Prongs Rides Again

V.

Dear Sirius,
I do hope you and Buckbeak are well. It is fortunate you have been absent this winter, as it has not been particularly pleasant.

A matter of some significance has arisen at Hogwarts. A stag of rather dark coloring has taken up residence at Hagrid's cabin. He has been stabling here for some months, and he is most insistent on remaining. I would like to ask if you might consider paying him a visit, as I have an idea this is no ordinary creature.

Harry is well. He performed most admirably at the Second Task, as you no doubt have heard. Two more months and our worries shall be over. Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Dear Professor,
I am glad to hear that Harry is fine. When he writes me he always insists that nothing is wrong, so it's reassuring to know he's not covering up anything.

Respectfully, I am not quite sure how to react to the situation you previously described. If you are suggesting what I believe you may be, then I ask that you please drop the issue. Those wounds do not need reopening. James is dead. I have only recently come to terms with that myself.

Buckbeak sends his regards, though he wishes there was more to eat around here than rats. Yours,

Sirius

Dear Sirius,
I understand your reluctance. Even I am unable to explain these recent events. But I believe that it would do for you to come all the same. I have also written to Remus, and he shares the selfsame misgivings. Personally, however, I have few doubts about who this could be.

Dumbledore

* * *

How could James be alive? Sirius had cradled his body in the ruins of the house in Godric's Hollow: had cried hunched over his best friend for an eternity before Hagrid had come upon him, bearing Harry. Harry. There was the impetus to act. Not that he wanted to shirk his duties as a godfather, but to have no need of the position... for Harry to have his real father...

Sirius, you're thinking on the assumption that it's possible, a bitter voice reminded him.

But Dumbledore... would he lie about something like this? He could be mistaken, of course. But... surely he wouldn't taunt me with a phrase like that. "Personally, however, I have few doubts about who this could be."

He does mean James, doesn't he? Who else would he be talking about?

The late spring evening was warm and quiet. James could feel a restlessness quivering in his legs: a breeze was wafting in from the stable door, and it was difficult to resist the allure of a moonlight graze. I'm no tame beast to be kept in here, he reasoned, and bent down over the stall door to try and loosen the latch. The horses were all stupid creatures, and James had no inclination to teach them this escape, as their company was not very pleasant. After some rattling and pulling, the latch was opened, and he trotted out of the stall and out into the air.

* * *

This is it. Now or never. Moment of truth. Steel yourself, Padfoot.

"Yeah," Sirius breathed, distracted. "Listen, d'you mind if I wait around at the stable? He is going to come back, right?"

* * *

I see his silhouette against the sunrise and run toward it, only to discover it is a bush, or a tree.

I come upon his body, just as it was that Halloween, and he stirs. When he opens his eyes, they are empty and white, and I awaken in Azkaban.

I chase a stag glimpsed fleetingly through the forest, only to discover it is just a stag.

If I close my eyes, I can see it more clearly, I think. My heart may slow down, and I can think. What would I say? "Hello Prongs. Nice to see you aren't dead."

Or: "Christ Jesus, James, what were you thinking, putting us all through hell like that!?"

Or: "How?"

He could not stay away any longer. All evening a voice had been whispering to him in pulses, Go back, go back. His rumbling stomach and stiff muscles had blocked it out for a goodly part of the night, but as the sky began to blue, the insistence grew stronger. Go back, go back.

He headed west, the unborn sun at his back. He had not wandered too deep into the forest, and he was familiar with it from before, so he could make it home just before sunrise.

What wants me? he wondered. A few ideas came to mind. Perhaps Dumbledore would be down there. He had visited several times since that winter day, though it had merely been to ask after his health. Or possibly it would be Filch, though he'd only seen the old crank at the stable once, and that had been to pinch some of the whiskey from the vat in the corner. Anyway, he wouldn't want me down there...

