Loving Him

by RubyE.A.Gem

I remember everything. The beginning and I remember the end. I remember his eyes, the way they danced like flames, and how the gold flakes would catch the light. I could lose myself in those hazel orbs. I remember his laugh how it was contagious, and how he understood me better than I did. I remember how we went to the end of the world for each other, and we would do it all again.

25. Death has a new name

Chapter 25: Death has a new name

~James' POV~

The drink hit the floor. The glass broke. The alcohol was dark brown. It sloshed across the wood, and it turned it red. I didn't ask why it was red. I didn't want to know. Life has choices. Options. Everything adds up. Each mistake piles into one big disaster. And you learn over time to see it coming. But back then we didn't know. And we didn't see it coming. And the red head ran with doubt in his eyes. And nothing made sense. And the body hit the ground. And she screamed. Eyes wide open. Body crumpled. The train tracks were red like the floor. Red like the liquor that licked at the flames. Red like the hair of her saviour. Red like the blood in our veins. My favourite colour used to be red. When I was a child. I cannot remember when that changed. But now I fear red. Me. James Sirius Potter fears red. What a fool I have become. To fear a colour.

You know that moment that you stop breathing. And you stare ahead. And you can't blink. And someone is calling your name. And they are saying she needs you. They are saying she is dying. And your hand trembles. And you see the best moments flash before your eyes. Her smile, the light in her eyes, the way her fingers felt, the warmth of her pulse, the breath on your neck, her fingers on your back. The way she fits against you when you hug her. The brilliance in her eyes when she opens her mouth and speaks.

No. I don't know that moment. I am not familiar with it. People don't need me. Because I give no one the right to have expectations. Expectations can be let down. It means people believe in you. And that leads to trust. Love. I don't know those things. You could say it was new to me. The feeling of her calling my name. You could say I wasn't used to it. You could say James was naive. James messed up. All James' fault. I wouldn't be surprised. I wouldn't be offended.

And then you are running, or falling, or apparating. Time, space, life. Hangs suspended in the brokenness of the moment. And you land and you are moving. Everything is a blur of the past. And you cannot move, you cannot breathe. But you feel like you are moving. You do. And then you see her. And he is holding her. And his eyes are apologizing. Fred's eyes are saying I am sorry. And you cannot forgive him. Because betrayal and saving comes hand in hand as brilliance.

And then she is laid on the bed. And you are by her side, and your hands are desperate, frightened, they are shaking, you cannot breathe right. And James Potter's hands are never desperate. Never frightened. Your breath never shakes. Why? Because that isn't how I work. It's not what I let happen. I never let it get that far. Get that bad. I always stop it before it happens. Destruction. And you are searching for a pulse. And you cannot find one, or maybe you are too scared to find one. And your hands are shaking. And they are holding you, people, people you don't know, everything is just a blur of colour. A blur of red. You can't see right. And in your gut you feel it. Something has gone terribly wrong. And you know you can't fix it. And they are laughing. Everyone. Everyone finds it funny. But I don't. I can't laugh. The façade drops like dust. And there is no concern to put it back up. And your hands are fists and they are hitting anything they can reach.

And her eyes are open. And they are green. And her lips are trembling. And she can't blink. And she is screaming it, over and over, her voice hoarse, her pupils bloody, her bones mush, her mind blank, her hands claw, she can see things, eyes wide open, she is seeing too much, too little, nothing at all. She doesn't understand. And she is saying, over and over endlessly,

"I can't remember. I can't remember."

And you know that something has snapped. And there is a pain in your chest. That you do not understand. And then comes the blame. You blame yourself first. For not being there. For not asking questions. For not wondering every now and then. And then you are blaming Fred. For going too late, too soon, not at all. And V. For letting her on the train. But no matter what. You don't blame her. You can't blame her. Because she is this broken creature. This broken thing. And you care for it, each shard, and each crumble of her existence, and you pick up the pieces and you cradle them in your arms. And you try to remember with her. Why you ever left. What life would be like if she isn't there. And you start to realise you need her. And then you are yelling Bad James. Cruel James. Idiot James. Selfish James. Blind James.

And then Harry is there. Dad is there. And his eyes are wide. And he is wondering why I am crying. And I cannot remember when I started to. And he has never seen me cry. Not since I was very little. And he reaches for me. And now I have someone new to blame. Someone like him. Someone who is bigger than me. Someone who created me. Someone who hurt me. And you hit him. And your fists are big. And he is frail from the fall. And the minutes are fast. And you are worried not about your image, but her. And they are all watching you. Your family. Your friends. And they are scared. Because before them, on the floor, on broken knees, clutching her and screaming at Madame Pomphrey is me. The incredible, heroic, perfect, James Potter. And they cannot understand why this great man would be begging for her to close her eyes. For her chest to rise and fall.

And with this new, scary feeling of pain comes anger, rage, boiling and cascading in your veins. And you are angry, and it accompanies the blame. And you are hitting anyone who comes too close. And you are wild, and crazed. And regretful. And you blame everyone. Its everyone's fault. But mostly yours. You hear me James? It is all your fault. And then time folds and ripples and fate laughs, head thrown back. And the forgotten stare on, through those green eyed windows they watch the broken boy fall to the ground. And they are surprised who knew he would care for the little dying girl. Who would have thought he cared so much. Who would of thought he was capable of such things.

And the wands are out, and Hermione is there, and her eyes are closed, focused, she is doing magic, she is trying to save her. She has to save her. And then it happens. In a blink. Her eyes close. Green eyes. Her lips stop trembling, her voice stops echoing. And the pulse is found. But is it beating or not?

Life is a fragile thing. You reach for it. You grab for it. And then you forget that you have to keep it close and value it, and that throwing yourself off of the cliff is a bad idea. And they forgot. I forgot. And the blame is fresh, and hard, and hot and boiling. So is she alive? And does it matter? Because those eyes are seeing too much and she cannot handle it and she is dying either way. If not today then next week, or the week after. Because no one can survive that. What is to come. Not even me. James Potter. The invincible. The incredible. I thought I could survive this. Her on the bed, limbs detached, pulse varied but I cannot. And a weakness is derived. And the forgotten watch it. My weakness. And they have it in their jaws, and then, one day, a minute from now, or a year, or on her seventeenth birthday they will crunch them close, and she will gasp for air. And she won't breathe again.

The sorting hat is heavy. I remember the satin feeling. The soft material. The stool was too short for me, my legs were crossed, my heel ticked, hitting the ground in a rhythmed, perfectly unbroken pattern. Boom. Boom. Boom. I was grinning, cheeks flushed with the excitement. There was not a pair of eyes in the room that were not on me. The stage was mine. Every teacher, every student was leaning forward, just a fraction. And whispers echoed off of the great hall's vast walls. McGonagall had just called my name. That is when the hushed descended. And the word "Potter" was murmured.

The steps up to the platform were too short, so I exaggerated my entrance, each step long, the heel of my shoe hitting wood. Click. They all watched on. They all wondered. I was the first Potter since Harry on that stage. Since Dad on that stage. I was wearing robes lined in gold. And it was expected. He will go to Gryffindor. He has to. And I did have to. Because you don't have a choice.

The first year is always the most important. The first day. The first meeting. You never forget the first time you meet them. And no one will forget the first time they met me. I raised my chin, shoulders back, hands loose, gait relaxed, confident, a tad arrogant, a tad young. Maybe a little naïve, not that I'll ever admit it. It was all a show. Exaggeration hinted in the right spots, subtle interest and intelligence tinted at the edges. A scratch of the surface was like the first page of the book, but the rest was locked. I was a mystery.

The press never got their hands on me, not till Hogwarts. Not till the train station. My parents were careful about that. They wanted me to grow up different. Oh well. Too late for that. People are attracted to people who are confident. But the humble ones, they are the ones everyone wants to be. So they admire the ones like me from afar, and they whisper, and then Albus comes along, and they want to know him, to be him. And maybe I do to. Maybe we both do. Or maybe not. It's all so confusing. Want. Desire. Need.

I lowered my eyes; the hat was heavy, heavy with the burden of the need of success. How old was I then? Fourteen? Thirteen? Age is forgotten. But I remember the faces. A sea of them. All looking at me. It was the first time they all looked at me. I loved it. I loved the way they wanted to know me and yet feared who I might be. It was wonderful.

It weighs down my head. The hat. It smells of hair. Of must. V went before me. It screamed Ravenclaw. I was surprised. Perhaps at that point the crowd was thinking the hat could say anything about me, maybe Hufflepuff, and that would be funny. I think they would have laughed like I was a joke if it said that. I didn't want to be a joke. I sit down. The seconds pass. The hat speaks. Its voice groans to life. It sent a chill down my spine. It was in my head. My father told Albus you could choose. But he never told me that. He never crouched down and held onto me and said it doesn't matter where you go, you will still be incredible. Because just like the crowd he expected Gryffindor. Without hesitation. And I thought that to. I thought of course it will say all I am is brave. Blindly brave, incredibly, sensationally brave.

The voice was deep, dark, like talking to the silence, one word,

"Interesting."

I take a breath, my eyes closed; I have never focused, and will never focus as much as I focused on telling the hat what I want as I did in that moment. Never. A thought, two words,

"What is?"

A chuckle,

"You are complex, you are a Potter and yet, there is something different. Something I cannot identify. You are not just a Potter."

A breath, I could feel my hands ball to fists, a pin could have dropped and we would have all jumped. Its voice was just a murmur in the darkest corners of my mind, in the cabinets and the chests of files of memories forgotten. It echoed.

"I can see so much and so little. I see a darkness, I see a light. There is a rage not quenched, there is a hatred not reassured, your mind is brilliant."

My eyebrows came together. I could feel my mind searching for the intruder, hunting the voice out, and it was a game, a game of convincing, but how can you convince someone who walks the chambers of your mind? It went on, just a glimmer,

"You are loyal to your friends. You would die with them, for them. You would support them even if it is not what you believe. That makes you strong and weak."

The floor is cold, the room was freezing, all I could see is little lights, dancing in front of closed lids. A twist in the words, a turn in the sentence,

"You are intelligent, your brain expands and contracts, I can see brilliance that will change the world, a step ahead, but it is confusing, your brain, it is more developed than even the most brilliant men."

I open my eyes, they are staring, they are all wondering. I was on the edge of the seat, I could feel my heal hit the floor faster, over and over, endlessly, and it shaked. The world. And then he said it. That hat. What I fear the world to see. What I refuse to admit. And like a worm he crawled through the darkest parts of my mind. Voice echoing,

"But more so, you want power. In fact you would do anything for power. You crave it, you would kill for it, you would die for it, you would murder, and destroy and pillage, and you would crumble the greatest just to be recognised as more than a mask. More than a name. More than a Potter. You crave fame, your blood boils for it, your mind gets high off of it, you want to be a legend. You want to be a king. In your own right."

I close my eyes, fast, squeezed shut, a chuckle, dark, a hand reaching into my thoughts, groping at them,

"You are brave. But recklessly so, stupidly so, you would throw yourself off of the cliff for fun, not caring if you die on the way down or are saved. You crave adrenaline, the rush of it, violence, you adore it. You are a fierce lion, wrapped in the skin of a snake, with the eyes of an eagle and the soul of a badger."

A whisper,

"So where do I put you?"

I wince, my eyes relax, my fists uncoil, I can see dad, great dad, great Harry, he stands before me when I open my eyes, and he smiles, his hands are soft, his voice is quiet, his hair is falling into his green eyes, his smile is lovely, I adore it. I am sitting on his knee; he is putting on my pyjamas, red ones. Mum watches us from the corner, she is sitting on the floor, Albus in her arms, she ducks her head, red hair long, Albus plays with the strands, little fingers running through them.

Dad kisses me on my forehead, eyes tender, and he whispers it,

"Who do you want to be James?"

I remember my eyes closing; I curled into him, smile wide, ear to ear, dimples forming. I tug at his glasses, and answer back, soft,

"I want to be great."

He shakes his head, and places a big hand on each of my shoulders, looking me dead in the eye,

"No. Who do you want to be?"

I grabbed onto his cheeks and pull them to and fro, and giggled, and I took my finger and pointed it at him, poking at his heart, eyes wide, innocent, voice not wavering, voice steady,

"You. I want to be just like you when I grow up dad."

His eyes crinkle, and he ruffled my hair, eyes sad,

"Why?"

I grin,

"Because you are super-duper cool dad."

He laughs. I blink my eyes close. The stool beneath me is warming up. The room is hot. Their breaths are held. And I smile, genuine, my mind yells it, yells it at him, the hat, the future, fate,

"Gryffindor."

The hat laughs,

"Why?"

I close my eyes and raise my chin, voice steady,

"Because I have to make him proud. One day he has to see that I can be just as good."

A quiet,

"Just as good as who?"

My eyes open, I look out to the huge audience, everyone is silent, they are wondering, I am the first Potter in this room in a generation. I am the new generation. I grin, and tilt my head to the side,

"Just as good as my hero."

A pause, and then the hat opens its mouth and yells it to the audience who is waiting desperately,

"GRYFFINDOR!"

And they are standing and Teddy is running and he is picking me up and I am hugging him, grinning ear to ear. I am turning. The blue robes shine bronze. And that was the first time I saw her. She sits next to V, and her eyes found mine and I remember thinking that she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and that I needed to learn her name. That it was necessary. And then she looked away. And she didn't ever look back. And that was that. Over. Done. Boom.

And I sat down. And I forgot about her. About everything, because the hat was right, I would do anything for my friends, I would jump into flames laughing; I would strategize the best way to get out of homework but most of all. I would feel it. The feeling of appreciation. Of being on top of the world. And I remember it. The people who introduced themselves, the grins, the pretty girls, the heartbeat. My heart beat. Excitement. Just like that I was swept away into the idea of fame. The idea of being a legend just because of my last name. Because it is that easy. But now I am different. I am done being remembered as just a Potter. I am ready to be remembered as something bigger. Better.

~The day of the accident~

The door closes behind me. I stare out at the empty training room. And grin. I just arrived back from the Ravenclaw dorm room. It is noon. And somewhere, far away, Rose BlackThorne gets on the train to go to the police station. But I didn't know. No one ever knows. The wheels turn, Fred walks up to her, John slips into the castle, gaze pausing on the two students who are talking, he watches them. Rose and Fred. And he regrets. The bad ones always regret when it is too late. And then he doesn't look back. Not again. Never again. His time is running out. But he doesn't know that. And neither did I.

Thomas goes up the great stairs and to the owlery. He pauses. The bird is perched. Wings black, each feather shining like death. He doesn't smile. The note is attached to its leg. He uncurls it. His fingers shake. It's from his father. The note says. In simple writing that he has to do it. Because the Forgotten have his brother. His little brother. And he needs to do it. He crumples the letter. His head in his hands. He goes back downstairs and he grabs a bottle of fire whiskey. His hands shake. His hours are numbered. He didn't know. I should have known. Rose should have known. It's too late though, isn't it?

I take out my wand and stare at the wood. And smirk. Dropping it to the ground. It hits with an echo. A voice breaks in, soft, feminine, strong,

"You in need of a duelling partner?"

I glance up, Hermione stands at the top of the steps, her hand resting on the railing, eyes looking out, past me, at the great chamber, and I laugh, it echoes off of the walls. She lowers her gaze and sends me a soft smile,

"Is that a yes?"

I grin,

"Anytime. But I never win. Not against you."

She laughs and I blink and she stands beside me, robes billowing around her, white mist following her like a cloud. She sighs. And relaxes her stance a little. Shoulders drooping. Her eyes find mine,

"It has been a long week James. And a long month. And soon a long year."

