A.N : Hey, its my longest chapter, and when I say this it is a degrading thought to my self, nine pages! Still that is very small. I don't think this chapter is of the best quality, but I plan on rewriting all of the chapters next month. I guess I don't have that much to say...

Athenakitty: First, yes they will find a name. Second, and third together, she does get more answers, but they are from someone, not a book. Harry will be found, a potion, I can't be sure.


Silvercrystal77: Thank you, and yes it was Godric.

Honeyduck: Harry will be found, don't worry.


Wiccan PussyKat: Ah, yes I am a girl, lol. Thank you, I can't wait till I can call him something else then Kiddo. I guess they knew he could cry, because that's how Ryan found him, but other wise its the first time. Yeah I bet they kind of feel lucky. Three now, but no, he's not going to be found before then. I have the name picked out already.
Yes he lowered the security, and yes he whispered in Lily's ear. Hehe, yeah I guess I kind of diluted the...words, that might have been said. But come one, does Hermione ever curse, Ron, now he I could see doing that.


Eric2: Yes he does have his memories.


Lily Skylo: Yeah, I'll be rewriting that over spring break.
Godric, he's one of my favorite characters. Yes Harry, or Kiddo can't wait to name him, still has his scar. A little famous, but one of those stories that will die down. Yeah, I agree, I think they should have looked, but I don't think they would have seen the connection.






ON WITH THE STORY...


She spun, knocking the book to the floor in the process. She would have been worried about that clatter, a minuet ago, but now it was lost as she caught sight of the speaker, lost in the drone that was beginning to drum in her head. She could only feel a numb recognition, although her mind should have pounded with it.

Hair as dark as chard wood fell less then tidily, thought nothing like Harry's, to the tips of the mans earlobes, and eyes, a remarkable emerald, shone like beacons against the strangers light skin.


He took a slight step forward, giving her a small knowing smile. But for every one of his steps, Hermione found herself taking one back. The written words, to the mans name, the connection to the book, had come milliseconds after he had spoken, but she had yet to be able to react to it.


It was as if she had the information, but could not use it, and she did not scream as she would have pictured herself doing.
She merely backed up, perhaps subconsciously headed for the exiting door.



The face appeared so much like her friends, that she wanted to fling herself at the man and hug him, wanted to pretend it was Harry, to bury her face in his shoulder and chant that he was alright, that Voldemort had not killed him; that Dumbledore had never been hiding him. But it was not him, it was someone wearing his face, a more accurate one then James Potter's.


He picked the book up as he approached it, and placed it back on the table, so gently that it did not even make a muffled thump.


"I'm sorry Miss Granger, perhaps I should not have introduced myself on paper? But you were looking for me, and hardly seemed to think my whispers were anything but your own fancy."


"You can't be him, he's dead." The mans eyes twinkled for a moment, a suppressed laugh perhaps, Hermione could not tell. Then tapped the side of his nose, and grinned. It was a wide smile, and suggested that his face was used to the curve.


"Oh but Miss Granger, you came in this library looking for me. How did you expect me to answer your questions? Do you think I would have left the answer behind in inked letters, no, I know better then to let a thousand little children read it, when it was only meant to be read by one. I have been waiting for you Miss Granger, for a long time."



"How do you know my name." The man, and she should not have thought of him as so, as he was no older then her, positioned himself to sit on the ledge of one of the tables, and swung his legs back and forth, the swing seemed to have no apparent rhythm, though he seemed to sense one.


"I know all Gryffendor's Miss Granger, I could even go so far as to say I know you outside of school. I know you parents are Dentists, I know you are Muggleborn, I know almost everything. Of course I picked you for my house, so of course I would know..."


His voice trailed off, and the silence seemed to invite questions, yet at the same time promise no answers.


"The sorting hat chose my house." Hermione found herself saying, and it felt strange correcting this man, this legend. While at the same time he did not stand before her as a man, nor a hero figure, but as a peer. And this thought was further agreed on, in her mind, as he laughed.


"Ah, yes, but we whisper to him. We tell him the final. Some, it is true, we let him choose, but, no some are far more important." He stopped swinging his legs for a moment, and regarded her instead.

His features had changed from playful interest, to intent, and determination.


Hermione could feel her back hit the door, and could feel her hand sneak behind her back, grasping around the knob, but she was surprised by her own hesitation to turn the circle. Finally, she spoke the question she had been itching to be answered.

"Do you know were Harry is?"


His features still appeared determined, but there was laughter underlying them. "There are so many Harry's in this world, who?"


"Harry Potter, do you know were he is?" The emerald of his eyes seemed to flash. Hermione had seen Harry's eye do that as he made a hard decision, or, when he had seen Voldemort. They always seemed unnaturally green when he had woken from a nightmare, Ron had told her.



"You mortals use names to tightly, I still do not know of whom you speak. Try using something that is other then a title, Miss Granger."

