Echoed Lives

Today was James Potter’s first day, he had been waiting for this day for too many years now. Aurors, Sirius and him had made it. He couldn’t dim his excitement at finally working in the Defense Department. The training had been hell, the bunch of guys mostly jerks but for his dream job he’ll do it again. He’ll show them how good of an Auror he is, how good of a team Sirius and him are. With a decisive nod, he entered the elevator for his first day confidently, a small thought to Lily who was already there just 7 stories below. 

Now through the week, James stood in the dimly lit corridor of the Auror Office, hands shoved deep into his pockets, frustration radiating from him in waves. He had noticed the subtle looks, the snickers behind his back, the whispers that stopped abruptly whenever he entered a room. At first, he brushed it off—thought maybe it was some routine banter. But as the week dragged on, the atmosphere grew thicker, more suffocating.

It started small. His coffee cup would vanish from his desk, reappear an hour later, filled with a foul-smelling concoction that resembled mud more than anything drinkable. Then, his chair would inexplicably be missing from his cubicle, forcing him to stand awkwardly as he filled out paperwork. Nothing too overt, but the kind of irritating inconveniences that grated on him over time.

Today, however, was different.

As James walked toward his desk, he stopped in his tracks. His entire workspace was encased in shimmering, translucent jelly. Quills, parchment, even his family photo—everything floated suspended in the gooey mass like strange, preserved artefacts. A burst of laughter erupted from the corner, and James’s heart sank as he saw the source: his colleagues huddled together, chuckling amongst themselves. 

And Sirius was right there with them.

“Nice one, lads!” Sirius barked out, barely managing to contain his amusement as he slapped one of their colleagues on the back.

James clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists. He forced himself to stay calm, even though every fibre of his being wanted to lash out. This was beyond a prank. They had crossed the line. But it wasn’t the prank itself that stung—it was Sirius’s laughter. The one person he thought would have his back was treating it like some joke.

“Real funny,” James muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He waved his wand, muttering an incantation to undo the jelly charm. The goo melted away, leaving his desk drenched but functional.

“Oh, come on, mate,” Sirius said, sauntering over with that carefree grin plastered on his face. “It's just a bit of fun. You’ve got to lighten up, James. Don’t be such a stiff.”

James glared at him, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. “Yeah? Lighten up, huh? This is the kind of 'fun' you’re into now?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, clearly not catching the undertone. “What’s gotten into you? It’s just a prank.”

“Just a prank,” James repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get it, do you?”

Sirius blinked, his confusion genuine. “Get what?”

James wanted to shout, wanted to tell Sirius exactly what was wrong—that his colleagues didn’t see him as just one of them anymore, that they were all in on some unspoken accusation that clung to him like a shadow. Ever since the Ministry had leaked suspicions about a traitor in their ranks, everything had changed. He felt the weight of their judgement every time he walked into the room. And now, here was Sirius—his best friend in the world—laughing along with them like it was nothing.

“Forget it,” James said sharply, yanking his wand out to clean the remaining mess with more force than necessary. 

Sirius frowned, clearly confused but still trying to keep the mood light. “Come on, James, don’t be like that. You’ve pulled worse pranks on me back in school.”

James whipped around, eyes flashing. “That’s different! You weren’t being treated like—” He cut himself off, realising he was about to say more than he wanted to.

Sirius took a step back, his grin fading. “Being treated like what?”

James shook his head, his frustration spilling over. “You don’t get it because you’re not the one they’re looking at sideways. You’re not the one they think is a traitor.”

Sirius’s face hardened, his usual carefree expression faltering as he realised the weight of James’s words. “James... No one actually thinks that.”

“Don’t they?” James snapped. “It’s all fun and games until it’s not, right?”

Sirius opened his mouth to reply but closed it again, unsure of what to say.

James didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed his soaked photo frame, casting one last glance at the group still chuckling in the corner. Without another word, he stormed out of the office, leaving behind a stunned Sirius and an unspoken tension that refused to fade.

****

“Boys? Where are you? You better not be pranking Ron again!” Molly Weasley’s voice echoed through the cosy, bustling house as she made her way through the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. The warm scent of baking bread lingered in the air, but her mind was focused on finding her mischievous twins. She paused by the back door, hands on her hips, squinting into the late afternoon sun spilling over the wild, overgrown garden. Her sharp ears caught the distant sound of muffled voices coming from the direction of the garage.

"Arthur? Have you seen the twins?" she called, hurrying across the lawn, her footsteps crunching on the dry grass. "I fear they’re up to no good."

Pushing open the weathered blue door of the garage, she was greeted by the sight of her husband and her two identical sons, all crowded around the family’s blue Ford Anglia 105e Deluxe. The dim light from the garage windows cast long shadows across the cluttered workbenches, and the air smelled of grease and magic. 

“Oi, Mum! We’re—" Fred piped up, turning his head just enough for Molly to catch sight of the oily smudge on his cheek, making his mischievous grin shine all the brighter. Molly was fairly certain it was Fred—he wore the blue pendant Aunt Tess had gifted him. George usually had the red one. Usually.

“—helping Dad,” George added smoothly, not missing a beat.

Fred smirked and finished the sentence, “Why do you—" 

“—run our good name through the mud?” George finished, both boys now grinning broadly, clearly amused at finishing each other’s sentences, a habit Molly both detested and found oddly charming.

Molly exhaled, shaking her head. Nine years old and already so clever—and such troublemakers. She could already picture the howlers she’d be sending during their Hogwarts years. The thought of them loose at school filled her with equal parts dread and amusement.

Arthur looked up from the car, straightening his tall frame and dusting off his hands. His warm, loving gaze met hers, and a familiar softness bloomed in her chest. That look—the one that always reminded her just how much she loved this man, even when he was tinkering with Muggle contraptions instead of repairing things around the house.

“Oh, Molly dear, you’re here,” he said, beaming. His voice carried that steady warmth she adored. “The boys have actually been quite helpful! Look—just added a new feature.”

With a flick of his wand, Arthur gestured toward the car, and, in an instant, the entire vehicle shimmered and vanished from sight. Molly’s eyebrows lifted, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Well,” she said, arms crossed, watching the boys with a raised brow, “I hope you’re not giving them any ideas.” She cast a mock-suspicious glance at the twins, who exchanged grins that spoke volumes about the "ideas" already swirling in their heads.

Arthur chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. Molly couldn’t help but join in, letting out a soft laugh as she shook her head. “At ease,” she said, waving off the tension. “I’m just here to ask if any of you want pumpkin juice and cookies. So?”

“Yes!” the chorus came, a mix of Arthur’s enthusiastic response and the twins’ excited yells.

“All right then,” Molly said with a smile, heading back toward the house. “I’ll bring it out to you, boys. Enjoy yourselves. At least this is better than your usual shenanigans.”

As she walked away, she could hear their laughter behind her, and for a moment, her heart swelled with the warmth of her family, despite the chaos they so often created.

****

Running through the kitchen with a wooden enchanted sword high in hand, Harry is crying for war on the oppressors of the mighty queendom, working with his newest idol, the Queen Sorceress Medea. At the counter filling out paperwork, Lily chuckles, a fond smile on her face. Her Harry wants to defend the whole world, especially if it involves epic fights and obscure magic. Sometimes, she fears his heart is too big. In what kind of world is a heart too big? In the Dark Lord’s, at least.

Gone is the contentment at this ordinary and heartwarming scene, and here is the bitterness. Gone is the thoughtless filling work, and here are the endless catastrophe scenarios. Lily can’t help but think she shouldn’t encourage such kindness. It wouldn’t serve him to do so. But to actively make his heart smaller—she knows she can’t.

