James Potter wasn't entirely convinced that he was awake.  Before him was a vision from his dreams: his son, his oldest son whom he had mourned so many years, standing straight and proud.  James was afraid to touch him lest he be no more than an illusion, but holding himself back was pure agony.

"Dad."

That voice, that word broke down his remaining fears, and he wrapped his arms around his son - his solid flesh and bone son - blinking back tears as the embrace was returned.  They held each other close, and James reveled in the warmth of the slender figure in his arms.

"Harry," he breathed, almost in his son's ear, then drew back far enough to see his eyes, and smiled.  Those emerald eyes were as wondrous as he remembered.  Lily's eyes.  Of their three sons, only Harry had inherited those eyes...

There were shadows lurking beneath them, however, even as they shone brightly up at him.

"Harry," he managed, the sharp jolt of reality enabling him to refocus his mind, "Lily - your mother - she'll want to see you..."  He trailed off, then bit his lip worriedly as those emerald eyes grew distant.  "I know we're not exactly your real parents, but - "

"You are," Harry stated softly, yet emphatically.  Emerald fire warmed James to the core as his son smiled, melting away any possible doubts.  "You are my parents.  Always."

James found himself smiling back, somewhat relieved that Harry could accept them so readily, yet at the same time painfully aware that establishing a relationship was unlikely to be quite so simple as that.  He knew how it felt to lose his own parents, and in effect this might have just happened to this boy, almost a man.  He also knew what it was like to lose a son, and he could imagine only all too well the reaction of this Harry's own parents when they found him missing...

One hand resting lightly on Harry's shoulder, he brushed the other gently through untidy black hair so similar to his own, his eyes drawn briefly to a scar thus revealed on the boy's forehead.  The sight of it was yet another reminder of the differences that must surely exist between their worlds.

"And you'll always be our son," James responded quietly, at last.  "But losing our Harry... changed us."  Green eyes contemplated him solemnly, weighing the weight of his words, and he pressed on.  "We aren't quite the same parents you know, nor is it my intention to replace them - or to replace our son with you - "

Green eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and James rushed his words explain himself that much faster.

"-  but we would still like to be your parents, for as long as you want us, as long as you need us."  He stood uncertainly before Harry, watching his face carefully for his reaction to this statement.  Harry's expression had become closed and unreadable as James spoke, barring that fractional flicker in his eyes, leaving a growing flight of butterflies fluttering around his stomach until -

"I understand."  Harry was again smiling, although his smile was a shade duller and thinner than it had been previously.  James wanted to kick himself for stealing even the slightest bit of happiness from his son, even though he knew that it was for the best that they clarify the situation now.  After all, it was not yet determined whether he would be able to return to his own world, but if he could...

"If I may interrupt for a moment?" Professor Dumbledore smiled kindly at them both, startling James, who had almost forgotten the presence of the other two professors in the room.  They had apparently been busily investigating the fragments of the shattered mirror littering the floor of the Charms classroom while James had been absorbed with Harry.  The shards were all carefully collected in a bowl that Flitwick was muttering over softly.  "Harry, Professor Flitwick has already described of the incident from his perspective, but it would be most beneficial if you could provide us with your own version of events."

The slight smile left Harry's lips, his emotions seeming to melt away as he faced the Headmaster.  He nodded briefly, and began to speak.

"There was a mirror in my world, too," he informed them, his eyes drifting to the bowl of broken shards, and the frame that now leaned empty against the wall.  "I touched it - cut my fingers."  He held up his hand, blood just beginning to colour the bandages wrapped around it.  James made to take the wounded hand in his own, but Dumbledore waved him away, motioning for Harry to continue.  He did so, in increasingly distant tones.  "There was blood on the mirror.  There were hands reaching out to me.  I heard a voice calling for help.  I took his hands - and I was here."

"We will have to hear Simon's account, too," Dumbledore murmured softly after a moment of silence.  "But in the meantime," he voice rose to a conversational volume, "you had best be off to the Hospital Wing.  Your father will escort you."

James could recognise a dismissal when he heard one, but he had one more concern.  "Lily - "

"I will make sure she is informed," Dumbledore assured him.  "Wait for her in the Hospital Wing.  Theodore, too," he added.  "I imagine that a great deal of explanations must be given."

James winced in trepidation, then hastily smiled - albeit nervously - when he noticed Harry watching him.

"It'll be alright," he said, although he wasn't quite certain whether it was himself or Harry he was trying to reassure.  Slinging one arm around his son's shoulders, he urged him toward the door.  "Come on, you need to get those cuts treated."
 
 

The Hospital Wing was one area of Hogwarts with which Theodore Potter was quite well acquainted, due to his younger brother's inexplicable propensity for requiring Madam Pomfrey's attentions.  It was no surprise to him that he had received yet another message informing him of yet another of Simon's mishaps.  What was surprising was that he'd been directed to leave class to visit him there.  That unusual point had caused Ginny to frown anxiously and Colin to bite his lip worriedly as Theo had packed up his bag and left their Potions class.  Colin was quite entitled to be worried as his own brother, Dennis, had the misfortune to be in Simon's class - and being in Simon's class was tantamount to being in the line of fire.

