NOTISE Dear Readers, I would like to apologise for having put off the completion of this chapter for so very long. The place where I'd originally stopped was in the middle of poor Harry's lamentation. I have my own confession to make. Writing this genre of fic is very, very draining for me…and I had spent about a week personally dredging up all those emotions, so I could be able to accurately describe how Harry felt. I had my compy locked onto the most bittersweet PoA soundtrack songs that I could for inspiration…and quite frankly, it left me knackered. I cried for hours at a time in my bedroom, because I truly felt what our poor Harry was feeling, having never allowed himself to do this thing before. I must also admit it was an awesome experience, to feel this much for the characters I was writing through. But alas, it was too much. Evidently, I'm not as strong as iron willed Harry. I had to put off finishing it till later, when I was ready for some good solid crying again…)

I just need to take this time to thank the powerful all-encompassing and inspiring spirit of Harry Potter. Because blimey, are you ever a strong person! I'm bowing unworthily...

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"Where are we going, Sirius?" asked Harry, jogging a bit to catch up with his godfather's brisk pace.

"You'll see soon enough," replied Black.

Harry's mind was abuzz with questions and filling with even more as they walked. And walked. And kept walking…

He spoke up again. "Why is the hall so long?" he said behind Sirius' back.

"Many reasons abound to answer that question," Black said, still keeping up the speed walk, "and each has its own merits. But no theory is more prevalent than this: the longer the corridor, the longer your life."

Harry stopped dead. The implications of this statement hit him with almost physical force. Having realised Harry was no longer walking with him, Sirius slowed, turned around and said, "If you need a comparison, this corridor is more than four times the length of the one I passed through for myself."

Mouth agape, Harry stared at him. Four times longer! But Sirius had been born the same year as James and Lily Potter. Unlike his parents, Sirius had been dead only a year, which could mean Harry might live beyond 100. If the abnormal length of this corridor was representative of his life expectancy, Harry may yet stick around to be as old as...Albus Dumbledore.

"Of course, during a person's lifespan," Sirius continued, "the hall length also constantly changes, according to the choices he or she makes. Not every single choice made affects it; only certain ones during someone's life have a direct bearing. These choices are referred to as Paradoxical Points. Each Point is represented by its own Door, but not every Door necessarily contains a Paradox."

His godfather stepped toward Harry and tugged him forward gently.

"And as much as I know you require answers straight away," he went on kindly, "we really must get going. The most important answers will come—I promise you—we're almost there."

Sirius pointed back up the corridor; Harry could finally see the end of it. Turning around again, Black strode in that direction, glancing back to make sure Harry was following.

It felt to Harry as if he were ungluing his feet; after finding out the mind-numbing truth about the corridor, his soles seemed to have taken up root.

As he looked, Harry could see the end of the hall wasn't solid, nor was it a door. It was a shimmering veil, identical to the one he'd passed through in the Department of Mysteries—only this one wasn't ripped—and it was translucent white. Voices could be heard from beyond it, too.

Stepping off to the side, Sirius motioned him to go through the veil.

"You first," he said eagerly. "We musn't keep them waiting, you know."

"Keep who waiting?" questioned Harry. "Sirius, what're—"

"Go on!" Black answered animatedly, giving Harry a little push.

He glanced at his godfather and then toward the veil, inching toward it…now he was passing through it…

Harry had walked straight through the Mirror of Erised. Or at least that's what it seemed like until the group of people he saw shouted "Harry!" and rushed for him as one.

It was his family. All of them were present, to see him. The only time he had seen the lot was almost six years ago, in the Erised Mirror. Then, they had been mere ephemeral images, only capable of beaming smiles out at him. Harry had wished again and again he could reach through that magical glass; his mind knowing but heart not accepting the reflection-people were only to be seen and never, ever touched.

Now it was all indescribably and tangibly real. Harry's parents stood off to one side with Sirius as the rest of the smiling relatives came and introduced themselves. Everybody was speaking with raised voices, and taking turns hugging him, ruffling his hair, patting his back, or innumerable other means of affection.

"Hullo there," said a thin tall gentleman with silver shot through the temples of his black hair, "name's Harrison Potter—James' dad." He shook Harry's hand firmly. Then he raised an eyebrow at Black and said in a light tone, "Oi, you weren't joking, Sirius. This one's a right looker, he is."

