#robert mcgonagall

James needed to see how bad it was—

‘Jamie, don’t,’ said Carl quickly, one hand pressing him gently but firmly back against the pillows. ‘Let him fix it.’

Warmth spread through James’ leg almost immediately. The pain vanished so suddenly it left him dizzy.

‘You’re alright,’ said his cousin, a cloth brushing briefly against James’ forehead. ‘We’ve got you.’

Exhaustion washed over James as he tried to sit up again. The pain might be gone, but he couldn’t help but suspect that the only way this could have happened was by removing the limb entirely. 

‘Easy now,’ murmured Carl, once more forcing him down into the… sofa. 

Vision clearing, James looked around. The safe house was tiny. Low ceiling. Faded wallpaper peeling near the corners. Damp. A set of candles cast a flickering, dim yellow light across the room. The place smelled faintly of dust and strong tea. And… blood. 

His, most likely.

‘My leg,’ he asked, his voice as hoarse as Remus’ got after the full moon.

‘Completely healed,’ said Caradoc. Now that James could see him clearly again, he saw that the healer was very pale indeed. ‘It’s an easy enough job, so long as there’s not half a dozen Death Eaters around.’

‘Half a dozen —? What happened?!’

Carl looked from his colleague, and best friend, to James and back again. James was relieved when Caradoc started talking. Closing his eyes, he allowed his emotions—and stomach—to settle. When he opened them again, Caradoc had already finished the story, and Carl had buried his head in his hands.

‘Ed and Rob aren’t back yet,’ said Carl eventually. 

‘They wouldn’t be. It’s thanks to a rather clever distraction from Rob I managed to get James away.’

Another pause. The unsaid words hanging in the air between them. The fact that Robert McGonagall and Edgar Bones could have—should have—apparated shortly after. 

‘Thanks,’ came Carl’s quiet voice, as he leaned forward and squeezed Caradoc’s arm. ‘For…’ 

‘Don’t mention it.’ Caradoc frowned. ‘Let’s not pretend you wouldn’t have murdered me and Rob if we came back without him.’

James shifted uncomfortably, feeling the humiliation of having needed to be rescued. ‘He is right here.’

‘And he might not have been—’ started Carl, who’d never approved of James joining the Order. 

James' parents had asked Carl, their nephew of sorts (even if no one knew exactly how Charlus and Fleamont were related) if he wanted to be James’ godfather. The then nineteen years old Carl had accepted wholeheartedly—and a bit too seriously, in James’ view. 

Thankfully, Caradoc interrupted him: ‘No, Carl. James took that curse for me, alright? He’s more than capable… he’s not a child anymore.’

Carl opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again: ‘Of course I know that… and… and I know Uncle Monty will have taught you well.’

‘Please,’ said James, though he recognised the sentiment. The unspoken apology. ‘I am practically self-taught.’

‘As if,’ snorted Carl, before studying him intently. ‘Listen, Jamie, you should go home. Get some rest. That was a nasty injury.’ 

‘No.’

‘You lost some blood. You need the rest. And Lily—’

James cut him off: ‘Sirius is there. I am staying.’

It was a low blow from Carl, as far as he was concerned. He didn’t need the reminder. Lily would be worried. As would Sirius. Looking at his watch, he realised he ought to have been back fifteen minutes ago. His chest ached for his girlfriend. 

Still. He needed to stay. 

A few minutes later, Carl went over to the small bench and made them some tea, pressing a mug into James’ hand without even asking if he wanted one. Some of Caradoc’s colour crept back into his cheeks as he sipped the beverage absentmindedly. James was sure the same could be said for him. 

‘How are you feeling?’ asked Carl gently as he took the empty tea mugs.

‘I’m fine, Carl.’

‘He never had much faith in my abilities, your cousin.’

‘Don’t encourage him,’ half-snapped Carl, ‘he needs—‘

‘— Rest,’ finished James. ‘I heard you the first time.’

As far as he was concerned, he was resting. Half-lying on the sofa. But Caradoc shook his head: ‘Carl’s right. You’re going to be feeling tired for a few da—‘

A knock on the door interrupted him. Then another.

‘CARL!’

It was Edgar. He sounded on the verge of panic. 

‘CARL!! Open the—’

Carl rushed over to the door, tearing it open. Robert was practically draped over Edgar’s shoulders, and before James had had a chance to vacate the sofa, Edgar sank to his knees and let Robert fall to the floor.

Blood. There was blood everywhere. On Edgar’s robes, on the floor, and most notably, on Robert.

Carl and Caradoc had taken their position on either side of their best friend almost before he hit the floor, wands already out. James moved automatically too, dropping to his knees beside them, planning to talk to Robert. Keep him conscious while the healers worked on him. Remind him about Anwen and their children.

Then he saw Robert’s eyes, so painfully like his sister’s…. Except… except now they were blank and unseeing.

Breath caught in James’ throat.

Robert was dead. 

Yet beside him, Carl was pressing both hands against the wound beneath Robert’s ribs as though he could physically force the life back into him, whilst Caradoc cast spell after spell over the ugly purple-black glow spreading outwards from the wound 

‘Come on,’ muttered Carl. ‘Rob—come on, mate—’

Another spell from Caradoc. Nothing.

