S E V E N
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Two weeks had passed since he had first begun experiencing a collection of odd dreams. And odd was an understatement, yet it was the only word that seemed to come to mind. There wasn't any other way to describe it.

It bothered him immensely. Then again who wouldn't it bother? Strange dreams were never much of a party, that is unless you were dreaming of one. A very odd one.

But, for Harry, his dreams were definitely no party, to say the least, although for all he knew they could have been, but he supposed he would never know. How could he? He didn't even recollect having the dreams themselves, let alone what they were about. All he knew was that he was having nightmares, of sorts, that he couldn't remember.

For any normal person, that wouldn't be much of a big deal. Even for any normal wizard, it wouldn't even be considered remotely important. Then again, Harry was no normal wizard, and dreams that he couldn't recall seemed like a big problem for him.

And it wasn't just the fact that he couldn't remember having the dreams, it was more like everyone else could.

Ron had mentioned that sometimes he would abruptly sit up in bed and start freaking out, before going back to sleep like nothing had happened. Mrs. Weasley had even caught him 'sleepwalking' despite being fully conscious, something that he had no memory of ever doing.

They had all said: "It's just a phase," and blamed it on the trauma he had suffered from the war. Harry had gone along with that only because he didn't want to cause any worry.

Sighing, he tried to clear his head from the array of jumbled up thoughts that couldn't seem to organise themselves. I don't need to think about this now. I should be happy. I'm going back to Hogwarts. That's a good thing. This should be a stress free year, right? No Voldemort, at least.

He forced a smile onto his face. After much waiting, the day had finally come to go back to what was one of his favourite places in the world. This is a happy time, he told himself again. And it was a happy time, at least it should have been, except he couldn't help but to feel a sense of dread at the aspect of returning to the wizarding school.

It held many painful memories, not to mention he had never been one for the attention, and it didn't help that he was now even more of a celebrity than before. It was unlikely that there was a witch or wizard out there who didn't know the name Harry Potter.

Swallowing a lump in his throat he leaned back in his seat and gazed out of the window, staring at the crowds. Even sitting in the last carriage at the back of the train was not enough to keep him hidden. Every so often, the occasional passerby would notice him, and point excitedly, overjoyed to have caught a glimpse of the one who had conquered the Dark Lord.

He had restored peace, and balance to the wizarding world, for the time being at least, but still he couldn't help but to think, that maybe he hadn't. The feeling, that something else was coming, and that the peace he was experiencing was only temporary, lurked in the darkest corners of his mind, resurfacing at the worst possible times.

No, he told himself. You are not going to let those thoughts get to you, Harry.

Content with his brains cooperation, he turned his attention towards Ron and Hermione. The couple appeared to be in an animated discussion.

"Everyone knows that you can't do summoning spells inside Flourish and Blotts," Hermione sighed.

"Not everyone!" Ron exclaimed. "You have no idea how humiliating that was!"

"It's not that big of a deal-"

"Not that big of a deal? Easy for you to say-"

The two had ditched the prefects carriage to sit with him, but now he was beginning to wish they hadn't.

Doing his best to ignore their argument, he picked up the newspaper article from where Hermione had left it discarded before. He let his eyes scan the front page where in large bold font, the title read: Harry Potter returns to Hogwarts.

That was nothing new. The topic had been in the headlines for weeks. He flipped to the next page, hoping to find something more interesting. His definition of interesting was the exact opposite of what the Daily Prophet had in mind.

A large image of an altered mugshot of himself accompanied the article. Frowning, he sifted through the piece of writing, the first line, catching him off guard.

Harry Potter: A fraud?

In the passing months, wizards across the globe have been celebrating the demise of Voldemort. The man once seen as the biggest threat to to the world is gone, but who is it that will take his place?

An inside source suggests, that maybe the very person who rid the world of Voldemort's evil, will be the one to fill his shoes.

Is the infamous Harry Potter really the man he claims to be? Or perhaps, a fraud who wishes to win over our trust.