The way he tilted his head, reminded Hermione of Fawkes, the Headmasters phoenix; teasing yet intense.


"Harry James Potter, Lily and James Potters son." Hermione, perhaps more relaxed, would have come up with a much better answer the second time, she was sure. But she was more desperate, confused, and scared, then she had ever been.


"In which plan of world? You're still using title, dear girl." Hermione took a deep breath, willing her mind to arrange a workable sentence.


"My friend, he has untidy black hair, emerald green eyes, a smile that when given is spectacular, and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. I am told you saved him, on Halloween, that you whispered to his mother as you whisper to the hat. He pulled your sword out of your hat in second year, he, his name is Harry Potter, that is my friend, that is who I speak of-" Godric held up a hand to silence her, and he said.


"That is enough Miss Granger." He slipped off the table and walked over to her, gently lifting her hand from the knob. Hermione let him, and as he touched her skin, she could feel the huge amount of Magic moving under it, swimming through his veins.


"Harry Potter, son of Lily Evans Potter and James Potter, is no more." She fell slack against his shoulder for a moment, then pushed away, falling beside the door, and brought her hands around her knees; feeling as if the whole word was ruined.


"He's dead? No, no, he can be. Harry can't be. My friend he can't be." Again she felt the overwhelming amount of Magic
touch her as he lifted her hands from around her face; exposing her tears.


"Harry Potter is gone, not your friend." He took a long, racking sigh, as if he were going to say something he thought were wrong. "Harry Potter is not deceased, merely gone. His title is no longer in use, his name, it is not his anymore. Harry Potter is dead, but your friend Miss Granger, is fine."









OUT SIDE HOSPITAL ROOM- SAME TIME- REMUS AND SIRUS.



Remus felt nauseous, as he watched his friend walk back and forth out side the hospital door. The world had already been spinning at odd angles, before this.


Remus could even feel the slight wind, the smells that drifted, from his friends movements against his face. There was to much wolf to him, even five days after a transformation.


"Sirus, come one. We, I, know Poppy comes down at six in the morning. You can sleep, I'll wake you up. I promise, come on."

Sirus spun in his direction for a brief three seconds, then answered as he turned back.


"You could forget." The voice was as unreadable as tea leaves, to Remus, but the sent of his sweat, gave an emotion away. Fear, fear of a fight.


Those words were the ones of a wolf, but Remus could translate them more accurately just by knowing his friends background.

He was going to try and apologize to Lily and James, and he was afraid that they would not except it, especially with Harry missing.



"I will not forget, I slept late last night, I'll be up for some time, come one Padfoot, you can join me for dinner."


"No Remus. What time is it?" The two parts of that dialogue sounded so different. Remus glanced at his watch, and replied.


"12:58." Sirus thought of this over for a moment, then furrowed his brow.


"No, its one, Remus, your clocks off. Use a spell to tell." Resmus, tiredly lifted his wand and muttered for the time to be corrected on his watch, it told him it was three minuets off.


Confused, and slightly irked, he snapped, and he knew it was the wolf that was irked by this. "If you already had a watch, why did you ask me?"


Sirus, paused in his continuous steps, caution etching his brow. He was realizing how few days it had been since the transformation, and, that Remus had not had a pepper up potion today.

"Sorry, but I don't have a watch, I used to count minuets in Azkaban." He shrugged, and as he did so, Remus found himself slumping against a wall for support.


"You seem mighty cheerful, all of a sudden." Remus observed dryly.


"Of course, its morning. We're allowed in now." Sirus said, and Remus suddenly found himself being pulled through the doors.

It was unlocked, that worried Remus, and then he caught smell of the occupants of the room...






MCCLAIN'S HOUSE- MORNING- 7:34

Ryan was learning something that morning, about baby's. Their food was very messy. No matter what he did, the child would not eat the mash on the spoon, and even if he coaxed the infants lips open, he would merely spit it out again.


"It can't be that bad." He said, and the baby made a face, one that, Ryan was sure, was meant to convince him against his own words. For a moment Ryan sat the jar on the highchairs table, sat back and sighed; of course, that would be another one of his mistakes.


As he leaned forward, interested as the infant had begun to play with the spoon, and alert that it was a choking hazard, he found the spoon shoved into his relaxed face.

Ryan smiled, or attempted to, as he swallowed a bit. It tasted, true to the label, like peach, but it was very similar,
Ryan thought, to the kind that gets dropped to much, and is sour, and ugly on the tongue.

"It's wonderful!" He lied, but the child was regarding him in suspicion.


Elizabeth came down into the kitchen, and frowned at Ryan's shirt; it was splattered with peach. She raised her eyebrows as the child shook his head at the jar, and walked to the cupboard.


"He can have some cereal." She said, wiping the orange food off the table, and placing a handful of small, round cereal in it's place. The child nodded approvingly, and grabbed at it.