To Harry, the moment seemed to last an eternity.

Sirius was falling backwards, as though in slow motion. Bellatrix's curse had struck him directly in the chest, and his eyes were wide, looking at Harry with horror. Harry watched in disbelief as his godfather fell directly through the Veil of Death and disappeared from sight.

For several agonizing seconds, Harry waited, half-expecting Sirius to reappear on the other side. This couldn't be what it looked like, could it? Never mind Bellatrix's triumphant shouts of glee, or the collective gasps of the gathered Order members who witnessed the event. Sirius could not be dead.

"Sirius?" Harry called out weakly. There was no response.

"Harry…" a soothing voice spoke in his ear. Remus Lupin had hurried over to him, grabbing him lightly across the shoulders. "There's nothing you can do. He's gone."

"No, he's not!" Harry denied. "He's just there, on the other side of the archway. He'll reappear any second."

"It doesn't work that way, Harry—" Remus tried to console him, but Harry tuned him out. He couldn't lose Sirius. He'd already lost so much: his parents, Cedric, his childhood, his innocence. He couldn't lose the closest thing he had left to a parental figure. He wouldn't.

"Let me GO!" Harry roared, wrenching himself free of Remus' grasp. He charged forward after Sirius, determined to find him, to bring him back to the land of the living. He would not let one more person die on his behalf. So, ignoring the screams and cries of fear from the Order members behind him, Harry plunged directly through the Veil after Sirius.

Harry felt a brief flash of cold, then darkness. He blinked rapidly, but could not clear away the oppressive blackness surrounding him on all sides. He could not tell where he was, if anywhere at all – the Veil, the Department of Mysteries had disappeared. Was this the end? Had he just died?

Far off in the distance, Harry saw a faint trace of light, as though he were standing at one end of a particularly long tunnel. He pressed forward, not conscious of feet moving underneath him or even his own heart beating. Did he still possess a body? Or was he just a floating spirit, deprived of a living host to occupy? He moved more quickly now, growing nervous, hoping to find some kind of answer at the other end of the tunnel.

He emerged quite suddenly in a wide, spacious room of light. It appeared like a cathedral, with its high vaulted ceilings and tall pillars stretching upwards to infinity. Harry looked around, noting that he was stood on some kind of platform, lined with stone benches and iron guardrails. It reminded him quite like Platform 9 , though surely he couldn't be there…

Soon Harry realized that he was not alone. He turned to his left and saw a figure approaching him, dressed in robes of deepest black. Harry could not discern the identity of the figure, though it looked vaguely familiar to him. He knew not how old the figure was, nor even what gender it was – it seemed to exist as all possible identities at once, as paradoxical as it sounded.

"Greetings, Harry Potter," the figure said with a wan smile. "I suppose you're wondering where you are?"

"Erm...yes," Harry admitted, looking around. "I was just thinking that it looked a lot like King's Cross Station."

The figure looked around the room along with him. "I suppose that makes sense," the figure said. "We are in a transitory space between life and death. Everybody's mind perceives it differently, but a train station is a perfectly reasonable interpretation."

"So I am dead, then?" Harry asked, crestfallen.

"You are neither alive nor dead," the figure smiled mysteriously. "People usually pass directly over to the plane of the dead, but your case is different, Harry Potter."

"How so?" Harry asked, frowning. Why could even dying be simple in his cursed life...?

"Normally, death is the crossing over of a single soul from one plane to another," the figure explained. "However, you possessed two souls within your body, and only one is required to complete the passage."

"Two souls?" Harry repeated, bewildered. "How can I have two souls?"

"You, Harry Potter, are but one soul," the figure explained patiently. "But the portion of Tom Riddle's soul within you was also just killed. The portion that resided within your scar."

"I had...part of Voldemort's soul living inside my head?" Harry asked, horrified. He wanted to vehemently deny such a possibility, but suddenly it all made perfect sense. His unexplained abilities such as Parseltongue…the Sorting Hat wanting him in Slytherin…his inexplicable connection to the Dark Lord's mind…

"Yes, you did," the figure nodded. "The man you knew as Voldemort performed a terrible bit of magic in his pursuit of immortality. He never intended to place one such part of his soul within you, but his plans backfired when his Killing Curse rebounded all those years ago."

"So you're saying...he'd done this before?" Harry asked, horrified. "He split his soul multiple times to keep himself alive? That's how he was able to come back?"

"An abomination, yes," the figure said sadly. "I must thank you for returning one such stray soul fragment to me. Tom Riddle may seek to run and hide, but he cannot evade me forever."

"Sorry...but who are you, exactly?" asked Harry.

"I am Death," the figure said calmly. "I do not often speak directly to human souls, but for you, I have made an exception. Because I have a proposition for you."