Harry's eyes widened, and he tossed the paper against the wall in his annoyance. The small action caused Ron and Hermione to stop talking.

"Have you read what they've been writing in the Prophet about me?" he asked, trying to hide his frustration.

Hermione picked up the newspaper from where it had landed on the ground. "It's just Rita Skeeter writing nonsense again," she huffed. "There aren't even any real facts in this article, it's all just opinion, it doesn't matter now anyway."

"Why not?" Ron scowled. "I thought she agreed to stop writing about Harry."

"Look," Hermione said, pointing to the date. "This was last weeks paper."

"So?"

"Have you not heard?"

Harry and Ron shook their heads. Hermione sighed, knowing she shouldn't have expected any better, and produced a second document from her robes - which surprise, surprise she had already changed into.

Harry frowned. "The disappearance of Rita Skeeter," he read.

"Yeah right," Ron said, snatching the paper from Harry. His eyes widened as he scanned the article. "Blimey," he muttered.

"Rita Skeeter, last seen at the Ministry of magic two days ago, has mysteriously vanished. Prior to her disappearance, Skeeter published an article, voicing her suspicions on the loyalties of Harry Potter," Ron paused, hesitating slightly. "It is a well known fact," he continued, "that Mr Potter never got along well with the lovely Miss Skeeter, and there is reason to believe that perhaps foul play is involved."

"They think I have something to do with this?" Harry exclaimed, outraged. "After all I've done! I mean, I can't stand the woman, but kidnapping?"

"No one is actually going to believe this, it's a load of rubbish. Anyone with half a brain would know that," Hermione said, reassuring him.

"They believed everything she wrote about me last time," he said.

"That was last time," Ron said, "and besides, you defeated you-know-uh Voldemort. How could they not trust you? Why would they believe her of all people?"

Harry didn't respond. His head had started to throb and he winced slightly. Placing his cold hand to his head, he thought that maybe he'd done to much thinking today and that his brain had reached its maximum capacity. Another stab of pain.

"Harry? Are you alright?"

"I-I'm fi-" he started only to cut himself off with a low scream.

"Hermione! Do something!" Ron exclaimed.

He felt the world spinning, as everything began to go fuzzy. How was it possible that moments ago they'd been arguing over the prophet, and now he was on the verge of passing out?

"Harry?" Hermione asked, splitting into three people as his vision started failing him. His eyes closed and everything went black.

***

He found himself in a kitchen that was in complete disarray. It looked somewhat familiar and he felt like he had been here before, he just didn't know when or how. In fact, he wasn't even sure where 'here' was.

Feeling a sense of déjà vu, he observed his surroundings.

There was a stain on the floor, and what looked like potato peels were sitting in the sink. An upturned bowl lay on the stove, and the kitchen cabinets were open, the objects inside looked to be on the verge of falling out. A mop was leaning against the wall, and a few feathers decorated the bench top and a girl was in the process of cleaning up. She didn't even acknowledge his presence.

It wasn't the girl that bothered him, but the kitchen itself. It looked strange, to say the least, and not just because of the mess. It was more... innovative and advanced, nothing like the Dursley's kitchen or even Mrs. Weasley's, but somehow, the strange environment felt familiar.

Why couldn't he remember this place?

He was overcome with the sudden urge to blink, so he did. This time, he was in a different room.

A cluster of couches were set out in front of a television, with a woman and a boy seated across from each other looking rather tense. The woman had dark hair, streaked with grey, but her eyes looked young. The expression she wore, however gave off a feeling of unease and Harry couldn't help but to feel that he was intruding.

The other person in the room, the boy, was seated with his back towards him so all that was on display was his dark unruly hair.

Deciding to move closer, he stepped forward and walked around so he could see both the woman and the boy. They looked like they were related. Mother and son, maybe?

The boy looked like he was around his age, but his eyes, a captivating green, made him look much older. He was tanned, like he'd spent years in the sun but his height remained unknown since he was sitting down.

