a fate worse than death
“Are you micromanaging me or what?” James heard Marc ask Regulus who lingered on the opposite side of the counter, looking out of the large windows.
“Am I not allowed to be in my own shop?” he countered with a raised brow.
“You’ve just never come in this much before,” he retorted.
James was not eavesdropping so much as he was…well he was eavesdropping but he hadn’t meant to. His arms were laden full of plastic to-go cups when he caught Marc greeting Regulus, who had just walked in. He paused at the threshold, intending to keep moving, but then Marc kept talking, and before he knew it, he was too invested to leave.
There was silence until Marc continued, “You fancy James don’t you?” James could practically hear the grin on his face as he said it.
Marc had gotten into a little habit of making sly comments about him and Regulus, going on about how they just “fit” and they were mostly jokes, considering James had told Marc he wasn’t looking into being with anyone, but of course, that was before Marc saw James make a tit of himself every time Regulus was around, blushing and fumbling over his words like he was back in first year.
“Non, je ne le fais pas, tais toi” he hissed. No I don’t, shut up.
“You know I think if you said something, he’d be open to it,” Marc noted and there was the sound of shuffling as the coffee machine dinged.
“It’s just,” Regulus sighed, then of course, he went on in French so James had absolutely no clue what he was saying, straining his ears as his brain lagged trying to piece together the few words he recognized. Though he was getting better at learning the language, he was far from fluent.
“If you fuck him-.”
James reeled at the sudden shift in conversation and hadn’t realised just how awkwardly he’d been standing until he tried to move. He stumbled over his own feet in an attempt to leave, sending the cups and lids crashing to the floor in a plastic-y clatter, thoroughly giving himself away.
He scrambled to his feet, awkwardly muttering, “Oops.” With a nervous laugh, he scratched the back of his neck, feeling the weight of Marc and Regulus’ stares—along with everyone else in the cafe—all now focused on him.
Regulus gave a pointed look to Marc before turning around and going into his office and just before he turned the corner, James could see a laugh finally bubble out of him.
____________
A few nights later, after Harry was tucked in bed and James and Lily were lounging on the sofa, sharing a bowl of popcorn, a knock echoed through the house.
For a moment, they froze, exchanging glances. They weren’t expecting anyone, but every now and then, someone showed up trying to sell or promote something. With a sigh, James slowly got up and made his way to the door.
Out of anything and anyone he might’ve expected on his doorstep, Dumbledore was not one of them. Yet there he stood, his long white beard flowing, purple robes billowing as if caught by some invisible breeze, and his blue eyes twinkling behind those familiar half-moon spectacles. He inclined his head slightly, and in the split second it took James’ mind to catch up, he noticed how much older Dumbledore looked—something he hadn't thought possible before.
“Sir?” he stammered, then quickly added, “Sir, come in please, sorry I just-.” He fumbled with the door, pulling it open wider.
“James, Lily, it’s a pleasure to see you’re both well,” he greeted, hands folded in front of him.
Lily, who hadn’t been paying attention until she heard his voice, shot to her feet, smoothing down her hair and brushing popcorn crumbs off her shirt. “Sir!” she exclaimed, blushing furiously, as though she’d been caught sneaking out after curfew.
“I apologise for the intrusion and the surprise, but there’s a matter I feel is best discussed in person rather than through a letter, especially given how unreliable the post has become these days,” he explained. He looked haggard and from the downturn of his lip, James already knew he didn’t want to hear whatever it was he had to say- it was bound to be upsetting.
Lily shot him a look, her green eyes full of anxiety and she invited Dumbledore to sit, taking the bowl of popcorn with her to the kitchen and preparing cups of tea for all of them.
“How’s Harry?” Dumbledore asked in the meantime, his face softening a bit, and James smiled, informing him of the new milestones he’s been hitting.