"You do?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"Yes," said Death. "Normally, I would give you a choice between passing on to the plane of death, or returning to your living body. Unfortunately, your body itself has crossed over through the Veil, so that second option does not exist for you any longer."

"So I'm forced to go on...to die?" Harry asked, once again crestfallen.

"Normally you would be," Death went on. "But to express my gratitude for returning part of Tom's soul to me, I can offer an alternative. A chance at a different life, one that you never had the opportunity to live before."

"What kind of life?" Harry asked, suspicious.

"You would still be Harry Potter," Death went on. "But in another reality, where you were never targeted by Voldemort. Your family would be alive, as would your godfather, and you would be able to grow up in the healthy, happy home you were denied in your previous life."

Harry may not have had a corporeal body at that moment, but he still felt his proverbial heart leap at this prospect. "That's...an option?" he asked. "I could see my parents alive again? And never have to live with the Dursleys ever again?"

"Keep in mind that everything else you experienced in your old life would change," Death warned him. "Your friends would not know you. Every relationship you've formed would be different from before, with no guarantee of returning them to the way it was before. For some, such a prospect would be maddening, and death would be preferable in the end."

Harry considered this. After all, he could see his parents and Sirius again, simply by crossing over to the plane of death. He would be at peace there, free to be with his loved ones once more, and when his friends eventually crossed over, he would be there to greet them with open arms. That didn't sound so bad, given everything he'd already been through.

But curiosity had gotten the best of him. What would his life have really been like, if James and Lily Potter had survived? Who would he have become? How would his time at Hogwarts change? It was a fantasy he often indulged in but never imagined to be attainable. Now here it was, offered to him on a silver platter.

"What will happen to my friends...in my old life?" Harry asked.

"They will mourn you," Death said simply. "That is inevitable. You will become a martyr, and others will take inspiration from your tragic life and death to finish what you started in destroying Tom Riddle."

Harry felt a twinge of regret and sadness at this stark reality, but also frustration. He didn't want to be a martyr. He never asked for the attention – he just wanted to live a normal life, unburdened by the weight of the war on his shoulders. Would that forever be his legacy? The Boy Who Lived, and then Died? He had hoped to escape that label and forge his own destiny, his own future.

And perhaps he still could. All he had to do was step away from one world, one that clearly had little use for him other than a symbol of token suffering, and into another, where he would be free of the limelight at last. A world where no one knew his name, and he could start afresh, with loving parents behind him and a wide-open future ahead of him. It was simply too enticing to pass up on.

"I'll do it," Harry announced. "I'll take your offer. I want to see my parents alive."

"You are sure?" asked Death, smiling coyly. "Once you've made your decision, there is no turning back."

"I'm sure."

Death nodded, as though already knowing precisely which option Harry would take. "Then let us go," said Death, beckoning to the end of the platform. A train was pulling into the station, a train of purest white light, its doors sliding open, beckoning him inside.

Harry stepped forward tentatively, knowing that stepping aboard would be the symbolic point of no return. He looked back briefly to see Death watching him, a knowing smile still plastered across its face. Waiting to see what Harry would choose.

Harry said a silent goodbye to his old life – his friends, whom he knew he would see again but perhaps never have the same connection with. Then, he stepped forward onto the train carriage, the doors closing behind him. He felt the train lurch into motion, whisking him away from King's Cross Station, and into a world of blinding white light….

---

Harry awoke with a start, thrashing about under the covers and gasping for air. He sat bolt upright in bed, panting, eyes adjusting to the low light level. At first he thought he was back in the Gryffindor dorms, and everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours was just a bad dream. Or perhaps he was back on Privet Drive, having recovered from whatever happened in the Department of Mysteries and returned to the Dursleys for the summer.

But when he grasped for his glasses on the bedside table and jammed them on, he did not recognize the room he was in at all. He lay in a twin bed adorned with blue sheets, with yellow knitted Snitches decorating the comforter. The walls were plastered with Quidditch posters, whose players were darting around between the frames in the dim sunlight filtering in through the window. Clothes and books were strewn all over the floor – whoever lived here didn't care much for cleanliness.

Do I live here? Harry wondered. He thought the encounter with Death had been a strange dream, but this new reality felt similarly foreign and dream-like to him. Harry heard creaking footsteps somewhere below him, and realized he was not alone in this house. He tentatively got to his feet, hoping against hope that he would find what he suspected may be waiting for him downstairs.

Harry exited the bedroom into a small hallway that exited onto a flight of stairs. He crept down to the first level, finding himself in a foreign living room. There were the usual amenities – a couch, a lamp, a coffee table – but no television, where any respectable Muggle household would have one. This had to be a wizarding household. Heart hammering, Harry turned to the kitchen, sensing movement nearby, and walked forward—

"Surprise!"

