The Godric's Hollow pantomime drew in a robust crowd, as it did every year. James peeked out from the curtain. This early, most people were still on their feet: Edgar Bones stood talking with James's parents, arm around his wife; Fabian Prewett stood near them, arms crossed, listening intently as he always did, taciturn as he was; further along was another cluster, this one holding a handful of people James knew vaguely from Hogwarts, though they'd graduated well ahead of him; all the Daggetts were there, even though they'd moved to Hogsmeade the year before; a contingent of McKinnons wore robes of matching evergreen, looking like sprigs of mistletoe with the green of their robes and the white-blond of their hair. There were more, many more, with their backs to James, still lingering in the doorways.
The town center of Godric's Hollow had, over the last few weeks, been charmed to appear as single stage, with seats winging upward so no one would have to try to peer around anyone's head in order to see the children perform the pantomime. Ringing around the stage was a balcony; it was there that Lily and the Peverells had chosen to sit, just a few seats ahead of the only person also sitting: Old Bathilda Bagshot, who was old enough to have invented the pantomime, older even than Dumbledore. Her book, A History of Magic, was so well done, James thought, because she'd been there to experience all of it.
"What're you smiling about, mate?"
Sirius's words cut into his thoughts.
James spun and shoved a handful of programs at him. "There you are," he accused. "You're late…"
Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but a magically amplified voice swelled in the air all around them. "Welcome, welcome, to the 185th annual Godric's Hollow wizarding pantomime!" The voice belonged to a female; James peered around and found her, an older woman, dressed to look like a winged bunny. The wings flapped hard, keeping her feet a foot away from the wood floor. "If everyone would be so good as to find your seats, we can soon begin. Today, the children will be performing will be performing Babbity Rabbity and Her Cackling Stump—"
"That's a popular one," James muttered. "I must've done that three times as a child."
"—with Caroline Vance as Babbity Rabbity and Antigone Prewett as the cackling stump."
As the woman's warm introduction continued, James peeked once more around the curtain; witches and wizards of all sorts were filing in. To his surprise, even a couple of dryads had come: possibly to show their continued displeasure that a character such as a 'stump' was encouraged, which they had always considered offensive. They were sat up in the balcony, leaves quivering with, James figured, either anticipation or wrath.
"But we first – as you will see in your program – we have the famous ghost band, The Beedles, then the duet from George and Poppy Davies, and to round off this year's pantomime, we have the traditional chorus of 'O Blessed Merlin'."
"Program's still short and sweet, even without you in it, then?" Sirius muttered.
"It's always been like that," said James, "fewer fires to put out with all those magical kids up there."
"I'm not complaining," said Sirius.
The winged bunny finished her comments and headed toward them, bobbing up and down, smiling genially. "So glad to see you here, you two," she said. There was sweat on her forehead and her smile had a slightly hysterical edge to it. "I need help watching the little – darlings while I organize them. And do keep a good eye out."
"Where are the little darlings?" James asked, looking round. The back was still empty.
"It seemed best to keep them in a few separate rooms," said the bunny, wiping her brow. She was new. "I'm Hestia, by the way. Hestia Jones." Her voice dropped. "They nearly blew up the town center at their rehearsal. I don't know how to—"
"It'll be okay," said Sirius. "There are a lot of adults out there with wands…"
"I don't know how they do it," said Hestia, shaking her head. "I mean, at Hogwarts. With hundreds. I've only had to manage twenty of them for a month."
"It's almost over," James soothed. "Just another hour or so..."
"Thank Merlin panto is so short in the wizarding world," Hestia said grimly.
"Short and sweet," said James. Without planning it, he looked to Sirius, who expected to joke that it was only so because James himself had been such a terror on the stage. But Sirius was quiet, staring off into the shadows. He dabbed his nose; James and Hestia might not have even been there. He turned back to Hestia. "Don't worry too much. It always works fine in the end."
"I know," she said, then fluttered forward, taking a turn to peek at the audience. "Well, most of them are seated. I'd better let the children out and give the ghosts the signal."
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
"You look like hell, mate," James said. He had one eye on the ragged line of children waiting to access the stage, and the other on Sirius. Sirius was nearly always pale, but was several shades lighter than was usual, as though he'd had a recent bout of illness.
"Haven't been sleeping too well," said Sirius, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. To anyone else, he might have appeared indolent, leaning against the wall as he was, directing his wand toward the small clusters of children that had sprouted up backstage in the last five minutes.
"Is it your neighbors?" James asked, nudging him with his elbow.
"Nah," said Sirius, refusing to rise to the bait. "I haven't seen her since we left Hogwarts."
"Your other neighbors?" James pressed.
"What other neighbors?" Sirius asked. "Ay! You!"
A young girl with bright pink hair was attempting to sneak out the back door. At Sirius's yell, she startled, knocking over a pillar. Before it could hit the ground, James used his wand to right it and the girl. "No escaping," James said, warning her.
"I have to," the girl said, miserable. To his surprise, her hair began to change as he watched. As tears started in her eyes, the tips turned blue. The color raced upward, eating up the pink, until only blue was left. "I'm going to make everything go bad."
"You're not," James said, firm.
"I'll set something on fire," she said.
"You won't," said James.
"You don't know me," she said, miserable.
"Don't have to," said James.
"I knock everything over. I don't mean to." The girl was working herself up into a wail; the younger children were beginning to look over, alarmed. "But I do it anyway, Mum says I—"
"Well," James said in a loud voice, "I don't know what your mum says, but I do know that there are a lot of witches and wizards out there waiting to see you. And a lot of them are rather good at magic. My own Mum and Dad are helping, too, you see, and they're the best."
Now she was staring at him, doubt written on her heart-shaped face. Even the blue was disappearing, now, revealing a mousy-brown color.
"What he's trying to say is that if you start a fire, it won't be a very big one," Sirius put in.