When Lily came back with a tray laden full of cups, sugar, and cream, Dumbledore started speaking,
“I wish I had some better news to share but unfortunately, it seems I do not. I admit there’s not much of that to go around these days,” he sighed. “But it’s concerning the Longbottoms.”
Lily instantly reached over, clamping her hand around his and he held onto her equally as tight. Neither of them made to get some tea as it sat, slowly cooling on the table between them.
“They came out of hiding some time ago, believing the threat had passed after what happened with Harry—it had been long enough, and they thought you were all gone. Things had been going well; they both returned to the Order full-time, which was crucial, especially since we’ve lost so many along the way. But recently, while at home, they were ambushed.”
Lily’s hand gripped his uncomfortably tighter and his own foot started jumping against the floor. He already prepared himself for his next words- they would be dead. He knew that had to be it, that’s how these face-offs tended to go. Death Eaters always went for the kill shot and no matter how strong they were, the DE’s were stronger because they weren’t afraid to lean into dark magic. His heart ratched in his lungs.
“They were overpowered and incapacitated.”
Lily was the first to speak up, “What does that mean?”
He sighed deeply, “Bellatrix, Barty Crouch Jr., and the Lestrange brothers happened upon them. They figured the Longbottoms would have information or whatever it was- a part of me thinks they just saw them as toys to play with- in any case, a duel ensued. Rabastan was taken out but it wasn’t enough. The three of them tortured Alice and Frank so while they did not kill them, I would go so far as to say they were given a fate worse than death.”
They were alive and James couldn’t think of anything worse than death until he continued,
“Their minds are broken beyond repair. The Healers are trying their best, even contacting wizards abroad and comparing notes but it is unlikely anything will come of it. They do not recognize us, themselves, not even young Neville who was with his grandmother during the attacks.
“While we do not know exactly what transpired that night, the generally agreed upon consensus is that the Cruciatus curse was used…liberally, upon them.”
Gods, this war truly didn’t spare anybody. James was already full of grief and sadness, reminded of it whenever new news came but a new emotion simmered under the rest of it, unfamiliar even to him most of the time- anger, bitterness that roiled in him like a poison.
“So what happens now?” he asked as Lily quickly swiped a tear from her cheek.
Dumbledore leaned back a bit, readjusting his glasses, “Well, they will get treatment and we will hope for their recovery. Neville will stay with his grandmother for the foreseeable future, the Order willing to provide anything they might need.”
James waited for more but it never came, “No I mean what is the Order going to do now? How will you find them?”
“The Order isn’t prepared for a counter strike right now, we don’t have the people or resources. Furthermore, we don’t know where they are, DE members often go underground after a big move like this.”
“So what? You’re just going to do nothing? We need to go up to their manors and raid them,” he stood up, his blood pounding through his veins. “They’re not hiding in grubby safehouses like we have to- you know where they are.”
“I’m sorry James but that really wouldn’t be a smart move.”
He groaned as he ran a hand through his hair, looking at Lily as though affronted and while her face was hard, she didn’t make a move to join him. Dumbledore continued to stare serenely at him and it only served to infuriate him further.
“So what? They just get away with it? They got away with killing Marlene, Dorcas, the Prewetts, do I need to go on? They’ve killed dozens of us and we’ve barely got our hands on a few of them,” he said, his voice raising in tone.
He was never quick to anger and rarely ever raised his voice but he couldn’t hold it back anymore. He was all over the place these days with everything he was juggling and this was the straw that broke his back.
“James, I understand your anger but-.”
“No I don’t think you do.”
“James,” Lily breathed, reaching for his hand but he pulled away, walking around the table to put some distance between the three of them.
“Do you remember what you said to us? When you were recruiting all of us fresh out of Seventh year?” he bit out. Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “You promised us hope and glory. You talked about the great plans you had for defeating Voldemort, how light prevails and all of that nonsense, you spoke of promise for the future- and what have we gotten? Nothing. You send all of us on these bullshite missions that’s killing us one by one and nothing has changed. You and Moody give out your orders and go back into hiding, never seeing the action for yourself, so I wonder what are we even doing this for? We might as well lay on our backs and let them fuck us because that’s what you-.”
