June, 1988

He woke up that morning covered in cold sweat and feeling like there was something lodged between his lungs.

He wasn't sure what was disturbing his sleep this time. Rage? Fear? Or perhaps just good old misery, here to see him through another blasted day?

Whatever it was, it dragged him out of bed at daybreak and sent him wandering restlessly around the streets while the rest of the world was still fast asleep.

At dawn, the city seemed almost empty. Nobody got up that early without a good reason, so no one had the time to pay attention to him. He preferred it that way. He had learned to appreciate precious moments like this in the past few months – moments when he could get out of the house and still feel like he was just like everyone else.

He had grown to hate the quiet, suffocating solitude of his home. He had spent way too much time there alone, thinking about the past and the future and how depressing and messed up everything was. That was when the guilt and the loneliness would creep up on him like fog in the night, when his mind would fill up with terrifying visions of Dumbledore and Voldemort – and Lily.

But he couldn't stand being outside, either. Someone would always recognize him, even when he tried to stick to Muggle areas. All those adoring fans, all those well-wishers and brown-nosers, all those opportunistic reporters and politicians and businessmen they always seemed to find him. Everywhere he turned, there was someone asking for an autograph or a handshake or a picture. Everybody wanted a piece of the man who had killed Lord Voldemort.

The funny thing was that he had always dreamed of becoming a celebrity. As a boy, he couldn't have imagined anything better than being admired and envied by all. But now that his life was full of fame and glory, he couldn't have cared less for any of it. He certainly didn't feel like the hero everybody said he was.

It was going to be a hot day. Once the sun had driven away the cool of the night, his black hair was dripping in sweat and he was practically boiling under his leather jacket. He briefly considered changing into something lighter, but decided to stick with the Muggle look; it tended to throw off pestering fans who wouldn't recognize him when he wasn't wearing his usual black robes, and he really didn't feel like dealing with too much unwanted attention today.

Eventually, the unbearable heat forced him to seek shelter. He decided to go to the pub early and wait for the others there. It was nice and cool inside, and he drank a couple of pints to regain his composure before lunchtime. It didn't help. He was still nervous, much more nervous than he had expected to be, and he wasn't even sure why.

Remus was the first to arrive. He looked cheerful, for once, and there was a healthy tan and an excited glow on his face. At least one of them was thriving in the middle of all the chaos, he thought, and greeted Remus with as much civility as he could muster.

Lucky for them both, Remus wasted no time on the usual pleasantries. Instead, he immediately brought up their old friend.

"I don't think we should tell him," Remus said.

He narrowed his eyes at Remus. "Did you honestly think that I was going to?"

Remus shrugged. "I just wanted to make sure that we're on the same page. He really doesn't need to know the full truth. The fewer people know, the easier it is for us to keep it contained."

The full truth. Now there was a questionable concept if there ever was one. But that was just how it was, as he'd come to understand since the night Voldemort fell. Truth wasn't always simple. Truth came in layers. Truth could be misunderstood, reframed, and flipped around until enemies became friends and heroes became villains. And more often than not, it got overshadowed by attractive, effective lies.

"Moony! Prongs!"

James and Remus turned their heads and saw a large, blond man with a bushy moustache standing near their table. Even though they were expecting him, it took them both a moment to realize that they really were looking at Peter Pettigrew.

Eight years in India had certainly changed him. He looked much older than Remus and James, but also much happier. He had gotten fatter and hairier, and he was wearing some kind of Indian clothes that made James raise his eyebrows. He could hardly believe that he was looking at the same Peter he had known since childhood.

Remus broke out in merry laughter and reached up to embrace his old friend. James forced a smile, but remained seated well beyond Peter's reach: he still wasn't sure whether he wanted to bash Peter's face in or not.

James had been positively livid ever since Lily had told him what Peter had done to them in that other world. He could not believe that one of his closest friends was capable of such betrayal, even if this Peter had chosen a different path.

He had been dreading this reunion ever since Peter had written him to announce that he would be coming home to Britain for the summer. He had been afraid of what might happen between the two of them – what he might do to Peter. The mere thought of seeing Peter again had filled James with so much anger, yet he knew that unleashing it would have been pointless. He couldn't exactly take revenge on Peter for something he hadn't even done in this world.

