AN: forgot to say…nothing you recognize belongs to me
Chapter 2
Bright lights drilled into his eyes and Harry groaned. He realized he was lying on something soft, and decided that Hermione must have found him passed out on the floor and had taken pity on him. He cracked his eyes open to see which room she placed him in, and why the hell she had left the drapes open.
The sight that met his eyes made him sit up abruptly in bed, then hold his throbbing head when in protested such quick movements so early in the morning. Harry had never seen the room he was currently in, although there seemed to be a part of his mind that seemed to think otherwise.
"Home." He murmured, confused at why he would call the sage green and black room home. He only had seconds to think that strange thought over before a red haired girl poked her head around his door.
"Harry, Mum says that if you don't come down in the next two minutes, you aren't getting breakfast." She left as soon as she delivered her message.
As if the answers to his many questions were coming from another part of his brain, he thought, Emily, my sister, thirteen, Gryffindor Harry rubbed his hands against his eyes, willing the headache to go away so he could figure what the hell was going on.
Almost as if his hands had a mind of their own, he reached into the drawer on the side table and pulled out a blue vial of Headache potion. Harry stared at it suspiciously, but the pounding in his head won the argument. Downing the vial in one go, he screwed his eyes shut and waited for the pain to pass.
Now that his head was relatively clear, he swung his legs to the side of the bed and stood up. Looking around the room he noticed a black, wooden trunk, complete with Hogwarts crest, open, its contents spilled around the room. A piece of marked parchment lay on the floor by his feet and Harry picked it up. His handwriting stared back at him, yet he never took Ancient Runes. Although as soon as he had that thought, memories of classes flooded his mind.
Dropping the parchment, he grasped his wand firmly in his hand and made his way stealthily towards the door, although half of him seemed to not feel the need to be cautious. As soon as he poked his head through the doorway, all thoughts of this being a strange, enchanted room in Grimmauld Place fled his mind. Sunlight filtered into the hallway from large windows and the floor was a rich oak.
Harry scratched his head when memories flooded his mind again. He knew this place, it was home, and yet…Harry was sure he had never been here before in his life. Quietly making his way towards the voices he could hear, he tried to figure out if this could be a trap of some sort.
Rounding the corner, he stopped in shock. Around the kitchen table was the girl from before, My sister Emily and a black haired boy of about four. Harry's mind again seemed to supply the answer. Kason, my four year old brother Harry barely processed that, when he noticed a woman standing by the stove, her long dark red hair pulled up into a messy bun.
She turned, levitating a platter of pancakes and eggs with her wand and Harry saw his own eyes in the woman's face. "Mum?" He blinked his eyes a few times, certain that she would disappear. Instead she just sighed exasperated.
"Harry, you could have at least changed out of your pajamas before coming to breakfast, although I suppose I should be happy that you're out of bed as it is." She dropped the plate on the table with a thump and looked expectantly at her son. "Well, are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to come eat?"
Harry stumbled forward a couple of steps and sat down in his chair, although how he knew it was 'his' chair, he didn't have a clue. Emily passed him the pancakes, giving him a sideways look. Probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Actually I am wondering the same thing… Harry thought ruefully, watching his mother from under his lashes.
Just then, the last person Harry would have thought walked through the door. Strong conflicting emotions, combined with shock, caused Harry to choke on the mouthful of orange juice. Concerned black eyes looked into his, as a strong hand patted his back to get the airway clear.
"You alright son?" Came a smooth baritone but Harry could only stare at him in shock.
Harry had a strong urge to kill the man, and to hug him. Love and hate co-existed in his heart and he couldn't sort through the memories as fast as they were being thrown at him.
A little boy crying because he skinned his knee, and then Daddy was there to make it all better…
A birthday cake with eleven candles and a broomstick shaped wrapped present…
The sorting hat calling out Gryffindor, and the fear of turning and seeing disappointment on his Slytherin father's face, but only seeing pride…
Holding his little brother while looking across the hospital room to watch their father kiss his mother's forehead…
Christmas, the entire house done up in greens and reds…
Harry was trying to catch his breath. He vaguely felt strong hands pull him to his feet and lead him outside. He could hear voices talking in the background, and then the chirping birds seemed to drown out any other sound. They were standing in a small garden with a stone bench. Harry was pushed down on the bench and he noticed someone was talking to him.
"…Dark magic clinging to you. What did you get up to last night? You know you can tell me anything…I am worried about you. Harry? Harry?"
Harry's eyes snapped into focus and he looked at the man he both hated and loved. Running his hand through his shaggy hair he muttered, "Last night?"
Flashes of alcohol induced ramblings, cutting his hand, and passing out ran through this mind. And then his mind focused on cutting his hand…the blood…there seemed to be something there, but Harry's foggy mind couldn't seem to catch what it needed to. He did know that he seemed to have two sets of memories, two sets of childhoods, two sets of school memories. He was pretty sure his head was going to explode. Factor in his dead mother, obviously not dead anymore, and his most hated professor and murderer of Dumbledore calling him son, it was not surprising when the ground reached up and claimed him once again.