After dinner, the group donned their cloaks and marched out of the tent, following a line of witches and wizards up the path toward the shadow of a mountain in the distance. "What are we about to see?" James asked as they walked.
Hermione turned around and smiled at him. "Have you ever heard of the Northern Lights?"
"I have not," James replied.
"I have!" Lily exclaimed. "Oh, is that what we're seeing? Are they magical? I knew it! I visited them with my family when I was a girl, but not here, in Finland. And I knew they were magical! There was this music no one else could hear and it was like—inside me and no one believed me and my sister—well…" She trailed off, then gave Harry a small smile and linked her arm in his.
"She's the worst," Harry said. "It's crazy to me that you were raised by the same people."
"I say that all the time," James added.
Lily gripped Harry's arm tighter. "She wasn't that bad growing up. She turned bitter later. I think she was jealous about not having magic and Vernon, well, once she ended up with him, I knew there was no hope for her. Poor Tuney."
She turned to Harry and said in a harsh tone, "I'm talking about my Petunia here. Your Petunia I despise and have absolutely no sympathy for. I don't know if you still see her out of a sense of duty or something, but if so, you can stop. You owe her nothing."
A hint of shame washed over Harry, but it was small. He was getting better at viewing his time with the Dursleys as an unfortunate event from his past, one he'd moved past, rather than a blotch on his history that he should be ashamed of. The matter-of-fact way both of his parents had managed the topic helped. Also, Hermione's words, which he thought of often.
He nodded as he looked back at his mum, swallowing back a lump in his throat. "I do—er—see them, once a year. Maybe I'll stop. Or just see Dudley."
"I fully support both decisions," Lily said. "Blood doesn't make family, Harry. Love does. And just because you don't have blood relations in your day-to-day life doesn't mean you don't have a family."
Harry felt a pang in his chest as he thought of the Weasleys and if they'd still be his surrogate family after he called off his wedding. But the pain lessened considerably when Hermione chimed in with, "She's right. I'm part of that non-blood family of yours."
"Maybe you should get married and make that official," James quipped, which earned him glares from both Harry and Hermione. James raised his palms in surrender. "Okay, okay. No talk of you two getting together, even though you're obviously in love—"
"—and balance each other perfectly," Lily added, "and would have—"
"Mum," Harry said warningly.
"Okay, change of topic. Tell us more about these lights, Hermione."
Hermione picked up the topic eagerly, but she didn't seem upset. When Harry shot her an apologetic smile a few moments later, she just shrugged and gave him a look that said, "Parents. What are you going to do?"
As soon as they passed around the curve of the mountain, the group let out a collective gasp. "Bloody hell," James murmured as he stared up at the sky, the colors from the lights ahead reflecting off his glasses.
"Yeah," Hermione sighed. "Here we are. The Northern Lights, as the Muggles call them, or the Song of the Stars, our term for them."
"Where does the song part come into play?" Harry asked as he stared in awe at the sky. There were several swaths of colorful light glowing in the night sky, looking as if they were painted by some deity. The primary color was green, but on the edges, Harry could see pink, purple, yellow, and blue. The more he looked, the more colors he saw.
As Harry stared at the lights, the low rumble of a song began to play in his head, causing his body to vibrate from within. He jumped in alarm and the next moment, the song was gone. He saw Hermione watching him with a smile. "Did you feel it?"
Harry nodded. "Was that the song?"
She smiled and gestured for them to continue walking. "Let's find a spot to lie down."
They made their way to the base of the grassy mountain where wizards were spreading blankets out and lying down on them before turning to face the brilliant sky. They found a spot between an Indian couple who were wearing colorful silk robes that almost matched the lights in the sky and two blonde women wearing Muggle clothes.
Lily, James, and Harry greeted the two couples, using hand gestures once they realized they didn't speak English, while Hermione pulled the blankets out of their packs. James and Harry took the spots on the outside, out of habit, while the girls laid down in between them.
"Okay, Hermione," James said, "what are we seeing?"
"This phenomenon is created because of disturbances in the magnetosphere caused by solar wind," Hermione began. "It causes these lights, but also some sounds that even Muggles can hear, sort of like claps and crackles."
"And the music?" Harry asked.
As he focused on the lights, that music appeared deep in his body again. It was like no song he'd ever heard, low and sorrowful, with an undertone of hope. The longer he listened to it, the more complicated the song grew. There was a layer that was beautiful and rich, that reminded Harry of how he felt when Hermione beamed at him. There was a clipped layer that reminded Harry of the feeling of running from danger, and even a part of the symphony that sounded like an angry crash. The closest thing Harry had ever encountered was Phoenix song, in the way it evoked emotion, but this was more intense.
