A/N: Belatedly, apologies for the swearing in the previous chapter. Lily is the type of person who would swear when things don't go her way, I think. Albus doesn't swear at all, really, so she definitely didn't pick it up from him. James does swear a little bit, but only when he can't help it. He controls himself rather well in this chapter. I'm quite proud of him for that.

Disclaimer: Misplaced sense of pride in James, since I am neither responsible for him, nor the other members of the family.

ii. The Centre Cannot Hold

James

She was what the Muggles would have termed his high school sweetheart. Same year, same House, same background, same interests. It had seemed natural, almost normal, that kiss in the backyard at age fourteen.

His parents had seemed rather amused and Albus had teased him to no end about it, but nobody else had seemed particularly surprised either. She had been wearing a green skirt and a red blouse that clashed horribly, but she had never had an eye for colour and he liked her all the more for it.

Their first in-school kiss, as the cousins had termed it, was not a complete catastrophe, to his own shock. They had gotten caught (rather carelessly) under the Hogwarts mistletoe, but it had been in a private corner and Fred had entered the hallway only to catch sight of them and back out again.

He proposed to her under the apple tree where they had first kissed.

She had been wearing an old blue jumper and jeans. He had been wearing his robes (although for what reason, he could never remember). She had said yes.

His parents were not so much amused as happy for him and Albus, of course, teased him to no end about it, but once again, nobody had seemed particularly surprised.

Sometimes, he had wished something surprising would happen to him, so that he would be different from all the cousins.

Sometimes, now, he regrets making that wish.

They go to Greece for their honeymoon, because she has always wanted to see Santorini, with its blue and white houses. They take Muggle photographs and spend about half a day trying to get them developed in a little shop they find in some side street. ("Barmy Muggle inventions," James shakes his head.)

When they come home, James' grandmother throws them a huge lunch (huge in that the entire family is present) and they all spend time getting to know Delia, for which James is infinitely grateful.

The marriage does not last.

There is about one month, only a month, of bliss and perfection before the problems begin. Ironically, the biggest problem between them is his family.

Delia, for reasons beyond James' understanding, has never been fond of Albus. When she tells him it's his little brother she has the biggest issue with, and not Fred or Louis or Molly or even Lily, James does a double take. Almost nobody has problems with Al. He's too damn nice and too damn relatable. It's his biggest problem, and one of the best things about him. It makes James hate him half the time, but the other half wishes he was more like his little brother.

"What is it exactly about Al that you disagree with?" James asks her one of the times she grouses about him.

"I just don't think Quidditch is a very fulfilling career."

"Why should his career fulfill you?" James asks, genuinely bewildered.

"It's a little self-indulgent, don't you think? I mean, there are so many more worthwhile pursuits."

James does another double-take. "So what if Albus doesn't save lives every day? He loves Quidditch and he's bloody good at it."

"I just disagree with competitive sport. As a principle."

"Sorry?"

The entire family congregates for lunch one Sunday afternoon and the tension between the happy couple is not missed.

"What's going on with you and Delia?" Rose mutters to him in an undertone.

"Had a row," James replies shortly.

"About what?"

"Al."

Rose lifts one eyebrow. "I see."

James turns to her. "You don't seem very surprised."

She shrugs. "I'm not."

That's as much as she says before Delia is there all of a sudden, handing him a glass of lemonade (and no alcohol), smiling tightly, pulling him slightly away from Rose and towards her. Rose shoots him a knowing look and melts away into the crowd of cousins.

At a complete loss, he asks his uncle George about it the next time he is at the shop, browsing for some birthday presents. George gives him a funny look, sort of similar to the one Rose had bestowed on him.

"Do you really not see it?" George asks and James frowns.

"See what?"

"James, it's not my business to comment on your personal life-"

"Since when has anyone in this family not given another member of this family a piece of their mind when asked? Or when not asked, come to that?"

George hesitates, but nods. "Delia is just a bit…possessive of you." James splutters in protest, but George lifts a hand. "Hear me out. Your father never had any siblings growing up, but he always wanted a big family. It caused some problems between he and your mother, before they were married, but they sorted it out in the end."

"Okay."

"Point is, he raised the three of you to be close." James opens his mouth to argue and George cuts him off. "Everyone knows that you'll protect Lily to…well…to the death, grim as that may be, and you and Al squabble like trolls on a good day, but he adores you and you'd do anything for him."

James shifts, uncomfortable. "Okay," he repeats, but doesn't deny it.

"Not to mention the other cousins. Louis and Fred have always been your best friends, and Dom and Molly are like your older sisters, and –"

"So we're a close family."

