Chapter one:

The first thing I noticed was how much my face hurt. I mean, really hurt. I moved my hand to touch it, but I had no idea what I was feeling. Where my nose used to be was a swollen lump of numb tissue.

"Harry!"

I opened my eyes-or tried to, rather, as one of them seemed to be swollen shut. There was something reddish in front of me, but I couldn't figure out what it was. Suddenly two pairs of hands latched onto me. I jumped, my fighting instinct at the ready, and realized that this was a mistake as a fresh wave of pain shot through my body.

"Harry, are you all right?" came an anxious voice. Was that Ron?

"Don't move him-he hit that tree pretty hard. He might have broken something."

"Should we get Mum?" asked a girl's voice.

"Ginny, you go get her-"

"What?" she said, her voice indignant. "I'm not leaving Harry-"

"Ginny, you're going because you're the smallest and you can fly home faster," said Ron in annoyance. "Go!"

It took me a moment to realize the reason everything looked so strange was because I was lying flat on my back. Funny, I couldn't even feel the ground.

"Harry? Can you hear us?" asked one of the twins.

I tried to reply that I could, but I think I just moaned.

"Harry? Harry! Oh, Harry, dear, are you all right?" came an anxious voice. That must be Mrs. Weasley, I thought dully. I sensed rather than saw her drop to her knees next to me. "What happened?" she snapped angrily at her children.

"We were playing quidditch, and he hit a tree. I think the wind blew him off center," someone mumbled.

"Didn't I tell you not to play in the storm?" Mrs. Weasley shrieked. "And now look what you've lot done! Harry dear?" she added, her tone changing completely.

I tried to sit up, but firm hands pushed me back down.

"No dear, you should lie down until your mother gets here and takes a look at you-"

I protested that I could walk, but it ended up coming out as, "Going…walk…."

"Let him sit up, Mum, nothing else looks broken," said one of the twins.

I propped myself onto my elbows, and with the help of strange hands, I was able to sit up straight. My head suddenly began to swim, and I had to pause for a moment. I tried to touch my face again, amazed at how numb it was starting to feel.

"Harry, can you walk?" Ron's face was suddenly in front of mine. I sniggered at the expression on his face but stopped, wincing at the pain.

"Ow."

"'Ow' is right, dear," said Mrs. Weasley disapprovingly. "Boys, help him to his feet. You're sure you can walk, Harry?" she asked earnestly, turning back to me.

"Yes," I mumbled, glad I was finally able to form something coherent. Mrs. Weasley seemed pleased that I could, too, and moved back as Fred and George helped me to my feet. I was unsteady at first, and Fred had to sling my arm around his shoulder so I wouldn't fall over.

When we got back to the house, I slumped down in one of the kitchen chairs. Mrs. Weasley immediately handed me an enormous ice pack and directed me to hold it to my face. It almost completely obscured my vision, but the cold felt nice against my broken face.

Mrs. Weasley paced the kitchen, sometimes muttering to herself and sometimes scolding her children angrily. "I told you lot not to play in this weather, and look what you've done! You're lucky none of you were killed out there!" she shouted, angrily throwing wood into the stove and torching it with her wand. "Just you wait until Lily gets here-I wouldn't stop her if she wanted to strangle all of you herself!"

Ron sat down next to me. I removed my ice pack and saw with my good eye that he looked extremely windblown and worried.

"'s not that bad," I mumbled. My voice sounded like I had a terrible head cold.

"Your mum's going to kill us," said Ron, shaking his head. Then he shot a dark look at Mrs. Weasley. "You know, if mine doesn't first."

I tried to frown at that, but I wasn't sure if my face did anything. "My mum?"

"Yeah, she said no quidditch, remember?"

What was Ron talking about? I was about to ask him as much when a red-haired woman suddenly appeared in front of me with a soft pop.

"What happened?" she asked worriedly, examining my face with a critical and anxious expression.

"He flew into a tree," someone said.

The woman cast a dark look over her shoulder.

I closed my good eye for a moment, then opened it again, hoping to clear my vision. This woman couldn't have been Mrs. Weasley-she was still threatening her children on the other side of the kitchen. The woman looked a bit like Ginny, only older.

