Freefall
September 29th, 1976
The morning of the first match of the year was tinged with pink and the moon was a weak, pale thing hovering over the Forbidden Forest. The usual terror experienced by the student body was currently at an all-time low, as the murder of ministry officials faded from memory and the falling leaves lulled everyone into a false sense of security.
James, while theoretically intelligent and empathetic enough to not ignore his surroundings, had let down his vigilance for the first time in weeks. It was nice to forget about everything that was happening. That was the best thing about dating Adelaide. She didn’t care what his thoughts on the news were, she didn’t bother wondering about the state of the world. She existed so comfortably that it was a joy to watch.
She wasn’t stupid, by any means. And, when asked, she was certainly anti-Death Eater, condemning their atrocities with vitriol. But, when she stroked James’s hair in the dappled September sunlight, her considerations of non-violent countermeasures didn’t seem so laughable. She made him think about things he never had before.
So, after a brief morning rendezvous with his girlfriend, James was headed to his first match as Quidditch Captain with serenity in his pace. He was able to remember what he loved about this place and the top of that list was Quidditch. He could forget about everything else for a few hours, focusing on the team he was slowly pulling together.
He didn’t think he’d even mind losing. Not that much, at least. He was just excited to play some Quidditch.
*** In one hour and twenty minutes, James Potter will
let go of his broom, fall off, and hurtle towards the ground. ***
Lily Evans, despite her dislike of a certain captain, genuinely loved Quidditch. At first, she’d thought the whole thing was a bit odd. It seemed like football in the air. And, while she liked football very much, taking away time limits and putting in a bizarre seeking role didn’t add much to the game, in her opinion.
Then she took her first flying classes and it changed everything.
Being able to see the space in three dimensions changed how she watched the game, and she became more and more invested over the next five years. When Marlene had made the house team, their dorm had thrown her a surprise party. Lily had charmed balloons to show Marlene’s smiling face, partially obscured by her keeper helmet.
So she was excited to walk to the pitch, immersed in a sea of fellow Gryffindors, jostled between Jack Danes and Remus Lupin. It was warmer than she’d expected, and her tight, maroon sweater was itching terribly. She would forget about that shortly.
She had spent more time with Jack in the last month than she had in the past five years. The only time they’d really spent together before was when they’d shared a plane journey between London and Belfast when they’d both intended to arrive in Diagon Alley a few days before school started in order to reacclimate to Wizarding culture.
She liked him more than she’d expected. She was acutely aware of the hole in her chest regarding Severus’s absence, and even more worried about projecting those feelings elsewhere. She wouldn’t let her loneliness dictate her life.
But Jack was nice. He would partner with her in classes, saving her from the swath of awkwardness she had been dreading.
They hadn’t really intended on attending the game together, but it seemed rude to separate now, and she had Remus as a buffer if needed. They squeezed into the front row where Sirius and Mary were already waiting. Sirius seemed less than enthused that Remus had brought people to their bench, but he shuffled over eventually, allowing Lily to have one of the best views of the pitch she could–without flying above it.
They were playing Hufflepuff. It should have been an easy win. Half of Hufflepuff’s strongest players had left last year when the captain hadn’t thought ahead to train anyone new in.
Gryffindor scored a goal within the first eight minutes.
She scanned the field, realizing something was missing without knowing quite what it was. Her eyes found James Potter high above the rest, oddly stationary amidst the blustery wind of the day. There was something strange about it. The sky around him rippled unnaturally–as if a pebble had been dropped into a mirror.
It was much too far for her to see him take his hands off his broom. And yet, a split second before James Potter fell, Lily Evans began to scream.
*** If Minerva McGonagall had been five seconds slower,
James Potter would have died. ***
James didn’t remember falling. He certainly didn’t remember letting go of his broom, something that Professor McGonagall insisted he had done. He had been flying on broomsticks since before he could walk. No amount of distraction or disassociation could have made him fall off.
