i knew you once

Even though he held on tight to Regulus, sometime in between the ceiling crashing down and the way they scrambled futilely for escape, he lost him.

James, sprawled on some overturned table, slowly sat up dazed and confused, coughing up soot and trying to see through the haze of dust that had clouded the air. He must’ve passed out because he didn’t remember ever ending up here.

Sunlight streaked in bright through the cavernous holes in the walls and people bumped into him on their rush out, tripping and falling over their own feet and debris.

He slowly straightened up, “Re-,” he coughed, “Regulus?” The side of his face felt wet and when he raised a hand to touch it, his fingers came away bloody. “Regulus!” His voice was hoarse but he started shouting as his faculties slowly started coming back to him and fear latched its claws into him tight.

James finally spotted him, his back pinned against the booths along the wall. Without hesitation, he yanked out his wand, clearing some of the thick dust from the air. His gaze swept over Regulus’ body- then froze, a heavy chunk of the ceiling had collapsed onto his lower half. 

A panicked sob tore out of him at the sight and a pair of hands gripped him hard from behind. He whirled around, wand raised, but it was just Evan, bloody and manic as his eyes trailed down to Regulus’ form. 

“I’ll lift it, you grab him,” Evan ordered and when James stayed rooted to the spot, terrified and crying, Evan shook him hard , “James, you do not panic now, either you help me get Regulus out of there or he dies .”

His sharp words snapped him back to reality, and James nodded quickly. As Evan levitated the debris, James hooked his arms under Regulus and dragged him free. He didn’t even stir—his face unnervingly placid, as if he were merely sleeping. James couldn’t bring himself to look at his leg. It was barely more than mangled flesh, blood pooling around them, the stench of iron and sulfur turning his stomach.

“Oh gods,” James murmured.

A sound behind him made him glance over his shoulder. The two men stood by what used to be the entrance, shoulders shaking with… laughter.

Something in him snapped. With a cry, he fired off a spell. A streak of purple light shot from his wand, striking one of them in the shoulder. The man doubled over, clutching the wound as blood seeped through his fingers.

“James, stop!” Evan shouted, pulling him back roughly by the shoulder,

“Evan I-.”

“Remember what’s important James, take him to St. Mungo’s to that Healer you see. The hospital will be flooded with people now, you’ll be able to make it in without anyone seeing you,” he rushed out between pants.

The men had disappeared and James could see Aurors and Healers already making their way onto the scene and with a cry of frustration, he hauled Regulus as carefully as he could into his arms and did the only thing he could do- he ran.

He carefully made his way out past the mess, leaving the muggles in the hands of the authorities as he burst out of the shop and down the pavement, dodging people who had gathered to stare at the chaos. 

Evan was right- the lobby of St. Mungo’s was packed with wizards and Muggles alike. The café was so close to the hospital that it wasn’t unusual for Healers to grab a coffee before their shifts, and the Muggles would be Obliviated after treatment to keep the secret. A senseless, indiscriminate attack like this was typical of Voldemort, yet somehow, it still shocked him.

James bolted up the stairs, nearly colliding with Healer Mayfield as she hurried out of her office.

She stumbled to a stop, giving them a quick once over before hastily sending out a Patronus and ushering them inside. The moment they crossed the threshold, she gasped. James turned- his stomach dropping at the sight of the trail of blood he and Regulus had left behind.

A panicked noise wrenched its way from his throat, raw and desperate.

A Healer burst into the room seconds later, and James followed quickly behind as they rushed Regulus into a treatment room. He laid him on the bed, barely registering Mayfield’s hands, shoving him back.

“James, you need to wait outside-.”

“I can’t! Is he- please, just-”

'Get him out of here!' the Healer snapped, already waving his wand over Regulus. A diagnostic scan flickered into existence above him- blaring red, beeping urgently in the small room.

“Just-.”

Mayfield gripped him on the shoulders the same way Evan did, “James, you need to let us work.”

And with that she slammed the door shut in his face, leaving him standing in that play room from before, feeling helpless.

____________

He felt like he was going mad in the waiting room.

He kept replaying the events of the cafe in his mind- the men walking in, the slow rip and tear of the plaster on the walls as it started to crumble, the glass windows shattering, the feeling of Regulus huddled in his arms before being followed by the loss of him.

His body was shaking even as a mediwitch came over to heal his own injuries. He didn’t feel them through the haze of adrenaline pumping through his veins and as he was starting to come down, the pain intensified.