"Harry, how many fingers am I holding up?" she asked, turning back to me.

I squinted at her hand. I meant to say 'three,' but it sounded more like 'tree.'

She sighed heavily. "I can fix your nose here, but I'll have to take you in to work to clean the rest of you up."

Did Ginny have an older sister? I couldn't think clearly-the pain in my face was coming back full force.

"Can you walk?" she asked me. "Molly, thank you for calling me," she added, looking over at Mrs. Weasley.

"Who're you?" I managed to say.

The red-haired woman looked at me sharply. I vaguely noticed the room went quiet, but I couldn't figure out why. Was I supposed to recognize her?

"Ron, come here," she said quickly. Ron suddenly appeared in my line of sight, the strange woman's hands holding him in place like he was going to run. "Harry, who is this?"

I stared at her, not comprehending. "Ron."

"And those two?" she said, pointing.

I turned my head in the direction of the twins. Was this a joke?

"Harry, just answer the question," she said. I must have said that last thought out loud.

"Fred and George."

"And me?"

I turned back to her, mystified. Maybe I was missing something? Was she a new member of the Order I had simply forgotten about? With my good eye I looked at her critically-her tired green eyes, red hair pulled back hastily into a knot. I felt like I should know who she was, but I'm pretty sure I'd never seen her before.

"I'm sorry, I've…got no idea."

She exchanged a worried glance with someone-probably Mrs. Weasley.

"Sorry," I mumbled, feeling apprehensive. I could tell everyone was looking at me, and it was making me uncomfortable.

"It's all right, Harry, there's nothing to be sorry about. We're going to head to work to get you cleaned up a bit, okay?" she said. There was a strange inflection in her voice, like I was a patient in a hospital who was dying of cancer.

Before I was really aware of it, I suddenly found myself in an over-bright corridor. There were dull voices and distant beeping everywhere. I held the ice pack to my face, and the strange woman led me down the halls. Finally we stopped, and I removed the ice to see that we were in a small room with a single gurney in the middle and cabinets everywhere.

"Sit," she directed, rummaging through a cabinet. She filled a tray with a pile of snowy gauze, some kind of cotton swab, and numerous other objects I'd expect to find in a muggle hospital. The woman slipped on a pair of pink latex gloves with a snap and doused a pile of gauze with some kind of brown liquid.

We sat in silence as she cleaned my face. Her movements were robotic but gentle, like she did this sort of thing every day. She must have been a Healer; why else would the hospital just let us in to a random room and use their equipment?

"This might twinge a little," she finally said, pulling out her wand. "Episky."

A moment later, my nose snapped back into its usual position. I touched it gingerly, relieved to feel a distinct shape again.

The woman looked my face over one more time, a worried expression on her face. When she seemed satisfied, she pulled off her gloves and tossed them on the metal tray that held a heap of damp, bloody gauze.

"I'll be right back," she said. "Wait here."

I watched her leave the room. Now that my eye wasn't nearly as swollen and the pain in my face was starting to dull, I tried to think of where I knew her from-if I knew her. Something about her was eerily familiar, but I was sure I had never seen her before.

Several minutes elapsed, and I found myself looking curiously through the cupboards, trying to kill time. Most of them were filled with basic medical supplies, and I quickly lost interest. I moved over to the sink and glanced in the mirror, and jumped.

I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised that my entire shirtfront was covered with blood. Everyone had looked so worried back at the Weasley's. But then I noticed something was amiss. I squinted at the mirror, then quickly back down at my shirt, pulling it away from me for a better view.

This shirt wasn't mine. It wasn't four sizes too big, and it certainly had never belonged to Dudley. Maybe I borrowed it from one of the Weasleys? But even that didn't seem right-the shirt, aside from the blood and dirt, looked brand-new. I was sure that none of the Weasleys had ever owned anything new before.

The door opened again, and the red-haired woman appeared with a new stranger who was dressed in a bright green uniform. He must work here, I thought dully.

"Harry, this is Healer Dearborn. He's going to take a look at you, make sure there's nothing else wrong, all right?"

I hesitated. "Er…sure," I said, not sure what else to say.

"How's your head feeling, Harry?" Dearborn asked, pulling out a notebook and quil from his breast pocket as the woman exited the room. "Any pain, lightheadedness, anything like that?"

