Author's Note: Yay! I can't express how happy I was when I discovered that people had actually read my story! Yay! (Yes, yes, I am an ammature!) And thanks be to you NJ MacReiley the Helpless Romantic, who reviewed. I'm glad you liked it! Now, this chapter's a bit of a depressing one. I don't know why, I think I've been reading lots of fics where James is a bit sad and it influenced the severity of his depressive state in this chapter. But, I'll also have you know, that it's not strictly by influence. It's actually going to come in handy as the relationship between him and Lily develop (because, as you know, there will be something there eventually). Now, onto the

Disclaimer: No matter how badly I wish for it, I do not own the characters created by the one and only JK Rowling. That is, James Potter and Lily Evans. However, theMr and Mrs Potter represented here are in fact, a part of my imagination.

Chapter 2 - Tragic Hero

James Potter, his mother, and Lily Evans appeared somewhere on a hill in very close proximity to a mansion…wait, no, it was actually large enough to be considered a manor, or some sort of small castle. It was quite the site, actually. Large, elegant black gates blocked off entry to the curvy roadway which led to and separated into two at a fountain of (although from the hill no one could tell) two enormous human forelimbs reaching out to one another, fingertips resting lightly together, crystal clear water pouring from every which side. (Had it been a normal Muggle fountain, one could explain that the water was there to cover up the stems that connected the hands to the ground, but, as it was actually a very talented wizard artist who had carved this masterpiece, there was no connecting stem, and the hands were, in all actuality, hovering above a pool of water.) To Mrs Potter, it represented the love between her late husband and herself, as it had been a late wedding present from Edgar's older brother, Henrich. To Lily, it was a display of two people reaching out in dire need of help and acceptance (yes, her opinion of everything was somewhat affected by the current war between pure borns and well, Muggle borns like her). To James, it reminded him of the time Sirius had come over and had dared James to, aherm, relieve himself in the fountain. James never did manage to completely relieve himself, being scared out of his wits that his father would catch him, and ever since that night, he had never dipped his toes in the small pool.

The edifice in itself was quite the sight, towering high above, spanning out for quite a long while. It was made of stone, little family emblems etched into the sides of the house. It was all beautiful, especially with the greenest grass you'd ever seen making up the grounds. What attracted James' eyes the most, however, were the trees that surrounded his home.

Mrs Potter observed the look on her son's face then looked towards his red haired fellow student. "Come along now, kids, we don't want to be stand here staring at our home. James?" The tall boy nodded and, without instructions to do so, took out his wand, pointing it at the trunks and hexing them so that they would follow the three down the hill and into the house – err – small castle. "I hope you two don't mind, but I think I'll just apparate on ahead. Bad hips," she explained with a soft smile and a twinkle in her eyes that betrayed her to reveal her very real pain. With a crack! She was gone.

"Your mother is very interesting, Potter."

"Glad you hold her in such high esteem," he replied nonchalantly as he stuck his hands inside his pockets.

"Is she always like that?" she asked, her tone softer than it had been moments before. If James wasn't mistaken, he could have sworn that she was attempting to start up a conversation.

He smiled, "Yeah," he trailed off, engrossed in his own thoughts and impression of his mother. Short, feisty, happy…lonely. A complex woman, she was, but beyond her tireless trying to mask her pain away from her son (whom he knew she pitied) in order to protect him from the inevitable truth of it all, she was still a proud, loving, caring mother. Despite her quick temper.

Once they'd come past the gates (upon which James had muttered a password to the black lion joining the two doors together), he led her to the front door, opening it ahead of her. "Ladies first," he said. He had decided that this summer he would act in a civil way towards Lily. She was, after all, a guest at his house.

"Thanks," she hissed and walked through.

