Chapter Text
October 31st, 1977 — The Beginning of Peace
POV: James Potter
The castle felt lighter that evening. Not just in the way the torches flickered merrily against the stone or the way the Halloween feast had sent half of Gryffindor House into sugar comas, but in the rare, remarkable way that the world itself seemed to breathe again.
James Potter leaned against the window ledge just outside the Great Hall, a freshly printed copy of the Evening Prophet folded under one arm. His other hand twirled his wand idly, still buzzing with the thrill of what he’d read minutes earlier.
DUMBLEDORE VANQUISHES DARK LORD:
Ministry Confirms Grindelwald-Era Class Victory as Aurors Begin Mass Arrests of Death Eaters.
Merlin, he could barely believe it. It had finally happened. Voldemort was gone. Properly gone. No whispers of escape, no dark mark hovering ominously in the sky tonight. Just peace. Sweet, bloody peace. The kind he hadn’t dared to hope for until now.
He grinned and bumped the back of his head against the stone behind him, exhaling slowly.
“By the time I graduate, there won’t be a war left to fight,” he muttered to himself, and for the first time in years, he believed it. Really believed it.
The Ministry was moving fast. Too fast, some said, but James figured they’d earned it. If Scrimgeour and Crouch wanted to toss cloaked bastards into holding cells and sort it out later, fine by him. Let the Wizengamot sort the details. Let Dumbledore have a bloody holiday. Let everyone breathe.
Even Sirius had smiled today. A real one. The kind that reached his eyes. That was saying something.
And Lily…
James straightened up, brushing non-existent crumbs off his Head Boy robes and adjusting his glasses.
Right. Speaking of things going right—he had a plan. A good one. A normal one.
He spotted her walking up the corridor, crimson hair tied back in a low ribbon, expression unreadable as always. Lily Evans: Head Girl, Prefect Extraordinaire, Charms prodigy, breaker of hearts (his, specifically). She looked as composed as ever, but even she had allowed herself the tiniest smile when McGonagall had read the Prophet aloud in the Common Room.
James stepped into her path like he had a hundred times before, but this time—this time—there was no smirk, no showboating, no flashy lines.
Just a muffin.
A perfect, still-warm, pumpkin muffin wrapped in a napkin charmed to stay warm. He held it out silently.
Lily blinked at him, lips twitching slightly. “No mistletoe? No grand declaration?”
He shook his head. “Just a muffin. To celebrate a very good day.”
She took it from him gently, her fingers brushing his. She didn’t pull away.
“Thanks, Potter.”
He shrugged like it was no big deal, though his heart was doing an embarrassing little jig. “So... want to take a walk? Just the lake. No ulterior motives. I swear.”
Her smile widened, and James thought she looked tired, but relieved. Less guarded. Lighter, like the castle.
“Alright,” she said. “One walk. But if you turn it into a Quidditch metaphor again, I’m hexing your eyebrows off.”
James laughed, falling into step beside her. “No Quidditch. Just... peace.”
For now, at least, everything was going great.
And James Potter—Head Boy, hopeless romantic, and future Auror—let himself believe that the world might finally be heading toward something better.