"Very little is known about exactly what's going on here," Hermione said, her voice low and reverent, "but it's believed to be some sort of interaction between the changes in the magnetosphere and our magic. And the music —if you can call it that—since it's more of a feeling, than a sound—is said to perfectly mirror your emotions." She cut off with a heavy sigh.
Harry turned to face her and saw a tear fall down her cheek. He wondered what sort of symphony she was hearing. She gave him a small smile, then finished with, "The wizards of old didn't understand what this was when they discovered it, so they called it simply, 'the Song of the Stars.' It wasn't until fairly recently, within the past century, that a team of wizards in Greenland figured out that everyone hears a different song."
The group was quiet as they looked back at the sky, each focusing on the songs playing deep in their chests. With the context Hermione had given, Harry heard his symphony in a new light. In countless layers of sound, he was able to pick out four primary harmonies. One reminded him of Ginny, a beautiful high-pitched flute that seemed to be crying in pain, creating a feeling of intense guilt in Harry's gut.
Ron's song was like Ginny's, but lower and more complicated, inciting a mix of fear, pain, guilt, jealousy, and affection in Harry. Hermione's song was gorgeous and powerful, just like her. Like a blast of a full string quartet, laced with an undercurrent of fear, similar to the beating of a low drum.
Harry focused on his parents' part of the symphony last, which was playing the loudest. A song of love, loss, and longing. As he homed in on that part, tears fell down his face. He closed his eyes and the music stopped and he took several breaths, relieved to have a break from the intensity of the feelings churning inside him.
When Harry opened his eyes again, he didn't try to pick out the parts of the song but focused on it as a whole. It was complicated, stunning, and covered every range of emotions he'd ever experienced. It was him in a song and as Harry listened to it, he felt a rush of self-compassion, which wasn't a common feeling for him.
With all the melodies playing inside him, competing for attention, it was okay to be confused. It was okay to be a fucking mess, just as Hermione had said back at the tent. As Harry listened to the intricate harmonies, weaving and changing even while he lay there, he felt more at peace than he had in a while.
He was reminded of Teddy, and how he looked when he was overwhelmed, shouting at the top of his lungs, eyes wide and pleading as tears streamed down his face, and how Harry would pat his back and say softly, "It's okay, Teddy. Everything's confusing now, but you'll get there. You're okay."
Then he thought of Hermione, the place where his thoughts always landed, and what she'd said to him in Egypt. "You're allowed to break down; you have a lot going on. But you're not allowed to beat yourself up about it. Just—go easy on yourself. Okay?"
Harry sent the stars a silent thank you. I needed the reminder that sometimes everything is hard, and that that's okay, he said in his mind. Thank you for that. It was very timely.
James was the first to break the trance. Once he started speaking, Harry closed his eyes to stop the music, so he could hear him better.
"Was it like this when you visited with your parents?" James was asking his mum.
"It wasn't this powerful," Lily replied. "Hermione said it's linked to our magic, so that makes sense. I was eight and didn't have as much magic as I do now. Enough to cause little bursts here and there, but that's it."
Everyone was quiet and Harry wondered if they were remembering their own accidental bursts of magic. He was thinking of the time he'd ended up on the roof of the school and how the teachers had assumed he'd been floated up there by a gust of wind. How preposterous. Some people were desperate to cling to their beliefs, even when the facts contradicted them. Again, he thought of Hermione and her claim that their feelings for each other weren't real.
"I was scared," Lily continued. Harry focused back on her voice. "I knew I was different and that night in Finland, when we visited the Northern Lights, that was sort of a turning point for me. When I knew definitively that I was different. The next summer, I met Severus. And I know you hate him," she added quickly, "but he was good for me. He introduced me to a world where I belonged. He helped me with that transition and you can hate him all you want, but I would have had a much harder time without him."
Lily paused to sigh. Harry turned his head and saw that she was lying in the crook of his dad's arm. Her eyes were closed, as were his dad's and Hermione's.
"At that point in your life," Lily said softly, "you're so young and scared. You're not quite a child, but nowhere close to an adult. It's already hard, then you add this and it's...a lot. You're learning who you are and you find out this insane truth about yourself, something you missed. Then you start to doubt yourself and wonder what else you missed. It completely throws you off. I've always thought they should tell Muggleborns sooner than eleven. Eleven...eleven is hard. Luckily, I had a head start."
Harry felt Hermione shift. "You're right, Lily. You explained that well. And I agree, they should tell Muggleborns sooner. Give them and their families time to adjust to the idea."
Harry opened his eyes and saw his dad turn his head toward him and Hermione. "I've never thought about it, since I've always known, but you two went through that too, didn't you?"
