Harry Potter: A Different Harry (HP AU)

Chapter 22

Where the bloody hell is that map? Harry wondered as he trudged back up to Ravenclaw Tower. He'd spent weeks trying to track it down, hoping to use it to expose Quirrell for harboring Tom Riddle's spirit within his turban. He'd trailed the Weasley twins for weeks, attempting to summon the Map from them from afar, only to deduce that they must not have it in this timeline. Searching Peter's office had been a stroke of inspiration, but that appeared to be a dead-end as well.

Could his wand be malfunctioning again? Could the Map be resisting his attempts to claim it for himself against the will of its current owner? Or was it simply not in the castle after all? All four of the Marauders were alive and free in this timeline, so perhaps one of them had kept the map for themselves. He considered asking Peter directly, but he was still a member of the staff, and Harry didn't want him knowing his sneaky plans – Marauder or not.

Harry would just have to keep an eye on Quirrell the old-fashioned way. He surreptitiously followed the timid professor through the castle during off-hours, looking for any odd behavior. He sure seemed to hover around the third-floor corridor more often than seemed appropriate. He even witnessed Quirrell and Snape having a hushed conversation in a secluded corner one afternoon – clearly Snape was onto the trail as he had been in the other timeline, giving Harry some small solace.

But Quirrell would have to wait until the following term, as December passed in a blur of essays and homework assignments. Although he knew all the material, he did find himself busier in this timeline as he could no longer rely on Hermione to keep him on task. He even missed a few homework assignments due to simply forgetting the deadline, earning him disapproving looks from his teachers who clearly knew he was better than his grade reflected.

The next thing Harry knew, he was back on the Hogwarts Express en route to London for Christmas break. Neville and Ron were staying behind at the castle, so Harry sat in a compartment with Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, and Tracey's cousin, a second-year Slytherin boy named Mark Davis. The latter two were far more amiable and easy to talk to than Daphne, who offered little to the conversation.

Harry disembarked the train at Platform 9 ¾, usually a somber affair, but this time his face broke into a smile as he saw his parents beaming and waving to him. He ran forward to embrace them, marveling at how much he had missed them despite only a few months apart. Clearly the feeling was mutual.

"Oh, dear, it's been so long," Lily fussed over her son. "You need a haircut. And are you outgrowing your jacket size already?"

"Leave him be, Lil," James chuckled, looking over Harry's head towards his compartment mates he'd gotten off the train with. "Making friends with Slytherins, are we, son?"

"They aren't all bad," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"That's absolutely right, Harry," Lily said, playfully swatting her husband on the arm. "We ought to encourage such inter-House relations."

"You haven't made any deals with Miss Greengrass, have you, Harry?" James asked, looking troubled.

"No," Harry denied. "We're just friends."

"Good, that's good," James said, sighing a little at the news. Harry didn't know what kind of ramifications this could have for him in the Ministry, but the last thing he wanted was to jeopardize anything for his father by striking alliances behind his back.

"Let's get you home," Lily said, guiding them towards the exit. "Your sister is eager to see you."

One uncomfortable Portkey ride later, Harry's feet touched down in the living room of the Potter family cottage in Godric's Hollow. He'd only called the place home for a month prior to leaving for Hogwarts, but he still felt a sense of familiar warmth at the place.

Hurried footsteps heralded the arrival of Dahlia from up the stairs. "Hey, sis—" Harry said, moments before Dahlia crashed into him, engulfing him in a needy hug.

"You didn't write to me," Dahlia pouted, crossing her arms as she pulled away from him. "You promised you'd write!"

"Sorry, I forgot," Harry admitted. He had been rather busy, juggling all his school work with developing his budding friendships and fretting over the trio from afar. "But you didn't write me either!"

"You're the older brother!" Dahlia retorted. "That's your job! You don't care about what I've been up to at all?"

"Course I do, Dahl," Harry grinned. "I just waited until you could tell me all about it in person. And I couldn't possibly do justice to Hogwarts in a simple letter."

"Is it really as grand as Mum and Dad say?" Dahlia asked, searching his face with hungry eyes. "What's it really like?"

"It's everything they say and more," Harry grinned. And he spent the remainder of the evening regaling her with stories of his adventures in the castle. Some were fabricated or exaggerated, while others were taken directly from his past experiences in another timeline. Dahlia was a rapt audience, drinking in his descriptions with awe and gleefully giggling at his hijinks.

"For your mother's sake, I hope half of those stories weren't true," James remarked later that night as he ushered Harry up to bed.

"For her sake, I hope half of Uncle Peter's stories about you weren't true, either," Harry fired back. James could only grumble under his breath about this for a few seconds before bidding his son good-night.

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