When the Wizengamot resumed its meeting, Augusta Longbottom was surprised to see that only Sirius Black had returned to the chamber. She suspected that Neville had been right about their purpose here - Dumbledore had planned to reinstate James as Lord Potter, and then have Lord Potter lead the vote to return him to the Chief Warlock's post before anyone could get their head around the fact that James Potter was alive, somehow.

It wasn't an awful plan, as such things go, if one ignored the sheer ruthlessness of hiding the Lord of an Ancient and Most Noble House for fifteen years.

With Harry as Lord Potter, of course, that plan was out the window - and, thus, they no longer had any reason to return to the chamber. What truly caught Augusta's attention, though, was the fact that Dumbledore didn't return, either. Nor was she the only one who noticed his absence.

Madam Bones took the floor once the meeting resumed, and went over what they knew about Voldemort's return. Fudge, wisely, said nothing, hoping that no one noticed his presence. With everyone's attention on the DMLE Director, and on the newly-declared blood feud, it was possible that he would escape with his job.

Augusta watched the faces of the members as Madam Bones continued her prepared remarks. It was clear, just from the expressions, which members had read the DMLE report on the battle, and which had not. For all of them, the reality was starting to sink in - the Death Eaters had attacked the Ministry, in force. The members who believed the propaganda of the past year were stunned to learn that Dumbledore had been right, after all, and that the Ministry had lied to them. The ones who had believed the Headmaster, meanwhile, did not feel vindicated.

Who rejoices at the start of a new war?

Amelia Bones knew how to read the room, and knew exactly what she had to say to reassure the chamber. No one, on either side, could mistake the fact that her demeanor had shifted at a fundamental level. Augusta knew the reason - it was obvious, when you took the time to think about it.

Director Bones was giving a wartime speech - likely the first of many. It shook people, when they figured it out. It would have shaken Augusta, had she not expected it. The older members, the ones who had been here, all recognized the shift in tone - they remembered these speeches, in the dark days of the first war.

Augusta sighed at that thought - the first war. That they even needed a qualifier to distinguish the first war from the second was appalling, and yet here they were.

When the session was adjourned, Augusta noticed several of the dark-aligned members rushing out of the chamber, led by Lord Flint. Clearly, they had much to discuss. She wondered if Madam Bones or Lord Black would be receiving owls from some of those who bore the dark mark, begging for mercy. Neville had told her about the parley with one of his year mates, the Crabbe boy, whose father died in the battle - and had hinted that the Parkinson family might also consider their options carefully. Would other families follow their lead? Only time would tell.

"It's not even two in the afternoon," Neville said to himself, as he watched the chamber empty. He turned to Augusta. "Gran, would you care if I went and saw Mom and Dad for a bit?"

In all the excitement of the past week, the Longbottoms had not yet made their usual trip to Saint Mungo's to visit Frank and Alice. They had talked about going the next day, but Neville was correct - it was early enough in the day to make the trip possible. Augusta, however, needed to meet with Lord Greengrass and others to discuss the day's events.

Smiling at her grandson, she nodded. "Do not be there too long, Neville. Straight home afterwards."

Neville grinned. "Of course, Gran. Thank you!" And with that, he was on his way out of the chamber.

oOoOoOoOo

James Potter hissed as the healer worked on his hand. His left hand sat in his lap, still tinged red with his son's blood. It was his right hand that required attention, for after Sirius had left the office James had slammed his fist onto the oaken desk. He left no mark on the desk, and earned himself a sprained wrist for his trouble.

Fortunately, Headmaster Dumbledore knew how to summon one of the Ministry's healers. Fiona Martin was a little older than the Potters, with dirty blonde hair kept quite short and a kindly manner that put patients at ease.

Jamie Potter sat quietly, watching his parents from his place on the couch. The argument his father had had with Sirius that morning made a lot more sense now, with Sirius revealed as the proxy for House Potter. Even constrained by an oath not to reveal secrets, Sirius had tried to warn James that he was making a mistake. Jamie had seen it, clear as day - everything that Sirius didn't say made it obvious what he was getting at.

Dad just went on ahead, Jamie thought. His dad had always been a Gryffindor's Gryffindor, but even that didn't justify the lack of caution he had seen from his father. He had known, from the moment he and Harry spoke in the atrium, that the situation wasn't what they had been told - but it was almost as if James was ignoring everything he heard and saw, and just sticking to the plan. Why?

