Disclaimer: I own nothing except my Harry Potter books and the laptop I'm writing this on.
(september third, nineteen-eighty)
Harry sat on his father's lap, smiling and grasping onto James' robes with his tiny finger in such a manner which usually had James and Lily adoring him. He was only a month-old, one-month-old and fated to die.
'Are you sure,' was Lily's response as her fingers curled into her son's little tuft of black hair so much like his father's that Lily wanted to cry in agony at the unfairness of it all; he couldn't die, he was their son, their hope and their joy in this war. He was theirs and no one would take him away from her as long as she lived.. 'He's only one-month-old, how can he be a threat? Merlin, he can't even crawl yet much less defeat Voldemort.'
James tightened his hold on Harry, bouncing him slightly causing his son to emit a satisfied sound. James felt his eyes begin to water and turned to look at his wife who looked like she just wanted to wake up from this nightmare.
'I'm sorry,' Dumbledore said.
AN: I just noticed I gave James no lines, but he's in shock so *shrugs.* I hoped you liked it, it's also on my tumblr (siriuslysnuffles), and the next one will hopefully be less depressing.
