I have no idea why I'm writing this. It just popped into my head, and now to get it out, I'm going to type it out.

"speech"
thought
"spellwork"
"speech with emphasis"
:Parseltongue:

It was a long drive back to Number Four, Privet Drive in the warm summer, but Harry Potter felt quite chilly anyway. It had almost been a week since Sirius had disappeared through the Veil, and Harry had still not gotten over the fact that one of his last two lifelines to his parents was dead. The inside of the silver sedan was very neat, and not a speck of dust fouled the interior of the vehicle. Harry watched trees and farms go by waiting for the eventual Hell he knew was coming to begin. Even though the clock was counting normally, Harry could not help but feel as though time were standing still, as it always did with the Dursleys. Time flies when you're having fun, and the Dursleys were anything but fun. Harry did the same thing he did on the train; watching foliage go by. It's not like his Uncle would strike up a conversation about Hogwarts. In fact, "How was school?" was never said to Harry, for obvious reasons. The Dursleys wanted no part of the business that was magic, unless they could get something out of it.

After an eternity of sitting and doing nothing, the car pulled up to the curb and stopped. The so far quiet Uncle Vernon turned slowly back to face Harry, wearing a mask of neutrality.

"Here we are, boy," he said without a trace of malice. "Get your rubbish, and get out of the car." Very confused, Harry complied. It was uncommon to see the lack of aggresiveness from his uncle, but Harry raised no argument. What was the point? From the boot of the car to the front door of the house, Harry hauled, heaved, dragged, carried and kicked his trunk into the house. He was almost to the cupboard when Uncle Vernon roared at him. "What do you think you're doing? Get that nonsense into your room, and out of my sight!" Utterly confused, but not wanting to fight over seemingly nothing, Harry continued to transport his trunk into the smallest bedroom, and closed the door.

What is he doing? Harry thought, puzzled. He never lets me keep my belongings in the bedroom… For a moment, Harry mulled over the idea that his relatives were under the Imperius Curse. Most likely the Death Eaters would get it wrong, as they would be ordered to treat him nicely. A call emanating from downstairs interrupting his fantasies about pleasant Dursleys.

"BOY! GET DOWN HERE NOW!" Vernon hollered.

"Nope, no Imperius Curse," Harry sighed, and quickly went downstairs to find out what Vernon wanted. He kept his head averted, but answered. "Yes, Uncle?"

"What do you mean 'Yes, Uncle'? Open your eyes!" Harry looked up and saw a woman with bright blue eyes, wearing a smile which didn't meet the cobalt orbs. Her blonde hair was in a very familiar taught bun, one Professor McGonagall always wore. She looked very professional. Harry frowned.

"Who's this, Uncle?" he said dully.

"Hello, I'm Natalie Thalwell. A relative of yours died recently, and I have been asked to talk to you about him by your uncle. I'm a psychiatrist." Harry was shocked.

"Uncle Vernon?"

"No, he called himself Remus. Odd name, really." Harry was grateful to his friend, but did he really need a psychiatrist?

"I'm alright, I don't need to talk about it. I just need to think for a bit."

"I've already been paid for, so if that's the issue…" At this, Vernon gestured for the woman to join them in the house.

"Well," he said loudly. "I do think you need a psychiatrist." He pulled Harry closer. "One of your freak friends must have done this for you, so I'm going to take advantage of their stupid generosity. And if you tell her a bit about your freakishness, you'll be wishing you'd never have discovered it."

Uncle Vernon then pulled back and spoke to Natalie. "Good."

"Do you have somewhere private to talk?" asked Natalie patronizingly.

If you follow the – er, Harry here, he'll show you up to his room." Harry climbed back up the stairs, and went into his room. The psychiatrist followed him inside, quickly closed the door, and breathed a sigh of relief. Harry was confused.

"Bloody wanker – calling you 'boy' all the bloody time," she said. Harry furrowed his brow, and the woman smiled.

"Harry, I'm hurt," she said suddenly. "You don't remember little old me." Harry shook his head.

"No," he said truthfully. "Should I?" A look of intense concentration appeared on her face as blonde melted into pink, blue was tinged a bit red to become pink, and a goofy grin appeared on her face. Harry breathed a sigh of similar relief.

"Wotcher, Harry," she said grinning. "Awww, don't tell me you were fooled too," she said, faking disappointment, as she removed the bun from her hair. Harry nodded. Tonks shook her head.

"I even kept the same initials, Harry. Surely you don't need Hermione around all the time." Harry let a faint smile slip out. "See, you can smile, even though..." Her voice cracked, and she sobered up, the goofiness and likability that she carried around drowning in the sorrow. Harry frowned too, and Tonks saw this.

