AN: "You can teach an old dogs new tricks."

(Or something like that)

Yes, but you give a cliché new twists and turns?

I hope to.

Disclaimer: TO CARRY FOR THE WHOLE STORY: JK Rowling owns everything.

July 24, 1996 - - 8:29 AM - - Godric's Hollow

He had a good life.

Didn't he?

No, he hadn't. He had grown up in a cupboard, with taunts and insults hurled at him daily.

Wait a minute. He had grown up in a big room, a huge room, with a loving family.

Hadn't he?

And his best friend was Ron Weasley.

No, his best friend was Neville Longbottom. Who was Ron Weasley?

His little sister was friends with a Ginny Weasley, but she had not brother named Ron-

Sister? He didn't have a sister.

Harry Potter groaned and clutched at his head. Oh, God, it hurt. It hurt so much.

Make the pain stop. Make the pain go away. Harry whimpered.

It was almost like a headache caused by his scar-

Except he didn't have a scar. Sure, he had scars, what healthy sixteen year old boy didn't? He had them from learning Quidditch with his father, running around his house as a child-

(-getting bit by a basilisk, getting hit with a Killing Curse, being stabbed when he was only fourteen-)

-playing with his siblings.

Suddenly his mind was overwhelmed with memories. Memories of two lives. Of two completely separate lives. Something dripped out of his nose and fell down his lips. Harry couldn't even open his mouth to scream.

And, consumed by the pain in his head, Harry Potter's eyes rolled back into his head and his body went limp.

July 24, 1996 - - 9:15 AM - - Godric's Hollow

"Harry?" Lily Potter opened up her son's bedroom door and peered into the dim room. "Harry, breakfast is ready." The lump that was her son didn't stir. Lily sighed; she swore that it was getting harder and harder to get her son out of bed. She walked into Harry's room, the carpet underneath her feet muffling her footsteps.

"Wake up, Harry." Lily reached the bed and shook her son's shoulder. He didn't stir. Somewhere deep inside Lily, a feeling a wrongness grew. Something was very wrong here. Something awful had happened. Lily shook Harry with a little bit more urgency.

Lily thought about what would happen: Harry would wake up, confused. Lily would shake off her nervous feelings and laugh and they would go to breakfast and joke about what Gracie had done now.

But Harry didn't move.

"Harry!" Lily shouted. No movement. But Lily's shaking had made Harry's head fall into a patch of sunlight on his quilt.

A trail of dried blood came from his nose and ears.

Lily screamed.

July 24, 1996 - - 11:13 AM - - St. Mungo's Hospital

"As you can see from the scan we did, something cause Mr. Potter's brain to sudden, ah how should I say this so you can understand, grow."

Lily looked up from the tissue she had been twisting in her hands at the doctor. "What do you mean, grow?"

The doctor --Dr. Sones, Lily noted-- pointed to the X-ray. "Humans normally use seven percent of there brain. But, this morning at around 8:30, something caused Mr. Potter's brain to start using twenty percent."

"Do you know what caused it?" James asked quietly from his seat. He rubbed his face and stared at Dr. Sones. "Because I'm guessing that this doesn't always happen."

"No," said Dr. Sones. "I've never heard of this happening before. We may never know what caused this."

July 24, 1996 - - 11:45 AM - - St. Mungo's Hospital

How odd. He could remember being here, yet he couldn't. Harry had figured out where he was based on two things.

The first: he had been here when he was seven. He had broken his arm and Mum and Dad took him here to have it fixed. He had to swallow a nasty tasty potion. But he got a lollipop and he got to pick out what they would eat for dinner that night.

The second: Harry could remember this place from when Mr. Weasley was in the hospital due to him being attacked by Nagini.

Too bad only one of those things had happened.

Yet, which one had happened. . . .

Harry wasn't exactly sure about that.

Both of them were memories in his head; clear as the water on his bedside table. But, perhaps one of them was false, or -

Well, Harry wasn't sure what the other option was. Either way, he sounded insane. Surviving the Killing Curse? Impossible. Harry scoffed at himself and picked up the glass of water. He drank some of it. His throat was dry.

Harry wished that he could remember what happened before he started to remember.

Or was remember even the right word for it? Harry decided to separate his memories into two categories. One category was for the life of the Boy-Who-Lived. God, who came up with that name? It was so . . . childish. The Boy-Who-Lived? What would happen when he grew up to be an adult?

Anyway, he put the memories he had just "remembered" today into one group, and the memories that he had (maybe) lived with his whole life. Something was missing though, in the Boy-Who-Lived category. Something at the end, something important -

"Oh, Harry!" Mum cried out from the door. Harry looked up from his musings to see his parents at the door. His parents. How many times had he dreamed about meeting his parents? Not in a rushed life-or-death situation like the graveyard, by a real meeting, face to face? Too many times to count.

