September 27, 1995 – Saturday

He awoke as the first streams of light invaded his room on the east side of the tower and cursed himself for not having drawing the curtains. With a sigh, he rolled over and did his best to keep his mind clear – empty. He wished he could just go back to sleep, delay the inevitable just a bit longer. His body was far too restless to allow him a lay-in. Climbing out of bed, he grabbed his robe and walked over to his fireplace. Sitting down the rug before the fireplace, he started his meditation exercises. Even as his mind fell into the familiar, calm state, he knew his buried memories were waiting to be discovered. They were like slumbering monster, much like Fluffy, just waiting for the trigger – that final musical note to end before awakening.

Fluffy.

The giant, vicious, three-headed dog.

First year.

The stray thought flooded his mind, drowning Darrius Snape under the resurgence of Harry Potter.

Harry sat, his legs still folded in his mediation pose, too scared to move, his breathing shallow as old memories assailed his conscious mind at random. It took a few moments before he returned to a functional conscious state. In a flash, he was on his feet and grabbing the calming potion his father had left.

His father. Snape. Oh God.

The pain, anger and fear at the discovery of his true parentage warred for dominance over the giddiness, security and simple joy of his "childhood" memories and the hazy, but contented feelings associated with his 15th birthday. As shudders ran though his body, he climbed back up onto his bed, pulling the covers over his head. He could feel the potions effect on his body; with each breath his mind relived events as it sorted them but all the associated memories were thankfully dampened. When his breathing returned to normal, he climbed off the bed and walked to one of the chairs close to the fireplace. For a long time, he just sat there, staring at the dancing flames and let himself sort through emotions and memories. It's what Mama had told him to do – let it come, let himself remember all the pain and all the joy. To let his conscious mind and his heart find their own way.

Mama -- the very thought brought fresh pain, guilt and love. His mum – his REAL mum - had died for him and he loved another woman in her place. He loved his mum – Lily – with all his heart, unconditionally – but only as a distant, pleasant and comforting memory. She wasn't his "real" mother any more. Truth was, she hadn't been for a long time. Arabella had assumed that role so completely; she was the one who wiped away his tears, who watched over him. She was the one who guided and disciplined him. New wave of guilt assailed him, tears streaming down his cheeks, even as his mind told him there was no reason to feel guilty.

Thoughts of Lily soon drifted to James and though he expected the same type of guilt and grief to settle over him, he found himself simply missing him, missing the chance to know him and thank him. It was bittersweet, though oddly peacefully feeling. To know that the man had loved his mother and him as much as he did him feel oddly safe. Harry remembered the adoption spell being reversed, remembered the sense of losing the last small part of James. He wondered, in his potion induced calm introspection, if the love his step-father had used in the spell hadn't protected him, shielded him and nurtured him years after James' death. Even now, he could feel the loss of that spell, yet it didn't fell wrong. If he was honest with himself, he felt like freer, like a bubble he didn’t' realize was surrounding him was gone.

The true liberating realization, however, was that the sense that his parents loved him. Growing up, before the Hogwarts letter that changed his life, he had always imagined his parents had loved him as much as Dudley's loved him. In his daydreams, James would talk and play with him; hug him and kiss him goodnight. He always imagined that somewhere out there, James loved him. And he had been right – more than right. He had two fathers who loved him.

Harry's thoughts came around again to his father, his biological father – Severus. Yesterday, he worried over his father's distress. He thought his father was over reacting, but now, with his memories intact, he fully understood. Staring ahead, as if hypnotized by the dancing flames, he tried to reconcile "the greasy git" not only with the warm, affectionate man he had known in private this past year, but also with the man he had begun to know in the brief weeks after school let out in June.

He needed to talk to someone. Glancing at the wall that separated his room from Livia's room and wondered if she was up to talking to him or if maybe she needed someone to talk to, as well. Deciding to take the chance, he walked over to the bathroom door and quickly crossed into the room and went straight to the door that led to her room.

Knocking softly, he waited for a reply and then, not receiving any, gently pushed the door open. The room was quite a bit brighter than his own as the heavy draperies were drawn back letting in the early afternoon light. Hermione or Livia, he still wasn’t sure how or who he thought of her as, was sitting on her window seat, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring off across the campus. He was surprised when she turned and smiled softly at him.

Uncurling her legs, she rose and came toward him. Without hesitation, he crossed the distance, pulled his adopted sister into his arms. Knowing how he felt over replacing Lily so easily made him wonder over his friend turned sister's reaction, not to mention added an additional layer of guilt to his own.