"It hurts," I allowed, shrugging. "I mean, I guess I hit a tree, so I'm not really surprised."

"Have a seat," said Dearborn, gesturing to the examination table. I did as he directed, and he stood in front of me. "Look straight ahead, and let me know when you can see my fingers, all right?" he asked, placing one hand on either side of my face.

"Okay," I said when his fingers showed up in my peripheral vision.

He scribbled that down. "Now squeeze my fingers as hard as you can," he said, holding them up.

I took them hesitantly, feeling nervous and stupid, but did as he asked.

"Good," he mumbled. I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or himself. He wrote something else down, then said, "I'm going to say three words, and I want you to remember them, all right?"

"Okay," I said, fidgeting. I glanced at the red-haired woman, and she gave me an encouraging smile.

"Cat. Green. Swimming."

I stared at him, but he didn't explain. Then he asked, "What's today's date?"

"Er…June twentieth," I said. "Thursday."

"When is your birthday?"

"July thirty-first," I said, getting nervous.

"You go to Hogwarts, right? What year?"

"I'm starting my sixth," I said, folding and unfolding my hands.

"And you play on the team, right? Lily said you were in here for a quidditch injury."

"Er, yeah. I play for Griffindor. Seeker."

"I played Chaser for two years when I went there," Dearborn said genially. "Ravenclaw. I broke the same arm three times in one year playing, and my mother was ready to pull me out of school to get me to stop."

I nodded, unsure of what to say.

"Can you tell me what the three words were?" he asked, suddenly changing topics again.

"What? Oh-" I said. I frowned as I tried to remember. "Cat. Green…and swimming?"

"Good," he said, making another note in his notebook. I felt uncomfortably like a lab animal. I had no idea what he was testing for.

"Where do your parents work?" he asked, looking back up at me.

I hesitated. There is was again. Everyone seemed to be acting like my parents were alive. What on earth was going on?

I looked back at the red-haired woman. Did they assume that the red-haired woman was my mother? I mean, she certainly looks like she could be her, but my parents were dead. And why would this Healer be asking what my parents do? Everyone in the wizarding world knows the Boy-Who-Lived is an orphan. And what if this woman was in some bizarre way my mother? What did that mean?

Was I in some twisted alternate universe?

I tried to remember what I had been doing before waking up in the Weasley's yard. I know I had been outside, but I was sure I wasn't anywhere near the Burrow. Besides, none of us would have been allowed outside with the Death Eaters on the loose.

What was going on?

Dearborn was looking at me expectantly. "I…don't know…." I said, unsure of what to say. Somehow it didn't feel right to say, "My parents are dead" when everyone seemed to believe that red-haired woman was my mum. Should I play along until I figured things out? Was this some kind of trap?

"Do you have any siblings?"

I stared at him for a long moment, hoping something in Dearborn's expression would give the answer away. "Um…no," I said slowly. Even I could tell my voice sounded like I was guessing.

Dearborn sighed slightly, straightening up. That wasn't a good sign.

I looked back at the red haired woman, trying to identify anything about her. Her eyes were the same bright green, but they were older, more lined. Her hands were bony-looking, but her arms looked strong, like she regularly worked hard. I supposed this woman could almost pass for how my mother would look if she were still alive. But regardless of how she looked, that was impossible. My parents were dead.

Had I just gone insane?

"Your sensory and motor skills are just fine," said Dearborn, directing his attention to me. "And your short-term memory is good."

I stared at him, waiting for the bad news.

"However," he continued.

There.

"Your long-term memory seems to be affected by your injury," he said. "Now, I don't want you to get alarmed," he added, glancing at the anxious woman by the doorway. "We're going to do a few tests to make sure it's nothing serious. You hit your head pretty hard, and it's not uncommon to have temporary memory impairments following an injury."

"What about everything else?" the woman asked. "Is he fine? Is he going to be all right?"

"We need to wait for the tests, but everything else appears normal," said Dearborn.

"But he didn't recognize me earlier-"

Dearborn turned to me. "Harry, do you recognize her?"

