Albus Dumbledore watched his Potions Master stride up and down the carpeted floor in the Dursleys sitting room, more distressed than he had ever seen the man before. Severus was, in fact, more distressed than he had been when he had realised that the Dark Lord had targeted the Potters and subsequently killed Lily and James all those years ago.

If Severus but knew it, he was acting just like any other father who was worried because his child was not where he was supposed to be. And as worried as Albus was himself, because Harry had been missing now for six hours, he was quietly pleased to see this frantic and furious man wearing a track in the Dursley's quite plebeian carpet.

"When I get my hands on him," growled Severus, "he will think my punishments for his more infantile misdemeanours at Hogwarts were the height of leniency. He will be lucky if he ever gets the slime from disembowelled frogs and flobberworms out from under his fingernails again, because he will be performing these unpleasant tasks from now until..."

"That's the anger talking, Severus," advised Arthur. "The worry will be uppermost in your mind again soon enough.

"Worry! I'm just worried that I won't be able to restrain myself when I get hold of him, Weasley."

"Wait until you're a father..." Severus stopped pacing long enough to shoot a basilisk's glare at the father of seven.

"The voice of experience, Weasley?" sneered Severus, wishing he could throw in the fact that apparently, he was a father. That was why they were in this mess.

Arthur smiled, but it did little to erase the worry lines making his face look a good ten years older. "I could have twenty children, Severus and I would still be reluctant to say I am experienced. They all present you with different problems and they all require a different approach. I consider Harry as one of my own..." He didn't notice how Severus stiffened just before he spun away and paced to the window again, pulling the netting aside to peer out into the darkness. "...and I have to say, even with some of the twins' more spectacularly disastrous antics, Harry and Ron have caused me more grey hairs over the last five years than Fred and George have in their lifetime.

"And then," Arthur continued to prattle, after an encouraging nod from Dumbledore, "when I thought my reproducing days were over, my darling Molly informs me that we were expecting again, and eight months down the track, she presented me with my biggest challenge since the birth of Bill."

Severus was still staring out the window and Arthur wasn't even sure that his fellow Order member was even listening. Still, he knew, as did Dumbledore, that his voice was filling the strained silence and it was helping to defuse the explosive tension in the room.

"A girl! We couldn't believe it. The first girl to be born to a Weasley for seven generations. And with her advent into what was basically an all male household, I was presented with a whole new set of problems..."

"Ah, Ginevra...and Dudley; tea...wonderful!" Dumbledore cried, taking pity on Arthur and pleased at the timely arrival of the refreshments that he was sure no-one really wanted. The ritual did help to fill in time though. He moved with alacrity to take the heavy tea-tray that Dudley had carried into the room and set it down on the coffee table. Ginny was carrying a plate of biscuits and the milk jug, both of which she placed near the tray.

"Come, Severus, you need to relax a little. Come and have a cup of tea. I'll be mother, shall I?"

Severus continued to stare out into the night. "I do not want a cup of tea," he responded through obviously clenched teeth. Albus ignored him and poured some of the burgundy liquid into a cup and added a small amount of milk, the way he knew Severus preferred it.

"Sit down Professor Snape, or I will tie you to a chair." Severus turned around and scowled darkly at the sodding old git. Who did he think he was talking to?"

"And as one of your students is here, I don't imagine that is something you would wish her to see." Dumbledore threw a wink at Ginny as he handed Arthur a cup of tea. Ginny hunched in the dining chair she had commandeered, panicking a little as her headmaster drew her into the spotlight. She had been trying to keep a low profile, hoping to avoid an argument with her father. She was frightened that he was going to send her home, and she needed to be here to find out first hand what was happening in the search for Harry. So far, she had avoided being sent home because Bill and their father had been too busy and preoccupied to take her back to the Burrow, and this house wasn't connected to the floo network. Of course, Ginny was on tenterhooks waiting for her mother to contact her father, wanting to know why they weren't yet home-and when she did...well, Ginny wasn't going without a fight.

She watched from her low position in her chair as her headmaster continued with his self-appointed task of pouring the tea. Dumbledore was aware, as he poured a third cup, that Severus had grudgingly left the window and thrown himself down in one of the lounge chairs.

"Where the bloody hell are they?" he growled before taking a sip of the drink he did not want."

"The children, Severus," admonished Dumbledore. "And you know our fellow Order members know what they are doing." Severus took another deep gulp of his tea to prevent himself swearing some more at his boss-bloody old coot! How could he be so calm? Dumbledore knew as well as Severus just what trouble Harry could get into on his travels between the Quidditch Pitch and Gryffindor tower! Right now, he was out in the wide world somewhere-and in a less than cognitive state, so God knew what the little fool was up to. Severus was ready to tear his hair out, and he could actually feel it changing from black to grey.

With his frustration and anger mounting by the second, Severus flung himself out of the chair again-ignoring the tea that slopped over the side of his cup-and strode to his vantage point by the window. Dumbledore and Arthur looked at each other, as did Ginny and Dudley.

Dudley too had tried to stay out of everyone's way since he had re-entered the house after the fruitless search the two wizards had conducted with his help.. He had taken them to the places that he knew Harry sometimes hung about in, which, when he thought about it, were pathetically few. He and Piers and Malcolm had made sure that.

Dudley had led his magical companions along the High Street where Harry had often walked, though that was all he had ever done, because he had never had any money to spend in the shops. Dudley was uncomfortably aware that he had always had plenty of money, as had his mates, and they had often seen Harry and taunted him as they filled their faces with pastries and take away fish and chips, or hamburgers. He had been too ashamed to say anything to his current companions, but he was uncomfortably aware that Professor Snape at least might have suspected just how much Dudley and his friends had mercilessly bullied Harry. Yeah, Dudley was sure, because of the way the man glared at him sometimes, that Professor Snape definitely knew how badly Harry had been treated over the years that he had lived with the Dursleys.

