IMPORTANT: In this chapter, I have exceptionally added some first-person thoughts. They will be written in italics, without dialogue signs, of course.

"Cursed forever be that useless dreamer

Who first imagined, in his brutish mind,

Of sheer futility the fatuous schemer,

Honour with Love could ever be combined."

Charles Baudelaire

The sun had not yet risen when James slipped out of bed. Through the windows, the rain-sodden sky continued to drown the castle in endless desolation. Sometimes the rain would stop abruptly, leaving a mist from the woods that plunged the landscape into a milky fog. Then a tear would open in the side of the clouds and, as if all the waters of the world had rushed through the meager opening, the rain would begin to fall again in a diluvian flood. So the mist would settle docilely under the branches, waiting, prowling between the leaves in expectation of a new clearing.

James remained for a long time contemplating the cycle of water, nervous, feverish, before a deep cold blast made him flinch. The humid air currents that crossed the room contrasted with the stifling heat that had accumulated between the hanging canopy, and he naively believed that putting on his uniform in a hurry would make him stop shaking.

However, the shivers did not leave him. James could make out in the shadows the quivering contours of his fingers as they continued to wiggle in the void, tapping on invisible keys. Taken by a sudden dizziness, he fell in the hollow of his mattress, where the print of his body was still warm, and clenched his jaws while staring at the ceiling of the bed. He would have liked to say that it was the cold, the fever, or even one of the many side effects of his treatment that made him tremble like that. But he had to face the facts. It was his anxiety that was starting to get under his skin.

Yet he had fought it valiantly last evening. All night long, even. For hours, he had remained motionless, contemplating the wooden sculptures that adorned the bed frame. Even when the last candle had finished melting, he had continued to strain his eyes against the darkness, striving to find a detail on which to focus. A deep scratch, a knot in the boards, something that would allow him to focus his mind. So he could ignore the dread that had seized him when the nurse had carried Severus away and had not left him for a moment since.

But the fear had continued to grow, to swell, until it had taken on a monstrous form to sit on his chest, suffocating him with all its weight and preventing him from sleeping.

Slowly, James moved his fingers one by one to try to gain control, though the efforts were in vain. The memories of yesterday tried again to assail his spirit, but he endeavored not to think of it, if not in a vague, unfinished form, preferring to stop his attention on the smallest sensation he could feel. He had not removed his glasses since yesterday, and the plastic plates had sunk until they dug into his skin. James unstuck them with a sharp tug, closing his eyes to concentrate on the pain. The edge of his nose was burning. The tip too, not because of his gesture but because of the headbutt Severus had given him last night.

His fists tightened at the thought, his fingers digging into a velvety fabric to his surprise. It was the little red purse he'd kept with him since the tragedy, having wound the silk threads that served as a cord around his wrist to make sure he didn't lose it. It had slipped off his sleeve and landed in the palm of his hand. James had almost forgotten about it, as he had fiddled with it and held it close until it became like an extension of his own body, mechanically accompanying his every gesture.

That little red velvet pouch. Inside, the splinters he'd picked up.

The little pieces of bone Severus had left behind at the bottom of the stairs…

Severus…

The image flashed through his mind, as suddenly as it was violent. Severus in agony at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes bulging and his mouth gaping, blood pouring from his hair. Once again, James had let himself be led by pride and stupidity. Perhaps even one time too many…

What if Severus hadn't survived? Worse -because James was sure that in Severus's eyes, it would be worse- what if the Slytherin was still alive but suffering from severe after-effects? What if he couldn't think like he used to? What if he lost everything that made him so strong and became a shadow of his former self? Held in his bed, suffering all his life, deprived of his splendor to be only an insignificant being, like him... like James.

Something twisted in the Gryffindor's gut, and it seemed to him that if he could have cried, it would have at least relieved him. He would have liked to scream, to weep until he had to stick his handkerchiefs over his mouth to avoid waking Peter. He would have liked to suffer until his pain burst like a pocket of gall and spread out in despairing sobs, disgusted with everything, until he felt himself drifting away. Yet his eyes remained dry, burned by the tears that would not flow. The fear, the shame, the anger he felt every time the sight of Severus's bleeding body crossed his gaze, came to melt into his pain, to invade his being, but it failed to animate his face. He remained mute, motionless in his bed, his eyes wide open like a wax doll.

