Less than fifteen minutes later, the small group of people finally made it to the miniscule train depot of Godric's Hollow. Fleamont and the Ministry official still waited: the former looked far more relaxed than the latter. James hid a smirk; instead, he tilted his head in the slightest of nods, hoping his father would take it to mean 'we've managed to sort out the shipment'. It had taken more work than he'd expected, transfiguring the train car, but not only had he shrunk it down and altered the appearance accordingly, but he'd done it in front of Lily, with nerves jumbling about in his stomach all the while.

"Ah, there they are," said Fleamont, cheerful and composed as ever.

The official looked rather like he'd taken a bite of bitterroot. His wand swished and twirled: A scroll was suddenly dangling in the air in front of him. "This is the same train car that left the Potter Coterie, located in Exmoor?"

"The very one!" Fleamont beamed.

The train car trundled forward, crossing some sort of invisible barrier. A bell sound rang out: More writing appeared on the scroll.

A spasm of malicious jubilation contorted the official's features. "If it is precisely the same train car that left your company, bringing in the exact amount of potions as allowed by the Ministry, why is there such a discrepancy in weight?"

Foreboding tripped up James's spine. His father's expression didn't alter, but nevertheless, James knew that Fleamont hadn't expected the car to be weighed upon departure and arrival.

"I beg your pardon?" Fleamont asked.

James attempted to cudgel his thoughts into finding an excuse, any excuse, as the official smugly repeated his question with such an air of superiority that it seemed to manifest in the air around them. There was another pause. It swelled longer and longer; James's heart kicked up into faster beat. He had to come up with something now otherwise they were about to be found out.

"That'll be the demiguises," said Harry, "right?"

"Got to be," said Ginny. "They're fairly heavy, aren't they?"

James just managed to hold himself from whirling on them.

"Were there demiguises on the train?" Fleamont asked; if James didn't know any better, he'd suppose his father was only mildly curious.

James planted his feet a little wider apart. "There was a reason why the train was so delayed," he said. It was just lucky that Harry had suggested a creature that would be invisible to further scrutiny: They were invisible, period. "We had to grapple with getting the car out of their clutches." There was no way that this official could deny the truth of this story. Something inside him clicked, the way it always did when he'd pulled off a particularly well-done prank. His shoulders relaxed. "It took a couple of minutes… suppose they jumped on right as it left?"

"How many were there?" The official's voice was heavily laden with suspicion.

"No way to know, is there?" James asked.

"There were at least three," said Harry.

"But I think maybe there were five," said Ginny. "I think the adults were protecting a couple of juveniles."

The official was now looking as though Father Christmas had, for the first time, announced that he would no longer be handing out gifts at Christmastime.

"One of them got me good," offered Gideon Prewett, offering his arm up for inspection. Due to Lily's intervention, it was now a small, healing slash that could indeed have come from the swipe of a demiguise.

The official gazed at each of them in turn. James affected an open, friendly look, letting his eyes open a little wider. Believe us, believe us, believe us, he chanted.

"I'll call in the Beast Department," he said in warning.

"Please do," said Fleamont, shrugging.

James knew it for an empty threat. The Beast Department at the Ministry was singularly unhelpful at the best of times: Chasing demiguises around Exmoor would not be one of those times. Fighting the urge to whistle, he watched the sour, unhappy look descend over the official once more. With a jerky motion of his wand, the scroll disappeared nearly as quickly as his lips. For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something, to admonish them for whatever reason, to threaten them with Ministry action over something that was, by all accounts, entirely legal.

But he didn't say a word: Instead, he twisted on the spot, and vanished, leaving behind only the fading echo of his passage.

Lily's hand tucked into his and squeezed; James looked at her. Her cheeks were bright red, and her lips wobbled a bit.

"I've never been so scared in my life," she said in a low whisper.

"We had it," James said with confidence.

"Thanks to your friends," said Fleamont, nodding toward the Peverells.

"Right!" said James, as Lily dropped his hand.

Harry waved away Fleamont's thanks, muttering something uncomplimentary about the Ministry. Ginny just grinned a little, and accepted it. James wondered if either one of them knew what the stakes had been, or if they simply liked to lie to Ministry officials. Either way, he could not help but be impressed by their quick thinking.

He traded a glance with his father, who shrugged.

The Peverells mercifully no longer seemed at all curious about the shipment, but took everything in their stride. When it came to unloading the much smaller car, all of them were relieved of that duty.

