AN: I'm really sorry for the lack of updating. Between oral surgery and this stressful summer class I've been stuck in a void of no motivation. On the bright side, there's another new fic that has a completely different writing style that I've already posted (that wasn't very subtle, but I am really proud of my Bucky Barnes centric fic).
But at least in between scribbling original novel stuff, upcoming fic chapter, and intense homework, I've created this extension of the Rule 63 AU (while hoping that I'll update Warmth of the Sun or You've Got the Love soon). Once You've Got the Love is out of the way, there'll be more fics, like a Lady Harry/Ginny one that's been itching at me for months now.
To new readers that are confused: everything is the usual except Harry's generation has different genders.
Disclaimer: My original writing style veers more toward Derek Landy's or Jim Butcher's, not JK Rowling's.
Title: how many miles to babylon?
Word Count: 4K
Summary: James Potter-Weasley knows that he comes from a family of famed war heroes, he just doesn't know how to see it that way. Some Gender-Bend.
Jim Potter-Weasley felt something odd curl at the pit of his stomach when the Hogwarts Express came to a stop. The interior of the station was obscured with red smoke; odd colors sprinkled here or there to show waiting parents that were in a rush to get home in time to celebrate Winter Hols together.
"Weasley," said one his mates, Liam Fawcett. He kept the compartment door open. "You coming off?"
"Yeah," Jim croaked, still staring out the window. He played with the ends of his scarf, a usual homemade gift from Gramma each Christmas. Why was he feeling so nervous about going home?
"See you in a few weeks, yeah?"
Jim nodded and left the compartment with his stuff and a neutral expression on his face.
Sometimes Jim forgot just how well known his mum—his whole family, really—was, and with people on the platform openly gawking at her, he wondered she could stand it. He saw her leaning against one of the columns. She was easy to spot with her red knitted cap that was unable to keep her unruly black hair in place. Of course, she was also recognizable alone with her round glasses and famous scar.
Everyone that wasn't family or close friends always went on how Jim looked a lot like his mother (and thus her father) with the Potter brown skin and messy black hair, but had his father's wide dark eyes and gangly build.
"Jemmy!" Mum greeted warmly with his childhood nickname. She pulled him into a one-armed hug, her other hand lightening his trunk with a flick of her wand. "The others are at home," she said by way of explanation, hastily guiding him through a crowd of people, some were blatantly staring. She waved goodbye to his cousins that they'll be seeing soon. "There was a small accident involving the potatoes…"
Jim was having trouble paying attention. His thoughts wavered to his mum, and then back to the overhead conversations from school.
("I heard she went mad after the war," an older student had murmured at the library. "No one saw her for months—"
"Shh, her kid's right there." )
It was because of incidents like that which was making him question excessively about his family.
Mum was just Mum to him as Dad was just Dad, and the rest for his entire large family.
His parents were weird in their own ways, but they were his parents and that was accepted because everyone in their family was varying levels of weird. Aunt Charlotte lived with her dragons out in Romania, Grandpa collected Muggle things like plugs, Uncle Hector had probably read every book written in English, Teddy could change his appearance at will, it all made his parents normal by comparison.
Mum was the proud owner of an enchanted motorbike. It was large and shiny and he wasn't allowed to go on it without her (or Dad) under some serious threats about being grounded for the entire Summer Hols. The famous Head Auror wasn't afraid to eat chocolate ice cream with her children during horrendous thunderstorms, or to spray her husband with icy water from the hose in the garden when he wasn't looking. She could shout detailed orders at her trainees, and later that day dance embarrassingly bad with Dad at Ministry events. She sometimes got really bad night terrors or nightmares, or days when she had trouble getting out of the bed.
Dad used to be a professional Quidditch player, but Mum boasted how she was still the better Seeker. He was now a sports writer, and sometimes even collaborated with Lily's godfather Luce Lovegood. He wasn't fond of snakes, but loved all sorts of animals and was the reason why they had a cat (it had taken him ages to convince Mum). He was the best with stories making up elaborate tales that would make Mum laugh behind her hand as Jim and his siblings were so enchanted by the words. He taught them the best Quidditch tricks, making sure that they knew how to fly as soon as they had started walking.
Together they were weird. Small food fights in the kitchen, chasing each other in the garden—brooms optional, were annoyingly romantically affectionate in front of their kids, and Jim considered them to be the dorkiest parents.
