Not your average father, son couple. =]

It had almost been fifteen years since Lord Voldemort had taken the life of James beloved wife, Lily Potter. Somehow he felt as if things were supposed to unravel a different way, but there that same night in that exact room Lily had placed Harry under a spell and tucked him neatly away in a cupboard that was hidden underneath the floor boards. Then and only then did she run out after her James to help defend himself and his family against the dark lord Voldemort.


He could never forget the look on his wife’s face, right after Voldemort struck her…with the most powerful spell that he’d ever seen in his life. The spell was so powerful that it reflected off of Lily’s locket, killing her and going back into Voldemort, killing him as well. The look on her face was too agonizing for him to look at. Her eyes looked as if she’d seen the devil himself and her lips and cheeks lost all of the crimson that it had once held. Pale, and stone like---no longer human.


James stood over his precious Lily’s body for what seemed like forever…until he heard what made him want to continue living; his baby boy, Harry.
He rushed into the nursery searching frantically for the raven-haired boy, who could pass as his twin. Afraid that Lily had done something drastic he over turned the basinet and the two dressers that aligned the wall…only to remember the hidden cupboard under the floorboards. In panic he tore the floorboards apart, and to his relief picked up the crying infant in his hands.

“Shh, it’s all over…mommy’s gone, but I’m still here. I’ll love you enough for both of us.”


Harry’s green eyes stared up into the mirrored ones of his fathers and for a minute James could have sworn that the baby nodded, in approval, believing in his words.


And now, here James stood with Harry showing him the exact spot in which Lord Voldemort took Lily away from them. The exact spot where her cold limbs lay limp in James’ arms…Harry’s eyes became wide as James recalled every detail of the night—not missing out one speck of blood, and he was ashamed. He didn’t know why, but he was ashamed…that things didn’t turn out differently. That everyone believed that his father was a coward and the fact that James didn’t fight for Lily’s survival. He was ashamed that his father panicked, but he couldn’t ever stop loving the man that took on the responsibility of giving him an actual life.


Really, he loved James too much. He found himself worrying with anxiety when his father was gone too long or when he grew ill from his insomniac condition. He loved his father to the point where he’d become anxious to come home from Hogwarts just to see his father and smell his scent once again. He found that at nights when he awoke from a deep sleep in a sheer coat of sweat he wished to crawl along side of his father, like old times sake, and hold on to his broad, warm chest.


Harry had never dared to tell anyone about his dreams. The dreams that he would have of his father coming to him on a stormy night, drowsy after trying to put himself to bed, and then placing his body on top of Harry’s. And then he’d kiss his fathers lips, stroking his crown of dark hair as he fell asleep. No. He would never tell anyone his dreams. They were his to keep. His to savor forever, definitely when he couldn’t have the real thing.

“Harry, are you ready to go?”

“Yes, Father….”

James could sense hesitation in his sons voice, and concerned that he caused some kind of hardship or burden he looked Harry square in his green eyes, the ones that resembled his own—but expressed Lily so much more, and said—“Are you sure you’re alright lad, you know you can tell me anything right?”

“Yes father…I um---he paused, not sure what to actually tell his father---I love you dad, I don’t tell you that enough, but I really do love you.”


Surprised James pulled Harry into a tight embrace and kissed his forehead, “Oh, son, I love you more than you can ever imagine.”