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.

26. Ignorance brings chaos not knowledge

Chapter 26- Ignorance brings chaos not knowledge

~Rose POV~

The sun is warm. It touches my skin. The breeze murmurs over flesh. Exposed. Vulgarly. Utterly. His hand is extended, his voice is non-existent, his lips move, he asks,

"Will you dance with me?"

I am smiling. My fingers find his. They curve around each other. He pulls me close. My heart flutters. He is my angel. My hero. But I do not need a hero. Why would I need a hero? If I am so very alive? Our lips brush on petals of daises in the field. We giggle at something we said, my hair flies behind me, each strand catching the brilliance of that sun.

He is spinning me, his hand on my wrist, our fingers entangled. My chin tilts back, my back hits his chest. The tipping point. We fall. I can see the sun high above, it shines golden, I tilt my head to the side, the laughter is tears in disguise. The sun is just the painting of the ceiling. There is no sun. My back hits the ground. My fingers are wet. I can see colors. Reflect. I lean back into him, I laugh at something he says, his hand whispers over my skin, it curves around my neck. I trust him. I love him. He won't hurt me. The daises are soft on my arms, each petal tickles me. I giggle, I can feel my lips turn up. And then. And then.

I see his eyes. They are green. My green. Harry's green. His green. And the sun is changing color and everything is green. I pick up my hand, the green slips over each finger tip, it dips and curves over translucent skin. I arch a brow, lip brought between white teeth. My eyes wide.

And then I hear it. The sea. The sea roars far, far beneath us. I look down. The ground is cracked and there the waves froth and roar about. Screaming my name. I can see train tracks. I can see my back hitting dirt floor. I can see flames. I can see fingers. I can see a wand in my hand. A blink. The daises wilt. A voice. My voice. A murmur.

"Its all in your head Rose."

The ground tips and I am standing upside down, I walk on the sky, feet stepping into soft clouds, eyes wide. A voice whimpers to life,

"Its all in my head."

I see the forgotten. The wand is in my hand. My voice shakes. I stare. A murmur,

"It's not real"

I raise the wand, a blink, I am turning, I can see him. It's a painting. Him. Me. The sky. The daises. His eyes. I can burn it. The paint will turn hot under gasoline. His eyes are green, he grins at me, his teeth are white. A blink. Red. Tongue black. I raise it a tear slipping down my cheek,

"You're not real."

He cocks his head to the side voice a murmur,

"Are you going to kill me Rose?"

I shake my head, voice a whisper,

"No. You don't exist."

His smile drops. I stare at him.

"I don't have to choose anyone."

He laughs high, head thrown back, the blood pours from his lips, it stains the yellow daises red. I blink back tears. His voice yells,

"You'd be a murderer Rose."

I don't wipe them away. My hands shake,

"No. Your wrong. Your just another part of me. You are in my head and I am telling you to get out."

He lifts his hand, eyes blinking green, he extends his palm up, his voice amused,

"If I am a part of you, how can you get rid of me?"

The wand raises. The world turns. Softly spinning by. We are silent for a long time. The wand is moving, the wind picks up, the daises grow higher and higher, climbing around my legs, vines turning to thorns, they prick me, the wand is turning in the air, I do not say the spell. I know the spell. My mind thinks it. Green light flashes. He has tears in his eyes. His voice is an echo as he turns to dust, fingers reaching for me, out for me, needing me. He whispers it,

"I love you."

I close my eyes. The daises become soft, the petals drop to the ground, the bees buzz. The garden is beautiful. James is there. The blue dress is like satin. My voice is just a whisper,

"You don't know me enough to love me."

The fingers break into a thousand fragments of dust. Floating to the ground. I feel a tear slip down my cheek. James turns. He looks at me, his lashes are long. The dust flies around us, the daises are in full bloom. He looks up. His eyes are green. I stare at him. Just like his green. The villains green. The man I just killed, whose eyes were mine. He extends his hand. The wand is in my hand. The sun is golden. It shines beautifully. It repeats.

The sun is warm. It touches my skin. The breeze murmurs over flesh. Exposed. Vulgarly. Utterly. His hand is extended. His voice is non-existent. His lips move. He said. He says. The wand hits the floor. Boom.

"Dance with me."

I remember. I remember memories that never happened. And I can see too little. I am scared. My heart is pounding. The stars, they were yellow and white. They glowed. They were the last thing I saw. The last thing I remember seeing. I remember giving up. I stopped screaming.

I want to live. I have so much to do. So much I haven't done. If I just got the chance. Just the opportunity, I would take it. I would take it and never let it go. The brain works in mysterious ways, I saw flames, but there was no smoke. I saw burned flesh, but there was only me. I felt the wand in my hand, but the wand was on the floor. I felt the fingers bite my heart, I felt death hit me over the head.

It hurt. There is a pain worse than death. It is the pain of losing. You lose friends. You lose family. You lose warriors. You lose battles. You lose the war. You lose yourself. You lose reality. You lose hope. You lose love.

I could see her. Her hair was white, her hand was outstretched, she beckoned me. She asked me to come. But I didn't come. I couldn't move. The train's lights were bright. I could see her smile in those lights. I faltered. I didn't scramble away. I couldn't. I wouldn't. She was so beautiful. I reached for her too. I was scared. I was so afraid. Of losing. I have lost so much. So what is the point of going on? I have lost my mind. I have lost my friend. I have lost my family. I never had a family to lose.

Death happens either way. You die today, or in a year, a week, four days, a decade, a 100 years. But the outcome is always the same. You die. And you don't wake up. But dying in four days means I have to suffer four more days. I have to make it four more days. I don't think. I didn't think I could make it another 24 hours. Another 48 hours. The edge was beckoning. I spread my arms wide. And I closed my eyes. There was a release. A moment of absolute and utter complete freedom. Suspended between life and death. No boundaries. No dreams. No responsibilities. No purpose. No will. Wand dropping from my hand, it hit the floor. Boom. It rolled and hit against his corpse. The corpse of the person I had killed. I leaned forward. Who are you Rose? What kind of bad person are you? What kind of murderer could you be?

My back hits the train tracks. The moon was big. The stars were shining. Shining for me. I can feel a single tear slip down my cheek.

Just seconds before you die your body switches to panic mode. You think of all the things you will get to do. The things that you will never get to understand. Your back hits the tracks and then you are screaming. And you are worried it'll hurt. The pain. The death. And you start to think of the funeral. Your funeral. Everyone wearing black. And they would be crying for you. YOU. How can you put them through that? Your friends? Your world? You are scrambling, fingers clawing. Too late. Too fast. The stars are blurred. The sky is so very very dark. Your hands are shaking. The fabric of your robes is caught on a loose nail. Your finger tips are bloody as you tare at it. The whistle is haunting. You look up. Its coming. Fast. You can see your hand in Dom's. You can hear her laughter, you can see her tears drowning her. She needs you. You pause. Your heart is pounding. There is a tear on your cheek. There is a will broken. There is a possibility. You can't remember what your doing here. But you want to love her. All your fault. You blame yourself because if you blame someone else you are just a coward. She needs you Rose. She loved you Rose. She's dead Rose.

Your fingers fall to your sides. I blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. You are weighing your life. You are not thinking straight. A flash. The panic is back. I rip the cloth in two, I scramble towards the side. Its too fast. I'm too slow. It hits. I tumble. My hair dances in the darkness. I can see the stars. Thirteen seconds. Thirteen slow seconds under wheel, burning iron, hot metal, smoke and engine. 13 seconds doesn't sound like a lot. But it was the longest 13 seconds of my life. I could see so much. So very much. I could see the stars, I could see a grave for Molly and Arthur Weasley. I could see dreams, and corpses. A blink.

Everything is white. I am spinning, my hair is longer. There are rose petals, white, they fly in the air behind me. I can hear everyone clapping. It's my wedding day. I am whispering words, soft, entangled words in dreams. There is a little girl tugging at my skirt, her mouth is saying a word, over and over again,

"Mommy,"

"Mommy,"

I am on a horse. My hands are spread to the sky, the cliffs are beautiful, I am taking his hand in mine, I am jumping. His golden eyes catch the light. I can see V dressed in black standing in front of the grave. I look at the grave. There is a letter. A letter at the beginning of the name. H. I am sobbing. I can see millions of people marching, I am leading them, fist raised to the sky, they are following me. ME. I am on a dragon, the world is exploding, its wings carry me, fly me higher and higher. ESCAPE. Freedom. I can see Frank. He doesn't have any eyes. Just black holes. He is reaching for me. Fred. Fred is falling through the air. His back hits the grass. Too high. Too long. All too fast.

Why?

What use is me dying now have?

Am I that useless?

What sin have I done to deserve this?

Have I lived?

Have I loved?

Did I have a chance that I ever wasted?

Didn't I take every opportunity to climb the ladder?

What mistake did I make that led me here?

Haven't I used every resource?

What makes me so unworthy of living that I die like this?

Like this?

It hurt. So much. I cannot remember what kind of hell it was. Or what kind of pain can cripple you when you are not standing. There was a lot to think about lying there. I thought about V. Her smile. Her hands. Her hair. Her heartbeat. I thought of Roxy. Her eyes. Her brain. Her bravery. I thought of Lucy. Her light. Her innocence. Her heart. I thought of Dom. Her ash. Her funeral. Her blood. I thought of Scorpius. His green. His love. His teeth. His white. His silver. His colors.

I thought of James. His gold. His freedom. His heart. His words. I thought this is fate isn't it? This is me being forgotten. Erased. And it's what happens every time. I thought of my parents. I thought of faces blurred. And hands obscured. And they let me go. Their little, sad, lonely girl. Before I could even prove to them that I was good enough. That I could be enough. But nothing is enough. Everyone is greedy and wants more and more. And we are animals of desire. Desire for power.

Fred was there. I could see his mouth moving. He was crying. His tears looked red. Or maybe all I could see was red. RED. CRIMSON. DARK. SEEPING. KILLING. The hallway up to the hospital wing. The doctors apparating around me. The wind flying, the room was misty. I remember V's face. She didn't scream. She didn't yell. She just grabbed onto my hand and whisper three words. Face brave. So very brave. Her voice was just a murmur. But I could hear it. I couldn't hear anything else. But I could hear her. Just a whisper,

"I love you."

It was all I needed. It was all you need. She needed me. Her eyes told me she wouldn't be able to survive this. Not this.

There are no doctors anymore. The room is empty. My eyes are closed. I can't seem to open them. I can feel a hand on mine. I can't move my hand. I can't move anything. The voice is just a whisper. The skin is cold. Like ice. My ears perk up. A voice I know. Scorp's voice. His breath tickles my cheek. His words are like silence. They barely make a sound. Words are words. But words have power. They make your heart pound. And your eyes wet. His words were soft. Like a pillow, or your favorite stuffed animal. Just a murmur,

"I never thanked you. For being there for me, when I told you. Understanding me. Loving me. You are a really good person Thorne."

I can feel my lips try to turn up. Nothing is moving. Why is nothing moving?

Scorpius was there. His voice. And we were young again. Lying in the Malfoy Manners gardens. The night was dark. The stars were bright. The sent of fresh cut grass floated around us, the soft aroma of blueberry pie wafted in the slight breeze. The night breeze was fresh. Dancing across our skin, brushing over our eyelashes.

The stars were bright that night, the big dipper, Sirius, the brightest star. I watched those stars with awe, jaw loose. Our bellies were full of turkey. His mom had cooked. Whenever she cooked I felt my heart hurt, whenever she yelled, "Go wash your hands, dinners almost ready," I could feel the swallowing, the encompassing desire to hug her. To hold the idea of her close. A mother. A loved one. A friend. I washed my hands twice, just so I could tell her. Just so her eyes would shine with a brilliance, and she would place a hand on my shoulder and devote just 13 seconds to making me know just how proud that made her. Her words were always soft, "You did perfect Rose."

I can here old waltz music playing in the background. Draco's fingers dance across piano keys. He doesn't attend dinner whenever I visit, which, by the way is very rare. I do not come to their house often. Or ever. And when I do Draco eats in his study. Scorp told me to call him Mr. Malfoy but in my head he isn't all that great. Scorp says Draco wants him to do extra well in school. I can't imagine why Draco wouldn't just love Scorp for how incredible he is without trying extra hard. But people are complicated. The piano was soft. Claire de Lune, the keys hit, the tune drifted and swelled with emotion, pride, desire, need, and then softer, the right hand comes in, each note played with a fondness of forgiveness, love, respect. Music is meant to be played for no one. Music is intimate. I remember lying on the grass with leaves stuck in my hair and my muggle attire getting damp and muddy I thought how Draco should not play when I am here. Because it gives me a false sense of adoration, of being special. And how if Draco really doesn't like me that much, he should not confuse me with his piano.

Our hands were intertwined, our hair mixed. One. One in the same. Back then his hair was long, I would braid it when he fell asleep and then he would chase me around the fountains, screaming at me. He treasured his hair, the long silver locks held quite an unusual color, sometimes I would just sit and stare at each strand, the way the blonde floats into grey depending on the storminess of his eyes. And then he would give me a quizzical look and I would duck my head. Curiosity. I was curious of everything when I was young. Curious but afraid to offend. So guarded. But interested. Confused. Lost. Once I tugged Scorp's hair until he charged after me. I remember giggling until I was wheezing on the dirt floor.

The memory has a certain odd beauty. Like a photograph you can't forget but almost wish it never had been taken. The piano completed the soft intimate atmosphere of friendship. Trust. The swell of the notes, the rise of each melody, playing and satisfying the other was unique. The clink of dishes being washed in the kitchen. The breeze. Dessert almost ready. Us, lying there, eyes closed. We were both silent for quite some time. And then he spoke. His voice was soft. Soft like the falling of a leaf in autumn, he whispered it,

"What do you think of the world?"

I remember giggling, an eye peeking open.

"It's a lovely place isn't it?"

I remember him shaking his head. His voice a murmur, his eyes closed tight,

"No. I don't think so. I think it's a hateful place. And I fear it."

I remember turning to my side, eyes scared, hand finding his,

"What's that mean?"

A pause. We were silent. His voice was a whisper when he spoke again.

"I think."

I turned on my side, eyes searching his. Centimeters apart.

"Hmm?"

His eyes were crying. His hands were shaking. His lips trembled. He mumbled it.

"I think I like guys."

I remember staring at him. Eyes confused. Heart beating fast.

"So… You… You don't like… me?"

He smiled wide. His hand finding mine, his little hand wiping away a big crocodile tear. His fingers shaking,

"I love you."

I remember my eyes searching his. He didn't look away. I bit my lip, voice quavering,

"One day, far away we'll get married right? Me and you Scorp?"

He leaned closer, his voice a whisper, shaking his head just ever so slightly, eyes sad,

"No silly."

I remember shaking my head, eyes wide, eyebrows scrunched together,

"I don't understand?"

He pulled me closer, my head resting on his skinny arm, his hands played with my hair. His voice a murmur.

"I love you but I can't love you like you want me to."

I remember staring at him. My voice shaking,

"Sorry. I shouldn't be making this about me. Merlin I'm an idiot."

He grins,

"Don't be. You are too good for this world Rose."

I remember my eyes closing. We were silent for a while. Eventually I spoke. My voice was slightly confused,

"What's wrong with liking guys?"

He stared at me. Eyes wide. I sat up. Ducking my head. Eyes staring at him, voice a whisper,

"Then, I should tell you that I think. I think that I,"

He sat up too, taking my hands in his,

"You think what?"

I blushed, and ducked my head, eyes wide,

"I think I like guys too. Is that okay?"

I remember his huge smile. Never once. Never once after that day did I see that smile. That smile split his face in two. A single warm tear slipped down his cheek.

I gave him a curious look,

"Why aren't you more surprised? I mean, I could have liked girls- is there, something wrong with liking guys? I mean, I don't particularly understand-"

A rush of emotion blazed in his eyes. He grabbed me and pulled me close. Arms wrapping around me desperate. And I remember his hug, his arms crushing me to him, he was now crying lots of big crocodile tears. My voice was just a whisper,

"Is it okay, to like guys?"

He nodded, letting out a soft snuffle,

"Yes. It is okay."

I remember pulling away, eyes wide,

"Guys are pretty cool, right? Especially smart ones. Smart ones are super cool."

He grinned, ears red, his voice a whisper, a little hand wiping away a tear,

"I like watching the Slytherin Quidditch team."

I tilt my head to the side, voice a murmur,

"Why?"

He blushes crimson, voice a murmur,

"They take their shirts off at the end of practice."

My jaw dropped, my ears turning a tomato red,

"Every time?"

He nodded,

"Every time."

I hit his arm,

"You should invite me. Then we can drool together."

He giggled. We both flopped back on the ground. And looked up at the stars. The darkness around each glowing light seems vast. Man kind has only brushed its fingertips across the universe. There is more than just a whole world out there waiting for me. There is a whole universe. I want to touch those stars with my bare hands, and walk on their ground, and see their creatures and their life forms and their magic. I want to know every star's name, and why it was named that. I want to name a star myself. One day. So someone can read about me.

I could see in those stars V and I dancing. I feel my lips turn up.

After a while I whispered soft, my voice a murmur,

"I wonder if V likes guys too? Roxy sometimes says I look cute. Maybe she likes girls?"

I remember Scorp grabbing my hand quickly. Eyes scanning mine. Voice shaking,

"You can't tell anyone."

I stared at him,

"Tell anyone what?"

He swallowed hard,

"That I like guys."

I gave him a startled look,

"Why? Should I not tell anyone that I like guys? Is something wrong with liking guys? They are very likable."

He shook his head,

"Society… Doesn't really accept guys liking guys."

I stared at him. Tilting my head to the side, voice soft,

"Why not?"

He smiled soft, eyes brimming with those adorable tears, and he sniffled and wiped his nose on the back of his hand, eyes looking away, he let out a soft sigh,

"I don't know. It's stupid, isn't it?"

I nodded, voice a murmur,

"It is. Who are they to tell you who to like?"

We are quiet for a while. When I do speak up, my voice shakes,

"But Scorp…. I'm a girl…"

I remember his eyes finding mine,

"Mhm, yeah? What?"

I remember my eyes narrowing.

"Does that mean, that you don't love me like that?"

He slowly nodded his head. I remember my heart falling. He looked down at our fingers intertwined, his voice soft,

"Are you okay with that?"

I remember looking up at him. And smiling big, voice a murmur,

"Why wouldn't I be?"

I blink. The scene fades. I can feel darkness pulling me under. Next its V. Her hand on mine. Her voice floating, suspended, beautiful, she is reading me a book. Out loud. I know the book. I wish I could smile. I wish I could tell her I am okay. That I am doing okay. But I'm not doing okay.

A blink, her voice carries through the room,

"Ignorance is bliss. A standard quote we all believe is over used. But I disagree. Ignorance is fear of the unknown. Ignorance is pride. Ignorance is bliss because no one can tell you you are wrong. Because you will never believe them. Ignorance is my theory of chaos. Chaos is a climb. Everyone wants to be on top. And when you place someone ignorant on top you are feeding chaos. For chaos comes from the people, starving for justice, starving for power, starving for wealth. Ignorance brings chaos not knowledge. When you know you understand, you interpret, you discuss, you decide. But within ignorance, only one person is ever right. And that is the one who has no knowledge. The one he breeds chaos like a disease through a nation. Power is accessed through knowledge. But if the system breaks. And ignorance accesses power, then what? Chaos is coming. Or perhaps chaos is already here."

She pauses and I hear the clink of a glass, the soft dribble of water down her throat, the hit of the glass on the wood to my right. The scratch of a chair on the tiled floor. She moves slightly forward. She rests her hand on mine. I can't move. A feel a soft sigh. A breath whispering from my lips. I hear the book snap close. She leans forward. A strand of hair tickles my cheek, her voice is a murmur,

"Rose? Can you hear me Rose? You okay in there? You're gonna be okay."

Her voice breaks and she brushes her lips softly against my cheek, she lets out a sniff. Her voice loud in the still,

"You'll be okay. I'm right here. I'm not gonna go anywhere."

Her voice is soft,

"I brought your new favorite philosophy book. Madame Pomphrey said something about light reading, but you were never classified as a light reader, were you?"

She lets out a soft laugh, and opens the book again, I hear a page turn, her voice is soft,

"Where was I? Right, Ignorance, chaos, knowledge."

She pauses and I can hear her thumb brush across the page. She is quiet for a moment and then she reads, her voice breaking,

"If the ignorant bring chaos does that just mean no one bothered to inform them? Can we really blame them for destroying the world if we, the knowledgeable just didn't fight hard enough? And what does fighting consist of? Guns, bullets? Wands, magic? Is violence the answer knowledge seeks or the ignorant provoke? So perhaps is not one or the other that triggers chaos. It is both. They feed it and they thrive in it. And they tip it. And then chaos rises."

She stops. I wrote that. It was one of my side notes on page 1,346. The top right corner. I drew a star next to it. I folded down the page a couple time. The spine of the book is broken from the amount of times I've over annualized every word. She sets the book down. Her hand wrapping around mine, her voice is still,

"You are so brilliant Rose. So grown up. You act so controlled, and ready for anything. And informed."

She lets out a soft sob,

"But you're a kid, like me, so why are you trying to solve the worlds greatest issues Rose? Why do you try so hard? Why can't be like the rest of us, and mess up sometimes, and fail. And get screwed over. And tired. Do you ever get tired? Or were you always tired, all the time and I just never noticed?"

She sighs, her hand is soft on mine. Her skin is warm, reassuring. I can hear her fingers comb through her hair. When she speaks again she sounds stronger, stronger for me, her voice is so very brave,

"I brought you hot coco yesterday. Madame Pomphrey almost killed me when I stuffed a marshmallow up your nose. She didn't get it. That whoever falls asleep first always gets a marshmallow up their nose. I tried really hard to explain that to her. But she didn't understand."

She lets out a watery laugh,

"She told me I should act more mature. Ironic right? Shouldn't we all be acting bloody less mature? How is no one concerned about how we are pulling through this easily? Or maybe that's just me. Who isn't pulling through easily but is making it look easy, for you, for Rox and Lucy. Maybe for James too."

She lets out a huff,

"Look at me Rose. I'm contradicting myself in the same sentence. What a mess I've become."

She leans her head on my hand.

I feel my thumb move, ever so slightly towards her. Just a brush of skin on skin. She lets out a gasp. Her hand leaving mine, I can hear her footsteps running, the chair pushing back, I can hear her heels hit the floor. I want to reach out and tell her to wait. To stay. Vaguely, somewhere far away I hear her call Madame Pomphrey and then darkness comes at me. Hard and I slip under.

