I'm losin' myself in the tiniest objects
Dumbledore cleared his throat, staring down at the knot of limbs that was James, Regulus, and Sirius, clutching each other with hardly a word spoken between them. There was nothing to be said, Lily was dead, and Peter had betrayed them, the war had taken what it wished, and James was so tired.
"Mr. Potter, I know you've been through quite an ordeal tonight, but it is imperative that I hear your account-"
"You're correct, he has been through enough tonight, so why don't you piss off somewhere else," Regulus cut in, glaring at the man whom so many revered.
Most wouldn't dare speak to the head of the Order of the Phoenix that way, not many would deny him anything, but Regulus knew better than to revere powerful men who feigned goodness. There were no good men in war, not really, and especially not those who use fresh Hogwarts graduates, hardly adults, on the front lines to fight their battles. Regulus also knew he was too important to face many consequences for his brashness anyway, and Dumbledore even seemed to respect it at times, too used to men falling at his feet.
Dumbledore tilted his head, frustration passing through his clear blue eyes despite the placid smile fixed on his old face, "Of course. Would you like to give your account first then, Mr. Black? I assume you have plenty of insight."
Regulus clenched his teeth, the last thing he wanted to do was leave James. It'd been over a year since he last held him and saw him for more than a few moments, and he definitely didn't want to leave now, not when James was curled in on himself, gaze stuck on a broken picture frame a few feet away; a moving picture of Lily and Harry, Lily's fire red hair in an updo and a flour caked apron around her waist, Harry sitting on her hip with chocolate smeared on his face, both laughing, both with matching eyes that made Regulus' chest ache.
He never wanted to leave his boyfriend alone again, but he'd rather Dumbledore interrogate him than James, who'd hardly spoken a word, silent except for his shaky breaths, catching on every inhale. Regulus glanced at Sirius who sat just behind James, rubbing his back and brushing debris out of his hair, silvery blue eyes red-rimmed when he looked back at Regulus, giving him a small nod as a go-ahead, I've got him, Reg. Sirius extended his pinky wordlessly, linking it with his and giving it a little shake, and Regulus knew they had agreed, protect James at all costs.
Regulus turned to James, still unfocused and miles away, and squeezed his arm, "Alright Jamie, I've got to go deal with something, but I'll be right back, Sirius is gonna stay here with you." He pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, heart squeezing when it earned him no response, and reluctantly turned to Dumbledore with a sharp nod.
Remus came over a while after the warmth at James' side disappeared, Harry sleepy-eyed but awake in his arms. Remus' knees cracked as he bent to sit, wincing, a few days from the moon now, and Sirius instinctively reached out his arm for Remus to steady himself on as he lowered himself to the floor. The world around James kept turning, a revolving door of people around him, a dull hum of low voices, a vague awareness of eyes on him, Sirius rubbing his back. He was aware but he wasn't all there, the peaceful warmth and golden aura of Potter cottage was gone, snuffed out by death and destruction, his home cold with the October breeze coming through the collapsed walls once infused with love, the home they'd raised Harry in, their safe place turned into what should've been all of their graves had it not been for Regulus. There would be only one grave, and James couldn't find it in him to be grateful that it hadn't been his too, not tonight.
James felt the warmth he'd come to know as Moony's magic wash over him, the sweet smell of chocolate and parchment with a hint of the sharpness of ink, and he glanced up, focusing in on the murmur of conversation around him.
"-in shock, a few fractures and a concussion, but he'll be fine, Pads. All things considered, it's a bit of a miracle that that's all there is," Remus said softly, lowering his wand when he realized James was looking back at him. "Oh, hey Prongs, you-" He cut himself off, realizing that asking him if he was alright would be stupid. Remus sighed, putting a hand on his knee, "We missed you."