He had to let them go. All these beasts that he felt roaring inside him. One way or another, he had to let them free. Let them run. He had to empty himself. It was no longer a question of will. It was a need. Let it go or die.

Taking his courage in both hands, James crawled out of his mattress again. In the next bed, Peter was still sleeping and, if Sirius had come back to snoop in their dormitory during the night, he had not reappeared since.

A good thing.

Crouching between the piles of books and crumpled clothes that filled the Marauders' room, James searched desperately for his invisibility cloak. It had disappeared from the chair where he'd set it down, and while he thought at first that it had slipped off the back and was lost in the mess, he soon realized that it had simply vanished.

"Sirius…"

Hands idle, eyes lost in the void, James let out a long sigh. Sirius. Still and always, Sirius. Sirius, who was taking the liberty of lecturing James when he was no different. Who reproached him for his behavior towards Remus without caring one bit about what James had experienced on his side. He had seen the look in his eyes last night, the way he had judged him and Peter. That huge fool, locked up as usual in his own little world and wanting everything to work out according to his own desires… He could be so selfish at times…

And yet James knew he was worse than him.

Memories flooded back, surging through his mind in a storm of regret. He saw again the abrupt gestures, the bursts of voice, the acerbic words which had preceded the fall. All this violence that came from him. Only from him. The unbearable fear he had felt when he had seen that he was no longer in control. And, the second after, the absence of fear, just this old anger, rancid with the years, which had again possessed him. Had Peter understood who James really was? Or had he focused only on his own shame, realizing that all these years he had admired a boy even weaker than himself? Maybe he hadn't realized it. But Lily surely had. She must have understood what James was really worth. That he was the worst of them all. That there was this darkness in him, a foul truth that everyone else took for a bad joke.

He'd always thought it was Severus' fault that he acted the way he did. That the Slytherin had always been deliberately trying to take away the softest, kindest things from James, things he couldn't imagine living without, so that he would want to hurt him in return. But all that was just an excuse, wasn't it?

Maybe James had a monster in him too. Like Remus. A monster of ego, spitting fire from his mouth when he felt threatened. A monster that never forgave. A monster that punished.

And, after tonight, maybe even a monster that killed.

Another tremor ran through him, but this time James found the strength to stand up. An irrepressible desire to flee, to escape the gloomy obsessions that were twisting his mind, had taken hold of him. Unable to stand still, he rushed to open his bedroom window before grabbing his broom and hoisting himself onto the ledge. Outside, the storm was still roaring, but neither the thunder nor the rain streaming down his glasses could slow him down as he stubbornly and blindly straddled his broom. Then, still without thinking, he threw himself into the void.

The wind whipped around him so violently that he had to squeeze his eyes closed. Adrenaline surged through his veins, tensing his muscles, making his heart pound so hard in his chest that James thought it would stop beating. Then his arms instinctively straightened the broom handle to propel him into the air before his feet even touched the ground, his body and mind detaching themselves from the void, transcending into the heavens.

The stone ledge of the window, which he had left a moment earlier, nearly shattered his knees as James hastily landed on it. Short of breath, he contemplated his hands, shaken by spasms, still dazed by the effort he'd just made.

Again.

New leap, new sensations, more intense this time. An unparalleled bliss seized him as the pressure of the air lifted his body off the broom. Feeling the wind trying to rip him apart gave rise to a new, exquisite fear that ran through him, chilling him to the bone. With the void in front of him, the immensity of space was making his ears ring. And then the sound of his shoes scraping against the ground as he pulled himself together, the cobblestones of the courtyard ripping the leather from his soles.

Again. Higher this time. More dangerous.

Again.

Under his feet, the slippery parapets of the astronomy tower, the benches of the courtyard that looked like nothing more than black, insignificant dots. This long fall which made him feel a morbid euphoria, liberating, draining his spirit, allowing him to forget all his worries for a moment, until he caught himself in extremis, by reflex, almost crashing on the old statue which adorned the center of the courtyard because of the wind, tearing off a piece of his cloak.

"What is going on here?"