The sun is soft on my cheeks. I can feel the light shining down on me. My heart is heavy. It's a memory this time. Beating but heavy. I can see V dancing before my eyes, we are together in Diagon Alley on our first summer, she buys me an ice cream sundae, at our favorite shop, Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlor. Its mint chocolate chip. It melts on my tongue. I remember closing my eyes and sitting back in my chair, hands reaching up to that sun and laughing. V laughed too.

Her voice sounded so different back then, higher, airier, less real, less trustworthy. I remember her voice, the summer heat, the wisp of the wind that caused my hair to turn in the air. I remember the feeling of the shade on my back. The soft drip of sweat on my cheek. The sweet murmur of flavor on my lapping tongue. The exploration of new things. The intensity of the heat. The sudden red that bursts on delicate skin. I can still feel the tan forming over those minutes. The wind whisking our hair over our faces, turning long strands and tangling them with the sweet sent of lavender and pixie dust.

I remember the feeling of the ice cream on my teeth, the cold shudder of goosebumps. How we argued over what the point of strawberry ice cream was if you could just get fresh strawberry's that tasted authentic instead of pulverized, processed, smashed and dunked in milk strawberries, with no flavor. The summer heat that day did not fade. I got a sun burn on my right shoulder. We stopped at a muggle shop in south London and grabbed sunscreen, the spraying kind. It tickled my skin. I remember laughing. Head thrown back. That ice cream was incredible. I ate four sundaes that day. V payed for each one. She never asked why I didn't have money on me. She never wondered if I would ever pay her back. She did not mind the way I would tentatively suggest something I wanted, eyes regretting, testing the waters to see if I was a burden to her. The whole point was that I was not a burden to her. Not once.

I can still see my eyes lighting up in the window of the ice cream store, running to the glass and pressing my nose against it, standing on my tip toes and biting my lip. I remember the way she ran with me. Laughing about how ice cream doesn't count as lunch. As soon as she said that I backed away and lowered my eyes. I remember my voice, regretful, sorry, painfully awkward,

"We can get anything you would want to eat. I don't have a preference."

I remember the way she stared at me. And then eventually she asked, voice soft,

"Have you ever had ice cream?"

I remember my eyes opening wide, my hand squeezing hers,

"I read four books on ice cream over the centuries in the library this year. Does that count?"

I remember how her eyes lit up,

"You've got to try it. There is nothing in this world better than ice cream."

I remember how she tugged my hand and I stopped her. Shaking my head, voice small,

"No. We don't need to go here just because I want to. Its your money. Trust me, any where's fine. The sandwich place over there looks good, you said you wanted to eat something substantial. Its fine. Really V. Lets go where you want to go."

I remember her shaking her head, voice a whisper,

"I changed my mind. Let's go here. Ice cream is the best lunch ever. Trust me."

I remember staring at her. Eyes wide. Hands shaking. I remember hugging her super tight. Hands wrapped around her. Voice shaking,

"You are the best friend ever V."

I remember her giggling. We went into the shop together. Hand in hand. At first I ordered the cheapest thing they had. It was a baby scoop of vanilla in a cup. I remember how I looked at the floor when I asked what were sprinkles and if I could have them. I remember her saying that I should trying something more authentic. She ordered me a mint chocolate chip sundae. It cost her 3 sickles and a knut. I remember promising her that I would pay her back. She didn't respond. She just asked me to try it. So I did. I remember squealing super loud. And she giggled and giggled, it was beautiful. As most things with her are.

I remember the first time I brought her to the orphanage. I remember how my hands were shaking. And how I couldn't look her in the eye. It was later that day. After the ice cream, and the sun block. I remember how she gazed up at the building and smiled, wide and said, with eyes shining,

"You deserve better Rose. Don't you?"

And I remember nodding. My lips tingling from the peppermint, teeth smudged with chocolate chips, hands sticky from the ice cream drops that escaped my lips. And she took my sticky hand in hers. And we stood there. Hand in hand. Her shoes were shiny. And mine had holes. Her dress was picked out special. And my shorts were jaggedly cut from jeans. But both of our hands were sticky. One with mint chocolate chip. And one with pulverized, disgusting, non-organic, processed strawberry.

I wonder if Hermione was there that moment. Somewhere behind us. Watching each other hold our hands. She was the first person I told. V. My hands did not stop shaking for days. Hours. She didn't ask me why they shook. Or why I went to the bathroom and when I came back my eyes were red. She didn't judge me for the torn welcome mat, or the yelling coming from inside. And so we stood there. Hand in hand. And I remember her voice, it sounded so precious, it was lovely to hear her talk, her words were soft, her touch was kind, she was my friend. She maybe, maybe cared about me, just a smidgen. She whispered it,

"You are super duper cool Thorne."

I remember turning to her, eyes shocked, and she gave me a big watery grin, teeth uneven, that was before she got braces, eyes crinkling at the edges, my voice wavered,

"Why?"

She tilted her head back. Her long hair ran in the breeze, shining reddish gold. Her voice almost lost in that summer wind,

"Because you are brave. Mummy would say your brave. Whenever I show my heart to people mummy says I am exceptional. So, you are exceptional Rose. Except I don't know what exceptional means, but I think it means super-duper cool. Yeah?"

I remember how the tear felt on my cheek. Warm. Like home. And I looked up at that sky too, it was a brilliant pastel blue, painted without a blemish or a cloud in sight. The sun shined on it, like a masterpiece. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Nothing could ever go wrong.

My voice was soft when I responded minutes later,

"When we get back we can look it up, exceptional,"

She laughed, it was a soft, bonding laugh, not too loud, as if not to frighten the shaking girl that was me away, and not too soft that I would feel stupid for not hearing it. Just right. Just perfect. I remember how she gave my sticky fingers a squeeze, voice sing song,

"I knew you would say that,"

That day was a special day. Because my stomach started hurting, feeling like it would burst, full to the brim with ice cream. And my hands were all smudged with sticky dirt. And I had given a piece of my heart to someone for the first time. And she had called me a long word that began with e, or a, maybe a, but either way I couldn't stop smiling. I showed her the big field. And I introduced her to my friend who lived by the big oak tree. She gave us some herbal tea that tasted bad, so we pretended to drink it and then spilled it on the grass. Later we dug for earth worms and chased after dragon flies by the River Thames. She said she did not mind the rivers stink, or the garbage, or the mud on her nice shiny shoes. She didn't mind when some water splashed her face. She didn't mind when I poked fun at her about how her hair got some of the herbal tea in it. She never minded. It was nice having someone that didn't mind. Maybe it was because I minded for her.

And just as that beautiful sky began to crack and merge into darkness Hermione came. Walking down the path to the big oak, footsteps soft. She was beautiful to look at. I remember what she was wearing. A black dress with little daises on it. She watched us sit and fight about who knew the longest word in Latin. I wonder how long she watched. And then she called out, waving her hand softly above her head,

"V it's time to go home now,"

And I remember how V ran into her arms, wrapping her hands around her, and how Hermione picked her up and spun her around, her hair flying behind her, they looked so happy. I remember how my heart hurt. I sat in the grass, eyes peaking up over the long strands, wide green intelligent eyes. And I gazed on. And Hermione looked back at me. And she smiled, and she opened her palm and slowly a daisy grew, hanging in the air, and her eyes were kind, and I wonder if she thought I would come and get that daisy and introduce myself. But I didn't move. I just watched. And she nodded her head and placed it on the ground. Turning and with a step disappearing into white smoke.

I remember taking my time to go pick up that daisy. And when I did the petals were all wilted. But still it was beautiful My hands were grimy, and I smelled like garbage and dung but I did not stop smiling that day. Even when the hand came down. And the food was bitter. Even when I had to eat but I wasn't hungry. Even when I avoided the other children. Even when I had to take the bath with the other girls, all glowering and poking fun at each other. I did not stop smiling. And when I went to bed I looked down at my hand. My little hand that V had held. And that smile, just for a moment, turned into a grin. And my heart sped up and I couldn't help it. V had become a friend. V had become family. Just like that. And who was I to complain? I loved her. I love her.

The sunlight is soft on my skin, it warms it. My eyelashes tickle my cheekbones. My brows are slightly drawn together. My hair is loose, flowing over both shoulder and pillow. The bed is comfy but cramped. A hospital bed. I must be located in the hospital wing. My eyes are shut. My mind is numb. As if I have suffered from torment, shock and horror. And yet what horror? I can remember the police man. A chill. A darkness. The police man. I need a plan for that. I need V for that. V. V. V.

V is there again. Rox and Lucy too. They sit all around me. I can hear them whisper to each other, voices soft,

"They said she can't remember."

Lucy speaks up,

"Madame Pomphrey said its possible she tried to kill herself."

V cuts in, voice sharp,

"Stop it. Rose isn't like that. You're her friends. You know her. You support her. You don't gossip or judge her."

A quiet sorry. I want to tell them I would never. NEVER. My eyes shut. I am pulled back under.

I close my eyes. I can see me and V walking through the streets of Hogsmeade together. For the first time. We met only three weeks ago. We are little. We walk a feet apart. Our shoulders don't brush. I watch my feet hit the pavement. Dom is there, she walks closer to me, she is chatting about something, going on and on about something. I admit. I wasn't listening. I stop suddenly. Apples. They glow all different colors. Some are dipped in butterbeer caramel. Some are shaped into little nymphs, and mermaids. I grin wide. V laughs at something Dom said. And stops, giving me a wide grin, her eyes follow mine. She walks over slightly to me, voice a whisper,

"Do you want one?"

I glance at her, eyes wide, and shake my head, looking back down, voice soft,

"No. It's okay, they're just pretty to look at."

Dom poked my arm, and grinned, voice laughing,

"Well I want one dummies."

And she brushed past us going towards the stand. I follow her with my eyes. There are many unique fruits. I look at the apples. V nudges me forward voice quiet,

"I'll buy you one,"

I shook my head, voice a murmur,

"Its okay. I'm not hungry."

She smiled wide,

"I like apples too. Go get them."

She hands me a bag, her voice soft,

"Buy the best ones,"

I stare at her, head tilted to the side, voice soft,

"Why?"

She glances at me, and gives me a big grin,

"Because they taste the best."

I shook my head, voice soft,

"What about the bruised ones. Who will take them?"

She gave me a long look.

"No one, probably,"

I stared at her, eyes wide,

"Why not? Why are they not good enough?"

She smiled, soft,

"Just get the best. After all I'm paying for them."

I looked at the apples. Golden, red, green, I reached for the biggest, brightest. But my hand paused. And I picked up the one with the tattered skin, and the dark bruises. The little cuts, the oddly shaped. It's weird. The small things always mattered to me. Even when I was young. Wouldn't those apples feel all alone? And sad? And abandoned? Who knows if they aren't good enough? Who says so? Who are we to say so? I got twelve apples that day. I remember when we were walking away from the stand V asked. Her voice soft,

"Why did you choose the worst ones Rose?"

I remember glancing up, eyes wide,

"They only look bad on the outside, but they are beautiful on the inside. They don't deserve to be forgotten and left behind just because they look weak. They may look weak but they are strong because they have suffered and are still alive. Still a part of the bunch. When you grow a tree you cannot just choose the best produce, you must choose all the produce. When you have kids you can't just choose the ones you love. You have to take all of them."

I remember how she stopped walking and took my hand, fingers soft, voice a whisper,

"Rose, there just apples."

I stared at her. And ducked my head, voice soft,

"Sorry. It's your money, I should have chosen the nice ones."

I remember how her eyes shined, and she reached into the bag and picked the ugliest of them all and took a big bite, giving me a small smile, mouth full of apple as she talked again,

"They're sweet."

I remember Dom turning from in front of us, and stopping us, taking out a camera, she held up her hand, voice ringing loud,

"Stop and smile big for the picture,"

I remember staring at the muggle device. Eyes wide and curious. V gave my hand a squeeze. I looked down, our fingers were interlaced. When had she started holding my hand? Why hadn't I even noticed? I stared at it, eyes big saucers. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes kind. Her voice a whisper,

"Smile on three, yeah?"

I nodded my head a little.

"One."

A blink.

"Two."

I gave her hand a squeeze back, I raised my head.

"Three."

I smiled wide, one of my bottom teeth was missing, and V's teeth were all crooked. And after Dom took the picture I ran to her and asked if I could borrow her camera. I then spent the rest of the day admiring it and trying to figure out how it worked. V saved the camera roll before I started to take it apart, looking at each of the pieces. I spent all night in the library reading on cameras. I ate my eleven apples all that night. I savored every sweet bite. And I cried a little too. For V. V who hadn't judged me for caring about the little things, like the apples. V who didn't care that I had spent her money and probably couldn't give it back. Good V. Kind V. Perfect V. I wrote her a thank you poem for the apples later that week. She had simply shaken her head and murmured a, "You didn't have to."

And then Dom asked where her thank you note was. And V told her to stop poking fun at me, but I didn't understand it was a joke so I made her one too. And she giggled for 15 minutes straight before she realized I was serious. And then V hit her over the head, scolding her about how she had already told her to not make fun of me. But I thought it was perfect. I had never made someone laugh for 15 minutes straight before. I felt accomplished. Like I had done well. And V said I had done well. And that was all I needed to hear. That I did okay. That I didn't disappoint. V said she loves me. V said she will always love me like a sister, and one day, when we are older we can be real sisters, and her family can adopt me. That was after I told her I was an orphan. Back then orphan did not have shame to carry with it. She didn't blink an eye. She understood. She cared. I told Dom and Lucy and Rox later. They were a little more surprised as to why I kept it a secret in the first place.

But V. V got it. She knew I was scared. She knew I was human. She knew that to me all the little things were big scary things. And everything mattered. And I had to make everyone happy. Once, late at night she came and sat on the ground by the big window in our first-year dorm and whispered it,

"I'm really proud you told Dom and them about it."

I remember looking at her,

"Why?"

She looked up at the moon, voice a whisper,

"Because now you will never be alone. Even if I am not here. You won't be all alone."

I remember cocking my head to the side,

"Where are you going?"

I remember how she gazed at me, eyes teary.

"No where. I'll stay right here, with you."

I remember scrunching my nose up,

"They thought it was a little thing. Me being an orphan. That it was stupid to make it into a big thing."

I remember how she sighed, eyes wide, voice soft,

"My mum says that little things are big things for other people. And some big things are little things for other people too."

I remember sighing and lying back onto the ground, hair fanning around me, voice soft,

"Are my big things little things to you?"

I remember her shaking her head, voice soft,

"I get it. You have so little to hold onto. And so little to value that you value everything. Because every little thing is so rare, and so precious, and so treasured."

I stared at her and giggled, lips turning up,

"You make me sound like an idiot."

She shakes her head, voice quiet,

"That's the last thing you could possibly be Thorne."

And that was that. It was understood. Me and V would stick together. Support each other. Help each other. She was good to me. She was like a mother. And often I worried that I burdened her. It took me years to learn that I was no burden. I was something she treasured. I was a big thing. And that made me happy. Really happy. She was special to me. And I was special to her. As simple as that. Nothing could come between us. No one could come between us. We agreed on almost everything and when we did argue, it was for fun. We were never angry at each other. We know the sadness in our eyes and what it means. We know the nausea in our gut, and we get it.

That's why I chose V. Because V was better than the rest of us. Kinder than the rest of us. And I made a promise as a little girl. That I would never be alone. And that goes both ways. I can never let her be all alone. I cannot abandon her. Not like this. Never.

Someone else enters the room. I hear the chair scrape the floor. I feel a hand on mine. A hand I barely know but want to know better. Crave to know better. James. James sits down slowly; his voice is soft. But I cannot hear it. I can just see it. Him falling to the ground, back hitting the floor, his blood is red, crimson as he dies slowly. I am scared to listen to him. I am scared to feel his touch. I am a betrayer. I am a murderer. I am letting him die. No. No you aren't Rose. Why aren't you Rose? Because it's a life for a life. Think Rose. Your missing something. Something important. The words replay themselves in my mind, soft,

"You aren't real. Your just in my head."

I feel my stomach turn. I let out a quick breath, lips parting. What if I am wrong? What if the forgotten were never in my head to begin with? What if its all just imaginary? Nothing is real unless you can touch it, feel it, speak to it. Then how did Dom die? Think Rose. Think faster. Time is running out Rose. You'll be okay, you'll be strong for all of them and save them. Because they are your friends. And you are stronger with them, protecting them then without them. That's just a part of you. That's just what you have to do.

Do orphans really all have the forgotten looking on? Was I just wrong, was I just mistaken? And if I was wrong, if my hypothesis cannot be proven to be a theory how many people are fired, how many peoples lives are ruined and jobs are taken? How long till I can prove it when I am like this? Trapped without a way to stand and move and breathe? I can only fight myself in here. And what if the forgotten are just a part of that self? What if I am right? And they have seen everything I do? How can I make sure? How can I prove? I feel my heart pound. If Dom did not die because I chose her to die then how did she die? How did my mind go to that ultimatum? What if it is all just imaginary blame? An excuse, a reason so I can blame myself and not burden others? What if it is all just in my head and truly nothing is real. And the forgotten have no idea. But. But Dom is dead. And the nightmares are like a reality. So what does it truly mean? Reality is defined by what? Mentality and humanity stand separately or together? And does it matter. Does little, tiny, unimportant me matter in all of this, at all?

~James' POV~

You get used to a room. So used to it you could close your eyes and walk it, and trace the outline of each object. Because nothing ever changes in the room. It stays the same. I never get used to a room. A room is a place that boxes you into a cage of life. Of responsibility. So when the doors shut I slip out of them, and I trace hallways, and countries, and worlds, and shards of the universe.

I haven't this room in a week. I don't think I've stayed in one place. Without moving from its four walls ever before. I think it scares me. I think I don't like admitting I'm scared. So I categorize it as more a disinterest with the walls. A boredom with the white sheets. If it was Rose, and not me, she would say the room was enough. And that the window over looking the warming lake was like a painting, that the summer breeze was soft. That we were blessed. But Rose hasn't said anything. Rose hasn't spoken. Rose hasn't seen the window, and the soft drapes and the blooms of the lilies on the lakes edges. I hope. No. I have learned that hoping doesn't change anything.

Instead, I have grown to tell her. Every day what they look like. The lilies. And then I am telling her about my mom, and my dad's mom. The first Lily. And then I somehow end up on little Lily. My sister. A sister that I have left to her own devices for too long. I tell her that one day I will come back and she won't be a little girl anymore, she will be a woman, and she will not take my crap anymore. And not hold onto me anymore. I tell her that I should try to prevent that day.

She doesn't respond. It has become a repeated one sided conversation. But its nice. For once no one can reply. No can tell me that I should be better than who I am, that I am acting a part, when in fact that is me. This person. The person they are hoping is an image.

Hope is a funny thing. I never have needed to hope before. Not like this. Hope doesn't last long, you get used to sad things, and broken things and then you stop hoping because it's the new normal. I'm still in the hope stage. The stage of it'll be fine. She is breathing so that's all that matters. Its not like she will never be the same. It's not like I hurt. It's not like I'm being selfish. It's not like I couldn't live without her. It's not like I need her.

I remember when I was little I asked my mom if she needed dad to live. It was random and I remember how she set down her work and pulled me onto her lap. And she ran her hand through my hair and she pondered for a moment, and her answer, it was wise, but now it scares me. She said, in the softest voice,

"If you need someone to live than you are abusing them. And that is not healthy. You are trapping them in the guilt of leaving you all alone."

I remember how she looked into my eyes, voice soft,

"I can live without dad. But that does not mean I want to. Because I love him. So, so much."

The chair is light. I pull it back, I sit. The window is closed. The sunlight is still warm on my back, it streams in. It hits pale skin, and dances across stray hairs. It reaches and curves around her delicate figure, it outlines the crease in her brow, the soft scars that dapple pale, clean skin. Scars that the doctors are fading. So that she will look like it never happened.

I feel selfish. For asking them to take the scars away. For asking them to save her. For not coming when I woke up. For living. For a lot of things. But I push it down. I have every right to be selfish. This is my life. Who is most important in life James? Who? Me. Me.

Liar.

Her lips are parted, rose red crimson, with teeth marks digging into flesh for too long, scattered across plush pink. She looks so very unreal; hence, I do not dare to touch her. I watch her. The soft rise and fall of each breath. The quacking tremor of a soft pulse. Beating and repeating and refusing to die. When V leaves, and Scorpius goes to bed, or goes to lunch I stay. I sit in the farthest corner, back against the wall. And I watch her. She whispers in her sleep. Over and over her lushes' lips murmur,

"Dance with me."

I wonder what flashes behind closed eyelids. I am not a wonderer. I was not born to wander this earth and wonder with curiosity why and when and how. But with her it is different. She smiles sometimes. When V says something extra nice. When Scorpius squeezes her hand. They can't see it, her smile, but I can. It is not a physical movement of her lips, or her teeth or her cheeks. It is a soft, almost undetected release of breath, of soft air in a hushed, content manner.

Albus brings me food. He sits with me. His voice is soft when he speaks. And quiet when he leaves. I cannot tell the difference. Its been a week. This is the eighth day of her not waking up. She looks healthier now, her cheeks are not hollowed out, she has gained back some of the weight she lost when Dom died. The bandages, slowly, day by day are removed and the doctors hover over her less. But they are still there. To check. To make sure.

When I know no one is in the room I talk to her. I tell her everything. Its weird. You would think talking to an unconscious girl would be a rather boring conversation. But she responds in her own way. By living. And that's enough. At least for now.

I hate it. Being this terrified. This vulnerable. I am not vulnerable, but she is. And somehow if she is hurt, if she is broken, I am also. Somehow. Also. Also what? This James that sits and wastes the day away doing nothing and watching the rhythm of a woman's breath with such determination, with such salvation is weak. Not just weak but starving. Starving for release. Release from loving her. Because god damnit it hurts. I am not used to the pain of watching someone else suffer. But that's just it. She doesn't suffer. She is happy and positive even lying there, dying, broken, and hurt and sad.

I don't touch her. I speak to her. But I am afraid if I touch her the pulse will stop, or something else. I am afraid she will get hurt. More. Because of me. I know what a bad person I have become. I know that she walked into my life at a bad moment. When I was ready for a year. A quiet year. But its been rather hellish. And the seasons change. And the time goes on and on.

I tell her about dad. How we talked. I tell her that I was mean to him because it sounds better than being mean to me. I tell her that I am a coward. That I begged for Gryffindor so everyone would think I wasn't one. But how they are wrong. Wrong. Me. And then I laugh. It's a hollow, dead beat kind of laugh that falls on silent lips.

I ask her what it is like. I worry. Eyes wide, hands only steady when I feel the faint pulse pulling through. I know I shouldn't worry. Because worrying means that I am attached. And that means they can hurt her. The Forgotten, the death eaters. People. I try not to think too much about consequences. Consequences of loving her.

