Who: @mxrlenemckn​ When: January 2nd, 1979 Where: Marlene’s Flat

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.

Doors

HEADCANON:

The Potter estate is big.

It's not unwelcoming, or imposing, by any means. Any aspect of being too much is immediately washed away by his mother's warm hugs, his father's booming laughter as he greets guests, and the fact that it's James' home. Marlene had been enamored by the place from her first steps inside of it, and while he had tried to be boastful about how many rooms were simply for sleeping in, she had been more interested in the doors.

There had been many generations, passed through the estate. And with it came many tastes, and senses of style, and urges to make a house a home. All of these things added together had turned the estate into a miss-match of different rooms and different stylistic ages, the house it's own portrait of a family tree woven into the very brick work and foundations.

There's big doors. Small doors. Doors with peeling paint, and doors made of concrete, reinforced with charms. Doors for house elves, and doors for half-giants. The back garden can be reached through wide, gaping, fifteen-foot-tall glass doors, - or through the little side entrance, a little wooden door, built into the side of the kitchen.

Marlene had laughed at him once, at the age of fourteen, when he had walked through and smacked his forehead right off the awning.

He was left with a bruise on his forehead for a week.

He's learned to duck.

By a unanimous vote, we’ve decided to do a soft opening, and take this weekend to plot and reply to memes.

What that means:

All of our members should follow Memento Memes, where I will be reblogging memes throughout the weekend for us to use. To keep them all in one place and from getting lost on the dash, send any memes you’d like to be reblogged to me and I’ll reblog them there.

I will still be accepting Applications all weekend. Friday Night, Saturday Night, and Sunday Night, all at 9pm EST. That way people can easily join in and get right into the plotting and memes.

On Monday at 6 pm EST, we will open officially. This will be started with everyone posting their Self-Paras of their characters waking up. This can either be a Solo Para if your character is alone, or a Para with your characters significant other if they woke up with them. That is completely up to you if you’ve plotted that.

👠 What kind of shoes does your character usually wear in daily life?

HEADCANON:

James has four go-to pairs of shoes that he wears pretty regularly.

The first are a pair of beat-up sneakers, just used for running around in. Lily had shown him a few different muggle brands when they were out shopping one day, and he had fallen in love with a pair of Nikes.

The second, are a pair of boots, for when he's on missions. They're charmed to be non-slip, silent, hex-proof, and ridiculously comfortable. It makes it much easier to face auror and Order missions that are days long.

The third, are a pair of fancy dress shoes. His father had once taught him the importance of always having a smart pair of dress robes and good, formal shoes, for any necessary event and occasion. As much as he hates dressing up in the more traditional sense of wizard wear, he does appreciate the life lesson. He's never forgotten it.

The fourth pair of shoes are actually an old pair of slippers. Sirius had given them to him as a joke gift, making a gag about him being an 'old man', just after Lily had announced her pregnancy. But the slippers are comfortable, beyond belief, and James usually wears them around the house.

‘ hold up ‘ reverse

It takes everything he's got to hoist Peter back, ripping the back of his shirt in the process.

There's a panic in it, an urgency to run, and James follows that instinct like it's the only thing guaranteed to keep them alive. He keeps one hand on Peter's shoulder, pulling him tight, the other one covering his mouth quickly to stop him from making a peep. At the same time, there's footsteps rushing down the alleyway behind them, chasing them, and James keeps his eyes on Peter's, staring him down, daring him not to say a fucking word. Their silence is crucial, especially now, and the last thing he wants is for either of them to get caught.

Lily's due in a week. He can't leave her like this.

There's a second set of footsteps, and James' eyes widen slightly, still watching his friend. They're the only two out of the mission, and while part of him wants to believe it's just concerned citizens rushing to help, another part of him knows it's their worst fear; an ambush, more Death Eaters, coming to get them if the first pair couldn't. It's a lot more dangerous than either of them had realised, and James sits with the reality of it for a beat, trying not to get too overwhelmed.

When enough time has passed for him to be convinced that no-one else is coming for them, James finally lets his hand drop, resting on Peter's shoulder instead as they both catch their breath.

"Too close," James decides, slumping agaisnt Peter in a half-hug.

“It’s been a decade since you’ve been gone.”

"Don't be so dramatic, Moons."

There's a crooked grin on his lips as he steps into the shack, a bag of goodies thrown over one shoulder. Getting to the castle and back had been a challenge, especially with McGonagall on edge around the full moon anyway, and while he appreciates her concern, they very obviously have this entire thing under control.

They've healed Remus' wounds to the best of their abilities, and settled for muggle bandages for the rest. He'd earned a laugh and a shove, when he'd tried to kiss the cut on Remus' cheek, and that was reassurance enough to know his best friend was alright.

Peter had stayed with him as he and Sirius made the trek back to the castle, picking up a selection of essentials; chocolate from the house elves, clean clothes, a blanket to keep around his shoulders for the walk back. It wasn't long, but James knew he would be tired, and every little thing would help.

"I made it worth the wait, though," he adds, kneeling down where Remus is sitting against the edge of the bed, covered only by the blanket they'd left there the month before. From the bag, he pulls out a piece of chocolate cake, a little smushed in it's wrapping, but still warm from the ovens.

"Saved you a slice," James teases.

‘ hold up ‘ reverse - cause its happened a lot lets be honest

He's got one hand on the back of Sirius' jacket, and if James looks close enough, he's pretty certain he can see the sheen of the leather fading from where he's grabbed the same spot so many times. London is busy at the best of times, and even busier on a Saturday night, he's noticed. Not that they've been in the city all too often; the extent of their time hanging out outside of the castle has been sorely restricted to Hogsmeade and the Potter Estate, for the most part. It's only in the past year or so that he and Sirius have really been given permission to go out into London, to enjoy the free time they have the summer before their seventh year and upcoming graduation. He feels light on his feet. Unstoppable. Invincible. They'd downed half a bottle of firewhiskey between the two of them before leaving the house, portkeyed to a little village just outside the city, and got the next bus right into the center of town - and thank you, Evans, for the scintillating lesson on muggle public transport. Still, Sirius seems intent to end their night early, and as a double decker bus goes whizzing past on the road, horn honking loudly, the wing mirror of the muggle monster of steel and dusty seats nearly smacks his best friend clean in the nose as Sirius tries to step out to cross. It's barely seven in the evening, and too close a call. "Thought I was supposed to be the blind one?" James snorts, trying to ignore the racing in his heart as he pulls Sirius back onto the path.

“We always were a thing, weren’t we?”

"I think so." There's no arrogance behind his words, no self-righteousness that would have come if she had asked him three years ago. Their relationship is a relatively new thing, in terms of official labels, their first kiss, everything that had happened on Halloween night, but everything they are goes beyond so much more than that. To the eye, sure, they've only been together for two months, and they're still going strong. But Lily's right, as she usually is. They were always a thing. She's always been on his mind. She's had his heart for at least a year, now, if not more. He's learned to adapt, to accept the way Lily had wanted them to be, simply friends and nothing more. Getting any ounce of a positive relationship with her, even a platonic one, was more than James had ever imagined possible, and he wasn't about to take it for granted. Every moment spent with her was a gift. Is a gift. But there's freedom, in honesty. He can tell her these things, can admit to watching her in class, feeling his heart soar when she cheers from the stands during a quidditch match, the way her foot would knock against his ankle under the table at breakfast. Little details that add up, things that culminate and become love, and hearing her admit to that makes him feel warm all over. He's unafraid, then, when he leans over, pressing a small kiss to her forehead. "You've always been it, for me."

“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.