Chapter Four – Sixteen Candles

Harry's eyes suddenly opened. He looked towards the window to see that it was morning and the sun was shining. He reached over, grabbed his glasses, and put them on as he sat up in bed, now fully awake.

Today was his birthday. His sixteenth birthday, at that. His last birthday for all he knew.

Harry sighed and climbed out of bed. It was still early according to the clock on his nightstand. None of the Dursely's would be up yet.

Just as well, he thought. At least he'd get to start his day alone. The least amount of human contact, the better his day went.

Harry dressed and headed downstairs to find something quick for breakfast before he'd have to make the meal for the other three. He grabbed some biscuits from the counter and strolled outside.

It was a warm day already, not a cloud in the sky. Harry wandered down the street to the park and sat in one of the swings. This was his morning ritual. His few minutes away from everyone, a few minutes to think.

Not that he really wanted to think, but his mind seemed to manage it anyway.

This morning, as Harry munched on his breakfast, his thoughts drifted to Sirius. He wondered what his godfather would have done for him on his birthday. He wondered if he'd be with him…what could have been if not for that night in the Ministry.

Harry held back the tears and kicked at the dirt under the swing. He thought of what Sirius's sixteenth birthday might have been like. What the rest of the Marauder's had done to celebrate with him.

Harry then thought of his dad. What had his dad done on his sixteenth birthday? What would he have done if he were still alive? And his mum?

All these questions and no answers. Of course, it was always like that. It had always been like that for Harry James Potter.

He sat in the swing a little while longer before heading back to No. 4 Pivet Drive to start his day. He made it just in time to start breakfast.

Breakfast went on as usual, no one bothering to acknowledge Harry's birthday. Once everyone was done eating, Harry cleared the table and set off to start his chores. Dudley disappeared, as usual, taking off outside while Uncle Vernon headed off to work.

Harry was alone in the kitchen, wrapping up dishes when his Aunt Petunia approached him, slowly and shyly.

"Harry," she started in a small and weak voice.

Harry looked up to her absentmindedly. "Yes, Ma'm?"

Petunia cleared her throat. "I…um, I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday."

Harry just stood there, speechless. Had he just heard right? His aunt had just told him happy birthday?

"Also…" Petunia bit her lip as she reached down into her apron pocket and pulled something out. She briefly closed her eyes, opening them wide again before looking back at Harry. "I thought that you might like…I thought that you might want this."

Petunia held out her hand to Harry. Disbelieving that he was really awake, Harry slowly put his hand out, not wanting to actually try and touch his aunt's hand.

Petunia dropped the gold object in his palm and nodded her head. "It was my father's pocket watch. His father's before him…I, um…well, when Vernon and I had gotten married he gave it to me, wanted me to keep it safe for his first born grandson."

Harry glanced at the antique looking pocket watch. The hands were set to the correct time and it looked polished and well taken care of. Harry couldn't help but notice the feel of the cold metal on the palm of his hand. The chain hung down, rocking back and forth like a pendulum.

"I know that Dudley is older than you, Harry, but I don't think he'd take care of it…appreciate it like you would…I…I…" Petunia began stuttering, making Harry look up to her, look into her dull blue eyes, her dull blue eyes that looked frightened.

"Why are you scared of me? Why do you let me stay here? What is it that Dumbledore was talking about in that Howler?" Harry suddenly asked.

Suddenly, the fright disappeared and Petunia stepped back. Her palms grew clammy. She smacked her lips together. "You better finish those dishes." And she walked out of the kitchen.

Harry didn't move. He was frozen, staring at his palm and the golden watch laying on it. He admired the beauty of it, his grandfather's watch. The time ticked away, leaving Harry to watch it go.

Rosmerta paced impatiently up and down behind the bar. Her head hung low as her thoughts drifted. If he didn't hurry, she'd have to open soon, and she wouldn't be able to talk.

"Damn old man," she said out loud, looking to the door of The Three Broomsticks. "I sent him the owl an hour ago."

Rosmerta stopped pacing and looked at the leather bound book she had laying on the counter top. The moment she'd returned home the night before she had dug the book out - just to see. Just to ease her mind of what she already knew.

She flipped through the pages. Through out the whole book, old patrons waved and smiled at her in the moving pictures. Old witches and wizards not alive anymore, some older and less often a visitor, some still regulars, and some - she never knew what had happened to them.