His mind kept struggling with moral dilemmas like this one. Was Peter's betrayal a part of him, just because it was something another him had done in another world? Knowing so much about a history that had never even come to pass had made his head hurt. He almost wished that Lily could have still been there to tell him what to do.

Peter had not come alone. There was a plump Indian woman in a colourful sari next to him. She had sleepy toddler in her arms, and a small, wide-eyed boy by her side.

"James, Remus," Peter said and gestured at the woman. He was beaming with pride. "Meet my wife Meera. And the boys, Ravi and Hari."

Some uncomfortable feeling entered James's chest when he looked at Peter's happy little family. James still couldn't quite believe that they were real, even though Peter had mentioned his wife and his children in his letter. How was it that Peter had somehow managed to achieve more in a few short years than James had had in his whole life?

That uneasy feeling kept nagging him as they all ordered lunch and began to exchange the latest news. Remus and Peter did most of the talking. They spoke about their current lives – about Peter's life as a family man and a private tutor to a wealthy pureblood family in India, and about the book Remus was writing about the fall of Voldemort – both of which suddenly sounded so much richer than James's.

Eventually – and predictably – Peter began to steer the conversation towards the subject James reckoned he was primarily interested in.

"Ravi has been looking forward to this day since we decided to come here," he said and nodded at his first born. "He's been so excited to meet the man who slayed You-Know-Who himself."

James faked another smile. It was not very convincing.

"We were wondering if you could tell us about it," Peter's wife added. "About the night you defeated the Dark Lord."

All four Pettigrews were now staring eagerly at James. He glanced at Remus; there was a specific look in his eyes that went unnoticed by the others, but which James picked up and decoded like it had been spelled out to him: stick to the script.

Stick to the lie.

"It was actually more of a combined effort," James said. "I was just the one who happened to deliver the final blow. Most of what happened that night is still classified information, but I think I can reveal a few details, if you promise not to tell anyone."

Peter shook his head rapidly. James leaned in, and he pretended to check whether anyone was listening to them; he'd discovered that little theatrics like this really helped to sell the story.

"We had a spy among the Death Eaters," he whispered, and the Pettigrews looked mesmerized. "A former Death Eater who had mended his ways and joined our side. He worked with us for years, and eventually he helped us take down Voldemort."

"Who was it?" Peter asked.

"I shouldn't be telling you this-," James said, "- but it was Regulus Black. Sirius's brother."

Peter dropped his jaw. James took a quick look at Remus, and detected a hint of a smirk on his lips.

"Yeah, him," James continued. "Turns out he wasn't half as bad as we all thought. Had a real change of heart when Sirius's died."

This part of the story didn't leave such a bad taste in his mouth, because it was mostly true. Regulus Black really had been one of the main architects of Voldemort's demise, though James hadn't found out about it until much later.

Regulus had grown disillusioned with Voldemort and his cause after his brother had died. He had been looking for a way to get back at his former master, and that was when he had gotten in touch with Remus – who, on his part, had been looking for a remorseful Death Eater to strike a deal with.

By then, Snape had joined the Order and become Dumbledore's agent, so Remus's plan of convincing a Death Eater to join their side was already in full motion. However, Regulus had told Remus that he had discovered something not even Snape had known about: he had found out how Voldemort had turned himself immortal – and how the process could be undone.

It was the crucial piece of information the Order of the Phoenix had been searching for, yet Remus had only passed it on to Moody. Together, they had decided to join forces with Regulus without letting the rest of the Order in on their plan; neither of them had fully trusted Dumbledore, and neither had wanted to risk wasting their best chance of defeating Voldemort.

Thus, Regulus and Moody and Remus had set out to seek and destroy the hidden splinters of Voldemort's soul. It had taken many arduous years, but they had made it. Voldemort's snake had been the last one to go; James has slayed the creature without even realizing that he had fufilled the final stage of a long and an elaborate plan.

