"She was not daily bread. She was stardust. Her solitude made her and was part of her. Taken from her distant sky, she must have become a creature as different as fallen meteor from pulsing star. One may ask of the Sphinx if life would not have been dearer to her, lived as other women lived it? To have been, in essence, more as other women were? Or if, in so doing and so being, she would have missed that inordinate compulsion, that inquisitive comprehension that made her Emily Dickinson? It is to ask again the old riddle of genius against everyday happiness."
Dylan Thomas once wrote:
"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
The poem kept repeating in James' mind. And it did as he grabbed a handful of dirt and let it drop over his father's coffin. And then again as he walked back to his mother's tired but ever graceful side. He held her hand and she whipped softly.
Looking beyond, it had not been the first time James took notice of the incredibly sized crowd that had gathered to say their final goodbyes to Fleamont Potter. His father was the kind of person that had collected the respect of all types of wizards and witches over the years, some even that James himself would much prefer not to have anywhere near the ceremony but who was him to deny anyone who felt the need to pay their respects.
Among the mourning faces, James found a pair of half-moon glasses starring back at him. Dumbledore would standout in most places but he undoubtedly stood out as a comforting warmth when James felt everything but.
"Padfoot" he called, gesturing for his best mate to look after his mother.
Sirius obliged reassuringly as James headed towards his Hogwarts professor.
"When I was your age, I tried giving smoking an opportunity, thinking that, after a rather complicated end of relationship, I would have room for a new bad habit." Dumbledore told him as he walked closer in the cemetery field. "It never stuck unfortunately, for I do think in situations like these, it adds a certain je ne sais quoi."
"What are you doing here anyway, Sir?" James asked not unkind. "Making a reservation?"
Dumbledore laughed heartily and the sound seemed alien in the context but James appreciated it.
"Oh you might not see it, as sons tend to be blind to its obviousness, but that sharp tongue of yours has Fleamont Potter all over it." James looked down with a pained smile. "Times change of course but believe me, he had it sharp as a quill, your father, around the time he was your age."
They stood together watching the crowd slowly disperse, noticing most people who sent Euphemia sympathetic looks of pity and strength.
"Yes, Fleamont always knew what to say…" He sighed and James noticed for the first time that his headmaster looked tired. "It sure makes this day a tough one, today."
James pressed his jaw. "Every day will be tough now."
Dumbledore nodded and they started walking side by side.
"Life does tend to take that route… which reminds me" Dumbledore took out a collection of letters from his ropes, all wrapped together with a red string, and handed them to James. "Friendship. Love. The only way to counterbalance it."
James inspected the package, genuinely surprised. "There must be over twenty letters here."
He looked up to his professor, looking for answers, who smiled knowingly back.
"It was either that or half the school would take a field trip to be here today— for you. I promised them I would bring these to you."
James' heart grew heavy and he had the uncanny want of hugging the inanimate objects. He just nervously kept turning them over in his hands instead, registering the names of those who had written, and noticing the absence of one in particular.
"I'm afraid I haven't been very good myself"
"Oh?" Dumbledore asked, hands behind his back.
"A good friend, a good son…" he was looking at his mother. "I fear now that I might not believe it matters actually, any of it. Not any more."
"Mhm, I understand. You're at the age of doubting it. Doubting everything for that matter. But definitely doubting if doing the right thing matters, if being selfish won't take you to the exact same place or an even better one. But if I may, when in doubt, you have a very close reason to believe it does, you see—" he grazed his fingers on James' letters but then stopped. "Oh yes, I forgot"
Dumbledore reached his other pocket and had two more letters. "Miss Evans," he said, and a chill ran on James' entire body from the sound, "is still under care as you know, but she made sure I handed these to you and, Mr. Black alike"
James picked it up.
"She wrote…" he said with a certain apprehension. "And to Padfoot as well" he noted.
"She did. If I may, when one is young, it is expected that one is worried about owns pain and experiences. Only later does one begin to understand their responsibility to others. Miss Evans however, has always seemed to me to do her best in this life to be of used to others."
Dumbledore's speech was always paused and clean, as if the product of a long time reflecting before speaking. James grazed his fingers on the envelope respondent.
"And you saved her, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore said, forcing him to look up and see his professor's knowing half smile. "If you're ever doubtful, remember just that— when you do good things, that's who you are. And what a great thing indeed you did, saving Miss Evans life."