Harry's eyes popped to the size of saucers. He looked over inquiringly at Black; Sirius, already smiling impishly, merely winked at him.

"Definitely takes after his father's side of the family," James chimed in proudly, causing Lily to make a sound of mock disgust and punch him in the arm. James sniggered with Lily.

"That may be true," cut in a tall older man with shoulder length hair the colour of honey, "but his emerald eyes are an unmistakable heritage from Lily's good looks."

As the man with light hair glided over to him and put an arm about his shoulders, Harry noticed he had twinkling green eyes.

"After all, he is a grandson of Iris and I."

He gave Harry an affectionate squeeze about the shoulders and said, "I'm Joshua, Grampa Joshie thanks for you," he finished, a great grin upon his goateed face.

Being surrounded by this many people who cared for him caused the warm feeling in Harry's chest to explode with contented little tingles, which filled his insides—sort of like internal happiness fireworks. He had never felt so loved before, nor have truly believed it possible. Of course he'd had his dreams, but…

Also, no one had ever given him this many compliments on his particular combination of looks. With the sole exceptions of people telling him how much he resembled his father and some positive reinforcement from Ginny, the only things he'd ever heard about his looks were insults. Horrible thoughts of the Dursleys enter his head, and he squelched them with venomous enthusiasm.

Now, however, people were trying to take direct credit for why Harry was so "good-looking." Although undeniably flattering, it was also a bit disconcerting…he had never liked this sort of attention, and could feel a revealing crimson start to colour his face as he started darting glances to the floor.

Suddenly, a petite yet pleasantly plump woman with an auburn pageboy rushed forward.

"Oh, go on you lot," she said, "scolding" the men good-naturedly, "you're giving the poor boy a complex! Can't you see you're embarrassing him?"

"N-no, please. Really, it-it's okay," Harry finally spoke up quietly in spite of himself, a shy smile upturning the corners of his lips.

"I don't mind. W-well, not too much," he amended, after seeing the questioning glance from the woman beside him. He looked out at his family, from under his fringe.

"In fact, I don't believe I'd rather have it any other way," he confessed boldly, and grinned broadly at them all, then looked down and blushed to the tips of his toes. His Insta-burst of bravery dissolved on the spot.

"O-ho! Well, if the fruit don't fall far from the tree, Jim-boy," Sirius said enthusiastically, looking directly at Harry's dad.

"Apparently, he's more like you than we thought—if he "lurves" his ickle-attention so much!" proclaimed Black. Everybody laughed out loud, including Harry. Lily threw back her head and pealed out enthusiastic ha-haws. Harry's style of laughter was remarkably similar so his mother's, he noticed.

Now it was James' turn to flush scarlet.

"Wands and wizards," he cursed with a rueful smile on his face, "now look what you've made me do," he muttered to Sirius, sotto voce.

"What?" said Harry's godfather, in feigned innocence.

"Blush like a school-girl in front of my own son."

All his relatives guffawed heartily again, but Harry didn't participate this time. Instead, he gazed in silent wonder at his father. It was the phrase "my own son" coming out of James' mouth that had caught Harry's attention. He felt his heart flutter with excitement. He'd never heard anybody speak these words about him before.

Suddenly, James looked directly at Harry, and Harry drew a sharp intake of breath. His father smiled dazzlingly, and Harry returned the look in an instant. Amazing. BRILLIANT, this was incredible! He was almost dizzy with happiness.

Somebody slid an arm around his waist and he turned distractedly to look at who it was.

The small woman who had intervened on his behalf with the others spoke to him, her eyes round and bright.

"My husband's a big kidder. I'd imagine that's the reason why he and Sirius got along together the Potters so well after Sirius left Grimmauld Place." She stood back and surveyed him appraisingly.

"It is so good to finally meet you at last. Like Joshua said, I'm Iris, your grandmum. We've never met a grandson; we are so proud to have you in the family—you're such a remarkable young man!"

"Yes he is," cut in another voice warmly from off his right. Rounding to face Harry directly was a woman with chocolate brown hair and eyes to match. Iris slid over to make room. He thought he could guess who this was.

