A/N: Phew. It's been a while. My bad. I would just like to say that this story, in comparison to LT, had gotten double the response in relativity to words. (obviously, LT is longer.) but the amount of reviews per chapter VS. LT is mind blowing. So I thought I'd give you all a new chapter :D as I've said before, no bloody stinking clue where this is going.)

Harry James Potter was leaning against the wall, facing a tapestry depicting trolls in tutu's, idly wondering if he should lock himself in the Room Of Requirement and just never come out.

For a second, Harry wondered if the room was even still there.

Then he shook himself. Of course it was. It was only the people who had changed. And it all seemed to revolve around Tom Riddle. Hogwarts couldn't possibly be changed. It was around well before either of the Tom's were born.

Even then, he was curious.

He strode three times quickly with his back to the ridiculous tapestry, wanting a place to think.

As he thought, the door materialised out of the wall, and he quickly scanned the hallway before entering. The room contained a single chair and a fireplace, crackling merrily a few feet from the comfortable looking seat.

The book on horcruxes was rather vague. Though it did suggest murder was involved, it divulged nothing else about the making or destroying of them.

He wondered if his Other Self had found anything that he needed to know in them in them.

Harry hoped not.

It was possible that Tom never made one, because of the sheer uselessness of the book.

But Harry was sure that Tom was hardly about to give up on it.

He just found himself fervently hoping that he could stop it before it happened. The book mentioned that a horcrux could be anything, and that was worrying.

Harry would have no idea what he was looking for.

He got to wondering, once again, what exactly was going on.

His mind was running around in circles, and nothing made any sense.

Was this even real life?

It had to be a trick.

Harry sat in front of the fire until it was nothing but lightly glowing embers, still none the wiser as to what the hell was going on.

He stood, sighing and cracking his back.

His lower half was slightly numb from staying seated for so long, and if he had to guess, he'd say dinner was close to over.

Not that he felt anything similar to hungry after the stress he had put himself under.


Harry lay in his bed, his mind still chasing it's tail.

He was getting no where fast, and there was still a large part of him that just wanted to let it go.

Besides his sisters strange antics, and the fact that Tom Riddle was roaming the halls with no one to keep him in check, life was pretty sweet.

It would be easier to bring down a teenage Dark Lord, after all.

He could do that. No where near as difficult as bringing down an established and powerful Voldemort.

He'd get rid of the bastard, through what ever means necessary, than he could live life, with his family. His real family.

And all of the other people he thought were gone forever.

He felt a small stab of loss at the thought of his real Hermione, Ron and Ginny. But they were still technically the same people, surely. Just Ginny was younger than Harry remembered, and Ron was a little bit of a pompous arse.

He didn't even want to consider Hermione.

He sighed and rolled onto his side, determined to sleep.

He did have Quiddich practice the next morning, after all. He was still torn on how much effort he should put into his studies, and extra curricular activities, but he did love flying.

That hadn't changed.

Before he had any real chance to fall asleep, his bed creaked as if someone had sat on it. Harry rolled over in confusion, wondering who the hell would be sitting on his bed at such a ridiculous hour.

"Mind if a cast a privacy ward?"

Sitting on his bed, frowning, was Harry's dorm mate, who Harry remembered was named Tony.

"Oh, um, sure?" It was more of a question, and Harry was put off by the other teen's slightly angry attitude.

"This is one hell of a way to clear your slate," Tony snapped after the ward was set.

"Pardon?" Harry asked, not really sure what he meant.

"You heard me. I assume this has something to do with the fight you had with your mother last month? The whole Auror thing she pulled? Faking memory loss is a bit extreme, don't you think?"

Harry blinked for a few seconds, not managing much else.

"And there was really no need to 'Forget' me," Tony said before Harry could reply, air quoting with his fingers.

"I'm not faking this," Harry muttered, becoming a little pissed that this guy was assuming that he was just an asshole.

"If you don't want to fuck me in the corridors any more, you could have just said so." Tony snapped, staring Harry right in the eyes.

The brunette teen's mouth felt as if it had fallen right off in shock.

"What?" Harry's voice was a horrified whisper.

"don't play stupid with me, Harry. I'm just about sick of your shit." Tony got up and walked right out of the dorm, leaving Harry open mouthed and dumbstruck.


Harry got next to no sleep that night, but that didn't really surprise him.

