James was pacing up and down like a wolf in a cage. Remus sat at the kitchen table, watching his friend with amusement.

"If it starts raining again, I swear to Merlin, I'm going to eat my own thumbs." James shivered, as though the thought of rain made him itch. As soon as he spoke, a water droplet fell from the ceiling and landed on his head. James growled loudly and rubbed his head.

"Bathilda may as well blast her roof off, as she loves letting in the weather so much!"

Remus chuckled. "Renovation by explosion seems to be all the rage in this village." He peered out of the kitchen window at the last remnants of the famous house down the lane.

"Maybe we should move back in to our rubble pile! We'd be dryer there, at least!"

They heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Lily then trudged into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.

"James..." she said groggily. "Which of your limbs is your favourite?"

James watched her nervously. "Why do you ask?"

She took a deep breath and smiled sweetly at him. "Because, if you continue to keep Harry awake with your pissing and moaning, I will rip off one of your limbs with my bare hands and beat you to death with it. Savvy?"

James saluted her. He did not complain further.

Lily wasn't sleeping well. The thin plaster walls of Bathilda's house let in the sounds of shrieking nocturnal animals, hysterical tourists outside their old house down the lane and battering gusts of wind. Once more, Harry's emerging teeth were unforgiving. Both Lily and James could do little to soothe him, but once Lily was woken, she could not go back to sleep again.

"Right," James grabbed his cloak from the back of a chair. "I'm job-hunting today, dearest wife. I'm venturing out. Into the outside world..."

Lily opened her eyes more, and looked uncertain. "Oh...kay... be careful, though."

"I'm going with Remus to the Ministry to see what's there."

"Sure...But I don't want another repeat of-"

"No, no, it'll be fine!" James quickly assured her. He knew she was picturing the disastrous venture into Diagon Alley three days ago, where they'd been mobbed by shoppers. Some were hailing praise, some were hurling stones. It had been chaos, and had scared them back indoors. But James was getting restless again. He hadn't imagined post-war life to be just as constricting as wartime.

"James, can't you just... just look in the Daily Prophetor something?" asked Lily.

James groaned. "No. I've been doing that all week, Lils. I need to get out there and be pro-active. For my sanity, if anything."

Lily seemed to relax slightly. "Okay... when will you be back?"

"You don't want to come with us?" asked Remus.

Lily frowned. "I can't leave Harry with Bathilda again. The stress nearly killed him last time."

"We can bring Harry with us, can't we?" suggested James. Remus opened his mouth to speak, but Lily got there first.

"No, James, you cannot take him with you! He'll be recognised, you'll get mobbed, no-one is going to hire you if-"

"Alright, alright!" James held his hands up in defence. "I was just asking..."

"It was a stupid question, though, wasn't it?"

"Why are you being mean?"

"I'm not being mean!"

"Yes you are!"

"I'm just agitating and you're pissing me off!"

Remus shrunk into the corner of the kitchen.

"Yeah, we can all see that, Lily! Just don't shout at me!"

"I'M NOT SHOUTING AT YOU!"

"YES YOU BLOODY ARE!"

Then, conjuring all the panic and dread of an air-raid siren, Harry's wails reverberated throughout the rickety house. Remus, James and Lily sank.

"You are dead," Lily hissed at her husband as she stormed out of the kitchen.

Wide-eyed as though thoroughly bewildered and insulted, James held his arms out in exasperation at Remus. "What am I doing wrong?"

Remus smiled. "Lily's been cooped up in a strange house with a screaming baby and a batty old woman for company."

"Batty old woman?" chuckled a female voice from the door. James squeaked. "You weren't talking about me by any chance, were you?"

"No, Ms Bagshot, we were simply reminiscing about the old days of the Order," Remus smiled calmly.

Bathilda shuffled across the kitchen to the cupboards. She opened one and bent down to rifle through it, her large backside sticking up in the air right in front of Remus' face. James and Remus exchanged a smirk just as Lily walked in, clutching Harry's hand as he walked beside her on wobbly feet.

"Good morning, Harry!" Remus greeted him. Harry did not smile back. He looked tired and unhappy, his cheeks red from exertion and big tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Who's this, Harry?" asked James, bending down to where Harry now stood by the leg of dining table. "Harry, who's this?"

"Dada," Harry answered begrudgingly, pouting at Remus.

James looked offended. "No, Harry... go on, who is it? Look closely."

Harry squinted. Remus bent down and shuffled closer to Harry. On further inspection, Harry recognised his visitor. "Meemus!" Harry pointed at Remus.

"Yeah, mate! Remus!"

James looked up expecting to see Lily, hoping that she was smiling at Harry. Instead, she'd made her way over to Bathilda.

"Bathilda, let me to that," she was saying. James stood up and hauled Harry onto one of the dining chairs, the seat of which he'd charmed to be higher than the others.

"No, that's quite alright, dear!" Bathilda's voice sounded from within the cupboard. Her head was right in there as she rummaged for decent food.

"Really, Bathilda, I can manage."

"Don't worry about me, dear, just sit down!"

Lily gave James an imploring look.

James cleared his throat. "Bathilda, you've just woken up. Why don't you let Lily get breakfast ready for a change?"

Bathilda chuckled, reappearing from inside the cupboard holding a bottle of milk and a box of very old-looking oats. "Nonsense!" she smiled. "You're my guests! What sort of a host would I be if I made you serve up the meals?"

James looked at Lily and shrugged. Lily begrudgingly sat down next to Harry, clenching her teeth. She'd have looked angry had she not looked so tired.