I stare at her; she sends me a soft smile,

"But it is worth it. Working this hard. It makes me better. It keeps me alert. Prepared."

I lean back slightly and sit on the bottom step, legs extending and look up for her,

"Prepared for what?"

She looks down at me,

"First we duel. And then we go to the meeting room. And you and I talk."

I close my eyes and scrunch my eyebrows together,

"Talk about what?"

She sighs, and runs her hands over her arms, hugging herself, eyes distant,

"I've figured a couple things out. Big things. Changing things. It's a puzzle, but I found a piece, it's just what it is connected to."

She sighs and comes and sits next to me, reaching down and taking off her heels, stretching her feet to and fro, and smiles at me,

"You lucky men, your beauty standards make your life so easy. Last month I spent a week just going through all the complaints female workers have with the dress code. Why must we wear something past the knee? Why is a bra necessary? Why is a summer dress inappropriate? Why do I have to wear heels instead of sneakers?"

She gives me a long look and laughs,

"The men's complaints were four, one, why suits, two, why suits, three, why suits, four why suits."

She glances at me,

"It's an endless battle against you hairy homo-sapiens."

I laugh and duck my head,

"Well I apologize on behalf of those four men."

She shakes her head,

"Don't. They have every right to complain just as much. It's just tiresome, how society limits us even when you are on top. I hate heels. Torture devices. I don't care if my legs look long or not. It doesn't affect my brain cells. If anything the pain becomes distracting."

I lower my eyes, she laughs,

"You find me amusing. You are silenced because you think I am blaming you. But you are mistaken, I do not bring up the topic of sexism in the work place to make you uncomfortable, but more so because you are my friend, my colleague, my nephew, and therefore I am confiding in you of the daily, tiny struggles I still face."

I take her hand in mine, and look down at her golden wedding ban. I can see his arm flying. His own wedding ban shining red with blood. My voice is soft.

"Is Andrew okay?"

She arches a brow,

"You haven't visited him? He's in the hospital James, you should go see him."

I shake my head, eyes squinting shut,

"I can't."

She shakes her head with me,

"Yes you can, you are just afraid that he might blame you."

I feel my breath catch and quickly put on a smile, she gives me a long look,

"He won't James. Just like if you were him, and he cut off your arm to save a lot of good people and sacrifice himself, you wouldn't blame him."

I stand and round on her, eyes dancing, with a fury hardly hidden, fists formed in milliseconds, voice biting,

"YES. Yes I would blame him. Because arms don't just grow back. When an arm is gone, an arm is gone, and his profession is fighting, and now he is disabled. In fact if I was him I would not just blame I would hate, despise, be disgusted to face such a bastard as myself."

I turn away, teeth digging into my lip. She stands and stretches, sighing,

"All that self-hate is unhealthy."

She slowly walks till she is in front of me, and takes out her wand, with a slight flourish,

"I suggest screaming at me for the entire afternoon, it'll make you feel better, letting it out."

I lower my eyes,

"I don't hate myself."

She sighs,

"We all have things we don't like about ourselves. Some of us only focus on those things. And some of us try desperately to improve. And the best of us learn to accept them, and eventually like them. Or just stop criticizing them."

She raises her wand and bows, eyes never leaving mine,

"Ready to become humbled?"

I laugh and pick up my wand and lower my head, backing up one step, two steps, three steps,

"Never. But it'll probably happen anyways."

She smiles, eyes soft,

"Don't fight to kill, fight to outsmart. Everything, every step, every blink weighs down if you come out alive or dead. Injured or perfect. Everything is calculated, never assume your enemy is weaker than you or you are better than your enemy"

I nod my head.

Five. She raises her wand.

Four.

She blinks.

Three.

My feet scrape the ground.

Two.

We both raise our wands.

One.

"Expulso!"

The world blows up. The room shakes. The fire burns my flesh, and I blink. And she is invisible. Disappeared. I weave an allusion around me. But the fire burns me, and the smoke is not hidden and somewhere in the burning light does she smile. It roars around us. The flames lick. I close my eyes. And I cheat. My fingers going to one of my pendants, a single touch and my body cools down protected from fire.

I raise my wand,

"Lelontrenada,"

And the lights blink out, the fire rages, now black, the smoke stifles us, a stroke of her wand and the flames retreat. Disappearing to air. I close my eyes trying to hear her footsteps and then there is a knife, placed at my throat, her voice echoes on the walls,

"Cheater."

The pendant melts off of my arm, disappearing into darkness. I wince, she laughs, soft, voice quiet, to my right, my left, in front, behind,

"Sorry James. I swear you're my favourite nephew. Don't tell Al I said that though."

I roll my eyes, and say nothing, backing into the middle. And then the air changes, descending to a cold, and she stands before me, eyes closed. I grin, raising my wand and go to say a curse, but then she multiplies and I am surrounded by hundreds of her. All with eyes closed. And then the room is spinning, and I am reversing it, I weave the illusions as she creates them, I rip them away, sending spells in every direction, I whisper protego, and a couple other protection charms. Eyes shining. Adrenaline singing.

And then I see it. The Hermione with her eyes open. And I whisper it in my mind,

"Fiendfyre"

And the fire rushes towards her, whistling in the wind, she grins, twisting her wand, hair flying behind her,

"Reducto"

And the fire curves in on itself, falling into its centre point, folding in, she twists it around, it snakes, and she transforms the flames to a serpent, its eyes are red, its scales shine, it twists into the air, its fangs drip and it charges, I roll to the side, my robes tear, I feel a single droplet of sweat fall. I blow out my cheeks and touch my wand to my lips. Giving the beast a chaste wink, and blow, and out from my jaws flows venom, boundlessly, it sprays up, and the cries of the great monster echo across the stages. And it begins to crash towards the ground but I am already transforming it to dust. But too late. My back is to her. And her wand is already coming down in a cruel arc,

"Extendianda,"

Boom. Time stops. Every atom is split apart. I am not human nor am I alive. I am extended in the second she holds. Everything floats apart. Everything is broken apart, my limbs, time itself slows, everything stretches, I wince, imagine the pain of each joint being pulled to its maximum, and I close my eyes, focusing on the dust on the floor, I fight it, my hand materializes, my fingers gasp to move, my wand comes back, she is turning her wand in her hand, lips beginning to move, too fast, too slow, and my wrist moves, just a brief flic, the dust roars to life, the spell breaks. I crash to the floor as it spins upwards, the tornado heads towards her, dust flying in the wind, roaring through the room, each particle whipping by, but she reducts it. Her wand moving in a cruel arc, the dust flashes to the ground, spreading across and she expands each particle and it grows, they become hot to the touch, I let out a scream, and her hands are moving, and they rise with the movements, my skin breaks, blood seeps into my clothing, I let out another scream, my hands tremble. Her voice is soft.

"Focus James. Find your way out. Breath James. The pain is only as real as you perceive it."

I close my eyes. The blood is hot. It stings. My eyes are blinded. The dust sears my flesh. Burning and cutting through bone. I let out a breath. She breathes with me. Her voice is sharp. It leads me. I focus on it. Her breath. Her movement. A flick.

"Deromia"

She crashes to her knees. Wand skidding across the floor. The dust crashes to the ground, expanding and then disappearing into thin air. A blink. My wand works quickly. I heal the wounds, teeth gritted, lip pulled between them, tongue rolling. I let out a sigh and yawn. She has a slight concerned look, voice soft,

"Sorry, did I go too far?"

I give her puppy eyes and she laughs, voice soft,

"Oh please you know that doesn't work on me."

I stick out my bottom lip, a blink, she is gone. Wand flashed from the floor. Her voice comes from behind. In front. Everywhere. I cannot find her. It distracts, echoes, pin points and falls. Her words curve in the air, not from one place but from all around me.

"If you lose focus the charm breaks. Focus is your greatest weapon, that and your mind. They can determine if you live or die. Understand?"

I nod. I turn. Robes whispering on the floor. She is behind me. Our eyes meet. A blink and then I am crippled. She whips her wand, the tip going to her voice box and she yells, the sound multiplies and breaks through me. It vibrates the walls and breaks the ceiling, it rumbles through my bones, it confuses me; my hands go to my ears. I feel my breath suck in. She is already moving, but I am moving with her, she lowers the shards of the ceiling faster. Great marble and paintings and murals descend, I can see the stone and the jewels shine. The sunlight is blinding. She darkens the room so the sunlight is all I can see by. A blink. The sound is overwhelming, the sun is bright, hot. It cuts me. The objects are benches form hitting. Survival is skill. You survive if you can outsmart. My hands shake. A breath. I steady them. And I am moving.

Boom. The ceiling is reducted, and it flies back in place, I do a simple silence spell and the sound is sucked out of the room. The silence is unerring. I blink a couple times. All I can see is spots. The silence means I cannot hear where she is in the room. And my sight will take a couple seconds to restore. Think James. Think fast.

Too late. A simple spell. I am flying into the air. Non-verbal. The air captures me and I hang suspended.

She moves a stray hair out of her eye. My vision is cleared. I growl. She gives me a warm motherly smile. A flash of her wand, I fly upwards. The ceiling grows closer, my wand is moving. Uncalculated. I am released from the charm. But I am too high in the air. I slight gasp. I fall to the ground. And let out a groan, sending her a glare,

"Ouch."

She ducks her head, eyes sorry, I roll to the side and summersault till I am standing, cracking my neck. I roll my shoulders back and grin,

"Is that all you've got?"

She laughs and snorts,

"Idiot. Don't provoke me."

And then her wand is moving fluently, the world spins by, and I feel my stomach turn and then she is walking forward and she throws hexes at me, left and right, I block and par them, hand formed in a fist, she flicks her wand up and then down, and then she begins to weave, the illusions come at me, knives, snakes, lions, eagles, death eaters, bombs, and I deflect. And then some of them become real. I duck a flying knife and catch it mid-air, throwing it back, raising my wand, and the match commences. Close courters. Breath quick.

"Densaugeo"

I roll to the side,

"Entomorphis"

She deflects,

"Mutatio Skullus"

It hits me hard, and I place my hand on my chest, and tap my wand three times, grasping hold of the charm, I enlargen it and throw it back, she throws up a protection charm.

"Colloshoo"

I deflect it and pace to the side, right foot over the left; she does the same, she lets out a breath,

"Feel more relaxed yet?"

I nod my head, she smiles,

"We can call it quits now and let your dignity remain,"

I roll my eyes,

"Yes. Thank you for that insult Aunt."

She giggles, and lowers her eyes,

"Maybe your strong Rose will teach you a lesson or two about respect."

I grin ear to ear,

"Maybe she already has."

She ducks her head,

"You are happy."

I nod my head,

"Of course."

She closes her eyes and smiles,

"Oh James. Never loose concentration in a duel."

I realise just a second too late, and she is behind me, wand held to my temple and a flick and I am suspended in the air, another flick and flames rise around me, and she grins, the woman in front of me fading to dust.

"Getting distracted can lose you your life."

I arch a brow, and sigh,

"That's cheating."

She shakes her head,

"No. That's strategy."

She walks to the stairs and sits, flopping down, another flick she catches my wand in her left hand, I growl,

"Let me down Hermie."

She shakes her head,

"Not like that. You'll kill me if I let you down right now. Plus, there is something oddly appealing about beating the famous hot shot James Potter."

She takes her wand and does a few large sweeps, cleaning the room of the damage we inflicted. And then she lets me down. My back hits the ground with a boom.

She sighs and runs her hands through her messy hair and smiles softly,

"Oh James what a mess I have made."

I roll onto my side,

"What does that mean?"

She shakes her head,

"For the first time in a long time I need someone to help me. I can't do it alone. Anything."

I sigh with her and stand, rolling my shoulders back and sit next to her, eyes closing,

"Me too. I am scared we are losing."

She laughs,

"No James. Let me correct you. We ARE losing. They are winning."

I glance at her,

"Then what do we do?"

She sighs, eyes closing,

"We change it, we make it better, we come together."

I let out a breath,

"You are wrong. Because we are doing our best. And we are failing."

She gives me a long look,

"I am not doing my best."

I open my eyes,

"What?"

She stands, hooking her heels onto her index finger,

"I said I am not doing my best."

I take her hand in mine,

"Why not?"

She glances at me,

"Because I value something over winning."

I give her another long look,

"What?"

She turns away from me,

"My sanity. I value my sanity more than winning. My brain. My intelligence. I cannot let go of it. And it is a flaw of mine. It makes me selfish. It makes me weak."

I close my eyes, I can see Rose, asleep beside me, her eyes closed, a soft smile on her face, and then I can see the drawings, the shaky hands, the red eyes, the broken figure, the tears. And I close my eyes.

"Does it? Or maybe it makes you reasonable,"

She shakes his head,

"In a war reason is the first thing thrown to the wind, for better or for worse."

I close my eyes, and smile softly,

"V is okay. She is doing okay. She is there for Hugo, for Rose."

She laughs, and turns to me, her eyes hold tears,

"Why the hell should she have to be there for them? When I should be?"

I lower my eyes and shake my head,

"I don't know. I think you're doing a pretty good job at the parent thing,"

She shakes her head, and waves her wand, grip soft, and a golden daisy grows out of her palm, the petals bloom and expand, and she holds it, and stares at it, voice soft,

"Being a mother is a big job. I know you think us parents are unbreakable, are perfect, have to always be there. But it gets tiring. And it is what we signed up for. And merlin I love them. I love everything about them."

I don't stand; gaze lowered, my voice slightly harsh,

"It doesn't matter if you can't handle it, because think of them, all alone, and they have never been through this, and if you give up on them because you cannot handle it then how must they feel? When they are lost and alone in the darkness and you leave them there. Then who is responsible for what they become? Who? Them? Or you?"

She stares at me, and lower her eyes,

"No one is. There are a million tiny factors that make us who we are, there are bigger ones and smaller ones, and medium sized ones. And the parent may be a big one. But never James, and hear me,"

She stands, turning to face me, fist closing on the flower, the petals crushed,

"Never blame someone blatantly. Because it will destroy them James. And they may not be able to recover. And then who do you blame when they are crushed by your words? Do you blame yourself? Can you handle that?"

I shake my head,

"You don't understand."

She grabs onto my hand, fingers soft,

"It isn't about understanding it's about empathy. About going into their skin and seeing their point of view. And getting to know them through that."

I rip my hand from her grip,

"Since when is your work better than the people you love?"

She shakes her head,

"I have responsibilities to both my family and my work. It's about finding a balance."

I stare at her,

"But if you had to choose one?"

She lowers her eyes,

"I don't have to."

I step away, and look out at the room,

"Why are you so indecisive?"

She stands slowly,

"And why are you so drastic?"

I bite my lip, hands balling into fists,

"No one ever told me that it's okay to not decide."

She closes her eyes,

"James…"

I arch a brow,

"Yes?"

She shakes her head, eyes hard,

"Stop blaming Harry for who you are. Parents only can do so much. Friends only make so much of a difference."

I back away a couple steps.

"You wouldn't get it."

She leans back on the steps,

"I obliviated my parents."

I stare at her, my voice shakes

"Yeah, I know."

She shakes her head, a silent tear falls, it is clear, it runs down her cheek, she does not wipe it away, her voice is rough,

"No you don't. You are surrounded by people who love you. It is not their fault you push them away."

I turn away, and scoff; she does not raise her voice, and goes on,

"I obliviated them. And they will never remember me. And I visit them. In Paris every spring. And I follow them to the park, and to the little cafe, and I watch them and they are smiling. And I sit and I think how can you smile when a part of your life was ripped from you? I sit and I think what kind of monster am I to have done that to someone?"