Tony hadn't re-entered the Dorm at all that night, and Harry wondered how exactly he had managed to not get caught. Or get any sleep, for that matter. Not that Harry cared.

He still couldn't believe what Tony had said to him.

Surely he was joking?

There was no way Harry would be fucking anyone in the corridors, lest of all another man.

He wasn't gay.

He always thought that he would end up marrying Ginny, have a gaggle of children, then live happily ever after. That was just the way he pictured it.

He'd never considered anything else.

His Other Self must be insane, he decided as he got up, slightly begrudgingly. He was incredibly tired, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't get any sleep.

It was still rather early, the sun had only just peeked out from the horizon. He still had at least an hour till Quiddich practice, but breakfast would most likely be served.

Skipping dinner the night before had left him hungry.

Upon entering the Great Hall, he instantly decided it was a stupid idea to get up so early. The only Slytherin at the Snakes table was Tom Riddle, and as soon as Harry entered, he got a sarcastic wave partnered with a wolfish grin.

Harry looked away, frowning. He had the strangest urge to fix his hair. The future Dark Lord had a way of making you feel completely inferior.

The raven haired teen took a seat at his table, facing away from the Slytherin side, resisting the urge to turn and look at Riddle.

His table only had a handful of students, including Tony and Emma. Harry was sorely tempted to grab a slice of toast and leave.

Without any prompting of his own, he turned and glanced at the Slytherin table, and Tom was still staring at him, smirking. Harry quickly turned back, and earned himself a rather loud laugh from his so called sister.

"Still confused, are you?" She called, sniggering. She was a fair way down the table, so she had to say this rather loudly.

The entire Gryffindor table, though there were not many of them, turned to look at him. Tony gave him a rather startling glare and Harry turned away quickly.

He decided taking his toast and ditching wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

He grabbed three slices, stood abruptly and almost tripped over himself in his haste to get away.

Screw them, he thought bitterly, biting into his toast with more force than necessary as he shoved the entry doors open.

"You're so sexy when you're pissed!" A voice called after him. He knew it was a guy yelling it, and it only served to piss him off further. He didn't bother to look back to see who had said it, but he guessed that it was Tony trying to get back at him.

Or maybe just flirting with him. He had no idea.

On the way back to his Dorm, he almost quite literally bumped into his head of house.

"Oh, Mister Potter! You gave me quite a fright," Professor McGonagall said, her tone chastising.

"Sorry, Professor." Harry mumbled, glaring at his toast his his head down.

"I was looking for you," She continued, and Harry looked up.

"The Headmaster would like to see you after you finish your practice. The password is ton tongue toffee." Her tone was clipped, and it took him a few seconds to figure out why.

It wasn't because he had nearly head butted her chest, it was because she didn't like him. Or at least, she didn't like his Other Self.

"Of course," Harry said, trying to be polite as he could manage, given his sour mood.

Her mouth formed a thin line and she nodded once, continuing down the hall without looking back at him.

This made Harry's mood even worse, and he had a feeling that flying wasn't even going to improve it.

With this depressing thought in mind, he waited for the shifting staircases to realign themselves, so he could collect his broom.

Upon entering his dorm, he found Ron preparing to leave.

"Hello, Harry." Ron greeted.

"Morning," Harry replied, rather despondently.

"Nice day for Quiddich," The red head continued, not noticing Harry's sour tone. At least his lack of empathy hadn't changed.

"Yeah, it's alright." Harry wondered if Ron was on the team. He had always wanted to be, but Harry didn't know how to ask without sounding stupid. As he so often felt.

"Are you coming down?" He asked, trying for a subtle approach.

"Nah, not really my thing, Quiddich, is it? Tell Hermione that I said I'll meet her afterwards, though." Ron said, turning away from Harry and running a comb through his hair.

"Oh, er, sure."

Hermione never really watched Quiddich practice. It was as if Hermione and Ron had swapped personalities. Only not really.

"Thanks. I'll see you later then." Ron descended the stairs without another word.

"Sure," Harry mumbled to his retreating back.

Harry opened the door to his small wardrobe, and pulled out his broom.

He quickly realised that the handle didn't feel the same. It was thicker, and black. The broom bristles were white, and it had Black Ace written in tiny silver cursive near the tip. Harry stared at it incredulously for a moment, before sighing and shrugging.

It was really not that surprising. He wasn't sure why he thought his broom would be the same. Nothing else was.


