Chapter 1: Summoning the Hero
Chapter Text
Saying James was worried would be a severe understatement. His son looked terrified, standing in the middle of the intricately carved summoning circle, shivering, visibly uncomfortable from the loud, rhythmic chanting of the adults around him.
James’ protective instincts flared; he wanted nothing more than to sweep his son out of there. Harry was barely five years old, already tasked with something so heavy, so much larger than he should ever have to face—something that could scar him for life, just like the mark left on his forehead by that monster. He would’ve taken everything in Harry’s place if he could, but this… this was something only his son could do.
He remembered that night all too vividly, as if it had happened just yesterday. It had been an ordinary evening—he and Lily laughing, playing with baby Harry—when the magic around their home flared, almost like a scream, warning them that a single, overwhelming presence had arrived.
You-Know-Who.
He’d yelled for Lily to run, to hide with Harry, but he was too late. The front door had been blasted open, and there stood Voldemort, casting a shadow of dread across their living room. And James was unarmed.
In another life, James might have been struck down by a Killing Curse right then and there, but Voldemort was far too cruel for that. He wanted James to watch. He wanted him to witness his wife and son die, to break him in every way possible.
Lily had placed herself between their son and the monster, standing like a barrier of fierce determination, while James was magically bound, forced to his knees, screaming at her to run. To his horror, Voldemort laughed—a cold, soulless sound that clawed at his spine—and then, with a mocking smile, he offered Lily a chance to live. All she had to do was stand aside... and watch him kill Harry and James.
James had tried to shout for her to take the deal, to live on for their son, for them both—anything to ensure at least one of them would survive. But he was silenced before he could utter a word.
Lily’s face twisted with anguish, yet she remained rooted, refusing Voldemort with each chance he gave her. She denied him three times, her eyes fierce, never wavering.
In the end, Voldemort threw her aside, flinging her to the floor beside James. Her breath was knocked from her, her head hitting the floor harshly, and she lay there, dazed, her gaze unfocused, but not yet unconscious.
That feeling of helplessness—raw, excruciating helplessness—was the worst of it all. He struggled against his binds, calling on whatever wandless magic he could muster, but it was useless. Voldemort’s power was too overwhelming, too vast. James could only watch, heart pounding, as the monster raised his wand and pointed it at their son.
His heart shattered. Tears streamed down his face as horror consumed him, every fibre of his being screaming in anguish.
And then—Lily began muttering softly beside him, eyes barely seeing, but she kept her resolve.
At first, he thought she was casting some last-ditch spell. But no—she was praying. She was pleading, begging for their son’s safety, offering everything, anything, if only she could take the curse for him.
The gods, or perhaps something else, answered.
Before their very eyes, the Killing Curse rebounded, striking Voldemort straight in the chest. The bonds on James fell away, and Harry screamed, a heart-wrenching sound of pure pain, before he fell silent, a thin, jagged lightning bolt etched into his forehead, streaming blood. And his wife—Lily fainted, collapsing fully beside him, only a small gasp escaping before she lay unconscious.
For the next seventy-seven days, James did everything he could to care for them both, gripped by fear and guilt. Lily remained unconscious the entire time, and Harry was left with the cursed mark, a permanent scar that wouldn’t fade. A lightning bolt—the shape of the wand movement Voldemort had made.
Even now, Lily struggled with advanced magic, her power drained, as if a part of her magic was forever bound to protect their son. James could never express how much he loved her, how grateful he was. This remarkable woman had given everything for their little boy, sacrificed even her own magic, half her life. And he knew she would offer even more without a second of doubt.
The chanting grew louder, bringing him back to the present, and Harry started to shake. His small, adorable face was scrunched in fear, silent tears slipping down his chubby cheeks, but he held his ground, his little fists clenched.
“Mummy? Daddy?” he whimpered, voice barely audible.
Oh, sweetheart, just a little longer.
“You’re doing great, sweetie. We’ll get treacle tarts after this, okay?” Lily encouraged, her voice strained but soothing, though James could tell she, too, was holding back tears.
“My little man. So brave. Just a bit more, okay?” James added softly.
Harry’s little shoulders straightened, and he took a trembling breath, puffing out his chest in a small, courageous gesture. His lips wobbled, but he held them firm.
James felt a surge of pride in his chest, and he smiled at his son.
So brave. A true Gryffindor, his little boy.
Dumbledore’s chanting hit a crescendo, and the old wizard stepped into the circle. Harry looked up at his grandfather figure with wide, pleading eyes, his silent tears reflecting the candlelight. Dumbledore smiled down at him, gently stroking his hair.
“Close your eyes and give me your right hand, Harry,” he instructed softly.
Harry obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut, holding his right hand out. Dumbledore produced a small needle, and he positioned it to prick Harry’s finger.
“Oh my, what’s an ant doing here?” Dumbledore teased, feigning annoyance as he pricked Harry’s skin. Harry yelped in surprise, but a little giggle escaped him even as he kept his eyes shut at the tone Dumbledore used. “Bad ant,” Dumbledore muttered playfully, rubbing Harry’s finger to produce a few more drops of blood, which then dripped into the summoning circle.
—This was it. They were summoning a hero, someone who had defeated dark forces before, someone capable of saving their world from Voldemort. Convincing them to help, however—that was a task unto itself.
Dumbledore resumed the incantation, his wand slashing the air with complex movements. When he finished, he quickly retreated to his previous position. A bright light began to fill the clearing, growing in intensity until it was almost blinding.
Suddenly, there was a thunderous boom, blowing leaves and dust everywhere. The force and sound was overwhelming, making them all flinch and bend over to cover their ears. James’s heart pounded with renewed fear once he realised. Harry! That sound—so loud for young ears! He could only hope—he could only hope that his son was safe.
As the ringing in his ears faded, James slowly regained his sight. The blinding light dimmed, but the power that lingered in the air was palpable, crackling like a living being. It took a long, uncomfortable minute for everything to sharpen again—far too long to be normal. This was magic, no doubt about it. Powerful magic.
Something—or someone—had arrived.
“Prongs?” Padfoot’s voice cut through, uncharacteristically tentative as he glanced around. Moony joined them, and Dumbledore raised a steadying hand, signalling for patience. James tightened his hold on Lily, feeling her tremble slightly as they waited for the dust to settle.
“You’re really handsome! You kinda look like…” Harry’s small voice drifted through, though a strange distortion in James' ears caused parts of it to fade in and out.
“Do I?” responded an unfamiliar voice, low and almost amused. James stiffened, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix shared tense glances, each of them holding their breath.
“You do! You look really handsome! Even more than Uncle Padfoot!” Harry’s enthusiasm was unmistakable. Despite the tension, James and Lily exchanged a quick, relieved chuckle as Sirius let out a quiet groan beside them. Harry was his excited self, which meant that he was okay.
“Padfoot… what an interesting sounding name… doesn’t sound like a real name to me,” the man replied, a playful lilt in his tone.
“His real name’s Si’ius.” Harry stumbled slightly on the ‘R,’ making the name sound even more endearing. “He’s the most handsome, but I think you’re even more handsome!” he declared, his innocent awe making the stranger laugh—a sound that mingled with Harry’s delighted giggles.
“So, our hero’s apparently a storybook prince,” Sirius muttered with a growl, apparently extremely miffed that he was no longer the ‘handsomest uncle ever’ in Harry’s eyes. “Here to rescue some princess from a dragon, no doubt.”
“You’re such a sore loser, Padfoot,” Remus murmured, though there was a smile in his tone.
“Say… I didn’t catch your name. What’s your name?” the man asked warmly. James’ heart skipped a beat, instinctively wary about his son chatting with strangers. But… well, what harm could there be?
“I’m Harry! Harry Potter! Nice to meet you, Mr…?” There was a pause as the man seemed to consider his response, humming thoughtfully.
“Call me Snitch,” he replied at last.
Snitch? Like… the golden snitch? James’ brows drew together, and he wasn’t the only one puzzled. Apparently, Harry was, too.
“Like the golden snitch? I love Quidditch!” Harry’s laugh rang out.
“Exactly! Now, close your eyes, Harry. I want to... address whoever called me here.” The man’s voice had dropped, sounding almost ominous. Instinctively, James tightened his grip on his wand.
A powerful pulse of magic surged, scattering the dust in the air once more, startling all of them into position. Moments later, an intense Lumos Solem spell filled the space, engulfing the man in blinding light and obscuring his figure.
“Who are you? Where am I? Why have I been summoned?!” The man demanded, his tone turning steely.
Dumbledore, calm as ever, stepped forward, shielding his eyes with a hand. “If you would be so kind as to lower the light, dear boy? I’ll gladly explain everything,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring.
The man’s hand lifted to his hood, and he whispered an incantation that James could not really discern. The glaring Lumos dimmed, revealing a figure of above average height clad in Auror robes. His red hood was up, shadows obscuring his face, an enchantment cloaking it in a void of darkness.
An Auror!
Relief bloomed in James' chest—finally, someone they could trust after months of fighting death eaters—but the man’s words quickly curdled that feeling.
“Explain. Now. I’ve already reached my own conclusions, and I’m not pleased with them. Not one bit.” His voice was cold, edged with suspicion.
O… kay…Maybe… not so trustworthy, then.
The man then moved, crouching slightly to lift Harry up, settling him securely on his hip. Harry clung to his shoulders with an easy, instinctive trust, laughing as he held on tightly.
No—his boy! James’ heart clenched in sudden fear, his wand arm snapping up, and his friends did the same. Lily trembled beside him, her face pale as she watched, terror in her eyes before she steeled herself, aiming her own wand at the man.
“May I open my eyes, Mr. Snitch?” Harry asked sweetly, oblivious to the tension brewing before him.
“Of course you may, Harry,” the man answered, equally gentle. Harry’s face lit up as he caught sight of them, waving excitedly at James and Lily.
“Mummy, Daddy, Uncle Padfoot, Uncle Moony! Mr. Snitch is really nice!” he called out with all the enthusiasm of a child who didn’t realise that he might be in great danger.
“Mummy? Daddy?” The man’s voice faltered, his stance shifting as he turned Harry away from them. He held his wand up defensively, suspicion in every line of his stiff body. His posture was strong, textbook, and James knew that this was a man they did not want to mess with.
“Who are you people? What are you doing to this poor boy?!” He demanded, his protective stance around Harry unyielding. James' chest twisted painfully with the urge to get his son to safety, to curse this man for daring to put Harry in this situation.
“We’re his parents. I’m Lily Potter, and this is my husband, James Potter,” Lily spoke up, her voice strong, her wand already lowered as a gesture of peace. The man’s posture stiffened, but he adjusted the grip on his wand, still aiming them down.
“Lies! Harry Potter is an orphan. Voldemort killed his parents when he was but a baby!” He shouted, almost angered.
James and the others inhaled sharply at the ease with which the man uttered the Dark Lord’s name, utterly unbothered. Lily’s hand shook for a whole different reason as she clutched James’ own, her face pale but determined.
“We survived,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “He… he bound us, forcing us to watch as he tried to kill our son. But we survived.” Slowly, the man lowered his wand, and they did the same.
“You’re in another dimension—sir," Lily said.
The man turned his head to look fully at Lily, tilting his head a bit to the side as if anaylising her.
"Please, help us. Voldemort has returned this year, and more and more innocents are dying every day. His followers are close to taking over the wizarding world, silencing every Muggleborn supporter,” she continued, her desperation plain. “I’m a Muggleborn. Harry, our son, is being hunted by him. That scar is proof of it,” she gestured at a pouting Harry, looking up at the man quizzically.
The man looked into Harry for a moment long, his wand lowered fully as he absorbed their words, though Harry, seemingly oblivious, hugged him tighter because of that. It was striking how easily Harry had taken to him, the boy’s small form resting trustfully against the man’s side. The man sighed, and he looked back to them.
“A… spatial and time summoning, then?” the man murmured thoughtfully. “I assume I can’t return to my world until the terms are fulfilled, which I further assume is Voldemort’s defeat.”
James and the others cringed again at the name, and he cursed his Gryffindor heart for feeling a surge of admiration for this stranger’s seemingly easy, laid-back fearlessness.
“Yes, dear boy. Please, forgive our desperation,” Dumbledore said gently. “You’re aware of the contract of this summoning, then? Has something like this happened to you before?”
The man snorted softly, leaning into Harry's ears. “Close your ears, Hawwy. Promise me you won’t listen,” he said, playfully mimicking Harry’s still stilted pronunciation. Harry giggled, dutifully clamping his hands over his ears.
“Yes, I had experienced it once. A woman tried to bind me to her… and making having sex with her the only way to fulfill the contract,” The man said lightly, casually.
James’ eyes widened at the revelation, feeling a strange mixture of shock and admiration. Damn—Snitch must really be something if people were resorting to that to get his attention.
“I didn’t go through with it. Her magic wasn’t strong enough to force the issue, so, I detained her and moved on.”
Harry, who had clearly been listening, burst into laughter, his innocent giggle breaking the tension.
“You said sex, Mr. Snitch!” he giggled, which made everyone immediately laugh at the sheer adorableness—except Snape, who wore his usual blank expression.
Snitch let out a dramatic gasp, turning to Harry in an instant.
“You promised, Harry! Are you a promise-breaker? I, for one, always keep my promises!” he exclaimed playfully, launching into a gentle tickle attack that had Harry squealing.
“No, no, Mr. Snitch! I’m sorry!” Harry screamed in joy, trying to shield himself from Snitch’s playful assault.
James couldn’t help the reluctant smile tugging at his lips. Surely a man this good with children couldn’t be dangerous… it was just… the way he was holding Harry, the sheer happiness in the man’s laugh, and James could almost picture the man’s eyes scrunching in joy underneath the void. He cursed himself again for trusting so easily, but it was impossible not to when this was the sight he was seeing.
Abruptly, though, Snitch swayed on his feet, one hand lifting to his head beneath the hood, looking as if the magical summoning had finally taken its toll. “Fuck,” he muttered shakily under his breath, eliciting another scandalised gasp and giggle from Harry.
Snitch chuckled, setting Harry down with a fond pat on his head. “Run along now, little mate.”
Harry hugged Snitch’s leg briefly, his adorable cheeks squishing against the man’s thigh, looking up at him with unabashed adoration before scampering back to Lily, who swiftly bent to sweep him into her arms.
Dumbledore stepped forward, a kind and grandfatherly expression on his face. “The summoning has clearly taken its toll. I’ve prepared a Portkey to the Order’s headquarters, where you can rest. If you’ll allow it?”
Snitch gave a faint nod, still steadying himself, and Dumbledore reached out to steady the man by holding his arm, earning a soft and polite ‘thank you’. As Lily and Harry moved closer, Harry immediately reached out to Snitch to be held once more, who responded with a gentle pat on his head, the sight of which made Lily smile, whispering something to both Harry and Snitch, making Snitch chuckle.
“Lemon sherbet,” Dumbledore murmured, and in an instant, they were all whisked away by the magic of the portkey.
The Order members began disapparating one by one, leaving James and his friends alone in the clearing, the faint shimmer of the summoning circle still flickering around them.
"So…" Sirius broke the silence. "Thoughts on our hero?"
James shrugged, actually feeling a bit relaxed. "Honestly? Pretty positive. Seems like a regular bloke, aside from being absurdly powerful, which we needed, of course. And an Auror, too."
"He does seem the fatherly type. The way he handled Harry—knew exactly how to hold him, keep him calm. You don’t learn that unless you’ve had practice." Remus said thoughtfully, nodding along.
"Plus," James added, throwing Sirius a teasing glance, "apparently he’s even more handsome than our Padfoot here. Who would’ve guessed?"
Sirius scowled, giving James a playful shove as both he and Remus snickered. "Oh, shove it! Harry has no sense of beauty. He once called a photo of a hairless cat adorable, Prongs!"
"Yeah, but didn’t Snitch say he was kidnapped for his looks?" Remus pointed out with a grin. "Harry might have been onto something."
"Bah! He’s bloody ego stroking!" Sirius scoffed, feigning indifference. "Who hasn’t been kidnapped once or twice for being a sexy bastard?"
James raised an eyebrow, barely holding back a grin. "Really? So... have you ever been kidnapped, you sexy bastard?"
Sirius blinked, and he slumped, momentarily deflated. "...well, no."
Remus and James burst out laughing, clapping Sirius on the shoulder, watching in glee as their friend looked utterly crushed.
"Alright, enough messing about," James said, still chuckling. "We should really get going. Make sure Lily and Harry get to Grimmauld Place safe and sound."
They exchanged one last look, one full of determination. They finally had their hero, a person great enough that he had finished Voldemort in a world so different from their own. James took a deep breath before he turned on the spot and disapparated, his heart filled with hope for the first time in a while.
Chapter 2: The Other Harry
Summary:
James found Harry and his new best friend playing catch the snitch on the floor of the sitting room. There, James uncovered horrors he had not meant to uncover...
Notes:
A long chapter for the weekend! Let me know what you think! 😊😊
Chapter Text
They arrived to a full-blown temper tantrum, courtesy of James’ son.
Harry was practically wailing, screaming his lungs out, with Dumbledore and Lily both doing their best to soothe him, though it was clear that their words had reached the limit of their effectiveness. The Order members looked on sympathetically, only Snape’s expression hovering somewhere between irritation and outright disgust. James rushed in, approaching his wife who was kneeling in front of their son.
“Look, Harry, Daddy,” Lily said softly, gently lowering Harry’s hands that were covering his eyes. Harry’s loud sobs softened immediately as he stretched his little arms toward him in a plea to be held. James felt a familiar warmth spread through him as he scooped his son up, sighing gently.
“What’s going on, little man? Why all the fuss?” he murmured, feeling Harry's small arms clinging tightly around his neck.
“I want to play with Mr. Snitch, but Mum says he needs to take a nap!” Harry wailed, his tiny fists clenching, wiping at his eyes in frustration. James shushed him gently, prying the fists away before they could leave a bruise. He glanced over at Lily, who gave a weary, tired sigh, Dumbledore chuckling in his usual, jovial manner.
“Well, I reckon that Mr. Snitch must be quite exhausted, Harry,” James said in a soft, soothing tone. “All that magic thing might have worn him out a bit.”
“I don’t care! I want to play with Mr. Snitch!” Harry insisted, his small fists pounding against James’s shoulder as his frustration reached a boiling point. James gritted his teeth as Harry’s tiny fists kept pounding against his back, making his heart fill with sympathy at his son’s pleas.
He knew how deeply all this hiding away business had affected Harry, who’d been pulled from his usual playmates like the Weasleys and Amos Diggory’s son... who was his name again? Kendric? Edrick? Somewhere between those two.
The boy who was the same age as the twins would constantly ‘protect’ Harry from their teasing and harmless little pranks, he and the youngest son of the family. Harry had been bonding really well with him, often coming home to blabber about how he was his ‘bestest friend ever’, alongside Ronald, the boy his age.
Now that they were in hiding, all that fun playtime had come to a grinding halt, leaving Harry’s mood… extremely volatile. James’ son was always the nicest boy, always calm and respectful, and Snitch must’ve been the most exciting thing in his life for months, and Harry latched onto him fast. It didn’t help that the man was so bloody good with kids too.
Then, just as James was mulling over his thoughts, Lily suddenly clicked her fingers, snapping him back to reality.
“Harry! Mummy just remembered something!” she exclaimed brightly. Harry paused mid-sob, his curiosity piqued at how cheerful his mother was being. Lily reached into her pocket and triumphantly pulled out a small wrapped slice of treacle tart. “Look! Treacle tart! Come have some with me?”
Harry immediately squealed in delight, squirming free from James’s arms so quickly he nearly slipped. James barely had time to catch his breath from the near heart attack as he watched Harry hurry to Lily’s side, face bright with excitement.
“Merlin…” Remus muttered, watching Harry dig into the tart with a fond smile.
“Having children at twenty—might not have been the smartest choice,” Dumbledore mused with a grandfatherly, fond smile as James just shook his head, feeling the weight of his exhaustion settle over him. “Well, time for you all to get some rest. Thank you for today,” Dumbledore said warmly as the other Order members began to disperse, leaving only James’ family, his friends, and Dumbledore behind.
James slumped into a chair, finally letting out a sigh of relief as his friends settled around him.
“Young Harry seems quite taken by our mysterious hero,” Dumbledore said with a chuckle.
“Too taken. He hasn’t even asked for Padfoot the dog,” James replied, casting an amused look at Sirius, who let out an indignant huff.
“Why do you like Mr. Snitch so much, Harry?” Lily asked as Harry took a big bite of his tart, giving a gummy smile at all of them. James' heart melted in an instant. His son was the most adorable boy in the world, sometimes James felt like he wanted to just squish those chubby cheeks like bread dough.
Harry spoke, his arms flailing everywhere as he described what he loved about his new best friend.
“Mr. Snitch’s face is really kind! And he’s really handsome! He has pretty eyes, and he wears robes like Daddy’s!” Harry said, his eyes wide with admiration. “He looks like Dad! And he looks really great in them!”
“Merlin... That handsome, huh?” Sirius quipped, raising a curious brow.
Ah, there it was. James shook his head, knowing his best mate too well. It was almost a… vibe-check thing with Sirius. If the man didn't like someone, he’d turn them into an enemy or a rival in an instant. But if he did like them…well, he’d end up a little too intrigued.
James then sighed. He much preferred Sirius going for girls rather than blokes. Usually ends up less messy that way. Usually .
“Can I play with Mr. Snitch once he wakes, Daddy?” Harry asked sweetly, tugging on James’ sleeve. His eyes were wide, his cheeks pouty, and he was batting his eyelashes in a way that said ‘if you let me, I’ll love you for forever, and ever, and ever.’
James hesitated, thinking it over. Snitch seemed like a good sort didn’t he? Soft-spoken, calm, gentle… surprisingly great with kids.
“Only if Mr. Snitch wants to, alright?” he replied, ruffling his son’s hair who let out a noise of admiration that never failed to make James feel so fulfilled in life.
Oh, his son. His smart, good mannered son.
James would do anything for him, for his family. Even if it meant fighting You Know Who with his bare hands, probably dying in the process. He would do it, that and so much more, if it meant that they would be safe always.
Remus and Sirius exchanged amused, fond looks when Harry started to go into his usual ‘best daddy ever!’ compliments which made James stupidly smug every time. Dumbledore chuckled warmly, his warm laughter like a comforting balm to the weariness of the day’s events.
James was lost in his dream, duelling You-Know-Who and looking as heroic as he’d always imagined.
In his dream, he struck the Dark Lord down with well placed string of curses, saving his son and wife who immediately showered him with praises over how wickedly awesome he was.
James received a heated look from his gorgeous wife, and he leaned in to taste those cherry coloured lips—
“James…” Lily’s voice shook him awake, her hand shaking his shoulder.
He groaned, turning the other way, wanting to return to the dream of being the most awesome wizard alive. “James. Harry’s missing,” his wife repeated urgently. He groaned once again, reluctant to open his eyes.
“What are you talking about, Lil? Harry’s right he—” But then he stopped, his heart lurching as he realised the warm weight beside him was Padfoot, curled up contentedly in between them.
It had become a routine in Grimmauld—usually, Harry would be tucked between them, with Padfoot stretched across their feet, except when James and Lily would like some private time in which Harry would sleep in his godfather or uncle’s room. Tonight, though, only Padfoot was here—and Harry was… huh… where could he be?
And then, a light bulb—it was a light bulb, right? The thing Lily has in her house? Anyways, the thing lit up in his head, and he spoke smartly. “He’s probably with Moony. Go back to sleep, Lil,” he mumbled, half-asleep. From down the hallway, he could just make out Harry’s giggles, confirming his theory. “See? He’s fine, darling. Just sleep.”
“James Fleamont Potter. Are you daft?” Lily’s voice dropped to a hard whisper, and James felt himself tense instinctively at the use of his full name. “Remus is still healing; he’ll be out until at least ten. Who in Merlin’s name would Harry be with now?”
Right . Of course. He knew the answer, but still, he played dumb, just to get just five more minutes in.
“… Dumbledore?” he offered feebly, wincing as Lily pinched his arm. “Ouch, Lil! Fine, alright, I’m going.” James cried out, fully alert to find his annoyed wife glaring at him.
“I’m coming too,” she announced, before she deftly tied her hair back with an elastic.
James paused, breath punched out of his lungs by the sight of her—the familiar tumble of flaming red hair, the way those green eyes reflected the early morning rays—the way she bit the elastic in between those lips.
Merlin, she was gorgeous. Lily Evans, the most beautiful woman in the whole world, the only woman who could make even veelas green with envy—
Oh. Wait. Lily Potter . How silly of him to forget.
He couldn’t believe that he was lucky enough to be married to her, that she had chose him out of all of the men who had pined for her, especially with how horrible and spoiled James had been in school.
Harry was so lucky to inherit those brilliant green eyes from his mother. He just knew that Harry would grow up to be a heartbreaker one day.
Lily gave him a small, knowing smile, mouthing ‘behave’ at James before winking in a way that chased all of James’ sleepiness away.
Da–damn…
James concentrated on everything other than his wife, and he found, of course, Padfoot. The mutt stretched his whole body shuddering from how good the stretch must have been. James smacked his head, muttering ‘useless dog.’ under his breath.
Padfoot did not even stirr, too comfortable to care. With a resigned sigh, James slipped out of bed, following Lily as they set off in search of their mischievous little bugger.
They found their son, as expected, with the mysterious man from the night before.
Snitch was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back to them, while Harry knelt beside him, mesmerised by whatever Snitch was holding. From the glimpse James got, Snitch's jet-black hair was horribly tousled—probably from getting dragged out of bed by Harry's insistence to play.
With a flick of Snitch's hand, something small and golden floated into the air. James realized it was a golden snitch. Of course it was.
Harry gasped, his eyes wide with excitement as the snitch buzzed around them like a tiny shooting star, zooming about the space.
The man sitting on the floor observed the snitch’s movement for a good bit. And then, in a swift, calculated move, Snitch's hand shot out, capturing the snitch mid-flight so easily James almost missed it. Harry clapped, his face aglow, eyes sparkling as he cheered, utterly awestruck.
A pang of jealousy hit James like a slap. That look—that pure, unfiltered admiration—was supposed to be his. Of course catching the golden snitch would be more awesome than James just throwing a quaffle lamely around. Who was this man, and why was he so… so effortlessly charming?!
"Again! Again!" Harry exclaimed, bouncing on his kneeling position on the floor with excitement. Snitch chuckled warmly, his hand gentle as he smoothed back Harry’s unruly curls that he inherited from James.
"Alright, alright, that’s enough. I've been at this all morning, Harry. Give me a break, okay?"
Harry pouted, disappointment etched on his face, that was until Snitch gave his chubby cheeks a light, affectionate pinch, smooshing James’ son around. Harry giggled for a bit before flinging his arms around Snitch's chest, hugging him, the man catching him as if it were second nature.
As James and Lily continued their approach, their son noticed them, brightening even more.
"Mummy! Daddy! Mr. Snitch is an amazing seeker!" he declared proudly.
Snitch froze, visibly taken aback if seen by the way his shoulders were drawn up, and James only got the briefest glimpse of his face—just a sliver. Damn… nice jawline. But before he could see more, Snitch quickly covered his face with the hood of his robes, leaving James feeling unreasonably miffed at the denied grand reveal.
"Hey, stop hiding! You look nice!" Harry whined, tugging at Snitch’s sleeve.
Snitch chuckled softly before hugging Harry back, shaking Harry from what James thought was cuteness aggression. How could anyone on god’s green earth resist James’ adorable boy? Snitch’s reaction was perfectly justified.
"It's not about looking nice, Harry,” Snitch said softly. “Sometimes people like to keep things private. Not everyone wants to be recognised."
Harry tilted his head, clearly pondering Snitch’s answer seriously. "Well, you should want to! You're really handsome! You look like Dad!"
James grinned, feeling an odd mix of pride and amusement.
Oh, son. Not every bloke in an auror’s robes could be compared to the one and only James Potter.
"Come now, Harry," Lily interjected. "Time to get you cleaned up. Don’t want to be all sticky and stinky around Mr. Snitch now, do you?"
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Snitch, clearly driven by his paternal instinct and understanding of how much of a struggle bath time was, leaned in and sniffed at Harry before letting out an exaggerated ‘ugh.’ under his breath. Harry gasped, clearly mortified, his face turning crimson as he shuffled to Lily, casting Snitch a comically adorable betrayed look. But he went along, pouting as he clutched Lily’s hand.
Damn it! This man was good. Far too good. Lily led Harry away, and he waved back at Snitch, at his new favourite person.
Harry off to take a bath, and James decided he would like to know their saviour. He sank into an armchair across from the man, who quietly chose one of his own. Alone now, an air of tension settled over the room.
Snitch, though seated casually, exuded a powerful aura. He was… quite intimidating. Snitch’s posture was stiff—his shoulders broad and his back straight, which combined with the Dementor-esque hood he was wearing now—completed the image of an extremely intimidating man, one who screamed ‘don’t mess with me, I can kill you without lifting a finger.'
James was scanning the man, and the man was clearly scanning him back. He was just about to break the silence when Snitch spoke first.
"So,” he started. “James Potter, right? Famous father of the even more famous Harry Potter," he remarked, his voice both light yet cautious.
James straightened instinctively. "That would be me, yes."
Snitch nodded, seeming to study him thoughtfully. "How old are you, James? If I may ask?”
An interrogation then? James wasn’t intimidated that much. And so, he raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to smirk. "Bit personal, don’t you think, Snitch?”
Snitch let out an awkward chuckle, his hand reaching out to scratch the back of his neck. It was c learly a nervous gesture, and James realised that he might have read the man’s intentions wrong.
"Ah… you’re right. Forgive me. That was out of line."
James laughed lightly, trying to ease the atmosphere between them. "Just teasing, mate. Twenty-six, just last month." He leaned forward, curious. "And you?"
"Twenty," Snitch replied, a little shyly. "Twenty-one in a few months."
James’s eyes widened in an instant. No wonder he sounded so young. He’d barely started living, and yet… he’d defeated a dark lord? "You’re only twenty? And you’ve defeated You-Know-Who?"
"A bit over two years ago, actually."
James was floored. This man… how… how was he real? Who was Snitch? Who would be Snitch’s equivalent in their dimension, do they know him?
"So you were… what, seventeen, eighteen?" James asked, falling at containing how baffled he was feeling inside.
"Seventeen, yeah. But I’ve been facing him since way before that," Snitch answered, his voice relaxed.
What in Merlin’s sweaty balls…? How was this bloke even real?!
"Unfortunately, I only got proper training afterward. Would’ve been useful when I was actually fighting him you know? But, as always, Dumbledore’s plans were an enigma."
Dumbledore? Right—Snitch was from another world. The familiarity was both intriguing and eerie. James leaned forward, part out of excitement and something more personal. "Do we… know each other, where you are from? I assume Snitch isn’t your real name, of course, so you can be anybody."
Snitch’s shoulders slumped a little, and he looked away from James in a gesture that somehow felt… sad…
Snitch looked back, and he nodded, making James’ heart beat just a little bit faster. He spoke, in a voice that sounded like longing. "You did know me. But I didn’t really know you."
James felt an odd pang of sympathy at the sorrow laced in Snitch’s voice. What an answer. It was an unusual way to answer the question. Who could Snitch be? Someone who James knew but Snitch didn’t really know…?
If that was the case… why was Snitch so… upset, almost?
It was odd. So odd. They couldn’t have been close if Snitch himself said that he didn’t know James. What a puzzle, a puzzle James was eager to solve.
But. For now, all he wanted was to show some sympathy to this man, he deserved it for agreeing to help them, it was the least he could do.
"It must’ve been hell, going through all of that." James paused, unsure of how much weight his gratitude could carry. "I’m glad you’re here to help us now."
"It’s not like I could leave without doing my part first," he answered, his voice fully turning to amusement now.
James spluttered, feeling his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. He lifted his hand, scratching the back of his neck as he looked away.
“A–ah… right. Sorry bout that,” James stammered.
Snitch laughed, and he shook his head. "I’m just joking, James. I’m happy to help. Can’t just leave you all to face Snake-Face, can I? Definitely can’t leave Harry to face him all alone."
James stiffened at the mention of his son, his eyes widening.
"Harry?" James gasped.
"Yeah? Er, sorry—what?" Snitch stammered, caught off guard.
"No, I mean, what about Harry?"
Snitch hesitated, becoming quiet as if he was choosing his words carefully. "Well… he is prophesied… you know?"
The words hit James like a blow. He hadn’t let himself think that far. James and Lily were dead, and that… that meant that there was nobody to shield their son from the Dark Lord. He swallowed hard, a mix of anger and helplessness rising in him.
"So… You-Know-Who, he hunted him—he kept hunting my son?"
Snitch was silent for a moment, and James felt the weight of that silence like a stone settling in his chest. He could sense Snitch’s hesitation, but the desperation in his voice couldn’t be ignored. "Yes. From his very first year in Hogwarts. And he… well, he went through a lot. More than any kid should."
James clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white, feeling the cold fury of the words—words no father should ever hear. The thought of his son, vulnerable, fighting alone, gnawed at him.
"But he’s… he’s alright, right? Please tell me that someone was there for him—"
James’s breath hitched as a new, sickening fear gripped him.
His parents were gone, his cousin had died young, and his aunt and uncle—every Potter but him and Harry—had passed within a year of his son's birth.
"Who raised him?" James asked sharply, his voice tight, urgent. He caught the stiffening of Snitch’s shoulders. "Was it Sirius? Remus? It had to be Sirius, right? He might be immature, but he's his godfather, and—"
Snitch met his gaze, but the man’s face was hidden, leaving nothing but a shadow where his eyes should have been. The faintest shake of Snitch's head sent a shiver down James's spine. "Sirius was… in Azkaban," Snitch said quietly. "He chased after your betrayer, tried to stop him, but… he was framed. Sent there to rot because the Ministry thought he’d killed Muggles. Pettigrew’s doing."
The words punched into James’s chest, squeezing the air out of him. "Peter betrayed us too… and my best friend? Framed? In Azkaban?"
Snitch nodded. "And Remus… his condition worsened without you and Sirius. He felt unfit to raise a child. At least, that’s what I gathered. He spent a decade just barely getting by."
The air thickened, the weight of the revelations pressing against him. The thought of Sirius, broken in Azkaban, drowning in his own regret… Remus, pulled into his own doubts, pushing Harry away, convinced his absence was some kind of protection—it shattered James inside. The very idea of Harry, alone, with no one to care for him, to love him…
"And… Dumbledore," Snitch’s voice dropped even lower now, like a whisper barely meant to be heard. "He insisted Harry be raised by his blood family. And the only one left was the one on his mother’s side…"
James’s stomach turned. "No… not them… anyone but them…"
“It was a protection spell, tied by blood, meant to keep him safe from Voldemort and the Death Eaters. It was necessary for Harry’s safety. But… his family… they weren’t kind to him. They locked him away whenever his magic flared, made him sleep in a cupboard… and love? Well, no chance of that, really."
The words hit James like a fist to the gut. His thoughts blurred as grief flooded through him—grief so raw it almost felt like physical pain.
His son… his beautiful, innocent boy, left to suffer alone. His mind painted an image of Harry—small, fragile, the boy who should’ve been surrounded by warmth, by laughter, by love.
But instead, it was a cupboard. A cupboard .
His son, trapped in a dark, cramped space, deprived of affection, of warmth. The thought of Harry, alone, crying out for them, for him and Lily, but no one there to hear… it twisted inside him, cold and relentless.
He almost couldn’t speak. His throat was tight, the words choking him. "And his family… well they—"
" Stop ." James’s voice cracked. He couldn’t go on. The tears, the grief, the fury—they all spilled over, unchecked. He didn’t try to hide the tears that slipped down his cheeks. He could see it too clearly—his bright, loving son, starved for affection, unloved, abandoned in that cruel world.
Snitch exhaled slowly. The voice that followed was soft, laden with regret. "I’m so sorry, James. You asked, and I… I didn’t mean to break you with it."
But James couldn’t respond. His chest was tight, his hands trembling with the weight of it all. He clenched his fists again, hard enough to feel the sting. His lip bled as he bit into it, trying to keep himself from fully breaking apart.
He felt a gentle, warm hand on his shoulder. Snitch had leaned in, holding James’ right shoulder in a gesture of understanding.
“It’s alright. He survived everything. He’s happy.” Snitch’s voice was quiet, like he was trying to soothe him, but James couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t feel the comfort. All he felt. Was rage.
"Survived everything?" James hissed, his voice barely more than a growl. He glared at the void where Snitch’s eyes should have been, trembling with fury. "You think that’s enough? To be alive but never know what it’s like to be loved? To be held? Is that living to you?!"
His chest heaved with the force of the words, the rage consuming him. The thought of Harry, his boy, left to suffer, to starve not just for food, but for affection—for family—was more than he could bear.
Snitch didn’t flinch. The man’s figure, hidden in shadow, was unmoving, steady. James could tell that Snitch’s gaze was one of understanding, pity even. And h3 did not appreciate it.
"James, I—"
" No ," James interrupted, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "No, you don’t get to tell me it’s alright. How could it be? He’s my son , every version of him that exists in this godforsaken world!" The words tore through him. His chest felt like it was breaking. "I should’ve been there—should’ve survived—I…"
The air was suffocating, the room closing in on him. His mind was a whirlpool, thoughts colliding into each other, a storm of guilt, fury, and regret. He couldn’t make sense of it, could only feel it, every wave crashing inside him.
"I should’ve never trusted that fucking rat! Should’ve trusted Remus more… I should’ve found a way… to protect him…"
Snitch’s voice, warm and comforting, barely pierced through the chaos of his thoughts. "James…" He placed a hand on his shoulder again, firmer this time, but still impossibly gentle.
"Harry is strong. Yes, he had to fight for himself, and yes, he had to overcome a lot, but he always carried a piece of you with him," Snitch’s words were soft, measured, as if he was trying to ground James, to bring him back. "He’s made it, James. He’s happy. Trust me."
James shook his head, his throat tight. He couldn’t let go of the images, the horror of what Harry would suffer if he was ever subjected into living with those pathetic excuses of human beings. He felt another wave of tears, but he held them back, biting down on the pain. Snitch’s hand remained on his shoulder, heavy but comforting, a gentle anchor that kept him from drowning in the horror he had not meant to uncover.
"I should’ve been the one to raise him. I should’ve protected him. I should’ve—at least bought time for Lily… I was wandless when he came in, Snitch. I was… fuck…"
"You couldn’t have known," Snitch’s voice was quiet, soothing, but it didn’t fully ease the storm inside him. "None of you could have.”
The words didn’t comfort him. How could they? He was left with nothing but the crushing weight of his son’s suffering, the haunting knowledge that James’ stupidity and carelessness had cost them even more, even worse than his worst nightmare.
James loved his son. More than anything in the world. And this… this knowledge was destroying him.
And so, he sobbed. He sobbed for this version of his son that he had never known, for the version of his son that had never known him—his father who would sacrifice everything to protect and love him. He could only hope that Snitch’s words were not empty comforts, that Harry had found a way to be happy there, wherever he was.
If only James could meet that version of his son—just a chance to tell him how much he loved him would be enough.
Chapter 3: A Father's Love
Summary:
James’s heart shattered at the sight, his mind flashing back to that other world—the bleak, heartbreaking image of Harry wearing this very look. But there, it wasn’t born out of concern for someone he loved. It was from loneliness, from neglect.
Rage began to pulse through James, deep and hot. A fury he hadn’t felt in years. He could feel his magic simmering beneath his skin, raw and unrestrained.
Notes:
This might be an unpopular opinion, but if James were to survive the attack, I think he would react much worse than Lily. Would even go as far as saying that he would dedicate his life into hunting Pettigrew and Voldemort down.
Anyways, here's another chapter... I cried a bit writing this... 🥲🥲
Let me know what you think! Always appreciate the comments, and yes, that involves you too, guests. ☺️☺️
Chapter Text
James was struggling to shake the heart-wrenching images of his son’s suffering when the light, quick footsteps of his little boy reached him. Before he knew it, Harry was in his arms, warm and wriggling with boundless energy.
“Daddy!” Harry exclaimed, giggling, the soft scent of baby powder and wildflowers clinging to him—something that just screamed of a happy, perfectly cared-for child. His son bounced in his hold, bursting with excitement. “I washed by myself, and Mummy only helped me with my pants! Can I play with Mr. Snitch now? Can I? Can I, can I, can I?!”
But his enthusiasm faded as he noticed James’s trembling smile, the glistening tracks of tears on his father’s face.
“Daddy? Why are you crying?” Harry’s cheerful expression softened, his small brows furrowing in concern, eyes dimming with worry.
James’s heart shattered at the sight, his mind flashing back to that other world—the bleak, heartbreaking image of Harry wearing this very look. But there, it wasn’t born out of concern for someone he loved. It was from loneliness, from neglect. He forced a smile, brushing his fingers through Harry’s damp, towel-dried hair, smoothing out the tangles, grasping for calm.
“Oh, my boy…” he whispered, barely above a breath, as if saying the words any louder would break him.
Harry seemed to sense the depth of his father’s sadness. He climbed onto the chair to press closer, wrapping his tiny arms around James’s middle, nuzzling his shoulder with pure, innocent kindness. It undid James completely. He let his tears fall into his son’s soft hair, planting a gentle, desperate kiss on the crown of Harry’s head.
“Daddy… why are you sad?” Harry’s voice was small, worried. “Did I do something bad?”
James could not answer. What could he say, really? That he was grieving his other son? A version of him that he could do nothing for? A version who had lost the lottery of life?
“Daddy…?”
Behind him, James felt Lily’s hand settling gently on his neck, her touch grounding him with its steady warmth. She leaned close, her voice a soft plea.
“James… Harry’s talking to you. Answer him.”
But he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He bit his lip, swallowing back the sobs, his shoulders trembling.
Then Snitch spoke up, his voice gentle. “Come, Harry. Let’s go play outside. Your daddy will be fine.”
There was an ache in the man’s voice, as if Snitch understood the depth of James’s anguish—as though he shared his grief. Snitch reached out, taking Harry’s small hand with a kindness that struck James to the core. In that moment, he felt a surge of gratitude, and he knew that he liked Snitch with just this one act of kindness.
This man had faced the dark lord for his other son, barely more than a boy himself, and now was here, offering what James couldn’t find in himself to give at that moment. Comfort.
Harry looked back over his shoulder, his little face creased in worry, but he allowed himself to be led away, casting one last frown in James’s direction.
Once they were gone, Lily knelt beside him, her beautiful green eyes searching his face. “James? Talk to me. What did he say?”
James’s breath hitched, his chest tight, a sob clawing its way up his throat. He forced himself to look at her, and then, in a broken voice, he began to recount everything Snitch had told him. He didn’t hold back a single detail, as if each word might ease the horror he felt.
He spoke of their son’s life in that other world, of how Dumbledore had decided that Harry should be raised by the Dursleys, knowing full well who they were. How Harry had grown up unloved, mistreated, cast aside by those who should have cared for him. He watched as Lily’s face transformed, her horror and anger becoming sharper, more potent with every word.
“Petunia… how could she?” Lily whispered, her voice trembling. “If it were her and Vernon in our place, we would’ve loved Dudley as our own. How could she do this to us?!”
“No, Lily,” James spat, his voice bitter. “We knew what they were like, and so did McGonagall, so did Dumbledore. But he still insisted on sending Harry to them. He decided our son’s happiness and wellbeing was worth risking. He knew what would happen and still—he did it.”
Rage began to pulse through James, deep and hot. A fury he hadn’t felt in years. He could feel his magic simmering beneath his skin, raw and unrestrained.
The house began to shake under his power. It only deepened his agony—he could’ve fought Voldemort longer, even if he knew that he would fail at the end; it would be just enough time for Lily and Harry to get away. But both he and the other James had been too careless—too stupid.
How?! He knew that the darkest wizard ever known to mankind was chasing his family, knew that if he let his guard down it would mean his death—and he had to drop his wand when he realised that something was wrong with the Fidelius.
It was his own stupidity that did him in—his foolishness, his recklessness, his trusting in people who did not deserve it.
With a wave of his wand, he cast a silencing charm just before he stood up. “Fuck! Fuck this! Fuck everything!” James screamed, blasting away the coffee table in front of him, sending it into splinters. Lily let out a soft, startled noise, backing a step away.
All he could see in his mind’s eye was Voldemort’s twisted, disgusting face, Pettigrew’s manipulative, deceitful smile. He should’ve known—he should’ve known from the start that Pettigrew was nothing but a filthy, bootlicking rat!
