The chubby one-year-old was gazing up at James, arms outstretched, dog teddy in hand. The black-haired wizard smiled and scooped his son up off the floor, plopping him down on his lap.

"Uncle Padfoot spends his entire fortune on you, doesn't he?" said James Potter conversationally to his son, who gurgled in reply, attempting to stuff the black dog's head down his throat. The 21-year-old laughed and removed the object, blowing a raspberry onto the baby's cheek in the process. Harry laughed in delight, his tiny limbs flailing.

"Pah-foo! Pah-foo!"

"Well done, Harry! Can you say Moony? Moony?" James repeated the word slowly as Harry began to grab at different parts of his father's face.

"Moo-ee."

"Moony."

"Moo-ee."

"Close enough." James chuckled as Harry's small fingers poked him in the eye. "Oi! Physically abusing your Daddy, you cheeky monkey? How very dare you? I'll show you what for!" He began to tickle Harry relentlessly, his heart warming from the sounds of Harry's snorts and giggles.

After a few more bouts of tickling, squealing and gurgling, James let Harry toy with the black dog teddy, pulling the baby close to him and kissing the top of his head, leaving his face there for a few moments.

"No Mummy for a bit." He mumbled solemnly into Harry's messy black hair. "Just the two of us. Man's night in, yeah?"

Harry wasn't listening. He was too fascinated by the teddy's beady black eyes.

"She'll be okay." James continued softly, more to himself than his son. "She's with Dumbledore. She can look after herself, anyway, your Mum." His voice had turned low and soft, his mind lost in countless thoughts.

His dreamy haze was interrupted by a burst of warm air on his lap. James looked down at Harry with mock disappointment.

"Is that all? Come on, Harry, even Wormtail can fart better than that!"

The baby giggled again, the dog teddy still clutched lovingly in one hand. James wiped the dribble escaping Harry's mouth with his shirt.