The Lost Element

The Lost Element

Part 1

Prologue

In the very beginning there was magic. Magic in its purest forms, unlike anything taught in the modern-day wizarding schools. It was everywhere, fueling the earth, supporting the heavens, and nurturing living things. For thousands of years it lay untouched, blanketing all of creation with magical serenity. No matter what sort of calamities wrecked the earth, the magic prevailed; able to survive earthquakes, droughts, floods, and even ice ages, it remained unchanged. All life lived in symbiosis with the magical world without sensing their “guide.”

Then humans discovered magic. They had wondered why the miraculous occurred for centuries and worshipped those who they thought controlled them, but now they discovered they could control some events themselves. Within in a short time, they could do some things in hard times, such as diverting wind, summoning rain, sparking fire, and creating life where there had been none before. As much time passed, the wizards and witches of the world became very adept at using magic when the situation called. It was a power they both longed for and feared at the same time. While those accustomed to such powers were very useful, what would happen if they lost control or overstepped their boundaries? The few times it happened, entire villages were wiped from existence. This fear kept the first primitive witches and wizards from trying to do too much with their powers.

But after years of living in harmony with the magic, the humans grew greedy. Instead of asking magic for its aid they began to crave controlling magic. After the first few painful steps were made, early wizarding folk learned how to twist complex spells. With a talisman used to gather and control one's connection to magic, the wizarding population swelled drastically. More and more people found themselves able to perform the simple spells of their ancestors, and with time would soon advance to the complicated spells previously cast only by the very advanced wizards. With this happening there was no time to honor the magic from which all of their spells stemmed.

As the great civilizations grew and waned, the old ways were forgotten, remembered only in the hearts of the very old. The ancient magic itself could be sensed only by the very perceptive as a nagging sense of a power beyond their grasp, and even that was forgotten with Magical Revolution and the first rudimentary schools of magic. Without the least bit of remembrance or consideration, the old magic would either die or explode, and both options would result in catastrophes on the earth and its inhabitants.

The impending crisis was solved by the old magic; it supplied itself freely to those it considered worthy. Across all of the land, a few random witches and wizards found themselves with abilities they'd never dreamed possible. Not only could they use the old magic, but they could understand the way it worked as a whole, too. As magic hurtled forward at a quick pace, although not quite as miraculous as the Muggle world progressed centuries later, the chosen kept to the old ways. Known only as the Elementals, they quietly lived out their lives in the shadows, their existence kept secret except to very few. But it was enough; they kept and nurtured the magic that others drained without thought, and were rewarded beyond belief.

There were always four Elementals; one for each element. In the beginning there were disciples, too, but eventually everything would rest on the shoulders of the Elementals. Over time they developed other skills: one of them would find himself in charge of the balance between the light wizards and the dark arts while another could literally feel time and even manipulate it with limited results. There were many such capabilities associated with an element and the corresponding Elemental. When an Elemental without disciples died, their power was transferred to a child born near the time of their death so the Elemental powers continued to exist. There were always complications, but most of them were inconsequential in the great scheme of things; as long as the Elemental powers were passed on, magic would remain amenable to wizards and witches everywhere.

The four Elementals were not immortal in the slightest, nor were they superior to the rest of the wizarding population. They were just as fallible as any normal witch or wizard when presented with the choices of common life. But that was forgotten, for over time the truth of the Elementals and their nature had obliterated into myth and legend. When a mild interest in the old magic rose once again, the Elementals slid even farther away from society, very rarely using their gifts. Their legacy fell even further into decay, spinning closer to the edge of dark extinction. But they still existed, living their lives among the wizard population without revealing the true depth of their powers.

While all modern Elementals were aware of the general location of their counterparts, most of them never met aside from in dreams. They were enigmas, matched pairs that would never be allowed to complement each other. And it was safer that way because their gifts could be valuable weapons capable of catastrophic destruction.

Eons before this time there had been a prophecy about the Elementals, a prophecy that foretold a great event would unite the Elementals for the first time in centuries. It was both a hope and a curse, for while the Elementals longed to actually meet each other they also feared what would be strong enough to require all of their powers combined to battle.

The stone that started the first ripple of the prophecy occurred while the great Albus Dumbledore, defeater of the monster Grindelwald, was still a mere Professor. It all began when a boy named Tom Riddle first discovered the rush of power the Dark Arts could give him.



Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, a ring to be unbroken.

The sisters bound are the key,

for they can combat the stolen evil's token.

Where four once were only three remain.

The lost one's strength lingers in the form of a boy

who will need the last three to keep him sane.

Darkness to mother him,

Life to rouse his slumber,

Time to show him the way.

When ready to face evil they are,

nothing will stand before them for long.

Their protectors' love can carry them far.

Through each home they travel and battle

Until they reach the lost world

where reality itself is rattled,

and there the Phoenix shall lead the way.

* * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 1: Harry's Birthday

Number Four Privet Drive hadn't changed much at all in the past 20 years; it still looked the same as it had when a newlywed couple, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, had purchased it. It was, for lack of other words, perfectly normal. The gardens were kept immaculately pruned, the lawn was kept a regulation length year round, and the windows sparkled brightly in the morning sun, threatening to blind passersby if they looked too long.