Harry arrived early, and as he entered the locker room, he spotted only two other people. No one had even entered the stands to watch yet.

"Hey, Harry, come over here." An older teen with reddish brown hair said. Harry had never met him before, but he assumed that he was the captain, judging by his uniform.

"I wanna see a hell of a lot more effort from you today. This is our last practice before the match with Ravenclaw." He said without preamble.

"We've lost three games solely because of you breaking the rules. I know you can do better, that's why I put you on. But no else seems to think so. Prove them wrong, would you? You're not the only one who copes the blame for your mistakes."

Harry nodded, trying to hide his confusion.

How many rules are there to break as a seeker? All you have to do is the catch the snitch. There really wasn't any wiggle room there.

The captain smiled and shooed him away to get dressed.

Harry wandered through the locker room, trying to inconspicuously find his locker without looking lost. He found it second to last, and opened it to find his uniform.

He lifted his robes over his head, struggling slightly with the many folds of fabric. He had his uniform half on when he heard Hermione's voice, and he quickly yanked it down over his head.

He couldn't hear what the bushy haired girl was saying, but he turned to see her talking to the captain. She then laughed and made her way towards Harry.

Despite himself, he looked around to see if she were heading for someone else. There was no one else near him.

Maybe she was going to apologise for her ridiculous behaviour about Riddle.

To his surprise, she walked right past him, stopped in front of the last locker and tapped her wand on it.

Harry's mouth fell open as he watched her remove a uniform from inside. She turned to look at him pointedly.

"I don't give a crap how gay you are. Turn around while I change." She snapped.

She knew about him and Tony? So he wasn't just messing with Harry? Had his Other Self told her? And possibly more importantly, Hermione was on the Quiddich team?

"You play Quiddich?" He blurted, and she glared at him.

"Yes, Harry, now turn."

Instead of just turning, Harry grabbed his broom and stomped toward the pitch. He was pretty much over people being short with him. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't remember, or that his Other Self was a nasty psycho.

During his 'conversation' with Hermione, what appeared to be the rest of the team had arrived. To Harry's dismay, this included Tony.

Said teen was facing away from Harry and appeared to be pointedly ignoring him.

That was fine with Harry.

Better to be ignored than harassed.

As Harry made his way out onto the pitch, he was called back by the captain.

"Harry, Where's your club?"

Harry paused and turned to face the captain, confused.

"My what?" He asked.

The older teen made a swinging motion with his arm, as if he were hitting a baseball.

"Your club." He repeated.

"Don't tell me you lost it,"

Harry stared for a moment, wondering what he would need a club to catch the snitch, when it hit him.

He wasn't a seeker.

He was a beater.

He got a sinking feeling in his gut. He had always a been a seeker. It was what he was good at, not to mention his favourite position. He had played as a beater once while playing with Ron and his brothers, and had instantly disliked it.

He didn't like the idea of sending dangerous projectiles at peoples faces.

Apparently, his Other Self did.

"Uh, I'll just go get it," He mumbled, heading back towards his locker. He hadn't seen it in there before, but then, he hadn't really been looking for it.

Sure enough, the slightly cavemanish club leaned against the back of his locker, in all it's horrid glory.

He picked up the bulky chunk of wood and resisted the urge the throw it in the captains face and quit.

He scolded himself for the thought. It was hardly the older teens fault he was having a bad week. Nonetheless, he was pissed with this turn of events. He wanted to float lazily in the air, search for the snitch, and forget everything else.

He wasn't even a good beater.

He frowned and made his way out to the field once again, searching for the other beater. After all, he had to know who he was hitting the bludger to.

He spotted a girl, who he thought looked to be a seventh year, clutching a club and talking animatedly to Hermione.

He wondered who the seeker was.

He found himself hoping it wasn't Tony. Though he couldn't figure out why.

The broom he owned was horrid.

The speed was brilliant, but that was the only good thing about it.

It was way to touchy with corners, and Harry ended up doing three sixties when he only wanted to turn slightly to the left.

Because of this, he got hit with the bludger numerous times. He would be covered in painful bruises the next morning, he was sure.

He even dropped his club a few times, much to his embarrassment.

Hermione shouted at him from the goal posts, though he couldn't hear what it was she was yelling. He didn't need to hear the words to know that she was angry though.

It turned out that Hermione was a keeper, and the seeker was the captain. Tony was a chaser, and Harry was hugely glad about that. Though, again, he couldn't fathom why.

