A Reflection of Himself

The year was 1980, and it was one of those days of which memories are made.

The bell rang, signaling James Potter that someone was at the door, and as his wife Lily fussed over their month-old son, little Harry Potter, he practically bounced to the door and swung it open with a grand gesture, the excitement of the occasion evident all over his face.

"Prongs!" came the equally excited voice of the young man at the door, who grinned widely and pulled James into a brotherly embrace.

"Padfoot!" James returned the words and then the embrace.

"Am I allowed in, or is Lily still mad at me?" Sirius asked in a mock-sheepish voice.

"Nah, she's over it," James said, with a nonchalant wave of the hand. "You'd never know her hair was green before."

Sirius laughed and stepped into the house. The Potter home was neither extravagant nor humble, but fell nicely into the middle. Despite the large family forture, the Potters had never flaunted their wealth, much unlike most pureblood wizarding families. Shortly before Harry's birth, an unfortunate and tragic attack had taken place on the Potter household, ending the lives of both of James's beloved parents. There was now a trace of sadness in James's brown eyes as he regarded Sirius, of which Sirius returned, for the Potters had been his surrogate parents and had meant as much to him as they had to their son of blood.

Neither of them spoke of the loss, though, for that was in the past, and no amount of wishing could change what had happened. The way of the Marauders had been one of laughter, and besides, neither of the late Potters would have wanted to see their son saddened on a day like today.

Sirius seated himself in one of the simple yet comfortable chairs in the living room. "When will they be here?" he asked. "They'd best not be late, especially Moony... always running behind, he is."

"Impatient, are we, Sirius?" James inquired, taking the seat opposite him.

No sooner had James sat down when the bell rang again, and James smiled. "That would be them now, I believe."

Going to the door, James opened it, although not quite as enthusiastically this time. His best friend in the world had already arrived, after all, but the arrival of his two other good friends was also worth smiling over.

"Hullo, Moony... Wormtail," he greeted them.

"Hey, Prongs," Lupin said with a polite smile.

Pettigrew, however, just nodded slightly. James regarded the shorter man for a moment, wondering if there was something troubling him. Over the years, Peter had always been the shy, quiet one of the group, and so, it was difficult to tell what was going through his mind at times. Since their days at Hogwarts, Peter seemed to be slowly distancing himself from his friends, and when they would ask him about it, he would simply shrug and say that it certainly wasn't on purpose.

If only James had known the truth...

The four young men of twenty-one years of age all gathered around the living room, awaiting Lily's arrival with Harry. When she finally entered, she was holding little Harry. The infant was wrapped in a green blanket and was sleeping soundly. It was only when a loud pop came from within the room that Harry woke up and began to wail, quite angry at the disruption.

Albus Dumbledore had arrived, and placing his aged hands on Harry's head, he murmured, "Hello there, little one. You needn't cry, for today is a happy day."

Lily and James's hearts rose within their chests, and each took a step closer to Dumbledore. Sirius couldn't stop himself from beaming. Dumbledore asked for each of them to place their right hand on Harry's hand, and as they proceeded to do so, Harry stopped crying, probably more confused by what was occurring more than anything.

Dumbledore recited something in Latin, the usual words that were apparently spoken during a baptism in the wizarding world. Then, he looked at Lily and James directly in the eyes and asked, "Will you raise this child in all that is good and pure, teaching him the ways of light, and so preparing him for the world when one day he is grown?"

"We will," they said in unison.

With a smile and a nod, Dumbledore then focused his blue gaze on Sirius and asked, "And, Sirius, will you be like a second father to this child, prepared to take the place of his real father should anything befall him, and be an example of the way of light?"

"I will," Sirius said.

Lily began to cry tears of joy, and applause filled the room. Then, the surroundings began to blur and fade into darkness.

"I will, I will, I will," Sirius murmured.

And then he opened his eyes.

Reliving the memory of the day he had become Harry's godfather over seventeen years prior made him feel as if the day had been yesterday. Who, on that blessed day so long ago, could have known the events that would come to pass? How Peter's betrayal would cost James and Lily their lives, unfairly and unjustly condemn Sirius to twelve years in Azkaban, and leave poor Lupin alone and oftentimes unemployed? Above all, who would have known that Harry would have grown into the man that he was today, the only one who could defeat Voldemort once and for all?

