Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I take all of your comments to heart.

Alrighty, so I was really hoping I could get more than two chapters in before saying this – I stink at uploading, I have no schedule, I don't write ahead more than a few pages and I'm really working on it but I'm kind of hopeless. So don't be shocked if I upload five chapters in five days, seem really excited about the next one, and then fail to upload for a month – it's just my brain being terrible. However, I really want this story to be my first completed story.

(I apologize for the spelling error with Moony yesterday which LilyGinnyBlack pointed out – I was so embarrassed. And the Andromeda thing but I haven't really decided how close Harry would be to Tonks in his world so I'm leaving it open for myself)

Chapter Three: Nightmares and Truths

Whimpers whispered through the air the next morning at the Potter Manor. Lily hadn't heard that sound in years, not since Harry was a little boy, scared of the dark or the creaking of the ancient house. But her ears were still finely in tune with the sound of his pain and blearily, forgetting the situation at hand, she pushed herself out of bed as quietly and gently as possible. When Harry was a little boy, there was nothing he wanted less than for his father to see him scared or weak in any way – probably had something to do with the fact that James was a battle-hardened Auror and had brought home stories of bravery and sacrifice since Harry was five or six. Harry's determination that his dad should never be there to comfort him after he had a nightmare had frustrated James beyond reason. The bond between the two was strong but not always deep – particularly when it came to emotion, Lily thought sadly. But the pranking streak that her two boys shared kept the bond strong and their family ultimately united.

Shaking her head, she turned to look into Harry's room and was taken aback for a moment at the sight of the three dirt and blood smeared teenagers. Panic clouded her mind. What had happened? Did someone attack? Oh God . . . what if they were dead . . .

Last night came flashing back and her mind calmed slightly, her breathing evening out. Her real son was gone, in his place was this damaged boy – well, more a man that a boy – who'd seen far too much for his age. Her mind wandered. What had he seen? What had truly made all the difference? A shiver ran through Lily's body, her mind flashing back to the moment when he'd said she was dead – that James was dead. It was everything they'd tried so hard to avoid . . . apparently it could have meant nothing . . .

A muffled groan pulled her back to earth. Harry was tossing lightly back and forth, his face scrunched in pain and sorrow. It pulled at her heart but she couldn't move forward – fear kept her in place. Seeing an expression like that on her son's face – however different – scared her to the bone. Harry began to thrash more violently and she moved forward, her hand tentatively reaching out to comfort or wake him.

And then he screamed.

It was the most horrible sound Lily had ever heard in her life. She couldn't imagine a worse sound. The strangled cry bled into her mind, obscuring all logical thought, absorbing all self control and shattering the early morning calm. Her hand pulled back on reflex, coming to her mouth as tears sprang into her eyes. She'd never heard such a sound of pain –

"Harry!" Ron was the first to move, darting around the bed to shake his friend. Hermione darted up at the scream, her hand reaching for reflexively for her wand, but at the sight of her friend shaking in his sleep, her panic transformed into resignation.

"C'mon . . . c'mon . . ." Ron grabbed Harry's shoulders, frustration seeping into his voice as Harry thrashed violently against him.

James rushed into the room, wand held high, his eyes darting around the darkened room for the source of the shouting. Upon seeing Harry, he lowered his wand but did not approach. The last thing he wanted to do was unnerve the teens with his presence.

"Aguamenti." Hermione said firmly, pointed a shaking wand at Harry and he was immediately doused in water.

"W-What?" Harry sputtered awake, gasping for air. He looked around in panic for the danger that haunted his dreams, his emerald eyes wide.

Ron let go of his shoulders with a sigh of exhaustion, "Just a dream, mate . . . bloody terrifying though."

Harry nodded silently, his expression unreadable, before Hermione burst into tears and pulled him into a hug. All her fear and anxiety combined with her exhaustion from the past twenty-four hours as she sobbed against Harry's collar. Ron turned red but Harry simply returned the hug, awkwardly patting her back until she pulled away, an embarrassed smile on her face.

