Harry was pretending to be asleep when he heard the door open and then shut softly. Turning around as if troubled by a dream, he took a peek through his half shut eyes to see who it was. In the darkness, he could make out a tall figure with a long face and he immediately flipped to his stomach. It was Ron. The person he hated most in the world, for betraying him and his trust when he needed it the most. When Sirius died.

“Harry?” The voice was unsure, and wavering. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his friend, but he opened his eyes as he stared at the pillow. “Are you awake?” No sound, he reminded himself. Not one movement.

“Listen… I’m sorry,” said Ron softly. Was that really going to help? Harry thought angrily. Those miserable two words won’t fix anything between us. He felt his bed sink from beneath him as Ron sat on the edge of it, gazing off toward the window. “Something scary is going on, Harry. Something none of us understand…” Ron trailed off.

What was he talking about? Harry thought.

“There are some things we’re too inexperienced for, have too little knowledge about. I could be ruining your life right now, by being attracted to her,” Ron continued, still looking through the window as if the moon could give him answers. “I just don’t know, Harry.”

He sat up so suddenly, Ron jumped off the bed. “Well, I know, Ron. I don’t care if you love that girl, what hurts me is you not telling me! You never tell me anything anymore! Since the fifth year, when I came to Number 12. Why can’t you tell me?” shouted Harry.

“I can’t!” cried Ron desperately. “I… just… can’t… tell.” Harry remained rigid on the bed, hearing his former friend’s words but not comprehending them. Why not? He wanted to ask.

“I just wanted to come up here to apologize,” he finished lamely and started to leave when Harry piped up, “Wait.” Ron turned around; face still covered in the darkness. “Maybe some things should be kept hidden,” he admitted.

Ron waited a couple more minutes when he realized Harry wasn’t going to say anymore. “Well… I’ll be going then,” he said and went through the door, being careful to shut it quietly.

Harry soon slid out of his bed and sat on the floor, propping himself up against his trunk. He’d made a mess of things, a terrible mess. He needed friends more than ever with the prophecy in his mind at all times… and Sirius…

Moaning, he buried his face in his hands and thought, If my parents were alive, none of this would have happened. None of it. Through the silence, he heard a wolf howl from outside as he drifted off to sleep, dreaming nightmares of his godfather falling… falling into the veil…

-

“What did you want to talk to me about, Albus?” asked Minerva McGonagall as she strode into his office. “It’s late at night... is this really that important?”

Dumbledore smiled and gestured her to the chair opposite him. “Important enough.”

She glanced at him sternly but sat down nevertheless as the Headmaster swiveled his chair around, the back rest toward her. “Do you believe in the impossible, Minerva?” he asked.

Her eyebrows knit together as she pursed her lips. “I’m not quite sure I heard you.” She didn’t like the way this conversation was going, not in the least.

“I know you did. What is your answer? Don’t be ashamed, I just want to know the truth.”

“It’s called impossible for a reason,” she replied stiffly. Minerva McGonagall didn’t like to admit that sometimes she had reasons to doubt this, reasons she would never tell.

For a moment, Dumbledore stayed silent before saying, “What if I broke that foundation? What if the impossible… were possible?”

She gave a brittle laugh. “And what do you mean by that, Albus? Surely you don’t think of people coming back from the dead and what not.”

“No,” he said slowly, “I meant time travel.” There was an awkward pause as McGonagall gave a questioning stare. But that was not possible! Or… was it?

There was a slight sigh on the Transfiguration teacher’s part as she whispered, “Are you trying to tell me something?” She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know, but curiosity had gotten the better of her.

“James and Lily are here from the future,” he explained gently. “We aren’t sure how, but they are here. I’ve seen them, Minerva, with my own two eyes.”

“Don’t do this to me!” she found herself yelling. “We all miss them, but this isn’t the time for… for hallucinations! Pressing matters are at hand, we don’t have much time left… please… just don’t say this…”

“But it’s true,” stated the Headmaster. “I have Remus Lupin’s word on it, and I have proof also.”

“Remus Lupin,” she replied, voice cold, “is a troubled man. Surely he might see them, for some friends after what happened at the Department of Mysteries last summer. He would do well to console Harry, but apparently he hasn’t made the effort…”

“He has. Harry seems to be grief-stricken; however; and whatever Remus does only worsens his pain.”

“I would like to see your proof,” she cut in, abruptly changing the subject, not wanting to talk about Harry. Already too much time had been wasted on the boy’s misery and Sirius’s death.

Lightening slashed across the sky, illuminating the room. Dumbledore’s voice carried clear through her as he spoke softly, “Look, Minerva.”

Her eyes followed his as it landed on two silhouettes entering the room, one of a man and a woman. McGonagall’s breath caught in her throat. “It can’t be…” Shock overrode her calmness and persistence as she watched in horror and joy as James and Lily stepped closer to the teacher.

