Written for THC, Gryffindor, DADA, Stand-in, Round 4, Standard.

Prompt: [Era] Marauders Era. [Pairing Type] Father and son.

Word Count: 1992

Beta(s): secretfanficlover, Butterflies765, Aya.

Eleven-year-old James had never been worried about attending Hogwarts. The mere thought of Hogwarts filled him with absolute excitement and exhilaration. He had been born ready for Hogwarts—at least, that's what James told his parents.

So when it came time to finally be allowed to go to the greatest school ever, James had been ready weeks in advance. He didn't require help from his parents, though, they had insisted.

When September 1st arrived, James pulled his trunk all by himself through the barrier between platform nine and ten, and almost went onto the train without saying goodbye to his parents.

"James!"

His fathers' voice caught James' attention instantly.

James turned around sheepishly. He hadn't realised he had completely walked away from his parents in his excitement to get to Hogwarts. "I'm just going to find a compartment and put my trunk in it!" he called, quickly continuing his route onto the train.

His eyes sparkled with anticipation as he looked through the train before deciding on where he would like to sit. Looking out of the window, he grinned. He could see his parents patiently waiting for him to return to them, and had a view of nearly the entirety of the platform.

"Perfect," he murmured to himself before lifting and placing his trunk in the right place. As he quickly glanced around the compartment, he wondered who he'd end up sitting with but didn't really mind either way. Fate was a funny thing and he knew the train ride was going to be awesome regardless.

Catching his parents out of the corner of his eye, he quickly ran off the train to say goodbye to his parents. It was for them, they needed it, not him. He wasn't nervous at all.

"Okay, okay, I'm back!"

His parents smiled softly at him, the one that always calmed him down and made him feel loved.

James took a deep breath and remembered his manners. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"You are going to fit into Hogwarts well and do great things," his mother stated, brushing his almost neat hair out of his face.

"Try to not get into trouble," his father gently warned, though James could see the mischievous smile twinging at the corner of his lips.

James smiled innocently at both of them. "I'll be good," he promised. "And I'll make the Quidditch team, too," he added with a cheeky grin, knowing full well how it wasn't possible for first-years to make the team.

His father pulled out a notebook—an old, burgundy one.

"What's that?" James asked, peering at the notebook.

"A journal I started when you were born," his father stated. "I want you to take it with you. And if you feel sad, lonely, or if you're missing us, you can read it."

James' eyes furrowed together in confusion as he accepted the leather-bound notebook. This was a strange gift. "Uh… thank you," he replied hesitantly.

His father laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm not expecting you to read it anytime soon. Just keep it as a token to remember us."

James tucked it under his arm. "I'll keep it safe. Thank you, Dad." He saw more students boarding the train and quickly checked the time. "I should go!"

"Relax, James," his mother cooed. "You have over forty-five minutes until the train leaves."

James forced himself to not shuffle as he watched an older female get on the train. "What if they take my compartment?" he questioned, looking between the two of them. He knew it wouldn't take long until…

"Give your mother a hug and then you can go."

Excitement flowed through his veins, he hugged both of his parents individually before walking towards the train. It took everything he had to not run onto it again, but he didn't want to embarrass his parents. He turned once at the entrance and waved before bouncing up onto the train.

James slowed as he reached his chosen compartment and took a closer look at the notebook. His name was inscribed on the front. Just as he was about to lift the cover, he noticed a boy in his compartment.

Quickly closing it, he greeted him. "Hi! I'm James Potter."

"Oh! Hi… I…" The blond boy gulped nervously. "I'm Peter."

James grinned and quickly slid the notebook into his trunk he had stored here earlier. This was going to be a great year, he was sure of it.

It took James three weeks before he read the first page. It became his comfort blanket when things were tough—that wasn't often in his early years at Hogwarts, but essential during the war and after his parents died.

He began to value the random gift more and more as he grew up. And he made a vow to make his children feel the exact same way someday.

James was sitting down at the dining room table, a quill poised in his right hand, and a brand new leather journal in front of him. The gold ink dripped from the quill onto the clean oak table, but he ignored it.

Taking a deep breath, he carefully put the quill to the paper and wrote Harry James Potter on the front in his neatest handwriting.

Placing his quill down, he smiled. "Perfect," he murmured to himself.

Now, all James had to do was work out what to write for the first page. His father's initial message had been perfect and James didn't want to let down his own son with a poor opening message.

"James," he heard his wife call.

Instantly, he stood up and placed the lid onto the inkwell. Then, he grabbed a bottle of ice-cold water and headed up the stairs. He smiled softly as he walked into the room. "Good morning."

"How long was I asleep for?" she asked, looking around the room.