The astronomy teacher's rattly voice rose from the window he'd just opened, and James sped away from his quarters, diving low into the trees before heading to a more discreet location.

Again. He wanted more.

Cold winds began to sweep through the clouds, washing the sky as the dawn approached. Puddles glistened on the path, strangely bright in the shadows of the trees. The branches reflected in them shivered as he approached, dancing to the rhythm of the gusts that wrinkled the surface of the water. At the end of the road, the entrance to the covered bridge stood out in black against the sky. The framework, which had collapsed in places under the weight of the water, let the first rays of the sun filter through its holes.

A new gust rose with a howl and bent the tall pines until they moaned, forcing James to land as he tucked his head into his scarf.

Everything seemed dark, sad, cold.

Just like him.

No, he didn't need to think about that. More, he needed more.

He went to take refuge under the bridge, listening to the creaking of the building. It seemed to be shrinking, crashing low to the ground to escape the gusts that were fierce in their violence, chasing a dust of water from the roof that ran in the wind. The moisture-soaked boards undulated along the wooden frame, sometimes overlapping, forming a soft carpet under his feet that absorbed his every step. The barrier seemed to hold in place only by a miracle, yet James climbed it without hesitation, his gaze wandering over the landscape before sliding down the cliff.

Lurking at the bottom of the ravine, the mist was there, thick, impenetrable, like a white wall that separated the world in two.

Perfect.

Again.

Hastily stuffing his broom between his thighs, James plunged headfirst into the precipice, splitting the air at a dizzying speed to be engulfed in the fog.

The wind suddenly stopped blowing, the creaking of the bridge fell silent. Everything became quiet. The mist had muffled every sound, absorbed every trace of life, leaving only silence. Around James, shades of gray followed one another, light tones mixing with dark ones, moving according to their will, leaving behind them trails, like gigantic ghosts.

A sleeping world, lost in the depths, so peaceful.

For a brief moment, James hoped to get lost in it. To spend his life wandering in this limbo. Until he dissolved. Become nothing more than mist. Nothing more than a single drop.

If only he-

There was a violent impact and James was thrown forward, almost going over his broom. The latter deviated from its trajectory and went on the side to collide against a new obstacle. The wood of the handle cracked under James' fingers, and he fell like dead weight, feet first.

James grabbed the broom handle with all his strength and tried to straighten it out to regain control of his flight, but it seemed to have been damaged, refusing to stop its descent. Wide-eyed, he looked around, searching the whiteout that surrounded him for a place to land in a hurry before he reached the ground.

That's when he saw them. Great black masses coming out of the mist, standing around him like spectres emerging from the night. One of them sprang up in front of his face and he had to bend to avoid it, the thing brushing against his hair, grabbing some of it to pull it out.

Branches. Gigantic branches, their huge silhouettes stretching in all directions, undulating around him, seeming to want to grab him. To seize him.

Like a prey.

His broom didn't seem to want to slow down, so James sped up, racing through their shadows. He struggled around the first ones, but they seemed to move on their own, slipping into the fog, disappearing before suddenly reappearing, their rough bark catching his clothes as he sped between them. And then others, smaller, invisible, that scratched his cheeks and arms when he fell too close to them, preventing him from keeping his eyes open while the trees turned into a compact mass whose clawed ends seemed to cut like blades.

James's heart seemed to have jumped into his throat, throbbing, preventing him from breathing properly in the humid air. He had to calm down. He had to regain control. He could do it. He had trained like a maniac for years to become a professional quidditch player. He had to believe in himself. He could-

James went flying through a mess of leaves and twigs, leaving scratches all over his skin, and knocking the air out of his lungs, before throwing him off his broom. Immediately, the forest took hold of him, but the insane speed at which he fell weighed his body down. All he could hear was the cracking of wood as the forest dropped him from one branch to the next, occasionally bouncing him against the thickest trunks. Higher up, his broom was following the same path and James desperately reached out one hand in its direction, trying to grab a hold of it as he searched with the other for a grip to slow his fall. He finally managed to hold on to a bunch of stems and held on with all his might, his palm scraping against the nooks of the wood.

