Chapter 16: Something's Lost But Something's Gained
after
The twenty-seventh dawned cool, but bright and breezy, an effortlessly blue sky studded with a few clouds—perfect quidditch weather. Not that James was in much of a state for the game currently; his mum still looked panicked if he moved at anything more than a sedate stroll. But at least it was good weather for a birthday party.
His parents had been insistent that, after the rather dramatic end to term and the prolonged trauma of his time in hospital, he should have as many people round as he liked. Given his still-recovering state, he wasn't exactly up to a full-on rager of a party—not that he thought that was what his parents had had in mind, anyway, but they were nothing if not indulgent, and he was turning seventeen, a prime event in a young person's life. If he'd been in any fit state, things could have got rather messy.
Sirius, of course, was disappointed at the lack of firewhiskey-related plans, but was holding up manfully given the circumstances. Even he'd had to admit that getting trollied and larking around was not worth the possibility of James ending up back in St Mungo's.
And so invitations had been extended to all the sixth year Gryffindors, as well as his teammates, and, of course, Cadence. A cake the size of a small cottage had been prepared—chocolate, his favourite—as well as a huge buffet that would probably have fed all the residents of Malmsmead as well as the party attendees. Basically, no expense had been spared, and so he supposed he should try not to look like a miserable sod the entire day.
It wasn't that he wasn't looking forward to seeing his friends—it had been weeks now since he'd seen anyone but Sirius, his parents or the Healers at the hospital. He just felt like part of him was still damaged, still missing, and although things didn't feel as dark as they did when he was in hospital, he still wasn't back to his usual, ebullient self. Having people here would only draw attention to that fact, when all he wanted to do was hide it away.
He wasn't even sure how many people would actually come. Remus and Pete were guaranteed—loyal to a fault, those two—but quite a few of his teammates were either staying at Hogwarts, or being locked up securely in their own homes after the recent attack at school. He supposed it wasn't much of a shock to find that parents were feeling extra protective, lately.
Then there was the issue of Cadence and Lily. Or, not an issue, as he insisted to Sirius, but something which merely provoked thought. Evans' attendance wasn't secure, anyway, given her mum's declining health. He would completely understand if she'd rather stay at home, and not just because it would give him a bit more time to get his head around everything.
As for Cadence…she had written to him dozens of times by now, and he had sent a few, short replies. It wasn't that he was avoiding her, necessarily: he just didn't know what to say. Her missives had been emotional, pouring out her heart onto the parchment as she thanked him for "saving her life"—a sentiment he found uncomfortable at best. And what was it that made him so uncomfortable? Was it the implication that, because he had "saved her", that proved his love for her?
And if that was the case…what did it say about his feelings for Lily?
No wonder he had a constant headache.
"James!" His mother's voice filtered through from downstairs, shades of anxiety there that had been in her tone ever since the hospital. She couldn't seem to shake the worry. "Hurry up, dear, your friends will be here soon!"
With one last look out the window, he heaved a sigh, and heaved himself up, ready to try to face the day. He was seventeen now, after all. He could be a man about this.
Probably.
before
Madam Pomfrey let Sirius leave the hospital wing two days after the attack, dosed up to the eyeballs on blood replenishing potion and some wonderful painkilling charms, and under normal circumstances, he'd have been relieved to get out. He'd never been one to enjoy his time in the infirmary—he found it too hard to lie still and be a good patient, to sit back and let things mend and knit back together. No, he'd always preferred motion, of any variety.
That was before his best friend ended up in St Mungo's. That was before Remus publicly committed himself to Owain bloody Ollerton. That was before he'd felt like this.
It was a familiar feeling, in many ways: that overwhelming sense of control slipping through his fingers; the worry and fear that sat like a weight on his windpipe; the pain, relentless, like waves, of knowing, now.
Knowing he wasn't good enough.
Knowing that he had no one to blame for this feeling but himself.
He couldn't look Remus in the eye, not that he was certain his friend was trying to catch his gaze, anyway. They edged around each other, quiet and uncertain, whilst poor Pete tried to work out just what was going on. If Sirius had known the answer to that, he would have happily shared it. But there were no real answers—just more bloody questions.
And James… James was a natural leader, the glue that brought together their disparate parts—without him, they were floundering. Aimless.
Was it melodramatic, to think himself half-complete without James there? That without his, to be honest, better half, he was just a wasting thing, nothing that anyone could have any interest in. He'd never been so worried for someone's health before, never had this type of sensation that an axe hung just above their collective necks, waiting to fall. He knew James was alive, but alive wasn't always all it was cracked up to be, was it? Not when he apparently couldn't move from his bed without bleeding all over the place, collapsing in a way that James—sporty, vigorous James, someone in better physical shape than almost everyone in their year—should not have been capable of. And this, the shower of cursed glass, was something no one seemed to know what to do about, not when James had been the most severely afflicted by it. It was far beyond what even the worst injury back in the infirmary had been. When the experts in St Mungo's were taking a "let's wait and hope" approach to treatment, he knew it had to be bad news.
James, bleeding. Remus, avoiding. And Sirius, trying to stay afloat.
Because the truth of it was that it felt rather like drowning, like the air around him had shifted to something toxic, and the only way out—the only way he knew, the only thing he'd relied on, lately—was old habits. It was a good thing they kept such a steady supply of firewhiskey in their dorm, in case of an "emergency" (an unplanned party type of emergency), because at least it meant that he hadn't had to be sober since he got out of the hospital wing.
It was with a slight buzz in his veins, and a cigarette clutched in his hand, that Mary found him. 'Found' was being generous perhaps, given that he was where they always smoked together—hardly a masterful hiding place. But for him to have slipped out on his own was unusual, these days.