James nodded, unable to summon the energy to smile or give his friend anything to relieve the worry lines between his brows. Normally, he'd be rushing to hide the brokenness he felt, hating the sympathy as it made him itchy, but he didn't feel much of anything at the moment, and couldn't bring himself to care about the others either. His gaze kept falling on the broken picture frame, and he wished he had a pensieve, to fall into that memory and live in it forever, far away from the cold remains of their home and his life now.
"Do you want to see Harry? Remus said he's alright, his forehead will scar, but other than that he's completely fine, just wants to see his dad I reckon," Sirius cajoled, trying to draw his attention back before he got lost in his head again.
Some awful part of James didn't want to see Harry, or the scar on his previously smooth baby face, because he knew it'd make it too real, would make him feel too much. But James was a parent now, he was the only one left for Harry, and the realization made him feel a little sick, a gaping pit of despair threatening to swallow him whole.
"You're not alone, Prongs," Sirius interrupted his thoughts, sniffling a little, "Never that."
James realized belatedly that he must have spoken aloud, though he wasn't aware he had the capability anymore, lost to the blanket of numbness he'd been smothered in. He turned to look at Sirius, but his eyes fell on his son, snuggled up in his arms, a blue baby blanket with a pattern of golden snitches clutched in one tiny fist and under his cheek, and an angry red scar in the center of his forehead. A dry sob fell out of his mouth at the peaceful look on his face despite the terror of the night. He reached out without thinking, drawing Harry to him and taking in the soft smell of him, baby lotion, and chamomile. Sirius wrapped himself around the two of them, head on his shoulder, Harry's hair tickling his nose, and Remus mirrored him on the opposite side, a knot of broken hearts and weary sighs.
James didn't know how long they had stayed there, synchronized breaths and warmth on every side despite the chilly breeze that blew through the remnants of the house. Eventually, Dumbledore and Regulus came back, Regulus with tight shoulders and fire in his eyes, Dumbledore with his hands at his back and a contemplative look on his face. Regulus' expression softened a little when he saw them wrapped around each other, the corner of his mouth twitching up sadly.
"Mr. Potter, I'm sorry for your loss, a great one indeed for all of us, especially for the war, as Miss Evans was a brilliant potioneer."
"She was much more than that," Remus growled, muscle ticking in his jaw, "She was a brilliant friend and mother before she was ever a soldier, the kindest and bravest person I’ve ever known, and your student for years professor, not that it mattered to you."
Dumbledore inclined his head in acknowledgment, "Yes, of course, Mr. Lupin. Lily Evans' memory will live on, as will her sacrifice." He said dismissively before turning to James, "Now if you please, Mr. Potter, I need your account of the night before I leave you to your family. I promise to make it as quick and painless as possible, the war is over thanks to Miss Evans and Mr. Black, but there is more to be done yet." James nodded, passing a hand over Harry's hair and handing him back to Sirius, accepting Regulus' hand to help him stand, wobbling as his head throbbed, legs asleep from sitting so long. Dumbledore beckoned to the other room, "I'll get you back to your friends and your son quickly, and if you are able, I'd like your memory of the night, too."
"You're not questioning him alone," Regulus said sharply, threading an arm around James' waist, "You can take the memory without making him relive it or prodding him with your convoluted questions. I gave you enough details for your stupid account. If James agrees, and only if he agrees, you can take the memory. Otherwise, you'll deal with what you have from me and take your leave."
"It's good to protect one's friends-"
"Boyfriend."
"Be that as it may, for the good of the war and the reconstruction efforts that come next, it is imperative that I know exactly what happened in order to prevent future darkness coming our way-"
Regulus snarled, baring his teeth, hand tight on James' hip, "You can take your efforts and shove it up your-"
"Regulus," James interrupted softly, slipping his hand into his boyfriend's with a light squeeze, "It's fine. I'm fine, let's just get this over with." Regulus searched his face, the guarded look receding a bit as he stood down.
