Ashes of Hope

by KateRose1995

Harry is wrongful sent to azkaban and is the demontor's kiss. My take on the wonderful story by the same name by laer ear. I cut a little bit off of his story towards the end, but I highly suggest you check out his story. Will try to update when I can.

AN I am going to get this out of the way and say it, I did not write this. This is the work of the amazing laer ear. Please read his work of the same name. This entire chapter is his story, but I did change some things towards the end of the story. So I do suggest that you check out his story and show some it love. What you might be wondering is 'Kate what are you going to do with this story?' I honestly do not know where this will end up. I think I want Harry to get put in an orphanage and eventually (probably) go to Hogwarts. Hope you enjoy! -Kate

Chapter 1 Verdict

The candles and torches floating around the solemn-looking room cast flickering shadows on every crevice of the stone walls and every facet of the occupants' grave faces. There were a total of seven persons assembled in this grim enclosure, four of whom were sitting on one side of the room, two others who were standing on the opposing side, and a newly arrived person who was striding over to the standing figures. Among those standing was a short man with a green bowler hat, who, despite the absurdity of his appearance, vainly attempted to take on an air of importance. Beside him stood the well-built figure of a middle-aged man who displayed nothing more than indifference. Striding over to the man in the bowler hat was a tall and redheaded young man whose expression portrayed a sense of professional eagerness. The young man quietly addressed his superior as if his concerns required a professional privacy that none of their companions should be inclined to hear. However, the other five members in the room heard the following exchange anyway.

"Mister Fudge, Dumbledore is requesting to be present at the verdict. The secretary just informed me that he and some of his vigilantes were stationed in the lobby" informed the redhead.

"In the lobby? Is he trying to get down here? I presume that there are aurors subduing them?" said the man in the bowling hat, now known to be Fudge, the British Minister of Magic at the time. The face of Cornelius Fudge revealed an unappealing mix of nervous anxiety and childish excitement, as if he was both dreading and anticipating the events to follow.

"I don't believe he knows yet where these proceedings are being held. When I was there, the secretary hadn't informed him yet that we moved the congress down to the basement."

"Good. Thank you, Fairweather. Let's see to it that we make this event last no longer than necessary, as to avoid the intrusion of any unwanted visitors." Fairweather, better known as the young Percival Weasley, let escape a small self-accomplished grin at his role model's praise. Then, in a show of respect, he bowed his head and stood back in the corner to watch the events unfold.

With a confirming nod from Fudge, the man beside him stood forward and addressed the four members sitting before him. "Harry James Potter is charged on conspiracy against the British Ministry of Magic, the destruction of private property, the destruction of public property, arousal of social unrest, affiliation with a terrorist organization deemed illegal by the Ministry of Magic, and four counts of first-degree murder."

This man, in his professional garments that bore the same coldness as his demeanor, took what would be assumed to be a dramatic pause if not for the unlikeliness that his character would allow such an action, and perused his eyes over his audience. With the same disconnectedness with which he began his oration, he continued.

"On July 17, 1996, the Ministry of Magic hereby finds the accused person guilty on all accounts." The effects of this statement on the moods of the room's occupants varied between each person. Fudge's already rosy cheeks brightened in his poorly-suppressed cheeriness; Percy Weasley similarly looked delighted, even if only for his employer's satisfaction rather than for his own agreement with the verdict. The messenger of these charges, a certain Mister Robert Avery, revealed no emotion at all.

Among those seated was the respectable Amelia Bones whose eyes dulled with a muted apprehension. She, out of all the partisans in the company, was the most disappointed. Ms. Bones did not believe the guiltiness of the accused but was in no more power to change the verdict than the accused himself was. To her right sat two qualified aurors hired to apprehend the criminal if he attempted to resist arrest. Although both showed almost as little emotion as the Mister Avery had shown, neither men could help but let escape a bit of their glee. Understandably, both men could not help but take pride in their direct involvement in what was sure to become one of the most famous trials in history.

Lastly, there was the reaction of Harry Potter himself. The already strained shoulders of this not even sixteen-year-old boy slumped as if a massive weight had been fastened to his back. Although his composure was nothing note-worthy to begin with, his whole stature tilted forward slightly and his shackled hands trembled in apprehension. Sweat glued his unruly black bangs onto his marred forehead and a tormented emotion tugged downward the corners of his tight-pressed lipped. Perhaps the most notable reaction of all in this young man was revealed in his eyes: the once lively green orbs that had glittered unrestrained a few mere weeks before darkened to a deep-sea-green as if an indescribable agony was prodding at the soul behind the irises. The shadows skittering across his cheeks and brow fulfilled his image of a despaired young soul.

Facing the auror guards, Fudge commanded, "Escort him to the apparation room immediately. Avoid everyone until he is safely confined." Turning to Percy again, Fudge said, "Retrieve the dementors. They should be waiting in the corridors."

Although Harry had anticipated the verdict with a consuming pessimism, he was still taken by unpleasant surprise upon the entrance of these dementors. The flames lighting the room almost sizzled dead as a darkness swallowed up the stony enclosure. An amazing sorrow flooded the room and seized Harry Potter in his very heart. His eyes further dulled and an onslaught of negative memories attacked the forefront of his mind. In fact, he was so consumed by his internal struggles that he paid no heed to the incessant, and somewhat painful, tugging on his shackles.

Images. Memories. His mother pleading. High-pitched laughter. Cedric Diggory's lifeless face. Sirius Black falling through the veil. Peter Pettigre, knife in hand. Hermione Granger's shocked face. Ronald Weasley's cruel insults. Harry betrayed them. Harry killed the barkeeper Tom. Harry became a deatheater. Harry broke Dumbledore's blind faith. Harry aimed the killing curse at a schoolmate. Harry laughed merciless above the dead bodies of the Leaky Cauldron's occupants. Harry watched the street ignite in flames.

Harry did none of these things.

But everyone thought he did. Even Dumbledore was tentative to doubt the accusations. Everyone hated him. Sirius would have been the only one to understand… to sympathize. Sirius was dead. Because of Harry.

Now even Harry doubted his own innocence.

Amelia Bones sadly watched the nearly lifeless form of Harry Potter being escorted out the doors, to Azkaban, while he himself was heedless to it all.

Chapter 2 plea

It had been two months since the biggest traitor to the light side, Harry Potter, had been imprisoned in the dreaded Prison of Azkaban. All of Harry's former friends now believed him to be a vicious follower of the feared Dark Lord, even those like Hermione Granger who were inclined with all of their hearts to disbelieve that the innocent boy they once knew could commit any such atrocities. However, even to Ronald Weasley and Hermione, the evidence was undeniable. Harry had been seen casting the Dark Mark into the sky. He had been seen attacking the Leaky Cauldron. He had been seen casting numerous Unforgivable curses.

Polyjuice and disillusionment spells could easily replicate Harry's identity upon another felon, Harry's friends would argue. It must have been a deatheater in disguise slandering the name of the boy-who-lived. Nevertheless, the person apprehended after those horrible events did not change face with the numerous counterspells cast upon him. That same boy was locked up in one of the many holding cells in the Ministry of Magic. Meanwhile, Harry Potter was absent from the Dursley household. The Harry Potter look-alike was then tried with the truth potion before a small, well-selected jury. The entire wizengamet, except for Albus Dumbledore who was barred from attending the trial due to evident favoring of the subject, witnessed the boy's confession to all of the crimes, betrayal to the Wizarding world, and support of Voldemort. The boy revealed his name to indeed be Harry Potter. Under veritasum, the boy could not have lied. Harry Potter was indeed guilty.

But was he? Remus Lupin, the last surviving truehearted Marauder, could not help questioning the results of the trial as he sat in Dumbledore's office. Before the frail werewolf sat the old and downhearted Albus Dumbledore himself.

"He's innocent Albus, I swear it!" Remus weakly protested. Albus just shook his head gravely.

"Remus, as much as I would love to agree with you, even I cannot refute the evidence. There were witnesses. He testified under the truth potion. He is a follower of Voldemort."

"But Albus! Harry would never do any of those things! He would not have killed the Patil twins. He wouldn't have killed Tom either, especially when Tom had let him stay there in the past! Harry isn't evil!"

"I didn't think so either." replied Dumbledore quietly.

Frustrated, Remus continued his defense. "It's not in his character to kill! He was upset even at the prospect of killing Voldemort! He's not a murderer… and he would certainly never join the Dark Lord, especially after he killed his parents and landed him with the Dursley's! He hated the Dursleys!"

"I fear that his betrayal may have been entirely my fault, Remus." Dumbledore confessed hopelessly. "I fear that it may have been his presence with his Aunt's family that had nurtured the hatred within him… a hatred he had managed to hide until this point. Something broke his restraint on those negative inclinations recently… maybe something that surfaced in my office a few months ago." Dumbledore looked sadly at the array of broken silver instruments towards which he was too partial to remove from his office. "…maybe it was even the death or Sirius that triggered it…"

"NO!" Remus exclaimed. The man looked possessed at that very moment, as if Dumbledore himself had struck him. "No! He would never betray Sirius like that! Harry's stronger than that! Do NOT insult the memory of Sirius! Don't you see what's happening! You just linked Harry to Sirius… and Sirius had been sent to Azkaban wrongly and now Harry too! They were … are both innocent!"

