October 31, 1981
The wind is cold on James' face. A color-warping cloak ripples silently around him, mimicking the purple and red of the sunset and darkening with the evening's deepening shadows. He grips the shaft of his broom, grateful for the warm dragonhide gloves as he glides over Warwickshire. A charm keeps him from leaving any shadow over the Muggletowns below. There is smoke in the wind. Nothing stirs, not a crow from the fencepost or a Deatheater from the darkness. James tightens and relaxes the muscles in his neck. The Gryffindor Stag feels the hunters drawing nearer.
He and Lily already knew they were tempting fate working against Voldemort, but news of the prophecy changed things. Dumbledore came himself to warn them of their peril and the strange news about Harry. The Potters secreted themselves away with the Fidelius Cham, Pettigrew as their secret keeper. That was Sirius' idea. He'd insisted on the change of plans. They could not be too careful in these times, even among the Order. Every moment the Dark Lord and his followers encroach further. Caradoc is missing and they have to presume the worst. They are all, even Harry, marked for death.
James' gloves tighten on his broom and his hazel eyes scan the purple sky for Deatheaters. He's returning from a meeting with the Longbottoms. Nothing but dark tidings from Alice and Frank.
He sees the mark whilst he's still miles from home. The sick green glows on the horizon. Godric's Hallow is invisible, shrouded in the lengthening darkness, but his heart guesses. He thinks of Lily and Harry and grows chill with coursing adrenaline. The broom can feel James' urgency and launches like an arrow through the night. He makes no attempt to approach with caution, praying only that the battle is still raging. His broom falls to the ground as he lands on scorched earth and gropes his way through the dark rubble, cursing the oily green light that casts deep shadows on the fractured front step.
James takes a leap up to the porch, like the hart bounding forward to protect his doe. Their Fidelus spell is broken and dark magic has splintered deep through the foundation; the door is ajar. He enters the hall, wand at ready. Looking up, he sees the Lily's Doe standing on the upper landing. The Patronus shimmers once, as if it has been waiting for him. "Lily?" he calls desperately, starting toward the stairs. The Doe holds his gaze. She dips her graceful head to him. Then the spell falters and dissipates into chalky darkness.
Shaken to his core, but wary of some trick, James calls out 'lumos' and searches the house. "Harry!" he gasps, hearing a tearful shriek from upstairs. In a moment he is up the stairs, headless of the ruins cluttering the hall, the broken remnants of their life. The baby is in the nursery, now wailing up at open sky and the glare of the green skull. The child's helpless cries draw James to his side. He lurches forward, bringing Harry and the bundle of blankets to his chest. Small hands cling to James' cloak. The baby quiets in recognition of his father.
A trickle of blood runs down Harry's forehead and James wipes it away, hand shaking. There is a cut like a jagged bolt of lightening on Harry's brow. The wizard rubs his thumb against his forefinger and raises a spark of healing, then presses a warm thumb to the cut on Harry's forehead. The wound stops bleeding. Harry's shimmering green eyes look up with trust that nearly breaks him.
The light of James' wand falls across Lily's white hand, which is reaching for Harry. She's been drained of all color. Her auburn hair is a mess of dark tangles, bright green eyes seem gray. Lifeless.
The taste of the curse is thick in the room, but shock makes him nearly insensible to the dark magic residue. He nearly misses the something else, that's there too. The energy that shivers up and down his spine as he holds Harry in one arm and gathers his wife's body close, mute with grief and horror.
Hagrid arrives soon afterwards, the groaning of the fragile floorboards announcing his presence. James' eyes flash as he enters, helpless anger rising like bile. "Dumbledore sent you?" He hisses in a low voice, a broken, angry man.
Tears were running down the giant's cheeks as he nods. "'Arry's alive?" the gentle creature whispers.
James blinks, finding moisture in his eyes. He nods. His hands tighten around Harry, but he then allows Hagrid to lift the precious bundle. It is impossible to understand, impossible to process. James chokes out a cry as he is suddenly free to wrap both arms around Lily.
"Come off ta Hogwarts, Jim," Hagrid urges him. "You must. Dumbledore can keep yehs safe. Poor Lily. She'll be taken care of." He sniffs, gently holding Harry in one arm.
James retreats further inside himself, ignoring Hagrid and not stirring when Harry starts to cry. He wishes the Death Eaters would return, wishes the Dark Lord were there so he could rend the monster to bits or die in the attempt, as Lily had.