He made his way to the Hospital Wing at a swift pace, concern stirring his steps even as his mind ran through its usual litany of complaints and prayers for patience when dealing with his irrepressible, illogical and irresponsible spoiled brat of a sibling.   Moving quietly lest he disturb any of Madam Pomfrey's other patients, he made his way to the bed in the far corner of the ward which the nurse had exasperatedly declared to be reserved for Simon's use.  The curtains had been partially drawn, his father the only person fully visible, standing over Madam Pomfrey as she carefully bandaged a pair of hands.  Theo assumed they were Simon's.  When he made it past the curtain he found out how very wrong he was.

"What the fuck did you do this time?!" he demanded of his brother even as he stared at the awfully familiar face, ignoring Madam Pomfrey's indignant "Mr Potter!" and three rather shocked expressions as his eyes flickered incessantly between his father and the stranger, his mind performing an extremely fast comparative analysis between the two.  It was interrupted by his wretched brother's hysterical laughter.

"You swore!  You actually swore!  You said 'fuck'!"

"Simon!"

"He said it first, Dad!"  Simon was practically rolling around on the bed as he laughed.

Theo gritted his teeth, unable to prevent the blood from flooding his cheeks.  It wasn't as though he never swore.  Just not usually in front of his family.

"Mr Perfect Prefect!  I didn't think he knew how to swear!" Simon continued, holding his belly tightly with cloth-swathed hands, still chuckling inanely.

"Shut up, brat!"

"Theo!" his father warned, finally overcoming his astonishment at his son's vocabulary.  "Both of you, enough of that!"

Theo folded his arms across his chest and waited impatiently for Simon to settle down, continuing his examination of the stranger in the meantime.  Resemblance to his father notwithstanding, the stranger appeared to be about his own age, yet his eyes seemed far older and almost wistful as he observed the Potters' interactions.

"This is Harry," his father introduced softly, noticing the direction of Theo's attention.  Simon sobered quickly at the mention of the stranger's name, sitting up and glancing rather sulkily at 'Harry' as Madam Pomfrey finished wrapping the boy's hands and departed - after directing an admonishing glare at all three boys.

"He's your brother."

Theo blinked slowly, contemplating the brief, yet profound statement.  He managed to summarise the majority of his questions in one word: "How?"

His father's explanation of alternate dimensions and magic mirrors seemed to be a most improbable occurrence - unless you took into account that Simon Sirius Potter was involved.  Theo could believe absolutely anything being possible when it came to his younger brother.  He could only pray that his older brother was not such a chaos-magnet.  Being caught up in one of Simon's mini-disasters was not a mark in his favour.

"So," Theo exhaled heavily, looking directly into eyes so much like his mother's.  "You're here - indefinitely."  Harry shrugged lightly in response.  "You're in seventh year?"  A nod.  "Gryffindor?"  A smile, this time, though quite lop-sided and almost bitter.  Theo frowned slightly before turning to his father, ignoring Simon, who was fidgeting restlessly on the bed.  "Does Professor McGonagall know?"

"She will," his father assured him.

"His dorm-mates will need to be informed - "

"Professor McGonagall will take care of that, Theo."

Theo's frown deepened, and he performed another critical scan of Harry with diligent eyes.  "He could probably borrow Simon's robes - "

"No way is he wearing my clothes!" Simon cut him off, his face as red as his hair.  "Give him your own!"  Theo rolled his eyes.  His father groaned and rubbed at his forehead with one hand.

"We'll worry about that later, alright?"  Simon turned his glare on his father, and what Theo suspected was the real reason - or at least part of it - why his brother was so antsy suddenly burst out.

"Why didn't you tell us we had a brother?  How did he die?"

Theo could see his father freeze at Simon's abrupt change of topic, and scowled at his hopelessly indelicate manner of asking.  "There are pictures of him as a baby in the family photo album, Simon.  You've seen them."

Brown eyes blinked, puzzled.  "I thought they were all of you."

"I don't have green eyes, you git."

"Theo."

"Sorry, Dad," he apologised utterly insincerely.

"How did I die?"

Theo, Simon and their father all stared at Harry, momentarily silenced by his display of morbid curiosity.  Theo found the use of 'I' particularly disturbing in this context.  At last their father sighed, and answered in quiet tones: "Our Harry was murdered by Voldemort."

Theo stood impassively, having put together enough of the few scraps of information he'd gleaned over the years about his deceased older brother to expected that statement.  Simon, however, stared wide-eyed at his father.

"You-Know-Who killed our brother?  When he was a baby?  Why?"

"Voldemort doesn't need a reason to kill," Harry informed Simon in a deadened tone of voice, and Theo noticed his eyes were unfocused as he stared blankly at the wall in front of him.

"No, he doesn't," their father agreed, his eyes fixed on Harry, pausing briefly before continuing.  "We were under the protection of a Secret Keeper then.  Sirius Black, my best friend."  He swallowed heavily.  "He was tortured.  He died.  And the Death Eaters came to our home."

Theo could feel the chill creeping down his back at his father's raw tones, and almost jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.  He relaxed again when he caught a vibrant flash of red hair from the corner of his eye, and covered the hand with his own, squeezing the fingers slightly as he drew his mother forward.

"Oh, Harry," she breathed in wonderment as she gazed steadily at the green-eyed boy sitting on the bed.

For the first time since Theo had met him, Harry Potter truly smiled.
 

*** *** ***

To be continued...

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