Morality of the Young

A/N: Again, sorry this chapter took so long to get out, but if you've read my other stories, then you know I've had comp problems.

This chapter deals with the Potters decision to send Harry to the Dursely's. Prepare for a lot of angst in this chapter and the ones following it. Also, there is some gruesome stuff in this. I warned you if you get squeamish.

Now let's get this show on the road!

Chapter 3: Night time Decisions

She was whimpering in her sleep, the constant barrage of nightmares assaulting her mind. Just when she thought she had escaped them, another would come flying at her, wrapping its scaly claws around her wrists, dragging her back in to the dark. The nightmares constantly shifted, never giving her a moment's rest, images coming and going, but they all had one key element. All of them were derived from her fears, her doubts; everything that she thought could ever go wrong.

Currently, she was at home, in the nursery, slowly rocking her son as he suckled on her bosom. She looked over him with warmth and affection that quickly changed to a look of horror as he pulled back from her pale breast, those lovely green eyes of his no longer there. Instead they were black as the night, soulless, a preternatural evil gleaming behind those desolate eyes. The scene fast forwarded to the adult years of her sons life and there her insecurities of being a mother came to fruition. Somewhere along her life, she had failed him and he had become cold and unyielding like the winter ice, a malevolent storm brewing in the dark, laying waste to those that opposed him.

She whined like a dog that had been hit and clutched whatever was in her hands tighter as the scene shifted again. She was in a different room this time, a lone chair situated in the center, a gleaming spotlight hovering over it. The walls were a slate gray, not a single crack lining them. She was forced down into the chair by an imaginary force, a set of manacles clamping over her wrists and ankles. She struggled against the bindings, tears running down her face as the faces of her family, husband, and friends came into view, their faces contorted into ugly scowls and looks of disdain. Their voices, lined thickly with scorn, slung insults at her, bringing up the doubts she had concerning all of them. Were her parents really all right with having a witch in the family? Did James really love her?

She moaned pitifully in her sleep, tossing and turning as the nightmare that visited her most frequently took place. In this one, she never saw herself, or her husband. All she saw was Harry, her son, but this one frightened her the most. The fear she had that something would happen to both, her and James, leaving their son alone. She saw him grow up in the most horrid conditions, with no one ever coming to save him. He grew up alone, never having known love, never having done anything to anyone, and yet he was constantly hounded by the dark. Hellhounds with bodies of black smoke, eyes of gleaming hellfire, nipping at his heels, threatening his life on a daily basis. That was her fear that she wouldn't be there to protect her son.

She was thrown back into a room that seemed to stretch forever, a small cone of light shining down on her, forming a small circle around her. Numerous figures lingered outside the zone, claws of black ice, stabbing into the circle before they were burned. Howls of a primal fury, constantly bouncing off the walls of this damning room that never let her rest save for a few precious moments.

Her dream self furiously shook her head from side to side, gripping it tightly between her hands. She couldn't let the nightmares take over her, it was not an option. She was trapped here, but she wanted to get out, needed to get out. The faces of her family swam in front of her, Harry being the most prominent. She reached out with her dainty fingers towards the ghostly image of her child's giggling face only to have it vanish in a smoky haze as she touched it with her fingertips. She cried out in frustration as the circle of light shrank further, touching the tips of her toes. Standing up right, she held her arms at her sides, hands clenched into fists, the tears continuing to streak down her face.

The image of James and Harry flying low around the garden, her son being carried in James lap, appeared in front of her, once more vanishing into a smoky haze as she tried to reach for it. Before it could vanish completely, she clutched fervidly at the smile of her son, holding onto that image, hoping for a sense of renewed determination to come flowing through her. And it did. Harry was who she had to fight for, fight to get out of her prison, to be there for him, to help him live, to love him and hold him, to sing him happy birthday, and give him his first bowl of ice cream when she decide he was old enough for treats. This is what she needed to break out for, if nothing else but to be with her son.

Her eyes which had been closed shut as she thought of her son, opened in dramatic fashion, her emerald eyes glowing as fiercely as the demons in front of her. She took a small step forward, half of her foot extended past the cone of light. She froze as her fears tried to take hold of her again. She refused to let them take her, to lock her up here, without ever being able to hold her son again. She willed her body to move again and now she stood fully outside the protective light. It vanished the second she did and the demons that were the products of her nightmares surrounded her in a circle, their snake-like tongues tasting the air, claws and bodies poised for bloodshed.

Here, she had no wand, no magic powers, having tried for days on end. All she did have was the determination of a mother to protect her son. She charged at them, screaming a war-cry that James had told her was the ancient family motto, "DRIVE BACK THE DARK!!!" They rushed at her, their claws drawing first blood along her shoulder. She didn't stop and threw vicious punches and kicks in every direction, shouting curses at the unearthly beasts. Her hands lashed out in the shape of claws, each hit that came into contact with one of them, left a blazing white line along their bodies. She continued to lash out, her fervor to protect her son, giving her the strength to vanquish the demons in front of her.

