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It had been two weeks, and still the pain throbbed like nothing James had ever experienced. He tried not to let it show, but it was wearing him down. The potion barely held back the agonizing sensation of his entire leg burning from the inside; instead, it merely brought it down to such a level that he didn't feel the constant need to bite back another moan, another scream, another virulent curse damning his body. If his mind were engaged, he could almost push it to the back of his thoughts. Yet he had spent an inordinate amount of time in bed, with nothing to think about except the constant pain and how he would likely be crippled by it for the rest of his life.
After a few days, the potion had built up enough in his system for the Healers to allow him to try walking. But even swinging his legs over the side of the bed had been torture. He'd gritted his teeth and stepped to the cold floor, but his leg had buckled beneath him. It was as if it were numb, the fire so fierce he had little to no control over the muscles he had always taken for granted when it had come to walking.
One of the younger Healers, a pretty Irish girl not much older than Lily, had tried to teach him some sort of breathing technique, something that would help him relax and focus on the muscles that did work, not the ones screaming at him in pain. He'd tried, really he had, but it had been so hard to concentrate on anything those first days out of bed. He'd probably scared her off with his violent swearing. Lily had reprimanded him, and he'd snapped at her as well. Then Sirius had come by to have a go at him for giving Lily a hard time, as if it were James's fault this had happened, that he was having such difficulty dealing with it.
Well, it was his fault, wasn't it? He had killed Pietro Avery. He had never, ever dreamed he would fall to that level, and yet he had: he was now a murderer, and he couldn't walk because of it. Moody had come by to talk to him after a week. The grizzled Auror was no stranger to death: he'd killed before. He had been authorized by the Minister himself to use whatever force necessary to take down the increasing number of Voldemort's Death Eaters. He was used to it, though, and his words rang empty and hollow as he'd lectured James with his usual gruff voice and brusque demeanor. A life was a life, though, and James couldn't put aside the guilt he felt in taking one, even if it was an enemy he had longed to see defeated, if not dead.
It was that act that had got him cursed, making his injury his own fault in a twisted sense of justice. Rabastan Lestrange, incensed that Avery had been killed, had cast his anger and loss into one hell of a spell. James almost couldn't blame him: he remembered his own feelings when Avery had hit Lily with the Sleeping Curse their seventh year. He knew it brought out both the best and the worst in a man. He couldn't imagine what he might have done if Lily had been hurt-—really hurt—that night at Lestrange Hall; Avery probably wouldn't be the only one lying cold in the ground.
Shaking himself of the thought, that someday he could be moved to kill with intention, James bitterly reminded himself that he would be lucky if he walked again, let alone ever fought for the Order. He could barely make it across the room on his injured leg, but somehow even that small success didn't mean anything: it hurt too much to care. What was the point if he was sweating and gasping for air after twenty feet? He might as well lie in bed all day. And then what use was he to anyone, let alone Lily?
James sighed as he remembered the look on her face the last time he had snapped at her, just that morning. Instead of fighting back, as she had several times already with nerves stretched tight, she had simply turned around and left the room without another word. James still wasn't sure if he had hurt her one time too many, or if she were too furious to stay in the same room with him. It had been several hours, and he hadn't seen her since. Peter had finally come by to see him, but when he'd found James too sullen to visit properly, he'd left as well.
Only Sirius seemed to understand, the few times he had come by. He had suffered his own grievous loss and didn't seem inclined to judge James for what he was going through, except when it came to Lily. He'd insist James apologize each time, and he did. He wanted desperately to make it up to Lily, but how? She was stuck with a man who had once fought Death Eaters by her side and was now barely be able to wash and dress himself. What could she possibly see in a life like that?
Sirius had given him a pathetic look when he'd voiced that thought, once, and James had felt even more wretched, because at least he still had Lily. Sirius had lost Arlienne. James knew better than anyone what that meant: Arlienne had been the one girl Sirius had ever truly cared about, and she had risked everything to be with him.
Now one of them had died for it. James knew that Sirius felt guilty, for the injuries and Arlienne and just about everything else that had gone wrong, but he didn't know what to say. He could only watch from his bed as Sirius dealt with it in his own way. He was smoking again, though he had not taken up the Firewhiskey as he had once before. Instead of turning to liquor, he had thrown himself into Order duty with a manic frenzy, working himself toward exhaustion alongside Benjy Fenwick, who also seemed to be burying his loss with reckless vengeance and punishing over-exertion.
Remus seemed to be keeping an eye on Sirius, yet James knew it was only a matter of time before something went wrong and Sirius got hurt, or worse. Sirius always needed a good kick in the arse to get him focused and back on track, and James just wished he could get up and give it to him. He'd done it once before, seventh year, brawling out on the lawn after Sirius had got pissed and set a spell on him and Lily. He wasn't sure a punch in the face was what his friend needed, though. Maybe this time Sirius just needed to get it out of his system and move forward on his own.