Nervously I looked from him to the woman. Her features seemed familiar, but only in the way I might recognize a celebrity or someone I had seen in passing. In truth, I had no idea who she was. But as I looked at her worried face, I found myself suddenly lying.

"Er, yeah…" I said hesitantly. That didn't sound convincing. "Yeah, I do. I just…you know, it was kind of foggy when I first…came to."

What was wrong with me? I had no idea what I was talking about.

The woman's face was suddenly overcome with relief, and I had to look away.

"All right. I'll put in the order for the scan. Lily, you know where to take him," said Dearborn, pocketing his notebook. He turned back to me. "I'll see you in a bit, Harry."

Lily? Lily? So this woman was supposed to be my mother. I gaped at her for a moment before I got a hold of myself and school my features. When he left the room, I was awkwardly left alone with the woman who may or may not be the living version of my dead mother.

"Oh, Harry," she said, moving forward and wrapping her arms around me. It was awkward being hugged at first, but there was something oddly comforting about her embrace.

What was wrong with me?

She felt my hesitancy and pulled back, absently wiping at her eyes. "Right, sorry. I know it's embarrassing for your mum to hug you. Well, let's head out, then, shall we? Make sure your stupid decision to play quidditch didn't cause any lasting damage?"

As we walked around the hospital, I felt like I should fill the empty silence with something. The poor red-haired woman looked so anxious.

"So…are you a Healer?" I asked, unsure of what to say.

She looked at me once before saying, "I've been a Mediwitch for about-oh, ten years?"

"Is that like a nurse or something?"

She looked at me quizzically.

"Or not," I said quickly. Did I offend her?

"No, no," she said, forcing a smile. "You're right, it is like a nurse. I was just surprised you used a muggle example, that's all. I didn't know you knew that much about the muggle world."

"Er, I have some friends that are muggle-born at school," I said quickly. This was half-true. I felt it wouldn't do well to admit I knew about the muggle world because I was raised by her sister my whole life.

It went quiet again.

"So…what does…Dad do?" I asked, guessing that my dad must be alive as well.

She smiled to herself, then looked to me. "He's an Auror. Exactly what you've always wanted to be on the one condition that professional quidditch doesn't work out. And I hope it doesn't, because I don't know if I can handle stitching your broken face for too much longer."

She smiled at me again, and I found myself smiling back before I could stop it.

I really shouldn't get too comfortable with the idea of having parents who were alive. Clearly this was some strange dream or a hallucination, and it wouldn't do to get sucked up in it. I needed to figure out where I was and, most importantly, how to get out of here.

But what on earth was I going to do meanwhile? Just go along with it?

I had two theories.

One, I had suffered a psychotic break. I was obviously so messed up from everything, particularly Voldemort invading my mind, that I had finally lost it. After all, Snape himself said Voldemort liked to drive people inside through Legilimency. In my psychotic break, I must have retreated to some far recess of my mind where I invented a world where I had parents, Sirius, and even a brother.

My second theory was Dark Magic. Had I been cursed without remembering it? Was I driven insane through torture to the point where my mind snapped? Well, that kind of went back to the first theory, but still. Maybe everyone around me was some elaborate Dark Magic spell designed to trick me…into what? Hugging my fake mum and dad?

I really should have been more paranoid and diligent about keeping my guard up, but I couldn't help myself. Moody would have a heart attack if he knew I actually returned home with the woman that I assumed was supposed to be Lily Potter.

I had to keep telling myself that this wasn't real, but it was becoming increasingly harder to believe. Maybe this was just an alternate universe? A world where things didn't suck and I still had a family. Of course, if that was the case, I had no idea how I had gotten here.

It was two hours after the trip to the hospital, and I went through everything. The drawers, the wardrobe, the desk and the bookshelf, and everything else that was in the bedroom. My clothes were strewn all over the floor, but they were mine, and they were brand-new. Or at least newer than Dudley's hand-me-downs. An owl cage sat on a desk covered in junk, and I looked through everything there, too. Mostly it consisted of old letters, homework, and back issues of quidditch magazines. All my old school books lined the bookshelf, as well as a few on quidditch and Aurors. In the very back, I found a worn-looking paperback about codes and curse-breaking.

