All The Order members were gathered around a table spread with maps of England in your family manor’s study. The windows were wide and bright, letting in the dwindling light of the cool, early December evening. The room was decorated for Christmas, a fire crackling in the grate.

James was standing behind you, arms around your waist as you clutched your daughter close to your chest.Her name was Carrie, short for Caroline. She had your dear Jamie’s freckles, tanned complexion, and his curls.

James was a good, no, impeccable father. He was always doting on you and Carrie, making sure you were cared for and she was fed. You were proud of the way he’d grown into himself as a man, even if he was only twenty.

Some men might be disappointed that his first was a girl, and you were worried he would think it, but James had been ecstatic. When you had taken her home for the first time James had been so excited, so incredibly thrilled. Even now, James woke up when she cried in the middle of the night, James changed Carrie’s diapers.

He was the best thing you could hope for, and he was yours.

The wedding band glinted on his right ring finger as he leaned over to point at a place on a map, suggesting that The Order set up a small group there to stop a group of Death Eater Werewolves. Dumbledore nodded, stroking his beard in thought. You bounced your dear daughter gently, stroking the mop of curls she had inherited from her daddy as she yawned.

Carrie was in a blue sleeper that Dorcas had picked out on behalf of Marlene and her, swaddled in one of your Jamie’s old baby blankets, with a white blanket patterned with little snowmen you had knitted wrapped loosely around your sweet girl. As the meeting continued, James was called forward to discuss the specific area his team would be covering if they chose his idea.

James kissed your temple before leaving you, striding over to the table to stand near Dumbledore as he listened to the conversation. A few of the Order guys gave you smiles, having gotten used to you attending meetings, or, as you put it, your daughter attending meetings. Carrie’s eyes were blinking open and shut, getting bleary, but the group was far from finishing up and your sweet baby wouldn’t be able to go to bed until they did.

You could feel Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes on you, distrusting. He didn't enjoy the fact that your baby was here, or that you were speaking French to her. The Blacks had migrated to England when their homeland had lost New France, but were regular visitors of Versailles and regular participants in The Sun King's Court. The old wizard was a proud Englishman who not only believed this was not the place for women, but that French should not be spoken- even going so far as to criticize you and your brother, Sirius, for your accent.