Harry and Hermione nodded. James looked back down at Lily. "I'm sorry I was an arrogant toerag who didn't have a clue what you were going through."
She let out a small laugh. "You got better. We can't all be perfect. Especially not at eleven."
He kissed her forehead. "Just you. Even at eleven." James settled back on the blanket and wrapped his other arm around Lily. "We've been together for over twenty years and you've never told me that."
"We need to leave some things unsaid. Some mystery to keep the romance alive."
James snorted, then kissed the top of her head again. He bent down and said in her ear, so low, Harry could barely make out the words, "What sort of songs are you hearing, Lil?"
"Try to guess," she whispered back.
James lowered his voice further, so Harry could no longer hear him, before responding. Harry understood. It was a very personal question. He turned his head to face Hermione, who still had her eyes closed. What was her song like? He was sure it was complicated, like his. Had she found that same sort of peace he had when faced with the enormity of his feelings? The reassurance that it was okay to be lost; okay to not have the answers all the time.
Hermione turned her head to face him, then slowly opened her eyes. She didn't look surprised to find him watching her. "Hi," she whispered.
"Hi. I think this is my favorite Wonder."
She smiled. "I like it too, but I also liked the forest. And the Sanctuary. I think all three are tied for first."
"Not the dragons? Even with the Fire Lizards who loved you?"
She scoffed. "The ones who pushed me into the mist a few days later? Not to mention all the times I had to face my fear of heights at that place." She shuddered slightly.
"I know," Harry laughed. "I was kidding." He lowered his voice. "Hey, er, about what my mum said...how long was it before you felt like you belonged in our world?"
Hermione bit her lip and looked down at Harry's shirt as she considered the question. "I think the troll was a big turning point," she said eventually, "but that was just because I finally had friends." She raised her eyes and gave him a small smile. "But fitting into the whole world… that was gradual and still… I'll say something muggle and people will stare and—I don't know. I feel like an outsider, even after all these years."
Harry reached out and took her hand. "I'm sorry if any of that is due to me being an arrogant toerag at any point in our friendship."
She let out a breath of a laugh. "It's not. It just comes with being a Muggleborn. It's not your fault. And you sort of get it; at least, more than most people."
"Sort of… but not really. Living in the world for ten years and being Muggleborn aren't the same, are they? People don't see me as a Muggleborn, like they see you."
She smiled again and moved her other hand on top of his, so she was holding it with both hands now. "I like how you know that."
"I told you I can be attentive."
"Yeah. I suppose you did."
"What's your song like?" Harry asked after a few moments of silence.
"Layered," she whispered. "Though probably not as layered as yours."
"Probably not," he agreed. "I certainly have more emotional range than a teaspoon."
Her smile widened. "More even than a teacup. Probably even more than a whole kitchen."
Harry squeezed her hand. "I like how you know that." He opened his mouth to say more, then closed it, resigning himself to tell her silently, instead.
I love you. I can't imagine finding anyone else in the world I can share this level of understanding with. And even if I could find them, I wouldn't want to. You're more than enough. Always have been, always will be. And now that I know, I'm never going to let you go.
He told her all of this with his eyes and even without hearing the words, she understood him.
The group stayed under the colorful night sky for hours, taking breaks from staring at the lights and listening to their personal song of the stars to share stories from their respective worlds.
Hermione told Lily and James about Rita Skeeter and how she'd tormented Harry throughout the Triwizard Tournament, glossing over the part about Hermione's supposed love triangle with Harry and Krum. Then she told them how she got revenge by trapping Skeeter in a jar for two months, then threatening to turn her in for being an unregistered Animagus if she ever wrote another unkind word about her or one of her friends.
"Merlin," James said. "Good thing our Hermione isn't so hostile toward unregistered Animagi."
"She was nice to Sirius," Harry chimed in. "It's just people who threaten her friends who need to watch out." That earned him a pretty smile. Weren't all Hermione's smiles pretty?
Harry told them about Umbridge's reign, which Hermione had glossed over during her initial explanation of what had happened that year. This time, Harry covered everything, from the dementors Umbridge had sent to Privet Drive, to the countless educational decrees, to the abhorrent detentions, to Hermione's clever trick of trapping her in the forest with the centaurs, which had almost backfired on them.
"We know that name, Umbridge, she was in charge of rounding up Muggleborns. But she didn't spend any time at Hogwarts, here," Lily said when Harry was finished with his story. "Is she in jail in your world?"
"No," Harry growled. "She left the country since Kingsley wouldn't let her work at the Ministry anymore, but she got away with everything."
