Harry Potter and the New Bloom (A Marauders AU)

Golden Broomstick Ice Cream

Harry selected three very nice new brushes of different thicknesses - the sort with long wood handles for holding - and the shop attendant wrapped them in tissue for protection and slipped them into a long, thin paper bag for safe carrying. James watched proudly as Harry insisted on using his own allowance to pay for the brushes. 

Ah, Evans, you'd be so bloody proud of him.

Lily weighed extra on his heart on Harry's Birthday - more than any other time of the year, even Halloween itself. He supposed it impacted him more on the birthday because the memories of her and Harry were more in focus those days and - if James was honest with himself - the memories of Halloween were blurry at best. A lot of what he remembered of that night was patchworked together by the memories of others, mainly Sirius, because for the life of him James himself couldn't recall much of what happened. Just flashes and pictures that didn't make much sense... and the sound of Lily's voice.

He heard her voice sometimes in the strangest places.

Like right now, walking down the alley toward the Leaky Cauldron, as Harry was talking excitedly about the brushes and why he'd chosen each of the ones he had done, James swore he could hear Lily's laugh in the way the wind blew the signs overhead, the way the hardware on them squeaked and squealed.

"I love you James. I love you Harry. Love. Love. Love..."

Harry held open the door of the Leaky Cauldron for an old witch who paused when she saw him, smiled at him warmly, and said, "Thank you Harry," as she stepped out onto the road, patting the boy on the head. 

"You're welcome," Harry said, nonplussed by the stranger who knew his name.

He was quite used to it, being The Boy Who Lived.

James smiled at the woman, who nodded at him, too, without speaking. They tended not to know what to say to James, these people who so jovially recognized and spoke to Harry. They knew who he was, too, of course, but there was something about speaking to the boy and something utterly different about addressing his father. The Boy Who Lived was famous, and his father was... well, his father was a widower, wasn't he? And what do you say to the widower? To the husband of the Woman Who Loved?

That was, after all, what they called Lily.

The Leaky Cauldron was busy, loads of people clustered around seats, eating and laughing, music playing from the corner and the old bar tender, Tom, wiping the counter with a cheerful countenance. People who noticed Harry wished him Happy Birthday or just said hello to him, and James nodded at the few who greeted him, too. 

"Oh Harry, look how big you've gotten!" cried Annalee Buckner, whose long golden hair was braided beautifully down her back. She was sitting at a table near to the fireplace across from her husband, Sean, and their son, Archie. Archie smiled and waved to Harry, and Sean hurried to wipe his fingers from the grease of the chips he was eating off the platter between them, standing to shake James's hand. "I can't believe how much you've grown just since I last saw you, honey," Annalee said, amazed.

Harry said, "I think I've had a growth spurt."

"I'll say you have!" Sean agreed, smiling and nodding at Harry, then, turning back to James as their handshake ended, he added, "Jaysus-jane an' 'is donkey, mate, he looks more of a dead ringer for you ev'ry time I lay me eyes upon him."

"Poor lad," James quipped, with a smirk.

"But with - with her eyes," Annalee said.

Harry smiled. He liked it when people said he had his mum's eyes.

James nodded, "Exactly her eyes," he agreed.

Sean ruffled Harry's hair. "Did I hear it was your birthday?"