Hullo hullo lovelies!
FFN on a whole has been having issues since the beginning of the week, so I did post a chapter on Tuesday, but I don't know if you've all read it as of yet. I am pretty sure FFN solved the problem, and the site is fully functioning again, but if not, this should show up on the app and hopefully some of you will be able to read this chapter. THAT being said, I AM SO, SO, SO sorry.
WARNING. Graphic depictions of violence and a bit of gore occur in this chapter. I am dreadfully sorry, I am. If it helps any, the next chapter is FAR happier x
Please leave a review and let me know what you think x
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
For AEdmo13 and AnniexLove xo
Saturday, May 5th, 1979
Potter Manor
"The Muggle world is a bit of a mess at the moment," Lily commented errantly, staring at the front page of today's edition of the Daily Mail; a tawny brown owl had delivered it minutes ago. Its beak was sharp and keen to peck Hermione before she plied it with treats. "Their new Prime Minister—Margaret Thatcher—is going to have her work cut out for her."
Lily snorted gracelessly, amusement punctuating her tone as she spoke. "I wonder what it will be like when Minchum visits her for the first time. I can't imagine that conversation will be much fun."
Draco lifted his own eyes from the Prophet that he and Hermione were sharing across the table. "Why? Because he has the delightful task of informing her that not only is magic real, but the wizarding world is at war. No, I can't imagine how that conversation wouldn't go well." The sarcasm dripping from his voice was heavy on his tongue, adding leaden weight to his words.
James was seated to Lily's right, his glasses pushed back on top of his head. He was tiredly rubbing at his eyes, and he would sigh laboriously every few moments. Sirius was at the head of the table between the two couples, and he was the only one already tucking into breakfast; a full English to be exact.
Sirius cut up his pork sausage, brow drawn together in heady ponderation as he listened to his friends discuss today's news. "Remind me why we are still subscribed to all the various papers? We never find anything pleasant in their pages."
"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that, Padfoot. Elwood Selywn is betrothed to Lucretia Fawley as we all know, and their wedding is the event of the month, perhaps even the year," Draco said, his eyes scanning the article that spanned two pages towards the front of the Prophet. There was a shrill, faux giddiness to his tone that rang in his pack member's ears. Hermione was shaking her head, bemused, and rubbing a hand along the expanse of Draco's back. The witch was staring straight ahead of her; her eyes glossed over.
"Anyone who is anyone, will be there," James tacked on mockingly, the corners of his lips turning upwards. He was holding his forehead in his hands. Lily's stomach rumbled, crudely interrupting the moment.
Lily's blush washed downwards in one fell swoop from her hairline until the swell of her breasts; it disappeared beneath the plunging neckline of her front-tie, white crop top; it was bell-sleeved and they fell back from her wrists as she moved to prop her head up in her hands.
"I think—" Lily started, but was interrupted by a popping sound that burst and crackled like pop rocks across their eardrums. The three Potters all stiffened as they sensed the presence breach the wards; it was a familiar magical signature. Lily and Sirius froze as they too processed the magical signature. The golden threads that tied them all together flared with warmth in their chests, and they simultaneously took a small, greedy drink of air.
Sirius carefully placed his utensils beside his plate, jaw taut, staring down at the runny, orange yolk still clinging to his fork.
No one moved, and they breathed shallowly, as if afraid to make too much noise. As if causing a ruckus would frighten him away. None of them were ready to ask if it's truly him.
An eternity passed before they heard the distant footsteps echoing throughout the house. James, Hermione, Lily and Draco all expectantly turn towards the empty doorway with hope brimming across their features. Draco slipped his hand into Hermione's squeezing tightly as he forced himself to breathe evenly. It was frightening the power their pack had over him. The absence of one was crippling, but within moments of his return it was like the chasm in Draco's chest was filled once more. It was terrifying.
Then, he appeared, and it was as if he'd never left. Remus's frame took up most of the dining room doorway, and he stood on the threshold, looking frail yet strong and said, "wotcher. Breakfast smells lovely."
Remus's hair reached his shoulders and covered his ears, it'd lost its sheen and looked matted in places. He was wearing a simple black, knitted jumper, black trousers that cut off a few inches above his ankles, and worn, pointy, black leather shoes a size too big for him. Dark grey socks peeked out from the bottom of his trousers; there were several, tiny holes in them.
Remus shifted uncomfortably, pulling the sleeves over his hands until only the tips of his fingers showed. He's more gaunt than he was last time, the jumper is massive on his frame. Draco clenched his teeth. The only bright side was that he seemed uninjured. A bashful, anxious smile twitched on his face, and eventually he lowered his gaze.
