Archive of Our Own

“You’re fucking joking,” Lily says, eyes sparking with fury. “And it’s not funny.”

Albus leans back in his chair. He looks old, James thinks. He’s always had a grandfatherly persona, but he doesn’t look mischievous and permissive like he usually does. Mostly, he looks tired to his bones.

“I wouldn’t joke about this.” He takes a sip of tea; his hand shakes. “It’s Harry. I ran every test I could think of.”

James jumps to his feet, knocking his own cup of tea over in his hurry. “Then take me to him. Now.”

“A moment, James.” At the look on James’s face, Albus holds up his still-quivering hand. “The situation is delicate.”

“My kid is delicate,” James lobs back, refusing to take his seat. “And I want to see him. Merlin, it’s been—“

Lily grabs his hand and squeezes. Six years. He doesn’t need to finish his sentence. Lily knows, is the only person who could know the terror of waking from Voldemort’s attack on their home to curse scars on both of their chests and their little boy, their baby, gone gone gone.

“Surely you can brief us after we see Harry,” Lily says, composed beyond reason. She was like this after it happened too, organizing search parties, distributing rotas for patrolling known Death Eater hideouts, spelling their house back together so it was ready for Harry when he came home.

Not that it helped. James sold the place after the divorce was finalized. Maybe some other kid is sleeping in that patched-together crime scene.

“I see there’s no easy way to say this.” Albus sighs. James would punch him, if he wasn’t the person who could take him to his baby.

“Out with it,” he growls, nerves frayed.

“Voldemort took a personal interest in Harry. He’s been keeping the boy much too close for us to get at until now. Once he fell—“ Albus shakes his head. “Alastor was right to sweep his base immediately. Saved Harry’s life.”

“That bastard had him in the viper pit?” It’s true; Riddle Manor was crawling with snakes, last James had been there.

Merlin, he’d been in the same place as Harry. He hadn’t known.

Albus nods. “That’s not all. He’d…become concerned with Harry’s discipline. Apparently, Harry ran away. Multiple times. Tom took to alternate methods of compliance.”

“What does that mean?” Lily asks, her composure wavering in a way James fancies only he can see. “Was it—the imperius on a mere child—“

James is going to be sick.

“No,” Albus says. “Harry can—well, it appears he can throw off the imperius curse. Tom couldn’t use that. He transfigured him.”

James must have misheard. “Disfigured him? If that’s all, Albus, then I really don’t know why we can’t just—“

“Transfigured?” Lily stands up. “Into what?”

Albus puts his head in his hands. “A trinket box. Tom apparently took to keeping it—him—in his pocket. Harry is fortunate that the final battle caught Tom unawares, or he may have been decimated in the crossfire.”

“A box,” James repeats. He can’t—can’t process this. “An inanimate object.”

“Harry is remarkable.” Albus lifts his head. “James, Lily. His mind is intact. Somehow, against all logic. He’s mentally present.”

James falls back into his seat.

Lily puts her hands up to her ears but doesn’t cover them. Like she can’t bear to hear more but has to. James knows the feeling.

“Mentally present,” she says. “Was he—the whole time?”

“He hasn’t been exactly forthcoming. But it seems so. He remembers it all.”

“He was a baby,” James says through numb lips. “Vol—he transfigured our baby. Into a box. Wore him into the field.”

“He’s seven.” Lily is crying. James would be drinking this in in any other context, proof that Lily was hurt just as badly as he was, something for them to bond over instead of fight through alone.

Not now, though. Six years. Voldemort had him six years.

“A box?” James asks again. “Merlin.”

Albus nods. “I’d—well. I’d ask you to be gentle with him, but I don’t think I need to. I can take you to him now. He’s in the infirmary. Minerva’s with him, watching for any lingering effects.”

Without a word, James and Lily follow him from his office. Halfway to the infirmary, Lily slips her hand into James’s and squeezes.

James squeezes back. Merlin.

“Harry, I’ve brought—these are your parents. Your mum and dad.”

Albus is clearly trying. James will give him that. But the twinkle in his eyes, which has glinted through countless atrocities, losses, skirmishes. It’s gone out.

The little boy on the hospital bed doesn’t notice, though. He’s never seen Albus any other way.

Except, you know, in battle. From the Dark Lord’s pocket.

Merlin.

His baby, Harry. He’s so big now, for all that he’s clearly not as big as he’s supposed to be. But the difference between toddler and primary schooler is stark. Not that he’s been in school. His hair is a mess, just like James’s, but it’s long and lank with grease and dust. His eyes hurt to look at. So do his knobby knees and skeletal arms. His little gaunt cheeks with spots of color standing out red against the paleness.

He’s so beautiful.

“Harry?” Lily’s voice wavers. “Love. We’ve missed you so much.”

James nods but doesn’t open his mouth. Can’t.

Harry takes them both in, eyes scanning from their feet to their hair carefully. Slowly.

“Harry?” Minerva prompts.

Their boy jumps. “I forgot again,” he whispers.

And oh, his little voice. He’d been babbling away, endless sounds and coos, before he was taken. But now his voice cracks from disuse.

“Perfectly understandable,” Minerva says warmly. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears. “Lily. James. Harry was just telling me that he sometimes forgets other people can see him, now that he’s not a box.”

“Ah,” Lily says. “Harry, my love, that’s not your fault.”

Harry watches her. Minerva pats his hand gently; he starts at the contact.

“Oh.” Harry turns too-big eyes on her. “That too?”

“That too,” Minerva confirms. She’s a miracle worker, that woman.

“Sorry,” Harry tells Lily. “I don’t know when I’m supposed to talk.”

James turns on his heel and walks into the hall. Then he punches the stone wall, hard. Something cracks. He casts a quick episkey and goes back in.

Lily’s sitting carefully at the foot of Harry’s bed now. She looks up at him and inclines her head slightly to Harry.

“Harry, this is your dad. He’s so happy to see you. We’re both so happy you’re here with us.”

“Okay.”

James reaches a hand toward Harry, helpless to stop himself. Six years, six years. A box.

“Hi, sweetheart.” James is crying; he can’t help it.

“What’s sweetheart?” Harry asks Minerva. He doesn’t shake James’s hand off, though, leaning into it.

James cries harder.

“That monster.”

James has seen Sirius do some heinous things. Has watched him bare his teeth and defend sending Snape under the Whomping Willow. Covered his back when he sent a bone-breaking curse at Bellatrix that caved in her chest. Backed him up when he accused Remus of betraying Harry.

He’s never seen Sirius furious like this. Good, he thinks wildly. Harry will need everyone he can get.

“Where is he? I need to—“

“Albus already got him, Pads. You were there.”

“Harry, you idiot.”

“Ah.” James rubs the back of his neck. “Lily’s with him at Mungo’s now. But he’s—we need to take things a bit slow.”

