Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
"Lily! Take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"
There was a crack as the door crumbled under the power of the Dark Lord's wand, and James Potter felt frozen, rooted into the place he was standing.
There was a dangerous flint in those red slit pupils as he stepped into the house with his wand raised, something dark and cold that James hadn't seen even when he and the rest of Order of the Pheonix-the ones who were left-stood in the midst of ruins, when the Dark Lord screamed "Crucio!" and watched in glee as Marlene McKinnon went limp.
There was nothing in those eyes, only calculation and cruel determination.
Voldemort didn't even blink at Hames as he stood in front of him, he only walked past and defended the stairs behind him in slow, sure footsteps.
"Stop-" James roared, his fists clenched. "Lily! RUN!"
James rushed after him, his legs feeling like they would give way and his lungs feeling like they would collapse in his chest. This was the end, he was sure of it.
"LILY!"
There was a crack as the Dark Lord raised his wand and apparated into the other room, into Harry's room. James heard a scream-Lily's, and Harry's cry, and his mind was racing in different directions, to Lily and Harry and there never being enough time-never enough time for anything.
He didn't think it would end this way, he didn't want it to end this way.
James ran up the stairs, sweat dripping down and soaking his robes, his throat raw and stinging as he screamed "LILY! HARRY!"
It was too late.
He heard a murmured Avada Kedavra as James stood breathless at the doorway, nearly tripping into the room as green light filled the space and cast in a light glow.
His throat throbbed, his chest felt strained and everything fucking hurt as he watched her fall to the ground, tears still on her cheeks, and he wanted nothing in the world than to fall down with her.
James couldn't breathe.
He almost sank to his knees if it were not for Harry, who babbled suddenly and made James regain his senses. My son, he thought, as Voldemort raised his wand over the crib, the edges of his mouth curling up into a smile.
"At last."
You won't hurt Harry, James said, his teeth clenched, and what happened next seemed to happen in slow motion.
James was leaping towards Harry, his toes leaning forward, and with the agile grace of a seeker, he was there, the air whipping and cracking around him, the wood of the crib cutting painfully into his back, his voice barely a whisper as he called on the Ancient House of Potter, on magic that was so old and dark that it was long since forgotten, magic that was more powerful than the universe itself.
The green jet of light that flew out of Voldemort's wand hit James square in the chest, and James was flying back by the impact of it all, the air humming like the hiss before the going off of a bomb, the space igniting and his vision going black.
.
"Give him to me, Hagrid. He's my godson-"
"Dumbledore's orders, Sirius-"
"For Merlin's sake, Hagird! I'm his fucking godfather! He goes with me!"
There was a low grunt from below the collapsed house, and Sirius leaned closer to the source.
"It it possible?" he whispered, as he took out his wand and muttered a floating charm and removed layer after layer of wood and glass, until he saw the glimmering of broken glasses and the bright red of blood.
"Blimey! James!"
Sirius rushed over to his friend, Hagrid following, baby Harry still cradled in his arms.
"James," Sirius whispered when he neared the body of James Potter, whose face was bruised and barely recognizable underneath blood and cuts and purple. "Please, be alive-"
James inhaled and nearly choked on the cool air, opening the eye that wasn't swollen, the world came into focus. "Padfoot?" he whispered. "Padfoot, is that you?"
Sirius staggered back in happiness and relief, his eyes welling up slightly. James was alive.
"I'm here, Prongs," he said back, gesturing to Hagrid to help him left James out of the remains of the house. "I'm here. Is Lily-"
"Dead," croaked James. "Voldemort killed her when he...he...was.."
It obviously pained him to speak, and James panted when Sirius held him by the sleeve, peeled away his robes to reveal more cuts, a long, jagged looking one near his chest, where his heart was.
"Where's...where's...H-harry?" James managed to get out. "P-padfoot?"
"Here," Hagrid said, lowering Harry gingerly so James could see him. "He's safe."
There was an exhale of breath as James finally nodded and Sirius apparated the both of them to St. Mungo's, Hagrid still holding baby Harry in his arms as they followed behind.
.
The healers of St. Mugo's stood over James for days, looking over at cuts and bruises that were beginning to scar.
