Author's Note:

This is the revised version. Taking in critiques from Tinn and Anna I have changed and added to the content a bit. Much thanks to Typa and Jeram for beta'ing. Also several of you didn't like the ending, so I have taken off the cheesy cliffhanger.

Chapter 3

Hogwarts

Albus Dumbledore took a ponderous route through his school, peripherally aware of the students who hushed and gave him a respectful space as he walked through the halls. Even at the height of the rush between changing classes, they slowed where they were running and either bowed their heads in awkward reverence or watched the venerated wizard with unabashed awe.

For him, he did not notice their deference and respect; he was preoccupied with the dying pangs of his conscience for what he had asked one of his most promising students to do.

In the end it is all for the greater good. He sighed in an unusual betrayal of his thoughts; most never saw anything but a benign smile on his face or in private the look of firm conviction.

At some point he had bowed his back and found himself looking at the stone flagstones of the hallways, he sighed again and at once realized what he had been doing. Calmly he straightened his posture and chastised himself for sighing out loud like some old retired biddy. Looking around he made certain no one had seen his moment of weakness; his blue gaze penetrated the shadows the architecture of the castle so conveniently formed, but he was alone.

Satisfied, he moved on, walking with great consideration and care. Soon he arrived at an old sanctuary, a place of secret comfort, the transfiguration classroom that he had used in his years as the teacher of the subject and now lay in disuse. He rested his hand just a moment on the tiring wood of the doors and felt the texture and age of them under the palm of his hand; it was reassuring.

The room had that typical smell of abandonment and of unstirred air; a fine layer of dust covered the neat rows of student desks and the teacher's table. Dumbledore gave a genuine but guilty smile. It was like the room had missed him and fallen to worse days now that he was not there; a simple, an ignoble sign that he had left his mark somewhere in the past.

He shook away such thoughts and need of reassurance that only men of lesser responsibilities could afford. He flicked and swung his wand with exaggerated style; watching with pleasure the dust disappear, the musty air replaced with a scented breeze and the windows crack open to let in sunlight.

Finally he walked up the wide aisles between the rows of desks and settled on top of his desk, in a fashion that would probably spread rumors of his eccentricities or gain him disapproving looks from Minerva. He chuckled at the imagery and people's insistence that he appear stately and act with decorum constantly.

But then his thoughts returned to Lily Potter, who he had just left in his office, finding it difficult to face her when she had looked at him with such a naked expression of betrayal.

"The good of many before that of one," he muttered to himself and a dark brooding look settled on his face. He remembered when he had once used a phrase with different words but the same meaning as this one and how terribly that had gone. “But she might be key to the prophecy or perhaps James Potter was…No, I will put my faith in the living. It must be a child of hers.” And that look of firm conviction was on his face again.

Having lain to rest his doubts he drew a chocolate frog card from his pocket and spoke into it. “Please have Professor McGonagall come by the old transfiguration office. She should have a free period right now.”

Waiting in silence he let himself immerse in memories evoked by his old classroom; there was a bemused and fond smile on his face. McGonagall entered the room warily and raised a questioning brow at the expression on the Headmaster's face. With a nostalgic smile of her own she threaded her way through the rows of desks and sat at a very particular one.

Dumbledore began to chuckle as he saw her take that specific chair and she gave a light laugh as well. He nodded to her in acknowledgment.

“It has been many years since that was your place Professor McGonagall. If I remember correctly, it was a very impatient and pert young lady that occupied that desk with incessant questions.” Dumbledore pretended to be in deep thought and smiled conspiratorially.

McGonagall chuckled and leaned back in the student chair, dressed in her ever green robes.

“Was I truly that intolerable?” she asked.

“Of course not, I always try to encourage the natural curiosity of my students,” Dumbledore replied.

“Even when its purpose is to test the limits of your patience?”

“Especially if that is the purpose, Minerva, but you knew that.” It was Dumbledore's turn to arch his silvery brows at her.

“Of course, Headmaster. I never did succeed…but that was many years ago. I trust you called me for some purpose, we have little time for reminiscing.” Her demeanor changed from indulgent to strict and businesslike. Dumbledore matched her expression and gave her a heavy look.