Harry flinched; two figures leapt out of their hiding places to greet him. At first Harry did not recognize them, but he quickly realized that he knew them both well – only in a younger form. The man was tall and slender like himself, with messy black hair, horn-rimmed glasses and a sloppy grin on his face. The woman was thin and radiantly beautiful, with flaming red hair and sparkling green eyes framed by a similar mirthful smile.

"Mum?" he said tentatively, his voice sounding considerably higher than it once was. "Dad?"

"Happy birthday, kiddo!" James said, slapping his son playfully on the shoulder. "Didn't think we'd forget, did you?"

"We were just preparing your favorite breakfast!" Lily beamed, ruffling Harry's hair affectionately. "It's almost ready; we didn't expect you up quite so early—"

Lily was interrupted by a stifling hug, as Harry launched himself at his mother and wrapped his arms around her. She smelled divine, like fresh rose petals, and she was as warm and inviting as he'd always imagined her to be. Lily chuckled in surprise, but returned the hug all the same.

"Goodness," she chuckled as she embraced her son. "James, you'd think we starve him for attention."

"Hey, don't look a gift hippogriff in the mouth, Lil," James teased. "I doubt he'll act so affectionate when his sister wakes up."

That remark made Harry pull away from his mother and stare at his father in astonishment. I have a sister?! he thought in amazement. He had so many questions running through his mind, bursting to know everything about the new life he'd just been gifted with. But before he could rattle off several dozen of them, there came a gentle rapping on glass, causing all three Potters to turn toward the window.

"Ah, I think I know what this means," Lily said, striding across the kitchen to open the window. "That's a Hogwarts owl if I've ever seen one." And she let in a majestic brown owl, which hooted softly and deposited a letter at Harry's feet before fluttering back outside. Harry bent down to pick up the envelope, which was sealed with a wax Hogwarts emblem and addressed to: "Harry James Potter, the Kitchen, Number Eighteen Church Lane, Godric's Hollow, England".

Harry looked up at his parents, who were watching him expectantly, urging him on with wide smiles. Harry tore open the letter, already knowing what was inside, but nonetheless feeling warmth spread across his chest as he unfolded it to read:

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

So that explained at least one of Harry's questions: today was his eleventh birthday. He certainly felt smaller than he had in the Department of Mysteries, and he had wondered when he would be able to return to Hogwarts in his new reality. Apparently, the answer was in one month and one day's time.

"Of course we knew you'd get in; your name's been down since birth," James beamed at Harry as he took the letter from him. "Though it is nice to have confirmation you're not a Squib."

"James Potter!" Lily said in mock scandal, slapping her husband playfully on the shoulder. "Of course Harry's a wizard; he's been making things move and flying that blasted toy broom of his since before he could walk!"

"Damned right he has," James said, beaming with pride. "Gonna try out for the Gryffindor squad, you reckon, son? Think you can live up to your old man's legacy?"

"Oh, don't pressure him," Lily scoffed. "And who said he'll be in Gryffindor? I'm sure he'll fit in fine with whichever House accepts him."

"I'm gonna try out," Harry said eagerly to James. "For Seeker. As early as this year, if they'll let me."

"Atta boy!" James guffawed. "See, Lily? A born flyer! I don't think they let first-years play, but maybe I can write to ol' Minnie and twist her arm a little—"

"I'm sure 'Minnie' will be very receptive to seven more years of Potter hijinks," Lily said, rolling her eyes. "Come, let's eat before the food gets cold."

Harry walked over to the kitchen table in a daze and took a seat, still feeling like he was in a dream too good to be true. Lily transferred over several steaming plates of food, loaded up with fried eggs, bacon, sausages and waffles. Harry's mouth watered as he ogled the spread; the Dursleys never had such lavish breakfasts, and if they did, Harry only got the scraps that Dudley didn't want.

Harry's brief trance was interrupted by a sharp pain in the shin as something – or someone – kicked him hard. "Oi, stupid, you're sitting in my seat!" an annoyed voice growled at him. Harry turned towards the disturbance, eyes widening at a face he'd never seen before, even in dreams or memories. A girl, roughly the same age as him, with identical green eyes and a mop of raven-black hair pinned up in a bun. She tapped her foot expectantly, looking cross with him.

"Erm…" Harry said nervously, unsure of what to say.

"Be nice to your brother, sweetheart; it's his birthday after all," James chastised the girl lightly, planting a kiss atop her temple as he passed by (which she squirmed away from).

"But I always get the seat by the window!" the girl pouted.

"Merlin's sake, Dahlia, you can sit somewhere else for one meal!" Lily groaned tiredly as she placed the last of the meal plates on the table.

