Harry snuck cautiously down the stairs, listening intently for any sign of movement below. He paused at the landing and craned his neck around the corner, peering into the kitchen to see if anyone was up and about. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found that it was empty...his parents must have already been up and out of the house, attending to their respective duties. He crossed the living room towards the fireplace, confident he could make his escape quietly.

He had plans to meet with Saul Croaker today, but wasn't technically sure if he was allowed to leave the house. He'd brought it up weeks earlier over dinner, receiving only a vague response from his distracted father in return. He hadn't brought it up since, figuring it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Besides, he had reason to want this particular meeting kept quiet. Bill Weasley would be accompanying him, and Harry did not want to publicize his newfound partnership with the man. If things went well, then there would be one more person in on his secret by the end of the day, which could mean a significant burden off of his shoulders.

Harry knew the Potter fireplace was directly connected to the Ministry Floo Network as a perk of James' Head Auror status – it was just a matter of knowing the proper password. Fortunately, Harry had overheard his father using the Floo to get to work the other day, so he knew just what to do. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the urn and stepped into the grate, declaring, "Ministry of Magic: Prongs!"

After an uncomfortable but mercifully brief spinning ride through the Floo, Harry emerged in the Atrium. The place was humming with activity already, as employees hurried off to work, giving him no more than a passing glance as they walked by.

Harry received a visitor's badge at the security checkpoint and found a secluded area to wait, partially concealed behind a pillar. He scanned the crowd for Bill Weasley, keeping an eye out for a tall head of red hair. Finally, he saw the man wandering around near the fountain, hands in pockets, trying to look casual. Harry wove his way through the throng of people to greet him.

"Hey, Bill," he greeted the man. "Thanks for coming."

"Sure," Bill shrugged. "Where are we going?"

"Department of Mysteries," said Harry. "We have a meeting with Saul Croaker."

Harry led the way through the Atrium towards the lifts. Unfortunately, their clandestine operation was not to go off without a hitch.

"Well, well," a snooty voice called out after him; he turned to see Percy Weasley strutting up to him proudly in his purple administrative robes. "What brings you to the Ministry, Mr. Potter? I'm surprised to see your father has let you out of the house by yourself, considering the trouble you seem to cause wherever you go."

"Not that it's any of your business, Weasley," Harry growled, not backing down against the redhead. "But I have a meeting this morning, and your brother happened to agree to accompany me."

"Is that so?" Percy sniffed, eyeing Bill warily. "Good morning, William. I trust that you are aware of the reputation the Potter family currently holds?"

"I'm well aware, thank you," Bill said evenly. "How have you been, Perce? We've missed having you around at family gatherings."

"I choose my company carefully these days," Percy shrugged indifferently. "I suggest you do the same, and not waste your time with those who can do nothing for you."

"It's not what I can do for you, but to you, that you ought to worry about," Harry said hotly, taking a step forward towards Percy.

"Don't, Harry," Bill said warningly, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's not worth it."

"You'd best heed my brother's advice, Potter," Percy sneered. "The Minister is watching your family very carefully, and the consequences may be dire if they catch even a whiff of untoward activity." And Percy spun on his heel to stride away, head held high.

"What a prick," Harry huffed.

"I don't disagree," Bill sighed. "But he has power now, and it's best not to upset him any further."

Harry and Bill managed to snag a nearly-empty lift, as they were one of the few groups heading down into the bowels of the Ministry instead of up to the administrative levels. "Was Percy invited to the Order of the Phoenix?" Harry asked once they were alone.

"Can't tell him about it," Bill shrugged. "He's too close to Fudge. If the Minister found out Dumbledore was running a secret society under his nose, we would all be at risk of losing our jobs."

"Blimey...I'm sorry," Harry muttered. "Your own brother…"

"He's made his choices," Bill shrugged. "Percy always said he would be the most powerful of all the Weasleys, and he's sold his soul to achieve it. I just hope he doesn't get burned from flying too close to the sun."

Harry felt for the whole Weasley clan over this ordeal. He knew a thing or two about keeping secrets from one's family, but at least he and his own family were on the same side. It must've been painful to not be able to trust someone you love.

They reached Level Nine and made their way down the cool, black-tiled halls. When they reached Saul's office, Harry knocked and pushed the door open, inviting Bill inside.

Saul stood from behind his desk as Harry shut the door behind them. "You must be Bill Weasley," he said, extending a hand to the redheaded man. "A pleasure."

"Likewise, Mr. Croaker," muttered Bill, still looking somewhat confused as he accepted the handshake.

"Has Harry already explained what you're here for?" asked Saul.

"He hasn't explained anything," said Bill. "Just said he might have some answers for me, whatever that means."

"I do," Harry nodded. "But first, I need to know if you're willing to swear a vow."

"An Unbreakable Vow?" said Bill, eyes widening. "Blimey, Harry, what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?"

"A big one," said Saul grimly. "We wouldn't have invited you if it wasn't serious, Weasley."