“Professor McGonagall?” she heard a soft voice ask, a musical voice that could only belong to Lily Potter.

“I heard you haven’t married Sirius yet… I’m sure he’s devastated,” a masculine voice added, and Minerva could almost see the smirk on James Potter’s face.

“Stop James,” Lily replied with a note of humor in her voice. “When you talk to a professor, you don’t start off with their personal life!”

“I was just wondering,” he defended himself as he turned toward McGonagall. “So. Are we evidence enough for you?”

The only sound besides the rain and thunder clapping was soft sobs, followed by a series of short, choppy breaths. “Lily’s… right you know,” Minerva managed to choke out. “If you want to… be on my good side, Potter… you don’t… ask about… about…” By this time, Lily and James couldn’t make anything else out as a fresh cry arose from the teacher.

“Since when are you so happy to see me?” demanded James jokingly, while McGonagall struggled to compose herself.

“Just be ready on time for my class tomorrow, Mr. Potter,” she finished, and Dumbledore stood up.

“James, Lily, go to your common rooms, you will need some rest for your classes. And, please, try not to spend the night thinking of ways to harm Severus Snape, James,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling merrily.

“Well, goodnight then,” replied James offhandedly.

“Goodnight!” Lily called back cheerfully. When the door had closed, McGonagall faced Dumbledore with trembling jaw.

“They’re here… they’re really here…” she whispered, rapture clearly on her face. “But I have a question.”

Dumbledore stopped short and looked up at her from his desk. “How am I going to punish James, when I’m so happy to see him alive?” she wondered.

-

“I don’t want to sleep on the floor!” protested James adamantly. “Why don’t you?” They were standing in the Gryffindor boys’ dorm, watching the five beds in the room with troubled glares, four of which were occupied.

“I don’t either! Besides, it’s my bed,” shot back Ron.

“Hey, who’s the one that just time traveled twenty years into the future?” James asked cockily, tilting his head to one side. Sighing, Ron threw his hands up in the air.
“Fine. But tomorrow, you’re sleeping right here on the floor.”

“Agreed.”

Ron laid himself gently on the floor, hoping to find it softer than usual. To his displeasure, it was still as hard as ever. What’s the use of being a wizard when you can’t conjure up a bed? Ron thought irritatedly as he stared at the ceiling, glancing occasionally at James who was quite content in the bed. His shoulder was hitting the ground in an awkward way, and his eyes seemed unable to close. He shifted to his side and huddled in a ball to get warm. Why hadn’t he noticed it was so cold without a bedspread?

“Here,” the voice came from above him, and Ron twisted his head to see who it was. “Do you have it?” The blanket James had thrown to the red haired boy was now draped over his head rather bulkily as he tore it off his head.

“Thanks,” muttered Ron as he arranged it over his long frame. “Next time you might want to warn me.” At least his staying warm wasn’t an issue anymore.

There were several creaks from above; Ron guessed it was James turning toward him. “So you’re friends with Harry,” he commented. It was more of a statement then a question, so Ron responded nonchalantly, “Well, I used to be at least.”

“What happened? A fight?”

“Yeah, but he’s been kind of depressed since Sirius…” At once Ron bit his tongue. What had he been thinking, talking about Harry’s Godfather’s death?

“Sirius? He knows Sirius, as in Sirius Black?”

Ron gulped. He’d gotten himself into a situation- a big one. “Yes.”

“So you know him too!” There was a note of excitement in James’s voice, one he hadn’t heard the whole time Harry’s father had been here. “What’s he like now?”

“Kind of… reckless… I dunno.” He didn’t want to bury himself in this conversation. “He was nice…. In a weird way…”

James laughed out loud. “I’m sure he’d like to hear that. What about Remus?”

“You mean Professor Lupin?” Ron asked, smiling. “The best bloody Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we ever had!”

“He was your teacher?” James sounded surprised. “Was always good at DADA… just never fancied him a teacher, you know?”

Shaking his head, Ron replied, “No. If we had had a teacher like him for all of our years at Hogwarts, I would have gotten Outstanding on all my NEWTS. We rarely used parchment anyhow, which was new.”

“Really?” A tone of respect sneaked into James’s voice. “That’ll be good, since he’s our teacher this year.”

“No!” gasped Ron eagerly. “That’s brilliant!”

James grinned, happy to discover his friend was well liked, when he heard Ron clear his throat and say, “Hey… I’m sort of tired… I’m going to sleep now.”

He muttered his approval as he watched Ron doze off rather quickly. Must have been bushed, thought James, listening to the boy’s snores. What a day. Closing his eyes, he waited for sleep, but it never came. It often eluded him, especially since he started falling for Lily. Lily…

James imagined her hair and her eyes, the startling green that reflected the grass. Suddenly, he wanted to talk to her, just to see her. That’s it, he assured himself, swinging his legs over the bed. That’s all. Rumpling his hair with one hand, he reached out with the other to grab his glasses when a groan was heard to his right.

