Chapter 62

"You could have been killed," Mr. Black pointed out as he clenched his fists and stared at Harry.

"If you were so worried, why didn't you show yourself during the fight and help?" Harry demanded before he let out a sharp hiss and jerked forward when Firenze's hand brushed up against a particularly deep and painful cut on his lower back.

"I couldn't help," Mr. Black confessed as he shamefully averted his face and clenched his fists. "I don't know how much you know about Azkaban but the place sucks the very life out of those who are imprisoned there. The bulk of the guards are made up of terrible demons called dementors; beings that call forth your darkest memories and fears as they feast upon your negative emotions and inner turmoil."

"Most wizards think they feed on people's happy memories but that's a lie; they feed on misery or else their presence would encase a person in pure bliss. No, they revel in the suffering they cause and they drink up your pain while your happy thoughts and memories are crushed because positive emotions burn them. After a while, the demons begin feasting upon your soul inch by agonizing inch and with it they take your magic because a wizard's magic is tied to his soul. It is enough to drive a person mad and it doesn't take long for a wizard to lose himself to the madness."

"I was there for over ten years and the only reason I didn't end up completely insane was because I could turn into a dog to dampen the effects that the dementors had upon my soul and I willingly let them take the unpleasant memories from my childhood. Still, ten years is a long time and the damage done to my core was severe enough that it limits my ability to use my magic properly. I can still transform into my animagus form and I can use simple spells that any first through third year knows as well as a few of the simpler healing spells but that's about all I can do for the moment."

"Why were you following us?" Harry asked after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence in an effort to distract himself from the stinging pain lancing across his back as Firenze meticulously spread a centaur made healing cream across his open wounds now that he'd finished cleaning them.

"I was worried you would be hurt running about on your own in the forest. I spent three years exploring the Forbidden Forest with your fath… with my friends and I remember enough about the kind of creatures that make their home here to know that it is a dangerous place. I want to protect you and to make up for not being there for the past ten years when you needed me. I also want… no, I need to understand you; to know why you believe that you are trapped in some kind of fantasy game. I'd also love to hear the tale of how you learned to fight the way you did; I've never seen anyone twist their magic like you do. I'm also willing to do most anything to prove to you that I am not lying about who I am and what I am to you."

Harry just sighed, feeling slightly guilty for causing the man pain even though he knew the man was just another NPC within the game. To Harry the man might just be another piece of computer coding but the man himself would never accept that because he was programmed to believe he existed. Harry couldn't fault the computer generated characters for their beliefs but he did resent the fact that they constantly attempted to suck him into their delusions.

"Please, Harry; all I'm asking for is a chance."

"If that is what you truly wish, then stop calling me that; no one ever called me by my first name before I ended up here and I don't feel comfortable be addressed by that name."

"What am I supposed to call you then?"

"James. I go by James and have for over three years now."

"James? I suppose that should be fairly easy for me to remember, though you don't look as much like the man I knew as your father as I thought you might. You're missing the glasses, have green eyes like your mother, and the patches of white hair throw off the look completely. As do the scars. If you don't mind me asking, Har… James, how did you get the scars on your face? Is that something that the muggles did to you?"

"These?" Harry asked as he reached up to trace the two claw marks that ran down the left side of his face. A sad smile graced his face as he recalled the battle against the Mossy Wyvern and Agil's reactions when he'd shared the story with the older man after he'd returned to their shared apartment. After a slight hesitation, he answered the man's question in order to think of something else other than the pain as Firenze moved around to set his broken arm, "I earned these scars about two and a half years ago when I faced my first Forest Boss. It was also the first dragon I faced. The Mossy Wyvern was a magnificent monster; he was so huge and wicked fast on his feet…"

As he regaled Mr. Black with the tale of his first dragon fight, Harry lost track of his surroundings as he was transported back into his memories. The excitement he'd felt when he'd relayed the same story to Agil filled him once more and for the first time since he'd woken up trapped inside of MaM, he felt truly alive as he relived one of the major turning points in his life (which also happened to be one of the few positive ones in his mind). He was so wrapped up in the retelling of his adventure that he never noticed that both Mr. Black and Firenze were practically hanging on his every word as the centaur set, treated, and secured his broken arm.

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