He had a gash across his forehead down to his temple, cuts and bruises over his arms, a cut on his side along with a broken rib, and his leg was beat to hell. The healing process hurt but the pain still paled in comparison to the mental anguish he felt worrying about Regulus.

Finally, once he had finished counting the number of tiles on the floor and the books on the wall, Healer Dardan walked out with a sombre look on his face.

Immediately he thought the worst as he came over, wearily settling himself on the chair next to him. James’ eyes were drawn to the streak of red across the back of one of his arms, Regulus’ blood marring his otherwise pristine uniform.

“He’s stable,” he started and that was enough to elicit a sigh of relief from him, “But there is a long road ahead.” He sighed deeply, his lime green robes almost too bright to look at now that the sun had started to set and the room was getting darker.

“All of his other injuries will heal, but his leg…” He hesitated, as if weighing his words. “It was crushed—practically every bone shattered beyond repair. We did everything we could with Skele-Gro and healing draughts, but there’s a limit to what magic can mend. We’ve reached that limit with Regulus.”

James’ stomach twisted. “What does that mean?” he asked, his voice tight. “How is that even possible?”

Dardan’s gaze sharpened. “That’s what I wanted to ask you. Regulus has old injuries—signs of previous trauma to the same leg. The healing was rushed, incomplete at best. That, combined with the severity of this new injury… it doesn’t bode well.”

James could only shake his head in confusion. He didn’t know.

The healer studied him for a moment before continuing, his voice gentler now. “He will likely never walk unassisted again.” He raised a hand before James could react. “I’ve already spoken to the right people, and they’re crafting a brace for him as we speak—one that blends both Muggle and magical properties to give him some mobility. But it will take time. He’ll need to adjust, physically and mentally. He’ll need support, from you and from anyone else he has.”

The Healer's expression softened. “Mayfield told me about your situation, but it’s clear you care for him. I feel confident leaving him in your hands.”

He stood, giving James a moment to absorb it all.

“He’s resting now,” he added. “You can go in whenever you’re ready.”

James nodded, trying to soak in everything he said but his brain was more like an overused sponge, “Thank you.”

He nodded and left, likely off to go help as many more people as he could. James imagined the site was cleared up now, nothing left but the empty shell of what the shop used to be.

The worst part of all this was how senseless this tragedy was. To strike so close to St. Mungo’s where people would receive near-immediate treatment meant that the death eaters likely didn’t even care too much about killing as many people as they could but rather, they did it for the spectacle of it or simply because they were bored.

James sank into the chair beside Regulus' bed and pulled out his phone. He sent Lily a quick message, letting her know he’d be staying the night at Regulus’- if that was alright. She responded quickly, telling him it was fine and thanking him for letting her know. She had her own flat now, and he doubted she’d even notice whether he came home or not but for Harry’s sake, he kept her in the loop, offering only the barest details.

He sat there for what felt like hours, watching the shallow rise and fall of Regulus’ chest, tracking the flicker of his eyes beneath his lids, the occasional twitch of his fingers before they stilled again. It seemed inevitable- Regulus and pain. As if no matter what, the two would always find each other.

James wished it had been him instead. That he had been the one caught under the debris, not Regulus.

His leg was suspended in a sling, wrapped so thickly in bandages it was nearly twice its usual size. He didn’t want to think about what lay beneath.

He leaned back in the stiff hospital chair, shut his eyes, and let exhaustion press down on him. Just for a moment. Just long enough to forget.

____________

He woke from a fitful nap two hours later to find Regulus still asleep. A glance at the needle in his arm told him a mediwitch had come by to refill his potions- he’d likely be out for a while longer. Stretching out his stiff limbs, James forced down a cup of bitter, watery canteen coffee before making his way to the Janus Thickey ward.

He offered a plain smile to the bored-looking witches at the head station before heading down the hallway to Alice and Frank’s room.

It was late now, but he had nowhere else to go and he needed to step away from Regulus for a moment to breathe. He knocked softly, peering through the small window. They were both awake, staring blankly out the same window as before.

Quietly, he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He settled into the window seat in front of them, the silence stretching taut between them.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend they were back in the Gryffindor common room- alone but together, no need for words as they just embraced one another’s presence.

He wondered what Alice and Frank saw when they looked outside. Did they even know he was here? Were they screaming inside, trapped in their own minds, begging him to notice? Or were they as quiet on the inside as they were on the outside?

