so... it's been a minute, huh? Sorry bout that, can't really control when the muse cooperates. Hopefully, this chapter makes up for it.

The ride back home is quiet, which has him worrying until he realises Harry is fast asleep. Michael can't blame him, it's only four in the afternoon but his ward has had quite an emotional time so far and if all of it was making him tired just thinking about it, he can't imagine how the eight-year-old must feel.

He'd never seen his parents, he sighs at the thought. The constant anger at the Dursleys, which had reduced to a simmer, burning steadily stronger.

Michael hadn't thought to ask, and it's not as if the few history books that mentioned the Potters had ever provided an illustration. He should have thought of that, but at least there's still time to correct this mistake. He will reach out to Chang first, of course, to be sure any inquiries won't raise the wrong sorts of questions, but it should be fine if he's suitably discreet about it, maybe look for some equivalent of a Hogwarts yearbook, some old newspapers, or ask around for their old acquaintances to part with copies of any pictures they might have. That is, however, something he can't fix in a rush and thus a worry for another day.

The lack of urgency doesn't stop him from trying to think up strategies on how to contact the necessary people, without alerting the wizarding world that he has custody of Harry, until the moment he parks in front of his home. The door closing behind him doesn't startle his ward out of his impromptu nap and even opening the boy's door doesn't disturb his sleep at all, so he resigns himself to unbuckling the seatbelt and pulling the child into his arms, a little glad when the weight is a bit more significant than the last time and with a passing thought to thank Dahlia for the nutritional potions. A smile pulls at the corner of his lips when Harry loops his arms around his neck, face pressing on his shoulder, clearly not too asleep but not wanting to wake up fully, it brings back memories of his own childhood habit of feigning sleep so his mother or father would carry him to bed, though it hardly worked once he'd aged over five.

He ignores the stairs leading up to Harry's bedroom once he's made his way inside and just tucks the boy onto the couch with a throw blanket, not seeing the need to wake him up when they'll both need to be awake later than usual for the ritual at midnight, Harry could definitely use some rest to ensure he doesn't fall asleep in the middle of it. Said ritual still requires a couple of preparations, so he leaves his ward and starts on those, looking into the fridge to find his requests to Marie had been fulfilled during their outing and various dishes for their dinner were properly stored to be finalised at the correct time. Setting the table takes some time and it's the last of the indoor tasks, allowing him to move on to the back garden.

They had taken care of some of it the day before - though most of it had been spent studying the holiday and memorising the ritual along with Harry - and the garden now sported a makeshift fire pit where they'd dug out the grass and made a circle of stones, in the centre a pile of wood waiting to be lit in a few hours. There are some leaves strewn about that were not there the day before, so he goes to fetch the rake from the shed to clear them out. Opening its wooden door, his eyes stray to a few items he hasn't made use of in a while and an idea crosses his mind, solidifying by the second.

Hopefully, Harry will enjoy it.

Harry wakes up nearly rolling out of the couch before actually realising where he is and panicking just enough to make him fall out of it, legs tangled on the throw blanket but his arms at least protecting his head while he gets his breath back from his spot on the floor. He hears footsteps coming close quickly and sits up in a hurry, nearly making himself dizzy all over again.

"Everything alright?" Mr Wright stops a couple of steps away, wiping his hands on the frilly pink apron that Marie usually wears while cooking. He's caught him wearing it before so it doesn't pull a laugh from him anymore, but it's still funny to see something so girly on his guardian who only wears suits nearly all the time.

He doesn't look upset about carrying Harry from the car, so he pushes that thought away and smiles up at his guardian instead.

"Fine, jus' fell," he replies, untangling the throw blanket from his legs and standing to place it back over the couch, "dinner?"

"Reheating it, and some mixing. We both know I can't cook," Mr Wright says and Harry chuckles, he's seen proof of it enough times not to disagree. His guardian gets distracted and forgets things or adds them in the wrong order unless there's a written recipe to follow, and even then Harry sometimes reminds him to read again and not skip any steps.

It turns out that when he's not forced to do it by the Dursleys, Harry actually doesn't mind cooking, especially if it's only every other weekend and with Mr Wright being the one to do the things he's gotten hurt doing before, like cutting up stuff and taking care of the stove. The results are mixed, with half the time ending up with them eating leftovers from the fridge or ordering something from a restaurant, but the few successes always earn him thanks from his guardian for saving the dish and make him a little proud for helping out.

"Can I help?" He asks anyway, rubbing any remaining sleepiness out of his eyes.

"May," Mr Wright corrects, "and I'm just about done, so how about a shower before we light the candles?"

