Chapter 5: The Annals of Arrogant Prathood.

James Potter stalked his dormitory angrily, kicking his bed as he passed it.

"I can't bloody believe him!" he finally burst out.

"I know, mate," growled Sirius. "The nerve of him . . ."

"Hold on just one second," Remus interrupted. "Who are you talking about anyway?"

"Harry bloody Potter." James practically spat the last name, apparently forgetting it was his own as well.

"And what happened, exactly?"

"He walked up to me and Snivellus, disarmed and Silenced both of us, and gave us a bloody lecture. A lecture, for Merlin's sake! Who the bloody hell does he think he is?"

Privately, Remus doubted James had been quite as innocent as all that. He said so. "What were you really doing when he walked up?"

"Well, I had disarmed Snivellus and hit him with an Impediment Jinx—come to think of it, Potter took that off too, the git!"

Aha. "And did you ever stop to consider that Harry might have been right to step in? Did he actually do anything to you? Really, now."

James seemed to take a while to answer. "He reflected the jinx I sent him back on me, but otherwise . . . I guess not. But still! I mean, he disarmed and Silenced me!"

"But he did the same to Snape?"

"Yes, but still, he lectured me about how I shouldn't 'just go making the first move because my adversaries exist' or some rubbish like that! Barely said anything to Snivellus."

Remus considered this for a moment. "You know, you did say something like that last term. 'It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean.' It was a really lousy excuse then, and it still is."

"But he was defending Snivellus!"

Seeing James falter for support, Sirius had to interject something of his own. "And he was really creepy, he knew all sorts of stuff he shouldn't—what Evans had said last time, he even said he knew everything that had happened after our Defense O.W.L.! I'm telling you, he's a spy or something!"

By now, Remus was frowning. He seriously doubted Harry was any sort of unsavory character. Some elements of magic were easily detectable by scent, and Dark magic was one of them; Remus had been around Harry a few times, and he had never smelled any on him. Snape, on the other hand . . . Best not to mention that. James would go crazy if he knew; he already suspects plenty.

Out loud, he said only, "Trust me, James, he's not Dark. If you want to believe that, feel free, but don't say I didn't warn you when it backfires." Remus turned and walked out the door.

"That— that—" spluttered Sirius. "I can't believe Moony actually believes him!"

Peter surprised everyone by speaking up. "Padfoot, Prongs, you're being unreasonable. Come find me when you see why." And with that, he too walked out.

He didn't walk fast enough, though, to avoid a cutting, "You know, I liked you better the old way, Wormtail," from Sirius.

Why do I even call these people my friends? he wondered as he walked.

Then, a quieter voice in his mind: Because I don't have anyone else.

Peter met Remus in the common room. "I can't believe them," he sighed.

"I know, Peter. They'll come to their senses eventually, but it'll probably take a while. You know how stubborn they are."

It went unspoken that both hoped James and Sirius would come to their senses eventually. 'Stubborn' was an understatement when it came to those two.

A minute later, the portrait hole opened and Harry walked in. Remus immediately greeted him.

"Hi, Remus, Peter," said Harry in response. "James and Sirius being pratlike?"

Remus nodded. "I'm surprised you guessed."

Harry just shrugged his shoulders. "I would like to show you what actually happened, though. James didn't seem in any state to tell the truth when I left."

"And how do you plan to do that?" asked Peter.

"Pensieve, Peter. Come on up to the seventh-year dorm, you two; we won't have any eavesdroppers there. And I think I should. . . yeah. Ron! Hermione!" he called. "Stop snogging and come over here!"

The two appeared suitably quickly, blushing a bit at the insinuation. "What is it, mate?" asked Ron.

"I've got something to show you, and Remus and Peter. Come on." He led the way up to the dorms.

Once there, each of them sat back on a bed as Harry rummaged through his trunk for the Pensieve. A minute later, he extracted it, forced a few robe edges that had come out during the search back into his trunk, and indicated for everyone to form a circle.

"Have either of you used one of these before? Ron and Hermione, I know have."

"No, we haven't," said Remus softly. "What is that?"

"This is a Pensieve; it's used to share memories. Like this." Harry touched his wand to his temple and extracted two silvery gossamer-fine strands of thought. "And then you just touch the liquid, and you're thrown in. You'll see everything that's going on, but nobody in the memory will notice you. Ready?"

All four nodded.

"Okay then, go in when I do." Harry touched the surface of his thoughts and fell through, falling through blackness to a corridor with sounds of a confrontation wafting in.

Remus, Peter, Ron, and Hermione soon joined him, and they watched in silence as Harry played his part. Remus picked up on a lot from the memory—Harry had an Invisibility Cloak, was reasonably skilled with nonverbal spells, managed to keep his cool—though it seemed trying at times—and somehow knew of the curse Snape used before he even finished it, and really hated it . . . Everyone laughed a bit at the comment, "That spell is as Dark as your hair," but other than that they just watched.

As the memory drew to a close, with Harry running through the corridors, he pulled everyone out of the Pensieve. Peter's eyes were wide.

"That was . . . enlightening," said Remus guardedly.

"You don't hate me for doing that, do you?" asked Harry pleadingly.

"No, of course not. It needed to be done, and I hate to say I'm not usually able to do it. James and Sirius were really my first friends, you know, and they've done more for me than anyone will ever know . . ."

"I have some idea," said Harry with a slight smile.

Peter finally asked the question that had been on his tongue since the memory. "How did you know all that, Harry? I was there after the O.W.L., and the stuff you said sounded like you were too . . ."

Harry's smile disappeared. "Another memory, this time not mine," he said with a sigh. "I saw it by accident during Occlumency practice, and it was rather embarrassing to me, for reasons I'd rather not discuss."

Peter relaxed in agreement, but he was still privately a bit suspicious. "So, what else can this Pensieve thing do?"

"Oh, it has all sorts of capabilities," said Hermione in her 'lecture-mode'. "It can project bits of a memory and form connections between them, it can—"

"Hermione, I think it'd be easier just to give a demonstration," said Harry with a smile. And he did so; he prodded the Pensieve, and the same figures of James and Snape rose out of it that had been seen earlier. "I'll—get—you—Potter—" With a prod from Harry's wand, the scene changed to one from Snape's worst memory, with the two in almost the same position, Snape saying almost the same thing . . .

"Wow," breathed Peter.

"Can I see one of me?" asked Remus.

"Sure," said Harry, grinning. He thought for a moment, then the grin disappeared. "Remus, please remember that I know this and I stand your friend. Don't run away or anything."