He hadn't found out the truth until after Voldemort had been vanquished. It should have been good news, but it had left him feeling like the last remains of the world he had known had crumbled to dust. So many secret plans had been going on right under his nose, and he had been left out of all of them, like he didn't even matter. Barry, Remus, Moody, Lily, Dumbledore – they had all lied to him.

But now James was the one with all the secrets. Secrets not even Remus knew about.

"Regulus helped us get Voldemort exactly where we wanted him," James continued. "He walked straight into our trap and found himself surrounded. That was the end of him."

Peter blinked and glanced at his wife in confusion. "Surely there has to be more to it than that?"

James suppressed a groan. Of course Peter would be thirsty for the gory details.

"What is there to say about it?" he said with a shrug. "We fought. People died. You know how it went down. But in the end, we got him."

"Yes, but how?" Peter insisted. "How did you defeat him? What was your secret weapon? He was supposed to be invincible."

"That was just one of the many lies he told," Remus chimed in. "Apart from his ghastly appearance, Tom Riddle was just as human as the rest of us. He only claimed to be immortal to appear more powerful and menacing than he actually was. But he was just flesh and blood, and he fell down when James's curse struck him."

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Just like that?"

James nodded stiffly. "Just like that."

Peter leaned back on his chair and sighed. James didn't have to look at Remus to tell that he was pleased with James's performance, and with Peter's reaction. Once again, the lie they had spun had had the desired effect on its audience.

Remus had been insistent that the story should be told in a very specific way. Voldemort's demise must be the opposite of what he tried to achieve in life, he had said. The story should contain no glamour, no glory, and no mystery. It should only describe the plain, pitiful death of a lowly criminal in the most mundane way possible.

It was a noble lie, designed to deconstruct the myth of the Dark Lord and to poison his legacy – and to ensure that the secret of Voldemort's immortality would die with him. Those who had witnessed his death had unanimously agreed that the truth should be buried and forgotten, for letting the rest of the world know about Horcruxes would have only led to more destruction. According to the official story, Voldemort had died a quick and an unremarkable death by James Potter's hand.

That credit should have gone to Snape, of course, but he had made it very clear that he just wanted to be left alone. The others had respected his wishes, but they had also concluded that their story needed a hero – someone who would stand in front of the cheering crowd and make sure that they all swallowed the lie whole.

And that was how James had suddenly become known as the Vanquisher of Voldemort; a questionable honour that felt more like a burden than a privilege. It was his duty, but he took no delight in basking in glory that should have belonged to someone else – even if that someone was Snape.

"Well, that's quite underwhelming," said Peter. "To think he was just another mortal all this time. I can't believe it took us so long to defeat him."

"Voldemort wasn't invincible, but he was a dangerous opponent all the same," Remus replied. "After all, he did take Dumbledore down with him."

Peter shook his head. "I can't believe he's gone. At least he died a hero."

James stared silently into his half-empty pint.

He still hadn't told anyone that he knew how Dumbledore had gotten to Harry's house before the rest of the Order. It would have been impossible to do so without also telling the whole story, so he had chosen to feign ignorance instead and joined the others in the assumption that Lily had summoned Dumbledore to help her.

Sometimes, James wished he would have genuinely believed that explanation, too.

Dumbledore had always been like a grandfather to James, and a part of him still desperately wanted to believe in the old wizard. He wanted to believe that Dumbledore had truly meant well, and that he hadn't really wished to hurt Lily, and that he would have eventually saved the day if Voldemort hadn't killed him. But the fact remained that, for some unfathomable reason, Dumbledore had engineered the encounter between Lily and Voldemort with every intention of having the Dark Lord kill her.

Although the details of that night remained unclear to James, he had learned about Dumbledore's plan from Barry. The younger Crouch had knocked on his door shortly after Lily had left, and he had delivered James a message from Dumbledore – who, as it had turned out, really had been Barry's true master all along. In his message, Dumbledore had told James to stay put and keep away from Lily – that all would be explained in the morning, that he would be reunited with his long-lost son, and that he only needed to trust Dumbledore to handle the situation.