“There was a time when you sat in that desk there that your name was not McGonagall. Do you recall?” he asked and watched Minerva McGonagall stiffen and regard him with a dangerous look.

“As I said earlier, Headmaster, that is from a very, very long time ago.” The inflections of her words left no doubt that she wanted this subject dropped.

“Indeed, I am sorry to bring history up like this. It took you time to discover the identity of your father and claim you family name-”

“That is ancient history,” she snapped, interrupting him. Her nostrils flared and she stood from the student desk abruptly. All traces of previous humor absent.

“Most definitely, Minerva. I simply wish you to find your perhaps long forgotten research into the old pure blood family lines and their unclaimed connections with each other. I am in need of tracing all branches and roots of a family,” he explained.

“There are many archivists at the Ministry. There can be no reason for you to ask me to dredge up that…that part of my life.”

“No archivist has the records and traces you had discovered. I need to know the links that were hidden for one reason or another. It is imperative I have this information. Trust me, I would not ask you to relive the frustrations of your child hood,” Dumbledore gently coaxed her.

“And what am I looking for? I do not believe I have everything that I once found,” she asked giving in to the demand.

“The history of the Potters, find me everything you can. Any living members, however remote, that have a connection to them.”

“But why?” she asked, bewildered. At a time they were beset by the evils of the Deatheaters, why would he want to know this?

“Trust me, Minerva. It is of great importance.” And he said no more, gazing serenely at her askance face. Finally she nodded and left but he called her as she was about to leave the classroom. “He was proud to claim you, Minerva. It was his bitter regret that he did not know of your existence. Your father loved you very much and was very proud of the young woman who hunted him down.”

Minerva turned on her heel and gave him a defiant and powerful look. “I know, Albus.”

Dumbledore bowed and before he raised his head, his loyal deputy was gone.

“I must find a suitable match for her, a Potter male if I can. It may just be it is one of their line to defeat Tom. How I wish Severus was more successful with Lily…perhaps telling her the full truth was a mistake. I should have held back a little.” With those last out loud thoughts to himself he left the room for his office. Ready to confront Lily Potter and convince her of bearing another child, imagining he had given her enough time to think.

Since it was middle of the class hour there was no one in the hallways and using passageways known only to the faculty he was soon at the door to his office. Taking a moment to brace himself he walked in.

“My dear, I hope…” he began and trailed off when he saw that Lily was not where he expected her. The chairs in front of his desk were out of place and he saw the Resurrection Stone lying on the ground. He picked it up, looking at it curiously, trying to build a logical picture of what might have happened while he was giving the young witch time to consider their conversation. Finally deciding that she was probably too distraught to continue the discussion, he placed the stone in a safer place than his desk and came to sit behind it.

“Severus…perhaps still has a chance. Win her over,” he muttered, and with a sweep of his wand restored the portraits. They shouted down their appalled indignation at being blinded. Dumbledore went about assuaging their bruised egos, forgetting about having found the Resurrection Stone out of its place.

Lily Potter's Flat

It was late night, nearing early morning when she woke up; courtesy of the boisterous neighbors returning from another weekend night of drunken revelry. Her bedroom was dark, the drapes letting past none of the street lights outside her windows. Usually her neighbors' habits did not bother her…Typically their presence was a reminder of life moving on outside her own flat. For on most nights, at this hour, she would be sitting up, unable to be at rest with the thoughts of her loss and dreary day to day existence.

But tonight when she found herself relaxed in that special boneless way of complete contentment in a stranger's arms, she cursed their inebriated delinquencies to early and painful deaths. She sighed, feeling her hot breath bounce back from the boy's chest that she was snuggled in. She breathed in his smell; trying to hold on to this unique moment of peace.

She cursed the irony that a day's sleep where she felt safe had restored her emotional control enough that she could no longer fool herself that she was in the arms of her husband - but then he smelled so much like him. Her heart fought her mind to let her have this illusion; she hugged him closer, desperate to not lose the blissful peace her body and soul had found in the familiar stranger's arms.

