What Might Have Been

"Master?"

"I'm busy, Biffle. What is it?"

"Biffle apologizes, sir. He wishes to say that Master Harry is home from Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Biffle. Off you go."

The elf turned and walked out, leaving him alone with the experiment he was working on. It was a failure anyway, and not really the elf's fault, but failures always made him testy.

This just isn't working, he thought. Should he ask Dumbledore about the mirror? He shook his head; he knew himself too well. He'd see Lily restored, and not him restoring her; it wouldn't tell him anything useful. Nonetheless, another tack might be in order.

There was a faint twisting in his stomach as he got up and went to the chest in the corner of his study. Was he compromising himself? He hoped he wasn't. Wand out, he muttered a few words, and the lid of the chest jumped slightly. He took hold of it and opened it fully.

The books inside were bound in a black substance that he didn't like to think about, and each was fastened with a silver lock of its own. He selected one, muttered another spell over it, and opened it fully. Returning to his desk, he laid the book down; a quick Accio brought the German-English dictionary from another shelf across the room. He began to skim through the book, translating a passage here and there to guide his search, until he found this: "The beyond is coterminous with our realm; it touches ours in all places, and ours touches it." If he was intepreting this correctly, and working the enchantment properly, he was piercing into the other realm, but perhaps at a point widely separated from Lily. "Or perhaps" his thinking began, but he turned away from it, knowing the unwanted conclusion of that thought. He wanted this to be possible. This reminded him of one who had said that it was not, which in turn reminded him of one of that man's sundry magical implements. Could the Spark Glass be made to see into the other realm? Did someone more convenient than Dumbledore have a Spark Glass he could borrow?

This line of thought was interrupted by a pop! from the fireplace. "James," came the voice from fire, "we need to talk."

His first impulse was to tell Remus to come back later, but he recognized the insistent tone, as well as Remus' use of his real name instead of his school nickname. He turned in his chair. "Yes, Moony?"

Remus Lupin's face was resting comfortably in the flames of the fireplace. "It's about Harry."

"What's he done?"

"Nothing out of bounds," Remus replied, "at least, nothing worse than what you were up to at his age."

"Bad grades?"

"No, except perhaps in Potions."

"No surprise there. Is he hurt?"

"Oh, no, not that."

"How'd the match go?"

"Now we're getting there. You shouldn't have to ask."

James felt guiltier than he ever would admit. "I was busy. He knows how important this is."

"Quidditch is important too, to him at least. Assuming that you can bring back Lily, you can do it anytime. But you can't un-miss the match."

"All right, I'll spend some time with him. Meanwhile, would you know where I might get a Spark Glass?"

"Not from me, Prongs. I couldn't afford the gift wrap. Try Dumbledore; he's got one of everything."

"Not if I can help it. I don't need the lecture."

"I'm afraid I can't help you, then."

"You think the Longbottoms have one?"

"Maybe. I've heard Mother Longbottom tends to prize her son's things. And she doesn't need the money."

"Probably not. I guess I'll have to look around some."

"But first, Harry. Promise me."

"I promise."

"All right then. I've got some unpacking to do before Padfoot comes over. See you later, James."

"Take, care, Moony."

With another pop! Remus' head vanished from the flames. James got up from his chair and went over to where the pot of Floo powder sat. Looking inside, he saw plenty. He took a handful of powder, considering whom to visit first; he decided to look up Mad-Eye, who wouldn't grudge loaning his Spark Glass, if he had one.

He noticed Harry at the entrance to his study. He let out an exasperated sigh, put the Floo power back into the pot, and turned towards the boy. "What is it?" he asked, hoping the boy wouldn't complain about him missing the Quidditch final.

Harry edged into the room, nervously, and looked around a bit. James suddenly remembered the book by Olaus Wormius setting on the desk; that should have been put away before Harry could get curious about it. He looked back towards Harry, who stood there, fidgeting.

"Well? You're wasting my time."

Harry looked at the carpet for a moment. "Dad, well, um..."

"I'm listening," he replied, getting impatient.

Harry looked up, off to the side briefly, and then back at his father. "There's, um, there's this girl."

James froze for a moment, looking at Harry, and then set the pot of Floo powder back in its place and buried his face in his hands. He's growing up, James thought, and I'm missing it.

He sat that way for an eternal ten seconds of silence, which Harry awkwardly broke. "Sorry, err, I can come back later..."

James sat up straight. "No," he said, and got up. He walked out of the study, waited for Harry to come out, and then after extinguishing the light, closed the study door and locked it. He held the key up between them.

"In September, just before you get on the train for school, I want you to give me this key. Until then, the study stays locked." He handed the key over.

Harry beamed as he took the key and pocketed it.

"Biffle!"

The elf appeared with a crack. "Master?"

"Harry and I are going out for a butterbeer. We'll be back late. Have something ready."

Biffle bowed wordlessly.

"We'll walk," he said to Harry.

Harry shrugged, evidently satisfied with the arrangement, and together they started towards the front door. Biffle was holding the door for them, and handed James his walking stick as he passed out.

Just as the door closed behind them, James turned his head towards Harry. "So what's her name?"