The occupants of Potter Manor were all staring at him, wide-eyed, mouths agape. No one moved, nor dared to speak.
Well, Sirius dared. "Are you back for good this time?" Sirius was still backing the man, he hadn't budged an inch. He was blankly staring at the far side of the room. Sometimes Sirius could be blunt, and his words ran the risk of bordering on cruel. He was trying not to breed false hope within himself.
"I—I'm not going anywhere, Pads. I'm staying this time," Remus said, his voice gravelly and rough with emotion. He was fiddling with his sleeves, looking like a young boy who knew he was about to be scolded.
"You promise?"
"I promise," Remus replied. The very moment the words left his mouth, Sirius stood up sharply. Remus flinched backwards at the sudden movement, his lip pulling back slightly over his teeth and a guarded tension took hold of his body. Sirius stepped out from his seat, and whirled around. His lip was trembling, his eyes were brimming with unshed tears, and he took a cautious step in Remus's direction.
The wariness melted from Remus. Sirius crossed the room in long, quick strides and engulfed the man in a hug. The two men embraced each other desperately. Remus tucked his chin into Sirius's shoulder, gazing at all of them as tears raced down his cheeks.
The rest of the pack had risen from their seats. Lily sniffed, adjusted the waistband of her high-waisted black trousers and asked, "you hungry?"
A garbled, watery laugh stuttered past Remus's lips. Flecks of amber and gold burned brightly in his hazel eyes. "I'm starving."
"Welcome home, Moony," James said, striding over to his two best mates. The men parted long enough to draw him into the embrace with them.
"I'm home," Remus replied with a sad happiness that tugged at Draco's heartstrings. Remus was home. And just like that, all was right in the world.
Sunday, May 27th, 1979
Jarring flashes of colour, streams of magic flying in every direction imaginable. Someone was shouting—or perhaps it was multiple people—the sound of voices ratcheted around the open space. It was muddy. It was muddy, and the metallic taste of iron spread across his tongue with a fierce viscosity, like oil.
The clouds were dark grey. Any of the meagre sunlight left in the day cast a subdued, bluish grey tint to the world. The day was hastily coming to a close, and soon night would be upon them. If they lived long enough for that.
James screamed aloud, gruffly throwing up a Protego before casting a severing hex at the final masked Death Eater in his way. This shouldn't have happened, it wasn't meant to happen.
It was a simple reconnaissance mission. There were whisperings, hints that one of Voldemort's hideouts was in this area. A rural area in the middle of nowhere. James couldn't even recall where he was.
James, Mary and Emmeline were the ones chosen to go and check things out. Sirius was sent to another location where possible Death Eater activity was reported with Frank and Alice. Draco, Lily and Hermione were staying at home keeping Remus company.
James, Mary and Emmeline had strolled directly into an ambush. A nasty one that they hadn't even suspected. For all of James's Auror training, he hadn't seen it coming. He also suspected that his training was the only thing keeping him alive at the moment.
A shrill, inhuman scream echoed through the sparsely spaced, thin trees. Their branches were spindly, there were no leaves on them, and a murder of crows flew overhead. James's head was spinning. Two more death eaters appeared, enraged when they saw the lifeless husks of their comrades spread out around James. Some of them are dead, some of them are merely incapacitated; he hadn't a spare moment to think about it, because if he hesitated for a second he would be the one lying on the ground, eyes glassy and forever unseeing.
Another scream rang out, this one chilled him to the bone, and snapped nastily across his spine. The two Death Eaters were snapping spells across his shields, and sweat was running down his face, mixing with the grime. A drop lingered on the tip of his nose, and flew off as he conjured a fearsome whip of flames.
Controlling fiendfyre was a skill handed down throughout the generations by the Potters. Charlus had taught James when he was ten, a little later than he himself had been taught (he was seven, and it was questionable that he'd been so young, but Henry 'Harry' Potter was an interesting man). It'd been passed down for centuries, but it was meant only for the most desperate of situations, and James was desperate.
James cracked the whip of flames—it breathed and hissed, taking the shape of a dragon—down viciously in the Death Eater's direction, and the bold oranges reflected on their silver masks as they dodged out of the way. A couple loud cracks later, and they'd apparated away, retreating for now.
