PART I LILY
Lily doesn't let herself get her hopes up when she's told that McGongall wants to see her in her office. Doesn't let herself think, even for a second, about what it might mean. About why she's being summoned. Even after McGonagall tells her, after she leaves Lily alone, kneeling in front of the fireplace, she doesn't quite let herself believe it. That she's actually going to get to see her mum. Now. Today. Here. Doesn't believe it until the moment her face appears in the flames.
"Mum!" Lily nearly reaches into the fire. "Oh my God, Mum, hi, hello, can you hear me?" she laughs a little, instantly feeling some of the tension she's been carrying around for the pass few weeks lessen just at the sight of her mum's face.
She's okay,
Lily tells herself.
Look at her, she's okay.
"Hi, Lily? Darling? Goodness," her mum laughs too. "I'll never get used to this."
"No," Lily agrees, "me neither." She really wishes she could hug her. Her mum gives the best hugs. "Where are you?" Lily asks instead.
"Um...neighbours house, a few blocks down," she gives Lily a cheeky smile, lowering her voice. "Turns out they're magic too."
Lily smiles back. "Imagine that."
"Ministry came by, asked them if they'd let me use their fireplace—I don't know what the Wizards call it—"
"The Floo mum, it's the Floo. Well, the Floo Network."
Her mother arches her brow. "The Flu? Really? Sounds like an illness."
"Yeah, actually, you're right. I never thought about it."
"Well, anyway, I've kicked the poor people out of their living room so I suppose we should keep this short. What's going on darling? Why did you need to speak with me so badly?"
Suddenly Lily feels incredibly silly. How exactly is she meant to explain that she's done all this just because of a feeling in her gut that something wasn't...right?
"I just—" she starts then stops, sighing as she crosses her legs and sits more comfortably on the stone floor. "I was worried I guess."
Which is when she sees it.
The tension in the corner of her mum's eyes.
"Worried?" she asks, her voice ticking up. "About what?"
Lily's stomach starts to squirm, the same unease she felt reading her mum's letters coming back.
"Mum?" she asks. "What is it? What's going on?" She has no idea what could be wrong. She just knows something is. Something her mother doesn't want her to know. That she thinks she needs protecting from.
"Did something happen to Petunia?"
"No, no, of course not!" her mother gives a bit of a breathless laugh, eyes not quite meeting Lily's. "She's fine, we're both fine."
But Lily only shakes her head. She is an expert in her mother's "fines." She's heard this one before. Heard it a hundred times when she stood next to her mum as people asked her how she was after he father's death. Listened to her tell everyone who came by to drop off casseroles and flowers in the months that followed that she was "fine."
"Please," she says, not willing to play this game. "Don't do this, just tell me what's wrong yeah? I can't bear being the last one to find out again."
She can see her mother's struggle even through the fire. See her trying and failing to keep the polite smile on her face.
"Oh Lily," she says finally, letting out a deep breath. "I don't want to worry you, it isn't—it really isn't—" her voice cuts out and she looks away for a moment, hand going absentmindedly to the chain around her neck that her wedding ring hangs on. "It's not worth stressing over."
"Okay," Lily says slowly, wishing her stomach would stop feeling like it was trying to squeeze itself out of existence. "Well, if you tell me I promise not to stress about it."
Her mother gives her a wry smile, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm not sure either of us believes that."
"I already know something's up mum," she pushes. "I can feel it. I can feel you hiding something from me and it's driving me mad. I'm not a little kid, you can't keep me in the dark. It's not...helpful."
She can see her mother accept the truth of what she's saying.
So she waits.
Waits for her to open her mouth again.
Waits for the other shoe to drop.
Whatever it is, she can handle it. She knows she can. If she just knows what they're up against she'll be able to find a way to deal with it. To fight it. It's the not knowing that's the problem—like having her hands tied behind her back. Once she's free she'll be able to find a solution for whatever it is.
"I went to the doctor after you left for school," Lily just nods, not letting her thoughts run away down the dark hole they so desperately want to. Her mother kisses her teeth. "I have—they found a tumour."
Lily blinks. "A tumour?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
Her mother sighs, rubbing the space between her eyes. "My liver."
Lily nods again, like she has any idea what that means. She's not even sure why she bothered asking "where" when she doesn't know anything about tumours. But the liver seems fairly harmless doesn't it? What does your liver even do? It's not like a brain or a heart or a lung, right? It can't be that bad.
"Okay," Lily says eventually, when her mother doesn't go on. "And did they—have they done—tests or—because all tumours aren't cancer right? I definitely feel like I've read that somewhere. Some are just...lumps."
Her mother gives her a weak smile. "Yes, some are just lumps," and then, "but not this one."
"Oh."
Oh.
For a moment Lily's brain seems to stall. It doesn't have any thoughts or feelings. Like everything in her has suddenly gone blank.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh.
"Lily?"
And then it starts up again. Going a thousand miles an hour.
