Micky

lets patch together the pieces

of the hope that we have left

Remi checks the bathroom, the back door. Finally she checks the study, usually locked, stuffed with books and tarnished memories.

Sirius is sat on the floor with a photo album.

OPRAH!!

Like....

Great prompt!!!

Remus was used to bad things happening in the middle of the night.

It was when things went bump in the darkness, crawled through his window, into his dreams, his blood. So, he wasn’t surprised—startled, yes, terrified, yes—when an owl soared into his room through his chimney bearing a message from James at two thirty in the morning. It had four words.

Sirius hurt—safe. Hurry.

“Sirius.” He mumbled the word to himself, throwing his blankets aside and cursing when they got caught in his ankles anyway. He pulled on a t-shirt, feeling strange and damp in the humid summer night, and jeans. He more or less ran his way into his shoes, scrawled a note to his parents. He stumbled towards the main fireplace, fingers reaching blindly into the pot on the mantle, and clapped his his hand over his mouth to keep from shouting a curse when they came up empty of flu powder.

“Fuck.” He whispered against his fingers, “Fuck, fuck, fuck—“ His eyes found the corner of the room by the front door, and he froze.

In another second, he was out the door with his broom in his shaking fingers. The Potters lived an hour’s fly away. It would be long, and strange to do in the dark, but he suddenly craved the wind on his face—if only for it to force air down his lungs for him.

The Potter’s owl flew a few feet ahead of him, acting like a guide, flying slower as the time wore on, as if it could sense that Remus was starting to get pins and needles in his knuckles from his tight grip. When the Potter mansion came into view, looming up from the darkness, Remus could have cried. The lights were on in the kitchen and James’ window.

Whathappenedwhathappenedwhathappened.

Remus had a sinking feeling in his gut, remembering what Sirius had told them about the week prior, about what he’d had planned. He was going to to tell them, about himself. His letters had been excited, masking the horror that was likely to ensue with phrases of freedom for himself, and love for Remus. And Remus had believed him because he’d wanted to.

Remus leaned forward on the descent too fast and nearly lost the wind, stabilizing just in time to come to a stumbling, rocky landing. He hated flying. He threw his broom down in the grassy front yard, by the large stone fountain that they made endless nicks at James for, and sprinted, ran.

Mrs. Potter was already opening the door for him when he was still several steps away, and he didn’t waste any breath on a greeting that could come later, just followed her pointed finger up the main staircase. He took the stairs two at the time, threw himself around the banister, left, towards James’ room, to find James standing outside looking gaunt and worried. Remus barely managed to stop himself, and James grasped his shoulders to steady him, “He’s inside.” James glanced towards the door, “Re—“

“What happened?” Remus panted, “James—“

James shook his head. His glasses were folded in his shirt, and he looked different without them, more somber, “I’ll let him tell you.” He looked back from the door to Remus’ face, hazel eyes firm and sad, “He needs you. I’ll be downstairs with mum.” He let go, pushing a hand through his hair, “She’s worried fucking sick.” He nodded towards the door, “Alright?”

Remus didn’t wait to watch him go, just opened the door, immediately kicking it closed when he saw Sirius curled on the bed on his side. He sat up abruptly, shoulders sagging after the few beats it took him to register that it was Remus. Remus needed a few beats more to register Sirius. Or a version of Sirius. His lower jaw was completely blackened and swollen, green and blue curling around his inner eye and down his nose. Flecks of blood stained the corner of his mouth where a split lip splayed.

They blinked at each other, then Sirius’ face cracked. His hands reached out, his eyes turned to glass, and Remus broke too.

“Sirius. Hey, hey, hey, c’mere—“ Remus leaned towards Sirius’ hands like they emitted a magnetic pull, taking him by the shoulders, fingers knotting into his shirt, and pulling him into his chest.

“It was bad,” Sirius’ voice cracked and rasped, “Re, it was so bad, so bad—“

“Shh,” Remus tried to speak over the tightness of tears of his throat, sitting back against the wall and letting Sirius settled himself on his hips, pressed against his chest, “Fuck, I know. It’s alright, god—“ He wound his fingers in Sirius’ sweat damp hair, pressing his nose against his temple, breathing him in and trying to ignore the tang of blood, “It doesn’t matter, baby, they don’t matter, think about where you are now.”