Lily scoffed and James placed a calming hand on her arm. "My main takeaway from both stories is that it's prudent to stay on Hermione's good side," he joked. "Otherwise, you might end up trapped in a jar or handed over to vicious centaurs.
"Centaurs aren't vicious," Hermione said automatically.
James lifted his head. "Oh yeah? Why did you choose centaurs, then, to punish this old bat? Because of their notoriously cuddly nature? Just like Pygmy Puffs."
Hermione was about to retort when Harry cut in, eager to avoid an argument tonight. "You don't know the half of it," Harry grinned, nudging Hermione in the side. "That same year, when we'd set up Dumbledore's Army, Hermione cursed the sign-up sheet. So when Marietta turned us in, pimples appeared across her face that spelled SNEAK."
"You didn't!" Lily exclaimed.
"I did. Serves her right for turning us in. Because of her Dumbledore was sent away. The pimples are still there," Hermione said proudly. "She's written to me a few times, begging me to remove them, but I just keep returning the owls."
"Ruthless," James murmured. "In a good way. I love it."
"There's more," Harry added, smiling widely now. "She set Snape on fire when she thought he was messing with my broom at my first Quidditch match."
"You set a professor on fire only months into your first year?" James asked while Lily asked at the same time, "Why was he messing with your broom?"
"Yes," Hermione said to James, then to Lily, "It was Quirrell messing with his broom. We thought it was Snape, but he was only trying to help."
"She also slapped Draco Malfoy in Third Year for being rude to Hagrid," Harry continued, ready to move past the subject of Snape. "But none of that compared to all the stuff she did in the war." He paused to smile at Hermione. Even in the dim light, he could tell she was blushing slightly.
"She got us out of loads of dangerous situations," Harry said, looking her right in the eye as he spoke. "But I think the most impressive moment was when she impersonated Bellatrix Lestrange to get us into Gringotts. And that was just weeks after she'd been tortured by the madwoman." He lowered his voice and grabbed the part of Hermione's forearm that held the scars from that day, when she was in her other body. "You're the strongest person I know."
"Thanks," she mouthed.
"I think it's time you told us the full story of that Gringotts break-in," James announced. "All you said before was that a goblin helped you and that you escaped on a dragon. But there's clearly more to the story."
"Agreed," Lily chimed in. "But first, I want to echo what Harry said. You are remarkable, Hermione, and an impressive witch like yourself needs an equally impressive wizard at her side."
"Mum," Harry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses.
"I would be honored to have you as a daughter-in-law one day, even across worlds," Lily continued, ignoring Harry. "I know you need time and—"
"Mum, I won't hesitate to silence you," Harry warned. "And you heard all Hermione is capable of. I wouldn't upset her if I were you."
"Fine," Lily sighed. "Go on and tell us this Gringotts story."
Harry whispered an apology to Hermione, but she looked more amused than annoyed. Once he was sure she wasn't cross with him, he launched into the full story of their break-in to Gringotts.
After that, the storytelling fell to his parents. They focused mostly on their time at Hogwarts sensing, correctly, that Harry preferred those to stories about the other Harry, mostly because they were still relevant in his world, but also because he hadn't shaken the intense jealousy he felt toward the other version of himself
They returned to their tent just before dawn, right as their bodies were beginning to grow tired enough to attempt sleep. They agreed to try to get most of their sleeping done during the day so they could enjoy the next night under the stars, following dinner reservations the other Hermione had made to celebrate their last night. They figured they could worry about making up for sleep and adjusting to the proper time zone once they were home.
Harry had trouble sleeping that morning. The couch in their tent wasn't nearly as comfortable as the one back in their suite at Pacifica had been, even with the spells Hermione had cast to extend it and provide additional cushioning. He yawned as he sat up on the lumpy sofa, stretching his arms over his head. Then he shoved his glasses on and pulled on a jumper before leaving the tent, reasoning a walk might help tire him out enough so that the uncomfortable couch didn't matter.
Harry made his way through the line of tents toward the mountain they'd laid at the base of a few hours ago to watch the Song of the Stars. It was nearly dawn now and the sky was a dark blue and getting lighter by the minute, the colorful lights from earlier no longer visible.
As Harry made his way along the bend in the path to the other side of the mountain, the sky began to darken. He barely noticed since his mind was filled with thoughts of the portal he and Hermione had used to come to this world and what awaited him when he passed through it again. He was thinking of Ron and Ginny and imagining the difficult conversations ahead of him.
"Sorry, Mate, but I sort of, er, fell in love with your fiancée. Well, technically, I think I was in love with her the whole time and only just realized."
Did it make it worse that he'd loved her the whole time? Maybe he should leave that part out.
