Emotion prompt: Loving
Characters: James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black
Summary: 'They left, but they never really left.' — James, Lily and Sirius watch over Harry even past their death.
They left, but they never really left.
They were out of sight, but still, just there, watching patiently and lovingly the life of the boy they all cared about so much, just beyond the range to be sensed.
-o0o-
She had been watching over him all these years, ever since that blast of green light threw them apart, just as she had watched over him while she lived. Her red hair a copper cascade, she would watch in silence as her little son tumbled around in patchy, baggy clothes, so miserably uncared in the house of one she had once loved so dearly. Her tears would find no image, her screams no sound to the living, so she was helpless, helpless to watch her son through his difficult days. And at night as she saw him go to sleep with spiders and dust as company, she would caress his forehead with her ghostly touches, and murmur little songs like she had done earlier. And while he couldn't listen, the mind of a child is a curious thing, and perhaps it gave him the strength and solace to live on in that horrible house. She had been unable to fulfill her part as a mother due to those terrible chain of events, but she did her best beyond her life.
-o0o-
He knew that he would never cease to be amazed at how much of himself and his wife he saw in their son. He was so proud of him, right from the time he watched him tackle Malfoy in the train (Lily had been exasperated by his childish behaviour), even before too, actually. The lies that the Dursleys told about them to his son made him snarl and pound his fist at nothingness... He was not a ghost, he had gone beyond the veil and had no image, no image that could be a comfort to Harry and a terror to that horrible family.
He danced around in boundless pride and joy when his son became the youngest seeker in a century; he bit his lips in worry as he saw how trouble followed his son everywhere, threatening his life every now and then. As the years drew by, he kept his son company with his cheers and cries, his smiles and tears, his greatest grief that his son could never see or hear him. He just wished he could have just one chance to tell Harry how proud he was of him. He knew that he was the unluckiest and the luckiest man (if he could still be called that), all at the same time.
-o0o-
He had never intended to be separated from his godson so soon. When he had been named godfather to his best friend's son, he had made thousands of promises to himself, that he would protect the child at any cost, that he would always be there for him. And he failed miserably in that. He had hoped to make up for that, after he snatched his freedom from that hellhole where he had lived for twelve years, except that the happy ending never reached him. He hated himself for that, powerless as he was to do anything once he fell past the veil. He watched with a mixture of pride, joy and concern as his teenaged godson grew into a strong young man. Harry's grief towards his loss saddened him, angered him and made him grateful in equal measure. He wished he could have spent more time with Harry; he wished he could have heard out his troubles and solve them; he wished he could have been what he was supposed to be, not a criminal, not a prisoner, and certainly not a tempting, shadowy promise of home and family, only to disappear too soon. He had wanted to stay.
But he could not, so he watched the boy from the beyond to which the veil had led him, silently supporting, wordlessly wandering at the periphery of existence. He just wished that his godson could see him once more, so that he could pour out his apologies and thoughts and everything else that he had wanted to, just once.
-o0o-
He was so brave, Harry. Their love and pride for him grew so much day by day, that each felt that they would spontaneously combust, and yet it was a healing feeling, a necessity, to hold their frail non-existence together.
And when he finally could see them under the Stone's effect, they managed to speak only the tiniest fraction of what they wanted, but that was enough, because he was nearly there. With them.
But he didn't come, and of course they didn't mind. They rejoiced this separation, an indication that this boy, their boy, lived. He would come to them one day, but none of them was in a hurry.
Because they left, but they never really left. They were always living, and loving, in 'there'. In Harry's heart.