(Note from the author: These are not my characters, my world, or my
situations. They all belong to J. K. Rowling, and are protected by
copyrights.)
(Disclaimer: The following scenes are composed from Warner Bros.'s Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone (film), and the words of J.K. Rowling as found in her Harry Potter series. All of the action, scenery, etc. was taken from one of these sources or a source pertaining to one of these sources. Nothing belongs to "Mordred" or anyone other than J.K. Rowling or her associates and are protected by their copyrights. "Mordred" wishes not to make a profit from this story or anything else, and is only a fanfiction writer.)
(Note about inconsistencies with the dialogue: Due to reasons, the dialogue is not the same as it was in the books. If anything is recognizable, it does not belong to me, but to Rowling herself and her associates and it is protected by copyrights.)
The day was cold. The trees in the backyard blew with the growing wind, and the leaves scattered the floor of the earth, making the branches bare. The morning had risen on another early hour, and James sat in the back room, looking out to the forest that covered the backyards of the street. He stared into the thick branches, trying to look past their protective shields and see the outside.
Sirius.
What was he doing?
Peter was to return that next day. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would give Peter a letter, telling Sirius that he thought of him and that he was all right.
What would his letter say.
Dear Sirius. Lily has a job. Harry is happy. And I want to come home.
He did. He yearned for his old bed, and to see a familiar face that wasn't Lily's or Harry's. He loved his family, but his mind wanted to even see Remus. Someone other than the things he had associated with this house.
Yet, he was happy. Finally, in the longest time, he was happy.
Harry would live.
There was a chance.
"James?"
James turned to see Lily in her nightrobe, leaning up against the doorway of the back room. This room had served the purpose of a storage place. It also was connected to the stairs that led to the second floor. There were two staircases leading up to the bedrooms: the one in the front of the house, and the one leading out the back door. This was taken as an extra precaution. It was easier to escape into the woods out the back than to fight your way out the front.
But no sign of an attack had come. Remus was the spy. Peter was protected by Sirius. Everything was fine. They had cheated death once again.
The one worry that he now had was his friends. What if they all died, defending his family? What if he returned, and Sirius and Peter were dead? How could he live with himself, knowing that he had done nothing but sit here and play patty cake with his infant son?
"James, are you okay?" she asked, and James nodded.
"I was just thinking," he said, "I've been doing a lot of that lately."
"Yeah, I think we all have," she said, and then the routine cries from upstairs began.
"Well, another day in paradise, hey?" she said, starting up the stairs. James nodded. She hadn't asked him why he had come to the back room.
He had remembered a contract that he and the boys had written when they were back at school. He had wanted to find it. But he couldn't remember who took it home with them. He was sure that it had been him, but maybe Sirius had snatched it up.
Oh, if only Sirius hadn't lost the map.
No, there was nothing in the storage room except for some donated toys from Alice to Harry, old Muggle kitchen things, and some more assorted Muggle junk for Lily from her parent's estate. Nothing for James.
He sat down on the fold down chair, and it squeaked on the wooden floor. It was a small room, smaller than any other room in the house. Harry's nursery alone covered two windows, and included a fireplace. James had set Floo Powder next to the hearth, just in case they needed a third escape route. It was located right above him, and he could hear Lily walking across the floor to retrieve Harry out of his crib. He still wouldn't sleep in a bed.
"He's still young," James said, mussing his hair, "He doesn't even know anything's wrong. The whole damn world is bending over backwards to get to him, and he's oblivious."
It seemed the only person who didn't know about Harry was Harry. But he knew this wasn't true. The world didn't know of the prophecy. Hardly anyone did. Yes, there had been the rumors, but they had faded away. Now they were truly alone.
'Meow'
James looked up and out of the small window. Outside, in the backyard, was a black cat. It was staring at him, eyes intently locked into his. And for one moment, he had fear rise up in his heart.
But when he looked again, the cat was gone, and only the leaves and wind remained.
Sirius Black had never been like this. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't even stand to lay there and do nothing. He felt as if he could do nothing. He didn't know where they were. They could be dead for all he knew.
Peter maybe didn't even know.
He stuffed his hand into his pocket for the thousandth time that afternoon, and retrieved the slip of parchment. Nothing. Still jumbled letters.
Good.
He checked it again, just in case, and then put it back in his pocket. He couldn't stand this anymore! He had to do something . . .
Take a walk. That sounded good.
Take a walk. He could take a walk.
He stood up, threw on his coat, and headed out. He had an idea of where he was going. Past the church, past the Leaky Cauldron, and straight to that familiar street that he had grown to love. Maybe if he was lucky, James would be hidden there, inside the whitewashed walls.
He doubted it, though it was worth hoping for.
Grabbing his wand, he headed out the door and to the lift. His hair was long now, and his overcoat was heavy and worn. He walked onto the main landing, and out the front doors.
Down the street he went, thinking to himself. Why didn't James send him a message? They were going to keep in touch. Why didn't James say anything to Peter? Why did Peter tell him that? Why would James want to stay a Muggle even after the war? It didn't even sound like him.
But he remembered James, little James, thinking it would be a peaceful life. Is that why James wanted to stay? He didn't know where the hell he was . . .
And Lily. How was Lily? And Harry. Was Harry warm at night? Did they have a nice house? Were they well off? Were they safe? How good were those curses? What if Remus found Sirius himself? He had no Secret Keeper to keep him safe. They would still be coming after him.
It had been a week, and still no questions had been answered. He didn't know if they were safe or not. He didn't have any word from James. What if he never saw James again?
He crossed the street.
He had walked this road many times with James before. This is where they had had many conversations that ranged from the weather to morals to politics. Even though politics bored him to death, and so they usually didn't bother with that topic.
Maybe he would write James a letter tonight, and give it to Peter to deliver it to him tomorrow when Peter went again. Why could Peter go? It was such a mistake to let Peter know where they were. If he had been Secret Keeper, he could be there right now, with them, laughing with Harry and sharing a butterbeer with James.
