Obsidian
The impossible happens, and the world stands still. Then, it shatters into a million pieces.
"—AND WHAT I DON'T UNDERSTAND IS WHY IT TOOK SO LONG!" James's voice thundered across the second floor of St. Mungo's. His wand was clenched tight in his left hand while his right angrily shoved at the bumbling Healer in front of him. "YOU TOLD ME IT WAS SUPPOSED—"
"James!" Lily cried out, aghast. She ripped herself away from Grace and hurtled towards her husband. "James, what on earth are you—"
There was a crowd of curious patients gathering by the Dragon Pox ward. Healers were frantically shoving their way through, trying to move things along. James's voice cracked and dropped once he caught sight of Lily. He stuffed his wand away roughly, but his furious gaze didn't lift from the trembling Healer in front of him.
"I've had it with your holier-than-thou attitude," James spat. "I want a new Healer for my parents. Immediately."
Healer Jenkins muttered something, and promptly fled from sight, light green robes fluttering behind him. James swallowed thickly before shrugging away from the ward entirely, collapsing into the waiting area. Lily followed him at a fast pace.
"What were you thinking?" she demanded.
He stared at her, the hard lines of his face caving in. "I wasn't," he admitted after a moment.
Grace stood off to the side, her trunk at her feet. She had never seen James so full of rage. He seemed almost unrecognizable. Her heart battered against her chest relentlessly. She felt breathless all of a sudden, as though she had been screaming right alongside him.
"Oh, Lily brought you straight from the platform?"
Her head snapped to the side, and she soured as she caught sight of Sirius. He appeared just as worn as James. His long hair was hastily put up, and his eyes were rimmed with dark circles. In both of his hands were steaming cups of tea.
"Yeah. Do you—er—know what happened?" She glanced unsurely at James, and then at the doors to the ward.
"Don't really know the specifics," he shrugged. "Just that that git of a Healer got what was coming. James figured the winterbloom would have worked if it had gotten here sooner, but Jenkins wasn't on top of it."
She frowned tightly. Fury slithered into her chest. If it turned out Mum and Dad had lost their chance, if their condition worsened because of one stupid Healer's incompetency—then Grace didn't know what she'd do. She could understand James's screaming fit. She would have done the same. She might have done worse.
"I was just dropping by," Sirius continued. "After you check in with James and your parents, I can Apparate you back to the cottage to put away your things, if you want. I doubt James will want to leave, and I don't think Lily will want to leave him out of her sight after what she just saw."
"Er—is Remus around? Or Peter?" She'd rather not have Sirius escort her home if she could help it. He'd spend the time rambling about James or himself or both.
"Peter's at work and Remus is away."
"Away?"
"Yeah—out of the country."
"What? Why? Did something happen?"
Sirius seemed to regret saying anything at all. "Er—I dunno," he said, and began to walk away from her speedily. The tea in the mugs sloshed against the rims precariously.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Grace said incredulously. She knew Remus and Sirius's relationship was fraught, but had it really gotten so bad that one didn't even know why the other had suddenly just left the country?
Sirius ignored her completely. "James," he greeted, holding out one of the cups. "Let's get some tea in you, mate."
James numbly reached for the mug. His hands curled around the porcelain, but he didn't lift it to his lips, choosing, instead, to stare blankly into the white floor.
Sirius silently handed the other cup to Lily and sat down beside James. "Is there anything else I can do?" he asked.
James glanced at him. "How do you feel about murder?" he asked, voice completely devoid of humor.
"No offense, but I don't think one Healer is worth twenty years in Azkaban." Sirius clapped him on the back. "Come on—drink up that tea. I can get you a scone to go down with it—"
James shook his head. "No, that's okay. Thanks."
"Anytime." The stubborn cheer in Sirius's eyes died away as he took in his friend. "James—if you want to go home and take a nap or something, it'll be fine. I'll stay here and watch over—"
"No," he cut in harshly. "No—I'm not—I can't leave."
"Right…"
"James," Lily interceded softly. "You do need some rest. Look—Grace is here. She can watch over Effie and Monty instead if that makes you feel better."
James lifted his head up sluggishly and caught onto Grace's slight form. He didn't seem the least bit thrilled to see her, and Grace couldn't find it in herself to fault him for that. She had been ragging on him for the past few weeks.
She shifted uneasily under his weary gaze. "Actually," she began, "I think I'll head home to drop my stuff off first."
For all the insults she had thrown his way, James had not yet snapped back at her. But after witnessing his tiff with Healer Jenkins, Grace was beginning to think his patience was wearing thin. The atmosphere of the ward was delicate. She didn't want to upset anything.
As it turned out, she didn't need to. James was more than willing to start the fight this time around.
"Oh, really?" he said, voice as bitter and prickly as thistle. "What happened to spending time with Mum and Dad so they're not lonely?"
Her throat was tight. She couldn't find the strength to meet his harsh gaze. "I'll only be a moment," she said. "I can't drag this trunk around all day."
His eyes flitted over her for a moment before retreating. "Whatever," he said under his breath.
Sirius was staring between the two of them, wide-eyed. He opened his mouth, about to speak, when Lily shot him a warning glare. His lips stitched shut, but his eyes continued to shine with unabashed concern.
"Have you—have you spoken to them yet?" Grace hedged. "About the winterbloom?"
James's eyes flickered shut. He didn't say anything for a long moment. Just as Grace was beginning to think he was trying to ignore her, he said, "Yes."
"Oh." A terrible wave of nausea was crawling through her. Heat overwhelmed her. She thought she might puke. "What did—I mean—" she bit down on her lower lip and took a couple of flimsy breaths. "Are they okay?"
He stood up abruptly. The piping hot tea in his cup flew over the rim, splashing over his wrist and hand. Lily's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. She fumbled around for her wand, but James barely noticed the blistering skin.
"You can ask them yourself," he told Grace flatly, and promptly turned on his heel, heading back towards the ward.
Grace stared after him, helpless. She knew this was coming. She knew this was what she and Regulus had been planning for. But the knowledge did little to ease the sting in her heart, the sear of her eyes. Turmoil seated itself deep in her stomach. Between her parent's unlikely prognosis and James's standoffishness—what did she have left?
