Harry went to bed after another wonderful day with his parents. After Lily and James kissed his forehead and left, Harry was alone in his room, lying on his bed, lost in thought. His conversation with Death had given him a clearer idea of the situation he was in. . . . Now that he knew that the happy life with his surviving parents wasn't something in his head, but a stark reality, the vague feelings of fear he had felt before disappeared, and he was able to live a happier life. But when he thought about the time of decision, which was already five days away, a different kind of gravity weighed heavily on his heart.
The harsh fate that had robbed him of his loving parents and happy home from the moment he was born and sent him off to war for the rest of his life was already gone. Harry touched his smooth, scarless forehead where his parents had just kissed and realized that he was no longer the Boy Who Lived, but a normal child living with his parents like any other. Still, the absence of the lightning scar gave him a sense of loss and emptiness he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"It's only seven hours, we're not going to lose a war over this," Harry muttered to himself. "I can go back to my world on my birthday . . . in the meantime, I can just enjoy life here."
With that resolution out of his mouth, the weight on his chest seemed to suddenly lift, and with it, a sweet sleep carried him into unconsciousness. The next day, Harry awoke early, feeling much refreshed. He tossed and turned in bed for a moment before realizing that he had only a few days left in this place. He wanted to be a devoted son to his mother and father, even if only for a short time. . . .
He crept down the stairs and beat his parents to the kitchen, where he fried some bacon and eggs. He didn't have his wand, but it didn't matter, his years with the Dursleys had accustomed him to Muggle cooking. He smiled bitterly as he remembered how he had been in charge of the cooking even when he was living with Ginny and the children in Grimmauld Place. It had only been two days since he'd been dropped into this new reality as a child, and already his previous life as an adult seemed blurry. Well, in a sense, it could actually be considered a previous life. . . .
Just as Harry had finished preparing breakfast and placed today's Daily Prophet on the table, which he had received after paying a Knut to the owl that had knocked at the window, Lily and James entered the kitchen. They stood in the doorway for a moment, staring in amazement at the plates of eggs and bacon on the table, then turned to Harry.
"What's going on, son?" James chuckled and rushed over, pulling Harry into a hug. "I can't believe you're up before we are . . . and you made us such a great meal!"
James gently set his son down on the floor again, and this time Lily rushed over and planted kisses on both of Harry's cheeks.
"Look at him, he's all grown up now. . . . See how much he takes after his Mum!"
"What do you mean, Harry looks more like me!"
"He's got my eyes, hasn't he? They say the eyes are the windows to the soul."
"Is that what Muggles say? I've never heard that before!"
"Stop arguing and eat before it gets cold," Harry pompted, and James and Lily sat down at the table and almost simultaneously picked up their bacon, took a bite, and let out a similar exclamation as if on cue.
"I've never had bacon this good! Is it possible to make it so crispy without magic?"
"Yes, as long as you pay attention."
"Ha ha, thanks, son."
Tears welled in Harry's eyes as he watched his parents react so happily to something he had only prepared for breakfast. When he had been treated like a servant by the Dursleys, he had never received a simple thank you, no matter how early he had woken up and no matter how much bacon he had fried to fatten Dudley's bulging belly. As he ate with his mother and father, who had given their lives for him as a baby, Harry was struck by what it was like to live with a loving family. Experiencing the normal life that Voldemort had stolen from him, Harry realized that the titles of the Chosen One and hero paled in comparison to the bliss of everyday life.
James left the house in the afternoon, saying he had an errand to run to Gringotts Bank, and Harry and Lily decided to do some fun experiments with the children's potions making kit, just like last time.
"Wait a minute, Harry. I have to get something," Lily said as she went into the kitchen. She returned with two bowls on a tray, one containing a white powder and the other a sticky yellow liquid. "Well, do you know what that is?"
"Er, no."
"This is a mixture of flour and sugar, and this is an egg yolk," Lily smiled brightly. "I'm going to make custard cream with this first."
"Custard, Mum? But what does that have to do with potions?"
"Nothing to do with magic, of course, but wouldn't it be nice to make it a little tasty?"
