Sorry I took so long! My computer wouldnt connect to the internet, so you know the rest..

Thank YOU all for the reviews!THANK YOU! They really make me feel that all my work is worthwhile, having someone actually reading them.

Here's chapter 2!

Chapter 2: The Man Who Was Never Really Gone

Location Unknown

Death is surely better than this.

For how long James had been here, he had no idea. He'd been trapped in this hell of a prison for what felt like centuries at times, and mere hours at others. It seemed - to what felt like his innersight - that he was locked up in a small, black room. He had no senses; no hearing, no eyesight, no touch. After all, he had no body. The only thing he had was his thoughts, his emotions and his memories. He'd pass by the time slowly through relieving them and trying to relive them, careful not to finish too much in a short amount of time.

He constantly prayed that Lily and Harry would be rescued. He tried to imagine baby Harry growing up, being raised and adored by Lily, loved and protected by Sirius...

What would he look like?

Would he be smart?

Would he be good at Quidditch?

And most importantly - would he miss his father? Would he know how much he adored him?

Horrible, dark thoughts would come snaking through those pleasant ones. Images of Voldemort murdering his wife and child - Death Eaters torturing his best friend to death - Remus Lupin actually turning out to be a spy..

When it all became too much, he'd escape to the earlier memories - the more innocent, pure ones; his parents...his school days with his best of friends - with Sirius - his best friend in the whole universe...Lily and his baby..

He remembered trying to resist Voldemort's curse as hard as he could, but he was torn away from his body at frightening speed and with blinding pain without being able to do anything to fight back. He also remembered, that after what seemed like minutes from his arrival to this horrid nothingness, he felt pain again - not as unbearable as the first - but still reached into the deepest part of his mind and soul, and felt himself sink deeper and deeper away from the surface.

Many times he'd drown in grief and fear when he keeps rethinking of what horrors could have befallen all his beloved ones, but the most frightening thoughts were of Peter. He couldn't imagine his shy, dependant little friend give away his location on purpose. He must have gone through unbearable torture and pain to give them away like that...him and Lily and Harry..

Oh, Harry. His thoughts and emotions revolving around his beautiful little boy refused to twist towards imagining what Voldemort could have possibly done to him if he'd gotten his cold hands on him. How could someone have the willpower to murder something so innocent and pure? This very same something that James had once thought - as an early teenager - would never take hold of his senses and grasp his emotions and affection so powerfully.

There were times when he was sure that Harry had gained the greater portion of his love, exceeded his love for Lily, even. Funny how a tiny creature could crumple his 'I'm a Marauder so may the Devil care!' attitude to the ground, and he'd be flying with joy because of it.

While his thoughts and memories went on and on, despite the great emotional stress it loaded on him, there came a time when his soul felt like it was rising up - very slowly - towards the surface. His spirits would rise, and then crumple back down when he remembers why Voldemort would bring him back - to gloat over the murders of his family and friends - and force him to join his side.

Never. Never would he do a thing like that. If Voldemort had gotten to the last person he had in the world, he would never stab them all in the back and join their murderer who had ended their lives so simply and coldly in the first place.

The Riddle House

Harry Potter had fleeted from between his very fingers. Again. If that Mudblood-loving fool Dumbledore had been just two seconds late, the boy would have been dead, and he - Lord Voldemort - would have finally won victory over his 'match'.

He'd lost the prophecy as well - the only known copy of it in the whole wizarding world. He'd been told by Nott that it was smashed to bits by the idiot Longbottom boy, and all his plannings and magic efforts to lure Potter into the Department of Mysteries and into his hands went up in gas.

Well, the Dark Lord thought with sadistic pleasure, at least it is the boy who will be suffering mental and emotional problems.

Bellatrix Lestrange had - as soon as they retreated back to this hideout - stutteringly filled him in with all what had happened in the Department, and how she'd supposedly killed the boy's godfather - Sirius Black - by pushing him down that ancient archway. She said the boy had gone hysterical, and started screaming and chasing her out of the Death Chamber and up to the Atrium where he - Voldemort - had appeared..

"And how do you know that the archway is a means of death, Bella?"

