27 January 1994

"Excellent, Harry!" Remus said breathlessly, using his entire body weight to slam the lid of his packing case shut over the Boggart. "That was excellent!"

For the first time in the three weeks since their anti-dementor lessons had begun, Harry had managed to successfully produce an incorporeal Patronus during all three of his encounters with the Boggart. Remus could hardly keep the mad delight off his face as he rummaged through his traveling cloak for a bar of the Honeydukes chocolates Minerva had bought him for Christmas.

Harry managed a grin between puffs of air, sinking to the floor of the History of Magic classroom and sagging against the wall. He readily accepted a slab of chocolate from Remus, and Remus felt a rush of warmth fill his chest as he remembered how suspiciously Harry had regarded the chocolate he had handed him on the train to Hogwarts back in September.

Remus sat down on the stone floor of the classroom across from Harry, and a comfortable silence filled the space between them for several moments.

Then, suddenly—

"What did my parents sound like?"

Remus looked up at Harry, caught off guard. He blinked. "What?"

Harry was staring down at his lap, eyebrows furrowed. "Until…until the—dementors…I'd never heard what my mum and dad—sounded like," Harry said. His jaw tightened as he glanced up at Remus. "I don't remember their voices at all."

Remus stared at him, feeling his heart sink to his stomach. How horrible—how utterly wretched—that the only memories Harry had of his parents' voices were in their last moments. Remus felt a lump form in his throat, and he swallowed it down painfully.

"Well," Remus began hoarsely. "Your mum…she was quiet, usually—but once you had her going, you couldn't get a word in edgewise. Oh, and she could be terribly sarcastic, too. It was one of your dad's favorite things about her, honestly. He'd rhapsodize about it for hours." Harry's lips curved upwards slightly. Encouraged, Remus continued, "She was from the West Midlands, so she always talked with a bit of a lilt. It was especially strong when she was happy—it almost became a chirp."

Harry's smile grew bigger; he took a bite of chocolate. "And my dad?"

"Your dad—well, I think Professor McGonagall said it best," Remus laughed. "Your dad was like that song on the wireless that never stopped playing. He talked nonstop—he could never process anything unless he was talking about it."

Remus paused, momentarily lost in a haze of old memories—of James, loudly reciting his O.W.L. notes in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory at two o'clock in the morning; of James, moping for three hours about Lily's twelfth rejection of his proposal to take her to Hogsmeade; of James, telling Remus that he was scared, that he didn't have the faintest idea how he was supposed to protect his wife and their unborn baby, but that he knew that he would die trying if he had to.

Remus pressed his lips together. "He had a posh accent, but sometimes his words had a bit of that West Country twang to them, warm and open," he added gruffly. "I'm sure there are dozens of witches and wizards that remember exactly what your dad sounded like—he really never did know how to shut up."

Remus looked at Harry and was startled to find that the teenager was hanging onto every word with rapt attention, his expression hungry. Remus blinked. Terrible though it must have been for Harry to hear his parents' dying moments replayed over and over in his head, Remus couldn't help but wonder if a part of him wished he could hear it again. The very thought made Remus's heart ache.

He cleared his throat, dusting off his palms and climbing to his feet. "Well, it's getting late—I don't want you out of your dorm after curfew," Remus told Harry. "Same time next week?"

Harry nodded, swallowing the last of his chocolate and clambering to his feet as well. Shoving his empty chocolate wrapper in his robes, Harry made his way to the door.

At the door frame, he paused. Then, he turned and looked over his shoulder at Remus, his expression earnest.

"Er—thank you, Professor," he said.

A second later, he turned and dashed out the door, leaving a stunned Remus staring after him.


5 February 1994

"Fancy seeing you here."

Remus looked up. Minerva had just made her way to where he was sitting by the commentator's podium in the professors' stands, beaming. Right behind her were professors Flitwick and Sprout.

Remus smiled at them. "I'll be honest, I was halfway to the Gryffindor section before I remembered that's not where I'm supposed to sit. First Quidditch match as a professor and all."

"Well, you picked a good one for it," Minerva said, settling down on the stands beside Remus.

"Ah, yes," Remus grinned at her. "The infamous Firebolt is making its appearance today, isn't it?"

"I was planning on keeping it longer to run a few more tests, but for the sake of Minerva's sanity, I decided against it," squeaked Flitwick, smirking at Minerva.

"Well, you didn't have to deal with Wood cornering you after class every day," Minerva snapped, nostrils flaring. "I swear to Merlin, I was this close to owling his parents."

Remus laughed.

Suddenly, the stands erupted in tumultuous applause, and Remus turned to see the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams, clad in scarlet and blue, make their way onto the field. With a rush of excitement, Remus spotted Harry's untidy black head, and for a moment, he was fourteen again, watching James swagger cockily onto the pitch. He blinked, then shook his head, refocusing his attention.

The match was underway before Remus knew it, and he watched in amazement as Harry hurtled into the sky on his new Firebolt. It was a beautiful racing broom, there was no doubt about it. He couldn't blame Lee Jordan for getting distracted, even though to his left, it was clear that Minerva's patience was reaching its limits.

"Gryffindor leads by eighty points to zero, and look at that Firebolt go! Potter's really putting it through its paces now, see it turn—Chang's Comet is just no match for it, the Firebolt's precision-balance is really noticeable in these long—"

"JORDAN! ARE YOU BEING PAID TO ADVERTISE FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE COMMENTARY!"

Remus had to pull his cloak over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Ravenclaw was slowly gaining momentum. Three consecutive goals later, the gap between the two teams was only fifty points. At one point, Remus saw Harry shoot suddenly towards the Gryffindor stands, only to be blocked by Cho Chang a second later. A collective groan from the Gryffindor stands and a stern roar from Oliver Wood later, Harry turned his Firebolt sharply upward, his expression set and determined.

"Potter's seen it!" Professor Sprout cried, and with a jolt, Remus turned to see Harry fall suddenly into a deep dive.

"No—he's feinting," Minerva said, and there was a ringing note of delight in her voice. Sure enough, a second later, Harry had pulled abruptly out of the dive, and Cho scarcely managed not to crash headfirst into the pitch.

Remus had only a moment to marvel at Harry's technique before he saw it—a blur of black hoods—three dementors had gathered on the pitch—directly under Harry.

"Minerva!" Remus shouted hoarsely, jumping up—but she was already on her feet. In an instant, Remus was hurtling down the stands, towards the pitch, Minerva right behind him. But before he could say a word—before he had even reached for his wand—a blinding flash of silver erupted from the sky.

"What on Earth—!" Minerva cried, shielding her eyes.

Remus prised his eyes open against the light, watching in astonishment as the dazzling form charged—no, galloped—toward the dementors—brilliant antlers—enormous hooves—no—no, it couldn't be—

"Prongs?" Remus gasped, eyes watering.

And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the light was gone, leaving in its place a wriggling pile of black hoods. At the same time, an echoing roar rose from the stands—a wave of scarlet and gold flooded the pitch—

Remus stared at the pile of hoods, mopping his eyes. "Is that—?"

"MALFOY!" Minerva had already taken off across the pitch, her expression furious.

Remus stood rooted to the spot for another moment, utterly shaken. Then, he turned and staggered toward the screaming Gryffindor team—toward Harry—Harry—James's son

"That was quite some Patronus."