"Most of them," one of them said to Sirius one day when he was out in the hallway, pacing, "will heal. But some of them, for some reason or the other, can't be erased. We're going to run some tests. Dark magic, the kind that Death Eaters use, can be dangerous."
It had been weeks until James could come out, and when he finally did, he was frail and weak and could barely walk by himself without support. Sirius had took him back to Twelve Grimmauld Place, where he had taken Harry from Hagid and placed him on a soft bed made of soft robes and blanket scraps, feeding him pumpkin pasties every morning, hoping that James would come back and help him before he accidentally dropped Harry or fed him something wrong.
"I'm proud of you," James said when he saw Harry babbling and laughing at Sirius when he fed him again. "You've done a great job these few days, Sirius. Thank you."
There was something hollow about his voice, and over the space of the next few days, James barely slept, he barely ate, and when he did sleep, he woke up in the middle of the night screaming Lily's name.
He guessed it would take a while before the wounds faded to scars.
.
After days of brooding James, he finally started to recover, even if sometimes when he laughed he held back, or he couldn't look at Harry's eyes, he slowly became the best friend Sirius knew all his life, and the two of them plus baby Harry rebuilt and day by day they healed, together.
They repainted and remodeled Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, repainting it, replacing the glass in the windows and removing any ancient Black heirlooms and somehow keeping the portrait of Sirius' mother in the back of the room covered by ink black cloth.
The rooms in Grimmauld Place were more than enough for the three of them, and the both of them agreed that they would live together because they couldn't stand waking up in the middle of the night from a nightmare with no one to talk to, because Sirius knew James better than himself, and James knew Sirius like the back of his hand; knew that he couldn't close his eyes when he first tried to slip into sleep, that he still blamed himself for Lily's death.
James sometimes imagined if things at Godric's Hollow had gone differently, if he had died and Harry was the only one left, sent to Sirius or Lily's relatives-no, he couldn't think of that, they hated wizards.
Sometimes he thought of what he was calling out to that night, magic and gods and demons, of the Ancient House of Potter, and what he heard in whispers and murmurs in his dreams.
One must always pay the price.
.
James stood with Sirius when it was all over, when the last layer of white paint had been applied-the muggle way, with paintbrushes and the musky smell filling the room.
He held Harry in his arms, who laughed and grabbed at his fingers, while James made things float and fly in different directions, glasses, pitchers, bowls.
"I guess this is the end, Padfoot," James said, clapping Sirius on the back.
"No," Sirius said softly. "This is only the beginning."
He was suddenly silent for a moment for a moment before smoothing back Harry's unruly black hair and swallowing.
"Lily?" Sirius asked.
"Yes," James said, letting out a choked sob and rubbing his face across his sleeve. "I..."
Sirius said nothing, only took Harry from James' arms and watched his best friend bury his face into his hands as his body shook with grief.
"I should've..." he said, and Sirius was surprised at the way his voice was dead calm. "I should have saved her."
.
James went out into the wrecked places of the Wizarding World sometimes when he was with Harry, and he saw how lucky he was. There were people, who had lost limbs and eyes and far more loved ones than him, and it broke his heart, because he knew how it felt to be the only one left.
Harry laughed with them, and the presence of Harry Potter-who was now a symbol and light and good and hope-had cheered them up if not slightly, and as they petted his cheek, and as Sirius and James went out and helped rebuild the Wizarding World, piece by piece, and tried to heal all together as one.
Baby steps, James thought. Baby steps.
.
Because it was the end of an age, the end of the war, and when James looked towards the glow of the rising sun, Harry in his arms, he knew he was ready.
Ready for whatever was to come, ready to live and heal and be alive. For Lily's sake, for Harry's and for himself.
.
Deep within the forest, it opened it's eyes.
It was barely alive, it was barely a soul, it was wandering around the foot of the earth.
Harry Potter, voices whispered to it. James Potter. They have escaped you.
It didn't fret. Because he knew.
When you meddle with the destiny of stars, one must always pay the price.
a/N: sO, i HAVE NO IDEA WHY I AM PUBLISHING THIS AND IF I SHOULD CONTINUE IT. so i guess if you want me to continue it, review a "1", If you want me to leave it as a oneshot, leave a "2" in the comments!
Thank you guys for so much support, and if you'd like, you can check out my other story "Harry Potter and the Days of Future's Past" in my profile!
-El.