"Master - I -" she started, her voice cracking with horrified tears "Well - I - I thought it would kill, otherwise why would it be in The 'Death Chamber'?"

"Crucio!" he hissed, and Bellatrix crashed to the floor, screaming and twitching and sobbing all at once: "Do you honestly think – Bella – that I would miss on such a trivial fact?"

"M - My - M'Lord I -" she screamed as another wave of pain washed over her. Voldemort lifted his wand, and Bellatrix stopped twitching, but the sobs came out harder. When she started gaining back some touch with her nerve ends, she crept over to kiss the hem of the Dark Lord's robes: "Master..Master, please! I crave your forgiveness. I have been careless and foolish. There is NO doubt in my mind that you know far more than any of us. Whatever you say, I shall obey! Forgive me, my Lord..."

"Stand up, Bella." Voldemort ordered quietly, and Bellatrix shot upwards in a second and backed away a step.

"Tell Pennealus to intensify his searches around that damned thing. I want satisfying results, and I shall NOT be as patient as before. This is a fair warning...and now get out of my sight!"

Bellatrix bowed deeply and hurried out through the door, staggering slightly from the remnants of Cruciatus, intent on getting away from the Dark Lord as quickly as possible. It was no damn fun to be the dummy on which he unleashes some of his anger on.

It has been three weeks now, and still no answer to the archway, and Dumbledore is ever so careful, keeping the boy well-hidden and protected. Potter lived with some relatives and that was all some Death Eaters could dig out, but by studying the boy's motives and actions, he - Voldemort - had learned that the boy's emotions took up a pathetically huge portion of his soul, and are practically what drove him around. He knew the boy must be depressed over that worthless dogfather of his, the one who wanted to blast his servant Peter to smithereens…the one who's best friends with the boy's father, James Potter...

Voldemort's wand abruptly stopped twirling in his hand. His pet snake Nagini lifted her head up from the old rug and looked at him questioningly through poison-green, slitted eyes. He rose from his high-backed armchair, wand still in hand as he circled the room, deep in thought: "How could I have not thought of it before?" he breathed, averting his red, reptilian eyes towards the high window of the eerily lit, filthy living room of the Riddle house: "But...would James Potter still be alive after all this time? I have been decreased to something barely alive for thirteen years, Nagini...Would the boy still come to be alive after all this time had passed?"

Little chance at that. When his soul had been torn from his body at such destructive force and pain, that almost surely would have killed James Potter off. Nonetheless, what's the loss of trying?

A delightful little plan was already starting to form in the Dark Lord's head. He could only hope that James would still exist to come back and if he did, it would be the ultimate victory over the famous Harry Potter. He'd toy with the boy's emotions till he had him in his clutches, and that would be the end of him.

Standing in front of the window, Voldemort closed his eyes for a few moments and pictured James Potter in his mind exactly the way he remembered him. He felt a slight headache; strange and a bit familiar, but brushed the thought aside and muttered: "Finite Incatetum." At the same time in another place - or dimension - James Potter mentally cried out in surprise and shock as he felt his mind and soul be pulled abruptly as if by an invisible hook up and out of his dark hole and thrusted back into shape with a violent shudder. It was only when he felt his fingertips tremble slightly with cold that he knew he was back into his own body.

No.4, Privet Drive

Harry Potter - The Boy Who Lived - leaned against his little bedroom window and watched dully without any interest, the people walking down the streets routinely outside from or to work, cats stalking around the narrow alley, and dogs barking till late hours. He saw a black dog run down the street and disappear behind a house. Tearing his eyes from where it vanished, he looked up at the red-and-gold sunset sky only to find that the longer he looked, the more the clouds started to look like big, furry dogs.

He slammed the window shut and stomped over to his bed. He moodily pushed his transfiguration book, quill and parchment all together off the bed and lay down, stuffing his head under the pillow. In a moment, a quiet sob had escaped him, followed by many others muffled by the pillow that had become -ever since his return from Hogwarts two weeks ago- salty in scent and taste with tears.

