Harry Potter One Shots

Perception

All rights belong to the author, Lady Salazar

Lord Voldemort was dead. The wizarding world was celebrating.

Albus was in good cheer, but he wasn't celebrating with the rest of the population. No, he relaxed - or appeared to - at a party that consisted of Potters, a Black and a Lupin. Lily, James, Sirius and Remus. And little baby Harry.

Voldemort was dead and James had vanquished him.

But that was impossible. The prophecy stated the criteria for he who would bring down the Dark Lord, and James did not fit.

James did not appear to even fit in his own skin anymore, Albus noted. The red and gold of Godric's Hollow that lauded him a Gryffindor seemed to offset him now - like it was something he resigned himself to living with and loathing. There was a preternatural quiet to his motions that did not befit the boy he had known.

Over his very long life, Albus had learned to look underneath the expected to see truth - but this man that had James' face, James' body, the love of James' wife, but could not possibly be James did not lend him a crack to peer through.

Sirius cooed over Harry. Lily bustled around, smiling, and mothered over them all - even over Albus himself. Remus tried to steal Harry and they all joked, and James smiled like he always did, joked and needled like he always did, and behind the hazel eyes was a sneer worthy of Severus like James would never do.

And James could never vanquish Voldemort, obliterate his soul from the mortal plane and burn the still-breathing husk to a pile of ash.

So who was he?

For once Albus didn't know. It rankled.

James was dead. The wizarding world didn't know.
Lily went through the motions by rote, smiling and mothering the entire group of celebrators. The Headmaster was being watchful - no doubt disturbed that it had not been Harry that had defeated Voldemort. That James had overrode the power of Fate itself.

But James was dead, and it was Harry that had defied Time.

Logically it was impossible, but Lily had forsaken logic the moment she looked up from her Hogwarts letter and said yes, she'd attend. And it didn't matter because Harry was not an adult, he was her little boy, and she could look at this older incarnation, block out his eyes, and love him.

Only twelve hours earlier, he killed Voldemort, annihilated his soul and enveloped his twisted body in a Hellflame. The single kick of his foot left the still blazing hot ash burning through the slightly warm corpse of James Potter. Nothing was left.

And finally the party had come to an end, and the Headmaster and the two other Marauders had gone. Them as well - for they left Godric's Hollow for the grander and, more importantly, vastly better protected Potter Manor. James hadn't been able to bear staying here, but that was okay, because he would for his family's safety.

He sat down on an old navy sofa, relaxing - or appearing to - into the fabric; but her eyes could register the tension that stayed present. Lily followed him and sat on his lap, inhaling his scent. The funny thing was, he had his nose pressed to her hair and was breathing in a well, and the tension leaked from his limbs easily.

Lily smiled, looked up and had her lips captured. A second later, his hands had threaded through her hair and hers his, and he murmured at name against her lips. "Ginny...."

She wondered if she should feel betrayed - but she wasn't seeing him either, so she murmured, "James...." She felt a chuckle growing in his chest, and an answering one of her own. The irony didn't escape her.

They could live like this.

Lily looked up at Harry; his eyes were closed. She saw James, and loved him.

Everyone was dead. The wizarding world hadn't cared.
Harry killed Voldemort twice. The first time in a fit of grief and rage, the second with apathy. The first time after Ron had fallen, after Hermione had fallen, after Remus, after Tonks, after everyone. After Ginny - the stupid girl.

Everyone he cared about was dead, and Harry was alone again.

Harry was good at doing the impossible. So he did it and killed Voldemort a second time - only not soon enough to save James Potter. Quite frankly, Harry didn't much care. Then he looked at Lily, standing in the doorway with a baby in her arms and tears in her eyes.

She'd looked down to the corpse of James, disintegrating under the wrath of the Hellflame, dismissed it, set down baby Harry, and rushed over to him and cried into his chest, whispering a name over and over. "James."

Harry lifted her head, blocked out her eyes - replaced them with brown, Ginny's chocolate brown - and kissed her. He and Ginny had done just this many times, snogging on the sofa in front of the lit fireplace in Potter Manor. And not just snogging - much more than just snogging.

Harry wanted to do more than just snog. She could yell James' name as much as she liked, and he would tease Ginny.

"James...." she murmured into his lips.

He fisted his hand in the flaming red mass of hair. Sirius had always said he was just like James. Sirius had proved he was just like James by going hours in his presence and not being able to tell there was anything different. Quite frankly, Harry didn't much care.

Everyone was dead.

Harry snogged Ginny, even if her name was actually Lily. And even though Lily was snogging James who was actually Harry, he knew neither of them cared. It was only perception anyway.