"I'm Harrison's wife, Amanda—Gramma Mandy." Sliding forward, she placed a hand on either side of his face and smiled tenderly.

"You are a jewel among wizards, Harry. Each of us is more than happy to call you one of ours."

Gramma Mandy then hugged him tightly. He hugged her back, all the while feeling more and more accepted, wanted, appreciated. This was all mixing pleasantly with his awe and wonderment.

With each introduction, Harry felt those happy tingles spread through his body. Love and contentment as he had never known covered him like a cozy blanket. Harry looked around as the warmth within him grew to encompass everyone in the room.

Then a young man whom Harry recognised quite well disengaged himself from the group.

"All right, then Harry?" Cedric Diggory said conversationally.

Harry didn't know what to say. The last time he had seen Cedric alive was straight before witnessing Lord Voldemort's return. The unpleasant picture of Wormtail ending Cedric's life with the Killing Curse flashed painfully across Harry's mind. He flinched involuntarily. Even after all this time, it was torture to think about. One more death he had been powerless to prevent…

An awkward silence fell between the two of them, but Cedric paid no heed.

"I asked your family if I could be here. I wanted a chance to thank you in person for what you did for me at the Triwizard Tournament that night. You'll never know how much it meant to me, or my parents."

He reached a hand out to Harry; Harry mirrored the gesture and Cedric grasped his forearm up to the elbow. He shook firmly.

"Thanks, mate," Cedric smiled, eyes shining.

Harry took a shuddering breath, and steadied himself.

"You would've done the same for me, Cedric Diggory," he replied with assurety, returning the smile and handshake.

"Of course," returned Cedric, without a hint of hesitation. He nodded once, letting go of Harry's arm.

At long last, Harry was able to face his parents straight on. As he turned, the crowd parted magically between the three of them.

First, he stepped toward them timidly. He looked his mother in the eyes, and read the unspoken wish there. Then, as if on casters, he rushed for her…Harry didn't know what had come over him…as Lily held out her arms…

They embraced each other simultaneously. Lily leaned back, looked into his eyes, which so resembled hers, and reached out a delicate hand to his face. Caressing the place on his forehead where the scar once was, she leaned forward and gently kissed it, as if he were a small child, finally removing the evil "hurt" permanently.

Next, she tenderly held his head to her shoulder and stroked the back of it. Though he was taller than her, she rested her head against his, and held him.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered in an almost disbelieving voice, "my boy…my son….my child…." her voice broke and Harry could feel her body start to shake with crying.

"I've missed you so…so very much..." she went on tearfully, still embracing him.

"Mum," he began, intending to comfort, talking into her shoulder. Then he found himself drowning in his own sea of intense emotion. His eyes squeezed together tightly against the pressure. A tidal wave was building behind his façade, and Harry held Lily closer impulsively.

No, it wasn't supposed to happen like this…finally able to see his mother again, and now he was messing it all up making her cry. Harry instinctively moved his own feelings aside to reassure Lily. What he'd wanted to say was, "It's all right, I'm all right, and I've also missed you."

But Harry was not all right—had never been—and deep down, he knew it. Instead, when he opened his mouth, it was as if a dam of pent-up feelings would burst forth. For the first time ever, Harry contemplated it might be okay if he didn't hold back…this once.

A great sob rent through him, and big tears sprang to his eyes.

Sixteen years of countless repressed emotions festered in his core like an infectious bane. It seethed and writhed, causing an excruciating sensation in his chest. And Merlin, it just hurt…he could hardly breathe for the strain.

It stuck in his throat; Harry wasn't sure what to do as this was something he'd never even considered allowing himself to experience fully before. He stood poised on the abyss of despair-or-reconciliation, yet had no idea how to fly across it. Surely he would fall if he dare left the edge.

Yet if dangerous feelings were poison, pure and unconditional parental love was its antidote. Lily's transformation from being consoled to acting comforter was instantaneous, and a miracle to behold. She gently removed his glasses—as they had fogged up—and peered into his eyes.

"Dearest Harry," she softly said, "I understand...please, you can let go of it now…just…let…go…."

Harry sensed his dad come up behind him, and place reassuring hands on his shoulders.