When Professor McGonagall had explained that he had not been hit by a bludger and had, in fact, simply fallen off his broom, he couldn’t believe it. When she’d gently asked if there could be any other reason he’d let go of his broom, he’d felt too dizzy to answer.
Something was wrong with his memories.
But, before he could dwell on the issue further, the doors of the Hospital Wing burst open. His mother, his father, Madam Hooch, Professor Slughorn, and, inexplicably being tugged along by Slughorn, Lily Evans.
“Oh, my love,” Euphemia Potter exclaimed, pressing her palms against his cheeks and kissing his forehead in relief. “I knew we shouldn’t have missed the match. Thank Merlin, you’re alright.”
“Mum,” he wheezed, pushing her off but keeping hold of one of her hands. “I’ll be fine, I don’t even remember anything.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better, James,” she retorted, squeezing his hand firmly.
Lily had extracted herself from Professor Slughorn and was speaking to Professor McGonagall with a furrowed brow, her hands gesticulating in front of her as if explaining something. Professor McGonagall looked grave–an admittedly familiar expression on her face.
His father had been waylaid by Professor Slughorn.
“Such a pleasure to see you here, Flea, even under these circumstances,” Slughorn was saying, his obsequiousness oozing out of him.
“Out of the way, Horace,” James’s father snapped at him, “I’m here to see my son.” Slughorn held back, looking dejected, as Fleamont Potter made his way to James’s bedside.
“Hi, dad,” he said, already sounding stronger. “How was your day?”
Fleamont smiled, despite himself. “The usual. Went to work. Had a cup of tea. Found out my son was in danger.”
“Typical Saturday, right?”
“It’s certainly not the first time,” his mother remarked, smoothing down James’s hair gently.
*** Nor would it be the last. In some ways,
it was a kindness that they would not outlive
their son. Both Euphemia and Fleamont Potter
will die within days of each other in 1980. ***
His eyes drifted to Lily, who was now shrugging as McGonagall asked her something. He couldn’t begin to fathom what she might have been doing here. They were then interrupted by Slughorn, who pulled Lily away despite McGonagall’s disparaging expression, and they both approached his bed.
“Miss Evans was greatly worried for your safety, James,” he said, somehow still speaking mostly to Fleamont. Lily, who could not have been clearer about the fact she was here against her will, offered James an awkward smile.
“Miss Evans?” His mother asked, a knowing edge in her voice. She had heard that name many times. She extended her free hand politely, and Lily shook it.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Potter,” she said, her accent lilting gently.
“Are you a friend of my James?” His father asked after introducing himself, and Lily and James looked at each other, neither particularly willing to answer that question. “Oh,” Fleamont made a poor attempt to hide his smile, “I see.”
“No, Mr. Potter, we’re–” Lily began, at the same time as James scoffed, “Not a chance.”
“Miss Evans is one of my top students, you know? A potioneer to compare to you, I’d say.” Slughorn said. “You’ll have to come to my Christmas Party this year, Fleamont, it’s really such a lovely–”
“Given that my son nearly died on your watch, I don’t think I have to do anything, Horace,” Fleamont snapped, and James had trouble containing his grin. Even Lily looked privately amused as she stared at the ground.
“Euphemia, Fleamont,” Professor McGonagall called to them from the other side of the Hospital Wing, “I have something to discuss with the two of you.”
Both his parents left, his cheeks reddening as each of them kissed him on the forehead and promised they would be back in a moment. Slughorn followed them, despite not being invited, and left him and Lily alone.
She immediately began moving towards the door.
“Hey,” James said, pushing himself up, “wait. What are you doing here?”
Lily froze, turning back to him with an uneasy expression. “Would you believe me if I said I was worried about you?”
“No,” he smirked, crossing his arms. “Fess up.”
She sighed but sat back down in the chair by his bed. “I had to talk to Professor McGonagall. Professor Slughorn said he knew where she was, but I think he might have just wanted to be speaking to your dad.”