They set two small cauldrons over the fire and began to make custard and an unidentified potion, respectively. Harry glanced at his mother's delicate hand from time to time, picking up just the right amount of dried lacewing powder or chopped knotgrass, and he could see why Horace Slughorn had praised her as a potions genius. At that moment, as though a long-forgotten memory had suddenly come back to him, Harry remembered how a much younger himself had complained of a sore throat and Lily had concocted Pepperup Potion and spooned it into his mouth. It was so vivid, like it had actually happened to him, but of course, being an orphan all these years, there was no way he could have such a memory. . . .
While Harry was still dazed by the strange phenomenon that had just occurred, Lily sprinkled the last of the tiny yellow feathers into the potion, which was boiling down to the consistency of thick mud, and mixed it well with the thickened custard cream she had just finished. Lily savored the sweet, fragrant scent of the cream, then scooped up a spoonful and brought it to her mouth.
"Er, Mum. Are you sure you can eat that?"
"Of course! Are you doubting your mother's abilities, Harry?"
"Not really, but —"
"Then here I go!" Lily gave him a mischievous wink and shoved the cream into her mouth. Nothing happened for a moment, but then bright yellow feathers sprouted everywhere and covered her whole body like a balloon.
"Mum!" exclaimed a startled Harry as he saw his mother turn into a giant canary. But the feathers quickly fell off, revealing a giggling Lily inside.
"I played this joke on your father the day we married. James was upset for a while because he thought he had to marry a canary."
Just then there was a commotion as Crookshanks, who had been sneaking up on them and watching their antics, jumped up and licked the custard creams. The poor cat was soon covered in feathers and turned into a round, yellow ball that rolled around the living room floor, wailing shrilly in terror. When all the feathers had fallen out, Crookshanks was still bright yellow, and he lifted up his front legs to see what he'd become, crying pitifully.
"Hold still, Crookshanks!" Lily panicked and pulled out her wand, but couldn't help but laugh at the unexpected turn of events. "It's made for humans, so it must have a side effect on animals. . . . Sorry, Crookshanks, but that's an interesting phenomenon."
"You've used some Polyjuice ingredients, haven't you? I've heard of similar cases."
"That's right, you've mastered that already? You really are trying to be another Dumbledore . . . "
Lily pulled out her old Transfiguration textbook and tried a few spells before she was able to return Crookshanks to his original state. The cat purred contentedly and scampered out into the garden, where James returned shortly after. The Potters took their usual leisurely stroll through the village, enjoying the warm afternoon sunshine, and Harry happily accepted his father's suggestion that they practice Quidditch on the nearby hills tomorrow.
As he wondered how James's Quidditch skills would compare to what he had heard from others, he suddenly saw a clear vision of a small Quidditch pitch in front of him. It was a match between amateur players, and he remembered himself and his mother sitting in the stands, cheering on James as he played the role of Chaser. . . . Harry was momentarily confused by yet another memory he hadn't gone through, but dismissed it as just his imagination.
Before he knew it, dinner was over, he was sitting on the couch with his parents, enjoying their company, and it was time for bed. Like the day before, James and Lily took Harry to his bedroom and helped him get ready for bed.
"Good night my boy, you don't seem to be having any nightmares these days," James said, looking lovingly at Harry who was lying in bed.
"That's good, you really need to see the sunlight during the day." Lily smiled warmly and ran her fingers through Harry's hair. "Sweet dreams then!"
Before they left, Lily flicked her wand and turned off the gas lamps on the wall, plunging the room into darkness. Harry was about to close his eyes when he noticed the curtains were slightly ajar and moved to the window to close them, just in time to see a black figure look up at the house from the street below, then turn and disappear into an alley. Harry stared after the figure in the dark cloak and hood, then closed the curtains and went back to bed. As he lay there, warm and cozy, it occurred to him that maybe he had seen the cloaked figure wrong. Either that, or a wicked old hag from the nearby pub had mistaken the house and was staring out the window. . . . Regardless, Harry tossed and turned in his bed, unable to fall asleep for quite some time.
Even when he finally fell asleep, his dreams were far from pleasant. In his dreams, he was no longer Harry. He saw everything through the eyes of his old enemy, just like he had so long ago. The rainy, breezy streets of Godric's Hollow no longer felt peaceful. Harry, now a cloaked figure, glided through the streets and finally stopped in front of his destination.
