James had earlier arranged a small luncheon date together with Lily at Diagon Alley for the day after he spoke with Severus. It was a miracle that he managed to find the strength to drag himself from bed and Floo his sorry arse over.
He felt too mortal and too old as he commandeered a café booth in the shade. Shortly thereafter, her red hair floating around her head like an angel's halo, Lily arrived. She breathlessly planted a kiss on his cheek and laughed happily as she pulled up a seat beside him.
James wanted to be young, carefree, and happy. Lily was the only one capable of making him feel like that any more. With Voldemort twisting Dark Arts into something people were too frightened of to even speak about behind closed doors, Remus had gone into hiding in fear of others learning that he was a werewolf. As a creature created by a dark force of nature, the Aurors would execute him publicly if they so much as suspected Remus was in league with the Dark Lord. James was officially supposed to report all dark creatures, but he couldn't do that to Remus.
No one saw much of Remus any more though, and Sirius was becoming fidgety about the matter. Sirius remained with James as much as he could, but he was swiftly becoming a cynical soul, much like Severus. James was sure that neither Severus nor Sirius would appreciate the comparison of similarity, but James called 'em as he saw 'em.
And Peter... Well, at least Peter remained Peter, though he too was distancing himself from James.
Not, of course, in the same manner as Remus. Peter still communicated with James and Sirius and always much to tell. He just could not do it as often as he once had. James could understand that. Confrontation was never Peter's forte and he had a widowed mother whose increasing need for care due to a degenerative disease demanded a great deal of his time and attention. Medical bills were expensive and Peter scrambled to hold their tiny family estate together as best he could with a job as a clerk for a cauldron shop.
Peter never knew that James redirected the most expensive bills and secretly paid them himself. James did not want Peter to feel indebted toward him – even Peter deserved his pride, after all, but James selfishly wouldn't allow the pride to sink Peter. What was the use of a fortune large enough fund Hogwarts for ten years if James didn't get to spend it?
Life was like that. You had nothing to do and all the time in the world, or you had everything to do but not the time.
Looking upon Lily, James knew that it was now or never. He felt as if he were standing on a crossroads, torn over which direction he should head. But he would never return to this particular crossroad.
"Lily. I have something important to ask you."
Lily, puzzled but patient, nodded. "Yes?"
James leaned forward and took one of her hands into his, loving the silkiness of her skin. "Would you marry me?"
Lily gazed at James for a long moment, her eyes wide and her mouth slack in awe. She rapidly began to blink away tears. "Oh, James!" A large smile lit up her face, and in that moment James thought her to be the most beautiful creature that ever existed. "I've been waiting for you to ask me that ever since you wrote me that poem!"
She threw her arms around James in a large hug. "Yes!" she cried as she gave him a sloppy kiss. "Yes!" smooch "Yes!" smooch "Yes!" smooch
When they finally pulled apart, James asked her, "Poem? What poem?"
Lily signalled a waiter. "Why, the poem you gave Severus to deliver to me, you silly. How could you forget it?"
"I never wrote you a poem."
Lily's cheer turned into puzzlement. "Yes, you did. It was signed with your name, it was in your handwriting, and Severus said that I should place its value on the effort if not the actual poem itself."
James struggled to remember. "But I never wrote you a poem. Sev made me... Wait a minute." He frowned. "For a flower? Did the poem start with, if you were a flower?"
Lily smiled and nodded. "Yes." She blushed lightly. "There were a few of girls in my dorm that thought the poem was bad, but I thought it was beautiful."
Ah hah. "Yeah. Beautiful."
Lily squeezed his hand. James managed to cover his frown with a smile. "James," she began, "do you mean to tell me that you never wrote me a poem? If you didn't, then it's all right. I won't be mad with you. But I don't think that Severus could have possibly have given me the poem as a prank. He's not a pranky sort of person."
That's what I thought too, he thought to himself.
James managed to control his temper and even cheered up as he lunched with Lily. But as soon as they departed, a black mood descended. He felt like Severus made him the fool. It was not so much that he gave the poem to Lily, but Severus led him to believe that he was going to keep it, that he was going to show it to Narcissa as an answer to a dare.
James Flooed home to Dinsmore and stormed the cottage. Severus was in the part of the library that extended into the catacombs beneath Dinsmore, seated at a small table and hunched over a book's pages that were lit only by a single brace of candles.
"Severus!"
Severus looked up as James descended upon him. James angrily snatched the book away from Severus, slammed it shut, and tossed it to the side. "You lied to me! You said that I was supposed to write a poem for you to prove to Narcissa that I could write a poem! You wanted me to make it as mushy as possible and you said you would keep it but then you gave it to Lily!"
Severus calmly crossed his arms before himself and gazed with eyes that seemed to gleam with dark amusement. "I decided to give it to someone who would appreciate its true worth."
"But you said it was bad!"
"Not bad – horrid, perhaps; appalling, even, but not bad. But my opinion matters little in the concerns of the feminine taste."
James swept his hand through his unruly hair. "Did - did you deceive me into writing the poem so you could give it to Lily?"
Severus' eyebrows twitched. "Did she like it?"
"She thought it beautiful."
"It was worth it then."
The brothers gazed at each other for a moment, and then James finally laughed and shook his head. "Since you played matchmaker for me, I ought to play matchmaker for you."
Severus smiled, but his smile was sad. "Find me a woman like Grandmother and I'll match-make myself."
"Lily is like Grandmother."
