The chiming of the clock roused him from his thoughts. He had been standing in the kitchen for at least ten minutes, and he doubted that any of them had noticed. He could hear two chimes of laughter, one older and more pronounced; the second tiny and innocent but both were entertained. A woman's voice could be heard ever so slightly, she wasn't amused though; she sounded exasperated. This made the dark haired man smile slightly; he still found it a little funny when she got annoyed with his best friend. He imagined the scene as he'd left it, staring at his happy little family from his place leaning against the door frame.
That happy little family life; it was all he had ever wanted with her.
He had been smiling, laughing even at his friends attempts to make the infant rolling around on the floor giggle. Watching as his wife, who wasn't known for keeping her temper when something irked her, fold her arms and frowned ever so slightly at the man and the child that were now both on the floor. She had been trying to change the boy's nappy and when the boy had decided he didn't want his mother to put a new nappy on his bare buttocks he had turned over and began crawling away from her as fast as he was able. The small boy crawled not toward his father but the other man in the room, the man that would, when the boy was older undoubtedly become his favourite of all of the couple's friends.
It was then that his best friend had almost leapt out of the chair he had been lounging in, and scooped the boy up but instead of handing him to either of his parents he had sat on the floor with him blowing raspberries. The boy had giggled and attempted to copy him which had made the man laugh and say he would definitely be good at trouble making when the time came. This is when his wife had smiled but he had not, a cold shiver had gone down his spine and the pit of his stomach which had been warm with happiness a few moments ago was now empty.
He felt separated from the happy picture in front of him, his child still laughing in the arms of his best friend; as though he and his wife were now watching them from afar, unable to join in with the joke. His wife's movements had distracted him momentarily; she had now kneeled on the floor in front of his friend and held out her hands as a signal for him to give her back her son who still needed changing properly. He knew then he had just been given a preview of what his sons life would be like if anything ever happened to his parents. His tiny son sharing a joke with his godfather and his parents watching from the outside, unable to do or say anything to let him, either of them know that they were still there.
It was then that he found it unbearable to watch anymore, and he retreated into the kitchen. He had lent against the worktop pinching the bridge of his nose pushing his glasses half way up his forehead trying to rid himself of the horrible thoughts that were threatening to overwhelm him. If he had ever been entirely honest with himself, it was now. Yes, he had been blessed with what he had always wanted; a family life but only sometimes was it happy. That wasn't a reflection on his wife or child; he loved them more than his own life but, living in a war with the threat of betrayal and death constantly hanging over them made it far from perfect alot of the time.
He pushed his glasses back to position and ran his hand through his untidy hair. He couldn't die. He couldn't let his son grow up without knowing him, or possibly both of his parents. He couldn't stand watching from the sidelines for a few minutes let alone a life time. Who would teach his son how to play Quidditch? Or the secret passageways in and out of the castle? If he died, he wouldn't get to see him to go Hogwarts. The list of things he'd never see his son do was endless, and yet he already knew the end was hurtling toward him.
He just knew.
And his wife. What would become of her? The girl he had love since he was nothing more than a child himself, she was the love of his life. Nothing in the world apart from his son was more precious to him, would she join him or would she be forced to solider on and raise their son alone? She could do it. He knew she could do it, she was strong. Although he knew she would miss him terribly, her heart would never shatter. It would remain whole and love their son enough for the both of them. She was never over emotional but she could feel more than anybody he'd ever known, she wore her heart and sometimes her temper on her sleeve.
Their son had her temper.
He could already see it, when he didn't want to do something; he wouldn't. He would even turn the same shade of red as his mother when she sometimes got angry. This would make him smile, he may have been himself in miniature save for the eyes, but his spirit and heart were most definitely his mother. This would make him terribly irresistible to girls when he was older. Who would teach him about girls? The answer to this one was already clear, his charming godfather. But who would actually re-teach him after his godfathers 'wisdom'? Surely his wife wouldn't stand for that, she had made her thoughts on his bests friends view on women clear from the start. And they would snipe at each other about it occasionally, but it didn't mean they weren't friends now or that he wouldn't protect her and the baby if something happened to him.