Sirius nods, but the want in his eyes doesn’t ebb. “When? Can I—next week?”

“Maybe,” James hazards. “He’s finding everything pretty overwhelming.”

“Where was Riddle keeping him, anyway? One of his cronies’ houses?”

James closes his eyes. Right, no one is going to get this next part unless he tells them.

“What do you know about human transfiguration?”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” Sirius’s face goes scary again. “No. He didn’t.”

“He did.”

“Merlin.”

“Yeah.”

“Merlin!”

“I know.”

Sirius slams his hands on the table, palms down. “Right, well. Get me a day pass to Azkaban. I’ve got to kill Peter.”

James sighs. “No.”

“James.” Sirius’s voice is pleading. “Harry.”

“You think I don’t fucking know, Padfoot?” James lets the leash he’s been keeping himself on loosen a bit. It’s just Sirius. “Get in fucking line. Except don’t, because. Harry.”

“He’s going to need us.” Sirius puts a bracing hand on James’s shoulder where it meets his neck. Squeezes tight.

“He already does,” James agrees. “Did, for a long time.”

Sirius wraps his other arm around James’s shoulder and hauls him in. “He has us now. You, me. Lily.” He clears his throat. “Remus.”

James makes a wordless noise of agreement.

“Lily’s with him now?” Sirius checks.

“Hasn’t left him for days.” For just a minute, James rests his forehead on Sirius’s shoulder and breathes. “This is really fucking hard, Pads.”

Humming, Sirius grabs his shoulders and pulls back to catch his eyes. “Hey. Jamie.”

“Yeah?”

“Harry’s alive. We have him.”

James lets himself smile. “He is. We do.”

“It’s going to be hard,” Sirius continues. “But we have him. Alive!”

“My baby boy survived.” Once he’s said the words, James’s knees go out from under him.

Sirius catches him under the arms and spins him around.

Despite all the rest of it, James gives in and laughs. “We got him!”

Sirius whoops. “And I get to see him tomorrow!”

“Nice try, Padfoot.”

Sirius wins out, because of course he does. He knocks on the door to Harry’s private room the next morning bright and early, just as visiting hours start.

“I brought breakfast for everybody,” he says softly. Lily’s still rubbing at her eyes and scraping her hair into a braid.

Merlin, she’s beautiful in the morning.

“Coffee?” she asks, voice scratchy with sleep.

“What’s a coffee?” Harry’s voice is even scratchier.

“For grown-ups,” James tells him. “But I’m sure we can get you some tea with honey. Your throat sounds sore, baby.”

“I don’t know honey.”

James swallows around the rage. His own throat will be sore if he keeps it up.

“It’s sweet,” Sirius says lightly. “You could like it. Hi, Harry.”

“Hi,” Harry repeats. He’s gotten that social nicety down pat.

“Baby, I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Sirius and I’m friends with your parents.” His eyes flick toward Lily briefly.

“Sirius is your godfather,” Lily adds. Wonderful woman. “Remember, we talked about family we pick?”

“Minerva is family we picked because she’s nice and helps with side effects from when I was gone,” Harry tells Sirius. Quietly.

“I’m happy she’s helping.” Sirius is about to cry. James can see all the warning signs, the way his fingers flex and he’s blinking too much.

“You’re family we picked too?” Harry cocks his head, taking Sirius’s measure.

“Yeah, Harry.” James puts an arm around Sirius’s shoulders. “We picked Sirius.”

Harry nods and then frowns at the mountain of silver foil-wrapped parcels on the table by his bed.

“Breakfast is very shiny.”

“That’s just the wrapping, sweetheart. The food’s inside.” James takes the foil off one of the sandwiches and hands it to Harry, using the moment of contact to press a kiss to the top of his head.

Harry pushes up into the feeling. Lily bites down her sob; she’s getting better at it.

“So,” Sirius says, pulling one of the chairs over to Harry’s bed. “Has your mom been telling you stories?”

Harry looks at Lily like he needs permission. Lily kisses his hand, motions for him to take a bite of his food, and turns to Sirius.

“I’ve got his old books in my bag.” She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I grabbed Beedle. Had a feeling we’d be seeing you.”

Sirius’s smile is much more genuine and painfully grateful. “Lily.”

“I’m going to brush my teeth.” She nods at him, not meeting anyone’s eyes until she looks back at Harry. “I’ll be right back, baby. Sirius could read to you, if you’d like.”

“Like?”

“If that would feel nice.” Lily leans in for a gentle hug from their bird-boned boy and then steps out.

“It would feel nice,” Harry tells Sirius.

Sirius summons the book and scoots in so Harry can see the pictures. “I used to read these to you, every time I came to see you. Can I start with the one you used to like best?”

Harry shifts so he’s leaned against Sirius’s arm. His muscles are weak, the healers said. He hasn’t been crawling or walking or running much at all since he was taken. But he’s greedy for touch, for warmth and affection.

He lays his little head on Sirius’s shoulder and looks.

“Think that’s a yes, mate,” James says, breaking the silence.

Sirius’s eyes are shiny when he opens the book to the proper page and starts reading.

It takes Remus longer to show. Lily relaxes for the first time since they got Harry back when he pulls her into a hug, though. James tries not to audibly grind his teeth.

He hates being wrong. Hates how being wrong about Remus cost him their friendship. Hates that he deserves it.

“There now,” Remus murmurs. “You have him, Lils, you got him.”

The two of them stand still for a moment. Harry’s sleeping, but James doesn’t miss the way Remus’s eyes drink him in, hungry and filled with wonder.

“Look at him,” he whispers, clearly talking to himself.

“I know.” James answers anyway, because he’s not going to get a better opening. “Remus. Hi.”

“Hi. James, I’m so happy for you and Lily.”

“Thank you.” This is awful. So stilted. James spent a week of seventh year literally stuck to Remus’s side through bathroom trips and getting dressed and finding a comfortable way to sleep. He never thought they’d be this distant.

“How is he?” Remus asks Lily. “Don’t tell me anything that’s hard to talk about. The two of you look wrecked.”

“Getting better,” Lily says firmly. “But his little body—his muscles are weak. I was wondering if, well. If you’d get him in a class, ideally, but I’ve no idea how he’ll handle being around other kids.”

“Lessons?” Remus suggests kindly. He runs a hand across Lily’s shoulders and squeezes. “I could come to yours every week or so. Until he wants to join a class. If he ever does.”

“Lessons?” Brilliant, James, just push right back in. Ah well. Already done. “What do you teach?”

“Remus owns a dance studio in London.” Lily doesn’t even turn to talk to him directly. “It might be good for Harry, eventually.”

“We can try something low-pressure when you think he’s ready.” Remus gracefully moves the conversation along. “But look at him—what a strong kid. I’m so bloody proud of him.”

“Me too,” Lily breathes. Then she squares her shoulders. “Remus. Remus, Voldemort transfigured him into a box.”

