Harry Potter and the Chains that Bind

Chapter 7 - Recordatio

Harry watched as Hermione performed battery after battery of detection spells on his mother's pendent. They were carefully selected to narrow down the amulet's purpose, a bit at a time. The first spell indicated it was not cursed and not transfigured, but it was charmed in some way. The next group, which took nearly an hour to get through, indicated the magic had something to do with the mind. Harry and Hermione were taking turns, and by the time they'd finished, they had narrowed it down to a memory charm of some type, though Hermione could derive nothing else.

"I'm really sorry, Harry!" she said, after finally exhausting her last spell. "Perhaps you ought to ask Professor Flitwick. It really is his specialty."

"It's okay...we know loads more about it than we did. Maybe it's like a rememberall, or something."

"I should think it would be even more than that! Still, I wouldn't wear it until he's had a chance to give it a once over."

"But we just gave it a once over!"

"But I'm not perfect, Harry! What if I've forgotten something? What if it sucked out all of your memories, or even worse...what if we're totally wrong and it has nothing to do with memory charms?"

"Well, I trust you."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't."

"You've never done anything but perform brilliantly!" Hermione had no response to that, other than to blush furiously. Harry felt his heart seize up on him, and it was a struggle for him to look away. He found himself thinking it wasn't fair. Hermione and Ron had something going on, and then he found himself wondering what, exactly, something was. Ron had said he kissed her, but then Harry had too, at times. Not real kisses, but they'd been there. Also, Harry had been attacking this year academically; she had to have noticed. Wouldn't she rather be around someone who studied as hard as she did? Wasn't that what she'd liked so much about Viktor Krum?

With some difficulty, Harry shook those thoughts out of his head before they could catch a foothold. Ron and Hermione were both his friends; it felt vaguely wrong to be pitting himself against one for the other. Hermione was looking at him again.

"Please take it to Professor Flitwick before you do anything with it...as a favor?"

"I'll do it Monday," he said. "Let's look at the gloves."

Despite Hermione's impressive catalogue of spells, and Harry's persistence, they were unable to determine anything about the gloves. They didn't seem to respond to anything either student knew; and in the end, Harry was forced to admit defeat and pack them carefully away, also to go to Professor Flitwick. He headed off to his Saturday evening Quidditch practice with part of a mystery solved.

In Harry's opinion, Ginny was every bit the team captain Wood was. She had a different style: where Oliver had been concerned with complicated formations, Ginny had them doing repetitive basic drills over and over. Harry, who normally spent practices hunting the snitch, was included, as well as Ron. Natalie, as promised, was using a different broom. Harry didn't recognize it, but he knew it wasn't the Silver Arrow, and she kept her flying subdued as well. They spent the entire practice falling in and out of formation, leapfrogging, and tossing a double-weight Quaffle. Originally, Harry wasn't exactly sure if he'd approve of how she did things, but she was the team captain and he'd made up his mind not to interfere. Today's practice was proof to him that he'd made the right decision. After they'd returned to the common room, Ron pulled Harry aside.

"Do you have a minute, mate?"

"Sure," Harry said, noticing how nervous his friend looked.

"It's about Hermione..." he began, and then paused, looking around the common room. Harry's stomach leapt into his throat. Immediately, he wondered if Ron suspected something.

"It's about her birthday! I still haven't gotten her anything, and it's in five days! What did you get her?" This left Harry, who had been expecting the worst, momentarily stunned.

"I got her one of those quills that Connor has...the Quick Color Quill. They change the color of the ink. It's coming from France, but it's supposed to be here by tomorrow."

"That's bloody great...but I'm totally lost."

"Well, do you have any ideas?"

"None whatsoever. I keep thinking of all the things she's given us, but she already has them. None of the things I like would be good for her! You've got to help me out here!"

"Why me? You know her better than I do!"

"Perhaps," Ron agreed, "but look what you've gotten her! It's perfect!"

"Well...what about perfume, or some chocolates?"

"I don't know...they don't seem very Hermione, do they?"

"No," Harry agreed, "they don't."

"You haven't picked anything yet?" Ginny sat between Ron and Harry.

"It's about time you got here," Ron said. "I'm in a real fix."

Ginny looked around the common room, and saw Lavender and Parvati on the other end with some large star charts.