But then again, he lived with them.

This whole two lives things was going to get very confusing, very fast.

July 26, 1996 - - 6:54 PM - - Godric's Hollow

Harry shoved his hands inside of his pocket and walked away from the graveyard. What had he been expecting to find, anyway? Lily and James Potter were alive in this world, so it only made sense that they didn't have graves like they did in the Other World. That's what Harry was calling the alternate universe where the other memories came from. The Other World. Had a nice ring to it.

Part of him was wondering whether or not he had finally cracked and gone crazy from the stress of having to defeat Voldemort. But that was impossible, because Voldemort didn't exist.

Harry couldn't believe it, but it was true. Voldemort had never existed in this world. No memories spoke of him, or the deaths he caused, or the Dark Mark, or Death Eaters, or anything. And from all the evidence that pointed that way, Harry was forced to accept the fact that Voldemort had never existed.

That was how Harry had spent he past two days in the hospital: going over his memories, seeing what matched, what didn't match. It was a very boring thing to do, but Harry forced himself to. It was important to figure out what had happened.

St. Mungo's had released him earlier today, stating that he had a bill of clean health. Whatever had happened to him they weren't sure about, and since the tests came back saying that Harry was healthy, St. Mungo's couldn't force him to stay in the hospital. He was released at noon, and had been back home before 12:15.

Magic was good for somethings after all.

Harry walked along the familiar path back to his house. He and his family lived in walking distance of the small town center. His family. God, he had siblings. Well, only one little sister, but still, it was amazing to think about. Gracie, his sister, seemed to be a little bit like Harry, a little bit like James, and a little bit like Lily. She could be a prankster when she wanted to, had a wide reading range, and loved Quidditch. But, from Harry's memories, he could tell that she had a big temper, cried easily at sad movies, and was the biggest romantic sap around.

Of course, of all the girls that Harry had to be sisters with, he would be stuck with a romantic. Harry snorted and shook his head. Figures.

July 27, 1996 - -Noon - - Godric's Hollow

"James?" Sirius voice rang through out the Potter's house. "You here?"

James opened one eyes and stared at Sirus from his perch on the couch. "What do you want, Sirus?"

Sirus walked over to the couch and sat down on top of James feet. James glared at him and pulled his feet out from under Sirus.

"I can't pop in to say hello to my best friend?" Sirus asked.

"Not when you saw said best friend two hours ago at work, you can't," James muttered.

"Ah, you wound me with you words," Sirus said dramatically. He sobered up though. "It's starting again."

James shot up, knocking Sirus to the floor. "What?! I thought we stopped it!"

Sirus got off the floor and rubbed his back. "Well, apparently we missed a spot."

James groaned. "How? We got every last one of them in prison."

"We thought we got every one of them in prison." Sirus clapped a hand on James' back. "But apparently, a few got away."

"Damn it!" James swore. He spun away from Sirus and stared out the bay window, the tension clear in his stance.

"We'll get them James," Sirus said quietly, staring at James' back. "We won't let them get away with what they did."

"I won't let them," James said. "I swear on my life."

July 28, 1996 - - 2:36 PM - - Godric's Hollow

"Mum, Ginny's here!" Gracie shouted.

"Hi, Mrs. Potter," Ginny called up the stairs. Harry stared at her out of the corner of his eyes. Something seemed different, she sounded stressed out and tired, almost. Harry pushed it to the back of his mind and walked up to Ginny.

"I'll be right back," Gracie said to Ginny as Harry walked over. "I just want to go get something to show you."

"Hey, Ginny," Harry said. He always said hello to Ginny when she came over; it was the polite thing to do. "How are you doing?"

Ginny ran a hand through her hair. "I'm. . . stressed out, Harry." Ginny's eyes flickered up to his forehead.

Where his scar used to be.

Instantly, Harry was on alert. Why had she looked there?

"Ginny, do you know what the DA is?" Harry asked quietly. It was vague enough that only someone who had memories from the Other World would understand.

Ginny gasped. "Oh, yes," Ginny said faintly. "Yes, I do."

Seemed like Harry wasn't the only one to get some new memories.

This is taking place after Half-Blood Prince. Really, because sixteen is the perfect age.

I'll try to make every chapter 2,000 words, so updates aren't going to be very frequent.

And I'm America, so forgive me if I get some of the wording/spelling wrongs.

Oh, and do tell me if Gracie is becoming too much of a Mary Sue. I'm trying to prevent it, but sometimes only the reader can see it.