DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T BEEN READING MY STORY 'TOO FAR FROM HOME' OR IT WON'T MAKE ANY SENSE!
Anyways, this was incredibly hard to write in the depth of emotion that I wanted it to be in. This occurs while AU Harry is in St. Mungo's for treatment. He is eight years old. Willow is around four and James and Lily are about twenty-nine.
Just a question: would anybody be willing to make me a banner for Too Far From Home? I'm thinking about creating a facebook page for the story that would include snippets, little insights, pictures of the characters how I imagined them and so forth. Maybe it's weird but it could work.
Dedicated to JessebelleSilver, my hundredth reviewer.
The afternoon sun was like white wine bearing down upon the pavement, so bright, so searing that it blotted out and white washed all color. James wiped away the sweat rolling down his face, grateful for the coolness that St. Mungo's provided as he entered the disguised building with a nod of the ugly dressed manikin.
He offered a faint smile to the woman sitting at the front desk. She gave a brief wave as he walked past on his way towards the lift; he sighed. He was well known here given that he was a frequent. Another healer smiled at him as she maneuvered a young boy towards his waiting family, clutching a clipboard. James found he couldn't smile back this time and gave a weak nod instead.
James pressed a finger to the upward arrow once he reached the lift and stepped back to wait, unbuttoning the top of his auror medical robe and letting it fall open. He swallowed and checked his wrist watch, tapping his foot unconsciously against the marble floor.
"Healer Potter," a man greeted as he passed.
James turned to see Healer Baliste hurriedly walking away, "Not a healer anymore," James muttered, running a hand through his hair. With a ding, the lift doors came open and a withered, elderly witch stepped out and hobbled past him; he gave her a quick smile as she greeted him and entered the lift. He pressed the button again and waited until the doors closed before slumping against the inner wall of the lift.
James was tired. Not a late-night, early-morning tired, but a bone deep weariness that seemed to be a constant in his life these days. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. On his ride up to the fifth floor of St. Mungo's, he mentally battled with whether or not he should follow through with the visit. It was exhausting and it seemed as though no progress had happened. Each visit ended up with Harry more withdrawn and James struggling with frustration and anger. These days, looking down at that boy, he didn't see his son and it made James feel a horrible sort of guilt, like his stomach was full of writhing snakes. He never told Lily this because he knew he wouldn't be able to handle the look that he knew would fall over her wearied face.
Would Harry even care if James didn't show up for his daily visit during the hours of noon to two? The boy hardly ever spoke a word to him and the visits were usually filled with silences stretched so taut, that James feared sometimes that something would snap and Harry would fly off the handle. It had been nearly two weeks since his last visit due to Willow being down with Dragon Pox but now that she was up and running around again; he had no excuse to put his visit off.
The lift jolted and he grasped the wooden railing to keep himself steady.
With another ding, the doors slid open and James hesitated. He really didn't want to do this; he'd rather get a cup of tea and read the Prophet. He'd rather head to Diagon Alley and pick out a new book for Lily and maybe a pretty bunch of flowers to surprise her with. Hell, he'd even volunteer for the laundry than be here, where the walls were glaring white and people spoke in hushed, teary voices.
His hand tightened over the banister, teeth clenched, indecision making him immobile.
"Sir?" a man in blue wizard robes, who had just entered the lift, looked at him imploringly. "Are you getting off?"
"Oh, yes," James drew a deep breath, startled from his inner war, and hurriedly exited. He heard the sound of the lift doors shuddering closed and he felt as though he had left his stomach back in it. He situated his robe and unbuttoned the top button of his collar shirt as he headed past the magical maladies corridor and towards the child long-term psychiatric ward. He reached the double doors and paused once more, with his hand on the handle. He stared through the glass windows, his heart thumping against his chest.
The corridor was very quiet and very still. The lighting was dim and the walls were a pale green with fluttering fairies and soaring dragons. James didn't move through the doors, battling between guilt and not wanting to continue. Being here, for James, was like walking out into the ocean. No matter how slow or cautious you are, you never know when the sandy floor was going to suddenly drop away and you're suddenly in over your head.
But in his mind, James saw the look of defeated disappointment on Lily's face when he would tell her that he didn't—couldn't visit Harry today. So with a deep, resigned sigh, he twisted the knob and went through the doors and down the corridor. He reached the desk where a plump healer sat flipping through the most recent edition of Witch Weekly.
He cleared his throat, "I'm here to see Harry."
The woman looked up and smiled at him in recognition, "Of course, Healer Potter," she marked her spot in the magazine before standing and gesturing him to follow.
"I'm not a Healer anymore," James corrected quietly. She didn't seem to hear him. Instead the healer smiled at James as they walked down the corridor,
"He's been doing really well this week, Healer Potter," she said.
"Please," James said in a low voice, "call me James."
She glanced at him with a brief look concern, "Harry has been making great progress this past week—he's been interacting more with others and," she paused, almost as if for affect, "He asked for you a couple days ago."
"Really?" asked James, trying to keep the blatant disbelief from leaking out into his voice.
The woman smiled somewhat sadly, "It takes a while for someone to heal after events such as Harry went through. But he's a child and children tend to be more resilient than adults."
"Let's hope," James drew in a deep breath as they stopped at door 28 and the witch tapped the door with her light colored wand. The click of the door sounded and she opened it slowly, popping her head in.
"You're father's here for a visit, Harry," she said cheerfully and then fully opened the door, gesturing James in.
James entered the small room. Harry was sitting in an overstuffed rocking chair in front of the only window, his knees drawn up, and the light streaming in creating highlights across his dark hair. He kept his face turned towards the window and offered no acknowledgment that anyone had entered his room.
"Just tap the door when you're ready," said the witch from behind James and he heard the door shut with a soft click. He looked around the room; the narrow bed was made tidily, the walls were a pale green and were barren. He scuffed his toe on the wood planked floor and stared at the lone framed photograph propped up on the bedside table; it was one of James and Lily and baby Harry. That photo seemed as though it was from another lifetime—from someone else's happy family. Things were simple and happy back then—even with the looming threat of Voldemort—but his family had been whole and perfect.
"Hey, kiddo," he said softly. "Sorry it's been a while." He cleared his throat and waited for Harry to answer him. He wasn't surprised when he didn't. Drawing in a deep breath, James sat down on Harry's bed and smoothed the covers with his palms in attempt to keep himself steady. "Willow had caught a rather stubborn case of Dragon Pox. Took a while to get her feeling better again."
Harry turned in his rocking chair then, his green eyes as distant as cold emeralds.
"Aren't you a healer?" he demanded, his small hands clutching the armrests of the chair.
Startled, James stared at him—it was strange seeing him there, like looking at himself in a three dimensional photograph from when he was young. "Um," James flexed his fingers, "Well, I was but I resigned."
Harry blinked at him, looking rather bemused. He leaned back into his chair, kicking out his feet to propel the rocking chair to and fro. That seemed to be the end of the conversation. James blew out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if people would consider him an awful father if he left the visit after five minutes.
"Play me a game of chess," said Harry so suddenly that James jumped. A rush of surprise swept through him so that he could only stared at his wiry son. The boy didn't wait for an answer; instead he had already jumped to his feet and had pulled a wooden box out from under the bed and was setting it a small table. He gave James all the white pieces as the man settled himself in a chair. It was a muggle board, so the pieces were stationary and silent. James wondered why a wizard chess set was withheld.
"My healer said that getting to know someone is always easier when you play a game," Harry continued as James moved forward a pawn. James looked up from the board at Harry's boyish face, sprinkled with a smatter of freckles. It was odd, for James, to see such an innocent face looking back at him—the same face that held no guilt for attempting to kill his baby sister.
"Really now?" James said faintly, still caught off guard. This was the most Harry had ever spoken to him in a single sentence. He cleared his throat and moved another piece, "Do you-do you have anyone to play with?"
Harry was silent as studied the board; his fingers rested lightly on a knight then floated over to a different pawn, "Just a mudblood girl from down the hall."
James' stomach clenched, "Don't say that word, Harry," he said quietly.