But that was how Jim saw them. He grew up with that; that was his normal. The Wizarding World saw a different set of people. More importantly, it was how they saw his mother. They saw a woman burned out from a war who could do incredible things. They saw a hero of some kind, and all Jim could see was the woman that had craftily collected embarrassing pictures of him in his nappies.
The ride home consisted of mainly one-sided chatter; Mum assuming that he was tired from the trip back. She filled him in with news that came after her recent letters, information like any last minutes guests that Gramma and Grandpa were going to have for their Christmas Day brunch, what new antics Lily and Al had been up to, amusing stories from work, the update on the prank war Aunt Georgia was having against a competing store…
Jim listened the best he could, but found himself staring out the car window, watching he holiday rush start outside. He wondered how his classmates were feeling with being back home. He knotted his fingers in his lap, suddenly unsure of everything as anticipation messed with his insides. Jim wasn't supposed to be feeling this way. He was supposed to be happy when going home, eager that Christmas was about to start and at the prospect of no homework.
Instead he was barely listening to his Mum as they drove through the traffic in London.
Jim spied another glance at her, as if those months apart could make him see what the Wizarding World saw. He'd done his research, but it hadn't prove much. The aged newspaper clippings had fantastical stories about a tournament and some weird things about a love triangle and lying, Aunt Nellie would stutter and change the topic if he'd asked certain things, Hagrid had offered rock cakes; but it was only the Headmistress that had given him a steely glare, suggesting that he should ask his mother before perusing further.
But how could he word it? How would she react?
'Yes, Mum. I've heard these weird rumors about you, so what's true?' 'Mum, why did everyone think you were a liar when you were a teenager?' 'Can you explain any of these things I've found in the paper?'
His thoughts racing, Jim let the conversation fall into silence.
"HE'S HOME!" Lily hollered. She bundled down the steps, her pigtails whipping around her head in the wind and cold as she reached for her brother. "You're wearing your Gryffindor scarf! Did you fell on that trick step again? 'Cause I'm not gonna fall for that one. Anyone else got Howlers? You brought anything—"
Al joined in, his glasses threatening to fall off his nose because of the bounce in his step. "What are the ghosts like? You found any secret passages? Did you break another tooth on Hagrid's rock cakes? I heard Aunt Nellie—"
Dad came out of nowhere and picked Al and Lily up, tucking them under his arms like Quaffles. "Come on, you two. Let Jim breathe a bit."
Dad, like all the other Weasleys and hopefully Jim, was rather tall. He had a shock of red hair, and always gained new freckles on his fair skin whenever he ventured out on sunny days. Jim had a few stubborn ones over the bridge of his nose.
Jim carried his empty owl cage inside (Jones had already flown ahead) his house.
Their kitchen was a mash-up of the Wizarding and Muggle World. There was the coffee machine that Mum nearly worshipped, the pile of dishes that were washing themselves in the sink with some kind of a magical cleaner, a Muggle toaster that now had the unfortunate habit of singing off-key when being used, and ingredients were floating over a pot of boiling water. One of Lily's toy brooms could be seen dangerously in a blind spot near the counter, where their cat, Odysseus, batted at it with a paw as Dad sought to move the chairs back to the wooden table. Lily was standing on one of them, directing him on where they should go.
More importantly, there was a jar on the counter that was almost as old as Teddy. Sickles and knuts were glittering inside, one for every curse said in the house. Jim and his siblings had a hard time containing their glee with reminding their parents that they needed to add some coins to the Swear Jar.
He added a knut in anticipation when Mum entered the house as his trunk's lightening charm wore off. The trunk just missed her foot by an inch, but he was sure that there was dent in the floor.
Cursing, she cast it again and started to bring it up the stairs. "What's in here?" she complained. "Hagrid's rock cakes?"
"Only my hopes and dreams," said Jim. He smiled when he caught her glare.
Dad also smiled at Mum when she turned her glare onto him. "Don't look at me. That's all you, dear."
Jim woke up to the sound of the toaster singing.
"How many miles to Babylon?
Three score and ten.
Can I get there by candle-light?
Yes, and back again.
