A/N: James/Lily and sad Harry Potter and Snape feels. No Snarry and no Snily. Just feels.
Dedication: To mothers and fathers everywhere, you're doing an amazing and insanely difficult job. Seriously. And, you're wonderful. Unless you're Petunia Dursley. In that case, sorry, you deserve everything you got in kbinnz's 'Harry's New Home.' Dedicated to my mother especially who loves the Lily and Harry relationship.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, if I did, I'd be British. As it is, I'm American. So while you're at it, please excuse my lack of knowledge about British culture.
Harry's first memory was a soft voice, singing to him. The voice was kind and caring. It brought comfort and the sound made him squirm happily.
He remembered a bright light and gentle rocking. Silky red strands of something wafted by him, tantalizingly out of reach.
He waved one of his chubby pink arms, trying to grasp it, but he couldn't quite manage it.
A laugh like a bell resounded across the room and the most beautiful thing he had ever seen leaned down to kiss his smooth scar-less forehead.
Harry giggled and his mother, he knew it had to be his mother, (Who else could be so wonderful?) stroked his cheek softly.
She began to hum a comforting tune that made his eyelids droop and his small mouth open in a yawn. A yawn that revealed two developing teeth.
His mother crooned to him as she finished the lullaby and Harry closed his eyes- falling asleep quickly.
The last fading sound he picked up was, "Your Mama loves you, Harry."
When Harry awoke from where he fallen asleep in the common room he felt oddly cheered, even though his eyes were strangely wet.
The dream was faint but Harry reveled in the only memory he had of his mother- Lily Potter.
SSLEJPHP
Harry giggled as he was tossed into the air, his giggle escalated into a shriek when he landed.
He did not land on the hard ground, but in his fathers warm arms. Harry immediately raised his arms and his father pulled him close for a hug. The two nuzzled affectionately.
A sound reverberated from the other side of the kitchen. Harry was placed gently on the couch and his father's footsteps padded away. Harry sat for a while, staring at his chubby fingers as he moved them at will.
Eventually his fingers bored him and he began gnawing on his toes. As he gummed his toes, a shiny gold object on the floor caught his eye and Harry decided that he wanted it.
The small boy scooted nearer to it, but screeched as the worn green couch disappeared from beneath him.
This time, Harry was sure that he would reach the ground and smack himself but his scream had caused his father to come running.
Strong arms encircled him before he hit the carpet and Harry clung to them as he was lifted higher into the air. His father held him affectionately and he thought the words sounded like 'let's not tell your mother about that' and 'Sirius would get in trouble for visiting.'
Harry didn't know what that meant and he elected to drool on his father's shirt instead.
The man chuckled softly at his son's antics and murmured, "Your Papa will always be there to catch you, Harry."
Harry blinked sleepily. The album Hagrid had given him for a departure from Hogwarts for the summer lay open before him. He must have fallen asleep looking at the pictures.
He grinned, that dream must have been a memory.
He looked at the bright sky and winced, the Dursley's were going to kill him. But, even their verbal abuse couldn't dampen his spirits. He had a memory of something to keep him company.
One of the only memories he had of his father- James Potter.
SSLEJPHP
Harry screamed and screamed. He did not understand what had just happened. There had been his mother crying and then a great flash of light and pain.
Pain on his forehead and pain in his heart because somehow, he knew that when the light had flashed he would never hear his mama again.
Then the strange man had come and held his mama and then the strange man had seen Harry.
The man was not his papa but despite that fact the man all dressed in black, like the man who had caused the green light, picked him up.
The man shushed Harry softly but Harry did not listen. (Little did he know that this would become a pattern later in life.)
The man grumbled but a sound startled him and the man cursed softly before bundling Harry in many blankets. He swept out of the back door of the house, black robes billowing behind him like a great... What had his father said? Bat? Yes, like a great bat.
Harry found the dark folds distracting and he watched them with wide eyes. A deranged feminine voice giggled something and the man ducked behind a wall clutching Harry protectively.
While Harry did not feel the same warmth he had in his father's arms, he felt... Safe at least, in these.
A great rumble like an engine seared his ears and Harry wailed. The man shushed him impatiently.
The bright light blinded him, but eventually Harry opened his eyes wide, trying to see what it was. A great shape loomed across the street and with the light, he was finally able to see the face of the man.
He had a sharp pale face and long greasy hair. The man noticed Harry staring and he murmured gruffly, "You have your mother's eyes."
He ever so gently placed Harry down, then raised a thin stick and bright green sparks shot into the sky.
A great stomping noise alerted him to the approaching figure. The man stepped away and fled his robes billowing again. Harry, strangely enough, wished he would not go.
A tearful rumbling voice said, "Is tha' you 'Arry? The- the spy said you wer gonna be dropped off 'ere. Aw, 'Arry. It's alrigh." The voice said as the loud noises caused Harry to began to sob loudly.
Harry started awake as hand slammed down on his desk. "Potter! You are not to fall asleep during your detention again!"
Harry looked blearily up into the potions master's thin pale face. Harry knew immediately that this was the man from his memory.
The man seemed unsettled by the student's wide and slightly accusing glare. "Stop staring at me! Do you wish another detention?"
Harry started and went back to scrubbing his cauldron. The man stalked away, his black robes billowing in the strangely familiar way.
Harry kept looking up periodically at the professor as he graded papers.
Silence reigned the rest of the night as Harry thought about the almost thirteen year old memory. (It was most definitely a memory,) and he considered the greasy git of the dungeons. Maybe the grumpy wizard wasn't all that he seemed.
The memory would continue to puzzle him to no end- at least until he was nearly eighteen when a pensieve answered most of the questions he for the most feared Professor of Hogwarts: Severus Snape.