Harry just nods and hurries up the stairs to do as told, trusting Mr Wright to at least not mess up reheating. He comes back with damp hair and in black trousers and the light grey jumper he'd put aside for the dinner and ritual, remembering it would be a bit cold outside. The clock by the fireplace tells him it's nearly ten and he rushes to the dining room, stopping at the door and staring at how just a couple of changes made it look different from what he was used to. They didn't usually have dinner in it for starters, only lunch with the windows open and outside light coming in, but now the big chandelier on top of the table lights up the whole room. There's also a lot more places set up instead of just two or three, with all the cutlery Mr Wright taught him to use, and Harry feels his eyes sting a bit remembering those are set up for his parents and the other two for Mr Wright's – as if they all just might stop by for dinner – but he refuses to be more of a crybaby. There's one of the candles Mrs Malfoy gave them in front of each seat, leaving only their seats without, and the centre of the table has a vase with the flowers he and Mr Wright picked when buying the bouquet for his parents' grave, they're not the same ones but it's still pretty with a little less blue and some more red with the purples and light yellows.

"There you are," Mr Wright says from behind him and Harry steps into the room so he can walk in and put down the bowl he's carrying, "Alright, all done. I'll just grab something to drink and we can light the candles," he ruffles his hair when he walks by again and Harry smiles slightly, walking up to the table.

There's almost as much food as he remembers seeing the day Mr Wright brought him home, most of them his favourites even if he hasn't told anyone that. It makes his chest feel warm, the way Marie and Mr Wright pay attention to what he likes or doesn't and make sure he has things he likes every meal, even if they make him eat some stuff he doesn't like just because it's good for him. At least they say it'll make him grow, so he doesn't mind eating some icky stuff as long as it helps him stop being shorter than Hermione and Cho.

Mr Wright comes back with their cups full – he can't have more than one cup of juice or else he'll spoil his dinner so Mr Wright doesn't leave the bottle at the table – and sets them down on their places, motioning for Harry to step closer. He quits nervously swaying on the balls of his feet and moves over, trying to calm down. He knows what to do, they went over it three times, he won't get it wrong.

There's suddenly a hand lightly squeezing his shoulder, and he lets out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. Looking up at Mr Wright earns him an encouraging smile, he can only nod back, too jittery to smile, but Mr Wright probably takes that as him saying he's ready since the hand on his shoulder slides off and his guardian moves over to stand behind the empty seats. He follows the lead and walks over to the other two, standing between the chairs.

"Joan Morgan," Mr Wright breaks the silence as he strikes a match and lights up one of the candles, "Hoc est in domum suam. Et receperint vos hic." he moves over to the next seat, lighting the second candle, "Walter Wright. Hoc est in domum suam. Et receperint vos hic."

Harry fidgets nervously when the matches are handed to him, scared of messing anything up. Mr Wright had helped him rehearse the words and told him that they could do it in English next time, because of something like magic getting used to them the same as they're getting used to magic, but this first time has to be in Latin and he doesn't want to get it wrong and ruin the whole thing.

A hand closes over his and squeezes a bit until he looks up at Mr Wright, who's smiling at him and tilting his head at the candles. Right, I can do this. He lights the match and takes a breath before holding it to the candlewick and speaking, "Lily Potter. Hoc est in domum suam. Et re-receperint vos hic." he looks back at Mr Wright after stuttering, but he doesn't seem upset, so Harry moves to light the next candle, "James Potter. Hoc est in domum suam. Et receperint vos hic."

"Good job," Harry shivers slightly when a sudden coldness passes through him, but then smiles at Mr Wright's praise. "Come, let's sit."

Harry glances at the empty seats nervously before moving over to his own right across from Mr Wright. It feels a little strange, to tell his and Mr Wright's parents they're welcome home and then just go about dinner, maybe that's why Mr Wright had asked if he wanted to do this part too, but since it will help with the ritual later – something about bringing the souls closer before calling for them – Harry wanted to do it.

Dinner is more quiet than usual, everything feels a little more serious, and Mr Wright doesn't even need to remind him to save a bit of food on the corner of the plate for later. When they're done eating, Mr Wright collects the candles and Harry brings over their plates, all the way out to the back garden, before stopping at the door when he sees the big tent set up a few steps away from the fire pit.

"Like it?" Mr Wright sends him a smile from where he's placing the candles on the ground around the fire pit, making sure they're pointing in the right direction. Harry would have needed a compass to tell West from South at night, but Mr Wright doesn't seem to have any problem with it. "I thought we could make a night of it and camp outside."

"I've never been camping," Harry mumbles, blinking at the tent and then looking back at the fire pit. He shakes his head and sets the plates down on opposite sides where Mr Wright told him they'd have to sit before sitting down with crisscrossed legs on the grass by his plate. It's soft enough, and a bit chilly, but his jumper keeps him warm and when he looks up, the sky is shining with more stars than he'd ever seen at night before. "I think I'll like it."