“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore’s deep voice cut through his tirade. He looked at him over his glasses, staring up through his brows at James but he didn’t want to back down- he wanted answers.
“You raised us as soldiers and left us in our time of need. Go ahead and add Frank and Alice to the list of deaths that I will personally count on being on your hands. Atleast Voldemort believes in his mission and promotes action. I can’t think of much you’ve done for us so far Sir.”
No one spoke. They just stared at each other. James didn’t think he had said anything unreasonable, but Dumbledore’s expression was unreadable—was he disappointed? Angry, perhaps? It was impossible to tell. Lily, wide-eyed, glanced back and forth between the two, her unease clear as she silently waited for something to break the tension.
He turned around and walked right out the front door though he made sure not to slam it so as to not wake Harry which seemed unnecessary considering how much he had been yelling.
The wind bit at him, cold and sharp, as he stepped outside without his coat. He muttered a wandless warming spell, and though it was weak, it offered just enough protection from the chill. His anger still simmered, and now that he’d said what he needed to, he had to walk it off.
And that was the thing—it needed to be said. He’d kept it bottled up for too long, carrying the weight of feeling used and abused since the very beginning of the Order, back when they were all still hopeful and wide-eyed.
But it wasn’t just about the people who had died under his watch. He could have brought up Remus, too—forced to infiltrate the werewolf packs for months, sent back and forth between them like a pawn. He’d return bloodied and bruised, only to be sent out again, all because he believed in Dumbledore’s so-called “plan.”
Dumbledore had saved them from Voldemort and he would appreciate that but at the same time- they were damned into the muggle world cut off from everyone and everything they’ve ever known. Nothing had been done in retaliation for such a brazen move.
He just wished the Order would take some action rather than prop themselves up as some sort of functionless symbol for ‘the Light.’
He walked until he reached the Seine like always and sat on a bench, listening to the trees rustling in the breeze and the water pushing against the shores. There was no one around and the air was sweet and fresh with the holiday season.
Christmas would be upon them soon and they would be alone.
____________
James had taken the following day to buy said Christmas presents for everybody, again wanting some time alone and he knew Lily wanted some space as well, everything he’d said yesterday had dredged up some not very happy memories or thoughts for her either.
He didn’t know what to buy, not all that impressed with muggle presents either because what was a camera if the picture was still and not moving? What was a plant if it couldn’t dance when you played music? What was a book if it didn’t occasionally bite your hand when you opened it?
In any case, he did his best to do some shopping, going in and out of shops and ending up with a lot for Harry, as buying toys was pretty mindless, and a decent amount for Lily, doing the best he could though he knew he couldn’t get her what she truly wanted. Still, he got close because he got multiple picture frames he planned on putting her pictures with Marlene and the rest of the girls in so she could put them up in her room or on the mantle along with some other bits.
He came across a nice little stationery shop and went in to buy Marc some things. As he browsed, he also picked out a lovely gold necklace to replace the one that had broken during a recent shift when they bumped into each other—Marc assured him that it wasn’t his fault at all and that it was old anyways but James still wanted to make it up to him. Then, while buying his presents, James wondered whether he should get Regulus something.
He didn’t know if it would come off as weird or not. They hadn’t been working together very long and didn’t have that same connection he and Marc did, theirs was something else entirely. Also, their interactions had often been a bit awkward, heavy from his side, and he didn’t want to make things weirder by overwhelming Regulus with a gift.
However, it didn’t feel right to go through another Christmas without giving him something, especially considering how long it had been since he had Regulus back in his life.
James ended up coming up with a few ideas but he wouldn’t find what he needed in the shop, conveniently enough, he already had everything he needed back at home.
