I'm sorry. I know I'm a b#$# for not posting for like 3 months, but I wanted to give you a nice chapter and not the garbage that pops into one's head when they're tired. Read and review please! I miss reading your words! By the way, sorry for not answering any reviews this update, but I guess you'll find the answers to your questions (or most of them) in this chapter.

Chapter 7: The Brynmawr Werewolf

After what seemed like an eternity (in fact, it was almost 7:00 a.m), Harry gently pushed James into the tiny bathroom of their hotel room to take a hot shower and change. When he came out almost an hour later, Harry was fast asleep across the bed with his glasses still on. James put on one of the robes that were inside the closet and slowly sat down on the end of Harry's bed, watching him sleep. What he was feeling at that moment could not be described. Was it shock, anger, grief or all of them combined together? The thought of losing Lily was so horrible, so brutal he could almost feel his heart bleeding. He had never felt this sort of sick grief before except once - when his parents had died.

And he still didn't know what had become of the Marauders, what had become of Sirius and Remus and – Peter?

Thinking of how Peter hadn't kept their secret well enough scared him as much as it angered him. He couldn't understand how Voldemort came to know their location even though Peter was in hiding himself. There were only 2 possibilities – he either took a stupid chance and went out of his house and got caught, or…

"No. No. Peter wouldn't do that. He's been my friend for years." James told no one.

What about Remus? Hasn't he been your friend, too? A nasty voice bubbled up.

James dropped his head into his hands, frustrated. It could never have been Sirius passing information about him and his family to Voldemort. He wouldn't believe that in a thousand years. And Peter's too ridiculously naive and dependant on his friends to do a thing like that. And Remus –

Remus was the most mature one of you all. The voice started again, maliciously. You and Sirius and Peter would sneak around, pulling some of the nastier pranks and throwing the blame on some poor, less-bright student and he would chase after, telling you to stop it. Telling you it's not decent.

But Remus is smart. He can do excellent magic.

As for Peter… he can barely spell his own last name.

On every day of his life since he went into hiding, James felt guilt and sorrow at thinking of gentle, loyal Moony as a traitor. And he thought he knew deep down that it could never be Remus. He thought that if he ever came out of hiding alive and Voldemort was destroyed, he'd go to Remus, embrace him till he faints and swear to him that he'll never doubt him again.

It slowly dawned to him, slowly walked into the conscious region of his mind. In whatever way it had happened, willingly or not, it was Peter who gave Voldemort information. The thought made James's insides freeze.

He wanted to know. He wanted to know so badly he turned around, wanting to wake Harry up and ask him about his old friends and where they were now, but his disturbed, angry expression softened at the sight of Harry's peaceful face.

This can wait a little bit. James decided he himself should try and get some sleep, but he was too drained to get up and walk to the bed 3 feet away. So he just lay back on Harry's own and slowly closed his eyes, facing his son and watching Harry's chest rise and fall as he breathed.

A gentle memory surfaced in his mind as he closed his eyes.

---------------

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter!" the girly, way-too-perky Assistant Healer said happily to a terrified James: "Here's your baaabyyyy…BOY

James's restlessness and pacing ceased away immediately and he stared with wide eyes at the small bundle carried by the nurse. A few thin black hairs were visible atop a rosy head. Lily's bed was only a few feet away. Her eyes were closed.

His arms shook as he gently took the baby from the assistant and she left. Somehow the whole pregnancy thing had seemed unreal until that moment. He couldn't believe that this was a baby boy of his own.

"James," came Lily's tired whisper. She was awake. "Let me see him."

He walked over to her bed and sat down beside her. He pulled down some of the white towel covering the baby and saw his tiny face. Miniscule nose and mouth, a small tuft of black hair, about 3 eyelashes on each eyelid and just 2 faint lines about as thin as hairs making up his eyebrows.

"Oh, God…" he couldn't help but whisper in awe.

Lily took the baby from him and looked at it tiredly but fondly. She had forever driven James nuts about how she wanted to have babies, and hers was the most beautiful one she had ever seen, as far as she was concerned. The long, irritating nights with James and Sirius dancing around her swollen belly, banging on kitchen equipment and singing barbarian school-boys songs had been worth it.

The baby opened its eyes for the first time, and James could already see whose eyes they were going to be.

He felt so calm inside. So peaceful. He took the baby from Lily's arms and placed a soft kiss on his warm temple.