Sirius cleared his throat awkwardly and rose from his seat. "Er—let's get you to the cottage, eh?"
She shrugged away from him. "I know how to Apparate," she mumbled. "I can go by myself."
"Not at the moment," Lily said. "There are anti-Apparition wards set up all over Godric's Hollow. Sirius will have to Apparate you to a specific corner of town, and you can walk to the cottage from there." She gave her a sympathetic half-smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're free to go yourself whenever you want after Sirius shows you the spot."
"Yeah, alright," Grace said tonelessly. She grabbed onto the handle of her trunk and extended a hand to Sirius. "Let's just go."
He took her hand in his own. The atmosphere twisted around them, warping around their bodies. With an audible pop! they disappeared from the enormous waiting area of St. Mungo's and re-appeared in a crop of wild hydrangea. Grace pulled herself away from Sirius and surveyed the area.
They had landed in an alcove by the village square. She could just make out the broad, copper statue of the founder of Godric's Hollow. She stepped out of the flurry of brightly-colored flowers, ignoring the ringing in her ears as her body adjusted to the sudden transportation.
"Shall we?" Sirius said, gesturing to his right, where the trail to the Potter cottage started.
Grace stubbornly dragged her trunk along the dirt path. She hoped Sirius wouldn't puncture the sweet silence with conversation. But, of course, Sirius lived to disappoint her, because scarcely a minute into their trek, he said, "So—how's Hogwarts been? Filch still running amok, is he?"
She gave him a withering glance, which he pointedly ignored. "It's okay," she grunted.
"Good to hear, good to hear." He nodded absently. "I heard Vance is teaching Defense. How has she been?"
"Rubbish."
He snorted. "Lovely—I'll tell her that next time I see her in the Auror Office."
"I mean—" Grace said hastily, "—she's not rubbish. The class is. We haven't learned anything except the Patronus Charm."
"I'd say that's probably the most useful spell to learn at the moment." His voice had morphed from light-hearted to solemn. It wasn't a tone Sirius often used, and hearing it made Grace feel even more uncomfortable.
The world seemed out of sorts. Her parents were confined to St. Mungo's instead of her. James was surly instead of upbeat. Lily's kindness seemed to have been exhausted. Remus was conspicuously absent. And Sirius was, well, serious.
"You don't have to walk with me," Grace said.
"Ah, that's where you're wrong, Puny Potter. I absolutely do have to walk with you. James would kill me if I let you run off alone. We've got the wards up for a reason, after all."
"I don't think James would particularly care if I ran off." The words flew out of her mouth without her realizing it.
Sirius's brows rose. "I think he's just overwhelmed," he said softly. "We all are. He's mentioned you've been rather whingy, too. It's just…how it is at the moment. I don't think anyone's to blame for it. He'll probably come to his senses in a few days and apologize. You should, too."
Merlin, when'd he get so bloody wise? Grace thought viciously. She opted to keep her mouth shut as they traveled the rest of the distance to the Potter cottage.
The house was in such a dismal state that Grace hardly recognized it. Mum's garden, which she had tended to so carefully, was withered and wilted. The patch of fluxweed seemed little more than cracked, brittle grass. The jasmine that encircled the house sagged towards the earth. Shriveled white petals littered the dark soil. Even the tall hornbeam tree in the backyard seemed to be drooping more than usual.
Grace made her way to the front door and pushed her way into the house. It was cold, which she supposed made sense. There was no one there, no bodies to give off heat, no laughs to warm the air. She padded inside, each footfall echoing through the dim and empty house, and set her trunk down in the living area.
Her eyes skimmed over the room. The windows were closed and curtained, leaving little light. One of Mum's novels had been left on the coffee table, spine crushed against the smooth wood, pages splayed out. She must have been reading it when she collapsed that day.
Grace turned away abruptly, stalking back towards the door. She slammed it shut behind her, and didn't bother waiting for Sirius as she dashed away from the house. St. Mungo's seemed more of a home than the Potter cottage did at the moment.
"Hold on—!" Sirius wheezed as he caught up. "Merlin—where's the fire?"
"I just want to get back to Mum and Dad." She just wanted to get away from here.
"You will," Sirius promised.
Grace's stride lost energy, and she soon found herself slowing, much to her chagrin. Sirius followed at her side leisurely, hands stuffed into the pockets of his Muggle jeans. A light breeze picked up, whipping loose strands of his dark hair about.
"Can I ask you something?" he said as they neared the village square.
"You just did," she bit.
Sirius disregarded the jibe. "Have you seen much of Regulus lately?"
The question was so unexpected, Grace actually stopped mid-stride. "What?"
"Regulus," Sirius repeated. He was studying her carefully, grey eyes sharp and calculating. "How is he?"
"I—he seems okay." She tried to shrug off the question and picked up her pace.
"Seems?" Sirius questioned. "You haven't been talking to him?"
"Why do you care about him all of a sudden?" she snapped.
"It's not him I'm worried about. I just have some…suspicions that he might be…"
Ice flooded her veins. She struggled not to look at Sirius. "That he might be what?"
He shook his head. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter. Not now, at least. We can talk about it once Effie and Monty get better."
And despite all the resentment she harbored for Sirius, despite the worry seeping through her, she found herself overcome by a flash of appreciation. Once Effie and Monty get better. Not if—once. She had forgotten how resolute Sirius could be, how cocksure. Grace would be lying if she said her family didn't need some of that dogged will at the moment.
She was huddled in the tea shop on the top floor of St. Mungo's. The tiny café had become something of a refuge over the past few days. Few visitors passed through the door, and the barista took so many breaks he was hardly ever by the counter. It was the perfect place for Grace to sulk.
She had sat by her parent's bedside earlier that day, along with James, but the atmosphere was so stilted and sullen that she found she couldn't quite stomach the stay. Dad's throat had closed in completely, leaving him without the ability to speak. Despite this, he still made the effort to rasp out a few words now and again. (James, he had managed to cough out after countless tries. Grace. His eyes had been so light and happy when he succeeded in saying their names out loud, one might have thought he was learning to speak for the first time.) Grace wished he'd save his energy, but he wanted so desperately to tell his children not to worry, that he loved them, that everything would be okay in the end.
