The sky was so dark that night that it made the stars seem ever brighter, James remembered. He could picture the moon that day, a brilliant, beautiful full moon. He could hear his father's voice muttering happily under his breath, feel the joy that had flooded him at his mother's bright, familiar laugh. He could feel the gentle strum of the guitar as Sirius plucked it under the birch tree. He could almost feel Lily's pale arms wrapping around his waist, her head on his shoulder, as she looked up at him with happy tears in her striking green eyes. He could hear the words she spoke to him, it feels good to finally belong, whispered so delicately he could barely hear it. That had been one of the best nights of his life; his family, together, happy.

Tonight he looked up at the grey sky, the stars dull, the moon absent. His father's voice, his mother's laugh, would never sound again. Lily was still on her knees beside their bodies, which had been magically wrapped in plastic to keep the Dragon Pox from spreading. Sirius was tapping his fingers hard and fast against his leather boots, staring numbly, unseeingly, at the wall, cheeks wet. James couldn't feel anything, other than a deep yearning to go back to that night. He'd live through their deaths again and again if it meant they'd never leave him… He knew he ought to be grateful they weren't suffering, but he was only cold, and selfish.

Eventually, the door opened and someone came in, but James didn't turn away from the window, didn't care to glance behind him. He couldn't bare to look at his parents through the translucent plastic. "We need to take care of their bodies, preserve them for the funeral."

Wordlessly, the three of them shuffled out of the room. James didn't glance at their bodies; he couldn't remember them like that. It was bad enough that the sight of their sickness, their misery, was burned into retinas, a sight he saw every single time he closed his eyes. He touched his wife's arm, stroking it softly with his thumb. She was crying quietly as Sirius led them out of the hospital, towards their car. James wordlessly opened the back seat for Lily, who crawled in and lay down, hugging herself. He climbed into the right side of the car as Sirius took the passenger seat.

James sat there for a moment, forgetting how to do much of anything at all. He couldn't do anything, not yet. Neither his mate nor his wife rushed him. "I can't- believe-" He started, then felt himself finally begin to sob. Sirius took his hand in his and squeezed as Lily surged up to hold him, her chin on the back of his seat. "I can't- I-"

"Shh," said Sirius. "You don't have to talk."

James wiped his cheeks, then ran both hands through his hair. "Okay. I'm okay." Lily kissed him, then sat back, buckling herself. James started the car, then, and drove them home.

Once they parked the car, they stared at the house in Godric's Hollow. It seemed to big and empty. It no longer felt like the warm, fun-filled estate he'd grown up in, chasing his cat around, doing magic he really ought not to do and convincing Dad not to tell Mum. He squeezed his eyes shut. The biggest part of him had died with them; the part of him that was him. A dementor's Kiss would be less cruel than this.

Eventually, the three of them walked inside and collapsed on the sectional, Lily laying on James' chest, James' head on Sirius' shoulder. He felt a bitter pang of anger as he thought of Remus and Peter, neither of whom were here. He knew, logically, that they didn't know. He knew, of course, that if they had, they wouldn't have left. And he knew that they couldn't come back in the middle of a mission for the Order just to comfort their grieving friend. And yet, he could not stop himself from being angry. He decided that, just tonight, he would let him be selfish again. He knew his wonderful, lovely friends would understand.

"I can't believe that they're gone," he managed finally. Lily squeezed him tighter, and he buried a hand in her auburn locks. Sirius pressed his cheek against James' head, wrapping an arm around him.

"I know," whispered he.

James looked up at the recently taken family portrait hanging above the Christmas tree. Mum and Dad were clinging happily to each other, beaming at the camera. Dad had his lips pursed, and his eyes were wet with happy tears. Mum was openly crying, a brilliant grin on her beautiful, aging face. She held onto Lily, who was holding her belly, her smile from ear to ear. James was behind them, a hand on each of their shoulders, the corners of his mouth quirked with pride. Sirius had an arm around dad, wearing his large, clunky leather jacket, shredded jeans, and giant motorcycle boots, smirking mischievously. Remus held his hand, smiling excitedly at Lily's belly. Peter was in front of Mum and Dad, holding Lily's hand. He, too, was crying.