"Alright, that's alright. People fight cancer all the time. There are treatments. Are you being treated? How long ago did you find this out? Have you told Petunia? I also think you're supposed to start eating a certain way—like super healthy or whatever—and drink water. I mean, I know that drinking water doesn't cure cancer but I bet it probably helps. What kind of treatment are you getting? What do the doctors say? What's their plan? Are they good doctors? Do we need to get you better doctors? How do you even get better doctors, like where do you go, is there a directory or something? Actually, you don't worry about that, I'll talk to Petunia she'll know. You just need to rest and eat healthy food and drink water and—"
"Lily, Lily darling stop. Breathe. You need to breathe."
"I am breathing."
"Lily."
She takes in a big gulp of air just to prove to her mum that she is breathing. Except once she starts she can't stop, panting like she's just run a mile. So maybe she doesn't have the breathing thing quite as under control as she thought.
"It's going to be okay," her mother says soothingly, eyes brimming with concern, which isn't right at all. She's the one with the cancer. She's the one who they need to be concerned about.
"I know it will be," Lily says when she can speak again. "Because you're going to get treated and then you're going to get better. Right?"
There's a pause. Not a long one. But longer than Lily would like.
"Yes," her mother says eventually. "I'm being treated, it'll help."
"Help?" Lily demands, thankful it's her hands that are trembling and not her voice.
Her mother gives her another one of those looks, like Lily's the sick one.
"Liver cancer is very...serious," she says delicately.
"What does that mean mum?" Lily asks, her head buzzing as she tries to keep herself in check. If she breaks down her mum will never tell her anything important ever again.
"It just means that there is a chance I might not..."
She doesn't finish that sentence.
Lily is grateful.
She's almost certain she couldn't bear hearing it.
"No," the word is out of her mouth before she can think better of it. "That's not going to happen."
"Lily—"
"It's not going to happen."
Her mother stares at her for a moment, eyes going soft. "Okay," she nearly whispers. "Okay darling."
For some mad reason her mum tries to make small talk after that. Tries to tell Lily about Petunia's garden and her new lawnmower that practically does all the work itself and some casserole recipe she really likes. By the time they say goodbye Lily is just about ready to explode with all the feelings trapped inside her. All the fear and confusion and helplessness. There are still months before she goes home for the summer and suddenly that feels unbearable.
She's still sitting on the floor when McGonagall knocks on the door nearly twenty minutes later.
She's meant to go to class but she doesn't. The thought never even crosses her mind. Instead she heads straight for the infirmary. Wizards don't get sick like Muggles, Lily knows that much. Knows they have spells and potions that Muggles can't even dream of. She still remembers the day that Marlene told her and Mary that she's never had the flu.
She knows that she should probably take a moment to compose herself, that her heads a mess. Her chest. She has no idea what she's actually feeling. She wishes she could ask her mother's doctors questions. Wishes she could take her to her appointments. Wishes she could be there for once.
This is just another thing Petunia will hold against me, she can't help but think.
Everything in her is so muddled she hasn't even had time to be angry that her mother was hiding this from her. Was she ever going to tell Lily? I mean, what the hell was she waiting for? She said herself that it's serious and she was—what? Just going to keep lying to Lily until she couldn't anymore? Until she was in the hospital or dead?
Even thinking that word sends a shock of fear through her. Her mother is not going to die. It isn't possible, the universe just doesn't work like that, it isn't that cruel. It won't take both her parents. Not when she still needs them so badly. When she still feels like such a kid.
"Miss Evans?"
Lily's head snaps up to find a confused Madam Pomfrey walking towards her. It seems she's stormed into the infirmary without realizing it.
"Are you alright?" the older woman asks as she stops in front of her.
"Er—yes, or, no. But I—can I speak with you?" she asks, feeling jittery and shaky and very much like she might be sick.
"Of course," Pomfrey gestures her towards her office.
"My mother," Lily says as soon as the door closes behind them. "She's ill and I was wondering if you could help?"
Pomfrey looks confused for about a second before she recovers. "Your mother?" she repeats, leaning against the front of her desk, facing Lily. "She's a Muggle, yes?"
Lily nods. "She's got cancer—I don't know if Wizards get cancer?"
Pomfrey shakes her head. "No," she says gently, "they don't."
"Good," though the look on Pomfrey's face seems to suggest otherwise. "That means you have a cure for it right? Or some way to prevent it?"
Pomfrey is eyeing her with a pity that Lily doesn't appreciate. "Miss Evans, it seems to me that this is going in an unfortunate direction—I cannot treat your mother," she says, not unkindly.
Lily doesn't even blink. "No, that's okay. I can take her to the hospital in London. There's a wizard hospital there right? St. Mu—u—"
"Mungo's, yes," Pomfrey mercifully supplies for her.
Lily nods. "Right, yeah. Would you mind giving me their address?" She starts shuffling through her book bag looking for a spare piece of parchment and a quill.
"Miss Evans," Lily ignores her, still riffling through her bag. "Lily," Madam Pomfrey tries. "They won't be able to treat your mother in London either."
Lily freezes, willing herself not to lose it, to remain calm as she looks back up at the older woman who is regarding her with such sadness.
Her mouth has gone dry. "Why?"
