Harry seemed to hover for a particularly long moment between unconsciousness and wakefulness. A vague soreness pulsated through his limbs along with a frigid dampness on his back. His head and right wrist hurt so much that he barely encoded the anxious, feminine voice speaking above him. With a groan and supreme effort, he opened his eyes.

The image he awoke to was not the one he expected. Three young faces hovered inches above his, blocking out the sunny sky beyond them.

“Harry! Are you alright?” one of the children asked. She was the oldest of them but still looked a few years younger than Harry. She had long, dark hair, a smattering of freckles on her pale nose and serious, hazel eyes that were crinkled in concern. There was something oddly familiar about her.

“I’m – I think I’m ok,” answered Harry shakily trying to sit up. The pounding in his head made him groan and fall back onto the snow he was lying on. He looked at the children again, gasping when his eyes focused on the little boy. He couldn’t have been older than seven, but he looked exactly like a better-dressed Harry did at that age. The only thing missing was the scar.

“Who are you?” Harry asked the little boy in awe. Alarm blossomed in the boy’s eyes, and he quickly looked to the older girl for direction. The youngest, a pre-school aged girl with an amber bob peeking out from under her white hat and a dripping, red nose, started to cry.

“DADDY!” she shrieked causing Harry’s head to feel like a million little explosions had just gone off in his brain.

“Grace, don’t yell,” admonished the older girl before she turned her attention back to Harry.  She took his gloved hand in hers.

“Don’t worry, Harry. You’ve just hit your head. It’ll all be ok.” Her face was understanding and kind, and even though she was younger than him, he was inclined to listen to her.  Vaguely, Harry heard footsteps through the snow. The other children did too, because their heads snapped up at the sound. The youngest girl jumped to her feet and started to cry in earnest as she ran towards the approaching figure.

“What happened?” a male, adult voice asked worriedly. Like everything else, the voice was vaguely familiar. It was like these people surrounding him were actors he had seen in movie long ago, not recognizable persay, but not completely forgotten either.

“He fell off of his broom,” said the older girl who was still holding Harry’s hand. “Sirius dared him to try the Wronski Feint, and he couldn’t pull up in time.”

“Did not!” yelped the Boy-Who-Looked-So-Like-Harry guiltily.

“Did too!” the girl shrieked back indignantly. “Daddy, he did. Harry said he could do it ‘cause Charlie taught him, and Sirius said he couldn’t, and he crashed, and now he can’t remember anything.”

“Alright, Amelia, it’s alright, I’ll figure out who to yell at later. Take Sirius and Grace inside please.” The voice was close to Harry now, and the children scattered to make room immediately.

He didn’t have time to consider the voice further when a face Harry had only seen in pictures swam into view. It was lined with age and drawn with worry, but it was undoubtedly the face of James Potter. His slightly skewed glasses, warm hazel eyes and messy hair were unchanged. A swooping rush of anxiety, pleasure and something else Harry couldn’t quite identify swirled in his stomach as he gaped at his father.

“Dad?” whispered Harry in disbelief, he blinked hard to clear the vision, but when he opened his eyes his Dad was there.

“Where does it hurt, love?” asked James gently, running a hand through Harry’s hair to check for lumps. His father was dead. This Harry knew for sure, and he couldn’t help but stare in bewilderment.

“Harry?” prompted James again looking at Harry with concern. Swallowing thickly, Harry found his voice.

“M-my head and my arm mostly,” whispered Harry, relieved his voice was still how he remembered it. James felt Harry’s wrist, sending a shock of pain through Harry who yelped slightly.

“It’s broken,” said James with a sigh. He wordlessly lit his wand and held it up to Harry’s eyes. The intrusion caused Harry to cringe and look away. “And a concussion. Ok, love, to St. Mungo’s we go.”

He wormed a hand under Harry’s back and helped him sit up. The sensation made Harry feel dazed for a moment, and he blinked to clear the spots from his eyes. Before he could fully adjust, James seized him under the armpits and lifted him up onto his hip like a much younger child. James mistook Harry’s gasp of shock for one of pain and rubbed his back in a small, calming circle.

“I know it hurts, love,” James said in a soothing, voice. “It’ll feel better soon.” Hoisted across his father’s chest only served to make Harry feel crazier. He could smell the subtle leathery scent of cologne and see the faint stubble on James’ chin. Even though his father had run out into the snow in only his shirt, heat still radiated through to Harry and he could feel every breath James took. It was all so real.

Harry remained in shocked silence as James collected Harry’s ‘siblings’, none of whom Harry recognized, and took them all to the bright, St. Mungo’s waiting room. They were admitted quickly, and now Harry was sitting in a surprisingly comfortable hospital bed, listening guiltily while James softly lectured Sirius.

