Better Late Than Never

James Potter woke up on November 1st, 1981 with the distinct feeling that he was really, very, truly supposed to be dead.

Miraculously, he was not, and he couldn’t remember why.

There was a crick in his neck—it seemed that he had fallen at an odd angle at the top landing of his staircase—and there would no doubt be bruises populating his back (or perhaps his entire body) and starting a small community. His glasses were on the floor beside him, one lens cracked. He put them on and had to squint a bit before his vision focused enough to ease the pounding in his head.

Slowly, painfully, he gripped a section of the banister that had not been torn off and raised himself to his full height.

It was then that he registered the overwhelmingly acrid smell of something burning. Belatedly, he realized that it was his house.

With renewed vigor, James scrambled down the hall and to the source of the smell, his thoughts jumbled. Why was his house on fire? Why did he pass out on the staircase? Why was he consumed with the feeling that he was overlooking something earth-shatteringly important?

Just before he reached the door at the end of the hall, his foot landed on something that was not completely solid or stable and rolled, resulting in his very sudden acquaintanceship with the hardwood flooring.

With a small groan, he moved to inspect the terrible thing he’d tripped on, having half a mind to scold it for interrupting his investigation on why his house was on fire.

Merlin, James! Only twenty-one and you’re already talking to inanimate objects. I was quite certain I wouldn’t have to deal with this until you were at least sixty. At least by then the baby would be grown up and could place you properly in St. Mungo’s, where you belong.

The voice came so suddenly and so clearly into his head that James whipped his head around, looking amongst the destruction to see if he was truly alone. Quickly, after determining he must’ve only heard it in his head, he picked up the object and righted himself once more. The feel of it in his grip sent a rush of adrenaline through his body.

It was his wand! He’s a wizard. How the bloody hell could he have forgotten that?

And then, in a rush of clarity, James remembered.

He remembered playing with his son, Harry, watching the wonder on his face as he conjured up wisps of colored smoke from the tip of his wand. He remembered the fear, all consuming and terrible as his front door was blasted open and Voldemort loomed in front of him, wand raised and thirsty for bloodshed.

James remembered the scrape of words against his vocal cords as he thrusted Harry to Lily and begged, pleaded for her to run and that’d he catch up later, knowing very well that his wand was discarded somewhere else and he would very likely die.

“Lily! Take Harry and run! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”

But it didn’t matter much to him, as long as Lily and Harry made it out alive. James was certain, in that moment he stared down the wand that would deliver him to death, that he did not want to live in a world without his wife and son.

James remembered the green flash of light, the menacing utterance of a terrible phrase, and then darkness. James remembered death, greeted it like an old friend who was slightly annoyed that he had shown up a bit early to the party.

And then he remembered waking up.

Snapped out of his reverie, panic gripped his heart and threatened to pull it out right out of his chest. Lily and Harry, did they get away? Did they make it? Are they alive oh God oh God please let them- please let them be alive—

James’ hand, sweaty and stained, fumbled with the door knob to Harry’s nursery, a room he and Lily had anxiously prepared for months, arguing over colors and where to put the crib and—

James’ entire mind went blank. Empty. He did not know what he was feeling because he was unsure if there was anything to feel.

Amidst a sea of broken glass, charred furniture, and broken toys, lay Lily. Her hair was spread around her head like a bloody halo, and the front of her shirt bore a massive burn mark from spell impact. He had a matching one.

Numbly, James fell forward, his knees digging into the glass but he didn’t care, because he had to see if she was dead, she could not be dead she could not be dead Lily could not be dead Merlin please don’t let her be dead.

Fear and despair had replaced his blood, and James pressed two desperate fingers to Lily’s neck. At the same time, he abandoned his wand and pressed an ear to her chest, desperately searching, hoping—

There it was. The faintest, most beautiful sound he had ever heard. The most precious thing he had ever felt.

Lily’s pulse.

Hope reignited violently within him, and he cupped Lily’s face, smearing away the soot that had gathered over her freckles from the explosion.

“Lily,” James whispered, frantic and wild. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, cheeks, and lips. “Lily, love, wake up. Stay with me, Lily. I did not spend three years trying to get you to fall for my devilish charm for you to give up on me now. You didn’t put up with me for seven years—bloody hell, we have a child! —just to leave now.” A shaky, despairing laugh left his mouth. Tears poured down his face and clogged his throat, threatening to choke him if the grief didn’t do it first. “Lily, I love you. Please, Lily, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you and Harry like I said I would. I’ll make it all up to you, I promise. Just come back. Lily, please just come back.”