Lily, too, was concerned about her husband's actions - but for vastly different reasons.

"I need to fix this," James said, almost to himself. "I'm just glad Harry didn't try to force the issue about the oath." He looked over at the Headmaster. "I don't think it would have worked, but then again, I'm not eager to find out."

Before Dumbledore could respond, Lily snorted. "You didn't see it at all, did you?" Off the confusion on her husband's face, she continued. "James, he walked out because if he stayed, he would have fought you."

"He wouldn't dare," began James, but the look on Lily's face stilled the rant before it began.

"James Potter, you didn't see him in the Ministry. I did. I was looking at him as he killed Bellatrix Lestrange, and he was giving you that same look." She shivered in spite of herself. "For just a moment there, he looked at you with pure hatred."

"That doesn't mean he would attack me," argued James.

"Oh yes it does," snapped Lily. "Jamie does that exact thing, if you'll remember. He storms off and fights a training dummy, or goes off to the cottage, rather than venting his anger on us." She looked her husband in the eye. "How can you not see it?"

James chose not to answer.

"Well," began Dumbledore, "At least we will have a chance to discuss how to calm the situation down, and perhaps bring Harry back into the fold."

"Not really," said Jamie, quietly.

"I'm sorry?" asked Dumbledore, not sure if he had heard Jamie correctly.

Jamie knew that he had never questioned the Headmaster before, certainly not since he began visiting their home regularly in preparation for their return. But as he watched the conversation, he realized that the Headmaster was making the same mistakes his father had - sticking to the plan after the plan was proven to be flawed.

"We came back, thinking we'd welcome Harry home - and that he would welcome us. But we have nothing to offer him." He looked at his parents, before returning his focus to the Headmaster. "We planned to offer him a home, but he has one with Sirius. We planned to offer him our support, but he has a Lordship - he needs no support from us. Not our galleons, of which we have none, nor our home, of which we seem to have none other than Falcon's Rest - which he can't even see because of how it's hidden."

Jamie sighed as he saw the look of confusion on the face of his father. "The only thing we can give him is a family, but I doubt that's going to happen anytime soon, now." He gestured at his father's hand, still bloodied. "Harry offered us a beginning - live and let live, or something like it - and you slapped him in the face."

"Jamie," began Dumbledore, but the boy cut him off.

"No, sir," Jamie said. "You keep talking about bringing Harry back into the fold, but there's literally no reason he would ever agree to that. Especially now."

"How would you know?" asked James, bitterly.

Jamie shook his head. "Because if I were in Harry's place, I'd probably want nothing to do with you, after today." He sighed again. "I'm honestly surprised that you do still have your magic."

The group sat quietly after that, digesting what Jamie had said. Healer Martin was packing her bag and preparing to leave when James screamed in pain. As they watched, he clutched his chest and fell out of his chair.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry did not have a destination in mind as he walked down the corridors of the Wizengamot offices. All he knew is that he couldn't be around his parents right now, or he'd do something he'd regret.

One of the hardest lessons he had learned from Colonel Ramsay was that angry commanders were rarely effective commanders. War is exertion and deprivation and pain and hunger and death, and it is impossible to remove emotion from the equation entirely. And in the heat of battle, with boots on the ground, it was not always wise to do so. When considering the overall strategy of a campaign, however, you had to do exactly that.

Harry knew that if he had stayed in that room, his father would be dead or squibbed.

It might be that that is what has to happen, eventually, to ensure his own safety. If James Potter could not live with his other son, his discarded son, as Lord Potter, then that was unfortunate. If James Potter tried to force the issue, then Harry would raise the Lord's ring and say the words, and James Potter would be judged against his oath, and that would be the tale of him.

He did not want to execute his father. Despite everything, part of him really did want to reconnect with his family. But that part was overruled by his commitment to protecting his house - and that meant dealing with Voldemort once and for all. If James Potter was a hindrance toward accomplishing that goal, then James Potter would have to be dealt with.

All of that is to say that Harry had thought long and hard about how to handle the situation with James Potter. But right then, in that moment, as he stormed out of his own office and down the corridor, Harry Potter wanted to take his father's magic and have done.

