A flash storm erupted over London and people in Diagon Alley dived into shops and restaurants. Overhead cover charms were futile against shop owners' magical rebuttals. Rain was good for business.

In the Leaky Cauldron, large groups of shoppers stood dripping onto the floor, huddled around small tables, grumbling. The windows steamed up as more people entered. The bar could not be seen through the three-person-deep crowd of patrons around it.

James and Sirius had arrived moments before the rush, bagging their favourite table in a dark corner. A firewhisky for Sirius, an ale for James and a redcurrant juice for Harry, who sat on a chair of his own and could just about see over the table's edge to watch the soggy crowd. James and Sirius were holding letters; identical letters that they'd both received that morning and wanted to show the other.

"Nice of Dumbledore to think of us," Sirius commented. "Though I haven't missed his fixation with mystery..." He read aloud from his letter: "-a surprise which will prove both affecting and pleasant"... why can't he just tell us what it is? Why has he always got to be so cryptic?"

The letters they had received were invitations. The Potters, The Blacks and presumably Remus were to attend a banquet at Hogwarts on the anniversary of the end of the war, followed by a vigil for the dead. Dumbledore's mention of the one-year mark had caught James unawares that morning. He often felt as though the war had ended a week ago, but when he considered how much had changed in the time since Voldemort's death, he felt as though he was an old veteran, whose memories were faded and belonged to a different time.

"If he says it's pleasant, I'm not worried," James shrugged. "And he's invited the kids. He wouldn't have invited them if it were anything untoward."

Sirius thought for a second and smiled with satisfaction. "We get to have a Hogwarts feast once more, Prongs. Can you believe it?"

James gave a dreamy sigh. "The pork chops..."

"The pies..."

"The trifle... We'll get to see Harry try his first ever Hogwarts trifle!"

James remembered his first Hogwarts feast better than he could remember his own wedding day. When he was a boy his father, then an idol of his, never read him a bed-time story but occasionally treated him to his stories of Hogwarts; his tricks and adventures, his terrifying defence against the dark arts lessons, his comically ugly professors... James' favourite of his father's tales were the descriptions of Hogwarts feasts. They conjured ideas of medieval banquets and true enough when James sat down to the Gryffindor table after his Sorting ceremony, he found himself surrounded by roasted birds, fat-glistening piles of meat, steaming bowls of colour, garlands of herbs, silver chalices, walking empty suits of armour and real ghosts. But the food, better than anything Bodkin the Elf made at home, to this day made James' heart ache from yearning.

And it wasn't just the flavours, which could still make him salivate... it was baguette sword-fights with Sirius, slurping custard to make rude noises, Remus' frequent elaborate mashed-potato sculptures to entertain those sitting around him, Peter transfiguring Debbie Bulstrode's chocolate pudding into a bowl of wilted spinach every other day, sneaking cubes of turkish delight into their cloak pockets, dusting their robes in powdered sugar... midnight feasts and hurried breakfasts on Quidditch days and special biscuits in the common room at Christmas... it was childhood. It was something his children would experience, without the need to wash down the sour taste of home.

"Merlin alive..." Sirius whispered. "Prongs, that's them."

James looked over his shoulder, and straight away knew who Sirius was looking at.

The atmosphere had changed. The customers of the Leaky Cauldron had quietened and dispersed to make room for a large group of hench, scruffed-up men. There were three in particular, the tallest of the group, which wore identical leather cloaks and the same scowl as a hungry dog might have.

"They're Josephina Burke's sons," said Sirius in a low voice. "Dodgy dealers. They acquire the antiques for their mother's shop. No-one goes near Josephina Burke without their approval."

James looked around the pub. "Is she here?"

"No."

James looked at him in confusion. "So if she's not with them, where is she? Locked up in their basement?"

"She's the head of the business, not some feeble old crone," Sirius explained. "Go and see her if you like. But they will be sure to pay you a visit if you say anything to her that she doesn't like."

"So they're her henchmen?"

"Her army. See the biggest one? That's Jackoby Burke. He's her favourite."

James looked him up and down. His eyes were hidden were small, blue and crazed. The rest of him looked padded-out, muscular like a prize-winning bull, tensions everywhere as though on stand-by to explode at the slightest provokation.