Sirius sobbed, a choked sound, like he didn’t want it to come out, “Fuck, Re. Re.” Sirius’ fingers twisted hard into the shoulders of Remus’ t-shirt, “Re, I—“

“Look around,” Remus pressed him tighter to him, “Look around, Sirius, you’re okay. It’s James’ room, it’s you and me.”

Sirius let out a breath, shaky and harsh, against Remus’ neck, “I know, I know, I know.” He chanted the words breathlessly, “I know.” He leaned back, blinking hard against the tears and cursing at the sting, “Fuck.”

Remus kept his back to the wall, letting Sirius breath for a second, before reaching up himself and pushing the hair falling over his forehead back, thumbing away stray tears. Remus warmed to the way Sirius’ eyes fell closed at the touch. Even after so much harm to him—so much in just one night, even—he trusted Remus with him, enough to close his eyes and know he’d never be handled in any way but gently by Remus’ hands.

“We don’t have to talk about it tonight.” Remus said quietly, “You must be exhausted.”

Sirius shook his head minutely, like the motion hurt too much, “Not gonna be sleeping tonight. And not in the fun way.” The corner of his mouth quirked up, but even that looked painful.

Remus let out a breath, relieved at the joke that was coming so soon. They didn’t break his boy—they couldn’t. Not when Remus and all the other people were there to catch him, fight for him.

Remus touched that small lifted corner with his own lips, whispering words into the skin, “Shameless..”

Sirius shrugged one shoulder, then let their foreheads rest together for a moment before dropping his to Remus’ shoulder instead with a groan, “Re?”

Remus, who was brushing some dried blood from the crest of Sirius’ jaw, hummed in response.

“I’m…” Sirius’ words were muffled, “‘m sorry it’s never going to be…like it should.” He pulled his face back into view, eyes grey and somber. He pressed his lips together in a way that meant he was fighting tears and pressed both palms to Remus’ neck, thumbs stroking over the bottom of his jaw, “Y’know, with family dinners, and…laughter. I’m sorry. You deserve more…I don’t know, I’d say normalcy but, y’know,” Sirius sniffed, voice think but a little lighter, “you’re already a werewolf, so.”

Remus blinked at him, then let out a breath that was almost a laugh, then actually laughed, even if it was a little tearful, “That’s true.” He pushed his hand through Sirius’ hair, watching his mouth for a small smile, “That’s true. Pads, I don’t need any of that, I need you. You know that. I’ll have dinner with you. I laugh with you. How fucking lucky am I?”

Sirius blinked and a tear slid down his cheek but he grinned, “Right, right. Yeah…” He groaned, “Fuck, and—and I’m sorry you fucking flew here, I know you hate that, I told James it wasn’t that big a deal, till morning at least it could have waited—“

“No. No, absolutely not. James knows I would have kicked his ass if he had waited five more minutes to tell me. Pads,” He pressed a quick kiss to his mouth, “I wanna be there always, okay? Always, and, for future reference, even if it’s three in the morning. Merlin, even if it’s the morning after a moon, I’m there. Because I want to be.” He watched Sirius’ eyes, light and sad and loving all at once, “Because I know you’re there too.” Sirius just looked at him, bottom lip wobbling but mouth fighting a smile. Remus smiled gently, nudging their noses together, “Yeah?”

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

“Remind me again why Luna invited the Malfoys?” Harry asked Ginny as he tried not to be blatant with his staring.

“Malfoy is her friend, and she wanted to include him in the wedding party.” Ginny shrugged once, showing that she didn’t understand her fiance’s decision any more than Harry did.

The cluster of people outside of the burrow were preventing Harry from hearing what Malfoy and his father were arguing about, and they were definitely arguing. Malfoy was gesturing wildly with his hands, face red, and anger prominent in his eyes. Lucius was the opposite, the same calm exterior as always, the only hint that the older Malfoy was angry was the hand clenched around the snakehead of his wand.

“Has Malfoy always been so…” Harry trailed off when Malfoy narrowed his eyes, anger heightening.

“Dramatic?” Ginny supplied. “Definitely.”

“I was going to say striking, but yeah, that’s accurate too.”

“But he makes dramatic look good.”

