Standard disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.
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If Harry Potter could have made just one wish in the world, it would be that Lord Voldemort had not killed his parents. But Harry knew that he couldn't change the past, but it didn't keep him from wishing things were different. He barely remembered his parents. The most he remembered of them was their voices crying out to each other and at Lord Voldemort before he killed them with a blinding flash of green light. This was the memory that kept Harry awake at nights in his room at the Dursley's house. He hated living here with them, and they in turn hated having him there. They worried that someone might find out his secret, that he was a wizard. Fortunately, he had learned to put them and their feelings of him out of his mind a long time ago. But still…… he would give anything to truly know that at one time his parents cared deeply for him.
On this particular night Harry just couldn't stay asleep. He kept tossing and turning and rubbing his hand against the scar that remained from his first encounter with lord Voldemort. Every time he drifted off to sleep he would see the familiar flash of green light and wake up sweating. Hedwig was asleep with her head tucked under her wing; she looked peaceful so Harry decided not to bother her. He wondered what Ron and Hermione were doing. Probably sleeping, he told himself sarcastically. He sighed. It was no use he simply was too awake to try and sleep. He thought about doing some homework to pass the time then remembered that he had finished all his summer homework the week before. He didn't want to have to finish it at Ron's house during the last two weeks of vacation. He supposed his Uncle Vernon didn't care that he went to Ron's and had fun because it got him out of their perfect normal little lives that much sooner. It was one of the few times his Uncle let him do something fun or interesting. But, he wasn't due at Ron's until 5:00 o'clock the following evening. His Uncle said he would drop him off near The Burrow. He didn't dare risk having the Weasely's try to pick Harry up by traveling through the fireplace like they did last time. He laughed quietly to himself in the dark at how his Uncle had shuddered at the memory. So here he was with nothing to do but fall asleep. Only he couldn't even do that. He sighed again and rolled over. * This is ridiculous. * Harry got up and went to the bathroom, came back, turned on his light and looked for something to do. He looked in his trunk that held all of his wizarding possessions. His eyes fell onto the photo album that Hagrid, the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, had given him.
As he sat in his bed huddled in the blankets looking through the photos of his parents, he couldn't help but feel the tears well up in his eyes. He smiled at the small figures waving back at him from every photograph. He could see his young mother and young father having fun at the beach, birthday parties, Christmas parties, and holding a tiny bundle of blankets in their arms and smiling with pride as they winked at him from the pages. He bent closer to the photos to see better. His nose touched the tip of the picture just as a tear slid from his eye on down the length of his nose to land on the picture. Harry felt as though someone had yanked the hair on his head and threw him down a long dark shaft. He was spinning so fast he thought he would lose his dinner. The air was rushing so fast his hair was making whistling sounds around his ears.
WHAM!
Harry gasped for air. The breath had definitely been knocked out of him. He looked around for his glasses, finally finding them he put them back on and jumped up with an utterance of surprise. He was standing next to his parents. His mother was sitting in a rocking chair singing softly to a little infant. * That's me! * Harry could barely contain himself. He knew what must have happened. It had happened twice before to him. His was in the memory that the photo held. The first time he had been in a memory it had belonged to a young Lord Voldemort. The second time had been when he fell into Professor Dumbledore's memories that he kept in his office in a bowl called a pensieve. Now he stood watching his parents as they cooed at him, while his mother nursed him from her breast. Harry's ears went quite red at this! His father was bent down to her level so that he could talk to her and watch young Harry hungrily devouring his dinner. Harry stayed watching them as his father took him from his mother and gently burped him. His mother was laughing at the cross eyed expression on little Harry's face as he wondered where that noise had come from.
"Come on James, you know it's past time he went to bed for the evening." His mother was laughing at the way his father mischievously grinned at her and held Harry just out of her reach.
"Ahhh…but Harry whispered in my ear that he wanted to stay up just a little longer…" His father was couldn't keep a straight face as he said it.
Lily Potter burst into laughter. She drew herself up as stern as she could and with her green eyes twinkling she spoke in a mock stern voice.
"James Potter, you will hand me my sweet little baby, and stop trying to get him to break the rules already!"
Harry watched fascinated as his father handed her the little bundle and then scooped her and little Harry up into his arms. He was saddened as they left the room to put the baby, himself, to bed for the evening. Everything started going in a white blur and Harry felt the sickening whirling again.
WHUMP!
This time Harry had landed laying face down on his bed back in his bedroom at the Dursley's. He looked around slowly and thought about everything he had seen. While he hadn't been there with his parents for long, he could tell their relationship was based on love, laughter and trust. He smiled at the memory of them playing with each other, and cooing over him, and calling him sweet, dear little names. For the first time in his life Harry had seen with his own eyes just how much his parents had loved each other, and him. He had seen the evidence of his parents living their lives to their fullest extent and seemingly with no regrets. He had felt their love.
As he fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning Harry Potter did not dream of green flashes of light or the dying words of the parents who loved him. Instead he dreamed of his parents as they had once been, with twinkles in their eyes and hearts full of love and laughter. Now that he had that wonderful memory he knew he would no longer be haunted by their dying screams and pleas as his only memory of them. A smile formed on his lips as he tightened his hand on his precious photo album as he slept soundly.