Lily ran past Marlene and Alice and the rest of them, ignoring their cries as tears rushed down her face. She blinked them away and tore through the portrait hole. They hadn't told her where they were keeping James, but it hadn't mattered. Would he be anywhere else besides the Hospital Wing?
The thought that James was severely injured and bleeding profusely scared her perhaps more than she put on. They had been through so much together; she couldn't lose him—the what-ifs in tangled in her mind. By the looks Marlene and Alice had given her in the Common Room, his condition was worrisome. What if—what if, what if he was dying?
She refused even the thought of it, the idea that James could be gone forever? It was impossible; he would be okay. He'd have to be.
Lily ran down the marble staircase, and her feet echoed in the empty Entrance Hall. She pulled open the door to the Hospital Wing, wiped her eyes on her sleeve and ran to his side.
It was mostly unoccupied. A figure Lily suspected to be Mr. Crouch lay in a cot in the far corner, but the Matron and a swirling cloud of Healers surrounded the opposite corner. Blood pooled and collected on the floor, and Healers in bright green robes routinely Vanished it, puddles at a time. These were healers from St. Mungo's— whatever and whoever had hurt James was beyond the Matron's ability to heal.
Lily rushed forward until the Healers turned, their fronts drenched in red, and her feet skidded and slid on the slippery floor. The figure in the bed was too pale to be conscious or even fully alive. Thick black hair fell over his brow, but he was bare from the waist up. Someone had undressed him, the tattered remains of his jumper and coat had been draped over a chair. They were so familiar but so foreign all at once, because how could this have happened?
A hand slipped into hers, and Lily yanked her hand back instinctually, pushing Remus and Peter out of the way. James was dying, and where had she been, sleeping in? She should've been here by his side.
"There was nothing anyone could have done," Lupin said grimly, his face streaked in blood. He looked angry, petulant as he considered her. "Whatever Snape did to him, the Healers can't fix it. He's losing blood too fast,"
"Surely there's…" Lily said, her throat thickening. "Surely there's something we can do!"
Remus pulled her by the hand, together and away, and Lily tugged against it. Despite the feelings of trust she felt with Lupin, Sirius had answers. And James was dying; Lily needed to know what happened. She turned and saw him there, slumped beside the window, his head in his hands. Sirius' deep, echoing sobs contested sharply with the blood and the fear and the mad rush of the Healers to contract his injuries. Lily looked back towards James, her eyes brimming with tears at the unfairness of it all. She was helpless.
Lupin and Peter followed her as she ran towards Sirius, falling to her knees beside him. He looked ragged and dirty, unlike himself. "He's ... he's bleeding, bleeding too fast," Sirius said, openly weeping. His left cheek had been lacerated by a perpetrator unknown, puckered and angry flesh ran across his face as if someone had slashed him across the cheek with a sword. His breath came quickly; his hands agitated in his lap. Lily had never seen him so unhinged; it was like he was a different person. The way his mouth snapped with words, he seemed so the dog, not quite human, not quite the person she thought he was. And Sirius looked the part too—his nails were caked in blood, and his arms wet from melting snow. She hardly recognized him; he was nearly delirious with fear. "James, he…he jumped in front of me, and the fucker cursed him! Cursed him, Evans! JAMES IS DYING, AND SNAPE GOT OFF ON IT!"
"Enough, Sirius," Lupin said sharply, his voice cracking and eyes like fire in the dim light. "It won't help him,"
"It won't hurt either, will it?"
"Sirius, I'm so sorry," Lily cried, crouching in front of his chair, taking his cold and shaking hands in her own. "I'm so, so sorry. I wasn't there; I wish I were. James could —could die, and I'd never see him again."
"He is dying, Evans," Sirius sniffed, resting his head on hers. "They won't tell me anything, told me to stay out of it. Dumbledore is in France, there's no one coming for us,"
Lupin looked up and away, picking up on a sound too faint for Lily to hear. Between two Healers, she saw James' chest rise and fall, and he coughed, choked before her a Healer obstructed her view, and the Healers scrambled to address the most pressing concern.
"Is he—"Peter began, but Remus and Lily beat them to it, rushing to James' bedside before being pushed back and away, sliding and falling on the slippery flagstones.
"Get them out of here!" A Healer shouted, waving her wand at Remus and Lily, shooting them back towards the wall with a blast of warm air, not worried as the two of them tumbled head over heels across the Hospital Wing.