Harry ignored him, "She starts screaming if you just say the word crucio." Harry's eyes flickered up to James'; they were cold and unfeeling. "I don't do it, of course, but it's still funny."
James stared down at the chess board, his teeth clenched, his heart feeling tight and brittle.
Harry kept talking, "Her parents were muggles who were tortured by you-know-who. She was there and used a burst of accidental magic that maimed the death eaters but also finished off both her mum and dad. Sometimes, I hear her shrieking at night—I guess she has a lot of nightmares."
"Harry," James spoke coarsely, "That's awful."
Harry shrugged and moved forward a knight. James watched the boy, searching for any sign of feeling or emotion. "She's good at chess even if she's completely mad." Harry raised his head and gave James an expectant look.
James felt as though his words were lodged in his throat. What could he say to that? He gritted his teeth and stared unseeingly down at the chessboard, feeling as though his heart meant to beat right out of his chest and drop to the floor.
"Aren't you going to take your move?" said Harry impatiently.
James merely looked at him, at those brilliantly green eyes that stared back in an intensity too strange for one so young, at those lips pressed firmly into a stubborn line, at his hair, uncontrollably messy like his father's and black as pitch, and James couldn't feel love for the creature. And it appalled him. It took his breath away and he couldn't remember how to breathe. He felt disgusted and relieved and then disgusted that he felt relieved.
What did that mean? That he no longer felt the responsibility he would feel towards a son he loved? Lily would hate him. Probably as much as he hated himself.
"Well, are you going to move or not," Harry's voice took on an angry tone and he slammed an open palm on the table, making the chess pieces rattle on their board. James glanced down at Harry's small, child-hand, with the blue-green veins pressing against the skin. Around his wrist, he wore a metal band inscribed with runes along its tarnished surface; James knew it was to keep Harry's uncontrollable magic at bay. It was impossible to remove except by the person who put it there. He wanted to reach out and touch that small hand, to regain that burst of overwhelming emotion that had struck him the first time he had held Harry as a tiny baby, fresh and new to the world with wonder-filled eyes, and cheeks as pink as roses.
Harry stood fast to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor, jerking James from his reverie. "Why are you ignoring me!" he shouted, and with a frenzied sweep of his hands, the chess game was scattered on the floor.
James scooted his chair back and stood quickly, "Hey, hey," he made calming motions with his hands. "I'm sorry—I was just…just lost in thought."
"Are you afraid of me?" demanded Harry in a shout. "Is that why you hardly ever visit me anymore?"
"No, Harry," James said evenly. "I am not afraid of you."
"So you hate me!" Harry accused, stomping his foot and shoving over the table that they had been sitting at just moments before. It skidded across the wood planked floor, making marks in the floors. "You hate me because I'm different!"
"No, I don't hate you!" James answered fervently, trying to calm down the boy who seemed as though he was a millisecond from exploding. "I told you—Willow was sick; I needed to be with her."
"Willow? Willow?" Harry flung his arms, as though trying call up magic though nothing happened. Tears of frustration welled up within his eyes, "That's all I ever hear about is Willow! I hate her! I hate her! I hope she dies!" with that he seized the single photo frame on his bedside table and flung it at James who had to duck as it whizzed by his ear and shattered against the far wall. "Why do you even come at all!?"
James didn't know what to do. He didn't know who this violent little person was and it scared him. He made a split-second decision and headed for the wall where an emergency button was situated near the door.
"NO!" Harry cried wildly when he saw what James meant to do. He grabbed two fistfuls of James' robe and attempted to pull him back. "Don't touch that! Don't touch that!"
Grimacing, James pressed his fingers down and the button turned suddenly luminescent.
"NO!" the boy screamed and he charged, all twenty-two kilos of his scrawny frame. His ineffectual fists beat upon James, hysterical. "I hate you! I hate you!" For several moments James stood there, a stony silence coming over him as he struggled to hold back the wild emotion welling inside him. Harry continued to beat upon him and scream.
He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't do this anymore.
The door suddenly opened and in rushed several healers.
"NO!" Harry screeched, grabbing hold of James' clothes again, "NO! NO!"
The female healer that had assisted James earlier took hold of one of Harry's arms and another male healer took the other. "Hold him!" Harry's cries grew louder and he fought them with every ounce of his being.
"Don't leave me!" he shrieked so loudly it hurt James' ears. James stood motionless, staring distantly at the scene as though he was a third party, watching everything from behind a glass window. One of the free-handed healers withdrew a syringe filled with silver liquid, checked it for bubbles, the pushed back Harry's sleeves and plunged it into his upper arm.
Harry's body immediately went limp and his eyes glazed over. His head fell backward and his fingers went flaccid from gripping James' clothes; his arms swinging back to his side.
"Easy there," whispered one the healers soothingly as they lifted him and laid him gently in bed. Harry's head lolled to one shoulder, his eyes staring into a place that didn't exist, his angry tears leaving drying tracts on his flushed cheeks.
"I'm sorry," James whispered and he turned around and left the room.
When James returned home to Godric's Hollow, the sun was a burnt orange hanging low in the sky. He walked slowly up the porch steps, feeling exhausted and worn down to the bone.
"Daddy's home!" he heard a tiny shriek from inside and the door flung open before he had a chance to reach for the knob.
Willow was all curls and freckles. She bounded towards him and launched herself in his arms, "I've been waiting for you all day long!" she declared, smacking her lips against his cheek.
James couldn't help but laugh, "Oh, really? Well, I'm sorry to keep you waiting!" he looked at his daughter and felt slightly renewed. She gave him a gap-toothed grin and he noticed that her skin had some remaining spots from her sickness last week. He brushed back her red hair and kissed the tip of her nose, enjoying the way she giggled. He carried her inside and shut the door behind him, taking care to not trip over the cat that brushed up against his legs.
James eased himself onto the couch with a deep sigh; Willow squirmed in his lap and climbed back onto the floor. She ran from the room, her red curls flying out behind her and she returned a moment later with her stuffed unicorn.
"Please daddy," she begged, handing him her favorite toy. "Make it fly!" her hazel eyes widened imploringly, her bottom lip sticking out.
James obliged, pulling out his wand and pointing it at the unicorn. It rose gently in the air and wiggled in a little dance. Willow clapped her hands and followed it around the living room. Lily smiled as she entered, bringing with her a small tray that she placed on the coffee table in front of James.
"Thanks," he said, reaching for a steaming cup of tea. He took a sip and felt warmed by the soothing liquid.
"How was your day?" she asked as she crossed her legs, watching Willow chase the flying toy.
"The same as any other day," James answered, keeping his eyes on his daughter.
Lily didn't reply at first. She watched Willow play with a slight frown. Then she lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper, "How was Harry?"
James felt the calm he had received upon returning home seep from him. He didn't want to look at his wife and see those sad green eyes staring back at him in the hope for good news. James shook his head slightly, the wand in his hand wavering, causing the unicorn to drop slightly in the air.
"James?" Lily prodded, her voice breaking ever-so-slightly.
"I can't do it anymore, Lily," he answered in a soft voice and he felt Lily grow still next to him. There was sudden tension in the air.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Lily demanded quietly, struggling to keep her voice lowered.
"What do you think it means?" James finally turned his head to look at her, and saw that his wife's face had turned red and there were tears shining in her eyes. "He's gone, Lily. I can't handle going there anymore."
"He's our son," though her voice was soft, each word was like a whip. Willow was slowing down, seeming to sense the suddenly tense atmosphere.
"Not anymore!" James' voice raised and the unicorn dropped lifeless to the floor. "Our son was that little boy who constantly rode around on his toy broomstick and knocked things over! Our son was that little boy was begged to be carried and threw his mashed carrots all over the kitchen. Our son called me daddy, and wanted a kiss when he banged his knee! That-that kid in the hospital is not our son! I don't know who he is!"
"You're just going to give up!" cried Lily, her tears spilling over and glittering on her freckled cheeks. "How is that fair to him!?"
