Chapter Text
Saying James was worried would be a severe understatement. His son looked terrified, standing in the middle of the intricately carved summoning circle, shivering, visibly uncomfortable by the loud, rhythmic chanting of the adults around him.
James’ protective instincts flared—he wanted nothing more than to sweep his son out of there. Harry was barely five years old, already tasked with something so heavy, so much larger than anything he should ever have to face—something that could scar him for life, just like the mark left on his forehead by that monster. Jamws would’ve taken everything in Harry’s place if he could, but this… this was something only his son could do.
He remembered that night all too vividly, as if it had happened just yesterday.
It had been an ordinary evening—he and Lily laughing, playing with baby Harry—when the magic around their home flared, blaring loudly, almost like a scream, warning them that a single, overwhelming presence had arrived.
You-Know-Who.
He’d yelled for Lily to run, to take their son and hide, but they were too late. The front door had been blasted open, and there stood the Dark Lord, his presence alone darkening the shadows in the corners of the house.
And James... James was unarmed.
In another life, a Killing Curse could've followed—swift, without sparing even a second for him to spare a thought—ending it all right then and there. But Voldemort was far too cruel for that. He wanted James to watch. He wanted him to witness the death of his wife and child, to break him in every way possible.
Lily had placed herself between their son and the monster, standing like a barrier of fierce determination, while James was magically bound, forced to his knees, screaming at her to run. To his horror, Voldemort laughed—a cold, soulless sound that clawed at his spine—and then, with a mocking smile, he offered Lily a chance to live. All she had to do was stand aside... and watch him kill Harry and James.
James had tried to shout for her to take the deal, to live on for their son, for them both—anything to ensure at least one of them would survive. But he was silenced before he could utter a word.
Lily’s face twisted with anguish, yet she remained rooted, refusing Voldemort with each chance he gave her. She denied him three times, her eyes fierce, never wavering.
In the end, Voldemort threw her aside, flinging her to the floor beside James. Her breath was knocked from her, her head hitting the floor harshly, and she lay there, dazed, her gaze unfocused, but not yet unconscious.
That feeling of helplessness—raw, excruciating helplessness—was the worst of it all. He struggled against his binds, calling on whatever wandless magic he could muster—but it was useless.
Voldemort’s power was too overwhelming, too vast. James could only watch, heart pounding, as the monster raised his wand and pointed it at their son.
His heart shattered. Tears streamed down his face as horror consumed him, every fibre of his being screaming in anguish.
And then—Lily began muttering softly beside him, eyes barely seeing, but she kept her resolve.
At first, he thought she was casting some last-ditch spell. But no—she was... praying. She was pleading, begging for their son’s safety, offering everything, anything, if only she could take the curse for him.
The gods, or perhaps something else, answered.
Before their very eyes, the Killing Curse rebounded, striking Voldemort straight in the chest. The bonds on James fell away, and Harry screamed, a heart-wrenching sound of pure pain, before he fell silent. A thin, jagged lightning bolt etched into his forehead, streaming blood. And his wife—Lily fainted, collapsing fully beside him, only a small gasp escaping before she lay unconscious.
For the next seventy-seven days, James did everything he could to care for them both, gripped by fear and guilt. Lily remained unconscious the entire time, and Harry was left with the cursed mark, a permanent scar that wouldn’t fade. A lightning bolt—the shape of the wand movement Voldemort had made.
Even now, Lily struggled with advanced magic, her power drained, as if a part of her magic was forever bound to protect their son. James could never express how much he loved her, how grateful he was. This remarkable woman had given everything for their little boy, sacrificed even her own magic, half her life. And he knew she would offer even more without a second of doubt.
The chanting grew louder, bringing him back to the present, and Harry started to shake. His small, adorable face was scrunched in fear, silent tears slipping down his chubby cheeks, but he held his ground, his little fists clenched.
“Mummy? Daddy?” he whimpered, voice barely audible.
James' heart wept.
“You’re doing great, sweetie. We’ll get treacle tarts after this, okay?” Lily encouraged, her voice strained but soothing, though James could tell she, too, was holding back tears.
“My little man," James encourages softly. "So brave. Just a bit more, okay?”
Harry’s little shoulders straightened. He took a trembling breath, puffing out his chest in a small, defiant gesture. His lips wobbled, betraying how utterly terrified he was, but he held himself firm.
James felt a surge of pride in his chest, and he smiled at his son.
So brave. A true Gryffindor, James' little boy.
