Half asleep and head pounding from his New Years hangover, James wasn't quite able to understand nor register his son's warbled words, but years of battle-hardened training kicked him into gear and before he knew it, he was on his feet with wand in hand & bed hair askew. His heart pounded in his chest, unbridled fear coursed through his veins as he was reminded of a Halloween long ago that had forever changed his life. Lily, who had responded just as quickly to Harry's cries (thanks in part to some sort of primal maternal instinct), was already ripping herself free of the sheet entangled around her ankles and racing for the sleeping teen's bedroom; almost ripping the bedroom door off of its hinges in the process.

It took a few tries for his muddled mind to catch up. The dazed bovine spent a few short minutes fumbling for his glasses which he thought had been tossed onto the dresser, but in actuality had found themselves buried beneath one of Harry's socks in the hamper. Mindless of his state of dress (or lack thereof), James hurried down the hall after his wife, using the walls to rebound off of in his hurry. A heavy thump followed by several muffled curse words echoed out from behind the fourth bedroom door, telling him that at least one, if not both, of the canines had been raised by the hullabaloo as well. If James knew his mates like he thought he did, then Remus was likely cursing up a storm at the bedsheets which had pinned him to the floor in a straight jacket whilst Sirius was bemoaning the state of his luscious locks as he searched for his wand or his boxers, or both.

The framed family photo next to his glasses, rattled on its hinges as James rebounded off of the wall that it hung on and his thoughts ran a million miles an hour. He like to think he was a reasonable man, but even the most reasonable of men had their breaking points. Questions from the last few years were suddenly brought to the forefront of his mind, questions that had been long since buried or pushed aside in favour of others.

What's going on? What does she remember? James puzzled with brows pinched into a furrow, Was Jean REALLY awake? Or was it just Harry's imagination? What had caused her to sleep for so long? What had caused her seemingly unwarranted coma to stretch on for so many years? A coma, mind you, that the healers found no reason for her to be in. Did it have something to do with those old runes that killed You-Know-Who? What kind of magic even was that? Which then begged the question, What kind of magic did the muggleborn get involved in? What had caused her to resort to such magics?

And then those questions turned to other, darker ones. Ones that begged James to worry about the safety of his own family, because who knew just what kind of witch Jean really was. In the short time she'd been awake, she'd been sweet if a little distant & wary of them. But no one knew, not for certain. James had looked into the manner several times since returning to work after the war, but there were no records of a muggleborn named Jean, anywhere. Mind you, she could have been homeschooled or those records (alongside others) could've been lost during the war. Unfortunately, it was a common occurrence, he was coming to find that the Ministry of Magic was far less stalwart than they liked to seem. Which again made him wonder, who was Jean?

Left high & dry with no questions answered, James had been left to face what facts they did know. Jean was a young muggleborn witch, marked by a cursed blade and had her hand in some sort of ancient magicks which resulted in her long term slumber. She'd been aided by Peter to find their cottage in Godric's Hollow, You-Know-Who had attacked not long after & subsequently died.

Crookshanks (one of Elvendork's kittens) had taken quite a liking to the girl and Harry had proclaimed the witch to be his big sister.

Neither healer nor canine or bovine could discern anything physically wrong with Jean, and so she had been declared unfit for St Mungo's as she was taking up much needed bed space. James had argued that she would be better cared for in Janus Thickly, but Lily with her bleeding heart, hadn't been able to hand over the young witch and so she'd stayed with the Potters. Because James would be damned if he ever crossed a witch like his wife.

"S'rry, Tilly" James mumbled as he just barely avoided tripping over the little house elf twining around his feet like the kneazles were wont to do.

"S'fine" Tilly brushed off, all business as she hurried inside. The elderly house elf had always been a fixture in James' life—no nonsense and matronly—having raised him from nappies, as was the way in Pureblood families.

Coming into the occupied room, James found himself accosted by the sight of his giddily beaming son who had tried to clamber into the bed with Jean. Whilst Tilly fought to pull the boy off of the bed, least he accidentally hurt the poor witch. Lily stood, just as bedraggled as him, examining every inch of Jean and going through every single procedure that she could think of (both muggle and magical). But Jean just blinked languidly back at her, occasionally grunting, hissing or groaning in response. Behind him, both Sirius and Remus eventually burst into the room, with much wiggling on their part as they both tried to squeeze through the doorframe at once.