It was over an hour of questioning, sharp barbs from Regulus any time he felt Dumbledore was too harsh, callous, or invasive, Dumbledore's firm responses and piercing stares, stripping him to the bone. James was exhausted, his mind wandering too often to keep up, forcing Dumbledore to repeat his long-winded questions. They were in the bedroom upstairs, across from Harry's, untouched and appearing as it had this morning, wrinkled sheets and pillows on the floor, Dumbledore sat in the single chair at the desk, James and Regulus on the edge of the bed.
His mind kept wandering to Harry's room and all that lay beyond the giant bookshelf blocking most of his view. He could see a robe, a booted leg, and blood staining the carpet, but not much else from his perspective, and some sick part of him kept trying to catch more detail, even as his heart twisted in his chest. Regulus and Dumbledore filled him in on what had transpired after he'd heroically passed out, succeeding in doing absolutely nothing to protect his family, leaving Lily alone to die, and Harry to witness it. Guilt like barbed wire wrapped its way around his lungs, shame sticking in his throat as he gave his account.
He answered the invasive questions the best he could with only half his mind able to work, his words scattered and slow, temple pulsating in hot pain, body bruised and sore, even with Remus' healing spells. James wanted a sleeping draught, he wanted to be obliviated, he wanted Lily to still be alive. He wanted to go back to Hogwarts, to be a student again, Gryffindor parties and drinking games, meeting Regulus in the astronomy tower at night and sharing secret smiles across the Great Hall. He wanted to not have met Peter Pettigrew when he was six, he wanted to go back and be a better friend, he wanted and wanted, but it did not matter.
The throbbing in his head only increased when Dumbledore removed the memory, the night flashing behind his eyelids at a rapid pace as the flowing, silvery tendril was extracted by Dumbledore's wand and placed in a vial. James barely registered Dumbledore taking his leave, thanking him for his time and exchanging more passive-aggressive conversation with Regulus. His eyes strayed to the room across the hall again, caught on that puddle of blood sinking into the beige carpet.
The war was over, but James didn't feel any sort of relief, nothing like he'd thought. He merely felt a yawning abyss stretching before him, empty time, freedom after years of war and missions, constant grief, rage, and fear. What was he meant to do now? He was only twenty-one and went straight into the front lines when he was freshly graduated, bright-eyed and hopeful about changing the world. Now, he couldn't imagine feeling that way again, couldn't remember what it was like before the war, and couldn't believe that the person he was then still existed in him now.
He was dreaming again. It was a toss-up of who would take their turn haunting him each night, they'd buried enough people to last him years, but other times it was missions gone wrong, Regulus bleeding out in his arms, Remus torn to shreds by the werewolf packs, Sirius getting kidnapped by his family or killed at their hand. It was Peter this time, but not the Peter that had blasted into his home on the coattails of Voldemort, cursing him without a second of hesitation.
No, it was the Peter he knew since he was six, the one who'd play with him and Marlene at the little playground in his backyard, or the quidditch pitch his dad had set up. The Peter who slipped sweets into Remus' pockets the entire week leading up to the moon, when he had little appetite for much of anything, the Peter who cried to James about a failing grade because he studied so hard and cared so much. The one who seemed unassuming but so often made him laugh hard enough to cry and knew each house elf in the kitchens by name. That was the Peter that haunted him most, the one James ached for and grieved despite his part in Lily's death.
Regulus could always tell when James was dreaming. He'd normally sprawl in his sleep, chaos incarnate even unconscious. But when he was dreaming, he'd wind up curled into himself, scrunched eyes against the images that plagued him, muttering under his breath. Regulus' head was resting on James' chest, dozing but hardly able to fall asleep these days, James was only lulled to sleep by potions most days now but had passed out rather quickly after another grueling day of toddler tantrums. Harry was feeling Lily's loss as well, even if he didn't really know it. Regulus felt it when James' heart began to race, when he shifted restlessly with a pained whine, hands curling into fists and bunching Regulus' sleep shirt in his hands.