Remus walked in then, interrupting his thoughts. James felt a small twinge of disappointment that it wasn't Lily, which Remus seemed to pick up on immediately. He raised an eyebrow and grinned.
"Expecting someone else, then?" he asked.
James nodded sheepishly. "Yes, but I don't think she wants to see me right now."
"No, she doesn't," Remus admitted.
"She actually said so?" James asked. Somehow he had hoped it wasn't that bad, that Lily understood what he was going through. And yet, even then, he still had no right to yell at her; she was probably getting tired of it.
"She did." Remus nodded and began moving around the room, gathering a few of James's personal items and beginning to pack them up. "I think her exact words were 'I'd rather stitch up a drunk troll than talk to him right now.'"
"Ouch." James sighed. "I deserve it."
"You do." Remus stopped and looked at him with both a sympathetic expression yet a challenging one. "But you're going to have to get over it sooner or later. You're going home today, and Lily has every intention of being there for you, you know."
"She does? Even after this morning?" Remus nodded and James continued. "Then how come you're here? No offense."
"None taken," Remus laughed. "I'm here because I'm the only one who's not busy at the moment."
James was surprised. "What's she doing?"
"She's with Benjy. He and Sirius got themselves tossed about a bit outside Hogsmeade." He threw some clothes on the bed. "Deep cut on the arm. She's fixing him up and giving Sirius an earful for being reckless again."
"I bet she is," James murmured. He sat up, biting back a grunt as his leg flared. While he was bored to tears from sitting around, the pain was always worse when he moved it. The potion barely took the edge off, and he found himself constantly wanting more—something, anything—to make it go away.
"Is he all right?" James asked, pulling on the shirt Remus had thrown at him. "Padfoot?"
"He's fine. Grinning ear to ear, actually." Remus helped him swing his legs over the side of the bed, and this time James couldn't help it: he gasped. "Still bad?" Remus said softly, and James hated the look of pity in his friend's eyes. He was supposed to be strong, not crippled.
"Have you taken your potion?" James nodded, standing on his good leg and letting Remus help him into some trousers. "Are you up to the strongest dose possible?"
"That's what Patil said," James replied through clenched teeth. He zipped his trousers and sat down, breathing deeply to stop the spasm of pain. "Sometimes I just want to hex the damn thing off."
"Check with Lily first," Remus murmured with a wink.
"Check with me about what?" she said, coming through the door. Remus turned quickly, then backed away, shaking his head as if he didn't want to get involved.
"Nothing," James grumbled. He saw Lily's mouth tighten and knew he needed to be honest with her, given that she was already upset with him. "We were just talking about my leg."
"The potion is not working very well," Remus murmured. James gave him a grateful look, because he hated admitting it himself. Lily's face softened, and she took his hand.
"It's the best we can do," she said softly. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," James replied. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm sorry you had to send Remus in to help me, I'm sorry I—"
She put a finger to his lips, and he kissed it, and Remus coughed behind her.
"That's my cue to leave," he said with a wink. "See you at home, Prongs. I'll come by later—maybe even bring Sirius along."
"How is he?" James asked Lily as Remus left the room. She sighed and shook her head.
"Stupid. Reckless. You know—he's Sirius, just more than usual."
"He'll get over it." James wasn't sure, exactly, but he had to hope so, anyway. He felt helpless at the moment.
"He needs you," Lily said.
"He's avoiding me, I think. He only seems to come by to chastise me for snapping at you."
She laughed. "Always watching out for my honor, your Padfoot. It would probably be good for him to talk about it, though—for both of you."
James just nodded. What was there to talk about, really? It was all he could do now, all he had done for two weeks: talk. He wanted to get up and get out there again. He had been sick of the war before he'd gone down to Dartmoor; now it seemed the one thing he missed, after being stuck in St. Mungo's for so long. He hated that he felt that way, even after he had killed a man; he only hoped going home would bring him back to the reality of life with Lily, a life he had once hoped to live free of fighting.
"Are you ready?" she asked softly, taking his hand and helping him stand.
He took another deep breath. "Yes, I'm ready. Let's get the hell out of here."
The first day had gone about as expected: James had simply been glad to be home and had relaxed for the first time in weeks. He had even enjoyed the steady stream of visitors, although the ridiculous number of plants they had brought with them had become a bit tedious by the end of the day. Still, he had managed the pain in his leg well enough and had gone to bed exhausted.
The second day had been much quieter. He had spent most of it with Lily, alternating between quiet bliss, deadly boredom, and irrational annoyance when he couldn't make it from one room to another. A Healer had come by to help him with his leg, and he had exercised his less desirable vocabulary profusely; he was certain they'd send someone else the next day, and idly wondered how many he could scare off before they just stopped coming and let him get on with things on his own.
The third day saw him growing more impatient and tetchy. He was fairly certain Lily was relieved to get away when she headed to St. Mungo's in the late afternoon. To his surprise, Sirius came by with dinner to keep him company, which consisted mostly of take away from a local Muggle restaurant and a bottle of something new.
