30th October 1981

Evening has always been my favourite time of day. There's a sort of quiet peace that falls across the world as the bright, blue daytime sky falls prey to the rich, warm tones of sunset. Navy blue, purple, gold, even a splash of pink, if you're lucky, all blended together to make a picture-perfect horizon. In days gone by I'd stare at the sunset until the very last of it's show of colours had been consumed by the inky night sky.

You can't see the sunset properly from our house in Godric's Hollow. The top-most window is still too low to see over the tops of the neighbouring roofs, with what we can see of the sky being partially obscured by the towering trees peppering the gardens. That's not to say that I dislike it here. This is our home, mine and James's first home, bought with a portion of the generous inheritance James obtained upon his parents' passing. It's a cosy little house, with just enough room for our little family.

I can remember so clearly how happy I'd been to move into this house. Feelings of utter happiness, belonging, love.

And now all I can think is how much I'd love to be able to leave this house.

It's been four months, now. Four months since we became lost to the world, to the people we love, hidden under the protection of the Fidelius Charm. It was our safest bet, Dumbledore assured us. Our strongest chance of safety for ourselves. For Harry. Naturally, we immediately agreed. Anything to protect our son.

The Charm may protect us from the lingering threat from the forces that would destroy us, but it cannot protect us from the the fear inside ourselves. The never-ending fear, always there, lingering in the back of my mind, that everything will come crumbling down in spite of the forces that protect us. It's the fear that takes hold every time I look at Harry. Every time I see his smiling face look up at me, his bright green eyes, a mirror of my own, shining with innocent delight. Who could want to destroy such perfection? I have to stop myself, then. I try hard not to let thoughts of him claw their way to the surface when I look at my son.

It's a lonely life, in hiding. The stress of the danger we are always in, coupled with the loneliness brought on when hardly anyone knows where you are, eating away at you day and night, without even the relief of a brisk walk through the crisp autumn air to clear your head. It gets to you.

I used to love the evenings. Now, as the light begins to fade from the world for another night, the fears that thrive in the dark come out to play.

Perhaps it wouldn't be quite so bad if I could just see the rich colours that fill the horizon as the sun sets on another day spent waiting. Always waiting.

Harry giggles as I hand him another peace of pumpkin. He clutches it in his tiny fist and slams it against the tray of his high chair delightedly.

"You could also try eating it, you know" I giggle back at him, to no avail.

Shaking my head, I go back to my task of pumpkin-carving.

It's Halloween tomorrow. Harry's first proper Halloween. He hadn't been old enough to delight in squashing bits of pumpkin in his hands or to marvel at the flickering jack'o'lantern that would be created once I'd finished carving the pumpkin's face.

Of course, it will only be the three of us to admire my handiwork. There won't be any trick-or-treaters at our door to admire it. But I don't mind. There's only two seals of approval I want for my efforts.

"Why don't you just use your wand?" James asks as he strolls into the room, one hand in his pocket, the other running through his permanently-untidy hair. "It'd take half the time and the smile wouldn't be quite so... uh, lopsided?"

I shoot him a warning glare at the insult, followed by a smile to show I'm joking.

"Because it gives the work more value if I do it properly, by hand" I declare, continuing to hack at the pumpkin with my cooking knife.

Having suitably crushed his last piece of pumpkin to a pulp, Harry reaches out his hands eagerly towards the pile of chopped orange vegetable on the table, demanding another. I hand him another small piece which is promptly smacked against the plastic tray, Harry smiling happily once more.

"Besides" I add, tracing my knife-tip along the lines of the pumpkin's toothy smile I'd drawn on in marker pen. "The Muggle way kills more time"

James's face twists into a half-smile, half-grimace at my comment.

Of all three of us, James was taking life in hiding the hardest. He'd never been one to rest easy when there was important work to be done, and with the most important work of the fight against the Dark and the protection of his family going on without him, he spends his days pacing around house like a lion in a cage, wandering from room to room, in desperate search of something, anything, useful to do.