Harry nodded in agreement, wishing that wasn’t the case. Encountering Malfoy in the Ministry was trying enough on his firm denial of any kind of attraction, but seeing him outside of work was causing Harry’s resolve to crack—fissures obvious the more emotion Malfoy released.

“What do you suppose they are arguing about?”

When Ginny didn’t answer, Harry looked at her curiously. There was an uneasy edge to her stance and it concerned him.

“I don’t know, Harry. They’ve been arguing since they got here, and they were late too.”

“So canon James is a weepy bitch, and dark James acts like an actual young parent with PTSD in the midst of a war?“

I want to address this, because this response honestly blew my mind. 

There’s an unhealthy mentality in our culture that equates tears with weakness… Women are allowed to cry because they are the “fragile” counterpart to men, who need to be stoic, strong and void of pesky emotions at all times. 

“Boys don’t cry!”

“Toughen up, be a man.” 

“What are you, a girl?”

Tears do not equate to weakness, and I think it might be safe to say that there’s no one-way to react after finding out someone is hell-bent on murdering your infant. 

Tears MAY be warranted in a situation like that.

What was being portrayed was the difference in reaction between a James who expresses his emotions based on a healthier upbringing, and a James who has grown up in harsher circumstances. 

“Canon” James to me is someone who had emotional outlets all throughout his childhood. He had loving parents, close friends, and he grew up self-assured. He’s developed the ability to express his feelings, and trusts those around him with those feelings. 

Now, that doesn’t mean that I see James as being the kind of person that cries easily. The way I see it, James’ closest friends are people who have been through rough experiences, much worse than anything he’s ever been through, and he makes the decision to be their rock. 

That’s not to say he doesn’t express how he feels, he’s certainly not shy, but he finds crying to be silly when there are people going through far worse… so instead he takes his moments of sadness and turns them into moments of productivity. 

In this instance though… James cries… but not just crying, wracking sobs. 

The most dangerous person in the wizarding world wants to murder a child… his child. His Harry. 

James keeps it together in front of Albus, even though he wants to fall apart at the seams… he keeps it together in front of Sirius… he keeps it together in front of Lily. 

He’s the rock. He has to be there for them.

Until he realizes… this is happening to him too… this is his baby. 

When James finds himself alone with Harry, trying to calm him down in the middle of the night when he starts crying, he loses it. 

James Potter, who defied Voldemort three times, who always managed to get out of every dangerous situation, who always had an invincibility complex… is now a 21 year old father whose already lost people close to him, and the reality of the situation hits him like a ton of bricks. He’s tired, he’s overwhelmed, he’s terrified… so he cries. 

Then there’s the flip-side.

Dark!James doesn’t know how to express his emotions in a healthy way. He hides them, buries them under layers of plastered-on smiles and manic laughter. 

He doesn’t trust others. Too many people have left, and he’s been through too much to allow it.  

He’s not confident… he lost his self-love ages ago when he made the biggest mistake of his life… and he’s spent every day, since then, trying to regain it. 

He lies. He lies until he starts to believe himself. Lily will never know what he does when he leaves the house at night. He’s learned how to put on a mask… in order to “protect” his family. 

He fears, more than anything, losing the people he loves. He’s willing to do anything to make sure they remain safe. Anything. 

He also fears becoming too attached, so he distances himself, convincing himself that by doing so, he’s keeping Lily and Harry safe. 

When he finds out that Voldemort is after Harry, he doesn’t react with tears, he doesn’t fall apart. He takes the fear that’s threatening to overwhelm him, and he turns it into rage. 

The fear slips in and out, he has moments where he almost breaks under the weight of it pressing on his subconscious, but instead, he acts. He’s not going to wait for them to find him… he’s going to get to them first. 

One incident can change the entire course of your future… sometimes for the worse. 

~*~

It started with what was later known as “The Prank”.

James couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Sirius had told Severus about the willow – Snivellus! He had to do something. He had to stop him… 

… Or… maybe he didn’t. 

Severus had been a pain in their arse for so. damn. long. 

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt for Snape to catch a glimpse of what he was up against. It could satisfy some of that insatiable curiosity he seemed to conveniently have only when the marauders were involved… A nice little dose of fear to keep him from sticking his big nose where it didn’t belong – fucking git. 

Maybe Sirius was right.

