Hey ho to every little fan ficcer out there. This is a loooooooooong chappie (i couldn't restrain myself!) Nah, actually, it's not that long. I'm all talk. But longer than usual, so i hope you all revel in the long-ity. I know i sort of skirt around the question of Mr. Evans here, but i assure you answers will come. Lily just hasn't found the right person to spill her pretty lil' guts to yet. But she will. Anyone want to take a bet on who? I'm open for it!

DISCLAIMER: I am currently perched precariously upon the cusp of year 11. A mightily important year, i gather by the simple use of chronolgical logic. I have been told ad nauseum that this will be the hardest year of my school career, and if i stuff it up, well heck kid, you'll be homeless! But i have come to the conclusion that if JK were to hand over HPtm to me, all my school career would consist of would be repeats of Saved by the Bell as i'd have sooo much moo-lah. Alas, i know this will never happen and i must preservere through school...(sigh)

I hope you have the time of your life! (Dirty Dancing. Ew) Here we go...

Tobias Evans was a complicated man.

He was short and slim, with dark crowded features and penetrating eyes that haunted you. But, aside from his appearance, he carried an overpowering charisma that steeped every solitary action of his in an air of intrigue. He possessed an striking aura of formidability that spiralled a room when he walked in: a tangible presence that many found captivating.

But not his second daughter Lily.

She had a always regarded her father with a reverence bordering on fear, a feeling magnified perhaps by the fact Tobias hardly knew his daughter, or bothered to. He was a highly successful stockbroker, who would be called on for morning radio finance chats, newspaper columns, and important business dealings and trips with CEOS of other companies and such. His highly-demanding work left him with a volatile temper and whenever he shouted or was violent towards one of his girls, he blamed it solely on the stress of his job. "If I didn't have to work so hard to provide for you all, I could actually spend some time at home for a change!" he ranted regularly, or as regularly as his job would permit him to be home so they could hear it.

The Evans lived comfortably: Tobias provided well for his family and made sure they had everything a higher middle class suburban family could ever need. But the upshot of it all was that he was never around to enjoy their simple, care-free life with them. He came home on a basis of 1 week periods, then uprooted himself, leaving abruptly, sometimes with little more than a hastily-scribbled note stuck to the state of the art refrigerator addressed to Mrs. Evans, Iris, explaining where he had gone and the ever-expanding time he would be away for.

Whenever he was home there was less laughter as everyone tip-toed around his temperamental moody behaviour. He exploded manically at Lily once for laughing too loud. She found, from that day onwards, her laughs were seldom heard and quickly stifled . Petunia, Lily and Iris were happy without Tobias, but glad when he was home as it was such a rarity. That was until the 8th of August, 1985 when disaster throttled the contented Evans…

"Wait! Ok, hold on!" Granger smiled in a forced manner, rather like someone who has queued up for half an hour in a shopping line then, when they approach the counter, is told the register is closed. "You're James Potter? I can't believe this! We've been pouring our hearts out to you for the last hour and you were just sitting there silently mocking us?"

"Well, the outpourings of your hearts were actually very funny and mockable." shrugged James. He felt honesty would be a good precaution to take here. Granger had bristled and flared up when he confessed to them, then she began pacing menacingly before James as though to thwart any escape. Not to mention her hands had curled themselves into claws and seemed to be longing to sink her nails deep into his throat. Not pleasant.

He couldn't understand why she was making such a bit deal about the little prank. She was the one who thought he was bloody Harry and he very kindly played along with it as to not disappoint her, but now he was being penalised for it! This is all because you're such a generous, charitable person, James, he thought morosely to himself. Do not ever offer to help any one ever again! You see the consequences…

"Nah, Hermione. It's not his fault. You were the one who thought he was Harry. Best save your telling-off for the real one." said Don, who was hanging upside-down from an ugly antique lounge that looked as though it had been swiped and transplanted to the dusty, unused cluttered room known to them as the Plotting Room. Not that they Plotted much in there. It was usually just a place they could go to escape the vigilance of Mrs Weasley, or, in Harry's case, when he found being alone so much easier than company. It was full of broken junk and torn, unloved furniture they all thought none of the Order would notice had disappeared. It was currently softly lit with a few stolen candles that spread a sleepy orange glow about the dark room and splayed shadow upon their faces.

