Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related properties belong to J. K. Rowling and related parties. Title taken from the song "Glad That You Were Born" written by Al Kasha and Joel Hirschhorn for the musical Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.

It was the burbling that caught James' attention. He let the towel he was using to dry his hair drop to his shoulders. He slowed his steps as he approached his son's room. Harry continued babbling as his father poked the boy's bedroom door open. The toddler angled his head as he noticed his guest, offering his father a gummy smile, flailing his arms in welcome.

"Hey there, mate," James greeted his son. "You're up early."

Harry replied with a spit bubble.

"I see you've got the Potter charm all ready. And you're only five months old. Not bad, not bad at all. You'll be breaking hearts before you can walk, won't you?" He reached down to lift his son from his cot, changed his nappie on the small changing table they'd inherited from Mrs. Evans, and held the baby against his chest as he walked back into the hall. "Dada's got to put the kettle on for Mama. If she doesn't get her Assam in the morning she's a right terror, Harry. Remember that, okay? Not just in regards to your dear mum, either. All birds are a bit barmy, but if you take the time to learn about their quirks you can manage around them most of the time."

"Buh!"

"Quite right, there." They had reached the cottage's kitchen. Harry had started kneading the damp terry cloth towel and wrinkled his nose whenever a stray drop of water from his father's hair fell onto his cheeks. James shifted his son to his left side and plucked the tea kettle from one of the burners and walked over to the sink to fill it. He popped off the lid and let the tap run freely.

"Now your mama and I are a witch and a wizard, Harry, but there's no shame at all in doing things without magic. Technically that's how you're meant to do things until you're of age – if you've got magic, of course, which you will. Don't ask me how I know, but I do. Anyway, as I was saying," he continued, shutting off the tap and sealing the kettle's lid on tightly before returning it to a burner, "technically you're not supposed to use magic outside of school – you'll be Hogwarts bound, and a Gryffindor no doubt – before you're seventeen. But there are ways around that law and even if your mum won't let me show you 'em, that's what Uncle Padfoot is for."

"Pah!"

James chuckled and pressed a kiss to the messy mop of black hair that covered his son's scalp. Turning away from the stove top as he twisted the knob for the burner the kettle was on he bit his bottom lip as one-two-three clicks the flame appeared. He turned the knob to lower the flame's intensity.

"Now, Harry, your mum's more familiar and comfortable with doing certain things without magic than I am. Stove top cooking, for one. This finagling about to get the right size flame can be dangerous. A good ol' spell will get it just right with no risk. But you won't be going anywhere near oven knobs for years yet, mate."

James moved around the kitchen easily despite the child in his arms. He quickly prepared Lily's favorite mug for her morning drink as Harry took the towel's edge in his mouth to suck on. He watched his father with wide eyes and made a grab for the older man's glasses.

"Whoa there," James warned, pulling his face away from Harry's short reach, laughing all the while. "You've got the makings of a Seeker. We'll have to try and persuade Mama that it's time to get you your first broom."

Harry blinked slowly. James brought his free hand up to curl around both of his son's, capturing the smooth, tiny fingers in his long, calloused palm. He leaned down to press his forehead against Harry's, causing the baby to cross his eyes at his father's close proximity. Harry furrowed his brows and James kissed the small crease before pulling back. Harry's eyes were starting to develop green flecks amidst the blue and James hoped that meant his son inherited his mother's eyes. Even after nine years Lily's eyes still managed to take his breath away. "The girls won't be able to resist you," he murmured into the silent room.

The two Potters entered the sitting room and James settled lengthwise on the couch, setting Harry onto his stomach. He let Harry take his index fingers hostage in a tight grip and blew gently in his son's face. Harry blinked at the brief stream of air that was directed his way. He waved his and his father's hands after James had finished. James took that as a request to repeat the action and obliged. Harry shook his head and smiled.

"Do you like it when Dada does that, Harry?" Five months had past and with a lifetime ahead of them James was all ready cataloging his son's preferences. Being cooped up in the cottage all day wasn't easy, not by a long-shot, but James was thankful for it. If circumstances had been different he wouldn't be around for each milestone his son reached.

Mr. Potter had all ready retired from the professional world when James was born, and James cherished all the memories he had of his father's involvement in his life. Mr. Evans had had to work throughout Lily's childhood, and in fact had almost missed her birth. He'd left most of the practical task of raising his daughters to Mrs. Evans. With Lily attending Hogwarts the man had been spared most of the paternal duties a man faces when his daughter grows up and catches the eyes of her male peers. There were no boys to be brought home and introduced to, no boys to scare with threats such as "if you lay a finger on my princess...". Lily didn't speak often of her relationship with her father, which pained James though he understood her reasons. It simply made him more determined to be there for his son through every moment, big or small.

He blew once more into Harry's face, shaking his head to change the direction his breath blew in. Harry wiggled, trying to find its path before leaning forward. James eased his son's collapse as Harry nestled against his chest with a sigh. James wrapped his arms around his son and smiled contentedly at the warm weight that seemed to melt into his body. He closed his eyes, inhaling the distinct baby scent of his son.

He was awakened by Lily's weight joining his on the couch. He blinked rapidly to regain his bearings. His wife had an amused smile on her mouth as she ran a finger along Harry's back. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Your tea," was all James could manage.

Lily laughed freely, soft and tinkling. "I woke up to the kettle whistling. I'm surprised you both slept through it. A right unholy racket, it was."

"I'm sorry."

The redhead shook her head and leaned over her son's sleeping form to kiss her husband. "Don't be; you were otherwise occupied." She stroked the round curve of Harry's cheek. "I am going to need to feed him soon, though I hate to ruin such a lovely picture."

James shifted his position on the couch and sat up, cradling Harry to his chest. "There'll be more time for cuddling during an afternoon nap, he's a growing boy who needs his breakfast. C'mon, Harry. Time to eat."

Harry stirred, squirming and clutching at his father's skin. He hummed his displeasure at being roused from sleep. Lily rubbed a palm across the length of his back. "Harry, it's time to let Dada go, love."

Their son opened his eyes sleepily and Lily could have sworn he pouted at her before-

"Dada."

James started at the word. Harry's first. His eyes locked their gaze with Lily. Both parents wore matching expressions of surprise and excitement. James opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, unable to speak. His cheeks flushed rose with pride and Lily leaned down to kiss both of her boys. Affection filled her words as she spoke, "I don't blame you for not wanting to eat just yet. I rather like it when your dad holds me, too."