James had been under the cruciatus curse once in his life. From the wand of a Death Eater, he had experienced a pain beyond imagining. He had felt the curse inside and out, like he submerged in ice while his organs were in flames, all the while a flashing static sensation had caused him to writhe and spasm as though his skin were crawling with insects armed with hot poison in their fangs. A lightning bolt that never died.

Lily had never been hit by the curse. She never goaded Death Eaters like James had. He pictured her now, that evil energy rushing through her body, and it made him stumble as he followed the messenger, man in the beige coat, to the floo network at the ministry connected directly to St Mungos.

The man had told James that his wife had been attacked, and that he knew nothing more than that.

"An owl arrived from St Mungos," the man said to James. "Your wife's asking for you."

So she wasn't gone.

When the green flames of the Floo powder died, James leaped out of the fireplace. The first person he saw in the vast marble reception hall was Harry.

He began to run to his son, and stopped when he saw Lily. There was a brief moment of confusion before relief, seeing her sat on a chair in reception with a Healer dabbing at the side of her jaw with a damp cloth. She didn't look scared. She looked tired. Even pissed off.

Harry, however, did look afraid.

"Harry?" he called to him.

Harry looked around, recognising James' voice but not seeing him, and started to cry, outstretching his arms to nobody. James picked him up, and ominous anxiety set in again when Harry clung desperately to James, squeezing his neck and burying his head in James' shoulder.

Lily looked up at James in surprise. "James?"

James walked around the Healer, and the side of Lily's face that was damaged. The entire left side of her jaw was bruised. Her lip was cut and bleeding.

"What the f-"

"How did you know I was here?"

James looked around in confusion, at Lily's unshaken calm and at the wailing Harry.

"Where's the baby?" His heart gave a hard pound.

Lily pointed to somewhere behind James. "With her."

James spun round. At the huge round reception desk stood Sirius' new wife. She held a blanket-wrapped form in her left arm, and scribbled on a piece of parchment on the desk with a quill in her right hand. She was dressed for the office, and swayed slightly, rocking the baby.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked him.

"There was a message, from the Angel of Death over there..." he nodded in the direction of the man in the beige coat, who was dawdling by the floo fireplaces.

"What is going on?" James asked Lily. "What happened to you?"

Lily rolled her eyes, embarrassed. "A woman punched me."

"Why?!"

"A Voldemort-griever."

The Healer tending to Lily gave her a hard stare.

"Never forget stranger danger..." sighed Lily. "Especially in Knockturn Alley."

James raised his eyebrows. "You were in Knockturn?"

"No," Lily said quickly, "I wouldn't have gone in there, not with the kids-"

James put up his hands. "I'm not cross."

"In fact, I sent a boy. Him." Lily nodded her head to the left. James looked down the row of chairs and saw a boy he hadn't noticed before, sitting several feet away, looking solemn, hands clutched together in his lap.

James looked over at the boy, and back to Lily. "I'm lost."

Lily sighed. "The apothecary in Diagon Alley wouldn't serve me the ingredients for Moony's potion. I paid that boy to go to the apothecary in Knockturn-"

"You sent a boy into Knockturn Alley?"

"He was already there-"

"But you said you weren't in Knockturn-"

"James," Lily took a sharp breath and ran her hand through her hair. "It was a weird day, okay?"

James felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, and saw Isabelle standing behind him with the baby in her arms. "The boy's name is Isaiah Zabini. I've taken a statement from him. I can tell you everything. Your wife needs to go home and sleep."

James turned back to Lily. He knelt down in front of her, still holding Harry, and reached for her hand with his free one.

"People still hate us," she said to him.

James shrugged. "Fine." He touched the bruised side of her face. "But I'll find whoever did this."

She placed her hand on his against her face. "Don't. It's over. I'm over it."

"Well I'm not."

She closed her eyes. "James, please?"

"What do you think I'm going to do? Kill them?" he asked. "You're absolutely right."

Lily didn't smile. She studied his face, then leant forward and kissed him. He felt the stickiness of her bleeding lip on his.

"Disgusting," he teased.

"I am a victim of a hate crime. Don't be rude."

Behind him, Isabelle cleared her throat. "I'm sorry that you had to miss your class, James."

James let go of Harry, who climbed into his mother's lap. He stood and faced Isabelle, who held Matilda out to him. He took her.

He couldn't remember Harry being this light and warm.

Isabelle looking at her peculiarly, slightly softening. "Sweet baby," she commented. "Looks like Lily."

James disagreed. He thought his daughter looked like his own father more than anyone else. Dark hair, and a small defined mouth. His father had died at fifty-three but had retained a childlike face for his entire life. James wondered if Matilda would look like a child forever too, and what that would mean for her.

"James..." Isabelle stepped closer, looking around at the people nearby. "I've been struck off the list of seats in the Wizengamot for a week."

"Okay... I'm... sorry?"

She rolled her eyes. "They only do that when the member might have a conflict of interests affecting their judgment."

"Right..?"

"I think it's Sirius' mother. I think they've tracked her down and they're going to drag her into the investigation this week."

"...Oh. Shit."

