Chapter two! And someone please review! I know there wasn't a chapter alert sent out last week, cos I was only replacing an already written chapter, but this week there is no excuse!

This chapters a bit slow, but necessary to explain what's been happening, and what's different from the actual books…

Life, Lily Potter had decided long ago, was a very odd thing, and something she was not always sure she was grateful to have a hand in. It took from you, and then gave back, but sometimes what it gave back was never quite enough to make up for what it had taken in the first place. To her, life had given 15 years with a wonderful husband, three beautiful children, and comfortable home, an amazing friend….and at least 20 years of nothingness. Probably more, the doctors had said, but they couldn't tell for sure. Lily wasn't sure what disturbed her most – the lack of her own memories, or the apparent lack of her entire existence.

For the first few years, she and her husband had tried in vain to discover some sort of past for themselves, some background. But there was none. No dental or school records, not even a marriage certificate. If it weren't for the wedding ring on Lily's finger, she would not have known she was married. And even then, they had had to stage a re-take of vows to make it legal.

So Lily Potter lived, in a messy cottage in Southern England, with her husband, three children, and a large black dog, and wondered. She wondered about her past – her childhood, her friends, her family. And she wondered about the child. It had only been when Jane, who was the eldest, had been born that doctors had informed Lily she had another child. Had had, anyway. Despite years of searching, no trace could be found of any child, which was unsurprising really. The Potters didn't know the child's name, its age, even if it was a boy or a girl. They simply knew it existed.

Sighing to herself, Lily shook her head to clear her thoughts. Dwelling on the past was never a good thing, especially if you couldn't remember it. Instead, she headed for a small, well lit room that had been added onto the end of their house some years ago, when Gemma, the Potters middle child, had been born, forcing her mother out of the room she had once used as a studio. The new room, which wasn't really new anymore, but was still referred to as the new room, was light, airy, and everything Lily had ever wanted for her painting. A battered but beloved easel, rescued by James many years ago from a car boot sale, stood in the centre of the room, facing alternate directions depending on Lily's mood. A bench stood on one side of the door, and a set of kitchen cupboards the other on the wall that had once been the outside of the house. A rack was fixed to one of the side walls, and a display board showing certificates, photographs and pictures collected from various events over the years was on the other.

But it was the front wall that was Lily's pride and joy. The windows started a foot of the ground, and rose up half way up the sloping roof. Each one opened separately, and blinds ran the whole length of them, creating an odd zebra like pattern on the back wall on hot days. The floor was tiled, and covered in paint splashes, and the three remaining walls were simple white paint over the original brick work. It was Lily's den, her haven, and she loved it.

Settling down in front of her easel, Lily threw one of James old shirts over her shoulders and tied her hair back in a loose bun, which would undoubtedly come loose later and annoy her for the rest of the afternoon, but such was life. Picking up her brush, Lily began examining her latest creation with a critical eye. She had long ago discovered that her best work fell into the realms of fantasy – dragons, centaurs, mysterious castles and secret cottages. Sometimes, she would sit and stare at the black page in front of her and the picture would be half drawn before she'd even realised it. One of her favourites was of an old man with white hair, blue eyes and a crooked nose. Jane had called him Gandalf, but Lily sometimes wondered if there was more to those paintings than she and James had at first thought. After all, the councillors at the hospitals and clinics they had visited over the years had all said that the subconscious may well be trying to reclaim the memories it was blocking in any number of strange ways, and she saw no reason why this couldn't be one of them. "Gandalf" had been sold, but the postcard was kept, pinned up on the board with a collection of others that had appeared in a similar way, which James and Lily would look at some evenings, trying desperately to notice a link.

Most paintings were sold – Lily had a regular spot in several markets around the county, as well as supplying a few shops when business was slow. But there were two that had been kept. One was of a lake, with a huge tree by the side of it. Five or six indistinct figures were seated under the tree, and a strange shadow could be seen moving through the lake, but somehow Lily felt the shadow wasn't as threatening as it looked.

