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On the night of October 31st, 1981, Remus Lupin is sitting at his kitchen table when Lily Potter and her son Harry materialize in the middle of the room, Lily clutching the lion that Remus had bought for him only weeks before to her chest. James had named it Godric in an attempt to get Harry to say his r’s right, but “Goddick” was the best he could get out of the toddler.
Lily had laughed for hours about how the twenty-one year old government employee seemed sulkier than the toddler who realized he’d said a word wrong, and promptly told everyone about the spectacle. Remus had laughed too. He’d said they’d never let James live it down, and when Remus promises to never let someone forget, he follows through.
But Lily is breathing hard as the baby rests quietly against her shoulder, awake enough to notice that his mother is distressed, but still too sleepy to comprehend why. Tears are streaming down her face and Remus’ breath catches in the back of his throat, heavy and solid, when it dawns on him.
James is not with them.
Remus ushers Lily into the back room, sending owls off to Dumbledore and Sirius, and quickly helps her put Harry to bed before they begin the enchantments necessary to further protect his cottage in the woods. The Death Eaters likely will not find them, but every chance must be taken when valuable lives are at stake. Lily collapses, once Dumbledore and Sirius arrive, and Remus half leads and half carries her inside while the two new arrivals take their places.
“James…” She mutters emptily, clutching at Remus’ threadbare white t-shirt, still stained from years of needless adventures. It’s almost as if she thinks he is going to disappear, Remus reasons, and tucks her into bed beside her son. “James…”
“He’s fine, Lily.” Remus squeezes her hand, trying his best to stay calm for the woman he’s come to think of as a sister. “James is okay.”
“The rain, Remus.” She smiles wryly while motioning outside, eyes still stained red from tears. Rain is pouring, spattering against the cheap glass windowpanes, as if the world is crying as well. Remus nods emptily. James has never liked showers of any kind. “He’d likely throw a fit about getting wet, if he managed to find a way out.”
“Sleep, Lily.” He pets her head until her green eyes close, green eyes she’s given the little boy beside her. “We’ll send someone to Godric’s as soon as we can.” She has grown old during this war, they all have, and knows that her husband’s body comes second to a whole lot of other things. Remus offers a spell to put her to sleep, and she refuses.
So, Remus climbs in beside them and Lily shifts so Harry is between them, snoring softly just like his father does. Lily shakes with tears she’s barely containing, knowing that Harry will also wake quickly like James, if her tears do fall. Remus throws an arm around them both, trying to promise protection in the effortless, easy way James seems to do it without question. But he is not James, nor will he ever be, so he does the only thing he can.
Remus’ wand never leaves his hand.
On November 1st, 1981, the world is abuzz with the news that James Potter is dead.
He has made the headlines, as he so often has, but this one has an air of finality about it. This one sounds more like goodbye than any of the others, Remus muses, as he tucks the Daily Prophet away under the Muggle newspaper he has delivered just for the sake of maintaining a cover. The photo under the headline “FATHER DIES FOR FREEDOM” is of James laughing uproariously as he throws a gurgling Harry up in the air, just returned from work. His tie is loosened to the point where he might as well not be wearing it at all, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up past his elbows as he makes faces at the equally joyous toddler, who claps his hands and begs for “more, Appa, more”. It is a photo Remus knows well, because it is one he took himself. How the journalists got a hold of it, he does not know, but maybe it’s for the best.
Lily and Harry are asleep in the back room, have been for hours now, and the enchantments around Remus’ cottage have only been quadrupled over the last few hours. He will never trust anyone as their Secret Keeper except himself ever again, and Lily nods sadly when they immediately cast the Fidelius Charm, quietly choking out that it’s what James would have wanted. Remus holds her that night, her and Harry both, but is out of the warm bed before dawn. Remus thinks of James, body lying twisted and alone in the wreckage of a happy home, and wonders if there will ever be a word that could begin to express his sadness.
On November 2nd, 1981, a miracle happens.
At half past one in the afternoon, a knock sounds on Remus’ door, and he holds his wand at the ready as he advances toward it. Lily is in the back room with Harry, ready to Apparate to Hogwarts at a moment’s notice, but Remus’ resulting cry when he sees who is at the door is enough to bring her running out.
James Potter seems to be holding himself up by pure will, rain drenched clothing stained pink and brown from blood and mud, and he grins weakly when he sees his wife. “Hell of a storm we’ve got, yeah?”
Remus catches him quickly when James falls forward, strength lost now that he’d seen that Lily and Harry were safe, and hurries him inside, locking the door and resuming the wards as quickly as he could before dragging his friend inside to patch up his wounds. James is a dead weight in his arms, heavy and solid, and his pulse thrums under Remus’ fingers, weak and thready, while he tries to mend the scars that this duel has left.
Lily is sobbing profusely, stroking James’ hair and kissing his forehead intermittently, and Remus thinks that he would do the same, if he were in her position. James’ body hums to life a few hours later, a low grumble rising from his throat as hazel eyes slowly open and adjust to the light, and he’s met with a face full of angry wife as a reward for his troubles.
“James Potter, you utter prick, that was the most reckless thing you’ve done yet!” She screams, hands curling into tight fists.
“It worked, didn’t it?” James says, grinning cheekily despite how tired he looks, and she pulls him close. Remus knows that need, knows what it’s like to have to touch someone and make sure if they’re real, and he plays with Harry to give them time to themselves. God only knows they’ve needed it, after all of this.
He returns at Harry’s next mealtime, a few hours later, to find Lily and James asleep, curled together on the couch where he’d left them, limbs tangled in a Gordian knot, and he bounces the baby on his hip a little more urgently while he looks for the little bottles of baby food that they still keep for emergencies. Harry happily feeds himself, although he needs help navigating the spoon into his mouth, and breaks into full on laughter when he sees James stir.
“Appa home!” He exclaims to Remus. “Amma home!”
“That’s right, Harry.” Remus ruffles the little boy’s hair and smiles when he laughs further. “Everyone’s home.”
James smiles, looking vastly better than he had earlier this afternoon, and whines as Lily wakes. “Lily, I think Remus dearest might be replacing me…”
“Good. I’d replace you too, if I had a choice.” She mutters before going back to idly running a hand through his hair, and James and Harry’s joint laughter are a promise that maybe things will turn out okay.