“He’s dead!” James roared, fury tearing at his insides, blasting an armchair to the wall, fully breaking it when the impact proved too powerful. “Him and fucking Pettigrew! I’ll skin them alive if it’s the last fucking thing I do!”
“James, stop! Stop!” Lily shouted, grabbing his outstretched arm, trying to lower his wand, her eyes wide with horror. “James! It was for Harry’s safety, James. Dumbledore wouldn’t—”
“Safety? Safety?!” James roared in disbelief, silencing Lily in an instant. “He’s our son, Lily! After everything we’ve done for the Order—after every risk we’ve taken, every sacrifice—this… this is how he repaid us?! Letting our boy be tortured for ten long years?! Is this how lowly he regards us?!”
His voice was hoarse, his magic sparking and crackling, making the room shiver with each shaky breath he took.
“He could have put up a Fidelius, Lily—hidden Harry somewhere safe with people who cared for him!” he growled, his fury ever growing. “He could’ve protected him himself! Surrounded him with the best of the Order—anything but that! Anything but leaving him to those bloody monsters!” His fists were clenched, his body shaking with the intensity of his magic. He barely registered Lily’s voice, her pleas.
“James, please… please… I’m as angry as you are, but he’s safe. He’s right here, he’s safe.” Her voice was thick with her own tears, her gaze pained.
“Our Harry’s fine, Lily!” James shouted, making her flinch. “But what about the other James and Lily’s Harry?! He’s still ours—still our son! How can you be so calm, Lily? Do you love Dumbledore more than our boy? Do you trust him more than our son?!”
The words he spat came out harsher than he had intended, and he saw the hurt in his wife’s eyes. But the fury—the heartbreak inside him was too raw, too consuming.
A sudden, pure, happy squeal echoed from the garden, and he turned towards the window. Outside, Harry was chasing the buzzing golden snitch, his little form a blur of joy as Snitch looked on, the man’s laughter a bittersweet contrast to James’s own inner turmoil.
He watched as Snitch lifted his hand, stopping the ball’s relentless buzzing. He scooped Harry onto his shoulders, bringing the elusive snitch within reach. Harry’s eyes sparkled as he finally had the chance to snatch the ball from the air, presenting the golden ball to the man proudly, his joy pure and unbridled.
Snitch then spun him around, laughing as Harry clung to his hood, squealing in delight.
“Look at him, Lil. Just… just look at him,” James whispered, holding onto his heart, feeling as if the pain was no longer emotional, rather physical. “Now imagine him growing up without us, without Sirius, without Remus. Alone, in a house that does not love him. It hurts too much… our son deserves everything in the world. He’s so kind, Lily… such a good boy…”
The sight was almost unbearable—Snitch held Harry snugly by his side, and James’s boy leaned in close, pressing an innocent kiss to Snitch’s forehead beneath the shadow of his hood. Snitch laughed, returning the gesture with a gentle kiss to the cheek, making Harry giggle and wrap his arms around him in happiness.
This beautiful child—his son, so full of life, so brimming with love, so blissfully carefree… The mere thought of that joy, that purity, being stolen away… it tore at James’s soul.
He turned back to Lily, his voice dropping to a whisper, the words bitter on his tongue as he realised the hurt he’d caused her. “I’m… I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to shout.”
He drew her into his arms, holding her close, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She nodded silently, her tears slipping down her cheeks, her shoulders quivering with silent sobs.
“I’ll… I'll go take a shower, Lily.”
He held her for a moment longer before letting go, knowing that they both needed a few minutes alone—at least for him to quiet the storm raging inside.
Chapter 4: Horcruxes
Summary:
James watched as Snitch went into an explanation about items that contained the Dark Lord's soul, items that with it still in existence, Voldemort would never die.
And then, Snitch revealed another shocking detail.
One of the items were in the house, and Sirius' brother had been the one to recover it, betraying the Dark Lord at the cost of his own life.
Notes:
Ahh I wanna write thousands of words for Little Harry alone. I love imagining that Harry would be a clingy child if he had grown up with James and Lily... and... I'm sad again 🥲
Anyways, don't hesitate to comment! I love reading your comments! Oh, and kudos are appreciated too, hehehe 😇
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When James returned, having finally managed to calm himself, he found the Order gathered around the breakfast table, where snacks and steaming mugs filled the air with warmth and chatter. Laughter rippled through the house, but his anger spiked anew as he spotted Dumbledore chuckling at something Sirius had said, looking so blissfully unaware of the crimes he'd committed against James's family in another world.
James's breath quickened, fury threatening to surface once again, but then Lily’s gaze caught his. She shook her head gently, silently begging him not to cause a scene. Reluctantly, he nodded back, took a deep breath to steady himself, though his fists remained clenched as he wrestled with his emotions.
“Ah, James,” the headmaster called, his voice far too warm, making James bristle. “Come, take a seat. We’re about to start.” Dumbledore’s familiar smile behind his half-moon spectacles, once comforting, now grated on him. Swallowing his frustration, James sat down between Snitch and Lily, glancing briefly at the man currently holding Harry on his lap.
“Daddy!” Harry whispered, his little brows furrowing as he looked up at his father, lips forming a small pout. He reached out with open arms, and James sighed, lifting his son into his lap. Harry wrapped his arms around James’s neck instantly, his warmth calming and grounding him.
“Thank you,” James murmured to Snitch, who nodded in understanding and gave his shoulder a reassuring pat.
Lily found James’s hand, and he held Harry close, a quiet gratitude washing over him. Having his son here, safe and sound, was a blessing he’d learned never to take for granted. He nuzzled into Harry’s soft hair, catching the familiar scent of his child, just a hint of sun from his playtime.
“Our guest here has some vital information to share,” Dumbledore announced, gesturing towards Snitch. “If you would, Snitch?”
Snitch stood, raising his hand to conjure glowing, three-dimensional images in the air. One by one, objects materialized: a book, a pendant, a ring, a crown, a cup, and, finally... a snake. James blinked, momentarily startled by the projections, but his attention soon shifted to Snitch’s magic.
It was wandless… and without incantations.
Snitch began his explanation, causing all the objects except the snake to pulse softly with light. “Out of all of these, I’m certain that five already exist,” he said. “Has he been sighted with a snake close by? One he keeps constantly at his side?”
“Yes,” Moody replied gruffly, drawing all eyes to him. “A massive boa constrictor, though I’m told she’s lethally venomous and immune to any offensive magic. Dark and magically enhanced, no doubt.”
The bitterness in Moody’s voice made James grimace. He’d heard the stories about Voldemort’s snake—three of his own comrades had fallen to her venom during a raid. The thought of a creature capable of repelling seasoned Aurors’ magic was… truthfully horrifying.
“Well… that complicates things,” Snitch muttered, rubbing his chin under his hood thoughtfully. He lifted his hand again, keeping the remaining five objects hovering before the group. “These, my friends, are called Horcruxes.”
Dumbledore’s reaction was immediate and unexpected. The old wizard froze—teacup in hand, his face paling as he stared at the floating projections.
“Horcruxes… plural? He split his soul six times… is that even possible?” Dumbledore breathed, his voice unusually shaken.
James had never seen the headmaster look so utterly horrified—lips parted open, eyes wide—His reaction unsettled everyone, including Harry, who shifted in James’s lap, craning his neck to get a better view of his ‘grandpa.’
“These items… each contains a part of his soul,” Snitch explained, slowly touching the image of the cup in front of him, which shimmered faintly with a disturbing light. “Each piece was created through murder and unspeakable dark magic—some of the vilest acts imaginable. And as long as they remain... so does he.”
“These Horcruxes are nearly indestructible,” he continued, his voice grave. “Only two known substances have been known to have the ability to destroy them: Fiendfyre… and Basilisk venom.”
“ Fiendfyre ? Are you mad?” Bones gasped, a sentiment echoed by every person on the table, each of them going into a series of discussions.
Snitch nodded and conjured the image of a large fang of some sort of beast, directing it to strike the cup. A blinding light illuminated the room briefly as the cup vanished, leaving the remaining objects floating in the air. The table went silent at the sight, and it was broken by James’ son.
Harry clapped his hands, clearly fascinated by the display of magic, cheerily exclaiming ‘yay!’ as the light of the cup object dissipated. James’s son, now aware of the room's full attention shifting onto him, immediately squealed and buried his face in James’s shoulder, clearly severely embarrassed.
James couldn’t help but smile, especially when Snitch leaned over with a chuckle, ruffling Harry’s hair fondly, making the boy snuggle deeper into James’ embrace, whining adorably.
Adorable. His son was just too adorable.
“This is our best approach,” Snitch said, giving Harry a few soft headpats as he spoke. “We’ll need the venom, and we’ll have to act quickly. Destroying all the Horcruxes simultaneously will give us the best chance of keeping Voldemort—”
He was cut off by a collective intake of breath at the sudden name dropping.
Damn it. He really needed to get used to the name being spoken so freely by this man.
“—unaware of our intentions,” Snitch continued, voice undeterred. “And fortunately… one of them is right here, in this very house.”
Sirius stiffened, his body tense as he looked sharply at Snitch. “What... What are you talking about?” Sirius’ voice held a rare protectiveness over anything involving his family and their involvement with the Dark Lord. James just knew that his best friend couldn’t care less about the his family, all except for his—
Snitch tilted his head thoughtfully, humming under his breath. “I always wondered how this house came to you, Sirius. It belonged to your family, yes? And Walburga left it to you reluctantly... after your brother’s death.”
Sirius’s jaw clenched, old pain flashing briefly in his eyes. James knew how much Sirius claimed to despise his family’s involvement with the Dark Lord, but he also knew Sirius had once cared enough to beg Regulus to run away with him. Regulus’s response had been both expected and unexpected—a fist to Sirius’s jaw, and scornful words that still haunted his friend to this day.
Though Sirius often shrugged off his brother’s memory with indifference, James would never forget the night he’d overheard Sirius’s quiet sobs from outside Sirius’ bedroom door. The very night that the news of Regulus’ death had reached them.
“Kreacher!” Snitch’s sudden shout jolted James back to the present. Sirius’s eyes widened as Kreacher appeared, head hung low.
“Give me the locket Master Regulus entrusted to you,” Snitch said firmly.
Sirius’ breath caught in his throat, looking at Snitch in disbelief as the house elf whimpered, shaking his head, his long ears quivering. “Kreacher knows nothing of what you say,” he mumbled.
“Yes, you do,” Snitch replied softly, floating an image of the locket closer to the elf. Kreacher’s whimper grew louder as he pulled at his own ears.
“Hand it over, Kreacher. I’ll destroy it,” Snitch said gently, turning to Sirius. “You’ll need to command him.”
Sirius nodded, and with his voice shaking, he gave Kreacher the order. “Give me the locket, Kreacher.”
The house-elf let out a small, broken sound and popped out of the room. The room was silent once more as Snitch looked at Sirius, his hood concealing his expression, but even with James’ short time with the man, he knew that the face underneath would be compassionate.
How he knew of Sirius and Regulus James knew not, but his theory were proven true when the man spoke to Sirius, his voice ever gentle.
“Your brother was a hero, Sirius,” Snitch said kindly, making Sirius look away with a scoff, though from James’ perspective, it was a weak one.
“He saw Voldemort’s true nature and bravely outsmarted him, taking one of the Horcruxes just so that one day, Voldemort would be mortal when he meets his match. It was just unfortunate that he never knew that there could be more.”
Sirius’s expression shifted, something between relief and pain. Remus, sitting beside him, reached up and placed a supportive hand on Sirius’s arm, gently guiding him back to his seat.
James knew his friend well; later, when this was all over, Sirius would smile and claim that what they had uncovered didn’t matter. But James knew that his friend would also visit Regulus’s grave, bringing fresh flowers as he had countless times before, when he thought no one was noticing.
Moments later, Kreacher reappeared, kneeling and holding out the locket, presenting the item to Snitch. The man took it with a grim nod, a noise of disgust at the back of his throat as he placed it on the table.
“I’ll destroy this for you, Kreacher,” Snitch promised. Kreacher looked up, eyes filled with quiet hope. “I promise. You can watch me do so later, all right? I’ll call for you,”
“Yes, young master,” Kreacher bowed. Respectfully. Something James had never seen the old house elf do.
“Master Regulus would be proud of you, Kreacher. You’ve fulfilled his last request. You can rest easy now.”
So… kind… James thought. Even to an obnoxious little thing like Kreacher.
The house elf looked up with tears in his eyes, and he bowed lower than James had ever seen him, his head touching the floor from how low he was bowing.
“Thank you, young master. Thank you,” Kreacher said desperately, looking up, his face turning to reverence before bowing once more and disappearing from the room.
Every person on the table was once again stunned at the easy kindness the man had given so freely. Harry’s hand reached up, and he tugged at Snitch’s sleeve, making the man look down.
“I like Kreacher,” Harry said suddenly, innocently, making everybody look.
“You do?” Snitch asked back.
“Mmhm. Sometimes, when Mummy and Daddy are away, I’d call Kreacher, and we’ll play together! He doesn’t like Mummy a lot, and Uncle Sirius, and Uncle Remus, but he’s funny. I love playing with him.”
“He is a mean, old, house elf, isn’t he?” Snitch asked fondly, to which Harry shook his head in an instant, defending his apparently secret friend.
“Noo! He’s nice when I play with him! He can be nice too!” Harry exclaimed, getting Snitch to laugh, reaching once more to stroke Harry’s hair, softening back the curls in a fatherly gesture.
“I know, Harry. He can be nice sometimes.”
After satisfying himself with stroking Harry’s hair, Snitch then turned back to the table, and with a sudden “so!”. He brought them back to attention, looking at Dumbledore. “What’s the plan, headmaster? You’re usually the one with the grand schemes and designs.”
“Ah… well I…” Dumbledore faltered, still winded from all the things that Snitch had uncovered before them.
“Just kidding, headmaster,” Snitch said with a chuckle. “First, we gather the Horcruxes. I’ll handle the venom and the diadem at school.”
Gasps rippled around the table, and Dumbledore’s face paled once more.
“There’s… a Horcrux in Hogwarts?” he whispered.
“Oh, fuck,” Snitch mumbled, tone guilty, making Harry giggle from James’s lap. “Harry…” Snitch warned.
“Sorry, Mr. Snitch!” Harry squeaked, his innocent voice drawing fond smiles from both James and Lily. He kissed Harry’s chubby cheeks a few times, sparking envious looks from Sirius and Remus.
“I’ll retrieve it. Don’t worry. It’s dormant there. I’ll just grab it and be on my way!” Snitch said. His tone was youthful, almost eager, and James felt a pang of realization…
Though he was only a few years older than Snitch, he suddenly felt ancient next to his new friend’s energy. Maybe that’s why Harry was so taken with him… or maybe this was just another instance of James growing up.
“I have a plan for how we’re going to split up. Do you… have Pensieves? Something I can share my memories with?” Snitch asked.
Sirius stood up, took out his wand, and summoned a Pensieve to the middle of the room. Dumbledore walked over to it, using powerful magic to duplicate them, creating an additional three for the order members to dive in.
“A warning first, straight from our beloved headmaster,” Snitch said. Dumbledore looked at him in confusion before Snitch produced a strand of memory and dipped it into each Pensieve. “Please.”
The members of the Order of the Phoenix watched the swirling memories on the surface of the Pensieve. James held Lily’s hand tightly, and she nodded back at him with determination.
This was it—a window into the other world, into Snitch and Dumbledore’s memories. James was nervous. So nervous. He could only hope to catch a glimpse of his son there.
Notes:
What memory could they be viewing? Ooohhh. Will Snitch be revealed?? Stay tuned!
Chapter 5: A Glimpse Into Another World
Summary:
James finally got a glimpse of Snitch and Dumbledore in the other world, and it was more horrifying than he thought.
Snitch was so strong, even when he was forced to torture the man that he so clearly admired, he had stayed so brave.
Notes:
AHHH THIS CHAPTER WAS SO HARD TO PACEEE!
Idk why but my writing for this chapter is so subpar, so sorry for that!
Anyways, do tell me what you think! Byeee!
Chapter Text
Without any further thought, he had instinctively passed Harry to the man, feeling a strange pang of surrender in the action. He fought the urge to groan, realising how his subconscious had already yielded to trust—trust in a stranger whose face he hadn’t even seen.
Snitch, too, seemed caught off guard. His shoulders tensed, drawn up in a reflexive stiffness. But when Harry, with that innocent charm of his, opened his tiny arms eagerly, the man softened, visibly disarmed. He cooed gently as he took James' son into his hands, his voice tender, holding Harry close with that parental care James had seen but the night before.
James stood, a quiet weight settling over him, and Lily leaned in close, her voice a whisper meant only for him.
“Let’s hope we can find him in the memory, James.”
He nodded, and at Dumbledore’s instruction, they dove in, spiralling into the currents of Snitch’s memories.
They opened their eyes in an unfamiliar, yet unmistakable setting. It was Dumbledore who sat before them, older and visibly strained, the wear and tear of battles fought silently carved into the lines of his face.
They were sitting too, confined to Snitch’s perspective—a trained, deliberate technique, used only by Aurors and skilled men of court. Locked into Snitch’s position and forced to see through the eyes of another, James felt an odd displacement, as though he were there but not there, anchored in the moment yet only as a silent observer.
“But the six Horcruxes... how are we supposed to find them?” Snitch's voice, sharp with youthful desperation, rang out. To James, he sounded almost too painfully young.
“You are forgetting,” Dumbledore replied, a faint, weary smile touching his lips. “You have already destroyed one. And I, another.”
“You have?” Snitch’s voice leapt, hope blooming audibly.
“Yes indeed,” Dumbledore said, lifting his hand.
James’ stomach twisted at the sight—a blackened, charred hand, withered as though life had been leached from it. What foul magic had Voldemort wrought that even Albus Dumbledore bore such scars?
“The ring. Marvolo’s ring. And a terrible curse was upon it too. Had it not been for… forgive me for the lack of seemly modesty—for my own prodigious skill, and for Professor Snape’s timely action when I returned to Hogwarts, desperately injured, I might have not lived to tell the tale.”
The memory dissolved, drifting away like mist over water, as James felt a gentle pull, drawing them deeper into another memory.
They now stood in darkness, the salty taste of the sea surrounding them. Snitch’s voice resonated in their minds—soft yet strained, like a whisper that spoke to their very souls.
‘The locket… we didn’t know Regulus had switched it with a fake.’
James’ heart clenched with dread as he watched Dumbledore lower a goblet into a basin of ominous liquid, toasting over at Snitch before downing it.
The effect was immediate. But the second gobletful and Dumbledore, the person James had thought to be invincible, their pillar of strength, started to waver.
“Professor… how do you feel?”
The question trembled in Snitch’s voice, and James felt it too—a raw edge of fear as the old wizard kept drinking. As Dumbledore downed his fourth, his body betrayed him. He toppled, his face a picture of pain and vulnerability that James had never thought could be possible on the headmaster.
“Professor! Professor Dumbledore! Can you hear me?!” Snitch’s panic broke through, strained and desperate.
Dumbledore’s face twisted in pain, a man trapped in his own torment. The hand that had lifted a goblet with ease moments before, now trembled, almost slipping. Snitch dropped to his knees, supporting the goblet with hands that shook as he watched Dumbledore—powerful, mighty Dumbledore—reduced to pleading whispers.
“I… don’t want… don’t make me…” Dumbledore’s voice was almost childlike, begging from a place so vulnerable it tore at James’ at the rawness behind the plea, as if Snitch was Dumbledore’s protector at the current moment, the only person who could stop his suffering.
“You… you can’t stop, professor…” Snitch’s voice cracked, the words cutting into James’ heart. “You told me… you have to keep going. Here…”
And so it went, an agonising cycle. Goblet after goblet, each one dragging Dumbledore closer to the edge of… James did not want to say. Snitch’s voice grew shakier, haunted by each forced reassurance he gave, each word seemingly eroding him, leaving him sounding pained, full of guilt.
James could feel his own heart buckling under the horror of what he was witnessing. Dumbledore’s suffering was unbearable to watch, yes, but what haunted him more… was Snitch—he was but a boy forced to bear witness—to inflict pain on a man he so clearly admired. He was so young, barely more than a child, and yet here he was, bound to this agonising task.
But he was so brave. Snitch was so brave, so dutiful in following his headmaster’s orders even though it was clearly causing him severe mental distress. He kept going, even almost sobbing at one point, but he kept… going.
So strong. Even from such a young age.
Finally, Dumbledore collapsed, his mouth parted in anguish, the white of his beard stark against his ashen skin. The old headmaster was seemingly not breathing, his body limp against the basin.
“No! No, you’re not dead!” Snitch cried out, his voice full of desperation, a fire that wouldn’t allow the man he revered to slip away. “You said it wasn’t poison! Wake up, wake up! Rennervate !”
Dumbledore stirred faintly, his bright blue eyes losing their usual luster. He spoke, his cracked whisper a plea, “Water…”
Snitch did not waste time, filling the goblet with ‘aguamenti’. But, each time Snitch conjured water, it vanished, dissipating before it could touch Dumbledore’s lips.
Voldemort’s cruelty had ensured no mercy, no reprieve.
Finally, Snitch stumbled over to the island’s edge, dipping the goblet into the mirror-like surface. He hurried back, pressing the goblet to Dumbledore’s mouth. But the moment he moved, a chill swept over them—a sensation of something dark stirring.
A bone-white hand gripped tightly against James—Snitch’s wrist. Shadows rippled around them, pale faces emerging from the water’s surface—empty, unseeing eyes staring out from hollow sockets. The dead had risen. Men, women… children.
Snitch’s breath faltered, seemingly in a silent scream. He cast spell after spell, his voice breaking with panic that pushed out James’ protective instinct. He wanted to shout, to urge Snitch to use fire—to use the only magic that could banish such wretched beings.
“ Sectumsempra !” Snitch cried, flinging a dark, desperate curse at the undead. But the inferi kept advancing, pulling at Snitch to pull him under, uncaring for their flesh, unfeeling.
Then, in a blinding blaze, brilliant fire filled the cave around them—golden, radiant, almost brighter than the sun in the sky. Dumbledore stood, his face pale but his spirit fierce, his wand casting a halo of flames that sent the inferi retreating back into the dark.
James could hear the moaning of the inferis behind him as Dumbledore guided Snitch away, half-conscious himself, the locket now safe within his robes.
They were ejected from the Pensieve, and James’s gaze instinctively found Lily’s. Her face was softened with pity, her eyes glistening with an unspoken sorrow for what Snitch and Dumbledore had endured. They turned back to Snitch, perhaps to offer words of comfort, but instead found themselves witnessing a gentle scene—Snitch and Harry, laughing together.
Harry was gleefully pinching Snitch’s face under his hood, trying to sneak a peek, while Snitch blew raspberries at him, making Harry cling to his neck in pure, unabashed delight. Snitch glanced up as they returned, quickly clearing his throat as if embarrassed to be caught in such a vulnerable moment, which earned him a fond sigh from James.
“Uh—yeah, that happened... and stuff…” Snitch muttered, his voice gruff as if trying to brush off what horror that they had just witnessed… but James’ instinct told him something else, that Snitch simply did not think much of it, perhaps too used to experiencing horrors during his confrontations with the Dark Lord.
“That very same night, Dumbledore passed away.”
A collective gasp filled the room, horror dawning in everyone’s faces. Dumbledore, however, remained unfazed. The old wizard settled back at the table, brow furrowed in contemplation, already scheming his next moves, as though even the knowledge of his own death could not shake his resolve.
“He was already weak from the curse on the Horcrux. Eventually, it was too much,” Snitch said quietly, his tone weary but determined. “Let this be a warning. Horcruxes are dangerous beyond anything you can imagine. If any of you feel drawn to use one... the rest must take action. Stun, detain—whatever it takes. Don’t let each other fall victim.”
“Dumbledore died!" Edgar cut off. "He passed before You Know Who is defeated?” The man asked in sheer disbelief.
“Yes… a year before Voldemort’s death, actually.”
The room erupted into shocked murmurs, disbelief mingling with hopelessness. James watched as Snitch leaned close to Harry, whispering something that made the boy press his hands to his ears.
“ Silence !” Dumbledore’s voice boomed, cutting through the chaos, and everyone fell quiet, wincing slightly.
Snitch’s gaze swept over the group, his voice both solemn and reassuring. “This should give you hope, not despair. Even without the great Albus Dumbledore, we can still win. We have to have hope.”
Across the room, Sirius's voice broke through, low and hesitant. “You said Regulus… when he first swapped the locket. Was that how he…?”
“Yes. He drowned… most likely.”
The atmosphere of the room was bleak, and while Dumbledore was deep in thought, Sirius was deep in reliving old grief. It hurt James to see his best mate like this. After this, he would need to have a conversation with him, both him and Remus.
“Why is everyone sad?” Harry’s small voice piped up, oblivious to the depth of despair that they were feeling. “Who’s Regu’us?”
“He was Uncle Sirius’ younger brother, Harry.” Lily answered, her voice gentle.
“Oh… I’m sorry, Uncle Si’ius,” Harry said, his little brow furrowing, causing Sirius to give James’ little boy a shaky smile. “I’d be sad too if my brother died…”
He then turned his wide, innocent gaze to James, and James barely held back a sigh as his son gave him a familiar, pleading look.
“Can I have a baby brother, please? Like Uncle Regu’us?”
The question was unexpected and ill-timed. So much so that chuckles rippled through the room, the tense atmosphere lightened by Harry’s innocent wish.
There he goes, James thought. His son, always a little charmer, had found the perfect moment to sneak in a request. At least perfect according to him, that was.
“You remind me so much of my godson,” Snitch cooed, hugging Harry even closer. “An adorable little bugger.”
Harry puffed up proudly, cheeks flushed. “But I’m cuter, right?”
The table let out a collective ‘aww’ as Snitch chuckled, reaching over to gently pinch Harry’s cheeks.
“Don’t tell my godson, but you might have him beat!” Snitch admitted, his voice playful. At the mention of that, Harry sat straight on Snitch’s lap.
“What’s his name? Can I play with him sometime, Mr. Snitch?” Harry asked, eyes bright with excitement.
“His name’s Teddy,” Snitch replied, voice fond as he gave Harry’s cheeks another pinch, unable to resist the boy’s charm. “He’s cute as a teddy bear which is why everyone calls him that—cute. Just like you.”
“Can I see him? I’m so bored! I wanna play with Ron and Cedwic! And Fred and George too! But they’re so naughty!”
“Oh. You know the Weasleys too, Harry? And Cedric?”
“Yeah! Daddy works with Mr. Diggowy and Mrs. Weasley’s brothers, and I play with the Weasleys all the time! But…”
Harry’s face crumpled, and quickly and unexpectedly, a tear slipped down his face as he looked up at Snitch, an expression so pitiful it drew a soft gasp from the man.
“I miss the Weasleys… and Ced!” Harry’s voice quivered, his shoulders shaking as he began to cry.
James moved to comfort his son, but Snitch was faster, standing up and lifting Harry to his hip while gently bouncing him, his voice soft as he spoke.
“Hush now… you’ll see them soon, I promise. Your daddy and I are going to catch the bad guys, remember? We’re the best Aurors around, and Voldy Mouldy doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Promise?” Harry whispered, clutching Snitch’s robes.
“Promise,” Snitch replied, his voice warm and certain. “In fact, I’m so serious about my promise that I’m going to give you the pinky promise.”
“Really?!” Harry asked, his voice but a quiet breath of awe.
“Mmhm. Give me your pinky. Come on, now.”
Harry extended his little finger, and Snitch linked theirs together, sealing their little vow.
“I promise to keep you safe, Harry, to keep you happy. No one will ever hurt you while I’m here. That’s a promise.”
A strange, intense feeling settled in James’s chest as he watched the two of them exchange their innocent vows, pure disbelief that the man would go through such lengths for his son—
Ah. James remembered.
Snitch had witnessed his son’s loneliness in that other world, his neglect—and he must’ve cared deeply enough for his son to change how things are here.
“And promise to be my friend too?” Harry pressed, beaming.
“I don’t need a promise for that. You’re already my best friend.”
Harry’s tears vanished in an instant, his expression lit with awe. “Really?!”
“Really,” Snitch nodded before settling Harry on the floor and handing him the golden snitch. “Now… how about you go chase the snitch outside? I’ll play with you after, okay? I have to tell them something that young ears shouldn’t hear.”
“Like… like ‘fuck?’” Harry asked, his face full of mischief.
“Harry!” James and Lily scolded in unison, prompting another round of laughter from the room.
A beacon of light, his son. Their hope.
Snitch chuckled, ruffling Harry’s hair. “Exactly. Now run along, and don’t go near the gate.”
Dorcas then stood up from talking with Lily, approaching Harry and offering a hand. “How about I join you, Harry? Can you show me how good you are at catching the snitch?”
Harry lit up, eagerly grabbing Dorcas’ hand before dashing outside.
As the door closed, Snitch’s posture shifted as he turned back to the group. “Now… about the locations of the Horcruxes, and how to best deal with them.”
Chapter 6: The Game Plan
Summary:
They discussed how to best plan the Horcrux retrieval, and after the meeting, watching Snitch and Harry play, James told Remus about the horrors Snitch had shared with him.
Notes:
I'm a bit blurry on the details since I hadn't read the book in so long, but... this should be correct... right?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They peered once more into the Pensieve, scenes unfurling in silvery wisps. Locations and objects floated up before them, each detail announced in Snitch’s steady voice.
"Lucius Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, a leather-bound journal. A rundown shack, Little Hangleton, a ring with a black stone. Lestrange vault, Gringotts, a golden cup. A room full of discarded treasures, Hogwarts, a diadem. And lastly, Voldemort’s snake."
When they surfaced from the memory, Diggle broke the silence, his voice tense. "How do we get into Malfoy Manor without alerting Lucius? He’s clearly a death eater!"
Snitch glanced between Diggle and Snape, then fixed his gaze on James. "You’ll go with Snape, James. You have Harry Potter’s— your —cloak. Use it. Two against one. Lucius isn’t nearly as formidable as he’d like people to think."
“What?!” Sirius shot up from his seat, eyes blazing. "You can’t send him with Snape! He’ll hand James over to You Know Who the second he has the chance!"
James felt the heat of an argument brewing, but he was still stunned into silence by Snitch’s unthinkable suggestion, barely catching the sharp look on Snape’s face as it twisted with anger.
Snitch’s tone cut through the tension, calm but resolute. "No. I trust Snape. He’ll make the right choice. I know he will."
Sirius shot him a doubtful look. "And how can you possibly know that?"
Snitch’s tone darkened as he replied, “In my time, he sacrificed himself to help end Voldemort. He sacrificed himself for Harry Potter.”
James and Lily both froze, wide-eyed at this revelation.
“Really?” Sirius scoffed, though something like uncertainty flickered in his voice.
“Trust him, Sirius. Yes, he’s a horrible person. But there’s a decent man buried in there, one who carries more guilt than you can imagine.”
James stole a glance at Snape, noting how his lips were pressed tightly together, his expression as stony as ever—but there was something else, a sliver of tension beneath the surface.
Snitch turned to him, his voice low but weighted. “If you betray James, Snape, then all will be lost. Everything you’ve ever loved will be lost. The one thing you’ve ever loved will slip away. It happened in my world, and it will happen again. Make the right choice.”
Snape’s gaze hardened, locked on the dark void beneath Snitch’s hood. James felt Lily’s hand tighten in his, her fingers cool and trembling. She, too, seemed to understand who this warning was about.
Snape cleared his throat, a hint of something vulnerable crossing his face before he quickly masked it. “Before I agree,” he began, eyes narrowing at Snitch, “I have… one question.” His voice was sharp, accusatory. “You used my spell.”
Snitch remained quiet, neither denying nor confirming, as Snape pressed forward with an intensity that demanded answers. “I don’t share my spells with anyone. If you answer me truthfully, I might consider what you’re asking.”
“And would you believe me if I did, professor?” Snitch asked amusedly.
“Professor?” James echoed in bewilderment, watching Snitch nod.
“He was my professor at Hogwarts,” Snitch murmured. "And if you want the truth, Snape—I found your spell by chance."
Snape’s expression was hard, skeptical. “I don’t believe you.”
Snitch sighed, lifting his hands in mild exasperation. “Welp! I’m telling the truth. If you need me to prove it further, I will. But do you really want me to say it in front of everyone?”
“Yes.” Snape’s voice cut in, sharper than a blade. “Tell me.”
Snitch leaned in, his voice low but clear. “I found it in an old potions book. You used your alias there—the Half-Blood Prince.”
Snape stilled, his expression unreadable, while beside James, Lily stifled a small gasp. The air seemed even thicker with tension until Dumbledore finally broke the silence.
“Then we can trust that you’ll go, Severus?”
Snape gave a slight nod, his face a careful mask once more, but his silence held all the answer they needed.
They discussed the plan, deciding to split the operation. James would sneak into Malfoy Manor with Snape to search for the book, prepared to use the Imperius Curse on Lucius if things went south. Lily, Dumbledore, and Edgar would aim to secure the ring, as Lily was the second-strongest Occlumens in their cause, if Snape was counted. Lastly, Sirius, Remus, and the others would raid Gringotts, imperiusing every goblin they could to break into Lestrange’s vault, while Snitch set off alone to retrieve the diadem and the weapon needed to destroy the Horcruxes.
The imperius… fuck . All’s fair in war, James thought to himself.
“We do not condone the use of the Unforgivables, if you must know, Snitch,” Dumbledore warned, though his tone lacked real sharpness. Snitch shrugged, seeming amused.
“Alright, then we can just go and ask Bellatrix Lestrange nicely for access to her vault! I’m sure it’ll go over just swell, Professor,” Snitch retorted sarcastically.
Sirius grinned, his eyes glinting slightly from… oh, god damn it! James elbowed his friend, earning a huff.
“You haven’t even seen his face. Stop,” James muttered, narrowing his eyes.
“Mmm… he’s good with kids, has a sense of humour, and is the vanquisher of Dark Lords. He can keep the hood on if he wants. Actually, I think it’s hotter that way. He’s got a really nice voice, doesn’t he? Imagine him whispering to you while he’s—”
“Jesus bloody Christ, Sirius! Control yourself!” Remus hissed, swatting the back of Sirius’ head.
“Ow!”
“Anything you’d like to add, Sirius?” Dumbledore asked, both he and the other members of the order turning to them.
Lily snickered next to James, her expression as if saying ‘your friends are ridiculous, James.’
“Oh, nothing, nothing…” Sirius laughed awkwardly.
“Right. So, when can we make our move? I suggest we do this all in one day. You know how paranoid Voldemort can be, Professor.”
“Hmm… quite right. Give us two days to prepare. Wednesdays are when the bank is least crowded. Fewer people to Imperius, eh?” Dumbledore’s disapproval was subtle, but Snitch seemed unfazed, knowing perfectly how to counter Dumbledore’s convoluted moral jabs.
“Agreed. Well, time for me to play with my little mate. Good day!”
Once the meeting was adjourned, they lounged in the sitting room. James cast a pleading look at Sirius, the ladies off to buy groceries on the Muggle side of London.
“Sirius. Stop. Please…” James groaned.
“What? I’m not even doing anything!” Sirius protested.
“Sirius. Just… I’d really prefer if you go for girls. Don’t you think so, Prongs?” Remus chimed in.
“Less messy. Definitely,” James agreed with a nod.
“Bah! He’s just attractive, okay? Especially when he’s arguing with me. And Harry always gushing over him is not helping my situation!”
“Jesus Christ, he’s barely twenty! He’s six years younger than us!” James cried out.
“Heh. Seven for me, actually,” Sirius grinned, infuriating as ever. “He’s a handsome bloke, I’m a handsome bloke. He might need someone older, you know? To show him the ropes, and…” Sirius snorted. “Tie him in it, too.”
Sirius was so bloody pleased with his joke, and James felt his eye twitch.
“We both know that you’ll be the one tied up, you… you…”
“Tsk, tsk, Jamie. So involved in my sex life,” Sirius tutted.
“I’m just… already imagining the falling out,” Remus sighed.
“Bah! You two are boring!” Sirius threw his arms up before he stood up. “I’m going to head out. See you at dinner!” Sirius cried out, taking his motorcycle key from over the fireplace.
James had a good idea where Sirius was headed—likely off to the florist at the end of the street, picking out fresh flowers with careful attention for his brother’s grave, his face disguised by glamour.
The reason James knew? Sirius had once slipped up, ranting about seeing Narcissa Malfoy at Regulus’ grave and his frustration over always needing to be in disguise. James and Remus hadn’t asked why he was there, and Sirius hadn’t seemed to realise that he’d revealed everything in that moment.
And so, James and Remus let Sirius go.
“He’s going there, isn’t he?” Remus asked quietly.
“Yeah. I’m… kind of glad that little Reggie turned out to be a good bloke after all.”
“Was he, though?” Remus murmured, his voice small. “He still did terrible things for You Know Who. Is one good deed enough to erase his crimes?”
“I… don’t know. But Regulus never did get his hands dirty, did he? And he regretted his choices so much that he gave his life. He could’ve been tortured horribly if he’d been caught.”
A small, fond smile appeared on Remus’s face as he nudged James with an elbow.
“Since when were you the mature one, you prat?” he teased. “All because of Lily. Without her, you’d still be the horrible bully you once were.”
“Oi! I don’t ‘bully’ people!” James huffed, though he quickly shut up when Remus raised a disbelieving brow. “I… apologised to him, and I accepted when he didn’t forgive me.”
“Yeah. We were terrible to him back in school. And—Snape’s a hero on the other side… it’s kind of bonkers, isn’t it?”
James fell silent. His thoughts drifted to his son in the other world—how Snape had sacrificed his life for him. He’d thought Snape hated Harry, proven by how the man seemed to treat Harry with mild disgust even now.
Harry was practically James’s copy, and Snape hated him for it, except for… his eyes. Lily’s eyes. The very eyes James had fallen for—maybe the same eyes Snape sought to protect—the very last memory of Lily there.
“I hope Harry’s alright,” James whispered.
“What do you mean? Harry’s right there,” Remus pointed out the window, where Harry was showing Snitch his quaffle throw that James had taught with exuberant pride.
“You know who I mean, Moony.”
“Oh…” Remus whispered, his eyes flickering for a few moments, as if looking for ways to comfort James. “Well, I’m sure he’s fine, Prongs. Sirius may be immature, but he’s a pretty good—”
“Sirius is in Azkaban.”
A suffocating silence settled over them.
“What…?” Remus’s voice barely rose above a whisper, stunned.
“Yeah. That’s why I was so angry when I came in earlier—Harry… he was raised by the Dursleys.”
“No… then—where am I?” Remus’s voice cracked, the question weighing heavily between them.
James swallowed thickly, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t realise how deeply I hurt you.”
Remus reached out, resting a comforting hand on James’s shoulder, gently pulling him close.
“What did I do?” Remus murmured softly, almost as if asking himself. “Why didn’t I take care of Harry?”
“I… don’t know. Snitch told me your condition got worse because of my death… I’m sorry, Remus. I trusted Peter over you because of your condition. How bloody foolish was that? I made it worse for you, made you feel like you couldn’t be there for Harry. I’m so sorry, Remus—please forgive me, and Sirius too.”
Remus hugged him tightly, as if trying to absorb the weight of James’s regret.
“It’s okay. It’s in the past,” Remus murmured, but his voice held an edge of sadness.
“No, it’s not okay, Moony!” James choked out. “Don’t you see? I was prejudiced against you—when you’re the most loyal person I know! I trusted Peter over you because of something you couldn’t control. I’m so sorry, Remus. I was horrible. I still remembered the time Sirius and I accused you of being the mole, I—”
“Hush… I forgive you. I forgive you and Sirius.”
But James couldn’t stop the tears from falling, his voice full of pain and regret. “My boy, Remus… he’s treated so horribly by those monsters! All because of my stupidity—all because of me.”
“James, that’s not true. None of us could have known… And look, Harry’s safe now. Snitch made sure of it. He’s safe. And he’ll be able to get away soon enough, with the money you left him.”
“Merlin… I hope you’re right, Moony.”
Remus offered a small, reassuring smile as he spoke. “I think Snitch will look after Harry even more now. Just look at them. How could Snitch not want to look out for Harry now that he’s seen how adorable he is?”
And then—a cry broke through the room’s quiet. Harry.
James looked up, his heart clenching, as he watched his son fall, tears already streaming down his cheeks. Snitch was there in an instant, checking Harry for injuries, hands gentle but efficient.
“Kiss it to make it better!” Harry wailed.
Snitch sighed, pulling down his hood, and James and Remus leaned to the window, hardly daring to breathe.
This was it, they were going to have a glimpse of—
Damn it! Snitch’s back was to them. All they could see was jet-black hair and a long, almost pale neck.
Snitch leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Harry’s knee. Harry’s tears instantly vanished, replaced by a bubbling giggle that indicated that the child was clearly not in pain.
“I’m not hurt! I just wanted to see your face!”
Snitch let out a dramatic, betrayed gasp, pulling his hood back up with exaggerated flair before tackling Harry to the grass, tickling him until the boy’s laughter filled the air, bright and sweet.
James couldn’t help but smile, a warmth blossoming in his chest.
“See? Snitch is definitely going to look out for him. Just a few more years, James, and Harry can get away from the Dursleys.” Remus assured gently.
“Three,” James said softly. “Three at most, because Snitch defeated him two years ago.”
Such a kind soul, James mused. So gentle that Snitch should definitely be studied.
Maybe… just maybe, he could ask Snitch to keep an eye on his son in the other world. This man seemed good-hearted, gentle with his Harry. Surely he’d honour such a small request.
Notes:
Long live our bisexual king!
Oh... and the reveal's coming in the next chapter since it's about 3k+ words long! Bisous! 😘
Chapter 7: Brother In Arms
Summary:
The day before the operation was a slow one, and James had a chance to further know their mysterious hero, if only their hero could stop being so... cryptic.
Notes:
Turns out it became too long, lol. The chapters combined was like 8k+ words, so I decided to split it here. Don't worry, cause I'm going to update in less than 24 hours! And a long chapter for the weekend is always nice, haha!
Do tell me if the spacing is weird from your end, cause it's weird from mine!
Appreciate all the kudos and comments! Love you! 🥰🥰
Chapter Text
When dinner finally arrived, James could have sworn he’d become invisible to his son. Harry, upon arriving at the dining room, hurriedly scrambled over onto the chair beside Snitch, a huge grin lighting up his face as he wedged himself between the man and Lily. James found himself on his wife’s other side, as if some unspoken reshuffling had occurred—and no one had bothered to inform him.
It was a rare family dinner. Dumbledore was off rallying allies, and the other Order members were preparing for the struggles looming ahead. This small time together felt precious, fragile even, as though any moment could be their last. Well... at least it felt that way to James, he was going with Snape after all.
To James’ surprise, the food was… nice. Delicious, even. Normally, if the ladies hadn’t cooked and Kreacher had been ordered to prepare dinner for them, meals would be bland and uninspired, clearly due to the elf’s underlying hatred of them.
But tonight? Tonight was different. James feasted on the bountiful spread, then glanced at Kreacher, whose worshipful gaze seemed fixed on Snitch as the elf served dishes after dishes. Clearly, Kreacher had poured his heart and soul into this meal, hoping to impress this man who’d shown him such easy kindness.
Lily was already slicing up the meat pie for Harry, but their boy squirmed, turning his body towards Snitch. The man had anticipated this, offering a prepared forkful to Harry before he even had to ask. Harry opened his mouth wide, and Snitch gently fed him, even pausing to dab at the sauce on his chin. Each gesture was so easy, so natural—so fatherly .
And damn it, Harry was even eating his carrots without a fuss! James felt a small pang he hadn’t expected. Was he… was he being replaced? By a faceless man?
Then, bedtime came, and as he’d dreaded, Harry’s fussiness made a grand reappearance. He clung to his toys, wriggled, whined, and ignored every attempt to tuck him in, wanting even more playtime with Mr. Snitch. Even Padfoot, who was tugging at Harry’s collar playfully, did not succeed in wrangling his son in.
“No, no! I want Mr. Snitch!” he whined, looking imploringly at Lily.
“Harry… Mr. Snitch is tired. You’ve played with him all day,” she said, keeping her tone gentle.
But Harry wasn’t swayed, clutching his stuffed dragon even closer. “No! No, no, no!”
Right. Desperate times called for desperate measures. James turned up his acting to an 11.
“Harry… you’re breaking Daddy’s heart… Daddy misses you so much, you know?” James said in a wounded, sorrowful voice.
Harry’s big, green eyes widened. He threw away his excess toys to the floor and scrambled up into bed, burrowing against James—clutching onto him fiercely. “Don’t be sad, Daddy. Big boys shouldn’t cry. Mr. Snitch told me that!”
