Half asleep and head pounding with a hangover from the family barbecue the night before, James wasn't quite able to understand nor register his son's warbled words that had managed to pierce through the daze. But years of battle-hardened training had kicked him into gear and before he knew it, he was on his feet with wand in hand & bed hair askew. His heart pounded in his chest, unbridled fear coursed through his veins as he was reminded of a summer solstice only a year prior that had forever changed their lives. Lily, who had responded just as quickly to Harry's cries (thanks in part to some sort of primal maternal instinct), was already ripping herself free from the bedsheets that entangled around her ankles as she raced for the muggleborn's bedroom; almost ripping their door off its hinges in the process.
It took a few tries for his muddled mind to catch up with his already fleet feet. The dazed cervine spent a few short minutes fumbling for his glasses which he thought had been tossed onto the dresser, but in actuality had found themselves buried beneath one of Harry's socks in the hamper. Mindless of his state of dress (or lack thereof), James hurried across the landing after his wife, using both the walls and the furniture to rebound off of in his hurry.
A heavy thump followed by several curse words echoed up from the other end of the hall where Sirius & Remus were scrambling over each other in an effort to get up the stairs. It didn't take a genesis to figure out that the two canines had heard the hullabaloo, even all the over in their little corner of the estate. If James knew his mates like he thought he did, then Sirius was likely cursing up a storm as he became entangled in the long-limbed awkwardness of the wolf who'd fallen over his feet and, in turn, the wolfhound.
Remus, in turn, would be bemoaning their less-than-subtle ascent and the wrath of Lily, who had made her intentions of sticking him in the dog house quite clear. Ever since he had tattled to Dumbledore about Jean's sudden appearance—ever since she had read that memoir, cover-to-cover—Lily had been all for shoving the wisened headmaster six feet under for his tenacity and for wanting to—and having done so in Jean's timeline—sacrifice her child for his so-called "greater good" Remus had been walking on eggshells ever since; because Lily didn't hold grudges, she cradled them.
Enraged by the things that she had read in those yellowed pages and the wolf's childish actions (however warranted), Lily had all-but grounded the wolf to the Potter property, keeping him confined like a troublesome child who could not be trusted alone. Which was true, in a sense. After the stunt he had pulled—and the unknown status of Peter—Lily was still hesitant to trust him again. Afterall, how could she trust that he wouldn't go blabbing to Dumbledore if given half the chance? eEven a year later, she wasn't happy with his decision to go behind their backs and tell Dumbledore about Jean, but the redhead had still been worried about his stint in the Moors with the Packs nonetheless. And now that she had him back in her sights, she refused to let him go back into the headmaster's clutches, 'least something far worse than an irate witch befell him.
Sirius, on the other hand, was allowed to come and go from his (second) childhood home as he pleased; usually travelling via the floo network when he absolutely had to go. But most days you could find him sequestered in the Scottish highlands, romping about the grounds as a wolfhound and taking his anger out on the wildlife that festered there. In turn, the Potters—much like the Longbottoms—had all but faded into neutrality after that fateful summer solstice; neither good nor evil. Which was why Dumbledore was so insistent on finding them again, because neutrality in times of war—especially from powerful & influential families like the Potters—was what made them so dangerous, to both sides.
Belatedly, James mourned the loss of his blessed sleep after such a raucous party the night before, one that was worthy of the alumni Gryffindors, but those thoughts were quickly shoved aside as he charged from one end of the manor to the other. Rebounding off of an armchair (and—ow!—why did it sit at such an awkward angle?) and towards one the nearest walls, the cervine made his way towards the muggleborn's bedroom. The framed portrait next to his glasses rattled on its nails as James rebounded off of the wall, the figure within ranting angrily at him at the disturbance. But James' thoughts were elsewhere, instead running a million miles an hour.
He liked to think that he was a reasonable man, but even the most reasonable of men had their breaking points. Questions from the last few months were suddenly brought to the forefront of his mind, questions that had long since been buried or pushed aside in the favour of others. Ever since the muggleborn had landed on their doorstep and ever since they had opened up that little beaded bag, the wizard had burned with questions that he wanted to ask; questions that had been put on hold when Jean had passed out again after only answering (quite reluctantly) the basic few. Now that she was awake, they were back.