The newspapers are writing headlines. Bad, bad headlines. Thomas is dead. And his family, his family is pressing charges. Charges for murder. And the press eats it up like candy. No one has been murdered on Hogwarts grounds for a long time. And never has it been a student to a student. They are saying Rose killed him. The ministry is investigating. And it is sickening. Because what else should I have done? Rose won't be happy when she wakes up. If she wakes up. Because they will come for her. And they will bring her into my world, and judge her, and strip her of her hopes and her dreams.

Rose. The Rose I know lives just for tomorrow, just to make everyone around her is proud, happy, content. The Rose I know would never, could never harm a fly. Never hurt a hair on anyone's head. Violence is so far from her system, from her mind that it is simply impossible that she would kill him. But they don't think that. They tare at her. And hurt her.

The press is not my friend. They write things that are true about me, and things that are manipulated. In a modern age where facts are not what is most valued the press cannot be depended on. Because liars can give the press facts. And how is the press supposed to know that there is source is wrong? And who would believe me, to say so.

The investigation for his murder started four days ago. There is no other lead but Rose. Her wand has both the cruciatus curse and Avada kedavra. Which in the autopsy of his body were both found, the latter was the cause of his death. He was drunk. Really drunk. They are playing out the scenario of self-defense. Judging on how he made moves on her beforehand. Saying that he tried to attack her and she used the cruciatus curse to protect herself. But he didn't stop so in a state of utter fear and torment she killed him. They are saying that would explain the ripped clothing. How her robes were in rags. And, after killing him she couldn't live with herself and threw herself off the platform onto the train tracks, getting purposefully run over, in an attempt to kill herself and end her guilt and her pain. But failed. For Fred was there to save her.

Its funny. If it was someone else in the hospital and I read that story I would have laughed. Who possibly could believe that a descent human would do something like that? I would have killed him. If he was trying to rape Rose I would have killed him. But I'm not decent.

They came to get her yesterday. The ministry. They came to move her body to the court prison. And I did something stupid. Something very stupid. I used my name. My last name. Potter, to prevent them from coming in, from entering the hospital wing. I abused not just my power, but my fathers power and my aunts power and my family's power. And you can imagine what the newspapers are writing now.

Front page, in block letters, The Potter Family, openly corrupt. I am making bad decision, after bad decision. My days are wasted by sitting and watching a girl who could not survive Azkaban wilt and bloom depending on what horrors she is seeing in her mind. I am scared. My hands are shaking and they only stop shaking when I hold her. Her hand or brush my thumb across the soft skin of her cheek. So I am utterly and completely besotted. I am disgustingly weak. I am disgustingly self-oriented. And I know when Rose does open her eyes I will see that fresh, flashing, dark disappointment. That I couldn't have been better. Done better. I am preparing myself for that. Because it will happen.

The seat is cold. I sit, hands crossing over my chest, eyes resting on hers for a brief moment, and then I look away, and out the window. Its closed. I sigh and stand and take long steps to it, unclasping the window and opening it. The breeze is hot, she doesn't react. Not that I was expecting a reaction. I hop up onto the window. My feet hit the window ledge, my hands grab onto the top of the window, by the ceiling, and I stand, body rippling in the soft wind. I let go of the window's rim and let my fingers feel the soft breeze. The curtains billow behind me. I let out a breath, I get a few odd looks from the students below. I give them a lopsided grin. And they simply shake their heads and keep going with their days. If it was anyone else they'd call a teacher, scared that they'd jump to their death. But they don't. Because its me. And why would the great James Potter want to die?

The grin falls, and I stick my tongue in my cheek, rolling it over teeth, eyes shutting closed. I haven't eaten in a while. My stomach growls in response to the thought but I ignore it. Food is overrated. So is sleep. And life. Life is very overrated. As a kid I used to think growing up was the biggest adventure of them all. So I rushed the process. It wasn't as exciting as I thought it would have been.

I lean back and feel my body naturally respond, muscle memory and I turn through the air, landing on my feet, facing the bed. I look back at the window. Its wide, and tall. You would think a window that big would be dangerous, but I suppose it is nice. Scratch that. Its boring. The room. The white on white on white. I look back to the bed. And I can feel my lips tip up slightly. Never mind. It's the most interesting room in the world.

I sit back down and stare at her. Azkaban. How would she survive it? Murder is life long sentencing. Her soul would be taken at some point, her happiness drained. Her dreams and hopes crushed. I close my eyes, tipping my head back.

The doctors said we can wake her up. The aurors from the ministry for the investigation planned on doing so. For the trial, so she has time to prepare. But I said no. Over and over. And eventually they gave up. They'll be back though, when she wakes up. I hang my head, hands going to massage my temples.

Is there a way out of this? She would know what to do. Actually, scratch that, she would do the right thing and turn herself in and face the consequences. I flinch at that.

Consequences for something she never did. I can hear my dad's voice, soft,

"James, do you believe she didn't do it?"

I can see red, dark and flashing,

"It isn't about believing its about knowing. I know her. I trust her. Do you trust me, dad?"

A voice cuts into my thoughts, soft heels hitting the ground, old, crackly, someone I've been avoiding,

"What are you thinking about?"

Her voice is soft, kind, still professional. Professor McGonagall.

I sigh and open my eyes, lifting my head to meet her kind eyes. I arch a brow. I can see her telling me Dom will be okay. The anger is thinly concealed in my voice,

"Why do you care?"

She purses her lips,

"Mr. Potter I suggest cutting back the attitude."

I let out a soft, cold laugh,

"I'm busy, so, bye,"

She relaxes her face and gives Rose a long, sad look,

"It is a pity, what happened,"

I choke, and look up at her, eyes narrowed,

"A pity?"

She lowers her eyes,

"For Hogwarts. Yes, a pity."

I stare at her, shaking my head as I stand,

"How can you say something like that? How can you care about Hogwarts' reputation when there is a girl lying here, dying, are you-are you okay? Professor?"

She gives me a long, morn full look,

"Forgive me James. But Miss BlackThorne has broken the law, I cannot give her the schools protection."

I stare at her. My lower lip wobbles,

"You are telling me, you-YOU believe the crap that the news is printing?"

She looks at Rose, eyes sad,

"You tell me James. What else could have happened? Who else killed him? There was no one there. We have millions of spells that protect Hogwarts from intruders, people can't just waltz in. That's not- its not possible. There was no boarder breech that night, no trace of anyone else being there, no fingerprints, no footprints. Her wand has the killing curse in it, at the right time when he died. So you tell me who did it, give me a different scenario that I can believe,"

I stare at her. My eyes close, my voice is soft,

"She said she can't remember."

She looks away from Rose and out the window,

"There is a possibility that that was from the shock."

I bite my lip, hard,

"Or it could be that someone tampered with her mind. The Obliviscatur spell allows you to manipulate memories within a short time. It means you can erase memories and replace them with the version the spell caster wants. But- for around 30 minutes before the new memories are replaced there is a time where the receiver does not remember anything. Therefore Rose said she can't remember. But stopped saying it around 25 minutes later."

She sighs and shakes her head,

"I did not come here to argue,"

I look away, out the window and raise my chin. Saying nothing. She doesn't believe me. She doesn't because she doesn't know her James. Don't blame her James. She is already hurting. You have already been mean. Just ignore her. Ignore her and calm down.

Her voice is soft when she speaks again,

"James?"

I glance up at McGonagall. She stands with her hands folded behind her back. Her eyes scan Rose quickly and then turn to me. Sharp. Soft. A mixture of both. I sigh, hands running through my hair.

"Yes?"

She narrows her eyes a little and clears her throat, going on,

"I know this isn't the time-but"

I arch a brow,

"But?"

She sighs. And pulls up a chair, sitting down. Her eyes watching me carefully.

"But this is probably the only time I will catch you."

I go back to the seat and sit, leaning back and crossing my arms, eyes careful,

"Fine. What is it?"

She sighs. Eyes kind, lips pursed.

"Well."

I wait for her to continue. She does, eventually. Voice business like,

"You are failing every single class. With an F. And the school year will be done in a month and a half. So, unless you want me to hold you back a year, I suggest maybe showing up to class every once in a while and doing some school work."

I yawn. Eyes distracted. Finding Rose, making sure each of her breaths are steady. She sighs and continues,

"I am aware that you have valid reasons for not attending class. But- it is the school rule that if you fail over 65% of your classes with lower than a 35 average grade, we, the school must hold you back."

I stare out the window. The wind whispers soft in the curtains. It brings in late summer breeze, and soft pollen. I let out a breath. Teeth catching flesh and give her a long look.

"Is this your way of paying me back for what you did to Dom?"

She stares at me. Eyes wide. She lets out a shaky breath and looks down. Her voice soft.

"That's not fair."

I laugh, teeth grinding, the soft breeze makes the curtains dance, I watch them turn golden with the shadows of the suns last lights. I can see each shadow. In the shadows I can see Rose dancing, dancing hand in hand with Dom, they are turning and turning, but they are just shadows. And shadows cannot be kept. I look away, lips turning down slightly,

"How so? Wasn't it you that told me you could protect her. That everything would be fine."

She nods her head slowly,

"Yes. But-"

I stand, pushing the chair back, and my voice cuts in, anger rising hot, and white, and blinding, the shadows have disappeared, the words are cold,

"All I have heard from you since you entered this room was but. Do you only have excuses to show me? Do you think that will make me more charitable?"

She sighs and stands with me. Walking to the window. Gazing out at the Slytherin Quidditch Practices. Their green robes swish in the air. She lets out a breath.

"I am going to also have to remove you from your Captain position in the Gryffindor team. Fred has been doing the job for you. And though he refuses to take the position from you. Someone needs to. Things need to continue, even if you are not here."

I glance down. She follows my eyes. And then looks back up.

"The final tests for this grade, I'll let them guarantee if you pass or not. Just show up, or-"

She glances at me, eyes hardened,

"Is that too hard to ask?"

I swallow hard and do not respond. Eyes cast down. She is quiet for a moment. And when she speaks again her voice is careful,

"As for Quidditch you can keep your position if you show up to practice for this last month and win the house cup. After all you have won three years in a row, let's make it four this year?"

I stare out and shake my head,

"I might not come at all next year."

She nods her head,

"Then I will remove you from the system."

I glance at her. Eyes wide. My voice soft,

"Don't you think that's a little harsh?"

She sighs, rubbing a hand over her forehead, eyes looking out,

"No. I think I am being far too lenient. Normally if you miss two weeks of school, not on school property, you are suspended and if it is over three months you are expelled. Missing a week of quidditch practice would get you a suspension from the team. And a month would get you kicked off. And as the captain? Is isn't acceptable to miss more than two practices. And even missing those you need a valid excuse."

I look at her. She looks at me. Voice hard.

"You should thank me James. I don't break the rules for many people Mr. Potter."

I lower my eyes and laugh soft,

"Then stop breaking them for me."

She stares at me. Eyes confused. I look up at her,

"I'm not that important Professor. You are right. Breaking the rules for me seems a little ridiculous."

She sighs and slumps back into her chair, sitting back down, eyes glaring at me,

"Can't you just be grateful?"

I give her a sharp look and she holds my gaze steady, head tilted to the side, lips pursed again,

"Mr. Potter I do not ask much of you. Is really going to the final exams and flying for a month that difficult for you? Is it really that big of a request that you have to act so childish?"

I turn away, looking at Rose,

"I don't know what the next month will bring."

She follows my gaze, and sighs,

"You mean if she goes to Azkaban."

I look at her, eyes sharp,

"I'll agree to win you the house cup but only if-"

She gives me a raised eyebrow,

"If? Since when can the student negotiate the terms of the agreement when I have given you so many second chances?"

I keep going, ignoring her last comment,

"Only if Rose can move up the year with me. I mean after the trial, after she doesn't go to Azkaban can she then take the final exams?"

She stares at me,

"In summer? James- I mean Mr. Potter can you refrain from presenting such preposterous thoughts?"

I narrow my eyes. I can hear Teddy's voice in my head. "If you want something and you cannot live without it play dirty for it."

I bite my lip and tilt my head to the side,

"I'll forgive you."

She stares at me, eyes slightly widened, I go on,

"I'll forgive you for Dom. I won't blame you anymore."

She gives me a slightly aghast look,

"What makes you think I want that?"

I shrug my shoulders,

"Then- I guess never mind."

I stand and pull the chair back to beside Rose. The metal scrapes along the floor. She sighs, lips pushing together, and stands, slowly, eyes on me.

"Is she innocent James?"

I turn and face her. No doubt in my eyes.

"Yes. She is."

She shakes her head,

"Then why did you protect her James? Why did you use your fathers name to stop the aurors from getting her and waking her up? If she is so innocent why are you hiding her here?"

I stare at her, not blinking,

"I am in love with her."

She shakes her head,

"That is no excuse."

I shake my head with her,

"I am not saying it as an excuse. I am saying it as a fact. I protect the things I love."

She doesn't say anything, I go on,

"I could have protected Dom. But someone told me they would do it for me. I wonder who that was? I wonder who else would protect what they love from harm?"

I can see the hurt in her eyes, but she doesn't look away. Her voice is hard, professional,

"Protecting her like that. You made her situation a hundred times worse. People want to take the Potters down. You just gave them an opportunity."

I let out a low laugh,

"What is so scary about falling? I'm ready. The Potter's name is not golden, sometimes we all need a refresher on that."

She blinks, eyes never leaving mine,

"What if she is proven guilty? Will you break into Azkaban and save her? Will you throw it all away, the power, the fame, the name, everything?"

I feel a shudder. She doesn't take her eyes from me. I don't answer. Eyes lowering. Lips sealed shut. She nods her head,

"That's what I thought. You like to say things like the Potter's name is not golden. But truly, you are the only one that believes it is."

She looks at Rose. And finally sighs,

"Fine. If she is proven innocent, without any of your involvement whatsoever I will let her stay in Hogwarts. Though I cannot guarantee her safety here. She will be bullied and hurt, and people will never trust her again. Not like before. Proven innocent or not. That's just the way of the world."

I nod my head. Her face softens slightly, eyes finding mine again,

"And Mr. Potter win that house cup for Gryffindor. And take those final exams, its not like you need to study anyways. IT would be very sad if you stayed a fourth year for the rest of your life."

I feel my lips twitch. She purses her own and leaves, footsteps heavy. I watch her go. And then I look down at Rose. And I roll her words around in my head.

"What if she is proven guilty? Will you break into Azkaban and save her? Will you throw it all away, the power, the fame, the name, everything?"

Why couldn't I answer? Why can't I ever answer? I close my eyes. I don't answer because I know the answer. No. I wouldn't throw it all away. I look at Rose. I can see the disappointment it comes in waves of hot shining gold off of her. I flinch back, jaw ticking.

Can you live without her James? I feel my hands turn to fists. The answer is no. I can't. But Azkaban is living without her. And somewhere, deep in the darkness of my mind I can hear the whisper, "There are visiting hours. You can still see her once a week. That would be enough."

I bow my head, sitting back down. I don't speak to her today. I have nothing to say. Albus brings me dinner. I don't touch it. He takes it away. V and the girls come and say good night. Scorpius shows up after dinner, he is carrying fresh daises. He doesn't speak to me. He speaks to her though, voice soft, eyes smiling, staying positive for her. I curl up in the far corner of the room. The hard floor is cold beneath me. He is leaving, the white haired Slytherin Malfoy snake.

He pauses and looks back at me. I sit with my back pressed against the wall, looking out the window, eyes not blinking. He narrows his eyes slightly, voice soft,

"Have you eaten?"

I send him a sharp glare,

"Why do you care?"

He rolls his eyes,

"I don't, but Al does,"

I scoff,

"Al?"

He shrugs,

"Isn't that his name?"

I don't reply. He sighs and glances over at her, voice soft,

"She'll be okay, she is stronger than she looks."

I send him a curious look and shake my head,

"No. It's the opposite, she is weaker than she looks."

He lets out an annoyed sigh, eyes glaring at me,

"What? Do you think you know her better than I do?"

I tilt my head back,

"Yes."

He rolls his eyes,

"Well you don't."

I snort, and send him an arched eyebrow,

"What are you-five?"

He gives me an annoyed huff but doesn't respond. We are both quiet for a moment. Fred walks in, the door creaks as he closes it behind him, sharing a look with Malfoy before his eyes rest on me. He pats the Slytherin on the back as he walks to me, scooting down next to me, sending me a confused look,

"What's got you in a bad mood?"

I give him an ironic look,

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

He sighs,

"Ahh, so it's a James pity party, great, my favorite,"

I roll my eyes, but don't respond. We are silent, as we both watch Scorpius bid farewell to Rose, his hand squeezing hers, I don't feel any jealousy, he's gay, so why should I? Alright. Fine. It's a little annoying how she seems happier with him. Not that I'd ever admit it to anyone. I look away and arch a brow. Fred studies my facial expression and snickers. Scorpius waves us goodbye and I just nod as Fred and him have a quick exchange of pleasantries.

Fred goes and walks to Rose, he just watches her. I turn away and stand, walking to the window and looking out. His voice comes from far away,

"How's Rose?"

I glance from the window and turn to look back at her. The moonlight shines and makes each golden strand of soft hair turn to liquid silver. I shake my head, voice quiet,

"Alive."

Fred, steps out of the shadow of the door way and wanders over to me, eyes trained on her sleeping form, his voice is soft,

"Is that enough for you?"

I look back up at the stars, there are so many of them, my voice is just a mumble,

"It would be nice if she was responsive. But alive is better than- Well than a lot of things."

He nods his head. And stares at her, head cocked to the side, green eyes intense. I glance back at him and raise an eyebrow,

"What?"

He turns his head, a little sudden, a little surprised and sends me a quick look, voice soft,

"I wish. I wish I had saved her sooner."

I duck my head,

"Don't blame yourself."

He gives me a crooked small smile,

"Hypocrite."

I feel my lips twitch. And duck my head,

"That sounds about right."

He studies me and lets out a soft sigh,

"Is this still James Potter I'm talking to?"

I stare at my hands and let out a heavy breath,

"Who is James Potter?"

He gives me a nudge with his shoulder,

"Are you having a mid-life crisis? Should I be concerned?"

I sigh, and give him an annoyed look, he scrunches up his nose at me,

"Sorry. I'm bad at the whole emotional opening up to each other stuff."

I shake my head,

"Never mind."

He gives me a long look,

"No. No. Not never mind. I'm listening. Try again."

I feel myself become more guarded. And he grabs onto my arm, turning me to face him,

"You wanna know who James Potter is?"

I don't look him in the eyes, he lets out a soft annoyed laugh, and goes on,

"He's brave. Stupidly so. And he lacks sentiment. And kindness. But he is a good person. He is interested in his own life more than anyone's. And that's a flaw. But he can work on that."

I let out a cold chuckle,

"Sounds like a charming guy."

I go to leave but he stops me, jaw ticking,

"And he's an idiot. Because he goes from having tons of self-esteem to none in minutes. That's messed up. His life is like a roller coaster. And his heart is made of ice."

I stare at him, eyes burning with fresh hurt, covered by shades of anger and tones of disinterest,

"Thanks. Really I'd like to meet this guy. Sounds wonderful."

He lets go of my arm and morphs his face to match my expression. His eyes are soft though, soft and caring,

"He is wonderful. Because that's all a lie. His heart is the softest of them all, and he never had any self-esteem to begin with, he is in fact brilliant, so very brilliant that no one can stand up to his intelligence, but he likes to act like an idiot. He latches onto people and he cares about them, no matter what they do or how they hurt him. And he is a bad, bad person to love. Because if you don't really know him you won't understand how rare and beautiful his love is. How pure, and how direct it is. And how he needs all the eyes and the people and the laughs so that he can be worth something. And that he lives every day like it's his last because he wants to die. Because death is appealing to him. Not because he is a coward. But because he is scared of living. He doesn't like living. Not at all. Not that much."

He lets out a heavy breath and turns his back on me, looking out the window,

"He is strongest when he is fighting an enemy he can kill. He is the scaredest when someone he loves is hurt. And he knows he can't live without them. He is scared when he realizes he should have been valuing life and the people in his life. And then he changes. Just for a few weeks. I call it the shell shock reaction. And then he builds the walls and hides behind them. And he thinks no one notices. But the people who know him do."

He tilts his head back, looking up at the stars,

"He doesn't know how to say thank you or how to say sorry. Because he feels ashamed that he messed up. Because he thinks he disappointed them and let them down. He is scared of getting too close to people because then they will have expectations. And he knows he cannot keep those expectations. So he acts like a bad person. And one day, he realizes a part of him is that person. Because you never act a part, you just show a different part of you, that was already there, inside of you. And that. That scares him the most."

I stare at him. Eyes wide. My lips parted ever so slightly. He doesn't look back and goes on, voice hard,

"He is consumed by the idea of fame and fortune. He wants to be like his father. He has always wanted to be like his father. But he can never be good enough because his father is simply too good. So he gets scared of letting him down in big ways, so he makes sure to let him down in small ways so he won't be too disappointed when he lets him down in big ways."

He stares up at those stars, voice softening,

"But those who are loved by James Potter will have a guardian angel by their side for the rest of their lives, no matter what he says, or what he does, or what lies he pushes in front of him. He has a good heart. That beats with such a beauty. And he deserves the world but the world, the world will never accept him. Not as who he is. And that scares him. Because that is what he thinks. And he is a fool to think that."

We are silent for a long time. My voice is a whisper when I speak,

"I don't think scaredest is a word."

He gives me an annoyed look,

"Shut up."

I should smile, right here and show him that I'm alright. But my lips turn down. And I don't say anything. Eventually, after a long moment, I speak,

"What should I do?"

He turns to face me,

"About what?"

I stare at Rose. I shake my head, voice soft,

"To deserve her love. What do I do to deserve it?"

I send him a glance,

"And if you say change I might strangle you,"

Fred laughs and leans against the window ledge,

"Changing who you are would not help. Because she is in love with this you. Not the you you would change into."

I give him a long glance,

"What if I was better man?"

He pokes my arm,

"Man? That's a little self-conceited isn't it James? I think boy sounds more accurate,"

I roll my eyes,

"Shut up. I mean it."

His smile drips off of his face and he gives me a serious nod, voice quiet,

"She wouldn't love you then. She loves you for you James. And that's rare. I don't think changing yourself will help anything."

I give him a sharp look,

"Then what?"

He shrugs off of the wall and pats my back,

"Try being selfless, you'd be surprised how much that can change."

He walks out of the room, I call after him,

"Thank you."

He pauses in the door way, not looking back,

"For what?"

I give him a long look,

"For saving her."

He hesitates for just a fraction of a second. And then just simply nods and leaves.

~Roses' POV~

"Greatness is a scary thing."

