PART I JAMES
A month after his wife, Fleamont Potter dies.
James isn't there when it happens. Though he supposes at this point it doesn't really matter. That's what he tells himself anyway. They send him an owl, inform him that he needs to make arrangements for the body. In some ways, it's a relief. They've already been talking about his dad like he's dead, at least now they don't have to feel guilty about it.
James has only just brought his father home when he receives a summons from Dumbledore.
"You don't have to go," Lily says as she reads the letter over his shoulder. "Write him back—or hell, I'll go. Tell him to fuck off."
James snorts. "As much as I appreciate the offer, I think I'd rather have something to do."
She nods, giving him a soft smile and squeezing his arm. "Pizza and butterbeer for dinner?"
James groans. "Merlin, yes. Have I ever told you I love you?"
"Once or twice."
He kisses her then, one hand on the back of her neck, tilting her head up, her mouth warm and solid beneath his. "Good," he murmurs against her, "because I do."
They've unofficially moved into to his parents house, at least for the time being. James knows it's been hard for Lily. Knows it isn't ideal. But she's still here, unshakable. A force of nature.
"Go on then," she says when they pull apart, giving his bum a smack. "Go see what the old man wants."
James laughs. It helps, acting normal. Helps them both forget about the bodies upstairs.
Dumbledore has opened the Floo in his office so James is able to go directly to the castle instead of walking up from Hogsmeade. The old man is waiting for him of course, standing at the large window on the far wall, hands clasped behind his back. He smiles when he sees James, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.
"It's good to see you," Dumbledore says once they're sitting across from one another.
James doesn't have a response for that, but it doesn't appear that Dumbledore needs one.
"Have you changed your mind, on the matter of your parents' funerals?"
James grits his teeth. "They'll happen as soon as Remus is back."
"Ah," Dumbledore nods sagely, not bothering to add anymore.
James arches his brow, voice sharp. "Any idea when that might be?"
There's a twinkle in Dumbledore's blue eyes. "I'm afraid I can't say."
James expected as much. It still pisses him off though.
"You wanted to see me?" he asks when the silence begins to drag, his knee bouncing impatiently up and down.
Dumbledore nods. "I did. We have it on good authority that Voldemort is going to be bringing some of his supporters from Bulgaria across the boarder in a weeks time. Very skilled and dangerous supporters. I intend to stop him."
James stares blankly back at him. "Okay?" he says eventually. "And you want me to...help?"
Dumbledore smiles. "On the contrary, I want you to lead the mission."
That takes James by surprise, Moody usually insists that only trained Aurors are given leadership roles. "Er, why me?"
"It's our belief that the group will be flying over."
It takes a minute for James to catch up. "On brooms?"
"Precisely."
"That..." he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "That's bloody mental. That's a multi-hour flight."