I turn to her. Her eyes are glossy, she does not blink, she stares very far away, to a world I cannot see,

"They are growing older. I won't get an invitation to their next anniversary. I can't give her a gift for Mother's day. They don't celebrate my birthday. I wasn't there when they retired from work. I couldn't congratulate them when they bought a new car. I won't ever sit on their couch and watch documentaries, I'll never hold their hands, or hug them. And who's fault is that James? Huh, who do I blame?"

I lower my eyes, voice soft,

"Yourself."

She shakes her head,

"There you are wrong. No one. There is no one to blame. I messed up. But I had to mess up. I saved their lives. I spared them from the war. I made their lives better. And I will regret that decision for my entire life."

She stands and walks slightly past me,

"It happened in the past so I cannot change it. So I will not blame anyone. Because it is a waste of energy, of time, of happiness. Just because I don't blame me doesn't mean I don't love them any less, it doesn't mean I miss them any less, it doesn't mean I hurt them any less. But it does mean I won't hate me. Because me, I am the most important thing in my life. And if I blame me I am destroying myself. It's counterproductive."

I lower my eyes. She steps forward.

"Empathy James. It covers miles, it changes lives. It opens eyes."

She starts up the stairs, once by one, feet barefoot, I glance up at her. She glances down. Her eyes shine. She shakes her head.

"Think of Rose James. Can you even imagine never having a family? Ever? Being lonely all the time, thinking you are worthless, blaming and blaming, and burying yourself under the self-loathing. You think you have it bad? Everything is at your feet. Harry, your mum, Albus, even Lily, they are all waiting for you to care about them. And it's funny."

She turns around fully, towering above me, her eyes do not leave mine.

"It's funny because you are waiting for them to care about you. So who will be the brave one and take the first step?"

She turns around and walks up those stairs. Leaving me alone.

She pauses at the top of the stairs and waits until I am beside her. Each of my steps is heavy. She takes her wand and wraps her fingers into mine pressing the tip into my palm.

Her voice is soft,

"I spoke to them once. I promised myself I wouldn't. But I did. I wasn't as strong as I thought I was."

I close my eyes. The streets of Paris are covered in cherry blossoms, the wind is soft, it laughs in my ears. The ground is stone, soft under shoes, the trees sway in the wind, the little flowers blow away, and they run in the sky, swirling in clouds of pink and gold. The sun is high, the clouds are white. The river runs by, its waters are light blue, its railing is made of gold. The sun shines on its clear waters, little pebbles dance on its bottoms, and on the banks grow little daises, the flowers yellow and royal pink. The sun glorifies each petal. Bees buzz around them, and little pixies dance on big mushrooms, tiny feet beating a rhythm to the streams song. As the water laps on moss covered edges. The memory has a sad happiness. It makes me pause. The world is colourful, the image of perfection.

There is an elderly couple, they are smiling, wide, they walk in front, arms interlinked, laughing at something, a newspaper tucked under an arm, a smart phone in a back pocket, turned off. The grey hair is flecked with browns and caramels. They smell like home. I look past the image, and I see her. Hermione. She sits on a bench. She is wearing yellow; the dress is young, beautiful. She doesn't have grey hair but she does have the wedding ban on her finger. Her eyes stare out. The wind has a light breeze, it laughs and spins by her, picking up each strand of hair delicately and throwing it in the wind, they dance as golden strands. Her eyes are half lidded. Her pose is relaxed. A book folded on her lap. The Iliad is scrawled across the front in big gold print. Commercialized. But the cover is worn down. The same copy is in my dad's office library. One of the first prints. Her hair is lose, she is younger, but not by much. And she looks up, and she sees them. And her eyes. They tell stories. Beautiful stories. And there is a hope. A hope that they will recognise her. And it dies, because their eyes move past her, like they would any other stranger. And they walk away. By her. And she is standing, a flurry of movement. And she is running, shoes soft on stone. She calls out.

"Mom, wait!"

The couple stops and turns back, she catches up, she stares at them, her eyes are shaking, her breath is caught. She smiles wide, but it does not reach her eyes, the woman speaks, the older woman to the younger woman,

"Mom?"

A tear falls from Hermione's eye. She doesn't wipe it away. The book is clutched in her hands. Her knuckles are white. She lets out a gasp. And her face crumples, and she shakes her head, her voice soft,

"You look so much like her. Like my mum. I'm sorry for bothering you…"

She steps back, and lets out a soft sob, turning slowly. Her mom calls out. Voice a whisper.

"Oh hunny, it's okay."

She pauses. And looks back. The wind brushes by them. The pixies stop dancing and look up, eyes curious. The sunlight shines. The trees sway in the breeze, flowers and yellow leaves dancing around them in the swirl of the wind. She smiles, eyes shining bright. And ducks her head. Voice a whisper.

"Thank you."

The old woman steps forward. Her smile matches Hermione's. It has the same small curve of her upper lip and faint dimple on her right side. She takes one of Hermione's shaking hands in her one. Her skin is wrinkled but warm. Her voice is soft,

"Tell me about your mum. What was she like?"

Hermione slowly raises her eyes. Meeting the caramel eyes of the woman she loves the most in the whole world. She smiles big, but her eyes won't stop shining with fresh summer tears. She gives a little sniff,

"She was incredible. I miss her. A lot."

The woman leans closer,

"What happened to her dear?"

Hermione stares at her. Eyes wide. Her mouth won't move. Her voice shakes.

"She moved somewhere very far away."

The woman gives her hand a soft squeeze,

"I'm sure she loves you very much."

Hermione lets out a sob. Her hands desperate. And she holds onto the little old womans hand with all the life she has. Her lower lip trembles.

"Thank you. So much."

The woman looks down. Her finger traces the wedding ring, the gold shines, she smiles,

"Are you a newly wed?"

Hermione stares at her. And she lets out a soft, watery laugh.

"Yes. I got married last week. Me and my husband are here on our honey moon."

The woman gives her a huge grin, eyes glowing with a soft, forgotten love,

"Congratulations."

Hermione smiles soft, the old woman smiles bright, Hermione's voice is like a lullaby,

"I see you in this park so often around this year, I almost feel like we know each other by now,"

The old woman tilts her head,

"I'm sorry, I don't think I remember your face."

Hermione ducks her head, and shakes it, eyes downcast,

"It's fine. I just wanted to say hello."

The old woman smiles and her husband steps forward slightly,

"Next time you'll have to introduce us to your husband. He must be a very lucky man to be married to a woman like you."

She stares at him. Her eyes shine and I can see a million memories of him driving her to school, reminding her to wash the dishes, teaching her how to ride a bike, helping her get her driver's license, arguing over what the true purpose of the tongue is. I can so much in her eyes. So much in his. He goes on, voice soft,

"Do you visit here often?"

Hermione lets out a slight sigh, her eyes are shining,

"Yes. It helps me remember, calm down, it almost feels like home,"

Her dad smiles wide, lighting up his eyes,

"How wonderful! Do you live around here or just pass through?"

She stares at them, eyes wide, and sniffs slightly,

"I pass through every now and then. It's a nice place."

Her mom nods her head,

"Yes. We retired here. If only we had a child to share it with, right?"

Her husband smiles, and Hermione stares at her and turns away, the tears are soft on her cheeks, closing her eyes and walking away, but her mom calls out,

"You have a pretty smile, it's just like mine,"

Hermione stops and lowers her eyes, her voice a whisper,

"Isn't it?"

The old couple laughs, her dads voice is soft,

"Your face. I feel like I've seen it a thousand times. I just can't remember where."

Hermione turns back slowly, her smile is broken,

"It's a weird feeling right?"

Her mom's smile falls and she stares at Hermione, looking deep into her eyes. Her voice a murmur,

"Have we met, somewhere before?"

Hermione smiles, her voice shakes.

"Who knows? It's a small world."

Her mom steps closer, head tilting to the side, the river sings, the breeze picks up. Her voice is soft,

"I feel like I know you."

Hermione steps closer. Opening her mouth. And then she closes it, ducking her head. Voice soft,

"I'm sorry. But you must be mistaken."

A quiet. The three stare at each other for a moment. A heartbeat. Hermione clears her throat. The last tear runs down her cheek. Soft. Her voice is just an echo.

"I should get going. Maybe I'll see you next time."

Her mom smiles wide,

"That would be nice."

She turns away. Their voices are quiet as they walk on without her. Her dads voice singing out,

"What a nice girl. Right Monica?"

Her mum's voice is just a murmur,

"Her parents must be very proud."

Hermione does not move. The wind flies by her. The leaves tangle in her hair. And the tears dry to just soft tracks on her skin. The sky darkens. And many other people pass by. She stands by that river and she looks out. And she says nothing. Nothing for a long time. And then she walks. Each step slow to the man with the red hair that stands before her. Ron. His eyes are careful; she gives him a small broken smile and shakes her head. And he is moving and pulling her close, and she collapses in his arms, sobbing. The tears flood and his shirt soon becomes wet. And he holds her desperately saying soft words. Hands tangled in her hair. The rivers waters do not slow and the stars shine bright in Paris that night. And slowly the image fades. Her wand, warm with memories leaves my palm, and the light that was admitted from the memory turns to darkness.

The stairs come back, and so does the training room and the soft fragrant wind of Paris, France is left behind. We stand and we stare. Her eyes are sad. A scar that has not healed, a scab reopened. We do not speak for a while. Her hair whispers in the slight breeze. And the room encompasses us. I look up at the ceiling, painted with great scenes of the final battle. She is there. Her wand raised at the snake that towers over her, fangs dripping, her arms wrapped around Ron, and Neville stands behind them, the sword raised. Their eyes are painted terrified, young and terrified. And there. At the centrepiece of it all is Harry and Voldemort. My dad and his worst enemy. Wands raised, sparks flying. Red and green. Good and evil. But the world is not black and white. Not clear and dark. I close my eyes. I can hear her soft breath. In and out. In and out. Her hands are limp. She doesn't shake. She doesn't tremble. She is stronger than the rest of us. But yet. Who would want to be her? A woman who is torn from her family and lives like this. With a brain no one can win over. A brilliance contained, because the world is never ready for the brilliant. So the brilliant let their brains go to waste, and corrode, and burn and turn to ash. Because they want to be normal.

I don't want to be normal. I want to live forever. I want to be painted on the chapel ceilings, and I want thrones built in my name, I want power and power until everyone bows on the ground before me. I want them to recognise me as not a Potter, not a Gryffindor, not a Wizard but a God. A legend. Someone superior. So how did she do it? How did she refuse the chance at such power? How could she? Who in their right mind would do so? When the government could be yours. And you could rule why would you say no? Why would you let someone like my father rule over you? What makes you refuse it?

Her eyes are hazel. Hazel green. They are gazing up at that ceiling too. And there, deep inside of them I can see a wistful dream. My voice is a whisper when I speak. Just a whisper.

"Do you ever get bored?"

She doesn't look at me. Her hand rises and she traces that ceiling with it, tracing the outline of Fred's face as Bellatrix kills him. Her eyes don't blink. She looks at Sirius, crashing into the veil, Remus falling to the ground, skin cold. Snape dying under Voldemort, Harry peering through the door. Lily crashing to the ground in front of Dad's crib. Peter in the street, turning into the rat, the bodies lying on the ground, left behind. She parts her lips. The blood runs from those walls, it is laced with greed and lust. Her lips part, her eyes stare, glassy, almost confused of what's real and not real. Her voice echoes in the great room,

"Yes. All the time."

I stare at her,

"How do you resist it?"

She shakes her head,

"Sometimes I can't. And my hands shake. And my wand has a different use. But then I breathe. Deep. And I close my eyes. And I think of all the people that died so I could be alive today. And it humbles me. Enough to not let go."

I tilt my head to the side,

"Let go of what?"

She stares at Dumbeldore, hit with the green light, Snape's hand interlaced with Draco's as his wand moves in the cruel arc, his body falling down and down. She lets out a soft breath. He hits the grass with a crash. Bellatrix lets out a cackle, I can see her eyes filled with a horror, a sickened horror. Her eyebrows come together, she stands on her tip toes, slowly rising, her fingers reaching at the glory. She lets out a choked sob. And shakes her head, ever so softly, voice a murmur,

"Control."

I lean forward. Voice fascinated,

"Have you ever thought of what it would be like? Letting go?"

She lowers her eyes, and stares at me, head tilted to the side, eyes shining, her pupils are large, I can see the vein ticking in her neck, she leans closer, just a hairs breathe,

"Yes. All the time."

I step forward. My voice catching, eyes hungry,

"What would you do? If there were no consequences. If you could, for once not be bored."

She shifts her gaze back up. Her eyes resting on Voldemort's face, his wand pointed at Ollivander, his eyes greedy, hungry, raging mad. She arches a brow, her voice hard when she speaks again. Tongue arching in her mouth, her hair blows in the soft wind that curves around her, I stare at her, I can see a magic, deep and dark emitted from her veins, her veins shine golden. She stares at it. The ceiling. The possibility. She closes her eyes and lips in a split second. Her feet hit the ground. A blink. The power is gone. She looks frazzled, tired. Soft. She shakes her head, voice shaking.

"I do not have the freedom to imagine such a thing."

I laugh, soft, eyes never leaving hers,

"Why not? What's stopping you?"

She looks at me, her eyes hard,

"My morals. My heart. My heart rules far stronger than my mind. I conquer myself, so I do not become…"

I step closer, eyes meeting hers. Fire and ice. Dark and light. Or maybe just grey. Everything is grey. There is no darkness, no light. My voice is deep, an echo of desire.

"Become who?"

She stares at me. Eyes a little frightened as they search mine. She stares at me. She sees the hunger. She knows the feeling too. I know she does. I am not imagining it. I lean closer. Her eyes tremble. Wide. Her voice is a whisper when she speaks again. Like what we are saying is secrets. And perhaps it is. Her voice drips with careful tones. A slight tint of restraint.

"Boredom can be forgotten with distraction."

I stare at her,

"Do the Forgotten distract you?"

She says nothing. I go on. My voice calculated,

"Or do you understand them. Their thinking, their genius and grin because they are doing a good job. Or…"

She doesn't say anything. Frozen. Eyes wide. My voice is biting,

"Or do you enjoy the thrill of the fight. It's like a game right? Who wins, who loses. Which battle, what they plan next. And you are not doing your best because it isn't your sanity you will lose. It is your humanity. Right?"

She doesn't speak. Her eyes don't blink. They turn red. We stand there. Breathing soft. The room is vast but the space is small. And we are meant for much greater things. She doesn't speak. She can't. She knows that there is too much we are losing, too much she is fighting for. I know that too. We have people we could lose, aspects that make us weak. And she knows that too. We don't speak. Eventually she steps back. Her heel hitting the ground. Skin on forged marble. Boom. Her eyes shift to the ground. Her voice doesn't break. It's steady. Its careful. It's a warning.

"Careful James. I might think you are power hungry."

She doesn't look at me. Her finger nails dig into her skin. I close my eyes. A sickening horror slipping over me. I can feel emotions rise and fall like my breath. I almost slipped. I step back as well. We stand feet apart. Both of our eyes closed. Heads bowed, fists formed, veins filled with adrenaline. And the world doesn't see it. And the history books won't write it. Because we are the good guys. And everyone expects us to do the right thing. So we will. Too many people to let down. Too human. Too weak. Or maybe too strong. We both let out a long sigh. Fingers uncurling. We both tilt our heads back and look up at the arched masterpiece above us. Both pairs of eyes rest on Tom Riddle, just a child, sitting on his bed in the orphanage as Dumbledore leans over him. The cabinet catching a flame. It sings in our blood. It writes horrors. It tells us secrets in our sleep. It is not a darkness. It is human nature to crave it. Absolute freedom.

