Muggle

It was strange, living as a Muggle. James had spent half a summer at Remus's house once. Remus's mother had been a Muggle, and his house had been full of mirrors that were silent and toasters that had blinking red lights. That summer James learned what a telly was, and how to mail letters the Muggle way. It'd been amusing, to spend a few weeks like that, kicking around a football as Remus tried to explain the rules to him.

Now, though? To spend months living like a Muggle? It grated on James, deep down in his heart where he wouldn't, couldn't, tell Lily. She was a Muggleborn, she understood this world. It didn't bother her to have to turn lights on with switches, and to use keys to open and close doors. Lily didn't waste away under the utterly common life, not like James did.

James was a princeling of the wizarding world. The Potters were as old as the Malfoy, as respected as the Blacks. James had grown up in a world of House-elves and talking picture books and roses that never wilted. He'd never done anything like a Muggle, because that was something the Potters didn't do. They were better than that, greater than that. They had blood that reached back to time the Romans came to Britain. They were an ancient house, and its foundation was magic, and the magic was strong in him, James Potter, the last son of the family.

And now here he was, living in a Muggle village with Lily and Harry, like a Muggle. Their wands, his and Lily's, were in a drawer in the front room, and James couldn't help but open the drawer every little while, couldn't help pulling out his wand and just holding it, because without magic, he felt as though he was losing himself, piece by piece.

"James." Lily's voice had pity in it, and James' pride flared up, bright and ugly in his chest. "James, do you want to help me with the dishes?"

He shoved the drawer closed, harder than he needed to, and stalked to the kitchen. Lily followed him, and as she grabbed a soapy plate from the sink, he could see half a smile on her face.

"It's hard for you, isn't it? No magic..." She scrubbed at the plate, then held it under the faucet, water rinsing the suds off. He took it from her, drying it briskly with a towel.

"Doesn't matter none. Doesn't bother me, either." He grabbed another plate as she handed it to him, drying it and setting it on the counter.

"Won't be long now," Lily said idly, as she fumbled for a cup under the soapy water. "The Order will take care of Voldemort, and then we can go back home. Or we could even move to Hogsmeade. Won't that be nice?"

James dried the cup after she handed it to him, then leaned his hands on the edge of the counter. "Yeah. Hogsmeade, or home, or London, maybe. I'll go back to the Ministry, and you can stay home with Harry-"

"You could stay with us," Lily interrupted, and the half smile on her face was bigger. "You don't need to work, and Harry likes having you here."

"Does he?" James asked, and he didn't think the answer would matter so much to him, because he had never needed things like this before, but it somehow did. Somehow, the thought that Lily and Harry wanted him here meant more to him than anything. He gave Lily a quick smile, then looked out the window over the sink. He could see the road from here, before it curved to go around to the front of the house. There was a pair walking down the dirt road, shadows stretching out in front of them from the lights of the houses behind them. James watched them for a moment, then turned, kissed Lily on the cheek.

"Love you," he muttered lamely, and Lily laughed.

"I know you hate the dishes. Go do something, and I'll finish up."

James kissed her again, draping the drying towel over her shoulder, and fled the kitchen before she could change her mind. He wandered through the house, pausing at the foot of the stairs. The door to the nursery was open, and he could barely hear the tinkle of the Muggle mobile Lily had bought when she was pregnant for the first time. He started to climb, then stopped on the third stair, glancing back over his shoulder towards the front room. The banister was cool under his hand, smooth, and he dragged his fingers along it as he wandered back down the stairs, drawn into the front room.

He grabbed the paper off an end table, a Muggle paper Lily read more than he did. He folded it over a few times, smacked it against his leg as he walked over to the chair by the lamp. He was flipping the lamp switch, feeling out of place as he did, when he looked out the window. There was a pair walking down the road, but they were stopping, and now they were walking down the path-

Their house was under Fidelius, Peter had promised, Peter had sworn, right here, with Lily and Harry- Lily-

"Lily!" He was stumbling backwards, and the lamp crashed over, pieces of glass scattering across the carpet. He'd have to charm it all away, or Harry would find it, because Harry always found things that would hurt him. Harry always had scrapes and bruises, on his hands and knees and feet, and Harry- "Lily!"

"James?" Lily's hands were covered in soapsuds, up to her elbows, and the drying towel was slipping off her shoulder. Her hands were going to get dry, and if James could just use his wand, she wouldn't have to work like a Muggle, because Lily deserved more- There were too many thoughts in his head, running around and around and around, and it was like a Snitch, glinting bright and sharp on the corner of his sight, but he couldn't catch, could never catch it, because he was just a Chaser-

"Lily," and her hands were cold under his, as he dragged her to the stairs, began pushing her up the stairs. "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off-"

She was running up the stairs, and she was tripping, falling, but he didn't have time. He grabbed the drawer, tried to wrench it open, but it wouldn't open, it was stuck, the stupid little Muggle drawer, and he cursed as he threw it against the wall. The drawer broke open, hanging on hinges and wheels and tracks, and wands fell out, two. Lily's wand, Lily's-

He grabbed both wands, Lily's in his left hand, his in his right, and the door was gone, blown in against the wall. It was Voldemort and Peter, stupid, needy, sweet little Peter, who never finished his Transfigurations in time, and always needed help with Potions. Dumpy little Peter, who always tried to get into things too big for him. Peter Peter Peter, who'd danced with Lily on their wedding day, who'd held Harry after he was born. Peter, the sweet little traitor with a face too innocent by half, too sweet to hold up his wand and say words that could never come from Peter's mouth.

Avada-

James hated a lot of things. He hated being a Muggle, living like magic didn't hum beneath his fingertips. He hated nappies, and he hated it when Harry bumped his head. He hated the way Lily's hands were rough and dry from dishes and cleaning, and he hated that he felt useless, pretending to be something he wasn't. And more than anything else, he hated Peter. He hated that the clumsy boy had tagged along all throughout school, that James had let him. He hated stupid Peter, and stupid Peter's stupid promises, that didn't mean anything, because Peter was the angelic face with a demonic heart, the boy who'd fallen over himself, time and time again, trying to catch up, just so he could put a knife in James' back. And stupid James, for believing in Peter. Stupid James, useless without his curses and hexes and jinxes. Stupid, useless James, who was never anything better than a Muggle.

Kedavra

Sometimes, James hated Muggles.