It was still dark outside when James Potter woke up. He had rolled over to find the spot where his wife usually lay empty, and woke in a complete state of panic. He grabbed his wand from his bedside table - he and Lily had grown accustomed to sleeping with them nearby - and began searching the house.

It was silent. Usually the absence of noise was a reassurance to the Potter family, but since his wife and son were nowhere to be found, the silence kept James trapped in that state of panic he awoke in.

He ran his hand over his face and wondered how he could have let this happen. He'd been sleeping next to her all night, and he hadn't felt her leave. He never heard Harry's screams, despite listening to them for over a year: he'd failed as a father and a husband.

And then he heard a creak in the nursery. He crept towards the door, keeping his wand at the ready, and opened it slowly.

There he saw his wife and son sitting in the rocking chair in the corner. Harry was curled up on Lily's chest, and they had both fallen asleep. He leaned against the doorframe and watched them sleep. He loved the way Lily and Harry's breathing had synced together, and how Harry's body seemed to be lost in Lily's arm. What he loved most, though, was that even though both their eyes were closed, he could tell they were the same.

He stood there, lost in the silence, and watched them sleep. Maybe he'd suggest moving Harry's cradle into their room tomorrow, but for now he was content to watch the two people he loved most in the world rest.