From the foot of the bed, Padfoot let out a cough-snort, and Lily giggled next to him. James rolled his eyes. He muttered a soft nox , casting darkness over the room as Lily leaned over to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead.
“Goodnight, baby,” she whispered tenderly.
“Night, Mummy, Daddy… Pads…” Harry mumbled sleepily, his voice a soft sigh. Within moments, his breathing had evened out, the room filling with the warm rhythm of his sleep.
Late in the night, James stirred, feeling a gentle kiss pressed to his temple, followed by the faint rustle of the bed and the soft pitter-patter of retreating footsteps. As he roused himself to use the bathroom, he noticed the empty space beside him and the absence of Harry—and his cherished stuffed dragon.
For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, James didn’t go after his son. Something deep in his heart assured him that Harry was safe, wherever he might be. Trusting that instinct, James returned to bed and let his eyes close once more.
Morning came, and with it, a knock on the door. Lily, already awake and brushing her hair in front of the mirror, went to answer. Snitch stood there, still in his Auror robes, looking slightly sheepish from his posture. “Harry… had a bit of an accident last night,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “May I have a change of clothes for him, please?”
Lily smiled softly, grabbing a fresh set of clothes as she followed the man out, chatting and asking if Harry had caused any trouble. Left behind, James groggily debated whether to drift back to sleep. He didn’t get the chance, though, as Padfoot decided to climb onto his chest, his furry body settling heavily and making James sneeze when stray hairs tickled his nose.
Bloody hell. He might as well shower at this point.
As the warm water poured over him, thoughts that had been brewing these past few months surfaced once more.
He couldn’t just hide away—it wasn’t in his nature. As a trained Auror, standing on the sidelines was a betrayal of everything he stood for. Especially with someone like Snitch out there—a man who had defeated Voldemort as a bloody child. The thought alone lit a fire within James, a fierce, restless energy surging through him like a call to arms. His duty was clear: to protect his family, his friends, no matter the cost. Even if it meant laying down his life, he couldn’t wait in the shadows a moment longer.
He was going to make Voldemort pay for his crimes in this life and the other—he was not going to make the same mistake twice.
When James returned to his room with a towel slung low around his hips, he found Padfoot still sprawled out on his back, legs splayed every which way, looking utterly at ease. James couldn’t help but scrunch up his face at the sight.
“Well,” he muttered, barely suppressing a groan. “There goes my morning. A fresh dose of bollocks in my face.”
Nothing particularly notable happened that day—well, aside from Snitch going out to buy himself some clothes. Sirius had insisted that the man just take all of
his
pounds and treat himself to the finest clothes money could buy, grinning with that flirtatious look in his eye as he handed over the stack of bills. Snitch took but 50 pounds with an expression of slightly bewildered gratitude, and then, was off to Muggle London, hood and all.
Harry… didn’t take that too well. The moment he realised Snitch was nowhere to be found in the house, James’ son, bless his lungs, wailed as if the world itself had ended. The whole household nearly went bonkers trying to calm him down until, finally, in a stroke of genius—or sheer desperation—James came up with an idea.
That afternoon, Prongs came out to save the day.
Yes, James let Harry ride on his back like a ‘horsey,’ prancing around the house in full parental dignity… or, rather, a lack thereof. The whole thing was a touch embarrassing, sure, but when his son had been successfully appeased, James saw Lily’s expression—that bite of the lips , that glint in her eyes—it all became very much worth it.
After Harry had asked to spend the afternoon happily tossing a Quaffle around with his uncles, Lily quietly pulled James inside, her smile full of mischief. She had something in mind—a reward, she’d called it—for being such a good daddy to their son. And so, with both of them giggling like loons, they locked the bedroom door, Lily hungrily divesting James of his clothes.
James didn’t know what had gotten into his wife, but by the end of it all, he was utterly spent, his head spinning from the rush. He might seriously have to teach Harry to call him ‘dad’ from now on, because the way Lily had murmured ‘daddy’ in his ears had been nothing short of sinful perfection.
Now, flat on his back, James could only stare dazedly at the ceiling, his wrists still tingling from where they’d been tied so harshly to the headboard. Lily was humming softly in the bathroom, leaving him in a glorious haze, trying to piece himself back together.
Once the water started running, he reluctantly peeled himself out of bed and put on his clothes, casting cleaning charms everywhere to get rid of evidences of their rather intensive romp. He went back outside, still in a fog of post-reward contentment, only to find that Snitch had returned.
The man was lying on his stomach in front of the fireplace, looking perfectly at ease in his new Muggle clothes—a simple grey hoodie and jeans that hugged his physique perfectly. James cringed inside of his mind, imagining Sirius’ reaction to Snitch’s well trained form. He shook his head, continuing his walk into the room.
Scattered all around the man were building blocks of various colours, and he appeared to be in the midst of a serious construction project with Harry, who was concentrating so hard on stacking the blocks that his tongue was practically sticking into his nose.
Snitch tilted his head, watching as Harry added the latest block. “Hmm… I don’t remember Hogwarts being this crooked, Harry,” he mused, a sound of pure amusement in his voice.
Harry looked up with a big, proud, gummy smile. “It’s not Hogwarts! It’s my castle! The best castle ever!”
“Oh, really?” Snitch asked. “What are you going to call it, then?”
This, apparently, was a topic of great importance, as Harry scrunched up his face, deep in thought, entirely forgetting the half-finished castle.
James chuckled as he took a seat behind his son, patting Harry’s shoulder. “Hey, this is new,” he said, gesturing at the blocks.
“Yeah. Legos,” Snitch replied, sitting up. “Never got to play with them as a kid. So, I figured, why not share the joy with my little mate? Sirius and Remus are out, by the way. Didn’t realise those two… smoke so much. Found a packet or two up front.”
James snorted, chuckling under his breath. “Oh yeah, probably walking around the neighbourhood to indulge. Lily’s strict with the ‘no smoking around children’ rule.”
Snitch hummed. “Do you smoke, James?” The man asked pleasantly.
“Me? Nah… well, not since Harry came along, anyway—”
“Oliver!” Harry suddenly shouted, cutting James off, his face lighting up with excitement. “I’m going to call it Castle Oliver!”
James ruffled his son’s hair, a fond smile high on his face. “Hey, it’s not polite to interrupt grown-ups when they’re talking.” James softly admonished.
“Sorry, Daddy!” Harry exclaimed, before returning to his building with intense focus.
James felt a jolt at the word—Daddy—remembering how Lily had screamed the word desperately while she was riding on—Merlin’s beard… he really needed Harry to grow up soon. The word was cursed.
“Ahem, so,” James cleared his throat, a little flushed. “What about you, Snitch? Do you smoke?”
Snitch shrugged, letting out a small considering hum. “A bit after the war, yeah. But mostly, I turned to… well, alcohol.”
James felt his stomach drop. He hadn’t expected the sudden topic change. “Oh, Christ. I’m sorry, mate. Must’ve been… beyond tough to recover from all that. But at least you had family around, right?”
Snitch gave him a hollow chuckle, and James’ stomach dropped even more. “Yeah, about that.”
Ah, shite . James winced.
“Oh, Merlin! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right,” Snitch laughed quietly, giving another little shrug. “It’s life. You’ve just… gotta keep going, you know? Lost almost everyone to the war, but there are still people I care about out there. I’m content,” He said as he absently picked up a block and offered it to Harry, ruffling the boy’s hair in a soft, almost reverent way when he received it. James couldn’t see his face under the hood, but the gesture seemed tender, almost sad.
Snitch went on, his voice low. “I got lucky. There’s this family that took me in after everything, treated me like their own. I don’t how it is in this dimension, but… there used to be a boggart here in this house.”
“Yeah. This house was so dark that even when it had only been abandoned for months, one took residence here,” James answered, confused on why Snitch would be in Grimmauld Place on the other—oh. Perhaps Sirius had been freed there? They used Grimmauld as headquarters too, maybe.
“The mother of the family… she tried to banish the boggart, and, well… she didn’t succeed at first,” Snitch said, James nodding along to the story. “I saw her boggart take form. It was… her family lying dead in front of her. Her sons at first—but then, her fear included me. Me dying was one of her worst fears. And I guess that’s when I first realised that she genuinely loved me as her own. I finally have someone who loves me for who I am.”
"She sounds like an incredible woman," James murmured, a note of admiration in his voice for how deeply loving the woman seemed.
Yet, beneath that admiration, there was a sharp pang of something else—a quiet ache at the way Snitch told his story, his tone heavy with the kind of sadness that only comes from truly believing that no one had ever truly loved him. A strange twist coiled in James’ chest, a gnawing sense of dread, as if his instincts were screaming at him that he was overlooking something important. What was he missing?!
The man nodded, his voice going even softer. “She is, yes. And her daughter—well, she’s even more incredible.”
“Oh, she is, is she?” James teased, managing a little smirk, even though his brain was currently working on overdrive.
“Yeah,” Snitch said, his voice breathless. “After the war, I was, as I said, pretty deep into drinking. She found me in some random Muggle nightclub one night as I was… you know? Purposefully drinking myself to death?”
James swallowed, momentarily stunned. Jesus Christ almighty… what horrors had this man endured?
“She dragged me to St. Mungo’s. Her, and her brother, and my other friend, and after the hospital discharged me, she practically moved into my house to watch over me. I wasn’t exactly… easy to be around back then. Snappish, resentful at everything. But she stayed. Just… because she loved me that much.”
“So… girlfriend, then?” James asked gently.
Snitch’s voice softened even further, nodding. “Fiancé, if I’m lucky. I actually… bought a ring for her. Was walking and planning when best to propose when, well, I ended up here instead.”
Snitch reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, black velvet box. Inside, nestled in silk, was an exquisite diamond ring that caught the light in a thousand shimmering colours. James let out a breath of awe at the brilliance of the ring, at how beautiful it is.
“Merlin’s pants… must’ve cost a fortune.”
“She’s worth every Galleon,” Snitch murmured, almost to himself, as he closed the box and slipped it back into his pocket. He fell silent for a moment, then spoke again, his voice taking on a steely edge. “The nightmares that haunted me, that pushed me to all that… they were never about him, you know? My nightmares were full of the faces of all the people I couldn’t save. That’s what haunts me. Him? He’s just a man. Powerful, sure, but still mortal.”
James was quiet, stunned to silence by the resilience in his tone. “Mate, you’re only twenty. How are you so… fearless?”
“Family trait, maybe. My parents were… pretty brave too.” Snitch said, the quiet longing in his voice lingered over the words.
James swallowed hard. He had to learn to stop putting his foot in it.
“But still, mate. Did Dumbledore train you or something? Defeating him at seventeen is just… well bonkers for me, plainly.”
“Trained? I guess growing up was training enough, and there were… intricacies with Voldemort’s downfall. I’d rather not share it until tomorrow, it’s quite complicated.”
Intricacies , he said.
“Still doesn’t excuse your strength, mate. We all felt it when we arrived,” James pushed, making Snitch chuckle.
“As I said, I only got proper training after Hogwarts. My parents were really good wizards, so I guess it passed down to me. And Dumbledore used to say over and over again that love is the strongest force of all—the willingness to self-sacrifice, to die for the world and the people I love. That’s what made me stronger than Voldemort.”
The willingness to die for the people they loved... What a fucked up concept, and yet, James understood it perfectly. He was deep in his thoughts when he heard a snort.
“By the way… your zipper’s down, James, it’s going to fly away,” Snitch joked.
James jolted, looking down in a mild panic. “Oh, Merlin’s beard!” He quickly pulled the zip up, making Snitch laugh, the sound lighter, warmer.
“Hey… where’s Harry, by the way? He slipped away, that little bugger,” Snitch asked, looking around.
They both turned to hear a bark and a peal of gleeful laughter coming from outside. James smiled.
“Sounds like Sirius and Remus are back," James said.
Snitch managed a small laugh, nodding. "Indeed."
"Does it get better? Your nightmares, the feeling of guilt?"
"I hardly think about it these days. I'm happy. I have people to love and who love me fiercely. I'm content."
James smiled again as he stood up, extending a hand to the awe-inspiring man before him. "Care to join us outside? A bit of fresh air might do us both some good after that topic."
He could feel Snitch’s warm smile, even through the concealment of his hood. The man took his hand, his grip strong and alive.
“I’d love to.”
Chapter 8: The Golden Snitch
Summary:
Gathering the horcruxes was nerve-wracking. James was worried for his wife, worried for his best mates, worried for Snitch. When he returned, the man was being bandaged by Marlene, Harry clutching his neck desperately, saying that his Mr. Snitch had been injured.
Notes:
A long chapter for the weekend! 5k words and a bit, I think! 🥰🥰
God! Having English as your second language is just... you guys have no idea how long 'deprived' was written as 'depraved' and how close I was to releasing the chapter like that, lol.
Please tell me what you think! I felt like I didn't do this chapter justice so the editting was hell! 😭😭
Chapter Text
The very next day, as they prepared to depart, James held his wife close, whispering at Lily to take care, to strengthen her mind against the Horcrux’s influence. Lily gave him a sweet kiss as an answer. She went then, to talk to Snape in the other room, probably begging him to not sell James out to Voldemort or something.
Snitch, already in his full auror’s gears, pulled James to the side, handing him… a galleon?
“I’ve enchanted this last night,” Snitch said. “Call my name, and it will alert me that you’re in trouble. Try it.”
“Snitch, I—”
James was distracted when the galleon in his hand vibrated, and Snitch’s hand went into his robe pocket, pulling out his own vibrating galleon.
“I trust Snape, I’ve made that very clear,” the man whispered. “But in my experience, there’s always a chance that things might go wrong—and when they do, they go wrong real fast.”
“I understand. Thank you,” James said gratefully, pocketing the galleon.
Snitch held his shoulder tightly, taking a deep breath.
“Be careful, James, don’t do anything reckless. Think about Harry if you feel the need to, yeah? You’re important. Remember that.”
The man’s words touched James’ heart deeply. He smiled, and he held out his arms, making Snitch’s breath catch.
“Come on in, mate. Don’t make it weird,” James joked.
Snitch laughed, and went in he did. They embraced for a few long moments, and James knew that at that point, Snitch was more than just an ally.
He was an honorary Marauder, his brother in arms. Snitch’s hold was strong, as if he did not want to let go, and James held him just as tightly.
They were going to go deep into Voldemort’s shadow, into the depths of his depravity. They need to give each other strength for the trials ahead.
“Mr. Snitchhh!” A small voice cried out, silencing the numerous discussions in the room.
A small weight crashed against their legs, and James awkwardly drew back from the hug, still pressed together with Snitch because his son was acting like some sort of adhesive between them.
His baby boy looked up, using those devastating puppy eyes that always disarmed James so easily. But this time, those eyes were not aimed at James, rather at his best friend.
“Mr. Snitch, don’t go! You promised we’d play with Drago!”
Snitch shushed Harry gently, disentangling the boy before he knelt in front of Harry, receiving a tight, unforgiving hug that only James’ son could give.
“Jesus Christ,” James muttered, cursing himself internally when he realised that his friends and wife had seen exactly what had happened.
“Replaced already. By a faceless bloke not three days in,” Remus snickered.
“Fuck you,” James hissed under his breath, though it was quickly diffused by the warmth blooming his chest at the sight in front of him.
“Hey, come on, mate. Big boys shouldn’t cry,” Snitch whispered gently, taking Harry easily onto his hip.
“Don’t leave me, please?” Harry begged, cutting into the hearts of everyone in the room.
“He didn’t even hold you or Lily back, Jamie,” Sirius laughed.
“Don’t bring me into this,” Lily said, elbowing Sirius, making the man huff.
Snitch said some soothing words that James could not hear into their boy’s ear, leaning in to give Harry a kiss. Harry was instantly appeased, looking into the man’s hood for a moment, eyes glassy.
“Merlin, Harry, look at you…” Snitch whispered, voice heavy with something that Lily felt as well, for his wife had frowned at the… desperate way Snitch spoke Harry’s name. “So this is how I—how you could’ve been. I’m so happy for you, mate.”
James froze, and Lily’s hold on his hand tightened. They watched as Snitch held Harry even tighter, bouncing him gently.
“Don’t cry, mate, don’t cry. You have so much to be happy for. Smile for me, please?”
Harry, hearing Snitch’s plea, gave them his sweetest shy smile ever, leaning in to give Snitch another kiss.
“Okay. Now you don’t cry, Mr. Snitch,” Harry countered. “I’ll tell Drago that you’re going to be away for ten—no, five minutes!”
Snitch laughed, “okay. Five minutes. You don’t even know how long five minutes is.”
“Do too!”
James wanted to ask—about his son. He wanted so much, but it wouldn’t be appropriate. Snitch had suffered a lot too, and James just asking about Harry like that would be selfish, but—
James cursed everything. Why was there so much suffering in this god forsaken world? And always befalling the greatest people too—Frank… Alice… baby Neville…
James swore, once Voldemort is no more, he would look after baby Neville as his own. For his friends, for their sacrifices. It was the least he could do.
After exchanging a few words with Dumbledore, James stepped out into the back garden, his Invisibility Cloak draped over his arm. Without a word to his partner in crime, he apparated alongside Snape, landing just on the edge of the Malfoy Manor grounds in Wiltshire.
“Let’s get this over with, Potter. I mourn every single second that I am in your presence.” Snape sneered, his tone dripping with disdain.
James sighed, but didn’t bother with a retort. Instead, he simply nodded and pulled the cloak around himself, vanishing from sight.
The gates of Malfoy Manor loomed ahead, unnecessarily grand and pretentious, starkly reminding James of his childhood home. Though the Potter estate had been far less ostentatious, it still carried an air of extravagance he had long since left behind. He and Lily had chosen a simpler, more comfortable life—one free of all the pomp and grandeur.
The gates swung open for Snape, and James followed silently behind. As they moved closer to the manor, he couldn’t help but notice how at ease Snape seemed here, as though he belonged in this opulent world. Had Snape always been this close to the Malfoys? It was something James had never considered before—
Inside the solarium, Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black—now Malfoy—stood to greet Snape. In Narcissa’s arms rested a boy, no older than Harry, sleeping peacefully.
The boy’s blonde hair glinted in the soft light, a mirror of his father’s own, and his delicate features and blushing cheeks from the heat gave him an almost angelic air. James’ heart ached as he thought of the kind of beliefs and prejudices this child would inevitably inherit from his parents, how the innocent kindness of the boy’s face would sooner than later be corrupted.
“Severus. What a pleasant surprise,” Lucius said, his usually cold demeanour softening, his voice carrying a warmth that startled James. For a moment, it almost seemed as though Snape’s arrival had genuinely brightened his day.
“Lucius. Narcissa,” Snape replied, his tone flat but polite, the faintest hint of civility in his words.
“Severus,” Narcissa said with a small smile, her attention briefly returning to her son as she stroked his hair, dabbing away the sheen of sweat from the warm air of the solarium.
“Forgive the interruption, Lucius,” Snape began smoothly, already slipping into his rehearsed role. “The Dark Lord has requested a special potion, one I cannot disclose the details of. The recipe resides in one of your ancient tomes.”
Lucius gave a small nod of understanding. “Of course. Follow me,” he said, gesturing for Snape to accompany him, his tone courteous.
They walked through the Malfoys' grand estate, where ceilings soared nearly twenty five feet high and every surface gleamed and screamed wealth. Tapestries lined the walls, their intricate designs interwoven with family crests, while gilded paintings and marble sculptures spoke of opulence that seemed… honestly boundless.
James couldn’t help but wonder. What could Lucius—or then Abraxas Malfoy—possibly hope to gain from aligning with Voldemort? What more could they want, when they already had everything in the world? Surely, the interest alone on their vast fortune could sustain their luxury for generations easily.
The thought gnawed at him. How could… how could people harbor such hatred for others when they had everything?
And yet… was he any different from these monsters? James frowned at the memory of his own youthful arrogance. He had more than despised Snape himself, hadn’t he? Loathed him simply for being close to Lily, for threatening what James selfishly thought of as his.
Maybe humans are just terrible, he thought grimly. They find reasons to despise, to harm, even when those reasons are flimsy at best. He felt a pang of shame as he recalled how he’d justified tormenting Snape, seeing it as harmless fun back then. Growing up and realising just how monstrous one had been… that was, in a way, a kind of torment.
“Have you heard from him, Severus?” Lucius’ voice jolted James from his thoughts. “Last I heard, the Dark Lord was in Wales, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I haven’t,” Snape replied swiftly, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor. “Aside from this request. I believe our lord is still consolidating forces to seize control of the Ministry. The resistance is feeble, but they haven’t completely fallen yet.”
“Let’s hope it’s swift,” Lucius said, his tone casual. Then, his next words sent a jolt of unease through James. “There’s still the matter of the Potters—”
James tensed, his heart pounding under the invisibility cloak.
“—they’re close with Dumbledore, Severus. If he ever speaks a word of them…”
“The Dark Lord shall be the first to know, my friend,” Snape assured him, his voice even, betraying nothing.
James exhaled in relief, willing his heart to calm down.
They arrived at the doors to the grand library, and James froze in awe. The Malfoys’ collection was staggering—rows upon rows of towering bookshelves stretched to an enchanted ceiling that bathed the room in soft, golden light.
There was a smell of old parchment and ink, and every so often, parchments or scrolls would fly from one shelf to another in some sort of magical machination, completing the definition of a magical library.
“Search to your heart’s content, my friend, and just take the book, Severus. I don’t mind,” Lucius said, clapping Snape on the back with an ease, that, once again, made James bristle.
“Yes, I understand. Thank you, Lucius,” Snape replied smoothly.
As Lucius departed, Snape shut the door behind him and silenced it, leaving James to gape at the sheer extravagance of the room.
Damn the Malfoys! Who needs this many books, anyway? It’d take lifetimes to read all of this! Utterly insane.
“Potter?” Snape’s voice cut through his thoughts. James lowered his cloak and nodded, stepping into the light.
“How on earth are we supposed to find that journal? There must be thousands of books here!” James hissed, his voice a low whisper-shout as he followed Snape deeper into the labyrinth of shelves.
“Hundreds of thousands,” Snape corrected, his tone dripping with superiority. “And don’t trouble yourself, Potter. It’s not as if you’ve ever opened one before.”
James blinked as he struggled to process Snape’s words. Was he… was Snape making a joke?
“Was that a joke? Are you joking with me, Severus?” James asked, a grin spreading across his face.
“That,” Snape hissed, glaring at him, “was an insult—imbecile.”
James laughed, the sound echoing off the library’s walls. “Hah! You were joking! Good one, Severus!”
“To answer your earlier question, Potter,” Snape snapped, his patience clearly waning, “the journal is likely well-protected. Displayed, even, if the Malfoys were to be judged objectively.”
James snorted. Judged objectively , he said. “Another nice one, Severus! Objectively judged, the pretentious sods!”
Snape’s hand twitched toward his wand, and James instinctively ducked into the nearest aisle before the man could curse him dead.
He wandered through endless corridors of bookshelves, each one seemingly identical, until, finally—they crossed paths again. And then James saw it.
A single leather-bound book, sitting like a crown jewel inside a glass enclosure at the base of a grand staircase leading to the second floor.
Of course. Pretentious bastards. So fucking pretentious it made him groan.
“I think I found it,” James muttered, pointing at the display. Snape followed his line of sight, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Your friend’s ridiculous, Severus,” James mumbled, shaking his head and looking dead into the man’s eyes. He caught the faintest sound from Snape—a sharp exhale that suspiciously resembled a snort.
James smirked, triumphant. A victory.
It was easy sailing after that. Smooth, easy sailing.
James, putting his advanced Transfiguration skills to good use—skills that even Snape had reluctantly admitted were more than exceptional—crafted an exact replica of the journal. With precision, he propped it back inside the glass enclosure. Meanwhile, Snape plucked a random potions book from a nearby shelf, completing the charade.
“Found the book you required, Severus?” Lucius inquired as they re-entered the solarium. He was now seated behind an elaborate afternoon tea spread, a picture of pompous leisure. “Sit. Let us chat.”
James barely restrained a groan, sinking to the floor in defeat like a sulking child.
Of course, Lucius, in true Malfoy fashion, began monologuing about his accomplishments, his wealth, and his impeccable taste.
It was painfully dull, but at least mildly entertaining to watch Snape—the unflappable Severus Snape—begin to squirm. His composure was visibly cracking, his irritation leaking through the seams of his usually stoic mask.
Snape made a small, irritated gesture toward James’ general direction, silently commanding him to move closer.
“Well, I must be off, Lucius,” Snape said abruptly, standing with a sharp motion. “I need to prepare the potion immediately. The sooner I finish, the sooner I can preserve my sanity.”
James snorted behind him, earning a swift, half-hearted swat from Snape.
“Very well,” Lucius said, an expression James could only describe as ‘miffed’ high on his poncy face. “Good luck, Severus.”
When they finally returned to Grimmauld Place, James felt like he could finally breathe again. Lily was already there, having apparated in with Dumbledore and Edgar moments earlier. She smiled warmly at him, and he pulled her into a quick embrace.
“I made him laugh,” James whispered into her ear, his voice brimming with triumph.
Lily raised an eyebrow, her grin growing. “I find that hard to believe, James.”
“Well,” James admitted with a chuckle, “it was more of a snort. But when it’s Snape, a snort’s as good as a laugh.”
Lily laughed openly, shaking her head at him. James remembered the first time he had made her laugh this openly—still as beautiful—everyday even more so. She gave him that look again, teasing James with her seductive gaze as she leaned in, whispering filthy, filthy things that made him wish that he wasn’t living in his friend’s house, so that he could have her whenever he wanted.
Going inside, they were greeted by the sound of Harry crying. Not his usual wails, no, but a quieter, heartbreaking kind of sobbing that signaled something was deeply wrong. They hurried in, only to find Harry clinging tightly to Snitch in the sitting room, arms wrapped around his neck, while Marlene carefully bandaged the man’s hand.
“What happened? Did the horcrux get you, Snitch?” Lily asked, worry evident in her voice.
“Ah… no, it’s nothing, really,” Snitch chuckled nervously.
“He got bitten by a snake!” Harry cried out.
Shit !
“The basilisk, Snitch?” Dumbledore asked, his voice more than worried. “I shall get Fawkes at once, his tears—
“Oh, no, no, no!” Snitch denied. “It was just a harmless garden snake right outside. It could’ve hurt Harry, so I went to catch it. It must’ve gotten spooked.”
“Not deadly, Harry. Mr. Snitch will be fine,” Marlene kindly soothed Harry. His son sobbed some more, tightening his hold around his best friend’s neck.
“What about the basilisk venom then? Are you… alright after that?” James finally asked.
“I’m fine. I just asked it to give me a loose tooth, and it complied. There’s plenty of venom to end the horcruxes there.”
“You… asked it?” Lily asked, confusion flickering on her face.
James was about to comment as well, but sudden cracks of apparition distracted him. Sirius and Remus came stumbling through the house, faces grim, while Diggle, Dorcas, Moody, and the rest of their entourage were noticeably absent.
“Shit! Did everybody get what they needed?” Sirius asked frantically as he handed over the golden cup to Snitch.
“What? What in the bloody hell happened?!” James demanded. Sirius was quite a panicky person, everybody knew that, but seeing Remus with the same distraught expression meant horrible news.
“Death Eaters—spies. We managed to take most of them down, and no one got hurt, but one of them escaped. They saw us taking the cup. The others are trying to chase them down, only Sirius and I returned to deliver the horcrux,” Remus explained.
“We have all of them except the snake,” Snitch said determinedly turning to Dumbledore. “Call them back, professor, let’s not overextend and endanger our friends.”
Dumbledore nodded, raising his wand and summoning his Patronus. The radiant bird appeared, and he leaned in, whispering a message before sending it off in a flash of light.
“Let’s move to the garden,” Snitch instructed, his voice resolute. “Kreacher!”
The house-elf appeared instantly, bowing low. “Time to keep my promise. Come on,” Snitch beckoned.
Kreacher’s eyes glistened with admiration as he carefully helped carry the horcruxes to the garden.
The group stepped back, giving Snitch space as he knelt before the cursed objects, murmuring something too faint to hear. Suddenly, an ear-splitting screech of dark magic tore through the air, heavy and suffocating.
James gasped, his lungs burning as he pulled Lily close, shielding her from the crushing force. His eyes locked on Snitch, who raised the basilisk fang high above his head.
With a fierce cry, Snitch brought the fang down, stabbing each item in turn—one, two, three, four, five times. Each object released an inky, vile darkness that oozed like a living being. The stench was nauseating, putrid, like decaying flesh.
A haunting moan, raw and filled with anguish, echoed from the horcruxes—a chilling symphony of human torment.
“Snitch!” James yelled, his panic spiking as the darkness swirled closer, threatening to envelop the man. But Snitch didn’t falter. With a flick of his wand, a blinding light erupted, obliterating the malevolent shadows.
James staggered back, awe-struck by the display of magic. The Patronus Snitch summoned… it wasn’t like any he’d seen before. The memory the man used—the man’s capacity for love, it radiated a power that dwarfed even Dumbledore’s, its brilliance overwhelming for him to even look at.
Yet, strangely, the patronus remained incorporeal, its form deliberately concealed.
The light consumed the lingering darkness, clashing against it violently before absorbing it, leaving nothing behind. Snitch slowly lowered his wand, breathing heavily as he rose to his feet, shaky but victorious.
“Kreacher...”
“Yes, young master?” the elf replied, his voice brimming with worship.
“Tea, please. Extra sugar.”
With a deep, reverent bow, Kreacher disappeared to fulfill the request.
Snitch walked past them silently, motioning for them to follow. They trailed after him and found Harry at the dining table, innocently nibbling on biscuits while Drago the Dragon perched nearby, its enchanted tail swaying behind it.
Snitch sat next to Harry, gently tilting the boy’s face to look up at him.
“I tried so hard not to think about this since the first time I saw it…” Snitch whispered, his thumb brushing over the jagged scar on Harry’s forehead. “You two survived,” he added, glancing over his shoulder at James and Lily. “I just hope… to God, to Jesus Christ, or whatever deities exist out there… please…”
“Snitch?” James called out, his confusion growing at the sudden dour mood the man sported.
“You see, as I’ve said, a horcrux is created through murder,” Snitch continued, his voice barely above a whisper as his gaze returned to Harry. “Voldemort… he made a seventh horcrux, one he didn’t even realise on a fateful night...”
James was beyond confused. The way Snitch was acting felt wrong, out of character. Then Snitch tugged at his left sleeve, and James froze, horrified, when a garter snake laid there, winding around the length of the man’s arm.
“Snitch… what are you…” Lily whispered, her hand flying to her mouth in disbelief. Horror spread across her face. “No… you can’t possibly—”
And then, to the complete bafflement of the room, Snitch began to hiss.
Everyone stiffened, the sound sending a chill through the air, as if the sound itself contained magic, as if it was alive and dark.
Dumbledore even made a sound—one James couldn’t quite place. Was it shock? Horror? He wasn’t sure. Snitch’s hissing continued, a strange, rhythmic pattern of ups and lows—a language.
Parseltongue .
The snake responded, hissing back, as if following Snitch’s command.
No…
James’ heart was racing, dread clawing at his chest as he watched Harry look up at Snitch in awe.
Harry reached out toward the snake, and the room held its collective breath. His hand trembled, hesitant, but the snake moved toward him, leaning into his open palm.
Harry made a sound of pure delight, and, gaining confidence, he began gently stroking the snake’s head. It didn’t bite. Instead, it leaned further into his touch, almost nuzzling him.
James could hardly breathe, his dread intensifying. There was only one Parselmouth left in the world, and that could only mean…
Harry smiled brightly at his new companion, his voice filled with wonder.
“Did you just talk to the snake, Mr. Snitch?” Harry asked, barely whispering, his awe palpable.
Snitch nodded stiffly, and Harry’s face lit up with excitement.
“Wicked! What did you say?!”
A heavy, suffocating silence swirled around the room, nobody daring to speak or make a comment. Snitch carefully set the snake down onto the table, where it curled up contentedly. James watched, his heart sinking, as Snitch’s shoulders began to tremble.
And then, suddenly, Snitch lunged forward, lifting Harry into his arms.
Harry accepted the embrace, a happy smile on his face—until Snitch’s quiet sobs shattered the moment.
“Oh, Merlin! Thank you! You don’t understand, do you, Harry? You don’t understand?!” Snitch cried, his voice breaking as though he had won a million galleons, yet his words were laced with unmistakable sorrow.
“Understand what? What you were saying to the snake?” Harry asked, worry creeping into his voice. “I don’t know… I don’t speak snake. I’m sorry.”
Harry’s tears began to fall too, and he clung to Snitch, trying to comfort him. “Please don’t cry, Mr. Snitch. I’m sorry.”
“No, Harry. I’m happy—I’m happy that you don’t understand. I’m so, so happy.”
James wasn’t a fool. He was Prefect turned Head Boy. He had always been quick to catch on, especially when things truly mattered, when the dots needed connecting.
Now… now it felt as though the ground had been ripped from beneath him. His heart plummeted in horror at the picture his brain had pieced together.
This man spoke Parseltongue—an ability only Voldemort himself possessed. And if a piece of someone’s soul could pass into an object through murder…
What if a soul fragment carried not just a person’s essence, but also their traits, their… abilities?
Snitch had said—Voldemort created a Horcrux he didn’t even know about. He had spoken Parseltongue to Harry, testing him to see if he shared the ability. He had said all of that—
“Snitch… were you a Horcrux? A human being turned into a Horcrux?” Lily asked, breaking the silence.
It was so close to his realisation—but Lily had not felt the brotherhood that was forming between James and... he felt as though his heart had been ripped in two, his stomach twisting painfully.
Why… why was the world so cruel?
He had to know. He needed to know.
“I was, yes. I still hold onto that power. It’s a part of me now.” Snitch… no, he was…
No wonder James had felt so attached so easily, no wonder his heart had broken as Snitch told his story, no wonder he had loved the man so easily. It was a bond that transcends even time and space.
Love. One that could only exist between a parent and his child.
“Tell me… tell me what you did to get rid of your Horcrux.” James’ voice was soft, yet demanding. All eyes in the room turned to him. Snitch fell silent, the weight of the question hanging in the air. James couldn’t handle the delay, couldn’t handle the desperation trying to burst out of his throat. “Tell me! I need to know!” James shouted, his voice a plea and a command.
Sirius tried to intervene. “James, calm dow–”
“I had to be killed by him,” Snitch cut Sirius off, his words causing the room to freeze in horror. “By his Killing Curse. I walked up to him and took it.”
James’ heart shattered in that very moment. The room seemed to close in around him, and a searing pain shot through his heart.
He felt bile rising in his throat, the urge to vomit almost overwhelming.
How could fate be so cruel?
“You were never trained by Dumbledore… because you were raised just to be slaughtered...” James whispered, his voice hoarse. Dumbledore’s eyes widened, and Snitch’s breath hitched.
“You weren’t even raised—Dumbledore left you to suffer, just so you could be killed at the right time. He left you, so that you would become attached to a world that had shown you kindness, shown you love. So you would be willing. Willing to die.” Snitch stayed silent, looking away.
James blinked, and he felt hot tears running down his face. He had been crying, without even realising it.
He raised his arms, as if he was desperately holding the man’s face in his hands, and he spoke.
“May I see you, son?” James begged. “Harry?”
The room seemed to crack under the weight of James’ unstable magic, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had to see him—he had to see proof that his son was alive, that he had survived.
Harry rushed over, comforting James, and everyone watched as Snitch—no, his son—stood tall. His hands reached up, pulling back his hood.
And then, James saw him. And… oh… he looked exactly like him, like staring into a mirror. He was handsome—so much more so than James, because he had his mother’s beautiful eyes and lips. The scar that had marred his features as a child only served to make him look even more striking. Strong.
He was his son . Harry. Harry James Potter.
“Hi, Dad. Mum.” His voice was soft, and a small, timid smile tugged at his lips.
Without hesitation, James rushed over to his son, pulling him into a tight embrace.
He held his son's face in his hands, kissing Harry’s forehead desperately—again and again, making up for every missed kiss, every moment the two of them did not have the opportunity to share. He did not care that Harry was only five years younger than him. He was his flesh and blood. Nothing else mattered.
“Harry… oh no… no…” James wept, his tears soaking into his son’s hair. Harry held him tightly, his own body shaking against his father’s.
“I’ve always wondered what that would feel like. It felt nice,” Harry said, his voice choked with sadness and grief. Lily stepped forward, disbelief and grief etched on her face.
“Harry…” Lily whispered. He smiled at his mother, and he nodded.
“Hi, Mum. I missed you.”
Lily made a broken sound beside James, and with desperate hands, she pulled them both into her embrace, desperately holding their son as tightly as she could, as if their son would disappear if she let up even for a second.
“I told everyone that Mr. Snitch looked like my dad! Nobody listened to me!” Little Harry cried out from behind them, his voice ringing with frustration. A small weight crashed against their side as his boy threw himself into the three of them.
“Don’t blame him, Dad,” Senior Harry whispered softly, his voice carrying both pain and understanding. “Dumbledore didn’t know. He only got confirmation in my fifth year—was fully sure by my sixth. Horcruxes weren’t common knowledge. Even Dumbledore here had a hard time believing that Voldemort would risk his soul like that.”
James’ hand froze behind his son’s back, his expression twisting in anger. “I can’t accept that!” he screeched, his throat raw with emotion. “After everything I’ve done for the Order—after all I’ve sacrificed—he left my son with those pathetic excuses of human beings!”
James spun toward the man in question, his voice rising with fury. “He thinks that he knows it all, knows what’s best for all of us. Is this what’s best for us, Dumbledore? That my son had grown up tortured enough to be willing to die for the world?! After everything I’ve given to the order he might as well take you in himself! So high and mighty, the greatest fucking wizard of our age! What a joke!”
The room fell silent, James’ accusations hanging heavy in the air.
“I’m so sorry, James. Lily,” Dumbledore whispered, his voice thick with regret, his usually composed demeanour crumbling.
But Harry Senior’s voice broke through the tension, calm and placating. “Dad, stop it… he didn’t do any of that here,” his son begged. “I didn’t sacrifice myself for the world. I couldn’t care less about that. I did it for the family that chose me—for the people who loved me. It wasn’t that bad, trust me…”
“It was exactly that!” James roared, his voice shattering with anguish. “You’ve been so deprived—so lost—that you… that you…” His words caught in his throat, the weight of the truth too much to bear.
“We’re so sorry we couldn’t be there for you, Harry,” Lily whispered, her voice trembling as she wept. “We’re so sorry.”
James pulled Harry Senior back into a tight embrace, his body trembling against his son’s. “Don’t you dare make light of what you’ve endured! You should’ve been loved—you should’ve been ours. You deserve everything in the world.”
Harry nodded against James’ shoulder, cowed after receiving his first father-to-son scolding from him.
Everything hurt James so much… but why did he also feel so… complete? So at peace? To know that the man that he had been admiring for how loving and kind… that man was what Harry could and had grown up to be. A strong man, with a heart of purest gold. His proud son. A true Gryffindor.
Little Harry watched the exchange with wide eyes, and after a moment, he reached up, tugging at his best friend’s sleeve.
“Your name is Harry too?” he asked in a small voice, his curiosity breaking the heavy silence.
Senior Harry smiled softly, brushing a hand over his mini version’s hair. “Yeah. My name’s Harry too.”
“Oh…” Little Harry’s face grew confused, before it lit up with sparkling realisation. “Is he… my brother?” He turned toward his parents, excitement bubbling up in his voice. “Am I getting a big brother?! Mummy, Daddy! I have a big brother! I love you, Harry!”
Without hesitation, Harry Senior crouched down and scooped Little Harry into his arms, holding him close.
“I love you too, mate,” he murmured.
“Uncle Pads! Uncle Moons! I have a brother! Mr. Snitch is my big brother!” Harry announced to his uncles, as if the two of them had not been witnessing what had transpired.
James chuckled, a small, proud smile breaking through his lingering grief. “Guess your wish came true, Harry. You’ve got yourself a brother.”
Little Harry beamed, his joy contagious as he planted a big, wet kiss on his big brother’s cheek. The room erupted into laughter, the heavy air lifting ever so slightly.
And then Senior Harry’s voice cut through, strong and resolute. “Let’s get rid of Snake-face, shall we?” He grinned down at his little brother. “I want to make sure this smile never fades.”
James’ smile faltered for just a moment, the weight of the danger ahead pressing against his chest. But as he looked into his son’s determined eyes, he just knew. His son was stronger than all of them. The strongest. He was destined for this.
But this time? James would be there. Every step of the way. By his side. Always.
“Okay!” Little Harry exclaimed enthusiastically, clueless about the gravity of his brother’s words.
James and Lily moved closer, their arms wrapping around both of their brilliant sons. For the first time in what felt like forever, they felt a surge of love so powerful it drowned out everything else.
They were a family—and Voldemort stood no chance. James would not let that monster break them apart again.
Chapter 9: The Calm Before the Storm
Summary:
They were given a few days with Dumbledore and the rest of the Order gathering information on the movement of the Death Eaters. They used that time to talk, to get to know James' remarkable son.
Notes:
Idk what to put, lol. Thank your reading, and the plot's moving forward next chapter, dw!
Let me know what you think!
Chapter Text
To say it was bizarre to get a glimpse into his little boy’s future would be a severe understatement. Harry Senior was so… familiar. James couldn’t help but notice the striking similarities between him and his baby brother, even at this age. Both of his sons were mischievous little buggers, adorably sarcastic, and hopelessly awkward.
Yes, even now, Senior was still awkward, in the most endearing way.
The family gathered in the sitting room, Senior laying on his stomach on the floor playing building blocks with Junior. James and Lily sat on the sofa, watching as their boys interacted with such tenderness. Junior was visibly enamoured with his older brother, constantly chattering about his ‘pretty eyes,’ a detail he adorably failed to notice he shared himself.
With a few days of peace while waiting on intel about the Death Eaters’ movements, James resolved to soak up every moment of this unexpected outcome.
“You have a girlfriend? Is she pretty?” Junior asked, his green eyes sparkling with curiosity as his pet garter snake, Streaky, lazily coiled beside the castle they were building.
“Yeah, I do, and she’s the prettiest girl in the world,” Senior replied with a grin. “So pretty that boys used to fight over her at Hogwarts.”
“Really? What does she look like?”
Senior paused, suddenly looking—as James had said, awkward. His gaze flicked to James and Lily as he bit his lip.
“Uh… she has red hair… freckles…” he began hesitantly.
James snorted, earning a light smack on the arm from Lily.
“And she’s a bit fiery, sometimes short-tempered, but she’s also really brave—oh, Merlin, I swear it’s not an Oedipus complex!” Senior blurted, his cheeks flaming red. “She looks different to you in person! Damn you, Freud!”
James, Sirius, and Remus burst into laughter, doubling over and slapping each other’s shoulders as Lily scolded them between giggles. Senior sat back, sputtering awkwardly while Junior innocently continued arranging Castle Oliver.
“I want a girlfriend too!” Junior declared, oblivious to the chaos. “But I don’t like girls. Girls are yucky! Like Ron’s little sister. She made me play tea party once, and the tea was made of leaves. Yuck!”
Senior’s eyes widened, and he turned slowly toward the others, his face a picture of devastation.
“Red hair,” Lily teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh, please don’t say—”
Senior nodded vigorously, getting James and Lily to laugh again.
“But I don’t like boys either!” Junior cut in, undeterred. “Boys are naughty, like Gred and Forge! But Ced’s nice! He always shares his toys and tells Gred and Forge off when they’re being mean.”
“Cedric?” Senior asked, his lips twitching into a smile.
Junior’s face lit up, his eyes sparkling. “Yeah! He’s the bestest! I like Ced! I want Ced to be my girlfriend.”
Senior chuckled, ruffling Junior’s messy hair. “Cute. But boys can’t be your girlfriend, Harry.”
Junior pouted. “Why not?”
“Because they’d be called boyfriends, silly,” James supplied with a grin.
“Oh!” Junior exclaimed, his face brightening. “When I’m big like you, I’ll make Cedric my boyfriend! Then we can play all the time, and he can tell on Gred and Forge all the time too!”
Senior laughed softly, shaking his head. “Blimey, this is so weird.”
“What? Was Cedric your first love too?” Remus asked, smirking.
Senior’s grin turned mischievous. “Nope! My first love was somebody amazing, a truly remarkable man.”
“A man so amazing, in fact, that I still see his eyes in my dreams. Oh, how I yearn for his touch even to this day!” He declared dramatically.
“Oh yeah? Who?” Lily asked, her tone laced with amusement.