The window shatters silently.

Remus curses under his breath and waves a hand to put it right. “What the fuck.”

“I know.”

“What the actual fuck.”

“Yes.”

“And he’s…is he alright? Merlin, that’s an awful question.” Remus runs a hand over his face. “What can I do? How’s he coping?”

“He’s brilliant,” James puts in. “Strong, like you said. He’s so smart. So perceptive.”

“Of course he is. I remember the way his little face would turn to follow conversations. Tiny genius.” Remus bites his lip. “A box?”

Lily pats his back. They’re still hugging. Neither of them has moved to let go.

“Don’t you dare comfort me, Lils.”

There’s Moony.

“Fuck,” Remus continues. “I’ll—I’m going downstairs. Gift shop. There’s a distinct shortage of giant stuffies in this room. And not nearly enough sweets.”

James laughs helplessly. “Moony, you don’t have to.”

“Feels like I have to. Don’t call me Moony. Lily, coffee?”

“Oh, please coffee. Nothing too hard to chew for Harry. The healers said softer foods are better.”

“He wasn’t eating. Because he was a box.” It’s not a question. Remus shakes his head, presumably to clear it. “Coffee. Chocolate. Back soon.”

He comes back into Harry’s room ten minutes later, levitating no less than five stuffed animals of varying sizes ahead of him. A tiny dog goes next to Harry’s pillow.

James looks away for a moment, overwhelmed.

Then Moony—Remus, it’s Remus—presses a paper cup of steaming tea into his hand. “Two sugars. Sorry if that’s wrong now.”

So James has to cry. He steps outside to do it, mercifully making it out before his sobs become audible.

When he’s gathered himself enough to go back, he stops cold in the doorway at the sound of Harry’s little voice.

“And this is for me?”

“All yours, lovebug.” Remus leans forward in his chair near Harry’s pillow. “For the bravest, best boy I know.”

“Oh.” Harry smiles, a tiny thing. But it’s there. They’ve seen it, now. “They are very soft.”

“They are.”

“Feels nice.” Harry holds the dog out to Remus.

Remus pets it gently. “What a good puppy, huh?”

“Best puppy.” Harry closes his eyes, gripping the toy tightly.

Remus tucks his arm back into the bed and brushes a hand over his hair. “Best kid,” he tells Lily.

Lily nods, blowing her nose. “Best friend,” she says thickly.

“Oh, I don’t—“

“Thank you for not leaving me alone with this. Rem. Remus. You’re the best.”

Remus rubs the back of his neck.

“And you’re missing classes for this. God, I’m so—“

“So the most important thing to me today.” Remus cuts her off masterfully. “Eddie’s got the sixes. My shoulder’s been acting up anyway. Nowhere I’d rather be.”

James contents himself with watching them, heart full. These two.

“How are you, really?” Remus asks suddenly. Seriously. “This must be—ugh.”

“Harry’s worth it all.” There’s something fierce in Lily’s voice. James thought it had been chipped away to nothing by the end of 1982.

“Of course he is,” Remus soothes. “Of course. Have you been eating?”

“Here and there.”

Liar, James wants to say. Not his place anymore. But he’d like to say it all the same.

“I’m getting you dinner. I’ll—can I come back? I don’t want to make waves.”

“Come back. James can stuff it. Bring me something greasy.”

“Yes to all three.” Remus pokes Lily’s chin, her forehead, her cheeks until she pushes him away with a quiet laugh. “Back soon.”

James throws himself to the far wall before Remus can see him spying. Once he’s in the hall, though, he goes for it.

“Remus, I owe you an apology.”

“You do.”

“I—“ James runs a hand through his hair. The sight makes Remus smile faintly, a memory. “I was so worried. So hurt. Spiraling. I took it out on you.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Remus inclines his head toward Harry’s room. “You’ve got Harry to think of, and you’re likely shattered. Go kip on a chair, hold your baby’s hand.”

“So you don’t accept the apology?” James is pushy. He’s a brat, feels entitled to more than he is, is stubborn and spoiled. He wants forgiveness.

“You haven’t actually apologized,” Remus says.

Fuck. He’s right.

“And it wasn’t just you.” Ah. The Sirius of it all. Of course.

“For my part, then. I’m so sorry.” There. Nothing more to do on this for now.

“Okay. What do you want for dinner?”

“I—that’s all?”

Remus nods shortly. “I’m not going to distract you while you’re getting Harry sorted. We’ll circle back, James.”

It’s not what he wants. But it’s much more than he’s entitled to. More than he expects.

“Okay. And whatever you get Lily is fine.”

“Harry too,” Remus says softly. He smiles. “You’ve got to feed him too, now he’s back.”

“Back,” James agrees. It still feels like a dream.

“I’m so happy for you, James.”

James smiles. There’s almost no sadness in it.

They’ll circle back. Lily, Harry, Sirius, Remus. It’s more than he’s had in years. More than he’s expected.

He sips his tea. It’ll work. He’ll make it work.

“It would be invaluable.”

“It would hurt.”

James watches Lily and Albus square off. The headmaster’s worked through his grief, it seems. Unfortunately for them, that means he’s back to scheming.

“Harry spent years closer to Voldemort than anyone,” Albus says patiently.

Good thing one of them hasn’t lost their patience. Bitterness floods James’s mouth from how hard he’s biting his tongue.

“And now he’s recovering.” Lily’s magnificent when she’s furious. It’s always been true. “Leave him in peace. No one’s touching his mind.”

“I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Lily laughs in his face. “You’re bloody obsessed with intel. The moment you catch a thread, you’ll pull until you’ve unspun it. No matter whose head you’re in.”

Albus doesn’t deny it. “You know how important this could be.”

“I know how important Harry is.” Lily points at the door of the hospital room. “The answer is no.”

James freezes when Albus turns to him. “You have a say as well, James. It’s for Harry’s sake, as much as the rest of us.”

His ears roar. “How dare you,” he hisses. “Get out. Get the fuck out. How dare you.”

Albus sighs as though the two of them are petulant children and strides through the door.

Lily’s face is made of stone when he looks at her. His must be the same.

“I wish I didn’t believe he’d do that,” she says eventually. “I wish I was surprised.”

“Me too.”

Lily crosses the room to pull him into a careful hug. He almost falls over in his hurry to hug back.

“Thank you,” she says into his chest. “For backing me up. For not letting him.”

“It’s Harry.” James shakes his head. “Of course I’d never let him. And you’ve never steered us wrong with him. You’re a great mother.”

Lily sobs, just once. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No apologies. Hey.” James ducks to catch her eyes. “Hey, I’m the one who’s sorry. We’re a team. You’re his mum.”

That awful row, the last one, plays behind his eyes whenever he closes them. He lives it again now. The way he’d called her heartless, called her cold. Accused her of not caring enough about their lost baby. Told her she wasn’t doing right by him.