Dumbledore’s chanting hit a crescendo, and with a swipe of his wand, the old wizard broke formation and stepped into the circle. Harry looked up at his grandfather figure with wide, pleading eyes, his silent tears reflecting the candlelight. Dumbledore smiled down at him, gently stroking his hair.
“Close your eyes and give me your right hand, Harry,” he instructed softly.
Harry obeyed, squeezing his eyes tightly, a whimper leaking through his pursed lips. And yet, he held his right hand out in pure trust. Dumbledore produced a small needle, and he positioned it to prick Harry’s finger.
“Oh my, what’s an ant doing here?” Dumbledore teased, feigning annoyance as he pricked Harry’s skin. Harry yelped in surprise, but a little giggle escaped him at the tone Dumbledore used. “Bad ant,” Dumbledore muttered playfully, rubbing Harry’s finger to produce a few more drops of blood, which then dripped into the summoning circle.
This was it. They were summoning a hero, someone who had defeated the darkest of the dark before, someone capable of saving their world from Voldemort. Convincing them to help, however—that was a task in of itself.
Dumbledore resumed the incantation, his wand slashing the air with complex movements. When he finished, he quickly retreated to his previous position.
At first, nothing happened.
The chanting drew to a close, and one by one, they scanned the area for any signs of change. And then, suddenly—
A bright light began to fill the clearing, enveloping Harry's body, growing in intensity until it was almost blinding.
What followed was a deafening, thunderous boom, its shockwave blowing leaves and dust everywhere. The force and sound was overwhelming, making them all flinch and bend over to cover their ears. James’s heart pounded with renewed fear once he realised.
That sound—it was so loud for young ears! He looked over, breath quickening as he tried to peer through the light, eyes squinting in focus. He could only hope—only hope that his son was unharmed.
As the ringing in his ears faded, James slowly regained his sight. The blinding light dimmed, but the power that lingered in the air was palpable, crackling like something tangible, alive. It took a long, uncomfortable minute for everything to sharpen again—far too long to be normal. This was magic, no doubt about it. Powerful magic.
Something—or someone—had arrived.
“Prongs?” Padfoot’s voice cut through, uncharacteristically tentative as he glanced around. Moony joined them, and Dumbledore raised a steadying hand, signalling for patience. James tightened his hold on Lily, feeling her tremble slightly as they waited for the dust to settle.
“You’re really handsome, mister! You kinda look like…” Harry’s small voice drifted through, though a strange distortion in James' ears caused parts of it to fade in and out.
“Do I really?” responded an unfamiliar voice, low and almost amused. James stiffened, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix shared tense glances, each of them holding their breath.
“You do! You look really handsome! Even more than Uncle Padfoot!”
Harry’s enthusiasm was unmistakable. Despite the tension, James and Lily exchanged a quick, relieved chuckle as Sirius let out a quiet groan beside them. Harry was his excited self, which automatically ensured them that he was okay.
“Padfoot… what an interesting sounding name… doesn’t sound like a real name to me,” the man replied, a playful lilt in his tone.
“His real name’s Si’ius.” Harry stumbled slightly on the ‘R,’ making the name sound even more endearing. “He’s the most handsome ever, but I think you’re even more handsome!” he declared, his innocent awe making the stranger laugh—a sound that mingled with Harry’s delighted giggles.
“So, our hero’s apparently a storybook prince,” Sirius muttered with a growl, apparently extremely miffed that he was no longer the ‘handsomest uncle ever’ in Harry’s eyes. “Here to rescue some princess from a dragon, no doubt.”
“You’re such a sore loser, Padfoot,” Remus murmured, though there was a smile in his tone.
“Say… I didn’t catch your name. What’s your name, little lad?” the man asked warmly.
James’ heart skipped a beat, instinctively wary about the prospect of his son sharing his name with strangers. But... regarding their current situation... well, what harm could there be?
“I’m Harry! Harry Potter! Nice to meet you, Mr…?”
There was a pause as the man seemed to consider his response, humming thoughtfully.
“Call me Snitch,” he replied at last.
Snitch? Like… the golden snitch? James’ brows drew together, and he wasn’t the only one puzzled. Apparently, Harry was, too.
“Like the golden snitch? I love Quidditch!” Harry’s laugh rang out.
“Exactly!" The man replied, warm and encouraging, though it disappeared in an instant with the words following. "Now, close your eyes, Harry. I want to... address whoever called me here.”
The man’s voice had dropped, sounding almost ominous. Instinctively, James tightened his grip on his wand.
There was barely a warning before a powerful pulse of magic surged, scattering the dust in the air once more, startling all of them into position. Moments later, an intense Lumos Solem spell filled the space, engulfing the man in blinding light and obscuring his figure.
