Well, I'm now working on chapter two of "Libertas Volo Tandem" and let me tell you, it ain't the easiest thing in the world dhalinks. Man, what I would give for a good cuppa strong tea right now. But alas, my person is in Missouri, and good tea is hard enough to come by here in the US, much less in the middle of it. Ah, a good strong African tea is always good on frayed nerves on a cold winter day, but that was in California. Oh, look I'm ranting. Anyways, as always, I hope you enjoy what you read, and do feel free to leave a review, if You the Public does not approve of certain things, how am I ever to know what you dislike if you do not voice your opinion. Once again, your translations for spells and Titles will be provided at the end of the chapter so that I don't spoil any fun for you.

So with no further hindrances, I do present to you the second installment of Libertas Volo Tandem.

LibertasVolo Tandem

Chapter 2

Intellexi

Harry's consciousness drifted for some time after that. That warm blanket of familiar power was still wrapped protectively about him, but the cold had somehow reached in with gentle fingers and caressed his very soul. He had lost himself to the soft whisperings of his powerful blanket, and every time the pain threatened to rise, it retreated as quickly as it came. How long exactly did he go on like this, he would never be able to tell you. Hours? Days? Months? Years even? He hadn't even the slightest clue.

The cold that Harry had come to accustomed to slowly faded away, leaving him once again with naught but the warm velvet blanket that was his magic, but at the same time not his magic. It was still dark, but Harry could feel light pressing in around him, trying to penetrate his dark cocoon. He didn't want to wake, afraid that when he opened his eyes, he'd be back under that claustrophobic cupboard under the stairs, afraid that everything he had gone through was nothing but an elaborate dream conjured by his mind in a desperate bid to have what he never had: love, affection, friendship.

"Oh, Lils, he's gorgeous," a smooth tenor rang out in his ears.

Harry didn't know that voice. It was definitely not Sirius' borderline baritone, and wasn't Remus' soft alto, nor was it the rough rumbling of Vernon, or that scratchy grandfatherly (recently associated with a feeling of betrayal) light tenor of one Albus Dumbledore. It couldn't be Pettigrew, even when he met him for those brief spans of time before finally catching the rat with a trap, his voice was whining and disgustingly cloying. And it wasn't Ron, who had overcome his squeaky transition into a lighter, yet deeper alto than Neville's.

"He looks just like you, dear," a gentle, yet tired voice with a definite smile intoned in its lilting qualities replied.

That, Harry decided, had to be the most beautiful voice in the world. But he still didn't know the owner. It wasn't Hermione's somewhat bossy condescending yet concerned and welcoming tone, nor Pomfrey's mothering and soft voice, and it definitely could not be McGonagall, whose strict tone Harry had come to appreciate with a fondness that one would usually reserve for a distant aunt who had always come through for a favored nephew.

And why did it feel like he was being cradled? Didn't whoever they are realize that he was much too old to be carried around like a mere infant? Didn't they know that they were speaking of Harry James Potter, savior to the wizarding world, the Boy-who-lived?

Deciding to set these people straight, whoever they were, Harry opened his eyes tentatively, nearly wincing at the brilliantly white light that threatened his retinas.

Bloody hospitals and their bloody need for white, he thought almost automatically, figuring that his friends must have taken him to St. Mungos. After all, one does not fight the most arguably, Darkest Wizard of time and escape unscathed. Nope, Harry was sure that those severing curses that hit were not mere paper cuts. And that the cracks he heard when a few bludgeoning hexes nailed him in the torso were obviously not his glasses breaking again. As much as he'd wished it at the time, oh the pain that had caused.

Speaking of pain, why was he in none? Shouldn't he be either so drugged that his mind didn't function normally or in so much pain that he'd be out for the remainder of the month?

Hmm, that brings me to wonder what month it is. And why is everything so bloody blurry? I'm sure that my vision isn't this bad. Oh bugger, don't tell me I got hit with a faulty Blinding Hex. Because if I did, I don't care if the wanker is already dead and or kissed, I'll have my retribution.

Harry would have gone one, but an exclamation from a voice that shouldn't have logically even been there rang out.

"Oh look! Prongslet opened his eyes," exclaimed that same borderline baritone that belonged to the man that was as close to one of the two father figures as Harry could ever get before his unfortunate demise that he still considered to be somewhat his fault. The very sound of it made his heart soar.

Sirius? But…you're dead Harry looked around, well, attempted to, but found his body rather uncooperative. His neck muscles felt weak and incapable of supporting his head. Then he realized that he wouldn't be able to see much beyond half an arm's length in front of his face. When what he assumed to be a mirror suddenly become clear in his vision he gave a surprised hiss, and was rewarded with a gurgle of vocal chords that were clearly unused and untrained. He dismissed that thought for the 'study when you are more right in the head' drawer, and promptly studied his reflection.