His godfather's recent death was painfully starting to sink in, along with the greater portion of his heart. Ever since he had returned to the solitary of his room back at Privet Drive, not one day has passed without him crying through the most of it. Nothing could keep his mind off his dear Sirius. Even the pictures in his schoolbooks somehow reminded him of his godfather when he tried to escape the grief and depression by doing some summer homework - and ended up either flinging the books in blinded pain across the room, or going into hysterics and ripping out some of the more reminding pages.

As a part of him still wouldn't accept the death of the person he loved so much, another part had come to terms with the fact that he'll never smile truthfully or be cheerful again. Everyone he felt close to either ended up in grave danger or dead, and this one had hurt - still hurts - unbearably. At times, he'd feel so lost and desperate he'd almost pack and go out searching for a way that would take him to see the dead James, Lily and Sirius.

Even his dream world was plagued with mostly horrible dreams, some of which reflected his hopes of retrieving Sirius, others that expressed the horrors of what he'd find if he ever came across his dead body. Misery and depression tortured him even in his sleep. He'd lost much weight, and his normally bright, shiny emerald eyes were a dull olive those days.

His imprisonment to his ill mental state was uninterrupted; his aunt, uncle and cousin had left for vacation to France, leaving him alone in the house - not something they'd normally do, but ever since their sinister little encounter with Moody at King's Cross, his threat had been sharply chiselled into their brains. Nevertheless, they seemed to have noticed during that very same day they had been in the house packing to leave, that the boy seemed so withdrawn. Aunt Petunia's secret guess, which was close enough to the truth, was that someone must have died.

"Sirius.." Harry breathed through hitched sobs and weak attempts to calm down and do something worthwhile other than wasting away on his bed and becoming so thin, but his exhaustion got the better of him. All the crying seemed to drain the little of his energy left and he drifted off into a restless sleep…

He was in an old, filthy room lit in dim red. A cackling fire burned on from one side of the huge armchair he was sitting on. An enormous anaconda looked up at him as he stopped twirling his wand between his fingers. He rose up from the armchair and circled the room: "How could I have not thought of it before?" he breathed and averted his line of vision towards the high window of the eerily lit, filthy living room of the Riddle house: "But…would James Potter still be alive after all this time? I have been decreased to something barely alive for thirteen years, Nagini...Would the boy still come to be alive after all this time had passed?"

Harry stood in front of a window with a dusty pane, closed his eyes for a few moments…and someone appeared before him...A man. A man with untidy black hair and large, golden eyes. He looked so much like Harry, and he was alive. Alive. Not dead. Raising his wand, Harry muttered: "Finite Incatetum."

The quiet countercurse was mingled with a horrified scream. Harry woke up screaming and incoherently scrambled out of bed as if it had been on fire. His scar was searing, but he didn't even remember it existed.

His father. His father was alive. He was buried alive. Lord Voldemort never killed him. He'd...preserved him somehow. Those thoughts were so strong in the Dark Lord's head, they seemed to echo in Harry's own. He just knew.

Tears were streaming down his face. He heart was ramming painfully against his chest and he felt like throwing up all his internal organs. He grabbed at the wall with one hand for support till his knuckles turned white, the other hand splayed over his mouth.

Godric Hollow Cemetery

James opened his eyes for the first time in fifteen years. Not that it mattered - the place was pitch-black. His sense of smell came back to him and wherever he was, there was a horrible smell; a stench of death and decay. Instinctive dread rose within him and he immediately knew: He shouldn't be here. No living creature should be here.

Not stopping to wonder how using his body had come totally naturally to him despite not using it for years, he raised his arm up from his chest and tried to sense anything. His hand touched something hard. He rested his hand on it and tried to push. Nothing moved. He tried again, but it didn't budge.

Growing more frightened and unable to block out the cold and awful smell any longer, he threw both arms against the domed surface above him. When it still wouldn't open up, he tried the sides. His breaths were coming out in short gasps and he could barely see white puffs of chilly air coming out of his mouth. The place he was in was so small and shut tight he couldn't stretch his arms to their maximum. Now panicking, he started banging the walls around him with all his might when his last encounter with Voldemort sped before his eyes and the horrible truth hit him senseless; he was believed dead. He was buried alive.

He was inside his own coffin!

Panic took over and a gust of wind blew past James as he let go of a blast of wandless magic. When the dust subsided, he could see millions of sparkling, mysterious dots high above him. The night sky.

