Chapter 2: Story Time

"I want to see my son," Lily said, pushing herself up from the gravestone against which she and James had been leaning. She stared at Dumbledore, who hadn't moved. "Professor, I want to see Harry. Can you take us to him?" It wasn't really a request, as they all knew, and yet the old wizard seemed to be hesitating. "Sir?"

He stood up and faced them.

"I want nothing more than for Harry to meet the two of you," he began, "and vice versa. I am afraid, however, that it will have to wait a little while." He raised his hand against Lily's protests. "I know, my dear, but there is much that must be discussed first."

He turned and began walking towards the churchyard gate, robes somehow billowing majestically behind him even on a night as still as this one. Lily and James followed him obediently across the parched grass.

"I'm afraid the world has changed substantially whilst the two of you were gone," he continued as they walked, "and there are many things which you must know before you can see Harry, or anyone for that matter." He passed through the gate and paused on the other side, turning back to them. "There is also the question of his housing to be seen to."

James wasn't stupid; in fact, even as the school troublemaker he had been decidedly the opposite. He knew that the two of them had been absent a lot longer than the headmaster had originally made out, and if he were truly honest the thought scared him significantly. Just how had the world changed since that night? How much of their son's life had they missed? What had become of their friends?

"Albus," he said guardedly, fixing the professor with a gaze that warned he would not accept another evasion. "How long have we been gone?"

Albus Dumbledore inhaled deeply and took a moment, gazing out over the small town-square to a pub opposite. The door had just been opened, and the trio were briefly beckoned by the faint sounds of music and chatter leaking from within, drifting casually across to their huddle in the darkened churchyard. A single man staggered through the door and swayed down the steps, allowing the door to swing shut behind him and silence to smother the square once more. Dumbledore gave a weary sigh.

"Almost fourteen years," he said softly.

James blinked, and beside him heard Lily's breath catch. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that. Dumbledore had been so nonchalant when Lily first mentioned it, as though however long they had been gone, however much they had missed, it was manageable. It was redeemable. This, however. . .

"Fourteen years?" he breathed in disbelief. "Fourteen – fourteen years!" He ran both hands through his dishevelled hair before letting them drop down and cover his face. "Harry," he moaned. "He must be almost fifteen!"

He vaguely registered Lily's silence beside him, and turned to see her face anguished and her cheeks wet with tears, curling in on herself as though under a sorrow too heavy to bear. He took her hand, offering what small comfort he could, but still grappling himself with what this meant. His son had spent most of his childhood an orphan. He had had to grow up without a father. Without a mother.

His chubby, cheeky little foal had become a teenager overnight.

Dumbledore nodded. "I didn't want to do this now," he murmured. "I would have preferred to return to headquarters before saying anything". Lily looked as though she wanted to question him further, but the professor rested a hand on her shoulder and she held her tongue. "I'll explain everything later," he promised. "It's not safe to be out these days."

He offered an outstretched arm to Lily and James, who each grabbed hold, and with a whirl of his cloak they were gone.

Dumbledore apparated them onto a muggle street, surrounded on all sides by tall, Victorian houses. A few late-night wanderers could still be seen scurrying to-and-fro, but for the most part the street was empty and no-one had seen them arrive. James scanned the row of houses with his seeker's eyesight until he found what he was looking for.

"There," he pointed the anomaly out to Lily. "See how the numbers go from 11 to 13?" She nodded and motioned to Dumbledore, keeping her voice low.

"That's headquarters?" Dumbledore nodded, before moving over to James and looking him squarely in the eye.

"The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," he said, "is at Number 12, Grimmauld Place." In his peripheral vision, James saw the terrace begin to slide apart, rumbling and creaking as a new house forced its way between the walls of its neighbours. He barely noticed, however, as Dumbledore repeated himself to Lily and she too was able to see the house. Number 12 Grimmauld Place, he was thinking. No, surely not. He couldn't think how Dumbledore could possibly have persuaded Sirius to return to his old house, even for use as headquarters; although, now that he thought about it, everything Sirius had told of his paranoid parents suggested it would be an exceedingly safe place for the Order to meet.

Dumbledore lead the way towards the house, stopping just before they reached the door.