There was nothing unremarkable about her owners, either; if someone could qualify for a normalcy award, it would be the Dursleys. Vernon Dursley was tall and broad, with a bushy mustache and a receeding hairline caused by his “stressful” job, as he was apt to claim. His wife, Petunia, was tall and thin; she kept her house religiously clean and made it her business to know that of all her neighbors. They had one son, Dudley, the terror of the neighborhood as a small child, except now he was so broad that he no longer did anything. All of the Dursleys liked to boast about how important they were; how the advantages of Mr. Dursley's job made them superior to their neighbors. But there was one thing that would bring them the fame they craved, and that was the very thing they tried to keep hidden at all costs. In fact, most of the neighbors had forgotten about the skinny black-haired boy who kept Privet Drive so immaculate.

His name was Harry Potter, and he had been a very famous wizard since the day he was born. Through circumstances out of his control, he had been orphaned at a very young age and was sent to live with the Dursleys, who hated him and his kind so much they had mistreated him his entire time with them. However much he hated staying with them, there was one day that not even they could ruin anymore: his birthday.

Harry stared at the small flock of owls roosting on his bed that hadn't been there at lunchtime. He didn't know their exact origins but they were obviously from the magical world from which he craved contact with. While his friends had written him on a semi-regular basis all summer, their letters were vague. He was bored with Ron and Hermione's empty chatter about the weather, their homework assignments, the weather, the twin's latest rein of terror at the Burrow, and the weather, but with Voldemort out there it was safest for everyone to be cautious. Mail owls could be intercepted and their burdens confiscated, a good way for 'gathering' intelligence, and his friends had obviously been reminded of that.

The boy tallied heads; there were ten owls scattered about his bed. He recognized the tawny Hogwarts owl, Percy's Hermes and Ron's tiny Pig, but none of the others were familiar. The tawny owl fluttered to him immediately, shoving its feathered breast out importantly as it stretched out its leg. Harry immediately took the thick parchment bearing the Hogwarts crest and the owl winged back out into the balmy night. Harry imagined that it had other deliveries to make; for such a large student body there were only a few school owls.

He started to open the parchment letter, but movement on the bed caught his eye. Several of the owls had been tied to large packages for some length of time, and were shifting uncomfortably. Pig was on the verge of collapsing; the letter he had tied to his leg weighed more than he did. Dropping the Hogwarts letter on his trunk, Harry leaned over and extracted Pig from the huddle of owls, removed the letter, and carried the little owl over to Hedwig's cage to get a drink of water and rest. Pig hooted in quiet thanks as he hunched up on the perch and stuck his head under his wing. Harry knew he would have to keep the owl for a day or two before it could return to Ron.

None of the other owls seemed to be affected that badly, but Harry freed them from their burdens anyway. Most of them immediately flew back out the window, but a few stayed behind and perched on the top of Harry's wardrobe, probably expecting replies.

The young wizard ran a hand through his sweaty hair. What he really wanted at the moment was a shower—not to answer the stack of letters he had piled neatly on the foot of his bed. But he could hear the shower already running, and his Aunt's particularly screechy voice singing show tunes, or at least that was what Harry thought they were. All three of the Dursleys had gone out to dinner and a musical with 'business friends,' leaving Harry alone at home. He had planned on finishing his Transfiguration essay during their absence but they had given him a list of chores to be completed instead. Working at full-pelt, Harry had only just finished polishing Aunt Petunia's precious silver tea tray when Vernon's company car pulled back into the driveway. He was exhausted, and judging from the shrill notes coming from the bathroom, wouldn't get a chance to take his shower tonight.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Harry reached for the first of the parcels, so big it had taken four large owls to carry it. The note on top had been written in Mrs. Weasley's hand. Tearing away at the simple paper, he found a few cards and a great box of Mrs. Weasley's excellent meat pies, a small birthday cake and some other small boxes covered in various wrapping papers. Being dutiful, he opened the cards first, starting with the one that was obviously Ron's.

Hey Harry!

Happy Birthday! I can actually write about things now. A few days ago Professor Lupin came to the Burrow at about midnight; Ginny and I were playing chess when he knocked on the window to get our attention. I almost didn't recognize him, he's not nearly as meek as he used to be; there's something stronger about him. He had a whole packet of parchment for my parents, and he took all of our owls away for a day, even Errol, although Mum and Dad finally gave in and retired him. When he brought them back they had all been enchanted to be invisible in the air! It's hard to intercept something you can't see, so I don't have to monitor what I write anymore. Professor Lupin wanted to enchant Hedwig too, but she was at Hermione's when he came. He asked me to tell you to send her to him at Hogwarts, but wait until after the storm next week.

Things have been really odd here. Dad keeps working really long hours, and he and Percy got into a shouting match a few nights ago. I don't think Percy believes about what happened at the end of last year. Things have been really tense with him, but after what happened a few days ago, I think he's starting to believe. I woke up this morning and Charlie was asleep on your bed; I almost stepped on his arm when I got up. Bill's been here for almost a month; he says it's just to inventory the loot from his last outing, but he's never stayed this long before. People have been floating through our house at weird hours; Mum's gotten to the point where she keeps food warm on the back of stove all the time. There's something going on that they're not telling me; but I do have eyes and ears, I can see that odd things are happening around here.