Remus was very puzzled, as were Ron and Hermione to a lesser degree, but he nodded nonetheless.

Another prod from Harry's wand, and figures rose out of the Pensieve once more—James and Remus, apparently walking in place and chatting animatedly.

"The Five Signs of a Werewolf," narrated Harry, "by Remus Lupin. (Alternate answer.)" Remus paled as soon as he heard this.

"D'you think you got all the signs, Moony?" asked the memory James.

"Think I did," answered memory Remus with mock seriousness. "One: He's sitting in my chair. Two: He's wearing my shoes. Three: His name's Remus Lupin . . ."

James laughed in the memory; Ron and Hermione did outside it. Peter and Remus were deathly quiet as the image receded.

"Whose memory was that?" whispered Remus finally.

"Relax, Remus," placated Harry. "They didn't hear you say that. A Pensieve lets you hear things you didn't pick up when you actually lived through something."

This calmed him a bit, until Peter made a comment. "So anyone could use one of these things to spy on us?"

"Pensieves are really rare, Peter," said Hermione reassuringly. "I think the only one in the castle other than Harry's belongs to Professor Dumbledore."

"Wait a second—you know about my condition, and you're still talking to me?" This was still a shock to Remus, but less so since the past day. I need to cultivate that paranoia, though, he thought. For the rest of the world, with normal attitudes about lycanthropy. "And you won't tell anyone?" he added desperately.

"Of course we won't tell, Pr— Remus," said Ron.

"Not everyone's a bigot," added Hermione. "Sometimes you just have to give people a chance."

Remus laughed at that. "Thanks, guys. And Hermione, that's the second time in twenty-four hours I've had a girl say that exact line to me. Last time, it wound up with me getting a date."

"I'm already taken, sorry," said Hermione, putting an arm around Ron and smiling. "So it was Danger, then?"

Remus blushed and didn't say anything.

"I knew it!" Harry pumped a fist in the air in triumph. "I was teasing her about it before you even got here! You two will be great together."

Remus smiled shyly. "Gee, thanks. And Harry, guys—no hard feelings, okay?"

"None at all," answered Harry. "Friends?"

"Friends." They shook hands, and Remus left the dorm grinning, Peter in tow.

After they left, Harry explained a bit more to Ron and Hermione. "The memory I showed a bit of was the 'Snape's worst memory' I mentioned before, Hermione. I saw it during Occlumency—it was what made Snape stop giving me lessons—"

"I knew it!" broke in Hermione excitedly.

"—and my dad really was almost as bad as Snape always goes on about. Remus and Sirius from the other timeline told me he grows up soon, but it's still hard to take."

"I'm not too glad you lied to us," said Hermione cautiously, "but I understand why. Could I see the memory now?"

"Of course. It's the next one in there. Ron?"

"No thanks, mate." So Hermione entered the Pensieve alone, and came out five minutes later. To the others, her body seemed frozen over the basin as she watched the memory.

After she emerged, Harry put the Pensieve away and the three walked back down to the common room. "Peter's changed a lot," was Hermione's first comment.

"I know," said Harry gravely. "And I don't know whether whatever-it-was happened in our timeline too, and whether we can trust him. I'd rather not, but it's been easier than I thought to separate Peter the slightly meek friend from Wormtail the traitor."

"Probably because they act so different," said Ron. "I mean, I was there in the Shack with you guys, and the Peter I know here doesn't seem like he could ever be like that . . ."

"Yeah, I get the same feeling."

"Trust him for now, but keep an eye on him, I think," said Hermione. "We know he doesn't turn traitor for four years yet, and our presence will hopefully change that to 'never'."

Harry spotted Ginny on one of the couches and moved to sit beside her; Ron and Hermione took the other half of the couch. "Hi Gin," said Harry warmly.

"Hey, Harry. Have you been to Defense yet?" Ginny grimaced at the memory.

"Yep, we have. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

A feral smile. "Another D.A.?"

"Bingo. Hermione?"

"It would be a good idea—Professor Johnson is just dreadful—and I guess it wouldn't need to be secret, with no Umbridge. I doubt you'd get as much interest as during fifth year though—Johnson isn't nearly as bad," she said. "I'm in, anyway, and I can make up some more of those fake Galleons again."

"What about spies, though?" asked Ron. "If we let everyone in, we might get Slytherins coming just so they can learn to hex us better."

"I think we could put up signs, and charm them only to be visible to people on our side . . . I'd need to do some research, though."

"Hermione, you're brilliant!" enthused Harry. "Okay, then—first meeting, next Thursday, week from tomorrow?"

"Sounds good," said Ginny. "Quidditch won't be starting for a couple weeks, at least."

"Next Thursday it is," said Hermione. "I'll make the signs; you guys will have to post them, though. And I don't know how you're going to get into the other common rooms . . ."

Harry thought for a minute, and snapped his fingers. "I've got it," he said quickly. "The Den. I bet the other bedrooms are for the other common rooms—'Thank you, Rowena,' and all that."

By their facial expressions, Ron and Hermione seemed to agree; Ginny, though, was only puzzled. "The Den? I think I missed this part."

"Oh, you missed some wicked exploring during our free this morning," breathed Ron. "There's a whole thing of eight rooms below Hogwarts—four bedrooms, a kitchen, a library, a bathroom, and—" he grinned like a Cheshire Kneazle— "an indoor Quidditch pitch!"

"That's great!" Ginny laughed. "And how do you get in?"

"Well, for the Gryffindor common room entrance, you go up to the fireplace and say Thank you, Godric," said Hermione, whispering the last part. "And the others we don't know, but every room is connected somewhere."

"And I think the bedrooms are all for the common rooms," finished Harry. "If you want, you can go with me under my cloak to put the signs up when Hermione has them ready."

"Tonight," clarified Hermione. "I don't have anything better to do. No homework yet, anyway."

"Thanks a million, Hermione."

Near midnight, Harry and Ginny tiptoed through the Gryffindor common room under Harry's cloak, Ginny holding four charmed signs. Hermione had given them to her about half an hour previously, with assurances that "no Dark sympathizers would get in." Privately, Harry wondered how Hermione had managed to guard against simple gossip.

Of course, if anyone could do that, it's Hermione.

The two walked over to the Gryffindor bulletin board. Two hands extended from under the cloak; one clutched a sheet of parchment, placing it against the board, while the other waved a wand to make a mild squelching sound. While both hands disappeared, the parchment remained. Harry read it.

