Chapter 2
“Magic?” Harry says with wonder, and with a dose of fear. “I’m… Magic?”
James has Apparated the two of them to the outskirts of his childhood home. Just beyond the hill hides Potter Manor, a grand magical home that has been passed down through countless generations of Potters. It was abandoned during the First War, as it would have been too obvious a place for James and Lily to reside with Voldemort after them. But James had always planned on returning here, once the war had ended. He just hadn’t realized it would take him so long to come back.
“Yes, you are,” James answers, taking care not to let his frustration with the Dursleys show. Apparently, they had kept Harry ignorant about the entirety of his roots all his life. “I’m magic, too. So is-” His voice cracks. “So was your mum.”
“My mum,” Harry breathes, as he scampers along at James’s side. “Is she there, at the house we’re going to? What is she like?”
James swallows down his tears. “She’s not here anymore, Harry,” he says quietly. “She passed away. A… A long time ago, in fact.” He clears his throat. “But when she was alive… Well, she was a force of nature, your mother. Unstoppable and outright ruthless when she wanted to be, and yet… So unbelievably kind. To the weak and to the shunned, and even to the ones who didn’t really deserve it. And thank goodness for that, hm?” James smiles down at Harry. “Lily giving me a chance is what eventually led us to you. You should know that she loved you very much, Harry. From what they tell me, she died saving you.”
“Oh,” comes Harry’s small voice. He doesn’t say anything for the rest of the walk. James chalks this up to Harry being a little shy, and expects the silence to break once the manor comes into view. But while Harry’s eyes do grow wide and his jaw drops softly, he remains wordless as they cross over into the threshold.
“There’s no shortage of rooms you can choose from,” James clears his throat, hoping to bring about a more comfortable atmosphere. “That over there is my old one, I suppose you can have it, if you’d like,” he points to the door on their left. “And over here- Well, that’s Sirius’s room…” James’s voice falters. There are ghosts in this house, abandoned memories that will haunt him for an indefinite amount of time. “He… He was my best friend,” James explains. “My brother. He died that night, too. We decided to stand our ground, me and him, so that Lily could run and keep you safe. He… He took the worst of it for me, and…” His knees buckle unexpectedly and he’s on the floor, tears running down his cheeks. Wake up, you prat, says a voice that sounds suspiciously like Sirius’s. You can’t break down in front of your son. What were you even thinking, bringing up the topic of death to a ten year-old?
“He deserved so much,” James chokes out. “So brave… So strong… He was too young.”
They all were. Teen soldiers, dead in their early twenties. James is sure a part of himself died that night, too.
It’s only after all the tears have gone away and James is more or less in control of his uneven breathing that he remembers where he is, and who he’s here with. “Harry?” he calls out in a panic, because Harry isn’t where James saw him last, and the fading sunlight from the windows in the hall tells him he’s been here for an hour at the very least.
James finds Harry asleep in one of the empty rooms, curled up on the bed, under the covers, in a tight little ball. James feels so much guilt for having let his grief get the better of him, a feeling that intensifies all the more when he realizes he let Harry fall asleep without even having dinner.
Not that they could have even had a proper dinner tonight, James realizes, once he’s finished doing a thorough sweep of the kitchen. This house has been abandoned for nearly a decade, a fact which inconveniently slipped his mind. He really has to stop getting so disoriented by the nine-year gap in his head.
He doesn’t want to leave Harry all alone, but there has to be food for breakfast tomorrow, and besides, the house is safe. James felt the wards reviving upon entering the grounds earlier. He’ll just make a quick visit to the nearest Muggle town and buy out all the groceries they have.
He has no Muggle money.
