Author's note: Hello there :D

This is kind of my first published fic so just bear with me on this one; I will try and make it as painless as possible. I'm not going to say too much about the actual story but I had the idea a while ago and thought I'd write it out; hope you like it.

Sometimes, we never stop to consider what things would be like; had we made completely different choices, and how others chose to affect us. Your life is not completely under your control- fate grabs hold, twists it, and never lets go. Some of us twine together, uniting to form a strong bond. Others stand alone.

But the strands themselves are flexible. No one's fate runs on a predetermined course, because no one can choose or foresee what will happen. Whether we like it or not, we are forced to accept what we see.

There are, however, alternatives, that are not visible….

Harry Potter believed that the major trouble in his life was over. Voldemort was gone. The Death Eaters were destroyed. There were no Horcruxes, not anymore. Nothing really, truly bad could happen.

He was an Auror; he was engaged to Ginny, who was now playing professional Quidditch. His life was fairly normal- as normal as it could be having to go off every day in search of the remaining threads of Dark Magic. For no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't squash it out completely, but they certainly kept it busy.

So one day in late April, when a report came in of a suspect in north Scotland, he wasn't altogether surprised. What did intrigue him was that the case was rated 3.9, on a scale of 1 to 5. Death Eaters usually marked around a 4.5, depending on how dangerous they were; 5 was just bad.

Harry picked his way through the Auror offices, studying the file, a slight crease in his brow, until he reached the cubicle of the now-head. Ducking under a rogue purple memento that was zooming through the cubicles with uncommon speed, he poked his head through the entrance.

"Grayson? I'm a bit worried about the rating on this…."

Grayson turned around from where he had been examining a newspaper article on his desk. The head of the Aurors was short but stocky and strong, with a dark beard, and a long scar running the length of his arm.

"Yep," he grunted, "Thought you'd ask… we've gotten a few reports on that case that're a bit disturbing." He picked up his teacup but didn't drink. "People have been absent from work… well, you know we've been attributing it to a case of dragon pox, but, that's where they've gone. Five agents… vanished. No one's seen hide nor hair of them."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Have you tried sending a team?"

"Of three, yes. All gone. We can't spare more… and I, personally, think this would be best approached directly, alone." Grayson let out a breath through his nose and set down the tea on his desk again.

"Potter, I'm asking you because you're one of the best agents we've got. And, I trust you'll be able to get us out of this mess." He blinked. "But… just… be careful."

Harry nodded, somehow unable to say anything, and exited the cubicle.

Outside, he ran into Ron- literally.

"Ouch- sorry, mate- Grayson's free, right? I've got-" He suddenly noticed the expression on his friend's face. "You alright?"

"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine. Listen, can you tell Ginny I might be away for a bit, a day at least-"

Ron looked slightly alarmed. "Harry, mate, what's going on?"

"Nothing. Just a case, it's going to take me a bit to work out, I expect. But- but tell her I'm alright, not to worry, and I'll be back soon-"

"You've been assigned the Cairngorms case, haven't you."

Harry was silent.

His friend sighed.

"Be careful, alright? There's no telling what's in there. And, I'll tell Ginny."

"Ron-"

"Yeah." He nodded. "I'll… I'll see you. I'd better."

The designated location on the file was a remote area, thickly wooded, at the foot of several snowcapped mountains. Harry, Apparating into a small clearing with a pop, stood completely still for a moment; then, very slowly, turned in a circle to survey his surroundings.

There was no sign of anyone, not even a path. Sunlight slanted in between the branches of several conifers, reaching in rays down to the carpet of needles that blanketed the forest floor.

He looked around, a bit puzzled. Okay, the area was deserted, and slightly overgrown, but nothing looked too threatening; nothing had yet come screaming out of the trees with overlong fangs, nothing had come up behind him and paralyzed him on sight… so, what was it about the place that just felt so… unnatural?

He stepped backwards, and a twig snapped. The quick sharpness of the noise sounded like a gunshot in the tension… in the silence.

Not a bird was singing. Nothing rustled in the undergrowth. There wasn't even any wind; no comforting rustle of the breezes like ocean waves.

Even faraway sounds, he should have heard… whatever it was either was sending out such signals, such waves of dark magic, that creatures instinctively avoided the place… which he would've picked up on… or it was muffling the sounds of the outside world… probable.

Actually, the area around him, as far as he could see, seemed to be trapped in limbo- like time had left this little snatch of forest behind, forgotten it in the bustle of the rest of the world. It would be easy, as no one seemed to have come here in years….

A cloud moved across the sun, and the world was thrown into shadow.

But there was no wind… and the day was continuing to darken, into shades of night, shadows springing up out of nowhere….

And, further out into the trees, as the light was drawn away, the glow became visible.

