October 31, 1981
She had wanted ice cream. He had gone out to the store because she wanted ice cream, and he never could deny his wife anything, especially now that she was pregnant again and if she was craving ice cream, of course he was going to go get it for her. She wanted peanut butter, she had specified that, and the first store didn't have any, so he had one to a second one, and it was takin longer than usual because he ran into Bathilda Bagshot and nothing had seemed wrong that night, so why not chat with her for a few minutes.
And that was what led to James Potter standing outside his very own little cottage in Godrics Hollow staring at a giant hole blown wide in the wall of his living room, bag full of ice cream dropped to the sidewalk and forgotten as he approached the small house, anxiety biting at his stomach as he neared the hole. Perhaps foolishly, he still uses the little wooden door, inserting his key and unlocking it before stepping over the threshold, eyes scanning the little hall and seeing nothing. With his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach, James steps carefully into his living room, and the sight before him sends him crumpling to his knees.
Lying on the floor, limbs splayed at odd angles as though she had been knocked over, was Lily, her flaming red hair fanning out as her eyes stared at the ceiling. Tucked under her left arm was harry, squirming and crawling around, little hands pulling at her shirt and hair, his small noises of frustration growing increasingly desperate.
"Lily?" James calls out to her, inching closer to her, "Lily?!" Harry looks over at the sound of his voice, his wails of distress echoing those now issuing from his father. James gathers his son in one arm and reaches down with his free hand to take Lily's, feeling instead of his wife's lively pulse only cold, dead flesh. He lets out a strangled sob, trying unsuccessfully to choke back tears.
"James…" he faintly registers a slightly hoarse voice speaking to him as though from a million miles away, "James you cannot stay here."
"JAMES IGNATIUS POTTER," the voice bellows, snapping him out of his daze so that he turns to regard the body associated with it.
"Dumbledore…" he starts, but he doesn't have any words to follow. The old man looks at him with a mixture of pity and understanding, and James can't help but turn away from those piercing blue eyes.
"James, you are not safe yet. We must leave this place." The old man looks tired, heavy bags under his bright blue eyes.
"I can't. I can't leave her."
"I will make sure she is well taken care of, James, I assure you. At this particular moment, however, you must think of your son. When word spreads of tonight's events, many will be angry, and the boy will no longer be safe. You must protect him." The older man fixes James with his piercing stare, not relenting until the younger man meets it with his own hazel eyes.
"Where will I go?" James sighs tiredly, his shoulders visibly slumping in defeat, and in his arm harry squirms and cries, straining towards his mother's body.
"There is a small house, in the French countryside, you will be safe there." The old man, Dumbledore, hands James a slip of paper with four words written on it, Le Havre, Vitrac, France. "Apparate here, then burn the parchment. I shall send Remus and Sirius along shortly, when I have taken care of matters here. Of course, when it is time, Harry will most certainly be welcomed at Hogwarts." James nods absentmindedly in response, his son's education the farthest thing from the front of his mind. With a deep sigh, James stands, perching Harry on his hip, and looks down at the paper, fixing the words in his mind as he turned on the spot, vanishing into thin air.
With a small pop, James and Harry appear on the doorway of an ivy covered farmhouse, rain pouring down heavily. The house is squat and long, as if it were meant for two families side by side rather than one (it even has two front doors on opposite ends, separated by three shuttered windows). If he were thinking about it, James would find it to be a rather lovely little house, but given the events of the night, he merely ducks his head and pushes the door open, finding a quaint little kitchen with a set of keys on the little wooden table and a note that reads – Welcome home – in Dumbledore's neat script. James trudges up the stairs and collapses in the first bed he finds, holding Harry close as he lets sleep, and nightmares, take him.
James wakes in the morning to the sound of Harry's cries and the banging of pots and pans downstairs. Slowly, he picks himself up, rubbing at his head (sore from all the tears he shed the night before), and gathers Harry in his arms, bouncing him up and down and swaying back and forth to try and soothe the boy to no avail (Lily was always better at it). It occurs to him that it's been hours since Harry ate, and with that in mind he pads downstairs on silent feet. As he enters the kitchen, James is greeted with the sight of his two best friends staring at him in surprise, the expressions on their faces beyond startled at his sudden arrival.
"James, we…" Sirius starts, but he has no words to finish the sentence, instead letting it drop off into nothingness, moving instead to hug him.
