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On the eve that Harry became a father, he couldn’t quite believe the size of his son’s fingers and toes.
Ten tiny fingers.
Ten tiny toes.
As a whole hand of tiny fingers wrapped around one of Harry’s, Harry made a silent voice.
This vow he made as he glanced between his newborn son and you, sleeping peacefully after an intense delivery. This vow he made to remind himself of the importance of family.
The ten fingers and ten toes of his newborn son would never once experience the level of pain he had. His son would never go through the emotional torment of never knowing his parents; his son would never experience true loneliness.
Harry made the vow in silence, sealing it with a kiss to his son’s head. As if in response to the promise made, his son squeezes his father’s finger, gripping it with all the strength in one of his tiny hands.
Ten fingers, ten toes. All perfect, and all there.
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It’s a huff and a cry that follows that has Harry rushing from the kitchen into the back garden. Harry’s heart stops at the sight of his son sprawled on the floor; fat tears running down his face more from shock than pain.
He brushes his son down, checking for any major injuries as he does so. His heart returns to a normal rhythm once he realises that James is entirely uninjured, suffering shock more than anything.
“How many fingers, James?” Harry asks; reaching out brush the tears away from James’ face.
“Ten.”
“How many toes?”
“Ten.”
Harry kisses his son’s hair, “Ten fingers, ten toes. We’re ready to go. Do you feel better?”
James nods; wiping away the last of his tears and smiling shakily up at his father. Harry smiles back at his son; lifting him under the arms and settling him on his hip. “I think we’ve had enough of the outside for now,” Harry comments softly, “Will you help me make lunch, James?”
James nods once more, tucking his small head into the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry chuckles softly, heading back inside where he settles his son on a stool at the kitchen counter.
“What will it be, James? A sandwich or some soup?”
“Soup!” His son shouts, a smile on his face as Harry grabs the tins from the cupboard and sets the pan on the stove.
You enter the kitchen, pressing a lingering kiss to Harry’s cheek before dropping a kiss to James’ head. “What’s happening here?”
“Lunch Mama!”
You laugh, “I can see that. What are we having?”
“Soup,” Harry states.
Harry watches you with a warm smile. You pick up your son, settling on his stool before sitting James on your lap. Harry thinks back to his teenage years; to the years that he didn’t know whether he would make it through the school year never mind make it to having a family.
The rich laughter of his son brings Harry back from his memories; fetches harry back from the precipice in which he found himself teetering. He lets himself have his small panic; Harry lets himself fall prey to the anxiety that has unfurled in his gut. But he only lets it keep hold of him for the amount of time it takes him to count the fingers and toes on his son.
Ten fingers, ten toes. Harry’s mind calms and his smile returns to his face.
Ten fingers, ten toes. All will be well.
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Harry lurches upright. A hand to his throat as he drags in air; his mind rattled and his body shaking. It had felt so real. It had been real; he had experienced his nightmare before as a teenager, but now, knowing he had much more to lose, it felt even more terrifying.
He glances over to your sleeping body; a hand outstretched towards him even in sleep. His eyes run over you; watching your sleeping form rise and fall as breath leaves your body. Harry’s mind settles slightly as he sees you’re alive and with him. The silver wedding band on your left hand signally a happy future from the nightmare he had found himself in.
Harry presses a kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back from your face before leaving you in bed. He shives against the cold air of the night; the landing freezing as Harry sits at the top of the stairs, hanging his head in his hands.
He knows logically that there is no threat now; he vanquished it years ago and there had been no signs of another uprising since. Yet, Harry spends most nights having to repress the urge to stand guard by the front door, wand at the ready for whomever should come crashing through posing a threat to his wife and his son.
James stands by his door; his teddy hanging from his hand as Harry tries to settle his breathing and heartbeat.
“Daddy?” He asks, voice quiet yet ringing through the silent house.
“James,” Harry says, a hand reaching for his son.
James goes into his arms willingly, yawning tiredly as he settles his head against his father’s shoulder. James doesn’t say a lot, even this young he knows that his father struggles to sleep on some nights. He had found him asleep on the couch downstairs more often than not, a blanket thrown haphazardly over his body as James hears his mother soft humming from the kitchen.
“How many fingers?” James asks, stumbling over the harder sounds in the words.
Harry swivels to face his son; the question being the last thing he expected.
“Ten, James.”
“How many toes?” James follows, kicking his feet in the air for emphasis.
The weight on Harry’s chest feels lighter as he answers his son, “Ten, James.”
Ten fingers, ten toes. James reminds Harry – ten fingers, ten toes, and we’re ready to go. As long as we have all ten fingers and all ten toes, we can do just about anything, even if it is defeating the terrors that haunt us at night.
-------
The very same vow is made when Lily Luna Potter arrives in the world on a sunny March morning. Harry felt sure that he had the same awe-filled expression on his face from when he first held James.
The pregnancy had not come as a shock to either you or Harry. The both of you had been trying for a second child for close to a year before being blessed with a positive test.
The nerves do not rack Harry as much as they did before James arrived. However, they still turn his stomach as he watches you go through the same experiences of morning sickness followed by odd cravings. For James, it had been chocolate with cheese and onion crisps. For Lily, it had been crackers slathered with butter followed by plain digestive biscuits.
Harry crinkled his nose at all cravings, but kept his mouth shut for fear of upsetting you. He would reassure your worries as you would reassure his. The both of you looking to James as an example that so far, neither of you had failed at parenting. The small boy turning into young child that knew his manners and was devoted to his mother.
It is James who whispers the vow. He stands over the cot of his baby sister, eyes wide in awe at the small bundle of blankets. He turns to his father; catching his attention from whatever conversation he was having with you.
“Ten fingers and ten toes,” James whispers, pointing to Lily’s hands and feet.
“Ten fingers and ten toes,” Harry states, the vow unleashed to the world and sealed with the very same kiss he had placed upon James’ head all those years ago.
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The Hogwarts’ Express hoots behind them. James looks toward the train before fixing his tear-filled gaze on his father. Harry is barely keeping it together himself; the first of his three children to be going away to school. He knew he would be emotional; he just didn’t prepare himself for the pit of dread eating its way through his stomach lining.
Harry reaches out to ruffle his son’s hair. His first born; his eldest – the one who made him a father, who had moulded him into the man he is today.
“Write to your mother and I when you get settled?”
James nods. “As soon as I get to my room,” He replies, voice quiet.
“Do not be scared of whatever house you are sorted in. Your mother and I love you either way.”
A weight is lifted off of James’ shoulder; he had been silently obsessing over that since the letter first arrived. His father, the great Harry Potter, was known for his strong allegiance to the house of Godric. James couldn’t help but panic if he was to be sorted into any other house; he didn’t want to think of his father’s reaction should he be sorted into Slytherin.
Harry pulls James into a hug; unable to let his son go without one more. As they part, Harry pats James on the shoulder, nodding towards the open carriage door, silently letting him know that it’s okay now. It’s okay to let go and board the train.
James does so with a wobbling lip; trying his best not to cry in front of those who could be his housemates for the formative years of his life.
“Fingers and toes,” Harry shouts, not caring about the odd looks from the other parents. These were his final verbal words to his son until Christmas. He would make sure they were those that he vowed over his cradle when he was only a few hours old.
James sticks his head out of the carriage window. “Fingers and toes!” He cries, throwing the promise back to Harry.
He would return in one piece.
All ten fingers and all ten toes.