Patronus Wizards

James Potter: The Stag Prince

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The Stag stands for solitary nobility, honour and a strong commitment to the protection of their herd. The Stag is a symbol of protection and sexuality. They are extremely devoted to the care, and creation, of children. Stags focus on the balance of law and are rigid in their thinking on the issues of justice.

-- David Legg of the Order of the Bards on the Symbolism of Stags

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Screams. Yells. Euphoria. Panic.

Images whirled around him like a whirlwind, forcing and pulling him every which way. He didn't know whether he was up or down or both.

Up. Down. Over. Under. Around and around. . . .

Where was he? He wanted out. He needed out!

Colors and sounds blazed past his eyes. Nothing made sense. Nothing made sense.

And through the thick smog of confusion, he heard it. Laughter. High-pitched, cruel laughter. He had only heard it once in all his encounters with Voldemort, and even the thought of it always turned his bones to turn to icicles. Where was Lily? Where was his son? They had to be safe. He had to protect his them . . .

And then he saw them -- the only clear figures in the storm of color. Lily, her violent red hair bustling like flames, happily twirling with their son in her arms as the laugher grew louder. Didn't she hear it?

He tried to yell at her, to tell her to run. But his tongue seemed to swell in his mouth and she only smiled at him and waved.

A shadow grew from behind his family -- a horrible, shapeless shadow that crawled over them like smoke. The laugher was louder than ever.

With a flash of green light, they were gone.

And as a moment of despair such as he had never known consumed him James woke up, sitting up so fast his stomach seemed to be left lying on the mattress.

The room was out of focus and it took a few seconds to realize he didn't have his glasses on. He grabbed them, pushed them to his face, and then turned to what he prayed would be a live body beside him.

It was. Lily slept peacefully, oddly unperturbed by James's distress, her mouth slightly opened and a curtain of hair falling over the side of her face. James took a long, calming breath as his shaky fingers gently moved the strands behind her ear. Lily breathed out slightly at his touch, the way she always did when she was sleeping.

Although assured that his wife was still beside him, the aftermath of the panic still made his heart pound like a mallet against his ribs. He knew the only way to quell it would be to check the other bedroom.

His skin was frozen from the sweat covering his body. In an attempt to trap in some body heat he grabbed the t-shirt he had thrown on the carpet the night before, trying not to think about what had caused his paranoia. At the door, he couldn't help looking at his wife one more time, almost afraid to let her out of his sight, before reluctantly closing it.

Switching on the lights, James sneaked silently across the hall, and though he was still shaking, he couldn't help smiling a little at the irony. Sneaking had been somewhat of a pastime at Hogwarts -- who would've thought he'd be doing it in his own home?

A large, wooden "H" painted red and gold was nailed upon his son's bedroom door. James opened it and a sliver of light fell upon a black-haired baby asleep in his crib. He slept on his stomach, mouth open a little and fist curled -- the same position as his mother. Harry was peacefully asleep, innocently unaware of his father's anxiety.

James sighed with relief and carefully began to step back, pulling the door closed. Perhaps he could make a sandwich . . .

He hadn't noticed, however that Lily's dark grey cat had been following him through the hall, hoping for an early breakfast, and had placed itself right behind its owner's husband as he checked the room. When James stepped back, he had the unfortunate luck of treading on its tail. It gave a mighty wail and hiss, clawing at the offending foot. The pain caused James to leap forward into the nearly closed door, banging it open again with his head. He whispered a few furious curse words as the cat streaked off.

Suddenly, the small body in the crib began to fuss, scrunching his eyes in the sudden flood of light and squirming unhappily.

A new kind of dread filled the baby's father. Lily would murder him if she found out he had woken Harry up. He rushed into the room and put a soothing hand on the infant's back, patting in a firm, soothing rhythm. Yet it was too late -- though Harry miraculously did not cry, he lifted his head to peer curiously up at the offender who had awakened him.

"Hey, Seeker," James murmured.

Harry soon realized who he was, and he gave James a grin as he pulled himself to his feet, reaching out towards his father.

"Doesn't look like either of us is going to get much sleep tonight," James told him with a laugh as he lifted Harry into his arms and flicked his wand at a nearby lamp.

He sat himself in the old rocking chair that had belonged to his parents when James had been born, its creaking strangely soothing as he placed Harry in his lap. Harry leaned against his chest, examining James's fingers in that intense way that babies examine everything.

It seemed unfair that this harmless child was so hated by the most evil wizard ever. Harry had never even thought about hurting another person, and now he was being hunted down by a madman.

James hoped spitefully that stupid prophetess -- Salami or whatever the hell her name was -- never had another prophecy again. Because if the only ones she could make endangered families, then she deserved to have her head stuck in a vat of frogspawn.

But they had done everything to protect themselves, James told himself. The Fidelius Charm had been perfectly performed only yesterday. Wormtail might not be the brightest wand in Ollivanders, but he was eager to please and looked up to James. Padfoot had been right -- he was the last person You-Know-Who would think was the Secret Keeper.

Still, it was male instinct, wasn't it? Protecting his home and all that? He had tried to be strong for his wife and son, but in his nightmares he felt as helpless as the child on his lap.

He noticed Harry had stopped playing with his fingers. He stared up at him with his head tilted to the side, as though perplexed at his father's dark mood. James managed a smile.

"Don't worry, Seeker," he told him. "Daddy's just being a grump." He tapped Harry's nose, and the baby giggled.

