This isn't necessarily along what I think is cannon (mainly the timeline), but it came into my head and I had to write it! Hope you all enjoy it!
These wonderful characters (my baby's!) belong to J. .
Enjoy!
"Why didn't you tell me sooner? I would've come immediately," he says quietly, wearily, and a bit angrily.
Mrs. Potter simply grasps her son's hand tighter, watching his hazel eyes. His eyebrows are wrinkled inward and his glasses are lopsided. His mouth sits in a tight line. She is familiar with this expression-her husband gives the newspaper the same look almost every day. It is a serious expression- a disapproving, irritated appearance that is unnatural on both of them. It is very rare that she truly saw her son so serious. She wants him to laugh, to smile. Quite frankly, her time is almost up on earth, and she knows he knows it. She can see the fear behind those swirling hazel eyes. She wants to see happiness.
"How's Lily?" she asks, hoping to distract him.
"She's fine," he replies curtly, not to be deterred.
"James..." she sighs. "There's nothing you can do."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he repeats.
"Because we didn't want to distract you from your studies." This is the answer she gives, but the real answer is that she didn't want him to see her and her husband like this. But she knows they only have hours-maybe days, if they're so lucky-left, and she would never forgive herself for not saying one last word to her seventeen year old son.
Her brave seventeen year old son. She knows he wants to fight in the war. He wants to stand up for what he believes in, for what she and her husband believe in. For freedom and equality regardless of blood status. And in a very large sense, he is doing it for Lily. Lily Evans. How did her son end up so blessed? To chase this girl, to listen to both her rejections and the boys' teasing, and still end up with her in the end. Mrs. Potter had met Lily at Christmas, and she knows they will end up getting married. They seem to glow when around each other.
"Distract me from my studies?" he asks incredulously, bringing her back to the present. "Since when do I actually put that much focus into them in the first place?"
She knows he's right. But she raises an eyebrow, trying to humour him. "I thought becoming Head Boy would do something for your studies."
"I'm not Remus," he mutters under his breath.
Mrs. Potter stares at her angry son. His frustration is growing. She doesn't want him to be mad at her when she died.
"James."
She says it quietly, wearily, and a bit angrily. His eyes, which had wandered to his father the next bed over, fly back and lock on hers.
"I know," she tells him.
The door to the hallway opens almost silently, but the shuffling feet are not so. The healer comes marching in, potion in hand. She walks alongside Mrs. Potter's bed, picks up a pad of notes from the last healer, and flips through them, almost impatiently.
"James," Mrs. Potter addresses her son again, slipping her tongue to her natural language. Irish flies out of her mouth as naturally as breathing air. "Everything will be all right."
She knows she giving him nothing with these words. Nothing will be all right for him. When her parents died, nothing could ease her. She eventually learned to cope, as he will.
He skeptically raises an eyebrow at her.
"I'm not scared, James. I'm old. I knew this day was coming." It slips out before she can stop it. But the tension seems to immediately diffuse when she admits it out loud. Her son will receive no lies from her now. "I know this is terrifying for you. Everything will be yours. The house, the accounts, the properties, the jewelry," she emphasizes, hoping he caught the implication. "And I know that is not what you want. That this is very overwhelming. But it will happen. And I will not tolerate trying to trick you into thinking otherwise."
His eyes close and he kneels at her side. He places his forehead on the edge of her bed. She reaches over and strokes his hair. She doesn't know where that all came from. But what are you supposed to say to your child when you're using your dying breaths? What words can console? James is not a child anymore; to be picked up, dusted off, and kissed better. He has someone else to do that now. And someday, she hopes to God, he will get married (preferably to Lily Evans) and have children of his own to pick up, dust off, and kiss better.
"Thank you, Mum." His own Irish slips out, quietly, calmly, and smoothly.
"Now darling," she says in English again, "I want you to go upstairs. There's a lovely tea shop on the top floor."
"Tea?" he says incredulously, the white sheet muffling his tone. She can hear the smile in it, though. "You're honestly telling me to drink tea?"
"Yes, I am!" she exclaims, grinning, before swatting him gently on the back of his head. His laughter makes the bed vibrate.
"Next you'll be telling me to start studying for my NEWTs!"
"Well..."
His head launches skyward. "It's February! Lily hasn't even started yet!"
"Has Remus?"
"No!"
"And I suppose there's no hope with Sirius." Their banter is normal now; there's no awkward words between them. They could be sitting at the dinner table, eating and laughing. This is her son. Her James.
"When has there ever been?" James is completely grinning now. His eyes cut to the door.
"I love you, James." She wouldn't mind those being her last words. They would not be horrible. These words are not malicious or jealous, snide or petty. They hold meaning, compassion, and love.
He leans down and kisses her forehead. He stays there for a moment, not wanting to let go, knowing that this is it. She knows that she will never see her son again. This goodbye ended how she wanted it to; anymore would be torturous.
Mrs. Potter reaches up, caresses her son's face, grasps his shoulder, and gently pries him away. She grabs his hand, places two rings in them, and closes his fist around them. His eyes widen when he realizes what they are. They then focus on her bare left hand. He looks at her again, smiling widely.
"I love you too, Mum." The last words she will ever hear James say.
He walks around the bed, grabs his cloak, walks up to his sleeping father, kisses him on the forehead, and turns to the door. James pauses in the open doorframe. The healer, Mrs. Potter notices, left already. Such an inconsequential thing to notice now, she chastises herself. Her son's swirling hazel eyes lock with hers once more, before he walks away.
She closes her eyes.