FicWad

Harry’s heart raced, its frantic beats pounding in his ears. Excitement and apprehension swirled within him as he anticipated rejoining reality and reconnecting with his friends. Reflecting on his triumph in the ritual, he felt a wave of relief wash over him—he had faced the ultimate test and emerged victorious. Now, he stood on the brink of returning to the realm of the living, his soul unscathed.

The blurry figures in the distance comforted him, assuring that his friends awaited. Glancing back, Harry couldn’t help but smile appreciatively at the spot where Snape had disappeared. Snape’s unexpected assistance had been a crucial turning point, helping Harry confront his inner demons and conquer his guilt. Without that intervention, he realised he may have been consumed by darkness and endless self-blame. But now, the ordeal was behind him, and he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders.

Returning his focus to the path ahead, Harry suddenly found himself enveloped in a thick, clinging fog. The dense mist obscured his surroundings, transforming the familiar landscape into an enigmatic maze. Squinting through the haze, Harry strained to glimpse what lay ahead, but the veil remained impenetrable. Frowning in confusion, he questioned the authenticity of his senses, yet steeled himself and forged on, relying on intuition to navigate the uncertainty that now surrounded him.

“Hermione! Ron!” Harry called out into the mist, his voice echoing in the emptiness as he desperately hoped for a response from his missing friends. With his heart pounding, he stood there, a sense of worry and dread creeping over him as he feared he had lost them in the fog. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he scanned the surroundings, until a faint glimmer caught his eye—two shadowy figures barely visible through the thick mist.

Relieved, Harry tentatively stepped forward, his senses heightened as he strained to see through the haze. Suddenly, a beam of sunlight broke through the clouds, illuminating the world around him. For a moment, he shielded his eyes against the brightness, but as it faded, he found himself staring at a figure he never expected to see.

“Harry, we’ve been searching for you,” came a soft, urgent voice that carried a profound sense of familiarity. Harry froze. What he had thought to be Hermione’s voice was now soft, melodic—a dreamlike echo from his distant past. The sight of the woman before him caused his breath to catch; her dark red hair framed a face he’d seen only in photographs. It was Lily Potter, warm and radiant, standing before him as if no time had passed.

Time seemed to stand still as he was transfixed by his mother’s presence, a flood of emotions coursing through him—joy at being near her, regret for the lost moments, and bewilderment at the impossible reality of seeing her alive and in the flesh.

He blinked, struggling to comprehend this surreal scene, when suddenly heavy footsteps echoed through the mist. “There you are!” a voice exclaimed, shattering the ethereal moment.

A strong hand gripped Harry’s shoulder, compelling him to turn. “Dad?” Harry murmured, his voice trembling with disbelief, as James Potter—tall with his signature dishevelled hair—stood before him, a figure of unwavering love and warmth.

“Well, Harry,” James said, his tone weary yet relieved. “I’ve been searching all over Diagon Alley for you. I was worried you had gotten lost or something.” The attempted levity contrasted sharply with the turmoil churning within Harry’s heart.

Harry blinked, grappling with the jarring dissonance between his memories and the impossible present. His parents, whom he had believed to be gone, victims of a dark world that had marked him from birth, now stood before him. Confusion washed over him, and he felt as if the ground beneath him was shifting, refusing to provide the solid support he had always taken for granted.

“What’s wrong?” James asked, his brow furrowing at Harry’s stunned silence. “Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?”

Lily, sensing the mounting tension, frowned slightly. “There’s nothing wrong with your face, dear,” she replied, her voice steady but laced with concern. She turned her attentive gaze to Harry, her eyes narrowing with motherly discipline. “Your father and I were so worried when you disappeared while we were looking at the owls. Where did you go, young man? We were beside ourselves with worry!”

The words hung heavily in the air for Harry, weighted by the falsehood of his situation. “I...” He faltered, struggling to articulate the turmoil swirling in his mind. How could he be standing here, amidst owls and cauldrons, with his parents alive and worried about him?

Sensing the tension, James cleared his throat. “Lily, I think our son simply got carried away exploring Diagon Alley. It’s understandable to be overwhelmed on your first visit, right?” He forced a smile, trying to ease the atmosphere, but it felt like a flimsy mask over the truth.

Harry couldn’t shake the sense that something was terribly off. As if in a dream, he caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby glass cabinet, further distorting the reality. The diminutive, frail, wide-eyed figure staring back at him was a ghost of his eleven-year-old self, not the teenager he had become.

Staggering backward, Harry’s heart pounded furiously in his chest. How could this be happening? How could he see his younger self? The shock of confronting his past self terrified him, making the world feel foreign and uncharted. It was as if he were trapped in a time-bending illusion.

Questions raced through his mind. Had dark magic ensnared him? Had he unwittingly travelled into a fractured timeline where past and present collided? As he scrutinised his own reflection, the familiar features becoming a bewildering blur, anxiety gnawed at him relentlessly. What sorcery had twisted his reality? Was this some malevolent trick meant to undo him? Had he somehow awakened in a version of Diagon Alley untouched by his grief?

The air crackled with the tension of youthful magic. “Harry?” Lily’s voice pulled him back. “Are you alright?”

Frantically, he shook his head, trying to dispel the images clouding his vision. “I... I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, heavy with emotions he couldn’t fully comprehend.

“Hang in there, kiddo,” James said, mistaking Harry’s anxious expression for exhaustion. “We’ll be at the Leaky Cauldron for a bite to eat before you know it.”

Despite his father’s well-intentioned reassurance, Harry couldn’t shake his deep-seated sense of foreboding. It wasn’t exhaustion that plagued him, but rather an overwhelming fear and uncertainty that clouded his thoughts. Surrounded by his cheerful family in Diagon Alley, the warmth of the sun felt disconnected from the pall that had engulfed him.

“Harry, you seem a bit green,” Lily remarked, gently placing her hand on his cheek. Her concerned yet loving gaze was a beacon amidst his turbulent thoughts. “Let’s grab a bite before heading home. You can’t resist some pumpkin juice and treacle tart, can you?”