Silence.

A soft chuckle, I clear my throat, soft, voice louder in the still,

"I was just kidding. We are good people Hermi,"

She doesn't say anything. I clear my throat again. My mind skipping back to Paris. The wind was soft. The sun was high and golden. My voice is softer when I speak again,

"Why didn't you restore their memories?"

She sighs, glancing back down to me. Her eyes won't meet mine. She is quiet for a moment. And then she speaks.

"It's risky, obliviating is one thing, but giving them back, it can go wrong, some people are not strong enough to survive it."

I let go of her hand,

"You could have tried,"

She lowers her eyes,

"And tell them what James? That their daughter manipulated them?"

I shake my head,

"No, you saved them, Hermione, they would understand,"

She turns to me,

"Would you?"

I glance down,

"What?"

She raises her chin slightly,

"Would you understand if someone took years of your life and made them into lies? When the war ended it had already been two years, two years is a long time. Can you imagine two years of your life being fake? I promised my parents that I would never use magic against them. I broke that promise."

I shake my head again,

"Then you are a coward, too afraid to face them,"

She lowers her eyes,

"Yes. I am. But I don't think they would like me, the me now."

I reach for her hand,

"You're wrong, they would adore you."

She glances up at me, and gives me a sad smile,

"One day you'll grow up a little more and see things differently. And you will understand that the mistakes we make today cannot be undone. We can accept or we can try to change. But changing becomes a mess. A spiral."

I sigh,

"You should have given them their memories"

She arches a brow,

"They could have gone insane James. Our minds are not built to be torn apart and put back together whenever we please. That is too great a risk for me to take."

I open my mouth,

"But-"

She closes her eyes, her voice cutting in, soft,

"Obliviating cannot be truly undone. It can unravel the mind and burn the person. It can kill them. Destroying the mind once is already a great risk. Doing it twice? If they died, from shock and I blamed myself I would have died with them. I saved them. And I pay the price. They feel no loss, they do not miss, they live a life I have woven with no regrets. A beautiful life that they used to dream of having. And every year I send them money. So that that beautiful life can continue."

I narrow my eyes, voice soft,

"And where do they think the money comes from?"

She shrugs, eyes never leaving mine,

"I don't know."

I laugh,

"Liar. You know, you just don't want to tell me."

She lowers her eyes, voice quiet,

"I don't lie to you James. Ever. I tell you the truth and then I help you handle it."

I stare at her. Her eyes meet mine. Clear. Soft. Strong. Loyal.

"I'm not lying. I don't know. Trust in that."

I shake my head, my voice soft,

"Trust? Truth? Those are things you can't put your faith in."

She looks into my eyes. Her voice is a murmur,

"What does that mean?"

I arch a brow,

"Once a liar, always a liar."

She sighs,

"And when have I lied to you?"

I give her a long look.

"You lied when you said you would protect me always."

She arches a brow,

"When have I ever let you down James?"

I step back,

"You will. Everyone does. That's just the way of the world."

She gives me a soft look. Eyes sad, so very sad. Almost pitying. I hate pity. Her voice is just a murmur,

"Will Rose?"

I nod, no hesitation,

"Of course. And I have to prepare myself for that."

She steps closer,

"How can you live like this? And call it living? What is life without trust?"

I arch a brow,

"A life with no rules, no weakness."

She laughs, broken,

"Is that a life you look forward to living?"

I step closer. My voice ragged,

"No. But if I have today I do not intend to waste it."

She shakes her head, eyes shining,

"And what of tomorrow?"

I arch a brow,

"Nothing lasts that long."

She closes her eyes and tips her head back. She does not cry. She is stronger than that. She lets out a breath. Soft. Her voice a whisper.

"I remember the first time I saw you. In the hospital. You were a little hairy blob. I was nervous, my heart was palpating, and Ron kept telling me that I'm not the one in labour. Ginny was full on sobbing. She wouldn't let anyone hold you. Not anyone. She cradled you to her chest and sobbed and sobbed at the top of her lungs. You and her sounded like a choir. Both screaming up a storm. She wouldn't stop smiling. Her eyes were shining like mirrors. I thought how beautiful. How lucky. How gifted."

Her eyes don't open. Her voice is a whisper. Shaking every now and then, trembling with emotions I cannot understand. Beautiful, colourful, outstanding emotions. Her voice wavers but stays strong.

"You opened your eyes in your father's arms. We all peered over his shoulder to see what colour. They were green James. Your eyes."

I stare at her. She opens her eyes slowly. She doesn't flinch. We look at each other. I shake my head, voice a murmur

"What?"

She nods her head. Voice soft.

"They were green. Beautiful green, like a meadows fresh grass in spring, the shine of the oceans shore, the leaf of a daisy, the thorn on a rose, dark like the emeralds found deep in mountains and mines and soft like the sun kissed moss in deep forests. They were green James."

I step closer,

"How? My eyes, they're gold."

She nods her head. Her voice is a whisper.

"Yes they are. Aren't they?"

I narrow my eyes.

"What does that mean?"

She gives me a long look, voice soft,

"Have you ever wondered why you are so gifted? Why you can do things no one else can?"

I nod. My voice drops to her volume,

"Yes. But dad always said it was just a coincidence."

She shakes her head,

"Nothing in this world is coincidence. One day you will learn that."

I step forward,

"What's wrong with me?"

She searches my eyes, her voice soft,

"You told me to never lie to you James. So, I don't think I will answer that. But I will say it isn't something wrong it is something wonderful. You. You are my wonder boy James Potter. And the world? They aren't ready for you, not just yet. Because you don't know you. Not quite. Not fully. And I wish I could help you understand it. But I don't know it. As much as I hate to say that."

I step closer, voice a whisper,

"If I am so wondrous why am I such a bad person?"

Her eyes swim with emotion and she laughs, soft, broken, eyes never leaving mine,

"There is no good or bad in this world. There are just people. And people mess up and mess up, and we must still love them cause they are all we have."

I shake my head,

"People are ordinary. But I'm not. I'm not ordinary."

She tilts her head to the side,

"And what defines that low standard of ordinary. What makes you the judge? Who knows all people and can judge all people as above or below you?"

I open my mouth. And close it softly. She smiles. Soft.

"You think we are the good guys?"

I nod my head. She takes my hands in hers. Her eyes steady.

"And you think they are the bad guys?"

I raise my eyebrows. And give her a duh look. She sighs, and tilts her head to the side, eyes slightly amused. Her voice is just a vibration, so very soft,

"They think we are the bad guys and they are the good guys. So really we are all just guys. But that is sexist. So all just people. Humans. Or to be more broad, animals. With the need to protect what they love, and the disgusting obsessive need for power. More and more. So it doesn't matter if we are good or bad. Because there is no difference, everyone thinks they are good and everyone else is bad. So really? We are all just fools walking the maze of life and trying to beat the other person out. But we are all lost. And we are all hurt. And we are all weak and trying to be strong. And we all are fighting for something. Someone."

Her eyes stare into mine.

"And that. That is what makes the Forgotten so scary James."

I stare at her. Her eyes are scared; I have never seen her eyes this scared before. Her voice trembles,

"The Forgotten are not walking the maze of life. They are not human, or animal. They exist. And yet? Do they? They do not think they are good and they don't think we are bad. They do not know right or wrong, black or white. They have no compassion or love. So they are strong and trying to look weak. So we will not take them as the threat they are."

Her eyes narrow.

"They are playing with us. Seeing our weaknesses, setting us up for the first act, for this is only the introduction and they are getting each of us to where they want us to be on the stage. And they control the curtain. And I have no idea what's next. What they want. What they need. But I think you know. I think you know a lot James. I think it is time you start trusting someone. Someone like me. Because I trust you James. I would trust you with my life, if it came down to it."

I stare at her. She is quiet for a long time. And then when she speaks again, her voice shakes,

"Lily and James' wedding anniversary is coming up next month."

I tilt my head to the side,

"That's random."

She licks her lips. Eyes broken. When she speaks again, her voice shakes.

"What is Harry James?"

I arch a brow at her, giving a little snort.

"My dad. A legend. A hero. A father. A husband."

She closes her eyes.

"What else?"

I let out a soft laugh,

"What do you mean?"

She winces, I can see a clear tear slip down her cheek. She doesn't wipe it away. She turns her back to me. Her voice shakes.

"Why is Lily and James' anniversary so important to me James?"

I shake my head,

"They're dead. So why would it matter?"

She turns to me slowly. Her voice shakes.

"If…. If your parents are dead, what does that make you?"

I stare at her. I can hear the blood rush in my ears. I shake my head. My voice hollow,

"No-"

She ducks her head, eyes not meeting mine. Her voice is a whisper.

"Harry is an orphan James."

The room whirls by me. I can feel bile hot in my throat. I can feel my system shutting down. My hands tremble. I form them to fists, I shake my head, voice unsteady,

"No."

She looks up at me, her eyes meet mine,

"When you told us about Teddy, I knew. I knew."

I stumble back. IDIOT. DUMB JAMES. BLIND JAMES. NIAVE JAMES. FOOLISH JAMES. BAD JAMES. HORRID JAMES. I stand there. Hands limp by my sides. My eyes wide. She searches my face, gaze soft. She goes on, voice a murmur,

"Not just him, but Hagrid, and Neville, and Amy Benson, my secretary. We- we are surrounded James."

I feel my fac crumple. Eyes wide. She lets out a soft breathe.

"I cannot. I cannot let them continue working at the ministry James. I will have to fire them. All of them."

She shakes her head, she runs a hand through her hair,

"If only I was smarter James. If only I could make things better."

I stare at her. Hands forming fists, my voice shakes,

"Its all his fault. Dom dying. Everything. All his fault."

She stares at me, shaking her head,

"That's not fair James"

I let out a scream, lips curling back, eyes wide,

"No. You are wrong. He has ruined us. We don't stand a chance without him. The people, the people won't be on our side. The people need him Hermione. They only believe in him, they only follow him."

She steps closer, I back up, fingers curling around the wood on my wnad,

"He is abandoning us. He is abandoning me."

She shakes her head, voice a whisper,

"No James. He doesn't have a choice- he had no idea-"

I laugh, high,

"You are wrong, how can you be in Voldemorts head and not know he was planning this? How is it possible that he had no idea? It isn't. You're wrong."

She shakes her head, I go on, voice biting,

"He isn't on our side. Hermione, he must have known, how can you not?"

She stares at me, her eyes are changing from soft to angry, I go on, raging,

"Fire him Hermione. He is a spy. He- he betrayed us. He doesn't deserve it-"

She cuts me off, voice raised, eyes burning,

"SHUT UP JAMES."

I give her a wild look. I have never seen her this angry before, her voice shakes,

"You listen to me, this will destroy him. DESTROY HIM. And you want to blame him?"

I open my mouth, words pouring,

"You wouldn't understand, he isn't"

She cuts me off, eyes burning into me,

"No its time you listen James. The adult is speaking."

She looks me square in the eyes, her lips tremble,

"Harry is the best person I have ever had the pleasure to meet. He would sacrifice his life for you any day. He would give up everything just for you to be happy. You have no idea how hard it is to watch your kid become someone like you. Someone who kills. KILLS JAMES. Let me ask you this, where is your remorse?"

I stare at her, flinching back, the hurt paints itself across my face. The mask hitting the floor. She winces at her own words. She takes a step closer, I step back, eyes wide, my head shaking, she closes her eyes, and lets out a soft breath,

"I'm sorry James. Crap. I didn't mean that. I was just angry."

I step back. I can feel a horrible feeling in my stomach, the bile is hot in my throat. I shake my head, my voice a whisper,

"Your eyes. You weren't lying. You were, you think, that, me?"

She reaches for me, palm up, eyes shaking,

"No. James listen to me."

I tilt my head back, I can see Voldemort eyes staring back at me, his wand coming down in a cruel arc as he kills Severus. I can hear my own pulse. I stumble away from her. My wand is cold. Everything is cold. I can see Teddy's eyes as the body hits the ground. I can see Fred's eyes as I cling to him, hands bloody. I can see Dad and Mum avoiding my eyes at the breakfast table the next morning. The coffee cup slipping from Dad's fingers and hitting the floor with a crash. I can see Mum rushing to clean it. I can see Albus turning away from me, eyes full of a fear. I can see Rose. Rose staring at me as I punch Thomas. I can see a fear in those eyes. I can see a fear in everyone's eyes. Why is evberyone so afraid of me? I run a hand through my hair, she reaches for me, her eyes careful, searching, soft, motherly,

"James, merlin, I'm sorry, it splipped out, I, no one thinks that, no one James, you are a great person, I love you, we all do, so, so much."

I shake my head at her, tongue running over lips,

"Its fine. No. Don't-don't be sorry."

She reaches for me, her palm up, an offering. Her eyes are caring. They drip of love and kindness. I don't need kindness. I don't. I. I'm fine. I'm James bloody Potter. Of course I'm fine. I can see McGonagall looking at the floor as I tell her about how my friends thought he was alive. But he isn't. Wasn't. Will never be. Never again. I blink. Hard. Her voice is a murmur,

"Oh my little wonder boy,"

I stare at her, eyes shining with tears. She extends her hand again. I real backwards. I am turning. Nothing is left but smoke. Nothing is left but ash. And bone. And an empty feeling of forgottenness. What is it like? Being so alone James. Being so lonely. I can hear Mum's voice whispering at night,

"Do you think James will fit in, at school?"

I can see my dad's soft smile,

"Why?"

Her eyes on his,

"Sometimes, when I look at him, he looks so lonely. Why is my little boy so lonely?"

My back hits the ground. Its dirty, grimy. I lay there. Eyes wide, staring at the moon. Good James. Beautiful James. In control James. Perfect James. PERFECT JAMES. Where did you go? Were you ever here? What is image and what is reality. Why does everyone pretend to know me? Why am I like this? Who do I blame, me or dad? Me or Harry. It has to be his fault. Because I'm perfect. So how could it possibly be my fault? He told me to always be strong, be brave. I tried. Damn it. I tried so hard. I bang my head into the cobblestones. My wand rolling from icy fingers.

Hermione stands alone in the great room. Eyes closed, hand still extended, white smoke rising around her. She opens her eyes and looks up at the great ceiling, her eyes land on Harry lying in Hagrid's arms, limp. Dead. She doesn't cry. She stares. She says nothing. Her hand falling to her side. Empty.

The bar surface is cold. The alcohol is sweet. The bottle is chilled in the air, a spell keeping it a float, ice swirls around it, chilling it to perfection. It is golden brown. Like my skin. Like the sun. Like Roses' hair. Like a lot of things. Ordinary things. Like my eyes. Like me. Remorseful James. Murderer James. Killer James. I close my eyes and swirl the liquor in my mouth, I can see a lot. A lot of weird things.

Somewhere far away Rose gets off the train. Thomas is in front of her. There are two forgotten. Twenty-three Death Eaters. And one man. Except he is no man. He is a monster. Who lacks humanity and moral. A monster I have met before. There is a green light. Two hours left of life. Death is ticking bomb. We've all got one. Thomas hits the ground. She is running. Towards him. Brave Rose. Stupid Rose. Blind Rose. Dead Rose. The train lets out an eerie whistle, it echoes in the silence, each word is a body. She doesn't speak. He runs a finger down her cheek. The fingernail is caked in blood. Dried, wet, dark, light. His eyes are hers. But his heart isn't hers. Pieces fall in place. The Forgotten watch. They wonder if he will follow through. If he fails them. They wonder how fast they can kill him. Or if he will kill them. They bring her to her knees. I swallow the alcohol, it burns my throat. They tilt her head back. My finger hits the table. Once. Twice. Thrice. The flames reach for the sky. The green light burns. The forest trees grow roots made of human flesh. She screams. Her wand hits the floor. But she fought. She fought well. Didn't we all though?