It was a strange color- bluish white- a bit like the glow of a Patronus, but colder, somehow. It stood out sharply, the trees silhouetted black against the light, blocking everything else out of vision. A very slight breeze ruffled Harry's hair, ever so slightly, like the… thing, whatever it was, was giving off waves of air. Indeed, the light seemed to pulse the tiniest bit, almost similar to the rhythm of a heartbeat.

Harry pulled his wand out silently, gripping it very tightly. "Homenum Revelio," he breathed.

Nothing.

So, whatever was there was not human. Good to know. Unfortunately there were about a thousand other options… and, the creature was now aware of his presence.

The light had become brighter, and he thought he could make out a slim, shadowy figure turning and coming slowly towards him. Harry stood rooted to the spot, every instinct in his body screaming at him to flee, to go back; but, when he tried to lift his feet, he found that he couldn't. He was, in fact, completely incapable of any movement whatsoever.

He was stupid, so utterly stupid, for not taking extra precautions- he'd been so wrapped up in the goodbyes he'd given that he hadn't thought to ensure his protection. He was an Auror, for god's sake, this wasn't supposed to happen, he'd been trained against it….

The figure was now near, the light becoming brighter, illuminating everything, bathing it in icy blue….

A woman stepped gracefully out from behind a tree. She was young, 21 maybe, with long, dark red hair. She was small and slim; her eyes were wide and kind, and a beautiful shade of bright green.

"Harry?" she murmured. Her voice was melodic, washing over him like a summer's breeze; a sense of numbness stole over him, dulling his thoughts. She was so, so beautiful… and he instinctively knew who it was. He'd stared at her face in the mirror, then in the pictures, wishing, oh so badly, that it had never happened….

"Mum," he whispered.

Lily Potter made her way slowly, soundlessly, over the forest floor, peering into his face. Harry couldn't move- but moving didn't even cross his mind….

She brushed her hair out of her eyes with a pale hand. They stared at each other. Then, slowly, there became a strange look of thirst on her face. She reached for his cheek, as if to make sure he was there.

And, suddenly, Harry's feet were stumbling backwards. Sense was fighting to break through the mist in his brain; his mother was dead. Cold, the thought was, but true; she couldn't be here in the middle of a forest in Scotland, now looking… hurt.

"Harry, come here… come here, please…."

"No…."

"Harry, why?"

She gazed at him in earnest. Instinct to succumb to the charm battled will; should he move, should he curse her, or should he go to her? The latter sounded so easy and good but it wasn't right somehow, wasn't what he was… supposed to do… what was it he was trying to get done? Why was he here?

She walked towards him, and he continued backing away, step by tortured step; she sped up, reaching for him-

Harry tripped. His wand flew out of his hand as he fell backwards. She was coming towards him, and he scrabbled on the dead leaves, trying to get up-

And then she caught hold of his hand.

Instantly, the world disappeared and became a world of color and sound- images were flying before his eyes, too fast for him to see, backwards- everything was spinning-

And then everything was black.

October 31st, 1981.

Halloween.

Two children in pumpkin costumes made their way across a village square; the shops bordering it, with the paper spiders and autumn leaves taped to their windows, glowed, lighting the cobblestones with a soft golden light.

Down a darker street, in the house at the very end, there was a man in a living room with a baby on his lap. He was conjuring shapes in smoke for the child's amusement, and he tried to grab them in his small fist, laughing.

His mother opened the door, smiling, brushing her dark red hair out of her eyes. She scooped up her son, exiting the room with the baby on her hip; James threw down the wand on the couch and ran his fingers through his hair, yawning.

A tired sort of haze filled his head; it had been a long day. He was just getting up, thinking vaguely of a cup of tea before bed, when a tapping on the window interrupted him. An owl stood on the windowsill, a letter with a red wax seal clamped in its beak. James thought he recognized that seal….

Hurrying to the window and pushing it up, he took the letter; the parchment was smooth under his fingers, and the ink was a bit smeared. It had been written quite recently, and in a great hurry.

His brow furrowed, he began to read the thin, slanting handwriting.

"James?"

Lily had entered the room to find her husband bent over a bit of parchment, his mouth open in horror. She frowned, going over to close the window, then put her hand on his shoulder. "What is it?"

He looked at her, and in his hazel eyes was more grief than she'd thought possible. Her green ones filled with alarm. "Sweetie, what-"

"The Longbottoms. They're dead."

His wife's eyes filled with tears; one escaped down her cheek.

"But there's more, Lily, there's more. You-Know-Who himself killed them, they found his body- but he's dead."

"Dead?!"

He nodded. "No one knows why, not even Dumbledore. But he thinks it's got something to do with the prophecy."

She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

"What about Neville? Their son?"

James sighed heavily. "He's… he died too. They couldn't reach him in time." He looked into her eyes. "Lily, do you know what this means? The war is over. We're free, finally."

"But at what price?"

They stared at each other; then, James gathered her into his arms, and she rested her head on his chest. Tears flowed silently down both their faces, and they stayed in the same position for a long time.