Still, knowing they were here- knowing they were listening- he spoke.

For once, telling the story of Regulus wasn’t met with gasps of shock or alarm, no questions or doubts, no tears. Only silence. He told them about the attack, about Regulus’s leg, about his own injuries. He spoke of the dragon, the Horcruxes, and what he planned to do.

Frank’s advice was always sage and reliable while Alice enjoyed taking calculated risks. He would love to hear anything from them right now.

The room was comfortable, warm, the hum of soft music filtering in from somewhere above. The cheerful paintings on the walls made the place feel almost peaceful. He might have dozed off again if Alice hadn’t moved.

Slowly, painfully, she reached into her pocket, fingers trembling as she pulled something out, curling it in her fist. She held it out to him, and James eagerly reached forward.

For just a second, her cold fingers brushed against his before retreating.

He opened his hand. A used wrapper of chewing gum.

He didn’t know if it meant anything. But he held it carefully, treating it as if it did.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Alice only looked back down at her lap, still once more.

James stayed a little while longer.

____________

The mediwitch had just come by to change James’ bandages and give him some potions when Regulus’ hand twitched. Then his arm. Almost instantly, his entire body jolted, limbs spasming violently as the bed rattled against the linoleum floor.

“Reg?” James was on his feet in an instant, leaning in close. “Wake up.” He tapped his cheek, trying to pull him from whatever had seized him but Regulus didn’t respond. His eyes had rolled back, only the milky whites visible, a stark match to the froth spilling from his lips.

Then the monitor above them shrieked.

“I need help!” James shouted, panic clawing at his throat. His hands hovered over Regulus, trembling, useless. He could always read him so well—always knew what to do, what he needed. But now? Now he was completely lost.

Clear liquid streamed from Regulus’ mouth in unnatural rivulets, soaking his shirt, pooling beneath him. It wasn’t saliva or blood- it was water .

For a heartbeat, even the mediwitch beside him froze. Stunned.

Then Regulus started screaming.

He thrashed, clawing at his throat, shrieking between gasping, garbled cries. Water kept pouring from his mouth, drowning him from the inside out. More mediwitches rushed in, followed by a Healer who immediately began summoning supplies, injecting him with something as others waved their wands in frantic, desperate attempts to stabilize him.

It was as if a well had burst open inside Regulus, an endless, agonizing flood spilling out.

This wasn’t normal. James could see it in the way the Healers exchanged frantic glances, the way they asked each other how to stop it—how to save him.

Then someone gripped James by the arm, pulling him away, guiding him back to the private waiting room.

Back to helpless silence.

Back to waiting.

____________

“So we are not sure when…or if…he will wake up,” Mayfield concluded. 

James stared at her hands, her finger tapping an unheard rhythm against the table, the dull gold band on her ring finger, the lines of age encircling her wrists. He couldn’t bring himself to look into her calm eyes and the truth of her words behind them.

It felt like Regulus had died all over again and he wasn’t sure, no, he knew he wouldn’t be able to survive it. 

In some ways, this was worse. Last time, Regulus had simply vanished. Now, his pulse flickered steadily on the monitor- proof that he was alive, yet James couldn’t reach him. Couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t speak to him and expect an answer.

He didn’t understand how everything had gone so wrong so fast. Right when things had started to turn up, the ground was pulled out from under him, sending him face-first into the void.

And the way he had gone- Gods, it was horrifying.

James wished he knew what Regulus had seen, what had made him shriek like he was being torn apart.

“James?”

He finally looked up at her. Her aged face was drawn in quiet sympathy, and he didn’t want to imagine what he must look like- haggard, bloodied, stitches torn open and burning like hell. He hadn’t truly slept in gods knew how long, his entire body locked in tension since the attack, never once allowing himself to rest.

“Go home. Eat something. Sleep,” she ordered. Then, with a pointed look, she added, “Healer’s orders.”

If the situation were different, he might’ve laughed.

Leaving felt like a betrayal. Like walking away now meant accepting that Regulus was gone. And he couldn’t- no, he wouldn’t - do that. Not when he had just gotten him back.

Instead, he returned to Regulus’ room, one deeper in the intensive care unit, secured under heavy wards that kept out anyone who didn’t belong and sat at his bedside again.

If he could take his place, he would. If it meant sparing Regulus this pain, he would have given anything- his leg, his life, whatever it took.