Time was moving strangely right then. James's stride didn't seem to work correctly: no matter how long it was, he ran at the same rate, and didn't seem to cover the proper amount of distance. The sun was rising very quickly, though. Very surreal, he thought a bit dumbly.

The dawn was at its peak brightness when he arrived back at the cabin. He peered into the window of the hut: Hagrid didn't seem to be up yet, and Fang was still asleep on the front step. James hurried towards the stable, wondering what would happen if the gamekeeper knew he escaped during the nights.

* * *

He was in his cell again. A cold wind was blowing a North Sea storm into it. He hated the robes he wore, the same robes he'd worn when he'd found the Potters, when he'd been tricked by Wormtail, when he'd been sentenced by an ambitious and cruel minister. These robes had so many bad memories in them, mingled with the grime and sweat. When I'm free, he swore, I'll burn these.

A bird trilled in the distance. Sirius's eyes snapped open. A dream, he realized wearily. He squinted, for the sun was directly in his face. His vision came into focus a little more. No, the sun wasn't completely there: something was blocking it. For an instant, he feared the massive figure was Hagrid, come to chase him away. As he stared up at the great shadow above him, Sirius found he had been deprived of the ability to move.

The dark shape lowered its head. With the glare removed, Sirius saw the outline of a rack of antlers. His breath caught in his throat. The face became clearer: a deer's visage, with black patches around its eyes. The stag's eyes were wide and curious, and its breath erupted from its nostrils in staggered bursts of fog. Sirius's entire body locked up in painful stiffness. I know that scent! something screamed in him. I recognize that breath! Oh dear God, please don't let this be a dream!

"Is it really you?"

* * *

"Tell me what happened."

Sirius bowed his head, thinking. The pair were hidden deep in the Forbidden Forest, lying face to face at the edge of a small meadow. James still didn't look real to him: he wasn't even entirely sure he wasn't hallucinating at the moment. His reactions had surprised him: he would have expected relief, or joy, or even a heart attack upon finding out his best friend still lived. Anything but those wrenching sobs welling up from the pit of his stomach.

"None of what happens next is very easy," he said heavily. He looked up at his friend. "After Voldemort... after he... Christ, after he killed you, he... well, he went after Lily and Harry. He got Lily --" here he choked, and was unable to meet his friend's expression; "-- and, well, then he tried to kill Harry."

There was a silence between them. "So Lily is dead," James said numbly.

"She is."

James bowed his head. After a shudder ran through his body, he looked back up at Sirius. "But Harry? What about Harry? He isn't... dead too?"

"That's the strange thing about him. He isn't. Voldemort did Avada Kedavra, and -- nobody knows why -- it... it bounced back."

"It what?"

"Yeah, it, well, it rebounded and hit Voldemort instead. And he's been gone ever since." A flicker of a smile crossed his dog's face. "They call him ‘The Boy Who Lived,' you know."

A fervent light entered James's eyes. "Tell me about Harry. Have you seen him lately?"

"I did, in March. A few months ago."

"How is he?"

"Fine, to the best of my knowledge..."

James laughed quietly to himself. "That's right, he's in school most of the time these days..." A fond expression came to his face. "What was he like when he was little?"

Sirius stared at him. He's forgotten. He hasn't thought it out. "James," he said in a low voice, "I was in Azkaban for twelve years."

James was startled. He jerked back, confused. "You? What--? How??"

His stomach lurched, and his mouth went dry. So that was why Padfoot had come to him in secret. That explained the restless sleep he'd been in when James had found him. That explained the haunted look that sometimes veiled his eyes. "Oh." And that was all he could say.

They sat in somber silence for almost an hour after that. Then -- "What happened to him?"

Sirius turned his head sharply. "To who?"

"To Harry," James pressed, almost shyly.

"Went to live with Lily's sister."

"With Vernon and Petunia?" he gasped, horrified.

"Correct as usual, Mr. Prongs," he replied grimly. But with a shake of his head, he abruptly changed the subject. "Harry's a great Quidditch player, you know."