The second picture couldn't have been more different. It was darker – night time – and a full moon hung at the top, over a rambling castle. The tree stood in front of it, and around it stood the most curious collection of creatures. A white stag, its head high, was pawing the ground on one side of the tree, and there was a small grey rat clinging to its antlers. On the other side, a large black dog was tumbling around with what looked like a wolf, except that the proportions were wrong. It was this painting that was Lily's pride and joy – it hung in the living room, but was taken down regularly and displayed at markets to encourage buyers to the stall. Once, many years ago, she had been asked by a costumer where she got her inspiration, and without thinking, Lily had replied "I see the pictures in my dreams." The woman had looked at the oddly, and bought a postcard, before hurrying off. But it had been true, Lily realised later, when she thought back on the encounter. She didn't remember dreaming about the white stag, or the lake, or the old man with the twinkling eyes, but when she painted them, they seemed to familiar she was sure she must have dreamt them.

Lily was dragged out of her paintings some hours later, when her middle daughter poked her head round the door.

"Mum?" She said hesitantly. Interrupting Lily Potter when she was in the flow of painting was a hazardous occupation. Lily jumped, and spun round.

"What?" She snapped.

Gemma grinned. "Dad said to tell you Cam and Mark'll be here in a minute." Lily's outbursts when she was interrupted were expected, and generally viewed with much humour by her family.

Lily sighed and lay own her paint brush. Cam and Mark were the Potters oldest friends, that they could remember anyway, and most Saturday nights would find the Potters at their neighbours house, or vice versa.

Brushing the hair out of her eyes, Lily headed for the sink, and began to contemplate what method she would use to try and remove the paint from her self today. This never worked – Lily always left with a bit of paint somewhere about her person – there was a prize in the Potter household for who could spot it first, with a tally chart to keep track. The best one to date had been when Gemma had spotted a bit on the sole of her left foot. To this day no-one knew how it had got there – Lily had been wearing shoes when she was painting…

Sometime later that night, Cam Jones sat at the Potter table, and, unlike her friend, decided life was a truly blessed thing. She still remembered vividly the night hers had changed forever, and she thanked god for it everyday. This doesn't sound too remarkable, until you realise that Cam Jones is a strict Atheist, and therefore doesn't even believe in a god. So to be thanking one for anything is rather disturbing in her mind, but she could live with it.

The room was filled with chatter – The Potters youngest, and only son, Jack, was busy informing Mark on the finer workings of his schools new play area, Jane, the eldest, was chatting to her mother about something, and Gemma, in the middle, was trying to mould her mashed potato into a modal of Paddy, the dog, who was asleep by her chair. James glanced up at his friend and smiled slightly

"Cam?" he said, waving his hand in front of her eyes.

She blinked, and returned his smile.

"Sorry James. Lost in me head." She said in her lilting welsh accent. Cam, full name Cambree Jones, nee Davies, had grown up in a little known area of North Wales, where the chickens were deadly, the roads half the size of your average car, and saviours of the world were regularly produced from the green walled schools. All these facts are true, but irrelevant this particular story, so we shall move on.

James laughed. "I could tell. I was asking you how Scat was getting on."

Cam smiled at the mention of her latest acquisition. Scat, a small tabby kitten, had been dragged out of a road-side ditch by Paddy several weeks ago, and Jane had instantly laid claim to the kitten. But since she was an unfortunate being and cursed with the life of school, Scat currently lived with Cam, who was home all day and able to keep an eye on the kitten, and stop Paddy trying to eat her.

"She's doing great. Spent Thursday afternoon on the stable roof after Nic-Nac tried to chew her tail."

James shook his head with amusement. "That cats going to run out of lives within a month at this rate. The ditch, Paddy, that incident with the river, and now the horses."

Cam laughed. "She's a tough little thing, I'll grant her that."

"When can she come and live with us dad?" Jane interrupted, having been listening in on the conversation ever since the word "Scat" had been mentioned.

"Soon love. Give her chance to get a bit bigger, or Phoenix will have her living in the washing machine." James replied patiently, glancing over at the large golden-ginger cat that ruled the animal part of the Potter household, and had once reduced Paddy, whose head very nearly reached Lily's waist, to a bundle of shivering fur in the corner of the shed.

Jane sighed impatiently. "Nix will be the one in the washing machine if she's mean to Scat." She said darkly, glaring at the cat in question. "She's a bully."

James laughed. "You can't blame her for defending her territory Jane. Give it a couple of weeks, and we'll see."

