Note: I've been working on a few mismatched stories lately. This, I feel, is a bit of all those mismatched ideas forming yet another story that I really wanted to write. Somehow, this is the one that got finished first. This is very rough, as I'm playing around with the idea of just writing and not thinking too hard about making it perfect.

Pairings: Snarry. Maybe implied James/Sirius, maybe implied Sirius/Remus in a later chapter. Past James/Lily, implied? Snape/Lily in a later chapter.

The summons came just before midday. A servant boy in a porter's tunic and gardener's boots rushed down the grounds to the barracks, his red hair a beacon in a sea of brown earth, green forest, and grey stonework. "Master Potter," he said above the sound of whetstone on steel.

James glanced up from his work, his hands still moving as he sharpened his sword. "Ah, Ron." He smiled at his son's friend. The freckled Weasley boy was tall and as lanky as a bean pole. "Looking for your brothers?"

"No, sir," Ron said. He held out a note, folded over twice and sealed with a drop of dark wax. "This is from Lord Dumbledore for you, sir."

"Oh?" James set the whetstone to the side and took the note. He tugged it open, the parchment soft in his calloused hands. "Did he want a reply?"

"He didn't say, sir."

The missive was written in smooth, unhurried lines. We have come to a possible solution, it read. Meet us in the red drawing room at two.

James folded the note and slipped it into his shirt. He squinted up at the boy. "Have you seen Harry about, then?"

"No, sir. He's been with Mistress McGonagall all morning."

"Well, no matter," James said. He picked up the whetstone and got back to work. "If you see him, let him know I want to talk to him."

James had expected to see his son at the midday meal, perhaps breaking bread with the Weasley brothers or tucked away with a group of scholars in the castle's Great Hall. Harry, however, never showed his face.

"He's probably too busy with McGonagall to remember to eat," Sirius reasoned as he helped James into a clean wool coat, utterly ignoring his own dirty tunic and ragged hose. "It's not healthy, spending all that time indoors."

"Maybe while we're here, you can coax him into practicing his swordplay," James said. He put on his sword belt, the scabbard hanging empty against his thigh. "He's always enjoyed that. That is, if you can pull him away from his books."

"I blame that Granger girl," Sirius said, holding out James's sword. "Always going on about whatever bit of nonsense she's read lately."

"Come off it, you know you like the girl." James shook his head. "It's Lily's spirit that shines through him." He slid the sword into the scabbard. "He might have my looks, but he also has her disposition."

"And her smarts," Sirius said. "The gods know you're no scholar."

James chuckled. "Will you come with me to this meeting?"

"How can I not?" Sirius said. "Dumbledore can always throw me out if he didn't want me there, but I don't see why he would bother."

The two knights walked side by side up the corridors to the southern tower. The warmth of the spring day had begun to penetrate the cool, dark halls. There was a taste of freshness in the air.

Sirius absentmindedly flashed a smile at a passing alchemist. "What do you think this meeting is about?" he asked. "The Decay?"

"No question," James said. "Word from the north is, it's spread down to Lochdarmara. Half of their crops withered away on the vine overnight."

"Lochdarmara is quite far from here."

"But at this rate," James said, "the Decay'll reach our borders by the end of summer. And even if it never reaches us, we're still duty-bound to stop it."

"Oh, no question," he said, his smile full of sharp white teeth. "We shouldn't have had let it go on for this long in the first place."

"Let's see if the lord thinks the same as we do," James said.

The red drawing room, with its hidden entrance, warm red hangings, and comforting, circular design, had been a favorite haunt of James in his youth. He pulled open the portrait of the Fat Lady before bowing deeply to his compatriot. "Lord Black," he drawled, scraping his fingertips on the floor. Sirius swiped at James's head. They entered the drawing room together, laughing.

Harry was standing by one of the small, narrow windows that look out to the forest. He turned at the sound of their laughter and gave them a queasy-looking smile.

James was struck by how tall his son had become. It seemed that only yesterday, Harry was a mischievous little imp trotting along behind him, following his father's every step, begging for a sword and a horse of his own. It was difficult to reconcile his little boy with the young man standing before him, dressed in the long, billowing robes of a scholar. He had even started letting the hair on his face grow into a patchy little beard.

In a way, it looked quite ridiculous, but James couldn't find fault in it. He had done the same when he had been nineteen.

Sirius laughed even harder and gave Harry's chin hairs a tug. "The sprog has become a man, I see."

Harry turned red and pulled away. He smoothed a hand over his chin. "Just trying it out," he said.

"Well, be careful, son," James said. He tussled the boy's black hair. "Grow it out any longer, and you'll end up looking like Lord Dumbledore."