After about fifteen minutes spent walking along the High street, Professor Snape had stepped into a narrow alleyway. He had taken out his wand while Mr Weasley had planted himself at the entrance to the alley in case someone decided they wanted to go in. Looking past Mr Weasley, Dudley had seen when Professor Snape rested his wand on the palm of his hand and said quietly, ‘Point Me, Harry Potter'. The wand had not moved and Professor Snape had looked furious and frustrated at the same time. He had stormed out of the alleyway and stalked off along the pavement, Mr Weasley and Dudley hurrying to catch up.

They had left the shopping precinct, and headed back in the general direction of Privet drive. Dudley had never known Harry to venture past the shops, and so, they had spent the next hour or so walking the local streets; streets Dudley knew Harry often prowled. Professor Snape had hardly opened his mouth all the time they had been searching; it was like he had been too afraid of what he might say. Even with Mr Weasley there, Dudley had still felt nervous around the man-the man whom Harry had only just discovered had been his father's cousin. Why that knowledge had only just come to light, Dudley didn't know-and Harry wasn't telling.

They had eventually ended up in the park in Magnolia Road that Dudley and his mates had vandalised more than once. It took no effort to see that Harry wasn't there, so Dudley had finally brought his companions back to the house. They had come via Magnolia Crescent, and when they had reached the mouth of the alleyway where he and Harry had been attacked last summer, he had stopped, forcing the two wizards to stop also.

Not once had Dudley ventured into the alleyway since the night of the attack; it still gave him a bone-deep cold, clammy feeling just being this close to where he had nearly had his soul sucked out. But now, he bravely spoke up and told the two wizards that this was where the Dementor attack had taken place last summer. Professor Snape and Mr Weasley had looked around, appalled. It was the first time that anyone from the wizarding world-except for Mrs Figg and she didn't really count because she wasn't really a witch-had seen the ‘scene of the crime'. Looking into the alley and shuddering convulsively, Dudley had privately thought that if that pathetic Ministry had come here last summer, they would have been able to tell that something horrible had happened on this spot, and then Harry would not have had to go through what he apparently had.

After Harry had seen the change in Dudley a week ago, and had accepted his inadequate apology for all the years of abuse, Harry had told him about the terrible trouble he had been in last summer for using magic to fight off the Dementors-he had told him how he had nearly been expelled from his school and had nearly had his wand snapped in half. Apparently, the Ministry of Magic had not believed that there had been any Dementors in Little Whinging; they believed that Harry had used magic in front of a Muggle-him-to show off or something, and in doing so, he had broken a couple of really important laws. Dudley had wished that he could have been there to help-he would have told the truth-but even if he had known what was happening to his cousin at the time, he knew his mum and dad would have forbade him from venturing into the Magical World.

After seeing where the Dementor attack had taken place, Professor Snape's mood had become even fouler and once back at the house, Dudley had made himself scarce. While they had been out, other wizards had arrived-some of them people Dudley had never met before, all desperately worried about Harry, and all waiting for orders as to what to do to try and find him.

There was a younger, really good looking, red-haired man, whom Dudley thought must be Ginny's brother because he had his arm around her and her head was resting on his shoulder where they sat together on the couch. An ancient old man with waist-length silver hair and beard stood in front of the fireplace talking earnestly to a hideously ugly man with wispy, sandy coloured hair, half a nose and what had to be a magical eye; the thing was too vividly blue to be real and his other eye was dark and beady anyway-but the fact that it whizzed around in his head at a hundred miles an hour was proof-positive. A couple of the people Dudley had already met while they guarded Harry were also present at one time or another over the coming hours. Tonks, however, was not one of them.

A soon as they had walked in the door, Professor Snape had taken one look at the freaky looking guy with the false eye, and his mood had become even blacker. Dudley would not have thought that possible...the man was positively scary now. He did not envy Harry having him as a relative. With this thought, Dudley had huffed a silent little laugh. Could Professor Snape really be any worse than all three of the Dursleys?

If Harry had to discover a previously unknown relative, why couldn't he have been decent? He didn't need another nasty relative.

The ancient wizard-Professor Dumbledore as it had turned out-had quickly stamped his quiet authority on the gathering, and it was he who issued orders, sending people off in different directions to explore various avenues of possibility. Whilst the remaining adults had talked quietly to each other, and Professor Snape had periodically stalked up and down like a caged tiger, Ginny had grabbed Dudley's sleeve and had pulled him into the kitchen where they had made the first of several pots of tea.

Dudley was thankful that his father was still sleeping off his drunken stupor and that his mum had still not come home from wherever she had disappeared to. In actual fact, Dudley was slightly worried about her as well. She never stayed out this late without letting him or his dad know. He supposed he should be thankful that she wasn't here. She would have only been shrieking the place down, or glowering darkly at the assembled wizards. One thing was certain, she wouldn't have been concerned that her nephew was missing.

As Dudley collected the cups after this last round of refreshments, Professor Snape had suddenly sworn and rushed from his position by the window, nearly sending Dudley flying, and actually knocking one of his mother's best cups to the floor where the dregs soaked into the carpet.

Dudley was oblivious to the mess because the noise of the front door being flung open roughly and crashing into the wall took up all his attention. Professor Snape had obviously seen a new arrival through the window and now he, followed by Dumbledore, Mr Weasley and Ginny, crowded into the entrance hall. Dudley peered over Ginny's shoulder and saw Bill staggering over the threshold with a short, bandy-legged, unkempt man with gingery matted hair from whom a powerful smell of alcohol, tobacco and sweat was emanating.

