"If, during Sixth Year, you had told me I would be making gingerbread cookies on the Christmas holidays for our children, I wouldn't have believed you."
"Yeah, well, seeing as how good I was in Divination, I would be concerned if you had."
Hermione snorted and shot a grin at Harry over a bowl of molasses, sugar, eggs, and various ingredients yet to be added to the mixing bowl. Quite a bit of the mess had found its way into her hair and masked in with old stains on Mrs. Weasley's borrowed apron. Harry decided he wouldn't have believed himself either, and would have blamed such a prediction on the fumes in the Divination room.
He picked up one of the cookie cutters from the round kitchen table and eyed the centaur shape with distrust. Those spindly legs would snap easily. Luckily, Hermione had told the kids to always bite gingerbread creation heads off first, so they wouldn't suffer.
"I dunno." He said to Hermione. "I've never actually made a cookie before. They look awfully fragile."
He rather suspected Hermione was rolling her eyes, but she had buried her head in yet another of Mrs. Weasley's kitchen tools that they had bothered for the time being. She was staying at Shell Cottage helping Fleur with the latest edition, and Hermione had taken advantage of this absence to try and cook for herself. Mr. Weasley was at the Burrow with Charlie, who was off for the holidays. George and Percy were still working, as were Ron and Ginny, Auror and Chaser that they were. Harry didn't envy his wife these bitter practices leading to the February match that would signify the beginning of Quidditch season. This was his team's week off, and he rather enjoyed the vacation with Hermione, who had just published another book. One of the nice things about being an author-part time for him, the only job for her-was the hours, he and Hermione agreed on that front.
"I mean," he continued. "At least Ted's asleep and James and Al are outside, I don't know if I could ever live this one down."
"Cookie baking skills take priority over being the Chosen One, huh?" Hermione grinned and handed him a spoonful of dough.
"Apparently. Not that I want them to grow up on that," Harry trailed off, thinking, and it took Hermione's voice to bring him back to the present.
"Well, you won't be spared for long. We have to cool the dough for an hour or so. Thanks to the temperature, the boys will probably be back by then, giving them ample time to see how their own father has never made a gingerbread man."
"I'm serious! They'll use it as blackmail. 'You can't make me eat vegetables, you can't even make a gingerbread cookie!' Al will be all over that one."
Hermione just smiled. "You can claim you helped me make the dough, and the cutting out isn't exactly rocket science."
Harry laughed, knowing he would do nothing of the sort. Somehow, Ron and Hermione had gotten into an argument that had led to a fight that ended in Hermione making cookies the Muggle way. He wouldn't take the winning prize away from her.
Both adults jumped as a crash from the room above resonated throughout the house. Harry had his wand in his hand in heartbeats, Hermione likewise and they were ready to bolt upstairs when a loud shout reached their ears.
"Hugo! That was me and Lily's castle you-"
"Ach! Gerrof me!"
There was another series of thumps before Hermione untied her apron and stowed her wand in her pocket.
"Old habits die hard." She muttered, casting a glance at the wand clenched tight in Harry's hand before heading to the stairs.
"Hugo!" She called, more exasperated than angry. "Leave your sister and cousin alone or I'll send you out to find James and Albus!"
Harry chuckled to himself. His sons had gone outside ten minutes ago because they had been bothering Ted-napping after a long night of studying-and it was either that or quiz the Ravenclaw on Divination terms. Harry was slightly proud of the fact that they had both balked and ran, showing no tolerance for tealeaves and the position of Saturn. Teddy Lupin carried his father's perfectionist traits in every subject, even the ones he loathed.
Hermione hurried back into the kitchen, consulted the recipe book, and sprinkled something else into the dough.
"Love is wanting to hug and strangle your kid at the same time." She informed Harry in a way that reminded him ever so slightly of her Standard Book of Spells recitations. "Not that Rose doesn't nudge him the wrong way, sometimes. The other day, she lit his hair on fire-accidental underage magic; of course-after they had been going at it for a while. I thought I should just ignore it, let them figure it out. But there you go with letting an eight and nine year old sort things out."
