The Sugar Quill
Author: Ciircee (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: Dream a Little Dream of Me  Chapter: Default
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

Disclaimer: Jo Rowlings owns everybody you know.  And the people you don’t.  I don’t intend to lay claim to anybody and even though I know her characters are copyrighted, I couldn’t resist.


Dedications: To Sakura, who mentions me in her Blog and tells me to stop lurking.  ^.^  I hope you like it. 


Dream a Little Dream of Me


When Harry Potter dreamed about his parents it was always one of two dreams; it was either the nightmare filled with green-light and screaming, which was not really a nightmare at all, or it was the pleasant, sweet dream in which he was simply a boy who lived and not The Boy Who Lived with all its stupid, capitalized concepts.   The dreams were vivid and detailed, sounds, scents, touches, were experienced as though they were reality.   Harry only knew they were dreams because life with the Dursleys was simply too awful to be anything but reality.


The dreams rarely varied from their format and so when Harry rolled over and woke to sounds of frying bacon and singing and opened his eyes on a large, airy room stuffed with wizard toys, he knew immediately which dream it was, even before his mother’s voice carried though his door.  “Harry,” she was humming along to whichever tune it was that his father was singing.  “Come on, Harry-love.”  Harry heard her knuckles rap quietly before his door cracked open.  “I know for a fact,” his mother’s voice sparkled with laughter, “that you didn’t even touch your trunk last night.  So up you get; after breakfast and the Quidditch match you can unpack your things, write to Ron and Hermione, badger your father to get tickets to the Puddlemere game next week, dump all your mending on me, and tell us all about your fourth year at school and the Tournament.  You played Quidditch against the boy who won, didn’t you?”


“Yeah, Mum,” Harry laughed.  He laughed because it was a dream and in this dream his Mum and his Dad had defeated Voldemort without anybody getting killed and that meant that Cedric Diggory was still alive and the only Hogwarts Champion who’d competed for, and won, the Triwizard Tournament.  “I beat him, too; despite all that rain.  Remember?  Hermione had to Charm my glasses.”  Because there had never been Dementors anywhere near Hogwarts and he hadn’t fallen. “What’s for breakfast?” he asked curiously as he scrambled out of bed.


“Whatever your father doesn’t burn,” his mother said semi-seriously.  She raised one eyebrow and tutted as she surveyed him.  “You’re growing like a little weed, aren’t you?  Your pajamas are far too short.” Harry watched her shake her head, red hair swinging and catching the light.  She was very pretty, his mum.  “I can remember when you were big enough for me to cradle in one arm,” she reached out to ruffle his hair and Harry knew that, as a boy of nearly fifteen, he should dodge away, but he didn’t; he savored the small, familiar touch.  “And now look at you!  You’re going to be taller than Sirius, I’d wager.  You’ve already topped Peter, that’s for certain.” She ruffled his hair one more time before moving to open his curtains. 


Peter, in this dream world, had never been anything but a loyal, wonderful friend to his parents.  He was, in dream-life, a treasured uncle and so Harry yawned and asked, “Is Uncle Peter going to be coming to the Quidditch match with Dad and Uncle Sirius and me today?”


Lily Potter, glowing in the sunlight, snorted.  “Try and keep him away.  Your Uncle Remus is going to be here for the day, he’s a bit worn out by last night’s full moon, so try to keep the excited shrieking over the top-box seats to a minimum.”


“Yeah!”  Harry thrust one fist into the air and shouted quietly.  There was little better than a day out with his father and his uncles; the only thing better was being at the Quidditch World Cup with his uncles, his parents and his friends.


“Shh,” his mother chuckled.  “I’m going to stop your father from scorching everything, you get yourself washed and dressed and come eat.”   She left his room, pulling his door shut behind her.  Harry didn’t move for a moment and true to form his mother cracked his door open and poked her head back in, “You’ll wash your hands and face, young man.  I’d tell you to brush your hair, but I don’t know if it’d help,” she winked and left again, leaving Harry laughing in her wake and picking up his brush.


He was quick to brush his hair and teeth and he was careful to wash behind his ears as well.  His mother would check as he walked past her to open the window for the owl-mail and if it was still wet she’d drop a kiss onto his hair and sigh and tell him he was such a good boy.


“What a good boy,” she sighed moments later, nuzzling his hair before kissing it and releasing him to go to the window.