But he knew that was wrong. He knew that he couldn't be the Secret Keeper. What was done was done, and it had worked so far. Peter was safe. He had done the right thing. And Peter was firm in his stance against Voldemort. He could see it in Peter's eyes. He would never tell anyone where their hiding place was.
He felt a hatred against Remus well up in his heart, and he walked faster, digging his cold hands into his overcoat. How could Remus do this to them? He had trusted that man for most of his life, had only given him everything he could, and this is how he repaid them. He had risked his neck and well being for him, and then he just turned against them.
I should have let him die, Sirius thought to himself darkly, I should have let the wolf kill him off when he was younger and stupider. I should have let Snape go to the end of that tunnel, and then Remus would have been either killed or sent to Azkaban. And he wouldn't have tried to kill us.
All of a sudden, Sirius felt guilty for thinking such a thing. And yet the thought couldn't go away. How could he have stopped Remus?
Another street he crossed, and his pace became quicker than before.
How had they ended up like this? He was alone in the world, no one to turn to. Everything had been ripped away from him. James wasn't here anymore. What was he going to do? How long was James going to be away?
He'll be back, Sirius thought, And it's because of him not being here now that he'll be here later. Be patient.
But Remus. After this war, Sirius would kill him himself. Sirius would go after him with all of the curses he could think of, and make him suffer. He would make that monster suffer until he hung onto one more inch of life. And then he would let the wolf finish him off.
Try to kill them. Try to kill Sirius's family. Oh, he would teach him to mess with them.
It still pained him inside that he had risked everything to help that monster. He had risked his life, his school enrollment, his permanent record . . . his sanity.
Everything.
And still Lupin didn't see that.
All of the sympathy that he had had for that creature died with the crossing of the next street, and soon Sirius felt himself running.
They had made pact after pact, engraving their friendship into stone. They were to be friends for life, brothers bonded together by time. But now . . . now that was dead.
Only four of the five remained.
Remus had pushed them away. Remus had done the unthinkable. And still, Remus was not the one suffering. Remus could still attend the Order meetings. Remus was still in favor of the Headmaster. And Remus didn't have to wait for James to return.
Remus wanted James dead.
He stopped, and came to the street he had been looking for.
The white house still stood, proud and tall. It still existed.
A calmness came over Sirius, and all doubt floated away.
"Everything's going to be all right," he said to himself quietly, looking at the Potter's old house, "Everything's going to be all right."
He turned too fast to see the cat, making its way under the bushes in the front yard.
The evening was alive with sounds of autumn. It was the night of Halloween. Children would be out and about soon, festivities rising and hitting its peak at midnight. for Remus as he sat on his porch, looking out to the woods. The wolf sat next to him, breathing down his neck.
"And so it begins," the wolf said, looking off to the sunset. Remus shifted in his chair.
"What begins," he said.
"You know what," he said, "It."
Remus ignored the wolf, and the wolf sneered.
"It draws nearer."
"So I've heard," Remus said, and stood up. The wolf walked alongside him as he stepped off of the porch, and stared at the axe in its dead stump. The wolf shook his fur free of leaves, and looked to the man.
"And you do not fear it," he said, "Yet I sense your fear."
"Oh, I fear it," Remus said, looking at the axe, "But I'm tired of always being afraid. I've always been scared. And I'm not anymore."
"You think you've changed," the wolf laughed, "Well, I know you better than you know yourself, boy. And I know that you have never changed. That little boy in the Great Hall? He still lives. He lives inside of you."
Remus looked to his front room window, and saw his reflection. A little blond boy, hair falling into his face, and knobbly knees no taller than the stump itself. He knew that boy well.
"No," Remus said, looking away, and catching a glimpse of his now browned hair, "People change."
"But they always are constant," the wolf replied, "I've known you, boy, since the tender age of five. I've read every one of your memories. Your friends are my friends. Your life is mine. How can you believe that I do not know your weaknesses as well?"
"Someday, wolf," Remus said, looking at the axe, "I will kill you. One way or another, I will see you dead."
"Not if I do the honors to you first," the wolf chortled, and Remus walked away from him, heading into the woods.
"It draws nearer," the wolf laughed again, and then followed him into the growing darkness of the forest, "It's nearer than ever."
As they disappeared behind the trees, the axe still stood, untouched, in its stump grave.
Night had settled once again on the silent island. James and Lily had engaged in the tradition of Trick-or-Treating, handing out candy to all of the Muggle children. It had been a wonderful time, and Harry had had fun meeting all of the little ghouls and goblins that had handed their bags over to be filled with treats. Every little girl had commented on how beautiful he was, and all the little boys wanted to take him out to play with them. Lily had laughed as a small ghost asked her to put Harry in her treat bag.
"No," she grinned, "This one is for me."
James sat in the front room now, watching the telly, and playing with the buttons on the remote. He laughed at some joke that a Muggle made on the screen, and Lily cleaned up in the kitchen. They had just finished dinner, and now there were chores to do before putting Harry to bed.
"Ma!" Harry cried from the front room where he sat with his father, "Pay! Pay! Ma!"
Harry wanted to play. And Harry would get what he wanted.
"Just a second, Harry!" Lily shouted from the sink, "Mommy's almost done."
"Oh, come on, Lily," James laughed as Harry giggled, "You can do that later. We've got all day tomorrow."
"What's tomorrow?"
"Saturday, I think," James said, "I don't know."
Lily sighed, wiped her hands dry, and walked to the front room. There, in front of her, was the sight of her husband, now rolling on the floor with Harry, both of them laughing. Harry's laughter was so beautiful.
"Boys, come on," she said, grabbing Harry, "It's getting late. You should be getting ready for bedtime. Where are Harry's clean clothes?"
"Probably in the back room, with all the rest of his things," James said, sitting up and adjusting his glasses, "But it's still early."
"He's not going to bed, James," Lily took Harry, and walked into the back room, "I'm just getting him ready. Now which ones do you want to wear? The rabbits or the dogs?"
She reached for the chain switch to the light, and pulled it on. Light illuminated the back room and Lily could see her reflection on the window. She was looking older and older every day, and she was only twenty one.