The way she’d cried silently on the couch while he fled to the bedroom to do his own crying. Left her alone there all night.

From the distance in Lily’s expression, he guesses she’s remembering the same thing.

“You’re doing right,” he says firmly. “We’ve got him back. Now we keep him safe and happy.”

Lily nods. “Also healthy, right?”

“Uh, yes?” James isn’t sure where she’s going with this.

“Then we’d better eat the chocolate Remus left. For his health.”

James grabs the glint of mischief in her eyes and clings. “You’re mother of the year.”

“And my prize will be delicious.”

James laughs, a real one, and grabs a peppermint toad.

“How do your legs feel, kiddo?”

“I don’t like them.”

“The braces?” The healers gave Harry some assistive devices, just until his muscles get used to holding him up. His poor little legs are weak from disuse.

Lily puts a hand on James’s elbow, taking over. “Your legs are working very hard, and they need a little help. That doesn’t make them bad.”

“But they aren’t doing it right.” Harry’s lower lip wobbles. Oh no.

“There’s no right or wrong.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Lily leans in and kisses Harry’s cheek. He wraps his skinny arms around her neck, angling to be picked up.

“I’ll carry you for a bit, love, but you have to practice walking for a while before dinner. Maybe we could go for a walk in the yard?”

“I can’t walk!”

Merlin, he’s going to cry. Harry’s going to cry, and James will give in, and his kid’s legs will never get any stronger because James is a sucker and a bad dad.

“You’re having a very hard time,” Lily says.

Right on cue, Harry melts down. “I want them off, I want them off right now,” he sobs.

James hurries to loosen the straps and pull the braces off. “There now, all done for now.”

“I don’t want to walk! I don’t want to walk or learn new words or chew my food.” Harry buries his face in Lily’s neck, still mumbling about all the new things he has to do that he doesn’t like.

Lily shushes him and sways back and forth. “It’s so tough,” she croons. “You’re doing something that’s so hard, and it’s not fair.”

Harry eventually settles. A few minutes after his shoulders stop shaking, he lifts his head cautiously.

“Can you please put me on a shelf with a window?” James has to strain to hear him. His voice is quieter than usual, and the usual is already pretty quiet.

“What’s this about a shelf?” Lily runs a hand across Harry’s forehead.

“I was bad. So you’re going to—I’d like to see the sun.”

“Harry.” Lily’s voice cracks right in half. “No one’s turning you into anything else. Nothing you do will make us do that.”

“But I yelled, and I cried, and I wasn’t listening.”

“You’re a kid, lovely.” James grabs Harry’s hand and kisses it, over and over. His little baby human hand on his little baby human body. “You can yell and cry and not listen. That’s allowed.”

He’s learned enough lessons about obedience and compliance. No more of that.

“You’re not bad,” Lily adds. “You’re learning lots and lots. Sometimes it’s hard to do new things.”

“It’s so hard to do new things,” Harry agrees, still clinging to Lily.

“Here’s one new thing you might like,” Lily says suddenly. “I’m going to call Sirius. He can turn into a dog like your stuffie. Maybe you can play with him for a bit.”

“A puppy?” Harry’s enchanted with the toy Remus got him.

Lily’s a genius, James decides. Sirius as Padfoot will happily be used as a walker if they can coax Harry into it.

“Let’s floo him, hm?” Lily carries Harry through to the kitchen fireplace and tosses in some powder. She shakes her shoulders like she’s going to battle, then sticks just her head through. James comes up and puts a hand on her back. For support. Can’t let her fall while she’s holding Harry.

Harry watches, entranced, as Padfoot bounds through the fireplace and licks his cheek.

He doesn’t laugh. But James lives in hope.

“What do you say, Harry?” Lily prompts. “Should we go play with the puppy in the garden?”

“I have a puppy too,” Harry tells Padfoot. “He’s very little. Remus gave him to me.”

James produces the stuffed puppy, and Harry makes a grab for him. James lets him go willingly.

Padfoot bumps his nose against the toy and whines, then runs in circles by the side door until James opens it and shoos them all outside.

Lily’s a phenomenal sport, running after Padfoot over and over until Harry agrees to put on his braces for just a short ride on Padfoot’s back.

James hands her a cold bottle of butterbeer when she collapses into the patio chair next to him.

“He’s so fast.” She measures her breath and sips her drink. “Merlin, I knew he was an overgrown child, but this is just ridiculous. The rest of us have developed knee problems.”

James hums in consolation. “Look, though.”

Padfoot lays his front paws low and crouches, sliding Harry off his back gently. Then he noses under each of Harry’s arms until their boy grabs the fur of his neck. Then, carefully, Padfoot takes a slow step backward. Harry follows, taking a step forward to match.

“I shouldn’t cheer,” Lily says. “If I cheer I’ll startle him and he might stop.”

“I want to too, if it helps.” James sips his own butterbeer.

Lily clinks their glasses together. “It does.”

They watch together as Padfoot and Harry loop the flower beds. Harry looks at them after, smiling a very little bit.

James and Lily look at each other briefly. Then they send up their loudest cheer.

“It’s so hard,” Harry whispers. James isn’t sure they’ve heard him speak at full volume once since bringing him home.

“Being back?” He asks.

“Being a person.”

So this is the feeling of a heart breaking. James had thought his was done for once Lily moved out, but apparently a bit had been staggering onward intact. Until now, that is.

Poor kid. Poor fucking kid.

Harry puts his head in his hands. “Everyone—they all see me, all the time. And I’m supposed to do things, always.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Breathe! Boxes don’t breathe. Or move, or eat, or—“ Harry wrinkles his nose in distaste— “play.”

He has to remind himself to breathe. His baby has been a box, a fucking container, for so much of the last six years that he doesn’t know how to breathe without thinking about it.

Riddle died much too fucking quickly.

“What if you just try a bit at a time.” James puts a hand between Harry’s protruding shoulder blades. “Like, for now just breathe. When that gets easier, you can try to eat a new food. Then after that, you can find your favorite way to move.”

“Favorite,” Harry says softly. “I don’t know favorite.”

“The one you like the best.”

“I like being a box the best,” Harry says, longing clear in his voice.

“Love, you know what the healer said.”

“She just tells me to play and be a kid.”

“That would be good eventually.” James hides a smile at the frustrated, confused downturn of Harry’s mouth. “One day. After you have more time.”

“More time as a kid?”

“Exactly, love. Once you know how to breathe without thinking about it.”

“Ugh.”

“I know, Harry.”

James actually categorically does not know. Humans transfigured into inanimate objects for more than a minute have a vanishingly low survival rate. His boy is a wonder. Riddle’s a monster, also. Six years. Harry was just a baby.

“What if I’m a box for just a little bit, though?”

“The healers said no more at all.”

Harry crosses his little arms and breathes in. He’s exaggerating the movement, probably to show how good he’s being.