James and Lily felt like they had just witnessed an intensely private moment but Lily couldn't look away. The bed was a mess, the sheets were knotted around Harry's feet and sweat stains covering the area. With a sinking feeling, Lily realized that the nightmare they'd just witnessed had probably been one of at least three that had occurred that night. As if to confirm her theory, her eyes examined the faces of Ron and Hermione focusing on the bags under their eyes and the exhaustion lining their faces. Unwillingly, she turned her gaze to take in Harry. Of the three, his dream must have been the most violent – it'd been the only one they'd heard. There was something heavier in him than what she saw in Ron or Hermione, something that caused her heart to break a little. Shame ran through her body. She'd seen his pained expression before either of his friends heard his screams; she'd been there and watched him endure more pain but had made little effort to relieve him of it. Some mother she was . . .

Lily knelt down beside Ron, who gave her a wary look, and slowly took Harry's hand in her own, ignoring how he tensed at the unfamiliar touch. "Harry . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

He looked at her for a moment, seeming to draw comfort from her gaze but he pulled away within moments, embarrassment seeping into his face as he muttered, "S'nothing . . ."

Harry ignored the hurt expression on his mother's face, miserable. It was one thing to have nightmares during the war or around Ron and Hermione but this was something else. During the war there'd always been the threat of Voldemort to keep him from dwelling on anything his mind produced. The feeling of nightmares that left his scar burning had actually been of some comfort. Waking with that physical pain had made him feel like the dreams were of use. Even when it was just a nightmare, his closest friends were the only ones to hear it. This nightmare had been different. His parents were there – or some version of them. They'd seen him tossing and screaming like a lunatic. Maybe they even thought him weak. Distantly, he felt his mother fade out of his sight and Ron put a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. Slowly, someone else moved into focus.

James sat on the bed, directly across from the boy, understanding written across his features, "You're not weak." He held his hand up as Harry went to protest, his expression deadly serious, "It's not embarrassing and it's definitely not weakness. I've seen hundreds of Aurors – full grown men – behave exactly the same way."

Harry raised his gaze to his father's tentatively, neither accepting nor denying the comfort of the phrase. James reached across to give his hand a reassuring squeeze before a loud crash sounded through the house. The trio stiffened, all three grabbing their wands and darting out of the bed. Harry rushed out the door, Ron and Hermione on his tail, and onto the balcony. James sighed at the reflexes born from endless fighting and Lily looked flustered, having been lightly pushed to the side by Harry on his way out.

"I don't see why we had to turn up so early." A handsome man with black hair grumbled to his companion.

"I already told you. James sent me a message." His companion, a man with brown hair held out a piece of parchment, "How would you feel if something happened because you refused to get out of bed."

"Still . . . don't see why he didn't send me a note, too." He mumbled, "He – OIY! Harry!"

Harry darted back, breathing hard. Sirius was there. He was alive and standing in the middle of the living room as though nothing had happened. And Remus . . . Harry's mind flashed to the sight of him and Tonks dead on the floor. Hermione lightly reached out to touch him.

"Harry . . ."

"Harry?" Remus' concerned voice came wafting up the stairs.

James darted out of Harry's room, mentally berating himself for being an idiot. When he'd heard Harry's screams, he'd scribbled a half-panicked note to Remus, thinking that a Death Eater was in the house and trusting the werewolf to be up at the early hour. It hadn't crossed his mind since he'd entered his son's room.

With an easy smile, James bounded down the stairs, "Remus, Sirius! Sorry 'bout that – false alarm, just a little nightmare."

Harry watched his father smile for the first time, drinking in the scene of the too-soon dead interacting. A hesitant grin spread across Harry's face at the sight. The three moved back up to the edge where they could easily see. Lily came up behind them, watching curiously before it hit her. Of course! If she and James were dead, then it would only make sense that Harry had been raised by Sirius – and probably Remus as well. She'd often wondered about Sirius' child-raising abilities when James had insisted that he be Harry's godfather but he'd quickly assured her that Remus would probably be around more often than not if . . . if something were to happen to them. Lily smiled at their backs; it must be a comfort to see people they actually know.