"She's a Muggle."
Which isn't really an answer, not as far as Lily is concerned.
"But she's sick. She's sick and you have a way to treat her so I don't understand—it's not like she doesn't know about the Wizarding world, I'm her daughter. The Statute of Secrecy doesn't extend to family, so I don't see why I can't bring her to the hospital?"
"I'm so sorry, really I am, but we cannot treat Muggles."
"But why?" her voice cracks, and suddenly Lily feels like she's five years old. Or twelve. asking her mother why she can't come home. Why she can't say goodbye to her dad. Why they didn't come get her.
"Are Muggles—I don't know—physically different somehow?" Lily demands before Pomfrey can answer her question.
"They're legally different."
Lily blinks.
Then again.
And again.
And suddenly her fear and sadness morph into something else.
Anger.
"Well that's fucking bullshit."
Madam Pomfrey doesn't correct her. In hindsight, Lily really ought to be grateful she doesn't lose house points or get detention but she isn't thinking clearly enough.
"I'm sure your mother's Muggle doctors will take good care of her."
"But you have a cure," Lily feels like she's outside of her body, watching this scene play out. It's surreal. She can't believe it's happening. That Madam Pomfrey can stand there and tell her to leave her mother's life up to chance because of some antiquated laws.
Biting back her anger and the scream that's sitting just behind her teeth, Lily tries again. "Please," if she thought it would make a difference she would get on her knees. "She's all I have."
But the woman before her doesn't waver, "I'm so sorry," she says, and Lily thinks she probably means it, which somehow just angers her more.
For a moment Lily just stands there, not sure she can trust herself to move and not break something. The injustice is too great. It sparks against her skin, threatening to light.
"How can you act like you think differently from them, the Death Eaters," she says coldly, nails digging into her palms. "When you treat us like this?"
"Lily—"
But she isn't interested in a reply. In more excuses or apologies. She throws the door to the office open so forcefully it slams into the wall outside it. She needs to get out. She needs fresh air. She needs something to keep her from feeling like she's losing all touch with reality. Her mother can't be sick. Madam Pomfrey can't be refusing to help. The laws can't possibly allow this.
She finds her way outside, to the lawn at the back of the school. She presses her back to the cold stone wall, fingernails chipping as they try to dig into it, to grab hold of something solid. It's fucking freezing but it feels good, cooling the sweat on her skin.
Wake up,
She thinks.
Wake up, wake up, wake up.
Because this has to be some sort of nightmare. It has to be.
It's childish but all she can focus on is the deep unfairness of it. That this is happening to her. That it's happening now. It's horrible to wish this on someone else, but she does anyway. She would sacrifice someone else's mum to save her own. She's never pretended to be a good person.
Hand groping around in her bag her fingers finally wrap around the small tin buried at the bottom. It takes her several tries to light one of the cigarettes inside because she's shaking so badly. She pulls on the smoke, hoping for the pathetic comfort it usually provides—closing her eyes and focusing on the smell. But it rings hollow today. Losing her dad was the worst thing that ever happened to her and she never wants to feel that again. Doesn't think she'll survive another hole in her chest.
"Fuck," she throws the cigarette onto the half-frozen ground, bringing her hands to her face as she slowly sinks to the ground, snow soaking her uniform. She barely feels it. Nothing is helping. She can't think. She doesn't know what to do. Should she leave? Can she? Fuck, she's sixteen bloody years old and she doesn't even know how to get home from school. Does the Hogwarts Express run every day? Is it just for students? Is it a public train? Her nails dig into her scalp.
"Lily?"
She doesn't look up. Doesn't have the energy to act like she isn't having a fucking breakdown right now.
"Hey—Lily, you alright?"
Someone kneels down in front of her, warm hands on her knees. The touch is steady. The most settling thing she's felt all morning.
"Hey?" James Potter—because of-bloody-course it's James Potter—says softly.
Lily sniffles, dropping her hands away from her face and finding him across from her, crouched in the snow. His eyes swell with concern and she has the ridiculous desire to fall into him. To be held.
"Hi," she finally manages, her voice a car wreck. Mangled and burning and stranded at the side of the road.
He squeezes her knees because he's still holding them, though she can't tell if it's for her benefit or to keep himself from falling backwards. His eyes search her and she makes no effort to hide anything. She doesn't really feel the need with him, as mad as that sounds. Hell, two years ago she'd have punched him in the face for getting this close to her.
Oh how things change.
"What can I do?" James asks eventually. Not "are you okay" not "what's wrong" but "what can I do?"
She nearly kisses him then.
She doesn't.
Knows more than she ever has before that he wouldn't kiss her back.
But she wants to.
Oh how she wants to.
"Get Mary?" she finally croaks. It's a strange request, all things considered—they still aren't on great terms after New Years. But the only person who could possibly understand this—any of it—is Mary. And God, Lily could really use some of her strength right about now.
James doesn't question it. "Okay," another squeeze before he gets to his feet. "Will you be okay alone out here?" he asks.
Lily nods. "I can't go back in there."