The sorrow in Severus' smile disappeared to show genuine joy. "Ah, but James, red hair hardly suits me. Besides, Pandora told us to stay out of trouble, and I think seducing Lily from you would get me killed three ways to Sunday."
"Too right it would. That reminds me – you should be the first I tell." Giddy with remembered delight, James rested his elbows on the table and grinned like a love-struck fool. "Lily and I are getting married!"
A sly look passed so quickly over Severus' face that James was unsure if it actually existed. "When are the dates?" Severus asked as he stood.
"Why?"
"Because," said Severus smoothly as he grabbed the bracer of candles and retreated upward, "there are invitations to write, plans to make, decorations to create, et cetera, et cetera. A wedding is a lot of work, especially since Frank will be married in six weeks and that is pushing my social life." He stopped and glared at James over his shoulder. "And if you make one crack about how I do not have a social life, I will—"
"But, Sev," James looked at his brother with wide, innocent eyes, "you don't have a social life. The only time you ever left Dinsmore before you agreed to be Frank's best man was during the summer before McGonagall sent out invitation letters to Muggle-born wizards and witches."
Severus grumbled something about how he did not agree to be Frank's best man — Frank blackmailed him and he was only trying to save his dignity — and hurried to Dinsmore's parlour.
James and Lily wanted to get married as soon as possible. Two days, if that were all possible. Arguments sprang back and forth between Sirius and Severus of how James and Lily should do what they wanted and yet not make it look like they were trying to cover up hasty mistakes, such as an out-of-wedlock pregnancy.
James felt his face burn bright red upon hearing Severus mention this, but he would not be swayed. They set up a wedding date four weeks hence — on July 31st. The wedding ceremony was held at Dinsmore, which was the only place large enough to hold such a multitude of guests who could not be excluded from a Snape-Potter family marriage without being insulted, even if there was little warning.
The only one who could not come was Severus.
"I can't. I have something important to do," he said.
"What could be so important to miss my wedding?"
Severus looked sadly at James and sighed. "I'm trying to prevent you from meeting the worst party-crashers in existence."
Pandora was also unable to attend. A quick, one line letter read that she was too close to the truth, and though she knew that James and Lily would only marry once, she was going to assure that their marriage would be sound and their children would arrive in to a safe world. For her, that was more important than seeing the actual ceremony.
Who was James to argue with that logic? Still, for all that the only other two Potter family members were not able to be there (as far as James was concerned, Severus was a Potter as much as he was a Snape), it was the second happiest day of James' life. It was marred with only a snake-in-a-box toy from "Tom Riddle." James did not know if it was truly from Voldemort, since a snake popping him in the face was hardly Voldemort's style of threatening someone.
The happiest day of his life was the birth of his son. As newborn babes went, Harry was like so many who had come before. James was allowed to hold Harry only a moment before Severus whisked him away to clean off blood and mucus. In the moment that James beheld the shock of black hair and the bright green eyes so like Lily's, James knew that his entire life had come to this.
Being a father to someone as he had never had one.
James covertly watched Severus carry Harry, who mewled and protested in hunger, to a near-by basin. James leaned over Lily's pillow to brush away her sweat-damp red hair. He grinned at her as she managed to crack open one bloodshot eye. "He's beautiful, Lily," he said with awe, "just beautiful." He planted a kiss on her forehead. "Happy anniversary, love."
Both of Lily's eyes shot open in that moment. "JAMES!" From the other side of the room, Severus nearly dropped Harry in surprise as Lily somehow managed to gather enough strength to wrap her hands around James' neck and strangle him. "I WANTED CHOCOLATES DAMMIT!"
James' happiest day of his life was, however, spoiled by something far worse than a vindictive toy.
Every time he recalled Harry's birth, he would remember Neville's loss.
Severus set off at dawn to tell Frank of Harry's birth (though James suspected he wanted to pay Frank back for catching Pandora's favourite curtains on fire in his drunken exuberance with Neville's birth) and came back well past midnight with little Neville in his arms and dried tear streaks on his face. James sat in the darkened kitchen, writing birth announcements to close friends and families, when he heard Severus enter.
"Sev?"
Severus slowly turned and faced him, face drawn and eyes darting like a cornered animal. James dropped his quill and leapt to his feet. He barked his shin against the chair as he hastily stumbled around it to reach his brother. "What's the matter?"
Something whimpered and white shifted in Severus' grip, and James dropped his eyes to see Neville Longbottom yawning and cooing. He slowly stepped away from Severus and shook his head in disbelief. "No. No, not — Frank and Alice…?"
Severus shuffled over to a kitchen chair. He stiffly sank down and cradled Neville, his face still drawn. He traced the fuzz on Neville's head. "They are not dead," he said in a flat voice, "but they should be." He looked stiff, James thought. If he were to poke Severus, his brother would shatter into jagged pieces everywhere. "It's the same thing as Pandora," Severus said softly. "This is an attack against Mrs. Longbottom, to ensure that she, too, does not fight Voldemort."
James hissed wordlessly. Severus laughed; it was hysterical, ugly, bitter and probably mocked Severus because of his own ties to Voldemort. "He said – he said that he didn't want to risk Augusta Longbottom's wrath by killing Frank and Alice, so he left them insane, shattered, worthless to Neville." Neville cried when Severus' grip tightened in anger. Fear and sorrow flashed across Severus' face as he relaxed and hushed Neville, trying to coax the babe from its pain.
James took a step forward. "Sev, are you going to keep Neville?"
Severus laughed again. "Neville belongs with his grandmother."