____________
“What is this?” Lily asked when he stepped out of his room after having hid all of his unwrapped presents in his closet.
“What’s what?” he asked.
Lily held up a small cloth in her hand, a square of white, dotted with red- the handkerchief Regulus had given him. He’d folded it up and put it in his trousers to wash when he got home but he had gotten so caught up with dinner that night that he just shucked his trousers off and said he’d do it later but forgot.
“Where did you find that?”
“I was just doing the laundry and saw it hanging out of your pocket. Whose is it?” she asked, eyebrows narrowing in confusion.
He didn’t know what to say.
“And what’s this?” Regulus smiled as he pulled the ribbon off the box.
James said nothing as he watched, curling his knees up to rest his head on them. He loved watching Regulus by the hearth, watching the flames reflect orange light off his porcelain skin, how his silvery eyes clashed against it.
He pulled the top off the lid and pulled out the handkerchief. James had gotten him a pure ivory one made of unicorn hair, humanely sourced, of course. It was as soft as butter and he’d only gotten one customization done on it: J. P. F. on one corner, R. A. B. on the other, keeping the joke from the bar running. The stitching was done in white as well so it blended in until you ran a finger over it or held it over the light and saw the delicate engraving.
He smiled as he held it up to the light, “James,” he hummed.
“Well I know you already have so many but this one can be extra special,” he shrugged. He was going for something practical, functional, and sentimental, all words he would also use to describe Regulus.
He kept turning it over and over in his fingers.
“Just don’t lose it in the wash or something, that would be a shame,” he smiled, playing at Regulus because he unfortunately did that way too often.
“Oh trust me, I’m keeping this one close to heart,’ he winked, tucking it into the inside pocket of his robes.
He crawled over to him and kissed him deeply, pushing James’ knees back down before straddling them, his warm hands running up his neck and into his hair.
“Happy Christmas,” he murmured against his lips.
“Happy Christmas my love,” he grinned, pushing back against him as they went tumbling down onto the carpet in the Room of Requirement blanketed by the constellations above them and the heat from the fire.
“It’s mine,” he said quickly, snatching it back. If she was asking then she must not have seen the engraving.
“Whose blood is that?”
“It’s Harry’s,” he breathed, “He fell in the park, remember?”
She nodded slowly, “Right. I just didn’t think you’d be one to carry a handkerchief around like that,” she laughed.
“Dunno, just found it in my coat pocket and left it there, guess it came in handy though,” he laughed awkwardly, too breathy and weird.
She gave him one last look before disappearing into the laundry again.
“Fuck,” he whispered aloud before going back into his room. He spelled it clean and tucked it in his drawer, neatly folding it up. He’d give that back to Regulus someday too- he didn’t want it anymore.
____________
“What the fuck,” Marc cursed as he struggled to put the fake tree up.
“Just- Marc,” Regulus groaned as the tree fell over itself onto Regulus and broke into its individual parts again. He threw it all off himself and sat back on his haunches from where he had been kneeling, “This is hopeless.”
“You did it last year,” Marc huffed, going back in to try again.
James tried directing for the third time but Regulus just glared at him from the floor and he backed off. They swore they could do it themselves despite having thrown the directions away because they “did this before” but they had been struggling for the past thirty minutes.
“Ah! What the fuck!” Marc repeated only this time he was shouting.
“What!” Regulus yelped, scared because he was scared.
A small spider crawled by Marc’s leg and he jumped away.
“Oh come on,” Regulus groaned, rolling his eyes. He made to step on it but James stopped him.
He swiped a card and cup off the counter and went towards it. It was really no bigger than his thumb so he didn’t know why Marc, who was so tall, was so scared of it. He scooped it up, covered it with the glass, but because he wasn’t that good of a person, when he got outside he lifted the glass and just waved the card till the spider flew off. He didn’t want to risk the spider turning back around and crawling up his hand because that would be freaky.
