Disclaimer: If it can be traced back to any world in print or on screen, it does not belong to me.
Chapter Thirteen: Illusions
James felt strangely weary as he climbed the stairs to his room that night. It confused him a little, as he had been accustomed to not finding his bed until improbable sounding hours if he found it at all during the War. Not continuously fighting seemed to be softening him, which was hardly a good thing. He'd seen too many good wizards and witches get soft and get killed when the fighting lulled for a while. Harry had bought them time, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this was just another lull, not long in its duration and as dangerous as a battle in itself.
Bloody hell! Anne snapped. You're not over here, so what's it to you if this is just a lull? She went quiet for a minute. Sorry. I'm the worst-tempered shrew in the world when I'm pregnant, just ask Pierre. He'd be happy to tell you all about the time I tried to kill himbefore the little girl-I still can't remember her name-was born.
It's all right, he reassured her. And Pierre wouldn't be very happy to see me, as I'd kill him for half of what you've told me.
I mean so much to you? There was an edge of humor to her tone.
As you're the last thing from home I have, yes. Nothing personal, you'll understand.
Of course not. Nothing's personal for us, is it? She didn't seem to be joking anymore. She sounded almost like a lonely girl, lost in the dark.
You miss him, don't you? he asked. Anne didn't have to ask who 'him' was.
Yes, she said in a low voice. I do. Maybe it's just that this baby's coming soon, or maybe I'm growing a woman's heart in my old age, but I do. Promise you won't laugh if I tell you something?
Promise, sis. I won't laugh at you.
Sometimes, I'll be lying awake at night and I'll think that maybe-just maybe, mind you-I actually loved Sirius, at least a little. I'm not fond of loving anyone too much.
Poor Annamaria.None ofthe men in your life ever seem to do anything but cause you more heartache.
You can say that again. I'm swearing off all men except you, and I'm stuck with you in my head or I'd probably swear you off too. Men only cause trouble. Oh, botheration. All I'm doing is making myself sadder and ruining your evening, too. I'm shutting up and stopping thinking now. Good night. Anne retreated.
If he hadn't been so tierd, James would have laughed at the bitter humor of the situation. Anne, the Hogwarts Whore, swearing off men? Anne loving one, even a little? What Sirius wouldn't have given to have heard her say that. Anne was a woman who inspired strong reactions in people. Anyone who knew Anne couldn't be neutral-they loved her or they hated her. Sirius Black had been her lover for years before he actually married her and had been married to her for years more. He certainly known her, and he'd confessed to his brother-in-law while drunk that he'd chosen the former option, but that Anne wasn't to know it-she'd destroy any man she knew she had that kind of hold on, wasn't James living proof?
James shook his head a little. It didn't matter now. Azkaban would destroy Sirius far more effectively than Anne ever could have. What had happened to them? How had it gone so far? He was here, Anne was there, Sirius was in Azkaban. They three who'd had the world-how had they lost it?
There were no answers in life, just illusions. What had the Egyptians called it? The Veil of Isis, that was it. He vaguely remembered learning that in a sixth year History of Magic class. In Egyptian religion, the Veil of Isis hid reality because mortals could not bear to see it-they could only see illusions, for reality would make them run mad in the best case senario. It was a pagan concept, but very near the truth. Answers to all the tough questions couldn't be learned until death took you. Death in itself really was an interesting concept, when one thought about it. Who really knew what was on the other side? He firmly believed in Heaven and Hell, but as to which one he'd end up in or what either was truly like he didn't know. Anne did have one point, though. Thinking while trying to go to sleep wasn't the best idea in the world. Between thinking and sleeping, he'd take sleep.
It was the next morning while going through his things in search of something, he would never remember what later, that he found an untidy stack of parchments tied together with a purloined hair ribbon of Anne's in the bottom of his trunk. On the front was a hand-done drawing of the Hogwarts crest. What on earth...he untied the ribbon and lifted the cover sheet. His own handwriting, even worse at the time than it was now, covered the page in more-or-less straight lines.
Due to our months of not-so-tedious research- here an even untider handwriting in the margins said For once! with an arrow pointing to the words 'not-so-tedious'- we four, being the most famous pranksters in Hogwarts history if we do say so ourselves, have discovered just about everything there is to know about this castle and its grounds. We know all the back ways out- a slightly neater hand said in the closest margin and secret ways in- that we have decided to make a map detailing Hogwarts school. Deciding this is the easy part. Doing it is the hard part. A fourth handwriting said, so speaks the genius. James's own scrawl beneath it said, shut up, Peter. The even sloppier hand said, Yeah, do, Pete. I'm the genius! The narrative resumed its flow. For future generations of troublemakers after we are dead, as we do not wish to put up with the kind of mayhem we cause from our kids, these papers will tell how we did it-including how many detentions we got in the process. At the present moment, the numbers for our school careers are: 1036, 1038, 885, and 724. The sloppy hand- Sirius's, if James remembered correctly-had inserted another note with an arrow pointing to the second number. Make it 1043. Hopwillis gave me a week's worth this morning in Care of Magical Creatures. How was I supposed to know that setting off fireworks in front of a hippogriff make it go bonkers? Beneath all the writing and marginal notes there were four signatures-the four Marauders.