It was only when his hand reached the end of the branches that he stopped, his body suspended in the void. The wool of his torn glove and the silk cords of his purse had twisted themselves into knots with the slender branches, constituting his sole support, but already James could hear the threads breaking one after the other. He tried to move his legs in search of support but found nothing. He had reached the end of the foliage and the ground was dancing a few meters below, ready to snatch him up, engulf him in its roots. Lost somewhere in the trees, he could hear his broom continuing its tumble, shattering the leaves.

He had to hold on. Just a little longer. The time to catch it.

Stems gave way and James fell a few centimetres. His hand twisted under his weight, rising to slip from his glove as the branches shook. Ironically, the impact of his broom against his fingers finally made him let go and James dropped again, clutching the broomstick that had crashed into his face before lifting it into the air.

"UP!"

The broom immediately straightened up to come to a standstill in the air. The sudden stop shook James' body violently, and he could only let go, collapsing on his back two meters below in a mixture of dead leaves and mud.

Breathless, James stared straight ahead, his eyes lost in the thick branches of the trees, so dense they obscured the sky, before he brought his hands to his face. He remained like that for a long time, his hands over his eyes so as not to see, his bruised palms rubbing against the wounds on his cheeks. From time to time, a convulsive movement ran through his inert body, the icy cold of the ground rising up into his bones, adding to his misery until a loud cry burst from between his lips. A howl laden with grief and pride, so pure that it ricocheted off the trunks before returning to him in a mighty echo.

Others followed, spreading through the forest, mixing with the trees and leaves, filling the air until it was unbreathable. Primal cries, of wild beasts, of despair and rage. Cries against the injustice of the world, against the pain that tore his heart. Against the life which was determined to break him. Cries against himself, against his weaknesses and mistakes.

Then big tears finally rolled down his cheeks, finding their way into the dark circles that split his face and, after a silence, the cries started again, even more hysterical this time, relieved, liberated, tinged with joy.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

James had climbed step by step up the slippery slope that led to the bridge, stumbling at every wet stone. An occasional whimper of pain escaped from between his teeth as he clutched at his broom to plant it more firmly in the ground. He'd given up riding it after the shocks he'd suffered, using it instead as a walking stick.

The spells he'd used to clean his uniform had been poorly mastered, and he'd had to go over the different layers several times, removing the mud from his clothing centimeter by centimeter. The velvet purse had also been carefully washed before being safely stowed away in his pocket. If he hadn't managed to reabsorb the huge bruise devouring his ribs, the smallest abrasions had been taken care of, with particular attention paid to those on his face.

James looked clean, whole, solid, unbreakable.

He wasn't, but it was important that others think so. Now was not the time to bring himself further pain. He had to continue projecting the image he'd worked so hard to build when he arrived. A charming boy on the surface, but best left alone so as not to incur his wrath. James Potter, accepted but feared by his peers. One whom it was better to ignore or follow, at the risk of becoming his new target.

A shell he'd taken a long time to build. Patiently, one lie after another.

He didn't know how long he'd been at the bottom of the precipice, but the castle seemed to have woken up. He passed a few students in the courtyard and then in the corridors, greeting those from his house with a vague gesture, answering their astonished questions briefly: "Yes, I left very early to practice Quidditch.", "Yes, everything went well. I succeeded in what I wanted to do."

He had managed to cry, yes. He'd been ready. He'd abandoned some of his demons deep in the woods, and, when he returned to the infirmary, he'd free himself of the rest.

He would ask for forgiveness.

And, perhaps even with a little luck, even if Severus wouldn't accept him, he would at least accept his apology.

Severus… James really hoped he was all right. If he had any scars from the fall, the Gryffindor would not forgive himself. Never.

Severus…

James would have liked to repeat his speech, to choose his words carefully, but instead he caught himself pronouncing his name, accompanied by inconsistent sentences, words without continuation that he repeated in a low voice, with an absent air.

It was strange, the way an obsession began, taking root like a weed and growing, gradually choking off any coherent idea. James' obsession with Severus seemed hopeless. Worse than that, it seemed degrading. For Severus and for him. James had never found any lasting relief in being cruel to Severus. He knew now that he simply had to be good. Apologize, come clean once and for all, and then never go near him again seemed the best solution. Become reasonable. Sensible. Say sorry, even if he stammered. Flatly crush himself and then keep his distance. Never again fixate on Severus Snape, never again get dizzy at the mere thought.