"If you want my honest opinion, Jimmy boy, I think she's jealous."

James winces at the nickname, then stares. "Jealous of me? But they're her family too!"

George shakes his head exasperatedly. "You really don't know anything about women, do you? She's not jealous of you. She's jealous of them."

The pieces begin to fall into place. "She's jealous that I…that I love them too?" he asks. "And I do so know about women."

George's subsequent snort indicates a sarcastic 'Clearly.'

James rolls his eyes at his uncle, but then George invites him into the back room and shows him how to make Decoy Detonators, and James forget the entire thing with Delia.

It all comes to a head in the third month of their marriage.

Delia is yelling at him for being late back (he had been having tea with Dom and Roxanne, but he isn't going to mention that), then she is crying and then she is throwing things across the room.

"Did I frighten you?" James asks, confused. The clock on the wall says he's only half an hour late.

"No, but I've been waiting for you," she replies.

"Oh. Sorry," he says in what he thinks to be an adequately sincere and apologetic manner. (Although he can't bring himself to feel actually sincere and apologetic, despite the fact that he is in the wrong.)

"Were you with Al and Lily?" Delia asks, almost casually and James stiffens.

"No."

"With Fred?"

James rolls his eyes. Fred is the one that he sees least of all the cousins these days, besides maybe Hugo and Lucy, and despite (or perhaps because of) this, Fred is the one Delia approves of the most. "Not Fred, no."

"Where were you, then?"

"Out for tea."

"With who?"

"Dom and Roxanne."

Delia folds her arms over her chest and eyes him steadily. James stares back. "And you didn't think that maybe, I'd like to spend some time with you tonight?"

"What exactly do you have against me spending time with my family?" he demands crossly.

"You spend all your time with your family," Delia shoots back, eyes blazing.

"That-that isn't true," James protests, although when he thinks about it honestly, it is.

"You know it is."

James thinks for a moment. "Lots of people would be thrilled if their spouse was close with their family. I know I wish you were closer with yours. I wish we could have dinner with your parents without you having a fight with your sister and brother, or that I could meet your aunts and uncles."

Delia rolls her eyes. "James, I'm thrilled that you're so close with your family. It's just that they're everything to you."

This is indeed true. "So?"

Delia stares at him for a moment before responding. "I'm not one of them."

"That's ridiculous," is all James can think of to say.

"No, it isn't. I've known you for more than ten years. We're married, for Merlin's sake, and I'm not even close to them in terms of familiarity with you."

"It's not a competition," James says. "I love you and I love them, in a completely different way."

"You'd die for Lily and Albus," Delia says, shrugging, almost as if she doesn't care about what she's saying. James knows her well enough, however to see her upset in the set of her shoulders and the clench of her jaw.

"Yes?" he asks, not sure where this is going.

"Would you do it for me?"

He stares at her, not sure what to say. Finally, he settles with – "Are you insane?"

Her eyebrows fly upwards and her eyes widen, and for a moment, she is the wide-eyed, blushing girl on their wedding day. "I don't believe so."

"Delia," he says, using her name for the first time since he arrived home. "I love you. I got down on one knee and proposed to you. I married you. I live with you. I'm sharing half of myself with you. And while I'm not planning on dying any day soon, how on earth can you possibly think I wouldn't do it for you, just the same as Al and Lily?"

She looks surprised by this, although he suspects it is more surprise at his fervour than at his words. "I just feel like you value them more than me."

"That's ridiculous," he repeats firmly, taking a step closer to her. She doesn't move away. "You don't choose your family. I got incredibly lucky with mine. We love each other and I would do anything for them. I need them. But I didn't choose them." He takes another step forward. "I chose to be with you and I choose to be with you every day. And I need you too. Don't you think that means something?"

She sniffs. "I suppose so."

"You're being silly. There's nothing to be jealous of."

She jerks back a little, stung. "Who says I'm jealous?"

James laughs. "I would be jealous too, if you gave someone more attention than me."

She softens and he closes the gap between them and there is no more talk of this for a while.

The next time he goes out with one of the cousins, or any other member of the family, Delia presses her lips closed, but she tells him to 'Have a great time.'

And he does.

In the fifth month of their marriage, she starts disappearing halfway through the day and night, and won't tell him where she's going.

He takes all sorts of measures to find out. "Are you pregnant?" he asks once and she hits him with such force that there's a bruise on his arm for the next fortnight, and his parents take to asking him, only half-jokingly, if he's being subjected to domestic violence.

She says that she has a work function to organize. He roots through her desk drawers and work files, but there's nothing odd going on at work.

