Chapter 2

Harry James Potter sighed as he woke up, for the final time that night. Looking at his clock, the fourteen year old wizard knew it was useless to try and go back to sleep. He'd have to get up again in half-an-hour to do his chores. With a sigh, he stood up to dress. He hadn't had a peaceful night's sleep since the third task.

The almost fifteen year old boy was lightly muscled, and built like a runner. His emerald green eyes were hidden behind a pair of round glasses, and his dark black hair was messy and disheveled.

Walking to his closet, he pulled out his clothes for the day, and debated if it was worth starting breakfast yet.

The day had barely started, and already his first day back from Hogwarts was shaping up to be horrible.

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Macbeth tensed as their car pulled up to Number 4. From the corner of his eye, he could see Demona, in her human form as it was daylight, tense up as well.

Both of them were excited and terrified of what was about to happen. They were excited because they would finally be reunited with their son, but terrified because of the fact that their son was almost fifteen years old, and they had no idea how he would respond to the fact that his parents were alive.

"Well, let's get this over with," he said, opening the door and stepping out. Demona did the same on the other side of the car, and together, they approached the door. Already, he could see the neighbors looking through their windows at them. Though to be fair, it probably wasn't everyday a luxury car pulled into the neighborhood. And both he and Demona were intimidating in their own ways.

Dressed in a red business suit, with her hair pulled back into a strict pony-tail and her nails filed to points, Demona was herself an imposing figure. The confident way she carried herself only added to this. The fact that the suit was decent, but only accentuated her figure, probably only added to the neighbor's curiosity.

Not knowing the situation they would be walking into, Macbeth wore his standard combat clothing. His long black coat hid several firearms, one of which he'd toss to Demona if the situation turned violent.

The gargess in disguise couldn't hide a firearm very well in the custom-tailored suit she wore.

Since this was her 'sister's' house, Demona stood slightly in front of Macbeth, and rang the doorbell. After a few minutes, a young boy with glasses and wearing baggy clothes answered the door. Looking at the boy, he instantly knew this was his son. Not only was there a resemblance between the boy and himself, but he had Demona's eyes and wild hair, though it was black (like Macbeth's own mother's had been) instead of the vivid red of his mother's or his own dark brown.

"Can I help you?" he asked, after a slight hesitation.

Demona smiled at him. "Yes, this is the Dursley residence, correct?"

"Yes," the boy said.

"Is Mrs. Petunia Dursley home?" Demona continued.

Before the boy could respond, the screechy voice of Petunia yelled, "Hurry up Boy! If breakfast burns, I'll put you back in that…" Petunia's voice trailed off as she rounded the corner and saw who was standing in the doorway. Her face paled and she backed away. "Impossible," she said shakily. "You're, you're dead."

Demona grinned and her eyes narrowed, given her face a feral appearance. "Hello Tuney," she greeted. Placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, she continued, "I believe we need to discuss your treatment of my son."

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Harry didn't know what to think. When he'd answered the door, he'd been shocked by the similarities between the woman before him and the pictures he had of his mother. And the man behind her, despite his white hair and beard, bore a similar resemblance to the pictures of his father.

And then his Aunt Petunia saw them, and her subsequent reaction, along with the woman's proclamation implying he was her son.

"Why don't we take this discussion inside," the man suggested, a thick Scottish accent coloring his voice.

"An excellent suggestion," the woman said. "Wouldn't you agree, sister? Unless of course you want all your neighbors to hear about how horribly you've treated your nephew."

Petunia reluctantly nodded, and the two stepped into the house, closing the door behind them. The woman never removed her hand from his shoulder.

Before anyone else could speak, the woman, who was apparently his mother Lily Potter, said, "I am going to be blunt Petunia, as I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here when I supposedly died fourteen years ago. I won't go into particulars with you, but to explain simply, after that night, James and I," she gestured to the man with her, "woke up without any memories of our lives, let alone that we were married to each other and had a son. A short while ago, we regained our memories, hence our presence on your doorstep. Now understand, during our time without our memories, James and I built new lives under new names. I myself acquired a fairly large sum of money, enough that when I regained my memories, it was nothing to hire a private investigator to discover what happened to my son. Should I even bother sharing with you what I found?" she asked, a cold iron in her voice, as she raised one eyebrow.

"What do you want?" Petunia asked, clearly afraid.

"It's not what I want that concerns you," she said. "It's what Harry wants." She looked down at him. And, in a much gentler voice than she spoke to Petunia with, the woman, his mother, explained, "Harry, I promise that you will get a full explanation of what happened that Halloween regardless of what you choose. Both your father and I know of your treatment here, and would like you to come with us. But if you'd rather stay here…?"

"No," Harry said. "I…I'd like to go with you."

Lily smiled.

The man that, if he was Harry's father, could only be James Potter, pulled a packet of papers from his coat and handed them to Petunia. "Sign these and you'll never see us again," he promised.

Petunia took the papers and quickly went to the kitchen. When she came back, her signature was in all the appropriate spots.

After taking the papers from her, James said, "Come on Harry, we'll go pack your things, and leave your mother to talk to your aunt."

Harry looked up at his mother, and she smiled and nodded. "Go on Harry, I just need to have a word with my sister."

So Harry stepped away from the two women, and walked up the stairs, leading his father to his small bedroom. Having just arrived from Hogwarts yesterday, he really didn't unpack much. "Are you two really my parents?" he asked, once they were in his room.

"Aye lad," the older man said. "I promise you we'll discuss this later, but your mother and I have too much to tell you to give you a condensed version." He looked around the room, and Harry could see his eyes harden, "This is all they give you?" he questioned.

