806Special Thanks to my friend (and reader) Flyer813 for soundboarding with me and helping me flesh-out the backstory on this mess.
THANK YOU to all the ladies of the Shrieking Shack Society (an FB group started by my beautiful friend ShayaLonnie). You've all been so amazingly supportive of, and receptive to, this plunny.
CANON-DIVERGENT AU. Yes, this is a 'James survived in secret' story. As such, the canon world proceeds as we all know it, with some tweaked scenes for continuity and emotional impact.
James-Centric Note: I've not read any fics with James as an active or central character, so do not expect his portrayal in this fic to be like one you may have read in another writers' work. There might be similarities, there might not, I've no idea.
Fancast:
*Inclusion in this list is no guarantee the character will appear in the story
Emmett J. Scanlan as James Potter; Tom Hiddleston as Remus Lupin; Jared Leto as Sirius Black; Michael Fassbender as Corban Yaxley; Alexander Skarsgard as Lucius Malfoy; Charlize Theron as Narcissa Malfoy; Jason Momoa as Fenrir Greyback; Adrien Brody as Severus Snape; Karen Gillan as Lily Evans-Potter
If you do not agree with any of my fancasts, then I invite you to imagine whomever you prefer in the above-listed role[s]. The only reason I am in the habit of listing fancasts at all is because when I do not, I am constantly asked who I picture for the characters. This list is in no way a mandate of how readers 'must' view the characters.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from this work.
Prologue
The House in Godric's Hollow
Halloween Night, 1981
(16 & ½ Years Ago)
Remus stared up at the house, forcing a gulp down his throat as Albus Dumbledore approached him, his footfalls careful, measured, and little Harry swaddled in his arms. The scene was . . . he shook his head, taking a moment to shield his watering eyes with his hand. Severus sat on the steps, leaning against the railing of the front porch as he gazed, sightless, out into the street. He held no love for the man, surely, but Remus thought he'd never seen anyone so stricken as Severus Snape appeared right now.
His stomach turned as the elder wizard came to a halt before him. He'd Apparated to exactly where Dumbledore had told him, not even certain what he was doing there until he saw the way Severus stumbled out the front door of an otherwise random house—one almost didn't notice the splintered spot where a small bit of the roof had been torn open if you stood in the right place—on a perfectly quiet street while Dumbledore made his way across that little porch toward the entryway. There hadn't even been a conversation, not really. Dumbledore had asked what had happened, but Severus'd only shaken his head. Had only gestured vaguely behind him and said a single word.
Harry.
Remus had felt positively rooted to the ground, terrified of what sort of awfulness awaited inside the house. And then Dumbledore stepped out alone, carrying the tot. The beautiful little boy, already with his father's mad jet hair and his mother's brilliant green eyes.
At last, with Harry's pudgy little fingers reaching for his familiar face, Remus found his voice. "What happened? Where are James and Lily?"
Impossibly, it was Severus who answered, his voice lower than Remus had ever heard it, full of anguish and self-loathing. "I tried to stop him," he said, sounding uncertain of whether or not he'd even spoken aloud. "It was too late . . . they were already . . . ."
Merlin, this was too much. Severus and James had hated each other, but they'd both loved Lily. Yet, even in a moment like this, Remus' mind interpreted what he was detecting in the other man's tone. Severus hadn't said she was already, he'd said theywere. As much as he despised James Potter, Severus Snape felt responsible for not being able to stop the Dark Lord from killing both of them.
"Lily is up there. Terrible scene, Remus. I advise you stay here," Dumbledore said, his expression grave. Of course, Albus knew the scene appeared clean, almost calm at first glance, but the sight of the witch who'd been so vibrant and witty, so utterly bursting at the seams with life, so still and empty now . . . even he did not possess the words to state how awful an image it was.
"What about James?"
"James is gone, I'm sorry."
Remus took hold of Harry, cradling the one-year-old in his arms—all the better for the child to grab at his jaw. "I don't understand."
Dumbledore let out a long, low sigh as he turned his head to look at Severus. "Rumor among the Death Eaters was that the Dark Lord was experimenting with new, darker, deadlier magics every day. I think he put one of those new magics to use on James. His body appears to have been destroyed."