But as such things go, once the doubt is seeded, it takes root; and with a defeated sigh she rolled away from him to the side of the bed flush against the wall. From the relative distance between them she peered at him in the darkness, not really able to make out much more than his outline. It was easier this way, when his painfully familiar features were shadowed, to think clearly. In fact, she thought to herself, everything had been tumultuous ever since she had set her sights on him.

The thought that he was an imposter struck her again and in a frantic movement she reached for her wand and cast a Lumos charm. The white light at the end of her wand shone on the face of the sleeping boy…Other than looking like a younger version, it was James' face, with the scar that was on Harry's body. She shuddered and lost the warmth she had found in the many hours she had slept in his arms. Apprehensive and wary again, as she should have been throughout, she quietly stood off the bed away from him. Shining the light from her wand all over him, she tried to find some clue to the truth. Was this James, impossibly returned to her? But then why didn't Harry come back too?

She shook her head against these strange and unreal thoughts and stumbled out of her bedroom, knowing as long as she looked at him she would not be able to think rationally. Hitting the switches on the way to the kitchenette she lit up the electric lights of her flat, against her practice of only having candles. But tonight she wanted to be certain that the boy in her bed could not use any darkened corners to creep up on her.

With calm habitual movements she put the kettle on the boil and settled herself on the small two person table for a good think. At this hour of the night, she typically would have already been awake for several hours, sitting at the table just wide enough to slide one's knees under. A hot cup of tea was her solace at night; today she needed to think on the bizarre things that had happened. All from being asked for a child to possibly having her deepest wish realized.

In the harsher glare of the electric lights to candle's glow she took in the unkempt state of her cramped flat. Unwilling to be weighed down by how much she had ignored her wellbeing she cast a charm that in a series of 'clicks' shut off the muggle lights, leaving her in the safe gloom. The kettle whistled and she made tea by the light of the stove's fire.

Taking a few fortifying sips that satisfyingly warmed her insides she attempted to set aside the strong emotional effects of the past day and began to break down each and everything.

Only after a few short minutes she became frustrated and drew a parchment and quill to begin listing things chronologically…After five minutes when she got to the part about undressing the boy she blushed and diligently shredded the parchment and vanished it; getting rid of any evidence. She massaged her temples in small circles trying to ease the anxiety and impatience with herself.

Her eyes were drawn to a basin sitting on the window sill under which the table sat. Most times she kept her gaze studiously away from the innocuous looking bowl; she abhorred the reason she was given the device. For that is what it's not so plain nature was, it was a magical device, a pensieve. Albus Dumbledore had lent it to her to commit her horrific memories of 'that' night to, so she could heal. The venerable man had thought it a helpful gift, she had thought it an insult to James and Harry; to be cast aside and bottled away.

But right now it would be helpful, she begrudgingly admitted to herself. Standing to retrieve it off the sill she noted a thick layer of dust on the sill but nothing in the pensieve itself. “So you keep yourself magically clean. Convenient,” she said the word as if it wasn't really a good quality.

Without agonizing over it too long, she brought the tip of her wand to her head and drew the liquiesque substance of memories. The memories undulated in the pensieve giving off sparkling light; Lily looked at them mesmerized for a moment before plunging in.

At once she felt as if she had taken a dive off a cliff and was hurtling down into the office of the Headmaster in her memory. With a sudden stop she found herself sitting in the visitor chair in front of a grave looking Albus Dumbledore. Next to her was the pensieve version of herself.

“Please think on it my dear, it may very well be the only thing we can do. The necessary thing…” Albus Dumbledore said gently and stood from his chair to quietly leave the office. Lily saw her own self huddled in the chair, slowly but surely breaking down. She looked away from this memory of herself, not wanting to see herself weak and at a loss.She had thought on it enough to know that she wanted to see her memory of grabbing the stone, and the times that she touched the boy. She watched herself in grip of grief hallucinate that her dead baby was in front of her and reach out to him; her heart filled with pity for herself and disgust at how forlorn she looked.