As if there were someone up in the great beyond granting all his wishes, Lily’s eyes fluttered. Her pulse spiked, and a few groans left her lips.

“…James?” Lily said weakly, and it was all James could do not to pick her up right then and there and spin her around the room. In fact, it was the idea that she quite possibly had a major concussion and survived a near death experience that kept him from doing it.

“Lily?” He whispered, not daring to speak any louder. He knew that if he were to look at himself right then, he’d look like more of a mess than usual, and wanted to brace himself for the shock that would inevitably belong to Lily once she opened her eyes.

Her eyes opened then, a vibrant shock of green that had completely enraptured James since their fifth year at Hogwarts, and he was so grateful that he was seeing them again, filled with life and a fire that could only belong to Lily.

Completely overwhelmed, James pressed his lips to hers, needing to feel her, needing to know that this was real and he wasn’t hallucinating. Lily responded with just as much need and desperation.

“Thank Merlin,” James rested his forehead against hers, and his voice broke, “Lily, I thought I lost you.” Carefully, he helped her up into a sitting position, against a wall that was not impaled with glass shards or still smoking.

Lily wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck, afraid that if she let go, he would disappear. “James…I heard you scream. I saw you fall. He-who…” she trailed off, and then started again. “Voldemort told me you were dead, that he did it himself.” Tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill over.

“Thankfully, I’m not. I’m alive, you’re alive, and so is…”

“Harry!” They said in unison, bolting to the crib that had somehow managed to remain intact. How could he forget to check on his son? James thought bewilderedly to himself.

Harry lay quietly in his crib, eyes solemn and red-rimmed, swaddled in dozens of blankets. There was glass all around him but fortunately none in him. As it was, Harry was perfectly unscathed with exception of a lightening-shaped scar on his forehead, and light trail of blood that led from it to the bridge of his nose.

“Harry, my baby, Mumma loves you,” Lily cooed, picking him up and clutching him to her chest. Her voice was thick and she was crying, but so was James. He managed a slight grin when Harry’s eyes—an exact replica of Lily’s—fell on him and wrapped an arm around Lily. They were alive, and they were together, and that was all that mattered. “Daddy loves you, too.”

******
Only moments later, Lily came to the very sudden realization that they needed to go tell someone what happened. She voiced this to James, whose arm stiffened around her.

“I’m quite certain everyone in the wizarding world is aware of what happened, Lil,” James said. “If you hadn’t noticed, our house is kind of destroyed.” James looked around the room, a pained expression on his face. “I’m going to have to paint this entire sodding nursery again,” he mumbled.

Lily, had she been willing to spare an arm, would have lovingly tweaked his arm for being a prick after they had just beaten death.

“Don’t you think someone would have shown up by now, if they knew?” She reasoned. “Voldemort came into our house and tried to kill us, James. Everyone probably thinks we’re dead. Harry’s entire nursery exploded,” her voice wavered, and she felt the agony of those terrible moments all over again, thinking her family was going to be killed. The green light illuminating the entire house, Lily daring to look back as she ran with Harry pressed against her chest only to see James fall, lifeless, to the ground.

Barely able to think straight, Lily had bundled Harry up in dozens of quilts, as if all the fabric could stop a killing curse. She’d whispered to him, over and over again, a mantra that was meant to calm her nerves more than Harry’s.

Harry, Harry, you are so loved. So loved. Harry, Mumma loves you. Daddy loves you. Harry, be safe. Be strong.

When the door was burst open, Lily turned, heart in her throat, completely encapsulated by fear. Her only clear thought was that Harry was going to live; he was going to live, even if it was without her and James. She would make sure of it.

So she did.

“Lily?” The sound of James’ worried voice brought her back to the present, and she had to blink away the film of tears distorting her vision. They were safe! They were alive! That’s all that mattered.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, though she wasn’t, really. From the look in James’ eye, he knew it too. “We need to go. We don’t know what happened to Voldemort and there could be Death Eaters stalking the place and—” She couldn’t finish, only pulling Harry even tighter to her chest.

“We ought to go see Dumbledore, or go to the Order headquarters,” James said, and walked across the room to get his and Lily’s wands. Though she knew he was only a few mere feet away, Lily thought it felt like miles.

