NEPENTHE ⟶ James Potter

Prologue

[Prologue]

The cries of a two-year-old echoed through the small flat, as a young toddler by the name of  Harry Potter had run directly into the door while attempting to run from his father. The two of them had been playing a game, one of hide-and-seek, as the father was trying to get his son into better spirits on a rainy day. James had promised the boy that they could venture to the park that afternoon, however, the weather of England usually enjoyed placing a damper on those plans. As Harry tiptoed through the home, trying to quietly sneak around, his father had launched out from the bedroom, frightening the boy and causing him to run right into the kitchen door.

James flinched and watched as the laughter died down as his son's face morphed and twisted in pain. It was the calm before the storm as the flat was graced with a few moments of silence and suddenly, Harry allowed all hell to break loose from his small body. Instantly, he was scooped up from the floor, lifted into his father's arms where James could clearly see the redness decorating Harry's nose. The impact of hitting the door had also caused the two-year old's lip to bust open, spilling blood down the front of his shirt. 

The man let out a sigh as he carried Harry into the kitchen to grab his wand and tend to his son's small injuries. However, even after he was healed and there was no evidence of there ever being an accident, Harry had yet to stop crying. No matter what James said or did to comfort the child, Harry just seemed to be stuck in a wailing trance.

"Come now, Harry, it's alright," James replied softly, "it's all better now, you don't have to cry anymore. You're all healed, you're all clean, we can go back to playing."

If there was one thing James Potter could not stand the sight of, it was the scene of his son crying. It was common for children to cry, especially those around Harry's age and younger, but it physically and emotionally pained James to see his son cry. It brought back terrible memories of what he had come to witness only a little over a year ago. The sight of his son crying and his wife, Lily, dead on the floor of the boy's bedroom.

No, it wasn't supposed to end that way.

James could only keep telling himself that over and over as time went on. It was never supposed to end in such a tragic way. He thought he could prevent the worst from happening as he had finally figured it out, he had figured out who was the traitor among the Order and he knew what he had to do. He had to alert Dumbledore in hopes that all could be saved and the members of the Order including his own family would be alright. Everything in his mind was pushing him to leave his home that evening to find Dumbledore and reveal who the true traitor was of the Order.

For the last several months, Remus and Sirius, his own brothers were pitted against each other, their fingers pointed at one another with accusations. Remus made it clear that Sirius' ties to the Black family made him an obvious suspect, while Sirius had no problem reminding everyone that Remus was a werewolf and as of recent times, werewolves had formed an alliance with Lord Voldemort and his followers. Their fights tore the brotherhood of the Marauders apart, neither one of them willing to be in the same room as the other as they were convinced that the other was trading information to Voldemort and the Death Eaters.