"Ok, ok…You guy's know about me already?" said James, ensconcing himself deeply in a squashy, decrepit armchair.

"Of course. Otherwise we would have chained you up and interrogated you." said Granger simply, relinquishing her pacing and sitting stiffly upon the mended window's sill.

"Oh," James was rather disappointed. He gloried in shock value.

"Yes, Harry told us all that! About how you arrived and your little stunt with Scrimgeour - ("Brilliant, mate!" grinned Don") - and Sirius and Harry's mother…," She raked her fingers through her bushy hair irritably, then cast a look at Don. "It was just about the only thing he has told us. You see, ever since Harry has begun to actually fight against Voldemort, people are recognising him for his efforts and sometimes…sometimes I think he gets swept away with it. His determination is sort of…cancelling out our friendship with him," she sighed, sliding back sulkily against the window pane.

"So! He's a jerk to you guys! I knew it!" James said triumphantly.

He had thought from the beginning of their fractured acquaintance there was something off with this teenage boy claiming to be his son, and now James thought he had his finger pointed squarely at it: he was not a loyal friend. Stupid and trivial as that may sound to you, James valued this trait as a deity because of simple, deep-set reasons. Though James was, to skim the surface, a faulted person, he was passionately loyal and had abundant contempt bridled up ready to shoot at those who were not.

As he had grown up with an unhappy, disjointed family , his friends were his family and onto these select few he bestowed a love as unconditional as that which should have gone to the family he only cared for by threads of the family name. He felt it necessary to love his parents, yet his friends had earned that love, and he rewarded them for it.

What James did not know was that Harry was exactly the same. His friends were his family also. And the only reason James felt an immediate inexplicable dislike towards him was because Harry was exactly like James and James, who always had to be the best at everything, felt threatened.

"He is not a jerk!" yelled an indignant voice from behind the door. Ginny ripped it open and stormed into the room, wearing a long white nightgown and a venomous frown. Her fierce red hair cascaded spectacularly down her back giving her a fiery presence to combat her height. Needless to mention, James shrunk into the squashy depth of the armchair upon which he was perched.

"Were you eavesdropping on us?" asked Don suspiciously.

Ignoring her brother, Ginny spoke in clipped, cold tones to James. "He's under a lot of pressure, what with that Zeichman and all dumping more expectations upon him. Do not judge him, James!" she clamped her hands to her hips and her expression clearly spoke for it self: Or else…

"I...I'd…not judging him!" James stammered. Then, not one to bow to anybody, he added flippantly: "I love the guy! I think all those great things he's doing for the Wizarding World is awesome! Hooray for Harry!"

Hermione gave him a stern look then rose to light some more candles to combat the steady solid darkness midnight carries with it, whilst Ginny continued to glare at James. He felt uncomfortable. He hated confrontational girls, as he knew he'd never be able to physically retaliate, which was a simple miraculous cure with males.

"You have no idea what we've all been through in these last few months," Ginny whispered, but the dark, candle-lit room was so still it carried and spiralled coldly. "What is going to happen tomorrow…you have no ide -"

But James (who we all know is never one to empathise), snorted.

"Merlin, are you ever not murderously angry? It's all I seem to hear from you! Ok, then. Tell me! Go on! What exactly have you been through?" he asked and sprang to his feet, anger flaring.

"I wouldn't waste my breath on someone as self-centred and careless as you," she spat back, and flicking her hair in a furious gesture of dismissal, slammed the door behind her. From above James thought he heard a muffled yell of: "Quit with the slamming doors!" He giggled. Hermione shot it down with a look. They all avoided each others gaze.

Ginny's leave had left an awful, heavy silence in her stead.

James cast his eyes to the floor, hands together, cheeks flushed. Finally he spoke, in a voice hinting ever so slightly as humility: "What has happen to you all? What is happening tomorrow?"

Hermione smiled. "Thought you'd never ask."

Oooo0000oooo

Lily kept her eyes clamped shut. An earthy smell met her nostrils just as her knees buckled beneath her and her hands found damp, freshly cut grass. She let her body fall and the wet lawn pressed against her face. She breathed it in, still scrunching up her eyes. She felt this night was spinning further away from her grasp of comprehension. Why were they here? What had just happened? The strange gossamer light…

She felt footfalls and someone's presence just beside her.