I read every letter I could find. Ron and I were clearly still best friends in this universe, and it seemed I still got on with Hagrid. I couldn't help but notice there were no letters from Hermione, however, and my spirits fell a little at that. If anyone could help me figure out what was going on, it was her.

Just then I heard voices from downstairs and I paused in the purge of my bedroom. I rushed to my bedroom door and laid down with my ear near the crack.

"…there were no signs of damage," said the woman who might be my mum. "Dearborn said not to worry too heavily-not unless Harry's personality changes, or he has mood swings that seem out of place. Everything else looks good, though. Dearborn said Harry's memory should start coming back gradually, and that we should just take things slow and help him along the way….Yes, I know. Yes, Molly's talking to them now….I've told her Harry's fine, but you know how she gets…."

I couldn't hear a reply. That must mean Lily-er, my mum-was fire calling my dad. It felt so strange to think those words. My mum is talking to my dad.

When she stopped talking and I was sure James wasn't going to appear any time soon, I got back up and looked around my room. It was a mess to begin with, but now it was appalling. The Dursleys would have heart attacks if they saw how messy it had gotten in the one hour I've been home.

Home. I needed to stop thinking like that. This wasn't real.

But it didn't hurt to be curious, did it? To see how the Harry in this universe lived?

It seemed most of my interests matched those of this Harry: quidditch, wizard's chess, and collecting Chocolate Frog cards. There were a few things that were new, though. This other Harry seemed to like reading muggle novels; they were everywhere, strewn about the place worse than my clothes.

His clothes.

I moved to the nightstand, and found a thick leather-bound journal crammed with scrap pieces of paper. Excellent, I thought. I would never keep a journal with Dudley around, but I'm sure glad the other Harry does. I'll look less like an idiot if I know what's been going on. I opened it up to the beginning, and saw that it started when I was eight years old. Reading over the passages, I noticed first that my handwriting hadn't improved much over the years.

Dad got promoted…Mum's started gardening, and she keeps making us eat tomatoes every day because there are so many…Uncle Moony came to visit again…I keep asking Mum for a pet, but she says no, so then I asked Dad… I noticed as I flipped through the passages that several pages had been torn out or scribbled over so heavily that there was no way to read them.

I skipped ahead to when I would have started Hogwarts, and read how the eleven-year-old Harry who had parents reacted to the news. Apparently this Harry acquired Hedwig then, too, only from his parents. He also begged for a broomstick and was too excited about Hogwarts to be able to sleep. Apparently this Harry's mum-my mum?-had to keep his wand locked away until term started.

I skipped through the pages. Quirrell still taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, but it seemed he didn't have Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head in this world. In fact, there was no mention of Voldemort or Death Eaters at all.

I skipped to fourth year, and almost dropped the journal when I read that this other Harry had a younger brother named Ben, who had just started Hogwarts three years later.

Well, I thought slowly. I suppose it's not such a bad idea to read up on this so I don't look like an idiot and Mum takes me back to St. Mungo's.

I spent most of that afternoon looking through the journal, reading up on this other Harry's life. It seemed weird that in another universe, I could have had an extraordinarily average life. I had girlfriends, was the star of the quidditch team, and seemed to regularly get into trouble with Ron. It seemed weird to get jealous of a Harry that probably didn't exist, but I was.

"Harry?"

I jumped at my name being called, and looked up. In the doorway stood the man that must be my father. If he wasn't actually dead, of course.

He looked exactly how I always imagined him to. The hazel eyes were faintly lined, just like my mum's. His glasses were much nicer than mine, some type of black horn frame instead of the cheap wire I always wore. His shirt sleeves were rolled up lazily, like he did this every day after work. Even his expression seemed familiar and easy-going. He was eyeing my bruised face with mild amusement, but I could still find traces of worry in his eyes and around his mouth.

"Your mum says you broke your face today?" he asked, grinning crookedly.

"It was an accident," I said lamely, unable to tear my eyes away.

"I suppose Mum and Molly have already done the yelling, and I don't need to?"

"Actually, Mum hasn't really shouted at all," I said. My dad's expression changed to confusion slightly, and I immediately regretted it. Clearly I had said the wrong thing.

He seemed to let it pass, however. He placed his hands in his pockets, and said, "You know, a broken nose suits you well. I wouldn't say you got it from flying into a tree, though. Doctor the story a bit and tell everyone you fought off a troll single-handedly."

