To Die By Your Side
or
Diptych
I.
i.
Severus had had three beers tonight.
Was it three beers?
He hiccupped.
Oh yes, three beers.
Fuck, he wished he could hold his alcohol better.
The Muggle waitress drifted by and he casually flicked his wand at her. A thin blue jet her square in the shoulders and immediately her course changed as she went to grab him another round. He didn't often go to Muggle establishments, but it was an easy way to get out paying if he just Imperio'd the staff into serving him and Obliviated his way out of trouble at the end of the evening.
The fourth beer clunked onto table, overlapping with the water circle left by the last one in a morose little Venn diagram.
"Is that alright sir?" asked the waitress by rote, her eyes not focusing as she gazed at him.
"That's fine," he muttered, not really looking at her either, with her silly cat ears and painted whiskers. She slipped away as he rolled his eyes.
Here he was. Twenty-one years old on October thirty-first, nineteen-eighty-one, three beers in.
He took a gulp.
Three and a half beers in.
What was he coming to?
He would be hungover the next morning, but he didn't need to show up to a Death Eater meeting until that evening and if summons came tonight, he could say he was scouting a Muggle neighborhood for blitz points. Which was not technically untrue. He knew enough about the neighborhood to fudge information if it was demanded. On the other hand, if Dumbledore called him, of course he would have to show up, drunk as he was. He wondered if he could pull off the Apparation? No no, of course he could. He would. Have to keep up that impressive double agent look. Have to Apparate While Impaired successfully. Why not? Yeah, he could do that. He could always pull it together. He could…could…ugh.
Fuck, this was boring.
Fuck, this wasn't worth it.
When was the last time he'd had an actually decent Halloween?
Thirteen-years old on October thirty-first, nineteen-seventy-three. He was a scarecrow, she was a cat, it was a tiny little party a few prefects had thrown together, and she kept going on and on about some Hitchcock movie tradition her family had for the holiday and…
Four.
Four beers, all the way in now.
His waitress drifted by again.
Fucking cat.
Lily was a much prettier cat.
Imperio. Why stop now?
Severus buried his fists in his eyes and rubbed hard.
Fucking boring.
Fucking decisions.
Fucking sides not being what he thought they'd be.
Join the club with the leader who understands true power and importance. Or join the club with the person you would die to protect. Or join both, why not? Then they both can hate you.
Fucking everything not being what it was supposed to be.
Where was the woman he loved and the life he wanted? Where was the calling and the profound magic he gave up his life for? In the bottom of a beer maybe?
He started searching through the fifth, slowly now, but still with gusto.
By now his senses were sincerely dulled; peripheral vision was undulating and annoying, fingers were numb sticking against the frosted glass, and the weight of his head was exhausting. Slowly, and without truly realizing what he was doing, his head fell forwards to rest on the table edge. There was a song playing in the background—something slow and nostalgic, like a sad siren call. His consciousness slipped a few times and finally anchored in the lyrics, as though if he didn't find something to concentrate on, his mind would entirely wreck itself.
Take me out tonight, where there's music and there's people, and they're young and alive. Driving in your car, I never never want to go home, because I haven't got one, anymore…
He smiled slowly to himself, remembering. They'd done that once together. When his parents were fighting and he'd had enough of the shouting. He'd gone to her house, as he often would, just to be somewhere safe and sit on the front steps, but when she happened to step out to water a plant, she found him and frowned sympathetically.
…Take me out tonight, because I want to see people, and I want to see life…
They were both stuck at midpoint between fourteen and fifteen and she clearly wasn't supposed to know how to drive but she pushed him into the jump seat and took the wheel herself and they rolled through the nicer neighborhoods ten miles below the limit with the radio up just a little too loud.
…Driving in your car…
He didn't ask where she'd learned to man a vehicle; she didn't ask what the fight had been about. They just drove. And when they got back to her house he never came so close to kissing her than at that minute.
…Oh, please don't drop me home, because it's not my home, it's their home, and I'm welcome no more…
Even now at the bar, he thinks she would have kissed him back.
…And I, I am welcome no more…
ii.
Harry had had three juice boxes today.
Was it three boxes?
The boy went squealing by and James sighed.
Three boxes.
Fuck, he needed to keep those things higher out of reach.
As Harry could be heard stomp-running another circle through the bottom floor of the house, James collapsed onto the sofa, prepared to make faces at him when he came through the living room. Happy shrieks intensified as the little one-year-old appeared around the corner, eyes already on his father in expectation. James grabbed his years and blew a loud, fearsome raspberry at the boy and he, giggle-stricken, went squealing off in mock-terror to run another lap. James sagged again into the cushions.
Ah Merlin, what a day.
He and Lily had been cleaning upstairs while, little to their knowledge, the baby had woken up a half hour early from napping on the couch and found their stock pile of sugary juice in the pantry floor. Lily was only just going to wake the boy when she found him in the cupboard, grinning up at her with a sugar film coating every wee tooth. How Harry had managed to get straws into each pouch was a mystery to his parents, unless, as Lily touted hopefully, there had been some early magic bursts going on. But James decided magic could wait if this was what it did to babies.