"It's just to ensure you won't run off and tell everyone what I'm about to share with you," said Harry. "But I promise you, Bill, it's important."

Bill eyed Harry warily for a moment. "Very well," he eventually sighed. "But I wish to set the terms myself."

"That's acceptable," Harry nodded. "Saul, will you be our bonder?"

Saul nodded. Bill and Harry stood facing each other, hands outstretched, linking arms up to the elbow. Saul waved his wand over their arms, causing thin golden strands of light to weave themselves around the embrace.

"I, Bill Weasley, swear not to repeat anything that I learn in this meeting to anyone, unless expressly given permission to by Harry Potter or Saul Croaker," said Bill solemnly. "On my magic and my life." The golden strands of light briefly flared intensely around their arms before settling back to their original state.

"Do you, Harry Potter, swear to tell me nothing but the truth in this meeting, to the best of your ability?" Bill continued. "Nor will you lead me into mortal danger against my will?"

"Erm…" Harry hesitated, considering the words. "I swear to tell only the truth, and while I cannot promise that there won't be danger, I will not knowingly place you in harm's way without your knowledge. On my magic and my life."

Bill pondered this for a moment, then nodded. Once again the golden light strands flared brilliantly to signify the accepted terms. Bill nodded to Saul, who waved his wand once more, causing the light strands to disappear as Bill and Harry released one another.

"So let's hear it, then," said Bill, sinking into a nearby armchair and eyeing Harry warily. "You've piqued my curiosity, Potter."

Harry sighed as he sank into the opposite armchair, deciding where to start. Might as well start from the beginning, he figured. "Bill, I'm a time-traveler," he said bluntly. "I came here from an alternate universe where I was the Boy-Who-Lived instead of Neville Longbottom. And since I arrived four years ago, I have been actively working to slow down Voldemort."

Bill took this in quietly, blinking rapidly as he processed the information. He glanced at Saul, who merely shrugged and nodded forlornly.

"Well, you promised to tell the truth, so I can't very well dispute that, as odd as it sounds," Bill muttered, shaking his head. "How far back did you travel?"

"Five years," said Harry. "I was nearly sixteen when I was killed in battle, and I was sent back to my eleven year old body."

"So that's how you know things that are about to happen," Bill said thoughtfully. "You're not a Seer – you've already lived this before."

"Yes, but everything is slightly different," Harry explained. "Small changes between our universes, things I can't perfectly predict. But the big picture remains the same: Voldemort is back, and we have to stop him."

"So why are you telling me this, and not your father, or Dumbledore?" Bill demanded.

"I can't tell my family," Harry sighed. "They'll never see me the same way again, and I don't want that. As for Dumbledore, well, he's the reason I died last time, so forgive me for not fully trusting the man when he keeps his own cards close to the chest."

"But why me, then?" Bill demanded. "What makes me so special?"

"You're a curse-breaker," said Harry. "And you're in the Order. Do you remember last summer, when I asked you about horcruxes?"

A bit of color drained from Bill's face at this. "How could I forget?" he chuckled humorlessly. "Please don't tell me you stumbled across one."

"Bill, it's worse than you can imagine," Harry sighed. "Voldemort has them. It's how he survived the last war, and how he returned to power last month."

Bill's eyes went wide. " Them?" he repeated. "You mean to suggest that he made more than one?"

"He made at least six," said Harry.

Bill nearly toppled out of his chair at this news. "Bloody hell, Harry," he groaned. "You're telling me the Dark Lord has no fewer than six horcruxes, which could be anywhere in the world, and until they're found, he is immortal?"

"It's not all bad news," Saul chimed in. "Two of the horcruxes are already accounted for: one was destroyed, and the other integrated back into his current body. On top of that, we know of at least two potential hiding places where we believe more horcruxes could be hidden. The Dark Lord prefers to use valuable items as his soul vessels, and his hiding places seem to hold sentimental value to him in some way."

Bill ran a shaking hand through his air. "So you recruited me to help you break into these warded spots, and destroy the horcruxes within?" he repeated. "And there's a chance that You-Know-Who will catch us in the act?"

"A small chance," Harry corrected. "I don't think he keeps close tabs on his hiding places, assuming them to be well-guarded. One of his horcruxes was destroyed and I tripped the enchantments protecting another, and he was none the wiser to either one."

"We have to take this to Dumbledore, Harry," Bill pleaded. "This is well beyond anything I could have imagined. We'll need the entire Order's help to pull this off—"

"You heard what Dumbledore said at the last meeting," Harry retorted. "Discretion is key, and we can't risk letting this information slip back to Voldemort. If he knows we're after his horcruxes, he'll relocate them all, and the war will be lost."

"Just Dumbledore, then," Bill insisted. "He'll know how to handle this."

"There's something else, Bill," said Harry. "Another reason not to tell Dumbledore...and the reason I died in my last timeline."

"What's that?"