After a completely dismal practice, Harry landed awkwardly on the grass and frowned at his useless broom.

"Harry, I'm not gonna lie, that was horrible. Did you forget how to fly or something?" His captain said to him as he passed, not waiting for Harry to reply.

Hermione actually barged her shoulder into him as she passed, and Harry sensed a serious argument coming on.

He was honestly surprised that she was holding such a huge grudge. She knew that he was having serious problems adjusting, and that his memory was all wrong. But she shunned him for one single comment?

Regardless of her easy disregard of him, he wanted to fix things. She was one of the only people he had to talk to here.

She was Hermione.

He couldn't let things fester like this.

"Hermione! Wait up!" He called, ignoring the glares he was receiving from his team mates. She paused for a split second, before she apparently decided against it and kept walking.

Harry made a grumbling noise and started to jog after her, ignoring the aches and pains from the bludgers, with his broom awkwardly against his legs.

"Hermione, wait up!" He called again, but she didn't even pause this time.

When he finally caught up, she turned and huffed, as if she was the one who had been inconvenienced by the whole ordeal.

"I just wanted to apologise," He said, trying to look a little bit sorry, instead of angry.

"Oh? What for?" She asked, crossing her arms.

"For that whole thing about Tom Riddle. I was just confused," He said quickly, trying to keep her attention.

She made a clicking noise with her tongue and looked bored.

"I really am sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I guess I just wanted someone to blame." He pressed, and she frowned at him, as if considering his words.

"Alright, I suppose. You were horrible out there, by the way." She gestured to the pitch, then turned and headed for her locker.

Harry assumed that all was forgiven, though it was a rather strange way to say 'apology accepted.'

he followed her to her locker, facing away as she changed, and stripped his own uniform off. He had always wondered about the lack of changing rooms.

One of his team mates had told him, when he was still the Boy Who Lived, that is was because they just hadn't bothered to change it, even after Women started playing Quiddich.

Before then, it was all men, so they didn't bother with privacy.

Harry would have thought that Dumbledore would have arranged something, but obviously not.

"Ron said he'd meet you afterwards," Harry said over his shoulder.

"Okay. I'll see you later." Hermione said, walking right past Harry, now fully dressed. Harry was still struggling with his robes, trying to get them to sit properly.


Harry made his way back up to the castle, heading towards the Headmaster's office.

He wondered what the man wanted him for. Most likely something to do with his memory loss. He had conflicted feelings about 'fixing' it. He wanted to stay who he was. And he wanted to stay. And he wanted to leave. And he wanted to curl up in a ball and forget everything he had ever been through. And he wanted to fix everything here, make it perfect for himself. This thought in particular made him feel horribly selfish. If the people he left behind were still there, if they were even real, they would need him.

The people here didn't need him.

He needed them, though.

All of their anger and misunderstanding aside, they were people that he loved. Or at least, he thought he loved them. They weren't the same, but he could get used to that, couldn't he? Surely he could. Again, he felt a stab of shame at his thoughts.

He was being selfish. But he had his parents here. And Sirius.

He stopped in front of the stone gargoyle and told it the password.

He stood on the top step before it rose to high, and waited. Dumbledore told him to enter as he reached the top, and Harry did so, taking the seat across from the Headmaster.

"Good afternoon, Mister Potter." Dumbledore greeted warmly, and Harry smiled in return.

"Good morning,"

Harry was offered a lemon sherbet, and he wondered why the Headmaster always offered them. He shook his head no, smiling slightly.

"I brought you here today, because your parents have made a request." Dumbledore began once they had gotten through the pleasantries.

"Oh?" Harry pressed, wondering what request, exactly, they had made.

"They asked me, with your consent obviously, if you could take a few days off of class to spend with them, at home. Your father is hopeful that it might help your memory return." Dumbledore made a temple with his hands and leaned forward, as if curious about Harry's response.

He only really needed to think about it for a second. Of course he would go home.

Home.

Even thinking the word seemed to make his brain go slightly lopsided and off kilter.

"Yeah, yeah. That's a great idea." Harry beamed.

Though he knew that he would be under some scrutiny from his parents, it would hardly be as bad as Hogwarts. Besides, he needed a break from here.

And if he were to suddenly wake from this insane dream, at least he could feel as if he had spent some more time with them.

Even if they weren't real.