He saw an open office as he turned the corner, and realized that it was the office of the Regent Bones. The Bones office was rarely used, since Madam Bones preferred to work out of her office at the DMLE, but this day Harry saw Susan waiting for her aunt.

She was sitting on one of the couches in her aunt's office, reading a book. Her light red hair was tied back and intricately braided, and she wore finer robes than her usual garb. She had not attended the session, nor had she planned to do so, but she was still in the halls of the Wizengamot - she had to dress the part of an heiress if she was to be taken seriously. And as Harry well knew, she would want to be taken seriously. So she played the game, despite her distaste for it.

When Harry saw her, he immediately began to calm. Her presence meant safety, it meant acceptance - and that was what he needed in that moment. He trusted her - and with that thought came a twinge of guilt. He remained shocked that she was interested in him, enough to get him to agree to date after the war.

The irony is real, he mused. Betrayed by my parents, and it brings me closer to her than she realizes. Despite himself, he smiled at the thought. Here's hoping I don't screw it up.

She looked up as he entered the office. "Harry?"

"Hey, Susan," he replied.

"Auntie said that you were meeting with your parents and the Headmaster…" She trailed off as she took in his expression, her eyes locking onto the glistening blood on his cheek. "Merlin, what happened?"

She practically dragged him over to the couch, forcing him to sit down. She was next to him, dipping a handkerchief in her glass of water. As she wiped off the blood, he explained what had happened.

Susan looked him in the eye. "Are you alright?"

"No," Harry replied immediately. His features seemed to cloud over, as he put his feelings into words - or tried to. "I offered James a way for us to co-exist, basically told him to leave me alone and I'd leave him alone." His hand went up to his cheek, his fingertips tracing the cut. "And he gave me this for my trouble."

She took his hand, pulling it away from the cut - partially so she could get a better look at the injury, and partially because he seemed like he needed her to hold his hand, right then. "Oh, Harry," she said.

He closed his eyes at the contact, sighing deeply. "I called him an oathbreaker, Susan. I all but threatened to take his magic."

She said nothing, preferring to let him talk.

"They left me," he whispered. "He left me," he repeated, anger growing in his tone. She squeezed his hand, and he gave her a squeeze of his own. "Why didn't I take his magic, Susan? I have every right to do it, every justification."

"I know," she replied. "And he has to know it, too."

"No, see, I don't think he does." Harry said. "I don't think he understands at all."

"Harry?" she asked, seeing the growing anger in his features.

"Seven words," Harry said, almost in a hiss. "All it would take is seven words."

As she watched, he raised his right hand. The red jeweled ring she saw there began to glow.

oOoOoOoOo

Lily, Jamie, and Dumbledore were all standing, watching in horror as James Potter lay on the floor, moaning. Healer Martin was kneeling beside him, waving her wand, muttering to herself.

"His magic," she began, eliciting a gasp from Lily. "It's being bound."

"No," whispered Dumbledore in horror.

"Can you…?" Jamie began to ask, trailing off as he saw the look of confusion on the healer's face.

"I can't do anything until the process completes," she said. The healer looked up at the boy, seeing the sorrow on his features. Such a kind boy, she thought. Just like the Headmaster described.

oOoOoOoOo

"Harry?" Susan asked, as the anger on Harry's face shifted into rage.

"He struck me, Susan, he struck the Lord of his House," Harry almost snarled. "He probably left a scar."

Susan squeezed his hand, looking into his eyes. "I know, Harry."

Harry seemed to pause, as if he had expected her to try to talk him down. "He deserves this," he said.

"Probably." Susan agreed.

Harry tilted his head, watching her. The words were on the tip of his tongue, simple as could be. James Charlus Potter, I call for judgment. Simple. Magic would do the rest. But as he looked down at the Hufflepuff sitting next to him, holding his hand, he found himself hesitating.

Part of him growled in frustration. This is why we agreed to wait until the war was over, he thought to himself. She didn't want me to hesitate out of worry for her.

Susan sensed his turmoil, and as she always had, cut through it like a knife through butter.

"What would James do, if the roles were reversed?" she asked, quietly.

Harry closed his eyes, ignoring the tear that fell. "He'd take my magic, and probably my life, without a second thought." The answer was as obvious as it was horrifying - but Harry had no illusions about how well liked he was in the eyes of his father.

