You think you know someone

The morning started out the same way the past few weeks had. Empty, restless, and painfully slow.

 Albus sat idly at his classes, absently scribbling down notes of whatever was being discussed in class, not bothering to pay much attention to what he was writing about. He could not bring himself to care for his studies in this term. Not when his father was missing.

 Not my father. Not really.

 His real dad was dead. The man who had raised him—who had scolded him, who had failed him, and yet had always loved him in a way Albus had never fully understood until it was too late—had died saving the world just like everyone always expected him to. Because his dad, no matter which world was at stake, always sacrificed himself for others.

 But this timeline’s Harry—the one who was supposed to have survived—had simply vanished.

 Albus had barely slept the night before, his mind restless with the weight of everything that had happened. It had been a month since the incident at St. Mungo’s. It was only yesterday that Draco Malfoy, a pale shadow of himself, had pulled Albus aside and told him about what happened to him. He explained how he had seen Harry—or at least, something wearing Harry’s face—during his time at Mungo’s.

 And still, there had been nothing since the time the Dark mark had been activated since that time.

 No word. No sign. No trace of where Harry had gone or what had become of him after he disappeared utterly and completely.

 All Albus could do was wait for news that never came.

 But something was different today.

 A sharp, twisting feeling curled in his gut from the moment he awoke, a whisper of unease that refused to be ignored. He wouldn’t call it a vision, nor was it a nightmare lingering at the edges of his thoughts. No, it was something else. A pull, almost like an instinct surfacing.

 The sensation had an eerie resemblance to the one he had when he was drawn to the Room of Requirement that night. In it, he had been pulled by the veil and brought to this timeline.

 This was something else.

 By the time he had a free period, Albus found himself unable to stay in the castle. He needed to move, to do something. So he left, making his way down the quiet halls and out onto the grounds, barely noticing the crisp morning air or the faint mist clinging to the grass. His feet carried him toward the Forbidden Forest before he even realized where he was going.

 The forest was too still, and the moment Albus stepped past the tree line, his breath caught in his throat.

 He had been here many times before, but never had it felt like this. It was as if the entire place had been frozen in the aftermath of something monumental, something unseen yet deeply felt. The usual hum of life, the rustling of leaves, the distant calls of unseen creatures—they were all absent. The trees stood like silent sentinels, their twisted branches casting eerie shadows.

 And then, he saw them. And quite frankly, nothing could have prepared Albus for what he saw.

 There were corpses. Dozens of them. Maybe more.

 They were strewn across the ground in grotesque stillness, frozen in the positions they had fallen in. Some had the unmistakable pale, waxy complexion of. . . what was it called?. . . an Inferius—reanimated corpses now reduced to what they were meant to be: lifeless. Others were less decayed but equally still, their forms rigid with the remnants of Dark magic with an aura so strong. Albus swallowed hard, a shudder running through him.

 His pulse quickened.

 Whatever had happened here, it had only just ended.

 He sprinted forward, his heart hammering against his ribs as he weaved through the fallen in morbid curiosity. He ignored the chill that crept up his spine, the way the stillness of the dead seemed to press in on him from all sides. He refused to let his mind wander . . .

 Then—

 A sharp intake of breath. But it was not his own.

 Albus spun around, wand raised, before his eyes fell on the source of the sound obscured by the long shadows of the trees. He had been so distracted by the gruesome scene that he nearly missed the way that somewhere close by, a lone figure sat between the trees. Their back turned to Albus as they hunched forward, their head buried in their hands.

 Albus skidded to a halt. Why was whoever that was lurking in the Forbidden Forest so close to the castle? Did this stranger cause the deaths of those around them?

 If that figure was powerful and Dark enough to have had a hand to play in bringing about an army of Inferi, then Albus would probably stand no chance in facing them on his own—that was assuming, the other would intend to harm him.

 Before Albus could begin to flee the scene and seek to alert someone, the figure in the shadows turned.

 Albus sucked in a sharp breath.

 Dad.

 No.

 No, not him. Dad was gone.

 Harry exhaled shakily, finally looking up. Green eyes, dull with exhaustion but still piercing, met Albus’ own. “Al?”