"Lavender! Parvati! Come over here a moment, would you?" They giggled at each other and approached Ginny and the two boys. Ron looked nearly terrified, and Harry almost started laughing himself. Lavender glared down at Harry, even though it was obvious that she was trying not to laugh.

"I supposed this is more drivel about the..."

"Shush!" Parvati interrupted. Ron continued to stare, oblivious to the inside joke of the prophecy. "What do you want? I mean, I assume you didn't just call us over to look at us." She struck a pose, and Harry and Ron were both momentarily silenced, while Ginny scowled slightly. Parvati giggled again and knelt next to them. "You didn't call us over just to look, did you?"

"Go on," Ginny prodded.

"Uh, no," Harry replied finally, "we're looking for a gift for someone...a girl I mean, and we need a little help." Ron was maintaining his silence, and Harry noticed he'd even blushed a little.

"Would that girl have a birthday coming up?"

"Er, yeah."

"Oooh," Lavender cooed, "she's going to be hard to buy for, too."

"Wait," Ron said, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "You know who we're talking about?"

Lavender didn't reply, but the look on her face said Ron was an idiot.

"Get the book," Ginny said.

Lavender spun on her heels and ran through the door that led to the girl's dormitories.

"Where's she going?" Ron asked.

"She's getting something," Parvati said. "So...how much are you looking to spend?"

Ron shrugged and Ginny looked at her hands, but Harry knew his friend was probably next to broke, so he spoke up for him.

"I don't think money is the, er, first thing we should look at. Let's just find some thing nice."

Three hours later, both Harry and Ron were mentally numb. The girls, on the other hand, were all excitedly paging through a large catalogue of jewelry. They must have pointed out a thousand rings, necklaces, broaches, cloak pins, and things that neither Harry nor Ron could identify. Finally, far too late into the evening, Ginny looked up from the pages of sparkling gems and shimmering gold.

"You'd better get serious if you're going to get her something out of here. They have a priority service, but even that takes two days."

Ron, who was looking at the vaulted ceiling, simply closed his eyes.

"I'm sunk."

Harry spent most of Sunday doing homework, but they also had their first D.A. meeting Sunday night. It was unusual to meet on a Sunday, at least for the D.A., but he wanted to pick a time for the very first meeting when most people would probably be free. Hagrid made good on his request by showing up, and though all of the students must have seen him, no one made any remarks. Hermione, as usual, was ready with an explanation.

"Last year, we were forced to do this without proper permission. This year, we've agreed to allow an instructor to attend our meetings, so there should be no question as to whether we're allowed to meet. That means there shouldn't be anyone raring to snitch," Hermione glared throughout the group, most of whom were members from last year. Harry felt that the group in this room was probably as trustworthy as they came, especially since most of them had heard about the Battle of the Ministry. From the rumors he'd caught, the news that Harry and his friends had taken on a group Death Eaters, and lived to tell about it was making a serious impression. He was afraid they'd come back less willing to learn with Umbridge gone, but from the very first meeting this year it looked as though they were ready to try harder than ever. In Harry's opinion, that was a very good thing. He normally didn't want people to pay attention to him, but if they insisted, the least they could do was be impressed by the correct bits. Harry didn't mind a few questions about the ministry if it got more people into the D.A. and willing to participate - as long as they didn't ask about Sirius. He still had his limits.

They covered a surprising bit of ground in the first meeting. There was a basket of the phony galleons that Hermione had concocted to warn them of meetings; and they discussed having two meetings a week, just to keep up with the influx of new members. The room of requirement had roughly doubled in size, and Harry, who felt a group this large might be a bit much to take on anyway, was left wondering whether he wanted to sacrifice two nights a week to a cause in which he truly believed, or whether he ought to take those who showed the most desire to be involved. In the end, he hated to turn away anyone, so he decided that if the current number of students showed a genuine interest, he'd do the two meetings. He promised himself he could change that later, if it got to be a problem. Later, he came across Ron thumbing nervously through the gargantuan jewelry catalogue.

"I found out what Hermione wants for her birthday!" he explained. "I saw her looking through the book earlier, and she pointed out a necklace that she liked."

"Good one, mate! Now all you have to do is order it."

