Chapter 1

Harry Potter sat on the edge of his bed, staring out of the window of his bedroom at number four, Privet Drive. The sunny, bright, cheerful weather was a complete contrast to his miserable mood. His summers with the Dursleys were always the farthest possible thing from fun, but this one in particular seemed extremely boring. He didn't mind too much, however, because ever since the death of his godfather, Sirius Black, nothing seemed to have any importance, except the pain of Sirius's death and the knowledge that it was all Harry's fault.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore, had tried to tell Harry that it was in fact Dumbledore's fault, and not Harry's, but Harry knew deep down that the blame rested on himself. Everyone had warned him that Voldemort would try to deceive him, but the vision of Voldemort torturing Sirius had been too much for Harry to bear.

Harry sighed and dropped his head into his hands, wishing, as he had so many times before, that he could have a normal life.

Distantly, Harry could hear a door opening downstairs. Harry assumed that Dudley had just come home, but he changed his mind when he heard Uncle Vernon growl, "What the devil is going on here?! No one gave you permission to enter my house!"

Harry heard someone else say something, and then he heard a loud thud and his Aunt Petunia shriek, "Vernon!" then, "What did you do to him?!"

Harry leapt up, and rushed down the stairs and into the hall, where a hooded person was pointing a wand at Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon lay on the floor, eyes closed. Harry threw himself in front of Aunt Petunia and shouted, "Protego!" just a man's voice cried from under the person's hood, "Stupefy!"

Harry's shield deflected the Stunning Spell, and the man under the hood said smoothly, "What's this, Potter? Acting the hero again?"

Harry didn't recognize the voice; it was medium-pitched and slightly hoarse. When Harry registered the words the man had spoken, he felt the pain of Sirius's death wash over him again. If he had listened to Hermione, and if he had listened when they told him that Voldemort would try to trick him, Sirius would be alive.

The Death Eater took advantage of the effect his words had had upon Harry and shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry dove on top of Aunt Petunia so that the both of them fell to the floor, narrowly missing the green light of the killing curse.

Harry was back on his feet in an instant, but before he could get his wand at the ready, the hooded man shouted, "Stupefy!"

Harry frantically threw his wand hand out in front of him and shouted, "Protego!" as quickly as he could, but the shield wasn't strong enough. The spell went through it, and hit Harry's chest. The shield had weakened it, so it didn't stun him—it only knocked him down. He put his left arm out behind him to try to break the fall, but instead, he heard a nasty crack, felt a sharp, terrible pain in his arm, and his arm collapsed.

He still tightly held onto his wand with his right hand, but before anything else could happen, two loud cracks were heard upstairs, and a couple distant voices called, "Harry?"

Though Harry couldn't quite make out who they were, he knew that whoever was there wasn't there to harm him, because the Death Eater cursed and Disapparated.

Harry looked at Aunt Petunia, who hadn't moved from her position on the floor. She stared at him, looking quite terrified. Harry jerked his head at Uncle Vernon. "Is he breathing?"

"Yes."

"What spell did he do?" Harry asked her.

"How am I supposed to know?" snapped Aunt Petunia.

"Just tell me what he said."

"The same thing he said to you," Aunt Petunia said. "Something like 'stupefy.' Why?"

Harry raised his wand and said, "Back away from him."

Instinctively, Aunt Petunia moved closer to Uncle Vernon. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to wake him up," Harry said with annoyance. "Now move!"

Aunt Petunia hesitated, then obliged as Harry held out his wand even father. Harry pointed his wand at Uncle Vernon and muttered, "Ennervate."

Uncle Vernon opened his eyes, blinked, and sat up.

"Vernon?" said Aunt Petunia.

Uncle Vernon looked around as though confused. Then his eyes focused on Harry and narrowed. Harry could hear footsteps hurrying down the stairs now, and his uncle's face was becoming more purple by the second, but none of that mattered, because doing the counter-spell for the stunner while living with the pain in his arm had drained his energy, and he just didn't care. The room spun around him, and then he fell into darkness.

"Harry."

A voice was calling his name. Harry wished it wouldn't, because he was tired, and he wanted to sleep.

"Harry," the voice called again, more insistently this time. Harry wanted to tell the voice to be quiet, because his scar ached, and maybe if he slept he could ignore it.

"Leave me alone," Harry mumbled. "I'm trying to sleep…"

"Harry, wake up!" said another voice.