"But if you really think about it, I was the one who thought to go save her from the troll, and if it weren't for that, we may have never become friends with her. So I sort of had dibs, didn't I?"
Harry sighed and shook his head. He imagined Ginny next, and pictured her crying, which she never did, but it was good to be prepared for the worst and a crying, devastated Ginny would certainly be the worst.
"Sorry to break your heart and cancel the wedding you and your mum have been obsessing over for months. But —erm—you can keep the ring."
Harry groaned. Both speeches needed work. It was too bad he couldn't ask Hermione about it. She was good at this sort of thing. He was as out of his depth as Hagrid had been when trying to tidy his hair for Harry's Order of Merlin Ceremony, still ending up with several twigs and pieces of comb in his thick beard.
Are you really the person to make a jibe about untidy hair?
Harry shook his head as he grinned inwardly at his joke, subconsciously raking his fingers through his own messy hair. He should probably head back. He'd gone farther than he'd meant to. Harry stopped and looked around. Uh oh.
He wasn't sure how it had happened, but he'd ended up in a thick forest. The sky was a dull grey through the canopy of the trees and there was no sign of the mountains that had dominated the skyline of Hølen island. Harry turned around, attempting to make his way out of the ominous forest he'd inadvertently stumbled into but as he walked, he seemed to be charging deeper into the trees.
Harry spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head and his eyes widened when he saw the figures walking alongside him. Shit. It was his parents, Sirius, and Lupin, all looking younger than he remembered them. Once Harry saw them, he knew where they were. The Forbidden Forest.
He was about to confront Voldemort and had summoned them using the Resurrection Stone to give him the courage to make the trek. Harry took a deep breath and gripped his wand tightly, then cast a silent Lumos before continuing his march through the forest.
When he reached the clearing where Voldemort and his followers were waiting for him, he dropped the stone, just as he'd done a thousand times before. He gripped the Invisibility Cloak, which had somehow appeared on him as he'd been walking but this time, when he pulled the cloak off and revealed himself, something different happened.
His parents were standing on either side of him. This time, they weren't the young versions he'd seen in the forest that night, but twenty years older. The version of his parents he'd come to know in the other world. "Go," Harry hissed. "I can't protect you." He knew how this usually played out. He'd be hit with a Killing Curse, and it would hurt like hell, but he always survived. They wouldn't, however.
Lily and James shook their heads defiantly as the scene changed. He was at the house in Godric's Hollow, the one he and Hermione had visited when they'd had dinner with his parents. They were all eating at the table when there was a knock at the door. James went to answer it. The next moment, he cried from the entryway, "Lily, take Harry and Hermione and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"
Harry's stomach plummeted as his eyes flashed to his dad's wand, which was lying on the surface of the dining table. What did he expect to do without a wand? Harry lunged for the wand as his mum dragged Hermione toward the stairs. "Harry! We need to go!"
"No! He needs his—" Just then, there was a high-pitched scream Harry knew well. "Avada Kedavra!"
Harry could only see the side of his dad's body from his current angle but even then, watching his arms and legs slacken as he slumped to the ground nearly tore Harry's heart in half. "Harry!" Lily and Hermione cried, halfway up the stairs. Harry sprinted after them, both his and his dad's wands gripped tightly in his hand, but knew Voldemort wasn't far behind.
Lily led them to a bedroom and once inside, Harry immediately recognized what must have been the other Harry's room. There was a bed with red and grey sheets in the middle and Quidditch posters adorning the walls, a dusty trunk shoved to the side of the room. As he looked around, he realized Hermione was gone. It was just him and his mum in the room. "Where's Hermione?"
"She—" Lily didn't get a chance to finish her statement because the next second, the door blasted open. Voldemort was in the hall outside, approaching slowly, like he had all the time in the world. Lily pushed herself in front of Harry. "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now."
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—" Harry was trying desperately to push his mum aside, but she wouldn't budge. He should have been strong enough to get past her, but she felt as heavy as stone.
"This is my last warning—"
"Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy … Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything—"
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" Voldemort cried. There was a flash of green light, then a pain like a knife being thrown at Harry's head and finally, mercifully, he jolted awake, panting as he pulled himself up to a sitting position.
"Fuck," he swore as he welcomed the new dream into his life. He was sure this one would be a constant companion after he returned home. He groaned as he pulled himself off the couch, stumbling as he made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water. As he crouched over the sink, sipping his water, he rolled his shoulders and flexed his legs.
When the water was gone, he eyed the couch with hostility. Should he attempt to sleep some more? Probably. But the nightmare was still playing at the edges of his mind. Maybe later. Harry refilled his glass of water and made his way outside. The sky was a hazy blue in the early morning light and Harry relished the feeling of the cool air on his skin as he worked through his mantra, trying to chase away the remnants of the dream as he paced the area in front of the tent.