“I’m done,” Marc declared finally and he clapped James on the shoulder as he walked past, “Your turn to try.”
James took a heaving breath as he dropped down to his knees opposite Regulus. All they had to do was put the first peg into the base then do the same for the subsequent layers of the tree till they reached the top- it really shouldn’t have been this difficult.
“Je ne pensais pas que tu serais à genoux devant lui si tôt” Marc said around a laugh. Didn’t think you’d be on your knees in front of him so soon.
Regulus coughed, a blush rising up from under his collar to his cheeks.
James only understood a couple of words and he wasn’t sure he got it right but based on both of their reactions, he must’ve. He scrubbed a hand on his face and tried to look casual, as though he didn’t understand, when really he wanted to scream. He had to push actual images of Regulus on his knees for him to the back of his mind.
Marc took it upon himself to play music then and he started playing Christmas songs as the sun just started to rise. They came in early today to set up the tree before the shop opened but it was starting to look like they’d maybe finish this tree by the end of the day.
He made eye contact with Regulus and nodded once before hefting up the first piece of the tree. Regulus’ hand wrapped around the stem of it, right above James’ hand, the edges of their hands touching and burning and he looked up at Regulus whose face remained neutral but when his eyes flicked up, his pupils had become dilated.
As one, they raised it and aligned it with the tree base before dropping it and it stayed. They went on to the next piece, moving as one, methodically stacking each layer until they got to the top.
It hadn’t been hard at all to work with Regulus and he must’ve thought the same as he looked at him, no more than two feet apart, crouched at the bottom of the tree, music twinkling in the background. James watched as something seemed to pass before him, a film coating his eyes before vanishing as quick as it came.
“Well, would you look at that,” Marc grinned and he plugged something into a socket in the wall and the tree lit up. “Nothing says Christmas quite like a fake tree and some music.”
With that, Regulus flipped the sign from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open’ and they were back in business.
____________
The shop was slow today, most people were spending time with their family so the three of them spent their time talking and making drinks for each other.
Regulus made Marc that drink made out of mushrooms that James had tried once, it had sort of become a running joke now, how bad it was and James made Marc an americano because it was one of the easiest drinks they had on the menu.
They all leaned on the counter as they spoke about random topics, drifting from one to the other similar to the people that walked past the shop, in and out of view in moments.
As James laughed at something Marc had said, he had begun to feel somewhat normal again. Like maybe his life didn’t have to be so full of bad news and melancholy, or so lonely and isolating. He did have something positive here in Paris.
He turned to Regulus and wondered…would he go through it all again if it meant reconnecting with Regulus again? Would he have risked the attack and finding out about Peter’s betrayal? Would he have left every single one of his friends behind in exchange for him?
It was a string of difficult questions that he didn’t have the answer to.
“Right well, it’s time for me to go home and face my lovely parents,” Marc sighed. He reached under the counter and pulled out two nicely wrapped boxes and slid them over to him and Regulus, “Happy Christmas.”
He turned to James, thanking him for the present and throwing his arms out. James grinned, hugging him back and when he turned to Regulus, he jokingly gave him a very formal shake of the head and bowed before heading out of the shop with a final wave.
“And then there were two,” James huffed awkwardly.
“Agatha Christie,” Regulus pointed out before moving over to the machines, “So Marc makes you a new drink everytime does he?” he asked.
James leaned back against the counter, his hands hugging himself, “He does. It started out as me just being indecisive but then it just sort of became a thing.”
“Well we can’t have you missing a day just because he’s gone,” he said with a quirk of his lips as his hands moved in the same fluid motion as Marc’s. He claimed he learned how to make drinks ‘on the job,’ but whether that was here or elsewhere, James was unsure.
“So where were you before here?” James queried casually.
“Well after school I travelled a bit before settling down in Paris. I’ve always loved it and I spoke the language so it felt about right. I floated around a bit before opening up the cafe, I used the money left by my parents for it, I’m sure they wouldn’t have been pleased, but it all paid off in the end anyways,” he smirked.
