AN: Stories where James Potter isn't Harry's dad are one of those you can find often. There are a few versions used often but I never saw one where he is the son of this pairing without massive out of character or some kind of force involved.

I challenged myself to find a way and here is what my muse came up with.

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Frustration

Lily stormed through a small unnamed village on the Welsh coast. Her green eyes were almost sparking with her anger, her fists clenched, her warm cloak billowing behind her.

It was the beginning of November, and she just needed to be away from Potter Manor for a time.

She loved James, she truly did. Dearly. But sometimes he could be such an obnoxious prat!

She had understood when he had asked her to stop taking the contraceptive potions after they had married. His parents had struggled to conceive, and that he feared the same would happen to them if they were to wait was not something she could just dismiss. To argue that she had wanted to get her Charms Mastery, work, live before they became parents, felt petty. As she had agreed to marry the last of the Potters, she had agreed to become a mother, because James would need an heir.

So she had argued that the war against Voldemort – she refused to call him by those ridiculous monikers in her own head – was not a good time to have a child. Argued that as long as they were actively fighting they could not risk her becoming pregnant.

But that had not worked in her favour.

James had argued back, that they could both be killed or maimed in the fights, that they might be hit by something rendering them infertile, that they should live life to the fullest because they could not know when it would end.

By now they had escaped Voldemort himself more than once, got in several skirmishes with the Death Eaters, and still they were trying to conceive. Lily had to admit that it seemed they would have to struggle to have a child just as James' parents had had to fight for years.

And that had been the reason that they had had a row only half an hour ago.

Lily had walked into the kitchen of the manor to get the hot tea she drank before every dinner by herself, instead of having it brought up by one of the elves. She knew it should be about ready, and as she was walking by anyway, she thought to safe little Prim the trip. And there she had seen the little being assigned to her for her needs, dripping a potion into her tea.

Lily had not been one of the best students of their year in potions for nothing. Immediately she had recognized the fertility potion.

Red hair flying behind her she had found James in the study, back from his work as an Auror, bending over some papers. And then she had vented her frustrations. Why was he feeding her potions? Why hadn't he asked? Didn't it occur to him that maybe the problem was him, not her? That he was not able to father a child?

It could have become a reasonable discussion if James had not uttered a sentence under his breath Lily was not sure she could forgive him for.

"And I thought by marrying a muggle-born I wouldn't have this problem."

She had not been that furious since Sev had called her a mudblood after they had taken their OWLs.

And now she had been apparating around for hours, walking through the countryside to work out her frustrations. It was getting dark now, and she still was not sure if she wanted to return to Potter Manor. Spotting a pub ahead, Lily decided that she would drink something before returning home. It had been a while since she had been out just for fun. James had become quite paranoid, not letting her go anywhere alone, or just with her female friends. He, Sirius, or Remus always had to accompany her. She had begun to feel claustrophobic.

Stopping by a window and using its reflective surface to examine herself, Lily got her wand out and started to apply some concealment charms. A few moments later, her eyes were an unremarkable brown, her hair an ash-blonde, and her skin a few shades darker than before. Even if there should be a wizard or witch inside the pub, no one would recognize her.

oooOOooo

With a disgruntled face Tom watched as the last of his minions retreated from his study, bowing low, or mostly crawling in some cases. It certainly had been easier recruiting the dimwitted, bigoted, and greedy. But now that he had to work with them, his choice in followers proved to be poor. Their backstabbing habits, and slow understanding of what he wanted from them was a great source of frustration for him.

And as he just now had once again experienced, cursing them until they had screamed so long their voices gave out only helped marginally in relieving some of his frustrations.

Maybe it was time he ventured out into the countryside, wandering the moors, hills, and forests in an attempt to find some peace.

With a turn on his heel Tom apparated up to his rooms where he quickly discarded his dark blue, billowing robes on his way to the bathroom and a refreshing shower. How long had it been? Months, surely, by far too long between moments to forget about his quest to overthrow the Ministry of Magic, about followers with their own agendas, idiots he had to explain everything to more than three times only for them to make errors anyway. In short, he needed a break.

He had noticed, after the murder of his father, and that undeserving muggle's parents, how his control over his magic had become harder and harder to maintain. What had been easy when he had not yet been eleven became harder and harder to do. It had taken some time of difficult research to come to the conclusion that the creation of horcruxes had more severe side effects than Tom had anticipated.

Standing under the spray of hot water, feeling his muscles slowly relax, Tom remembered with a shudder the two rituals he had had to undergo to reintegrate the two horcruxes he already had created at that time. Pleasant was something else. But as his control over magic had returned after that, along with a few other things he hadn't really missed, he was glad he had taken the time to research the oddities in his magic before he could progress farther along the way to the seven pieces of his soul he previously had planned to make.

Tom stepped out of the shower, flicked his wrist to dry himself off with magic, and proceeded to dress in the muggle clothes he had hidden away in a secret compartment of his wardrobe. Where he wanted to go, it was better to blend in and not stick out like a sore thumb.

While he stood in front of the mirror changing his appearance just enough not to resemble himself any longer, Tom tried to reason out a good destination. Maybe a long walk along the sea would help clear his head. With now shorter black hair, unremarkable brown eyes, and darker skin, Tom picked up his warm cloak, a scarf, and a hat, before he apparated straight from his room to the Welsh coast. A long brisk walk and after that a nice beer in one of the pubs would help him calm down.

Maybe he needed to get rid of a few of his more inapt Death Eaters in the next weeks. It certainly would help him manage his frustration, and most likely would increase his chances for success tenfold.

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AN: I'm already finished with this little sketch of a story beginning and will post the chapters over the weekend.

Thanks to Jordre and Jake for helping to improve my spelling!