For Valour by Whitetail
Summary: Being an ex-spy makes fatherhood difficult for Severus, and his son Harry knows this. Therefore, Harry has never been surprised that his father has talked so little of what happened during the first Wizarding War, a time when the Ministry of Magic still refused to believe he was acting on Dumbledore’s orders. It is a silence Severus has been able to keep without question, but when Harry discovers an old trunk of his father’s, he finds in it something Severus had never intended to see the light of day - a muggle war medal. No longer can Severus keep his past hidden, and no longer can he shelter his son from the reality of what happens when one war bleeds into another … the truth of where traitors go when Azkaban is full.
Categories: Parental Snape > Biological Father Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Eileen Prince, Lily, Original Character, Tobias Snape
Snape Flavour: Snape is Loving
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst
Media Type: None
Tags: None
Takes Place: 1st Year
Warnings: Suicide Themes, Violence
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 12 Completed: Yes Word count: 54131 Read: 40727 Published: 13 Aug 2013 Updated: 04 Nov 2013
Saving Grace by Whitetail

"Alright, so you and Joey had an awful first day on the ship," Harry said. "What then? Did you get the picture Mum sent of me? What happened when you got to the island?"

"Well, first of all, the picture with you never really did make it to me," I said, frowning. "The mail couldn't catch up with us where we were going, and was always a step behind, it seemed. Whether she sent it or not, I do not know, for I never did get it. It is possible it got lost in the muggle mail, or perhaps Dumbledore warned her not to send a picture in case it was intercepted. I will never know.

"But the distance from her seemed even more profound after the news of you being born. It made me realize what I was missing, and the silence after seemed to make the distance grow, and grow. Perhaps it was really because after a little while I started to feel so far apart from who I used to be, because the closer we got, the more I realized that it really was a war I was going into. You could see it in the others too, especially once we had boarded the ship and sailed for the Falklands. Ben got quieter the closer we got, and Joey didn't laugh as much. It was tense, but nothing compared to the night we went landed in the Falklands.

"You see, we were expecting a full out storm of the beaches of San Carlos, going up against the Argentinian army, who had taken possession of the islands some months back after overwhelming the small military presence. We had our guns ready and our strategy decided, but as the boats came in onto the beaches, we were met with almost no resistance. It did not seem to bode well.

"So there weren't any soldiers from the other side?" Harry asks, enthralled.

I shake my head.

"Of course, we were not just worried about them," I say in a low voice. "Our air force was vastly outnumbered by the Argentinian force. They had the shores of Argentina close by for their air force, but the closest base we had to the Falklands was Ascension Island, and that was almost four thousand miles away and smack dab in the middle of an ocean. So, the Argentinians had much better access to air support, and while the Royal Air Force had newer planes, they could only bring over as many as they could fit on the two aircraft carriers that were sent from home. There were scores of Argentinian Planes, and the RAF was supposed to clear them out before the landings on the beaches, but they were not able to manage it in time. So we had to land with the threat of an air strike. Some three thousand of us."

"But nobody was waiting for you on the beaches?" Harry asks.

"No," I say. "Not that that set us at ease. It was quiet. Too quiet. We had mostly dug into the surrounding hills of San Carlos when it all went to hell. I think it was about six AM."

"What happened?"

"The air strikes started."

"In the hills?" Harry asks, horrified.