Just before Harry opened his eyes, he realized who the people speaking were. They were the same people he'd heard upstairs. These voices had haunted his dreams. Harry didn't want to open his eyes, because he was afraid of seeing the faces that belonged to those voices, the faces that had haunted his dreams as well. But he knew he must, so Harry opened his eyes and looked up at Lily and James Potter.

James Potter had searched for so long, after finally regaining his memory. He and Lily had traveled to Godric's Hollow in the vain hope that someone had rebuilt it, but, of course, they hadn't. There was nothing but a ruin of a house, and the terrible memory of what had happened there fifteen years ago. He and his wife had been killed by Lord Voldemort, and he had left his son there. He had died first, so he hadn't known what happened afterward, but when Lily regained her memory, she had told him that she had died before seeing what happened to Harry. So they had left their son there, to die in that ruin of a house. They had left him at the hands of Lord Voldemort.

They had been more than devastated when they realized what had almost certainly happened. As James pulled Lily close to him, he noticed a newspaper that was blowing across the ground in the wind. James froze in the act of putting his arms around Lily when he saw what was on the front page. There was a large picture of a very familiar face. In fact, James could have said that the photo was of himself, had there not been a vivid, lightning-shaped scar in the middle of the person's forehead. Looking at this picture, James would have bet anything that if the photo had not been black and white, it would have shown the eyes as a brilliant, emerald green.

"Lily," James whispered hoarsely, his face a mixture of shock and desperate hope. Lily looked up at him, and then turned and followed his gaze over to the newspaper. Lily sucked in her breath sharply and whispered, "Is it… could it be…"

"I don't know," James replied softly. "But I hope more than anything it is." He took a deep breath and slowly walked over to the newspaper. He was afraid to look for fear of it saying that Harry had died. But he forced himself to pick it up and read the article. The headline read:

HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS

James wondered if this had anything to do with Harry and he began to read the article.

In a brief statement Friday night, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned to this country and is active once more.

"It is with great regret that the wizard styling himself Lord — well, you know who I mean –- is alive and among us again," said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. "It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the dementors…"

James began skimming. He didn't care about Voldemort at the moment; he only wanted to know whether or not his son was alive. He scanned the article, ignoring most of the info, until he saw something that said:

Meanwhile the Boy Who Lived —

James's heart skipped a beat. Perhaps "the Boy Who Lived" was referring to Harry! If Harry's picture was on the front of the newspaper, he must have survived Voldemort when he was a baby, so maybe that's why he was called the Boy Who Lived! James quickly read on.

Meanwhile, the Boy Who Lived has also been insisting that You-Know-Who has returned. We have heard from several sources that when Harry Potter—

James gasped with excitement.

"Lily, he's alive!" he cried happily. "Harry's alive!"

Lily, who had had her back turned to him because she was afraid of what the paper might say, suddenly spun around and snatched the newspaper from James's grasp. She quickly scanned the article and then dropped the paper, tears pouring down her cheeks.

"He's alive, James," she whispered, and the relief in her voice was almost too much for James to bear. "Our son is still alive!"

James was filled with joyous relief, and he grabbed Lily and pulled her close. Her arms went around his neck, and they held each other until they had both calmed down enough to think straight.

After that, finding Harry wasn't very difficult. Lily and James cast Invisibility Spells on themselves and then simply Apparated into Diagon Alley. Once they were there, they had no problem. There were whispers following them wherever they went.

"I heard the Boy Who Lived is staying with Muggles again."

James and Lily were holding each other's hands to keep from losing each other while they were invisible, and at these words, James felt Lily's hand suddenly squeeze his harder.

"Yes, with his mother's family."

Lily's hand was shaking now. James squeezed it gently.

"What's that family's name again?"

"I dunno… all I know is that they live somewhere in Little Whinging…"

James pulled Lily into the nearest shop and over to an area where there was no one standing near enough to hear them.

"Do you know where Little Whinging is?" he asked her.

"I… have a general idea," Lily said. "It's about fifty kilometers to the east of the house I grew up in."

James knew where her old house was, so he said, "Let's go," and they Apparated into a street on which everything looked so orderly it was maddening.

"Now what do we do?" asked Lily. "We probably should have waited to try to find out more. We're in Little Whinging, but where are we supposed to go now?"

"I don't know," said James. "Well, we can always wander around and see if we hear Harry's name anywhere."

"I suppose," said Lily doubtfully. Just then, voices were heard behind them.

"So what's the Potter boy been up to, Dud?"

James couldn't believe their luck. He and Lily turned around to see a group of very large boys walking down the sidewalk toward them.