"Does he fly well?" he asked. It was a strange question. He wasn't quite sure where it had come from.

"You oughta see him," Sirius said proudly. "I'd chance he's better than you, but I don't want to find myself on the end of those frogstickers attached to your head." The pair grinned at each other as best they could. Sirius wagged his tail briefly, and then cocked his head. "James..." he began, then stopped, wondering how to form his question. James could tell this was what he'd been wanting to ask from the moment they'd set eyes on each other.

"Yes?"

James closed his eyes, and thought back to his time drifting in the strange forest, and lying at Cernonnos's Well. And then, further back... a magic textbook... "I don't exactly know," he said softly. "I was dueling, and I knew he was going to kill me, and then I remembered..."

"Remembered what?"

James stared off into a corner. "A Treatise on Animalian Self-Transfiguration," he said. "‘Abstractly, the process involves the summoning of your most elemental nature to the surface, and developing the control to push it to the surface at will. This self-essence, when called upon, will abandon the body for the barest of instants, and force the body to assume the appropriate shape before reentry.' Douglas Wainwright, 1759."

Sirius gulped. "I don't believe it," he said weakly. "If I wasn't sitting right here with you..." He didn't finish. He stood up and lay down next to the stag. "I am damn glad you did all that reading, Prongs."

James, however, was still looking off into space. "I need to get back," he whispered. "I need to be a man again."

* * *

Dear Remus,
I have come to the place where I have finally decided I'm not mad, although there was a lot of pinching in the process. Dumbledore's letter -- it's true. Moony, it's him! Come as quickly as you can. He's going to try and change back tomorrow.

Sirius

VI.

I wonder if Sirius knows his letter feels like holding a dementor.

I remember when I found out, how angry and devastated I was. I remember losing control. I remember flickering between shapes.

I remember other times, too. I remember retreating to Wales. And then to London. And finally fleeing as far as my Gringott's vault would carry me. To Romania. The whole time trying to forget the world I'd lost.

Some things you lose you cannot take back. I'll never be a proper human again. My parents will never come back from the dead. My friends --

Remus heaved a sigh and squeezed his eyes tighter. I'd really rather not.

"We're the Marauders! We're invincible!"

Dear Remus,

I realize that our correspondence has been emotionally very trying. James's survival is something we have all wished fervently for, but felt was impossible. It is a reasonable assertion: on record, only Harry has ever survived the Killing Curse, and we still do not know the true reason why. But I urge you, please consider the story that Sirius has relayed to me from his conversations with the stag.

When Hagrid took me down to the stable and I realized who I was looking at, I did not quite believe it myself. I thought perhaps I was misinterpreting the stag's reactions to fit my own desires -- that seemed the logical explanation. But magic often does not follow the course of human logic. There was an older, deeper force at work here, I am sure of it. Both wizards and Muggles have myths concerning the reanimation of the dead at the hands of gods. While I do not believe a deity, as such, is responsible, I am positive that James found his way to a spot of extraordinary power, much like Stonehenge or Tara, and was able to become corporeal again.

The element of sacrifice is a strong vein in the ancient magic, and we know how Lily's death placed a powerful protection on Harry. James was acting in defense of his family, and I believe the devotion that you and I remember so well is what has saved him.

Please reconsider your previous position, Remus. Sirius tells me he asks for you, and does not want to attempt his change back without your presence. If you change your mind, please contact me at once. Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

But he said so himself -- he thought he was mistaken.

Remus began to imagine. His face would be worn, and pale, and he would surely be very tired. His shocking black hair might be completely white. But his eyes would be the same.

"I think I know you! Please, are you Moony? How do I know you?"

I saw a stag one full moon while I was in Romania. It stared at me with vacant eyes and ran away. I didn't have the heart to chase it. It had been so empty. That other... that other...

Very quietly: I think I should do this.

Are you sure?

