Harry sat quietly on the windowsill of his bedroom, knees pulled up to his chest, the soft wind brushing his messy hair. The sky was dim with the fading light of dusk. From here, he could just barely make out the silhouette of Lilian's room across the hallway. Her curtains were drawn. Shut tight, like her heart. He sighed.
It had been four days since he'd woken up in this world. Four days since he had seen his mother again—alive and well—and his father, stern and loud as ever. Four days since he met Lilian Potter, the little sister he had never known he had.
And it had been four days of silence between them.
He didn't blame her. Not after what he'd seen in this Harry's memories—the shouting, the cruel pranks, the constant jealousy, and that final incident… the one that landed him in the hospital. The real Harry had tried to levitate her across the room using stolen magic. A child's tantrum laced with enough spite to nearly get someone hurt.
Harry pressed his forehead against the glass. "I'm sorry," he whispered, though he knew she couldn't hear him. Wouldn't believe him even if she did.
Their mother, Lily, had done her best to pretend everything was normal. She made dinner every evening, asked gentle questions, tried not to show her worry when Harry didn't have the answers. James, on the other hand, was a storm barely held back by glass. His disappointment hung in the air like thunder. He hadn't yelled yet—not properly—but the weight of his stare said enough.
But it was Lilian's silence that hurt the most.
"Harry?" Lily's voice floated up from downstairs. "Dinner's ready!"
He slid off the sill, brushed off his trousers, and headed down.
The dining table was set like any other evening, the clatter of plates and silverware the only sound for the first few minutes. Lilian sat on the far end, beside their father. She didn't look at him. She hadn't since they brought him home.
"Harry," James said suddenly. "Did you finish your reading for this week? I assume you haven't forgotten we agreed on daily revision."
Harry froze for a second. The real Harry had been struggling to get his magic to manifest properly, and their father had been pressuring him into rigorous study.
"I did. I read through Magical Theory: Foundations. Twice," he said, keeping his voice even.
James raised a brow. "Twice?"
Harry nodded. "Some of the diagrams are a bit vague, but I got the theory."
That earned him a long look. Lily paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. Even Lilian's eyes flickered toward him for a brief second. Suspicion.
"That's… good," Lily said. "Maybe tomorrow, we can review together."
"Sure," he said. "I'd like that."
Dinner went on. Tense, but calmer.
Later, when the dishes had been cleared and James disappeared into his study, Harry stood awkwardly outside Lilian's room. He knocked once.
Nothing.
"Lilian," he said quietly. "Can I come in?"
Still nothing. He hesitated, then opened the door just enough to peek in.
She was sitting on her bed, hugging her knees, a book open but forgotten on her lap. Her green eyes met his. Cold. Careful.
"I just wanted to talk," Harry said.
"About what?" she said sharply. "How you're 'better' now?"
He swallowed. "No. I wanted to say sorry."
She snorted and turned away.
"I know you don't believe me," he continued, stepping in fully and closing the door behind him. "You have every right not to. I wasn't… I wasn't a good brother. I was jealous and mean and stupid. I know that now."
She said nothing. But she didn't ask him to leave either.
He walked over and sat down on the edge of her bed, careful to leave a gap between them.
"I don't remember everything," he said slowly, choosing his words. "Not clearly. The nurse said the spell backfired. Maybe… maybe something in me changed too."
Lilian's shoulders tensed. "You almost hurt me."
"I know."
"I was crying."
"I know," he repeated, softer. "And I'm sorry."
For a long moment, they just sat there. The quiet in the room was not peaceful—it was heavy, like fog, like unspoken wounds.
"I don't trust you," she said finally.
"I don't expect you to."
She looked at him again, really looked. "You're talking different."
"I guess I grew up," he said, managing a weak smile.
Lilian didn't smile back, but her eyes didn't have the same ice in them anymore.
"You're still weird."
"That's fair."
Another long pause.
"Do you still want to go to Hogwarts?" she asked, tone unreadable.
He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I want to do better. Be better. Maybe… protect people."
"People like me?" she asked, not accusatory, just quiet.
He nodded again.
"Okay," she said, and turned back to her book.
That was all.
But it was a start.
---
The next morning began with birdsong and silence—two things Harry had learned to appreciate since waking up in this strange second chance at life.
He moved carefully through the house, trying not to make noise. Breakfast had always been a loud affair in his last life—friends, chaos, war plans over stale toast. But here? It was the clink of dishes, the rustle of the Daily Prophet, and the occasional murmur of a spell from Lily as she stirred tea without touching the spoon.
He sat down at the table across from Lilian. She looked at him for half a second, then back to her plate. He didn't push it. Trust wasn't something you demanded. It had to be earned, quietly and patiently.
Lily smiled at him from the stove. "Sleep well, Harry?"
He nodded. "Better than I expected."
James entered the room in his usual rush of robes and irritation. He glanced at Harry, then at Lilian, then poured himself coffee without a word. The tension, ever-present, tightened just a bit more.
Lilian spoke first, surprising them all. "Harry said he wants to be better."
James stopped mid-sip. "Did he?"
Harry met his father's gaze. "I did. I mean it."
James studied him. "You know words are cheap, son."
"I know," Harry said. "I'm not asking for anything. I just… want to start over."
James didn't respond immediately. Instead, he folded the newspaper with deliberate care and left it on the counter.
"You've got a long way to go," he said. "But I'll watch."
Harry took that as the closest thing to approval he was going to get.