Sirius seemed less than pleased with James' explanation, "Great, up for nothing at three in the morning."

"Sirius . . ." Remus said threateningly, poised to verbally attack him with a few well-chosen words about protecting the people you care about.

"Sorry! Sorry. Geez, Remus." Sirius shook his head before looking up at the three teenagers in the darkness of the upstairs, "What're you still doing up there, Harry? Can't you come give your exhausted godfather a hug?"

Harry chuckled as he jumped down the steps and into the arms of the godfather he'd wanted back so badly. Ron and Hermione followed before stopping short, an uncertain look on their faces as they took in the non-haunted face of Sirius Black and a far less worn and tattered Remus Lupin.

Sirius gave a laugh at Harry's intensity and pulled away from him, "You could've thought I'd died . . ." His gaze lost his amusement as he took in Harry's dirty appearance and the boy's heavy eyes. He did not miss the cuts littering his godson's face or the bags under his eyes, "What happened to you?"

Harry looked down nervously, he'd forgotten his appearance – he'd forgotten that this was not his Sirius. Looking into the man's face, he wondered how he had missed it; this was not the man who'd lost his best friends, who'd spent twelve years in Azkaban.

James coughed awkwardly, "Erm . . . If I could talk to you in the kitchen Remus, Sirius." Looking towards the still dirty trio, he said, "If you three could clean up . . .?"

Hermione nodded, reaching forward to pull Harry back. She'd quite forgotten that they hadn't changed or showered in who knew how long. The only thing they had focused on the previous night was sleep – exhaustion had worn them thin. The night had not been as restful as any of them had hoped however . . . She pushed the nightmares from her mind and pulled the two boys away from the adults.

xXx

The trio-that-wasn't-really-a-trio reached McGonagall's office within minutes and she ushered them in with a quick searching look behind her. To Harry's relief, the office was mostly how he remembered it from his many, many detentions. The familiar sight seemed to calm Hermione, who had been trembling so badly he felt she could cry or scream at any moment. McGonagall closed the door hurriedly behind them and gestured for them to move in front of her desk.

"I'll ask you one more time, if you have any good sense I recommend you answer truthfully. Who are you?" The last phrase was punctuated by a piercing look at Harry.

"Harry – Harry Potter, Professor. Don't you know me?" He asked desperately, "I'm a seventh year in Gryffindor – you've taught me for seven years."

"Harry Potter did not attend Hogwarts his seventh year." McGonagall retorted coldly, "He was on the run for his life. To keep up this lie is, quite frankly, an insult to him."

"But, Professor! I am him and –"

"That's enough."

"Professor?" Hermione meekly asked, "If you won't believe us . . ."

McGonagall's gaze softened at Hermione's voice, she reminded her of the little girl that came to Hogwarts so full of innocence and, she thought sadly, loneliness. "I do not believe you to be Death Eaters but I will be questioning you under Veritaserum. Upon finding your identities, I will then decide the suitable punishment."

"You're going to force the truth?" Ron interrupted indignantly, "Isn't that illegal?"

Surprise lit McGonagall's face, "No. It has never been declared illegal, the times have been too hard to suffer through proper procedures regarding Veritaserum and other questionable potions."

Hermione frowned at this but remained silent. Veritaserum had been outlawed for common, unauthorized use two years ago. It was one of the longest court cases, spanning two years, and had been the controversial subject of hundreds of debates at the time. In the end, it was decided that the potion was an infringement on the witch or wizard's personal rights.

McGonagall retrieved a small vial from a drawer in her desk and silently dropped three drops on each of their tongues. "Now, who are you?"

"Harry Potter"

"Hermione Granger"

"Ron Weasley"

McGonagall sat back, shocked. These three couldn't be the trio that had spent nearly a year in hiding and just vanquished Voldemort. They simply couldn't be. There was nothing in their persona – besides physical appearance – that seemed like Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Maybe they'd lost their memories? She dismissed the notion at once; Harry had recognized Remus and Tonks. The three were disoriented, but only with their surroundings.