"We believe Neville Longbottom is a horcrux," said Harry. "Created inadvertently, the night he killed Voldemort. If Dumbledore knew, he might do something that gets Neville killed."

"If that's true, then Longbottom may need to die anyway," Bill frowned.

"Not unless we can find a way to remove the soul fragment without killing him," said Harry. "You know people who specialize in death magic, don't you? Surely you could ask around and find out if it's possible?"

Bill considered this for a moment. "I've made contact with a necromancer or two in my travels," he said vaguely. "But I've never heard of anything like this...a horcrux, inside a living person? It's unfathomable."

"It's worth looking into, isn't it?" Harry pointed out. "At least now that we have a bit of time. If there is a way to save him, we owe it to him to try."

Bill looked supremely uncomfortable, squirming in his seat as he attempted to wrap his head around it all. "I never would have agreed to a vow if I'd known this was a possibility," he sighed. "This is too much for one person to handle."

"That's why there are three of us," said Harry. "And if we need to bring in a couple more people, we can. But for now, the fewer people that know about this, the better."

Bill stood from his seat and began pacing to and fro across Saul's office, muttering to himself. "Where do we begin?" he asked.

"Eastbourne, I reckon," said Saul. "One of the two warded locations is there, and it's the least likely one we'll be seen at. We can scout it out, and you can tell us what needs to be done to break in."

"And to clarify, this is a location that You-Know-Who warded himself?" Bill asked weakly.

"It's unlikely he made it impossible to breach," said Harry. "He'll want to have left an easy way for himself to get in and check on it, if needed. And it may have been created decades ago, before he was at the height of his powers."

Bill swallowed hard and nodded. "Very well," he sighed. "I'll need some time to prepare. There are only a few known methods of destroying horcruxes, not all of which are safe. Unless either of you two knows how to cast Fiendfyre safely, I'll have to gather supplies."

"Dumbledore destroyed one using phoenix flame," Harry recalled. "Is that something we could replicate?"

"Not unless one of us bonds with a phoenix," Bill scoffed. "Yet another reason to involve Dumbledore, if you ask me—"

"Not happening," Harry said flatly.

"Then give me a few weeks," said Bill. "We'll travel to Eastbourne by the end of the summer. And I can't believe I have to ask this, Harry, but how are you going to assist us when the school year resumes?"

"I'll do whatever research I can from the castle," said Harry. "I can sneak out if I really need to, or else we can meet up on Hogsmeade weekends."

Bill shot an incredulous look at Saul, who could only shrug sympathetically, as though saying, see what I've had to deal with on my own?

"There's something else we need to discuss," Harry went on. "Saul, I finally learned the prophecy from Dumbledore."

Saul raised his eyebrows. "Did he, now? I'm bound by my oaths not to repeat it, so you will have to recite it in order for me to speak freely about it."

Harry nodded and cleared his throat. He recited the full prophecy from memory, which was easy given how many times he'd replayed it over and over in his mind over the past month. Bill and Saul listened intently, and when Harry was finished, Saul released a deep exhale.

"Thank Merlin," he muttered. "It has been so difficult speaking in circles about this with you – now we can address it directly."

"So you must realize the prophecy could refer to me, as well?" said Harry. "Dumbledore is certain that it means Neville, but I'm not so sure."

"But Neville has been 'marked', hasn't he?" Bill said thoughtfully. "That scar on his forehead would certainly point to it."

Harry responded by unbuttoning his shirt and exposing his bare chest to the room. "Voldemort gave me this in my first year, when his disembodied spirit flew through me," he said. "It's benign, but it's permanent...that certainly qualifies as a mark if you ask me."

"And what about the 'power the Dark Lord knows not'?" Saul frowned. "As much as you might pretend to be, you are no Seer."

"I traveled through the Veil of Death and survived," Harry pointed out. "And traveled back in time to an alternate dimension. That's magic even Voldemort couldn't perform, isn't it?"

"You truly think you could be the one that defeats You-Know-Who?" Bill asked.

"Why not?" Harry shrugged. "I'm already focused on destroying his horcruxes, and I'll be there whenever we take the fight to him directly. It doesn't matter to me one way or another who the prophesied boy is...my path is the same."

"Then that's all you need to concern yourself with," said Saul firmly. "I'm sure Dumbledore reminded you that prophecies are self-fulfilling – the magic behind them lies not in foreseeing the future, but in manipulating people into acting towards a fixed outcome, even if they wish to avoid it."

"But why would I try to avoid it?" said Harry. "I want Voldemort dead, and knowing that either me or Neville has to do it doesn't change that."

"Your interpretation of the prophecy may be flawed," Saul pointed out. "' Either must die at the hands of the other'...have you ever considered what that might mean? What if the boy whose life you are so desperate to save has to be killed by the Dark Lord, in order to rid the world of his horcrux?"

Harry's blood ran cold at this thought. "You think...Voldemort has to kill Neville?" he asked weakly.