Yep, definitely his. Now, Harry wasn't usually a vain person, but after having so many girls describe him to himself, he had to admit, he was pretty good looking.

Aristocratic cheekbones? Check.

Prettily sculpted nose that was set just right? Check.

Arched eyebrows that were neither too masculine nor feminine? Check.

An even tan, yet still slightly pale from years being indoors? Check.

Roguishly good looks and eternally windblown ebony hair? Check.

Hazel eyes that sparkle with mirth? Che-

Now just wait a bloody tic, my eyes are green, like AvadaKadevra green. Not hazel. Or whatever color that is. Harry attempted to scrunch his face in thought, reaching up to the reflection. Imagine his surprise when he found that not even his arms would respond to his will. Now what the bloody blazes is this? I'm under no spell. I can very well think for myself…

"Merlin, Lils, he's got your eyes, the most captivating emerald green eyes I've ever seen," the mirror said.

Oh, so it isn't a mirror, it's some bloke looking down at me and appeares to look just like me- Her eyes. 'Yeh look jus' like yer dad, Harry, wit' yer mum's eyes.' The words that Hagrid had said all those years ago came bowling back to him, nailing him right in the stomach.

I'm with my mum and dad, Harry thought over and over again, a euphoric feeling overtaking him and washing through his very being. But then his logic shot his wings out from under him as it clearly stated that there was no way that he could be with his parents, as there is no way to bring the dead back from the great beyond. No magic, no matter how powerful, could pull a soul back and reattach it to its body once it had left.

Of course, this just had to be some elaborate illusion that my mind has conjured for my injured body to live out while I'm probably in a coma with Hermione, Ginny, and Ron hovering worriedly over me.

"We came as fast as we could, we had to fetch Dudders from the sitter, and you won't believe the horrible traffic coming into London from Surrey. I mean, honestly, it's not as though people have never seen an accident before," a female voice rang out, and this one, Harry knew well.

It was a voice that had harangued and nagged, screeched at him and punished for no obvious reason. It was the voice of one Petunia Evans Dursley.

"Petunia," came the soft call of that beautiful voice once again. "I had hoped you would come. I am glad to see you."

Petunia scoffed, and Harry could tell it was not that same scoff from the woman that he knew for so many years. Her scoff was light, and had humor in it; the scoff that Harry could recall held nothing but disdain, mockery, and hate. This was not the same woman. It could not possibly the same woman.

"As if I would miss the birthing day of my nephew from my only sibling, please Lily, I thought you thought more of me," she said in a mockingly haughty voice. Strange how one different feeling can make one feel completely different about a person, as Harry suddenly found himself not so bitter, not so hateful of the once wretched woman.

"Ah, Vernon," that must be Remus. "It's good to see you, little Dudley seems to know that his cousin is finally here," the voice was not so tired, not so weary and world worn as Harry remembered the old werewolf to be.

Harry had expected a gruff remark, or snide comment to be let slide, as was usual of his Uncle Vernon, whom had always endeavored to make his hellacious life even harder than it already was. However, what Harry heard was completely different from what Harry expected.

"And you Remus. Where are those other two hellions at? Not celebrating without me are they?"

The voice was still the same, the accent still the same, but the tone. The tone was full of mirth, and welcome friendship. One would even go so far as to say that Vernon Dursley had just made a joke about Sirius Black and James Potter, two names that the man had never once deigned to utter in Harry's recollections.

Perturbed and curious, Harry continued to listen in on that conversation. Mentally, Harry was damning his wretched curiosity to the deepest depths of hell.

Why did it make him want to think that the hallucinations were real? Why?

"Oh no, they're just adoring Harry right now," Remus said with a light chuckle. "The doctors say that he's exceptionally calm for a newborn, but there isn't a thing wrong with him," he continued in a slightly more subdued voice.

"Oh think nothing of it, even Dudley was calm and collected when he was born, doncha remember it Moony?"

Stop it, Harry thought in a pained voice. Please stop this. It's torture to make me watch them interact, to make me think of what could have been. Stop it; I'm begging you, whoever you are.

Oh child.

There it was!

That damnable voice, but not voice that liked to whisper in his head was here again. Wasn't it the one that started all this? Oh Harry had a few choice words for them, whoever they were.

Perhaps I should have taken away your previous memories. It would have made the transition so much easier.

NO! You can't just go into my head and take away the only things in life I have left, Harry thought furiously, panicked and nearly hysteric.