The club lights flash. I grin. The music drowns out other sounds. I swing the drink back. The liquor burns my throat. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Heels hitting the ground. A big smile.

"You look nice Potter."

I arch a brow and look at her. My vision blurs and I shake my head and push her hand off,

"I'm not in the mood."

I can see diamonds on a neck, my vision blurs, her voice is soft,

"Me and you at a bar. Drinking underage. To drown our sorrows. To forget."

I shake my head, raising my glass to meet hers,

"Not forget. Distract. That is all alcohol can do."

She dips her head to the side, hair slipping over skin, neck long. I lower my eyes. I hear her giggle,

"Tempted?"

I shake my head, and don't look up,

"No. Woman who lower themselves to having no self-respect have no appeal."

I sigh. Her voice is annoying. I'm sure I've heard it somewhere before,

"I head you only date the ones who have no self-respect."

I arch a brow,

"So you've heard of me."

Another sickly giggle,

"Who hasn't?"

I close my eyes, scrunching my eyebrows together and give her a dark look,

"Do I look like I care."

She shakes her head,

"You look upset."

I nod my head

"I am."

She scoots closer, arm brushing against mine.

"Why?"

I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling,

"Nothing goes my way,"

She grins,

"I am aware."

I arch a brow,

"What does that mean?"

She tilts her head back with me. The ceiling spins by me, I can see train tracks, I can hear a whistle. The lights are blinding. A blink. Her voice is soft, but too loud, too darn loud,

"I get you. Everyone calls you an act, everyone advices you on being better, no one loves you for who you are. An image. They cannot except it because they refuse to give up on you, refuse to believe that that is all there is. All there is to you."

I glance at her. She gives me a long look. Her voice lowers,

"I have an image too. I am a good person at school. But nowhere else. Why?"

She raises her eyebrows, tongue swirling over teeth,

"Because everyone expects that. And I don't want to let them down. Because they will judge you, and talk about you, and put you subconsciously beneath themselves."

She sighs, letting out a broken laugh,

"It's hollow. Love. Life. Alcohol. You. Me."

I shake my head,

"What makes you think them telling me it's an act pisses me off?"

She shakes her head with me, finger caressing the glass,

"It doesn't piss you off, it hurts you. It hurts you so very much."

I bite my lip and stare at the table. No answer. She lets out a hollow laugh. We are silent for a moment. My voice is quiet when I speak up,

"What's your name again?"

She sighs and scoots over, placing down her drink and arching a brow,

"Lola. My name is Lola."

I arch a brow,

"I feel like you're missing something, I am dating Rose. I love her. Back up."

She laughs, and places her drink down,

"Do you love her? How can you be so sure?"

I stare at her. Mouth opening to speak. And then closing. I look away. She giggles,

"So you aren't sure. What makes you so hesitant? Is it because she is too good for you, or because it is too quick to know, or that you don't love anything, that you don't have weakness? That you are heartless?"

I grind my teeth together, the room spins, she tilts her head,

"What? Are you lying about that too? Do you not love her?"

I shake my head, a hand running through my hair. Rose can feel the finger run over her spine, she doesn't cry, she fights hard, even without her wand, she fights back, no words. Each word is a life. She learned that the hard way. The forgotten lean over her, she can see so much in their skin. So much of the future. She can see beautiful mascaraed and blood chilling horrors, they want her eyes. They need her eyes.

I close my eyes, voice a murmur,

"Go away."

She shakes her head,

"It's a public bar."

I roll my eyes,

"Then shut up."

She grins, lips scarlet, rose red,

"Why? Am I distracting?"

I look into her eyes. They are green. Just like Roses green. I stare at them. The room turns. I can see golden hair. A smile. Her hands are warm. Her fingers curve around mine. Her lips are rosy. I can see a blue tie. High cheeks. Soft, thick lashes. I pull away. And shake my head.

"No. You are tiresome."

She grins, head tilted back,

"Liar."

I arch a brow,

"Why are you so bloody interested in me?"

She shakes her head,

"I'm not interested in you. I'm interested in your power. I couldn't give a damn about you."

I let out a cold laugh,

"Alright then. What does hitting on me have to do with my power?"

She leans back, hair slipping over her shoulder,

"Why do I have to tell you anything?"

I stare at her. She blinks. Rose smiles. Her hair is long, soft in my fingertips. Her breath is sweet, alcohol cuts my vision, I can see blurs, my heart won't stop thundering. The glass slips from fingers. Golden liquid falling down my throat. A blur, a burst, it stinks. It is smooth, the glass is empty, another, another. Roses eyes are glorious, I miss them. That bugs me. This James is a bad person. And I fear that I will have to just become worse and worse as time passes. She leans closer, her lips alluring. Her lashes are long, dusted with gold. A pause. No. No. No. NO. Rose doesn't wear makeup. I turn away. Fingers squeezing into a fist.

My voice is steady, stays steady,

"You and Rose seemed to know each other,"

She shakes her head,

"Me and Rose aren't friends, I don't owe her anything."

I laugh and place my glass down,

"She is nice to you,"

She arches a brow,

"She is naive."

I nod my head,

"Maybe. But she is also brilliant. You couldn't compare."

She nods her head,

"No. I couldn't. But I'm not here to be compared to a child James."

I lean my head back,

"Then why are you here?"

A laugh, she flips her hair over her shoulder,

"To strike a deal."

I arch a brow,

"What could you possibly have that I would want?"

She grins,

"Nothing. But my daddy has a few things you might be interested in."

I lean closer,

"Your daddy? And who might that be?"

She rolls her eyes,

"My father."

I nod my head,

"Just checking."

She scoffs,

"He can help you, he has information,"

I sit back, arms crossing over my chest,

"Like what?"

She grins,

"There is a new organization forming in the muggle society. Against us."

I laugh,

"You mean the Red Handed?"

She arches a brow,

"You've heard of them?"

I shake my head,

"There are rumours. But they don't matter. They are unimportant. I couldn't care less."

Foolish James. I am making another mistake. I keep thinking each threat stands on its own. But I am wrong. They are all one in the same. The Forgotten, the nightmares, the golden eyes, the death eaters, the politics, the red handed. They are all strands in a web. I am a fool to eliminate one and focus on the other. They are all one in the same. Just with a different face. A different name. Nameless. They take whatever form is useful to them. The expect me to ignore them. And focus on what is in front of me. But they will be behind. To the left and the right. Above and below. She shakes her head,

"They need to be stopped James. You and I, we get each other."

I give her a long look,

"What makes you think that?"

She takes my drink and stares into it, swirling the pooling alcohol along the edges,

"We both are the children of powerful people. We are both in Gryffindor when the hat whispered us to choose Slytherin. We are both at a bar, drinking under age, trying to breathe, learning that breathing is over rated."

She sighs,

"I told little Rose that I wanted to interview you. She believed me and yet you call her brilliant. I call her innocent. Her innocence will undo her. It's a major flaw, she trusts everyone to be better than what they are, because she has hope that everyone can be good, can do good, can change. That's why she doesn't hex Thomas, because she can't do it."

I glance up,

"Thomas? What does her and Thomas have to do with anything?"

She glances down,

"She didn't tell you? He's been following her around, licking at her heels, touching her hands, perhaps she liked the attention, maybe that's why she didn't push him away."

I laugh,

"Thomas isn't interested in her. He wouldn't be."

She shakes her head,

"And why is that? Because you are so scary James? I think it is because you are so scary he is following her."

Rose stumbles over Thomas' body. Her back hitting the floor. They drag her on her knees. She bows before a ghost king. She won't meet his eyes. She refuses to. When he lifts her head. She spits on him. His wand moves. Green light. The body hits the ground. Words. Words spill from bloody lips. She can't hear them. She can't hear anything. Pain is blinding. Everything is moving too fast. Too slow. Not at all.

I arch a brow, voice nonchalant,

"Rose can deal with douches like Thomas. She isn't a child that needs me to follow her around."

She leans back in her chair, placing my glass on the counter, the room swirls like the golden liquid. Her voice is a murmur.

"Thomas could hurt her."

I give her a dumb look,

"Rose can defend herself."

The talons reach into flesh. He lets out a laugh. Head cocked to the side, tongue lolling over lips, blood running down his chin. He is interested, he has never seen resurrection before. A squelch of flesh, a vein pulled out, it hangs blue, her blood is dark.

She gives me a small smile,

"You really believe in her."

I look down at my hands,

"So what?"

She shrugs,

"Its interesting."

I grab the glass, and pour the liquor down my throat, eyes watering. She watches the drunk action and gives a sigh, lips pursed,

"You are a seriously annoying drunk."

I give her a dead look. We fall into silence. Eventually I speak up, voice still attempting to by steady,

"I'm surprised."

She raises her eyebrows,

"Why are you surprised?"

I shake my head,

"Your act, your act of young crush, school girl with a big heart and naivety, dumb, stupid, see through. So unimportant why would anyone look at her?"

She winces,

"Fine. I like playing the part of every bodies friend."

I give her a long look,

"But you aren't their friends."

She shakes her head, eyes dancing in amusement at my drunk state, voice so very loud,

"Why would I be? They don't care about me."

I nod my head,

"I know what you mean."

She gives me a long look,

"The Red Handed are small now, easy to pluck out and keep quiet, if they get bigger they will be not a nuisance but a threat. Don't blind yourself by focusing on just the Forgotten, on just the Death Eaters, on just your love life."

I shake my head,

"You're wrong. Muggles, if they told everyone magic was real who would believe them? Honest? No one. They would laugh. Because it makes no sense to their reality. This has happened before. Over each decade a new little group sprouts and tries hard to fly, because they saw something weird, because a wizard slipped up. But they have no evidence, no proof, and they fade and we do nothing because if we do something then we are bound to be noticed."

She shakes her head,

"What if they could get evidence?"

I arch a brow,

"Who on earth would want to help them?"

She lowers her eyes and laughs,

"Maybe you are right, and maybe you are wrong."

I grin,

"I am always right."

She laughs,

"Then it must hurt your pride when you are wrong."

I lower my eyes,

"Nothing can hurt me."

She gives me a long look, and then opens her purse and passes me a concealer,

"Your lack of sleep is starting to show Mr. Potter. Signs of weakness are bad."

I glance down at her and laugh, and reach up a finger, running it over her cheek, when I take it back the finger is covered in thick make-up,

"If your mask is only made of make-up Lola then you won't survive the game. I suggest you find something a little stronger."

I glance down at her as I stand,

"And next time you want to talk to me, wear more clothes, you shouldn't lower your self-worth to convince someone, you should make it higher, so they want to be like you."

She stands and laughs,

"You are as self-conceited and rude as they say, I didn't wear this dress for you, I wore it because I had a date tonight."

I lean closer,

"You shouldn't wear anything for anyone, you should wear it for yourself, or without reason."

She looks me over, and laughs,

"You filthy hypocrite, why don't you try taking a dose of your own medicine?"

I shake my head,

"I didn't wear this to impress you. I wore it because it is what I am expected to wear."

She shakes her head,

"Your image is getting old James, perhaps your family name is too."

I shake my head,

"And your act is see through and idiotic, and let me tip you off, Rose is not naive, Rose is kind. She is kind to someone like you who doesn't deserve kindness. And that is what makes her remarkable and that is what makes you trash."

She laughs,

"Fine then. Insult me if it makes you feel better about yourself. I've heard worse. I've had worse. If you excuse me, I think I've lost my appetite,"

I laugh,

"We weren't eating"

She stops and arches a brow,

"Rose, she believes you can change, but you can't change someone who isn't even there. You can just switch on the smile and off the smirk."

I stare at her. She leans forward.

"And when Rose realises that, her love for you will wilt like a flower. And turn to dust, and you will be all alone."

I tilt my head back, she leans closer, head going to the side, hair dancing over my skin,

"You should find someone who is on your level James. Unless you want to hurt her. Do you want to hurt her?"

I stare at her. No sound. She goes on.

"She deserves someone good. You are bad luck tied with a red satin bow. No one wants bad luck."

I lower my eyes to hers. They are sickly green. Her voice is heavy on my bones. It drowns me. The room turns. She goes on.

"It's time to grow up James. You'll be seventeen in three months. So what do you plan on doing?"

I shake my head,

"How do you know my age?"

She arches a high, sculpted brow,

"My dad is in the D.A. I often over hear his conversations."

I lower my eyes,

"Your Malfoys cousin, right?"

She nods,

"We're related."

I lean closer,

"Then I saved your aunt, his mother. No thank you?"

She gives me a long look and shakes her head,

"That's impossible, she was never sick. Because if she was sick, no one can cure it. There is no cure for what they did to her."

I grin,

"Whatever you say Lela."

She growls,

"It's Lola,"

I roll my eyes,

"Whatever."

She leans closer,

"You will regret not paying attention to them. The Red Handed."

I shake my head,

"Why do you care so much?"

She grins,

"Because we are elite. All wizards. All witches. If magic is introduced to the whole world then we are not special anymore."

I close my eyes,

"Do you like feeling special?"

She lets out a laugh,

"No. I'm not special. I have it rough."

She goes to stand, my voice calls after her,

"Who told you to come and ask me about the red handed?"

She turns slowly, her eyes are wet. I can see a tear slip. Its black, catching make up as it slips to her chin. She wipes it away, fingers smearing product. She looks away,

"No one."

I stand slowly, hand slipping from the chair, my strides are long. We stand face to face, my hands deep in my pockets,

"Whoever it was, you are not some tool for them to use. You should be brave. Be brave and walk away from them."

She looks up at me.

"Why, am I coward?"

I laugh, she goes on, voice shaking,

"Am I coward for not standing against my bloody family and refusing what they tell me to do?"

I stare at her, she leans forward, voice a whisper,

"You have no idea what it's like. At least your parents know your name. At least they don't yell at you every day for being in Gryffindor and not Slytherin, for finding your secrets. And you, you, the only person they ever talk about, endlessly,"

She shakes her head, hands going to her hair. Eyes lowering,

"Forget that we ever met here. If you have a heart behind that horrible personality you will forget we ever met like this. For me. For my dignity."

I stare at the defeated girl. She turns to go away, I call after her.

"Tell your dad I'll talk to him. But only on one condition,"

She turns back, eyes lowered,

"And what might that be?"

I slide my hands into my pockets,

"That he leaves you out of it."

She stares at me, glancing up, eyes wide. I can see a million emotions. She ducks her head. Voice a whisper,

"You don't have to."

I shake my head,

"And also,"

She glances up, eyes big, green,

"Sorry. I'm sorry for treating you badly. I thought you were someone else."

She tilts her head to the side,

"And who am I? If not this?"

She gestures to the clothing, I let out a low laugh, eyes sparking,

"Someone who is brave in their own way. We are all brave in our own way. Tell your dad to leave you alone. And if he doesn't like that. And kicks you out. Call me."

She stares at me, eyes swimming with emotions I cannot read,

"Why would you do something like that for something like me?"

I look down at my hands, the skin glows, the room turns,

"We all deserve better and only a few of us have the power to give people that better."

She arches a brow,

"I heard you collect people."'

I shake my head,

"What does that mean?"

She sighs,

"People who need help, people who catch your interest, you collect them."

I close my eyes, and then look up,

"No. That's a myth. I just recognise a tortured soul when I see one."

She laughs,

"And what if this is exactly what my family and I wanted you to do?"

I scrunch my eyebrows together,

"Then I am an idiot."

She nods her head, smiling softly,

"I suppose you are. An idiot, then."