“Where’ve you travelled?”
He waved an absent hand, “I’ve been all over the place.”
“Like?”
Regulus shrugged as he continued making the drink but James could see the furrow in his brow and the way his lips thinned- he was still thinking about it.
James wondered if there was some sort of Notice-Me-Not on his mind because he couldn’t fathom how he just went about his life not wondering about his own past and memories? He knew he travelled but didn’t know where, knew he went to school but wasn’t sure where, had a scar but had no idea how it got there. That wasn’t normal in the slightest, especially to James who loved to ruminate on old memories with his friends and family.
“And you graduated…?”
“1979,” he nodded.
“We’re only a year apart then,” James confirmed absently.
Regulus smiled then bent down close to his mug and slowly poured foam over the creamy top of the drink and James held his breath as he got to work trying to make some sort of design. He was meticulous as he carefully controlled how much to dollop onto the top.
He pulled back and it looked like a wonky sort of flower.
“It’s still a work in progress,” he shrugged before handing him the drink. It was so nice James almost didn’t want to ruin it but he could never turn down coffee so ultimately he took it.
James took a sip and it was sweet and pepperminty, one of James’ favourite flavours, “This is amazing, the art too, I’m not sure I’ll ever get to that level,” he chuckled.
Regulus shrugged, “I’m sure you will with time.” He was quiet then went on, “How’s your son by the way, I never got a chance to ask?”
“Oh he’s all good now, he’s a fighter,” he replied awkwardly, old feelings of insecurity washing over him.
He nodded, running a hand through his hair and James asked, “Have you always had white in your hair like that?”
Regulus, seeming to realise his error, quickly readjusted his hair, “Yeah, I try to hide it because it gets a lot of stares, just like my scar, but I was definitely born with that one. I seem to have a whole lot wrong with me.”
“I like them- your er- everything…” he finished lamely, gesturing to the whole of Regulus. He really wished he had a larger vocabulary or a working brain because surely if he did, he would’ve been able to come up with something better than that.
Regulus gave him a funny look, “Yeah thanks,” he said before turning away with a smile. Then as he rounded the counter, without turning around, he said, “I like your everything too.” On his way to the far side of the room, he flipped the sign on the door to ‘Closed.’
James had to recover while Regulus perused the bookshelf, slowly checking and rearranging books that had been in the wrong spot. James used this time to scan the length of his body, eyes trailing down his soft jumper to his finely pressed trousers to his boots that lightly clicked with each step. They appeared to be regular leather and James wished he could give him a pair of dragonhide leather boots because Regulus used to love his pair from before, refusing to wear anything else.
“I got you a Christmas present, it’s nothing big but I wanted to,” he breathed and pulled it out from under the counter. He spent a good two hours trying to make the wrapping perfect before giving up and spelling it wrapped- old habits die hard.
Regulus looked surprised as he returned, glancing down at it before looking up at him again. He didn’t say anything and offered him a shy smile as he tugged at the ribbon before picking off each piece of plaster rather than just tearing through the paper as James often did.
He looked down at the book before peering up at him in confusion, “What is this?” he laughed as he held the book up and inspected the cover. “Advanced Potion Making by Libatius Borage?”
He seemed confused but something in his eyes and the way he held the book so gently, almost reverently, didn’t go unnoticed by James.
“You like magic so…” he trailed off- the risk of giving him this book was almost too great.
He had found his old textbooks in another box deep in the closet and for some reason, it jumped to the front of his mind. Regulus loved Potions, it was his best subject, and the idea of giving him a textbook for Christmas was sad and comical all at once.
Coincidentally, he also had Regulus’ book because he often included notes in the margin that usually improved the quality of the brew. James had borrowed his book once and ended up never giving it back seeing as they were Potions partners anyways.