Oh but I can young one. The ancient magic only needs you to be emotionally happy for it to work. You don't have to be completely like you were you know. You could have an entirely new life. With a family who loves you, with people who care. With a brother. Besides, you wouldn't be losing them, simply storing them away for a later date when they need to be accessed.

Harry had let out a panic stricken cry sometime after the 'voice' slowly locked away his memories, which alarmed Lily, as she gently rocked him and cooed to him. James hovered over Lily's shoulder, watching with a tinge of worry but mostly paternal pride shining in his hazel eyes. Petunia smiled softly, watching the three, Lily, James, and Harry. They were simply made for each other. "God Almighty, if you really are there, please protect this happy scene. I can't help but feel that it shall be shattered viciously in time," the slim woman whispered as she watched the scene play out.

Harry didn't know what to do, all the memories that he had held previously were fading. And it was simply that. He could hardly recall names, what were they again? Will? Bill? Hermes? No…Hermione, that was it. All those times he encountered what's his face…- Mouldy-warts? No that was wrong, and yet so very entertaining. Perhaps he'd stick with that. Yes, he would now and forever more refer to this malignant person as Mouldy-warts.

Now, back to the matter at hand; which Harry could not recall for the life of him. Spells flittered across his mind, bright and full of power. Lumos. Nox. Fidelus. Solaris. Tempus. Sectum Sempra. Rictum Sempra seemed to bring a hint of giggles to his mind. Expecto Patronum. Alohamora. Engorgio. Reducto. Protego. Expelliarmus. Diffindium. Deletrius. Incindio. Aguamenti. Crucio (that one left a bad taste in his mouth). Imperio. Avada Kadevra (Harry guessed that he'd never use that one, because simply thinking of it set his mind into violent shivers). Caesus. So many more that he could barely recall how many were exactly nested neatly within his mind. All of them were strong in his mind. Why could he recall these, what were the people he was trying to remember? What did red hair have to do with a sword of magic and a basilisk?

If my memories are the price of living through a better life, I'd rather keep the painful memories, so that I know at least what it's like. I'd rather keep the happy memories so that I know to cherish them when the bad moments roll around, Harry thought desperately, but there was no response forthcoming from the voice.

His magic thrummed gently, a comforting gesture. Odd though, it never did that before. And when he thought to delve deeper into the mystery, nothing clicked. The magic simply thrummed constantly, almost like a purr, soft, comforting, accepting.

'Harry mine' it whispered, softer than a breeze. 'I will not be kept from you again.'

With that vindictive, yet gentle reassurance, Harry felt himself slip into one of the most comfortable sleeps he'd ever had. There were no nightmares to pain him, no memories to mock him, and no what ifs to plague him. It was only he, his mother's presence, the feel of his father, and his magic, safe and warm.

"So, James, how does it feel to finally be a father," Vernon asked amicably as he watched the new parent delicately cradle his newborn son as he slept.

James looked up, one of those irrepressible smiles gracing his aristocratically formed features, responding with a fond tone. "I don't know how I could have waited so long to meet this little guy. I can't wait until he's old enough to play with a broom or a snitch. I think I finally understand just why you were so relieved when Petunia gave birth to Dudley."

"Aye, and now you have one of your own to dote on. I suspect that with everyone doting on them, these two will not only be close, but rather spoilt," Vernon replied with a chuckle as Remus played with Dudley, and Sirius was attempting, attempting being the key word, to coax a sleeping Harry out of James' arms.

"Sirius Orion Black," Lily called with a reprimanding tone, "I'll not have you disturbing Harry's sleep! James, do put him down in the bed, it won't do to have him wake up with a sore neck."

Caught red handed, Sirius wisely pouted and backed away from his godson like a scolded dog, even going so far as to add a whine to his retreat. Remus smiled as he saw his friend act like the canine he was at heart. The only one missing from this joyous occasion was Peter. Actually, Remus had noticed that Peter had gone AWOL almost every time all of the Marauders had been together in one room. Frowning, Remus gently gave Dudley to an eager looking Sirius and went to James for, what he hoped to be, a short discussion about one Peter Pettigrew, or Wormtail as he was known to his friends.

"James, did Peter tell you where he was going to be? And has he answered any of our floo calls, or letters?"

James frowned slightly, and crossed his now free arms. "Now that I think of it Remus, he has been rather jumpy, well more so than usual. And he has been absent from every Order meeting, as well as any get together. Do you think he could be in some sort of trouble? Or perhaps a solo mission assigned to him by Dumbledore."

Remus shook his head. "No, not without us. You know that Peter would never start something on his own; if he wasn't sure he didn't have the backing of his friends. Besides, as much as I consider Peter to be an adopted brother of sorts, he is far from is powerful enough on his own to act alone, and Dumbledore knows this. So, he wouldn't make Peter essentially go out to his death."

