marked fool.

James brought with him a gasp of icy air, cigarette smoke, and something like leather and ash. Sirius breathed in before he could think too deeply about it, grinning broadly as a bubble of happiness swelled in his chest. He’s alive, Sirius thought quietly, dizzily. Thank Merlin’s sagging tits for that.

For a beat Sirius didn’t know what James was talking about. Then he recalled the slightly shy smile Remus had shot him earlier in the day; and the owl he’d received at breakfast with a rolled-up piece of parchment with tightly looped handwriting that read, Still kicking? He’d assumed – well, nothing. The Order were all going a little ‘round the twist these days; their lives were by definition disjointed, and missing days or forgetting to eat were quickly becoming routine. But the way James’ red mouth curled around the word birthday made Sirius blink a few times in surprise.

“Oh,” Sirius heard himself say. “Right, yeah. Thanks, mate.”

Now that he knew what day it was, Sirius was momentarily beset by an uncomfortable wave of feeling. Unlike some tossers he could mention, Sirius didn’t go a bundle on his birthday. As much as he could wile away the rest of the year in a happy haze, his birthday made clear the transience of youth, and by extension the imminence of his own death. The feverishly pleased look on James’ face, however, made Sirius soften.

“You arse,” he commented instead, voice warm with affection. “I hope you spent loads on me. I’ll be writing you up if this cost anything less than twenty galleons.” Sirius pushed aside his pint to lean his elbows on the table, then started ripping open the gift. He did so with difficulty – Prongs was shite at fiddly things like wrapping paper – but eventually he emerged with a little box, within which was, to the unassuming eye, a very small screw shaped like an arrowhead. 

Sirius’ pulse quickened.

He reverently held it up to the light. The pub lamps made the gunmetal glow; and as if in a conspiratorial way, the bolt shimmered with enchantments.

Prongs continued to rabbit away as Sirius’ eyes filled with tears. Mortified, he roughly pulled his forearm across his face, taking a moment to compose himself. When he emerged, Sirius met James’ expectant look with one of tender joy.

“This is bloody fantastic,” he announced, voice snagging on a laugh. “Merlin, Prongs! I’ve been looking for – I don’t even want to know who you shagged to get one of these. They’ve only made about fifty in the whole country. It’s all in the suspension – it’s like a hover charm, but far more sophisticated…” Sirius closed his hand around the present and took a deep breath. “Thank you,” he added after a loaded pause. “Really.”

Some of what Prongs had said came back to him, albeit belatedly. Sirius dropped his eyes and tucked the bolt into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. James had given him literally hundreds of presents over the years. Why was he getting all soppy over this one? It was stupid. Sirius heard himself say, with an injection of enthusiasm he didn’t quite feel, “Yaxley’s a tit. Next time try and get his bits off.” 

Playing for time, Sirius pulled his pint close and took a long drink. He felt a little steadier once he resurfaced. It was just James. Him and James, alone, in the pub, like they’d done a million times. Get a grip.

Sirius caught James’ gaze and raised his eyebrows, prompting. “I take it the rendezvous went alright, then? No nasty surprises?”

Sirius looked caught off guard and James laughed. “Don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday? You sod.” He didn’t take it any farther than that, though. He knew why. With the war going on, dates got mixed up. They’d learned to think of things as next mission or in between meetings and, sometimes, things like a simple day of the year went to the back of their minds. But James would never forget Sirius’ birthday. He was glad that at least the two of them could make it out tonight, even if Peter and Remus couldn’t come with.

As they sort of talked over one another, James almost missed the way Sirius’ voice changed - how it hitched in the middle of the sentence, how his cheeks flushed. But for a bloke who liked to mess about, James was actually more observant than people expected. Or, at least, he noticed his friends. The people he loved. He could tell when Lily was angry, too. Or when Remus needed a moment to collect himself. When Peter needed an arm around the shoulders. Something wasn’t quite right with Sirius. Even while he joked about Yaxley’s probably very small and therefore not easy to hex bits, it was lackluster.

James eyed him as he took a drink of his own pint, but tried to keep things going. “I had to track down some shady bloke and pay a fortune for it. We met in Knockturn Alley, can you believe it? I think it’s because he didn’t want me to notice the huge blisters all over his face. Even a dark street couldn’t keep those hidden! Anyway, he was a quick lay, if not a bit rough for my tastes. Didn’t even want’a cuddle after!” He said the last part with a cheeky grin.

But he looked back over at Sirius and reached across the seat to grip his friends shoulder tightly. “Yeah, it went fine. Had to stop by home to check in with Lily and get my fingers sorted before I came. Listen, mate, you alright? Something happen with your lot?” Perhaps the mission had gone wrong - perhaps someone had died. 