“Tom let me be a box almost all the time.”

“I know, honey.” Stop talking, stop talking.

“So it can’t be that bad. Tom said it was good for me.”

“Was Tom a healer?”

“Tom is very smart and I wouldn’t understand even if he explained it,” Harry recites. “So it’s fine, see?”

James sees something indeed; what it is is red. “Remember how your healer told you about lies?”

“Sometimes people tell me things that aren’t true.” Something hopeful lights in Harry’s eyes. “So you were doing a lie and I can be a box for a little while?”

“No, Harry. Tom was doing the lie.”

James swallows hard as Harry rolls into the arm of the couch and covers his face with his tiny, fragile, human hands. His shoulders hitch up and down as he sobs. And breathes.

“Please go,” Harry says. Still quietly.

James clenches his fists so hard that his fingernails draw blood on his palms. And he goes to find Lily.

Lily decides it’s time for dance lessons shortly after that.

“If nothing else, we’ll distract him.” She hands James Harry’s pajamas. He’s going through a bit of a Babbitty Rabbitty thing at the moment, so the flannel set is covered with laughing stumps. “At best, though, he’ll start to feel like he belongs in his body.”

“If dreams were grindylows.” But James clears the manor’s ballroom and conjures padding for the floor according to Remus’s specifications. Can’t hurt, can it?

Harry frowns the entire morning before his first lesson. “Remus is going to make me walk?” He asks again, still sounding betrayed.

“Might do.” Lily turns when the doorbell goes, then picks Harry up so they can greet Remus together.

“You’re going to make me walk,” Harry tells Remus when they let him in.

“Did your parents say that, Harry?” Remus takes the accusation in stride. “I don’t worry so much about walking in my lessons. Just dancing and moving in other ways.”

“But I have to use my legs.” Harry’s eyes go to where his braces lean against the wall. “And wear those.”

“Hm.” Remus taps his chin. “We don’t want to wear the braces or use our legs. Okay.”

“Okay, I don’t have to dance?”

“No, okay you don’t have to wear the braces or use your legs. Do you want some hot chocolate?”

Harry blinks. “I—yes. I like that.”

“Great!” Remus pulls a travel carafe from his bag. “Lils, can you grab us a few mugs?”

Lily does, and Remus levitates them behind him as he takes Harry to their makeshift studio. Harry goes willingly into Remus’s arms for the journey.

James goes to check on them half an hour in, secret-like, because there has been a distinct lack of shouting but also no thudding or creaky floorboards.

“Okay, now shake your arms as fast as they can go!”

Giggling madly, Harry does.

Remus laughs and pokes his stomach. “Now do it while bouncing up and down. How does that feel?”

“Silly,” Harry says, doing it.

“Do you listen to music, Harry?”

“I don’t know music.”

“Let’s give it a go, see what you like. Here, this is one I like.” And Remus starts an ancient folding turntable spinning, some sixties beat about suspicious minds.

Harry keeps bouncing, now in time with the beat.

James closes the door, then closes his eyes and leans his head against it.

The song changes, telling him to come and get his love.

“Remy! Remy, look!”

He hears Remus tell Harry he sees, and he’s impressed.

He knows the danger of hope. He learned it, turned each of its contours, for six years.

It sparks in his chest anyway.

“James.” Remus pops his head around the corner into the sitting room a month or so later, fringe damp and plastered to his forehead from his lesson with Harry. “Will you come here, please?”

Helpless to deny Moony anything—his guilt is still a physical thing, pressing on his lungs—James follows.

The ballroom Remus has taken over for dance is spacious and bright. The barre he always resizes for Harry is pushed against one wall. Harry’s got one hand on it now, lifting his legs one at a time while wobbling slightly but keeping his balance.

“Lily’s on her way,” Remus tells him. “Harry wants to share something with you both.”

“Goodbye dance,” Harry says, slightly out of breath from exertion.

Remus smiles at him and points to the record player in the corner. “Did you pick a song, bud?”

“My favorite one.”

That’s apparently enough for Remus, who flicks his wand to set a record on the turntable.

“Am I late?” Lily kicks off her shoes and crosses to meet Harry on the padded mat.

“Not late,” Harry tells his mum.

“Harry and I do a goodbye dance. No rules, except you have to have fun.” The fondness in Remus’s voice makes him sound like a different person than the one James normally talks to. “He asked if you two would join today.”

“That sounds so fun,” Lily says immediately. “I can’t wait to hear your favorite song, Harry.”

Another flick of Remus’s wand gets the turntable spinning. He grabs Lily’s hand and spins her out and back toward him, pulling her into a dip that makes her snort through her nose.

Harry comes toward James and grabs his hands. James feels his heart melt and clench at the same time.

Remus catches his eye as he and Lily jump and shimmy closer to them. Spin, he mouths, motioning with his finger.

James does, lifting Harry under his arms and twirling around. Harry tilts his head back and laughs full volume.

Now isn’t the time for tears, even if they’re happy, so James pushes the feeling down and sings the la la la la las along with Elton John.

The song ends, all four of them sweaty and panting. Harry’s radiant, all flushed skin and bright eyes in Lily’s arms where she’d been tossing him up and catching him.

“That was so fun!”

“It was,” Remus agrees, accepting the hug Harry gives his legs. “Can’t wait to do it again next week. But I’m going to head out, little love.”

“No.” Harry buries his head in Remus’s side. “Mum, can Remus stay?”

“If he wants to,” Lily says. “But you have to ask him, Harry.”

“Can you please stay?”

It’s nearly time for dinner, and Sirius is bringing over a takeaway. Knowing he’d never be forgiven for springing his ex on him, James tells Remus so.

“You have to stay,” Harry says after, abandoning any attempt to phrase it as a request. “Sirius said we’re trying egg rolls. He said I’d like them, so you have to have one too.”

It’s more words together than Harry’s said all week. It probably makes him a bad person, but James adds his pleas to the pile.

“Please? Can’t miss out on Chinese. Plus, Harry needs someone to play spraying snap. I’m pants at it.”

Remus is also pants at exploding snap, the grown-up version of Harry’s new game. But it works.

“If you’re sure.” His tone is measured. James can’t read it. He bends to Harry’s level and his eyes and voice both warm. “Want to play your game, or something else? I’ll do whatever you’d like.”

“Train!” Harry grabs Remus’s hand and drags him to the sitting room.

Feeling Lily’s disapproving stare like a physical weight, James winces and turns to meet her eyes.

“I know,” he says before she can yell at him. “The man gives us back Harry’s laugh and I give him a guilt trip. I’m rubbish, I’m scum, I’m—“

“Going to call Sirius over the mirror so you don’t ambush him,” Lily finishes for him with a sigh. “Now that we’re in it, we can at least ease the way for them.”

“Smart,” James agrees. “And I’ll run interference during dinner.”