Sirius arrives, his motorbike spelled to silence as he stops in front of the house. Complete devastation greets his troubled gray eyes. How had he been so wrong? Peter had betrayed them. He had betrayed them all. "Lily! James!" He yells desperately, entering the house with wand raised.
James hears the voice and somehow it breaks through his stupor. He tenses and picks himself up, laying down Lily's white body tenderly. He stands tall above his wife like a sentinel spell, his face a mask of angry rebuke.
Sirius charges up the stairs moments later. He's hit by the taste of the Unforgivable curse and reels from the scene before him. He covers his eyes and blames himself.
"It's too late, Sirius," James intones to his best friend, face stony. Their careful planning had come to nothing. Worse, it had come to this. In his grief, James has no sympathy for Sirius. He has no forgiveness for any of them. They had failed her.
"Lily," Sirius gasps, swallowing a dry throat. He puts a hand over his mouth and looks away.
James isn't seeing his friend, his almost brother. There's only darkness and betrayal now, clouding out love. He points his wand at Sirius. "I trusted you, Padfoot," he challenges.
"I – Prongs, Peter was the secretkeeper. He was the one..." Sirius says desperately, gray eyes seeking mercy.
"It was your idea to use Peter." James accuses bitterly. "You knew he wasn't strong enough, a weak link so easily broken..."
Sirius shakes his head in denial. "If I wanted to hurt you or Lily, I could have done it easily," Sirius argues, gently. "Please, James. I would have died before I betrayed you!"
"You side-stepped so neatly. It saved your sterling 'Black' reputation, didn't it?" James sneers, wand arm tensing.
Sirius' eyes narrow. He prepares to defend himself. "You know where my loyalties lie," he replies coldly.
"I thought I did."
Sirius tries to hold the man's gaze, but the Prongs he knew was hidden deep within a cloud of hatred and grief. He backs away warily, down the stairs. With nowhere else to go, he mounts his bike and flies away. He would find Wormtail and prove his innocence.
Hagrid watches it all, eyes full of tears. Harry gives him a worried look and whimpers. "Ya poor tyke," he sobs. The giant carries the young savior over to the warped and crumbling fireplace. In a flash of green he disappears, then stomps out again in Dumbledore's office, shaking off soot.
The Hogwarts Headmaster has just arrived, having heard a rumor. "The boy lives?" he queries urgently, coming forward and leaning over the blanket. His eyes glow brightly with hope at the sight of the little boy who, somehow, managed to survive the Dark Lord's wrath.
The light in the old wizard's eyes dims as James steps out of the fireplace with Lily's body. His usual look of studied disarray was replaced with a wild, dark cloud of hair and he reeks of the battlefield. The easy smile is gone, his laughing eyes frozen. He ignores Dumbledore's sympathetic gaze. James levitates his wife's body without a sound and moves in a stiff walk toward the medical wing.
Minerva, hurrying toward the headmaster's office, lets out a gasp of recognition. She stops dead in her tracks as James moves by without seeing or acknowledging her. Stony-faced with grief, she enters the open door to the Headmaster's office.
"Ah, Professor McGonagall, come in," Dumbledore urges, though she needs no invitation. "Would you care for a lemon drop?"
"A what?"
"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."
"No, thank you," says Professor McGonagall coldly. This is not the time for lemon drops. "What news of the attack? That was James in the hall. Lily... she's dead?"
Dumbledore bows his head. Professor McGonagal flinches at the news, sucking in a breath and closing her eyes. "I can't believe it," she says, pulling out a lace handkerchief and dabbing her eyes with it. Her gaze falls on Harry, who is sleeping soundly in the crook of Hagrid's arm, wrapped snugly in a bundle of blankets. The curiously shaped scar gives her pause.
"Surely Harry wasn't there," she says in wonder. "How did he..." She glances up, alarm and confusion breaking through her usual reserve.
Dumbledore offers a small smile. "I think, Minerva, that we have won a great victory tonight."
"Are you saying that after all the people he's killed, he couldn't kill this little boy?" Professor McGonagall falters, looking sharply at the child.
"So it would seem," Dumbledore says seriously.
Outside in the wizarding world, rumors began to spread. The Potter boy had lived! After a decade living in mute terror, there was finally reason to celebrate. Up in the Hospital Wing, it was quiet as death. James sat with unnatural stillness, numb even to the needs of his child. Below, in the Hogwarts dungeons, someone sobbed.