Wait… what was he thinking? 

~*~

By the time James’ conscience took over… it was too late. Far too late.

Severus’ death was labeled “an accident”… No one but James, Sirius, Remus and Dumbledore knew what had happened that night. 

James walked out of Dumbledore’s office in a daze, dizzy with shock.

It didn’t matter that no one else knew. He knew. He knew what he’d done.

Or what he hadn’t done. 

… Why had he hesitated?

“I think I’m the kind of person who is destined to care so much about one person, it nearly kills me.”

“Me too.”

Alternate title: 78 Years Later: The Final Epilogue

There is a silence that seems to echo. Bright, opalescent white surrounds Molly as she stands, alone, in the glow.

Molly: *looking around, bewildered*

Molly: …N-No, no dear, Molly is fine! And you’re… Well, you must be… 

don’t we have homework to do, you say, mostly because you’re a piece of shit and i am drowning in you. i have always been drowning in you, but i am no longer the only one in the water.

and it goes like this: clutching your hand in the dusty darkness of the night. your mother on the other side of the kitchen table, asking me how i am doing lately and if i still dance. sitting in your lap as i correct your shitty grammar in your essay. racing you down to the end of the street, even though we both know my lungs are weak things and i bet i could beat you anyway. my phone, a constant flashlight of on-off blinking as you message me. arguing over whether jelly or brownies were more superior. your knees tucked under mine as we bingewatch a new tv series together. you are making fun of my muttered comments, and i am letting you because every other person i have watched a film with has told me to shut up and you are the only one who has ever listened. that one time i contemplated cutting off my hair and dyeing what’s left, and i was sure you were going to tell me not to, but you grinned bigger than anything, and i forgot all about it because i was too busy wrapped in your arms.

this is what i will remember, being eighteen years old and being in love. you weren’t all sunlight, but you were the reason i couldn’t hear the storms for a while.

Remus: What?

Sirius: My life.

“But…I hear him, Moony…I hear Prongs…” He’s dangerously close to the veil and any sudden movement could have him fall right through. “I know, Pads, I know you do.” Remus says desperately, slowly reaching out to grab him. “I hear it too, Sirius. But that’s not him, love. It’s not really him.” “I have to go to James, Moony-” He goes to take another step forward and Remus catches him just in time, pulling him away. “You have to stay here, Sirius! You have to stay with me and Harry!” And Sirius snaps out of the weird hypnosis the veil had him under and just clings to Remus…

Just so everyone keeps everyone straight (though so many of these lunatics aren’t):

My name Sign: the “L” shape and the hand motion for flower

Marlene’s name Sign: the letters “M” and “A” and shake it… for no particular reason…

James’ name Sign: the letter “J” up by the hair, because his locks are unruly

Remus’s name Sign: the letter “R” and the hand motion for “moon”

Sirius’ name Sign: the letter “S” and the hand motion for black

Peter’s name Sign: the letter “P” and the hand motion for rat.

Dorcas’ name Sign: the letter “D” and the hand motion for curls!

(Here it is! my late addition to @sirussly‘s script swap! I’m so glad I got it out quicker than I expected. This was written but the LOVELY and TALENTED and CREATIVE @blackdogpadfoots and I’m so excited I got to bring this to life for them.)

Arthur Weasley wakes early the morning of February 6th- It’s his birthday.  He scrambles down stairs to the kitchen where a large breakfast- and larger family- is awaiting him.

His eyes fall on a small package wrapped in paper beside his meal. There’s a note:

To: Mr Weasely From: Harry.  I trust you’ll discover the function soon enough.

Molly: A duck? How very… thoughtful of him. Eat your eggs dear, they’ll get cold.

He shovelled his breakfast into his mouth- excitedly examining the duck from every angle possible.

Arthur rushed to his shed and furiously writes down a list of ‘What to do with a Rubber Duck’.  

He scribbles every possible idea that comes to him. Ready to test each theory. At first he thought the answer was clear.

He was wrong.

He tried wearing it. 

Molly: Really Arthur you look ridiculous.

Results were unsatisfying…

He tried to be direct about it.

No Luck.

A long shot.

He stayed up as long as he could watching, waiting.

If anything it was a little unnerving. 

Feeling defeated, and a little embarrassed Arthur started to get frustrated with the duck.