Working in research has made her even more of a planner than she was in her youth, which was already a big part of her personality if her classmates are to be believed. When she learned she was pregnant, questions fused. Having a child with James had been a dream, but knowing in what world they brought him into, was it wise? Was it a selfish action?

A sudden tapping at the window pulled her from her thoughts. An owl, regal and finely bred, perched on the sill with a letter clutched in its beak. Lily’s heart leapt. She had been waiting for this. 

Rising quickly, she opened the window, and the owl fluttered inside, depositing the envelope on the counter before disappearing into the twilight. The crest on the letter was unmistakable—a noble family, old money, pureblood influence. She had written to them in a moment of desperation, hoping beyond reason for some kind of alliance, a way to secure a future for Harry. Not a soul would have admitted it, but having a powerful and respected noble family sponsored him would have assured him a place in the higher classes. 

But as she opened the envelope, a sinking feeling took hold. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the parchment inside. The message was brief, almost dismissive.

Dear Mrs. Potter,

It is with a heavy heart that we must decline your request. We are confident a child with your talent and the Potter lineage will undoubtedly secure his place. After all, the Potter name carries a certain resilience, doesn’t it ?

We extend our best wishes to you and your family during this challenging time.

Sincerely,

The House of Selwyn

Lily felt a knot tighten in her chest. Her eyes scanned the words again and again, but there was no mistaking the polite rejection. The implication was clear—James had lost his status, not a noble anymore but still a recipient of the Potter blood. Once, the Potters had been one of the most respected families in the wizarding world, but aligning with Muggle-borns by marrying one, standing against the Dark Lord... it had cost them everything.

She crumpled the letter in her fist, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. They were alone. No one would help them. The noble families had closed ranks, protecting their own, leaving her and James to fend for themselves.

Harry’s laughter echoed in the kitchen, but Lily barely heard it. Her gaze shifted to him, her sweet boy playing so innocently, so unaware of the dark forces circling around them. She felt a wave of despair rise within her. How were they supposed to protect him from all of this? 

She slammed her hand against the counter, the sound startling even her. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She couldn’t afford to break down. Not now. Not when they were all that stood between Harry and the storm looming on the horizon.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the crumpled letter. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

Her mind raced with plans and contingencies, but for the first time, none of them felt enough. Every strategy seemed to crumble under the weight of what they were facing. Could they truly protect Harry? Could they keep him safe when even the old families had turned their backs?

Harry darted over, still clutching his sword, oblivious to his mother’s turmoil. “Mum! Did you see? I won against the monsters ! I beat the werewolves !”

Lily managed a smile, though it felt hollow. She knelt down, pulling Harry into her arms, holding him tightly. “Yes, love,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You always win.”

But as she held him, the fear gnawed at her. The fear that one day, winning might not be enough.

****

“Bienvenue- Bienvenue Monsieur Dumbledore”, said a slender man jumping out of this chair when he recognized the wizard before him. He tried to school his expression to a professional one but to no avail, the excitement prevailed. With shining eyes and a too broad smile, he yapped : “Sorry, Welcome M. Dumbledore. It iz an honour to meet you. And I know it iz not a happy moment for you, being trapped … I mean, you know de situation with Britain better than anyone-” 

Gently but firmly, Dumbledore waved his hand at the eager receptionist to stop the overflow of words. 

“I am honoured to meet you too, M. … Laurent.” He eyed the golden tag placed on the navy robe decorated by small embroidery evoking the Art Nouveau, Dumbledore can at least attest to the French taste in uniform and architecture.   

The French Ministry of Magic is an ancient building, the outside looks more like a cathedrale than a workplace, but the inside is an intricate balance between practical and beautiful. After passing through carved wooden doors to step on a scarlet-veined marble, the reception is the center piece between the two enormous stairs. 

“No need to speak in English for little old me, my boy, I’ve had some years now to freshen up my French skills.” 