"No," I mutter, shaking my head as the bombs start to fall in my mind, the sounds somehow ingrained in my memory so that I can hear every bang, every crash, every whistle, even after all these years.

~~~

 

We are spreading out over the surrounding hills of San Carlos, our nerves twanging as our eyes scan the hills and the water down below. Everyone is tense, for the place is practically deserted. The men like me from the Parachute regiments are most unnerved, for we are used to coming into the field by air, but this time we too came in from the landing craft like the other commandos. The marines had told us to expect a fight, and then there wasn't one.

"I wish I knew what was going on," mutters Ben as we help to set up the mounts for the anti-aircraft guns.

I wish Joey was working near us too, rather than a hill away. We could use a little humour, for everyone is tired and worn out from the nerve wracking act of landing on the beaches. The anticipation and uncertainty.

"Shh," says someone nearby. "You guys hear that?"

There are nods all around.

"They our boys?" someone asks.

Ben hunts around for a pair of binoculars and watches the skies.

Everyone knows by the way that Ben lowers his binoculars that we had better hurry in setting up our anti-aircraft gun. Most of the other guns are ready, but a select few were pulled out last minute to be set up, just in case we needed more. Everyone has had to lend a hand in this, not just the artillery experts, and it's been slower going for the men I am with, for most of us are paratroopers, with only a few experts from Artillery.

"So it starts," I hear someone whisper, but their words are almost drowned out, for the roar of the aircraft crescendos. It grows louder, and louder until the drone of the Argentinian air force overhead is almost deafening.

I turn around for a second to look down into the bay, where our ships are. High up above them the wings of the planes can be seen, and I am looking when the first bombs fall. The flashes are blinding, and great cascades of water shoot into the air. Some bombs do not detonate, but that only builds the fear, because you do not know which will blow.

"That was a hit!" I cry to the others, who have turned around.

One of the ships that took troops here has had a huge hole blown through the side of it. My stomach falls to my toes, and the men around me look sick as well. That was the ship we came on. It was almost like home, even just for a little while.

"Keep going!" someone says, the clanking of metal barely audible as the race to assemble the gun continues. "No time!"

The whistle of bombs falling and the sounds of aircraft shooting meet our ears. Soon the Royal Air Force is up in the sky as well, as many planes as it seems they can get up. Still, they are vastly outnumbered. I clamp my hands over my ears as our Anti-Aircraft gun is fired for the first time. It misses. The clatter of the rounds firing fills my ears again. A stream of fire connects, and the bullets tear up the right wing of a distant Argentinian plane over the bay. It does a nose dive, and spirals madly, a stream of smoke billowing from it as it falls. A few men cheer, but I don't. Something stops me.

I wonder what it sounds like hitting the water, because over the sound of aeroplanes, bombs, and gunfire I can't hear it. I do not see any parachutes, and it takes me a moment to realize that the ground is not shaking as much as I think it is. The rest is all me.

This goes on, and on, it seems. I lose track of time as I hoist huge clanking belts of piercing rounds up into the machine when it needs more ammunition. The noise roars in my ears, and the flashes overhead make me feel dizzy. I see a British helicopter hit, and if I would have blinked I would have missed it smashing into the ocean below in fiery pieces of wreckage.

I have seen muggle action films before with Lily, and it is at this moment that I realize that no movie could ever capture the kind of twisted chaos of a real helicopter going down. The disaster I just witnessed was a sight to behold, and I know I'll never forget to the way it feels in my chest as I see it fall. Who was the pilot? Did he have a wife too? Was he a father?

"SEVERUS!" shouts one of the men firing the anti-aircraft gun. I leap into action, because they need a new belt of ammunition. Ben too seems to shake from a stupor, and he helps me hoist it up and put it in place.

Then the ear-splitting fire continues. There is a symphony of explosions and fire. As I clamp my hands over my ears to try and dampen the sound, I know I'll never watch another action film again.

 

~~~

 

"Then what?" Harry says.

"Well, when things finally cleared up, we had fifty miles of hard terrain to march across to get to Port Stanley, where we all knew the final fight was to take place because the Argentinians had mostly set up base there. I was to go to Mount Longdon with many of the paratroopers. That was the first battle in the series aimed at taking back Stanley, and it was to be fought at night, as were the rest."

"Wait, you went on foot?"

"Yes. With one hundred and thirty pounds of kit."

"Wow, you walked all the way to Port Stanley?"

"Well," I say slowly, "not entirely. I personally did not make it all the way to Stanley. I was only able to go as far as Longdon ... like many others. The battle was horrific."

My thought is interrupted by Harry's awestruck voice.

"What happened during the battle, Dad?"