“He could have done himself a serious injury,” James said.

“He didn’t have to do it!” replied Sirius moodily, crossing his arms. Outside the door, a little witch in a pink jumper was crying on her Mother’s shoulder as the harried looking woman tried fruitlessly to calm her. Harry blinked at the image. He was so concerned with what this odd world was, that he had not even thought about the most important thing.

“Dad, where’s Mom?” Harry asked hesitantly. James looked at him with some concern.

“She’s in Court, honey. She’ll be here soon. You don’t remember?” James asked furrowing his brow. Harry just shook his head negatively, wincing when it burned.

“Harry doesn’t remember anything,” Grace said matter-of-factly. James’ eyes blossomed in alarm, the same way Sirius’ had earlier, but before he could say anything, the door opened to reveal an old, Indian man whose hair was going white in green doctors robes.

“I was wondering when I was going to get my monthly visit from the Potters,” said the Healer with a warm smile, at the room. “What trouble have you lot gotten yourself into this time?” He asked looking at Harry.

“I’m not really sure,” Harry admitted softly.

“He fell off his broom,” said Amelia, quickly. “He hit his head and his wrist. See, it's all swollen.”

“Alright, Harry, follow the light at the end of my wand,” said the Healer. Harry did as he was told, still unable to shake the deep uncertainty in his gut.

“Good,” muttered the Healer.

“Just a nasty bump on the head, nothing that shouldn’t clear up in a few days time. Consider yourself lucky, Harry. We wizards may be less susceptible to brain injuries but we can snap a neck just as easily as a Muggle,” Healer Harris said firmly.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said nervously. The Healer arched an eyebrow at this, but before he could say anything, James cut in.

“He’s been having some memory issues, apparently,” James said. He was trying to keep his voice level and calm for the sake of Harry and the other children, but Harry could see the anxiousness on his face.

“I-I remember. It’s just different,” explained Harry, wanting to calm everyone down. Feeling a little stupid, he turned to James, who nodded seriously giving Harry the confidence to continue. “I lived with my Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, and I didn’t have any siblings, and -" Harry trailed off, turning to James.

“And you were dead. Mom too,” added Harry in a whisper. “Voldemort killed you.” James’ eyebrows flew up to his hairline in surprise, then he cleared his throat and shuffled closer to Harry.

“I’m not sure what books you’ve gotten your hands on, love; but I assure you, your Mom and I are very much alive. And Voldemort has been gone for quite some time now,” James said in a placating tone.

“And I don’t know what world we’d be in where we’d send you to live with your Aunt Petunia.  I’d rather think a nice Goblin family would be more suitable. Don’t tell your Mother I said that.” James said with a playful wink as he smoothed down Harry’s covers. There was at least some logic in that, and Harry gave a shaky smile in response.

“The last thing I remember was going to get a potion from Professor Snape,” Harry muttered rubbing his head.

“Professor Snape?” James said with a little snort. Before Harry could ask why that was funny, Grace came up beside the bed.

“You thought Mommy and Daddy were dead?” Grace asked, horrified. Both her and Sirius were now looking up at Harry with fearful, wide-eyes. Grace’s lower lip was starting to tremble, and Harry felt an inexplicable urge to comfort her.

“And I was never born?” Sirius continued, instead of his lips trembling, they drew back in anger. “But I’ve known you forever. You have to remember. Is he going to get better?” Sirius said addressing the Healer now with surprising fierceness considering his age. James drew Sirius on to his lap, to calm him, but fixed the Healer with an equally intent look.

“Trouble recalling, visions, these are all common with head injuries, especially with Wizards” said Healer Harris, patting Harry on the shoulder. “Your magic is just confused and trying to reorient itself. I’ll keep you overnight for observation, but I’m certain you just need plenty of rest. I’ll leave some pain killers with your father.”  

Harry nodded mutely, feeling a sense of relief. If he was crazy or if something was really wrong, the healer would have been able to tell. James nodded and watched the Healer leave before turning a tired smile to Harry.

“Why don’t you take one of these now and get some sleep,” James said holding one of the vials out. Harry took it and looked at it hesitantly.

“Millie play with Sirius and Grace, ok?” James said gently pushing Sirius off of his lap towards the corner. Amelia took them obediently, and when they were out of earshot, James shuffled closer and brushed the bangs off of Harry’s forehead.

“What’s the matter, love?” asked James, concerned.

If this was all some wonderful dream, going to sleep might end it. He hadn’t seen his mother yet. He didn’t know his siblings and all he knew about his father was that the man cared about him and was worried that he was hurting. It was an entirely knew experience for Harry.

“Harry?” prompted James.