I shrug my shoulders,

"Your pretty screwed up Lola, perhaps you should work on that."

She gives me a long look, and then looks down, voice soft,

"It isn't my dad. That did this to me."

I glance back up, she gives me a long look,

"I'll tell him what you said."

I call after her,

"Then who did?"

She looks back and smiles soft,

"Isn't it obvious?"

I stare at her, her voice is soft,

"Who did that to you James? Your dad or you?"

I stare at her. Lips parted. She shrugs her shoulders,

"Then again why does it matter, we are already here, too late to change anything."

My voice is a whisper,

"Is it too late?"

The train tacks swirl. He rips his arm off. He raises his wand. He yells the spell. Her mind goes blank. She can see just white lights. There is a rumble like thunder. The ground shakes, her world flashes. She blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice. The trains whistle is haunting, she lets out a scream. My name. Ripping from her lips. She is crawling. Her clothes are caught on the train tracks. She screams. The wheels turn. They grab hands. Darkness crawls. The moon snaps out. Her hair is golden, her eyes are green. Her heart. It stops beating for the second time that night. Her hands are shaking. It is too late for her. For that little girl. That little girl's innocence. It's too late to save it. It is passed too late. Fred runs. His feet heavy. He skids to a stop. He looks down. The train comes. It hits her. She falls onto the tracks, back pressed into metal, flattened. Her eyes are wide open. She can't blink. And when she does she sees too much. He watches the wheels turn. He doesn't stop them. He knows he can't. Not yet. His foot nudges the dead body of Thomas. His eyes find her wand, forgotten on the floor, laying beside the corpse. He has tears in his eyes. She cries for help. She can feel too much. She is so broken. She is crying because she is giving in. His wand is in his hand. He raises it. They screech to a stop. Too long. Too late. Click. Boom.

She turns, her eyes finding mine,

"And what if it is too late? What do you plan on doing?"

I shake my head,

"Something. Anything."

She lowers her head, her heels click.

"Some things are not worth it."

I arch a brow,

"And some things are."

She extends her hand, in it lies a sheet of paper. Crumpled. I reach for it. Our skin brushes against each other. She shivers. I don't notice. My fingers don't shake. They are strong. I open it. The writing is scrawled. It is red. Red like blood. Crimson like hell. I stare at it. Eyes watching it. I look up.

"When did you find out?"

She closes her hand into a fist,

"Everything is connected James. Don't be a fool and ignore one group, while focusing on another. Everyone has a weakness. Find theirs. The Forgotten. The Red Handed. The Death Eaters. Your precious government. They all want something."

I stare at her,

"And what's that?"

She grins,

"The future. They want to know what happens next."

I narrow my eyes,

"That's impossible to know."

She nods her head,

"Yes it is. I suppose."

I lean closer, voice dropping,

"You mean a prophecy. From Trelawney."

She shakes her head,

"Trelawney is old James."

I sigh,

"Very old. But there is no new prophecy. That's just a myth."

She nods her head,

"I don't believe in myths. But they seem to."

She turns slowly, her heels click. Fred runs to her. His hair is red in the darkness. Her bones are crushed. She can't move. She can't see. His green eyes swim in her vision. She tries to smile. But it's a grimace. That little girl was crushed with the train tracks. He is running. Her head lolls against his chest. His feet slam against the wood of the front doors. They burst open. He falls to his knees. He screams for help. Face wet with tears. Teddy is there. Running. His eyes are wide. Lola turns away, her hands drifting to her sides. She glances back, eyes on mine, mine on hers. Her voice is quiet,

"Time is running out James. Our time is running out."

She goes out the door. It creaks shut behind her. The hospital bed hits her back. Its white, but it turns crimson in seconds. Teddy stares at it. Hands ringing. He turns on his heels. Disappearing into white smoke. He hits the ground running. He bursts into the house. My house. Mum and dad run to him. He can't speak. He has tears in his eyes. He looks up, at the clock. The family clock. His hand traces to my name. He sees the bar beneath it. He turns he is out the door, my parents catch onto his sleeve. They are asking him what happened. He says one word.

"Hogwarts."

And then is gone. I pick up the glass and drain it slowly, head tilted back, the alcohol is strong. The glass falls. Slipping from my fingertips. It hits the ground. It shatters. The door bursts open. The room spins. Teddy's hands on mine. I grin. And then I see his face. He isn't grinning. He isn't happy. He is horrified, desperate. His voice screams it, hollow, broken. I can hardly hear it and yet it is so loud it drowns me. Two words.

"It's Rose."

His hands are red. His brow is covered in sweat. He is clutching something in his fist. I recognise it. Dom's necklace, the necklace of Dom's ash that Hermione gave to Rose. The chain is broken. The ash that used to burn red like a coal is now black dust. It doesn't move. It is not alive. It is dead. The chain is seared, the metal is melted in places. I am standing, my mind isn't clear. The room is turning. The crumpled paper falls to the floor. He shakes his head. His voice is a whisper, a whimper,

"The train, it hit her James. Fred, if Fred hadn't gotten there. And Thomas. He is dead. And she isn't breathing, you hear me James, Rose isn't breathing."

I stare at him. Everything is turning. A blink. Another blink. I can see McGonagall. I am in her office. She is smiling. Her voice is soft.

"Dom will be fine James. Dom will always be fine."

I blink. The spinning skids to a stop. My senses have never been sharper. The alcohol drains from my system in a second, I am turning on the spot. I am running. The hospital wing. I can see a crowd. I push my way through. I can feel eyes. Eyes digging into me. Their whispers. I burst the doors open. I look down. The room is crimson. I can see doctors. Twenty of them. They surround her. But between their white I can see her red. V is standing in the corner. Her eyes are wide. She doesn't notice the tears. Scorpius is there. He has his head in his hands, Albus is to his right, he doesn't touch him. He just stares afraid. My dad and mum are there. They turn when the doors slam shut behind me. I stare at the bed. I can see a strand of golden hair. There is a fear. A fear that is new to me. It seems to be contagious. Everyone in that room is afraid. The fear is stifling. That she won't make it. I could feel it. They were ready for the worst. But I wasn't. What is the worst? Death? Can't I save her from that? Aren't I totally cool and dashing? Bursting in, I will go to her and be strong for her, I won't cry, or get angry. Because I am strong. I am James. I cannot be afraid. Not even of this. My feet hit the ground. My strides are long, I push the doctors away, my eyes wide. I wasn't prepared for what I would see. I could never have possibly been prepared for what I would see.

Her hair was matted with blood. Her eyes were closed. Her lip had a cut, she had bitten it, over and over until it bled. She shook. She was crying. But she made no noise. Every now and then a soft whimper. Her hands were limp. And her lips, sometimes they would move. And she would say it.

"I can't remember."

Over and over. Like it was justification. Like it made sense. Her neck was fractured, I could see the bone poking out of the skin, her arms were bent the wrong way, veins lay on the pillows, blue. Her blood is almost black. No oxygen. No red. I can see a popped artery, blood spraying, the doctor's wands are weaving, I can see sweat on their brows. They know. THEY KNOW. Blood is strewn across white sheets, I could see organs, some moving and some lying till. Her chest rises and falls. Slowly. Her skin was scared, bruised, gone. I could see the white of bone and the green of puss. I could see her rib cage, white snapped. Her legs were bent backwards, her toes were curled in, her fingernails were missing. Her hip bone looked out of place.

And then it happened. Something inside of me snapped. I don't remember why. Maybe it was because I had started to cry. I am angry. I am so angry. My face crumples. It is wet. The blood is too red, too much. Too much for her to live. Think James. Save her James. The doctors push me back, I hit the ground. I can see Albus looking at me. He has a fear in his eyes. I sit there. I can't move. The room is spinning again. It is twirling by and I can hear her laugh, Roses laugh, her eyes green, she is standing there in blue, in black, in white. Her hair whispers in the breeze. Her laugh is an echo, her eyes shine. My eyes are closed shut. She cocks her head, hand extended,

"What's wrong James?"

I let out a choked scream, the room swirls by me, I can see faces, I can feel hands, my skin is hot, the bile rises in my throat, I through up, it covers the ground, I slip in it, my back hits the floor, my breathe stinks, I can smell blood. My fingers are red. She lets out a soft laugh, eyes on me, white dress staining red, the ground is wet with blood, her voice is an echo,

"You didn't lie James, right? You love me James, don't you?"

I can feel my stomach turn, the ground is warm with blood, it pours off the sheets, and from the windows, and from everyone's eyes and mouth, it pours and pours and barries me. She turns, bones cracking, veins popping, arteries bursting, everything moving so fast, so slow, too long. Her voice is a whisper,

"Did you lie to me James?"

I cough, I am choking on something. Regret. Pain. Failure. New things. New things I never wanted to learn.

I let out a scream. At the top of my lungs, and I am standing, wand in hand, and Albus is grabbing onto me, he is yelling something, something about how I should calm down.

Then I hear it. The doctors voice.

"She isn't breathing."

"Her heart stopped beating."

"Crap get her heart going again."

"Fix her lungs first. She needs to have her air passage cleared."

"Grow back her skin."

"Clear out the flued."

"Save her."

V is running, she is by her side, her voice is soft, I can see her lips move. She is saying something kind. Something Rose needs to hear. I am punching Albus, hard. He absorbs the punch in a heartbeat, eyes wide, I grab my wand, my lips are moving, I will save her. I must save her. I am clawing at him. Albus wraps his arms around me, pulling me back, I let out a yell, I hit him, scrape him. Dad is there. He is grabbing my wand. I am kicking him. I am screaming. I can see V cover Roses' ears. She is shaking her head. She is telling me no. She is telling me to calm down. To calm down. I can't calm down. I am screaming the spell. My wand is passed to my mom. She holds it, and my hand, I squeeze it, she is strong, she doesn't wince. Her eyes are kind, her words are soft. I can't hear. The room turns. I am throwing up again. Albus is saying something in my ear. Dad is sending a message. Dad who betrayed us. I am lunging at him. Mom is in front of me, catching my fist in her hand, her eyes are kind. All lies. EVERYTHING.

I can see stars. Darkness. Flesh. Bone. Red. My eyes begin to close. I can see the doctors giving a nod. And V running to Scorpius, arms wrapped around him. I can see Frank looking at me, eyes full of tears. Fred sitting in the corner. Head hung between his legs, his hands shaking. John, Lorcan and Lysander are holding a screaming Lucy. Roxy is running all over the room, grabbing bandages, and everything the doctors ask for. Anything the doctors ask for. V is by Roses side. I blink. I can see her hand on hers. Her voice is a whisper. The bones are mending, I can see skin being painted across exposed flesh. I can see Hermione. Eyes wide. Her wand in her hand, she is moving faster than everyone else in the room, a blur of motion, she is saving her. She can save her. I know she can. She can do anything. I feel a tear slip down my cheek. Teddy is there, he is talking to Fred. He is yelling. He is angry. He never gets angry.

Madame Pomphrey is clearing the room, I can feel dad's hands shaking me. I can't stand. I crawl, towards her, I am screaming something. A lot of things. I don't know what. The room turns. I see black.

I open my eyes. The room isn't spinning. I can see my dad. His finger traces a painting of Albus Dumbledore. His eyes shine with tears. The portrait smiles, eyes twinkling. He ducks his head. Puffing out his cheeks. He turns to me. We are in the head masters office. I have never been in it before. I can see James' Potters portrait, Lily is next to his. Severus on her right. He gives me a long look, eyes soft,

"Feeling better?"

I stand, fast, hands running through my hair, voice shaking,

"Rose-crap-Rose-is she? Is she?"

He gives me a long look, I turn away, barrying my face in my hands, voice shaking,

"Don't tell me. Don't-I- I can't."

He lets out a soft sigh. And his voice is just a whisper.

"Rose is stabilized. It took them hours. But she is stable."

I collapse onto the ground, back hitting the wall, hands buried in my face, breath shaking. I let out a choked sob,

"Thank god. I-thank god."

He stares at me. He shakes his head, his voice is just a whisper,

"Her mind. Her memory, its been, tampered with."

I stare at him.

"What?"

He turns back to the painting, and shakes his head, his voice is a whisper,

"They can't tell if its from shock, or a spell, but, she,"

I let out a shaky breath, voice breaking,

"What if, what if she doesn't remember me?"

He bows his head,

"I don't know."

I let out a high laugh, voice rising,

"You never know. You are so god damn useless."

He winces back, eyes shutting, his hands tremble. He whispers,

"I'm sorry. I- James she hasn't woken up."

I feel something warm murmur down my cheek. I catch it on my finger. Its clear. Like glass. I tilt my head to the side. Gasping back a sob. I turn my hand over and let the tear drip to the floor. I turn away, hands wrapping around me,

"Don't be. It's not like you could change it."

He shakes his head, voice softer,

"Don't do that thing."

I cut in,

"What thing?"

He sighs and walks towards me, footsteps soft,

"That thing where you shut yourself in."

I let out a shaky laugh.

"I'm not. I'm fine-"

Another tear slips down my cheek, I wipe it away hastily, sniffing. I lock my jaw. You're okay James. You are strong James. Rose would want you to be strong. Lies. Rose would want you to hold your dad as tight as you can. And cry on his shoulder and tell him how much you love her. And how much you love him. And need him. But you won't do that. Because you aren't Rose. And you might look weak. And you might care for him. And then the blame wouldn't be his. It would be mine. I would have to blame myself. And that would destroy me. It would kill me.

He takes my hand in his, our hands are the same size, but his have more calluses, are stronger, he gives it a soft squeeze, eyes finding mine,

"I didn't know you liked her this much-"

I cut him off, voice roaring,

"I DON'T LIKE HER DAD."

He stares at me, eyes wide, voice a murmur,

"James,"

I pull my hand from his, screaming it,

"I LOVE HER. Damn it. I love her."

I shake my head and collapse onto the floor, head buried in my hands, the tears are hot, I wipe them away as soon as they come. I burry the heal of my hands in my eyes, gritting my teeth together, trying to steady my breath. I look up at him, eyes red, I shake my head, voice trembling,

"And you don't get it, this feeling,"

I look into his eyes, and let out a little sob, the tears keep falling, I wipe them away, fingers wet, shaking. I stare at him, my breath caught. My voice raging,

"I am unworthy. I am unloved."

He stares at me, his tears fall, soft, strong, my voice breaks,

"I am unworthy of being loved."

My back hits the wall, and I feel the tears fall, I blink hard, and blow out my cheeks, eyes not meeting his, hands wrapped around me, because I need a hug, even if its just from me. Its better than nothing. I let out a wet laugh,

"But she loves me. How can she possibly love me? Unless she doesn't know me. But she does. She does."

He crouches down and rests his hand on my shoulder but I tare away, standing, tears falling, I wipe them away, fast, my teeth chatter, I try to grin, but it falls, lips turning downwards, I open and close my mouth, and my hands ball in fists, my voice is angry, I am so angry,

"I will kill them all. Every last person. They will pay. They will pay with their blood. And their families blood. And I will kill them slowly. Crush every bone and pluck every hair. And they will collapse on their knees and beg me for mercy and I will not give it. I will laugh at their cowardice. I will laugh."

I round on him, tears falling down my cheeks, eyes wide, wide with a fear, a fear I don't know how to handle.

"Because this is not okay. She is not okay. And she is all I have. And they can't have her. I can't-they-we-I"

He steps forward, hand reaching for me, the irony, his voice is soothing, soft, he doesn't yell, he never yells,

"James listen to me. Listen to me."

I round on him,

"No. NO. It is time you listen to me. We will destroy them dad. We have to. It won't be okay until they are all dead. I won't be okay. I'm not okay. I haven't been okay for a really, really long time."