It breaks my heart to see my usually so cheerful husband feeling so run-down with the stress and boredom of our situation, but what can I do? We're both in the same boat. Both as trapped as each other.

These last two weeks have been hard. More precisely, the fifteen days since Peter's last visit have been hard.

Our Secret Keeper and one and only permitted visitor. He's has never been the boldest or most confident of men, but on his last visit he had seemed more withdrawn and nervous than ever. It seemed the less he spoke about what news and events were unfolding on the outside, the more urgently James prodded him for information, until I had to tell him to stop interrogating the poor guy.

James is annoyed at Peter. I can tell. Every few hours each day, he peers out through the living room curtains at the garden path in the hope of seeing Peter approaching. But he never does.

"What's he playing at?" James had snapped one day last week, stomping across the living room to peer out of the window again. " 'As often as I can', he said he'd visit"

"We don't know what's going on out there" I tried to reason with him, squeezing his arm reassuringly. "For all we know he hasn't had the chance to visit. Dumbledore's probably sent him on a job or something"

James sighed. He knew I spoke sense.

"I know, I know" he said, exasperated. "It's just that if I don't get this letter to Sirius soon, I'm going to have to rewrite the whole bloody thing again"

He looked down and sighed at the enveloped letter in his hand, addressed to Sirius. We'd been warned not to risk using owls to send or receive post, in case they were intercepted. With Peter our only link to the outside, he'd been playing postman between James and Sirius.

"I'm sure Padfoot will appreciate the letter just as much, whenever he gets it" I tried to reassure my husband with a fond smile.

"Hardly, all the information will be out of date!" James sighed. "Harry's learned three new words already this week! I can't keep him out of the loop with last week's news!"

Our first full moon in hiding had been a particularly hard day. As the night drew closer, James became steadily more restless, pacing the length of the house anxiously.

I sympathise with his frustrations. It was the first full moon in five years that Prongs would not be there for Moony through the night, to keep him company, drive him away from causing harm to others, and himself. But as I tried to tell him, Remus would not thank him for endangering himself by sneaking out to join him.

Knowing our noble friend all too well, James had reluctantly agreed.

But that didn't stop him anxiously pacing the house one night a month, every full moon.

"There!" I declare triumphantly, turning my finished masterpiece towards Harry for his approval.

"Well?" I ask expectantly. "What do you think?"

Harry squeals and reaches out his hands towards the jack-o-lantern, most likely wanting to squash this enormous orange toy as well.

"You're not squashing this one, kiddo" James chuckles, ruffling our son's wisps of black hair which were already proving to be as uncontrollable as his father's. "Your mother would never forgive you"

"Well, maybe I'd make an allowance, just for you" I say, tapping Harry on the nose, earning a giggle from him.

I place the finished pumpkin up on the kitchen counter, high out of the reach of Harry, and the cat. I take a moment to peer out of the kitchen window into the back garden. Evening is drawing to a close, the last of the rich periwinkle sky submitting to the onslaught of the inky darkness.

Always the darkness.

"Right" I say enthusiastically, turning away from the window. "Let's get this mess cleaned up, then"

Pulling out my wand, I tap the pile of carved-up pumpkin pieces and watch the pieces lift themselves off of the table. I guide them with my wand over to the waiting empty saucepan on the stove where they nearly land, one by one, ready to be made into a soup. I then tap the table again and in a moment, the remaining mess vanishes, the table spotless once more.

James raises a questioning eyebrow at me with a smirk, but I pretend not to have seen. Carving the pumpkin may be better done the Muggle way, but cleaning was another story.

Harry's face crumples in an instant as the bright orange pile disappears from view, his new favourite toys gone.

"Hey, it's alright" James lifts Harry out of the highchair and into his strong arms, giving him a bounce to try and cheer him up "You'll like the pumpkin much better when its soup tomorrow, trust me"

Harry isn't convinced.

"Puh-kin!" says Harry, reaching his little hands down to the table where the pumpkin pile had been.