Learn some real Defense!

Hone your skills!

Join the war effort!

We are at war, and Professor Johnson isn't
teaching us the skills we need to survive. Learn them.
Do you want to pass your O.W.L. or N.E.W.T.?
Stand a chance against Death Eaters?
Just learn something useful?
Whatever your motivation, we'd be glad to have you.

Membership open to anyone fourth year and above who can see this sign. No obligation.

If interested, come to the seventh floor corridor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the
Barmy, at eight o'clock P.M. on Thursday, 9 September.

(You won't be able to repeat the information on this sign to anyone who hasn't seen it.)

Merlin, Hermione is brilliant. "C'mon, Gin," whispered Harry. "Over by the fireplace."

Ginny walked over in careful lock-step with Harry—this cloak was getting a bit small. She was a bit mystified. Why the fireplace?

Until, that is, Harry whispered, "Thank you, Godric," and a hole opened up.

After a furtive glance around the common room, Harry took the cloak off both of them and motioned for Ginny to go down the slide. He followed, muttering the password again as he passed through the hole.

"Oof!"

"Sorry, Gin." Didn't mean to land on top of her . . . but I can't say I mind the position . . .

Ginny might as well have not heard him; she was gazing around the room rapturously.

"Yeah, amazing, I know," said Harry as he got off the bed. "And this is only an eighth of it. We call this room the Gryffindor bedroom, for obvious reasons; it leads to the Gryffindor common room. There's a similar one for each House." He walked to the door, opened it, and motioned Ginny into the main room. "The Slytherin bedroom is directly across from us; I'm going to try to get into their common room now."

"Why you?"

Harry smirked. "I've been there before."

One Invisibility Cloak later, Harry was sliding under the green bed and saying, "Thank you, Salazar." (He had jumped on it five times or so, looking like an idiot, until Alex told him the Slytherin entrance was underneath.) The upslide ejected him into the common room of the House of the Serpent, thankfully silently and with his cloak still on. He tiptoed to the notice board, tacked the sign up, and was about to slide back down into the Den when . . .

"Hey! Who's there?"

Oh, shit. Harry remained silent, taking comfort in the fact that the one kid left in the common room (who looked a lot like Sirius) couldn't see him. He walked even more silently than he had thought possible, and when he was close enough, dove headfirst into the hole as he whispered the password.

The passageway closed off, but Harry knew that was close—and he didn't want any Slytherin he didn't know getting into the Den. Was there a way to do so?

That portrait, maybe . . . Harry was sure he knew more than he was saying. And there he was, right on the wall of this very room.

"Hello, Alex."

"Hi, Harry. What are you doing here at this time of night? With a girl?" he teased.

"Oh, shut up. Is there any way to restrict access to this place? A Slytherin saw me go down."

"Of course," said the portrait smugly. "Just say, 'Salazar says, allow access only to' and then name the people. Works for the other rooms too, but obviously a different name."

"Thanks. Okay . . . Salazar says, allow access only to Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, . . ." he paused, contemplating who else to allow . . . "Gertrude Granger, Remus Lupin, and Lily Evans." I don't trust the other Marauders. Not yet, at least, not with this.

A brief green flash confirmed that Harry's words had been heard. Ginny was waiting in the main room, and she put the signs up in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff as Harry set the protections everywhere; thankfully, nobody was in either common room. Finally, the two went back into the main room, and from there into the Gryffindor bedroom.

"After you, Gin," said Harry as he motioned to the bed. "Three jumps, and say 'Thank you, Godric' again."

Ginny turned to him with an impish grin. "Well, if we're already up, and down here . . ."

The two returned through the fireplace to Gryffindor Tower about half an hour later, hair mussed and grinning deleriously.

The next morning, James and Sirius rebuffed any attempt at friendship on the part of the time-travelers. When Harry tried to walk to breakfast with them, they just sped up and dove through a secret passageway. As such, Harry found himself walking with Lily, Remus, Danger, and a fifth-year he didn't know very well named Aletha Freeman.

"Thank you, Harry," said Lily out of the blue.

"For what?"

"For breaking up that fight between Sev— Snape and the Marauders yesterday. I know it wasn't easy to do."

"No," sighed Harry, "it wasn't." And you have no idea to what degree, or why. "But I got bullied a lot as a kid, and I can't stand it when other people do that. The Marauders aren't that bad, you know; they just haven't really grown up yet."

A few seconds later, a bit more softly, he continued, "Don't give up on James, Lily. He's an arrogant prat right now, but he won't be one forever. I know for a fact that he really does care about you."

"Some way he has of showing it," Lily snorted.

Harry shook his head in bemusement. "I know. Like I said, he's an arrogant prat now. I'm just saying, don't hold him to that reputation after he grows out of it. You might be surprised."

Lily scowled and was silent for a minute as the group walked. "You know too much," she said finally.

"Oh?"

"You know too much. You knew what happened last time, you know everyone's names, you know your way around, you knew the curse Snape tried to use, you even know what the Marauders call him. You don't pick all that up in a day."

"My friends and I have been here since the eleventh, Lily." Harry was trying to keep his outward demeanor calm, but inwardly he was squirming. She's too smart for her own good.

"Still . . ." Lily was beginning to gather steam. "You knew about Slughorn's first lesson for sixth years, you know a bunch of secret passages—I know you get from place to place faster than is possible normally—and I'm sure you know plenty more, that you just haven't let slip yet. What's up?" By this point, the two had slowed down a bit and separated from the other three; at her last statement, Lily turned to face Harry with her hands on her hips. "Well?" she prompted, seeing no answer forthcoming.

Harry frowned. "Listen, Lily, you're really perceptive." He gave a humorless laugh. "And you're right, there is more to this than I'm telling you. And I'm afraid it will have to stay that way, at least for now." Seeing Lily's glare, he hastily added, "Look, Dumbledore knows, as do McGonagall and Flitwick. We're trying to keep the number of people who know to a minimum. I can't tell you why, but please don't push me on this."

Lily looked him in the eyes—her eyes—for a long minute. Finally, she relented. "Okay, Harry. I won't ask." I'll figure it out on my own instead.

Severus Snape ate breakfast at the end of the Slytherin table. He was in a particularly dark mood today, and he expressed it by stabbing his kipper with surprising ferocity. Another year, and I still have no friends. And I am still haunted by Potter and his gang.

He scowled in the general direction of the Marauders, who were laughing uproariously about something at the Gryffindor table. I will get them in the end, he thought venomously. I will find a way to get them expelled. And I will do it soon.