Fred & George actually started their joke shop. Someone gave them a sack-full of Galleons to start it! They won't tell us who, even though Bill threatened to hex them; he thinks they blackmailed someone for it. Ginny has a good idea, but she's not talking either, despite the fact that Bill tickled her until she couldn't breathe. I've been helping them; I designed their ordering system. They bought me new dress robes; much better than the old ones. Ginny got a new set too, because she came up with the WWW logo.

I asked Mum about you coming to stay, and she wrote to Dumbledore yet another time. He still says you can't come to stay with us; he won't tell us why, though. And we've all written to him; even Hermione's parents! Bill's been putting charms and curses all over the place; he's so used to breaking them that it's not too hard just to reverse the process and cast them. He knows some that I don't think even Hermione has heard of; I wouldn't want to get lost around here after dark. Maybe if we can prove that we have protective wards at the Burrow, Dumbledore will let you come.

Until then, write as much as you want, but use one of our owls until Hedwig is enchanted. If they aren't feeding you, Mum says we can send food. She's already packed enough for an army! By the way, the eagle owl is Bill's, and the barn owl is Charlie's. The grey one is the new family owl—Ginny named him Gawain. He's a lot stronger than Errol. He's supposed to stay until you write something back. Mum & Dad have been testing him to see how trustworthy he is. They want you to write the time you send him away on the envelope. I hope you enjoy your birthday presents. If Dumbledore changes his mind, we'll collect you immediately, no matter what the Muggles say.

Ron

Harry frowned. He wondered why he couldn't go to the Burrow; he had been looking forward to it since he stepped off the train and saw Uncle Vernon. And now he was stuck here for the rest of the summer! But at least he had food to eat now, he reflected as he looked into the box, lifting out the heavy package containing it. Mrs. Weasley had even included a table setting. Harry dove into one of the meat pies, devouring it as quickly as he could chew and swallow. It was the best food he'd had in weeks.

Still chewing, he looked through the remaining cards and little boxes. Bill had sent him a poster of Egypt's fledgling Quidditch team, which had been signed by their Seeker. Charlie's gift was a necklace made with a few hollowed spikes from the Hungarian Horntail he'd faced off in the tournament. To his surprise, Percy had sent him a present too, a quick-quotes quill to take notes with. Fred & George's gift was a slip entitling him to a lifetime supply of free Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products (redeemable any time, any place, no questions asked). Ron had sent him a broomstick carrying case, the smooth leather charmed to keep its contests free from humidity, sunlight, and breakage.

Out of all the presents, Ginny's gift was the most amazing. It was a teardrop glass pendant slightly smaller than the bowl of a spoon. Inside it a tiny ball of green and violet flames caught the dim light and cast flickering shadows on his hand. At first, he thought his eyes were deceiving him, but when it popped quietly in his hand, he realized that the flames were really burning. He had never seen anything like it; not even in the shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Mesmerized by the tiny dancing flames, he stared at it for several minutes before threading it onto the thong of Charlie's necklace. It nestled between the spikes as if it had always belonged there.

He turned to the next parcel, which was from Hermione.

Harry

Happy Birthday! I know your present is rather predictable, especially since it's coming from me, but it was the best I could do, given the circumstances. I found it in a bookstore in Bulgaria, which had a lot of books I've never seen at Flourish & Botts. I don't think there are books in our library as old as a few I found in there. There was even one on some form of ancient magic which I've never heard anything about before. I could only look at it, and not long enough to learn anything, and only because Victor's Dad was the one who owned the shop. He wouldn't let me copy a paragraph of it, even when Victor told him it was for you, although I think that's the sole reason they even let me close enough to touch it.

But he did help me pick your present out; I know you won't think it's as interesting as what I wanted to get you, but I couldn't offend them. I wanted to get you a book on modern English Quidditch players, but you can't mention things like England and Quidditch together in Bulgaria without being shunned. I tried to get it mail order with Hedwig, but they didn't have a copy. (Sorry for not asking first, but I really wanted to get you that book; I know you'll want it once you see who's in it) I'm going to see if Percy or Mr. Weasley can get a copy of it for me once I get to the Burrow.

I hope you can come to the Burrow soon; I'm going at the end of this week. But Dumbledore still won't let you; my parents even wrote him once, to offer to let you come here until you could go to the Burrow, and he said that you were safest at the Dursleys. He did say you might get to go to the Burrow before the holiday is over though.

With Love

Hermione

P.S.—I've put a phone-card in here. I know the Dursleys won't let anyone talk to you on the phone, but can you call me instead? From a payphone, perhaps? I'd really like to talk to you. My number's in the directory; and I don't care what time of day (or night) it is when you get a chance to call, but call me!

She sounded like she hadn't had a good time in Bulgaria at all; not so much in words, but more as a vague feeling he couldn't ignore. He had known that she had gone for only a day at the end of her holiday trip with her parents to see Bulgaria's magical district and eat lunch with Victor. It had caused all manner of problems with Ron, but Harry was happy she had found someone aside from himself and Ron. Harry thought of her as just Hermione; she was one of them. Until the Yule Ball, he had never seriously thought about her wanting to be seen differently. She would always be his friend, no matter who she chose to like; if she ran off with Draco Malfoy it might be a different matter, although Harry couldn't see that happening at all.

