It was unusually cold in Godric’s Hollow on Halloween of 1981. Maybe that was the first sign that something was off. James Potter wasn’t sure, but he did know that something was wrong. Call it paranoia, trauma from the war, but either way, James just knew. Lily kept sending him worried glances as the day passed, and when she finally asked, she understood. James and Lily kept their wands in their holders and their eyes on Harry at all times.
Some days were just like this. That’s what happened when you lived in hiding. You doubted the true lengths your safety went. Some days they felt sick to their stomach with the thought that maybe, just maybe, Peter was the wrong choice for Secret Keeper. Some days they feared there was some secret way to get around the Fidelius charm. When you grew up hearing whispers of betrayal and death, they festered. They grew doubts. And some days those doubts were irrational, but still impossible to ignore. It had barely been a week of hiding, but James had moments of fear that these feelings and doubts would never truly leave, even at the end.
However, later that evening, the intense paranoia was starting to slightly fade as the calmness of the night fell. James lit a fire in the hearth; Lily brought Harry upstairs. A few minutes passed and James was about to go look for his wife and child when he heard their steps descending the steps. He turned with a smile, a smile that only grew wider when he beheld his son in a deer onesie.
“Oh, just look at him.” James's voice was a coo as he walked toward them. Harry reached his arms out eagerly and James swept him into the air, his heart warming at the loud giggles that echoed around the room. Lily stepped up to James’ side, wrapping an arm around his waist.
“This was the first time in a few weeks he wasn’t fussy while putting on a onesie.”
James lowered his arms, holding Harry–who was messing with the antlers on his little hoodie–close to his chest. He looked at his wife, eyes wide, “Really?” Turning his head down to once more look at his son, his grin turned into a cheerful smirk. “It’s because it’s a deer, isn’t it?” James leaned down and bumped his nose with Harry’s, who then giggled and sneezed. James scrunched his nose and turned his head away, using his shoulder to wipe away a drop of baby snot that landed on his chin. Lily just chuckled and reached up, pressing a kiss to James’ and then Harry’s cheek.
“My boys. You’d think after being projectile vomited on, a little snot wouldn’t do much harm, hm?” She rose a brow at him as she walked toward the kitchen. James propped up Harry on his hip, keeping one arm around him for support as he followed his wife.
*Wife.*
It’s been two years since the wedding and James still isn’t used to being able to say the word. Said wife looked back at him, such unending warmth and love in her green eyes that he felt like he melted a little bit. He went to kiss her when he saw it.
Through the years of fighting and dueling and bloodshed, James Potter always had his eyes roving, looking for any hint of danger. It was second nature. He couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to.
His breath escaped him in a whoosh as he saw the faint outline of a cloak, of a pale face, through the window. Still far enough away that he had time.
He shoved Harry into Lily’s arms. “Take him. Take him and go. He’s found us.”
Lily sharply inhaled. “James… take him where?” James pursed his lips.
“My nightstand. Top drawer. The portkey.”
James pulled her in to kiss her. It was fast and barely even a kiss, but Lily still felt the love.
Lily didn’t hesitate, didn’t question, even as tears filled her eyes.
James steeled his spine as he heard her thundering footsteps, the sound of Harry beginning to cry. He turned to face the front door. There was no longer any point in hiding, was there?
At this moment, all he could hope for was that Sirius was wrong. Remus wasn’t the spy. Because he was the one who gave them the portkey. James didn’t have time to ask where it led before he was swept away with Lily and Harry. But either way, traitor or not, they faced sure death here. If there was a chance that Lily and Harry could escape, James would take it. Even if it was a risk. Anything for them. Suddenly, the sound of crying was gone. James nearly cried in relief.
Call it naiveite, but James always thought that he would feel it when Lily died. And then the same when Harry was born. He would just feel it. He would know. And when his world didn’t stop spinning, he held onto that. It must mean that they were alive. He used that hope to stay standing, to stay strong.
