Despite all appearances, the wizarding world had its limitations. Notwithstanding all its wonders, the magical world could only create frivolities, dancing teacups and rainbow colored hair. It could not create bravery in the soul of a wizard, could not create nobility in the heart of a witch, nor could it provide love to the life of any child, muggle, wizard or half-blood.

On Privet Drive, there lived such a child. A boy afforded so little that he clung to whatever he was offered. This boy kept a snowy owl to remember the kindness of his first gift, hid a photo album to remember that he was once loved, and clung to a broken mirror in memory of what he had lost.

Sitting on his disheveled bed in a room shut with padlocks, Harry Potter waited. Empty hands clenched and unclenched on his lap, his thoughts disjointed. The frayed bedsheets were drawn back, hiding an animated photograph of Lily Potter from view. She twirled happily in the background, smiling ingeniously as her son watched her, his own expression vacant. He blinked rapidly, turning away from the bitter reminder of what he lacked.

The green eyed boy shook his head attempting to convince himself that the bitter feeling of helplessness and betrayal would pass. He forced himself to believe that one day he would feel untarnished happiness again. Harry sighed, his thin shoulders heaving under the sudden weight of adult troubles.

Nowadays, even Dumbledore's loyalty came with omissions and coated truths. Harry had no idea how much Dumbledore hid, but he had a bitter suspicion that the answer would be unpleasant. He knew the man kept things from him, particularly regarding the prophecy, but he had the feeling that Dumbledore hid more behind those seemingly innocuous eyes than Tom Riddle had so long ago. It had been Dumbledore's vision of what he thought best that had contributed to Harry's current situation.

Sirius was gone, killed by a combination his own stupidity and Dumbledore's impassivity. Aided of course by Snape who had played a dubious role at best, a murderous one at worst. Harry restrained the unbidden anger that Snape invariably brought to his mind. It was the only emotion Harry had felt since his explosive tantrum at Dumbledore's office.

He didn't want to think about the Potions Master, he never did. Snape hated him and the feeling was mutual. Most of the time he thought the world would be better off without Snape in it. He squelched down the strange Hermione-esque voice of guilt that followed that thought. He had no reason to feel guilty. It was not as if Severus Snape had ever done anything for Harry Potter.

Impassively, Harry watched the moonlight as it entered through the window, painting bars of light across his face and the cold floor beneath him. The boy stood up, drawing himself into the imperfect light, taking care to pace softly so as to not wake his aunt and uncle.

The boy flicked a glance over his shoulder and gazed a moment at the discarded image of the red haired woman who had given him life twice within her lifetime.

Mom...

Would his happiness be forever marred by what he had lost? A part of him knew that no matter how many people he surrounded himself with, he would always long for the emerald eyes and the dark messy hair that ghosted over his barely tangible memories, would always miss the contradictory combination of mischievous grey eyes and a sad smile.

He missed his parents and he missed Sirius. Harry would always be grateful to one person that wanted to be a father figure to him even if the years of Azkaban had robbed him of the ability, even if he knew that sometimes when Sirius gazed at him, he favored Harry with a look of nostalgia as if Sirius saw James instead of Harry. Three years ago, Sirius had loved him in his own flawed way, and that was enough for Harry.

It didn't matter if it came with conditions, he was used to it. A roof over his head had long ago been equated with chores, existence at the Dursley's with enduring insults. It was just the way things were, the way things had always been. There was no use crying over it.

Long black eyelashes closed over almond shaped eyes as he lay back in his unmade bed. Thoughts of loss circled around his head, slowly killing what little hope the boy had managed to retain. Before he knew it, his eyes began to droop. His heartbeat slowed as Harry fell asleep,

From her frame, his mother's image glanced at him thoughtfully before smiling and twirling in a silent dance.

If Hogwarts' students had been aware of the temper Professor Snape was currently in, they would have fled the school grounds. Mercifully it was still summer, and they were safely within the confines of their own homes. As it was, Snape was doing an impressive job of sending several of the returning Hogwarts professors scattering in different directions. Animated conversations seized, eyes widened and even Trelawney seemed unwilling to approach the black cloud of fury that swept by. Professor Snape had always been an unpleasant man but it had been awhile since Hogwarts had seen him quite this angry.