Remus, James and Lily sat in silence whilst the sound of clattering pots and pans came from where Bathilda faced the kitchen windows.

"There's nothing more satisfying than warm porridge on a rainy day..." Bathilda mused. James sat up and craned to look out of the window. Sure enough, rain was starting to pour.

"Incendio," Bathilda cast into the small stone oven in the wall. "If there's one spell we cannot live without, it's the fire-lighting charm. Did you know it was the first spoken spell ever invented?" James noticed black iron skewer hung just above the coals, which were now glowing after Bathilda's spell. "Yes, yes... 10th century. A rich lord in Aberdeenshire had been complaining of a draft in his bed chamber and his chamber-man was terrified of being decapitated, so he just shouted for fire and voila! There it...oh, poor thing!"

Harry had started to cry again. Bathilda quickly hung the pan of milk and oats onto the oven skewer and, to James' surprise, ran to Harry's aid. James and Lily, who'd immediately started trying to soothe him, were cast aside as Bathilda picked Harry up from his chair and carried him over to the window.

"Bathilda?" questioned Lily. Bathilda did not appear to hear her. She bounced Harry on her hip, who continued to cry whilst Bathilda pointed out at the village through the window, talking softly to him.

James and Lily shared a dark look. "Bathilda?" Lily tried again after taking a deep calming breath. "Bathilda, what are you doing?"

Bathilda looked over her shoulder and smiled at Lily. "He just needs a change of scenery, that's all!"

James blinked hard. "Actually, I think he's probably hungry."

Bathilda chuckled. "Well, I can't make food cook any quicker!"

Lily was making an effort to breathe slowly and calmly. James, feeling her irritation, reached over and held her hand, rubbing it with her thumb to calm him further.

"Wipe your tears little boy, lest the water fairies see, or they whisk you away in an Autumn breeze..." Bathilda began to sing wobbly. James' eye twitched.

"Ah, it smells as though the porridge is ready!" Bathilda cheered, sitting Harry down on the edge of the counter. When she walked away from him, all three remaining adults lurched to their feet. Remus dived for Harry before he could fall, throwing an appalled look at Bathilda as she dished up the porridge into chipped bowls.

"Here we are!" Bathilda sang, dumping the bowls on the table. "There's nothing more sustaining than a hot bowl of porridge on a rainy day!"

Casting Bathilda's repetitiveness aside as old age, James hungrily took the bowl of porridge that she presented to him. However, he found that he was holding a bowl of warm milk on which floated a handful of soggy oats. He looked into Harry's bowl. If only he knew a porridge-cooking spell. Bathilda's back was turned and he could attempt it. But he would never experiment with magic when it came to Harry. So, he would have to make do with a shitty breakfast.

Lily reluctantly picked up Harry's spoon and started feeding him spoonfuls of milk, to which Harry responded with a cough and a wail each time.

"Toddlers," tutted Bathilda. "Such fussy eaters, aren't they?"

"Harry's teething too, Bathilda," said James. "That's why he's been crying a lot these days."

They continued eating, until Bathilda suddenly gasped "Perhaps he's cold!", as if James hadn't spoken before. The stove oven was heating the room plenty, yet Bathilda was wrapped in about twenty shawls.

"He's not cold," said James coolly.

"It's rather chilly in here. I'll go and light a fire!". She quickly disappeared into the living room.

James stood up quickly at the mention of the fire.

"Bathilda?" called James. When there was no reply, he approached the living room door. "Bathilda, I really think-"

"Incendio!" they heard Bathilda shout in the living room. Within seconds, the house was full of the sour acidic smell of burning mold. Remus gagged. Bathilda shuffled back in to the room. "There. Age-old classic. Did you know that the fire-lighting charm was the first spoken spell ever invented?"

Lily cleared her throat. "Yes, we did."

To her credit, Lily managed to spoon-feed most of the milk and some of the soggy oats to Harry in between his cries. However, this meant that she'd hardly touched her own breakfast. Maybe that was tactical.

"Remus?" James pushed his bowl away from him after a few slowly-chewed mouthfuls. "Shouldn't we be going soon? You don't want to be late for work, do you?"

"Definitely not."

As Remus and James stood up, so did Lily. Harry immediately started to wail. James stared at her. "You're coming now?"

"Yes," she said quickly. "Let me just go and get Harry's pram."

"You can leave Harry here with me, if you want, Lily!" called Bathilda, quickly padding towards the door. "I don't mind!"

"That's quite alright!" replied Lily from another room. "I'm running errands with Sirius!" she lied. "He's always eager to see his Godson!"

Seconds later, Lily wheeled in the pram.

"That's not a pram, Lily," said Remus, seemingly confused by the contraption that was foreign to wizards. "That's a push-chair."

"I know, I just call it a pram."

"Bless him... they grow up so fast, don't they?" Bathilda smiled sadly. It was then that Lily stopped in her anguish to look pitifully at Bathilda. "Can you believe he's sixteen months old tomorrow?"

The adults froze.

"...today is the thirtieth of November?" Lily asked quietly.

"Indeed it is, dear!" said Bathilda happily. "Is something the matter?"

"Tomorrow it'll be a month since..." Lily trailed off.

Suddenly the house seemed very quiet, very cold, and very empty.

"We should go," said James softly, taking his wife's arm before she could cry.

"When will you be back?" asked Bathilda quickly, sounding suddenly nervous.

"Soon," said Lily, managing a smile. "I've just got to a bit of shopping."

Bathilda nodded, seeming reassured. "I'll wait here, then."

oOo oOo oOo

"If this ends up permanent," James hissed from under his invisibility cloak. " I will actually destroy you."