"I'm not surprised. He looks like he could quaffle-throw his mother's enemies across the Channel."

"Of all the people to gripe with, Prongs..." Sirius dropped his forehead into his head. "You picked the Burkes..."

"I haven't picked anyone. Their mother picked Lily. If she wants trouble, I'll give it to her..."

"This isn't Hogwarts, James!" Sirius hissed. "You're not the brawniest boy in the common room anymore. Look at them!"

"Who's turned your balls into bon-bons, Padfoot? Since when did you shrink from a bit of healthy rivalry?"

Sirius gave him a death glare. "I didn't say I wasn't game. But you can't beat them with fisticuffs. It's magic or bust, and I think you might have an advantage there because while they're built like battering-rams, they look as though their skulls are filled with frog-spawn."

James smiled and sat back in his seat. "The tactical talk is back. I've missed it."

Sirius gave him a sarcastic smile. "Here's a tactic: don't start anything. Only retaliate. It's a bloody miracle we've both managed to avoid Azkaban so far. We cannot be locked up for picking fights with wizards ten times our size!"

"I'm not going to provoke anyone..." James assured him. "But if anyone else I care about gets hurt by these thugs, I'm going in all-wands blazing..."

A bang, and they both jumped.

Harry began to whine.

A metal cup had been slammed onto their table by an arm not belonging to James or Sirius. James looked up, and saw that he was being stared at by a rough-faced leather-clad man.

"Dickon!" Sirius opened his hands warmly to their guest. "My fellow retailer, how's business?"

The man, Dickon, chewed on something inside his mouth. "Damp."

"Haha! Yes... because it is raining."

Dickon Burke had a handle-bar moustache and a streak of silver in his mousy hair. He kept his eyes on James like a bored teacher weary of the class clown's antics.

"Dickon," Sirius cleared his throat. "This is my good friend, James Potter."

"I know him." Dickon responded.

Dickon Burke had a strong cockney accent, and a voice so cavernous is made Harry stop his whining and sink down into his chair.

Behind Burke, several other men were gathered, staring at James with the same distain.

"Ah..." Sirius replied. "...good. Then we're all-"

"His missus has been sullying our mother's good name."

James could not stop himself. "'Sullying your mother's name'?" James stood. The men behind Dickon Burke tensed. "Your mother punched my wife for no reason..."

Harry climbed into Sirius' lap as the group of men seemed to curve around James and Sirius' table.

"...whilst she was holding a baby. If anyone is sullying your mother's name, it's herself."

A man behind Dickon Burke lurched forward. James felt his hand flinch but he did not reach for his wand. Dickon Burke's hand shot out to restrain his companion.

"Our Mum has a short fuse. Your missus was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"You're blaming his wife for what happened?" Sirius piped up. "She was only making conversation with your mother before she battered her."

Dickon Burke rolled his eyes and glared at Sirius. "This ain't your fight, blood traitor."

To James' surprise, Sirius did little more than grimace. Perhaps it was the child in his lap that kept his blood from boiling, or weariness of the slur. But the insult seemed to bounce off Sirius like an arrow fired at a fortress, and it stilled James' fury to a calm current.

James held up his hands. "This isn't anyone's fight, mate..."

"I'm not your mate."

James sighed. "You're right about that." As collected as he was, he would not be stepped on. He squared up to Dickon. "I'll re-tell the story for you: your mother punched my wife while she was holding a baby. My baby. If you think I'm going to lie down and let you walk all over me, you're delusional. I'm angry. If you or any of your knuckle-draggers come near my family again, I will become a very big problem in your life."

Dickon's expression didn't change. He looked James up and down, as though deciding where to stick his knife and fork in first.

He leaned closer, and spoke quietly. "My sainted mother fears for her children's future, Mister Potter. Just like you do. She's... angry. Our world is collapsing around us. Morality is a gray matter and hope is all-but dead. If you want something to blame for that..." Dickon stood taller and nodded his head in the direction of, to James' astonishment, Harry. "...blame your half-blood."

James felt pain in his knuckles as his fist slammed into a jaw, then further pain as he was shoved to the floor.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

It gave Lily cautious relief to see that the Spell Damage ward was not the cesspit of pain and trauma it had been in previous weeks. Patients were being walked out of the ward by relatives, shaking the hands of favourite Healers. Witches and wizards she'd once seen writhing in agony were now bandaged, sitting upright and reading newspapers. The ward had once been a dissonant orchestra of wails and retching. It now sounded more like the tired groans of an aching Quidditch team after a bad match.

