Laughing green eyes beneath a mess of black hair, Harry clapped his hands excitedly within the safety of her arms.  Turning his head to look up at her, he grabbed at a loose lock of her hair, yanking at it, then munching on it contentedly.  She smiled down at him even as she began a tug of war to regain her hair.

Lily sighed, and closed the photograph album.  Harry hadn't been a year old in that last photo, but his resemblance to James was plainly visible, more pronounced even than Theo's had ever been.  She'd often imagined what it would be like to see him grown.

"And now I have," she whispered to herself, as she slid the album back into its place on the bookshelf.  She'd seen the young man her son could have become - but he was not the same joyful baby she had known.  How could he be, after all?  Children changed so swiftly, and sixteen years was a long time.

Yet there were shadows in his eyes that should not have been there, and the scar on his brow that spoke plainly of suffering.  Could it truly have been the result of the Killing Curse, as James now claimed?  Reason and logic told her that surviving that curse was impossible; but experience had taught her that clinging too tightly to words such as 'impossible' was like standing on top of a temple during a thunderstorm and denying the existence of the gods.  You could never be sure the lightning wouldn't strike, whether through the gods' whimsy, or simply nature taking its course.

After escaping from the smothering blanket of James' guilt, she'd made her way to the library and started checking out books and scrolls on the Unforgivables and failed dark curses.  The topic was really more Remus' area of expertise than her own, but her partner was still completing the assignment that they had been working on when Albus owled her to return to Hogwarts.  While her family was very important to her, she could hardly justify completely abandoning their duties, especially at a time where loyalties could be tested in too many ways.  The assignment would likely be over in a few days, in any case, but she felt Remus should know of Harry's existence before then.

She sent Charon to him with a brief note to call her by fire when he had a chance, before settling down at her desk to pore through the books she'd collected.  It was uncomfortable reading, for the most part.  The Unforgivables were horrible in and of themselves, and of the three only the Imperius curse was documented to have been successfully resisted.  Known defense against the Cruciatus and Killing curses boiled down to avoidance at all costs.  Speculation about a more active means of combating these curses was rampant, but essentially worthless without practical knowledge.  After all, no one in their right mind would volunteer to be a guinea pig when it came to the Unforgivables.

The topic of failed curses was no more pleasant.  Some curses had no effect when the casting failed, but many had unpleasant side effects that could be suffered by either the caster, the victim or indeed anyone in the vicinity - such as mutations of the original curse, magical drainage, more mundane pain, scarring, or even death.  While some of the failed spellcasters apparently deserved such fates, there were far too many innocent victims caught up in backlash for Lily's comfort.

The sound of her name being called drew her attention to Remus' head in the fireplace.  His appearance provided a welcome distraction from her thoughts.

"How is Simon?" he asked.  "It's not too serious, is it?"

"Simon's fine," Lily smiled ruefully.  "He did manage to cause something... amazing.  I hardly know what to think or do, but...  He brought Harry back to us."

Remus' eyes widened as the name sunk into his mind and stirred his memories.  "Harry?" he repeated.  "Your son Harry?"

Lily nodded, and proceeded to explain what they knew of the situation - including James' resurging guilt over Harry's death.  Her partner shook his head in dismay at the latter, knowing full well that there would be no easy solution to this problem.

"I don't know what else to do," Lily sighed.  "I've been checking up on failed curses, but there are simply too many possibilities to be certain."

"Have you asked Harry?" he queried softly.  She froze for a heartbeat, before stiffly shaking her head.

"He seemed so upset about it when I touched his scar..."

"And what about ways of sending him home?" the werewolf pressed, his tone sympathetic, but firm.  She bit her lip, shaking her head slightly, her eyes turned away.  "Lily, you need to talk with him, find out how he feels about this."

"I know," she answered, her pain and ambivalence clearly evident.  "But, Remus..."

"Think about how his parents must feel."

Exhaling heavily, she met his eyes at last, and nodded in acquiescence.

"I should be able to join you tomorrow," he continued after a short period of silence.  "This assignment looks to be a dead end."  His lips quirked humourlessly as she frowned.  "I managed to track down our contact just after you left.  Unfortunately, they are now 'vitally challenged', so to speak, and the Aurors have already moved in.  There are just a few odds and ends that I want to clear up before signing off on this one."

"Just great," she muttered in frustration, "that's all we needed.  If only..."

"We do what we can," he reminded her, before bidding her goodnight.

She was surprised to see the clock's hand on 'Dinner' when she turned away from the fireplace.  She'd spent more time lost in various scrolls and books than she'd thought, but that was hardly anything new.  James had teased her about it since they were in school.  Only the contents of the books had changed.

Abandoning her efforts in favour of a meal, she started to head down to the Great Hall, only to turn back to collect James.  He hadn't left the suite without her, and was most likely just as in need of a break from whatever papers he'd been rustling through all afternoon.

He didn't answer when she called his name from the main door to their rooms, so it was with a twinge of apprehension that she crossed the main room to the door of his office.  It was ajar, but did not readily move when she pushed at it.  Looking down, she found James on his knees, leaning against the doorjamb and blocking the door.

"James!"

His brown eyes appeared to be flecked with gold, his pupils dilated as he turned his head to gaze vacantly at her.

"Remus," he murmured softly, and his eyes closed.
 

"Did you hear about Potter?"