DOG DAYS - @markedpotter 3 NOVEMBER, 1979 A PUB IN BROMLEY, LONDON

Sirius couldn’t understand why other wixen avoided muggle pubs.

Okay, so the drinks didn’t spontaneously burst into flames every now and then; and the music tended to intersperse with the football showing on the telly-vision cramped in one corner; and even the locals rarely deviated in appearance from limp office workers or laborers down the road, still in their uniforms. The atmosphere was one of a tired happiness that Sirius associated with Friday evenings, with the muggles knocking off early to get in a few before going home to the wife and kids.

Sirius’ shoulders were aching. His right arm throbbed with the vestiges of skelegro (a nasty fall, some Death Eater bastard on a rooftop: really, it was embarrassing), and his hand shook minutely as he raised his pint glass to take a steadying sip. The lager was fortifying and warmed the long lines of his body. He’d done a job with the cleaning charms to blend in to this side of muggle London, but his long hair, jewellery, and leather jacket still attracted curious glances every now and then. The bartender had made some joke about punks, which had delighted him.

The world outside was clasped in darkness. Fidgeting, Sirius glanced up at the clock above the bar. They’d said six, hadn’t they? Sirius took another sip and frowned in thought. Yeah, no, he definitely had. Because before they all apparated to the mission points, Sirius had manhandled James to one side and hissed in his ear, Bromley pub, don’t be late, and James had shot him a glittering grin and replied, Race you.

Through the burble of the pub came a gust of frigid November air. Sirius felt rather than saw a familiar figure wind through the crowd packed around the bar. For reasons best left unexamined, his stomach swooped.

Sitting up straighter, Sirius pushed the second full pint glass across the table just as James threw himself into the booth. Catching Prongs’ eye, Sirius grinned in victory.

“There’s no point if you keep letting me win, you know.”

They fought better together, which is why James was always saying they should never be separated. But apparently the Marauders couldn’t be together for every mission and, when they could, there was usually one missing. Remus hadn’t been ‘round for weeks now, underground still with the werewolves, and Peter didn’t always do the same missions as Sirius and James. But - those two. Man, James had been advocating for them to stick by one another since they first joined the Order. If only people listened then maybe he wouldn’t be running late.

It was bloody cold - he hated having to Apparate so far away, walk down the streets of muggle London, but he figured a random man showing up in the middle of the road would be a bit unsettling to the non-magical folk, so he followed the rules on this one. Lily had been helping him understand that stuff more lately. Scolding him whenever he complained about being inconvenienced because of the muggle and Statue of Secrecy. They’d had more than one argument in their time together about her instances James learned to do some stuff without a wand. But I’ve got a wand, he’d taken to saying. Why would I need to learn to do anything without it? 

Apparently, that was the arrogance of a pureblood, but James honestly couldn’t see how it would do him any good to learn to light a stove without magic when he’d always have magic. Weren’t there more important things going on than muggle studies right now anyway?

He pulled his coat around him more - he was getting awfully good at dressing up as a muggle, maybe that counted for something? - before he made it to the door of the pub. His eyes roamed under his glasses for a moment before he saw Sirius sitting alone in a corner booth. James fell into it and shot him a wiry grin, pulling out a small wrapped gift and whipping it at Sirius’ face. “Oh, buck up -” (A favorite joke of his) “- and quit crying. It was your first birthday present, you winning and all. Shut up and open your second.” 

Was James Potter really going to judge him for his choice of drink? Here? Marcus let out a low laugh. “That is a cocktail they’re calling Giddy Pop,” he said. “And your expression is priceless.” His tone was dry. He watched James’ face for a moment, but either the drink took longer than a couple seconds to take effect or James… maybe he was just too miserable. Judging Marcus for his drink? Really? When they were both at a party with Death Eaters, practically dancing on the graves of all the loved ones they’d lost. When James was working security for these people.  

“They have stronger stuff going around. Brandy, whisky…” But this had been the drink that intrigued Marcus. Was this the secret to how they could stand it? Drinks laced with the elixir? The key to plastering that smile on their lips as they committed murder? Marcus hoped so. At least then Marcus would know he had something in common with them aside from being a fucking coward, selfish enough to want life when everyone in his family had died. He had Marlene, of course. She’d still died though.

He drew in a long breath. “But what friend would I be if I let you miss out on all the fun.” 

Friends. That was a stretch. How could you be friends with someone when you were barely yourself? The word felt juvenile after everything they had been through and all the real friends they’d given up on to survive. 