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry."

"What for?" he asked bitterly. "You knew him better than I did, and I killed him. You should be mad at me, or something." At this Tonks frowned.

"Why do you say you killed him?" Tonks asked.

"Well, I'm the one that went into the Department of Mysteries, I'm the one who made the Order come after me, and that includes Sirius."

"Were you the one casting the curse that pushed him through the Veil?"

"No, but –"

"So, Dumbledore killed Sirius."

"What?" Harry asked wildly.

"Well, Dumbledore let you come go to Hogwarts this year, so using your logic, he's at fault. Maybe it's Hagrid's fault, 'cause he introduced you to magic. Or better yet, it's your parent's fault. They had you, after all."

"No!" he said indignantly.

"There you have it," Tonks said soothingly. "You didn't kill him, and no one should be mad at you." Harry sat back and thought about this. After a long moment, he smiled, and one of many weights had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Good," Tonks said. "Now that the self-pity bit's over, we can get onto the fun part of remembering Sirius."

"Fun?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Oh, yes," Tonks said with a grin. She pulled a bottle from her pocket. It was large, maybe a litre, and very orange. The contents splashed against the inside of the bottle. A label came into view: Ogden's Finest Firewhiskey "Ever heard of a wake?" She waved her wand and conjured two glasses. She offered the bottle to Harry. "Want to do the honours?" Harry accepted the offered bottle, and twisted the top ever so slightly. A plume of smoke blasted from the bottle, and caught Harry in the face. He began to cough, and Tonks laughed.

"They're not exactly honours," she pointed out belatedly. Taking the bottle back, she finished opening the orange container without further incident, and poured the golden liquid into the glasses.

"Isn't this illegal, Tonks?" Harry asked after he finished clearing his lungs.

"Yes, I'm very sure it is." She offered him a glass, and Harry took it. They both raised their glasses.

"To Sirius," Tonks said. "The worst possible role model in the world." Harry grinned.

"To Sirius," Harry agreed. They tossed back their drinks. The liquid was warm, Harry noted, and burnt his throat going down. He liked the feeling, he noted.

"Are we as of yet drunk enough to share stupid stories?" Tonks asked.

"Stories?" Harry asked.

"You know," Tonks said. "Anytime Sirius was around, you got enough for a story."

"Not during third year," Harry muttered. "Anyway, we're supposed to be smashed after one drink?" Harry asked sceptically.

"Well," she said. "this is the good stuff, and it's old too. But you're obviously not feeling it yet." She took another drink, and breathed out in satisfaction. Harry decided to have another go at the stuff too.

"Well, I'll start, then," Tonks said suddenly. "Back during my 8th birthday, Sirius brought a couple people to my birthday party. You might know them. I was told to call them Uncle James and Harry. It was you and your dad. Anyway, my dad introduced me to the pair of you as Nymphadora." She wrinkled her nose. "So I got to hold the baby for a bit while your dad and Sirius went off to do something. You looked me right in the eyes, and you said 'Nim-fedora', right when Da's walking by." She began to laugh. "When your dad comes back, Da tells him what happened, and he's really cheesed, 'cause that was supposedly your first word." She laughed harder. "I only let you off the hook 'cos you were but a baby."

"How old was I?" asked a softly laughing Harry.

"You were one. It was about a week before you-know-what happened." That sucked all the humour and happiness that had just so recently settled in. Harry was still smiling, but it had stopped being heartfelt. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up. My clumsiness is only outdone by my big mouth."

"It's alright, Tonks." Both Tonks and Harry felt it was time to take another big drink. Tonks poured the pair of them another cup.

"Last August," Harry began, "Sirius takes me into Hogsmeade under glamours for a belated birthday party present. I do my shopping and all that, and we stop into the Three Broomsticks. Sirius goes up to Madam Rosmerta, and asks for a bottle of Firewhisky and a bit of Butterbeer for me. By the time his Firewhisky's all gone, he pissed out of his gord and trying to tell everyone that he's Sirius Black, noted murderer and all that. No one believes him, 'cos he reeks of Firewhisky." Harry started laughing.

"He didn't!" Tonks exclaimed.

"Oh, yeah. So we get kicked out onto the street where he's raving and bragging when these two Aurors come by on patrol. Luckily, one's Kingsley, but the other's some brute named Trenton. Kingsley looks at me, and figures out that it really is Sirius, but this Trenton plays along, and says he's Peter Pettigrew. Sirius hears this, and starts going after him, muttering about how he's going to pay and all that. So Sirius is chasing an Auror around, and Kingsley and me are just standing there."

"I've got to ask Shack about this," Tonks said laughing.