 He looked pale, exhausted beyond belief, but alive. His breathing was ragged, his shoulders shaking slightly as though he were coming down from an overwhelming surge of magic. His cloths were a bit torn and dirtied, but there was something else—something different.

 Albus' gaze flickered to Harry’s forehead.

 The scar.

 It was still there, but somehow it wasn’t. The angry lightning-bolt shape was faded, dull against his skin, no longer something alive. No longer something cursed.

 It looked more akin to the faded scar Albus had grown up seeing on his father’s forehead than the scar he had grown familiar with seeing from Harry.

 For a moment, neither of them spoke. Albus didn’t trust himself to. Because, like it or not, this was still his father. Even if it wasn’t the one he was raised by, and even if this version did not know that he, Albus, was his son.

 Albus wanted to tell him, but he also wanted to ask what had happened to him, where he had been, and how he winded up here—and what’s up with those bodies??!

 Albus’ throat tightened, and he ended up saying nothing.

 The silence had only been broken when Harry’s eyes wandered a little above Albus’ eye level.

 “You kept my snake?” Harry blurted, green eyes brightening slightly as they were fixed just above Albus’ forehead.

 “Wha—oh!” Albus had forgotten how Monty had taken into always being on his person. The Grass Snake would usually disappear at random times, and yet somehow always manage to find its way back to either Albus’ sleeve or hair. He honestly did not even notice the movements on the top of his head until this moment. “Er, sorry.”

 “Don’t be.” Harry shook his head, sounding tired. “I’m glad someone had been looking after him while I was. . . gone. If anything, I should be thanking you. . . he seems to like you.”

 “Oh,” Albus felt like an idiot as he stood there, surrounded by literal dead bodies, while clenching and unclenching his hands in anxiety that had nothing to do with the questionable scenery.

 Then a sudden thought overcame him.

 Horcrux.

 Right. Logic had only just seemed to kick in for Albus, and he took a step back. Was Harry possessed at the moment? It certainly didn’t look like it in his honest opinion, but he could still be wrong.

 “How’re you feeling?” he asked lamely.

 Harry just looked at him.

 And then, to Albus’ utter horror, he smiled. A small, tired, but undeniably genuine and relieved smile, as though he was happy to see him. “I’m alright, Al.”

 Albus was not used to seeing Harry show any sign of non-disdainfulness toward him. Was this Voldemort’s soul shard’s attempt to impersonate Harry? Or was this normal Harry being too tired to torment Albus?

 There was no sign of hostility that he would have expected from either the horcrux’s effect or from Harry himself. Whether it was the latter, Albus realized now that Harry did not hate him anymore than he thought his own dad hated him. It might’ve all been in his head after all. And any hurtful thing that came out of Harry’s mouth had more to do with his own problems than with Albus.

 During those first months since they’d met, Albus had assumed it would be easier to antagonize Harry. Hating the person who hated you meant making their biting comments hurt less.

 But Albus never hated Harry, he just hated how worthless he made him feel at times. And Harry’s later attempts to be amicable toward Albus had often felt like he was merely tolerating his presence. This, however, was entirely different.

 “For once,” Harry continued with that same soft smile, “I think everything will turn out alright.”

 “I. . .” Albus did not know what to say, so he settled on the safest option. “I’m sorry.”

 “You’re sorry.” Harry repeated, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion. When Albus nodded, his confusion became more apparent. “Whatever for?”

 “You know, for just. . . being difficult I suppose.” Albus shrugged, embarrassed. He was now just saying what he wished he could have told his actual father. But since he was gone, this was as close as he would ever get to do it. “My attitude over time has clearly been upsetting you. And all the time I’ve known you, I’ve always been seeing you in a certain light, y’know? I thought you were just this unbeatable hero—the bloody Chosen One who everyone can always rely on. And in comparison, I am such a letdown. And it made me angry because whenever people looked at me, they only think about the great savior Harry Potter. And it bothered me because it feels like I’m being set to this impossible standard just for existing.”

 Albus understood his father now, because for once, he truly saw their similarities. The weight of expectation, the crushing pressure of a name that wasn’t just his own, the way people looked at him and wanted something—something impossible.