I wonder where Lupin goes every month; anyone knows that story about visiting his sick mother is ridiculous.

And his friends are always tired the day before he comes back . . . Severus Snape was many things, but let it never be said he did not have a mind for details.

His mind drifted to the confrontation of last night. I was practically cheering for the new Potter against the old one—just what relation are they, anyway?—until he turned on me. Snape shuddered at the memory. The new Potter had seemed disappointed and angry at James, but when he whirled on him, the barely masked hatred had been clear in his eyes.

I know that look. It's even worse than the one the Marauders reserve for me.

And he knew what my curse would do, Snape realized with a start. Before I had even finished casting it—and I have never cast that curse verbally before. And he hated it.

I do not have enough information to draw a conclusion, he decided. But I will watch, and wait. Professor Slughorn was walking towards him. Starting . . . now.

"Severus, Professor Dumbledore would like to see you at your earliest convenience. He says the password to his office is 'Tootsie Pop'." Snape glanced up at the Head Table; indeed, Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. Probably in his office, then. "Thank you, sir. I'll go now."

I wonder what the old man has to say to me now . . .

"Tootsie Pop!" called Snape as he approached the gargoyle. He ascended the stairs and knocked on the door.

"Come in, Severus," came the muffled response. Interesting how he always calls me Severus . . . everyone else is 'Mr. Potter' or 'Miss Evans' or something.

Snape opened the door, walked in, and closed it behind him. "Please, have a seat," offered the aging Headmaster. He complied.

Professor Dumbledore steepled his hands and looked at Snape with an expression of mild admonishment. "Harry Potter has given me his recollection of the events of last night."

"His recollection, sir?"

"His memory, in a Pensieve," clarified Dumbledore. "I see no instance in which you were at fault—indeed, I am highly disappointed with James Potter for his actions—except in your casting something on Harry as he left the scene. What curse was it, Severus?"

Snape sighed. He knew he would probably get in trouble for this, but he couldn't lie to the Headmaster, not the one person who had shown him compassion after his mother died four years back, who treated him as something more than a Dark greasy-haired geek unworthy of attention or friends . . .

"Sectumsempra, sir. It's a cutting curse I invented at the end of last year; I've used it nonverbally before, and it doesn't cause any undue amount of damage. I have no idea why Potter reacted so strongly to it . . ."

"Harry certainly seemed to have his reasons, although he did not share them with me." Again with the first names. Just who is this new Potter kid? "Am I right in assuming you have never used this curse verbally before?"

The Slytherin shook his head. "No, sir."

Dumbledore waved his wand, and a life-size cloth dummy appeared to his left. "Perhaps you could demonstrate it for me, then? Spells often have unexpected effects, especially those which we invent ourselves." He reached under his desk and produced something—Snape's own wand.

Snape had a feeling this wouldn't turn out well, but he couldn't see any reason not to oblige the Headmaster, so he took his wand and cast the curse. "Sectumsempra!" A large gash appeared on the dummy's cheek, and another on its chest; Snape was sure, if it had blood, that it would be bleeding profusely.

He was shocked; not really horrified, but certainly shocked.

"It would appear," said Dumbledore gravely, "that Harry was right to prevent your casting this spell."

"Thank you for returning my wand, sir," said Snape after a moment.

"Indeed, Severus." Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Severus. . . please do try to use restraint in the future. I understand your fascination with the Dark Arts, and I do not condemn it, do not think you evil for it; you know this. Choices, not abilities. But remember as well that the Dark is much more dangerous, much more chaotic, much more risky than the magic that is taught in classes here—to the caster as well as the recipient. Take care not to lose yourself in its depths." He paused for a moment. "And it would do you good," he said finally, "to consider that if your spell had hit last night, even with your lack of knowledge of its results, you would have been punished most severely."

"Thank you, Headmaster. I will try to remember your words."

"Now, I do believe you have classes to attend. Remember, if you need anything, my door is open."

Severus stood up with a nod and walked out the door. I will never understand him.

And as much as I hate to say it, I do respect him. And I will work with him, not against him, if I can.

I just hope I have a choice in the matter.

"Hello, Lily," said Snape as he approached their customary table in the library.

"Snape," she replied neutrally.

Snape frowned. "What is it?"

Lily glared at him. "Apart from the fact you called me a Mudblood, you mean? I didn't think friends used that term. If you think me inferior, you can just go back to your dungeon."

I'm not really your friend, but— "I'm sorry, Lily," he said with a sigh. "It just sort of—slipped out, I guess. It's not how I really feel. I was trying to seem strong to Potter, and I put you down to do it. I'm sorry."

Lily gave a weak smile. "I accept your apology, Severus. Now, what did you think of that potion today?" They both pulled out their textbooks and discussed the Draught, exchanging notes of what worked and what didn't.

"I'm suspicious about Potter," said Snape some time later.

"Why? I know he's an arrogant prat, but I don't think he's hiding anything."

"Oh? You haven't noticed Lupin going away every month? But I was talking about the other Potter. Harry. There is no way he could've known that spell."

"The one starting with 'Sectumsem—'?"

"Yeah, Sectumsempra. I invented it last year, used it nonverbally on James at one point—it's a cutting curse. But I've never written it anywhere except this Potions textbook, and I've never used it verbally. Ever."

Lily frowned. "It does seem odd, that he recognized it before you even finished saying the incantation—and that he reacted so strongly to it."

"The odd thing is, and I really hate to say this, but Potter was right. It is really dangerous verbally. Dumbledore asked me to demonstrate it for him after he gave me back his wand, and it made a bloody huge gash on the chest of the dummy I cast it on. A real person probably would bleed to death in minutes." A strange glint appeared in his beetle-black eyes. "So the question becomes: How did Potter know, when even I didn't?"

Lily shook her head. "I have no idea. But Harry Potter does seem to be hiding something. We don't know enough to say what, though."

"Not enough information," agreed Snape. "Something else—Dumbledore calls him Harry, like he calls me Severus. I don't know of anyone else he does that for."

"Only people who are specifically important to him for a non-academic reason. So whatever is up with Harry, Dumbledore knows and thinks it's important."

"Like I said, not enough information. I'm going to get that Potions essay out of the way."

Then silence, apart from the scrape of quill on parchment.

Yet another thing Harry is hiding, considered Lily as she wrote about the properties of wolfsbane. How could he know something like that?

Breakfast on Friday morning was relatively uneventful until Harry grabbed his pumpkin juice.