‘Rob,’ repeated Carl, voice cracking now. ‘Wake up.’

But James already knew Robert would never wake again.

A broken sound escaped Carl as Caradoc lowered his wand. James’ throat constricted. Looking at his cousin, a million images of him and Robert flew through his otherwise blank mind. What could he possibly say — 

‘NO!’ Edgar Bones, almost ten years his senior, cried out like a frightened child, eyes bulging. ‘No! … He was… he was still… I shouldn’t have apparated… he can’t…’

‘Ed,’ James got to his feet, ‘Ed, listen to me. This wasn’t your fault.’

If it was anyone’s, it was James’. It was his injury which had forced the two Aurors to stay behind when they’d had their chance of getting away. James took that guilt and locked it into a box. This was not the time to dwell on that.

His heart ached for his cousin, who was still bent over Robert’s body, one hand gripping his best friend’s robes as if worried someone might take him away. Caradoc was frozen too. His wand remained clutched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, his expression hollow. They’d known Robert longer than James had been alive. James couldn’t imagine—wouldn’t—what it must be like to kneel beside the corpse of a best friend. Remus. Or Peter. Or… or—NO. 

Yet, James could not comfort Carl just then. Not when Edgar, full of adrenaline, was close to being crushed by guilt. 

‘Ed,’ he repeated, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around the Auror, ‘this wasn’t your fault.’

/

‘James!’

Lily jumped up and rushed over to him the moment he walked in the door to the living room. He wrapped his arms around her, treasuring the familiar scents of vanilla and rosemary. Squeezing her tight, he fought wave after wave of emotion.

Trying to blink away the tears which had come from nowhere, James looked up to meet Sirius’ gaze. While Sirius hadn’t gotten to his feet when he first arrived, he must have deduced something was wrong from his expression—if not his burning eyes—for his best friend swore and pushed himself up from the armchair.

‘James?’ Lily’s voice was gentle.

James buried his face in her shoulder as he lost the battle against the grief that had been building over the last thirty minutes. A hand, much larger than Lily’s, came to rest on his shoulder and he knew Sirius was right next to them. 

He almost wished they weren’t there to hear the sobs escaping him uncontrollably. He’d never cried like this in front of Lily before. Not even Sirius. Not since he’d been twelve, and his grandfather had died.

Eventually, he let them lead him to the sofa.

‘It’s Rob…,’ he told his knees. ‘Rob’s…’

‘Oh James,’ said Lily. Sirius swore again. 

‘It’s my fault,’ he admitted, trying to wipe away the stream of tears which continued flowing down his cheeks against his will.

‘What rubbish,’ Sirius’ voice was harsh, ‘It was the Death Eaters’ fault.’ 

Neither of them asked what had happened, and for that James was grateful. He would tell them, in due time. They knew that. At that moment, however, he did not have the energy to re-live the events.

‘He’d just gotten married,’ muttered James as the memory rose unbidden to the surface.

The reception had carried on long after sunset, warm golden light spilling from enchanted lanterns strung through the trees outside the small countryside inn Anwen had fallen in love with. Charmed tiny stars drifted lazily above the dancefloor, and the air smelled faintly of rain and firewhisky.

Carl had been laughing at something Caradoc said, one arm slung around Robert’s shoulders. Caradoc stood on the other side, flushed from too much to drink. Between them, Robert had looked brighter than James had seen him in a long time. It reminded James of his earlier summer holidays; and of the three of them duelling one another in aunt Dorea and uncle Charlus’ garden. A lifetime ago, before they’d fully understood the scope of the war that was looming in the shadows.

Nearby, Willow sat curled up beside her mother, absentmindedly plaiting and unplaiting the ribbons from one of the floral centrepieces whilst hiding a yawn from the adults around her. William, meanwhile, was following James around, begging to teach him a duelling move, which at nine years old, would be completely useless to the wandless boy. 

Every now and then, Robert glanced back at Anwen as though he still could not quite believe she was really his wife.

‘You know, most people get married before they’ve got kids,’ said Caradoc, reaching over to ruffle Robert’s hair.

Robert only shrugged. They all knew why he’d decided not to marry Anwen originally. It had been a statement aimed squarely at his father, the muggle Minister who had never accepted Carl and Caradoc because they were both bisexual. 

‘The time never seemed quite right.’

‘But now it does?’ James had asked, perhaps not entirely without self-interest.

Robert’s eyes had drifted then. Towards Anwen. Towards Willow and William. Towards Caradoc, who had already lost his wife.

‘Now time seems precious,’ Robert had replied quietly.

He had sobered slightly saying it, but nothing could quite erase the happiness from his face.

James hadn’t understood it back then, but now, three months later, he did. That night, looking at Lily sleeping, the concern never fully leaving her gorgeous face, James made up his mind. Carefully, he got out of bed. Looking behind at the figure of his girlfriend, he was relieved to see she was still asleep.

Apparating to his childhood home, James took out his key and locked himself in. It was concerning how easy it was to move around without waking his parents, and he tried not to think about what limited challenge they would put up if a Death Eater broke in. 

It took him two hours, but in the end he found what he was looking for.