"Humph." Jane muttered, looking suddenly so much like her mother that James laughed, earning him a further glare from his daughter, which only deepened his mirth.

And so, the evening passed, and the two families laughed and talked and laughed, and as the Jones's left, much much later on, they made plans for a barbeque the following week, not knowing that by then their lives would, once more, have been turned upside down.

About 100 miles away, maybe more, maybe less (my geography's not that good) the final Potter lay asleep. He had been gripped in the thrall of a nightmare, but that had passed, and now he lay with his legs where his head should be and the duvet making its slow journey to join its friend the pillow on the floor. They were not the only objects littering the small rooms even smaller floor space. Newspapers were piled high in one corner, and the front page of the top one can just be made out in the dim moonlight.

"Fudge Fired after You-Know-Who Fiasco" was the heading above a moving picture of a short, balding man talking to a crowd of reporters, twisting a bowler hat in his hands. "Cornelius Fudge has been voted from office after it was revealed just two weeks ago that, despite assurances to the country from ministry officials, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had indeed returned to full strength one year ago. The exact details of his resurrection are unknown, but there is an un-verified rumour that The-Boy-Who-Lived was present at the event. The Ministry are also withholding details of the Dark Lords second defeat, two weeks ago, although it is rumoured that it took place within the Ministry itself, and that, once again, Harry Potter was the source of You-Know-Who's downfall."

A magazine was slipping of the small wooden desk next to the newspaper pile – the front page displaying the legend "Voldemort – Gone for Good? An exclusive interview with Albus Dumbledore, who shares his thoughts on whether He-Who-MustNot-Be-named has been defeated for the final time."

It was held onto its fragile perch only by a large cage containing a snowy owl, also asleep, her head under her wing. A large trunk stood open at the foot of the bed, its contents spreading across the floor, and lying open on the bedside table was a battered, much fingered photo album, the figures on the page waving merrily up at the ceiling.

All in all, an observer casually peering through the windows would see nothing to indicate that the occupant of this room was anything other than a fairly normal boy, save the whole wizardry thing, and the thought that he may in fact be suffering from sever psychological torment may never cross their mind. Which is incorrect, for Harry Potter is far from being an ordinary boy, and has, over his short life, suffered much psychological and physical torment. As little as 4 weeks ago he faced, for the fifth time, the most evil wizard of the 20th Century, and succeed in not only coming out alive, but also tearing him from his body once more. In the process, however, he had lost the closest thing he suspected he would ever have to a parent, and discovered the true course his life would take, which wasn't a very pleasant one. But for now, Harry Potter slept soundly, blissfully unaware that many miles away, and several hours earlier, events had unfolded that would change his life forever. Again.

Remus Lupin knocked nervously on wooden door in front of him, suitcase in one hand. He shifted from foot to foot, glancing up at the seemingly empty house in front of him. He could hear barking coming from somewhere inside, and then, moments later, a woman's voice.

"Oh Barty, shut up. Its just the door. Get out of the way Scraps, you're going to break my leg one of these days."

There was a rattling, and then the door began to open. A black nose appeared, forcing the door the remainder of the way open and erupting from inside, followed by a smaller brown blob. Remus staggered back, and was only vaguely aware of the woman's voice shouting again.

"Barty, what have I told you about jumping?" The blobs were suddenly hauled off, and Remus heard a door slam. Wiping his face on his robe, he looked at the woman in front of him for the first time. She was small, neatly dressed with greying hair and a stern face.

"Sorry." She said briskly. "The boys get so excited when we have visitors. You must be Remus. Come in." She stepped back, and Remus rather apprehensively made his way across the threshold. The front door opened into a small passageway. with several other doors leading off it – one was shut, and from the scratching noises coming through it Remus guessed that was where the dogs had been put.

"Just along the hallway, second on the left." Called the woman, shutting the door. Obediently, Remus followed her instruction and moved along the hall, taking in the pictures of dogs that covered every available surface, and the small polished table that was laden with photos.

The room he had been directed into was of medium size, and probably the living room – a sofa and two arm chairs surrounded a television, and there was a row of book shelves along the back wall. Glass doors stood open at one end, opening out into a fairly large garden, and on the sofa lay a large shaggy dog, who raised its head and growled half-heartedly at him as Remus entered.