"Yeah. Shit. And I'm not worried about keeping Sirius away from the investigation, but I am worried about what his mother's exposure will do to his safety."

James nodded. "Well, I hope you're in the mood for a holiday."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "I'll tell him tonight. We'll stay in France, with my brother."

"That's too obvious," James responded. "Go somewhere random. Don't leave a pattern for Bellatrix to follow."

Isabelle thought for a second and looked at him. "But she could still find him at the shop."

"Well he'll have to be M.I.A for a while!"

"Not a chance."

James grimaced.

"I've talked about it with him before. He says he doesn't want to cower."

"Fuck. Stupid martyr..."

Isabelle squared her shoulders. "He's not stupid. He enchanted the doorway of the shop. Anyone with malicious intent can't get in."

"That doesn't mean they can't blow it up from the outside!"

Isabelle looked at the floor. "I suppose not." Isabelle did not look up, but shifted uncomfortably. "It's a shame."

James ground his teeth. "What is?"

"Having to go abroad... when I haven't even seen my new house yet." She glanced up at him. "It's too much."

"I gave him a house. I didn't buy anything."

"Your childhood home. He told me." She lifted her head, and looked at him properly. Sincerely. "Thank you."

James nodded. "You're welcome."

Neither spoke for a second. They stood awkwardly, cooling off, neither small talk nor deep discussion a natural fit between them yet. James looked behind him, checking on Lily. She was looking along the row of seats with concern to the hard-faced boy who was somehow involved in this.

"The boy helped her," Isabelle said, answering his thoughts. "He was running an errand for her, and came back to find her in an altercation with Mrs Burke."

The way Isabelle spoke sounded so bureaucratic, it was as though everything she said was a draft for a report. Perhaps it was. She was, after all, the Minister's quill. James could blame the lack of warmth in their friendship to this, to Isabelle's fingers being in different pies. But it would mean admitting mistrust of higher authority. He had to trust the aurors- his own division of the Ministry who would keep him in employment for the rest of his life. James knew there were other, darker things on his mind when Isabelle was around. He hoped they'd wear away with time, and leave room for a comfortable relationship. For Sirius' sake.

"Who's Mrs Burke?" James asked Isabelle, a little delayed.

"The woman who hit Lily. Josephina Burke. Caractus Burke's widow. She's co-owned Borgin and Burkes since her husband's death. Not a woman to be underestimated, according to the boy."

The boy sat near Lily wore an expression that gave James a sense of déjà vu. His eyes were unfocused but sharp, his hands clasped tightly together. He sat at an imposing yet sorry angle.

"What's his name again?" James asked Isabelle.

"Isaiah Zabini."

The name disappointed James. He was ashamed of this, and shook his head. "He helped Lily?"

"He did. On his way back from the apothecary Lily sent him to, he saw Mrs Burke hit her. She got away, but the Aurors will send someone to speak to her. And to you, if you want to take legal action. The boy stayed to help Lily, though. Nice of him."

"He brought her here?" Isaiah Zabini looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

James felt Isabelle step closer to him. "He's a squib..." she whispered. James flinched as her words echoed slightly. "He needed the money from your wife. His family cast him out."

James wasn't sure how old he thought Isaiah Zabini was. He had the eyes and the attitude of a grown man, but the frame and mouth of a young boy.

James approached Isaiah.

Isaiah looked up at him with a contained expression.

"Isaiah Zabini, is it?" James asked.

"I didn't do anything, Sir, I just saw what happened."

"I heard. You helped my wife to St Mungos, too."

Isaiah shrugged. "Yeah..."

"Thank you for keeping my family safe."

Isaiah shifted uncomfortably. "They wasn't in real danger, Sir. Duty calls, that's all."

James liked this boy, he decided. From within his trouser pocket he pulled out a handful of galleons.

"I owe you a lot more than this, but it's the least I can give you."

Isaiah stared at the handful of money like a child stares at a cake. Then he looked at James with embarrassment. "I don't have enough pride in me to refuse this, Sir," he said, scooping the coins out of James' hand. "Thank you."

Maybe it's gratitude, thought James, But I would enjoy seeing this boy become an Auror.

Until then, he'd talk to Sirius about a job in the shop. They would need more staff if Sirius was to lie low.

Feet away, Lily was talking to Harry, who was fixated with the glaring red mark on her mouth.

James had seen Lily in worse states and in far more pain, but he couldn't recall an act of inflicted pain being so unexpected.

"You know the woman who hit my wife?" James asked Isaiah.

"Everyone knows her, Sir. Never met her though. Wouldn't want to."

"Tell me about her."

"Runs the antique shop now her husband's dead. He was a madman. Had a gang. Caused all sorts of problems in the Alleys."

"Blood purists?"

"Yeah, I guess. They love money. They say mudbloods are bad for business."

James raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry?"

"They say that, Sir. Not me. They're always scheming to run muggle-borns out of Diagon Alley..." Isaiah looked at James seriously, then promptly stood up. "I'd like to go now, Sir. I'm running my mouth. Said too much already, Sir." He looked at Lily. "Hope you feel better soon, Madam." He looked to Isabelle for a cue to leave.

