Disclaimer: Nope. Lol.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has favorited and is now following the story. That is awesome, it definitely helps me to write more!

Just to let everyone know, I posted the prologue of Identity, which is the companion story to this one. That story tells the events of what happened after MaeglinYedi's fic.

I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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Monday, May 4, 1981

"Declare yourself!" barked the loud, gruff voice of Alastor Moody as James Potter knocked on the door of the Order of the Phoenix's Headquarters. It was a large, spacious house in London, and it belonged to one of the Order members, Benjy Fenwick. He had allowed them to use it as their base of operations, the place where they always held meetings.

"It is James Potter. My wife, Lily, and my perfect little boy, Harry, are with me as well," said James, making sure he had the normal security phrases down perfectly. "And my darling wife often tells me that I get on her nerves." The sound of Lily's melodic laugh followed this statement, as it always did whenever he followed this routine.

The door instantly opened, and Mad-Eye Moody was framed in the doorway. "Good," he said in his growling voice. "Now get inside, all three of you."

The Potters did as they were told, walking inside the house and proceeding into the living room, where other Order members were milling about before the meeting was due to start.

"Hey there," said Sirius, spotting them instantly and jumping up from the couch where he'd been sitting. "Good to see you, mate." He slapped James on the back. He then kissed Lily on the cheek, and stroked the hair of his tiny godson as he lay in his mother's arms. "How's the little tyke been?" he asked fondly.

"He's been a real nuisance today," said Lily, but she was smiling lovingly as she said it. "It was impossible to get him down for a nap this afternoon. He simply refused to go to sleep."

"Ah," said Remus as he came over to them as well, having caught the tail end of the conversation. "He's taking after you, Prongs. I should have known."

"Come off it, you great prat." James grinned at his friend. "You've got it all wrong."

"Moony? Wrong? Impossible!" Peter Pettigrew made his appearance as well. "You must be exhausted," he said to Lily. "Has he been keeping you up every night, or what?"

"Some nights are better than others," said Lily. She smiled at her son, her emerald eyes shining with a fierce light, that of a mother who would go to the ends of the earth for her child. "Sometimes he can sleep through anything."

"Like now," said James as he looked at Harry. He hadn't stirred since they'd Apparated to the headquarters. He couldn't be more thankful that Harry looked so peaceful and tranquil in his mother's arms. If he could choose any time for his son to be asleep, it would be during an Order meeting. Granted, he wouldn't know what was going on even if he heard it, but Lily and James didn't want him involved in the war in any way, shape, or form. They wanted him to stay innocent and sheltered for as long as he possibly could.

For several minutes, the Potters chatted with the people in the room. As time passed, more Order members arrived and joined the conversation. There were many comments made about how adorable Harry was, and he slept through it all, unaware of anything around him.

But then, it was time to go into the dining room for the meeting. The moment Albus Dumbledore walked in, a chill worked its way through the atmosphere. It wasn't as though the old man looked angry or was giving off anything particularly dreadful, but it was as though his arrival took away any semblance of normalcy. After all, they were all gathered here because nothing was normal. There was a war going on, and there was still no end in sight. The Ministry was barely keeping itself together; sometimes, it seemed that the Order of the Phoenix was the only thing standing between the rest of the world and Lord Voldemort.

Lily and James sat at the dining room table, Lily holding Harry in her lap. James still marveled at the tiny human being he and Lily had created. The way in which he was conceived was still all wrong - it was one of the worst days of the young couple's lives, but they had to take any drop of happiness that they could. Unfortunately, any of that was rare these days - there wasn't a night that went by that they didn't have nightmares about the prophecy. They would dream that they found Harry in a pool of his own blood, having been killed in some grotesque, brutal way, or Voldemort would show up at their front door, blasting both Lily and James out of his way with a frightening ease and leering at their infant son before he killed him in front of them. Every single night, one of them would be comforting the other, telling them that it was just a dream and that Harry was alive, sleeping peacefully in his crib. They didn't let on to their friends that oftentimes, it wasn't Harry keeping them up at night - it was the horror of their own minds.

Sirius was the only one of their friends who knew about the prophecy. As dear as Remus and Peter were to them, it was Sirius who they were closest to. James and Sirius were brothers in all but blood; it had been James and his family who had taken Sirius in when he had run away from his own, not wanting any more to do with the disgusting pureblood bigotry his parents and relatives spouted. Sirius often said it was James who had saved his soul and his sanity.

But as James sat at the table waiting for the Order meeting to begin, he couldn't help but think that his own soul was deteriorating. His ability to feel certain emotions had been dulled by the constant fighting around him. All he could feel these days was fear, desperation, anxiety, hatred, and grief. But beyond any of those other emotions, there was love. Boundless, limitless, undying love for his wife, and a desperate, overpowering, all-consuming love for his baby boy. He would move mountains, cross oceans - it didn't matter what it took. There wouldn't be anything he wouldn't do to keep his son safe, to keep him ignorant of the cruelty of the world around him. He wanted to teach Harry to play Quidditch, to hear him groan, "Daaad, stop!" when he ruffled his hair a little too much. He wanted no bloodshed or murder or sadness or hatred in his son's future. He wanted love and peace and life. Was that too much to ask?