James placed the bottle on the bedside table. "Two hours and fourteen minutes," he replied with a glance at the time. "Slept longer than little Harry."

Lily slipped out of bed and looked into the mosey basket and then around. "Where is he?"

"Downstairs."

"Alone?"

James smiled sheepishly. "He's asleep now, he'll be fine for a few minutes." He picked up the bottle and handed it to her. "You should drink, though, and go back to sleep."

Lily accepted the bottle of water but stood up. "I'm fine."

He moved forward with her. "I've got Harry, you should rest."

With a sigh, she stopped heading towards the door and looked at him. "I'm not tired."

James shrugged nonchalantly. "You know best, Lils." He shot her a big smile and headed for the stairs. When Lily didn't instantly follow, he paused and looked at her.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob, her feet half-ready to follow, the shadows under her eyes deep. "He's okay?"

James nodded.

"I'll take a quick shower, then," she said, clearly still convincing herself.

With a smile, he nodded. "I'll be downstairs when you're ready. I'll come and get you if anything happens."

James waited a full minute for Lily to nod and head towards the bathroom before quickly heading down the stairs. He checked on Harry, who was still asleep and breathing steadily, when a thought occurred to him.

What James had loved about his fathers' journal was how real it was. How he could hear his father's voice when he read it.

James picked up a different quill and dipped it into black ink. He opened the cover of the journal and smiled.

Harry,

My father wrote down his favourite memories of my childhood and gifted it to me on my first day at Hogwarts. It had a massive positive effect on my life and was one of the only things I knew came from his heart.

I want you to know how much you are loved, just like my father wanted me to know how much he loved me. Hopefully, you'll feel our love every day, but should there be a moment when we're not with you, I want you to have a piece of me with you always.

He paused when Harry let out a sound. He then watched how his son's face scrunched up seconds before he let out his first cry, in the most adorable and heartbreaking way.

"It's okay, buddy. Daddy's here." James spoke softly, lifting three-day-old Harry into his arms. "It's not feeding time, yet. Does somebody need a nappy change?"

He felt his son's nappy and wrinkled his nose.

"A messy one. This won't go into the journal," he joked to himself.

James looked towards the journal. He'll come back to that later. He'd have plenty of time to write in it, but he needed to spend time with his son to have memories to write.

James' grin almost reached his ears as he threw his one-year-old son into the air. The squeal of joy radiated into every corner of the small room. Every time he caught little Harry, his heart swelled with love. This little boy was his whole life, and he'd do anything for him.

This meant that he ensured his son smiled every day and was spoilt to his core. He would get everything and anything he wanted. Everything except being able to go out and explore the world, James thought a little bitterly.

"I wish I could give you the world," he whispered as he held Harry into his arms.

Harry grabbed onto his dad's t-shirt and held on tightly. "A!" he exclaimed.

James smiled at him. "Yes, that's right, Harry."

"Amamamamama!"

James chuckled. "Oh! I see how it is. Are you a Mama's boy?"

"A!"

"Yes?" James repeated, laughter once again radiating into the room. "Let's go find, Mama."

Harry opened his mouth widely and tried to eat his t-shirt.

"Love you, too, Harry," he chuckled as he walked upstairs to find Lily. It was nearly time for Harry to go to sleep and he needed a bath. "Lil," he called as he got to the top of the stairs.

Lily instantly poked her head out of Harry's bedroom, a concerned expression changing into one of delight. "What do we have here?"

"You've turned my son against me," he joked, a pout on his lips.

Lily smiled as she took a willing Harry into her arms. "It's just because I'm better than you," she teased.

James brought his hand to his heart in mock-offense and watched her take Harry into the bathroom. "Just you wait, he'll become Daddy's little boy before you even realise it!"

With a playful shake of his head, he walked into the bedroom and began to pull out some of his pyjamas ready for the night. That's when he noticed the journal; he hadn't written in it in months.

He wandered over to it, his free hand reaching for it absentmindedly. What would he even write? Things weren't happy in the world. They were in hiding. People were dying daily.

With a sigh, he read through the first few pages that he had written previously. It was all true. James nodded to himself, that should continue.

Sitting down on the bed, he pulled out a quill and inkwell and instantly began to write the truth. He wrote about the laughter that filled the rooms, the Sunday mornings of having pancakes, the lamp breaking when he flew his broom for the first time. James also included how the darkness outside did not affect their love for him, nor did it affect their home.

He finished his sentence just as he heard a joyous squeal from his son and quickly added how much Harry enjoyed his bath time before placing down the quill and went to find his family.

It was time to step out of the future and back into the present. After all, there would be lots of other occasions and happy moments for James to write down in his little notebook.