When she had struck a blow to the last one at its chest, it screamed a demonic howl, the darkness of the void being sucked into its mouth, pulling it in. When it imploded upon itself, the room was now bathed in light save for a darkened corner. From the corner, tentacles of an oily black crept along the ground, leeching onto the walls. It proceeded to eat away at the room, trying to claim it back, trying to bathe her in the darkness once again. It stopped, inches away from her face, a set of crimson eyes glowing in front of her. The Darkness pulled in on itself, taking a form that she knew all too well.

He stood in front of her, those red eyes, sitting in a face that was snake-like, his scales seeming to gleam. He smiled cruelly at her, a slight hint of fangs showing through the corners of his mouth. A Dementor-like cloak thrown over his thin body, billowing somehow without the aid of a wind. His scaly hands, ending in pointed nails that were crusted with blood, wrapped around a pair of wands. One, a startling ivory white, a skull carved into the base of it and in the other hand was her oak wand. He looked disapprovingly at her, clucking his tongue, making a tsk sound.

She knew what she looked like; hair in disarray, matted and in desperate need of shampoo; face streaked with a mixture of blood, dirt and tears; her clothes in tatters, numerous claw marks over her pale skin; hands and nails caked with the black blood of the demons. None of that mattered, for standing in front of her, a form of all her fears put together, and the source of this hellish realm was before her.

His mouth was moving, forming words that she didn't bother to hear. Cocking her fist back, she swung at his face, hearing a satisfying crunch as what was left of his nose, broke cleanly, the blood pouring down his face. She saw the shock on his face just for a second before it was replaced with pain as she kicked him straight in the ribs. He landed down on the floor, grunting with pain. She was on him in seconds, kicking, clawing, and punching at him, never giving him a moment to rest. She viciously kneed him in the juncture between his legs several times in quick succession. Grabbing him by the collar of his robes, she lifted him up and began to beat his face to a bloody pulp.

She felt her hand break, but she continued to relentlessly beat his face in. By the time she was done, he was a mass of broken bones, bruised flesh rapidly turning purple, and cartilage being relentlessly broken and twisted, blood freely pouring down his chin and onto his robes. Still, through all that, he just stayed there, smirking that damn smirk of his. He chuckled, the blood oozing down his slit lips.

"You call me…a monster? Look at you…how easily you…took to the violence…the brutality and…savageness you have…inside you," he paused as he drew a breath in through a raspy chuckle, bubbles of blood forming slightly on the edges of his mouth. "You are….the monster…"

He went into a maniacal laughter and before she had the chance to respond, his body vanished in that same smoky haze like everything else had in this damn dream. Her body pitched forward, chin hitting the ground as she no longer had something to support. Struggling to her feet, she looked at the spot where Voldemort had been. Nothing was there, no ashes, no cloak, no body, not a trace that he had ever been there. She looked about the room, searching for him, waiting to see if he would come back out again. All she did see was a large ladder. Standing at the base of it, she looked up to see the ladder leading up into what appeared to be the Hogwarts hospital wing.

It was a long climb and she did have a slight fear of heights. But with everything she had just done moments ago, she didn't seem that afraid of heights anymore. She started to climb.

(Scene Break)

He was trapped in a bleak forest; the trees twisted in menacing shapes, faces contorted in pain were carved onto the trunks of the trees. The branches swung about, aiming for his head. He ducked and ran down the dirt trodden path. More branches twisted and curved into his way, caging him in. Black ooze leaked like sap from the branches, pooling together, and various forms rising up from the liquid. It was happening again, his past coming back to haunt him.

First up was a cat that he had killed by accident in a prank gone wrong. He had colored it completely back and placed on the back step of one of his neighbors. She was deathly afraid of black cats and when she had seen the freshly painted cat on her door step, she blew its skull open with a spell. Its head had opened up like a ripe melon, a dying meow spilling out of the cats mouth as blood and grey matter leaked down the sides of his head. He had thrown up at the sight and cried himself to sleep for what he had done. It was just a prank; it wasn't supposed to turn out that way. The thought never eased his conscience.

Second, came the tall and lanky firm of Severus Snape. His whole body and face was a compilation of all the pranks James had ever played on him. The boils, the ugly brown skin from the numerous colored dyes, the over-grown teeth, everything he had done to Snape. He had to duck and weave as Snape started to spit curses at him, a malevolent gleam in his eye. He was afraid that Snape would lash out one day and he hoped that it wasn't aimed towards his son.

Next was the skeletal corpse of Evan Rosier. He was pulled up by strings, like a wicked version of a marionette, his left arm barely connected to his shoulder by a sliver of sinew and bone. His right was contorted at odd angles, having been broken in numerous directions. His flesh was horribly bruised, ugly purple blotches being seen when blood didn't cover it. Numerous cuts on his ragged form, ugly scabs that had formed only to be broken open later, burns all over his body making him look ever more gruesome. In his hand, fingers bent awkwardly, he was somehow holding onto a wand that was cracked down the middle, blackened at the edges from a fire.