"But he's supposed to be—"
"Neville," said Severus again, "belongs with his grandmother - not a cynical, selfish, untrusting gutter rat like myself who would probably do him more harm than Augusta Longbottom could." With that, Severus hugged Neville to himself and laughed without stopping, even when tears finally overcame his pride and the sun rose on a new day, even when Lily entered the kitchen and drew Neville away so he might feed from her own swollen breasts side-by-side with Harry.
Easter.
It was a time for celebrations, if one could find some reason to when Voldemort was becoming more and more successful. And here James sat, stewing in useless inactivity.
His mind had wandered a long while ago as he listened to someone (What's his name? Adam Johnson? Daniel Fermur? No, that was the last speaker. Or was that David Parlour?) give yet another mindless, thoughtless theory as to why Voldemort was slowly gaining for all of James' considerable luck and "quick anticipation" of Voldemort's actions.
People did not know that James had a spy; they attributed his ability to know where to be and what to do because of an attack of Death Eaters to being Pandora Snape's grandson. He let them believe such; for Severus' safety, no matter how he chafed at holding his tongue in silence.
From across the room filled with Aurors and top Ministry officials of the Defence Department, James could see Sirius fidgeting as restlessly as James felt.
That Voldemort did have a spy was not a suspicion James dismissed. He refused to think it was Severus. First of all, he knew it could not be Severus because Severus just would not betray James. Severus just couldn't. Second of all, while Severus gave James information, James never informed Severus of how it was utilized. They both mutually agreed that the less Severus knew, the better.
James looked around at the others and wondered how rude it would be if he fell asleep. Already someone was snoring far off to his left. Quite frankly, sitting around whilst twiddling thumbs, and arguing whether it was ethical to give Voldemort tacky nicknames during the discussion was not producing badly-needed results.
Beside him, James listened to Lily playing with little Harry. Harry sat in her lap and giggled as Lily tugged at his fingers and toes and mouthed words at him. James felt his heart swell with pride and love as he observed. Lily looked up and saw. She smiled back and wordlessly passed Harry over. Harry looked puzzled at the sudden switch, but was almost immediately fascinated with his father's glasses. James made a face as Harry tugged them off his face.
No one had said anything when James showed up with Lily on tow. Everyone had been told to act normal so as not to attract attention from Death Eaters. The only time James ever went anywhere without Lily and Harry was when he was off on an Auror mission. No one would suspect a mission of some sort if he went somewhere on Easter with his wife and young son.
As the current speaker moved down and another stepped up to take his place, Harry dropped James' glasses to the floor. James bent over to retrieve them, and then chaos erupted.
It happened as a scream, the sounds of flesh striking against flesh, and harsh, clipped words.
"Avada Kedavra."
Lily squeaked as James, squashing Harry close to his chest, planted a hand upon her head, pushing her down out of sight. Weight slammed against weight as snarled curses hurled through the air. Charms and hexes flew at individuals as enemies met. Someone blindly stumbled over James and clipped Harry with a flailing foot. Harry wailed and James' chest suddenly ached from a different pain.
"James!" Lily grabbed James' shirt and bunched it into a tight fist. "Death Eaters are attacking!"
"Stay down!" James pushed her closer to the floor. Someone fell over the chairs in front of them and landed on James' glasses. Above Harry's screaming, James heard the glass break and he winced. He pulled his wand out. "Be prepared," he said. "Wrap shield charms around yourself and Harry." He held Harry out to Lily, but Harry, frightened from the loud sounds of fighting, screamed louder and clung to James.
"Where's your extra glasses?" Lily began riffling through James' pockets as he tried to look through the space between the chairs at the swirling mass of bodies.
"Lily." James snatched Lily's hand and squeezed it. "I want you to take Harry and get out. I won't let you two get hurt." It's my fault, he thought to himself. I placed them in danger. "Get out of here!" He offered Harry out to Lily again.
"No!" Lily crashed against him, crushing Harry between their bodies. "Not him!" Harry screamed louder and James looked over his shoulder at the black blur that stood before him. One long blur extended forward with a long brown line before that. The brown line pointed at him.
"Crucio." The word was drawn out in a long, soft hiss.
James felt Lily struggle to jump to her feet. He surged to his own with his back to the attackers and pushed her down. "Stay down!" The spell hit him in the centre of his shoulders, directly against his spine, and his nerves lit on fire and the pain in his chest was exquisite agony in comparison. Harry wailed as James dropped soundlessly to his knees. Two more voices joined the first, and the pain grew sharper and sharper.
Protect Harry.
His chest hurt hurt hurt and so did his back but he had no heart, no heart to pump the blood boiling in his veins – it stopped, shocked still by the sudden onslaught of agony. Somewhere, Lily was screaming and her voice was growing distant. He wanted her to come back, take Harry, get away because darkness was approaching and blood was going to pool on the floor and there was the dark man coming forward with his cape billowing behind like a storm cloud, except that the dark man was Severus and the storm was in his eyes.
Blood suddenly washed over him, everywhere. Rivers of it, and it was leaking out of his eyes and his ears and mouth and nose. Jonathon's head went one way and his body went another. Oliver dead on his knees, his intestines spilled forth. Anne laying face down in the river, and his aunts shrieked for death as they bobbed in bits and pieces. And there was little Harry, except he wasn't little and there was a scar on his forehead.
He clutched Harry close, lest his own son should feel that bone-deep, soul-scouring pain in his heart like James. No, not the little one; not the most innocent of all. Not this blood nor this silence.