James took out his wand. There was one spell that he had never shown Harry, the one that always made James feel better somehow. He thought of when he, Lily, and Harry had spent the day at the beach only a few months ago. Without hesitation, the picture of Lily in a sexy swimming costume as she and Harry built a sandcastle rose in his mind. It had been one of their last carefree days.

"Expecto Patronum."

A large silver stag burst from his wand and padded into the room.

Harry squealed in delight, and James smiled at the familiar pride he felt as he watched his stag trot through the room, waving its great antlered head. One of the defining moments of his life was when he realized stags were "his" animal -- first as his Patronus, then as the one which kept Moony company every full moon. They were a bit like him, he admitted: a bit of a show-off (especially for their mates, he thought with a grin) but fiercely protective.

"You want a story, Seeker?" he asked as the stag faded away. James didn't want to stop talking -- if he did, he just might go back to that gloomy place he had barely escaped.

Harry merely looked up at him and James pretended his son had said "yes." He didn't know many stories, but he was good at making them up as he went along.

"Once upon a time . . . there was this bloke. Now this bloke was the most charming and handsomest bloke in all the land. He was a prince, actually. We'll call him . . . Jimmy, all right? Now Prince Jimmy was head-over-heels in love with this princess named Lillian, who had flaming red hair and a wild personality. Redheads are the best kind of girls to fall in love with -- remember that, Seeker -- but unfortunately, Prince Jimmy was a bit too charming for Princess Lillian, and he tended to tease her a lot because he wasn't very bright at showing her how he felt. So instead of being thrilled, she called him an insolent toe-rag whenever he tried asking her out -- to marry him of course, 'cause they didn't date back then. And the Prince wondered what to do to win Princess Lillian's heart."

Harry only gazed at him, and James was finding the story easier to tell the longer he talked.

"Then one day, a messenger came to the Prince's kingdom to tell him that the Princess Lillian had been captured by the evil, greasy-haired knight, Sir Sniv-a-lot, and locked away in a cage in the forest. Well, Prince Jimmy couldn't have that. So, he cast a spell to turn into a stag -- which is basically that lover boy of a male deer that you just saw, Harry -- to track Princess Lillian down, and raced into the forest to rescue her. The Stag Prince ran through the forest for days and days without resting or eating or even going to the bathroom. Well, maybe a little of second and third one -- just a little bit, mind you.

"Then the Stag Prince finally came to the lair of the evil knight, who was trying to impress the Princess by showing off how many Dark Arts spells he knew. But Princess Lillian, being smart enough to know that the Dark Arts are no good, called him a great greasy git -- and that's even worse than an insolent toe-rag, mind you -- and refused to even look at him. Well, the Prince turned back into a human and threw hexes at the knight with his wand before he even saw him coming. Sir Sniv-a-lot ran into the forest crying for his mother, and Prince Jimmy rescued Princess Lillian from her cage. They snogged silly for ages, then got married right there on the spot. And they lived happily ever after.

"And the moral of the story is . . . stags and princes kick evil knights' arr -- bottoms. Right, Seek -- Harry?"

Without him noticing, Harry had snuggled upon James's chest, mouth opened and fists curled in the familiar form of sleep.

"Couldn't even stay awake for my story," he muttered, slowly getting to his feet and placing him in the crib. Harry squirmed but again did not wake.

"An interesting story," a familiar voice whispered from behind, just as James had flicked off the light. He turned and saw Lily leaning against the doorframe, smiling slightly at him. James grinned sheepishly.

"How much did you hear?"

"Enough to know that's not exactly how I remember it."

"I'm a bit fuzzy on the details," James said dismissively. He stared at his son, feeling his heart clench. Harry deserved to live a life like this: blissful and without nightmares.

Lily slipped her arms around James, and he kissed the top of her head. "He'll be fine," she told him softly, as if sensing his thoughts.

"What if he isn't?" he asked, speaking the words he had been too afraid to utter until this moment. "What if . . . what if something bad happens to him? He's . . . bloody hell, he's just a baby! He can't face You-Know-Who on his own! What if I can't . . . What if I can't be the protector he needs?"

"You're a protector who would rather die defending the ones he loves than run away." She leaned into his chest. "There's no better kind."

"He has you, too," he reminded her, raising an eyebrow. "And you can be a vicious little tigress when you want to be." She smiled, but he knew that Lily saw through his joke -- knew that the anxiety continued to gnaw at his insides. She could always see through him like that.

There was a deep silence as husband and wife gazed at their son.

"Harry will probably be asleep for a few more hours," she murmured after a few minutes, stroking the back of her fingers down James's face.

He shivered under her touch, knowing the gesture well. Normally, he jumped at the chance, but . . . "Lil, do you really think this is the best time for . . . that?"

"Please, James," she whispered. "I have a feeling -- we might not . . . have time . . . in the near future." Her bright green eyes, the ones he could never say no to, were pleading with him.

Somehow, he had the feeling she was right. Perhaps it was the spirit of Halloween, when he and his friends had always been at their most aware, but . . . something . . . was niggling at him. As if something big was going to happen. He took the hand from his face and held it tightly in his own. "All right." If it would be the last time in a long time, he wanted it to be a time to remember.

Lily turned and quietly made her way to the bedroom with James following behind. At the doorway, he stopped to look back at his sleeping son. A rush of protectiveness and pride flowed through his bloodstream. You-Know-Who's enemy or not, he couldn't ask for a better son.

And he would be sure to be there when Harry kicked the world in the arse.

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"You don't raise heroes, you raise sons. And if you treat them like sons, they'll turn out to be heroes, even if it's just in your own eyes."

-- Walter M. Schirra, Sr.

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