"He's our friend!" Remus shouted, his voice thick with emotion, tangled up with Lily on the other side of the room. "He's our friend!"
"You can help him by staying out of the way," She snapped, turning back to her patient, waving her wand over a gash in James' belly. The wound puckered but refused to close. And it was only one, a clear half-dozen similar lacerations crossed his body. One held a cloth up to James' mouth, catching the blood as it fell. Another dribbled a silver potion onto the open cut, but even it was ineffective. The Healer shook her head and tried again.
Behind her, Sirius stood; angry and tall, he towered above her and most others in the room. He moved to her side, helping Lupin up with one hand, but resting the other on her shoulder.
"She's his girlfriend," Sirius said defiantly, stepping between Lily and James. "Give her a little respect,"
Lily blinked back tears, her knees bloody and nightgown stained. She leant against Sirius, dirty and wet and bloodstained as James, but living, alive. Sirius had carried James back to the castle himself, called for help and did all he could. But James was dying, nonetheless.
"Mate, we should... we should go—"Lupin said quietly, but with a force that pulled Lily to look up in shock and surprise. "Let them work,"
"I can't leave him!" Lily stuttered, but Sirius pulled her back, taking her hands in his and leading her away. Lily made a motion to run for it, but Sirius grabbed her hand, pulling her back towards him, taking her bodily away. Lily screamed and pounded his back, desperate to get back to him. She couldn't leave, wouldn't leave. Nothing anyone could say would make her. Her nails tugged against Sirius' coat, but each footstep led her further away from James. Couldn't Sirius see that any breath could be his last? James needed her, and they didn't want her.
"They need to leave!" A Healer shouted, and another waved their wand, escorting them forcefully out of the Hospital Wing. The double doors closed with a slam, and Lily blinked back tears at the surprise, stilling in shock and despair.
Remus began to speak, but choked, and Peter pulled him into a hug. Lupin was so much taller than Peter, taller even than Sirius and James, but all Lily could do was breathe; in and out as Sirius set her back down before her breath turned hysterical. Lily went to him without reservation, tugging at his jacket as she cried into his chest, the familiar smell of cigarettes and Earl Grey tea clinging to him like a perfume. Sirius wrapped his arms around her, and desperate thoughts circled through her mind, teardrops clinging to her lashes as she sobbed. Peter took hold of her sleeve, and Lupin reached around Sirius, pulling her between them, but there was nothing they could do, nobody they could call, James' life was out of their hands now, living or dead, it was up to him.
…
The corridor was nearly empty, but the few students moving through the castle gave them a wide berth. Lily could see her friends out of the corner of her eye, but she almost wished she didn't. They expected answers, and she had none. What could she tell them that was anything less than abandoned hope and despair?
Lily leant into Sirius' chest as thick hiccoughing sobs reverberated and calmed, rubbing his back and wiping her tears away on his jumper. She felt Lupin's hand against hers, strong and steady and angry.
"Lily, is he okay?" Marlene said quietly, coming up towards them after a time. She could see Amelia and Alice pulling her back, but the clear and open eyes of her friend brought her to tears once again, and the thickness of her throat betrayed the calm she thought she had.
"He's hurt, Mars," Remus choked out, pulling away. Sirius tightened, and the relaxed, his fists tight against his side.
"Snape cursed him," Sirius said curtly, loudly enough that others could hear. "James, he's unconscious, unresponsive. He's…we don't know, we don't know—"
"I thought—" Alice began, her eyebrows knit in confusion. "What about— I thought he was trying to find Frank?"
"We were following a lead," Sirius said, his voice petulant and forceful, almost as if he expected Alice to disagree with him. "I was watching the Map, Snape and Regulus were in Hogsmeade. They had no reason to be, and no ability to get there without the secret passages—"
"Why can't you find him on the map?"
"Frank is gone, Alice," Remus said sadly, and Peter choked a sob from behind him. "Sirius and James couldn't find him, and James is… he's fighting for his life."
"Lily," Amelia breathed, taking a step forward and taking Lily by the shoulders. "Lily, you don't need to do anything, tell us anymore. We'll be here whenever you need us."
Lily nodded but shook her head before falling into Sirius' arms in tears.
...