The rabbit pajamas were settled on a box, and easily accessible. Lily grabbed the clothes, and handed it to Harry, "You like these?"
Harry smiled.
James settled back into his chair, and turned the telly off. He shut his eyes, and gave out a sigh. Tomorrow morning, Peter would be coming again. He should write that letter tonight.
A shrill scream came from the back room, and James's eyes shot open.
Something had happened.
"Lily!" he jumped up on first instinct, and rushed to where his wife and son lay. The room seemed so long.
He had to get there.
Someone had attacked them.
Something had happened.
"Lily! Harry!" he shouted, running into the back room. He held his chest as he looked at the sight before him.
Lily was holding Harry, sitting ontop of a large box. On the floor was a mouse the size of a fist. Lily was screaming, pointing at the mouse.
"Get it out! Get it, James! Get it out! Kill it!"
"Don't you do that to me, Lily Potter!" James said, slamming his shoe down on the unsuspecting creature. It lay still, stunned by the impact of the shoe.
"Do what?" she asked, still shaking from the mouse attack, "Get it out of here!"
"I can't kill a mouse!" he said.
"It's not a mouse! It's too big to be a mouse! It's a rat!" Lily protested.
"Well, then I really can't kill it, can I?" James said, "I've seen Peter turn into one of those things too many times."
"Kill it, James."
But the rat was gone. Harry whined, and Lily jumped off of the box.
"It wasn't Peter, James," Lily said, "You could have killed it."
And Lily was right. Peter was miles away. Yet James was spooked by it. The rat had been black, unlike Peter's brown fur. But it served as some sort of importance, he knew that much.
What did it mean?
"I'm getting Harry dressed now," Lily said, making her way up the stairs, "We'll be down in a minute."
"All right," James sighed, mussed his hair, and sat down on a pile of crates. He reached for the chain light, and clicked the light off. His reflection in the mirror was replaced by the trees outside. It was a windy night, and he was sure all of the children had gone home by now.
October 31st , 1981. Harry's second Halloween.
He heard them above his head once more, Harry laughing and Lily humming a tune to herself. The hallway light radiated down the staircase, and he sat on the crates, not wanting to move.
The rat had unnerved him. He had sworn that something had happened.
"Nothing has happened yet, and it won't," he said, clenching his wand between his fingers, "It never will."
He had two friends that would die before letting him get caught. He could trust them. Especially Sirius. Sirius knew what he was doing.
"James?" Lily shouted from above his head.
"Yeah?"
"Did you turn the back porchlight on?"
"No, why."
"Oh, well, it must have come on by itself," she shouted back, "You should look at the backyard. It's beautiful."
"What?"
"The porchlight. It's making everything green."
James turned his head, and looked to the backyard. Outside the front door, everything was indeed green.
But not the green of the porchlight. Another shade that he had seen somewhere else before.
And then it was gone.
What was going on?
"Lily, maybe you should come down here," he shouted up the stairs, "I think we should all stay together tonight."
"Are you all right, James?" she asked, appearing at the top of the narrow staircase, Harry in her arms.
"I'm fine," he said, jumping down from the crates, "Just . . . let's go back in the front room. In the light."
Lily nodded, raising her brow, "Is something wrong?"
"No," he said, mussing his hair again, "Nothing at all. I'm just . . . it's Halloween. Let's just go back in the front room."
Lily turned, and James took one more look out the window. Everything seemed fine. Everything was as normal as before.
Trees' shadows hung together, their branches swinging violently in the wind that blew across the beginnings of the woods. An animal moved through the darkness, moving forward, constant . . .
As if it were floating.
James's heart stopped, and he felt his body become frozen. He stared at the animal as it drew nearer.
It was at least seven feet tall. And it was cloaked. Cloaked in a black robe.
It was no animal.
"It's him," he whispered. No, no, no. He was safe. They were all safe.
It couldn't be him. It was just his stupid imagination again. Just like the cat, and the rat, and the green. It wasn't real.
It wasn't real.
"It's not real," he shouted, and Lily turned to look at James. She had never seen him so pale white before. He couldn't move. He was stuck in his spot. He couldn't move. He couldn't talk.
He was coming.
Closer and closer.
He was coming to the back fence.
He was opening the gate.
He was floating through their backyard.
He was coming to kill them.
He was coming to kill Harry.
"NO!" James said, lunging for the door. He bolted it, and then grabbed Lily's arm.
"RUN!" he ordered her, pushing her up the stairs, "GO! SAVE HARRY!"
"James, what's going on!" she demanded, and James pushed her.
"THEY'RE HERE! GO TO THE FIREPLACE! GO, LILY! GO!"
"IT'S WHO!?"
"GO, LILY!"
"JAMES!"
"GO!" he pushed her once more, and she fell on the middle stair.
"GET UP!" he said, helping her to her feet, "I'LL HOLD HIM OFF! GO!"
"I'M NOT LEAVING YOU!" she screamed, but James raised his wand to point at her.
"Go, Lily," he said, his eyes blazing, "Or I'll make you go."
Lily stared at her husband for one moment, and then rushed up the stairs and to the corridor. She disappeared from James's sight.
James turned to face the door. It was time to fight him off. He had done it before, he could do it again. Lily and Harry were safe. They would be safe. He just had to give them time to get out and get help. He could take Voldemort on. He could take him on.
How did he know where they were? How did he know? Were all of his friends dead? How could they have . . .
And then it hit him.
The boy with the cloak.
The boy from Gryffindor with the cloak.
He remembered a summer's night now, in which he had woken to him getting up in a tizzy, wanting to use his cloak. He said he had forgotten his Transfiguration book in the Great Hall, and he had wanted to get it. James had given him the cloak.
And the Christmas party. He had come into the house, looking guilty. Looking like something was wrong.
And the Lestrange wedding. He had run. He hadn't fought.
The mansion. He had hidden behind his friends.
The night Harry was attacked. He had left for home with a stomach ache.
And the Headquarters . . .
The Headquarters . . .
"Wormtail . . ." James muttered to himself in disbelief.