James made a face, eyeing the cluster of adults in the corner of the room. “And why, exactly, did you need to speak to McGonagall?”
Lily sighed, again. “I… I saw something, in the air, before you fell. I can’t be saying what exactly, but there was something strange around you. Like funny shadows, or the like.”
James was silent as he considered that. The last thing he remembered was watching Andrew Langon score a goal for Gryffindor.
“What does that mean?”
Lily shrugged, cagily, and James rolled his eyes.
“What do you think it means?” He amended.
“I think…” She said, eyeing the rest of the room warily, “It means you might have been cursed, Potter.”
Madame Pomfrey moved towards the door and flicked it open with her wand, before returning to the conversation. Sirius, Remus, Peter, Marlene, and Adelaide tumbled in, scanning the room before spotting James and Lily by the windows and surging towards them.
Sirius Black thought Lily Evan’s presence at James’s side was very curious indeed. Adelaide Carpenter was more unsettled by the prospect of meeting James’s parents, who had finished their conversation with Professor McGonagall, and now faced the influx of teenagers with grace.
“My boys,” Euphemia said, opening her arms to hug each of the Marauders in turn. Fleamont greeted Marlene merrily, assuring her of James’s safety and asking her how the rest of the match had gone. Adelaide squeezed past the crowd and reached for James’s hand, offering him a beatific smile. Lily, who knew the time for escape was nigh, got up from her chair without even bothering to say goodbye to him, and headed back towards the doors.
“Professor Slughorn?” She called back, as the old man was, again, moving towards James’s father. “You said you might be looking to check my Veritaserum progress this weekend?”
Horace Slughorn looked torn, but he followed after her, perhaps not wanting to explain to Professor McGonagall why he was encouraging a sixth-year to brew highly complicated and restricted potions.
Fleamont Potter looked relieved as he watched them go, and a little thoughtful. He had heard Lily Evans’s name many times over the last five years, mostly through the teasing of James’s friends. Upon meeting her, she seemed little like the insufferably self-righteous, over-dramatic pain that his son had described. In fact, McGonagall had said she was the only one so far to notice something off about his son’s accident. She had been the only one to come forward with information.
He did wish she hadn’t told James, though. He knew all too well what his son and his friends could do with information like that.
*** Fleamont Potter, in fact, knew a lot less than he thought
about his son’s extracurricular activities. If he had known,
he might have had the sense to pull James out of school that
day. But Fleamont was a Gryffindor, too.
And Gryffindors are, more often than not, fools. ***
Severus Snape had not been one of the three fliers who had attacked James Potter. Partially because he was terrible on a broomstick and partially because, even now, there were those around him who questioned his commitment to the cause. As if this wasn’t the only thing he had left.
James hadn’t died, though. A shame. If Gryffindor’s Golden Boy had fallen on his golden arse then Severus would have been free of him forever. They might have canceled quidditch, too. Severus had never been particularly fond of things he was not good at.
He was better at Disillusionment Charms than Mulciber, that was certain. Snape had watched those little shadows surround James Potter with disdain. If he had cast the charm, he would never have been so sloppy.
The screams of the crowd after Potter had fallen had disturbed Severus more than he would have liked. A chorus of dismay. Even after McGonagall had stopped it, even after Potter was clearly safe, the shouts continued. Were they so blind? What did it matter if another arrogant bully dropped dead? Wouldn’t their lives be better for it, if they were honest with themselves?
Perhaps not his collection of freakish friends, but the rest of them. Lily would be happier if James was dead, he was sure of it. She hated him as much as Severus did.
But she’d screamed as he fell. Same as the rest of them. Her stupid bleeding heart.
He’d been afraid, despite himself, after he’d heard about her confrontation with Mulciber and the rest of them. They were Severus’s friends, most of the time. But hearing the way they’d talked about her had made him want to gouge their eyes out with his wand. It hadn’t helped to know she was sneaking around at night with Potter, of all people.