"Now, now," Fleamont said genially, gripping Gideon Prewett on the shoulder, "we're all fine here, I've got the help I need. You kids have helped this old man out enough today—"

"—you're not an old man," James protested.

"—but it's your winter holidays! You're meant to have fun." Fleamont patted his robes, and withdrew a handful of sickles and knuts from an interior pocket. "You deserve a treat," he added, eyes twinkling.

"Dad…" James blew out a breath; the back of his neck was warming. The coins jangled. With an inward sigh, he held out his hand, feeling sheepish as he smiled: "Thanks."

Fleamont doled out the coins to each of them. Neither Lily nor Ginny protested, but accepted it with charming smiles and pretty thank yous. "Enjoy yourselves," his dad told the girls. "Maybe invest in a Sneakoscope… my son can be quite the prankster, you know."

"Dad," James groaned.

Harry was last; he paused so long before accepting the coins that James was worried he might have to hex him. But finally, he held out his hand, and muttered something unintelligible to James, but which Fleamont graciously accepted as a thank you. Then, waving them off, he turned to the task at hand, the task they had been absolved from helping with, leaving the four of them loitering on the sidewalk.

"Well," said James, turning to the others, "what do you want to do now?"

But Harry was already asking a question. "Are they going to send the train car back after they unload it?"

"Um," said James, "They might, I guess?"

"Where do they keep it?" asked Ginny. "If it stays? There's no depot…"

"Oh!" said James. "Right. Yeah. That is – here, I'll show you." There were all sorts of tricky things the wizards living in Godric's Hollow had done to disguise their tracks – in this case, literal train tracks – and this was one of the more interesting ones. "Here, see that storage shed?" It was just off the road. Silvery tracks led to the small, ramshackle building. James led them on it; their feet crunched on the small stones in between the rails. The tracks disappeared under the weathered, wooden door. Grinning, James tapped out the password, and the door swung open.

"Oh, Merlin," said Ginny.

Inside, lined up like horses within their stalls, were five gleaming train cars, each on their own set of tracks, looking bright and clean and ready to be hooked up to a steam engine and pulled to far off places. "We hide it from the Muggles," James said proudly, "but we've got our own little depot of sorts." He pointed to the scarlet one with the large windows. It was meant to be pulled last of all, and had a balcony on the back. He'd spent part of his childhood in this train car, traveling about with his mum and dad, while they inspected potions ingredients for the company.

"I haven't got the key," James said, with real regret. "I'll have to show it to you another time…"

"I'd love that," said Lily, with great excitement. Her green eyes were sparkling. Her shoulder brushed against his, setting it to tingle. "This is your mum and dad's?"

The Peverells lurked near the door, not quite stepping in; a rush of gratitude went through James for the bit of privacy they were allowing him. Sirius would be right in between them. "Yeah, it's ours," he said. She really was standing quite close. "Dad still travels a lot, you know…"

She reached out, pressing her hand against the scarlet paint. "It looks like it could be part of the Hogwarts Express."

"Dad always loved Hogwarts," James said, then cleared his throat. Inanely, he said: "I love it too. The color." There was hardly any space between them at all. A swift glance at the door revealed that the Peverells had stepped outside: they were entirely private, and she was standing quite close to him. He cleared his throat again, knowing he was blushing, but not caring overly much. He bent forward a little, just in case the Peverells were listening. "Red has always been my favorite color," he said. He seized his courage and did what he'd wanted to do before he even knew why he found her hair so fascinating. He twirled a bit of it around his finger, letting the silky strands of it slide against him.

"It has?" she asked.

"It… yeah," said James. His feet were on more even footing. "It's beautiful. There are tiny hints of gold in it," he added, smiling a little. "You were a born Gryffindor."

She flushed. "I didn't know looking the part was a requirement," she said, tilting her head toward his hand.

"It isn't," he said, shaking his head. It was Lily herself who was the embodiment of everything Gryffindor had stood for, but he'd just about reached his limit on eloquence, and was quickly sliding toward not being able to speak at all. It was difficult to think with her so close their bodies were almost touching. They were touching, in fact: His fingertips were ghosting along the side of her head.

"It isn't?" she repeated.

What wasn't? Ah. "No," he said, "It was just a forewarning."

Her smile lit up her whole face. "Did you learn that from Old Bones?" she teased.

He shook his head. "I didn't have to."

Her hand brushed against his chest. "You were about to tell me something," she said, peering up at him. She bit her lip: the red in her cheeks matched the heat in his own. "Earlier. I think I know what you were going to say, but..."