If your heels are nimble and light,
You may get there by candle-light…"
"At least it's only nursery rhymes now, even if it is the same one over and over again," Mum mused. She yawned into the sleeve of her red bathrobe, her hair more of a mess than usual. She passed him a plate of toast and eggs when he joined them at the table. "Aunt Rory swears that it was prophetic the other month."
"Idn' you 'ake 'vini'nation?" Al asked around his mouthful of still-chewed eggs.
Dad looked up from the paper and gave him a napkin. "Don't talk while you're eating. It's gross."
Al swallowed his food and then said, "Lily's doing it!" He pointed his fork at his sister. Lily immediately stopped mimicking him.
"Lily," Mum sighed.
"I guess I'm the only one with table manners," Jim said. He proved this by taking a dainty bit out of his toast, a pinky raised for emphasis.
Mum snorted. "It only took you how many years?"
Jim took offense to that.
His mum merely smiled. She looked over her bowl to read the section of the paper that Dad was on. "And, yes, I did take Divination. My only advice," she gestured her fork to all three of her children, "is that all of you will take a class that won't be gleefully announcing your death."
Wait. Death?
Al thought about this. He reached over the table to grab Mum's half-empty cup, and he peered inside as if the secrets of the universe were mixed in with the remains of Earl Grey. "Ah, yes," he said in a mystified tone. "Mum, it says…it says that I'll be getting a pet dragon….and keeping Jim's room for Christmas…." He looked back up, all serious in tone and facial expression. "The cup doesn't lie."
Mum dropped her head into her hand, but only she succeeded in disguising her laughter, Dad couldn't hold it in any longer. Lily was also sniggering.
Jim wasn't. He tore the remains of his crust with his fingers, thinking about something else. He pushed his plate away. "Have...have any of those prophecies came true to either of you?"
The laughter died down. He caught the look that Mum and Dad shared before she turned her attention to him.
"It all depends," she said, "on what you'll count as actual prophecy or impressive observation skills."
"Hector dropping the class?" Dad asked.
Lily's jaw dropped. "Uncle Hector dropped a class?"
Mum waved a hand. "Everyone saw that one coming. Nellie was very klutzy back then, too, and I'm sure for a number of other things about her predictions. Most of it was just very good guesswork on her part. Trelawney's much more observant than what we should give her credit for."
"So, no prophecies?"
"She once told me that I was going to be the Minister of Magic." Mum retrieved her cup and poured herself some more tea. "Even said that I was going to have twelve kids."
She timed that perfectly when Dad had a spoonful of cereal in his mouth. His eyes went very wide. "'Elve 'ids?"
Jim wasn't satisfied with the answer. He hid this by bending under the table to scratch Odysseus who was weaving around the legs of his chair.
Again, he tried approaching this when Mum was helping him unpack.
They were in his room, his large trunk opened, and proof of their attempts of organization was around them. There was a pile of clothes that was designated for laundry, another to keep at home, and one to give to other cousins because of Jim's recent growth spurt.
"You're getting to be like a weed," Mum commented. She laid out a pair of jeans that now showed a lot of ankle on him. She shook her head. "I can't believe it. All of my children are going to be taller than me."
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind it as much if it didn't hurt," said Jim. He shifted his weight, feeling an ache in his bones from that growth spurt.
Mum clicked her tongue. "Please, it's nothing compared to SkeleGrow."
"SkeleGrow?" Jim said. He knew being an Auror was dangerous, but losing bones?
She peered over the pile of new clothes that she took out of the trunk. "Huh," she said. "Guess I was a little older than you. Gosh, I was in that hospital bed a lot during my time there. But I'm so proud of you. You were only in the infirmary once!"
"Why are you proud of that?" asked Jim. He then thought of some more half-heard conservations and some old clippings from The Daily Prophet. He thought of St Mungo's and the Janus Thickley Ward. "How often was a lot?"
Mum put his caldron to the side. "Oh, I was there plenty each year. Got to be enough times to even memorize the number of tiles that were above my own bed. Swear she used to reserve it just for me." Oddly enough, Mum smiled at the memory. "Then when it was just your dad left, I had fun taking the mickey out of him when he had to go."
"And later?"
She had the grace to appear sheepish. "I learned eventually that St Mungo's I hate as much as the Hospital Wing. But it was actually your dad that had the worst injury—poor thing got a Bludger to the head at the height of a season. The potions scrambled with his memory enough for that month that he had a hard time believing that we were even recently married."