And Grace wanted to believe him, she really did. But there was this niggling doubt in the back of her head, this horrible fear festering in the pit of her heart. She needed to be sure. She needed to be certain that everything really would be okay in the end.
She passed her tarot cards between her hands, shuffling through them messily, fingers frantic. Will they get better? she thought viciously as she flicked through card after card. Tell me they'll get better. Show me they'll get better. She knew these cards like the back of her hand. She had studied them for six long years. She knew each picture like she knew the lines of her palms. And yet, somehow, she still held onto the wild hope that one of these cards would, impossibly, show her parents back at the Potter cottage: Mum snuggled into the armchair by the hearth, finishing her novel, while Dad ambled about the house looking for a missing sock.
The first card landed in the center of the wooden table. It was the three of swords; the shining silver blades were plunged into one large beating heart. A tempest raged on in the background.
"Suffering and heartbreak," Grace noted quietly, and took the next card from the pile.
The second card was the five of wands. There was an uneven split of wizards in the image, three against two, dueling it out over a desert. Grace frowned as she traced over the image. This card was meant to show the path the previous one led to. But how could her parent's suffering lead to battle?
She took the last card and laid it against the previous two. It was the chariot but reversed. While normally the chariot was meant to symbolize direction and control—the whole world in the palm of your hands—the reverse meant the exact opposite. The card was telling her that after the hardship and the battle came chaos.
Grace's stomach churned at the sight. This wasn't what she wanted to see. She wasn't even sure what it was she was seeing. It didn't quite make sense.
She pushed the cards away, letting the deck spill over the table, and promptly began to fish around in her bag for her half of the spellbound sheets. Regulus was her only source of conversation these past few days since James was pointedly ignoring her and her parents were too tired to speak for more than a few minutes at a time.
She smoothed the sheet out on the table, frowning as she read the message Regulus had sent: Bellatrix wants to meet the day before we return to Hogwarts. Can you meet at the Leaky Cauldron then?
She scrambled around for her quill and inkpot. Here's the bad news, she scribbled rapidly. I can't really get away from James and Lily, seeing as we've now made a semi-permanent home out of St. Mungo's.
Regulus's reply came within seconds: Is there any good news?
She thought about it. No.
How are you feeling? Are you okay?
She needed a moment to answer that. She fidgeted with the quill in her hands. The truth was she wasn't okay, and she didn't particularly feel like meeting the deranged Bellatrix Lestrange, whether it be one week from now or one decade. But she had a plan to follow through with. She had a world to help save—a world that went on spinning even as her parents lay in their hospital cots.
I'm fine, Grace wrote after a minute.
Evidently, Regulus did not buy the small lie, because ink bled through the paper quickly. Are you sure? Grace, I can try to convince Bellatrix to postpone the meeting. I don't want to overburden you with anything. You've got to take care of yourself, too, and—
She never got to finish reading the small novel of comfort Regulus was penning, because the chimes above the café door tinkled. Grace hastily folded away her sheet and stuffed into her bag.
"Oh, I didn't realize you were here," a pleasant voice said.
Grace looked up. "Remus?" she said in disbelief as the tall, sandy-haired man walked further inside. He looked much the same—still shabby, still a bit ragged. There was a wan smile on his face. "What—I thought—Sirius said you were out of the country!"
He raised a brow. "Out of the country? I don't think so. I was only up north for a bit."
"North? What for?"
"Just visiting some relatives." He strolled over and took the seat opposite hers. "I didn't realize James had convinced you to camp out in St. Mungo's along with him."
Her shoulders dropped at the mention of James. She picked at one of the cards on the table—the six of swords—and bent the edges of it. "Where else would I go?" she said. "Everyone's here."
The lighthearted air Remus had carried with him vanished. "Right," he murmured. "I won't—er—heap that drivel about being strong and whatnot onto you. You've probably heard enough of it."
"Yeah." She folded the card clean in half. The center of it frayed from the strain. "It's not looking so good."
"James said something similar." His olive green eyes flickered over her. "How are you feeling?"
She shrugged halfheartedly. "Someone put up a Christmas tree in the waiting area. That was a little irritating."
"Shall I set it on fire for you?"
The corners of her lips twitched. "Are you allowed to do that?"
"Oh, definitely not. But if it's irritating, we should do something about it. Power lies in the people, after all."
The thought of committing arson was rather tempting. "Alright, then let's—"
The chimes rang once more, and Grace's mouth snapped shut as she saw James, Lily, Sirius, and Peter shuffle inside. She immediately began to gather her cards, pooling them into her bag.
Remus stood up, eyeing her with concern. "What are you—?"
"Oh, Grace," Lily said, catching sight of her. Grace could tell the redhead wasn't particularly pleased to find her here, but she'd never say anything out loud. "I thought you were in the ward."
Grace stood up. "I'm heading there right now."
"Why don't you stay for some tea first?" Remus suggested. He glanced over at the counter and frowned when he saw no one was there. "Er—if we can manage to find the barista, that is."
"I'm fine," Grace said, side-stepping him. She glanced briefly at James, but his attention was directed stonily ahead. "I'll—er—see you in a bit."
She couldn't find the strength to pull James into a heated row, not now, not when Mum and Dad were clinging to life. So, she had decided to settle with the frosty silence James had created the first day she arrived at St. Mungo's for holiday. She figured it was practically the same; anyone who saw them interact would assume the two weren't close.
Grace stepped out of the shop. Just as she passed by the window, she heard Sirius exclaim, "Thank Merlin! I actually thought she'd take you up on the tea for a moment, Moony."
She stilled by the window, back flush against the wall. Did they always talk about her when they were alone?
"What are you talking about?" came Remus's voice.
"Sirius!" Lily scolded at the same time.
"Oh, come on," Sirius said. She heard the scrape of a chair as he took a seat. His voice came louder, presumably because he had chosen a table right by the window. Grace slid down against the wall and scrambled underneath the wide window, straining her ears. It helped that Sirius spoke at three times the volume someone normally would. "You were thinking it, too, Lily. She's been unbearable since she came back."
"I think that's probably understandable given both her parents have Dragon Pox," Remus said coldly.
"No offense, but you only just got here," Sirius scowled. "She's been acting weird. James knows what I'm talking about—right, mate?"