"I dunno," the biggest one replied. "He's been hiding in his room, mostly. Some of his friends'll probably come and get him soon. They usually do after about a month."

"I wish I could get the chance to smash his stupid face in again!" one of the others said. James scowled, but since he was invisible, no one knew. Lily and James stood out of the way as the group of boys passed. When the boys reached the end of the block, the biggest one turned and said suddenly, "Let's go this way. I don't want my mum and dad to see me." He jerked his head at one of the square houses of Privet Drive before walking off in the other direction.

When they were out of earshot, James said to Lily, his voice barely containing his excitement, "Lily… I think we've found him. If I heard right, that big boy is living in the same house as Harry. And since he indicated which house was his…"

"Oh, James," cried Lily. "We've found our son!"

"Which room should we try first?" James asked.

"Er… that one," she said, pointing to one of the windows on the second floor.

"Okay," said James. "Ready?"

Lily nodded, and they both Apparated into that room. James's heart leapt when he looked around the room. The desk was cluttered with quills, ink, blank parchment, and… an empty owl cage.

"Lily, this is it!" James whispered happily.

"I think we should take the invisibility spells off," said Lily, and then they both did.

"Harry?" said James cautiously. There was no answer. Lily called Harry's name too.

Quite suddenly, they heard a violent curse and then the CRACK of someone Disapparating. They sounded as though they were coming from downstairs. Lily and James looked at each other. Someone was Disapparating in a Muggle house. Harry wasn't old enough to Disapparate. What was going on? They both crept to the door and listened.

"Is he breathing?" said a voice.

"I think that's Harry," Lily murmured.

"Yes," said another voice.

"That's Petunia," said Lily, scowling. Then, quite suddenly, Lily's eyes filled. "Oh, lord," she said. "Petunia hated my guts. If Harry grew up with her…" She buried her face in her hands and whispered, "I can only imagine what she'll have put him through."

James put his arm around her and muttered, "Don't think about that. Don't think about what he'll have gone through. Think about what's going to happen. Think about the fact that Harry will have his real family back."

Lily raised her head and said, "He's not going to believe we're real, you know. And it'll be really hard for him to see us, after so many years of being told that we're dead."

"I know," said James. "But we'll make him believe. Somehow."

Lily nodded, and tipped her head to listen downstairs again.

"Ennervate," they heard Harry's voice say.

"Let's go," said James. He and Lily walked through the hall and began descending the stairs. When they had almost reached the bottom, they heard a thud. It sounded as though something heavy had just been dropped on the floor.

"What the…" grunted a man's voice. "Petunia…?"

"Vernon, I… I think he's just passed out."

James flung the door open and he and Lily entered the room. Petunia screamed, and Vernon got off the floor as quickly as his heavy body would permit. They backed into the wall, both very pale. "Lily," whispered Petunia, "I thought… you were dead…"

"And you wish I still am dead, I'm sure," said Lily coldly, and turned to look at Harry. James did the same, slowly turning his head to look at his son for the first time in fifteen years.

Lily grabbed James's arm as tears began to pour down her face. They both fell to their knees upon seeing their son. He was thin, way too thin, and his face was as white as paper. His jet-black hair stuck up at the back, just like James's did, and in the middle of his forehead was a vivid, lightning-shaped scar, just as the newspaper photograph had portrayed. There was something different from the photo, though — he looked as if his arm was broken. Lily and James crawled forward until they were kneeling at his side. Lily reached out and gently touched Harry's cheek. Petunia and Vernon took advantage of them leaving the door and rushed out of the room as fast as possible. James gently shook his son and said, "Harry."

Harry didn't move. James tried again, more insistently, "Harry."

This time, Harry shifted and murmured, "Leave me alone. I'm trying to sleep."

"Harry, wake up!" said Lily. Harry shifted again, and after a moment, his eyes slowly opened. His eyelids revealed bright green eyes that were nearly the same as Lily's. Except they weren't the same. There was something else in them, a haunted look, a look that said he carried a terrible burden. They stared into each other's eyes for a full minute.

Then Harry suddenly began backing away. His face formed into an expression of pure horror. He crawled backward on the floor using his good arm for support until he could get up without having to touch them, and then he jumped to his feet. He instantly pulled out his wand with his good arm and pointed it at them. He was shaking violently, and it was obvious that he was in terrible pain because of his arm.

James didn't try to defend himself. Tears were still pouring steadily down Lily's cheeks, and James felt his own eyes fill. He had finally found his son… and now his son was threatening him with a wand. James had expected this, but it didn't make it any easier to see his son stare at him with such hate and horror. He tried to appear calm as he slowly stood up.

