A.N Hmmm... it seems the first reunion is starting. Humph, so many more to go. Not to mention the McClain's. Um, I guess I don't have much to say.


Athenakitty: My, you have a lot of questions. Um, can't answer, yes, can't answer, can't answer, can't answer, and: perhaps shocked and happy?



Amyaggie: Thank you. I think shocked and happy come to mind, hehe how fun. Ah, hooked like a fish, cause then I think you ought to pull the hook out before it begins to hurt, or hooked like you can't stop reading? I hope its the second. I do, but also add to it.


Brittany: Thank you. Love long chapters huh? What's long to you? Maybe I can pull it off.


GwEnDoLyN P. MaLfOy: A big cliffy eh? Well then maybe you don't want to read this one until the next chapter comes out as
well. Thank you, I'm still amazed so many people like it.



Wytil: Another name yes, but he still had his memories.


Eric2: Hmm, good question, I can't confirm that.



Silvercrystal77: Thank you.



Wiccan PussyKat: Hehe, yup my first. I think I probably annoyed him further. I know my grammar is not perfect, but I felt like showing him some of the worst. Oh, well like I said, it probably annoyed him further that I didn't get angry.
Poetic, right, I'm not poetic at all. Oh, I'm not implying that he is thoroughly a child. In fact, in later chapters I am sure his eyes will not be a child's. What I meant by it was that he is not as guarding as he used to be. He had had to hide little from his parents, he just had to watch himself more closely. It was first nature to him, I suppose, when he was Harry, not it is second. He had changed, I'm trying to get that into everybody's minds.
Grr, do you realize how many drafts I've already gone through on that chapter? I thought I ought to update though, so the next chapter will have the real meeting, this only starts it. trauma, so difficult to write, yet all my stories have it.
I think it as surprising as it was in the fifth book to find out she was a prefect. Yeah, I guess so. That did seem like Hermione. A dreamboat? I suppose so, I'm never attracted to people I write, so I wouldn't know. He is nice though, and mysterious, I guess I can see were you're coming from.
Epps Hermione, I'm not sure. Do we have any idea about how she reacts to change? I think she takes it well, don't you. Ah well, I'll find out soon. Thank you!



Professor Authordude: I thought it was funny. Is it your real name, I mean on Fanfiction.net, because he said you have stories.
I was laughing for a whole three minuet when I read it, it was so unfounded. Self control, what are you talking about. I insulted him far better then I ever could by yelling. I mean, if I just answered his review, then most people would have skipped over it. I said it in my Author Note, were quiet a few people look. The meeting begins in this story.







Playing With Dreams






It was blue, the kind of bright blue that reminds one of a child's toy, and it smelt of burnt rubber. Devlin glanced up at Severus, asking silently if the professor really expected him to drink it, or if this was joking and would pull the real potion from his pocket in a moment. It seemed this was the real one, for the professor scowled cruelly down at the boy, and said gruffly.



"Mr. Emerson, could you hold Mr. McClain down, I think we might have to force the potion down him." Devlin brought it to his lips, then, and gulped the huge amount down in seconds. It burned on its way, but left a cool sense after its passage. It was worth it, he decided, as he felt the flames in his injured arm decrease.


Mr. Emerson, the Auror, had risen halfway from his chair, and Devlin, noticing the way he seemed almost frightened of Snape, guessed that he was a former student of Hogwarts. Devlin could see the man relaxed at knowing he would not have to restrain an eight year old. He felt sorry for the man.



Snape said nothing more, merely took a seat, which were ample in the small room, crossed his hands over his chest, and continued to scowl at the world in general. Strangely, Devlin found it comforting. Something's never change, he was happy that the quote was true.


Right then, Devlin saw his old professor as a fall back, something that was predictable. He was sure the professor knew who he was though, knew he was Harry James Potter, son of James Potter.


Yet, he was making no comment, and more strangely, Devlin caught him once lowering his glare, and gazing at the child in an almost civil contemplation. He was comparing him to something that was not stupidness, it made Devlin smile inwardly.








HOGWARTS




She was pulling on her cloak, not caring that it was rumpled and bunched in places. And further not caring that her feet were bare, nor that she wore only pajamas under the thin cloak. She only bothered to button one clip on her cloak, and then spared a glance at Godric, who was sitting at her desk chair; shuffling her papers carelessly.



He had gotten Hermione to give back his huge red and gold cloak, though she had always wondered why he had never just summoned it. He had regarded her strangely when she had quickly asked, while pulling her cloak on.



"I gave it to you, I could not merely take it out of your closet." She had found the comment strange, for he had never offered it to her in words, merely draped it over her as she had cried, and then fallen into a fitful slumber.