James could still remember how he had struggled over that one – whether to put his faith on Dumbledore, like he always did, or to help Lily instead. Even though he had had zero reasons to trust Lily, his gut had told him to choose her. He had told Barry that he wanted to go to her.

That was when Barry had suddenly drawn out his wand. In his infinite loyalty, he had been prepared to do whatever it took to make sure that Dumbledore's plan would not be interfered.

Minutes later, James had found himself in standing in the middle of his trashed living room, towering over Barry's dead body and holding out his wand. He had reacted so fast that he hadn't even realized what had happened until the duel had ended.

After that, James had quickly summoned every Order member he still trusted – Remus, Moody, the Longbottoms, and Dorcas Meadowes. At the last minute, he had also reached out to Snape. As much as James despised him, Snape was one of the strongest fighters at their disposal, and there was nothing James wouldn't have done to make sure that Harry would survive.

He had given the others a brief and a heavily edited version of the truth. He had told them that Lily was in need of rescue – that, years ago, she had secretly given birth to his son, and that the child was now in danger because of the traitor Barry.

He had also told them about the prophecy, but he had left out the part where Lily had traveled to the future and then set out to reshape the past; the story had been mad enough without that particular twist, and he had not wanted to waste any time trying to beg the others to believe him. Luckily, the Longbottoms had been able to confirm that the prophecy was real, and that had been enough to convince the rest of them.

James had always meant to fill the others in on the time travel nonsense, too, but months and months had gone by, and he still hadn't told anyone. With Dumbledore, Lily, and Barry out of the game, James was now the only person who knew the full truth.

And he had no idea what to do with it.

"Peter is taking us to Hogwarts tomorrow," said Peter's wife. "He wants to show his sons where he spent the happiest days of his childhood."

"And some of the naughtiest!" Peter laughed. "Merlin, we were such unruly children! I can only hope that my sons will take after their mother and behave themselves."

James watched Peter ruffling the older boy's hair and smiling at his wife, and suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. He excused himself and told the others that he needed to use the loo, but instead he found himself bolting out of the door and back into the streets. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

He walked down the street and further still, unsure where he was heading to but bloody certain that he wanted to get far away from the pub, and Remus's smug face, and the stupid grinning Pettigrew family and their idyllic holiday plans.

"Go fuck yourself Wormtail..." he muttered while attempting to light his cigarette with shaky hands, although deep down inside he was already beginning to realize that this wasn't really about him.

It was about what Peter had, and what James did not.

Every time Peter had gazed at his homely wife like she was the most beautiful woman in the world, James had felt a pang of envy inside his chest. It had been even more painful when he had watched Peter interact with his sons.

Harry would never look at James the way Peter's sons looked at their father.

He wished he could have just forgotten about Harry and moved on with his life, but he couldn't. He thought about his son constantly, even though they had met only once.

It had happened on the night Voldemort had died. James had searched for Harry after the battle and eventually found him hiding outside in the rain.

He knew he would never forget how he had felt when he had first laid his eyes on the child, his own flesh and blood. Harry had looked puny, pale, and fragile. He had been scared to death and shivering with cold, yet he had gazed back at James with innocent trust that had reminded him of all the good and pure things he had lost somewhere along the way.

On that moment, something inside of him had changed for good. In his son's eyes, he had seen a glimpse of a future he desperately wanted to be a part of – a future with hope, love, family. He had suddenly remembered that there were bigger and better things in life than the pain and the anger he had been feeling ever since Sirius had died. How he had wished he could have simply shed the bitter skin he inhabited and become the father this perfect creature deserved.

He had taken Harry back inside and stayed with him while Remus, Moody, and Meadowes – who had stayed behind while the others had gone to St. Mungo's – had sat in the kitchen composing the elaborate lie they were about to tell the rest of the world. He had tucked the boy in and told him not to worry, that everything was going to be fine, and that no one was going to come after him again.

He never told Harry who he really was. Still, he could already feel the bond between them, as if he had loved the child all his life. It had made it all the more painful for him to think that he had been deprived of that love for so long.

At dawn, James had kissed his son goodbye and gently waved his wand so that no memory of the awful night would remain in Harry's mind.