The door opened with a bang, and there stood the demon from Hell itself. Seven feet, donned in black and night, and a pair of eyes smiling maliciously at their victim.
"Potter," the voice came, and James raised his wand.
"THEY'RE NOT HERE!" he shouted.
"We meet again," the demon said, stepping into the back room, "For the last time, sadly."
"I SAID THEY'RE NOT HERE!" he screamed, "WE WERE HIDDEN IN DIFFERENT PLACES! IT'S JUST ME!"
"I remember before Igor killed your father," the shadow said, raising his wand, "He got on bended knee, and pleaded me to spare you."
"HE'S NOT HERE!" James screamed again, and raised his wand, "I'LL KILL YOU!"
"He's upstairs," Voldemort hissed, "With his Mudblood mother."
"You'll have to kill me first!" James said, blocking the stairs with his body.
"That was the idea," he hissed, and then raised his wand, "Too many times have you slipped from my hands. Too many times have I let you live. Now there is no one to help you, Potter. Now there is no old fossil to save you. There are no more friends. You are alone."
James raised his wand, "YOU'LL NEVER WIN! HE'S MY SON! HE'LL KILL YOU!"
"Not if I kill him first," Voldemort pointed the wand at his victim's throat, and he pressed his back to the stairs.
A strike of courage ran through James's heart at that moment. Before him, he saw everything he had lost. Everything he had to lose. He saw Sirius. Wendy. Sprite. Mum. Dad.
Most of all, he saw Harry.
"Harry," James whispered, and then he took the last ounce of strength he had left, shoved his wand into Voldemort's chest, and screamed out every curse he knew.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Voldemort shouted, and a green light shot from the tip of his own wand, and flew to James's chest. James felt the charge run through his entire body. Green sparks shot from all sides, and he took in a deep breath.
"HARRY!" he heard himself scream, and then he began to fall backwards. His body was weakening. He began to feel dizzy.
The green was choking him. Ripping at his chest.
He saw Sirius in the compartment, sitting with his Daily Prophet.
He saw Remus at the end of the tunnel, pleading for help.
He saw Peter, stroking his rat.
Faster he fell, the green enveloping him.
He saw Sirius, tranforming into a large dog.
He saw Remus, sitting by the fire with his Herbology books.
The laughter of the man. The screaming of a woman.
He saw Sirius, sitting on the Quidditch bleachers, shouting up to him from below.
He saw Remus, holding a letter in his hands. "I'm sorry."
His hand letting go of the wand.
He saw Sirius, helping him out of his white house.
His legs going numb.
He saw a church. A large church filled with everyone he loved.
His arms go numb.
And then a white dress appear.
And then he saw Lily.
He smiled as his head continued falling through green.
He saw Lily.
Lily.
He had to hold onto Lily.
Lily.
Lily.
He saw the hard stair hit the back of his skull as he finally landed on the wood. But he didn't feel it.
He was floating. Floating now through white.
White all around him. He was blinded by the brightness of his surroundings.
Lily.
Lily.
And then, through the white, he saw her eyes.
Her green eyes, smiling back at him.
"JAMES!" Lily screamed, tears rushing down her face, "JAAAAMMMEESSS!"
Someone was rushing up the stairs towards her. She had seen the flash of light from halfway down the corridor. Harry was screaming. She couldn't think. Which door was the nursery?
"JAMES!"
He was dead.
He was dead. She had heard the curse. She knew what had happened.
"Give me the boy, and you will not be hurt," a man's voice came from the staircase.
He was coming closer! She had to run! She had to get to the fireplace! She had to save herself now.
James was dead.
James was dead.
He couldn't be dead.
"Give me the boy, you stupid girl."
Lily found the nursery door, and kicked it open. Holding Harry in her arms, she leaped into the room. She turned around, and screamed.
There he was. Right there in the doorway.
"NOOOO!" Lily screamed, and slammed the door.
"Lockatus!" she pointed her wand to the knob, and it bolted itself. A charm she had learned many years ago. It would ward him off, but not for long. They had to get to the fireplace. They had to . . .
"Alohomora."
The door shook, but it didn't open.
She screamed, and then looked to the bed. She wouldn't be able to get across the nursery in time.
James was dead.
She couldn't think.
James was dead.
James was dead.
She ran for her son's bed. She had to protect him. She couldn't save him. But she had to try. She had to try.
"I'm coming, James," she whispered through her tears as she made a bolt for the crib. Harry was screaming.
"Shh, Harry," she said, sobbing. She was almost there, "Mommy's here . . ."
BAAAMMMM!!!
Green exploded into the room, and the door flew off of its hinges. Lily screamed, and was pushed forward by the force, dropping Harry in the crib and hitting her head on the crib gate. She fell to the ground, but caught herself and lifted herself to her shaky legs to face whatever would come. She would die before she let him touch her son.
"PLEASE!" she pleaded with the hooded creature who now stood in the entrance of the doorway, "PLEASE DON'T KILL MY BABY! PLEASE!"
"Move," he hissed, "Move, and give me the boy."
"PLEASE!" she cried, folding her hands together, "PLEASE! HE'S JUST A LITTLE BOY! PLEASE! PLEASE! JUST PLEASE DON'T KILL HIM!"
"This is your last chance."
"PLEASE!"
And Voldemort raised his wand again, pointing it this time, at the girl's heart.
"Avada Kedavra."
And the green light came again, hitting her in her chest.
Her hair flew out of her face, and the green light engulfed her. Her eyes became large, almost popping out of her head. Something tore at her chest, choking her from inside.
And her beautiful, graceful body fell. It fell through the crib's gate, and landed lifeless next to the little boy with the green eyes. Her outstretched hand, now pale and cold, seemed to reach for the baby, as if making one last attempt.
The child looked at his dead mother, and then at the shadow that had killed her. His mother's face was so white. Her eyes were wide open, the emerald now dead. Yet her body still glowed.
It glowed green.
Like her eyes.
Like his eyes.
And the shadow passed to tower over him. The shadow raised his wand, laughing. Harry looked to the man above him. His mother's eyes were now his. They looked out to the man.
