Prompt: Harry's first Halloween
Harry had always had rotten luck on Halloween.
In his first year at Hogwarts, he'd had to fight off a mountain troll in the girls' lavatory. The next year he'd been forced to attend Nearly Headless Nick's death day celebration, which was bad enough in itself– but he'd then been accused of attacking Mrs. Norris and opening the Chamber of Secrets. The year after that, Sirius had broken into the castle in (what he'd thought at the time was) an attempt on Harry's life. And in fourth year, during the Halloween feast, The Goblet of Fire had spit out his name– which he hadn't entered– for the Triwizard Tournament– which he didn't want to be in.
This year, he hoped it'd be different– but didn't have too much confidence that it would.
True to fashion, that morning he received an unsigned note accompanied by a parcel. Hermione had warned him off it, before noticing the Hippogriff feather attached in the wrappings. He eagerly tore open the letter.
Harry,
I don't know if you know this, but Halloween is one of my least favorite times of the year– and I suspect you feel similarly. I often feel quite alone this time of year, and you have no idea how much joy it brings me to know that I am a little less alone, thanks to you.
Your father was my best friend, and I loved your mother just as dearly. The loss I feel on the anniversary of their death is lessened only by my knowledge that you are alive and safe.
In this parcel I have included one of my fondest memories of Halloween– a time before the forsaken holiday became an anniversary of loss. It is your first Halloween, and one of the last times we were all together. This is a bittersweet memory for me, so I will understand if you should choose not to view it. I cannot tell you how many regrets I have, and how much I long to go back and change the past– alas I cannot, and can only hope for a better future.
You are not alone, Harry.
You are loved dearly and fiercely. We will be ready when you call.
S.
Harry puzzled over the ending: We will be ready when you call. He grabbed the attached parcel, which buzzed as his fingertips brushed it, before falling open– all thoughts of the accompanying note forgotten. There lay a vial filled with glowing white memories, like the ones he'd seen in Dumbledore's office.
"What is it?" Ron asked curiously, mouth full of breakfast sausage.
"Is it from," Hermione asked, dropping her voice to a whisper, "Sirius?"He nodded and showed her the letter. She read over it quickly, her eyes welling with tears. "Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry. I'd forgotten."
He shrugged off her apology, attention still focused on the vial of memories. "I need to watch this. I'm going to see if Dumbledore is in, if I can use his pensieve."
"But Harry! We have class…" Hermione weakly protested, her argument trailing off as she took in the determined expression on his face.
"Eh. Bugger class," mumbled Ron, "what's he going to learn anyways, in Theoretical Defense class?"
Harry left without another word, heading straight for Dumbledore's office. "The Headmaster is out," intoned the stone Gargoyle, and Harry felt a wave of frustration threatening to overflow. Why was Dumbledore always gone? He needed the Headmaster now more than ever, and Dumbledore was off jaunting about the country?
"Please!" Harry appealed to the guardian, "I really need to go up there!"
"Password?"
"Lemon Drop," Harry guessed. The gargoyle said nothing. "Cockroach Cluster." Again, the gargoyle said nothing and didn't move. "Sherbert Lemon, Acid Pops, Fizzing Whizzbees," Harry guessed one after the other. "Ice Mice, Pepper Imps, Sugar Quills," the gargoyle didn't budge. "Ugh, I don't know!" Harry yelled in a fit of frustration, "What else even is there? Chocolate Frogs?" Without a word, the gargoyle slid to the side, exposing the staircase to the Headmasters office.
Seriously? Chocolate Frogs was Dumbledore's password?
Without another moment of thought, Harry leapt into action, sprinting up the stairs and to the cabinet he knew housed Dumbledore's pensieve. He gripped the edge of the stone basin as he caught his breath. Then he pulled Sirius' vial from his pocket and tipped the memory into the mirror-like pensieve. The surface rippled, and a picture appeared. Harry leaned forwards, and pushed into the memory.
"Slowly," a pretty redheaded woman– his mother–called to Sirius and Harry "Slowly!" she shouted again when Sirius failed to heed her warning.
"I'll go get them," James sighed as he extracted himself from his wife's embrace.
Harry watched as the man with jet black hair and glasses much like his own chased down his friend.
"You're going to give Lil a heart attack," James said as he caught up with his friend. Sirius slowed his pace from a sprint to a light jog, with the same boyish grin he'd had all throughout school, a baby Harry perched atop his shoulders.
"Ah, parenthood has softened you," Sirius accused.
"Maybe so," conceded James, "But you'd better cool it before Lily decides to come over and tell you off herself." The warning had its desired effect as trepidation spread across Sirius' face and he lowered Harry from his shoulders to the safety of his arms.