"It's okay," Harry said at once, scooting his chair back. "You can have this seat." And he stood up to shift over to the other side of the table, allowing the girl called Dahlia to claim her desired spot, smirking triumphantly.

"Well, I never thought I'd see the day," James remarked as he settled into his own chair. "If I didn't know any better, Lily, I'd say our children do love each other after all."

"As if," Dahlia scoffed, beginning to pile her plate high. "Harry just knows I would take revenge later if he didn't."

Harry sat in silence, gawking around the table at his three family members as they bantered back and forth while loading their plates. He was particularly entranced by Dahlia, never before imagining that his parents might have had another child if they'd survived. He found himself staring at his sister, studying her face, the way it lit up as she raised a subject she was interested in (in this case, Herbology). She noticed his gaze lingering on her and shot her tongue out at him mockingly, causing him to shake himself out of it and begin loading his own plate.

"Your brother got his Hogwarts letter this morning," Lily informed Dahlia. "He'll be starting in a month."

"Whoop dee do," Dahlia groaned. "Did mine come along with it? If not, I don't care."

"Yours will come in time," James said placatingly. "Just one more year, and you'll be able to—"

"Who cares if I'm eleven months younger?" Dahlia whined. "We all know I'm ten times smarter and more mature than Harry! All he cares about is stupid Quidditch!"

"Enough," Lily said sharply. "Keep this up and we won't bring you along to Diagon Alley."

That got Dahlia to quit whining immediately. In fact, her entire demeanor shifted at once to one of excitement and joy. "You're going today?" she squealed. "Please please please can I come?"

"I dunno," James sighed dramatically. "We were gonna go out for ice cream at Fortescue's after finishing Harry's school shopping, but if you're going to misbehave…"

"I'll be good, I swear it!" Dahlia insisted. "I'll even keep from calling Harry ugly all afternoon!"

"That'll be a new record," Lily remarked, bemused. "We leave at ten o' clock sharp, you two. I don't want to get caught in the afternoon shopping rush."

Dahlia spent the rest of the meal chattering non-stop about everything she hoped to do and see in Diagon Alley. Harry was growing excited himself, already thinking ahead to all he had to look forward to. A fresh start at Hogwarts...new supplies, new books, a new wand...would the holly-and-phoenix wand choose him again? Would Hedwig still be available to purchase as a pet? So many tiny decisions with rippling, long-lasting effects would be made today.

An hour later, once Harry had had his fill of breakfast (and then some, as Lily insisted he finish an extra plate), he joined the family in the living room to depart for their field trip. He and his parents wound up having to wait on Dahlia, who emerged from upstairs five minutes late, trying to look nonchalant, face obviously caked in poorly-applied makeup.

"Merlin's beard, Dolly, what have you done to yourself?" James guffawed at the sight.

"Did you raid my makeup cabinet again, young lady?" Lily groaned, whipping out her wand. "Scourgify." Dahlia scowled as the makeup vanished from her face, leaving her natural complexion behind.

"C'mon, Mum, we're going out!" Dahlia protested. "What if he is there?"

"Then you'll thank me later for not letting you strut about like a peacock," Lily huffed. Harry wondered who 'he' might be – did his little sister already have a boyfriend? But he didn't have time to ponder this long, as his father ushered him forward towards the fireplace.

Harry took a handful of green Floo Powder from the urn his mother proffered to him, and stepped over the hearth and into the chimney. "Diagon Alley!" he announced clearly, not wanting to repeat his misadventure from his alternate second year. He dropped the powder, and felt himself spinning through the fireplace network, finally being deposited into the Leaky Cauldron. He stepped out unsteadily, brushing himself off as his family soon followed close behind.

The bar was half-full, even at this early hour, but the barman seemed to recognize James as soon as he stepped through the fireplace. "Ah, Auror Potter!" he greeted him. "The usual?"

"Not today, Tom, but thank you," James said with a polite nod. "Taking my son Harry for school supplies today. He's starting at Hogwarts this year."

"Harry Potter, eh?" Tom said aloud, looking down upon the boy. Harry half-expected the room to hush and all eyes to turn towards him at the verbalized name, but nothing happened. "Good on you, lad. Enjoy the castle, and say hello to Peeves for me!"

"Will do," Harry said with a polite smile. James then guided Harry gently through the pub towards the back alley, where the familiar brick wall stood between them and their destination. James tapped his wand on the three required bricks, and the wall leapt aside for them, granting them access to Diagon Alley.

No matter how many times Harry came here, he would never stop marveling at its wondrous sights, sounds and smells. So many magical people in one place, sharing the latest gossip, buying the latest in wizarding technology, and simply enjoying one another's company. He found himself smiling in spite of himself as he gazed up at all the storefronts, thinking of all the fun products being peddled within.