James could feel the tightness of his throat, but persevered. "It wasn't entirely selfless Sir… as I think you know. To lose her would be… I couldn't, I-I just couldn't and now… now dad's dead"
He dropped his head and gave up the fight against the tears.
"Dear boy…" Dumbledore put a hand on his shoulder and spoke in a softer tone. "The sooner you accept your heart is good, the sooner you'll trust that others believe it too. It doesn't do well to swallow ourselves to guilt because life happened as we were trying our best." James kept his head low, his body shaking slightly from his own sobs. "Your father would have entered that school no matter what you did because that's the person he was. The same you did, you went to save a life and because of that, we are not in Miss Evans funeral today."
"But I couldn't save him"
"Neither could I"
At this, James looked up, looking at the small tired eyes of his professor.
"Nor your father, nor a young student that was under my care and protection."
"Sir, that was not your fault, this- this war it's—" James pleaded in a panic.
"I know, I know" he hushed him calmly. "I know. All of us, we will carry that day for a long time I believe. But let us make sure it doesn't take more space than the love and good of those we lost. For to do so… what a waste."
James pressed his lips and, starring at the wizard he admired most, he nodded accepting. Dumbledore signalled for them to return their walk, heading to the Potter house, still with a hand over the shoulder of the young wizard.
Dylan Thomas once wrote:
"Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night."
The poem was a particular favourite of Lily. And, she remembered, of her late father.
St Mungo's was cold and blue, but at night, it was unbearable. Her mother had long gone home albeit, not without convincing from the healers that Lily was of age in the wizarding world and therefore, not necessarily in need of an adult companion to spend the night. Now Lily wished she had defended her mother's point of view just a bit harder.
She was looking at the moon through her room window when a couple of healing utensils fell on the floor, jumping her scared.
"What's that? Who's there?" she asked, quickly reaching her wand. "Revelio"
"Easy Evans" Sirius revealed himself, uncovering from the invisibility cloak, standing on the dark room, visible by the moonlight. "Merlin heard your prayers and here I am"
"Sirius!" She was more excited for seeing a friendly face than caring for the ridiculousness of having Sirius Black surprise her at the wizarding hospital after hours. "What are you doing here?"
He walked closer, smelling a potion or another on the way.
"You called"
"No, I didn't" she said amused.
He shrugged, sitting on the chair close by. "Well, you wrote."
"So?" she chuckled. "I've been writing Paul McCartney for years now and he's never ran over my room, unfortunately may I add"
Sirius grimaced his nose. "You're a Paul bird, Evans?"
"I'm a free bird" she corrected.
He rolled his eyes but grinned. She was at ease for sure, but still.
"But really, what are you doing here?"
He had his head back and was looking at the room ceiling, playing with his hands on the armrest. A sudden thought ran through her and she sobered.
"Is everything OK with James?"
His head snapped with a funny expression. "I am still not used to this whole caring, first name relationship you two have going on."
Lily was thankful for the dim light of the room that surely hid her blushing.
"It's a perfectly reasonable question Black" she tried. "What with all that happened"
Luckily Sirius reasoned and sighed. "I know. No, Prong's all right… I mean, for a bloke who just lost his bloody terrific father."
Lily gave an empathetic smile. "The funeral was today?"
Sirius nodded.
"I wish I could've been there."
"Yeah, me too." He offered lamely. "People say you're good at this sort of stuff. Pain and words and- Prongs."
She snorted. "People say that?"
He nodded genuine. "It's true"
"Yeah well," she felt awkward and shy at the recognition, "between the two of us, you're definitely the right person to be there by his side"
She said it casually but truthfully, but he looked up at her, insecure.
"Yeah?" he asked, soft.
"Yeah" she said, surprised at his vulnerability.
"Right"
Lily realized then that tall, confident, smart Sirius Black, was afraid he could not help his best friend. She wanted nudge her hand on his cheek.
"It's easier than you think, you know? Being there for him" she continued with her melodic voice, adjusting herself up on the bed. "He knows you don't have the answers or anything like that. He just needs to feel you close, even when he doesn't know it"
Sirius was listening attentive, but looked at where his hand was playing with the sofa as he spoke. "I don't know… I wonder if it might be best to back off a bit you know? Let him be with Mrs. Potter and all."
