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A light breeze stirred Peter’s hair as he sat down beneath the beech tree overlooking the lake. He pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket and popped a piece into his mouth. It was perfect – soft, but not melted – and he helped himself to another piece before offering the bar to Remus.
“Two more exams and we’re out of here,” James said, picking up a stone from the ground and tossing it idly into the air. “I can’t wait to be able to do something, instead of just reading about it in the Prophet.”
Sirius leaned back against the tree trunk and lit a cigarette. “Me too. Even if there is a very real possibility we’ll get ourselves killed.”
Peter’s stomach lurched; Remus buried his face in a book; James laughed.
“Jesus, Padfoot,” James said.
Smoke drifted around Sirius’s face. “Well, maybe spending the past three hours writing about Transfiguration laws made me feel a bit morbid.” He flicked the end of his cigarette; a piece of ash flew off and landed smoldering in the grass. “Am I wrong, though?”
Remus did not look up from The Hobbit, although his eyes were not moving across the page. Peter plucked a dandelion and twirled it between his fingers, preferring the mundane distraction of the yellow flower to the glaring truth of his own mortality.
“No, but we’ll be alright. We’re too young to die,” James said.
James raised his arm and released the stone. It sailed in a graceful arc and landed with a soft plop, sending ripples across the surface of the lake. Grinning in the bright sunlight, he emanated certainty, and for a moment, Peter’s fear evaporated. He’s right. We’re too young to die.
A sheen of sweat coated Peter’s skin as he sat beneath the beech tree that shaded the back garden of the Godric’s Hollow cottage. He swigged from a bottle of pumpkin juice, so sweet and cold it made his teeth ache. James lounged beside him, watching Harry hovering on his toy broomstick.
“He’s a good flyer already,” James said, face lit with pride.
Peter nodded – talking about Harry made a lump rise in his throat.
Bright laughter rang out as Harry chased a butterfly.
“Look at him, Pete.”
But Peter couldn’t bear to look at Harry any longer, so he looked at James. When he saw tears glistening in James’s eyes, his chest tightened. He picked a dandelion and ground it between his fingers, the smear of yellow on his skin grounding him.
“He’s so young,” James whispered. “How could anyone want to kill him?”
The uncertainty clouding James’s face was as unsettling as his words. Peter took shallow breaths, struggling to fill his lungs. The Dark Mark prickled beneath his sleeve.
Because I’m too young to die, too.
Peter took another sip of pumpkin juice, washing down the guilt and unspoken words.
“We’ll keep him safe, Prongs.”
James blinked away his tears, and his old assurance settled over him again.
“You’re right. Thanks, Pete.”