"No good sittin' worryin' abou' it," Hagrid said. "What's comin' will come, an we'll meet it when it does. Dumbledore told me wha' you did, Harry."

Hagrid's chest swelled as he looked at Harry.

"Yeh did as much as yer father would've done, an' I can' give yeh no higher praise than that."

-- Hagrid, in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

*

Disclaimer: Please consider this story disclaimed. If you don't believe me, see Chapters 1,2,3,4,5,6,7, and 8.

A/N: The grand saga of … er … that is to say, the story of "how bad things happen to everybody's favorite characters" continues … Yes, I know it has been a very, very long time since the last chapter. Yes, I'm very sorry. No, I'm afraid I can't promise that it won't happen again. Yes, I do have my priorities straight – that's how I was able to even get this chapter out! Anyway, here it is, and hopefully the next one will be out soon.

Thanks to Kitana, Mayleesa, spangle star, Renai, Tarawen, MidnightDragon, Ari, Shei, Kaydee, Xaiver, Nicky, Ice, Phoenix, Anie, WeasleyTwinsLover1112, Jeva, Ariana Deralte, Giesbrecht, Alana, LittleEar BigEar's Sis, Sailor Hylia, Roxy, Lil Bear, Shaman Nameless One, Rowan, Green Eyed Lady, Chrysta, Kay, SiriusBPadfoot, summersun, and anyone who has reviewed since I last checked for their comments on Chapter Eight.

As always, a few questions and comments are addressed down at the end of the chapter.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

NO HIGHER PRAISE:

CHAPTER NINE

"You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!" chimed in Professor Flitwick. "Inseparable!"

"Of course they were," said Fudge. "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him."

~ from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

* * *

Remus sat at his kitchen table, hands wrapped around a warm mug, and watched Sirius pace. Their brief chat with Dumbledore had left both of them frightened and depressed – and his command for them to stay at home until he contacted them again was obviously wearing hard on Sirius. Remus himself was quite tired enough to be glad of a brief rest. But it was getting on toward eleven o'clock in the morning, and Harry was still missing. Still alive, according to the Headmaster, but definitely in trouble.

Wandless in the midst of Death Eaters. Dear God, he didn't stand a chance.

And the worst of it was that Remus had no idea what he could do. Sirius had suggested raiding the Ministry to get a list of the names of every suspected Death Eater, hunting them down, and searching their houses, but there were approximately twenty-seven flaws in that little plan. And Remus was having no luck coming up with a better – his head ached terribly. That last transformation had been rather nasty. And having to calm Sirius down hadn't exactly been a relaxing experience, either.

Not that he actually was calm now. Remus had pointed out at least three times now that wearing himself out wasn't going to help Harry, but Sirius had merely snarled at him and continued pacing jerkily, hand tight on his wand. At every little noise, he swung toward the window or the fireplace. He was seriously – no pun intended – beginning to get on Remus's nerves. What was left of them, at least. Remus was still tight-strung though he had decided to just internalize the situation – it had happened, he couldn't do anything about it right now, and there was no point in dwelling on it. Sure, the buried emotional baggage would make his next transformation a highly disagreeable experience, but that was just life.

Maybe, once they got Harry back, he could let it out by throwing himself into the finding-out-who-stole-James's-body business. Or maybe he could get rid of the pain and stress by dismembering whoever had decided it would be clever to play on a lonely, orphaned boy's natural longing for his dead father by impersonating the said deceased father. Yes, that was an excellent plan. It might help Sirius, too.

An odd tinkling, ringing sound broke out from the parlor. Remus started – evidently, he hadn't calmed down as much as he had hoped – and some of his tea sloshed out of the mug. Fortunately, it was no longer scalding hot. Sirius reacted a bit more strongly. He spun around, looking panicked and furious, and raised his wand, obviously poised to fling out a curse. It did sound a bit like a warning ward – but Remus happened to know that none of the protection charms he'd put up around his cottage sounded quite like that.

