"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:  J. K. Rowlings wrote Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.  Then she wrote the next three Harry Potter books.  Now, she's writing Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.  But she's taking a very, very long time to do it.  So we fan-fiction writers are playing with her characters.  But we acknowledge that they belong to her.  We aren't making any money off of this, and we don't expect to, either.  We just wish she'd hurry up with Book Five.  So don't sue.   

A/N:  I admit that this chapter's somewhat short and boring, but Triskelion is having a spot of trouble keeping the chapter outline straight … as expected.  Hopefully things will settle themselves out soon, but the characters are not cooperating. However, the plot should really start getting better now that the introduction is out of the way.

Yes, I know I'm the only author dumb enough to have a ten-chapter introduction.  Sorry.  And sorry this took so long to get out.  I got writer's block, and then ff.n stopped working …

Instead of blanket thanks this time, I've decided to say something to everyone's review down at the end of the chapter, even if it's just, "Hey, thanks!"  I'm trying to see just how much space that takes up...

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

NO HIGHER PRAISE:

CHAPTER TEN

"…. For heaven's sake, Dumbledore - the boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year too - his tales are getting taller, and you're still swallowing them - the boy can talk to snakes, Dumbledore, and you still think he's trustworthy?"

~ Cornelius Fudge, in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

* * *

The first five minutes were utter chaos, as Sirius shouted for Harry to be taken to the infirmary immediately and Harry, equally loud, demanded that someone see to his dad's burns at once, while Professor Lupin tried, ineffectually, to tell Dumbledore why a supposedly dead man was sprawled on his office carpet.  However, once Dumbledore sent a house elf for burn salve and handed it out liberally to all scorched, crisped, sizzled, or otherwise burnt parties, everyone calmed down.

"Harry," Dumbledore said gravely, seating himself and assuming his gimlet stare.  "Please tell me everything that happened.  Assume we know only that you disappeared from the Dursleys' house."

Harry squirmed slightly in the large armchair, his gaze flitting nervously between his own bandaged feet and the prone body of his dad.  Professor Lupin was tending to him – admittedly with a carefully bland mask that didn't quite succeed in hiding his reluctance for the task – and he was still definitely out cold.  Which meant that Harry was left to explain all by himself.

And he didn't much like it.

"Well, I couldn't sleep," he said slowly, and took it from there.  Sirius kept trying to interrupt from where he crouched beside Harry's armchair, but Dumbledore waved him back into silence every time.  Desperate to be believed, Harry reproduced as much of his father's actual conversation as he could, trying to explain how he'd looked and acted exactly as a back-from-the-"dead" James would have. 

However, when he reached the part of the story where Voldemort appeared, he began floundering desperately.  He'd have to leave out the whole real reason why his dad was still alive.  There was just no other choice.   The very thought of what his – what Voldemort had said made him flush with shame and fear, and he found himself unable to look Dumbledore in the eye anymore.  But what else could he do?  He couldn't tell anyone about it – never, ever, ever.  No wonder the Sorting Hat had wanted to put him in Slytherin!  If the wizarding world had reacted so very badly when it found out he could talk to snakes, how much worse would it be if they found out why he could do it?  Ron and everyone would hate him if he told them – hate him and be even more afraid of him than they had been when they'd thought he was Slytherin's Heir.

That thought brought hysterical laughter welling up in his throat.  If his grandfather was Slytherin's Heir, what did that mean he was?  Maybe Justin and Ernie hadn't been that far off after all!

Sirius put a hand on his arm, staring up at him with worried eyes, and Harry quelled his untimely breakdown.  He stalled for time briefly, getting a drink of water, then launched into the technical explanation of how James had never died in the first place, leaving out all explanation of why Voldemort had decided to cast such an idiotic spell in the first place.  He ended by attributing a seven-eighths-invented closing speech to Voldemort – a safely unclear mixture of threats and … more threats. 

But when he began skipping to the escape plan, Dumbledore interrupted gently.  "Is that all Voldemort said, Harry?"

"More or less," Harry mumbled, plucking at the covering of the armchair, then straightened his shoulders and tried to look less shifty.  "He – he threatened my friends a whole lot, too.  If I kept, you know, thwarting him and so on.  But that's all, really.  So, er, after he left, Dad and I talked a little more …"

He gave them an edited and extremely abbreviated version of that second conversation between him and James, carefully leaving out all references to Voldemort, Slytherin, prophecies, and all other things pertaining thereto.  When he started in on the escape plan, doing his best once more to repeat everything either of them had said, Professor Lupin turned around and began paying attention more obviously.  By the time he'd reached the stairs, Lupin and Sirius were both frowning in confusion and worry.

"Sounds like James –" Sirius began.

At the same moment, Lupin muttered, "Animagus form and wandless magic.  That's –"  Dumbledore turned a mildly reproachful look on them, and both men closed their mouths instantly.