He sounds simultaneously amazed, and horrified at my statement that I did not make it all the way.

"Well, we were told to go forward, up the mountain. It was a maze of rock and hilly terrain, but of course, to get there you had to get past a lot of other things first."

***

The boys from Artillery fire up onto the mountainsides, the darkness pressing in around us. The whistling scream of the shells spinning through the air are enough to make me want to faint. I am tired to the bone, and the weather only seems to be lifting now. Sheets of icy rain had been pouring down on us as we walked in long lines to the battle site, across rugged terrain in cold weather. We had been walking for three days with little rest, over what I had heard someone say was about ninety kilometres. I do not doubt it, for I am dead on my feet. It is only my nerves that keep me standing as we wait for the moment when the real fight begins.

Joey is beside me. He looks to me, and even though I know he's every bit as scared as I am, he nudges me in the ribs, and says, "How 'bout it?"

"Looks bloody awful," I mutter under my breath.

"The girls will like the battle scars though," he says, letting out a small wolf whistle. He grins, but I know that there is no heart behind his joke. I nod my head appreciatively, and I think he understands that I am glad he is trying to lighten the situation a little.

We are silent again, and I look around for something to do, even though I'm scared too. To my relief I see Ben up ahead. Ben was split into a different platoon from Joey and I for this. I wish he would turn around, just so I can see his face. He's got that calm look about him much of the time, and you can't help but feel better when you see it. I am torn from this thought as the crashes sound overhead and we hear the order to go forward.

I clutch my rifle, and suddenly I am running, Joey's back visible to me as he runs ahead. The way seems clear enough, and the men up front fire off into the hillsides, where the Argentinians are sheltered by rocky outcrops and natural caves. Bullets whistle past our heads, and I think one grazes my helmet, but I cannot be sure in the din. You can see the spark of the guns up on the hillsides as each round leaves the barrel. I am absolutely terrified, and if it were not for the fact that the other men are behind me, blocking my way, I might have turned round and tried to run all the way back to San Carlos. The first trembling bang shocks me to the core, and I see up ahead an explosion from the ground.

There are mines, all along the base of the mountain. Over the chaos I think I hear the order to keep going, and it must be that that is said, for despite the shuddering of the force, nobody halts. There is only one thing to do, and I follow Joey as he darts up ahead. I want to catch up with him, and I am almost there when I hear an ear-splitting bang, and he hits the ground. I am unable to stop, and I fall head over heels, tripping over his prone form.

"JOEY!"I shout as loudly as I can, and I turn him over.

Everything seems to go silent, and I turn Joey over. There is a gash in his helmet, and I see his blank eyes staring up at me, dark drops falling from his temple. He does not stir, but I shake him and call his name again because it doesn't make sense. We were talking just seconds ago. He, Ben and I had spent long, tiring days together waiting for this fight to start, talking tactics to keep our nerves from getting the best of us. This wasn't in the plan. This wasn't in the plan.

I can barely move, and then I feel someone grab me by the collar and drag me up.

"Keep going!" shouts the voice, and in a second I know it is Ben. He was slowed down by the masses, and he must have recognized my shout. He pulls me forward, and I go with him gladly, because right now I have the dizzying sensation that up and down don't matter anymore, for my mind is still trying to process what I just saw. A shell lands behind us, right where we were only seconds ago.

We are through the mines. Only a few of them ended up exploding. I hear someone shout that they think the mines are frozen from the cold. I do not pay much thought to this, however, as I am surveying the situation, the sheer adrenaline seeming to have grounded me. The Argentinians are scattered all over, and we throw ourselves against the stone, Ben and I.

"GRENADE!" someone shouts nearby, and we see the rattling form come rolling down the hill toward our troops.

Ben and I clamour behind a large rock, and we hear the explosion. There is a blinding light for a moment, and then it is gone, only the crashing bangs of the artillery and the occasional mine. Screams puncture the air every which way.