James sighed. "I dunno… She's just been a bit rude is all. I'm just trying to ignore it."
"You should talk to her," Sirius said. "I feel like you ignoring her has made things worse. Every time you two are in the same room, it's like the temperature goes down twenty degrees."
"I'd be more than willing to talk if Grace would be open to actually listening."
"She'll listen if you give her a reason to," Peter piped in, voice reedy.
"I don't know about that," Lily sighed. "I've already asked her to temper it down a bit."
"You did what?" Surprise colored James's voice. "Lily—I know you only have the best intentions, but now's really not the time to dish out lectures. Grace has always been closer to our parents. They've mollycoddled her since the minute she was born. Of course she'd get… Into whatever mood it is she's getting into."
Grace's brows furrowed. She wasn't the one who'd been mollycoddled since birth; James was. James had always been closer to Mum and Dad. He'd write them letters every day he was at Hogwarts. And, in turn, he'd get all the broomsticks and rubbish owls his heart desired.
"I—" Lily faltered. "I understand that. I just don't like that she takes it out on us. We're dealing with enough as it is."
"Hold on," Remus said. "What exactly is the problem? I was just talking to Grace, and she seemed fine."
An uncomfortable silence followed. Grace fidgeted under the window. Her scalp brushed against the sill. She wanted to get up and leave, but she couldn't. She had to know where this conversation was leading.
"She's just…made some very pointed remarks now and then," Lily said rather diplomatically.
"Like what?" Remus pressed.
"Like about how I'm a terrible son and a failure of an Auror and don't deserve any of the love I've been given," James said flatly.
"I—what?" Remus sputtered out.
"She was a bit more subtle than that," Lily said dryly. "But that is the gist, yes."
"Merlin…" Remus breathed. "Has something happened to her? Other than the obvious, of course."
"I've got a theory," Sirius announced very loudly.
"Oh, God," Lily groaned. "Not again."
"What is it?" Remus and Peter chorused together.
"I think she might be spending a bit too much time with her Slytherin—er—friends, shall we call them?" Sirius said. "Before, we were always around to act as a buffer against all the negative influence in Hogwarts, but now she's on her own in there."
"That doesn't make sense," Lily sighed. "We weren't that much of a buffer. She still hung out with her Slytherin friends while we were at Hogwarts."
"It's different this year."
"How so?"
"Well—" Sirius trilled, "—I asked her about Reg, and she got spooked. I think she knows."
"Knows…?" Remus said.
"That he's a Death Eater." Sirius said the words so easily, without even the slightest bit of doubt.
Lily groaned. Remus scoffed. Peter let out a small, terrified squeak. Grace felt her very soul lift from her body. She raised a trembling hand and pressed it against her forehead. How long had he known? How come he hadn't said anything? Did Sirius know about any of the other Death Eaters? Worse, still—did he suspect her of becoming one?
"Now hold on," Remus protested. "Caradoc wasn't sure if that was your brother. And we never got to follow up since he…you know."
"I don't doubt that it's Regulus," Sirius said resolutely. "He was probably bullied into joining by our mother. It wouldn't surprise me. And I reckon if he's joined Lord Voldeprat, there must have been others in Hogwarts who have, too."
"Other students?" Remus said with blatant disbelief. "Literal seventeen year olds?"
"That does sound dodgy," Peter threw in.
"Is it really so far-fetched? We were eighteen when Dumbledore had us join the Order," Sirius countered. "Here's what I reckon: Grace has been spending too much time in that infernal snake pit, and now her brain's all addled."
James was shaking his head. His silhouette warbled against the frosty glass. "I know Grace has been harsh recently, but there's no way she'd be daft enough to fall for any of the rubbish Slytherins say."
"Mate, I'm not saying she's going and joining the other side. I'm just saying she's probably picked up some nasty habits—"
James's chair screeched against the floor abruptly. "I'm not going to sit here and listen to this thought experiment, Padfoot. Not now." Silence swelled between the four of them. Grace's heart thudded against her chest painfully. "The barista's probably in the back, right?" James's footsteps were receding. "I really need a cuppa…"
"I'll help!" Peter offered, scrambling away and following after James.
Lily let out a lengthy sigh as the two men wandered further and further into the tea shop.
"Yes?" Sirius said pointedly. "Something you'd like to share with the class, Evans?"
"There doesn't need to be some grand reason all the time," Lily said quietly. "I don't want to make excuses for her, but…I can understand if she's lashing out because that's the only way she knows how to deal with all her stress."
"This could be a repeat of that time she dueled Aubrey on James's behalf," Remus pointed out. "She's never been one to keep her emotions in check. I'm sure she'll come to her senses soon."
"If she apologizes, I'll forgive her. James will, too," Lily agreed.
"Something just seems off," Sirius muttered after a moment. "I'm just worried is all."
"We all are," Lily said softly.
Mum had fallen asleep a while ago, one of her rash-red hands clasped tightly in both of Grace's. Grace was huddled at the foot of the cot, chin resting on her pulled-up knees. She didn't quite know what to do anymore. The hours were moving so slowly, and after overhearing the conversation in the tea shop, Grace decided that seeking James, Lily, Sirius, or Remus for anything at all would be a bad idea. It would be best to avoid them completely.
Grace sighed softly, rolling her head to the side, letting her cheek squash against her knees. The ward was quiet, save for a few coughs and wheezes puncturing the air now and again. Someone had decided to cheer up the patients by stringing some baubles from the ceiling; silver, gold, and crimson ornaments twirled from above, glinting under the white light of the ward. Grace found them to be more of an eyesore than anything.
"Er—hey?"
Grace's head snapped up. Her spine snapped into something rigid and tight when she saw James lingering just beyond the curtains. She turned away sharply, ducking towards her mother's sleeping form. Her loose hair fell over her shoulder, hiding her.
"What?" she muttered.
"I need to talk to you. It'll only be a minute." He disappeared behind the curtains. She could hear his feet padding against the tiles, growing fainter and fainter until they stopped just at the threshold of the ward doors.
Grace bit the inside of her cheek. She cast one long look at Mum, who was snoring away gently, before tenderly peeling her hands away and getting up. James had made a huge effort not to approach her these past few days, so his sudden invitation had her feeling rather wary. What if Sirius had finally convinced James of his 'theory'?