"I know… and hey, maybe it is, I don't know, contrary to popular belief, I'm not in fact an expert in pain, or words, and definitely not on James Potter." They smiled at each other. "But," she continued, "I do remember this one day when I was walking to class and something made me think of my dad. I don't know what it was, maybe nothing, maybe everything. Either way, it hit me like a bludger. I felt like I couldn't breathe."
She swallowed dryly, but continued. "Grief does that to you I guess. Anyway, it was a particular rubbish day that day. And when I got to class, you and James were discussing something I don't even remember now, but you said something like 'You can play with it all you want Prongs, but no amount of hair will hide that big ass forehead you got going on'" she repeated, imitating Sirius tone of voice. "And it just- even now, makes me laugh remembering it" and sure enough, she was between laughs.
Sirius couldn't help but mirror.
"It was just so- crude and, ridiculous" she kept giggling. "But it made me smile. You make me smile, you're good at it."
Lily thought she saw him twitch shyly. "I remember that, you looked crazy laughing alone. Of course Prongs found it adorable" he sang, teasing her.
"Yeah yeah, but are you listening? You helped me by just being you. You childish, mischievous… sweet you. That's all James needs you to be."
He leaned on his knees. "Yeah?"
"Yes" she smiled.
"Well then, I guess the rumours are true after all. You really are good at everything. Hum, I wonder if…" he said suggestively.
"Alright Black, don't make me tell Maria McKinnon you walked in after hours"
"Alright alright, let's not get extreme here"
He got up and she chuckled.
"How're you feeling anyhow?" He asked by her bed.
"I'm making them move me to be under Madam Pomfrey's care. It'd be easier for homework" she shared excited.
"Merlin Evans, only you'd make a bad situation even worst— ah that's not true, Moony would probably do the same."
"Jeez Black, so happy you passed by, sure am sorry to see you leave" She stuck her tongue out.
He grinned. "You're right anyway, I should head back. Prongs will kill me when he finds out I came to visit you."
"Why?" She asked serious.
The grin grew. "'Cause I didn't invite him."
She rolled her eyes but blushed. "Alright, go on then"
He bypassed the bed. "Is it alright if I come see you again sometime?"
She smiled not indifferent to the sweetness in it. "Sure"
He nodded. "Blinding"
But before he turned away, she remembered. "Hey," she called, "Just one last thing- don't forget to mourn for yourself as well. You lost someone special too, it's OK to feel sad for you." He blinked, unable to say anything. "It doesn't mean you're not sad for him too… and it sure as hell doesn't make you a bad friend." She finished with kindness.
"Right" he said before covering himself with the cloak and disappearing.
Lily pressed her lips and nested herself but a few seconds later, something dropped by her bedside table. She grabbed to see what it was and it quickly clicked— homework.
She smiled softly.
"Thank you" she said, unsure if he had heard.
He did.
Dylan Thomas once wrote:
"Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a Green Bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light"
James was looking into the mirror and the poem kept coming back to him but now, a young witch's words kept buzzing in his head as well.
He picked up the letter from where it laid on the bathroom sink, reading it once more but jumping to the lines he was thinking of.
"Trust me on this OK? Don't shut everyone out. I know how you are… I'm the same way."
His head hang low.
After the day he had just had, those words still made a number on him.
He felt movement and he turned to see Sirius by the door.
"Hey" his voice weird by a day of crying and trying not to. "Where were you?"
"Sorry just… had to take a ride out on the old bike"
If James wasn't so exhausted, he might have pressed further but luckily, he dropped it just nodding.
"You alright?" Sirius asked.
James thought for a second. "Yeah… could you help me with something tough?"
Sirius took a step in. "'Course mate, anything. What is it?"
James opened a bathroom drawer and took out something electric. "I'm thinking of showing off this big head I have on… besides, can you imagine mum's face when she sees me buzzed cut in the morning? She'll be so mad, she won't remember crying."
Sirius smiled wide but his eyes had tears. He quickly sniffled, nuzzling his nose. "Turn around, we gonna have fun first. What you think of a mawhawk?"
James chuckled and Sirius closed the door behind them, still hearing the buzz sound coming from the muggle machine.
Dylan Thomas once wrote:
"Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night."