I see one of the men from my platoon wave that the coast is clear. The platoons have broken up a fair bit. Only small groups from them remain, and I hope that this is only because people were separated, rather than the alternative that they just did not make it. Ben and I move from our spot at the signal, and I glance behind, seeing the explosions of the mines behind us. I look ahead again, and I see him before anyone else. The dark outline of a man with a gun is just visible a few feet above us, wedged between a crevice, and I can just make out his enemy uniform. He is aiming at the British soldier near the front, the one who had signalled earlier - I think his name might be Andrews. I raise my gun, and before I have a chance to think I fire. The man's rifle clatters down the rocky side. A soldier beside me claps me over the back and shouts ‘good shot' over the din, and I hear Andrews shout a word of thanks.

Ben pushes me from behind because I've slowed down as I stare at the rifle that has fallen in front of me. It occurs to me right then that I am far too lucky that I have Ben by my side. I thought I knew warfare before this, but now I understand that I only ever saw the edges of the Wizarding war, the shadow that I spied in. That was dusk, and this is night, and at the moment I can barely see the ground beneath my feet.

The bullets keep firing, and the flashes go on and on, and I think it has been almost three hours, and yet the sheer, gripping terror on my heart has not lessened any. We edge our way up the mountainside, gaining ground then losing it, and gaining it again. It seems to me as futile as it is bloody. The combat is often very close, and a few times I end up duking it out with my fists and the butt of my rifle. I narrowly miss being jabbed by a bayonet, and it leaves a gash along the side of my uniform. I barely feel the sting, but I feel the tightness of fear in my chest, the world spinning dizzily. Worst of all, I see the faces still as I run on, leaving the dead behind in body but not in spirit. They're boys, some of them, younger looking than any I've seen on our side. Fourteen, fifteen maybe.

Everything seems different after that - the air, the sky, the ground. My hands.

There is a rather flat portion of ground, and we charge across it, firing at anyone we can hit. The banging and crashing has started my heart pounding erratically again. There are mines here too, and a man beside me falls, the ground shaking as the mine takes his leg off. Ben and I keep running, trying to dodge the dark spots on the ground that look like something might be buried, because even though only a few of them seem to be going off, we do not want to take our chances. Somehow, we are through again, but half of the men we were with lie on the ground, mostly by gunfire.

Ben darts further ahead and takes shelter in a crevice, shooting up at a ledge, where a man is firing. He misses, and dives out of sight. I feel a thrill of fear down my spine, hoping that he is aiming somewhere else for I am slowed up when I stumble over something, a man's abandoned helmet, I think. I hit the ground with my knees but I get up again with great speed. Ben's aiming up at the ledge again, and I am about to dive into the crevice as well when I see out of the corner of my eye the sparking of the bullet leaving the barrel. The man on the ledge has fired, and before I know it there is a flash of blinding pain and I am on the ground, out in the open. I curl up and clutch my left leg, and it occurs to me that I am shouting. I hear a deafening shot nearby, and through the haze of pain I see the man slump with his arm dangling over the rocky outcrop. My fallen helmet is jammed back on my head as I spit dirt and blood from my lips. At nearly the same time I feel an arm hoist me up under my armpits, and I am dragged into the crevice. Through a haze of pain I see Ben's face, illuminated every so often by flashing light from the battle outside of this tiny shelter of rock.

The sounds of the battle are dampened slightly, for this crevice goes deeper than I had thought. Ben's pale and shaking as he looks down at my leg, and I too glance at it. My chest heaves as I stare at my leg, mangled and bloody. I feel like I'm going to throw up and am breathing erratically, and Ben is talking to me, but I do not quite understand what he is saying. Then I start to make sense of his words, and he is saying he is going to stay here with me. His calm look is gone.

I shake my head.

"No," I croak, because I don't want him to get trapped in here because there's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. You can only fire one shot at a time. That, and one grenade rolled in here would be certain death. I doubt the chances are any better outside, but I do not want anyone to die for me.

He does not say a word, and reaches deep into his pockets to pull out some bandaging. He takes the long strip and he ties a tourniquet above my knee to keep me from bleeding out. I hear distressed shouts from outside. They are our boys.

