H.P:the Difference Between Brothers?

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"Feeling overwhelmed?" James asked.

"A little," Harry admitted.

"You can ask me anything you want, any time you want," James told him

"Thank you," he said softly.

"I brought you some books that'll explain more about our world, better than I can," James said. "And you don't have to wear them, but I brought some clothes more like what wizards wear."

Harry assured him he was okay and just wanted to be alone to get his thoughts together, and maybe flip through some of the books.

When he was alone, with just his thoughts, Harry laid down on the bed and let the tears fall. While it was a relief, in a strange way, to know he wasn't alone, that others out there could do what he did, it was worse to know he hadn't been wanted.

If he knew anything, it was that parts of James' story made no sense. For as long as Harry could remember, he'd had magic. There was no way anyone could have missed that. James hadn't wanted him, chose his brother over him. He'd only been brought back into their family because of the letter. James hadn't had a choice in that, Harry was as sure of it as he was in Morgan's loyalty to him.

After some time wallowing, Harry noticed just how silent the house was. The ever present hum of electricity was completely absent. There was no overhead light, instead flames danced in the fireplace and in sconces around the walls. Overhead was a chandelier with candles burning on it, though no drops of wax fell to the carpets on the floor.

The clothing James brought him had fallen to the floor. Harry picked them up and looked to his own clothes. The ill-fitting rags swallowed him, making him appear even smaller than he already was. He looked through the clothing, a pair of plain brown trousers, with hidden buttons and no zipper, a plain white shirt. The shirt had no stains or torn hem, and was as soft as butter in his hands. There was a brown jacket with gold detailing in a similar style to the one James wore.

For a moment, he weighed the chances of consequences. Then he grabbed the clothes and made his way to the bathroom. It was larger than the Dursley's, and the bathtub called to him. He got the water as warm as he wished for once. The bath had been stocked with shampoo and soap in little glass bottles. They smelled of herbs, and Harry relished in their scent.

It was the most luxurious thing he'd ever experienced. By the time he climbed out, his fingers and toes had wrinkled up. And the towels felt like clouds wrapping around him. The clothes were odd, a little loose, but they fit much better than Dudley's old clothes ever had.

He threw the rags into the fireplace, never wanting to see them again. Even if he had to wear this one thing for the rest of his life, he would never go back to the ill fitting rags.

With nothing left to do, Harry turned his attention to the books James left. Beyond the personal implications, there was a lot James said that he didn't understand. Words and concepts that were completely foreign to him.

He made camp at the desk with the books James left and his notebook. He filled a whole page with things from just the school letter and his conversation with James alone.

What do they mean by await my owl?

What is Side-Along?

What was the war about?

What is a Dark Wizard?

Who was the traitor?

There was an entire list of the titles that followed the name Albus Dumbledore.

List made, Harry looked at the books, trying to decide where to start. There were four of them. There was a small brown one, barely more than a leaflet, titled Overview of the Wizarding World for Muggleborn Students; a large heavy tome bound in dark leather with Hogwarts, A History embossed in golden script across the front. The deep blue one was called Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. The smallest one, but not the thinnest, was black with bright red writing. History of the Blood War it was called.

He grabbed the leaflet first, thinking it was possibly an introductory book of some type. The drawings in it looked more appropriate for small children, but it was informative. It went over things such as the government, including a list of laws relevant to students; the banking and currency system, with was entirely separate from the muggles, and run by goblins. It also answered one of his first questions. Wizards sent mail using owls, which Harry thought was both absurd and genius.

Harry filled out half a dozen more pages, front and back, of things to look up from the leaflet. He even tried out the quill and ink before switching back to his pencil. Eventually, he'd have to learn to use the quill, according to the book, but it would take practice. The black smudge on one of the pages was completely illegible.

When someone knocked on the door again, he was deep into Great Wizarding Events, reading about a man called Grindelwald and his failed revolution.

"Harry?" James called out. "Dinner is ready. Do you want to join us?"

He hadn't realized it had gotten so late. There wasn't a clock in the room, and the history book was fascinating enough that he hadn't noticed the sun setting.

Us, James said, which must mean Alex was here. James hadn't impressed him, but maybe his brother would be better. Harry sat the book aside.

James was smiling at him when he opened the door.The kitchen was directly below Harry's room. It was a large space, lit by torches and candles that were unnaturally bright. Wooden countertops encircled half the room, with an old fashioned wood burning stove splitting them in half. Opposite the stove was another large fireplace just to the right of the doorway. Beyond the kitchen was an old, warn dining table with several chairs around it.

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