Weighing the gift in his hands, he cast all thoughts of Hermione's love life from his mind. So it had come from Bulgaria, but what could be so horrid about it? Harry had always enjoyed her gifts immensely, and not just because they were good gifts, but because she cared enough to remember this day. He opened the slim flat package to find a newly-printed book on the Unforgivables, and understood why Hermione had been so apologetic; she was giving him a book on the curse that had killed his parents on his birthday.

Harry carefully set the book aside, and grabbed the gift from Hagrid, which was a translator stone, useful for encountering foreign wizards, as it translated everything the holder heard and said into an understandable dialect. It was short and thin so it could be sewn into the seam of a robe or brim of a hat. The note accompanying was very short, and almost unintelligible, but it was in Hagrid's handwriting. And it hadn't come by school owl, either; so Hagrid must not have been at Hogwarts. It was very possible he could have been elsewhere; sent on a task the way Harry's godfather had.

The next thing Harry laid his hands on was his Hogwarts letter and booklist. He had several new books to buy, and needed some more things. There was a short note from Dumbledore too, which Harry read three times. But there was really no information there—Dumbledore was just repeating what the others had implied; Harry was safest on Privet Drive, and it was best for him to remain there. He needed to limit his owl-communication until Hedwig was safely enchanted, and he was in no way to leave Privet Drive without verifiable permission from Dumbledore or McGonagall. Harry didn't understand why he wasn't allowed to know anything, but to have a letter written in Dumbledore's hand eliminated any of his half-baked plans to escape to the Burrow. Or, he realized with a sinking feeling, to find a pay phone to call Hermione. There was one a few streets over at the corner of Magnolia Crescent, but he had to stay on Privet Drive. He really wanted to talk to Hermione, though; maybe he could call her the next time the Dursleys left him alone.

There was only one package left and Harry was sure it had to be from Sirius. He hadn't heard from his godfather in weeks and was worried about him. He opened the box and pulled a rock out of it. Why would Sirius send him a rock? Shaking his head in disbelief at the unconventional present, Harry grabbed the corresponding letter and ripped it open, barely noting the brown seal on the envelope. He recognized the handwriting almost immediately, and while not unwanted, it didn't belong to his godfather; instead it belonged to Professor Lupin, who had never written to him before. Maybe he had news about Sirius; or what was going on, aside from one thing, he had never lied to Harry. If Harry asked, he was sure Professor Lupin would tell him something. He unfolded the thick parchment and began to read.

Harry

By now you've probably opened the box. Not that I blame you; I have done the same thing on many occasions. And yes, I was the one who sent you a rock, which I have to tell you is a first even for me. You can write it off as part of being a werewolf, I suppose; that excuse does have some uses. I found it on my last monthly jaunt, and for some reason I can't explain, carried it around all night. I was going to throw it back into the river where I found it, but a friend insisted I send it to you although she wouldn't tell me why. It's perfectly safe; there's not much a normal witch or wizard can do to a rock besides transfigure it, and Voldemort fits into that category this time. Enjoy your rock, Harry; I wish you luck in discovering its purpose. I suppose you could think of it as a gift from Talia, although you wouldn't remember her. If I can find out any more about it I'll be sure to write you.

I am very sorry I haven't written to you before now, but according to the Daily Prophet, you had enough on your mind without listening to an old professor you barely know rattle on about Romania. But if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to write to me; I'm always happy to hear from you. Happy Birthday; the card is from me, although Talia did help me make it. We'll meet again sooner than you think, so don't let the Dursleys worm their way under your skin.

Sincerely

Remus J. Lupin

Harry dug into the corners of the envelope and surfaced with a small piece of parchment. He didn't know to be excited, pleased, or dumbstruck. Not only had Professor Lupin, a friend of his father's, written Harry, but he'd also given him a rock. What type of man would give a fifteen-year-old a rock? The man who put aside everything in his life to protect you for a year, his conscious reminded. But why a rock? Shaking his head in disbelief, he opened the card, and was met with nothing but the glow of clean parchment. There was nothing written inside. Harry was confused. Why would Professor Lupin send him a blank card? Were his gifts some sort of lesson? It wasn't a very good lesson if he couldn't grasp what it was supposed to be teaching him.

A little disappointed, he left the card open in front of him and grabbed his other gift, the rock from Talia. Harry had never heard of anyone named Talia and wondered who she was and why she would send him a birthday present, even if it was a rock. It looked like a common, garden-variety rock, except for the fact that it was a perfect sphere. When he touched it tingling warmth shot up his arm, easing the aching muscles in his arms and shoulders from where he'd been polishing the silver. Rubbing the smooth surface with the palm of one hand, he examined it closely for any scratches or markings. He had discovered a tiny crack on one of the curves when something else caught his attention; a prickling sensation made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

A small, low note carried through the room, reminiscent of Fawkes' sweet tones. When he looked up, he saw that the card wasn't blank at all now. Purple sparks were lifting off the parchment like flies, streaming to hover above it like purple fireflies. They seemed to collect in one spot above the parchment, moving faster and faster as more even more sparks joined the column-like colony hovering above the parchment. The room fell absolutely silent as the sparks began to whirl around a central point as one; Harry couldn't even hear himself breathing. Gaining velocity, they now solid column of purple light contracted into a glowing sphere, which roiled for a moment before exploded in a spectacular starburst.