Emerald.
Green.
(Disclaimer: The following scenes are composed from Warner Bros.'s Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone (film), and the words of J.K. Rowling as found in her Harry Potter series. All of the action, scenery, etc. was taken from one of these sources or a source pertaining to one of these sources. Nothing belongs to "Mordred" or anyone other than J.K. Rowling or her associates and are protected by their copyrights. "Mordred" wishes not to make a profit from this story or anything else, and is only a fanfiction writer.)
(Note about inconsistencies with the dialogue: Due to reasons, the dialogue is not the same as it was in the books. If anything is recognizable, it does not belong to me, but to Rowling herself and her associates and it is protected by copyrights.)
The day was cold. The trees in the backyard blew with the growing wind, and the leaves scattered the floor of the earth, making the branches bare. The morning had risen on another early hour, and James sat in the back room, looking out to the forest that covered the backyards of the street. He stared into the thick branches, trying to look past their protective shields and see the outside.
Sirius.
What was he doing?
Peter was to return that next day. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would give Peter a letter, telling Sirius that he thought of him and that he was all right.
What would his letter say.
Dear Sirius. Lily has a job. Harry is happy. And I want to come home.
He did. He yearned for his old bed, and to see a familiar face that wasn't Lily's or Harry's. He loved his family, but his mind wanted to even see Remus. Someone other than the things he had associated with this house.
Yet, he was happy. Finally, in the longest time, he was happy.
Harry would live.
There was a chance.
"James?"
James turned to see Lily in her nightrobe, leaning up against the doorway of the back room. This room had served the purpose of a storage place. It also was connected to the stairs that led to the second floor. There were two staircases leading up to the bedrooms: the one in the front of the house, and the one leading out the back door. This was taken as an extra precaution. It was easier to escape into the woods out the back than to fight your way out the front.
But no sign of an attack had come. Remus was the spy. Peter was protected by Sirius. Everything was fine. They had cheated death once again.
The one worry that he now had was his friends. What if they all died, defending his family? What if he returned, and Sirius and Peter were dead? How could he live with himself, knowing that he had done nothing but sit here and play patty cake with his infant son?
"James, are you okay?" she asked, and James nodded.
"I was just thinking," he said, "I've been doing a lot of that lately."
"Yeah, I think we all have," she said, and then the routine cries from upstairs began.
"Well, another day in paradise, hey?" she said, starting up the stairs. James nodded. She hadn't asked him why he had come to the back room.
He had remembered a contract that he and the boys had written when they were back at school. He had wanted to find it. But he couldn't remember who took it home with them. He was sure that it had been him, but maybe Sirius had snatched it up.
Oh, if only Sirius hadn't lost the map.
No, there was nothing in the storage room except for some donated toys from Alice to Harry, old Muggle kitchen things, and some more assorted Muggle junk for Lily from her parent's estate. Nothing for James.
He sat down on the fold down chair, and it squeaked on the wooden floor. It was a small room, smaller than any other room in the house. Harry's nursery alone covered two windows, and included a fireplace. James had set Floo Powder next to the hearth, just in case they needed a third escape route. It was located right above him, and he could hear Lily walking across the floor to retrieve Harry out of his crib. He still wouldn't sleep in a bed.
"He's still young," James said, mussing his hair, "He doesn't even know anything's wrong. The whole damn world is bending over backwards to get to him, and he's oblivious."
It seemed the only person who didn't know about Harry was Harry. But he knew this wasn't true. The world didn't know of the prophecy. Hardly anyone did. Yes, there had been the rumors, but they had faded away. Now they were truly alone.
'Meow'
James looked up and out of the small window. Outside, in the backyard, was a black cat. It was staring at him, eyes intently locked into his. And for one moment, he had fear rise up in his heart.
But when he looked again, the cat was gone, and only the leaves and wind remained.
Sirius Black had never been like this. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't even stand to lay there and do nothing. He felt as if he could do nothing. He didn't know where they were. They could be dead for all he knew.
Peter maybe didn't even know.
He stuffed his hand into his pocket for the thousandth time that afternoon, and retrieved the slip of parchment. Nothing. Still jumbled letters.
Good.
He checked it again, just in case, and then put it back in his pocket. He couldn't stand this anymore! He had to do something . . .
Take a walk. That sounded good.
Take a walk. He could take a walk.
He stood up, threw on his coat, and headed out. He had an idea of where he was going. Past the church, past the Leaky Cauldron, and straight to that familiar street that he had grown to love. Maybe if he was lucky, James would be hidden there, inside the whitewashed walls.
He doubted it, though it was worth hoping for.
Grabbing his wand, he headed out the door and to the lift. His hair was long now, and his overcoat was heavy and worn. He walked onto the main landing, and out the front doors.
Down the street he went, thinking to himself. Why didn't James send him a message? They were going to keep in touch. Why didn't James say anything to Peter? Why did Peter tell him that? Why would James want to stay a Muggle even after the war? It didn't even sound like him.
But he remembered James, little James, thinking it would be a peaceful life. Is that why James wanted to stay? He didn't know where the hell he was . . .
And Lily. How was Lily? And Harry. Was Harry warm at night? Did they have a nice house? Were they well off? Were they safe? How good were those curses? What if Remus found Sirius himself? He had no Secret Keeper to keep him safe. They would still be coming after him.
It had been a week, and still no questions had been answered. He didn't know if they were safe or not. He didn't have any word from James. What if he never saw James again?
He crossed the street.
He had walked this road many times with James before. This is where they had had many conversations that ranged from the weather to morals to politics. Even though politics bored him to death, and so they usually didn't bother with that topic.
Maybe he would write James a letter tonight, and give it to Peter to deliver it to him tomorrow when Peter went again. Why could Peter go? It was such a mistake to let Peter know where they were. If he had been Secret Keeper, he could be there right now, with them, laughing with Harry and sharing a butterbeer with James.
But he knew that was wrong. He knew that he couldn't be the Secret Keeper. What was done was done, and it had worked so far. Peter was safe. He had done the right thing. And Peter was firm in his stance against Voldemort. He could see it in Peter's eyes. He would never tell anyone where their hiding place was.