"Good evening," Albus Dumbledore said, breaking James out of his thoughts; he'd once again gotten lost in his own head, another thing he was always doing these days. "Welcome to another meeting of the Order of the Phoenix."

As the meeting got under way, many people gave reports about what was going on in their certain departments of the Ministry. The Order was lucky to have several Ministry workers there; they were able to keep Dumbledore and the other members informed of certain events, and any suspicious activity they saw. Unfortunately, the Ministry was being infiltrated by Death Eaters.

As the meeting went on, James grew more and more restless. Talk, talk, talk, he thought dispassionately as report after report was given. All we ever do is bloody talk. And when we do get sent into battle, we don't save enough lives. We're always too late, always too damned late.

He looked at Albus Dumbledore, who was sitting calmly in his chair as he surveyed Gideon Prewett, who was speaking now. He worked in the Department of Magical Transportation, and he was speaking about how things had been going for the past week. As a student, James had always respected Dumbledore. His sense of humor, his twinkling eyes, his kind smile - they had always put him at ease. Even when he had been sent to his office several times during his school career and ended up getting either a lecture or a week's worth of detentions, he could never hold it against Dumbledore. He was eccentric and rather odd, but in a good way. He was forever offering lemon drops and kind smiles to students, even when they were in trouble. Looking into his eyes, it was hard to fathom that he was the same man who had defeated Gellert Grindelwald. He had also fought Voldemort and lived to tell the tale, which was a rarity indeed.

But now, as he looked at the old man, he couldn't help the disillusionment he felt. His eyes went from the Order leader to his son, who was still sleeping soundly in Lily's lap, and the feeling only grew as his eyes slid back to Dumbledore. The old man had tried to be subtle about it, but James knew very well that every now and then, Dumbledore would sneak glances at Harry - at his little boy. And James despised it with every fiber of his being.

How dare Dumbledore look at his son that way. How dare he be scheming, plotting, planning. His baby boy was a damned human being, not a weapon to be wielded against Voldemort. It was bad enough that the evil monster was constantly hunting down the Potters - it was torture, always trying to be one step ahead of him. But, oh no. They didn't just have the darkest wizard in a damn century to contend with. They also had Albus goddamned Dumbledore, who would want to exploit their little boy, to use him as a chess piece, as a tool, to defeat Voldemort. If it was up to Dumbledore, Harry Potter would be the one to end the war.

James's eyes landed on Frank and Alice Longbottom, who were sitting at the opposite end of the table. Alice, like Lily, was holding her baby on her lap. Even though James knew Voldemort would be happy to end the Longbottoms, too, he and Lily had received intelligence that it was Harry, not Neville, that the bastard wanted to kill the most. "Many people do not know this, not even a lot of his own supporters," Dumbledore had confided in them over a year ago. "Lord Voldemort's name used to be Tom Riddle. He is a half-blood; his father was a Muggle, and his mother was a witch." He had then proceeded to tell the terrified and stricken young parents that it was Harry, not Neville, that he would be focusing all his energy on targeting.

And looking at Alice and Frank now, James couldn't help the resentment he felt. The part that remained of his ruined conscience told him that it was incredibly wrong to feel this way, but he couldn't help it. It shouldn't be Harry that was in constant danger of having his precious life taken every second.

At the end of the Order meeting, not all of the members left immediately. Several of them returned to the living room, finishing the conversations they had partaken in before the meeting began.

"So, Potters," Benjy Fenwick smiled at them. "I'm going to make some hot cocoa. Do you want some?" A man of fifty-three years old, he always gave off the impression of being much younger. The war had worn everyone down, and of course, Benjy had been affected by it too. But what always astounded the Potters was his level of optimism. Out of everyone in the entire Order, he seemed to be the only one who still had hope, which was in very short supply these days. How he seemed to hold onto it was a mystery that James couldn't solve, no matter how hard he tried. Give us some of that energy, Benjy, he thought as he looked into the man's smiling face. We need it.

"We really appreciate your generosity, Benjy, but we need to get this little one home," Lily said, her eyes shining with maternal devotion as she gazed at a still-sleeping Harry. "Thank you again for letting us be in your house."

"No problem," said Benjy, still smiling. "But please, stay." He looked meaningfully at her, his eyes then sliding over to James. "You're safe here," he said quietly, knowingly. "No one is going to hurt you or Harry here."