In slow motion, Harry could see the path the sparks followed; they began to blanket his room with their glistening brilliance. They scattered over his wardrobe, covering Dudley's books and the few broken toys Harry had left for Hedwig to peck at over in the corner. A few purple sparks coated the doorknob and sealed the crack around the door while others drifted to the window and hardened into an opaque film. But the majority of the sparks were coming straight toward Harry. As soon as he realized their path they gained momentum and hurtled towards him faster than he could follow.

With reflexes born of a Quidditch player he shut his eyes and protected his face as the sparks plunged against his hands. But nothing shattered and he couldn't feel any heat or stinging from the sparks he could feel scattered all over his clothes. Almost hesitantly, Harry peeked out between his fingers, and what he saw made him lower his hands immediately. He wasn't in his room at Number Four anymore. Where the walls and ceiling had once been was nothing but a beautiful panoramic twilight. Harry glanced down to where his bed should be, and was started to see that he was sitting on the surface of water dark like the lake at Hogwarts. Curious, he dipped a hand in it, and brought it to his eye level to examine it. Instead of water, the silvery snakes of a Pensieve's liquid coated his fingers in swirling syrup. Wiping it off on his pants, Harry realized he was sitting in a Pensieve's strand, a memory, or more accurately, a memory from Remus Lupin's Pensieve.

But what was Remus trying to show him? Harry peered around himself, spotting the outline of a forest on one side of the lake; and across at the other end, back behind his shoulder, Hogwarts castle. He turned so he could see better; Harry had never seen Hogwarts look as welcoming as it did then. Every light in the castle had been lit, and together they broadcasted their yellow brightness and Hogwarts' strength back into the dark night sky, defying the sense of gloom that crept across the landscape. And not only were they shining out into the darkness, but they were shining out of the lake as well; the lights had cast Hogwarts reflection onto the mirrored surface of the lake, making it seem twice as large as the Hogwarts Harry knew. This Hogwarts was a beacon of strength and hope for all who beheld it; it was almost intimidating. Harry felt like he could stand and stare at it forever and let its wonders make him whole again.

But a flurry of movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention, and Harry reluctantly tore his gaze away from the blazing outline of Hogwarts to see what it was. There was a group of people clustered on the Lake's shore in the semi-darkness; Harry was fairly sure that was the spot where the 7^th years had their picnic celebrating the completion of their final exams. Harry rose and half-heartedly tested what he was standing on to make sure it would hold his weight; it did when he was sitting on it, anyway, and walked towards them. Judging from the clarity with which he could see them, they were what the memory was focusing on; what his Professor wanted him to see. He knew in the quiet recesses of his mind exactly who he would find there and was taken with an irrepressible desire to run away, back towards Hogwarts. He didn't know if he could handle seeing them again, seeing them when he knew it wasn't real, that they weren't real; just memories. Seeing them a few months ago in shadow form had been hard enough.

But this time, if this was like the memories in Dumbledore's Pensieve, they wouldn't be able to see him. Maybe if he just got a little closer, he could hear what they were saying and didn't have to see them at all. He knew better though, he would drink in whatever it was Professor Lupin wanted him to see and want more. His need to see them defeated his fear, and continued forward, although a bit more slowly than he had at first.

As soon as he was close enough to hear their voices drifting across the lake, a light flared, casting everything within fifty feet in a bright glow. Harry was forced to squint until his eyes adjusted and he could see again. "Thanks, Lily," a voice called. "I couldn't see anything in this darkness. I almost tripped over those tree roots back there.”

"Anytime, Peter." A firm alto returned, remarkably similar to the one he had heard from the apparition he had seen a few short months ago and remembered in his dreams since. Deep, dark rage filled Harry's mind at the thought of the traitorous Pettigrew, but there was something more important here. His mother was over there, and there wasn't a trace of the sadness or terror there had been the only other times he had heard her voice. She sounded happy.

Opening his eyes, Harry broke into a jog, bringing himself closer to them so he could find her, so he could know what she looked like when she wasn't overcome with terror or grief. There were several men and women scattered around the glowing yellow flames that were casting the bright light. One form squatting in the grass next to a woman in a red evening gown, he recognized as a younger Remus Lupin. His mind twitched, telling him something was odd with this situation; but he had seen Dumbledore in his own memory, hadn't he?

"Only Peter would lose his way here in the dark." Remus commented to the group. "He ought to remember it after all this time," he shook his head. “After all of those nights roaming this place; I know I do.”

"That's you, my darling wolf," the red-robed beauty replied flippantly. "Not all of us have the memory you do." She smiled prettily at him from above the goblet she was sipping from. Harry heard a woman snort softly in the background.

Remus shrugged, and slid over to sit next to her on the huge blanket, throwing a long arm over her shoulders with just the right degree of casual. "I could teach you a few of the landmarks, and then you'd never lose your way.”

The woman smiled, and nestled her head in Remus' chest, looking up at him for a moment. Harry saw that she had multi-colored eyes. They looked orange in the centers, but the edges were almost purple. “I won't get lost with you around now, will I?”

Remus leaned over to kiss her, but was rudely interrupted by a few loud coughs.

"Remus!" A brusque woman sitting a few feet away chided. "Don't start that again, mate. I don't want a free peep show starring you and my sister. If you two want to get that close, go hide in the forest where I can't see you."

