The Marauder's Map

Harry had not even finished the second letter when the map begun to shake violently. He sprang back, watching it in a mixture of trepidation and excitement. The trembles came faster, until it was vibrating too fast for his eye to follow. All that could be seen now was a strange, supernatural blue glow, which got brighter and brighter until the entire fluorescent sphere (for that was what it was now) rose up about a foot off his bed, and expanded to take on the outline of a human body. With a sudden blinding flash, the glow disappeared, leaving a very surprised-looking boy in its wake. As if on an afterthought, an old piece of parchment materialised between the two teenagers, and floated down, a relic of what the marauders once were.

The entire sequence of events had taken place in complete silence.

The newly-appeared boy was staring down at himself, as if he had not been in his own body for many years. Harry could only stare in wonder. It was like looking into a mirror - except without the lightning-bolt scar, and with eyes, which were not the bright, piercing green of his own, but a soft, hazel brown.

They just stared at each other for what seemed like hours, until being disturbed by Ron, shifting position in the bed opposite.

This seemed to shake the hazel-eyed boy out of a reverie. He shook his head as though to clear it, and hesitantly spoke.

"Uh... could you get me some clothes?"

Harry was startled, but suddenly realised that his father wasn't wearing anything, not even any glasses. He shook himself, and reaching below his bed, grabbed a pair of pants, some blue jeans, and a T-shirt. Tossing them at the other boy, he whispered,

"We can't talk here, we'll wake them. Come down to the common room when you've got dressed."

The recipient of all this, however, was not moving. He was still gazing around the room, squinting in wonder and amazement.

Harry took off his glasses, and gave them to him. Putting them on, the other boy's eyes widened, and he continued gazing.

Harry could not stand it any more. "Meet me in the common room," he hissed, and jumped up, going as fast as he could without making any noise down the stairs and into the common room. He collapsed on a chair near the fire, which was dying out; only a few embers were left.

Staring at them, he began to grasp what had just happened.

He had brought his Father back.

His Father.

James.

Prongs.

Dad.

Alive, sitting, getting dressed quietly in Harry's bed, shaken but unharmed, and alive.

He sat, turning this thought over in his mind for a few moments, until a voice from behind him disturbed his thoughts.

"At least the clothes fit alright."

Harry swung around, to see his Father, dressed in some old jeans and a T-shirt, standing behind him, smiling slightly. He rushed forward, and stopped in front of him.

"Dad..."

The hazel-eyed boy started grinning. "It feels so weird, you calling me 'Dad'. I mean, you're pretty much the same age as me, give or take a few months. And you're certainly just as short as me."

Harry grinned too. It was impossible not too, when faced with such a happy face. And suddenly they were in each others arms, laughing and crying with equal vitality. Harry had not been this happy since he could remember; he had family, family who cared, family to laugh with, family to cry with. This was James Potter, the man who gave life to him, the man who loved him, and the man who died for him, all here in the form of a boy of his age. For the first time in his life, he was happy - no, he was more than happy: he was content.

At last, they broke apart, high on euphoria. "Just call me James," the other boy said, in answer to Harry's unspoken question.

"So," he went on, "I married Lily Evans, did I? I did, I can see it in your eyes. Literally." He grinned, but then his smile faded, and he looked almost pensive. How did it happen?"

This was the question that Harry had been dreading; did it have to come so soon? But he had already known that he had to, and it was better sooner than later. He opened his mouth.

"It's... It's a long story."

James mere waited expectantly. "Remember, I don't know about anything that's happened since... well, nineteen years ago."

Harry took a deep breath, and started speaking. He told James of Voldemort's gaining of power until fifteen years ago, of the fidelis charm, of Peter and Sirius, James had gone white at this last bit, and opened his mouth several times to interrupt Harry, but Harry didn't let him; he knew that if he stopped speaking he would never be able to start again. So he continued, telling James of living with the Dursley's, of finding out he was a wizard, of the Philosopher's stone, of the Chamber of Secrets, of Sirius's escape, and of Voldemort's return last year. He left no detail out: he had finally found someone whom he could trust implicitly, more so than even Ron or Hermione, and he had known them for four years. And he was not going to have any more secrets from his Dad.

It took much longer than he thought it would.

Throughout all this, James stood still, listening. When Harry had finally stopped, he sat down, hard, on one of the chairs and stayed silent. He stayed like that for a good half hour, thinking, assimilating and absorbing this untold wealth of information that had just been placed in front of him. Harry was watching him, worried. Was it too much for him to take in, all in one go? James had just been told of the entire future of his past self. A lot of things he had taken for granted in his previous life were shattered myths here. Harry tried to put himself in his Father's position. Four friends, together, creating a map for mischief-making, and the next moment, stuck outside his time, everyone that he had known now changed; one of his best friends having been entombed in Azkaban for eleven years, another having betrayed the rest of them. Himself and his future wife dead. How could it be possible to digest so much information at once without having a nervous breakdown? Harry started to seriously worry. Beads of sweat were appearing on James' forehead. But he stayed quiet, watching and waiting, afraid of disturbing his Dad, afraid of stopping the learning process now.

But soon he had no choice. The first beads of light were appearing from one of the high windows. Harry glanced at the ancient, wooden clock suspended above the fireplace; it was nearly five o'clock. A wave of fear swept over him; what was he going to do when the rest of his house came downstairs in an hour or two? How was he going to explain it? And even if the students didn't recognise him, surely the teachers would. What was he going to do?

Even as he thought those words, though, he knew what the answer would be. He would have to go to Dumbledore, and explain all. Nothing short of the complete and absolute truth would carry any weight with the headmaster. Hesitantly, he interrupted his Father's thoughts.

"James...?"

James looked up slowly. He took a while to answer, but when he did, it was in a surprisingly stable voice.

"Yes?"

"We need to tell Dumbledore. I can't keep you hidden."

James' reply was said in a tone a graceful acceptance. "Yes." He paused for a few seconds, then continued. "I'd better get the invisibility cloak, in case Filch is up. Assuming Filch is still caretaker...?"

"He is, yes," Harry responded, "But I'll get the cloak in case Ron or Neville are up."

As quietly as he could, he stole up the stairs and into the dorm, grabbed the cloak, and crept back down again, putting it over both of them. Carefully opening the portrait hole to prevent the ever-present squeak proved to be pointless, because the Fat Lady gave one on behalf of it. "Who's there?" Her voice followed them as they crept down the hallway and up the stairs to the next floor. They were silent as they crept along the dusty hallways, until they reached an ugly stone gargoyle that they both knew led to Dumbledore's office. Both whispered to the other at the same time:

"Sweets."

Harry mentally tried going through all the sweets he'd seen in Honeydukes last time he was there. "Chocolate Frogs, Sugar Quills, Fizzing Whizbees, Pepper Imps, Cockroach Clusters, Acid Pops, Jelly Slugs, Liquorice Wands, Fudge Flies..." He was trying to think of some more when James interrupted:

"It's not always a wizarding sweet. Try Sherbet Lemon."

To Harry's surprise, the gargoyle started opening. "He used that one in my first year. Isn't it a bit insecure to use the same one twice?"

James grinned. "If he wanted to keep his office secure he wouldn't keep using sweets. He used that password at least twice a year when I was here." Harry returned the grin, but paused half way up the staircase.

"You'd better stay here whilst I explain - I've got a suspicion that he can see through invisibility cloaks, and you don't want to give him a heart attack - do you?

James snorted, but nodded his head to agree, and sat down on the stairs to wait whilst Harry, with due trepidation, ascended the stairs and knocked on the door.