That snapped Severus out of his agonized stupor. "What?" Gripping his hands around the railing to pull himself to his feet, he gaped at the elder wizard in disbelief. "But he was there! I saw it myself! I saw Potter on the staircase when I ran inside!"
"Yes, Severus, but you were on the scene right on the heels of the Dark Lord's defeat. This new curse might've had a delayed effect. We all know James wouldn't have run, and you were the only other person here, so unless you've another explanation for this?"
Severus swallowed hard and looked away. Of course he didn't have another ruddy explanation for it! He wouldn't have spit on James Potter to put out the flames if he'd been set ablaze, but Dumbledore was right, Potter wouldn't have run.
"Oh, God, what is that?" Remus' concerned whisper broke the moment of silence that followed Dumbledore's question.
Both of the other wizards looked over to see Remus pushing the baby's jet locks off his forehead, showing an angry, red lightning bolt gracing the fair skin.
"That's the mark of a survivor, Remus," Dumbledore said, his voice taking on that wise and patient note both of the younger men recalled vividly from their days as students—so different from the harsher tone he adopted when dealing with matters of the War. "That's the mark that ended the reign of Dark Lord Voldemort."
Remus flinched at the name, but that Dumbledore said it openly meant it was true. Voldemort really was gone.
Nodding, Remus dropped his gaze to Harry's as the little boy started to nod off in his arms, fingers still clutching the werewolf's chin like a favored toy. "What happens now?"
As Dumbledore opened his mouth to answer, the familiar sound of a rumbling engine cut the stillness of Godric's Hollow. Remus turned toward the noise, expecting to see Sirius—he needed Sirius here, beside him, here with him, hurting alongside him—but saw Hagrid astride the motorcycle.
"I called you here so that you could say goodbye."
Immediately Remus snapped his attention back to Dumbledore. His leaf-green eyes watered as he tried to form a response.
That kind smile—the one that still worked, even after knowing all the things he'd done in the name of winning the War—curved Dumbledore's lips behind his wiry mesh of white whiskers. "At least for a while. You'll see him again, someday. For now, however, I have to take him someplace outside of our world. It's the only way to keep him safe."
Remus' heart stung. Of course, of course. He couldn't take Harry—he was a werewolf, but saying goodbye? Oh, he wasn't sure he could! He'd just lost James and Lily, Sirius was nowhere to be found, and who the bloody hell knew where Peter'd gotten to!
Swallowing his feelings, all that fear and anger and sorrow, Remus Lupin forced a smile of his own. Harry couldn't see it, as he was now soundly asleep, but Remus smiled, anyway. If he didn't at least pretend he was all right, he'd never be able to do this.
Cuddling the child close to his face, he said in a whisper, "Now, you listen here, Harry James Potter, you are the child of a great wizard and an amazing witch. Your mother is . . . was . . . ." God, his voice nearly cracked on that word as he corrected himself. "Was the smartest person I've never known. And your father was as fierce of a fighter as I've ever seen—and that's coming from a werewolf, we tend to know a thing or two about fierceness. Wherever you go, you make them both proud, you hear me? You stay strong, don't let the world harden your heart. And you come back to us."
Remus blinked a fresh wash of unshed tears from his eyes, but he wouldn't say goodbye. Instead, he tacked on, "'Til we meet again."
Hagrid, poor, ridiculously decent and caring Hagrid, was crying openly as only a half-giant could. Following Dumbledore's nod, Remus placed Harry in Hagrid's arms. Just when he thought nothing could make the groundskeeper seem larger than he already did.
Hagrid shared a knowing look with the werewolf and then turned back toward the bike.
"I'll be Apparating to reach our destination ahead of Hagrid in a moment, and Peter is on his way here now so you won't be alone, but first, Remus . . . ." Dumbledore shook his head, once more wearing that grave expression as he turned his full attention on Remus. "I'm afraid we have to talk about Sirius' role in what happened here tonight."
Remus' face fell. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but with these circumstances . . . . Swallowing hard, he nodded and braced for Dumbledore's next words.
James' skull was absolutely screaming as he cracked open his eyes. Vision blurry, he was aware of bleak lighting. Was there mist in the room, or was that just the blurriness?