“Ron?” asked a voice, slurred with sleepiness. James froze. Was that boy talking to him? “I’m sorry…”

James stayed on the bed, eyes glued to the floor. Maybe if he ignored the voice, it would go away. He didn’t want to be found out.

“I had that dream again,” the voice continued. James replied softly, mind racing, “Oh- that dream?”

“He was falling,” whispered the voice drowsily. “I couldn’t stop him. Lupin was holding me back. I tried to get him… I did… he said he was gone, that there was nothing I could do…”

He felt as if he had pried into the boy’s life, the boy sleeping next to him. He had no right to, but here James was, eavesdropping. Or was he? James was being directly addressed, well at least a little. “I miss him,” said the boy, tone curiously light as if having just realized the truth.

Shocked at the emotion in the boy’s voice, James still said nothing. Normally he might mock the person for missing their relative, or friend of some sort so openly, but this time James felt he had no right. This boy was really going through a hard time. For some reason, he wanted to comfort the boy… to tell him it would be all right. But for now, he stayed silent, ear cocked toward the voice.

A shuddering breath was heard from the bed, perhaps trying to clear his mind of the sleepiness or tears. “Could you quiet down, Harry? Some of us are trying to sleep- and you too, Ron,” came another voice, further to James’s right. It had an Irish brogue to it, dulled a tiny bit to sound more normal. It also had the same tone of sleepiness to it as Harry’s had, giving the impression of being half awake.
James let out an, “All right,” in a voice that hopefully sounded like Ron’s. The boy next to him, Harry, he was called, replied back dazedly, “Sorry.”

Finally, all was quiet again. The soft breathing of Harry on his right and the loud snorts of Ron on his left were enough to keep James up, though. He could only stare at the ceiling and think, That was Harry. That was the boy I pretended to be.

-

“Hey! That hurts!” Sirius Black put a hand over his aching bruise, mottled purple and a little green.

“Hold on,” muttered Remus as he bandaged the wound, carefully twisting the linen. “There. Now, repeat after me. I will not do something that stupid again.”

“Nah, I don’t feel like it,” Sirius replied as he sat up. Remus rolled his eyes as he leaned back into the common room sofa, sitting in front of the crackling fire. All the Marauders were there, hunched over the fire like some cave people, except they were sitting in a circle. Not something cave people did everyday.

Sirius glanced around before leaning in the middle, and whispered, “We need a new plan.”

“You got that right,” snorted Remus as Peter kept fidgeting in place. “We have no leads. Zero.”

“Well,” smiled Sirius, “I have some… brain food, they call it.” He quickly reached into his robes and pulled something out, which he hid behind his back before anyone could see.

“What is it, Padfoot?” moaned Remus, knowing when Sirius was up to something.

“Don’t get defensive on me!” Black held out his hands, showing he had nothing to hide. “I just brought the…”

The item was tossed into the middle of the circle, which Peter eagerly crawled to. “The Sacred Mix Match!”

Remus began to groan. “This is the stupidest thing…” But it was too late. Peter had already ripped open the packet of “Sacred Mix Match” and devoured one easily.

“I already told you!” Remus said to Sirius, who was grinning wildly. “No matter what you and Prongs say, these are not Sacred Mix Match. These are Oreos.”

“Oreos!” he scoffed. “Silly word for a cookie like this. Come on, just eat one. We have nothing else to do, and besides, I had to raid Dumbledore’s office to find one. You don’t get muggle stuff like this from the kitchens.”

Remus sighed but obliged, taking one and twisting it apart. In his hand was two halves of Oreo- or Sacred Mix Match- with frosting on one and none on the other. Finally caving into the looks of the Marauders, he grudgingly ate the two halves separately.

Sirius had done the same, but licked the cream first and sandwiched the two remaining cookies together, popping it in his mouth with a loud crunch. It had been a tradition since the third year, when James filched a pack from the muggle born Sandra King. Immediately dubbed “Sacred Mix Match,” despite Remus’s previous knowledge, they ate it only when out of ideas or pranks.

Peter was chomping them whole, and had eaten more than the rest of them put together. “Come up with any ideas yet, Padfoot?” asked Remus, turning toward Sirius.

“Yes, actually quite a few,” he lied and ran his fingers through his long hair. “But before I tell you, I’m going to have to think of how to phrase them. What? They’re complicated.” Remus shook his head as all the Marauders reached for another Sacred Mix Match.

Author's Note: Yes, as you suspected, the Marauders were for comic relief since the story was so dark. I will also only be updating on Fridays.