"What happened before you came to Hogwarts?" Curiosity overweighed the growing concern McGonagall was feeling. The three all gave slightly different stories of how they'd just been eating dinner or talking to their parents or playing a game but it was Harry's answer that startled her.

"I was eating dinner with my parents, Dad told an Auror story and Mum harassed me about my Transfiguration grade." His voice was calm, detached.

McGonagall stared at him for a moment, "It's not possible . . ."

Her mind reeled, these weren't the teens she'd come to know but they were some form of them, that was clear. Her mind momentarily entertained the notion of time travel but they were seventeen, not some pre-Hogwarts versions of the three students she'd grown to know, and regardless of the age, Harry didn't have a memory of eating dinner with his parents. McGonagall cast her mind back to her experimental studies. She'd always expressed curiosity in the most obscure and complicated areas of magic – it was one of the many reasons she ventured into the complicated process becoming an Animagus was. There were theories – unproved – all of them, that spoke of multiple universes, of runic processes that could allow interaction between the universes. The notion seemed too basic, as well as quite unlikely, to her but until they knew more it was all she had.

"There is the possibility – unlikely, mind you – that you have fallen into a universe that is not your own." McGonagall almost winced at the phrase, like its absurdity was causing her physical harm.

Hermione meekly looked up at her, "This is an alternate universe?"

"There is that possibility," McGonagall stated, looking like she had swallowed a lemon, "Until we know more it is all we have to go on."

"But, Professor, what do we do – how do we get back?" Harry looked desperate.

"Mr. Potter, I doubt very much that we can find a way to 'get you back' for quite a while." McGonagall rubbed her temples in exhaustion, best to get this over with, "There is little I can do for you currently but I will try to keep you protected from this world and its questions and expectations. Mr. Potter, your parents are dead, they were killed when you were one – do not interrupt me, you need this information to function properly in this world and avoid detection – you grew up with the Dursleys, you were sorted into Gryffindor, and, a few hours, you defeated Voldemort. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are your best friends; the three of you have been on the run for the past year. Miss Granger, your parents are in Australia with heavy memory charms placed upon them, I think it is unwise to wake them now even though that was your counterparts intent. Mr. Weasley, your brother Fred has just died tonight, I'm sorry."

Ron blanched, horror written across his face, Harry also looked like he was going to be sick. Raised by the Dursleys? What about Sirius? His parents . . . Oh God, his parents were dead. But Hermione seemed to take it in stride . . . except for one part.

"Professor," She said, her voice clear, "Why are we going to need to seem like we are the other Harry, Ron, and Hermione? You just said Voldemort was dead."

McGonagall knew instinctively that this was never going to work, these three were never going to pass for the trio that was missing – presumably in the universe these three came from. She sighed, "You're going to need to pretend to be them because the world needs them. Losing Harry Potter would be a disaster at this point. The press are going to be all over you and, quite frankly, so will the Ministry. I'll talk to Kingsley to make sure they don't bother you and we'll keep the protective spells up around the Burrow – which we would have done anyway, vengeful Death Eaters are nothing to scoff at."

The three looked bewildered and slightly terrified – none of them had any experience whatsoever. McGonagall noticed this but pressed on, "You'll stay at the Burrow, I'll be sure to let Molly and the rest know . . ." She trailed off, absorbed in thought.

"Professor?"

McGonagall was snapped from her thoughts on exactly how she was going to explain this to the Weasleys, let alone Kingsley, "Ah, yes. And, it'd be best if you three were not to leave the Burrow at any time during your stay here unless under disguise. Use my fireplace to floo there . . . I set it up a few minutes ago so our Harry, Ron, and Hermione could leave without being pestered but . . ."

Hermione nodded. She, to McGonagall's surprise, had been the first to grasp the situation and react rationally to it. Both Harry and Ron were sitting in their seats, staring dumbstruck at their teacher like she'd grown two heads. Hermione moved to the fireplace, and taking the floo powder, tossed it in the fireplace. She firmly stated, "The Burrow." And was gone.

