Chapter Text
Prologue: The Pensieve
Harry Potter stumbled across Remus and Tilia Lupin's darkened sitting room, searching for the copy of Quidditch through the Ages he was sure he had left on the cabinet that rested against the far wall. If Harry had not been so tired that he couldn't sleep, he would have thought to light his wand. Instead, he wandered blindly through the unfamiliar house. He hoped that one day he could call this house 'home,' at least until he had enough of a job to support himself, but he had not lived with his parents' last living friends long enough to feel that he belonged. This had not stopped him, of course, from accepting thier offer of a place to live, or from fully moving in and allowing his few possessions to begin to spread into unexpected corners. Hence his current predicament. He knew wandering in the dark was probably a bad idea since the Lupins weren't actually home yet, and if Harry blundered into anything strange or unknown they would not be there to help him out. And there were quite a few strange and unknown objects in the home of a potions researcher.
Harry cursed as he tripped over an old cauldron, one that was mercifully empty. Much as he admired Tilia Lupin, her organizational skills, or lack thereof, were truly annoying at ten o'clock at night after a hard day's training and two hours spent tossing and turning in an attempt at sleep. During those two hours, the doubt a busy day kept at bay crept up on him. While he was thrilled to have been invited to stay with Remus and Tilia, the closest he could get to his real parents, and while he had readily accepted their invitation now that the war was over, he had realized that he knew very little about the two of them.
Remus and Tilia Lupin were a mystery, and Harry, though desperate to know more, was unwilling to push them to confide in him what they had told few others. They had been through more than most people could dream of in their darkest nightmares and had survived, a little battered, a little bruised, but with both their love and dignity intact. He would not press them to relive their lonely and pain-filled past for the sake of his curiosity. They cared for him, and that was enough.
Lost in his thoughts, Harry walked painfully into the side table beside the sofa. Cursing fluently enough to appall Remus and make Tilia proud, Harry grabbed at the nearest thing he could in an attempt to stay upright. Instead, he tripped over the stack of books lying next to the table and fell forward into the cabinet he had been searching for. The door had been left open—probably by Tilia, collecting ingredients in a studious fog, Harry thought grimly as he fell—and he caught himself, not on wood, but on the rough stone basin edged in runes that sat on the bottom shelf. Before he could stop himself, the Pensieve had tipped up to meet him and he fell through darkness into the sunlit depths of memory.