"Is that an outcome you find acceptable?" Saul asked pointedly. "What if your fruitless attempts to save the boy's life only makes that outcome unavoidable? What if, by keeping him alive, you only prolong the inevitable and necessitate a sacrifice you don't want to make?"

"That...doesn't matter right now," Harry said stubbornly. "We don't have to worry about that until all the other horcruxes are destroyed. Let's focus on them first, and then decide what to do about Neville."

Bill and Saul eyed Harry warily, but both eventually nodded. "We will tentatively plan to meet again at the end of August," said Saul.

"We need to pick a different meeting place," said Bill at once. "Order members will be stationed just down the hall starting soon, and I don't want to answer any questions about why I'm down here."

"Why will Order members be stationed here?" Saul frowned.

"Voldemort wants the prophecy from within your department," said Harry. "You may want to set up some defenses inside, if you haven't already."

Saul blanched at this information, but nodded his understanding. "There isn't much to be done if the Dark Lord himself decides to come and get it," he muttered. "But I can make life more difficult for any cronies he decides to send through first."

The three went their separate ways; Saul entered the Department of Mysteries to begin his preparations, as Bill and Harry took separate lifts back to the Atrium. Harry felt slightly better about everything; bringing Bill in on the secret had gone more smoothly than he expected. He still sensed hesitation in the man, as though he was uncomfortable hiding things from Dumbledore. But that's what the Unbreakable Vow was for: he couldn't betray Harry's secrets even if he wanted to.

It felt good to be making progress, especially when the opposite seemed to be true in the public sphere. The Daily Prophet was relentless in their criticism of the Auror Office, painting James Potter as an inept and ineffectual leader who needed to be replaced. Harry eventually stopped reading the morning paper in detail, merely skimming the headlines to see if anything noteworthy had happened. The finer details usually just made him rage.

But one morning in late July, a unique headline caught Harry's eye. He immediately set aside his breakfast to read:

BOY-WHO-LIVED CRITICIZES FUDGE; DEFENDS POTTER, DUMBLEDORE

By Regina Hornsby, The Daily Prophet

"Famed teenager Neville Longbottom visited the Prophet headquarters earlier this week, and offered a stunning rebuke of our Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Longbottom, 14, has largely remained silent since his triumphant Triwizard Tournament victory last month, along with his heroic defense against You-Know-Who. But in a new statement, Longbottom has a lot to say about the state of our Ministry.

'It's appalling to see how James Potter and Albus Dumbledore have been treated in the press lately,' Longbottom told reporters. 'They have been fighting against the threat of [REDACTED]'s return for months, and do not deserve criticism for his return.'

Longbottom then named several high-ranking Ministry officials whom he alleges are complicit in the Dark Lord's return to power. The Prophet cannot print these names for legal reasons.

The teen also singled out fellow student Harry Potter, 14 (son of James) for his involvement in the June plot. 'Harry [Potter] is the reason I survived the Tournament in the first place,' claims Longbottom. 'He should have been the rightful winner, not me. I'm sick and tired of seeing him and his father's names smeared in the Prophet.'

'The Prophet stands by its coverage of recent events concerning the Dark Lord,' says Editor-in-Chief Barnabus Cuffe. 'It's unclear whether Longbottom was coerced or bribed by the Potter family into making these public statements. Regardless, it is disappointing to see a young, impressionable young man become convinced by the inflammatory rhetoric that Potter and his ilk have been pumping out.'

It also calls into question the teaching methods being employed by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts School. 'Dumbledore has been brainwashing and poisoning the minds of generations' worth of witches and wizards for decades,' said Lucius Malfoy, member of the Board of Governors for Hogwarts. 'It's about time the Department of Magical Education takes interest in our children's education and takes a closer look at how our fine institution is being run.'

Lord Malfoy's comments come soon after the announcement that the Ministry would be appointing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor themselves, after a long string of failed experiments at the position. For more on potential candidates, see pg. 8."

Harry set down the paper thoughtfully. He hadn't heard back from Neville since sending the letter explaining the details of the Order of the Phoenix meeting. Clearly, it had inspired the boy to fight back against the press and use his own positive reputation to defend Harry and his father. It was heartwarming to see, though Harry worried that it would only drag Neville down into the dog house with them.

Later that day, Harry risked a quick trip into town to the local bakery in Godric's Hollow, purchasing a small cake for Neville's birthday. He sent it off with Bandit that evening, hoping the teen was staying sane in isolation at home. He would definitely have to thank Neville in person the next time he saw him.

Speaking of birthdays, Harry's own was just two days later, and both James and Lily took the afternoon off to spend time with their children. "Here's to fifteen years!" James beamed, toasting to his son across the kitchen table. "And many, many more!"

"Amen to that," Lily muttered, taking a deep drink from her goblet.

"Too bad we couldn't have Moony and Padfoot over," James lamented. "Maybe we can convince them to come over for a proper celebration this Saturday. What d'you think, Lil?"