“What if – what if I go to sleep someone makes me go back and then I won’t be here anymore, and I won’t see you anymore,” asked Harry. The statement barely made sense even to him but his father, sensing his anxiety, took it in with due gravitas.

“You’re really worried about that, aren’t you, sweetheart?” said James, leaning forward on his chair. Harry glanced over his father’s face for a sign he was being mocked, but there was only compassionate concern. After a moment, he nodded. James sighed and scratched the back of his head thoughtfully.

“Alright.” James leaned forward and took Harry’s hand in his. “I promise I’ll be right here the whole time you are asleep, and if anyone or anything tries to take you anywhere, I won’t let them.” Even though Harry knew that James wasn’t seriously expecting anything to happen, there was a protective glint in his eyes that put his words beyond suspicion. Harry uncorked the vial, and drank it in a few sips.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up. So will your Mom,” James said reassuringly. “Snuggle in now.”  The pain reliever cleared up the slight throbbing in Harry’s head and made a woozy, tiredness surround his brain. He shifted down under the warm covers and smiled when James tucked the blanket more firmly around his shoulders.

“I love you, kiddo,” whispered James, planting a gently kiss on Harry’s forehead. A suspicious tightness constricted Harry’s throat. No one had ever told him that they loved him before.

“Love you too, Dad,” Harry choked out. The last thing he saw before sleep pulled him under, was his father staring down at him in concern.

A graying monster launched forward towards Harry seizing him around the throat and throwing him against a wall. Professor Snape was hung up like a graying piece of laundry, tubing filled with thick, black liquid jutted out of his veins and arms. Pain shot through Harry and he couldn’t take a full breath. He tried to scream, but nothing came out.

“Harry! Harry!” someone called urgently. Harry was still screaming when he dimly came aware of the dark hospital room and the concerned face of his father staring down at him. He breathed rapidly, the vision doing nothing for his fear. The dream was real. Snape was hurt, and if Harry stayed here and didn’t get help he’d die. He tried to get out of bed, but James held him down.

“It’s alright, Harry, it was just a dream,” he said firmly but gently.

“No, it’s not,” said Harry, trying desperately to explain. “There was this monster and it got Snape and it made my arm freeze. He’s going to die. This isn’t my real life.” Harry felt his lip quiver ominously at the assertion. There weren’t words to describe how much he wished that this was all real; but Harry learned early on that he didn’t get his wishes.

“Oh, love,” James whispered, gathering Harry up into his arms. He tried to resist but the hug was firm. “It’s alright, everything is alright. Bumps on the head make us think funny things sometimes.” James continued in a murmur rocking Harry slightly. “I’ve been there. Once I took a bludger to the head and couldn’t remember Hogwarts or my own name for a week.” The certainty Harry felt began to wane and his forehead scrunched in confusion.

The dream had seemed so real, but so did this. James’ heart beat under Harry’s ear, a touch faster than normal, in reaction to Harry’s stress. Harry breathed deeply, smelling the woody scent of James’ cologne and feeling the warmth of his muscular arms around him. Even in his wildest fantasies, Harry wasn’t sure he could create a life this vivid and realistic. A voice in his head reminded him that thoughts of his past life had been vivid too. Then again the past nightmare he had had been choppy and disorganized. Could it all just be in his head? When he was here, being held by his father, hearing his heart thump, it certainly seemed that way.

He was almost calm when the door creaked open and Lily stepped through holding two coffees, sneakily as though she was worried about waking him. When she saw he was awake, she smiled broadly.

Forget his heart racing, it basically stopped as he took in the vision of mother hungrily. All thoughts of Snape and his dream simply slid away.

“Hi sweetheart,” she said, as though he hadn’t been dead for ten years of his life. “How are you feeling? I heard you have had quite the day.”

“I - I’m good. I feel fine,” he whispered. He was so disoriented when he first saw his Dad that he couldn’t really consider the impression he made. Now he felt a rush of concern that his mother wouldn’t like him.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Lily said, reaching forward and running her thumb over his  cheekbone, with an ease of someone who had done that same thing time and time again.

 “No more brooms. I’m not sure my heart could take it if I get a call like that again, ” She said fiercely. “Nothing bad is ever supposed to happen to you.”

“You can’t take his broom,” James said indigently, his arms still wrapped around Harry’s shoulder. Lily rolled her eyes, and handed James the second coffee.

No one had ever cared this much about him, Harry abruptly realized. All the times he remembered being sick at the Dursley’s, he had been thrown in the cupboard with no comfort or affection. The thought of Uncle Vernon anxiously keeping watch as his father had done was ludicrous. Aunt Petunia had never felt an overwhelming concern for his well-being or any duty to prevent him from being injured as his mother did. Harry decided that there was no way he could imagine being this loved because he had no experience with the feeling. It was all just a stupid bad dream. This was where he belonged.