Remus stood up, heavily. He stood, supporting himself with the flimsy kitchen table for a few moments, then let go. He stood in the center of the room, then walked over to the cheap fireplace on the opposite wall. He drew his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the grate. He said a spell, and felt strangely lightheaded. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking at Dumbledore's office. Fawkes was perched nearby, studying him curiously. The phoenix gave a soft trill, and Dumbledore swooped down from behind his desk and knelt down, face-to-face with the fire.

Dumbledore frowned. "It's too much trouble to set you up, both James and Sirius are feeling quite impatient. Why don't you Apparate to Hogsmeade, and I'll meet you there?"

Remus said the spell again, and he was standing in his kitchen once more. He was shaking from head to toe. He hadn't Apparated in a good while... and he hadn't been too good at it even after his test. But he steeled himself, and locked all his doors and windows. Then -- "Hogsmeade Station!" -- and the room was empty.

* * *

They wound their way down stairwells and corridors, through the maze of dungeons, in silence. For a moment, Remus thought of the Marauder's Map, and Harry. Did he know? And moreover, what might he think if he suddenly saw Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and James Potter all clustered together in a room?

I'm not sure. My throat is dry and my knees have turned to water and I think there's an earthquake inside of me, but other than that, I might be ready, yes.

* * *

"You remember the words, right?"

Sirius, in his man form, was fretting. James snorted, hoping he understood his meaning. Yes. We've gone over this. I'm ready.

The door opened, and Dumbledore walked in, followed by--

He looked different than last time he'd seen him, but considering he'd been a wolf at the time, that was understandable. Remus had spotted him too, and was frozen to the spot. James, however, bounded as best he could over to him, and wished he was a man already, so he could hug him and smile and laugh and shout and say exactly what it felt like to see him again. He lowered his head and stood eye-level with Remus, whose jaw had dropped. After a long silence, Remus raised one hand up to James's muzzle: it hovered, almost unwilling to come down.

When he touched him, his whole body gave a spasm. Then, after a long, marveling stare, he smiled, and breathed, "Hello, you."

Sirius stepped forward and he and Remus hugged warmly. He then looked around at the others and said, "We ready?"

Remus gulped, and Dumbledore looked at James.

He nodded, and walked back into the center of the room. Sirius followed, and stood at his left shoulder. He motion for Remus to do the same, who, in a daze, took up a spot on the right and laid his trembling hand on James's back.

"We'll be right here with you," Sirius said in a low voice. "Do it whenever you're ready."

James tossed his head, to feel the weight of the antlers one last time, and then closed his eyes, concentrating. He sifted through every memory he had, drawing every happy thought closer. Lily. Harry. Sirius. Remus. Dumbledore. My wedding day. Harry's birthday. Graduating from Hogwarts. Proposing to Lily.

"I am a man," he whispered, feeling his muscles begin to tense, and quiver. "I am a man." He began letting out deep, hasty breaths, repeating the mantra over again. Something was stirring inside him, something deep and fiery in the pit of his stomach. "I am a man.

"I am a man.

"I am man!

The hot feeling in the core of his body disappeared. Everything was still. He could feel Remus and Sirius gripping his shoulders. A note of panic fluttered in his heart.

An explosion ripped through his stomach. With a cry, he reared up. A flash of red light filled the room.

In the silence that followed, James Potter crumpled to the floor.

His first sensation was one of coldness. He shivered. Opening his eyes, he saw two long, pale arms sprawled across the stone floor. His breath caught in his throat. He was unaware of the other three men staring at him, was unaware of his nakedness and his chill. He drew himself, weakly, into a sitting position, still staring at his hands. Out of the corner of his vision, he noticed legs too. With feet. Not hooves -- feet.

He looked up, at Sirius and Remus towering over him, stock still.

Quickly, Remus whipped off his robes and draped them over his back. He knelt down and put his arms around James's shoulders. James's chest began to heave. Sirius was immediately with him too. An incredible warmth welled up inside him. Wordlessly, joyfully, James began to cry.

* * *