Rosier was the worst of his crimes that James had ever committed. It was supposed to be a simple raid on the Rosier manor, searching for any dark-arts related items. They were hoping to find enough to drag Evan Rosier into Azkaban on charges, instead they found him in the middle of a ritual, a child held down onto a table as Rosier repeatedly brought down a knife into the young girls chest. There were five of them there that night, witnesses to the horror, and each of them left their mark on Rosier's dead corpse. That night still haunted James every now and then, he knew it did the same to Sirius too, Moody had gotten over it by his usual methods, and the other two had died in the line of duty.

All three images were in front of him, the horrid cat making a choked meow, causing James to fall down onto his arse as he tried to get away. Snape moved in for the kill, swishing his wand down, a rust-colored spell connecting with his kneecap. He screamed as heard and felt the awful break, cartilage being torn apart. Rosier moved in swiftly, dragging himself along the rotten earth, his legs having been sawed off at the knee by a severing curse from one of the now dead aurors. The wand that was in his hand had turned into a crude knife and it was stabbed down into James stomach.

He howled in pain, rolling along the ground, his hands clutching the bleeding wound. Those three figures of his past swam in front of him, all of them stepping closer, wielding their weapon of choice; claws, wand, and a knife. Clenching his eyes shut, James furiously whispered to himself that none of this was real. It was just another plague of nightmares in the long series that he has had since stepping into this dark forest.

In the hospital bed, outside the dream, James hands were clasped together over his stomach, putting pressure on an imaginary wound. In the dream, he heard the padding of footsteps, sloshing through the mud, moving closer towards him. It started to rain in the forest, streaking his face with grime. He opened his eyes and in front of him he saw Rosier's smiling face right in front of him.

"Did you enjoy killing me? Did you feel the rush of adrenaline, the pounding in your ears, as you joined in the bloody massacre of my death?" Rosier croaked. A cruel laugh, the sound of rough sandpaper, issued from his dry lips. "Do you try to justify yourself at night, laying in your bed, with your woman? Telling yourself that what you did to me was out of righteous anger?" he said as his smile grew even wider with each word. Raising his free hand in front of him, his broken index finger slowly wagged back and forth, the bone being broken anew every time he did so.

He was shoved out of the way, his now skeletal face sliding down in the mud, as Snape took center stage. "You and your silly pranks, Potter. Despicable, a creature you are. You think everything you did to me was harmless? I was humiliated for seven years thanks to you, and because of that I have nothing!" he yelled into James face, spittle flying from his purple lips.

James head was blown back as Snape's fist connected with his mouth. Falling onto his back, he rolled to the side and spit out blood and some jarred teeth. The cat, with its head split open, came in front of him, his claws coming down to scratch him across his cheek. He grunted in pain and he felt sick all of a sudden, the start of a fever coming down. He started to shiver, delusions starting; his wife, spitting insults at him, never having truly forgiven for his brash attitude towards pranks that had done so much harm; his son, his baby boy, Harry, looking at him and then turning away in disgust, sick of his pompous attitude. So many different faces, saying and doing so many different things, each one chipping away at his remaining sanity. He curled up into his body, sobbing into his knees as the delusions became worse and worse.

Just when he was at his breaking point, he heard a loud creak and a part of the ground lifted up and through the new hole came a head of red-hair. A pair of green eyes came up next, Lily's eyes. She came running to him and he took a good look at her slashed clothes and haggard appearance. Another delusion, he thought, until her hand stroked his cheek in an affectionate manner, and it felt real. Her hands shook his shoulders, keeping him awake.

"Fight it, James! Fight it! For me! For Harry, your son! We have to get out of here, we have to get to Harry!" she shouted into his face. Her hands hooked under his armpits and he felt himself being lifted and set onto his feet. "None of this is real, James! None of it!" she shouted again.

He shook his rapidly, "It is real! I did all this! I've done this!"

He felt a stinging blow across his cheek. Looking back at her with wide eyes, he saw the image that he had fell in love with. Her hair whipped across her face, hands on her hips, those lovely eyes gleaming in anger. Oh, she looked even more beautiful when she angry, such a spitfire.

"None of that matters right now! We can go over whatever guilt you may have at another time." Her voice dropped to a lower decibel as she moved closer to him, her warm body pressed up against his. She whispered, "We have to get out of here. If we don't, who know what may happen to Harry. For our son, Harry, James you have to fight it."

He rested his forehead against hers, having to lean down slightly he said, "You got it, Lily-love. Just give me a mo' okay?"

He turned back to face his monsters without waiting for her answer. Charging forward, his pain momentarily forgotten, he swung his fist at Snape's throat, forcing the other man to fall down to his knees trying to draw in breath. The cat came at him, claws poised for a strike. He branched out with a roundhouse kick to its belly, sending it careening into Snape's temple. They were both out for the count and he turned to Rosier, ready to put him out. Instead he saw Voldemort, looking exactly as he had left him at the end of their battle at Godric's Hollow.

"What I told you was true, Potter. You would make an excellent Death Eater, capable of replacing Rosier in the Inner Circle, maybe over time even denouncing Lucius Malfoy as my right hand man. You have the carnal rage for death in your blood, Potter. You would be exceptional, extraordinary, and your son as well. So much potential in such a small body."