He looked at the glowing ring on his hand. Then he looked into Susan's eyes. He saw her watching him, no trace of disappointment in her expression, no judgment. The support she seemed to be giving him, the comfort of her touch, was everything - it told him that she would have his back whatever he did. That she knew he could do this, take his father's magic, and that she would support him if he had to take that step.

She would understand if he didn't, too.

That was what did it, in the end. Susan would be there, whatever he did - she accepted him for him, not as a tool or a scapegoat or a leftover. She was there for him, not for Lord Potter or the discarded heir or the boy-who-lived. He could not shake the feeling that it was more than he deserved.

"I should take his magic," Harry said, weakly. Susan again squeezed his hand, keeping her eyes on his. She saw a tear roll down his bloodied cheek. "But I don't want to be like him," he whispered.

"Then don't, My Lord," she said, smiling as her heart broke for him. "Be who you are."

She saw the pain in his eyes, the turmoil. Then she felt his hand squeeze her own.

The Potter ring stopped glowing.

"Who am I?" he asked, as he brought his right hand down.

"Harry," she replied, sitting back on the couch. She reached out to him, and he allowed her to fold him into her arms. She said nothing as he began to weep softly.

oOoOoOoOo

When the convulsions stopped, James opened his eyes. He was still catching his breath, sweat dripping off of his forehead from the ordeal.

"Fucking hell," James moaned, before he drifted off into unconsciousness.

Healer Martin continued her diagnostics, her brow furrowing at the results. Lily, kneeling on the floor near James' head, saw the concern on the healer's face.

"What is it? Is he alright?" she asked.

Martin looked up. "Whatever was binding him stopped. He still has his magic," she replied. "Give him a day to rest, and he will be fine."

Lily and Jamie seemed to sigh together at the news, letting out breath they hadn't realized they were holding. Neither of them noticed the shared mannerism.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair. He, too, was relieved, but he also knew that this was not over. Harry could take his father's magic at will, he thought. This won't do.

"Is there any permanent damage, Healer Martin?" Dumbledore asked the healer. Martin's eyebrows rose at the inquiry, and her eyes met the Headmaster's.

"I don't believe so, sir," was her reply. Holding his gaze, her tone grew serious. "What should I do if there are side effects?"

"Then I would suggest, Miss Martin, that you look into alternative treatments." The Headmaster's smile returned when the healer nodded to him in acknowledgement.

oOoOoOoOo

What had been a cloudy midday in London gave way to sun by the time Neville arrived in the long-term spell damage ward at Saint Mungo's. His mother was still asleep in her bed, and the rays of sunlight were shining on her face. As Neville took in the sight of his parents, he saw his mother lazily raise an arm to try and block the light.

Alice had joined the DMLE shortly after graduation, just as her future husband Frank Longbottom had. Where Frank and his friend James Potter were skilled at apprehending criminals and fighting death eaters, Alice had bent her talents toward the investigative end of the DMLE's work. It was her efforts that broke up a potions smuggling ring that financed the death eaters, for instance, almost landing several Wizengamot members in Azkaban.

All she had done, according to her, was to follow the galleons - though Frank was quick to point out how brilliant she was, at every opportunity. Alice and Lily Evans had routinely found themselves at the top of the class lists during their time at Hogwarts, to the surprise of no one.

Smiling to himself, Neville walked across the room and closed the blinds. Returning to his parents' beds, he looked from one to the other. Alice had returned to a somewhat fitful sleep, now that the sun was out of her eyes. Frank, meanwhile, was snoring peacefully. Neville chuckled at the sight - the man could easily have been lounging in a recliner on his day off.

"Hello, Mom," he said to the woman on his left, closest to the door. Turning, he addressed the man on his right. "Hello, Dad." Pulling up a chair, he seated himself between the two beds. Reaching out, he held hands with his parents, taking comfort in their presence. The feel of a candy wrapper in his mother's hand made him smile, as it always did. Both of his parents seemed to be having one of their good days, which pleased him - even after close to fifteen years of convalescence, both Longbottoms seemed to be healthy and hale, apart from their inability to function mentally.

"Have I got a story for you," Neville began. "It started during our OWLs…"

As Neville told his parents about the battle, and about the events that followed, he found himself hoping that his grandmother had been right. Would his father have been proud of the man he had become?