Remus grinned impudently at her, but nuzzled his companion anyway, causing the silver haired woman who had interrupted them to snort and look away in mock disgust, biting back a delighted smile.

"Thank you, Stella," a new woman replied. "All we need is for young Harry to be corrupted by his Uncle Moony." She had short black hair, the reddest lips Harry had ever seen, and her skin was moon-pale; Harry swore he could almost see through it. Harry doubted that she was human, but there was nothing at all threatening about her, especially when he saw the fond way she smiled at Remus. He knew she could be considered devastatingly beautiful, but he didn't feel anything for her. Not only would she be as old as Professor Lupin was now, but she looked a bit too much like a Veela for Harry's comfort.

"Speaking of Harry, where did they get off to?" A redhead dressed in stunning purple robes was sitting next to the black-haired woman. Harry felt his breath catch at the sight of her, if he was actually breathing air. She had to be Lily Potter; she just had to be. He couldn't see a whole about her, except he suspected that she would be about as tall as Aunt Petunia was, although that was where the resemblance between the two ended. Where Aunt Petunia was so skinny she looked sick, Harry's mum was slender and muscular, her features smooth and symmetric in the glowing firelight. Wild red curls had been pinned to the top of her head while a few loose ones dangled around her shoulders, making her skin seem creamy. Harry moved forward, skirting the fire, to look into the eyes that were so like his own. She really was as she had been in his childhood dreams.

Then she looked up, straight into his eyes; and for a split second, she looked at him. Harry's heart almost stopped beating. Her eyes narrowed, and she called out to someone in the darkness. "James, where's Harry?"

Harry turned and strained his eyes squinting into the semi-darkness, trying to see the man's features as he approached, hoping his father looked as much like his childhood dream as his Mum did. As soon as Harry could see his father's face, his eyes widened. He really was his father's image; barring the scar and his Mum's eyes, he could have been his father ten years younger. He'd gotten tired of the comparison, but now that he could see how correct it was he really didn't mind so much; there really wasn't anything else they could say.

"Sirius has him," his father's voice was filled with humour as he dropped down beside Lily, catching one of her hands in his own. "Said he needed some bonding time with his favourite Bambi, but I think he was trying to coax a unicorn out of the woods for a few tail hairs.”

Lily snorted. “It will take more innocence than Harry to make a unicorn willing to go to him.” She shook her styled hair, the tiny bells on her earrings chiming melodiously with the motion. “If he ever puts our son in danger, Prongs, you do know I'll have to hurt him don't you? And it won't be pleasant.” Her voice had turned cold and hard while her eyes seemed to brighten a bit.

“Padfoot will never hurt Harry, Blaze,” James said soothingly. “He's too afraid of you!”

Harry's mother smiled grimly and nodded; she almost looked satisfied with the fact that Sirius was frightened of her. Harry didn't understand, because Sirius had never shown any fear when he'd talked to Harry about her. But then again, he hardly ever talked about Harry's Mum—he always talked about James, when he talked about Harry's parents at all. Harry decided he would ask Sirius about her in his next letter and see what his godfather had to say.

While they had been talking, Harry stepped back outside their sphere of light. He didn't want to take the risk of being noticed, although his brain told him they couldn't see him. But there had been that one instant where his Mum had blinked a bit and stared right into his eyes like she knew he was there; Harry had felt her realize his presence. How had she done that? Or was she seeing something behind him? No, Harry told himself, she had known someone was there, but she could have been sensing James. Harry turned his attention back to his parents, hoping to learn something new about them.

James was now clasping both of Lily's hands between his, idly rubbing her fingertips while she kept glaring towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest, obviously waiting for Sirius to come out of it. The cold, calculating look that startled Harry was still lurking in her eyes. She hadn't looked at Harry like that at all when he met her shadow a few weeks ago; she hadn't even looked at Voldemort like that. Sirius must have done something pretty horrible to her to warrant that look. Knowing him, he had put her through a prank that had gone one step too far; that seemed to be his favorite way of alienating people.

The group was quiet for a few minutes waiting for Sirius to come out of the forest while Professor Lupin and the woman in the red dress began to snog over in their corner of the blanket. The images blurred for a few minutes, and Harry wondered what was happening, fixing his parents' image in his vision so he wouldn't forget them.

Just when he thought the memory-scape was going to disappear altogether, he heard another quiet cough, and a voice, Harry thought it was his father's, begin to talk loudly. “I see they finally rescued you from the clutches of the Slytherins, Gwen.” The images jerked abruptly back into focus, and Harry furrowed his brows for a moment, then flushed. He was seeing this through Professor Lupin's eyes and the man been rather...busy...a few moments ago.

It was with great relief that the conversation started again. "Rescued Gwen, Prongs?" Stella, the woman with the silver hair, grinned mischievously at James. "To me it looked like you were the one who needed saving."

Her unwavering focus on the Forest finally breaking, Lily Potter turned to give her husband a venomous glare, the thirsty light in her eyes increasing. "Miss Adoration was lucky tonight, Potter. Exceedingly lucky. Next time I'll deal with her."

Harry was surprised to see his father flinch and lift his hands in surrender. Even his Dad was afraid of his Mum when she was like that. "Lil, I didn't mean it,” he defended. "Really, I didn't. You went to the toilet, and the next thing I know she's sitting in my lap!"