She skirted around the cots and found James pacing by the double doors. He stilled once he caught sight of her, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Look," he sighed once she was near enough. "I don't know what I've done, if I've done anything at all. I don't know what it is you're angry about. But could you please just set it aside for—for—a moment? At least here? For Mum and Dad?"
She frowned at him. She had already set it all aside. She had barely said a word to James since she arrived at St. Mungo's. It was James who seemed reluctant to let go of everything Grace had said weeks and weeks ago. It was James who had drawn away—and much faster and sharper than she had expected. It was James who had fed Grace the stinging slap of neglect.
"Will you set down whatever mood you've gotten into?" she spat. "Or are you going to continue playing hide-and-seek like a child?"
She hadn't meant for it to come out so sharp. Guilt and grief pricked her heart in an instant. Perhaps she had been pretending for too long. It had been so easy to slip into the role in the beginning. She lived to irritate James. She knew exactly how to do it. You're so full of yourself, James. Can't you take anything seriously? This is your fault. You were supposed to look after them. I blame you. They were all lies, of course. But you could only say a lie so many times before starting to believe it. You could only say I hate you, I hate you, I hate you so many times before that loathing slithered into you. And she had said it so many times—to Regulus when they were practicing and to herself in the mirror and in her dreams, even. It was like a chant now, a thrum in her bones, a beat in her heart.
She wanted to stop this. They were distant enough now—or so she hoped. She couldn't find it in herself to particularly care if Bellatrix would be convinced by her charade or not. At this moment, there was only James. There was only this terrible reality.
She wanted to be softer, but she didn't know how.
The patient, resigned look on his face slipped away in an instant. The lines of his face were taut and harsh. "I'm the one hiding? When it's you who keeps running away when Lily or I come near?"
"Oh, please," she muttered. "As if either of you wanted me around."
He stared at her, the gold of his eyes as hot as fire. "What's happened to you?"
What's happened to her? She wanted to laugh at the question. She wanted to scream at him. So much had happened. She had been left to fend for herself in a school where few to none of her friends remained. Her parents were confined to bed with a disease that was slowly but surely sucking the very life out of them. Her best friend was currently trying to maneuver his way around Death Eaters so their plan could be put into motion. All this while James refused to write her letters longer than a sentence or two, while he gallivanted off with Dumbledore's stupid Order in the night, while he pointedly ignored her in the waiting area of St. Mungo's.
And, suddenly, he decided that it was time to put it all aside? Suddenly, he thought to amble over and ask that she stop what she had already stopped? Didn't he know how cold that distance had felt? How cutting it had been—like ice piercing through her chest.
"You don't understand," she began, voice choked, "how hard it's been at Hogwarts these past few months. You wouldn't even begin to understand. It's been really, really rough—"
James's brows had risen so far up that they seemed on the verge of taking off from his forehead entirely. "Don't even think of saying you've got it rough. What is it that you're dealing with, exactly? Is McGonagall giving you a hard time in Transfiguration? Has Flitwick been assigning too many essays?"
Her nostrils flared. "You utter prat—"
"I've been risking my bloody neck every other night on behalf of the continent," James plowed on. "I've been ferrying friends to safe houses and dueling Death Eaters for the past six months, and you have the gall to tell me you've got it rough?"
She was trying. She really was. She was trying to tell him without telling him, trying to let him into the narrow crack of her heart, trying to get him to understand that she hadn't quite meant it, trying to show him that this plan of hers was awful, that she wanted him close again. And here he was, throwing her words back into her face. It almost reminded her of herself.
"You're so—" She struggled to get the words out. Her throat was tight. Her eyes seared. "Fuck, James—it's not always about you, you know—"
"And it's not always about you! Merlin, what will it take for you to stop being so bloody conceited all the time—"
"You're one to speak! Here I am, trying to apologize—"
"If you think that was an apology, then you really need to get your brain looked at—"
"—and you won't even listen to me! You won't even consider—"
"Oh, do tell all the things I'm not considering. Please, Grace, I'm really just aching to hear how rough everything has been for you back at Hogwarts!"
Her jaw was stiff. Her hands were balled into two tight fists. "It's been—you're just so—sometimes, I really, really hate you, James!"
In the quiet of the ward, her voice seemed enormous. They had flung that word—hate—at each other before, but never like this. Never like one of them actually believed it.
"Yeah?" he bit. "Well, the feeling's quite mutual at the moment."
This wasn't the argument Grace had been planning for. This wasn't what she had been veering towards these past few weeks. This was all too real. This wasn't born of plans or pretend. This was from the heart—and it struck her to her very core. Her chest caved inward. Her eyes stung viciously.
"James…?" Mum croaked sleepily just a few cots down. "Grace…? What's happening…?"
They couldn't lift their stare from one another. James continued to glare at her as if his very life depended on it—cheeks burning, eyes damp, chin trembling.
"Nothing, Mum," he called back. His voice echoed through the ward.
Grace swallowed thickly and pushed past him, barreling through the double doors. Her eyes stung with hot tears, but she refused to let them fall. She refused to release the sob that burned through her chest. The white corridors of the hospital blurred past her, patients and Healers streaming by. Her fingers clawed at the hem of her sleeves. Some part of her was aching to unravel, to collapse onto the floor and let the world swallow her whole.
She knew she was in the wrong, too. She had started all of this, but she had been doing it all for a reason. And when she saw how close James was to losing it, she pulled away. She didn't want to revisit the past. There was no point. She wanted to push forward. She wanted to skip over to the next week, to the next year, to the next decade—when the war would surely be over.
She hid by the ward for permanent spell damage for what must have been hours, trying to reign in her heart, trying to understand what to do. Was her plan truly worth all this? Sirius was already certain Regulus was a Death Eater, and this was in part due to Order surveillance. What if, once she joined You-Know-Who, they found out she was a Death Eater, too? Before she could manage to convince them to employ her and Regulus as spies? James would never forgive her if he found out from someone else. He'd think she had played him for a fool. He'd think she really had joined.
By the time Grace felt calm enough to return to the Dragon Pox ward, evening had set. She wandered past the sea of closed curtains, eventually slipping into her father's section, hoping he might be asleep.