He rose, trying to clear some of the cotton wool from his head. The ringing came again. He knew what that sound was – it was rather important, really – but he couldn't for the life of him remember what it meant. Sirius had his head tilted, scowling in thought. Then his pale eyes widened in realization, and he flung himself toward the parlor, nearly wrenching the door off of its hinges as he hurtled into the room. "That Muggle thing!" he shouted over his shoulder, and Remus remembered.

He and Sirius had consulted Harry's friend Hermione Granger for suggestions as to birthday gifts early in the summer – after he'd vetoed Sirius's proposal that they buy another new broom for him. Her return owl had born an enthusiastic suggestion that they install a Muggle telephone so that Harry could contact them without having to send his owl out since his relatives didn't like when he did that, and sometimes they even made him lock poor Hedwig up, and Harry would be sure to like a way to actually talk to Sirius, and a fireplace wouldn't work, of course, because the Dursleys's was boarded up, and anyway, telephones were easy to install and not really expensive, and she, Hermione, would love a way to be able to talk to Professor Lupin because he really had been a great Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and she and Harry both had a very shaky grounding in that subject because their first two professors had really not been good teachers, and telephones really weren't difficult to use at all. And Harry might also like some chocolate frogs.

And Sirius, after spending ten minutes ranting about the parsimonious, stupid, cruel, animal-abusing, heartless, mentally negligible Dursleys, who would get what was coming to them just as soon as Harry no longer needed the protection of his blood relatives, had laughed and said he thought Professor Lupin had a fan.

So they had installed the telephone, with rather more difficulty than Hermione had led them to expect, and sent the number to Harry and Hermione both. They had gotten very little use out of it, though, as those accursed Dursleys apparently disapproved of Harry using the telephone. Sirius had contacted Harry on his birthday, but had been able to talk with him for less than ten minutes before the line went dead. Harry's letter the next day – the last one Sirius had gotten before this recent calamity – had explained that Uncle Vernon had yanked out the plug and gotten a tad upset. He suggested that they wait for him to call them rather than vice versa – he could ring them up when the Dursleys were out of the house. But apparently the Dursleys had been sticking close to home, thereby proving themselves great nuisances. Didn't the wretches have any social life? What business did they have always being in their own house?

And that, Remus thought, explained quite well why neither of them was particularly familiar with the tellyphone sound. But Sirius had remembered it – even though it was probably only Hermione, calling up to inquire just how one did deal with Cornish pixies.

Remus reached the door of the parlor in time to see Sirius trip spectacularly over the ottoman, somersault oddly over the coffee table, and snatch the tellyphone up in the middle of its third ring. "Hullo?!" he demanded, rather louder than necessary. "Who's there?"

And then his gaunt face overspread with such an expression of relief, thankfulness, and joy that Remus felt his heart ache oddly. He had not seen Sirius look that happy for approximately fourteen years.

"Harry!" Sirius cried, dropping his wand and clutching at the talking part of the telephone with both hands, almost as if he was afraid it would vanish. "Harry – oh, God, Harry!"

Remus's knees suddenly went limp; he had to clutch at the doorframe for support. For a moment he rested his forehead against the cool wood, breathing out a wordless prayer of thankfulness. Sirius was pouring a torrent of demands into the Muggle calling device, demanding to know if Harry was all right, if he was free, if he was all right, where he was, and especially if he was all right. Remus straightened and flicked his wand at the telephone, increasing the volume of the noise coming out. Sirius winced and jerked it away from his ear.

" – fine, Sirius," Harry was saying, his voice sounding exhausted and stressed through the telephone's distortion. "Really. Only I don't know exactly where I am, just that it's some little town called Chestershire."

"We'll come and get you," Sirius said firmly, dropping to one knee and recovering his wand. He summoned a pile of Muggle maps as he added, "Couldn't you find a fire and – oh, I suppose you haven't any Floo powder."