Harry plowed desperately onward.  He'd done Alohomora on the door, and  he could probably find the house again.  When they'd found a road, his dad had transformed back and passed out, and he, Harry, had discovered the burns on his dad's hands and feet, and he hadn't known what to do.  Then he'd remembered that Sirius had gotten a 'phone installed at Professor Lupin's house, so he'd started off to find a Muggle house.  He hadn't been able to carry his dad, because he'd been scared to touch the charmed shirt.  So he'd managed to use a levitation spell without a wand to carry him a little ways, but fortunately Chestershire was pretty close to the road.   And then he'd waited and fallen asleep.  And that was all.

Finished, he stared hopefully at Dumbledore while Sirius muttered anxiously at his side.  "Wandless magic at your age?  Harry, you ought to know better – that's dangerous – you could have knocked yourself out or worse – as soon as this conversation is over, you're going straight to the infirmary, you hear?"

Dumbledore folded his thing hands on his desk, no sign of a smile at all on his face.  Harrys' heart flipped over nervously.  "Harry," the Headmaster said slowly, looking careworn and tired, "are you sure that your escape happened exactly as you recounted it?"

Harry nodded slowly.  "Yes – I'm sure."

"Thank you for your very detailed account, then," Dumbledore told him wearily. 

"You believe me, don't you?" Harry begged, casting dignity to the wind.  "It's my dad!"

"Oh, yes," Dumbledore said.  "I believe everything you've told me about your father."

Harry frowned.  He wasn't sure, but he had a feeling that careful turn of phrase meant that the Headmaster was not exactly implicitly trusting his rendition of the Voldemort Affair.  "You believe it's my dad?" he persisted hopefully.

Dumbledore's blue eyes remained on him, ostentatiously not twinkling behind the old spectacles.  "Are you sure you've told me everything, Harry?"

Harry met his eyes stubbornly, setting his jaw.  "Yes.  Everything.  I've told you everything."

Dumbledore sighed then, a grieved sound, and looked down at James's body.

"My question," Harry reminded him.  "Do you – is it –"

Dumbledore rubbed sadly at his crooked nose, then nodded.  "Yes, Harry."

Professor Lupin made a strangled, startled noise.  "Headmaster!  You can't –"

At the same moment, Sirius cried, "You mean it is James?"  Harry's heart lifted happily; Sirius, at least, really, truly wanted James back.  The eager hope in his voice left no question about it.

Dumbledore carried on over the interruptions.  "I believe there is an excellent chance that this is James Potter – in one way or another."

Professor Lupin's shoulders slumped, and Sirius blinked, looking like a child whose Christmas had just been replaced by a general holocaust.  Harry's heart crept glumly toward his toes.  "You mean," Sirius said slowly, "that – that you think Voldemort –"

"Harry, I think you should go to the infirmary now," Dumbledore said mildly.  He continued as Harry struggled to give voice to the furious indignation that such a ridiculous suggestion warranted.  "Your godfather is right, Harry.  Using wandless magic for the first time – in such a large amount, and at your age – is dangerous.  You're tired and you need to rest."

"I'm not tired!" Harry protested indignantly.  "Dad was hurt worse than I was – he's the one who needs to go to the infirmary."

"You are tired."  Dumbledore stared at him with gentle implacability.   "You may not realize it, but you are extremely tired.  If you don't rest right away, you stand an excellent chance of passing out and becoming very sick indeed.  Go to Madame Pomfrey, Harry.  We aren't going to do anything drastic without you.  Remus, would you fetch Filius Flitwick here, please?"

Professor Lupin left at once, but for the next ten minutes, Harry futilely resisted the inevitable.  He stubbornly refused to budge from the armchair until the others saw the light and admitted that this was James Potter, in flesh and in spirit, alive and marginally well.

The discussion terminated when Sirius apologetically picked Harry up and carried him out of Dumbledore's office, staggering only a little.  "You can't carry me!" Harry protested indignantly, trying to get a hand to his wand.

"You're not that heavy," Sirius muttered, nearly banging Harry's head on the wall as he staggered down the stairs.  "Don't those Dursleys feed you?"

Harry was too upset to care that someone had notice his weight loss.  "Put me down, Sirius – you can't go out around the castle!  What if someone saw you?"

Sirius mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like "Don't care," but he set Harry down on the next-to-lowest step, glaring at him.  "Fine.  But you go straight to the infirmary, or I'll hunt you down and carry you there, fifteen years old or not."

Harry scowled back at him and staggered up, wincing.  He teetered, and Sirius caught his arm.  "Never mind," he sighed, and put a levitating spell on Harry.  Harry opened his mouth to protest, but halted when Sirius pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket. 

Floating – and heartily embarrassed by it – Harry waited silently for the infirmary doors to appear as his godfather quickly navigated the empty halls of Hogwarts.  Sirius set him down before actually going in, much to Harry's relief, since he might have been hard-put to explain to Pomfrey why he was hovering six inches above the ground.  She was waiting for him when he entered; apparently Dumbledore had already called her.  Within three minutes, she had him tucked into one of the infirmary beds, swallowing a sleeping draught.