This simple gesture of love seemed to have completed the circuit somehow. A lightning surge swept through Harry, finally releasing all his inner torment as a hurricane. Once started, he was powerless to stop it, and succumbed fully to the crush.

Bitter, hurtful sobs wracked his form as he felt to be reliving every grief-stricken moment of his life at the same time.

He stood there, as his mother rocked him back and forth, back and forth, to rhythm of his thoughts. James held him up….drawing out the poisonous dregs with a healing touch.

Abuse…becoming Dudley's punching bag and favourite scapegoat for the Dursleys…

Uncertainty…why did Dudley beat him, and why did his Aunt and Uncle never do anything about it?

Stigmatization…he was mocked for his huge clothes, broken glasses, unruly hair, and being the only orphan student in his entire school…

"Be sure it's okay…"

Neglect…no one ever asking him if he was all right, never caring if he was happy, healthy, or even alive…

Loneliness…no friends, no family who loved him, no one to talk to about anything, ever…

Bitterness…Dudley always getting everything he wanted, whilst Harry got nothing…was treated worse than a servant and got locked in a small closet every night…

"Don't hold back…"

Depression…what's the use in keeping on? It's not like he'd ever be happy, anyway…nothing to look forward to about life…

Frustration…why wouldn't the Dursleys let him read the only letter he'd ever got?

Betrayal…finding out the Dursleys had lied to him his whole life about he and his magical parents…

"Need to see it gone…"

Lament…Hagrid telling him the truth about how Voldemort murdered James and Lily, but failed with Harry…

Longing…why could he see his family in the Mirror of Erised, but not touch them?

Humiliation…Snape forever saying churlish things to him in front of everybody in Potions, just because of who he was…

"Have a good cry…"

Manipulation…Voldemort trying to trick him into handing over Philosopher's Stone by using images of his parents…

Self-doubt…because he could speak Parseltongue, did it mean he was the infamous Slytherin's Heir?

Retaliation…blowing up Aunt Marge after comparing his mum to a bitch, and his father to a good-for-nothing unemployed drunk…

"We're here for you…"

Rage…discovering his parents had been betrayed by best friend Sirius Black, resulting in their murders…

Despair…the Dementors' presence summoning that last horrific memory of his dying mother's scream…

Fear…who on earth put his name in the Triwizard Tournament, and why would nobody believe he hadn't done it?

"Let it all go…"

Anguish…it was he who insisted he and Cedric each grab a side of the Triwizard Cup together…

Suffering…trying to stand up to Voldemort's repeated usage of the Cruciatus Curse against him in the graveyard with the Death-Eaters…

Helplessness…clinging to a dead Cedric on the Quidditch pitch after being in the graveyard with Voldemort…why couldn't I have prevented this?

Isolation…it was bad enough 4th year when no one believed him, but this time none of his magical friends would tell him anything…

"You can do this now…"

Degradation… being treated as an addle-brained attention-seeking pariah by nearly everyone in the magic world after coming back from Triwizard with the truth of Voldemort's return…

Hatred…Dolores Umbridge making a mockery of Hogwarts…forcing him to score his hand by blood-letting quill hundreds of times…discovering she was the one who'd sent Dementors to Little Whinging…

Disbelief…watching Sirius's look of surprise as the curse hit him and he fell back through the black veil…

Agony…realising that his godfather was really gone, and would never be with him any more…

"Out with the hurt…"

Vengeance…wanting desperately to even the score with Bellatrix for making Sirius leave him behind…unsuccessfully sending the Cruciatus Curse toward her…

Resignation…being painfully possessed by Voldemort…wanting nothing more than to die so he could at least see his departed godfather again…

Indignation…first not being able to leave Headmaster's office…then finding out the true reason behind the prophecy…and realising Dumbledore had kept the truth from him for so long…

Crushing loss…nobody he could talk to as a family member for the horrid things he was feeling toward himself…

"It's your turn, Harry…"

Quandary…not being able to remember if he was the one who'd tried to kill the Dursleys in that car accident…

Indifference…coming to the near shocking revelation that he didn't care whether he was responsible for the car crash or not, after finding out Dudley had tried to kill him by ramming into his ribs during the crash…

Self-loathing…he didn't really deserve all the sympathy and attention from people since he was responsible for killing his relatives…feeling he was no better than Tom Riddle…nearly getting away with murder…

Obsession…since his memory had failed him after the crash, he'd taken up to rushing everywhere near-constantly…but where was he running to…why…was he missing something…?