I can see the long table. A boy with green eyes sits on one end. A boy with golden eyes sits on the other. The boy with the serpent eyes stands, he tilts his head up. I follow his action. Swirling above the room are bodies, chained to each other, eyes closed, hair floating across faces, soft. I can see a subtle murmur of breath whisper from cold, blue lips. He doesn't laugh. It is no longer as funny as the green eyed boy thought it would be. He thought it would always be funny. But he got bored.

His lips hardly move as he speaks,

"You want to negotiate. Not for the world but for you own life."

He stares up at the swirling bodies, his lips part, his eyes are intelligent, they shine with a bright, unhidden fascination. He sucks in a breath,

"No matter how hard you try James you cannot ignore human nature. You can give me excuses. And lies. And say it is for the common good. But you are only ever bettering yourself."

He turns his head and looks around the grand room, at the high walls, the long, long table set with empty table settings. Glasses of wine never drunk. He screams, hard, high. It is brutal, like a slap. He turns to face him. He slams his hands down on the table. The table shakes. The wine glasses tremble. The white table cloth goes unstained. The red liquid sloshes in crystal cups. He stares down at the sitting golden eyed boy. I can just see eyes. Glaring, burning eyes. His voice is cutting,

"You want power? You want the top? Take it. Take it all James."

He shutters, high, cold, I can hear his breath shake, a single clear tear running down his cheek,

"But what is the point of being king when there is no one left to rule? Its just an empty throne, in an empty castle, with big, grand rooms full of empty seats. I will give you what you desire."

He pushes the chair back and steps aside. I can see a throne. It glows golden in eerie green light. He laughs high,

"But I will take every last citizen of yours and I will kill them. Try ruling hell alone James. Try living with yourself then."

He steps closer. His heal hits the floor, boom, his eyes find mine, he stares at me,

"What is the point of being king when there is no one to bend the knee?

He cocks his head to the side,

"You're just another chess piece on the board. The king may be the last piece to die. But the king has no power beyond a title. And yet everyone protects him, dies for him without cause. Without thought. Because they think they are good. They think the king is worth fighting for."

He closes his eyes, I feel my eyelids flutter shut. His words are soft.

"Greatness is a lonely thing."

I turn. The room is dark. It has one small window. The window has bars. I can hear heavy breathing coming from the other side. I let out a scream. My back hits a moldy, cold and damp wall. The wall swirls into smoke and my back hits the floor. I am in a cell. A muggle prison cell. There is a police officer that strolls up and down the hallway outside. He stops, he turns to me, the keys jingle, his voice is soft,

"You have a visitor Rose."

I stand, I reach for the bars, I fall forward, spinning through the air, my butt hits the chair's seat. My hands slam behind my back. Hand cuffs. There is a boy. He sits in front of me. His eyes are telling, they are green. My green. He leans his head to the side; his eyes scan over my form. He says nothing for a moment. And when he does speak he is cold, cold like the wet of the walls. The walls drip with water, its raining outside. The handcuffs aren't handcuffs they are red and hot and piercing my skin. I can see something, a glimmer of dark moving fabric outside of the small window. I can hear the scrape of its nails. The cold is unbearable. The cold is chilling. I cannot smile. My cheeks won't move. They won't do what I tell them to. I can feel a tear fall, slipping over the curve of my lower eyelashes. The tear traps memories of cold days. Of no sleep. Of starvation. His voice rings,

"You aren't dead yet."

I don't answer. I can see my eyes meet his. They are pleading, I can see a pain. A pain of months of torment. He lets out a low laugh,

"You used to be so talkative. What happened Rose? Nothing to say? Not going to ask me how my day was?"

I can see a wild, contagious insanity flickering like a trapped flame deep in my eyes. My fingernail hits the desk in a pattern. Tap. Tap. Tap.

He crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes search mine, his voice is soft,

"Do you still have a soul Rose?"

The tears are blurring. My lips won't move. The dark shadows curl in on each other. Rising from the walls, turning and spinning around me. Darkness. I wonder what other colors exist in the world. Other than black. I can hear the claws flick against the walls. They are coming. I start to shake. My mouth springs open and shut, my jaw unhinged. My finger taps faster and faster. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

He laughs high. Cheeks splitting into a grin, I claw for him, my hand a skeleton's, I reach for him. I choke out one word. One desperate word.

"Please."

The tears roll down hollow cheeks. His grin falters and he stares at me. Eyes confused. The creature is coming. Faster. I shrink into the chair. I let out a mumbled word. Words. I don't know what language. It's a spell, no. No its something else. The words are fast. They beat against him. They tell him. They spill. The creature is closer. Its breath is on my neck. I don't want to die. He leans closer, eyes wide. The creature wraps its hand around my throat. I can't breathe. Not hands, talons. Black, leather skin stretched over thin bone, hard bone. Cutting bone. The words pour, salvation, the future. I scream them. He gobbles them up, like he is the starving one.

His green eyes dig into mine. The second collapses, the time runs cold. My lips move, the wind outside is furious, and yet I know he can hear me. The words fall on deaf ears. I can't hear what I am saying but it is big. Growing and writhing out of me. His eyes are hungry, his hands retreat. He won't save me. His eyes glow in the night. The rain pours. He nods his head. And stands, the chair scrapes back. My hands claw for him. The creature is pulling me back, I am going to die. He cleans his hands on a blood red handkerchief I scream. No noise. The door opens, it bangs shut behind him. The bars are wet, wet with blood. My hands are bleeding. He doesn't look back.

TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP.

My finger hits over and over, my hands shake. My breath fails. The fingernails scrape against wall, against skin, the sound is defining. I can hear each footstep fade away. He is leaving me here. To die.

The creature is here. I look up. It is dark. The cloak hides its face. It has no face. Its hands are like white smoke, they fade and turn, flesh whispers around hollow bone. Each joint is defined. A long finger reaching for me. I shrink back. My chair topples over, I ready myself for the impact of the floor on my back. The Dementor towers over me. I can see a black hole. It's a mouth. It is hungry. Feed it Rose. You know what its like to be hungry. My lips open. The dementor leans closer. I can see its lips opening. I can see a wolf. A wolf. A wolf that won't come. My Patronus won't come because my wand was broken in two. The tears are so, so cold. My eyes won't shut. My back hits the ground. No. It hits nothing. A blink. I am falling. I fall through the floor. My back hits a cot. I am in a muggle cell. They are dragging me somewhere.

She is professional. A therapist. She leans closer. She smiles. She hands me a white pill. There is a glass of water. My lips are already open. The pill is hot on my throat. The handcuffs are too tight. I wish I could ask them to loosen them. She asks me questions. I can't hear. I can see her fading in and out of my vision.

Then I hear it, a voice, soft, cold,

"What if she is proven guilty? Will you break into Azkaban and save her? Will you throw it all away, the power, the fame, the name, everything?"

There is a defining silence. Azkaban. I close my eyes. I need to get out. Save yourself Rose. You have never needed a hero before. Save yourself. The dementor leans closer, the lady keeps asking the same questions every day. I can see so much. My eyes are wide. Choose. Choose. V or Dom. V or James. Dead. Dead. Dead. I reel inside of my head; every option is horrible.

Jail. Prison. Azkaban. Dementors. V. James. No escape. I feel like I am suffocating. The words are soft.

"Dance with me,"

The daises turn red, his eyes are green. His hand is extended.

"All just in my head."

I can hear Fred's voice,

"Try being selfless."

I can feel hot tears. I have been selfless. MY WHOLE LIFE. What do you think got me here? The chair is cold. I look to see who is visiting me this time. It's me. Me. Azkaban me sits across from muggle prison me. And me? I watch on from far above. Like god. Except I am no god. I am a slave of time, or mental torment. I scream it.

"WAKE UP."

My eyes aren't closing, because they are already closed. I can't see. No. I can see so much. A blur of colors, hands, darkness, flowers. The earth is swallowing me whole.

They watch each other. Me and me.

They observe each other.

Eyes tormented.

The colors disappear. My breath steadies.

A calm settles in the room.

And there is a slight contentment.

The reflection of insanity is often our salvation. They extend chained hands. Not touching, but still in the fact that the chains are one form, one solid entity.

We don't speak. They are trying to tell me something. The me's. They are trying to tell me of the future. Of my future. Everyone's future.

If being selfless brought me here. Why don't I try being selfish? For once? The tears don't fall anymore. Who do I choose? V or James? Who will better you Rose? Which one can save your life? And which will fail you over and over?

I can see two court rooms. Two possibilities. But something is telling me there cannot just be two options.

One. Murder of my foster family in Peru. Life long sentencing in prison in London.

Two. Murder of Thomas. Life long sentencing to Azkaban with Dementors.

Three. Three? Why is there no three?

I can hear someone talking. Fred's voice. Soft.

"Who is James Potter?"

I shrink back from the question. Everything is painted red. I want to close my eyes. I want to close my eyes but they are already closed. And something. Something is horribly wrong. I want to scream for help but no one believes me. I can hear McGonagall's voice,

"How do you know she is innocent?"

I can see the dementor coming closer. The pill is big. It gets lodged in my throat. The handcuffs are cold. The room is small. Confining. I can hear a stranger's voice,

"Do you ever consider dying?"

I look up. The Azkaban cell is small. I let out a small breath. My lips barely move as I talk.

"No."

He stares at me, he is beautiful, his eyes are the darkest of blacks, his eyes are slits. His accent is thick,

"Why?"

I look up at him, the tears won't come. No emotion. Just dulled pain.

"Because I can see it."

He leans closer,

"See what?"

I stare at him, eyes tired, body exhausted, I stare out the small bars at the dark creatures that move past our cell, I tilt my head to the side,

"Everything. I can see everything."

He tilts his head to the side, following my movement,

"Will you ever escape?"

I look up and smile, I haven't smiled before, not in years. The smile hurts. I can hear them hiss, the happiness cannot last, they are starved for it. They feed off of it. They are coming for it.

My voice is sad,

"No."

He stares at me. I go on,

"No…But they… They will come join me."

He doesn't blink,

"Who? Who will come?"

I laugh, it howls through the air, my teeth shine red, the blood splatters across the walls,

"Everyone. Everyone will come."

He shrinks back from me; voice broken,

"Why will they come?"

I stare at him, eyes blood shot,

"Because its fate. You can't change fate. You can't. You can just. Just wait for it."

He watches me,

"Are you waiting?"

I nod. He tilts his head to the side,

"For what?"

I star up at the ceiling,

"The future."

A pause,

"I'm waiting for the future."

I can see the wand in my hand as I kill Thomas. I can hear desperate words. "I can't remember." I can see a hand extended. "Dance with me." I can hear V's voice. "Ignorance brings chaos, not knowledge."

I am drowning. I feel the scream echo and vibrate my bones.

"WAKE UP."

The green eyed boy cocks his head to the side, my voice is loud in the still of the daises,

"All in my head."

A soft flutter of eyelashes on high cheekbones,

"You're not real."

A shutter in my bones, a soft, dull, aching, real pain.

A blink.

My eyes open.

Wide.

I am in a hospital bed. The room is dark. James is asleep in the corner. I can see his huddled form. I take a deep breath. The walls are white. The curtains billow in the darkness.

"Ignorance brings chaos, not knowledge."

My lips part. My eyes widen.

A realization. Fast. Hurtling.

My finger moves ever so slightly, scraping at the white sheets, a soft sound. My hand curls into a painful fist. My eyes don't blink. I can't move. Why can't I move? I stare up at the white ceiling. My breath shakes.

I can see V reading the book. V turning the pages. I can see it all. Her words wash over me.

My eyes shut. I know. I know so much. But in fact, I know nothing. Nothing at all.

"What are you scared of Rose?"

A whimper,

"Knowing too much, too little, nothing at all."

V is right. Ignorance does bring chaos.

And I am ignorant. And chaos is coming.

~James' POV~

The sun is warm on my back. I watched it rise. The darkness disappeared and faded into a non-existent state of being. No. That's wrong. Darkness is in every shade of color, an undertone of yellow is black, and the white is see through and non-existent.

Scratch that. The sun rise was boring, the sun did the same thing it always does, and the moon went away, just like it always does. They must get bored. The sun and the moon. Bored of repeating. Repeat is exhausting.

I stand. McGonagall's words roll over in my mind. What am I doing here? Really and truly? How do I know Rose didn't do it? How can I be so blindly sure? What if she did? Would that really make any difference to me? Somehow I don't think it would. Maybe, some deep twisted part of me hopes she did. Kill him. So she can understand me. That would be nice, wouldn't it?

I bite my lip and look away. Bad James. Horrible, horrible James. To think something like that. When your purpose is no longer to think, its to support. But how do you support a corpse? A corpse like human. I turn away from the window and walk to her bed side.

She looks the same. I feel my lips turn up. I study her, eyes scanning over her. My eyes find her hand. I feel my blood run cold.

A fist.

Her hand is formed in a fist. I stare at it. It wasn't like that last night. My eyes flicker to her eyes. Shut. Closed. I can feel my own disappointment swell and retreat like the tide. I bite my lip. And crouch beside her, my fingers are soft on hers, as I slowly uncurl each long, pale finger. The sight before me makes my breath catch.

Blood. Fresh and just dried blood.

Her fingernails are caked in it. And her hand? Little crimson crescents adorn her palm with a sickly pattern. Just her right hand. I don't speak. I just watch it. Eyes narrowed slightly.

Madame Pomfrey walks in and sends me a slightly concerned look. She has many bottles of potions and antidotes with her, as she does every morning thus far. She hums a soft tune, opening a few other windows. Eventually she makes her way to my side, voice soft,

"Any changes dear?"

I glance up at her and look back at Roses' hand. She follows my heated gaze. Her lips part slightly and she lets out a sigh, walking into her office and coming back with a bull of hot water and a soft cloth. She flicks her wand and the water swirls. She adds a few other odd ingredients, a hair of a mermaid, a pinch of crushed bee queen wing, one first born tear.

She swirls them in, till the water turns from clear to a soft lilac purple blue.

She sits beside me, and softly dabs at the new injury. She is silent for a long moment, and after some time she speaks up, eyes trained on Rose,

"This a sign of her self conscious waking up."

She gives me a quick, pitiful glance. And sits back on her heels, eyes deep in thought, her voice going on,

"I have to hand her over as soon as she regains consciousness."

I send her a glare, voice steady,

"This doesn't count."

She opens her mouth, I cut in,

"It doesn't count."

She shuts her mouth and sighs. Eyes squeezing shut, and then opening, her voice is quiet,

"I cannot let her sleep like this for much longer Mr. Potter."

I glance at her,

"Why not?"

She looks very sad, voice a little timid,

"It is bad for the mind. To be trapped in there, all alone, dealing with whatever trauma that she last remembers."

I close my eyes, my head bows, my voice is barely audible,

"She won't survive court. Not like this. NOT like this."

She nods her head, eyes broken,

"She is a wonderful person James. She used to come and ask me a million questions on how I did my job, and all the accidents that happened. She wanted, one day to come and aid me. Sometimes she would bring cookies she baked with Dominique-"

She breaks off, and lets out a rattled sigh,

"She has had a tough year James. She came- to visit me a few times in the beginning, in September, but- but then in February, when Dom. Oh my. I haven't seen her since."

Her eyes are slightly glassy,

"She wouldn't hurt someone. She would never- she- she isn't like that."

I don't say anything. I slowly extend my hand, palm up. She glances down at it. And gives me a slightly startled look. And then her eyes light up, just a little bit, and her crinkled fingers find mine. And we sit there, on the floor looking up at a beautiful girl. With sad eyes. Sad eyes.

We don't say anything for a long time. Slowly, as the minutes pass I feel my body relax. The wall, the fears fall down and I just sit there. Just me. Plain. Simple.

She glances at me, her eyes are sad, she has smile crinkles around them. Her voice is quiet when she talks again.

"I remember the first James Potter, your grandpa, he used to be in the hospital wing all the time, him and his friends got in trouble at least five times a day. He looks like you- scarily so,"

I nod my head. She goes on,

"Once Lily got hurt. Like badly hurt in potions class, when things got out of control. It was fourth year. She hated him with all her guts. But-he-he stayed with her for days. And the day she woke up, he left. And he wasn't there. Because he knew she would not have wanted to see him."

She lets out a soft laugh at the fond memory,

"I was only an assistant back then, in my seventh year, I never left Hogwarts. Right after school ended I stayed here, and I watched over all these precious lives. It's an honor you know, being the nurse. You get the ones that want to skip class, and sometimes you get to see how much people care about someone. How much, for instance, you care about Rose BlackThorne."

I pull my hand away and stand, slouching into the chair, eyes never leaving Roses' shut ones. She watches the action but says nothing of it. She goes on instead, voice just a lulling whisper,

"I know you are scared of the possibility of Azkaban. But it is not your choice to make. Its hers. And if I don't wake her up, then she won't get to make that choice. On whether she wants a fair trial to prove her innocence, or to live in the shadow of you, and the protection of the Potter's name. Power can be good. But she may not want that power. Don't force it on her."

I feel my lips part. I close my eyes and place my face in my hands. I don't say anything. Neither of us do. After some time, she stands and does her normal checkup. She does a few spells, a couple dosses of medicine. She goes to leave, but pauses and looks back at me, voice soft,

"I won't wake her up. But… But you will regret it. Regret not letting it be her choice."

And with that she leaves.

Days pass. Its been two weeks. Other than one fist, six days ago, there are no changes. Albus brings dinner, V hangs out with me between classes. Rox and Lucy decorate Roses' hospital bed with adorable things. Scorpius' talks with Rose take longer and longer. His hand on hers. Not that I notice. Its not like I'm jealous or anything. He likes Al. Obviously. Right James?

My friends haven't really stopped by. Other than Fred. Fred visits Rose sometimes. He is cheery as always. He tells me how everyone is. And he studies for finals. He begs me to go back on the team. I don't reply. Nothing really seems that important. Like a team. Or food. Or jealousy. Well. Maybe jealousy is a little bit more important.

A couple random Ravenclaw students visit pretty often. I'm guessing classmates of Rose. Some of them whisper about what might have happened. What happened. If she did-if Thomas is her fault. I try not to punch anyone. I succeed at that. Surprisingly.

The halls are the most annoying part. The whispers have begun to turn negative. I mean, its bound to happen. I'm breaking the law. By keeping Rose here. But I try to not think about that. I mean, I am thinking about it. A lot actually. Everyone keeps telling me it's a bad idea. I don't usually care about others opinions. So why should I care now? Right or wrong what's done is done.

The headline to the newspaper today is unappealing. It reads,

"The Potters are above the law? Or is the law above the Potters?"

I burned the newspaper. It seemed like a good idea in the moment. On second thought it was another bad idea. Madame Pomphrey freaked when there was smoke filling up the hospital wing. I told her to chill. She asked me what 'chill' meant. I remember face palming. That was my day. Burning a newspaper. Talking to Rose about the bloody press. And then changing the topic to the repressed people's voices around the world. And then about how actually I should be happy that the press is so openly questioning me. Because it means that the people do have a voice. And that I should not be annoyed. Because if I am annoyed then I look like a tyrant. Yeah.

I'm getting bored. I think I deserve some sort of prize for making it this long though. Two weeks in a white walled, three windowed, bed ridden room. With a passed out Rose for company and a grumpy old nurse, who likes reminiscing about the past.

Now I am currently searching for Lola. Because I never heard her deal. And I was drunk and rude. And should apologies. Like a decent human being. To be honest it is just something to busy me. To keep my hands, my feet, my heart moving.

I have never been in a state like this. I feel like the James I know is somewhere very far away. Asleep. Or passed out. Dead.

Lola is an excuse, a way to step out of the white walled room with a purpose. Purpose? Since when do I need that to live?

Plus I get really-really rude when I'm drunk. And it wouldn't normally bother me. But-something about how it was just plain unjust to her chills me. Though saying sorry may not be my forte. I am a starving, sleep deprived, tipsy on caffeine, adrenaline junky James Potter. So a sorry might as well come now. Rather than when I am still trying to be cool. Not that I am not cool right now. Just that I am rather uncaring. My reputation is already going to hell. I'll salvage it later. Like tomorrow or something.

A pause. The chill isn't from me being rude to her. The chill is from the unsettling indifference with the bad fame.

The halls are filled with long looks and following eyes. My jaw clenches. I see her up ahead. My voice rings out as I call her,

"Lola."

She stops in the halls and looks back; her eyes are brown. Wait. Her eyes were green. I remember the sickly green. Green likes Roses green. I shake my head and give her a nod, as I stroll over. Let me stress that I made an attempt to be as pulled together and human as possible. When I say that, I mean that I haven't eaten in a while, and the amount of caffeine pills I have swallowed is an exaggerated over dose. So acting like a human is the closest to cool I am at right now. Also, my 'stroll' over to her was more like a staggered stumble. But I kept my gaze steady. Strong James.

I give her a small grin, eyes dead, voice as lively as a stone,

"You never told me about the deal you wanted to strike."

She shakes her head, eyes staring at me,

"What deal?"

I laugh softly,

"I was drunk. I said some offensive, rude, sexist things that were totally inappropriate, and we never got to talk about the deal, between me and your dad,"

She stares at me. Eyes wide, and lets out a nervous laugh, I go on,

"I'm sorry about that first bit, by the way."

Her nervous laughter continues, eyes straying to the stares we are getting, and then back to me,

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

I step closer,

"The bar. Where we met."

She shakes her head, voice soft,

"I don't drink."

I let out a laugh,

"You were drinking. Trust me, I remember."

She tilts her head to the side,

"Remember what?"

I swallow hard, jaw beginning to tick. My patience is gone. No. It was never there. I arch a brow, voice a little livelier,

"You and I, at the bar."

She shakes her head, giving me a weird, uncaring look,

"No Potter, you must be wrong, I can't leave school property."

I lean closer,

"Its fine, just tell me the deal now."

She scrunches her eyebrows together,

"The deal about what?"

I give her a duh look,

"The Red Handed,"

She arches a high brow, eyes sparking,

"The who? Potter-James, are you okay?"

I feel the room spin. I shake my head,

"Why don't you remember? We talked about this."

She bites her lip eyes looking me over, eyebrows coming together, voice hard,

"No. We really didn't. I have no clue what you are saying."

I step closer,

"Did your dad do something to you? Did your family hurt you, or something?"

She steps back, putting a hand up, the other reaching for her wand slightly, eyes narrowed,

"What is your deal?"

I grin,

"The deal. That's right. You never told me it. I'm sorry I was so drunk, everything-it was pretty blurry,"

She gives me a big fake smile, eyes guarded, a little frightened but more annoyed,

"Great. Lovely. Thank you for randomly telling me how drunk you got. Illegally."

I narrow my eyes. Tilting my head to the side,

"You mean you don't remember?"

She stares at me, shaking her head, a crease forming in her brow, voice cold,

"How could I remember something that never happened?"