Harry was in shock. He felt as though he might pass out again. The pain of his broken arm was temporarily forgotten as he stared at the faces of his parents. This could not be happening. He had been told ever since that day he had woken up on his aunt's doorstep that his parents were dead. Yet there they were, standing in front of him. After what he had done to Sirius, he couldn't bear to look at them. He felt like he was going to explode; he couldn't handle this. The prophecy had said that only Voldemort could kill him, but Harry felt that he could die just from looking at these faces.

After a moment, Harry came to his senses and remembered that they couldn't really be his parents. His parents were dead. His first thought after he remembered this was to wonder why Voldemort would do something like this, and how. But then… if Voldemort had planned this, why had the Death Eater Disapparated? If this was Voldemort's new tactic of trying to weaken him, why hadn't the Death Eater stayed to enjoy the sight of him being tortured?

Harry tried to focus on these things and to keep his mind clear, but he couldn't, and he instead kept thinking about how familiar that man's face was, and how green the women's eyes were. He had to remind himself that these people were not his parents. Then suddenly, with a rush of guilt about Sirius and about causing the deaths of his parents, nausea overcame him, and he rushed to the door. The feeling returned in his broken arm when he started moving, and he tried his best to ignore the sharp pains that accompanied the constant throbbing. He flung the door open with his good arm and emptied his stomach, barely avoiding Aunt Petunia's well-kept begonias.

"Harry!" he heard the voice of his mother call. Except it wasn't his mother. His mother was dead, and so was his father. They had died at the hands of Lord Voldemort, and Harry felt absolute disgust at people who would try to imitate them.

Harry leaned against the house, trying to stop the trembling that had seized him. He concentrated on breathing deeply. He knew that he needed to calm down and show them that they weren't going to make him break down. But his concentration was broken when he realized that they were standing just outside the door, watching him. His hand tightened on the thin wooden wand that had never left his grasp. He pointed it at them, but his hand was shaking so badly that he'd probably have missed any curse that he attempted.

"Harry," said the woman. "Please… are you all right?"

"Get away." His voice was nothing more than a whisper, but it was clearly audible in the peaceful silence of the setting sun. Harry, however, was feeling far from peaceful. The words of his mother — no, that wasn't his mother, he reminded himself — kept echoing through his mind. Her voice sounded frightened — but not as frightened as it had sounded when he had been forced to hear her last living moments.

"Harry," said the woman again. "I know that this has got to be hard for you to believe —"

"You know nothing," said Harry snapped. The pain in his arm had dulled to a steady ache.

"Harry, how much do you know about me?" the man asked.

"Nothing," said Harry coldly. "I don't know who you are; therefore I know nothing about you."

He watched at the man's eyes filled. "Harry, I'm your father," he whispered.

"You have the face of my father," Harry said quietly. "Faces mean nothing. Past experience has taught me this."

"Past experience?" James repeated. "Like what?"

"You know very well what," snapped Harry.

James sighed. Then he said, "What can I do to prove to you that I really am your father? I can tell you anything… like that Sirius, Remus, Peter, and I made the Marauder's Map while we were at Hogwarts and we used it at night so we knew when people were close enough to catch us. And Sirius, Peter, and I became Animagi because Remus was a werewolf, and that's how we came up with Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Now would a Death Eater know that?"

"Yes," said Harry simply. "Since Peter works for Voldemort, he'll have told them all about that, and I know he's told them all about that, because last year Sirius went to King's Cross Station as Padfoot with us and Lucius Malfoy spotted him and recognized him as Sirius. Now would you just quit trying to pretend that you're my parents, because I'm not stupid enough to believe that!"

"Hang on," said James suddenly. "Why would Sirius go as Padfoot?"

Harry swallowed and tried not to think about that time. Sirius had been alive. Harry knew he had been so stupid, not appreciating what he had. He should have spent as much time as possible with Sirius, he shouldn't have told Sirius to be careful and stay hidden. Now he was not only guilty of causing Sirius to die. He was also guilty of making Sirius miserable until he died.

"Hang on," said James again. "When we switched to Peter instead of him, we didn't tell anyone, not even Dumbledore or Remus. So when Peter betrayed us… no one will have known that it was really him. They'd all…" He paused, looking worried, and then continued, "They'd all have blamed Sirius instead." Then, with a look of dread, he asked, "Is that why Sirius is on the run?"

The present-tense 'is' made Harry's stomach clench. "You know very well why he's been on the run, and what's happened to him," he spat.