"It's been more than a year, Lily!" shouted James. "What more can we do? That boy is insane—he tried to kill his sister! Do you really want him around Willow!?"
"The healer said he was getting better!"
"Bullshit! Bullshit!" James slammed his fist the coffee table and the tea spilled over the rim of his cup. The glass rattled. "He told me about a girl who watched her parents get tortured and killed. He said it was funny when she screamed whenever she heard the word 'crucio'!"
"He doesn't know any better! He was never taught!"
James shook his head and stood, walking away from her and towards the fireplace. He stared savagely at the line of photographs containing baby Harry and he felt something harden within him. He couldn't do this anymore. He wouldn't do this anymore. He picked up the first photo, glared at it for several moments before tossing it into the fireplace.
"James!" screamed Lily as he continued with the next several photos. "What are you doing?! Stop it! Stop it!" she rushed at him and grabbed his arm but he ripped away from her.
"These hold no value!" James yelled, angrily shaking a photo frame at her. The people in the frame waved their arms about in panic. "Harry might as well be dead!"
"But he's not! He's our son—and we never leave family behind!" Lily sobbed, shoving him weakly.
James stared at her, his shoulders heaving, unable to feel sorry for his change of feeling, "I'm not going there anymore," he said evenly. "The battle is long lost."
"You can't give up!"
"I'm not!" James seized another picture frame and hurled into the fireplace, finding no satisfaction in hearing it shatter. "There's nothing left to fight for!"
Lily glared savagely at him, her face bright red, tears streaming down her cheeks and dripping from her jaw line. Her red hair clung to her lips either from spit or tears—James wasn't sure. She took several steps back, her shoulders shaking, "You are a coward!" she gasped at him before rushing from the room. Several moments later, James heard a bedroom door slam above his head.
James stared at the place where his wife had stood, his jaw clenched, feeling rather shell-shocked about how fast things had escalated.
A tiny whimper jerked his head to the left of the room and he found, with a sinking heart, Willow standing behind a recliner, her eyes peering around at him in confusion.
"Willow…" he said softly but his daughter turned and scampered from the room, leaving James alone and downtrodden.
He was a failure. He had failed at being a husband. He had failed at being a healer. He had failed at being a father. He had failed at everything. James took three jerky steps and collapsed onto the sofa, burying his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking, though no tears would come.
So where did he go from here? He figured this was rock bottom for he felt as though he could sink no lower. What was that saying? That you could only go up from here? James wasn't sure if that was true for he felt as though he hit the bottom so hard that he had sunk into stone. He was a flightless bird—a man with a broken broomstick and the light was so far above him that he couldn't see it through the darkness.
He kept seeing Harry's child face in his mind, with the freckles and the eyes more brilliant than emeralds. All he could see was the anger and hatred and confusion on that little boy's face. He didn't see his son, he only saw a boy who tried to savagely murder his daughter. How could one forget the image of four-year-old Willow, her hair dripping with bathwater, her lips blue, and her tiny, naked body still dotted with colorful bubbles and devoid of life? He could still hear Lily's ear-piercing screams as James tried to revive the baby girl, and he could see Harry standing off to the side, watching the scene impassively, his sleeves and the front of his shirt soaked with water.
There was no going back from that.
After a restless night spent on the sofa, James awoke from an uncomfortable doze to Willow jumping on his stomach and knocking the air from his lungs.
"Oof!" James exclaimed in surprise, fumbling for his glasses.
"Play with me!" she demanded, bouncing up and down upon his stomach.
James sat up, shaking his head to rid himself of cobwebs. "Where's your mommy?"
"She's gone," she said plainly, reaching for his glasses but he gently pushed her hand away. Lifting her up, heart thumping, James climbed the staircase and entered their bedroom. For a moment, he remained in the middle of the room, looking around for anything out of place.
Willow wiggled out of his grip and he let her slide to the floor. "Daddy," she climbed on the bed and began jumping up and down on the mattress. "What are you doing?"
"Willow, get down," James said vaguely as he opened Lily's drawers one right after another. He felt a sharp relief to find them still full of her clothes. "Where did your mommy go?"
Willow's voice was jolted by her jarring movement as she jumped, "She went to the grocery!"
James shut his eyes briefly, suppressing his aggravation, "Willow, please stop jumping on the bed."
"But why?" Willow bounced, her red curls following her movement in wild disarray. James pushed the drawers closed, his back towards his daughter so she wouldn't see the wild relief on his face. He had thought Lily had left him and Willow. To go where? He wouldn't know. Still breathing quite heavily, he lifted a picture of frame of him and Lily on their wedding day. They were laughing and waving as Lily tossed her bouquet of white roses over her shoulder.
They looked so happy. It was such a fleeting moment.
The sound of mattress springs brought him back to the present. "Willow, please stop jumping on the bed."
The sound of her jumping slowed, "But daddy…!" she protested rebelliously.
"No buts; you'll hurt yourself," he muttered as he placed the frame back onto the dresser. His eyes moved onto the next one, with a three-year-old Harry grinning as he propelled his tiny broomstick in circles. He didn't feel the urge to break this one, though he didn't want to look at it either. He lifted it gently, reopened the top dresser drawer, and buried the picture under a stack of tee shirts. He turned around after shutting the drawer harder than necessary. Willow was still jumping on his bed, her night shirt flying up to show her toddler belly.
"Willow, I told you to get down!" James snapped. "Now!"
Willow gave one last, stubborn jump and vaulted herself off the bed and tumbled to the floor. She gave him a pouting glare and crossed her little arms over her chest.
"Oh, you're fine," James shook his head and gestured to her. "Come on, silly girl, let's go make some breakfast." Still shaking his head, he exited his room and headed down the hall towards the staircase. He paused before descending when he realized he didn't hear the patter of her feet following him. "Willow?" he called down the hall. "Come on, little lady. Don't make me tell you twice."
There was no answer. He pressed his lips together and rested a hand on the railing, craning his neck. "Willow!" he called again, lowering his voice to a warning. "Come. Here. Or it's time out for you!"
Still no answer. He let out a huff and headed back to his bedroom, "Willow, I am not going to be happy with you, missy!"
He turned into his bedroom and his heart gave a horrible throb of panic. "Willow?" she was only feet away but he felt as though it took an eternity to reach her, as though his feet was moving through quicksand. She was lying on her side, her eyes wide and staring at something unseen. Her body was rigid and her breathing was rapid and shallow. "Willow, baby, look at me!" he shook her gently, his hands shaking, than checked her pulse. "Willow!"
Her face twitched but other than that there was no response. He shook her again, and was horrified to see a line of blood slide from her mouth and down the side of her face. Her skin felt hot and sweaty against his fingers.
James felt as though the world had stopped and he had forgotten how to breathe. His thoughts kept bouncing between seasoned healer, to panicked parent and he couldn't settle on one feeling. He took several deep breaths in an attempt to push down the panic. He checked her pulse again and waved a hand in front of her face. She didn't even blink. He looked around frantically, trying to see if there were any potion vials she might have gotten ahold of but the room was clean besides a pile of clothes on the corner chair.
"Willow," he called again, his voice harsh, his heart pounding painfully. "Please!"
And then it was over. Her body went suddenly limp and her eyes rolled up and the lids fluttered closed. She was still breathing. James had no idea what had just happened but he knew he had to seek emergency help in case she had somehow ingested a potion he had left out though he was sure he didn't. Her scooped up her tiny body, clutched her close, and ran for the fireplace, trying his best not to jostle her body.
The next hour was a flurry of movement and colors. James found he couldn't focus on anything—not the questions the healers were asking him, not the taste of the calming potion that had been poured down his throat, and not even the way Willow was lying so still, as though dead.
What had he done so wrong to deserve all this? First Harry's insanity, than Lily's hatred, and now fate seemed to think it was okay to take Willow from him as well. He would probably laugh if he found the cat dead when he went home. He felt as though he was lying on the beach and the tide was washing in and the waves kept sweeping over him; he felt as though he was slowing drowning and yet at the same time life kept going forward. When was it going to end?