She sat down with a thump, taking the cigarette from his fingers for a quick drag of her own, aiming the smoke thoughtfully away from him. He watched her, noting the pallor of her skin, the dark shadows under her eyes. She had been in the Great Hall too, when the attack happened. She had already told him that she'd watched Charlie Swift walk past, and felt a familiar tug of something inside her—an understanding, perhaps, of another person under the imperius, something she herself had been the victim of last year, although thankfully with only one person damaged from the experience: herself.
Mary hardly talked about it, at least not to him—he had to hope that she had talked to her dorm mates about it at the time. The memory of her, shaking, pale, in the middle of the courtyard as she came back to herself was something that would stay with him forever.
"You alright?" he asked, which felt a daft question: she clearly wasn't.
The echoes of a smile lifted her lips, something barely reassuring, and she shrugged. "It's…" A pause, as she gathered her thoughts. "Others have it worse off than me."
He frowned. "That's bullshit, Mac," he pointed out. "Everyone's entitled to feel how they feel."
She sighed, taking the cigarette again: another pull, and the drift of smoke. "George thinks I'm overreacting."
Sirius bit back a laugh, something that would have been inevitably bitter. "What a prick."
Mary raised an eyebrow. "He's my boyfriend."
"Doesn't mean he can say prickish things." Sirius took the cigarette back, drawing out one last puff before it burned too low. "Means he should be extra un-prickish, surely, if I'm to understand the whole being-a-boyfriend situation."
She shrugged, staring down at the grass at their feet. "I don't think he remembers what happened, last year," she told him. "He just thinks I'm…"
Her pause was telling, and he sat forward, pre-emptively annoyed. "Thinks you're what?"
She met his gaze. "Thinks I'm making it about myself."
A pause of his own, and then he stood up. "Good, then," he said, dropping the cigarette butt and vanishing it from the ground. "I've been wanting to punch someone."
She grabbed his arm, using it as leverage to pull herself up, too, as well as stop him in his tracks. "Don't," she told him. "You can't just go round punching people, Sirius."
"That's not true," he replied, his voice bitingly cheerful, something that probably betrayed far more of his mood than his words ever could. "And it would be very satisfying."
Mary moved to block his path, a hand on each of his arms, now, and a stern look in her eyes. "What's with the aggression, Black?" she asked. "Surely you don't care that much about my boyfriend—"
"Soon to be ex, I should hope," he interjected sourly.
"About my soon to be ex-boyfriend saying some unhelpful things." She frowned, studying his face. "Has something else happened? You've been avoiding me since you got out of the infirmary."
Because she was too fucking perceptive for her own good. If he wanted to be read like an open book, he'd ask for it. "What, you mean other than my best mate being in Mungo's bleeding like a fountain?"
A slight softening to her expression, but she didn't release him from her grip. "Other than that, yes."
They stared at each other for a long minute, and he had to give her credit—she was as stubborn as he was. No wonder they got on so well. "Remus is officially Ollerton's boyfriend," he said at last, aiming for nonchalance and failing, miserably. "Make sure you send him your congratulations."
"Oh, Sirius," she sighed, her face falling, and she let go only to haul him into a hug. "I'm sorry."
"It doesn't matter—"
"It's okay that it does," she told him, her head tucked in under his chin. "You can tell me. I won't say anything."
He knew she wouldn't. At this point, he trusted her more than most people. It was different, talking to James about stuff like this: his loyalty was split, understandably, between Sirius and Remus. And he lived in a dorm with them both—a recipe for awkwardness if ever there was one.
No. He knew that Mary would listen. She wouldn't judge him. And she wouldn't say a word to anyone else.
"I hate feeling like this," he murmured, and was surprised to find his voice was taut, threatening emotion where he thought he had none left. "I fucking hate it, and it's all my own fault, and I just want to—"
He cut himself off, and she gave him a gentle squeeze, quiet for a moment longer. "Want to what?" she asked, pulling back a little to meet his gaze. "What will help, Sirius?"
He tried to smile, but, judging from the look on her face, it was maybe the saddest smile known to wizardkind. "I need to feel something else," he said, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. "Anything else."
She bit her lip, and nodded slowly. "Me too," she said, and her voice was quieter now. "So maybe we can help each other."
after
It had only been a few minutes since his beckoning, but by the time James got downstairs, he found a kitchen full of people. His father at the sink, overseeing the dishes as they washed themselves ("I don't always trust them not to get distracted," he was fond of saying); his mother fussing over Remus, who flushed pink at the attention; Sirius, speaking in low tones with Peter and Mary, the former of whom was at least partially distracted by a nearby tower of chocolate profiteroles. And there, in the middle, was Lily.
She looked uncomfortable, a sight he wasn't used to seeing, an expression that only intensified when Euphemia transferred her fussing from Remus to Lily. She caught sight of James over his mother's shoulder and gave him a small, wry smile before focusing back on his mum. "It's lovely to meet you too, Mrs Potter," she was saying. "Thanks so much for inviting me."
"Now there are some lovely manners," Euphemia beamed, giving Lily a quick hug.
"I can't help but feel that was aimed at me," Sirius noted, which earned him a laugh and a glare.
"And you must call me Euphemia," his mother continued, now that she had dealt Sirius her silent response. "We've heard so much about you."
"Mum—" James intervened, a note of desperation in his voice.
"Yes, well, let's leave the young people to enjoy themselves, shall we?" Fleamont suggested; thank Merlin for his father's generous soul. He didn't seem to get quite so much pleasure out of ritual humiliation as his wife did. "We'll be in the study if you need us, Jamie."