By then, the others had Obliviated the nanny and restored the house back to its original state. It had taken some advanced and creative spellwork, for the parts of the house that had been destroyed by dark magic could not be simply repaired, but they had left the place looking mostly intact. Harry's adoptive parents, who had returned from their weekend getaway the next day, had never found out that something terrible had happened in their home that night – other than that the family dog had mysteriously died.

James had gone back to the house many times since that night. He had watched Harry from afar and felt like his heart was about to burst with emotions he didn't even understand. All he had known was that he wanted his son to be with him. These useless Muggles had no reason to keep looking after Harry now that his rightful father was here, he had thought.

Luckily, James had learned to accept the crushing reality of the situation before doing anything stupid. He had understood that he couldn't just go and take Harry away from the only home he had ever known. As far as Harry was concerned, these people were his parents. James was nothing but a stranger to him.

Furthermore, the Turners seemed like the ideal parents. As their son, Harry had everything a boy of his age could have desired. What did James have to give? He could barely even take care of himself. He drank too much, slept too little, and spent his days just waiting for them to be over. He didn't have a job, or a plan, or a purpose in life. He had wasted most of his inheritance and his adult life feeling miserable and chasing after ghosts in a doomed attempt to reclaim what he he had lost.

When he looked in the mirror, he didn't see a man he would have trusted his son with. In fact, he didn't see anything he liked at all.

Harry deserved better.

He'd been walking for some time until he suddenly realized that his feet really were carrying him to a particular destination. He'd been reluctant to think about it, but some part of him clearly knew that he would have to make a decision today.

It was afternoon, so the Ministry was still bustling with people. He stopped for another cigarette near the exit and watched people going in and out of the hidden building. He reckoned that it wouldn't be too hard to go in after closing time using his Invisibility Cloak and sneak in the Department of Mysteries. Today was summer solstice; if what Lily had told him was true, the archway would turn into a gateway into the future on the stroke of midnight.

The question remained – did James want to use it? He had been swinging back and forth on the issue since the day Lily had told him the truth. As the only person left to know the secret of the archway, he felt almost obliged to use it to improve the world. Maybe he was meant to visit the future and then change the past for the better, just like Lily did.

He hadn't been ready to try it on winter solstice, and he felt even less ready now. James had always liked breaking rules, but breaking the rules of time itself felt unholy even to him. He could have used the archway to choose himself the best possible future, but he might have just as easily ended up ruining everything.

But then again, he really didn't have anything to look forward to in this life. Maybe I should go to the future and stay there, he thought. There must be a better world out there.

He stumped his cigarette, turned on his heels, and left his options hanging for the time being. He couldn't access the archway until later tonight, so he decided to make one last stop before making his choice.

Moments later, he found himself at St. Mungo's hospital. His entrance drew the usual amount of attention from star-struck visitors, so he made his way quickly through the lobby and up the stairs all the way to the long-term care ward before anyone begged him for an autograph.

He opened the door as quietly as he could and peered in through the crack. Snape was there, because of course he was. It was like the man hadn't moved once from his seat next to the bed since he had brought Lily there.

Judging by the way she looked, Lily's condition had not improved since the last time James had visited her. She was still unconscious, and she still looked like she was burning up; there was a dangerous blush on her cheeks, her forehead was glistening with sweat, and she was stirring slightly, as if she was having an endless nightmare. That was why James hadn't visited her in months. He took no pleasure in witnessing her long, painful death.

They said that the venom that had entered her veins was just as unique as the snake it belonged to. It was potent, deadly, and apparently impossible to neutralize. The best Healers in Britain had been working on her since she had been bitten, yet none of them had been able to help her. They had managed to slow down the horrific effects of the bite and to minimize her suffering by keeping her under a powerful sleeping spell at all times, but that was it. Sooner or later, she was going to succumb to the venom.

That hadn't stopped Snape from trying his hardest to save her. According to Remus, who still visited Lily every week, Snape had been attempting to develope an antivenom by himself. He spent his nights working in his laboratory and his days sitting here by her side, like he was expecting her to come through and open her eyes on any given moment.

