The Second Chance

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of J. K. Rowling and Kurinoone's universe. This story is written with permission from Kurinoone, and is written based on Kurinoone's fabulous, beyond awesome story- "The Darkness Within" (which was inspired by by Project Dark Overlord's wonderful story- "The Shattered Prophesy").

Chapter 5: Jumbled Emotions

Sitting in his room, Harry grinned as he fingered his father's wand. He had tried a few simple spells with it, and so far Voldemort's wand seemed to enable Harry to channel his magic through it a little more effeciently than his own wand, which was surprising. Once every few minutes, Voldemort's wand would respond to its master's summons by hovering off the desk for a short while, before Harry immediately countermanded the order and summoned the wand back to himself.

The thought of his father reminded him of the work still at hand. A little reluctantly, he put down Voldemort's wand. There was a piece of badly torn, singed parchment spread across his table. Harry frowned. It wasn't like him to leave his things unkempt, but lately he had been neglecting tidiness, focusing instead on revenge. He hadn't used his own study table for a long time; plotting in his father's study laid across his father's sofa gave Harry more inspiration.

But why was the parchment singed? Harry noticed the other rolls of parchment lying around on his table were also brown and slightly burnt. A quill and a bottle of ink were laid across the mess of parchment on his study table. It hadn't slipped Harry's memory that the day he woke from the Imperius Curse, his bathroom stank of smoke.

Had his room been on fire before? What had caused it? Was it Voldemort, Dumbledore, or his own fault?

Sub- consciously, Harry rifled through the mess of singed parchment scattered on his table. Suddenly, he felt a tingle as he touched the parchment at the bottom stack. Immediately, he retrieved it, and found himself looking at his own familiar spidery handwriting.

Damien, it wrote.

I want to tell you lots of other things, but I'm sorry to say that I don't have time for it. I don't know what is happening. Voldemort's plans may not be as they seem. My plan is desperate. I have combined blood and magic, but I fear if a strong enough force were to break through it, the barriers will simply fall apart, allowing all to swarm in unmolested, although I have reassured Dumbledore otherwise. If Dumbledore asks you to be Secret Keeper, if you value the memory of your deceased elder brother and the measures he took to keep you safe, decline the offer. You'll understand what I'm writing about in due time. Promise me you'll stay safe and never remove the Layhoo Jisteen.

I hope you will be able to make Potter Manor home again, though it'll be really hard. I know, I wasn't much of an elder brother; indeed, mere words written in my ugly handwriting is far from expressing my guilt.

How was it like, growing up normally with Dad and Mum? I suppose I'll never know. Sometimes I wish I never threw away my last chance to belong to the Potter family so easily, but I couldn't simply leave innocents to the mercy of Voldemort, when the betrayal was purely my crime. But for these last few days, there are many people I'd like to thank, but I will never have the chance. Sirius, for his assurance; Remus for his support; Ron for his selfless friendship, despite what I did to him in the past; Hermione, for her help and readily forgiving nature; Ginny for the space she gave me selflessly; Dad and mum for their unfailing love and understanding... you, for simply being my brother, for chattering non- stop in my ear when silence deafens me and keeping my uncompanionable self in constant, bittersweetingly annoying company. Now as I reflect on those little happy memories we had together, I can't help but regret, though it can't bring the past back. Wish I never pushed you away. Wish I put you first before revenge. Wish I could have stayed a little longer. Give me another minute, another 30 seconds! just a little bit more time to make up for all the years I missed. Wish I never missed your birthday party. Wish I would be around in the future. Will you ever marry Samantha? Will Ron and Hermione ever end up together? Only now do I realize the worth of revenge, but I have already traded a bag of gold for a handful of silver.

I can't tell you not to cry; being the Gryffindork you are, you'd probably weep your eyes red and swollen... at least that is how I imagine it to be. There was a moment during Voldemort's torture when I felt almost happy to leave this nightmarish life of mine, but on remembering the smiles and laughter we shared, I couldn't say I was willing to blow out my life so easily anymore. Sometimes I think we shouldn't have met. If only you never knew you had a brother! You'd never need to suffer the way Dad and Mum did. If only you didn't come to annoy and barge into my private life; if only you never forgave me for trying to kill Dad, maybe things would have been better. If Dad and Mum had really hated me, I feel as though it would hurt less for me to leave this world I just started to love behind.

Trust me when I say I do not want to end this letter, as it shall be the last I can ever say to you, yet if I do not do so, I fear none of these words will ever reach your hands. For safety reasons, please do not attempt to rescue or contact me again. Your efforts will be fruitless.

Goodbye.