"Well, that's the problem," Ron said glumly, "the reason she's not buying it is because it's over her budget. She's set aside ten galleons and it's thirteen."

"Ouch," Harry said, and Ron nodded in agreement.

"I've made a little bit of money selling gags for Fred and George, but I don't have anything near thirteen galleons. I have one, maybe two."

"Well, perhaps you could borrow it?"

"No way, Harry. I'm not borrowing twelve galleons from you. One or two, maybe, but no way I'm borrowing twelve. I couldn't pay that off in five years! I don't know why I thought I could get her anything nice...it's hopeless."

"Is there any way you could make some more?"

"Not in three days. I hate this...I hate..." Ron paused then, and looked away. A minute later he slumped back into his bed, and after a bit, when it became obvious that he was either sleeping or not talking, Harry went to sleep.

After Muggle Studies on Monday, Harry took his mother's amulet and gloves to Professor Flitwick. He was expecting the professor to keep them for testing, as had happened with his Firebolt. To his surprise, the tiny wizard's bright eyes sparkled with familiarity at the sight of the pendant.

"Oh, dear! When Professor Dumbledore mentioned you'd recovered a few of your mother's things, this was what I dared to hope for!" Professor Flitwick held out his hand, and Harry dropped the necklace into his palm. "Yes, I hoped, and now here it is! So, tell me what you know of it!"

"Er, well, it isn't transfigured or cursed, but it is charmed. The charm seems to have something to do with memories, but we couldn't figure out exactly what."

"And how do you know all this?"

"Hermione and I tested it, but we could be wrong."

"No, no...you're quite correct. That girl is amazing! I happen to know what this particular pendant does, since I was there when your mother created it."

"You were?"

"Oh yes! It was her sixth year final project! And a fine one, as well. Magic such as this does not come easy! Tell me: are you familiar with any magical memory devices, remembralls, perhaps, or pensives?"

"Sure," Harry said, "I know about both of them. Neville has a remembrall and Professor Dumbledore has a pensive."

"The remembrall is one of the simplest magical gadgets relating to memories. It does only one thing: it reminds you that you've forgotten something! The pensive, on the other hand, is tremendously difficult to create. Remember that it takes memories, and thoughts in the forms of memories, out of your head...you can understand why the witch or wizard creating it would have to be the top of their craft before you'd even consider using one."

"Yes, sir. So what does that do, exactly?" Harry pointed at his mother's pendant, and Professor Flitwick held it up.

"This particular piece stores one memory, and only one. I don't precisely remember the procedure for replicating and storing the memory, but I'm sure I still have your mother's attendant report. To recover the memory, you simply hold the pendent, touch it with your finger, and say Recordatio." Professor Flitwick handed the pendent back to Harry. "You may wish to do that in private, Mister Potter. Memories can be powerful things."

"Thank you, Professor. So it's safe to wear?"

"Oh, without a doubt. Now, let's take a look at those gloves, shall we?"

Harry and Professor Flitwick subjected the gloves to many of the same spells Hermione had used, plus quite a few more. Harry actually knew one or two of them, but he'd never thought to use them to detect magic. Finally, Professor Flitwick was forced to admit a momentary defeat. He promised he'd get them back to Harry as soon as possible, and Harry, who was profoundly grateful, thanked the professor and went back to Gryffindor Tower.

"That's a nice quill," Harry said. For a moment, it looked as if Ron doubted that Harry was talking to him, mostly because his quill looked rather used and abused, which of course it was.

"What are you on about?"

"I'd sure like to buy that quill."

"This quill?"

"That quill. I want it. What'll you take for it?"

"Oh, no, Harry. Not this again."

"Look, Ron, you can either keep the quill or get Hermione her gift. You better hurry up though, because it's looking uglier by the minute."

"Harry..."

"Look mate, it's not like I'm just giving you money, is it? I mean, I am buying something here." He looked around the dormitory. "And no one's around, so I suggest you decide quickly, before someone comes. They might want your quill too, and I'm not outbidding them." What Harry really meant was "No one is around to see me giving you money," and Ron knew it.

He was clearly torn, and Harry could understand why. He'd been in much the same position as the Weasley family, until Hagrid had shown him his family vault. Six years wasn't long enough to forget how it felt to wear second-hand clothing and have things only after they were used. It was probably even worse when you wanted to buy a gift for someone and you couldn't afford to do that. As far as Harry could see, there was no winning situation for his best friend. He tried to forget the gift was for Hermione. In his mind, he was giving the money to Ron; what Ron did with it after he got it was totally up to him.