Dumbledore looked at the man before him with a look of pity. "You can see now, can't you, why I cannot let you visit him? You are unstable Remus… terribly so. I fear it will upset you permanently if you were to see Harry in the cells. It may even set you over the edge like Harry had been."

With several heavy breaths and his eyes firmly shut, Remus regained his composure. "Please. Please, Albus. I have nothing else to live for… I need Harry. I need." He took a deep breath and shut his eyes once more. "To see him. Even if you are right… I need to see him one last time… for closure. Please!"

"Remus! I cannot allow it! You must understand… even if you were to visit him, if I understand correctly from my reports, he would not respond. He's … unresponsive. He's not the same boy we once knew. It would tear your heart, Remus."

Remus continued desperately, "No. I must see him. He'll listen… he'll… even if he doesn't. No. I must see him. It hurts me more… to know… he knows… thinks I don't care! He'll think I don't care if I don't visit him! Like I avoided Sirius when he was imprisoned… I don't see why he remained my friend all that time… I left him there to rot! Not again! Not again! Put me at ease, Albus… that is my last request. Let me see the boy! One visit! One hour! Please! I beg of you!" When Dumbledore looked ready to deny the request again, Remus resorted to blackmail. "If I cannot see Harry, what motivation will I have to serve the Order? I could live no longer, never mind assist the Order!"

Dumbledore relinquished a resigned sigh before looking up to meet the troubled man's amber eyes once more. "For your well-being." He shut his dulled blue eyes tightly and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thin, crooked fingers before continuing. "If this is what will put you at ease, although I tend to disagree. But alas, what choice do I have? We need your services Remus… but I want you to be content. I'll put my word in for a visit… escorted, of course…"

"No. Alone. I need to see him privately."

Dumbledore looked unconvinced, but agreed nevertheless. "…alone. I'll put my word in for a visit, but I make no promises. If it puts your heart at ease to believe he knows you care for him still… then why should I prevent it? I've warned you though, Remus… I've warned you."

"Thank you."

Chapter 3 visit

Three people, two of which were aurors, navigated through the twisting and ill-lit corridors that were flanked with jail cells on either side. Finally, they all stopped before an obscure cell in the deepest, most well protected portion of Azkaban. One of the guards tapped the bars a few times and yelled something illegible inside. No response. They unlocked the doors and motioned for the third man to enter the cell. As soon as this man, with graying brown hair and shallow cheeks as if anxiety had been eating him from the inside, stepped completely inside, the cell door shut noisily behind him.

In one of the far corners of the cell sat a shadow-wrought figure. An uneaten serving of disgusting looking food lay near his feet and the his legs were covered with a shabby grey blanket that vainly attempted to save him from the oppressing coolness of the enclosure.

Remus looked into the sunken face of the boy before him. Even through the darkness he could make out the sickly pale shade of the boy's skin and the unruly hair that lay flat against the child's forehead. Most disconcerting of all was the dullness by which the eyes were taken. If Remus had not known the child before, he would have doubted that this person was ever the famed, courageous, lively boy-who-lived… for this boy looked anything but alive.

"Hello Harry" Remus ventured to say. No response. "It's Remus… Moony… I'm here to visit you." No response. No movement. The boy sat there like a corpse. A passing dementor in the corridor sent a shiver down Remus' spine.

"Harry, I know you aren't well but please respond!" Nothing. "Harry! I think you're innocent. I know it." Nothing. "You would never have hurt anyone. I know it. I know you." The corpse lay propped up against the wall. "Harry please respond! That's all I ask! Move! Breathe! You must listen to me!"

Although there was no outward sign that Harry heard a word of what Remus said, Harry had indeed processed the words, even if only in disconnected tangents. The boy's mind was broken by the nearly-constant presence of the dementors and his thoughts were now ground into disconnected ideas, most of which revolved around the horrors of his life. However, the dementors were not near his cell and he could listen to what Remus was saying.

Harry knew Remus was there. He knew Remus was different. Hermione hated him. Ron hated him. Dumbledore hated him. Remus didn't. This brought some semblance of happiness to Harry's mind, however muted it was.

Grabbing Harry's shoulders and forcing the boy to look face to face with him, Remus began speaking again in a low whisper. "Listen. I know you are. You always you… you're observant. Please! Listen!" With a bit of shaking, Harry still failed to show physical response and his eyes remained as distant as before.

Remus would try to get his message across… but he could only hope that Harry was comprehending what he was saying. "Remember the lessons, Harry. Remember Sirius. He was here, too… locked up. I know you can't resist the dementors like Padfoot did… Padfoot… the grim… a dog… you aren't a dog…. But you're something, remember? It will help! Remember what Sirius did! Do what Sirius did! Change! Save yourself!"

Harry's head tilted backwards a little because the support of the wall was removed. Remus grabbed it and brought it to his own face. "Animagus! You can be an animagus Harry! The dementors... you don't like them, but the animagus lessons will help you! Practice… when I leave, you must try to complete the transformation! You can… escape! Like Sirius… you must escape! You're innocent! You're not supposed to be here… transform!"

By this point the hysterical Remus was desperate to get some acknowledgement out of Harry. He shook the boy helplessly and tears began to roll down his cheeks. "Please, Harry!" he muttered over and over again. However, the boy was as unresponsive as before, as he had been since being locked up in that cell, and made no sign that he heard a word of Remus. The guards then came and escorted Remus out of the cell and out of the prison.

When Remus returned to Hogwarts, he did not speak a word of the visit to Dumbledore. Consequentially, Dumbledore correctly assumed that the visit was not as satisfying as Remus convinced himself it would be. In the next few months no one visited Harry but Remus held onto his hope that Harry would be discovered innocent and be freed from his undeserved misery.

Nobody but Harry and Remus even suspected Remus's intentions that day. Dumbledore and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix assumed the pitiful man was simply trying to spark some response in the boy. They believed Remus had simply needed to see the child. Nobody knew that Remus was trying to get Harry to escape the prison.

However, no one, not even Remus nor Harry, knew how important that meeting really was. No one at the time knew that it would come to save Harry's life.

Harry had absorbed the information Remus told him. He understood that Remus wanted him to attempt the animagus transformation. He understood that Remus wanted him to escape. However, Harry's mind, at the time, was too fuddled to process a means to utilize this information. It would not be until another 11 months that Harry would use this information, and not a moment too soon either.

Chapter 4 death

On July 31, 1997, Harry Potter was escorted out of his cell and side-apparated out of Azkaban to the holding facilities in the Ministry of Magic. During the several hours when he was being held in these rooms, Fudge and other Ministry officials were discussing the fate of the boy-who-lived.

As usual, the fickle wizarding populace had gullibly turned their backs on the boy-who-lived as soon as they were told that he was a deatheater. The capture and imprisonment of the boy did well for Fudge's approval rating but long-established ministry laws prevented Fudge from acting any further by executing an under-age wizard. However, now that the boy was 17 and legally an adult, he was eligible to be executed, as Fudge had originally wanted. It was soon decided that the boy would be Kissed and then his body would be cremated as soon as possible.

By now, several hours of freedom from the dementor's presence lifted some of the confusion from Harry's mind. By no means was the mental damage reversed but his fragmented thoughts were making more sense and for the first time in several months he recalled Remus's visit. He remembered Remus's wish for him to pursue his animagus form and a deep urge within in, probably due to his sole trust in the only one who trusted him, beckoned him to please the man and accomplish the feat.

However, an obstacle existed between Harry and the acquisition of his animagus form. Although he, Hermione, and Ronald had been receiving lessons from Remus and Sirius during their fifth year of Hogwarts so that they would have some value to the Order of the Phoenix and could be inducted, Harry was never successful. Both Ronald and Hermione had discovered their animagus forms and made progress in the complete transformation. Hermione had the form of a bobcat and Ron had the form of a red fox.

Harry had not even succeeded in discovering his form. The potion and psychological training he endured proved fruitless as his form eluded his mind. For awhile, they all believed that maybe the boy did not have one, much to the disappointment of Harry himself. However, the animagus test potion turned blue, thus indicating that he was capable of a transformation. Therefore, while Hermione and Ron pursued the transformation with some insight towards their final form, Harry went forth blindly. The next steps involved a series of potions and mental and magical training. Due to the presence of the experienced Remus and Sirius, the process was greatly accelerated and all three students quickly went through the necessary requirements.

One of the final steps was the mental transformation. Many scholars and scientists had theorized that if a person was to physically transform before they mentally transformed, they were likely to go insane and stay in their animal form forever because the human mind would not function properly within an animal body. Other more pessimistic scientists forsaw an even worse result and believed that the person would be stuck in a middle stage between human and animal and would die due to the inefficiency of such a hybrid.