James nodded absent-mindedly along the way, his step agitated with hope, trying to convince himself that this resolution was the right one. His heart beat with impatience, and apprehension too, as he walked along the corridor that led to the doors of the infirmary. There was no need for him to panic. Everything was going to be all right. Severus would surely be just fine. Madam Pomfresh had looked after him, and James had already seen her snatch Quidditch players from death after serious flying accidents. She knew what she was doing, and even if the situation had deteriorated, there was always St-Mungo, the best hospital in the region. Students had been transferred there in the past. The infirmary had to be connected to it. After all, Hogwarts was one of the best schools in the world and took good care of its students. It had to be possible to access the emergency room directly from the castle.

The doors to the infirmary were ajar, and James slipped discreetly between the flaps, already scanning the room with his eyes. His first glimpse was of his three best friends. Sirius and Peter were struggling to get Remus to drink, and Remus was barely keeping up. James was struck by his pallor, by the expression of suffering emanating from his thin, disease-weakened face, by the heaviness of his white eyelids. Immense guilt seized him, embracing him on all sides. He knew he'd been negligent, that he'd let his own preoccupations take precedence over his friendships. He'd had so much trouble building them… Once the situation with Severus was settled, he would have to ask their forgiveness too. He would have to work hard to regain their esteem…

An unusual noise disturbed the calm of the room: a vibrant, hilarious, almost childlike laugh.

Sitting up in bed, Lily by his side, Severus was bent over in a fit of giggles. Despite the thick bandages covering his face and the neck brace, he seemed to be doing just fine. He looked radiant, even, glowing with life.

Severus was fine. Even after everything James had done to him, he was fine. He had survived the explosion, the flames, the fall. He had regained his strength while James was mired in his torment, as if he had fed off his pain to draw new vigor from it. With that power in his bright eyes, in the smile he wore in front of the other Marauders that forced James to confront his own weaknesses, his own foolishness.

Yes, Severus was fine. He was even stronger and more alive than ever. Because Severus was always one step ahead of James, no matter what he did. Even when James struggled to bring him down, to crush him under the weight of his anger, Severus found a way to escape his grip, to rebuild himself independently of him, leaving James to drown alone in his darkness. If James was suffering from the situation, Severus did not care. He remained untouchable, indestructible, with Lily at his side to watch over him…

Wasn't that what James had wanted? For Severus to get away with it, for them to end their stupid game and go their separate ways?

Then why did he feel so bitter?

"James! Come and see! Remus is here and he's woken up!"

Peter's voice provoked no reaction from James. Severus was the only one who mattered. Severus turned his head in his direction, and his smile faded at the sight of James. There was a great silence that penetrated the old walls of the infirmary, waiting for a movement that James didn't make, remaining frozen in front of the door. Lily, who had recognized James first, was shaking her head gravely, as if she were about to tell the Slytherin something important, and James couldn't help moving back and forth between their gazes. Beneath their long lashes, their eyes shared the same coldness, the same intelligence, too. A pensive depth that attracted… Attracted what? Who? James? Lily attracted him, yes. There was beauty in her whole body, in her walk, in the inflections of her voice, and in her silences. An impalpable force constantly emanated from her, and when James had seen her, he had loved her with all his heart, with the naive will to make her happy. But Severus… James didn't know. He certainly couldn't say he was handsome, and he had a way of looking down on the world that was displeasing at first sight. But, when he got used to it and looked at him for a long time, he was seduced by his genius and a charm eventually exuded from his person. Like a puny little flower, mistreated by the wind, but whose scent remained tenacious, unforgettable.

A perfume that attracted James and frightened him at the same time, an indefinable sensation of passion and horror.

How had it come to this? How could he have let these feelings germinate? What he felt for Lily seemed so pure, though… "Pure", what a silly word when he thought about it, but he couldn't think of a better one. That was how true love had to be qualified. Something "pure", "sweet", but at the same time so "deep", so "strong", that would gradually come to fill the whole of his existence. It was love that drove James to go out of his way to meet Lily on the castle roads. It was love that made him swagger around her in the hope of seeing a smile waft across her lips.