Regulus lifted his head to look at him, unable to move much with the tight band of James' arms around him, "Baby," He murmured, placing a hand on James' chest, over his racing heart, "You're dreaming again. Wake up for me, Jamie, you're alright." He glanced at Harry, fast asleep in his crib still, sprawled on his back. James whined again, drawing Regulus' focus back.
“‘M sorry," James muttered in his sleep, tossing his head, "Sorry, 'm sorry."
Regulus frowned, wondering what he was dreaming and brushing cool fingers over James' distraught face, tracing the lines of his face, "Come on, wake up, love."
It was another moment before James surged forward, accidentally throwing Regulus off of him, frantic apologies still on his lips, "I'm sorry!"
He heaved, taking in the unfamiliar room with blurry eyesight, Harry snuffling in his sleep a few feet away, Regulus sat up next to him, sleep-mussed curls and old quidditch tee. Regulus wiped a tear that traced down his stubbled cheek, watching him with a calculating softness, gears turning in his head as he tried to work out how best to help. James covered his face with his hands, scrubbing at his eyes and trying to reorient himself to the present.
“Sorry if I woke you-“
"Shh, it's alright now, baby, everything's alright," Regulus murmured, stroking a hand down his back, "You're safe, Harry's safe, Sirius and Remus and I are all safe. It's over now, just a bad dream."
James sighed shakily, grabbing his glasses off the nightstand and throwing his legs over the side, walking over to Harry's crib to watch him sleep and breathe, peaceful and safe, unaware that anything bad had happened at all. Sometimes he wished he was in Harry's position, Harry probably wouldn't remember any of the horrors of that night, and he'd never seen the war, but his mum was gone, and that was horror enough for a child.
Regulus joined him at the crib, watching both of them, his boyfriend's hands white-knuckled on the railing, Harry's fading scar and even breathing. "I'll make us some tea love, come join me in the kitchen when you're ready."
It was hard giving James space like this when all he wanted was to heal him, but Regulus knew that sometimes space was needed when the hurt was too big. Sometimes being alone meant letting it breathe without prying eyes, no matter how good the intentions were. He found Remus at the kettle already, despite it being half past two, shabby sweatpants and a ragged Bowie shirt. Remus didn't say anything when Regulus entered the kitchen, only offered him a sympathetic smile and grabbed two more cups from the cupboard. It wasn't the first night they sat in the small kitchen, huddled around mugs of tea, sometimes in silence and sometimes in low tones of grief.
"Rough night too?" Regulus asked.
"Just uncomfortable, my hip doesn't allow for much rest," Remus responded, fiddling with the tea bags. "James or you this time?"
"James," Regulus said tiredly, dropping into a chair.
"He wake Harry?"
Regulus snorted, "As if anything would wake that boy after he spent half the day wreaking havoc on everyone and everything."
Remus smiled, setting the steaming mugs down on the table and sitting across from him. "I imagine that's exactly how James was at that age, a damn nightmare with the sweetest smile to make up for it. Hard to be mad at that face, either of them."
James shuffled in, wiping at his face discreetly and throwing a weak smile in their direction, "Bad pain night, Moons?"
"Right, bad.. everything night?"
"Right," James parroted, sitting next to Regulus and wrapping his hands around his mug, "What are we talking about?"
"The nightmare that is your son, and was probably you as a child," Regulus said, knocking his shoulder into James'.
James winced, "Sorry about that vase again, Moons, he's in a bit of a phase."
Remus waved a hand, "Honestly Prongs, your mum got us that when we moved in and we've always thought it was the ugliest thing, so no harm done there. Plus, I'm not sure it could be called a phase if it's his personality."
James huffed a laugh, "Yeah, that's fair. He is a cute little monster though, you can't deny."
"Yeah," They all agreed, huddled around the dingy wooden table, the warm scent of chamomile tea wrapping around them and keeping them safe. They were alright, they'd be alright, they were together, they weren't alone.