Surprisingly, Harry had the easiest time with this step. While Hermione and Ron struggled to get into the enlightened mindset of their respective animal forms, Harry could easily shift into the mindset of his still undiscovered form and retain his human insights all the same. However, the benevolent, objective, and optimistic mood in which Harry found himself gave him no indication to the identity of his inner animal. All the same, this was his only animagus strength that Hermione and Ron lacked.

Unfortunately, Harry's transformation would go no further. Every time he attempted to complete the physical transformation, a searing pain would consume his limbs and inhibit him from continuing his efforts.

It was memories of these lessons that reached Harry during the last moments of his confinement in the holding cells. When guards made him stand up upon his weak and shaking legs, the urge came to him to again try the transformation. With a newfound determination instilled by the desperate Remus several months prior, his fragmented mind cleared and molded into the animal mindset once more. Even though months had passed since he last tried to transform, it was just as easy as the last time.

With an animal mind that retained its human insights, Harry suddenly found everything to be clearer than it had been in months. He could now think in objective, complete thoughts rather than the fuddled, confused tangents that he was used to thinking. Furthermore, his despaired mood now was countered by a foreign optimism that he couldn't explain. Harry suddenly comprehended what was about to happen and illogically resolved that the only solution would be to complete his animagus transformation. There was no logical or rational support for this conclusion, but an animalistic sense of reasoning supported it anyway.

The aurors half led, half dragged Harry through the corridors with no idea that the boy, who otherwise showed no difference in his physical appearance, was somehow different than a few moments before. For the first time ever, Harry found himself before a dementor with no change in his mental demeanor. For the first time ever, Harry was not effected. Still, when the dementor's skeletal hands grabbed hold of him, he struggled to avoid the monster, still recognizing the danger this creature presented. Harry was still as weakened as before and his struggles were in vain as the creature pulled his face up to its own and lowered his own hood. The boy witnessed the rarely seen grotesque face of a dementor for the second time in his life. The only difference this time was that the demonic lips actually met his own.

It was an odd feeling. It felt as if an evil foreign presence was foraging through his veins attempted to grab hold of a soulit could not grasp. It appeared to Harry that the animalism of his mind somehow shielded him from the dementor's attack, much like Sirius had been emotionally unaffected by dementors while imprisoned for 12 years. After a few moments in which the creature vainly tried to acquire a soul behind a fortified mind, their lips parted and Harry crumpled to the floor with no support from either the guards or the dementor. Something told Harry to not expend any energy. This and the fact he had little energy and strength to spend anyway made Harry appear the perfect model of a soulless person and this image satisfied the guards who then levitated the body towards the cremation room.

Harry of course did not notice the presence that entered the room at the last moment. Harry did not see the remorse that molded Dumbledore's features as he entered the room and discovered he had been too late to save the child from a soulless state. Harry did not notice and would not have thought to remedy these incorrect notions by moving even if he had noticed.

The guards dragged the boy to a giant machine, which appeared to take up the entire room. Of course, this machine wasn't like any muggle machine that ran on gears but rather a magically-powered device used to incinerate lifeless or soulless bodies. When Harry was levitated onto a giant slab of stone and pushed into the enclosed cavity of the device, realization struck him. He was going to be cremated! With little strength, the child flailed around in vain until the heat began. At first it was a tolerable warm but then a fire erupted that began to burn his flesh. In a moment of panic, he attempted the physical animagus transformation.

As usual, a searing pain erupted in his limbs and torso and the pain consumed his animalistic mind. However, unlike the last times, the pain of not pursuing this transformation was worse, and so he continued anyway. Soon, the fire coursing through his veins became unbearable and with one last attempt he pushed all of his magical effort into the transformation. At that moment, the fire of the machine flared and Harry Potter was incinerated into a pile of ashes.

Chapter 5 too late

Albus Dumbledore had been sitting in his office and pleasantly sucking on a lemon drop in a vain attempt to forget the memories this early morning would bring. You see, today was July 31st and it just so happened to be a certain raven-haired boy's seventeenth birthday. However, this said boy happened to be a heartless murderer and was currently residing in Azkaban. Nevertheless, despite the flaws of young Harry Potter, Dumbledore could not help but feel tragically partial towards the boy.

Dumbledore was plucked from his sad reverie when the pendant upon his chest grew warm, thus indicating a presence at the foot of the stairs leading to his office. The old man spanned out his senses a little to identify the aura of the guest and discovered Severus Snape. Then again, who else would be climbing up his staircase at 2 AM in the morning, coincidentally after a death eater meeting?

"Come in, Severus."

The hooked-nosed man with greasy black hair grumpily strode into the man's office with a slight limp, as if he had been victim to the sadistic murmur of "crucio" earlier in the night. Annoyed with the man's mysterious means of identifying visitors, Snape hastily, and a tad bit harshly, refused the offered lemon drop.

Truth be told, Dumbledore was a bit happy about this new arrival, despite the ever-solemn circumstances that always surrounded Severus Snape. However, what Dumbledore did not know was that this very exchange would be about the one thing both men wanted to avoid thinking about: Harry Potter.

Snape slowly relayed the night's events to Dumbledore who listened intently. However, at the end of the oration, Snape hesitated a bit.

"Is that all, Severus?" Dumbledore asked knowingly.

With a glare, Snape continued reluctantly. "Tonight the Dark Lord introduced a death eater."

"And…?"

Turning his cold eyes downward, Snape continued evermore unwillingly. "Apparently it was not a new member." Snape appeared to be ready to stop, but with a prodding glance from Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes, continued again, even more grudgingly. "Apparently a member who's been around for awhile." A pause. "Over a year in fact." Another pause. "A potion's master, like myself." Another, the longest yet. "One with the capability to create a Veritaserum replica with imperious properties."

"Excuse me?" Dumbledore was a very intelligent man, and certainly understood the horrible implications of this statement, but he also noted that Snape was alluding to something that he himself had not yet deduced.

"A fake truth potion, sir. One that can make the drinker spew whatever the potion-creator wants to-"

"I understood that!" Dumbledore interjected.

"There are many things a man can do with one, sir." Snape said with a cold glance and a bit of hesitation. "Additionally, the Dark Lord also has spies in the ministry. He could easily remove and replace people in custody. He could even go as far as to exchange the ministry's potion stocks…"

And then a cold, hard revelation struck Dumbledore squarely in the chest, so hard in fact that his breath caught in his throat for a second before he could force out a horror-filled exclamation.

"Harry Potter! Dear Merlin, no!" Snape seemed to cringe at the name, as if it was a vile curse that even a death eater should shudder upon hearing. Through Dumbledore's disbelieving mutters of "no," Snape continued.

"Apparently…" Snape drawled out, "the initial speculations were correct. One death eater or another did indeed take the façade of Harry Potter – I'm sure many will claim the honor of such – and you can imagine what he or she did under this disguise. When apprehended and taken into custody, one ministry-associated death eater or another – possible Avery – replaced the Potter-look-alike with the brat. Voldemort proudly relayed the whole night's affair at tonight's meeting, describing at full length how he broke through the blood wards exactly a year ago– which his revival of 1994 enabled him to do – and took Potter's wand while the brat's family were all asleep."

Snape continued the story, looking more pleased at the aspect of Harry's suffering than at the aspect of revealing Harry's innocence, while Dumbledore grew paler with every word that attested to his own mistakes… the mistakes that sent an innocent child (his own Golden Boy at that!) to the most feared place in Wizarding Britain.

At one point or another, Dumbledore abruptly stood up so quickly that it made Snape faulter. With newfound determination, Dumbledore started shooting out orders at Snape.

"I need you to wake Minerva and the two of you shall organize an Order meaning of only the inner circle – make sure to call Remus first, tell him what you told me, but make sure he is situated in a safe place first so he won't hurt himself ("or ME!" Snape interjected) – my office will do…" Dumbledore said, glancing down at the broken objects still arranged on his desk. "Tell him that I shall arrive back aroundseven if everything goes to plan. Also, inform Minerva first of the events about which this meeting will be discussed. Tell no one else, besides Minerva and Remus, what you told me."

With that, Dumbledore strode out of his office and left a miserable Severus Snape in his wake.

It was already quarter past four in the morning when Dumbledore found himself in Azkaban accompanied by Mad-Eye Moody. By four thirty, the two were done arguing with the dark attendants who ran the prison and were striding through the corridors, heedless to the aurors' shouts of "stop!" and "go no further!" that met their backs. At twenty of five they finally found the cell of Harry Potter.
And it was empty.

"Where is he!" Dumbledore shouted. As one can imagine, an angry shout from this powerful wizard is indeed a scary thing to witness.

The prison attendant broke through the circle of aurors that surrounded the duo standing before Harry Potter's cell. With several gasps for breath, the exhausted man managed to get out, "I was trying to tell you earlier! You CAN'T see Harry Potter! He's been relocated!"

"WHERE!"

The attendant momentarily froze at the demand, before rushing out, "the ministry!"

With that, Dumbledore and Moody rushed out of the prison as fast as they had entered.