Ben looks out, and it is clear we both know that they need all the help they can get, and that staying on one spot is as bad as leaving.

"Go," I mutter dazedly.

"I'll be back for you," he says shakily, placing my rifle in my hands and propping me up against the stone. "I promise!"

I just nod, and then I see a rush of uniforms past my little crevice. He launches himself out with an animal-like cry of terror and fury.

I hear the clatter of the battle outside, and every minute that goes by I feel the fatigue growing. I hiss in pain. Despite the fact that I am ready to fire, nobody comes into the little cave I sit in, thankfully. I think it has to have been at least five hours since the battle started. I think I've been in the cave for two. I can barely hold the rifle, and then suddenly, I hear the sounds of the battle start to dissipate. Surely it is not over yet? I am in too much pain to care, however, and in the darkness of the night I start to think of Lily. Where is she? How is she? And what of Harry? Does our son look like her? I wish so much that it was easier to send letters out in the field. Having had to trek across the islands, I missed her letters. At least when we had done a little bit of training for the mission on Ascension Island we could communicate. I had not heard a scrap of news since the short letter about Harry being born. I desperately wish I had a picture of Lily and the baby.

I shake my head slightly, my thoughts moving slowly. There is someone coming. My heart suddenly jumps into my throat, and I weakly try to lift my rifle.

"Severus?" asks a voice.

I sigh with relief. It's Ben. I am amazed he is alive.

"Is the battle over?" I ask, my words slurring slightly.

"No," he says grimly. "Just a temporary lull. We're to collect casualties."

"You okay?" I say weakly.

"Fine," he says, though his voice is shaking and he looks ready to faint from exhaustion, "well, mostly. I got a good graze on my arm, but throw on a bandage and I should be able to keep fighting."

I feel his good arm behind me, and he grunts slightly as he hoists me up. I can barely hold my weight with my good leg, and my head spins. He practically has to carry me out of the crevice and down the hillside, even though his whole left sleeve is almost drenched with his blood. I can just see the shadows of people in the darkness, lumbering with the burdens of either the dead or wounded. Ben keeps a tight hold on me as we slowly go down the mountainside, through the twisting mazes of rock. There is a marked path through the mine field, and we go through it in a line with the others. Most of the mines appear to have been found. Bodies litter the battlefield, and other strange shapes that look to be nothing but black splotches in the dark of the night. Once we are behind our artillery, the lines of men lying on stretchers come into focus as we navigate through them to try and find an empty one. My body is weary but my mind, even in its hazy state, refuses to rest.

I cannot make sense of anything. And I wonder, why is this even happening? I swallow thickly, trying not to look around me. Sitting in their offices, did the politicians on either side even pause to think of what their choice would come to? Did they even want to? Would they if they could hear what I hear? Hearing dying men crying for their mothers ... would they?

I don't quite realize that I am hiding my face in my shoulder as Ben halts at last. I moan as Ben helps me lie down on a stretcher. He seems to be worried about me, and I know I am not doing well either. My leg is torn up really badly, and I've lost a lot of blood. There are a great number of wounded, but at least a lot are minor wounds, like Ben's. Some are really bad, though. A fair few have lost limbs. The worst are being patched up as well as they can be, and they are going to be taken by helicopter to the medical station at Ajax bay, where they will be patched up further and then sent to the hospital ships to recuperate. Ben is trying to get the attention of a doctor, and after about fifteen minutes one is able to look at my leg. It seems that my wound is one of the really bad ones, besides those missing limbs completely, of course.

"Severus, I have to keep helping," Ben says to me as the doctor examines my leg.

I nod, gritting my teeth, for the doctor is gently feeling my leg and kneecap, probably gauging to see anything is broken. Something definitely is; it is just a matter of what.

I nod, and I grasp his hand as firmly as I can.

"Thank you," I say, my voice hoarse, my words slurring. I do not know how to express the gratitude I feel and my sluggish brain does not help me in this area. "I - I wish I could repay you ... somehow."