“You might need a hand.” Lily gathers her hair and lifts it from her neck, fanning underneath to cool herself down. “I’ll do what I can. If Sirius will deign to speak to me, that is.”

More guilt. Lovely. “That’s not—“

Lily waves him off. “It’s what it is. At least there will be egg rolls.”

James closes his eyes and breathes as Lily steps around him, presumably to make sure Harry doesn’t kidnap Remus forever. The kid loves his Remy.

This will be okay, he tells himself. This will be alright. Then he pulls out his mirror and repeats those words to Sirius once he’s brought in on the new plan.

They’ll make it alright.

And it’s not an immediate disaster.

Harry helps, because he’s a little legend. He introduces Sirius and Remus, which is so adorable and surreal that none of them can suppress a smile. Remus certainly tries, though.

“So what have you two been up to today?” Sirius asks as they scatter on the floor around the coffee table. Harry hates the formal dining room and its ornate, carved chairs. They’re making do.

“Remy teaches me dance,” Harry tells Sirius, not hearing the hint of sharpness in his voice. “I can stand on one foot and lift my leg up high, high, high.”

“You’re very good,” Remus confirms, fiddling with the plastic cutlery Lily hands him. “And you did a full spin today all by yourself.”

“You’re getting so strong,” Lily jumps in, defensive of Remus as always. “Remus is the best, huh?”

Harry agrees, then asks his mum to help him blow on the egg rolls to cool them.

“Dance?” Sirius forgets to be suspicious because he’s so surprised. He turns to Remus and opens his mouth, likely to stick at least one foot inside. A Sirius caught off guard can be unthinkably rude.

“You have a studio, you said.” James pretends to focus on the bottlecap from his cider, passing it between his hands. “Mayfair?”

“Share a studio,” Remus says shortly. James notes that he’s already halfway done with his plate. Trying to keep this short, then.

He’s an awful person, and he’s accepted this about himself. So he feels no shame about what he does next.

“Take a bit more.” He spoons fried rice onto Remus’s plate, creating a mountain. It’s his favorite, and it’ll keep him here longer.

Remus eyes him, clearly catching on. “Thanks for that.”

“Anytime.” James checks over the other cartons, looking for other Moony foods.

Sirius nudges him and nods to a container near his elbow. “Do you still like sweet and sour pork, Moon—Remus?”

A divot appears in Remus’s bottom lip as he chews it, hard, before letting it go. “I do. Thanks.”

James grabs for the box and pours half onto the plate. “Cheers, Sirius.” Then to Remus: “You’re doing us a favor. No one else here likes the stuff.”

“No taste, the lot of you,” Remus says too lightly. “Harry, have you tried this? The sauce is like what you’re using for your egg roll.”

Harry comes around the table and plops into Remus’s lap. “Yum. Can I have a bite, please?”

Remus kisses the top of Harry’s head and passes him the fork. “Go wild. I have enough food for three people.”

Lily hides a laugh in her lo mein.

James lets her find some amusement at his expense. Not the first time. And, you know, she’s gorgeous when she smiles.

They linger over the fortune cookies, then over the biscuits Lily unearths from the cabinet. Remus works through his plate, pawning bites off on Harry where he can. Still hates wasting food, then. Harry’s wired—by his standards—by the end of the meal, shifting from foot to foot on account of all the sugar.

“Well, now I really do need to say goodbye,” Remus says after checking his watch. “Buses only run for another hour and a bit.”

“Buses?”

“I live in a muggle neighborhood.” Every detail James and Sirius have gotten from Moony tonight has come reluctantly. This one is no different.

“You can’t apparate straight into your place?” The question is genuine, but James reckons it lands wrong when he sees Remus’s eyes harden.

“Nope.” Remus turns toward Harry—and pointedly away from James and Sirius. “Harry, see you next week. Your mum might bring you by for tea before that, which I’d love. Bye, lovebug.”

Lovebug, Sirius mouths.

“Bye!” James isn’t going to push his luck. They’ve made it out of this without any fireworks. That’s enough.

“Yes to tea,” Lily tells Remus. “I’ll floo for the time.”

“You can floo but not apparate?” Sirius has not gotten the memo re: not pushing their bloody luck.

“So many questions!” Remus keeps his tone bright. “You can always ask Lily if you desperately need an answer for any real reason.”

“Bye Remy! Have fun on the bus!”

Remus kisses Harry’s cheek and waves at Lily before he’s gone.

“That went well,” James says. Optimistically.

“What the fuck,” Sirius whispers.

“I won’t be answering any of your questions.” Lily picks Harry up and spins him in circles until he laughs again. James drinks in the sound. “Come on, lovey. Brush teeth, then bed.”

“Bed,” Harry agrees, abruptly going limp like a puppet with his strings cut. Sugar rush is through, then.

James and Sirius both press kisses to Harry’s face and whisper goodnights into his ears.

Sirius watches until Lily’s closed the door to his room behind them.

“Muggle London. Bus.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Dance?”

“He’s been so brilliant with Harry. And you see how much better the kiddo’s moving.” James sighs, guilt weighing on him from two directions. “He kept in touch with Lily. More than. They’re quite close.”

“Quite close.” Sirius’s mouth tightens.

“She didn’t believe us about him, remember?” Merlin, that had been a fight. Lily yelled for two hours together about their traitor theory and how James and Sirius chose to bring it up the day before a full moon.

She’d been right. James is pretty sure if he concentrates his ears are still ringing.

Sirius closes his eyes and breathes out slowly. Measured. “He is looking much steadier on his feet. That jump!”

Harry’d flung himself into Sirius’s arms once he set dinner down, earlier.

“Little leapfrog,” James agrees.

“Maybe he’s got a partner. Maybe that’s why he can’t apparate.”

Ah, now they come to the heart of it. “Or a flatmate.”

“He works in Mayfair.” Sirius says the neighborhood name like some would say pile of steaming giant dung.

“You know I barely scraped an A in Muggle Studies. Plus, he has a floo.”

“Just being stubborn, then?”

“Well, he’s still Remus.” James immediately feels bad. “He’s been quite civil to me. Not…open, but nice.”

“He’s still Remus.” Sirius snorts. “Being rude might give him hives.”

“Harry was insistent tonight. I can—he’s coming over next Tuesday noon. So just come over Monday.”

“Or.”

“Or?”

“I could come over Tuesday. Bring a curry.” There it is. Sirius and Remus’s relationship went out with a bang, just after Harry was taken. James has never gotten the full, unvarnished story.

But they were good for each other, when they were good to each other.

“I’ll ask Lily.” James will do a lot for Sirius, but Remus is-was his friend too. He cares-cared about how he feels too. “Only if she’s okay with it. If she thinks he’d be okay with it.”

Sirius nods. “Please.”

“Anything else?”

“His dance clothes are very tight.”