Senior turned dramatically toward Sirius, his smirk widening. “Why, my dashing dogfather, of course!”
“Wait, WHAT?!” Sirius squawked, dropping the book in his lap.
“Come on, Sirius! Let’s kiss! Didn’t you say you’d love to hear me whisper sweet nothings in your ear? I’ll declare my undying love, Sirius! Come here!”
Before anyone could stop him, Senior lunged toward Sirius with exaggerated kissy faces.
“Prongs, get your overgrown child away from me! Harry!” Sirius yelped, scrambling to avoid him.
Junior barely looked up from Castle Oliver, letting out a little, ‘Whaa?’ before realising that his godfather was yelling after his brother. James’ little boy then decided that what was happening in front of him was clearly some grown-up nonsense and turned back to his masterpiece.
“Don’t you dare make this even more awkward for me!” Sirius shouted, dodging another lunge.
“Come on! You’re a good looking bloke, I’m a good looking bloke. Just a little peck?”
The sitting room erupted into laughter as Senior chased Sirius around the sofa, both adults wrestling like schoolboys while James watched, shaking his head in amused disbelief.
Later that evening, as the house settled, James lay in bed with his wife’s hand resting on his chest. Her quiet whisper broke the silence.
“James, I’m so glad we agreed to the ritual. I was second-guessing it so many times, but now…” Her voice wavered slightly. “I’m just so happy we got to meet him.”
James kissed her hand tenderly. “Me too, Lily. But imagine how Harry must feel. He finally got to meet his parents. And, if we know our son as his parents, if we hadn’t figured out ourselves, he probably wouldn’t have told us who he was, just to spare our feelings. He’s so selfless, love. He must’ve been aching to see us.”
Lily’s eyes softened, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek. “That’s how Harry turned out without us. Imagine how much more incredible he’ll be if we raise him ourselves. We have to be the best parents we can with the time we’re given, James.”
James nodded, smiling. “We will, Lily. We’ll give him all the love we’ve got.”
When Harry didn’t return to his room that night, James and Lily didn’t worry. They both knew he would rather spend every possible moment with his older brother. And when Sirius didn’t show up either? Well, they knew exactly where he was too.
The next three days were filled with conversations, laughter, and stories. They told Harry Senior stories from their time, all that he had missed, and they learned so much about their son and the future—more than they could have imagined.
His son wasn’t just brilliant. He was extraordinary.
After his girlfriend had snapped some sense into him, Harry dedicated himself to mastering defensive magic. He had a purpose: to protect those who had protected him.
When she returned to school for her seventh year, Harry took the opportunity to travel the world, seeking knowledge from the best magical minds. He learned spells, techniques, and white rituals from places as far-flung as Africa and Asia, weaving new found power into his repertoire.
“There’s a small… blessing Voldemort left behind,” Harry said one evening, his tone wry. “His magic was vast—and it left a mark on me after his death. I caught up with the magic left by the horcrux faster than I thought possible.”
James didn’t need convincing of his son’s power. The sheer radiance of his son’s Patronus, even when it was repressed as an incorporeal form, spoke volumes. Harry wasn’t just powerful—he was exceptional. Something else.
When his girlfriend completed school, Harry returned from his travels, focused and determined. He applied to become an Auror, and his girlfriend was not very happy, something that made James like the girl already.
Harry had sacrificed everything for the Wizarding World. Why should he sacrifice even more?
But Harry was undeterred. He still joined the Auror corp. with the help of the future Minister, and he made an immediate impression. Harry was relentless in his pursuit of justice, always volunteering for the riskiest missions.
He quickly became known for his results and relentlessness. Week after week, headlines heralded his victories—Death Eaters captured, dangerous plots thwarted, and dark wizards brought to justice.
He wasn’t promoted because of his name, James realised, and it was a fact that made his chest swell in fatherly pride. He earned it every phrase and article of worship. Every bit of it.
By twenty, Harry James Potter became the youngest Head Auror of the Diagon Sector—a feat James could hardly wrap his head around. James himself had been a Senior Auror for years now, and he was an exceptionally good auror himself, and yet, his son had surpassed James in record time.
Harry shared his plans to propose to his girlfriend with them. As he spoke, his face lit up, his voice filled with admiration.
“She’s everything I could ever want in a woman,” he said, his gaze far away. “Smart, brave, and kind. The most beautiful woman in the world. She doesn’t just understand me—she challenges me. She wants me to be better. Not for her, no, but for me. She wants me to be selfish for once.”
The way Harry was speaking of his love reminded James of how he used to fawn over Lily, of the way her sharp wit and fiery spirit captivated him. As Harry talked, Junior mischievously slid Streaky down his brother’s shirt. Senior did not flinch, just hissing absentmindedly in Parseltongue to guide the snake away.
“Mum… Dad… they’ve gone quiet again. Are they okay?” Junior’s voice broke through the moment.
Noticing that the snake had found an escape, James scrambled back when it started to get a bit too close for comfort. His son may be able to speak to snakes, but snakes were still top three of his least favourite animals.
One afternoon, as they sat beneath a tree watching Junior play quaffle throws with his uncles, the conversation took a more serious turn. James had thought about bringing it up, but it was Lily who finally asked.
“Harry… if I may know… how badly were you treated by your aunt and uncle?” she asked, her voice quiet with worry.
Harry paused, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Do you want the honest answer, or how I feel about it now?”
Lily took a deep breath. “Both.”
Harry nodded slowly. “The truth? It was bad. But it could have been worse.”
James and Lily exchanged a glance, the weight of his words sinking in.
“Physical abuse only happened once or… twice?” Harry continued. “Both times were my fault, honestly. I provoked Uncle Vernon—broke his remote once, threw it against the wall.”
Lily and James stayed quiet, letting Senior tell his story. “But… to be completely honest? It could’ve been much worse. Uncle Vernon had never really hit me, you know? Just pushed me against the wall and stuff when he got really angry. But, as I told you, Dad. It was the feeling of being ignored that was the worst.”
“I never really got the stuff I wanted, all I had was Dudley’s leftover toys and clothes. But you know what the kicker was?”
They shook their heads.
“I think that they might have cared about me up until I was about…” Senior trailed off as he pointed at his baby brother. “That age.”
“Or a bit older, really. When I first started to show magic.”
“So… she hated you because of magic? She made you sleep inside of a cupboard because of that?” Lily whispered, and James held her hand tightly to give his wife strength.
“Yup. I don’t remember much from the time they might actually genuinely cared for me. They didn’t allow me to try anything nice, because… my accidental magic was too unpredictable. They moved me to the bottom of the stairs, cause there, at least I won’t break anything valuable if my magic acts up.”
James did not know what to say. As a father, the urge to pummel Vernon Dursley into a bloody mess was strong, but most of all? All he could feel was sadness.
“Mum? Dad?” Senior called softly. They turned to see their son’s face illuminated by a smile that was both bright and tinged with sadness.
“I’m still grateful for them, you know?” Senior said, his voice faltering slightly. “It’s… complicated. Aunt Petunia never truly hated me—that’s a fact. I think, deep down, she cared in her own way. Not like a mother, though—more like… someone forced into a responsibility she didn’t want.” He exhaled shakily, his gaze distant.
“Sure, she disliked me a lot. She made her feelings clear every day. But she also made sure I was fed, clothed, and had a roof over my head. That counts for something, right?” He laughed then, a hollow laugh as he shook his head. “Maybe it’s just me trying to find gold in a cesspool. I don’t really know. It’s just…”
He paused for a moment, his smile blooming when Junior’s cheers were heard in the distance. “All the hurt I went through as a child… it shaped me into who I am. Someone strong enough to stand against the darkest wizard of our age at eleven and defeat him at seventeen.”
He wiped a tear from his eye, though his smile remained as radiant as ever. “I like to think that without them hardening me, I might’ve crumbled under the weight of everything. I might not have survived—especially if I hadn’t had my parents to guide me when it mattered. I like to believe it all happened for a reason.”
“But you could’ve been ours,” James whispered. “If only I had not put down my wand. Just one minute… and your mother could’ve taken you through the floo. I’m so sorry, Harry.”
Harry smiled, a smile so kind it struck something deep inside of James. “Don’t blame yourself… I have you two now. I’m happy.”
“Thank you for surviving, Harry. For being so strong.” Lily whispered.
Senior nodded, and James felt more than ready for the trials to come.
Chapter 10: The First Operation
Summary:
James was just enjoying lunch with his family when Dumbledore came in, face grim. The headmaster explained that while the Ministry of Magic was still resisting Voldemort's takeover, the Dark Lord had employed other tactics.
Voldemort had ordered his Death Eaters to take the blood traitors, and among them, the avid Muggle supporter, Arthur Weasley.
With the Order stretched thin, preoccupied with thwarting a raid on a Muggle village, Harry stepped forward, volunteering to rescue the captured Ministry officials alone. Naturally, James and the rest of the family refused to let him face the danger by himself. They joined him, witnessing firsthand the skill and resolve of the young Head Auror in action.
Notes:
I don't know how to write covert operation typeshit 😇
Tell me what you think!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
On the fourth day, Dumbledore entered the house during lunch, his expression unusually grim. The air seemed to shift with his presence, a subtle weight pressing on everyone. It was never a good sign when Dumbledore looked like that.
“Sni—ah, sorry. Harry,” Dumbledore corrected himself, his eyes flickering apologetically. “You are… close to the Weasleys, are you not?”
At that, Harry Senior froze mid-motion, his fork hovering just inches from his baby brother's mouth. A sinking feeling churned in James’ gut. Arthur was… an avid Muggle supporter.
“What? What happened?” he asked, his voice taut with urgency.
“The Ministry is barely holding on… but Voldemort has been employing less direct tactics to weaken it even more. He’s targeting ‘blood traitors.’ And that means—”
A sudden chill enveloped the house, palpable and sharp, as though winter itself had entered uninvited. James’ eyes widened when he realised it was emanating from his son’s magic. The air felt heavy, charged with Harry’s growing anger.
“He’s captured Mr. Weasley, hasn’t he?” Harry asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Dumbledore hesitated, then nodded solemnly. “I’m afraid so. For now, I am here to ask Sirius for permission to shelter Mrs. Weasley and their children—five of them, since two are currently at Hogwarts.”
“Of course!” Sirius responded immediately, his voice breaking the tension. “It’s the least I can do after Fabian and Gideon—”
“Is he alright? Mr. Weasley?” Harry cut Sirius off, his composure slipping further. Junior, sensing his brother’s distress, reached out instinctively to clutch his shirt. Senior wrapped a protective arm around his baby brother, but his voice trembled as he pressed on. “He–he can’t be—”
“No, no, Harry,” Dumbledore said quickly, raising a placating hand. “They’re alive, according to Severus’ report. They are currently being moved, to somewhere near Kirkwall. Voldemort intends to… persuade them to change their minds.”
A deep scowl twisted Harry’s features. His magic bristled again, like a storm barely contained. “We have to move now—they’re going to be tortured or worse!” he shouted.
“I know, my boy, but there has also been a raid on a Muggle village that I need to confront. We’re stretched thin—”
Harry groaned in frustration, stretching out his arm to summon his robes. The fabric flew to his hand, and with a flick of his wand, he transfigured it into a neutral grey cloak.
“I’ll handle it myself, then. Magical signatures don’t change even across worlds. I’ll track Mr. Weasley down,” he said decisively, turning to James. “Dad, I’ll use the Galleon if I’m ever in trouble—”
“You’re insane if you think I’m letting you go alone,” James interjected firmly. “I’m coming with you.” Junior looked up at James with puffed cheeks and pursed lips, his adorable attempt at looking serious and grown up.
“Then just—give it to Mum—” Harry tried to argue, but Lily’s voice cut through.
“You’re insane if you think I’m letting you two go alone,” she said, her tone sharp and unyielding. Junior turned to his mother, then to his uncles, asking for more backup for his brother.
“Yeah, what they said,” Sirius chimed in, smirking.
In the end, the Galleon was handed to Dumbledore, and Junior was entrusted to Kreacher.
“Harry! Kisses?” Junior asked sweetly, his big green eyes wide with affection.
Senior managed a faint smile and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his brother’s forehead. “I thought you’d be more fussy, Harry,” he said softly.
Junior shook his head. “No! You’re going to rescue Mr. Weasley and capture bad wizards! Just like Daddy! I want to come, but it sounds dangerous!”
Senior chuckled, ruffling his brother’s hair before summoning Kreacher. “Indeed it is. Be good, okay? Ask Kreacher to help you finish your castle.”
“Okay! Bye-bye!” Junior exclaimed, planting a big, wet kiss on his brother’s cheek.
The group gathered in the back garden, their expressions filled with unspoken determination and trepidation. Harry scanned the area and spotted an old tire from Sirius’ motorcycle leaning against the shed. He summoned it with a flick of his wand. Closing his eyes, he murmured, ‘ Portus .’ Magic surged through the air, and the tire glowed faintly blue.
“Come on, grab a part,” Harry instructed.
They each took hold of the tire, and with a sharp tug of magic, they vanished, reappearing on the front steps of an ancient cathedral surrounded by a sprawling graveyard.
The air was damp and cold, filled with the scent of moss and stone. A startled gasp echoed from a nearby visitor, and Harry smoothly flicked his wand, casting a subtle confundus-obliviate combo. The woman blinked, disoriented.
Harry cleared his throat, adopting an apologetic tone. “Excuse me, ma’am... erm, ma’am?”
The woman shook her head, clutching her purse. “Oh goodness! What came over me?”
Harry laughed smoothly, giving the lady a handsome smile, causing the woman to blush, making James roll his eyes internally. “It’s quite alright, Ma’am. Do you know the way to the nearest chippy, please? We’re famished, you see.”
Still a bit flustered, she gestured northward. “J–just a bit that way, you’ll find one.”
“Thank you kindly,” Harry said with a polite nod. “Have a good day.”
They wandered until they found a damp, shadowed alleyway. Entering it to get away from Muggles' eyes, Harry signalled for them to wait.
“How are we going to start our search, Harry?” Lily asked.
Harry reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief embroidered with Gryffindor-red stitching, a ‘W’ embossed into one corner. “This was Mr. Weasley’s,” he explained. “A gift for my 18th birthday. It’s been in his family for generations.”
“Sentimental,” Remus remarked with a nod.
Harry hummed in agreement, channelling his magic into the fabric. “Essentia Vitae,” he whispered, conjuring a small, shimmering orb of magical essence.
Concentrating, he split the orb into smaller ones, sifting through the several life essences associated with the item, a feat requiring exceptional skill. Picking the strongest trail, he cast several tracking spells before nodding.
“Let’s apparate.”
They arrived at a desolate industrial area, the air thick with the acrid tang of rust and salt. Rows of abandoned warehouses loomed, their shadows stretching across the cracked pavement. Harry crouched, touching his wand to the ground. A faint blue trail snaked forward, leading to the largest warehouse at the far end.
“They’re here,” he said, his voice low and resolute.
In front of the warehouse, James cast a homenum revelio, and a golden light revealed over a dozen silhouettes, three of them kneeling on the ground. The group exchanged uneasy glances.
“We’re outnumbered,” James whispered.
Harry smirked, his bright green eyes glinting. "Then it's a fair fight," he said. "It's been a while since I've actually gotten to go on field duty."
“Harry,” Lily warned, her tone a sharp, motherly reprimand. “This isn’t the time for bravado. We need a plan.”
Harry winced a bit, straightening up. “Ooh… I’m never the best with plans, but I do have one.”
“And that is?” Lily asked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, one she had given James thousands of times before when she knew that he was going to say something cheeky.
Harry grinned. “Go in, take them down, get Mr. Weasley and the others out.”
“That’s not a plan; that’s a death wish.” Remus sighed.
Sirius, though, had an approving grin tugging at his lips. “This is sounding a lot like my style.”
Harry snorted, turning back to the group. “I’m just kidding. We’ll need to be strategic,” his son said. “Remus, take the flank and cast a containment charm on the back door to prevent anyone from escaping. Enhance the door with your magic, add a Repello Inimicum if all else fails.”
“Got it,” Remus nodded.
“Sirius, once we’re inside, our magic might get detected easily. We need Padfoot to guide us, I’m going to turn off the lights.”
“Right!” Sirius exclaimed, pumped up.
“Mum, you do the same thing as Moony but at the front door, no one gets out.”
“Be careful, Harry. Please,” Lily begged.
“I will,” Harry nodded. He then turned to James. “Let’s go, Dad. It’s on us Aurors. Code Golden Snitch. It’s been in use even in the 80’s, right?”
“Buzz around them, take all of them down without letting them even catch a glimpse?” James asked with a smile.
Harry grinned in that mischievous way that spelt trouble. An expression that was a mirror of his younger brother’s.
“That’s the one! My favourite.”
James raised his eyebrow at his son. “And where you got the inspiration for your alias?”
“Yep. Now, let’s move.”
They waited until Lily and Remus were in position, enhancing the doors and adding repelling charms. James and Harry weaved anti disapparition magic around the area, and they nodded at each other when Sirius transformed into Padfoot.
The inside of the warehouse was dimly lit, and James felt a hand on his shoulder, the concerned look of his wife following him.
“Be careful. Both of you,” Lily whispered. “Protect him, James.”
James smiled, squeezing his wife’s hand. “I will, Lily.”
James entered the Muggle warehouse, feeling Lily’s magic slowly sealing the entrance behind them.
He had never been inside of a Muggle warehouse before, and he was in awe at the… giant block container things being stacked up high, basically towering over them. Various machineries lay unused around them, gathering rust. Harry let out a small, short whistle, an Auror code to stay focused.
The lanes between the block of containers were dimly lit by Muggle light suspended from high above, and Harry knelt down before Padfoot, whispering something to him.
“Are you ready, Dad?” Harry asked.
James took a deep breath, getting himself into his mindspace, steeling his nerves. “I’m ready.”
Raising his wand, Harry did a motion that dimmed the flickering lights to a bare glow, leaving the aisles between the stacks shrouded in shadows. The effect was immediate.
"Bloody useless Muggle rubbish!" a Death Eater cursed from somewhere in the maze. "Can't even build lights that work!"
"Must be our magic," another grumbled. "Oi, Nolan! Figure out how to turn the lights back on!"
Harry motioned for silence, the spell on their shoes ensuring they moved soundlessly as they followed Padfoot's careful lead through the labyrinth. They came upon a lone Death Eater, crouched and inspecting something glinting on the floor.
Harry gave a more intricate whistle—silent takedown
James responded with an affirmative note, and without hesitation, Harry advanced.
“Who—mmph!”
Harry silenced the man with a palm over his mouth, and as to not alert anyone with a spell’s light, he manually knocked the man into unconsciousness, hitting the back of the man’s neck with precision that the man dropped in an instant, Harry holding the Death Eater’s body to keep things silent.
“Eleven to three. Let’s keep going, Padfoot.”
They continued to take down two more death eaters easily, following his son's confident lead. James was a bit taken at how at ease and calm Harry was at giving James command. But then, he remembered. His son was a Head Auror—he was probably used to leading his own squadron.
With another whistle, James and Harry moved through the shadows, sneaking up behind the men and delivering swift, and sharp blows, aided with a subtle petrification curse.
“Oi Nolan! If you don’t fix that bloody light I’m going to start killing these filthy blood traitors!”
James stiffened, and Harry stood still for a moment.
“I can’t figure out these contraptions! You do it yourself!” The Death Eater named Nolan shouted back.
A groan of frustration followed. "You there! With the red hair! Weasley, isn't it? Sacred Twenty-Eight and still a filthy blood traitor!"
James felt Harry stiffen beside him, his breath catching. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder, a silent reminder to stay calm.
A loud impact followed by a grunt of pain echoed through the warehouse
"Tell us how to fix the lights!" the Death Eater barked.
"|–you just.. flip the switch," Arthur Weasley's strained, pained voice answered, strained and pained.
"Flip the switch, Nolan!"
"I did! lt's not working!"
Another blow landed, and Arthur groaned. Harry's breathing quickened, his fists clenched tightly. “You useless blood traitor!” The Death Eater shouted, with another grunt of pain following.
Harry was already surging forwards, losing his cool when someone he cared about was getting hurt. James cursed under his breath. The Potter recklessness seemed to be hereditary.
“Tell us!” The Death Eater shouted.
“I–I don’t know! That’s all I know!” Arthur begged, his voice hoarse.
“Well then, Weasley. How unfortunate for you.”
“No, no. Please, I—”
“Crucio!”
A heart wrenching scream was heard resounding in the gigantic space, and Harry was basically sprinting towards the fray, Padfoot and James following behind. His son raised his wand, cancelling the Nox spell before blasting the death eater torturing Arthur Weasley backwards, his body charred by the powerful curse.
“Cover me!” Harry shouted.
James shouted his affirmative, and Padfoot transformed back, the three of them soon being outnumbered two to one when the other Death Eaters converged.
“It’s Potter! The Dark Lord’s been searching for him!” One of them exclaimed.
“Which one? There’s two of them!”
Harry didn’t waste a single word as he flicked his wand, a Stunner shooting towards the Death Eater on the far right. The man gasped, scrambling to conjure a shield, but he wasn’t quick enough. A sharp crack rang out as the shield shattered under Harry’s insanely powerful magic, and the Death Eater was hurled backward, crashing into a steel container with a resounding clang.
Before James could step forward to shield his son from the retaliatory spellfires that erupted in response, Harry was already in motion. His wand slashed through the air, and what James saw next made his breath catch.
It was a spell James had only ever seen Dumbledore perform.
A shimmering veil of pure light unfurled a few feet ahead of Harry, translucent yet impenetrable. The barrage of curses and hexes aimed at them collided with the veil, only to dissolve into harmless wisps of smoke.
“Shoot your spells through the veil! Quick!” Harry barked, his voice sharp and commanding.
James and Sirius reacted instantly, raising their wands and shouting, “Stupefy!” Twin bolts of red light streaked through the veil, aimed directly at the Death Eaters.
James let out an involuntary sound of awe as he watched. The veil didn’t just allow their spells through—it amplified them. He could feel Harry’s magic infusing their own, making the spells faster, stronger, and more precise.
Like Harry’s initial attack, the enhanced Stunning Spells shattered the Death Eaters’ shields effortlessly, their magic crumbling under the sheer force. Each Death Eater was sent flying, their bodies striking the ground with dull thuds, groaning in defeat.
The fight was over in moments. Only one man remained standing—Nolan.
Harry’s footsteps echoed ominously as he advanced on the lone Death Eater. Nolan, pale and trembling, looked no older than Harry himself. His wand slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground as he raised his shaking hands in surrender.
“You’re coming with us,” Harry whispered, his voice menacing.
“Y–yes. Please don’t kill me!” Nolan cried out.
With another wordless spell, Harry knocked Nolan out, the man’s body falling gently as if he was hit with a sleeping spell rather than a stunner.
“Wands dimmed,” Harry whispered, the Auror code to signal that the area was clear. “I’ll call for Mum and Moony,” he added, his tone steady but tinged with relief.
Raising his wand, Harry twirled it above his head. A dazzling light burst forth, coalescing into a radiant shape. James’ breath caught in his throat as he watched his son’s Patronus take form for the first time.
It was...
A proud stag materialised, its antlers gleaming like silver under moonlight. James felt his chest swell with emotion, his eyes threatening to mist over.
His son… his patronus…
Harry leaned close, gently grasping the stag’s noble head as he whispered his command. The Patronus gave a gentle huff, pawed at the ground, and then bounded away, fading into brilliance as it went.
Harry turned back, a soft smile on his face. “Come on, let’s free the hostages, Dad.”
The hostages were bound to a steel beam in the corner, three figures kneeling in the dim light. Harry immediately rushed to Arthur Weasley, while James and Sirius moved to free the other two captives.
The other two men seemed unharmed but shaken, their gags leaving faint red marks on their faces. Sirius quickly cut them loose, while James did the same to the other man, his friend’s hand resting briefly on one man’s shoulder in reassurance. Meanwhile, Harry knelt by Arthur, whose condition was far worse.
“Mr. Weasley! Are you alright?” Harry asked urgently. Arthur’s body still trembled from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse, his face bruised, his nose bloodied. A pained but relieved expression flickered across Arthur’s features.
“James… Potter?” Arthur murmured weakly as he looked at Harry, his voice barely audible, expression still dazed.
Harry exhaled softly, his voice steady but kind. “Breathe slowly for me, Mr. Weasley. I’m going to fix your nose now. On three. One, two—”
Crack.
Arthur winced, letting out a low grunt of pain as Harry expertly reset his nose. Harry offered a small, reassuring smile. “You do look a lot like Charlie when you were younger. Come on, then,” he added, carefully propping Arthur’s arm over his shoulder to help him stand.
At that moment, hurried footsteps echoed through the warehouse. Lily and Remus appeared, their expressions shifting from worry to relief as they saw them all alive. Lily immediately rushed to James, gripping his shoulders as if to ground herself.
“I got your Patronus,” she said breathlessly. “Thank goodness you’re safe.”
James pulled her into a brief, reassuring embrace and whispered, “Not mine. Harry’s.”
Lily froze, pulling back just enough to meet James’ gaze. Her eyes widened in surprise, then softened with pride. “Really?” she asked, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“Really,” James confirmed, his own smile faint but full of wonder. His gaze drifted back to Harry, who was speaking quietly to Arthur while Sirius and Remus supported the other two men. “It seems,” James added, his voice thick with something he himself couldn't quite name, “like the other James has always been with him. Protecting him. One way or another.”
Lily leaned closer, her voice low and filled with conviction. “Of course you are. We’re his parents. Not even death can keep us away from our son.”
James held her a little tighter, feeling a deep sense of completeness as they watched their son take charge, embodying the very best of them both. Lily’s genius, James’ resolve.
Dumbledore’s patronus flew through the stacks of containers, lighting the room, and it spoke. “Well done, Harry. I’m sending some men to round the Death Eaters. Take Arthur Weasley back to Grimmauld Place, I shall personally escort the others to our other hideout.”
“My family—a–are they safe?” Arthur asked, eyes lighting in panic.
“They’re fine, Mr. Weasley. They’re in Grimmauld Place now. Here, use this to wipe your blood. Excuse me—” Harry said as he shifted Arthur’s weight to take out the handkerchief.
Arthur’s eyes widened as he took the handkerchief, looking at the ‘W’ embossed at the corner of the dark red fabric. “Why this is… how did you…? This is a precious family heirloom, I—”
“I… it’s complicated, Mr. Weasley. Come on now, let’s walk. We need to get out of the range of the anti-apparition.”
Arthur Weasley nodded, still looking at the handkerchief in bafflement before he used it to wipe at his wounded nose. James turned to his two friends. “Wait for Dumbledore’s men, will you? I need to get Harry back safely.”
“Go ahead, James. We’ll take care of them,” Remus nodded.
“Your son’s really something, James.” Sirius said, his voice awed. “His magic—you don’t get that good by reading books and waving wands around, you get them from experience.”
“I know. He’s been through so much, and—I’ll tell you two back home. Good luck,”
James turned back, and he ran to catch up to his wife and son, Arthur Weasley limping beside them.
Notes:
Meanwhile, back home Junior's threatening Fred and George by saying that his brother was going to 'beat them up.' if they ever try anything 🫠
Chapter 11: His Son's Chosen Family
Summary:
James learns that perhaps, his son had been seen as more than just 'their son's friend' by the Weasleys.
Perhaps, in that other world, Arthur and Molly saw Harry as something more.
Notes:
I'm so sleepyyyy! Sorry for any typos, I'll sort it out tomorrow zzz
Please tell me what you think!
Chapter Text
They returned to find Molly Weasley being comforted by Dumbledore, her tear-streaked face lighting up as James and Harry propped Arthur inside.
“Oh, Arthur!” Molly gasped, springing from the armchair to rush to her husband—only to freeze mid-step as her eyes widened at his injuries. “Oh, Merlin! What did they do to you?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, Mollywobbles,” Arthur reassured her with a tired smile, even as James and Harry gently lowered him into a vacant armchair. “Thank you, James, and… uh… James?”
Harry chuckled, patting Arthur’s hand. “No problem, Mr. Weasley.”
Marlene, their healer for the mission, entered the room with a small tray of potions. She leaned down, inspecting Arthur’s trembling frame. “Oh no, the Cruciatus Curse. Good thing I came prepared,” she murmured, pulling out a vial.
“The Cruciatus?” Molly gasped, clutching at her chest. “Oh, Arthur!”
“Only a few seconds, Molly. I’m fine. They saved me—”
“Harryyy!”
The sound of Harry Junior’s voice interrupted the tense moment as he barreled into the room, flinging himself at his older brother’s leg.
“Hey there, mate,” Senior greeted, laughing as he ruffled the boy’s messy black hair. “Had fun with Ron and the others?”
“Drago got stuck in a tree!” Junior exclaimed, his small face scrunching up in indignation. “Gred and Forge tied something onto his wings and said he’d fly like a real dragon! He got stuck!”
Lily, hovering near the doorway, cleared her throat, clearly trying to spare Fred and George from their mother’s wrath.
“Oh, dear me,” Molly fretted, swiping at her tear-streaked face. “Please forgive Fred and George, Harry. I’ll have a word with them.”
“It’s fine,” Senior said, grinning as he stretched out his hand. A moment later, Drago, branches and all, zoomed into his palm. Carefully picking off the leaves, he handed the small toy dragon back to his younger brother, who beamed in delight.
“Thank you! You’re the best big brother ever!” Junior proclaimed, clutching Drago to his chest.
“And I’ll be an even better one because I’m going to enchant Drago to fly for real,” Senior teased.
Junior’s green eyes sparkled with excitement. “Really?! Thank you! I’m going to hide him from Gred and Forge! Byeee! Get well soon, Mr. Weasley!”
And just like that, he was gone, sprinting out of the room with Drago in hand.
“You’re going to trip! Slow down!” Lily called after him, but she quickly turned her attention to Arthur, assisting Molly and Marlene in applying potions to his injuries.
James slumped into a seat near Dumbledore, his face troubled.
“How was the raid, Professor?” Senior asked.
Dumbledore gave a small, weary smile. “Just a minor scrape on one of our allies. No casualties on the Muggle side.”
“I hate this,” Senior murmured, his tone heavy. “After your death in my time… Voldemort didn’t hold back. We were constantly bombarded with reports of innocent victims. Every day, I woke up dreading that someone I cared about would be among the dead. It was…” He trailed off, shaking his head.
James knew exactly what Harry meant. The memory of losing Fabian and Gideon still weighed heavily on him—their bodies battered and broken after being cornered by Death Eaters. And Frank and Alice… their fates were worse than death.
“I know, Harry,” Dumbledore said softly, his voice tinged with sorrow. “But Voldemort’s paranoia is as potent as his power. Finding him is no easy task.”
“I have a plan,” Senior replied. “But it’ll only work if we push him to his most paranoid state. The more afraid he is, the weaker he becomes.”
“What do you mean?” James asked, frowning. “Won’t that just make him hide further?”
Senior shook his head. “No. Trust me. If we make him realise his Horcruxes are gone, his panic will draw him out. Professor, can you work something out with Snape to help?”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with newfound hope. “I’ll do my best. Truly, Harry, I’m grateful you’re here.” He reached out, clasping Senior’s hand in both of his. “I do not know if my other self ever said this, but…”
“Professor?” Senior asked, blinking in surprise.
“I am proud of the man you’ve become,” Dumbledore said, his voice brimming with emotion.
Harry’s lips parted, and for a moment, he was speechless. Then he nodded, his smile soft. “Thank you, Professor.”
Dumbledore’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “I daresay I’ve redeemed myself a bit by giving you the chance to meet your parents, haven’t I?”
James huffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t push it, Dumbledore. I’m still mad at your other self.”
“Oh, come on, Dad,” Harry teased. “The Dursleys might’ve been awful, but they were the safest option, considering everything.”
“The Fidelius Charm would’ve worked just as well,” James countered.
“Dad… Dumbledore would be extremely cautious. You were betrayed, remember? Senior asked.
“Maybe,” Dumbledore interjected with a saddened smile. “Hindsight is always crueller than foresight.”
Before they could continue. A rushed footsteps entered the room once more, Harry Junior looking up at his brother, cheeks puffed adorably, pointing outside in a picture of childish annoyance.
“Yes, Harry?” James asked, glancing down at his youngest son with an amused smile.
“I have a big brother now, so you should tell Fred and George off!” Junior declared, his tiny fists clenched, his voice quivering with righteous indignation. His annoyance was so palpable that, for once, he referred to the twins by their actual names instead of their usual nicknames.
“Oh, Merlin, what did they do this time, Harry?” Molly asked, her tone already laced with exasperation as she braced herself for the answer.
“They told me Cedric can’t be my boyfriend! Yell at them, Harry!” Junior demanded, his face a portrait of earnest outrage.
Lily sighed, trying to maintain composure despite the growing hilarity of the situation. “Harry, it’s dinnertime. Your brother needs to rest.”
“No, it’s not! We still have an hour!” Junior protested with a defiant pout.
Senior raised an eyebrow and pulled out his golden watch, glancing at it briefly before letting out a small, surprised, “Huh.”
“You’re right. We do still have an hour,” Senior admitted with a chuckle.
Before anyone could stop him, Junior grabbed his older brother’s hand and began dragging him out of the room with all the determination of a general leading troops into battle. Senior managed a wave at Dumbledore as he was pulled away, his laughter echoing behind him.
Once the two Harrys disappeared, a weight seemed to settle over the room. Arthur cleared his throat, his voice hesitant as he spoke.
“Just… how close are we—I mean, Molly and I—to… your son on the other side?”
James exchanged a glance with Lily, realising she must have filled in some details. He leaned forward, his expression softening. “Real close, I’d guess. Why?”
Arthur’s hands tightened around the handkerchief he held, his gaze dropping to the fabric as if it carried the weight of everything he wanted to say. “Because if what he said is true… this is something I would only pass to my son, when Ron is an adult, too, so I can… choose who to give this to. I had planned for it,” Arthur said, his voice thick with emotion.
“And that watch… it was Fabian’s watch,” Molly added quietly. Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. “I treasure it so much that I keep it in a special place back home. If I had given it to Harry, then…” Her voice broke, and she trailed off, her tears threatening to spill again.
James nodded solemnly, but it was Lily who reached out, her voice trembling. “Thank you for taking care of Harry for us, Arthur, Molly.” Her words were heavy with gratitude, each syllable weighed down by unspoken sorrow and love.
James hesitated, his throat tightening as he prepared to speak. “Molly,” he began, his voice gentler than usual. “Your greatest fear… it’s losing your family, isn’t it?”
Molly’s breath hitched. Her eyes widened in shock as she nodded slowly. “Yes. How could you know, James?”
James looked down, his fingers brushing against the arm of the chair as he fought to steady himself. “Because Senior… because my son saw your boggart. It was of your sons lying dead on the floor, but…” He paused, swallowing hard. “You also included Harry. You see him as your own. Thank you.”
Molly’s lips trembled, and her hand flew to her mouth. Tears spilled freely now, and Arthur reached up, taking her hand in his.
“Then it makes sense, Molly,” Arthur murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Harry is a Weasley in that other world. I can only hope we’ve treated him right.”
Molly nodded, wiping her tears with trembling fingers. “Looking at how utterly attached you are to the handkerchief and you giving it to Harry, I’d say you’re correct, dear.”
Their tender moment was interrupted by a loud, triumphant, evil laugh from outside. Startled, everyone turned toward the window to see Junior standing imperiously before Fred and George, hands on his hips. The twins, for once, appeared genuinely chastened under Senior’s unimpressed glare.
“I have a big brother now too!” Junior declared proudly, his voice ringing out like a victory cry. “And he’s taller than Bill and stronger than Charlie!”
The adults inside couldn’t help but laugh at the scene, the tension in the room lifting like a dissipating storm cloud. James turned to Arthur, catching the other man’s eye, and mouthed a heartfelt, ‘Thank you.’
Chapter 12: The Masterplan
Summary:
When Snape brought news of Voldemort's discovery that his horcruxes had been taken, it was to a satisfied smile courtesy of James' son.
James understood why. In his own timeline, Harry had been thrust into an unfair, steeply uphill battle, forced to sacrifice himself to save the world. But here? Here, he was outmanoeuvring Voldemort without the monster even realising, exploiting the Dark Lord’s fears and weaknesses.
Notes:
A big chapter is coming next! see you guys tomorrow!
Chapter Text
“—Ron too! He loves chicken, and Mrs. Weasley makes the best chicken ever. But Mummy makes the best pasta!” Junior exclaimed, his voice full of excitement as he sat comfortably in his brother’s lap. Both boys were tinkering with Drago the dragon in front of the crackling fireplace, the room filled with the warmth of family.
The Weasley children sat nearby, their wide eyes fixed on Senior, who was aiming his wand at the stuffed dragon. A soft blue glow enveloped the toy as Senior muttered something too low for James to hear. Junior squirmed with excitement, while the Weasley children let out a chorus of adorable protests and giggles.
“Where did your brother even come from?” Ron asked, looking thoroughly unimpressed, raising his eyebrow as if weighing Senior. “You had it good with no siblings!”
“You want us gone, Ronnie?” one of the twins chimed in mischievously.
“Well, we want you gone! How about that?” the other twin retorted, earning laughter from everyone in the room.
From his spot at the entrance to the sitting room, James watched the scene unfold with a fond smile. Junior’s voice carried above the others as he declared with conviction, ‘Magic gave me a brother!’
The Weasley children all discussed amongst themselves, Ron still eyeing Senior with suspicion, as if trying to protect Junior from his own brother. James was happy. His son had such good friends, and the fact that their bond transcends even space and time…
“Done!”
The children all sat even closer, Ron even losing his glare to look at the dragon.
“You have to ask him nicely if you want him to fly,” Senior instructed with a proud twinkle in his eye. “Go on, Harry.”
Junior’s face lit up. He gently patted Drago’s head before saying in his sweetest voice, “Fly for me, please!”
The dragon’s tiny wings began to flap, and slowly but surely, it lifted off the ground. The children erupted into cheers, their excitement echoing through the room.
“Now ask him to roar!” Senior encouraged.
“Roar for me, please, Drago!” Junior pleaded.
Obligingly, Drago soared overhead and let out a ‘mighty’, albeit rather adorably squeaky roar. The children squealed in delight, their joy infectious.
James watched as little Ginny tugged at Senior’s robes, holding up her doll. “Can you make Minnie move too, please?” she asked sweetly, her voice filled with hope.
Senior’s smile softened as he looked at the adorable, miniature version of his girlfriend. Stroking the little girl’s hair, he nodded warmly. “Of course, Ginny.”
That night, after dinner, the house grew quiet. The Weasley children had gone to bed, and Junior had insisted on waiting in his brother’s room with Streaky and Drago, declaring he was a big boy now and didn’t need anyone there as he waited for Senior. His son had even chosen to not sleep with Ron in favour of his big brother.
James couldn’t help but chuckle at Junior’s resolve, though… he still found it unnerving how easily the boy had befriended a garter snake. The snake, oddly enough, seemed equally fond of Junior, often resting calmly wrapped around his son’s arm..
When Snape entered the house, the air shifted. The dour man looked weary as he stepped into the room, his heavy gaze sweeping over them. Dumbledore greeted him with a nod, casting a shimmering Patronus to summon other members of the Order.
“As Potter predicted, the Dark Lord panicked,” Snape began once the Order had arrived, his voice low and measured. “I sowed seeds of doubt in his mind, suggesting that Dumbledore had acquired artefacts of… significant importance to him. When I described what exactly Dumbledore had shown me—” Snape paused, his dark eyes flicking to Senior, who was grinning as though he was thoroughly enjoying the exposition.
“I have never seen such fear in his eyes,” Snape admitted, his tone tinged with grim satisfaction. The room responded with sounds of approval, letting the man continue. “He disappeared for an entire day before calling a meeting earlier today. Lucius was trembling from the Cruciatus Curse—I could see it clearly.”
“And Lestrange?” Dumbledore prompted.
“She was spared,” Snape continued with a nod. “As one of his favourites, and since it wasn’t technically her failure—Gringotts bears that blame—she remained untouched. At least, that’s my theory.”
James glanced at his son, who was poking at his dessert with a faint, amused smile. It was clear Harry was enjoying this. And James understood why.
In his own timeline, Harry had been thrust into an unfair, steeply uphill battle, forced to sacrifice himself to save the world. But here? Here, he was outmanoeuvring Voldemort without the monster even realising, exploiting the Dark Lord’s fears and weaknesses. His son had grown into someone powerful. Oh, so powerful.
“Good,” Senior said with a wicked, almost sinister grin. “Let him fear mortality. Let him fear the unknown. Let him fear what he made others fear. Let him wreck his mind trying to piece together how we’ve dismantled his defences so effortlessly.”
He took a sip from his glass before continuing, his voice filled with conviction. “He’s not a god, my friends. He’s not unkillable.” Senior said, easily bolstering their resolve. James watched as Harry’s tone of voice made the Order stop and think, their brows furrowing in determination.
And to add even further? He called the monster by name.
“Tom Riddle is nothing but a pathetic coward, so terrified of death that he sealed his fate with his own arrogance,” Senior shrugged casually. “You’re all stronger than him. Much braver. Don’t forget that.”
James, Lily, and the others watched in awe. There was a sharpness to Harry’s demeanour that was almost terrifying, but all they could feel was pride.
“We’ll be with you, Harry. Till the end,” James promised.
Harry’s stern expression softened into that familiar, warm smile. “Always,” Lily added with quiet determination.
Harry nodded, his voice steady as he said, “Thank you. Now, for the next part of our plan—will you all hear me? Are you brave enough?”
The room fell silent, and James found himself breaking it. “How are you planning to lure Voldemort out, son?”
The Order froze, startled by James’ boldness in speaking the Dark Lord’s name, only expecting such bravado from Dumbledore and his son. But the awed look on Harry’s face was worth it—a look James had seen countless times on his younger brother, and it filled him with pride. It was nice that some things never change.
Harry recovered quickly, his grin broadening into something so James-like it was uncanny. “We make an appointment.”
“Harry…” Lily sighed, her tone tinged, once again, with motherly exasperation.
“No, no, listen to me! He won’t come alone, and he won’t risk Diagon Alley. But if we’re clever—if we’re prepared—I can use the Death Eaters to our advantage.”
“And then?” Sirius asked, his brows furrowed.
“And then,” Harry said, his voice light with excitement, “we’ll make the appointment somewhere with natural magic strong enough to hide our forces under a disillusionment charm undetected.”
“Somewhere like the Forbidden Forest?” Remus suggested.
Harry snapped his fingers, pointing at his uncle. “Exactly!”
“And how will you get You-Know-Who there, Potter? We’ll need time to gather our forces,” Moody growled.
“Have a little faith in me,” Harry replied with a sly, easy smile. “I know him better than anyone in the world. Probably knows him better than he himself. Give me twenty Aurors, and I’ll give you a Dark Lord-free wizarding world. Deal?”
The Order’s discussion stretched late into the night, but all James felt was an odd sense of peace. His son was brilliant. So brilliant. And though his heart ached for the other James and Lily, who never got to see Harry like this… he felt blessed enough to witness it for them.
Later that night, as James stepped into the room, he wasted no time, pulling Lily close by her waist. She smiled at him through her lashes, the kind of smile that always made his heart race. Unable to resist, James groaned softly and captured her cherry-red lips, his kiss drawing a surprised gasp from her.
“You brilliant, brilliant woman,” he murmured into her ear, his voice low and filled with reverence, his hands already working to unbutton her blouse.
“Merlin, Jame—James!” Lily squeaked when his lips found the soft curve of her neck, leaving a dark bruise against her delicate skin.
James paused, his breath warm against her ear, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “Thank you for giving me our son,” he whispered. With a gentle yet urgent touch, he guided her to the bed, his movements filled with a hunger he couldn’t contain. “I think it’s only fair I… reward you for that.”
Lily’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, her lips slightly parted in anticipation, though she still mustered the will to fight back. Such was Lily Evans. “Oh? And just how do you plan on doing that?”
James grinned at her, that familiar, boyish smirk she always said she loved so much. He slowly slid down his wife’s body, his gaze never leaving hers. “Have any guesses yet?”
She bit her lip, her breath catching as his wand flicked in a whispered spell, banishing the layers between them. Her gasp was soft, almost a whimper.
“James! Those were my favourite—”
Her words were cut off by a breathless ‘Oh!’ as James continued ravaging his wife, drawing sweet sounds from her lips.
“James! James, slow down—slow down, you beast!” Lily cried and gasped and pleaded all at once, her protests half-hearted at best.
James couldn’t be sure if he’d remembered to cast a silencing charm on the room. He only hoped he had, because, if not, the entire house would have to bear the unmistakable sounds of James Potter settling his marital score.