His parents trooped out, and Mary's face was lit up in undisguised delight. "Oh, I think we'll be going back to them later, don't you?" she said. "I'm dying to hear what Jamie's been saying about us all."
James couldn't help but notice the way Remus' expression shifted at Mary's voice, barely perceptible to anyone who didn't know him better. It was like something snapped shut in his eyes, and James wondered what else he had missed in his time away from school.
For now, though, a distraction. "What do we all want to do?" he asked.
"Buffet's good," Pete said—or, it sounded like he said, his mouth being full of choux pastry and cream.
"We're not just going to eat all day," Sirius rolled his eyes. "That's no way to see in seventeen."
"What can we do?" Mary asked. "No offence, Potter, but you look a bit like a strong breeze might knock you over."
"I'm not sure how I can not take offence at that," he considered.
"How about some games?" Lily suggested. "Exploding Snap tournament? Sitting down, but with explosions, surely everyone wins."
"I like the way you think, Evans," Sirius agreed, slinging his arm round her shoulder. "Come with me, fair maiden, and we will trounce the bloody lot of them."
Mary and Pete made to follow the pair, and James hung back to catch Remus' eye. "What's on with—"
"Nothing," Remus replied, too quickly to be believable, which he seemed to notice, too, because he sighed, and added, "Let's worry about that later."
James raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Alright," he agreed. "Later."
before
The hospital was too quiet.
Quiet had never been something that sat well with James; he found too much of it to be unsettling, as if something awful was lurking round the corner ready to leap out and shatter the silence.
Shatter—seemed an appropriate word for his current situation.
He supposed that, at least, the awful thing had already happened—how much worse could things really get? That was a question that kept weaving its way through his head, relentless and never-ending, and a question that he both did and really did not want the answer to.
The quiet just gave the question more opportunities to circulate; nothing but the question, and the soft beeping of the various spells the Healers had set up to monitor him. The door deadened any other noise, so that he might as well have been the only room for miles, rather than where he knew he really was: in a huge, busy building in the middle of London.
His 'few days of observation' had turned into a week and counting, and no end in sight. Two days after the attack, the Healers had encouraged him to get out of bed and go for a walk—he'd made it halfway across the room before his legs had crumpled like paper beneath him. His mum had let out a horrible, horrified noise: the worst of the wounds had reopened, blood pulsing lazily down his shoulder, blossoming across the hospital-issued mint green pyjamas.
He'd pay good money to never have to hear his mother sound so distressed again.
Evidently, the Healers hadn't expected the cuts to reopen—none of the patients at Hogwarts had experienced that problem, but, as his father put it, "none of them sacrificed themselves for their girlfriend", which James thought was probably a bit unfair on the other students who'd been in the Great Hall that evening, as well as being just a touch inaccurate.
He hadn't just been sacrificing himself for his girlfriend.
But that was beside the point. Back to bed he went, more healing spells cast, potions tipped down his throat with alarming speed, and all talk of getting back to Hogwarts was put aside. Something that did not help his mood: in fact, his parents talking about bringing his friends along for a visit—something that was ostensibly a good thing—just made him feel even more sour, because it signalled very clearly that he wasn't going to be back at school any time soon.
His mood was another thing troubling the Healers, troubling his parents. The blood they could understand—he'd had a lot of cuts, some worse than others, and cursed wounds could be slow to heal. But one day, when he was pretending to be asleep, he'd heard a murmured conversation between his mum and dad and the principal Healer on his team.
"He's not normally like this," his mother had said, a seam of worry running through her voice as clear as day. "I've never seen him so, so—sullen, or withdrawn, or angry."
"It's not like him," his father had agreed, and James had felt a pang of sadness at hearing his dad try so hard to sound steady, trying to keep his wife steady, too. "Not at all like him."
"It's possible the dark magic inherent in the wounds is having an effect on his personality, too," Healer Robbins had replied. "As the wounds heal, that should improve. We will certainly keep a close eye on it."
He had heard his mother's heavy sigh, knew all too well what it meant: that she felt let down by the reply she'd been given. He had known, deep in his heart, that she would worry and fret and obsess over it all until something changed, and a small part of him felt a wave of guilt so intense it could have drowned him.
But a large part—the part that was sullen, that was withdrawn, that was angry—just wanted them to shut up and go away. Give him some peace in this unending quiet.
Because that was how it felt: an unending, churning noisy silence rattling around inside him; frustration and sourness and something that left an unpleasant taste behind in his mouth. And he was starting to wonder if it was anything to do with the dark magic at all, and if it wasn't just him, the real him, pushing its way to the fore.
The sound of the door dragged him from these strange, circular thoughts, although he didn't immediately open his eyes to look like he would have done even a week ago. Something compelled him to lie there a while longer, eyes tightly closed—it was a small amount of power, of control, that he still had even here in the middle of a hospital, bleeding from open wounds.
A shuffling of a chair against the tiled floor, and a soft sigh as whoever it was sat down. Without looking, he sensed it was his mum: there was something about the way she sighed that he had always been intimately familiar with. He felt a twinge, then, something like guilt flashing through him as he thought about how worried she was—how old they both were—how little they needed the stress of him being there, let alone him being there and acting like a truculent prat during every waking moment.
That was what forced his eyes open, and he saw he was right; Euphemia was sitting in a chair next to his bed, a worn paperback book clutched in her hands that she didn't seem able to focus on at all. He squinted at the cover—Jane Eyre; he shouldn't have been surprised, it was his mum's favourite—and something about that minute movement brought her gaze up, away from the pages and towards him.