When he looks up at Mr Wright, he has that sad-happy look on his face again, one he tries to hide when Harry tells him he hasn't done something before, but he still catches it sometimes. He doesn't mind it, not having done a bunch of things before while putting up with the Dursleys, if he ends up doing them now and never seeing the Dursleys again. To Harry, it feels like an alright trade.

"My dad liked it," Mr Wright says after a moment, "Mom hated it, but we'd still go camping twice a year on this spot up in Charlesworth so he could get some peace and quiet from the city. There's this spot, I'd complain the whole walk there, but when we got to it I'd jump in the ponds and make the biggest fuss about leaving. Mom had a hard time keeping me away from the waterfall…" he has this far-away look as he speaks, but blinks it away. "I'll take you there sometime."

Harry smiles slightly, "I'd like that."

A moment later, the fire pit suddenly bursts into flame, making Harry's eyes widen. From the look on Mr Wright's face as he steps back from starting the fire, that's not how it usually lights up. It's very warm, Harry notices as he leans forward toward the brightness of the flames, very yellow and red and nothing like the fire on the stove. He kind of wants to touch it.

"Don't get too close," Mr Wright warns, making Harry lean back again, and looking down at his wrist before continuing, "It's a quarter to midnight, I suppose we should start. You remember everything?"

"Mhm," Harry nods, glad he doesn't have to speak as much as Mr Wright so remembering his part was much easier. He gets up, picks up his plate and goes over the words in his head before speaking, "Messem gratias dicimus et hiemem gratam." He says it slowly, careful about every word, before tipping his plate over the fire so the food he'd set to the side during dinner slides off his plate and into the flames. They burn stronger for a second, and that feeling of wanting to touch it comes back, but Harry blinks it away along with the brightness of the fire and puts the plate out of their little candle-lined circle before going back to sitting.

Mr Wright does the same thing with his plate, and Harry could swear the fire turns entirely red for a moment before going back to normal. Once Mr Wright is sitting just like him on the opposite side of the fire pit, their eyes meeting over the flames, he starts speaking again. "Coram magica stamus, in hac die ubi velum inter vitam et mortem tenuissimum est, spiritualem audientiam petendi." Harry doesn't really understand most of it, even with Latin classes having started, but he knows what it means from when Mr Wright was telling him about it. They're asking magic to let him see his parents since the dead are closer to the living world during Samhain. He just doesn't know how that's supposed to happen, but if magic can make it happen, he'll ask as many times as it takes. "Carissimi nostri planum spirituale transeant, et sapientiam suam nobiscum communicent, quandiu velum permittit."

"In nomen magicae," Harry says at the same time as Mr Wright and closes his eyes. It's not like he has to, but it makes it easier to ignore whatever else Mr Wright is saying, even if he's gone back to a lower tone now that Harry doesn't have to hear it to speak his own part. "Audientiam peto cum Lily et James Potter," he whispers, thinking back to the image of his parents in the statue, but nothing seems to happen.

A sudden chill makes him shiver and inch closer to the fire, opening his eyes, only to blink and rub his hands over them when the fire suddenly grows taller than it probably should, almost as tall as the cherry trees in their street, and turns a nearly-white blue colour. It's also not hot, or at least doesn't seem like it since all the warmth is gone, and Harry can't help but reach for it.

"You shouldn't go around touching fire," someone suddenly says, and Harry finches back before looking all around for who was speaking. It was a woman's voice, so it couldn't be Mr Wright.

"Over here," another voice says, this one a man but not Mr Wright either, and Harry's wide eyes turn back to the fire, except it's not a normal fire anymore, it looks more like someone tried to make an ice sculpture but with blue fire, one that looks like a woman with long hair and a man with glasses, just like-

"Mum?" His voice nearly gets stuck in his throat, "Dad?"

"Hello, little love," his mum says, and the fire doesn't show their faces quite right, doesn't translate their smiles like he thinks they should look, but her voice is soft and caring just like he imagined it.

"It's good to talk to you, son," his dad tells him, and Harry loses his fight against the tears, hands coming up to cup his mouth and muffle the sobs but not covering his eyes because he just can't look away. They're here, and he can't miss a second of it.

"Oh, my baby," his mum's fire moves like she wants to walk over to him, but they're stuck in the flames. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you were left alone for so long, it wasn't supposed to be like this."

Harry makes a questioning noise since it's the most he can make at the moment and tries to hold back the tears, holding his breath so he'll stop looking like a crybaby in front of his parents and maybe talk to them.

"Don't- you can cry, son, it's alright. There's nothing wrong with crying," his dad sounds a bit lost, looking at his mom, who just shakes her head.

"Your dad is just terrible with crying people," she says like she's telling a secret, "threw a bar of chocolate at me once, trying to make me stop, but he's right, you can cry as much as you need, darling."

