May 1981
The weak May sunlight couldn't lift James' spirits. No one will show, no one. He had apparated into a copse of trees several meters from the cemetery. New leaves and fresh wild flowers perfumed the air, yet, the only purpose they seemed to serve was to deepen his sadness.
Dumbledore has lost it. There isn't a spy! Because it couldn't be any of my friends! Maybe his spy was lying! Maybe his spy is a double agent! Working for Voldemort, pretending to work for Dumbledore, pretending to work for Voldemort!
James paused and reviewed his last thought. Maybe I'm the one who has lost it. With a sigh, he started out of the grove and up over a steep rise. When he reached the top, he paused. The little-used cemetery stretched before him. Headstones marked the passing years; some of them so old the names and dates had worn away. Generations of wizards were buried here, Potters as well. And one day, I will join them. James started down the gentle hill. Soft, green grass tickled his bare ankles as he walked, his brown loafers threatening to slip out from under him, spilling him to the bottom of the hill.
At the bottom, he started across the cemetery. Here and there willows grew, shading the graves; birch and yew spattered across the field. It was beneath the intertwining boughs of three trees that James stopped, his parents' graves before him. Well, I'm here, Dad, Mum. I hope and pray that I'm your only visitor today. I refuse to believe that my friends would betray me! No one will show! Dumbledore and his spy are wrong! No one will show and it won't be because Peter's the spy! It'll be because Dumbledore was wrong!
James waited. Insects hummed in the shade of the trees. Birds and squirrels skittered among the branches. I miss you, Mum, Dad. I wish you could have seen Harry. I wish he could have known his grandparents. I know you would approve of Sirius being his Godfather. He loves him so. Time passed slowly. James sighed. I love you. He placed a kiss on each headstone.
Looking up, he looked around, surveying the cemetery. Only the animals, only the wind. Sighing, James turned to leave. Dumbledore was wrong! A smile grew across his face. It isn't Remus! I knew it couldn't have been him! Does that mean it's Peter? How? Why? As he started away from the graves, a sharp pain flared through his head, blinding him. James stopped, clutching his temples. With a scream, he fell to his knees. No! No! The pain grew, pressed in on his brain and ripped down his spine. The spell sent white-hot pokers skewering through every joint, searing his muscles, snapping his bones. He tried to reach his wand. Remus! Why?! Not you!
Physical blows rained down on him, stopping his movement. Pummeling him, kicking him. Pain flashed through his chest as his ribs broke for real; raw edges grating together as he breathed. He turned, trying to crawl away. The pain in his head kept him blinded, pressure behind his eyes building. A dozen hands grabbed him as he crawled away from the unseen attackers. The blows faded, the pain in his head diminishing. Shallow breaths kept his ribs from moving too much. He felt his assailants take his wand, heard the dry snap as they broke it.
James blinked tears from his eyes. His captors forced him roughly to his knees. Remus! I was your friend! Hooded Death Eaters surrounded him, sneering and laughing. Voldemort bent low, face to face. He smirked. A flash of movement and James' cheek exploded in pain. He felt his lip split, tasted blood in his mouth. Voldemort shook out the hand he'd used to hit James with.
"Well, Mr. Potter," he began. "I really can't have you around any longer. I'm sure you understand." He smiled, a dangerous glint in his dark eyes. Straightening, he pulled out his wand with a flourish. "Crucio," he whispered. The spell hit James in the face, tearing his skin from his skull, boiling through him, shredding his muscles again.
"Crucio," another two Death Eaters hissed in unison. Their spells joined Voldemort's. James screamed, his eyes flashing to the sky. Remus! Why?! His mind flashed to the first time he'd seen Remus, sitting alone on the Hogwart's express. I was your best friend! The spells wound through his chest, stroking his heart, tearing at it, slowing it. Blood boiled in his veins. He felt as if his brain would burst forth from his skull. Voldemort's laughter chased him into darkness.
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James' eyelids felt too heavy to lift. He lay in darkness, feeling his body wake to this reality. There were low voices in the near distance. Though they conversed, it was barely audible. James opened his eyes, and tried a deep breath. Pain lanced across his torso, up and down his spine. He whimpered. "He's awake!" a low voice announced. A face swam into view. James focused on it. Peter. More faces looked down into his. Lily and Harry. Her brow furrowed in anxiety, her cheeks wet with tears and her eyes bloodshot. Harry smiled down at him, babbling and reaching out. Sirius leaned close, a trembling hand taking hold of his.
"Oh, Prongs," he breathed, "We were so worried."
"You've been unconscious for almost three days," Remus added, leaning in next to Sirius. Shocked, James gaped at him. He tried and failed to find his voice. Why is he here! Why are any of them here! Where am I?
Lily smiled down at him, "James, you're in St. Mungo's. Remus and Sirius found you in Godric's Hollow Cemetery." Her voice hitched, "You--you weren't breathing." Tears threatened her again. Oh Lily. No, don't cry for me. James tried to reach for her, comfort her. But his arms seemed too heavy.
"You've come back from the dead, mate," Peter laughed. "It's a God-given miracle."
"Easy, Prongs," Sirius said, squeezing his hand. "We know, we know. Take your time." Lily laughed, a sob breaking it, and turned away.
"Wha--" he tried.
"You're quite a sight," Remus said, "And coming from me, that's saying something." He smiled down at James. You-- James couldn't finish the thought. How could he have come here! Had Voldemort sent him? Did Dumbledore realize what the attack meant?! Where had Dumbledore been during the attack?! You were my best friend, Remus! You sat all alone that whole first week at Hogwarts! I was the only one who spoke to you! Me! How could you?! Tears welled up in James' eyes. Remus' brow furrowed as he stared down at James. "Hey, Peter, why don't you go get the healer and tell them that James is awake," he said.
