Chapter Twelve: Summer and the Real World

Harry was standing in the middle of a field, confused. He looked around, but the Marauders were nowhere to be seen. They had to be here, these were their memories…

"Pete, Pete, pass!"

James' voice. Harry looked around again, but still saw nothing. Were they under the Invisibility Cloak?

He began to walk around, searching for the force fields that kept him in the parameters of the memory. They couldn't be under the cloak. There was no reason. They were in a field in broad daylight.

"Sirius, get it!" Remus' voice shouted. "C'mon, you're bigger than him!"

"Haha! In your face—whoops."

Quite suddenly, a bright red ball fell from the sky, and hit Harry on the head. At least, it would have, had he been solid. Instead, the ball went right through is head and body and landed on the ground at his feet.

James zoomed down on his broomstick and Harry instinctively dashed out of the way, though he knew full well that he could not be hurt. James picked the Quaffle back up and returned to playing height. Harry looked up—sure enough, the boys were playing two-a-side Quidditch; Peter and James against Sirius and Remus.

"Hey, it's our possession!" Sirius protested.

"What? You dropped it!" Peter laughed.

"It's still our possession."

"Is not, you complete moron," James told him. "Stop being a sore loser."

Harry laid down on the field and watched the Marauders play Quidditch—if one could call it Quidditch, because the only similarity Harry could see between Quidditch and what the Marauders were doing was broomsticks. True, there was a Quaffle, but about fifteen minutes into the game, Sirius, who had regained possession, began to throw it hard at James and Peter.

"Sirius, what the hell?" James shouted after the Quaffle hit him in the face.

"It's a Bludger!" he explained, throwing it at Peter, who squealed and ducked.

"Then what's the Quaffle?" asked Remus.

"Well, it's the Quaffle now," said Sirius after retrieving the ball.

"So basically it's either the Quaffle or a Bludger, whichever you feel like it is at any given moment," Remus said.

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

They played all day, stopping only to argue over possession or repeal one of Sirius' new rules. When the sun began to set, a tall woman with brown hair who appeared to be in her mid-forties approached the pitch, standing next to Harry.

"Boys, its time for dinner!" she called up to them, and at once, all four touched down immediately.

"Have you four been up there all day?" she asked as they followed her across the field.

"Yeah," said Sirius.

They were approaching a house larger than Harry had ever seen. No, it wasn't a house, thought Harry. This was a mansion, even larger than the Malfoy Manor. It had obviously been well taken care of; though Harry knew the mansion had to be very old, the paint was fresh and the gardens were well pruned.

The Potter Manor.

Harry followed the Marauders and his grandmother into the manor, and if he thought the outside was spectacular, it was nothing compared with the inside. It was grand, meticulously designed, and clean enough to make Aunt Petunia proud, but instead of feeling stiff and sterile, like the Dursley house did, this house was warm and inviting, reminding Harry pleasantly of the Weasley's. The walls were lined with interesting trinkets, tools, and artifacts—some of which Harry recognized from Dumbledore's office. The kitchen smelled wonderful. Boiled potatoes and steak were set out on the table.

"This looks wonderful, Mrs. Potter," said Remus.

"Don't thank mum," laughed James. "She can't make ice! Lucy made this!"

Far from being offended, Mrs. Potter laughed.

"James, you're quite right," she said, ruffling her son's hair. "Cheeky, but right."

"Who's Lucy?" asked Peter.

"Our cook," said James, sitting in one of the seats around the table. His friends copied him.

"Pumpkin juice, mistress Potter?"

A small house-elf had appeared at Mrs. Potter's elbow, carrying a jug of pumpkin juice nearly as large as she was.

"Yes, please, Pinky," said Mrs. Potter, and Pinky obliged, but the size of the jug got the better of her and she spilled juice all over the lace tablecloth and Mrs. Potter. Pinky burst into tears.

"Oh no, Mistress, Pinky is so sorry! Bad Pinky, bad!"

"Pinky, it's quite alright," said Mrs. Potter, waving her wand and clearing up the mess. "Stop crying, it was only an accident." Pinky sniffled, but could not disobey this order.

"Would young master James and his friends like some pumpkin juice?"

The Marauders nodded and Pinky poured each of them a goblet.

"We might as well start eating," said Mrs. Potter. "Your father should be home by now, but there's no use letting all this get cold."

As if on cue, there was a crack and a tall, tired, thin man with glasses and messy black hair materialized in the kitchen.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I hope you are not waiting on my account?"

"We were just getting started, Harold," said Mrs. Potter, standing up to greet her husband.

"May I take your coat, master Potter?" asked Pinky in her squeaky voice, and Mr. Potter nodded.

"How was work?" asked Mrs. Potter as Mr. Potter sat down and served himself potatoes and steak.

"Did you catch any Dark wizards, Dad?" asked James eagerly. Mr. Potter shook his head.

"No, James," sighed Mr. Potter. "Far from it. There were two more Muggle-born murders today, actually. No trace of evidence, no leads, no witnesses—"

"Harold," Mrs. Potter interrupted warningly.

"They deserve to know what's going on, Evelyn" he said quietly.

"They know what's going on. We don't have to discuss it during dinner."

Mr. Potter conceded, and the table fell silent, except for the chink of cutlery against plates.

"I beat James at Quidditch today," Sirius announced suddenly.

"You did not, you big prat," James snapped through a mouthful of potatoes.

"Did I or did I not score more goals than you did?"

"You did not."

"You, sir, are a liar."