"Can't," said Lily. "I promised Petunia I'd join her family for dinner that night."

"Ah, shame, that," James sighed. "Maybe later in the month, then—"

"Can I come too, Mum?" asked Harry.

"You want to see the Dursleys?" Lily said, surprised.

"I promised Damian I'd see him before summer was over," Harry shrugged. "And it's been a while, hasn't it? Might as well keep in touch with family."

"Well, isn't that sweet?" Lily smiled at her son. "I've been saying the same thing for years! Maybe we should all go together!"

"Ew, no way!" Dahlia gagged. "Dudley is such a creep!"

"I, uh, think I have plans that evening," James said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

"Do you?" Lily asked with a knowing smile. "The same night you just tried to schedule a dinner with your pals?"

James opened his mouth to retort, but knew he was caught. "Very well," he sighed. "Been a while since I've seen Vernon and Petunia myself...might be interesting." The way he emphasized 'interesting' told Harry that James was clearly not looking forward to this meeting whatsoever.

Harry was morbidly curious himself. He was far enough removed from his last timeline that he no longer had crippling anxiety about the prospect of revisiting Privet Drive. He no longer feared Vernon's shouting, or Dudley's fists, or Petunia's strict rules...he was his own man now, able to stand up for himself. Besides, he now knew the signs of abuse to look out for, and wanted to make sure Damian wasn't suffering the same fate he himself had in another life.

Lily insisted that everyone dress up to make a good impression on their hosts for the evening. Problem was, most of the Potter family's "fancy" attire was geared towards wizarding events, not dinners with magic-phobic Muggles. Dahlia broke out the same dress she'd worn to the potions conference earlier that year, while Harry opted for his nicest jeans and a button-down shirt (which he had to magically lengthen, given how much he'd grown since he last wore it). James cycled through a number of dress robes and Ministry outfits before his wife gave up and allowed him to go in a simple jeans-and-t shirt combo with a mismatched blazer jacket.

James Apparated them directly onto the driveway of Number Four Privet Drive, which Harry was certain would mortify Petunia. Lily apprehensively approached the door and rapped three times with the knocker. It swung open, and Petunia stood in the doorway, eyeing her four guests warily.

"Oh, you're early," she remarked, not sounding entirely pleased by this fact. "Please, do come in." And she ushered them inside before any of the neighbors could spot the odd ensemble entering her home.

The entryway looked nearly identical to how Harry remembered it. Same furniture, same ugly wallpaper, same pictures of baby Dudley on the walls (plus a few of Damian's). Harry eyed the cupboard under the stairs apprehensively, Occluding away the dark memories that threatened to creep back into his psyche.

"Darling, the Potters are here!" Petunia announced, leading them into the living room. Vernon Dursley stood from his armchair with great effort, shutting off the TV before lumbering over to greet them.

"So these are the in-laws, are they?" he sneered, eyeing them suspiciously. "Lily and Jacob, is it?"

"It's James, actually," James corrected, extending a hand of greeting. "Nice to see you again, Vernon." Vernon eyed him for a moment longer before reluctantly shaking the man's hand.

"And you remember little Harry and Dahlia, don't you, Vernon?" Petunia said nervously, motioning to the two children. "They were much younger the last time they came over—"

"Ah yes, of course," Vernon grumbled, glaring especially at Dahlia. "You're the little girl who flooded our entire kitchen!"

"It was only one burst water pipe!" Lily chuckled nervously. "Young witches are prone to accidental magic, you see...and we got it all cleaned up within the hour, didn't we?"

"Hmph," Vernon sniffed, before sizing up Harry. "You're a bit of a string bean, aren't you, son? My Dudley could snap you in half like a twig."

"He'd have to catch me first," Harry said with a wink. He no longer feared his uncle, now that he'd learned how to defend and stand up for himself. "I don't imagine Dudders is used to running for his meals, is he?"

Vernon purpled slightly at this comment, but before he could retort, footsteps pounded down the stairs behind them. "Harry! Dahlia!" exclaimed Damian, face lighting up at the sight of the Potters.

"Hey, cousin," Harry grinned. "Having a good holiday?"

"Erm...yeah, sure," Damian shrugged, glancing awkwardly at his father. Harry noted Vernon's glance flit over to his youngest son, eyes narrowed, and wondered if he'd ordered the boy not to complain while guests were over. At least the boy looked relatively healthy; he still appeared well-fed and wore clothes that actually fit him. Apparently being a direct descendant entitled you to proper childcare in the Dursley household.

"Well, let's get this over with, then," said Vernon. "Petunia, where's Dudley?"

"At the Polkisses," said Petunia. "He promised he'd be home by six."

More likely he's roaming the neighborhood with his gang, looking for children to bully, Harry thought.