"Relax," Remus urged him, chuckling. "There are worse spells to experiment with, you know..."

James and Remus were stood in the cubicle entrance to the Ministry of Magic. The bathroom was uncharacteristically empty, what with the majority of commuters having arrived at the Ministry much earlier. With Remus' new working hours being later than everyone else's, he and James had been able to find a more decent breakfast in a muggle cafe.

"Okay, lose the cloak," said Remus. James whipped the invisibility cloak over his head, revealing himself to be damp from the rain. He stared at Remus' wand nervously.

"I told you to relax," said Remus. "The worst that can happen is that you're stuck with ginger hair forever."

"I will kill you..." James grumbled, grimacing as Remus pointed his wand at James' head.

"Hold still," Remus warned, grinning. "Colovaria!"

James felt his scalp tingle for a second, then it stopped. When he saw Remus fight a smirk, his hands dropped his cloak and went straight to his hair. It felt normal. "What's happened? Am I ginger?"

"Very much so."

James yanked the cubicle door open and searched for his reflection in the mirror. Sure enough, his hair was the most vibrant orange he'd ever seen.

"Off we go!" said Remus merrily, picking the invisibility cloak off the floor and stuffing it into his briefcase.

James had to stop himself growling. His mortification was off-set by the funny sight of Remus clambering into a toilet bowl.

"You do this every day?"

"Shut up."

He flushed the chain and looked to be sucked painfully down the pipe. James gulped as he stepped in afterwards. He was feeling rather full from his second breakfast. He didn't want to throw up in the Ministry. He took a deep breath and pulled the chain.

The sensation itself was dreadful. A split second of feeling himself being squeezed through a six-inch-wide pipe was definitely not it was instantly over, and James had landed.

"Remus?" he called out stupidly, as he stumbled out of the grate into a throng of business-like Ministry workers.

"Here," said Remus, coming out from round the side of the shoot. "Come on, it's this way."

They joined the flowing current of Ministry workers into the main space, where people began to divide off down corridors and into lifts. Remus dragged James into the lift without a queue. James was too nervous about being caught to bother taking in the scene around him. Remus was chatting to colleagues and pressing buttons on the lift as though he'd been in the job for years. James was vaguely conscious of people getting in and out of the lift whenever they shunted to a stop and lurched off again. Before long, it was their turn.

"Minister for Magic and Support Staff," said a jolly voice from nowhere. Remus gave James a little shove and they ventured out into a large round room with doors staggered around the walls and a glass domed ceiling as high as Gringotts'. It was empty, except for one round man at a solitary desk with a bowler hat, whom James recognised from the night Voldemort died. He was scratching away at a roll of parchment with his quill. On the desk, four other quills were aggressively scribbling letters and contracts on their own.

"Excuse me... Mister Blandings?" asked Remus, stepping forward towards the desk.

The small man looked up with big brown eyes. "Mister Lupin, are you lost?"

"No, no, but my friend here wants to see the Minister for Magic."

Blandings looked sharply at James for a second before his expression melted into a beaming smile. "Arthur! My dear chap, how are you? You're looking well!"

Remus and James exchanged a bewildered glance.

"Wait there just one moment, Old Bean, let me see..." Blandings picked up a roll of parchment. From within his pocket he pulled out a monocle. He held it to his eye and squinted unattractively at the parchment, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he searched the document for something. "Hmm... nope, sorry, Arthur! You're not on the list!" Blandings removed his monocle and squinted at James. "Did you forget to make an appointment again?"

Beside James, Remus sighed. "Mister Blandings, this is my friend, James Potter."

Blandings' mouth fell open with a pop. He scrambled around the desk for his monocle, grabbed it, and with a trembling hand held it to his good eye. His mouth widened impossibly further. "By Jove..." he whispered. "It is you! What happened to you hair?"

"A personal safety measure, Mister Blandings, nothing more," Remus smiled. "Does the Minister have a five minute slot somewhere where she can talk to Mister Potter, here?"

"I... but... I...of- of course!" Blandings spluttered. "Go right in!"

James smiled gratefully at Blandings. Remus patted him on the back. "I'm off to work. See you later." and with that, he disappeared back into the lift.

"This way, Sir!" Blandings hobbled over to the door directly behind his desk and opened it, half bowing as he did so. Through the door, James recognised the portrait that concealed the hidden doorway. He smiled and walked forward.

Millicent Bagnold was at her desk, her head in her hands. Her head shot up when he entered. "Who the hell are you?!"

"James Potter, Minister. Still."

Bagnold leaped out of her chair and raced across the room with the sprightliness of a young girl. She peered right in his face. "Mister Potter! How the bloody hell did you get in without an appointment? What happened to your hair?"

"Minister, relax," James was feeling somewhat braver. "The man out there let me in. As for the hair, I've always fancied bouncy orange curls."

Bagnold narrowed her eyes at him. "Have a seat, Potter."

Rather than join him, Bagnold marched over to the office door and pulled it open. "Blandings!" There was a pause. "Blandings! You only let in people who are on - that- list!" she hissed angrily at him. She slammed the door.

"Sorry, Potter," she sighed, walking back over. "Busy morning, busy week, busy month..." she flopped back into her desk chair and exhaled. "Speaking of which, I imagine that's why you're here."

"Minister?"

"Tomorrow. There's no thirty-first of November so the first of December will be the one month anniversary. Isn't that why you're here? To arrange something?"

"Er, not quite," James replied honestly, feeling flush. "I'm here about something far less humble."