"You can repay me by getting better and going home to your little boy," he says to me firmly.

I nod, and he grasps my shoulder one last time before disappearing in the crowd, off to bring in more casualties.

"From what I can see and feel, your kneecap is out of place, and likely shattered. The bullet went through the leg, and judging by the area the kneecap and surrounding bones, your leg is likely broken in a number of places," the doctor says to me when Ben has gone. The doctor is an older fellow, and his moustache is streaked with grey. "You need to have an x-ray and then surgery, as soon as possible. You have lost a lot of blood, and while your friend was clever to stem the bleeding with the tourniquet, you will need to receive blood. We only have so much in the field, but more is on hand at the surgical unit on Ajax bay. I am going to bandage your leg up as well as I can for now. Then, you will be air lifted by helicopter, along with some other soldiers in need of immediate treatment."

I nod, and all I can think of is all of the other men, left here to keep fighting. Left to their deaths.

 

***

 

"So, that is part of the reason why my knee has never healed perfectly," I say to Harry after a moment of silence, allowing him to digest some of the details I have given him. "Muggles are quite good with their surgeries, but unfortunately, they could only do so much for my knee. I have arthritis in it now, which is to be expected considering. They managed to patch me up quite soon. The day I arrive at Ajax I was able to get my surgery. They put my kneecap back together, and put a few pins in my leg. I had to stay off it for a couple of months, and wear a brace to keep it immobilized, but I still have both legs, so I am really very lucky. Ben definitely saved my leg that day, and probably my life too."

"What about Ben?" Harry asked, sounding as though he was not sure of what to say.

"That was the last I saw of him," I say sadly, trying to get words past the lump in my throat. "I do not know what happened. I've looked through phone books and in records, but I haven't found him. I suspect ... I suspect he did not return."

"I ... I'm sorry, Dad," Harry whispers.

I nod, and we sit in silence for some time, neither able to think of anything to say. It is a long time before Harry speaks.

"Dad, I don't understand ... if you were done fighting, how did you get the Victoria Cross?" Harry asked me, bewildered. "Did you leave something out from Mount Longdon?"

"I did not get my medal for anything that happened during the battle at Mount Longdon," I mutter, almost bitterly. "I got it for something that happened a few days later. But first, I have to tell about the news that came for me."

"What was that?"

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to think of all the ways I can put this in words.