His current lifestyle had made him look even more haggard and wretched than half of the patients in the whole hospital. His clothes were dirty, his face was unshaven, and the fact that he was apparently sleeping deeply in an upright position spoke volumes of how exhausted he was.

In the past, James might have enjoyed seeing Snape looking so beaten, but things had changed since. The hatred he had once felt for Snape had trickled away over the past few months. James was never going to like Snape, but he had learned to respect him, and to pity him.

In the end, Snape had turned out to be just as loyal as Lily had said he was. He had helped the Order defeat Voldemort, and his inside information had also been crucial for tracking down and arresting the remaining Death Eaters. He had also turned out to be much more humble than James could have imagined. He had expressed no desire for the fame and the fortune he could have claimed as the Vanquisher of Voldemort. Instead, he had chosen to give up the glory altogether just to be able to focus his full attention on Lily.

And he genuinely seemed to love her. James had never believed that he did. In his mind, Snape's feelings for Lily had always seemed selfish, possessive, and impure. Snape just wanted Lily's body, he had thought. Even after she had declared that she was in love with him, James had dismissed their relationship as a sick, misguided, codependent affair that had nothing to do with real love.

But then James had witnessed how Snape had reacted to seeing Lily bloody and unconscious on the floor after the snake had attacked her. James had been shaken, too, but what he had felt had had nothing on the look of sheer horror and heartbreak on Snape's face. Without hesitation, he had swooped up Lily in his arms and taken her to the hospital, and then spent the following months doing nothing but trying to pry her away from death's grip.

Even though he had just learned that Lily had been lying to him about everything.

That was the part that still had James scratching his head. Did Snape really love her all the same after finding out what she had done? She had had a child with his worst enemy, and she'd kept it a secret for years – did that really not change the way he felt? It had to bother him to some extent – Snape had looked like he had been stabbed when James had told him the truth. Yet here he was, day after day.

And that was why James's opinion of Snape had begun to change. Unconditional devotion like that could only be caused by true love, which meant that Snape couldn't be all that bad. As much as James hated to admit it, those two really did seem to be bound together in ways that transcended mere lust or convenience. James sure had never loved anyone that deeply, except his best friend, and his son.

Suddenly, Snape woke up with a start, although he didn't seem to notice James at the door. He coughed, rubbed his forehead with the back of his wrist, and then gazed at Lily. A heavy sigh escaped his lean body, and he gently touched her unresponsive hand. There was a mournful, tortured, tender look in his eyes that seemed to speak words that Lily could not hear, and that James could not understand.

James could feel his face flushing; he felt like he was intruding into something much too intimate and private for him to see, so he knocked on the door and acted like he had only just arrived.

"Snape," James said, and greeted him with a nod. Snape glared at him, and quickly pulled his hand back.

"What are you doing here?" he said.

"I just wanted to see her," James replied and sat down on the chair opposite to Snape. "I came to say goodbye."

"Going somewhere?" asked Snape, without any indication that he was the slightest bit interested in the answer.

"Maybe," James said with a shrug. He thought about the archway. He still hadn't decided what to do about it.

Nevertheless, this was probably the last time he was ever going to see Lily. She was fading fast, and he reckoned it wouldn't be long until the venom would be through with her. He had gradually come to accept that over the past few months. Lily was as good as dead, and it was time for James to make his peace with her.

It wasn't easy. He had loved her, and then he had hated her, and now he wasn't sure what to think. He would never forgive her for taking Harry from him without even asking, yet the past few months of his life had forced him to sympathize with her. Now he knew what it felt like to live with secrets and responsibilities that were far too much for one person to handle. She was only human, and she had tried to do the right thing.

And James wasn't much better than her. He had done some truly awful things in his life, too, as he had come to understand – all things that had felt right at the time, even though they had caused suffering to others. We're both blind to the damage we do to others, he thought, and he wished that Lily could have heard him.

"I also wanted to tell her that I forgive her," he said. "I understand her now."

"I'm thrilled that somebody does," Snape replied.