Harry.

Still, her eyes were fixed shut.

Lily was a warm, yet fragile person . A self-inflicted folly she had encountered too many times to count was that she let people in too far if they were kind and said the right things, then was severely humiliated when they inevitably took advantage and trod on her for their own selfish reasons. It had happened with her father, with Jeremy…then she cowered in the safe, deep confines of her shell, isolating herself until the next one came along…she was not sure about Harry as she had her own niggling doubts about James. Is that why she could not admit what she felt for him?

Presently, she sensed rather than felt Harry lay down besides her on the wet lawn of wherever they were. Midnight's winds wove around trees, cajoling their leaves to dance and rustle. The occasional car revved and sped along a nearby street. The earthy smell of wet grass and silence pressed upon Lilly. They were here, lying side by side in a quiet, placid place undisturbed but for the restless wind. Lily felt her brain soaking in the tranquilly and winding her thoughts down. She did not have to think. Still neither of them spoke. Unsaid things floated clumsily around them. Why were they here? Finally, Harry broke the drowsy, still silence.

"C'mon. Don't you want to see your mother?"

ooo000oooo

The enormity of it all pressed down upon James until he cupped his head in his hands, trying desperately to take it all in. Granger continued, not noticing ; her monotonous voice almost made James choke. He raised his head, his perplexed, incredulous frown deepening along with the story Granger was telling: of the brutal battles, searches for some elusive object James heard as "Hor-cruces", the many lives lost in their pursuit, and the volatile atrocities they had encountered due to the Death Eaters…he could not believe they were doing this! He unstuck his throat.

"All…all in the futile hope of what?" faltered James.

Granger fixed him with a beady eye. "All in the achievable hope of harmony, James." she said, wrapping her arms about her shoulders, as though to provide self-comfort. It seemed re-counting all that the Order had fought against in the last year, the year that Voldemort's tyrannical poison has spread steadily and noxiously about the Wizarding World, made the seriousness of what they were doing mount upon her.

Don apparently felt it too. He was sitting with an unnatural posture: a poker-straight back and hands clasped neatly in his lap, ashen-faced and tight-lipped.

James observed all of this thoughtfully, his mind humming away at a great speed…

And finally (it had been along time coming) the steady drip of compassion which had been trickling into the deep waters of the back of his mind suddenly turned into a full-tide cascade which engulfed him, then and there. In the Plotting Room of Grimmauld Place, James Potter felt the aching throb of empathy (I say: good for him, as every healthy person needs a good measure of empathy.)

He felt for their cause, he felt for their losses and he felt chiefly for them as people. But perhaps all this new-founded emotion built up into a heroic crescendo because, at that moment, James leapt spritely to his feet and took wide, eager footsteps to the door. He flung it open and stood there before it, presenting Don and Granger with the dark hall outside.

They were completely non-plussed. How did the Orders tale fashion such a change in James' attitude? But it was his face which intrigued them the most: a defiant expression hardening his eyes yet shining them at the same time. It was a face, as crystal-clear as either of them could recall , so uncannily alike the one Harry wore so often that for a moment they were unnerved (Hermione even ventured to think perhaps it had been Harry all along, having some bizarre belated April-due joke.)

"I've got to tell them who I am." James said hoarsely. "I can't stand just hiding and running away like I don't even exist! Guys, I do believe in what you were saying, and I know I should just stay out of the way but I feel… I dunno. For some reason I suddenly feel empowered! I…I want to FIGHT!"

He smiled defiantly at Granger and Don who in turn smiled wanly at each other, as thought they had heard this before.

"Well, at least we know where Harry got it from," said Don. "Or maybe you got it from him. Bravery rubbing off on you, eh?"

James further steeled his face. "That's stupid. One's son grows into one. I mean, your son grows into you. Not the other way around."

Granger slid her feet onto the ground, and made her way over to the door. Don (grinning slightly) followed suit. "Perhaps it is high time we told everyone about you all," she said. "They could assist you in some way I'm sure."

They both passed James into the shadowy hallway. But then something dreadful happened. When James had shut the door behind him, when all light was extinguished, he suddenly shivered with unexplainable fright. All of his born-again bravado evaporated in an instant with the violent shiver as his blood turned to ice (though he reckons he passed it off as a quiver of excitement to the other two.) He had had the most frightful feeling as he stared wide-eyed into the gloom surrounding them: like a score of unseen eyes were jeering from the shadowy corners.