Chapter 13: Setting up the Date
Summary:
James and his family following his son under a cloaking ward, watching as Harry Senior easily dispatched a dozen Death Eaters.
Notes:
A small chapter as transition! Enjoyyy! The work is going to be either 17 or 18 chapters long!
Chapter Text
“All of you don’t need to go, I only need to deliver a message to—”
“We know you well enough now to know that you’ll be reckless,” Lily said, cutting Harry off.
Harry sighed, shrugging to bend down and tie his combat boots. Dumbledore stood by the floo, his eyes of pride, directed at James, Lily, and Senior.
“I assume you’ll all go under concealment charms, right? I’ll signal to Dad if I ever need something, alright? Let’s go then,” his son urged.
James passed through the floo with his wife, Sirius and Remus following behind. They emerged on the bustling street of Diagon Alley, and Dumbledore cast around them an extremely powerful cloaking ward.
James helped, he focused the magic to be even more subtle, renderring it completely untraceable.
Harry Senior whistled an Auror’s code. ‘Follow me, don’t get in my way.’
“Stay close to Senior, but he wants us out of the way,” James whispered.
Sirius and Remus huddled even closer, and they walked, following Harry to the busiest part of the street. They all watched as James’ son aimed his wand at his hood, casting a spell James did not know due to him standing behind his son.
Harry drew his hood back, and he turned around to face them. Due to not knowing their exact position, Harry looked around while he whistled.
“Watch. Do not interfere,” James translated.
They all nodded, and they watched with bated breath as Harry took a deep breath.
“VOLDEMORT!”
James’ eyes widened, Lily gasping next to him, Dumbledore exhaling shakily.
James did not understand why his son had just done that. Invoking Voldemort’s wrath, speaking his name—shouting it out loud. In the middle of the busy square.
James did not know if the supposed ‘taboo’ was true or not—but he had seen the Order members disappearing when they spoke his name in public.
The entirety of Diagon Alley turned silent, looking at the man standing in the middle of the small square, his posture perfect, his expression fearless. Harry had enchanted his eyes dark brown, his hair neat, his scar into skin. He looked… different. Like he was not his son.
The crowd froze for a heartbeat, then erupted into chaos. Some fled in panic, their hurried footsteps a cacophony. Others—twelve in total—drew wands, their expressions betraying their allegiance.
Death Eaters. Spies.
Harry squared his shoulders, his body shifting into a combat-ready stance. He whistled again, the sharp sound cutting through James’s rising panic.
“Stay. Observe,” James muttered, though his every instinct screamed to leap into action and shield his son.
A curse shattered the tense silence.
“Confringo!”
A streak of light shot toward Harry, but he didn’t flinch. Without even turning, he flicked his wand upward, redirecting the curse harmlessly into the sky. The Death Eaters hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances, before bombarding him with a barrage of spells
“Which one of you… has the authority to speak with the Dark Lord…?” His son asked, his accent morphing. His mannerisms as well, the way he stood. He hax changed for this moment. Why?
“Stupefy!” “Confringo! “Expulso!”
Barrages of spells kept coming Harry’s way, and his son easily deflected all of them. Harry wasn’t even countering. He was playing with them.
“Weak!” Harry’s voice rang out, dripping with disdain. “Is this the strength my future self tolerates? Pathetic.”
James frowned, confused. Future self? What is he talking about?
The onslaught continued, but Harry raised his wand, casting a shimmering shield that enveloped him entirely.
Now, Harry did not need to even raise his wand. The spells were absorbed as soon as they touched the barriers.
“Ah… I’ve seen this spell before,” Dumbledore said, awed. “Protego Anima. A living shield, in the same roots as the Patronus spell. So powerful… at such a young age…”
James paid his full attention at Harry. His son raised his hand, pointing at a single Death Eater who stiffened in fear.
“You. You are the one to deliver the message.”
He knew why the Death Eater was so terrified. Harry’s glamoured brown eyes had turned blood red. They watched as James’ son walked, his posture predatory, approaching the shaking Death Eater slowly but surely.
One of the Death Eaters walked forwards, rearing his wand back. “Avada—”
The man did not even had the chance to finish the incantation, for in a blink of an eye, the man’s neck was snugly in Harry’s right hand grip.
“What the! Did he just summon a person?!” Sirius whispered furiously.
“That’s not possible!” Remus debated.
“Indeed,” Dumbledore whispered. “Though you can summon clothing.
James cringed when Harry raised the man up high before slamming him down to the hard ground, making James and his family hear the man’s choking sounds, a plea for mercy.
“I will forgive this audacity to your lord,” Harry said. “I suspect that my future self had not been… as fortunate. For I to not be easily recognised.”
The Death Eater was still struggling on the ground, and Harry stomped at his hand, earning an agonised shout of pain, James cringing when he heard the sound of broken bones.
“I am Lord Voldemort. And I need you to deliver a message to my future self,” Harry said as he easily lifted the squirming, pained man into eye level, looking into the man’s eyes.
“Our protections are in danger, Lord Voldemort. And if you need further proof…”
James and his family stiffened when the telltale of parseltongue was heard, making sure that all he had to say had been uttered.
Harry dropped the man to the ground, and they all watched as one by one, the Death Eaters fell to their knees, keeping their heads down.
“My lord…” they chorused.
Harry’s smirk was evil, satisfied. Harry was not wearing his own expression.
“Now you know,” Harry remarked, satisfied. “Be thankful that Lord Voldemort is merciful. Now. Begone.”
The Death Eaters either scrambled to their feet and ran away or disapparated. Harry walked, drawing his hood back to the silence of the street, and he whistled.
“Wands dimmed—I mean, threat neutralised,” James corrected himself, still fully awed by his son’s brilliance.
When they apparated home, it was to an excited Senior.
“Fun! So much fun! Hadn’t had this much fun since the Illegal potions trade!”
“Son… you…” James sighed out. Senior only grinned, looking extremely proud of himself.
“Boy, oh boy. I have a lot to look forward to with little Harry,” Sirius said, making them all chuckle.
Chapter 14: Trap Set
Summary:
One last meeting before the confrontation with Voldemort. James watched through Snape's memories Voldemort's reaction to his son's ploy. The Dark Lord's reaction was unexpected.
s s
Notes:
Another chapter! Can't believe the story's ending so soon! I hope you guys loved this story, and remember, comments and kudos are always appreciated! 🥰🥰
Why the sudden Wolfstar? Always planned for it to be part of the story but never found the chance to sneak it in hehehe.
Small tidbit of what Remus thinks of Sirius lusting over Snitch at the end notes! Warning: It's a bit dirty, and I plan on making a oneshot of it hehe.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Harryyy! Harry, Harry, Harry!” Junior bounded through the house as they returned, his excitement practically vibrating in the air. James watched with amusement when he noticed Amos Diggory, seated in the sitting room after chatting with Arthur. It was clear why Harry was so excited.
The man rose to his feet with a sheepish smile as James' son spoke.
“Hey, mate. What’s got you so excited?” Harry Senior asked, smiling gently at his younger brother.
Junior grabbed his brother’s hand, tugging him toward a boy playing quietly with building blocks. The boy hesitated for a moment, his shyness evident as they approached.
“This is my best friend!” Junior announced proudly, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “Harry, this is Cedric! Cedric, this is my big brother Harry!” Though, to James, it still sounded like 'Cedwic'.
“Umm… nice to meet you, Ha… Mr. Potter?” Cedric stammered, extending a polite hand to Senior, his confusion evident.
Harry Senior chuckled warmly, crouching slightly to meet Cedric’s level as he shook his hand. “Nice to meet you too, Cedric.”
Junior puffed out his chest. “He’s named Harry too because my Mummy and Daddy are not… um…” He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Remus, clearly searching for the right word.
“Creative?” Remus supplied with a teasing smirk.
“Yeah, that!” Junior brightened. Then, as if the thought had just struck him, he tugged insistently at Senior’s hand. “Come on, let’s play! Ron’s getting bullied without us there!”
With the patience of a saint, Harry Senior allowed himself to be dragged toward the back garden. Moments later, the sound of children’s laughter and playful shouting filled the air, drifting back to the adults.
“Amos, Edith, did something happen?” Lily asked, her voice edged with concern as she turned to the Diggorys.
Amos sighed deeply, the weight of recent events clear on his face. “No, but… You Know Who’s silencing every Muggleborn supporter. And if Arthur’s already been captured once—”
Arthur interrupted hastily, his words rushing out. “I asked Dumbledore to help Amos—I… forgive me, Sirius, I didn’t mean to intrude even more, but Dumbledore said he’d move Amos somewhere safe. It was inappropriate for me to just—”
“No, no, no!” Sirius cut in, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. Honestly, I like the house being crowded; it reminds me of school.” He grinned, his attempt at lightening the mood working splendidly.
“Ah… James,” Amos began hesitantly, glancing toward him. “Who exactly…? I thought your cousin was older than you and, well… that he passed young?”
James shrugged nonchalantly. “Long story. But since you’re staying… he’s not my cousin. He’s our hero. Harry—my son from another world.”
Amos’ eyebrows shot up. “Blimey… another world? That means… Harry defeated him there too?”
“Essentially,” James confirmed, his tone steady.
Amos tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful. “He looks exactly like you,” he remarked after a moment. “Even more dashing, I’d say—”
“Amos,” Edith interjected sharply, nudging her husband with an exasperated look.
James laughed, shaking his head. “Well, I’d hope he’s more handsome than me—he’s my son, after all.”
But Amos’ expression turned serious as his eyes drifted toward the back garden. “But he’s so young, James. Can he really defeat You Know Who?”
James’ smile softened into something more resolute, his voice unwavering as he replied, “He can. He’s done it in his world, Amos. He’s powerful. He’s brilliant. He’s my son.”
Watching Junior and Cedric play in the garden was undeniably adorable, James thought. Junior was a whirlwind of energy, darting back and forth with an infectious enthusiasm, while Cedric, calm and collected, indulged his friend’s antics with a patient smile. James leaned against a tree, his twin beside him, both watching the children with quiet fondness.
“You and Cedric make a good duo,” James remarked casually. “Are you close with him there?”
Harry Senior’s smile faltered, though he kept it in place. “We could’ve been, I think.”
Ah.
Shite.
“Cedric was the definition of Hufflepuff—modest, honourable, kind… I think we could’ve been great friends,” Harry said softly, his gaze distant. “But he was taken too soon. Voldemort rose again the night Cedric died. That was the first time I really understood how much bigger everything was than just me.”
James’ throat tightened, but he forced himself to push past the lump forming. “And when was that? Your fifth year? Sixth?”
“Fourth,” Harry replied. “There was a Triwizard Tournament—the first one in centuries. Voldemort used it to lure me in, using my blood to rise again. A fatal mistake on his part—complicated magic layered my protection against him.”
“He came back then? Did Dumbledore protect you? He did take your blood, after all,” James asked, his brow furrowing.
Harry chuckled dryly. “No, not quite. Cedric and I touched a Portkey disguised as the Triwizard Cup. Voldemort rose there, and I found myself surrounded by Death Eaters.”
James turned to him, stunned. “How in Merlin’s name did you survive that?”
“I had help from someone really special,” Harry said, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Voldemort, being the egotistical bastard he is, forced me to duel him. Our wands were brothers, so… Priori Incantatem. A phenomenon only brother wands can produce,” Harry explained. “It creates echoes of spells previously cast. Guess what Voldemort’s wand had been casting?”
James’ stomach churned. “The Killing Curse.”
“Right. Echoes of the curse appeared—people he’d killed. Cedric’s echo told me to bring his body back to his parents. Then an old man Voldemort murdered appeared. Then Bertha Jorkins—remember her?”
“My schoolmate?” James asked, his confusion evident.
“Yeah. Murdered by Voldemort.”
“Bugger,” James muttered.
“And then…” Harry’s voice softened, his tone growing wistful. “I saw a face I’d only seen in dreams. Mum appeared.”
James froze, his chest tightening as he stared at his son.
“She begged me to hold on, saying my dad was coming. So I did. And then… I saw you.”
James inhaled sharply, his mind struggling to process Harry’s words. “You saw me?”
“Yeah. Even younger than you are now, because he killed you when you were—”
“A year older than you,” James supplied quietly.
Harry nodded, taking a steadying breath. “Yeah. You calmed me down, told me what to do… I listened. And it worked. I escaped.”
“I returned from wherever dead people go… to protect you?” James asked, his voice thick as a familiar grief clawed its way to the surface.
“Always. You were always there with me, you know? Protecting me from my biggest fear—not Voldemort, by the way.”
“Dementors,” James realized, his voice low. “Because I’m your Patronus. I’m your… guardian.” His words trembled under the weight of pride, grief, and bittersweet joy swirling inside him.
“Exactly,” Harry said, his smile soft. “Every time I cast my Patronus, I feel you. And Mum’s always there too, in her protection against Voldemort. So don’t be sad, alright? It was bad, but it passed. I’m happy now.”
“And why do you assume I’m sad?” James asked, raising an eyebrow, trying to mask the emotion in his voice.
Harry snorted, shifting his weight. “Please, Dad. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting teary-eyed whenever you see me and Junior playing together. My life sucked, no denying that, but I’m really content now. I mean, I’ve got a beautiful girlfriend, a family that adopted me, and great friends,” he said, his grin growing mischievous before adding with a wink, “And I’m rich. Thanks, Dad.”
“Please. I don’t have that many Galleons in my account,” James huffed, unimpressed by his son’s attempts to lift his mood.
“Dad. Your Galleons could support our family for at least three generations. Oh, and don’t forget—I got the Black family fortune thanks to Sirius. I’m loaded!” Harry said with an easy grin.
“Now that I believe. That rich prat,” James muttered.
“You’re a rich prat,” Harry quipped, nudging him with his shoulder.
James finally grinned. “Excuse you! I’m a gentleman! At least I don’t lust after my godson.”
“I heard that, you nerd!” Sirius shouted, leaning out of an open window, making both James and Harry burst out laughing.
As their laughter died down, Harry turned to James, a sly smile spreading across his face. “You ready, Dad?”
“Ready for what?”
“Ending Voldemort. Becoming heroes,” Harry said smugly.
That easy confidence. That ‘I can conquer the world if I want to’ attitude. That was so James. And yet…
“You’re such a smug little brat. Wonder where you got that from,” James scoffed, shaking his head.
“I don’t know, maybe from Uncle Vernon,” Harry joked.
At that, James’ grief was forgotten, replaced by instant irritation. “Remind me to beat him to a bloody pulp, would ya? No magic required,” he said, punching his palm for emphasis.
Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Now that would be a sight. I’d pay good money for it!”
“A Galleon for one punch, two for a kick?” James offered.
“And five for a good nutcracker?” Harry suggested, smirking.
“Fifteen for a proper, as they say, ‘curb stomp,’” James growled, his voice thick with venom. “If I ever find a way to go to your world… oh, I’d risk Azkaban just to return your pain tenfold, Harry.”
Harry rolled his eyes but smiled at him. “You’re ruining the fun, Dad,” he chided lightly. “Last I heard, Uncle Vernon got fired from his company. Shame.”
“Bit light for the fat bastard,” James muttered. “Why can’t you just… be like me? Be a bit more vindictive, Harry? Stop being the bigger person and just…” He motioned with a sharp punch to his palm.
“Nah, not my style,” Harry said with a shrug. “I’ve dealt with too much violence already. I treat them like they don’t exist. Why waste my energy on horrible people when I’ve got people I actually care about?”
Such a strong man. A hundred—no, a thousand times stronger than him. A marvel, his son was.
“You remind me so much of your baby brother, Harry,” James said with a sigh. “Too kind.”
“I am my baby brother. Technically.”
James chuckled, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. “You are, yeah. Technically.”
“The Aurors are ready,” Moody said during the meeting that very same evening. “Two dozen of them, two days from now. Are you sure You Know Who is going to show?”
“I can guarantee it,” Harry said, voice full of conviction, waving his wand to project a map of what James assumed was the Forbidden Forest and projecting it onto the table. A clearing glowed on the display, and Harry tapped his index finger in the middle of it.
“This is our best chance. The ancient magic in the Forbidden Forest is strong. A cloaking ward, projected by someone as powerful as the headmaster, should be nearly undetectable there.”
Harry marked the clearing with dots at the eight points of a compass and continued, “We’ll surround them, and at my signal, cast anti-disapparition wards. There’s zero chance Voldemort will come alone, so we have to be prepared for a fight. They cannot escape, but that also meant that we too can’t escape.”
A sweeping tension was felt on the table. His son turned to Dumbledore, his expression focused and determined. “Any word from Snape, Professor?”
“He’s being summoned by him as we speak,” Dumbledore replied. “If we’re lucky, he’ll—” A sharp crack of apparition interrupted him, drawing everyone’s attention to the entrance. “Speak of the devil,” he chuckled.
Snape strode into the room, his black robes billowing slightly as he nodded curtly to the Order members already gathered. His dark eyes rested on Harry, an unreadable expression on his pale face.
“Your… cunning amazes me, Potter,” he said at last.
James watched as a proud grin—one that reminded him of himself—spread across Harry’s face. “And why is that, Professor?”
Snape shook his head lightly. “The Dark Lord has gathered his inner circle. He spoke of you.”
Harry’s grin didn’t falter. “And what did he say?”
Without another word, Snape raised his wand to his temple, drawing out a silvery memory and letting it swirl around his wand. “It will be easier to show you,” he said.
James found himself standing within the grand drawing room of Malfoy Manor, face-to-face with Voldemort. A trembling Death Eater knelt at the Dark Lord’s feet—James recognised him as one of Harry’s victims, cowering in submission.
“Bellatrix, Bartemius, Severus… come,” Voldemort commanded.
James watched as Bellatrix Lestrange, Barty Crouch Jr., and Snape stepped forward. Voldemort’s gaunt face remained impassive, offering no hint of his thoughts, though it was no less monstrous for it. With a flick of his wand, he summoned a pensieve.
“Come,” Voldemort rasped to his most trusted followers. “Watch this with me.”
Snape inclined his head slightly. “Yes, my lord,” he murmured.
The three stepped forward, dipping their heads into the swirling liquid within the pensieve, following their master’s lead.
James closed his eyes as the strange sensation of being pulled into a memory within a memory hit him full force. The cacophony of sounds was dizzying, and when it passed, he opened his eyes to the sight of a man—his son.
Harry looked so… different from this perspective. Still so handsome, yet somehow unfamiliar.
From the Death Eater’s perspective, James could feel the sheer power radiating from his son, evident in his posture. His brown eyes gleamed with intensity, and his hair was quiffed to formal perfection.
“Which one of you… has the authority to speak with the Dark Lord…?” Harry asked, his accent posh and proper, his glamour perfectly blended. Harry’s wand was hung loosely by his side, and then—the barrage began.
The Death Eaters fired spells in rapid succession, but Harry only waved his wand lazily, deflecting each one with an ease that bordered on dismissive.
“Weak! Is this the strength my future self tolerates? Pathetic,” Harry sneered.
He raised his wand, casting Protego Anima. His expression shifted to one of disinterest, almost boredom, as if the effort wasn’t worth his time.
James felt a chill run down his spine when Harry’s eyes landed on him—or rather, the Death Eater he was viewing the memory through. Harry raised a hand and pointed directly at him.
“You,” Harry said, his eyes gleaming a demonic red. “You are the one to deliver the message.”
Even in the memory, James could feel the cowering fear of the Death Eater. Their heads darted left and right, searching for some form of escape.
Harry’s movements were deliberate, predatory. His back was straight, his posture unyielding, and his gaze murderous.
The Death Eater gathered what little courage they had, stepping forward to unleash a single desperate spell.
“Avada—”
Before the curse could be completed, James—or rather, the Death Eater he was looking out of felt the brutal yank of Harry’s hand around his—their—neck. He was lifted effortlessly and slammed to the ground with terrifying force.
Though James couldn’t feel the pain, the sight of his son’s cold, unfeeling expression—a face both familiar and alien—was enough to unnerve him.
“I will forgive this audacity to your lord,” Harry said, his voice icy. “I suspect my future self has not been… as fortunate. For I to not be easily recognised.”
The Death Eater whimpered, trembling on the ground, but Harry remained unyielding. He straightened his posture and stomped down on their hand with a sickening crunch. The man let out an agonised scream as his hand shattered.
“I am Lord Voldemort,” Harry declared. “And I need you to deliver a message to my future self.” He hauled the Death Eater back up to eye level, locking his glowing red eyes onto theirs.
“Our protections are in danger, Lord Voldemort. And if you need further proof…” Harry trailed off, his voice shifting into Parseltongue.
James heard the hisses, but unlike before, he understood them—as if Voldemort himself had translated the meaning for his followers.
“I am of Helga Hufflepuff,” Harry hissed, his voice laced with sinister undertones. “I do not know the fate of my brothers—but I was taken by the Order. The fates of the fools who tried? Well, let’s just say I have not been kind.”
“This is the only way I know to contact you, Lord Voldemort. I am attempting to confirm the fates of my brothers. Let us meet in the Forbidden Forest in three days’ time. Have a good day, ‘father.’”
Harry’s smile was sinister as he dropped the man back down. James recognised that smile from his worst nightmares.
“My lord…” The Death Eaters chorused.
James was ejected from the memory, alongside Bellatrix and Barty Junior. Voldemort dismissed the trembling Death Eater before him with a cold wave of his hand.
“Out. I wish to have a word with my most trusted,” Voldemort commanded.
The Death Eaters filtered out of the room, among them Lucius Malfoy, who looked pale and shaken at not being included in the innermost circle.
“Severus,” Voldemort hissed, and James felt Snape’s body flinch ever so slightly. “Can I even trust you, Severus, if you fail to bring me such simple information?”
James could feel Snape’s internal trembling, though outwardly he remained composed. Even Bellatrix and Barty Jr. avoided Voldemort’s gaze, which only served to prove that the Dark Lord’s ire was at its utmost peak.
Snape stood straighter, reinforcing his Occlumency with such effortless skill that he was able to leech confusion and disbelief to the forefront of his mind.
“I have no idea, my lord. This must have happened rather recently. I am currently teaching at Hogwarts, as Dumbledore assigned me,” Snape answered, his voice steady.
Voldemort turned sharply, the motion sending a pulse of magic that scraped violently against the walls, filling the room with a harsh, grating sound. He fixed his red eyes on Snape and cast a spell.
“Legilimens!”
Snape’s mind instantly shifted into a haze of fuzziness, his defences subtle yet impenetrable. James could feel the sharp discomfort but nothing more, Voldemort’s red eyes piercing through the mental fog.
Finally, Voldemort withdrew, leaving Snape panting from the strain.
“It seems I was mistaken,” Voldemort mused, showing no hint of remorse for nearly shattering Snape’s mind. “You truly do not know. Your task, Severus, is to confirm whether the Order members are dead and to determine if they possess any knowledge of my… son. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my lord,” Snape replied evenly.
“And should this information be uttered by your mouth…”
“I vow, my lord,” Snape interjected, his voice unwavering.
“Good.”
Snape stiffened once more when he heard hissing behind him. From the corner of his peripherals, Voldemort’s giant snake slithered past him, hissing as she moved. Voldemort hissed back, his tone oddly tender for the serpent, before casting a lazy glance at his followers.
“Begone with you. I wish to rest.”
When they were ejected from the Pensieve, they were met with a triumphant grin on Harry Senior’s face. “I did it. Voldemort’s confused,” he announced, looking rather pleased with himself. “His snake told him it’s possible for a fragment of his soul to gain consciousness separate from his own—just like it happened with her.”
“And Voldemort’s response, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, his tone measured.
“He’s looking forward to seeing his son,” Harry replied smoothly, scanning the room with a charming smile. “That should be it for tonight. We’ll regroup here at dawn in two days' time, yes?”
Dumbledore nodded, and the man was just about to wrap up the meeting when a squeaky, familiar roar interrupted him. The sound of wings flapping grew louder and louder, and sure enough, Drago the dragon swooped into the room. The toy Antipodean Opaleye circled overhead, huffing tiny clouds of smoke, drawing every gaze upward.
“Dragoo!” A small, sheepish voice whisper-shouted frantically from the doorway. All heads turned toward the entrance, where James’ other son peeked in, half-hidden behind the frame. The boy squeaked and tried to retreat when everyone looked his way, leaving only half his face visible. “Sorry… Harry took too long, and Drago got impatient,” Junior mumbled, his tone meek.
Senior laughed, giving two sharp whistles. Drago immediately dove and perched on the crook of his arm, seemingly content. “Come on, then, let’s get to bed, Harry. Good night, everyone.”
With that, he guided his younger brother out, his hand resting gently on the back of the boy’s head.
“Merlin,” Sirius muttered, still staring after their retreating forms. “It’s so bizarre that they’re both… Harry, you know? Like Harry’s literally taking care of himself.”
“Not really,” James whispered back, his grin devilish. “It’s only weird because you wanted to shag my son, isn’t it, you horn dog?”
Sirius choked on air, sputtering indignantly, but whatever retort he had was cut off by an exaggerated eye roll and a sharp elbow to James’ ribs. James wheezed out a laugh, still grinning as Dumbledore resumed speaking.
“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” Sirius hissed.
“Nope,” James replied cheerfully. “Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve got your sights on my son while you’re also doing Moony.”
Sirius made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a strangled growl. “What?! What are you even—how do you—”
“Oh, come on,” James said, eyes twinkling. “You think we haven’t noticed the way you’ve been missing from our bed, Sirius? Especially after the full moon? Always so attentive to our dear Moony. Making sure he doesn’t feel left out of Padfoot’s love?”
“Wh—how—” Sirius spluttered, his words tangled in his throat.
Lily, who had been silently enjoying the banter, decided to step in. “Oh, Sirius, you’re such a good friend,” she said sweetly, barely hiding her laughter. “Helping Moony recover after full moons? Funny thing is, I’m pretty sure you’re the one howling at the moon.”
“Y—you—” Sirius gaped at her, his face growing hotter by the second.
Across the table, Remus let out a soft sigh, shushing them with an unimpressed look as he focused on Dumbledore. However, as he turned slightly, the faint outline of a dark bruise peeked out from his collar. Sirius flushed an even deeper shade of red.
“Apparently not just during full moons, eh, Lil?” James snickered. “Sirius is such a dedicated friend.”
Sirius whipped his head toward James, glaring furiously. “If you say one word to anyone, Potter—”
“Ooh… about that…” Lily said with an exaggerated cringe, nodding toward Marlene and Dorcas, who were openly giggling from the corner where they had clearly been eavesdropping.
“Lily… no…” Sirius groaned, burying his face in his hands.
“What?” Lily asked innocently, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her. “It’s not my fault you sound like a—well, you know—when you’re, um... taking it like a good boy.”
“Lily…”
“We heard it last month,” Lily continued mercilessly, biting her lip as though trying to hold back laughter. “Late at night, during one of our chats.”
“Last month?!” Sirius whisper-shouted, scandalised.
“Lots of ‘yes’ and ‘right there, Moony!’ Merlin, he must be hitting it good, huh, Sirius?” Lily teased, smirking.
James burst into laughter, holding up a hand for his wife, which Lily immediately met with a high five. Both struggled to keep their mirth quiet as Sirius groaned miserably.
“Lily!” Sirius shouted, his tone laced with desperation.
“Yes, Sirius?” a cool voice interrupted. Dumbledore’s gaze swept over the man, his tone tinged with exasperation, as though scolding errant schoolchildren.
Sirius froze like a deer caught in headlights. “N-nothing, Professor—uh, Dumbledore,” he stammered, shrinking into his chair.
James and Lily barely stifled their snickers, though James gave Sirius a wink when Dumbledore turned away. He couldn’t help it. Between Sirius’ mortified expression and the faint bruise on Remus’ neck, the whole situation was just too good. Frankly, if Sirius’ nightly escapades were anything to go by, their supposedly ‘calm’ friend was definitely more beast than man when it counted.
James sunk to his chair with a contented sigh, his wife and Sirius’ arguments floating in his ears.
He was hopeful. A thing he had not felt before his older son had arrived in his life. Somehow, he knew that everything was going to be okay. Harry Potter is here to save them, and James couldn’t be prouder.
Notes:
Sirius whistled softly as he made his way to his room, his steps light and his mind drifting to the mysterious stranger he’d managed to chat with earlier. That man's voice... damn, Sirius loved his voice, his deep baritone timbre leaving tingles under his skin. Sirius could only hope he hadn’t come across as too forward or made him uncomfortable.
As he pushed the door open, his thoughts screeched to a halt. Sitting on his bed, his arms crossed and his eyes blazing with anger, was Remus.
"Everything alright, Moons?" Sirius asked cautiously, shrugging off his vest and beginning to undo the buttons of his shirt.
"Whatever you think you’re doing, stop it," Remus hissed, his voice low and dangerous.
Sirius froze, his fingers pausing at the third button. Slowly, a nasty grin tugged at his lips, and he turned to face his friend. Remus was glaring at him with such intensity that Sirius could almost feel the heat of it.
"And why should I?" Sirius asked, his voice light, though there was a sharp edge beneath it. "You made it clear we’re just doing this because we’re lonely. Why shouldn’t I have fun with Snitch? He’s a handsome bloke. I’m a handsome bloke. We’d make a good match, don’t you think?"
Remus stood, his movements deliberate, his shoulders squared as he stalked toward Sirius. His height suddenly felt overwhelming, and Sirius, for all his bravado, felt utterly dwarfed.
"This is about him being a better match, is it?" Remus asked, his voice low and guttural. "Am I too ugly for you, Sirius? My scars too much to bear?"
Sirius’ grin vanished, replaced by a glare of his own. "Don’t you dare make this about your insecurities—"
"Then what is it?!" Remus snarled, slamming his palms against the door, trapping Sirius. Their faces were inches apart now, their breaths mingling. "I haven’t fucked you good enough, have I? Haven’t made you scream my name enough?!"
"You—hmph!" Sirius’ retort was swallowed by Remus’ mouth as he kissed him hungrily, fiercely. The sheer force of it made Sirius gasp, and when their tongues met, he groaned, his knees buckling slightly.
Remus pulled back, his lips slick and his voice rough. "You’re mine," he growled. His eyes burned with amber fire as he pressed bruising kisses down Sirius’ neck, leaving a trail of marks that made Sirius shudder. "Mine."
Remus kept chanting the word, each repetition punctuated by another kiss, another bite, another bruise. Sirius dug his nails into the doorframe, his head tilting back as the heat built.
"Then fucking act like it, you bastard!" Sirius snapped, his voice breaking.
That made Remus pause, his fiery eyes meeting Sirius’. Sirius’ chest heaved, and his glare softened into something raw, something vulnerable.
"I’m doing this to make you jealous, you prat," Sirius said, his voice trembling with frustration. "You think I like being used like a bloody sextoy? With no clear direction for us—no idea what the hell we even are?"
"Sirius, I—"
"I thought maybe, with Snitch," Sirius continued, his voice cracking, "I could have someone who wouldn’t wouldn’t be afraid to show me they care. Who wouldn't be a coward!"
Remus’ jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with pain. "Sirius… I’m not fit to—"
"Then shut the fuck up and let me be with him," Sirius spat, though his voice wavered.
Remus growled, the sound more animal than human, and Sirius barely had time to register the motion before he was thrown onto the bed with inhuman strength.
Remus snarled, tearing his shirt open before doing the same to Sirius, his eyes making it clear that Moony was taking over. "After You Know Who is dead. I’ll do this properly. I promise."
Sirius’ eyes widened, and he stared up at Remus, his heart stuttering at the raw sincerity in his voice. "Really?"
"I vow, Sirius," Remus whispered, his hands trembling as they cupped Sirius’ face.
Sirius’ lips parted in a shaky smile, and his hand trailed down Remus’ chest bare chest, his fingers tracing the hard lines of muscle until they reached their destination. He smirked as he felt Remus’ breath hitch.
"Then bloody take me, Moons," Sirius murmured, his voice low and inviting.
Remus’ answering grin was devilish, his amber eyes smoldering with a heat that made Sirius’ breath catch.
Sirius stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest. He was the most handsome man Sirius had ever laid eyes on, and he had no idea.
And when Remus finally settled between his legs, claiming him with all the intensity Sirius had craved, Sirius thought he finally understood what James had been rambling about for years.
Love.
Chapter 15: Reflection
Summary:
James thought that it was only him and the Order that was nervous over the coming battle. He had no idea how much his son had been keeping inside himself.
And so, the night before the battle, they talked. Just talked.
Notes:
A small chapter as a buffer for the ending coming tomorrow! Enjoy!
Chapter Text
The tension in the house was palpable, a steady undercurrent of nerves affecting everyone as it would be hours until they face the Dark Lord and his forces, but James hadn’t realized just how much of a toll all this had taken on his son until he saw Harry Senior that evening. His son sat on the worn sofa in the sitting room, staring into the distance, his tea untouched on the table in front of him.
James approached quietly, placing a firm but comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. His son scoffed lightly, a small smile flickering across his face as James settled beside him.
“Hey. Nervous?” James asked, his voice soft as he leaned back against the sofa.
“Of course I’m nervous,” Harry replied with a sigh, rubbing a hand across his face. “It’s just… I know how powerful Voldemort is. I’ve faced him more times than I care to count, and even now, as strong as I’ve become… I’m still so far from his level.”
His gaze shifted to the empty armchair across from them, his shoulders sagging. “I miss my girlfriend, Dad,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.
James moved closer, squeezing Harry’s shoulder again.
Harry continued, his tone quieter now. “I know we’ll have Dumbledore with us, and a good two dozen of our best fighters. But… it’s reasonable for me to be afraid that things might go wrong, right? There’s always a chance, after all.”
James sighed, his hand moving in soothing circles over his son’s shoulder. “Of course it’s normal, Harry. I know you’ve bested him in your world, but facing him again… it must be bringing back some bad memories, huh?”
Harry hummed in agreement, reaching for his tea. He sipped it slowly, as though savoring the warmth before placing the cup back onto its saucer. “It’s just… what if I die here? What if none of my friends find out what happened to me? What if Ginny… and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley never know?”
James felt his chest tighten, the vulnerability in Harry’s voice cutting through him.
“I wonder how angry she’d be with me,” Harry murmured, his lips tugging into a small smile. “She thinks she’s so scary when she’s angry, but honestly? She looks like a meerkat when she’s mad at me. But now? I’m just… damn it. I’m just imagining her crying at my funeral or something.”
James heart dropped. He tightened his grip on his son’s shoulder, his own voice firm with conviction. “That won’t happen. I won’t let it. You’ll get back to them, Harry. Even if I have to take a Killing Curse like I did in your world—I’ll make sure you get back home.”
Harry looked up at him, his green eyes softening as he tapped James’ hand. “It won’t happen. I know. This is just my brain being stupid,” he said with a small smile. “I guess I’m just really missing home. Even though I live here back in my own world.”
James raised an eyebrow. “You live in Grimmauld?”
Harry snickered. “I do. Though it looks a lot different where I’m from—more homey. Ginny’s doing. Teddy’s, too.”
“Your godson,” James said, though it sounded more like a question.
“Yeah. Teddy’s my practice for the real thing, I guess.” Harry smiled faintly. “I’ve always wanted to start my family early… but I never actually talked to Ginny about it. Hell, I haven’t even proposed,” he admitted with a soft laugh.
James studied his son, his gaze lingering on Harry’s handsome jawline, his straight nose, the unruly hair that seemed impossible to tame. He looked so alive, so full of heart, and yet… James couldn’t comprehend how Harry had turned out this way—so strong, so selfless—after everything he’d endured.
James shook his head, the thought almost overwhelming. If he were in Harry’s place, he wasn’t sure he could have survived even the first hurdle. Being treated like rubbish by his aunt and uncle? His only family? Yeah. No. James would have blown them up with his magic without a second thought.
It had to be Lily—that fierce, endlessly kind woman who had always been stronger than anyone gave her credit for. So strong that she’d forgiven Snape for betraying her family to Voldemort—though not without giving him a bloody nose and a contract to spy for the Order first, that was.
Harry had Lily’s heart, that much was clear.
Still, there was something of James in him, too. That daring, that cunning… the audacity to pretend to be Voldemort’s splintered soul? Oh, yes, James could’ve come up with something that ridiculous if he’d had the resources.
They were so deep in thought they didn’t notice when a small boy climbed onto the sofa between them. Junior immediately snuggled against his brother, resting his head on Harry’s chest with a contented sigh.
“You took too long,” Junior mumbled sleepily, his voice muffled. “Mummy’s chatting with Auntie Marlene and Auntie Dorcas outside. Streaky’s sleeping and I’m lonely.”
Harry Senior scooped his little brother closer, stroking his messy hair. “Why not play in Ron’s room first? Or Cedric’s?” he asked gently.
“I’m sweepy,” Junior slurred, his eyes drooping as he yawned dramatically, blowing bubblegum-scented toothpaste breath toward James.
James leaned in with an exaggerated pout, wanting to steal a piece of the attention his son was so freely giving. “Wanna sleep with Daddy, Harry? Daddy missed you, you know?” he whispered, his voice as pitiful as possible—a tactic that usually worked.
Not this time.
“Ron sleeps with Fred and George,” Junior murmured stubbornly. “I wanna sleep with my big brother too. All the time.”
Senior chuckled softly, patting Junior’s head. “You can’t sleep with me all the time, you know. You have to sleep by yourself someday.”
James caught the melancholy in Senior’s voice, understanding perfectly what he meant.
“I’m not growing up that fast!” Junior whined, squirming as though to fight off his sleepiness. But the battle was short-lived. “I wanna be with you until I go to Hogwarts! When… when I’m big… and…”
Junior trailed off, his sleepiness winning the battle against a growing tantrum.
His words trailed off into mumbles as his head lolled against Harry’s shoulder, sleep overtaking him.
James watched as his older son adjusted Junior’s position, supporting his head with gentle care. There was something achingly tender about the way Harry held his baby brother, his hand cradling Junior’s head like it was the most precious thing in the world.
“I swear I’m going to end him tomorrow, Junior,” Senior whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his baby brother’s unruly hair. His voice trembled slightly, but his grip on the small boy in his arms was steady. “You won’t ever experience what I had. You’re going to grow up happy and safe. Just like this. You won’t have to fight for yourself or others. I promise.”
James sat silently, his hand instinctively reaching out to stroke his older son’s hair. It amazed him how much love had blossomed between them in just a week. The way Harry Senior held Junior, the way he protected him, spoke volumes about the kind of man his son had become.
“You’re happy, right? Really happy where you’re from?” James asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.
Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head as if brushing off the concern. He looked up at James with a grin that was far too mischievous for someone carrying such heavy burdens. “Dad, please. I’m just making a promise to Junior. I’m not depressed, okay? I’ve healed pretty well.”
James sighed, his hand resting heavier on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m your father, Harry. Even if you’re only six years younger than me. It’s my job to worry about you.”
Harry chuckled again, nodding lightly as if to acknowledge James’ concern. “This is really, really weird,” he said with a lopsided smile. “You know, the last time I saw you… it was the moment I had to die.”
James froze, his brow furrowing as he processed the words. “Yeah?”
“Mmhm.” Harry’s gaze turned wistful, as if remembering something distant yet vivid. “There’s a powerful artifact—something that can call souls back to the land of the living, even if only for a moment...” His lips twitched into a teasing smile as he looked at James. “By the way, you look weird with a beard now, Dad.”
James blinked, his hand flying to his chin. His fingers brushed over the faint stubble he hadn’t bothered shaving, and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t have a beard, you rascal,” he muttered.
Harry stifled a laugh, careful not to wake the boy in his arms. “What? You don’t like beards? Me neither, to be honest.”
“It makes me look old,” James grumbled, but he couldn’t resist a smug grin as he countered, “But your mum likes it. She calls me the most endearing names when I let it grow.”
Harry scrunched his nose in mock disgust. “Gross. Stop.”
James snickered, but Harry’s expression grew thoughtful again.
“I guess… seeing you without a beard back then—it caught me off guard. We looked so alike. I was taken aback for a moment. I mourned not being able to meet you in person.” He paused, his grip on Junior tightening slightly. “But now… I guess I’m content. Being given this opportunity… getting to know you.”
James tilted his head, studying his son. “It’s not bizarre for you? Calling me Dad, even though I’m just this much older?”
Harry shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Not really. I guess it helps that I’ve never seen your face this old. You look more like my older brother than anything, but with the stubble… I can just pretend that my dad is ridiculously young-looking.”
James huffed. “It’s not a bloody beard. Merlin!”
Harry smirked at him, his green eyes glinting with amusement. “It never said it looks bad,” he said, cutting James off before he could protest further. “It suits you. Maybe I’ll grow my own someday.”
James smirked back, puffing out his chest. “I know it looks good. Of course it does. James Potter always looks good, no matter what.”
“Merlin,” Harry groaned. “Now I get why Snape loathes you so much. You bloody strut yout way through Hogwarts, didn’t you?”
“Oi!” James began indignantly, but a small, sleepy whine interrupted him.
“Daddy noisy,” Junior mumbled, burrowing deeper into Senior’s chest. The boy let out a soft, incomprehensible murmur, and James rolled his eyes in mock exasperation.
“Alright, alright. Let’s get you to bed, baby brother,” Harry Senior whispered, standing up with a quiet groan. He adjusted Junior carefully, supporting his small body with practiced ease. “Merlin. You’re getting heavy. Growing up so fast.”
“Am not! Only at Hogwarts…” Junior’s sleepy protest trailed off, his eyelids fluttering shut as sleep claimed him.
“Nothing gets past you, mate,” Harry murmured fondly. He glanced back at James, his smile soft. “Say goodnight to Daddy.”
Junior let out a half-hearted mumble that vaguely sounded like ‘bye,’ and James chuckled, shaking his head.
“Night, Dad,” Harry Senior said, his voice warm.
“Night, Harry,” James replied, patting the back of his son’s neck twice as he watched him carry Junior out of the room.
Later, as James stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing his teeth and splashing cold water on his face, his thoughts drifted. He couldn’t help but notice the stubbles that had grown on his face, notice how they do made him look older. He wondered what the other version of himself—the James who never got this chance to grow to this age—would think.
Would he be jealou—of course he would. James knew himself too well to pretend otherwise. But… maybe the other James would feel some peace too. Maybe he’d be glad to know that his son had this—had him, even if it wasn’t the same.
That night, for the first time in years, James prayed. He prayed for himself and for the other version of his wife. He prayed for everyone lost in both worlds, for those who fought, and for those who never got the opportunity to meet their loved ones again. He prayed that they’d find peace, that somehow, they’d find happiness, wherever they are now.
And as he lay down on the bed, staring at the dark ceiling, James dared to ask his other self for strength, to be able to protect their sons tomorrow. He felt a small, cool breeze graze his hair, and he took it as a blessing.
They are going to survive. They have to survive.
Chapter 16: A Father's Reason to Fight
Summary:
It was four in the morning on D-Day. James' room was dim, lit only by their bedside lamp. He stood stiffly, already dressed in his full battle gear, the familiar weight of his Auror’s robes settling on his shoulders. Together with his family, he apparated to the coordinate Harry had chosen.
James felt it first. A tremor rolled through his chest, stealing his breath. Mist coiled in the air with every exhale from his mouth, his body wracked by an involuntary shudder.
He's here.
The skies darkened, the temperature plunging until the forest seemed caught in a deathly freeze, frost developing on the bark of trees and vegetation under them. Above the clearing, a swirling mass of black smoke gathered, oppressive and suffocating. Its malevolence crawled into James' bones, the same dreadful weight he had felt that fateful night four years ago.
James was ready.
Notes:
Happy reading. A good 4k words, and... I'm sorry 😞
Chapter Text
“My love… if anything ever goes wrong, tell our son I love him, okay?” James whispered, his voice faint.
It was four in the morning on D-Day. James' room was dim, lit only by their bedside lamp. He stood stiffly, already dressed in his full battle gear, the familiar weight of his Auror’s robes settling on his shoulders.
Lily was in front of him, fastening the last buttons of his cloak with precise, deliberate movements. Her fingers brushed against the fabric as she worked, her touch steady, but when she looked up, disbelief flashed in her beautiful green eyes.
“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” she whispered firmly. Her hands lingered on his chest as she brushed away some imaginary speck of dust. “And I’m going with you, James.”
“Lil—”
“Hush,” she cut him off softly, her tone carrying no desire for argument. “I’m coming.” She straightened his robes and took a step back, her gaze steady. “I have to be there for Harry. Dumbledore’s already enchanted a Portkey for me. If anything ever goes wrong, I’ll use it to get back.”