None of it is real. It's just your fucked up mind messing with you. He's gone. You've won. And your parents are safe...in this world. They're dead back at home, as you know. But Hermione's alive.
Shit. He'd have to sort something more comforting out for the end part, especially if this nightmare was going to be playing on repeat for a while.
He conjured a chair and lowered himself into it. He watched the sky change colors for a few moments, then a shadow came across his line of sight. He turned to find a familiar stag standing there. Fuck, was he still dreaming? A dream within a dream? His mind really was fucked. "Dad?"
The stag transformed back into his dad, wearing a pair of black joggers and a grey hoodie. He conjured a chair next to Harry and let out a long sigh as he took a seat. "Couldn't sleep either?" James asked. He was panting slightly and when Harry handed him a glass of water, he drank it down in one gulp.
"What were you doing?" Harry asked curiously.
"Running," James supplied, as if it were obvious.
"You do that in your animal form?"
"When I can get away with it," James shrugged, tapping his glass with his wand to refill it. "I can go much faster and my thoughts—they're a lot simpler in that form."
"Sounds nice."
"It is."
They watched the sky brighten for several moments, each lost in their thoughts. Eventually, James vanished the empty glass in his hand, then turned to Harry and said, "It's good we can't sleep. I've been wanting to talk to you before—well—you know."
Harry nodded. Tears were already stinging his eyes. Fuck, he was going to be a mess when it was time to say goodbye for real.
"Uh," James began. He paused to let out a nervous chuckle. "I'm not great with heart-to-hearts. That's more your mum's thing."
"I'm pretty bad at them too," Harry admitted.
"Good, we can suffer together." James let out another uneasy laugh. "Okay, I guess I wanted to talk about—well —I wonder—have you—um—thought about what we discussed in Egypt?"
Harry couldn't help but smile. It was funny seeing his dad, who was usually so self-assured, nervous like this. "Yeah, Dad. I've thought about it a lot. And I'm sorry about that. About, er, deceiving you in the middle of such a personal moment. I felt like shit about it for days after. Still sort of do."
James waved dismissively. "Don't. I'm glad we talked. And, honestly, all the signs were there, that you weren't my Harry. I just really wanted to believe you were."
"Yeah?" Harry asked. "I thought you could tell, even early on, and, well, you did figure it out in the end."
James nodded and started focusing on a beetle several feet in front of them. "You're more reserved than my Harry. More cautious, too. But the way you're always looking out for the people and how you're eager to smooth things over and keep the peace—my Harry does those things too. And Hermione, well, you got me there. You dote on your Hermione as much as he dotes on his."
Now it was Harry's turn to release a nervous chuckle.
"And I—I knew it was odd for my Harry to be so forgiving, so quickly," James continued. "Especially since I'm sure it was not his idea to come on this trip. Hermione is certainly forcing him into it. But I wanted it to be true, that he didn't hate me anymore, so I believed it. And every time I doubted, I couldn't think of a motive for someone to impersonate my son just to go on a nice holiday."
James sighed and looked back at Harry. "Anyway—are you deflecting? Trying to avoid the earlier topic?"
"Yeah." Harry leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and wrapped his fingers around his neck. "You're talking about the job, right? About me being an Auror?"
James hummed in confirmation.
Harry kept his head down. "I have been thinking about it. I even told Hermione I'm thinking about quitting—after you and I talked. I never really wanted it, honestly. I'm good at it, everyone expected it of me and—and like you said, I thought it would help. I thought I was supposed to track down the last of the Death Eaters. But—it doesn't feel good, looking for them. It feels pretty fucking awful, because I have to see all the dark shit they come up with."
"I know what you mean," James said in a low voice.
Harry turned to him and nodded sadly. "What do you think I should do?"
"What you want," James said quickly. "You deserve it more than anyone. If you liked being an Auror and truly got enjoyment out of it, I'd tell you to go for it. But it sounds like you don't. So just—take a break. I know for a fact you can afford it," he added teasingly. "Then, just, see what feels right."
Harry let out a sound that was a cross between a grunt and a laugh. "The Prophet is going to have a field day. First, I call off my wedding, then I quit my job. I hate to see what sort of theories the reporters come up with."
"At least you don't have to worry about Skeeter," James pointed out.
Harry smiled.
"So… you're going to break it off with Ginny? You're sure?"
"I can't marry her when I'm in love with someone else."
"Good. I agree. And the papers… who cares? It'll be exciting for a few weeks, then they'll move on. Dealing with that won't be as hard as finding and destroying Horcruxes all on your own."