His eyes hold a fear. He stares at me, his tears are silent,

"James I am the grown up, I am the adult, go to school, I am telling you to stop coming to the ministry. I am telling you that I am firing you."

I laugh, and scream,

"You're funny dad. Because I am firing you. In fact. Hermione is. Because you are a forgotten, just like Teddy, just like everyone I love, you are corrupted and they are in your brain like a parasite. You are the mole dad. And you are an idiot. So you are wrong. You go home and live your life because you time is up. It's up."

He lowers his eyes, his voice shakes. The tears fall down his face, his lips tremble, his hands shake, his voice is just a murmur, it shakes, he won't meet my eyes, he lets out a sob, his words haunting,

"I know James. When you told me about Teddy I knew. I already resigned."

I stare at him, eyes wide, a tear slips down his cheek and he squeezes his eyes closed,

"Let me be hear for you James. Let me be here for you."

I shake my head,

"Where were you all the times I needed you to be there for me?"

He shakes his head, lips wobbling,

"I was trying to be both a good leader and a good father. And I failed you. And I am sorry James. I am sorry."

He reaches for me but I pull away, the tears burn my skin,

"Sorry doesn't cut it. I wouldn't be like this if you had been there. It's all your fault. All your fault."

I shake my head,

"I have needed you as a father for years. I always try so hard to be good enough for you to recognise me. For you to see that I am just like you. That I can lead to. That I have no weakness, that I am strong. But-"

I crumple to the floor, hands running through my hair,

"I can never live up to what you want me to be, I always have to be better than the best. I always have to be one step ahead. And I am exhausted of it. Because even when I am trying my best you do not notice me until I am broken on the floor. Until now. And then you regret. I see it in your sickly green eyes. You regret."

He crouches beside me, and reaches for me, but I wince, and he stares at me, eyes wide,

"I have always wanted to tell you about my day. To sit down and talk about what I did. And what I ate. And who I talked to. I always wanted to know if you thought I did okay. But you are so busy. You are always so great."

I sob, hands balled in fists,

"Everything you did was better than what I did. And you never congratulated me. You always told me to be a kid. That you missed that I wasn't a kid. That I was never good enough because I grew up too fast. That I was too much like Tom. That I should go to school."

He grabs onto my hand, I squeeze it and he winces, I go on, voice wavering,

"I just wanted to be like you. I'm sixteen dad. At my age you had already won the try wizard tournament, saved the ministry, you were the hero in a war, you were defeating Voldemort. And what am I doing? Sitting at a table taking notes, wearing suits and learning spells."

I look up at him

"I don't want to save anyone. Why can't they all die? I don't care if they all die. I should. I know I should. But I don't. and that makes me a monster. It makes me disgusting."

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close his hands are buried in my hair, his voice is a whisper,

"I'll tell you a secret."

He pulls away and places a hand on each of my shoulders, and smiles at me, his hands are wet with tears, his eyes twinkle,

"I didn't want to save anyone either. I just wanted to protect the people I loved. My friends. My teachers. Good people. People that cared about me. I never wanted to be a hero either. I didn't want to be this either."

He gives me a watery smile,

"Oh James. I watched you grow up, and I thought what a wonderful little boy, how could he possibly be my son? How could I be related to someone so strong. So courageous. I feared you James. You were stronger than me. You were better than me. You were smarter than me. How do you raise someone who is greater than you?"

He pulls me close,

"And then suddenly you weren't my little boy anymore, you were my comrade in arms, my employee, and I felt like I missed something. Like I screwed up."

His voice shakes,

"And it is my fault. James you are right. It is my fault."

He gives me a long look,

"I respect you on a level you cannot even understand. I watched you grow into a legend before my eyes. And I could not be prouder. I could not. But you were so different from me. So different from Ginny."

He takes my hand,

"They say the odd boll is Al, but it's always been you James. You stuck out like a sore thumb."

I stare at him, he pulls me closer,

"I did care James. I watched you train every day, I never missed a training session. You did incredible things. I would stare, and I would wonder how I could create something, someone so special, so wonderful."

His face crumbles,

"But you built this wall. And you become impenetrable. And I didn't know how to reach you. And you started to go through so much. And it was like watching myself grow up. And I couldn't watch. I couldn't bear it."

I push him away, my hands shake,

"I don't care if you couldn't bear it. Because I could be a better person today if you at least tried."

His face crumples and he screams at me,

"You think I didn't? You think I didn't try? All I did every second, of every minute is try and try, I try to keep you in school, I try to keep you in class, I try to keep you away from all of this, I try to reach you. But I can't. I can't reach you. You won't let me."

I look away and wipe away the tears and stand, hands forming fists,

"Never mind. I didn't mean to burden you."

He stands with me and grabs onto my shoulders,

"Stop it. Stop pushing me away. I understand what you are going through. I can help you. I can love you."

I arch a brow,

"Don't you think it's a little late for that?"

He steps closer,

"James, Jay, my son, please, stop acting, I am tired of watching you try to be a better person than me."

I shake my head,

"I am not a better person than you. I failed dad."

He takes me in his arms,

"You didn't fail. You did your best."

I stare at him,

"But it wasn't enough."

He sighs,

"Sometimes it isn't."

I shake my head,

"It has to be. If it isn't then there is no other option. Its game over. So what am I supposed to do? Give up?"

He shakes his head,

"You have to find a different way, a better way."

I stare at him,

"I am losing control. I am killing without blinking. I am shaking at night. I can't close my eyes. I am falling in love. And I am scared."

He gives me a long look,

"Of what?"

I bite my lip, eyes dipping shut, squeezing closed,

"That she will have expectations. And that I will let them down. Like I have let everyone down."

He takes my face in his hands and shakes his head,

"You haven't let me down James. You haven't."

I shake my head, voice a murmur,

"You're lying. Everyone is lying."

He grabs onto my arm, hands soft, I wipe away a stray tear, he watches the action, eyes shuting, just for a second, and when he opens them his voice is just a whisper,

"I would never lie to you James."

I shake my head,

"You can't promise me that,"

He closes his eyes,

"Yes I can."

I pull away, I turn to the paintings, I watch the original James Potter smile, I stare at him, and I sigh, eyes closing.

"It's too late."

He shakes his head,

"No it isn't."

I turn to him, eyes shining,

"I try my hardest to be the best James, the James everyone can love, and then, everyone, EVERYONE keeps telling me that I'm acting, or-or, pretending. But I am just doing my best. And it still isn't enough. It will never be enough."

He closes his eyes, a tear slips down his cheek,

"When I was your age, I was scared, and I was defenceless, and I was only brave when my friends stood by my side, and I was reckless, and I just did, and didn't think. And I was loosing so much, to everyone and everything, and I kept on trying my best and messing up. But what I realised is that they still love you, even when you mess up."

I laugh, high,

"Are you saying I've messed up? That I'm a mess? That my best isn't good enough for you?"

He stares at me, and smiles, broken, voice a murmur,

"You just don't get it James. I love you, even when you are a mess."

We are silent. We stare at each other. He opens his arms, his eyes glisten. I see regret. Love. Sadness. A deep anger. A broken man. A strong man. Maybe just an ordinary man that everyone expects to be extraordinary. I step into his embrace. He wraps his arms around me. I close my eyes. The tears are unfamiliar, strange. I can feel a warm feeling in my heart. It is new. It is weird. We stand like that. Holding onto each other for a while. We do not have to say anything. No words. Nothing. It is not needed. He closes his eyes. And I close mine. And the portraits watch on. There is a silence that I can rest in. There is a peace I could grow used to. There is a joy I want to learn. There is a new feeling that I want to hold onto. We do not say anything. Actions speak in volume. Both of our shoulders are wet. We don't acknowledge it. We don't need to.

I pull away. I sit against the wall and he sits beside me, groaning as he skooshes down, I let out a soft chuckle, he sends me a soft grin. We are silent. Eventually he speaks. Voice soft,

"Tell me about her."

I glance at him, eyes wide, I close them and smile,

"You will never meet someone so sweet or loving. Or good. She, she does this cute thing when she is trying hard to focus, she scrunches up her nose, and crosses her eyes."

He watches me, eyes full of wonder. I go on, voice broken,

"I've been a real douche to her. I mean I've been a real douche to a lot of people, but her, she doesn't deserve it."

I smile, sad, eyes distant,

"She always sees the good in people. She's- she's,"

I stop. An orphan. But I don't say it. It doesn't seem fair to tell someone else's secrets. I shake my head,

"She is brilliant, and brave, and strong when I am weak,"

I smile softly,

"One time I couldn't sleep so I spent the night, and-"

Dad splutters, coughing several times, I let out a laugh, hugging my sides, eyes shining, I shake my head at his flustered state, he clears his throat, voice fatherly,

"Do we need to have, you know, the talk?"

I shake my head, letting out another chuckle, and sniff, my eyes twinkle,

"No, she isn't like that. At all."

He gives me a weird look and I duck my head, we are silent for a moment. Eventually he speaks up,

"Be good to her James."

I nod my head

"I will."

He nods his head. We are silent. It isn't awkward. It's a little sad. A little happy. A little broken. A little tired. A lot worth it. But it doesn't disappear. Betrayal. Messing up. It doesn't go away. It never will. And though we are side by side it doesn't mean we are one in the same. And just because he hugged me doesn't mean I forgive him. Because if I don't blame him then I must blame me. Then it is my fault. Then I am the bad person. I can hear Hermione's words,

"Why do you have all that self-hatred?"

I close my eyes. And lean my head back. We stayed like that for fifteen minutes or so. And then mom came in and smiled wide. Eventually, slowly, I made my way to the hospital wing. I stood there and I watched her. And I wondered what horrors she has seen, what pain she has felt. If she will ever be the same. If she will love me. The door was heavy as it closed behind me.

~Rose's POV~

We never remember a solid thing. Our mind. It remembers what it wants to. Things that are unimportant. Things that won't save you.

The moon blinked out. There was a fog, dark in the sky, it hung to my skin, and clung to my robes. My robes were rags, ripped and bloody. My fingers dripped red. My lips were stained the dark colour.

There were flames lapping at that sky. I burned him alive. And he laughed. He thought it was funny. It wasn't supposed to be funny. There were bodies. Piled high. Death Eaters he killed. He killed them every time I spoke. For each word was a life. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

My hands are shaking. I am not breathing right. The train tracks are cold. Cold like ice. There are chains wrapped around skin, biting me. The wind is soft in my hair. It plays with the strands. I don't scream. I look up. At him. His eyes. They are green. They are my eyes. It is not an illusion. He tilts his head to the side. He sends a wave to the death eaters behind him.

His voice echoes in the silence.

"Leave."

No one moves. He closes his eyes. Teeth biting flesh. He stands, turning to face them. His wand flicks. One. Two. Three. They are thrown in the air, he runs his tongue over his teeth. He looks to the forgotten. They do not flinch. Who is in charge? Him or them? I can't tell. I don't know.

He repeats himself. Voice deadly.

"Leave."

A blink. Smoke flies around them as they disappear. The forgotten do not move. They stand on his right and his left. Hands locked behind their backs, heads tilted to the side. Eyes bored. They have not spoken once. He turns back to me.

He hops down, feet hitting the gravel. Boom.

A tear slips down my cheek. His robes slip over my skin as he stands over me. Eyes curious. He laughs high, voice sing song,

"So weak. So disgustingly weak. And yet they told me you are important."

He giggles, droplets of blood spilling down his face, his eyes give away nothing. No emotion. No concern. No interest. He leans over me, hand grabbing onto my chin, fingernails drawing blood. I wince. Eyes wide. My lips tremble. The tears are hot. He grins,

"That's right mudblood. Fear me. Flinch when I speak. Wince when I touch. Show me just how stupidly human you are."

I shake. My voice soft,

"Let me go."

He gives me a dumbfounded look and then hits me harsh across the face. His bones. His bones aren't normal. I can see stars. I can't see him. But I can feel him. His breath is hot on my cheek. His lips are cold on my skin. His voice is like a deadly lullaby,

"Brace yourself Rose. It's going to hurt. You can't let it kill you."

I open my eyes, his eyes meet mine, human, soft, caring. I stare at him, eyebrows drawn together, his voice is a whisper,

"I'll help you get out of here. I'll save you. Would you like that?"

I nod soft, eyebrows scrunched together, my hand reaching for his. Our fingers interlace. He goes, as if to take of the chains. And then lets out a long giggle. Face splitting in two. Teeth gleaming black in the darkness.

"Fool."

He hits me hard, I recoil, his eyes stare into mine, centimetres apart,

"Like I would save a coward like you. Like someone as great as me would even be doing something like this."

The Forgotten speak up, voices deadly,

"Careful boy."

His jaw ticks. They go on, footsteps soft as they land crouched beside me, eyes on him, his eyes on me. They go on. Voices raw. Ruthless. As if talking to a dog.

"The Potter boy won't want her if her face is ruined."

He raises his fist, slamming it down at me, they catch it, turning his arm out of his socket. He doesn't cry out. His teeth grind together. His eyes narrow. Just a fraction of an inch. Blood gushes hot, and boiling over me, I let out a scream. His blood is not red though. It is black, like ink. He sighs. Eyes gleaming in the night,

"BORING!"

He turns on them, his own hand grabbing onto his arm and ripping it off, veins fall to the ground, the white bone is shown, little bits of flesh dribble onto the ground, I can see an artery hanging in the air, I feel bile rise in my throat. He drops the arm to the ground. And the Forgotten leap at it, grabbing onto it and eating it. Like creatures. Like animals. Like dogs.

Again I am confused. Who is the one on top? Who rules who? Someone has to be more powerful than the other. He growls at them, lips curled back,

"Disgusting animals. No better than mudbloods."

They stop eating. Eyes finding his. He arches a brow, arms outspread,

"What? Gonna kill me?"

They drop his arm to the ground. Just a bone, the veins still attached at the wrist. The fingernails gnawed off. He grins, and then his eyes shift back to me. He gives me a long look. Voice soft,

"No wonder Potter likes you so much, you are pretty Rose. Such a pretty thing."

I shake, he sighs. Glancing at his other wrist. The remaining wrist.

"We have ten minutes. Let's go."

The Forgotten look at each other and then back at him. He rolls his eyes, taking out his wand, he raises it, eyes digging into me. Voice soft.

"Oh right. I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Arcturus BlackThorne. It's a pleasure to meet you."

His eyes give away no emotion. His voice is hard.

"I heard death can be painful. Brace yourself."

He raises his wand.

"Bye darling"

The Forgotten stand, each with a hand resting on his shoulder. They nod. He sheds a red tear. It trickles down his cheek. He gives me a slight nod, just a tilt of the head, his voice echoes in my mind,

"Obliviscatur"

A blink. I am alone. On the train tracks. There are tears on my cheeks. There is no arm. No nothing. No chains. I can feel a slight force around me. Weird, soft, cold. Then I see it. The light is white. The whistle of the train is ghostly. I am sitting up. Too late. Too soon. Too quick. All over.

One. The train races at me.

Two. Fred leaves the great hall, feet hitting the ground, running.

Three. James clinks his glass against Lola's.

Four. The Police officer stands in his office and files the report for arrest,

Five. The Court of Hearing in the Ministry of Magic is adjourned.

Six. The wheels hit me.

Seven. Alex changes into navy robes. Hand pausing on the bight mark on his hand. He stares at it. Eyes gleaming with tears. The Forgotten tilt their heads to the side, they move quickly, he raises both hands, admiring them in the glass. The wind outside flies by. He giggles soft. Voice a murmur.

"If the Weasley boy fails I'll kill him with these bare hands."