"No," Harry said ruefully. "I don't even have my wand. I don't even have my shoes. That's why I couldn't get any Muggles to take me to London or back to Little Whinging. I'm in my pajamas. But, listen, Sirius -"

Sirius was manifestly not listening. He had gone into full planner mode. "We'll find any towns named Chestershire, Harry, and apparate there immediately. Where can you wait for us? Is there some park we'd be able to find? Or –"

"I can't wait here in this town." Harry's voice was beginning to sound strained. "And we've got to get this conversation over. I – er – I broke into a Muggle house to use their 'phone, but they could get back any time. I'll be waiting – well, listen, Sirius, I've got to tell you something." He took a deep breath, and Remus felt an odd chill of foreboding. "It's – it's about my dad."

Sirius stiffened, his knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip on his wand. "Harry –"

"He's alive," Harry said quickly. "He's with me. Well, I mean, he escaped with me, and I –"

"That's not your father, Harry." Sirius seemed to be doing an unusually good job of controlling himself, Remus noted, numbly. He moved toward the telephone. "It's not James."

For a few moments, there was silence on the other side of the line. "Yes, it is," Harry finally answered, sounding very young and uncertain. "I know it seems impossible, but –"

"Listen, Harry, you don't understand." The strain was beginning to get into Sirius's voice now. "That – is – not – James. It's a Death Eater trick."

"That's what I thought," Harry replied, sounding more sure of himself. "But I was wrong. It really is him. I can't explain right now, Sirius, but it is. He's alive and – well – he got hurt while we were getting away. I left him –"

"James is dead!" Sirius shouted suddenly, and Harry's voice stopped. "He's dead, Harry! James is dead – James has been dead for fourteen years! Dead people can't live again – God knows we all wish they could, but they can't! Your father is dead! That – that thing you think is him is one of Voldemort's plots – he's trying to get at you, Harry, but you can't believe it! It's –"

"I know what I'm talking about!" Harry's voice screamed out of the telephone. "It's my dad! Why can't you just believe me for once?! I'm not insane and I'm not confunded and it's my dad and he's hurt and the Death Eaters could be after us for all I know and why can't we argue about this once we're safe?"

Remus plucked the telephone from Sirius's hand. Screaming matches would get them nowhere. Sirius let him take it and collapsed onto the edge of the sofa, clutching at his hair as if it were his only link to sanity.

"Harry, this is Professor Lupin," he said, as calmly as he could. "You're right – we don't have time to argue about this."

"It's my dad," Harry repeated miserably, and Remus's heart contracted painfully. Harry really thought he had his father back. And they would have to be the ones who broke his happy dream. Voldemort deserved to scream in Azkaban forever for this.

"You have to trust us, Harry, when we say that we know it is not," he said gently. "Now, it shouldn't take us long to find Chestershire on the map. You are still in England, aren't you?" he added anxiously.

"They speak English," Harry answered dolefully, sounding badly shaken.

"Good. Is there any easily-recognizable landmark in the town where you could wait for us without being picked up by the Muggle Hit Men – I mean, the Muggle police?"

"That's what I'm trying to explain. I – I do trust you and Sirius, but I know it is my dad, and I had to leave him back in the forest. I'm going back to him to wait. He's unconscious," Harry added with unusual coldness, "so if you're afraid he's a Death Eater planning to kill me, you don't have to worry. He hasn't got a wand, anyway."

Sirius bounded to his feet and made a valiant effort to yank the telephone away from Remus. "Stay where you are, Harry, please! Don't go running back into danger – stay in the town," he begged.

Harry took an audible deep breath before answering. "If you thought it was my – if you really thought it was James, Sirius, wouldn't you want to make sure he got rescued too? I'm sure it's him, and he got me out of there. I can't risk letting him get left there. He's hurt, Sirius."

"I don't want you to get hurt," Sirius told him desperately. "Please, Harry. Just wait until we get there."