"I wasn't on my own. I had Hermione."
James smiled.
"And the papers don't concern me as much as Ron," Harry continued. "He's my best mate and I—well, I still don't know if she's going to leave him but either way, he'll know I fell in love with her. I'll have to tell him. And he—"
Harry cut off and dropped his face in his hands. "He's going to kill me," he said into his hands, his voice muffled. "I can't see us getting past this."
Harry felt a firm hand on his shoulder. "If he's truly your best mate, he'll understand. He'll probably hex you, and need a few months to get over it, but if he loves you, he'll know you didn't do it on purpose and he'll forgive you. And if he doesn't… well... you need a new best mate. Perhaps Neville. He's a pretty remarkable friend, at least in this world."
Harry let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah. He's pretty good in our world, too." Harry had already planned to reach out to Neville when they were back. He was sure Hermione wouldn't let him tell Neville any of what they'd seen, but the trip had reminded Harry of what a good friend he was and how Harry hadn't been great about keeping in touch with him.
"What's Neville doing in this world?" Harry asked.
James shrugged. "Nothing of note, last I checked. He went back to Hogwarts for his final year and I think he just… stayed on. McGonagall lets him live in some unused quarters while he pursues a few areas of advanced study and tries to sort out what he's going to do next. I believe he's on an international assignment right now, but I'm not sure on the details. I've seen him at the Ministry a few times, doing speeches and the like to raise funds for the rebuilding effort. And there was an awful book written about him called—shit, what was it? Oh! The Hero In Me. Lily and I had a laugh about that. But I don't know much else, besides the Ginny thing. I was planning to ask Harry and Hermione about Neville when I saw them."
Harry couldn't help but laugh. So the other Neville had bested him in this, too. But he reminded himself that it was different. His parents had confirmed that Neville wasn't nearly as famous in this world as Harry was in his. Though Neville had a book. At least Harry didn't have one of those—though not for lack of offers. He sighed and leaned back in the chair, tilting his head up toward the sky.
"I'm an idiot," he announced after several moments.
"Are you?" James asked simply.
Harry let out a small laugh. "Why did it take me so long to sort out my feelings for Hermione? You and mum figured it out after knowing us for a week. If I'd only figured it out in school, or even when we were on the run, this thing with Ron would be loads easier. I can see him forgiving me for falling for a girl he likes, but isn't technically dating. But trying to steal his fiancée? That's different."
"I have a theory about that."
Harry sat up and turned his head toward him. "You do?"
James nodded. "I told your mum a few nights ago, when you told us you weren't together."
James looked away, back at the beetle, before continuing to talk. "You didn't have it easy growing up," he began uncomfortably. "It makes sense that once you got to school, you clung desperately to your friends and did anything to avoid losing them. Sirius was sort of like that in the beginning. So this—trying to pursue a romantic relationship, especially if Ron liked her—well, you'd have risked losing both of them. So you didn't. You shut your mind off to the possibility."
"Huh," Harry said, watching that same beetle, which had decided to abandon the hole it had been digging and make for the bushes at the edge of the path. "I think that makes sense. But I also pushed her away," he said, embarrassed to admit it. "Before this trip, we were pretty distant and I think—um—I was sort of doing it because I needed to lash out at someone, and I knew she would take it. I knew she would never leave me. It's awful, I know, and a big part of the reason she doesn't believe my feelings are real."
Harry could see James looking at him out of his periphery. He took a breath before turning to face his dad. James didn't look disappointed, like Harry had been expecting. Ironically, he looked amused.
"More proof that humans are incredibly complicated. You loved Hermione, which drove you to refuse to acknowledge her as a romantic interest and push her away. How counterproductive. Certainly not the first time I've seen something like that. But now you know where you went wrong, and it's time to fix it."
"Fix it," Harry repeated bitterly.
James shrugged again.
Harry rolled his eyes. He made it sound so simple. What did he know? He'd been with his mum since Hogwarts. They were each other's first love. Now that was simple. He didn't know the details of their relationship, but he was pretty sure his dad had never had to deal with something as complicated as his situation with Hermione.
James laughed. "Now that's a look I'm very used to." He patted Harry on the back. "I told you I wasn't good with the heart-to-hearts. Also, I'm not great with advice on witches. I've only ever had one girlfriend. If you want advice on Hermione, ask your mum."
Harry snorted. "Yeah, okay." And even though Harry knew James wouldn't know the answer to the question, he couldn't help himself from asking, "Is she going to pick me?" He tried to ignore how pathetic he sounded.