"That's because I never though someone as incredible as you would want to be with me," Dad told her. He held a hamper to his side. "But I'm really only here for the laundry."
"Oh, what can I say? Being married to you has certain perks." Mum fluttered her eyelashes, giving Dad a flirty smile that he happily returned. He even waggled his eyebrows.
"Gross," Jim said; feeling revolted enough to break the mood before his parents could flirt some more. "I'm right here!"
He tried again when Teddy came to visit.
"Jimmy!" his honorary older brother greeted by throwing snow as Jim reached out for a hug.
He spluttered, shivering as the snow fell inside his jacket. "I suddenly hate this family."
"Just wait until Christmas. You'll be singing a different tune by then." Teddy brushed the last of the snow off of Jim's head. "Enjoyed the train ride back? Sorry I could have joined you, Head Boy duties and all."
Jim glared. "I still think you're pulling my leg about that. Teddy Lupin. Head Boy." He made a snorting noise. Teddy was known throughout Hogwarts to have chaos follow him in the form of bad luck or general madness. How he had made the position Head Boy was a mystery to everyone but Merlin.
Teddy bowed dramatically at the waist. "I'm always at the service to my school, but mainly to godparents that promise the excitement of building snowmen."
They walked to the direction of the paddock where that was happening, and that was when Jim got the idea.
"You remember anything weird about Mum when you were little?"
"How am I supposed to know?" Teddy shrugged, his hair changing to different shades of blue. "I was only the cutest newborn ever when I met her. I even called her 'Mum' a few times when I got older. But you know what I do remember? I was instrumental in getting your parents together." He puffed his chest out proudly as Jim's jaw dropped in disbelief.
"As if!" Dad butted in. "Jim, your mum and I were well together by that point." He dropped a large handful of packed snow over Teddy's head.
Teddy laughed, his face gaining freckle, his eyes green. "That's not what Rory says, you old man!"
Jim was suddenly interrupted by an impromptu snowball fight between most of the members of his family when Al and Lily had to join.
Jim lurked on the second floor after his brave escape, and found himself in his parents' bathroom, watching his dad collect something in the closet.
"Hey, Dad?" Jim said. He looked down at his feet. "How's Mum so normal?"
Dad's back stiffen, frozen in the posture of gathering hidden presents. He cursed.
That'll be another sickle, Jim thought.
"Normal?" Dad said. He turned around, carefully setting one of the Christmas gifts down. "You've met her, right?"
Jim opened his mouth, but had no clue what to speak. All of those whispered conversations from Hogwarts seemed to have rushed back. Gone mad, they had said. Used Dark Magic… disappeared during the war… clearly still addled… "I…I…" He felt the hot sting of tears under his eyes, a term's worth of confusion threatening to break free. I just want to know who Mum really is, he thought.
"Oh, Jemmy." Dad pulled him into a hug. "That's why you've been acting this way, isn't it?"
Jim sniffed into his dad's shirt. "I don't even know what's true!"
Dad sighed. He lowered himself down to his son's eye level, holding him out by shoulders. "We wanted you three to grow up having a somewhat normal life."
Normal, there was that word again. What was really normal in Jim's life? Was it normal to have their mothers come home with haunted eyes? To have dads wear stony faces when seeing old pictures of his family? To have family members that clammed up when being asked specific questions?
That was problem. His parents never really talked to them about the War. He knew that his family had fought in it; he knew that they had lost loved ones and friends, but he never knew the exact details. It sometimes felt as if the entire world was in on something that he wasn't.
"What's wrong?"
Jim looked up. It was Mum.
She stood by the doorway to the bathroom, and clearly hadn't anticipated the sight of her son leaving a good amount of snot in his dad's shirt.
"Halley," Dad said. "Maybe we should…"
"Wait," Mum said, her tone serious. She brought them into the bedroom, closing the door that lead to it. Dad gestured him to sit on the bed.
Jim sat with his legs crossed, anticipating what was going to be said next.
It took Mum a few moments to compose herself. She opened her mouth several times as if to say something, but decided against it. Finally, when Dad linked his fingers through hers, she said in a small voice, "Where do I even start?"
"Doesn't have to be at the way beginning," offered Dad. "We could do the basics?"