Panting heavily, James whispered the incantation to quell the flames, and they extinguished with a hissing sound. James brushed away the sweat gathered on his brow and blinked rapidly. His heart was in his throat, and he remembered the chilling scream. James almost stumbled over his feet as he turned to bolt in the direction he thought he'd heard it coming from.
His surroundings were dim, they blurred around him. James almost crashed into a few trees on his way, but he made his way into a small clearing, and the sight he was met with would live with him to the day he died; imprinted on his memory as if a hot iron had branded it there permanently.
A slew of Death Eaters' bodies were spread about. Some partially dismembered, the wounds still oozing crimson. Some were strewn in the mud weirdly, as if they'd fallen asleep standing and collapsed where they stood. In the middle of the odd ring was Mary and Emmeline.
James raced to their side, sliding into the mud; it thoroughly coated his jeans in seconds, and somehow got into his shoes.
Emmeline was peculiarly stiff, her hazel eyes glassy and staring up at the darkening sky. She was covered in mud, her turquoise hair was caked in it, and her body was strewn across Mary's lap.
Mary was humming nonsensically, her fingers slow and shaky as they stroked through Emmeline's dirty hair. As if the pair was sitting in a meadow of beautiful wildflowers. But, they weren't. Mary was paler than a ghost, and blood gushed from a scarily deep wound on the right side of her head. It covered most of her face and dripped down her chin, or slid down her neck and soaked straight through her honey brown jumper.
James tried to breathe, but he couldn't. He bowed his head, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, but was riddled with shock at the sight of Mary's mauled left leg; as if it had been ripped off right above the knee. Her bone jutted out from the shredded flesh, and a river of blood rushed from it.
"Mary…" James tried, but he failed to say anything further. He was numb, yet every second was overwhelming and his throat welded shut.
"Emmeline saved me at the end. One of them was going to finish me off…but he seemed to be taking his time," the words were small, a muted whisper. "But then she was hit from behind, and I somehow managed to…" She trailed off. She was fading, fast. The life choking out of her.
James reached into his pocket, pulling out every healing potion he had at his disposal. Mary smiled at him sadly, her eyes dull with resignation. James wasn't giving up yet. James poured potion after potion down her throat as the tears finally wretched out of him, crushing his heart and windpipe.
A slew of mud-covered empty phials lay around them. James had tossed them aside the moment he was done with them.
Mary's wounds stopped bleeding, but the damage was done, irreparable; he'd only delayed the inevitable. James shifted so that he was cradling Mary in his arms, the tears hot on his cheeks. "I am going to take you to St. Mungo's, so—"
Mary feebly put a finger to his lips, smiling wistfully. "Remember that favour you owe me?" Her lids were dragging down heavily, and she would start every few seconds and they would fly open, as if she was fighting to stay awake. She was cooling to the touch, and James attempted to rub some warmth into her. "You remember? For the Slytherin Common Room password?"
"Yes, I remember, Mary. But, you shouldn't be talking, you should save your strength. I'm going to get you help, and it's going to be okay. You're going to be okay."
Mary ignored him. "Look after Peter and Marlene. And live your life, James. Don't grieve for too long after I die, be happy that I lived such a wonderful life." James stroked her auburn hair that was twisted with mud, and nodded at everything she said whilst choking back sobs. He'd had to strain his ears to hear her words; they were so fragile and tiny, breathy and barely there.
"Remember the good bits. Think you can do that for me?"
"Anything. Of course." James held her tighter, sniffling as she smiled and went still. She'd used her last breaths to make sure that they would be alright with her gone. The last bit of life drained from her, and Mary's eyes were fixed on the dark clouds, and the oppressively dark sky. A frigid drop of water hit the top of his head, and without warning, the heavens opened and poured.
James took Mary and Emmeline's bodies to Order Headquarters and with numbed lips and trembling hands he sent Moody a Patronus to let him know that the girls were there. He wasn't sure where else to take them, but he couldn't leave them in the middle of the forest to rot.
James carefully laid the two girls down side-by-side, closed their eyes and folded their hands on top of their abdomens. The rain had washed away some of the blood and grime, but some of the mud lingered. James watched it dry, unable to do anything else, until the telltale crack of apparition sounded from the opposite corner of the room.
Just shy of a year ago, they had gathered in this room—all bursting with hope and naïve ideology—and sworn an oath to the Order of the Phoenix. Three of them had died since: Dorcas, Emmeline, and Mary.
Tears clung to his lashes as he tenderly stroked Mary's cold cheek, brushing the hair away from her face. The tiny freckles across her nose stood out drastically against her pale skin. He couldn't bring himself to look at Emmeline. Wrapping his head around so much loss all at once would surely break him.