After breakfast, Lily asked him to help tend the greenhouse. It wasn't something the old Harry would've done—he remembered that clearly now—but it was oddly peaceful, feeling the soil in his hands and the warm sunlight on his skin. His mother hummed as she plucked petals from a grown essence flower.
"I missed this," he murmured.
Lily glanced at him. "The garden?"
He smiled faintly. "Being with you."
She didn't say anything for a moment. Then she moved closer, brushing some dirt from his hair.
"You've changed," she said softly.
He looked away. "Is that bad?"
"No," she said. "Just… surprising. I don't know what happened to you, Harry. The healers said you might have had some kind of magical backlash. Memory damage. But… whatever it was, I see someone kinder now. Stronger. And maybe a little sadder."
Harry stayed silent.
"I don't want to lose you again," she added.
"You won't," he whispered.
They worked in silence for a while longer. That afternoon, he helped Lilian with her wandwork—even though she kept shooting him doubtful glances the whole time. She was naturally talented. Her levitation charm was smoother than his had ever been at that age, and her control of elemental pulses showed rare potential.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked at one point.
"Because I want to," he said simply. "And because you're brilliant."
She narrowed her eyes. "You never said that before."
"Maybe I should have."
They stood under the old apple tree, the one their father had enchanted to never bear sour fruit. Harry conjured a basic shield, and Lilian sent soft spells against it. The sun caught her hair and made it glow. She looked so much like their mother, and yet… stronger, more centered. She was a reminder of what this world had that his old one didn't.
Hope.
"Do you remember the old fort we made when I was six?" Lilian asked suddenly.
Harry blinked. The memory came to him slowly, pulled from the fragments he had inherited. A pillow fort, dozens of levitated cushions, a floating lantern. A laugh. Then a cruel joke that ruined it all.
"I remember," he said, voice low.
"You knocked it over. Laughed at me."
"I'm sorry."
She paused, then nodded. "Okay."
Later that night, Harry sat alone in the garden, watching the stars come out. He could feel magic more clearly now. It shimmered at the edge of his senses, a constant hum that felt like a heartbeat beneath the world.
The scars from his past life still hurt—too many graves, too many goodbyes. But here, in this fragile, flawed family, he found something he hadn't expected.
A reason to stay.
---
The next few days slipped by like water through fingers—calm, careful, and laced with tension.
Harry spent them trying to relearn the rhythm of a peaceful home. He rose early with Lily, helped prepare breakfast, and offered to clean his room without prompting. These small things were nothing heroic. But for the Harry Potter who once hurled spells in bloodied robes and walked through ruined halls, they were harder than facing down a basilisk.
Still, he tried.
Lilian remained guarded. She didn't push him away anymore, but she didn't open up either. She answered when spoken to, accepted help when it was offered, but he could tell—she was waiting. Watching to see when he'd slip up again.
He couldn't blame her.
What surprised him most was how patient Lily was. She didn't press, didn't pry. She simply offered warmth when he earned it and let silence speak when he hadn't. It was the kind of parenting he rarely saw in his old world—where parents were dead, missing, or casualties of war.
James, on the other hand, was more complicated.
They rarely spoke. James seemed to linger around the corners of rooms when Harry was present, as if unsure whether to scold or lecture. He wasn't cruel, just distant. And Harry didn't try to change that. Not yet. Not until he felt like he truly deserved to.
One night, a week after the incident, Harry stood outside the family home, wand in hand.
He'd taken to practicing in the backyard once everyone was asleep. Nothing dangerous—just basic forms, wand motions, silent incantations. Magic still came naturally to him, more than it ever had in his first years at Hogwarts. He could feel how much raw power this body held. A clean slate.
But it was undisciplined, untrained.
He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing.
"Lumos."
The tip of his wand lit up instantly, casting a soft glow across the grass. He smiled faintly. Even something that simple felt like a small victory.
"You're not supposed to do magic outside of school," came a voice.
He turned. Lilian stood a few feet away, barefoot and in her nightgown, arms crossed. Her expression wasn't hostile—just curious.
"I know," he said. "Just practicing control. No spells cast into the air. I checked."
She stepped closer, watching him carefully. "You're different."
He nodded.
"You used to be loud. Arrogant. You hated it when Mum praised me."
He lowered the wand. "I remember some of that now. Not all of it, but enough to know I don't want to be that person again."
"Are you sick?"
"No."
She hesitated, then asked the question that had clearly been weighing on her.
"Did someone… take you over?"
Harry blinked, stunned. That wasn't something he'd expected from a ten-year-old.
"No," he said gently. "I'm just trying to change."
Lilian didn't respond. She sat down on the grass and stared up at the stars.
He joined her.
"I used to think I was the center of everything," Harry said quietly. "Even when people died around me, I thought it had to be about me. But it wasn't. There were so many people who were better than me. Braver. Kinder. And I lost most of them."
She looked over. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I don't want to be that boy anymore. I don't want you to be afraid of me."
Lilian didn't say anything. She lay back, eyes still locked on the night sky.
"I don't trust you yet," she said softly. "But I don't hate you either."
That was more than he deserved.
They sat in silence for a long while. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep under the stars, her breathing steady and soft.
Harry watched her for a long moment before gently lifting her with a levitation charm—carefully, slowly—and guiding her back into the house.
He tucked her into bed like he imagined a real brother would.
Then he stood by the door, watching her sleep.
This world wasn't perfect. It held its own shadows, even if they weren't visible yet. But it also had this—quiet nights, soft forgiveness, and a future he didn't think he deserved, but one he would fight to protect anyway.
Because maybe, just maybe, he hadn't died for nothing.
---