He wasn't.
He was eased up on his cot, positioned comfortably against a mound of pillows. In his lap was a slice of treacle tart that Sirius had likely snuck him. He glanced up when he saw Grace enter, a weak smile slipping across his lips. He beckoned her over, towards the chair.
Grace made her way over. Her hand trembled over the back of the chair. She tried to flatten out her face, hide her sour grimace and drawn brows and the unyielding damp sheen of her eyes. But Dad caught on quickly. He pushed aside his tart and edged closer to Grace, face falling.
"Grace," he managed to croak out. It sounded awful coming from his lips—nails scraping against a chalkboard. Grace could practically hear his throat falling apart. "Okay?"
His green-tinged face was so pitiful that Grace felt her heart tear itself to pieces. Nothing was okay, and she was very much beginning to think nothing would ever be okay again. She had to infiltrate the Death Eaters. It was bigger than Regulus now. James was right: he was out fighting—really fighting—in the war every other night. He was risking everything for a better world. Was Grace supposed to let him have all the glory again? Where was her shining moment? She wanted to help. She wanted to save. She wanted to be more than James's sick sister. She had always wanted to be more.
Grace pushed the chair aside and clambered over to her father's bedside. Her knees crashed against the cold floor. Dad's hands shot out to help catch her, but he only managed to lose himself in the momentum, too. He was clinging onto the edge of his bed, his knotted hands tangled into Grace's, his hazel eyes stuck onto hers.
"Dad…" she whispered.
He shifted in the cot, flurried white hair blending into the linen. His eyes searched hers desperately. Grace gave his hands a light squeeze, hoping violently, against all odds, that some of the vitality in her could be transferred to him.
"Dad, I'm afraid," she confessed after a moment.
His eyes were already damp, and so were hers. Trembling, he peeled one of his hands away from hers and placed it atop Grace's head, patting her, comforting her even now. He shook his head. No, he mouthed. No.
"I am," she insisted quietly. There was no point in saying otherwise. She was afraid that her parents might not have longer than a few days. She was afraid that she might not convince Bellatrix of her loyalty. She was afraid that if James found out what she was doing, if he only ever got half the story, he would hate her forever.
"If I did something horrible, would you still love me?" she asked. "If I broke your heart, would still love me?"
Her voice was so quiet, a shadow brushing the floor. It was not comfort or validation she wanted. She did not need to know if what she was doing was right or okay. That had never mattered to her before. What mattered was loyalty, was family and love. James was like their father. If Dad said yes, so would James.
Dad held her eyes. He looked as though he'd like nothing more than to swallow up her pain. Always, he mouthed. Always, always…
She was in bed when it happened. She had been dreaming of a mountain—some tall, wintry peak she was trying desperately to reach—when Lily burst into her room, crimson hair in a flurry, green eyes pricked with tears. There was an emergency Patronus call from the Healer-on-duty, she wept to Grace. You have to come quick. James is already there.
She was already dashing out of bed, already running, tearing out of the dismal Potter cottage in nothing more than her nightclothes, dark hair streaming behind her, the bitter wind biting at her. She Apparated as soon as she was beyond the wards, appearing in the center of the St. Mungo's waiting area.
She knew it was over by the time she reached the Dragon Pox ward. She knew when she saw James collapsed at the foot of their mother's cot—conspicuously absent of its occupant. She faltered and fell right there and then. Something deep inside her fractured. Her love splintered and reassembled into something nearly unrecognizable—some terrible monster clawing at her insides. Her throat was raw. Her eyes stung.
Someone moved her aside—perhaps Lily or Remus or a Healer. They tried to do the same with James, but he screamed and sobbed and clung to his mother's sheets like if he cried hard enough she might come back to him. She passed on quietly, someone tried to tell her. Hands passed over her hair tenderly. In the night. In her sleep. She didn't suffer.
Didn't suffer? What about the rash that had crawled along her body? What about the coughs that wracked her lungs? What about the fevers and the tremors and the sores?
She tried to tell them. Mum did suffer, but she was brave—so, so brave. Brave till the very end. She tried to proclaim this to the ward, to the whole world, but she couldn't get the words out. She tucked them deep inside her instead.
Hours and hours later, she heard someone else: Dead, they whispered. Passing on the news, maybe. She's dead.
It didn't sound right. It sounded impossible. Mum's dead. No—that was wrong. That didn't make sense. Those two words didn't fit next to each other. Mum was love and light. Mum was life. It didn't make sense for dead to follow. It would never make sense.
She stayed in the ward with James, slumped by the cot. Even when her tears ran out, she cried. Even when her throat was raw and hoarse, she screamed. She wanted to waste herself into grief, wanted to unmake herself. She could not let go of her mother. She wasn't strong enough. She remembered Mum's warm hands around her, leading her around the backyard, carrying her to shop after shop in Diagon Alley. She remembered being little and unable to go to sleep, Mum by her side, gently crooning some old lullaby. She remembered how Mum used to hold onto her hands—so tight, like Grace would float away if she ever let go. She floated through memory after memory, the love for her mother growing immeasurably larger—until the weight of it felt unbearable. The more she fell into this love, the less it felt like love. It felt like pain. She did not know if it was possible for anyone to survive a love like this.
It was scarcely twenty hours later when Dad, who seemed to have lost that last bit of resilience in him when Mum went on, followed. And—impossibly, torturously—the whole process began anew.
The funeral was a quiet affair. It was too risky to have anything more than a few attendants and a ceremony official sent from the Ministry—or so Lily explained. Grace thought it was rubbish. She couldn't find it in herself to care about You-Know-Who or his idiot Death Eaters. Her parents deserved to be flung into the stars, and the whole world should have been there to watch. If anyone wanted to attack them, so be it. Grace was sure one look from James or herself could turn the offender to ash.
"…exemplified, above all else, was patience and kindness and hope. While darkness swept over us, while sickness choked them—they held onto these…" the official, a stuffy old man in charcoal robes, droned on and on.