He flipped through the parchments. A day-by-day record of the making of the Marauder's Map, spanning the very end of their fifth year through the first two weeks of their seventh. It caused him a faint nostalgic pride to think that no other students could have or would have done it, not with all the difficulty and occasional danger from charms that didn't work quite like they were supposed to. It had taken months of research and all Remus's artistic abilities-he had been surprisingly good with pen and ink-to put together the Map. On the last day of their seventh year, they had let Filch confiscate it. It had been painful, but it was the only way to ensure that the Map would stay where it was needed-at Hogwarts, where some other daring young prankster or pranksters could someday steal it back and put it to use again.
Anne, he said, half-laughing at the memories. You'll never believe what I just found, apart from that ribbon of yours that went missing. There was no reply. Anne? Nothing. She was definitely alive-he could still tell that much-but she had walled herself off, as if she was on one side of a frosted glass window. The impressions he got were of annoyance and sometimes pain, and the pain only brought more annoyance. What was up with her? As if aware that he could get some vague idea of her state, she reinforced the barrier still further, but not before saying in a quick, breathless-sounding way, I'm all right-don't worry. I have to do something-I'll be back later. It was certainly strange, but she hadn't sounded like she was lying and he'd long since learned that all one could do was let Anne make her own mistakes and trust her judgement when it came to her own neck.
It was a matter of four hours later when, quite suddenly, he became aware that she was in a great deal of pain, then something-a kind of defiant triumph similar to her outbursts against the dementors when she had been in Azkaban. Well, there's that done, she said crossly, sounding exhausted.
There's what done?
I had the baby, she said. I thought I'd be a considerate sister for a change and not make you have to know what labor's like a second time. It's not so bad, really. Getting hit with the Cruciatus Curse is a lot more painful, at least when you're like me. Lutie says I have a baby with no more fuss than a cat slinging a litter! She giggled. Lutie was a cross between housekeeper and nursemaid, half house-elf and half goblin, and had owned the Potters more than they owned her. She had been the terror of three generations of Potter children, and she had grumbled continually about Lily not being a lady because she took care of Harry herself instead of giving him to Lutie to be raised 'as be proper for a lil master'. Another girl. Lizzy and Lutie can take care of her, I suppose. So long as she's not under my feet, I don't really care one way or the other about her. Not for the first time, he was struck by the contrast between Lily and Morgan and Anne when it came to babies. Lily literally gave up everything for hers, Morgan had doted on Arthur for the little while he lived, and Anne was very possibly the most unfeeling mother James had ever encountered. Even her mother-in-law had felt something for her children, even if it was hatred for one of them. Anne simply couldn't care less about either of hers. Better not to point that out to her, though.
What're you going to call her? he asked instead.
Charlotte Anne, she replied, and he could almost see her grin wickedly. I got the idea from you letting Lily name Harry for her father and you. I adapted the idea to naming Charlotte-that's what we'll call her, it's too confusing to have two Annes and I'm certainly not going to go by Josepha- for Sirius's mother and me. The Old Lady won't be happy, but I might care more about my babies than I do about her opinion of me. Her tone warmed very slightly. She's a pretty little thing-the baby, that is, not the Old Lady. Got more of her pa in her than she does of me, though she did get the Potter nose and my eyes. Charlotte'll be a proper little heartbreaker, just like her mummy, eh? She seemed to be laughing. Yes, she and little Catherine Lupin will make each other's fortunes. They've both got the best of both parent's looks, and with their genes from us-what won't they become, them and their cousin Harry, too. They'll make our fortunes, too, dear.
Ah, so that's it, he teased her. I was wondering if you hadn't gone sentimental over them.
Never, Anne said practically. I worry about me and you and not anyone else. I might have carried Charlotte around for nine months, but I was carried around with you for nine long before that. Besides, don't you know me well enough by now to know that I don't attatch any weight to family sentiment? I'm all business. There was a forlorn note to her words, but she'd put it off to childbed if he commented. I've lost everything to this war. All that's left for me is ambition. Quite abruptly, he wanted to hug her and tell her it would all be all right, something he could never distinctly recall wanting to do before, but even if that had been physically possible it would have meant getting slapped into next week. Anne might've very easily have liked Harry and Lily more than she liked for anyone to see her cry.
Author's Note: This was a hard one, especially portraying Anne's feelings about her children. She's a complicated person and not nearly as callous as she seems. She gets her own story soon, as soon as I get the permanent timeline worked out. I haven't decided whether or not she is Fleur Delacour's biological mother-will accept reader input on that one. In Chapter Fourteen, James and Dinah continue to bond.
Augusta
