"You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us? You think we don't recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself plainly when you have need of him. How else could you produce that particular Patronus? Prongs rode again last night."

-Albus Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

In the Embers

'Tell me about them.'

Lupin froze. 'Pardon?' He had heard the boy perfectly.

'Please…I just…I just need to know…' Harry, who had been staring into the fire in silence, was now looking straight at him. Remus could feel the draw, the tugging in his stomach he always experienced when he noticed the familiar green eyes. Having shown mostly fierce determination of late, he could now see something else in them. It was a soft desire he couldn't quite place, a hunger. How quickly emerging adulthood could still change into a child-like look at that age.

'What would you like me to tell you?'

'Anything' Harry said quietly. 'They were my mum and dad. And-' He paused, a pause which Remus recognised as the avoidance of Sirius's name. 'I don't even know who they were.'

'No, I suppose you don't, regrettably.' He contemplated the young man in front of him. It was painful to hear him state the obvious, but he had to admit he was also surprised. Molly had told him that Harry refused to discuss Sirius and had insisted that he was 'fine' from day one. Only hours before had he explained to him why he had been unable to write, and Harry had barely acknowledged this. Of course Remus knew that he cared, cared deeply, but to hear him ask the direct question now, of all times, a direct question which he knew had to come eventually...he felt ill-equipped. 'You never got a chance to know them, which is most unfair. Yet you are so-'

'So like them, I know.' There was the irritation again, and Remus smiled mildly as Harry ran a hand through his tousled hair.

'It's true, Harry. I know you're tired of hearing it, but I'd like you to remember that.' Why? He wasn't sure. Sometimes he wondered if it was them who needed him to be like his parents, rather than the boy. Like Sirius, who saw James returned. Sirius. It stung.

'But no one's ever said what they were really like. Mum was good at Potions, Dad was a Quidditch player, you lot got into trouble, you made a map – fair enough. But what does that even mean?' He seemed to struggle for the right words now, irritation ever increasing. 'Please, just...tell me about them.'

'All right.' Such an easy request, so hard to fulfil. Was it the butterbeer earlier that had finally brought about this question? 'Let me get some more tea first.' With a flick of his wand, the pot floated over to their sofa, pouring refills into their empty cups. The truth was that he desired bed above all else, but this was an impossibility now. They had all officially 'gone to bed' hours ago but somehow, both Harry and Remus had ended up down here again. He had stayed over in the hope of finally getting a good rest, but sleep wasn't restful in these troubled times.

He stared into the fire for a moment, contemplating his words carefully. The wood cracked in it, glowing a fierce red as the flames ate it. He could feel Harry's eyes on him still. 'Lily and James' -how good it felt to speak their names again- 'were brave people, but what counted more to me was that they were kind people. They never grew bitter or mistrusting. They even helped me right until the end, when I had no means of maintaining myself.' It still pained him to admit this, to declare that he had been a burden. 'But I think the most important thing for you to know is that they loved you very much. And each other, too. You could see it in your mother's face, you know. It would light up when she saw you two, especially together.' He smiled at the memory, a strong visual he could still picture today. 'Of course everyone was naturally fond of Lily –a beautiful, charming, lively young witch- but with James, it was different. It was as if he grew up around her at last. There was no more silliness, none of the usual jokes when it came to her.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Oh yes.' He sighed. A million things had happened since that time. What was there to be told? 'What you've got to understand, Harry, is that these were dark times. Even darker than now, when the worst is yet to come. The war had exhausted all of us. And the worst was that you got used to it. You knew, every day, that people you loved would have died, been tortured, or simply disappeared off the map, never to be seen again. It was normal, then, to measure your life in days. People got married young. People had kids young.'

He could see the struggle in Harry's face as he digested this. 'So you're saying that my parents only had me...because of Voldemort?'

'Oh no' he replied hastily. 'They loved you, more than anything in the world.'

'That isn't the same thing.'

Remus smiled. What an extraordinary, perceptive teenager. 'You're right. But your parents, listen to me, your parents did nothave you because of Lord Voldemort. You were the highlight of their life, the thing that brought joy to the darkest of times. What they wanted more than anything is a better future for you. I remember James saying to me, one day, how much he needed this war to end for you, how much he just wanted a normal family life, to get out and live freely. Your parents weren't born martyrs. They were afraid. But they were still happy, Harry, because of you. Lily and James didn't die unhappy, although they obviously wanted to see you grow up. I remember your mother, as clear as ever, standing by the window with you on her arm. You were laughing at bubbles shooting out from the tip of her wand. She was...watching you and I remember thinking...I thought...' His voice broke. He couldn't go on.

The scene had flooded back to him, and he could see them as clear as ever, laughing, the innocence of it. But suddenly, the image was tainted. He imagined her screams, begging for Voldemort to spare Harry, Voldemort stepping over James's body, and it was too much. Stepping over James's body, this particular image had haunted him ever since he had heard the details. His friend on the floor, Voldemort ignoring it, Lily screaming... And Dumbledore. Dumbledore, telling him that they had died in a shaken voice. That Sirius, the trusted one, had been the traitor. The betrayal. His disbelief, his inability to believe. Rage. Screaming at Dumbledore, wanting a time-turner. Running into the forest the night it had happened, determined to find a pack of werewolves and join them for good. Determined to transform, to not be human anymore.

He pulled himself out of these thoughts forcibly, coming back to the room. He noticed that Harry was staring into the fire again, an unreadable expression on his face, far away. There was an eerie emptiness in his eyes, as if the Imperius curse had been cast upon him. Remus looked into the fire himself, relishing the warmth for a moment, closing his mind to thoughts.