"So what do you say? Willing to part with it?"

"How...how much?"

"You tell me."

"Three galleons?"

"Three galleons? It better turn ink into gold for that much! I'll give you two."

"Fine. That leaves me with ten galleons to go. I'm still sunk."

"Not so fast," Harry replied, "I'm not done yet." Within ten minutes, Harry had a sizable pile of Quidditch Weekly magazines, none of which were newer than four months old.

"Harry," Ron started, "this is..."

"I'd like these as well," Harry interrupted. "I've been running out of things to read lately. How's three galleons sound?" This was as ridiculous a lie as they came. Harry had been reading his school books backwards and forwards this year, and it seemed some of them had more of his writing in them than the authors'. Still, Ron's look of humiliation slowly faded to a grateful sort of shock.

"Er," Ron stammered, "more than fair? How about two?"

"Three it is!" Harry dropped the stack of magazines on the table next to his bed. Over the next half-hour, he managed to buy another two galleons' worth of generally useless stuff. By the end of the day, Ron had amassed seven galleons, three sickles, and fourteen knuts. When Dean and Seamus came in, both boys stopped their dealing immediately and retired to the common room, so that Ron could copy Harry's Transfiguration notes.

Harry had his Occlumency lesson that night, and spent a half-hour before getting ready. His book suggested that mental preparation was as important as ability, and it described several different ways to ready one's mind. Harry discovered the method that worked the best for him was total relaxation. Last year, he might have disbelieved anyone who suggested that; after all, it was when he was the most relaxed that he seemed to have problems with Voldemort getting into his mind. Now Harry understood that Voldemort had outguessed him, and let him discover things that weren't true. With the help of Poking a Stick in the Mind's Eye, he had learned it was easier for him to resist the probing and verbal jabs when his emotions were quelled. The book actually seemed to be well-written, and made more sense in general than the idea of Occlumency. It listed several techniques to help achieve this state, and Harry was taking turns with them, trying to discover which was best for him.

Snape must have noticed his performance incrementally increasing, but hadn't said anything about it. He still insulted Harry just as much, calling him names and describing exactly how arrogant and insignificant he felt Harry was, and lamenting the fact that he even had to deal with the Gryffindor troublemaker. Harry decided as long as he hadn't been kicked out, then Snape must be - at least in some part - satisfied. The pensive, so far, had remained out of sight. He still wasn't good enough to make it to the end of a lesson, progress or no progress, and in roughly forty-five minutes, Harry was on his way back to the Common Room with a splitting headache and serious thoughts as to the consequences resulting from inflicting willful harm upon a Professor.

He returned to find Ron engaged in a game of Wizard's Chess with a group of fourth years. Harry was no expert at chess, but he'd seen enough to recognize the current situation.

"Looks like you might lose this one, mate!" Harry said, goading on his red-haired friend.

"Lose? Are you bonkers? I've got them in five moves!"

"Care to place a little wager?"

"Ah, no," Ron said, with great certainty. "Absolutely not."

"Come on, live a little!" One of the fourth years was displaying a gleam in her eye that Harry knew well; he'd seen Ludo Bagman flash it before the first task of the Triwizard Tournament.

"Yeah, Ron," added Harry. "What do you say, a galleon a piece? That's seven galleons...I know Ron's good for it." Two of the fourth years decided they'd had quite enough, and one was ambivalent, but four looked upon the chessboard as though it was just another new challenge. Harry briefly wondered if he might be taking advantage of their Gryffindor courage, but a quick look around assured him that Hermione was absent, and therefore he wasn't breaking any rules. The one with the Bagman gleam in her eye eagerly dug two galleons from her robes.

"I've got you covered, Em." Em was Emer Rath, the reserve Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She looked doubtful, but in the end left her friend's money stacked on the table. The other three placed their coins upon the table as well, which drew a bit of a crowd.

"So that's five galleons to the winner," Emer's friend said. "You said you could do it in five moves, so that's what you've got."

"Ten," Ron replied, "I was just boasting." Harry stepped in.