Not a word, not a sound. Crimson-turned blue eyes set in a twisted and ugly face. Not a word, not a sound.
In the end, you'll only receive what you create.
"Father," James whispered in defiance to the dark man's command before he was lost down a lonely, dark spiral of silent madness and beyond to where nothing but shadows of the past existed.
The first thing that James became aware of after so long was how white the world was. After dwelling an eternity in a world black but for the memories of violently spilt blood and agony amidst ashes, the white ceiling he found himself wordlessly staring at seemed so fragile and weak. While the blackness was oppressive and selfish, this white was small and vulnerable. He thought he heard someone speaking, but he couldn't focus on anything but the white. Slowly, the darkness came back for him, cackling in malicious glee.
The pain from the curse had reached a peak where James was forced to move beyond its feeling. James had moved so far beyond it that he was sure he could never feel again. After he awoke, he sometimes thought he heard words, but they were blurs of sound that refused to mean anything. Time passed, and James had no way of knowing how much. He moved beyond even the scope of memory, because that caused emotions, and emotions had to be felt. And felt them he did, as a steady pulse of agony where his heart should have been.
Instead, he persisted, despite its own bluntness, no matter how far everything was beyond his numb reach.
A smudge of green was the only other colour, beyond red, white, and black. Every time James tried to grasp its meaning, the colours ran together and he lost the smudge. Days blurred into weeks, and he remained senseless. Just when the green came into focus, he thought they might have been worried eyes. The colours would fade, and James faded with them.
The blood came and went in rivers. It was the only thing he understood in this cold, dark, silent world that only blood touched. So he focused on the blood, more out of boredom than anything else. There were quantities of it, and it never seemed to stop plaguing him. Fleeting images swam in the depths, shadows of what he had once known. James finally knelt at the bank and scooped his hands into the thick liquid and tried to grapple at the images.
James? a voice said. The surface of the river rippled as the voice originated from beneath. James shrank back from the voice – too long has it been since he heard that person, but he could still gag upon the flesh, choke upon the ashes. James. I know you are there.
James tried to pull his hands away so he might run, but something below the surface captured his wrists, trapping him there at the river. James? Speak to me, the voice pleaded, please.
He tried to respond, but his voice was gone. The dark man had told him to be silent and he couldn't force the words past the mouthful of flesh…!
James, go back.
Ashes coated his nostrils, blocking his air. He pulled at his hands – how could he go if he were caught?
James, you must go back. Jonathon's voice overlaid another. A layer of hardness gave it an unsteady feel. Another voice, so fragile that it broke into a thousand shards of sorrow, drifted from above the river of the blood and blended with his little brother's.
James, you must go back.
"James, you must come back."
Go back to your family.
"Come back to your family."
They need you.
"We need you."
Above this sound free-floated another. It was a child's voice; one that uttered a word that James was never capable of speaking in his silence.
"Papa?"
And his hands were released from the river of blood.
White washed over the red, purifying the stains. James found the strength to turn his head. The blurs shifted and then he saw one little hand stretching out to him. "Papa?" James took in a deep breath as he reached back. A woman gasped as the little hand wrapped around one of his fingers, and a baby laughed. "Papa!"
James squinted, unable to see anything but the white and the hand. "Harry?" he asked. His voice was gravely from disuse. From a distance, he heard Lily cry out with relief.
"Oh, James!"
James smiled. The colours faded as he descended into the darkness once more, but this darkness was friendly and warm, not oppressive and selfish. He welcomed it, and slept without dreaming of blood.
The doctors and nurses were very kind in helping James. The purpose for their exercises and therapy was to help James regain the senses destroyed beneath the onslaught of pain. Awed voices commented often of how it was amazing he had not been driven mad, as had the Longbottoms. Some people merely shrugged and attested his strength to the Snape blood, to which others nodded in agreement.
This therapy only helped so much, for each of Lily's visits with Harry did James more help than anything else. He relearned the sweet passion of love through them. James felt that the purpose everything he did — from moving to thinking — was all for this love. Two long months passed as he flourished an hour a day with Lily and Harry, and languished in lonely misery the other twenty-three hours. For them he strove to become better. If he were better, then he could leave this white place and be with them forever.
Lily was quiet and gentle. Harry more than made up for the lack of noise. He laughed, squealed, and babbled wordlessly whenever he was with his father. James did not notice the shadows in Lily's eyes, of how careful she skirted around mentions of family, either hers or James'. James never bothered to ask. His entire world was centred upon his wife and son, the only two individuals who mattered.
On some, faraway level, James distantly recalled something of an older woman whose soft breasts and arms were a refuge, and of a brittle young man with a surly wit and black eyes that carried a storm. He pushed such recollections away, not wanting to think of them. Every time he did, the vision of all-knowing blue eyes or black eyes bearing shattered innocence and trust filled his mind, and his chest ached severely with each thump of his heart. He was not ready for pain, cried horribly when his senses would retreat from the renewed agony and leave him deaf and dumb once more, so he forced such thoughts and visions away.
After two months, Sirius came for the first time. He and James greeted each other as long-lost brothers. There was a great deal of laughter, hugs from everyone, and remarks of good health. From where she sat upon James' hospital bed, Lily watched with a bright smile. Little Harry passed from mother to father to godfather and back to father again. Harry giggled and babbled proudly.