31st July 1997
Your brother,
Harry.

The word 'goodbye' was smudged badly.

His breath was ragged when he reached the last line; each word written by his own hand, meant for an unknown brother named Damien, sent a wave of horror crashing through him. 31st July 1997, the night he turned seventeen. The last day he was under the control of Albus Dumbledore. He had been a traitor! He had betrayed his father. But Voldemort gave him another chance. Told him it wasn't his fault, and to get over it.

How could his father forget his betrayal so easily?

But at the same time, if Harry were under the influence of the Imperius Curse placed by Dumbledore, why and how did he write a letter warning the unknown 'Damien' to reject Dumbledore's offer? Hadn't he been obeying Dumbledore's orders, seeing as it was Dumbledore who placed the Imperius Curse?

There was slight rustle outside the door. Following some obscure instinct, Harry immediately shoved the piece of parchment back under the pile of mess on his desk. He was just in time; the next second, the door was flung open, and his father stood in the doorway, looking at him with an irritated expression.

"I think you've had enough fun with another's wand. Give it back, now."

Harry was clearly not in the mood for being cheeky. The previous glint of mischief lit the emerald green orbs no longer. Without a word Harry handed back Voldemort his wand. But when his father leaned in to grab back the wand, Harry's grip on it tightened.

"One last question, and I'll put it by," Harry said, not looking at his father.

"What?" Voldemort asked, looking slightly surprised at Harry's tone.

"Who exactly placed the Imperius on me? Was it Dumbledore himself, or one of the members in the Order?"

For a moment, Voldemort did not answer. But when Harry slowly raised his eyes to meet the ruby red ones, the Dark Lord replied in a tone barely louder than a whisper- "James Potter."

A wave of understanding crashed over the younger of the pair. It had been James Potter all the time! James Potter who controlled Harry to write the letter, so that Damien, presumably James' second son, would be safe from the hazard of following Dumbledore's orders. Slowly, the grip on Voldemort's wand slackened, but the Dark Lord did not pull it away from his son's grasps.

"What troubles you?" he asked.

"Nothing," was the crude reply.

Harry never gave his father one- worded answers before. All answers came with elaboration and explainations, but this time it was different. For a moment, Voldemort stood holding his wand, until Harry let go completely and turned his back to his father.

"And here I was expecting a huge fuss," muttered Voldemort under his breath as he left the room.

At the very same moment, the man Harry secretly yearned to kill laid fresh flowers sprinkled with tears on a mound of earth in the Potter Manor backyard, and sat beside the headstone alone, his black and white suit drenched as the light dirzzle seeped through the material. His calloused hands caressed the golden words engraved in black marble- Harry James Potter for the second time; feeling the pain of losing his son twice in his life.

Damien rose during late morning the next day. Harry's quiet funeral yesterday night had taken quite a lot out of him. The wounds he assured himself had healed appeared not to be so. He had tried but failed to put up a brave front for the last few days; thinking that if his mother saw him strong again, she would feel better knowing there was a reliable shoulder to cry on to, besides his father. However, it didn't seem to help much; if any, Lily seemed sadder when Damien acted uncaring, as she saw through his mask like only a mother could. Seeing as Damien didn't like putting on masks, especially since Harry's expressionless mask shut Damien out sometimes, the youngest Potter decided to discard it altogether. What was the point of forcing himself to do something he didn't enjoy doing when his efforts didn't even achieve its purpose?

For some reason, misery engulfed Damien for the rest of the day, and he stayed in his room, not bothering to go downstairs for a meal, not even to visit the Weasleys, who had provided him endless comfort when James was hurt and Lily broken. He just stared into space, his mind a complete jumble, swiping away the occasional rebellious tear that strayed.

Now if nobody had interrupted Damien, and left him to the confines of his room without disturb, the youngest Potter would probably have succumbed to what his father became fifteen years ago; a living corpse. The thought of the noisy Weasleys no longer brought him comfort, just a sense of tiredness; the thought of Hermione and Ginny did not trigger a small smile anymore.

Hushed voices outside his door, however, brought him out of his reverie.

"No, Lily, I'll take it," that was James' voice. "I've never served Damy food before, he'd be so surprised that he won't be moody anymore and eat something."

"Damy might think you're only treating him this nice because you think he's weak and needs special attention..." Lily's voice drifted in through the door, twitching Damien's lips into an uncontained smile.

"That's Harry you're thinking of," said James.

Damien felt his heart constrict again at the name but ignored the pain completely.