With a flick of his wand, the curtains covering the first floor windows slid open to reveal a dark hallway and living room, and Voldemort, in another world, another reality, took his time looking around the small two-story house that had doomed him before. There would be no mistake like the last time. Not even a petty trap in the name of love would stop him this time. No one would make it out of this house alive tonight. . . . No one stopped him as he pushed open the front door, wand in hand. It wasn't until he crossed the hallway like a shadow, creaking up the stairs, that James Potter came running out. He didn't even have his wand with him. . . . Just like last time.
"Avada Kedavra!"
An intense flash of green light illuminated the darkened stairwell for a moment, revealing James's surprised face as he dropped to the floor. A harsh, shrill laugh erupted from deep in his throat, unintentional, looking at the man almost as pathetically inept as the lowly Muggle father he had killed with his own hands. . . . Didn't he realize that the moment he let go of his wand, he would be no better than any other filthy Muggles? But it wasn't time to rest on his achievements. He had come this far the last time, now he had to keep his cool and take the next step. . . .
The moonlight streaming in from the curtained upstairs window dimly lit the face of a dark red-haired woman who rushed out of her bedroom. She screamed briefly at the sight of her husband sprawled in the middle of the stairs, his limbs bent at odd angles like a marionette whose strings had fallen off, but she remained remarkably calm as she spread her arms wide, blocking the doorway to her son's bedroom. Though being a Mudblood, she had enough courage to draw a moment's admiration from the mighty Lord Voldemort. Of course, her wisdom seemed to fall far short of courage, given that she wasn't carrying a wand like her husband. . . .
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"
Now came the important part. Voldemort didn't even bother to speak, just pointed his wand straight at the center of Lily Potter's body and said, "Avada Kedavra!"
The body of the dead Lily Potter slumped to the floor, her desperate, pitiful screams muffled. Something so easy, something so simple. . . . He'd made a mistake last time, uncharacteristic of Lord Voldemort, in giving this Mudblood a chance to live. It wasn't the great power of love that had stopped him, as Dumbledore, the foolish old man, the self-appointed protector of Muggles, was so wont to think. . . . Knowledge, after all, was the sort of power he craved so much. How easily had he neutralized this pesky ancient magic with a simple knowledge of how it worked? But he wasn't satisfied yet, the most important step remained: the boy was still alive . . . though there would no longer be a protective spell to cover him and hide his helplessness behind his mother's skirts.
Stepping over Lily Potter's body, he opened the door and to his surprise, Harry Potter was still asleep. Judging by his grimace and the beads of sweat on his forehead, he didn't seem to be having a good dream. But whatever nightmare he was having, it was nothing compared to what was happening . . . what was about to happen. . . . Voldemort carefully placed the tip of his wand on the boy's forehead and shouted,
"Avada Kedavra!"
Harry jerked awake in terror. Voldemort's cold voice still rang in his ears as he uttered the Killing Curse, but there was no one else in the dark bedroom. His forehead burned and throbbed where the curse had struck him in his dream, but when he ran his hand over it, he didn't feel any scars. Harry gasped and lay back on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
It had to be a dream, there was no other way. Hadn't Death himself confirmed that Voldemort was dead and no longer existed? He'd even seen him in his current miserable state at King's Cross station, beyond the veil. . . . But last time, Voldemort had died and been resurrected by Horcruxes. Perhaps he had already created a Horcrux by the time Death killed young Tom Riddle. . . . Perhaps he was still out there, lurking somewhere, waiting to finish off Harry and his family —
Harry began to think about what he had to do. If Voldemort wasn't going to repeat his failure last time, Harry had to be just as prepared if he was going to save his beloved parents. Harry stayed up for the rest of the night, finally sitting down at his desk and scribbling out his plans on a blank piece of parchment. He began by sketching the structure of the house he would have to defend, starting with the front yard and the main entrance, which would undoubtedly be Voldemort's first target. A simple alarm spell might not stop Voldemort, but it would give them some time to prepare. And if possible, a Fidelius Charm on the entire house would be a great help, just like last time. Of course, this time he'd have to make sure he had someone more trustworthy than Peter Pettigrew as their Secret-keeper . . . By the time Harry had finished frantically sketching out the defensive plans for the house and its grounds, complete with defenses for all possible entrances and exits, dawn was slowly breaking with the crowing of a rooster in the distance.