"Sirius is right," Remus chimed in. "We can go … er … check on – him – when we get there. Professor Dumbledore would want you to wait for us, Harry."

He could hear Harry breathing harshly on the other end for some moments before the boy answered. "I'll be waiting in a big stand of pines round behind a yellow cottage on Ram Drive. It's on the opposite side of the village from the road, two left turns past the church." And then he hung up. Sirius swore in dismay and glared down at the Muggle telephone.

"How do you make this thing call him back?"

"I don't know," Remus muttered, and dropped into an armchair. "I just don't know, Sirius."

* * * * *

Finding Chestershire proved to be easier than Remus had expected. Within fifty-three minutes of Harry's disturbing communication, he and Sirius had apparated to the side of the road less than half-a-mile away from the town. Sirius had been all for trying to appear right in the trees back of the yellow cottage, but Remus had vetoed the suggestion. Suppose some Muggle happened to be looking out of her window? How likely was it that she would take two grown men abruptly appearing in her garden with calm equanimity?

So Sirius had sullenly agreed to the extra delay, and they had aimed for the woods right beside a small road south of the village. Unfortunately, the spot they had chosen was rather well-endowed with brambles and other painful underbrush, but a few discreet clearing charms created a pathway.

Within twenty-six minutes of their arrival in the woods, Remus, leading a large black dog on a leash, had strolled past a quaint little stone church, taken two left turns, and halted for a rest in front of a neat little yellow cottage on a road called 'Ram Drive.' He leaned against the white fence, casting an admiring eye at an even more adorable blue cottage across the way, and poked Sirius admonishingly with his toe. The animagus was straining to pull through the fence, and Remus, for one, intended not to alert any Muggles to their presence. The last thing any of them needed was for the Ministry to be called into this.

"Calm down, Padfoot," he muttered, kneeling down next to the enormous dog. "We're just going to walk down to that clump of bushes, and I'll slip James's – I mean, Harry's invisibility cloak on. I'm going to take the leash off, but you'd best stay with me, all right?"

Maybe everyone would have been too busy preparing lunch to bother with noticing a black dog and a man in worn and faded Muggle clothing scrambling over old Mrs. Van Walt's garden fence, but it wasn't really a risk Remus was eager to take. So, when the black dog leapt nimbly over old Mrs. Van Walt's garden fence and charged around her house, he appeared to be quite alone, and no one took any heed.

Remus sprinted after Sirius, faintly annoyed. Didn't the crazy dog have any idea of caution at all? And he was likely to give Harry heart failure, dashing around like that. He turned the corner of the cottage, dodged a rose trellis, and headed toward the stand of pines, his heart beginning to quicken nervously. If Harry wasn't here after all …

But Harry was there. Remus nearly tripped over Padfoot as the dog stopped abruptly, transfixed by the scene before them.

Harry was seated on the covering of fallen pine needles, half-hidden by the shade from the old trees, his head propped up against one dark trunk. Apparently, he was fast asleep. He looked tired and sick, and he was barefoot and clad in pajamas that looked as if they'd better fit that whale-like cousin of his – but that was not what made Remus's heart plummet sickeningly.

Another person, equally sunk in slumber, was lying on the needles next to Harry, his head actually in Harry's lap. And, even from this distance, there was no mistaking the mop of black hair and the lines of the face.

"James," Remus whispered involuntarily, eyes widening in wonder and pain. At his side, Padfoot whimpered.

Remus caught his emotions back at the sound. No matter how much it might look like his lost friend, it was not James. James was dead and gone. This was a Death Eater – or, even worse, some other Dark thing of Voldemort. He had to keep a proper perspective, had to be the clear-headed one. This was not the time to mourn; this was not the time to have doubts.

The air shifted beside him, and Remus turned to see Sirius rising to his feet, a human again. His face was twisted in a wild mixture of pain, anger, and longing as he stared alternately at James and Harry. "Prongs," he mumbled brokenly, hand twitching on his wand. "Oh, God …"

Remus put a hand on his friend's shoulder, halting him. "Sirius," he began, then swallowed and cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. Good heavens, he'd sounded as if he were about to break into tears. That would never do. "It isn't James, you know."