Fudge, like any other person, had his momentary intelligent moments. July 31, 1997 witnessed one of his few.
The Minister of Magic had planned to execute Harry Potter as soon as possible, especially at the urge of several of his close associates (like Avery for instance) and this opportunity revealed itself legally upon Harry's seventeenth birthday. Therefore, Fudge had already relocated Harry to a rarely-used, well-hidden holding cell in the basement of the ministry building by three that morning. When his secretary informed him that Albus and a retired order were demanding Harry Potter approximately around 5 in the morning, Fudge had already set the execution time to six.

Not even Dumbledore would be able to fudge Fudge's plans.

A few minutes short of six found Moody and Dumbledore rushing through the ministry's basement corridors. After an hour of powerful persistence, the duo had finally discovered where the boy-who-lived was being held. No later had they set off on their quest.
The door of the holding cell noisily crashed open upon Dumbledore's arrival.

And it revealed an empty room.

That could only mean one thing...

...and after all, why else would the ministry have removed Harry Potter from Azkaban except to enforce the ultimate punishment: a dementor's kiss.

The door of the Kiss Room was finally in sight. However, when a freezing chill met Dumbledore's frail frame, his pace quickened into a full-out sprint.
Dumbledore ran into the room just in time to see Harry Potter fall helplessly at the foot of the dementor. It was then, and only then, that Dumbledore realized why Voldemort had chosen this morning to boast of the framing of Harry Potter: because he wanted Dumbledore to feel the pain of being too late.

Dumbledore was an old man who had lived well over seven scores of years. He had, by then, witnessed the state of dementor victims and most certainly understood the well-known fact that there existed no cure for this state of soullessness. And Harry Potter was now soulless.

As Harry was being dragged out of the room to a destination unknown to Dumbledore, ministry officials swarmed in the room to apprehend the intrusive old man. Of course, no charges were made against the Chief Wizengamot, but what would it have really mattered to Dumbledore? He had just witnessed the irreversible soul-removal of an innocent child. The only hope for the wizarding world as well!

Dumbledore lifelessly scaled the staircase leading up to his office. He knew the Order was impatiently waiting for him at headquarters, but he didn't care. The only thing he cared about was confirmation. In the recesses of Dumbledore's aged heart dwelled a lingering hope that maybe Harry's state of soullessness could indeed be cured. If only he could see the exact details on the monitoring parchment...

Dumbledore slowly opened the door to find Remus pacing his office nervously. Upon seeing Dumbledore, Remus's amber eyes widened into hysteria and the man started anxiously lobbing questions at the old man.

"Where is he! Did you get him! He's at the order, isn't he! Merlin, tell me! You couldn't have possibly brought him to 12 Grimmuald Place, not with all the memories! I was going to go there but I thought you might come here first… Albus! Where in Merlin's name is he!"

A lifeless glance from Dumbledore shushed the desperate werewolf. He strode over to his desk and pulled open one of the many drawers in the magical furniture. He withdrew a piece of parchment and laid it on the desk.

It was blank.

This piece of parchment, which was once covered in green-inked scribblings of the state of Harry's well-being and general location, was now wordless. There was only one circumstance that cleared a monitoring parchment: death.

Dumbledore had been prepared for the emerald scribblings of "soulless" and "unresponsive." He had not been prepared to find the parchment blank. He had neither expected nor been prepared for the absolute lifelessness of Harry Potter.

With a bout of frustrated energy, Dumbledore's fire blazed with flames that then swallowed the piece of useless, banished parchment. The old man then sat down into his chair, elbows on his desk and dull, spark-less eyes hidden beneath crippled fingers, and, with not another word, he cried. Dumbledore sat miserably at his desk and cried in front of Remus Lupin.

Remus stared in shock at the old wizard for several moments. The old man, who until this point appeared infallable, was reduced to tears at his own failings. Remus took in what he know of the parchment and what he knew of Dumbledore's plan, and then he felt the dangerous revelation gnawing at his heart. Breath eluded Remus and he began choking on his sobs. Harry Potter couldn't be dead! The boy he used to coddle as an infant... the child he taught in extra defense sessions... the teenager he saw as a son. That boy could not be dead... for that boy was the only one that kept him going. Remus's knees buckled beneath him and he crumpled to the floor, looking as miserable as Dumbledore.

These men, whose eyes were too teared with the failures and miseries of their lives, failed to notice the burning scraps ignite once more in emerald ink writing before completely burning into ashes at the basin of the headmaster's fireplace.

Chapter 6 Memories

The return of consciousness is much like that unspecified moment during which someone falls asleep and begins dreaming: you can neither remember nor pinpoint the exact time of the occurrence, but you know it surely happened. Likewise, Harry would not be able to remember the exact instance during which he awoke, whether it was at the onset of a flood of memories or at the moment during which he became aware of his surroundings. Nevertheless, in a series of indistinguishable and indefinite moments, several things occurred.

Firstly, all of his memories rushed into his mind as an instantaneous synopsis of his entire life. Memories of the recent events, like his imprisonment in Azkaban and containment in the ministry, expectantly came. Memories of earlier times, both pleasant and miserable, came next. Harry remembered living at the Dursleys' in a cupboard, meeting Hagrid for the first time, attending Hogwarts' classes, laughing with his close-knit friends, flying on a broom during Quidditch games, and engaging in many dangerous escapades. However, the memories did not stop there. Memories of his earliest childhood, in the company of Lily and James Potter, also reentered his mind despite being previously impossible to recall.

After this understandable return of memories, something less expected came: another flood. However, the recollections that rushed into Harry's mind this time were not his own. Memories that had been hidden in a highly protected yet perpetually darkened corner of his being, formerly inaccessible to Harry's consciousness, were now being reordered and stored in his mind. The miserable excuse for a fractioned soul that contained them had been left unprotected by Harry's animagus abilities and actually died in the crematory. However, although the foreign soul had been destroyed, its alien memories and gifts were now bestowed to Harry for his own use.

This referral of memories was as quick as the first flood. In merely an instant, hundreds of scenes from a life sadder than Harry's own, yet in many ways similar, flashed before the eyes of his consciousness and found storage in the recesses of his mind. With these recollections came a new revelation, one that would impact the entire Wizarding World in several years to come.

Lastly, with all of these newfound memories, both his own and foreign, now settled in his head, Harry's eyes slowly began to open to reveal the sight of grey obscurity.

Chapter 7 urn

Upon awakening, Harry opened his eyes and beheld the sight of darkness. Surprised by the grey, he tried to move, or rather, squirm free. It was at this moment that he noticed he could not breathe. No, it wasn't that he couldn't breathe, but rather that the powdery grey substance would not let him. Now, both choking and disoriented, Harry flailed helplessly until his small, fowl head poked through the surface of the ashes.

His erratic breath slowed down and he slowly came to observe his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that he was in some dark little enclosing that he did not recognize. Secondly, he noticed that it was indeed ashes in which he was imbedded. With this new information, Harry began trying to make out what in Merlin's name happened.

He began by asking himself the basics. What did he last remember? Being in prison. No! He was in a ministry holding cell, he remembered. Okay then, in that case, what happened next? He remembered Remus telling him to complete his animagus transformation… "That's it!" he thought suddenly. He had been trying to complete his animagus transformation, and he had mentally transformed when… when… he was kissed!

With frightening alarm, Harry realized he should have been dead. "I was kissed!" he kept repeating in his head over and over. For some reason though, he wasn't dead. "Why not?" he asked himself. It was then that he realized what had happened. The mental animagus transformation had protected him from the dementor's kiss. But then again, it made sense. Dementors only affected humans, not animals. That's why Sirius had been able to escape… and that's why Harry, who had completed half his transformation (albeit the unobservable part), managed to survive the dementor's kiss. He also bitterly noted that surviving the dementor's kiss was yet another unprecedented and supposedly impossible feat that would be added to the list of accomplishments of "the-boy-who-lived."

"Okay, so I survived the dementor's kiss" Harry thought. Then he… then he… was put into a crematory. And yet here he was, apparently alive. "How in Merlin's name did I survive that?" he asked himself. The answer came to him not a moment later: he had completed the animagus transformation. Which would mean… he was in that form right now. Instinctively, he tried to look down at himself but failed to discern anything with all of the ashes and darkness. However, he now noticed how different his appendages felt and the moment of senselessness left him. He had wings. He was a bird. Not just any bird, but a phoenix.

Harry sat still in thoughtless silence for a second, letting the discovery wash over him. "I did it!" he then thought happily. "I'm an animagus! A phoenix of all things!" Suddenly, surviving a crematory made sense… especially when he had undergone his Burning Day in this said crematory. In that moment of contentment, he thought of how proud Sirius would be. He thought of how proud Remus would be. Then an unextinguishable sorrow overtook him as he remembered that all of his old acquaintances still believed him to be some merciless killer. The memory of sitting in the courtroom, admitting under Veritaserum to all of those crimes he did not even commit, came back to haunt him.