“Of course, Mister.” The young fan looked sheepish while searching through the register for the events of the day and the authorized participants. “You are here to present your case to the Department of International Affairs ? Here is your plan, the room is at the fifth level.”  

“Right you are, my boy,” said Dumbledore with a wink, then he tilted his head conspiratorially to whisper, “You didn’t hear it from me, but the International Confederation of Wizarding is ready to listen to potential legal proceedings in regards to the perilous situation in Britain. They were inspired by the spirit of revolution the French ambassador exudes.” 

Behind the counter, the employee nodded and fidgeted with his hands, looking like he held the treasure of the century. Dumbledore smiled at him and with a short wave took the stairs. 

The clicking of heels coming closer and closer to him, before he can speculate on the individual behind them, a voice rises, “ Well Dumbledore, I remember you being more subtle. You laid it quite thick, don’t you think ?” 

“Lucille, how fortuitous is it to meet you here. I am sure I wouldn’t teach you anything by saying some need more help than others.” 

“As fortuitous as a prearranged meeting can be. I revised some arguments this week, there was a change in the jury, if you can believe it. ” 

“As passionate as ever, I see. And yes, I asked for a more diverse jury.” 

“Dumbledore, we work together, for now. I am not your subordinate, I will not be surprised by your actions once more. Or you will face this trial alone. I work this case because none should bear the brunt of an authoritarian regime, but do not mistake my willingness to help as my acceptance in your little Order.”   

As he turned to observe one of the few people who supported him and were powerful enough to help him in his endeavour. Lucille De Singly always presented herself with frosty elegance, one forged by attending high-social events from a young age. Her competency in legal matters were unmatchable, to be against her was suicide. Dumbledore wouldn’t trust her with his country’s salvation, but he could count on her to use any legal proceedings she could to force the ICW into evicting Voldemort from his power. The blonde always liked a challenge, and even better if she had the moral high ground. 

“You are aware non-citizen cannot become ambassadors, aren’t you ?” Asked the sixty-ish legal advisor, her hair in a twisted bun was the lively touch in her cinched black robe and her ivory heeled boots. She clashed heavily with the bright purple embroidered with tiny stars of Dumbledore. Lucille deplored his style, but it was a part of the character he was known as, people loved it. 

“It is an understandable policy, but as almost anyone who asks for it can become one, don’t you think it’s a moot point ?”  

****

Today was science’s day, Hermione loved making projects, the hardest was choosing one. After discussing with her parents and her friend Amelia, she decided on explaining genetics to her comrades. It wasn’t an easy task, even the teacher had been doubtful, but she came up with a demonstration of mixing long straps of coloured sweets. Everyone had loved it, maybe because of the sweets they could eat after. But she counted it as a win as she rarely had a positive reaction from her class. Her parents said it was because she was smart, and they were jealous. Then they would say she had to make friends, but why would she when they couldn’t see how clever she was?

Since the start of the year, Amelia’s mother has taken her daughter and Hermione in her car bringing them back from school. It was one of the reasons Amelia had become her friend. She was nice, but a little quiet. Contrary to Hermione who always has something to say about the book she read, the idea she had or her thoughts on the behaviour of people. Hermione didn’t understand how someone could have nothing to say. At first, she thought Amelia was nervous to share her thoughts but after months of trying to make her open up, Hermione had concluded she just had nothing to talk about. It wasn’t a problem in itself; Hermione could talk for two.

Arriving in front of her yard, the car paused, and Amelia’s mother turned around with a warm smile, “Here we are, tell your parents hello from us. And thank you for the cookies, we loved them.”

“See you Hermy!” Said Amelia, waving her hand.

Hermione got up from the car, waved her hand back, her heart warmed from the nickname and the smile.

“Yes, I’ll tell them. Thank you for bringing me back. See you Am-y!” Answered Hermione, stuttering on the nickname for Amelia as she tried it for the first time. Unsure of her reaction, she didn’t dare look back, but if Amelia accepted that would surely mean they were best friends.