What it had boiled down to was the Potters dealing with a super-charged toddler for the rest of their afternoon, with the charming extra 78 grams of sugar pumping through his system, if the number of empty boxes were anything to go by.
The screaming alarm was coming in louder and James dutifully sat up to pull a face at the boy for their game. As expected, flapping his arms and shaking his glasses off his nose was enough to start another, laughing lap.
Fine. He'd do anything if it got Harry to burn off…the…three…
It was then that James spotted a suspicious little box lying discarded under the chest of drawers across the room.
Four. Four juice boxes.
He groaned.
How much longer? Crash already, would ya? And just how long did Lily plan to take a shower up there, anyhow?
James leaned over the sofa and flicked on the radio for some peace, something soothing maybe, Mozart? that was a thing, yeah? But at the first sound wave, he found it was too late for further peace tonight.
…three days ago. Ministry of Magic authorities now confirm the attack to be the work of the terror group, the Death Eaters, led by You-Know-Who. While Ministry employees arrived at the scene as soon as possible, two civilian wizards appeared at the spot even before them and engaged the Death Eaters in duels…
James was so distracted he almost missed as the black-haired cannonball hurtled in, but he thundered "oogidyboogidy!" at the last moment and Harry carried on.
…but some witnesses say that the two men matched descriptions of a couple from last week who fought back with two other vigilantes in a blitz in Muggle Bedfordshire. They are identified one man as tall and thin, with long black hair, the other as short and stocky, with brown hair and broad shoulders…
James grinned—sounded like Sirius and Peter were doing alright if they were still getting sent out for strikeback runs. He hoped it was them, as at least that meant they were alive. Getting information into the little house in Godric's Hollow always proved difficult for Peter. Since no one knew he served as their Secret Keeper, it made it harder for him to slip away from headquarters, and he'd been gone away for longer and longer periods of time lately. James reckoned it had been nearly two weeks now since the last visit. Only way to get news anymore was on the bloody biased Ministry waves and—
"Da!" shouted a disgruntled voice, and James found Harry staring at him from the doorway, looking terribly affronted for being ignored.
For lack of imagination, James started from the sofa and collapsed in a heap on the floor with an exaggerated death groan.
Thump, thump, thump, thump, giggle, giggle, giggle, he was off again.
…Four people still were killed in the skirmish, two young Muggle boys, and two adults…
Okay, that was enough. That was enough. James quickly stood up and fiddled with the stations for a new frequency. Two young boys…Couldn't be that much older than Harry…What must the parents be…? That's enough. That's enough. He found a Muggle station running a children's Halloween special.
"…Cause I'm the bogey bogey bogey man tonight!" chuckled a DJ, "And we've got another caller here to tell us what scary scary thing gets to them the most!"
A second voice, very young: "I'm scared of spiders in the dark."
"Ooh, wow love, that's pretty scary, pretty scary. But you be strong next time and show those spiders who's braver, right!"
James rolled his eyes and spun through stations again.
What scary scary thing gets to you the most. Fuck, he'd love to be scared of spiders again.
…Take me out tonight…
Thumpthumpthumpthump—"Dah!"
James pounded his chest like a gorilla this time and bellowed, Harry kept running and laughing. The boy was getting slower now, but still with gusto.
…Where there's music and there's people who are young and alive…
Mm. Music and people sounded good right now. James sank back against the sofa pillows again. Perhaps not playing round twenty of charadé absúrd with a baby and cleaning up juice boxes. When was the last good October thirty-first he'd had? Three Halloweens ago. Yeah, that was a good one. Before the war was so intense, when everything was still ripe and exciting and so many more of his friends were alive. Him and Lily and Sirius and Remus and Peter and Marlene and Dorcas and Fabian and Gideon and Frank and Alice—everybody, all the young adults together at Phoenix headquarters, drinking and dancing and eating outrageous amounts of chocolate, until Lily made them all quiet down and watch one of her Muggle films. What he'd give to be there with them again. How he missed them. It was a crime in itself that Harry didn't know their faces…
…Driving in your car, I never never want to go home, because I haven't got one…anymore…
James pressed his lips in a line. Phoenix headquarters was such a beautiful place before it was emptied out.
"Dah?"
He looked down and started to find that Harry had padded in and up to his father without a sound. The boy approached and rested his cheek on James' knee. At last—the sugar crash. James pulled him up into his lap and kissed the little head.
No, look at this. He was being stupid; they still had a home.
Fucking scary. Fucking war. Two little boys killed. Fucking dying. Why had only Sirius and Peter gone to fight? Where were the others? Fucking scary. Fucking—
Ugh, no, that's enough, that's enough. He buried his face in Harry's hair and reassured himself. He was overwhelmed, but when was he not these days? That's all it was. Just the loneliness of the house and the routine of hiding and the paranoia begat by the radio. That was all it was. And it's not like the spirit of Halloween was helping any.
…Because it's not my home, it's their home, and I'm welcome no more…