He drifted off before he could start analyzing the day's events.

* * * * *

"I'm quite willing to wake him up if you want me to."

Harry felt his eyelids flicker at the familiar voice, but remained buried in the warm, friendly darkness.  No need to worry about the outside world quite yet.

"No, no, that's not necessary.  He needs his rest, poor chap.  Besides, he isn't going to like it very much."

Harry's semi-comatose mind classified the new voice as Professor Lupin – Important Person.  He ignored the wakeup call and burrowed his head back into the soft, clean pillow.  Absently, he noted that there were no bedsprings digging into his back.  How nice.

"He wouldn't need his rest if he hadn't worn himself out unnecessarily," the first voice sniffed.  "Doing spells without a wand!  A fifth-year student!  What is Hogwarts coming to?  Bless his heart," the voice added fondly, and Harry's mind firmly assigned the statement a designation of Embarrassing – Ignore.  "And you don't look too good yourself, Remus," the voice continued briskly.  "I recommend that you take some rest as soon as you can."

The voice labeled Lupin muttered something that sounded polite but weary, and the first voice receded into the background, soon disappearing altogether, accompanied by the sound of a gently shutting door. 

Unwillingly, Harry felt himself floating back toward wakefulness.  Someone leaned over the bed, and he automatically squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, huddling back into the mattress.  The someone sighed, and the tired voice said, "I'll leave him to you then, Padfoot.  Do try not to get too emotional, will you?"  A canine whine answered.  Footsteps faded toward the door; a brief gust of warmer air signaled the opening and shutting of the aperture.  

Something large bounded onto the foot of Harry's bed, and he slowly opened his eyes, squinting into the fuzzy light.  A bit of groping around brought his glasses to his hand; he settled them firmly on his nose and met the pale gaze of the enormous black dog currently residing on his blankets.

That brought him fully back to life.  One quick glance around proved that the room was unoccupied.  He scrambled into a sitting position, keeping his gaze on the dog.  "Sirius," he said anxiously, "where's –"

The dog vanished, to be instantly replaced by the tall, black-haired form of Harry's godfather. 

"– Dad?" Harry finished.

"Are you feeling better?" Sirius asked.  "Poppy healed your feet." Harry wiggled his toes surreptitiously under the blankets, pleased to note the entire absence of pain.  "You slept all afternoon and all night," Sirius added.

Harry fixed his best imitation of Professor McGonagall's most steely glare on his godfather, and repeated his question.  "Where's my dad?"

Sirius looked away, sighing.  "He's in a private room getting his burns looked after.  He's perfectly safe, if that's what you're worried about.  And – Harry – you know he's not really your dad."

Harry stared at his godfather's profile for a moment, wondering what chance he had of persuading Sirius that he knew what he was talking about.  Sirius looked back at him, concern obvious in his face, and Harry tried to smile.  But, somehow, he couldn't really look Sirius in the eye.

You lied to him, you know, a little voice whispered in his mind.  You lied to all of them.  What's he going to think when he finds out?

He's not going to find out, Harry retorted stubbornly, then squared his jaw.  "I'd like to see Dad, if that's quite all right," he said courteously. 

Unexpectedly, Sirius leapt to his feet, kicking at the bedpost angrily.  "He's not your dad, Harry!  Even Dumbledore agrees that you were lied to – that even if it is James, it isn't really!  Dumbledore says it's James – that it's his body and his mind, but it's not – not him.  Because it can't be.  He's not all there – it's only a shell, only a trick. Why can't you listen to us?  You're only going to get hurt worse if you keep believing what that bastard Voldemort told you."  He swung about, clenching his fists in helpless rage.  "How dare he?" he stormed on.  "Of all the cruel tricks he could possibly have thought up –"  He broke off, suddenly too choked to speak, and dropped back down on the foot of the bed, shoving his hands into his hair.  "And now you're attached to him," his muffled voice continued, "and you're not going to believe anything we tell you, are you?  We're not just being stubborn and stupid and over-cautious, Harry.  You don't understand that there are ways – very awful ways – to resurrect dead things and make it seem that they're alive again.  There are books in the Restricted Section that tell all about it.  Remus was telling us about it yesterday while you slept – and technically he probably shouldn't even know about it either, but Remus always wanted to learn everything, you know – because it's very, very dark magic, and he didn't want you to have to hear it.  But the things that are brought back that way aren't really alive, and they're bound to whoever created them."  A shudder shook him, but he went on, almost calmly, "And he went and did it to James.  Brought him back to serve evil.  I swear I'll rip his spine out with my bare hands and ram it down his throat."