"I'm going to cast a disillusionment charm," he explained. "Your arrival will cause quite an uproar, and I'd prefer to explain at least the basics of what you have missed before you face the others." The Potters nodded, and the familiar cold sensation trickled down James' back as the headmaster cast a net disillusionment charm, allowing the three of them to still see each other but hiding them from the world. The door was pushed open and the trio entered softly, picking their way carefully around a haphazardly placed hat-stand in the porch.

No-one seemed to have heard them. A low hubbub of voices could be heard from the kitchen, undisturbed by their entry, but the hall they found themselves in was dark and empty. James found himself straining to hear the conversations issuing from the kitchen, suddenly desperate to hear a familiar voice. Was his son behind that door? It was, after all, Sirius' house, and his friend was Harry's legal guardian should anything happen to him and Lily. He thought at least one of the voices could belong to a teenage boy. But, James reminded himself, Sirius was unlikely to actually live here, given his hatred of the place, and at fifteen Harry surely wasn't a member of the Order. If he was rational about it, there was really no reason for his son to be here at all.

James tore his gaze from the door and followed the others quietly upstairs and into a side room. The headmaster placed a silencing charm around the room so they could talk normally, locked the door and raised the disillusionment charm.

"Albus –" Lily began, and it was clear all this secrecy was beginning to wear her down. All she wanted was some answers and to see her child. Instead, Dumbledore motioned for the pair to sit down, and lowered himself carefully into a chair. He steepled his fingers and tucked them beneath his chin, clearing his throat a few times.

"I suppose," he said, "I had better start at the beginning."

"As you know, the war was going badly," Dumbledore began. "Voldemort was rising in power, and seemed undefeatable. They were dark days, no-one sure who to trust. The order was being destroyed one by one . . . the Prewitts, the McKinnons, the Bones . . . And then, one day, I came to you about a prophecy."

Lily and James both nodded. They remembered the prophecy. Dumbledore had gathered them and the Longbottoms to tell them, quite simply, that one of their sons was going to have to defeat the darkest wizard who had ever lived. It was a terrible thing for a parent to hear, though Lily knew she could no more have wished it upon the unsuspecting boy in Alice Longbottom's arms than her own. Dumbledore continued.

"Let me recap for you. The child to defeat the dark lord would be born as the seventh month dies – the end of July – to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times. This gave two children. One, a boy named Neville, born to the aurors Frank and Alice. The other, your own son Harry. This was the information that Voldemort received. However, his informant had only heard the first half of the prophecy; the second half was, as I informed you on the night, rather more illuminating.

"Voldemort would mark the child as his equal. He did not know this, and so he proceeded to your house, intent upon removing the threat before it could grow in power. However, had he known the full contents of the prophecy I believe he would not have acted so hastily, for in doing so he inadvertently chose the boy who was to defeat him. I do not know for certain what led him to believe Harry was the subject of the prophecy and not Neville, though I have my suspicions."

Lily looked up at the professor as he paused for breath, eyes burning.

"So that night means Harry is the one who must defeat him?" she asked, clutching James' hand rather more tightly than she meant to. Dumbledore nodded, his eyes for once without their twinkle.

"I am afraid so."

"But what actually happened?" James asked. "How did he find us?" The headmaster made to answer, but Lily interrupted.

"It was Peter, wasn't it?" she said quietly, flinching as James' whipped around. The thought had been scratching away, unbidden, at the back of her mind for some time now. She could hardly bear to consider it, but could not think of another possible explanation. "Peter was secret keeper . . . Did they capture him? Or did he betray us?"

James's fingernails bit into her hand, eyes wide with shock and hurt. "Lily, think about what you're saying! Peter could never. . . he wouldn't. . ."

His feeble protests trailed away as he realised that Dumbledore was not denying it.

"No." he muttered. His wide, wet eyes seemed to suddenly remember how to blink, and he did so rapidly, trying unsuccessfully to contain the tears. Lily wrapped her arms around his neck. She hated knowing what this knowledge would do to her husband. James, who valued friendship above anything – who would die for his friends, who would stick with them no matter what – betrayed by a man he considered a brother.

"It is true." Dumbledore said sadly. "Pettigrew betrayed you to Voldemort. I cannot say why; I can only assume that his desire for power was stronger than his loyalty for a friend by whom he had always felt overshadowed. But Peter was the spy."

"What happened that night?" Lily pressed. "How are we still alive? And what happened to Harry? And –" Dumbledore raised his hand to stem the onslaught of questions.