Squeezing the straps of her backpack as her heart raced hopefully, a content smile on her face. She couldn’t wait to tell her parents. Taking her backpack out of her back to find her keys, she realised the front door was ajar. Frowning, her parents always closed the door.

When she gently pushed the door, in the background she heard Amelia’s mother’s car restart, but could only concentrate on the voices inside. Four voices, her parents and two strangers, friends Hermione thinks although they didn’t seem cordial. Well, adults always bickered about the weirdest things.

“Mom, dad? I’m here. Amelia’s mother says hello and thank you for the cookies.” The girl talked while walking through the entrance and the corridors to the living room. “Also, my demonstration of genetics was a success, everyone listened and loved it! Can you believe it? Well, I knew it-”

Her parents were sitting on the couch sticks pointed at their terrified faces by people just out of a fantasy fair.

“Darling go fa-“ Yelled her mother before seizing and screaming, after a light went out of the stick and the woman said foreign words. Hermione wanted to follow her command, but she was paralyzed.

“Listen muggle and shut up, or I won’t be as lenient.” Said the woman like she believed in her own mercy.

“Hermione Jean Granger,” Said the man who had turned towards Hermione, “No need to run, as you can see, we have means to make you stay if necessary. You are a witch. You can do magic. Your parents can’t, they’re muggles- “

“More like filth.” Interrupted the woman, a smirk formed on her lips as she saw her parents squirming from anger.

As if she hadn’t said anything he continued, “They can’t raise you properly, only in the wizarding world can you thrive. You will be coming with us now.”

The dark-haired man gripped her shoulder like an iron claw dragging Hermione from the warm now cold living room. She couldn’t take her eyes from her parents, who were subjected to unknown horrors by the cruel woman. The deformedly open mouths but no sound out, their struggling hands and their terrified eyes, eyes looking at their daughter, only her.

Hermione always prided herself on her capability to defend her causes, but that day, no words came out.

Her heels hurting from the dragging to the corridor, she fell on him as he abruptly stopped with his stick in hand. 

“No loose ends, Viorena.” Said the man with a commanding voice, clearly used to leading. His next words were impenetrable for the uneducated girl, but a tugging feeling in her stomach followed by a pop would be the signs of experimenting a spell she’ll recognize years later.

Before them was an enormous Victorian building with sober decorations and even sober gardens that would dictate the next years of Hermione’s life, written above the door, “The Everbright Orphanage”.

****

Hunched on multiple parchments, Lily’s eyes browsed the lines carefully while her left hand took notes. A high pitched bell chimed, the delivery bell, throwing Lily out of her focus. On the cushioned chair her bottom felt stiff, the papers in her hand grainy and the light of her blinking desk lamp too cold and bright for eyes. She may have lost herself to the task. Research had always been one of her favourite activities, but in the Department of Mysteries it was held as the sacred occupation one could aspire to—and even more, to maintain.

The bell chimed again. 

Cracking her neck, she stood up with her ritual knife at hand. For every delivery retrieved, the Unspeakable had to bleed on the receipt to assure their identity. 

A few words later, she activated the protection runes, making anyone not inside see only a door opening to black infinity - after Lord Voldemort’s takeover new safeguards were made -, then opened the black glassy door. 

“State your business.” Said Lily sternly, she had learned the hard way that being polite would only undermine her already precarious position. Her voice had been neutered to resemble a standard genderless voice. The first time Lily heard it, she had almost broken protocol 6 (no contact with anyone not in your project on the job, especially not outsiders). 

In front of her was the usual chubby wizard in his forties in the process of losing his hair line but valiantly trying to hide it with a hair style which made it even more obvious. She could gawk at him, stare as much as she wanted, she did not have to guard her face. He would only see the signed papers. 