James stared at his wife for a moment, her words swirling in his mind. He reached up instinctively, his rough hands cupping her face. His thumb brushed lightly over her cheek, and he felt the faint warmth of her skin.
She looked so damn beautiful.
“Lily…” James began, his voice breaking slightly as he leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. His breath mingled with hers, warm and soft in the cool morning air. “Promise me. If it gets bad, really bad, you’ll use that portkey.”
Lily nodded, looking into his eyes, her hand resting against his chest, and James held her close, unwilling to let her pull away.
“I mean it,” James said, his voice firmer now. “I can’t do this if I’m constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure you’re okay. I need to fight, and I need to know that you’ll be safe.”
Lily exhaled, leaning in into his embrace, her lips brushing against his as she spoke. “James, we’ve faced so much together. I’ve never left you behind before, haven’t I? I won’t start now…”
“You’re not leaving me behind,” James whispered, raw and pleading. “You’re protecting Harry. You’re protecting Junior. Merlin, Lily, you’ve already given me so much—our sons, this family… You’re everything, and I’d rather lose my life than lose you.”
Lily’s expression softened, and she reached up to cradle his face in her hands, her thumbs tracing the stubble on his jaw. She smiled gently, teasingly. “You won’t lose me, James… but if it means that much to you…” She paused, looking onto his lips. “I’ll use the portkey. I promise.”
Relief washed over James, and he let out a shaky breath. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with relief. “Thank you for everything. For Harry, for Junior… for this life you’ve given me.”
Lily laughed softly, her fingers reaching to thread through his messy hair. Her eyes lidded, and their lips met in a kiss—gentle at first, a soft press of love and gratitude, before deepening into something that carried the weight of everything that was not needed to be said—how much they meant to each other, how much they would be lost if they... James poured every ounce of his love into the kiss, his hands sliding down to hold her waist as if anchoring himself to her.
When they broke apart, both slightly breathless, Lily rested her forehead against his once more. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice gentle.
James smiled, his brown eyes glinting with a mix of determination and affection. “I love you more,” he replied, his voice teasing but warm.
“If I ever use the portkey then you’d better come back to me, James Potter,” Lily murmured. “Or I’m going to be one haunting your ghost, not the other way around. And you know that I’ll find a way.”
James laughed, and he kissed her once more. “Always,” he promised. “I’ll always come back to you beautiful.”
As they stood there in the quiet stillness of the early morning, James held his wife close, his hands lingering on her waist as if reluctant to let go. He couldn’t stop the knot of worry twisting in his chest, but he clung to the moment, letting it fuel his resolve for the battle ahead.
“Ready to go, Mum, Dad?” Senior asked, his voice steady despite the weight of what lay ahead.
James turned, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. Harry stood by the fireplace, the soft amber glow casting shadows across his sharp features. His hair, usually untamable, had been neatly styled into a quiff, the kind of effort James didn’t know whether he had done it with a spell or not.
The three-piece suit beneath Harry’s cloak fit him perfectly, the Slytherin green tie wrung around his neck matching the vibrant emerald of his eyes. The sight of him—poised, composed, and devastatingly handsome—struck something deep in James’ chest. His son looked every inch the perfect groom.
James’ gaze lingered on the green tie, slightly askew. Merlin, Harry looks so good in Slytherin colours , James thought, begrudgingly admitting the fact to himself. He’d never say it out loud, of course, every bit of the proud Gryffindor, but he couldn’t deny how striking his son looked.
Stepping forward, James reached out, surprising Harry slightly as his hands went to his neck.
“Your tie’s crooked,” James murmured, his voice laced with something fond and loving. As his fingers worked to undo the silken fabric, he added softly, “Never had a dad to teach you this, huh?”
Harry chuckled lightly, his lips quirking into a small smile. “Yeah. Mr. Weasley tried to teach me once, but… I’m pants at it.”
James smiled, a pang of melancholy tightening in his chest. His hands moved methodically, looping the fabric and pulling it taut, smoothing out the imperfections with practiced ease.
“There. All done. My handsome, Dark Lord-slaying son,” James said fondly, patting Harry’s chest.
Harry blushed, the pink tinge on his cheeks a stark contrast to the dark suit. He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding James’ gaze. “Don’t make this weird, Dad. Please.”
James laughed, his voice warm with affection. He opened his arms wide, his grin teasing but sincere. “Come here.”
Harry’s eyes darted nervously around the room. “Dad, there are people here. Dumbledore, Moody… and a bunch of others I don’t even know,” he hissed under his breath.
James raised an eyebrow, waving his arms in exaggerated insistence. “If you don’t give me a hug, I swear I’ll make this much worse for you.”
Harry groaned, his ears burning red, but he relented, stepping into his father’s embrace. Laughter bubbled up from Marlene and Dorcas in the corner, and Sirius let out an exaggerated ‘aww!’ that made Harry bury his face into James’ shoulder in mortification.
James ignored them, wrapping his arms tightly around his son, holding him as though trying to preserve this moment forever.
“I would give anything to see you on your wedding day, son,” James whispered, his voice thick with bittersweet emotion. “You look so handsome. You’ll make the perfect groom. And the perfect husband and father. I’m so proud of you.”
Harry stiffened for a moment, his breath catching, before he tightened his hold, resting his chin on James’ shoulder. “Thanks, Dad,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’d give anything for you to be there too.”
For a few precious moments, they stayed like that, father and son wrapped around each other in a fragile moment. The weight of the day seemed to press heavier on James’ chest as Harry finally pulled back, offering a soft, lopsided smile that James recognised all too well.
“Let’s end him together, shall we?” Harry said, his voice resolute. “So that you can at least attend Junior’s wedding.”
James smiled back, though he wasn’t sure how convincing it was. The knot in his throat made it hard to speak, but he managed a faint nod.
“Yeah,” James said softly. “Let’s end him.”
And as Harry turned to lead them out, James lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on his son’s back. The image of him—so composed, so grown-up—burned itself into James’ mind. Pride and sorrow swirled together, but he pushed the ache aside.
There was still work to be done.
They Apparated to the coordinates Harry had chosen. The clearing was already alive with movement—two dozen Aurors in formation, their wands trained on the new arrivals. The sharp intensity of their gazes softened only when their commanding officer, Rufus Scrimgeour, raised a hand in a swift, authoritative signal.
Harry stepped forward without hesitation, his posture straight and composed. James watched him carefully, the way his son’s eyes swept over the gathered Aurors, assessing the situation with practiced ease before locking onto Scrimgeour.
Harry brought his hand to his brow in a crisp salute, the motion sharp and respectful.
Scrimgeour’s brow furrowed, his surprise clear for just a moment before he returned the salute with equal precision.
“Harry James Potter,” Harry said evenly, his voice calm but firm. “Head Auror of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Diagon sector, reporting from the year 2001.”
A ripple of murmurs spread through the Aurors behind Scrimgeour, their disciplined façade cracking slightly at the bizarre declaration. Scrimgeour’s expression tightened, his sharp eyes narrowing as he stepped forward.
“Time travel, as Moody said. This operation isn’t unusual enough already, is it?” he muttered under his breath, though his wand arm remained steady.
“I’m afraid not, sir,” Harry replied levelly, his tone unwavering. “This operation is critical. I’ve fought him and I’ve beaten him in my time. I plan to turn this into a swift skirmish—I’d rather not risk unnecessary casualties, and so—”
Scrimgeour, sharp as always, scrutinised Harry with a piercing gaze. “You’re asking to take command,” he said bluntly.
“Yes, sir,” Harry replied without hesitation. “Permission to take operational command of this unit. I’m sure Senior Auror Moody has briefed you. I believe following my instruction is necessary for the success of this mission.”
Scrimgeour studied him for a long moment, his eyes scanning Harry’s posture, his expression, the determination in his stance. The man’s sharp features remained unreadable, though his grip on his wand tightened.
“You’re young,” Scrimgeour said, his tone testing.
Harry nodded once. “I am young. But in my time, I’ve been fighting He Who Shall Not Be Named since I was eleven, taking down countless Death Eaters. My record speaks for itself,” he said, his voice strong, meeting Scrimgeour’s gaze without a flicker of hesitation. “I respect your leadership, and I wouldn’t ask this unless I was certain. Let me lead, sir. Let me get us through this.”
Scrimgeour’s lips pressed into a thin line. He glanced back at the gathered Aurors, their murmurs stilled, but their uncertainty visible in the flicker of their eyes.
“If I grant this,” Scrimgeour said, his voice low but sharp, “you take full responsibility for the outcome. Every injury, every casualty, every decision—on your head. If we take heavy losses, Potter, believe me…” He straightened, his commanding presence palpable. “I’ll hunt you down, even through time and space.”
James felt a swell of pride rise in his chest as he watched Harry stand his ground, unwavering under Scrimgeour’s intense scrutiny. His son’s confidence was assured, his voice steady, his stance planted. He looked every bit the leader James himself had always dreamed to be.
Harry’s jaw tightened. “Understood, sir. I accept full responsibility.”
Scrimgeour held his gaze for another beat, then turned sharply to the assembled Aurors. His voice cut through the air like a whip.
“This wizard claims authority as the Head Auror of the future. By my judgment, he’s earned temporary command for this mission. All personnel are to follow his orders as if they were my own. Understood?”
“Yes, Head Auror!” the Aurors chorused, their voices steady despite the tension.
James’ watched Harry salute again, his movements sharp and sure. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his son’s actions.
Scrimgeour turned back to Harry, his expression inscrutable. “You’ve got the lead, Potter. Don’t make me regret this.”
“Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down,” Harry replied, his voice carrying a wave of determination.
Scrimgeour gave a curt nod before stepping back, his presence still powerful even as he relinquished control. Harry turned to face the unit, his voice steady and carrying the weight of authority as he flashed their plans.
James was zoning out, his mind drifting to thoughts of Harry Junior and the other kids back home and whether his young son would throw a fit when he found out that his parents and older brother had left without telling him. And then—a sharp, commanding voice snapped him back to the present.
“Senior Auror Potter.”
James stiffened instinctively, his eyes snapping to focus as he took in the piercing gaze his son was leveling at him. That gaze—calm, yet sharp, and unyielding—was enough to make James’ stomach twist.
“At attention,” Harry barked.
Ah.
Shite.
James straightened immediately, his posture rigid and his arms snapped to his sides. He could feel his ears burning in embarrassment as he heard the muffled laughter from Lily, Sirius, Remus, and even Dumbledore standing behind him.
Harry kept his sharp expression for a few moments longer, his green eyes boring into James like a seasoned officer appraising a soldier— he was a seasoned officer , James thought, and James was the lower ranked soldier—then, as if he couldn’t hold it any longer, he snorted, his expression softening into a smirk.
“Just kidding, Dad,” he said, a flicker of amusement in his voice. “But seriously—don’t zone out. If you get distracted out there, you’ll literally die.”
James gulped, nodding quickly at his son. Harry gave him a small, approving nod before adding, “at ease.”
James relaxed—just slightly—watching as Harry turned to the assembled Aurors and began pacing in front of them with the air of a respected commander.
“We are avoiding confrontation if possible,” Harry began, his tone firm and clear. His words carried across the group like the crisp, chill of wind blowing around them. “This is not a battle of brute force. This is an operation of deception and precision. Every move we make must be calculated. We strike only at the perfect moment.”
Harry paused, turning to the group, his gaze sharp enough to make even the most hardened Auror hold their breath.
“That means absolute discipline,” he continued. “Follow my command to the letter. No playing hero. No breaking formation. No acting out of order. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Head Auror!” the group chorused, their voices sharp and unified.
James found himself responding instinctively, his voice joining the rest as he felt another surge of pride for the sheer presence his son commanded.
Harry nodded, his expression unyielding. “I am sure Senior Auror Moody has briefed you on the intricacies of this mission. Remember: stay under the cloaking spell at all times. Do not use magic unless absolutely necessary—and that means no magic unless I give the order. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Head Auror!”
“Good,” Harry said, his tone softening slightly, though his expression remained solemn. He stopped pacing, turning to face the group fully.
“Today, we take the offensive against the Dark Lord,” Harry said, his voice steady but rising with conviction. “For too long, he has ruled over us, whether we realised it or not—through fear—fear of his name, fear for the lives of our loved ones, fear for our future.”
He took a step forward, raising his wand high into the air. The simple motion commanded silence, every pair of eyes locked on him as if he were a blazing beacon, their only hope through the endless darkness they had weathered.
“But no more!” Harry declared, his voice carrying a fierce determination that seemed to charge the very air around them. “Today, we fight back. Today, we end his tyranny. His cruelty stops here.”
James felt his chest swell as he watched his son, his wand glowing faintly in the rising dawn light. Harry’s presence was magnetic, his words sharp as steel and yet filled with hope.
“Raise your wands, my friends!” Harry called, his voice ringing out like a battle cry. “Today, we fight for our future. For the lives of our loved ones. For the freedom to live without terror. For the Wizarding World!”
In perfect unison, wands shot into the air. A roar of defiance erupted from the Aurors, their voices blending into a single, rallying cry that shook the forest around them.
James’ heart thundered in his chest as he raised his wand alongside the others, his pride surging to an almost painful intensity. This was not Harry’s fight, his mind screamed at him.
He didn’t have to be here, didn’t have to shoulder this impossible weight. And yet, there he was—leading, inspiring, fighting for a world that wasn’t even his own.
James looked at his son, his strong stance, his fierce determination, and his unshakable resolve. Harry was a marvel. Selfless, powerful, and more courageous than anyone James had ever known.
He wasn’t just proud. He was overwhelmed with gratitude and awe.
They waited for hours beneath the cloaking wards Dumbledore had conjured. The enchantment was subtle, an incredibly fine veil that seemed to blend seamlessly into the surroundings. Its shimmer was so faint that one would have to stand nearly face to face with it to notice. It was a testament to their combined skill, stabilising the magic to be as discreet as humanly possible.
Harry sat in the heart of the clearing, a lone figure encircled by the Order who stood guard. His posture was relaxed, almost careless—one leg draped over the other, perched on a conjured chair. His chair was simple, conjured wood, but the way he lounged in it made it seem almost regal. A book rested in his hand, borrowed from Lily in anticipation of a long wait. The picture of calm, he turned its pages as though he was truly reading the content.
Around him, the Order began to show signs of weariness. They settled on the forest floor, exchanging murmurs about Harry’s apparent lack of fear, while the Aurors maintained their watchful vigil.
And then—
James felt it first. A tremor rolled through his chest, stealing his breath. Mist coiled in the air with every exhale from his mouth, his body wracked by an involuntary shudder.
He's here.
The skies darkened, the temperature plunging until the forest seemed caught in a deathly freeze, frost developing on the bark of trees and vegetation under them. Above the clearing, a swirling mass of black smoke gathered, oppressive and suffocating. Its malevolence crawled into James' bones, the same dreadful weight he had felt that fateful night four years ago.
Harry remained unmoved. His hair danced in the wind conjured by the dark whirlwind, but his eyes stayed fixed on his book. A faint whistle escaped his lips, as though the chaos bored him. ‘Observe. Whatever happens,’ his whistle calm yet commanding.
The black smoke reached the ground, coiling like a living entity. For a moment, it whipped around the clearing, stirring leaves and dirt in a vicious cyclone. Then, with a sudden outward burst, it dissipated. The stench was immediate—sulfurous and rotten.
James shielded his face as the foul air swept toward them. The Aurors coughed, their robes flapping violently in the gust, but the cloaking wards muffled every sound.
Figures emerged from the dispersing haze. Twenty or more masked Death Eaters stood in a loose formation, their presence malevolent. And in their midst stood him. Bone-white skin stretched over a skeletal face, his crimson eyes serpentine slits.
Voldemort.
Harry finally looked up, his expression placid. For a heartbeat, he merely studied the figure before him, then sighed. With a deliberate motion, he snapped the book shut. The thud echoed unnaturally in the clearing.
Rising from his chair, Harry moved with languid grace. He stretched his hand, the book glowing faintly before vanishing—a wandless, wordless storing charm. A display of his magic.
“Well. That was quite the entrance,” Harry remarked, his tone dry. He clasped his hands behind his back, his visible fingers moving in precise gestures: Stay calm. Gather morale.
James caught the signal and passed it along silently, the Aurors steeling themselves as they regained composure.
“A welcome party for me? You shouldn’t have.”
Voldemort advanced, his dark robes trailing behind him, rustling softly against the forest floor. He stopped mere paces from Harry, his crimson gaze scanning James’ son, as if searching for something.
“This is it, then?” Harry’s voice broke the silence, laced with mockery. “All that effort and display, and you greet me with silence. You look rather pale, Lord Voldemort.”
Several Aurors bristled at the name, their grips tightening on their wands. James felt his own hand clench instinctively, prepared for the Dark Lord’s inevitable strike.
Voldemort tilted his head, his voice low yet high. Unnatural. “You look… different than I remember.”
A smirk tugged at Harry’s lips, his fingers flickering once more: Mission proceeding as planned.
“Do I?” Harry chuckled, his amusement genuine. “Oh, but since when have you last seen your reflection in the mirror, Lord Voldemort? I could say the same of you. How different you are," Harry said. "What… intricate rituals have you performed to achieve such a form?”
Harry began to circle Voldemort, his steps unhurried, each one deliberate. Voldemort’s gaze followed him, his red eyes narrowing.
“Blood sacrifices to reduce your need for breath,” Harry mused aloud, “turning your skin white from the absence of oxygen. Serpentine eyes to detect the faintest of magical traces… scales, perhaps, to deflect spells?”
James’ stomach churned at the revelations. Could it be true? The monster before them had mutilated himself for power? Willingly?
Voldemort’s expression shifted, unreadable but cold. “Many such enhancements, yes. My own creation.”
Returning to his spot, Harry nodded faintly. “Impressive. It seems I underestimated your dedication. I thought our protections were sufficient.”
At the mention of protections, Voldemort stiffened.
“You were gathering information about our protection. I would like to hear it,” Voldemort hissed, his voice sharper.
“Impatient, are we?” Harry teased, his smirk deepening. “But before we continue, there is one with you, yes? On your person…” He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. “I can… feel her.”
Voldemort extended his hand, skeletal and pale, his movements deliberate and unnervingly slow. From beneath the folds of his sleeve, a shape began to emerge, sinuous and gleaming. The serpent’s scaled body uncoiled, slithering down the length of his arm before reaching the forest floor.
She grew in size, and she was enormous—easily the length of two men and as thick as a man’s torso. Her muscles rippled beneath her scales, a predator’s strength. Her forked tongue occasionally revealed, tasting the air, and the faint rasp of her scales against the ground sent a shiver through those watching.
Voldemort’s lips curled into something that might have been a smile, and then, it was unmistakable—his red eyes gleamed with unmistakable delight as Harry took a step forward, hissing softly in Parseltongue. The Aurors gasped audibly, their disciplined composure momentarily shattered.
To James’ horror, his son’s expression softened, his guarded demeanor giving way to something almost tender. Harry crouched slightly, his hand outstretched, beckoning the serpent closer as if greeting an old friend.
James’ stomach clenched, his mind racing. Why does he have to be so reckless? The thought tore through him. Every instinct screamed at him to act, to shield Harry from the looming danger, but he was frozen, frozen by his son’s command, his fingers gripping his wand too tightly.
The snake responded, her massive body gliding forward with an almost eerie grace. She hissed in reply, the sound high and sibilant. She reached Harry, circling him once, her immense weight displacing the ground beneath her as she moved.
“I feel like your master, don’t I?” Harry murmured, his tone almost playful, as if the danger of the moment was a distant thing.
The serpent paused, her head swaying slightly, studying him. Then, with startling gentleness, she began to coil herself around his body. James’ heart lurched painfully in his chest as the snake’s enormous form enveloped his son.
And Harry laughed.
It wasn’t a nervous laugh, nor one borne of bravado—it was light, genuine, and it shocked James to the core. Harry whispered an incantation, and the serpent began to shrink, her massive form dwindling until she was no larger than an ordinary python. She slithered up to Harry’s shoulders, curling herself around his neck like an ornate, living scarf.
“You are truly mine,” Voldemort said, his voice low, and for the first time, there was something unguarded in his tone. His words carried a strange, almost wistful longing. “My… soul.”
That softness in Voldemort’s voice sent ripples of unease through the clearing. The Aurors exchanged uncertain glances, and even the Death Eaters seemed disquieted. Though their masks concealed their expressions, their shifting postures betrayed their confusion.
Harry met Voldemort’s gaze steadily, his own eyes sharp but unreadable. “Lonely, aren’t you, Father?” he asked, his voice quiet but cutting. “Longing for an equal. Someone who could add excitement to your ensured takeover. To the point that you were so disappointed when…” He trailed off, a wry smile playing at his lips. “Ah, but perhaps I’ve said too much.”
James’ thoughts raced as the implications crystallised in his mind. The prophecy.
Harry was his equal. Voldemort’s equal. The truth had been clear all along, since the day Junior was born, but hearing it in Voldemort’s own words—calling Harry his ‘soul,’ his equal—brought the weight of it crashing down.
James turned to Dumbledore, whose piercing blue eyes remained fixed on the scene before them. The old wizard’s brow was furrowed, his face grave, but there was a spark of something there too: determination. The kind of unshakable resolve that hinted at the light of victory.
The prophecy had been set in motion. It mattered not if it was Senior or Junior. Harry Potter was the only one who would end the Dark Lord.
“What of your brothers?” Voldemort asked, taking a slow step forward. His crimson gaze remained locked on Harry, unblinking and intense. “You look… so much like me, and yet not.”
His skeletal hand rose, trembling ever so slightly as it hovered near Harry’s face. It was hesitant, almost unsure—an unnatural gesture for someone who wielded power so ruthlessly.
Harry’s lips curled into a smirk as his gaze locked with Voldemort’s. There was no fear in his eyes—only sharp confidence. He hissed softly in Parseltongue, the words rippling through the tense air.
Voldemort’s head inclined slightly, acknowledging whatever Harry had said. His hand, which had hovered uncertainly moments before, lowered to his side. He turned toward the gathered Death Eaters, his voice cold and commanding.
“Leave us—”
The words stole the breath from James’ lungs.
What?
What?!
“I would like to have a word with my… son .”
A murmur of obedience rippled through the Death Eaters as they replied in unison, “Yes, my Lord.”
Harry’s fingers moved subtly, a series of quick signs: Drop anti-disapparition.
Dumbledore’s blue eyes glinted, sharp with triumph. With a single motion, he raised his ancient wand and dispelled the dome with effortless precision.
One by one, the Death Eaters disapparated, vanishing into the shadows. The clearing grew eerily silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves and the distant hum of lingering magic.
James’ breath caught. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Harry had isolated Voldemort, delivering him to their grasp as if on a silver platter.
Harry turned his attention back to Nagini, stroking her head with a surprising gentleness. “I’m sorry, Nagini,” he murmured, his voice soft but resolute. The snake tilted her head, her golden eyes glinting. “Your thoughts are simpler in this form. And you are so loyal… so tragically loyal.”
The regret in Harry’s tone seemed to confuse even Voldemort, who frowned slightly. “What are you—”
But before he could finish, Harry whistled, high and shrill. The command was clear. Immobilise.
Everything happened at once.
Dumbledore stepped out of the concealment charm, his wand already raised. James followed his lead, aiming with practiced precision as both shouted in unison.
“Immobulus!”
The detainment spell struck Voldemort squarely, forcing him to his knees. It wasn’t enough to knock him unconscious—his power was too immense, too unnatural—but it restrained him, at least for a moment. The aurors and the Order members reinforced the magic against Voldemort, forcing him to stay kneeled down.
The snake, sensing danger, hissed furiously at Harry, lunging towards his son’s neck. With a swift move, Harry caught the snake mid strike and threw her to the ground.
Nagini’s form swelled back to its monstrous size. Her body rippled with raw power, her fangs bared as she lunged at Harry.
“Harry, move!” James screamed, his voice breaking with fear.
But Harry didn’t flinch. He stood rooted in place, watching the enormous snake surge toward him. And then, at the last possible second, he shifted, sidestepping with almost casual precision.
In his right hand, a glint of light caught James’ eye—the Basilisk’s fang.
The snake sailed past Harry, her strike narrowly missing its mark. James reacted instinctively, aiming his wand, “Petrificus Totalus!”
The spell hit Nagini, freezing her in mid-motion for the briefest of moments. It wasn’t enough to stop her—Moody’s reports had warned as much—but it bought the time Harry needed.
With a shout, Harry drove the Basilisk fang into Nagini’s skull. The strike was precise, shattering bone and piercing deep.
“No! NAGINI!” Voldemort’s scream tore through the clearing, raw and unhinged. His crimson eyes burned with fury as his power surged, breaking through the detainment charm cast by forty people, his roar one of defiance and rage.
James barely had time to react. Voldemort’s skeletal hand lifted, his wand aimed directly at his son.
“NO!” James shouted, his voice cracking. His heart pounded as he saw the spell forming, the green light sparking ominously at the tip of Voldemort’s wand.
“Avada—”
The world slowed.
James moved without thought, driven purely by his protective instinct. The flash of green erupted from Voldemort’s wand, a searing jet of light streaking toward his son.
"James, no!" Lily cried out, her voice cracking.
The moment stretched impossibly long, and all James could see was the flash of green. His mind screamed at him to move faster, to shield his son. Not Harry. Never Harry. The thought burned through him, giving his legs the strength to surge forward. His heart thundered as he reached his son, his only thought a prayer that he would be fast enough.
James lunged, slamming into Harry with all his strength, forcing him out of the spell’s path.
The green light filled James’ vision, an all-encompassing brightness that burned into his mind. The last thing he saw was Harry’s wide, terrified eyes, his face frozen in a picture of shock.
James smiled. He was fast enough.
He closed his eyes. And then—there was nothing. Only silence, and the pounding echo of his own heartbeat.
All he could see was green.
Chapter 17: His Other Self
Summary:
In the depths of a place James could only describe as Limbo... he met someone.
Notes:
Happy reading!!! Oh! And check out part 1 of the story if you want to have a peek into Harry Senior's life after the war!
Chapter Text
So this was what people meant when they said their lives flashed before their eyes. This… this limbo between life and death. James floated in this strange space, weightless and disoriented. All around him was white—a misty void that stretched endlessly in every direction. He couldn’t tell if he was standing or lying down, only that he existed.
Then came the sound of footsteps, faint but deliberate, from somewhere to his right.
He turned his head slowly, the motion sluggish, as if he were underwater. From beyond the swirling mist, a figure emerged, stepping into focus.
James froze.
It was him.
Like looking into a mirror, the other James stood there with a familiar, crooked grin. But his expression wasn’t entirely light—there was pride in his eyes, but also a trace of sadness, a weight that James felt without fully understanding.
“Lucky bastard,” the other James said lightly, his voice laced with fondness rather than resentment. He walked closer, each step deliberate yet unhurried, and James couldn’t help but stare. When their gazes locked, a strange rush of sensation overwhelmed him.
Memories flooded his mind. They weren’t his own, yet they felt as real as his own heartbeat.
He was in the forbidden forest, everything around him murky and blurred, but the only thing he could clearly see… was his son’s eyes… and… oh, he had never seen him as afraid. His son looked as if he wanted to cry, as if he was begging for James to hold him, to comfort him.
It looked so wrong to see this fear in his son’s eyes. James had only ever see Harry as this… this powerful, strong man… never as the child that had to prepare to give his life away.
“You’ll stay with me?” Harry whispered, his voice barely audible, fragile like a bird’s wing.
James’ heart twisted. His son was so afraid. Afraid to die.
And yet, there was nothing James could do. He couldn’t hold him, couldn’t comfort him. He was powerless to shield his son from the terrifying weight of destiny. All he could offer were words—fragile, insufficient words.
“Until the very end,” James whispered, his voice soft but steady.
“Harry Potter,” Voldemort rasped, his voice cold and venomous. “The Boy Who Lived.”
James’ breath hitched as the memory morphed and he watched his son stand tall, unwavering. Harry’s jaw was set, his green eyes burning with defiance, and his wand was steady in his grip. The faintest breeze stirred his unruly hair, and in that moment, he looked every bit the hero James had acquainted himself to.
James’ heart swelled with a pride so intense it bordered on pain. His son stood unwavering—a true Gryffindor in every sense. Harry’s courage wasn’t the reckless kind, nor was it born of blind defiance. It stemmed from a profound selflessness, a quiet strength that could rival that of saints.
For Harry’s fear had never been of Voldemort. It was the fear of the unknown, of what lay beyond the veil of life. And yet, even in the face of that deepest uncertainty, he stood resolute, unshaken, and unyielding.
At that moment, James knew with absolute certainty that Harry would survive. Magic and Death themselves had deemed him worthy. Like Lily before him, Harry had offered everything for the sake of others, to an even bigger degree. James knew that he would not be claimed by Death this day. For Harry… Harry had become its master.
Voldemort’s lips twisted into a malevolent snarl, his wand rising, and in an instant, James’ world was consumed by a flash of green.
When James opened his eyes, he was no longer in the clearing.
He stood once more in the ethereal white void of limbo, the mist swirling gently around him.
His other self stood before him, arms crossed, an amused expression tugging at his lips. There was something maddeningly familiar about his stance, the tilt of his head.
“Yeah,” his double said with a smirk, “you’re not going to make my son live with the guilt of watching you die.”
James blinked, startled, but before he could respond, his other self stepped forward and gave him a hard shove.
The mist around him swirled and dissolved, the white fading into vibrant hues as the forest came back into view. His double’s expression shifted, the amusement giving way to urgency. His hazel eyes shifted, becoming a vivid, piercing green, and James felt his chest tighten as he recognised them.
“Depulso!”
Harry’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. The force of the spell struck James square in the chest, launching him backward. He hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. Pain bloomed across his body, but he barely had time to process it.
Harry moved like a whirlwind, his wand snapping up with practiced precision.
“Expelliarmus!”
The red beam of the disarming charm collided with Voldemort’s deadly green light, the clash sending a shockwave of magic rippling through the clearing.
James coughed, wheezing as he struggled to sit up. Hands, soft and familiar, cradled him, their touch gentle and grounding. He looked up, his breath stabilising as he met a pair of vivid green eyes.
“Lily,” he rasped.
Her lips curved into a small, reassuring smile as she stroked his hair back. Despite the chaos, she radiated a calm strength that steadied him.
Above them, the clashing spells created a shower of golden sparks, threads of magic crisscrossing and weaving into a shimmering dome.
James’ eyes widened as ghostly forms emerged from the light—not from Voldemort’s wand, but from Harry’s.
It was them .
‘Every time I cast my Patronus, I feel you. And Mum’s always there too, in her protection against Voldemort.’
It was... literal. James had always been with him. Every step of the way, even here.
His spectral form stepped forward, and he held their son, the shade’s hand resting over Harry’s own, lending him strength. James felt a lump rise in his throat as he watched the faint shimmer of his ghostly self whisper something into Harry’s ear. Whatever it was, it made Harry nod, his grip tightening on his wand.
Lily’s shade mirrored the movement, her ghostly form leaning close to whisper softly into Harry’s other ear. For a moment, Harry’s eyes widened, a flicker of emotion crossing his face. Then he nodded again, his resolve hardening even more.
And then, with a finality, his ghostly form turned, locking eyes with him. He winked at James, and without any need for words, James understood him, the quiet plea in his eyes.
With a surge of Harry’s strengthened magic, the red light of the disarming charm overwhelmed Voldemort’s curse, breaking the connection. The shades dissolved into the forest mist as Harry surged forward, determination blazing in his eyes.
Voldemort recovered quickly, his fury palpable as he screamed and hurled spell after spell at Harry. Each curse tore through the air with terrifying force, but Harry moved like water, fluid and instinctive. He ducked, weaved, and dodged with precision, his movements natural yet calculated.
James gritted his teeth, forcing himself to his feet despite the ache in his ribs. He could see it—the emerald glow of another Killing Curse forming at Voldemort’s wand tip.
There was no time to think.
Raising his wand, James summoned every ounce of strength he had left. His other self’s plea echoed in his mind, urging him forward.
Protect Harry. Keep him safe. Show him how fiercely he was loved. It was all his mind was screaming at him.
James had never summoned such raw power before. The force of his own magic sent him staggering back a full meter, his feet skidding against the ground. The disarming charm streaked forward, a blazing beam of red light that surged faster than he could have imagined, striking Voldemort’s wand just before the Killing Curse could erupt.
The bone-white wand spun from the Dark Lord’s grasp, landing with a clatter on the forest floor.
Harry’s eyes flicked to the wand landing on the ground, then to James, whose outstretched hand still trembled from the force of his spell. For a moment, their gazes locked, and James swore he saw the flicker of gratitude in Harry’s green eyes, before his son turned back towards Voldemort.
He did not hesitate.
With a shout, he plunged the Basilisk fang deep into Voldemort’s chest.
The sound was sickeningly visceral, the fang tearing through flesh and bone. Voldemort’s crimson eyes widened, disbelief twisting his grotesque features.
“Goodbye, Tom,” Harry said, his voice steady and final.
With a sharp pull, Harry withdrew the fang. Voldemort staggered, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. His skeletal hands clawed at his chest in vain, and then, he crumpled to the ground.
Moments later, he was still.
Voldemort was no god. He was but a man. And this—silent and unceremonious—was how he was meant to die.
The forest was deathly quiet. For a moment, no one moved. The Order and Aurors stood frozen, their eyes locked on the still body beneath Harry’s feet.
Harry broke the silence, panting heavily as he straightened his posture.
“Sorry, everyone,” he said, his voice ragged but light. He gestured vaguely at the body. “There’s no, like… huge magical explosion or anything. He’s just… you know?” He flipped his hand up and down.
“Dead.”
Dumbledore stepped forward, his expression grave. He waved his wand, casting a series of diagnostic spells over the body. Finally, he nodded.
That was when the Aurors surged forward, a cheer erupting from the group.
“Wait—what are you—” Harry’s protests were cut short as they hoisted him into the air, their cheers ringing through the clearing, chanting his son's name over and over again.
“Put me down!” Harry yelped, his tone caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Oi! I’m still your commanding officer!”
James couldn’t help but laugh, even as he winced at the ache in his ribs, but it didn’t matter.
Here they were. Alive. Together. And the world was becoming just a bit brighter.
“Harryyy!” Junior shouted as they arrived home, his little voice echoing through the house. James was being half-carried by Sirius and Remus, both of them doing their best not to jostle him too much.
Harry Senior scooped his baby brother into his arms, spinning him around before tossing him gently into the air. Junior squealed in delight, his laughter filling the room.
“Did you do it? Did you beat the evil man?” Junior asked, his eyes wide with excitement.
“Of course I did!” Senior declared proudly, his grin mischievous. “But your daddy did something really stupid and got hurt.”
Junior’s happy expression morphed into a pout as he turned to glare at James.
“Hey, I did it to save your big brother!” James defended, raising his hands in mock surrender. “He was about to get hit by a dangerous curse!”
“Silly Daddy!” Junior scolded, but he still squirmed out of his big brother’s arms to wrap himself around James’ leg in a tight hug. “Can I go play at the Burrow now that the bad man’s gone?” he asked, looking up at James with pleading eyes.
James reached down, ruffling his son’s hair, the throbbing of his pain lifting—if only for a moment. “Soon, sweetheart,” James said softly, his voice apologetic. “But all your friends are here, aren’t they?”
Junior placed his fingers under his chin, his little face scrunching in thought. “Hmm… I guess you’re right… except for Nev…” he said before turning to take Harry’s hand. “Uncle Sirius’ house sucks! I wanna go home soon!”
“Oi! My house doesn’t suck!” Sirius called out, mock-offended as the brothers retreated.
Remus and Sirius carefully lowered James onto the couch, but even the slight movement made him wince. “Alright, just set me down gent—bloody hell! Sirius!” James hissed, clutching his side.
“Oh, stop being dramatic, you nerd,” Sirius teased, rolling his eyes as he flopped onto the adjacent sofa. “You’re not hurt that bad.”
“Yes, I am!” James shot back. “Harry broke a rib or two! I’m sure of it!”
“Mar, a little help, please?” Lily called softly.
Marlene stepped forward to James’ side, her wand glowing faintly as she whispered diagnostic spells over James’ injuries. She raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile on her lips. “Two cracked ribs,” she confirmed.
“See?!” James exclaimed, pointing at Sirius, who had already snuggled up to Remus and was pretending to be asleep.
“At least you saved your son, Jamie,” Marlene said, her voice laced with humor. “Though, if you ask me, it didn’t look like Harry really needed saving. He had plenty of time to react.”
“Honestly, James,” Lily giggled, her laugh infectious. “You did look a bit… stupid.”
“Oh, sure, laugh it up!” James muttered, crossing his arms carefully. “Here I am, a father worried about his son, and all I get is ridicule. I made a promise, you know—to bring Harry back safely to his fiancé.”
Marlene handed him a vial of potions, the liquid a murky greenish-blue. James grimaced as he drank it down, the bitter, minty taste coating his tongue before a spreading warmth settled in his ribs, easing the sharp pain.
“Seven days,” Lily whispered suddenly, her voice barely audible.
James frowned, his attention snapping to his wife. “Seven days before he has to leave?”
Lily nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. James cupped her face gently, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb.
“It’s alright, my love,” he said softly, his voice steady and full of warmth. “He still has a life waiting for him—his fiancé, his family, his little godson he needs to take care of. We’ll show him all the love we can in the time we have, okay?”
“I just hope it’s enough…” Lily murmured, her voice breaking slightly.
“It can never be enough,” James admitted, his voice heavy with emotion. “But we’ll take so many photos, alright? We’ll never forget him, and he’ll never forget us. We’ll make the most of it, Lily. The best we can.”
Lily sank down onto the floor, resting her head against James’ thigh. His hand moved to her hair, stroking it absently as his thoughts wandered. His chest ached at the thought of telling Junior.
His youngest would be heartbroken.
Across the room, Sirius and Remus had gone quiet, their teasing smiles replaced with solemn expressions as they exchanged a glance. Even Marlene, usually quick with a quip, busied herself with clearing away her potions.
James looked down at Lily, her face still pressed against him, and he silently vowed to make every one of those seven days count. For Harry. For Lily. For their little family.
Chapter 18: Goodbye
Summary:
A week would never be enough. It can never be enough. The love he had for his sons were insurmountable. He would move mountains for them, walk through fire and molten glass for them.
But this?
James wished he could freeze time. So that they could just stay like this. In this moment. Forever.
Chapter Text
James knew their work was far from over. Snape had done his part, spreading the news of the Dark Lord’s demise inside of the inner circle, but everyone understood that Voldemort’s death was only the beginning. The war wasn’t over—it was merely shifting into its next phase.
Yet, despite the looming battles, Dumbledore had insisted that James and his family step back for now. ‘Enjoy the time you’ve been given,’ he had said, his tone gentle but firm. And so, James had decided to do exactly that. To enjoy it—to savour every fleeting moment.
Their first morning was nothing short of magical. The breakfast table overflowed with life and laughter, the chaos of a dozen voices filling the air. It was the Weasleys’ and Diggorys’ last day with them, and James found himself soaking in the lively scene before him.
In the kitchen, Lily, Molly, and Edith bustled about, preparing an impressive spread to satisfy the hungry crowd. The clatter of pots and pans mixed with warm chatter as the smells of sizzling bacon, fresh bread, and roasted tomatoes wafted through the house.
At the table, Senior looked slightly overwhelmed but content. Children seemed drawn to him like moths to a flame. Fred and George tugged at his robes, pestering him to perform some spell James couldn’t quite make out. Ginny stood nearby, insisting he pour tea for her doll, while Percy earnestly pointed out passages in a book he held open in his hands.
Amidst all this, James noticed Junior surprisingly quiet for once, sitting with Cedric at the far end of the table. They shared buttered toast, deep in an animated conversation about… well, whatever it was that kids found endlessly fascinating.
James decided it was time to free his son from the children. He stood up, grinned, and then clapped his hands to get the children’s attention. “Alright! Who wants to see Uncle James turn to Prongs today?”
A chorus of enthusiastic ‘Me! Me! Me!’ rang out, the children’s eyes lighting up. James braced himself for Lily’s inevitable scolding for transforming indoors, but he couldn’t help it—how could James deny them such joy?
With a swift motion, he transformed, the magnificent stag standing proudly in the middle of the room. The children all erupted in cheers, flocking to him with giddy laughter, the twins trying to climb and ride him. Lily sighed dramatically from the doorway, shaking her head with a fond smile.
The following day, the Weasleys and Diggorys departed for their homes, leaving the house quieter but no less lively. Junior had returned to being practically glued to Senior’s side, his adoration for his older brother unmistakable. James watched them together, and a thought stirred in his mind—something he hadn’t considered before but now seemed glaringly obvious.
Senior had never truly known home. Not their home. Not the one in Godric’s Hollow.
That afternoon, the decision made, James apparated to their house in the quiet village, his heart swelling as he stood before the familiar door. The air inside was dusty, the faint scent of old wood and musty linen lingering in the air, but the moment he stepped through—it felt right. It felt like home.
He drew his wand and set to work, banishing the dust and mending small imperfections. Bit by bit, he brought the house back to life, preparing it for his family. By the time he was done, the warmth of the place shone again, just as it once had.
“Dad… this is…” Senior trailed off, his voice thick with emotion as they arrived at Godric’s Hollow by portkey, Junior perched on his hip, his bright eyes taking in the sights.
“Daddy! We’re home!” Junior squealed, squirming out of Senior’s hold before charging toward the house with a burst of energy.
James placed a hand on Senior’s shoulder, smiling softly. “You don’t remember living here, right? Well, here we go. A week of just us four. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Lily approached, extending her hand to Senior. “Come on,” she said, her voice warm and soft. “Let’s go in.”
James watched as Senior wiped away a stray tear, his son’s emotions written plainly on his face. It was happiness, sadness, and something in between—a longing fulfilled, even if only temporarily. With a shaky but genuine smile, Senior took his mother’s hand, allowing her to guide him inside.
James followed, his heart swelling with a bittersweet ache. This was the life they’d always dreamed of, and for one precious week, they would make it real.
James couldn’t imagine a better moment to freeze in time except for this: James, sitting at the breakfast table, reading his newspaper while his older son patiently fed his baby brother. It was perfect.
Junior giggled as Senior guided a spoonful of scrambled eggs to his mouth, and James couldn’t resist reaching out to pat his youngest fondly on the head. Then, without thinking, he did the same to his oldest son, stroking his hair fondly as he did so. The love he felt for them both was overwhelming—impossible to fully describe. He would move mountains for them, walk through fire and glass for them. There was nothing he wouldn’t do.
They started filling a photo album until it was bursting at the seams. Half of it was dedicated to Junior being delightfully silly with Padfoot, a request from Senior to fill it with pictures of his baby brother.
Each morning started with laughter, with Lily and Senior cooking in the kitchen. Junior would demand pancakes shaped like snitches or hippogriffs, and Senior, ever patient, would oblige, wielding his wand with the flair of a master chef. James stood back, grinning like an idiot as his sons worked together seamlessly—Junior pouring the batter into the pan while Senior manipulated its shape.
“Are you just going to stand there gawking, or are you going to help?” Lily teased as she walked into the kitchen, right hand on her hip, a basket of freshly picked tomatoes and peppers on the other.
James slid an arm around her waist, planting a kiss on her temple. “Why would I ruin perfection?” he murmured, gesturing to their boys.
The nights, in contrast, were calm and tender. They’d gather in the living room, the fire crackling softly as Lily read aloud from one of Junior’s favorite storybooks. Her voice had a way of weaving magic, bringing each character to life, and Junior would curl up in Senior’s lap, his little hands clutching his brother’s shirt as his eyelids drooped.
James would sit across from them, his heart swelling at the sight of Harry Senior resting his head against Lily’s shoulder, his contented smile illuminated by the firelight. The scene was so perfect, so achingly perfect, it almost hurt to look at it. It felt like it could last forever.
But James knew it wouldn’t.
Beneath the picture of utter joy, an unspoken truth lingered—they couldn’t bring themselves to tell Junior that his older brother wasn’t staying forever. And so, they made every moment count, stretching the days with every ounce of willpower, as if they could somehow freeze time and stay this way forever.
The days slipped by too quickly, each one feeling shorter than the last. Senior didn’t say much about the end, but James could see it in his eyes when he thought no one was watching—that heaviness, the quiet ache of knowing his time here was running out. Lily saw it too. Her touches lingered longer, her smiles soft but tinged with sadness, as if trying to memorize every moment.
Junior, blissfully unaware, filled their days with adventure. He dragged his brother into mock battles in the garden, armed with twigs for wands. “Expelliarmus!” Junior shouted gleefully, and Senior always played along, collapsing into the grass with exaggerated flair when his little brother’s spell ‘hit’ him.