"What, Simon again?"

"No, his brother!  And I don't mean Theo!"

"Have you seen him?"

"They say he's a brilliant flyer."

"They say he's from another world."

"They say he's really a demon."

"Did you see his eyes?"

"He's a special agent for You-Know-Who, he's going to kill the Potters."

"He's weird."

"Where is he, do you know?"

"Why isn't he here?

Draco Sinclair snorted quietly to himself at the multitude of rumors flying around the Great Hall.  The Hogwarts rumour mill had been working overtime since the arrival of the eldest Potter.  Having been the favourite subject of the gossipmongers on more than one occasion, Draco knew better than to believe any of the third-hand stories, and took the second-hand information with more than a grain of salt.

He watched the two present Potter brothers with interest throughout the meal.  Their parents were noticeably absent.  It was possible that they were off somewhere private with their eldest progeny.  Given the rather sour expression Simon was sporting, it seemed that Harry's presence was ruffling some feathers; but then, Simon Potter had always been something of a spoiled brat.

"What do you think, Draco?"

"I think the roast is excellent, don't you?"  He smiled serenely as Pansy Parkinson rolled her eyes at him.

"I meant about Potter, and you know it," she informed him, half-glaring at him for his flippancy.

"I think that everyone is kicking up a huge fuss over nothing," he answered at last.  "That he's from another dimension is rather spectacular, but that says more about his baby brother's abilities to cause utter chaos than anything else.  They'll find a way to send him home, and that will be it."

Pansy frowned at him, her expression deadly serious.

"I passed him in the halls on the way down here," she said quietly, so that anyone else would be hard-pressed to hear her.  "There's something about him that makes my skin crawl.  He reminds me of him.  I mean, your friend in the dungeons."

Draco paused, staring at her for a moment before returning his outward attention to his meal.  His mind however, focussed on Pansy's disclosure for the remainder of dinner.  He observed the Potter brothers more carefully during this time, and came to the conclusion that Theodore Potter was worried.  Albeit, the perfectionist Gryffindor prefect was always troubling himself over something, but Draco had rarely seen him this disturbed - and each time had been a consequence of his father's gift of prescience.

Unconsciously, it seemed, Draco's feet carried him back to the library after dinner, to the place where he'd first seen that carefully disguised almost-frightened expression on Potter's face.  He retraced his steps of years ago, returning to the section of shelving containing the books on modern history - and stared at the solitary person sitting at the study desk, paging through an open book.

It seemed he was developing a habit of meeting Potters in this section of the library.

He took a few steps towards Potter, close enough to identify the text he was reading: The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.  Draco almost laughed.

"Hello," he said instead, startling Potter, who stared at him with wide green eyes for all of half a second before fury transformed his face in demonic fashion.

"You!"  The word was hissed as though it were the vilest epithet in the world.  Draco found himself unable to breathe as a hand clenched tightly around his throat.  He clutched at it with his own, but for someone so small and thin Potter had an unbelievable grip.  Or rather, a magical grip.

Draco was tossed facedown onto the table as though he were nothing more than an old homework assignment.  His lip split on impact with the wooden surface, and he tasted blood.  He twisted his neck to try and see what Potter was doing, only to have invisible hands pin him down securely.  Cold fingers plucked at his cuffs and sleeves, pushing and twisting them up to reveal the flesh of his forearms.  For a prolonged moment they lingered on his skin, then vanished, along with the pressure that had restrained him.

He pushed himself off the desk, gasping for breath, and tripped over an upturned chair to land on his rear.  Potter stood over him, his face a bloodless, impassive mask, his wand drawn.  Draco shuffled backwards until he hit a bookcase, leaving him no place to go.  He fumbled for his own wand, seemingly lost within the folds of his robe.  Potter kept walking until he was within touching distance, then lowered his wand, holding its tip steady bare inches from Draco's nose.  The Slytherin watched helplessly as Potter cast his spell - and blinked in stupefaction as the magic touched deftly upon his bloody lip, causing it to tingle briefly.  He raised one hand tentatively to his lips, feeling them whole and healed.

Slowly, cautiously, Draco rose to his feet, his gaze locked with Potter's.  They stood silently for a minute, before Draco self-consciously turned and did not run away from the green-eyed Gryffindor.  He paced deliberately out of the library, trying desperately to ignore the racing rhythm of his heart, and maintained his careful, measured steps all the way down to the dungeons.

Avoiding the entrance to the Slytherin common room, he instead headed deeper into the lower levels of Hogwarts, to where few people ever went willingly.  Superstitious myths about nefarious goings on were enough to keep the majority of students away, while the truth warded off most of the teachers.  This was Draco's haven, had been since his second week of school; but it was not his alone.

"What is it this time?"  The voice that emerged from the darkness of the old laboratory was as condescending as ever, dripping with a peculiar combination of bitterness and dark amusement.

"Lucius... spoke of a mark," Draco stated, willing his voice not to break.  "His master's mark."

"Indeed."  The amusement had drained away, leaving harsh, weary tones.  "What of it?"

"Where would it be?  On his body, I mean."

The shadows stirred, producing the form of a tall man in a dark, heavy cloak, a hood obscuring his face.  He lifted his arms, pushing back the sleeves on his left with his right hand.

"Ah," Draco breathed, pale-faced.  "I rather thought so."
 

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