---------------

Harry just lay for a while, watching James sleep and thinking: how am I going to tell him about Sirius? About Peter? How Remus was never the spy when he was unfairly judged so?

Not one of the three thoughts were comforting. But he knew he had to bring them up very soon. They couldn't wait, and Harry knew – with a sickened feeling in his gut – that he's the one who has to tell his dad all that. Very soon. As soon as he wakes up.

Shoving aside the depressing thought of telling his father that his best friend had died only three weeks ago, Harry started thinking instead of how he was going to tell Ron and Hermione about James without them knowing his location. Having had people literally swoop down on him more than once to take him away from 'the danger he had thrown himself in' gave him knowledge that with an old man like Dumbledore, he can often be detected wherever he was (they can easily follow the owl he sends to them as it returns to him with a response), and he had a rough idea of what would happen if the Order Members burst in and saw him lying next to a James Potter who was supposed to be dead for fifteen-freakin'-years.

He thought, but he couldn't come up with a solution that wouldn't endanger James.

As if us staying here in this inn isn't stupid enough, already.

The hopelessness of the situation nearly made him burst into tears. He didn't know whom to turn to, where to go, what to tell James…and the consequence of his failure was too awful to think about. There was little hope that the Order would keep James alive long enough to know that he was real.

Harry instinctively reached out with one hand and held his father's closest one a bit harder than he'd intended. James's eyes opened quickly, almost alarmed.

"It's okay, Dad. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I just -"

Harry found that his throat was suddenly very obstructed. He choked, and realized that his eyes were full of tears.

James woke up the whole way. He leaned up on one elbow and looked at Harry's reddening eyes. The hand that was held by Harry rose up and grazed his cheek and hair. "What's wrong? Harry, what's the matter?"

He wiped a couple of fat tears that fell down Harry's cheek with his thumb.

"I don't want to lose you." Came the simple reply, with Harry fighting to keep his voice steady, "I don't know where we should go. The Order and Dumbledore must be looking for me. They'll most probably come and search this whole place and find us. Dumbledore might see right through our disguises. And if they saw you…they'll – they won't believe it's you, and they won't listen to me."

"Who are in the Order?" James asked, internally terrified of knowing the answer, but having to know. If his friends are in the Order, they'll believe it's him. They have to.

There it was. The question about his friends, right in Harry's face.

"There's Dedalus Diggle, Kingsley Shackebolt, Mundungus, Tonks, Professor McGonagall… and others I don't know about, from other countries, probably." Harry looked down for a moment then back up again. He could see the beginnings of despair in James's hazel eyes. He knew these weren't the names he was anxious to hear. People he knew, but wasn't all that attached to them.

"More people that I knew were in the order, but – but they're gone." Harry knew he had to tell about Sirius next, so he decided to cushion the blow with a tiny bit of good news first.

"Your old mate Remus Lupin is alive."

James stared at Harry for a moment or two, then fresh tears started to run down his cheeks. Harry saw what was probably a smile. "He is, Harry? He's still alive!"

"Yes."

"Is he well? Does he – does he ever say anything – talk about me?"

"Of course. He never says anything about you unless it's praise. He misses you a lot. I can see it in his eyes, even when he tries to hide it and look okay. He -" Harry hesitated before going on, "he was never angry at you for thinking that he was a spy. He'd give anything to have you back."

James choked back a sob. He didn't think he could ever be as understanding or as forgiving as Remus. He didn't deserve to be forgiven that easily for an accusation like that, no matter the reasons.

Harry waited for the question for Sirius, holding his father's hand the whole time. It came.

"What about Sirius? Is he still there?"

Harry looked away for a moment, unable to meet his dad's eyes. "No. He's gone."

James closed his eyes. He had tried to brace himself, to lessen the blow, but still it came hard and painful. The thought of losing both Lily and Sirius was too horrible to handle.

Harry heard James's low, grief-stricken voice ask in a low whisper: "How long?"

Harry tried to look up, tried to give his father any sort of comforting gaze, so he looked up into the hazel eyes with difficulty and said in an emotionless voice: "Three weeks ago."

James gasped. A gasp which halfway turned into a burst of tears.

"Why? How did it happen?"

"He – he was trying to protect me." Harry started to explain. His eyes began to burn. "I was – I was being attacked by Death Eaters and then he and other people came to save us and – and –" Harry's voice choked up.