He felt a hatred against Remus well up in his heart, and he walked faster, digging his cold hands into his overcoat. How could Remus do this to them? He had trusted that man for most of his life, had only given him everything he could, and this is how he repaid them. He had risked his neck and well being for him, and then he just turned against them.
I should have let him die, Sirius thought to himself darkly, I should have let the wolf kill him off when he was younger and stupider. I should have let Snape go to the end of that tunnel, and then Remus would have been either killed or sent to Azkaban. And he wouldn't have tried to kill us.
All of a sudden, Sirius felt guilty for thinking such a thing. And yet the thought couldn't go away. How could he have stopped Remus?
Another street he crossed, and his pace became quicker than before.
How had they ended up like this? He was alone in the world, no one to turn to. Everything had been ripped away from him. James wasn't here anymore. What was he going to do? How long was James going to be away?
He'll be back, Sirius thought, And it's because of him not being here now that he'll be here later. Be patient.
But Remus. After this war, Sirius would kill him himself. Sirius would go after him with all of the curses he could think of, and make him suffer. He would make that monster suffer until he hung onto one more inch of life. And then he would let the wolf finish him off.
Try to kill them. Try to kill Sirius's family. Oh, he would teach him to mess with them.
It still pained him inside that he had risked everything to help that monster. He had risked his life, his school enrollment, his permanent record . . . his sanity.
Everything.
And still Lupin didn't see that.
All of the sympathy that he had had for that creature died with the crossing of the next street, and soon Sirius felt himself running.
They had made pact after pact, engraving their friendship into stone. They were to be friends for life, brothers bonded together by time. But now . . . now that was dead.
Only four of the five remained.
Remus had pushed them away. Remus had done the unthinkable. And still, Remus was not the one suffering. Remus could still attend the Order meetings. Remus was still in favor of the Headmaster. And Remus didn't have to wait for James to return.
Remus wanted James dead.
He stopped, and came to the street he had been looking for.
The white house still stood, proud and tall. It still existed.
A calmness came over Sirius, and all doubt floated away.
"Everything's going to be all right," he said to himself quietly, looking at the Potter's old house, "Everything's going to be all right."
He turned too fast to see the cat, making its way under the bushes in the front yard.
The evening was alive with sounds of autumn. It was the night of Halloween. Children would be out and about soon, festivities rising and hitting its peak at midnight. for Remus as he sat on his porch, looking out to the woods. The wolf sat next to him, breathing down his neck.
"And so it begins," the wolf said, looking off to the sunset. Remus shifted in his chair.
"What begins," he said.
"You know what," he said, "It."
Remus ignored the wolf, and the wolf sneered.
"It draws nearer."
"So I've heard," Remus said, and stood up. The wolf walked alongside him as he stepped off of the porch, and stared at the axe in its dead stump. The wolf shook his fur free of leaves, and looked to the man.
"And you do not fear it," he said, "Yet I sense your fear."
"Oh, I fear it," Remus said, looking at the axe, "But I'm tired of always being afraid. I've always been scared. And I'm not anymore."
"You think you've changed," the wolf laughed, "Well, I know you better than you know yourself, boy. And I know that you have never changed. That little boy in the Great Hall? He still lives. He lives inside of you."
Remus looked to his front room window, and saw his reflection. A little blond boy, hair falling into his face, and knobbly knees no taller than the stump itself. He knew that boy well.
"No," Remus said, looking away, and catching a glimpse of his now browned hair, "People change."
"But they always are constant," the wolf replied, "I've known you, boy, since the tender age of five. I've read every one of your memories. Your friends are my friends. Your life is mine. How can you believe that I do not know your weaknesses as well?"
"Someday, wolf," Remus said, looking at the axe, "I will kill you. One way or another, I will see you dead."
"Not if I do the honors to you first," the wolf chortled, and Remus walked away from him, heading into the woods.
"It draws nearer," the wolf laughed again, and then followed him into the growing darkness of the forest, "It's nearer than ever."
As they disappeared behind the trees, the axe still stood, untouched, in its stump grave.
Night had settled once again on the silent island. James and Lily had engaged in the tradition of Trick-or-Treating, handing out candy to all of the Muggle children. It had been a wonderful time, and Harry had had fun meeting all of the little ghouls and goblins that had handed their bags over to be filled with treats. Every little girl had commented on how beautiful he was, and all the little boys wanted to take him out to play with them. Lily had laughed as a small ghost asked her to put Harry in her treat bag.
"No," she grinned, "This one is for me."
James sat in the front room now, watching the telly, and playing with the buttons on the remote. He laughed at some joke that a Muggle made on the screen, and Lily cleaned up in the kitchen. They had just finished dinner, and now there were chores to do before putting Harry to bed.
"Ma!" Harry cried from the front room where he sat with his father, "Pay! Pay! Ma!"
Harry wanted to play. And Harry would get what he wanted.
"Just a second, Harry!" Lily shouted from the sink, "Mommy's almost done."
"Oh, come on, Lily," James laughed as Harry giggled, "You can do that later. We've got all day tomorrow."
"What's tomorrow?"
"Saturday, I think," James said, "I don't know."
Lily sighed, wiped her hands dry, and walked to the front room. There, in front of her, was the sight of her husband, now rolling on the floor with Harry, both of them laughing. Harry's laughter was so beautiful.
"Boys, come on," she said, grabbing Harry, "It's getting late. You should be getting ready for bedtime. Where are Harry's clean clothes?"
"Probably in the back room, with all the rest of his things," James said, sitting up and adjusting his glasses, "But it's still early."
"He's not going to bed, James," Lily took Harry, and walked into the back room, "I'm just getting him ready. Now which ones do you want to wear? The rabbits or the dogs?"
She reached for the chain switch to the light, and pulled it on. Light illuminated the back room and Lily could see her reflection on the window. She was looking older and older every day, and she was only twenty one.