What's with that pink tinge? Most people probably wouldn't have noticed it, but a year around Mad-Eye Moody hadn't been without its effects.

Harry looked around furtively; the Marauders were a few seats down, talking loudly. He turned to Ginny on his right and whispered, "I think there's something in my pumpkin juice."

Ginny took a look and nodded silently in agreement.

"Ideas?"

"Allow me." She grinned. With a wave of her wand and a whispered incantation Harry couldn't make out, the pink tinge disappeared. "It's in James's juice now."

Harry laughed silently. "Nice one, Gin. Now we wait."

They didn't have to wait very long; about twenty seconds later, James took a swig of pumpkin juice—and the surrounding students erupted in laughter. He now had greasy black hair that would have looked normal on, say, Severus Snape . . . not to mention the neon pink skin.

Even Peter laughed. "Impaled upon your own sword there, Prongs?"

"And didn't you say something about this being unbreakable except on a timer?" added Remus helpfully from his seat next to Danger.

James just scowled at them.

"How do the Marauders do their pranks, anyway?" Harry asked Hermione later that day, when all four were studying in the common room. If I'm going to be just enjoying a 'normal life' here for the time being, I might as well make the most of it.

"Oh, lots of ways," said Hermione enthusiastically. "I'd imagine they use potions for most of the directed ones, like the one you deflected at breakfast today, but for the big ones like I've heard Fred and George mention there are certain charms that help. Specifically, there's something called a Gateway Charm that you can set up over a doorway and then 'charge' by sending charms at it; then anyone who walks though it will get hit with one of the charms at random. There's also a variant that makes the charms 'stick' but not show up until you pass another, differently-prepared Gateway . . . It's all very interesting, and the Marauders really do have a lot of talent. It's a pity they waste it, really."

"Interesting," he mused and turned back to his book, trying very hard not to appear as excited as he was. Hermione, you're brilliant!

After dinner, Ginny looked up the appropriate spells in an old library book. Apparently, they were originally designed for "security purposes." Is that the code word for pranks these days?

That night, Harry and Ginny waited until two o'clock A.M. to try to avoid another late-night Slytherin common room occupant. They succeeded; the room was empty this time. Ginny set up the Latent Gateway Charm on the entrance to the sixth-year dorms, and Harry fired about twenty red and gold Color-Change Charms at it. They returned to the Den, this time leaving by way of the kitchens (kitchens led to kitchens with "Thank you, Godric," they discovered after a bit of experimentation), and set up the Gateway Activation Charm around the doors to the Great Hall.

Oh, this will be great, thought Harry as the two snuck back to bed.

The next morning, all the sixth-year Slytherins were showing some unintentional not-their-own-House pride. Robes were red or gold, or hair was colored; one person even got one red and one gold eyebrow.

Severus Snape, though, was by far the worst affected; he had red and gold stripes on his robes and in his hair. Even his nose was red, giving him the impression of a scowling clown. Apparently, he was one for nighttime wandering, and had hit the Gateway multiple times.

Over their protests, James and Sirius were given detentions. Hermione shot Harry a withering look, receiving a practiced innocent expression in response, but finally smiled and shook her head. We all need a bit of fun sometimes, she mouthed.

Harry was sure he had never heard Gryffindor table laugh so hard.

Peter Pettigrew walked quietly to the seventh-floor corridor the sign had indicated.

This should be fun. Learn something, and if I don't like it I can always just quit.

And I'd really like to know how they enchanted the sign like that. Peter had tried to tell Remus about the Defense club (there was still a rift between them and the other two Marauders), but Remus hadn't understood a word of it until he saw the sign.

I wonder who's running it? I heard there were signs in all the common rooms, so I doubt it's a student . . . maybe Flitwick? I heard he's a duelling champion.

He arrived at the prescribed corridor, and indeed there were a few other students milling about, but there was no door in sight, and Peter was pretty sure they wouldn't just be meeting in the corridor.

Wait—this corridor seemed familiar for some reason . . .

A girl Peter knew by sight but not by name cleared her throat. "Hi, Peter—right?"

"Yeah, Peter Pettigrew. And you are . . .?" Internally, he was quite surprised; no one knew his name. He was just a little tagalong—he had been until this year, at least.

"Rachel Trent. Sixth year Ravenclaw," she responded. Peter took a second to look at her a bit more closely; she was rather petite, brunette with rather wiry hair, not ugly but not the kind of girl most boys would fawn over either.

"Nice to meet you, Rachel," he said amiably.

"And you." Rachel paused for a moment, as if surveying him more closely. "You've changed, you know."

"What? How?" And certainly not the first time I've heard that, but this time from someone I didn't even know? Merlin, my reputation follows me everywhere.

"Last year, you weren't a very good friend. Just along for the ride, not really sure which side you were on, scared, sitting the fence." She smiled to lessen the sting. "I've always had a bit of affection for you—a loner, the odd one out even with your friends—but I didn't want to get close to you as you were. You're not like that anymore. You've decided," she finished, her voice sounding strange, a bit ethereal.

Decided what? Peter wanted to ask, but he decided not to. Inwardly, he marveled; Rachel had seen right through him. That was exactly how he had felt. But now? He felt a strange drive to explain himself. "I guess things changed after my dad was killed. He was a Death Eater, you know. I never knew until his body appeared in our house with a note."

Rachel closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head sympathetically. "That must have been awful."

"In a way, it was. I mean—he was my dad, you know? Not the best dad, but mine. My family.

"He got really Dark a couple years back. I didn't understand it at the time, but now I do. Started ranting about pureblood supremacy and all that. And I didn't really believe it, but I didn't dismiss it either, because he was my dad. I didn't really know what to think. So yeah, I guess I was sitting the fence, sort of."

"But not now," said Rachel.

"No," affirmed Peter, "not now. After Dad died, I really had a chance to think, a lot. I've never really done that before. My mum is a very quiet person—loving, but she never would talk about something like that. So I had to figure it out for myself." He paused, breathed in, breathed out, slowly. "And I decided I wanted to do something. Apply myself. Maybe make a bit of a difference." He smiled weakly, but it turned into a grimace. "My dad proved that's easy to do by being bad. I want to do it being good."

Rachel grinned widely as he finished this little speech. "You're driven, Peter. And I have no idea how or why." She shook her head. "I never expected you to grow a backbone, I must say. But I'm glad you have."