This made Harry laugh, imagining Albus finding a way around performing controlled magic without a wand to get back at his older brother. On second thought… maybe not so funny. He thought regrettably of the paintings Luna had brought over, and how they weren't quite so pretty after the two had gotten into the fight that landed them outside.
There was another thump upstairs.
"If you three don't shut up right now I swear you'll regret it!"
The shouts quieted. A little. Even Hermione couldn't contain a small smile.
"Al, c'mon, stop being such a coward." James Potter called to his brother. The younger boy shot him a mutinous look, wondering about the sanity of whoever made older brothers legal. James was out at the tip of a branch, licking an icicle hanging from the frozen apple tree and smirking in that cocky way he knew irked Albus. They hadn't been outside more than five minutes and already he felt like killed his older brother-or at least pushing him off the tree to the frozen pond below.
He took a deep breath, adjusted his boots and scrambled up to the first slippery limb. Apple trees were great to climb in the summer, when the closely packed branches weren't slick with ice and snow. But, of course, James had to have a go on the one thing Albus knew he feared-heights. It didn't matter that his father was a Seeker on Britain's Quidditch team or his mother a Chaser on the Harpies, Albus didn't like being off the ground in uncontrollable situations. Climbing in the summer with hands unhindered by mittens and no bulky winter gear? Piece of cake. Flying on a broomstick or shimmying out on a high and icy tree limb? Not so much.
"Al," James winged, throwing a handful of powder snow in his brother's direction. "Hurry up!"
Scared witless but determined not to let his older brother get the best of him, Albus wiggled and clawed and heaved himself to the next branch, and eventually to the highest. His added weight-and the struggle to get on-had the branch quaking and James yelping with delight.
"See? It's fun!" He added an extra whoop! as if this would persuade Albus and bounced. The branch wobbled, which Albus didn't find amusing in the least, but he steeled his nerves and maneuvered his way forward.
James clapped his unwilling brother on the back, causing Al to whimper as their perch shook, dislodging the last of the snow that the younger hadn't pushed off on his ascent.
"Isn't this great, Al?" James laughed, using both his arms to gesture to the snow covered field and trees beyond. Their parents had originally chosen the cottage because of the surrounding nature and solitude. It was great property for a family of Quidditch players, but James had taken it upon himself to explore every bit, and tow Albus along with him.
"You can see everything!" He told his brother. "The forest, the plains, and we're right over the lake! This would be a perfect fort, we could just push our prisoners right in!"
Albus tried not to let his voice quaver when he responded. "Yeah… we could see dragons coming from far away. And throw apples at them when they're in range.
"Good idea!" Albus couldn't help but to feel slightly better with his older brother's praise. "Reckon Hugo would be a knight?"
Al pulled a face. "If he doesn't find out that we're both kings. Then he'd want to be one, too, and there would be no one to go to battle with."
James nodded seriously. "What about Rosie? She won't want to be left out."
"Damsel in distress?" Albus offered doubtfully. The brothers exchanged looks, and then simultaneously burst out laughing. The thought of cousin Rosie willing letting anyone help her was a laugh. She'd probably have to rescue Hugo from the spiders in the tool shed.
Perhaps the branch naturally wasn't very strong, or perhaps the weather had upset it, but for one reason or another, it wasn't quite capable of holding up two laughing children. A sudden creaking stopped ALbus's laughter immediately. He felt the branch sway.
"J-J-J-James?" He croaked. James froze, recognizing the sounds of the dying limb. He instructed his brother to move slowly back down the long branch, but the slightest shift of weight caused both boys to flinch at an ear ringing crack, and then they were falling.
James and Albus fell close to each other, landing on the ice sprawled in eagle-like positions, but it was early in the year and the pond was not yet equipped to dealing with an eight and a nine year old. The ice groaned, rather like the branch dangling half-heartedly from a string of bark overhead, and James had a second to lunge toward his younger brother before water was lapping across the ice. The thin top layer immediately seeped through his pants and coat, and then the ice gave way completely and the boys were plunged underwater.
For a moment, James sank, his hand still wrapped tightly around his brother's wrist, and then he realized what had happened and began to strike upwards.