James huffed out a laugh. "That wasn't—"
"That was exactly what you were saying," said Sirius. "Trust me, that one"—Sirius jerked his thumb toward James—"used to be in the pantomime when he was little, and the place is still standing. If anyone was going to have an accident and destroy Godric's Hollow or whatever it is you're worried about, it's James Potter."
"I wouldn't go that far," James muttered.
"Did you or did you not bring a miniature Devil's Snare to one of these things?" Sirius countered.
Their laughter was joined by the little girl's, who managed it through tears. "Mum says… she says… she'd be proud of me for just trying, but everything is a disaster."
Fascinated, James watched as pink strands grew in her hair.
"Look, if you're as much of a disaster as you think you are, your mum's ready for it," Sirius told her. "Trust me, she'll have her wand at the ready."
"You don't know that," the girl sniffled.
"I think I do, actually," said Sirius, brow furrowing, as more pink streaks appeared. "I think your mother is Andromeda Black – well, Andromeda Tonks, now."
Her eyes grew wide as saucers. "How'd you know that?"
"She's my cousin," said Sirius. His eyes lingered on her hair. "And you're… Nymphadora, isn't it?"
"I like 'Dora better," she muttered.
"So would I," said James. "Now don't you worry about anything," he added. "And no more trying to escape! You're going to be fine. Whatever you got, the adults can handle."
"Swear to Merlin?" Dora asked.
"I swear to Merlin," said James, putting his hand over his heart.
Dora eyed them warily for a few moments, before a little boy with bright red hair yelled for her that it was nearly her turn, she let out a "COMING, BILL!" as loud as she could, and then she was whirling away, the ends of her hair turning a red to match the boy's. James watched her, still a bit shocked. He'd heard of people like her, of course. Metamorphmagi were rare – exceedingly so. And here was one who made it look as effortless as breathing. James himself could change his form – but only to one other, and he had to do it all at once. What he wouldn't give—
Fingers snapped in front of his face.
"Pay attention!" Sirius said, smirking.
"I am," said James. "I've always wanted to meet a Metamorphmagus. I've read about them, and of course, I think Professor McGonagall has several she corresponds with, but I guess I didn't realize how young the talent would manifest. She's your cousin?"
"Breathe, mate," said Sirius, clapping him on the shoulder. "Yeah. Daughter of my cousin… you know, the one who married a Muggleborn and got blasted off the family tree?"
James grimaced. "That was her?"
"Her daughter, anyway," said Sirius.
"I thought the Blacks were more about prophecy," said James.
"And lunacy. Don't forget lunacy."
"And that," agreed James. "But is this another gift of the magpie?"
"Augury," Sirius said. "It was an augury my ancestor pissed off. And no, we've never had a metamorphmagus in our line, that I know of. But, you know, a lot of Blacks ran from home, more than I suspected, I guess, weren't willing to buy the toujours pur line. Who knows, then? Maybe Dora's not so unusual."
"Harry said that a fourth gift of the Augury was a tendency toward pranks," said James, remembering. He laughed, slumping up against the wall, flicking a glance toward the children, who were managing to supervise themselves into a ragged little line. One of them, dressed as a tree stump with a couple of toadstools growing out of it, ran to join the others, leaping up and down.
"Harry Peverell?" asked Sirius, slouching with him. One dragonhide boot crossed over the other.
"Yeah," said James, still laughing. "It was clever, the way he said it. He's… clever."
Sirius dabbed at his nose with his sleeve. "He's not so clever the way he's treated Peter," he muttered.
"Right, true," said James, after a tiny surge of guilt. "That got better, though." Then, eyes widening, he said: "Your nose is bleeding!"
"What?" said Sirius.
"It's bleeding!" True enough, on his robes was a line of blood. Sirius seemed to find it incomprehensible that his nose was bleeding; he stared at the sleeve of his robes as though he'd never heard of such a thing before.
As the ghostly strains of the Beedles's music continued on, James thought quickly. The children were dancing from side to side, swaying to the upbeat tempo of 'Here Comes the Moon'. Even Dora, who had been so nervous, was bouncing up and down on, grinning wildly at the tightly-curled blonde beside her. Another minute or so, and they'd all be on the stage, performing Babbity Rabbity.
"As soon as they"—he gestured toward the children—"are on-stage, we'll nip over to St. Galina's for a potion for you."
"You're mad," Sirius said dully.
"And you need a pick-me-up," said James.
"We can't just—"
"We can, I've got the key." Concern filled him. "You don't look well, mate."
"You aren't my mum."
"And thank Merlin for that." Walburga Black was a menace. "It'll be five minutes."
Sirius eyed him warily. "Five minutes?"
"We'll be back before anyone even notices we're gone," promised James.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHHP
Unfortunately, he had not thought to bring his invisibility cloak along with him. Once the children were doing their first dance number – James fought a smile when he saw young Dora dancing the opposite direction of everyone else – he and Sirius sidled out against the wall. It was fortunate everyone was riveted by the children on-stage; no one seemed to notice them.
No one except Lily.
His eyes caught hers when they were halfway to the door. She'd been in motion, beaming, pointing down to the stage. But she stopped when she caught him looking at her, even though it had only been a moment or two that he'd picked her out of the crowd on the balcony. Her smile, it seemed, even from this distance, deepened. His heart skipped a beat.
"C'mon." Sirius nudged him in the ribs. "This was your idea. I don't want to be standing here when your mum finds us trying to sneak out."
"Sorry," James muttered, managing to tear himself away.
Within minutes, they were out on the empty cobbled street. There was a crispness in the air that warned of snow: James wished he'd snagged his cloak. But there was no point in going back when they weren't going to take very long at all. The wind rose; James scowled against it, loped across the street in step with Sirius, and ducked around the corner.