James was grinding his teeth together, anger swelling up in him at Voldemort's words. He quelled it down, determined not to let it rush over him like the rising tide. Through gritted teeth, he whispered, "You are never…and I mean never, going to touch my son."

He jumped forward, landing at a right hook at Voldemort's eye. As he turned, James grabbed his arm, pulled it taut and slammed the point of his elbow down onto Voldemort's, hearing the clean breaking of bone. Not letting go, he pulled the arm straight over up his opponents head and threw several punches at the junction of shoulder and arm. He heard something snap and he let go of the arm. He swung a kick at the small of Voldemort's back, sending him crashing down onto his hands and knees. He dug the heel of his boot into his back, twisting and turning it, shoving it deeper.

Grabbing the back of Voldemort's cloak, James lifted him up and leaned down to whisper into his ear, "You will never lay a hand on my son."

Voldemort barked a wet laugh, blood flying from his mouth, "He will…die, Potter. And when he is gone…you and your…mudblood shall follow…" He continued to laugh, the sound starting to grate on James' nerves, until he finally stopped, his eyes blank. James stood up on his own two feet, watching as Voldemort went up in flames, ashes being cast out into the wind.

He felt a pair of arms encircle around his waist. Knowing that it was Lily, he let his body slump, feeling her cheek rest against his back. She moved around in front of him and cradled his head in her hands. She smiled that million galleon smile, which never failed to brighten his day, "Come on James. Lets get to Harry."

In response, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her head. Looking around for an exit, he finally saw that all the trees had vanished, the rain as well along with the rest of the forest. They were standing on a grassy knoll and inexplicably there was a door in front of them. Grabbing her hand, he led them towards the door and opened it. He squinted his eyes against the light and led Lily through the door, hopefully to their son.

(Scene Break)

He woke up with a start, his upper body slamming upright, and his breathing heavy as he drew in deep, raspy breaths. He was shivering all over, his teeth chattering, hands frantically rubbing his opposite arms to heat himself up. He looked to his right and he saw her. He grinned as he saw her slowly turn her head to look at him. Getting off the bed, amidst her protests to stay in bed, he stood on wobbly legs, his hands gripping the arm rails for support. She tried glaring at him, but he saw the playful attitude behind her lovely eyes.

Taking a leap to cross the gap, he fell onto his knees, not minding the pain in the slightest as he wrapped his arms around her petite frame. He cried joyfully into his hair, tears streaking down his face as he was reunited with Lily. He had thought he was a goner when Voldemort had hit him with that spell. He only remembered certain parts of the nightmare he was trapped in, one being the protective instinct he felt for his son, Lily and the way she helped him focus, and the end with Voldemort.

He pressed kisses against the side of her head and held her even closer. He felt her plush lips press against his neck and despite the moment, it still sent shivers down his body in pleasure. Holding her at arms length, he slowly looked over her face, searching for all the bruises and scratches he had seen in that nightmare. He sighed in relief, "You're okay…"

He kept his eyes fixed on hers, as her small hands stroked and caressed his face. She sighed in relief as well, "You too…" He kissed her lightly on the lips, putting just a slight hint of pressure, careful to not get too absorbed in the feel of her lips. Pulling back he kissed her on her forehead and then her nose, hugging her close again after that. They stayed like that until the full rush of memories slammed back into their minds. Pulling apart, they both asked each other the same question.

"Where's Harry?" A pause. They both turned their heads and shouted at the top of their lungs, "HARRY!!!"

James heard the wailing first. He tried to run towards the sound, but he fell down. Pulling himself along the ground using his hands and forearms, he entered a room, obviously a nursery by the looks of it. Standing up with the aid of the changing table, he slowly walked over to the crib to see Harry. He broke out into a grin, a tear falling down on his son's forehead, causing the babe to stop his crying to see what had fallen on him.

With grubby hands and giggling laughter, Harry extended his arms for James. He picked him up happily and cradled him in his arms, rocking him back and forth. He called for Lily and she came in a moment later, slowly, but steadily walking on her own two feet. She hurried her pace the last few steps and lovingly ran her fingers down Harry's face, tickling him in certain spots much to his amusement.

For ten minutes they stayed rooted to the spot, James holding him in his arms, just letting his eyes wander over his son, so thankful that he was still here to be with him. For the duration, Lily kept stroking his cheek, running her fingers through his hair, and kissing his face every now and then. Soon, the child grew tired, having woken up from his sleep and he yawned, placing a pudgy fist in his mouth to cover the noise like he had seen James done before.

James felt a hand tap his shoulder, making him spin quickly, protectively holding Harry close to his chest. He only saw Pomfrey, but he didn't drop his defensive stance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lily ready to fight. They had already been betrayed by a friend, one of their closest. They needed to be sure that this was actually Madame Pomfrey.

"Fifth year. The quidditch match where I broke my leg. After everyone left, what did I say?" he asked in clipped sentences.

"'Did Lily Evans stop by before I woke up?' was what you said. I told you that she didn't and then you bit into one of those chocolate frogs Sirius gave, which promptly turned you red and gold," she said with a small smile.