As he got closer, he could hear their conversation. The woman was speaking, and the boy was listening intently, with a look on his face that suggested bad news.

"I haven't been entirely truthful with you Percy," the woman was saying. The boy, who Harry could only assume was Percy, visibly paled. "Remember when I told you about my parents?" she asked.

He nodded, still not speaking.

"They didn't exactly die in a plane crash."

Percy opened his mouth, confusion etched into his expression. Before he could interrupt, the woman continued.

"They were killed by a dark wizard named Voldemort."

Harry let out an involuntary gasp of surprise. Neither of them turned around. That meant he was not only invisible, but silent too. He was beginning to realise that this dream he was experiencing, was one of the ones he'd been having for a while. The feeling of déjà vu was only growing stronger and he sensed that this dream was important. Something told him he wouldn't remember a thing when he woke up.

"That's the one Chiron was talking about, isn't it?"

A momentary silence filled the room. "Is that why you left?" he asked quitely. The woman nodded again and the boy pursed his lips. "I'm sorry," he whispered, drying his eyes.

"For what?" his mother exclaimed. "I'm the one who never said anything!"

"I understand why; you didn't want to make things more complicated than they already were," he responded, his tone eerily calm.

Harry didn't bother to hide his surprise at how well the boy -although he could be considered a young man- was taking this. Confusing didn't even begin to describe it. Make things more complicated? What did that mean? What could possibly be more complicated than wizards?

"I guess I should explain more," the woman said, snapping Harry out of his trance. Sighing, she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "My parents were both wizards. They worked for a society known as the Order of the Phoenix; a group dedicated to defeating Voldemort. Of course, I didn't know that at the time..."

"Since I was only five, I was completely in the dark about my heritage. My parents wanted to keep me safe so they sent me to live with my uncle, as far away as possible from them. Voldemort would target their weaknesses, that meant he would target me. If he didn't know where I was, he couldn't do that."

"He would kill children?" Percy exclaimed, outraged.

"He tried to kill an infant, he had no mercy."

Harry knew she was referring to him, apparently so did her son. "Harry Potter," he said, realisation dawning.

That made Harry even more puzzled. How come this boy never knew of his wizarding heritage, yet he knew of Harry and Voldemort? He couldn't have been younger than seventeen. It would have been impossible for him to be in the dark for so long.

His mother wiped away a tear that had begun the journey down her cheek. "My mom and dad were at the Order Headquarters when they received an owl."

"An owl?" the boy interrupted. "Like our friend from the kitchen?"

"Cecilia had travelled all the way from Scotland, and gone so long without food. She was just hungry."

"That makes perfect sense then," the boy grumbled. "Who names an owl Cecilia?" he shook his head before turning his attention back to his mother.

"Anyway, the owl was a message from Professor Dumbledore."

"Who?"

"The headmaster of Hogwarts at the time," she sighed.

"Oh, right."

Percy was trying to appear patient, but it seemed as if he was having trouble keeping his curiosity at bay. It looked like it was taking every ounce of will power to refrain himself from interrupting. Harry felt much the same when he had first discovered his wizarding heritage, except he had found it much easier to be patient despite the countless questions he possessed.

"The owl informed my parents that I had been taken from my uncle." She fiddled with her apron, looking down almost as if she had kept these memories hidden so long that she wasn't sure how to speak them aloud.

"One of my neighbours happened to be a Death Eater."

The boy's features contorted into a look of disgust. "That sounds disgusting," he muttered. "How does that even work?"

A smile crept up the older lady's face, as if she knew exactly what her son was thinking about. "Not like that," she laughed. "A Death Eater- meaning someone who worked for him," she said, the worried look returned to her face instantly. She took a deep breath and exhaled. "He'd been keeping an eye on me for a while, waiting for the perfect opportunity. He saw it, and he took it. My uncle was at work, and I was alone with the babysitter. She was on the phone, distracted and wasn't watching me. The death eater broke into the house and knocked me out with a spell. He was able to drag me away without anyone noticing. The enchantments around the house had been broken, but it still set off an alarm. Dumbledore was informed, and he contacted my parents. I was gone before they arrived."