"Leave your case here for the moment dear, I'll show you upstairs later." Said the woman, coming in behind him. "You must be exhausted. I've got tea in the kitchen, or coffee, or there's some whiskey in the cabinet if you feel like something stronger…"

"Tea would be lovely. Said Remus with a smile, and she bustled out again. Remus moved towards the photos on one of the bookshelves, examining them.

"I was so pleased when Dumbledore wrote and asked if you could stay." The woman called above the clatter of mugs and plates from the kitchen. "This old place gets so empty with just me and the dogs, it'll be nice to have some company."

She appeared in the door way again, holding a tray laden with two mugs and a pate of biscuits.

"There now." She said, setting the tray down on a small table by the sofa. "Do sit down. Mouse, what have I told you about sleeping on the furniture? Off!" With a groan, the dog heaved itself to its feet, looked woefully up at its mistress, before padding outside.

"I am sorry." The woman said, brushing at the dog hairs. "She just sneaks on when my backs turned."

"Its fine." Said Remus, sitting down and accepting the mug offered. He glanced down at it, frowning for a moment.

"Would you like sugar in it?" The woman asked, misreading his frown.

"What? Oh, no, sorry. I was just thinking…surely muggle kettles take longer to boil than that?"

She had the decency to look a little embarrassed. "Well, you know. When one has relatives in the magical world, it is very hard not to accept the odd small favour."

Remus smiled, and sipped at his tea.

"I cant thank you enough for agreeing to put me up for a while, Mrs Jenkins." He said, placing the mug back on the table.

The woman laughed, and shook her head. "Isabelle, please. And its no trouble. Like I said, I get very lonely here sometimes, and now the school year is over all my student lodgers have left."

Remus nodded. "And Dumbledore told you about my..er..my problem." He asked after a moments pause.

"Yes, yes. I've got a room upstairs that was used for storage –I've cleared it out, and the dogs aren't allowed up there anyway. Dumbledore said you would be able to get hold of wolfsbane, so there's not a problem there. I've got a spare house key in the kitchen for you, so you can come and go without having to worry if there will be someone home." She smiled, satisfied that her job of welcoming her latest "lodger" was done. "Now." She said, setting down the mug. "I'll show you to your room."

It had been Dumbledore's idea, of course, for Remus to move out of Grimmuald Place for a while. Asides from the problem with exactly who the property belonged to now, Remus had a sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore exactly how he felt every time he went back there, still half expecting to see Sirius there to meet him. Mrs Figg had recommended her sister, another widow who took in university students during term time and would be more than happy to put Remus up for the summer. Like her sister, Isabella Jenkins was a squib, but instead of Mrs Figgs cat love, Isabella collected dogs of all shapes and sizes. By nine o'clock on the morning after he had arrived, Remus had already rooted one out from under his bed, one out of the wardrobe, two out of the bathroom and the giant Mouse of the sofa no less than three times. Isabella seemed totally unaffected by the dogs presence, moving around them as though they were not there at all as she served breakfast.

"I don't know what you've been up too, but its defiantly not been feeding you properly." She fussed, laying a plate laden with food in front of him. "Your as bad as some of the students I get in here."

Remus grinned into his egg, suddenly reminded rather forcefully of Molly Weasley.

"So what are planning to do while you're here? You'll be lucky to find much work, most of the places will have been taken by students on holiday by now."

Remus shook his head. "It's alright, I've got a job currently in London, so I'll apparate there save having to start all over again. I don't work Wednesdays." He added, seeing her meaningful glance at the clock.

"And what do you do?" She asked, clattering plates into the sink. Remus shrugged.

"Anything and everything. At the moment I work in a second hand book shop. Its not glamorous, but it pays."

"And the owners are muggles, so they aren't able to discover you're a werewolf and fire you." Added Isabella knowingly.

Remus blinked. "How do you know that?"

She shrugged. "I guessed. So what are you going to do with yourself for today then?"

It was Remus's turn to shrug. "I have no idea. Any suggestions?"

Isabella looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.

"Well," She said at last, "there's always the Market. Its quite impressive for a town of this size, all sorts of odds and ends."

Remus smiled. "Well, I might as well take a look then." He said, and thus, the ball of events was set rolling.

And there we have it! Review! Please!