"Yeah, I'll go get her," Peter agreed, rising.
"No," James croaked. "No, Peter, stay." His throat felt raw and misused. Confusion chased across Peter's face. But he sat back down on the edge of James' bed. They need to know. They deserve the truth. "I was attacked by Voldemort and his Death Eaters."
"We figured as much," Remus said.
"He was lying in wait for me," James said, watching Remus as he said it. Remus blinked slowly. Sirius took in a deep breath beside him and Peter leaned forward.
"What are you getting at, Prongs?" Sirius asked.
"They knew I would be there. They knew I was coming." Peter leaned back, disbelief painted across his sharp features.. Remus and Sirius gaped at James.
"Only one person knew I was going to visit my parent's grave, Remus," James whispered. How could you?! Remus took a step away from him, A look of panic racing across his face.
"You--you're not suggesting?" he stammered, gaping, swallowing. He looked between the three of them; Peter, Sirius, James. "You can't think I told Voldemort?!" Remus finished utterly flabbergasted. "I--I only told Sirius!" Sirius suddenly stood beside James, his hands balling into fists. Peter backed away from the pair, giving them plenty of room for whatever was about to happen.
"You told Sirius?" James breathed. His head started spinning. His throat ached from talking, his ribs hurt from breathing. I need to finish this! Remus! You were my friend! You told Sirius? How many others did you tell? Sirius spun to face James.
"He told me about an hour before we went to the cemetery. When we got there, we found you beside your parents' graves. There was blood everywhere, James."
"I covered your wounds with these hands!" Remus suddenly shouted, holding out his hands. I gave you breath with these lips! How can you even suggest that I gave you to Voldemort?!"
"Someone did," James whispered. He eyed Sirius. Am I truly blind? Could it have been Sirius.? No! Never Sirius! Never! "And it was one of you," he finished, looking hard at first Remus then Sirius.
Sirius shook his head and shouted, "No James! Never! I would sooner die! You know that! You know! Me and Voldemort? Never! You can't think that!"
Remus glared at Sirius, "But you did have an hour to warn them."
"What!!" Sirius rounded on Remus.
"Think James!" Remus shouted, "Who better! No one would ever suspect him! He's the run-away Black. But we all know where you came from," Remus finished, his eyes cold as he glared at Sirius.
"James!" Sirius pleaded, throwing himself to his knees at the head of the bed. "You know I wouldn't!" he begged. "You know it!" Tears welled up in Sirius' grey eyes. "You've caught him and he's trying to shift the blame," he whispered. The tears fell and he looked back over his shoulder at Remus. "How could you?! Why would you?! What did he offer you?!" Sirius flew to his feet as he spoke.
Remus made a strangled noise in his throat and took a step backwards. "You can't think it was me," he moaned, shaking his head. "It wasn't me, James. I swear it." Tears burned down his cheeks as he shook his head. "Please, James. It wasn't me."
"Remus," James whispered. "I want to believe it, I do. But that's twice that I've been attacked when you knew where I was going."
"Coincidence," Remus said, shaking his head, wiping the tears away. "Sirius knew! James I told him!" he cried, staring at James, willing him to believe. God, Remus, I want to believe it was a coincidence. But I nearly died because of that 'coincidence'. And I can't risk it. Not again. Never again.
"Maybe. . . Maybe you should go," he whispered, his voice catching on the tears building up in his throat. Peter drew a sharp breath from his corner. Sirius did a double take.
"You--you can't mean that?" Remus said. He took a step towards James. Sirius stepped forward, a show of force, cutting off Remus' advance. Remus gaped at him. "You can't send me away," he said around Sirius. "Please James! I've done nothing wrong!"
"You sold him to Voldemort!" Sirius cried!
"I didn't!" Remus looked between the two of them. He glanced around, spotting Peter. "You believe me, Peter?" he asked.
"Leave me out of it," Peter whined. "I can't take sides against you or James." he sat in the corner, all but forgotten. Tears glistened in his eyes.
Remus looked away from him, back to Sirius. Back to James. He stared at them for a small eternity. "Though I am tossed into the nothingness of scorn and noise, into the sea of waking dream," he whispered. His face broke and more tears fell unhindered to the floor. "Oh, James," he sighed, "Since you asked, I will go. But I am forever your faithful friend. Forever." With a sob he turned his back on them and left, the door swinging closed behind him.
A tight ball of pressure grew in James' chest. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. Forever my friend. As I was yours, Remus.
"Should I give him a head start?" Sirius asked. James looked at him, studying him. He knew for an hour. An hour is long enough to send an owl, long enough to apparate and whisper hateful words into a listening ear.
"Leave him, Padfoot," he said, "I could never sic you on a friend. Not even one who betrayed me." James shifted in the bed. His whole body ached, and now his heart joined in.
A/N: Remus quotes a line from the poem Written in Northampton County Asylum by John Clare.
Here is the poem in its entirety:
I AM! yet what I am who cares, or knows?
My friends forsake me like a memory lost.
I am the self-consumer of my woes;
They rise and vanish, an oblivious host,
Shadows of life, whose very soul is lost.
And yet I am—I live—though I am toss'd
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dream,
Where there is neither sense of life, nor joys,
But the huge shipwreck of my own esteem
And all that 's dear. Even those I loved the best
Are strange—nay, they are stranger than the rest.
I long for scenes where man has never trod—
For scenes where woman never smiled or wept—
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Full of high thoughts, unborn. So let me lie,—
The grass below; above, the vaulted sky.