He smiled, but he could feel it didn’t meet his eyes. The muscles in his face were tight, making it almost painful. He needed the elixir, he supposed. “If you ask me, Gabriel’s doing you and all the other security wix a favour. Not everyone’s a happy drunk. You might turn your nose up at the taste, but the euphoria inducing elixir is pacifying, so if you can’t keep the peace tonight…” His eyes followed a tray as it approached, as if summoned by their conversation. “…at least this can.” He took a glass from the tray and held it to his nose, smelling the contents.

Would it soothe his own anxieties if he drunk more, he wondered? Surrounded by them, their influences, and their wealth, it was easy to forget who you were. Why was it that the bad stuff was so easy to recall, solid as stone, while the good memories were sand slipping through his fingers? 

Marcus didn’t sound amused, which made James want to laugh. They looked at one another for a few moment, Marcus seeming to wait for something that must’ve never happened because he continued on, talking about different sort of drinks. “I already said I can’t drink,” James pointed out. It didn’t really matter what else they were serving because he wouldn’t be able to have any of it. He thought that, maybe, even if he were, he would stay away from the liquor anyway. Being forced into One Army meant he always had to stay on his game. It was like Quidditch in that way. Only he was the Quaffle - people were always throwing him around.

But he didn’t think he’d be able to keep his wand down, his tongue bitten, if he were to drink more than a sip of that god-awful drink. Sirius and him preferred something much stronger and a lot less sweet. If he’d gotten into the brandy or whiskey now, he thought he might just end up cursing one of these knob-wackets and getting himself, Lily, and his child killed.

Marcus kept talking and James’ eyebrows moved up farther on his forehead. He wondered how much the younger boy would end up saying if he just stayed quiet and refused to answer back. Would Marcus feel so uncomfortable that he’d end up letting it slip just why he’d taken the Mark in the first place? Maybe James should try that tactic, but the word friend brought a sardonic smirk to his face. 

It wasn’t exactly untrue. Marcus was probably his closest friend here. But James would never call him that. Padfoot - Moony... they were his friends. Peter... once. James had never been in the market for more. “I’ll make sure to thank ol’ Gabriel, then,” James replied, eyeing the way Marcus’ lips turned upwards, not reaching his eyes.

Event: The Nott Party November 4th, 1980

@markedpotter

To Marcus, these parties were like standing on ice barefoot. Slippery and painful, but at the end of it all, numbing. Marcus hadn’t got to that numbing part yet though. He had reached stage two of the evening, where people had thrown spirits on top of their cruelty and started acting like they were burning bright with superiority. They got cocky, and that’s when they decided to use Marcus as a verbal punching bag. Talking like he wasn’t there–about him, rather than to him. Ripping his parents apart as if their murders hadn’t been punishment enough. Forgetting Marcus was supposed to die with them. Not even mentioning Marlene because even death had some dignity in it, but transitioning into a vampire? Not a chance. 

And it hurt. Marcus could feel it everywhere. He held a glass of Giddy Pop in his hand, not wanting to drink it, hating the idea of feeling happiness without them. But he just wanted to skip to the numb part. 

When Marcus first stepped through the gate onto Nott’s estate, he had scanned the garden, searching the sea of faces, and one of the faces he’d been hoping to find was James’. They didn’t even get along that well. Marcus just needed to know he was there. And so he’d kept a look out for James all through the evening, knowing if something was to kick off, he wanted to be in distance of him when it happened. Was this faith, he wondered? An irrational confidence in another person, even when that person was just as deep in shit as you were? If so, it was such a small piece of Marcus. Just a splinter. 

But now he was walking right up to him. For a moment, he didn’t speak, anger holding his tongue captive; just stood there holding onto that fucking glass. He drew in a breath. 

“These things are ridiculous.” It left his lips before he could help himself. “Have you seen what Gabriel’s serving?” He forced his lips into something shaped like a smile. “The word mermaid has been thrown around a couple times, so I’d stay away from the goat’s cheese. Is security allowed to drink at events like these?” 

Death Eaters were authorised to kill. Surely they were authorised to drink on the job too. But though he held the glass of Giddy Pop toward James, Marcus didn’t expect him to take it. He just needed an excuse to stand with him for a while. Without the drink, what reason did he have? Comfort? Solace? Right…

The night had continued without anything major happening. James had been doing his job - keeping an eye on the gates, watching the people in the grounds. He’d been to a couple of these things already - he knew what to expect, for the most part. Back when he was still in the Order - when the Order still existed - he’d assumed that Death Eater parties were something completely different. They would spend the hours worshiping the Dark Lord and belittling the help. Some of it had been true - but, in the end, parties were parties, it turned out. People could get drunk here in the same way they’d done so in the Order. There was even the same sort of laughter here as he’d remembered from the past. Only - it was very likely they were laughing about something completely different.