"Quickly now, everyone," James muttered as he led the way through the half-crowded Alley. "I've got to make a withdrawal from Gringotts first, then we can start shopping."

They muscled their way through the crowds to the great wizard bank, Gringotts. It looked just as Harry last remembered it, with its ornate white marble pillars and vaulted ceiling topped with a glass dome. James strode confidently across the foyer and got in the back of the line. There weren't too many people in the bank at this hour, but the room still felt abnormally crowded – mostly due to the towering figure queuing just ahead of them.

"Dear me...is that Hagrid?" Lily asked aloud. At this, the large man in a brown trench coat turned to face them, his bearded face lighting up at the sight of the family of four behind him.

"Blimey, is tha' James an' Lily Potter?" Hagrid boomed excitedly. "Good ter see yeh!"

"You as well, Hagrid," James said, patting the half-giant appreciatively on the arm (for which he had to stand on tip-toes). "What brings you to Diagon Alley today?"

"Oh," said Hagrid, leaning in and lowering his voice to a coarse whisper. "Mission fer Dumbledore. Top secret, very hush hush."

So the Philosopher's Stone is still coming to Hogwarts, Harry deduced. He'd wondered just how much his school years would differ from his old life, but so far, aside from his family being intact, things were progressing just as he remembered them the first time.

"Sounds important," Lily remarked. "Seems the Headmaster trusts you."

"Sure does," Hagrid said, bristling with pride at the compliment. He turned to see Harry and Dahlia standing behind their parents, the latter gawking unabashedly at the towering figure. "An' this must be young Harry an' Dahlia!" Hagrid beamed. "Las' time I saw yeh two, yeh were abou' the size of my thumb!"

"Harry here is starting at Hogwarts this fall!" James said proudly. "Harry, this is Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper at Hogwarts."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said sincerely. He hoped he would have just as strong of a relationship with Hagrid as in his past life, and was glad to see that the man's opinion of his parents was just as high in life as in death.

"Likewise, Harry," said Hagrid, shaking the boy's hand (and nearly crushing it). "Come by me hut sometime fer a cuppa tea."

"I will," Harry nodded. "Can't wait to visit you and Fang."

"Aw, yeh even told him abou' Fang, bless yer hearts!" Hagrid beamed at James and Lily. Harry's parents exchanged curious looks – clearly they had not met the dog before. But the non sequitur went unnoticed, as Hagrid stepped up to the teller's counter and the Potters were called to a separate one.

The trip to the Potter vault was largely uneventful (though Dahlia got motion sickness on the mine cart and forced a mortified apology from Lily to the attending goblin as she Vanished the sickness from his face). The vault was even more full of gold than Harry remembered – he assumed an additional ten years of income from both his parents would have bolstered their funds significantly.

The family returned to the surface and walked out of the bank back to the street, where a significant disturbance was unfolding. People were jostling and shoving one another out of the way, chattering excitedly about something. "Is that him?" "He's really here?" "Does he have the scar?" Harry's stomach dropped, thinking that suddenly his secret was up and he was about to be mobbed, but the attention appeared to be focused elsewhere, towards the center of the street.

"Move aside, please," James said exasperatedly as he attempted to force his way through the crowd. But he was not the only person trying to get through. Everyone seemed to be crowding around a pair of people walking through the Alley, waving their hands, calling for their attention.

Suddenly, Dahlia squealed from behind Harry. "Mummy look, it's him, it's him!" she exclaimed. Harry followed her pointed finger towards a stooped older woman accompanying a boy, who looked to be about his age. The woman was attempting to clear the path forward for the two of them, growing more frustrated by the minute. Harry leaned around an older wizard for a better look at the boy's face, and was shocked to see that it was none other than Neville Longbottom.

But this was not the Neville Harry remembered. This Neville still had traces of baby fat on his face, but he was leaner and more fit than Harry ever remembered him being. His eyes, normally wide and frightened, were fixed straight ahead, doing his best to tune out the crowd around him. And just barely visible upon his forehead, partially concealed by a lock of brown hair, was a lightning-bolt scar.

"Neville, over here!" "The Boy Who Lived!" "Thank you, Neville!" The crowd's chants sounded familiar to Harry, because they had once been leveled at him during his first visit to Diagon Alley. At least Neville had the benefit of knowing who he was ahead of time, given his grandmother's presence; Harry hadn't known he was famous until he was mobbed in the streets. He felt a pang of guilt at the relief he felt at no longer being the object of attention, knowing that it must be a special kind of hell for Neville to endure.

"D'you think he'd sign my poster, Mum?" Dahlia asked Lily, tugging on her shirt.

"Oh, give the poor boy a rest; he's been through enough," Lily sighed sadly as she watched Neville and his gran disappear up the road, the crowd following behind them. "I'd forgotten he was Harry's age."