His whitened fists clenched at his sides as the Potions Master swept through the halls, his steady steps taking him to towards the castle dungeons. Black eyes narrowed as he gazed steadily ahead, his anger focused at some point beyond tangible means.

Minerva McGonagall came to an abrupt stop, her sensible shoes clacking on the stone floor. Gazing openly, she stared at Severus' retreating angry form, acutely reminded of a time when a young Severus had left the headmaster's office after a particular full moon. Betrayal radiated from the man despite the squared shoulders and cold expression. Minerva gazed at her startled colleagues as they complained about the irritable Potions Masters, not one seemed to have detected Severus' true mood.

She swept her eyes in the direction from whence Severus had come and regarded the distant form of the headmaster's chamber gargoyles thoughtfully.

A soft tapping woke him. Alarmed, Harry sat up in the darkness his glasses still perched uncomfortably on his nose. A glance at the alarm clock indicated that he had only managed to doze off for a few uneasy minutes. He glanced around wildly at the darkened room, before realizing he was at Privet Drive. The tapping continued from his left. Slowly he turned bleary eyes towards his window, only to find a small brown owl fluttering impatiently outside.

He sighed and stood up, opening the window with a quick flick of his wrist. With the speed of a much more agile creature, the owl dropped the package on his bed, circling once before flying out the window, not even bothering to wait for a treat. Harry blinked wearily in confusion. He stared out the open window the owl was no longer in sight. Mechanically he closed the window taking a moment to glance back at Hedwig whom seemed as confused by the owl's behavior as he was.

A small wrapped package had been dropped next to his mother's picture, sitting innocuously on the rumpled bed. Harry stared at the package. From what little he had seen of the owl, it had not belonged to any of his friends or any known correspondent. Harry could only stare his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide behind glasses.

The boy should have waited to open the mysterious box. He should have owled it to someone who could check the anonymously delivered box for hexes, should have alerted the Order, he knew the risks he suffered as the Boy Who Lived. But he didn't.

When Harry Potter received a gift, he cherished it, often without weighing the consequences of accepting it. So instead Harry opened the box with shaking fingers. Carefully he tore the brown paper away to reveal a small white box. Somehow he knew this was important and private. He traced the box with a thumb, holding it tightly within his pale fingers.

With sudden resolve, he opened the box, the golden hinge on the box creaked with age. A small ring slipped out of the box the thin chain slithering after it, clanking softly as they fell on the floor. He gazed at the small ring before stooping to pick it up. It was tiny, too small to fit on any but his smallest fingers. Weighing the ring within his palm, he turned it trying to determine where it had come from. It was a woman's ring, gold and jeweled. It was a peculiar ring with a strange arrangement of stones. Harry squinted at a small scratch on the inside of the ring as he traced it with his blunt fingernail. There was a small inscription barely legible with age engraved on the inside. Twisting the ring so that the moonlight would illuminate it, Harry read the message.

"Imbued With Love"

His eyebrows furrowed at the strangely phrased message engraved in the equally strange ring. He sat down heavily on the bed. Green eyes flicked towards the discarded white box trying to examine it for any sign of the sender's identity.

Inside the box there was a note in a sprawling calligraphy that looked vaguely familiar to Harry.

"You have living family left, Wizarding family - Follow the ring."

The mysterious message was followed by an even stranger postscript. In a smaller print as if the writer had not wanted to write it, the words:

"Forgive me"

If Harry Potter hadn't known better he would have thought the Weasley twins were at work. He glanced around the room, half expecting the package's sender to leap out of the darkened corner.

Tracing the designs on the small ring, Harry felt for the first time in months, the blossoming of something deep within his chest. The feeling prompted him to slip the chain over his head, pulling it close to his heart. He had family.

The smile came unbidden to his lips as he threw himself back onto the bed gazing pensively at the ceiling. He had family, finally. Turning his head, Harry gazed at his mother's picture.

"Who?" his voice rasped into the darkness. Unsurprisingly no one answered, yet he laughed.

Much later, Harry drowsily closed his eyes, an imaginary imprint of warmth on his back like the steady hand of a concerned parent soothing away nightmares. He smiled as he fell asleep, the world between wake and sleep allowing him to imagine things that he had never known. The ring's stone glowed softly as he slumbered.