"Sirius –"

But Sirius plowed relentlessly on.  "They called Professor Flitwick – Dumbledore trusts him – and they spent hours doing tests on Ja – on it, and there are Dark Magic signatures all over him that they can't figure out or dislodge.  Professor Flitwick says that one of the things seems to be a spell that hides other spells and makes them tough to take off, but it's impossible to remove itself.  He was frightfully perplexed about it for a while," Sirius added with a mirthless laugh, "because it's supposed to be almost impossible to cast and supposed to only work on people who trust the caster, but then Remus went and pointed out that if it was a necro-spell, of course the – it – would trust its – the person who made it.  So they ended up deciding that that was the explanation, and that all the arcane bits were from the necro-spell because they had no idea what they were.  I suppose that's what academics always do."

Harry crawled forward and put a hand carefully on Sirius's shoulder, beginning to dimly realize that this wasn't exactly a pleasant experience for his godfather either.  "You're just making yourself unhappy for nothing, Sirius," he said earnestly, sliding into a sitting position next to him, "because it really is my dad."

Sirius let out an inarticulate yelp of frustrated dismay and flung his arms out.  "Harry, haven't you listened to a word I said?" he demanded, turning his haggard face back toward Harry.  "It's not James!  It can't be!  I may not be the most logical person in the world, but even I can tell when something is impossible.  Do you think I don't want it to be him?  I'd die myself if it could bring him back!  Ever since this whole nightmare started, I've been trying to think of a way that you could be right, and I've tried to get them, any of them, to admit that there's some way that James could have – spontaneously been resurrected, or never been dead, but there isn't a way, Harry!  I suggested Veritaserum, and they pointed out that even if he believes he's James Potter, that doesn't mean he's not under Voldemort's control.  I suggested breaking the spells, and they said they didn't know how.  Even that spell you said Voldemort used – Remus said he'd look for it, but he's never heard of anything like it.  And he's right, Harry – Voldemort was lying to you, because he'd never have cast a thing like that on James, no matter how nasty the place it sent James to would be.  There's just no reason.  It doesn't make sense.  This whole damned affair doesn't make sense!"  He leapt up again and began pacing angrily about the small room, seething with anger and pain.

Harry watched him, his heart sinking miserably.  If Sirius wouldn't believe it was James Potter, who would?

"Why can't you just believe me?" he asked petulantly.  "I may only be a kid, but I'm not an idiot.  I know what I'm talking about.  Don't you trust me?"

Sirius came back, staring at Harry with a sort of pleading misery.  "I trust you, Harry," he assured his godson in a wavering voice.  "We all trust you.  That's not the point – you've been lied to.  It's not that we think you're untrustworthy."

You are, of course, Harry's mind informed him, and Harry fought back a rather irrational surge of guilt. 

"But, Harry," Sirius continued, "we are older than you, and therefore we know more – well, some of us do.  I wouldn't be willing to swear to that for, say, Snape.   Or Bagman.  But I don't think you understand –"

"I do!" Harry cried furiously.  "I understand that Voldemort could have lied to me and that my dad could be a walking zombie, or whatever, and I understand that any of it could be the way you think it is.  But it's not!"

Sirius raised clutched at his hair again, then let his hands fall to his sides in wordless despair.  "I'm sorry, Harry," he said woefully, and started toward the window.

"Sirius," Harry called, embarrassed at sounding so plaintive, "could you – could you just listen to me for a minute?"

Again, Sirius turned and came back, this time looking penitent.  "I know I'm a wretched excuse for a godfather," he admitted, "but I do know that being able to listen is part of the job description.  I'll listen.  Feel free to tell me to shut up if I interrupt."

He sat down on the edge of the bed again, and Harry drew a deep breath before plunging into yet another effort to convince Sirius.

"Even if what you say is right, isn't it still my dad?  I mean – even if Voldemort did cast a bunch of dark spells on him?  That wasn't Dad's fault.  He didn't ask to have his shirt portkeyed.  It's him – I mean, it isn't like he's some kind of mindless servant of Voldemort who looks like my dad and acts like my dad.  It's him.  He was alive.  Weren't you listening while I was telling Dumbledore all that stuff, Sirius?"

"Yes," Sirius sighed, "and I was almost convinced.  But it has to be some plan of Voldemort's, Harry, or he would never have let you get away.  If your escape was that easy, then – well, he let you go.  So there's got to be a reason why, and it must be … what I said it was."

Harry swallowed and looked down at the coverlet.  So that was it.  They'd never believe him unless he told them the truth … and if he told them the truth, they sure as anything would never believe him again.  Life wasn't fair.

"Why'd Voldemort cast the cruciatus curse on him, then?" Harry demanded suddenly. 

Sirius started.  "You never mentioned that!" he exclaimed incredulously.  Harry gulped.  "Harry …"  Sirius peered at him, overlong bangs shadowing his eyes.  "Harry, what is it that you aren't telling us?"

"Nothing!" Harry hissed, jerking his gaze away.  "I just forgot to mention it, that's all!  Voldemort was running on about some prophecy that he'd be all powerful and Dad told him he was gullible and the prophesier was batty, and Voldemort cast crucio on him."

Sirius's eyes widened, then he shook his head.  "Voldemort probably planned that to get you to trust him."