What's going on? What does she remember? James puzzled with brows pinched into a furrow, Was Jean REALLY awake? Or was it just Harry's imagination? What had caused her to sleep for so long? What had caused her seemingly unwarranted coma to stretch on for so many months? A coma, mind you, that the healers had found no reason for her to be in. Did it have something to do with those old runes Tilly had seen? The ones that had taken down their wards? What kind of magic even was THAT? Which then begged the questions, WHAT kind of magic did the muggleborn get herself involved in? What HAD caused her to resort to such magicks anyway? Why was she even back in the past in the first place? HOW had she gotten here (Phineas Black had been frustratingly tight-lipped about that, and absolutely LESS than HELPFUL when prodded for more answers)? Could she go back? WOULD she go back?
And then those questions turned towards other, darker ones. Ones that begged for James to worry about the safety of his own family, because who knew just what kind of witch Jean really was. In the short time that she had been awake, she'd been sweet, if a little distant & wary of them (understandably so). But no one knew, not for certain, which concerned him especially with his supposed best mates throwing his world view for a loop. No one knew what had happened to Peter; he had pretty much disappeared off of the map ever since and though he was a little miffed about the whole tattletale thing, he was much happier to let Lily nurse her grudge against Remus than touch that with a ten-foot pole.
James had looked into the manner that was Jean Granger as best he could, but so far, there were no records of a muggleborn named Jean Granger, anywhere. Mind you, she could've been homeschooled or those records (alongside several others) could've been lost/destroyed earlier in the war. Unfortunately, it had become a bit of a common occurrence with both the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters infiltrating the Ministry of Magic to find the things that they needed. Usually they were the same things, and more often than not, it ended with that item in smithereens; because if they couldn't have it, then no one could. It was quickly becoming apparent that the Ministry was far less stalwart than they liked to seem. Which, again, made him wonder just who was Jean Granger?
Left high & dry with little to no questions answered, James had been left to face what facts the did know: Jean Granger was a young muggleborn witch, marked by a cursed blade, several other scars and had her hand in some sort of ancient magicks which resulted in her long term slumber. She'd time travelled to the past and had been aided by Peter to find their cottage in Godric's Hollow. Regulus' death note to You-Know-Who had been in her possession, for some reason. One of Elvendork's kittens, Crookshanks, had taken quite the liking to the girl and Harry had proclaimed the witch to be his big sister.
Neither healer nor canine, cervine or house-elf could discern anything physically wrong with Jean, and so she had been declared unfit for St Mungo's as she would be taking up much needed bed space. James had argued that she would be better cared for in the Janus Thickey ward, but Lily with her bleeding heart, hadn't been able to hand over the young witch and so she'd stayed with the Potters. Besides James would be damned if he ever crossed a witch like his wife.
"S'rry, Tilly" James mumbled as he just barely avoided tripping over the little house-elf twining around his feet like the kneazles were wont to do.
"S'fine" Tilly brushed off, all business as she hurried back inside, hands laden with medical attire. The elderly house-elf had always been a fixture in James' life—no-nonsense & matronly—having raised him from nappies, as was the way in Pureblooded families.
Finally coming in to the occupied room, James found himself accosted by the sight of his giddily beaming son who had clambered into the bed with Jean and Crookshanks. Lily hovered nearby, looking just as bedraggled as himself, as Tilly handed her the needed items to examine every inch of Jean and going through every single procedure that she could think of (both muggle and magical). But Jean just blinked languidly back at them, occasionally grunting, hissing or groaning in response. Behind him, both Sirius and Remus eventually burst into the room with much wiggling on their part as they both tried to squeeze through the doorframe at once.
It was odd to see those golden brown orbs again—he was relieved, for sure—but it was odd just the same. To James, it seemed like only yesterday that he was ushering the young witch into his home that terrible solstice night, and yet at the same time, it seemed like an eon ago. Though she had been in his home for the past year, changing day-by-day, it was still odd to see her so…alive. It was just taking a bit longer for his muddled mind to catch up with what he was seeing, that's all.
05 September 1982
Potter Manor, John O'Groats
The following fortnight, the Potter Manor had never seemed so alive with the constant hustle & bustle of healers & house-elves moving about. Many of Dumbledore's spies had been spotted prowling about the highlands or along the property line, unable to cross through the wards; because of course he had the mysterious muggleborn under surveillance. James knew he had seen Mordecai Berrycloth wandering around the village! (He had been disguised as some woollen cantankerous old lady, but James knew that snaggletooth anywhere).
Her Hogwarts letter had even arrived earlier in the year, not two days after she'd woken, because of course it had. Because no matter what they thought of the man, you could not deny that Dumbledore was persistent in his effort to sway them back to his side. Stating things like: "Hogwarts is THE safest place she could be" and "Her skills would be better honed under our professors" and "Her medical needs would be better met under the care of Madam Pomfrey than YOUR muggle doctors" Lily had just about set the headmaster alight at his insinuation that she (as a muggleborn) & the muggles they consulted with were below them.