He gives her a sympathetic smile, one that's a little cracked around the edges in a way that makes Lily realize she's not the only one having a bad day.
"I know the feeling," he says softly, disappearing inside before she can ask him what he means.
PART II MARY
It isn't fear that Mary feels as she watches Barty Crouch make a B-line for her on her way to class. If anything, it's closer to excitement. He's been hiding from her—from everyone in fact—which was really anticlimactic if she's being honest. That charm on his cheek was some of her finest work and she's been desperate to see the final product.
Crouch has clearly not been able to come up with the dissolving salve needed to take it off because he's currently covered half his face in a beige plaster that calls attention to the luridly pale pigment of his skin. Mary does her best not to laugh, but goodness it is a struggle.
"You bitch," he snits when he gets close enough.
Mary doesn't stop, barely acknowledges him at all in fact. "Good morning to you too darling," she sings as she continues on her way. All things considered, the hallway is rather quiet. Mary's running late, most students already in class.
"Do you think you're going to get away with this?" he demands, snarling at her heels like an overly excited bulldog.
"Get away with what exactly? I'm sorry, I'm very busy, you'll have to be more specific."
He tries to grab her but the second his fingers curl around her wrist she twists in a way that yanks his arm uncomfortably in its socket causing Crouch to immediately let go, howling in pain.
"Fuck," he hisses grabbing his shoulder.
Mary clicks her tongue. "Now, now, we mustn't touch what isn't ours Barty dear. I would have thought you'd have figured that out by now."
He glares daggers at her but doesn't try to grab her again, though she doesn't miss the way his eyes dart around the hallway, clearly trying to figure out how many witnesses there are and if it's safe to pull out his wand.
It's not.
Obviously he didn't think this through.
Fucking amateur.
"You're going to answer for this I hope you know that," he threatens her impotently.
Mary arches her brow, rounding the next corner. "I'm sorry, I'm sill not clear on what has you throwing this little bitch fit Barty?"
"THIS!" he jabs a shaking finger at his covered cheek.
"Ah," she says knowledgeably. "Well, I can obviously see why you'd be upset about that but you really can't blame your face on me. Probably something you should take up with your parents."
Barty actually growls at that, like a dog, "You dirty fucking Mudblood, you have no idea what you've done. I—"
But Barty doesn't get to finish that particular thought as a hand yanks him back by the collar before slamming him into the stone wall beside them.
"Get the fuck away from her!" James Potter has his hand on Crouch's throat, pining him to the wall. The two boys are of equal height but where Barty is lanky and not quite grown into his limbs, James has the sturdy build of someone who plays Quidditch nearly as much as he breathes.
"Get off," Crouch's words are muffled by his clear struggle to breathe. James does not get off, shockingly enough, in fact, what he does is drive his knee into the other boy's stomach.
Mary rolls her eyes, more than aware that everyone in the surrounding area has now stopped to stare and no doubt, if this continues, a crowd will gather.
"Enough James," she says in a bored tone, though she has to admit that she does enjoy watching Crouch squirm.
There's something slightly wild about the look in James's eyes. Mary can't remember the last time she saw him fight someone. James Potter is not, in general, a violent person, though he has been known to let Severus Snape have it from time to time. Mary can't say she disapproves.
"James," she snaps again, when he still hasn't budged, Crouch's face starting to turn a shade of red nearly dark enough to match the lipstick he's so desperate to hide. "Who are you fighting for exactly—me? Or yourself?"
That finally seems to get through to him, his eyes meeting her's for the first time before he blinks—like he's waking up—quickly letting go of Crouch. The Slytherin collapses to the ground, on his hands and knees, coughing and hacking.
"Oi!" Mary shouts at the onlookers surrounding them. "Get lost before I use a permanent sticking charm to attach your tongues to your elbows." That seems to do the trick, people quickly averting their eyes and scurrying from the corridor as quickly as their feet can carry them. It's the smart choice. Mary doesn't make idle threats.
She turns her attention back to the boys in front of her, walking forward and giving Crouch a nudge with her foot.
"Get the hell out of my sight before I change my mind and let him squeeze the life from you're pathetic excuse for a body." Out of the corner of her eye she sees James wince.
Crouch glares up at her, tears in his eyes she's sure he wishes weren't there, bruises already blooming across his neck. Christ, she can't help but think, James really wasn't fucking around. For a second she thinks she might have to pull out her wand but then Crouch stumbles to his feet and starts clumsily making his way down the hallway without sparing either of them a second glance. She is under no illusions. He isn't done with her.
There are a few moments of tense silence, Mary leaning back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest as she watches James. Watches him try to pull himself back together. He doesn't quite seem able to manage it. Eventually he sighs, running a hand through his hair and giving her a sheepish look.
"Are you okay?" he croaks.
Mary arches her brow. "Are you?"
His eyes dart away, which is unlike him, James Potter is many things but never meek. Never...skittish. Looking at him the word 'frayed' comes to mind—like a piece of fabric without a hem, the strands slowly unravelling with every pull.
"You look like shit," she says finally.
James snorts. "Feel it too."
