions of Harry gleaning any information to better his position. The old man was virtually bursting with a million inquiries but Harry doubted they were questions he wanted to answer.

"I believe a letter was already sent out to the…" Dumbledore paused as if searching for the most polite way to say it. "Harry, native to this world, rest his soul. It was among the many attempts to ascertain his location. I will arrange another to be sent here for you."

"Sir?"

"I should hope whatever travesties may have occurred in your world didn't extend to the fall of Hogwarts," said the headmaster.

Harry almost laughed. The trauma that Harry had displayed as a seeming random civilian in the war made it seem much worse than it was. The war was bad but his personal terror of Voldemort was not a level most people had reached yet. The general wizarding population had yet to be terrorized on a personal level. It might have been that bad during the first war, Harry didn't really know much about it. He suddenly found himself curious but completely unable to find out.

"Hogwarts is the safest place in all of the Wizarding world professor," Harry uttered in an almost reverent fashion. It wouldn't be prudent to change the story now, best to continue on as a traumatized child. "As long as you're there He would never dare."

Dumbledore nodded in an almost regal fashion. A little hero worship never went astray when convincing someone of your trust worthiness. Harry also tucked the memory of destroying Dumbledore's office into the back of his mind to better bring forward the way he'd felt when the headmaster had opened a world of magic to him.

A loud crash from downstairs signaled to both wizards that perhaps James Potter was still fairly volatile about the whole situation.

"I think it would be wise for you to keep to yourself until after the funeral," the old man said as Harry nodded in agreement. "Well if you'll excuse me, I must prepare for the fall out of this kind of tragedy."

"Of course," Harry solemnly replied as the headmaster made his way over to the door.

"It was nice to meet you Harry," he said with a bow of his head before stepping over the threshold and Harry was left alone with his thoughts.