"Yeah, that's right, pumpkin!" James smiles in delight.

"Puh-kin!" Harry shouts again with a frown, reaching for the table.

"Listen, Lils, he learned another word!" James declares excitedly, turning to me with a proud smile.

I can't help but smile back. It feels so good to see him genuinely smile again.

"He's also going to have a hell of a tantrum if you don't give him something else to focus on rather than a pile of vegetable" I shoot back with a knowing smirk, folding my arms.

Harry's at that age where he's just realising that he knows what he wants, and when he can't have it, he will protest loudly until he has what he wants. It's all very well when he's crying for another piece of pumpkin. But when he's calling for Moony to read him a story, or for Padfoot to swish his tail for him to grab at, there's nothing I can do to relieve him. How can I explain to my one-year-old why his friends haven't come to see him in months?

"Fair enough" James replies, seeing for the first time that the baby in his arms is not impressed with the fact that his demands still haven't been met.

"C'mon, Harry, I know what'll cheer you up..."

I follow the two of them through to the living room, which has gradually become taken over by Harry in the last few months. His first birthday had been met with a deluge of presents from well-wishers though poor Peter, who had arrived for Harry's quiet birthday tea that day laden down with a suitcase enchanted with an Extendable Charm to allow all of Harry's presents to fit.

His favourite present by far, the toy broomstick from Sirius, sits resting against the wall by the fireplace, next to the toy box containing most of his collection of toys. Beside the toy chest, curled up on top of the large stuffed stag sent by Remus, is the cat, a large mass of ginger fur sleeping contentedly.

James sets Harry down on the carpet. Normally he'd take off immediately, crawling in the direction of his toy pile to reach for whatever happened to be nearest to grab. And if that happened to be the sleeping cat, then so be it.

This evening, however, he is still clearly far too upset over the pumpkin episode to go in search of toys.

"Hey, Harry, remember what this does?" James asks as he pulled his wand from his pocket. He gave it the slightest little flick and a tiny shot of sparkling gold shimmers shot out from its tip.

The transformation of Harry's mood was instant.

"Stars!" he squealed, clapping his hands. "Stars! Stars!"

As far as our son is concerned, magic wands exist only for the means of his favourite game.

"That's right, stars!" James smiles. "Lets see how many you can catch today, shall we?"

With another silent wave of his wand, a silent explosion of sparks shoots out from James's wand, floating in the air above Harry's head in the form of little gold stars, their sparkling light reflecting from one to the other, creating a beautiful illusion even to me, let alone to our one-year-old son.

Harry giggles in delight, reaching up his little hands towards the stars. He loves to reach for them, grabbing madly at the air. When a star bobs low enough in the air for him to clutch at it with his fists, the glowing gold shape crumbles into glittering pieces as Harry's little hands go straight through it, disappearing as they fall, and a brand new star appears in its place.

Trying to catch the shimmering stars is by far Harry's favourite evening game. And it is by far my favourite, too. Something about their warm glow, their glittering light, fills me with a warm glow as bright as the stars themselves.

Harry grabs at the stars, giggling happily to himself, for about half an hour. There is more to this game than he realises. No doubt he won't enjoy it so much once he is old enough to understand that it is our favourite trick to wear him out before bedtime. Sure enough, it isn't long before his eyes began to droop, his giggling begins to quieten, and when I lift him into my lap, he doesn't protest.

He snuggles against my chest, still peaking out to look up at the stars every few moments.

"Stars..." he murmurs sleepily to himself.

"That's right, sweetheart, stars" I whisper into his hair as I placed a kiss on top of his head. "I think its time for bed for you"

We carried him up to his bedroom together, as we did every evening. We laid him down in his cot, as we did every evening. He was fast asleep already, too deep in his dreams to hear us whisper goodnight to him, telling him how much we loved him, as he was every evening.

Putting Harry to bed, knowing that he was safely asleep was always a moment that felt like a heavy weight lifting from my shoulders. Because once he was asleep, I didn't have to pretend that everything was okay. Once Harry was safely away with his dreams, I didn't have to ignore the knots of anxiety twisting deep inside me, growing tighter with each day that passed.