I smiled sardonically at that. Well, I had come close one time…

"You're okay, though, right?" he asked, more seriously this time. "Mum says your memory's a little off from the crash."

"Er, it's getting there," I lied, holding up the journal I had been reading. "Good thing I kept these things, eh?"

He smiled at that. "Yeah, just be careful what you admit to not remembering around Ben, or he's going to take advantage of you. 'Sure Harry, of course you give me half your allowance. Don't you remember?'"

I couldn't help but laugh at that. My dad-or this other Harry's dad-was so easy to be around.

"Anyway-Mum sent me up to tell you supper's ready, and that she'll gladly bring you up a tray if you're not feeling well."

"Er, I'm not really hungry," I lied. "I ate a big lunch at Ron's earlier." Really I just wasn't sure it was a good idea to get too wrapped up in this strange life. I wanted to make sure I had done sufficient research on this Harry's life before I sort of temporarily took over it.

He frowned, looking worried. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I replied, hoping I sounded nonchalant and convincing. "Hey—is there, er, any way I could talk to Sirius?" I added suddenly. I said it without thinking. I was just so used to the idea that things were different in this universe that I automatically assumed Sirius was alive, too.

My dad looked surprised at that. I realized it was too late to backpedal without changing my mind, so instead I stared at my dad and kept my face as serious as I could.

"Sure, sure," he said finally, looking mystified. "Let me go grab the mirror."

I didn't know why I wanted to talk to him so badly—it wasn't as though he could help or explain what was going on. This Sirius could think I was totally crazy, but still I wanted to talk with him. If I didn't have Hermione, then Sirius was my next best ally in this bizarre world. As much as I loved Ron, I knew he would be just as baffled as me, even in this universe.

While he was gone, I paced my room anxiously, trying to think of the best way to explain what was going on without sounding like I had just lost my mind. My dad reappeared a moment later, holding out the two-way mirror before I could think of my speech. He hesitated in my doorway for a second, hands in his pockets.

"Right. Well. I'll leave you to it," he said, closing my bedroom door behind him.

I looked at the mirror in my hands. Why was I so nervous? I shouldn't be nervous. It was Sirius—I could tell him anything.

I took a deep breath. "Sirius Black."

I waited a moment, until finally my reflection was replaced with a dark shadow. I frowned. I had done it correctly, hadn't I?

Just then a face appeared in the mirror. "Harry?"

It was him.

"Harry, is everything all right?" he asked worriedly.

I must have looked completely stupid, staring blankly back at him. "Fine, everything's fine," I managed to say. Oh god, what a lie.

He frowned. "You sure? What happened to your face?"

Then I remembered my broken nose and black eye. "Oh, it's nothing. Just an accident—I hurt myself playing Quidditch," I said.

"Oh." There was a pause. "Well, what can I do for you?" he asked. Perhaps I was just projecting my own anxiety, but I thought Sirius sounded a little nervous. Why would he sound nervous? But then I remembered I was acting strangely by everyone's standards, so of course he would look uneasy.

I opened my mouth to speak, but then I realized I wanted to talk to Sirius face to face. If he really was alive. Real or not, I wanted to see him in person again.

"Is there a way we could talk? In person, I mean?" I asked.

There was the briefest of pauses. "Yeah, sure," he said. His voice was casual, but something in his expression still seemed off. Was I really this bad at pretending to be a different Harry? "Um, do you want me to come over?"

"Actually, can I come to your place?" I asked. I didn't want to risk having my parents—the other Harry's parents—overhearing anything. "Tomorrow?"

"Er, yeah, if you're feeling up to it," he said. I could tell he was eyeing my injuries.

"I'm fine," I said hastily. "Mum stitched me up pretty well. She says the swelling will go down before the end of the week. It looks worse than it feels." Actually, that last part was a lie. My face was growing increasingly sore every time I spoke.

"Just let your parents know where you're going," he said. "You know your Mum's going to go completely mental if she thinks you've snuck out to Ron's."

Just then there was a knock on the door.

"Gotta go," I said. "See you tomorrow."