I let out a soft chuckle,

"But I was there, it happened, you and I talked,"

She stares at me, giving me a clueless look, I step closer, she steps back, voice slightly threatening,

"Chill out Potter. You're freaking me out."

I shake my head,

"Stop playing games-we talked-"

She steps back, eyes scanning over my face, flickering over each feature, darting, inquisitive but uncaring,

"No we didn't. And you need to back away."

I step back a couple steps she lets out a breath, I shake my head, voice soft,

"But your dad, your dad wanted to meet me,"

She stares at me, eyes rising to meet mine. They are dark, brooding with a dark, seething tint, those eyes glow with a murderous intent, a thinly hid anger writhing, her voice cuts my words off, dark,

"Is this some sort of sick joke to you Potter?"

I stare at her, my eyes narrow slightly,

"No-I want to help you, and you want to help me"

She lets out a choked, throaty laugh, her lips tremble with rage, her voice is biting,

"My dad died when I was twelve. He was an auror, and a D.A member and he died on a mission. I missed most of first year you idiot."

I stare at her, my face falling, What? The clench in my jaw slackens. And what comes instead is a ripple of hysterics. I am not familiar with hysteria. I-me-James? Never acts crazy. Not like this. My voice is choked,

"What?"

She rolls her eyes, emotions rage beneath them, but I can see no lie, none, and it is unnerving, almost frightening, I steal myself, my jaw ticking, she goes on, voice brutal,

"You think it's funny bullying a random girl about her past?"

She stares at me, eyes scanning me from head to toe, her voice drips with pure horror, spitting the words at me,

"God you're disgusting,"

I open and close my mouth, slightly stunned, she goes on, eyes digging into mine,

"Also, isn't your girlfriend dying James? What are you doing going and getting drunk with girls that don't even exist?"

I don't say anything, my eyes narrowing, she lifts her chin, eyes piercing,

"And a pointer don't apologize to a girl for being sexist with a 'sorry'. Change yourself and then come back crawling."

I shake my head, my voice is slightly bewildered, losing the cool exterior for a moment,

"I didn't-what? No, that's not possible, it's not, you don't get it."

She stares at me,

"Get what? That my pain is amusing to you?"

I stare at her, my voice matter of fact,

"We met."

She bites her lip, giving me a slight insane look,

"Yeah. Like once during breakfast a while back, you were a real gentleman then too,"

The sarcasm drips from her voice. I shake my head again,

"No. Recently, the day, the day Rose-she"

My voice breaks and I look down. She steps back, the bell rings,

"I have to go to class James. I mean, I MEAN Potter."

I shake my head,

"No its fine you can call me James."

She laughs,

"Do I look like I care what I can call you?"

I snort. I don't think I've ever snorted before. She gives me an odd look. My voice is getting steadily higher, eyes searching hers,

"You're lying. You were there, I'm not crazy,"

She gives me a long look, eyes staring into mine, and when she does speak her voice is just a whisper,

"I was where James? Where?"

I stare at her. Where was I? I was at a bar. Wasn't I? A bar. Teddy was there after her. Teddy. Teddy will know. My voice is back. Back to guarded.

"At the bar."

She lets out an annoyed laugh,

"What bar? Which one?"

I tilt my head to the side, eyes narrowing to slits, she lets out a loud laugh, ironic almost, voice biting,

"You don't even know and you expect me to believe you? Or is this the new cool way of asking out girls?"

I roll my eyes,

"I'm not asking you out,"

She turns to leave, I step closer, her back faces me, I ask,

"Do you know who the red handed are?"

She turns slowly, I can see something flicker deep in her eyes, she blinks, gone, she puts on a slight, small, almost reassuring smile, staring at me,

"The red what?"

She gives me a weird look,

"Is this you wanting your interview?"

I shake my head. The room spins slightly. I haven't been sleeping for days, I should sleep but I have to watch Rose. Rose needs your best face James. Your support, you need to be there for her and get out of your head. What am I doing here? I almost laugh, and then I do a soft chuckle, and then I am laughing hard head thrown back. Its hilarious. James Potter-crazy? HA. Yeah right. That's like saying Dumbledore was secretly Voldemort. Preposterous. Its funny, she thinks I'm crazy. Merlin I might be.

And that thought makes me laugh louder.

She thinks I am CRAZY? When she is the one acting insane? Pretending she never met me? The thought of James Potter losing his mind is hilarious. I am strong. Steady and I just showed myself to be a lunatic in public, in front of tens of Hogwarts students. I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. Who is this man and where is stable and in control James? Merlin I miss him. Get yourself together. She might talk and spread a rumor that I'm crazy. I let out another little chuckle. Why would it matter? Who would believe it anyways? Everyone loves me, so, so much they could never, ever possibly think I'm insane. Prove them right James.

My laughter comes to a halted stop. Everyone is watching me. I feel my lips fall into a straight line.

I can hear Fred, voice a whisper on crispy night air,

"Who is James Potter?"

My lips won't turn up. I stare straight ahead. Eyes slightly glazed.

Lola gives me a spectacle look and steps back, voice quiet,

"It sounds like you are still pretty drunk."

I bite my lip, voice steady. Mouth barely moving. I can see surprise in her eyes, my voice is natural, it comes naturally, it isn't deep or controlled its free, and bloody hell it's refreshing,

"Can we meet up?"

She stares at me, she looks slightly fazed, and then clears her throat and blinks,

"I'm dating someone, and also, I'm not interested, no offense."

I let out a soft chuckle, my lips are moving again. And the eyes? One by one I can feel my mind shutting them. Eye lashes brushing against cheeks. They cannot see me. But, really? Does it matter? Why would it? Its not like you are that great James.

I shake my head, lips turning up slightly at the edges,

"Not like that. To talk."

She lets out a soft surprised laugh, and shakes her head, voice slightly concerned,

"Are you insane? Or do you have multiple personality disorder?"

I grin,

"Why does it matter? Do you judge people for having mental disorders?"

She shakes her head, eyebrows raised, voice clipped,

"No. I don't."

I sway slightly on my feet and give her another big grin, voice way too happy to be me,

"That's good. Judging people for disabilities is unacceptable."

She lets out a nervous laugh, the bell rings again, the students in the hall move on. Each footstep is like an earthquake. I can feel my body tipping slightly to the right. It's weird. They look and they move on but the grin doesn't fade, she looks around and ducks her head. I sway a little more and she gives me a sharp look,

"When was the last time you slept, or like ate something?"

I give her a slightly high pitched chuckle,

"I. Me. I. That. Hmm. That is."

I let out another high laugh, the ground seems awfully close up. I point at her, eyebrow arched,

"That, that is good a question, are you a Ravenclaw? Cause your decisive skills, whew, top notch,"

She cocks her head to the side and scans me with her eyes, eyebrows drawn together, eventually, voice soft, she whispers,

"You've lost your mind James Potter."

I stare at her, and let out another laugh. She is hilarious. Me? Loose my mind? Pass out from lack of sleep? Me? I shake my head, lips turning into a lightning grin. That contains a lot of swaggery. My voice sounds farther away then I expected,

"What's wrong with being myself?"

She locks eyes with me. She stares at me, lips parted. I can see that flicker again in her eyes, and she shakes her head, voice almost broken,

"I don't know. I haven't tried it. What's it like?"

I give her a skeptical look, and shake my head, the grin exposing lots of teeth,

"You are acting really dramatic right now. No offense."

She stares at me. And lets out a soft giggle, hand clapping over her mouth, eyes shining slightly,

"Who are you and what the hell have you done to James Potter?"

I stare at her. And the grin slips slightly.

I am me. Why does no one like me for me?

That's weird. Huh.

The eyes are back on me. Moving to class in a blur of clothes and colors, they are judging me.

Their eyes. They don't love me.

They are whispering. They are talking about me.

But they don't know me. Why would they assume they knew me?

"Who is James Potter?"

Lola says something. I can't hear her.

I can see Rose. Rose lying there covered in blood. I can see Dom, her last faint heart beat.

I shake my head and reach to grab the bannister. I hear Frank's voice far away.

It's air.

There is no railing, we are on the stairs and they are moving.

I can feel my weight slipping back.

I can see Lola turn back, head tilted to the side, eyes curious.

Air.

Crap.

I feel my feet slip, the air rushes by me, I can hear students yell.

I am falling. Down and down. I can see each floor go by, I can hear the screams. I am looking up, high above there is a window. I feel a sadness fill me. I forgot to open Roses' window this morning. What if she never smells the flowers again? It'll all be my fault. James' fault.

The air flies by me, Lola stands on the step I just stood on, she watches me fall, her hand reaching for mine. She tilts her head to the side, eyes slightly confused. I don't reach for her. I feel my arms spread to my sides. The staircases rush by, I can see students doing spells to make them move. I feel my finger graze stone. Lola closes her palm. She turns and walks away, I blink. The grin breaks slightly. I can see them watching me, me laugh. Me grow up. I can see Rose. Rose on the bed. I can hear soft words from Fred lips,

"Try being selfless, you'd be surprised how much that can change,"

I blink, hard. I can see Frank grabbing his wand. High above me, he screams my name, eyes filled with a sickened horror. Frank. Selfless. But I am the most important person in my life right? This battle is for me to win, to fight, solo? Right? I can see a lot of things. Lola at the bar. A note with words blurred. Rose on the bed, covered in red. I can see me rushing to her, pulling out my wand, pulling out my wand for Dom. For Dom and Rose. To save their lives and sacrifice my own life for them. I was ready to die for them. Wait. What if I am not the most important person in my life? What if it's not just me, but many, many people. But then I have to save them, I have to keep them safe. What if I am not good enough to save them. To protect them? I can barely protect me from me? What about them? Am I helping or damaging them more? Which one? Neither? Both?

I can hear my laughter in my ears. The ground races towards me, Fred is running, McGonagall bursts out of her classroom. I close my eyes. I am at the hospital bed, next to Rose, the sheets were still red, my voice was soft,

"What's dying like?"

I remember leaning forward, eyes glassy, breath shaking,

"What do you think of just before your heart stops? Is it fast or is it slow? Do you feel any pain? Do you? Because I don't want you to feel any pain, merlin I wish I could feel it for you,"

I can see her thin, new skin, and the scars that were bright and dark, the bruises, the swelling, I remember my hands trembling, my voice going on,

"Did it hurt? A lot?"

I remember the soft sob that escaped broken lips, my voice was just a murmur in time, but I know she could hear me, my voice sang out, like the stars do,

"I am scared Rose. I am so afraid that you won't wake up. You need to wake up. Please."

I can feel my hand desperately finding hers, fingers curling around hers, the shaking only stopped then, when I could feel her steady pulse,

"Your-your existence is enough for me. I'd give anything-anything for you to -just live. Is that too much to ask for?"

I can see my shoulders slumping, my eyes closing, my breath shuddering, I let out a heavy breath,

"I know the life you have is not a good one, and that I could not possibly understand what you've been through, and that you need, you desperately need someone to listen and to care. And I may not be the someone you want but I am here, and I am willing. And I"

I open my eyes. The eyes burn into my flesh. Frank and Fred are casting spells to stop me from falling. The spell latches onto me. But I keep falling, the spells they are using are not working, are not working, why are they not working? I can see Hermione her voice soft,

"You had green eyes. Green eyes James."

I can see Frank screaming my name. I blink. I can see Roses' eyelashes flutter, my voice booms

"I am scared Rose. Because 'because"

I can see McGonagall's worry, I can see Fred shouting spell after spell, not just him, but many people. I can hear the wind whistle in my ears, I am weightless. Suspended in air, I am falling faster and faster, floor after floor passes by, paintings and students and teachers, friends, foes, people who don't care, people who pretend to care. They are looking at you James. Do something cool. Do something outstanding and show them that you are fine. I can hear my soft words, soft words,

"I am scared because I am falling in love with you."

I can remember the way I lifted my head and looked at her, eyes wide, I can see her broken body, I can feel my hand on hers, squeezing, soft, in need, in hope, my voice shakes,

"Thank you. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me you are an orphan, for confiding in me, and opening up to me. I-I am so blessed to have you in my life and I will learn to value you that, to value you ,you, more, better, best."

I can see the eyes. And I let out a soft laugh. Because it's funny. In moments of need, of weakness we tell someone we care about things we believe are true, could be true, because we are desperate, we are desperately in need for survival. And survival involves them. A person. A person whose life is fragile and easily broken and cracked and torn apart. And we make resolutions and we create possibilities, and we lie and we try to convince them with that. But we know in our heart that just saying a few words won't make a difference. And that changing doesn't happen over night. And that falling into the old ways is too easy, too easy to resist, too tempting to ignore. I let the grin form. And I pull on my strength, my need for applause, my greed, my hunger for recognition. For being recognized as great. As glorious.

We die twice. Once when we are buried in the ground and our hearts stop beating and the other time. The second time is the last time someone says our name. To live forever you must make an impression that will never be forgotten. I want to live forever. Not for the fame. Not for the love. But for someone, one day, a little boy like me, to open a history book and see my name and want to be like me when they grow up. Just like how I want to be like my dad when I grow up. There is no bigger pride, no better feeling then someone wanting to be you. It is a high I cannot come down from. A desire than eats me away. Greatness is not found in the good it is found in the tenacious.

I spread out my arms and I let it over come me. I turn in the air and let out a high laugh. I flip through the air and let the spells help me land. My feet hit the ground. I fall into a crouch, my head bowed. I take a breath, I stand, arms spread out and grin up at the eyes. I raise a hand and take a flourished bow.

A second passes. Then two.

And then they come. I can hear the disgusted groans, a few shouts of appreciation. My friends fluent swearing. Next to me, to my right, someone mutters,

"Just another stunt, honestly why am I even surprised? Like someone like him would want to die, with that life? That fame? Please- like I'd care if he did."

I don't let the grin fall. I don't look to see who said it. I don't want to know who said it. I suck in a sharp breath. I look up. Frank stares at me, seeing right through, lips turned down in a slight frown. I can see Fred's head in his hands. I can see Lola. She stares at me, head tilted to the side, our eyes meet, she ducks her head, breaking eye contact, and turns on her heals, walking to class.

Flitwick gives me a sharp look, waddling up to me, voice cold,

"Disturbing class again Mr. Potter? Well, it's not like I can give you detention, you won't even be here tomorrow, but do try to refrain from giving the few people who still care about you heart attacks. I would like my students to be at least alive for class."

I don't look at him. My head is still turned up. My voice is soft when I speak,

"Sorry Professor."

He stops walking away from me and turns back and gives me a little stunned look,

"What was that Potte-James?"

I glance over at him and then back up, eyes glazed. I can feel something wet on my cheek. I take my hand and wipe it away with the back of my thumb, running a hand through my hair, and clear my throat slightly, smiling wide,

"Sarcasm Sir. Sarcasm."

He watches me and shakes his head, voice soft,

"Lying is a sin James. And I know a lie when I see one."

He pauses for a moment. Eyes drifting to my thumb where the soft tear is captured. He opens his mouth to say something else. But shakes his head, turning and walking back into his classroom. I don't say anything. People walk by me. A few give me soft smiles, more give me a disgusted look. One or two stop and give me a high five. They all go to class. I watch the doors close behind them. As soon as the last door shuts I slump against the bannister, hanging my head in my hands. Crushing the tear between my index finger and my thumb.

Fred takes his time walking down the stairs to meet me. Each step heavy, eyes downcast. He doesn't say anything, eventually, voice hard, he says,

"Don't do that ever again."

I glance up at him, raising an eyebrow, I'm surprised to see a tear stain on his cheek. It matches mine. He turns his head away slightly, lips pursed, voice raw,

"You scared the living hell out of me,"

I give him a long look, when I do speak my voice is quiet,

"Sorry."

He glances up at me, and returns my long look,

"What?"

I shake my head,

"Why is everyone so surprised when I apologize for being an ass?"

He laughs,

"If you apologized for every time you've been a jerk it would add up fast,"

I shake my head, laughing softly. He lets out a long breath. Eventually after a while he gives me a concerned look,

"You need to eat and get some sleep."

I shake my head,

"No. I need to get back to the hospital wing."

He sighs, eyes scanning my face,

"Bro, Rose can survive a couple hours without you,"

I shake my head,

"She could wake up, I have to be there when she wakes up,"

He lets out an annoyed huff and shakes his head,

"She won't want to wake up to a swaying corpse,"

I stare at him. His eyes scan my face,

"When's the last time you ate something?"

I shrug,

"This morning,"

He nods, and gives me a slightly pissed look,

"What day is it James?"

I shrug,

"How would I know?"

He lets out an exasperated chuckle, and sighs,

"Fine. Let's go hang in the common room, we can stop by the kitchens on our way,"

I hang back, eyes lost in thought, eyebrows drawn together,

"No. I'll go see her."

He stares at me, eyes digging into skin and then shakes his head, voice heavy,

"Malfoy and Al are with her right now. I popped in before I was told you were throwing yourself off the top floor."

He gives me a slightly quizzical look, voice more tender,

"You didn't-"

He clears his throat,

"You didn't do it on purpose right?"

I feel a chill settle but give him an insane look,

"Course not,"

He gives me a not so convinced look, voice almost worried

"I mean you cut it pretty close, another foot or so and you would have been a pancake."

I let out a soft chuckle at the pancake part and he grins, teeth shining,

"I'm a funny guy right?"

I roll my eyes,

"Moderately, and with the worst timing,"

He lets out a soft laugh. But it fades away. And he gives me a slightly fatherly look,

"I'm Sirius,"

I wiggle my eyebrows at him,

"So am I. Nice to meet you Sirius."

He cringes and curls his lip back, a look of disgust flashing across his face, his voice jokey,

"Your jokes are repulsive, don't-"

I give him an outraged look,

"Don't? Excuse you my middle name is Sirius. That was no joke. I was being Sirius."

He sighs, and shakes his head,

"I can't have a Sirius conversation with you, ever, its hopeless,"

I grin, slightly pushed, slightly natural,

"You should just give up,"

He gives me a sharp look,

"And what? Throw myself off the nearest moving stair case?"

I feel the grin slip. My cheeks hurt. I shake my head, voice jokey,

"You know I've tried that and it doesn't solve your problems. I wouldn't recommend it."

He hits me over the head,

"Oh, you've tried it, have you? God you're more irritating than normal,"

I give him a hurt look, as we begin the walk to the kitchens,

"Am I normally irritating?"

He arches a brow at me, voice joking,

"Do you seriously want me to answer that?"

I give him a slight shove, and he returns it, eyes laughing, going on,

"Remember that time you dyed all of my robes yellow, and Trelawney told me to go sit with the Hufflepuffs?"

I let out a full on laugh, head tilting back,

"Yes. Merlin that was one of my finer moments."

He glowers at me, eyes brooding,

"I swore to never speak to you again."

I arch a brow,

"And here we are,"

I go on, voice teasing,

"it must have something to do with my cascading sexy self,"

He stares at me, and lets out a snicker,

"Who the hell describes themselves as cascading? Is that even a thing?"

I run a hand through my hair,

"I'm James Potter. Everything I do is a thing."

He shakes his head,

"Every sentence leaving your lips is so idiotic it's not even funny,"

I go to tackle him but he rolls away and begins to do an impression of me, voice deepening, and hand going to his hair,

"I'm James Potter. I'm so hot. I cascade in hotness. I think safety is boring, and my one goal in life is to look cool as I throw myself to my death."

I give him an outraged look and he continues,

"Everyone loves me. Everyone wants to be me but me. Ironic isn't it? I can speak eight languages, I learned elvish when I was five. I'm the model human. Actually I am a model, because the world needs hope right now, and my gorgeous abs will totally cure cancer."

I go to kill him and he runs down the hall, I dash after him. We end up bursting into the kitchen, with me still trying to pummel him. Eventually we calm down and stop laughing. He grabs the food and I sit on one of the tables, foot tapping the floor. I stare at him. When I speak my voice is a little vulnerable, which surprises both of us, I softly say,

"Is that what you think of me? That everyone wants to be me but me?"

He glances at me, eyes locking with mine,

"Why? Isn't it true?"

I lower my eyes to the floor. My foot stops tapping. I don't say anything in reply. Eventually I speak. Voice a little broken,

"You got one thing wrong."

His eyes don't leave me, voice quiet,

"What's that?"

I glance up, our eyes meet,

"No one wants to be me. Including me."

He shakes his head,

"That's not true."

I let out a soft, sickly laugh, which lacks humor, he shakes his head, and repeats the sentence,

"It's not true."

I arch a brow,

"Who on earth would want to be me?"

He gives me a small grin,

"I do. I want to be you."

I look slightly taken aback. He watches me, and lets out a breath,

"Not the you that throws yourself off of staircases though. That's a little out there for me, no offense,"

His smile breaks into a grin I shake my head,

"It was by accident."

He gasps, lips curving up into a wide grin,

"What? James Potter can make mistakes? Whew, what has the world come to?"

I shrug,

"Falling in love can do that to a person."

His smile falls. He stares at me, eyes wide,

"Falling in love?"

I nod. He turns his back to me, and bussies himself with the food, voice steady,

"How come I'm not aware you're in love with someone?"

I glance at him,

"Sorry."

He glances back, the grin flashing onto his face, but it doesn't reach his eyes,

"Wow, two apologies in one day, what did I do to deserve such an honor?"

I roll my eyes,

"Forget it."

He chuckles,

"What, the apology? Or the fact that you think you are falling in love?"

I send him a soft glare,

"Both."

He grabs the food and hits me over the head, voice amused,

"You are such a drama queen."

I stand and follow him out of the kitchen, waving to the house elves behind us, I nudge him with my shoulder,

"If I'm anything I'm a drama king,"

He turns, and rolls his eyes, toothy grin shining bright,

"As I said, drama queen."

We exit out of the painting, closing the painting behind us.

Our steps are soft. He suddenly stops and turns back to look at me. His jokey grin has fallen and his eyes are lost in thought, which is rare for him. He doesn't say anything for a moment. And then he clears his throat, voice echoing in the corridor,

"How do you know you love her?"

I cock my head to the side, sticking my hands in my pockets, head ducked, I let out a soft breath,

"I don't know. I guess I just- I want her to be safe, and happy, and I want to hold her, and be there for her, and treasure her.

I pause.

"Maybe it isn't love."

I glance at him and laugh softly,

"But it's something I want to hold onto."

He stares at me, eyes wide, lips parted. I glance up at him and he looks away, hurriedly. I give him a nudge with my shoulder,

"Why do you look so surprised?"

He glances back at me and arches a brow,

"Because you don't say things like that, real things, often, actually scratch that, ever. Not unless you're sure."

I nod slowly and we begin to walk again, climbing up the stairs, eventually I speak up, voice steady but some bigger pain concealed beneath it,

"I'm not sure. That I love her. But I know that I can't lose her. Not to the court, not to death eaters, not to herself."