Peter smiled weakly again, but this time it stayed. "Yeah, I know, Wormtail with a backbone. Boggles the mind. But how do you know me so well, anyway?"

She shrugged in response. "I'm good at reading people," she said. "I think I might be some sort of a minor Seer; I see things about people that usually they only see about themselves. That's why I don't have that many friends, actually; people don't usually like it when someone reminds them of their weaknesses. And I'm definitely not normal for a Ravenclaw. Not that good in classes, really."

"Well, I guess we have something in common, then." Peter laughed. "So why are you here?"

"Same reason as you, I guess. I want to do something for good, with good people by my side. And you find more of those here than you do most places."

"Hey, works for me."

At that moment, Harry Potter walked up with his three friends. Harry paced back and forth in front of a wall, ignoring the odd looks he was getting, until a door appeared.

The Room of Requirement? And how the hell did he know about that? wondered Peter.

"All right, everbody in," he called.

The thirty or so students filed in—and gaped in astonishment. The room had bookshelves full of Defense books, cushions on the floor for Stunning practice, a raised platform at the far end, and circles drawn on the floor. Though they didn't know it, it was the same room as Harry had used for the D.A. during his fifth year.

Peter watched as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny made their way up to the stage. "Who's teaching this thing?" someone called.

"I am," said Harry. "Welcome to the D.A. Officially, it stands for the Defense Association. Unofficially, it stands for whatever you want." A bit of nervous laughter. "You've all had Professor Johnson by now, and honestly, he's not the best teacher."

"That's an understatement!" called another student.

Harry smiled. "Well, yeah. Anyway, I figured there'd be a lot of you who wanted more than he was offering, so I started this club. It's going to be entirely practical Defense. I don't care why you're here, as long as you're not planning to help Voldemort." Gasps and shudders at the name. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, it's just a NAME, people! Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself." He didn't see Lily adopt a curious expression at that phrase.

"Anyway, that's about it. If you're not interested, leave now."

"Wait!" called the first speaker. "What makes you so qualified to teach us, anyway?" His tone was clearly skeptical.

"If you're determined to be a skeptic, you probably won't believe me," responded Harry. "But I've faced Voldemort and his Death Eaters a couple times, managed to escape with my life, and learned quite a bit along the way. Remember, you don't have to be here."

"Ha! You wish!" The skeptic turned and marched out the door.

"Anyone else?" asked Harry.

No one spoke. No one moved.

"All right, then."

"Wait!" exclaimed yet another kid. "How did you escape V– Vol– You-Know-Who, anyway?"

"As I believe our Transfiguration teacher would say, 'sheer dumb luck'," said Harry, doing a good impression of Professor McGonagall. More laughter greeted him. "Honestly, though, it has very little to do with how much you know. You can study curses and counter-curses all you like, but once you get out there it's just you and your wand and the most evil guys you've ever seen, and hell, it's scary, and you have to keep your wits about you, because if you don't, you're dead. It's hard to explain; best to avoid him if you can, and face him proudly if you must. Any more questions before we get started?"

There weren't any.

"All right, then. As I was going to say, these are my friends Ron, Hermione, and Ginny—" he indicated them— "and they'll be helping me teach. They know almost as much as I do," Harry said with a smile. "Now, let's pair up and practice the Disarming Charm, Expelliarmus. And before you object, it's saved my life more than once."

The students paired off with minimal fuss, and Harry could see already that he had a good group. Not many Slytherins, and the ones that were there weren't universally hated. No Snape, thank Merlin. As with the fifth year D.A., most didn't really have even Expelliarmus mastered, and so Harry did as he had done before, going around and giving advice. The students definitely did seem more motivated in this time, though. Probably Voldemort's influence.

James and Sirius aren't here, he noticed after his first round of help-giving. No surprises there. But Remus and Peter are . . . guess they believed me after all.

After about an hour of various spells being thrown around, Harry Required a whistle and blew it. "Good job, everyone. Next meeting is a week from today, same time, same place. If there are conflicts, we'll change it. Dismissed."

Everyone left, with one exception: a sixth-year Ravenclaw. "Rachel, right?" asked Harry. (He had made an effort to learn everyone's names.) "What is it?"

"You don't trust Peter," she said rather matter-of-factly.

Harry frowned. "Not really, to tell the truth."

"You distrust him for what he would have become, not what he will. Remember, Peter will not become what you know him to be."

"Okay, thanks for the advice," said Harry, still confused. "I'll try to let go of my preconceptions, and I'm sorry I have them. Thank you for your reassurance."

She smiled a bit. "Honestly, last year I probably would've felt the same. But he has changed."

"See you on Thursday, then." Rachel turned and left the room.

I guess I should give Peter a clean slate, then, he figured. Listen to Hermione. Rachel reminds me a bit of Luna, to tell the truth. Not quite so 'out-there', but she has that same ability to see right through you . . .

The first D.A. meeting was a huge success, and at least five new members joined in time for the second one, James and Sirius sadly still not among them. Life at Hogwarts passed normally: classes, homework, pranks from the Marauders, and the daily news of attacks by Voldemort . . .

On Monday, September 13, the seventh-years learned and practiced the Animagus form scrying spell in Transfiguration. Sure enough, Ron was a red-feathered hawk and Hermione a calico cat; Danger's prophecy was beginning to make sense. (Harry was a black wolf, hair a bit ruffled, with his piercing green eyes and a lighter patch of fur in the shape of his scar.)

If Ron's the hawk, I'm the lion's son . . . which is odd, because I know my dad's a stag.

Wait a second . . . lion's son . . . would that have anything to do with Gryffindor? Godric's symbol was a lion . . .

Maybe it just applies to that "Only a true Gryffindor" thing Dumbledore mentioned second year when I got the sword out of the hat. Still, for some reason, that didn't seem quite right . . .

Saturday the 18th was the first Hogsmeade weekend of term. The four time-travelers went together, as did Remus and Danger, and Peter and Rachel. Lily was on a date with a seventh-year named Greg Meyers whom Harry privately thought a bit dull, and James, Sirius, and Aletha went as friends.

As one might expect, all five of these groups spent a lot of time in the Three Broomsticks.

"Where to next?" asked Sirius after he had eaten. "Zonko's?"

"How about Gladrags?" offered Aletha, smiling wickedly.

Sirius spluttered in disgust. "Gladrags? Robes? No way, Letha! We're guys!"

"And it might do you guys a bit of good to consider looking good for the girls who like you!" exclaimed Aletha, suddenly furious.

"We already do," offered James.

