If He Lived (Rewrite)

Before and Inbetween

James looked back down at Lily, resting his forehead against hers, and cried. Apologizing repeatedly as he rocked them back and forth. He begged her to open her eyes, to wake up. His whole world felt like it was being ripped in half. 

A soft whine made his head snap away from his wife, looking up towards his son's crib where sorrowful green eyes met his. Despite the loss he was facing, a wave of relief flooded through him. His son was okay. He was alive. James gently placed Lily's head back onto the ground and crawled towards his son, tears falling freely down his face as he reached his baby. He used the crib to help him stand so that he could grab his son and hold him close. 

But his legs weren't as stable as he would like. Once Harry was secure in his tight embrace, he allowed himself to slide back down onto the ground. Harry's small hands gripped tightly to the fabric of his shirt as he listened to his father whisper reassurances in his hair. 

James looked down at him, inspecting his face. He noticed quickly the scar that cascaded down his son's forehead, from the uppermost left corner of his forehead down across like lightning. He ran his fingers over it gently with shaky hands. His son let out another whine at the contact and James quickly retracted his hands, not wanting to harm his son any further. 

He had been so lost in his grief, in his need to make sure that Harry was okay, that he was oblivious to the man who now stood outside his destroyed home. Oblivious to how the man stood frozen in fear. The man had run into the house as quickly as he could, hoping and praying to whoever was listening that the family that lived inside was alright despite the damage. They had to be okay. They needed to be. 

James didn't hear the footsteps running up the stairs, didn't even notice the person running into the room. If it were anyone else besides who it actually was, James probably would've been a dead man. He faintly heard his name, causing him to finally move his eyes away from his son and to the scared and dazed face of his brother, Sirius Black. Another wave of relief hit him like a ton of bricks and he let out a strangled cry, causing Sirius to move toward him. 

James fell into his brother's hold, crying heavily into his shoulder as Sirius held onto him tightly. 

"You need to take him." James' own voice sounded foreign in his ears. 

"What?" 

"Take him. Harry. You need to take him. You're his Godfather." 

"James. No. I can't. You're still here. He needs you!" 

"Please. Take him." 

James pushed Harry into Sirius' arms, much to the other man's dismay. James didn't plan to die, no one ever does. He wanted to try to hang on to his last moments of life as long as he could. He wanted to live for Harry. Wanted to be there for him. But he was so weak. So tired. And he hurt. So he handed him to Sirius, who he knew would protect Harry while he couldn't. 

"James," Sirius' voice broke and he quickly realized how scared the other man was. So James smiled at him and gripped his shoulder with all the strength he had. 

"I'm not goin' anywhere yet, Padfoot. Just...need you to take care of him...while I heal. Please." Sirius, even though he still looked scared, nodded and held Harry close to his chest with a newfound determination shining in his grey eyes. 

"You better not die on me, Prongs. Promise?" 

"Promise." 

And with that James watched his best friend leave with his son securely in his arms. He was so tired and in so much pain. His whole world just got flipped upside down and torn apart. He didn't know what to do, didn't know if he could do it. But he had to. There was no choice, no other option. He couldn't leave Harry. But he really, really wanted to sleep.