Chapter Text
Harry didn’t know where he was.
Truly, he didn't. One minute, he had been fighting alongside Sirius, and a moment later, he had followed him into the Veil. There was no way he was going to lose his godfather to whatever the hell that thing was. So, ignoring Remus’s shouts, he had plunged in after him.
He hadn’t known what to expect, but waking up in an unfamiliar room certainly wasn't it. The bed was comfortable—he had to give it that. It was so cozy that he felt he could stay there for the rest of his life. He craved a good night’s sleep so badly; he just wanted to close his eyes and never worry about whether he would survive the next day or if he'd have to solve another crisis that the world had dumped in his lap.
The ceiling was beautiful: a soft sky-blue painted with drifting clouds and a tree heavy with apples that seemed to spill down the walls. The walls themselves depicted a never-ending green landscape, empty save for that single apple tree. Newton would have a field day with this gravity shit, he thought.
The room contained a wardrobe, a study table, and a long shelf packed with books in different languages. Most were in English or Arabic, but there was a third script... what was that? It wasn’t Arabic, though the letters were identical.
Then it hit him—it hit him like a football to the face. It wasn't exactly a memory, but rather his mind suddenly unlocking a language he never knew existed: Kurdish.
"Oh, thank God you’re awake!"
Harry flinched at the sudden voice behind him. He spun around and saw a man who looked remarkably like Sirius, but wasn't. His hair was shorter, though it kept that trademark Black waviness. Again, a "non-memory" hit him, like a voice inside his head providing the answers to his questions.
Regulus Fucking Black.
"We were so worried—you’ve been in a coma for three days! For no apparent reason, you just wouldn't wake up," Regulus continued, pulling Harry into a crushing hug.
Harry froze. What the hell was going on? Why was Sirius’s supposedly dead brother hugging him and saying "they" were worried? Who was "them"? He and Sirius? Was Regulus alive this whole time? Did Sirius know?
"Are you okay, Helen? Why are you so quiet?" Regulus asked.
Wait. Helen? Who the hell was Helen?
Harry pulled out of the man’s grip, frowning. He caught his reflection in a mirror and froze. He had very long hair—wavy, thick, and reaching past his waist. He still had his green eyes, but their shape was different. And he had... breasts.
The realization struck: he was a girl. He was a she. Was he dreaming? Was he dead?
Regulus must have picked up on the confusion and panic because his expression shifted into a worried frown. "Helen... is something wrong? Did something happen?"
Harry thought quickly. Maybe he could act like he’d lost his memory? It wasn't even a lie—he didn't know a thing about this girl or this life. If he told this man that he was actually a boy named Harry stuck in the body of a girl who looked like a prettier version of himself, Regulus would think he’d gone insane.
"Um... who... who are you?" Harry asked. It was his own voice, but filtered through Helen’s vocal cords.
Regulus’s handsome face fell into a serious scowl. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, simply staring at the girl who was no longer "Harry" to herself.
"What are you saying, Helen?" he asked quietly.
"I seriously don't know who you are! I don't remember anything!" Harry shouted, backing away. His whole body was shaking. Why was he here? He should be with Sirius in the afterlife, not in this strange place!
"You really don't remember anything?"
"No," Harry breathed, tears welling up.
"Not even your name?"
"Well, you keep calling me Helen, so I suppose my name is Helen," Harry replied.
"So you only know because I said it?" Regulus asked, his arms folded.
"Yes."
"Oh God, this is serious," Regulus muttered, gripping his hair. "James! James, get up here! Helen is awake!"
James? Was he talking about James Potter? Was he in a universe where his parents were alive?
A man with messy dark brown hair, brown skin, and glasses rushed into the room. He looked like an older version of Harry—exactly as everyone had always told him. He looked just like his father but with his mother’s eyes. Even as a girl, Harry could see the resemblance to the man in front of him.
"Oh God, you're awake! We were so worried, love," James said, pulling Harry into a tight hug and kissing the top of her head.
"James—Helen says she doesn’t remember anything," Regulus said, watching them.
James pulled away, though he kept his hands on Harry’s shoulders. "What do you mean, she doesn't remember anything?"
"Her memories are wiped clean."
"What the fuck do you mean by 'wiped off'? Reg—Helen, darling, what is going on? What does your dad mean?" James gripped her shoulders, his face etched with worry.
Dad? Was Regulus his dad? What the actual fuck?
Harry’s silence and confused stare seemed to answer the question. James let go and took a shaky breath.
"You seriously don't remember us?"
"She didn't even remember her own name, James," Regulus added, placing a hand on James’s shoulder.
"Oh God, this is bad. I told you she wasn’t fine when she fell off that ladder! We should have taken her to the hospital immediately!" James’s voice rose in anger.
"Lily is a doctor! She checked her over and said she was fine!" Regulus snapped back.
So, Lily was alive too. But how did he have two dads? Was Lily still his mum?
"So... you two are my parents?" Harry finally managed to ask.
"Oh, God," James breathed.
"Yes," Regulus explained. "James is your biological father, and Lily is your mother. Your parents divorced when you were four, and I’ve been your dad too since you were five. Your mother also remarried when you were six—to a man named Severus Snape."
Harry’s world tilted. His parents were divorced, his mum was married to Snape of all people, and his dad was with Sirius’s brother.
"Are you... You two married?" Harry asked.
"Yes, we are. I’m sorry, I forgot—when I said we 'got together,' I meant we got married," Regulus replied. James sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, unable to process how his daughter had woken up as a blank slate.
Harry wanted to tell them the truth, but he couldn't—not yet. He needed to observe them and see if it was safe to reveal who he actually was.
James took a deep breath and stood up. "I have to phone Lily and tell her what’s happening. Maybe she’ll know what to do."
He left the room, leaving Harry alone with Regulus again.
"Um... can you tell me more about myself?" Harry asked.
"Of course. You are Helen Pandora Potter. You’re fifteen, born on July 31st. You’re Kurdish-British on your father’s side and British-French on your mother’s. You’re best friends with Blaise Zabini and Hermione Granger. And... well, you keep denying it, but I’ve seen you snogging that Nott prick—Theodore Nott."