For the hundredth time, she stopped at the picture taken almost twenty years ago. Four young blokes were smiling, laughing and blowing kisses at her. She studied the picture before flipping to the back of the book and found a recent one - one of a few Hogwarts students enjoying a butterbeer a couple years ago.

They were practically identical - the two with the same messy, black hair, the wire-framed glasses, and the look of mischief. They had the same build, the same height.

Rosmerta was positive that she'd know a Potter anywhere.

The bells rang over the door as an old man with a long grey beard walked into the bar. His blue eyes twinkled as he smiled at the bar-maiden.

"Rosmerta, m'dear, you look lovely this fine summer morning."

She smiled back at him with her own twinkle. "It's about time you got here. Getting slow for an old man."

"Ah, slow is but the speed at which you compare it to," the wizard nodded.

"You're as full of shite as ever, Albus," Rosmerta laughed. "Can I get you a drink?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Dumbledore politely declined. "I wouldn't be able to refuse an offer to sit down, however."

Rosmerta offered him a chair and the two sat at one of the bar-top tables.

"And what does this urgent meeting consist of, m'dear?" Dumbledore started.

Rosmerta closed her eyes for a moment, picturing the day before in her mind again. She swallowed and took a deep breath. "Albus. He's alive. He's been alive all this time…with no memory. I saw him, I talked to him…it's him, Albus, I'd know him anywhere."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly. "Who, Rosmerta?"

"He was shopping at my cousin's muggle magic shop, you know the one. Giselle? She told me she thought he had looked familiar. He doesn't remember anything, but he stopped. He turned around when I called his name. I know it's him. I know it."

Dumbledore gently put his hand on Rosmerta's arm to calm her down.

"James, Albus. James Potter is still alive."

Albus Dumbledore froze. His face grew pale as his eyes widened as if trying to take in what Rosmerta was saying. He finally took his hand back, placing it in his lap with the other one.

"Tell me what happened," he said simply.

Rosmerta started at the beginning and told every detail of the day before, from what he was wearing to every word he'd uttered. She was breathless after finishing; her heart was still racing with the shock of having found him, and found him alive.

Dumbledore simply nodded his head. "And you say he goes by the name of 'Evan Gryffin'?"

"That's what he said. He lives in London."

"And this lady friend of his?"

"Didn't want to believe a word of it, laughed in our faces even," Rosmerta made a hurt expression.

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm sure you managed a word or two to put her in her place."

"So what now, Albus? What happens now?"

Albus Dumbledore sighed and looked out through the window to the sunny morning. "We find Mr. James Brian Potter."

Rosmerta smiled. "What a day today is."

Dumbledore smiled bigger with an extra twinkle in his eye. "It is. It also happens to be Harry Potter's birthday."

Evan rolled over - and fell off the couch. He groaned and rubbed the hip he'd fallen on before reaching up and fixing his glasses that had fallen askew while sleeping. He yawned, stretching his arms and sat up, leaning against the couch.

He didn't remember falling asleep. He had no clue why he would fall asleep on the couch. A warm breeze blew around him and he realized that the door to his deck was wide open.

That's when the day before hit him like a freight train. Everything he'd encountered, learned—remembered…it all came flooding back to him. He let his head drop back to the couch and he stared at the ceiling.

He wasn't at all what he thought he might be. He was a wizard. He had magic, or at least he did before the house had fallen down on him. He had a mother - a wonderful, loving, and beautiful mother.

...who had died when he was in school. She'd been murdered. He knew that at one time, before he'd lost his memory, he knew who the murderer had been - but he couldn't remember anymore.

Evan pounded his fist on the floor. Almost remembering something was more frustrating than not remembering anything.

"Think, Evan, think," he said aloud to his self. His head shot up. "My name isn't Evan…it's James."

He felt like crying. He felt like cheering and jumping up and down with excitement. But he was so confused, so lost…he was numb.

"Now what do I do? Where do I go? What's next?"

Questions…questions that he didn't want to answer. Questions that scared him, but at the same time, electrified him.

He stood and walked out onto his deck, watching the morning buzz on the street below. There were people in a rush everywhere, cars honking, and kids out playing. Life always kept moving, never stopping and waiting for anyone. This was something he'd learned after the accident.

Or was it even an accident?