"Prongs? Prongs focus!" Sirius shook his shoulder rather viciously, snapping James from the sinking feeling he had been caught in. James raised his head, his eyes wide, to see his best friend standing over him, still wearing his auror robe.
"When did you get here?" James asked vaguely.
Sirius furrowed his brows and shook James' shoulder again, "I've been here for thirty minutes, James. They gave you a calming potion but I think the dose was miscalculated. You've been staring straight ahead since I got here. Damn newbies."
"Willow," James muttered, shaking his head faintly.
"She's fine—she woke up ten minutes ago."
"Lily!" James felt more alert now. "She's going to kill me!"
"We haven't made contact with her yet," Sirius said calmly, "but I left her a message at your house that she'll get the moment she returns home."
"She's going to kill me," James repeated, more lucidly this time. He buried his face in his hands for a brief moment.
"Why? What'd you do?"
"Ugh, Merlin…Nothing…nothing…" James dragged his hands down the length of his face and looked up at Sirius with a hopeless gesture.
Sirius' face remained impassive. He studied James for several moments before sighing and gesturing for him to follow, "Come on," he said. "Let's go see Willow. She's asking for you."
James stood, albeit a tad shaky, and followed his friend down the hall. James felt an almost overwhelming relief when he saw Willow sitting up on her own in the bed, wearing a child's medical gown that tied at the shoulder, with little fairies and unicorns glittering on its material. Willow was playing with a small pile of colorful blocks.
"Merlin," he muttered as he fell down in the seat next to her bed and brushed back her messy hair. "You scared me to death!"
She didn't respond, probably not understanding what he meant. Instead, she handed him a pink and orange block as an invitation to join her in building. He rolled the block around in his hand. "How're you feeling," he asked her gently.
"Fine," she answered. "Look Uncle Sirius! Look what I made!" she gestured to the leaning tower she had just constructed and Sirius' face lit up in response.
"Wow! That's better than I could ever do!" he said lightly as he pulled something out of his pocket and magically returned it to its normal size. "And look what I brought you!"
"My unicorn!" Willow held out her hands and Sirius handed the toy over. She hugged it to herself and then held it out to James. "Daddy, make it fly!"
Feeling rather befuddled by the whole situation, James complied and the unicorn rose in the air and began to dance about the room just as Willow's healer entered. The older wizard watched the toy for a moment with a small smile and then turned to James.
"What happened?" James demanded a bit harshly. "Was it a seizure? Did she somehow drink a potion or something?"
The healer held out a calming hand. "All of her tests came back perfectly normal," he said as he flipped through a clipboard. "I honestly am not sure what happened. Sometimes, though, a magical child will have a burst of accidental magic that temporarily sends their body into shock. I've seen it happen before—though it is somewhat rare."
"What does that mean?" asked Sirius. "Will it affect her at all?"
Healer Jenson shook his head, "Her functions are obviously intact and she's alert and responsive. I believe this incident was just an anomaly. I do want to keep her overnight just for observation purposes."
"But what about the blood?" James rubbed Willow's back with a nervous hand, needing to feel her warm and moving. "She had blood coming out of her mouth!"
"She had bitten her tongue," Jenson answered, still in that soothing voice. "We healed it right away."
James looked back at his daughter, confused and relieved. She seemed oblivious to the whole thing as she watched in delight as her stuffed toy continued to prance about the room. He wanted to gather her into his arms and never let her go again but he knew that was impossible. Going through his earlier terror, it made him take stock of his earlier decisions. Did he really want to give up on Harry so soon? Was he really taking a coward's way out?
The healer shifted and flipped to another page, interrupting James' train of thought "Why do you have an assortment of potions?"
James furrowed his brow and stared the man, "I was a healer," he stated slowly, trying to keep a defensive tone out of his voice.
"Was?"
"I resigned," he elaborated stiffly. "I now work in the administrative department for the Aurors."
"And does your daughter have easy access to your potions?"
"Of course not!" James straightened in his chair. "I keep them in a cupboard well out of her reach!"
"And yet you were worried that she had ingested a potion?"
"That because I had no idea what had happened! I keep my potions in a locked cupboard but accidents can happen!"
"What are you trying to imply?" Sirius snarled and stepped towards the healer—he was much taller than the plump man and rather intimidating.
"I just wanted to make sure of any loose ends." He looked directly at James, ignoring Sirius though his face had tinged red with a blood blush. "I want your daughter healthy—that is all and I need to cover all the bases."
James looked away and back at his daughter, clenching his teeth in an effort to not say anything nasty. Willow handed him another block, completely obvious to the slight tension. She leaned forward and her gown fell from her shoulder, revealing a dried splotch of blood on her collar bone. Sighing, James licked his thumb, rubbed her skin clean, and then wiped his hand off on his trousers. Ignoring the weird look that Sirius shot at him, James ran a hand through his hair and carefully added a block to Willow's pyramid.
"Well," the healer cleared his throat after the long pause, apparently realizing that James was content on ignoring him. "I'll check back in later this evening." He offered the three of them a curt smile and exited the room.
"What a tool," Sirius commented once the wizard had left.
James closed his eyes in exasperation and then glared at his friend.
Sirius shrugged, "Just thought it'd make you feel better."
"Well, thanks." James couldn't keep the sarcasm from his voice.
"Daddy," Willow piped up as he handed back her unicorn. "You hurt your arm."
"What?" James gave her a confused look, a dull ache beginning to form above his right eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Willow frowned, "You tripped over our kitty and fell down the stairs. You hurt your arm."
James glanced at Sirius, bewildered. The man shook his head slightly, his face showing equal confusion.
"Sweetie, I think you had a bad dream is all."
"No," she protested, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout. "I saw it! I saw you hurt your arm!"
James didn't say anything—unsure of how to argue with her and wondering if it was even worth it to. While he was contemplating what to say back to her, Lily burst through the door, her hair in disarray and her eyes wild, as though she was preparing for battle. Remus wasn't far behind her, looking vaguely alarmed.
"What happened?" she demanded, rushing to Willow's side, her face panicked. She began to run her hands over Willow's body, as though searching for something out of place or injured. Remus hovered by the door, looking unsure. "What'd you do!"
James felt a sweep of anger, "I didn't do anything!" he retorted then took a deep breath and tried to dial it back a notch. "The Healer said she was going to be fine." He relayed the information Jenson had given. Lily seemed to calm done somewhat by the time he had finished and he stood to offer his chair to her. She dropped into it, looking close to tears.
"I got Sirius' message but all it said was that something had happened and you had to take Willow to St. Mungo's. The things that went through my head—!"
"I'm sorry," Sirius said quickly. "I wasn't sure all that had happened—they had overdosed James with a calming potion so he wasn't talking straight and they wouldn't let me back to see Willow because I'm not blood family…"
"It's fine, Sirius," Lily whispered before pressing her lips to Willow's forehead; Willow wrapped her arms around Lily's neck.
"Love you, mummy!" she declared.
"I love you too, sweetie." Lily raised her eyes and locked with James'. The tension from yesterday evening was still there but it was a distant thing at the moment.
Remus, as though finally feeling comfortable enough to enter the group around Willow, approached the end of the bed and reached to squeeze his goddaughter's foot. She giggled and pulled away from Lily.
"Daddy hurt his arm!" she announced, bouncing in place.
Remus gave James a look of concern, "Are you all right?" he asked at the same Lily said: "What happened?"
"Nothing happened," James reassured quickly, not wanting to stir up his already frazzled wife. "She keeps saying that and I don't know why."
Lily looked at daughter in alarm, "Willow, why do you keep saying that?"
An upset look came over the little girl's face, "Cuz I saw it!" she cried, tears welling within her hazel eyes. She looked on the brink of a tantrum.
"Uh-oh, somebody's tired," James muttered to Sirius who checked his watch and suddenly realized that he had a meeting with Alastor that he had forgotten about.
After settling Willow down and lulling her into sleep, James decided to head to his house for a change of clothes for both him and Lily along with some real food to eat so they wouldn't have to choke down the food of St. Mungo's.