The rabbit pajamas were settled on a box, and easily accessible. Lily grabbed the clothes, and handed it to Harry, "You like these?"
Harry smiled.
James settled back into his chair, and turned the telly off. He shut his eyes, and gave out a sigh. Tomorrow morning, Peter would be coming again. He should write that letter tonight.
A shrill scream came from the back room, and James's eyes shot open.
Something had happened.
"Lily!" he jumped up on first instinct, and rushed to where his wife and son lay. The room seemed so long.
He had to get there.
Someone had attacked them.
Something had happened.
"Lily! Harry!" he shouted, running into the back room. He held his chest as he looked at the sight before him.
Lily was holding Harry, sitting ontop of a large box. On the floor was a mouse the size of a fist. Lily was screaming, pointing at the mouse.
"Get it out! Get it, James! Get it out! Kill it!"
"Don't you do that to me, Lily Potter!" James said, slamming his shoe down on the unsuspecting creature. It lay still, stunned by the impact of the shoe.
"Do what?" she asked, still shaking from the mouse attack, "Get it out of here!"
"I can't kill a mouse!" he said.
"It's not a mouse! It's too big to be a mouse! It's a rat!" Lily protested.
"Well, then I really can't kill it, can I?" James said, "I've seen Peter turn into one of those things too many times."
"Kill it, James."
But the rat was gone. Harry whined, and Lily jumped off of the box.
"It wasn't Peter, James," Lily said, "You could have killed it."
And Lily was right. Peter was miles away. Yet James was spooked by it. The rat had been black, unlike Peter's brown fur. But it served as some sort of importance, he knew that much.
What did it mean?
"I'm getting Harry dressed now," Lily said, making her way up the stairs, "We'll be down in a minute."
"All right," James sighed, mussed his hair, and sat down on a pile of crates. He reached for the chain light, and clicked the light off. His reflection in the mirror was replaced by the trees outside. It was a windy night, and he was sure all of the children had gone home by now.
October 31st , 1981. Harry's second Halloween.
He heard them above his head once more, Harry laughing and Lily humming a tune to herself. The hallway light radiated down the staircase, and he sat on the crates, not wanting to move.
The rat had unnerved him. He had sworn that something had happened.
"Nothing has happened yet, and it won't," he said, clenching his wand between his fingers, "It never will."
He had two friends that would die before letting him get caught. He could trust them. Especially Sirius. Sirius knew what he was doing.
"James?" Lily shouted from above his head.
"Yeah?"
"Did you turn the back porchlight on?"
"No, why."
"Oh, well, it must have come on by itself," she shouted back, "You should look at the backyard. It's beautiful."
"What?"
"The porchlight. It's making everything green."
James turned his head, and looked to the backyard. Outside the front door, everything was indeed green.
But not the green of the porchlight. Another shade that he had seen somewhere else before.
And then it was gone.
What was going on?
"Lily, maybe you should come down here," he shouted up the stairs, "I think we should all stay together tonight."
"Are you all right, James?" she asked, appearing at the top of the narrow staircase, Harry in her arms.
"I'm fine," he said, jumping down from the crates, "Just . . . let's go back in the front room. In the light."
Lily nodded, raising her brow, "Is something wrong?"
"No," he said, mussing his hair again, "Nothing at all. I'm just . . . it's Halloween. Let's just go back in the front room."
Lily turned, and James took one more look out the window. Everything seemed fine. Everything was as normal as before.
Trees' shadows hung together, their branches swinging violently in the wind that blew across the beginnings of the woods. An animal moved through the darkness, moving forward, constant . . .
As if it were floating.
James's heart stopped, and he felt his body become frozen. He stared at the animal as it drew nearer.
It was at least seven feet tall. And it was cloaked. Cloaked in a black robe.
It was no animal.
"It's him," he whispered. No, no, no. He was safe. They were all safe.
It couldn't be him. It was just his stupid imagination again. Just like the cat, and the rat, and the green. It wasn't real.
It wasn't real.
"It's not real," he shouted, and Lily turned to look at James. She had never seen him so pale white before. He couldn't move. He was stuck in his spot. He couldn't move. He couldn't talk.
He was coming.
Closer and closer.
He was coming to the back fence.
He was opening the gate.
He was floating through their backyard.
He was coming to kill them.
He was coming to kill Harry.
"NO!" James said, lunging for the door. He bolted it, and then grabbed Lily's arm.
"RUN!" he ordered her, pushing her up the stairs, "GO! SAVE HARRY!"
"James, what's going on!" she demanded, and James pushed her.
"THEY'RE HERE! GO TO THE FIREPLACE! GO, LILY! GO!"
"IT'S WHO!?"
"GO, LILY!"
"JAMES!"
"GO!" he pushed her once more, and she fell on the middle stair.
"GET UP!" he said, helping her to her feet, "I'LL HOLD HIM OFF! GO!"
"I'M NOT LEAVING YOU!" she screamed, but James raised his wand to point at her.
"Go, Lily," he said, his eyes blazing, "Or I'll make you go."
Lily stared at her husband for one moment, and then rushed up the stairs and to the corridor. She disappeared from James's sight.
James turned to face the door. It was time to fight him off. He had done it before, he could do it again. Lily and Harry were safe. They would be safe. He just had to give them time to get out and get help. He could take Voldemort on. He could take him on.
How did he know where they were? How did he know? Were all of his friends dead? How could they have . . .
And then it hit him.
The boy with the cloak.
The boy from Gryffindor with the cloak.
He remembered a summer's night now, in which he had woken to him getting up in a tizzy, wanting to use his cloak. He said he had forgotten his Transfiguration book in the Great Hall, and he had wanted to get it. James had given him the cloak.
And the Christmas party. He had come into the house, looking guilty. Looking like something was wrong.
And the Lestrange wedding. He had run. He hadn't fought.
The mansion. He had hidden behind his friends.
The night Harry was attacked. He had left for home with a stomach ache.
And the Headquarters . . .
The Headquarters . . .
"Wormtail . . ." James muttered to himself in disbelief.