The magical side of Godric's Hollow was still. The shops were empty and closed. The windows were shuttered. Dark clouds scudded across the winter sun, increasing the sense of loneliness. As they walked down the next street, James grew aware of the weight of his wand in his pocket. It was a presence that offered him obscure comfort.
"Shit," muttered Sirius.
Blood was now dripping from his nose.
"Let's hurry," said James.
But footsteps behind him distracted him. Who was it? No one else was out right now, everyone was watching the children on-stage, and—
"And where are you two off to?"
There was Lily, hands on her hips, eyebrow raised. She must have snuck out of the pantomime just after they did, bringing the Peverells along with her. Both of them were looking at him with a sort of watchful, cautious amusement.
James shoulders sagged; his hand fell away from his pocket. "Just to St. Galina's," he said.
"It's that way," she reminded him, jerking her thumb in the opposite direction, toward the church in the center of the village.
James pulled the red and gold key from his pocket, dangling it from his fingers and shaking it, "I've got a key, remember? It links from Dad's place… that's where we're headed." He tsked, shaking his head at Lily, and placed his hand over his heart. "Would I lie to you?"
"No," she said promptly, "But you would keep secrets."
"Save your flirting," Sirius said, chuckling, even though blood still dripped from his nose.
Lily made an exasperated sound.
"You can come with us," said James, offering her his arm. She took it and they strolled ahead. James hummed the Beedles song, leading Lily into a little dance on the empty cobbled street. His worry over Sirius had been eclipsed by something brighter, and it was with a happy sort of abandon that they once more entered Fleamont's private office. This time, he didn't bother with the door that led to the sleepers, but touched the one on the furthest left.
"This takes us to the storeroom at St. Galina's," James said, opening it, and ushering the others through. "And it'll be—"
His voice died in his throat. There, standing by the side of a large tub, was a figure in almost unrelenting black: black robes, white gloves speckled with something dark, black hood over a masked face. James's stomach crunched. The moment swelled: It was a Death Eater, one of Voldemort's hand-chosen wizards, standing here – standing near Lily! – with them unprepared—
"Stupefy!" shouted Harry.
James fumbled with his robes, suddenly nerveless fingers reaching for his wand. A second later, he had it, was pointing at the Death Eater, who was spinning away from Harry's hex, then Ginny's—
"Incarcerous!" James yelled.
Jets of light streamed across the small space of St. Galina's storeroom.
"Watch the potions!" Lily screamed.
The Death Eater snarled a word; an entire shelf came crashing down on them. But Sirius and Ginny were quick to react: both raised a shield charm so fast, it rose the hairs on the back of James's neck. But his thoughts were on the Death Eater, who was flicking his wand at them, his silver and black mask revealing nothing.
He and Harry surged forward at precisely the same moment, the red of the stunning spell lighting the storeroom, illuminating the damage the Death Eater had wrought: shards of glass, bubbling potion swirling into the drain of the tub, all the potions his dad's company had donated… the Death Eater had been attempting to destroy it, destroy everything that held the Muggleborns who depended on St. Galina's back from having a winter of hardship and illness.
"How dare you!" James shouted. Anger surged from him, combined with a hex. It exploded just above the Death Eater's head. He'd ducked out of the way, almost impossibly fast. But bits of the wall behind him showered down on him. "How dare you come and—"
Blue light arced toward him; it was James's turn to whirl out of the way. The spiteful curse burned a hole in his robes.
"James!" cried Lily.
More shelves came cascading down; this time it was Lily's shield that steadied them, blossoming out impossibly wide, bolstering up Sirius's and Ginny's. James huffed in a breath, tightening his focus, moving forward with Harry, until they had the Death Eater pinned. And why wouldn't they? There were five of them and one of him. Still, the mask gave him the appearance of serenity that didn't break even as James and Harry continued toward him.
Then, when they were two feet away, the Death Eater said, almost calmly: "Exsecratus Ignus."
James froze.
"Incarcerous," snarled Harry. The ropes wrapped around the Death Eater while he started to laugh.
"It's too late," said the Death Eater. "His will is done."
"You aren't—"
"Harry. Get back." James grabbed his arm, pulling him backward.
It started with barely a spark. A glowing salamander slipped from the tip of the Death Eater's wand, wriggling in mid-air, sending an impossible heat washing toward them. "Sirius!" James shouted. "Get them back through the door!"
"But—"
"Get back, it's fiendfyre!" James screamed.
The Death Eater was laughing truly now, wrapped in Harry's ropes. There were now three salamanders gamboling about the floor, leaving destruction in their wake. One stopped in front of James, cocking its head wreathed by fire. It grew three inches as it stared at James, hunching as though in preparation to strike. Move, he ordered himself. Move. Lily was screaming for him; Ginny was screaming for Harry; Sirius was shouting at both to get through the door.
"Harry! HARRY!"
"But there are people in the clinic." James said it out loud, flicking the salamander away, where it curled up into an egg, which immediately began to crack.
"Get through with them," he told Harry, who was sweating. In this light, his eyes looked green.
"No—"
"I said do it," said James.
As Harry moved, so did he. His bones ground. His stag, which he'd attempted to leave behind at the Gardens, found him in an instant. The transformation took the time of two heartbeats, the fastest he'd ever managed, and why wouldn't it? The fiendfyre was growing; the cursed flames were mating with each other; the salamanders were gone… in their place were barghests, fiery grindylows, and skrewts… they would grow bigger and bigger – there was no more time to waste.
On four feet and swift hooves, James leapt forward, avoiding the flames with a grace he could not have managed as human. There was a brief pang of worry for Lily, worry over her finding out like this, rather than him telling her, being honest with her, but he buried them beneath fear and focus. He leapt over the Death Eater, trampling his leg, careening toward the door that would lead him toward those who needed the healers at St. Galina's… if he was not quick, they would die here, consumed by the fire growing at his back.