I clutch the side of his cot, digging my fingers into the wood, clinging on for dear life. Despite the darkness of the autumn evening, it is still early. Normally, James and I would return to the living room to curl up on the sofa together. To read, talk, or try to watch a Muggle show on the television for distraction.

But today, I'm too tired. A wave of exhaustion washes over me, and all I want to do was retreat to the safety of my bed.

"Can we go to bed?" I find myself whispering to James beside me.

I turn to look up at him, and find his previously bright and cheerful expression to have been replaced by one as worn-out and tired as my own must have been.

"Sure" he agrees with a slight smile. He reaches up a hand to stroke the hair hanging loose around my shoulders. He leans forward and places a warm kiss on my forehead.

I smile.

"Let's go" James whispers, leading me across the hall to our bedroom.

We don't bother turning on the light. We change into pyjamas silently and slip under the duvet, huddling close whilst we wait for our bodies to warm the chilly bed.

I settle myself in the security of James's embrace, my head resting against his chest. I can hear his heart beneath his shirt, thumping steadily. It soothes the anxious pounding in my own chest.

"I'm scared, James" I find myself whispering in the dark.

I've held back all day. Kept my fears buried, held up the cheerful facade for Harry. But I can't do it anymore. I'm too tired.

"I know. I am too" James's voice is raspy, and not simply from whispering. I can hear his own weariness. I'm not the only one keeping up a facade day after day.

"I just wish there was something more I could do..." I feel him sigh into my hair. "I just feel so useless, shut up in here"

I moan a little in frustration. I've heard it so many times, so many nights. How useless he feels trapped in this home we once loved so much, unable to go out and fight for the cause, to protect his family.

I lift myself up to lean on my elbow and look at him, to lock his eyes with mine.

"You're not useless, James" I say firmly, lifting a hand to cup his face. "I need you here more than anything. Harry needs you here. What would he do if you without you here? You know he can't sleep without those stars you conjure"

"I'm sure you could make them just as well"

"No. Trust me, I've tried" I smile fondly at the memory of Harry's unsatisfied cries at my feeble attempt to conjure the magic stars. "He only likes it when you do it"

I can just about make out his smile in the darkness. It's enough. I lean forward and plant a kiss on his cheek before laying back down, snuggling into his chest once more.

The silence of the world around us is suddenly broken by an ominous rumble of thunder. It is faint, far-off, but an eerie noise nonetheless.

I instinctively glance over at the window.

"Thunder..." I mumble as the noise rumbles through the air again.

"A storm's coming" James whispers.

As if on cue, the soft clattering of rain against the window panes reaches my ears.

I'm about to comment on the fact that I hadn't seen one forecast on the Muggle weather report when a faint whimpering cry filled my ears.

"Oh no..." I murmur as another rumble of thunder, the noise steadily growing louder with each clap, fills the room. "Harry hates thunder"

"I'll go" says James, pulling away from me as the cries from across the landing grow louder, reaching for his glasses on the bedside table.

I allow him to slip away from me, the feel of the loss of his warmth instant. I pull my knees up to my chest, hugging myself tight. This bed is far too big for one person to fill.

I turn to look at the doorway as I hear the faint sound of James talking to Harry, whispering comforting words to him.

Before long, his silhouette approaches, carrying our son, his tired little face streaked with tear stains.

"Someone definitely got a bit spooked by the thunder" says James as he hands Harry to me. He climbs back into bed and pulls the covers over the three of us.

"It's alright, it's only a little thunder" I say, hugging him tight to my chest.

Harry sniffles and whimpers again, unsatisfied.

"Yeah, everyone knows thunder's only hippogriffs in the sky falling down the stairs" says James.

I roll my eyes at him, but I can't help but smile.

"What? It's true!"