"Jamie," she murmured, with a small, tired smile. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"
Part of him wanted, dearly, to respond in the same gentle tone, to do whatever he could to smooth down the worry at her brow. He was aware of that need, there, just under the surface—the classic James instincts. But whatever dark magic still eddying through his veins seemed to cast too large a shadow, hefted too much influence, and there wasn't anything he could do to stop himself from shrugging, a cold expression on his face as he replied, "the same."
He watched her throat bob as she swallowed, watched her neatly-painted nails—a dark, wine-red—tap a brief rhythm on the cover of her book, now sitting closed in her lap. "Healer Robbins will be back soon for an update," she said. "And your father has just nipped home to get you a few things."
"Great," he said, voice heavy and wooden.
She seemed to be working hard to ignore his tone. "I've also spoken with Professor Dumbledore, about Sirius and Cadence being allowed to visit. He said he's happy for—"
"Not Cadence," James interrupted, and wasn't sure why. The words had just come out, before he could really think about them. "Just...Sirius, and Remus and Pete, if they can."
Euphemia frowned slightly, pursing her lips a moment. "That will be too many people—the hospital only wants two visitors at a time," she explained. "I thought you'd want to see your girlfriend…"
He sighed, and closed his eyes. "Don't particularly want to see anyone," he muttered.
A long pause, and he felt that frustration again, bubbling away inside him. He didn't even know what he was so angry about—he just knew he was, that there was nowhere for the anger to go but out, and at the moment, he didn't care how it happened. Couldn't seem to care. "Alright," his mum said eventually. "Just Sirius, then."
His eyes stayed closed, and a few minutes later, a shuffling sound again, a few small footsteps drawing nearer; and then, a hand gently moving across his forehead, brushing his hair back in an achingly familiar gesture, before his mother leaned down to dot a soft kiss there. "Get some rest, love," she murmured. "I'll be right here."
It hurt. He fell asleep, that same hurt powering every beat of his heart, pulsing through his entire body, and the last thing he remembered thinking before he drifted off was, surely it shouldn't hurt this much.
after
A few hours had been passed amiably enough, their group growing in numbers with Marlene, Dorcas and Cadence arriving together. Exploding Snap turned to Gobstones turned to a convoluted card game of Pete's own invention that everyone was too polite to admit they didn't quite understand. It was during the carnage of round two—"round two? when the fuck did round one end?" Sirius had demanded—that James used the opportunity to slip out and get some fresh air.
Cadence had greeted him effusively, leaning in for a kiss which he had—subtly, he hoped—diverted to his cheek under the pretence of reaching for his drink. And then, her quiet, confused but sweet presence across the table from him had just compounded his sense of guilt, and guilt over he didn't know what. What was he so ashamed about? Why couldn't he just enjoy the company of his objectively beautiful girlfriend, on his seventeenth birthday, surrounded by his friends?
Hence the need for a breather. He didn't think anyone had noticed his exit, too caught up in trying to understand how the next round of the game would work, although it was only a few minutes of quiet on the kitchen step before he heard soft footsteps behind him, and he sighed, steeling himself for Cadence's gentle concern.
"You have a river at the bottom of your garden."
He looked up, surprised to find Lily there instead, lowering herself to sit on the step next to him. She was gazing around the grounds, apparently determined to not yet meet his eye. "Erm, yeah," he agreed. "It's not ours, though."
"Christ, imagine being so rich you owned a river," she remarked, with a small, playful smile.
"I think it'd be a logistical nightmare, actually," he considered, turning his gaze to the garden, too.
"Probably," she allowed.
Silence fell, apart from the familiar sound of birdsong in the apple trees, and the sound of the river meandering past. "Thanks for coming," he said at last, and they finally looked at each other. "I know being away from home isn't easy at the moment."
An expression halfway between a smile and a grimace crossed her face. "Is it horrible if I say it's easier being here?" she asked.
"Not horrible," he promised. "Understandable."
She nodded, drawing in a deep breath, seeming to consider his words, and her own. "It's hard, being there. She's…dying a little more, every day." It was a bit painful, to see the sad sort of acceptance on her face. No longer devastated: just, resigned. "My dad insisted I come, to be honest. Said it'd be good for me."
"I'm glad he did," he said. "Sorry for…bringing it all up again."
She smiled, a little more convincingly, and gently bumped her shoulder against his. "As if it isn't always there in the back of my mind anyway," she replied. "Don't worry about it." She paused, giving him an appraising look. "How are you, anyway? Not like you to duck out of your own birthday celebrations."
He nodded in acknowledgement. "I'm…getting there," he replied, with some caution. "Wherever 'there' is."
"Still in pain?" she wondered.
"A bit," he admitted, gesturing loosely to his shoulder. "Not bleeding like a faucet anymore, though, which the Healers consider good progress."
"I'd think we all consider that good progress," she pointed out. He watched as she let her gaze drift, following the path of a cloud across the sky. "I never got the chance to say—"
"Fuck, no," he interrupted quickly, something like panic in his voice. "You don't have to—"
"I do," she interrupted in turn, knotting her hands in her lap. "God only knows what would've happened if you hadn't…" She trailed off, and glanced his way again. "Been stupidly heroic."
He flinched. "Everyone keeps using that word," he said. "But it's not heroism, is it? It's just…the decent thing to do."
"Well, thank you," she replied, and he wondered at the softness of her gaze in that moment. At the way her green eyes seemed to read more of him than he was willing to be read. "For being so decent."