"Absolutely," James said without hesitation. "That witch is in love with you. Her worst fear is losing you. How much more obvious can you get? But that's exactly what's working against you—her fear.
"You just said she doesn't trust you're sincere and you need to convince her otherwise. Give her time, make it clear you're not going anywhere, and you'll wear her down. Once I decided I couldn't live without your mum and truly committed myself to her, it took me five months to win her over. Hopefully, for you, it won't take as long."
"I would wait five years, if that's what it took," Harry said honestly.
James nudged him with his elbow. "There's the spirit. You're going to be just fine."
"Maybe you're just committed to believing that because it's nice—like how you believed I was the other Harry, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary."
"Maybe you're being overly pessimistic because you slept for only two hours on a lumpy couch."
"Maybe." A smile pulled at Harry's lips. It had been so long since he'd been able to go to an adult for advice like this. Not since Sirius had passed. And when he was back… fuck. There would be no more parents to look out for him, especially since Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be out of the picture. He'd be the sole adult again, in charge of his own life. That was a scary thought. A silent swear passed through his lips.
"What?" James asked, looking at him curiously.
"I was just thinking how I'm unfit to be an adult. They should put you through a rigorous testing process before sending you out into the world. Like—look at what I've done so far: picked the wrong job, picked the wrong witch... who knows what else I got wrong?"
"To be fair," James added thoughtfully, "you also killed the most powerful wizard of all time, with alarmingly little help. So you got at least one thing right."
"That might be the only thing," Harry grumbled.
"Might be," James agreed, "but it's a good one."
Harry shook his head and he smiled. "Thank Merlin Hermione dragged me through that portal to this world. I'd hate to see what sort of mess I'd have made of my life ten years down the line if left to my own devices."
James let out a hearty laugh and patted Harry's leg. "And you all keep calling me dramatic. Though, I do know how you feel. I thought the same when you were first born. I was appalled we were just allowed to have you— with no training or anything. I was terrified I was going to do it all wrong and—turns out it didn't matter what I did. Whether I was there or not, you were going to turn out brilliantly."
Harry snorted. "Dark joke."
"If you can't laugh about it, you'll just be crying all the time."
Harry recognized the quote. "Sirius told me that once. Was that from you?" he asked, swallowing back a lump in his throat.
James shook his head as a haunted look crossed his features. "It was him."
They were quiet again. After a few more minutes, James stood and said they should probably go back inside and try to sleep, since they were supposed to stay awake tonight. "Yeah," Harry said roughly, pulling himself up and vanishing the chairs and his empty glass with his wand.
When they arrived back inside the tent, James grabbed Harry's shoulder and said seriously, "I know I'm not great with advice, but hopefully, I've been able to impart some sort of wisdom in our time together because you—" His voice caught in his throat. He paused to take a breath. "You have given me a tremendous gift."
"Really?" Harry asked doubtfully.
"Absolutely. I'll think of you often, but I'll probably think of the other James just as much and the life—the life that was taken from him. When I'm feeling sorry for myself for being the only one of my friends left behind, when I'm dealing with a moody son, who hates what I had to do to protect him during the war, or when I'm feeling lost about where to go next, I'll remember how lucky I am to be alive and how one decision could have changed the entire course of my life. You gave me that—by coming here—by sharing your story and I—I'll never forget it. I only hope I'm able to give you something half as valuable to take with you."
Harry's eyes filled with tears at the sight of his dad looking so emotional. "You've given me so much," Harry said in a broken voice.
"Really?" James asked, in an almost perfect impersonation of Harry from a few moments before.
Harry's chest clenched. He nodded. "I wonder all the time what would make you proud of me. I mean, obviously killing Voldemort, but after all that, just, day-to-day. Is what I'm doing enough?"
James squeezed his shoulder. "Promise me when you leave here, you won't have any doubt that I'm proud of you. Every second of every day, even when you're being an idiot, I'm proud of you. Being your father is by far my greatest accomplishment. And I know I speak for every version of me, in every world."
"Yeah," Harry bit out. He dropped his head onto his dad's shoulder and let several tears fall onto the well-worn fabric of his hoodie. "I don't usually cry this much," Harry said, barely managing to form the words through his silent sobs.
"Right, of course," James replied in a rough voice, wrapping his arms around Harry and pulling him into a tight embrace. "Me neither."
After Harry finally got control of his tears, he pulled back and gave his dad an embarrassed smile. "I'm going to miss you," he whispered.
James gave him a sad smile and Harry was relieved to note that his eyes were also wet with tears. Good. He wasn't the only emotional wreck.
"I'll be thinking about you all the time," James said. "Just remember that when things get hard. I'll be here, Harry. Rooting for you."