Severus stepped forward and grabbed a handful of grimy robes and pulled the nasty specimen of humanity away from Bill. Mundungus Fletcher yelped as Snape hustled him past the crowd back into the sitting-room. He hadn't waited to be told what Mundungus was there for; if Bill had bought him back to Privet Drive, it must have something to do with Harry. "I found this little slime ball in the Leaky Cauldron," explained Bill with a revolted grimace as he got a whiff of his own robes where the sneak thief had been draped over him. He pulled out his wand and cast a freshening charm upon himself.

"He was one of the few Order members who didn't come when you summoned them, Professor," Bill explained to Dumbledore. Then he turned back to Severus who had thrust Mundungus down into a chair and was standing guard over him, as Mundungus was showing every sign of trying to bolt, though he was making a poor job of it in his drunken state.

"I thought he might be of some use...thought he might have seen or heard something as he's often in the wrong place at the right time. I think he might know something, but he's pretty piss-er drunk as you can see." Bill shot an apologetic look at his father who had raised his eyebrow in Ginny's direction. He had forgotten his little sister's presence in the excitement of the moment.

Severus grabbed a handful of Mundungus's grubby robes again and pulled him half out of the chair. Mundungus objected, albeit incoherently, and scrabbled at the clenched fist at his throat. "What do you know, you slimy little worm..."

"Severus, that is quite enough," admonished Dumbledore and Severus pushed the man roughly back into the chair where his head slumped onto his chest. Dumbledore turned back to Bill. "What did Mundungus say that made you think he might know something, William?"

"Well, when I found him, he was pretty out of it, as you can see. I cast a sobriety charm on him, but of course, they're nowhere near as effective as the potion..."

"Get on with it Weasley!" snapped Severus. "It's been six hours. I don't want to wait another six while you give us a lecture on charms versus potions." Severus knew he wasn't being fair to Bill, but he was functioning on his last nerve and that was shredding rapidly.

Bill shot a look of annoyance at Severus and seemed to be about to snap back, but his father's grip on his shoulder stayed the impulse.

"William..." Dumbledore drew Bill's attention back to him.

"He babbled something about the Knight Bus, and he said that when I asked him if he had seen or heard anything about Harry. After rambling for a good five minutes and after much prompting, he said something about a skinny kid getting on the bus." Severus and Dumbledore looked at each other and Severus felt his heartbeat reverberating in his throat. "When I asked him if it had been Harry, he said, ‘Harry who'?

"As it's pretty obvious that Harry isn't anywhere around here, I didn't think I could ignore Dung, even though he's so drunk, he could hardly form his words. Too many people have cast a ‘Point Me' charm in this area and not come up with anything. Harry had to have gotten away pretty quickly. He didn't fly, because his broom is still here, and he can't Apparate."

"A very astute deduction, William. And one I am ashamed not to have made before now, knowing, as I do just how resourceful our young Harry is."

"How does he even know about the Knight Bus?" asked Severus, whose every instinct was screaming at him to exit the house immediately and hail the Wizarding conveyance.

"Harry accidentally hailed the bus three summers ago when Sirius escaped Azkaban. There had been a major ‘blow up' between Harry and his relatives, specifically involving Vernon Dursley's sister, Margery, and Harry had run away..." This little titbit did nothing to improve Severus's mood; the little fool had run away before. Of course he had! Severus now remembered that everyone, including the Ministry-had been running around like chooks with their heads cut off trying to find Harry because they were afraid that Black would get to him first.

"And last year, Remus and Tonks escorted the children back to Hogwarts after they spent Christmas at Grimmauld place," continued Dumbledore. He looked at Bill over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"I presume you brought Mundungus back here because you were worried that he might talk to the wrong people?"

Bill nodded. "It's no secret that Dung's a member of the Order. He didn't even know who I was when I sat down next to him. I could have been anyone and he would have talked to me. He might have just retained enough of a memory of the conversation we had if any of the wrong people decided to quiz him. You know he doesn't care what he says if someone's buying him drinks."

Dumbledore looked regretful and more than a little disgusted as he gazed at Mundungus, who was now drooling down the front of his robes, adding to the mix of unknown and noxious substances already breeding there. "You have done well, William. I think it would be wise to do a bit of memory modification on our Mr Fletcher." The headmaster took Severus's place in front of the now semi-conscious man. Severus had resumed pacing, obviously champing at the bit to do something positive. Everyone, except Severus, watched Dumbledore point his wand directly at Mundungus's face. Dung let out a drunken snore to rival Vernon Dursley's effort from hours ago.

"Obliviate!" said Dumbledore sharply, and a stream of orange light left his wand and seemed to penetrate Dung's forehead. The Order's most disreputable and dishonest member immediately arched his back so that he almost formed a bow, with his butt on the edge of the chair and the top of his head flat against the backrest. Ginny and Dudley stood with their eyes open wide in shock. Even Bill looked a little worried. Mundungus looked as if he was having a seizure; his face had gone purple.

Dumbledore however looked supremely unconcerned but it wasn't until Dung let out an explosive, grunting snore that the younger folk relaxed. Dung flopped back into the chair and resumed the rhythm of his previous snores.

Dumbledore calmly stowed his wand again. "One has to be a little more precise if one is attempting to Obliviate a person well into his cups."

"How can you be sure you removed the right memories?" asked Bill, hugely impressed and genuinely curious.

"I know Mundungus well, William. I know his mind..."

"And there wasn't a great deal there to get in the way of the specifics," ground out Severus acerbically. "Albus, can we please get a move on. Anything could be happening to that bloody boy while we stand here and discuss the contents of that mangy drunk's mind."