"You 'scored' during a time-out!"

"What about all the other times? Huh?"

"If you mean the two goals you scored on yourself…"

"Tomato, potato," said Sirius.

"Don't you mean, tomato, tomahto?" said Remus.

"It's an expression," Sirius explained as though this was obvious. Remus shook his head. The Potters were laughing.

"Do they do this a lot?" asked Mrs. Potter.

"All. The. Time," Remus told her seriously.

"And you love it," said James, spraying a mouthful of steak over Remus.

"What is all this?"

But that didn't seem to fit with the memory. Harry's heart rate increased quite suddenly. He knew that voice very well, but it didn't belong to his father, grandparents, or any of the other Marauders. He whirled around.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded of the beautiful redhead in front of him, perhaps more harshly than he should have.

"Harry, nobody's seen you in days!" Ginny told him. "Is this where you've been?"

"How did you get in?" Harry asked her, ignoring the question. "Don't touch that!" he snapped as she reached up to the Potter's collection of expensive-looking trinkets, forgetting for a moment that she wasn't solid.

"I'm a witch," said Ginny matter-of-factly. "Where are we?"

"In the Pensieve."

"Don't play dumb. Is this Snape's house?"

"Snape's—no, why would it be Snape's house?"

"These are his memories, right? Ron told me," she answered Harry's unasked question. "So where is he?"

"He's…I dunno, not here," said Harry. "Get out, I'm busy."

"You're acting like a total prat," said Ginny bluntly. "You've been holed up in here for ages. Nobody's seen you or talked to you, and everyone's worried sick. Who are these peop—Merlin, is that you?"

She pushed past Harry to examine James more closely.

"Ginny, don't—"

"No, your eyes…but…" Realization dawned on her face. "This…this is your father…and that must mean…Sirius? And Lupin and Pettigrew?" She looked to Harry for confirmation. He didn't bother to nod; the answer was obvious. "Harry, wha—?"

"We're leaving," he told her curtly, grabbing her wrist. Both were pulled out of the memory and landed in Harry's kitchen, the Pensieve in front of them.

"Get off of me." Ginny twisted away from Harry, who was glaring at her. He was full of anger, an emotion he had never felt towards Ginny before. How could she invade his privacy? He didn't want to explain anything to anybody—at least not yet. He wanted to spend time with his parents. This was so private, so personal, and now he felt…violated.

"Explain," she said.

"Leave," Harry snapped, pointing to the door. Ginny glanced at the door and then back at Harry.

"What is with you?" Ginny exclaimed angrily. "First you lie to everybody and disappear, and now you're jumping down my throat for no reason! It's like your fifteen all over again!"

"I didn't lie to anybody!"

"You told Ron these were Snape's memories!"

"Who cares who's memories they are? Snape wanted me to see them!"

"Why?"

"It isn't your business!" Harry was shouting now.

"It is my business because you're my business!" Ginny yelled back. "Haven't you learned the danger of immersing yourself in magic you can't control?"

"What are you talking about? This is the Pensieve, I've used it about ten times already, with Dumbledore! It's safe! This isn't like Riddle's diary, don't act like I'm some stupid kid who doesn't know anything—"

"I didn't say that, you know I didn't say that! And in case you've forgotten, that was really Dark magic, and you fell for it, too! Why are you so angry?" Ginny demanded incredulously, her face full of confusion. "I don't understand!"

"No, you don't," Harry told her. "You wouldn't understand."

"I'm not some little kid, Harry—"

"You're seventeen!"

Harry knew immediately that this was a mistake. There was fire in Ginny's eyes now, but he didn't care.

"I'm of age, aren't I?" Ginny spat. "I've left school! When you were my age, you killed Voldemort, which, if I may remind you, was only a year ago!"

"You aren't me!" Harry shouted.

"And thank Merlin for that! You're acting like an immature conceited ass!" Ginny stalked out of the apartment and Harry slumped down on the chair, running his hands through his hair. He had never been so frustrated with Ginny. He wasn't sure how the argument had started, or why, but he knew that this was the biggest fight they'd ever had.

He knew in the back of his mind that she meant well, and he had overreacted, but he didn't care. Knowing his parents was important to him, more important than anything, including his relationship with her. He felt a pang in his heart as he thought this, and he realized immediately that it wasn't true. He had never been so happy as he was with Ginny. It was wrong of him to let himself get completely absorbed in his parent's memories and forget his own life, but the lure of the memories was so strong…

He stood up, sighing. He was so tired…perhaps he could better think this through after some sleep, when his head was clearer. He could always talk to Ginny tomorrow. He would talk to Ginny tomorrow, he decided as he headed into his bedroom. What he was going to say, however, was still a mystery to him.

A/N: Oh my gosh, you guys, I'm sorry for the loooong update! I hope this chapter was up to scratch, though! Please leave a review and tell me what you thought--this one was a bit different! Not sure exactly how the next chapter is going to play out--I have several drafts floating around but there are a few ways I could go, so I guess you'll just have to wait and see!

By the way, I love all of you. You guys are pretty much the most awesome readers ever, and thank you again for sticking with my story! Thanks to RainingRain, Dracoisalooker76, EdwardsLily, FallingForFootie, I love ipods, the sudoku kid, Kira2667, ..Wannabe., -EHWIES, Lady of Dreams2071, Jessluvsharry, chp200, Hikari-and-Akari, and prongster for their wonderful, kind, amazing, and encouraging reviews! I'm working on faster updates, I promise!

-Dem