"Were so sorry," Remus finishes, looking at James carefully, noting the dried paths on his cheeks where tears stained the skin. He motions for James to hand over Harry, takin the boy and rummaging through the kitchen cabinets in search of anything a one year old can eat and settling on some Muggle cereal (something called Cheerios?) that looks alright.
Sirius pours three cups of coffee (James makes them Irish) and sets one down in front of each of them, fidgeting his fingers over the handle of his own nervously as though he is trying desperately to keep something inside, and then suddenly it bursts forth like an explosion.
"I am going to fuckin murder Pettigrew." Remus sucks in a sharp breath and instinctively covers Harry's ears while James just smiles sadly and shakes his head.
"That's not going to solve anything, Sirius. It's not going to bring her back."
"No, but it'll make me feel a damn sight better." James cracks a smile then, and Remus runs a hand over his face, perhaps amazed that his best friend could be so callous and even more amazed that it somehow made James feel slightly better. Harry starts squirming again, so he is placed on the floor, where he is more than content to toddle off and explore the house.
"What do I do now?" James asks tiredly, setting is glasses on the table so he can rake his fingers over his face and through his untidy hair.
"You keep going," Sirius replies simply, shrugging, as though there could not possibly be any other answer. That's the way it's always been with him – simple, uncomplicated, straightforward, never any question, never any doubt.
"How do I do that? And why bother?" He shakes his head again, face covered by his palms, feeling for all the world like grief is a physical weight that rests firmly on his shoulders.
"Because you have Harry, and he needs you," Remus states, and his voice is beyond calm, which is troubling. Remus was always the proverbial calm before the storm, the quieter and more steady his voice the more likely you were going to look up to see anger blazing behind his eyes.
"Lily's gone," is the only reply he can think of, and it's not a very good one.
"I didn't say he needs Lily, I said he needs you." His voice is a little louder this time.
"I need Lily! I'm twenty-one for fucks sake! I wasn't bloody well supposed to be doing this alone!" James is shouting now, unable to control his rage, his fury because this is all so damn unfair. "My wife just died! Was murdered!" His voice cracks on that last word and he collapses on the stool, completely unaware of having stood up. Sirius looks taken aback by his friend's sudden outburst, but Remus just stands there, resolute.
"But your son wasn't."
"Look, mate," Sirius hastens to add, "you haven't got to do this all alone. Why do you think Dumbledore sent us here?"
"I don't even know… Lily always knew… I haven't the foggiest what to do with him."
"He's not a bloody chicken that needs seasoning and roasting, mate." James shoots him a withering glare. "He's a baby! How hard can it be?"
(Turns out, very.)
"James, were not going to leave you here to grieve and figure this all out alone," Remus says, all the anger faded, "but you've got to try. You need time, sure, take it. Me and Siriusll take care of Harry for a bit, don't worry about that. Just, just promise you'll make it through this." James nods, takin a big gulp of his coffee and then stands, embracing each of his friends in turn.
"By the way, why France, mate?" Sirius inquires, raisin an eyebrow in curiosity, and Remus rolls his eyes at the tactlessness.
"No idea," James shrugs, "Dumbledore chose it."
"I wonder if this is the bloody vacation home he's always going on about," Sirius mutters excitedly, turning to face Remus and grinning widely. "Only one way to find out."
"What's that?" James asks, his voice sounding exhausted, and yet a little curious.
"Knitting patterns," Sirius and Remus answer simultaneously.
(They find a whole drawer of them.)
James drinks constantly for three days before Remus confiscates all the alcohol in the little house, and Sirius volunteers to help scour the property for more and remove it. Apparently Sirius' idea of disposing of the alcohol involves drinking as much as he can, claiming that he can't bear to see it all go to waste, and besides, James is the one not allowed to drink anymore, not him. Remus lets him get completely plastered until he passes out on the couch, then successfully removes every ounce of the stuff and hides it by magic until he can figure out how to properly dispose of the stuff. (Just tossing it in the rubbish bin does seem an awful waste.)
Two more days until James really snaps out of his fog, the one they've completely understood because Lily's death has been hard on them all, and starts trying to piece together his life again.
"Who the hell changed Harry's nappy last?!" James shouts down the stairs after he goes to check on his sleeping son, just now starting to wake from his nap.
"I told you that wasn't how you do it!" Sirius voice floats up, sounding quite triumphant.
"At least I tried to change him! You were more than content to just let him sleep in his own filth!" Remus counters, his voice defiant.