"No," Harry insisted stubbornly.   "It's really James, and he was – he was alive and acting like himself – I guess so, anyway, because I don't know what he was like.   He felt things – he wasn't a zombie.  He looked miserable when I was telling him what happened to Mum, and he didn't know Wormtail was the traitor.  He thought Professor Lupin was dead and looked overjoyed when I said he wasn't.  He said Wormtail told him you were the traitor and you were in Azkaban."

Sirius looked away, mouth tightening with remembered pain.  Harry hesitantly went on, "When I told him you'd been put in Azkaban even though you didn't do anything, he got angry.  And shocked and horrified.  But he still could hardly believe Wormtail did it.  He said, 'How could he?' and then started going on about how it was all his fault, which is just nonsense."  Harry stared down at his own fingers, pulling at a loose thread on the blanket, remembering the rest of that awful conversation.  He couldn't repeat that part.  Never. 

"What else did he say?" Sirius's voice whispered suddenly, and Harry looked up to find Sirius's eyes fixed on him longingly.

"He asked how you were," Harry murmured.  "He wanted to know if you were still you.  Sirius, I mean.  And I kind of dodged the question because, you know … er … I mean …  Anyway, then he started demanding to know if Professor Lupin was all right, and then he was astonished that Snape was a professor.  And then he wanted to know if Hermione was my girl friend because I'd mentioned her, and then he asked if I was in Gryffindor, and he looked really happy when I said I was.  And then I said we should escape, and he said … he said …"  Harry searched his memory for the exact phrasing.  He was convinced that if he told Sirius enough, that painful doubt would vanish from his godfather's eyes and he'd have a grownup ally.  "He said he'd never heard a better idea except when Sirius said we should cast banishing charms on Acromantulas before they ate us.  And I want to hear that story sometime," he added.  "What were you doing in the Forbidden Forest?"

Sirius took time off from his hit-with-a-poleaxe expression to frown at Harry.  "How would you know that the Acromantulas live in the Forbidden Forest?" he asked sharply.  "I hope you're not going out there – it's terribly dangerous."

"You did it all the time," Harry retorted rebelliously.  "And anyway, it was in my second year.  And we got away fine.  Besides, their chief likes Hagrid."

Sirius raised his eyebrows.  "I don't think I want to know how you know that."

"Anyway," Harry said, trying to change the subject back to the important things, "I don't think a resurrected-zombie-thing could have acted like that."

"I don't know," Sirius mumbled.  "I don't know, Harry." 

"And he could turn into Prongs," Harry added hopefully.  Sirius continued staring at the ground, and Harry searched his memory for some other convincing remark.  "He mentioned you during our escape planning," he ventured hopefully.  "He said you always said that wizards relied on spells so much that Muggle ways of doing things sometimes worked.  That was how we got the idea of breaking the door down."

"I did say that a lot," Sirius admitted quietly.  "I did."

"And when he was explaining wandless magic," Harry said eagerly, "He said he'd explain it to me later cause there wans't time for him to go all Professor Moony on me.  And I asked if you made that phrase up and he said, yes, you got tired of listening –"  Harry broke off hastily.  He had a strong feeling that mentioning Wormtail to Sirius was a Very Bad Idea. 

"What else?" Sirius demanded, almost pleading to be convinced.  "What else did he say, Harry?"

"Got tired of listening to Remus explain things to Peter all the time," Harry muttered, and Sirius's eyes flashed with instinctive hatred. 

"When he smashed the door down," Harry plowed on frantically, "he, er, smashed it a little too hard.  It made a lot of noise.  And he said he said he'd had experience, not that he was good at it.  Is that the kind of thing he would've said?" 

Sirius shook himself out of his angry abstraction to nod briefly. 

"He was really truly worried when I burned my feet on the floor," Harry continued, hunting for a really clinching argument.  "And put a cooling charm on my feet.  And … er … oh, yes, after we discovered the floor was charmed, he was saying we had three options, and one of them was to sit in the hall and think of nasty things to say to Voldemort about the state of the doors in his base.   And he thought of summoning broomsticks and asked about the Firebolt, and he said Rita Skeeter was in Hogwarts when he entered – her last year – and he said he used to carry Mum in his stag form, and … and … you'd believe me if you'd been there," he finished lamely. 

Sirius's expression was shifting slowly from haunted pain to half-frightened determination.  "Maybe I would," he said softly, and stood up.  "Rest some more, Harry," he suggested, putting his hand out, then pulling it back.  "I – I'll talk to you again later today.  I'll be staying for a while."

Harry nodded, surprised at his own relief that Sirius wouldn't have to leave Hogwarts immediately.  "You'll think about what I said, won't you?" he asked.

Sirius nodded, already turning toward the infirmary doors.  "Yes.  Sleep well, Harry."  He switched back to his animagus form and, just as he had on the night of the Triwizard Tournament, ran the length of the floor and left the room.  Harry slid down to rest his head on his pillow, staring at the ceiling. 

Now he had to figure out a way to talk to his dad. 