Her words had the effect of a splash of cold water. James took half a step back. "It isn't… I mean… I have something I need to tell you," he said, grimacing. The hidden train depot came fully back into focus now that he was not so close to her. He kicked himself for not having got the words out earlier. "I have a secret," he told her.

"I think I do too," said Lily.

His body hummed at the look on her face; pure enjoyment washed over him. "It isn't that," he said, ruthlessly reining that in. "I mean – it is that!" he said. "It's that, too. But I didn't know it was a secret. Unless… maybe we aren't talking about the same thing."

"I'm no longer sure," she said dryly. "You have a secret."

"I have a secret," he confirmed, sending another swift glance at the door. Now that he was listening for it, he could hear the sound of soft voices drifting toward him. If he could hear the Peverells, they could hear him. "And I have to tell you that secret before any of… uh, before I can tell you anything else." He reached for her hand, squeezing it, and dropping it just as swiftly as he'd taken it. Inwardly, he was groaning. If he'd just gotten the words out in the forest, this would be over by now… she would either know him, truly, or she'd be gone.

"Well, what is it?" she asked, exasperated.

But James could not forget the Peverells. "It needs more privacy."

Her eyes narrowed. "More privacy," she repeated.

"Yeah," he said, combing his fingers through his hair, stomach now squirming. "Yeah, and, uh, more space." His stag could fit in here, but it would feel confining.

"More… okay," she said, holding up her hand. "More privacy, more space. Got it."

"It's true," he pleaded.

Her green eyes narrowed on his. James tried to keep his face as open as he could, willing her to believe that he was being as honest as he could be with two people he barely knew on the other side of the door. Bit by bit, her face softened. It was like watching the sun come out from behind clouds.

"You'll tell me?" she asked.

"Today," he said firmly. "As soon as I can manage it."

"Good," she said. It was her turn for her hand to find his and squeeze it. "It's Christmas, James, and I… there's something I want to tell you."

"You can tell me anything," he said. "Just… after."

They stood there, staring at each other. Neither one had said the word 'promise', but it was there between them in that moment nevertheless. There was a foolish smile on his face, he knew it, but he couldn't seem to make himself stop. His nerves were still wrecked; he worried that she would take his being an animagus as just another of his pranks. And perhaps it was, but that wasn't all it was. He worried, too, that she would urge him to go to the Ministry… he worried she would mention the consequences and the real threat of Azkaban. But as he looked at her, those worries receded just slightly.

"Well," she said, finally, breaking the silence, no longer speaking in a whisper. "We ought to…"

"The Peverells probably think we've left them," said James, at the same volume.

"We don't," said Ginny, peeking in, "we just thought you two were having a bit of snog."

"What—"

"Ginny! No, I didn't!"

"Oh, haha."

Three of them spoke at once. Oddly, Harry seemed nearly as embarrassed as James and even more shocked at what she'd said.

Ginny, however, was grinning cheekily.

Lily brushed past him on her way out. "We might have been," she said, just for him, "if you didn't have a secret…"

And wasn't that just swell? James sighed, resigned. "Well," he said, glum, but trying to hide it, "we've seen the depot, what else did you three want to see? We've still got hours before the pantomime…"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

James's momentary glumness disappeared swiftly. The Peverells, however odd they were sometimes – which, James graciously allowed was understandable, considering they'd never set a foot on Hogwarts grounds until a few months ago – were charming company. Harry had proven himself a quick wit, back in front of the Ministry official. James still could not decide whether he had been lying or not; his face had been free of guile. And Ginny was funny and warm and managed to lighten her brother's reserve enough that James saw Harry smile more along the cobbled stones of Godric's Hollow than he'd seen him smile all term.

Perhaps, James thought, it's because Peter isn't here. It was a guilty thought, but he couldn't help it. Harry had not taken to Peter, that was true. As much as James was fond of his old friend, Peter had been a little rude at the start… they'd just not taken to one another. That was fair. But toward the end, Harry'd relented and warmed up to Peter. But still. James was glad to get to know the Peverells better without other distractions.

"So how many of our folk live here?" Ginny asked, as they stood in line to get ice creams.

"Oh," said James, wrinkling his forehead.

"It just seems crowded," said Ginny, gesturing with her elbow.