 

~~~

 

I am in a bed, my knee aching something fierce. It is immobilized, and I lie in the dimly lit abandoned factory along with many others who have recently come out of emergency surgeries. It is a wonder to me that they have been able to get to so many people so quickly. It has been almost ten hours since I came out of surgery, and there are many men scattered throughout the building, only some visible to me. Apparently I am doing well, but all I can think of is Ben, and my comrades, marching toward their next battle. Will it be their last? And here I am, lying in a bed that is so much softer than the cold ground I am used to, knowing I will be allowed to go home after a stay on one of the hospital ships for a little while, because I will not be fit to fight for months.

For a moment, I feel myself fill up with guilt. How have I deserved this? Why am I still not fighting? And then, I remember Ben's words, telling me to go home to my son. I suddenly feel like I want to get up, and tell each and every person lying in beds in the recovery area that I have a baby boy waiting for me at home, and a beautiful wife who I will get to hold in my arms.

I lie there, imagining the look on her face when I walk through the door. Lily will be standing there, this time with our little boy in her arms. When the picture comes to mind she is wearing my t-shirt, and laughing as she tells me she did wash it after all.

I know that in a few hours I will be leaving for the hospital ship, and while I know that it will be some time before I do arrive home, I am certain now that I will get there. I doze for an hour or so after this, simply trying to ignore the pain in my knee.

I am wide awake again when a nurse comes over to the group of beds mine is among, looking grim. She is holding a note in her shaking hands. I wonder who it is for, and then I hear her call out my name, glancing around the scattered patients.

"Severus Snape?" she asks in a shaking voice.

I feel sick, and as I nod that I am Severus, she comes and sits down on a crate by my bed.

"We've just received an urgent message," she says. "It's ... it's for you. It's from a friend of yours, Albus, I think."

"What does it say?" I ask, suddenly feeling cold to my very bones.

The nurse is around my age, I think, and she's shaking like a leaf before me. She is not hardened like some of the older nurses assisting. I have the strange desire to tell her it will be okay, but in a moment of terrified realization, I remind myself that this note is not for her, but for me.

"It ... It says that ..." she says, trying not to cry. "Oh, I am so sorry S-Severus, it's your wife ..."

I sit up sharply despite the fact that I barely have the strength to do so.

"No. No ... what happened? Tell me!" I croak, stricken and barely able to speak. I do not realize that everyone who can hear and is able has turned in their beds to watch the scene play out. "And my son, my little boy?"

"Your w-wife's been ... k-killed," the nurse says, "but your son is alive. He's okay, and he's with your parents."

I sit there, shaking, still as can be. I feel a second of relief that Harry is alive, but then agony drives everything out of my mind. Lily ... how can she be ... how?

"D-Dead?" I whisper, choking on the word.

The nurse nods, and tears are flowing down her face. Surely this is a mistake? I see the note, hastily scrawled by someone or another. I see my name, Severus Snape. Then I see Lily's name. I see Harry's name, and then I know that this is real.

I don't realize that I am sobbing, and I don't realize the nurse is holding me in her arms, crying too because of my pain, because of all the pain here in this makeshift surgical hospital. I don't care that someone is holding me, and she can be of no comfort to me, because she is not Lily.

This was never supposed to happen. I was supposed to be the one that was killed, not Lily. It was never part of the plan for me to survive only to be left on this earth without her. Guilt overwhelms me, and I hate myself because I was not there for her. Did Potter try to protect her? Is he alive still?

Time seems to pass in great dollops, and I don't know how long I cry for, but eventually I am left lying in my bed, the nurse long gone. I've stopped crying now, because I have no tears left. The other soldiers nearest try to comfort me, saying things like, ‘your son is okay, you'll be with him soon', and ‘I know how you feel. My wife passed away a few years ago from cancer, it's going to be alright'. I barely hear them, and in my haze of grief all I can do is clutch my dog tags, feeling Lily's writing over and over with my fingers, as though I believe that this action will bring her back.

But it doesn't.

***

 

Harry's head is on my shoulder, and he's pressed up against me on the sofa. I hold him tightly, the silence deafening now that I have finished recounting the note. It was not easy for him to hear, and it was not easy for me to tell. I had only ever told him that I was away on a mission when the Dark Lord came. He never knew what kind of mission, where I was, or how I found out.

"You didn't even get to see her before she died?" Harry whispers to me, sounding like he wants to cry.

"No," I mutter, and I stroke his hair a little bit. "It is my greatest regret that I was not there to save her."

Harry nods, but then says with care, "This way I still have a Dad though. If you'd been there that night, maybe you wouldn't be here either. He killed James Potter, after all."

Harry says it matter-of-factly, and for the first time, it occurs to me that he probably is right.

Who am I kidding? I would not have been able to hold off Voldemort long enough for Lily to get away either. Everyone knows you cannot apparate with a young baby, and even by broom she wouldn't have had a chance. I know very well that I would have fallen far too quickly for her to get away, however ashamed I am to admit it. The only person that might have stood a chance at giving her enough time would have been Dumbledore.

"I know, and I am glad that I still have a son," I mutter, and I know I need to tell him this. "You have been my saving grace, Harry. I was lucky to come home to someone that needed me so badly. You will always be my reminder of how precious life is."

And as I hold him tightly, cling to him, I think of all the stories of soldiers killing themselves, and how more soldiers from the Falklands have died from suicide than during battle. I do not tell Harry this, but I think he senses that there is a great deal of depth to my statement, because he holds onto me tighter. I get the feeling the rest of the story has to wait for tomorrow.

The End.
End Notes:
Well, long chapter, I know. Hope that was a good thing! Cheers! ;)


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