It was the day they'd announced she was pregnant, on Christmas. If only they'd have known, then, that they would be gone shortly after New Year's, they would have spent less time joking with Sirius, and more time with Mum and Dad. Less time, alone, planning the nursery, and more time with Mum and Dad.

He'd spent so much time away from them, recently. A terrible amount of it. When they'd first arrived, Mum had joked that she'd nearly forgotten his face. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears overcame him again. He couldn't bear the thought that they weren't around, that they wouldn't meet all of the little babies that James and Lily planned on having, not even the first one. He held her tightly as he cried louder, wounded, gasping and crying out. Lily held him tight, and Sirius clenched him, and they cried into each other. This can't be happening, he thought, over and over again. This simply isn't real. It can't be- it isn't.

But, it was, of course. He'd never feel his father awkwardly clap a hand onto his back. He'd never spit out his mother's curls when she hugged him and shoved her ludicrous updos into his face. He'd never beat his father at chess again. He'd never come over to bake biscuits with his mother, and ruin them horribly, mostly on purpose.

He'd never see them again, for they were gone. Forever. He was without the two people who had given him everything they ever had, for his entire life, and supported him unconditionally, who'd raised him, who'd loved him endlessly. His parents were gone. Those beautiful, perfect souls, were dead.

Eventually, they all fell asleep on the couch. James was the first to wake, his head having fallen onto Sirius' leg, Lily's cheek on his side, her arms around him. He looked at her belly, though it hadn't grown much. He wished he could hold him, just once, and them put him back in. He felt so empty right now, the sadness leaving him temporarily, the cold, bitter emptiness consuming him. He carefully removed himself from the arms of the two people he loved most, then walked into the kitchen, grabbing the vodka from the freezer and downing quite an alarming amount of it. He revelled in the burn.

He was sitting at the breakfast bar, face and neck covered in thick, wet tears, when a tired Sirius came into the kitchen. He glanced at the nigh-empty bottle in James' hand. He said nothing, but stood in front of him. James' brain could barely process anything at all, much less his line of vision. It was more or less… Shapes, objects. He felt Sirius touch his back, and he leaned into him, feeling his warmth. Sirius ran a hand through James' hair, then gently took the bottle away.

Lily came in some time later. "Oh, I wasn't sure where you'd gone," she said in a tired voice. "... James? Are you alright?"

"He drank. A lot." said Sirius.

"Oh."

He felt her hand on his, and he stared at her soft hands, unseeing. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and he hovered there, head swaying, mouth agape.

"Jesus, Prongs," said Sirius.

"Help me get him into bed, please," Lily said quietly. The two of them walked James to the couple's room, laying him on the bed. Sirius said something about calling to make arrangements, then left. Lily gently undressed him, then put pajamas onto him. He could vaguely understand, then, that she too was changing, but he couldn't process more than bare skin, moving, until it was purple. She lay beside him, and his eyes finally focused on her piercing green orbs. They had flecks of gold in them.

"I love you," he slurred out. She touched his cheek.

"I love you, too," she whispered. "It's going to be okay."

He couldn't process her words, but even if he had, he wouldn't have been able to refute them. His forehead met hers, and he closed his eyes and touched her belly. He once again felt a yearning to hold his baby. He wished grimly that his parents' names weren't so dumb, so he could name the baby after one of them. But, they'd already decided on Harry, for a boy, or Henriette, for a girl, after James' dad's dad. He wanted a girl- Ahn-reht- but they were going to have many, anyway. As long as he got just one girl, he would be happy.

He fell asleep again, and it was nighttime when he awoke. He had no headache and he was entirely sober, so he assumed that Lily had helped him sometime after he fell asleep. She lay on her side, her back against him, in a lavender negligee, talking to someone on the phone. After a moment, he discerned that it was her mother. He touched her waist gently, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. She responded by wiggling against him, and he held her tightly.

"Okay, Ma," she said after a while. "Goodnight. I love you- tell dad I love him, too. I will. You too. Night." she hung up, then stroked James' dark hand with gentle fingers. "Hello, dear," she said.