“I-I’m alright,” he stammered, his quivering voice betraying his unease. In truth, the familiar comfort of food had been replaced by gnawing anxiety.

Undeterred, Lily brushed off his protest with a determined wave of her hand.

As Harry delved deeper into the world of magic, his hunger for answers was eclipsed by the swirling questions in his mind. Should he dare to broach the subject of Voldemort?

“Isn’t she stunning?” James exclaimed, his eyes transfixed on a magnificent snowy owl in a cage at Eeylops Owl Emporium.

“Hedwig!” Harry blurted, a rush of familiarity washing over him and igniting sparks of a past he didn’t fully grasp but felt innately connected to.

“Hedwig?” James asked, confusion etching his features. “Do you know her?”

Caught off guard, Harry fumbled for words. “I just thought the name suited her,” he finally offered, hoping his explanation would suffice, though his heart raced with the weight of the owl’s significance.

Lily firmly decided that Harry should choose the snowy owl, dismissing James’s original suggestion of a rat with an unwavering smile. As they navigated the enchanting sights and sounds of the wizarding world, Harry observed the dynamics between his parents. Despite their differences, they complemented each other perfectly—he saw his father’s quick wit and humour, as well as his mother’s nurturing spirit, reflected in himself.

At Quality Quidditch Supplies, James’s excitement bubbled over as he gazed longingly at a sleek new broomstick in the window. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” he exclaimed, arms gesturing as if to reach out and touch it.

Lily’s reaction was immediate and sharp, her voice cutting through the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me! You don’t need any more unnecessary expenses.”

James feigned innocence, but the half-smile on his face betrayed a spark of rebellion. “What?” he questioned, the glint in his eye telling a different story.

“You already have a collection of broomsticks at home,” she insisted firmly. Harry felt the tension rise—the playful banter reminiscent of his childhood, but a strange mix of loyalty and concern twisted in his heart.

“I didn’t say I’d buy it,” James protested, his voice dropping. Then, in a murmur, “For you, I will.”

Harry smiled at the hint of paternal affection, but familiar guilt crept in as memories of broomstick mishaps flashed through his mind. “It’s fine, Dad,” he reassured softly, trying to downplay the matter. “We’ll manage.”

James surrendered, the light in his eyes dimming as he acknowledged Lily’s authority. With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the enticing display. “There’s no point arguing with your mother. She’ll be furious if I go against her wishes,” he admitted with a shrug, attempting to revive the playful spark. “But who cares? We can outfly her if we take to the skies.”

“She’s got a wand, Dad,” Harry pointed out, his voice edged with caution as he gestured towards the concealed weapon tucked safely within Lily’s cloak.

“Oh, right,” James replied, a sheepish grin breaking through as he dropped the subject, their laughter lingering in the air.

Harry’s heart beat in tandem with the bustle of the crowd. With every passing moment, he felt more alive, more connected to the world that had once felt both vibrant and terrifying. It was here, amidst the clattering of hooves, the exuberant chatter of witches and wizards, and the enticing aromas wafting around every corner, that he felt the growing warmth of nostalgia and excitement envelop him.

When he glanced sideways at his father, Harry couldn’t help but marvel at their striking resemblance—the same unruly black hair that defied gravity and the familiar, round glasses that sometimes slipped down their noses. It was peculiar and delightfully surreal, almost as if they could pass for twins despite the years separating them.

James excitedly pointed to an ornate shop sign covered in sparkling runes. “Look, Harry! That’s where they sell the best wands in all of London, originating from the Elder Trees of the Forbidden Forest.”

Lily chuckled beside him. “Always so eager to be the centre of attention, aren’t you?” She added, “But don’t forget the wands have unique cores and personalities of their own.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile, his parents’ enthusiasm infectious. Though he had learnt about the magical items in school, being here with them transformed each trinket into something wondrous, every legend a tale he longed to discover.

Walking through the bustling crowd, Harry was awash in a whirlwind of emotions. Years ago, he had strolled these same streets with Hagrid’s watchful gaze, revelling in the excitement of his inaugural visit and swapping tales with friends. But now, the experience brimmed with a radiant, fulfilling energy—the very people he had yearned to know now surrounding him.

Harry’s fingers intertwined with theirs, a web of love and security enveloping him. Their warm affection radiated through the touch, grounding him in the reality he had long dreamt of. Yet, a nagging doubt lingered—was this enchanting reunion too good to be true? Had fate merely crafted a fleeting illusion to soften the relentless hardships he had faced?

As his mother’s laughter rang out like music, a pang of unease gripped his heart. This moment was too beautiful, too perfect. The love shining in their eyes made it hard for him to breathe, caught between the ecstasy of the present and the fear of losing it all.

“Are you okay, Harry?”Lily’s concerned voice pierced through Harry’s swirling thoughts, her affection evident. The comforting warmth of her words enveloped him, chasing away the dark shadows of doubt.

“Yes, Mum. I’m... just thinking.” He smiled weakly, brushing aside the shadow of his fears. The love radiating from them was palpable, a refuge far too precious to entertain those lingering doubts.

Despite his lingering doubts, Harry knew in his heart that nothing could compare to this moment of being reunited with his parents. The chance to feel their love and warmth again was a priceless gift he cherished above all else. As he gazed at them, Harry’s heart swelled with profound gratitude and affection, overwhelmed by the happiness and sense of belonging they brought to his life. Simply being with them, sharing in their laughter and affection, exceeded his wildest dreams. Surrounded by the magical wonders of Diagon Alley and enveloped in his parents’ embrace, Harry knew his most cherished dream had come true in the most unexpected and beautiful way.

After leaving Ollivander’s Wand Shop, Harry and his parents made their way towards the Leaky Cauldron. He cradled his new wand—a beautiful instrument crafted from holly wood with a core of unicorn hair. Its smooth, gleaming surface held an otherworldly allure, a tangible reminder of the magic now at his fingertips. Yet the weight of that power paled in comparison to the unsettling thoughts swirling in his mind.