Ron stood next, shooting a let's-just-get-this-over-with expression at Harry before leaving via the fireplace as well. Harry looked ready to follow but instead just stood before looking at McGonagall.

"What happened to my parents?"

The woman sighed, "They were killed on Halloween, 1981 by Voldemort. He tried to kill you too and the curse rebounded – it's why you have the scar, or maybe you don't because –"

"I have it." Harry pushed his hair out of his eyes to reveal the famous lightning bolt, his eyes narrowed in confusion, "I was never told where it came from though . . ."

McGonagall came around the desk to stare at the scar, "The scar come from a rebounded killing curse – you say Lily and James are alive?"

Harry nodded. McGonagall looked at him curiously, "I wonder what saved you that night then. Our Harry, you see, had the protection of his mother who died to save him, that's why he survived. But your parents are alive . . ."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, "What about Sirius? Is he here – 'cause I saw Remus –"

"No, Harry, I'm sorry. Sirius died over two years ago."

No Sirius, no Remus, his parents were dead. Who else was there? His friends here probably wouldn't know him, at least not this him. He was dying to ask McGonagall about their fates but she lightly pushed him towards the fireplace, "I'm sorry, Potter, but I have a lot of explaining to do."

He nodded and stepped into the fireplace, "The Burrow!"

Hermione and Ron's faces came into view as he spun gracefully into the living room.

"Oh good! You're here, we were beginning to wonder." Hermione spoke first, her typical meekness was replaced by the fascination of being in a whole new world, "This house is fascinating. Oooh look at the clock!"

Hermione had never been in a wizard house and looked around in excitement. Glimpsing the clock, she rushed over to see the hands all pointing to School while Fred's was pointing at Lost and shaking slightly. Ron looked over her shoulder at nearly cried. There wasn't a place for Dead, his mother had probably refused to admit that there was the possibility of death, simply choosing Mortal Peril instead.

Harry had been in the Burrow before, but this version was much different. The feeling of chaos was still there, lingering, but it felt odd. He dismissed it quickly though, this whole world felt odd or, he corrected himself, wrong.

Ginny appeared suddenly in the flames. She stepped out and stared at Harry for a moment, as though she couldn't believe he was real. Her mouth formed his name before her eyes filled with wariness. The change, from hope to wariness, made her battered and exhausted state all the more obvious. Harry was shocked to see that she looked older than he himself.

"So, parallel universe, huh?" She asked, as though trying to make a joke.

"Yeah."

They stood awkwardly like that for a moment before Ron and Hermione came to stand a little closer to him. Ron gave a little wave, "Hey, Ginny."

She afforded him a quick 'hey' in return before slumping into a chair and closing her eyes. Hermione moved forward first, cautiously sitting on the adjacent couch, "Um, Ginny. Could you, maybe tell us what's going on?"

"McGonagall just told me, Mum, and Dad that you three are from an alternate dimension. Mum and Dad just went to tell my brothers and I came here." She spoke in an almost monotone, keeping her eyes firmly closed.

"Um, I meant a little bit farther back than that."

Ginny opened her heavy eyes, "You want to hear about the Battle of Hogwarts?"

"If you don't mind – see we don't really have any information on this world . . ." Hermione trailed off at Ginny's cold gaze.

"A lot of people died."

Hermione gazed imploringly at her and Ginny sighed, "Hogwarts was being run by Death Eaters. Harry . . . Harry, Ron, and Hermione came to get something. The battle started. I guess they found it 'cause Voldemort was defeated." She finished shortly, clearly leaving out some of the most important details.

Hermione looked like she was about to push it but Ron shot her a scathing look, protectiveness kicking in and she remained silent though looking less-than-appeased. Ginny closed her eyes but was startled out of her thoughts only moments later when a very exhausted, depressed George stepped out of the fire. He shot one look towards the group and left the room. Percy followed and, with a quick nod to Ginny, walked upstairs.