James stood at the kitchen window one afternoon, watching them through the glass. The sight of Senior sprawled in the grass, Junior standing next to his body in triumph, made his chest ache. He leaned against the window, his voice quiet as he spoke to Lily.
“He’s going to miss him,” James said softly, not taking his eyes off the scene.
Lily looked up from her tea, her eyes shimmering. “We all will,” she whispered.
On the last evening, James brought out the photo album. It had grown thick over the week, each page brimming with snapshots of their time together. They sat as a family, flipping through it slowly, laughing at the silly pictures—Junior pulling faces, Senior chasing him around the garden.
Then there were the quieter moments: James and Harry fixing the squeaky back door together as a father and son duo, Lily tangled up in a group hug with her boys. Each photo held a kind of magic, a testament to the love that filled their little world.
When they reached the final blank page, Lily pulled out her camera, her hands trembling slightly. “One more, just one more,” she said, her voice steady despite the emotion in her eyes.
They crowded together for the shot—Junior perched on Senior’s lap, James and Lily leaning in close, their arms wrapped tightly around their sons. The flash went off, capturing the moment in a burst of light.
James hoped it would be enough. Enough to keep Harry Senior close, even when he was gone. Enough to remind them all of this week—of love so strong it refused to be confined by space and time.
The day they returned to the ritual circle was one James dreaded, but he hadn’t fully grasped how much it would hurt until Junior began to cry.
It started as a soft whimper when they arrived, Junior fully realising what was happening. But as the magic in the air grew heavier, Junior’s cries swelled into panicked wails that tore at James’ heart. He squirmed, struggling with all his might to break free.
“No! Harryyy! Don’t leave me!” Junior shrieked, his small fists pounding against James’ arms. His voice cracked and shook, raw with despair, the loudest James had ever heard him cry in the five precious years they’d shared.
The gathered members of the Order looked on, many of them openly weeping. Even Snape, the ever-stoic man, frowned deeply, his jaw tight as he watched the heartbreaking display.
When the pull of magic began to ripple across the circle, golden threads of energy swirling in the air, Junior’s panic reached a fever pitch. With one last desperate tug, he broke free from James and Lily’s grasp and ran straight to Senior.
“Harry!” Junior sobbed, throwing himself into his brother’s arms. Senior caught him with trembling hands, tears streaming down his face. He dropped to his knees, holding his baby brother tightly as though he could somehow anchor himself in the moment forever.
“I don’t want you to go! If you go, I’ll hate you forever! I’ll hate you!” Junior screamed, his face buried in Senior’s chest. His little body shook violently with every ragged breath, and James felt a pang of fear—his boy was working himself into a state where he might not be able to breathe properly.
Senior’s sobs were quieter but no less devastating. His shoulders shook as he rocked Junior gently, whispering between his tears. “I love you, Harry, so much,” he choked out. “I’ll return, okay? One day I’ll return. I never go back on my promises, remember?”
“When?” Junior hiccupped, clutching his brother’s robes with all the strength he could muster. “I don’t want you to go! Please !”
Senior swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as more tears spilled down his cheeks. “When you’ve made so many friends in Hogwarts… and you still miss me the most, I’ll come find you, okay?”
Junior hesitated, his breath hitching as he clung to that small glimmer of hope. “P–pinky promise. You have to pinky promise,” he sobbed, holding out his trembling little finger.
Senior let out a soft, broken laugh through his tears, wrapping his pinky around Junior’s. “Pinky promise,” he whispered. “Say you love me, please? I can’t let you go if you say you hate me.”
“I love you, Harry. So much,” Junior said, his voice breaking. He kissed Senior’s cheek deeply, tears slipping onto his brother’s skin. “B–bye bye,” Junior whispered, his voice trembling. The act almost broke his oldest son, heard from the squeak on the back of his throat, a sound of despair.
Senior stood slowly, his arms trembling as he handed Junior back to James. The weight of the moment pressed on James’ chest like a physical force as he cradled his youngest son, his own tears falling freely. Lily stepped forward, kissing Senior’s cheek tenderly before wrapping him in a tight hug. James followed, gripping his son’s shoulder firmly before pulling him into an embrace, kissing his forehead with all the love he could muster.
“You’re my boy, Harry,” James whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You always will be. Thank you for being my son.”
Senior smiled weakly, his tears glistening in the golden light of the ritual circle. “No, thank you,” he said softly, his voice shaking. “For everything. For making me feel like I belong. Like I’ve always been part of the family.”
James lightly smacked the back of his head, though his hand lingered in affection. “You have always been part of the family, you idiot,” he said, his voice cracking. “You’re my son. Always.”
Senior nodded, his smile a little steadier now. “I’ll miss you. All of you.”
Lily cupped his face, her own tears streaming down. “We love you, Harry. So much. Even after we die—” a sound of pure agony left his wife’s mouth. “We’ll always be with you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, Mum. Dad…” Senior kissed his mother’s cheek gently, before he did the same to James.
James watched in sheer helplessness as his son stepped toward the glowing magic. As he did, he turned back, meeting James’ gaze one last time. He lifted his hand and signed something.
Memory charm. Forget. Me.
Gasps rippled through the Aurors of the Order, but James only nodded, his heart breaking all over again. His son had thought of everyone, even in his departure. The gesture was so Harry, so selfless.
With one last sad smile, Senior tossed something James’ way. And when he looked…
The golden snitch.
His son stepped into the golden light, and it enveloped him completely, a brilliant flash that lit the clearing. When it faded… he was gone.
His son… was gone…
Around them, the Order members stood silent, their tears falling in quiet tribute.
James stared at the spot where Senior had disappeared, and then, he stared at the last proof of his son’s existence, the small, golden ball in his grasp. His throat was raw and his heart ached. The forest felt too quiet now, as though it were mourning alongside them.
—a heartbreaking wail pierced the silence as Junior broke free of James’ hold and crumpled to the ground, his small body shaking with the force of his cries. The forest was drowned in his sadness, every rustle of leaves and distant bird call silenced by his anguish.
James and Lily were at his side in an instant, kneeling on the wet ground. James reached for his son, his arms wrapping around him tightly even as Junior thrashed, his little fists pounding against James’ chest, legs kicking at his stomach.
“No!” Junior sobbed, his words broken and desperate. “I—I take it back! I want Harry back! Please, make him come back, Mummy—please, Daddy, please! I’ll be a good boy! I’ll eat all the veggies, and—and I won’t cry ever again! Bring Harry back! Please! ”
His voice cracked as his sobs turned into gasping, hiccupping wails, his small body writhing against the weight of his grief.
“Junior, please—” James choked out, holding his son tighter even as his own tears spilled unchecked.
Lily cradled Junior’s head, her trembling fingers brushing the hair from his sweaty forehead. “Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “We’ll miss him too. We’re here, baby, we’re here.”
But Junior didn’t seem to hear her. His cries only grew louder, more frantic, as though the force of his grief might somehow call Senior back. James felt his heart twist painfully in his chest, each of his son’s sobs slicing through him like a blade.
“ Somnus maxima ,” came a soft voice from behind them.
A pale light shimmered from Marlene’s wand, washing over Junior. His little body immediately went limp in James’ arms, his cries ceasing abruptly as he fell into an enchanted sleep.
For a long moment, James could only stare at his son’s tear-streaked face, his chest still heaving from the sobs that had wracked his small frame. His heart ached so fiercely it felt like it might shatter.
“I’m sorry,” Marlene murmured, her voice faint and filled with regret. “His heart rate was dangerously high, James. I didn’t ask for permission—”
“No,” James interrupted, shaking his head. “No, thank you.”
Lily’s soft, muffled cries broke the silence. She clutched Junior tightly to her chest, rocking him gently as her tears soaked into his hair. James leaned into her, wrapping his arms around them both, though his own tears streamed freely down his face.
For several long moments, they stayed like that, clinging to each other as the weight of their loss settled over them. It felt as if they were mourning… as if Harry… as if his son was dead.
Around them, the Order stood silent, their faces etched with grief.
Slowly, James turned his gaze to Dumbledore, who stood a short distance away, his eyes heavy with sorrow.
“Dumbledore,” James began, his voice low but steady despite the tremble beneath it. “If I may ask one thing from you.”
Dumbledore turned toward him fully, his expression grave but open. “Of course, James,” he said softly.
James inhaled deeply, as though summoning every ounce of strength he had left. “Alter our memories.”
Lily’s head snapped up, her tear-streaked face turning toward him in shock. But when she met James’ gaze, her expression softened. Slowly, she nodded, her hand gently stroking Junior’s cheek. She understood.
“James…” Dumbledore began, his voice heavy with hesitation.
“You owe me this,” James said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “You owe Harry this. Please, fulfill his wish.”
Dumbledore’s shoulders sagged slightly, his lined face etched with weariness. “James, this is not a decision to make lightly—”
“It’s not, I know.” James interrupted. His voice cracked slightly, but his resolve was unshaken. “We love him—too strongly, Dumbledore. We can’t—live without him. We can’t—survive,” James gasped, his suppressed sobs finally breaching through the dam. “Please.”
Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on James for a long moment, his blue eyes searching his face. Finally, he nodded, his expression filled with a deep sorrow he had never seen on the Headmaster’s face. “Very well,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I will do as you ask.”
James exhaled shakily, his shoulders trembling under the weight of his emotions. He looked down at Junior, his small face still damp with tears even in sleep. James leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his son’s forehead.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with grief.
James felt the headmaster weaving powerful magic around them, weaving through every person that has ever known his son. He pressed his forehead against Lily, and he asked the gods for strength. Strength to forget his son.
Notes:
Epilogue's coming soon!
Chapter 19: Three Years Later...
Summary:
Three years later and the fight was still not done. James returned to active duty, hailed as a hero of the Wizarding World, spending his time hunting Death Eaters down.
He returned after a week-long mission in Wales, to his warm home, greeted by his wife and son.
Notes:
Was planning to release this in part 2, but it would be too complicated! Enjoy 2 more chapters! The next one's longer!
Chapter Text
The fight was not over. James had returned to active duty, hunting down Death Eaters with a fierce determination that burned hotter than ever before. He was hailed as a hero, the one who had killed Voldemort, the man who had ended the war.
Today, he had returned from a week-long mission deep in Wales, tracking down remnants of the Dark Lord’s followers. As James stepped through the door of his home, he was immediately greeted by his eight-year-old son.
“Dad! You’re back!” Harry’s voice was full of joy as he jumped into James’ arms.
James spun him around in a circle, the sound of their laughter filling the house. Lily stood a few steps away, watching them with a soft smile. After a moment, James gently released Harry and leaned down to kiss his wife. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of gardenias and wildflowers as he kissed her hair, the familiar comfort of her presence overwhelming.
“Welcome home, James,” Lily whispered, her voice filled with warmth.
James smiled, pulling back slightly to look at her. “Sorry it took so long…”
Lily scoffed playfully, raising an eyebrow. “Dinner first, or shower?” she asked, taking his briefcase with such tender, loving care.
“Shower,” James grinned. “I smell like Padfoot.”
“Ugh! You do smell like Pads!” Harry said, wrinkling his nose in exaggerated disgust.
James chuckled. “Oi, I was only joking around!” he said, though he couldn’t help but laugh at his son’s antics. Without missing a beat, he crouched down into a ready stance, and Harry’s eyes lit up with excitement.
“Come here, you little rascal!” James grinned, and before Harry could react, James was chasing him around the room, the sounds of their laughter echoing throughout the house. The joy that filled their home was infectious, and for that small moment, James felt like everything was exactly as it should be.
Later that night, as James lay in bed, staring up at the enchanted ceiling, his thoughts drifted. He turned over carefully, not wanting to disturb Lily as she slept peacefully beside him. His mind wandered, and he decided he needed some tea to help quiet his restless thoughts.
As he descended the stairs, he felt a heaviness settle over him. It had been almost three years since Voldemort’s downfall, but something still gnawed at him, a sense of incompleteness he could never shake. The war was over, the world was rebuilding, but James still didn’t feel at peace.
The sitting room was eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that pressed against his chest. He cradled his mug of tea in his hands, the steam rising lazily from the surface, the heat from the boiling liquid barely reaching his fingertips. With a quiet incendio, he brought the hearth to life, and he just stayed there, staring at nothing.
James’ gaze drifted to the far wall, where family photos were arranged in a neat row. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he studied the familiar images—Harry’s mischievous grin, Lily’s serene beauty, their family’s joyful chaos frozen in time. But his eyes lingered on the smallest detail—a deliberate gap between the frames, a space that had been left empty since as long as he could remember.
“Can’t sleep?”
James looked up to see Lily standing in the doorway, her face soft with concern. He shook his head.
Lily crossed the room and settled herself on James’ lap, her head resting against his chest as she snuggled into him, just as they had back in their seventh year after rebellious discoveries in their assigned room as Head Boy and Head Girl. They were never the best examples.
The comfort of her presence brought him a sense of calm, though his thoughts still lingered on the emptiness he knew he could never fill.
“Do you… think I’m a good husband and father, Lily?” James whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet night.
Lily smiled against his chest, her fingers tracing small circles on his t-shirt. “What brought this on, James?” She whispered.
“I don’t… know. I just feel the need to know.”
She pulled back slightly to look up at him, her eyes soft, love was all that was spelled in her beautiful green eyes. “You’re a terrible husband,” she teased, “but a pretty good father, I’d say.”
James rolled his eyes, his hand resting gently on her thigh. “Are you really still that angry with me?” he asked, his tone light but laced with mock offense.
Lily scoffed, her eyes narrowing at him. “You went through it without telling me. Forgive me if I’m still pissed,” she muttered, though her voice wasn’t as harsh as her words.
“You did the same thing as me,” James pointed out, a playful edge to his tone. “And you weren’t going to tell me either, were you, if you hadn’t run to me that night?”
Lily huffed, turning her face away slightly in shame. “I guess not…”
A brief silence stretched between them before James gently stroked her thigh. “We’re both really selfish, aren’t we?” James asked.
He stretched his hand, and with his magic, he summoned the enchanted book from the gap in the shelf. The familiar weight was comforting, and he opened it for both of them.
Slowly. For it was the most precious thing they own.
“It’s been three years…” James whispered, his voice tinged with sadness. “Do you think he’s over there, tearing his hair out when his baby wakes him up at three in the morning?”
Lily smiled softly, tracing the form of their son in the picture. “I think he’d handle it much better than we did,” she said, her eyes misty, her smile sweet. “What do you think he’d name his child?”
James hummed thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on the picture as his thoughts wandered. “Probably… something modern and uncomplicated. Michael, for a boy,” he said.
Lily nodded, her voice tender. “And maybe Annie for a girl…”
They sat in quiet companionship for a moment, their smiles wide as they allowed themselves to reminisce about their eldest son. In that fleeting moment, they imagined what their life would have been like if things had turned out differently.
Sometimes, when James let himself be delusional enough, he imagined that Harry was just out there somewhere, living in a quiet Muggle village, far from the reach of magic, and James just couldn’t visit. It gave him some peace.
After all, as the saying goes, he shouldn’t cry because it was over—he smiled, because he felt grateful. Grateful for the chance to have known the greatest man James had ever met—his son, Harry Potter.
Chapter 20: A Glimpse Into the Past
Summary:
Hogwarts was so much more fun than Harry had ever imagined! Without him realising, it was already the last week before Christmas. had never been away from his family for so long, and he missed everyone terribly. Especially Streaky.
His dad had sent him an early Christmas present.
A cloak.
His dad's invisibility cloak.
Harry was going to have so much fun!
Notes:
Dang... this epilogue is around 10k words, so I'm splitting it into two. Sorry for the ever growing chapter number. This will be the last! Promise!
Tell me what you think? Love you guys!
Chapter Text
Hogwarts was so much more fun than Harry had ever imagined! He never thought that attending something as boring as school could turn out to be so exciting! Every day brought new lessons, and with all the training his mum and dad had given him since he was little, he blazed through his classes effortlessly.
Before he even realised it, the last week before Christmas had arrived. Harry had never been away from his family for so long, and he missed everyone terribly. Especially Streaky.
His pet snake was already so old, and Harry worried constantly about leaving her alone for so long. What if, by the time he returned, he found out she had passed away? The thought made his stomach churn. That would be the worst day ever. He had to find a way to sneak her in. Fast.
Harry was lounging in the Gryffindor common room, half of his body slinking down the armchair, absentmindedly staring into the fireplace, when Ron came bounding over with a wide grin.
“Mate! You got an early present!” Ron exclaimed, waving a festively wrapped package in his hands.
Harry sat up immediately, excitement sparking in his chest. Even Hermione, who had been engrossed in a book nearby, put it down to come and see what the commotion was about.
“From your dad, Harry?” Neville asked, stepping closer to get a better look.
Harry hummed in acknowledgment, turning the box over in his hands, examining it from every angle.
“Well, only one way to find out,” he said, his curiosity getting the better of him.
With a rather enthusiastic tearing of the wrapping paper, Harry revealed a beautifully crafted wooden box. The moment he saw it, his breath hitched. He already had a good idea of what was inside.
“What are you waiting for, mate? Open it!” Ron urged, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Harry did, his hands trembling slightly as he removed the lid. Inside was a simple note that read, ‘More to come!’ And underneath it, was something extraordinary.
A cloak.
His dad’s invisibility cloak.
“Woah, mate! Wicked!” Ron gasped, his eyes wide.
“It’s an invisibility cloak…” Neville whispered, awe filling his voice. “The one your dad used during the war. To catch Death Eaters!”
“The one your dad used to assassinate Death Eaters!” Hermione corrected, equally amazed. Then, in a slightly more reserved tone, she added, “That’s incredible, Harry. Just… don’t use it for mischief, okay?”
Harry giggled, though his mind was already brimming with ideas. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said in a singsong tone, absolutely not fooling anyone.
Later that night, Harry couldn’t resist sneaking out of the Gryffindor common room to test the invisibility cloak. The castle at night was a completely different world—quiet, serene, and a little eerie. Harry wandered through the empty hallways, revelling in the thrill of being completely unseen.
He rounded a corner and froze. A Slytherin prefect was walking toward him. Harry stiffened, bracing himself for the scolding of a lifetime. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable… but it never came. The prefect walked right past him, her gaze focused straight ahead.
Right. He was invisible.
Harry let out a soft giggle as he continued his sneaky trek, exploring the castle grounds and marvelling at how peaceful it felt when everyone else was fast asleep.
Unfortunately, even if Harry had wanted to fully tour the castle, fatigue began to creep in, and hedecided to rest in an empty classroom. Sliding down against the door, he let out a ragged breath, stretching his legs out in front of him.
That’s when he noticed it.
At the back of the room was something large, covered in a heavy cloth.
Harry’s curiosity got the better of him. Once he had caught his breath, he stood up and approached the mysterious object. A piece of paper was pinned to the cloth, bearing the words:
‘To be moved to the Department of Mysteries—5th of January 1992.’
“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” Harry muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
But Harry was the son of the leader of the Marauders, and his curiosity was impossible to suppress. His hand hovered over the heavy fabric, trembling slightly as he gripped it. With one swift motion, he yanked the cloth away.
And there it was—a mirror.
It was gigantic, its frame ornate and carved with intricate designs. At the top, strange words were etched into the wood.
‘Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.’
“What… what language is this?” Harry wondered aloud, frowning as he tried to make sense of the inscription.
Instead of focusing on his reflection, he became fixated on the puzzle.
“Latin…? No… French? German? Italian?” he muttered, running through possibilities. “Gaelic…?”
None of it made sense. Then, something clicked. The last word—Erised.
He reversed it in his mind, and suddenly, the answer became clear.
‘Desire.’
A grin spread across Harry’s face as realisation dawned on him. It was mirrored! Of course it was—it was a mirror!
Now, the full inscription made sense.
‘I show not your face but your heart’s desire.’
“What my heart desires?” Harry said softly, tilting his head. “But it’s just a bloody mirror…”
He looked into it then, really looked. He saw himself—his messy black hair, his round glasses, his green eyes, and his thin frame.
He hated how thin he was. No matter how much he ate, he never seemed to gain any weight. Maybe… maybe that was what he desired? To be stronger? Bigger?
But then, something strange happened.
The mirror began to swirl.
Harry stumbled back a step, his breath catching in his throat as his reflection started to change. Slowly, an image formed.
It was him, sitting in the Three Broomsticks with Ron, Hermione, and Neville. The four of them were drinking butterbeer, their faces lit up with laughter and joy. The rest of the students cheered silently in the background, but Harry didn’t need sound to feel the happiness radiating from the scene. They were together. They were happy.
The image swirled once more, and Harry’s breath caught in his throat.
There he was, sitting on the Hogwarts docks. With…
Harry’s cheeks burned, a sudden heat crawling up his face.
Cedric. His best friend in the world.
They were sitting close, their knees almost touching as they talked. Harry couldn’t hear what was being said—there was no sound, only the silent, moving image in the mirror—but he could tell from the way they leaned toward each other—the easy smiles exchanged, that it didn’t matter—whatever they were talking about, it wasn’t the words that made the moment special.
The docks looked so cold at night; their breath making a physical appearance in the air as faint mist. Cedric’s expression softened as he looked at the mist Harry emitted, his eyes filled with a warmth so tender it made Harry’s chest ache. Cedric shifted even closer, his arm wrapping around Harry’s waist, pulling him against his side.
Harry in the mirror laughed silently, his whole body radiating happiness, before resting his head on Cedric’s shoulder. Cedric held him there, pulling his Hufflepuff robe around Harry, sharing his warmth.
Then, the reflection swirled once more, and Harry watched.
It was him—but much, much younger.
Harry was so small... perhaps no older than five or six—sitting on the grass in the garden of Uncle Sirius’ home. His tiny hands clutched his knee, and tears streamed down his flushed cheeks as he sobbed uncontrollably.
And then… someone came closer.
At first, Harry thought it was his dad. But… no. His face was sharper, yet… softer somehow. His features were more handsome, but his expression gentler. His eyes… those eyes carried a warmth that seemed to reach out through the mirror and made Harry’s heart ache.
The man knelt down in front of young Harry, his every movement tender and unhurried. His brow furrowed with worry as he carefully cradled the injured knee, leaning down to kiss it gently, as if that would make all the pain go away.
And yet—it must have worked—because the Harry in the mirror brightened. Without hesitation, little Harry threw himself into the man’s arms, his small hands clutching desperately at his neck like he never wanted to let go.
Harry’s chest tightened, a deep ache unfurling within him. It wasn’t just nostalgia. It was something sharper, heavier—like realising that he had forgotten something important—like that sinking, gnawing feeling Harry had when he had forgotten to turn off the stove, only ten thousand times worse.
The image shifted again, swirling gently before settling into a new scene.
They were back home. Harry’s home.
The dining room came into focus. His dad sat at the table, a newspaper in hand, occasionally sipping at his tea. And there, right beside Harry, was him . The man from before.
He was feeding Harry carrots, gently coaxing him with a handsome smile. What surprised Harry most wasn’t the feeding itself, but the way his reflection in the mirror beamed back at the man, not caring that he was being fed carrots.
Harry hated carrots. Despised it with his entire being. It didn’t make any sense.
From the kitchen, his mum appeared, carrying a tray laden with her signature treacle tarts. She set them in front of Harry, who cheered in delight. Then, something strange happened. She leaned down, kissed Harry’s forehead, and… kissed the man’s forehead too.
The man smiled, his face softening, becoming even more handsome as he soaked up her affection. And if that wasn’t strange enough,Harry watched as his dad reached across the table. His hand landed on Harry’s head first, ruffling his hair fondly before moving to the man, brushing through the man's hair with the same warmth.
Questions flooded Harry's mind.
Who was he? Why would his mum kiss this man with such tenderness? Why would his dad look at him with such… love in his eyes?
The mirror rippled once more, and Harry was left rapt as the next scene unfolded.
This time, he and the man were outside again, playing. Harry held a twig in his hand, brandishing it like a master duellist would a wand. He could hear his tiny voice this time. ‘Expelliarmus!’ little Harry shouted, with all the theatrical flair a five-year-old could muster.
The man went along with it, dramatically dropping to the ground with a mock groan of defeat. Harry’s laughter rang out, unrestrained and full of joy. He ran to the man, tackling him in a hug that was pure, abundant love.
The man stood up, hoisting little Harry onto his hip as if he weighed nothing at all. They turned together toward the mirror, and Harry’s stomach churned.
This was no vision. Harry—had… had this happened? He couldn’t remember, but he did remember—at the same time.
The man’s eyes softened even more, and now, with little Harry looking at him from the mirror—he noticed it.
The same green eyes. The exact shade of his mother’s.
And most importantly… the scar .
From behind the man, his family appeared, as if stepping out of a thick fog—his mum, his dad, Padfoot, and Moony. They were all there, standing together, complete. Whole .
It was his greatest desire laid bare before him. He recognised it now.
He had always wanted… a brother. A big brother.
Harry had a big brother.
Harry had a big brother, and he lost him. He—he lost his big brother.
“No…” Harry whispered, his voice cracking as tears pricked his eyes.
The man tilted his head, his handsome smile turning sad. He let little Harry stand on the ground, and with such gentle eyes, he nodded at Harry. Harry sniffled, stepping closer to the mirror, his feet moving of their own accord, until he was face to face with him, Harry craning his head upwards just to look at him.
"I miss you. I—I don't even know you, I—"
The man knelt down, green eyes looking into Harry’s own, and Harry raised his hand, pressing it gently against the glass. The man mirrored him, lifting his own hand until their palms nearly touched, separated only by the cold, unyielding surface.
The moment their hands aligned, the mirror’s magic stilled.
The swirling light within dimmed, leaving the room colder, darker, and impossibly quiet. He could feel the shadows creeping in, and he felt cold.
“How could I…” His voice trembled, his hand still resting against the glass.
His chest felt like it was caving in, his breaths shallow and uneven.
“How could I forget?” he whispered, his voice breaking.
He wasn’t just any man. He wasn’t some fleeting memory or a figment of Harry’s imagination.
He was his best friend in the world. His brother.
“Harry…” he whispered again, tears streaming down his face as his reflection stared back at him.
James was lounging in his favorite armchair at home, a steaming cup of tea in front of him as he perused the day’s news. He had managed to get some time off from work for the holidays, and for reasons he couldn’t quite put into words, he had a good feeling about this year’s Christmas. Perhaps it was because he missed his boy more than usual.
In all the years since Harry had been born, James had never been apart from his boy for longer than a month. The distance these past months had been almost unbearable, the ache of missing his son while he was at school accompanied him every day. He couldn’t resist sending Harry an early Christmas gift, picturing the look on his face as he unwrapped it.
The thought made James smile. He knew the invisibility cloak would be put to good use. After all, Harry was the son—and godson—of the greatest pranksters Hogwarts had ever seen. Mischief practically ran in his veins.
His moment of peace was interrupted by the soft whoosh of the Floo, followed by Lily’s surprised voice calling out from the next room.
“Harry? Why are you home already? Christmas holiday is still three days aw—”
“I’m going to my room! I don’t feel well!” came Harry’s shout, his voice strained.
James lowered his newspaper, his brow furrowing as the sound of hurried footsteps thundered up the stairs. The slam of a door echoed through the house.
“Harry James Potter!” James called sternly from the sitting room, his voice carrying a note of warning.
When no response came, he set his tea down and rose from his chair, making his way toward his wife, who stood by the fireplace, looking bewildered.
“What happened?” James asked, concern edging his tone.
Lily shook her head, her expression clouded with confusion. “I don’t know… he just rushed in, said he wasn’t feeling well, and—”
Before she could finish, the Floo flared again, its bright green flames illuminating the room. Dumbledore’s head appeared in the hearth, his eyes worried behind his half-moon spectacles.
“Ah, James, Lily. Good day,” the old wizard greeted warmly.
“Good day, Professor,” they replied in unison, though worry still lingered on the forefront of their minds.
“Harry mentioned he wasn’t feeling well,” Dumbledore said, his voice tinged with gentle concern. “Since the Christmas holiday is only three days away, I thought it best to send him home early. I hope you don’t mind the lack of prior notice.”
“Oh no, not at all,” Lily assured him quickly, though her gaze darted toward the staircase. “We’re just glad he’s home.”
“We’ll find out what’s troubling him, Professor. Thank you,” James added, nodding politely.
“Ah, and one more thing,” Dumbledore said, his tone brightening. “Ronald Weasley asked me to remind you that the Weasleys have extended an invitation for Harry to join them at the Burrow. It seems that he wishes to spend Christmas with some of his new friends also.”
“Understood, Professor. Thank you again,” Lily said with a small smile.
As the flames flickered back to their normal color, James turned to his wife, his brows furrowed thoughtfully. “So… not a problem with the Malfoy kid, then? No suspension or anything?”
Lily shot him a sharp look, her hands going to her hips. “James. Be serious.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender, though his grin was short-lived. “Maybe… a problem with his friends?”
Lily hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s hard to say... Ronald’s invitation sounded positively cheerful.”
James nodded slowly, his gaze shifting toward the stairs. “He… he’s not homesick, is he?”
“I don’t know,” Lily murmured, frowning in thought. “But he hasn’t been home in months. Maybe it’s just everything catching up to him…”
James let out a soft sigh, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Let’s give him space for now. He’ll talk to us when he’s ready.”
“I sure hope so, James,” Lily whispered.
Harry didn’t speak the next day. By lunchtime, James and Lily’s worry had deepened even more. Despite having Penny, their house elf, deliver Harry’s meals, every tray returned untouched. Dinner, breakfast, lunch.
“Master Harry kept crying, asking Penny to go away!” Penny explained, her tiny voice filled with distress, her ears drooping.
James was supremely worried now—more than he wanted to admit. Harry had never been like this before. Never.
“It’s quite alright, we’ll take care of Harry. Why don’t you go and take a rest, Penny?” Lily said gently.
Penny gave them a respectful bow before popping out of the room, leaving Lily to let out a long sigh. James reached over and placed a steadying hand on his wife’s shoulder, though the crease between her brows didn’t ease.
“That’s dinner, breakfast, and now lunch skipped, James,” Lily murmured, her voice tinged with frustration and worry.
James nodded grimly. “I think it’s time we step in, love. This is not good for him.”
“I don’t like forcing him to talk,” Lily admitted, running a hand through her hair. “But… you’re right. It’s not healthy for him to keep going like this. Let’s go.”
James followed his wife up the stairs, his heart full of concern for his son. When they reached Harry’s door, Lily paused, took a deep breath, and knocked softly.
No answer.
Lily’s face softened as she leaned closer to the door, her voice gentle but firm. “Sweetie,” she called. “You haven’t touched your food, love. We’re getting worried.”
There was a rustling sound from inside, followed by Harry’s shaky, muffled voice. “I don’t want to eat, Mum. I’m not hungry.”
“But you have to eat, Harry. You’ve already missed three meals,” James tried, trying to keep his voice level.
There was a pause—a small, heart-wrenching sob—before Harry choked out, “I don’t want to eat! Please, leave me alone.”
The sound of his broken sobs on the other side of the door made James’ heart ache. His son was crying again, and it was unbearable for James.
“Harry,” Lily said gently, leaning closer to the door. “You have to talk to us. This isn’t good for you, baby—”
“Go away, Mum!” Harry suddenly snapped, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.
Lily’s eyes widened slightly at the harshness in Harry’s tone. James stepped forward, his voice firm.
“Harry,” he said, his tone carrying both authority and care. “That’s no way to speak to your mother, no matter how upset you are.”
A small, strained silence followed before Harry’s voice came again, quieter this time. “P–please?”
James exchanged a pained look with Lily. Both of them sighed.
Lily straightened her shoulders, her resolve firming. “We’re coming in whether you like it or not, young man,” she declared softly but decisively.
No response.
“On three,” Lily announced. “One. Two—”
A gasp came from inside the room, followed by Harry’s desperate plea. “No! Stop!”
“Three. Alohomora .”
The door clicked open, revealing a dim, silent room. The curtains were mostly drawn, allowing only a sliver of light to filter through. His son had not bothered to turn on the lights, and the room was unnervingly tidy. Too tidy. Harry hadn’t touched his figurines, his comic books, or even the telly.
There, bundled under the blankets on his bed, was his son—a small, trembling lump trying to shield himself from his parents.
Lily approached first, sitting carefully by the headboard, while James positioned himself closer to the foot of the bed. They exchanged a glance, silently agreeing to give Harry time to come out on his own.
When it became clear that he wouldn’t, Lily spoke, her voice soft and coaxing. “Harry. Talk to me, dear.”
The bundle shifted, and his son’s small head peeked out from under the covers. Harry’s green eyes, glassy with tears, met Lily’s. His face was flushed, and tear tracks stained his cheeks. James’ heart twisted painfully at the sight.
Sadness rolled through James in waves as he moved closer, placing a comforting hand on his son’s small shoulder. Lily reached out as well, brushing Harry’s hair back tenderly.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Lily murmured, shushing him softly as Harry sniffled, tears falling anew.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Mum. It’s stupid,” Harry whispered, his voice barely audible.
“Harry, son,” James said, leaning closer, hoping that his son could hear the sincerity in his voice. “Whatever happened is clearly bothering you. Talk to us, sweetheart. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”
Harry stayed quiet for a moment, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Lily used the opportunity to gently guide him.
“Is it… about girls?” she asked cautiously.
Harry pouted, shaking his head.
Lily and James shared a knowing look. They had parented long enough to sense when they were on the right track—or close to it.
“About boys?” Lily tried again, her voice soft.
Harry’s face immediately flushed, his ears turning bright red as he let out a strangled choking sound on the back of his throat. James couldn’t help but smile softly.
James squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “Is it about Cedric?” Lily teased lightly, her tone playful but careful.
Harry’s blush deepened, but he shook his head vehemently. “No… it’s not about Cedric. I’m just—it’s really stupid, Mum, Dad.”
James hummed thoughtfully, though he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. Not about Ced? Shame. If there was anyone James could trust Harry with, it would be Cedric—polite, responsible, and just the right balance of protective and fun. Perfect for his son.
Pushing the thought aside, James focused on Harry again. “Harry,” he said, exaggerating his tone to lighten the mood. “I’ve been best friends with your Uncle Padfoot for years . I’ve been dealing with stupid my entire life. Come on, lay it on me.”
Harry managed a small smile, though it quickly gave way to an ashamed frown. He hesitated, biting his lip for a moment. “Promise not to laugh at me?” he whispered.
James and Lily both smiled reassuringly, giving him the courage to continue.
“I—I think…” Harry hesitated, his voice faltering. He wiped his eyes again and finally whispered, “No, I know. I’m missing my imaginary friend.”
James felt himself choking on his own saliva, his eyes almost widening at the confession Harry just gave. It was the last thing on James’ mind—heavy and unexpected. He and Lily froze, their hearts sinking under the weight of Harry’s words.
“Imaginary… friend?” Lily echoed gently, though James could hear the slight tremble in her voice.
Harry nodded, his small frame shaking. “Yeah… my best friend in the whole world. From when I was little.” His voice cracked as he continued. “I miss him so much.”
James felt like the air had been knocked out of him. Part of him wanted to dismiss it, to say that Harry was just confused. But something in his son’s voice—in the raw emotion on his face, made James stop. His son was serious.
“Why do you think that he was imaginary?” James asked, his voice steady but strained.
Harry frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. “Because… the way he looks doesn’t make sense,” he murmured.
“And why doesn’t it make sense, sweetheart?” Lily asked, coaxing their son.
Harry turned to James, his green eyes shimmering with fresh tears. “Because… he looks like Dad…” he whispered, his voice fragile and trembling.
For a moment, the weight of those words hung in the air before Harry crumbled, the tears he’d been holding back breaking free. He sobbed into his hands, his small fists pressing against his eyes as though trying to physically push the pain away. James and Lily immediately leaned closer, whispering soothing words in their son’s ear.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let it out,” Lily murmured, her hand brushing back Harry’s unruly hair as James gently rubbed his back. But their calm exteriors belied the turmoil within—they could feel their hearts breaking in tandem with Harry’s sobs.
James met Lily’s eyes, and in that single glance, they both understood. The same conclusion had struck them like a bolt of lightning, and Lily closed her eyes briefly, her lips trembling as she rocked Harry gently in her arms.
His son remembered. In a way.
“He looks… like Dad,” Harry managed to choke out between sobs. “Just… more handsome.”
James’ lips twitched despite the ache in his chest. Of course he does , he thought wryly. His big brother was leagues more handsome than James. But the thought brought no relief, only a fresh wave of pain. Harry wasn’t just mourning a figment of his imagination. He was remembering someone. Someone important. The most important person that they had lost.
“But… he looks like me too,” Harry continued. “He has the same scar as me…” He hiccupped, struggling to get the words out. “But he looks so good with it. And his eyes… his eyes are so kind. I miss him… so much…”
James pulled Harry fully into his arms, holding him tightly as though he could physically shield him from the pain. “Oh, Harry,” he murmured, his voice thick with old grief. Lily wiped at her own tears, trying to stay strong for their boy, though her defences were shattering with every sob that shook Harry’s small frame.
James shifted slightly, adjusting his hold on Harry. He glanced at Lily, lifting his right hand to show her his pinky. Her tear-filled eyes widened for a moment, understanding immediately, and she nodded. She trusted their son. They both did. They always had, and they always will.
They had made a promise to him, and even though they had cheated that day—they would still honour their promise to him the best they could.
He wanted to be forgotten, to spare his little brother the pain.
They would honour it, no matter how painful it would be.
“It’s okay to miss him, Harry,” James whispered, his voice as warm and soft as he could manage, trying to comfort without dismissing his son’s grief. “It’s all part of growing up,” he added, pressing a kiss to the top of his son’s head. “Prongs used to be my imaginary friend too. Did I ever tell you that?”
Harry stirred slightly, turning his tear-streaked face to look up at James. “No,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse but curious.
James smiled gently. “I loved stags so much that Prongs became my patronus. And then, when I got a bit older, he even became my animagus form. He was my best friend for so long. So you see? It’s okay. It’s okay to miss your friend.”
“Really?” Harry whispered, his voice so small and vulnerable that it twisted James’ heart.
“Really,” James replied firmly.
“So… I’m not crazy?” Harry asked hesitantly. “I’m not going insane?”
Lily leaned in then, her voice soothing as she kissed Harry’s damp cheek. “Of course not, you silly boy,” she said, her tone tinged with a bittersweet fondness. “It’s okay to miss him. It’s okay to cry. But remember what your dad always says?”
Harry gave a small, pouty frown, one James couldn’t help but find utterly endearing. “Cry, yell, let it all out?” he muttered.
“Exactly,” James said, smiling as he patted his son’s head. “You’ve cried your heart out now, haven’t you?”
Harry nodded against his chest, the faintest glimmer of relief beginning to creep into his heart.
“Good,” James said, his tone taking on a more upbeat note. “Now comes the hard part—we persevere. And that means you need a distraction. Guess what?”
Harry blinked, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his pyjama. “What?”
Lily smiled, her voice lifting slightly to match James’ light tone. “You’re invited by the Weasleys to the Burrow for Christmas. All your friends will be there.”
James saw it then—the small spark of life returning to Harry’s eyes.
“You’re excited to see all the Weasleys again, right? Maybe talk to Charlie about dragons some more?” Lily prompted.
Harry brightened visibly, nodding his head eagerly. “Yeah!” he said, his voice a little stronger now.
“Then you’d better eat,” Lily said with a mock-serious tone. “Or else Mrs. Weasley’s going to insist you finish three portions because you’re too thin. And then, when you throw up, she’ll make you eat another portion because you wasted the first three.”
Harry giggled, and James and Lily exchanged a small, bittersweet smile over their son’s head. The sound of his laughter, even tinged with sadness, was the most welcome sound in the world.
“Okay,” Harry said, his voice soft but hopeful. “Can we have curry and rice for dinner, please?”
James gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Are we the same person?!” he exclaimed. “I was just about to ask your mother to cook that!”
Harry giggled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling in joy. “Really?”
“Cross my heart,” James declared, tracing an exaggerated ‘X’ over his chest while Harry dissolved into laughter.
But then… uh-oh. Lily was giving him that look. James gulped, trying to turn his head from his wife’s burning gaze.
“Come downstairs with me, Harry?” Lily asked sweetly, turning to her son. “Help me cut the chicken?”
Harry nodded eagerly. “Right! I’ll go ahead and feed Streaky first!” he announced, bounding down the stairs in a whirlwind of energy.
James watched him go, relief mingling with an ache he couldn’t quite name. He glanced at Lily, who stood beside him, her expression moulding into one that promised James ample reward, but still—the full weight of her gaze making him feel like a guilty schoolboy.
“Such a good father, aren’t you?” she teased, her voice dropping to a low murmur as she leaned closer. Her lips brushed his ear as she added, “Daddy?”
James shivered from head to toe, his cheeks flushing a deep red as Lily giggled and left the room to follow Harry. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the rush of emotions swirling within him.
Once his breathing steadied, his thoughts began to spiral.
How much did Harry truly remember? Were they just fleeting glimpses of a forgotten childhood? Memories blurred enough by time and magic to make his brother feel more like an imaginary friend than the man he truly was?
“Harry…” James whispered, the name laden with grief. But this time, he wasn’t speaking to his little boy. He was addressing the man who had given them their lives back, the one whose strength had been so profound he’d willingly allowed himself to be erased from the world he’d saved, just to spare his little brother’s feelings.
“Your baby brother misses you,” James murmured to the empty room. “You promised him, didn’t you? And you always keep your promises.”
He lingered for a moment, as if to grieve for his lost son. Then, with a weary sigh, James pushed himself to his feet. As he moved through the hall, his gaze caught on the door to the spare bedroom—situated right next to the guest room. He hesitated, his hand brushing against the frame.
It was a room he and Lily had kept pristine for years. A space lovingly maintained on the fragile hope that one day their son— their other son —might finally join their family fully.
James swallowed the lump in his throat as the ache in his chest grew. What went wrong? The question burned in his mind, unrelenting.
Dumbledore’s spell had been so potent, meticulously crafted to help them move on without being consumed by grief. But James couldn’t accept a life where his son had not existed. He refused to let that reality take hold.
He had fought against the fog of magic, pushing his occlumency to its very limits. And even with all his efforts, the memories might still have slipped away—if not for that small, peculiar gap between the books on their shelf. A gap where Senior had left behind the undeniable proof of his existence.
What went wrong? James wondered, the question gnawing at him. How could Harry glimpse the past? How could he remember? What kind of magic was strong enough to break through a spell this powerful?
Shaking his head, James turned away from the spare bedroom door. The warm, familiar scent of onions being stir-fried drifted through the house, grounding him in the present. His family was downstairs, waiting for him.
Grief clung to him, a weight he couldn’t entirely cast off. But even as he mourned for what he could not have, he reminded himself of what he did. He still had a family, and they needed his strength.
Chapter 21: Tears on Christmas Eve
Summary:
Harry arrived to the Burrow with a heavy heart, the sight of the Weasleys having such a big family hit Harry a bit too much.
Notes:
It was a bit too long for a single chapter! Second parts' in the next few hours! Poor baby Harry 🥲
Chapter Text
Harry never liked making his parents worry. He hated the way their brows furrowed, the way concern clouded their eyes—it twisted something deep in his chest. So, he didn’t tell them. He never told them that his brother didn’t feel imaginary. Not even a little.
As Streaky coiled snugly around his arm, her cool, smooth scales pressing against his skin, his mind danced with memories—or were they...? They felt too vivid, too real to be tricks. He could almost see it, clear as daylight: his brother hissing softly at Streaky, his voice carrying a lilting, inhuman cadence that sent the snake into action, as though understanding every word.
Harry closed his eyes, focusing. He tried to remember the sound of it, the rhythm of those hisses, the way his brother’s voice rose and fell like an elegant melody. He mimicked it in his mind, searching for the flow, the intonation, the precise music of it.
Streaky reared slightly, her small, pointed head tilting as though she were studying him. Watching. Waiting. Harry bit his lip, his chest tightening with both hope and doubt.
He hissed.
It was clumsy, unpracticed, nothing like what he remembered. But he tried again and again. Over and over, his desperation mounting with each attempt. Streaky continued to watch, tilting her head this way and that, until finally, she slithered higher up his arm. Slowly, deliberately, she pressed her tiny head against his chin.
Harry froze.
His breath hitched, and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Streaky had always done this—always—when his brother had asked her to. His brother had called it a ‘kiss,’ though the word had never fully translated into the serpent’s language. It didn’t matter. It was close enough. It was a kiss, all the same.
