HP:Fighting From the Shadows

"Mum?" he said tentatively, his voice sounding considerably higher than it once was. "Dad?"

"Happy birthday, kiddo!" James said, slapping his son playfully on the shoulder. "Didn't think we'd forget, did you?"

"We were just preparing your favorite breakfast!" Lily beamed, ruffling Harry's hair affectionately. "It's almost ready; we didn't expect you up quite so early—"

Lily was interrupted by a stifling hug, as Harry launched himself at his mother and wrapped his arms around her. She smelled divine, like fresh rose petals, and she was as warm and inviting as he'd always imagined her to be. Lily chuckled in surprise, but returned the hug all the same.

"Goodness," she chuckled as she embraced her son. "James, you'd think we starve him for attention."

"Hey, don't look a gift hippogriff in the mouth, Lil," James teased. "I doubt he'll act so affectionate when his sister wakes up."

That remark made Harry pull away from his mother and stare at his father in astonishment. I have a sister?! he thought in amazement. He had so many questions running through his mind, bursting to know everything about the new life he'd just been gifted with. But before he could rattle off several dozen of them, there came a gentle rapping on glass, causing all three Potters to turn toward the window.

"Ah, I think I know what this means," Lily said, striding across the kitchen to open the window. "That's a Hogwarts owl if I've ever seen one." And she let in a majestic brown owl, which hooted softly and deposited a letter at Harry's feet before fluttering back outside. Harry bent down to pick up the envelope, which was sealed with a wax Hogwarts emblem and addressed to: "Harry James Potter, the Kitchen, Number Eighteen Church Lane, Godric's Hollow, England".

Harry looked up at his parents, who were watching him expectantly, urging him on with wide smiles. Harry tore open the letter, already knowing what was inside, but nonetheless feeling warmth spread across his chest as he unfolded it to read:

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

So that explained at least one of Harry's questions: today was his eleventh birthday. He certainly felt smaller than he had in the Department of Mysteries, and he had wondered when he would be able to return to Hogwarts in his new reality. Apparently, the answer was in one month and one day's time.

"Of course we knew you'd get in; your name's been down since birth," James beamed at Harry as he took the letter from him. "Though it is nice to have confirmation you're not a Squib."

"James Potter!" Lily said in mock scandal, slapping her husband playfully on the shoulder. "Of course Harry's a wizard; he's been making things move and flying that blasted toy broom of his since before he could walk!"

"Damned right he has," James said, beaming with pride. "Gonna try out for the Gryffindor squad, you reckon, son? Think you can live up to your old man's legacy?"

"Oh, don't pressure him," Lily scoffed. "And who said he'll be in Gryffindor? I'm sure he'll fit in fine with whichever House accepts him."

"I'm gonna try out," Harry said eagerly to James. "For Seeker. As early as this year, if they'll let me."

"Atta boy!" James guffawed. "See, Lily? A born flyer! I don't think they let first-years play, but maybe I can write to ol' Minnie and twist her arm a little—"

"I'm sure 'Minnie' will be very receptive to seven more years of Potter hijinks," Lily said, rolling her eyes. "Come, let's eat before the food gets cold."

Harry walked over to the kitchen table in a daze and took a seat, still feeling like he was in a dream too good to be true. Lily transferred over several steaming plates of food, loaded up with fried eggs, bacon, sausages and waffles. Harry's mouth watered as he ogled the spread; the Dursleys never had such lavish breakfasts, and if they did, Harry only got the scraps that Dudley didn't want.

Harry's brief trance was interrupted by a sharp pain in the shin as something – or someone – kicked him hard. "Oi, stupid, you're sitting in my seat!" an annoyed voice growled at him. Harry turned towards the disturbance, eyes widening at a face he'd never seen before, even in dreams or memories. A girl, roughly the same age as him, with identical green eyes and a mop of raven-black hair pinned up in a bun. She tapped her foot expectantly, looking cross with him.

"Erm…" Harry said nervously, unsure of what to say.

"Be nice to your brother, sweetheart; it's his birthday after all," James chastised the girl lightly, planting a kiss atop her temple as he passed by (which she squirmed away from).

"But I always get the seat by the window!" the girl pouted.

"Merlin's sake, Dahlia, you can sit somewhere else for one meal!" Lily groaned tiredly as she placed the last of the meal plates on the table.

"It's okay," Harry said at once, scooting his chair back. "You can have this seat." And he stood up to shift over to the other side of the table, allowing the girl called Dahlia to claim her desired spot, smirking triumphantly.

"Well, I never thought I'd see the day," James remarked as he settled into his own chair. "If I didn't know any better, Lily, I'd say our children do love each other after all."

"As if," Dahlia scoffed, beginning to pile her plate high. "Harry just knows I would take revenge later if he didn't."

Harry sat in silence, gawking around the table at his three family members as they bantered back and forth while loading their plates. He was particularly entranced by Dahlia, never before imagining that his parents might have had another child if they'd survived. He found himself staring at his sister, studying her face, the way it lit up as she raised a subject she was interested in (in this case, Herbology). She noticed his gaze lingering on her and shot her tongue out at him mockingly, causing him to shake himself out of it and begin loading his own plate.