There was silence outside the door for a while, then James whispered (rather loudly, in Damien's opinion) "I'll take it, dear- now don't worry, I've managed the violent one before, this one's more docile. No, you can go downstairs now- don't keep staring at me. I'm a trained Auror. I feel uncomfortable with your piercing gaze on me."

"Damy might be feeling rather upset... you'd better comfort him, however clumsy your words may be. I still think it's a better idea if I serve Damien instead." Lily's voice grew fainter and fainter, and her footsteps down the stairs faded away.

Trying to maintain a straight face, Damien pretended to flip through Quidditch Through the Ages, his senses buzzing on high alert, awaiting James to knock on his door. But the expected sound of his father's knuckles rapping smartly on his wooden door never came. Feeling slightly restless, Damien continued to flip through the book listlessly, until he finally couldn't bear it anymore. He looked up at his door. It was still closed. But where light from outside could filter in through the crack under the door, it was obscured by two somethings- James' feet.

For some reason, his father was standing outside his door. Presumably thinking what would be the best thing to say to his son. Damien could barely keep the grin off his face. Taking a deep breath, Damien silently crept forwards and placed a hand on the doorknob, preparing to throw open the door and catch his father by surprise. However, James chose that exact unfortunate moment to open the door. Both father and son who were not expecting another force to act on the door stumbled back slightly. This was more serious a situation for James, who was carrying the lunch tray.

"NO!" yelled James as the tray slid from his hands. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Damien appeared just in time to save the beautifully boiled brown eggs; James saved the rest of the tray except for the bottle of tomato sauce. James and Damien looked at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

James and his youngest son leviated what was left of the lunch tray into Damien's room and shut the door behind them.

"Good thing we both have good reflexes," remarked James as he put down the tray with a contented sigh. "Imagine if there were three less eggs in the world that contributed nothing to our welfare."

"I'm starting to wish you hadn't saved the tray," groaned Damien, surveying the pile of food Lily heaped on his plate. "I can't finish all this, and mum will reprimand me if I don't."

"But you love food!" interjected James.

Damien sighed. "My appetite vanishes every day."

"Oh no," moaned James. "I don't want a scrawny git for a son."

"Never mind," Damien consoled his father. "I won't be a git. Just a bit scrawny."

James frowned. "I would prefer you to be fat, plum and chubby like your cousin Dudley."

"EW!" Damien swatted his father's arm. "Seriously, Dad!"

James laughed. "Okay, maybe not. Well, if you're not going to eat your lunch, I am," he said, automatically helping himself to the golden fries on Damien's plate with his none- too- clean hands.

"Your fingernails are black!" Damien pushed away James' twitching fingers. "You're not picking anything off my plate with hands that state."

"Oh the cruelty," sighed James dramatically as he cleaned his hands with a simple Cleaning Charm. "There, satisfied?"

Damien pretended to scrutinise his father's hands for a full minute before nodding. James rolled his eyes. "When were you a clean freak anyway? You take after me. Harry... he takes- took after your mother more."

James stopped speaking, afraid that his words had saddened his son. The youngest Potter did not reply; he had shoved a whole omelette into his mouth. Three seconds later, he started to cough.

"Why did you do that for!" cried James. "Are you choking? Damien! Look at me. Are you okay?"

Damien choked down the last of the egg and glared at his father through slightly bleary eyes. "A little psychology lesson for you, Dad. Next time when people do something out of the blue exp. choke down enormous mouthfuls of food, it's because they want to hide what they are feeling, act nonchalant, lighten the atmosphere, or hide their face. Get it? Next time, don't ask."

James' figure relaxed visibly. He would have laughed out loud, but he didn't think he was allowed to. "Eh, heh. Yes, I think I do."

Damien pursed his lips. "You seriously have no tact."

"Hey, you take after me too you know," said James, shooting his youngest son a glare.

"Glad I do," said Damien with a sigh and lay back on his couch.

"What happened to cheeky replies?" asked James, his tone not as light- hearted as before. "Recently I've missed your Marauder genes. My Marauder spirit is a bit dampened. I need you to boost it a bit."

Damien shook his head, his face partially hidden beneath a cushion. "I can't. My brain's a mess. Total chaos. Now nothing is normal."

James stopped, feeling the searing numbness spreading rapidly across his heart. He opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say to comfort his son.

Damien was still talking, face beneath the cushion. "I can't smile without thinking of him; I can't laugh without wondering if Harry will too see the humor in the joke. I've become someone else now, a git that puts on masks and brave fronts automatically for no reason. Sometimes my feet bring me automatically to Harry's door before the empty room reminds me to turn around. Even if I sleep, even if I close my eyes, even if I'm reading... curse it, I can't forget him! Not a single moment of my life since he left have I felt complete. Whole."