He tried to go downstairs to put his plan into action, but then realized he didn't have his wand with him, so he waited impatiently in his bedroom for a while. Finally, hearing a rustle in the hallway and the sounds of his parents making their way to the kitchen, Harry opened the door and ran down the stairs. Crookshanks, who was asleep on the living room floor, jumped up on the couch in surprise, and Harry went straight into the kitchen. James, who was sleepily sipping tea and opening a newspaper, and Lily, who was opening cupboards and organizing groceries, looked back at him in bewilderment.
" Mum, Dad — I've come up with a plan and I want you to hear it."
Harry spent the next ten minutes enthusiastically explaining his defensive plan to his parents as they sat at the kitchen table. Lily and James, who had been listening in mild amazement at first, grew bored when he got to the part about cutting a hole in the roof and turning it into a fire escape. When Harry finally finished, slightly out of breath, James looked back at his wife with a straight face.
"Dear, I think we should contact the Ministry of Magic."
"That's a great idea, Dad — if we set up an emergency contact with the Auror office —"
"No, that's not what I meant," James interrupted with a grin. "I just wanted to make sure Mad-Eye Moody didn't die, because I think you might be channeling his spirit . . . "
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Lily shouted, imitating Mad-Eye's barking voice remarkably well, and then giggled along with her husband. "You know, Harry — I think you'll do very well as an Auror later on."
With that, James and Lily stood up and turned to leave the kitchen. Harry called after them in disbelief. "Where are you going? We don't know when the enemy will come in!"
"We're sure to have company," said James. "We'll go change and be right back."
"Then give me your wand!" cried Harry. But Lily thought for a moment and shook her head firmly.
"Not now, Harry. What if you put an alarm spell on the dustbin like Mad-Eye did? You'll be very famous at school if you're caught using dangerous magic before you've even started."
Left alone in the kitchen without a wand, Harry looked around nervously. If someone were to sneak in the front door, the only way to get to the second floor would be passing through the hallway beyond the living room. He sat down in a chair at the dining table, which overlooked the living room, and suddenly looked behind him. There was a small door to the backyard, also out of sight. He quickly opened the drawer of the small desk on one side of the living room and rummaged through it, finding a small hand mirror.
He placed the mirror on the dining room table and watched the hallway leading to the front door, while at the same time using his squint to watch the back door, which, if not entirely satisfactory, at least eased his fears of being ambushed without being able to do anything about it. Several minutes passed before his prying ears picked up any sound, and there was no movement from the front door. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a face beyond the small window in the back door, and his heart sank.
"SIRIUS!" he squealed into the mirror. "SIRIUS BLACK!"
Harry whipped his head around. He had no doubt that the moment his gaze touched the door, the face he had missed so much in the mirror would be gone. . . .
But Sirius stayed where he was. He smiled sheepishly, like a child caught in the middle of a prank, and brushed a stray strand of dark hair out of his eyes; he looked much younger than Harry remembered.
"Oh boy, I wanted to surprise you." Sirius grinned, opening the back door and entering. "I'll be more careful next time and . . . "
He was cut off mid-sentence as Harry lunged at him, throwing his arms around his godfather. Hot, uncontrollable tears poured from his eyes, and Harry buried his face in Sirius's waist as he sobbed, unable to tell if it was from joy or sorrow.
"I'm sorry Sirius — that day I-I was so stupid . . . I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done that — it's all my fault . . . "
"Harry, what's wrong?"
Harry reluctantly let go of his godfather and took a step back at the sound of his mother's concerned voice behind him. Sirius placed both hands on Harry's shoulders and leaned down to face his godson. Seen through Harry's tear-stained vision, Sirius looked unusually worried, his dark gray eyes reflecting his deep concern for his godson. Harry struggled to open his mouth, but no words came out.
"Harry, you have nothing to be sorry about," said Sirius softly. "Even if you did something wrong, you don't have to apologize to me, do you understand? 'Cause You mean so much to me."
"But has Harry ever done anything to apologize to you, Padfoot?" asked James, coming up beside them with a questioning look on his face. "I can't think of any . . . "
"Er, that was because —" Harry mumbled, wiping his damp face with the back of his hand, embarrassed that in this new reality it was for something that hadn't even happened. "Beause . . . because I —"
"Oh, I see!" said Lily, snapping her fingers. "It's because you broke that toy broom he gave you a while back. . . . You almost ran over Crookshanks with it a couple of times, and it finally broke completely the other day. If I hadn't pulled it back with magic in time, Harry would have been seriously hurt."