Harry grinned as, at the stove, his father heaved a sigh.  “Lily, after seventeen years of marriage and nearly fifteen years of parenthood,” James Potter turned and pointed the bacon fork at his wife, “it behooves me to tell you that you, my dear, are such a Mum.”


Lily grabbed the fork with an easy movement and a knowing smile.  “James, darling, it pains me to say it, but you are truly terrible with puns,” she laughed and began putting the bacon on a plate.  Behooves you.  Honestly.  Make tea, Cervus elaphus.”


“Oooo,” Harry smiled as his father nudged him and sent a mock-wondering gaze at his mother.  “Latin, Lily…and in front of Harry!”  Harry rolled his eyes even though he was beaming.  “And I am not so!  That was rather a good one, I’ll have you know,” his father nudged him again, brown eyes crinkled at the corners from his smile and framed by crows feet from too much, never really enough, laughing.  “Tell her, Harry!”


“Mum,” Harry sighed dutifully, heart too light for his tone, “Dad was brilliantly clever.”  He reached into the enchanted icebox for the milk just as Remus Lupin, still older-looking than his years but nowhere near as haggard as when Harry had really met him, stumbled into the kitchen.


Remus, Uncle Remus, yawned and scratched at his hair.  “I don’t know why I thought I’d get any rest if I stayed over,” he yawned again, scratched harder and dislodged a twig, which he blinked at and Banished into the trashcan.  “You’re louder than Sirius as Padfoot.”  He laughed suddenly even though he slumped tiredly into a chair at the table.  “You might be louder than Sirius as Sirius.”


“I hardly said a word,” Harry protested, taking the tea cup his father handed him to his uncle.  “Blame Mum and Dad, they’re flirting again.”


James laughed and brought the bacon to the table.  “Complain about it, Harry, and you’ll never get another little brother or sister.  And you know how much you wanted the first three.  Speaking of,” he muttered, “I’d better look in on them again...they sleep like Lily.”


Setting the teapot down in front of Remus, Lily smiled.  “They truly do.  I woke them before I came into your room, Harry.”  She handed him a glass for his milk and patted his shoulder.  “Thank goodness you came first,” she sighed happily.  “You were such a good baby.  If Sean had been first he would have been an only child.”


“Ha,” Remus pointed at Harry.  “Your mother complained about all of you, I’ll have you know.  You’d think she’d never done without sleep before you came along.”


Harry nodded gleefully, glad to join in the affectionate teasing, “She’s terrible.  She fell asleep during the Third Task, right in the stands, and Dad had to take the Portkey back home with her because she wouldn’t wake up!”  Harry beamed and ducked as his mother swatted at him.  “Dad had to carry Jessica and Mum.”


“Ah, the things I missed patrolling the maze!” Remus sighed in contentment and sat back with a smile.  As the only Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor that Hogwarts had employed in the last ten years, Remus had been working at the Tournament instead of sitting in the stands with the students and fans. “Who carried Ann and Sean then?”


“Ron’s dad carried Annie,” Harry grinned again as his brother dropped into the chair next to him and laid his dark head on the table.  “I was awake.  Mostly.”


“That’s because it was boring,” Ann tumbled into the kitchen with a brilliant grin and dropped herself into Remus’s lap.  “We couldn’t see anything in that stupid maze.  Are you going to stay and play with us today, Uncle Remus?”  The sweet smile turned suddenly into a much put out pout.  “Daddy is taking just Harry out today.”


Harry stuck out his tongue at his youngest sister.  “That’s because I just came back from Hogwarts where I am the only Potter.”  He was the only Potter at Hogwarts, but not the only Potter left in the world.  He had three siblings with black hair and green eyes; people often said that Harry’s family looked like pictures of each other with slightly different noses and lips. 


Remus laughed.  “You won’t be the only Potter there for long.  Sean’s letter should be showing up in just a few weeks and then you’ll have a Potter a year until you leave school.”  He tweaked Ann’s nose and set her on the chair next to him.  “Besides, Harry has to deal with Professor Snape.”  He winked and Harry winked back because life was never perfect and Snape still really, really disliked him even though he wasn’t famous.  And,” Remus continued as Harry’s mother and father came to sit at the table with his other sister in tow, “I give out detentions with Mr. Filch even if you are my godchildren.”


