"As a well spent day brings happy sleep, so a life well spent brings happy death. -Leonardo da Vinci

---

i.

"He is an absolute monstrosity," she declares, her eyes burning. "And she's even worse than him. Insipid. Depraved. Vindictive. Selfish. There's not an ounce of goodness or humanity in her frail, miserable little body!"

"So much for the unwavering love of a sister," he replies, sighing. He hates the couple as much as his wife, but there's no use lamenting how terrible Vernon and Petunia Dursley are — they can't do anything about it.

"He had a fever," she rants, "a fever. He was sick. A small, underweight, sick little boy, and that — that — that absolute tub of lard told him to cool off in the snow. The bloody snow, James. THE SNOW. And now," she continues, her eyes bulging and her hands waving about maniacally, "and now he's angry that all the neighbors are gossiping about how sick my baby is. The audacity!"

She paces back and forth in agitation, but he can think of nothing to say to calm her down.

"We could try smiting them as punishment," he suggests nonchalantly.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snaps. She pauses. "You don't think that's possible, do you?"

"Unfortunately, no, I don't think we posses that power."

She gives an exaggerated sigh. "It's just not fair," she says, slumping down beside him. "I died for him and what does he get? A miserable childhood, going every day feeling as if nobody loves him and —"

"We love him," he interrupts.

"But we can't exactly show it, now can we?"

"I think our dying for his life is proof," he tells her.

"First, he doesn't know we died for him. He thinks we were killed in a car crash of all outrageous notions." Her voice trails off as she mutters something darkly. "And second," she goes on, renewed irritation in her voice, "how is he supposed to understand that at six years old? Little kids need to be shown love every day, James. He deserves better than this."

"I know," he assures her, wrapping an arm around her waist as they glance down at the small boy sitting on the far end of the classroom, away from most of the other kids, colouring his paper with utmost concentration, his dark, messy hair falling into his eyes. "Don't you think I would wring that whale's neck if I could?"

She leans her head on to his shoulder. It's the first time she's been still since Vermin Dursley booted her son from the house and into the snow four days ago. It was a miracle Mrs. Figg had found the freezing boy and knocked on the Dursley's door, mortifying them and forcing them to take the tiny boy to the hosptial. It's been four days, but it only seems like minutes to them.

"I wish Sirius could have taken him," she admits. "He might have been a terrible influence, but at least he would have loved him."

His face turns dark. "I still can't believe Dumbledore would be blind enough to put Sirius in Azkaban. How can he not see through Peter?" She shakes her head. And sensing her sadness, he pushes a small smile on to his face. "We'll just have to wait. It'll sort itself out eventually, eh? When our boy goes to Hogwarts — everything'll be better, then."

"I suppose," she murmurs, her eyes trained on little six-year-old Harry.

"And until then, we'll keep watch."


ii.

"And then, then, he pushed the broom just a little bit faster — the perfect amount, really, not too much or too little, and —"

"I know," she interrupts tiredly. "I was watching, too."

"Yeah, but you didn't see that part 'cause you were scratching your arm. If you had been paying your full attention you would have seen how he —"

"Even if I hadn't been paying attention, which I was, I would be well aware what happened considering this is the eight hundredth and twenty-second time you've told me."

He's quiet, and she smiles in victory, glancing down to watch her eleven-year-old son pass notes with Ron Weasley in Transfiguration. She likes Ron; he's a good Sirius to Harry's James. "But did you see when —"

"JAMES POTTER!"

"Oh, c'mon, I can't help it! He's amazing, Lily! Pure, raw talent! And the youngest player in a century. A century." His chest puffs out proudly.

She only rolls her eyes.


iii.

She watches Harry with soft eyes.

In all honesty, he sometimes grows bored simply watching his son day in and day out. He never misses a Quidditch match or a similarly momentous event, of course, but the everyday can grow tiring to watch.

It doesn't for her, though.

She watches him eat and sleep and do his homework and play chess with his friends, and she never seems to tire of it. Her eyes never stop feasting on his face and her attention rarely wanders from him. That night, however, she has something of an excuse.

"How is he?" he asks.

"Sleeping peacefully," she answers, a soft smile playing on her lips. He nods. "Do you — do you think that if we hadn't died . . . do you think all this would have happened?"

He frowns. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't it?'

"I mean, what if . . . if we hadn't died, what if he had become a different person? What if he wasn't the sort of person who would be able to defeat a monster and Riddle and . . . ?"

"If we'd been around, he might have been different," he says slowly, carefully choosing each word, "but he'd still be a good person. He'd still be brave. He'd be a Gryffindor either way. No argument. And he'd still be friends with Ron Weasley, and he'd still save Ginny, and he'd still . . . I don't think it'd be different."