"Severus..."

"No, I'm going to hail the Knight Bus and find out whether it was Potter who got on that bus and where it took him!"

Severus stalked across the room but was halted at the door by a booming "Severus!" which bought him up short. He visibly tried to relax, rolling his shoulders and allowing his head to fall back on his neck so that he was looking at the ceiling.

Dumbledore turned to Bill. "William, you do know where Mundungus lives, do you not?" At Bill's affirmative nod, Dumbledore continued. "I would appreciate it if you could take him and put him safely to bed. Then, as I am sure your mother will be stressing as to why Ginevra has not been returned home before now..."

Ginny looked frantic. "Professor Dumbledore," she cried. "Sir...please, can't I stay. I want to see Harry when he gets back." Ginny's voice was pleading but though Dumbledore was regretful, he would not be swayed. Add to that, the fact that Arthur endorsed the decision, and Ginny was all but home.

"Thanks, Dad!" she said bitterly, wanting to berate her headmaster as well, but too frightened to do so.

"I am sorry Ginevra," Dumbledore continued. "but conscience will not allow me to leave you in this house when it's owners are renowned for their dislike of anything and anyone magical. I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you whilst we are away."

Ginny still tried though. "I could come with you..."

"No!" Arthur and Severus had spoken together. Ginny scowled at them all before spinning around, her long mane of red hair flaring out like a scarlet fan. Bill quirked an eyebrow and watched his sister as she flounced from the room.

"Beware of angry, redheaded females," he said sotto voce, as he hefted Mundungus out of the chair and pulled his arm around his neck. "I'll be back in five, Gin," he called out.

"Explain to your mother, Bill," said Arthur, his voice tired. He rubbed the back of his neck, knowing that what he was going to endure when he got back to the Burrow would be worse than a trial before a full sitting of the Wizengamot.

"Don't worry Dad. I'll calm her down. I'll calm both of them down."

"If we need you, William, we will let you know," said Dumbledore. Bill nodded, gripped Dung more firmly, wrinkling his nose at the stench as he did so, and spinning on the spot, he Disapparated.

Dumbledore now put a hand on Dudley's shoulder and Severus audibly ground his teeth together. "You will be fine here Dudley. Your father should be recovered from his earlier indisposition soon, and I am sure that your mother will shortly be home."

Dudley had never before heard, ‘roaring drunk', referred to as an indisposition, but the old man looked like he was at least a thousand years old, so Dudley assumed he spoke in that old fashioned way all the time. For instance, he never shortened anyone's name.

‘Now, if all the domestic problems have been taken care of, perhaps we can leave. You might not be worried Albus..."

"Severus, you are so wrong," interrupted Dumbledore, moving past his Potions Master and opening the front door. It was well and truly dark now, so the old wizard, garbed as he was in plum-coloured robes, did not bother with a disguise or Disillusionment. He turned and looked back at Severus from where he stood on the front porch, his bright eyes minus their usual twinkle. "Please do not presume to tell me what I am feeling. It is just that I have never found that descending into panic ever helped when it came to trying to solve a problem."

Severus found himself suitably rebuked and though he was still frustrated at the slow pace they were being forced to take, he did feel slightly discomfited at his thoughtless inference that Dumbledore did not care. No-one knew better than he just how much the ancient headmaster did care for Harry. He cared so much, he had been willing to try to push the idea of a father/son relationship between two people who had never been able to stand the sight of each other...all because he knew just how much Harry would love a family of his own.

Severus gritted his teeth, and from where he stood within the open doorway; he stared, unseeing, at the blank facades of the houses in this Muggle street, and even through his introspection, he found himself offended by their hideous sameness. It seemed that his old friend was not omniscient after all. If well enough had been left alone-if Dumbledore had not pushed and Severus had followed his original instincts-which had been to ignore the evidence-they would not now be looking for ‘The Boy Who Lived'.

Dumbledore's voice brought Severus back to his surroundings, and he finally stepped from the house slamming the door behind him. "I do not know where Harry is at the moment," Dumbledore said, "but I am fairly sure he has not been accosted by anyone who wishes to do him harm."

‘How can you possibly know that?" asked Severus, his testiness quick to resurface.

Dumbledore stepped onto the lawn and like Severus, he scrutinised the houses on the far side of the road, but without the other man's obvious disdain. All of the windows facing the street had their curtains drawn, blocking out the misty, cold night. He spoke with absolute conviction. "Because I am sure that if Voldemort had something as exciting as the capture of Harry Potter to celebrate, he would want to do it with his most loyal and important henchmen."

Satisfied that they were not being overlooked, Dumbledore turned back to his companions. "I think it would be best if we Apparated to a more isolated area before we hail the bus. I only wish to question the driver and conductor, not travel on the bus, and that might take a little time. An observant Muggle may see something if the bus is stationary for a time.

"Perhaps if you both hold onto my arms, we will be sure to end up in the same place. Severus rolled his eyes but did as he was bid, and with both Severus and Arthur holding on, Dumbledore and his passengers spun on the spot and disappeared with a small pop.

The only creature to witness this odd phenomenon was a Jack Russell terrier which had started yapping in the typical high pitched, hysterical way of small dogs.

8888

Harry entered the little, village of Godric's Hollow under his invisibility cloak. An hour before, he had plonked himself down on the damp grass verge, leaning against one of the supports of the Godric's Hollow sign. As he had traced the letters spelling out the name of the village where James and Lily Potter had lived and died and where he himself had been born, the cloud engulfing Harry's brain seemed to lift. The sudden knowledge of where he actually was had made him light headed and that was when he had lowered himself untidily to the ground.