Mustering his courage, Harry broke the awkward silence. “Mum?”

“Yes, dear?” she replied, her eyes still fixed on the Daily Prophet headline.

“Do you know anything about Vol—”

“Oh wow!” Lily interjected excitedly, her voice rising with enthusiasm as she pointed at the paper. “This is unbelievable!”

Shaking off his initial confusion, he rushed to catch up with her enthusiasm. But as he read the headline—“AT LAST! THE MUGGLE PRIME MINISTER UNITES WITH MINISTER TOM RIDDLE TO PROMOTE PEACE AND SAFETY FOR ALL”—he was left stunned.

The words seemed to swirl as a wave of bewilderment crashed over him. Tom Riddle, now the Minister of Magic, advocating for peace between Muggles and wizards? Even as a young man, Harry’s instincts screamed that this was inconceivable. The very villain who had haunted his childhood, the dark wizard of his nightmares, was somehow aligned with the Muggle Prime Minister? It felt like a betrayal of everything he had been raised to believe.

With furrowed brows, he could hardly keep his thoughts in line as scepticism clouded his mind.

Lily turned her patient gaze toward him, breaking through his jumbled thoughts. “What were you trying to ask, Harry?” she asked gently.

Harry hesitated, then decided against voicing his questions. The truth was too complex, too laden with ideals he wasn’t ready to confront. He forced a casual smile and shrugged, “Nothing, really.”

Lily beamed at the report, seemingly oblivious to the apprehension swirling in his mind. “He’s remarkable, isn’t he?” she exclaimed, focused entirely on the glowing image of Riddle.

Harry couldn’t help the way his body recoiled. “Has he always been like this?” he asked, his voice tinged with unease.

James chuckled as he studied the sharp profile of Riddle in the newspaper. “Do you mean impressive when you say ‘like this’? Oh, definitely. He was quite remarkable in his day.”

Harry’s breath caught. “You knew him?”

“Of course,” James said, a hint of wistfulness in his smile. “Riddle was in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He could be quite ruthless, as I saw when dealing with dark wizards during my time at the Ministry.”

Harry’s certainties crumbled as he stared at his father. The solid trust that had once grounded him now wavered. “You’re an Auror?” he asked, bewildered.

“Yes, indeed!” James replied with a pleased laugh. “Why are you so surprised? You’ve always known. In fact, you even mentioned wanting to follow in Riddle’s footsteps. I assumed you were showing your support.”

Harry hesitated, struggling to quiet the echoes of disbelief swirling in his mind. “I—I don’t remember,” he admitted.

“He believed in eradicating evil from the world,” James continued, his admiration evident in each word. “Even at the cost of his own life. Just look at him now—Minister of Magic. We couldn’t be prouder.”

Disbelief gripped Harry as the absurdity of the situation overwhelmed him. “But... that can’t be real,” he muttered, struggling to fathom the idea that the most feared dark wizard could have undergone some kind of transformation, perhaps even for a noble purpose.

Sensing Harry’s confusion, Lily cleared her throat and steered the conversation back to the magical realm. “Do you recall Riddle and his wife, Bellatrix?”

“Lestrange?” Harry gasped, his heart racing with disbelief.

Lily’s brow furrowed. “Yes, that’s right. I’m surprised you forgot, Harry. We had a celebration for your father’s ministry promotion, and Riddle and Bellatrix were there. They used to be Auror partners.”

The flood of revelations threatened to drown him. The fragments of his past collided violently against the foundations he believed were solid. How could his family, his parents, have been so deeply woven into a history he was still struggling to comprehend?

“I think it’s coming back to me,” Harry lied, unable to bear the aching confusion gnawing at him. His voice barely concealed the inner turmoil. Amidst the chaos, a glimmer of relief settled over him. Perhaps his loved ones were unharmed, and the world was more complex than it seemed. Maybe that was a comforting thought to hold onto.

As he gazed down the cobbled street toward the Leaky Cauldron, a newfound uncertainty lingered, like the distant rumble of impending storms.

Inside, the Leaky Cauldron bustled with energy—laughter, chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the sizzle of pans in the kitchen. For Harry, the familiar surroundings stirred a mix of nostalgic comfort and the anxiety of constant scrutiny. As his gaze swept the crowd, he relished the pub’s warmth, yet felt distinctly like an outsider.

James gave Harry an encouraging look. “Don’t worry, you’re young and have so much more to learn. Take your time and soak it all in.”

Harry smiled gratefully, cherishing this moment with his family, the Potters. Here, in this ordinary yet enchanting place, he could finally escape the chaos of his notorious reputation.

Harry sat at the crowded pub’s round table, a potion of unease bubbling in his chest as the door swung open. A hush fell over the room as the Malfoy family strode in, their cold presence sweeping through the warm atmosphere like a chill. Lucius Malfoy, tall and regal with his silver-white hair gleaming like a beacon, drew the prickling attention of several patrons.

Lucius’s icy gaze swept across the crowd until it fixed on the Potters. Under the intensity of that look—a mixture of disdain and curiosity that made him feel like a mouse trapped in a lion’s sights—Harry squirmed slightly. The sneer curling Lucius’s lips sent a rush of anger coursing through Harry, anger toward both the man and the societal hierarchy he perpetuated. Seated next to Harry, his father James maintained a carefully controlled but tense expression.

Lucius approached their table, his voice dripping with a mocking courtesy that Harry found revolting. “Ah, the famous Head Auror,” he drawled.

Before Harry could brace himself, James abruptly stood up, his chair scraping against the floor with a jarring screech. “Lucius,” he replied tersely, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. The palpable tension between the two men was a stark contrast—warmth and cruelty, layered with past grievances. Harry held his breath, sensing the fraught atmosphere tightening, ready to erupt.

