Mcrningecans:
mcrningecans:
who: @jamiespxtter where: the potter cottage. when: january 1, 1979.
LILY STILL COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. James stood before her, flesh and blood, and she didn’t think it would ever fully settle in her brain. They’d stayed in the hallway for what felt like an eternity, her fingers digging into his back until she cried out what felt like all the water in her body. He’d wiped them away for her, and she’d kissed his cheeks, as if that would stop the tears. But more came, for both of them, as their new reality settled on them like a wet blanket. Where was Harry?
Like clockwork, though, they’d drifted into the kitchen. Lily, still sniffling, had begun to root through the cabinets to find the tea kettle, mostly because it kept her busy, but also because it had been a while, and she’d like to taste a cuppa again. She’d kept it in a different spot when they’d first moved in, of course, and eventually moved it when they started using it every evening. Now, the kettle was singing, and Lily used magic to pour two cups and deliver them. She didn’t have the energy to move, after all, not now, not when James was so close. All she wanted to do was stay beside him, and figure out what was going on. After all, they’d always been able to figure everything else out together. They’d get this too.
A small sip sent warmth through her body, and Lily allowed herself to breathe again. Shoulders fell, jaw slackened, eyelids lowered. They’d all been struggling since she’d woke, and Lily felt the tiredness that came with all these discoveries. Still, she didn’t want to rest. She couldn’t. Now, she needed a plan. She needed James. Her James. Lilys fingers reached for his again just because here she could. Here, at least, she had his hand to hold onto. “I don’t know what to say,” Lily managed, the first real words she’d spoken that weren’t obscured by her tears. What did you say to the person you loved most in the world, who you thought you’d lost? “His room is empty James. Like when we just moved in. The home office I wanted to set up? That’s what’s upstairs. A bunch of boxes full of ingredients. And, I mean, we’re okay… You’re not–” She sucked in a deep breath, because her eyes already were red-rimmed, and she didn’t need anymore tears to fall out by confirming what he already knew.
“What–what do you remember?”
--
He would have stayed there for a lifetime, if that was what she needed.
They both needed it, really, and James held onto his wife desperately, a hand threading through her hair to nestle at the nape of her neck, trying to soothe her as best as he could. That sensation alone simply didn’t feel real, - none of it did, and while part of him wanted to believe this was some twisted game the fates were playing on them, there was simply no explanation for it. Every shuddering breath she took, every sob that wracked her chest, James simply held on tighter, relieved to at least feel alive again. It was a small mercy, he knew, but what else could be said? Their home had changed, as had they.
He had died. He was sure of it.
Lily’s breathing calmed him. She settled, eventually, as did he; though nothing could ever pull him away from her. Not now. Losing her had been the hardest thing he thought he would ever have to face, and now that the reality was setting in, there were much worse things coming for them. Even as they made their way to the kitchen, James kept a hand on her, needing the solid, affirming reminder that she really was there. It was the only thing that kept him standing upright, kept him pushing through the agonizing, deep ache that had settled in his chest, a loss he didn’t quite know how to deal with. One he hadn’t prepared for. Dumbledore had never given them any warning about this.
She was working on autopilot as she found the kettle, and used her magic to make them both a cup of tea. He felt too sick to drink it, but took the warm cup in one hand anyway, another sensation that felt borderline bizarre. Their table is small enough to leave them sitting side-by-side, and James moved his chair to sit facing her, hunched forward, his free hand rested carefully on her thigh.
He needed to hold her. He needed to know she was real. She relaxed slightly, after a sip, and James let his hand move, rubbing soothing circles against her leg. His own autopilot.
“.. he killed me.”
Saying it hurt more than he could bear.
“I - I told you to go. To get Harry, and leave. And then - I looked at him, and he -”
James had barely put up a fight. He dropped his head, the guilt turning in his stomach, as he stared down at the cup in his hand.
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[TW: injury description.]