"I'll come with you," Remus whispered so as to not wake the toddler.
In the atrium downstairs, they ran into Sirius chatting it up with a young healer with curly blond hair and baby doll blue eyes. He caught Remus and James staring at him and leaned down to whisper into the girl's ear, pressing a bit of parchment into her hand. Then he straightened and strode over to his friends.
"What the hell, Prongs?" James raised an eyebrow at his taller friend. "I thought you had a meeting with Alastor?"
"I do!" Sirius protested than faltered. "….Tomorrow morning."
Remus folded his arms over his chest, "Wasn't she a bit too young for you? Eighteen? Nineteen?"
"She's still of age!" Sirius pointed out. "Where are you going?"
"Home to get some things—you can come along if you want."
"Might as well…"
Back at Godric's hollow, James felt uneasy upon entering the quiet house. It was dark and gloomy, even with Willow's toys scattered on the floor.
"Let's get some light in here," Remus suggested, maybe sensing James' mood. The werewolf swept back the curtains and summer light flooded the house, brightening it, but not improving the way James was feeling.
"I saw Harry yesterday," he said in a nonchalant tone though the topic was anything but.
Remus glanced at Sirius who lightly kicked a stuffed bear out of the way of his feet, "Just like you do every day, eh?" said the animagus.
"Not recently since Willow's been ill," answered James as he dropped on the sofa with a defeated air. "I told Lily I wasn't going to see him anymore…"
Remus' eyes widened slightly, "How did she react?"
"How do you think," he snapped back in a surge of anger. "She called me a coward."
The other two men said nothing in reply.
James stood again and ran both his hands through his hair, "I can't do it anymore. I look at him and I don't see my son. I see-I see this lunatic that tried to kill my daughter. I can't handle it anymore. Between me failing at my job, to my wife hating me, my parents being killed, and my son's insanity and now-now Willow—how much more am I supposed to take before everything gets better? Whoever or whatever is out there orchestrating this messed up shit we call life, they must really have it in for me! What I have done so wrong that I deserve all this? When do I get a break?!" He picked up a book and hurled it across the room.
"Prongs," Sirius said weakly. "You've just hit a rough patch is all…Willow, she's going to be fine. Harry, well…he'll come around eventually, I think…you just gotta hang in there…"
"Sirius is right," Remus stepped forward and grasped James by the arm. "We're all here for you. If you need a break from Harry, than me and Sirius will make time to visit him until you're up to it."
James pulled his arm away from Remus, shaking his head, "I'm going to get the stuff upstairs." He headed up the staircase, aware of his friends gaze following him. Once upstairs, he wiped at the moisture gathering in his eyes and pulled a bag from the closet and began stuffing in a change of clothes for Lily and himself before heading to Willow's room and doing the same. The anguish he was feeling was morphing into random fits of anger. He drew in a deep breath and headed back for the staircase, deciding to reappear to his friends with a much more stable mind.
A wild, high pitched cat-screech made his heart leap nearly out of his chest. He looked down and realized he had stepped on the cat' tail and he jerked his foot back as he felt teeth sink into his leg and Willow's cat let out another cry as James lost his balance and pitched forward. Down the staircase he went, suitcase and all. He heard a crack and felt such a blinding pain, that he lost his breath.
He thought that maybe he had blacked out for a moment, for the next moment, he was lying at the foot of the stairs, sprawled on his back. For a few seconds he wasn't conscious of anything but pain—pain so bad that his ears rang and his vision went red. Then he heard the sound of pounding footsteps coming from somewhere in the back of the house. James turned his head and he saw the blood, red and oozing as it stained the torn sleeve of his shirt and darkened the carpet. And he felt the pain—horrible, breath-stealing pain that made him want to vomit. The world narrowed to just him, his arm, and the agony.
"James!" He heard Sirius shout. "Are you all right? What the hell happened?"
"Holy fuck, my arm!" James snarled in return, breathing in raging gulps. "I'm going to kill that cat. I'm going to throw it out a window! Ow…ow…OW!" H almost blacked out again. His head spun. His breath became short and rapid.
"Shit, is that bone?" Sirius sounded sickly as he bent over James. "Fuck Merlin…" he leaned away, looking as though he was going to be vomit.
"James, can you hear me?" Remus, the calmer of the two, crouched down as he eyed James' arm.
"Of course I can hear you, you idiot," James groaned, trying to breathe more slowly, willing his body to not go into shock. "I tripped over that damned cat!"
"Oh god, that is bone," Sirius gagged. "Put it back in his arm or something! Quickly!"
"No, don't touch it—OOWWW…" James banged his head against the ground in an attempt to alleviate the pain. "I told you not to touch it!"
"I was just trying to pull your shirt back so I can get a good look at it," Remus protested in an uneasy voice.
"You don't need a 'good look at it'," James spat, squeezing his eyes shut, his breathing ragged. "Just-just get me a pain potion!"
"Are you sure?" asked Remus, his face looking paler than usual. "Maybe we should set it first or…"
"Are you a healer?" James demanded between gasps of agony.
"Well, no but—"
"Then shut-up and get me a pain potion before I pop your head off!"
"I'll do it, don't move, mate," Sirius stood quickly and ran off for James' store.
"Where would I go?" James ground out, his face screwing up, his chest heaving. "You're idiots. You're all a bunch of idiots! GAH!" He pounded his free fist against the carpet.
"Easy there, Prongs," Remus spoke mildly, looking as though he was suppressing a pained smile.
"Fuck off," James squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back on the ground. The pain was coming in waves now. It was like molten lava had replaced the bone in his right arm and he was being burned alive.
"James?" Remus' voice cut through his pain-filled haze.
"What," James growled, cracking open his eyes.
"Just checking to see if you're still conscious."
"Sadly."
"You tripped over the cat?" Remus asked him, resting his forearms on his knees as he watched James worriedly.
"Isn't that what I just said," James said between gritted teeth, "Holy Merlin's underpants—this hurts—this really hurts!"
"I don't doubt it," said Remus mildly, an odd expression on his face. "You tripped over the cat? Isn't that what Willow—"
But Sirius had returned and he popped the cork off the vial and helped James drink it. The pain relief couldn't come fast enough. While he waited, he said, "Help me up and get me to St. Mungo's."
Remus and Sirius both maneuvered him to his feet.
"Maybe we should bind your arm…" Sirius suggested.
"If you touch my arm, I will punch you in the face so hard your eyeballs will end up in the back of your head!" James growled, gripping Remus' forearm as he attempted to keep his balance. He was still receiving stabs of continuous pain and even the slightest movement of his arm made black spots pop into his vision. The pain hadn't started receding yet but instead, a heavy sense of fatigue settled over him so much so he stumbled.
"Whoa," Sirius gripped him under his uninjured arm. "All right there?"
"What did you give me…?" James mumbled, struggling to keep his eyes from closing.
"A pain reliever—"
"You…moron…!" James groaned as darkness encroached upon him. His legs no longer supported his weight and Sirius and Remus were having trouble keeping him upright. "It wasn't a pain potion! You gave…me a sle…sleeping potion! I hate-I hate…"
And then there was nothing.
Later, when James had woken up from his potion induced sleep, his arm had been set and he had been given a dose of skelegrow. After a string of apologies during which James was sure Sirius was trying his hardest not to laugh, James and Lily sat down with Willow's healer for a long conversation. Afterwards, they both headed back to Willow's hospital room, walking in a tense silence.
"Are you all right?" asked Lily once they were in the room, looking exhausted, as James dropped into a chair next to Willow's bed, his arm in a sling.
"As all right as I could be," James answered without looking at her. He was staring at his sleeping daughter, unable to comprehend all that had happened.
"Are you sure that you don't have seer blood in your family?" Lily asked for the fifth time.
"I already you: no, not that I know of," James said between gritted teeth, doing everything within his power to not take his mood out on his wife.
"I was just asking," said Lily defensively.
"Well, you keep asking—and it's the same answer every time."
"You're impossible," snapped Lily.
"Why? because I'm right?"