Hours past without news. Lily's tears had long since dried up into silence and anxiety, sitting with the Marauders and her friends while the school went about its day. McGonagall swept past them fifteen minutes after her friends arrived, describing the school's effort to apprehend James and Sirius' attacker, working overtime and around the clock to discover the whereabouts of Frank and the source of Amelia's initial disappearance. Food was delivered and proceeded to cool and be discarded without further thought.
She leant against Sirius' shoulder and held Alice's hand as time passed in silence. From within the Hospital Wing, the rushing about of Healers neither placated nor calmed her; the news—when it came— was sparse and discouraging. At nightfall, her friends left for their dormitory, and as the shadows slipped into moonlight across the floor, Lily and the Marauders stood vigil in the corridor. Sleep pulled at her eyelids, but she couldn't rest, couldn't sleep. What if there was news and Lily wasn't there to hear it? She needed to be awake and alive for when James came back to her. They tucked in their knees as Slytherin's and Hufflepuffs past them to their Common Rooms after curfew, eyes low and afraid. Lily heard the whispers; a hopeless situation was what awaited her. But she hoped; nonetheless, James had taught her how to dream for the impossible.
The doors remained shut, the keyhole armed and blocked—and for hours, no one came in, and nobody left.
It was close to midnight before footsteps approached from above them; the castle was silent and still, snow falling through the high windows. The shadows had deepened, but the worry hung in the air like a fog, only thickening with time, and long ticks from the clock in the hall were monotonous and slow. She felt stupid from listening to the silence for so long. But there was a new sound, footsteps, running and then stopping. Lily wiped her eyes and looked up to see the familiar and long-awaited faces of his parents looking down on her.
The Marauders jumped to their feet, and Sirius nearly fell into Mrs. Potter's arms, his face thick with worry.
"Oh Sirius," Mrs. Potter said, rubbing placating circles onto his back. "Oh, darling, how is my son?"
"We don't know," Lupin said, his face pained and drawn. "We haven't seen him for hours,"
"How did you get here?" Peter asked, shaking Mr. Potter's hand before being pulled into an unexpected embrace.
"We used the Floo," Mrs. Potter said, wiping her eyes on a handkerchief. "And then ran down three flights of stairs to find you. Professor McGonagall only told us fifteen minutes ago,"
"He's been in there for hours, and McGonagall only told you now?" Lily said, and the others turned to look.
"My dear, they had been looking for us," Mr. Potter said, "we were at our estate, our wands were in the other room, we didn't think that anything could have been amiss,"
"They could've used a Patronus," Lily said stoutly, and Mrs. Potter looked over with sympathy.
"Dumbledore could've done a lot of things," Sirius said quietly. "And whatever it was he could've done; it won't help James now."
…
Despite their worry, the Potter's wanted to know everything there was to know about the situation. The Marauders spoke with ease and honesty; their familiarity with James' parents was apparent in how they spoke to one another. She wanted to hide with the knowledge that she was currently sleeping with their son, but both treated her with warmth and respect. Despite the current circumstance, Lily leant heavily into their warmth as Sirius told them his side of the story.
"There was nothing I could've done," Sirius said in a pained voice. "They came upon us so fast, James just wanted answers. But we saw them, masks removed. They were in all black, hiding in the shadows. I'm sure now that Snape would've killed him if he'd the time,"
"Are you saying Snape was behind this?" Mrs. Potter said aghast. "He cursed James?"
"It had to be him," Sirius said firmly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "The voice, the stance, he was hooded, but who else could it have been? We knew that Snape was in leagues with them. We've known that for ages,"
"Sev wouldn't have done this," Lily said, her voice cracking with his name. In the admission, she looked down in shame. But was it not in his nature? If not him, then who?
"But you're not sure it was him?" Lupin pressed.
"Rem, who else could it be?" Sirius growled.
"We don't know who kidnapped Amelia Bones," Peter said, his voice small. But the others turned in surprise to listen. "If it was Moody, or if he was, oh I don't know, coerced somehow. We don't know if it was Snape who cursed James; we know nothing. And meanwhile, James is bleeding out, and what can we do?"
Lily shook with suppressed tears and fell into Sirius' arms without a second thought. He pulled her near to him, his tears falling with thick echoing sobs. Her fingernails dug into his leather jacket, and she tucked her head into his chest the way she had done to James so often. But this wasn't him; it was Sirius Black—the boy she thought didn't give a fig about others until she gave him a chance. Despite what must've been a painful separation, hadn't Sirius stuck by her? Even though she was the one who took James from him, hadn't he loved her nonetheless? Hadn't he made plans to rescue Amelia, protect her from Crouch? Wasn't he the one who had carried James from Hogsmeade to save his life?
