Chapter 2: The Long Night

Known World

AU Harry

Harry wasn't frightened by the tugging sensation. He'd been feeling it all year, especially after the dementor attacks. "Dad…" he said.

But his father was arguing with Dumbledore. He paced across the infirmary, his dark brows drawing together every time he said the name 'Black.'

His dad had been in a state all year. First there had been news of Black's escape, and then the dementors had hovered about the grounds, fixating on Harry. He wanted to tell his father that he was all right now. But that tugging feeling grew stronger, making it difficult to breathe.

It dragged him down, and he fell into darkness. No sound, no light. He couldn't even hear his own breath. But there was his father's voice, somewhere in the distance. He struggled towards it. He couldn't say if he walked or crawled or even swam, but he kept moving, until a pinprick of light grew and enveloped him.

When he opened his eyes, he was in the infirmary again. How long had he been gone? It felt like hours, but everything in the infirmary was the same. Except…it wasn't, quite. Dumbledore hadn't been wearing that particular shade of yellow, had he? And his father. There was something in his father's eyes that made Harry's throat tighten.

"I think…something happened." His mouth felt wooden. He couldn't get comfortable in his own skin. "A spell, or an attack." He tried to explain, the words tumbling in a heap.

The headmaster's frown grew deeper whenever he mentioned his dad. "You said this place you were drawn to was dark and silent. And you saw James Potter there?"

"What?" An old panic shot through Harry. Don't say his name. He ducked his head until he could hide his fear, and then put up a front of nonchalance. "Course not. He's been dead ages. Bit difficult to have a conversation with a dead bloke." He heard a gasp, and looked over to see Hermione's round eyes on him. Perhaps he'd been a little too nonchalant. "I mean, I didn't see him, or his ghost, or anything like that."

His father snorted impatiently. "But you just said—"

"—that you were worried about the dementor attacks, so I didn't want to tell you about that tugging feeling before. I know I should have, but—"

"—Worried?" His father scowled."The moment I begin worrying about you is the moment I—"

"You said," Dumbledore prodded, "that your dad was worried."

"Well, yeah." Harry shrugged.

Silence settled in the room as the two men stared at Harry. Dumbledore slowly swiveled to appraise the other man.

His father ground his teeth. "What?"

"Just…considering the possibilities," Dumbledore said. "Harry, would you kindly point to your father?"

Harry wondered if this was some sort of mental alertness test, but obediently pointed him out. His father stared at the finger as though it were a cobra coiled to strike.

"I see," Dumbledore said. "And how long has he been your father?"

Harry dropped his hand and considered. "Well, he married my mum when I was just two, so, er…eleven…almost twelve years."

Something strange happened in his dad's face. It went utterly slack as though he'd been struck by a paralysis spell. Then it contorted, knotting up around his mouth.

His dad closed in until he was only inches from his face. "Another prank from Black and that werewolf! Did the three of you put your thick heads together and finally figure it out? Tell me!" Flecks of spittle flew as he shouted, and his lips had gone white.

It was like standing in the blast of a furnace. Dumbledore called his father's name, but it sounded far away. He couldn't tear his gaze away from that twisted face.

Dumbledore pulled his father away, his wrinkled hand firm on his shoulder. His dad never took his gaze off Harry as the headmaster whispered to him, but his eyes were dark and cold.

They asked him questions and performed spells around his bed, but Harry could only hear his heart pounding in his ears. His father had been livid with him before, but never with this intensity. What had he done? The only time he'd ever seen him like that was when Lucius Malfoy had visited and, in his Slytherin way, humiliated his mother by slyly mocking her condition. Even then, he had vented his rage on the furniture, after Malfoy left.

"Harry," Dumbledore said. "You had better come to my office. There are some things I need to explain."

When Harry sat in Dumbledore's office, listening to what happened—what they thought happened—his confusion lessened. But each detail added a horrible sinking weight in his chest.

"But my dad…he's still my dad, right?"

His father, who had been pacing across Dumbledore's office the entire time, stopped and turned towards him, his jaw rigid.

"In this world," Dumbledore said softly, "Professor Snape only had the opportunity to teach you, not raise you."

"You mean," Harry said, tears stinging his eyes, "I take care of my mum all by myself?"

His father's gaze slid from Harry and he sat down heavily in a chair.

Dumbledore shook his head, his beard swaying. "Other than yourself, Voldemort did not leave any survivors the night he attacked Godric's Hollow. But if you left your mother safe in your own world, you will see her again when you return."

His words rang against Harry's ears with a hollow clang. He was alone. He looked pleadingly at his dad—who wasn't his dad—and saw a strange, haunted hunger in his eyes. He turned back towards Dumbledore. "My mum…when can I see her again?"

Dumbledore didn't speak for a long moment, staring at the bowl of sweets in front of him. "I can only ask that you be patient, and try to adjust to life here as we search for a way back."

Harry nodded. Adjust to a life that wasn't his. Harry Potter's life. The name sounded strange. He stood, hardly feeling his legs. "May I go now, Sir?"

Dumbledore waved his assent, then paused. "I suppose I should ask…what House were you sorted into?"

Harry glanced at his father. This had been a minor point of friction between them for years. He remembered the hurt in his dad's eyes when he learned that Harry had chosen his mum's House over his. But that made no difference here, he reminded himself. The man sitting near him wasn't his father. "Gryffindor," he mumbled.

"Ah. Then finding your way back to your room shouldn't be a problem. Let us hope that finding your way back home will prove as easy." Giving him the Gryffindor password, Dumbledore dismissed him.

Harry turned and stumbled his way to Gryffindor tower. Down the corridors, and then in the common room, he saw things both familiar and unfamiliar. Little details became foreign to him, like a portrait in a slightly different place, or an odd statue that hadn't been there before. The more differences he saw, the less he wanted to think about them, and what they meant for his life now.

Within minutes he was curled in his bed, shivering. As sleep overcame him, his mind clutched at memories of strong hands, a lilting voice, and warm laughter, in a place far away from there.