Harry Potter's Real Dad

He looked up and found himself nose to nose with a stick. Holding the stick was a little redhead girl about his age in a pink butterfly top and jeans. She was standing over him, her dark brown eyes glaring at him.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "What are you doing here?"

Harry couldn't talk though. He couldn't breathe. He struggled to suck air in through his throat, panting and wheezing heavy. He reached up and clutched at his neck as if it might help.

"Hey, breathe," the girl said, lowering the stick and sitting next to Harry, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out."

Harry tried to copy her, but it was really hard. She stood up and ran off somewhere before coming back with a glass of water.

"Here, maybe this will help."

Harry took a couple sips, and the cold water did seem to soothe his burning throat, but it still took him a couple minutes before he could breathe normally again. He was shaking, and his eyes burned with tears as he finally calmed down and took a moment to look around.

"Oh good," the girl said, sitting down in front of Harry. "A dead body would be hard to explain to my dad. Even I couldn't talk my way out of that one. What's all over you? I got it all over my hand." The girl brushed her hand off on her jeans to little effect.

Harry frowned at her, but his eyes wandered around the house. It was a large living space with a couch and two armchairs surrounding the fireplace. He glanced to his right, taking note of the attached dining room and open concept kitchen. 4 Privet Drive could easily fit inside this place alone, and he couldn't even see the rest of the house. To his left, was a staircase.

"Where am I?"

"Err . . . Snape Manor?" the girl looked confused. "I take it you were playing with the floo powder and accidentally shipped yourself here. Is that it?"

"What?" Harry asked. "No! I was cleaning the chimney and then I saw this strange stuff and it took me all over the place."

"That's floo powder." The girl nodded before peering closely at Harry. "You look familiar."

"I do?"

The girl leaned closer to Harry, who leaned back anxiously. The girl brushed some of Harry's hair aside and her eyes widened.

"You're Harry!" she said excitedly.

"Yeah . . . how do you know my name?"

"You're my brother!"

Harry blinked, then slowly shook his head. No, that wasn't possible. His parents were dead and the only family he had left were the Dursleys. He had to get back to them. This girl was starting to freak him out.

"Yes, it's true. Well, half-brother. I'm Iris."

"Hi, Iris," Harry said. He looked down at his hand, but there was no powder left to escape. "How do I get home? Do you have anymore powder left?"

Iris seemed surprised by the question and her face fell considerably.

"You want to leave? But we just met. I'm your sister, don't you want to get to know me?"

Harry stood up, Iris following his lead.

"You can't be my sister—my parents died in a car accident. I'm an only child and I only have the Dursleys left and I need to go back. Aunt Petunia's probably worried about me."

"Your parents didn't die in a car accident," Iris said, twirling the stick in her hands. "But your dad was actually your adopted dad. Your real dad is still alive."

"He was my real dad!" Harry argued, stomping his foot for emphasis. He may not have known them, but he knew he loved them.

"I meant," Iris held her hands up defensively, "your biological dad. He's my dad, too. He talks about you a lot."

Harry frowned. Could it be true?

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Iris's face lit up and she smiled brightly at him.

"Follow me," she said.

Iris ran through the living room and past the kitchen, Harry behind her. She carefully glanced around the hall they were in before she grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled him into a study.

"This is Dad's study," she said, moving around the large desk that sat against the back wall in front of a window. She began digging through the desk while Harry looked around.

There were shelves of books and jars of strange things with labels here and there. A large bird cage with an attached stand that stretched out and ended in a hook just to the left side of the desk caught his attention. There were feathers at the bottom of the cage but no sign of a bird anywhere. A water and food dish had a place inside as well, but it looked untouched. Harry's eyes fell on the desk.

Journals and strange, crinkly paper littered the desk, some books were open on it as well, with more feathers in a case where pencils and pens would normally go. Harry picked up one of the feathers and felt its softness before he spotted the picture frames.

One was of Iris in what looked like a school uniform—a plaid skirt and white top. She was leaning against a wooden fence and flowerpots were hanging on either side of her. She was smiling radiantly.