Sirius gazed out into the darkness that was Lupin's office, his shaggy bangs hanging in his eyes. He supposed he could shout until someone heard him, but the walls in Hogwarts were rather sound-proof. He wasn't even sure what the time was, but it was definitely the middle of the night. Over the past several months, Sirius had grown lonely being stuck in the portrait, despite being able to communicate with Lupin, Harry, and others. Every time he saw someone, it was on their terms, not his.

Then, he remembered something, and he suppressed the urge to smack himself senseless for not thinking such a thing earlier. Many of the portraits in Hogwarts were enchanted to be able to move freely throughout each others' frames. Come first thing in the morning when Lupin walked into the office, Sirius would inquire about having such an enchantment placed upon his portrait, perhaps by Dumbledore himself.

But, for now, there were still several hours of waiting before he would have such an opportunity. October was fast approaching, and Sirius wondered why Harry had not visited him much since his return to the school. He knew the boy - no, young man - had much on his wary mind. Surely Harry had not forgotten about him?

Some embittered sadness penetrated Sirius's tired mind, for remembering the day he had become Harry's godfather brought back many feelings, most of which involved regret over having not been able to take James's place, which he had sworn to do.

He spent the remainder of the night dozing off and waking up, and when light finally entered the room from the opening door, a relieved smile came across Sirius's face. In strolled Lupin, humming softly to himself, and he went for his desk, where he placed his briefcase and took a seat, facing Sirius.

"Oh, and good morning to you, old boy," Lupin said, regarding Sirius. "You all right?"

Sirius sighed, "Been better. Last night was worse than most."

"Oh?"

Lupin raised his eyebrows inquiringly, and Sirius began to explain his daydreaming and the recounting of the memory he felt like he had relived. A thoughtful expression covered Lupin's face, a half-smile of remembrance evident with the sadness in his eyes.

"Yes, I remember that day like it was yesterday," Lupin murmured. "Has it really been so long?"

Lupin caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror on the wall in his office, and chuckling slightly, remarked, "Yeah, I guess it has."

Sirius knew that had he not been in this portrait, his appearance, too, would have been aged with years of hardship, worn ragged around the edges, frayed and torn in the middle.

"How's Harry doing in class?" Sirius asked off-handedly.

"He's been rather quiet," Lupin said, going through some of the papers on his desk. "I think there's more on his mind than he's been willing to admit or tell anyone."

"Well, maybe he ought to pay his old godfather a visit and release some of that pent-up frustration... anger... bitterness... worry?" Sirius trailed off, unsure of what emotion - or perhaps emotions - Harry was hiding from most of the rest of the world.

"Padfoot, old mate, he'll come to us when he's ready. Harry really has grown up, you realize."

"Yes, more than I have realized," Sirius observed in a mixed tone of voice.

To Sirius, Harry had grown up too quickly. While he could not have been prouder of him, he was also feeling the full effect of the loss he had suffered. Being in Azkaban had more than stripped away his own soul; it had prevented him from seeing Harry grow up, and even when he was supposedly free from prison, the chances he had to be with Harry had been few, more like rare glimpses into his life, mere fragments that didn't seem to make the puzzle of his connection with Harry whole.

"Well," Lupin sighed, "it's no use worrying about right now. I'm sorry to leave you again, but I've a class of third years to teach in about five minutes."

"Sure thing," Sirius said. "See you later, Moony."

Lupin wished Sirius a good day and left the office, keeping just a couple of candles lit to keep Sirius in the light. As soon as Lupin left, though, Sirius realized that he hadn't asked Lupin about getting Dumbledore to enchant his portrait so he could move freely like the rest of the portraits in the castle.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Sirius muttered, annoyed with himself. He continued to grumble for the better part of a half an hour before quieting himself.

Meanwhile, Harry was on his way to his first class of the day: History of Magic. Ron and Hermione flanked him on either side, and while Hermione chattered away about what Binns would be lecturing on during the next class period, for she had already read that chapter, of course, Ron leaned toward Harry and whispered, "D'you honestly think you'll be able to keep your eyes open during class?"