"Poor Augusta," James muttered. "Losing her son and daughter-in-law, forced to raise her grandson alone...a remarkably strong woman."

"She always was the best of us," Lily agreed. "C'mon, let's get shopping while the crowds are preoccupied."

They were fortunate to get in and out of Flourish and Blotts without too much fanfare, picking up all of Harry's textbooks in less than ten minutes. They popped into the pet shop after that, and Harry looked around excitedly in the rafters for Hedwig, but she was nowhere to be seen. Somewhat dejected, he settled on a tawny brown owl, which Dahlia insisted on naming Bandit, due to the black stripes lining the bird's eyes.

Next, Harry entered Madam Malkin's to get fitted for his school robes. He stood patiently on a step-stool as the magical tape measure began wrapping itself around him, taking down his numbers.

"Hogwarts, too?" a voice asked from beside him. Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy sizing him up, his face not curled in disdain as usual, merely observing him, judging him.

"Yes," said Harry, resisting the urge to say something snarky. Draco had yet to antagonize him in this reality, and he ought to give him the benefit of the doubt before making mortal enemies of the boy again.

"D'you know what House you'll be in yet?" asked Draco.

"Probably Gryffindor," Harry shrugged. "Both of my parents were in."

"Hmm," Draco hummed, clearly unimpressed. "Well, I'm going to be in Slytherin. Just like my father, and his father before him. Name's Malfoy, what's yours?"

"Potter," said Harry. "Harry Potter."

The trademark Malfoy scowl returned to the blond boy's face at this mention. "Potter, eh?" he repeated. "Like James Potter, the Auror?"

"That's my dad," Harry nodded.

"Didn't he marry a Mudblood?"

"Don't use that word in front of me," Harry said warningly. Draco only shrugged.

"Well, you could do worse than half-blood, I suppose," Draco sighed, as though pitying Harry's family history. "Could you imagine being raised by Muggles, and trying to keep up at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, I could," Harry said coldly. His patience was running thin, and he was quickly being reminded why he loathed Draco so much in his past life. Things were not looking much better in his new one, either. Draco didn't seem to pick up on Harry' s simmering anger, because he continued on as though he hadn't said anything offensive.

"I'm going to join the Quidditch team as Seeker, you know," he boasted. "I'll be the youngest in over a century, according to Father."

"They don't let first-years on the team," Harry pointed out.

"Father's on the Board of Governors," Draco shrugged, "and he knows Slytherin's Head of House personally. I bet they'll make an exception for me."

"Well, best of luck to you, then," Harry said sardonically, knowing that Draco would likely fail in his endeavor. It wasn't like he could really retort, though, since he'd been that exception in his old life, no doubt due to his minor celebrity status and McGonagall's light Gryffindor corruption.

Thankfully Draco's fitting ended soon after, and Harry enjoyed the rest of his session in relative peace and quiet. He wondered what kind of relationship James Potter and Lucius Malfoy had, but considering their respective statuses as Auror and former Death Eater – not to mention Draco's sour reaction to his name – it was probably not a cordial one.

Harry left the shop to find Lily and Dahlia waiting outside for him. "Your father was called into work," Lily said grimly. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Everything but my wand," said Harry.

"Shoot," Lily huffed. "Well, I was hoping to swing by the potions supply shop, but it's on the opposite end of the Alley from Ollivander's—"

"You go ahead, Mum!" Dahlia said, grabbing Harry's arm excitedly. "We can find our own way, right Harry?"

"Erm...right," Harry nodded. "I know where Ollivander's is."

Lily looked nervously between her two children. "You'll stick together no matter what?" she asked sternly. "And you'll watch out for your sister, Harry?"

"Oh please, I'll be watching out for him!" Dahlia grinned. But Lily continued to stare at Harry until he nodded his agreement.

"Very well," Lily sighed. "We'll meet at Fortescue's in an hour. And do not wander off into Knockturn Alley!" With that, she turned to hurry off towards her destination, while Dahlia guided Harry in the opposite direction.

"So what's got you so dumbstruck today?" Dahlia asked once they were out of earshot of their mother.

"Come again?" Harry asked, turning towards his sister.

"You've barely said three words since this morning," Dahlia remarked. "Usually Mum has to whack you upside the head to get you to stop blathering on about this or that Quidditch team."

"Erm...I dunno," Harry shrugged. (Was he normally more talkative in this universe?) He decided to throw a quip back in her face to test the waters: "It seems you can talk enough for the both of us."

"Only so you don't hog all of Mum and Dad's attention," Dahlia scoffed. "So what gives? Nervous about Hogwarts, or what?"

"A little, perhaps," Harry admitted. He was more excited than anything, though there was definitely an element of the unknown present in this universe that gave him a little trepidation.