"Nobody told you to," James said quietly. "I never wanted you to forget Harry; nor did your mother or anyone else. Harry is still your brother, although he may have left. Why do you want to forget someone you held dear?"

"I don't know," mumbled Damien, his head now buried completely in the couch so his voice was muffled. "I thought maybe... forgetting Harry would make the pain go away too. When it was too unbearable, I often wished I would forget him. But sometimes I don't want to. I just... argh, it's too complicated."

"I know," whispered James softly. "I felt like that too. But after I met Harry last year as the Dark Prince... after I found out that he didn't die when Pettigrew snatched my son away, I regretted trying to forget Harry. At that time, I thought like you did; I had this theory that if I was able to forget my first son, I would throw away all the pain too. But it was useless; a wrong decision. I kept you from it, Damien... that was why I didn't tell you all these years you had a brother you never knew. I was trying to forget Harry, to hide from the pain."

Damien now sat up. He didn't look teary, but James never thought Damien could look so miserable. He was biting his lower lip, looking at the ceiling, shoulders slumped. For a moment both were completely silent, then James decided to break it.

"Please Damy..." he said, unsure if his statement would come out more like a joke or an honest whisper. "Whatever you do, don't keep quiet. It's not natural for you."

Damien smiled a little, but James was not comforted. "Nothing is natural anymore, Dad," the younger of the pair said. "Not since he left us behind. I can't... I don't think I can ever joke around anymore."

James was taken aback. "But you were coping fine all through last week and the week before! You laughed; joked... I-I thought you were recovering," his father told him seriously.

"I told you, I was wearing a mask," said Damien, sounding more and more emotionless. "I thought it'd assure you and mum that I was fine."

Emotionless? No!

"No, no, no!" as soon as the word 'emotionless' flitted across James' mind, he was reminded painfully of Harry, and how much it took to draw his eldest son out of his shell, sending the alarm bells in his head ringing. He leapt across the room to shake his youngest son. "No, Damien! You're never like this! What happened to you?"

Damien kept quiet for a while, before suddenly bursting out angrily, making a taken aback James to back away by one step. "Harry died, that is what happened! The brother I had for not more than two years left me behind, just like that! Do you know how much I've yearned for an elder brother, for his approval? That's why I took all the crap Harry gave me for the first few months! That's why I didn't tell you the truth, that Harry had always been in contact with me long before he was caught. I lied to you just because Harry told me to. Because I wanted my elder brother's trust and approval badly. And now he's gone! All is wasted."

James stared at his youngest son in shock, and felt Damien ebbing away from him. He glanced at the remaining lunch on the tray then Damien's stock still figure.

Where had Damien Potter gone? The cheerful figure that warmed up the hardest hearts? The ever hungry son that never left food untouched? The burning Marauder spirit his father was so proud of? The ever- smiling, annoying spoilt brat? The passionate Quidditch fanatic? The son he loved, the son he never knew could be this precious, was reduced to something he never was- an emotionless mask. He had taken his youngest son for granted. James had always expected Damien to be there for him; to cheer him up with his contagious smiles. But it wasn't so. Damien's heart had followed Harry's when he left, leaving a stranger behind with James.

Hazel eyes clouded over as they watched the son he never learnt to cherish until now.

Silence was met at Damien's words. James didn't know how to comfort his son. He just stood by helplessly as he watched the youngest Potter cradle his head in his hands. The father in James wanted to go forward and hug Damien, fence out every human ill, until his son was well, yet suddenly there was an unfamiliar part of Damien that radiated unwelcome. James tried taking half a step forwards, but Damien twitched slightly away from where he was.

"A-Are you okay?" James felt he had to ask no matter how daft the question sounded.

Damien shook his head. "No, far from it. I-I just want to be left alone."

Those words hurt James more than he thought possible. It suddenly felt as though Damien had transformed into the Harry that was cold and hated his father before. Tears stung his eyes as James stood up and moved over to the door.

"I've already lost Harry," he said. "Please don't let me lose you too Damy."

He ruffled his son's hair fondly just as he used to before leaving, but no reprimanding voice protested. Damien just managed to stay upright until his father had left the room, before crumbling into sobs, each leaving him more tired and miserable than before.

It seemed as though the talk, however emotional it may have been, did Damien some good, for by the time the clock struck twelve, a very desolate James nearly bumped into his youngest son on the staircase.

"Damy?" the elder of the pair greeted hopefully.

"Hello father," came the more familiar response. James noticed Damien's eyes were red and swollen, which held no surprises.

"Are you okay?" James asked, concerned.