"Something far less humble that couldn't have reached me by owl?"

"We don't have an owl, Minister."

"You should get one," she told him. "Go on, what is it?"

James paused, then took a deep breath. "Last time we were here, you said something about getting our just-desserts. I wondered... we wondered what you meant by that."

Before Bagnold could reply, the office door swung open. "Sorry, sorry!" Blandings hobbled in carrying a large pile of rolls of parchment. He dumped them on Bagnold's desk.

Bagnold sighed. "Right, what's all this?"

Blandings pointed to each roll of parchment in turn. "That one's from Dumbledore, that one's from the Auror Office, that one's a petition to expand the Wizengamot, that one's a petition to shrink the Wizengamot and that one's from the United States' Minister of Magic asking if cancelling the Quidditch World Cup this year constitutes two Quidditch World Cups this year, Minister."

"Good God, that man is a moron..." Bagnold hastily grabbed a quill and unrolled the one from the American Minister. Before she wrote anything, she glanced at a handful of remaining parchments on her desk.

"And who are those from?" she asked, nodding to them.

"Oh, those are death threats, Minister."

"Oh good. Thank you, Blandings, you can go."

Blandings bowed, tipping his bowler had and hobbled back out of the door. As soon as it was shut, Bagnold collapsed onto the desk and growled.

"Death threats, Minister?" asked James, recognising the familiar tense feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. "Who from?"

Bagnold lifted her head. She looked even more exhausted than before. "Everyone. Death Eaters' families, lunatics, conservatives, die-hard blood purists... I keep getting them from an old wizard in Morocco whom I doubt knows anything about anything."

"Why are you getting death threats?!"

Bagnold smiled tiredly and shrugged. "I'm the Minister for Magic. It's in my job description. Plus, I've spent the past month publically celebrating the incarceration of many people's relatives. It might be seen as insensitive to them, but-"

"Fuck them!" James stood up. Bagnold barely blinked at his expletive. "Death Eaters torture and kill people, they belong in Azkaban! Not even that, they deserve death."

Bagnold held up a hand "Easy there, Potter, let's not go there. Sit down." When he sat, she gave a weary smile. "It seems you're starting to feel the effects of being deprived of a fighting cause."

James gave her a puzzled look.

"Stop rallying, Potter. There's no need to get angry."

James steadied his breathing, embarrassed that he'd got riled up. Still, death threats to a perfectly fair and firm Minister was just wrong, and rather scary.

"What were we talking about?" asked Bagnold.

Now he felt stupid for coming in the first place. James laughed at himself. Bagnold would kick him out of her office now, surely. What had possessed him to come to the Minister for Magic for a job?

"Just-desserts."

Bagnold laughed. "Oh yes. I meant what I said - you'll get them."

"I believe you... but when will we get them?"

Bagnold's smile faded slightly. "Potter, is everything alright?"

That was a big question.

"Sort of," James answered. He was responded to with raised eyebrow from Bagnold. "OK, maybe things could be going a bit better. Whatever 'just-desserts' are coming our way, we could really use them now."

Bagnold thought for a moment. "Money troubles?"

James shifted uncomfortably. "Our living arrangement is... stressful. The Aurors told us to wait a while before settling somewhere permanent, and I understand why it would be dangerous, but... we really need our own space to... gather ourselves."

"I see," said Bagnold. "You're finding life with Miss Bagshot difficult."

"Well..." James began, wondering how on earth he was going to word his answer without sounding awful. "She's nice, you know, we're grateful..." he said lamely.

Bagnold sighed pitifully. "I understand your plight, Potter, truly I do," she held her hands up in defence. "-but I'm afraid I'm with the Aurors on this one."

James, feeling slightly more abandoned than before, made a noise something between a sigh and a growl as he slumped back into his chair.

"I'm sorry, Potter, but we cannot risk your safety. The Death Eaters remaining-"

"Why are there Death Eaters remaining?" asked James hotly. "What are the Aurors busy doing that makes capturing the Lestranges so difficult?"

He knew he'd spoken out of turn even before Bagnold's understanding expression morphed into one of mild shock. "Mister Potter, I don't think you're in a position to criticise the work of the Auror department!"

"Aren't I?" James demanded, suddenly feeling affronted.

"Certainly not!" Bagnold now reminded James of Professor McGonagall during one of his detentions. "There are twenty one Death Eaters in Azkaban thanks to the Aurors and-"

"Yeah, brilliant!" James drawled. "Always arrived in the nick of time, didn't they? Always arrived at the scene just before anyone could be tortured, right?" James' last memory Frank and Alice flashed up in his mind, clear as day: he, Lily, Sirius and Marlene stood in the crisp-clean Spell-damage ward of St Mungos, watching little Neville Longbottom bouncing up and down on Alice's new bed beside her, clearly wondering why she wasn't picking him up or cuddling him.

"I'm sorry for what happened to your friends, Mister Potter, but-"

"The Aurors saved a lot of lives this year, haven't they?" Another painful memory gripped him: The one day that Mad-Eye had allowed he and Lily to venture out of hiding so that Harry might visit his Godmother. The day had ended with Lily howling like a wounded animal at the sight of Marlene, sprawled on her living room floor, her blue eyes staring at nothing, her blonde-haired parents and brother lying just as still on the floor around her.

They would never, ever see Marlene again. She would never hit James round the pack of the head with a newspaper. Lily no longer had a foul-weather friend as fierce and loyal as Marlene.

"You have to see the situation from our perspective, Mister Potter! Voldemort had strategies that we couldn't-"

"And to top it all off-!" James continued over here, the real weight of loss crashing down on him like an anvil, "Two twenty-one year olds and a baby managed to kill him without even leaving the fucking house!"