A tremendous kick had the door off its hinges and out of James's way. It crashed against the opposite wall; James bounded through the open space: blessed cool air hit him. It had grown hot as a furnace in the storeroom. Even if the potions had not been smashed, they would all be beyond use…
Luck was with him. A healer on duty peered around the corner, eyes growing wide. James barreled past her, skidding to a halt, slamming his tufted rump against the wall. He could not speak in this form, but he kicked the wall, hard.
Just as he hoped, the healer screamed out a charm. Bells began to ring, loud and inescapable. They would have protocols for this sort of emergency, James knew; he also knew that any help would be welcome. Was it paranoia, or was it growing hotter already?
The healer bustled away, opening a door, and yelling for help to get the patients out. For the first time, James looked back. His heart crumbled away: There, clinging to the ceiling, was a flaming grinydlow, tentacles digging into it; rivulets of fire dripped from him, pooling on the floor.
His stomach cramped. His ears buzzed with the sudden sounds of witches Apparating into the clinic, slamming open doors, and spinning away, taking a patient with him. They were properly warned. James could leave, now, he could get away from the fiendfyre stalking him across the ceiling.
And then a door halfway down the hall opened. A tiny dryad, whose blossoms in her hair were just beginning to bud, peered out. Panic surged through him: if she got too close, she would die. Dryads were even more susceptible to fire than humans, their bodies made of more wood than fire.
Then, without thinking about it, without planning it, James bounded forward, toward the fiendfyre and the little dryad girl, wishing he could shout her a warning. But she didn't need it; he barreled toward her; she grabbed his rack and swung up behind him. He nearly fell as he turned, but as a stag, he was far more graceful than he was as a man.
And with screams echoing all around him, with a dryad on his back, James surged through the clinic.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
The cold, winter air was welcome; James bounded with the dryad on his back, leaping across the cobbled stones, away from the fiendfyre. It was gaining proper dimension, now, the flames growing into monsters the size of trees. The matrons had set up an alarm: people were apparating onto the street; James swerved, avoiding them. And there were his friends, Sirius, Lily, and the Peverells, sprinting up from his dad's office.
The dryad was sobbing. James leapt faster; muscles in all four of his legs burned. And then, at last, he was there, stumbling over a stump; the dryad tipped off of him, thrusting her long fingers into the loam. She was shivering. The trees, aware of her, shook their branches.
James was about to shift, but the distinct CRACK of Apparition not ten feet from him interrupted him. Two wizards appeared before him. James's stomach dropped like a stone: the tall, silver-haired figure that was Albus Dumbledore was immediately recognizable. Even through his dismay, James recognized the second man for who he must be: A Black, whose gaunt, weary look still managed to retain the great good looks of one of Britain's most pureblooded families. His hood came up almost immediately, but James still spotted the sunken cheeks under high cheekbones.
He might have been a close relative of Sirius, they looked enough alike, though the other was older. But, given the way Black cousins married Black cousins, he could have been quite distant as well. A pale face swept the copse of woods in which James stood, frozen as a stag, hoping Dumbledore would not notice him.
"—here," the Black murmured. "I know Harry, he'll be here."
Of course. This is the Peverells' godfather. They immediately raised their wands, joining the others in capturing the fiendfyre. It was Dumbledore's charm that was truly effective: bands of water lassoed the fiery creatures.
"Thank you," sobbed the dryad, "thank you, thank you, thank you."
The dryad was now wrapped around his forelegs, her fingers, which felt more wood than flesh, dug in. And James could not make the sounds to shush the child, not as his stag. Then, as panic settled in, he caught Harry Peverell's gaze from just beyond Dumbledore's shoulder. As the silvery head was turning in his direction – where he would surely be curious as to why a stag was comforting a dryad, who was shouting her thanks – Harry said, loudly enough to carry across the crowd, "OI! PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE!"
As an unintentional diversion, it worked. The two moved away; James stepped backward, extricating himself from the dryad and going further into the shadows of the trees. Once safely out of sight, he returned to his normal form, shaking soot and tree bark out of his hair and clothes.
"Just stay here," he murmured to the small dryad, "the clinic's not safe yet." She was gaping at him, open-mouthed and shivering. He supposed she had never seen a woodland creature turn into a human before.
Once back out on the street, James blended in with the crowd, moving in the direction of where he'd last seen his friends, relieved when he finally spotted Lily standing beside Sirius and Dumbledore. The Peverells and the other Black were gone. Before James could maneuver through the crowd now pressing closer, Dumbledore walked off, pulling something from the pocket of his robes as he did so.
"Oh, Merlin, James!" said Lily, voice carrying over the heads of a troupe of children following Hestia Jones in her bunny costume. "James! Sirius! He's here!"
Then she was running at him, barreling into his arms with the force of a Bludger. Wheezing slightly, he welcomed her, hugging her. The urge to kiss her near over-powered him. But then Sirius was there, clapping him on the shoulder, taking his own turn for a rough sort of hug. Reluctant to let go of her, James kept his arm around Lily's waist, taking turns looking into her green eyes and flicking his gaze around the crowd. There were no shrouded bodies. Relief swamped him: The matrons had managed to get everyone out. There, across the way, stood his parents, talking to one of the matrons. Fleamont was jabbing his finger toward the blackened building.
"It was a terrible loss."
Dumbledore had returned.
"Where'd Harry and Ginny go?" James asked.
"They were not meant to be here," said Dumbledore, pressing his lips together. "Their godfather came to extract them; I expect they've returned to Hogwarts by now."
"We didn't know that," said Lily, flushing.
"I assumed you did not," said Dumbledore. "That bit of mischief from the Peverells aside, I heard that the three of you were there in the storeroom?"
That news had traveled quickly.