"Don't you fret about it," Dahlia said in a singsong voice as she skipped down the cobblestone high street beside him. "I'm sure you'll only have a couple bullies. Besides, they'll be nothing compared to my bullying once I arrive."

"You'd really try to bully me, when I know all your deepest, darkest secrets?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

"You do not," Dahlia frowned, a note of uncertain challenge in her voice.

"Oh, Neville Longbottom," Harry said in a swooning falsetto, mimicking Dahlia outside Gringotts. "I'm madly in love with you...kiss me, Neville, I have all your posters on my wall…"

"Shut it, idiot, before someone hears!" Dahlia gasped in a mortified tone, leaping atop Harry's shoulders and attempting to cover his mouth. Harry laughed raucously as he grappled with her, trying to squirm free of her grasp. He'd had a sister for all of just a couple hours, and he'd already lay down his life for hers in a heartbeat. He never thought he'd have such companionship before, and it filled him with comforting warmth. It truly was a shame that she wouldn't be joining him at Hogwarts for another year…

They arrived at Ollivander's wand shop soon after, entering the dingy, dusty space cautiously. Even now Harry felt a sense of foreboding, as though this place held a secret, arcane knowledge that no other magic seemed to possess. Wandlore had always intimidated him, especially given the nefarious connection his last wand had given him to the Dark Lord.

Gerrick Ollivander came out of the back room to greet them. "New Hogwarts students?" he asked them.

"Just him," Dahlia sighed dramatically. "I have another year to go."

"I see," Ollivander nodded sympathetically to her. "Well, step right up, young man, and we'll try to find you a perfect match."

They went through a cycle of wands, most of which were snatched away by Ollivander before Harry could so much as wave it. A few caused minor magical fluctuations in the air – lightbulbs flickering, shelves rattling, boxes popping open. Ollivander patiently handed Harry one after the other, the process taking just as long as Harry's first time around. He found himself eyeing the brown box sitting atop a high shelf, knowing it contained the holly and phoenix feather wand, wandering if it would again choose him…

"Tricky customer, very tricky," Ollivander mused. But he didn't appear frustrated; if anything, he looked as though he relished the challenge. "You've got highly temperamental magic, far more attuned than most...a refined palate that only the right wand can satisfy…"

Dahlia began to grow bored as she slouched in the corner watching Harry try more and more wands. Harry found himself growing weary of the process himself, and was on the verge of straight-up asking directly to try the holly wand. But then Ollivander opened a new box, peering down at the wand within, and chuckling a bit to himself.

"An unusual combination, but worth a try," he mused, handing Harry a new wand. "Mahogany, twelve and three-quarter inches, with a Kneazle's whisker core." Harry suddenly had a vivid image of Hermione's old cat Crookshanks in his head, and, bemused, he took the wand from Ollivander.

Immediately he knew it was the one. The wand glowed with warmth in his palm, sending three puffs of white flame into the air before settling back to a dormant state.

"Aha!" Ollivander proclaimed, clapping his hands together in triumph. "A match! I should have tried it earlier, but that core is so rare, so very rare indeed...haven't sold a Kneazle core in years…"

"Why is it so rare?" Harry asked.

"Kneazles have a reputation as tricksters and troublemakers," Ollivander said with a wry smile. "You're a Potter, are you not, boy? I recognize your father James in you – I knew he was trouble from the moment he stepped into my shop. I imagine you have a similar reckless streak within you."

"You can say that again," Dahlia scoffed from the corner.

"I try to avoid trouble whenever I can," Harry said uneasily.

"But I imagine trouble seems to find you anyway, am I wrong?" Ollivander winked. Harry could not dispute this observation. "Paired with the mahogany wood, I think you'll enjoy plenty of speed and flexibility with that wand as well. A duelist's dream, if you choose to follow that path. But be warned! Kneazle cores are known to be finicky, and will demand your full attention to perform at its peak abilities. Are you up for the task, young man?"

"Yes, I think so," Harry said. As always, deep discussion of wandlore made him uncomfortable, as though Ollivander was somehow peering deep into his identity and gauging his inner self through his wand selection. Could he somehow tell that he had secrets and tricks of his own, having traveled back in time…?

"Then best of luck to you, Mr. Potter," Ollivander bowed to the two of them. "And I look forward to seeing you next year, Miss Potter!"

Harry paid for his wand and led the way back out into the Alley. They made their way towards Fortescue's, looking forward to some ice cream, but Lily was stood waiting for them outside the storefront, which was closed.

"They're shutting down the Alley early," she said grimly. "We should head home."

"Why? What's happened?" Harry asked, frowning.

"There was a break-in at Gringotts," Lily frowned. "Your father was called in to help figure out what happened."

