1128 When?

It is not yet midday, but it is rather warm. The air is relatively cooler in a woodland area with a small lake in a lush green, clearing. Ducks, swans, and other fowl nestle in the cool reeds resting from the heat of the sun. Not far from the lake is a large, red brick cottage. A well-tended vegetable garden is at the back of the house along with a clothesline filled with white stark linen sheets drying in the sun.

A tiny creature wearing a neat, flower-embroidered tea towel with small bat-like ears and large blue eyes gathers the dried bed sheets. The sheets float off the clothesline and fold themselves, before gently settling down in a basket. Nimmy brushes back a loose tendril of salt-pepper hair from her face.

Nimmy is excited as she has been permitted to visit her younger brother, Dobby, who serves the Malfoy family. Her younger brother Dobby is a fashionable house elf, he is a learned house elf. Nimmy still felt very nervous at the idea of being paid and having a day off. However, her younger brother was happy and many other house elves were as well.

Nimmy did not know quite what to make of it. Still, as long as they were all happy, Nimmy did not think it was a bad thing. She was quite happy to continue to serve her master's family.

Finished folding, Nimmy hurried inside with the basket of folded sheets floating inside afterward. She hurried to the linen closet as the doors opened on their own and the folded sheets floated out one by one and settled inside. Satisfied, she returned the basket to its prior location and finished preparing lunch.

Nimmy rushed off to finish her chores, before carrying two small trays of sandwiches, a glass of lemonade, and a bowl of summer pudding to refresh the masters. She carried the first try to the young master. She knocked on the closed door and said, "Young master, Nimmy presents lunch."

Hearing nothing, Nimmy timidly opens the door and peeks inside. Lying on a four-poster bed is the young master. His eyes are closed, and he appears to be resting. Tiptoeing inside, Nimmy quietly sets the lunch tray on the bedstand, before tiptoeing out. 

The door almost soundlessly closes behind Nimmy, whose little pitter-patter of footsteps can be heard as she rushes away to serve the master. The instant the door is closed James Potter's hazel eyes blink open. He had not been asleep merely thinking.

Sitting up James moves to sit on the side of the bed. His loose black hair slips down hanging just past his chin. It is tousled with waves, but it is far tidier than when short. He pushes his hair behind his ears and reaches for thin, round silver spectacles sitting on the bedstand. 

Slipping on his spectacles, James reaches for an ebony tie and loosely ties his hair back. His hazel eyes glance at the lunch tray, but he feels no hunger. However, if he didn't eat, Nimmy would tell his father. After James' severe loss of weight during the year, his father wouldn't take any chances. It had taken months for James to get his weight back up. 

Numbingly James reaches for a sandwich and begins to eat with a grimace. His hazel eyes are solemn lost in thought. He had written to Professor Dumbledore recommending Frank Longbottom, Alice Yates, and Peter Pettigrew as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. 

Frank and Alice were no slouches. They would have eventually joined the Order even without James's intervention. Professor Dumbledore always had an eye out for potential talent. And Alice and Frank had outlasted James and his Lily….

A wry pained expression flashes across James's face. It is rather ironic. He had once thought he would never trust Peter Pettigrew ever again. And yet he had found himself trusting Peter once again.

Though James still had his reservations, he would not make the same mistake twice. The Peter he knew now was not the Peter Pettigrew, he knew from his own time. It would be unfair of him to push the sins of the Peter Pettigrew James knew onto Peter (in the present), who is innocent of those crimes. 

Feeling his mouth dry, James swallows the last of the sandwich. He reaches for the glass of lemonade and gulps it down. Having drained the entire glass, he sets the glass back down.

The reason for James' recommendation of Peter is that James did not wholly trust himself. His mind returned to the day of the Hogsmeade attack. The Death Eaters had attacked, and James returned to the war. Without hesitation, he slashed at his attackers aiming for their vital points.

Shouts pull James's gaze away from the battle only to see Professor Slughorn and -. At that moment, James felt the air squeeze out of his chest. It was his worst nightmare in the living flesh, his murderer, Lord Voldemort.

James vividly recalled the emerald light that took his life. The grip on his wand tightens so much that James feels the wood grains tense. If he continued, he may be capable of snapping his wand. 