Lily pressed her fingers into her temples, her eyes ablaze, looking as though she could ignite James' head on fire, "I'm just trying to figure out how on earth our daughter managed to know that you would break your arm by tripping over the cat on the stairs."
"I have no more idea than you do," James retorted. "That cat bit me, by the way."
"Well, you stepped on its tail; what do you expect?"
"Of course, take the cat's side."
"I'm not taking anyone's side!"
"Guys, please," Remus muttered wearily before either of them could start shouting. "It's been a long day. Why don't we all just agree on that and don't speak to each other until we all get a proper night's sleep."
Lily looked down at Willow curled up the blanket. James could have sworn that he saw tears glittering on her cheeks. A spike of guilt struck him in the chest and he stood and left the room without another word.
He found Sirius out in the hall, standing next to an open window with a cigarette in his mouth.
"I'm pretty sure you can't smoke that in here,"
Sirius glanced at him, rolled his eyes and took one more drag before flicking it out the window, "How's the arm?" he asked.
"Fine," said James, leaning his back against the wall.
"You look like shit, mate."
"Yeah, well, imagine how I feel, then."
"What did the healer say about Willow?"
James sighed, "After I told him what Willow said and then what happened at the house, he said it all appears pretty straight forward. Though there's no tests that can say anything, he asked me what other proof do I need?"
"Damn," muttered Sirius.
"Tell me about it," James ran his free hand down his face. "I've got an insane son and a daughter who is probably some kind of seer. How much weirder could it get?"
"Hm," Sirius folded his arms over his chest and joined James in leaning against the wall. "I don't think you've crossed the weird line just yet. You're close but not quite there."
"Thanks for the sentiment, Sirius," James smiled though.
Sirius tapped his holster where his wand was situated, looking to be deep in thought. Then he checked his watch and straightened, "I have duty tonight," he said, looking apologetic. "I should get going. I'll stop by your house tomorrow if you'd like."
"Sure, see you."
Sirius hesitated, as though he was worried about leaving James alone. He slapped James on the shoulder, "Get some rest, Prongs. You need it—you look like hell."
James waved him off, and watched as his friend strode away, his hands deep in his auror robes and James was left alone to drift into darker thoughts. He ignored the looks he was given as wizards and witches passed by and he stayed against the wall for a period of time, letting the world go on as he tried to piece together his shattering life.
When the setting sun outside the window had struck his face, he moved and headed down the hallway towards the lift. He wasn't sure why he was going upstairs, but he let his feet take the lead, his brain appearing to want to fizzle out. He skipped the lifts and climbed the staircase instead, the exertion needed allowed him a minor distraction from the jumble of thoughts tangling themselves inside his head. Each step made his arm throb in pulses but it didn't matter. The pain was an anchor keeping him from spiraling into chaos.
He finally reached the fifth floor and hesitated before the double doors, his heart suddenly racing with fear. Of what? He wasn't sure.
"Excuse me," a young witch eased past him and through the double doors. He watched her go, her chocolate brown hair swishing about her face like an oriental fan as she glanced back at him, probably wondering he had escaped one of the warded rooms for the mental patients. He waited till she was out of site, not wanting to frighten her by making her think he was following her, and he pushed through the doors and walked slowly down the corridor, adjusting his sling as he went. He passed the check in desk, which was empty—probably due to the late hour.
He stopped in front of Harry's door and peered into the window. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the boy curled up in his usual chair, his head on the armrest. He looked so small, so fragile in the failing sunlight coming through the window. James clenched his teeth, his heart pounding. He was torn between wanting to go in and sweep that little boy into his arms and turning around and walking away.
When did this become so hard? In the beginning, James was willing to do anything to make Harry better but as the year dragged on he had begun to withdraw. He made his visits shorter and more spaced out. He kept himself at work longer for an excuse on days he couldn't muster up the strength to spend an hour with the boy. Did that make him a coward? Maybe. A bad father? Absolutely. He thought about Willow, how close he thought he had gotten to losing her today. If he stopped visiting Harry altogether, would the feelings be the same? Impending loss? Heart shattering silence? Would a day of remembrance be made?
He didn't think so. Lily was a fighter to her very core and there would be no remembering for her but a daily battle. She would never give up on Harry—James didn't know where the strength she had for her children came from. It was like some innate sense drove into her the moment baby Harry was placed into her trembling arms. For some reason, that sense had skipped past him and now here he was, debating on whether or not he should abandon his hopeless son.
"Healer Potter? What are you doing here? It's past visiting hours."
James jumped and spun around. The elderly witch who had been at the desk yesterday was standing before him, holding the hand of a little girl.
"Healer Archem," James cleared his throat. "My apologies. My daughter is staying the night here and I just…" he couldn't find anything thing else to say.
The healer gave him a sympathetic look, "Oh yes, I've heard. How is she?"
"She will be fine, thanks," James stuck his hands in his pockets and drew in an uneven breath.
"Well, I know it's past visiting hours, but you're welcome to go in and see him if you'd like."
James was shaking his head before she had even finished talking, "That's all right. I'm heading off for some sleep."
"Yes," answered Archem softly, studying him with a furrowed expression. James averted his eyes from the prying gaze of the old woman and looked down at the little girl instead who hadn't moved or spoken. She was a tiny, little thing with brown eyes that seemed too big for her pale, freckled face. Her expression was distant as though she was unaware of the goings on around her. The healer noticed him looking and a gentle smile came over her face. She ran a motherly hand through the little girl's uncontrollably bushy hair.
"This is Harry's friend, Hermione," she said in a quiet voice. "Can you say hello, deary?"
The little girl named Hermione didn't even blink, let alone acknowledge James. He pressed his lips together, feeling a surge of sympathy for the waif.
"I'm sorry, Healer Potter, she's been like this for a while now," said Archem. "Was there anything else you needed?"
"No. No, thank you, ma'am," he turned to leave but the healer laid a hand on his arm.
"He was having a bad day, yesterday," she said gently.
"I was under the impression that it was a normal reaction for him."
Her expression became a bit disapproving, "Harry has improved greatly. I know you don't see it but I do. In the little things—the things it's impossible for you to witness since you are not here every day and all day."
James said nothing. He looked down at the little girl who didn't react to his staring and wondered if this was the same girl Harry had told about to him yesterday.
"He had a rough morning before you came. He had spent a couple hours with the mind healer speaking about his time with You-Know-Who."
James clenched his teeth, feeling his eye twitch.
"He really does look forward to your visits," pushed Healer Archem. James wondered if she dealt with this often—a parent giving up on their child. How hard must that be, surrounded by abandoned children who had no control over their own minds? His head felt like it was going to explode. He pushed up his glasses with his free hand to rub his burning eyes.
"I think it might be time."
"Time for what?" he asked.
"Time for the next step in his healing process. Maybe in the coming morning you could return, Healer Potter, and take Harry for a brief visit with his sister?"
His heart was suddenly pounding within his chest. Hermione shifted her feet—her first movement in nearly five minutes—and raised her brown eyes to look at him. Too sad for a child. Too forlorn. It made him angry and confused and he wished he had never come upstairs in the first place. "I…" his words were caught in his throat. He swallowed once, twice, and spoke again in a rather ragged voice, "I'm not a healer anymore."
He walked away.
When James returned to Willow's hospital room, the lights had been dimmed, and a cot had been set up for Lily and him against the wall. Lily was already curled up under the blanket, her back to him, her red hair fanned out on the pillow. In the dark room, it was the color of blood. James eased himself down by the foot of the bed and started unlacing his boots. He pulled one off, than the other and set them under the bed where they wouldn't be tripped over. He then pulled off his over shirt and slung it over a nearby chair. He carefully laid down on his back, doing his best not to wake Lily.
"James," she whispered anyways and she turned to face him.
"I'm here," he murmured back. He felt her hand rest on his chest. She said nothing but he could still feel the tension—it was like a living thing, squirming and crawling the small distance between them. He turned his head to look at her and her emerald eyes were bright even now in the low light. He could see there were tears shining in them. "What's wrong?"