She finally tears her eyes away from Harry to look at her husband.

"Do you think it would be better if it were different, though? If he didn't have to, you know —?"

"Face off with an ancient creature in a mythical chamber to save not only his life but that of the damsel in distress?" he suggests. She snorts.

"I meant if he didn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders."

"Honestly, love, I have a feeling that would have happened either way. Kid's a hero through and through. Like his old man, actually." He grins encouragingly at her, and she smiles, shaking her head at him and then gazing back at their son.

"Don't worry so much," he tells her. "He's asleep, safe and sound, and so are Ron and Ginny and everybody at Hogwarts — because of our boy.

"Don't worry, Lily. Be proud."

"I am," she murmurs. "But he's just a baby. . . ." He pats her shoulder consolingly. "You know," she finally says, her eyes alight in a way they haven't been in a long time, "I really like Ginny."


iv.

"If I were still at school," he declares, "I would have beaten the snot out of that Malfoy kid. Who does he think he is, anyway? He knows my kid is better at Quidditch than he could ever dream of being, and he uses that as an excuse to try and make a fool of Harry!"

"It didn't work, dear," she replies indulgently. "Instead he made a fool of himself."

"And Draco — what sort of ass-cracked name is that?"

She frowns. "What sort of word is arse-cracked?"

He waves his hand dismissively at her. "Does he really think Harry's scared at the sight of Dementors? Does he not even know how they work? And my son's greatest fear is fear itself! Who else can say that, eh? Eh? Draco's greatest fear is probably that someone will discover he really likes boys."

She rolls her eyes. "Don't be so crass," she tells him.

He ignores her. "Soon," he goes on, "soon, Sirius is going to find him, and the truth will all come out, and everything will go the way it was supposed to." She can see the light in his eyes at the idea of his best mate and son uniting and making a family — and mischief, too, if she had to guess — and it makes her heart ache.

She smiles secretly to herself.

She can't wait for that time, either.


v.

She rocks back and forth, hugging herself, unable to stop crying. He wants to comfort her, but he doesn't really know how. What is there he can possibly say to make her feel better? Their boy is alive, he's escaped, and Dumbledore knows that Voldemort is back, thus foiling the evil bastard's plans.

But poor Harry lies in the hospital wing, comforted by a woman who isn't his mother, while Lily watches it all happen, unable to do a thing.

James is pretty sure he's never heard Lily scream as loudly as she did watching Harry face off with Voldemort and his Death Eaters and barely manage to escape. She's barely calmed at all in the hours since.

She hiccoughs. Her eyes gaze tearfully at Harry, now sleeping in the dark hospital wing. "What do you think lies ahead of him now?" she murmurs. "What sort of childhood can he have if Voldemort is chasing him?" She doesn't take her eyes off Harry, but James knows she expects a response from him.

"He's not a child anymore," he tells her.

She stiffens. "He's fourteen, James. He's barely more than a baby. And he's so brave." Her bottom lip trembles. "And he's all alone, without his mum or dad to take care of him, and —"

"He's not alone, love," James says, slowly placing his hands on her shoulders. He had tried to hold her earlier, but she had torn herself from his embrace. She doesn't move now, thankfully, and he slowly wraps his arms around her. "He's got his mate Ron and Hermione and Molly Weasley."

"He should still get us, too," Lily whispers.

"I know," he assures her. "I know." But what good does knowing it do them?

It's quiet for a long time. "James," she finally says, her voice so soft and sweet it makes him ache, "Do you think he can handle this? Can he face what's waiting for him? The pain and the danger and . . . and all of it?"

"Yes," he answers, not hesitating. "He might not have us there to help him, but he's still us. That boy sleeping there, Lily, that's you and me. The best of us both. If anyone on Earth can handle what he's about to face, it's our boy. I know it."

"And he's not alone," Lily says, and he can tell she's finally beginning to calm.

"Nope," he agrees.

"He's got Ron and Hermione."

"As good of friends as Sirius and Remus."

"And Molly Weasley, he's got her. If he can't have me, then I'd give him to her. She takes such good care of him. Maybe Dumbledore will let him go live with her instead of Petunia?" He knows that's probably not the case — Dumbledore wants Harry to stay with a blood relative of Lily. But still, wouldn't Harry be better off, even if a little less safe, under the care of someone who actually loves him?

"Maybe," he says.

She leans her head into his neck. "And he has Remus and Sirius, too."

"Yes."

"And he does have us, if even he doesn't know it." Her voice grows stubborn with those words. He squeezes her.

"Yes."

And under their unwavering gaze, Harry sleeps.


vi.