“That, Moony, is because you’re cruel.”  Sirius’s voice boomed down the hallway from the front door.  Sirius Black came into the kitchen looking almost exactly as he had in Harry’s photo album; it now sat, filled with pictures, on a shelf in the family room and the wedding picture with Sirius and his parents laughing and waving was in a big frame over the fireplace.  “I’d expect nothing less,” Sirius continued, stealing a piece of toast from Harry’s plate, “from a man who lets his friend go through the brambles first.  You wouldn’t believe what I had to pull out of my hair this morning,” he shook his head for emphasis.  “Next time you or Prongs are going to go in first, do you hear me?”


“Or I could,” Peter Pettigrew, with all five fingers on both hands, leaned against the door jamb and grinned.


Jessica giggled and stood up to hug her own godfather.  “Uncle Peter, don’t be silly!  You’re too little when you’re Wormtail!  Uncle Sirius would get all caught up anyway!”  How long ago had they registered as Animagi?  Harry couldn’t recall since it had happened before his birth along with the ending of the stupid Werewolf Labor Laws.


Peter leaned down to ‘whisper’ confidentially in her ear, just loud enough for all of them to hear him, “I know that, but your Uncle Sirius doesn’t think in straight lines, you see, and he’d probably miss that little detail completely.”  He winked as the table burst out laughing.


Sirius cuffed him gently on the head.  “Thanks a lot, you big oaf!  See if I fix you up with the stunning young lady in the MLEs after that; you can go out and find your own dates.”  But he was laughing and so was everybody else.  Harry smiled and began to eat faster; they had a Quidditch match to get to today, the last one with just him and his father and his uncles.  Next year they would bring Sean along and the year after that they’d bring Jessica and the next year they’d…


“Slow down, Harry,” his father chided him as he shoveled cereal and bacon into his mouth.  “They’re early,” Harry watched his father trade a secretive glance with his friends.  “We’re not leaving until after the mail arrives.”


As though Summoned, possibly by Harry’s own excitement, three owls swooped in through the open window; one was bearing the Daily Prophet, one was a regular Post Owl and one… “That’s Pig!” Harry exclaimed with a wide smile.  The Weasleys had bought Pig for Ron with the last of their Galleon Draw money when Scabbers had died late in their third year.  “That’s Pig,” Harry said as he untied the letter from the tiny owl, “but this is Hermione’s handwriting.”


His parents and uncles traded knowing looks.  “Oh?” His father said innocently.  “So Ron finally got his courage up, eh?  Hermione’s married him and they’re living happily together in some rented cottage?”


“Not likely,” Harry laughed. “Something tells me that he and Hermione are going to be faffing around with that for a long time yet.”  He hummed slightly to himself as he unrolled the paper, “They probably wrote it together at Kings Cross before Hermione’s parents showed up.  You know we like to…” he trailed off as he saw the words on the parchment.


Hurry up, Harry, or we’ll miss the match!  And it’s bloody cold out here on your front steps.  Tell Sirius he owes us Cannon’s hats for waiting!  Really, Ron.  Come out, Harry!  We’re ready to go! ~Love from, Hermione.  He knows it us, Hermione.  Right, Harry?


“Ron!  Hermione!”  Harry raced away from the table to fling open the door.  His two best friends stood together on the walk and wearing big grins. 


Hermione waved to him.  “Ready to leave? Or shall we come inside for a bit?” 


“It’s the Cannons,” Ron protested with a laugh.  “We should be there by now!”


James Potter came up beside Harry and smiled.  “I thought, since this is the last year with ‘just us’ that you might want Ron and Hermione to come along and make it special.”


Harry knew that he should stand and smile until his head fell off, but it was a dream and so he threw his arms around his father and buried his face in his father’s shirt for an instant, smelling tea and breakfast and his father.  “Ta, Dad.  That’s really great.”  He drew back with a grin that matched his father’s exactly.  “Can we go now?”


“That’s what I like to hear from my godson!” Sirius slapped him on the back before he and Peter went out to join Ron and Hermione, both of them disappeared into the slowly growing field of gold light that had swallowed up his friends.


“Did you invite Ginny along?”  Harry turned as his mother came out of the kitchen, backlit by the same glow. 


Harry took a step to his mother and felt her fingers shift through his hair.  He closed his eyes to block out the light and asked, “Why do you always ask if Dad’s invited Ginny Weasley?”


“No reason, no reason at all,” his mother was laughing, her voice sly and not shy about being so.  The glow infused his eyelids.


Distantly, far down the lane, he could hear a pounding noise start up.  “Don’t ask, Harry,” Harry heard his father laugh.  “Not unless you want to be here all day.”


“Mum?  Why do you always…” he didn’t get to finish the question before Aunt Petunia’s pounding woke him.  He never did.

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