"Oh boy!" Sirius looked James over appreciatively. "Boy, you look good! I can't tell you how much better I feel seeing you like this!" He paused a moment as he watched James play with Harry's fingers. He shook his head, as if in disbelief that his friend was recovering against all odds. "Oh, James, if only you know how worried we all were. So how's it coming?"
James grinned at him. "D-doing great," he said. "The doctors say if m-my progress k-keeps up, I can leave in eight w-weeks."
Sirius rubbed his hands together in excitement. His eyes twinkled merrily. "The bastard could put you down, but you wouldn't stay there!"
James, thinking Sirius meant Voldemort, nodded his head in agreement.
Sirius' cheerfulness wilted somewhat under the strain of suppressed anger. "At least he got his just desserts for attacking you," he muttered darkly. James looked at Lily in puzzlement – was Voldemort defeated? Surely she might have mentioned it, except that she had gone sheet-white and was mouthing the word no at Sirius. Sirius suddenly looked guilty.
James frowned. "Wh-what do you mean?"
"Nothing."
James placed Harry on the floor lest he accidentally drop him from suddenly weak arms, and stood. "No, wh-what did you mean? Y-you weren't talking about V-Voldemort?"
Sirius and Lily exchanged looks that had the hair on the back of James' neck rising. His heart thudded once, painfully, in his chest. "Wh-who were you talking about?"
A name nudged at his memory, but he pushed it away. James looked from Lily's panic-stricken face to Sirius' guilt-ridden expression. The name clambered for attention, and went so far as to snarl at him in such a familiar manner that he couldn't ignore. "Severus," said James softly. Both Lily and Sirius winced. He pressed a hand over his heart as the painful thuds increased in tempo. "Why h-hasn't Sev been h-here to see me? Wh-what happened t-to him?"
Lily stood up. "James, don't." James struggled to think against the pain in his chest. She said something, but he could not hear it. His senses were already beginning to quit once more under the onslaught of pain. He forced himself to speak, to annunciate each word clearly.
"What h-happened to S-Sev?" He looked directly at Sirius, focusing his words and watching the other man's lips closely. "Where is m-my brother?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
James' hand shot out, too fast and too sudden for anyone to know it until Sirius realized that James had grabbed him by the front of his shirt and was shouting. "Where is my brother?"
Sirius sighed and shrugged. "James, he betrayed us." He calmly untangled James' hand from where it had fisted the material of his shirt. James lip-read the words better than he could hear them. "He sold out to Voldemort, told him of what was going on, and led that attack against us. The attack that hurt you. At the trial, he said he sold himself for knowledge of Dark Arts and he enjoyed what he did. He was the spy."
"S-Sev?" James stuttered and stopped. "S-Sev is s-spy." My spy! He silently screamed in frustration. He sold himself to Voldemort for knowledge of what Voldemort did! He was my spy! "What h-h-h-happ... pen..." James stopped and wanted to weep as his tongue became thick and he couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe past the pain or ashes, couldn't make his lips work. He swayed unsteadily on his feet and Sirius reached out to steady him.
James whirled around and stumbled on legs that suddenly lost their strength. He felt Lily's hands grab at his shoulders and he shrugged them away as bitter memories flooded back, Severus a part of each one.
Severus tired and drained of strength. Severus' eyes filled with suppressed tears and guilt for his actions, but never once did he complain. Severus laughing hysterically after the Longbottoms' attack and unable to stop, even when James hugged him close and wouldn't let go.
Lily grabbed him and pulled him around so he faced her. "James, listen." He heard the faraway sound of her voice. It was clear, but faint. "Only those at the trial know he's Voldemort's spy. Words never spread anywhere else, and we don't like to talk about it in places that are filled with people, like hospitals. We think it's for the best, since it would break Grandmother's heart to know what happened. Let it be, please. We'll talk more about it when you are better."
James saw past her worried green eyes. Beyond them were black eyes that pleaded for his trust. Broken and bleeding, trust shattered. Black eyes that carried the storm. James pulled away from her and ran away to those eyes he had disappointed. He Apparated wildly to Dinsmore, his slipping senses and tottering madness somehow enabling him to slide beneath the shields wrapped around Saint Mungo's.
He couldn't recognize the dark surroundings, the many shelves that bulged with books. But there was a bracer of candles, and he could remember taking a book away from the eyes that read there. Something shuffled into the light, and Dumbledore appeared with a book in his hand. He sighed but did not appear surprised to see James.
"Your grandmother and I used to exchange books," Dumbledore explained wearily as he looked down at the book in his hands. "It has been a long time since she and I spoke together."
James took one stumbling step towards Dumbledore and stopped, his shoulder leaning heavily against the bookshelf. "S-Sev?" he asked desperately, fingers grasping at one of the shelves.
Dumbledore stared at the book's cover for a long time. "He was sent to Azkaban." James squinted at Dumbledore's lips. His hearing came in short spurts, which only helped him guess what Dumbledore said. The bushy beard obscured his sight of the Headmaster's lips.
"Wh-why?"
Dumbledore looked over the rim of his glasses at James. "In the trial, he was asked why he became a Death Eater. He said for knowledge. He did not deny the accusation of doing so freely. When asked if he enjoyed it, he answered yes."
James shook his head in disbelief. "N-no." That couldn't have happened – they must have the wrong Severus Snape, except… except how many could there be? Unless someone resurrected Pandora's father, but he was sure that Severus Snape the Senior would have told the necromancer responsible just where the man could put his spells and be done with it.
Dumbledore gazed sadly at him. "I'm sorry, James."
"N-no. He's s-spy."
"I know."