Lily shuddered, her breath hot and moist against his neck. She sat up slowly, her hair cascading over her shoulder as she straightened. "I have to tell you something," she said in a voice that was scarce a whisper. James tilted his chin to look at her, his jaw tense with concern. A spike of fear cut through him like a hot blade.
"What is it?"
Lily didn't answer for a long time. She seemed to be struggling to gather up the courage. He could feel her trembling and it bothered him. He sat up. "Hey, Lily," he touched a finger to a tear that had escaped and had sprinted down her cheek to cling to her jaw line. "What's happened? Tell me."
Lily crossed her arms over her lower stomach, a protective gesture that made James' heart leap so violently that he was surprised that it didn't burst through his chest and fall to the mattress. "Are you pregnant? How far along are you? Why didn't you tell me?"
Lily's breathing hitched, "Four months," she gasped between breaths; she was fighting with herself to keep from Willow waking.
"Lily…I don't…I mean…" James couldn't find the words to say. He wasn't sure if he was exhilarated or terrified. For a moment, he forgot to breathe. A baby? Another baby?
"I lost it—" she choked out before he could speak again. "Two days ago. I lost-I lost the b-baby…" and then she crumpled forward, burying her face in her hands and she started to sob—horrible, heartbroken sobbing that shook her entire body. Her anguish was terrible and gut-wrenching; her sorrow was like a spike to his chest—it dug deeper and deeper until he was struggling to keep himself together as well.
He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her but he was afraid that if he touched her, she would shatter into a billion pieces that he would have no hope of putting back together. His felt his throat burning and his hands shaking.
Do something, you coward! His innards screamed at him. He took one breath, than another, and he reached for her. She fell against him willingly, her body broken against him. She was shaking so violently, that he wrapped his arms tightly around her, doing his best to keep her from falling completely apart.
"I'm so sorry, Lily," he whispered into her hair. "Why…why didn't you tell me? I could've helped…"
"I'm sorry," she choked. "I was afraid…for us…for Harry…he's my son and I don't want him to think I'm replacing him! I'm a horrible mother and a horrible wife! I know how hard it's been for you….that's why I didn't say anything….I didn't want you to leave…!"
Another intense round of hysteria wracked her body and she pressed her cheek to his heaving chests, her hands fisting his shirt tightly. Her words strove deep within him like a red-hot lance. Did she really believe he would leave her? Had he really allowed things to get so out of hand, that his own wife was unsure of him?
She suddenly shuddered, her breath catching, and she began to straighten up, her chest still heaving with the effort to breathe normally.
"I'm sorry, James, I'm so sorry," she said raggedly, her tears glittering on her flushed cheeks. "I never should have kept it from you. I was so scared and stressed and I think it's my fault. The baby, I mean. If I hadn't been so worked up and secretive…if I didn't allow myself to get so stressed, I never would've miscarried!" She started crying again, not seeming to be able to stop the sobs from clawing their way out of her throat. For several minutes, her shoulders quaked and James winced.
"Don't say that," James said, maybe a little too harshly. "It wasn't your fault…things happen, bad things, and it's all out of our control. We can move on from this. And-and if you want, we can try again…only-only if you want…"
Lily quieted, her cries deflating out of her as if that was all she had left. And then she did something he did not expect. She reached out a hand and traced the lines of his face with her warm fingers.
"I love you," was the only answer he received and he knew that was all she would say. They lay down together; she curled her body close to his, his face resting in the space between his neck and shoulder. He held her tightly and realized this was the first time they had been this close for what seemed to be a long time. He stroked her hair, willing her to release the tension holding her body so taut.
Was life always such a fleeting thing? Back in Hogwarts James and his friends had always felt invincible. Even on the brink of war and death, James was not afraid. But now as he got older and was being dragged through the trenches of life, his world seemed to be so much more fragile than what he had first believed. He had had no idea that Lily had been pregnant. He searched his memories, trying to remember any sort of little thing that could have hinted it. He couldn't think of anything. During these past couple months, they had grown so distant with each other that James forgot to watch the little things about Lily that had made him ultimately fall in love with her to begin with.
Lily's breathing steadied and eventually become slow and even. He continued to caress her hair, trying to rememorize the little things about her, feeling vaguely panicked. His heart wanted to weep for this unknown child he had lost though he hadn't known about it until a few moments ago. But he felt wrung dry. He had nothing else to give; he wanted to join Lily in her tumultuous grief but he felt like an outsider. He was being pulled in so many different directions that he couldn't dwell on anything else. Instead, his mind kept going back to Harry. Maybe this was a sign, a sign for him to keep trying with Harry. If he kept going with Harry, maybe his life would start putting itself back together again. Maybe he would go down to visit Harry in the morning. Just the thought of it made his insides squeeze together. He wasn't sure if that was a bad thing or a good thing. Was it fear of the unknown? Was it his fear of failing as a father?
Lily's breathing lulled him despite his rambling thoughts. He closed his eyes and finally slept.
The next morning, James stood by the desk of Healer Archem, feeling uneasy. She was all smiles though as she gestured for him to follow to room 28 where Harry apparently waiting to be taken down to visit his sister for the first time since that horrible day.
When Archem opened the door, Harry was sitting in his rocking chair, dressed in his usual St. Mungo's pajamas. He was wearing a red jumper over it and he was tugging at the sleeves when his healer approached him. She put an arm about his thin shoulders and led him over to James. She pressed a medallion into James' hand.
"If you need anything, just tap your wand to this," she said in a low voice. Harry's sharp eyes watched the short interaction with an expressionless face. He apparently knew what the medallion was for.
"Ready, then?" he asked the boy, doing his best to keep his voice from wavering. And Harry did the most unexpected thing. He hesitated, as though changing his mind, and instead slipped his small hand into James'. His heart did a flip at the contact and for a moment, he was frozen in shock. He knew Healer Archem was watching with a silly smile on her lined face.
Harry looked up at him with eyes too old for round, his freckled face. "Are we going?" he asked in an impatient voice.
"Yes," said James weakly. He guided the boy down the hall, their footsteps loud to his ears. "Are-are you feeling better?" he asked finally when they were approaching the lifts.
Harry didn't answer. He kept his eyes straight ahead, his thin lips pressed tightly together. James drew in a breath and pressed the button for the doors which dinged open and allowed them entry. Harry shifted his feet and looked up at James, his face unreadable.
"What?" asked James, unable to handle the boy's intense stare.
"Why?" asked Harry in a halting sort of voice.
"Why what?"
"Why are you doing this?" he elaborated. As he spoke, he flexed the fingers in his free hand, splaying them wide as though trying to release some sort of anxiety. "I thought you hated me." And then he scowled as though this made him angry more than anything else.
James felt a piercing sort of emotion strike him somewhere close to his heart, "I don't hate you, Harry."
Harry said nothing in response. He lowered his eyes and glared at the lift doors instead, as if daring them to not open. They rode the rest of the way down in silence. When the door dinged open, Harry withdrew his hand from James', as though the prolonged contact had made him uncomfortable. He stood away from James, his body tense like a wire.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked the kid. Harry's eyes flashed up to him, as green as emeralds and just as cold. James hoped the boy didn't see the uneasiness in his own eyes
"I'm fine," he said, though his little chest seemed to be heaving slightly. James made to move his hand around the kid's shoulders, maybe to comfort him, but something stopped him and he dropped halted the movement. Harry didn't seem to notice. His eyes were locked on the people milling around them; his face was white and tense.
James realized that this was perhaps the first time he had been around so many people for a long time and again, James reached out a hand for Harry but hesitated before withdrawing once more, his stomach churning. Why was this so hard? He was a child, for Merlin's sake! His child.
"Why are we standing here?" asked Harry, jolting James into motion. With a deep breath, he gingerly placed a light hand on Harry's back and guided him forward through the sparse crowd. His heart was pounding again and he cursed himself for getting emotional. He was supposed to be stronger than this. They neared Willow's room and he saw Sirius standing at the other end of the hall. The man was watching them but didn't approach, as though he thought this was a moment he shouldn't be a part of. Perhaps that was truth, but James would have welcomed the support.