And then, it broke in a manner Harry never expected. Much to his astonishment, the two men erupted in laughter, embracing each other as if they were old friends reunited after years apart. Harry’s eyes widened, and he felt his heart flutter with disbelief.

“Come and join us!” Lily’s cheerful voice rang out, cutting through the haze of uncertainty. She beamed at the Malfoys, her infectious smile radiating a welcoming warmth that pulled Harry back into the moment. “Harry, could you please grab a few more chairs?”

Harry shook off his daze and glanced around the suddenly animated table. The familiar setting now felt foreign.

Mrs. Malfoy stood there, an elegant picture of refinement and authority, shaking her head gently. “Thank you, but we came just to briefly say hello,” she stated with polite firmness.

Harry admired her resolve—her composure stood in stark contrast to Lucius’s more theatrical demeanour.

Disappointment tinged James’s voice as he asked Narcissa, “Are you leaving so soon? We don’t get to see each other often these days.” Harry detected the unspoken longing between the two families.

Narcissa’s tone softened with regret. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Lucius has accepted a job offer in France, and we’re departing this afternoon. Though Draco insisted we stop by when he saw you, we’ll be sure to stay in touch once we’re settled.”

The young Malfoy stood bashfully, his fingers curling in a timid wave. Harry felt a flicker of sympathy, understanding the weight of family legacy and expectations.

“Are you absolutely certain you can’t stay a little longer?” Lily asked, her voice brimming with hopeful optimism.

Lucius’ smile held a tinge of regret as he replied, “I’m sorry, Lily. We really must leave soon. Perhaps another time?”

Frustration flooded Harry’s mouth as he clenched his jaw. Knowing another chance was unlikely to arise from this encounter, he lowered his gaze in silence.

James nodded, his resignation evident. “Of course. I’d hate for you to miss the celebration at the ministry tomorrow—it’s sure to be a memorable night.”

Lucius scoffed lightly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Indeed. I can already picture you boasting about your achievements, feeding your already inflated ego.”

James laughed, the sound rich and resonant. “You haven’t changed a bit, Lucius. Always the pessimist!” He patted Lucius playfully on the shoulder, an amused sparkle in his eyes. “But don’t forget to bring us some souvenirs!”

“Of course,” Lucius replied, rolling his eyes dramatically, though a hint of amusement played on his lips as he turned to depart.

As the Malfoys bid their quick farewells and embraced Harry, a sense of unease settled over him. He mustered a forced smile for Draco as the family departed, uncertain of when or if they would meet again.

Harry sat down at the dining table, the sound of chairs scraping against wood punctuating the silence left by the Malfoys. Across from him, his father, James, settled back comfortably in his chair, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Lucky man. I’ve always had a desire to go to France,” he said, his eyes twinkling with the thrill of the unknown.

Casting a curious glance at Harry, he added, “Why were you so quiet, son? I thought you and Draco would have plenty to catch up on.”

Harry was taken aback by his father’s unexpected words. Draco Malfoy a friend? When had he become friends with Malfoy? The past few years had been characterised by tension and competition, not friendship.

As if sensing Harry’s inner confusion, James offered an explanation. “We used to visit the Malfoy manor whenever they were in town. You always enjoyed spending time with Draco,” he recalled fondly.

“It’s true, you two were practically inseparable,” Lily chimed in, her smile gentle but insistent as she placed a reassuring hand on Harry’s arm.

“I—I was just...” Harry stammered, grappling with emotions that churned like a storm inside him. Attempting to articulate his thoughts proved challenging as fragments of a distant past danced in his mind, and he felt as if he were struggling to cling to them while they slipped away.

“I understand,” James replied with a knowing nod, his eyes conveying empathy. “I can see why this might be overwhelming for you, meeting him again after so many years. But don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

Harry remained silent, his thoughts still tangled, as James smoothly transitioned the conversation to lighter topics.

Glancing over the menu, James pondered the lunch specials with insatiable curiosity. “I wonder if they’ve added any new dishes,” he mused, his eyes lighting up when he spotted a tantalising option. “A Toad in the Hole with Tongue Tying Lemon Squash sounds absolutely delicious.”

At the end of the lunch, Harry was astonished by the vast amount of food he had consumed, causing his stomach to protrude against the edge of the table. The feeling of overeating left him feeling heavy and lethargic, prompting him to constantly close and reopen his eyes in an effort to stay awake. Suddenly, someone gently shook him from his drowsiness.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” his mother whispered in a tender tone. “You can take a short nap once we arrive home.”

Harry let out a groan as he reluctantly opened his heavy eyelids, half-expecting to find himself in a crowded pub. However, he was taken aback by the brightness of the sunlight that hit his face. Blinking rapidly, he realised he was no longer inside the Leaky Cauldron but rather outside Flourish and Blotts. The quaint shop, with its tattered awnings and windows bursting with colourful book spines, stood invitingly before him.

Glancing over at Lily, who was digging through her bag beside him, Harry felt bewildered at the sudden change of scenery. He couldn’t fathom how he had managed to fall into such a deep sleep. His mind swirled as he tried to piece together the events that had transpired to lead him to his current location.

“Mum, how did we end up here?” He asked, astonishment creeping into his voice. “What happened at the Leaky Cauldron?”

Lily looked up, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean, sweetheart? We haven’t even been to the pub. We’re just here to purchase your school books.”

Harry furrowed his brows further, struggling to reconcile her words with his memory. “School books?” he echoed, his mind racing. “Didn’t we already buy them? I distinctly remember you selecting them a few hours ago.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lily replied, an edge of concern seeping into her tone. “We haven’t made any purchases yet. Your Lockhart books are quite pricey this year.” She sighed, glancing at the sign on Flourish and Blotts’ door that read “Closed Until 10 AM.” “Perhaps we arrived too early.”

“Lockhart?” Harry rubbed his temple wearily, attempting to make sense of it all. He knew that Lockhart was receiving treatment at St. Mungo’s. Could he have been released already? It didn’t seem feasible for him to teach again. “But what about Professor Quirrell?” he stammered.