The door opened with a bang, and there stood the demon from Hell itself. Seven feet, donned in black and night, and a pair of eyes smiling maliciously at their victim.
"Potter," the voice came, and James raised his wand.
"THEY'RE NOT HERE!" he shouted.
"We meet again," the demon said, stepping into the back room, "For the last time, sadly."
"I SAID THEY'RE NOT HERE!" he screamed, "WE WERE HIDDEN IN DIFFERENT PLACES! IT'S JUST ME!"
"I remember before Igor killed your father," the shadow said, raising his wand, "He got on bended knee, and pleaded me to spare you."
"HE'S NOT HERE!" James screamed again, and raised his wand, "I'LL KILL YOU!"
"He's upstairs," Voldemort hissed, "With his Mudblood mother."
"You'll have to kill me first!" James said, blocking the stairs with his body.
"That was the idea," he hissed, and then raised his wand, "Too many times have you slipped from my hands. Too many times have I let you live. Now there is no one to help you, Potter. Now there is no old fossil to save you. There are no more friends. You are alone."
James raised his wand, "YOU'LL NEVER WIN! HE'S MY SON! HE'LL KILL YOU!"
"Not if I kill him first," Voldemort pointed the wand at his victim's throat, and he pressed his back to the stairs.
A strike of courage ran through James's heart at that moment. Before him, he saw everything he had lost. Everything he had to lose. He saw Sirius. Wendy. Sprite. Mum. Dad.
Most of all, he saw Harry.
"Harry," James whispered, and then he took the last ounce of strength he had left, shoved his wand into Voldemort's chest, and screamed out every curse he knew.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Voldemort shouted, and a green light shot from the tip of his own wand, and flew to James's chest. James felt the charge run through his entire body. Green sparks shot from all sides, and he took in a deep breath.
"HARRY!" he heard himself scream, and then he began to fall backwards. His body was weakening. He began to feel dizzy.
The green was choking him. Ripping at his chest.
He saw Sirius in the compartment, sitting with his Daily Prophet.
He saw Remus at the end of the tunnel, pleading for help.
He saw Peter, stroking his rat.
Faster he fell, the green enveloping him.
He saw Sirius, tranforming into a large dog.
He saw Remus, sitting by the fire with his Herbology books.
The laughter of the man. The screaming of a woman.
He saw Sirius, sitting on the Quidditch bleachers, shouting up to him from below.
He saw Remus, holding a letter in his hands. "I'm sorry."
His hand letting go of the wand.
He saw Sirius, helping him out of his white house.
His legs going numb.
He saw a church. A large church filled with everyone he loved.
His arms go numb.
And then a white dress appear.
And then he saw Lily.
He smiled as his head continued falling through green.
He saw Lily.
Lily.
He had to hold onto Lily.
Lily.
Lily.
He saw the hard stair hit the back of his skull as he finally landed on the wood. But he didn't feel it.
He was floating. Floating now through white.
White all around him. He was blinded by the brightness of his surroundings.
Lily.
Lily.
And then, through the white, he saw her eyes.
Her green eyes, smiling back at him.
"JAMES!" Lily screamed, tears rushing down her face, "JAAAAMMMEESSS!"
Someone was rushing up the stairs towards her. She had seen the flash of light from halfway down the corridor. Harry was screaming. She couldn't think. Which door was the nursery?
"JAMES!"
He was dead.
He was dead. She had heard the curse. She knew what had happened.
"Give me the boy, and you will not be hurt," a man's voice came from the staircase.
He was coming closer! She had to run! She had to get to the fireplace! She had to save herself now.
James was dead.
James was dead.
He couldn't be dead.
"Give me the boy, you stupid girl."
Lily found the nursery door, and kicked it open. Holding Harry in her arms, she leaped into the room. She turned around, and screamed.
There he was. Right there in the doorway.
"NOOOO!" Lily screamed, and slammed the door.
"Lockatus!" she pointed her wand to the knob, and it bolted itself. A charm she had learned many years ago. It would ward him off, but not for long. They had to get to the fireplace. They had to . . .
"Alohomora."
The door shook, but it didn't open.
She screamed, and then looked to the bed. She wouldn't be able to get across the nursery in time.
James was dead.
She couldn't think.
James was dead.
James was dead.
She ran for her son's bed. She had to protect him. She couldn't save him. But she had to try. She had to try.
"I'm coming, James," she whispered through her tears as she made a bolt for the crib. Harry was screaming.
"Shh, Harry," she said, sobbing. She was almost there, "Mommy's here . . ."
BAAAMMMM!!!
Green exploded into the room, and the door flew off of its hinges. Lily screamed, and was pushed forward by the force, dropping Harry in the crib and hitting her head on the crib gate. She fell to the ground, but caught herself and lifted herself to her shaky legs to face whatever would come. She would die before she let him touch her son.
"PLEASE!" she pleaded with the hooded creature who now stood in the entrance of the doorway, "PLEASE DON'T KILL MY BABY! PLEASE!"
"Move," he hissed, "Move, and give me the boy."
"PLEASE!" she cried, folding her hands together, "PLEASE! HE'S JUST A LITTLE BOY! PLEASE! PLEASE! JUST PLEASE DON'T KILL HIM!"
"This is your last chance."
"PLEASE!"
And Voldemort raised his wand again, pointing it this time, at the girl's heart.
"Avada Kedavra."
And the green light came again, hitting her in her chest.
Her hair flew out of her face, and the green light engulfed her. Her eyes became large, almost popping out of her head. Something tore at her chest, choking her from inside.
And her beautiful, graceful body fell. It fell through the crib's gate, and landed lifeless next to the little boy with the green eyes. Her outstretched hand, now pale and cold, seemed to reach for the baby, as if making one last attempt.
The child looked at his dead mother, and then at the shadow that had killed her. His mother's face was so white. Her eyes were wide open, the emerald now dead. Yet her body still glowed.
It glowed green.
Like her eyes.
Like his eyes.
And the shadow passed to tower over him. The shadow raised his wand, laughing. Harry looked to the man above him. His mother's eyes were now his. They looked out to the man.
Emerald.
Green.