The woman reached for a glass of water and lifted it to her lips. Her son remained mute and watched as she replaced the glass on the table, her hands shaking slightly.

"I was taken to his hideout at the time and stayed there for weeks. Eventually the order found me, and my parents were killed helping me escape."

The boy looked down at his feet, downcast. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I didn't know."

"It happened along time ago. I've made peace with what happened."

"How- how do you remember all of this? You were five."

She tensed, the lines around her eyes becoming more prominent. "My uncle, he knew more of what had happened then he let on. Jim told me what had happened before he died. He said I deserved to know."

"Did you go to Hogwarts?" Percy asked quizzically.

"When I was old enough, but I ended up dropping out when Rich got sick. That's why I decided to move to New York, to look after him. Then he died and I had no one. I didn't want to go back to Scotland, and I couldn't get a decent job, I had no education really, I couldn't exactly say I went to wizarding school."

Percy nodded in understanding, before frowning slightly. "Couldn't you have used magic to heal your uncle?" he asked.

"There's only so much magic can do. I don't think he would have wanted me to anyway. My parents' death hit him hard and I guess even though it had been years, he no longer had the strength to carry on."

She wiped her eyes, her tears now cascading freely down her face. "Oh, Percy," she sighed.

"It's okay, mom," he whispered, putting his arm around her shoulders. He was so much taller than his mother that even sitting down, he towered above her.

The woman shook her head. "No, it's not. I lied to you."

"It happens," he shrugged, "it's not like you did it for no reason."

A temporary silence enveloped the living space.

"I think, you should open the letter now," the woman whispered. Trembling, she shakily handed him an envelope, much like the one Harry had received not so long ago.

"Are you sure?" he asked. The woman nodded and the boy began to tear open the letter.

Harry suddenly felt as if his brain was being ripped in half. The images became distorted and he found himself regaining consciousness.

***

He was lying on the floor, the worried faces of Ron and Hermione staring down at him.

"Is he dead?" Ron asked as Harry blinked rapidly. Hermione gave him a light shove. "Obviously not. He just passed out." She offered her hand to Harry who took it gratefully as she pulled him up.

He had been dreaming about something important, he was sure of it.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked.

Unable to form any words, he nodded limply and sunk into a seat. Ron sat down next to him. "You were out for about a minute, Harry," he said, concern seeping into his words. "It's those dreams again, isn't it?"

Harry shrugged in response and tilted his head so he was facing the glass door leading out into the hallway. He almost jumped when he realised one of the boys in the carriage besides his, was staring intently in his direction. Dark tousled hair, piercing sea green eyes. He felt a flash of recognition, and quickly turned away.

"Do you have spare parchment?" he asked, facing Ron and Hermione, who were still looking at him as if he might grow two heads any moment.

Hermione nodded and pulled some out from the folds of her robes, which seemed to have an endless amount of supplies, and Harry wouldn't have been surprised if they were enchanted.

"A quill?" he asked, taking the parchment from her. He closed his eyes as he tried to gather his thoughts as Hermione handed him a quill, still not speaking.

Harry placed the parchment against the window and began to write, his friends looking at him in confusion. When he was finished, he passed the quill back to Hermione and folded the parchment neatly.

"What did you write?" Ron questioned.

"An address," Harry responded, after a brief pause.

"Who's address?" Hermione asked, quietly.

He crinkled his brow, and stared at the paper in his lap where a few words were printed. Somehow he knew it was where he had just been, moments ago, when he passed out. What was he supposed to tell them? He took a deep breath and uttered three words, barely audible, that were definitely not the truth.

"I don't know."

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So obviously the time line is confusing, since Harry and Percy's worlds are in different time periods, so you're probably like woah that doesn't make sense. You will understand later on in the story and I've kept the time lines different on purpose.

Anyway, hope you're enjoying the story so far. Hogwarts here we come!

As a last note, congratulations to the U.S! #marriageequality