"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it, Potter." Her jaw set, his mother's eyes were almost glowing as she interrogated her husband. Was that even possible?

There was an uncomfortable silence while everyone glanced at Lily. James screwed up his face, trying to defend himself. "Actually, I didn't--she's too bony, and doesn't know how to keep her hands to herself. Although she did have really nice hair."

Lily made an outraged noise, and James ducked away from her quick punch.

Remus chuckled softly, looking up from where he had been pestering his friend to eye his fellow Marauder's wife. “Prongs, I suggest you restrain from incriminating yourself any further, or the consequences might be a little more than even you can handle.” Harry could see his Mum roll her eyes as the others laughed, albeit rather tensely.

Gwen closed her eyes, contorting her face and lifting her hands to her temples, as if receiving a vision. “Hmm...I sense a change in sleeping arrangements at the Potter household.” She opened her eyes rapidly, feigning surprise as she stared at James with huge eyes strangely similar to Professor Trewlaney's. “Oh no!” Her hands covered her heart for a moment as she shook her head. “Such horror! I see a couch in your future, Mister Potter!”

Remus and his companion had dissolved in giggles, and Stella was laughing, too, although she looked rather cross. Harry saw his mother smile, and some of the fierceness faded away from her face. It didn't look like she was going to shoot lightning from her eyes now. She shook her head hard, blinking furiously. When she looked up again, the light in her eyes had died completely and she looked much more amenable; it was almost as if she had woken from a bad dream and completely changed demeanors. Stella and the black-haired woman, Gwen, exchanged pointed glances, but nobody said anything.

“Might I suggest you sleep on the floor Prongs? That couch is hard to sleep on.” A man who had to be Sirius Black appeared in the circle, toting a younger version of Harry, no more than a year old, hanging onto the folds of his godfather's light summer cloak. “I always end up on the floor.”

Remus laughed as Sirius sat down in the empty space between Stella and Remus, keeping baby Harry settled on his chest. “Sirius, you can't stay on the couch because you're always too drunk to lay still, not to mention climbing the stairs!”

Sirius cocked his head, grimacing as Harry tugged hard on his cloak fasteners while he played with them. “That is not my fault.”

Gwen lifted an eyebrow. “And I suppose you're going to blame it all on Dev?”

“He was the one who wanted to go on a pub crawl!” Sirius shot back. “Besides; he was paying.” He sat Harry down on his lap, playfully ruffling his dark hair. Harry giggled happily and latched onto his Godfather's fingers, trying to hold them still as Sirius continued to prod at ticklish spots all over Harry's body.

Stella rolled her eyes. “And we all know Sirius Black never turns down a free drink.”

Peter, who had been completely silent up to this point, grinned. “I think you have a gift for understatement Stella. Why it was just yesterday that he asked Paula Greene if she thought that his—“

“Don't you dare, Wormtail,” Sirius growled, making little Harry stop and look up at him, worried. “If you finish that sentence, you will pay for it!”

Peter rolled his eyes, but Lily beat him to a reply. “If you fight in the presence of my son, Black, I will see to it that you don't see him until the day he graduates!” she hissed, the fire back in her eyes again. “I will not have you teaching him bad manners!” Stella and Gwen glanced at each other again, Gwen nodding swiftly, but Harry was too entranced by Sirius' reaction to notice if anything had been said between them.

Sirius paused and looked at her before his shoulders drooped. Giving one last glance promising pain to Wormtail, he turned back to his best friend's wife, looking totally cowed; if he had been Padfoot, his tail would have been between his legs. Harry almost expected him to prostrate himself on the ground before her and beg for forgiveness, judging from the penitent way he arranged his features. “I'm sorry Lil',” he apologized, clutching little Harry to him while he squirmed, trying to reach the silver cloak fastenings again. “I wasn't thinking.”

Harry was relieved to see that his mother was satisfied; she smiled at Sirius as if nothing had happened. “Of course you weren't,” Lily agreed sweetly, her eyes shining mischievously. “When do Gryffindors ever think?”

“I resent that,” four male voices echoed in unison.

Lily laughed, and beside her, Gwen giggled. “They are so gullible.”

“I know.” Gwen grabbed the huge picnic basket sitting off to one side, evidently trying to change the subject before tempers were inflamed. “Anyone hungry?” As food was distributed, James wrapped his arms around Lily, and she leaned against his chest.

Just as things started to calm down again and Harry had directed his attention back to Hogwarts, Lily let out a bellow that made Harry, and everyone else jump. "SIRIUS BLACK! What are you doing to my son?" Harry was surprised when he turned to see that it was actually his mother sitting there, not an irate Molly Weasley.

"Nothing Lil," Sirius protested quickly. Young Harry had his hands wrapped around a wand, probably Sirius', and was shaking it energetically. "It's just a wand." He tugged at the throat of his cloak, trying to loosen it. "What harm can a baby do with a wand?"

About that point, gold sparks shot out of the end of the wand in Harry's hand, falling all over Stella's hair from where she had been down on his level tickling his stomach. She laughed, sweeping them away, glancing up at the handsome man beside her, who was watching her with a fascinated expression. "Indeed, Siri." What she hadn't realized was that the sparks had left golden streaks in her silvery hair, glistening as they reflected the moonlight.