It was love, wasn't it?

So why did his gaze keep shifting to Severus's face? Why was it he who was creating this heat in his belly, this terrible flame that was rising up into his chest, licking his heart?

Everything blurred in James's mind as he watched Severus and Lily in turn. The desire to be with her, the need to be with him. Always with that fire swelling, screaming at him to come closer. The visceral need to attack him. To hurt him if she couldn't touch him. This desire to exist in his eyes, to make him at least care about him if he couldn't love him…

Shit, what did love have to do with it?

James didn't know. He was lost. All the torments, all the anxieties of past years, all the grudges, and all the jealousies invaded his memory until they formed a big black knot that grew gigantic from moment to moment, preventing him from thinking properly. An ill-arranged bouquet of emotions which, strangely enough, predominated sorrow and fear of abandonment.

Caught in a fit of madness, he hurried towards Severus as if he'd called him. His new resolutions were gone. He'd forgotten all about them. The very fact of having fantasized about such possibilities suddenly seemed ridiculous. What choice did he have? How could he do otherwise? He was so sorry, so bruised by these feelings that had taken hold of him, that he felt unable to keep them all to himself. But what could he do? What could he say? How to express what he himself found so hard to understand?

"James! If you take one more step in his direction, I swear to Merlin you'll have to deal with me first, and you won't like it!"

Lily had risen to her feet, all white, seized by an angry movement that threw her in front of James's footsteps. Once again, she was intervening at a time when James's senses were overpowering his thinking, when he was losing all control. Lily with her powerful voice, her frank gaze, forcing him to draw on his last resources to try to calm down. He didn't want her to see his darkness again, at the risk of her running away from him forever. Oh, he so hoped she understood what he was going through, that his very existence was painful, that a terrible danger lurked, and he didn't know how to escape it. She was his only hope now, the only one who could pull him out of the trap that was closing in on him. If only she could stay with him, take him in her arms, and tell him everything was going to be alright. If only she could agree to go out with him. Maybe by gravitating towards her, such a kind, understanding girl, James would eventually find clarity, and regain control of his life…

He just wanted her to understand him, even if everything seemed insane, even if there was nothing to understand. He just wanted her to realize that it was he, and only he, she had to save. Let her take his hand and take him with her, tear him away from his own violence, to keep him only for her. To keep her only for him.

That she loved him the way James felt she loved Severus. Simply, brutally even, a bit like the beasts. With that instinctive affection that made her ready to seize him at the slightest danger, to show her teeth and pounce on whoever made him cry out.

But perhaps he had no right to ask so much of her?

Lily glanced briefly at Severus, then back at James, almost with a look of disgust, and James felt a hole grow in his chest. Lily didn't understand. Maybe she didn't even want to understand, maybe she didn't care. All that mattered to her was Severus, not him. An excruciating jealousy seized James at the thought, though he wasn't sure which of the two he envied more.

A truth too fragile to be exposed like this.

With a heavy step, James walked silently around Lily, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark. A sob rose in his throat, but he managed to stifle it, keeping it trapped in perfect silence. He mustn't give in, no, he had to keep it all to himself, not give others the spectacle of his pain. He felt so hurt, so furious, that he nearly stumbled with every step, his legs broken by emotion.

Severus was so close now, barely separated from him by that heavy silence, filled with inexpressible things. He had this falsely sly look on his face as if he could fool James, as if he thought he could manage to hide the diffuse fear in his eyes. Was he afraid James would hurt him, humiliate him again? Or, on the contrary, was he afraid that this time he wouldn't? That he'd get off the beaten track where they'd been going in circles for years now, head on? If James had grown little, Severus no longer looked like a child. He was a bony young man, with a big, skinny nose and a knife-edge face. A more austere physique. More noble, too. Under the pearly fabric of his skin, his blue veins showed through, giving his physiognomy a strange delicacy that moved James at that moment.

James's heart was beating so hard in his chest that he could hear it clearly. What was going to happen now? What was he supposed to do? Confess? Early in his life, James had learned the hard way that being vulnerable never paid off. When he had finally seen the light of day, after a series of miscarriages and stillbirths, his parents had shouted their joy from the rooftops. James had been spoiled, introduced to an existence full of softness, where he was constantly praised without ever making any effort. His father, above all, kept saying that he was handsome, that he was nice, that some girl would be happy to have him later on, and James had long felt this confidence, this feeling of superiority toward others.