"We were, yeah," James said quickly. Then, with as few words as possible, he described the events of the evening, beginning with their reason for going – Sirius was ill, and they meant to get him a potion – and ending with the fiendfyre coming from the Death Eater.
Sirius, who seemed to know what he was thinking, said: "And then we ran back into Mr. Potter's office, slamming the door… the Death Eater managed to get out of his ropes, by the way. He Disapparated. He's still out there…"
"I—"
Dumbledore's first comment since James had begun his retelling of the events was interrupted by other sharp CRACKS of Apparition: The Ministry had arrived, all dressed somewhat alike, in black robes with silver fastenings, high boots, and short wizard's hats. All had their wands out. The five of them appeared in a formation, as though they drilled that sort of thing every day. The only surprise was that it was hardly an experienced group of Aurors: these were the younger ones, who couldn't have finished their training all that long ago.
They fanned out, only sparing Dumbledore a glance, and strode into the crowd.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
It took less than ten minutes for one of the Aurors to find them again; word had traveled swiftly through the crowd.
"If I could beg your pardon, Professor Dumbledore, sir." A young man with floppy, straw-colored hair materialized in the gathering dark. He wore the long, black robes emblazoned with silver embroidery that was traditional for Aurors: Those wizards and witches who chose to help the Ministry track down practitioners of Dark Magic. This one, who was vaguely familiar, did not have the grizzled look of seasoned Aurors; he did not look like he could be much more than a few years older than James himself.
"Well, goodness me," said Dumbledore. "Mr. Crouch!"
A brief smile lifted the Auror's lips, before it disappeared where it had come from.
"It is good to see you," continued Dumbledore, clasping his hands in front of him. If James did not know any better, he would think the headmaster was stalling for time. "It has been six years?"
"Seven," said Crouch.
James eyed him curiously. This was the son of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry, who'd gone to Hogwarts with Fleamont, and whom Fleamont described as 'rigid'. He hadn't known that the son had followed in the father's footsteps.
"If I may, Professor…"
"There is no need to call me 'Professor', Mr. Crouch," Dumbledore said genially.
"Nevertheless…" Barty Crouch looked at James. "May I have a word? I'd like to take notes on what happened here."
James shrugged. The crowd kept growing, crowding in the street, streaming from where they'd just been enjoying the children performing the pantomime. He could see Peter and Mary within, gaping at him: He tossed them a wave and turned away. The light now coming from the streetlamps shined on Hufflepuff's golden cup. It was with a thoughtful sort of despair that James followed the Auror off to a quiet alcove. Healing should have been for all; small clinics like these that supported every member of the magical community should not have been targeted by people like the Death Eaters.
"What can you tell me what happened here?" The words cut into his thoughts, stopping them short.
"Oh, well," said James, "a Death Eater destroyed—"
"I am aware of the broad strokes," Crouch interrupted. "I need to know the details."
"Oh, right," said James. A familiar voice rose over the others. They were close enough to the crowd that James heard his father's demand to know what had happened. Dumbledore's low, pleasant rumble answered. "Well, we came across him—"
"But why?" Crouch pressed on. "Why were you at the clinic in the first place?"
"My friend – Sirius Black – was ill, I thought – he had a nosebleed. So we decided to go get a potion."
"You decided to go get a potion." There was a flat tone in his voice. "And you managed this, how…?"
"I've got a key to my dad's office," said James. "There's a shortcut from there to the supply room at St. Galina's – Dad's a potioneer, so—"
"I know who your dad is." The Auror sighed, looking suddenly younger. "We are our father's sons. So you had a way into the back room. That would explain why none of the matrons saw you."
"Right," said James, shifting his feet. "We went straight to the back where we then saw the Death Eater—"
"Pardon me again, but what made you think this was a Death Eater?"
James's mouth fell open; he closed it with a snap. "Well, he was dressed like they do, and had a mask to cover his face—"
"Everyone can wear a mask." The dismissive tone saturated the Auror's words.
"Who else would do this?" James asked, bewildered.
"Who else indeed?"
James stared at him. Barty Crouch Jr. seemed entirely unruffled, even managed to raise both eyebrows.
"It's my job not to assume," the Auror explained, after a long moment of the two of them appraising each other. "Whoever it was managed to Apparate away; we may never know who did this, what their affiliation was; nor can we know what their motive is.
"Their motive," said James, "was to destroy a year's supply of potions."
"We don't know that," Crouch said. "We have no idea what the purpose was. It could have been the act of a madman, who doesn't know up from down or magic from Muggle. It could have been an angry lover of one of the matrons. There are a number of reasons why this might have happened, and it doesn't do anyone any favors if everything you don't like is blamed on someone else."
James jabbed his finger toward the clinic. "They used fiendfyre."
"Anyone can use it." There was a cold glitter in the Auror's eyes. "For all we know, truly know, it was the careless actions of two Hogwarts students who have family connections and little sense.
"It wasn't us! Of course it wasn't!"
And then there was Fleamont, hand coming down on his shoulder, standing in solidarity with him. James could not help but lean back, just a little. There was a small moment of frozen silence. "Barty Crouch, Jr., is it?" Fleamont asked, courteous. His fingers tightened on James's shoulder. "Congratulations on your promotion to Auror."
"Thank you, sir," Crouch said stiffly.
"I knew your father from Hogwarts," Fleamont continued, "I'm sure he is proud as anything to see you in your robes. Forgive me, but did I hear you correctly that you opined that my son and his friend were to blame for the damage done to St. Galina's?"
"I merely suggested it as a possibility, sir." There was a frozen quality to other man's words. "I did not say whether it is true, or whether I even think it might be. I have to assume every possibility has the potential to be true."
Fleamont nodded. "As you do," he said. "Now, the boys came back through the door through which they entered. Should they have been the ones to cast the cursed fire, the damage would have followed over across the shortcut. To set your mind at ease, why don't we go investigate whether or not such damage exists?"