Harry's despaired reverie was broken as the whole room began to shake. It felt as if the room was moving haphazardly in one direction so that he had to struggle with his newfound wings in order to avoid being swallowed by the waves of ash crashing against the walls of this odd enclosing. After a few minutes, Harry could no longer endure it and resolved to escape the confinement once and for all. Harry knew enough about Fawkes to know that phoenixes could essentially teleport in a burst of flames from one place to another. Of course, Harry had absolutely no idea how to do this and after several minutes of vain effort he let out a frustrated trill. It seemed whatever force had been in charge of disrupting the room was somehow affected by the phoenix's cry and Harry soon found himself propelled into the ceiling of the room, drenched in ash. As abruptly as he found himself on the ceiling, Harry found himself laying on one of the side walls as if the entire room itself was rotating. Before the room could even steady, Harry found himself wishing he was anywhere else… and a little park outside of Surrey was the first image that came to mind.

The ministry official carrying the urn full of Harry Potter's ashes jumped when he heard the muted chirp reverberating from the pot. Consequentially, he lost his grip on the container and nearly let it shatter on the ground. Luckily for him, good reflexes saved the pot before it made contact with the stone floor and he gripped the urn tightly as if expecting it to jump out of his hands anyway. Curiosity overtook the ministry worker so he undid the cover on the container and peered in. All he saw was ashes.

With a burst of small flames, Harry appeared in the middle of a park, a few meters away from a nearby playground. It was still early in the morning and no one was around to see the ugly little phoenix stranded helplessly. When Harry tried to stand up and walk a few steps, he quickly lost his balance as his weak little legs failed beneath him. Again and again, Harry fell down and nobody heard his desperate little trills.

Despite being miserable and frustrated, Harry did not give up. Figuring that a baby phoenix body was not sufficient for taking care of himself, he decided to transform back into a human. Changing back was quite similar to changing into an animal in the first place: you had to first transform mentally and then physically. Thankfully, the burning sensation Harry first felt did not reoccur. Unfortunately, Harry's human form apparently mirrored the age of his phoenix form…

Harry Potter was now less than a day old, and the naked little infant crying in the park was no better off than he had been as a phoenix

Chapter 8 News

In a gloomy house hidden in the unchartable recesses of Grimmuald Place, a group of wary wizardfolk congregated around a large table situated in the basement. Among them paced Nymphadora Tonks who, in doing so, earned a good number of glares from her companions. In her nervous fret, her hair changed a varying array of colors and her nose molded into at least a dozen shapes and sizes. Less nervous if not incredibly more exhausted sat Molly Weasley beside an empty chair reserved for her husband Arthur Weasley. However, this said man was miles away doing paperwork at the ministry of magic. Several other people could be found floating around the room or cluelessly sitting around the table with folded hands or tapping fingers. One in particular, Severus Snape, was at the receiving end of Minerva McGonagal's meaningful looks which deliberately went ignored.

"Tonks dear, do stop pacing. I couldn't imagine trying to install new carpets in this retched place if you tread through the threadbare rags already here." Tonks saw through Molly's weak smile and noted the concern being directed towards her. Therefore, Tonks found something other than pacing on which to focus her attention. Looking around, the noticed a string slipping under the door and strode over. However, never having been the most coordinated of people, she tripped over the same route she had just been treading and fell flat on her face, her head missing the door by mere inches.

"It amazes me," drawled Snape, "the dexterity required of an auror. One cannot imagine the comfort it gives me to know that our police force is so well trained."

"Severus! Was that really necessary?"

"I was not kidding, Minerva. Nymphadora's skill truly astounds me. It makes one wonder how she passed her dueling exams… she clearly could not have passed on her skills alone. Perhaps she fell on her opponent?"

"It makes one wonder how you could have become a potions master, with hands so jittery. If you weren't so crabby, it would appear you overdosed on pepper-up potion with the way you can't sit still for two minutes!" At Minerva's exclamation, snickers erupted from the other side of the door and the somber mood was temporarily forgotten. Snape immediately stopped tapping his fingers and sent a potent glare at his smug colleague. Meanwhile, Tonks recovered herself with a blush, lifted herself from the floor, and opened the basement door to reveal the Weasley chidlren on the other side. Fred and George sat nearest the threshold with what appeared to be an ear-on-a-string in their hands. Ron and Ginny sat two steps higher, leaning towards the door.

"George! Fred! Ronald! Ginevra! What don't you understand about privacy! Get off the floor this instant!"

"Fancy seeing you here, mum."

"Why, this looks like a party!"

"But why would our dear –"

"mother be having a party –"

"without us? No party –"

"is a real party without us!"

Molly scowled at the twins while Ginny and Ronjust laughed. "Get upstairs now! If the information at this meeting was relevant to you, you would have been invited. And give me that Ear! I'll have no more spying out of you!" Molly grabbed the Extendable Ear from one of her sons and began to motion them upstairs.

"But Mother! If you would just let –"

"us join the Order, –"

"we would not need –"

"to spy on you like this!"

"Maybe if you could learn to mind your own business, we'd find you trustworthy enough to be in the Order! However, because this is obviously not the case, I'd appreciate you going upstairs with Hermione! She seems to have sense enough to keep out of official matters."

"No!" Ginny supplied. "She just doesn't want to get caught. 'I'm not going to be the one with extra chores today just because I can't wait for someone to fill us in,'" she mocked.

"And plus," Ron added, "she'll just ask us what happened when we do get upstairs!"

"Oh Ronniekins! Tisn't nice to tattle on your girlfriend!"

"If she finds out –"

"that you ratted her out –"

"you won't get to snog today!" finished Fred.

Ron had the decency to blush before looking down at his feet. For the first time that morning, Tonks' stopped worrying about the distraught Remus that left from headquarters that morning and let a small smile slip onto her face. Some of the other Order members also revealed grins but Molly was as angry as ever. She appeared to be ready to berate her children once more when suddenly the shouts of Mrs. Black began to fill the house. Hermione appeared on the stairs followed closely behind by Dumbledore and Remus. The Weasleys stood up off of the steps and entered the room to allow more space on the stairway.

The most notable thing about the arrival was the expression on the faces of Dumbledore and Remus. Dumbledore looked older than anyone in the room had ever seen him and his hands shook against the railing. When he entered the room and lifted his head, every person was shocked by the dullness in the once sparkling eyes. The old man slowly made his way to the head of the table and tiredly sat down.

Remus, on the other hand, was far worse. Although most people had grown accustomed to the look of defeat on the werewolf's face over the last year, no one was ready for the intense expression of hopelessness visible in his amber eyes. He strode across the room like someone approaching his execution, and upon reaching the table he slowly sat down. Tonks, with more concern in her eyes than anyone had ever seen, walked over to the much older man and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, onewhich went unnoticed by the werewolf.

The room was silent save for the footsteps of Order member rearranging themselves. The teens sent inquisitive looks at each other and even the usually jovial twins sensed the subdued mood.

"Children, I think its time for you guys to go upstairs." Molly offered quietly, as if trying not to further upset the headmasteror Remus.

"No." came Dumbledore's quiet response. He raised his eyes to the five kids and motioned them to the table. Stealing a look at Remus, who appeared too deep in thought to protest, he continued, "Stay. You might as well be here for the meeting. You have just as much a right, if not more of one, to know and you'd find out anyway." He sighed. "It's better you find out now from me than from the papers."

Nervously, the children sat down at the table. Remus sat between Tonks and Dumbledore while Minerva and Snape sat at the headmaster's other side. Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Fred, and George respectively sat between Shacklebolt andJones while other Order members, like Dedalus Diggle and Elphias Doge, sat between the groups.

"Severus, I trust you have not informed anyone else of the situation?"

"No, Albus. Only Minerva." was Snape's quick reply.

There was a pregnant pause before Dumbledore resumed speaking. "As you all have probably concluded, something large has occurred today. New information came to my attention this morning, through a reliable source," he nodded to Severus, "concerning events that happened a little over twelve months ago." Dumbledore paused for a few seconds to let his companions think about what had happened. Most people understood immediately that he was referring to Harry's "betrayal" and waited intently for Dumbledore to continue. Realization took hold of Tonks' features and she slid her arm around Remus to comfort the distraught man. Any mention of Harry over the last few months had sent Remus further into depression yet the most she could do was to comfort the man for which she cared about so much. However, Remus refused to raise his bloodshot eyes from the table.

"As you all remember, Harry Potter was convicted of murdering several occupants of the Leaky Cauldron last summer. It has only this morning come to my attention that we were wrong. Harry was innocent."

The tension in the room was as thick as butter. Everyone sat still in disbelief. For the most part, it seemed that no one could comprehend the statement. It was Hermione, of course,who spoke first.

"It's impossible." she announced quietly. "There was… there was… too much pr-proof!" No one said anything, so she continued in a meek and stuttering voice. "No, no. He – he was seen. There were w-witnesses. He even … testified under Veritaserum…" The last part was merely a whisper.