When Sirius disappeared and his face was replaced with my own reflection, I couldn't help but feel a tugging in my chest. I was half-tempted to call Sirius again, just to be sure that he was really there. But then I remembered that nothing in this universe was real anyway, so I guess it didn't really matter.

"Come in," I called, suddenly remembering there had been a knock at the door.

It was Lily.

"You sure you're not hungry?" she asked, looking worried.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said, trying to sound casual. "I ate a big lunch at Ron's earlier. You know how Mrs. Weasley is."

That seemed to relax her a little. "All right. I saved some leftovers for you if you change your mind and want to heat them up later."

"Yeah. Thanks, Mum." Wow, now that felt weird to say.

She hesitated in the doorway for a moment. "Okay. Well… goodnight."

"'Night, Mum."

She closed the door softly, and I turned back to my wreck of a room. As tempting as it was to stay in this world, I knew I should be getting back. What would the real Weasleys be saying? Or the Order? And what of Ron and Hermione?

I couldn't sleep that night. I spent the entire time going through the bedroom, and then when my family—or this other Harry's family, rather—had gone to sleep, I explored the house.

The main stairway was crammed with pictures, nearly all of which were of Ben and I: our first steps, first days at Hogwarts, family trips, holidays, and so forth. Most of them were wizarding photographs, but there were a few muggle ones in there as well. There were other people, too. I recognized Neville and his parents, Ron's family was there, and of course Lupin, Pettigrew, and Sirius. As I looked, however, I noticed that there weren't as many of Sirius as there were of the other two. I thought that was kind of strange, especially since the few of him appeared to be among the oldest.

The house was much larger than I had imagined it to be, though I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. Everyone had told me my parents' house had been a handsome place. The staircase emptied into a wide hallway that ran from the front entryway to the back dining room, which was equipped with enormous bay windows. There was a sitting room, a small office crammed with books that must belong to James, a living room, a tea parlor, and a guest bedroom. Nearly all the rooms were equipped with a fireplace, and they all had a different color of wallpaper and style of furniture.

I took everything in—the style of artwork my parents had selected, how messy one room was compared with another, and what kind of books and miscellaneous items lined the shelves and filled glass cabinets. I noticed there were several objects that I didn't recognize—they appeared to have been imported, though I couldn't tell from what country.

From the dining room, there was a narrow door that joined it to a kitchen. I had half expected it to be immaculate and well-presented like the rest of the house, but I was surprised to find it resembled Molly Weasley's kitchen. There were pots and pans hanging from a rack off the ceiling. Jars lined every available space on the countertop and on shelves, filled with everything from spices to baked goods. Areas that weren't taken up by dishes or food were adorned with roosters. There were ceramic ones next to the bread box, tin roosters nestled between china on the shelf, and a stained-glass one in the window above the sink. As I investigated, I found seventeen in all.

I poured myself a glass of water from the sink, and peered out the window. A large poplar tree was brushing against the brick wall of the house in the evening breeze. It was too dark to accurately judge, but I was sure that the property was just as expansive as the house.

It was incredibly tempting to just stay here and pretend to be this Harry—he seemed to have a good life. He had parents and a brother, a nice house, and a life completely void of Death Eaters and Voldemort. Sirius was still alive, and our friends were nearly the same. Things seemed so much simpler, and I felt a pang of anger. This could have been my life—should have been my life—if it weren't for Voldemort.

But then I remembered that I still had my own life, wherever that was. I'm sure my friends and the Order were thoroughly panicked by now, and I needed to hurry up and find a way out. I had no idea if Sirius could help me—I knew he wasn't the same Sirius I had known, but he was the only person I felt comfortable talking to. Maybe he would know something about alternate universes, and could explain what had happened to me.

As I stood in the dim lighting of the kitchen, I wondered what had happened to this world's Harry. Had he simply disappeared, or did we switch places? That's going to be a shock for him: his entire family, godfather included, would all be dead. And he would have the responsibility of being the wizarding world's savior, whatever that meant.

If we did switch places, did that mean the other Harry would also be trying to find a way back to his life? I wouldn't blame him—mine is hardly enviable.

After a while, the sky started to lighten to a dull grey-blue, and I decided to sneak back into my room. I laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling as my room gradually lightened with the morning sun.