James gestured wordlessly at himself as he struggled to speak. The pain in his chest increased. "N-no. M-my spy! He's my s-spy!"
Dumbledore dropped his book in shock. Black eyes appeared again and James desperately reached out to them in apology. Dumbledore swiftly approached James and placed his hands on James' shoulders to steady him. James trembled from the contact and Dumbledore drew back.
"You're freezing, boy." Dumbledore shrugged off the heavy winter robe he wore to protect himself from the catacombs' cold drafts and slung it over James' shoulders.
James fell away from Dumbledore and reached for the black eyes. He wildly Apparated once more.
The dementors did nothing to stop him. As James tripped through the freezing-cold halls of Azkaban's prison of ice, his legs shaking from fatigue, he felt only the need to see his brother. He searched endlessly, crying softly while he pressed one hand against his aching chest. Most of his senses were too locked up for the dementors to reach out and manipulate. Even if his senses were not locked up, it was impossible to overcome someone by their worst memories when they already were.
James glared as one dementor drew forward to confront him, and uncontrolled magic flared around him for a moment. The dementor shrank away. "I-I'm here t-to see my-my brother." James drew himself upright, his wand held forth like a sword. "L-lead me to Severus Snape!" The dementor regarded him a moment before nodding once and floating away. James followed after. He felt his strength return slowly, and in the time it took for him to reach Severus' cell, James had turned his pain and shock into a sword of anger which he used to lend himself strength.
He was angry at Lily for not saying a word about Severus, angry at Sirius for thinking that Severus had betrayed him, angry at himself for not thinking and inquiring after Severus earlier, but most of all… Most of all, James was angry with Severus for not telling the people the truth. It was so utterly like him to let others think what they would, and it was so utterly stupid and wasteful.
When the dementor opened the door of Severus' cell and James entered, he was riding so high off the anger that he could not control it any longer. Severus sat beside the window and stared out of it with a slight hint of wistfulness. He turned slowly to face James. His black eyes held questions and sorrow, but were otherwise void of everything that had made Severus himself.
The door closed and the dementor moved on. James gritted his teeth and pulled back enough of his anger to speak civilly. "Why didn't you tell them?" A soft voice, indeed. That he could speak was a wonder, but sound made his ears ache. "Why didn't you tell them Voldemort gave you the choice of death or joining him, and you joined him with the intent of becoming my spy? That you had to protect Lily?"
It took a long while for Severus to answer. He stirred away from the wistfulness before awareness blossomed. "Did you tell them?" The question was soft and tempered with resignation.
James felt his anger flare. "No!" He struggled against it and even managed to lower his voice once more. "I came here as soon as I was aware of anything!"
Another long while passed before Severus answered. "Aware?" It sounded more like a casual statement than a question.
"I was in a coma for the first eight weeks, and the last eight were spent in therapy, gaining back my lost senses. No one told me you were sent here to this godforsaken prison until Sirius let it slip that you had gotten your just desserts; everyone thought you were guilty. Even Lily. I forced Sirius to explain what he meant. Everyone who knows what happened to you — and thankfully it's only a damn few — thinks you were the spy telling Voldemort the Aurors' plans. Dumbledore told me you willingly become a Death Eater for knowledge and you enjoyed it."
James waited for Severus to reply. Severus reached a hand out to him and looked as if he struggled to say something. After a moment, Severus dropped his hand and slumped against the wall, his strength and purpose lost. James stumbled to kneel before Severus. Neither of them seemed to notice that James leaned heavily against Severus for support. Oh, how his heart seemed to be breaking in two!
"We both know you became a Death Eater for knowledge about Voldemort's actions, and I have seen your eyes after you came from your missions. I have seen the pain and the grief you harbour within yourself and wouldn't share with me. I know you didn't enjoy what you did. Why'd you say you did? If you had told them otherwise, they'd have offered you a chance to exchange information and names for freedom. Why'd you allow them to imprison you here instead of explaining to them that you were my spy?"
James searched Severus' face for any indication of thought or feeling. All James saw was resignation. Gone was the defiant spark in black depths that drove ever onward in a conquest of life. "You want to stay here," he said flatly, all anger gone when he realized how beaten Severus was. Severus smiled sadly and nodded once.
The pain in his chest grew worse. James' vision wavered and it seemed that Severus was slipping away, away from reality and beyond his reach, to the endless darkness where spilt blood existed only. James succumbed to the pain and cried as he threw his arms around Severus, desperate to keep him near – a single light (oh, the irony that the blackest of all the Potters – no matter how much he might deny being one – would be James' guiding light). "Oh Sev!" He buried his face in the bony hollow where Severus' shoulder curved into his neck. "You were always the strong one, just like Grandmother. You may have been affected by what others did to you, but you never let it hold you back and even when I'd have sought revenge, you forgot, if not forgave, the matter. Where's your strength now?"
Come back! Don't leave me!
Severus patted his arm and tried to pull free from James. "Leave me be," he said. "Forget about me. All that I need is here."
James let Severus slide away but never released his grip; he stared in disbelief. He desperately searched the black eyes for something beyond resignation. Severus weakly waved him away. He struggled to say something more again, but did not succeed. Again his purpose and strength disappeared.
James swept the wild, overgrown curls away from Severus' eyes to look closely. Severus was tired. James knew that; he understood too much about being tired. "Do you have nothing left?" he asked as the pain in his heart increased, forcing more tears from him. One tear slid down and ran along the length of his lips and it tasted…wrong. Not salty, like tears ought to be, but like undercooked flesh. Bile rose in his throat.