“Did you understand me, Streaky? Did I do it right?” Harry whispered, his voice trembling and cracking under the weight of his emotions.
Streaky nuzzled his chin in response, and Harry’s other hand rose instinctively, letting her coil around it as well. Her movements were gentle, almost reassuring.
“He’s real, isn’t he?” Harry asked, his voice breaking. “My brother? I’m not crazy, am I?”
Of course, Streaky couldn’t answer—not in the way Harry so desperately wanted. But she hissed softly, her tone melodic, almost tender. Harry’s heart clenched, and he chose to believe it was confirmation.
“Why did he leave me alone?” Harry whispered, tears slipping freely down his cheeks. “I miss him so much… I don’t understand…”
His chest felt tight, his breath stuttering as his words dissolved into quiet sobs. The ache inside him swelled, and with it came the memories—unbidden, vivid, and piercing.
He saw himself as a child, so small, sitting on his brother’s lap. Streaky had been tiny then too, a baby snake small enough to fit into his brother’s palm. He remembered the way his young voice had babbled on about how beautiful her scales were, how she was the gentlest snake in the world. His brother—patient and kind—had translated every word into soft hisses, earning delighted nuzzles from Streaky each time.
He remembered sitting by Uncle Sirius’ fireplace, his brother’s voice low and serious as he taught him: “People are like snakes, Harry. That’s why you should always be careful. You never know who holds venom inside them. Never fear them—but always respect them.”
The words rang in his ears like a distant echo, familiar and comforting. Harry hissed again, mimicking the tone and cadence of his brother’s voice, the way he had lavished compliments on Streaky all those years ago. And this time, when the little snake responded with a soft, melodic hiss of her own, something clicked deep within him.
It was proof. Proof that his brother had been real. Proof that Harry hadn’t imagined him, couldn’t have imagined him. His big brother, the person he had adored more than anyone in the world, had been real.
Harry had tried to tell his parents. He had tried to make them understand that he remembered, that they didn’t have to pretend anymore. He told them how he’d always wanted a big brother, someone like Bill was to Ron. But they never budged. His dad had only laughed, brushing it off with a joke about magic’s one true limitation, its inability to reverse time and grant Harry the older brother he so desperately wanted.
But Harry didn’t want to reverse time. He didn’t need that. He just wanted to see his brother again. Now. He wanted to sit on his lap like he used to, to hear his laugh as he spun ridiculous stories about nearly being eaten by a dementor during Quidditch.
The thought came like a bolt of lightning, freezing him mid-breath. His heart pounded as he sat up in his bed, eyes wide with realisation.
The golden snitch.
His brother’s gift. His childhood treasure.
Where was it?
Harry threw off his blankets and bolted down the stairs, his feet barely touching the floor as he raced to the sitting room. His eyes darted frantically around, scanning every surface, every corner—and then, he saw it. Sitting right there, glinting in front of the empty space on the bookcase.
He snatched it up, his hands trembling as he turned the small golden ball over, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He searched desperately, his fingers tracing the smooth surface, until—
There.
The mark. The faint, unmistakable indentations left by teeth. His brother’s teeth. His brother’s stupid, brilliant idea to catch the snitch with his mouth.
Harry’s chest tightened as he clutched the snitch close, pressing it against his heart. Tears blurred his vision, spilling over as his breath hitched in broken sobs. He wasn’t crazy. He hadn’t imagined it. His brother was real. He had always been real.
“Why…?” Harry whispered, his voice shaking, barely audible as he stared down at the glinting ball in his hands. “Why did you leave me?”
He pressed his lips to the cool metal, his tears streaking the golden surface. “Please… come back. I just want to see you. Just once… please.”
The words hung in the air, soft and aching, as if hoping the echo might somehow reach his brother, wherever he was.
Harry dressed sluggishly for the Christmas Eve dinner, layering clothes one over the other until he finally pulled on his favorite Gryffindor jumper. It fit snugly, warm against his skin, but it did little to thaw the cold ache in his chest. His dad rested a hand on his shoulder as they stood together in front of the mirror.
Harry frowned at their reflection. His brother’s face flickered in his mind—a blend of his own features and their dad’s. Too alike to dismiss. It made sense. He was Dad’s son too.
“Ready to go, little lion?” James asked softly, his voice gentle.
Harry nodded, swallowing the lump rising in his throat. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. He wouldn’t cry. Not tonight. Not again.
Through the floo, they arrived at the Burrow, where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley greeted them warmly. The house buzzed with laughter, the air thick with the scents of cinnamon, roasted meats, and pine. His parents exchanged pleasantries with the Weasleys, their voices blending into the merriment, but Harry slipped away, retreating to the edges of the bustling celebration.
Everywhere he looked, people were smiling, talking, enjoying the holiday. It was a scene straight out of one of his mum’s holiday cards, but to Harry, it felt suffocating. He was trapped in the middle of a storm no one else could see.
Familiar faces floated in his periphery, with an addition of Hermione . Normally, they would have brought him comfort, but tonight, the effort to join them felt insurmountable. Before he could gather the strength, a voice cut through the din, pulling him back to the present.
“Hey. What’s with the frown?”
Harry turned, his face flushing as his eyes met Cedric’s. His friend stood there, unfairly tall, his warm gaze laced with concern. Cedric always had that effect—a warmth that made Harry’s heart twist in ways he didn’t fully understand. He tried to smile, but it faltered.
“Nothing,” Harry murmured, his voice uneven. “Just feeling a bit under the weather, Ced.”
Cedric’s expression softened, his smile gentle and understanding. “We’ve been waiting for you,” he said, extending a hand toward Harry. “Gobstones?”
Harry managed a small, more genuine smile this time and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s play.”
For a little while, Harry let himself forget. Cedric stayed close, as he always did, a steady anchor in the maelstrom of Harry’s emotions. When anyone asked why Cedric was always glued to Harry’s side, he would laugh and say Harry was the perfect temperature to snuggle. Always.
The group laughed together as he chatted with Ron and Neville, the twins, and for a fleeting moment, Harry felt lighter, every laugh Cedric echoed next to him lifting his heart.
The image of the mirror lingered at the edges of his mind, gnawing at his thoughts. He couldn’t help but wish Cedric would pull him closer, just like in the reflection—let him rest his head on those too-broad shoulders and hold him until the ache in his chest subsided.
“Right! Gobstones!” Ron suddenly announced, jumping to his feet.
Harry’s gaze followed as Ron strode toward a shelf where the gobstone tin rested on the highest edge. He stretched up, standing on his tiptoes, but his fingers barely brushed the bottom of the tin, even with his newfound height.
And then it happened.
Bill rose from his conversation and walked over with effortless grace. Without hesitation, he reached up, retrieved the tin, and handed it to Ron with a casual, “Here you go.”
Harry’s breath hitched.
“Thanks,” Ron muttered, barely sparing his brother a glance before returning to the group.
Harry’s chest tightened. Did Ron not see it? Did he not understand how much Bill loved him? How lucky he was? Bill was so tall, just like Harry’s brother. He remembered the feeling of being carried high on his brother’s shoulders, as if the world couldn’t touch him.
Did Ron not realize how precious it was to have someone always there, always ready to catch him when he stumbled, someone who would never leave him behind?
Harry’s gaze shifted to Ginny. She was struggling to lift a teapot set—one of the Christmas gifts from his mum. The lightening charm on the bundle must have worn off. Before she could call for help, Charlie appeared, his strong arms lifting the set effortlessly. “Where do you want it, Gin?” he asked with an easy smile.
Ginny giggled, leading Charlie toward the table.
It wasn’t fair…
Harry’s brother was stronger than Charlie. Stronger than anyone.
His brother could talk to snakes. His brother had defeated a dark lord. His brother was everything. And he—
“Harry?” Cedric’s voice broke through the spiraling thoughts. “Harry, hey! Are you okay?”
The room fell silent, every head turning toward him. The weight of their stares pressed down, suffocating him, and before he could stop himself, the dam broke.
The tears came, hot and relentless. This wasn’t the quiet, controlled crying Harry had managed before. This was raw, ugly, and unstoppable.
“I miss Senior,” Harry sobbed, the words tearing from his throat. “I miss him so much.”
His parents froze, their faces shifting from confusion to realisation. They stood from the table as Cedric stepped aside, giving them space.
Before they could speak, Harry shook his head, his fists clenching as his voice cracked. “Don’t tell me he’s not real!” he shouted. “I know he is! I know my brother exists!”
The room fell into a stunned silence. Even Sirius and Remus, usually quick with their wit, seemed at a loss.
Harry turned to his dad, collapsing into his arms as sobs wracked his frame. He buried his face in his father’s jumper, muffling his cries against the fabric.
“He promised he’d find me, Dad,” Harry wept. “He promised!”
His dad held him tightly, his hand stroking Harry’s hair in slow, soothing motions. His voice trembled with regret as he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Harry. I thought the spell was enough… I thought it would keep you safe. I should’ve erased it completely. I thought it was enough.”
Harry pulled back, his tear-streaked face filled with betrayal. “How could you say that?” he cried. “You don’t get to! I just—I just miss him, Dad. Please… please just tell me that he existed. That I’m not mad. Please…”
His mother knelt beside him, her own tears falling freely. She brushed his hair back and cupped his face with trembling hands. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“He does exist, Harry,” she whispered. “He does. We miss him too. He’s trying to reach us, sweetheart. I know he is.”
Harry’s grief spilled over, raw and uncontainable. “I miss my brother… I want my brother back. Please… Mum… Dad… please…”
His parents held him tightly, their arms a cocoon against the storm raging inside him. He cried until his voice gave out, until his chest felt hollow and his body weak.
But the ache remained. It gnawed at him, relentless, a reminder of the empty space his brother had left behind. And though his parents whispered reassurances, though Cedric hovered nearby, offering his quiet support, Harry knew the truth.
He could never truly be okay. Not until he found him again.
Chapter 22: A Fated Reunion
Summary:
As Harry bawled his heart out, the door to the Burrow was slammed open, letting the cold air inside.
Harry could not care. The ice inside of his heart was colder. But when the entourage cried "Merry Christmas!" Harry's eyes flipped. He could hear him there.
Notes:
AHH IT'S 3 A.M. AND IT'S FINISHED! I'M GOING TO PUBLISH IT TONIGHT OR I'M NEVER GOING TO GET IT DONE!
Sorry for any errors. I am supremely unalert and will be fixing it tomorrow. Thank you for following this story! Have a lovely Christmas filled with joy!
Merry Christmas! Tell me what you think!
P.S. Do tell me any errors as I didn't have the chance to truly proofread this! My battery is at 4 percent and my house's power was lost.
Cleared spelling mistakes on 15th of April!
Chapter Text
The murmurs in the sitting room swirled like a bubbling cauldron, pressing against Harry’s already fragile composure. His uncles’ voices carried a mix of concern, disbelief, and confusion.
“What is Harry talking about?” Sirius demanded, his voice sharp with worry. “James, my godson is heartbroken—he’s—”
“We’re handling it,” his mum interrupted, though her trembling voice betrayed her own uncertainty. She sounded close to breaking herself.
They didn’t understand. They couldn’t. How could they possibly know what Harry felt? They hadn’t lost a brother they weren’t supposed to have, hadn’t been left to mourn someone they weren’t even allowed to remember. They thought that Harry was going insane, but they didn’t know the truth.
A sudden gust of cold air swept through the room, cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. The front door flew open with a loud slam, silencing everyone instantly. The icy wind spilled into the house, scattering loose papers and extinguishing any further conversation.
“Merry Christmas!” a chorus of voices rang out, warm and cheerful despite the chill.
Harry froze in his parents’ arms. His breath hitched, his body stiffening as he strained to see over their shoulders. Slowly, he pulled back, trembling as his hands worked to wipe the tears from his face. His fingers fumbled as he shoved his glasses back onto his nose, and he blinked through the blurriness.
And then, he saw him.
Time seemed to stop. The noise of the room faded, the warmth of the fire forgotten, and the cold draft ignored.
Standing in the doorway was his brother. Larger than life, just as Harry had remembered him. He looked older, his jaw slightly stubbled, but the sight of him was so achingly familiar. He looked even more handsome, even though he was wearing the ugliest green jumper Harry had ever seen, with a bold red “H” stitched across the front.
Harry’s breath hitched. His brother’s cheerful smile faltered as their eyes met, replaced by concern and recognition.
Without thinking, Harry sprang to his feet, his body moving faster than his mind could comprehend. His legs carried him forward, nearly tripping in his haste, but he didn’t care. He stumbled—but it didn’t matter.
His brother caught him, just as he always had.
Strong arms wrapped around him, lifting him clean off the ground. Harry buried his face into his brother’s jumper as he was spun around, his glasses tilting askew. When he was finally set back on his feet, his brother gently adjusted them, his touch as familiar as the memories that had haunted Harry for days.
“Hey there,” his brother murmured, his voice low and warm. It was exactly as Harry remembered—steady and comforting. “Missed me much?”
A strangled laugh escaped Harry, mixed with the sobs that he could no longer contain. His arms tightened around his brother’s neck, clinging to him like he might disappear again if he let go. “Missed you more than anything,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
His brother pulled back slightly, holding Harry by the shoulders as he smiled down at him, his green eyes filled with pride and affection. Then, his gaze shifted, and Harry followed it to the beautiful red-haired woman standing just behind him. She was holding a small girl on her hip, her fiery hair catching the glow of the firelight.
“Look at him,” his brother said with a fond laugh, his voice tinged with pride. “Barmy, isn’t it?”
The woman chuckled, her eyes sparkling with affection. “I’m not surprised,” she said with a teasing smile. “These kinds of things always happens to you somehow,” She whispered, her gaze soft as it lingered on Harry.
Before anyone could respond, another commotion erupted outside. The sound of scuffling feet, an exasperated groan, and the high-pitched complaints of a child echoed into the room. Harry turned just in time to see an extremely tall, red-haired man enter, wrangling a small boy who bore an uncanny resemblance to Harry. The boy’s messy black hair stuck out in every direction, and though he looked to be putting up a fight, he stopped the moment they crossed the threshold.
“Hello, everyone!” the man boomed once he was inside, his grin wide and infectious. “We came from the future!”
The room fell into a stunned silence once more. Every head was turned towards the entrance, and every jaw dropped as they took in the sight before them.
And then Harry laughed.
It started as a soft, shaky sound, but it grew until it filled the room, breaking the tension like a floodgate bursting. He turned back to his brother, throwing his arms around him once more, his tears soaking into the soft green jumper. His brother held him tightly, one hand resting on the back of Harry’s head as he whispered gentle, assuring declarations of love, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
“Mate, what in the bloody hell is going on?!” Ron demanded, his voice sharp with disbelief as his eyes darted between Harry and the chaos unfolding in the room.
Harry couldn’t help but grin, wiping at his face with his sleeve. “My brother came to visit! I told you I wasn’t going mad!”
Ron’s mouth opened and closed, resembling a fish gasping for air, his words seemingly stuck in his throat. Before he could recover, Hermione let out a strangled cry. “Brother?! Harry, that is you! Literally you! Time travel doesn’t work like this—what if—”
“You two, shush!” Harry cut them off, exasperation clear in his tone. He couldn’t deal with Hermione’s spiraling when all he could see was his brother hugging their dad.
His dad, who looked like he was caught somewhere between disbelief and relief, clung tightly to Senior. Their similar heights and builds made them look like twins, and it was a surreal sight.
Meanwhile, his mum was already in tears, cupping Senior’s face in her hands and pressing rapid kisses to his forehead and cheeks, as if trying to convince herself that he was real.
Senior finally stepped back, his smile soft and proud as he addressed their parents. “Mum, Dad,” he said, his voice steady but brimming with emotion. Pride. He gestured toward the beautiful red-haired woman standing beside him. “Meet my wife.”
The woman stepped forward with a warm smile, her movements graceful as she passed the small girl in her arms to a tall, red-haired man who could only be her brother. “Hello, Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter,” she greeted softly. “I’m Ginevra Potter. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”
Harry felt like he’d been hit by a bludger. His cheeks flushed a deep red, and his throat tightened. “Ginny?!” he squeaked, his voice embarrassingly high-pitched.
“GINNY?!” The entire house echoed his shock.
Ron, his face already turning beet red, rounded on Harry with wild eyes. “YOU MARRIED MY SISTER?!”
“Wha—no, I didn’t! He—” Harry stammered, gesturing wildly toward Senior.
The room exploded into laughter, Sirius and Remus nearly falling over each other in hysterics. Even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked positively delighted.
“Oh, Ginny, darling! You’re absolutely beautiful,” Mrs. Weasley cooed, tears of joy glistening in her eyes.
Ginny glanced at Harry from across the room, their gazes meeting for the briefest moment before they both quickly looked away, their faces equally flushed.
“Right,” Ginevra said, clearing her throat as she tugged at the sleeve of the tall man standing beside her. “And this is my brother, Ronald.”
Ron’s jaw dropped so far that Harry worried it might never close. “Ronald?!”
“RONALD?!”
The older Ron chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Easy there, no need to yell. Especially when I introduce my wife.”
He gestured to the woman standing beside him, a pretty brunette who was holding a little girl on her hip. She smiled warmly at the room, her expression both new and familiar. “Hello, everyone,” she said, her voice calm and collected. “I’m Hermione Granger-Weasley.”
“HERMIONE?!”
Harry doubled over, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. It was Harry’s turn to laugh, and he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to enjoy it. Hermione, meanwhile, had turned a deep shade of crimson and was now attempting to hide behind the book she was holding.
Ronald grinned, his amusement evident as he gently took the little girl from Hermione’s arms. “And Mum, Dad, meet Rose,” he said, his tone softening.
Mrs. Weasley gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, you sweet thing!” she exclaimed, eagerly taking Rose into her arms. The little girl looked slightly bewildered at first but soon relaxed as her younger grandmother fawned over her.
Harry’s gaze softened as he watched his mum lean over to coo at Rose as well. The sight tugged at something deep in his chest—a strange mix of awe and warmth. He couldn’t help but smile, the chaos of the moment settling into something far more magical.
As the room marveled over Rose, the door creaked open once more, the soft sound cutting through the chatter. The room fell silent as a boy Harry’s age stepped inside, dragging along two younger boys. One of them was struggling with exaggerated effort—the boy Harry had caught a glimpse of earlier—whining all the way, while the other followed quietly, his movements hesitant but obedient. All three were dressed in matching winter outfits, each set in a different color.
Harry’s breath hitched as he took in the older boy. His unruly black hair and striking green eyes—Harry’s own features reflected back at him, though softened and somehow different. The boy looked around with an air of authority, and his grip on the smaller boy’s arm made it clear he was very much in charge.
“I just wanna play in the snow!” the younger boy complained, his tone both pleading and defiant. “I promise I’ll keep my gloves on this time!”
The older boy sighed heavily, clearly unimpressed. “No. You’ll get wet, and then you’ll catch a cold. Again .”
Senior chuckled, breaking the brief tension, and gestured toward Harry. “Come on. You said you wanted to meet Uncle Harry, remember?”
At the mention of his name, the younger boy froze mid-protest. His wide brown eyes shot up to search the room, landing squarely on Harry. For a moment, the world seemed to still, and then his face lit up, his excitement nearly bursting from him.
“Uncle Harry, is that really you?!” he exclaimed, his voice high-pitched and full of awe. Before anyone could answer, he barreled ahead. “Daddy said you’re a crybaby like Al! Are you still a crybaby? I’m five, but I never cry!”
Harry gasped in betrayal as the room erupted into laughter. His cheeks flushed hot, the sound of Cedric’s amused chuckle only making it worse.
Senior smirked, his voice tinged with amusement as he pointed toward their parents. “And look. Who do they remind you of?”
The boy blinked, his head tilting curiously before realisation dawned. His face lit up even brighter. “Grandma and Grandpa! From the pictures!”
Without hesitation, he bounded forward, stopping directly in front of Harry’s dad and offering his small hand eagerly. Harry’s dad crouched down to meet him, his grin as wide as the boy’s enthusiasm.
“Hi, I’m James Sirius! What’s your name?” the boy asked, his voice filled with the unfiltered excitement of a five-year-old.
Harry’s dad looked absolutely enchanted, his eyes twinkling as if he had just received the best Christmas present of his life. He answered. “Hi, James. I’m James. Nice to meet you.”
The boy’s expression soured slightly, and he turned to Senior with an adorably exasperated look. “Daddy, Grandpa’s not funny.”
Sirius, never one to be left out, swooped in with a dramatic flourish, leaning over Harry’s dad’s shoulder. “Hi, James! I’m Sirius!”
The boy whined, his frustration mounting. His cry was shrill and incredulous as he stomped a foot. “Daddy! They’re not funny!”
The laughter doubled, filling the room with warmth, and it deterred the shy boy standing behind Ginevra. He tugged lightly at her sleeve, his small frame partially hidden. She crouched down, her voice gentle as she coaxed him forward. “Come on, Al. Introduce yourself.”
After a moment’s hesitation, the boy took a few tentative steps forward, his small hand reaching out nervously. Harry’s mum knelt to meet him, her kind eyes encouraging as she took his hand in hers.
“Hello,” he mumbled, barely above a whisper. “I’m Albus Sev’rus.”
Ron opened his mouth to respond, his face scrunching in disbelief, but whatever snarky comment he had was silenced by a single, murderous glare from Senior, making Ron yelp. Clearly, Senior was well-practiced in dealing with anyone questioning his name choosing skills.
Harry’s mum, however, was far too moved to care about anything else. Her tears welled up again as she smiled at the boy. “Hello, Albus,” she said softly, her voice filled with warmth. “I’m your grandmother.”
Albus tilted his head, his expression curious. “But… my grandmother is Nana,” he said hesitantly, his wide eyes flicking to Mrs. Weasley, who was looking eager to hold Albus as well. “Do I have two now? Like Rosie?”
Ginevra opened her mouth to answer, but Harry’s mum beat her to it, her tone soothing. “Yes, Albus,” she said with a soft smile. “You have two now.”
Albus’ eyes widened in awe, and his small face lit up. With newfound confidence, he stepped closer, his arms opening tentatively for a hug. Harry’s mum wasted no time, sweeping him up into her arms and settling him on her lap. Albus beamed, his sweet smile filling the room with a quiet kind of joy.
“And this,” Senior said, his voice full of pride as he gestured toward Ginevra, who still held the sleepy little girl in her arms, “is our little one. Lily Luna.”
Harry’s chest tightened as he looked at the girl, her soft, dark hair curling slightly at the ends. She stirred in her mother’s arms, her tiny face scrunching as she nestled closer. His family had grown—stretched across time and dimensions—and the sight of it overwhelmed him.
His mum’s breath hitched as she took in the little girl, her hand trembling as she reached out. “You named your daughter after me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Thank you.”
Ginevra smiled as she gently passed Lily into her arms. “It only seemed right,” she said simply.
Harry’s mum held Lily close, her tears falling freely now as she pressed soft kisses into the little girl’s hair. The room was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire and the soft murmurs of awe. For the first time in what felt like forever, Harry felt like the world was whole again.
It felt as though his brother had never left. Senior introduced himself pro perly to everyone with a calm, assured demeanor that somehow managed to put even the most skeptical at ease. He explained, with a small smile, that in a way, he wasn’t just Harry’s brother—he was also Harry himself… sort of.
Harry couldn’t hold back his excitement. “The hero who defeated Voldemort wasn’t Dumbledore or my dad! It was him! My brother!” he exclaimed, his grin stretching from ear to ear as he gestured toward Senior.
Senior chuckled at Harry’s enthusiasm, his humility shining through as he nodded along to the cheerful explanation. “It wasn’t just me,” he said gently. “So many people fought beside me. I couldn’t have done it alone.”
Despite his modest words, the room seemed to look at him with a mixture of awe and admiration. There was something about him—a quiet strength, an air of someone who had faced the worst the world could throw at him and come out the other side, stronger, kinder, and wiser.
Senior had brought only a small group with him: his wife, the future versions of Ron and Hermione, and their children. It was all he could manage for now. The journey had taken a toll on him, and he wasn’t strong enough to bring more people across dimensions.
The ring on his left hand’s index finger shimmered faintly, its otherworldly glow drawing curious glances. Senior explained its origins—he had received it years ago during his training in Nepal, where he had met a powerful sorcerer. The sorcerer had entrusted him with the ring, an artifact of interdimensional magic, but with one condition: it could only be used to fulfill his most important vow.
And that vow? To find Harry when his longing to see Senior became greater than anything else—even greater than the friendships and bonds Harry had formed at Hogwarts.
The sorcerer had tested Senior’s resolve, granting him the ring as a reward for his selflessness and his actions in both his original and alternate dimension. He could have used the ring immediately, breaking the rules to reunite with Harry and his family the moment he’d received it. But he didn’t. Senior had learned patience and restraint, choosing to wait for the right moment—even though every day apart had been its own kind of pain.
Now, that ache was finally gone.
The house was filled with warmth and laughter again. Harry sat cross-legged in front of his brother, his green eyes bright as they talked about everything they had both missed. They traded stories about Harry’s accomplishments at Hogwarts, how he claimed to have surpassed Senior in intelligence, and their shared grumbling over being ‘vertically challenged.’
Senior ruffled Harry’s hair, a teasing grin on his face. “Don’t worry about it, squirt. I hit a growth spurt eventually,” he said.
Harry groaned dramatically, flopping back with an exaggerated sigh. “Easy for you to say. You’re already tall.”
Their easy banter filled the room, but Harry’s gaze flickered toward Remus, who stood slightly apart, his expression dim. Harry knew why. It was painfully obvious. Senior had named his second son after Dumbledore and Uncle Snape—but not after Remus.
It stung, and Harry couldn’t blame him for feeling that way.
Harry leaned closer to his brother, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Hey… was Remus not that nice to you before he passed?”
Senior blinked, caught off guard. “What? No, of course not. He was great—always looking out for me, protecting me. Why would you ask that?”
Harry hesitated, glancing toward Remus, who sat apart from the others, his expression distant. “Well… why didn’t you name Albus after him? If you were close, I mean.”
Senior stilled, his face growing serious as he followed Harry’s gaze. Remus looked small, almost lost, as he quietly watched Harry’s dad and Sirius playing with the children, their laughter filling the room.
“Ah, Christ,” Senior muttered, running a hand through his hair. “That’s why he’s so down. I forgot.”
“Forgot what?” Harry asked, confused.
“The reason I didn’t name one of my kids after him,” Senior replied softly, his voice tinged with regret. Then, raising his voice, he called out, “Ted! Teddy!”
Teddy, who was deep in conversation with Ron and Cedric, perked up at the sound of his name. “Yes, Dad?” he responded brightly, bounding over with an ease that showed just how natural it was for him to call Senior Dad .
Harry’s chest tightened at the sound. It wasn’t forced or awkward—it was full of affection and familiarity. Teddy had become part of Senior’s family in every way that mattered. Harry’s heart warmed as he thought of James Jr., who seemed to have adored Teddy like a true brother. They were looking inseparable.
“He looks so much like us…” Harry murmured, piecing things together.
Senior placed a hand on Teddy’s shoulder, gently steering him toward Remus. “Come here for a moment, will you?” he asked, his voice kind.
Teddy nodded, his curiosity piqued as Senior guided him closer to Remus. The older man looked up, his brow furrowing with confusion.
“You might not recognize him because of the beard, but… may I?” Senior asked, gesturing toward Remus.
“May you what?” Remus replied, his tone still puzzled.
With a casual flick of his wand, Senior cast a spell that seemed to have cast a glamour above Remus’ face. The beard vanished, revealing a younger, softer version of him—a face that seemingly Teddy recognised.
Teddy froze in his tracks. His wide eyes darted between Remus and Senior, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if the air had been knocked out of him.
“You see, Remus,” Senior said gently, “the reason I didn’t name one of my kids after you was… well, you already had the chance to name yours.”
Gasps rippled through the room as Teddy’s appearance began to shift. His eyes softened into the warm, familiar brown of Remus’, and his hair transformed into a wavy texture and color identical to the man sitting before him.
“Teddy’s a Metamorphmagus,” Harry whispered, awe coloring his voice.
Remus sat frozen, his wide eyes fixed on the boy in front of him. “I… you’re… my son?” he managed, his voice cracking with disbelief.
Teddy nodded hesitantly, his nervousness radiating off him. He extended a trembling hand toward Remus. “It’s… it’s nice to meet you. I’m Edward. Edward Remus Lupin.”
Remus choked, his eyes wide with fear. “But you… called Harry ‘Dad,’” Remus said, his voice wavering as he shook Teddy’s hand like he was afraid the boy would disappear.
Teddy flushed, his gaze darting toward Senior, who gave him an encouraging nod. “Yeah… James doesn’t like it when I call Harry by name,” Teddy admitted shyly. “It just stuck.”
Remus looked genuinely terrified. He leaned closer. “Do you… do you have it? My illness.:
Teddy bit his lips, shaking his had. “I have… really sharp canines. Does that count?”
Senior leaned down, murmuring something soft and reassuring in Teddy’s ear. The boy’s lips quivered, and with a deep breath, he asked, “May I… hug you, Dad?”
Remus froze, his emotions flickering across his face—shock, hesitation, and something Harry couldn’t quite name. Teddy’s hopeful expression began to falter, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. But before disappointment could take hold, Remus surged forward, pulling Teddy into his arms with a ferocity that spoke of years of longing.
“Hello, Teddy,” Remus whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he clutched his son tightly. “I’m so glad I have the chance to meet you.”
Teddy’s composure shattered, and he began to sob, burying his face in Remus’ shoulder. His arms wrapped tightly around his father, clinging to him as if he’d never let go. His hair flickered between black and brown, a visible testament to the storm of emotions raging within him.
“Teddy!”
The heartbroken cry rang out from Harry’s right, cutting through the lingering murmurs in the room. All heads turned as the quiet and composed Albus burst into tears, his small face crumpling with despair. “Teddy, don’t cry! Ted… dy…” he sobbed, his voice trembling.
“Oh, Merlin, here we go,” Senior muttered fondlyunder his breath, standing up to intervene.
And then, like dominos, the chaos began.
Albus’s sobs quickly turned into full-blown wails, his small shoulders shaking as he buried his face into Harry’s mum’s chest, calling for his adoptive brother. Mum rocked him frantically, whispering soothing words, her own expression filled with panic. But her efforts were in vain. Seeing his brother cry, Lily joined in next, her shrill, hiccuping cries piercing the room as she reached out desperately for her brother.
James, sitting off to the side, didn’t cry—at least not genuinely. But he clearly decided the chaos was missing his dramatic flair. Taking a deep, theatrical breath, he opened his mouth and let out the loudest, most exaggerated crying noise he could muster, his faux wails filling the room even more.
Mum and Dad looked utterly flummoxed. “What do we do?!” Mum asked, her tone verging on a plea as she tried in vain to console Albus while glancing worriedly at Lily.
Dad threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t—Lily, sweetheart, please! It’s fine! Stop crying!”
Ginevra, calm and collected amidst the storm, stepped in with the confidence of someone who had navigated far worse. She moved swiftly, reaching into her pockets and pulling out small bundles as if conjuring them from thin air. “Jamie! Look! Treacle tarts!” she called out, holding one up like an offering.
James’s fake cries ceased instantly, his wide grin replacing his previous theatrics. “Treacle tarts!” he cheered, snatching the treat and happily munching on it as he abandoned his dramatic act.
Ginevra turned her attention to Albus, crouching low to his level, her voice soft and soothing. “Albie, Teddy’s fine. Daddy’s got you,” she murmured, gently transferring the sobbing boy from his grandmother’s lap into Senior’s arms.
Senior held Albus close, cradling him with practiced ease. “Shh, I’ve got you,” he whispered, bouncing the boy gently. Whatever he said next was too low to catch, but it worked. Albus’s cries gradually quieted into soft sniffles, and he clung to his dad, his little hands fisting into Senior’s jumper as if it were a lifeline.
“And Lily,” Ginevra said, turning to the youngest Potter. Her tone was filled with warmth as she picked the little girl up effortlessly. “Look, Albie’s not crying anymore. Everything’s okay.”
She cradled Lily close, her gentle rocking and soothing whispers calming the girl within moments. Lily hiccupped a few times before burying her face in Ginevra’s shoulder, her small fingers clutching tightly to her jumper.
Within minutes, the chaos was quelled, leaving everyone else staring in awe. Mum and Dad exchanged looks of relief and admiration, their earlier panic melting into gratitude.
“She’s incredible,” Mum whispered, her voice tinged with wonder.
Dad let out a breathless laugh. “Of course she is. That’s Lady Potter-Weasley right there,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
Senior pressed a kiss to Albus’s temple, murmuring something that made the boy giggle softly. Albus clung tighter to his dad, his tears completely forgotten as he nestled into the safety of Senior’s arms.
Senior was such a good dad, Harry realised. So loving. His heart clenched a bit when he remembered why, but that was cleanly forgotten when he looked at the victory in James’ eyes, looking as if his master plan was bearing fruit, his slice of treacle tarts making his fingers all sticky.
Harry let out a long, tired sigh as he leaned back in his chair. His dad turned to him with a familiar, mischievous glint in his eyes. For it was mirrored by the boy named after him.
“Oh, don’t act like you’re any better, Junior,” Dad teased, nudging Harry lightly. “You were just as bad when your brother first came around.”
Harry sat up indignantly. “No, I wasn’t!” he protested, his tone sharp with offense.
Mum smirked, her hand reaching out to pinch his cheek affectionately. “Oh, but you definitely were~” she teased, her voice lilting.
Harry batted her hand away with an annoyed groan. “Mum, stop! There’s Cedric here!” He hissed.
Before Harry could fully recover, his dad seized the moment for one final blow. “Oh, Cedric!” Dad called out suddenly, his voice ringing through the room and drawing everyone’s attention, including Cedric’s—and, unfortunately, half of the Weasleys’.
Harry’s heart sank. “Dad, don’t—” he started, but it was already too late.
Dad grinned wickedly, raising his voice further. “Did you know that Harry used to cry for treacle tarts? Just like a baby! He’s not that different from them, is he?”
The room erupted into laughter, and Harry’s face burned with humiliation.
Cedric, however, didn’t join in the laughter. Instead, he turned to Harry with a soft grin that made Harry’s heart skip a beat. “Cute,” Cedric said simply, his tone sincere, and somehow that single word felt more devastating than the laughter.
Harry froze, his cheeks flaming as he tried to process Cedric’s response. Before he could gather his thoughts, Senior leaned in with a devilish grin. “Aww, Cedric called you cute. Isn’t that sweet?” he teased.
Even Albus, still snuggled in Senior’s arms, giggled at the exchange, his earlier tears a distant memory as he peeked out to watch the interaction.
Ginevra, now rocking a sleepy Lily in her arms, turned to her husband with an amused, pointed look. “You do realise,” she said, her tone teasing but laced with mischief, “that this gives me certain… implications, right?.”
Senior’s playful expression faltered for a moment. “Love—” he began, while Ginevra raised her eyebrow. “I’ve told you this before,” he said in a mock solemn manner, “Cedric leaning in to tell me to take a bath in the Prefects’ bathroom? That was an awakening.”
Harry let out a loud groan, burying his face in his hands. “This is officially the worst day of my life,” he muttered, his voice muffled.
The hours slipped away far too quickly, time pressing against Harry like a relentless tide, dragging his brother further and further out of reach. The younger children, except for James, had already succumbed to sleep in the comforting arms of their parents, while Teddy lingered with his father, exchanging quiet goodbyes.
That familiar ache began to stir in Harry’s chest, the hollow sadness that always came with the looming weight of goodbye. His brother knelt in front of him, his green eyes soft yet resolute, and Harry felt the knot in his throat tighten. He didn’t want to let him go. He couldn’t.
“Can’t you stay? Please?” Harry whispered, his voice trembling as tears pooled in his eyes, threatening to spill over.
Senior sighed, his expression a blend of guilt and affection as he opened his arms. Harry didn’t hesitate. He threw himself into his brother’s embrace, holding on tightly as his tears soaked into the worn fabric of Senior’s jumper.
“I’m sorry, Junior,” Senior murmured, his voice low and gentle, his fingers threading soothingly through Harry’s hair. “I have my life to get back to.”
Harry shook his head, his grip tightening like a lifeline. “I don’t care! Just stay,” he pleaded, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.
Senior pulled back just enough to give Harry a wry smile. “Hey… enough crying,” he teased lightly. “You’re such a crybaby, you know that, right?”
Harry’s frustration boiled over, and he punched his brother’s side—not hard, but enough to make his point. “Screw you, you prat!” he snapped, though his voice was still thick with tears.
Senior gasped in mock outrage, his grin mischievous. “And now he’s swearing! Oh, you’re such a big boy, aren’t you?”
Despite the ache in his chest, Harry let out a choked laugh, the sound caught somewhere between heartbreak and exasperation. He buried his face back into Senior’s shoulder, his sobs quieter now but no less heartfelt.
“Hey,” Senior murmured, his voice soft and grounding, a steady anchor in the storm of Harry’s emotions. “I’ll come visit throughout the year, I promise. Just think of me as working somewhere far away—really far. You know, lots of families only visit each other a few times a year, right?”
Harry shook his head stubbornly, his voice cracking again. “I’ll miss you. I don’t want to…”
Senior gently eased him back, his hands resting firmly on Harry’s shoulders as their identical green eyes met. “Harry, listen to me,” he said, his voice kind but firm. “We should be grateful for this chance. None of this should even be possible. But we got it—a chance to see each other.”
His hand rose to wipe away Harry’s tears with his thumb, the gesture filled with so much love that Harry’s heart twisted painfully. “And you’re forgetting something. While you’re losing me… I’m losing Mum, Dad, Padfoot, and Moony. Everyone.”
Harry’s breath hitched, his eyes widening at the realisation. He hadn’t thought of it like that. While his brother would return to his life, it was a life without the people Harry still had. The strength in Senior’s gaze was humbling, a quiet reminder of how much he had endured.
Harry swallowed hard and nodded, determination replacing the sadness in his expression. He would be strong too. This wasn’t goodbye—it was see you later. Wrapping his arms around Senior one last time, Harry whispered, “I love you, Harry.”
Senior’s arms tightened around him, and he leaned back just enough to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I love you too, mate. More than you’ll ever know,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion as he reluctantly pulled away.
But then, with a smirk that immediately put Harry on edge, Senior leaned in and announced loudly, “Now. My kisses?”
Laughter erupted from around the room, and Harry’s cheeks flamed as he flushed crimson. Glaring at his brother, Harry leaned in just enough to press a quick, embarrassed kiss to his cheek.
Senior grinned, clearly reveling in his victory. “Oh! Cedric!” he called out suddenly, making Harry freeze.
Cedric’s voice came smoothly from behind Harry. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”
Harry didn’t need to look to know Cedric was amused. Senior’s grin widened as he gestured toward Harry. “Teach him how to be a Seeker for me, will you?”
“Of course,” Cedric replied, his tone warm and reassuring. “I’d be happy to.”
Senior turned back to Harry, a wicked glint in his eye. “See? Now you’ve got an excuse to spend loads of time alone with Cedric.”
Harry groaned, his head falling into his hands. “Gee. Thanks,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“I’m just giving you advice,” Senior said, feigning innocence. “Give him a crooked smile every now and then. Always works.”
Harry huffed. “Right, because that’s going to happen.”
“It does work!” Senior shot back, his smirk growing. “A woman literally kidnapped me over it.”
Harry stared at him, deadpan. “And you think that’s good advice?”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Senior stood taller and declared with mock seriousness, “Third year. That’s when you get him. We look amazing then.”
His brother rose to his feet, offering one last, heartfelt farewell before stepping toward a clear space in the Weasleys’ snowy garden. The winter night was crisp, and the stars above cast a silvery glow over the scene, but all eyes were on him. With a flick of his wrist, the glamour concealing his left hand vanished, revealing something extraordinary.
The ring on his brother’s hand was breathtaking—more intricate than Harry had imagined. It spanned two fingers, connecting the index and middle with swirling patterns of etched metal that seemed to hum with latent power, faintly glowing in the moonlight.
Senior planted his feet firmly, his boots crunching softly against the frost-covered grass. He stretched his left hand outward, and the air seemed to vibrate with latent energy. The faint breeze stilled, the magic around them growing dense and tangible. His brother’s face was a mask of focus, and with a grand, sweeping motion of his right hand, he summoned a spiraling burst of light.
Golden sparks shot outward, glowing against the snowy backdrop as a shimmering portal came to life. It spun in vibrant hues of gold and orange, the swirling light casting a warm glow over the garden. Gasps rippled through the gathered family, the beauty of the portal leaving them momentarily breathless.
On the other side of the portal was the Burrow—older, more weathered, but still bursting with life. Snow blanketed the landscape, piled high on either side of the pathway. Children darted about, their laughter reaching across the magical divide. Familiar faces turned toward the portal, waving eagerly. Harry recognized Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, their smiles warm and their laughter carrying a sense of home, even from a distance.
"Well, we should be going," Senior said, his tone bittersweet as he turned to Ronald. “Mind your step, Ron. You’re carrying my son.”
Ronald scoffed, hoisting Albus higher in his arms. "Bah, I can manage walking through a bloody portal!" he declared confidently. “Hold on tight, Albie.”
With that, Ronald strode through the portal, emerging on the other side where Mrs. Weasley greeted him with a beaming smile, taking Albus into her arms with practiced ease.
"I’ll take Rose next," Hermione said, stepping forward with her daughter cradled close. She crossed the threshold effortlessly, disappearing into the warm, bustling gathering beyond.
“Mum!” Teddy called, holding onto James, who was squirming and laughing as he tried to escape. “He’s trying to eat the snow again!”
“James! Get over here!” Ginevra’s voice was sharp but amused as she adjusted Lily on her hip.
James let out a dramatic whine, his antics drawing a chuckle from the man he was named after. Teddy steered him toward the portal, and soon they vanished into the scene of warmth and joy on the other side.
“Goodbye, everyone! See you all on the thirtieth of January!” Senior called, his voice bright.
“What’s on the thirtieth of January?” Harry’s dad asked, his tone genuinely curious.
The entire garden fell silent. Harry’s jaw dropped, and every head turned toward his dad in collective horror.
His mum’s expression hardened, her glare icy enough to match the frost around them. Her voice was dangerously calm as she spoke. "It’s. My. Birthday, James Fleamont."
Dad froze, the color draining from his face as realisation hit him like a rogue Bludger. “Lily! I—it was just a sudden—I didn’t mean—”
Senior and Ginevra burst into laughter, the sound carrying through the crisp night air.
“Well,” Senior said, his voice still laced with amusement, “we’ll leave you all to sort this out! See you on the other side!”
He wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist, the two of them stepping through the portal. The golden spiral collapsed inward the moment they passed, leaving behind a faint shimmer of magic that dissipated into the snowy garden.
The silence that followed didn’t last long.
"James Fleamont Potter," Harry’s mum said, her voice deceptively calm. "You forgot my birthday?"
“Lily! I—it was just a sudden lapse—I didn’t mean—”
Harry’s dad’s frantic stammering was met with stifled laughter from Harry, who couldn’t help but shake his head. Some things, it seemed, never changed.
As his parents’ playful argument escalated, Harry tuned them out, his gaze lingering on the spot where the portal had been. The garden around him felt quiet, the faint hum of magic still hanging in the air. A small smile crept onto his face, growing wider as he remembered Senior’s parting words.
This wasn’t goodbye. It was just a ‘see you later.’
He’d like to imagine that somewhere out there, his brother was just living somewhere extremely muggle, making it impossible for Harry to visit. And though the ache of separation lingered in Harry’s chest, it no longer felt unbearable. His family was whole in ways he hadn’t dared to dream of before. The warmth of today’s memories would carry him forward.
A hand settled on Harry’s shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. Cedric’s warm, steady gaze met his, grounding him in the moment. “You alright there, Harry?” Cedric asked, his voice gentle.
Harry nodded, his smile widening. “Yeah. I think I am.”
Cedric returned the smile, his tone teasing as he said, “Good. Because someone has to keep you in line, and I think that’s my job now.”
Harry laughed softly, shaking his head. Cedric always knew how to make things feel lighter.
Cedric nudged him with his elbow. “Come on. Let’s grab some treacle tart before your dad eats it all. You’ll need the energy for seeker training.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s freezing, Cedric. We can’t go flying in this.”
Cedric shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Not with that attitude.”
As Cedric began explaining a warming charm with animated hand gestures, Harry slipped his hand into Cedric’s, letting him pull him closer. He barely listened, his focus on the comfort of Cedric’s presence.
If he couldn’t have one tall, overprotective brother, he supposed an overly enthusiastic badger was a pretty good alternative. And honestly? It felt just right.
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