I give the floor a long stare. And then I laugh, soft at first and then louder, the grin flashes across a tired face, a face that used to strive to be perfect, I can see a tired sadness in Fred's eyes as he watches me laugh. It shouldn't be funny, or maybe it is. The little things. Rose used to always look at the floor when she talked. I wonder when I started to do the same. I wonder when I caught on to her habit. Unintentionally. I shake my head and tilt my head back, staring at the ceiling. Fred shakes his head with me, voice soft,

"You need sleep bro, like no joke, you are starting to scare me."

I glance at him. We've stopped walking again. I let the grin fade slightly, and I can see him rescuing her from beneath train tracks. He saved her life. I stare at him, eyes finding his, I ask, voice sincere, maybe a little curious, but more real. Real. Refreshing.

"Do you love me Fred?"

He stares at me, eyes slightly narrowed, I let out a soft chuckle,

"I mean did you save her because you love me?"

He doesn't move. He stares at me, eyes confused, a little angry. Why a question like that would anger him surprises me, but I don't let it show on my face. He turns and starts walking again, sticking his tongue into the side of his cheek. I can't see his eyes, and it bothers me a little. He ducks his head, and when he does finally speak, his tone is a tad hostile,

"It was the right thing to do. I had nothing to do with you James. Not everything has to do with you."

I stop walking, but he continues each footstep loud as he makes his way onwards, he doesn't glance back. The small smile falls from my lips. And I feel the guard come back up, I close my eyes. The room spins slightly. I replay his words in my mind. "Not everything has to do with you." He is right. Isn't he, annoyingly, surprisingly and rarely right. I feel my teeth grind against each other. He didn't say yes. To loving me. I wonder, if your own friends don't love you then who does? I wonder if you don't love you who does? I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the strands. And I just listen to his footsteps retreat. I feel the room turn. I can see Rose painted in red. Crimson. I can see Dom dying. I can hear words like I can't remember. I can see Fred's face. "Try being selfless." I can see Frank on the broom, butterbeer gushing down his throat, voice soft, "We know you better than you know you James."

I wince. I need to go check on Rose. She might need me. And even if she doesn't I will be there. To support her, to, for once do what's right. Because she loves me. Why can't it all be just that simple? I love her. She loves me. Game over. Why are there so many variables, so many tangles? I feel my back hit the stairs. It hurts. I'm surprised it hurts. I think I'm passing out. I can't see much. A few stars. A few faces. But when I open my eyes there are no faces. Because no one cares about me. Why would they? I've messed up and messed up and messed up and eventually people start to not see an act but just a bad person. I start to be that bad person. And I am only saying there is a mask because I wish there was one, when that person, this person, me is just me. I feel my head hit the steps ledge. It's a sharp pain, almost rewarding, refreshing. Cool and cold. I don't close my eyes. I sit there looking up at Hogwarts. I have one question.

Who am I?

Lysander sits next to me when I wake up. I am in my old bed at Gryffindor Dorms. I sit up fast and he glances over at me, dropping the book he was reading and tilting his head to the side. He gives me a tentative frown and I arch a brow, looking around me.

"Did you carry me here?"

His frown deepens and he arches a brow, voice surprisingly annoyed,

"No. I dragged you."

I wince. And he lets out a soft chuckle, a chuckle of disappointment, and buries his face in his hands, letting out a sigh, he looks over at me,

"You feeling alright?"

I sit up further and crack my neck, and arch a brow,

"Better."

I give him a quick glance, and then look straight ahead,

"Thanks."

He shakes his head,

"Don't mention it. What are friends for?"

I wince and give him a look,

"They aren't for dragging passed out failures all over a castle."

He shrugs,

"At least I had magic, which did more dragging then I did."

I yawn slightly and then my eyes widen. Rose. I need to go see Rose. I look at him,

"How long was I out for?"

He gives me a long sigh,

"Three days."

I feel my jaw slacken and he lets out a less disappointed laugh and hits me over the head,

"No you idiot, like 13 hours? And no, the Ravenclaw girl hasn't woken up, and no, her condition hasn't changed, and no, you can't see her."

I give him an annoyed look, jaw ticking,

"Who are you to tell me who I can or can't see?"

He runs a hand through his hair, and shrugs,

"I don't know James, who am I? Oh wait I'm your friend you bloody moron."

He rolls his eyes and opens his book again, turning the page, voice softer,

"I haven't seen you in months and the first thing you ask is 'Did you carry me here'? Are you kidding me?"

I give him a sharp look. He looks genuinely upset. Why though? I'm here now, right? Realisation hits me. Its Lysander we are talking about. Lysander who is the 'emotional one' in the group. It pains me that I forgot that. I lean back on the pillows slightly, and clear my throat,

"What should I have said?"

He returns my sharp look,

"Something like how are you Lysander? Are you okay? I missed you. It's nice to see you. Wow you look handsome."

I can see the tiniest smile on his lips at the last bit, but he fixes them back into a frown. We are silent for a moment. Eventually I speak up,

"How are you?"

He rolls his eyes,

"I'm wonderful right until you showed up."

I wince at his improper grammar and correct before even realizing it,

"I was wonderful, was wonderful,"

He snaps the book shut and arches an eyebrow, I let out a soft chuckle,

"Sorry. That was a bad response. Should we try again?"

He lets out a sigh, lips twitching,

"Go practice in the mirror a couple times and then I'm sure you'll get the hang of it."

I roll my eyes,

"I'm not the transparent."

He snorts,

"Please James, you're like a piece of glass."

He turns to look at me, eyes narrowed,

"You expected us to crowd around your passed-out form and give a damn. And when you woke up you wanted me to ask you how you were. But that's not how this is going to work. Because it's pretty obvious how you are. You are realizing that when you leave for months and don't write, or visit, or give a damn YOUR FRIENDS, aka ME, won't give a damn about you when you get back."

I wince at his words. We are silent for a moment. He sighs, a small smile gracing his face,

"Buuttttt, luckily for you I am a sympathetic bloke, and I love you, for some unknown reason. And though lecturing you for a change is fun, it gets boring pretty fast."

I feel a weight lift from my chest and let out a heavy breath, sending him a grin,

"Would beating me up help you out?"

He bites his lip and then he is tackling me and I am running across the room, leaping over beds, he charges after me, grabbing the nearest broom, and I grab Frank's and then we are sparing, fighting with the broom sticks, leaping and jumping and stabbing. And in minutes he is laughing and I can feel something warm, something incredibly warm ingulf me. I'm happy. And my god is it refreshing. More refreshing then the cold stares.

He stabs me in the gut ( I let him) and I let out a scream of anger and I am chasing after him. And that's that. Or maybe it's not that. Maybe he still wants me to ask him if he is okay. And tell him how much he has grown, and how he is much more mature, which would be a lie. But I did not understand that fighting for an hour an half wouldn't fix that. One day I would realize that, it just depends on if that day would be too late. Most of the time I do realize too late. Eventually we were sweaty and laughing and our shirts were soaked and a couple pillows were burst open and the little feathers were dancing in the air and getting in our mouths. We were leaning against the wall still swinging at each other, now with our fists.

I send a blow to his stomach, he groans, muttering,

"Just give up Potter,"

I cock an eyebrow, grinning,

"I can do this all day. Hell I do this all day as a job. I'm paid to do this all day. You can't beat me Scamander."

He growls and slashes towards my face, I trip him, and he goes flying to the floor but catches himself with his hands and jumps back up, staggering slightly,

"You are so bloody annoying."

I let out a soft laugh,

"I am also ridiculously good at everything. I know. It must be sad not being me,"

He shakes his head,

"You obviously haven't grown up over the past months at all."

I grin,

"Maturing is over rated."

He tackles me around the stomach and I laugh, as I pummel his back, we both tip to the floor and I wrap my legs around his head in a choke hold and he splutters, voice cocky,

"For your information I am proud to be a mature human being."

I let out a chuckle,

"Are you also proud of your bad fighting skills?"

He lets out a choked scoff, and taps my leg, I release him and roll to a standing crouch, he plops onto the floor and shakes his head,

"You are so dead James Potter."

I shake my head, voice soft,

"Why does everyone want to kill me all the time?"

He lets out a long laugh,

"I bet it has something to do with your lack of loyalty, lack of charm, lack of selflessness, lack of caring, lack of loving, lack of ability, lack of friendship, lack of humanity."

I shake my head,

"No. It has something to do with me letting them down. Repeatedly until they are used to it."

He cocks an eyebrow,

"Or that."

I give him an annoyed look, he shrugs,

"What? Am I supposed to tell you that you've never let me down? Cause I don't lie. Not to friends."

I feel my lips twitch,

"Friends?"

He gives me a pissed look,

"Friends who are so done with your crap."

I give him a small nod,

"I'll work on it."

He sighs and stands,

"No you won't. You never do. But I still love you bro."

I gag,

"The sap is killing me,"

He chuckles,

"Please James you love hearing I love you. It's like a- a weird high for you. You don't think I know that?"

We are silent for a moment. He extends his hand, welcoming, his voice friendly,

"Bros?"

I take his hand in mine and pull him into a one-armed hug,

"Work in progresses."

He pushes me away,

"Only you, I've already found who I want to be."

I raise an eyebrow,

"And I am who I want to be."

He lets out an ironic laugh as he walks to the showers, calling back,

"We both know that's a lie."

I go check on Rose after a shower and some new clothes. But I can't stay for long, V comes and sits me down. Eyes steady on mine. She said something about how I need to eat. And how she got permission to leave her classes today and tomorrow and stay with Rose. Permission presumably from McGonagall. And like that I am pushed out of the room with lots of yelling and "I LOVE YOU JAMES ses" The horrifying thing is then she proceeded to lock the door. And though I did have my wand on me, and a simple charm would fix that I knew she had been craving over these past days to just sit with Rose and talk to her. Like I do. About everything. That, and she is one of the few people on this planet that cares about me, and wants me to be healthy. And alive. Alive sounds good to me too. Right James? For Rose, right James? James?

"James?"

I sit up on the coach blinking, Frank was calling me. He gives me an odd look and continues.

"Lysander here was telling me its your fault that my pillow is in shreds."

I give Lysander an evil look and shake my head,

"No. No it was ummm. Umm,"

I glance over at John and give him a nudge, he glances at me, and nods along with me, voice playing innocent,

"The rats."

I nod, eyes widening,

"That's right. The rats. The rats. Yep that was, that was what happened, the rats that is, happened, plural not singular,"

Frank sends me a soft glare and I go on, voice convincing,

"No I mean it, Fred has taken a liking to the animal, rats. You know, umm so he, after taking a liking to them, got some, as pets. Named them and everything."

Lysander giggles and Fred, who was absent until now, hits me over the head, voice indignant,

"I leave for fifteen minutes and you guys are already throwing me under the bus?"

Lorcan chuckles. As he takes in what Fred is wearing. Which, by the way is all black. With a bonnet and a veil and everything. I sigh.

Fred walks closer to the group, voice sing song,

"Is Rose gonna live?"

I arch a brow, Fred jumps down onto the coach, grinning, I stare at him.

"Why are you wearing black?"

He glances down and then back up, eyes grinning,

"In preparation."

I give him a non-plussed look. He grins. Eyes meeting mine,

"Why? Do you think the black lace bonnet was too much? I thought it looked great in the mirror."

John shakes his head, eyes closing, Frank winces softly, the Scamander twins face palm. He looks around and sighs. Tongue rolling over teeth.

"Well someone needs to lighten the mood. I'm dying of boredom."

I stare at him. I can see me and Hermione talking. My voice echoes, soft. "Do you ever get bored?"

Her voice is a murmur in the darkest parts of my mind. "Yes. All the time." I close my eyes and rub my hands over my eyes.

I glance at John. Eyeing him up and down.

"Somethings changed."

He sighs. Eyes closing.

"Don't-"

I scrunch my eyes together,

"Where'd your glasses go?"

He grinds his teeth together,

"Fred dared me to do a hand stand."

I arch a brow,

"And-"

He narrows his eyes at me,

"Isn't it self explanatory?"

I lean closer,

"Why? What happened?"

He rolls his eyes,

"I can't do a freaking hand stand. So-"

I grin,

"So?"

He sighs,

"So I fell on my face, and snapped my glasses in two. And Frank is refusing to fix them because he is calling it a learning curve. Whatever the hell that is."

Frank simply clears his throat and turns the page of his Herbology text book, eyes dancing in the fire light.

I sigh. Fred grins. And loops his arm around my shoulder, his eyes shining,

"So, who wants to crash a funeral?"

Five pair of eyes turn to him. He gives us a big grin.

"Thomas is dead. His funeral will be soon. Cause he's dead. That's what happens to dead people. They die. And then they get buried. Or burned. Cause they are dead. Duh."

Frank shakes his head, his voice soft,

"Too soon."

Fred glances at him,

"Too soon?"

I give him a soft shake of the head. He sighs, arching a brow,

"You guys are no fun. We could have done so many beautiful things. Like show up dressed in pink. Or egg the casket. Charm everyone to see a naked dead body. I don't know. I thought they were good ideas."

John lets out a nervous laugh, glancing from me to Fred and then back again. I glance at Fred. He gives me a small smile, eyes sincere,

"It'd make you feel better. Getting revenge. I'm not saying we should kill anyone. But, I mean, tormenting the already dead is not that bad of an idea that it deserves all this weird side way glances and overly exaggerated teeth grinding Lorcan."

I stare at him. He gives me a weird look. Smile falling, head ducking, a nervous chuckle,

"Never mind."

He stands. I stand with him. My arms wrap around him. Giving him a pat on the back. He lets out a little shudder. Eyes wide. I pull away and squeeze his shoulders,

"Thanks. For supporting me in your odd, twisted and totally inhumane way,"

He tilts his head to the side,

"Is that some sort of warped compliment?"

I arch a brow,

"Take it as you want."

He grins, eyes dancing,

"That was a total insult you brick head!"

I duck his punch and roll my eyes,

"You should feel blessed. Your talking to someone the gods created and cried over the flawless perfection of."

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Frank's bleak expression as he begins to right his essay.

Fred scrunches his nose up at me, voice sing-song,

"Wrong."

I give him a long look. He smiles wide,

"You were born and the devil woke up and said, Wow, now I have competition."

I smile wide, and pretend to wipe away a tear,

"I have never heard truer or more beautiful words in my existence. I would like to thank my sponsors for making me the man I am today. Truly, that compliment is the biggest award I have ever had the pleasure of receiving."

I collapse back on the coach, hands resting behind my head, eyes shining. I close them for a moment. And my smile falls. I feel Fred's careful eyes. He knows me. He knows I am broken. This crushed and scared boy. That the jokes are a cover. He is quiet for a moment. And when he speaks again his voice is soft,

"We missed you. Not that you missed us. Or even noticed. But we did."

I crack an eye open. They stare at me. I lower my eyes. His voice is soft as it goes on.

"We didn't have much fun without you encouraging us. We mostly did homework. And the year went by. And it wasn't a fun year. It was a year without memories."

I glance at Frank. He closes the book softly. Eyes instructing. Eyes telling me what to say, how to say it. What tone of voice, the words. I give him a small grateful tilt of the head, he returns it. I smile softly, and stand, pulling out the map from my back pocket.

"Then let's do something incredible."

I can see their eyes glow, lighting up. The common room is stifling. I can feel eyes on me. Following, watching me, I can hear each turn of each page, each soft breath. I let out a shuddering breath and arch a brow, and give them a long look,

"Where to?"

Frank leans back and face palms voice giving up, though I know that this is what he wanted me to do. Because its what the boys need. And maybe also what I need. But his voice lets none of that away, a motherly tone, words exasperated,

"Its past curfew James,"

Fred bites his lower lip,

"So? That's never stopped us before,"

Lorcan lets out a chuckle as Frank groans, he pats Frank on the back and nods his head to me, voice echoing,

"Let's go to the hideout,"

John glances around the common room and nods his head, voice soft

"Some freedom would be nice."

Lysander mumbles, voice soft,

"Freedom? Do you know how many people have been held in captivity their whole lives in concentration camps?"

John sends him an eye roll, Frank clarifies, voice soft,

"Lysander has a point, but remember, he was not talking about physical freedom but mental freedom so you cannot compare them. Unless you want to speak on mental patients and the trials they face in comparison to our measly issues?"

Fred lets out a moan of frustration, giving me a sharp look,

"This, this my friend is what I have been putting up with for the past six months. They are going to drive me insane,"

Frank gives him a long look, voice soft, re-opening the herbology book, head tilted to the right slightly, eyes never leaving the page, words haunting,

"No. You've been gone for most of the year. Whenever we meet up you don't come."

There is an awkward pause. He tilts his head to the side, Fred ducks his head, voice even,

"Well now you know why, you all are freaking annoying,"

I wince, and step between them, getting up, my hand splaying across his chest, I look into Fred's shining green eyes and shake my head, ever so slightly, his jaw ticks. He lets out a breath. John watches the interaction eyes sparking. Frank sits, calm and collected, eyes curious, concerned but nothing more. Fred's eyes meet mine again, his voice switches back to joyful,

"But you're my annoying buggers, and who would I be without you all?"

Frank lets out a slight breath. The tension leaves. Lorcan covers his ears, voice loud,

"THE SAP IS ON. I REPEAT THE SAP IS ON."

John giggles and screams,

"INCOMING!"

And wraps his arms around Lorcan trying to give him a big kiss, he ducks and hits him, he taunts him, lips puckered, I roll my eyes and look back down to the map. Fred passes me his wand, he watches the beautiful old parchment with a pride and an honor that I also have in my eyes.

I can see Rose. In the hospital bed. I should stay. But all I have been doing is staying. And Fred is right we need a release, a moment suspended in the beauty of the now. I nod my head, voice courageous, strong,

"Ready?"

Fred grins, and gives me a bare hug, which I attempt to avoid, John lets out a whoop, and gains a couple interested glances. Lorcan and Lysander stand, wrapping their arms around each other, smiles wide. Frank gives me a small nod. Eyes soft. Caring. Almost brotherly. He reaches a hand to me, and gives me a secret high five behind my back. I return his small nod. He knows that they need me. These boys.

I open the map. My wand tapping, my voice soft,

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Fred grins, teeth shining in the soft fires light.

He leans over me, hand going to pat me on the back, I scoot over a little so he can sit. Lorcan and Lysander sit on the floor, and John sits on the back of the coach, eyes dancing. Frank sits a little way away from the group. Watching on. Eyes smiling soft. He gives me a soft nudge with his foot. My fingers trace the outline of the hallways. The writing is soft, crooked cursive, "Padfoot, Prongs, Moony, Wormtail," My eyes flicker to the hospital wing. Roses' name is etched into the paper, she hasn't moved. Will she ever move? My fingers trace her name, V, Rox and Lucy are by her side, she will be okay without me, just for a short time she will be okay. Frank gives me another nudge. His eyes tell me that she will be okay, that I need this. I let the worry seep into the back of my mind and put a joy and a hope for bliss in front of it. A burrier, mentally, emotionally and physically.

I smile wide,

"If we take the passage from behind the kitchens to the three broom sticks we will only have to avoid six, no seven prefects. Take the risk or nah?"

Fred hits me over the head, soft, his eyes gleaming,

"Do you even have to ask?"

I arch a brow.

"Let's go."

John runs up the stairs and opens the window, making sure our brooms are able to soar out without any difficulty, Frank snatches the bonnet off of Fred's head and throws him some robes, he gives my shoulder a squeeze as he brushes past and grabs a quill for his essay. Lorcan and Lysander grab all of our wands, tossing them to and fro. We all stand. I leap over the couch, and Lysander latches on to Fred's back, hands waving in the air, eyes shining. Frank stays behind for a little. Watching the five boys in front of him laugh. I look back. And tilt my head to the side a little. He gives me a soft smile and stands, walking around the couch, not over, and he gives my hand a soft squeeze before he takes the lead and opens the portrait hole. Flashing us all a rare grin.

The Fat Lady watches us all tumble out in a fit of laughter and purses her lips. I pause and give her a big smirk,

"Why hello there dear, I love your new frame, it suits you very well."

She narrows her eyes,

"Go back inside Mr. Potter."

I bow my head, eyes twinkling,

"I'm afraid we are heading the opposite direction love."

She sighs, eyes closing, voice a murmur,

"Three generations of Potter boys and not one of them ever listened to me."

I grin, giving her a wink,

"Hopefully I am the most memorable of the three?"

She shakes her head, eyes lost in memories,

"No. The worst was the first James, he used to come in late at night covered in leaves and dung, and I swear once or twice he had a rat on his shoulder, or a black dog. And all these scratch marks. At least you don't come in looking like you rolled in the woods."

I smile soft,

"Give me the benefit of the doubt, I still have a couple years to prove you wrong."

She gives me a stern look, I shake my head eyes dancing,

"See you later Lady,"

And with that we are down the corridor. Fred runs in front, hair flying behind him and slipping into his eyes, I loop my arm over his shoulder,

"You need a haircut mate,"

He sticks his leg out and trips me, I stumble and hit him over the head, he lets out a soft laugh, I go on,

"You are starting to look like Uncle Bill."

He shudders, eyes full of horror,

"Ew. God no."

Lorcan smiles wide,

"It's true, none of us have the guts to tell you though. Sorry bro."

He tries to tackle him but he avoids fast, and we all let out a shriek as the stair case begins to move, I grin, voice ringing,

"Who wants to jump with me?"

Fred hits me over the back of the head and Frank winces giving me a stern look. Lysander looks a little worried and John and Lorcan just high five me.

I stick my tongue out at Fred and begin, voice loud in the silence of the night,

"On my count."

He arches a brow.

"One."

We brace ourselves.

"Two."

We yell it all together,

"Three!"

We jump. Tumbling through space for a moment as the stairs move away from the corridor. I can see the floor disappear. I laugh. I haven't laughed in a while. Well, at least not laughed out of hysteria. My cheeks hurt. My hand collides with the edge. I dangle there, feet hanging in space. I look down at the beautiful world that spins beneath me. They all fall onto the corridor laughing. I grin. My eyes shine. Fred steps forward.

I grin.

"See you down there."

He lets out a yell. My fingers unlock. I let go. The wind flies by me, the floors rush by I let out a laugh, it echoes through the halls, the rooms, the empty classrooms. The second time today. And I can practically hear the disappointment in Frank's gaze, but he quickly shuts it down and gives me a tilted, sad smile. I see Fred peer over the edge, I smile up at him, he sticks out his middle finger. I blow him a kiss. He rolls his eyes, jogging to the others as they race down the stairs fast to see who can beat me there. I look down at the ground. My wand slips into my hand. I lean my head back, the wind is soft, summer wind. I let out a chuckle. I missed this. As much as I may hate to admit it. I missed this. Not that I would ever tell them. But I did.