“Do you think you can apparate?” Lily quickly assessed her body. Her pale, freckled skin was littered with bruises and cuts. Her chest ached from the impact of the spell, and now that the adrenaline was fading completely, she was quite sure her brain was preparing to leak out of her ears. On the whole, she felt like she’d gone a thousand rounds with a prizefighter.

“I have a massive headache, but I think I can do it. What about you?” Lily did not try to disguise her blatant once-over of her husband’s body. For a brief second, she saw the mischievous glint return to his eye and promptly leveled him with a glare so he wouldn’t say anything cheeky.

James smirked. “Besides feeling like there’s a thousand pound weight on my chest and that my neck has probably gained the ability to turn three hundred and sixty degrees? Fantastic. Lovely. Peachy-keen.” Lily rolled her eyes but did not say a word. Her husband was an idiot, and he was an idiot that filled her still-beating heart with an immense amount of love.

“So where are we headed, then?” James stuck out his elbow and Lily took it, keeping a firm arm cradling Harry. Her heart beat was erratic.

“HQ? St. Mungo’s? Dumbledore is surely to be at HQ but I have no idea what this scar on Harry’s forehead means, and neither of us are exactly in tip-top shape.”

James’ brow furrowed. “I think HQ would be our best bet. Doesn’t Pomfrey hang around every once in a while? Maybe we’ll catch her.”

With a sound that was distinctly reminiscent of a car backfiring, all three Potters disappeared into thin air.

****
They were received in HQ by a host of surprised faces. It was a rather small group present; weary faces pulled down with grief sipping on drinks in front of the fireplace. The atmosphere was odd; one of relieved celebration and immense grief, of an enemy vanquished at the expense of the innocent. Lily shivered and James knew, despite it all, she felt the noticeable absence of the McKinnons and the Prewett brothers. Their deaths were so recent that the sight of their empty chairs still shocked every member of the Order.

“James? Lily?” Remus spoke first, his face so pale that he resembled a ghost. “They said you had died—your house is destroyed, and when they went to look for you, you weren’t there—”

“Yeah, about the death thing,” James began, dealing with the situation the only way he really knew how. Make light of it. “We thought we were dead, too. Quite torn up about it, really. Marvelously, we’re not, and I’d rather not dwell on how we managed to do it because I’m perhaps a little bit afraid we’ll jinx it.” He gave a winning smile, one that worked fantastically during his days in Hogwarts when he had to charm his way out of detentions for a prank gone wrong. Unless, of course, it was McGonagall giving the detentions. The woman was a fortress. “Anyone happen to know where Dumbledore is?”

After a shocked beat of silence, Remus rose from his chair and, to James’ surprise, pointed a wand at them. Almost immediately James pulled his wand out of his pocket to retaliate, hurt radiating through his body. Lily hoisted Harry further up on her hip and faced him away, angling her body so she could raise her wand and protect Harry from any errant spells. James, as an unconscious reaction, angled his own body to better protect his family. He’d already failed them once, and he wasn’t going to do it again.

“What’s your nickname for me?” Remus snarled, a look of abject pain in his eyes.

James narrowed his eyes. “Moony, coined fifth year due to the belated discovery of a solution to your furry little problem.”

Remus’ posture became a little less stooped, but he redirected his wand toward Lily, who stared him down like she’d rather tear the world apart than let something happen to her family again. James felt his body go alight with the sudden desire to kiss her in that moment, but knew she’d probably hex him to his grave if he did.

“What did you say to me when Sirius was writing his best man speech?”

A flicker of amusement ghosted over Lily’s face. A corner of her mouth turned up. “I said, ‘Oh, Merlin’s beard, Remus, please don’t let him embarrass himself, James, or worse, me.’”

Harry giggled in her arms, and Lily’s attention was instantly diverted. Remus lowered his wand and all the tension in the room dissipated.

Remus smiled weakly. “Hope you’ll forgive me for that. I just…couldn’t really believe you had survived. All of you.”

The room, previously filled with Order members stunned to silence, came back to life. There were cheers, shouts, felicitations and worried questions. Dedalus Diggle was the loudest of them all, shooting fireworks from the tip of his wand and downing several shots of fire whiskey.

Between James and Lily, Harry giggled some more and clapped his hands at the display.