 “Here is…Material delivery A178.” 

“The receipt.” 

Without much ado, he gave her the papers which she read attentively, then cut her pinky - she had learned not to cut her thumb or index finger if she didn’t want to lose sensitivity in the long run - and smudged the paper. She gave it back, making sure not an inch of her was out. 

The delivery man took it, then searched in his enlarged bag for a five to five inch box and threw it into the dark. “Good day.” 

Lily caught the box by sheer instinct huffing at the carelessness. Her team had received direct orders not to engage with the box in any capacity, but she was curious. With her being one of the only muggleborns - as her recruiters had insisted upon, truthfully or not, she had no way of knowing  - she didn’t want to make any waves, curiosity was rewarded only if contained in the strictly ordained protocols. 

Winning the fight against her bottomless curiosity, Lily put the enigmatic object on the shelf under the label A178 and went back to her desk still stuffed with texts on wards, commonly and uncommonly employed nexuses. She had a hunch her team would work on the Cloak of Protection or more frequently used : the Barrier. The colossal ward was one of a kind, to seal a territory as big as Great Britain was unheard of. 

A lot could be told about the Dark Lord, unsavoury ones certainly but his genius was unmatched. Since her fifth year, when the Barrier domed the new territory she had researched it as much as she could, being restrained in Hogwarts or in her muggle house. From then on, Lily had a fascination for spells of great scale and it was one of the highs of her file.   

Her muggle point of view made her think outside of the box which was highly valued in the Department, even though they were quite happy to ignore its origin. Pushing those thoughts, Lily went back to her work imagining it’ll take the rest of the day at least. 

Clap. 

“Wake up Team Nebula,” yelled the team leader, placing herself in the middle of the room devoid of any furniture, she was an austere witch most of the time except in the face of horrendous discoveries, “For your new project you have been asked to research on different subjects, we will come back to that. Firstly, as you have surely uncovered, you will be working on the Cloak of Protection. This mission is highly classified, and I’m sure I won’t have to remind you of the protocols, will I ?” 

Team Leader Nebula knew her power plays, she knew to stretch her silence to maximise the tension, to stare in the eyes of each member until she saw their fear of consequences. Every member nodded slowly, with intent, showing their understanding of the pains they would submit themselves by erring. Each one of them stood straighter at the right of their desk, the chandelier digging shadows in their face. 

“Good. As you know, wards of this amplitude need nexuses to maintain their strength and regularity. As of now, we have used high sensitivity crystals like wyrmstone or aetherstone, but a replacement is needed. A fellow Unspeakable has hypothesised a more dynamic source of magic may reduce the quantity needed of crystals and their costs.” 

Scanning the room, the desks were in various states of disarray - corresponding well to the members it was attributed to -, but the shelfs and their treasures were neatly arranged. A minute was enough for them to have caught on, she thought. A sharp intake of breath indicated to her that yes they did catch on. 

As she pronounced each word carefully, savouring them, her arms followed the grander of the idea spreading far. “Yes, a dynamic source. Or as the people say, a magical core.” 

Lily had never seen a bigger smile on her team leader’s face, it only spelled trouble. 

“Unspeakable Potter, give me the artefact A178.” 

With a nod, Lily retrieved the box from the wooden shelf and walked to her team leader, cautiously putting the precious artefact in her hand. Just as it reached her palm, Nebula threw the box in the air jongling. The out-of-character behaviour tensed each member more. 

“Such faces, no need to worry. You are aware of the existence of protection spells, hm ?” A low laugh spread through her, until she abruptly stopped her wand raised and incantations flowing out of her mouth.

Throwing the box in the air one last time, she let it fall on the ground. One face burst open from the shock, agony screams free to be heard. 

Unspeakables were intellectuals with harsher hearts following each project, soldiers of research. But even a soldier's heart can throb at the rattling wails of his victims. 

“Don’t make the mistake of empathising with them.”