The Potters had categorically refused, of course, writing that Jean needed more time to recover surrounded by familiarity, that they were worried about the war and they would be hiring a tutor for her in the meantime. So, that there was no need to send her away; even if Hogwarts wasn't that far from the Potter Manor. Dumbledore didn't have to like, he just had to accept it because he couldn't very well frog-march the girl out their home and into those stone halls without a good enough reason; the Ministry would never allow it. And Dumbledore knew that, so they were left alone, at least for now.
Thankfully, in the meantime their contingency of house-elves were quite a petty & vindictive bunch who protectively guarded their territory from wayward stragglers who dared to try and breach the wards. More than once the cervine had seen Wonky lobbing gnomes over the garden wall, and the resulting shriek as whichever mage found themselves under threat of the tenacious little beasts. Also, Lily had become almost scarily apt in domestic spells; some of which James had recognised from his mother's own repertoire, of which had made his own father tinge green around the gills. Let's just say that the bespectacled cervine was glad he wasn't the headmaster.
During that time Jean had made a big improvement (at least that's what he could discern between all of the medical jargon flung back & forth Lily, the muggle doctors and the house-elves), and was now able to stay awake for longer periods of time. Harry had been thrilled about that. He'd spent every waking moment that he could with Jean, just talking, really. Some days that meant he was telling her about his day, whilst other days that meant he was reading to her from whatever was his chosen fairytale of the day.
The chosen story of the day would differ between The Tales of Beedle the Bard and The Fairytales Grimm, and more often than not those stories would end up as an amalgamation of both cultures, not that Jean seemed to mind. Ini fact, her eyes almost seemed to swim with mirth whenever his son mixed together Little Red Riding Hood and Babbitty Rabbity and her Cackling Stump, or jack the Giant Slayer and The Wizard and the Hopping Pot. Lily swore up & down that it meant that Harry was going to be some amazing author when he got older. James always countered, saying that Harry would be a star quidditch player, someday. They had a long-term bet going between them about the whole thing.
Currently, James was sat in the grotto with his wife at his side, a glass of chardonnay in his hand (somehow muggle booze was just so much better than the magical stuff. Maybe because there were several masters in the field?) and a headful of badly-tied braids & tufts of ponytails (courtesy of Harry) as they enjoyed the setting sun. The high-back lawn chair off to the side was occupied by Jean who lay slumped back against it, and who bore a matching set of messy braids (though it was hard to tell amongst her wildest of curls).
It had been an effort and a half to manoeuvre the witch downstairs & outside to the garden; at least until James had reminded Lily that she was, in fact, a witch, herself and could use magic. For such a bright witch, she was forever forgetting the fact that she was indeed a witch and ended up doing things the muggle way more often than not, (of course, sometimes that was on purpose). Held close to the chair with a well-placed Sticking Charm, Jean watched on in content, whilst one of her hands lay idle in Crookshanks' fur; not the temperamental kitten seemed to mind. Lain out amongst the patchwork ruffles of the quilt spread over Jean's legs, the golden-haired kitten appeared more content than James had ever seen him.
Out on the lawn, Harry & Padfoot were busy chasing each other around the grassy expanse as the garden gnomes, who festered within the lavender bushes, ducked & ran for cover. But they were no competition for a six-foot hound and a curious toddler. Occasionally one of the more bullheaded gnomes would try to bite outstretched fingers or Harry would grapple with skeletal hats, but good ole Uncle Padfoot was always there to lend a helping hand (James tried not to let his mind wander, drifting back to that Merlin-forsaken prophecy which weighed heavily on his mind most days).
Remus was currently passed out in his bed, over there in the Dower Estate, under the careful touch of the motherhenning Tilly. Last night had been a full moon and, like the many moons since Peter's disappearance and Lily's disapproval, the werewolf had taken it pretty hard. It seemed that even Moony was punishing the wizard for what had happened; for a pack member to go awol and for hurting another pack member. Moony had made his own opinions quite clear on the matter, no matter how many times Remus turned another cheek to the wolf's antics. At this point, it was almost concerning, how masochistic those full nights were becoming.
"…Jim? Y'alright?" Lily murmured from around her wine glass, matching braids taming the ginger locks splayed about her face as her voice shook him from his thoughts.
"Yeah" James hummed absently. Hazel orbs watched from behind sea salt-splattered glasses as his little family scene played out. A gentle smile graced his face and if James squinted just right, he could almost pretend that they were a proper family; one complete with the white picket fence and the rambunctious family dog. "Yeah, everything's fine"