 It was everything Albus had felt his whole life just for being born looking like his father.

 The difference was, Harry had never been given the chance to be anything else.

 “I never really thought to consider until now that this might be how you’ve felt the entire time people looked at you like you were their symbol of hope.” Albus continued. “So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry to have been one of those people.”

 “Don’t apologize to me.” Harry’s voice cut him off harshly, yet Albus easily detected the strained undertone carried in Harry’s uttered words. “You, of all people, don’t owe me anything. And I should be the one apologizing toyou. I had been completely unfair in the way I’ve treated you. . . I just—I-I had a lot on my plate, and I needed an outlet to take out my anger—but that doesn’t give me the right to take it out on you! I was the bloody idiot who tried to make you feel as miserable as I was.” Harry’s voice cracked, and he averted his eyes from Albus’. “Forgive me.”

 “It. . . it’s fine.” Albus felt uncomfortable seeing his dad—seeing Harry—looking so. . . raw. “Really, it wasn’t that bad—”

 “It’s not fine, Al.” Harry said shakily. “You don’t have to lie for my own sake, alright? I’ve treated you horribly, and you didn’t deserve it.”

 Albus wasn’t sure how to respond. In truth, he wanted an apology from Harry for so long, but now that he had it, he didn’t know what to do with it. He took a breath, steadying himself. “I don’t want you to feel bad about it,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I just want to move on from it. I don’t want us to hate each other.”

 Harry let out a breath that sounded suspiciously close to relief. “I’d like that too.”

 Albus hesitated before returning the smile.

 Then reality snapped back into place.

 Albus’ eyes drifted once more to the bodies around them, the stench of Dark magic still clinging to the air. “So. . . what happened here?”

 Harry’s face turned sour, and Albus knew it had nothing to do with him. “Don’t get me started.”

 Before they began heading toward the castle, Harry hesitated, glancing around at the carnage surrounding them. Despite both being the same age, Albus thought Harry looked older than sixteen at that moment, wearier, like he had carried something far heavier than any person should.

 And Albus supposed he had.

 They made their way out of the forest in silence. Albus kept close to Harry, still half-convinced that if he looked away for too long, he might disappear again.

 By the time they reached the castle, the halls were mostly empty as most students were still in class. That was good. The last thing they needed was to draw attention to themselves before they got to McGonagall.

 Harry did not say much about what had happened to him throughout their walk, and Albus did not want to push him. He could feel the exhaustion radiating from him, but Harry kept moving, one step at a time. But there was something else in his eyes. Something lighter.

 Peace.

Now that Albus Dumbledore was gone, Minerva McGonagall had taken his position, so she was no longer the Deputy but full on the Headmistress.

 Albus Potter and McGonagall listened intently as Harry gave an explanation that was brief and to the point. McGonagall’s expression was unreadable, while Albus had a hard time schooling his face.

 By the time Harry finished, McGonagall exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll have to fetch the Head Boy and Head Girl in every house and have them gather the prefects. No one is to go near the forest under any circumstances. But first, I’ll alert the Ministry. And you, Mr. Potter,” her face softened as she addressed Harry, “should be at the infirmary, resting. Albus, do make sure to accompany him.”

 She was about to make her way out of her office but paused. “It is good to have you back, Harry.”

 Harry smiled weakly in return. “Thanks, Professor.” Once the two boys were left alone, however, his brows furrowed slightly, and Albus could practically see the moment something shifted in his mind—like a missing piece had just clicked into place.

 “Did she just call you Albus?” Harry said while they were making their way down the stairs.

 The name hung in the air between them, as if spoken too loudly in an otherwise quiet area.

 When Albus didn’t respond, Harry stopped abruptly, turning to look at him. His expression was wary at first, but as the seconds passed, a flicker of something more intense—realization, maybe even dread—crossed his face.

 “Did she just call you Albus?” Harry repeated, this time more pointedly. “That’s what ‘Al’ is short for, isn’t it? Is it your real name?”

 Albus swallowed. He could lie. He could pretend it was a coincidence, act like it meant nothing. But he couldn’t. Not when Harry was looking at him like that. Not when he had spent so long wanting Harry to see him. Really see him.