Unfortunately, the situation had deteriorated. If their relatives had initially shared the couple's joy, they had ended up focusing on the miraculous son's shortcomings. "What an ungainly child", was heard in the living rooms. Not only those of the other families; in the Potter household too, voices were being raised, hypocritical, muffled, but piercing the walls enough for the rumors to keep spreading. "He's far too small for his age, and he still hasn't shown any sign of magic, maybe he's a Squib?", "A Squib? What a shame that would be!", "Hush, don't talk about it, it's taboo!". It was taboo, yes, yet everyone passed the word around, and it slid from one mouth to another, flowing like fountains from parents' throats into those of their offspring. "Your parents keep saying they love you, but if they could have chosen between you and another child, this one tare-free, do you think they still would have chosen you?" That was what James's cousin had asked him one day. The answer had haunted him ever since, as had the way the other kids avoided him. As if by getting too close to him, they might have been contaminated, had their magic sucked out of them.

Even if he had eventually shown small signs of magic, James wasn't whole. Something inside him was missing and simply existing wasn't enough. This was what he had grown to understand. He had been born broken and, if his parents adored him, it was because they hadn't been able to have another child. James was just their consolation prize. What would happen when they found out? What would happen when James reached his limits, much faster than all the others, and his parents could no longer pretend to have the perfect son?

The mere idea that his parents might reject him as well had filled him with such terror that he'd struggled to hide his flaws. He had learned to disguise himself, to shift other people's attention where he wanted it. Like an illusionist with his sleight of hand. Like a storyteller, with his little shadow theater, projecting a carefully constructed image onto the walls. If he wasn't tall, he knew how to be intimidating; if he wasn't brilliant in class, he pretended to do it on purpose by playing the jester, preferring to provoke laughter rather than attract it. Entertain rather than pity. He'd done everything he could to avoid becoming the common enemy, the scapegoat everyone used to make friends. His repartee and fake charm had become his main weapons, his shield

If it had taken him years, he had finally succeeded. Despite his disastrous grades, he was still a popular student. Better still, he passed for someone who was idle, uninterested in studies because he was already rich, and he knew that many envied him. He had made some very good friends, some from even bigger families than his own, and while his little group was always the talk of the school, they were also feared.

He'd won his bet. He had mastered the art of lying. The strategy of detours.

And, for the first time in his life, it did him a disservice.

What Severus deserved wasn't stories, it was the truth. A truth he had avoided all his life. How was he going to survive without his skillfully constructed little stratagems, without those artifices that had protected him until now by giving him that false sense of superiority so precious, so vital?

James opened his lips but remained silent. All the fine words that usually flowed out of him with ease seemed to have evaporated, leaving him destitute. No words seemed adequate, worthy of the situation. Unless it was Severus's behavior that was troubling him. He was so calm, so patient, that James didn't know whether it was anger or resignation that drove him to wait for him like this.

Maybe it was better to do without words after all. Perhaps James didn't have to break the silence, could express himself only through his actions.

His fingers brushed the velvet purse at the bottom of his pocket, and James felt overwhelmed by a wave of nostalgia. It was precious to him. Until now, it had contained his father's signet ring, given by his father on the occasion of his eleventh birthday. It bore the family crest and reminded him of the heritage and expectations that weighed on his shoulders. Yet James had temporarily replaced it with these red-tinged bone fragments, carefully collected at the foot of the stairs.

Perhaps when Severus saw the care James had taken in collecting them, he'd understand. Understand what? James didn't know. He didn't even know what he wanted from this action. He just hoped the situation would calm down. That everything could go back to the way it was, but different…

James hesitated for a moment, ready to hand Severus the purse, but a flash of clarity struck him full force. What was he doing? Of course, Severus would never understand the meaning of this morbid collection. Who else would collect the remains left by his victims but a fucking psychopath? Who wanted someone like that in his life?

Something was definitely wrong with him. He was losing his way. Lily and Severus were right. He was a public menace. He had to get out of their lives, even if it cost him terribly. If he wanted to preserve what little integrity he had left, he had to end this charade now.