He'd stepped over the line. Bagnold's face went bright purple. Her eyes bulged. "MISTER POTTER..." she roared, her face becoming a vision of pure rage. "You are out of your mind if you think it was anything more than dumb luck that Voldemort decided to come to your house unassisted that night! What you did may have been brave, but if Voldemort hadn't acted on an inflated sense of immortality, we would all still be in hiding!"

James wanted, like he always did, to stand his ground. But he felt himself shrink into his seat, hot with shame.

Bagnold watched him carefully, still looking as furious as ever. "Whatever you say about the events of the past year, I know that the Aurors risked their lives every single day and after all that's happened, they're still doing it. You will not make a mockery of their sacrifices by throwing yourself into danger again." Bagnold's heavy breathing was the only sound in the room for a long minute. Slowly, her face gained its usual colour. She sat down promptly in her seat and cleared her throat. "For the time being, we all think it's best if you and your family do not linger anywhere longer than a few months."

James' head jerked up, but this time he was able to stop himself protesting.

"I daresay that's what you want, isn't it? An excuse to leave Miss Bagshot's?"

He merely took a deep breath and asked, "Why do we have to leave?"

"If Death Eaters are after revenge, they'll stop at nothing. The last reported sighting of a Death Eater was in Dover so they could be fleeing the country and giving up-"

"Well then we're safe!" exclaimed James.

"No," Bagnold gave him a warning glance. "We cannot relax. Do as I say, Potter. As your Minister and as your friend..." her face softened ever so slightly to one of pity. She did not wear her heart on her sleeve usually, so James was moved to see it. "... I implore you, keep moving. Just for the time being, it won't be that long. Stay with relatives, rent rooms, do what you must. Keep your friends close, Potter."

"I'm afraid we don't have many of those left anymore, Minister."

Bagnold clenched her jaw. She pulled open the desk drawer beside her and pulled out, astonishingly, a handkerchief with which she dabbed her eyes. James had not been conscious of the fact that he saw Millicent Bagnold as abhuman. He was a fool for ignoring the possibility that she was, in fact, just like him. His mind went strangely to Dumbledore and the God-like image that he, like everyone else, shone upon him.

"I'm busy, Potter. I've got politicians to reply to and death threats to fashion into miniature swans. You should go home."

James had no intention of going to Bathilda's yet. Lily wasn't there, nor was Harry. He had no home.

oOo oOo oOo

Two miles away from Godric's Hollow, Lily found herself in a much more appealing sort of solitude than she was used to.

Stourhead was a vast Palladian mansion that tourists frequented for walks. Its grounds were so sprawling and labyrinthine that the muggles would never know that Lily had snuck in undetected and was sitting on the bank of the enormous pond, lazily throwing chunks of bread out at the hungry ducks.

"Mummy!" Harry called from several feet away, where he'd been playing. He was holding something.

"What's that, Harry?" asked Lily, attempting to sound cheerful. "Can you bring it here?"

Harry toddled over, clutching the small object in his hands. When he reached her, smiling proudly, he opened his hands to reveal a tiny acorn, shaken too early from its tree.

"Pea?" asked Harry holding it up to Lily.

"No, darling, that's an acorn. Acorn."

Harry looked down at his treasure blankly. A second later, he brought his hand up towards his mouth.

"No, Harry!" gasped Lily, grabbing his hand. When she saw his startled expression, she giggled. "You can't eat that. You can eat some bread though," she reached in to the brown paper bag where she'd bought a small cheap loaf. She tore off some tiny pieces, knowing that if she gave Harry a big chunk, he'd simply throw it into the pond. "Come on, let's feed the ducks!"

Such was Harry's obsession with all things dangerous at that time that Lily could not allow him to approach the edge of a shallow pond alone, no matter the strength of the spontaneous bouts of magic he'd demonstrated over the past few months. She bent down beside him and held tightly to his waist while he took pieces of bread from her outstretched hand and threw them at the small family of ducks that had joined them. It was nice to have a quiet, normal moment with her son after months of living under a microscope. There were no aurors here. She could pretend there was no ministry. She could pretend, for a mad minute, that Voldemort had never existed and that she and James would be tucking Harry in to his own cot in his own nursery in their own house.

But the pond, which was large enough to be called a small lake, reminded her mournfully of Hogwarts. Specifically, the morning after their last full moon at Hogwarts. Rather than spend their last Hogsmeade visit in The Three Broomsticks, Lily had sat with Marlene along the short strip of shore beside the lake. They'd been lazing around, messing about, wrestling, flicking water at each other, warming their bare feet in the June sun's rays. Despite the nostalgia and happiness that Lily felt as that memory played out, there had been a quiet undertone of falsity. Lily and Marlene knew that the other was taking great pains not to let the jovial conversation tumble into something solemn, which happened so often in those days. Nevertheless, they had momentarily slipped.

"Hogsmeade's not that interesting, when you think about it," Lily had said, lounging closer to the water than Marlene. "After three visits, I found it rather boring."

"Keep telling yourself that, Lily," Marlene had smiled up at the sky, her eyes still closed. "But we can still go if you want. James did say he wouldn't be offended if we weren't here when they got back."

"I meant it, though," Lily had insisted, then toying with the round pebbles that were whetted by the lapping water. "People just insist on going there to assert their freedom, when in actual fact, opting to refuse a privilege is a sign of proper liberty. We have autonomous free will and we've acted upon it by coming out here," Lily had smiled triumphantly. "You and I have never been more free."