"Trenton had finally had enough with Sirius' antics, and the idiot thinks that Finite will sober him up. So he casts Finite on him, and there stands Sirius Black, completely smashed, with two Aurors standing right there. Kingsley quickly Obliviates him, and gives me a Portkey, telling me to get the idiot home." Tonks laughed harder than she's done all night, and even Harry is emitting some alcohol-induced giggles.

A few hours later, the room had dissolved into complete hilarity. Their stories no longer entailed Sirius Black, just general funny experiences they both had had. And, they were mildy drunk, as two empty bottles littered a conjured table, while a third was currently being depleted. Tonks had collapsed onto the mattress that served as Harry's bed while Harry stood giggling.

"I'll be back in a couple minutes, Harry," she managed to get out. "Hold that thought." She morphed back into the proud, professional form she held when she entered the house.

"Hey Tonks, is that body based on anything?" Harry asked as she fixed her hair. Tonks smirked dementedly.

"Hideous, isn't it, Harry?" she said. "It's my base form, my true body." She shook her head. "I hate it, but it has its uses sometimes."

"No," he said, surprised. "It's actually quite beautiful."

"You're crazy," Tonks said pessimistically. "It's repulsive." Harry leaned in and kissed her. To Harry, her lips were velvety perfection, as his touched them. He found himself lost, not knowing what to do, and after a long moment, he broke the kiss and pulled away. Tonks slowly opened her eyes again and looked at him.

"You're sweet, you really are, but we're both pissed," she said awkwardly. "I should go." She disappeared down the stairs, and he heard her speaking with Uncle Vernon. Then he let her out, and walked up the stairs. Harry draped the Invisibility Cloak over the conjured table and liquor bottles. Uncle Vernon barged in.

"The psychiatrist said you are not to be disturbed," he said.

"Gee, thanks," Harry muttered under his breath. An unusual moment of clarity came about for Harry. Then, why the Hell are you telling me this? You haven't though you're disturbing me now?"I can smell your freakishness, boy. You had better have a shower tomorrow." Uncle Vernon glowered at him and as quickly as he had come in, Uncle Vernon left. Harry was alone. Again. He sighed, and drifted off to a fitful sleep.

Hours later, he woke up uncertainly with a throbbing head. He winced, this being his first experience with a hangover. He managed to open his eyes enough to notice a sky blue potion sitting on what served as his end table. It was covered by a note written in pink ink. Not particularly caring what it said, Harry downed the potion in one shot, and swallowed.

"Euuargh," he muttered. "Tastes horrid." His vision cleared up, and his headache faded to a dull throb, something rarely noticed due to many 'scar alarms'. He struggled out of the sheets and walked over to his trunk, giving it a swift kick. The lid popped open upon receipt of the abuse. Harry dived in and rummaged through it, seeing dirty potion vials, old tomes from years gone by and his dirty robes. He pawed these out of the way, until he found some robes, blood encrusted and burnt. These were the ones that he wore when Sirius died, he noted sorrowfully, as well as his remaining time at Hogwarts. The Map was stashed in the inside breast pocket.

He decided to put them on for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on. After putting the robes on, he jammed his hands in the large outside pockets of the robes, and found something cold and metallic in there, even though the pocket felt empty. He emptied the pocket, and found many clusters of lint, a very dirty biscuit, and a metallic bracelet of some sort. He glanced at the biscuit, noting the presence of mould. He chucked it in the bin, knowing that Dudley would dig it out and eat it at some point. Examining the bracelet, he found a small engraving on the inside. It was a circular symbol, containing an intricate design of spirals, lines and swirls. He gazed at it for a moment, and it didn't seem to be any harm, so he put it on. Feeling more comfortable, he sat down on his bed.

He glanced at the nothingness where the conjured table last stood. He yanked the cloak off of it, hearing empty bottles fall to the carpeted floor. He grabbed a partially filled bottle, and took a swig of the contents. His mind drifted away, thinking of his parents and Sirius. He closed his eyes. I wonder what 1976 was like for Mum and Dad and Sirius.

Suddenly, he heard something; an eerie noise he couldn't quite identify. He thought as hard as he could, but it was to no avail. Panicking, he opened his eyes, but saw nothing but a bluish haze. Harry could think no more as everything went black.

Yes, yes, it's the old 'take a trip through time and space and meet your parents' routine. The routine is rarely finished by most authors, and I plan to be one of those who actually finishes the damned thing. I'm kind of lost with Repeating Yourself, I'm trying to think of an appropriate prank to pull on Snape. I'm also thinking of starting a Yahoo! Group for no good reason. Anywho, please -read, review, return.