"It's better than nothing," Harry said, embarrassed, after a moment. Without waiting he stepped forward to gather everything he owned, minus Hedwig, who was being gently rubbed by his father. Within five minutes he was done.

The man's jaw clenched at the realization that, aside from the bird, all his worldly possessions easily fit into the trunk. But instead of commenting on it, he said, "A fine bird you have here. What's her name?"

Harry smiled. "That's Hedwig," he said, handing the owl a treat. "She was one of my first friends."

James smiled and was about to comment, when a loud crash echoed loudly through the house, sending both father and son from the room. Harry noticed his father draw a strange looking gun as they ran.

When the two reached the living room, they found Lily, a furious expression on her face as she stood over Petunia, who was cowering on the couch. A smashed vase lay at the bottom of one of the walls, the indent where it struck clearly visible on the wall.

But what shocked Harry where his mother's eyes, which were literally glowing red.

"Demona!" his father said loudly, drawing her attention.

The enraged woman looked at them, before taking a deep breath. Striding towards them, the glow faded from her eyes, returning them to their natural green color. "Get your things," she said tersely, though not unkindly. Looking at his father, she said, "I'll be in the car."

Without another word, she strode from house.

"Is that usual?" Harry asked, shocked at the anger his mother displayed.

"No," James conceded. "That was rather restrained for her."

Harry looked at his father shocked. To his surprise, he was smiling.

James placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Don't worry lad, she wouldn't harm you, not intentionally. Now let's go get your trunk and Hedwig then. I doubt your mother has any patience left at the moment."

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The drive to Macbeth's London home was silent.

Demona's temper was still hot, and Macbeth knew that an angry gargoyle was slow to calm. And Demona was temperamental, even by gargoyle standards, even in her human form. The old Scotsman was sure she was trying to reign it in, so as not to say something she'd regret. But he didn't want to say anything for fear of making it harder for her. He knew that she could control her temper and remain calm when necessary, but he felt it better not to push.

He had no idea why Harry was silent, whether it was shock that his parents were alive or if he recognized Demona's mood himself.

But about fifteen minutes away from his home, Harry seemed to finally find his voice. "Why did…he called you Demona?" he asked his mother.

"That's my name," the gargoyle in disguise answered. Taking a peek over at her, Macbeth could see she was still angry, but her voice betrayed none of that anger. "Or at least one of them," she added. "But it's the one I consider my true name. On top of it, I use Domonique Destine." With a sigh she added, "It's a long story Harry, and we'll be to our destination in a few moments. I promise, after we arrive, your father and I will sit down and explain what happened."

Harry remained silent the rest of the ride.

After pulling into the driveway, Macbeth helped Harry with his trunk and led him up to one of the guest rooms. "Don't unpack too much," Macbeth told him. "We're only staying a few days, and then we'll be going to Manhattan."

"Okay," Harry acknowledged.

"Your mother and I will be down in the den when you're done," Macbeth added after a few moments silence. "Take your time."

Just as he was turning to leave, Harry asked, "Do you have another name, besides James?"

"Aye lad," he said. "Like your mother, I've gone by different names. But mine are too numerous to mention. All you really need to know is that I currently go by Lennox Macduff. But you can call me Macbeth, if you're not comfortable with Father or Dad."

"Macbeth? Like the play?" the boy asked.

Macbeth chuckled, "Yes. But again, it is a long story. If you'd rather get comfortable later though, it can be told now. Once we join your mother anyways."

Harry stopped in thought, obviously wanting to know what happened. But after a moment he said, "I'll just make sure Hedwig's comfortable, and I'll be down."

"We'll be downstairs lad."

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Walking into the den, the first thing Harry noticed was that his father, Macbeth, had changed outfits. He was now wearing khaki dress pants, brown dress shoes, a blue turtleneck, and a tan suit jacket. He was standing next to a large, unlit fireplace.

His mother, Demona, was still wearing what she had earlier, only she had shed the red suit jacket, and unbuttoned the top few buttons of her shirt. She'd also kicked off her heels and was leaning back in a chair.

And both had glasses in their hands. Harry may not be able to identify exactly what they were drinking, but he was positive it was alcohol of some kind.

"Sit down Harry," his mother instructed, gesturing to the couch across from her.

Doing as his mother suggested Harry took a seat, and looked expectantly at the two adults.

"Before we begin our tale," Macbeth began, drawing Harry's attention to him, "Understand that, as unbelievable as it may seem, it is all true. And that, regardless of your mother and I's history, we love you very much."

Licking her lips, Demona opened her mouth and began to explain. "I suppose, before we get to in depth, you must know that I am not entirely human…..

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"I think he took everything rather well," Macbeth said.

Having finished the explanation of their lives to their son, or at least the important parts, the two had allowed Harry to return to his room to process everything. This left the two immortals alone.

Demona snorted. "He looked at us both like we were lunatics."

"Did you expect anything less?" he asked. "I don't expect he'll believe anything we said until your transformation tonight." The old king finished his glass of scotch and then asked, "by the way, what caused you to throw that vase earlier?"

Demona's eyes began to glow. "That…human," she sneered the word as though it was more disgusting than shit on her foot, "kept our son locked under the stairs until he was eleven."

Macbeth's expression remained neutral. The only sign of his anger was the glass in his hand shattering from his tightened grip. The large man took a calming breath, before saying, "I'll be in the kitchen. We could all use something to eat."

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Please Review and Checkout the Challenges in My Forums and the stories I have up for adoption, posted under the title Please Adopt Me!

I've had a few people ask about a pairing. All I'll say for now, is that it will be a Gargoyles character, though perhaps a lesser known Gargoyles character. I'll put her in the character filter when she finally appears in the story.