He held her gaze for a long few seconds, before finding he had to look away—he wasn't sure what he would say or do if he didn't. "My mum would prefer I stopped being so decent," he told her, trying for lightness in his tone; he knew she could probably find the bald truth there, though. "She's not up to another St Mungo's stint, I think."
"She's not alone in that," Lily replied, so quietly that he almost could have doubted she'd said anything at all. He looked over at her again, finding her staring resolutely down the garden, something like a blush on her cheeks. "You drove us all a bit mad with worry, James."
James. Not Potter. He blinked, trying to get his head round this sequence of events. Trying to school his face into something calm and collected, and not just open awe and alarm. "Sorry about that."
She cracked a weary smile, and that seemed to break some of the tension that he hadn't even realised had built up until that moment. "We obviously forgive you," she joked. "Otherwise we wouldn't be here, would we?"
"Unless you're just in it for some free cake," he offered.
"Damn," she murmured, and looked his way. "You're on to me."
If he had been told, even six months ago, that he would be sat on his kitchen step, sharing a look so intense as to set off the most embarrassing fleet of butterflies in his stomach, with Lily Evans of all people, he would have laughed his head off. And yet…
"Oy!" Sirius' voice filtered through from the kitchen, and they broke their gaze, both glancing over their shoulders to find their friend's looming presence there. "Come on, you two. Somehow Mar is winning this bloody game and we have to figure out how so that we can knock her off the top spot."
Lily shot James a quick, gentle smile, pulling herself up from the step. "Alright, birthday boy," she said, nodding towards Sirius. "You heard the bloke. Where's your competitive spirit?"
James allowed a chuckle, carefully, steadily, standing up too. "It's in there somewhere," he agreed. "Maybe more cake will dig it out?"
"That's the spirit," Sirius agreed, giving him a friendly—and gentle—pat on the shoulder. "Cake is always the answer, isn't it Evans?"
Another shared smile, and that familiar fluttering feeling again, before he looked away. "It is," came Lily's soft reply.
before
Nobody had seen Charlie Swift since the night of the attack. Two days after, Lily had come across Charlotte's tearful dorm mates in the common room—all of her belongings were gone, her bed neatly re-made and removed to the corner of the dormitory. And, even though it was just about all anyone wanted to talk about, no one really seemed to know what had happened.
"She clearly wasn't herself," Lily was saying to Remus as they walked along the torch-lit Charms corridor. Patrol was even quieter than it usually was this week: she supposed it was hardly surprising that most people wanted to stay safely locked away in their Houses. "I wish I'd talked to her, after we found her that night…"
Remus nodded quietly. "Me too. Surely they don't think that she would do something like this voluntarily—she had to be under the imperius curse or something."
"I suppose…even if she was, she still did it," Lily sighed. "And Dumbledore has to be seen to do something in response." She glanced over at him, taking in the pallor of his skin, the dark circles under his eyes. "Any more news about James?"
Remus lifted his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "I asked McGonagall earlier, she said there was a 'complication' in his being able to leave hospital and that he'd be there a while longer yet."
Another, familiar stab of guilt caught her; she forced her attention ahead of them again, trying not to let her feelings show too obviously on her face. He was in hospital—still in hospital, a week after the attack—because of her.
Well, her and Cadence. But she couldn't seem to shake the memory of his eyes catching hers just seconds before he pulled them both to the ground. It replayed on a loop in her head every time she closed her eyes. It only served to make the guilt, and all the other myriad, complicated feelings, pulse more intensely.
"How's Sirius coping?" she asked, because it seemed like a good way to shift the subject slightly—although, judging by the look on Remus' face, she started to doubt that theory.
"Not sure," he replied, a little cagily. "He's been…quiet. Since the attack."
Lily had noticed that, too, although she hadn't been surprised—almost everyone who'd been there that evening seemed to have come away shell-shocked. "Mary's been like that, too," she told Remus. "She's really struggling with it all. She even broke up with George yesterday."
Remus glanced her way, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Really?" he asked. "I thought they were getting on well…"
"He wasn't there, that night," Lily explained. "And Mary didn't feel like he was…understanding, enough, about what she'd been through. She felt like he was trying to chivvy her along, cheer her up too much."
He nodded. "McMillan's never struck me as being someone who copes very well with difficult emotions," he said, quite diplomatically, Lily thought.
"No," she agreed. "I think it's a shame that Mary's ended it, but—I suppose she wasn't getting what she needs from the relationship, and that can't be ignored, can it…"
Remus was quiet, hands in pockets. "No, I 'spose not."
They reached the main staircase and started their way back up, towards Gryffindor tower. "How's Owain doing?" she asked after a few minutes of quiet. "He's out of the hospital wing now, right?"
Remus nodded. "Got out yesterday. He's still a bit sore, but otherwise he's alright." He paused. "We…sort of made things official."
Lily couldn't help the bright smile that spilled across her lips, moving closer to loop her arm through his and give him a congratulatory squeeze. "Rem, that's great," she said. "I'm so pleased for you."
He smiled—a smile that was almost convincing. "Yeah. He's great."
She raised her eyebrows. "But…?"
They reached the seventh floor, setting off on the last part of their journey. "But nothing," he replied. "He's great."
There was something in his eyes that made Lily think she probably shouldn't push him on the subject, at least, not for the moment. She knew as well as anyone how complicated matters of the heart could be. "Good," was all she said, with a small smile. "Oh, hey, could I borrow your notes from yesterday's Arithmancy lesson? I was reviewing mine earlier and there's a whole section that might as well be written in Norwegian for all I understand of it."
"Sure, I've got them upstairs," he nodded, pausing to give the password and leading the way through the portrait hole; the common room was quiet, only a few still up, and he nodded to the boys' staircase. "Come on up, because there's a section in my notes which made no sense to me, maybe you'll understand it."