"For the moment, I do not know how you survived. I think that it is a puzzle in which I shall have much interest later. However, for now. . ." He cleared his throat with the air of one delivering a speech.

"Voldemort arrived on the 31st October, 1981. James –" (James gave a nod to show he had recovered enough to listen) "– tried to hold him off while you took Harry. James was murdered."

Lily could have sworn she felt her heart stutter. She knew that they had both died, but to think of the love of her life being murdered. . . It was like that night all over again. She hadn't seen what had happened downstairs that Halloween, having run to Harry – but she had been able to hear it. The cold voice and the dull thud that her heart told her was her husband hitting the floor. Knowing that whatever happened next – even if by some miracle they were rescued that very second – what she had just heard was irrevocable. James was gone. Her and Harry were alone.

She shivered. Fourteen years was a long time to be gone, and whatever came next was undoubtedly going to be challenging. But she'd take this eventuality over that one any day.

"Voldemort then came after you and Harry, Lily. He told you – or so Harry has informed me – to step aside. You did not –"

"Wait," James interjected. "What do you mean, Harry told you? How the hell does Harry know, he was one year old at the time." Lily tried to interpret the headmaster's expression, eventually deciding it to be a sort of weary sadness, as though he regretted bringing it up.

"We will come to such matters later," he said finally. "It is up to Harry to tell you about himself and his experiences when he is ready. Now, as I was saying," he continued. "You, Lily, refused to move out of Voldemort's way, consequently sacrificing yourself for Harry when he then murdered you." Lily rested her head on James's shoulder, who had been gazing at her with a conflicted expression. There was pain, obviously; but Lily thought there was also a flash of pride in his eyes as he looked at her.

"It was this sacrifice which saved Harry from Voldemort. A sacrifice of love creates, after all, a much stronger protection than any enchantment can. Voldemort could not touch Harry, now that you had died to save him. When he turned his wand on Harry, therefore, his killing curse instead rebounded upon himself and his powers were lost. Harry was left with only a small scar on his forehead – with which Voldemort had marked him as his equal – and the first war was over."

The tension visibly flowed out of the two parents. Dumbledore had already told them Harry was safe, of course. But still, hearing that he had escaped that night mostly unharmed when things had seemed so hopeless. . . Lily felt as though she'd been resurrected all over again.

"You saved him," James whispered in her ear, breath warm and precious against her neck. "You saved our Harry."

Lily however had picked up on something. "What do you mean the 'first' war, Professor? And –" she continued, remembering another misleading bit of information, "if Voldemort was defeated then why is the Order still active?"

This time the headmaster's expression was undoubtedly sad, and unbearably weary. In all the time she had known him, Lily didn't think he had ever looked quite so old.

"I did not say defeated", he sighed. "I said that his powers were lost. Voldemort became mere spirit, kept upon the earth without strength or body. Most believed him to be dead, oh yes; or at least too weak to ever regain his strength. But it was not so. Let me continue with the story, and I shall come to that.

"The night you died, Sirius Black realised who must have betrayed you. He tracked down Peter and threatened him." James was nodding, unsurprised. Sirius had never been the most rational of people when suffering, and Lily couldn't even imagine the pain he and Remus must have felt, losing one brother at the hand of another. The four of them had been so close, she shuddered to think what James himself might have done had one of them been in his place.

"Pettigrew shouted some things about how it was Sirius who had betrayed you, and then he blew up a muggle street. He cut off his own finger and transformed into his animagus form." Here, James' head shot up, looking surprised and a little sheepish at Dumbledore's casual revelation that he knew about their wrongdoings at school. "When the ministry officials arrived they found Sirius laughing at the scene and several eyewitnesses who swore blind they had seen Sirius Black blast Pettigrew, killing him instantly and destroying most of the street in the process. Sirius was sent to Azkaban without a trial, where he remained for twelve years."

Lily felt her mouth fall open. She hadn't expected that. Beside her, James leapt to his feet, anger and confusion rolling off him in waves.

"What!?" he yelled, cutting through Lily's own protestations. "Without a trial!? What in merlin's – That's ridiculous! Anyone who knew Sirius at all should have known that he never could have done it!"

"I know, James." Dumbledore exhaled deeply, dragging a hand despondently across his face. "But the world was a dark place, and the Ministry wanted to look like they were doing something. Plus, the evidence was overwhelming. Sirius had – to the knowledge of everyone but yourselves, Peter and Sirius himself – been secret keeper, and the secret keeper had betrayed you. I myself believed in his guilt." Dumbledore bowed his head in contrition.