She nods. "Not sleeping?"
His eyes glance up and then away again. "No. Not really. Not much," he sighs. "Um—listen, I actually came to find you. It's Lily."
Wherever Mary thought this conversation was going it certainly wasn't here. She instantly pushes off the wall, standing up straight. "What is it? What's happened?"
James only shakes his head. "I dunno, I reckon it has to do with her mum but...I dunno. She's having—she's in rough shape. Outside, against the back wall."
"And you left her?" Mary demands indignantly.
"She wanted you."
That's all Mary needs really, half jogging past James down the hall in the direction of the back of the school.
"Mary?" James calls out before she's turned the corner.
She looks back at him impatiently, surprised to find him looking so small. James Potter has always been larger than life, even to the people who know him best.
"We should—I—can we talk? Later?"
Normally she would snap at him for slowing her down to ask such a stupid question, but she can feel the weight of the words. The weight of everything about him.
"Yeah James," she says. "We can talk."
And with that she rounds the bend.
It isn't hard to find Lily once she gets outside—her vibrant red hair standing out against the grey winter around her. She has her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, face buried. Mary sits down next to her without hesitating, wet snow seeping through her skirt. Lily must have heard her coming because she doesn't jump, doesn't even look up, and for a long moment they just sit in silence.
"Okay babe," Mary says eventually, knocking their shoulders together. "Time to tell me what's wrong."
It's another few seconds before Lily lifts her head, tilting it back against the wall behind her. She sighs, closing her eyes—squeezing them shut.
"My mum has cancer."
Mary lets that sink in. "That," she says finally, "really fucking sucks."
Lily lets out a weak laugh, opening her eyes and turning to look at Mary. Exhausted. Terrified.
"I can't lose her too," Lily whispers, like she's afraid to say it too loud.
"You're not going to," Mary doesn't hesitate. Doesn't doubt. "I won't let it happen."
Lily smiles weakly. "I knew you'd say that."
"I mean it."
"I know you do."
Mary isn't sure what to say to that so instead she waits for Lily. Knows instinctively that there's more she has to say—something else sitting on her chest. Sure enough, a few seconds later Lily sighs again, looking back out at the grounds.
"I went to Pomfrey."
"Oh?" Mary asks, genuinely curious. She's never thought about it before, what it would mean to combine magic and Muggle medicine.
Lily's mouth pulls tight. "She said she couldn't do anything."
Mary sits with that, taking in Lily's hard expression. "Couldn't?" she asks. "Or wouldn't?"
Lily lets out a breath, blowing the hair from her forehead. There's a long pause before she speaks, eyes staring harshly at the sprawling lawn in front of them. "You know, I only know about my mum because of James?"
"Oh yeah?" Mary says, going with the sudden shift in conversation, letting Lily get out whatever it is she needs to.
"He wrote his mum, pulled strings, got them to set up a Floo connection."
"That was nice of him," Mary says slowly, trying to figure out where this is going.
Lily nods her head. "It was. And he asked me, you know, to keep him updated on how my mum was even before I knew for sure that anything was wrong. And then—" she stops herself, face scrunching as she gathers her thoughts. "And then he was here, trying to make sure I was okay, and I—I thought about telling him—he probably deserved to be told."
"No one deserve your truth," Mary cuts in. "Or your pain. No matter what they've done for you."
Lily shoots her a dry smile. "Maybe, but it doesn't matter, because the thought of having to explain to him that my mum is sick, and that that means something different for Muggles than it does for Wizards—something more serious—the thought of explaining to him that the magical world—this place that I'm supposedly a part of—is refusing to help, the same way they always refuse to help—it was too exhausting."
Mary understands. Of course she does. "That's why you wanted him to get me, not Marlene or someone else?"
Lily nods, looking over at her. "It would never have occurred to someone like James or Marlene that Pomfrey might refuse to help my mum because of...I don't know, culture or tradition or prejudice. They never would have thought to ask whether it was 'could' or 'would'."
Yes, Mary understands completely. "What did Pomfrey say exactly?"
Lily lets out a cold laugh. "She said that, legally, Muggles are different. That magic folk can't interfere even though they almost certainly have a cure," she sighs. "The really fucked up thing is that if it was me they'd have me cured in a few hours. How am I supposed to live with that? How am I supposed to watch my mum get sicker knowing that?" she sniffles though her eyes remain dry. "I don't know what to do."
Mary can't help but wonder how Poppy Pomfrey was able to look Lily in the eye and tell her that she would rather let her mother die than help a Muggle. Fuck the law, Mary can't help but think, if you can save someone you save them. End of story.
"If they won't help us," Mary says finally. "Then we help ourselves."
Lily looks over at her, a crease between her brows. "What do you mean?"
Mary shrugs. "You think there's a cure? Okay, we're witches, lets find it."
Lily just keeps staring at her, eyes going wide. "You're serious?" she asks after several moments.
Mary shrugs. "Absolutely," she reaches over and squeezes Lily's hand. "Lets cure cancer."