Lily raised an eyebrow, visibly perplexed. “You never had Professor Quirrell. Lockhart has always been your teacher.” She placed a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder, the warmth of her touch contrasting with the chill of uncertainty creeping into his thoughts. “Are you feeling okay, dear?”

Staring at the booklist in his hand, Harry was surprised to find it was for his second year at Hogwarts.Where has the time gone?It felt like just yesterday he was shopping for his first year’s supplies, and now he was preparing to start the next. The past year had flown by in a blur, leaving him struggling to recall much of anything from his inaugural term at the school.

Puzzled, Harry returned the slip of paper to his pocket as his mother watched him with concern. Plagued by uncertainty since arriving in this alien realm so different from his own, he struggled with indecision, unsure whether to disclose his predicament or simply observe what unfolded. Did he have a role to play here, or was this world real while his memories were mere illusions? Longing for answers, or at least reassurance about the nature of his situation, Harry wondered if he should reveal his plight or remain silent.

Lily eyed Harry’s too-short school robes, shaking her head in disbelief. “My, how you’ve grown!” Spotting Madam Malkin’s shop across the street, she proposed, “Why don’t I pick up your books while you get fitted for new robes? That way, we can head home early. What do you think?”

Nodding thoughtfully, Harry approached Madam Malkin’s shop, stepping inside the cool, dim interior. The faint smell of fabric and magic surrounded him.

The shop was sparsely populated, with a handful of customers being fitted in assorted states of disgruntlement. Harry stood patiently at the counter, fidgeting with the tattered hem of his robes. Moments later, Madam Malkin emerged from the back room, pins protruding dangerously from her lips. Her tight-lipped smile did little to assuage the unease settling in Harry’s gut.

“You there!” she called out, after depositing the pins in a nearby drawer. “Step up onto the footstool and wait for me.”

Harry complied, feeling an odd mix of excitement and anxiety. The other customers around him seemed disinterested in the proceedings, lost in their own thoughts or the squabbling of a family nearby.

“Settle down, you two,” the woman on Harry’s left scolded the red-haired twin boys who were causing a ruckus. The boys, he soon recognised, were Fred and George Weasley. They were as boisterous as ever, even in the stern presence of their mother.

Taken aback, Harry barely recognised Mrs. Weasley as she stood there, her hair tightly pulled back, wearing lime green St. Mungo’s healer robes. Her eyes, usually so warm and welcoming, were hard, almost distant.

“Mrs. Weasley?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

She turned to face him, surveying him as if he were a stranger. “Yes? How can I help you?” Her response was polite but tinged with concern.

“Uh—” Harry began, suddenly unsure of himself. “Don’t you remember me? I’m a friend of your son Ron’s,” he quickly added when she stared at him blankly.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Ron?” she repeated, as if the name held no weight.

“Yes, Ron Weasley. Your son.” The words tumbled out, filled with the weight of countless memories.

“I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding,” Mrs. Weasley said softly, a hint of concern lacing her tone as she scanned Harry from head to toe. “I don’t have a son named Ron.”

“Oh,” Harry muttered, taken aback, his mind racing. “My apologies; I must have been mistaken.”

“That’s quite alright, dear,” she responded gently. But there was a silence that hung in the air, thick with confusion as she redirected her attention to her children. The twins exchanged puzzled glances, but remained silent, their usual confidence pulled into a tight bow of uncertainty under their mother’s stern gaze.

“Alright, Harry,” a familiar voice called warmly from behind.

Harry turned, his heart lifting at the sight of James, dressed in elegant robes that seemed to shimmer in the mellow light of the shop. His father approached with an easy smile, looking as if he had just stepped off the sort of magazine cover that bore tales of illustrious adventures.

“Turn around so I can see you properly,” James directed with enthusiasm.

“Dad, why are you dressed like that?” Harry asked, puzzled by the stark contrast between his father’s elegant attire and the casualness of other shoppers.

“Don’t you like it? Your mother thought matching outfits would spoil the evening, but I disagreed.” James chuckled, the joy in his voice undeniable. “We should enjoy it while we can.”

Harry’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “But Dad, I’m just supposed to be getting new school robes, not dress robes.”

James looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I was waiting for Madam Malkin to measure me,” Harry said. When he turned to look in the mirror, he was no longer in the shop but in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory at Hogwarts. “How did this happen?” he gasped, panic surging within him.

James chuckled, completely unfazed by Harry’s bewilderment. “It’s normal to feel nervous before the Yule Ball. I remember feeling the same way. These parties were always so much fun, and it’s nice that parents can join in now.” James said, his eyes sparkling with nostalgia.

Harry felt as though he were trapped in a whirlwind of time and space, spinning from one moment to the next without ever landing. Just moments ago, he had been nervously awaiting his turn at Madam Malkin’s. Now, standing in front of the mirror, with his slightly older self clad in dark green dress robes, he was overwhelmed by a sense of dislocation.

“But—” Harry managed, still grappling with the spectrum of emotions. “What’s going on?”

“Come on, son. You don’t want to keep your date waiting.” James placed a reassuring hand on Harry’s shoulder, leading him out of the dormitory into a familiar yet unsettling corridor.

As they descended the staircase towards the Gryffindor common room, Harry felt his heart race. Instead of the cosy, roaring hearth abuzz with friends and laughter, he found himself thrust into a snowy street in Hogsmeade. With quaint shops draped in twinkling lights and festive decorations, Harry inhaled the crisp, cold air through his nostrils, feeling an ache of nostalgia that he could not place.

“Come on, Harry!” shouted Lily, her bright demeanour cutting through the chilly atmosphere as she appeared beside him, laughter dancing in her eyes. “We’re meeting your dad and Sirius here. I can’t wait to have some hot butterbeer. It’s freezing out here, isn’t it?”