"No!" Remus' vehement shout shook many of his companions from their stupor. He stood up and, with tears streaming down his face, yelled right at Hermione. "No! He's innocent! INNOCENT! Like… like Sirius!" he sobbed. His voice slowly grew quieter with every word. "He didn't kill anyone. He-he couldn't. He would never hurt anyone… like I told you… I told you he was innocent!" Right when it appeared Remus was going to choke on more sobs, he screamed, "you condemned him!" At this point, he was no longer just talking to Hermione, who was in tears by this point, but to the entire group as well. "You might as well have killed him! You called him a traitor… and left him to rot in Azkaban like some rotten deatheater! You all called him a murderer… him a deatheater…" Remus could no longer finish what he was saying. He shut his eyes as tightly as he could and collapsed in his chair. Tonks embraced him, rubbing his back as she did so, but the werewolf was little comforted. Everyone sat in the tense environment for several silent moments, merely watching Remus' hysterical sobs or Hermione in silent tears. Dumbledore finally began talking again after he felt he had appropriated enough time for Remus to calm down.

"This morning it was revealed that Harry was framed for his crimes by none other than Voldemort himself. He never murdered anyone, not his schoolmates nor the barkeeper Tom. He was not even present at the attack."

"But how?" Hestia Jones asked quietly. "How was it possible? Veritaserum cannot be overcome."

"The means do not matter at the moment; simply, Voldemort found a way."

Suddenly, Ginny stood up with fervor akin to the previous display of Remus. "Then what are you waiting for! Remove him from Azkaban! If you know he's innocent, you can prove it!"

Everyone looked attentively at Dumbledore who met Ginny's eyes with great reluctance. Meanwhile, Remus merely shook his head in further despair. "Miss Weasley, if you would calm down and sit I will continue. Thank you. This morning, as you may or not have been aware, Harry turned seventeen. Therefore, he officially became an adult today. Adults with criminal records are treated differently than children with criminal records, and, as so, Harry is no longer a juvenile prisoner."

"Stop beating around the bush Albus!" Snape snapped impatiently.

"This morning, at 6:00 AM, he was executed."

Remus' demeanor was the only one that did not change. Everyone else sat frozen in their seats, some with mouths open and others with jaws tense. Ron seemed unable to comprehend the news while Hermione seemed unable to stop crying. Ginny slid into her chair and began weeping. Minerva's face paled considerably and Snape sat at the table with tightened lips.

They had all, save Remus, come to believe that their friend Harry had gone to the dark side. They had thought Harry did the unthinkable… and they had thus ignored him when they needed him most. At first, Hermione and the Weasleys had held onto hope that it was a mistake… but after the initial evidence was presented, they felt they could not deny the facts. During the only time they saw Harry between the arraignment and the verdict, they had called him some horrible things and turned their backs on him. Of course, they were not necessarily wrong for doing what they did, with the information presented. They had only sent bitter words towards him under the belief that he had betrayed them and murdered fellow classmates. They had truly believed he had sided with their enemies. And now they knew they had been wrong.

The implications sunk in. Their best friend had missed school for a year. He had spent an entire year in Azkaban. Right after Sirius' death. While still grieving, more weight had been added to the boys shoulders and he had been abandoned by his friends. He had suffered from dementors (and Merlin! Everyone knew Harry's horrible reaction to them) and had been reportedly driven to nonresponsiveness. And now, when they finally discovered they were wrong and could possibly repent for their abandonment, could possibly help Harry recover, he was killed. Executed. Most likely by dementors, no less. They would never see their friend again and had only last seen him on horrible terms.

Needless to say, the despondency that seized the room was suffocating.

The first one to talk was Snape. Either out of bitterness or out of inability to cope with the death of his enemy's only son, he said the wrong thing. "Is that all, Albus?"

"Is that all!" came Molly's frenzied cry. "Bloody hell, Snape! What in the name of Merlin is wrong with you!" And after that, there was chaos. Various order members began shouting at one another, the greatest offender of which was Mrs. Weasley herself. Meanwhile, other persons, such as Hermione and Ron, found it impossible to converse with one another about the horrible news. Instead, they sat in tense, depressed silence. Remus, having calmed into stilled shock, utilized this time to escape the chaotic room and head upstairs. Tailing him was a concerned Tonks.

When they arrived upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms, Remus collapsed on the bed with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees.

"Remus…" Tonks offered, while shutting the door quietly behind her.

"I cannot do it. I can't."

"Remus, I'm sorry…"

"I can't go on like this!" Remus appeared to have given up hope in the world. He sat on the bed, unable to cry anymore. "The Order… I can't do it. The world's too heavy now… I used to have James and Sirius and Peter… then James died and Peter supposedly as well, and I thought Sirius was a traitor! But even then, I still held hope for Harry. But now, Sirius is gone as well and Peter is the traitor… still alive… and no one is left! Harry kept me going… knowing a legacy of James existed… it kept me alive."

Tonks sat down on the bed and hugged Remus as tightly as she could. "I'm sorry, so sorry." She mumbled on, trying to sooth the despondent man. However, Remus stood up, lightly pushing her away, and turned his back to her.

"You have to understand, Tonks. I cannot do this! It's too much! We… can't continue…"

"Remus…"

"I love you Tonks." He turned around, eyes brimming with tears once more. "I love you. I love you. Merlin, you have no idea how good it feels to say that. But… I cannot continue. I need a break… a vacation… you have to understand…"

"You're going to leave?"

"Yes."

"For how long?" Remus was unable to answer, and instead looked at the floor. "I'll be waiting, Moony."

"Forgive me, Tonks. I need time alone. I'll go to muggle London I suppose… or somewhere farther. Yes, much farther. Don't let anyone follow me."

"I won't."

Remus did not know what else to say. Both Tonks and Remus stood there several moments, vainly searching for something more to say, but nothing came. Without raising his head to look at Tonks once more, he turned and left. Even when the rest of the Order noted his absence several hours later, no one sought him out.

Chapter 9 Playground

Needless to say, Jackson Tulane was stunned. The tall, lean man in his early thirties had made a habit out of jogging every morning. He enjoyed trying different routes but more often than not he did a moderately-paced five kilometers in the nearby park. But today he had witnessed something strange. Sure, he'd seen some miscellaneous things while running. Once, he witnessed a hold-up in a local convenience store and later had to testify in court. Another time, he stumbled across twoless than friendly adolescents engaged in a relatively vicious fistfight. However, out of everything he had ever witnessed during his runs, none was as strange as this instance.

At 7:30 AM on July 31, 1997, Jackson Tulane found a baby. No, not a toddler that had strayed too far from his mother nor a child in a temporarily abandoned stroller… Jackson Tulane had found an infant.

First he had heard some wailing a distance from his path. Not one to find something in distress, human or creature, and leave it be, he following the desperate cries. He wandered off the sidewalk, around a playground with some old rusty swings, and to some hedges nearby. It was there that upon some scorched grass Jackson found a tiny infant. Although he was no expert in children, he was able to surmise that the child must have recently been born and needed immediate attention. Awkwardly, Jackson began shushing the baby and tentatively reached out to pick itup. However, when his hands closed around the tiny head and torso of the newborn baby, the wailing child immediately ceased its cries. Jackson was again surprised when tiny alert green eyes met his own instead of the confused and pained ones he had been expecting. Jackson instinctively drew the child to his chest and stood there cluelessly for several moments wondering what to do.

Jackson finally settled on using his cell phone to call the authorities and notify them about this abandoned child. The officer on the other end of the line told him to wait where he found the child in case its parents turned up nearby. Then, after the call ended, Jackson found himself in an awkward situation: he had to wait ten or fifteen minutes for the police to arrive, and, until then, he had to watch over a young abandoned infant.

Naturally, Jackson began pondering the obvious questions. Who abandoned the baby? Why did they just leave an infant unattended in a relatively empty park? Where were its parents? Was it a boy or a girl? A quick glance down confirmed that it was a boy. In that case, how old was he? For how long had he been laying there, naked and wailing? Furthermore, why was the ground around him scorched? Then a horrible idea suddenly struck Jackson: maybe this was all part of some sick satanic ritual… he had read things about cruel teenagers performing "magical" rituals, worshipping the devil, and mercilessly slaughtering animals for these purposes. In fact, some recent fires and acts of violence and destruction had recently been attributed to a rise of teenagers involved in the not for some sadistic ritual, then why else would an infant be abandoned on a small circle of burnt grass?

Jackson also began observing the child as well. For some reason or another, the child seemed to be content. He was no longer wailing and appeared to be taking in his surroundings. However, the child was far too young to display that level of comprehension… right? Nevertheless, the baby remained eerily silent.

About twenty minutes after the call had been made, two cars with sirens sounding and lights flashing approached the playground where Jackson was uncomfortably waiting. Surprisingly, the noise and lights did not seem to bother the infant at all. Moments later, a police officer approached Jackson and began interrogating him. A second officer parted from the police vehicle and neared his coworker. All in all, it was decided that the infant should probably get immediate medical attention and then be sent to the city's childcare authorities. Jackson agreed to answer more questions while at the police station and graciously followed the officers to their cars. However, before handing the child to the authorities, Jackson petted the baby's messy, jet black hair one last time, brushing the tresses to the side just enough to reveal an unmarred forehead.

Not far away walked a somber man whose face was stricken with lines of age and despair. The man had graying brown hair and peculiar amber eyes filled with hopelessness and emotional agony. His name was Remus Lupin and he was grieving.