He would do it in a heartbeat

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, bowing his head, “This is all my fault. I never should’ve told you about this world, never should’ve brought you to see Evan, never should’ve walked into your cafe on that day…You wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. You made a good life for yourself and I…I ruined it all because of my own selfish desire to have you back. I was too blinded by my love for you that I didn’t realise I was only hurting you in the process…forgive me please. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t receive a reply, but he had expected that.

He stayed there, crying silently, until the lights in the corridor flickered off and the entire floor fell silent.

He went home, to Grimmauld that is.

At some point the two became one in the same.

____________

Kreacher was nearly as morose as he, running straight up to the tapestry once James had told him the unfortunate news. Once he had checked that Regulus was still alive up there, he sat him down and gave him some already-made vials of healing and calming draughts before getting to work making soup for him despite the late hour.

“Kreacher, I’m fine,” he said tiredly though he couldn’t quite ignore the cavernous hole that had become his stomach. It just felt wrong to eat, to continue going on, when Regulus was in so much pain.

“James must be eating, he is looking…bad,” he finished after giving him a once-over look. He diligently got to work, as he always did when he needed a distraction, as James sat at one of the chairs pushed into the counter, watching him.

He hadn’t had a moment to really truly think about anything and now, with the rhythmic chopping and sizzling beside him, he took a breath and considered his next steps.

One thing he knew for certain was that he had to go find Azrythar soon because attacks like this, random and senseless, would only increase in strength and frequency. James wondered what the climax would be- which attack would finally cement Voldemort’s power and grant him the freedom to rule or if they would just continue on this path towards destruction with no end in sight until there was only Voldemort left alive.

He just didn’t know when to go but now with Regulus knocked out and Lily moved out, no one necessarily relied on him anymore. There was Harry but again, his heart squeezed at the possibility of ending all of this for a better life for him, he would be in wonderful hands without him anyways. He had always lived his life in service for others and it was jarring to know that no one relied on him at the moment.

If he told anyone else this, they’d think he was mad, but he was never known for his rational and sensible choices.

Suddenly, an owl came flying into the room but instead of feathery wings and sharp talons, it was blue and shimmering with blurred edges. Evan’s voice came out of its sharp beak, “James, hope you and Reg are okay. I can’t talk, likely won’t be able to for some time so please don’t write me or respond to this message- too risky. Stay safe, I’ll contact you whenever I can.” The owl vanished a moment later.

“Great,” James replied belatedly, dropping his head down into his folded arms.

Kreacher finished a bit later and served him a steaming bowl of soup with lentils and squash and some other vegetables that made his mouth water with a piece of warm bread beside it and he gratefully accepted it, slowly scooping it into his mouth and savouring the taste.

When he finished, he spelled it to wash itself and headed up to Regulus’ bed to sleep. He was in dire need of familiar comforts.

His body was bone-tired but his mind remained active, running through different possibilities, trying and failing to come up with a solid plan now. He knew what his goal was but he just didn’t know how to leave knowing that he might not ever come back. How could he just say ‘bye!’ to Lily and disappear, to Marc, to Regulus? He might not ever see Sirius or Remus again.

He huffed as he punched his pillow and stared once more at the gauzy green drapes hung over the bed, “How did you do it Reg?” he whispered, folding his arms across his chest.

____________

“Master Regulus, Bartemius Jr. is being firecalling you, would you like to respond?” Kreacher asked from the doorway.

“No Kreacher, tell him I’m…in the shower,” Regulus replied, rolling his eyes to himself at not being able to find a better excuse.

Kreacher scurried off.

Scurried back, “He is saying he will be being waiting.”

“End the call.”

“But Master, he is-,” the old elf stuttered.

“End the call Kreacher,” Regulus repeated, not daring to turn around to look at him and instead focusing on the blank parchment in front of him.

When it came time for dinner, the parchment in front of him was still blank and he still frustratedly crumpled it up and tossed it at the wall beside his desk. He had only gotten so far as to decide he would write a letter to Dorcas first but when it actually came time to put quill to page, he came up empty.

He actually hadn’t spoken to Dorcas in some time, not since he had told her about his mark. She was upset, rightfully so, and had refused to even hear him out and now she spent most of her time with Marlene and her friends if he was around.

He had almost the most to say to her but he choked up, not sure how he could atone for what he had done besides what he was already going to be doing.

He moved on to Evan and began writing his letter first and when he had finished, a soft knock came from his door.