"Is he gonna be okay?" Dahlia asked, frightened.

"I'm sure he will be," Harry reassured his sister. If things were indeed happening just as they had before, then Quirrell would be long gone from the bank before any Aurors could get in his way.

"No use fretting about it here," Lily said. "Let's hurry home so we can be there when your father returns."

They hustled back to the Leaky Cauldron and joined the queue of witches and wizards waiting to Floo away. They arrived back in Godric's Hollow safe and sound, where Lily insisted they all remain downstairs to keep her company while waiting for word from James. Harry instinctively knew he'd be fine – no way Death would screw with him by killing off his father less than a day into his new life – but acquiesced quietly.

Dahlia insisted on poring over Harry's new textbooks (which he didn't bother to leaf through, as he'd already learned all the material), as Bandit the owl zoomed happily overhead, finally free of his cage. Harry even let Dahlia wave his new wand around a little, but snatched it back when she accidentally set the curtains on fire, prompting a stern lecture from Lily after she extinguished the flames. Lily was incredibly on-edge, and outside distractions certainly didn't help, especially once she stepped in a pile of owl droppings and demanded Bandit be put outside.

Luckily, James returned before dusk, his wife engulfing him in a relieved kiss the second he stepped out of the fireplace. It was a tender, loving sight that filled Harry with warmth, despite Dahlia's gagging sounds beside him. "Strange situation," James muttered as he tiredly plopped down onto the couch. "Someone managed to break into a high-security vault, but it had already been emptied earlier in the day, according to the goblins."

"Well, that's good news, isn't it?" Lily reasoned.

"Thing is, they wouldn't tell us what was in the vault in the first place," James sighed. "I tried pulling rank and involving Fudge, but they just laughed in my face. I doubt the investigation will turn up much."

Harry badly wanted to jump in and share what he knew, as he could tell his father precisely what was in the vault and who was after it. But that would only draw suspicion about how he knew such information – and besides, he couldn't say for certain that things were playing out exactly as they had in his old life. After all, Neville was the Boy Who Lived in this universe, not him – who knew what other ripple effects that change could have on the world?

The rest of the evening was a muted affair, though Lily did bring out a cake for Harry, adorned with eleven sparkling candles that were charmed not to extinguish when he blew them out (causing James to giggle with mischievous glee). The family retired early that night, and Harry got in bed shortly after dark, feeling mentally and physically drained after such an up-and-down day of new revelations.

But he did not fall asleep straight away. He lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the new life he'd found himself in. He felt safer and more content than he ever had before, with a loving family by his side and the burden of Voldemort removed from his shoulders. He had a chance to re-do his Hogwarts years exactly how they always ought to have been, free to make his own decisions – his shared fate with Tom Riddle no longer pulling him towards destruction.

But something continued to nag at the back of his mind. A sense of duty; a feeling of unresolved purpose in his life. He had failed to fulfill his destiny in his past life, to defeat Voldemort with the tools at his disposal. He had put too much faith in other people, like Dumbledore, and they'd let him down. He should have been better prepared, more knowledgeable about what he was up against. If what Death told him was true, defeating Voldemort might not have been as simple as striking the man down.

Would Neville meet the same fate he had? Would Dumbledore fail to equip him with the knowledge he would need to win the coming war? Harry could help him avoid making the same mistakes he had. Sure, he had the freedom to walk away, to have nothing to do with Voldemort...but would his conscience allow him to? Knowing what he knew? Knowing what a formidable threat Tom Riddle truly was, unbeknownst to anybody but himself?

Harry thought again to what Ollivander said to him in the wand shop: "I imagine trouble seems to find you anyway." Could Harry really avoid meddling in affairs if he tried? Surely not. He knew too much about the Dark Lord, had done too much to prepare for his destiny, to simply walk away. He may not be the Boy Who Lived, but he still felt he owed the wizarding world something. He had been gifted with a fresh start, and it would be a poor repayment to let the world fall to Voldemort in his selfish desire for normalcy.

He would have to prepare harder this time. Study more, hone his skills. Learn to rely on himself rather than others around him. He would have to delve into Tom Riddle's past to try and determine just how he had achieved his immortality, and how he could help break whatever links kept him tethered to the world of the living. And if he could help Neville stay alive along the way, all the better for everybody.

Harry heard the sounds of his father's gentle snores drifting down the hall towards him, and it brought him a fresh sense of peace as he began to drift to sleep. Things would be different this time: he would have a family to rely on, a support system to get him through the dark moments. He would live his new life to its fullest, but he would not shirk his duty to help defeat the Dark Lord. Harry didn't need to be the one to deliver the killing blow, but he would be damned if he sat on the sidelines and waited for someone else to fight the war that was coming for him one way or another.