He swallowed hard, only to wince at the sandpaper feeling in his throat. Felt like he was coming back from the dead. That was when he remembered the flash of acid green You Know Who had flung at him. So careless. He'd been unarmed, and so the wretch hadn't even concerned himself with James, casting a quick Avada Kedavra and then moving past him on the staircase to reach Lily and Harry.
He hadn't looked back. Hadn't confirmed his kill, so self-assured he was. Hadn't noticed that the curse had missed its mark. But only by a hair's breadth.
Oh, that horrid burst of green had struck just near enough that its lethal energy had lashed out as it zipped past James' head, knocking him cold. Perhaps even stopping his heart and his breathing for a few moments . . . yes, that felt possible.
He vaguely recalled hearing Voldemort speak, offering Lily one final chance to save herself and then her scream. And he couldn't move. He couldn't run to her and Harry—he could barely open his eyes! A second scream—an anguished animal sound—followed, and James couldn't even imagine what had just gone on up there.
At last, he managed to lift his lids the tiniest fraction, just enough to see. Severus halted at the foot of the staircase, his face a mask of shock as he stared down at James. He wanted to speak. Wanted to tell the Slytherin wizard to hurry up the stairs, stop whatever was going on, but his mouth wouldn't work.
God help him, he couldn't even draw a breath. He knew—he hadn't just felt dead, he must've looked it, too. Severus' reaction spoke volumes, then.
Gritting his teeth, he swallowed down a sound of anger and worry, spitting out the words, "Dammit, Potter," as he rushed up the flight of steps. But those words—words James had heard from Severus Snape over and over this past decade since they'd met as First Years—weren't bitter, instead they were remorseful.
It was sad, really. As much as Severus hated him, he hadn't actually wanted James dead. But James understood, because he felt the same toward Severus.
That was as much as he could hold on.
Finally managing to pull in a shallow breath, James lost consciousness. Just as Severus let out a grief-stricken bellow from upstairs.
"Severus?" he forced out the word in a rough, barely intelligible whisper. It was still odd not calling him Snivellus, but this was hardly the time for schoolyard mockery.
"Awake, are we?"
James shook his head, the back of his skull scraping rough ground through his thick, mad hair. He recognized that voice, he thought. His entire body ached as he forced himself up into a sitting position.
So many thoughts were crowding his aching head right now. Where were Remus and Sirius? Lily and Harry weren't safe, if they were even still alive. That Voldemort had found them could only mean they'd been betrayed. Peter had turned on them. James' chest was already hurting, icy fingers tightening around his heart, at not knowing what had become of his family, but to think one of his dearest friends was to blame only sharpened that agony.
Turning his gaze in the direction from which those words had drifted, he found the smug visage of Corban Yaxley watching him from the other side of a barred door. He didn't need to look about, James knew perfectly well he was in a dungeon. He remembered how funny it was when Lily had been so shocked at just how many antiquated pure-blood homes had dungeons cells in their basements.
Lily.
"What happened?"
Despite Corban being the one who'd spoken first, he appeared to not hear James' question just now. Instead, he merely looked down at his hands in seeming inspection of his nails as he leaned against the wall just outside the bars.
"Do you know," he started, not bothering to look up, "that I never did trust that scrawny bastard Severus? And so, tonight, when the Dark Lord rather abruptly departed after a quiet aside with your twitchy little friend Pettigrew, I watched him. I watched, and sure as you're sitting there, Severus mysteriously slunk away. So I followed him."
James clenched his teeth, curling his hands into fists as he climbed to his feet. "What happened?" he asked again, his tone more demanding now.
"I found you on the staircase," Corban answered with a shrug, but still wouldn't look up. "I saw you breathing, but just barely. Don't know how you survived, but that's all right, no one else seems to think you could've lived through the attack, at all. So you and I? We've all the time in the world to have this discussion."
James' lip curled in a wrathful sneer. "Just finish talking, because I think I'm sick of the sound of your voice, already."
Corban seemed to take some twisted, visceral joy from his prisoner's anger. "I see almost dying hasn't dampened your spirits! Good. Well, anyway, so there I was, going up the stairs after Severus, and wouldn't you know it? I get to the door and look in and he's cradling that filthy, Mudblood wife of yours in his arms. Crying like the simpering wretch he is."