Harry stood frozen, his breath visible in the cold air as disbelief washed over him. “S-Sirius?” he stuttered, the name sounding strange and monumental on his lips. His heart leapt at the concept of seeing his godfather.

“Yes, your godfather is probably already there,” Lily confirmed, pulling him along as she squeezed his arm enthusiastically. “Hurry, Harry, let’s go inside before we turn into icicles!”

With every step towards The Three Broomsticks, Harry’s mind reeled. How much more could he handle? Although he kept his complaints to himself, he wished he could stay with his loved ones and make sense of everything. The sudden shifts in reality left him no time to process before the next surprise hit.

Upon entering the cosy inn, Harry spotted a boy eagerly waving at them from across the room. There was a hint of recognition in the boy’s face, but Harry couldn’t quite place where he had seen him before.

“Oh, perfect,” Lily interjected happily, her eyes brightening as she spotted the young boy. “Teddy’s here.”

Harry looked at Lily, confused by her words. “Teddy?” he asked, puzzled. “Do you mean—”

“Surely Lupin and Tonks must be nearby,” she replied absentmindedly, her gaze wandering around the room.

Harry was taken aback by Lily’s statement. Could his mother be serious? Teddy Lupin, the energetic boy who was still waving his arms excitedly, couldn’t possibly be the baby he remembered. Did he now reside with his grandmother, Andromeda? Harry wondered silently to himself.

“It’s so lovely to see you, Teddy!” Lily exclaimed warmly, enveloping the young boy in a tight hug.

Harry stood to the side, unsure of how to react to the sudden appearance of a seven-year-old Teddy in this world.

“Harry!” Teddy cried out joyfully, embracing him tightly.

Harry felt a wave of emotions wash over him as he returned the hug, grateful for the familial connection he shared with the young boy.

Lily laughed gently. “You’ve missed your older brother, haven’t you, Ted?”

Teddy looked up at Harry with shining eyes, nodding eagerly. “Yes, I have!” he exclaimed, a wide grin lighting up his face as he gazed at Harry.

Seated comfortably at the table, Harry stole occasional glances at Teddy, still in awe of how rapidly the little boy he once knew had grown. Yet he reminded himself that this was a different world, with different rules and timelines.

“Where are your parents, Ted?” Lily asked curiously.

“Daddy’s on his way from work,” Teddy replied cheerfully, “and Mommy—there she is!” Teddy waved excitedly past Harry with a delighted expression on his face. “MOMMY!”

Upon turning his head, Harry was taken aback by what he saw before him. Instead of the familiar surroundings he was accustomed to, he was now standing in front of a towering obelisk. As his mind adjusted to this sudden change in scenery, he noticed the soft glow of light emanating from the nearby street lamps. The semi-darkness led him to believe that dusk had settled in, casting a silvery hue over the ground below. The night sky above was a canvas of dark blue, adorned with twinkling stars that glistened like pearls. Harry felt a mix of bewilderment and curiosity wash over him as he found himself back in Godric’s Hollow once again.

Harry paused, taking a deep breath of the crisp air, but the stillness did little to calm the anxious flutter in his chest. Just as he considered leaving, a familiar voice cut through the silence, resonating with warmth. He turned to see his father, James, standing there with a mixture of concern and affection on his face.

“Why the worried look, son?” James asked gently, his soothing tone a balm to Harry’s frayed nerves, yet it only heightened the sense of urgency within him.

“Dad, there’s something important I need to discuss with you,” Harry finally managed, his voice trembling slightly as he steeled himself to say the words he had rehearsed in his mind, a swirling blend of fear and anticipation.

James’ demeanour shifted to one of understanding, as if he had expected this moment. “You must be wondering what’s going on,” he began, his grave tone sending a shiver down Harry’s spine. “Your mother and I knew we couldn’t keep this from you forever. I had my doubts about keeping it a secret.” Regret laced his words, and Harry’s heart began to pound in rhythm with the mounting tension.

“Please, don’t tell your mother about this conversation,” James urged, his serious voice steadying Harry’s swirling thoughts. “It’s better if she doesn’t know.”

Intrigued, Harry nodded. What secret could possibly exist about him that warranted such discretion? Puzzle pieces began aligning in his mind as he braced for the revelation.

“Tonight, we’re throwing a birthday celebration for you at home,” James announced, a spark of excitement lighting up his face.

“A birthday party? For me?” Harry’s voice came out as a choked whisper, disbelief washing over him like cold water.

“Yes, son,” James confirmed, interpreting Harry’s muted response as shock rather than reluctance. “I know you don’t usually enjoy parties, but turning seventeen is special. Everyone will be there, even my old friend Severus. It will be wonderful!”

Harry’s initial reaction was one of disappointment. The unexpected news had left him conflicted about the upcoming event.

Mistaking his son’s reaction for speechlessness, James continued to express his excitement. “I knew this would surprise you. Not everyone gets such a grand celebration on their seventeenth birthday,” he remarked.

Despite his father’s enthusiasm, Harry struggled to match it. His mind was preoccupied with the dangers lurking in the shadows, and an inexplicable fear quivered through his body. He had a nagging feeling that the looming threat was still out there, waiting to strike.

Seeing Harry’s furrowed brow, James paused and shifted from enthusiasm to concern. “Harry, if you’re not comfortable with the party, we can always cancel it.”

Harry felt the guilt creeping into his heart, twisting his insides uncomfortably. He didn’t want to hurt his father’s feelings. “No, Dad,” he insisted, forcing a smile that barely concealed the turmoil raging in his mind. “I’m happy about it. I really am. I’m sorry for the mixed emotions.”

James studied Harry’s face, the flicker of understanding in his eyes revealing that he grasped the internal battle his son was facing. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, his tone laced with a protective undertone.

With a deep breath, Harry managed a nod, burying his unease beneath layers of resolve. But even as he reassured his father, the unease lingered, an unwelcome presence reminding him that not everything could be controlled or celebrated without consequence.