"Hi," he replied. "I love you."

"I love you, too,"

He gently turned her around, holding her pale face in one hand. She was so small, it felt like he could break her. He wanted to lose himself in her, to forget everything but her silky walls, but he didn't want to get in the way of her healing. She was never in the mood when she was emotional. He kissed her softly, and she deepened it, until they were drinking from one another, holding on tight. He could hear her start to moan and coo into him, and he ran a hand down her spine, making her shudder into him. He was alive in his boxers, and he pressed her back into the bed, holding himself steadily above her. He looked into her eyes, which were alive with lust and half-lidded by pleasure. He burned the image into his brain, then kissed her again, spreading her pale legs open. She hadn't bothered with underwear, and the sight made him growl hungrily in approval. He pressed himself against her through his boxers, holding her tightly, kissing her again. His hands wandered her body, teasing it with the silk of her lingerie, rolling her nipples through the frictionless fabric. She squirmed desperately beneath him.

And then he took her, thrusting back and forth until his brain couldn't focus on anything but her moans and gasps and cries of joy, her needy breaths, her passionate begging for more, and the lewd sounds of her desperate body as he slammed into her, her body milking him to completion as he brought her slamming into her own climaxes, over and over again.

It was nearly sunrise by the time he finally collapsed on the bed, panting, the comfort he'd found in the woman he loved so dearly already being pulled from him. He began to cry, and she rolled over to hold him, comfort him. He felt so sad, so pathetic. He didn't know what to do to feel better. He just wanted them back.

But he was never going to get them back, ever.

It was a hot July afternoon and he sat in a seat at St. Mungos, cradling a sleeping Harry in his arms. Lily was asleep, too, laying in her hospital bed, clinging to Remus' arm, who was asleep in another chair, though he had half fallen into her bed as she cradled him. Sirius was only half conscious beside James, his head on the back of his chair, sleepily grinning at Harry, who had a death grip on his godfather's finger. Peter was the only alert one, pacing nervously at the foot of Lily's bed.

"You'd think you were the new father," said James tiredly. They'd not slept more than two or three hours each since Lily had gone into labor, three days prior, and no nap had lasted more than half an hour.

Peter glanced at him, his eyes so dark James would almost think they were bruised. He looked at Harry, then, a sort of sad admiration filling his familiar eyes. James smiled; he must be a bit baby crazy. Peter had always loved kids. "Just… Over caffeinated, I reckon," he lied. Well, no- he was definitely over caffeinated. That just wasn't the whole story.

James gently moved Harry to his other shoulder, to peer down at his perfect face. He had creases under his eyes, and a deep frown in his face, looking awfully grump, like a very old, very cross man. It amused James endlessly. He had a small flush of jet black curls, and skin the color of coffee with far too much milk, exactly how Lily liked hers. He was right in between James' mocha skin and Lily's pale white coloring. He looked nearly identical to what James had as a baby, though he was dotted lightly with his mother's freckles, and when Sirius had gently opened up his eyes, they were already green, though they had more flecks in them; gold, like his mother, and hazel, like James' own eyes.

When he looked at him, James was awash with a… Feeling, a deep, strong, awe-inspiring devotion, adoration, and bond to Harry. It was like he'd seized up his entire heart in his tiny hand. James gently rubbed his chubby cheek with a finger, tapped gently on his nose, ran a finger over a nigh hairless brow. He hadn't known what to expect fatherhood to feel like, but it had not quite been this.

Harry slept through most of the day, waking only to nurse and cry over dirty diapers, which James reluctantly took care of. When night fell, Peter departed to attend a meeting with the Order, promising to fill the others in. Lily was nursing Harry, and Remus had his temple atop Lily's head, eyes closed, listening to the quiet radio that played in the corner of the room. James had moved to sit on the foot of the bed, rubbing his wife's feet gently, and Sirius had taken his seat, holding one of Lily's hands, singing along to the radio as he eyed Harry. It was a wonderful silence they all sat in, their hearts all at loving peace. It was a rare break from the war raging on outside. The new father glanced out the window tiredly. The sky was so dark that night that it made the stars seem ever brighter, James noted.