Kreacher brought his dinner to him- beef bourguignon with mashed potatoes and roast vegetables, a rather lux dinner in Regulus’ opinion, but also his favourite. 

“I told Mistress that Master Regulus is being studying and is not to be being disturbed,” Kreacher smiled before shyly plating it in front of him.

He leaned back in his creaky chair, “Wow, what’s the occasion?” He tried to blink away the weariness in his eyes as his lids fought against him.

“Kreacher is just being wanting to make Master Regulus’ favourite dinner,” he answered sheepishly.

“I’m not hungry,” he said and waved his wand to put the meal under stasis. He didn’t plan on eating it but for Kreacher’s sake, he pretended he would.

“But Master is- he must, when he remembers how good Kreacher’s cooking is he- he will-...” he froze for a moment.

“I will what?” he asked tiredly.

“He will remember how much he is liking being here,” his voice was barely above a whisper.

The words, however gently they were delivered, felt like a stab in the stomach, the knife being twisted by the way his lower lip quivered. 

They planned to leave tomorrow right as the sun dipped behind the cold lifeless buildings of London, when the house would be silent, and no one would notice as he slipped down the stairs and right out the front door to where the horcrux was hidden in the cave by the sea.

There wasn’t anything particularly special about tomorrow, it could’ve been yesterday, a week from today, the day after tomorrow- it didn’t matter, only that Regulus had mentally designated it to be tomorrow’s date and it had become set in stone.

“Kreacher,” he murmured, shaking his head. “You can’t do this, you have to be strong, for the both of us.”

“But Kreacher cannot-.”

“No,” he shrugged, gentle and firm. A rueful smile cursed his lips, the face of a man who wore disappointment like a well-fitted coat. Things never typically went his way, he was damned since birth, he couldn’t imagine his life ending any other way, he just wished Kreacher understood that.

“But his friends will be wanting-”

“They’ll be okay.”

“But Mistress will-.”

“She’ll be okay.”

He thought for a moment, then splayed his small hands out wide, “But James Potter will…” He stopped like he expected Regulus to have cut him off by now but he couldn’t, not when he didn’t know what to say.

Regulus had pushed James to the farthest recesses of his mind today, as he will tomorrow, after seeing him one final time.

“He will be okay,” he choked around the words.

Kreacher’s face twisted sadly, “No he will not.”

____________

A few days later, the sun was shining and the day was warm enough to go out for a walk without needing a coat. Harry, who was perpetually cold, was still wrapped up but James savoured the freedom of not being restricted by the puffy coat he always wore. Robes were infinitely better in that respect.

Harry toddled right by his side, a lolly in one hand and a toy car clutched in the other.

“Harry, smile,” James said, pointing the silver camera down at Harry who stopped for two seconds, a tight smile on his face, before continuing onwards. 

They had bought the camera this morning at a nearby shop and once the man who sold it to him showed him how to work it, he had been taking pictures of himself and Harry all day. He wanted Harry to have…something to remember him by.

He still remembered the day Harry was born- so small and fragile with lungs the size of a hippogriff. He came out screaming and crying while he and Lily sobbed, holding each other before the mediwitch gently placed him on her chest for skin-to-skin contact. He immediately calmed and James brushed a finger against his soft cheek, letting the fact that he was now a father, sink in.

He remembered Harry’s first smile, first giggle, his first steps. The time he had first fed him vegetables and he spat it out right onto his face before flipping his bowl over the side of his chair. He remembered every single moment he had with Harry.

And the unfortunate reality was that Harry was bound to forget him within a couple of years at best.

As his brain grows, his legs lengthen, and his back straightens, James will have been nothing more than a long lost memory, someone Lily only referred to in passing. Harry would consider him a father by default, nothing more.

He liked to imagine that Harry would want to look back on these pictures and know that his father did care about him. That he didn’t just disappear because he didn’t care about him- he didn’t think anything would break his heart more.

They ended up at the cafe as per usual and when he walked in, he was positively tickled to see Marc not at the counter, but instead sitting at a table with Bellamy. It appeared things were going well as Marc spoke animatedly about something and Bellamy continued shyly laughing behind their hand, their eyes never once leaving Marc’s.

He looked up and their eyes met and he quickly excused himself from Bellamy.

“James! You’re back,” he grinned, clapping him on the shoulder.

“I am,” he peered over his shoulder, “And you seem to be doing quite well for yourself.”

He blushed and went back behind the counter, “They’re…nice.”