James sighed in relief and slowly rocked his yawning son, the motions easing him into sleep. He sat down on one of the blue chairs in the nursery, still holding Harry, listening with half an ear as Pomfrey and Lily talked. Harry cracked open one eye and James placed a kiss right above it to the child's sleepy giggles. His son fell asleep and James held him close to his chest, leaning back in the chair. He was desperately trying to hold onto the remains of his nightmare, knowing somehow that they would be important later on in life. He could barely remember them now, most of the details having slipped away, but he knew that they were a type of warning. A message hidden in those macabre images, telling him how to protect Harry. But he was forgetting already, maybe Lily would remember hers.

He opened his eyes, when he felt Harry taken from his arms. He was about to jump up and start throwing curses, but he saw it was Lily holding Harry. He sighed, knowing that it would take him a long time to get over this extreme sense of protective instinct he felt towards his son. He would do anything to keep him safe right now at this moment. He stood up, the stiff muscles making him double over a little bit. He popped his back, the muscles now loosening and stepped over to Lily who was busy singing a lullaby to Harry, one that had been sung to her from her mom.

He wanted to stay with his son a little bit longer, but James was already starting to feel tired. He stifled his yawn in the same manner that Harry did earlier, winking lazily at Lily who was smiling at his antics. After Lily placed their son in his crib, James leaned down and placed a kiss on Harry's forehead. He pulled back and turned to ask Pomfrey a few questions: what day was it? How long had it been since the attack on Godric's Hollow? He got his answers: It was Tuesday, three days since the attack. He wanted to know what had happened to Sirius and the others, but he yawned again, signaling that he should get some rest.

He and Lily lay in their separate beds, subjecting themselves to a five minute check up to make sure things were in working order. When Pomfrey was done and she had gone back into her private quarters, James waited another five minutes until the light in her rooms went out. Quietly getting out of bed and padding towards Lily, he got into bed with her. She was already asleep, but when he laid down next to her she snuggled into him, quietly whispering his name in her sleep. He yawned for a final time before slipping his arms around her body and following her into dreamland, hoping that no nightmares would come tonight.

(Scene Break)

James woke up several hours later, the sound of laughter having roused him from his dreams. He opened in his slowly, not wanting to see too much of the sun that flooded the hospital wing. He swung his legs off the bed, or tried to anyway. He muttered a curse as his toes hit the cold metal of the arm rails. Unlocking them and putting them down, he got off the bed, bare feet coming into contact with the cold stone. Tip-toeing across the room, hands rubbing together to provide warmth, he sat down next to Lily who was currently feeding Harry.

James just looked on at his son, who was bawling at the fact that he had to eat some type of green mush for breakfast. After what had just happened with the attack by Voldemort, James felt extremely protective of Harry and was constantly checking to see if he was there. He attributed it to the fact that he and his wife had just survived the wrath of the most powerful dark lord since Grindewald. And hey, he was allowed to be like this after having his trousers scared off him.

The doors opened and he craned his head to see Sirius and Remus come through them. He stood up and held his arms wide open and shouted, "Padfoot! Moony!"

He was reunited with his friends and they stayed upright, clutching onto each other. They pulled back, all smiles, each rapidly talking, ecstatic at having been reunited. They only stopped when Pomfrey and Lily shushed all three of them, reminding them they were still in the hospital wing.

They rushed out and stepped into an empty classroom. Sitting down, James fired question after question about what had happened. Peter had been captured and arrested two days after the attack. Voldemort was dead, the Death Eaters were scattered, some believing their lord was dead had either surrendered themselves or had committed suicide runs against the ministry.

Also, James found out that his baby boy was a hero. He couldn't believe it personally. Little Harry, the little tyke that always seemed to wet himself anytime he was on James' lap was the savior of the wizarding world; the Boy-Who-Lived. For a moment his face was filled with fatherly pride, his boy having done something that no one else had been able to do, not even Dumbledore. But it quickly faded; people would be constantly hounding for Harry to appear somewhere, expect him to be this great heroic icon. Reporters would be looming on their doorstep at every single moment, like a pack of hungry coyotes, waiting for Harry to show one messy black curl and then they would pounce.

And that wasn't even the worst part. There were still followers of Voldemort out there and some of them, the rich and influential ones, would be able to worm their way out of going to Azkaban. Some of them were prominent figures in the Ministry, like Lucius Malfoy, and it would make perfect sense for them to want to pay a visit to their savior. Then while they were doting on Harry with false pride, a quick draw of a wand or a knife and his boy would be in danger. Countless scenarios were running through his head, each one more dreadful than the last, and each one with Harry in danger.

He was breathing too fast; his heart was beating like mad. A panic attack brought on from his fears. Sirius and Remus rushed to him, their chairs clattering onto the stone ground with a loud bang, hands clutching his shoulders, calm words being spoken from his right, panicked ones from his left. Footsteps and then another loud bang, a window being thrown open he realized as a strong breeze blew throughout the room. The fresh Scotland air, a hint of rain, calmed him down as he took deep, refreshing breaths.