"He'll pull through," Remus said with a choke. "God, he has to,"
…
Despite their grief, the Potter's stayed, sitting with them on the stone floor outside the Hospital Wing. Minutes bled into hours, and Lily's mind began to spiral with unwelcome possibilities. James had to be alive; they wouldn't be making a fuss if he wasn't. He had to be okay, because how could they live if he wasn't?
A cool hand slipped into her own, and Lily started, looking over her shoulder to Mrs. Potter. Her eyes were kind, her face open and sincere, and in a moment, all her fears and worries bubbled over into hiccoughing sobs. Lily slipped into her arms without hesitation or reserve, and they cried together, huddled in the corridor in the dark.
Euphemia whispered gentle little nothings as she cried, and Lily's heart broke at the familiarity between James and his mother. Had it been only this morning that she and James had slept together on the sofa in the Gryffindor Common Room? It felt like another life.
"There, there, darling," Euphemia whispered. "Sleep now, we'll know more in the morning,"
"We'll wake you if there's news," Mr. Potter said, tucked between Peter and Remus, looking so much like James sitting between his friends. "If there's any before morning,"
"Sleep, now," Euphemia said, her voice low and calm. Lily rested her head on Euphemia's belly and shifted as Mrs. Potter undid the ribbon at the end of Lily's plait, running her fingers through her hair. Lily smiled softly as Sirius laid down beside her, his head beside hers on Euphemia's lap. She felt Euphemia's soft laugh as her fingers ran through her hair, brushing through Sirius' mangled hair with her other hand. She watched as Mr. Potter Summoned a mug of something hot, duplicating it for the others. The smell of chocolate and the sweet air of Mrs. Potter's perfume cut through the panic of her worried mind. James wasn't alone, and he would be okay; he had to be.
Someone tucked a blanket over her with magic, and Lily pulled in her body closer to Mrs. Potter's warmth. "Sleep, darling," she whispered, and everything in Lily relaxed at her words. "All will be well in the morning,"
Euphemia sang as she fell asleep, the words soft and warm and foreign; a lullaby softer and quieter until Lily slipped into sleep.
…
Mr. Potter looked over to his wife, his heart bursting with anger and sadness and frustration for James' condition. But his pain was small compared to Sirius', to Lily's? What must it be to them, to see James in puddles of blood?
Fleamont Summoned a tray of hot chocolates, tucking a healthy measure of scotch into his own before distributing them to the others. Remus wrapped his hands around the mug, his face unreadable in the faint light. Euphemia smiled as he placed the mug in front of her, the steam warming the cooling air around them. They were so young, Fleamont thought with a sigh, catching his wife's eye. All of them were too young for a war that had made men of boys before their time.
Euphemia looked such a mother among them, Fleamont thought, summoning strength and courage where there was little to be found. They were scared and alone and worried sick, but his wife had brought sleep in a hopeless vigil, enough for Sirius and Lily to sleep in her embrace.
James had written home once a week for seven years, his tales amusing and ever-evolving. There were no secrets between them and their son. James was their miracle; the love of their lives. As the years progressed, the steady news of Quidditch, pranks, classwork and Hogsmeade weekends shifted from the comical to the stark. James didn't remain a child for nearly as long as they wanted him to.
Their son wrote about a steady stream of girlfriends, pranks that went wrong, Remus' monthly transformations. But James had also told them about dark curses, black magic in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. James told them about the shifting allegiances of enemies and acquaintances, the extra defensive magic courses he had signed up for on weekends. Even in his retirement, Fleamont spent time at the Ministry these days— and his news was bleak and only growing murkier. Hope was hopeless, but he told James the truth anyway. Just the same as he had for his son's entire life. The facts, if not quite as watered down as he'd like. Owls were being intercepted, news biased and unreliable. His friends in the Prophet told him about the mandatory stories the Ministry forced them to include, truth perhaps, but limited in scope. Ever since that day, seventeen years before, when a screaming boy was placed in Fleamont's arms for the first time, he had lived his life to protect his family. Because who was he without them?
Fleamont and Euphemia had led James to Platform 9 3/4 for seven years, armed with the hope that nothing could happen to their son when Dumbledore was there. Dumbledore would protect James, protect the students and the staff despite the rise of dark magic. He was the best wizard this world has ever known, and nothing unfixable could occur under his care.