'There were big red flowers somewhere.' His voice was quiet but steady. 'I remember now. I reached for them. Mum pulled me away.'

He felt as if a giant had just sat down on his chest. 'Yes.' It was beyond all hope that Harry should have another memory of his parents than that of their death. He was grateful, but the childhood this boy should have had grew all the more vivid through it. 'And Sirius' Harry's head turned to him immediately, and he felt as if he were probing gentle territory, overstepping a boundary, 'arranged the flowers for the wedding. Not his sort of job, really, but it was meant to be a surprise. When your parents started dancing, a carpet of floating flowers burst into bloom and began to dance around them. It was beautiful. They were-'

'-lilies.' Harry lowered his head, wiping his face with his sleeve in a fleeting motion. For a split second, Remus thought he saw the younger boy from three years ago, picking himself up from the ground after seeing his own parents die. Ashamed of his tears. Affection ran through him. This wasn't James. This was a son who felt alone, having never known his parents. But he had known Sirius, known and then lost him, which seemed even worse. He wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, but Harry was sitting too far away, out of reach. He wanted to tell him he understood, but he wasn't Moony. He was former Professor Lupin.

'When Sirius was made godfather' he continued gently, 'he began to spoil you. Bought you all sorts of toys you were mostly too young for because he really didn't have a clue about babies. He even said he'd take you out on his motorbike. Your mother wasn't pleased, as you can imagine.'

'Did he...did he come to visit a lot?'

He paused. He was amused at the memory, but couldn't entirely block the pang of exclusion he'd felt at the time, his own drift away from his friends. 'Constantly. James joked that he should have his own room.'

There it was again, the flicker of desire on Harry's face, a hunger for more. His posture was as rigid as ever, but it was as if he were vibrating with emotion. 'They were best friends. Had been since school, as you know.' Remus couldn't stop himself any longer. It seemed incredible how rarely he'd spoken of this time. He, the last of the Marauders, he thought bitterly. Peter didn't count. 'Those were the happiest days of my life. It was an easier time for us, a time for recklessness.' A time where he'd felt fully human.

'And no one ever found out about everything you were up to?'

'Not about them being animagi, no. I couldn't say that for the other...well, things we were up to.' He smiled at Harry's curiosity. 'But you see, we were easily forgiven. Your father and Sirius in particular were very well-liked. Still, I daresay they could have found Professor McGonagall's office blindfolded. She's difficult to fool.'

'Oh yeah.'

'"Impertinent fools" she called us. "Bright like a lightbulb with the sensibility of a gnome"' he chuckled slightly. 'She was right, of course. There is such a thing as gross misapplication of magical talent. Your father once developed a quill which would write out perfect essays for you on any subject. Keep in mind that this was before the impressive empire of the Weasley brothers made such things an everyday occurrence. Unfortunately for James, Sirius thought it would be funny to hex it so it wrote out perfect answers in the most profane language possible. You can see where this is going, I am sure...'

'Brilliant' Harry smirked, now less set in his sorrow. 'Fred and George would like that.'

'It was Sirius's idea' he continued, feeling his entire body tingle alive, 'to break into Professor Slughorn's office to...er...borrow the famous golden snitch Roswitha Boulder caught at her first match and release it on the grounds, only for James to catch it and gloriously return it to its owner. He thought it might impress your mother. You see, we had a rather odd notion of grand gestures...'

He felt youthful again, exhilarated at the memory of his happiest days. Even Sirius was no longer the dark-faced, hardened man from his years in Azkaban, imprisoned again in the house he loathed, but a confident, cheeky teenager. He wanted to hold on to this image of him, young and handsome, unburdened by the guilt that would weigh upon their shoulders. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time, but did neither. Instead, he talked. He told Harry about how popular Sirius had been with girls, once falling prey to a love potion and making a complete fool of himself in front of the entire class. He told him of his and Sirius's ambition to form a band, and how their hopes had been crushed by Professor McGonagall's refusal to let them play at the end of year celebrations when Gryffindor won the house cup. He talked about their first experiences with butterbeer, and about James's first girlfriend Michelle Bones, who had really just been a failed attempt at making Lily jealous, and who had exerted revenge on James by hexing about two dozen spots on his face. He explained how they had found the secret passages out of Hogwarts, and had often narrowly escaped discovery. He mentioned how they thought Lily had to have suspected something, because she had once called James "just an arrogant, prancing deer", which had offended him greatly. He told Harry how James had finally won her heart by forming a buddy scheme, ensuring that new arrivals at Hogwarts settled in and weren't tormented by older students, something he had previously enjoyed doing. How they spent that night in the hospital wing after James's Quidditch injury, and he assumed they had to have had a long talk there.

Harry laughed with him, shook his head, listened with an insatiable thirst. Their tea had long turned cold. Remus spoke of light times, different times, not of being a werewolf, of James's grief at his own parents' deaths before Harry's birth or Sirius's issues with his family's convictions. He didn't mention the original Order of the Phoenix or the struggle for survival. Instead, he shared things he had kept locked away in his heart for years now, things he hadn't thought himself capable of accessing anymore, that stopped him from thinking about the darkness. They were tales from a different life, tales of innocence, friendship, loyalty and love. Love, the thing that Dumbledore always set such great store by. The treasure of the memories seemed so great that he was afraid he might lose them if he ever stopped talking.

And he knew, with the clearest of instincts, what he had seen in Harry's face: Yearning.

Author's Note: I don't own Harry Potter and no profit will be made off this story.

Inspired by "My Love is Always Here" from the Deathly Hallows soundtrack: http:/ .com/watch?v=uqmuNExKsG0