Alice's hair was ratty and greasy. Her skin, which had once been like that of a china doll, was now blotched with red and green. But her natural resting expression, which had always been a slight smile, remained and it kept her looking like Alice.

Lily leant over to Alice who sat opposite her, and draped the scarf around her neck.

"Gryffindor. Remember, Alice? Gryffindor..."

The scarf had come from a second-hand clothes shop in Diagon Alley, as the majority of Lily and James' Hogwarts mementos were now ashes somewhere in the ruins of Godric's Hollow. It was the first of many long shots to jog Alice's memory, but Healer Cornelius Peck's mere mention of the possibility of retrieving parts of Alice's mind had given Lily more hope than she'd dare acknowledge. Starting small, knowing that there was every likelihood that Alice would remain mentally absent, seemed like the right way to go.

Alice picked up the ends of the scarf and rubbed the frayed tendrils between her fingertips. She inched her hands further up the scarf, stroking the stripes, and her hand settled on the stitched motif near her shoulder: the symbol of the Lion.

Lily watched Alice identify the difference in texture, and slowly pull the scarf off her shoulders to inspect it further.

"Alice?"

After a few seconds, Alice looked up.

As Lily began to break into a smile, the ward's doors burst open.

"Lily, thank Merlin!"

Emmeline Vance tottered towards her, holding a screaming red-faced baby.

"Please stop it crying!" she thrust the baby into Lily's lap.

"Um... hi..."

"Where are your children? Do you have a nanny now? Did you get one through an agency?"

"Er, no... Andromeda's looking after the... Emmeline, who's baby is this?"

Lily knew she'd asked the wrong question when Emmeline emitted a sarcastic laugh. "Well... there's a hysterical story behind that!"

Alice, who seemed to be pleasantly curious about the whole charade, looked as though she might laugh.

Emmeline sat down harshly onto the bed beside Alice. While Emmeline cooled down, greeting Alice, Lily picked up the stranger's baby and cuddled it to her chest. Within seconds of rubbing its back, the baby's screams dulled to a fussy cry.

"She was born six months ago. Is she big for that age? She's bloody heavy. Eight pounds, seven ounces at birth!"

Lily's eyes widened. "Is she yours?" she asked, trying to recall ever seeing Emmeline with a stomach any larger than a pancake.

Emmeline rolled her eyes. "No. That is Neeley's niece."

"Neeley?"

"Cornelius, Lily, my lover!" Emmeline and Lily quickly glanced around to see who could've heard her. On the ward, surrounded by Cornelius Peck's colleagues and patients, Emmeline was already causing a scandal with her constant presence.

"A terrible thing..." Emmeline continued in a hushed tone. "... the baby is Cornelius's sister's. He's the only one of the family who sees her anymore. She's a complete embarrassment to his parents, consorting with muggles, prancing around in lingerie in gentlemen's clubs... it turns out muggles can be incredibly sleazy... do you know what opium is?"

"I believe I do."

"A curious thing. Neeley won't explain it to me. A strong sort of alcohol, is it?"

"No-"

"Anyhow, Cornelius' sister- completely off the rails- left this child on their parents' doorstep with a letter saying she couldn't keep her. They haven't heard a word from her since!"

Lily looked in astonishment at the baby in her arms. Sure enough, the child had the same blonde curls her uncle was blessed with. She could picture the poor child's mother, blonde and scantily-clad, lips as red as a Hollywood siren, swaying her hips in a smoky bar in Soho, surrounded by men. Then she pictured her again, in an apartment somewhere, sobbing on the floor beside an empty crib.

"Has Neeley- Cornelius- made an attempt to find his sister? She must've-"

"Of course he has!" replied Emmeline, affronted. "He's not completely useless. He's sent her dozens of owls. She insists that she's rid herself of the child."

Lily held the baby closer to her. "What about its father?"

"A muggle student at Cambridge. We know all about him. A posh sort, and not in a good way. A fox-hunter. Believes the cane builds character. She doesn't even know his name, the silly tart. But we do, and he's repulsive and he'd run a mile if he knew she was a witch. In all likeliness, the baby is too."