The pair stopped in front of the large window to Willow's room. The curtains had been pushed aside and James could see Lily sitting with Willow in the bed, with the toy blocks scattered over the sheets. Willow appeared well, and content. James had wondered if she had any idea what had exactly happened, but he doubted it.
James glanced down at Harry who was very still next to him. The boy was staring through the window, his face expressionless as he watched his younger sister. This was the first time he had seen Willow for nearly a year and a half.
James thought back to the day before, when Harry had screamed that he wished Willow would die and it took everything within his power to keep from grabbing hold of the boy and pushing him back. James closed his eyes for a brief moment, willing himself to calm. He reopened them and Harry had turned his face away from the window and from James; he was staring down the corridor, unmoving, his fists clenched. James would give anything in the world right now to know what was running through Harry's mind. Was it jealousy? Anger? Hatred for his sister? A small tremor ran through his body.
"Hey," James said tentatively, "Are you all right?"
Harry kept his head turned away, his body tensing as though he was getting ready to take off.
"Harry, look at me," he said, getting nervous. "Harry?"
The kid ignored him for several long moments and James tried to see if there was something unbelievably interesting going on down the corridor that he somehow couldn't see. And then Harry looked back through the window to watch his sister. You should encourage him, whispered a voice within in. He lifted his arm to touch Harry's shoulder. And Harry bolted.
"Hey!" James shouted, more from surprise than anything else. The kid was fast, already turning the corner down the corridor and disappearing from view. James took off after him, his heart pounding against his ribs. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He thought. This was such a stupid idea! Harry was fast for such a little thing but James had the longer legs. He pushed aside wizards and witches, ignoring their exclamations of protest and when he came within sight of Harry, he slowed down. The kid had stopped running and he was standing in a dark corner, shadowed by a tall plant with ruby red blossoms.
"What do you think you are do—?" James' anger died away.
Harry was pressing himself into the corner, breathing in sharp hitches, as though he was struggling to not cry. It was as though his grief was a forbidden emotion and he was doing everything within his power to hide it. He was wild-eyed, his face white as bone.
Everything within James seemed to have frozen. He stared at this waif, at a complete loss for what he could do. He had never seen Harry so raw and exposed. It unnerved him. He stood there, staring at Harry, wondering why he didn't move forward and provide comfort like a real father should. If it was Willow standing there, close to dissolving into tears, what would he do? He closed his eyes, counted to three, and let his father instincts kicked in; he crouched down, "What's going on?" he asked gently.
Harry just shook his head and scrubbed furiously at his eyes. James reached out a hand to hold his arm, but the boy twisted away and pressed his face into the stone wall. His thin shoulders shook. It was a different perspective to what he was used to seeing Harry portrayed as. To him, Harry was an angry, ill-mannered, unstable boy every time he came in for a visit. But now, he wasn't any of those. He was an eight-year-old child, terrified and confused—maybe even a bit ashamed.
"Harry," he protested gently, a lump in his throat. "Come on, look at me."
To his surprise, Harry did. He whipped around so suddenly that James jumped. "Stay away from me!" he demanded savagely, pushing James ineffectually. "You don't know anything! Go away!"
The medallion Healer Archem had given him was weighing heavily in his pocket. But grabbing it seemed like the easy way out at this point. He couldn't remember Harry showing this kind of emotion since he was returned from Voldemort. He had to try. He wasn't a coward.
"Tell me what's wrong," he said softly. "Is it Willow? Did seeing her upset you?"
Harry took in a loud, shuddering breath and he swiped at the tears on his cheeks, anger blazing out in his eyes. "Shut-up!" he shouted in James' face. "You don't care! You never cared!"
"I do care," James grimaced, knowing his words sounded choppy and forced.
"You're a liar!" the boy accused, his red rimmed eyes wet with tears. "You've never cared! You hate me! I know you do! That's why you don't visit me like you used to! And you always look at me funny, like I'm crazy! I'm not crazy! I'm not! I'm not!"
"Okay, okay, calm down," James grabbed hold of the boy's shoulders, his own heart forgetting how to beat properly. Harry's words were like bullets, each one hitting him with such force that it was hard to breathe. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel that way!"
Harry struggled against James' hold, "Lemme go, lemme go!" he demanded, kicking James in the shins. "You don't care! I hate you! I hate you!"
"Harry-Harry, please!" James held the child tighter but feared he might hurt him. "Please, calm down. Let me help you!"
"No! No! You don't like me! You don't even know me!"
"I do know you!" James' voice escalated despite himself.
"No you don't! You leave alone all the time! You don't know me!"
"You're my son!" James shouted. Harry instantly stilled and they both stared at each other, breathing hard. James dropped his voice to a whisper, he himself beginning to shake, "You're my son. My only son. And I'm sorry…I'm sorry I left you alone…I was scared, Harry. I was scared and I failed you. I'm sorry—I'm so—I'm sorry I didn't find you—I'm sorry I gave up looking for you. I love you, Harry. With every bit of my being, I love you—"
Harry suddenly launched himself at James, effectively cutting off his words, and clung to him like a man drowning, his tiny body shuddering with the force of his sobs, "I'm sorry!" he cried, hiccuping, "I'm sorry I wanted to hurt her! I thought you didn't want me anymore! I'm sorry—I'm sorry!"
James was gasping in shock, but was functional enough to wrap his arms around his small son, holding him tightly, afraid that if he let go, this moment would be gone. "I know, I know," he whispered in a raw voice. "It's okay…" and it was. In that moment, it didn't matter anymore.
If James hadn't been holding him, the boy would've probably collapsed. His violent grief wracked his body. He gripped his father's shirt, his face buried in his chest. James didn't know what to do, except to continue to murmur comforting words into Harry's hair. He fought to hold back his own emotion. In the moment, all his anger, all his fear, all his guilt, and uncertainties came crashing down. His eyes were burning, his heart was pounding a staccato rhythm against his ribcage. He buried his face in his son's messy hair, trying to memorize its scent, trying to brand this moment into his memory so he would never forget.
It was like splinter that had dug itself deep within his skin, and was left there to become infected and to fester. And now, that horrid thing was being pulled from him soul—it was painful, shocking, but the release was almost too much to bear. It was a long needed cleansing of his being.
Harry's cries quieted to silent shaking. And then he struggled to withdraw and James reluctantly released him. Harry's cheeks were puffy and his eyes red, but the grief was gone and he was staring at James with a rather numb expression "I'm…I'm sorry," he repeated.
"You're-you're okay…" James seemed to choke around his words. He looked down at the child, and felt not the estrangement that had been within him, but the fluttering wings of hope.
Harry wiped his nose with the back of his hand and glared, as though angry James had dared to witness his grief, "Don't—don't ever leave-leave me again, o-okay?" his words were short and choppy.
James smoothed back the boy's mop of hair, "Okay," he whispered.
Harry seemed to clench his teeth and he lowered his eyes with a faint sniffle.
"Hey," James hesitantly touch Harry's chin, prompting him to raise his face again. "We're going to get through this, yeah?"
Harry nodded shortly.
"I know-I know it's not going to be easy but we'll get there and you can come back."
"Come back?" echoed Harry.
"When you're ready, your mum, sister, and I will be there to bring you back home."
Harry seemed to have trouble processing this information. Then he nodded again, "Pr-promise?" he hiccuped.
"Promise."
There was a moment of awkward silence. Harry sniffled again.
"Do you want to go meet your sister?"
Harry shook his head immediately, a spark of panic lighting in his eyes.
"That' okay," James soothed quickly. It was coming easier now—him being a father. Maybe he wasn't a failure after all. "How about next time?"
"When I'm ready?"
"When you're ready," agreed James. He slowly stood and offered Harry a hand. Harry paused just a brief moment before accepting the gesture. He slipped his child-hand into James' and together they walked back up the corridor, as father and son.
Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark.
Songs that inspired:
"Say Something" by a Great Big World and Christina Aguilera
"Hold on, as I Hold You" by Jacob Colgan and Aileeah Colgan