"But what if – what if we're wrong? He looks …" Sirius trailed off, biting his lip, and took several deep breaths, his shoulders shaking. His expression abruptly shifted into a sort of cold fury quite unlike himself. "I swear, Moony," he hissed, "someday they're going to pay for this."

Harry stirred against the tree trunk. Sirius started forward again, dropping down to his knees beside his godson as Harry opened bleary eyes in half-awake fear. For one second, the boy stared uncomprehendingly, then his face lit up in joy and relief. "Sirius!" he yelped, starting up.

Sirius grabbed Harry into a grateful hug, and the teenager's face reddened in embarrassment. Remus watched for an instant, vaguely troubled that he was too disturbed by the pseudo-James-Potter to even feel happy that Harry was alive and safe.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Sirius demanded, holding Harry out at arm's length to frown at him. "Are you hurt?"

Harry turned his head to smile at Remus, who felt ridiculously pleased that he'd been noticed. "Hello, Professor Lupin. I'm really happy to see you," he said sincerely. Turning back to Sirius, he added, with a strained grin, "Golly, I can't tell you how glad I am that the 'phone worked. I was scared I wasn't remembering the right number. And I've no idea how I could ever have thought of another way to get through to friends. Thank you ever so much for coming for me –"

"Are you all right, Harry?" Sirius repeated implacably.

"I'm fine," Harry assured him hastily, then reddened. "Well, I mean, I'm really tired and I, er, burned my feet a little, but it's not bad and I'll be fine right away. Say, I lost my wand –"

Remus, still feeling as if his mind had been wrapped in cotton-wool, produced the wand from his pocket as Sirius shoved Harry back into a sitting position and started wrapping up his godson's obviously more-than-a-little burned feet in scraps of his own robe. Harry took his wand back, looking unutterably thankful, then glanced sideways at the unconscious man in the pine needles, his expression shifting back into worried determination.

"Sirius," he began, with a pathetic mixture of hope and hesitation, "look – will you listen to me? This really is my –"

Sirius drew in an uneven breath and cut Harry off. "I don't want to hear it, Harry."

Harry carried on, his jaw set. "This really is my father. I know that's tough to believe, but – just look at him, Sirius! It's my dad!"

Sirius kept tying bandages around Harry's left foot, and made no answer. Remus forced himself to move forward, dropping to his knees beside Ja – beside the imposter. Keeping one hand on his wand – just in case – he peered down at the all-too-familiar face. It really did look just like James's face – James's face drawn with pain, and rather thinner and paler than it ought to be, however. And hardly a day older since the last time Remus had seen him. Somehow, that made it easier to believe that it was all a trick. Carefully, Remus plucked the glasses off of the man's face and turned them over, studying the frames.

"These aren't James's spectacles," he told Harry.

"I know," Harry answered, sounding annoyed. "But that doesn't mean anything. When – stop!" Remus froze in place, his hand an inch above James's right wrist. "Don't touch his shirt, Professor," Harry ordered. "Voldemort charmed it into a portkey. I don't really think it still works, but I've had to be careful not to touch it." He grimaced eloquently. "That made it awfully difficult to get him here, of course, but …"

"A portkey?" Sirius demanded. "Voldemort? Harry, what exactly happened last night? We talked to the Dursleys –"

Remus interrupted. The record had to be set straight, here, for everyone's sake. "I talked. You threatened and ranted and turned Vernon Dursley into a slug."

Harry's eyes lit up. "You did? You turned Uncle Vernon into a slug? Did you change him back?" he added anxiously.

"Oh, yes," Remus assured him. "And cast memory charms, so if you go back to them, they shouldn't remember any of it."

Harry sighed faintly in relief. "Oh, good."