Sirius wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder and gave him a good shake. "And just as tragically unmarried," he said.

"Lord Black," said a soft voice, "there is nothing tragic about my bachelorhood." Lord Albus Dumbledore rose from a cushioned seat by the table on the far side of the room. His embroidered robes and jeweled cap made James feel rather underdressed. The lord ran a hand down the length of his long white beard. "And I have been told on many occasions that my beard was quite fetching."

James and Sirius jumped to attention and bowed to their patron, mumbled greetings falling from their lips. Dumbledore waved the formalities away. "Please, sit. There is much to say and very little time."

They sat around the long table, the lord on one side and the three men on the other. Harry sat on the edge of his seat, his back straight and the queasy expression returning to his face.

James gave him a hard pat on the shoulder before sitting down between him and Sirius. He tried to give him a reassuring smile. "Forgive me, my lord," he said to Dumbledore, "I had come, believing that we were going to talk about the Decay and not of my son's prospects."

"Prospects? For marriage, you mean?" Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't see how you came to this conclusion."

"Perhaps Sirius's talk just now," James said. "And the fact that I cannot see why my son would be involved in any talk concerning the Decay."

"Well, that is a father's prerogative, to see what's best for his child first." Dumbledore tapped a finger on the papers on the table. A map of the Northern Wastes lay before them. Thinly-drawn lines surround the Wastes in widening circles. A black paper tower no taller than an inch rested at the center. "However, your first assumption was the correct one. I'm sending Harry to the Wastes to stop the Decay and I would like you to accompany him."

James started to protest, "Wait a minute—"

Sirius slammed his hands on the table and shot to his feet. "My lord, we have asked you for years to send us to the Wastes to deal with it. Years. And now you want to send the boy? If you would have just let us go back then—"

"The methods you proposed were not and are still not acceptable," Dumbledore said, staring Sirius down. "And the issue had not been as pressing then."

"It wouldn't be 'pressing' now if you had just let us—"

"Why Harry?" James said, cutting in. "Why now?"

Dumbledore took a breath. He clasped his thin hands on top of the table. "It is our duty—sit down, Sirius— it is our duty to deal with the Decay," he said. "I know that you have seen firsthand the damage it has done to our neighbors."

"But why Harry?"

Harry sat, his lips tightly pressed together and his hands clenched in his lap.

"It was Harry and his friends who were the ones who chanced upon a solution," Dumbledore said. "And Harry is the best person to execute it."

"And just what is this solution?" Sirius said.

"Purification," Harry said, his voice deep and strong, the cracking of adolescence absent. "In the center of the Decay, I will cast a spell, purifying the Wastes and, we think, putting an end to the Decay."

"Magic," Sirius spat.

"It was magic that created the Decay," Dumbledore said. "So it should be magic that stopped it."

"Yes, well, I still think one good stab would work just as well as a few words of mumble-jumbo."

"My lord, my apologies, but I cannot approve of this," James said. "Harry is still a child."

"Harry is no older now than you were when you went off on your first campaign," Dumbledore said. "He is the strongest adept in this castle and more than capable of purifying the Wastes."

"I don't care if he's the second coming of Merlin himself—"

"I'm going," Harry said, cutting his father off. He eyes were fixed on the bright red tapestry just past Dumbledore's shoulder. "I've already finished the preparations. Whatever you say can't change my mind."

"Harry—"

"Then why call for James?" Sirius said. "To ask for permission? Because it looks like you don't want it. Or need it."

"Harry is in need of an escort," Dumbledore said. "And while the Weasley brothers volunteered, they don't know the wilds and the Wastes nearly as well as the two of you." He gave the men a look over the rim of his glasses. "And the fewer men that travel through the Wastes, the safer."

"So no column of soldiers, either?" James said. "Just the three of us against the monsters in the Wastes?"

"Four, actually," Dumbledore said. He tapped a blue-colored shape on the map just outside the rings radiating from the black tower. "I have sent Master Lupin ahead to scout the land. He has said he will meet you at Loch Dallyne, just where the golden fern grows, in three days' time. You would have to leave early tomorrow morning to get there, but I'm certain you'll make it with time to spare."

"This is a terrible idea," Sirius said. "We should be marching twenty men in there—"

"The Lord Minister tried that last year," Dumbledore said. "None of those men returned."

"And you think the four of us can do it?"

"Absolutely," Dumbledore said. "I have complete faith in you to come back victorious."

They rode out an hour before sunrise, three men, four horses, and enough food to see them through weeks of travel, if they were careful with their rations.