James watched Lily's face carefully, daring her to show any reaction to the grandeur of his home. He smiled as her eyes took in the intricacies of the patterns integrated in the marble floor, of the mahogany banister, the way the curtains matched every item in any given room without attacking the eyes with too much red, purple, green or blue. For a moment, James straightened his shoulders proudly, loving his father for having spent so much time going over every irrelevant detail of the house, assuring that each room had a theme, and that each floor would also have an overall theme, and that the themes of the rooms supported the themes of the floors, which reinforced the family motto: Familia Primoris. Then, the thought of his father made his shoulders slump, his eyes grow sombre, and his mind go blank.

"Potter!" he jumped at being abruptly interrupted from his sulking. "Your house is…unbelievable! I always knew you were, well, rich, but this…You must be like royalty or something!"

He shrugged. "It's nothing, really," his voice was glum. "My mum's in the kitchens. Perhaps you should join her – just follow the burgundy rug." He left in silence, trunks still following him in the air, and trudged up the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Lily asked. James figured she was a tad frightened of his mother. Heck, who wouldn't be. And it's not as though it was polite to leave a stranger struggle her way into the depths of his home, but he needed to be alone. He needed time to sulk, to pity himself, to reminisce about the past before he would be able to enjoy his summer vacation. Apologetically smiling at the red head, he turned and continued on his way.

James remained quiet for the next few days. He hated that, despite all he knew, he still couldn't understand it all. Not that he blamed himself, and, yes, he knew his father loved him but, there was just something haunting about the way he'd died.

James had come home from a late night flight over the family estate. He'd do this occasionally when the pressures of reality kept him from breathing smoothly. It was on his broom, over the trees basking in the moonlight that James would always ask himself what was troubling him and work all his thoughts out until he felt the weight of it lift off his shoulders. It was this year that he had figured out he was in denial about Lily Evans…

The main source of his worry, however, had come from his father. Ah, Edgar Potter was a loving, appraising father, having never missed a Quidditch match James had participated in, always buying the best presents, always saying the right things to get the desired reaction out of his only son. James, despite all this, still felt that there was something awkward about his relationship with his parents.

Not that he was ever ill-treated, au contraire! His parents almost worshipped the ground he walked on, spoiling their "little miracle" with all the attention in the world. They had been retired by the time he had been born and thus had been able to spend every waking moment with him. This, James hadn't minded one bit. Actually, nothing about his parents or the way his family was a rubbed him the wrong way up until he'd reached adolescence.

It was something about how their hair could no longer be considered as grey, but rather a shocking, blinding white. It was the way they could never keep up with James' energy (unless you got one of them angry, namely, his mother), which came in never-ending supply. There was something about when both had been diagnosed with some sort of wizarding disease that happens to really old magic folk – something about uncontrolled magic attacking the wielder… all James knew was that his mother and father were dying, and it would only be a matter of time…

That night, James had flewn back home using his extra energy to climb up the side of the Manor, up into his father's window. He had initially wanted to surprise his dad, play a little joke on him by scaring the wits out of him. Whispering a spell that enabled him to open the window, James had stepped through, walking in on his mother and father sharing a very personal and intimate conversation. James, being himself, decided this was the best time for him to spy on them. Luckily, he had been wearing his invisibility cloak that evening.

Curious as ever, James had come as close as possible to their bed without being noticed, sat in a corner facing the couple, and listened.

"He'll need you," his father's voice had been heavy with pain, enough to make his young son flinch. It had been a major slap in the face for him as both parents had always ensured to act strong around him. Their precious boy didn't deserve to witness the pain they were faced with on a daily basis.

"But he also needs you, Edgar, just as I do. We both need you."

"Gwendolyn, don't make this harder than it had to be, I – "

"Snuff it, Ed!" James had actually smirked at his mother's outburst as "snuff it" was actually something Lily (whom he had just admitted to himself he may or may-not have a secret cruch on) often directed to him. "How easy do you honestly think it is to be losing the one you've loved, known, and lived with for over one hundred and thirty years?"

Those words had sent arrows straight through James' chest, sending a deep jolt of pain into his heart. His parents had married straight out of Hogwarts, however, both had decided that, until they had accomplished all they'd wish for as far as careers went, they would not have children. Four years after Gwendolyn's retirement, the Potters had – miraculously – conceived a child. Not without, of course, the aid of countless magical fertility spells, potions and charms.