"How about seven?" Harry noticed Ron didn't look particularly worried, and he knew his friend well enough to know that if there was anything worth worrying about, Ron would.

"Ten it is then," said the fourth year gambler. "Let's hurry this along a bit, shall we?"

At first, it looked as if the fourth year group was going to simply prevent Ron from the checkmate by keeping him in a stalemate. A knight and a bishop kept him tied up for four moves.

The game ended when one of the fourth years foolishly placed his knight in a position where Ron was able to capture it en passant. It was a beginner's mistake, but one for which Ron was thankful. It ended the stalemate, and Ron triumphantly went on to force the checkmate in exactly seven moves. A groan went up through the fourth years at the same exact moment a shriek echoed through the common room. The crowd scattered like drops of quicksilver.

"And just what is going on here?" Before he'd even seen Hermione's face, Ron had pocked his money and vaulted up the stairs to the dormitories. He wasted no time feeling conflicted over Harry's many dubious tactics to give him funds enough for the necklace; instead grabbing the envelope that had been ready to post since Sunday night. The small print in the catalog made clear that sending more than two galleons via Owl Post was not recommended or insured, so Harry instead had filled in the form with the account of the trust that was set up for him at Sirius's bequest. It wasn't that he didn't trust the company selling the baubles...he just didn't need another Daily Prophet article wondering who he was sweet on now. The trust fund, which was technically called the Black Phoenix Trust, was nicely anonymous. At first, Ron refused to even look at it, but as soon as he reached the dormitories after the chess game, he pushed all of the money he'd collected into Harry's hands.

"Quick, we've got to get to the owlry! I might make it after all!"

Harry and Ron rushed out under the invisibility cloak, and with the help of the Marauder's map, avoided any run-ins. Hedwig and Pigwidgeon were both ecstatic to see them, hooting and unseating the other owls with their fluttering. Pigwidgeon nearly exploded in his excitement; and Ron was too excited to even scold him, snatching him from the air as if the tiny owl was a Golden Snitch. He wasted no time attaching the order to Pig's leg, and whispered in his ear. The diminutive owl shot from Ron's hand directly through the window and into the night, leaving a floating comet-tail of down in his wake. Hedwig gave Harry a dirty look and flew up to the rafters, where she refused to acknowledge him any further, in spite of his modest pleas. He didn't feel up to a fight with his owl tonight, though, and didn't try very hard.

Instead, he looked to the money in his hand.

"Ron, you've given me too mutch!"

"What?"

"You've given me too much, mate! The shipping was thirteen sickles, and you've given me fourteen galleons. I owe you four sickles, which I haven't got." Harry handed his friend a galleon instead. "That's all I've got on me." He could see Ron was about to open his mouth, so he headed the forthcoming argument off before it even got started. "You can buy me a butterbeer the next time we have a Hogsmeade weekend. That'll make us even, that's about four sickles."

Ron thought about that for a moment. Something in the wording seemed slightly off, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

"Yeah, alright." He slipped the galleon back into his pocket. Harry wasn't a quick talker, but sometimes you didn't have to be, when it came to Ron Weasley.

The next morning, Harry's furniture had again been defaced.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed. Not being one for such language, he attracted Ron's attention.

"Here, mate! What's your problem? It's only just seven, you can't be angry yet."

"Look!" Harry said, pointing to a spot on his table. To Ron, it looked as if it had been scratched with a knife. Seamus, who'd wandered up behind them, voiced his opinion.

"Looks like you've got a friend, Potter. Who'd do something like that?"

"I don't know!"

"Well," Ron said, "It's never happened before." His intentions were obvious as both he and Seamus glared at the empty bed normally occupied by Connor. Neither cared much for the American, who had kept his distance. They'd accepted him after Harry told the story about what happened in the dungeon with Snape, but he still seemed to rub them all, with the exception of Harry and Neville, the wrong way.

"That's right," Finnigan added. "Don't you think it's odd that he's always gone when we wake up?"

"He runs in the mornings!" Neville said, defending his friend. "Why would he do such a thing, he doesn't have a problem with Harry!" Harry felt Neville was probably right. If it was Connor, he'd carve the dirty words on the desks of those people who didn't treat him well. That certainly wouldn't be Harry. There was something else, though, something he'd thought of the first time this had happened and forgot.