Swearing under his breath, James stomps into Sirius’s room, vowing to himself not to let in an ounce of grief this time. He digs beneath the mattress for some of the extra Muggle cash he knows Sirius kept around, and comes up with about forty pounds, a sum whose value James has no grasp of. A trip to a Muggle convenience store lands him with enough food to last at least a day. Goodness, how the mighty have fallen, James thinks, as he gorges himself on instant noodles for dinner. There is no way he is feeding Harry any of this unhealthy junk. Surprisingly tasty junk, but junk nonetheless. They’ll make a trip to Diagon in the morning, he decides. A quick trip to Gringotts will have his pockets weighed down, and then he can get Harry a proper breakfast at one of the high-end cuisines.
Another sob escapes him, but this time, it’s one of melancholy happiness. He’s grateful. Despite everything, he is grateful that fate didn’t see fit to take even Harry from him, as well. He doesn’t know what he would have done if even Harry had been gone. James is no one and nothing without someone to give his love to, and he is so thankful that he has found a reason to keep living in Harry.
The first disaster happens the very next morning. Things do go smoothly for a bit, and James feels something swell up in his chest at the sight of Harry taking in the magical world around him. He can only imagine what it’s like, stepping into a community where magic roams free for the very first time. Excited by the prospect of showing his son everything Diagon Alley has to offer, James splurges a little- Well, a lot, but it’s alright, he can afford it- And brings Harry to the classiest gourmet dessert shop on the East end. He insists on buying Harry at least three pieces of cake, two of them being magical: One whose frosting changes color, and another whose flavor varies with each bite. James himself, who already had a bit of breakfast as it seemed a waste to toss out the tasty Muggle junk food, helps himself to a simple caramel coffee with toffee-scented cream and a drop of mint extract topped by a generous sprinkle of granulated sugar.
There is a chance James might have been terribly spoiled growing up.
Harry is a quarter-way through his second slice of cake when he gives a sudden lurch and promptly throws up all over the ground. James is on his feet in an instant, he can feel his face blanching. “Harry, what’s wrong with you?” he says in alarm, hands clasped tightly on Harry’s shoulders, his mind already coming up with a dozen different explanations for this, each more horrendous than the last. Harry is allergic to something in the cake, the food’s gone bad in this establishment, someone has put poison in the desserts-
Calm the fuck down, Prongs, says Sirius’s voice again. No one is putting poison in Diagon Alley’s blueberry cheesecakes.
“No, no, no, no…” James winces, cursing his own self to hell and back when Harry starts crying violently. It’s fine, it’s a normal response for kids to cry from vomiting. Something to do with the body’s protective system… Lily would be so much better at this. Sweet, brilliant Lily who had been studying so hard to become a Healer, only for her training to be put off when they had to go into hiding. If it were Lily who had survived, she would never have made whatever mistakes it is that James is making now.
“Your son is suffering from severe malnutrition,” says the Muggle Healer that James rapidly brought the two of them to. James chose the non-magical option over St. Mungo’s, since, according to the papers that were propped up in the dessert shop, him and Harry are Magical Britain’s hottest gossip topic at the moment. He doesn’t want to overwhelm Harry with the attention that would surely follow from having a receptionist call them out from a wixen crowd by name. “His body has gone through metabolic and digestive changes, presumably from a period of starvation,” the Muggle Healer continues, eyeing James with stern suspicion. “His sickness was likely due in part to having suddenly consumed a large portion of food, all the more so if the food was in any way too rich in spices or sugar for his palette.”
So it’s James’s fault, then. First morning on the job and already, he’s practically poisoned his son. It takes James about an extra minute for the front half of the Healer’s comment to register, and then he’s raging internally like mad. Severe malnutrition, the Healer said. A period of starvation. Petunia Dursley had better be professing gratitude to whatever higher power she believes in, because if it weren’t for the Evans blood running through her veins, James would be perfectly content to march over to her residency and burn the whole place to the ground.