Remus had not known where to go after leaving Grimmuald Place. He had considered apparating to England's southern border and taking a muggle airline to France or Spain. Maybe Italy. All Remus knew was that he need to get as far away from his past as possible.

However, before leaving, there was one thing that Remus knew he must do. With all of his recent memories of Harry full of tragedy, he needed to visit the sites of Harry's childhood. He needed proof that his best friend's only son had indeed been an innocent child at one point, oblivious to the cruelties of the world he had yet to enter. Oblivious of Voldemort. Oblivious of betrayal. He needed to remember that a young Harry had once had no serious worries… only petty problems that occasionally afflict the average eight-year-old.

And so, with this desperate need, Remus found himself in Little Whinging, Surrey. He found himself patrolling the streets of Magnolia Crescent and Privet Drive. He knew how oddly out of place he must have appeared: his ragged appearance and old, weathered clothes contrasted against the neatly trimmed lawns of these identically proper houses.

Remus found himself before the well-kept abodeof number four Privet Drive. His acute werewolf sense of hearing could detect the sound of the Dursleys going about their daily lives in the kitchen of their home. Harry had once lived there. Sure, he had been miserable... but he had been safe. He had not yet known betrayal. He had at least been alive. Nevertheless, since then, Harry had been convicted and sent to prison. The Dursleys had taken the news very well. Vernon had insisted that the boy had always had a mean streak in him and that this act of violence had been long coming. Dudley did not seem to grasp the impact of the entire circumstance and was simply happy to have Harry gone. Petunia, on theother hand,had gone silent and pale upon hearingthe news. Other than that, the Dursley lives were unchanged. And with this Remus was upset… Harry's own family did not miss him. And now, on the morning of Harry's demise, they were completely ignorant.

Unable to bear these horrible truths, Remus continued walking. He walked and walked until he found himself in a nearby park. Harry had been here too. Harry had once told him about the times Dudley had played "Harry Hunting" with his unruly gang. Sure, the game was not fun for Harry but at least it never killed him.

As Remus approached the playground at which Harry had also probably played, he noticed some muggle authorities congregated beyond the swings. There were two officers and a man holding something. These men, like the Dursleys, were also oblivious to the tragic events of the morning. They also did not realize how much Remus had lost in that one morning alone. Again unable to endure his despair, Remus fled the scene of muggles and left them to their own affairs. He walked a little ways away and apparated as far away as possible.

Chapter 10 Memories 1

In a small, cluttered, yet pleasantly colored office, Sara Lieberman sat in front of a desk full of legal papers. Sara's desk was covered in vacation souvenirs that she got from her honeymoon and picture frames that all bore either relatives or close friends. Between these sentimental trinkets that adorned her desk were an array of opened envelopes, government documents, and case files. All the photographs were still, all the envelopes had postage stamps, and all the documents were typed. Sara was a muggle.

It was this little fact about Sara, her muggle background and subsequent ignorance that a magical world even existed, that led to her complete bafflement over the case currently in front of her. She could not simply make heads nor tails over the case of one young John Doe.

John Doe was a ward of the British government. He had no reported family and no one had adopted him. Looking at a picture of the boy when he was about three, Sara could not understand why no one would adopt the adorable little boy. After all, he had a cute, round little face, boyishly handsome black hair, and striking green eyes. John Doe was the perfect image of what couples looking to adopt might desire in a child.

Nevertheless, his foster reports told separate tales. The boy's history itself was a mystery. He was found by a young man, Jackson Tulane, on the morning of July 31, 1997 and a medical examination revealed that he could not have been more than a couple days old at most, if even that. The child had been abandoned in a park in some city outside of London but did not appear to be in any poor condition as might be expected from an unwanted child. Rather, the boy was in perfect health. The most interesting thing about the child's discovery, however, was the bed of scorched grass on which he was found.

After ten weeks when no relatives had come forward to claim the child despite the numerous newspaper ads, the young boy became a ward of the British government. He was given the standard name of John Doe and was soon entered into the foster care system as well. The foster agency workers had originally assumed he would be adopted right away but quickly found they were mistaken. It seemed that John Doe was not a normal child.

His original foster caretakers, the McCormicks, reported nothing too unusual when asked about him. He was just a young baby like any other whom had passed through their care. Sort of. However, when further questioned eight months ago, they did admit he was a bit strange, although they could not pinpoint exactly what. Perhaps it was his lack of cooing, or his eerie level of awareness, or maybe the level of intelligence they perceived in his striking green eyes. However, they had always brushed these things aside during his six-month stay with them because these things could always just have been their imagination. Only one observation about John Doe was certain though… the McCormicks never once heard him cry.

The strangeness encompassing the John Doe boy became more pronounced with reports from his following foster parents. Kara O'Donnell, a longtime caretaker in the foster care system, reported that he did not develop like a normal baby his age might. At the age when most children produce their first smile, John Doe remained expressionless and when he finally did wear his first smile it was a small, shy, and unnaturally intelligent smile in addition to being months later than normal. Kevin and Sally Jones mentioned that, like smiling, the usual playmate baby toys did not interest the small child either. Any of the colorful and interactive toys they provided were quickly dismissed and ignored by little John. Miguel and Juanita Rodriguez, who also fostered the little boy during his first two years, were quick to mention that he was a silent yet highly intelligent child. Not only did he never cry nor complain, he never talked either. Young John Doe was already two and a half before he made his first attempt at speaking; in a complete sentence, albeit with mispronounced words, he had politely asked to look at Mr. Rodriguez's newspaper. As Sara went through reports of John Doe's foster parents, she noticed occurrence after occurrence of his comprehension beyond his years. Although smiling and speaking and reaching other milestones later than normal, he had been potty trained abnormally early and had apparently learned to read by age three. In fact, the caretakers stated that not only was he reading secondary-school material at an early age but that it seemed he was more than a quick learner; rather, it appeared as if John Doe already knew how to read.

Continuing through the statements issued by John Doe's past foster families, Sara noticed that the boy got stranger as he went from age three to age four. In the temporary custody of Joanne Gloucester, John Doe always sat amidst weird happenings. Poor Joanne would often walk into John's room only to find his toys floating, the heavy furniture rearranged, and the wallpaper changed. Before her very eyes she claimed to have witnessed John Doe ignite into flames and then simply disappear on several occasions. The strangest report of all, however, was when she claimed to have seen the young boy of four transform into a mystical-looking bird. Needless to say, Joanne was promptly taken out of the foster system after John Doe was removed from her custody.

Although Joanne's statements at the time they were issued seemed to be completely outrageous, Sara was beginning to see more credibility in them now that she had other John Doe reports laid out before her. Though no one else's statements reported incidents as unlikely as Joanne's, other foster families noted that they had found items previously out of John's reach somehow hidden around the house. Some mentioned strange noises coming from whatever room John was in and others even noted the strange manner with which John would interact with stray animals. Sara concluded that the strange happenings had begun when John was almost four and, after Joanne's custody, had gradually become less and less obvious and suspicious.

Sara looked once more at the last known picture ever taken of little John Doe. In it, the boy of nearly six was sitting on a swing in a neighborhood park. The photo was taken by Raymond Richards and was obviously not candid. John Doe wore a tentative smile and his eyes were focused on the camera. Eerie eyes, Sara thought. Those eyes, which were an unusual emerald hue, seemed to glow unnaturally from the petite face on which they were placed. Yes, Sara thought, John Doe had the strangest eyes she had ever seen.

This picture had been taken exactly nine months ago. Today was April 21, 2004, and John Doe had not been seen for eight months, ever since suddenly and mysteriously disappearing from the aforementioned Richards couple. Authorities were currently investigating the disappearance and had collected statements from all of the boy's previous caretakers, the Richards, Rodriguezs, McCormicks, and Ms. Gloucester all included and copies of some of these statements had been faxed over to the foster agency. Sara began putting the files and documents back into the cabinets finally when her office phone rang. Upon answering it, she was met with tragic news. Melissa and Joshua Lieberman, her in-laws, had fell victim to the latest of a series of British terrorist attacks. Quickly packing up the last of the documents, Sara hurried out the office door and rushed to meet her distraught husband waiting impatiently at home. By this point, all thoughts about the mysterious boy John Doe had completely left her head.

In a small, family-owned bakery in the heart of London, a scruffy-looking kid could be seen nibbling on a fresh pastry while counting up a small handful of change. The child, who looked no older than seven, had on an old and dirty T-shirt, a weathered pair of pants, and a pair of shoes with worn soles and several holes. He held himself in such a way, with shoulders slumped and head tilted downward, that he escaped most people's attention. Beneath a mop of messy black hair you could see that his brows were scrunched together in deep concentration and below them were the most spectacular green eyes. Not only were those eerie eyes the strangest hue of green but also they held years of intelligence and knowledge that surpassed the boy's apparent age.
By this point, Harry had finished his breakfast and snatched a discarded newspaper as he made his way outside. He quickly scanned the first few pages, taking notice of several attacks and reportedly "freak accidents" that had occurred around the city of London. With sad eyes, the boy realized that the average Londoner was quick to believe that these deaths were simply the result of a new wave of violence or unexpected bad luck. However, he was not the "average Londoner" and therefore knew that there were more to these incidents. This boy's name was Harry Potter though the world simply saw him as another John Doe passing on the sidewalk.