Pulled back to the present, James barely dodges a flying hex. Between attacking and being attacked, he tries to keep an eye on the duel between Professor Slughorn and Voldemort. An emerald light flashed in the corner of his eyesight.

Whirling about between a spell, James sees Professor Slughorn lay dead on the platform. The goose-berry-colored eyes of Professor Slughorn are lifeless. He does not have time to mourn the death of Professor Slughorn and dodges a painful jinx returning fire with a deadly hex.

Instinctively sensing danger James Potter turns around only to meet the crimson serpent eyes of Voldemort. James feels himself tremble with fear, anger, and utter hatred. No, not again!

The body of James moves faster than his mind as he leaps for Lily first and Severus second. Grabbing a handful of their robes, he frantically apparated away to the edge of the apperation wards (of Hogwarts). The instant the trip appeared Severus shook off James' hand.

"Take me back, James!" Severus roared in anger.

"You'll die," James snapped. "The-, Voldemort was there. He was clearly looking at us or rather you, Severus!"

Clenching his jaw, Severus hissed, "Rowan is still there! We have to go back!"

A sickly feeling fills James as he opens his eyes to the present. He had managed to convince Lily and Severus to return to Hogwarts to seek help. But he knew that he had failed in his mission to protect both Severus and Rowan. That had been the task Professor Dumbledore had assigned him as the hidden member of the Order of the Phoenix.

James had not even thought of Rowan until Severus had reminded him. James' first instinct had been to protect Lily and then Severus. He had completely forgotten about Rowan.

It is for this reason James had recommended Peter Pettigrew. James no longer trusted himself to be impartial. And Professor Dumbledore needed a pair of trustworthy ears in the outside world. Peter was his man, (moreover since Peter wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts).

James sighed and looked at his hands that once had been calloused from Quidditch. Now were untanned and slender with softened callouses leftover from playing Quidditch. They were utterly unrecognizable in comparison to his time as an Auror. At the time, his hands had been hardened, calloused, and scarred.

The hands of James clenched and unclenched as if unused to his hands. His hands grew still into fists and rested them on his knees. He couldn't remain in the past any longer, he had to move forward. But first, he needed to speak to Rowan.

James could not forget the expression on Rowan's face when she pointed her wand at him. "Who are you?" Rowan had demanded to know.

At that time James had been confused uncertain of what Rowan had been referring to. Until Rowan said, "The James Potter, I know cannot apperate nor duel like a seasoned Auror nor is on a first name basis with Madam Pomfrey to call her Poppy."

Only then did James understand what was being asked. At that moment, he only felt relief at finally being found out. At the same time, he felt he could not afford to be found out.

The countless spells cast on him by Rowan revealed nothing. James believed Rowan was finally convinced only to be proven wrong when Rowan called out the name of his son, "Harry Potter." In that moment, James felt the breath leave his lungs as he desperately wanted to ask how Rowan knew his son's name!

James closed his hazel eyes in old grief. His poor son. His child whom he failed to protect. Yet how did Rowan know? It was a question that he had thought about over and over again since that day. He needed answers that only Rowan could provide.

Knowing that any written letter would not be corresponded, James rose to his feet. He left his room and went downstairs to find his father. He found his father sitting in his mother's rocking chair. An aching feeling filled his chest as he looked away from the rocking chair.

James studies the aging, wrinkled, spotted face of his father, Fleamont Potter. Fleamont's hair is wispy and unruly much like that of James. His eyes are hazel just like James. Although James lacked his father's knobby knees.

"Dad," James broke the silence causing his father to look up.

"Ah, you startled me son," Fleamont said setting down the book he had been reading. "What is it?"

James glanced at the ground uncertain of how to ask the question. "Er, I was wondering if I could invite Rowan to visit our home?"

"Oh," Fleamont blinked in surprise, before a slow grin appeared on his face. "In that case, you will be pleased to know that soon enough in a few weeks Rowan and Severus Prince will stay with us on alternate weekends. Reginald Prince wishes to ensure I properly fulfill my duties as their godfather," he snorted as if unable to believe the demands of Reginald Prince.

Relief fills James his father's response. "Thanks, Dad," he sincerely said, before turning away and returning to his bedroom.

Fleamont watches his son go with skepticism in his gaze. "And he said, he didn't like the Prince girl," he shook his head. He really should have known. People often like the things they can't have. It is the forbidden that makes it that much sweeter.