A little giggle breaks through the sobs at the thought of his dad just throwing chocolate at anyone that cried and how that would just make people cry more just to get chocolate, making him let out the breath he'd been holding and stop trying to hold back the tears and instead breathe through them.

"There we go," his dad is clearly smiling even if the fire makes it hard to tell. "We don't have much time, but we had to answer your question. We can't have you holding back because of us, son."

"W-what?" Harry asks, feeling confused. He doesn't remember asking any questions.

"You asked if it was okay to think of Mr Wright as a dad," his mum explains, and it takes a minute for Harry to remember-

"You were i-in the cemetery? I'm so-orry," he breathes out, feeling awful for hurting his parents like this, what kind of son-

"Of course it's okay," his dad hurries to say, "I mean- of course, I wish we could be with you, but-"

"You deserve a family, little love. A living one, that will be there for you when you need them. Mr Wright seems to be doing well so far," mum cuts him off, "we're grateful for him, for taking you away from my sister. You were never supposed to be there, but that meddling-"

The fire turns slightly red, interrupting his mom's speech, before settling back on the ghostly blue colour.

"Well, he could do with a little distance from the Malfoys," his dad points out as his mom calms down, but it just seems to earn him a fiery glare, "but whatever makes things better for you, son. It's your choice, the family you make in life, but if you needed to hear it, he's got our seal of approval."

"Tha-anks," Harry whispers, his sobs mostly turned to sniffles, and smiles up at them. The fire may have turned cold, but he's feeling warm enough that it doesn't make much difference. "Y-you said- I wasn't s'pposed to be with the Dursleys?"

"Of course not, we'd never leave you with that hateful b- woman!" his dad tells him, his mom nodding along.

"It's all in the w-" The fire flickers again as his mom speaks, and she sighs. "The dead aren't supposed to interfere with the life of the living," she tells him, "so I can't say much. We just wanted to tell you we love you, darling. That's all that matters."

"And we do love you, son." his dad assures, and Harry's smile feels impossibly wide, "we're always with you, okay? Remember that."

"Even when you can't see us," his mom adds softly.

"I love you too," Harry tells them while the fire flickers a lot more forcefully, hiding the image of his parents until it's gone even as he's reaching for it, thinking please stay while the flames turn back to a warm yellow and red, making him hiss when they burn his fingers.

"Careful," Mr Wright is suddenly crouching next to him, taking his hand and looking at his stung fingertips, "let's go put some cold water on that, then we can talk about the ritual, alright?"

Harry just nods, still feeling a little cold even with the return of the fire's warmth.

Michael tries not to show, between taking care of Harry's burns – which thankfully aren't bad enough to even blister – and pulling out the air mattress from the tent to let them lay down and stargaze, that all the ritual did to him was cause a very persistent headache. Well, not all it did, he'd definitely felt- something. Maybe. Unless his expectation of feeling something is what's causing him to think anything at all happened, though in any case, it's all a little anticlimactic.

At least Harry seems to have gotten something out of it, he muses as the child lays with a head on his arm and asks about one star or the other, making him pull on any minuscule astronomy knowledge he may have buried in his mind. He doesn't talk about the ritual besides mentioning that he talked to his parents, and Michael doesn't ask for more details. Harry is just as entitled to his privacy as anyone else, and as long as there are no side effects from the experience, he doesn't mind not knowing all about it.

It doesn't take long for his ward to fall asleep, and he pushes the mattress all the way back into the tent before closing it up and lying back down, smiling slightly when Harry curls up to his side like a small heat-seeking missile. It takes him much longer to fall asleep, racing thoughts warring against the headache that refuses to go away, and just because he hadn't managed to talk to his own parents doesn't mean the whole experience hasn't brought up memories he hadn't thought about in a long time, of camping trips and family dinners. He'd never considered a child of his own to make the same sort of memories with, but glancing down at the eight-year-old sleeping peacefully at his side, he wouldn't trade this chance for anything in the world.

When sleep finally claims him, he prays for the headache to be gone in the morning.

"Sometimes you do puzzle me."

"You never fathomed me out?"

"No."

"I always thought if things had been different we would have been good friends."

"Yeah"

"If you weren't such an arrogant, pompous dollop head."

"Pfft."

"That's what you have to remember. Things never turn out how you expect… you'll see."

Ngl, I spent a while overthinking the ritual when it occurred to me that it can't be too elaborate or Michael wouldn't even try to do it on his own with Harry, without a proper wix around to guide it, so I figured there are various versions of Samhain rituals and he picked this one to maybe give Harry a chance to feel closer to his parents. All in all, it's not supposed to feel too solemn or serious like in Evitative or Buried Memories, more like a beginner try at a custom they're not really used to