"But they know he's innocent now, right?" said James. "I mean, if he's out of Azkaban. . ."

"Actually, he broke out," Dumbledore corrected and Lily almost laughed. If anyone were to break out of the most secure prison in the world it would be Sirius Black.

"But that means Harry can't have lived with Sirius," she wondered instead, maternal concern once more at the forefront of her mind. "Unless Remus. . .?" James snorted, more harshly than he meant to in his distress.

"Lils, you know as well as I do Moony couldn't raise a child with his condition."

The two Potters looked at each other in confusion, before turning back to the headmaster, eyebrows raised expectantly. Dumbledore had the air of a man bracing himself for an explosion.

"I sent Harry to live with his muggle relatives," came the murmur. "Your sister, Lily, and her husband. They –" He was interrupted by a sound like an angry cat, as Lily lurched to her feet.

"You did what!?" she exclaimed, certain she must have misheard. "You sent my boy to live with that. . . that –" She struggled for the right word to describe Petunia, settling for one she had never before let herself apply to her sister, but which – now that she really considered the woman's behaviour those last few years – seemed entirely appropriate. "– that bitch!? Have you gone senile? Do you want him miserable –"

"Let the man explain himself, Lily" James said flatly, pulling her back into her seat. Privately, though, he couldn't agree more with her outburst, although personally he was less concerned about his wife's sister and more about that brute she had married. Dumbledore hastened to obey.

"When you sacrificed yourself Lily, you created a blood protection. As long as his mother's blood also resided in the place he called home, then neither Voldemort nor his Death Eaters could find Harry. Petunia and Dudley Dursley were his only surviving blood relatives, and only by living with them could he be safe."

There was silence for a moment as the couple processed this new information. As explanations went, Lily conceded, it wasn't terrible. Still, she felt as though she were fighting an impossible battle trying to balance her desire for her son's happiness with that of his safety.

"My poor boy," she said finally, relaxing into James in resignation. "He can't have been happy."

"I can't pretend he was," came Dumbledore's almost apologetic response. "However, he arrived at Hogwarts safe and, for the most part, healthy. It is not my right to tell you of his life, including his time at Hogwarts; it is up to him to tell you about those." Lily perked up at the thought of talking to their son.

"I shall skip, then, to a few months ago. At the end of Harry's fourth year, Voldemort returned, forging for himself a new body and gathering his remaining followers. Harry was there to witness it. I need both of you to understand now that you are not to pressure him for this information. The experience was nothing short of traumatic, and he will not relive it lightly."

Lily thought she had experienced more emotional highs and lows in the last hour than she had in her whole life. She was so drained and overwhelmed with information she decided she didn't even have the resilience to process this new cause for concern. It would be more efficient, she resolved, to simply adopt a constant state of concern for her son and sort through the specifics later.

"The country is now in a state of warfare. However, the ministry is refusing to belief that Voldemort is once more back and active. As a result, the Order of the Phoenix has been re-established, working on recruiting followers and gathering intelligence about Voldemort's current behaviour. Sirius volunteered this house – to which, I am afraid, he has to stay confined, unless he wishes to be found and returned to Azkaban."

"Poor Padfoot," James murmured dejectedly. The professor's story having drawn to a close, the trio held a moment of sombre reflection for all the evils they had discussed. Just as the silence was becoming uncomfortable, Dumbledore spoke once more.

"Well," he said briskly, rising and smoothing the folds of his cloak. "That brings us to the present day. If you are feeling up to it, I very much think it time for you to meet with the other members of this household." He gestured for Lily and James to join him, and as they did so they noticed his face no longer seemed quite so lined, nor quite so weary, now the story was over. His eyes twinkled.

"Shall we go and satisfactorily shock the other residents with your . . . unexpected arrival?"

Preview:

The enormous red stag stood nearly 7 feet tall, with antlers so broad and branching they could almost have passed for trees. The dense muscles of its shoulders rippled as it advanced towards them, bending its front legs in what could only be described as a bow, and lowering its head to level with theirs. The head gave a great snort, bathing them in a warm wave of air that tickled their faces and danced in their hair, and fixed them each in turn with a deep gaze that seemed to whisper James.

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