"Been far too long, son…"

Self-destructiveness…needing a way to distract his mind from consuming thoughts…and believing he should in some way punish himself for his terrible thoughts and actions, began lashing his arms and wrists…and nobody knew…

Homicidal anger…after nearly a year devoid of crucial pieces of memory, finding out who was truly responsible for making him feel so much horrible doubt toward himself…the party who was behind that mind-bending car crash…he wanted nothing more than to get even, nothing more than to find them to make them feel as much personal agony as they'd made him go through…he was standing over their prostrate forms, eyes flashing... wand raised high…

"I ca…," Harry started to choke into his mother's shoulder, his voice cutting out as his feelings rose to fever pitch.

Lily held him tighter, and James responded instantly. "Go ahead, son. You can say it. Whatever you need to," he ended and began kneading Harry's shoulders soothingly.

"It's the only way for you, Harry," encouraged Lily.

"I can't kill them," rasped out Harry somewhere between defeat and relief.

"Of course you can't Harry…it's not part of who you are," said James assuringly.

Harry felt he finally had to say it. Get all this awful tearing ripping horror out now…but it was so hard…in front of his parents…

"But it is who I am!" he gulped, "After they hurt my family and friends through me, I wanted to kill them, wanted to see them dead…," his head fell back to Lily's shoulder and he cried into it, "it's why I thought I'd killed the Dursleys…I remember wishing to have an accident, and then it happened," he faded off painfully, and shuddered.

"Oh Harry, there is a difference between passionate thought and action," reminded his mother. "Voldemort knows this. He exploited it with you, by trying to remove the barrier between the two."

Everything washed over Harry again and he sobbed, "You don't understand. It's not just them, it's everybody…" trailing off and taking a sharp breath he bore down.

James and Lily exchanged a look and his father said, "How do you mean son? We're here to listen, not criticise. You're okay."

Would he ever be able to explain it all to them? Still clenching his jaw, he gritted out, "All of them…all of my closest friends…and… Cedric Diggory…and Sirius…" he choked, "but most especially you," Harry said painfully, looking up at last. "The only reason Voldemort hurt or killed any of you was because of me…" leaning down into his mother's shoulder, he began to cry again. This was the most painful of all.

"None of it ever would've happened to you…" he continued as that last thing holding him back inside snapped. "If I wasn't around, I should've never been born, you'd all be alive if it weren't for me…it's all my fault…" trailed off Harry in a croaking whisper, at last having nothing more to say. He was spent, this confession having drained all the energy out of him.

And still Lily and James stayed and held him, unafraid, non-judgmental; just doing that which they sensed he required of them. Father and mother, conductor and catalyst; fire and ice.

As Harry realised he'd felt this sensation somewhere before, phoenix song began to fill the air. At first he thought it only in his own mind, but it grew to encompass the whole room. It filled Harry's entire being, and he felt such sweet reassurance…like he could finally be calm. Like he really was "all right" now. It wasn't merely contentment, but a true inner peace. Harry had never once felt this way before.

Slowly, he stepped back from his mother at this happy realisation. It still floored him; he could see his parents now looking serenely toward him.

"What is it Harry?" they asked, intently studying his reactions.

He held a hand to his heart and replied wonderingly, "Something…good…in here…no crushing loss…no more guilt…" at this, his parents beamed at him, "…what happened?" he asked, eyes luminous.

Reaching out a hand to place it on his shoulder, Lily said, "You've negotiated the abyss, Harry." Her bottom lip trembled as her eyes twinkled at him.

Then James stepped forward, raised a hand to Harry's face and swept a hand over one of his tear-stained cheeks. Rather than wiping it away, he held it out for Harry's inspection instead.

"Phoenix tears, son," James smiled knowingly. Harry contemplated the glistening liquid on a new light. "Love and forgiveness may repair and stop the aching void of hurt. But only these can remove the stain."

END OF CHAPTER