He went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. While he waited, he leaned against the sink, his arms crossed across his chest, his gaze…staring at nothing. He just didn't know what to think.

I thought I was supposed to be happy when I figured out who I was. Happiness was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. It's not as if he could just walk back into his old life and things would be right. He'd been a wizard…his life had been so different, so different from what it was now, as a muggle.

And what about his life now? He couldn't just leave Tiffany. She was his life now. Given up her own life to help him…they were two lost souls making their way through the world together. And she wasn't a witch.

Tiffany…James mind began to swirl again. He pictured her - her porcelain face, her dark hair that always flew in her face…her laughing brown eyes…green…green eyes…piercing emerald eyes. Eyes that held so much emotion when they looked at him. Eyes greener than the lush fields…green eyes that glared at him when he was a prat…green eyes that laughed when he pulled a prank…green eyes that held wonder…held a determination…held love…

James shook his head. Tiffany's eyes were brown, not green.

He poured the cup of coffee and returned to his deck, sitting down to think more. He had a headache now. This was all too much…so much to take in.

His thoughts were a blur, not really thinking of anything particular. His gaze focused on the flower garden below him. He stared at the lilies, colors of all sorts. The orange ones, the white ones, purples and pinks…

A young mother was walking past. She was pushing a stroller and trying to hold on to her little boy's hand as they walked. The little boy looked so curious. He had dark hair and a bright smile. The mother stopped and checked on the baby…

"Life never fails to keep me on my toes," a soft, yet sure, male voice came from behind James. He didn't move, didn't flinch. He knew that voice. "Impossibilities are merely things which we have not yet learned. An American author, Charles Chesnutt, said that."

"But it's relearning everything that I'm doing. I remember nothing. I remember my mother…and I remember getting my wand. That's all," James turned around and looked at the old wizard. The old wizard who had such a twinkle in his eyes. The old wizard who looked so happy that he seemed to ready to burst at the seams. An old wizard with a long beard and long fingers that so gingerly and often had offered him candy.

"You know me."

"I looked you up on the internet," James shrugged and turned back to looking out to the city. "I was in love and I don't remember her. I fought for things that I don't feel anymore."

"James Potter would never give up. He'd never be frightened enough to turn his back. James Potter pushed the limits to get what he wanted."

"I'm not James Potter…I don't know who I am."

Dumbledore took a seat and looked out over the great city, too, not speaking a word. Never in his wildest dreams, had he ever thought he'd be sitting across from James Potter again. He smiled, thinking just exactly how much Harry did look like him.

"You'll remember. It'll come back to you," Dumbledore nodded. "You knew your name and you accepted the story. You didn't believe Rosmerta to be giving you a story like your friend did. You knew it was the truth. And you remember things."

James looked at the old man who was sweeping his apartment with his eyes. James followed the gaze, taking in all of his knick-knacks and decorations.

"What was her name?" James asked in a quiet and small voice.

Dumbledore rose from his seat and walked inside, James following. For some reason, although agitated at this man's refusal to just answer the questions, his evading seemed so natural, so normal.

Dumbledore ran a bony finger across the chess board. "You'll remember her name soon enough, James. It'll all come back in time."

"Time?" James ran a hand through is hair frustratingly. "Hasn't enough time passed? Fifteen years! I haven't known anything for fifteen years! Why are you being so calm about this?"

Dumbledore looked at him with a sigh. "Fifteen years is a long time. Too long, in fact. But there's no going back and changing things that have already happened. Messing with time is messing with life and I advise not to do that. There are so many things that you need to know, but they're your feelings, and your thoughts, James."

"Damn it!" James, in one swift motion, threw his hand out and knocked everything on his table off and on to the floor. The loud crash from the broken glass of the chess game didn't faze him, or Dumbledore. He picked up a book and threw it across the room. It knocked into his collection of stag statues, breaking quite a few. "Tell me who I am!"

"You're James Potter, a man of many great things, whether he's a muggle or a wizard. You're a man of strength and nobility-"

"Cut the crap!" James yelled. "What was my life? Who murdered my mother? Why did I die?" His voice softened as he ran a hand across the table absent-mindedly. "Who did I leave behind?"

Dumbledore sighed, for once, in his many years, not knowing the right thing to say. He looked at James, Evan, as he'd called himself for the past fifteen years.

"Will you come back with me?" Dumbledore finally asked him. "Come back and remember…relearn…live again?"