"Who did it?" Harry looked up at hearing the coldness in James's voice. For a moment, he was almost frightened. James's pupils seemed to have shrunk to the size of big full stops.

"His cousin, Bellatrix…"

"I'll kill her! I'll kill her and every single Death Eater I meet – and Voldemort's going down, too." James hissed venomously. His honey-brown eyes seemed to turn a poisonous yellow. Harry had never seen or thought of his father looking so enraged. It seemed hard to imagine it with someone who spent most of his life laughing and playing tricks on people. But there must be another hidden side of James he didn't know about. A side that didn't show often.

"Dad, don't do anything rash!" Harry said suddenly, surprising even himself. He, of all people, was saying that? "Please don't do anything like that. I want you with me. You still have me. We'll get through this together, and we'll have Remus and my friends, too."

James looked at him. His expression softened, and he started to stroke Harry's face again. Harry smiled at him, and he found himself smiling back.

"I've lost so much Dad. I've been…I've seen horrible things. But you know what keeps me going? I still have people I care for. People I love. And even the people I had lost I will be able to see again someday." Harry remembered a sentence Dumbledore had once told him years ago: "I've been told that death is but the next great adventure."

James smile didn't falter. In fact, it grew wider. He understood. Harry was reminding him that the world wasn't as horrible as it seemed sometimes. He was reminding him that death was only another path, and that made it fine.

---------------

James walked into the bar, disguised and all, trying to act normal. He ordered some eggs, toast, jam and lemon juice for Harry and himself. He was feeling a little better, and felt like he could actually be able to keep some breakfast down without crumbling for a little while.

Harry said he'd be down with him in a few minutes. He was showering and changing, then they'd decide together on how to contact the Order of the Phoenix, reaching the conclusion that they had no other alternative. No safe place to go and no person to trust that wasn't an Order member.

Tom shuffled over with the breakfast tray and toothless grin. James thanked him, and Tom shyly asked him if he could really have his torn red robes.

"..Dear man -" James caught his tongue just in time before he said 'Tom'. "They're in a disgusting condition. You won't be able to use them even if you scourgified them several times."

"They won't be a problem!" Tom insisted happily, "We've taken rags that were covered in hippogriff dung for years! Their trainers used to use them to wipe their – um – well, you get it, don't you? We've got super scourgifying methods! We've dealt with filth worse than some dust and mud!"

It isn't just some dust and mud, toothless bloke. There's mould, blood and some other stuff you'd rather not know.

"I'll – I'll see what I can do. I'll see if I won't use it again." James said, trying not to think that the plate and fork he's using to eat were probably wiped in rags that used to be covered in hippogriff manure hundreds of times. Despite its poor , old appearance, the Leaky Cauldron was a popular inn. Tom got the message and left.

James couldn't help but remember a certain time when he and Lily had come here with some of their friends to do some charity work with the inn for a couple of days. It was one of Lily's best friend's idea (Sissira, the sweet, girly one in the girls' gang according to Lily) and everyone, including James and his friends, were in a good mood at that time and enthusiastically joined in. Remembering Lily's radiant face and flowing, seductive red hair along with her intimate friends' faces made him realize another thing he had lost: Lily's friends were a charming group…well, most of them anyway, and he truly enjoyed their company, despite teasing Lily over them.

And now, two of the five girls he knew were dead. Three he knew nothing of their whereabouts. They were out of the country according to the last of what he knew fifteen years ago, and he didn't know whether they contacted their friends here anytime after he disappeared or not.

The thought of how the war had torn their tight circle and wiped away their trust in one another was a stab of pain to his heart, and for just a moment or two, he felt his mask – his magically transfigured mask – slip. He quickly put it back up in place and started to eat to not rouse any suspicion.

The inn bar wasn't busy. Only a few scattered people and travelers here and there reading or eating. There was a small table a few feet away from James's, but it was half–hidden by shadow and a short pillar with old, peeling posters on it.

James didn't notice it, but a tall, strongly-built man was sitting at that table, looking at him very intently out of the corners of his eyes while he sipped soundlessly on a beer. The image of the ripple washing briefly though James's face then disappearing reflected in his strange, wolf-like eyes. The pupils dilated to reduce the glittery orange-brown of his irises, and a mysterious smile appeared on his lips.

How can a person in disguise not interest him, in times like these?