Author's Note:
Tequila: WAHOO, we are on a ROLL!!!
Justin: Huzzah, yes, yes, whatever…
Tequila: justin, you have no soul
Justin: Humph. Well, you have no sense of decorum.
Tequila: is that supposed to be an insult… ?
Disclaimer: we've done nothing to deserve the results of Harry Potter… but someday…
Someday
Some days, when the war drags on and the sky is a cold, damp English grey, James Potter will lean back, slowly, against whatever surface is nearest and sturdiest and he will just stop. Stop thinking, stop planning, stop strategizing and plotting and worrying, just stop.
And breathe.
But after a moment or two it's always time to go back in and plan another rescue mission, or another attack, or another raid. To rush around helping the Healers by brewing and folding and mixing and mending whatever you can. To spend some time trying to teach whatever new recruits there are how to disarm or stun or dodge or delay their opponent. To try and stop Voldemort. To try and save the world.
The life of a member of the Order of the Phoenix is not precisely what you could call restful. But neither is the life of any other member of the British Wizarding population. So that's alright. Because at eight or nine or ten (or sometimes eleven, if truth be told) both James and Lily disengage themselves from meetings and finish their tasks for the Healers and review one last jinx and go home.
Thanks to magic, there's always a kettle on, and the bungalow in Godric's Hollow is warm and cozy and almost always contains a generous supply of biscuits—a slightly less generous one immediately after the Marauders leave, to be sure, but a generous one nonetheless.
Lily is there too, just as tired and cross and fed up as he is, of course, but somehow managing to look bewitching despite it all, and she always has a smile for him.
And somehow, with Lily and tea and biscuits and an afghan, James Potter always manages to make it through one more day. One more week. One more month.
Because someday, this is all going to be worth it. Someday, the sodding bastard that has the gall to style himself a Lord will be stopped, and peace will reign and Muggles will sleep soundly in their wee beds and the children will dance in the streets and all will be well and a whole host of other stupid, unrealistic daydreams James can hardly admit even to himself will come true.
Someday, someone named James Potter will be able to spend hours and hours thinking about nothing, if he so chooses.
Someday, the war will be over. And so James keeps going, because someday gets a little bit closer every time he looks into Lily's eyes, and takes a sip of tea, and just breathes.