He tells Albus and his father about it one afternoon when they're out looking at broomstick supplies for Albus' next Quidditch tour. Albus is drawn, and somehow, he looks taller, and his bones are sharp and jutting, as if the skin is stretched tight over them. James wants to comment, but doesn't find the time.

Harry opens a Quidditch manual and starts to browse through it, only looking up at intervals when James mentions a particular time of Delia's disappearance. Albus is less subtle. "Have you considered that she's having an affair?"

"What?" James asks, startled.

"An affair. Maybe she's having one. Consider it."

"Nah," James shakes his head. "She-" Would have talked to me if she was unhappy, he is about to say, but then he realizes that they haven't had a proper conversation in a long time, and he has no idea when the last time they actually paid attention to each other was.

Albus is watching him. "Yes?"

Harry smacks his younger son over the back of the head with the Quidditch manual. "There's no need to be so insensitive, Albus."

"Yeah, Albus," James smirks and Albus rubs the back of his head.

"Ouch."

"James." Harry takes a deep breath. "Have you thought about it?"

James thinks about it. "I guess not."

"And?"

He shrugs. "It's possible, I suppose."

"James, I'm no expert on marriage-"

"Or women, or girls, or anything else of that nature," James interjects and ducks a slap from Albus.

"-but I think you're supposed to act upset if you think your wife might be having an affair."

"Yeah, and married couples are supposed to get old and make tea and biscuits and look after their children. But here I am, in a shop with my brother, the international Quidditch star, who somehow, has managed to go all of today without anyone recognizing him, and my father, the most famous wizard ever to have lived, who defeated the most dangerous Dark Wizard in history, buying Quidditch supplies." James shrugs again.

"So…so it doesn't bother you?" Harry asks, bewildered.

It does bother him. It bothers him a lot. But it doesn't bother him as much as James thinks it should.

So he shops for Quidditch supplies until someone recognizes Harry Potter and his son Albus, and his other son, James, and then they all go home.

"I want a divorce."

"I'm sorry?"

The conversation starts this way.

"I said-"

"I heard you."

Delia puts her spoon down and gazes at James. "There's something wrong with our marriage."

"There's nothing wrong with our marriage."

"There is."

"What is it?" challenges James, daring her to find something. Financial stability, domestic serenity, possibility of children. All there.

"We don't love each other."

This brings him up short. "That isn't true."

"Oh, but it is."

"I love you, Delia," James says in a small voice.

Delia smiles sadly. "You love me like you love a friend. And you get to have sex with me."

"If you tell me it's because the sex is unsatisfactory-"

"The sex is perfectly satisfactory."

James is sorely tempted to say – Then what's the problem here?, out of sheer spite, but he doesn't. "Delia, if this is about my family again-"

"James, I'm seeing someone else."

Total silence reigns and James' hand freezes on his fork. Delia sits, face like stone. "You're having an affair."

"I'm sorry."

"Dad and Al said you were."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Delia exclaims and her hands fly out and her plate tips and then the entire table is covered in curls of pasta and vegetables. "This is it! Nothing goes on between us without it getting discussed with your family! When we got tested to see whether we could have children, it was supposed to be a private thing. Next thing I know, there's three members of your family coming up to me and talking about childcare and nappies, and how much leave I should take when I deliver!"

"Delia-"

"I say I'm having an affair and you don't even care to ask who with, you just want to tell me how your brother and your father had speculated it before I told you."

"Delia-"

"And who knows what you've told them about me, because all of a sudden, your uncles and Dom and Louis and Rose are all giving me dirty looks and not speaking to me and everyone else acts like I have some kind of disease, what with all the edging away from me-"

"Delia!"

His shout echoes through the house, the empty, empty house and she falls silent. James' eyes are narrowed and he breathes in heavily through his nose. "Don't make me the enemy. You're the one who betrayed our marriage. You're the one who has the problem. You're the one who can't deal with the fact that there are other people in my life. You're the one who's decided to give up on us. So don't you dare sit there and pontificate and tell me about how I was the vindictive one. Don't you dare."

Delia, for her part, seems surprised at this. "I just-"

"Who are you having an affair with?" he asks suddenly, because he really wants to know.

"Do you care?" Delia asks quietly.

"You're my wife, of course I care!"

"Really? So you'll be able to tell people after we get a divorce?"

"I haven't agreed yet."

"Why not?"

"There's no reason to get a divorce!"

"Being unhappy in a marriage isn't a good enough reason?"

James' expression slips into hurt for a moment before he recovers himself. "Have I made you unhappy?" Delia gives him a look. "We can't get a divorce, Delia. We can't. I won't allow it."