PART III JAMES
It's been a few days since he talked to Sirius on the Quidditch Pitch. Sirius and Remus have returned to the dorm, have started sitting with them again in the Great Hall. In Class. Despite that, James hasn't really said much to him. Hasn't said much to anyone, skiving off pretty well everything except Quidditch practice. Luckily, Sirius seems to understand, not pushing, not following after him when he disappears into the grounds. Trudging around in the snow.
He keeps looking for answers that aren't there.
Or maybe, more than that, he keeps looking for the answers he wants. But no matter how many times he goes over everything, how he phrases it or rearranges it, he can never quite get there.
So he keeps disappearing.
Keeps running away.
Keeps pretending he doesn't know what he knows.
Some truths are too heavy to hold.
But running into Crouch and Mary shakes something in him. Reminds him that he can't just force the world to look the way he wants it to. That's how he ends up here—standing outside the Slytherin common room. Waiting.
He keeps to the shadows, making himself inconspicuous. Regulus was alone at dinner so James is fairly certain he'll walk back alone too. It's hard, staying still, fighting the urge to keep running, to keep avoiding this just like he's been doing all week. Life is much easier to swallow when you pretend all the things you hate about it don't exist.
When Regulus finally does come into view James feels his whole heart lurch, like it's trying to rip itself out of his chest. Begging to hand itself over to the boy with the stormy stare and neatly combed curls. The boy who has become so intertwined in his life over the last year that Jame has no idea what to do without him.
Regulus is nearly at the entrance to the common room when James finally manages to force himself to clear his throat, stepping forward. He doesn't even have to call out, Reg—always on high alert—instantly whips around, eyes colliding with James.
"Can we talk?" James asks, watching as Regulus double checks that the hallway is empty.
A moment passes before Regulus nods, immediately taking off in the direction of the seventh floor without uttering a single word. James counts to thirty before following after, shoving his hands in his pockets because they're already shaking. He keeps his head down and forces his mind to stay blank. He doesn't want to think about what's coming. He doesn't want to think about what Sirius said to him. Or Mary. He just...doesn't want to think.
Regulus is standing at the end of the bed when James enters their room. Watching the door, arms stiff at his sides. James stops, leaving far too much space between them. Now that he's here he realizes that he doesn't know how to start. Luckily, Regulus saves him from having to.
"I see Sirius is back," he says, tone neutral. Unreadable.
James blinks. "Yeah."
Regulus is clearly waiting for James to keep going but he can't quite manage it. Doesn't have any desire to push this moment forward.
"You two have made up then?" Regulus goes on in the same tone.
"Yeah, we talked," James can't take his eyes off of Regulus. It's only been a few days since they last spoke but he feels that time like an aching hunger. An unbearable thirst. He needs this—Reg, them—he needs it like he needs to eat and drink and breathe. It fucking hurts how bad he needs it.
"About me, I'm assuming," Regulus goes on when James, once again, fails to.
He swallows, throat like sandpaper. He wants to cross the space between them, wants to gather Regulus in his arms and take him to bed. Wants to hold him for hours. Weeks. Years.
I wanted a life with you.
Just thinking that almost causes an embarrassing noise to crawl out of his mouth. Like a sob. A whine.
I wanted a life with you.
"Yeah," James says finally, voice rough. "We talked about you."
Regulus nods, face as blank as his voice, taking this all in very academically, the way he always does when he's trying to shield himself. Indifference has always been his first line of defence.
"Which means that either you convinced him to change his mind or he convinced you."
James feels his stomach threaten to upheave. "It's not that simple."
Regulus arches his brow. "I beg to differ."
"Please don't talk to me like that," James says finally, he means it but it's also a diversion. An easy way to put off answering Regulus's question. His accusation.
"Like what?" Regulus asks coldly.
James sighs, wishing he could hide things as well as Regulus. Wishing his voice didn't sound so raw. "Like I'm a stranger."
Regulus stares him down for several tense moments before eventually shaking his head, hands running through his hair and dislodging his perfectly coiffed curls.
"You wanted to talk James," he says finally. "So talk. Because you're not giving me very much to go on right now. It's putting me on edge."
James nods, because that's fair. And then, before he can stop himself, he finds his eyes dropping down to Regulus's forearm. It's only for a second—maybe not even that—but, of course, Regulus catches him. His face instantly going pale.
"He told you."
James doesn't bother answering.
"He told you," Regulus repeats, and James can't tell if it's anger or pain that Regulus seems to be so desperately fighting against, but it twists up his words, making them sound choked.
"When did it happen Reg? How long have you—" but James isn't even sure what the end of that sentence is.
"Why does it matter?" Regulus bristles, arms crossing over his chest like he's trying to hold something in. Protect something.
"Because you kept it from me—because you knew it would matter and you kept it from me. Because it's another goddamn lie—"
"I didn't lie!"
"Bullshit Reg, that's bullshit. So tell me—when did it happen?" This is easier at least, than the sadness.
Regulus glares back at him, though James thinks it seems a little half-hearted. "This summer."
James feels his eyes go wide. "This summer?" he repeats, reaching out for the back of the chair next to him. "You've been hiding this for months?"