Harry had been insensitive to the cold wetness penetrating his clothes, or the rough-hewn timber support prickling his back with splinters. The last fully coherent memory he had was of Snape...Snape in his room at the Dursley's, explaining the unthinkable and casting hexes to immobilise and silence Harry to make him listen.

Everything after that was a blur. He could vaguely remember Mr Weasley talking to him...talking about Ginny coming to see him. God, he wished Ginny was here right now. Maybe she would be able to make sense of everything that had happened today...was it still the same day? Harry couldn't be sure but he thought that it was.

He had a vague recollection of less than gentle hands slapping his cheeks, and another of much gentler hands combing through his hair. He could not remember getting up or leaving the house, and he certainly could not remember hailing the Knight Bus. He couldn't really remember anything-except through a haze-until he had started to trace the burnt letters on the sign spelling out Godric's Hollow. And now, here he was, sitting in the wet grass, on the uncomfortably cold ground in a thick mist, and he was freezing.

Harry stood and wrapped his arms around himself, shivering convulsively. What in the hell had happened to summer? He remembered that it had been cold in Little Whinging. But this...it was like the middle of winter here. Wherever here was. Certainly, it was Godric's Hollow, but where exactly was Godric's Hollow? How many miles...hundreds of miles was he away from Little Whinging?

Knowing that his thoughts were just going around and around in circles and that he had to move or he would freeze to death, Harry pulled his invisibility cloak out from under his hoody where it was stuffed into the waistband of his jeans. As he threw it over his head, he pondered how it happened to be on him. He couldn't remember getting it out of the bag Snape had lent him. He had taken it with him when he had left Hogwarts because he took his cloak everywhere.

Now, under the cloak-which offered a little bit of protection from the unnatural cold-Harry had looked towards the village again and then turned his footsteps in that direction. He was here, and so he would take advantage of that fact before he thought about getting back to Little Whinging and the trouble that he knew he would be in.

Harry was no longer able to make out any rooves in the distance because the mist had thickened to the point where his cloak was almost superfluous. Once he had crested the rise though, he could just make out three patches of wavering yellow light ahead of him in the distance.

He was passing a house now-he could see the darker shape on his left and there was also a very narrow sliver of light through a window where two drapes had not been pulled together properly. After five minutes, during which time he did not see a single person, Harry came upon the place where he had seen the patches of light. Now that he was near enough, he could see that there were another three glowing pools of yellow-six in total-that had earlier been hidden by some houses. They were street lights and on a normal evening, they would light up what looked to be a town square. The street lamps did nothing but cast a sickening sulphurous glow...they did not really illuminate the area. Harry could barely see an arms length in front of him. How was he ever going to find the cemetery, let alone his parents' graves?

For that was what he had come for. He had left his aunt and uncle's house and caught the Knight Bus and had it bring him here so that he could find proof of James and Lily's existence. This was where he had been born. Here, in Godric's Hollow. And James Potter was his father. Everyone told him just how much he looked like James...except for his eyes, he had his mother's eyes. He had seen photos. He did look like James and he did have his mother's eyes. So what exactly had he inherited from Severus Snape, if indeed the incredulous things Snape had said to him today were true.

Harry's lips set in a thin line as he moved further into the sickly yellow curtain of moisture; he thought there was the darker outline of something in the middle and his feet carried him in that direction as his conscious mind tried to wrap itself around the revelations that had been tossed at him at Privet Drive.

Surely they couldn't be true? Apart from anything else no-one could have two fathers. It was biologically impossible, even Harry knew that. And wizards were human beings, so surely all the rules pertaining to non-magical humans applied to wizards as well, certainly when it came to physiology. Witches and wizard's hearts and lungs worked the same as Muggles' did, the ate and digested their food the same, everything was the same, including sex and reproduction. And though Harry still often knew himself woefully ignorant in the ways of wizards (he knew he still thought like a Muggle a lot of the time), he had never heard anything that led him to believe that there was any difference between Muggles and Magical folk when it came to what went on between the sexes. He had kissed Ginny hadn't he? And she had certainly not complained that he was doing anything wrong. And kissing was the precursor to...well, to other stuff.

So surely human physiology superseded magic when it came to reproduction? Human physiology was the thing wizards and Muggles had in common. They were all made the same, and they all worked the same. Wizards just had that one anomaly that Muggles did not. But, according to Snape, the magical element was the thing that differentiated magical blood, not blood groups.

His mother had worked in the Department of Mysteries; she had studied the properties of magical blood. She had known of the dangers, known that blood donation was not acceptable practice. But she had taken the study further, little realising that one day that study would determine the life or death of the man that she loved.

Her mortally wounded fiancé's life had been in the balance and with nothing to lose, she had put her theory into action. She had taken a chance that the blood of Severus and James-the offspring of each of twin siblings--would have been similar enough not to cause the disastrous consequences that had previously been documented when one wizard donated blood to another, consequences that made the practice unacceptable, and therefore relegated to the status of ancient history.

And she had been right, according to Snape. Though the cousins had hated each other, their magical signatures must have been almost identical. And with nothing to lose because James would most certainly have died without the unorthodox intervention, Lily had begged for Severus's co-operation. And for Lily, Severus had complied; he had given some of his blood and James had not only received the life sustaining qualities of that blood, he had received some of his cousins magical signature as well.

And instead of that foreign magic battling James's and either destroying his magic or even killing him, his body had accepted the signature because it was nearly identical to his own. The two signatures had not destroyed each other or destroyed the vessel in which they were contained; they had combined, and James Potter had lived the rest of his life not realising that his magic had changed subtly-not realising that a little bit of Severus Snape had settled in every cell in his body. Every cell.

