Chapter 7

James often wished more than anything for a way to turn back time. Back to when he was little, so he could start out like Albus had always been: Good and kind. Back to when Lily was born, so he could have cried and pouted less about the attention he was no longer receiving. Back to the beginning of the summer, so that he could have never played that stupid prank that lost him a month of his freedom. He didn't know what it was that drove him to break the rules. Maybe it was a desire for attention. Maybe it was an inate understanding that he was meant to set the rules, not follow them. Or maybe it was just selfish, like his father had suggested. The words he had said that day still echoed in his mind. Dad thinks I only care about myself. Who can blame him? That's how I act every day.

This was his fourth year of school. In year four, Harry Potter was competing in the Triwizard Tournament. In year four, James Potter was a newly ungrounded boy who barely respected himself, let alone his family respecting him. He was nothing like his father. Nothing like his grandfather, his namesake. His marks were poor, his choices were questionable, he could barely control his anger. He was a wreck. No wonder he felt as if his life was falling apart.

"You ready to go?" His father's voice startled him in the early morning hours, while he was lost in thought. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you," he said softly as he ruffled his son's hair. This loving action usually felt good to James; suddenly, it made him sick to his stomach. He didn't deserve his father's love and patience. He titled his head so that his father's hand slid off.

Harry looked at him with hurt flooding his green eyes. James had always wished for those eyes when he was little. If he'd had them, he and his father would have been identical. Now he was glad to have his mother's large brown eyes. "Getting too old for that, I know," his father admitted softly. "Teddy was the same way."

The young boy nodded, but didn't say anything.

"James? What's wrong?" his father asked him as he sat down next to him on his big school trunk, the same trunk Harry had taken to Hogwarts all those years ago.

Nothing, Dad. Can we just not talk about it, please? Oy, you never leave me alone." There it was again…the anger. James didn't know where it came from. But it always sprouted out, clutching at his throat like a claw and making him say things he didn't mean. Or at least that was his excuse.

"Sure," Harry said. James could tell he was holding back emotion. His father rarely showed emotion; not for his job, not for his past, not for anything except for with his children. "We're leaving in ten minutes."

"Right," he heard his son mutter before he closed the door.

Harry leaned against the door and sighed. He wished he had more time with James than the few short months in the summer. And he wished that most of those months weren't spent by him yelling at his son or with the young boy being on restriction. There were days when James would run into his arms with a laugh-all he wanted was to be near Harry. Now, he could barely look his eldest in the eye without having him turn away.

Noticing her father's saddness as she came down the hallway, Lily threw her arms around Harry's waist. He noticed how much higher her arms landed; she was getting taller. They were all getting taller. Soon, James would be moving out. Then Albus. Then Lily. He felt his chest tighten from the loss that hadn't even happened yet.

"Don't be sad, Daddy," Lily said softly.

Harry stroked his young daughter's red hair. She looked almost like her mother did at her age. However, unlike her mother, Harry hoped that Lily would have a quiet school year. No cursed diaries, secret chambers, and…crushes on boys. "Do you have to go to Hogwarts?" he asked with a sigh.

Lily looked up at him, her grin filling her entire face. "Yes, Dad. I'm finally old enough. I'm going to have as many adventures as you did."

Her father laughed. "Please don't. You don't want that life. Trust me, darling. Now get your things, my little first year. We're leaving in five minutes."

He walked down the hall and knocked on the frame of his second son's open door. "Al, five minutes. Are you all packed?"

Albus looked up from his book and smiled. "I've been packed for days, Dad."

"That's right," Harry said softly, sitting down on the bed. "You excited for your third year?"

"Yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

Albus paused. "I mean, yes because I'm excited to see my friends again. But no because…I don't want to leave home; Christmas seems like so far away. And…I still feel like I need to make up to what happened at the beginning of summer."

Harry grabbed his son and gently pulled him into a hug. "What's there to be sorry about? I've already forgiven you ages ago. We all make mistakes, Albus."

"I know," Albus agreed, his voice muffled by his father's chest. "Thank you, Dad. You're…you're really patient with us."

Harry chuckled softly. "I didn't feel so patient when I was yelling at the two of you that day. I felt like the worst father in the world."

"Well, then that's fitting. Because we felt like the worst sons in the world."

"Even James?"

Albus nodded. "For sure. You can see it in his eyes. He hates making you angry."

"Then why does he always do it?"

His young son looked down at his watch and smiled. "We only have three minutes."