As they prepared to leave, James glanced at his watch and realised the time. “I think it’s best we head home now, or your mother will be upset if you miss your own birthday celebration,” he suggested.

Strolling down the street, they passed by the church and graveyard that stood nearby. Visiting the graves of his parents had once been an overwhelming experience, with their names etched into cold headstones. Now, it felt like a distant memory, almost like a bad dream he had woken up from. As he glanced to the side, he was surprised to see his father walking alongside him, looking vibrant and alive, which left him in awe.

As they turned the corner, Harry immediately spotted the familiar cottage at the end of the lane. His recollection of the place seemed altered—the overgrown lawn was now neatly taken care of with beautiful flowers, and the once-dark windows were now glowing with warmth. What caught his attention the most was the upper floor and his old bedroom, which had previously been destroyed but was now fully intact. The moonlight shone through the clouds, casting a magical glow on the cottage and enhancing its beauty.

“Here we are,” James announced, breaking the silence.

Harry’s emotions fluctuated as he gazed upon the house. Blinking back tears, he focused on the front window and was overcome with emotion. With a deep breath, he finally felt a sense of peace and belonging because, for the first time in seventeen years, this place felt like home.

Inside, Harry saw a gathering of about a dozen people he hadn’t seen in ages. They all seemed to be sitting around the table, engaged in lively conversations, as if nothing had ever changed. Sirius Black was excitedly chatting with Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks was demonstrating her morphing abilities to Lavender Brown, and Colin Creevey was laughing heartily. Cedric Diggory and Fred Weasley appeared to be deep in discussion about Quidditch, with Fred even mimicking catching a snitch. Meanwhile, Severus Snape, Mad-Eye Moody, and Albus Dumbledore were engrossed in quiet conversation but smiling happily.

Standing at the far end of the table, Harry noticed Dobby appearing behind Sirius, carrying trays of food and levitating more dishes around. To Harry’s surprise, Dobby was dressed neatly, wearing well-fitting shoes, and even sporting a party hat. The sight of Dobby in such attire caught Harry off guard, but he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the once quirky house-elf embracing the festive spirit.

The front door of the Potter home swung wide open, its creaking hinges betraying the evening breeze. Lily, her vibrant red hair gleaming like polished mahogany in the golden glow, rushed out onto the porch, her expression a mix of relief and exasperation. “Thank goodness you both are here!” she breathed, her voice a melody of worry and joy as she beckoned them inside. Stepping aside, she waved them in with an inviting gesture. “Come, everyone is eagerly awaiting you inside.”

Harry hung back as his father, James, crossed the threshold. Frozen in place, he wrestled with whether this was the right moment to have the conversation he had rehearsed so many times. With each passing second, his heart grew heavier with indecision.

Lily broke the silence; her brow creased with concern as she watched Harry standing still. “Harry? Honey, is everything alright?”

James glanced back, his frown conveying both confusion and worry. “What’s the matter, Son? Did you forget something?”

Despite his outward calm, Harry’s mind was in turmoil. His parents’ concerned gaze enveloped him, at odds with the crisp night air. Yet, he stood motionless, weighed down by overwhelming, unspoken thoughts.

Sensing their worry, Lily joined Harry on the porch, where they were shrouded in shadow. The peaceful rustling of leaves surrounded them, but Harry found no solace in the serene setting, his mind still in upheaval.

“Is something bothering you? Are you feeling anxious about the party? It’s totally understandable if you are,” she offered.

Her words, though well-intentioned, jarred Harry from his reverie, unleashing an unexpected surge of yearning within him. Mustering his resolve, he replied, “I’m not nervous. I just... I don’t want this to end,” each syllable laden with the dread gnawing at him.

His voice wavered, revealing the tide of emotions he typically suppressed. The celebratory party, meant to honour life, family, and their unbreakable bonds, now felt like a poignant reminder of the cherished memories he felt slipping just beyond his grasp.

Lily reached out, her warm, reassuring hand resting on his arm. “It’s natural to feel this way as you grow older,” she said, her smile radiant with unconditional love. “But know that no matter what, you’ll always be our little boy.”

James moved closer, a steadfast pillar of support, his unwavering love enveloping Harry like a well-worn, comforting blanket. Yet beneath their exchange, a tempest raged within Harry—a turbulent mix of grief and unspoken truths yearning to be released.

Harry’s gaze fell to the ground, his shoulders sagging under the crushing weight of his secrets. The prospect of exposing the agonising truth of his past loomed before him, an insurmountable barrier.

Lily’s gaze softened as she studied her son, her intuition guiding her closer to the truth. “I can sense something deeper is troubling you,” she murmured, her heart aching for him. “Please, talk to us.”

Harry hesitated, his mind racing with conflicting emotions, until he finally whispered, “Yes.”

His parents exchanged worried looks, their silent exchange conveying volumes. Taking a deep breath, Harry knew the moment had come for honesty. “I have missed you both dearly,” he confessed, his voice trembling with emotion.

Confusion clouded James’s features as he furrowed his brow, struggling to make sense of Harry’s words. “But we’ve always been with you, Harry,” he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Shaking his head firmly, Harry stepped back, a sense of urgency driving him to finally reveal the truth he had long kept hidden. “That’s not what I mean,” he said fiercely. “You and Mom died when I was just a year old.”

Tears threatened to spill as Harry faced his parents, their serene expressions now shadowed by the weight of his revelation. The lump in his throat choked his voice, stealing the air from his lungs.

Silence enveloped them, an aching pause that seemed to stretch on forever. He felt bare, exposed—admitting this painful truth was as daunting as he had imagined. For years, he had carried the insufferable longing as a secret burden, thinking he could shield himself from grief, only to realise he had not moved on as he believed. The truth was that he had never truly accepted their absence.

In that moment, facing the past he had tried to bury, anger mingled with sorrow in his heart. It was one thing to wish for their presence, to cling to the memories he never had. But to confront the chasm left by their absence and the life he could never embrace was another matter entirely.