It was odd to see those brown orbs again—he was relieved, for sure—but it was odd just the same. To James, it seemed like only yesterday that he was ushering the young witch into his home that terrible Halloween night, and yet at the same time, it seemed like an eon ago. Though she had been in his home for the past three years, changing day-by-day, it was still odd to see her so…alive. It was just taking a bit longer for his muddled mind to catch up, that's all.

15 January 1984

Evans Cottage, Eastbourne

That following fortnight, the Evans cottage had never seemed so alive with the constant hustle and bustle of healers & well-wishes moving about. Dumbledore had popped in on occasion, because of course he had the mysterious witch under surveillance. James knew he had seen Mordecai Berrycloth wandering around the village! (He'd been disguised as some woollen cantankerous old lady, but James would know that snaggletooth anywhere). Thankfully, Lily (under the tutelage of Tilly) had become quite apt in domestic spells; some which James had recognised from his mother's own repertoire, of which had made his own father tinge green. Let's just say that the bespectacled bovine was glad he wasn't the headmaster.

During that time Jean had made a big improvement (at least that's what he could discern between all the medical jargon flung back & forth between Lily & the healers), and was now able to stay awake for longer periods of time. Harry had been thrilled about that. He'd spent every waking moment that he could with Jean, just talking, really. Some days that meant he was telling her about his day, whilst other days that meant he was reading to her from whatever was his chosen fairytale.

The chosen story of the day would differ between The Tales of Beedle the Bard and The Fairytales Grimm and more often than not those stories would end up as an amalgamation of both cultures, not that Jean seemed to mind. In fact, her eyes almost seemed to swim with mirth whenever his son mixed together Little Red Riding Hood and Babbitty Rabbity and her Cackling Stump, or Jack the Giant Slayer and The Wizard and the Hopping Pot, (Lily swore up & down that it meant that Harry was going to be some amazing author when he got older. James always refuted that, saying Harry would be a star quidditch player, someday. They had a long-term bet going between them about the whole thing).

Currently, James was sat on the back porch with his wife at his side, a glass of chardonnay in his hand (somehow muggle booze was just so much better than the magical stuff. Maybe because there were several masters in the field?) and a headful of badly tied braids & ponytails (courtesy of Harry) as they enjoyed the setting sun. The high-back lawn chair off to the side was occupied by Jean who lay slumped back and who bore a matching set of braids (though it was hard to tell amongst her wild curls).

It had been an effort and a half to manoeuvre the witch downstairs & outside to back porch; at least until James had reminded Lily that she was in fact a witch herself and could use magic. For a bright witch, she was forever forgetting the fact that she was indeed a witch and ended up doing things the muggle. Of course, sometimes that was on purpose. Held close to the chair with a well-placed sticking charm, Jean watched on contentedly whilst one of her hands lay idle in Crookshanks' fur; not that the kitten seemed to mind. Lain out amongst the patchwork ruffles of the quilt spread hung over Jean's legs, the cantankerous kitten appeared more content than James had ever seen him.

Out on the lawn Harry & Padfoot were busy chasing each other and the garden gnomes that festered within the lavender bushes that lined the garden. Occasionally one of the more bullheaded gnomes would try to bite outstretched fingers or Harry would grapple with skeletal hats, but good ole Uncle Padfoot was always there to lend a helping hand. Remus was passed out in the spare bedroom upstairs under Tilly's good care. Last night had been a full moon and like the many moons since Peter's disappearance, the werewolf had taken it pretty hard. It seemed that even Moony could hold a grudge just as well as the wizard.

"James? Y'alright?" Lily murmured from around her wine glass, matching braids taming the ginger locks splayed about her face as her voice shook him from his thoughts.

"Yeah" James hummed. Hazel orbs watched from behind sea salt-splattered glasses as his little family scene played out. A gentle smile graced his face and if James squinted just right, he could almost pretend that they were a proper family; one complete with the white picket fence and the rambunctious family dog. "Everything's fine"