Chapter 1

"Lord Potter?"

Harry looked up from his seat in the waiting area at St. Mungo's.

"The Healer will see you now."

Harry stood quickly, his dark green eyes darting to the orderly's face. "Is my wife OK? My son?"

"I'm sorry, Lord Potter; I can't give you that information," the young blond - her name tag says Claire - tugged his hand, and Harry reluctantly followed. "The Healer can tell you more."

Harry followed her down the echoing white corridor to a large office. As Claire opened the door, Harry heard his son crying, wailing really, screaming for him.

He rushed in the room, following the cries. "Here, here, Jamie," Harry crooned as he reached for the red-faced infant in the arms of a short, bald man whom he did not know. The man passed Jamie over, and as Harry cuddled his son to his chest, the man cleared his throat.

"Lord Potter? I'm Healer Davis."

Harry, still hushing his son, held up a hand to stave off the next set of words as Jamie quieted in his arms. When wails turned to snuffles, Harry looked up. "Where's my wife?"

Healer Davis cleared his throat again. While Lord Potter wasn't known for his cruelty-far from it, actually-the old healer did not want to bring any of the powerful wizard's wrath down upon himself, and he had terrible news to deliver to the Savior of the wizarding world. Healer Davis looked grateful that Lord Potter obviously cared about the son in his arms-he'd be less likely to lose control of himself.

"Lady Potter passed away before she was brought here, Lord Potter," Davis said.

"Ginny's dead?" Harry's face slackened as his hold tightened on his son, automatically soothing him with quick rubs to his back. Jamie's whimpers gave way to deep, even sleep. "What happened? I was just passed a message - we were in session at the Wizengamot - that my wife and my son were here. I didn't get details."

Davis paled. He hadn't expected that Lord Potter knew nothing. "Apparently, Lady Potter was out shopping in Muggle London. She was crossing the street with your son in his pram, and a vehicle hit them both. She seems to have thrown her magic around your son as a shield, because he was not physically harmed at all."

Harry cuddled Jamie even more closely.

"However," the healer continued, "her final act gave her no protection whatsoever. Lady Potter's skull was crushed between the vehicle and a nearby brick wall. She died instantly."

Harry struggled to take it in. His wife, a close friend for a decade, his wife and lover of three years, gone. The mate who helped guide him through his first forays into the adult wizarding world, whose own dreams were crushed by the weight of his Potter family obligations, had lost her chance to watch her son grow up-and to maybe, one day, find new dreams.

A horrible weight of guilt crashed down on him. Ginny's death meant hope unfulfilled. She'd given him a son.

An heir.

But by the time Jamie was born, the passion they'd once felt was gone, and the realization that their marriage had likely been a mistake was too late. As the last Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, Harry had become a Lord on his seventeenth birthday. Not that he'd known, of course-damn Dumbledore-and it took a post-battle field trip to make amends with Gringotts to discover his titles-plural-and wealth, along with his new responsibilities as a peer of the Wizarding realm.

He and Ginny had rushed into a marriage in those heady post-war days when everything felt new, and light, and free-

Before he knew he was gay.

Before she knew she didn't want to be a lady of the manor, but that she'd prefer to play professional Quidditch.

Ginny hadn't even sat for her NEWTs. Neither had Harry, actually; with the discovery of his titles, he'd gone straight into training for his new political role, apprenticing to Lucius Malfoy, of all people, and Ginny-well, they had plenty of money, didn't they? No need for her to have a career, right?

Except not having one was killing her, slowly.

Shortsighted, both of them, Harry thought.

But the reward had been their son.

James Arthur Potter, six months old, had his grandmother Lily's green eyes and auburn hair, and appeared to be developing his own mischievious personality. In gifting him with Jamie, Ginny had not only ensured that Harry was not the last Potter after all, but that he had what he'd always wanted-a family of his own.

"I'll need to tell her family," Harry said quietly. "Can we see her?"

Davis breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of magical outburst. "I have another Healer, um, putting her back together, cleaning her up a bit." He winced at his own lack of tact. "Sorry. But the late Lady Potter will be presentable in about twenty minutes. We can have her ready for viewing at that time."

Harry nodded, then drew himself up, his face and body settling into the formal lines that befitted Lord Potter. "I thank you. I will go and inform her family, and we shall return. I will allow her father to manage the arrangements, as I will need to be with my son."

"Of course, my lord," Davis bowed slightly. "When you return, the front desk staff can direct you." He gestured to his fireplace. "Feel free to use my floo."

Cuddling his son in his left arm, Harry gathered a handful of floo powder in his right, tossed it into the flames, and called, "The Burrow."