Harry look almost grown in Charlie Weasley's old leathers. He had shaved the sparse hairs off his chin during the night, and sleepiness softened the tense look in his eyes. He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.

James gave his reins a light tug and sidled up beside Harry. "We have a long day of riding in front of us," he said. "But if you need to take a break—"

"I'll be fine," Harry said. He swallowed another yawn. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, that's all."

James held his tongue.

"If you're scared—" Sirius chimed in.

"I'm not scared," Harry said. He tightened his grip on the reins of his white mare. "I was brushing up on some spells, getting ready." He glared forward, at the winding road before them and the forests looming in the distance.

"I was nervous during my first campaign, too," James offered. "It's mostly a blur now, but I remember feeling so ill, I vomited down my front the night before."

"He actually vomited twice," Sirius said from behind them. "Once the night before, and again when we spotted the chimaera. Actually, now that I think about it, I pretty sure it was three times—"

"Thank you, Sirius," James said.

"His face was green for a week."

Harry laughed softly into his hand. He smiled the way his mother used to, soft and happy.

James clasped his hand on Harry's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "No harm will come to you. Sirius and I won't let it."

"Thank you, Da," Harry said. He looked away. "I know you don't like this plan, but I'm glad that you're with me."

"Harry, all you have to do is ask," James said. He gave his son's shoulder one last squeeze.

They reached Loch Dallyne after two days of hard riding. The ferns that grow along the bank were green with new growth. The cedar trees on the far shore were red with pollen. The very tip of a black tower rose just above the trees, distant and harmless.

James winced in sympathy as Harry slid off his mount and hobbled to a fallen log.

Sirius chuckled as he searched his saddle bag. "Good thing we're here a day early, isn't it." He tossed a tin at Harry, who caught it midair. "Gives you some time to recover."

Harry glared at Sirius, at the ground, and the tin of liniment in his hand. He then proceeded to slide off the log and onto the rocky ground. Sirius roared with laughter.

James smacked Sirius in the chest, not bothering to hide his own grin. "Let's get to work. We only have a few hours of sunlight." He dismounted and went to join his son. "It's been a while, huh."

Harry grunted.

"Don't worry too much about it," James said. "Long, hard rides are nothing like little sprints around the grounds. You need help with that liniment?"

Harry groaned.

"Well, best to get up and get it over with. Resting too long now is only going to make it worse."

"Yes, Da." He moaned as he crawled and wobbled to his feet. He hobbled to the relative seclusion of undergrowth, growing a bit steadier with each step before disappearing behind some bushes.

James joined Sirius by the horses and went to work unpacking them for the night. "If I remember correctly," Sirius said, making quick work of the saddles, "this lake is filled with pike."

"I hate pike," James said.

"If you'd rather eat bread, be my guest," Sirius said. "Harry and I will be eating succulent fish and love it."

"Only a wild man calls pike 'succulent'." James took the reins and tied the horses close to the dark, tea-colored waters. Remus should join them tomorrow. He was never late for a rendezvous.

James looked up and spotted the top of the black tower peeking out above the trees. Even at this distance, the sight filled him with anger and dread.

James jerked out of sleep by a bad dream, disjointed and disorienting. His hand instinctively grabbed the hilt of his sword, tucked against his side. He stared at the dying embers of their cooking fire and waited for his heart to calm down. Far in the distance, hidden by the cedars, was the black tower. Even from this distance, its shadow unsettled him.

On the other side of the fire, Sirius snored on, his chin tucked in and his arms wrapped around his sword. The sliver of the waning moon shone on the metal crossguard. The horses nickered in their sleep. Beside him, Harry's clothes lay on a pile on top of his pallet.

James rose slowly, the bad dream sharpening his nerves and panic clawing at his throat. He stared out at the still lake and got to his feet.

Harry was standing naked in the waist-deep water, facing the direction of the black tower. He waved a pale wood wand in the air, leaving a shimmering line of magic in its wake. "Vocatium vivare," he said, the whispered spell traveling over the water and rustling the cedar branches on the far shore. "I'm coming. Wait for me."

A icy wind blew from the north, pushing James's hair back as he ran into the water. Harry spread his arms out, steady against the wind. A voice, one James hasn't heard in years, whispered on the wind, saying words James could not make out but understood the same way he understood the roar of a bear or the growl of a dragon.

He grabbed his son by the arm and pulled him out of his trance. "What in gods' name are you doing?" he screamed over the wind. "Have you lost your mind!? Now he knows we're coming!"

"He's always known," Harry said. His green eyes, his mother's eyes, were wide with sorrow and moonlight. "He wants us to hurry."

To be continued