She followed him up the stairs with a chuckle. "I do often wonder why I put myself through this subject."
"Self-flagellation?" Remus wondered. "Your latent masochistic side?"
"Why can't it be both?" Lily smirked. They made their way into the sixth-year boys' dormitory, giving a brief glance over to Peter's bed—the boy was snoring peacefully—before Remus started riffling through various papers on his desk. Lily took a seat on the edge of his bed. "Was it the sixth problem set that you were—"
But she didn't get to finish her question, because both of their attentions were drawn away by Sirius' bed hangings suddenly opening, and Lily watched, eyes widening in surprise, as Mary appeared, looking a little flushed and slightly dishevelled, adjusting her skirt as she went.
Her friend stopped, and blushed, at the sight of Lily and Remus there. "Oh! Lil, hi—um, hi, Remus…"
Lily had a feeling that Remus' gaze had moved where hers had, too: back to Sirius' bed, where the bloke himself was shuffling off the bed, lazily rebuttoning his trousers. With an almost defiant look in his eye, he first looked at his dorm-mate, then at Lily, an eyebrow raised as if to say, and?
"This is new," Lily remarked, glancing briefly at Remus, whose face was tightly drawn, frozen, before she looked back to Mary. "Um. Shall we go to bed, Mare? I can get those notes tomorrow."
"Yeah, good idea," Mary agreed, sending Sirius a sheepish glance. "Sleep well, boys."
"Night, ladies," Sirius replied easily; Remus said nothing.
Lily led the way back out of the dormitory, staying quiet as they made their way back down the stairs. It was only once they were climbing the girls' stairs that she spoke again. "So, you and Sirius, eh…?"
Mary shrugged half-heartedly. "It's not a…thing," she replied. They both paused outside their dorm doorway, as if in unspoken agreement not to take this conversation inside where Marlene and Dor could hear. "We both needed…something. That's all."
Lily studied her friend's face, chewing on her lip for a moment. "Just…make sure you don't get hurt," she offered finally. "You deserve all the good things, Mare. All of them."
Mary gave her a small smile. "Don't worry about me, Lil," she told her softly. "I know what I'm doing."
Lily really, truly hoped that she did. Because, although this was a slightly uncomfortable situation between them now, she had a feeling that the one they'd left behind in the boys' dorm was about a thousand times worse. "Okay," she agreed simply. "C'mon. Bed time."
after
By the time the sky grew dark, Lily, Marlene and Dorcas had headed home—they all knew that Lily was anxious to get back, even if she had admitted to James that it was hard being at home. He had watched with more than a passing interest as Sirius and Mary had exchanged quiet words by the door, and he couldn't not have noticed the way that Remus watched them, too. As Cadence, Pete and Sirius went to help Euphemia in the kitchen—"surely they don't want more food?" Fleamont had asked in wonder—James ambled over to Remus, lowering himself gently down onto the sofa with just the slightest wince at the discomfort this brought.
Remus, of course, noticed. "Haven't they got you on painkilling potions?" he asked, worry clear in his voice.
"There's a limit to how much you can take, apparently," James shrugged. "And I reached it a while ago. It was either stop or carry on and wait for my liver to turn into a shrivelled-up fig."
"That's specific," Remus noted.
Another shrug, and a nudge with his elbow. "What's on with Sirius and Mary, then?" he asked. "I know you've noticed something too."
His friend's expression froze, and he drew in a careful breath before replying. "They're shagging."
James' jaw actually dropped. "I'm sorry, what?"
The tension seemed to be rippling off Remus in waves. "Lily and I came across Mary coming out of his bed in the last week of term," he replied, his voice even.
"But…" He shook his head, trying to get it all straight in his mind. "Mary's with—"
"They broke up," Remus interrupted. "Just after the attack. He wasn't very supportive, apparently, when it was bringing up bad memories for her."
James cringed in recognition. "Right, shit," he nodded. "But even so—those two? I thought they were too busy being platonic soulmates poisoning their lungs by the greenhouses to get caught up in…all that."
"Yeah, well." To anyone else, Remus might have been doing a reasonable job of convincing them that he didn't care. Unfortunately for him, James knew him too well for that. "Apparently not."
This made absolutely no sense. Even if Sirius wasn't willing to admit as much to James, his friend was clearly hung up on a certain other Marauder. James couldn't pretend to understand the difficulty of dealing with questioning one's sexuality, especially when it was tangled up with all the pureblood dogma and bigotry as it was for Sirius. But pushing it all aside and pretending otherwise was clearly not doing him any good—it hadn't been doing him any good even before all this.
Something was missing, some piece of information that would put this development into sharper focus. "It can't just be about the attack for Pads, though," he considered thoughtfully. "I know him and Marl had a thing, but he doesn't usually go after someone so close to our group of friends. He much prefers faceless shags from other houses."
Remus had stilled, if it were possible to be any more still than he already was, as if even the tiniest movement might set something off, something that would bring the whole façade tumbling to the ground. "Lovely."
James paused, squinted at his friend. Sighed. "What happened?"
Remus raised his eyebrows, shifting his gaze briefly to James before allowing it to flit elsewhere. "What do you mean?"
Another sigh. He was going to age immeasurably just trying to deal with these two. "Something clearly happened. What was it?"
A long pause, where they just sat there, listening to the distant sounds of squabbling from the kitchen—Euphemia on fine form, as ever, with the boys she considered her adoptive sons. Finally, with a sigh of his own, Remus spoke up. "Owain and I…made it official," he said. "The day after the SWEN thing." A flash of something like guilt on his face as his gaze drifted to the door. "Sirius was in the next bed."