* * * * *

Sirius ran lightly down the corridors, heading for the dungeons.  He had only one thought in mind.

He was going to talk to James.

No matter what Dumbledore said, he was going to talk to James, and he'd decide for himself whether it was really Prongs or not.   Harry was right – how could they possibly decide what it was unless they had really talked to it?  If it was James …

Preoccupied, Sirius barely dodged in time to avoid the tall figure half-running down the dark hallway.  He turned in time to see Severus Snape cast one furious, hateful look down at him before continuing his rapid progress up the hallway, clutching at his left arm as he went. 

Funny.  He hadn't even stopped to make a cutting remark.

Sirius turned his back on the Slytherin and continued to run.

He had a dead friend to meet.

END OF CHAPTER TEN

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Questions and Comments:

Yep, talking to everyone this time.  I've got a bad feeling about it, though … the comments section may end up being as long as the chapter, and, personally, I *hate* it when I'm happily reading a chapter, and it ends while the scroll bar is still HALFWAY UP!  So I'll just have to see how much space this takes up.

mahna mahna:  Thank you – and congrats on being the first to review.  :^)

Peacockgirl: Thank you!  I'm really pleased you think the characterizations are good.  Believe it or not, fear over being able to keep people in character kept me from writing fan fiction for years.  I really have to work at it even now.

Almea:  I'm glad you clicked on it too!  Thank you, and I'm happy you like it.

Dusk's duet:  Welcome!  Thank you so much – authors are always overjoyed when people compliment the humor and the plot twists. 

Angie:  Thank you!

spangle star:  Ah, that's a good question.  Veritaserum was one of the first things they thought of, but then they realized that if Voldemort had used the most complex type of corpse-resurrecting spell, the mind would have semi-returned as well – and, in fact, the dead person might actually believe that they were alive again and retain all of their past memories.  The problem, of course, would be that they'd still be under the control of the person who'd raised them … and, depending on the strength of the spell, they'd start deteriorating sooner or later.  Mentally and physically both.  Sort of like a temporary resurrection.  It's rather complicated; I hope that the chapter above helped explain it.  Anyway, thanks!

Shei:  Thanks!  Yes, chats between various and sundry Marauders are in the works.   As a matter of fact, I think Chapter Twelve is going to be entitled Padfoot and Prongs …

Kitana:  No, it wasn't very chivalrous of Harry to break into the poor Muggle's house, was it?  :^)  But the poor kid was desperate … and he didn't break anything – well, except for the china vase by the door, but it was ugly anyway …  Oh, thank you for the compliment on Sirius and Remus.  I know I've done a good job when people say it's realistic, so … hurrah!  Maybe they are being a bit thick-headed, but you have to remember that they're older than Harry and realize a bit better just what they're up against.  As far as they're concerned, they need to be really, really, really careful not to let any of Voldemort's plots succeed, or there will be a repeat of the last war.  As far as Sirius is concerned, the last war never ended (since he was, after all, in Azkaban during the peace time), so he's still in The-Enemy-Could-Be-Anywhere mode.  And Remus just isn't good at believing good news any more.   And, of course, they're feeling severely stressed because the Ministry is obtusely refusing to acknowledge that You-Know-Who is back.  Ooooh, yes, it will indeed be interesting when (and if!) anyone finds out that the Potters are Riddles …  Well, there's some support for the Dumbledore-knows theory, and he does indeed know something about the whole affair, but not that James is Voldemort's son.  I did indeed wonder if he would know, since Tom Riddle and Tom Riddle's wife were both students of his in the old days, but …  Tom Riddle didn't let the news of his marriage get out.  At all.  And I suppose Dumbledore can't very well be omniscient, somewhat to my disappointment.  "Enigmatic Smile #7" (the smiles were numbered by courtesy of one James Potter, incidentally) looks kind of like this:  ~-^    Hope that satisfies your curiosity.  :^)  Ah, yes, I like Snape too, and he'll be appearing quite a bit in the future (hopefully), but James really is not going to be pleased that he's been picking on his son … of course, being the eminently fair-minded Gryffindor that he is, he may revise his opinion later.  You'll see!

Ice:  Thank you!

Ionuin:  Aww, thank you.  Favorites section?  Wow …  Like your name, by the way.  :^)

Sailor Earth:  Ah, 'fraid I can't claim inspiration for "Pronglet."  It's from the wonderfulwonderfulwonderful stories of Iniga – specifically, I think it's from Innocence Lost and Found, the first of the fifth-year trilogy.  I thought it was absolutely perfect, so I filched it.  Apologies all around.  About James's portkeyed shirt: I don't really know how portkeys work, since JKR hasn't yet released How Magic Works: The First-Year Charms Textbook.  But I'm assuming that there's a way to create a portkey that's activated only when more than one person are touching it.  I mean, hey, Voldemort is an Evil Genius, so he should be able to do it even if no one else can …  Anyway, I think I did stick in something about Y-K-W "performing the countercurse on the binding charms" … at least, I hope I did.  Glad you like the story despite the implausible Dead-Parent-Lives-Again storyline.  :D  Hmm … don't really know of any Lily Lives Again stories.  I'm afraid I'm a trifle biased against them because, after all, we know that Voldemort killed Harry's mother, whereas we don't exactly know that he killed Harry's father.  And wasn't it Lily's sacrifice that let Harry live?  Right, ignore my pedantic little rant.  I had an awful time getting italics to work – this was the first of my stories where I figured it out.  I saved the document in Microsoft word as an .html file … and then it worked.  Sometimes.  I still don't quite understand it, but … hope that helps. 