"I'll not repeat what you've told me, Zabini," James assured him. "don't worry."

"Isaiah, Sir, please. It's Isaiah."

James nodded as Isabelle dismissed him. Isaiah walked passed James, but stopped in the middle of the hall.

"Sir, looking for Mrs Burke isn't a good idea."

"Who said I'd go looking for her?" James asked.

Isaiah looked unsure. "You'll have to get past her sons first, Sir."

He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and walked quickly away.

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Lily's mouth took a long time to heal.

It swelled the following day, scaring Harry. The wound on the side of her mouth, which forced her expression into a frown, was not as painful to look at as the bruising along her jaw, which remained purple for several days. James had a theory that Mrs Burke had punched Lily while wearing a cursed ring. Discovering that Mrs Burke sold cursed objects for a living backed up this idea. The more he thought about it, the more his mental image of Mrs Burke changed, from a mad wire-haired crone into a formidable, glamorously macabre lady. Lily provided little detail.

Training was easier now. Combat exercises were a good focus. Obliterating a line-up of enchanted mannequins was therapy. The complex analysis, the mind tests and problem solving were all effective cool-downs. The mundane lectures were soothing.

Not even the scaremongering headlines of the Prophet could intimidate James. 'Violent Crimes Rise', 'Ministry in Crisis' and a repeat of the ubiquitous editorial 'Where Is Bellatrix Lestrange?' seemed sensationalised, though all depressingly accurate. The truth was that at the end of the day, when James left the omnipotent tension at the Ministry and its unnerving absence of present employees, he was able to remove the fear and uncertainty of the current wizarding world as though he were taking off his boots and leaving them outside the door. In Sweden, where the breeze was so cold and fresh it was almost drinkable, and the pine trees and long grass were lush and blue-ish from the clean air and rich earth, James felt safe. He was relieved that the outdoors still had a huge hold over him. The war had made agoraphobics of the best of wizards, but not James. No dark magic could take the sky away from him. Even in stag form, when sounds and smells were amplified tenfold, the Swedish forest was calm.

James could have happily spent the rest of his life in Sweden. But he did not want to deny his children the experience of Hogwarts. James could give his children everything they ever wanted and they'd still come to believe one day that Hogwarts was their true home.

On a much-needed Saturday morning, that was surprisingly mild for Sweden, James was sat on the grass outside with his textbook before Lily and the children were awake. The sun was down for so little time in this part of the world. It make dawn-rises pleasant. The shadow of a soaring owl distracted him from his studying before Cadwal dropped James' post into his lap. The poor owl. It took days for him to deliver mail now, with each of James and Lily's recipients being in different countries.

Cadwal landed on the ground next to James. Tuppy, Lily's cat who had grown accustomed to Cadwal's predatory stare, had been walking circles around James since he'd sat down.

"I might let you eat this cat after all, Cadwal," he said to the massive bird. "You deserve it."

There was a letter for Lily, from France. Perhaps Isabelle had ignored James' advice after all and gone with Sirius to stay with relatives.

There was a copy of the Prophet, with the headline 'Minister in Hot Water'. While the picture on the front was of a stern-faced Millicent Bagnold walking briskly through a Ministry corridor, from the headline James could only picture Bagnold in a steaming hot bath.

There was a letter from the Diagon Alley owlery addressed to James and Lily. He opened it.

Inside the envelope there was no paper.

James picked up his wand and cast a reversing charm inside it. Nothing happened.

He picked open the envelope, so that it was one piece of paper. He rubbed it, held it to the light, sniffed it, nothing.

Then when it came to him, he grabbed his wand again and with a smile cast the spell.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good..."

The ink appeared not as seeping blood like the map, but in scribbles, as though someone were writing it in real-time. James recognised the jagged scratchy writing immediately.

Prongs, Lily and the little ones,

Isabelle is being kept in the dark about the inquiry but nothing gets passed her. They're hauling my mother into the wizengamot soon. It'll either be my name she'll drag through the mud or my brother's. I dislike the thought of either so have decided to be the brave man that I am and run away to a foreign country while the vultures at the Daily Prophet pick apart the fleshy corpse of my family life.

We are in Montreal. We've always wanted to go, and no knuckle-dragging blood purists are going to bother to come and find me over here. You can still reach me at the shop.

Hope you're all well. Do come and stay with us in Canada some time. I'm sure nobody will get killed.

Padfoot.

James folded the letter up again and listened to the quiet wind in the trees.

The owl had brought something else, rolled up into a scroll, notably larger than a letter.

James grabbed it, knowing exactly what it was, and grappled with the string tied round it.

James hungrily scanned the cover of Tiger Eye for mention of his wife. An obscure musician was the featured picture, with an accompanying headline reviewing a show. But underneath, in fairly large print, were the fateful words.

"EXCLUSIVE: Lily Potter argues the case for muggle living"

He looked behind him at the house, where Lily was sleeping with their daughter on her chest. He'd let her sleep longer. He enjoyed the secret. He wanted to plan the right words to meet her inevitable anxiety, and prepare to savour her excitement, and to remember today as a moment of change.

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A/N: Motivation and depression do not a happy match make.

Butcher this, go ahead.

N x