“I suppose. Good for movement, maybe.”

Sirius’s eyes glaze a bit. “Very good.”

“I hope he’ll be okay with it,” James offers. “Dinner.”

“Merlin.” All at once, Sirius drops his head into the coffee table. Hard. “Me too.”

Now, James is no expert. But Remus appears more flushed than usual when he first sees Sirius at the next Tuesday dinner.

“Long lesson?” He keeps his voice casual. Padfoot conscripted him as a second set of hands for the food, so he missed the goodbye dance. Maybe they’d just wrapped up.

Remus makes a noncommittal sound and pours himself and Harry glasses of cold juice.

“Daddy, Remy and me made a shady structure for the garden gnomes!” Harry runs into his legs, absolutely covered in dirt.

“A shady structure, hm?” Remus has always been a sucker for those buggers.

“It’s almost summer,” Remus says unapologetically. He hands Harry his cup, which Harry promptly downs. “Your garden gets direct sunlight.”

“As long as I don’t have to maintain it.” James was always going to give in.

“I’ll be doing that,” Lily says behind him. “It’s just a little water bowl and scraps. Easy enough.”

“They’re funny.” Harry bounces, knocking soil from his trousers onto the floor. “I like them. And Remy said it’s important to be kind even when it’s hard.”

“Right you are.” Remus puts a hand on Harry’s arm. “Can I help you brush off all the dirt, lovebug? It’s almost time to eat.”

“I can—“

“Lily, take a load off. Don’t think I didn’t see you fall asleep in the chair outside.”

Harry and Remus tromp back into the garden. James watches through the window as Moony pretends to cast a spell, then attacks Harry with tickling pats that shake off most of the dirt. He conjures a wet rag to wipe away the rest gently, chatting with Harry quietly all the while.

Sirius sighs; it’s a sound the likes of which James hasn’t heard Sirius make since the summer before he and Remus got together seventh year.

Harry grabs Remus’s hand and makes him spin and dip him, then giggles and races ahead of him back to the house.

“Did you have a fun day, Harry?” James can guess the answer, but he loves Harry’s pleased little voice.

“I did a car-wheel when we danced!”

“He did do a cartwheel,” Remus confirms from the door as he toes off his shoes. “And he’s nearly got his plié without using the barre.”

James nods as though he knows what any of those words mean. “That’s brilliant.”

“What style of dance has both cartwheels and pliés?” Sirius asks.

“The kind we do.” Remus sips his juice.

“Dinner smells wonderful,” Lily says from the armchair. “I’ll get plates in two ticks, just let me—“

Sirius waves her off. “I’ve got it. Do you still like pakora?”

“Love it.” Lily watches him suspiciously but stays seated. Then, reluctantly: “Thank you.”

Cautiously, Sirius smiles at her. “Happy to. Harry, hungry?”

“I’m starving. My feet worked very hard and I need to fill them up.”

“You need to fill your stomach up, I said.” Remus is laughing. James hasn’t thought about how much he misses that sound until now, hearing it again. “When we use our bodies with dance or projects, we have to put food in them to keep them happy and working right.”

“That’s what I said.” Harry drops to sit between Remus and James.

Sirius sends everyone’s plates floating to the table and then grabs his own. When he gets to the coffee table, he lingers near James for a second but sets his plate down next to Lily’s.

“This okay?” He asks in an undertone James would miss if he weren’t paying close attention.

“Uh. Yes.” Lily blinks, then shakes her head a bit. “James said you’re clearing out the old family home. How’s that going?”

“Miserably,” Sirius says, voice cheerful. “A cushion bit me yesterday.”

And they’re off, the two of them. Lily almost went into cursebreaking before the war really got underway, so she could ask perfectly timed relevant questions for hours.

James turns to Remus after confirming Harry’s set, contentedly ripping his naan into thin strips.

“So, Mayfair. That’s a fair trek just to get here each week.”

“I don’t mind.” Remus conjures a coaster for his glass.

“How long’s the bus ride, though?”

“It’s fine, James.”

“Fine is not a unit of time.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a meddlesome berk?”

“It’s been too long.”

Remus laughs helplessly. “Enough, alright? If I need a portkey, I’ll let you know.”

James points at him. “You’d better.”

“Harry, love, do you need a new plate?” Remus can’t bite back his smile, though he’s trying.

Harry looks up, coated in yellow curry and bits of naan. “That would be good.”

Later, after Harry’s in a new shirt and done actually eating his food, and after Remus and James have played a violent game of gobstones, Harry sitting in Remus’s lap and cheering every time he makes a move no matter its outcome, Remus stands to go.

He nods to everyone he names in turn. “Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Lily. Lovebug.”

Sirius shoots to his feet before Remus can turn for the door. “Can I—please can I walk you home?”

It’s remarkably restrained. And actually a question, not a demand. James is proud of him.

“I take the bus. Very little walking involved.”

“Then can I accompany you home?” Sirius clears his throat. “Please.”

Remus—for some reason—thinks it over. “No commentary about muggle money. And you can’t stay long at mine. I have class first thing tomorrow.”

“It’s a weekday,” James says doubtfully. Remus teaches kids; surely they have school.

Lily elbows him in the stomach.

“Yes.” Sirius grabs his coat and tries to put on his boots while sticking an arm through the sleeve. It’s an endearing mess. “Yes to that. When’s the bus?”

“You’ve got a minute,” Remus tells him. “Your jacket’s on upside down.”

He almost looks fond. Amused, James decides. It’s better than Sirius had hoped, at least.

Sirius exhales, rights his jacket, ties his laces.

“Good luck,” James says. “Er. Safe travels, I mean.”

Remus nods at him tentatively. “Bye, bug,” he says again.

Harry waves until he can’t see them anymore through the front window.

“Can Remy have a sleepover here next time?” He asks as they put him to bed.

“He’s having one now,” Lily says under her breath. James turns to her immediately, starving for the story from Remus’s perspective. She holds up a hand, then says, louder for Harry’s benefit: “We can ask, love. That would be fun.”

James stays to read a story, then another. Once Harry’s eyes are heavy and he allows James to leave, he hightails it to the kitchen.

Lily’s there, pouring a glass of wine. She holds up an empty glass, questioning.

James nods eagerly. “Can we please gossip?”

“Alice Longbottom is pregnant.”

It almost works. James opens his mouth to ask where she heard, then scowls. “Not about that. What is this, their fourth kid? No. Moony. Remus.”

Lily smiles at him, and James’s heart cracks wide open. Light shines through, warming the parts of himself he thought would stay cold forever after that horrid Halloween.

“Remus is terrified, I think.” Lily sips her wine. It stains her lips red. Gorgeous.

James inhales half his glass. “Sirius too, if it helps. Bloody petrified. Doesn’t want to make a mistake.”

“Again, you mean.” She holds up a hand to forestall his protests. “Sorry. That’s not fair, from me of all people. I’m sure he’s trying his best.”