"Anyway," Remus said abruptly, "we need to get back to Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore needs to know about this, and it's not safe here."

"You're right," Harry agreed, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "We came on foot all the way from the house where Voldemort was, so I'll bet we're still really close."

"Do you remember where it is?" Sirius asked, excited. "If we could find and search one of Voldemort's bases –"

"Never mind that now." Remus extracted a box from his pocket, hoping that his practical-and-focused-in-any-crisis voice would suffice to keep Sirius calm until they had Harry in the infirmary and the James-imposter locked up. "This portkey will take us to Hogwarts. Sirius, put the cloak in your pocket. Wait a moment – we've all got to touch it at the same time."

"What about my –" Harry began.

"We won't leave him here," Remus assured him. "I'll just put one of his hands on the portkey. Sirius, hold the box." Very, very careful not to touch the shirt sleeve, he lifted the unconscious man's hand.

And instantly dropped it again, with a startled exclamation. Sirius had his wand out before Remus had even finished blinking. "What?"

"It felt –" Remus turned the hand over on the ground, and had to turn away for a moment, feeling queasy at the sight. The palm of the man's hand was burnt even worse than Harry's feet – it looked just as if it had been seared with a hot iron. For a very long time. The skin was almost completely gone.

"The floor was charmed," Harry said, his voice soft and strained. "That's how my feet got burned. I stepped on it after we knocked the door down. And his shoes didn't help either. So he turned into his animagus form, and –"

Wait. That didn't make sense at all. "Animagus form?" Remus and Sirius both demanded sharply.

Harry lifted his chin, eyes flashing. "Yes. He can turn into Prongs, just like you told me he could, Professor. He looked just exactly like the Patronus I conjured, too. So it is him. If it was just some Death Eater using a spell to make him look like my dad, he wouldn't be able to turn into a stag, now would he?"

Remus's heart flipped over. Sirius was wide-eyed, looking half-convinced. "No, that wouldn't work at all. Maybe it is –"

"All that that means, Sirius, Harry," Remus cut in miserably, "is that it isn't Polyjuice Potion like we hoped it was. It's something worse."

Harry turned, frowning. "But doesn't polyjuice require a bit of the person you turn into?"

"Er, I suppose you haven't read the Daily Prophet lately," Sirius muttered. "Someone broke into the cemetery, and … well … and we – Dumbledore and everyone – figured that Death Eaters had stolen James's body." He took a deep breath. "We ought to have told you, Harry. I'm very, very sorry for this whole mess."

Harry's nose wrinkled up. "That's kind of sick. But they didn't steal his body, anyway, and it can't be polyjuice because it really is my dad. There was a spell," he added eagerly, "that Voldemort cast on the night when – when my mum got killed and I got this scar. Dad wasn't really dead at all. His body was just kind of in stasis, or something, while his mind was off somewhere else. There was a kind of linking spell that didn't work quite right, I think, so when – when Wormtail did that potion thing and Voldemort came back, that made Dad's mind go back to his body. And Voldemort – yes, I remember now, he said something about the Daily Prophet. He must have read that – and I guess he caught Dad somehow, and turned his shirt into a portkey, and then Dad said something about Wormtail, I remember – he didn't know he was the traitor – and he turned up at the Dursleys' house, so when I grabbed his arm it took us both to Voldemort's basement. So, you see," he finished pleadingly, "it makes sense, really. I know dead people can't come back to life, but he wasn't dead."

Sirius looked a bit stunned. "So, you're saying – he wasn't dead?"

Remus found himself wishing, desperately, that it was true. There were few things in life he'd like more than to know that Harry had his father back – than to know that James was alive again, to talk with James and be told that he, James, hadn't really ever believed that he, Remus, was the spy at all – that it had all just been a mistake, a horrible mistake.

But the things one wants the most are the things that one can never really have. He'd known that for years.

"Harry," he said gently, "I know it sounds plausible, but think about it. Why would Voldemort cast a spell that sent James into some kind of coma instead of killing him?"

