One
"Tell it again!" he insists.
His father, the gentle, affable man that he is, smiles indulgently and opens the book again. He reads slowly, his voice hushed as he tells the story, creating a vision of a world his son can believe in.
He tells him stories of the righteous struggle for justice. Of dark wizards and scary monsters. Stories of men who walk into battle with their heads held high and emerge as heroes. He tells stories of good prevailing over evil, of kind men triumphing, and of sinister forces retreating.
His son is enthralled.
...
Two
The shop is packed. There are people huddled around each of the display tables and standing against each of the bookshelves.
"Scuse me," he says, sliding by a mother and her teenage daughter.
"Terribly sorry," he tries to push past a portly gentleman standing by a bookshelf.
"Good grief boy. Just wait until he's finished speaking, would you?" the man says, turning to face him irritably.
The woman behind him shushes them.
He lets out a sharp breath, realizing he has no hope of reaching the back of the shop. He'll have to wait to get his textbooks.
He reluctantly turns his attention to the young wizard holding court at the back of the store. He is tall, standing on a small stool, speaking in a clear, confident voice.
"The wizarding society we know and love is disappearing. Our very way of life is under siege," he proclaims, his deep blue robes shimmering as he scans the room.
There is a scatter of whispers. A cough. The man in front of him shifts his weight, leaning up against the shelf.
He continues. "It is not simply the number of non-magical folk that is troubling… although we have all seen those numbers. It is also their persistent presence in the upper echelons of our institutions."
The wizard pauses. James looks around bewildered, searching the crowd for signs of horror, disgust.
The people around him are nodding in agreement.
"At the rate at which we are going, we are going to see the complete and utter degradation of wizarding society by those who infiltrate it. We are in the midst of a pure-blood genocide."
There are several gasps. Whispers break out around the room.
James turns to leave, struggling to push past people. As he reaches the entrance, he spots the wizened old clerk leaning against the front counter.
The old man's mouth is set in a hard line.
"And so it begins."
...
Three
He is impatient. He is straddling two worlds, and he feels Hogwarts fading behind him. The Order beckons.
He is ready to be a part of something bigger than himself. He is itching to fight.
He imagines himself and Lily. The dream team. Standing back to back, firing off curses, kissing each other between battles.
He imagines her red hair flying back as she spins, slashing her wand.
He imagines them twirling, and fighting, and triumphing. And he imagines them coming home, falling together, kissing until they are breathless.
They will be beautiful.
...
Four
"James, this is something you need to think about seriously." She hands him a dish, a drop of water sliding down her wrist.
"I have thought about it! How are we even having this conversation?"
"I have seen this before. I know what happens. You don't know what you're signing up for." She stops washing the dish and looks up at him.
"I -"
"Merlin, James, you're still a child."
He puts down the plate with more force than he had intended.
"I am not."
He swallows. "And I think you know that. I know what's happening out there. How can I not fight?"
She turns away from him, wiping her hands on a damp towel.
"Okay."
...
Five
His father is already fighting. He is tired and afraid, but firm in his resolve and steadfast in his convictions. He knows his duty.
The letters he sends to Hogwarts get shorter and shorter. The war is hard on him, and he is too old to pretend otherwise, even for the benefit of his son.
James looks at his friends, lying about in the Gryffindor common room. They are goofy. At ease. Happy.
This war is going to change them all.
...
Six
"Aren't you scared?"
She is lying across the couch, head rested in his lap.
"No." He says it with conviction he doesn't entirely feel.
"Oh."
"James?"
"Yeah," he looks down at her, her skin glowing in the firelight.
"I'm scared."
Her eyes are serious, steady.
He lets out a breath.
"Me too."
...
Seven
The rope hangs down into the center of the room. It is looped around her ankles, stained with her blood.
She is hanging by her feet from the ceiling, head thrown back like her neck has been snapped.
He gags when he sees her. He cannot breathe. He cannot think. It is Sirius who picks her up, while Peter guides him out of the dungeon.
He carries her home. He is afraid he will break her. He undresses her, tears obscuring his vision. His hands trace over the scars that mark her arms and legs, the burns that cover her feet.
His fingers slip into the indentations between her ribs, the delicate gullies carved out by weeks of hunger.
I'm sorry, he whispers. I'm sorry.
She wakes up shaking, and he holds her. He smooths down her hair, running his hand up and down her arm.
They don't say anything.
...
Eight
When he closes his eyes he sees blood splattered across stone walls. He sees Lily, her legs bent at impossible angles, red rivers trickling down her pale neck.
When he closes his eyes, he sees Gideon's mangled corpse. He sees the bloodied dress of the Muggle girl they discarded in a damp alleyway like a raggedy doll.
He sees destruction. Debris. Death.
He knows now that there is no justice in war.
He knows there is nothing heroic about fighting. There is no romance in justice. There is no satisfaction in victory.
He knows that brutality is not reserved for monsters in far-off places, that it lives in the kids he grew up with.
He knows there is only loss.
...
Fin.