"As difficult as it will be for me. But at least you'll have James," he had smiled upon saying his name. A proud, strong smile. That smile was officially etched into James' memory for the rest of his life. He had felt somehow that much more connected to his father, that even when James wasn't in the room, he would continue to speak highly of him. "You are his mother, Gwendolyn – "

"And you, his father." She cut in abruptly.

With that same smile, Edgar Potter nodded. "Yes, yes I am," he had replied, his voice thick with such admiration that it could be considered as borderline obsession. "But he will have his mother when I've left."

It was then James had understood, although not consciously (for it took a few years to admit to himself) that his father had accelerated the arrival of his death. Not quite suicide, but close enough to it. Hidden beneath his cloak, James had been sure his stomach had flipped inside out. He was also convinced that his evening meal was slowly crawling up his oesophagus. But he couldn't leave. He had to hear the rest.

"Edgar," his mother had pleaded, eyes shiny with tears, "I don't know if I can be strong enough for him. Who will be his father figure? Who will teach him how to behave on dates? Who will - "

"We both know you're strong enough to handle all that. Besides, if I remember correctly, you were the one who taught me how to behave myself…on dates." A joke. His father had made a joke (conjuring a somewhat disturbing imagery in the mind of his fourteen year old) in the midst of a very serious, very important conversation. Well, at least now he knew where he had gotten that from.

Frail and sick, Mr Potter had chuckled to himself.

A comfortable silence passed now, Mr Potter stroking his wife's hair, mumbling secret nothings into her ear, kissing her forehead, her aged hands. They were comfortable with each other, after over a century of living together. It had really blown James' mind that they could lay there, in each other's arms, and not have a single thing to argue about. That was a defining moment in James' life, for it was the moment he had decided that he too, would marry early and spend the rest of his days like they were right now, completely at ease in each other's company, love filling in the void of silence.

"When can I meet you?" Mrs Potter had apparently given in. James' mouth had gone dry.

"Whenever you feel James is ready to bid you farewell," the old man now wrapped his arms protectively around his wife and she snuggled her head into his chest. His deep breaths made her head go up and down, and James had convinced himself that, as long as his mother's head moves, then his father is still here.

"We'll miss you terribly," she cried softly, letting a few tears fall out of the corner of her eyes, forming a small puddle at the center of Mr Potter's shirt.

He kissed her white hair gently. "As will I." With that, James could no longer see his mother's head lifting up and dropping steadily down anymore. Letting the lump in his throat get the best of him, he lifted his cloak off and walked to the empty side of the bed, where he had crawled in and laid his head on his father's shoulder, stroking his mother's back. She would no longer need to be strong, he had decided. He would be strong for both of them.

Four days later, James found himself sitting on the counter of his kitchen (and if his mother would have seen him, he wouldn't have lived through the evening), immersed in deep thought. "Care to share what's troubling you, Potter?" came that familiar voice who belonged to that person he had forgotten was living there. For the summer.

Startled, he turned her way, not really sure whether she expected a genuine answer.

"Come off it, Potter, you've been sulking ever since we got here. Now, tell me, what are you thinking of?" The concern in her voice gave it away. She really expected him to tell her what was on his mind.

"Care for a walk?" he asked in return. Lily Evans smiled sweetly, glad that it had not needed to break out into a full fledged argument. Taking this as a 'yes', James jumped quietly off the counter, placed his hand on her lower back and led her out of the back door, heading for his secret spot in the surrounding forest.

So that's it for chapter 2. It's a bit longer than chapter 1, which I apologize for. In my mind, when I was thinking about it, Ch. 1 was actually super long, but it turns out, nope!

I've already been working on Chapter 3 (sitting in my air conditioned room with a tuque and scarf as I am sick and not wanting to get sick again, I am wearing winter clothes!) and so, for those who are interested, it's a lovely little talk between the two main characters.