Bill, Charlie, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley followed seconds late; all looking physically and emotionally exhausted. Charlie gave them a half smile and collapsed on the couch next to Hermione who, startled, got up and joined Harry and Ron. Bill said a quick goodbye to his parents and murmured, 'bye' at his sister and the trio before going outside to apparate back to Shell Cottage. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley turned to the trio.

"Er, so we were thinking we'd keep the sleeping arrangements as they normally are?" Mrs. Weasley said, "Ron and Harry, you'll sleep in Ron's room – hopefully it's the same in your world – Hermione, you can sleep with Ginny."

Ginny looked less than thrilled but nodded. Hermione turned to the battle worn family, "Thanks for letting us stay . . . I'm sorry . . ."

Mrs. Weasley softened at that, "No problem, dear. We're just tired that's all, I wish we could have given you a better welcoming but . . ."

"It's ok." Hermione followed Ginny out of the room, leaving Harry and Ron standing awkwardly in the living room.

Mrs. Weasley, however, looked at the far more innocent version of her son and pulled him into a fierce hug, tears streaming down her face. What she would have given for Ron to have been this innocent and protected. Ron, on the other hand, seemed quite alarmed at the desperate hug and his mother crying. She so rarely cried at home – typically preferring to yell.

She pulled away and looked to Harry like she really wanted to hold him as well but seeing his face, she restrained herself and her emotions. This Harry didn't even really know her in his world, she could tell by the confusion in his face. This was not the boy she considered her son and seeing him looking so innocent and young. She nearly burst into tears again.

"You two should probably go up. Get some sleep . . . we'll talk more in the morning." Mr. Weasley intervened, gently steering Harry towards the door.

Ron and Harry stumbled up the stairs. "Mad, isn't this?" Ron said lightly.

"Yeah . . ." Harry was caught in his mind, he felt beyond lost and extremely unconfident – something he'd never experienced. Confidence – arrogance, more like – ran in the family his dad said. It was a clear Potter mark. In this world he felt like a coward and a distinctly un-Potterlike one at that. The Harry Potter of this world was some kind of hero. Hadn't McGonagall said as much? She'd said he'd defeated Voldemort, that the press was going to try to get a hold of him. And he had to pretend to be this guy? How did he act? Was he confident? Self-conscious, scared, nice, sarcastic, mean, cold, distant?

He brushed these thoughts from his mind as they reached Ron's room. It'd clearly been lived in recently and had a nasty smell to it. There was a ghoul sleeping in the corner, covered in sores. Ron grimaced at it, "What is he doing down here?"

"Family ghoul?"

"Yeah, usually we keep him up in the attic." Ron shrugged before climbing into his bed.

Harry noticed there was another bed in the room. Clearly he stayed here a lot in this world. It made sense, if he was best friends with Ron. Harry pulled back the covers and lay down, feeling extremely uncomfortable. None of this made any sense.

End of Chapter Three

Oh My God this one was a nightmare (haha a pun). And that scene was one of the main reasons why – keeping them in character is so hard. I wanted Harry to have a nightmare (because it's mentioned multiple times in the books that he has them – and before the whole Voldemort connection thing, he has them about the graveyard) so I really wanted that. One of the things that always annoys me about fics (outside of bashing) is when people don't acknowledge the mental affects of this war in post-war fics (within reason – ex. If you're writing about Next Gen. then it's not such a big deal because it's over ten years later but if you're writing about a few months after the war then there should be something). And I watched a documentary on J.K. Rowling where she presses on the difficulties of rebuilding after war and how it's such a brave thing to do. And, while drawing the family tree where she shows who married who, she kept saying 'I think they'll be happy'. So it's important to acknowledge the trauma of war in my opinion. I also kinda love angst so . . .

Also, I had Hermione cry because it was something I noticed when I was rereading the books not too long ago – Hermione does cry a bit more than anyone really realizes (and what is in the movies) so I included it although it was a big subject of debate to me.

Please leave a review telling me what you think! I live and breathe off them – and they're great motivators ;)