A swish. I race to the ground. A soft spell. A screech to a halt a few feet above the floor, and there I hover. I glance at the stairs, they are almost here, I let go, I hit the floor, rolling till I stand. Head over heels. The impact is hard but the pain is real. Fresh. Wanted. It is liking waking up from a bad dream. My wand is working. The prefect is rounding the corner, in one, two, three steps.

The illusion is already in place, the threads of vision are obscured, rewritten. I cast invisibility charms. I cast silencing charms. I make sure each of us has an individual spell that makes us unseen, unheard, unfelt. A pause. The pair turns the corner. Hufflepuffs. I roll my eyes. If only it could have been someone more exciting, like a Slytherin. Not that I am discriminating against Hufflepuffs or anything. It's just. They aren't that formidable. If you know what I mean.

I glance back, Fred runs at me, green eyes shining, Lorcan is just behind him, Lysander tries to jog but John is now latched to his back, whooping at the top of his lungs. Frank walks behind all of them, arms crossed, book tucked under one arm. He gives me a slight look, making sure I cast the necessary spells. I nod. He nods back. And then I turn on my heels and take off at full speed, running straight at the prefects. They don't flinch, I skip to the side, avoiding them by a hairs breath. I turn behind them and stick my hands up, forming bunny ears, John takes out his muggle camera and snaps a picture, eyes laughing. I stick my tongue out and send him a flash of a smirk, and then I am going down the stairs, leaping down, four and three, I stumble a little and catch myself, Fred flies past me on the bannister, sending me a chaste wink.

I leap after him, we hit the ground running. We reach the wall. I place my hand to it, wand moving fast, Fred hops in place, trying to tell me a joke, but also trying to remember to breathe, every once in a while, all while laughing. I roll my eyes and move as soon as the wall is out of place, the secret passage way was fixed by us in first year. It took us months to clear out all the rubble, and all the spells Filch put on it. But eventually, we cracked it. It goes deep under the ground. I leap into it, my voice soft

"Lumos."

The light cascades over the walls. And there it is. I pause for a moment. There on the wall is their names and a little sentence written beneath each signature.

James Potter – Prongs- You still with me? Until the very end

Sirius Black- Padfoot- If you want to know what a mans like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals

Peter Pettigrew- wormtail I'm not stupid I'm just surrounded by genius

Remus Lupin- Moony- it is the quality of ones convictions that determines success, not the number of followers

I trace James' name with a long finger. Fred pauses, breathless. And gives me a long look, voice laughing,

"What? Do you want to become an Animagus too or just reconsidering your whole life?"

I glance at him and shake my head, voice soft,

"One day we will write our names here, too, so when my son comes down here, he can see it, and he can think one day I want to be that great."

He narrows his eyes at me,

"That's a little narsistic hun,"

I give him a silly look, Frank loops his arm over Fred's shoulder, as Lorcan does the spells to close the door,

"Not a little. A lot. A lot narsistic."

I put my hands up in defense,

"I swear I'm working on it,"

John splutters and raises his eyebrows,

"James you would not be James if you weren't an arrogant jerkazoide."

I give him a disgruntled look, he ruffles my hair,

"But we love you for it."

Lorcan makes gagging sounds, and gives us all a shove along. I laugh, and walk in front, Frank walks beside me. Head down. Lysander and Lorcan start arguing in the back about who is buying the drinks this late, and where we should get the food. Fred and John start racing ahead, running past me and Frank, screaming at the top of their lungs, tripping over stones and tree roots and then swearing tuns, and then running some more.

I glance at Frank. He doesn't look up, his voice is soft when he speaks,

"Is she gonna be okay?"

I feel my smile drop like dust. And I shake my head,

"The doctors said she will be. But they don't know- how much she remembers."

He shakes his head,

"Why take her memories?"

I shrug,

"Probably because she learned something she wasn't supposed to."

He tilts his head back,

"The time between Fred finding her and the train pulling in, its three hours James."

I nod my head,

"I know."

He gives me a sharp look,

"That's a long time."

I nod again,

"I know."

He ducks his head again, eyes closing for a soft second,

"If she doesn't remember you, what will you do?"

I stop walking. Eyes wide. He glances at me. I say nothing. My hands shake.

"She'll remember me."

He tilts his head to the side,

"James there is a possibility, you know, that she won't-"

I clear my throat,

"I know."

He steps closer. Our footsteps are soft, I can't hear them arguing behind us anymore. Lorcan and Lysander are silent, their eyes stay on me. Frank goes on,

"I've never seen you that worried before. You were shaking James."

I look down and bight my cheek,

"I know."

He lets out a soft laugh,

"Do you? Because you were hitting him, your dad. And you were- there was."

I stop walking and give him a sharp look,

"What?"

He glances up. His eyes are steady,

"Never mind."

I give him a weird look,

"There was what?"

He stops as well. The rocks skid underneath our feet. The echoes of Fred and John's laughter are fading up ahead. He gives me a long look.

"You were glowing."

I let out a short laugh.

"What?"

He stares at me,

"Your hands, they were glowing."

I look down at my hands, long fingers forming into fists. Frank watches the silent movement. He rests a hand on my shoulder,

"I just want you to be okay. I want you to know that we know when you aren't. Even if you act like we don't."

I nod my head. Silent. He gives me a slight shoulder squeeze and then continues walking. I stand there, watching his head hang as he goes on. Lorcan gives me a side look as he begins to walk by, turning back, walking backwards he gives me a steady nod. I return it. And he smiles, small at first. And then, he trips and falls to the ground, and I watch the smile crack into a grin. And then we are all running. Feet slamming into dusty ground, Frank complaining about us being too loud, and we drag him with us, as his feet skid over roots and rocks alike.

The grins don't fade. We burst into the Three Broomsticks, just behind the bar, Fred and John are already there, painting slightly, they make sure we are all there, holding the hatch open to wait for Frank who drags his feet listing the number of school rules we are currently breaking and the various punishments. Fred pokes him in the side, eyes dancing in the slight dark, voice a whisper,

"Buzz kill. You would be a great prosecutor. You should go into law."

I grin,

"You could be our personalized lawyer to always be there to get us out of trouble."

Frank looks rather unamused. Eyes tired but I give him a slight nod and he returns it. And though his eyes hold a heavy burden, his lips turn up just the slightest bit every now and then.

The hatch closes with a huge slam and Fred lets out a couple new swear words. I arch a brow at him, he covers his mouth to stop his fit of giggles, his head thrown back. I grin at him. Our eyes don't leave each other's. Lysander hits me over the head, voice a whisper,

"Are we going out the window or the door?"

I bite my lip,

"Window."

We all tip toe towards it, and of course the floor boards groan and creak beneath us making the most possible noise they could. But that's part of the fun of it. So no one moves to put a silencing charm. We like the thrill. The possibility of being caught. The adrenaline rush of the escape. We unlock the window and push it up, all squeezing out in a fit of giggles. Lorcan pauses and reaches for some butter beer, but Frank gives him a stern look, voice careful,

"No stealing you numb nut. Now come on,"

My feet hit the cobblestones. I close my eyes, head tilted up at the stars. I grin. Wide.

I look back at the castle in the distance. I can see the hospital wing, and a soft glow of a light on through that window, the white curtains dance slightly in the breeze far away. V is there. V can take care of her. Let go a little James. Rose will be okay without you.

Fred watches me. Eyes careful. Concealed. He lowers his head, eyes wincing shut. Other than that he gives away nothing. He has never been good at hiding from me. But somehow, with me gone he's gotten better, or maybe I've gotten worse. Probably the first, because it is impossible for me to get worst. Ever. Like ever, ever.

Lysander takes his wand, he whispers the Accio charm and the already prepared unlocked window of our dorm room flies open and our brooms take to the air, rushing towards us. I run to the front, hand reaching up, I snatch it out of the air and spin it around, throwing my legs over the wooden handle, body flattening itself against it. I shoot forward like a bullet. Skimming the ground, shoes dusting cobblestones. Fred lets out a whoop, and I burst up, spinning in an intricate routine, as I flip upside down, hair flapping in the wind. My cheeks are flushed. My eyes glow. Hogwarts is just a glimmer. We all form a huge circle in the sky. Lorcan tilts his head to the side, eyes excited,

"Ready?"

Everyone stares at him, and then they look to me, I take out the enchanted snitch. One of my earlier inventions. It resembles a snitch. But- not exactly. I throw it into the air, I tilt my head back. I can see the love for it in each of our eyes. It's kinda our thing. It leads us to our hide out. A location only I know. It's a portkey. Well a sort of one. If you are close to it, close as in in the air and formed in this formation, and it recognizes it, the formation of body heat around it. It will take you there. I close my eyes. A blink. My stomach flips I grin.

My feet hit the ground. Open. The room is lavish. It is the definition of someone who has too much time on their hands. The walls are covered in maps of the school, and new underground passages we are digging. It has plans for the future, and bucket lists. A list of all the people we love and lists of all the people we hate. The ceiling is a dome, with closed panels that can open up to glass or fresh air, the night sky held above it. The floor is painted by each one of us. Lorcan got a section. Lysander got a section. Fred got a section. Frank got a section. I got a section. John got a section. We add to it at the end of each year. Fred and Frank are the only real artists in the group. Lorcan's has a lot of stick figures and a couple houses. And lots of spells to make it look a little better that it actually is. Eventually we all agreed to put a rug over it. Which he said he would never forgive us for. So he cut the rug up. And the next one. And the next one. I forget when we gave up.

John isn't really an artist either. His floor is covered in a collage like splatter of mementoes from the years, pieces of his textbooks, pages of his favorite books, all spelled into the wooden floor. It isn't particularly easy on the eyes, but it holds value in its own way through the memories it writes.

Lysander's art is all abstract, he sat there for hours crying over his ex-girlfriend and drawing huge black circles in squid ink. We all just sat at a distant and were silent. Not sure if we should laugh or comfort. I think it was Frank who brought the huge thing of ice cream and then we all cried with him. Though Fred and I were actually just laughing our heads off till tears. But I think it still counts.

Fred drew beautiful night skies, and stunning sunrises, I never saw him paint, but when we came back there they would be, and he would flush and not want to talk about it. So we would all silently praise him. Eventually, some time late last year he asked if he could paint me. And knowing my narsistic self I said yes. Though having to sit. AND WASTE FIVE WHOLE DAYS. Was very aggravating. But the picture- it was beautiful, flawed, openly, but beautiful. It looked not like me, but like who I want to be. I've never shown it to anyone. I hung it up on a wall in my room and put some red curtains over it. Sometimes I'll catch my dad gazing at it, arms crossed, eyes wide in a wonder. I never told him that I saw him looking. It seemed like the better thing to do. Not tell him.

Frank's art is different. He sketches. Everything and anything. When he is in class and bored he draws, when he is looking at something interesting he grabs some random piece of paper and draws something. When he sees something that he needs or wants he draws it and already has it. He is dynamic. Intense. There are sketches of all of us all over his floor, some with us in the middle of yelling at him, or crying, or laughing. He captures moments like memories. But just that moment and no more. Fred captures every moment. But no memory. They are different but both incredible.

And then there is my part of the floor. I look down. It is bare. Empty. Not one thing. I can't draw. When Fred brought up this idea just before first year started I winced. And I went home and tried and tried and tried to learn how to draw, thousands of different styles. And I failed. And I got pissed. So I didn't give up. And then one day I was in class and I drew a comic sketch of Trelawney in her underwear. And it was freakin good. Not Trelawney in her underwear, of course, cause she's old, and that's just weird, but the picture. IT was good. And even freakier it moved. It moved. I didn't use any charm, she danced across the page, and did things I didn't draw. Only things I imagined. So I saved the paper. And when no is looking I draw. Soft things. Weird things. And sometimes they move and sometimes they don't. But I don't draw on the floor.

Why they move is beyond me. I can hear the faint echo of Hermione's voice in my mind, "My wonder boy."

I crouch down and run a hand over the blank floor. Fred watches me careful. He crouches with me, eyes soft, loving,

"Hey, want me to put a rug on top of it?"

I nod softly, lips thin. He gives me a sideways smile and walks into the room. I look up. Beautiful. The walls have huge tapestries, family trees. It has an open aired deck, and a deep pool beneath it, shining with soft lights of pixies who dance on the waters. We have little alcoves, and the one to my right is a decorated tribute with the marauders names written at the top, and their picture, all laughing, we bring flowers there, and candles burn. I tilt my head to the side. James Potter smiles. I copy his smile. His eyes twinkle. I roll mine.

I walk past it, down the two steps. Couches litter the room, all deep shades of red, and soft purples, some are grey, and some are brown, the colors match and blend together. A huge fire burns in the middle of the circle of couches. Lysander chose all the furnishing, he is into the whole design thing, and though we used to tease him about it, I honestly thing it is cool. As in interesting.

A grand piano stands in another alcove, music upon music sheets line it, some stacked in high swaying piles around it. And Lorcan runs to it, fingers skimming over the keys and he yells out to us,

"Any song requests idiots?"

John sighs, plopping into a different alcove, where I set up a play station for him. He kept pleading for it, so he could play with his muggle cousin. And then he got hooked. Which also meant I had to give the place idiotic electricity and internet. Which was exhausting to work out, since I don't really understand the mechanics of it. I spent nights pretending I was reading Quidditch Legends Who Matter, and actually learning how to install internet and electricity into a lone building. Let me tell you. John never said thank you. I yelled with Frank about how stupid he is for like two days. And then I got over it. Because honestly, understanding muggle inventions was intensely interesting.

John leans out, voice humming to life,

"How about some muggle music?"

Fred makes a gag sound,

"Hell naww, why are you so bloody interested in their culture, aren't we wizards cool?"

John puffs out his cheeks, and scrunches his nose at Fred,

"Fine, anything then."

Lorcan smirks and grabs one of the sheets he has started composing on and plunks away. I cover my ears, wincing as he starts to sing. Okay, Lorcan can play the piano like a god, and compose like a legend, but singing? It is worse than awful.

We have a wrestling wring as well. Which, surprisingly only Frank really uses. He never told me why he wanted to learn self defense, but I taught him the easier, and less dangerous stuff. And he learned fast. And wanted more. Which sacred me a little. Because Frank is not a violent person. In that regard he reminds me of-. A wince. Of Rose.

I swallow hard. The smile falls. I puff my cheeks out and run a hand through my hair a couple times. It falls back in place. I sigh, eyes squeezing shut. Lysander hits Lorcan over the shoulder, voice a whisper,

"Stop singing idiot, James is having a hard enough time without your wailing."

Lorcan curls his lip up at him, but changes the song to a soft, beautiful intricate tune. I feel my shoulders relax.

John takes the money he brought and goes into a different alcove opening it and dumping the money in. I watch the gold coins clank against the thousands of other gold coins. He gives me a soft look.

John doesn't trust his parents with his money. They keep threatening to kick him out. So half way through summer he asked me if he could move his money here. And I didn't ask questions. It was heavy. And hard on all of us. And sometimes, I forget that every month he gets his allowance, and wants to move it here. He closes it, and slumps against the wall, eyes closing softly, I close my eyes with him. Frank stops and stares at all of us. He gives us a big warm, positive smile,

"Alright you mopers, let's make s'mores,"

My eyes open, I grin. Lysander turns on the old record player. It was Sirius' record player. We all sit on the ground, backs leaning against the couches, Fred sits on my right, Frank on my left, we are all silent for a moment. Fred laughs softly as he burns his finger on the gooey marshmallow. He falls silent. We munch on the gram crackers, the chocolate oozes over fingers.

Lysander's voice is soft in the darkness,

"You staying for finals?"

I swallow hard.

"Yeah."

He nods his head. John arches a brow,

"Are we not going to address the elephant in the room?"

Frank gives him a sharp look,

"Obviously not."

I clear my throat,

"It's okay."

Lorcan gives me a long glance,

"Who is she? To you I mean?"

I lean my head back; Fred's eyes are slightly cold. He ducks his head. Hands relaxing from fists. I don't speak for a moment. Frank cuts in,

"I told you to leave it alone."

I repeat,

"It's okay."

Lorcan shakes his head,

"Other then, then Dom, I've never seen you that scared."

I bite my lip hard. I lean back, the stars glow, the fire is warm. Lysander's voice is a whisper,

"Don't bring up Dom you idgit,"

Lorcan pokes me in the stomach, voice a murmur,

"We can't keep pretending it didn't happen. I mean we haven't even talked about it-"

"OW"

Lysander pinches his arm hard. Lorcan puts his hands up in defense. I let out a little smile. Franks head bows. We don't say anything for a while. And then, softly, Fred speaks,

"I'm sorry. That I didn't go sooner. To her. I mean. At the train platform."

I can't look at him. He sighs softly,

"I didn't think I could save her. I'm not sure I did."

Frank cuts in, voice soft,

"The doctors said she is stable, and fine, so let's not freak out, kay?"

I give him a grateful look. Lorcan repeats his earlier question,

"Who is she? Or am I the only one that missed something?"

Lysander gives him a look, voice soft,

"Merlin, don't make this about you,"

Lorcan's voice is indignant,

"That's not what I meant. I'm just. Well, we normally all know who were gonna date before we ask them out. It's just what we do. We plan it together and make it as freakin extra as possible."

He swallows, standing and ringing his hands, eyes not meeting mine,

"Sorry. Lys right. I'm making it about me."

He glances at me,

"Any song requests?"

I huff,

"Sit you huge sentimental dork."

He grins and plops himself back down, Lysander pinches his cheek, eyes narrowed. I roll my own. We are silent for a moment. Eventually I speak.

"She's important to me."

John gives Fred a look. And then looks down,

"Why?"

I shrug my shoulders, teeth grazing my lip,

"She is. Different. I can't explain it. It's like talking to my mother almost."

Lorcan chokes on his s'more, and Lysander bursts into laughter, hitting the ground with his hand, Frank buries his face in his hands, his shoulders shake softly, John just gives me a small shake of the head. Lorcan takes in a big gulp of air,

"Do you have like a kink we should be worried about?"

I reach over to hit him over the head, but he dodges and sticks his tongue out at me, all covered in chocolate and crumbs, I stuff a marshmallow in his mouth and he pretends to choke, causing Lysander to start the Heimlich maneuver. And we are all laughing as they begin to attack each other, little bits of marshmallow flying everywhere.

Eventually we all calm down and sit back down. I shake my head,

"If you meet her. You'll know what I mean. She's-sweet."

Lorcan arches a brow,

"Sweet?"

I nod. He gives me a long look,

"Not sexy, or like hot, or like long legged?"

I roll my eyes,

"You are so bloody hormonal."

John giggles,

"You both are on your periods."

Frank face palms voice rambling,

"It is physically impossible for a person with male genitalia to bare children, therefore it is impossible for said person to have his time of the month. Even if you are a trans gender, it would still be impossible because men do not have ovaries whose vaginal walls shed the soft cushioned pathway for the egg that is transferred out of a women's body every month. Hence, let us not make a joke that implies that we even understand that pains of being a woman, when we in fact do not. Understood?"

Now we are all the ones face palming and he is the one with the small joyful smile planted on his face. I give him a small grin,

"Yeah okay."

He nods heartily, leaning back against the coach again, shoulders more relaxed. John sighs,

"Anyways, what do you mean by sweet?"

I tilt my head to the side,

"Well she is sexy when she is figuring something out, and she gets this look on her face, like a hunger,"

Lorcan cuts me off, clearing his throat,

"We don't NEED to know the gory details James,"

I go on, voice almost wistful,

"A hunger for knowledge."

I sigh,

"It's a total turn on."

John laughs, head thrown back, eyes on me, voice a murmur,

"What else?"

I close my eyes. I can see her sitting in the library, hair falling over her shoulder, turning the page, eyes darting up to see me flying outside the big window. I can see her soft hand press against the glass, her beautiful eyebrows arched, curiosity, and something else, a distant attraction. She blinks once, twice. The sun shines on her hair, she seems to glow, each strand of hair falls over her shoulders, curving over skin. Her eyes are every color of summer leaves, a slight tint of yellow, a sharp green, a subtle brown, little sparkles of interest and intelligence hidden in the iris. The darkness of the pupil shows the scars that robes and smiles cover. She doesn't acknowledge my gaze. Its second year after all. We didn't even know each other. It was a couple weeks after V introduced her to me. That month. It was one of the months I didn't do much, I just watched, for a change. Wherever I looked she seemed to be.

She turns the page of the book, long fingers tucking hair behind her ear, her lips part, Scorpius comes from behind and wraps his arms around her shoulders, she leans into him, swaying side to side as he sticks a head phone in her ear, they listen to the music together, leaning into each other. She sings along to the lyrics. The book is forgotten. I can see her and Scorpius in the hospital bed he leans over her, sticking the ear bud in her ear, he holds her hand, he has tears in his eyes. He is whispering something in her ear. I am turning and leaving the room. I can see his hand on her cheek. His fingers wrapped around hers. His hand in hers. I can see a fear in his eyes. Albus next to me. Watching them too. I remember Albus' words, soft,

"Let him love her James. She needs him. He is her friend."

I open my eyes. Looking up at the huge sky, and I shake my head, eyes shining. Fred glances up at me, eyes dark, he looks back down at his hands, hanging his head in between his legs. We are all silent for a while. We have nothing to say. Frank breaks the silence, voice a whisper,

"My dad wants me to join the D.A"

I glance up, he doesn't look at anyone, I lean closer,

"What?"

He gives me a long look,

"He… He is retiring from it. Something about the forgotten being in his head. Or something. He was really angry. And desperate. And sad. I didn't know how to react. Or what it even means."

He sucks in his breath, face crumpling, burying it in his hands, head shaking,

"I don't want to be in the D.A. But I also- don't want to let him down. I- I'm so torn. I feel like I am physically getting ripped in half. And, and me and him, we never argue, its, I, crap. I feel scared. I know, merlin I sound like such a whimp."

He bites his lip, eyes glancing up at me, I shake my head, Lorcan leans his head back, eyes wide,

"A war is coming isn't it."

I nod, voice soft,

"It's already here."

He stands, hands balled in fists,

"Then we should fight. It's our turn right? We should fight hard and long. And hurt them. Before they hurt us."

Lysander grins,

"Sit down you idiot."

I let out a hollow laugh,

"He isn't wrong."

He sits down, eyes on me. I am silent for a moment. And when I do speak I can feel the emotions raging underneath the surface,

"Our parents can't protect us forever. It is our turn."

Frank shakes his head, voice hard,

"Turn to what? Die?"

I glance at him, he wipes away a tear quickly, fast, as if it never existed, hands in fists,

"I don't want to die. James? I can't die. I have so much to do."

I look down at my hands. Voice quiet,

"Like what?"