"Well that's not what I was told" I reply, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Fair play, your parents wouldn't know about hippogriffs or their inability to walk downstairs gracefully"

"No. They told me it was giants bowling"

"Bowling?" James tilts his head at me, confused.

"It's a Muggle game. You bowl a heavy ball down a long lane to knock over a set of tall sticks called bowling pins"

"And you try to tell me the hippogriffs theory is ridiculous"

"It's alright, kiddo, the hippogriffs can't get into the house, the roof's too strong" says James, tickling Harry's tummy.

He half-giggles unenthusiastically, and is soon sniffling anew.

"Here, I know what'll cheer you up" there's a hint of mischief in James's voice as grabs his wand from the bedside table.

I watch his silhouette raise an arm to swish his wand in the air, and feel an instant spark of joy when the familiar shining stars shoot out of his wand tip into the air above the bed.

Harry immediately stares up at them, distracted from his fear.

His face lights up like the golden stars, his bright green eyes transfixed on the floating, glimmering shapes.

"Stars!" he says happily.

"That's right, stars" says James, shuffling closer to me, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. I rest my head against his shoulder.

"These are special stars, Harry" James explains softly, as though our son is old enough to understand his imaginative stories. "They're magic shield stars. As long as they're twinkling bright above you, they'll keep you safe from every harm. Even from thundering sky hippogriffs"

Harry is still happily staring up at the stars, their light reflecting off of his tear-stained cheeks, a trace of his now fully-extinct cries of fear.

He halfheartedly reaches up to try and grab at them, but he's quickly feeling sleepy again, the warm orange-yellow glow of the stars carrying back down towards the world of sleep.

He feels heavier in my arms. I lowers him gently to rest on the pillow between James and I. He rolls over sleepily and clutches at James's shirt.

I looks up at my husband. He's smiling down at Harry, the light from the twinkling stars reflecting against the glasses he's forgotten to take off again. I should remind him to remove them, as I so often have to, but I don't want to break this rare spell of true happiness, one that isn't a facade put on for Harry's sake, for once.

As though he can sense my gaze upon him, James looks across at me, his eyes meeting mine in the glowing light.

He reaches out to wrap his arm across me, enveloping both Harry and I in his protective embrace.

"We're going to be okay" he whispers quietly, so as not to wake Harry. His voice is as firm and convinced as I wish I could force my own to be.

Another rumble of thunder rolls through the room, the increasingly loud clattering of rain against the window panes.

Sleeping peacefully between us, Harry is undisturbed, blissfully unaware of the approaching storm, as if the stars glowing above the bed really are shielding him from the scary noises.

I leans forward to rest my forehead against James's. He kisses my forehead, threading his fingers lovingly through my hair.

He's always loved my hair. His first, ridiculously juvenile attempt to flirt with me back at school was to tell me how nice my hair looked that day.

My sister used to tease me for being a redhead. She called me carrot-top, said red hair was weird, that it meant I had a bad temper.

But James had once said the richness of it's colour gave him the urge to stroke it, just to check it was real, because how could something so beautiful possibly be real?

"We're safe here" James murmurs into my hair, his thumb stroking the side of my head. "This won't go on forever. It'll all be over soon. We just have to sit tight for a bit longer, and then it'll be over. Then we can be a normal, happy family again"

His soothing words comfort me, filling me with a glow as warm as that of the twinkling stars above us, making me sleepy.

I smile up at him one last time as I allow my eyes to fall shut.

I curse my foolish thoughts of earlier. How could I ever want to leave this house, this moment?

Here, in the warmth of my husband's loving embrace, our precious son sleeping safe and sound between us, is the only place I ever wants to be.

The war outside our window doesn't matter.

Just before I allow sleep to claim me at last, I feel James's arm across me become heavier, telling me that he's fallen asleep as well.

I tilt my head up ever so slightly to look at James one last time. His sleeping face is glowing in the light of the stars, his glasses askew, his expression peaceful.

I sigh in contentment as I succumb to the pull of sleep, the twinkling stars still shining above us protectively.

James has to be right. It will all be over soon.