"She's just not right for him," she insists.

"But why not?" he repeats. "She's good-looking and —"

"There's more to a girl than her looks," she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Says the most gorgeous girl ever to grace the halls of Hogwarts," he replies.

"I'm glad to see your immense skills of flattery haven't dulled over the years," she says. "But surely you're not saying the only reason you liked me was because I was attractive?"

"Of course not!" He scoffs.

"Well, that, my dear husband, is the only thing Cho Chang has going for her."

"She's smart, too," he argues. "She's in Ravenclaw. And she plays Quidditch."

"Oh, please, James, don't you dare tell me that the qualifications for the girl our only son marries include playing Quidditch! Honestly, you —"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he says, waving his arms in the air. "Who said anything about marriage? He's fifteen! He just needs to get a girl to snog." She glares at him. "And to be his . . . er, comforting companion," he amends lamely. "Aw, c'mon! The bloke needs a little more experience with the girls! It's not healthy how little attention he pays them."

"Oh, because Merlin knows your bird chasing habits in school were healthy. I think you snogged half the female population at Hogwarts before you and I got together."

"And it did wonders for my self-esteem," he says matter-of-factly, not fazed by the look on her face. "And it made me a more considerate lover when you did finally succumb to my charms."

She laughed out right. "Oh, you know, I think that's your best excuse yet. But perhaps Harry would be better off just finding the right girl and sticking to her, hmm? After all, if I'd been willing to date you in fourth year when you first starting asking me out, would you have dated all those other girls, or would it have just been me?"

Damn. "Look, all I'm saying is that maybe he doesn't need to meet that perfect someone yet. Maybe he should just enjoy spending time with Cho. She clearly likes him. How could she not?"

"But she's just not right for him!"

He throws his hands up in frustration. "And who is?" he challenges. "Since you apparently know everything about our son's love life."

"Well," she says slowly, her eyes flickering down to where Harry sits in the common room talking with Hermione and Ginny, "I happen to think that —"

"Oh, for the love of God, don't tell me you're still on that kick! Get over it, woman! He doesn't like her that way."

Lily smiles knowingly. "Give it time."


vii.

"Ha! HA! Who said it? Huh? Who? Me!" She doesn't pull her gaze from Harry as he climbs out of the portrait hole. Ginny follows behind him, her eyes bright, and her hand immediately slips into his as they start down the corridor. He glances at her, grinning widely, and she gives an identical smile in return.

They're both clearly dopey with delight.

"Fine, fine," James concedes. "You're the smartest, most intuitive witch ever, and you so saw this coming." He rolls his eyes. Since the moment Lily caught Harry's gaze lingering on Ginny an instant longer than normal the previous summer, thus confirming her theory that Ginny would be best for Harry, she had been waiting with growing impatience for the two to acknowledge their feelings. And now it's happened.

She's going to be ridiculously insufferable after this, he can just tell.

"Ooh, look at them," Lily coos, and James finds himself grinning a little at the sight of his son snogging the girl again, barely moments after they've left the common room. They murmur to each other as they break apart, and he blushes a little, and she lets out a peel of laughter, clasping his hand in hers and skipping forward, tugging him after her. He looks elated and dazed at all that's happening.

"I feel now would be a good time to point out a few things," James says. "Like, let's say, a description of Ginny Weasley: she's attractive, intelligent, and plays Quidditch. I believe I was the first to list those as what Harry needs, wasn't I?"

"Oh, shut up," Lily huffs. "I'm trying to —"

"— Spy on their private moment?"

"Yes. Be quiet. You're distracting me. Oh, he just tucked her hair behind her ear! That's so sweet! He's such a sweet boy."

He shakes his head at her. He'll never admit it to her — she really would be insufferable if he did — but he gets it now, gets why Ginny is better than Cho Chang.

He likes Ginny. She's got spunk. He likes that. And she is a brilliant Quidditch player. And she has red hair. There's nothing better than red hair. Harry really is a Potter. Lily giggles at whatever is happening, her face flushed a happy, pleasant pink.

James wraps his arm around his wife and she leans into him, sighing. Ginny is talking animatedly now, Harry raptly listening, and then they both start laughing. "Oh," Lily whispers happily.

"How long do you think it'll be before he makes his old man proud and cops a feel?"

Lily elbows him in the stomach.


viii.

"That was AMAZING!" He can't get over it. He just can't.

"Do you realise how many things could have gone wrong? They could have gotten caught or seriously injured or killed —!"

"But, Lily, they broke out on the back of an actual DRAGON!"

"— and just imagine what could have happened with the dragon. It could have turned on them, fried them to a crisp, eaten them. I mean, what if Harry hadn't been able to get a proper hold on it and —?"