"Connor wasn't sleeping here the first time this happened."

"That doesn't mean he couldn't have just walked in," Ron said, clearly not impressed.

"You have to admit," Dean added from behind Seamus, "it is bloody suspicious. I, for one, don't trust him. I'll be keeping a better eye on him from now on."

"Oh, come off it," Neville flared. He didn't say anymore, instead choosing to leave for breakfast, which was probably a good thing. The crowd around Harry's bureau dispersed, and Harry steeled himself for another round of double-long Potions.

Mercifully, it was uneventful and silent. Draco Malfoy seemed particularly dour; content to remain in the back corner and skulk with Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott. Harry would never turn down an opportunity to silence Malfoy; but, in this case, he was a little nervous imagining what the Slytherin prefect was dreaming up. Connor was also keeping to himself, and Harry thought he knew why. He'd caught a glimpse of the American and Neville in the hallway before class. This was nothing new; Neville was still trying to get into Potions and Connor had been taking notes for him since the start of the year. Today, however, Neville probably had a few things to add to their normal small-talk. Connor hadn't looked at Harry through the entire class, and there was a strained charge in the air. After class, Harry approached Connor directly.

"Look, I don't think you did it, it's just the other guys can be a little rough. We've been together since we started school, anyone new is going to cause a few ripples."

"Right," said Neville who had slipped in behind them when Harry wasn't looking. "Except what he really means is: Anyone who makes the witches of Hogwarts swoon like Connor can go straight to hell."

"Now, Neville," Hermione began, but Neville interrupted her.

"Now, nothing! Do you know how I get treated? Oh, it's just Neville, just Neville! Don't worry if he does something wrong or gets blown up...that's to be expected...it's just Neville! Well maybe you didn't notice this, which would be a first for you, her know-it-all highness, but Connor has been the first one to ever respect me for what I can do. Maybe you should look at some of the people who've had a history of being jackasses, instead of the ones with a history of being kind!" Neville stormed off, leaving the other Gryffindors to stand in guilty silence.

Harry was reminded of Snape's memories of his father and their group...James and Sirius had been two of the most popular students at Hogwarts, and two of the more likely to single out others. That led to a brief thought of his mother's pendent. He desperately wanted to use it, but he was afraid of what he would see. He knew it couldn't be as bad as Snape's memories, but he'd never really met his father, and had to resort to imagining what he was like. He'd discovered over the last few years that whatever he may have imagined correctly, he'd also missed things, things other people had repeatedly told him. His father was arrogant. He was also cruel, at least at times. He looked up to see Connor shifting from foot to foot, which brought him back to his current situation.

"Look, I'm sorry, mate," Harry said to Connor, who simply shrugged and looked as if he didn't want to be anywhere near the Potions dungeons and the arguing Gryffindors. "I don't think you did it, I really don't, and I'll say something to Dean and Seamus next time I see them."

"And I'll talk to Ron," Hermione added. Connor remained silent, and he stayed that way for the rest of the day.

That Saturday, Harry found himself alone in the dormitory, considering their chances to retake the Quidditch cup. It had been a long practice, and he'd gone back to his bed for an early night. Even with a light class load, Harry was still doing a lot of work, and he was a bit worn out.

As he pondered their new Red and Gold strategies and plays, he realized something cold was pressing into the back of his neck. Harry sat bolt upright and groped for the chain he was wearing, lifting his mother's pendant over his head and examining it in the last bits of light that shone feebly through the high dorm windows at this late hour. The Quidditch players would be returning soon, and the time had come for him to see what memory, if any, his mother had deemed worthy of being stored forever. Was he ready for that? Harry took a deep breath.

"Recordatio."

Instead of the half-falling, half-being jerked sensation the pensive produced, Harry was suddenly spinning in a circle, until he came to rest in a room he vaguely recognized as the prefect's lavatory, on the fourth floor. It looked nearly the same as he remembered it, except there were several mermaids upon the wall instead of just the one, and at the moment, they were all lined up at the near side of the pool-sized bath, trying to catch a glimpse of the two other people in the room.