Fuck. Well, that explained an awful lot, and not just this whole mess, but Sirius' general mood since the holidays had started. James wasn't sure what to say at first, and maybe that was more than Remus could cope with, because he started speaking again. "It's not like it was a surprise," he said, a muttering, really, something darker than the usual tone of voice James had come to expect from him. "We've been…seeing each other for a while now. And it's not like Sirius has anything to do with—"
"Moony," James spoke up, softly, sadly. Remus exhaled heavily, meeting his friend's gaze. "You two should be having this talk, not me and you."
"Yeah, well." He shifted in his seat. "That won't happen, will it?"
"Nothing will change if you don't help it change," James offered, which earned him a small, grim smile. "I am seventeen now, you know. I have to be wise."
"Alright," Remus rolled his eyes, and gave James a nudge with his elbow—a gentle one, given James' recent medical excursions. "I'll…talk to him." A short pause, and an added, "eventually."
"That's all I ask," James smiled.
Any further discussion was—probably thankfully, from Remus' point of view—curtailed as the others piled back into the room, weighed down by platters of yet more food. "I hope you're hungry," Euphemia called to them. "Because no one is leaving until all this food is gone."
"That's a challenge I can get behind," Pete decided, clapping Sirius on the back.
Cadence stood back a little, shooting James an almost nervous look, and he felt the guilt inside him blossom to full bloom. He had to be better than this, surely—if he was the 'decent' person they kept saying he was. He gave her a small but genuine smile, and held out his hand; she moved gratefully to his side, perching on the arm of the sofa, her hand slipping to the nape of his neck—a fond, warm gesture he felt utterly undeserving of. "You joining Pete on the challenge of a lifetime?" he asked her.
Her smile strengthened. "I will do my best, for the sake of your mother's pantry."
He tilted her chin down and reached up for a kiss, something soft and unassuming. "You're too kind."
"Enough smooching!" came Sirius' voice from the table. "Time to eat!"
Cadence only gave him another one of her warm, kind smiles. "Ready for round two?"
"Surely it's round four by this point," Remus interjected, getting up to move to the table.
James nodded, meeting her gaze again. "I'm ready."
before
How they had reached the end of term in one piece, Remus wasn't sure. The castle was subdued, for the most part, everyone still in a high level of anxiety after the SWEN attack. Charlotte had not returned, and all anyone seemed able to talk about was that someone, in their school, had chosen a Muggleborn to imperius and make that attack on others like her. It was vicious. It was heartless. It was wholly unsurprising, in Remus' opinion.
Meanwhile, with that backdrop of fear and uncertainty, other parts of life had carried on with no allowances for the strange situation they all found themselves in. Classes were as intense as always, with Merryton in particular seeming to take it upon herself to ramp up the homework: she'd assigned them all an essay on the Unforgivable Curses, due on their return from the Easter break. That was no coincidence, he knew.
Pete and Iris had reunited—Remus hadn't realised they'd broken up again until Peter came down to breakfast a few days before the end of term and declared himself in love once more. And he couldn't even share a wry grin with Sirius about it, because the bloke was doing his utmost to avoid meeting Remus' eyes. He spent most of his time with Mary, or talking to Lily, or even (to both Remus and Pete's surprise) to Cadence. Remus knew he was missing James—they all were—but Sirius was coping even worse than the rest of them were.
How he chose to cope was what bothered Remus the most, and the fact that it bothered him was even more, well, bothersome. Remus wasn't stupid: he was well aware that it was about more than just James' stint in hospital. But that was something he was unwilling to address, for now, at least.
Usually, most students stayed on for the Easter break, so close to exams that they'd rather knuckle down and revise than waste any time going home. Of course, the attack had changed things. Remus couldn't help but notice that the sign-up sheet in the Gryffindor common room only had the names of students who were purebloods—those who felt the safest staying. Everyone else had apparently decided to put up with the long train journey home if it meant having that sense of security for even a few weeks.
Remus didn't feel unsafe, exactly, despite everything that had happened—despite the dreams he still had, even now, of watching his friends tilt their unassuming faces up towards an onslaught of glass, raining down from the heavens. He knew that Hogwarts was one of the safest places to be; that to be even in the general vicinity of Albus Dumbledore meant a level of protection most wouldn't get at home.
But there was no denying that he needed a change of scenery. A break, to be honest, from that dorm and the shadows that lingered there.
Owain had been disappointed, assuming, somehow, that they might stay back together. "A bit of studying," he had said, "a bit of canoodling…"
As appealing as that was—and it was—Remus felt, deep down in the darker parts of him, that maybe he needed a break from that, too. From Owain's gentle, easy smile; his kind words and playful nature; the expectations there that sank onto his shoulders, a pressure that didn't come from Owain and never had, but a pressure he felt nonetheless.
Some space, to get his head around what they had become. About what it meant, in the wider expanse of his life.
Not that he said any of that to Owain. He couldn't bear to hurt him, to be the cause of the dimming of that smile. Instead, he'd cited his desire to spend time with his mother, to visit James, who was due home any day now. Owain was understanding, of course he was, because he was just that sort of person—another reason that Remus felt less than.
He was worthy of all this, wasn't he? Sometimes he wasn't sure. Sometimes he wasn't sure why he was pushing back, however subconsciously, against the chance to just be happy.
They gathered on the train, piled into a carriage as if a vital organ in their collective body wasn't missing, as if the spectre of James didn't hang over every interaction. Sirius and Mary sat together by the window, trading chocolate frog cards and laughing at nonsense; at one point, they sidled off together, and returned a while later, flushed and laughing some more. Remus didn't acknowledge their return.