"Lesson one, little prongs," Sirius said, bending his face to bring himself nose to nose with the boy, "your mother is always right. You don't want to get on her bad side."
"Hey!" protested Lily, who had joined their huddle.
"No offense meant, Red," Sirius said with a wink, "But you're a force of nature when you set off." Lily just gave a shrug of her shoulders and reached out to take the baby from Sirius.
"Nope," Sirius crowed, pulling Harry out of her reach, "Halloween is strictly a godfather's holiday. He's mine for the night." He accompanied his proclamation with a nuzzle to baby Harry's soft face that set the boy in a fit of giggles. The three set off back towards the house, little Harry tucked safely in Sirius' arms.
Harry followed, taking in how much younger and happier Sirius looked in this memory than when he'd seen him last. The little family entered the house, which Harry recognized from photos as his parents' cottage in Godric's Hollow. It was all done up for Halloween, with candles and pumpkins covering every available surface– it almost gave the Hogwarts Halloween feast a run for its money.
"I swear, if you drop my son Sirius," Lily threatened, though she kept a teasing smile on her face.
"Oh relax, Lil," Sirius chided. "Like I'd ever let anything happen to my godson."
"You'd better start taking your own advice," cautioned James, "Don't get on her bad side. It isn't pretty." Lily pretended to glare at James as he and Sirius dissolved into a fit of laughter.
"Know a lot about her bad side, do you Prongs?" Sirius teased, earning a light smack to the back of his head courtesy of Lily.
"You two are impossible," said Lily with exaggerated exasperation as she kissed her husband, then pressed a kiss to the cheek of Harry and then Sirius. "My boys," she mumbled under her breath– but judging from the soft affectionate looks that overtook both James' and Sirius' faces, they'd heard and delighted in the endearment.
Harry followed the trio as they gathered around the kitchen table, Baby Harry gurgling happily in Sirius' lap.
A knock at the door sounded. "That's the rest of them, I'll get it," James said when Lily made to rise to answer the door. She graced her husband with a loving smile, settling back into her chair next to her giggling son and his equally giddy godfather.
"Happy Halloween, Potters!" called a jovial voice. A moment later, James returned with the owner of the called greeting.
Lupin. But gone was the ragged and tired looking man who cautioned Harry at Grimmauld Place. In his stead was a Remus Lupin looking lighter than Harry had ever seen him. He had a happy bounce to his step– someone unfamiliar with the loss present day Remus had endured.
"Pete sends his best," Remus said, "but he had urgent business he couldn't get away from this evening."
"The ministry is working Peter much too hard!" Lily bemoaned, "We hardly ever get to see him anymore. They're always pulling him away on assignment."
"Ah, you know Wormy," Sirius said, "All work and no play. He's just trying to get ahead in his position."
The rest nodded understandingly, but Harry had to tamp down on the well of rage that ignited within him at the mention of the one who would betray his parents. They all loved him dearly. How could he have possibly turned this loving little family over to Voldemort? Harry was filled with a fresh wave of grief, coupled with the desire for vengeance. The next time he saw Peter Pettigrew, he swore he would kill him.
"Well, Remus, you're just in time for dinner!" James said, drawing Harry's attention back to the scene playing out in front of him. The group settled in at the table, all eagerly helping themselves to the steaming plates of food set out. They laughed and joked, and Sirius repeatedly tried to get Baby Harry to eat various flavors of Berty Bott's Every Flavor Beans– much to Lily's protest.
Harry felt an ache in his chest. How he longed to go back to this time and never leave. He was lost in his melancholy ruminations– when he felt a hand grasp his shoulder, pulling him back from the memory.
He landed in Dumbledore's office, gripping the edge of the stone basin once more to steady himself. "Harry," Dumbledore greeted with his usual kindly smile. "It would seem I should start thinking up more effective passwords."
"I'm sorry, Professor. It's just Sirius– er... Snuffles sent me this vial of memories from, you know, before, and–" Harry stumbled over his words in his rush to explain to Dumbledore how necessary it was for him to return to the memory Sirius had sent.
Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him. "Young Harry," he began, "I will caution you with advice I believe I imparted upon you in your first year at Hogwarts. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget how to live." He must've sensed Harry's impulse to protest, because he raised a staying hand again, then continued: "You must know that living in the memories of others is no different than withering away in front of the Mirror of Erised. We cannot change what has come to pass, we may only move forward– and no amount of wishing otherwise will change that."
Harry wanted to protest, to yell. But Dumbledore spoke again, in his infuriatingly unruffled manner. "Return to the Halloween celebrations, Harry. You will find that you still have much to do in the realm of the living."
With that, he gently– but firmly– ushered Harry out of his office and down the stone steps, back to the great hall. And though he knew Professor Dumbledore spoke the truth, he couldn't suppress the ache in his chest for a future that would never be his.