Nearly seven years ago, Harry had survived and escaped his execution after a one-year stay at the wizarding prison Azkaban. It had been pure luck that his animagus form, a phoenix, was a creature of fire. Therefore, by first transforming mentally he survived the Dementor's kiss because animals were immune to it and then survived the crematory by finishing the transformation physically. The only problem with this miraculous escape was that the transformation into a magical creature had some adverse side effects: Harry had been complete de-aged during the process of his "Burning Day."

It was for this reason that Harry James Potter, who should have been 23, currently looked like a six-year-old. On that summer day seven years ago when he had first realized he had the body of a baby, he had screamed like hell hoping someone could help him in his vulnerable body. Fortunately, some passing man had found him, rescued him, and that's when Harry's young body had become over exhausted and the boy knew no more. He later found out that he had been brought to a foster agency where after several weeks of no one looking for him (which made sense considering everyone he knew thought he was dead, a heartless murderer, and would never suspect him a baby) he was given the ambiguous name John Doe. As much as he'd rather have a better name chosen out for himself, the muscles in his tongue and mouth were still too young to properly talk (as if that would appear normal anyway) and he could not feasibly rename himself Harry again without risking being found out by the wizarding world.

For Harry, entering the foster care system had been an interesting experience. Although a loving, stable home is the ideal place for a child, the occasionally changing households had still been better than his childhood with the Dursleys. Most of the foster parents had been caring and loving, although too much part of the system to become overly attached, and also far more responsible than Petunia and Vernon had ever been. For the first time in his life, other people had actually taken care of him and provided him with enough love, food, clothes, and toys. Granted, most of the toddler toys did not interest him; after all, he had seen too much in the world for bright colored buttons to entertain him, but all of the gestures were still well received by his childlike mind. The hardest part about being an infant, however, was his inability to do things he once took for granted and his inexperience at acting as a developing child. Therefore, he often had no clue when he should or should not have been developing.

Around age two, Harry knew he should have started speaking already. However, he had found no reason to and he had no idea how fast his vocabulary should be progressing. He finally "broke the milestone" by speaking in a full sentence one day, though this probably was not his best idea. It was also around this time that he began wondering about his phoenix form. It should have gotten bigger and more useful by this age and he was yearning to try the transformation again. One day, when his caretakers were far away, he ventured the transformation again and found it much easier and less painful than the previous time. In a second flat, he was a bird with brilliant plumage and he slowly taught himself how to fly and use his phoenixian powers.

Whenever he was given alone time, Harry would transform again and utilize his new perspective. What interested him the most, though, was his phoenixian eyesight. As a phoenix, Harry Potter could not only see perfectly but he could see magic too. There might not have been much magic in his muggle households but Harry did manage to see his own magic swirling around him. It was these observations that led Harry to attempt a new venture: he planned to undergo only a partial transformation. It took several months to perfect, but by age three, he had managed to alter his human eyes just enough to give him phoenix eyesight, thus changing the color of his eyes slightly and preventing him from ever needing glasses again.

Now being able to see magic as a human, Harry began his magical experimentation, the same experiments that would accidentally drive Miss Gloucester out of the foster care system. After practice, he began feeling the magic in his body and attempting to funnel it into his surroundings. Try after try, the colors of the magical swirls began having special meanings and his hands no longer felt empty without a wand. By age four and a half, Harry had nearly perfected basic wandless magic, an area of which he was barely aware a few years prior, and he could now use his skills discreetly without notifying his guardians. There were only two considerable obstacles with which Harry Potter was faced: he had no guidance from magical texts nor teachers and therefore had to figure out a whole new field of magical theory himself, and also his young, little body was still too magically underdeveloped to allow him to use his magic as freely as he may have wished. Fortunately, Harry was smarter than he would have previously admitted and, with more free time than he ever had as a teenager, became a quick learner; in addition, by the time he was age six, his body had matured enough to grant him more access to his overwhelming magical reserves.

It was when he had reached this magical milestone that he decided it was about time to leave the foster care system. He timed his escape perfectly and left one day while his guardians had their attention somewhere else. All of the clothes he had been generously bought, which actually fit him for once, had been packed the night before and no one noticed him leave. Once far enough from the neighborhood, he began trekking to downtown London where he figured there would be the most opportunity to live comfortably on the streets. He would use his magic to protect him from any dangerous muggles and he would avoid wizardfolk at all costs now that he could detect their magical signatures.

It took several weeks before he could settle himself down, but Harry soon fell into a comfortable pattern of sleeping in abandoned buildings, finding spare change on the sidewalk, and accepting any generous offerings of either money or food he could get. He often used his money to buy cheap foods from convenience stores or little food stores and he also took much of the breads from local delis that would be discarded at the end of each workday. Very recently, he had taken up pick-pocketing as well although he felt guilty every time he did so; alas, often the option was steal from a passerby walking to his or her car or starve for the day and with this notion some of Harry's guilt diminished. Pick-pocketing, of course, was not as easy as they had made it out to seem on TV, but with practice he had improved enough to rarely get caught doing it. All in all, Harry Potter certainly was not living in luxury but he was getting by just as fine as he cared to.

AN I would just to remind you I didn't write the story above. I got permission from author from inside the story (you will know what I am talking about if you read the story) when he said anyone could adopt. I did not copy it all just up till the point that I need there is still more of his story and I suggest you check it out. I will put a link on profile. Everything from this point will be of my creation, but I don't claim Harry Potter as my work or of anything like that. Once again this is not my work, nor am I just copying. I just want to get that point across. I hope to one day be the same quality of writer as Laer Ear, but that is not today. I would like to say one last thing before we continue which to the person who reviewed my other story, upto. I can't find your profile, I really do want to hear your input and it would be so much easier it was back and forth. Please PM.

Chapter 11

Harry realized that this way of life could not be kept up forever, he knew that eventually the wizarding world would find him. He knew that he had to learn, most of all. He couldn't be limited to the material he already knew in the future if he wanted to kill Voldemort. He knew realized that actually nothing was holding him to Britain, and his friends and the wizarding world had turned on him and for that he might abandon them. Then he was reminded of Remus Lupin and how he had never betrayed him.

He started to formulate a plan in his head. He knew that he had to go one of the three wizarding schools either, Beauxbaton, Durmstrang Institute, or Hogwarts. He really didn't want to learn French, but it would be the last place people would expect him attend. The first step of his plan was getting to France which would be to most young kids impossible, but to Harry surprisingly easy. He just transformed into his Phoenix form and flamed over to France.

When Harry arrived in France he landed in a middle of a field surrounded by hedges. Harry transformed back into his human to form he collapsed, he hadn't tried this much magic all at once in a long time. He just laid there and fell asleep. The next thing he knew he was being awaken up by a French farmer. This polite old man, who lucky for Harry knew english, asked "What are you doing in here?"

"Well? I don't really remember what I am doing. Like I can remember that I was sleeping in this field. I can remember being in Britain, but I can remember how or why I got here."

"Well you can come stay with me until you remember more and when you learn French. If you plan on staying in the country that is a must." The old man said helping the young boy off the ground. "But that can come later. Let's get some food in you, you look like you haven't eaten in a while. I never got your name."

"Well according to Britain I am name John Doe, because I didn't have a name already, but I don't think that will work here, just like my complete knowledge of the French language."

"Well I will just call you Jean and if you were wondering my name is Michael Martin and welcome to France." As the two of them walled side by side towards Michael's house, the boy got happy as he realized in the span of a few hours, he had found a family in France. Harry had only one problem now how to tell the nice old man that he was a wizard. Then answer came the sooner than he thought because as they entered the house Harry saw a charm washing dishes, one that he saw at the Weasely's house and a couple brooms mounted on a wall. The older man turned to Harry and said "I know that you are a wizard and a powerful one at that, not many wizards could have gone through my wards as fast you did. So how did you get in here through my wards so fast."

Harry's mind was racing at a mile a minute trying to come up with an excuse. The only that came to mind was telling the truth. "Well I am a Phoenix animagus, and I kind of wanted to leave Britain for reasons that might take a while to explain. Just please believe me," said Harry as if he was pleading for his life.

"I am not angry, I just wanted to know. I don't like people that much, but I am not kicking you out. I am guessing that you need a home and I am willing to give you one. On one condition, you show me your animagus form."

"Deal." with that Harry once again transformed into his Phoenix form surprising the man who thought he would never see a Phoenix in his life.

AN I would like to know what you think about my work on great story. I once again would like to stress that the I didn't write all of that and I am not claiming that I did write it. Laer Ear wrote so drop in on his story and share some love. I honestly would like to know what you think, whether it be good or bad, your thoughts, or just the simple 'this sucks'! I am happy with it as long as it is honest. Also if you want me to write more of this or switched. Please tell me. Oh yeah I can't do accents to save my life. Sorry, but it would be terrible. Also if this is your first time reading my work. Welcome to my rambling that I call Author's Notes. That is all for now. I hope you enjoyed this! -Kate