Harry snorted. "I think you ought to be asking yourself that question as well, mate. You're just as likely to doze off as I am."

"Yeah, well, I haven't been the one staying up all night," Ron remarked.

Hermione overheard that last comment and looked at Harry with concern all over her face as they entered the classroom and took their usual seats.

"You're still not sleeping properly, Harry?" she questioned.

Harry sighed. "Guys, please, don't worry about it. You're just likely to aggravate me more than anything."

Hermione wasn't so easily convinced. "We've been through this before, Harry," she practically lectured. "Many times, in fact. Maybe you ought to see Madam Pomfrey if you're still having trouble sleeping. She could give you something to help you sleep."

"I'm not taking some sort of sleeping draught," Harry said with a grimace. "I'll be fine."

Hermione was about to argue the point yet again when Professor Binns floated into the room. The ghost of a professor perched himself - or more like floated just above - the podium at the front of the classroom. His monotonous voice began droning on and on about some war or another from the sixteenth century, and Harry's eyelids grew heavy in a matter of five minutes.

Suddenly, he found himself surrounded by darkness. Momentarily panicking, Harry desperately looked around for something familiar, and then he heard it - Voldemort's cackling laughter, mocking him.

Red slits for eyes glowed, breaking through the darkness like daggers, staring Harry down, daring him to fight back.

"You thought you were safe, Potter," hissed the malevolent voice. "So foolish to think that old fool would protect you forever. So foolish indeed. Now where has he gotten himself?"

Harry didn't say anything, but just glared back with complete hatred at those horrifying eyes.

"See for yourself, you silly boy," mocked Voldemort.

Then, a flash of bright light illuminated the area to Harry's right. He didn't want to look, for he knew Voldemort was toying with him, trying to bait him into defeat, but the urge to look grew too great. Finally, sweat pouring down his neck and brow, Harry turned his head stiffly to the right. The sight before his eyes was terrifying beyond words. Blood was splattered all over white, the red matching Voldemort's eyes. The body was twisted and gored beyond recognition. Harry felt the urge to vomit and promptly pass out, but then he felt a hard knock in the head, and his eyes opened.

He was in the History of Magic classroom. A few of the students nearby were giggling, and Harry felt a dull, throbbing pain on the side of his head. He looked over at Ron and Hermione beside him.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You fell asleep, mate," Ron supplied. "And then you fell over in your seat and hit your head on the desk. Rather embarrassing, if you ask me."

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine... just tired."

Although she didn't appear to believe him, Hermione nodded and returned to taking notes. Binns was so wrapped up in lecturing that he had not even noticed the whole incident.

Harry tried to concentrate on taking notes, but it was to no avail. His head was still sore, but oddly enough, his scar wasn't the source of the pain. Maybe he had simply knocked his head on the surface of the desk, and perhaps the dream had been only that - a dream and nothing more.

When class let out, Harry kept quiet, not wanting to worry his friends further or unnecessarily. He wondered if he should go to Dumbledore, but after his last meeting with the Headmaster, Harry wasn't so sure if Dumbledore would bring any sort of comfort or reassurance. In fact, he had done the opposite last time.

Harry went to his next class and tried to focus his attention on Professor McGonagall as she lectured, thinking that maybe it really was for the best to go on acting as if nothing were really happening in the world outside the castle walls.

So, Harry went to lunch and to his afternoon classes, then to dinner, and finally retired to the common room to work on his homework that evening. Ron and Hermione knew that something was off about Harry, and while Hermione kept insisting she needed to ask, Ron told her to leave him be for the time being. Harry had enough on his mind, he argued, without having to be annoyed with his friends on top of everything else.

Ginny sat by Harry's side, occasionally glancing at him in concern, but he was oblivious to her pretty, worried face. While in the middle on his Transfigurations assignment, Harry found himself feeling distracted and staring into the flames in the fireplace, losing himself to those around him and thinking... just thinking... for all Harry could think about was that crumpled, bloodied body he had seen.