Benjy Fenwick had the uncanny ability to read people; he had always possessed it for as long as James could remember. He didn't know about the prophecy, but he had always sensed the constant fear and turmoil that swirled around the Potters. James looked uncertainly at Lily; it was true that whenever he was around Benjy, he felt extremely comforted. He could tell by the look in Lily's eyes that she, too, wanted to give into the temptation of relaxing and drinking some hot cocoa. Benjy always knew what he was doing; instead of using magic, he made the drink the Muggle way, and for some reason it always tasted better.

"Okay, if we must," said Lily, but there was a slight smile on her face as she finally acquiesced. "Thank you so much."

"We all do what we can," Benjy said. "Make yourselves comfortable in the living room, and I'll bring it in there."

xxx

Later, as Lily and James arrived back at their home in Godric's Hollow, they were greeted by the two house-elves James owned. They were a male and female elf, and they had been in the Potter family for many years now. Sadly, two years ago, James's parents had been two of the people who had died in the last Dragonpox pandemic. James had ended up inheriting the two house-elves.

At first, Lily had been extremely upset about owning them. "I don't want servants," she had snapped at her husband, her hands on her hips. "They're living beings! It's an awful thing to do, to own slaves. So old-fashioned and barbaric!"

"Well, I don't want to give them clothes. How do you think that will make them feel?" James had snapped back. "Me and my family have never mistreated our house-elves. We're not like those awful pureblood families who make them iron their hands as punishment. It's offensive to accuse us of such a thing." He glared back at her with equal intensity. "If we give them clothes, it will hurt them more than you'll ever know." After a few seconds, his face had softened. "I'm sorry," he'd then said quietly. "I know you care about house-elves, Lily. But they're not the same as Muggle slaves. Please, think about what we'll be doing to them if we let them go."

But Lily had remained firm. "No," she'd said, still glaring at James. "We are not owning house-elves, and that's final."

But that hadn't been the last conversation they'd had on the matter. Over a period of several days, James had worn Lily down until she finally agreed to inherit the house-elves. "On one condition," she'd said at last. "We don't ask them to do anything unless we really need them to."

"Okay." James was happy to agree to this. At least he didn't have to see how devastated they would be at the prospect of clothes.

"Can Winnie be doing anything for the Potters this evening?" the female elf squeaked when the Potters walked in through their front door. "Do Master James and Mistress Lily want Winnie to be putting precious Master Harry to bed?"

"No, Winnie, it is Ravvy's turn to be putting precious Master Harry to bed," squeaked the male elf. "Winnie did it last night."

"Now, hold on, you two," James said, his mouth curling into a real smile. "How about you both help put Harry to bed?"

Lily laughed. "Since you two have the same argument every time we let you help," she said, smirking.

Both Winnie and Ravvy grinned from ear to ear, and it was contagious. Both Lily and James couldn't stop smiling as they watched both house-elves tend to their baby. It seemed to be the only time they were truly happy these days - both elves had taken to "precious Master Harry", amazingly well. Most of the time, it was Lily and James who did everything for Harry, but there was something truly magical about the way the house-elves took care of him. It was as though they were made for the job. There was something very natural about the way they were with their baby that caused Lily and James to trust them implicitly. Neither Winnie nor Ravvy would ever let anything happen to precious Master Harry.

Later, as the Potters lay in their bed, James's mind went over every miniscule event of the day, as it was wont to do nowadays. Back when he was younger, he was never one for analysis. But now, when his wife's and son's very lives depended on every decision he made, he went over every detail of every day, wondering if there was anything he'd done wrong.

"James?" Lily's soft voice pulled him out of his musings.

"Yeah, Lily?" James asked, yawning as he moved his body closer to hers.

"I'm sorry for ever doubting you about the house-elves," she said softly. "The more I see them with Harry, the more I know we've done the right thing."

"They're wonderful, aren't they?" said James. "And don't worry about it, Lils. You already apologized a while ago, remember? I accepted your apology then, and I do now."

Lily smiled, and James took comfort in the fact that right now, there was no worry in her eyes. She'd been so tired lately, and her body was finally realizing that it needed sleep. Unfortunately, once morning came, he knew that those beautiful emeralds, the eyes he'd fallen in love with when he was just a stupid boy of eleven years old, would be clouded over with fear and uncertainty again. After all, this was what war could do to people. And James truly hated it.

And on this night, he was happy to let Lily sleep. However, he wished he could have done the same, but he couldn't. As he tossed and turned, one image stayed in his mind, an image that repeated over and over again as sleep remained futile.

It was the way in which Albus Dumbledore had been gazing at Harry. It was only for a split second at a time, but for James, it was all he needed to know.

And James vowed that no matter what happened, he would not let the old bastard use his son as a weapon. He could do whatever the hell else he wanted, but he was not about to let his Harry become a sacrifice in some stupid war.

It was not going to happen as long as James and Lily Potter had breath left in their bodies.