Why are these boots so heavy? It took him ages for his head to break the surface, and then he was scrabbling at the quickly retreating ice with no results.
"Al!" He spluttered to his half submerged brother. "Get back on the ice!"
He fell under again, panicking at stories he had heard from his grandmother about Muggles being trapped under ice, unable to surface, unable to breathe. His toe kicked something firm deep below in his frenzy, and his foot scrambled to find the meager boost it would give him. If he stood on his very tiptoe, he could breathe through his nose.
He tried to rip off his mittens, only slowing him down now that he could get air. But the water was cold, his snow things were wet and heavy, and Albus wasn't as tall as he was. Again he coughed his brother's name, his heart a hummingbird in panic as he grabbed Al's sinking arm. But the weight caught him off guard and he slipped off what he was standing on, and Al fell with him, sinking to the ground.
James's lungs screamed for air, just as his mind was screaming in panic. He felt solid earth beneath him and reacted instinctively, pushing Albus up and off for something to inhale.
He resurfaced again, chest heaving and completely blinded by the water. He coughed, blinking and kicking and feeling around him for Albus. What if he hadn't come up to the hole they had made? What if he was stuck under the ice? What if he couldn't breathe?
"Albus!" He summoned all the air in his chest to scream the name. "Where are you?"
"Here!" A familiar voice, choked with cold, answered somewhere to his right. James yanked his hat off and swept the dark hair from his eyes to see Al half flopped on the ice. His lower legs were kicking feebly at the water.
James had one conscious thought, and even then it may not have been that, but he took a deep breath and sunk to the bottom, then propelled off and knocked his brother completely onto the ice.
"Don't stand!" James gurgled to the other boy, struggling to get air into his heaving lungs. Al coughed, but at least was out of the frigid water. "Flatten out, Albus! C'mon, get off the ice. Get Dad."
"I'm not leaving you." Albus whispered in what would have been a mulish tone had his teeth not been chattering so heavily.
"Go!" James snapped. "Get home and get dry. Tell Dad to come get me." He took another deep breath before the water lapped into his mouth. "You can't pull me out."
James didn't know if he believed in God, but he certainly thanked someone that his brother had gotten out. His toes and fingers were frozen blocks, raging with pain before numbness set in, and his snow pants only seemed to be getting heavier. He watched Albus wriggle to the shore and stumble forward on his hands and knees and only once he was out of sight did James rest his head on the ice. Water trickled into his mouth, but he could breathe around it. For a little while, anyway. His lungs were cold, too.
"Hurry, Al…" He mumbled incoherently. "Get… back… safe…"
Breathing shallowly, he watched the hill just viewable around the snow until his eyelids fluttered shut.
Harry found Albus by the tool shed, knocking weakly and whispering what could have been "Dad!" but had long since lost the vocalization. Seeing his son laying near limp incited panic in Harry as he hadn't felt in a long time-certainly never of this kind-and was at his son's side in an instant.
His Patronus, following and waiting for Harry's cue, took this as a sign and leaped off to find Hermione, who Apparated to Harry's side almost instantly. Teddy was there a moment later, running over the hill and shouting at the sight of his surrogate brother.
Harry paid no heed to his godson, pulling Albus into his arms and rubbing his exposed skin fiercely. Somewhere along the way his mittens had come off, and his hands were a dark shade of blue.
Again Albus tried to say, "Dad?", but the sound was lost in his chattering teeth, and while Hermione flicked her wand and muttered words to dry his clothes, Harry continued to talk.
"Albus!" He said. "Where's James?"
"We fell in the lake, Dad." He whispered, eyes searching blindly for his father's face. Where had his glasses gone? But Harry quite stopped breathing with his son's words. "Under the apple trees. Help James."
Having no intention of leaving Albus, even if Hermione was with him, he got to his feet holding Albus tight, and Disapparated. He appeared at the base of the trees, Hermione following with Ted. Forgetting he was a wizard, forgetting he had a wand, forgetting years of magical education, Harry plunged into the frozen water. James's head lay limp on the ice, which bore signs of how he and Al had struggled to get out. It was thin and the lake wasn't deep to a grown man, and Harry was cradling James moments later. He took him under the arms and spun, only to find a shivering Hermione right behind him. Before he even realized what she was doing, she pressed her wand to James's throat and murmured a spell. Harry's heart pounded, his throat thick and chest tight with fear as his eyes raked James's pale, frozen face. His closed eyes, his icy lips frozen in a frown.