James glanced at him. He could only imagine what Snape was thinking about it all – about being kept in the dark about the child Lily and James had secretly had, and knowing nothing about the long, complicated story that had forced her to hide the truth. The fragile, unspoken truce Snape and James had established since the night Voldemort had fallen kept them from attacking each other, but it wasn't strong enough to sustain such an awkward conversation.

He felt bad for Snape. Had their roles been reversed, James imagined he would have felt absolutely gutted.

"You shouldn't... you shouldn't hate her for this," said James. "I'm sure she had her reasons for everything."

Snape fixed his bloodshot eyes on him.

"I don't understand her," he said, "But I do not, never have, and never will hate her."

The contempt in Snape's voice was meant to cut James, but all it did was make him pity Snape even more. Here he was, doomed to stare at the woman he loved till the day she died, and never receiving answers to all the questions that were probably eating him alive as they spoke. Heaven knew he was only going to get worse after her death. It was such a pitiful fate for someone who had been so instrumential in the war against Voldemort.

James didn't owe Snape anything. Still, he knew that he wasn't going to be able to live with himself if he didn't do the little he could to help Snape achieve some kind of closure. After spending so many years trying to avenge Sirius's death in vain, James knew exactly what it felt like to be pulled deep into the abyss by a fading memory. It was a fate he did not wish upon anyone in the world.

"You know, before she died -" James began.

"She's not dead."

"Before... this happened, she told me something. And I don't just mean the part about our son. She told me the reason why she did all this."

Snape stared firmly at Lily. "I'm sure she'll share it with me when she wakes up."

James bit his teeth. Of course Snape wasn't going to take him seriously. But perhaps he was right. Maybe it would be better if he heard the truth from Lily herself.

Without giving his mad idea another thought, James focused on the memory of that long, long day when Lily had told her story to him. He held it on the top of his mind and then used his wand to isolate and extract it. There was some pain, but also relief; it felt like pulling out a rotting tooth.

Snape frowned at him. "What are you doing?"

"These are the answers you're looking for," James replied, and shut the silvery wisp into a small vial he had conjured up. "All of the answers. I think you've earned them."

He handed the vial to Snape, who eyed it suspiciously.

"I don't want it," he said.

"But you need it," James sighed and left the vial on the nightstand. "And just for the record, this the second time I've saved you."

He took one last look at Lily and wished her spirit well, wherever it would go, hoping that she would find peace there. Then he left the room before Snape could say another word.

Walking out of the building, James felt lighter and stronger than he had felt in years. He couldn't remember the last time he had done something he was truly proud of. For a fleeting moment, he imagined looking at himself through his son's eyes, and he wasn't entirely displeased with what he saw.

He'd been gone for an hour, but he decided to go back to the pub anyway, just to see if the others were still there. He found Remus sitting alone in the table with a cup of tea.

"There you are!" said Remus. "Where on earth did you go?"

"Never mind that, I'm back now," he replied. "Did Peter already leave?"

"Yes, they were going to meet with Peter's aunt. James, are you sure you're all right?"

James contemplated his answer.

"No, not really," he said in all honesty. "But I'm going to be."

Remus smiled at him. "Good. Because there was something I was meaning to talk to you about. Now that McGonagall is the Headmistress, there's a job opening at Hogwarts for a Transfiguration teacher. I could recommend you, if that's something you might be interested in. You might have to finally register your Animagus form, though."

James raised his eyebrows. He'd never pictured himself as a teacher. Then again, he couldn't picture half of the actual Professors he had had at Hogwarts as teachers.

And then another thought occured to him: in a few years time, Harry would be coming to Hogwarts. If everything went well, he and James could spend seven whole years together.

All of a sudden, James's future didn't seem so murky and aimless anymore. He saw a bright tomorrow beyond the dark night, a tomorrow he didn't need to use a shortcut like the archway to get to.

And although he wasn't the father his son deserved now, that didn't mean that he couldn't change. Hell, if Snivellus Snape had managed to go from the spineless creature he was at school to the hero who had defeated Voldemort, then surely James had the chance to become the man he wanted to be as well.

"Sign me up," said James.