"Give it a minute." James folds his arms and sits back in his chair. The hurt is pounding through his skull like a sledgehammer, but he stares at her. "It's Troy Yaxley."

James sort of sees red for a moment, but then his vision colours with disbelief, in blues and greens more than anything else. "I'm sorry? You're-you're having an affair with that –" He arrests his tongue before he can say the word he is thinking. "We hated him in school, he was the world's biggest bigot."

"That wasn't his fault," Delia says firmly. "He's not like that anymore. He never had that luxuries we did when he was growing up. Not everyone is as lucky as us, James. Not everyone's families were on the winning side of the war."

James stares at her. "You've gone mad."

"I haven't gone mad," Delia says, almost gently now. "I'm applying for divorce. For me, yes, but for you as well. Because I don't love you anymore, not in that way, but I still love you. You were my best friend for years, and I'll understand if you don't want to be friends now-"

"Damn right, I don't."

Delia's face tightens with hurt for a second, and James almost takes it back, but then he thinks tit for tat and lets her be hurt. "That's alright, then. But I still feel something for you, and you deserve to be happy."

James can't stop the emotion from flooding his next question. "If you were unhappy, why didn't you just talk to me?" he demands. Tears sting his eyes and he presses them back.

Delia looks at him softly. "I did, James. Many times. And you never understood, and maybe that was just it. Maybe we're just not on the same wavelength."

"Bullshit," James says fiercely. "That stuff's total crap."

"I believe in it," she shrugs, as if that proves her point. He falls back in his chair, stunned. Delia rises and walks over to him quietly, gently. She puts a hand on his shoulder. "You deserve someone who isn't me," she tells him, almost generously and James hates her for it. "Someone who isn't in love with someone else." She sighs and removes her hand. "I'll find somewhere else to sleep tonight."

"Are you going to go to him?" he asks through gritted teeth.

She shrugs. "He's my family now." And that hurts, more than anything else. Because all of a sudden, she's not his family anymore; she doesn't consider him family. Maybe she never really did. "And you're right." He looks up at that. "I am the one giving up. I am the one who betrayed us and I am the one who has the problem." She shrugs. "I'm willing to say all that for official records. But if you think you're innocent in all this, then you're a fool."

He opens his mouth to protest and she laughs. "We're not going to be married for much longer, James. We don't have to lie to each other or to ourselves about each other any more. You never loved me the way you loved them. And you never even tried to rectify it. And yes, maybe I was a little too harsh on you. But I'm not the only one who's given up; I'm just the one who's saying it out loud."

James folds his arms tighter and squeezes his eyes shut and she brushes a soft kiss to the top of his head and whispers goodbye and then she's gone.

Albus is between Quidditch seasons, but he's on holiday in Italy.

He comes straight back, though, as soon as James calls.

James recounts the entire conversation and by the end, Albus' thin face is further pinched and horrified. "I'm sorry," his brother says and James shrugs as if it's no big deal, even though all he really wants to do is cry.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Sign the papers or don't."

"Thanks, Al, that's really excellent advice." Albus sighs and James eyes him. "You don't seem terribly surprised." Albus doesn't answer. And suddenly, James realises. "You think she's right."

"About what?"

"That I…I don't even know…"

"Look. She wanted you to choose her over us."

"And I wouldn't. You think I should've?"

Albus laughs bitterly. "I'd never want you to choose someone else over us, you know that. But," he shrugs, "I'm a selfish bastard, aren't I?"

"No," James replies honestly.

Albus is quiet for a moment, then asks – "Did you love us more than her?"

James shrugs helplessly. "No, I don't- yes, I- I don't know."

Albus sighs. "You should have called Dom. She was always so much better at sympathy than I was."

And what is it about this statement that is the final straw, James doesn't know. Perhaps the recollection of their younger days, or his brother's familiar cadence of speech, or maybe the fact that Albus seems to realize he needs comfort.

Either way the tears start to fall and dimly, he thinks that Albus looks slightly uncomfortable and he needs to start seeing him and his parents more, because he's lost the ability to read their faces and know how they feel.

And that's when he sees it. What Delia was saying. That he sees his family's faces and reads them like familiar books. That he cares enough to notice when he can't do that anymore. That he never even tried to have it with her.

He brought his entire marriage down around him without even realizing it. It makes his head throb in a strange, muffled way, and his hands clench.

"James?" And suddenly there are long, thin fingers hooking into his jumper, pulling him into a hug, and James sobs into his little brother's shoulder until there is nothing left.

Albus leaves him there, with tea and red eyes, still a mess, and goes to find their parents. And there, grief worn down to his sleeves, still sniffling, James begins to think that he has done Delia a lot of wrong.