"What's wrong?" asked Granger.

Of course James (who always has to the best everything) fobbed it off and put on an act. It is a method (albeit not a good one) some people adopt when they are deeply shaken. He beamed at the other two a beam to counter the darkness. Although, they could not see his sweaty hands still shaking with fear. "Righto!" he clapped them together briskly. "Let's go get the Order formally acquainted with James Christopher Potter!" Then he skipped ahead to the right and down to the stairs at the end of the hall with much more buoyancy than was necessarily in want. If only he had told the others what he had felt, but there he goes bouncing down the stairs regardless.

"Strange chap, isn't he?" Ron frowned down at Hermione. They could hear James whistling happily to himself from the bottom of the stairs. (From above came an irritated yell of: "Enough with the whistling!") Ron's freckled frown deepened. "He seems to think everything's a laugh."

Hermione did not respond. But she smiled. Her keen dark eyes had found two black figures who had just crept down the upstairs' staircase at the opposite end of the hall. The figures were bumbling and snarling at each other.

"Oh, watch it Moony! Just because you're taller than me now doesn't mean you get to lead the way!"

"Quiet! You don't know your way around!"

"Oho! I lived here for 16 years, ol' pal, and in that time I got pretty accomplished in the art of finding my way around without a chaperone!"

"Ssssh! James must be around here somewhere…,"

"No doubt being lead by a chaperone of his own. Wonder if he's as snappy and teacher-ish as you are?"

Hermione's small smile widened. "Thinking everything's a laugh isn't always a bad thing."

Oooooooo0000000ooooooooooo

Lily was fragile. She had always known it. Whenever something upset her in the slightest; if she'd cry watching a documentary on commercial cow meat, or if someone would talk sternly to her, her mother used to say to her : " Lily! You're a fragile little flower!"

But here she was. Sitting gingerly upon her mother's grave and Lily did not feel fragile.

She gasped and burned and seethed for what had happened to her mother. Her face was screwed up in a loathsome grimace but her eyes, her eyes burnt bright. Horrid angry tears spilt down her flushed cheeks. Harry stood awkwardly somewhere behind her, talking of her mother's murder and the few facts he knew of it. But Lily ignored him. Hot tears seared upon her face and her hands clawed at her hair.

"They had said goodbye to her only hours ago, that's what they said to the police. Nothing suspicious about it…."

Her mother's grave.

So picturesque: a small unpretentious marble cutting in a tiny well-kept cemetery off a main road in Surrey.

But her mother deserved more than this.

"There were no marks upon the body, which obviously baffled the Muggle police, but you and Dad knew what had happened…"

Iris Jennifer Evans 1947-1979 Beloved mother

"Revenge, you thought…It was someone trying to get back at you…,"

Her simplistic grave told nothing of the hardships her mother had battled and persevered through. Nothing of her admirable resilience to life's nasty lurking surprises, or of her unfailing hope that better days would come for her small family soon enough. Nothing of how bravely she had dealt with the cruel blows Lily's father inflicted upon them all, how she had kept the family together, and told hem all repeatedly that their father still loved them, that he was just confused at the moment…It told nothing of her elegance, nothing of her warmth.

Had Lily not been so wretchedly upset at the fact her beautiful, kind-hearted mother had been callously murdered, she would have (as she was an empathetic person) valued what James had been through upon finding out both his parents had met the same horrible end. She would have also noticed that the monstrous grief and anger clawing at her now was far, far greater than anything she felt when she had received that fateful letter detailing her fathers death on that winter's day at Hogwarts. Though Lily had been closer to her mother than James was to both his parents combined. The sheer shock of discovering the her lovely, gentle mother had been disposed of with such cruelty coaxed out a new side of Lily, one that had hitherto been lost in the depth of her introverted shell.

It was this side which had caused Lily to scream at her father when she had found out about it all.

It was this side of Lily which would give her the strength to sacrifice herself for her only son in the future.

And it was this side which stole over Lily in the Windsor Cemetery that calm night. It pushed her to her feet, and pushed words upon her tongue.

"Harry, take me to my sister."

Aha! yesssssssssss (The Producers style) Tee hee! See you all next time! xoxoxox