Eight. Fred has his wand in his hand. The world seems to be slowing down. He raises it. He cracks it down, the train stops.

Nine. My heart beat these nine counts well. But no heart can live through everything.

Ten. Fred is running at me. He checks for a pulse.

Times up. And what do you do when you die. Do you give up. Is death really than all encompassing? His face isn't wet. He doesn't cry. He does as they told him to. His hands shake. His fingers scrape at flesh. His voice is soft.

"Hang in there Rose. I'm almost done."

The minutes pass. He puts his wand away. He picks me up. And he stars running. The seconds are long.

I blink. Fred's face is in front of me. He is crying. He cradles me to his chest. His tears are hot. He lifts me up, his voice is shaking,

"Rose you need to keep breathing, understand? You need to keep breathing for me,"

I stare at him, he ducks his head, and then he is running, his feet hit the ground. Boom. He slips, the grass hits my back, I let out a scream, he pulls me towards him, his hands are red. I can't see. The stars are gone. I can't breathe, I can't. I can't. I.

His red hair is caught in the moonlight. It dances like flames. I close my eyes and grab onto his arm, my voice shakes, the tears are hot on skin,

"I can't remember."

I open my eyes, and stare at him, tears falling,

"There is something incredibly important that I am forgetting."

He shakes his head, his voice cracks,

"Shh. Rest. Stay with me Rose. Don't freak out. You're okay."

I scream. And I kick him, fingers digging into his flesh, tears hot on my cheeks,

"I forgot. Why can't I remember?"

He pulls me closer. His chest is warm. He runs fast. As soon as we get to the stairs of the castle he is screaming for help. He falls to his knees. Head bowed. The great hall bursts open. Students pour in. I can hear each footstep, it vibrates on the ground, it jars my bones, it hurts me. It is an earthquake. He screams at the top of his lungs, face breaking in two. He cries over me. Tears falling onto wounds, I can see a guilt in his green eyes. A guilt. A horrible, twisted guilt. I reach up a hand, my fingers aren't all there. I stare at my hand. Eyes wide. Tears falling. No. Everything. My future. My life. My future is gone. It will never be the same.

The blood soaks into his clothes. My bones aren't connected. Something is horribly wrong. He is shaking. I can see faces. Thousands of them. And Teddy is running towards me, he is screaming things. I can't hear him. I can't hear anything. I stare up at the roof and I see it. I am on a hill. The wind runs through my hair. There are two people in front of me. Veronica Weasley to my right. And James Potter to my left.

And the voice comes. A voice. A voice that now has a face. Eyes. Nose. Lips. All clouded in grey. All lost to my sight. A high laugh. It says,

"A life for a life."

And there is a wand in my hand. And I have to choose. Who dies. Who is next. The earth trembles beneath my feet. Someone is coming. Coming to kill me. They all kneel. Darkness itself. Me. The voice rings,

"Choose."

I shake my head, eyes wide,

"I can't remember."

The voice laughs,

"That doesn't matter. You have to choose. Whether you want to or not."

A hand on my shoulder,

"Who lives and who dies."

The wand raises. The green light cannot flash. My voice is soft.

"I can't."

The lips are cold against my ear. The teeth are fangs. The wind is ice. Their eyes are lifeless.

"Do you want to live Rose?"

I shake my head, the tears are bitter,

"Yes."

A hand snaking up my side, it runs over my fingers, it wraps around the wand. Steadied.

"Then choose."

I blink my eyes open, I can see faces swimming in my vision. V is there. She grabs onto me, she is screaming for help, her eyes are wide, she is sobbing into my chest. Hand gripping mine. They blink shut.

"How do I choose?"

A laugh. I've heard that laugh before. Where? Why can't I remember? Why can't I know? Why does everywhere hurt so much?

The wand is snapped in two. The earth shakes. He is wearing blue robes. They billow on the ground. They look like black ink, swelling with the wind and drying with the tide. A finger under my chin. Skin cold.

"You kill them Rose."

His eyes are green. My eyes. His eyes are my eyes. I open my eyes. I can see V, Teddy, Fred, Scorpius, Roxy, Lucy. I can see someone else too. He stands directly above me, his eyes are mine, he blinks, and looks to Fred, giving him a small nod. My hand reaches for him. My fingers wrap around his ankle. He looks down at me. An eyebrow arched. My voice shakes,

"I can't remember."

He grins, wide, and tares his ankle from me, my fingers claw into his skin, he is walking away, he is getting away, I try to crawl, eyes wide, I let out a scream, hand reaching for him.

The ground is warm. No. It's a bed. Under my shoulders. Soft. There are doctors above me. And golden eyes. James is here. He is yelling, he is crying. He never cries. Why is he crying? I'm alright James. I don't feel any pain. It is strange. Every bone is broken. The blood pours. I cannot feel my legs. I cannot see the lights. My fingernails are broken. My will shattered. My sanity a fragment I have lost contact with. But there is no pain. I feel nothing. I want to tell him that it'll be okay. That he shouldn't be crying. Not over me. Not over me. Not this time.

My eyes bat closed, he turns to me. And I look up. There is no face. No. There is a face. My face. My face on the man before me. He leans forward. And I wish I could see him. I wish I knew him. I feel like I know him. I swear I do. Don't I? Haven't we met? And then he turns to dust like the wind. And before me is Veronica and James. And they are crying. And their backs are turned. And they will not turn around. And I am all alone in the darkness. And why?

I can see too little. Nothing makes sense. The truth is it at my fingertips, but my fingertips are smashed in. Stained by the grease of train tracks. And then I hear it. Madame Pomphrey's voice from far away,

"It looks like she tried to commit suicide. Poor thing."

And I want to yell no. But I don't know. I can only remember the train. My bag on the floor. And the police officer. Saying I would go to jail. That I should plead guilty. That my life is ruined. And there is too much time in-between that I forget. Too much. I squeeze my eyes shut,

The wand is in my hand. The voice echoes.

"Choose Rose."

I am shaking my head. The tears stain the ground like rain. It is thundering. The thunder rages. I am falling in between time and space. I am trembling.

"I can't."

A growl,

"You must. Or they all die. Everyone. Just a snap of my fingers."

The grass is wet under my bare feet. I wonder where my shoes went. The cliff is jagged. The wand is cold. The wind is hot. I close my eyes.

"I am not to blame for her death. I didn't kill her."

A cackle high in the air,

"You mean Dom? Does that mean that you are choosing Veronica again? Over James? Over him?"

My eyes open, Veronica is on one side, holding my hand, and James is on the other, head buried in my fingers. Face wet. Albus is trying to pull him off, Hermione is there. Eyes flying over me, wand moving,

I open my mouth. Voice soft.

"I can't remember. I can't."

The eyes in the room are all on me. Harry Potter is there. Hermione. Fred. My friends. James' friends. I stare at them, and shake my head,

"I forgot something important. Something that can change everything. Why can't I remember?"

They are saying something, all at once. They are so loud. I let out a scream at the top of my lungs.

The cliff hangs, there are two people. Two people before me. V is on my right. James is on my left. They stand. Defenceless. The wand is in my hand, his face is my face. So many factors. Too much to lose. Too little time. Too late. Too much. A whisper,

"Choose."

The wand raises. I close my eyes. The green light flashes. One body hits the floor. I don't open my eyes. I can't. I won't.

My ears buzz. I can see a flash of green light. Thomas hits the floor. The wand is in my hand. The wand is in my hand and I am killing him. I can see the wand hitting the ground, bouncing across pavement. I can feel the wind in my hair. I can see the tracks. The train whistle blares. My back hits the ground. The train tracks are beneath me. I want to die. I need to die. Its important. The train speeds up, I close my eyes, a scream, I've changed my mind. My face is wet with tears, I am scrambling off of the tracks, my robes are caught on a nail, I am pulling at it. The train is coming. Fast and faster. Boom.

One. My robes tare, I through my body towards safety, my head escapes the damage.

Two. The train hits me, my body rolls underneath the tracks, the blood sprays.

Three. I am screaming, tears falling.

Four. I can't remember.

Five. I can't see the moon. But I see the stars, the stars are vast. Those stars are beautiful. They glow for me, they shine for me, they were made for me. I can see my constellation. I feel a tear fall. James. Veronica. Why them? Why not someone else? Fred is there, his hands are wrapped around me. He is doing something, but the stars are so pretty. I can't see. I can't see anything but stars. Beautiful stars. He is picking me up. My head lolls back. Thomas is lying there. Thomas is dead. I know it. His eyes are open wide. I start to kick and scream. I am scared. I don't know who is carrying me. All I can see is green eyes. Sickly green eyes. Glowing down at me. I can feel tears on my cheeks, but its blood, blood pouring from his mouth.

I open my eyes. James is on the floor. I can't see him. I can feel V's hand on mine. She is saying something. I shake my head.

"I can't hear you. Why can't I hear you? What's wrong with me?"

The darkness bats at my eyes. And then it comes. My heartbeat starts. It wasn't beating before. That's what was wrong. So was I dead? Boom. The blood rushes, and then the pain comes, crippling and I scream, tears falling down my cheeks, and I can feel too much. The pain is everywhere. It is killing me. And I can hear voices. They are loud. I can see clearly. I can feel James' fingers brushing mine. They are pulling him back.

I feel my eyes close and rest my head back. It's not over yet Rose. You get another chance. Keep breathing for me. I can feel James let go. He is hitting his father. Fists raised. He is screaming. It is loud. V covers my eyes; her hands are real. She presses her lips to my cheek. Leaning closer and she whispers it in my ear.

"Hey you. I'm right her, m'kay? Focus on me, mh? You won't leave me here all alone will you? I'd miss you so much,"

I feel a tear run down my cheek. And she pats my hair, giving me a big smile. Her voice calms me. It makes the pain less there.

"You gave me a big scare for a second there Thorne."

She blows out her cheeks, and rubs at her eyes, leaning her forehead against mine,

"Breathe with me. Mhm? You better breathe, you better not stop breathing."

I nod my head, she nods with me, her lips tremble. She shakes her head. Her tears fall onto my cheeks,

"You must be hurting so much. I should have been there for you. More."

I shake my head, I can't move my hands, but my lips move, soft,

"V, I think, I think, I just, I think I,"

She stares at me, searching my eyes,

"You what?"

I sniffle, a whimper slipping from my lips,

"I think I forgot something I shouldn't have forgotten."

She takes my hand in hers and I look down and scream. I am not whole. I am broken. Bones fractured and crushed. Veins out of place. Organs punctured. And wizards and witches hover over me, around twenty of them. And they are focused, eyes never leaving their work, wands ready, potions pouring. And I let out another scream, high in the air. And the pain tares through me like a hurricane. And I can hear their voices.

"Keep her conscience."

"Don't let her freak out."

"Steady her breathing."

"She can't go into shock."

"Her pulse is too fast."

"She's passing out."

"Work faster."

I can't move. Why can't I move? I stare at V, my eyes are wide, and it falls. A red tear down my cheek. And she stares at it. Her eyes wide. And James stops hitting Harry. He turns. And the forgotten in my head wonder what they are staring at, jumping into Harry's eyes and peering through them at me. And they are scared. Because a red tear means death. I close my eyes.

The shadow is tall. Tall and long. His hand is extended to me.

"Come child."

I shake my head. The shadows are glaring at me. He sighs,

"You are here too early. You weren't supposed to visit me today so I let you go. But you are back. It is confusing."

I tilt my head to the side, voice hoarse,

"Who are you?"

He raises an eyebrow,

"Who do you want me to be?"

I lower my eyes,

"My friend."

The face changes to Doms.

"This friend is the only friend of yours I have."

I reach out, my hand slips through him, he shakes his head,

"I'm not real. I'm all in your head Rose."

I stare up at him.

"Am I going insane?"

He arches a brow,

"Yes."

I look down,

"The Forgotten, they are killing me."

He shakes his head,

"No."

I step closer,

"Yes. They are. They want me dead."

He licks his lips,

"Then why aren't you dead? You've met them twice."

I shake my head,

"You're wrong. I've only met them once."

He grins,

"Whatever you say. But we both know you don't believe that."

I turn around and look at the room. It is a library. With thousands of books, huge books all written in my handwriting.

I turn to him,

"What is this place?"

He looks around,

"The future."

I grab one of the books and open it. Gazing down at the pages. The writing is scrawled. Tear stains echo the pages.

"Why would I write all of this?"

He touches his index finger to his temple,

"To remember. To not forget."

I shake my head.

"You aren't making any sense."

He nods. Sitting down. And peering up at me.

"I suppose it wouldn't make sense to you."

I drop the book. It hits the ground with an echo.

"You are imaginary."

A nod.

"Yes."

I shake my head,

"You are supposed to be death."

He arches a tall brow,

"I am whatever you make me as."

I stare at him.

"Does that mean I want to die?"

He nods his head.

"Yes."

I look down and then back up,

"Why would I want to die?"

He shrugs his shoulders,

"You are giving up. Something is making you weak."

I sit on the ground. Cross legged.

"It is happening again. The nightmare. Except instead of Dom. Its James. James and V."

The darkness sits forward,

"And someone else. Someone you can't see."

I look up.

"Yes."

Somewhere far off James drops to his knees and begins the spell. Voice shaking.

The darkness goes on,

"Who are you going to choose? V or James?"

I stare into the darkness. And lower my eyes.

"I can't."

A whisper,

"You have to."

I open my eyes. Hesitate. And my voice shakes.

"V."

The darkness swirls, face forming James'. It tilts its head to the side, eyes shining, I can see a hurt on his face,

"You would let James die. When you love James."

I back away, hands wrapping around my head,

"GET OUT"

The darkness surrounds me, I scream

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD"

The darkness disappears and then swells in front of me. Its face flashes and changes with each heartbeat, I can see millions of faces, I close my eyes, useless, my eyes are already closed. Its all make believe Rose. Its all fake.

My breath shakes. I can't feel my heartbeat. My voice trembles,

"How long have I been dead?"

The shadow tilts his head to the side,

"Forever."

I shake my head, tears forming a puddle around me, and the puddle is drowning me,

"Nothing lasts that long."

Death steps closer, eyes narrowed,

"I do."

I shake my head.

"No you don't."

A soft laugh. I close my eyes.

"You aren't real. You are just another part of me."

Death tilts its head to the side,

"Death is a part of everyone."

I close my eyes,

"Not me."

Death leans back,

"James will die. And V will live."

I slam my fist into the ground and yell at it,

"No. I am choosing V because I have loved her for years. And James I have only loved for months. You cannot compare them. They are different. They are important but different."

A long sigh,

"Are you God Rose?"

I shake my head,

"No."

It is in my face, its fingers wrapped around my throat crushing my air,

"Then why are you playing with lives like a god?"

I shake my head,

"I did not choose this."

Its fingers won't let me breathe, I scream, it whispers,

"How do you know that?"

I blink. It's a mirror. The reflection is me. I stare at myself. IT whispers,

"Abandoned. Forgotten. Dead."

I shake my head. The reflection cries a single red tear.

"I cannot save your life twice. A life for a life Rose. Someone else has to die for you to live. Do you really want to live that badly?"

I raise a hand to the reflection. It changes. I am sitting at a long table, I am at the head of the table. I am the Minister of Magic. I can feel the hunger, the greed. The want. It kills me. I let out a sob. And then I wipe away the tear, the single red tear erases itself. Falling backwards. I don't blink. I can't hesitate. I won't hesitate. If I die now I will never get to live. Never get to take the opportunities that come. If I let go, then there is no going back, no future. No point. V won't die. James won't die. I won't let them. Death may have its policies but I have mine. I stop crying. I raise my chin. My voice echoes. I let out a soft whisper, one word, three letters.

"Yes."