"It's called Glacial Gin," Sirius said with a shrug and a grin. "Apparently it's quite the rage up in Hogsemeade right now. Had a few with Benjy last week after we ran into some Death Eaters outside the village."
James tried to ignore the tug in his gut, that Sirius was not only out working for the Order, but out drinking with Benjy. He wasn't jealous, exactly, but rather bothered by the thought that he might never do those things again. How would he ever get himself to a pub and back? He wasn't sure he'd ever Apparate again, because the Healers had told him not to try for fear of Splinching himself. And Merlin only knew if he'd ever run a mission with the Order. Limp, maybe…
Shaking himself of maudlin thoughts, James hobbled around the kitchen and gathered some cups and plates. Sirius offered to help, but James barked at him that he could do it himself, thank you very much. Which wasn't entirely true, because he almost dropped the glasses when his leg twitched beneath him. Too late he remembered his wand, but the idea of using magic to do every little thing he had once done on his own bothered him. He wasn't lazy, he just had a bad leg that hurt like hell.
As they ate, they talked about the Order, about Remus, about Peter, until they soon lapsed into an unusual silence. James finished his gin, a pleasant chill spreading throughout his body. It was a nice contrast to their usual Firewhiskey, as well as the painful heat in his leg. It didn't take it away, exactly, but it was a welcome distraction. He poured himself another.
"Look, I know you still feel guilty about…all this," James said, waving his glass around in a circle. "But don't. Just stop it. I don't want things to be like this forever."
Sirius helped himself to another eggroll and was silent. James almost doubted he would reply, but to his surprise, Sirius did. "It's not just you, Prongs. It's everthing. Pete. Arlienne. Even the Fenwicks. Fabian is still cut up over losing them, and Benjy is in even worse shape. Part of that was my fault too."
James frowned. "It's war. Guilt and regret won't to win it for us, you know."
"Spoken like a true Gryffindor." Sirius snorted. "And a real Potter. Your dad would be proud."
"I doubt it," James murmured. He dad would likely be appalled at some of the more hopeless thoughts he'd had over the past three weeks, or at the way he'd been snapping at Lily. He could talk big, but inside, he was terrified of what his life would look like in a month, or six. And he felt his own guilt, as well-every time he thought about Lily's life with a disabled husband.
"I'm serious," said Sirius, eliciting a laugh from James. "No, really. You've every right to be bitter and angry, but aside from a few bits of snappishness, I think you're holding up brilliantly. Better than the rest of us, that's for damn sure."
James pondered the meaning of that. Remus had told him Peter was struggling. He still hadn't recovered his memories of the battle, and rather than shrug it off, he had refused to talk about it at all. It had unnerved him too much, and he hadn't been to an Order meeting since leaving St. Mungo's. He'd only been to see James once, and that had been horribly awkward. James sighed, because he certainly understood where Peter was coming from with his feelings.
Taking a hard look at his friend, James noticed that Sirius looked thinner, and there was a faint bruise on his jaw, as if he'd been in a fight, likely on that Order mission. There were bags under his eyes and his grey eyes looked dull instead of bright and full of life. Yes, Sirius was still suffering, as well.
"Sirius," James finally started. "It's not your fault. It happened. It's over. You've got to stop beating yourself up over it—all of it."
Sirius looked him in the eye. "I know you'll be fine," he said. "You're strong. And Pete—well, he'll get over it too, even if it takes longer. Benjy too. But James…Arlienne is dead because of me. That is my fault. And I don't know if I can get over that. I don't know if I should."
He knocked back another glass of gin; James joined him, reveling in the cool, calm feeling it sent through his body. He shivered and poured them each another. If they were going to have a heart-to-heart, they might as well get drunk doing it.
They talked long into the night, finishing the bottle of gin easily. If they didn't solve either of their problems, at least they toasted them a dozen times with the cool, blue liquor. As the night wore on, James found himself almost forgetting about the burning pain in his leg; the gin seemed to work better than the potion did. Or maybe it just dulled his mind enough to simply stop noticing that he was still cursed, still crippled.
He tried to stand when Sirius finally got up to leave, but he barely stumbled into the living room and fell back to the sofa with a bitter curse, but also a hysterical laugh. Even bloody drunk and numb he couldn't walk properly. At least he wasn't on fire; he would have to get more gin, for those days when the potion didn't work well enough. He had always been able to hold his liquor fairly well, so it wasn't like he'd be drunk every night.
As Sirius tumbled into the fireplace to Floo home, James ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that was telling him not to go down that road; a little extra help couldn't hurt as he learned to deal with a very different life, since Merlin only knew what that life would be like now.
End Notes:
Not much to say here, really, other than updates will start to slow down a bit as I catch up with what I've written previously and continue the story with new material. And that yes, it's all quite a downer. That's the story. That's the war.
Thank you for your thoughts and reviews, they keep me going!