This is going to be a series of drabbles about Harry's childhood if his parents hadn't died in the battle. I am not sure how often it will be updated. But I will try... ;) Do leave a review. Please?

Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me.


It was a little over a month since the battle, and Harry was now seventeen months old. He was an adorable little baby, with a fuzz of dark hair, and wonderful green eyes that were the spitting image of his mother's. He was an expert at sitting up, and he had a teddy given to him by his Uncle Remus that he was inseparable with. Remus and Sirius were both in love with him.

Lily was extremely proud of her baby. She couldn't help but wonder what it might have been like for Harry if she and James had died in the battle. What would have happened to him? Remus and Sirius would both have fought desperately over which one could look after him. And then there was always Petunia, for while she would have protested at being given a baby to look after, she was the next of kin. The ministry would have most likely given Harry to Petunia to look after.

Not that Lily needed to worry about it any more. She and James had not made a will before the battle, but a few days after they had hurried to prepare one. Now if anything happened to them, Harry would be taken in by Sirius and Remus, to be cared for equally.

Not that anything would happen to them. The Dark Lord was defeated – dead. Lily had seen his body with her very eyes. She would never forget the screams, the cries of the battle... The nightmares would haunt her forever.

But at least she had her Harry with her still.

Lily got up from her sofa, and walked over to the nursery where Harry was sleeping. This new house was big enough for Harry to have his own room – but Lily wasn't comfortable with leaving him alone for long. She just couldn't bare to think of all the things that could happen – what if he choked himself, or something! James always laughed at her, but it didn't make a difference.

The passage where the bedrooms were was painted a soft blue. She wasn't sure if she liked the colour – but James had picked it out himself, and she hadn't had the heart to protest when he had brought it home from Diagon Alley. At least it was better than the ugly yellow that the passage had been painted before.

Harry's room was right next to James' and hers – close, but still too far. He was so young, and even if he didn't sleep there at night, it was still too far.

The doorframe of her sons' room was decorated with yellow stars, stars that she had painted herself by hand. A labour of love. Lily hesitated in the doorway, feeling the stars with her fingertips. They were for her son, her husband, her friends. She hadn't told anyone yet that as she had painted them, she had named them. One for every friend who had died in the battle.

Lily gave them one last look, then peeked her head around the corner. There in the corner, was Harry's green crib. Lying contentedly on top was Harry, very busily employed in sucking his toes.

Lily gave a moan of adoration, and swept him up, kissing him repeatedly on the head and nose. Little Harry protested loudly, wanting air. Lily laughed, and carried him out of the nursery and down the blue passage, into the living room.

Harry was now in the prime of crawling, and Lily was finding it hard to keep up with him. She had barely enough time to watch him, let alone make the dinner. But she was not annoyed, or upset by it at all. Her Harry was awake, and with his presence came a feeling of exultation. The sad, depressed thoughts were swept back under the bed, and Lily focused on looking after her Harry.

There was no way that those Dementors were getting anywhere near her Harry. They could stay under the bed, or better yet, be brought out and put in the bin with the rubbish.

Not that she had time to empty the bin. That was James' job.