Grace's hands were clenched tightly in her lap. She was seated at the front of the service, alongside James and Lily. Tears were sliding down her cheeks despite herself. She kept having to brush them away angrily. She did not want to listen to this ancient wizard. He didn't know her parents, not like she knew him. Was he going to talk about the fervent passion that colored Dad's voice when he talked about potions ingredients? What about the fond smile that slipped across Mum's face when James or Grace justified their pranks? Was the official going to mention the thrill of being caught in her Dad's arms when he used to fling her into the air or the swell of love she felt when she awoke from a paroxysm and felt Mum's tender hand running through her hair?
Grace's nails were digging in the smooth flesh of her palms. No matter how hard she tried, she could not let go of this anger. There was so much fury in her; the flames of it licked her insides relentlessly.
The speech ended. Surprise flickered through the small crowd of guests as smoke encircled the slab of stone her parents were laid on. When it cleared, there was a block of smooth, glossy obsidian, her parent's bodies tucked safely inside. The tomb began to sink into the allotted space in the graveyard. As it settled into the soil, Grace caught her face in the reflection. In her mother and father's final resting place, Grace saw herself—shadowed and trembling.
Her parents were engulfed by the earth. The headstone was erected; it was a similar cut of black stone, but there were faint strains of silver—light in the dark.
Grace rose along with the other guests, intending to Apparate away at the first chance she got. Unfortunately for her, she was accosted by a weedy woman in bright silk robes. Her hair was styled into an intricate plait, and her eyes were a familiar dark green—Mum's eyes.
"Oh, darling," she wept, throwing her arms around Grace. "It's simply awful. I can't imagine what you're going through. Aunt Effie was always so—so—"
Grace pushed away her second or third or whatever cousin away roughly. "Fuck off," she choked out, because no one really meant it. No one understood.
She stalked away, saying roughly the same thing to anyone who dared approach her. Murmurs traveled through the small congregation of attendees. Guests began to actively avoid Grace, although this did little to stop her from shooting glares at anyone who so much as glanced at her.
At last, James pulled her aside roughly. He walked her far away from what remained of the service until they were underneath a crop of trees on the outskirts of the cemetery. "Stop it," he snapped. "Stop it—"
"Stop what?"
"You're acting like a—a—" He faltered and let out a long breath. "Just stop. Please. I know you're upset. I am, too. I wish everyone would leave, too, but they mean well."
"I don't care what they mean," she said, voice shaking. "I don't—I don't care."
"Look," James continued, and his voice was the softest it had been since she first met him in the waiting area of St. Mungo's at the start of holiday. Merlin, that day felt like it happened eons ago. "We haven't been on the best of terms these past few weeks. I'm sorry about that. I want to forget it, Grace. We need each other now."
She still didn't care. She was too furious to care. She was too heartbroken. She did not want or need anyone.
"Just leave me alone," she bit out, ripping her arm away from him. "I don't—"
"You two realize you're creating something of a scene over here, right?" Sirius said, shuffling forward. His dark hair was swept back neatly. His eyes glanced between the siblings wearily. "Whatever you two are going through, you have to sort it out later. Now is—"
"Go away!" Grace snarled at him. "Can't you just go?"
"Oi!" James started, looming forward angrily. "Can you cool it for a minute, Grace? We're all hurting—"
"Is everything alright?" Lily asked softly, following behind Sirius.
"Everything's fine," James said, voice a bit too hard. His eyes didn't lift from Grace in the slightest.
"Everything's not fine," she said. Her voice was on the verge of collapse. "Nothing is fine, and nothing will ever be fine."
The harsh lines of James's face fell away. Sympathy flickered across his face. "Grace…" he began, trying to restrain his voice. "We'll talk later—"
"No, we won't! We won't talk, because you'll go off with all your Order friends—"
Lily inhaled sharply. "You told her about—"
"—and you won't write me or tell me anything for weeks and weeks, just like how you didn't tell me about Mum or Dad until you absolutely had to—"
"Nobody is perfect," Sirius cut in, voice unusually calm. "James has made mistakes. We all have. You need to move—"
"You—leave me alone!" Grace cried out, wheeling around to Sirius. Hate swelled in her chest. Her heart didn't feel like a heart anymore. It was a block of stone. It was a mess of bramble. "You don't get it! You don't—"
Sirius's eyes flashed. "I do. They were more my parents than my real ones ever were. They took—"
"No, they weren't! They were my parents! Not yours—mine!"
"I know that, but—"
"Stop," Remus hissed, drawing Sirius away despite the dark-haired man's protests. Peter helped Remus limply. "Now is neither the time nor place. People are staring."
"Try telling her that!"
"You're just adding fuel to—"
Remus's words were cut off by James: "Mum and Dad were so much more than just our parents," he said. "You know that. They meant so much to so many, and—"
"You don't get it!" she continued desperately. "You don't—I don't care about—"
James had reached the end of his patience. "Alright—fine—you're right. You don't care," he snapped. "You don't care about anyone but yourself. Of course you don't. You're a Slytherin, after all. I should have known better. My fucking apologies, your highness."
She knew it. She fucking knew it. Seven years, and he was still bothered about that, no matter how well he tried to hide it. No matter how much he professed to not care. Her hands jumped to the pockets of her robes, searching around frantically until she found the hilt of her wand. She swung it out, tip facing James. His own wand was out as well. His eyes were narrowed in on her, jaw tense and tight.
"Stop it," another voice commanded. It belonged to Lily—damp-eyed, one hand clutching her wand tightly. The tip of it swung between the Potter siblings, as though she couldn't decide who was the greater threat. "Stop it, both of you. You're grieving. You're not thinking straight—"
"I'm thinking perfectly fine," James bit.
"Didn't think you could think at all, given your dumb Gryffindor brain," Grace said venomously.
"Oh, we're sinking to this now, are we?"
"You started it! You start everything!"
"I do? Did I start all those fights in St. Mungo's, too?"
Her throat was thick and dry. "It's—I'm—it's all your fault!"
The grip on his wand grew tighter. "What a surprise! Yet another thing that's all my fault—"
Lily reached for her husband with her free hand. "James, I don't think—"
James's eyes didn't lift from Grace. "No," he said coldly. "No, let's hear what she has to say. Go on, then. It's all my fault, is it?"
"It is!" she yelled. "You were supposed to look after them! You were supposed to take care of them! Instead, you gallivanted off to honeymoon with a—a—" she knew exactly how to hurt him, she knew exactly how to hurt herself, too, "—Mudblood!"