8888

As Harry's thoughts whirled in sickening circles, his footsteps had carried him through the mist and he now found himself staring up at a statue that had been the darker shape he had just been able to make out in the gloom. Funny, from a distance the outline had looked tall and narrow. Now that he was closer, Harry could see that it was shorter than he had thought and irregular in shape.

And as he stared, the mist began to lift a little and Harry could see that the statue was of three people...a man, a woman and a baby resting in the woman's arms. And then his mouth dropped open when he realised who the statue represented. James Potter, messy haired and bespectacled, stood proudly behind his pretty, long haired wife, his arm around her shoulders. And in her arms was a happy, messy haired baby...a happy baby with a blemish free forehead.

Harry didn't know how long he stood and gazed up at the image of his mother and father, or how many times he dashed the frozen tears from his cheeks. This was other people's vision of them-people who had no connection to Harry. And this stone representation was almost identical to everything he had ever seen of his parents. And knowing that strangers had known the James and Lily that he had already seen in various settings was a comfort...it was solid stone fact.

Harry stared his fill of the statue before reluctantly turning away and immediately encountering thick mist again. When he had taken about ten steps, he turned and looked back. The statue had been engulfed by the damp chill once again and was completely invisible. Harry shivered under his dad's cloak and he gathered it more closely around him, taking comfort in the water smooth sleekness of the fabric that did not feel thick enough to keep out the chill, but somehow it made a slight difference.

Harry's footsteps carried him forward but he had no idea where he was going. When he extracted his hand from under the cloak and held it out in front of him, he could just make it out, a mere six inches in front of his face-so he was, to all intents and purposes, blind as well as invisible. Still, it felt right that he keep walking...and so he did, surely and steadily, a strange happenstance considering the conditions, and considering that Harry did not know where he was going. It was his instincts leading him forward. When he came to a kissing gate, it was as if he already knew it was there. He passed through and within a minute, he found himself wending his way between graves; he could just make out age weathered headstones through the gloom. He wandered for ten minutes without knowing where he was going but trusting in the instincts that had brought him to this graveyard.

And then, feet ahead of him the mist thinned and Harry knew that he had found his parents' final resting place. It was as if he glided the last few feet; he wasn't conscious of his feet moving. The white marble headstone seemed to glow with an unearthly light. There were no streetlamps here, nor did any moonlight penetrate the mist. But Harry could read the gold-lettered inscription carved into the marble. Without thinking he pulled the cloak off as he knelt down beside the ethereally glowing stone and as he had done with the Godric's Hollow sign earlier, he traced the letters with his finger.

It read: James Potter.

Born: 27th March 1960

Died: 31st October 1981

Lily Potter.

Born: 30th January 1960

Died: 31st October 1981

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death.

Harry's brow furrowed. ‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death.' What exactly did that mean? Was Death an enemy? Professor Dumbledore didn't think so. He always said there were worse things than Death. Voldemort though, thought Death was the enemy. Hadn't he said to Dumbledore that there was ‘nothing worse than Death'? On the whole, at the moment, Harry had to agree with the headmaster; as confused and depressed as he was, and with nothing to look forward to in the future but a showdown with Voldemort which would surely result in his, Harry's death, regardless of the fallacy that he supposedly had ‘power that the Dark Lord knows not', Harry wished that he was with his parents...with Lily and James, under this earth.

Frightened of his own thoughts, Harry dragged his eyes away from the epitaph, and facing the grave itself, he sat back on his heels. The silence was soothing and Harry remained in that position, with his hands on his jean clad thighs, just staring at the grave, as though hoping that it would split asunder and give him back his mother and father. After a few minutes-or it could have been half an hour-Harry realised that the fear had left him and he was more at peace than he had been for a very long time. He revelled in the feeling of comfort that seemed to envelop him. This was the nearest he had been to his parents since that Halloween night nearly sixteen years ago when Voldemort had torn his family asunder...taken from him the two things that he could never replace...the two things he would give everything he possessed, including his magic, to have back.

Harry leaned forward, oblivious to the pain that lanced through him from his cramped legs. He rested his hands on the sod covering his parents' remains and found it strangely warm against his chilled hands. He stayed like that, his fingers splayed for he did not know how long. Though his hands were finally warm, his legs continued to throb in protest to his fixed position on the cold earth beside the warm grave, but he was oblivious to the discomfort. His heart was full and that sensation negated all others for a very short while.

For the inevitable questions rose up from the depths of his consciousness...the most pressing of which was, had his mother-the expert on blood and it's magical properties-had she known that her husband's magic had been laced with traces of his cousin's magic? Had she known that she, James and Severus Snape had contributed to her son's DNA-that in essence, her baby boy had two fathers? And if she had, had she told James?

She certainly hadn't told Severus Snape that he was in essence, a father.

Before Harry knew it, tears were coursing down his face again. He dropped his head onto his chest and dug his fingernails into the grass and the soft moist, loamy soil beneath. He fought not to give way to his anguish by releasing the animalistic roar of pain and fury that threatened to overwhelm him.

He dragged up two handfuls of the sod and threw it with all his might...but the clods of earth and grass landed uselessly on the ground beyond the grave. Hiccoughing and dragging in harsh breaths, and with mucous running from his nose, mixing with the tears, Harry tried to stand. His legs were dead and he crumpled across the grave. So he lay there with his face pressed into the muddy wounds he had made with his hands and allowed himself the comfort of harsh sobs and tears, his body's moisture leaching into the grass and soil blanket that covered the remains of two of his parents.