How very wrong he was.
Because was his son not bleeding and dying just next door? Were his friends, his parents not worthy to hold his hand and kiss his brow as he teetered between the worlds?
Tears poured down Fleamont's face as the first notes of a lullaby rang in the silence, and the darkness, he pulled his boys closer to him, Peter and Lupin both. He couldn't hold his son, but he'd stand by his friends as their world slipped into the night.
…
Later, James couldn't tell if what he experienced was real or imagined. The blood pooled and caked, soaked the ground beneath him, left his hands dripping before the blood congealed. His thoughts were thick, like molasses in the cold, and everything slowed. What was real? What was already gone, floating through the air?
He recalled voices, some whispery soft notes in his ear, some shouts and exclamations. James wondered what they were shouting about, had something happened? The action seemed so far away. Nothing existed beside this misty nothingness he floated in. Everything was wisps of smoke and faded before he could approach.
James imagined a string, taut and strong, between him and reality. The string rebounded with motion, but James remained stationary. The line could bounce and shake or stay still, but he couldn't respond. It lay listless in his hands. James thought that perhaps he could, what would happen if he did? The smoke and the blood and the voices were all that there was. Everything else was imaginary, non-corporal. It's killing me, James remembered thinking. I'm going to die here.
He remembered the strange half-awareness, caught somewhere between sleep and waking. The stars blinked and called to him, the tall spruces waved and dipped in greeting. He tried to speak, to respond, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't form the words.
Was he dead?
Is that what was wrong? Was he dead? Was this the afterlife, the world between the worlds?
Or maybe not, he mused. Perhaps nothing was wrong at all; he might have just been asleep. Maybe he had imagined it all; maybe it was a trick of his subconscious, this death. It could come to pass that he'd wake up in cold sweat, safe and sound in his bed. Maybe nothing had happened at all.
His body felt disconnected from his thoughts; it felt like he was watching himself through half-shut eyes. But he couldn't see, couldn't properly think, couldn't move. Something must've broken within him, he thought sleepily. Something must be wrong, and even then, James knew he was holding on to the last strings of consciousness.
There was a voice, insistent and strange-sounding, hovering over him. He didn't recognize it; the sound was foreign to him. His ears rang like they were filled with cotton.
It sounded urgent, and James wanted to help them, he really did. Hands cupped his face, and thumbs rubbed circles on his cheekbones as tears rained down on his forehead. Warm lips touched his, and James leaned into the touch, so familiar but so strange at the same time.
He wanted to move, he knew that reaching them and waking was important, but he couldn't muster the energy. James couldn't move, couldn't open his eyes or move his head, and that scared him. He couldn't feel his toes or his fingers or the feeling of the ground below him. So while they shook him and cried over his numb body, he closed his eyes, and all else faded away.
She smelled familiar, though, he thought. That flowery smell was perfume, a heady scent that brought back memories of Lily Evans lying on his chest in Gryffindor tower. The girl was screaming again, tugging at his body. He wanted to help her; honestly he did. But he couldn't. He couldn't feel his body anymore, and his mind was going fuzzy.
James' eyes lolled back inside his head, and he knew no more.
...
This chapter was a beast and remained a beast the entire time I wrote it. I wrote the first three thousand words in less than a day, discovered both an out of character interaction with Sirius and Lily, as well as a hole I couldn't seem to pull myself out of. This chapter was also horrendously upsetting to write, and due to the particular unhappiness that I knew was to come, I continued to put it to one side in exchange for happier outputs.
I also went on holiday twice in the last month and enjoyed the time away immensely. However—and I can't emphasize this enough— the existential dread of the day-to-day really puts a damper on creative output.
I spoke to a friend about this piece in particular (which I have fondly described as novel prep set in the 1970s in Scotland if you were wondering), and I am excited to begin new projects once this one is complete. I'm planning on writing two supplemental pieces of a comparable length and depth for practice before working on my novel.
I've been writing this piece for almost a year; the first anniversary is next month. From what was intentioned as a one-off to get back into writing has evolved and expanded thanks to your help and support, we're past 100k words, which is bananas to me. I've been writing Harry Potter since high school, and even now, it still feels like coming home.
Leave a thought if you please— I welcome any kind discussion as it comes.
xo
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