It was the final stake in the heart. James's mouth snapped shut. Grace's heart was thundering against her chest. She dimly heard Sirius yell something. Remus didn't stop him this time. Lily's arms fell, and she stared at Grace with an unfathomable expression before retreating away.
"You take that back," James said, and his voice was so quiet and so frail that Grace felt fear slice into her. He seemed on the verge of total collapse. "You can't—you take that back—"
"It's true," she spat.
And the trembling calm that lined his face fractured and fell away. "You can't—you—I don't care!" James said, and he was snarling the words out. His hands were shaking. The depth of his love could be a terrifying thing. "I don't care how long I've known you, if you're my sister, if—" his voice broke off, but rapidly regained its strength, "—if you ever say anything like that—!"
"What'll you do?" she asked, just as furious, just as fierce. This was what they did, she and him. They challenged one another, protested one another. They were two beasts going at one another, from the beginning of time till the end. "What could you do? Run to Mummy? Guess what, James, Mum's not—"
"I'll make you stop—I don't care how, but I will—I swear, I will—" He was full out sobbing.
"It's your fault," Grace said again. She felt cut off from her body. "It's your fault, it's your fault, it's your fault," she chanted desperately. "It's—"
"SHUT UP!" James roared. Under the bleak grey light, his cheeks shined with tears. "You know full well this was no one's fault!"
"No, it—"
"What if was your fault?" James snarled. "Have you ever thought about that? You already think the whole world revolves around you. What if—"
"—it's always you! It's always, always—"
"—you killed them in the end with all the stress over your problems, your disease—"
She felt like she had been knocked back. Air fled her lungs completely. "That's not—you can't—"
"What if it was you—"
"No—no, because—" It was never her. It had never, ever been her.
"They worried themselves to death over you—"
"IT WAS ALWAYS YOU!" she screamed, and her voice was a heart-wrenching thing, shrill and devastating. Birds scattered from a nearby tree: slight darts of black sailing through the grey sky. "They loved you best. They loved how wonderful you were at Quidditch, how you snagged Head Boy against all odds, how funny you were, how happy you were. Never like me—never sickly and surly. They loved that you weren't me."
Who was she talking about? It certainly wasn't her parents, not patient, gentle Euphemia and Fleamont Potter. No—it was the entire world. It was the roar of the Gryffindor stands whenever James came out on his brand new Nimbus. It was the swoon of fifth-year girls whenever he pranced through the halls, ruffling his hair like a prat, leading Filch in circles. It was the faint, hard-earned smiles McGonagall and Dumbledore fed him whenever he'd demonstrated the depth of his genius by putting on some pointless, reckless display in the Great Hall. It was the beat of his healthy heart and the gleam of his golden skin and the owl he'd received for his first year at Hogwarts.
It was her envy—dark and toxic, eating away at her. She knew her brother didn't have it easy. She knew he had suffered, too. But not as much as she had. Never as much as she had. He never endured the seizures that ripped through her mind, that left her unconscious and confined to a hospital cot for days on end. He was never left cooped up in his room during the summer, unable to whizz about on broomsticks in the backyard. He was never teased, never had to prove himself to his House members, never had to scrape himself up from nothing. Why would he? James had been given everything.
She had finally managed to knock the words right out of his mouth. James was staring at her, slack-jawed, fingers fidgeting around the handle of his wand. He didn't seem to recognize her.
"It's true," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. She sounded like she was trying to convince more than just James. "It's true!"
He still didn't speak, and Grace wanted him to. She wanted him to scream back. She wanted the world to scream back at her, just so she could match the volume, just so she could do something. She wanted to raise her voice and bang her fists and stamp her feet—because what good were those things if not to make noise? If not to rebel? She wanted to tear into the earth with screech after screech, wanted to ruin the world just as it had ruined her.
"Say something!" she shouted
"I don't speak to strangers." The words were cold, cutting as pincers.
She was trembling. The world felt little more than a nightmare. Most of the guests had hurriedly left, but a few remained. Peter was hidden behind a furious Sirius, whose anger was only barely restrained by an aghast Remus and a stone-faced Lily.
She wanted them all to leave. She wanted to be left alone. The air around her felt leaden. The atmosphere was pressing down on her.
"I'm so tired of our family," she said at last, voice shaky. She was so tired of herself—the way she kept on living, kept on spinning, kept seizing and shaking and falling.
"Then go," James said, chest heaving. The words were quiet, piercing. Grace felt them slice through her heart. "If you're so tired of us, then just go."
She held his hard, icy gaze in her own for one long moment—hazel bleeding into hazel—before taking one large step back and Apparating away. Her heart tore clean in half as she landed in the crop of cushiony hydrangea by the village square of Godric's Hollow. She stayed amongst the clump of flowers for what must have been hours, letting the soft petals press into her wet cheeks, the broad, fan-shaped leaves tickle her ears. Slowly, the thorny anger in her ebbed. It wasn't gone, but it was gentler now—something like a mound of hot coals smoldering in the pit of her stomach.
She rose, digging her foot into the black soil. Sluggishly, she made her way to the cottage to pick up her things. As she walked down that familiar path for what might have been the last time, she tried to tell herself this was all for the greater good. She really did. But this wasn't what she had intended, and it didn't feel very great or very good at all.
A/N : Euphemia and Fleamont are watching down from Wizard Heaven like wtf is wrong with my kids...
(I agonized over this decision for a long time, but, ultimately, I think having Grace's parents go was the best course for the story. It's the catalyst for her split with James and a huge turning point for her arc. Again, while major characters will make it through, there are a few minor characters that won't.)
As always, thank you for the faves, follows, and reviews! Please keep letting me know your thoughts :)
bridget237: Thank you so much!
puppyduckster : Thank you for the lovely review! "Honeymoon phase" was such a perfect way to describe Grace and Reg's relationship in the last chapter. Glad you're enjoying Sophia and her gang of Gryffindors! I honestly wasn't planning on continuing to feature Preston, Golightly, and Green in the story, but I wanted to give Sophia some more friends. Her popularity's been boosted since a seventh-year's always hanging out with her, LOL. Again, thank you!