Return Of The Father (Harry Potter fanfiction) **COMPLETED**

: Chapter 2: Laws of existence defied :

Every single hope of finding his family safe and unharmed crumbled into nothingness as he stared at the sight in front of him, his soul shattered.

This room had undergone the worst damage yet. The right side was blasted off, furniture was strewn everywhere and Harry's crib was toppled over and lying on the floor carelessly.

It was also empty.

The grief of losing both Harry and Lily was so overwhelming that James fell onto his knees after letting out a strangled cry, a tear slowly rolling down his cheek. Seeing that toppled over crib had shattered the last thread of hope that had held him together for this long. His heart felt like it had been ripped into two. He leaned against the wall, holding his head in his hands. He felt devastated. . . life seemed to be meaningless, irrelevant, nonexistent.

"Oh no . . . no no no no no . . .how could you, Wormtail? No no . . .no it can't be," he sobbed, screwing his eyes shut. "Goddamn you, Peter! They didn't do anything wrong. . ."

They were gone. He had failed.

"What did they do to you?" said James hoarsely, staring at the ceiling. "What have they done to deserve this--?"

He let out a heartbroken cry as he thought about the family he had loved. The family he had destroyed. His trembling hands found the old, moth eaten blue blanket on the crib, Harry's favourite. He clutched it in his hands and stared, tears wetting its surface drop by drop.

His baby boy was dead.

Harry had been his life. His whole world. He had never imagined that he would ever feel such a strong love for anyone. A love greater than what he had for his parents, his friends, even Lily. It was a different love. Harry was the reason he smiled everyday during his confinement to the house. He was his pride and joy. The thought that his sweet baby boy had been killed before he had even gotten a chance to live ripped him apart.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you, Harry. I broke my promise," whispered James. "I promised to keep to safe, I swore. And I broke my promise. . .

"I'm sorry Lily, I failed you, I failed to keep you safe, both of you. I failed! I killed you, in a way. . . I am . . . so sorry."

Tears flowed freely from his eyes as he continued to say sorry to two people who were not there, and he dissolved into more apologies as he slowly rocked himself back and forth.

***

Dumbledore decided to investigate. He warily entered the battered cottage, keeping his ears alert for any slight, incriminating sound. The living room looked almost exactly like it was all those years ago when he had come to attend the Potter's funeral. But now, there was a slight disturbance on the floor. The dust which had settled through time had been disturbed. There were footprints.

He kept his wand at the ready and moved on. He searched the rooms downstairs one by one, quiet and alert. Someone had most definitely walked on these floors recently.

Dumbledore's head snapped upwards when he heard a slight creak of the floorboards from upstairs. He slowly made his way up the old steps when he heard a cry.

It was a man's voice, very choked and so full of anguish it made Dumbledore wince. The single sound was so full of pain, only a man who had lost everything would be able to utter it. He could hear repeated mutterings coming from the room. Faint noises and--was that a sob?

Dumbledore could not control his curiosity any longer. The door was half open, and he slowly opened it widely. He stepped inside the room and was met with the most astonishing sight.

A man sat huddled in a corner, whimpering, with his head on his knees and holding his legs such that he was crouched in a ball. His sobs were filled with immense pain. The man kept on apologising to somebody who wasn't there.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I was a horrible father. Now you and Lily and dead, Harry!"

Lily? Harry? What was going on?

The man had not noticed Dumbledore's arrival. Through the light of his wand, Dumbledore could make out a mop of untidy black hair.

A man with black hair who was murmuring about Harry and Lily? It couldn't be-- no. It was impossible. James Potter was dead! Dumbledore himself had seen it! Then who was this man?

Dumbledore edged closer to the man. He cautiously put a hand on the man's shoulder. The man looked up, causing Dumbledore to gasp and take a step back.

The person looked exactly like James Potter. The same hair, face and hazel eyes. Except now, those eyes were bloodshot and full of tears.

The man who looked like James Potter stared at him with unfocused eyes. He put his head back to his knees and continued muttering.

Dumbledore was baffled. No Death Eater would be able to act this out. No one would be able to act out the pain which was present in the man's eyes. And, how could polyjuice potion be used? Polyjuice potion cannot be used with bones. After fourteen years, surely that was all that could be left of James Potter's body? Dumbledore was almost convinced that James Potter was alive again. Still . . .

He raised his wand and spoke clearly-- "Expecto patronum." Mere seconds later, a magnificent white phoenix erupted from the tip of his wand.

He sent a message to McGonagall to apparate to the cottage with a bottle of Snape's Veritaserum. It would be best leaving Severus out of this for the time being, considering his and James' history. Dumbledore began pacing again whilst he kept a sharp eye on James.

This sort of thing had never happened before. Nobody had come back from the dead, nobody. But here, James had just defied that particular law. He looked human to him, not a silvery wisp.

As he paced agitatedly, Dumbledore tried to think. How had this happened? Even if James Potter had somehow managed to defy the laws of existence, why was he here? Surely if he could come back to life, so could Lily Potter? But there was no sign to indicate that a woman with red hair had shown her presence here in years.

There was a sharp crack and a very worried looking Minerva McGonagall appeared. "Albus, who is this?" She asked, pointing at James's figure.

"James Potter, I believe," said Dumbledore gravely.