James refused to respond. Refused to let the Death Eater see what this news did to him. Corban Yaxley had no right to his tears or his pain.
"There was your precious little half-blood in his crib, screaming away, and I thought, I certainly don't want to be here, anymore, but I could hardly just walk out, either. No, no. When I reached the porch, I saw Dumbledore coming toward the house. I knew I didn't have long. And then—" Corban paused, uttering a proud chuckle— "then, inspiration struck. You see, there's always been debate about why the Dark Lord so feared an infant. The most popular theory is that he felt threatened because your son is destined to be a greater Dark wizard than Lord Voldemort, himself."
"Never."
"Well, we'll just see about that together, won't we?" Corban's features lost their humor, then. "You see, that's what you're doing here. You're insurance."
James thought he was going to be sick. This was too much, he needed Yaxley to go away, to leave him the bloody hell alone so he could breakdown like his heart and mind were demanding he do right now.
"I want the future my Lord promised," Corban said, his tone lethal. "I don't care how I get it. We were promised pure-blood rule of a peaceful and grateful Wizarding society, and I will have it. I'll be keeping an eye out for when your son comes of age. If it becomes clear he's not following in the Dark Lord's footsteps, that is when he will learn of you. That is when he will find out that your life depends on his decision."
"Someone will come for me."
"Will they?" Corban smirked. "You've been out for a few days, Potter. I've had the chance to listen, to learn what's happening out there. They think you were killed by some mystery-curse known only to the Dark Lord that did away with your body, completely! And wouldn't you know? The Dark Lord's wand disappeared from the scene, so there is no proof otherwise. No one is looking for you, Potter, because there's only one person in this entire world who knows you still live, and you're looking at him." Hell, he hadn't even breathed a word of this to his fellow Death Eaters. He trusted them about as far as he could throw Azkaban.
James Potter had never felt so helpless in all his life.
"Get comfy," Corban said in feigned cheerful tone. "It's going to be a long ten years."
James only glared at the other wizard. Hold on, just a little longer, he told himself, feeling his stomach turn itself in knots, gnawing at the raw emptiness there. Aware of each beat of his heart hurting.
"I should probably see about having one of my elves bring you food and water. Can't have you dying on me in here, now can I?" With that, Corban Yaxley peeled himself away from the cell door and pivoted on his heel, strolling through the dungeon at a leisurely pace.
Once James heard the basement door slam shut, he crumbled. Slamming his back into the wall, he slid down to sit in a slumped position, his fingers gripping into his hair as he exhaled a loud, angry sob. It was all gone. His life. Lily, his friends . . . .
But Harry.
Harry was still out there, somewhere. Ten years. Yaxley had very pointedly said ten years, and Harry had only recently turned one. He would attend Hogwarts. He would be safe until then, James was sure Dumbledore had a plan to see to that—Dumbledore always had a plan. The assurance that at least his son was safe did little to stymy his pain.
Alone in the semi-darkness of his cell, James let out everything. He had no idea how long he went on, but he knew, he had to get it out, every last drop of pain and rage and frustration.
Had to get it out so he could think. So he could plan, yes.
Then, as he let out what he thought was his final tormented sob, a spark jumped to life around him. His red-rimmed hazel eyes snapped open at the burst of light he'd glimpsed just now from behind his closed eyelids.
That had . . . ? That had come from him?
Calming his breathing, he thought back carefully over what had just happened. Over everything he'd just felt. Yes, yes, there it was. His energy had collected as he loosed his emotions. Gathered and sought an outlet.
And then, spark.
It seemed so small, so simple. But there it was. He'd heard whispers about wandless magic, but so many people brushed it off as a myth that he'd never thought to see it. Especially not from his own power!
Giving himself a few moments, he tried again. Focusing on everything—the beat of his pulse in his veins, the mix of horrible, strangled emotions twisting around inside him, even the weight of the air against his skin—he directed that energy.
Another spark burst over his open palm.
James let out a startled breath. Yes, he'd done it! He could do this.
He would do this. Ten years. More than time enough to grieve, more than time enough to make himself stronger.
More than time enough to find a way to get back to Harry.
