Disclaimer: Everything apart from the idea belongs to the wonderful J.K Rowling.
Written for the QLFC, Round 3: Not Your Average OTP Round
Position: Chaser 2 - Write about your OTP dealing with a mental illness
Prompts:
7 (quote) 'If you search for imperfections, you'll find them' - Jose Enincas
8 (word) inkling
9 (phrase) crystal clear
Word count: 2,560
This is one of the saddest things I've written, but I will deny it if you say I cried while writing it (even if I totally did). Thank you to Ever (HP-Forever-XX) for being a wonderful BETA! Enjoy :)
Sparks flew through the air, reminding him of celebrations as a child. His family had always celebrated bonfire night even though it was a muggle thing, and he'd loved watching the dark sky come alight with the bright colours, fading to a cloud of smoke, covering his ears at the loudest ones.
Here, the colours were a thousand times brighter, the crashes ten thousand times louder and the "ooh"s and "aah"s had turned to screams of pain and panic. The gentle grey smoke in the air was absent; it had been replaced with a fog of dust from the rubble which surrounded him, burnt his eyes, and choked his lungs.
He stumbled through the dark; the flashes blinding him and the noise slicing through his skull making it impossible to think of anything but to escape. He tripped constantly, over what he told himself were bricks from the house, pushing the memory of how soft the bricks were out of his mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of green, and watched a shadow fall through the haze. Friend or foe, it didn't matter. No one was winning this battle; they'd all lost.
Out of nowhere, a figure appeared in front of him. Before he'd even registered the face of silver in front of him, red sparks had flown and the figure hit the ground. Even through the sheer exhaustion bought on from a third night of raids, his instincts knew when to kick in. Hardly breaking pace, he continued his walk through the battle to his unknown destination.
He knew he'd get moaned at when he got back for only stunning the figure. "That's not what we're here for," they'd say. "If you don't kill them, they might just kill you in the future." All the same, he still refused to use the Killing Curse. For all he knew, under the Death Eater mask could be a man under the Imperius Curse, who'd had a respectable job, and who had kids or even a pregnant wife at home like him. He wasn't going to be responsible for a child growing up without a father; it was the very last thing he wanted for his unborn son or daughter.
A hand grabbed at his ankle, and he landed face first on the ground, the pain barely even registering alongside the fear. He rolled over, wand held ready. A curse was already on his lips when he recognised the face beneath the blood. It was hard. The boy had left Hogwarts before he'd joined, so the two didn't know each other well, and it was hard to tell who it was, especially in the dark and with the dust sticking to the blood that covered him. He still couldn't be sure whether it was Fabian or Gideon, but at this moment it didn't matter. Blood was pouring from gashes all over the twin's body, and no matter what hushed spells he was whispering, they wouldn't heal.
Looking down at the body in front of him, he could see the eyes growing dull. Frantically, he tried more spells, and then pressed on the wounds when that didn't work. But he didn't have enough hands, and everywhere he looked, new cuts opened up, the pool of blood growing too big around them. He desperately shook the older man, trying to keep him awake. Instead, the last of the light in the brown eyes faded, and a last shuddering breath passed across the parted lips. The body went limp in his arms.
The horror of the past three days suddenly washed over him, all of the suppressed memories forcing their way into his thoughts, filling every corner of his brain. They escaped in a sudden sob, and once the tears had begun to flow, they didn't stop. He knew he should move; that it wasn't safe and he had to get out of there. But all he could think about was getting home to tell the other Prewett that his twin was dead. He didn't even know which one he was holding.
He didn't know how much time passed, just that the dust on his face had mixed in with the tears, and his mouth tasted of salt. He was brought back to the present moment by the sound of a cold, mirthless laugh above him.
He looked up at the face of Voldemort, and a small voice in the back of his mind wondered why he wasn't already dead. With a flick of his hand, Voldemort summoned the dead twin's wand from his lifeless hand, and looked right into his red-rimmed eyes.
"I'm going to enjoy this, Potter."
He watched as long, bony fingers raised the wand high into the air. Something inside of him snapped; he was not going to be killed by the wand of one of his own. His son wasn't going to grow up without a father.
He grabbed his wand, and sent the most powerful blasting curse he could straight into Voldemort's chest. He saw the shock register on his emotionless features before he went flying through the air. He knew that the Dark Lord would come back to find him, but for now he could feel the combined effects of the rebound and three days without sleep taking hold. He fell back onto the still-warm body, and as everything faded to black he could hear her voice calling his name. It was crystal clear, cutting though the unconsciousness that was settling over him. He felt panic; she wasn't supposed to be here, she was supposed to be safe at home. But the darkness continued to invade his mind along with her voice, growing louder with every call.
"James! James! James, please"
His eyes opened to a blinding white light, and the first thing he registered was his beautiful wife sitting over him. The second thing was that she was looking at him with a deep concern and something akin to fear in her eyes. The third thing was that he was drenched in his own sweat, and shaking.
Memories of his dream came flooding back, and he fought to push them back out again. They cleared almost instantly; after so much practice he found that the events only ever came to him in his sleep now. While awake he could shut everything out, and he found he didn't feel a thing. He liked it that way, it was better than the alternative at least.
"James, was it the dreams again?" He gave the smallest nod of his head. "This keeps happening; it's the third time this week already. Was it by the docks again?"
"No, the raids." He saw the pain flash across her face. He'd broken down to her after having to tell Molly and Fabian, so she knew what had happened that night. He knew she felt guilty that she wasn't there with him, that there was nothing she could do to make him feel better. He wished he could be happy again, just to stop her hurting. "It's okay, Lils. I've got it under control. You don't have to worry about me."