"Is your Mum telling the truth?" asked Sirius quietly, still looking worried. Harry thought for a moment and then nodded once. Now Sirius was back to his usual innocent, exuberant self, playfully ruffling Harry's hair.
"You troublemaker, this is the tenth time you've broken the broom I gave you! I'm never buying you another toy broom again, boy."
"Are you sure about that, Sirius? 'Cause I think I've heard you say something similar about ten times already," said James flatly. Sirius nodded, his face solemn.
"I say this with the utmost sincerity, my dear Prongs, and if you'll all follow me, you'll see what I mean."
Sirius opened the door he had just come through and walked out, the Potters following closely behind. In the backyard was a huge black motorcycle, and in a small compartment just behind the seat was a long parcel wrapped in paper.
Sirius lifted it carefully, as if it might break, and placed it in Harry's arms.
"Here, Harry. Open it."
With his parents watching expectantly, Harry tore open the parcel and pulled out the contents. It was a new broom. . . . At the end of the smooth mahogany handle was a long tail, a neat bundle of long twigs. Harry already knew what it was, but he read the gold lettering near the top of the handle aloud anyway: "Nimbus Two Thousand."
"What, the new broom that just came out?" said Lily, startled. "Padfoot, is it okay to buy him something that expensive?"
"I can get him something even better," Sirius said with a wink. "Well, I meant it earlier when I said I'd never buy you a toy broom again, Harry. Now that you're at school, you deserve a real broom, not something so flimsy, don't you think?"
"Ha ha, you can thank your godfather for that, Harry," said James, looking amused. "They don't usually let first years play Quidditch, but maybe if you practice with it, they'll make an exception."
"Thank you, Sirius," Harry said, smiling broadly at the adults. Perhaps being in the child's body had given him a certain whim — the sadness and loss he'd felt when sobbing earlier was nowhere to be found, and a warm feeling of happiness filled his heart instantly. "And I'll never do anything I have to apologize for again, Sirius — I promise."
Later that afternoon, after a lively and joyful lunch with the whole Potter family, including Sirius, another welcome encounter awaited Harry. While Harry was sitting on the couch with his mother, giggling as James and Sirius acted out all the exciting and dangerous adventures they'd had at Hogwarts, he heard the doorbell ring at the front door.
"Oh, it's about time . . . Let's go!" said James, standing up with Sirius. The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder as they brought their new guest in between them. Compared to Sirius, Remus Lupin was much closer to how Harry remembered him; he had a pale, tired looking face and light brown hair that was streaked with gray in places. But the smile on his face now, flanked by his two best friends, made him look a decade younger, and the robes he wore looked neat and tidy, not ragged and shabby as in another reality Harry had left behind.
"Professor Lupin!" exclaimed Harry, jumping out of his seat in delight, and the three men looked at each other in confusion.
"How did you know, Harry, that I'm a professor at Hogwarts?"
"So you've actually been made a professor! Congratulations, Remus!" Lily exclaimed, running over and hugging him with childlike joy. "So you'll be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts like you always wanted?"
"Yes, I am," said Lupin brightly. "I heard that my predecessor, Quirrell, had some trouble with vampires and had a nervous breakdown, so I stepped into the opening."
"How did you even find out, Harry?" asked Sirius, confused. "We've been keeping this good news a secret all this time, and we were just about to tell you . . . "
"Well, maybe I told him in my sleep." James scratched his head and grinned. "Or maybe my son has the qualities of a Seer! He must have a knack for Divination or something."
"I thought Harry was going to be an Auror." Sirius gave a mischievous grin, then suddenly pulled out his own wand and placed it in Harry's hand. "Come on, Harry — show your future professor what you're made of. Use any spell you want."
"Padfoot, no! What if he starts a fire?" said Lily anxiously. But before his mother could snatch the wand, Harry swung it skillfully and shouted.
"Expecto Patronum!"
The Patronus Charm had never felt so easy. . . . He didn't even need to recall the memories of his happiest days, he was so happy just to see them here with him, his loved ones he thought he'd lost forever. . . . A shining silver stag sprang from the tip of Sirius's wand in his hand. Everyone in the living room was speechless and watched in ecstasy as the dazzling Patronus circled around them until it faded away. Even Crookshanks, who had been sitting quietly in the corner until then, meowed in amazement. James finally broke the long silence.