Aletha groaned in frustration. "You—are—so—arrogant! Both of you! I have just HAD IT with your ATTITUDES! I'll see you at Quidditch tryouts, Sirius Black." She stood up and stalked out of the bar, Sirius still smarting and shaking his head in disbelief.

"What was that about?" he whispered to James, who just shrugged.

"I don't know. Girls are weird."

From the next table over, Harry quietly asked Ginny, "Remind you of anyone?"

Ginny gave an odd cough remniscent of "RonandHermione!" Said two glared at her. "Hey, it's true," she defended. "You two did argue a lot before you got together. I bet we can expect the same from them."

Meanwhile, Lily and Greg were chatting apparently amiably over a plate of crisps. Internally, though, Lily was frustrated. Can't he just shut up about his twenty-six dozen Arithmancy projects? she thought viciously. Really, though, she knew that wasn't the problem. What was it, then? He's nice enough, he respects me, he follows the rules—unlike some people—and he's intelligent. What else am I looking for?

Maybe it's the fact that he seems to think I really am as goody two-shoes as I seem? Or that he is as goody two-shoes as I seem?

Then, as if to make her thankful for what she did have, James Potter chose that moment to walk by. "Hello, Evans," he said, flashing his trademark lopsided grin.

"Oh, shove off, Potter," replied Lily coldly. "And that," she said, turning back to Greg, "is James Potter, the arrogant prat who has been trying to get me to go out with him for three years now. It'll be a cold day in Hell when that happens."

"Why do you dislike him so much?"

"Didn't you hear me? He's an arrogant prat!" Lily said heatedly. "He— he struts around the castle like he owns it, always hexing people and— ruffling up his hair to make it seem like he just got off his broomstick, and— he—makes—me—sick!" And why can't I come up with anything worse to say about him? Why was it hard even to say that? What's wrong with me? "I'm going to get another butterbeer."

As Lily walked by the time-travellers' table, she heard a faint snatch of something Harry said. ". . . weird seeing my mum with another guy, even if I know she's not going to marry him . . ." And was she mistaken, or did his eyes flicker towards her as he said that?

What's up? Before she could ponder that statement, though, Danger erupted in tears and ran out of the building, Remus close behind.

What is it with everyone today?

Something in conversation had made Danger think of her parents—she couldn't even remember what anymore—and she just couldn't take it anymore. She ran out of the Three Broomsticks, ran down High Street of Hogsmeade, ran all the way to the gates of Hogwarts, all the way up to the Gryffindor common room, not even noticing Remus running after her, calling her name. All she knew was the huge, bottomless pit of despair that had opened up inside her yet again—the despair that she had only diverted, not dealt with, a month ago when she hastily took Professor Dumbledore up on his offer.

Her parents were dead, damnit! Dead! What right did she have to be enjoying herself? Making something of herself? She would never see them again! It finally hit her, the same feelings she had been struggling with when Dumbledore appeared out of nowhere and offered her an out, but multiplied tenfold for her ignoring them. She just wanted to get away, away from everyone, adjust her surroundings to make them reflect how she felt—desolate, abandoned, alone.

"Thank you, Godric," she burst out as she approached the Gryffindor common room fireplace. Harry had told her about the Den, and said she could use it "for any reason you might need." Well, this qualified. She slid down the tube, an action that might ordinarily make her laugh happily but now just deepened her abiding sadness. It dumped her out on the bed, and she collapsed on it. "Thank you, Godric," she sobbed, and watched with grim satisfaction as the passageway closed.

Alone.

Danger put her head in her hands and wept. For the parents she had lost, for the years of their lives she would never know, she cried until she thought she could cry no more—and still she continued.

She barely noticed another presence sliding down the passage until it—he, Remus Lupin—fell out onto the bed. Danger latched onto him, just held him close as she continued to cry for the two beautiful lives so unfairly, harshly, prematurely taken by those evil, evil men.

Remus's feelings of awkwardness were apparent on his face, and Danger would probably have teased him for it if she hadn't been so torn herself, but at least he made a valiant effort to comfort her. "Shh. . . it's okay, Danger, it'll be okay."

She lifted her head from his shoulder and shook it violently. "No," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "It's not okay. My parents are dead, for God's sake. Dead! I've been trying to ignore it for the last month, throwing myself into my work, but it didn't work, it only made it worse . . ." She broke down into fresh sobs. Images from that night flashed through her head.

"You must think I'm so silly," she sniffled a few minutes later.

"Not at all, Danger. You lost both your parents at once. I'd say you're entitled to be much more upset than you are. I can't imagine what I'd do if—" Remus broke off, unable to complete the sentence. "I know you can't just focus on the bad, though. Try to remember the good times too, and your loss will be easier to bear . . . I hope. Merlin, it just tears me up seeing you like this."

Danger gave a weak half-smile. "I'll try," she whispered. "Let's see," she said, her voice becoming stronger. "A story. My mum hated spiders, you know. Just hated them. So, of course, Aletha finds this huge spider and sticks it in our mailbox. I swear, I heard her shriek all the way in the library."

Remus laughed, and Danger had to follow suit.

Does it dishonor them, to talk about their lives so lightly?

No, not at all, she realized firmly. This is how they would want to be remembered.

With laughter amid the tears.

Harry and his time-traveling friends walked into the Gryffindor common room and sat down with a sigh. It had been a rather long day in Hogsmeade—fun, but long. Harry's gaze fell on Remus and Danger, sitting on a couch together; Danger's eyes were a bit red, but she was smiling, and they looked fine.

Thankfully. Probably Danger's parents—she never grieved for them before today. I should know, I'm the same way with people I lose.

And . . . why was Lily Evans stalking towards them with a determined expression?

"We need to talk. In private. Now," she said firmly.

Harry looked around. The common room was actually remarkably empty for just after a Hogsmeade day. Everyone's probably at dinner, he realized. "Alright, follow me. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, come on." He walked over to the fireplace and whispered the password. "Come down when I give the all-clear," he said softly, then jumped into the slide, landing finally on the lush Gryffindor bedroom bed.

"All right, come down, Lily," he called. She did so, and looked around in wonder as she emerged.

"What is this place?"

Hermione, who came down just after Lily, answered her question. "Officially, from something one of the house-elves said, we think it's called the Heart of Hogwarts; but we just call it the Den. There're four bedrooms, a kitchen, library, indoor Quidditch pitch, and a bathroom; they each lead somewhere different. The bedrooms go to the common rooms." She looked up at the ceiling. "All clear, Ron!"