At that, Marlene had opened her eyes and leant up on her elbows. "You believe that, do you?"

Lily had looked at Marlene, who'd worn an unnaturally sombre expression.

It had been as Alastor Moody had told them when they'd met him at Christmas of that year. Constant Vigilance.

"Freedom lies where you feel it," Lily had replied, her soft voice barely audible over the whisper of trees in the breeze.

Lily had known then that Marlene did not believe her. She saw her mull her words over doubtfully. But, ever the foul-weather friend, Marlene had closed her eyes and leant back again. "My freedom lies at Honeydukes. I'm bloody starving. If those boys don't come back with food, I'm going to drown them."

Lily's laugh had only half forced. "What sort of food are they going to find in the Forbidden Forest?"

Marlene had shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe Moony accidentally brutally butchered Prongs. He might turn out to be a tasty bit of venison. I'll start a fire, pass me my wand."

"Mummy!" gasped Harry. "Woof!"

"No, Darling," Lily's voice wavered. "Ducks go 'quack'."

"Woof!" He pointed to something behind her.

"Lily?" called a soft female voice.

Even when Lily's tears finally fell out of her eyes, she did not recognise the blonde that approached.

Marlene. She'd come back ready to divulge her secret for having created a doppelganger, who'd died in her place! Lily leapt to her feet.

"You've been crying..." noted the blonde.

As the woman came closer with a big black dog at her side, Lily's heart rate slowed back down.

"How did you know we were here?"

"We didn't," replied Isabelle. "We thought you'd be at Bathilda's, but you weren't so we decided to come for a walk."

Isabelle Sommier looked just as proper and conservative outside of her workplace. She wore an expensive-looking tweed overcoat, her hair still twisted up and clipped back. Only now, she wore jeans.

"Cold, isn't it?" commented Isabelle, pulling her coat tighter around her. "Hopefully the rain will stave off-"

"Why aren't you at work?" asked Lily, not intending to sound rude but sounding rude nonetheless. Isabelle didn't seem to mind.

"I don't work on Wednesdays. The junior assistant takes over." The corners of Isabelle's mouth turned up in a sort of inward smirk that Lily did not want to question. "May I sit down?"

Lily nodded. As Isabelle lowered herself onto the patch of grass beside her, Lily withdrew her wand and pointed it in front of them. "Impertuo".

Padfoot glanced back at Lily questioningly. He'd joined his Godson at the edge of the pond.

"Sorry, Padfoot. I just don't trust you," Lily smiled. Though no-one could see it, a barrier now stood in the way of Harry and the edge of the water. When the crumbs that Harry threw bounced back at his feet, he began to whine. Thankfully, the ducks impatiently hopped onto the back and Harry was able to continue.

"Why were you crying?" Isabelle asked suddenly.

Lily swallowed. "It's just been an emotional day." When Isabelle did not look convinced, Lily continued. "Tomorrow will be one month since the night Voldemort was killed, you know, so..."

Isabelle said nothing. The two young women looked out at where the baby and the dog were running round each other, the ducks forgotten. As lunchtime approached, more muggle tourists began to appear. On the bank on the other side of the large pond, a middle-aged looking couple sat on a bench looking out at the scenery. Along the path nearby, a mother was pushing a double pram with a small white dog trailing along on a long dog lead behind her.

"We don't really know each other, do we..." Isabelle sighed, making the already strange silence just that bit more uncomfortable. "Naturally, I don't stand out as a most obvious choice for confidante, but..."

Lily turned to watch Isabelle. She looked to be thinking very hard. "You can still...talk to me. You know, about... how you're feeling. I can't say I've defeated many dark wizards, but I know what loss is like."

Lily stared at her. "Who did you lose?" she asked unthinkingly.

Before she could retract her words, Isabelle was smiling. "My father. He never knew I was a witch."

Lily frowned. She hated talking about her own father's death. But Isabelle seemed to want to continue.

"No-one in my family talks about it much. That's my fault. I always laugh." Isabelle grinned. "He died in a car accident on the way to a meeting about traffic congestion." Then she began to laugh.

Lily wasn't sure whether to offer pointed condolences or laugh along with her.

Isabelle's laughter faded. "I knew Caradoc Dearborn as well," she sighed. "He was my boyfriend for six months."

Lily wracked her brain for a moment, then sat bold upright, eyes wide open. "You're Izzy!"

Isabelle laughed loudly, so much that Harry and Padfoot glanced round.

"Yes, he called me Izzy. I hated that..." Isabelle glanced at Lily, who was still absorbing the fact that she was now sitting beside the mysterious girl that Caradoc Dearborn had spent hours talking about in the Gryffindor common room in their school days. "He talked about me, then?"

"Yes!" smiled Lily, suddenly delighted, as though she'd completed a tricky corner of a jigsaw. "Funnily enough, it was Sirius who imitated him the most..." Lily's smile faded, just as the memories of the Order meetings came to mind. Caradoc had stopped talking about 'Izzy' just a few months after leaving Hogwarts. Whenever Sirius or James had probed him for answers as to why his goddess had been forgotten, his comments about her turned rather sinister.

"I was a bit of a heartless wench back then..." said Isabelle, sounding upset. This was the first time that Lily had seen her in that way. "I abandoned my relationship for my career. Stupid..." Isabelle looked out at the lake. "Still, I'm glad I did it. As soon as I dumped him, he went a bit funny. I saw what he could really be like; sending bitter letters to me and my family... God... we mustn't speak ill of the dead..." the last part, she whispered. Lily guessed that 'we' didn't really mean 'we' at all. Isabelle quickly turned to face Lily. "I'm telling you all this to speed things up. I think... I think we're going to be seeing a lot of each other from now on." Isabelle glanced over at Padfoot, who was now lounging on the grass, curled around Harry.