A young lady with auburn hair was kneeling behind a boy, who was sitting, facing the bath. His back was covered with bruises, cuts, and scrapes, and Harry saw several in almost the exact shapes of shoe soles and boot heels. The redhead, his mother, was dabbing at the multitude of cuts with a white cloth, and there was a small box next to her that was loaded with jars of salves and balms. Every once in a while, the boy - his father - Harry realized, would wince and suck in a breath. They looked to be his age, so Harry guessed this was either their sixth year or seventh year. Harry had never imagined that anything could do something like that to his father. Was it a Quidditch accident? Could this have been the day after a full moon? Harry knew first hand what kind of damage Remus was capable of in his werewolf form. His mother whispered something he didn't catch, and he moved forward to get a better look and to hear what they were saying.

"...Rosier and Avery were the only ones I recognized," said his father, "but there were three others. Damn Sirius!"

"Where is he, anyway? Usually, when someone gets hurt, he's not far behind."

"Usually, when someone gets hurt he does it. As for where he is...hell if I know," James Potter replied sourly. "His motorbike is missing. Do a head count of the fourth through seventh year girls. If he would have been there, I wouldn't have had a problem."

"I thought there were five of them?"

"So?" James looked absolutely confused, as if the thought of him and Sirius losing to five or more people in a fight was beyond belief.

"But why, James? Why couldn't you wait for Remus?"

"Remus is still ill, and he will be for a few more days. They had Pettigrew. Who knows what those sick bastards would have done." Lily shook her head.

"What did Peter do to get involved in all this?"

"He got caught alone in the hall, is what he says. Knowing Peter, I can't imagine he'd have shot his mouth off to them all by himself. I mean sure, maybe if we were there, but..."

"What was he doing wandering the halls alone?"

"He said he thought we were mad at him. I don't know why...we haven't done anything extraordinarily mean..." Noticing the conspicuous silence from Lily, he added, "lately."

"As terrible as you are to the poor boy, that doesn't surprise me." She hit a particularly sore spot on his back and he shuddered, nearly falling into the bath. Lily slipped her left arm under his and around his chest, and falling backwards, managed to keep James mostly dry. She remained seated behind him, with her legs on either side of him, leaning over his left shoulder. Harry had to move very close to hear them now. He could see a small tinge of red where James had bled into the water.

"I told him our friends had to have thick skin, and our enemies had to have dragon-hide armor. Honestly, he needs to learn that whatever we say, he's still our friend."

Lily didn't say anything. She just remained pressed against James, her head rested upon his shoulder and arms around his battered body. They stayed that way for an agonizing eternity, until she finally spoke.

"My James, charging in against terrible odds to rescue poor Peter!"

"Oh, so I'm your James now?"

"You know, in your current condition, I could probably drown you."

"Your James, without a doubt." James Potter placed his scuffed hands over his future wife's. All of a sudden, Harry noticed that the room had grown significantly darker, and was dimming more by the moment. This must be the end of the memory. Harry didn't want it to end; he was still sorting through all the feelings he had. He knew he was angry at whoever would do that to his father. The remark James had made about them not doing anything terrible to their friend lately also bothered him. And, where was Sirius? He could guess that Lupin was recovering from a transformation, but Sirius should have been there for his friend. And to think his father had taken this kind of beating for the treacherous rat Wormtail - that made Harry fume. It was probably a good thing he passed directly from the memory in the amulet to a deep sleep, because when he awoke to an empty dormitory the next day, he'd had a chance to cool off.

He went straight to his chest, digging the mirror from the sweater in which it was wrapped. He took a deep breath and spoke the word that activated it.

"Friend." After what seemed like forever but couldn't have been more than a minute or two, the mirror flashed blue and Dumbledore was peering out at Harry.

"Harry? Is something amiss?"

"No, sir," Harry said, "I was actually looking for Remus. I wanted to ask him some questions about Sirius and my dad."

"Ah." They both paused for a bit, waiting. "Remus doesn't appear to be available. Perhaps I could help?"

"Thanks, but I don't think you'd know. I was just wondering about one particular fight my father might have gotten into."

"Ah...he did seem to have a...propensity. I believe you were correct in ascertaining that you'd need Remus's help. I only kept up with the, ah, shall we say, major issues. Is there anything else I can assist you with, Harry?"

"Not today, Headmaster; thanks."

"Then enjoy your weekend."

Harry Potter and the Chains that Bind

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