Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me.
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She knew it was going to come. She just didn't expect for it to happen so quickly.
The face appeared in her fire with a blast of light. "ALLICOT-"
"Don't get started with me, Albus, please," she pleaded.
"Don't 'don't get started with me, Albus,' me, Allicot," Dumbledore snorted. "Do you have any idea of the ramifications of what could have happened?"
Allicot sighed heavily. "Sirius didn't do anything," she said. "I know he didn't. If we could only find-"
"I want to believe it too, Allicot, but in order for the Ministry of Magic to look into it, we need more facts and more proof," Dumbledore said. "And that's only the tip of the iceberg. Children don't belong anywhere near Azkaban, especially not children as young as Harry."
"I wanted him to meet his godfather, just once," Allicot said. "Even when he's eleven and in Hogwarts, no one will allow him to meet Sirius, or even tell Harry about him. Albus, it's the closest he'll ever come to having his real parents back."
"I see your point," Dumbledore said.
Allicot leaned forward on her knees so she come closer to the face in the fire. "Please, Albus. Let me tell Harry about his parents. Just a few stories about James and Lily."
"Is that wise? You might-"
"You don't understand!" Allicot exclaimed. "Every night he watches me tuck Celine in and kiss her goodnight with the most terrible longing in his eyes. He needs to learn about his parents. He'll have his memory erased anyways. This can give him hope for now. Just for now."
There was a long pause. The flames and the embers popped around Dumbledore's firelit face. "All right," he finally conceded. "You may tell him about James and Lily."
Allicot beamed. "Thank you!" she said.
"No more trips to Azkaban," he warned.
"No more," she promised. Dumbledore smiled, and vanished from the fire. Allicot turned back to her writing. She wrote in peaceful stillness for a while, until she heard the soft padded thumps of small socked feet on the carpet. She set the quill pen down.
"Celine?" she called. "Celine, is that you?"
A little head peeped around the door. "I had a bad dream, Miss Allie," Harry sniffled.
"Oh, poor thing," Allicot said, holding out her arms. "Come here, pet." Harry climbed into her lap and snuggled against her shoulder. She touched his forehead. "You feel warm. I think your fever's coming back. Let's get you something cold to drink."
Harry's temperature had skyrocketed up to a hundred degrees. Allicot conjured apple juice into a sipper cup and handed it to him. "You'll be better soon, darling," she murmured.
He sniffled hard. "I want my mumma," he whimpered. Allicot smoothed his hair. "Did my mumma want me?"
Allicot closed her eyes, remembering. The visits to Saint Mungo's. The visits to the Muggle hospitals in London. Lily lying in bed weak and pale and thin except for the faint lump where the baby was. Lily sobbing with pain as James tried to comfort her. Lily with empty arms and aching eyes as she endured her miscarriages.
And finally, the tiny, beautiful, living child.
"Yes, pet," Allicot murmured. "Yes, your mumma wanted you very, very much." She settled into a big armchair, tucking a blanket around Harry. "Do you want to know about your mumma and da?"
Harry nodded. And Allicot told him everything.
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"Harry, don't cry."
There was something wet on his face. A light hand brushed his cheek. "Harry, it's all right," she whispered in his ear.
Harry blinked hazily as he remembered. They left the great hall, and they talked. They talked for a long time: about a childhood without a mother, about saying goodbye to someone close, about everything. He'd been able to talk at people about how he felt, but he could talk with Luna. She understood. She understood because she had been there.
"Where…where are we?" he murmured.
"I believe we found the Room of Requirement," Luna said softly. She smoothed his hair away from his forehead gently.
Harry realized he was lying on a large, soft couch. Luna was curled up next to him, her arms around him protectively. "I think we missed Divination," he mumbled. "Where are my glasses?"
Luna placed her slim hands over his. "Just a little longer," she said. She stroked his hot, tear-stained cheek; her soft blue eyes studied his face.
"Looking for something?" Harry asked.
"I'm memorizing you," she said simply. She traced her delicate fingertips against his skin.
"Why? Are you taking a test later, or…"
"It's just in case," Luna said. "I never memorized my mother's face…and sometimes, when I lie awake…I forget. I forget what she looked like."
Harry reached for her, cupping her face in his hands. Her skin was incredibly soft. "I don't want to forget you," he whispered. He caressed her fair skin, brushed his fingertip against her eyelashes, breathed in the sweet lavender smell of her silky locks. Luna touched his temples, tangling her fingers in his thick black hair. Harry drew her closer. Her eyes closed until her eyelashes tickled his.
And then he captured her lips in a soft kiss.
Luna's kiss was shy but sweet. Harry felt a thrill run through him as he kissed her. She was warm and gentle and relaxed in his arms. He pulled away from her gently, as if she was as fragile as spun glass. She smiled at him angelically.
"Well," she said sweetly. "I think I might have to memorize you some more."
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"You look happy," Rowan commented. Harry only grinned as he pulled his pajama shirt over his head.
Thistle snuck up behind him and tickled his ribs. "Tell us, Harry! Tell us!" she squealed.
He batted his sister's hands away. "Not going to," he countered.
Thistle pouted and plunked down on her brother's bed. "I wish you would," she scowled. "We big sisters need to know everything about their baby brothers."
Harry lay down next to her. "Well, there's one thing that…that I do want to know," he ventured.
Rowan perched on the headboard. "Try us," he said, adjusting his glasses.
"I want to use one of my visions," Harry said. "I want to see what life would be like if you were alive. If Mum and Dad were alive." Thistle brushed his hair back and kissed his cheek.
"You're sure?" Rowan asked softly. "That'll leave you with just two left."
"I know, I know," he said. He twined Thistle's black curls around his fingers. "I'm ready for it. Lay it on me."
Thistle bent over Harry and placed her left hand against his temple. Rowan placed his hand on his right temple. And then it went black.
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