Hermione - Livia - pulled away from him and studied him for a moment with red puffy eyes. He watched, almost amused, as the bossy portion of her personality emerged,

"Don't you dare feel guilty! None of this is your fault. We talked about this remember? I read all the spells in detail. I had a very good idea of exactly what would happen and I accepted all of it before drinking that potion on your birthday. "

Taking his hand in hers, she drew him over to the sofa before the fire and pushed him down into the soft cushions. Sitting next to him, they cuddled together, finding comfort in the understanding silence that enveloped them. Admittedly, Harry was immensely relieved to find Hermione – Livia seemingly strong, well adjusted and dealing so well with the situation. He smiled as she shifted slightly against him, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder.

"What was it for you?" Hermione's hushed voice, filled with both curiosity and uncertainty, filled the room that was silent save for the crackling fire.

"Fluffy," he replied softly, not having to even wonder at her meaning.

"Fluffy?"

He felt himself smile and one of the many knots in his chest loosen at the bafflement in her voice. Even with the black hair and feature changes from the spells on her, her voice and expressions, at times, were still completely "Hermione." Hearing that particular tone, more than anything, left him with a sense that everything would work itself out.

"I was thinking about how the damn memories were like some slumbering monster – like Fluffy – who would awaken when the music stopped." He said. As he spoke, he repressed the sudden urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all. "It all came back then – really slowly at first, a trickle. Then it was like a breaking damn." Shaking off remembered pain, he turned to look at Herm…Livia. LIVIA, he mentally scolded himself.

He had always thought black eyes were cold and evil; yet looking into Livia's dark eyes, he could see her concern and empathy. The blackness was comforting and he remembered, in that moment, his father's eyes were the same.

"So, what was it for you," he asked softly, knowing she needed to talk as much as he did.

Livia lifted an ebony box with silver hinges and handed it to him. He took it curiously, watching his sister closely. She hadn't looked at him while handing over the box. Instead, her eyes had been fixed on her lap, at her unconsciously wringing her hands. Even with her hair covering her face, he could see her gnawing on her lower lip.

He could see the confusion over the mix of anxiety and hope, love and hate that flowed across her features as she avoided his gaze. More importantly, he could feel the emotions washing over him. Lacing their fingers together, he remembered all the lessons Sirius, Remus and his father had drilled into him – that the most important thing he could ever learn was how to support and aid his sister. He suspected, now as he thought of them, that the lessons had a deeper purpose. However, the face value of having learned those skills was more than enough for now.

With a squeeze of her fingers, Harry cleared his mind and then drew up happier sensations – feelings of love, understanding and tranquility and fed them back to his sister. The answering tug at the corner of her lips was more than enough reward.

Carefully opened the box and almost chocked.

"Whoa," the odd gasping sound escaped him in a gush of air, followed closely by a compulsive cough.

Inside the box rested one of the most beautiful, yet unpretentious necklaces he had ever set eyes on. It was comprised of a long chain made of a fluid, silver-like metal that was intricately engraved, yet elegantly simple in its design. Suspended at the heart of the necklace was a teardrop shaped crystal of the emerald green. Had he not been holding the box in firelight, he probably would have assumed that it was an exquisite, yet not overly large, emerald. The way it reflected light and colors in a perfect, prismatic way – like a perfectly cut gem and the subtle but definite inner luminescence told him there was more to this gem than first blush indicated.

"Where did you get this, Livi?" he asked, his eyes not straying from the glistening crystal.

"Draco," she said softly. "He wanted me to know he was there if I needed him."

Darrius felt her lift her eyes to watch him. He could literally feel her presence like a separate current of magic running through him. It stuck him then how different – even on a fundamental level - his relationship with Livia was from the one he had with Hermione. Like he had could see his life only in the reflection of a Muggle car's side mirror – his friends had seemed much closer than they actually were – at least, on his part. Looking up at her, he smiled softly and handed back the box. Livia took the box back and held it open before her. One elegant finger hovered over the gem, not quite touching.

"He gave it to me yesterday. It’s a talisman of sorts. The chain and setting was his maternal grandmother's; it's been in the Black family for generations. The enchantments on it go back seven hundred years. The gem is from the Malfoy collection," quickly she flipped the gem over to show him the engraved crest on the gem. "I'm not sure how – I didn't ask – but he imbedded his or rather our emotions from a single moment. When I touch the stone, I can feel him -- Draco and felt for me in a single moment he captured."