"And... Cornelius' parents?"

Emmeline rolled her eyes. "The less said about them, the better." She sighed sadly. "Now Neeley's become all precious about her. He wants me to take her abroad, as though she's my child. Well, I didn't bloody ask for his sister to get pregnant. I wanted to become an Auror and live a child-free life. Now I'm toting around Neeley's new pride and joy like I'm... like I'm his wife or something..."

Emmeline looked over her shoulder, concealing her face.

"...Emmeline?" Lily asked softly. She swallowed, unsure if the following question was appropriate. "...any news of the annulment?"

Emmeline sniffed and turned back round. "Well, if he wants me to go abroad, so be it." She stood up, and held her arms out for the child. "Pearl and I are off to Paris. You were there recently, weren't you? After the wedding... did you take up rooms there?"

"Er, no..." Lily replied, suppressing a shudder as she remembered Matilda's awful birth. "The baby's name is Pearl?"

"It is now. Neeley's mother called her Geraldine but that is the worst name on Earth." Emmeline picked the baby up. "I simply must hire a nanny. Not a pretty French one, that would suit Neeley far too much. A wholesome, homely nanny. No younger than fifty. And married."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "Good luck with that." She watched Emmeline balance the baby awkwardly on her hip as one might hold a large parcel. Leaving an innocent child alone with Emmeline to take care of her felt irresponsible; almost cruel. But she wasn't all bad. She would never let a baby be harmed. And Lily highly doubted Emmeline would look after the baby all by herself.

Lily stood as Emmeline picked up her bag from Alice's bed. "Emmeline, I can visit you. I can... help you."

Emmeline's eyes lit up. "Oh thank Merlin. I plan on finding a nanny within the hour but I could use some guidance on the basics. What they eat and so forth."

"Um-"

"We're going to become quite the Mummy's club!" Emmeline's smile faded. She sat back down beside Alice, who'd remained happy and silent throughout the entire exchange. Emmeline put her free arm around her. "You can be in our club too, Alice. You'll always be a mother, no matter how crackpot you are. No witch could ever torture that out of you."

Emmeline kissed Alice on the cheek and left, waving theatrically at a dumbfounded Lily as she exited the ward.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

Often, when James stretched in the morning when he woke up, he would raise his arms and accidentally bang his knuckles on the head board. Today, that small discomfort was made painful by the bruised knuckles his wife had bandaged the previous evening.

He looked like shit. He looked bleary-eyed and hungover, and his left eye was bruised and swollen shut.

"My fucking head..." he whimpered, touching his hand to his forehead. Then, he groaned aloud. "We got fucking barred from that pub!"

Lily, who was sitting on her side of the bed beside him, smiled. "Serves you right, you hooligan."

James opened his un-punched eye. "I am so sorry."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Yes, you said. About fifty times last night."

"I endangered Harry."

Lily nodded slowly. "We do that just by living, darling."

"I am so sorry..."

Lily smiled again. "I appreciate your gallantry, darling, but please don't let it kill you."

James took her hand. "I won't." He groaned again as he stretched his aching muscles. "Is Harry alright? Poor kid must be traumatised."

At their window, some tapping. Cadwal the Owl held a letter in his beak, along with a mouse carcass dangling by its tail.

"I don't think Harry saw much..." Lily said, glancing forebodingly at James' glasses on his bed-side table. She slid off the bed and let the owl in, taking the letter from his beak and grimacing at the smear of mouse blood on the envelope.

"Nice. Thanks, bird."

Cadwal flew across the room and swooped into the hallway.

"Bacon sandwich?" Lily offered James.

James sighed in pleasure. "Yes, please."

She handed him the letter which was addressed to him and followed the owl down the hallway, past the guest bedroom where Andromeda often slept 'til noon, and past the children's bedroom, both of them quietly snoring.

When Lily got to the kitchen and was putting a pan on the stove, James was already in the doorway.

"You should be resting!" she said when she saw him.

Without a word, he handed her the opened letter.

My Dear Prongs,

I have an affecting yet pleasant surprise of my own.

I am to be a father.

I will pay you good money to break the news to Moony that you are the Godfather.

Padfoot.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

A/N: This took a while. Sorry. Life, and so forth.

Hope you're all well,

N x