Kay:  Thanks!  And I really do appreciate readers who realize that writing takes *time!*  :^)

Jeva:  Yep, angst all around.  Oh, yes, I loved Madame M.'s accent too.  :D  Hmmm, Dumbly-dorr knows many things – some of which shall be revealed in Chapter … Thirteen, I think.  I considered the question carefully and ended up with the conclusion that he probably would not be in a position to know that James was a Riddle, sad as it was.  So … the plot trudges onward regardless.  Sure, ranting is good!  Your review did indeed make me a very, very happy author.  Keep up the good work!  Hey, you know, people get killed in real life!  Not that this has anything to do with real life, mind you, but … just remember, one of the categories this fic falls into is "angst."  And what's more angstful than character death?  Be forewarned … there will be deaths.  Not necessarily of your favorite characters, but I'm making no promises.  Ah, yes, there will be character torture.  Plenty of mental, but … well, let's just say that when Grandaddy Voldie gets crossed, he doesn't hand out bon-bons … cruciatus curses are more in his line.  You reread it?  Oh, I'm so touched … Maybe I'll up that award to Greatly Honored Reader …  Hmm, so you do have an account … I'm hoping I'll find time to read your story someday, but I can't even keep up with the stories I've already started at the moment … sniffle.  It comes down to "Shall I surf ff.n, or shall I write more on NHP?  What would my reviewers want?  Yeah, I'll … just … go study computer science, or something …"  Anyway, thank you so much!

Duets~:  Don't know whether or not you're the same person as Dusk's duet (?) but thank you!  Wow … what flattery.  :^)  I'm so happy you like the plot!  I had a hard time trimming it down to a manageable size: my biggest failing is that I want to have massive plots that are a bit too *much* like real life, and that involve hundreds of characters … which, needless to say, makes my stories very difficult to write.  Ergh.  Anyway, I'm happy you like James!  We don't know much about his personality, really, but I tried to hold onto the little clues from the book.  'Fraid some of his easy distractibility is due to the curses on him, though.  Normally, he doesn't have that much trouble hanging onto a coherent train of thought.  Draco will indeed be appearing soon – probably around chapter fourteen, which, I know, is a long way off – sorry.  And, being the let's-find-some-good-in-everyone person that I am, I won't treat him as a one-dimensional, none-too-bright bully.  I do believe he's incredibly immature, and thoroughly spoiled, but … well, he's going to be getting his own fair share of attention.  OK, maybe not as much attention as I'd like to give him, but I'm not going to be horrible to him.  Well, as long as mental anguish doesn't count as being 'horrible.'  :^)

BlinkMe182:  Does this count as early?  :D  Thank you!

Fyre Eye:  Thanks for your enthusiasm!

kaydee:  Thank you for the long, long, wonderful review!  Happy you thought it was funny.  I plan to keep the story from getting too dark (if I can), though humor is not my forte.  Sigh …  Wow!  I loved your little summary of Remus's character – that's pretty much the way I see him, too!  You stated the salient points really succinctly.  Er, I mean, I liked what you said.  Yeah.  Burns really are pretty terrible.  I've seen some really nasty ones … urgh.  That's why I didn't get into too much description – didn't want to make myself sick.  Well, Dumbledore believes Harry, of course – the question is whether what Harry believes is true or not.  He is (kind of) an emotionally unstable teenaged boy, after all, and, in this situation, he isn't really the best judge of what's a lie and what is not.  Oh, dear, now I feel sorry for him.  Specific?  Nothing's wrong with being specific!  Authors get out of their seats and do little dances of joy around their rooms (or offices) when people compliment them on specific phrases.  Consider me to be prancing…  I think I came up with it … I've read so many books that I don't really know, though.  I could well have seen it in some random book (or even fanfic) and subconsciously thought of it later.  Hmmm … the movie's that bad?  I haven't actually seen it yet, being more of a book person myself.  Guess I'm like you … when I do go to see movies made out of books, I tend to come away and spend hours complaining – you should have heard me going on about the wizard's duel and the cave troll in The Fellowship of the Ring.  Stupid.  I think I confused myself when I was going on about the pronunciation of Lucius.  Basically, I guess what I was trying to say was that I thought it was pronounced like 'looshus,' only perhaps with the ending of "serious."  Like 'Sirius.'  Yeah.  Um, read Sailor Hylia's review.  The Order of the Phoenix – yes, I rather think it's some kind of decoration, myself.  Impossible to say, though.  It would make sense either way …  Anyhow, thanks again!

heehee:  100 billion stars – wow … thank you!  Yeah, I know my summary's pretty bad, but you should have seen the original summary … it was something dreadful like "Harry gets the shock of his life and finds out a dark secret about his father … who happens to be alive …"  :^)

Hex:  Whoa, slow down!  I'm writing as fast as I can!