Harry's face froze. For a moment, Remus was surprised at the depth of the miserable, frightened realization on Harry's face. "Harry?" Sirius asked anxiously, reaching out to rest a hand on the boys' shoulder. He looked almost as unhappy as Harry did – as if he'd been given hope, then had it snatched away again – but he was still eager to comfort his godson if he could. "Are you all right?"

"No," Harry whimpered, burying his face in his hands. "Please – can't you just believe me? It's true, it is!"

Sirius's dark eyes flicked up, meeting Remus's gaze over Harry's bent head. "Let's get back to Hogwarts," he said dully. "Dumbledore said to hurry."

Remus nodded, and turned back to the – well, obviously it couldn't be a Death Eater if it could turn into a stag. It had to be James in one sense, at least … but that only meant that Voldemort had been practicing some extremely dark magic. When they got back to Hogwarts, he'd have an awful lot of research to do. Perhaps Severus would help – he'd be likely to know just how far Voldemort had gone with the dark arts. Chances were, now, that it was some kind of corpse-animating spell … an awfully good one, apparently. The question was what the mind was like – and what had happened to the soul. And, of course, what spells Voldemort had cast to control the … James.

He wondered, briefly, if Voldemort was mortal to werewolves. At the moment, the thought of ripping out the bastard's throat with his wolf-fangs seemed terribly appealing …

"Moony," Sirius muttered. "Hurry up, will you?"

Remus ripped himself away from his thoughts and lifted James's hand. "All together," he repeated, and Harry straightened up, looking feverish and unutterably miserable. They all laid their hands on the portkey inside the box; they jerked together as the magic seized them, and Remus briefly wondered if anyone was touching James's shirt, and, if so, what touching one portkey while under the influence of another would do. Hopefully, it didn't involve splinching.

Then they were tumbling into Dumbledore's study, staggering on his carpet in a rather undignified manner. Remus lowered James's body to the ground as Sirius deposited Harry in a chair, then they both turned.

Fawkes was on his perch, studying them through bright eyes. At his side, Albus Dumbledore stood, snowy eyebrows arched in momentary surprise as he looked down at James Potter's unconscious body. With his "Enigmatic Smile Number Seven" firmly in place, he lifted his gaze to Remus and Sirius.

"I see we have a great deal to talk about, gentlemen."

* * * * *

END OF CHAPTER NINE

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Questions and Comments:

Alas, I am unable to answer everyone's review … time & space constraints, don't you know. Wish I could, but I can't. Lots of thanks to all those whose reviews I didn't address individually – I can't tell you how much I appreciate the time that you take to review.

Kitana: Thanks! Glad you like the wandless-magic bit. Yes, it would indeed have been difficult for Harry to hitch a ride – a barefoot, limping boy in pajamas, along with an unconscious, badly-burned man, at 4:00 AM … not many people would leap at the chance to pick them up. Oh, yes, Snape will indeed be showing up … and James certainly isn't going to smile kindly and pat Snape on the back for making Potions class a misery for Harry. I rather like Snape, so hopefully the scenes where they meet won't be difficult to write …

Renai: I'm so happy you think my characterization is good! I really struggle with it sometimes, so I'm delighted that it seems to be turning out all right. No classes, I'm afraid … my lectures would sound something like, "And … er … just … think like the person you're trying to write. Ought to work, don' t you think?" Oh, dear, now I can't get that picture out of my head … James and Harry careening down the halls of Voldemort's hideaway leaving trails of sofa-cushion-stuffing behind them, while Voldemort shouts after them that they're not going to be getting any Christmas presents from Granddad if they keep acting like irresponsible brats …

Tarawen: Thank you! Yep, they wouldn't have gotten much help from either Muggles or wizards – not that it would be easy to hitch a ride on a broomstick anyway, I suppose. I was originally planning to have the Sirius-and-Remus-come-and-get-them part in Chapter Eight, but it was getting awfully long. Ah, well.