Regulus’ lip remained quirked as he flipped the cover and saw his own name inscribed on the inside. He flipped to the next page and the next, “How did you find something like this?” His humorous tone was obvious that he thought this was some sort of joke book seeing as muggles didn’t have gillyweed or fairy wings and the thought clenched his heart.
“I found it at a bookshop and since you said you liked magic, I thought it might be a fun addition to add to the shelf,” he explained.
Regulus nodded his head once before holding the book close, “It is, though I’ll have to keep this on my own shelf, not the public shelf. But I feel horrible I haven’t gotten you anything-.”
“That’s okay, I just saw this and thought of you,” James said before heading over to the front to grab his coat and scarf. With a final lingering look, he said “Happy Christmas Regulus.”
“Happy Christmas James.”
He stepped out into the chilly afternoon with a heavy heart and stinging eyes.
____________
St. Mungo’s was slightly busy when James stepped into the overwhelming entry way with people in lime robes dashing by and little parchment aeroplanes flying overhead between departments.
James hurried past the crowd, avoiding any sort of direct eye contact and keeping his head down as he made his way down a set of back stairs to the office of a Healer he knew well via the Order. She was a cognitive specialist with a focus in memory reversals and modification. She was also the one who helped teach them all about the intricacies of Obliviation early on when Voldemort was attacking muggle areas and Order members needed to perform dozens of obliviation spells at once and try to piece their memory into something sensible.
He ended up in the Janus Thickey ward and followed the signs to the Healer offices in the back. He rapped his knuckles on the door and it swung open to reveal an older woman with greying hair and kind eyes. She proffered her hand, “Marc yes?”
James had come under an alias seeing as he previously knew the woman and with the layers of glamorous he had put on himself, including changing his brown hair to blonde and his hazel eyes to blue, it was probably unlikely he’d be recognised anyways but he wanted to be thorough, “Healer Mayfield, it’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry for scheduling an appointment with you so last minute but I won’t take up much of your time, I just had a few questions.”
“Come on in,” she smiled, pulling the door open further and gesturing to the chair opposite her desk. She settled down and steepled her fingers in front of her as though already prepared to be deep in thought.
James knew he had to play this very carefully, just as he’s had to do on his, admittedly frequent, trips out into the wizarding world. He planned on keeping this conversation short and incredibly hypothetical.
“I just had some questions about memory modification and how that might look on someone that were to do it to themselves,” he started, his hands already sweating as he wiped them on the thighs of his trousers.
Healer Mayfield nodded, pursing her lips as she considered, “Well I suppose I would need a bit more information on that. Is there someone in particular you were considering or?”
“No, no, I was just doing some research for an apprenticeship and I ended up with more questions than answers. The caster, in theory, is a proficient wizard and seems to have done a large selection of memory removal. They remember their name and vague details of their past but not enough to get into any specifics of them. Anytime the instance is brought up, they would get extreme migraines and have to stop the experiment.”
“As you were speaking, I had a couple of ideas come up but that last line in particular stands out to me. Self-obliviation is difficult and hard to predict outcome-wise. Even if the caster did everything correctly, magic is fickle and can spread uncontrollably within the mind, so the situation you are describing seems unlikely seeing as everything is ‘there.’ The point about the migraines leads me to a different sort of magic in which one would curse the subject you’re talking about, locking the memories away behind a sort of metaphorical wall so to speak. We see this often with suspects who have been caught in a crime- they attempt to lock memories of eyewitnesses away so that they’re unable to testify or speak to what they saw despite having been there.”
James had been playing with the idea of him being cursed for a while now but he wasn’t sure who or what could’ve done that.
“If the memories are there, is there not some way to draw them out? Like by using a pensieve?”