James looked up and stared at him. Back. Go back. Back to his old world, back to his old life.

"I can't just leave this, you know. I have a life here that I've made for myself…" James muttered the words before realizing it. "I mean…I can't just let go of this like that life was taken away from me. I won't do it again."

Dumbledore nodded. "I understand."

"Is…is she still alive?" He asked, looking to his hands, noticing a small cut.

"I'm sorry."

James nodded. "She died in the house, right? Where Tiffany pulled me out."

"Yes. But she died a proud death."

"She would…I mean…she was a proud witch. I know that much."

"Evan?" The front door to the flat opened slowly. A dark haired head poked around the door and took a couple tentative steps in. She shut the door behind her and stared at the old man and then glanced at her friend and the mess he'd made of his flat.

"Tiffany…this is Albus Dumbledore…" James motioned.

Tiffany grew pale. Her eyes swelled with tears as she nodded, understanding. Not wanting to accept it, but whatever was going on before her - it was what Evan had wanted for so long.

"G'day," Dumbledore smiled at her.

"Um…'Lo," Tiffany managed. The man looked so strange…dressed in long robes of bright colors…the long beard…he looked just like the statue in the shop.

"Tiffany…I am," James looked at her. "I'm James Potter. I remember. I remember my mother…Serendipity. I remember getting my first wand at this shop. This nice man who knew me, knew my mum and my family…he ran the shop. They've made wands since 382 BC." James looked to Dumbledore as if to verify his memories.

Dumbledore nodded "That's correct."

"My mother had dark hair like you, Tiff. It was long and flowing and curly…she was beautiful. She had the most amazing blue eyes and the creamiest of skin. And her laugh…her laugh was so genuine and contagious. She spoiled me. She gave me everything I wanted. We baked cookies together, the muggle way, when she wasn't working. And she read me bedtime stories when I was little. She stood up for me when I had fights with my dad…she always took my side. And she was murdered. She was taken away from me because she was so wonderful…because…because…my mum was taken away from me for the same reasons she was…" James suddenly fell to the floor, his back sliding down the wall. His grey eyes glazing over.

Red and green swirls over took him. They took him to another world. Laughter. Amazing, loving laughter echoed in his mind, bringing a smile to his face. He could smell freshly baked cookies. He reached out to take one…

A stinging sensation made him laugh as he rubbed the back of his hand. The red and green swirls danced around him, laughing. The clear blue eyes smiled in approval. James felt a warmth, a feeling of love, all around him. He could smell the scent of strawberries and kiwi…the red and green twirling around him…

And it all went black.

The night stars twinkled above as Harry, once again, found himself sitting on his bedroom windowsill, looking out. His birthday had come and gone, just another day for him. He'd received owls from people who cared about him, people who were worried about him.

But none of them had made him smile like they once would have. He laughed at the jokes, he nodded at the thought that he'd soon see his friends and be out of the Dursely's house…but nothing made him feel happy. He hardly felt anything anymore.

He wondered where he'd go once he was allowed to leave the Dursley's. He didn't know if the Order still had headquarters at Grimmauld Place or not. Even if it was, he didn't want to go back there. He didn't want to see the horrific images of Mrs. Black or see Kreacher. He didn't want see the house in which Sirius had lived an unhappy childhood. He didn't want to go back to the last place he'd been able to spend time with his godfather.

Harry got a chill and shivered. Images from pictures and the pensive came to him, images of his parents and the Marauders, of happy times. Innocent times. He thought of what a magical moment it must have been when his mother had finally agreed to date his father. Of what their wedding must have been like…how much his mother had meant to his father, to Sirius…to Remus. What he had meant to his parents…the smiles in their eyes in the picture of the three of them Hagrid had given to him years before.

A warm feeling, a feeling that Harry hadn't felt in a long time, washed over him.

He didn't know what the future was going to hold. And he didn't know what he was going to have to face in the coming year. He didn't know if he'd see another birthday or not.

But he did know that Tom Riddle had ruined his life and had taken away everything that should have been his.

And he knew that if he had sixteen candles in front of him to blow out and make a wish, that he'd wish for a life where he had something. Something that he didn't have now.

As Harry climbed into bed, sixteen candles were fluttering out. And somewhere his wish was stirring in someone else.

...huggles n cookies...

...missers...