His best friend would protect her. Only he truly knew how much he had agonised over her in previous years.
He looked up when he heard footsteps, she came into the kitchen muttering to herself about men never listening to her, and how she knew what was best for her child. A jolt ran through him from his head to the tips of his toes and he knew he'd never leave her to raise their son alone, that she wouldn't need to be looked after by his best friend.
She would join him.
He watched her fussing around with a bottle, the only bottle their son had a day now; a warm one to help him sleep. Her red hair was swinging around behind her as she tested the warmth of the milk on her wrist. She had obviously decided that it was fine because she was now striding towards him with a dangerous look on her face; clearly annoyed that his best friend was interrupting their son's bedtime routine. He could usually make this go away by kissing her. So he did. When he pulled away she wrinkled her nose, as she always did when he made her forget why she had been angry in the first place. He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose gently, her cheeks flushed and she smiled before gliding to the doorway and then she was gone again. One of the things he loved about her, she still flushed every time he kissed her.
Death had never bothered him. He knew she was scared, though not of death itself but leaving those she loved behind. This scared him too, frequently. Would everything be sad for a little while and gradually return to the shade of normalcy that they had become accustomed too outside of school or would it all spiral out of control until the inevitable end when his son would be left with no one? Not knowing the answers to these questions scared him more than anything. In the sea of unanswered questions he knew one thing; he wouldn't take anything lying down, he was a Potter. And Potters never wavered in bravery. He would die fighting to protect them both, he knew that. And what a great way to go, to die protecting the most precious things he had, to give them a chance to live. A creature that had always lived inside of him glowed at this thought; it had raised its head triumphantly and he would do that same in years to come.
He wasn't sure why it would happen, but he knew it would and it must. And he would meet it head on when it did.
He nodded to himself as if this was final and settled the matter. He looked at the doorway to his living room and wondered if his wife had tried hexing his best friend yet, jokingly of course. It was then that his son toddled into the room. He was walking now, if only slightly; he still hadn't mastered the art completely. He usually toddled a short distance before falling on his buttocks. His face was alight was glee as he toddled behind one of the table legs as though trying to hide himself. This was most strange behaviour for his one year old.
"Where's Harry?" A voice called in an amused sort of tone; it was then that his best friend crawled round the corner looking for the child. "Uncle Sirius is gonna getcha," He said looking around the kitchen grinning. "There he is!" And began crawling towards the child that waddled out from behind the table leg toward his father screaming with delight.
He bent down to pick up his son, and grinned. His best friend got up off the floor laughing and started sticking his tongue out at the child.
"Sirius, I told you not to excite him before bedtime or he won't sleep!" His wife appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips and the thunderous expression had re-appeared.
"Calm down Lils," Sirius yawned "It's not often I get time off Order duty to see him,"
He looked at Lily; she had gone a little limp. Her hands had dropped from her sides, and her expression had softened. She was expressing what he was thinking. That he had used his one free day to play with his godson.
"Sorry Padfoot," She smiled to which he waved a hand at her which meant she had needn't have apologised. She walked forward gently towards her husband and son, smiling.
"Say goodnight to Daddy, Harry." She said gently. James cradled his son in his arms and gently gave him a little squeeze and a kiss on the head before Lily held out her hands for the second time that evening.
The boy stretched out his arms towards his mother opening and balling his fists showing that he was ready to be given to her. She took him and balanced him on her hip gently before turning him toward Sirius. "Say goodnight to Padfoot, Harry."
"Night little man," Sirius said kissing him gently on the forehead and ruffling his hair. Harry looked at his godfather with a confused expression for a moment; he then puffed out his chest.
"Pafoo," He said triumphantly to a bewildered Sirius who stood motionless staring at the infant.
Even James was shocked; he looked at his wife who was silently crying gazing lovingly at their son.
Life after school had prepared them for many things, war, love and their eventual possibly, untimely deaths. But his son's first word was unexpected.
And that's the horrible point I've been making to myself all evening, James thought sadly. He had prepared himself for the worst. Not the best.