Desperate to get out of the dark, stinking place, he scrambled out of the mostly destroyed grave and slowly stood up, legs slightly wobbling from adrenalin effect. There was sufficient light to see enough now. The first thing that caught his attention were his robes; they were battered and wasting away, but by the looks and fabric, they seemed to have been very expensive. A now- dimmed golden badge was pinned to the right side of those deep red and gold robes. A large Gryffindor lion could be made out through the dirt.

He looked around the graveyard that looked too familiar to him, and recognised it immediately as Godric Hollow Cemetery, but he couldn't care less. His mind was one-tracked on one goal: Find my wife. Find my son. Find my best friend.

He turned to leave the place when artfully chiselled words caught his eye. A tombstone standing right next to the one which was formerly his read a caption that roused a wail of despair from his throat..

Lily Evans Potter

Everybody's most beloved princess.

Beautiful person, loyal friend, wonderful wife and loving mother.

He backed away a few steps, head shaking in disbelief, breath caught in the throat . His legs gave way and he fell to the ground. He didn't stop the terrified, heartbroken sobs and incoherent words of grief breaking his heart to a million pieces before coming out of his mouth. This couldn't be real...this couldn't have possibly happened...she should have lived..

He retched and threw up, but it didn't matter.

He'd let Lily be killed. His beautiful wife was gone from this world because he couldn't protect her properly…and Harry..

His baby boy. He was with Lily in the house..

His dull, now red eyes raised their vision up from the damp grass and at Lily's tomb. He turned blurry, streaming eyes to the right, but only the remnants of his own grave stood there. He looked to the left - but there was nothing there. No tombstone. No flowers..

He didn't know what to think. Even though his heart denied it, he couldn't see how Harry would survive if Lily didn't, but why wasn't there a tombstone with his name on it? Did people not care because he was just a baby, or had Voldemort wiped him off completely..

James shook his head violently to get rid of the gruesome images forming in his head, and a vague thought made its way through all the mist surrounding his mind: My friends and Dumbledore wouldn't have just let him go like that. They'd have put a headstone, at least...so why isn't there one?

Setting the thought of what Voldemort might have done aside, the logical explanation was that his little boy had somehow survived. It seemed like such a far-fetched string of hope, but he clung on to it anyways. His heart believed that his son could truly be alive. Harry has always been special, no matter how tiny he was, and he knew that if his senses were wrong, he would never be the same person again.

He slowly got to his feet and swayed slightly. Determined to get away from Lily's grave as fast as possible as a new fresh wave of tears overrode him, he walked past the grave and with a look at what lay behind it, he knew he was in the Potter portion of Godric's Hollow Cemetery. He recognised his mum and dad's graves and the most overwhelming feeling of utter loneliness washed over him. He loved his parents. How in the world had his life turned so miserable?

More graves had been added to the Cemetery. Was there any chance that any of his old friends were alive, Sirius on top of all? He knew his beloved friend would have had a crazy idea of running off, seeking revenge whether from the Death Eaters or from Peter or from Voldemort himself.

What had happened so that Peter would give him away like that? He couldn't fathom why Peter would give away their location on purpose. He must have been forced to.

James walked towards the cemetery gate, and found it locked tight. It can't have been for long, though, because there were fresh flowers on some of the graves.

An old oak tree stood by the cemetery wall. Having never lost an ounce of his gracefulness and limberness, he climbed up the branches and got aver the wall and outside. A sign was put up on the cemetery gate, and James noticed for the first time that he didn't have his glasses on. He moved closer to the sign till he was able to make out the words:

Dear Visitors and Tourists:

Godric Hollow Cemetery will be closed for 100 days as the guides and keepers of this respected place have gone on vacation. Please come back soon and accept the Ministry's apologies for not being available for your requests, but the keepers and guides were starting to act strange due to lack of relaxation. Have a good day.

Nothing seemed real to James. His life had always been so perfect, and now he had nothing. He had to get away, fast. The first thought that came to mind was his house - his cozy, welcoming house. Without further thought, he headed towards it on foot without pausing to remember where it was. After being left with nothing but sorting through one's thoughts and memories for so many years, one could remember almost anything.