He took another gulp of air before he finally calmed down enough to speak. Without looking at his best mates, he told them what went through his mind to make him panic like that. When he was done, he saw worry in their faces, brows knitted together. They were like Uncles to Harry, Sirius being his Godfather actually, but they were their when he was born and James had been through so much with both of them.

A pang of sadness hit him when he realized that there should be three uncles; Sirius, Remus, and Peter. It was ruthlessly banished when James remembered what Peter had done and how close his family had come to dying that night.

Chairs were righted back up, this time closer to his own. Knees bumping, heads down as they conversed in low tones, well he listened actually, they did the talking. Sirius with a feral smile on his face, discussing various pranks that could be laid out near Godrics Hollow to discourage any unwanted visitors. Remus speaking in that calm voice of his about how the Ministry would understand if James didn't want anybody visiting in order to protect Harry.

Still with their encouragement, James wasn't sure he could keep so many people away. Practically everybody in Wizarding society would be looking up to his son, whether they were young or old all because of some unexplainable defeat of the greatest dark lord since Grindewald. He didn't know what to do, but he had somebody in mind that could, or at the very least offer suggestions and help him. He had to see Dumbledore. But not yet, not until he told Lily, she deserved to know about this if she didn't already.

(Scene Break)

It was dark out, she noticed as she shifted her son to her other arm. Lily was currently in the Gryffindor common room, their current living quarters until Godric's Hollow was rebuilt. The students had been temporarily sent home with the defeat of the Dark Lord to celebrate with their families. It would take less than a week for her home to be rebuilt according to what James had told her, who had heard from Remus...

A set of arms were wrapped around her waist, pulling her close and she gratefully leaned into her husband's embrace. She had just learned the popularity of her son, her little boy who was now a hero. She didn't think much on it when he just said it, but the look on his face spook volumes. Usually his hazel eyes were sparkling in mischief and joy for a prank to yet be pulled, but moments ago they were clouded over. Then he kept talking about how the people were practically singing praises to Harry in the streets and then she realized what it all meant. Her family wouldn't have a moment's peace. People would be there at every waking moment and her son would be at the center of the wizarding world for months to come, possibly years.

She looked down at her son, his chubby little hands clutching a plush wolf toy, his current plush of the month to James' disappointment and Remus' silent amusement. But what plush he was currently fond of wasn't what she was concerned with. She stared at the lighting-shaped scar on his forehead, still red and angry, a reminder of what they had been through, and now a symbol that people would constantly be staring at every single time they saw her little boy.

She sighed as she burrowed closer into James, his hands rubbing her arms, giving her what comfort he could. His lips were pressed to the side of her head and if she listened closely, she could hear him whispering over and over again something in Latin. When she found out that he spoke Latin, she thought it was a farce. Who thought that James Potter, prankster extraordinaire could speak another language so fluently and beautifully? He told her later that it was a Potter tradition to learn Latin, something that every father taught to his sons and daughters.

"What are you whispering?" she asked in low, velvet tones as she turned her head up to look at him. His eyes locked with hers and one of his hands started to run through her hair.

"Light, give me strength," he said in a low timbre, fingers still running through her hair. "Dad taught it to me. It was the first thing I learned to say in Latin." He looked away from her, towards the mantel above the roaring fireplace, watching as the hands on the oak clock ticked by. His hands went still, "Almost time for our meeting with Dumbledore. We should get going."

She came to her senses and looked at the clock as well. 7:50 PM. Yes, it was almost time to talk with Dumbledore, an appointment James had made earlier. She stood up first and then waited silently as he followed. Usually when they walked somewhere, they walked at the same pace, their hands linked, both of them presenting a front of equality between them. It was one of the feminist things that she had to drill into James' head, along with telling him that she was perfectly capable of opening doors by herself instead of waiting for him to do it like some gallant knight from the stories.

Tonight though, she wanted to soak in his embrace, to acknowledge that she needed him right now. So, when he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to his sturdy body, she didn't protest, merely nuzzled his chest lightly before walking with him. In no time at all, they were standing at the entrance to the Headmaster's office, the stone gargoyle with it's sloping brow and powerful jaws staring down at them. It slid open for them without waiting for a password.

She thought it was hilarious that the guardian to the Headmaster's office was afraid of James. After he had dressed up the gargoyle in a pink tutu and decorated his horns with flowers, the guardian let him through without hearing the password in fear of being the victim of a prank again. She always laughed every time he just moved to reveal the winding staircase. She couldn't seem to find it funny tonight though.

They were at the door, a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin adorning it. She heard some movement below and a small yawn, her son attempting to snuggle closer into her. She tucked the forest green blanket with a stag on it closer around his body and pulled the small, green fleece cap closer around his head, making sure to cover his ears. The castle was awfully drafty in the months of November and December.

The door opened and they stepped through, walking towards the polished oak desk, the benevolent Headmaster sitting behind it in one of his patented chairs with the high backing and purple cushions. She heard the door close, an ominous sound as the hinges creaked while they sat themselves down in chairs similar to Dumbledore's but of a different color.