“My god!” the Healer shrieks suddenly, when the overhead light bursts open in a shower of sparks. Accidental magic. There is only one person in the room who could be responsible for it. But then, why is it that all of James’s magically honed instincts are telling him the magic came not from Harry, but from James himself? James is a fully grown adult, and one highly accomplished in the magical arts at that. He should not be having outbursts of accidental magic. It’s absolutely unheard of, except in situations where the wixen in question is under considerable duress. It’s dangerous is what it is, to have the magical strength of an adult with all the control of a child. What if James had hurt someone? What if-
“Harry,” James gasps, staring at the small cut on Harry’s cheek.
That’s it, then. Apparently, it wasn’t enough for James to be partially responsible for Harry getting sick. He had to physically injure his son, too. His inner thoughts fill with the same back and forth James has been wrestling with since the moment he Apparated into Privet Drive. He can’t do this. He must. He can’t.
He will. But first, James has to get his life back together, and he won’t let Harry be around his agitated self as he tries to achieve it. Harry deserves more than that. James would never dream of sending him back to the Dursleys of course; He is glad he made the visit to Privet Drive when he did, rather than putting it off and leaving Harry to suffer for even longer. But this morning has proven that James has a long way to go before he can take on the responsibility of a child. Becoming his former self again will be the first step. Learning every step and precaution in being a father will be the second. He just needs someone to take care of Harry until then. A family friend, perhaps. The only problem is, of course, that they’re all dead.
James starts ticking off the old Order names in his head as he and Harry aimlessly navigate through the Muggle streets. Sirius, the obvious choice, is dead. Remus is dead. Peter… James lets himself think about Peter for the first time, and tries with all the might in his heart to muster up an ounce of hatred for his old friend. He is unsuccessful. There is only a hollow void where Peter once used to reside in his heart. Peter’s betrayal is probably James’s fault too, somehow. James should have tried harder. He should have noticed Peter straying from them, should have held on tighter and expressed to Peter the worth he possessed.
Marlene, dead. Dorcas, dead. Alice and Frank… They were the first faces James woke up to. His ward mates in the terminal section at St. Mungo’s. Words cannot express the horror of what was done to them.
Benjy, dead. Caradoc, dead. Emmeline is not, in fact, dead, but she is a full-time Auror, as was seen yesterday morning, when the Ministry decided to send someone to ask James questions about the happenings of that fateful Halloween night. Her work will not allow her to care for Harry properly.
Edgar, dead. Fabian, dead. Gideon, dead. But wait- James pauses in his steps, causing Harry to stumble into his leg. Fabian and Gideon, his mentors in the Order. They had a younger sister, didn’t they? Didn’t James and Lily end up inviting her along with the Prewett brothers for their wedding ceremony?
“Don’t you worry, dear. He’ll be safe with me,” Molly Weasley tells him kindly.
James nods along fervently. “It’ll only be for a few months at the most, just until I sort things out. I’ll be providing you with all the money necessary, of course-”
“Don’t be ridiculous, James, consider it a family favor. My brothers always spoke so highly of you.”
“Please, Mrs Weasley, I insist.”
“Call me Molly, dear.”
“Molly,” James says, “I have to insist. I don’t want to pose a burden on you.”
“It’s no burden,” Molly tries, but concedes eventually. “Well, at any rate, I’m sure Harry was very happy to know you were alive. As were we all.”
James hums out a response, turning to look at Harry, who is watching Fred and George Weasley talk animatedly in front of him. “He’s… He’s been through a lot, Molly. I just… I want to give him a chance at a normal life. With a father who’s not losing it over grief every two seconds. He’s… He’s just a boy.”
“Of course. I understand,” Molly says, and James will never know that in her eyes, James himself is far too young, too. Her oldest son, Bill, is the exact age James was when he fell into the magic-induced coma that would leave him trapped in time for nine years. Much too young, and with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Molly can only hope that, in the time that James has chosen to take to heal, he comes to the conclusion that he is allowed to be human, too. He doesn’t always have to be the person that everyone depends on, not if it means he doesn’t get to lean on anyone himself.