God, where was the justice in the world. When was his life going to stop being a complete and utter bastardisation of what the life of a normal teenager was meant to be like? Why couldn't he be like every other adolescent boy who sneaked out to get wasted with his mates, or who snogged his girlfriend at every opportunity he could get, and more if he could manage it? Why couldn't he be a selfish little turd who thought of no-one but himself? Was the only reason he had been born to fulfil Trelawney's prophecy? Why was he everyone's puppet who had to do as ordered for his own safety and so that he could reach his potential and hopefully do away with the Dark Lord at some time in the future. Did anyone but Ron and Hermione and Ginny and the Weasleys care for him as anything other than a weapon? Did anyone else ultimately care whether he lived or died, just so long as he got the job done?

Harry dug his fingers into the mud again and buried his face further into the grass to muffle his sobs, but what he wanted to do was scream out loud until his throat was raw. If his freakishness extended to him having two fathers, WHY WAS THE ONE WHO LOVED HIM DEAD?

8888

Harry did not hear or see the wizard who Apparated into the graveyard, and Remus Lupin thought that he was alone until he had walked past several graves on his way to Lily and James's. Over the years he had occasionally visited the grave, taking small comfort in being this close to his old friends. But since Sirius's death, this was the first opportunity he had had to visit, and he needed the nearness of his best friends more than ever now that his last living friend had been snatched away so cruelly, much like he had been snatched away nearly fifteen years ago for something that he had not done. He could not visit Sirius's grave but he liked to think that Lily, James and Sirius were together now.

It was not the most ideal time to be visiting; the late hour and the mist and cold was depressing, but less than twenty-four hours after finding out that someone had nearly succeeded in killing Harry, and rushing to Hogwarts to see him, Remus had been forced to return to his assignment, and so he had not had the time to visit and talk to Lily and James about his worry for Harry's safety.

He had been determined to visit as soon as he could; he needed to be close to his friends, if only for a few minutes. He knew the way to the grave unerringly, despite the mist. The horrible conditions and the late hour made it unlikely that anyone else would be abroad, and so, when Remus heard muffled sobs, he halted in his tracks, every sense on alert, and he silently drew his wand. With his better than human hearing he knew that the overwrought person was at the graveside of Lily and James, and he crept forward cautiously.

The mist smothered any noise he might have made but when Remus got close enough to where he knew the grave to be, his footsteps stopped dead anyway. He had stepped into an area of thinner mist that was marginally warmer than the surrounding curtain of moisture and was lit by a strange, pearly glow that seemed to be emanating from the marble headstone. But it wasn't the changed weather and light conditions that had Remus rooted to the spot with his face drained of every vestige of colour.

A heartbroken young man was prostrate over the grave, and though his face was hidden, the shock of messy black hair was unmistakable.

James!

"Harry!" The sobs did not stop abruptly, even though the intrusion of another noise amidst his own heartbreak must have been a mighty shock to Harry. His distress had been so great, his sobs so soul consuming, he was not able to stop his tears easily. In the back of his mind there was just enough consciousness not wrapped tightly in depressions hold, for him to feel embarrassed about someone finding him crying hysterically.

They had found him. Throat tearing, heart broken sorrow tapered off reluctantly to cracked and hiccoughing sobs. Hands upon his shoulders tried to pull Harry upright but he struggled wildly to free himself from the hands. He dug his hands into the soil as if he would be able to hold himself in place.

The hands grabbed again. "Harry! for God's sake, what's happened? How did you get here?"

Remus! It was Remus, one of his dad's best friends. And then Harry wanted to laugh hysterically. And one of his dad's worst enemies. Harry lifted his face and swiped at his muddy nose with his muddy hand. When he tasted dirt, he realised stupidly what a sight he must look, but he couldn't bring himself to much care. He spat out some dirt and tried to draw in a calm, even breath. More hiccoughs ensued and this time when Remus tried to draw him upright, he no longer resisted.

When Remus saw the tears and mucous and mud covered face and hands and the filthy clothes, he actually thought he heard his heart breaking. He certainly felt it jolt in his chest. "Oh, Harry," he rasped and he pulled the pathetic boy tight to his chest, uncaring of the filth that was transferred to his own robes and travelling cloak.

As the strong, sinewy arms tightened around him, Harry succumbed again to his anguish. He had a fleeting vision of another pair of arms holding him a few nights ago and the anguish intensified again. If Remus had not been holding him so tightly, Harry's knees would have buckled. He wrapped his hands in Remus's robes and sobbed on his friend's shoulder. And Remus, who needed some explanations, bit his tongue and comforted the boy whom he had come to love as much as he had loved James and Sirius.

By the time Harry's sobs had diminished to just the odd hiccough, he had the headache from hell, stinging, swollen eyes and a very sore, raw throat. He released his death grip on Remus's cloak and wriggled his shoulders a little to let Remus know that he could loosen his hold...that he was all right now. He would have rubbed his eyes but thought better of it when he saw his hands. Remus seemed to intuit his problem and after checking that Harry wasn't going to fall over, he stepped back a little and wielded his wand to rid Harry of every vestige of dirt, mucous and tears.

Harry offered a weak smile in thanks and automatically reached up to adjust his glasses, only to realise that the reason he couldn't see Remus properly was not because his eyes were swollen half shut, but because he didn't have his glasses on. "Umm, Remus..."

"Accio, Harry's glasses," said Remus, pointing his wand at the grave. They were totally caked in muck but a quick ‘scurgify', had them sparkling like new, and with a smile, Remus fitted them in position.

Thanks Remus," croaked Harry, who, now that he was calmer, suddenly felt that erstwhile embarrassment overtaking him. Sometime in the future-perhaps not too far in the future-he had to do a man's job and try to kill Voldemort, so Harry did not think that he should be giving in to tears. He was worried that others would perceive him as weak.

