Chapter 1
Sirius is with them that night.
It is he who looks to the door, puts Harry in Lily’s arms, and screams for her to go, run, he will hold Voldemort off. James chooses to stay with him, his best friend of ten years. James Potter has always loved too freely, and this is how he chooses to show it. By offering his wife and son the chance to live. And by joining hands with his brother one last time.
Voldemort is powerful. But he would not know of the dark, elusive magicks the former Heir to the House of Black once had access to. Nor would he know of the secretive necromancy gifts passed down through the Potter line. Impossible though it may seem, James and Sirius manage to stand their ground. Voldemort’s signature Killing Curses prove not to be as effective when facing off against two adversaries that come at him from opposite directions, whose movements are so fluid they might as well be one. James has always said that he and Sirius are the two halves of the same soul. Being able to read each other’s moves to such extents, James dares to hope that maybe, with a bit of luck, they can make it out of this alive.
Then Voldemort makes the choice to forgo his Killing Curses, and attacks with a dark spell of such magnitude that it bursts out of him in a full circle, preventing them from dodging this time. The spell reeks of rotten flesh and death itself; It hits Sirius first and dims slightly before the rest of the wave catches James in the ribs.
He falls. And he knows the darkness he fades into to be death.
Nine years later, James Fleamont Potter, father to the Boy-Who-Lived, wakes in the terminal ward of St. Mungo’s.
Privet Drive is a nice, if not a little boring, sort of neighborhood. Identical houses line the streets for as long as the eye can see. Not the most ideal place in the world, but perfectly adequate for raising a child.
James has never felt so out of his element before. All his life, he has always known what to do, likely because he had such good role models in his life to, well, model his life after. Thanks to his parents, he knew firsthand what a healthy relationship looked like, so he shaped his friendships to look like it, minus the kissing. He listened to his friends’ problems as Euphemia did for Fleamont, cheered them up when they were down as Fleamont did for Euphemia, and in return, they did the same for him.
James was only as confident as he was because he figured he could go on for the rest of his life doing exactly as his parents had done. While Lily fretted about becoming a mother, with constant worries as to whether she’d be a good one, James had full confidence that he’d be an excellent father. He and Lily would support each other through the hardships, they’d ensure that even when one of them wasn’t having a good day, the other would be around to make sure Harry was always smiling. They would figure it out, together , as his own parents had.
But Lily is dead. Sirius is dead. Peter is dead. Remus is… Probably dead, after having been sentenced to execution for the murder of one Peter Pettigrew. In the morning that followed that fateful Halloween night, the whole of Magical Britain was prepared to point fingers at Sirius Black, only to find that he had been brutally murdered by Voldemort as well. Remus was the first to figure out that it must have been Peter who betrayed them, and he went after him himself. Remus blew up the whole street, bringing about Muggle casualties in the process. All that was left of Peter was a finger. Remus was initially sent to Azkaban without trial, but after his first full moon there and the revelations that followed, the Ministry at last decided it was the perfect time to put Remus on trial and sentence the barbaric half-breed to execution.
The only shred of hope James can cling to is the fact that no public execution was held. The Ministry never released an official statement declaring Remus dead. But this likely means nothing, considering the chaotic aftermath of the war.
They’re gone. All of them are gone, and James has no one to give or receive from anymore. No one to depend on. No comforting presence. He is all alone.
With this comes the devastating realization that he is going to make a terrible father.
By the time he has reached the Dursleys’ doorstep, James has made up his mind. Certainly, he plans on being a part of Harry’s life, but perhaps it wouldn’t be an entirely bad thing for Harry to remain here. James will provide the Dursleys with all the money they could need. Harry will get to have a normal, happy childhood with no haunted fathers breathing down his neck all day long. James will visit him every week. It won’t be the best father-son relationship in the world, but at least this way, there will be some distance separating them, keeping Harry safe from James’s unstable state.
Then James sees the cupboard. And he sees the bruises. And he sees Harry’s eyes, Lily’s eyes , only they can’t be Lily’s eyes because Lily’s eyes would never hold such distrust and fear in them. He all but demands custody of Harry on the spot, and the Merlin-damned bastards are more than happy to grant it to him. James’s hand twitches for his wand; It would be so simple, so easy, to take the cacophony of emotions he has been feeling since he woke up out on these people that don’t even deserve to be called humans.
What bewilders James is the way Harry breaks into tears when Petunia tells him that he’ll be leaving with James. The boy who is far too small for his age starts sobbing for them not to send him away, he’ll be better, he’ll work harder, he wants to stay here so please …
James kneels to get to eye-level with his son, and Harry seems to have forgotten how to speak. It’s only then that he realizes Harry never once looked up at James’s face the whole time he’s been here, his gaze always trailing to the floor or hovering somewhere over James’s shoulder. When Harry at last meets James’s eyes, seeing James’s face that is remarkably similar to his own for the first time, his mouth drops often softly and it’s with all the hesitance in the world that Harry asks, “Are you my dad?”
“I am,” says James, managing the impossible feat of having his voice crack between those two short words. “Would you like to come with me?”
He can’t do this. He is all alone, and without the people who love him, James Potter is nothing. Truly, he does not know who he is anymore. Never has he gone a day in his life without someone to show him the love that he returns in full. They’re all dead and he’s just adopted a child who will have to bear the brunt of his despair. Not two minutes into this whole dad thing, and James has already fucked up at being a father.
They’re out on the front porch of the Durselys’ household, an alarmingly small sack of Harry’s belongings hanging off of James’s arm. James stares down at the boy who is looking up at him like he created the heavens and the stars. The pressure is too much, and it likely would’ve gotten the better of him if he didn’t catch sight of the tears in Harry’s eyes.
James kneels down immediately, concern overpowering the stress. “You alright, Harry?” he asks carefully, and slowly, still holding in the tears, Harry nods. “How come you’re crying?”
At this question, Harry furiously rubs at his eyes with the sleeves of his dirty and oversized shirt. James starts to panic, thinking he’s done something else wrong already. He needs help , damn them all for leaving him like this- What was James thinking, he can’t be a father, he’s barely an adult himself, the war left so much of him damaged, he can’t condemn his son to a life with him!
“I… I’m just… So happy,” Harry croaks out. “I… I never thought… Always hoped…”
James pulls him in tightly, embracing Harry’s small frame gently and yet with intense ferocity as well. He will get through this. It is not a matter of if ; For Harry, he must. For this little boy who has managed to restart James’s heart, for the boy who will know from now on all the love he would have grown up with, James will put his head back on straight and weather all storms. In the memory of Lily, of Sirius, of Remus. Anything and everything for Harry.