James raised a brow and Marc sagged, “Okay fine. They’re amazing. Bellamy is so smart , I mean, we went to the museum yesterday and they went on for a good hour about agricultural practices in early Mesopotamia- like who knows that? And they’re so funny, funnier than me, I know you didn’t think that was possible. And Jesus, we went out to dinner last night and they wore this dress that-,” he paused sheepishly once he looked down at Harry.

“Okay, I get the picture,” James laughed.

He got to work making a drink as they continued speaking.

“And also, I came in to let you know that Reg and I will be gone for a while,” he said, nervously trying to keep his voice even.

“Another trip? Where to now?”

“Er- home. We’ll be in London for a bit,” he nodded. 

Marc shrugged, “I survived here long enough without either of you, I’m sure I can handle a little while longer. Besides you know what they say- distance makes the heart grow fonder.” He slid two drinks across the counter for them.

“Right you are,” he mumbled before accepting his, he tasted it- iced caramel pistachio latte. James carefully handed Harry his hibiscus lemonade and he went off to sit in their usual seat on his own, driving his car through the air with his other hand. He wondered when Harry had abandoned his lolly and cringed to think it was on the pavement somewhere.

James waited awkwardly by the counter and when he realised Marc was probably waiting for him to go so he could get back to Bellamy, it prompted him to speak.

“I wanted to thank you again Marc for everything, you truly are an amazing friend and I’m- I’m really glad I met you,” he said, trying not to get all choked up and swallow around the stone that’s lodged itself in his throat.

Marc’s brows furrowed as he looked at him oddly, “Are you okay?”

He nodded vigorously, “Yeah ‘course, I just wanted to let you know.”

“Well just know I only gave you the job because sooner or later, you would’ve run out of money and then I wouldn’t get to see my favourite customer anymore,” he joked and it helped lighten the weight on his chest. He came around the counter and gave him a hug, “You’re a great friend too James.”

He and Harry finished their drinks together, while taking even more pictures, and James took one final lingering look around the Cafe before leaving. 

The familiar bell above the door of Le Soleil d’Or chimed, indicating his departure, for what might have been the last time.

____________

Music drifted from the telly as Lily moved through the kitchen with practiced ease, stirring sauce with one hand while nudging a pot of boiling noodles with the other. The scent of creamy chicken pasta filled the air, rich and inviting. James had offered to help—insisted, even—but Lily had waved him off with a quick, “I’ve got it covered. Kick back and relax.”

Her flat was still sparse, but she had the essentials: a telly on a stand, a large sofa, and a rug beneath it. A coffee table was on its way, and she was still hunting for a dining table she actually liked. She had begun putting up framed photographs from their cottage, little pieces of a past life finding their place in this new one.

Harry’s nursery was nearly identical to the one upstairs in their—now his—flat. The sight of it reassured James, but he still double-checked the paperwork, ensuring her name remained on the deed. If he didn’t come back, she could move back in. Or sell it. Whatever made things easiest for her. Neither of them knew much about Muggle laws, but he could at least handle this.

The food smelled so good that James was practically drooling by the time she called him over. She handed him a plate piled high before plating some for Harry, who eagerly dug into his high chair meal. James took his first few bites in hungry desperation, then slowed, savoring the warmth of home cooked food.

“This is incredible, Lils,” he mumbled around a mouthful.

She grinned. “Mum used to make this all the time. I think I’ve nearly got it right.”

“You’ve got it perfect. I could eat this every day.”

She snorted. “Then you’d better take up running again, or that infamous Quidditch figure of yours will be a thing of the past.”

“Impossible,” he shot back, already leaning back against the couch, full and content. A food coma was rapidly approaching.

Lily sighed, setting her empty plate aside before tilting her head onto his shoulder. “If this is all we ever have, I’ll still be grateful,” she murmured, reaching for his hand. She squeezed it, whispering again, “I will always be grateful.”

James turned to respond, but her eyelids had already slipped shut, her breathing steady and deep. He hesitated, watching her, memorizing the peace on her face.

He never planned for today to be his last, but fate had arranged it that way.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he carefully shifted, laying her head against a pillow and draping a blanket over her. Then he went to retrieve Harry, who had fallen asleep face-first into the rug.

He rocked him gently, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek, inhaling his scent, tracing his tiny features with reverent fingers. Then, with great care, he set him down.

As he stepped out of the flat, the sensation was undeniable—half his heart was staying behind.

The other half would have to be enough to carry him forward. He only hoped it would be.