“Again, I can only speculate but it’s not often as simple as that. Victims of such cases often need formal treatment combined with gentle nudging in the right direction such as reminders of their past and an introduction to familiar people and places. It can be hard but the physical pains need to be pushed through to reach the mental blocks and only from there on, can the memories start to filter back. However, I’m talking about a handful of memories here from a specific event, you seem to be talking about something more long term. Something akin to full recovery would be nearly impossible to achieve from the patient while it also seems impossible to even cast something so major by the attacker in this scenario.”
James nodded, his heart sinking the more she spoke.
“This must be quite interesting research Marc,” she breathed, leaning back in her chair as though relieved only she didn’t realise that this wasn’t just a hypothetical but rather the life he was truly living.
“Yes it certainly is,” he breathed as he snapped back into himself, plastering a fake smile on his face. He stood up, “Well I thank you for your time and speaking with me, I know this might have been a bit confusing.”
“No I thank you for coming to me, healing is all about a lifetime of learning,” she chuckled and shook his hand once more as he saw himself out.
He slowly walked towards the entrance of the ward, ambling down the corridor as he was lost in thought about Regulus and what to do when a noise in the room to his right drew his attention. He looked up and a young mediwizard stepped out of the room, shutting it behind him and moving on to the next one, attention fixed wholly on the clipboard in his hands.
James accidentally got a view of the inside of the room through a glass panel in the door and he saw Alice and Frank inside, the metal placard on the side of the door confirming it was them. They were both sitting in soft looking chairs, gazing out the window in their room towards the greenery in the park below and James almost shouted with excitement.
He hadn’t seen a familiar face like a friend in so long he had to take a minute to calm down, remembering what Dumbledore had said. He still felt just slightly bad about what he had said to him but ultimately, he hadn’t necessarily said anything untrue and while he knew he wasn’t supposed to contact anyone, especially not his friends, to have them so close and just walk away would be abominable to him.
He slowly pushed open the door and slipped in, giddiness already pulling at his lips and causing his heart to flutter.
“Frank, Alice,” he whispered excitedly, feeling like he had to be quiet.
They didn’t turn around at his voice and when he passed the bed, he put his hand on Frank’s shoulder, ready for him to jump up and pull him into a hug but he received no response other than a vague turning of his head and tap of his hand against the arm of the chair. Alice didn’t even look at him.
James looked above their heads to see if there was anything interesting outside but there was nothing there. He crossed their chairs so he was in front of them and the smile on his face dropped when he gazed upon them.
It was definitely Alice and Frank but there was nothing familiar in the way their empty brown eyes stared through him as though he wasn’t there at all. Frank, who had bruises and scars littering his exposed skin, and Alice, whose mouth hung slightly open as she rocked from side to side.
“Guys?” he whispered, his voice breaking.
No response.
He knelt down and held onto Alice’s hand and it was ice cold. Frank’s was the same and both lay limp in his hands as he squeezed onto them, begging them to hold his back. He was waiting for them to snap out of it and he even bent down so he was right in front of Frank but he might as well have been peering up at a statue.
This was not the sort of reunion he envisioned for himself whenever he, Lily, and Harry would be safe enough to come out of hiding. This was the reality of war and what it did to people, how it tore friends and family apart without another thought.
He stared at them for a few long minutes, committing their faces to memory as old memories flitted across his vision: Alice winking at him from across the room in Charms, Frank flying by on the Quidditch field as he shouted orders at him, the two of them holding hands under the altar as they said their vows.
He wanted to remember them that way but didn’t want to avoid the truth either.
A glance at their side table showed a framed picture of Alice and Frank standing together with a small bundle in their arms. The picture replayed on a loop as Alice rocked her arms back and forth while Frank pulled funny faces, small hands reaching up to grab at him. They looked so happy and so painfully young.
He bit his lip to keep from crying, “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
He slipped out of the room and apparated away from the corridor, unable to stay standing for any longer than necessary, dropping to his knees in their foyer and weeping for the friends who had lost their lives so young and at the realisation that this was the fate he and Lily had only narrowly avoided.