He’d heard enough tonight about the werewolf society as the butt of a joke that all he really wanted to do was leave. Even his spare bedroom at Evan’s was better than being reminded of Remus or Sirius, James’ chest lurching every time. It physically hurt to be away from his friends. He missed them. But he missed Lily too - and she was the reason James couldn’t even think about bolting right now. He had to stay because that’s what Evan wanted. He had to play the Dark Lord’s game because that’s what would keep her and their child alive.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, one of them around his wand. After the party tonight, he’d have to put it back in the magically protected case at Evan’s house. He couldn’t be trusted to use it when on his own. Evan believed James would try and send a patronus to Sirius which, admittedly, James would’ve done. But now, he can move his fingers across the smooth wood and be tricked into thinking he was safe because he had a weapon.

Then the footsteps behind him and James turned, looking to see Marcus Mckinnon walking towards him. Not the worst company, all things considered. But James had been having a good enough time not being bothered by anyone as well. His lips quirked upwards at the sides as Marcus said what he thought James wanted to hear. He wondered if Marcus was so damn obvious about everything he did. “I’ve been outside this entire time so, no, I haven’t. I’m sure it’s perfect for the occasion, though.” He said the last bit sarcastically, but truthfully, he meant it. James still didn’t quite understand what Gabriel’s role in this society was, but he’d always been in charge of the parties where the food and decor fit whatever ridiculous theme the host and hostess wanted.

“No, we aren’t,” James said at the same time he took the drink from Marcus proffered hand. He sipped quickly before shoving it back. It was reckless, but perhaps there was still that desire to break the rules inside him somewhere. James had never been one to follow along the beaten path and, now that he was, he was almost desperate to linger away from it sometimes. 

♩ sent by @daggermckinnon

Chaos & Piss - P!nk

I worry how the whole thing looks, it doesn't look good But I thought that you would be here, no I just don't get it And being clear gets too much for me, just like it does for you Even though I want to, I want to, I don't

James watched as Marcus’ technique got better, more pronounced. And there was a sick sense of pride that he’d helped it happen. Told himself it was only because, the better Marcus performed, the less he would be punished. James didn’t particularly like watching someone else walk all over Marcus. He was the only person James knew from the other side.

It was easier to ignore what spell he was teaching Marcus - easier to pretend that what he was doing wasn’t bad. You have to mean it, he’d been told. And so James had decided to mean it. Because, if he didn’t, it wouldn’t be his head he’d have to worry about.

James didn’t like to think about this whole thing with much detail. Marcus made it simple. When they were together, it was almost as though being back in an Order meeting. They could’ve been stuck in any corner, talking about any mission. He couldn’t say he liked Marcus, but the fact that the younger boy was around was more valuable than James would ever admit.

Which is why he didn’t understand when he’d decided to fuck things up. They were happy pretending the spells they performed together, behind the masks, were nothing more than a hiccup charm. “Do you ever miss what it was like before?” James had asked, once, on a whim. His impulsive choices had gotten him into enough trouble, he should’ve learned by now. 

“What?” Marcus had said and James realized what he’d done. He’d made it clear for the both of them. That this was nothing like during the war. They were the bad guys now. James had killed people - he assumed Marcus had too. Didn’t they both get the honored tattoos? James had people he was fighting for and he couldn’t just mess it up to share a moment with Marcus McKinnon. Had he made it obvious that maybe he wasn’t completely on the wrong side yet? He couldn’t do that.

♩ sent by @asphodelroot​

Shallow - Lady Gaga & Bradley Cooper 

I'm off the deep end Watch as I dive in I'll never meet the ground Crash through the surface Where they can't hurt us We're far from the shallow now

The war had taken over their lives. James had assured Lily that it didn’t mean anything if their relationship was a series of stolen kisses and interrupted moments together. The Order came first - hadn’t that been the agreement from the beginning? But it didn’t stop either of them from grumbling whenever a few hours alone became just another battle. They both got pulled out on missions for Dumbledore more times than they could count. 

And perhaps James’ optimism was the only thing keeping them together. They were in love, of course. Right? That pure belief that he and Lily were forever was what likely kept them together during those dark days at the end of the war, when it was easy to wonder if they really had time to truly fall in love when it felt as though they barely got two hours without the need for a wand.

But, sometimes, it worked. Sometimes, there wasn’t a patronus stomping through their door. Sometimes, Sirius stayed away. Sometimes, they were able to pretend for, just a moment, they were back in school and James was discovering her body for the very first time. After, when they laid together, James traced her skin with his fingers, his hair messier than normal, and she’d admitted to him something that should stay unspoken during war.

Children were not meant for a world of death, were they?