"Your faith in me is absolutely reassuring." His words come out dry, forced through the ache of the pain shooting up his leg. He's fine, for the most part, - the Death Eaters they had been chasing have long since been taken care of, and he and Amelia are a bloody good team. "It's a quidditch thing," she had joked, though he had agreed wholeheartedly. Their issue now is the nasty way his leg is twisted, and James stays slumped up against the brick wall, keeping his weight on the other foot. He's had injuries, before. Quidditch, stupid tricks and pranks with the boys, that one time he had flown around to Lily's window of Gryffindor tower in the rain, and had slipped off his broom. Countless full moons. Auror training, and being in the Order. He's seen the inside of the medical wing and St. Mungo's more times than he can count, and he's learned to handle the pain. But it's something else. The hex the Death Eater had used is nasty, and James feels like his leg is still twisting in the wrong direction, tightening, like bone and muscle is fit to burst. The longer they wait, the worse it feels. Amelia's there, though. She's got one arm under his shoulders, helping to keep him upright, and he's more than grateful. There's a grimace on his face, and James fights a groan as his leg twists again, his hand grabbing onto her tightly. "Please don't tell my wife about this," he huffs, giving her a look.
“You can never really go back to the same waters. Not only are you no longer the same, but neither are the waters you left. The current has changed. The elements of nature have affected the stream. When you return, although it appears the same, it really is a different river and you are a different person. Therefore, you cannot cross the same river twice.”
— Alice Walker
“You have me. Until ever last star in the galaxy dies. You have me.”
— Amie Kaufman
Pets
[I'm choosing to take this as 'pets', the verb, as in 'getting petted'!]
The first time Sirius gets his full animagus form, James is euphoric.
It's months of work, hours upon hours of research, and potions, and charms, and stupid divination classes, all building up to this exact moment. Keeping the finer, grittier details of it from Remus had been a challenge, for the most part, but it's all worth every single ounce of sweat they've put into perfecting the magic behind it. Remus is worth it all, and that had been agreed upon ever since they had come up with the idea on day one, no questions asked; and while they're not expert wizards just yet, McGonagall seems relatively pleased with their extra interest in potions, lately.
Shes not all too pleased with their extra interest in the restricted section of the library, but that's neither here nor there, and nothing for her to be concerned about.
Yet.
The fact is, what they've achieved now is a monumental victory. In Sirius' place is a great, big, fluffy dog, panting and whacking his tail on the wooden floors as he wags it, very obviously delighted with himself. James' own reaction is instantaneous, a delighted, "YES!", and before he knows it, he's lunging at Sirius, wrapping the dog up in a tight hug. "Look at you! You're brilliant! You're amazing! I could fucking kiss you!" And he does, right on Sirius' hairy forehead, between perked up ears, hands scratching and petting instinctively, wherever he can reach.
"We have to show Moons," James beams, giving him another kiss.
Peace
The grounds are quiet.
The sun is shining. Classes are finished, and the train is leaving tomorrow. They're all packed, surprisingly actually on time, for once, - and hell, it's only taken them six years to perfect the art of moving back home for the summer.
James feels entirely at ease. There's the looming darkness that haunts them all, of course; a war on the brink of beginning, and smug pureblood students who believe they know right from wrong, bad from good, pure from filth. The thought of it makes his blood boil, makes him detest everything and anything being a pureblood wizard has become.
But for once, it's not on his mind. It's a privilege, he knows, and one he doesn't take lightly; but for a brief moment in time, everything feels normal again. They're sitting in some shade under the tree by the lake. Sirius is skipping stones, using his wand to propel them farther, and Remus is taking down the last of the notes he needs for whatever summer study he plans on doing, to make up for lost time with the moons.
None of them are talking. They don't have to. His gaze drifts to Peter, looking far too deep in thought to truly be enjoying this gloriously sunshine-y day, and James makes an effort to reach his foot out, knocking it against Peter's leg lightly to get his attention.
It snaps his friend out of the moment, and when Peter looks at him in confusion, James simply smiles.
'Relax,' he mouths, with a small shrug, refusing to break the quiet.
Whatever's on his mind can wait for another day.
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