"I don't think that's—"
"Oh, I assure you, it's entirely necessary." James knew from experience that there was no arguing with that tone in his father's voice. "I would not want it considered a possibility to the Aurors that my son would destroy the entire potions supply of a clinic. Allow me to open my office for you. And quickly, shall we? We are providing an entertainment tonight at the Gardens…"
Fleamont did not spare him a glance. James stared after them, not sure if he should follow, or if he should remain here. Indecision warred within him, adding itself to the potent mix of despair and confusion and leftover anger. It's got to be fear, he thought. The Ministry is afraid of Voldemort and his followers; they don't want to deal with the repercussions of accusing the Death Eaters of this specific act. Disgust curled his lip. Whatever this Auror had said, it had been a Death Eater responsible for fire and loss of property – but, thankfully, no loss of life.
James snorted. They probably taught new Aurors how to pretend Voldemort was not a threat.
"Knut for your thoughts?"
There was Dumbledore, standing beside him, wearing plum-colored robes. A pocket watch hung from a ring on his finger: it was whistling.
"I think he's going to get away with it," James growled. He jerked his elbow toward the Auror, who could not have been more of a disappointment. He snuck a glance over both shoulders. "You Know Who ordered this, I know he did. And that Auror is hardly going to do anything."
Dumbledore peered at him over half-moon glasses that caught the light. "Saying such words, casting such blame—"
"But it's true," James protested.
"—is a dangerous thing for anyone to do," Dumbledore finished calmly. "It may be that young Barty Crouch will weigh all the evidence and then strike."
"Unlikely," said James. Frustration fizzled in his veins. The more he stood here with it, the more he hated the implication that he and his friends were to blame for this. They would never.
"But not impossible," said Dumbledore. "His father is more a battering ram or hammer, falling heavily on those accused of standing for the Dark Arts. It could be he is biding his time."
"I don't think so," James said, flat and sure. Then, remembering who he was talking to, glanced at him, askance: "What do you think, though?"
Dumbledore stroked his beard. "I think you have excellent instincts and a willingness to say that which the Ministry refuses to."
"I – erm – thanks?" James said.
"It was a very good thing you've done tonight," said Dumbledore. "It took extraordinary instincts."
The way he was looking at him, James thought he might have a suspicion about his stag. He leapt into the silence, quickly, hoping to divert him: "It wasn't me with the extraordinary instincts," he said. "I'd barely understood someone was destroying potions in the storage room when Harry Peverell got off a spell. He was that fast."
"Hm," said Dumbledore.
"And Ginny wasn't much slower," said James.
"That is an interesting note," said Dumbledore, "and yet… they were not to leave Hogwarts grounds, by order of their godfather." He sighed heavily, then swung his watch; the tick-tock motion of it caught the light from the streetlamps in a way that dazzled. "It is fortunate they did not meet more trouble, but I would have been happier had they obeyed."
"I'm sure my dad feels that way every day of his life," said James. And well done of the Peverells for escaping. For a moment, the terror of the evening faded while he imagined them sneaking out from under Dumbledore's nose. He schooled his expression to be carefully blank.
"It is amusing from the outside, I understand," Dumbledore said heavily; James had not been nearly as subtle as he'd thought. "However, they are not of age, and their obedience is necessary, I expect. Did your father not expect you to obey him?"
"Oh, yes," said James, "he did. Still does. I would have been properly punished for leaving Hogwarts if he told me to stay." Fleamont was genial, but there were times when he was strict; and Merlin help him if James disobeyed his mother and Fleamont found out. "He'd have had me extracting bubotuber pus for many, many hours."
White brows swept upward. "An interesting punishment."
James shrugged. "Whatever unpleasant way I could help him extract potions ingredients was how he disciplined me."
"That is quite suitable," said Dumbledore.
The murmur of the crowd rose and swelled behind them, but the two fell into a small silence. James might have been sitting atop one of his father's scales, the large kind he had at the company; Dumbledore was content to remain quiet, weighing him for something. But instead of explaining what he was weighing him for, Dumbledore straightened fully. His pocket watch chimed: a shrill witch's voice emitted outward from it.
"Ah, that is my cue," said Dumbledore, straightening his wizard's hat. "The Minister wishes to meet with me. Thank you for your candor in describing this evening's events to me. They may not listen to me, but it is possible that I can convince them that this was an act of the Death Eaters."
There was no chance for James to reply; Dumbledore tipped him a nod, then strode away, leaving James both reassured and slightly confused.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
And then Lily was standing in front of him, cloak slightly askew, red hair tumbled over one shoulder. It was clear she had been through some sort of adventure that evening; once she was there, James could not bring himself to look away. It was the first time they'd been effectively alone together since before the pantomime.
"Are you all right?" They asked at exactly the same time.
"I'm fine, but what about you?" This was again said together.
James's laugh was slightly husky, due to his adventure. Lily's was low, but it was still a laugh. He searched her expression for censure: she could not have missed that he had turned into a great stag right in front of her eyes. Instead, she reached up to cup his face.
"Will you walk home with me?" he murmured.
"Back the way we came?" Lily asked.
He nodded, taking her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. It was not a friendly gesture, and both of them stared at their hands. Not waiting for her to pull away, he caught his father's eye: Fleamont stood arm in arm with Euphemia; both appeared quite windblown next to the unruffled Albus Dumbledore. James waved, then gestured behind him, toward the woods and the path that would lead them the long way to Potter Gardens. Fleamont nodded, then bent to whisper something to his wife.
They walked, the two of them, hand in hand for the first time. James could not squelch his growing excitement, even as they passed Sirius, who gaped at them, then openly started to laugh. Beside him, Lily sighed, but offered him a tiny little peek of a smile when he glanced down at her. She was, he realized, holding on to him as tightly as he was holding on to her.