“Who are you? Where am I? Why have I been summoned?!” The man demanded, his tone turning steely.
Dumbledore, composed as ever, stepped forward, shielding his eyes with a hand. “If you would be so kind as to lower the light, dear boy? I’ll gladly explain everything,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring.
The man’s hand lifted to his hood, and he whispered an incantation that James could not really discern. The glaring Lumos dimmed, revealing a figure of above average height clad in Auror robes. His red hood was up, shadows obscuring his face, an enchantment cloaking it in a void of darkness.
An Auror.
Relief instantly bloomed in James' chest—finally, someone they could trust after months of fighting death eaters—but the man’s words quickly curdled that feeling.
“Explain. Now. I’ve already reached my own conclusions, and I’m not pleased with them. Not one bit.” His voice was cold, edged with suspicion.
Okay… maybe not so trustworthy, then.
The man then moved, crouching slightly to wrap an arm around the back of his calves, lifting Harry up, settling him securely on his hip. Harry clung to his shoulders with an easy, instinctive trust, laughing as he held on tightly.
James’ heart clenched in sudden fear, his wand arm snapping up. His boy—his mind panicked. His friends followed James' lead, training their wands unto the man. Lily trembled beside him, her face pale as she watched, terror in her eyes before she steeled herself, joining their efforts.
“May I open my eyes now, Mr. Snitch?” Harry asked sweetly, oblivious to the tension brewing before him.
“Of course you may, Harry,” the man answered, equally gentle.
Harry’s eyes slowly blinked open, and his face lit up like sunshine as he caught sight of them, waving excitedly at James and Lily.
“Mummy, Daddy, Uncle Padfoot, Uncle Moony! Mr. Snitch is really nice!” he called out with all the enthusiasm of a child who had not even an inkling that he was in great danger.
“Mummy? Daddy?” The man’s voice faltered, his stance shifting as he turned Harry away from them.
He held his wand up defensively, suspicion in every line of his stiff body. His posture was strong, textbook, and James knew instantly that this was a man they did not want to mess with.
“Who are you people? What are you doing to this poor boy?!” He demanded, his protective stance around Harry unyielding. James' chest twisted painfully with the urge to get his son to safety, to curse this man for daring to put Harry in this situation.
“We’re his parents," Lily spoke up, her voice strong, her wand already lowered as a gesture of peace. She rested her right hand over her heart, tipping her head. "I’m Lily Potter, and this is my husband, James Potter,”
The man’s posture stiffened, but he adjusted the grip on his wand, still aiming them down.
“Lies!" He shouted, almost angered. "Harry Potter is an orphan. Voldemort killed his parents when he was but a baby!”
James and the others inhaled sharply at the ease with which the man uttered the Dark Lord’s name, utterly unbothered. Lily’s hand shook for a whole different reason as she clutched James’ own, her face pale but determined.
“We survived,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “He… he bound us with his magic, forcing us to watch as he tried to kill our son. But we survived.”
Hearing the honesty and sincerity in Lily's voice, slowly, the man lowered his wand, and they did the same in courtesy.
“You’re in another dimension—sir," Lily said.
The man turned his head to look fully at Lily, tilting his head a bit to the side as if anaylising her.
"Please, help us," she pleaded.
"Voldemort has returned this year, and more and more innocents are dying every day. His followers are close to taking over the wizarding world, silencing every Muggleborn supporter,” she continued, her desperation plain. “I’m a Muggleborn. Harry, our son, is being hunted by him. That scar is proof of it,” she gestured at a pouting Harry, looking up at the man quizzically.
The man looked into Harry for a moment long, his wand lowered fully as he absorbed her words, though Harry, seemingly oblivious, hugged him tighter because of that, as if afraid that his mother's words would upset him. It was striking how easily Harry had taken to him, the boy’s small form resting trustfully against the man’s side. The man sighed, and he looked back to them.
“A… spatial and time summoning, then?” the man murmured thoughtfully. “I assume I can’t return to my world until the terms are fulfilled, which I further assume is Voldemort’s defeat.”
James and the others cringed again at the name, and James cursed his Gryffindor heart for feeling a surge of admiration for this stranger’s seemingly easy, laid-back fearlessness.
“Yes, Mr. Snitch. Please, forgive our desperation,” Dumbledore said gently. “You’re aware of the nature of this summoning, then? Has something like this happened to you before?”
The question seemed to have amused the man, for he snorted softly, leaning into Harry's ears. “Close your ears, Hawwy. Promise me you won’t listen,” he said, playfully mimicking Harry’s still stilted pronunciation. Harry giggled, dutifully clamping his hands over his ears.