But Severus Snape was not impulsive, like the rest of his useless peers. The only time he’d been impulsive, he’d lost Lily.
So he didn’t argue with his friends. He laughed and mocked and scoffed along with them, biding his time. Because he was going to be more powerful than any of them could even imagine, and it wouldn’t involve pathetic fist fights or contrived accidents.
Severus Snape was going to be a killer.
*** Severus Snape gets his wish. He kills dozens of people in
service of Voldemort, and his pilfered information leads to the
deaths of Lily and James Potter. His last kill is Albus Dumbledore,
atop the Astronomy Tower. ***
Peter Pettigrew was, perhaps, the only realist out of the Marauders. James and Sirius, as much as they would have denied it, were consummate optimists. Nothing was impossible. Nothing was out of reach. To their credit, much of their life experience had supported this hypothesis.
Remus was the opposite. He seemed to be cursed not only to become a werewolf every full moon, but to find the negatives in any situation, to struggle to find hope even when surrounded by his dearest friends.
Peter liked to imagine he could see the truth of the matter, to a greater degree than his friends. For example, both James and Sirius claimed to wish to become Aurors after they graduated Hogwarts, both desperately wanting to help in the war raging on around them. Peter, however, had misgivings about the integrity of the Ministry of Magic and the true effectiveness of bureaucracy in a time like this.
He’d tried to bring it up to the others. What if there was a mission they were sent on that they didn’t agree with? What if they weren’t able to help where they were truly needed?
Both James and Sirius tended to dismiss him, while Remus gave him a commiserating smile. But Peter knew he was right. There would be other ways to fight in this war. Other ways to make a difference. And he wasn’t going to waste time jumping through the Ministry’s hoops.
They wanted to join the Ministry because it seemed easy. Not in abilities, they would have to be the best of the best to get into the Auror Program. But the path was set out for them. Go to school, do well, join the Ministry, fight bad wizards, and save the world.
Peter didn’t know how to express to them how much more complicated it was all going to be. How much scarier.
James and Sirius, despite everything, still seemed to want someone to tell them what to do.
*** None of the Marauders would even apply to the
Auror program, but all four of them would join the
Order of the Phoenix during their seventh year at
Hogwarts. Peter, of course, would betray it. ***
Marlene McKinnon had always thought the Owlery was the perfect place to cry. The owls meant that she wasn’t alone, because crying alone would be pathetic. But she didn’t have to deal with the sympathetic looks or worried words of her friends, either. She could cry, fix herself up, and then go on with her day as if nothing had happened.
Seeing Euphemia and Fleamont had been nice, but it made her miss her parents. Three of her siblings now attended Hogwarts with her, but the youngest, Ella, was only nine. Her parents sometimes said that Marlene had been a second mother to Ella. She certainly felt closest to her, out of all of them.
But she couldn’t confide her problems to a nine-year-old. Nor did she want to frighten Ella by recounting James’s close call. She’d spent most of the afternoon comforting her other siblings, who had grown up seeing him as something like a cousin.
Marlene McKinnon loved James a great deal, but it was that love that had made her realize something else about herself. She was not even slightly attracted to him. She hadn’t realized why until she’d first started noticing the way Adalaide’s hair fell just so, or found herself fixated on the smoky perfume the other girl wore.
She hadn’t told her family that she was gay. She didn’t think they’d mind, exactly. But they didn’t talk about things like that. Both of her parents worked at the Daily Prophet and were staunchly anti-Death Eater, often speaking out in a way that frightened her. They received dozens of hateful letters every week. It was difficult to imagine writing to them about anything other than things going well and telling them that they needn’t worry about her.
Sometimes, Marlene McKinnon would like to be worried about.
*** Very soon, Marlene McKinnon will fall in love.
That person will worry about her until she dies in 1981. ***