Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any character, story element or plot item originally published in the Harry Potter books or movies that I may refer to in this story. I'm merely playing in the sandbox.

Author's note: Welcome back, dear reader, to another of my random ideas that I don't know what else to do with.

While publishing Forging, I received a message (two, actually, but I think I failed to respond to the first one) where a reader asked for a story. A request. Honestly, the idea of requests had never struck me, as most of what I wrote starts with an idea, usually a "why" or "what if" question, then I see an ending of sorts, then I try to bridge the two. I hadn't written with an assigned topic since my years in the newspaper industry, which feels like a lifetime ago.

Still, the request settled in my mind and became a bit of a rabbit that needed hunting, as it were. Thus, we have this little vignette, which I admit was influenced a bit by my recent reading of The Martian, the first book I was able to read all the way through without a read aloud option since my eyesight was damaged. You'll forgive me if that was an emotionally bonding experience with that tale, as I was profoundly moved by both the experience and some of the narrative.

And now, for our story.

He woke to pain. His first sensation was the ache in his head, then his joints. He groaned, then opened his eyes, looing around. The room was an inky black like darkness he'd never seen before, not even when Sirius had locked hi min the tunnels under Hogwarts with his wand that time.

He reached to his sides and found something hard at either side. Not the couch, am I in a box? The wood at his fingertips was smooth, though. The lid right in front of him He pushed on it with the little leverage he could get in the space he was in. Then harder as there was no give. Why am I….

The smell was next. He hadn't caught it at first but breathed in musty air that smelled of sweat and decay, the smell of soil when he'd been working in the gardens with his wife.

"I'm buried?" He began shoving at the lid again, screamed once, then a calming through entered his mind, that sweet voice that he'd heard so often.

Think.

He took one more shallow breath, then began to pat his pockets. His wand was there. He pulled it, then lit it to be sure. He was indeed in a coffin. What was going on?

He tried to think but couldn't remember what had happened. His last memory was dinner with his family. Had the wards pinged? The wand being there meant that this wasn't a prank. They'd never do that, not go that far.

He pondered what to, then put a Bubble Head Charm around his head. Soon, he was breathing fresh air as the spell cleaned the air, leaving a smell of fresh linens, his preference in this spell. He'd used it many times after the Marauders had done something ridiculous to the dorm room to make themselves laugh.

Blasting curse is out, it'd knock me out. I can't drill out, for all I know I was buried face down with a gravity charm on me just for that. His mind went to the possibilities, and he decided to take the one that was on paper the most foolish. He closed his eyes and apparated.

The pop was deafening, contained both by the bubble and the tiny box, but he managed to appear on the ground. He hated blind apparition, that strange act of faith that magic wouldn't let him appear in a tree or stone While it worked this time, he found himself on his back staring at the sky through unfamiliar tree cover. He rolled over and got to his knees but paused at the stone before him. Carved granite, the monument held his name and two dates. Next to it was his wife's name and his gasped.

A single spell confirmed that the stone was real. Another confirmed the horrible message that he was reading from it, and he felt his chest constrict. "No."

There was another pop and he stood in his lawn. The house was torn, the front door missing and the wards in shreds. "No." He ran in, feeling the remnants of the protections of the house responding to him. He ignored their pleadings for maintenance, instead heading through the house. He couldn't call their names. He couldn't stand the silence.

The home was a wreck, covered in footprints and mud from several people having come through the place. His eyes only went to the nursery, taking the stairs two by two and heading to the room that held the heaviest shielding. It had been a fallback point, a place where they could take a last stand if needed.

The walls were blackened, and the smell of black magic permeated the room. Something had happened here. Something that he couldn't even imagine, but death held sway in a way he'd never felt in a room before.

His eyes sought one small item, though, a baby monitor. If he could find it, he'd know. He ran to one side and tore through the rubble, hands bleeding as he finally found the round orb. It glowed.

"he's alive…but not healthy. Where is he?"

Knowing this, he took stock of things. His wife had to be gone. Where was their son?

He looked down at himself. His clothes were bloody, old blood from injury and the new blood from his hands staining them. "I need to change and clean these before anyone will talk to me."

Another pop, and he stood in a flat in England, a fall back that they had put together. He'd used family money to buy the building, hiding the investment in his wife's parent's names and using some lawyer to upkeep things.

He hadn't paid a great attention to the details, just telling the muggle that his wife recommended setting up the business as an entity. The man had known what he was doing though and the initial investment and hiring a manager had held the building in trust, giving the top floor flat as a place he could ward to hide from the muggles. As far as they were concerned, there was no top floor, falling under that silly superstition of not having had a thirteenth floor on the lift. He showered and then healed the wounds he could find.

I'll have time to get checked out by a healer later. Right now, I need answers.

Normally, he would have gone to Dumbledore, but clearly the man's subterfuge had failed. It was time to do something a bit more open and flashier. He dressed in some of the wizarding robes he had there, grabbing a pouch with some galleons and then apparated directly to the Ministry entrance.

The room was crowded, more people milling about than the last time he'd been through.

He stepped up to the security desk, pausing only to note the Christmas decorations that were up. This made him wonder how long he'd been in that grave.

"Name and purpose?"

The guard's bored voice let him know that he was next in queue. He looked down at the man and spoke. "James Potter and I want to know where my son is."

There was a clatter as the man dropped his wand.