WeasleyTwinsLover1112:  Thank you! 

Harriet:  :^)  Triskelion would like to express thanks for the appreciation of the unintended touch of humor and say, "Thank you!"

Endriago Luna:  Thank you!  Sirius and Remus will be featuring prominently in future chapters … well, as prominently as they can, since one's a werewolf and the other's a convict-on-the-run-or-in-hiding-depends-on-the-time-of-day-really.  I do like your new name.  :^D  Sounds neat!  Well, I'm not entirely certain what's up with the long reviews … must be because I said how much authors like them.  :^)  Don't discourage the reviewers!

Alana:  Thanks!  By 'Alvo,' do you mean Dumbledore?  If so, how much he knows will come out in Chapter Thirteen.  He knows more than Harry thinks, but the poor guy can't be expected to know everything. 

Sailor Hylia:  You have my deepest sympathy – and my deepest thanks, as well, for taking the time to review even though you're so busy.  Hmm – what's your story about?  Will it be posted soon?  And, er, I do hope that comment about 'people not being mad,' didn't mean that you're mad that I write so slowly … I do the best I can, really!  Thanks for the comments on Remus, too – happy you don't think I'm doing him all wrong.  Whew!  And thanks for the tip on 'Lucius.'  I haven't seen Gladiator (stayed home so that Certain People who were deemed Too Young to see it would not get hurt feelings when all the Big People went off to the movie theatre …) so … double thanks!  And if I run into difficulties with names in the future, I'll be sure to contact you.  :^) 

Ariana Deralte:  Thank you!  Yeah … the Potters are in a fix.  "Well, you see, Sirius, Voldemort let Dad live because he's my grandfather – Voldemort, I mean, not my dad.  Er … that is to say … I'm not evil!  Gah!  Point that wand somewhere else!  Grandpaaaaa!"  Don't think it'd go over too well …

Dark Shadows:  Oh, thank you!  I was aiming for morbid.  :^)

Rain:  Really?  Cool!  Thank you!

summersun:  He'll be waking up soon (as soon as I manage to fit him in, that is to say … Chapter Twelve, I think), and veritaserum wouldn't really work.  I mean, it would prove that James is James, but it wouldn't necessarily prove that James is alive and well and free from control by Voldemort the Ultimate Evil.  Poor James.

Quare Bungle Rye:  Thank you for the nice comments.  Wow … I'm really pleased you think it's that good.  I'm afraid it'll be a while before I get to the ending, but I have a bad feeling that the characters are going to force it to be sad.  I mean, technically I have it all planned out, but the details (you know, little things like who's going to live and who's going to die) still need working on.

Tarawen: Whoa … "And it's going … going … GONE!  Evil – SOLD to Tom Riddle at a bargain price of only 3565 human souls and one patent on the Avada Kedavra curse!  Next up, we have an original manuscript of The Ultimate Evil Overlord's Handbook, at a starting price of only 12 human souls … !"  Weird mental image is right … Oh, yes, you've got your finger right on the central problem.  James & Harry can't speak, and Sirius & Remus can't believe it unless they do … and Dumbledore is busy trying out for winner of England's tri-centennial Most Enigmatic Smile competition … :^)  Thanks for the review!

linds:  Thank you!

Ashley:  Thanks!  Hope this update was soon enough for you …

Renai:  Um, yes … why are you reading my story at midnight?  I mean, it's flattering, but … I don't want to be guilty of depriving anyone of sleep … :^)  Thanks anyway!  Yep, they're going to be really tough to convince … well, those of them who understand just how probable it is that Voldemort would come up with and implement a plan as nasty as this one, anyway.

Chrysta:  Absolutely!  Sirius is really, really, really eager to believe that it's James … and, while he's less willing than the Potters to believe the best of everything, he's certainly a lot more likely to be convinced by his own feelings than Remus is.  That's a very good point about Dumbledore.  I am working in that bit in Book One where he wouldn't tell Harry anything – and the "flash of triumph" in Book Four is semi-explained as well.  But what Dumbledore does know does not, unfortunately, exactly lend itself to making the Headmaster believe that Voldie would leap at a chance to not kill James Potter.  Rather the reverse.  But that'll all get explained (more or less) in Chapter Thirteen.  Ah, indeed.  James is going to have a bit of a rough time.  And you're right – Snape is one of the most competent Death Eaters left, so he's definitely going to know something is wrong when he realizes Voldie never told him anything.  Oh, the possibilities …

Jelli Bean:  Welcome, and thank you!  I'm glad you find it suspenseful – that's one of the things every good author strives to achieve!  :^)