"Harry didn't seem to be bothered," Sirius states, calm as can be, though from the tone of his voice, James is sure that he's grinning like the bleeding Cheshire Cat.
"He's a baby! Of course he's not bothered!" Sirius snickers. "I hope you never have children of your own, you great big prat."
"Ooh, hear that, James? Remus just called me a prat! That the dirtiest word you've ever said, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes?"
"Well, you had to start rubbing off on him eventually, Sirius," James calls down from upstairs as he struggles to fix Harry's diaper. He carries the boy downstairs when he's finished, his little hands already reaching out for his uncles. "You better not teach Harry to talk like you, though. Lily'll kill me if his first word is 'bugger.'" The whole room tenses as he realizes what he said.
"What about 'bollocks', though? That okay?" Sirius asks hesitantly, as though unsure whether or not he should proceed with the conversation. James just shakes his head and smiles, the ghost of a laugh on his lips.
They have a funeral about two weeks after it happens, and James, Sirius, Remus and Harry apparate back to Godrics Hollow for the affair. There are others there too, members of the Order – Alastor Moody, Frank and Alice Longbottom (their son, Neville was with Franks mother, Augusta), Caradoc Dearborn – and some who were not members but knew the Potters even so – Bathilda Bagshot, Arthur Weasley (though Molly was at home, having just had another child), Sirius' cousin Andromeda – all wanting to pay their respects.
Dumbledore himself gave the eulogy, after James had declined, and James listened with tears in his eyes. Even Harry had the sense not to cry or squirm too much, and when everything became a little too much for James, Remus took Harry from him so he could bury his face in his hands while Sirius patted his shoulder. James is the first to lay flowers on the lid of the coffin, a circle of roses from him and a bouquet of baby's breath from Harry, before takin his seat to let everyone else take their turn. When they are all finished, the coffin recedes and dirt falls gracefully on top of it. After all the attendants offer their condolences to James and depart he crouches carefully by the freshly moved soil and plants a few small seeds deep in te dirt, so that maybe a tree will grow one day.
"How are you holding up, mate?" Sirius inquires when they arrive back at the farmhouse at the end of the day.
"I just want today to be over," James replies, his voice strained from grief and exhaustion.
"Can't imagine how tough today must have been for you." His comment is met with silence at first as James draws his hand over his face.
"She was pregnant again. Lily. We had just found out a few weeks before, and we weren't really ready to tell anyone yet. It was just, we were still kind of getting used to the idea ourselves, it was not exactly expected. Not that we weren't happy about it –" Once he starts talking, James finds it very hard to stop, wanting to get everything out now.
"James," Sirius cuts in, hugging his friend so suddenly it takes him a minute to figure out what's going on, "I'm so sorry." James just nods in response and stands, turning away from the kitchen table.
"I'm going to go to bed now I think. Tomorrow is a new day."
"The start of a whole new life," Sirius agrees, a tad morosely, and James nods once more before heading upstairs.
Christmas is a quiet affair that year, just the four of them in the farmhouse (though Dumbledore does stop by for tea in the afternoon, bringing along a little gift for Harry). Most of the gifts are decorations, so that they can start making this little house their very own, Dumbledore gave his blessing and even bought them some cans of paint that could be bewitched to change color. There are picture frames filled with images of their days at Hogwarts, of James' wedding, of Harry as a baby. Sirius hangs a picture of a flying motorbike on one wall of his bedroom along with some very modern looking pieces of art (which he probably likes mostly because his parents would have been appalled). Remus decorates his room more traditionally, with just a large bookshelf stuffed with books, even more piled up high on a rather well-worn desk. Harry's room is painted light blue with plenty of little dark blue Quidditch players moving around the walls (James had long been a supporter of the Tutshill Tornadoes, which he very much hoped to pass on to Harry).
Remus manages to cook up a traditional roast for supper (he is a surprisingly good cook, one of his hidden talents), which they all gorge themselves on, and afterwards they indulge in a little pie and custard with their tea. Sirius belts out Christmas carols (god Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs getting three reprises) and Lupin suspects he somehow managed to sneak some firewhiskey into his tea.
Harry stays up well past his bedtime that night, until at long last he falls asleep draped across Sirius' lap, the sound of his singing actin as a lullaby for the little boy. James carries him up to bed, noting how much his son has grown already, amazed at the change he already sees. It won't be long before he's off to Hogwarts, James muses to himself, and he suddenly finds that he wants to memorize every last detail of Harry's childhood, knowing that he'll never get to do this again.