"Better now," said Damien tiredly. "And sorry about just now. I felt so jumbled up... I guess I went a bit hysterical and went out of character," this part sounded a bit sheepish. "Sorry for scaring you. And thanks for... well, letting me yell a bit and all that."

James laughed, feeling warmth and relief wash through him. Damien grinned at his father.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" asked James.

"I was on the way to the kitchen," replied Damien. "The lunch tray couldn't last me past the night."

James' eyes widened comically. "Supper? You actually want supper?"

Damien frowned. "What's wrong with supper?"

His father's lips had broken into a huge grin. Before Damien could stop him, however, James had bounded back up the stairs, yelling as though he were proclaiming to the entire world the best news ever. "LILY! Damy wants supper!"

The youngest Potter was completely bewildered. "Dad!" was all he managed, before Lily came out of the room, smiling.

"You're hungry?" she asked, squeezing his arm warmly. "What would you like for supper?"

Damien felt the sudden attention his parents were showering on him nothing short of alarming. "What's going on? You both act as though I've just woken from the dead."

James smiled sheepishly. "I... I thought I'd never have the old you back again. After your alarming speech, it kind of freaked me out, and-"

"You told mum, and mum got freaked out as well," continued Damien dryly, though he was fighting the grin that was breaking out on his face, mirroring his father.

"Ah, that really explains it all," said James. "Lily, I'm hungry too."

Lily laughed. "A moment ago you said you had lost your appetite forever."

James winked at Damien. "The truth of what I say always depend on the change of circumstances around me."

It wasn't a very grand supper, for James and Damien decided to help out in the kitchen and ended up making a mess of it. But as the three Potters sat around the kitchen table spooning egg sandwiches into their mouths, Damien couldn't help but feel as though the brilliant flames from the fireplace were warmer than before, and it filled him with contentment.

Maybe, he thought, even though Harry had left them behind, Potter Manor could be home again. His brother may never be around anymore, but Damien knew that the brotherly relationship he shared with Harry could never die.

Voldemort did not get much rest that night- the thought of Harry's sudden burst of fury when his son asked the question "Who exactly placed the Imperius Curse on me?" plagued his thoughts, and Voldemort had doubt niggling at the back of his mind.

What if Harry had managed to leave a trail for himself to regain his memories, the moment he turned seventeen that night?

But already Voldemort had performed a thorough search, through every single floorboard, furniture or parchment- there was nothing in Harry's room that had the words 'Peter Pettigrew', 'Memory Charm', 'brainwashed', 'James Potter' or a few more other keywords Voldemort had thought of. The Dark Lord's spell would work even though the words were carved on wood, or even if the words were invisible and had charms placed over it, so he was reasonably confident that Harry wouldn't work out the truth for himself again.

Meanwhile in the next Wing, Harry too slept little. All he could think of was the letter he found in his room the night before. Harry was rereading the letter again and again, feeling sick to his stomach. The way the letter was written, it sounded as though Harry himself actually cared for the boy named Damien; sounded as though Harry himself loved his family, and even had friends he cherished, named 'Ron', 'Hermione' and 'Ginny'. But Harry had learnt from various books before- victims under the Imperius Curse couldn't love, and couldn't be controlled to love. It looked as though James Potter had controlled Harry to write the letter word by word.

But the letter sounded so realistic! It didn't sound like a fake.

However, at the words 'fake' Harry boiled with rage again. Hadn't he learnt just what James Potter was capable of? Harry was underestimating the Potters; they were naturals at faking, lying and torturing.

Harry had also found another sheaf of parchment in his drawer, detailing the complex theories about the combination of blood and magic. The barrier he had invented for Dumbledore under the Imperius Curse. According to Snape, this was the barrier Dumbledore was going to use to protect Hogwarts. And according to the mysterious letter he found lying on the table, Dumbledore had been fed wrong information.

Besides the letter, Harry had also found three white feathers beneath his ninja daggers, which he had no idea how they had ended up there, or where did they come from. As far as Harry knew, there never had been birds in Riddle Manor before, since Voldemort killed his black raven ten years ago for allowing the Ministry to intercept the letters.

His mind a total jumble, Harry sat up on his bed and sighed deeply. His life felt incomplete without those one and a half year's worth of memories. He wished he could get them back; find out exactly what had happened, what he had done. If only...

A sudden idea struck him, as words from aforementioned letter flitted across his mind, and the desire of revenge sparked various devious plots and plans in his head. A crafty smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

He looked at the calendar. Twentieth of August. Eleven more days before Hogwarts reopened.

One more day, and he would be able to start putting his plan into action.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review!