Remus's voice was laced with worry when he spoke, but there was also an underlying degree of anger. "I'm thankful that I was here for you Harry, but I have to admit, my insides freeze when I think of what may have happened. What are you doing here, alone, hundreds of miles away from your aunt and uncle's home, and away from the people who are supposed to be guarding you?

Harry swallowed. Since he had become aware that Remus had found him, he had been dreading this. He couldn't tell anyone-no, not even Remus-what Snape had told him. Somewhere at the back of his conscious mind, he knew that there was more than one reason as to why he shouldn't speak of the revelations that had devastated him so, but the only one he was concerned about at the moment was the pity and perhaps the distaste he would see in his old Professor's eyes.

"Errr...I...I needed to see my mum and dad's grave. I never have you see and...and well I...I just needed to..." Harry trailed off hopelessly, knowing that Remus would want more.

Remus cocked his head to the side. He knew Harry was hiding something. Something monumental. The boy was too open, he couldn't occlude if his life depended on it.

"Does Professor Snape, know where you are?" and Remus shook his head in irritation at his own words. "What am I asking?" he mumbled to himself. "Of course Severus doesn't know. As if anyone would have let Harry Potter go off by himself when he is top of Voldemort's death list.

"Remus, I'm sorry..." Harry broke off. A creeping cold and clammy feeling was making goosebumps erupt all over his body and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It seemed to invade his lungs so that his breath caught on a shuddering gasp. For a second, Remus thought that Harry was succumbing to tears again, but then the change in the atmosphere registered with him as well.

The light that had seemed to emanate from the marble headstone was suddenly extinguished and the lighter atmosphere that had surrounded James and Lily's grave suddenly became the pea soup that enveloped the rest of the cemetery.

Dementors! And by the feel of it, a lot of them.

Harry stumbled and Remus pulled him in close to his own shivering body. But the truth was, Remus was feeling the effects of the foul creatures himself. And sad. God, he was so sad. He was back in the ‘Veil Room' in the Department of Mysteries and watching from the other side of the amphitheatre as he saw Sirius hit with the curse that sent him falling backwards through that hideous veil. And then he was trying to hold Harry back as the little idiot tried to launch himself after his Godfather. All the times he had nearly lost Harry in the last few years came back to him with their accompanying feelings of dread and fear.

Remus could here Harry quickened breaths beside him as he tried to drag air into lungs that seemed to have frozen solid. He knew how Harry felt because he was feeling exactly the same. Remus held his wand out in front of him in a shaking hand. "Come on Harry. We need that brilliant Patronus of yours," he urged. "Show them ‘Prongs'. Expecto Patronum!"

Remus's wand emitted a spurt of silver vapour and he looked at it with fearful bemusement. It had been a long time since he had not been able to produce a Corporeal Patronus on his first try. "Expecto Patronum!"

The fact that he could feel Harry's small frame quaking with the cold, and hear his harsh attempts to draw much needed oxygen into his deprived lungs, did not help his own efforts to produce a Patronus. Harry was making no attempt to raise his wand-Remus wasn't even sure if he had his wand, as he had not seen it-and that was not like the fearless young Gryffindor.

"H...Harry," he gasped, but his arm had slackened it's hold and he could feel Harry dragging on his robes as he slid down his side to plop on the ground. Remus staggered as Harry flopped bonelessly against his legs. He could hear them now-foul, rattling breaths that sounded like a thousand death rattles rolled into one. Remus wanted to vomit; nobody could bear this much anguish and remain sane. When he tried to hold his wand out again, his hand wavered so much, the wand fell from his nerveless fingers.

His knees buckled and he fell beside Harry. The cold was intensifying, if that was possible and with his last ounce of strength, Remus covered Harry with his own body and covered his own head with his arms. He felt dreadful, scabby flesh grasping his wrists, pulling his arms away from his head. The rattles filled his ears as he felt other hands (Merlin, they were strong), rolling him away from the small body he was trying to protect. Remus's eyes rolled up in his head; putrid, rotting breath was filling his nostrils and his muscles spasmed as he made a futile attempt to cover Harry again.

This couldn't be happening...he wouldn't even be able to fall into the welcoming arms of death, if Dementors got his soul. He would be an empty shell, and then when his shell did finally succumb to death, there would be nothing to cross to the other side-there would be no eternity for him.

Or for Harry! Dear God, Harry was only a child. He didn't deserve this.

Harry!

That foul, rotting breath filled his lungs as a huge maw covered Remus's mouth and nose. He began to convulse but there was still enough consciousness in him for him to feel Harry convulsing too, where he lay in contact with Remus. Harry!

Suddenly, the air was clear, thick and moist, yes, but no longer foul. Remus's eyes flickered, and as his hand crept across the tiny distance to Harry, he thought he saw the pure, shockingly bright forms of a phoenix, a magnificent doe and a weasel streaking through the mist, away from his and Harry's supine forms.

Remus wanted to turn to Harry...wanted to pull him into his arms, but before he could move that far, dark figures were kneeling beside him and Harry. Remus found his voice and cried out in denial, battling the gentle hands that were trying to still him. He thought the Dementors were back and he thrashed even more violently, too shocked to wonder why the little strength he still possessed was not being leached away if Dementors were near.

He had to get to Harry. "Harry," he croaked and struggled all the more against the hands trying to calm him.

"Remus! Calm down, my boy. Harry is safe."

Dumbledore!

Remus's eyes flew wide, the fear still there, as evidenced by the contracted pupils and the large amount of white visible. Albus Dumbledore's worried features swam in and out of focus, obvious despite the abundant facial hair. Over the old man's shoulder, the equally worried features of Arthur Weasley wavered. Remus heard the words ‘chocolate' and ‘no' from the far end of a long tunnel, before his eyes rolled up in his head and he knew no more.