Regulus doesn't bother responding.
"Holy shit Reg," James murmurs, his free hand scrubbing across his face. "What the hell were you thinking? How the fuck could you do this?"
"What do you want me to say James?"
And the honest truth is James doesn't know. Mostly he wants him to say that it isn't real. That Sirius was wrong. Or lying. That Regulus would never.
"Tell me that you didn't want it," the words come out of him almost without permission. His voice trembling. "Tell me that they had to hold you down, that you fought back."
But Regulus only shakes his head. "That isn't how this works."
"Maybe it is."
"No. James. No. I chose this," he rips his sleeve back, the dark ink on his forearm violent in a way that James never could have imagined. He physically shrinks away from it, feeling something inside him crumble.
"I chose it," Regulus says again, voice finally breaking—finally exposing him.
James just keeps staring at it, like holding his hand over the fire. Every second he can't blink the Mark away feels like tearing out his own fucking lungs.
"I don't—" his voice breaks and he has to wait before he can find it again, hiding at the back of his throat, unwilling to push past his lips. "I don't understand," he finally forces his eyes up to meet Regulus's. "It's fucking horrible Reg, it's so fucking—why would you want this? How could you want this?"
Nothing makes sense. Everything inside him tangling up into a knot he's not sure he'll ever manage to get undone.
A long moment passes before Regulus lets his sleeve fall back into place, arms hanging lifelessly at his sides. "It's who I am," he says finally.
"No," James says. Begs. "It isn't. I know it isn't."
Finally, there's something in Regulus's eyes that James can recognize. Pity.
"Sirius said to me once, that it was better to die than to be one of them," he looks away, like he needs a moment to collect himself. "I'm sorry James," he says eventually, when his eyes come back. "Really I am, but I don't want to die."
Those last words come out as a whisper.
He sounds so young.
James just wants to hold him.
James just wants to scream.
"It's not a choice between life and death Reg," he finally manages to say, but Regulus remains unmoved.
"I think it is though," something shifts, a new determination in his eyes. He steps forward, still too far to touch but closer. "Listen, I could protect you."
James blinks, not quite understanding.
"If you switched sides, I could keep you safe, I know how to survive them. I'm good at it, I swear."
James just keeps staring at him, brain moving too slow. "What?" and then, two words hit him in the pit of his stomach.
Switch sides.
"You want me to join the Death Eaters?" he asks numbly.
"I know how you feel about them," Regulus presses on despite the horror on James's face. "But they have connections, they have power, there's a lot to be gained from being connected to them. Security above all else."
"Security," James repeats, still not able to comprehend what he's hearing. Regulus takes another step forward, hands outstretched.
"Your side is going to lose James," he says bluntly, eyes begging him to understand. "You must know that—the war has barely started and you've already lost. But if you switch sides now, if you let me take care of you, I'll keep you safe. And then, when it's over we can go away somewhere. Somewhere far. From all of it. All of them. Start over. Safe. Alive."
I wanted a life with you.
James closes his eyes briefly, unable to look at Regulus. At his pleading hands.
"Reg," the name comes out as a curse. A prayer. A call for mercy.
"I know it isn't what you want," Regulus goes on desperately, like a man treading water. "But we can do it, I know we can. We can live. If you'll just let me—"
"Reg," James says again, choking the other boys words on their way up his throat. He opens his eyes, aching at the expression on Regulus's face. "What would be the point?"
Regulus's brows draw together. "The point?" he repeats nervously.
"In staying alive just to live in a world run by monsters?" and then, "In living just to become monsters ourselves?"
Regulus stares at him for a moment before his hands fall back to his sides. "To be together."
James very nearly doubles over then, the pain so real he could swear someone has just driven steel through his chest.
"Regulus—"
"You're saying no?" his voice is all business again.
James does his best not to wince. "I'm saying no."
Regulus nods curtly, taking a step backwards, letting James's rejection grow rotten between them. It feels like hours before Regulus speaks again.
"This is it, isn't it?"
The world is spinning, the floor slipping under James's feet. "I think so," he whispers.
The pain is a wave that James can see coming a mile away. Feel rumbling in his bones. And he knows he needs to get out of here before it hits. Knows that he won't be able to hold it together once it does.
"I love you Regulus," he just needs to say it. Needs Regulus to understand that, despite everything, it's still true. Even if maybe it shouldn't be.
"Just not enough," Regulus says cruelly.
James does his best not to choke on that. "I asked you to come with me. To be with me." He had. So many times.
"I know," Regulus says. And selfishly James wants to hear it back. One more time. Hell, he'd even take it in French. He wants Regulus to promise that he still loves him too, even if it hurts, even through the betrayal and the anger. But all he gets is silence. All he sees is a stone wall.
Shaking so bad he can barely walk, James moves for the door. Desperate to leave, feeling the wave of grief edging closer, threatening to send him under.
"I hope it's worth it," Regulus calls out to him when he gets his hand on the doorknob. "Being a martyr."
James doesn't turn around, just pushes forward.