Mum took a deep breath, suddenly appearing ages older and much more weary. "James, this all started when I was a baby. You've heard the story about Voldemort, but there are certain things that not everyone knows and how it connects…"
With help from Dad, she told Jim what had to be between the basics and something more. Parts of it he already, but there was more that he didn't: Voldemort's past, the prophecy, Mum's childhood before and during Hogwarts, what Dad had gone through under the Death Eaters' reign, the war and how Hallows and Horcruxes were a part of it… Sentence by sentence, and with Dad also interjecting here or there to add something, a near frightening tale was unfolded. Jim was told stories that felt almost too fantastical to be true. There was a phoenix that healed his mum, incredible feats of magic to save lives, time travel, a Philosopher's Stone, dangerous creatures, and even a bank heist.
"That…" Jim croaked, not knowing what to respond with at the end when she asked him a question.
"What your mum means to ask," Dad said, there was an aged quality to him that Jim never noticed before, "is if you're happier knowing the whole truth. Are you?"
Jim wasn't sure.
His life made more sense now. He could see the Wizarding World viewed his mum with some reverence. He knew the person sitting next to him was Mum, but at the same time he knew that she was more than just the Head Auror. She had seen and fought things that were near impossible—and they were also done by people that he knew! His own godparents had played huge roles, and he wondered briefly if Rose and Hugo knew as much what he did before.
"Why?" Jim asked. "How come you never told me? What about Al and Lily?"
"We," Dad started to say, but Mum squeezed his hand.
"Gideon, no. It was my idea." A shadow of something crossed over her face. Jim saw parts of the girl that had left the Forbidden Forest with new ghosts and scars. "James, I…I wanted you to have a life that your dad and I couldn't. You deserve to have a life that shouldn't be burdened, but I was also being selfish. And as for your brother and sister, I've learned my lesson. It won't be much longer until we'll be telling them, too."
Jim then allowed himself to confront one fact, though. "You died."
"I got better," Mum said weakly. "I wasn't dead for long."
"You died!" Jim repeated. "You were actually dead!"
"Firewhiskey," Halley said, collapsing fully on the bed when their son left looking just as distressed before they hold told him everything. "We still have a bottle somewhere in this house, right?"
Gid plucked her glasses off her face, playing with the metal folds in his hands before setting it on the table next to their bed. "None for you, you still get horrible nightmares after drinking it," he reminded her. "You should take a nap or something."
"Prat." But Halley shuddered at the memories of the vivid nightmares that came after drinking Firewhiskey. It was a part of the reason why she had been such a mess during the funerals.
He leaned over to kiss her temple after she got under the covers. "Just one of the perks you married me for."
Grumbling, Halley closed her eyes. She could hear Al and Lily having fun with Teddy outside in the snow. She wondered where Jim had gone to, but realized if he had inherited anything else from her, then he would most likely be brooding over the information in his room. "This isn't going to get any easier. That took too much out of me, Gideon, I swear."
"But it's going to get better over time," he assured her, rubbing circles over her back.
"We've ruined that boy's innocence, haven't we?" Halley asked as an afterthought.
"Doubt it. That's what the sex talk is for." The comedy was weak and he knew it.
Halley laughed, but it was bitter. "We're such good parents. Look at me; I pulled a Dumbledore on the kids. My teenage self would hate me so much right now."
"We're not terrible parents," Gid said. "You're not a bad mother. And trust me that there are many differences between you and Dumbledore."
Halley raised her head. "I've been purposely withholding important information from my kids because I've wanted to protect them. But I think I've made things worst instead."
"When we tell Al and Lily, we'll make sure to do it earlier. Come on, Potter." He nudged her shoulder. "Think of this as a lesson learned. This will get easier, it will get better."
"Such a optimist," she muttered, smiling ever so slightly. She crooked two fingers. "Now c'mere. You look pretty worn out yourself."
Getting under the covers, Gid stretched himself out behind her, his arms loosely wrapped around her, their legs tangled together, and his smile pressed into the back of her neck. Halley sighed into his welcoming embrace. At times his touch felt more than any other potion that Healer would subscribe. She needed his comfort after the War, something to help tether her, and she still needed it to this day.
Their short nap ended quickly when the sounds of the others filled the kitchen, and the toaster started singing again:
"How many miles to Babylon?
Three score and ten.
Can I get there by candle-light?
Yes, and back again…"