“It’s Okay. It’s Gonna Be Okay.”

Send me  ☆ + a word and my muse will reveal the first thought they have about it regarding your muse. 

ofmollyweasley​:

molly had completely forgotten she had come to scout out her brothers. seeing the face she had spent years taking in as her own had completely thrown her for a loop. feeling james pulling her in for a hug, she took him into the bear hug she was notorious for. she had done pretty well so far keeping it together. the emotions of everything hadn’t really caught up to her yet. she hadn’t really had time to process it all, what with having five small children to take care of again.

but having the boy who lived’s father hugging her, his arms wrapped around her, it opened the flood gates. she tried stifling a sob as much as possible. when had she last seen the man? it was surely before they went into hiding. she thought of james as another brother. 

“looking for fab and gid,” she said, having her question of whether her brothers were there or not. “they gave the boys sugar and left them with me.” it seemed so trivial now, having seen james for the first time in twenty years. 

--

The past few days had been.. rough, if there was any other word for it. 

Seeing Sirius and Remus, and Marlene. Alice, and hearing of everything she and Frank had gone through. He and Lily were still trying to process it all, and while part of him had hoped for some normalcy by attending an Order meeting, - and to see if any of the other members had any clue of what was going on, without being the one to spill the beans and sound like an absolute nutter, - James knew things would be okay if Molly Weasley was still around.

Until she had stared at him, like she couldn’t quite believe he was really there. And when he reached for her, Molly grabbed him in the tightest, Molly-est hug imaginable, and all at once, he felt that uncertainty.

That fear.

Something was still wrong.

She was crying, and James’ chest ached with it. He bundled her up as tightly as he could, - and careful with it, too, - reaching for a clean tissue in his pocket when she had pulled back to offer it to her. There’d been a lot of crying, lately. He was trying to stay prepared. 

“.. they deserve to get their arses kicked, then,” he joked weakly, still keeping one arm around Molly, to make sure she was alright. “I haven’t seen them. But - you’re more than welcome to stay, until they turn up. I needed a good excuse to get out of there, anyway.” 

He looked back at the door, a tired frown on his face, before offering Molly a weak smile. “Tea?”

❝ I…I’m sorry. I have to go ❞

"Go where?!" He asks it with a laugh, using it to hide the disappointment he feels. It's natural, he knows, his mum had warned him a thousand times; people drift apart by the time school starts to end, friendships change, people change. James wants to believe that Peter's only running away from hanging out behind the herbology greenhouses because he's stressed about NEWTs, or because they all still have a history essay due in two days, or because McGonagall's been breathing down his neck about his plans for the future. They're all stressed about NEWTs. About classes. McGonagall. It's barely an excuse. It's been happening more and more lately. Peter's distance. Seven years of being joined at the hip is starting to dwindle, and as right as his mother usually is, James doesn't want it to be true. Any plans about the future are usually shot down, any questions about hanging out for the weekend, or going to Hogsmeade, or even just studying together, most of them are rejected. And he understands, truly, - it's an exhaustive time for all of them, mutually. But surely they're supposed to be leaning on each other, supporting each other, not drifting apart? They're supposed to stay together, the four of them. They're supposed to save the world. He seems insistent on leaving, however. And for the hundredth time, James lets him go, letting out a soft breath of Peter's name in protest. It's not enough to keep him around. It never is.

send “you okay?” to find my muse sitting alone on a roof at night.

“Love is really the only thing we can possess, keep with us, and take with us.”

— Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

“Can any single person shut the fuck up about any single thing for an hour?”

"That would actually involve people being competent and considerate, and you and I both know that's pretty hard to come by."

He answers before he thinks, only glancing up when Amelia comes to a stop beside him. As vast and all-encompassing as it is, the Ministry is surprisingly small, and James finds himself bumping into the same people on the regular. It's not an uncommon thing; most people working within it's walls are on a tight, routine schedule, and end of following the same pattern, day in, day out. James feels like an outlier sometimes, floating in and out to collect missions, to attend training and debriefs, most of which can already be done on the field.

It has been nice, however, to see Amelia again. He's known her almost ten years, now, and known her for about a year. They get on, and he's always appreciative of a familiar face. The little coffee shop across from the telephone box is where they usually cross paths, and today is no different.

She's frowning like she's sick of the world, leveling him with an unamused glare, and James turns back to the boy behind the counter with a grin, asking politely for another cup of tea for Amelia.

He's got a feeling she needs a minute to relax.

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

— Emily Bronte

who: @mxrlenemckn​ when: january 2nd, 1979 where: marlene’s flat

He hadn’t slept all night.

It was impossible. Not when he knew what he knew. Not when his friends had been hurt, so badly, for so long. Trying to wrap his head around why he and Lily were back in the first place had been a challenging enough venture, but after facing Remus and Sirius, and hearing Lily had gone to Peter’s, all of it was simply.. too much. Too much for any one man. The exhaustion had settled deep into his core, had made a home right alongside his mourning, and James had learned to sit with it, alternating between staying in bed with Lily, holding her as she cried, to sitting out in the back garden, and simply looking up at the stars.

He’d become so accustomed to sleeping with a fussing baby in the night, that having the Hollow be so quiet was simply too unnerving. There was no pattern of feedings, or bedtime stories, or baths to take. Their routine had been entirely wiped clean, replaced by the pair working on autopilot to unpack what boxes they could.

The few moments of sleep he managed to get were plagued by nightmares, and flashes of green, and the haunting sight of his son, in that forest, ready to go. None of it felt right, like they had been nightmares, - more like prophecies. Visions. Memories of what could be.

Harry had been ready to die.

The guilt could swallow him whole.

Finding Lily after lunch had been.. a challenge. Not because she had gone anywhere, but simply because someone had come to her.

A ghost. A memory of what was, from their own past.

Marlene.

It was his final straw. The thing that broke him. Losing Marlene had been devastating, beyond all belief, and hearing that she was back, - how was he supposed to believe that? How was that supposed to help make any sense of what was going on? They may have been brought back from the dead, Remus and Sirius may have lived whole lives, gone on decades without them, but Marlene had died before them.

And now, two years in the past, she was visiting their house to steal their food, like she always had, as if nothing was wrong.

Lily had only just calmed him enough to get him to breathe again, arms tight around him as he choked on air. She had soothed him, healed him, petted through his hair until he could find his balance again, held his face and reassured him that he was alright, that Marlene was alright, and that she would be there, waiting, when he was ready.

Which was where he found himself the next morning, standing at the door to her flat. 

It looked the exact same. Cracking paint, a crooked number. A little imperfect, just like Marlene. 

If she wasn’t behind the door, he wouldn’t know what to do.

James knocked.

Marauders (click to enlarge)