The Potters followed Petunia into the kitchen, where six chairs were crammed around the tiny circular dinner table. "It'll be a tight squeeze," Vernon remarked. "Perhaps your two youngest ought to stand at the counter—"

"Nonsense; we can make this work," James said, drawing his wand. And before Lily could protest, he twirled it over the table, causing it to lengthen, chairs bumping aside as it stretched out towards the back door. James then transfigured the grandfather clock from the entryway into two more chairs, creating a seventh and eighth seat to accommodate everyone.

"You...that...thing…" Vernon spluttered, looking fearful and furious at the same time as he eyed James' wand warily.

"We can put it back to normal before we leave," Lily said hastily, looking frightened by her sister and brother-in-law's reaction. "Right, dear?"

"Hmm? Oh yes, of course," James said, noticing his wife's fierce look. "My apologies, Vernon, I should have asked first."

Vernon's mustache twitched as he muttered incoherently under his breath. Before he could go off on another tirade, the front door opened and closed, and heavy footfalls signaled the arrival of Dudley.

"There he is!" Vernon said eagerly, his anger dissipating at the sight of his favored son. "Training hard with the Piers lad, were you, boy?"

"Sure was, Dad," Dudley nodded. He looked as large and unpleasant as Harry remembered him.

"Dudders, say hello to your Aunt Lily!" Petunia said sweetly. "This is her family, the Potters. You remember your cousins, Harry and Dahlia?"

"Oh, yeah. Hey," Dudley grunted in their direction. Harry sensed Dahlia shift subtly behind him, clearly wanting nothing to do with the boy.

"Hey, Big D," Harry said casually. Dudley narrowed his eyes in confusion, as though wondering where Harry learned that nickname. But he ignored the quip, lumbering around the table to plop down in his favorite chair.

"Dinner's just about ready," Petunia announced. "Just waiting on the turkey to finish baking in the oven."

"Oh, let me help you with that, Tuney," Lily said at once, following her into the kitchen.

"Me too," said Dahlia, making her own escape. The five remaining boys sat at the table, eyeing one another awkwardly. None of them really had much in common with one another.

"So, boy," sneered Vernon, leering across the table at Harry. "What's your story? You an athlete, or do you just read all day?"

"Erm...I play Quidditch," Harry muttered. Never in his previous timeline had Uncle Vernon shown any interest in Harry's extra-curricular activities.

"Quidwitch? What the ruddy hell is that?" Vernon demanded.

"It's a bit like football," Harry explained. "Only, it's played in the air, on broomsticks."

"Broomsticks?" Vernon spluttered. "Preposterous...the beauty of a great game, tarnished...so what do you do in the air, then? Prance about like a poof and wave that fancy stick of yours about?"

"Harry's a Seeker, Dad," said Damian. "Best in the entire school. He beat Viktor Krum in a match last year."

"Vicky Crumb?" Vernon scoffed. "What kind of mamby-pamby nonsense are they teaching you at that school?"

"Damian's an excellent Beater," Harry added. "He carries a wooden bat and hits metal balls at the opposing players."

"I'll be trying out for my House team next year," said Damian excitedly, looking to his father eagerly for approval.

"Hmph," Vernon huffed, giving his son an appraising sort of look. "If only you could be more like Dudders, playing a real man's sport like wrestling. Tell your brother about your last tournament, son."

Dudley gave Damian a guilty sort of look, as though recognizing exactly what his father was doing. "Er, I got third," he shrugged modestly with his broad shoulders.

"Shoulda been second!" Vernon said triumphantly. "That Beckett kid cheated, I tell you. But still – a bronze medal! Do they even give medals for Quodpot, son?"

"Hufflepuff won the House Cup in my first year," Damian shrugged. "Well, we tied, technically."

"Ha! A tied victory?" Vernon scoffed. "That's what's wrong with society nowadays. Everyone gets to be a winner, instead of having to work hard for it."

Damian stewed silently in his seat at this. Harry got the sense that this was not the first of such conversations around the Dursley family dinner table. Vernon was a strong-willed man who never admitted to being wrong – that must have been difficult for Damian to deal with.

"How's business going, Vernon?" asked James politely. "Still doing sales for that grill company?"

" Drills, Potter, Grunnings produces drills," Vernon corrected him nastily. "And I've been promoted to regional manager as of two years ago."

"Congratulations," said James neutrally.

"And what is it you do, exactly?" Vernon asked. "What kind of employment does your kind offer?"

"Well, I recently taught classes at Hogwarts, for your son actually," James explained. "But recently I was appointed head of the Auror Office, at the Ministry of Magic."

"The Aura Office?" Vernon scoffed. "What, do you read people's 'energies' or some such?"

"Aurors are like magic special forces, Dad," said Damian eagerly. "Uncle James is a brilliant fighter. He captures dark wizards for a living."

"Hmph," Vernon sniffed. "But you couldn't catch that tosser making trouble fifteen years ago, could you? Petunia told me all about him. Some wizard terrorist or something."

"No, he's been a problem for us lately," James sighed. "I'm afraid he's returned to power recently."