Only time will tell, thought Neville, as he continued the story.

oOoOoOoOo

As he walked out of the Thickney Ward an hour later, Neville ran into a witch carrying a rack of potions. Startled, the blonde witch fell backwards onto the floor. The potions made quite a bit of noise as they rolled on the tile floor, but none of the bottles seemed to break.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she said quickly, gathering the potions and placing them back in their carrier. Neville, who had kept his feet, reached down and picked up a bottle that had rolled towards him. The glass was clear, and showed a thick, red potion of some sort. Carefully, Neville handed the potion over.

"Nothing to be sorry about, I should have been paying attention." Neville offered his hand, and the witch allowed him to help her up. After she brushed herself off, she looked up at his face - and paused, looking thoughtful.

"Have we met before?" she asked.

Neville shrugged. "I'm not here all that often, but I do know some of the patients in the Thickney ward. You may have seen me on a previous visit?"

"Could be," she agreed. "Well, thank you again. Have a nice day!" With a bright smile, she turned and hurriedly walked into the Thickney ward.

Shaking his head at the odd incident, Neville turned and walked toward the public floo.

oOoOoOoOo

When he arrived at Longbottom Hall, he was surprised to find his grandmother speaking with an older, male healer. The man's robes showed him to be a healer from Saint Mungo's, and the hat he wore was that of a hospital administrator.

"Gran?" Neville asked, confused.

Augusta turned to her grandson. She seemed to be on edge, and Neville did not know why. The only time he saw her agitated in this way was when something happened with his parents, but that couldn't be the case now - he had just been there.

"Neville, this is Mister Breckenridge. He is in charge of the Thickney Ward at Saint Mungo's." She was putting her travelling cloak on as she spoke. "Did you speak with anyone at the hospital? About your parents?"

He shook his head, looking from his grandmother to their guest. "No, there was no one with them when I stopped by. I saw a healer as I left, but she could have been treating anyone."

"Ah, very good," said Breckenridge. "Then I get to bring you the news. How exciting!"

The man's enthusiasm bothered Neville, in a way he could not immediately identify. There was clearly no threat here, or none that Neville could identify, but there was still something…. off… about the man.

"What news, sir?" asked Neville, cautiously.

"Why, that would be telling, young sir!" was the answer. "Tell you what, let us go to the ward, and I will tell you both everything that I know."

"Come, Neville," Augusta said. She was clearly worried, as she had been when other 'cures' had presented themselves, only to later feel the disappointment of another dead end, another false chance. But even against her formidable judgment, Augusta Longbottom would grasp at any possibility of bringing her son and his wife home, finally, after all these years.

Neville answered in the only way he could. "Yes, Gran." As he pulled his traveling cloak back on, he noticed a red spot on the sleeve of his robe - a drop of that healer's potion, probably, he thought. He gave it no mind, for the others had already stepped through the floo.

oOoOoOoOo

Neville had to rush to catch up with his grandmother, as she followed Breckenridge to the Janus Thickney Ward. When they reached the room assigned to his parents, Augusta and Breckenridge walked straight in. Neville, however, paused in the doorway.

On the right, he saw his mother, still sleeping soundly. From the doorway, he heard her softly snoring, and smiled in spite of his anxiety - even as alarm bells rang in his mind.

On the left, in the bed closest to the door, was his father, a candy wrapper clutched in his hand.

The blonde healer he had encountered in the hallway smiled at them as they entered. "Welcome! My name is Healer Martin." She bowed to Augusta, greeting her formally. She gestured at his parents.

"Tell me, Madam Longbottom," she said with a smile. "Do you believe in miracles?"

A/N: The response to this story has been remarkable - both in terms of favorites and follows (where this has more in four months than any other story I've posted here), and in terms of reviews. A good portion of the reviews seem to demand the blood of James Potter, and I get that - but that's not the story I want to tell, just yet. Have no illusions that James will escape this tale unscathed, of course, but we have a ways to go to get from here to there.

Of course, James does not act in a vacuum. How Dumbledore (and others) react matters as well. It's going to be a long summer. Let me put it this way - Sirius' line about the three most stubborn people he's ever known is probably one of the more important and telling lines in the fic so far, for those who want to know how things will play out. Stay tuned.

Special thanks to DZ2, Grimjaw, and Leyrann for their support and advice as this story progresses.

Feedback, as always, is welcome.