Severus stared back with empty eyes. Even the resignation was gone. James flinched back from it, horrified of how alike Severus' eyes were to Voldemort's. After a moment, he pulled Dumbledore's heavy winter robe off and piled them on top of Severus. "I'll be back," he promised fiercely as he secured the robes tightly around Severus' thin shoulders, suddenly ferociously glad that his hands no longer shook. "I'm not leaving you here to rot! You're every bit a hero as I am and you don't deserve to be here. This isn't right."
"It's not that bad," Severus said. He sounded desperate and small, like a child trying to excuse his bad behaviour. "There's food, and it's not wet."
James remembered the distrusting child Pandora had rescued from the slums. "Won't you ever move on from the past?" he asked softly as he departed from the cell. Once outside it, he pondered what to do next.
The answer came to him immediately, like a bolt of lightening from a storm cloud.
Pandora Potter.
James hurried through the halls to the Apparation field outside the prison. If there was one person in the world who could force Severus from the emotionally dead state he had sunk, it was Pandora. She was the only one James knew Severus to ever implicitly trust enough to do everything she told him. The only problem with that was he did not know where to find her. But… But he knew of something that could implicitly track her down.
With strength borne from resolve, he stepped beyond the barrier and Apparated a third time.
The Mirror of Rebounds was exactly where James had seen it last. Pandora's room was free of dust because Lily still cleaned it regularly. He stared at the blue-covered lump for a long moment before a voice spoke behind him.
"What're you up to, kid?"
James looked over his shoulder at Cousin Quigley, who nervously clutched a bottle of wine close.
"I want the Mirror of Rebounds to show me where Grandmother is."
"Ah." Cousin Quigley shrugged. "You needn't the Mirror of Rebounds for that. I can do it for you."
"Oh?"
Cousin Quigley grinned. "Hell, I can even take you to her."
James took a step forward. "Then do so."
Cousin Quigley pointed. James turned around to see at what he was pointing. The blue cloth that covered the Mirror of Rebounds fell away and James looked at his dim, distorted reflection. Something moved in the deeper depths of the mirror. James approached for a closer look. Light shifted suddenly within the mirror. He reached out to touch it, and was sucked into darkness.
Grandmother? His thought rolled through the darkness. The sound and shape of it floated freely. A presence stirred against it, and suddenly James was beside Pandora as she stood before a gigantic slab of stone covered with symbols of a language long dead.
James looked around to see that they stood in a cave. The ceiling was low and the sides were cramped. Pandora studied the symbols from the light of a smoky lantern, not even aware of her immediate surroundings. James, holding his breath in unsure surprise, reached a hand out and brushed his fingers against the outline of a protruding shoulder blade. She slowly looked from the symbols to James. Her eyes were red-rimmed from too much reading and not enough sleep, but they widened in shock. "James?"
"Grandmother!" James threw his arms around Pandora and hugged her, exuberant to see her for the first time in five years. "Grandmother!" She gasped as he squeezed too tightly. He dropped his arms guiltily, and realized for the first time recognized how fragile and old she had become. "Grandmother?"
Pandora smiled and held her arms out to him, and he pressed close, too large to duck his head and press it against her bosom, which no longer seemed so soft or generous. "It's good to see you, James," she whispered against his shoulder. They pulled away and she smiled up at him. "How did you get here?"
"I'm not too sure, but Cousin Quigley—"
"Wait." Pandora dropped her hands. "Never mind. If Cousin Quigley is involved, I don't believe I actually want to know." Her joyous smile was tinted with sorrow. "I know you aren't here just because you missed me." The smile fell away. "What's wrong?"
James was silent for a moment. "Sev," he said finally as he guiltily shuffled his feet.
Pandora glared at him. James suddenly felt about two inches tall. "What did you two do this time? I told you to stop causing contention."
James muttered under his breath.
"When did you pick up mumbling? I know I never permitted such in my household."
James muttered a little louder.
"Speak up, James. I'm an old woman and my hearing is starting to go."
"SeverusisinAzkabanbecauseveryonethinkshe'sVoldemort'sspybuthe'snotandwe'reinawhole
lotoftroublebecauseit'smyfaultandI'mreallyreallysorryGrandmother."
"Severus is . . ." Pandora stared at James for a long while. He could practically see the cogs in her mind turning slowly to fully understand what he just said. "MY SEVERUS IS WHERE?!"
James did not have to say much. He explained that Severus had been tricked into meeting Voldemort and forced into a situation of either himself or Lily. Severus, a Snape through and through, decided to make the best of the situation with James' help. Since the agreement between the brothers meant James couldn't tell a single soul, no one could step forward with the truth during Severus' trial.
James told Pandora that he had been indisposed at the time, but he did not say a single word about the attack or the cost of recovery. From the way she studied him with her all-knowing blue eyes, James had a feeling that she was going to wring the information out of him after the more pressing issue of Severus was resolved.
"He's not going to stay in Azkaban," Pandora declared firmly. She picked up her lamp and shuffled down the long, low cavern they. James hurried after her. He studied the way she dragged her feet and how her shoulders slumped forward. He wanted to hold her close and fervently promise to take care of her, love her for all her remaining days. It was not right that Pandora should be so old and weary! She was supposed to be just ending the prime of her wizarding life!
James followed Pandora out of the cramped cave to the tiny village of black-skinned natives. Words exchanged between her and the village shaman, but the communication was slow and inaccurate. The translation spells were unreliable at best, since each language establishes its own perceptions and the spells could not transcend the bounders that separated them.