This thought buoyed him through the first thirty yards of woods before the worry he'd felt all day returned to him, settling over his shoulders like a mantle. His footsteps slowed. There were lights in the trees, settled there by his mother; it lit the path enough to flicker on her pale face, seeping into her hair and making it shine.
"That," he forced himself to say, "was my secret."
She shook out her hair. "I can't say," she said finally, "that I was expecting the stag." Her fingers tightened around his and her brow drew together. "But why, James?"
"A friend of mine needed me," he said. "Listen, I—"
But her mouth was falling into an 'o'. "Is this about Remus? About his – furry little problem?"
James gaped at her. "What? But—"
"I've known – for a while, now," said Lily. "I'd heard a rumor."
A low growl started in his throat. "I know who you—"
"Yes, yes," she said. "But I didn't believe it, not until Remus confirmed it. He said you called it his 'furry little problem.'" Her eyes were hooded; he could not read what secrets the emerald carried. He could only be grateful she continued to hold his hand. "You became a stag to help him?"
James sighed. "If we – when I turn into a stag, I can run with him without any danger," he told her. "The stag's big enough to keep up. He says it helps; it isn't as lonely. And if he gets to running toward the village, I can block him."
"It must come in handy at other times," she said.
"It has," said James. Then, adding hastily, added: "But not for mischief, not really."
"Seems a bit flashy for mischief," said Lily, with a wry twist. "Your cloak seems to work well enough for that."
"It does," said James.
They were quiet for a moment. Noises surrounded them: the creatures who roamed the night were waking, shuffling about in the loam; something large lumbered about, its heavy footsteps leading away from them. Through the trees, James thought he might have seen the pearly figure of the Weeping Widower, bobbing toward the town, unaffected by the clustered trees. Lily tucked her hair behind her ear.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.
"About my stag?" he said. "Guess."
She huffed out a chuckle. "I wouldn't have made you go straight to Dumbledore," she offered.
He raised an eyebrow. "But would you have wanted to?" he asked. It came out with more gravity than he'd intended, but it was a fair question. Would she begrudge him his secret?
Again, she was quiet long enough for the sounds of the forest to intrude once more. Finally, she said, "A couple years ago – even a year ago – I might have done," she admitted. "It's always made me nervous, breaking rules, at least since I came to Hogwarts, if only because… you know, we're held to a different standard, Muggleborns, and we can't afford making many mistakes… and I used to think that not following the rules was a mistake."
"And now?" James asked.
"It's different now," she said. "The rules aren't just. Like – like, your dad's potions. What's the reason for not allowing Muggleborns more than a certain amount of potions? Nothing good!" Passion was stirring in her. He could see it in the hectic color rising on her cheeks. "Sometimes… sometimes you've got to break the rules, if only to create justice." She eyed him up and down. "And sometimes you need tools to help you with that…"
The hand not holding hers went over his heart. "Why, Lily, I'd hardly believe the words coming out of your mouth if I weren't watching them come out…"
She laughed. It was a wild sound. "That was a Death Eater," she said, with great intensity. "He was destroying potions meant for – for people like me. He destroyed their pox potions." She blew out a breath. "And people like him, they have power. I've known that for years. Real power. Political power. It's not just You-Know-Who, it's the people in charge. And honestly – I'm glad you've got something up your sleeve. Because, unless I'm missing my guess, once we're out of school, you're going to want to do something about it."
"I do," said James. His heart was thudding in his chest. "I – Lily, I want to fight."
"I know you do," she said fiercely. "And I'm damned grateful you've got something so – so magnificent… your stag, it'll protect you. But if you registered like you were supposed to… the Death Eaters would know." Swallowing hard, she reached up and stroked his jaw. "I'm not making any sense. But while I trust Dumbledore, I… understand why you don't want anyone to know. And I won't tell anyone, either—"
"I know that," James said. His nerves were jousting with one another now. An instinct had him bring their hands up. He pressed a kiss to one slim, pale finger. "You wouldn't ever betray me, would you?"
"Never," she whispered.
And then, when he could no longer keep himself from doing so, James closed the small distance between them, bringing his lips nearly to hers. For a moment, he let their breaths mingle, allowing her time to push him away. When she didn't, he kissed her, full on the mouth. Instead of pushing him away, Lily was flinging her arms around him, kissing him back so hard that his thoughts whirled and his head spun. A part of him was in a state of disbelief: the jousters in his stomach went still, dumbfounded. But another part of him knew to draw her closer, holding her gently.
Years, he thought. Years, and years, and years. That was how long he'd wanted this, Lily in his arms, lips pressed against each other, hearts beating together.
When they finally drew apart, they were both breathless.
"And here," said Lily, lips glistening, eyes shining, "I thought that was your secret."
"Was it a secret?" James laughed, feeling quite like he was flying.
"It was mine, anyway," she said, smirking.
James kissed her again, tasting her smirk and her laughter. "How long?" he asked, once they'd broken apart again.
Her hand brushed down his chest. The jousting nerves were long gone; in its place was a heat grown hotter with each moment she spent in his arms. "Months," she admitted. "Since at least the end of last year, and maybe even before that. I was just too… stubborn."
James wanted to know everything; he wanted to know every detail of why and how and when she fell for him. But he didn't want to spend time talking, not when she was all rosy and beautiful and looking at him a certain way. There would be time to talk later… soon they'd be back at Hogwarts: they'd have hours to talk, days to talk… hopefully even years to talk. Now, though, he brushed his fingers through the silky strands of her hair and kissed her once again.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
At the back of Potter Gardens was a simple space, designed around a stone-ringed firepit. At the moment, it was lit; flames crackled merrily. Smoke drifted toward the heavens, obscuring the stars. Five friends sat around it, laughing, plenty warm due to both charms and proximity to the fire.