It was true. There were more witches and wizards loitering around Godric's Hollow than was usual. The cobbled streets had crowds on every corner: James recognized a couple of Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaw prefect bustling out of the small, auxiliary branch of Quality Quidditch Supplies. There were a couple of hags smoking on a bench just down the way, close enough that the scent of tobacco and sweet combined in a way that made him wrinkle his nose. The noise was at a constant level: people were talking, laughing, arguing, bickering, and all of it hovered at ear level.

"Yeah," said James, "but I think some of these people are tourists… or at least here for the pantomime."

"Is it that popular?" asked Harry, surprised.

James shrugged. "It's a reason for a lot of us to gather." But he continued to think about Ginny's original question. "Let's see… I think about fifteen thousand people live here, in Godric's Hollow, and a lot of them are Muggles, but I think a good half of us are witches and wizards."

"And other species," said Lily.

"Oh! Yeah," said James. "I mean… not just witches and wizards, but we've got a lot of goblins and dryads."

"Dryads!" Ginny said, shocked.

"Oh, yeah," said James, nodding.

"Well, that's different," said Ginny.

"Why is that different?" Harry and Lily asked at nearly the same moment.

"There's not that big of a forest around here," said Ginny, peering around.

James shrugged. "It was actually one of my ancestors… great-great-grandfather – he was a Peverell, actually! – who convinced a lot of them to move here. The Muggles were chopping down more and more forests, and my family's business is potions. Dryads are great for that, actually; they strengthen natural ingredients… well, anyway, there's a whole lot of them here. We've even got a couple of vampires."

"Your family really is in the roots of this place, aren't they?" Lily asked.

"Yeah, well, we've lived here a long time," said James. "Centuries, at least."

"Millennia," Lily said, wrapping her arm through his and falling on him. "Since the last ice age."

"At least," said James, beaming down at her.

They were quiet for a while after that, ordering their ice creams, and walking down the street. James had already shown them the hidden depot, the Muggle church, pointing out the graveyard, but not suggesting they go in. Now, they walked on the magical side of town, peering in the windows. It wasn't Diagon Alley: the shops were small and cramped and most could hardly accommodate their small group of four. But James had always loved the variety, had loved the storefronts that advertised everything from magical scrolls and books to owl healers.

"And here's where my dad works," said James, pointing out a tiny office.

"He works there?" Harry asked, surprised. "I thought he did something with a potions company?"

"He does, yeah, that too," said James. "But he's mostly handed over the business side of things to his partners, Tiberius McLaggen and Elphaba Doge; but he's still a potioneer, he just does it here. It's better, too, so their families have access to them."

"What?" Harry asked blankly.

James wrinkled his forehead. "Why don't I show you?" he said, leaning toward Lily. Their hands brushed together. "I've got a key."

"Would your dad mind?" asked Ginny.

"Nah," said James. "As long as we don't abuse their privacy or anything."

"We won't," said Harry, still peering curiously at him.

James fumbled in his robes for the key, finding it alongside a quill he'd forgotten was tucked in there. It slotted neatly in the keyhole; little white lights rippled outward and a chime sounded. James pushed open the door, letting out a winsome mixture of scents: coffee combined with lavender, lemon, and tobacco. The front room, which looked out on the street, was small and cramped with books, most of which involved potions and their ingredients. A desk sat in the back corner; two mismatched chairs sat in front of it. It had a homey, lived-in feel; James breathed in deep. Behind it was a surreal painting of Hufflepuff's cup that James had always liked: a golden cup, spinning slowly, while the shadowy figures at the bottom reached upward, reaching for a miracle.

"Dad works down in the basement," said James, pointing downward. "And the upstairs is where the sleepers are."

"Sleepers?" Harry and Ginny asked together.

James shared a fleeting look with Lily. "A lot of potioneers have projects they're passionate about… Dad's friend, Tiberius, would like to find a cure for werewolves; he's passionate about it, works on it as much as he can do while overseeing all the other potions being made, the ones we've already got recipes for. Dad wants to find a cure for the Draught of Living Death."

"The… oh," said Harry.

It wouldn't hurt to show them, so James led them to the back, where there were three doors, and opened the one on the right to reveal a set of cramped stairs that led to the second floor. The scent of lavender grew stronger, mingling in with other scents: the potions administered to them to keep them healthy while they slept and slept, freshness charms that smelled of mint, and the lavender that exuded from the sleepers themselves.

"It's really tragic, you know," said James. "Dad's got permission to keep them here from their families… they'll come visit whenever they want to, but still. They trusted the wrong person, trusted the wrong drink, and now they're asleep."