"Lily, I've said it before . . . but I think we really did give birth to a Dumbledore."
"Merlin's beard!" cried Sirius, still unable to take his eyes off the spot where the silver stag had disappeared. "I've never heard of anyone summoning a corporeal Patronus at your age . . . "
"Er, it's just . . . I just taught myself," stammered Harry. Sirius elbowed Lupin and burst into laughter.
"Moony, at this rate you're gonna lose your hard-earned job in no time."
"Not at all." Harry grinned at Lupin, who still looked astonished. "I still have a lot to learn, you know. . . . I think you could be the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor ever."
The excitement continued into the late afternoon. Harry joined James, Sirius and Lupin on a nearby hill, away from the town, to practice Quidditch. As he placed his gifted Nimbus Two Thousand on the soft grass, Harry shouted, "Up!" and the broom jumped into his outstretched hand. It made him laugh when he remembered how miserable he'd been after being turned into a Muggle in the other world, when his broom hadn't listened to him at all.
"Good start, son!" chuckled James, pulling a struggling Golden Snitch from his pocket. "Now let's see what you're really made of, shall we?"
As soon as his father finished speaking, Harry's broomstick soared into the sky, the cool breeze from above and the warm sunshine greeting him like an old friend. A giggle escaped his lips as he remembered how long it had been since he had flown so freely on a broomstick. As he glided through the air and regained his senses, James tossed the Snitch in his hand into the air. The tiny golden ball glinted in the sunlight for a moment, then disappeared from view with a quick flap of its wings.
Undeterred, Harry sped up, somersaulting and circling around the hill until he spotted the Snitch bobbing just behind Sirius, who was cheering him on with both arms raised. Without a moment's hesitation, Harry reversed the direction of his broom and charged at the Snitch. Sirius jumped aside in surprise, and Harry followed the desperate Snitch across the grass, then into the woods, darting and flying through the trees. When he finally emerged from the woods and returned to the top of the hill, Harry had Golden Snitch in his hand, its wings flapping.
"Wow, that was amazing!" exclaimed Sirius, unable to contain his open mouth. Lupin ran over to Harry, who had gotten off his broom, and patted him on the back.
"That was the best piece of flying I've ever seen, Harry. . . . You really have inherited your father's skills."
Walking over to him, James looked so impressed with his son that he could have burst into tears at any moment.
"You're wrong Moony, Harry is much better than me," said James. "I was mostly a Chaser. . . . I was a good at chasing Quaffle at best, and I never had the talent to find a Snitch as fast as Harry. My boy is a genius!"
"I learned it all from Dad." Harry grinned and let the Quidditch fly about a foot away from his father, and James caught it deftly, then smirked as he realized what he had just done.
"Yeah, I'm not without reflexes either, but what you just showed me . . . was a talent unheard of for someone your age."
"Viktor Krum ought to be getting worried," said Sirius. "Why, that cheeky Bulgarian boy they call a Quidditch prodigy, maybe he and Harry will be playing against each other in the next Quidditch final."
"I wanna be an Auror, though," Harry said with a meaningful smile. "Somehow I think that would be the best fit for me. . . . It feels like something I did in my previous life."
"That's good too. If Dumbledore hadn't been alive and kicking, I'd have thought you were possessed by his soul," James said happily, brushing his son's hair. "Maybe you'll defeat a great Dark wizard like Grindelwald and end up in the biographies. . . . Merlin's pants, my son is a genius! What am I gonna do with him — I never thought I'd have such pleasant worries!"
The four of them stayed on the hill until the sun went down, riding their broomsticks and having fun. The adults' admiration grew with Harry's skillful demonstrations of dangerous tricks, such as the Wronski Feint, where he soared just before plummeting to the ground, and the Sloth Grip Roll, where he spun a full circle while holding the handle of his broom in the air. Harry felt a surge of euphoria every time he saw his father so skillfully maneuver the broomstick, flying right alongside him. . . . What he had dreamed of since he was a little boy was happening before his eyes.
Finally, they came home, each with a broom slung over their shoulders, covered in dried grass and dirt. James, Sirius and Lupin were just as exhausted as Harry, but they had somewhere to be, so they left their brooms behind and were ready to go. Lily, who had been waiting for them at home after her shopping trip to Diagon Alley, handed them a bag of butterbeer and firewhiskey.