She found herself straightening out an imaginary skirt, a habit she picked up at Hogwarts from any time she thought she was in trouble, most of the time it had only turned out to have been a level of praise heaped on her for her skill. She forced her hands to still and brought her head up to meet Dumbledore's, she still had trouble calling him by his given name, looking at her with concern in his pale blue eyes. She nodded to say she was okay and then he turned to look back at James who was currently talking, having missed the little byplay between her and Albus.

When James was done, he looked up from the ground and looked straight at Albus and whispered, "Can you help us?"

Albus' hands linked together forming a bridge for his chin to wrest on, elbows on the desk, seeming to take forever to answer. When he did, his voice seemed tired, a far cry from the grandfatherly one that was always present, "Since the night of October 31, I knew that Voldemort was still not dead. His spirit still lingers, somewhere that I do not know. He is a ghost of his former self, but he is still alive, still brimming with knowledge. He will eventually come back. When, I do not know, but he will return. You both know the prophecy; both know that we must protect Harry…"

He was cut off as she spoke in a harsh whisper, her voice like steel, "My son will not be the figure through which the light rallies around."

He nodded slowly, conceding her point. He continued, "Nonetheless, Voldemort knows of the Prophecy. And with his defeat, Voldemort will target Harry more ruthlessly when he regains his body. His followers knew of the attack on your persons, something told to me from my sources. They may seek to harm Harry in anger and revenge for defeating their lord. Your son will, will be the target of future attacks."

Her hand found James and she squeezed, a sense of comfort and strength seemingly flowing into her. What Dumbledore just said had confirmed their fears.

"We know that. WE know that our son will be in danger until every one of those bloody tossers are behind Azkaban. We came to you for help to keep our son safe. Now…can you help us?" said James.

"I have done some research and I have come across a spell that shall enable your son to live the first eleven years of his life free," said Albus in a careful tone.

"Eleven? Why only eleven?" asked Lily.

"I take it that on his eleventh birthday, you will wish to have him enrolled at Hogwarts?" said Albus.

They both nodded, Lily and James, but Lily was confused. The way he phrased that sentence made it seem as if…

"The spell will protect him from anyone who seeks to harm Harry in some way. It does not allow these people to cross the boundaries of the house. A more powerful version of the Fidelus charm that hid your home, but it has an even more serious flaw," said Albus. At their confused looks, he elaborated, "The Fidelus requires that someone else is named secret keeper and that this person is trusted with the lives of the residents under the charm. The spell I have found requires however a sacrifice of sorts on the person. The keeper must willingly take the people, in this case one, into their homes. Also the secret keeper must, must be of a blood relation."

James and Lily looked at each other in confusion. For all intents and purposes, this spell seemed no more different than a Fidelus charm. It just had the bonus of not allowing anybody to get into the house should they ever get the secret and was more restrictive in who was your keeper.

"That doesn't seem too bad…" said James, trailed off James as he realized that he had no living relatives left and that Lily's parents were dead as well.

"The only option that I can see, a place where no one would suspect the hero of the wizarding world to be, is hidden amongst the muggles. In order for this to work, there must be no contact whatsoever between Harry and magic. He must not appear in any magical environments and must not come into contact with any wizard or witch"

Lily squeezed James' hand, her nails digging into his skin, eyes wide as she processed what Albus had said. She whispered furiously at him, "Harry will not be staying with my sister. She hates everything to do with magic, hates me and she would surely hate my son. And my son WILL NOT be taken from me."

"Now Lily, don't be too harsh on your sister. She is blood after all and I'm sure that she would not hate your son. He is only a babe and no one is so cruel as to spurn a child, especially one of their own flesh."

"You don't know her. Two weeks before our wedding, James and I went to invite her and she practically chased us out with that walrus of a husband because we brought mud into her house from our shoes. And that was just for dirtying her floor. When I brought out my wand to clean it, she shouted at the top of her lungs for us to get out of her home and take that unnaturalness with us."

"She's right Albus. Lily's sister, Petunia, hates anything to do with magic. There is no way that she would ever willingly take our son into her home. AND we would never give him up. Now, help us think of something that will allow us to keep our son with us," said James.

Albus stood up from his chair, hands braced on the desk, his voice rising as he tried to make them see sense, "This is the only way. To be safe from Voldemort and his followers, he must be in a place that they would never even think about. Much less, even consider stepping into any place that remotely seems muggle. And any accidental magic episodes will just be recorded in a muggle neighborhood. The ministry does not keep a detailed track of the names of children that have bouts of accidental magic before the age of eleven."

"Our son will not be staying with anyone else besides us!" shouted James as he stood up from his chair, knocking it to the ground.

The shouting and the noise of the fallen chair had woken up Harry, who was now wailing. James continued to shout at Dumbledore and Albus' infinite patience vanished as he tried to argue his point. Lily rocked Harry back and forth, trying to shush him but he continued to cry. Humming a lullaby did nothing nor did anything else. It wasn't until another voice joined everyone else's that things finally settled down.

Fawkes glided down from his perch, his trill calming down everyone save Harry who continued to cry. It wasn't until the phoenix nuzzled his feathered head against Harry's that he finally quieted down, now cooing at the bird. She looked at James and Albus to see both of them breathing heavy, their sudden anger now gone. James righted his chair and sat back down as did Albus. It was the stiff and tired motions of the Headmaster that garnered her attention.

