A Long Nine Months

7: Fidelius

The swirling emerald flames that engulfed the Potters calmed in an instant, dying down to nothing as they stepped out of the fireplace. Harry was clutched to Lily's chest, his eyes wide open and looking out curiously over her shoulder, oblivious to the worry etched across his mother's face.

"Professor?" Lily called into the empty office. She glanced around the room; the only movement she saw were the fidgeting Professors sleeping in their portraits and a few odd trinkets whirring on their tables.

"Professor?" she called out again, slightly louder.

A moment later, the fireplace erupted in green once more and out stepped James. Lily turned towards him, gnawing at her bottom lip.

"He's not here," she whispered.

James' brow furrowed. "Professor?" he called. Still no response.

He cast Lily a reassuring grin and he leaped up the few steps in one bound, strolling through the back of his office as comfortably as if it was his own house and peeked into an open door hidden amongst the bookshelves. James grinned to himself as he saw the old man in a plush armchair, bent over a thick book with a dusty cover, his long pale hair falling over his shoulder to cover his face.

He laughed softly to himself and knocked on the door frame. Dumbledore's head immediately snapped up and he looked hurriedly at the door, his eyes widening at the sound, but he relaxed almost instantly when he saw James' head poking through the open doorway.

"Good evening, Professor," James said smoothly.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. My apologies, I didn't hear you come in," Dumbledore replied, shutting the book closed and dropping it unceremoniously onto the small table beside his chair.

"No worries. We all get immersed in a good book from time to time."

"Indeed," Dumbledore chuckled and pushed himself to his feet.

"What are you reading? A classic, I hope?" James asked, his hands shoved into his pockets as he waited for Dumbledore by the doorway.

"If only, my friend. If only," he said with a sad sigh. "That would certainly be much more pleasant."

Dumbledore led the way out of the backroom in purposeful strides. James turned looesly on his heel and followed behind, a good head taller than the Headmaster. Lily was still waiting at the front of the office, bouncing Harry on her hip and talking to him as he babbled happily.

"Professor!" Lily started when they came into view. She immediately hurried forward towards his large oak desk; the smile she wore while talking to Harry slipped away like smoke.

"Good evening, my dear. Or good morning, whichever you prefer. Thank you for coming at such an odd time," Dumbledore said with a gracious smile as he descended the steps. James skipped down them with boundless energy and came to stand beside his wife. He stuck out a finger and Harry instantly grabbed onto it with a giddy smile.

Dumbledore smiled at the young family. "And as always, good to see little Harry again." He reached out and stroked Harry's soft tufts of black hair, already sticking out at the back just like his father's. Harry turned towards the strange new face watching him and peered at him curiously, refusing to let go of his Dad's finger.

"Say 'hi,' Harry," Lily whispered into his ear. To no one's surprise, young Harry said nothing. But James wiggled his finger so that Harry's hand shook up and down in some semblance of a wave.

"I see you're getting him into Quidditch early," Dumbledore commented, motioning towards his onesie that was covered in tiny brown broomsticks, red quaffles, and golden snitches.