Ari: Thanks! Why did Voldie let them go? Ah … that's the question, all right. All will be revealed … later. Much later. Heh heh heh …

kaydee: Wow – what a lovely long review! Oh, yes, Voldemort is indeed a dastardly fiend, up to many things. :^) Glad you think it's reuniony and funny! I think I mentioned, in an answer to someone else's review, that I should have put in something about Harry's scar hurting. My own interpretation of the books is that Harry's scar hurts when Voldemort is in a murderous mood – and he really wasn't during much of their little interview. Still, it was a lamentable oversight on my part. Sorry! Ouch, yes – sold him and his family to his family. That does make it a bit hard for them, eh? "Yeah, guys, meet my granddad – he killed my mum. Tried to kill me, but we've put that behind us. Now we're all one BIG HAPPY FAMILY! Whaddya mean, you think I'm under the Imperius curse?" Sorry, I seem to have digressed. The fact that Peter is a traitor hasn't really sunk into James's mind yet – he has a distressing tendency to avoid thinking about things that are painful. Later, he may well be very angry – or he may not. Hmmm, I'm not really sure how "Lucius" is pronounced. Anyone else have an idea? I know it's a roman name. Personally, I think of it as "loosheyus" – darn, it sure looks a lot less elegant like that – but I daresay that's not the right pronunciation. My name? Well, I came across it while I was reading the dictionary. I was actually skimming through randomly writing down words to use in a sci-fi story I was working on, but I happened upon "Triskelion" and paused to read the entry since the word looked reeeally neat. I'm something of a word person – am in the process of inventing a language for a different story, want to be a philologist like Tolkien – and I just thought it was a cool word. Don't ask why. It means a three-armed symbol, and I chose it as my ff.n name partly because I like it and partly because "Triskelion" ended up being the title of a fantasy novel-type-thing I'm working on … it's the symbol on the flag of the main characters … er, never mind. It's not an animal. :^) Pretty obscure word, in fact.

Nicky: That's a very good guess! Voldemort did indeed put some extra spells on James … but that's a story for another chapter. :^)

Ice: Wow – thank you! I'm really flattered.

Jeva: Thank you! Long reviews … *blissful sigh.* :^) So much fun to read! Sure hope you liked this chapter …

Sailor Hylia: What compliments! Thank you so much. There's nothing that delights an author's heart quite as much as appreciation of … er … well, the said author's sad attempts at witticisms. Anyway – glad you liked it! Hmm … in reference to your comments concerning the Marauders & Resurrected!James: it seems to me that, what with the war and everything, it would take a lot of solid proof to convince RL & SB that JP was really back. I think Remus might actually be *harder* to convince than Sirius – the fact that he knows more about the Dark Arts might just mean that he knows more about the impossibility of getting people back from the dead unchanged, and the possibilities of kinda-sorta getting them back … all wrong. Guess I'm not explaining that too well, am I? Hmm. It would, I think, be fun and interesting to try to redeem Voldemort, but I'm not going to give away whether or no that's actually part of my plot … OK, I admit it, it isn't. I'd like to, but … well … doesn't work. Sigh.

Storm Witch R.D.: I'm confused! Why are you reviewing Chapter Two again … ? ;^) Just a joke. Thank you for the review! Yep, you're quite right – the chapter titles are much better now. Thank you so much for the tip-off that I'd messed up with that … whew. It really did look bad, didn't it? Wow … I can't tell you how happy all of your nice comments make me. I'm so glad you think parts of it are realistic. Sure! Feel free to use anything from any of my stories that you want. After all – this is fan fiction. Technically, it all belongs to J.K.R. anyway, right? :^) Mmm, yes, they might have been a little too calm, though it seemed to me that Harry wasn't one to completely lose it in a crisis. And, yes, I swear that I will find time to read and review "Jobberknoll Feathers." It was hard enough finding five minutes to finish this and post it!