She had kept it, half hoping this legend would come back for it. Half hoping, in that childish part that we all keep in teenage years, that she could threaten him with it; make him tell her were Harry was, or she wouldn't give it to him.



He had never come, and by the end of the year she had stuffed it into her trunk, and brought it with her to home, a hidden part of her still unwilling to leave it unguarded at Hogwarts.



"Come, your showing me were he is." She used the voice that had even the Sytherin's stopping in their tracks, and obeying her. It did not seem to work for Godric though, he merely pushed back the chair, and came to stand before her.



"I can't." He said, as if he had never expected her to demand this of him. She glared at him; he would not tell her that her friend was alive and well, then refuse to show him to her.



"Why?" She demanded, and perhaps her glower did not match the status of Snape's, but the raw anger and frustration in it, produced the same feeling that the elder professors cold and empty one did.



She found it interesting then, that he merely frowned at her, as if he was unaware of what he made her angry; yet he seemed also to understand so well.
"My power, it will set the alarms were he is whirling. Perhaps if you gave me ten minuets, I could suppress it, but I do not recommend it."



"Yes, well I do. Hurry up do what you must to get past whatever alarms, but I swear, more then ten minuets, and..." She let him draw his own thoughts on what he might do, then sighed.



"I suppose it is best for my charge as well." He seemed almost sick for a few seconds, but Hermione could not place why.



Out of his pocket he drew a vile. It had strange runes caved on its wooden sides, and its smooth rounded surface seemed to draw the eyes away from the idea of its contents. It did not have the desired effect on Hermione Granger.



"What's in there?" She asked, only to have Godric sigh. He, after all, had not expected her to throw away the chance of knowledge, just because a mild spell prompted her not to ask.



"It is similar to a pensive," He took a deep breath, arching both his eye brows as Hermione nodded quickly, as if she wished to fast forward his words, so he would be closer to the point.



"It stores power, not thoughts. And can keep a tremendous amount. Many use it so the other they are dueling overlook them as unimportant. I have two, I sometimes used them both, but today I only need to stoop to Dumbledore's power level, after all, he must too use these to get into the ministry. I estimate he knows just how much he can walk into the ministry with. And to top it off, I've previously lost power from this form, it's so young."



Hermione stared at him for a moment, then nodded, still digesting his words. Or perhaps, he thought, she places them some were in her mind to consider later.



"Do it then!" She suddenly snapped, perhaps realizing she had delayed her own rule.




"Of course, M'lady." He replied, and was immensely amused by the anger he extracted with his words. She had known he had mocked her, just very politely.



He placed his hand over the top of the bottle, and with practiced ease, watched as his blue magic flowed into it. It was peaceful for Hermione to watch, yet Godric was feeling no calm. When had been the first time he had visited his charge in a hospital?



Three, four years old, a tiny voice whispered in his head. When his heir had been a child, they had often talked. Harry had never been told his name, no, but he was the youth who always seemed to make his uncle stop hitting him, or who sat by his hospital bed, reading a book he always brought in his endless pocketed coat.



But he had never been able to stop every beating; there had been many he was not there for.



ST. MUNGOS




The Headmaster was staring thoughtfully at him, watching the emotions cross his face. He was dreaming, the juvenile thought was the first that had jumped into his mind, but he quickly drowned it. The next was that he had gone insane, that Azkaban's side effects had finally effected him.



That seemed a rational choice, so he held onto it; while his mind also cautiously began to wonder if it was true. If he was not insane; if his godson, James and Lily's son, had been found.



"It is him Sirius." There was a gentle firmness to the headmasters distant words. Sirius tried to focus on it, to pull himself away from his thoughts.



"I can guarantee it is your godson Sirius, he wants to talk to you." Even if it is a dream, Sirius thought, I'm willing to play along with it. Sirius had often dreamt of finding Harry, but never as a child. In all of those dreams, he had played along with it. But he had always woken up when he had touched the boys shoulders. I will know soon, he thought, nodding his head at Albus.



"What do I say to him?" He asked. It was silly, really to ask Dumbledore this, for he had spoken in his dreams so many time to Harry. But somehow, the words of his dreams, were not returning to his memory.



"Ask him what his favorite thing is, asking him about his family." Sirius nodded, the part of having another family not yet digesting in his mind.



Perhaps he should have let it sink in, before he walked back into the room. Perhaps he would have realized then, that it was not a dream, for Harry had always flung himself at Sirius in his dreams; there had never been a complication.



But he did not pause, he went straight back into the room, into a game he did not know the rules to.