"Well, then you must not be doing a very good job," Vernon remarked. James said nothing to this, merely taking a large gulp of his water and stewing in silence. Harry had a distinct feeling that Vernon might actually enjoy perusing the past few editions of the Daily Prophet…

The women returned with the food shortly after, and the two families began to eat largely in silence. Lily and Petunia carried most of the conversation themselves, chatting like two sisters catching up on months' worth of life experiences. They did their best to involve their respective families in the discussion, but no one seemed interested in participating. This was a bad idea, Harry thought, realizing that his gut instinct to avoid the Dursleys like the plague might have been the correct choice.

"So, Harry," said Aunt Petunia, unexpectedly addressing her nephew politely. "How has our Damian been faring at school? He doesn't tell us very much about his time there."

"Oh," said Harry. "Erm...good, I think. He's made friends, and he'll likely make the House sports team this fall. He's quite good."

"You haven't told us about any friends!" Petunia said excitedly, turning to her youngest son. "What are their names?"

"Erm...well, there's one, who's a bit older," said Damian awkwardly. "Name's Cedric. He'll be graduating next summer."

"He sounds nice," said Petunia. "What does he want to do?"

Damian looked to Harry for answers, who found that he didn't actually know the answer to that. "Dunno," Harry shrugged. Cedric had never aged past seventeen in his mind – it hadn't yet fully hit him that the teen would now get to grow up and have a life of his own. What would he choose to do after graduation? How would he influence the war to come? It set Harry's imagination alight.

"I saw the letter your school sent earlier this week," said Petunia. "It said you get to pick elective courses for next term. Have you decided which ones you will pursue?"

"Definitely Care of Magical Creatures," said Damian, eyes lighting up with excitement at the subject. "Hagrid's already shown me loads of animals we get to take care of. Thestrals, centaurs, nifflers, unicorns—"

There was suddenly a loud clatter of china as Vernon slammed his fork to his plate. "I don't want to hear anymore!" he shouted. "Ruddy unicorns...no boy of mine should be studying this crap! He should be taking real subjects, for real people—"

"Vernon, dear, now isn't the time—" Petunia said anxiously.

"And you cannot continue to feed this fantasy!" Vernon said, pointing an accusing finger at his wife. "The boy is wasting his life at that school, and I'm sick of it!"

Vernon stood in a huff and grabbed his dinner plate, stalking off to the living room to eat alone. Dudley cast a fearful look from his mother to his retreating father, opting to grab his own plate and follow the latter out of the kitchen.

There was a supremely awkward silence after their departure. Petunia looked to be on the verge of tears. "I'll just, erm, nip into the bathroom for a moment," James coughed, hurriedly standing and retreating to the entryway.

"Say, Harry, can I show you something in my room?" asked Damian quietly.

"Erm...alright, sure," Harry shrugged. It wasn't as if he was eager to spend another moment at the table given the awkward turn in conversation. He followed his youngest cousin upstairs to the second bedroom (which had once been his), and took in the space. Once again it looked about as he remembered it: a single twin bed, sparse decorations, and a school trunk propped up against the wall.

"Can you unlock it for me?" Damian asked in a whisper, pointing to his trunk; the latch was clamped shut with a padlock. "Mum and Dad won't let me open it until school starts again, but I want to get ahead on my reading."

Harry sighed and knelt to examine the padlock. "Do you have a penny or something lying around?" he asked.

"Think so," Damian muttered. He walked over to his desk and rummaged through the drawers before producing a small bronze coin. Harry pointed his wand at it, transfiguring it into a thin sliver of metal. He inserted it into the padlock and caused it to conform to the pins, taking the shape of a key. He turned the lock open and removed the makeshift key, handing it to his cousin.

"Don't get caught with this," he warned. "Leave it locked whenever they're around, and only use it when you know the coast is clear."

"Wicked," Damian grinned. "Thanks, Harry."

"No problem," Harry nodded. "How are things actually going around here? Family not giving you any problems?"

"Dad's gotten nastier over the years, ever since I started at Hogwarts," Damian said glumly. "I hear him and Mum arguing a lot about me. But he never hits me or nothin', if that's what you mean."

"Okay," Harry nodded. "And you promise to write to me, if things do get bad?"

"How would I reach you?" Damian frowned. "I don't have an owl."

"I'll send Bandit by every once in a while," said Harry. "Let him in through your window, but don't let your parents see."

"Alright," Damian shrugged. "If you insist."

"Good," said Harry, wrapping an arm around his cousin in a half-hug. "See you on the Hogwarts Express, yeah?"

"Yeah," Damian nodded. Harry stood to leave, content that at least his cousin was safe for now. But if he caught a whiff that Vernon was treating his son poorly, there would be hell to pay.

Harry crossed the upstairs hallway towards the stairs, pausing when he heard hushed voices wafting from the stairwell. Lily and Petunia were engaged in quiet conversation on the landing. He paused beside the bathroom door to listen.

"...didn't have to come," Petunia was saying.