“He wants to do right by Remus,” James offers, following Lily to the couch and sitting down next to her, feet up on the table like she hates. But his brain is stuck. Lily of all people. All people.

Bugger it all. “You of all people?”

Lily takes another sip, but James can see how she uses the movement to hide a wince. “I just mean—well, I was the one who moved out. Gave up. I understand acting without thinking.”

“You were grieving.” Still, the words soothe James’s ancient hurt.

“So were you.” Lily touches his hand. “And I left you in it. In the grief, but also in that horrid house.”

“I hate that house.”

“I wondered, after. If I was leaving us or leaving that place.”

“Were they so different?” Their whole relationship narrowed, after that night. James couldn’t see past the ways they’d failed their beautiful little boy. How they were unable to save him.

“They didn’t feel like it then. But they were.” Lily’s hand is still on his. “They are.”

James puts his glass down. Picks it back up for another fortifying sip. “Lily.”

His hand is suddenly cold, the warmth of Lily’s hand gone, pushing her hair behind her ear instead of on him.

“We don’t have to,” she says. “Talk about it, or anything. I just…I guess I want to apologize.”

“You don’t owe me a single apology,” James says helplessly. “Lily. I was horrid. I said—“

“I don’t need to hear it again,” she agrees. “But. Maybe it’s enough that we were both grieving and we’re both sorry.”

James thinks it over. “It feels too easy.”

“Our baby was taken from us by a dark lord. Said baby is still recovering from years of human transfiguration. Maybe this one thing can be easy.”

“Alright.” James clears his throat, deciding if he’ll push his luck. It’s no decision, in the end. He’s always done it, where Lily’s concerned. Always sought that little bit more. “So we’ve forgiven each other. And we have our boy back.”

“That’s the general idea.”

“Any chance I could kiss you?” There it is. He’s done it, now.

“James.” It’s not reproachful, not her you’re supposed to be Head Boy or you’re supposed to be better than Severus tone.

It’s something he hasn’t heard in nearly seven years. Godric, but he’s missed it something awful.

He pitches forward without consciously deciding to, and Lily—wonderful, magical, beautiful Lily—catches him. She tugs him around by the collar of his shirt, arranging him just so, then kisses him.

They’re kissing. She is kissing him. He is being kissed.

Fuck it. He throws his wine glass clear across the room, uncaring whether it shatters or spills. Then he kisses back.

“This seat taken?”

James turns to see Minerva McGonagall holding a handful of flowers and a program. She taps her foot once, twice, waiting for him to stand.

“Er. Course not. Did Remus invite you?”

“Lupin?” Her eyebrows raise.

So no, then. “It’s, ah. It’s his studio. Mostly his.”

“Dance? Remus Lupin?”

James shrugs. “His mum got him into it when he was young, I guess.”

Remus is still thawing, but he told James all about Eddie, the former West End chorus liner who’d found him crying on a park bench and asked him if he’d take on a class of five-year-olds after they got talking about those dance lessons Remus took. Eddie’s due to sell Remus the rest of his ownership shares and jet off to Majorca with his live-in dog walker any day now.

“Huh.” Minerva sits down. “No, I’m here because Harry invited me. What’s the routine?”

James flips her program to the page with the crazy eights class. His boy smiles up at him, two teeth missing on the top.

“Costumes are awful, of course.” Sirius takes the seat on Minerva’s other side. “But it’s something about love, because of all the hearts on the fabric.”

James nods. “Harry’s been singing the song all week, practicing with Remus.”

Lily’s head pokes around the side of the curtain onstage. She narrows her eyes like she’s looking for something.

Ever-hopeful, James waves. Lily catches the movement and smiles at him.

Puppy, she mouths.

James pats his pocket, excuses himself, and makes his way from their seats to backstage. He finds Harry and Lily where she’d peeked from, and he holds out the stuffed puppy to Harry without delay.

“Thank you, Daddy.” Harry rubs the dog against his cheek. “Okay. Now tell me good luck and then break my leg.”

James rears back, horrified, as Lily laughs.

“We say good luck and break a leg,” she corrects. “No one’s going to break your leg.”

Harry frowns. “Are you sure that’s right?”

“So sure.” James jumps at Remus’s voice. “Did puppy give you all the good luck you need? We’re going to line up soon, lovebug.”

“I’m ready. Daddy, say break my leg.”

James kneels in front of his miracle boy and holds a hand out for the puppy. “Good luck, my love. Break a leg. Try not to make it yours.”

Lily gives him a hand standing up. Merlin, he’s getting old.

Harry allows a cheek kiss from his mum and runs off.

“Hey.” Lily keeps hold of James’s hand before he can go back to his seat. “How does it feel, to be at our son’s recital?”

They do this now, little check-ins to marvel at their sheer bloody luck. How does it feel to host his birthday party, and how does it feel to wrap his Christmas presents.

It feels like Harry’s first butterbeer, fizzy possibility. “Perfect. But much less fun if he doesn’t see us in the audience. Come on.”

They sneak through the crowd to their seats, giggling at the disapproving tuts of the poshest mums. Remus’s clientele can be so tetchy.

“There’s our sweetheart,” James tells Minerva under his breath when their routine is announced.

Minerva puts a hand on James’s. “There he is,” she agrees.

They watch him together, all of his adults. Everyone who’s helped him, who’s watched him grow into this perfect boy bedecked in atrocious heart-patterned suspenders.

“Look at him go,” Sirius whispers.

“Look at his smile.” Lily’s voice trembles.

“It’s because he doesn’t have to see his costume,” Minerva says gravely.

James shoves nearly his whole fist into his mouth to hold in his laugh.

“They did it,” Lily says at the end of the routine.

“He did it.” Sirius sounds like he’s about to cry.

“Our boy.” James floats on air from his seat to his kid, who holds out his costume in a bag. He doesn’t think he could be happier, until they’re all piled into a booth at Remus’s favorite restaurant near his and Sirius’s place.

Harry loves it too, because he loves everything Remus does. He’s eating a meatball as big as his fist when Lily decides to get silly with him.

“This meatball is my favorite,” Harry says, taking another bite.

“Your favorite, hm?” Lily pokes his shoulder. “Do you like it more than dance?”

Harry frowns, thinking. “No, I like dance more. Dance is my favorite.”

Remus smiles and leans his head on Sirius’s shoulder.

“So you like dance more than puppy?”

Harry points at James, who’d asked the question. “I like dance more than even being a box.”

James blinks long and hard. “That’s quite a lot, then.”

Harry nods decisively. “The most.”

“Oh.” Lily puts a hand to her mouth. “That’s so wonderful, love.”

Harry rolls his eyes—a fun new thing he’s picked up at dance class—and turns to Minerva. “They’re being weird. I know what favorite means.”

Minerva pats his hand. “I know you do.”