“I’m ok,” Harry said, smiling up at Lily. “A little hungry actually.” Lily tapped Harry’s cheek and smiled in approval.

“Get some more sleep, and as soon as the Healer clears you to go, we’ll go home and I’ll make you some pancakes” James said, ruffling Harry’s thick hair.

“Pancakes are my favourite,” said Harry smiling between them.

“I know,” James said with a laugh, squeezing his shoulder. “That’s why I’m making them.”

A few hours later, Healer Harris let Harry go after assuring his parents multiple times that his head was fine and that the memories would return with ample rest and relaxation. They had set him up under a bunch of blankets, on a couch by a roaring fireplace, and even though his head was sore and he felt confused, he never felt more at peace.

He had spent most of the day playing with his siblings, sleeping and wandering around the big, old manor. It was old-fashioned, passed down from Harry’s grandparents from their grandparents from their grandparents and so on. Harry couldn’t help but be savagely pleased that it was so much bigger than Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon’s house.

The best part was that he had, for the first time in his recollection, his own room. It was painted a bright, cheerful blue and had a big bed with a thick striped duvet. One wall was completely covered with a huge bookcase filled with books and trinkets, across from the bed was a chest of drawers filed with clean, fashionable clothes in his size and covered in pictures. There was one double portrait frame that caught Harry’s eye immediately. On the left side, he was a chubby baby, smiling back from Lily’s arms as James wrapped an arm around her and dangled his fingers in front of Harry to amuse him. On the other side, a good-looking man with dark, thick hair and grey eyes held Harry on his lap, blew raspberries onto his stomach, then looked up at the camera and laughed heartily.

A knock on the door burst Harry out of his reverie. James was standing their smiling at him.

“Hey monkey, are you ready for dinner?” he asked. Harry nodded and placed the picture carefully back on the bureau.

Even better than having clothes that didn’t embarrass him and a kitchen full of food he was welcome to, was having people who actually wanted to share a house with him.

A wealth of moving pictures hung on the kitchen wall, and Harry kept glancing at photos of himself holding his siblings as babies, sitting on his father’s shoulders in front of the Eiffel Tower and being kissed by his mother, hoping that the memories would come back to him. They didn’t. He was so engrossed in examining the pictures and eating the Shepard’s Pie that he was barely listening as his Mom talked about work with his father.

“It’s nice of the Weasleys to have the whole Department. Arthur has always been so generous,” said Lily, cutting up the pie on Grace’s plate. Harry’s head jerked up at the name.

“The Weasleys? Ron Weasley?” asked Harry urgently. His Mom looked at him, her mouth rounded in shock.

“You remember your friend, but not me!” Sirius asked indignantly. Amelia hit him on the shoulder and he shrugged.

“The Weasleys are practically family. Harry’s known Ron his whole life. He can’t control what he remembers and what he can’t.” Relief spread through Harry in hearing that Ron was still his best friend. It was a comforting constant to have.

“They’re having a party tomorrow,” Harry said quickly, looking between his parents. “Can we go?” James and Lily exchanged uncertain looks, even as Harry’s siblings joined Harry in expressing excitement.

“Well love, we were going to, but we’re supposed to see your Aunt and Uncle tomorrow for lunch. I think it might be a little too much excitement for you for one day” said James gently after a moment. Harry felt his face fall. For some reason, finding that constant point with his dream life seemed almost necessary.

“We can skip lunch” Sirius said, a wide smile, hopeful smile on his face. Amelia and Grace threw hopeful looks at their parents, but quailed at the stern look on Lily’s face.

“Christmas is a time for family,” replied Lily tightly, sending the casserole dish sailing across the room into the sink with a little more force than necessary.  For once, Harry knew what his siblings were talking about and was able to share in the wordless grimace at the thought of spending Christmas with the Dursleys.

“Can we go to the Weasleys, just for a while?” Harry begged, hating that he was already asking his parents for things. Lily reached forward and cupped Harry’s cheek fleetingly.

“We’ll see how you feel tomorrow, sweetheart,” she said ushering them up. “Now come on, Harry needs his rest. It’s time to get ready for bed.”

“Feel better,” Amelia whispered hugging him carefully around the neck as though she was worried about breaking him.

“We’ll play tomorrow,” Sirius said, hugging him as well. Grace kissed Harry wetly on the cheek.

“Love you,” she said sweetly, with a wide smile on her face.

“You too,” he whispered faintly, touching the wet spot on the cheek in a bit of daze. As she smiled and raced up the stairs with the rest of Harry’s siblings, he was surprised to find that he meant it.