His chest heaved, and suddenly he was coughing and coughing and breathing and then he realized who was holding him and knotted his hands in his father's robes.
"Where's Al?" James rasped, looking up into his Harry's thin face. "Did you find Al? I got him out and told him to go home and-"
Harry stumbled to shore where Albus yelled with relief and flung his arms around Harry and James.
Harry still seemed to be having trouble using his vocal chords, but Hermione understood and ushered her friend, nephews, and Teddy inside. He sat James on the couch, where the two adults worked to get his block-like feet out of his boots, remove his coat and scarf and snow pants and then dry his shirt and trousers. Albus flung himself across his brother's legs even as Harry drew up a blanket and Teddy handed to pair mugs of hot chocolate. He then patted their shoulders and headed back outside, muttering something about glasses.
Despite his obvious exhaustion, when Harry sat on the edge of the loveseat, James bolted from his position and wiggled over to a spot in his father's arms. Albus, not cold but still shivering with fear, took up the rest of Harry's limited arm space, where they promptly fell asleep.
During his distraction, Hermione had lit a fire in the hearth and tucked some extra blankets around her nephews. Then she dried Harry's pants, still wet from the lake, and took a seat on the other side of her friend.
Harry hadn't taken his eyes of the boys for a moment, now stroking James's raven hair. He kept pressing his hands to his son's cheeks, feeling warmth and reaffirming that they were breathing. James would open his eyes-so like Ginny's-and he would be fine, probably torturing and teasing Al with his first words. Albus was like looking at pictures of himself at a younger age, glasses and everything. To think he had come so close to losing them… these two small children who now seemed to make up the majority of his world. If they had never made it back inside… Harry didn't even want to think about it, but had learned the hard way that those evil thoughts are often the hardest to avoid. Living without them would be like living without the ground under his feet, the air in his lungs… he could hardly grasp how his parents must have felt when they found he was on Voldemort's personal list.
"Harry?" Hermione's voice broke through his thoughts, not half as strong as she usually sounded. "It's not your fault. You won't, as I wouldn't, believe this, but there was nothing reckless in sending them outside to be alone for fifteen minutes."
Harry didn't say anything. She didn't continue this train of thought, knowing it was hopeless, for which he was grateful. Being a parent herself, she at least understood enough to know that no parent couldn't feel guilty after an accident such as this. Surely he could have found them faster? Or could he have sent Teddy outside with them?
"Is there anything I can do?"
This forced Harry into a choking sort of laugh.
"Hermione," he said, "You were brilliant. Ready with those spells, I have no idea what I would have done without you. Probably shaken them until I broke their necks or something."
"You would have thought of something." She told him. "You always do."
He didn't speak for a moment, and when he did, his voice was hoarse.
"I just…" he whispered, "Have no idea what I would do if I had been too late."
Hermione's throat caught, in part for her nephews, her almost broken brotherly figure, and the two faces that kept replaying in her mind, two other bodies she could picture lying in the snow alongside James and Albus.
"I don't know." She croaked, and then sniffed, trying not to let her eyes well up. "I can't even imagine something like that, Harry. I used to wonder, in those Muggle fairy tales about mothers who do anything for their children or who can recognize them after years apart. I used to wonder; don't they get tired of their kids? Don't they ever feel like going back to being just a partner, not a mother? But I… I don't doubt it now."
Harry spared a small smile, though he hadn't once looked up from his boys.
"If you had told me," Hermione continued, "During Sixth Year, that this kind of feeling was possible?"
"I wouldn't have believed it." Harry finished.
And looking at him, The Boy Who Lived who grew into The Chosen One who the Prophet then labeled The Savior, but who had on his own account decided to become a father with three children and wife he adored-she could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice-she understood him.
James Potter would have been proud, she thought with a watery smile. He would have been so proud.