She blushed bright red as she said this and he couldn't help but stare at her perplexed as to what she found embarrassing. He could feel his own blush burning his face as he let go of her hand, as it suddenly occurred to him what she could be alluding to.

"Does it disturb you?" Harry asked and waited.

Livia sat quietly for what seemed to Harry a long time. He tried to sit still as she gently brushed her fingers against the stone. When she looked up at him, her brow slightly furrowed and her lower lip caught firmly between her teeth. He tried to smile reassuringly at her seeing her confusion. It occurred to him as she quickly shut the box and set it way from herself, then scooted back into the sofa and curled her legs into her chest that perhaps it wasn't the gift that disturbed her so much.

Just maybe what upset her was that the stone didn't disturb her and instead brought her comfort.

"It's okay to like him, Livi." He said softly, trying to hide the uncertain waver in his voice.

She just looked at him blankly for a moment, then suddenly her lips quirked with bittersweet humor. He forced himself to wait her out quietly. She reached for the necklace again. Slowly, careful she pulled the necklace out and set it against her robe-covered knee. He watched as her fingers touched the stone, lingering there. Her face softened slightly, her eyes unfocusing or perhaps focusing on something he couldn't see. She smiled softly and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Harry saw such hope and confusion that he couldn't resist reaching out to gently touch her cheek and wipe away her tears.

"He cares so much for her."

He felt his brow furrow in concern and confusion at the statement. "For who?"

"Livia." She said.

"Uh, love… that would be you," he said, his voice soft and almost hesitant.

"No. Livia is a beautiful pureblood. When Moth," she paused, "when they told me about the bond and what it would mean, I thought it was so romantic. Stupid, silly child." She laughed a bit bitterly at that before continuing softly. "Worse yet, a part of me really wishes I could be the person Draco thinks I am."

Her voice had grown so soft on the last words, Harry had to strain to hear them. She sat there, quiet except for the occasional sniffle then suddenly let out a harsh snort, "Imagine the fit Ron would have if he heard me say that. I don't think he would ever forgive me."

It was a thought Harry had been trying not to entertain. Ron was his best friend and he knew that his hatred of Draco and all Malfoys ran to the unreasonable. He was having enough issues trying to reconcile "Draco" and "Malfoy" on his own, much less try and find a way to make Ron understand. Looking back at his sister, seeing the girl who he usually went to for answers look lost and confused, however, convinced him to push his own concerns aside.

"Livi, I don't think you have to worry much about Draco. Last year, I would have told you to forget him; if he judged you poorly because your parents weren't pureblooded wizards, than it was his loss. I don't think that's the case anymore, though. I think there is more to him than I ever gave him credit for before. He can still be a world-class prat, though. " He paused for a moment, praying he was right. "As for Ron, I have to believe he will come around in the end."

Hermione – Livia – smiled at him, but before she could say anything there was a knock at her bedroom door. Harry watched as his sister slid off the sofa in one smooth, elegant move. He was struck again at how different she was from the girl he had known last year. She moved differently now – she had Arabella's grace. The door opened, and he could see Ron's hopeful and slightly nervous expression.

He rose to his feet, watching the hopefully and uncertain expression on his friend's face. A burst of trepidation and hope washed over him as he studied his friend and his sister.

"Her..."

"Ron!" Harry said sharply, drawing his friend's attention. "Livia's had a rough morning. She could use a friend besides her Big brother to talk to ..."

"Baby," Livia shot back.

"Big," Harry replied, not loosing a breath then turned back to Ron, "Take care of her, Ron, okay? Now, I am going for a walk." Livia tried to interject something again but Harry cut her off, "Nope. Big brother's know best and that's all I am saying." Harry walked out, ignoring Ron's befuddled expression.

"Darrius, wait, I wanted..." Ron called after him.

Harry tried to pretend he hadn't heard him. It had occurred to him that the strength of emotions he felt hadn't been fully his. Livia need time with Ron. Stopping suddenly, he turned and faced them. Trying to imitate his father's glare as best he could, he stared down Ron.

'Hurt her, Weasley, and I will hurt you," he said, his eyes still narrowed. Seeing his sister amused expression and Ron's eyes widen in shock, he laughed and smiled, "Have fun, you two," he said cheerily and walked off.

Ron's voice drifted to him as he neared the end of the hall, "I swear, Livia, he's gone mental."

With a soft chuckle, he walked down the stairs. Same old Ron; it was a comforting thought. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.