James had one more reason to be warm: Lily Evans was nestled against him, body curved toward his, fitting just beneath his arm in a way that made him think that they had been made to just fit. It was not simply the external warmth of her body, though, that sent his thoughts drifting surely as the smoke. It was the unequivocal acceptance of his secret. There had not been a single word from her about him using his stag to make mischief – which, James had to admit, he had done. But tonight, he'd done it for good, and that was what Lily had focused on.
This felt nearly as good as her knuckles brushed up against his thigh.
"Tell me again what happened?" Peter said.
James sighed. Instead of answering, he squeezed Lily closer to him.
"Someone broke into St. Galina's," said Sirius. "We think they were using the pantomime as a distraction."
Their eyes met; it really was for the best that the details of what had happened were not shared with everyone. Peter looked overset enough as it was. A swift thought occurred to him: It was lucky it was Harry and Ginny Peverell who had followed Lily out of the pantomime… their reactions were much faster than Peter's, who might have become a liability.
Just as swiftly, guilt surged within him.
"And there it is," James muttered. "And nearly all the potions were lost."
"I remember all of that," said Peter, waving his hand, as though the loss of hundreds and hundreds of potions were no big deal.
"It was a loss, Peter," James said.
Peter looked over at him, watery blue eyes widening. "Oh – I didn't mean – it's not that—"
James waved it off. "No matter. But still. I bet the Ministry won't let Dad just replace it, even, he'll have to build it up with each paltry shipment they let him make." There was no need to advertise the fact that Fleamont shipped far more potions to Godric's Hollow than the Ministry approved of: It was enough for one day that the Peverells had skirted close enough to that particular secret to catch a glimpse. "It's just… it's going to be complicated. We'd best hope that this winter is free of illness; I mean, as much as it can be."
"Oh, I hope so!" Peter said, earnest. "I do hope so!"
"Me too," piped up Mary, from across the fire.
Sirius leaned forward, rolling his hand. "What did you want clarified?"
"Dumbledore himself really came to get the Peverells?"
"He did, yeah," said Sirius.
"He was the one who put out the fire," James put in. James had only just managed to drag the dryads into the forest before Dumbledore arrived; it was only with Harry's timely, unknowing intervention that had allowed James to keep his secret. That was the second time today, James realized, surprised.
"I have to tell you," said Sirius, "I'm glad I'm not one of the Peverells right now… he was very angry they'd left the school without telling him."
"Their godfather didn't seem too happy, either," James said. He'd not caught much of a glimpse of him.
"You met him?" Sirius asked, surprised.
"I saw him," said James, with a shake of his head. "He was standing there, in the shadows. I didn't get much of a glimpse, but he didn't look happy."
Beside him, Lily shifted, sending a wave of sensation up his leg. "I've seen him," murmured Lily.
"What?" asked Mary.
"When?" asked Peter.
"Remember when they got sick with elevenths?" Lily asked. "He came up the hospital ward, worried for them. He looks like you, Sirius. He's got the look of the Blacks, I mean; your family has definitely got a type—"
"—a nasty one," said Sirius, to general laughter. "I'd be curious to meet him."
"But," said Peter, "did Dumbledore give them detention? How angry was he?"
"I'm afraid he didn't expel Harry, if that's what you wanted," Sirius said, with a crooked grin.
"Well," Peter hedged. "I don't want him expelled, but he is a prat."
James caught Sirius's eye, and swiftly looked away. It was true that Harry had not taken to Peter at the start, and he had gotten better, rather dramatically so, in the last weeks. And today, when it had mattered, he'd helped them by deflecting the Ministry official, and had proven himself courageous. He squeezed Lily a little tighter. For someone who had been sheltered enough to experience elevenths, he had been awfully quick on the draw; it hadn't been Harry's fault the Death Eater got away… While James had been frozen, even though only for a moment, Harry had reacted.
"I wouldn't say that to his face, mate," Sirius said finally.
"And why's that?" asked Mary.
"He's quick," said James. Then, remembering, added: "And his sister's nearly as fast."
Peter pulled a face. "Well, I wasn't going to duel him," he muttered.
"If you were going to have us"—Sirius gestured to James—"do it, I don't think that would work, either."
This caused even more general laughter; even Peter joined in, though with reluctance, it seemed. James had a fleeting thought to tell him to relax, but it was at that moment that Lily reached up to hold his hand, linking her fingers with his. Either the laughter died away as though by severing hex, or James stopped hearing it. It had been a casual movement, sure, but there was a certain gravity in her eyes that drew him in, making him unable to look away, a new, stern sort of excitement filling him bit by bit. Their breaths mingled just before James, for the third time that night, pressed his lips to hers.
Faintly, dimly, he heard someone say: "And there they go."
"Give them a break. It's been years in the making."
James cupped her jaw in his hand, pulling her even closer, ignoring the chatter of the others.
"Well. If they're going to do that, I'm going to go look for a new frog… I hear some, I think, from over by the pond."
"I'll come with you!"
"Me, too!"
Lily's hands were in his hair, massaging his scalp, sending blissful little messages up and down his spine, going lower and lower with each pass. It was not long before he was hard, his entire body flush with pleasure and arousal. It was incredible, this, the tentative brush of her tongue along his. James could kiss her for hours, days, maybe even years, before he grew bored and wished to do something else. This day had not gone nearly as expected, and yet… damned if he could think of what he'd wished had gone differently.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Author's Note: Again, that ended up a lot longer than I expected. But I really enjoyed writing it: I haven't written such a lengthy story from James's perspective. In the next arc, we'll get back to Harry, of course, and his nascent feelings for Ginny. Please forgive any errors: I don't have a beta – I have a willing early reader, you know who you are, thank you for what you do - at the moment, and there comes a point when I just can't look at a chapter anymore before I wanna jab needles into my eyes, haha.