Slowly, James shook his head as his expression changed from worry to confusion to concern. Lily looked concerned too, and she said, "What's going on?"

Harry knew that it was impossible for his parents to actually be here. He knew they were dead. The fact that his parents were dead was the one thing that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had not lied to him about. But could Death Eaters really fake looks like that? Something about them, their sincerity and pure concern, told him that these were not Death Eaters. But hadn't he himself just said a minute ago that faces meant nothing?

"Harry," said James finally. "What can I do to prove to you that I really am your father?"

Harry stared at the man, trying to think of something that only his father would know. But he could think of nothing that Wormtail wouldn't know, too. Then it hit him.

"Change into your Animagus form," he said.

James began to smile. "That's it," he said softly. "In less than a minute, Harry, you'll know who we truly are." He frowned suddenly and asked, "I'm not trying to discourage you from trusting us, Harry, but how would you know exactly what my Animagus form looks like? I'm not the only stag in the world."

Harry's first reaction to this was to wonder whether the man was avoiding the transformation. As his broken arm suddenly throbbed painfully he said through gritted teeth, "I'll explain that after you transform."

James felt relief coursing throughout his body. The moment had nearly come when Harry would truly see his parents. Watching Harry's eyes, he knew that Harry didn't believe he was looking at his parents. And until he did, he wouldn't truly see them. "That's it," James said softly, and he felt excitement at knowing that he could soon begin repairing his relationship with his son. "In less than a minute, Harry, you'll know who we truly are."

James kind of wished that Harry had simply believed him when he had said all of those things about the Marauder's Map, because it would have made things much easier. But James also couldn't help feeling pride in his son: Harry could obviously take care of himself, and he wasn't stupid. As he thought about that, he saw a flaw in his son's ideas.

"I'm not trying to discourage you from trusting us, Harry," he said, "but how would you know exactly what my Animagus form looks like? I'm not the only stag in the world."

Harry was silent for a moment. Then quite suddenly, he winced slightly, and his face grew whiter, if possible. Then he said through gritted teeth as though he was in pain, "I'll explain that after you transform." James took a brief moment to think that the sooner Harry trusted him, the better, and then he made the transformation that had become second nature to him. He remained a stag for only a split second before returning to his natural form.

James anxiously watched Harry's face as it changed from an expression of disgust and disbelief to one of shock and amazement.

"I don't believe it," Harry whispered. "It's really you." He seemed to be telling himself more than James.

His voice cracking, James replied, "Yes, Harry. It's really me."

James's eyes filled again as he watched Harry turn to Lily.

"And you…" said Harry, "you're really my mum."

Lily looked incapable of speaking. Tears were flowing down her cheeks again and her lips were trembling. She swallowed hard and nodded.

There was a strange look in his son's brilliant green eyes — one that said he was barely daring to hope that what was going on was real. Then Harry said flatly, "This is a dream."

James closed his eyes as disappointment stabbed his heart. He knew that there was nothing more he could do. If Harry refused to believe them after what he had shown him, he never would believe them.

"But," Harry said, and something in his voice made James open his eyes again, "even if it is only a dream, I'm going to enjoy every possible moment of this, because who knows how long it will last."

James's heart rose again. He had never felt happier. Previous memories of winning Quidditch games, annoying Snape, playing pranks on McGonagall, winning the house cup, getting top grades on O.W.L.'s, and all other things he had felt fully happy with were forgotten; all he knew then was that his son was standing in front of him and his son was going to trust him. And after waiting for so long, after having been separated for so long, no feeling he could remember had ever felt that wonderful.

Lily was now breathing deeply, trying to control herself, to no effect. Quite suddenly, she launched herself forward and threw her arms around Harry. At first, Harry looked genuinely shocked. He looked as if nothing like that had ever happened before. And, James reflected sadly, it probably hadn't.

As he felt his mother's arms around him, Harry suddenly remembered being in the hospital wing after having witnessed Voldemort's return. He remembered Mrs. Weasley putting her arms around him in almost the same fashion. He remembered that feeling he'd had. He'd never felt anything like that before; he'd never felt the embrace of someone who loved him. That brief hug in the hospital wing had felt as close to motherly love as he'd ever felt. And even then, the best thing he'd had, it wasn't quite right. He knew how much Mrs. Weasley cared about him; she'd said herself that she cared for him as much as she cared for her own sons. But to Harry, nothing would ever truly replace his mother. And now, with his mother's arms around him, he felt truly content.