"I think you're missing the main point," he interrupts. "THEY FLEW OUT ON A DRAGON!"


ix.

They go to him, and it's so strange, finally being able to talk to him after all this time. He's so lost, yet so determined, and James feels his pride in his son rising higher than it's ever been before. They walk with him to his death, and it's so terrible to imagine that this is really the end of his life when it's barely begun. A part of James is hoping that somehow, someway, Harry won't really be joining them, that perhaps there's some loophole.

His son deserves to live the life that James and Lily never did.

And then he survives the Killing Curse, and hides his survival, and now he's facing Voldemort again, and this time, there is no fear or hesitance in his step or gaze or words. It's all come down to this single moment.

"Oh God," Lily whispers, clutching her mouth, "Oh, God. . . ."

It all happens so quickly James can barely follow it. Then it's over. It's really, truly finally over.

His son, who has twice survived the killing curse, who's found friends and love and family even after being orphaned as a baby, his only son, has defeated Voldemort. He can't believe it. Lily starts laughing, tears spilling out of her eyes.

The Great Hall beneath them erupts in jubilation and everyone crowds Harry — Professor McGonagall, the Weasleys, the countless witches and wizards who stood up and fought for what was right no matter their age or bloodline or how scared they might have been.

Lily looks away and her glistening green eyes meet James's gaze. "He did it," she whispers.

"He did it," he echoes. Her hands reach forward and her fingers weave through his.

"He can have a normal life now," she says.

"The life we died to give him," he tells her.

"He can marry," she says.

"Ginny," he tells her. "He'll marry Ginny."

"Yes, and he'll have kids."

"Lots of kids, like we should have."

"And he'll grow old," she says, the tears flowing fast now, and when he tastes salt on his lips, he realises that he's crying, too.

"As old as Dumbledore," he tells her.

"And he'll be happy," she whispers.

"Happy," he whispers, the word as sweet as the long forgotten taste of chocolate on his tongue.

And she leans up and kisses him. Harry doesn't need anyone to watch over him now.


x.

James had thought Lily watched Harry obsessively.

But Lily had nothing on Ginny.

When she first comes, she is no longer the frail, thin, silver-haired woman they had watched her become over one hundred and twenty-two years, but instead looks as if she's twenty something again, with smooth, freckled skin and bright red hair to match her bright brown eyes.

She visits with her parents and brothers first, the ones who have come before her, anyway, and then she meets James and Lily. It's strange, because James feels as if he knows her better than she knows herself after all the years he's watched her. But they talk for what must be days if not weeks on Earth, and it takes James a little while to realise the reason Ginny likes talking to them so much.

It's as close as she can get to Harry.

Then Lily shows her how easy it is to part the fog and see the world beneath them.

His daughter-in-law has been watching Harry ever since.

He teaches at Hogwarts as he has the last few decades, and his once jet black hair is now a bright white and fluffed around his head in a comical manner. He barks at most of the students and argues with his daughter, now a grandmother herself, when the girl stops by to make him take Potions for his health.

Sometimes Ginny watches her children or grandchildren or great-grandchildren. But she can never stray from watching Harry for long. She doesn't say much, but she doesn't have to.

Ron is the next in her family to come, and then Hermione, and they talk to everyone in their family delightedly before settling down with Ginny to watch Harry. He's the last one of his generation left. As though she were standing right beside him, he talks to Ginny all the time, muttering about the students he does like and doesn't like and the most recent thing some various great-grandchild has done and how bad his prescribed Potions taste and how very much he misses her. Ginny whispers back as if he can hear her, and Ron and Hermione never comment.

Lily's eyes bounce back and forth between Harry down on Earth and Ginny sitting and watching him, and then her gaze falls knowingly on James.

It finally happens while he's sleeping. His breathing starts growing laboured. He murmurs something. "I'm here," Ginny whispers. His breathing begins to slow, to fade, to stop. "I'm here, Harry!" she shouts. She stands up. "I'm waiting! I'm here!"

She runs to him the moment he appears, his hair black again and his smile as crooked as it's always been.

When their embrace is over, Ron and Hermione greet him, and then the rest of the Weasleys swarm around him, George clapping his back and Fred grabbing him in a sudden hug and Molly cooing over him and Fleur kissing his cheeks and . . . and James and Lily wait, watching on silently.

But his gaze seeks them and finds them and holds on them.

Lily squeezes James's hand tightly and he can almost feel her body humming nervously beside his. The Weasleys seems to part, and Ginny whispers something to him, and Harry starts walking towards them.

And then, for the first time in over a hundred years, James and Lily Potter hug their son.

Fin