Owain spent some time with his dorm mates in another carriage, before joining them for the last stretch of the journey as the train chugged its way past Birmingham and onwards to the south. They sat together, holding hands, and Remus pretended he didn't see Sirius trying not to look at them.
At King's Cross, he hugged Lily goodbye as a pinched-faced blonde waited nearby; waved off Pete; nodded in Sirius' direction as he was hustled away by Fleamont, Euphemia presumably still at the hospital with her son. And Owain—kind, sweet Owain—waited with him on the platform, waited for his mother to arrive.
"Write to me?" Owain asked, leaning against a pillar to fix his gaze on Remus more fully. "And not just to tell me how well you're doing on Merryton's essay."
Remus gave him a smile, something that came much more easily when Sirius wasn't looming in the background. "Did you want to know about how well I'm doing on other homework, too?" he teased.
"Smart arse," Owain grinned, and leaned in for a kiss—just as Hope Lupin rounded the corner.
"Sorry, sorry!" she looked just a touch embarrassed for interrupting them: Owain just smiled pleasantly at her. "Parking—a nightmare—"
"It's fine, mum," Remus promised her. He shot Owain a smile of his own, a smaller one this time: a bit shy, a bit sad. "I'll write."
"So will I," Owain promised. "See you in a few weeks…"
As they walked away, his mother took his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "He's lovely, isn't he?" she said, almost conspiratorially.
Remus gave one last glance over his shoulder, Owain's figure already fading in the still-billowing steam. "He is."
after
The kitchen was quiet, the only light coming from the still-lit range. From his position at the table, James could see the crescent moon hanging in the sky, almost hidden by clouds that had gathered throughout the day. Tomorrow wouldn't be such good weather, he guessed. Not that it mattered.
Pete and Remus had headed home around nine, with Cadence following not long after. Sirius had made some excuses about being too full of cake to be awake much longer, although if James had to wager, he'd say that his friend knew all too well the questions that were coming his way after his interactions with Mary that day, and was more interested in avoiding them than in actually sleeping.
James had tried to get to sleep, too: Merlin only knew that he was exhausted most of the time, lately, so it shouldn't have been difficult. But he had stared up at the ceiling, unable or unwilling to close his eyes, too many thoughts trawling through his head.
Sirius and Remus. Lily and Cadence. Sirius and Remus. Lily and Cadence.
(Poor Pete, he thought, although he was probably happy enough not needing to be worried about. When James had asked him earlier how things were, his response had been, "I'm thriving, mate!", a statement that had made James crease up with fond laughter—and then regret the action for the discomfort it brought.)
And so down to the kitchen he had trekked, not out of hunger or thirst but more for something to do. He wasn't much for insomnia, as a rule—a benefit of his constant state of movement being that he was usually crashed out seconds after his head hit the pillow—but when a bought of sleeplessness did hit, he found something rather calming about the kitchen.
He heard his mum approach, her footsteps made softer by the padding of her thick woollen socks, long before her figure appeared in the doorway. "You're up late, love."
He cast her a small, weary smile. "Can't sleep."
"Ah, the troubles of being old," she sighed in sympathy, pausing to dot a fond kiss to the top of his head before she made her way over to the range. He knew, without having to ask, that she would make them both hot chocolate. "Is it the pain, love? Or something on your mind?"
He glanced towards the window again, to the moon, now shrouded in a grey haze: the wind must have picked up. "It's not the pain."
She hummed her understanding, quietly placing a heavy pan on the stovetop, measuring out the milk. It was a while before she spoke again. "Cadence is lovely."
He raked his hand through his hair without thinking. "She is," he agreed quietly.
Euphemia focused, for a moment, on grating the chocolate—a task she always took very seriously. She never did it with magic, said it tasted different. "Lily is lovely, too."
At that, James sighed, and she looked his way with a raised eyebrow, a look he knew he often adopted himself. It was the all-innocent, what did I say? expression so beloved by the Potters. "What? She is," his mother added.
"Yes," he agreed heavily. "She is. She's also my friend."
With a wave of her hand—she made wandless magic seem so effortlessly simple—a wooden spoon began the gentle stirring process, and she turned to face him fully. "You seemed a bit…off, with Cadence, dear. That's all."
"Yeah, well," he shifted in his chair. "I've been a bit off in general, haven't I?"
She pursed her lips a moment, then moved to sit opposite him, reaching for his hand: he gave it to her readily. He could always find comfort there. "You're getting there, my lovely. You're so much more yourself than you were."
He nodded, staring once again at the careful red nail varnish on his mother's fingers, looking without seeing. "Things with Cady feel…different," he said, voice almost lost in the quiet of the kitchen. "But I'm trying not to make any rash decisions, because—well, maybe it's just me,you know?"
Euphemia seemed to have found some sense in amongst his words, because she nodded. "That sounds very wise to me, Jamie."
He quirked his lips, closer to his usual grin than he'd managed in a while. "Must be my great age."
"Must be," Euphemia agreed fondly. She stood up, moving to pour out the hot chocolate into two mugs. "Well, I hope you're not such a great age that you can't share a drink with your old mother."
He accepted the mug, but took her hand, again, too; the look on her face of something like relief, of so much unabashed love for her son, could have made him emotional, if he'd let it. "I'll never be too old for that, mum."
She smiled; gave his hand a squeeze. "Good."
Somehow, as he sat sipping his drink, listening to his mother recount the story of his birth seventeen years ago for what must have been the millionth time, he sensed he would be able to get to sleep that night, after all.