All of the others broke down in laughter, startling Harry, who leaned closer into Sirius. Sirius obediently held the little boy tighter, rubbing his back. Lily was aghast. "I'm so sorry, Stella.” She pinned Harry's godfather with a stare Harry had seen many times before from Mrs. Weasley. “Sirius! Can't I trust you not to get him into trouble?"

Sirius gave her a wounded puppy look, and her eyes flashed dangerously again. When James squeezed her shoulder, she shook her head hard again, as if she were trying to shake away her anger. After a moment she looked up and smiled apologetically at Sirius, who nodded and took his wand away from Harry, using it to turn his napkin into a spectacularly colored butterfly, which seemed to hover around Harry's hands and face.

Stella had pulled a pocket mirror out of thin air, and was examining her reflection critically. "I like it, love. No worries." She turned back to little Harry, who had been trying to catch the butterfly where it sat on top of his head. She swept it off and held it out to him in one hand. "Do I need a new look, mate?" His younger self squealed happily and latched onto the closest golden lock while the butterfly went back to Harry's knee. Stella patiently pried her hair out of his hand, and sat up, looking at his mother, who was still apologizing while James wheezed with laughter behind her. "No worries, Lily. It'll wear out in a few days; until then I can tell people I let Siri experiment on me."

Sirius blushed red and Stella laughed, having achieved her purpose of goading Sirius. Harry watched in awe as they continued their banter and conversed about things and people he knew nothing about for a few minutes. Then they were visited by Dumbledore, who had spoken quietly to James, given the baby Harry a sweet from the Hogwarts kitchens and a pat on the head before leaving again; he hadn't changed much in the past fourteen years at all.

Eventually, Harry watched as his younger self fell asleep in his Mum's arms, and later she drifted off leaning against his Dad's shoulder. As soon as her eyes drifted close, the edges of the memory-scape began to quiver slightly, starting to flow back towards the center, towards Harry, the tips of them the same bright purple as the sparks that had brought him here. This time the memory was actually over, and like before, Harry found himself wanting more. He began to look around quickly, trying to fix the images onto his mind. The last thing Harry saw as the last of his surroundings slowly drew into the now purple flames was his father pressing his lips against his mother's brow and hold both of them close.

With a disorienting lurch, Harry found himself sitting back on his bed in Privet Drive as the purple sparks lifted off that which they had settled on, filing back to the card in orderly rows. Within a few minutes, Harry was staring at bare walls again, and he could hear Dudley's grunting snores in the next room. He was back.

A lump rose in his throat as the last of the sparks spiraled back into the parchment and disappeared, making his room as drab as before. That had been so much more than he'd expected, Professor Lupin had given him the closest thing to his deepest desire anyone could. He'd given him a good memory of his parents; something not tainted by death or fear. Harry had actually seen them; he'd seen how much they loved him. For once, he knew to the core of his soul that he had once been a part of a real family. They really had loved him. How had Professor Lupin known he wanted to see his family happy? Pictures just weren't enough; not after he'd seen their shadows and heard their dying screams. Not even magical pictures could capture the essence of who they really were. The card had, in that fleeting instant, given him the peace he'd craved since the Third Task.

Why did he have to loose them? They had loved each other so much; all of them. His Mum and Dad had laughed and cuddled, joking with their friends. And Sirius; Sirius had once again been the man in the photo album, a joking prankster. He had been fond of Harry, too; he had been the one with little Harry most of the evening, a Harry without a lightning-bolt scar. The scar was who he was, how people saw him; without it he could never be Harry Potter. And yet, all those years ago, he hadn't been a wizard with a scar, he had been a baby with a family who loved him. He knew that now, truly felt it to the core of his soul for the first time in life.

It just wasn't fair. Why, if they had loved him so much, had he ended up here at Privet Drive? What had he ever done to deserve that? While it felt like a hand had squeezed all of the happiness out of his heart and replaced it with bitterness, he was glad he knew now.

Harry picked up the parchment and felt the hot tears finally come. There on the parchment in green ink was a quick sketch of his family in the last pose he had seen them; he was curled up sound asleep against in the hollow between his mother and his father, his mother was curled up in his father's lap, James' arms wrapped around her, his chin buried in her hair and his glasses askew. There was a note written on the bottom of it in Lupin's handwriting:

I thought you might enjoy knowing them as I did.

Happy Birthday Harry.

Remus

Harry just stared at the picture for several minutes, allowing his tears to flow, until Hedwig hooted softly. He dashed his tears away and glanced at the clock—it was 2:30 in the morning. He would have to be up again in a few hours. The owls would have to wait until then; he would probably have time to send replies after breakfast.

He slowly lined his birthday cards up on his bedside table and stored the rest of his presents under the edge of the bed, out of sight of his Aunt's prying eyes. He didn't care if she saw the cards; maybe it would remind her he did have friends. After pulling on his pyjamas and crawling into bed, he held Lupin's card once more, tracing the face of his slumbering parents one last time before carefully positioning it on the bedside table where he could see it from his pillow.

When he turned off the lamp, his eyes focused on the faintly glowing lines of his parents' picture until he finally slept.

That night The Boy Who Lived dreamed of picnics under the stars.