He pictured Lily holding Harry the day he was born as he whispered, “Expecto Patronum.”
The massive stag exploded from the tip of his wand. “Take this note to Sirius and Remus. Lily and Harry are out. Peter betrayed us. And Remus, thank you.” The stag nodded and disappeared. Not even a second later, the door flung from its hinges. A flick of James’ wand had a shield forming. There he stood. Voldemort. Sickly pale, his face deformed, Voldemort stood. And that was Peter at his side. Even as James’ felt his heart shatter at the sight of him, he formed a taunting smirk on his face.
“Found us then, did you?”
The bright green of the killing curse shot toward him and James dodged. “Really, is that all you’ve got?”
“Oh, just give in, James. Please.”
“Tsk, really, Peter? I thought you knew me better than that. Granted,” James shrugged, “I thought I knew you better, too. Though I guess you get to see people’s true colors in war.” Peter let out what James swore was a whimper.
“Where is the boy?” Voldemort rasped.
James laughed, “You really thought they’d be hiding with me? How daft are you?”
Voldemort let out an inhuman snarl, spinning to face Peter. “What is the meaning of this?” Peter scuttled backwards, his hands up as if he could surrender.
“I-I swear, they were all meant to–.”
James could do nothing as Peter was killed.
“Huh, pretty brutal Voldy.”
Voldemort raised his wand in James’ direction, snarling at the man’s grin. “Where is the boy?”
“I don’t know.” James hated that it was a lie. “You’ll never find him.” James’ hazel eyes flared with a sense of protectiveness, power lighting up around his irises, his smile dropping. “You will never touch my son.” And then he was moving, his years of dueling on battlefields leading him. James and Voldemort threw spell after spell toward the other, a wicked dance as they circled. The house around them turned to rubble, the ground shaking at the vast amount of power erupted from the two.
Flashes of green and red lit of the area around them, highlighting the fallen walls, the shattered windows.
James wasn’t entirely certain how he and Voldemort ended up outside, but here they were. The grass was burnt beneath their feet. Blood was dripping from James’ head. They stood facing each other, both of their chests heaving in exertion. “Just give in, Potter.”
“Never.” James was about to yet again raise his wand when a loud crack echoed around them. Then there they stood. Dumbledore. Sirius. Remus. The rest of the Order. James grinned in relief.
His relief was cut short as he heard Sirius and Remus yell, saw Dumbledore’s eyes widen. He looked too late. Voldemort had his wand hand raised. The flash of green caught James in the head. He crumpled to the floor. His last thought was, he wondered if Lily felt it.
**********
Lily Evans-Potter held her crying son close to her chest, her own tears slipping down her cheeks. The portkey dropped them in an apartment in muggle London. She knew this apartment. Because she was the one who gave it to Remus. She had hoped that one day it would be hers. She’d had her eye on it since she was just a girl, with hopes that she would move here with Petunia, live off of their art. But then she got the letter, she met James, the war started. But even still, she never stopping looking at this apartment. So, when Remus was desperate for a place to live, she gave him most of her muggle savings, which was enough for a down payment, and told him about this apartment. Her only request?
Make sure there was always plants.
And there was. Lily was surrounded by heaps of greenery. And on the table sat a vase of lilies.
Lily choked on a sob as she tried to soothe her son. There was one other thing that Remus had told her.
*It may be my apartment, but it’ll be home for you and yours should you need it.*
Then he kissed her on the cheek and left.
One month later, people started to question if he was the traitor. Lily knew he wasn’t, he would never. And she told him as such, when they had a minute alone. It was the last time they had seen each other one on one. She wasn’t sure when he had the chance to give James the portkey. But Lily would forever be grateful that he did.
Five minutes passed, and then ten, and then forty.
Harry was asleep in her arms when she felt it.
Her stomach swooped; it felt like her heart dropped.
So, when Remus appeared, another hour later, Lily knew.
James was dead.
Lily held Harry closer, kissing the top of his head as her tears fell anew.