Every time that she saw him, he looked young and spry for his age, a exuberant child in a elderly body. Now though, he looked ancient, frail, and vulnerable. His hands slowly moved along his desk, the action seeming to take all his strength. And when he pulled out a small bottle full of a green liquid with a small glass tumbler, she gasped in shock. After he drank one glassful, he looked at them, eyes clouded over, not brought by the drink, but something like sadness.

"Forgive me for my outburst. I tend to forget the people involved when I decide in my mind the outcome for the greater good. But you must understand this is the best way to ensure your son's safety. Who would suspect the Boy-Who-Lived, destroyer of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, to live amongst muggles? I can add spells to the entire neighborhood that will prevent any person with magical abilities to enter. And if there is no contact between Harry and the wizarding world, then there is no reason for him to bring attention to himself and bring his enemies to him," said Albus. He had gone quieter near the end of the speech, but it didn't take any of the passion out of his voice.

Lily looked at her son, having gone back to sleep after Fawkes trilled a song for him. All she could think about was keeping her son safe. She wanted to stay with him; she wanted to be a part of his life. She knew that it was partly selfish, to be with her son despite putting his life at an even greater risk. But it was her right as a mother to be with her son…still, she valued his life more than her own happiness. She saw a droplet of water on Harry's cheek and she realized she was crying.

There was the sound of a chair scraping the carpet as it was pushed back. James knelt next to her, arms wrapping around her and Harry, cheek pressed against hers and she felt the dampness of it. She continued to look at Harry as she heard James broken voice, "He'll be…safe?" She heard something that sounded like a "yes" from Dumbledore.

"You promise…?" she said, barely recognizing her anguished whisper. Another "yes" was said. She buried her face in the crook of James' neck, his arms coming around her tighter. She spoke again in a broken whisper, "When…?"

"A week from now. I suggest that you return to your quarters and spend as much time with your son as you can. I know this pains you greatly, but remember, remember that you are doing this to save your son, and possibly by extension, everyone else."

"And how would you know? How many sons have you given up?" said James, anger marring his features. He sighed in regret for his words and mumbled an apology to Dumbledore.

"Let's go James…I want to put Harry to bed," she whispered against his skin.

Soon after, they were out of Dumbledore's office, their footsteps loud in the silent night. She was burrowed into James' side again, Harry close to her own body, the need to be as close as possible at the front of her mind. How in the world had she agreed to this insanely stupid plan?! Giving up her son to her sister who hates anything to do with magic, to agree to not see her son for until his eleventh birthday?! What could have possibly made her say yes to Dumbledork's plan? She would tell him tomorrow that she changed her mind, tell him that there is no way in hell that she would give up…

She looked down as Harry yawned, his arms and legs stretching lightly. He looked so cute and innocent, so vulnerable. He was so young and people would try to talk to him and touch some part of his body if they ever went out in public. She hugged him closer to her body as if she could protect him from everyone else.

They had already climbed up six flights of stairs, now at the entrance to the Gryffindor house. They swept past the portrait of the Fat Lady and moved into the rooms that had been set up for them. Most of the furnishings in the room were a chocolate brown, complete with a writing desk and a four poster bed. Dumbledore had the Hogwarts elves add a crib as well. She moved over to it, running her hand along the oak, gleaming from the polishing the house elves had given it.

She gently placed Harry into it, tucking the blankets over his body, fingers gliding past his chubby cheeks and small belly. She felt like crying, already knowing that the determination she had built up to tell Dumbledore no was gone. To protect her son, she was willing to do anything, even if it meant giving him up to keep him safe. She wanted to stay with him, surely her and James could go hide somewhere with Harry where no one will find them. Still, people would still be looking for them and they would expect Harry to be with them. If Harry was somewhere else and they stayed in the public's eye, then Harry truly would be safe from anyone, never thinking that he might be somewhere else.

After placing a kiss on Harry's temple, she climbed into bed, not even bothering to change into her night clothes. She noticed James had done the same and she saw from the look in his eyes that he had given into Dumbledore's plan. She felt a bead of moisture fall down from the corner of her eye and she eagerly climbed into James' open arms. She sobbed against his neck, knowing that she decided on this course of action to save Harry. She felt drops of water fall onto her head and she knew James was crying as well, silently, but crying nonetheless.

She wrapped her arms around him tighter, falling into an uneasy sleep, her son sleeping soundlessly in his crib.

A/N: This took forever to get out. I had no problem writing the beginning, but then I hit a massive case of writer's block in the middle. The end was written pretty smoothly from my head. Sorry this took so long.

Okay the next chapter we have the goodbye sending at the Dursley's. From there, I'll have various scenes that show the aftermath of their decision. The years will go by quickly. I'll just showcase major events in their lives without Harry. That's for the fourth chapter. The fifth deals with some more events and then we get to the scene where they go to pick up Harry on his eleventh birthday.

And from chapter six and on, the story now becomes Harry-centric. Just wait a while and it'll get there.