James sighed and ran his fingers through his perpetually tousled ebony hair, a sign that he was trying to figure things out but with no solution in sight. "I don't know Moony, I can't figure him out anymore."

"Who? Do you mean Dumbledore, or Peter," Remus inquired with a slightly confused expression.

"Both of them. Dumbledore goes and says one thing, then does something completely different. Then he tells us to have faith, and doesn't completely inform us of the situation, or leads us to believe that the situation is not as bad as it truly is. I'm starting to think that the old man may just be a trifle too old and senile for the job, our lives aren't redeemable, and this isn't a bloody game of chess. And Peter, oh Moony, I don't think I even truly know Peter anymore. He's so nervous all the time, and jumping at the smallest things, taking offence to the lightest comments. It's like, he can't even trust his own shadow anymore Moony," James confessed tiredly, slipping his fingers under his glasses and rubbing at his eyes in frustration.

"James…do you think that Peter could possibly be a…" Remus cut himself off at that point, unable to bring himself to saying the words that James already knew in his heart could very well be true, and even still would refuse utter.

James sighed and looked to Sirius who was laughing as the infant Dudley pulled on his father's moustache with gusto. "I have begun to think the same thing as well Moony, but I don't want to believe what the evidence is clearly stating. Perhaps his mother has taken on another rare and infectious disease."

"James, if really don't think that Mrs. Pettigrew could have contracted the Ebola virus if she hasn't been anywhere near an infected baboon, or out of the country, let alone the tropics of Africa, even so, how is it then that Peter has not contracted any of these viruses," Remus asked resignedly.

"But what can we do Remus? I don't want to alienate Peter if he's not what we suspect, and I definitely don't want to allow him free reign if he is. And he has been one of our closest confidants since first year. We can't just break up the Marauders and the brotherhood and trust that they stood for. We still have Harry and Dudley to show the ropes of being a Marauder after all, and we can't go about doing that with only three fourths of the group around."

Lily, who had only caught the part about showing Dudley and Harry how to be proper Marauders set in upon the two of them almost immediately in a soft, yet stern voice. "I won't have the three of you corrupting my dear sweet son and nephew so soon, you had best stop while you're ahead James Harold Potter, Remus John Lupin, this includes you Sirius Orion Black, don't think for a second that I don't think that you aren't in on whatever scheme the other two have got brewing."

"Ah, but Lily, dearest, we weren't thinking of corrupting them dear! I'm shocked that you would accuse me of such a heinous act," James declared melodramatically, flinging his hand up to his forehead as though distraught.

"Why yes, Lily, we won't corrupt the poor things," Remus broke in with his most wolfish grin, chuckling towards the end.

"Of course not, not poor Harry and Dudley, why that would be criminal," Sirius joined, nodding solemnly, though a bright shimmer of mischief shone in those slate gray eyes as he held a cooing Dudley in his arms.

"No, oh no, my dearest Lily, we plan on molding fully fledged Marauders out of them, not simply corrupting them, they will be three hundred times better than us if we have anything to say about it. Hogwarts beware! In just eleven years time, you will behold the most terrifying seven year reign of pranks and all around good clean fun when my son and nephew, Harry and Dudley, walk through thy sacred halls of learning," James concluded with his best rouge smile and sweeping his fingers through soft black, ever windswept hair.

Vernon laughed when both Petunia and Lily paled at the thought of having their sons shaped into Marauders worse than the reigning ones. The future did indeed seem bright. And there in the hospital room, no darkness could reach the hearts of those therein. All doubts and fears were cast to the depths in favor of the warmth or the light and company of such jovial people. For now at least, they could forget what pained them so.

It was this laughter that Harry registered before hearing that same whispering dissonant melody calling to him one last time prior to falling into the black of sleep once more.

The pain will never go away, but at times like this, at least it is forgettable. Enjoy these times while you have them, for now, the true trials of your existence will begin young fledgling The power of the light courses strongly within you, the calming waters of heaven will cascade down and heal those whom you hold dear, the ancient holy dragons will impart upon you knowledge and power long lost, and the phoenixes of light will guide you to victory However, the dark too will come to aid you in all of your endeavors little one. The nightmares will cease to haunt you, and instead deign to carry you upon their backs, the fallen angels will be your army, and the fires of hell will be your one of your most loyal protectors.

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End Chapter two, Intellexi.

Ko says: Yo yo yo every one. Sorry it took so effing long to update, but eh, school and all that jazz. I'm mulling over a cuppa tea one day and then realized just how long it had been since I updated. Sooooo. Here you are.

Intellexi means realization.

Be on the lookout for the next chapter: Primoris Fuga