He stares at me,

"Like get a job, and get married, and fall in love. I have a life, a life I want to live. Not fighting. And that doesn't make me a coward it just makes me reasonable."

I tilt my head back, eyes hard,

"What about Dom?"

He physically flinches back, eyes wide. He closes them and breathes out for a minute or so. Fists unfurling. Calming down. When he speaks again he is softer, more normal,

"I don't know."

He shrugs, eyes sad,

"I don't know….."

John wraps an arm around him, patting him on the back, I watch the brotherly action, eyes cold. I close them and tilt my head back. Lysander is the one that goes and speaks again, voice sending a shiver down my spine,

"I don't"

He lets out a breath, stuttering,

"I don't think-I, I don't think I can kill someone…."

We all fall silent. I can see bodies on the floor. Teddy grabbing onto my arm. His voice distant.

"You okay? James? Can you hear me? What was that? We didn't have to go that far? What if they're not breathing? What does that make you?"

A pause.

Lysander goes on,

"I can't become a murderer. Even if it's for the right reasons."

I can see Teddy. His voice echoes,

"A murderer?"

I open my eyes and stare at the stars, eyes shining, I blink hard. The tears don't spill. I suck them in. I don't cry. Crying is weakness. I glance at Lysander, he goes on, voice just a murmur,

"What kind of monster watches the life drain from their eyes?"

He shakes his head, hand in a fist,

"A bad person. A bad person watches that."

I look down at my hands, they tremble, just so slightly, I squeeze them into fists. They don't tremble anymore. Fred does the same thing. Eyes guilty, a blink, he sighs, and shakes his head, Fred's voice is soft, softer than usual,

"We are young. We don't have to fight. And they won't ask us to, because they care about us."

John bites his lip,

"I want to fight."

I give him a curious look, he pokes the fire with a stick, sparks flying,

"If I don't fight I will feel guiltier than if I killed someone."

Fred doesn't say anything in response. Its Frank that speaks up eventually, voice a murmur,

"I'm not going to go in the D.A. Dom wouldn't want us to waste our lives for her. She wasn't that selfish."

I arch a brow, voice hard,

"And what you're doing? Isn't it selfish? You're choosing your personal life over the people that will die without your help."

He shakes his head, voice just a whisper,

"So what? Why does it have to be my responsibility? When I'll end up dying with them?"

I shake my head,

"You won't. Not necessarily."

He gives me a soft look,

"Can you guarantee that?"

I pause. He shrugs, his breath shaking softly,

"Why should we fight? We don't even know how to. And Lys right. We can't kill people."

I stand, jaw ticking,

"The forgotten aren't people."

He arches an eyebrow,

"Do you know that for sure? That they are forgotten 24/7 forever? Or maybe James, you do know, because you know everything right?"

I look away, hands running through my hair. My voice trembles,

"Why does killing someone make you a monster? If its defense, for the good of others?"

Frank stares at me, eyes narrowed, his voice is just a murmur when he speaks again,

"James. You haven't. You've never…. You wouldn't…. Right?"

Fred looks up at me. I open and close my mouth, eyes looking everywhere but him. He furrows his brow, hands trembling,

"No. Tell me you haven't. James?"

I back up a step, Fred looks from me to Frank, who is now standing. He stands and steps between us, taking one of my hands in his and giving it a squeeze, his voice is soft, slightly threatening,

"Is this an interrogation? Of course James has never killed someone. He is really overwhelmed right now. He's scared that the girl he is falling in love with might by dying, you get that right Frank? You've been through that. With Dom. So don't pull that crap on him. He doesn't need your doubt right now."

Frank lets out a breath, and pulls me into a hug, his heart racing. Eyes squeezed shut,

"Sorry. Sorry, merlin, I don't know what came over me. Of course you wouldn't… You wouldn't do something like that…"

I loop an arm around him and look over his shoulder at Fred who gives me a small nod. Eyes shining. I mouth, "Thank you."

We all plop back down. Eventually John asks the question they all want an answer too,

"Did the Ravenclaw girl kill Thomas?"

I close my eyes, head tilted back and shake my head,

"No. She wouldn't… She didn't…"

Lysander lets out a heavy breath,

"Then who did?"

I open my eyes and look at him, I can see a tint of fear in his eyes, I look back up, and bite my lip,

"I have to find out. So she is proven innocent."

Frank has his eyes squeezed shut. Frank and I never argue, never fight, we have a huge amount of respect for each other. But. But crap. His dad is Neville Longbottom. And he was removed from the D.A, just like my dad. I wince at that. Because he is an orphan.

Lorcan's voice cuts into my thoughts,

"What if she did do it? Would you still love her?"

I stare at the stars and roll the question over in my head. Would I? Yes. I would. But that doesn't sound very healthy. I bite the inside of my cheek and nod. Lysander sighs and closes his eyes,

"How on earth will she survive court?"

I don't say anything. He goes on, voice shaking,

"My dad went to court once, as a witness for a crime. What they did to the person-it-it-what he told me about it- was, well was not good."

John's voice is soft,

"What did he tell you?"

Lys glances at me and then back to John, voice softer as he speaks,

"They plow through their memories, they use potions on them to make them the truth, they have dementors in the room, and, and my dad said sometimes you don't even need to go to Azkaban to be crazy, sometimes it happens before then, in that room."

I close my eyes. I can feel a fear writhe in my stomach. None of us speak for a long time, and Lorcan goes to the piano and begins to play a sad song, each note hanging desperately in the air, like oxygen.

And so the night changes from the sour mood to something happier. We throw ourselves off of the balcony doing crazy jumps to the pool. Eventually John goes back to the game room, and Lorcan and Lysander climb on the roof to look at stars through a huge telescope, I watched them grab a bottle of fire whiskey on their way up from the kitchen, and made sure to do safety spells all around the roof top, just in case anything went wrong.

Frank is silent, he is staring at a letter his dad wrote him. Head titled back. Flames turning to embers. Eventually he goes to his favorite room. The green house. He waters the plants slowly, wiping away tears he is too ashamed to cry in front of us, he tends to the unique plants, talking to each one softly. He states them by name, for of course he named each individual one. His hands drift over the leaves and the petals. Eyes lost in a guilt and a heart ache I thank the heavens I don't know. I lean on the door frame of the green house and watch him care for the Lilies. His voice is just a murmur but I can make out some faint words,

"Dom you wouldn't have liked this year very much, we were all pretty disconnected, and broken and scared. I'm sorry if I let you down by not fighting for you. I don't think I am brave enough. The stupid hat said Hufflepuff but I didn't want Hufflepuff. The beautiful Veela girl wasn't in Hufflepuff. She was in Gryffindor."

I lean away, and let out a sigh, I walk to the game room and look at the asleep John. I take the game counsel out of his hands and place it down. I turn off the games and screens. I do a cooling spell and grab him some pillows, I place a blanket on top of him. He mumbles something about Fortnite, I roll my eyes. And close the door behind me.

I walk out onto the balcony and peer over the edge, Fred lies on the water, floating on his back, eyes closed. I grin, and strip down to my boxers, discarding the clothes onto the ground and instead of leaping down I swing my legs over the rail and climb down the wall, jumping to a crouch beside the pool. His eyes open in surprise and he sends me a soft smile. Eyes distant. My voice is a murmur,

"Trying to drown your sorrows in overly chlorinated water? Was it that bad of a day?"

He arches a brow at me, and grins. It doesn't reach his eyes, he splashes me, I chuckle and hop into the water, rolling my shoulders back and stretching. I wipe the water from my face. Eyes shining in the darkness. We don't say anything for some time. Finally, he speaks up, voice soft,

"Why can't you tell the other guys you've killed people?"

I glance at him, smile dropping, I bite my lip,

"Because of how Frank reacted."

He shakes his head, voice a murmur,

"They want to know you James. They do."

I arch a brow,

"Do you want to know me?"

He splashes me again, grinning,

"I do know you stupid."

I grin, swimming up to him,

"And?"

He giggles,

"And what?"

I give him a sly grin,

"Do you like me?"

His smile dips. He stares at me. We are a couple feet apart. He ducks his head, voice a murmur,

"Yeah James. I like you. A lot."

I grin and slap him over the head, he stumbles slightly, and doesn't look up, my voice is amused,

"You sound like your confessing long lasting feelings or something, chill bro, as long as you don't hate me its fine."

He glances up at me, eyes distant again, voice soft,

"Well, do you, do you like me?"

I lean back on my back, voice soft in the darkness,

"I love you. You're my best mate."

He leans back on his back too, so we are both floating. His voice is quiet,

"Is that why you came to me, after you killed that guy, by accident, in summer?"

I am silent for a while and nod my head. He sends me a side glance,

"You were really freaked out."

I nod my head. I think for a moment and then speak again,

"You weren't though. Freaked out. At all."

He sends me a look, I go on,

"Why weren't you freaked out?"

He looks up at the night sky,

"I had to be strong for you."

I glance at him,

"Am I a bad person?"

He grins at me, the serious moment gone, he laughs, head tilted back,

"You're a bad egg James."

I reach over and dunk him, he splutters, and comes up laughing, hands wrapping around his sides, I grin. I let out a long sigh, cheeks pulled up,

"Any girls that have caught your interest?"

He rolls his eyes, punching my arm,

"What if I told you I was gay."

I give him a surprised look and take his hand in mine,

"Really?"

He stares at me for a moment, and then giggles, pushing my hand away and making a disgusted face,

"Ew, god no. There is this one girl, she asked me out."

I bump his shoulder,

"Who?"

He gives me an awkward look,

"You probably don't know her-"

I arch a brow,

"Try me."

He winces as he says it,

"Nelly Goyle."

I make a gagging sound, spluttering,

"YOU MEAN THE SLYTHERIN HOT CHICK THAT IS TOTALLY WACK?"

He nods, I fall back in the water, laughing my head off, he clears his throat, I arch a brow,

"Are you serious right now?"

He winces and ducks his head, I choke down my laughter, voice softer,

"No, no no, that's great, she's, wow, she's something alright."

He glances up at me, eyes dancing and keels over in a fit of giggles, I hit him over the head,

"I KNEW you were pulling my leg you bastard!"

He wheezes, eyes watering,

"You should have seen your face, merlin, you looked constipated."

I try to dunk him again and the battle begins, as we pull at each other, laughing our heads off. Eventually we relax on the pools edge, legs dangling in the water. We are silent for a moment, catching our breaths. He sends me a grin,

"Remember when you saved my life? We were in L.A, and I didn't know what cross walks were. So I walked across the street in moving traffic, and you apparated and grabbed me?"

I nod my head, flexing my arms, voice arrogant,

"One of my finer moments,"

He tilts his head to the side,

"We were eight James. How the hell did you know how to apparate when you were eight?"

I clear my throat, tilting my head back,

"I'm gifted. I've been telling you this for years,"

I flash him a grin, he rolls his eyes,

"Uhuh. Sure. Whatever you say James."

I punch his shoulder, he doesn't even move, I give him a stunned look,

"Have you been working out?"

He wiggles his eyebrows at me,

"Why? Have I gotten sexier? Where? How? When?"

I let out a huff,

"You have!"

He nods his head. I speak again, soft,

"I heard from McGonagall that she might promote you to captain."

He shakes his head quickly, opening his mouth to speak, I go on, cutting him off,

"I think you should take it. You'd be good at it. Everyone really respects you Fred. You deserve it, more than I ever did."

He stares at me. And lowers his head, voice a murmur,

"Does that mean you won't ever come back to Hogwarts?"

I shrug,

"I don't know. Anything could happen."

He shakes his head, voice slightly angry,

"You have to come back. I can't be you James. Not on the quidditch team and not in our friend group."

I stare at him, his eyes shine,

"I tried it. Tried filling the gap, and you know what? I suck at it. I don't have enough energy to be smiles and chuckles all the time. I can't juggle being in quidditch and taking care of the losers we call our friends."

I sigh, voice a whisper,

"I'm the biggest loser of them all, aren't I?"

He nods solemnly, I scoff and push him into the water, he comes up laughing, cheeks split in a big grin. He arches a brow, my voice is indignant,

"That's the part where you tell me how great I am and boost my self-esteem,"

He shakes his head,

"Trust me, your self-esteem does not need boosting. If anything, it needs draining."

I splash water at him, he ducks, and climes out of the pool, poking my arm,

"But seriously mate, the amount of girls, and some guys that come up and ask me where you went, it's countless and oh so annoying."

He grins,

"I should make them pay for information. I could make a lot of money like that."

I grin at him,

"As long as you split the funds 5o/5o with me,"

He shoves my arm,

"Ha, funny, I'd be the one doing all the work,"

I dodge, a hit over the head from him and smile at him, eyes dancing,

"Ahh, but it's me you'd be talking about."

An hour passes and everyone is asleep, passed out on the coaches. I watch them. Frank sits in the corner, he watches me watch them. I meet his eyes as I grab my stuff, going to leave. He just watches me. And nods, soft. He won't ask me to stay. He knows I won't. He simply raises a hand and waves goodbye, small. I duck my head. The door is heavy as it opens. I don't look back. His eyes stay on my back as it creaks shut behind me.

My broom's wood is heavy, I push off, the flight is long. I enjoy the freedom of the breeze in my hair. I come to a stop in the window frame of the hospital wing. The window is open, the light is off. V is asleep on the bed, curled up next to Rose. I watch them. I let a small relaxed smile rest on my face. I open my bag and grab some food that Fred packed for me from it. I collapse against the familiar white wall and close my eyes. It tastes good, better than I expected. V stirs awake after a little and wanders over to me, ruffling my hair. She stretches and whispers something about checking on Roxy and Lucy, I just nod as she leaves the room, the door closing behind her. Soft.

I look back at Rose. And I wait.

The night is dark and deep. My head is bowed. The light breeze is soft as it grazes over skin. There is another sound. Comforting. I open my eyes.

I hear a soft breath. And one word. One soft word.

"James?"

I look up. Rose stands in front of me, her eyes are wide, her lips are parted, her hair cascades over her shoulders. I scramble to my feet. We stand. Face to face. She has soft tears in her eyes. She shakes her head. I can think of nothing to say. Her whole body trembles. Her lips barely move as she speaks,

"James- I think- I think something horrible happened."

She closes her eyes and collapses to her knees, her white night gown puddles around her, golden hair falling over shoulders and dusting the floor. I can see her back shake ever so slightly. Her voice is distant,

"I… I think I died James, please, I think, I don't, I don't understand,"

I feel my own eyes close. I slowly bend down, crouching beside her, she looks up at me, through tangled hair. My voice is as quiet as hers,

"Neither do I."

She reaches for me, I can see her hands tremble. I open my arms and she crawls in, leaning into me, sobs wrack her body. Her hands loop around me. I let out a breath. She is solid. She is real. I can feel myself moving, fast, desperate. I pull her to me, my hands buried in her long, soft hair. She lets out a soft scream. Of terror, of fear of the future. Of everything. We cradle each other in broken arms, with broken wings.

Her hands are fists and she hits my back over and over, her sobs loud wails of desperation. Her voice is tired, just the smallest whisper.

"I didn't do it. James. Please. I didn't do it. He. Thomas. I remember. I can. I."

I pull away and hold her at arms length, my eyes on hers,

"What do you remember?"

She shakes her head, eyes never leaving mine,

"Too much. Too much. I remember. I was. I got off the train. And Thomas came at me. He. He was drunk. Really drunk. And he.. He. I was scared. I was so scared. And I, I cast the cruciatus spell, on him, at him. But he wouldn't stop. Oh god James. I think. I think, I… But I wouldn't. I wouldn't."

She reels away from me, eyes wide, the whites flaring, like a scared wild animal. And she stumbles back, back hitting the floor. She extends her hands in front of her. And stares at them. In horror. In utter horror. I know the horror on her face. I am back in Fred's arms. After the D.A mission. There is blood, blood sticked to dry skin. And I am screaming. Screaming out of fear of myself. Because I killed someone.

Her lower lip trembles. And then she is gagging, and her body is repulsed by herself and I watch the hot bile rise in her throat and spill out, spraying across the floor. She skitters away from it, I can see her chest rise and fall in desperate, hopeless breaths. And then she is reaching for the towel and water next to the hospital bed and she is scrubbing at her skin, hard, trying to erase a sin.

I walk towards her and she backs away, voice loud in the still,

"No. No James don't come near me. I'm not. I'm not. I'm not a good person. Please. I. I can't. I wouldn't."

I sit down across from her. Her teeth chatter, she tugs at her hair, she bites at her nails, she scrubs at clean skin until it is raw. I wait. Her breathing doesn't slow. Her sobs are heart breaking. Her voice is a mutter, a ramble of odd words tugged into a string of lost hope and self hatred.

"He's dead. Isn't he? Thomas is dead. What did I do? James? What did I do?"

She stares at me, I can see her heart in her eyes, shining at me. She stands, each step is shaky, jagged, she tugs at her fingers, she scratches at her neck, she bites her lip until a soft stream of red blood shines. She passes, her steps are quick, hurried, anxious. She looks at me. Her eyes are dull. Dulled with hope gone. Dreams turned to smoke.

Eventually she speaks. Words full of a power, a heated and rising power, strong,

"I'll turn myself in."

She nods her head, the tears have turned her eyes red. She turns to me,

"I'll go through the system of justice. Like I should."

I shake my head and stand with her. I walk to the window and she follows me. I can see the beginning of the sun rise. The golden light hits the sky. My voice is just a whisper,

"You didn't do it."

She stares at me, eyes wide,

"What?"

I bite my lip. I am about to tell her what I believe is true. But she needs it. Because I wish. I wish Fred had told me that I didn't do it. Because I know what its like. Because I can't lose her. Because I know she won't survive Azkaban. My voice is honest. I turn to her. Eyes sad.

"Someone manipulated your memory."

Her lips part. She doesn't wipe away the glassy tears. Her voice trembles.

"You could be wrong."

I nod my head. Voice soft.

"I could be. But I'm not."

She steps away from me, her face crumbling,

"But you could be."

I step closer. I slowly take my hand and brush away the tears, I search her eyes,

"I believe in you Rose BlackThorne."

We hold onto each others gaze. I feel my lips turn up, just a little, and I step closer, pressing my forehead to hers. I can feel her shudder. Her soft breath. Her hair dances in the breeze of the summer day, of the new dawn. I whisper against her skin,

"You know what else?"

She shakes her head, I smile and pull away so that our eyes can meet. My voice is tender, loving, caring,

"I know you. And you wouldn't do something like that."

She closes her eyes, her shoulders sag and she murmurs, voice distant,

"I wouldn't. I would never…"

She opens her eyes and turns away looking out at the grounds. She tilts her head to the side. Eyes searching, for something, someone. Her voice is inquisitive, a little scared, a little stronger. She raises her chin to look up at me,

"If I didn't kill him James, then who did?"

I stare at her. I swallow hard. My gaze never leaving hers.

"What do you remember?"

Her eyes close. Delicate. Long eyelashes brush high check bones. She rubs her temple, leaning into her finger. I can see her frustration, her fear. Her doubt in herself. She opens them. And her voice is hardened,

"I remember Azkaban."

My heart skips a beat.

"What?"

She stares at me. And then looks away.

"It was like I was there. In the cell. And. And there was a visitor. A man. He had. I couldn't see his face. But I saw his eyes."

She turns to me, biting her lip,

"His eyes were green. James. Green eyes."

I step back,

"What is that supposed to mean?"

She stares at me. Head cocked to the side. And then she looks away. Eyes dipping to the sunlight.

"Nothing. It means nothing at all."

We are silent. Eventually I speak. Voice quiet. As tender as I can make it. My words are harsh though.

"They are calling you to court."

She doesn't look away from the sun. She nods her head. Voice steady.

"I know."

I bite my lip,

"Are you- are you going to be okay?"

She looks at me, eyes shining,

"No. I am not going to be okay."

I grab onto her hand,

"You won't go to jail. I mean it."

She looks back out at the world below us. Her voice is colder than before,

"And if I do? Go to jail?"

I wince at her words.

"You won't."

She turns away from me. Her eyes don't meet mine.

"How long do I have till they come?"

I squeeze my eyes shut.

"24 hours."

She goes to nod but the door bursts open. I look up. Aurors. And beside them is a guilty Madame Pomphrey. Her jaw goes slack. I reach for her. But they stand in front of me. Wands raised. Each step they take is an earth quake. I let out a scream. Reaching for my wand. Rose lets out a scream, words harsh,

"JAMES STOP."

Her chest rises and falls, her eyes are wide,

"It'll make it worse. It will only make it worse."

I let out a high laugh, surging forward. The aurors grab onto each arm. Pulling her back. She walks with them. Head hung. I run after her. Madame Pomphrey grabs onto my sleeve, shaking her head, voice soft,

"Let her go James."

I tare my arm out her grasp, I am running down the stairs. Everyone is watching. Rose does not struggle. She walks with them. Head raised. Eyes straight ahead. I let out a scream. V is there. In a blur. She is running after me. Grabbing onto me. I tare her off. She grips my arm. Turning me to face her. Eyes glaring into mine. Voice brutal.

"STOP MAKING THIS ABOUT YOU JAMES. YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE THAT LOVES HER."

She steps back from me. Turning to look after Rose. The great doors are thrown open. I can see chains being clasped onto her wrists and ankles. I let out a yell. My wand is useless. My hands are moving. The air turns cold. My eyes shine golden. My veins run with it. My world drowns in it. Magic. I arch a brow. My hands are twisting. The power is addictive. The bannister crumbles, stone turning to rubble, I am manipulating it. I can see eyes on me. Terrified. I raise my chin. They will die. They must die. How dare they touch her? How dare they take her? I wasn't ready. She isn't guilty. Please. PLEASE.

Then Rose looks back. Eyes finding mine. She shakes her head. Eyes wide. I can see a single soft clear tear trace her cheek. They push her forward, she stumbles, catching herself before she hits the floor. They lock hands with her. Grabbing her wand. She finds V's eyes in the crowd and she says something. Something broken. But I can hear it. Her words are quiet in the loud of the world.

"Protect James. They are coming for him. Like they came for Dom. Protect him V."

I feel me surge forward. My hand reaching for her. A blink. They are apparating. She is turning to smoke. I can see her fingers reaching for mine. Her mouth opens, as if she had one last thing to say.

Words. One word.

"I lo-"

The smoke rises around them in a whirlpool, I watch them collapse on each other. Apparating away.. Leaving me. Her fingers claw at air. Chains shine on her wrist, tight, restricting. I am running, flying through the air. Another blink. Smoke. Gone.

I fall to my knees. The floor shudders. There is something wrong with me. I can see V collapse against the wall, hand covering her mouth as she screams. Teddy is there. He is shouting something to me. I look down. It's my hands.

My veins. My veins are shining. They are shining golden.