“I never truly knew you until now,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with emotion. “That moment in Diagon Alley, when I first saw you both alive and well, buying my owl—you can’t imagine how much that meant to me.” He swallowed hard, fighting back the tears welling in his eyes.

The startling admission seemed to leave his parents momentarily speechless, but he knew they were listening intently to every word he spoke.

“It was a cruel illusion that I had clung to,” Harry continued, his voice trembling. “I kept living in the hope that you were real, that I could finally have the parents I’d always yearned for.” He paused, feeling the warmth of his mother’s hand against his own. “But now you’re here, and the thought of losing you again... it haunts me.”

“Every cherished moment with you is a priceless treasure,” Harry admitted, struggling to contain the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “I never dared to dream I’d hear your voices or feel your embraces again. You have filled me with such profound happiness, and I don’t want it to end.”

Harry gazed upon his parents with deep affection, basking in the tender embrace of the moonlight in their eyes. The vision of this long-awaited reunion had danced in his mind, illuminating the family life he had always yearned for. Yet, as he found solace in their presence, a sense of trepidation crept over him, threatening to render him motionless. For he knew that he must soon say goodbye once more, resigning himself to the solitude that had defined so much of his life.

James spoke gently to his son, offering reassurance in the face of his fears. “You will never have to confront your challenges alone from this day forward, my son,” he said, his voice filled with love and support.

Lily’s face softened as she stepped closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead—a nurturing gesture he had sorely missed. “You have already endured so much, my sweet boy. I can see it in your weary eyes. But know this: you no longer have to bear your troubles alone. We will walk beside you always, in every moment. Forever. Our love for you is eternal, unwavering through all trials.”

Hearing his mother’s words, Harry lowered his head, struggling to hold back tears that threatened to spill forth. The deep sorrow and pain that had consumed him for so long now made him yearn for peace and reconciliation with his parents. Though initially troubled by the divide separating them, Harry had come to accept its inevitability, leaving him with no otheroptions.

The word “forever” echoed in Harry’s mind, filling him with a profound sense of reassurance. It evoked a strong, timeless bond that connected the years of separation from his parents. This word seemed to beckon him, guiding him to heed its call. He knew his parents had waited for him just as fervently as he had longed for them. The mere thought of never seeing them again or allowing their memories to fade was unbearable.

This reunion had to hold deep significance; it could not be mere coincidence. The ritual’s intervention and his profound encounter with his parents in Diagon Alley all pointed towards a greater, fated purpose beyond chance.

The laughter inside the cosy cottage gradually faded, drawing Harry’s attention to Lupin, Tonks, Fred, Snape, and the others who eagerly awaited him at the front door. Their familiar silhouettes moved in and out of the warm glow spilling from the windows, beckoning him to join them. After so many years together, Harry knew he needed the comfort only they could provide.

But a sudden rush ofmemories flooded Harry’s mind—moments spent with Ron, Hermione, and the Weasleys. He recalled their energetic dinner discussions, the laughter that filled the Gryffindor common room, and their unwavering support during his darkest times.

A familiar pang of guilt and regret washed over him as he remembered Ginny. She had loved him unconditionally, despite the complexities of his life. Yet he had pushed her away, believing solitude was safer.

Now, Harry vowed to make amends. He would reach out and bring Ginny back into his life, where she belonged.

“Come home, love,”a gentle voice whispered through the recesses of his memories. The voice was that of his mother, Lily.

Harry stood at a crossroads, the weight of indecision pressing on his shoulders. He gazed at the group waiting for him, contemplating how their warmth and camaraderie could replace the frosty isolation that had come to define his life. Yet, he knew he couldn’t simply abandon everything he had ever known.

A bittersweet smile graced Harry’s lips as he looked around at the faces of those who had supported and protected him. Each smile, each act of kindness, was etched in his heart, filling him with gratitude. He lingered on the familiar features of his parents, and couldn’t help but agree with Dumbledore’s words about the power of their love in shaping his resilience.

Stepping into this unfamiliar realm, Harry pondered how life might have unfolded if his parents had never met their tragic end. The passage of time had finally provided an answer to his long-held question. Yet this fleeting reunion filled him with both joy and sorrow—it opened his heart to a newfound appreciation for the present moment. He clenched his fists, savouring every precious second, knowing it was a gift he might never receive again.

Tears glistened in Harry’s eyes as he approached his parents. He closed the distance, relishing their warm embrace—something he had yearned for since their departure from his life. Overwhelmed with gratitude, he simply uttered a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

Reluctantly bidding his parents farewell, an unspoken understanding passed between them, conveying more than words could express.

“We love you so much,” Lily murmured, giving his arm a gentle, affectionate squeeze.

A lump rose in Harry’s throat, tears threatening to spill over. He blinked them back, resolute in staying strong for his beloved parents. “I know,” he said, his voice wavering. “And I love you both as well.” Under those words lay years of silence, immeasurable regret, and a glimmer of hope for renewal.

The fading moonlight cast a bittersweet glow on Lily and James’ smiling faces, allowing Harry one final, lingering moment before the darkness enveloped him. With tears brimming beneath closed eyes, Harry mourned not just the loss of their physical presence, but also the shared dreams and experiences that should have defined his childhood. Yet deep within, he found solace in the knowledge that his parents would forever watch over him, their love an eternal companion.

The darkness suddenly enveloped him with a gentle rush, and Harry paused to calm himself. Though the stillness felt overwhelming, he knew it could give way to clarity if he allowed it. With closed eyes and slow, deep breaths, he reassured himself that he would emerge, whole and intact.

Just as the darkness and silence began to feel all-consuming, muffled voices reached his ears—warm, familiar, and comforting. The lapping of waves against nearby rocks, and the salty sea breeze tickling his senses, anchored him. Struggling to recall the tears on his cheeks, his thoughts momentarily clouded, he felt a warm, familiar hand clasp his own.

With a deep breath, Harry understood something profound: the moment he opened his eyes, he was home.



THE END