"Of course I have to worry about you, that's my job. It's hard not to worry about you when you're screaming in your sleep, and I know there's absolutely nothing I can do about it."
"What do you want me to do about it, Lily?" It came out angrier than he'd meant, but it felt good and he found he couldn't stop. "Do you think I like feeling like this? Do you think I like reliving watching my friend die every night? I can't just make myself better to please you!"
"I know that, but you don't even try. You shut me out; you won't talk to me unless it's to shout at me. You keep telling me you've got it all under control, but from what I can see, that's as far from the truth as you can get. You walk around like ghost; it's like you're not even here anymore."
"How am I supposed to talk to you about it? You don't understand, you weren't there. You don't get any of this. You've never had to go through that, and I can't make you understand what happened. You just look for all the negatives in me, and if you search for imperfections, you'll find them, because I'm not perfect, I'm messed up. So instead, can you just leave me alone instead of constantly telling me that I'm not okay, because I'm not going to be okay and you don't understand that."
James watched through the tears in his eyes as the woman he'd fought for and protected since he'd first laid eyes on her turned away from him, her red hair flowing behind her, and heard her shut herself in the shower where she thought he couldn't hear her cry.
The atmosphere in the house was icy, as if it was challenging the cold February frost outside. They went out of their way to avoid each other, and any meeting resulted in downcast eyes and hurried footsteps. The silence screamed its presence, voicing the heartbreak that both of them buried inside.
It was nearing the evening when James stepped into the hall and very nearly walked into her as she fastened up her coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck. Memories of grabbing that scarf, the Gryffindor colours doing nothing to calm his nerves, to pull her in for their first kiss suddenly came back to him.
"Lily," he croaked, his voice hoarse from lack of use, and thick with emotion.
She looked up in surprise and with fresh tears brimming in her eyes. She looked so fragile that he could do nothing but wrap her in his arms as they both cried. Sobbing was nothing new to either of them, but somehow it was easier when it was into the other, knowing that they were holding each other together.
"Where are you going?" he asked when they finally pulled apart.
She looked at him in confusion, before looking down at her coat as if remembering. "Just to visit Molly," she replied. Not quite able to able to meet his eyes, she continued, "You can come with me if you like?"
He knew he looked panicked, he knew he should go. But he knew he couldn't. "I... I can't, Lils. I'm so sorry, I just… Fabian's going to be there, and they look so alike, and Molly -"
"James, it's okay," she soothed, pulling him back into her arms and stroking his unruly hair. "They understand. I just think Fabian wants to thank you, it helps him knowing he wasn't alone at the end."
"I know, but I can't see him just yet; it's too soon." He loved her more than ever in that moment for not pointing out they might not have much time; Fabian had been getting more and more reckless since his brother's death, seeking out Dolohov, who he'd found out had been responsible.
Lily took his hand, and led him into the front room. He had a feeling that she was going to ask him about how he felt, and nearly pulled away, but part of him knew that he should open up about how he was feeling.
They sat down, and he looked at her expectantly. She seemed to be forming sentences in her head, and he waited patiently until she seemed to have settled on one.
"I'd just like to know how to help," she stated simply. "It's hard watching you go through this, constantly re-experiencing battles, flinching at every noise, not being able to see anyone who was there, and not knowing what to do."
He thought about it. After everything, he'd hardly given a thought to what she must be feeling. He of course felt guilty because he knew he'd been hurting her, but in his heart he knew that he partly blamed her. He felt jealous that she was okay; he resented her for not understanding and not helping him properly. But he put himself in her shoes for a second. He saw himself shouting for things that she couldn't help, saw himself falling apart and rejecting any attempts at her reaching out, and he realised that what he was putting her though was just as bad as what he was experiencing.
"I'm so sorry, Lily. I'm so sorry. I don't know what to do; I just want to get better and for all this to stop." He folded himself into her, feeling safer in her arms and with her heartbeat in his ear.
"It's okay, all of this will stop. It might take time, but until then we're going to face it together, okay?"
He just nodded, but he knew she understood that a weight had lifted off his shoulders. He felt like he was able to overcome this for the first time in weeks. It would be hard, and it might only be in baby steps, but he was determined to get better. To get better for Lily, and their child, so he could protect them until all of this was over and they could finally have the happily ever after that they'd waited so long for.
That night they slept curled into each other, and he found that Lily was like his own personal patronus who kept away the bad thoughts and memories. From that night on, the dreams reduced in frequency, until they stopped all together. Whenever they did happen, he woke in her arms and felt safe again, and she listened as he told her what had happened.
He never got to see Fabian before his death, but Molly passed on her thanks. He helped her organise the funeral, and went to see other Order members to help them if they were suffering like he was. He found he had fewer raids to take part in, something he had an inkling was to do with Lily, but he was grateful for it.
He found full recovery in the birth of his son though. The moment his hazel eyes met green ones so like the ones he'd fallen in love with years before, he fell in love all over again. With his son, with his wife, and with life. He felt hope for the first time in as long as he could remember, and he knew everything would be okay.
There came a night, the last night in October, where the dreams returned. Not like they had been, not nearly as bad. He'd fallen asleep as close to Lily as he could get, as usual, so he knew any memories wouldn't be too bad. It was just a snippet of a memory, back when he was laying on the body of the twin he then didn't know the identity of, and he heard the echo of the cold, mirthless laugh above them. He heard a crash, but realised with a jolt that this wasn't part of the memory.
He looked at Lily, the familiar look of fear in her eyes. He could think of a million things he needed to say to her, to thank her for, but he knew there was no time. He pressed his lips against hers, grabbed his wand, and whispered in her ear.
"I love you."