 Besides, what would be the point in hiding the truth from him any longer? Harry was bound to find out eventually by someone else if not by him.

 “Yeah,” Albus said, his voice coming out smaller than he intended. “It is.”

 Harry’s brows furrowed, his tired eyes scanning Albus’ face as if searching for a missing puzzle piece. “Albus what?”

 Albus hesitated. He didn’t want to do this like this, but there was no going back now. He swallowed and, with great effort, he forced the words out.

 “My real name is Albus Potter.”

 The silence that followed was deafening.

 Harry didn’t react at first. He just stood there, blinking at Albus as though his mind was struggling to process the information. “I. . .I don’t understand. Does that mean you’re not my counterpart?”

 “I’m not.” Albus confessed. “I am a dimension traveler, though—I never lied about that. I just never mentioned the part where I’m also from a different. . . timeline.”

 Then, slowly, Harry’s expression shifted from confusion to something far more vulnerable.

 “You’re from the future?” He asked shakily. Albus could only nod in silence. “No,” Harry said, barely above a whisper. “That’s not—that can’t be—”

 Albus could practically see the gears turning in his mind, the way he was piecing together every interaction they’d had. The way Albus had known things he shouldn’t have. The way he had looked at Harry in a way that suggested he was silently begging for his approval.

 Harry took a step back, his hand clenching at the banister as if for support. “You’re my—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “That’s not possible. That can’t be possible.”

 Albus’ heart pounded in his chest, but said nothing.

 Harry let out a short, unsteady laugh, except it wasn’t amused, not in the slightest. “I—I don’t understand. How did you get here? Why are you here?”

 Albus swallowed back the lump in his throat. “I didn’t mean to come here. The veil pulled me in, then suddenly, I was here. And then I saw you, and—” He let out a hollow laugh. “You were younger. It didn’t make sense, at first.”

 Harry pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, his breathing shallow. “This—this is insane,” he muttered, “I am insane.”

 “I wanted to tell you,” Albus said defensively, suddenly feeling childish, “so many times. But you hated me.”

 Harry flinched as though struck. His gaze snapped up, something pained flickering across his features. “I never hated you.”

 Albus let out a bitter laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”

 “I—” Harry started, but then stopped. He looked down, his jaw clenching. “I was awful to you.”

 “Yeah,” Albus admitted. “You were.”

 Harry closed his eyes briefly before exhaling through his nose. “And yet. . . you’re here, helping me despite all that—why?”

 Albus shrugged. “I had to make sure you were safe.”

 Harry stared at him, his expression unreadable. “Does my—” He stopped, swallowing. “Do your parents know where you are?”

 Albus hesitated before shaking his head. “They only know I’m alive.”

 Harry’s breath hitched. “And your siblings?”

 “They’re fine,” Albus assured him quickly, then hesitated. “Or—at least, they were before I got here.”

 Harry exhaled sharply, his hands trembling slightly. “I—I don’t—” He groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “This is too much.”

 Albus wanted to say something, to reach out, but he had no idea what would make this any easier.

Albus stayed with Harry at the infirmary while Madam Pomphrey tended to him, when suddenly, footsteps echoed down the corridor. A voice called out, hesitant yet filled with something Albus couldn’t quite place.

 “Harry?”

 Both of them turned.

 Standing at the end of the hallway, looking as if he had just stepped out of a dream, or perhaps a nightmare, was Sirius Black.

 Harry sucked in a sharp breath; his face paled.

 “Sirius,” he whispered, barely audible.

 Sirius took a slow step forward, his gray eyes locked onto Harry with an intensity that made the air feel heavier. He looked uncertain, as if he, too, was afraid this moment wasn’t real. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

 Harry didn’t respond. He just stared, his hands shaking at his sides.

 Albus took a careful step back, feeling as though he was intruding on something sacred. Because for all the time he had spent here, for all the months he had known this version of Harry—

 This was the moment Harry had needed most.

 Sirius was back.

 And for the first time in a long, long time, Harry Potter looked like a lost boy who had finally found his way home.