Resisting the desire to focus on anything in the room but herself, she watched herself clutch the stone, and almost chant in pain 'Come back to me, come back to me.' The pain that was never too far away cut her again, and she felt desperate to have Harry back, just as she had in the memory.

Just then the floor of the office expelled the boy right under her feet, and quite clearly he was holding the same stone she was, and it too had the same etchings. Finally having something to focus on than herself she kneeled down and frowned at it, furrowing her fine copper brows; as if her intense concentration would force the stone to give up its secrets.

She huffed in impatience, blowing away the fringe of her hair falling in her eyes and stood away. When the memory got to the part where she had touched the boy's face, she tensed and fell into a defensive stance. Bending her knees fractionally, to absorb the force of a magical or physical blow; she reached for her wand.

Lily's delicate lips were set in an apprehensive frown as she saw her body tremble with the powerful vibrating force that came from the boy. Her skin had practically rippled from the near-painful waves. Lily had her willow wand marking the boy in the memory but where her hand was usually steady it shook now, because she felt like she was thinking of attacking James.

Controlling her natural reaction to blast away someone harming her she balled her hands and brought the wand to her side; working her jaw in an angry gesture. For the rest of the memory in the pensieve she kept her instincts in control to make certain she understood her reactions to the boy.

It seemed that anytime she touched his skin, some magical energy attacked her, making her feel not so much pain but great discomfort. But it was the after effects of touching him that made her anxious, and she stood running her canine over her lower lip in thought over it.

Both times she had touched him she had been filled with terror and an irrational compulsion to protect him. The stone, it has to do something with the stone.

She was still in her own memory when she saw herself put the boy to bed. As she watched a desperate need to hold him, and be near him coursed through her blood, making her sigh wistfully. “Why do you look like James? Why do you smell like him?”

Turning away from the memory before her want for James and Harry overtook her again, she left the pensieve.

She needed him and he smelled of home, those two things were not something he caused in her when they touched. She found herself vulnerable and wanting to go back into the bedroom and just…watch him. Sighing, she drank the remains of her tepid tea, resisting the urge.

There was a 'meow' by her feet and she looked down to find her grey and white kitten looking up at her. She reached down and the kitten hopped on her hand and into her lap where it curled up after winking at her. Guiltily she looked at the saucer on the floor of the kitchenette and was relieved to see there was some food in it still; at least her kitten hadn't gone hungry. She petted it absently, but the smooth motion relaxed her, and the small cat purred in pleasure.

She had owned the kitten for nearly four years but it had never grown, staying the adorable age and tiny size. Other than that curiosity, it also had a habit of winking at her in greeting. The kneezle breeder that she had gotten him off of had told her the kitten was at least one -eighth kneezle. It was no use to the breeder and he had been happy to let it go for free. Only magical thing Paddy had done since she had him was stay young and wink, and that was amusing enough. That and survive her home's destruction Halloween '81, two years ago.

The thought brought her back to the boy lying in her room. Two things she now knew: one, that his coming had something to do with those stones and second that touching him filled her with terror and an irrational impulse to protect him. What she did not know was his identity…and that was the next thing she was going to figure out.

Hanging right in the entrance of the flat was a lone cloak, stained and threadbare. She went to it with a sense of purpose; the same sense she got whenever she put it on. It was what she always wore on missions for the Order. Over the years of her membership in the Order it had acquired small modifications here and there that made it invaluable in a fight.

From the inside right sleeve, tied in a leather thong was her back-up wand, James' wand. On the other end, the inside had rows of snug holsters for potion vials and other small ingredients. One more pocket held semi-precious gems with runes carved on them or in their depths. She had cast such charms as she knew on the outside of the cloak to protect her when she was thrown or attacked with fire. The worn look was deliberate, so no one mistook the cloak for anything more than what it seemed.

She reached for the rows of vials, always kept replenished by her and fished out the one holding Veritaserum, and another powerful petrifying potion, which required an antidote to release the victim. Paddy followed, staying close to her ankles. She stood for a long moment staring down the short hallway to the door of her bedroom, wondering if she would become undone if she saw him again.

Gritting her teeth she stalked down the hall and banged the bedroom door open.