"Grandmother," said James, "won't you be returning?"
"No, James," she replied. "I've learnt all that I can. I travelled all through the Middle East, and my travels led me here to the darker parts of Africa. What I will have to do cannot be put off anymore." She sighed and looked at James. "I'm old, James. Old before my time, and I grow older and feebler with each passing day. My endurance is shot all to hell – I've little left, and soon even that will be gone and then I won't be able to do what I need to do." The look in her eyes was anxious and fearful. She reached out to James and placed one hand on his shoulder. The other she pressed against his lips. "You will have to go into hiding, James."
The hand against his lips kept him from responding, and Pandora dropped her voice into a fierce whisper. "I'm going to have to attack Riddle, James. I will break the sanctuary he granted you, and you must be safe before that happens. I want you to take Lily and Harry, and I want you three to go into hiding under the Fidelius Charm."
So they did. They returned home to Dinsmore, and from there Pandora went directly to Azkaban to see Severus. She ran into the director of Azkaban, who had missed out on James' visit. She listened to the director for two minutes as he told her the rules and regulations, and even began to call forth dementors to have her removed from the property. She lost her patience with him and unleashed the infamous Snape sarcasm upon the unfortunate man's head. Upon learning that she could force him out of his job, forever blacken his work record, who exactly was this eccentric old lady, and that she personally knew his terror of a godmother, the director eagerly led her to Severus' cell.
She spoke with Severus briefly, and left then to launch a surprise campaign against the Ministry of Magic to free her adopted grandson. Due to some surprisingly dirty tactics on her part, a mini fortune spent in bribes, and the influence she still possessed over the wizarding society as both a Snape and a Potter, Pandora managed to force a recall on Severus' sentence to allow probation. She then spoke to Dumbledore. He agreed to hold Severus' parole under his supervision.
Having seen to Severus' release, Pandora sought out James and arranged matters for him to go into hiding. No news of this leaked out to the real world, but was instead only known to a few select individuals. James wanted Sirius to be his secret keeper, but both Pandora and Sirius instead desired someone who would attract very little notice from Voldemort and his lackeys.
"Peter," said Sirius. "Let it be Peter."
Pandora agreed. "Yes. Sirius is too obvious a choice. If he becomes the secret keeper, he will be in as much danger as you, James. Peter is hardly known by anyone and would be safe by reason of discretion and obscurity."
With that decided, the site for the Charm was created. Pandora pulled James to the side, away from the circle where Lily and Harry waited, and said her last goodbyes.
James clung to her closely, not wanting to release the woman who had been a mother, father, and grandmother to him since the day he was orphaned. She had been the world before Lily entered his life, and she was still the sun that his world revolved around.
"Oh come now." Pandora patted his shoulder. "I'm getting old and will die soon. I may as well take down Tom Riddle with me. A blaze of glory, befitting of my life."
"Don't."
"I have to, James. I'm the only one who is strong enough and yet not important enough for the world to miss."
"What about Harry? He'll never know his great-grandmother."
"Hush. We must all move on."
"Grandmother." James stared solemnly at Pandora. "I want you to promise me something."
"That depends on the nature and cost of the promise."
James nervously licked his lips. "I want you to promise me that you will try to live. That you will get away from Volde — er, Tom Riddle. And if you're hurt, I want you to go to people you know will help you get better, no matter what. Promise me." Pandora said nothing as she studied him. James rubbed at his eyes, which were beginning to grow moist. Please, no tears now, especially not the bloody ones. "Please, grandmother. Do that for Harry. And do it for Sev, since with me gone and Frank insane, he won't have anyone now but you. You know that Sev will get into so much trouble without me being there to bail him out."
"If I recall correctly, you got him into most of that trouble. James—"
"Please. No matter what happens for me, do it for Harry, and for Severus."
Pandora nodded slowly. "Very well. I promise you I will live with the best of my abilities and knowledge for Harry and Severus."
James smiled gratefully at her. "Thank you."
Pandora stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on James' cheek. "Go well and be safe, my boy," she said softly.
Almost twenty years later to the day after James witnessed his family's slaughter, Voldemort attacked Godric's Hollow with the intent of repeating history. James had not wanted to return to the home where his family had died but he deemed it best; after all, who in their right mind would wish to live in the place that held such traumatic memories?
It was not the Killing Curse that stole James' life. In the moment that Voldemort cast it, James' entire world halted, and Time was suspended in a single moment. James' mind blossomed, receptive finally to the Mirror of Rebounds, and his memories, from when he hid under the kitchen table to eat his stolen cookie, to sending Lily away as he distracted Voldemort, replayed all at once. All the winces of pain in his heart, each painful shudder or thump, every explosion of anguish during those twenty years came back all at once, a tidal wave of woe. Something in his chest erupted finally, overcome by far too much at once.
James' vision shattered into a kaleidoscope of colours as one last thought occurred to him. And this I do know of you: James Potter, you will die of a broken heart.
Time resumed, and when the Killing Curse finally struck James, it was too late to kill him.
He had already died when his heart, weakened too long from the unnatural strain of anguish, broke apart like Severus' trust.
And it was within this house where Oliver Potter, the father of James Potter and the son of Pandora Snape, laid a Blood Curse upon Voldemort. The Blood Curse was fulfilled as the blood of whose had been brutally spilled intervened to protect the most innocent of all, and thus did the legend of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, come into being.