"You've been dating for six weeks..." Lily said quietly, now feeling little restraint when talking to Isabelle. Undoubtedly, this was what Isabelle had been aiming for.

"I know, I know," said Isabelle quickly. "But this is different. Whenever I pictured my life without Caradoc, I saw myself being happy in some other way. With Sirius, I don't see that."

Lily did not doubt that Padfoot was listening. His ears had perked up, despite his lazy appearance.

"It's scary, you know?" Isabelle questioned. "I've never needed anyone before."

Lily made a mental note to, sometime in the future, as she would surely be able to, tell Isabelle that even Animagus dogs could hear over long distances.

"Oh, hark at me! Going on and on about my life when you were the one crying. You must think I'm so self-absorbed."

"Not at all," said Lily with a smile. "It helped, actually."

Isabelle looked happy then. Padfoot got to his feet, feigning drowsiness as he nudged Harry for him to get up. The two of them slowly made their way over to the girls.

"Is the Minister planning anything for tomorrow?" asked Lily.

Isabelle shrugged and shook her head. "The wound's too fresh, to be honest. There'll be some re-prints of obituaries and some fireworks and stuff. The one-year-anniversary will be the real party."

"Looking forward to it," said Lily wryly, standing up to collect her son. "Will you be at the graves tomorrow?"

Isabelle looked surprised to be asked this. "Yes... but only as a Ministry official. I'll see you there, though."

Lily scooped up the now crying Harry as Isabelle and Padfoot departed. It was a shame, thought Lily, that Isabelle would not be joining them. She could've done with female company.

oOo oOo oOo

When James arrived back at Bathilda's that evening, it was with a heavy heart. He stood in the fireplace for a whole minute, keeping his eyes closed, taking in how he felt. Upstairs, his son was screaming. He could hear Lily tearfully begging Harry to stop. From the bottom of the stairs, Bathilda was merrily chorusing suggestions to her to stop the baby crying (most of which involved Bathilda being in charge of childcare while Lily went to bed). The house smelt like damp old flannels now that it was raining again. Amid that overpowering must, James could smell overcooked cabbage. For one maddening minute, he thought that perhaps Sirius had instructed Bathilda to buy more cabbages to store around the house. But, as he left the dining room fireplace and passed the kitchen, he heard Bathilda's rusting old cooking pot bubbling away. Cabbage broth. Again.

Everything was shit.

Under his arm, James carried the spoils of his shopping trip. As Lily was rarely so highly-strung, it was difficult to gage how she would react to being bought gifts so close to Christmas, particularly as she had no time to focus on anything else other than Harry.

James tried to brush past Bathilda with nothing more than a polite 'hello'.

"Ooh, you've been busy, James!" beamed Bathilda, looking at the masses of bags and boxes under his arms hungrily. "What have we got here?"

"Ah, odds and ends. Groceries." James nodded to the blue plastic carrier bag which dangled off the end of his pulsing little finger. It contained all sorts of tins and packets from a muggle convenience store. He was relieved to give Bathilda something else to cook.

She took the bag, but still wore a sly look on her face. Upstairs, Harry was still screaming.

"What's under the blanket?" she asked with a smirk.

"Nothing," James lied.

"Is it a present for Harry?" she asked loudly, looking up the stairs as though expecting Harry to understand her words and stop crying, intrigued.

"No," James whispered. "It's a surprise for Lily,"

Bathilda's jaw dropped as though he'd just told her some deliciously scandalous gossip. Before she could say anymore, James rushed up the stairs, bashing the walls with the bags and boxes as he went.

"Lily?" he called, feeling as though he should give warning before walking in.

"James..." she breathed in relief. "Bloody hell, help me..."

James entered the room. Harry was squirming around on the bed, his face bright red from screaming so much.

"Harry, Harry, Harry!" James dived onto the bed beside his son and scooped him up. "What're all the tears for?"

"It's everything!" Lily squeaked, sounding close to tears herself. "His back teeth still haven't come through, he refused to eat the mulch that Bathilda served up at lunch, it's freezing cold in this room, he's bored and the damp in the ceiling is probably going to kill him!"

James glanced upwards, where the ominous black growth in the ceiling above their bed had been unnerving since their arrival.

Even so, when he registered Lily's words completely, the undertones of what she was saying did not pass him by. For now, he had a screaming son to address.

"Harry! Look what I've got!"

James slid off the bed and clicked his fingers for Harry to watch him. Lily gently pulled the wailing baby up to a sitting position and pointed to James. She, like her son, was suddenly quietly intrigued.

"Three...two..." said James slowly. A hesitant smile flickered across Harry's face. He recognised numbers.

"...one!"

James whisked the red blanket off the owl cage.

Lily stared wide-eyed at the creature James had brought home. "What in God's name have you brought into this house...?"

James had bought a huge Great Horned Owl. It was the same size as Harry, speckled and brown, with glowing yellow eyes and eyebrow-like marking that flicked upwards to ear-like tufts that made the bird look furious.

"He's called Cadwal," James grinned. "For post."

"He's... big..." said Lily, looking a little faint. Harry, however, looked delighted. He was waving his hand in the direction of the owl cage, desperate to pet the bird. Despite the docile temperament that the shopkeeper had assured James that Cadwal had, the owl did look particularly angry.

"Let's let him out for a fly..."