"I've only heard of it in passing," admitted Harry. "But it doesn't… end?"

"Some do," said James. "But the draught, if it's properly made, puts someone to sleep and that's it. They don't wake up. These aren't the only ones, of course; there's a whole ward at St. Mungo's for them, these victims…"

There was an aghast look on Harry's face.

"Here," said James, pushing another door open. The room had been enlarged by the use of charms: six people slept in here, protected by privacy screens. Fresh cool air swirled around the room: the charms needed to be maintained properly, otherwise the scent of lavender would grow so thick it would coat the walls and the visitors.

The four of them huddled at the door, peering in. Most of the sleepers were adults in their late middle years; three were men, three women. The youngest, a man in his early thirties, was closest to the door. Pity welled up in James, as it always did when he came to this room: This was no kind of life to lead, trapped in whatever dreams or nightmares they might be having, unable to awaken and access the real world.

"Do you know why?" asked Harry, in just above a whisper.

"Why what?" asked James.

"Why your dad's so passionate about this?" Harry asked. "Not that he shouldn't be, you know, but why this and not, say, werewolves? Did he-?"

"His friend, actually," said James.

"Oh, I didn't know that!" said Lily. "Is he…?" she gestured toward the sleepers.

"Oh, no, Dad's mate was one of the lucky ones," said James. "This was back when Grindelwald was at the height of his power, and – to quote my dad – things were a bit of a mess." All three snorted at that. "Shitty wizards were going dark, wreaking havoc, following on Grindelwald. Well, the wizard who got Dad's friend was a shitty potioneer, and his draught only lasted a year or so." James shook his head. "He'll still make jokes about it, that it was the best nap he ever had."

Harry chuckled.

"But it wasn't, you know," said James. "It wasn't a joke. My parents were right in the thick of it, with Grindelwald; it was a favorite of his tricks, the draught of living death. It was rumored he had a cure, but… he never shared it. Dad still hates that."

"Grindelwald sounds awful," Ginny said quietly.

"He was," said James, pulling a face. "We're still dealing with Grindelwald's terror, and now we've got our own to deal with."

Lily pressed tighter against him, giving his back a friendly little rub.

James's mood changed over the next minute, becoming quite inappropriate for this sad, small room.

"James?"

"Huh?" said James, blinking.

"I asked if your dad was close to a cure," said Ginny; the smirk was clear in her voice.

"Oh," said James. Lily's hand was still against his back; he could feel each fingertip. The touch was delicate, but warmth spread outward from it. "Oh, um. We haven't talked about it in a while, but I reckon he's frustrated… there's an ingredient or two that's eluding him."

They all stared at the room again, the sleepers in their beds, the weak winter light illuminating them on their beds. They were so still they might have been dead. And that was the point of the Draught of Living Death, wasn't it? To take someone out of their own lives, and yet not be considered a murderer. James shuddered; the pressure of Lily's hand on his back increased. He looked down at her, into her warm green eyes. A frisson went through him. There was a sense, there, that she understood the nature of his thoughts, even though they were not so well-ordered, even to James himself. For the second time that day, he thought of the dream he'd had, the one that was meant to be prophetic. Lily had been in it, looking at him much as she was now…

James blinked the fog out of his eyes, shaking his head. "You know," he said, still quietly, "we ought to go… walk around some more…"

The somber weight of showing them the sleepers did not let up. All four of them were more thoughtful as they strolled through more of Godric's Hollow, shopped around the largest store in town, Bagshot's Bits and Bobs, which sold a bit of everything, and took a hot cocoa at the Winged Boar. Through it all, Lily was a steadfast presence at his side; their hands brushed more and more. James wanted nothing more than to hold her hand, but did not allow himself to do so.

He and Lily, they were on the verge of something. The air between them tingled with it, sending butterflies to wing around in his stomach whenever they touched, scattering his thoughts, raising gooseflesh on his arms… and yet. James could not allow it to happen, not without telling her the truth about his stag.

It was with something like relief that the watch his parents had given him for his seventeenth chimed a warning that he needed to get to the town center.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPH

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you for the reviews this last chapter - believe me do I know that sometimes after a stupid day at work, the last thing I want to do is interact with someone. But I appreciate it. Also, I maligned the Void last time - Gin, you are the best void ever. I appreciate you guys, and also you guys over in GinnyLovers. Your responsiveness keeps me going at this hobby.

(if you wanna join GinnyLovers discord server, you can find the link on my tumblr, which is just deadwoodpecker)