The Marauders: Year Seven Part Two

Nigel

He couldn't breathe.

The corridor was cool and dark as he hurried out of the library and the doors closed behind him. He could breathe again without all those faces staring at him, judging him, and deciding what they would tell their friends in the Great Hall. He jogged a little way down the corridor and leaned against the wall by the Boys toilet and took deep breaths.

It wasn't even real, he told himself. That ghost-like visage of Voldemort's face floating around the periferary of his mind... It wasn't real. Or, rather, it had been at one point and now it was no more than a memory. But the memory still held power over him. Obviously - it could make his heart race, could make his blood cold and his back ache with tension. The idea of Voldemort's breath - warm and rushing into his face as he spoke, commanding a plea of mercy - turned James's stomach over and over within him and he felt he would retch and he turned and pushed into the loo, throwing himself into one of the stalls and kicking the door shut behind him.

"James?" Lily's voice echoed 'round the bathroom's stone walls.

He couldn't answer, he was too busy being sick.

"Colloportus," Lily whispered and a moment later the stall door behind him opened and he felt her small frame squeeze in beside him as she sat down on the cold floor. She rubbed his back, not stopping even as he twinged at the touch. "Hey," she said soothingly, "It's alright. It's just me. It's Lily."

"Evans," he choked out the word and he leaned into her, sliding down onto his stommach on the cold stone and wrapping his arms around her waist, his head in her lap.

"Oh James," she brushed the hair from his forehead gently.

He closed his eyes, breathing her vanilla-and-strawberries smell, and his heart started to slow and his blood warmed and he felt almost normal again. The world stopped spinning, at least.

"They're all going to have a right good time passing along that story, hey?" he said, voice croaky and he looked up at her.

Lily shrugged. "So what?"

"So what?" James asked, his voice pitching, incredulous that Lily could be so blaise about the idea of the entire school talking about his personal affairs. "I just would rather my mentalness be my own business, if you know what I mean?"

Lily stared into his eyes. "You aren't mental."

"I certainly feel it," he replied.

"Well you aren't." Her voice was firm. "You're a hero, that's what you are. You're brave and you're strong and you've been through things that nobody else has ever been through. You're a miracle for still being alive. You're good. You're crazy, at times..." Lily smiled, "But you're not mental." Her fingers brushed his forehead again, the unruly hair that was his trademark living up to it's reputation, slipping over his face in little tufts. "And if they're talking about you, it's only because they konw what you've been through, James, and it's fascinating to them because they know that no matter what, they will never, ever compare to you."

James let the words sink in, feeling them warm him and comfort the broken bits, like liquid gold pulling the shards together. Finally, he smiled. "I knew it."

"Knew what?" Lily asked. She'd watched the words sink in and the expression turn from one in need of reassurance to a glint of his usual playful spirit.

"That one day, however much you denied it, you'd see that nobody else compares to me." His mouth curled into a smirk.

"Toerag," Lily said, smirking back.

"Evans... Love..." James whimpered.

Lily shook her head.

James's eyes glinted with mischief, then his smirk fell away and a seriousness came over him. "I love you, Evans."

"I love you, too, Potter," Lily said, and she bent forward and kissed his forehead.

Sure enough, as James walked through the Great Hall that afternoon, he heard a good deal of hushed whispers that quieted as he walked past the house tables to Gryffindor. He gripped onto Lily's hand and held on. She steadied him and he was greatful for the squeeze she gave his fingers as they laced between hers. Sirius, too, was helping, glowering at the people he overheard whispering.

Even Peter hushed quickly when James sat down at the table, his face going a bit pink as he turned away from the fourth years at his side that had been listening attentively to his first hand account of James's recovery from his time spent facing (and defying) the Dark Lord. The idea that Peter would be among those talking about him in the Geat Hall bothered James more than any of the others talking about him, and he found he couldn't quite meet Peter's eyes for the rest of the evening, feeling that this whispering had been a small form of betrayal, and wishing that Peter knew the difference between public information and things that ought to be left in private.

Despite the stormy feelings that brewed inside of James Potter, May was over all shaping up to be a lovely month. The weather was bright and warm and the sun made the grass and leaves of Hogwarts grounds green and beautiful, speckled with wild flowers. The students were outside more often as the temperature rose and activities like wading ankle-deep in the lake became alluring.

In order to secure their usual place under the tree by the lake these days, the Marauders had to get out there early and took to bringing their breakfasts wrapped up in napkin parcels out to the grounds. Sirius enjoyed taking out extra pieces of toast and tossing them into the water for the Giant Squid to eat. After a few days of this, the Squid got into the habit of lurking just below the surface by the tree, like a hungry dog begging for food, and when Sirius threw a piece of toast, the large purple tentacle would rise up from under the water to catch it.

"How come no one's ever named the Giant Squid?" Sirius wondered one morning.

"People don't generally name things that could eat them as a snack," Remus said.

Sirius guffawed, "He eats toast, not wizards."

"Shall we toss you in and see, Padfoot?" James asked, smirking up at Sirius.

"Nah," Sirius replied. "It took too long to get my hair just so this morning. Don't need to go mussing it up on a useless expiriment."

Remus looked at James, "He doesn't trust the Squid."

"Nigel," Sirius said. "His name is Nigel."

The thing about May, besides the weather, was that it was getting closer and closer to the very last day at Hogwarts and, consequently, the exams. Fifth and Seventh Year students were packing the library like never before so that there was hardly a seat left, and Remus was extra worried about the exams, too, because they happened to fall just a mere two days after the full moon of May and therefore his recovery time would overlap with sitting for the NEWTs.

"You could just talk to Dumbles," Sirius suggested, "I'm sure he'd let you sit them another time."

Remus shook his head, "I don't want any special treatment because of my... condition."

"Furry little problem," corrected James.

Remus was on the edge of his own breakdown, pouring over his textbooks and studying the life out of himself, always frazzled and hassled looking. He sat up all hours of the night, falling asleep sometimes at his desk, his nose smashed into the books he was reading. He was looking like he did at full moon already, even though it was only the half moon, and he often skipped meals to afford himself more time, choosing instead to cram his mouth full of chocolate in the dormitory.

"No," Lily said one night, frogmarching Remus down the stairs to the Great Hall, "You've spent enough time studying and eating chocolate and you're having a real dinner tonight!"

"Yes mum," Remus said teasingly, but he was really thankful that Lily was keeping watch over his wellbeing like that. Sometimes, he thought, it was absolutely critical to have someone in your life that would not take "no" for an answer and would insist that you do what you needed to take care of yourself. For Remus and the other Marauders, that someone was Lily Evans.