"Wow," breathed Lily. "And this is all yours?"

"Pretty much," said Ron with a cheeky grin as he emerged. He turned back to the ceiling. "Thank you, Godric." A light grating sound was heard as the passageway closed over again. "Yeah, it's ours. One of the portraits down here said so." By this point, all four had walked into the central room. "House colors, as you can see."

"Yeah . . . anyway, Harry, you have a lot of explaining to do. Are you four from the future?"

Harry smiled shyly and nodded. "Always knew you'd be the first to figure it out, m— Lily. I think we need to sit down . . . hey, does this room get any more comfortable?"

"Just tell it what you want," called a familiar voice.

"Okay, thanks, Alex," responded Harry loudly. "That's the portrait I mentioned," he said. "All right: Gryffindor common room replica, please."

The room changed around them to match. "Wicked," gaped Ron.

"Okay, Lily, you might as well get comfortable," said Harry resignedly. "It's a long story, and definitely not a good one."

"I'm listening," said Lily eagerly. "Come on, I want to know what happens!"

"Of course, Mrs. Potter," said Ginny, grinning evilly.

Lily just gaped at them. "You mean— James— and I— get MARRIED! And have a BABY? What was I THINKING?"

Harry burst into laughter at the indignant expression on her face. "Yeah, you do. Mum. Merlin, I've always wanted to say that." He shook his head, and his smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. "Anyway: I was born July 31, 1980. I don't know much about my first year or so of life. Halloween 1981, Voldemort came to your house and killed you and James." Harry's voice cracked, and Lily's eyes glistened, but he forced himself to continue. "He tried to kill me, too, but his curse backfired and hit him instead." Lily was even more surprised by this revelation than the last. "Dumbledore thinks it had something to do with a monther's love, the fact that you willingly gave your life for mine. The newspapers called me the 'Boy-Who-Lived'."

Both of them were silently crying by this point. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry," said Lily.

Harry walked over and hugged her tightly, never wanting to let go. "Don't be, Mum," he whispered. "You did everything you could, and I know how much you love me. Even your death provided a lingering protection that helped me to fend off Voldemort once."

Reluctantly, Harry let her go and returned to his seat next to Ginny. Words could not describe how he felt at this moment. Something he had been half-hoping, half-dreaming for all his life had finally happened.

He knew his parents.

And he didn't have to die for it.

Harry continued his narration. "Anyway, Sirius was supposed to be my guardian if anything happened to you two—but that didn't work. You were in hiding under the Fidelius Charm, and Peter Pettigrew was your Secret-Keeper. Only nobody knew that—you did a bluff, told everyone Sirius was the Secret-Keeper and switched at the last minute. And no one knew except you, James, Sirius, and Peter.

"You didn't know it, but in my timeline Peter was a Death Eater. He betrayed you to Voldemort."

"So that's why you didn't seem to like him that much," realized Lily.

"Actually, I was barely restraining myself from strangling him," said Harry lightly. "It helped that he's so different than I remember him, and a sixth-year Ravenclaw in the D.A. named Rachel Trent told me basically that he changed and he wouldn't become what I remembered him as. So it's less pronounced now.

"Anyway—Sirius saw that you and James had died. He was the first one on scene—found me lying in the rubble, wanted to take me with him, but Hagrid got there and said he was to take me—Dumbledore's orders. Apparently I would have a degree of protection with blood relatives."

Lily turned white. "Please, please tell me James has a brother or something."

Harry shook his head. "Nope. Dumbledore sent me to the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their whale of a son Dudley."

Despite herself, Lily snorted. "'Dudley'. That's exactly the kind of thing Petunia would name her son." Suddenly, she scowled. "But how did they treat you?" Her gaze bored into Harry's. "If they abused you, I'll—"

"They didn't hit me, if that's what you're asking," sighed Harry. "They did, however, treat me as if I didn't deserve to exist. I slept in the cupboard under the stairs, did pretty much all the chores in the house, didn't get anything for my birthday, you know."

Lily's face was becoming very red, very rapidly. "I am going to have words with my dear sister. And with Dumbledore. I can't believe him! He must have known how they would act!"

It was Hermione who spoke next. "Lily, calm down. This Dumbledore hasn't done anything to deserve your wrath. Neither has this Petunia, though I can't deny I'd love for her to get it." She flashed a cheeky grin. "Harry is fine," reassured Hermione. "I have no idea how it happened, with the stuff he's had to go through, but he's one of the strongest people I know."

"Best friend I've got," said Ron.

"And darn good at kissing," offered Ginny. "What?" she asked innocently as everyone in the room broke up laughing—with the exception of Harry, who was blushing madly in embarrassment

"But Harry, it's your girlfriend's duty to embarrass you in front of your parents," said Hermione slowly in between fits of laughter.

"Oh, shut up, all of you," demanded Harry with a mock stern expression before he too cracked up. "Okay, it is pretty funny, I guess. But we do have a lot more to tell."

For the next hour, the four shared stories of their exploits at Hogwarts, leaving nothing out: how they had saved the Sorceror's Stone, how Harry had saved Ginny from the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, how Harry had found the truth of his godfather's false imprisonment. Harry finally talked about some things he had always kept bottled up before—Lily and James coming out of Voldemort's wand during Priori Incantatem, Sirius falling through the veil, the ill-fated Horcrux hunt—and it was strangely healing to discuss it with a member of his own family.

Family. That thing I thought I'd never have.

"And so here we are," finished Harry. "Here to stay."

Everyone was silent for a minute. Both Lily and Harry had to wipe their eyes a few times. Finally, Lily said, her voice thick with emotion, "Thank you, Harry. I am proud to call you my son."

The two hugged again, and to Harry, nothing else mattered. Not the Horcruxes, not Voldemort, not the fact that James and Sirius were still being gits.

He had his mother back.

(A/N: I nearly cried writing the Danger/Remus and Harry-tells-Lily scenes.

The characters' Animagus forms are the same as those in the Dangerverse, which belongs to Anne Walsh / whydoyouneedtoknow. I don't think I used anything else new from it in this chapter.

I'm getting my wisdom teeth out on Friday, so I'll either be writing a lot or not at all over the weekend. And then school starts a week from today. Expect updates to be a bit slower in the future.

Next chapter: "Growing Up," in which the Marauders do just that in the fallout of a VERY poorly thought-out "prank" by Sirius . . . you probably already know what I'm talking about.

Keep those reviews coming! The more you review, the faster I write!)