"I'm sorry."

He was the first to be surprised by his angry tone. He didn't know if there was rage in him. All he felt was a sudden urge to disappear, to melt into the world around him.

"Is that all you can think of to say? I don't give a damn about your excuses."

The severity and contempt with which Severus wiped his lips with a broad sweep of his hand impressed James more than his words themselves. At first, he seemed stubbornly resentful. Then James noticed something in Severus's attitude. A subtle alteration in his gaze, a contained trembling in the corner of his lips.

Severus was moved.

James suddenly felt soft, lighter than a feather. It seemed to him that his flesh was emptying, that his bones were hollow, that he was becoming an immaterial thing. He didn't show it, he didn't move an inch, but he was moved too. He was won over by an unusual tenderness, and he had to restrain himself from speaking in a wet voice, all imprinted with the sobs he had so far refused to deliver.

"What am I supposed to say?" His tone was rough as usual, but James hoped Severus understood that he was imploring him. How to move him again? He wanted so much to go in the right direction, to get out of this impasse, to stop walking in circles. Did he have to be even more honest? It scared him so much. He wasn't sure what would come out of his mouth, and that terrified him.

"I don't want to… I don't want to…"

I don't want to lose you, but, every time, it's the same. When you're around, I do everything backwards. I say things without meaning them, I make one faux-pas after another and end up always hurting us. I lose control over everything I'm involved in. Over every element of my life. It plunges me into an absolutely indescribable, unbearable distress. Leaving only this goosebump, this trembling, this fever, here, in my head, in my chest… I wish I could do without you. Get rid of this heart I cannot control. But when you're not there, all hell breaks loose. I keep counting the hours between us, shutting myself away. I can't stop looking for you everywhere. I hope I run into you on every street corner, and anyone who looks like you gives me a little comfort. But they're not you. Nobody is you. Why is it that nobody seems interesting to me but you?

Everyone's always telling me that the problems I have with you are childish arguments, pointless squabbles that are best forgotten. They tell me it's silly, totally irrational, completely unfounded. But I don't care what other people think. I know what we have is of more consequence. I hope you know it too.

Do you always promise yourself that you'll never be caught out again, that you're better than this? Then, when you feel forced to come back to me, do you hate yourself too? Do you ask yourself why you are here? Why are you staying? I'm sick of us just waiting for each other around the bend. I'd like one of us to take the lead, even the upper hand. I'd like to never feel this frustration again. I wish I could start all over again, even though with what I've done to you, it's probably ruined. Even if I lack depth and vocabulary, even if I lack everything that composes you, everything that makes you, even if I'm too stupid, too vulgar… I want to hang on. I don't want what we're living to disappear… I don't want…

"I don't want you to disappear."

Is that sound coming from you or me? Your moan makes my skin clammy. I wish I could see hope in your eyes. I'd like to be the light that shines through them. I'd like… I'd like you to give me a chance to satisfy you, to be the one you're waiting for, to be able to walk a path with you, without us ever feeling lost. Because I feel I'd walk better by your side, even if I have no idea where I'm going… Because I've long toyed with the idea that we've always liked each other a little… This is the first time I've said it openly. I've always tried to deny it, to cover it up, to put it down to jealousy, to hatred, but it's all been lies.

The truth is, I think I love you…

What will become of me in a world where I love you?

I finally did it. I've posted this chapter. I think I'll never be able to do it! I've had a lot on my mind lately. The few moments I had to myself, I passed them staring at my ceiling, and everything I wrote seemed terribly ugly.

I wanted us to feel all James's emotions, but I just couldn't get them right. Not to mention the declaration at the end, which took forever to write and with which I'm still not satisfied. Especially as the original version is written in French and the rhythm was lost in English. In fact, I finished this chapter last week, but I refused to post it because I kept rewriting certain parts. As I felt I was going to end up deleting everything, I decided to post it anyway. The story has to move on. Anyway, I've spent so much time with the text that I'm no longer able to tell whether it's good or bad.

The good news is that I've already written part of the next chapter, which will be much quicker to complete (thanks to our himbo, Sirius, for his big empty head, which makes my job so much easier)!