"No!" Lily said quickly. "Harry might cry again! Just... just keep him in there until Harry falls asleep."

"Oh kay..." James picked up the enormous bird cage and sat it down near Harry's cot. When Harry whined that the bird was further away, James picked him up and placed him in his cot, where Harry lay flat without complaint to watch Cadwal preen his feathers.

"What are all the boxes for?" asked Lily.

"Christmas presents," replied James. He noticed Lily gulp. He could guess, from her words earlier, that she was with James in her dread of spending Christmas at Bathilda's.

"Lily..." James began softly, sitting up on the bed and pulling her down to straddle to . He wrapped his arms around her. "I know you hate it here..."

"It's not that,"

"Yeah it is."

Lily grimaced. "I don't want to sound ungrateful..." she mumbled.

"You don't. I hate it too. We were both grateful but it's got to a point, hasn't it..."

Lily looked desperately unhappy. James pulled her closer and nuzzled his face in her neck.. "I spoke to Bagnold today."

"What?" Lily gasped. "When? Why? What did she say?"

"This morning, I went to ask her about those 'just-desserts' she was on about. Turns out she was going to tell us to hop it out of here."

Lily pulled back to look at him. "Eh?"

James tried to stay solemn, but couldn't hide how pleased he was. "The Lestranges are still out there, which is shit, but Bagnold reckons it's safer if we keep moving around a bit."

"What do you mean 'move around a bit'?"

"She means we should live somewhere else. And then somewhere else. And then-"

"-Somewhere else," Lily finished for him. "Great." She sounded far from ecstatic.

"Aren't you happy? We don't have to stay in Cabbage Castle anymore. We can go wherever we want."

"Well, who are we meant to stay with? How do we pay for rent without eating into Harry's inheritance? I don't want to mess with Harry's head either."

James, like Lily, was indeed concerned for Harry's wellbeing. However, he was not taking in what Lily was saying. When his eyes had scanned across the window for a split second, they'd been met with a sight they had not expected to see. There, just down the lane from Bathilda's house, was their old house. Gone were the hordes of tourists and visitors. In their place was one solitary figure, whom James recognised immediately.

"Lily..." James said softly, his voice wavering.

"Yes?"

He almost told her. Instead, he brought the conversation back to what needed saying.

"Don't worry about anything, Lils. I love you. Everything's going to be amazing." He looked over Lily's shoulder to Harry. "Oi, Harry. You just watch your Mum and your Old Man give you everything you ever need." He turned back to Lily, who was teary-eyed. She dropped her head down onto his shoulder. James held her closer. "We've got this, Evans. Look at what we've done before."

Lily sniffed and sat back up. She looked into his eyes. "I love you."

James smiled tiredly. "Glad to hear it."

She studied his face. James almost became nervous. He wanted to go outside and fight off the bastard whom he knew was out there. But he didn't want Lily to know that. He wanted her to see nothing but love in his face. He leaned closer and kissed her on the lips. He lingered there, kissing her more and more until she grinned and pulled away. She looked over her shoulder at Harry, who was luckily more interested in the owl than his parents.

Lily turned back to James. "I'll put him to bed."

"Okay."

"We really need our own place. Very, very soon."

James smiled. "Yep. We do."

He unwrapped his arms from around Lily. She stood up, allowing him to stand before pulling her cardigan further around her. "It's cold."

"I like it," said James. "I might go for a wander, actually."

Lily looked at him questioningly. "What, outside?"

"No, around the room."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Fine, go for a walk. But come back soon, it's too cold in here."

"Won't be long," he said. He hoped.

James wondered how different things would be between him and Lily when they moved out of Bathilda's house and into someone else's. They had no idea whose yet, but it would likely be someone who occasionally left the house. He'd have more time alone with his family. He'd have less need to go around ridding the house of bad smells and mold. More importantly, they'd be in a house with thicker walls: a house which wasn't too old for silencing charms.

James smiled as he left the room.

Walking down the stairs, however, his smile was gone. He was now thinking of the unmistakable silhouette he'd seen standing outside his house just down the lane. He felt his wand grow heavy in his pocket.

"James, dear, did she like her gift?" asked Bathilda as James passed the kitchen.

"Yeah, it was a big surprise for her," said James vaguely, walking through the dark hallway. Unfortunately for him, Bathilda came rushing out of the kitchen.

"What did you get her?"

James paused in front of the door. "An owl."

"An owl?! Gosh, that must have set you back a few galleons! I hope you've still got enough to spoil Harry rotten at Christmas! It's just around the corner you know-"

"Bathilda, I've got a bit of a headache so I'm gunna go out for a bit of fresh air. Just a walk around the village, nothing too taxing..."

"But- but it's pitch black outside!"

"There are street lamps, Bathilda," he said, trying not to sound sarcastic. Bathilda never left the house. He wouldn't be surprised if she asked what street lamps were.

"Oh, but it's so cold out!"

"It's bracing! Nothing like it for a clearer head Anyhow, Lily's not feeling great either so she's asleep. Bye!"

"Well... just come back in time for dinner!" called Bathilda as James wrenched the stiff front door open. He walked through and closed it quietly, so as not to disturb Lily or Harry. As he walked up the front garden path, he appraised the village. Nobody was around. Nobody except the figure.

It didn't take long for James to walk up towards his old house. It was odd how little sentiment he felt towards it now. His mind was focused solely on what was to happen next. The figure had not turned round, but still James knew who it was. He came to halt several yards away from him.

"Snape?"

oOo oOo oOo oOo

A/N Thanks for reading, please review/follow/favourite

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