"Already tired, Dad?" whined Harry, who wanted to play more with the adults, tugging at James's robes. "Why don't you just stay home and rest today?"
"Sorry son, but tonight is the night of the full moon," said James meaningfully with a wink. "Your Uncle Moony suffers from an insatiable thirst on days like this. So we have to quench his thirst with booze and keep him company."
Sirius grinned and Lupin giggled and it was only then that Harry realized where they were going.
"You're going to the Shrieking Shack, aren't you?"
Sirius panicked and James almost dropped the bottle of firewhisky he was holding on the floor. Lupin's face grew even paler than usual.
"Blimey, I really need to do something about my sleep talking," James muttered as he stepped out into the corridor. "Maybe I should take a sleeping potion before I go to bed, Lily. I must be getting weird in my sleep . . . "
"Good idea. You do talk a lot in your sleep." Lily giggled and kissed her husband on both cheeks. "For instance, you still call me Evans while sleeping."
After the three Marauders left through the fireplace for a wild night in Hogsmeade, Harry had dinner with his mother and then returned to his room for bed. He opened the window to let in a cool breeze and stared up at the night sky, brightly lit by the full moon, wondering if he had ever been so happy, when suddenly his keen senses caught a glimpse of movement in the woods. He whipped his head around to see a black hooded figure disappearing through the trees.
Without hesitation, Harry sprinted out of the room and down the stairs and through the hallway leading to the house. Running through the gardens and out of the village, his breath was racing and he srongly felt the absence of his wand, but he didn't stop. He could not lose his family, not again in this life. . . . He was prepared to face his enemies with his bare fists if necessary. When he crossed the moonlit fields and finally entered the forest, it was hard to see in the thick darkness, but Harry stretched his arms out in front of him, clawing at the hard barks of the trees as he moved deeper into the forest.
"Voldemort, don't run!" he shouted into the darkness. "You came for me, didn't you? Face me, not my parents!"
Finally, a small clearing appeared in front of him, with a ray of moonlight streaming in like a sloping column. Harry stumbled over roots and stones that caught his feet, but he made his way to the clearing, relying on the light. When he finally reached it, he gasped for breath and grabbed a nearby branch to rest for a moment. At that moment, a faint golden glow flashed in front of him, catching his attention. Looking up, he saw a thestral with a crown of yellow fur on its head slowly entering the clearing. Death scanned Harry with pale white eyes that showed no emotion.
"You must have grown fond of this world, Harry Potter. To see you try so desperately to protect it . . . "
"You clearly said that Voldemort was dead," Harry spat, glaring at Death. "Has he been resurrected or something? What's going on?"
Instead of answering, Death took a few more steps into the clearing. Then, to Harry's surprise, his jet-black body resembling a horse projected some moonlight onto the ground. . . . Unlike before, Death's form seemed to have blurred and become slightly transparent.
"Judging by your surprised expression, you are not seeing me as clearly as before. . . . I suppose you have vivid memories of things you have not experienced yourself," said Death quietly. "This means that you are adapting to this new reality, moving away from the cold, cruel reality of the old world, and gradually adapting to the happy boy's body of this new world, forgetting what it means to die. . . . When you enter Hogwarts, you will no longer see me, or any other thestrels for that matter."
"Don't be ridiculous — just answer my question!" shouted Harry. His voice was louder than it needed to be, guilty of forgetting more and more about the original world he had left and getting lost in this happy reality. "I asked about Voldemort — is he still alive? Is he a threat to our family in this reality as he was before?"
"Even the power of Death has its limits, Harry Potter. This new reality will flow in the direction of your greatest happiness, but there is something that even I cannot prevent. . . . It will be a threat that could shatter this world."
"And what is this threat? Is it the mysterious wizard who has just shown up in this forest?"
"You will find the answer to that yourself," said Death glumly, turning. "No matter what kind of threat there is, it does not change the fact that in the end it all comes down to your choice. I wish you well with the time you have left."
With that, Death disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. Left alone in the clearing, Harry tried to demand answers to his remaining questions, but gave up and turned away. Like so many challenges in his life, this was one he would have to face alone. Trudging through the woods on his way home, Harry realized that he would not sleep well tonight.