"Potter," Moody's gruff voice said from behind him. James's didn't acknowledge his presence, or that he'd addressed him. He was underwater; floating. Moody's next words warbled and wobbled in the air, and James couldn't decipher them.
Moody put a hand on James's shoulder, and rigidity shot through him, and James's hand was on his wand in his thigh holster immediately. "Potter," Moody tried again.
"I couldn't…" James couldn't find the words.
"I know, Potter." Moody replied, his voice was far softer and kinder than James had ever heard it. "You've got a few nasty cuts yourself. You should go home, get some rest…and take the next week off."
James cautiously peered at Moody, his features cast in solemn shadows by the meagre light in the room; his eyes were startlingly blue, too blue to be real, and James found exiguous comfort in them.
"Go home, lad," Moody urged, squeezing James's shoulder; some of the warmth from his palm permeated through James's jumper. It scorched against his chilled skin.
And he did. James left the girls in Moody's care: he would make sure their parents were informed, and he would make all the arrangements for them to be put to rest properly.
James landed shoddily in the middle of the Foyer of Potter Manor, his ankle twisting and crumpling beneath him. He collapsed onto the hardwoods, and the impact rattled him, causing his teeth to clink together painfully and he bit the inside of his cheek; the metallic taste swirled around his mouth.
The sudden brightness in the room caused James to wince and he raised an arm over his eyes. Only to spot the dried mud and blood mixed onto his fair skin. He stared at it for an eon.
"James?"
James's heart stopped. Peter. It was Peter. James's hand dropped onto the hardwood floor and he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Peter was standing at the entrance to the corridor which led to the kitchens, Sun Room, the library, Dorea and Charlus's previous bedroom (and several guest rooms), and most of the living areas.
"Where is she?" Peter asked, his voice oddly even.
"Peter—"
"You were meant to be back hours ago. WHERE IS SHE?" Peter blustered, his voice cracking and breaking in the middle of his thunderous question. He knew, he must from the grievous look on James's face, the severe sorrow glistening in his hazel eyes.
"Peter—"
"Don't." Peter commanded, a finger pointing in warning at James. He stumbled into the room, clutching his chest and tears were silently marching down his cheeks. He fell to his knees a few feet away from James.
"You were meant to keep her safe," Peter blubbered, crumbling inwards. His hands grasped desperately at the hardwoods, his nails scratching against them and making a horrid noise.
James tried to swallow, but his throat was full of cotton and breathing was getting increasingly harder with each second that passed.
Peter broke apart into fine, jagged pieces. His cries rebounded cruelly throughout the Foyer.
"I'm sorry," James said, but the words didn't mean anything in the face of Peter's grief. There were no more words that came to mind, no soothing gestures. The last thing Peter probably wanted was for James to touch him right now. James was rooted to the spot, his ankle throbbing painfully, his other wounds screaming and finally making him aware of their existence. His pain was nothing compared to Peter's. The man was rocking back and forth as he unravelled at the seams.
The commotion must have grabbed the other's attention, because they all cautiously came down the corridor, bunched together: Hermione led the charge, followed by Lily, Sirius, Draco and Remus. Mipsy was clinging to Draco's pant leg.
"What happened?" Hermione breathed, her hazel eyes panicked as she noted the state of the two men. Concern punctuated her features as she examined James's form, but he shook his head. Hermione's frown deepened.
The witch crept over to Peter, at the last moment she stepped over to his left side so as to not assault him from behind. She knelt beside the man, and she drew him upwards into a hug. Peter fell into her, his face buried in her chest. He was grasping at her, trying to find something solid and concrete to anchor himself to. Hermione cradled him like a babe.
"What happened?" Hermione asked again; quieter this time.
"Emmeline…Mary…" James tried. Hermione's head turned sharply towards him, horror threaded through her features. Their pack members entered the room, tiptoeing over to the trio. Draco and Lily went to James whilst Remus and Sirius crouched beside Hermione and Peter.
Draco began to examine James's wounds, and hissed when he saw how swollen it was, and the angry shades of red and purple his ankle was turning.
"No," Hermione gasped—clutching Peter tighter—and she pressed a kiss to his hairline. Hermione was the only thing keeping him chained to this plane.
It was simply meant to be a low-risk mission, and they would all come back to the Manor for supper when it was finished. It wasn't meant to have ended like this, but sometimes the world is cruel and unfair in spite of all the beauty it holds.
I am truly sorry for what I've done x