#helloxhestia

James hadn’t seen Jones since that moment in the Entry Room where she’d tried to keep him from making mistakes and he’d actually fucking cried in front of her, but he wasn’t complaining. If they had seen one another, it would’ve meant she’d probably found him to tell him he’d fucked up one too many times and this mission was off. Instead, he’d gotten the plans for the St. Mungo’s pilfering owled to him, kept blank for anyone other than him, and he’d breathed a sigh of relief.

Because at least that meant she didn’t take back her promise. At least it meant he wasn’t kicked out of the Order, even if Moody was fairly disappointed in him. Or, at least, James assumed he was after the infirmary incident and the subsequent attitude he’d given the older man after. 

He showed up at the meeting spot - in the alleyway on the side of the hospital - early to try and prove a point. Sure enough, however, Hestia was earlier and James resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The first thing he said to her was a correction - ironic, the roles reversed in this way. “You should have your wand out,” he said, pointing at hers tucked away. “Always have your wand out on a mission. Even if you think you won’t need it.”

Two days in St. Mungo’s was unpleasant at any time, but especially when Frank knew he was supposed to be leading a mission. Children were unknowingly counting on the Order to keep them safe, and it killed him not to be part of it. He could only hope Wila Travers was more ready than Frank was afraid she was. 

A day into his stay and still worried, Frank strained to overhear two healers. “They’re saying it was an explosion.” “Muggles need to be more careful.” “That’s just it. Our people are investigating. They think it might not have been muggle.” That was it. Frank was getting out here. Now.

It took another thirty minutes of being nice, then testy toward his healers as he tried to convince them that when he was fully healed, twenty-four hours was plenty of time for observation. In the end, Frank wasn’t sure he’d really convinced them he was ready to leave so much as convinced them he wouldn’t be worth making stay for another twenty-three and a half. Frank promised to go home, to get some rest, and to check back in if anything seemed wrong.

Instead he went straight to the Prewett Estate. He stepped through the floo in the entry room, and his eyes immediately landed on Hestia hunched over some parchment. 

“Where is she?” Frank demanded. “What’s happening?”

James moved quickly from his argument - possible argument? - with Jones down the corridor to the infirmary. Lily, fuck, Lily. She could be dead. She could be dying. He couldn’t fucking believe that he’d let her end them when he knew it might end up like this between them and they’d be left with nothing but tainted memories. He could’ve had four more months with her. Damn it, Lily.

He was angry and tired and so, so fucking terrified. But he was also keeping his cool, Hestia’s words about how blowing up wouldn’t help him - how Evan wouldn’t let him stay - ringing through his ears. And, by the time he made it to the infirmary, he was almost calm. Almost ready to sit by her bedside and stay out of Rosier’s way.

Until - 

James waited in the corridor outside the room they’d just all left until the final person was left inside. He knew it would be Hestia, going over plans over and over again, looking for anything they missed. Maybe Moody would join her - but, right now, Alastor seemed to be trying to keep the peace between anyone else that might’ve been angry about their assignments.

James might’ve been able to go to him, but right now, he was furious. Moody would have a way of calming him down - talking him through it - making him see. And James didn’t want to see. He wanted to get mad and stay frustrated and not come to terms with the fact that he’d not only been placed as something other than a lead, but he’d been put on the team of the very wizard who had taken his place.

It was growing quieter in the dining room where they held their meetings. No one ate in here anymore - it was covered with plans instead. Maps of locations. Pictures on the wall of suspected and confirmed Death Eaters. The kitchen had a large enough table to allow for actual eating anyway - but the large dining hall style formal seating had instead become a place to gather for planning. 

He slipped back inside when it was just Hestia alone and shut the door quietly behind them, not wanting anyone to hear them - no one to come in and interrupt. He waited until he was close enough to start talking and tried to keep his voice calm, though there was a quiet seething underneath. “What the fuck are you thinking, putting me with him?” He glared at her. “And what’s this shit about Gideon being ready to lead, but not me? We both went through the same thing together!”

​James had come back from debrief (and his random run in with Elliot Vanity) and slept. It was rare he could fall asleep so easily while alone, but spending the night in a holding cell in the Auror Department made for some pretty severe exhaustion. Not to mention, he’d been barely holding on throughout most of the night, the cells reminding him too much of the dungeon, his capture, and everything that had gone wrong in his life. It was a surprise to even him that he hadn’t panicked.

He didn’t know just what time it was or how long he’d been asleep when he woke up to a knock at his front door, but one look through the window at the sun that was starting to wane told him that his sleep schedule would be fucked tonight.

Dirk had gone home with Nicky after the debriefing and, after listening to her chatter about excitedly for them to plan a house party of all things, he’d gotten to work. The nap he’d taken after his shower before the meeting had proved successful because, once he’d heard about things like magical Dark Marks, he couldn’t stop thinking. 

Now, he had pieces of parchment in a neat line in front of him as he sipped (okay, chugged a bit) coffee that he’d opted for instead of tea. Moody and Hestia had sent an owl early that morning to schedule his meeting that he’d requested and he wanted to be prepared. 

Each parchment had plans that he’d frantically stayed up all night designing. His eyes were red-rimmed and he was still coughing every now and again from the intense smoke inhalation, though Emmeline’s potions and healing had done wonders for that. The burn on his arm was very nearly gone underneath the neat wrapping he’d been instructed to wear until the next day.

The first thing James thought about when he saw the dementors was, perhaps ironically, Peter. Peter, who he was still cross with; Peter, who was still his friend. And Peter... who could not produce a patronus. 

The second thing James thought about before sprinting off to find said friend was headquarters. The dementors were still far enough away that he had time before his own patronus would have to reach them. There weren’t a ton of Muggles out and about - but the ones that were roaming the streets were cowering, hiding, confusion etched across their features. The dementors weren’t stopping (yet), just gliding past them towards the Order members as though they were the targets.

He didn’t think much about the fact that he was leaving Amelia alone as he ran off, his wand already outstretched from having it out in the brush of the trees. He hadn’t produced a patronus since he got back - and he’d never had to do one in front of a dementor before - but he was fucking determined. 

The normal memories didn’t come. It wasn’t Sirius, Remus, Peter, Lily, and Dorcas in the common room that came to him. It wasn’t gallivanting around Hogwarts with his mates he remembered. Instead, he pictured Emmeline. In his vision, she wasn’t clean or healthy - she had her eyes screwed shut to ward off thoughts of whatever the Death Eaters had put in her head that day. There were bars between him, but he was talking to her. And maybe this would seem a deary memory to draw upon - the opposite of what was needed - but then Emmeline came back to him in his vision.

She smiled and - 

A FLASH OF SILVER.

Only... 

James was confused. From his wand wasn’t the familiar stag. It was something much, much larger that spouted from the tip of the wood, but just as bright. The Muggles would see it - or maybe they wouldn’t? James didn’t know about Muggles and patronuses, nor did he think anyone had studied it much. But James couldn’t help anything now as the new patronus raced away to deliver the message to Jones. It did not gallop about - it did not look majestically of the forest. Instead, it was huge and ferocious and terrifying. It shot silver flames from it’s mouth as it went towards the sky to headquarters.