"Of course I did," Lily insisted. "What kind of sister would I be if we never saw each other?"

"You know I'm always glad to see you," said Petunia anxiously. "It's just, with Vernon...you know how little things about your world can set him off easily…"

"I thought we went over this, Tuney," Lily said firmly. "You have to put your foot down with Vernon. He may be your husband, but he doesn't get to control who you see and what you talk about."

"Yes, you're right, Lil," Petunia sighed. "I'll see you this weekend, right? To visit Mum and Dad?"

"Keep your voice down—" Lily hissed.

Evidently, Harry had not been the only one eavesdropping, as Dahlia suddenly gasped from below and marched to the foot of the stairs. "You're seeing Gran and Grandpa?" Dahlia asked, frowning up at her mother. "I thought you said they died when we were little?"

"Yeah, what d'you mean?" Harry demanded from above, having been under the same impression. He never knew his grandparents on either side of his family, and simply assumed them all to be dead. By the look of panic on Lily's face, she clearly believed her children were under that assumption as well.

"Erm...it's complicated, dear," Lily said, wringing her hands nervously together.

"You mean you haven't told your own children the truth?" Petunia demanded of her sister. "What your own people did to them?"

"Not our people," Lily protested. "Twisted, horrible people—"

James hurried into the room, as though sensing the tension brewing. "Time to go, Potters," he announced loudly. "Petunia, thank you for your hospitality as always."

Petunia merely gave James a jerky nod of the head in response. James roughly guided his two children out the front door, Lily shuffling along behind them. He put out both arms for his family to take hold, then Apparated them back to Godric's Hollow.

Lily made a beeline for the stairs as soon as they touched down in the living room. Harry vaulted the couch and blocked her path. "What happened to your parents, Mum?" he demanded.

"Harry, please, move aside—" Lily said softly.

"Mum, why are you acting so weird?" Dahlia demanded, coming up behind her. "Why can't you just answer—"

"For Merlin's sake, you two!" Lily wailed; angry tears spilled down her cheeks. "Just get out of my damn way!" And she brushed forcefully past her son, disappearing up the steps, the door to her bedroom slamming shut behind her.

"What the hell was that about?" Harry muttered.

"Harry, Dahlia…" James sighed, massaging his temple. "Why don't you sit down?" He motioned to the couch; the two siblings shared a curious look before sitting there, James sitting opposite them in an armchair.

"What's going on, Dad?" asked Dahlia.

"Your mother doesn't like to talk about what happened to her parents," said James. "It's...not a pretty tale."

"But they're alive?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said James. "In a sense."

"What does that even mean?" asked Dahlia. "You told us they died in the last war."

"Not...exactly," James sighed. "The war was a difficult time for our family. Both mine and your mother's parents went into hiding for their safety, because of what we were doing on the front lines. Unfortunately, my parents died of dragon pox before you were born. The Evans side survived unscathed."

Harry sensed the hesitancy in his father's tone. "But…?" he urged him on.

"Well, we assumed it to be safe after Voldemort was killed," said James. "So your grandparents moved back home. As it turned out, some of the Death Eaters were displeased by their master's defeat, and wanted to take out their anger on us."

"Us?" Harry repeated.

"It's only logical," James shrugged. "The young, heroic Auror and his Muggle-born wife, who were instrumental in fending him off? We were given Orders of Merlin for our efforts during the war. And they wanted us to pay."

"They went after you?" asked Harry.

"They tried," said James. "But we kept our home heavily warded, and didn't go out in public without backup. Eventually, we think they gave up and decided to go after an easier target."

Harry had a bad feeling where this story was going. "Mum's parents?" he asked.

"We never expected them to become a target," James sighed heavily. "Perhaps we should have used stronger protections. A group of Death Eaters broke into their home, and...they hurt them, badly. I rounded up some Order members as soon as they tripped the alarm wards, but by the time we got there, the damage was done."

"What did they do?" Harry asked fearfully.

"They tortured them with the Cruciatus Curse," James said bitterly. "For nearly fifteen minutes. They say the damage is irreparable after about five...they were damn near catatonic for years. Now, they're shells of their former selves, confined to an institution out in the countryside."

Harry had a vivid recollection of meeting Frank and Alice Longbottom at St. Mungo's in his original timeline, having suffered a similar fate. And they had been wizards...how much worse would the damage be to mere Muggles? He could see now why Lily didn't want to talk about it.

Dahlia gave a small sniffle beside him, looking distraught. Harry placed a comforting arm across her shoulders. "Who would do such a thing?" she asked tearfully.

"They were led by one of Voldemort's fiercest supporters," James muttered darkly. "She was the one who did most of the torturing herself. And when she was questioned about it, she didn't show a bit of remorse...she actually laughed when describing it before we sent her to Azkaban."

"Who was she?" Harry asked, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach. He had a feeling he already knew exactly who his father was talking about.

James gave him a bleak look before sighing: "Bellatrix Lestrange."