“Is Dumbledore here?” James asked Remus again, eyes searching each and every battle-worn face for a man with half-moon glasses. Remus stepped closer to them, guiding them to a different room. “There are a few things I need to tell you before you see Dumbledore. Yes, he’s here, and I’m sure you have a lot to tell him, but I need to tell you this one thing first.”

James knew worry when he heard it, and Remus was most definitely worried. But he was worried for someone else.

“What is it, Remus?” Lily asked, and dread filled James’ stomach.

“Sirius is being sent to Azkaban.” All the air was sucked out of the room. Lily gasped, but James could hardly make a sound.

“What the bloody hell for?” Lily’s voice rose twelve octaves, and Remus winced, his eyes glancing at them all but falling on none.

James was a thousand feet underwater. His parents had died only a few years ago, and Sirius was the only member of that life he had left. Sirius could not be going to Azkaban. He needed Sirius. He was the godfather to his child!

“What do you bloody mean, what for?” Remus was suddenly incensed. “He’s your Secret Keeper and he betrayed you to Voldemort! You three almost died because of Sirius!” Lily began to interrupt but Remus continued on, driven. “Peter confronted him in Godric’s Hollow and Sirius killed him! He left nothing but a pinky finger, along with twelve other muggles. Casted a curse so strong you could see the piping beneath the pavement. The Aurors had to obliviate half the town so it wouldn’t make it to the muggle newspapers.”

Lily took one glance at James’ stricken face and spoke, her voice deadly calm. “Remus, Sirius was not our Secret Keeper.” Her voice took on a new tone then, as if she were coming to realize something. Neither James or Lily thought much on how Voldemort knew where to find them, only that he did, and was now nowhere to be found. “Peter was. Sirius suggested it because he thought everyone would assume it was him, and leave Peter alone. We thought Peter could be trusted.”

James came back to life with murder in his eyes. “Obviously,” he said, straining to remain calm, “we were mistaken.” James turned to look at Lily, not wanting to leave her and Harry but knowing he needed to do something to save Sirius. They exchanged silent look, and though they were both equally terrified, Lily nodded her assent.

“Peter,” Remus muttered in complete disbelief. James wasn’t sure how much more stress he could take. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure it was going to give out on him at any minute.

“What do we do now?” James demanded. “Peter could have been cavorting with Voldemort for months for all we know, divulging every secret we had. How do we know Voldemort isn’t planning something right now?”

“The McKinnons,” Lily whispered. “Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Peter must have told the Death Eaters where they were during their patrol nights. He’s the reason they’re dead.”

James’ anger was going to eat him alive.

“Voldemort is dead.”

They all spun to face the new voice in the room. It was calm and serene, vaguely and perpetually mischievous. It also belonged to a man with a long white beard, a crooked nose, and glinting, half moon glasses.

“Dumbledore!” James exclaimed, feeling that it was not the time to beat around the bush. “What do you mean, Voldemort’s dead?” How much had they missed?

The promise of a smile ghosted Dumbledore’s face. “Voldemort is dead, because your son killed him.” Any one of them could have a dropped a wand and the sound would have gone unnoticed.

James nearly snorted. “Harry’s barely a year old! He can hardly string a sentence together, nevertheless kill Voldemort.”

“James!” Lily scolded, but she was too surprised herself to put any severity behind it. Their son? One year old Harry Potter, killed Voldemort?

“Do not underestimate the power of love, James. You and Lily sacrificed yourselves last night, in the way only a true sacrifice can be done.” He paused a bit, taking in their reactions before he continued. James could honestly not imagine was his looked like. “You sacrificed yourselves for Harry with no intention of trying to save yourselves in the process. By doing that, you tapped into a very old magic, a very rare kind of spell that Voldemort himself had no hope to ever master.”

“What was it?”

“Your love created a shield, and when Voldemort aimed to kill Harry, his spell rebounded and Voldemort himself was destroyed instead. It’s why Harry emerged completely unscathed with exception of that scar on his forehead. Quite remarkable, really.”

Lily flushed. “But how did we survive? Shouldn’t the sacrifice have only worked if we had really died?”

If Dumbledore was ruffled by her question, he did not show it. Instead, his gaze slid to beyond them, at the doorway veiled by shadow.

“You can come in now,” Dumbledore said, and James wasn’t sure if what he heard in his voice was disgust or contempt. However, he suddenly found he didn’t really care.

It was because Severus Snape had just entered the room.