“Yes, I have experienced it once. A woman tried to bind with something similar to this… and made having sex with her the only way to break the contract,” The man said lightly, casually.
James’ eyes widened, as if he could not believe what he was hearing. He felt a strange mixture of shock and admiration. Damn—Snitch must really be something if people were resorting to that to get his attention.
“I didn’t go through with it. Her magic wasn’t strong enough to force the issue, so, I detained her and moved on.”
A small, adorable giggle broke through the tension. Harry, who had clearly been listening, burst into laughter, the innocent sound filling the din.
“You said sex, Mr. Snitch!” he giggled, which made everyone immediately laugh at the sheer adorableness of James' son—except for Snape, who wore his usual blank expression.
Snitch let out a dramatic gasp, turning to Harry in an instant.
“Harry, you promised! Are you a promise-breaker, huh? Is that it? I, for one, always keep my promises!” he exclaimed playfully, launching into a gentle tickle attack that had Harry squealing.
“No, no, Mr. Snitch! I’m sorry!” Harry screamed in joy, trying to shield himself from Snitch’s playful assault.
James couldn’t help the reluctant smile tugging at his lips.
It was a foolish thought, but—a man this good with children... couldn’t be dangerous, right? It was just… the way he was holding Harry, the sheer happiness colouring his laugh—James could almost picture the man’s eyes scrunching in joy underneath the void. He cursed himself again for trusting so easily, but it was impossible not to when this was the sight he was seeing.
Abruptly, though, Snitch swayed on his feet, one hand lifting to his head beneath the hood, looking as if the magical summoning had finally taken its toll. “Fuck,” he muttered shakily under his breath, eliciting another scandalised gasp and giggle from Harry.
Snitch chuckled, setting Harry down with a fond pat on his head. “Run along now, little mate.”
Harry hugged Snitch’s leg briefly, his adorable cheeks squishing against the man’s thigh, looking up at him with unabashed adoration before scampering back to Lily, who swiftly bent to sweep him into her arms.
Dumbledore stepped forward, a kind and grandfatherly expression on his face.
“The summoning has clearly taken its toll. I’ve prepared a Portkey to the Order’s headquarters, where you can rest. If you’ll allow it?”
Snitch gave a faint nod, still steadying himself, and Dumbledore reached out to steady the man by holding his arm, earning a soft and polite ‘thank you’. As Lily and Harry moved closer, Harry immediately reached out to Snitch to be held once more, who responded with a gentle pat on his head, the sight of which made Lily smile, whispering something to both Harry and Snitch, making Snitch chuckle.
“Lemon sherbet,” Dumbledore murmured, and in an instant, they were all whisked away by the magic of the portkey.
The Order members began disapparating one by one, leaving James and his friends alone in the clearing, the faint shimmer of the summoning circle still flickering around them.
"So…" Sirius broke the silence. "Thoughts on our hero?"
James shrugged, actually feeling a bit relaxed. "Honestly? Pretty positive. Seems like a regular bloke aside from being absurdly powerful, which we needed, of course. And an Auror, too."
"He does seem the fatherly type." Remus said thoughtfully, nodding along. "The way he handled Harry—knew exactly how to hold him, keep him calm. You don’t just do that unless you’ve had practice."
"Plus," James added, throwing Sirius a teasing glance, "apparently he’s even more handsome than our Padfoot here. Who would’ve guessed?"
Sirius scowled, giving James a playful shove as both he and Remus snickered. "Oh, shove it! Harry has absolutely no sense of beauty. He once called a photo of a hairless cat adorable, Prongs!"
"Yeah, but didn’t Snitch also say that he was kidnapped for his looks?" Remus pointed out with a grin. "Harry might have been onto something."
"Bah! He’s bloody ego stroking!" Sirius scoffed, feigning indifference. "Who hasn’t been kidnapped once or twice for being a sexy bastard?"
James raised an eyebrow, barely holding back a grin. "Have you, you sexy bastard?"
Sirius blinked, and he slumped, momentarily deflated. "...well, no."
Remus and James burst out laughing, clapping Sirius on the shoulder, watching in glee as their friend looked utterly crushed.
"Alright, enough messing about," James said, still chuckling. "We should really get going. Make sure Lily and Harry get to Grimmauld Place safe and sound."
They exchanged one last look, one full of determination. They finally had their hero, a person great enough that he had finished Voldemort in a world so different from their own. James took a deep breath before he turned on the spot and disapparated, his heart filled with hope for the first time in a while.