He manages to get through the corridors okay. When he cuts his way across the Gryffindor common room he thinks he hears someone call his name but he's not really sure. The sound of his own pulse booming too loudly in his ears. Regardless, he doesn't look up. Doesn't stop.
He struggles up the stairs, glad to find the dorm room empty as he walks right into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and falling to his knees on the cold tile. He grabs hold of the porcelain toilet bowl and proceeds to vomit up nearly everything he's managed to eat today.
His body shivers and sweats and heaves as he falls back against the bathtub, the back of his hand wiping his mouth. He's crying—he's not sure when that started, hopefully after he got into the bathroom. James pulls himself in tight, knees tucked into his chest, arms wrapping around them, face buried. He makes himself small. As small as he possibly can. And then he lets the wave wash over him. This unmanageable pain. He can't think anything. Can't do anything. He just has to feel. It's too strong and too loud for him to do anything else.
There's a light knock on the door. "Prongs?"
He doesn't answer.
Can't.
"James?"
It's Sirius. Of course.
"I'm going to open the door okay?" Sirius says eventually. James doesn't reply but doesn't try to stop him either, listening to the sound of the door being slowly pushed open. If Sirius is surprised by the state he finds James in he doesn't let it show, just sits next to him on the floor and wraps his arm around him.
James lets himself be held, the sobs turning vicious now, rattling through him, shaking his ribs.
"I'm sorry," he finally manages to say. Though he's not sure what for. There's so much lately. He's done everything wrong.
"Don't be," Sirius says, sounding steady. A few seconds pass and then; "for what it's worth, I'm sorry too."
James pushes further into Sirius's side wondering when it'll stop. The crying. The pain. He isn't at all certain that it will. This heartbreak feels endless. This heartbreak eats him whole.
PART IV REMUS
He's supposed to be doing coursework but he can't concentrate, eyes continuously going to the stairs that lead up to their dormitory. Remus has seen James upset before—more than he would like recently—but when he walked into the common room tonight the pain on his face was something else.
Sirius barely waited for him to get up the stairs before he was on his feet, chasing after him. Part of Remus wants to follow but mostly he knows that this isn't about him—not the way that it's about Sirius and James. He needs to give them space. Let them work through it together.
So he stays behind.
It's something he's used to.
"What do you reckon that was about?" Peter asks after a few minutes, nodding his head in the direction of the dorms.
Remus hesitates, dropping his eyes back down to the parchment in front of him. He keeps his voice low when he answers. "If I had to guess, I'd say that James and Regulus have...fallen out."
"Huh," Peter hums thoughtfully, causing Remus to look up. "He seemed pretty...I don't know, pretty gone on him, didn't he?"
Remus feels a small ache in his chest. "Yeah, yeah I think he was."
"So why end things then?"
Remus arches his brow. "What makes you so certain it wasn't the other way around?"
"Because," Peter snorts, "if Regulus had broken up with James he'd have stormed in here with some big plan to win him back. Not—you know—not looking like that," he nods again at the stairs. Remus reckons he's probably right.
"I think it just became too much," he says, feeling a little uncomfortable discussing this at all. He doesn't want to gossip about their friend. Doesn't want to make assumptions about a relationship he absolutely did not understand.
"What became too much?" Peter asks, chewing on the end of his quill.
Remus wrinkles his nose—he's always thought that was a gross habit, but he's not Peter's mum so he's not about to say anything about it.
"You know, the differences between them, the war."
"I don't see why the war should matter to them."
Remus blinks, momentarily distracted from Peter's disgusting quill chewing habit. "Er—you don't?"
He shrugs. "Why would it?"
"Um...well...it kind of...shows a lot about person. How they feel about things like that," he squints at the boy across from him. "I mean, how could it not matter?"
Another shrug, though thankfully this one dislodges the quill from Peter's mouth. "Just politics 'innit?"
Remus stares back at him. "Just politics?" he repeats slowly. "What—what do you mean?" Something uneasy has started to settle in Remus's chest.
"Well like, my mum votes Tory and my dad votes Labour but they're still married."
Remus is thrown for a minute. "Your parents vote in the Muggle elections?"
"Sure. They think it's fun or something. Like a game. They make bets."
Remus opens his mouth and then closes it, deciding that that is a discussion for another time. "This—Voldemort, the Death Eaters—they're not exactly a bunch of blokes running for office."
"I mean, they sort of are," Peter says, like that's a totally reasonable thing to think. "They have their supporters, the Ministry has theirs, they're both, y'know, campaigning."
Remus feels like he's just fallen into another dimension where the activities of Voldemort are so mundane that they can be considered 'campaigning'. Like planting a sign on someone's lawn or holding a rally.
"Right, sure, except the Death Eaters 'campaign' by murdering people," he expects to see horror in Peter's eyes when he realizes what he's just said, the comparisons he's just made, the way he's just dismissed the disgusting things the Death Eaters want. That they've done. But he doesn't see any of that.
"Suppose," is all Peter says, before he looks back down at his coursework, teeth once again going to town on his quill. "Hey, what'd you get for number seven?"