azrythar's flames
That evening, for the first time since their argument—if it could even be called that—he saw Lily again. She was out on their rarely used balcony, braving the cold with a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her feet tucked beneath her. She sat still, gazing out at the view, though her focus seemed elsewhere.
The wind teased loose strands of her fiery red hair, and the moonlight bathed her pale skin, giving her an ethereal glow as though she were lit from within. Her eyes were sharp, almost unyielding, fixed on some distant point in the darkness.
James took a moment to breathe before sliding the door further open and joining her.
She made no movement at his arrival but he saw the slight tensing of her shoulders, the line of her jaw sharpening, and he sighed, settling down in the twin chair next to her.
“I spoke to the landlord this morning, he says I can move in whenever I like,” she said by way of greeting.
The words hit him like a physical blow. His hands trembled, palms slick with sweat as he rubbed them against his trousers, desperately trying to regain control. He didn’t want her to leave—couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving their home. It felt like letting her go now would mean losing her forever, even if he had no one to blame but himself.
“Lily please I- I know I messed up but if you just give me some time-.”
She turned to him slowly, her face impossibly calm, “I can’t James.”
“But why? I don’t—” His voice faltered. He didn’t even know what he was fighting for anymore, only that it was impossible to explain. Every word he said seemed to dig the hole deeper.
“This was always going to happen,” she reasoned.
“What?” The question escaped him, hollow and bewildered. He felt like he was sitting an exam he hadn’t studied for, running a race with no legs to stand on—too slow, too unprepared.
“Well,” she began gently, as if she were explaining something painfully obvious, “surely we weren’t always going to live together. Eventually, we’d have our own partners, our own homes, raising Harry together but separately. Just because we’re in the Muggle world doesn’t mean we still have to live like this.”
“But what if something happens?” And finally, his voice cracked, his throat constricting around the words.
Her indifference fell away for a moment, her eyes softening, her lip curling upwards, “I’ll only be two floors down from you.”
“But that’s still too far,” he whispered and when he reached for her hand, she didn’t pull away. Her hands were somehow still warm in the frigid air and he held onto her like a lifeline.
“I think it’s time for us to grow up, separately,” she said delicately. “I love you—I always will. And Harry will always be our everything. But we need space. Space for you to figure out…whatever it is you’re doing, and for me to live a little. And I’m sorry for some of the things I said yesterday, they were out of line and unnecessary.”
Laughter floated up from the street below, mingling with the faint strains of music from a neighbor’s open window. It was never truly quiet in Paris and the thought was somehow comforting, to know that nothing could ever be so large, so destructive, so as to stop daily life- not even Lily moving out.
“No, you were right,” he admitted, his voice heavy with regret. “I…I’ve been stuck in the past. I guess I never thought our lives would turn out like this. If only I’d known what Peter would do—what he’d become—” His voice trailed off, his thoughts tangled in the weight of memories.
Her hand tightened around his, grounding him. “Don’t say that. None of us knew what he was capable of,” she said, her expression hardening, but not toward him.
“I just wish we’d had some closure,” he murmured. “I still get nightmares about that night…about the mark on his arm. I never would’ve thought—” He broke off, the ache of betrayal still raw. However, beneath his anger and hatred was a quiet, persistent grief for the boy who had once been his first friend, the one with ocean-blue eyes who had taught him to play Gobstones growing up and boarded the Hogwarts Express with for the first time.
Her voice was resigned as she responded, lost in the same history he was, “Well I suppose that’s just one of the things we’ll have to work past.”
He turned to face her fully then, “I’m sorry I haven’t been good to you. I haven’t been what I- what I was supposed to be. I haven’t been a good partner or friend to you. No matter how much it’s breaking my heart, I understand.”
She raised a hand to his cheek, her touch soft and grounding, and leaned in until their foreheads pressed together. Her blanket slipped from her shoulders onto his lap, but neither of them moved to fix it. “You are perfect , James,” she whispered. “Please don’t doubt that because of this. You’re still the same boy I fell in love with—we’re just in a different place now. Neither of us knew what we were doing but I like to think we’re doing the best we can.”
They stayed like that for a long while, the silence between them warm and comforting, the weight of unspoken words replaced by the quiet rhythm of their breathing. It felt fragile yet unbreakable, a moment neither of them dared to end.
Eventually, it was Lily who broke the stillness. A playful smile tugged at her lips as she said, “You still have to make me dinner on Sundays, though. I can’t go without a roast.”
She laughed, and James couldn’t help but join in. Of course, she couldn’t. It was so utterly her, and in that moment, it was everything he needed.
____________
The following day, he had planned to spend the evening with Regulus and had brought Harry along with him.
Lily was staying home tonight, and after all his recent failings, James didn’t want to leave Harry with her or spend more time apart from his son than necessary. His work, combined with his responsibilities at Grimmauld Place, had already kept him away from home far too often. Tonight felt like a chance to make up for lost time, and he was genuinely excited to spend the evening out with Harry. He hoped Regulus wouldn’t mind—or at least, not mind too much.
Truthfully, James hadn’t given much thought to how Harry fit into his relationship with Regulus. So far, he had been operating on old assumptions, building on his past relationship with Regulus, but Harry hadn’t been there before so he was at a complete loss. He and Regulus were so young and broken that the topic of kids hadn’t even really come up beyond vague references to ‘the future.’
Up until this point, he had always assumed Regulus would be open and accepting, but now, as their relationship deepened, he found himself doubting. He wasn’t sure how Regulus truly felt about Harry, and the uncertainty made his stomach twist.
Harry was non-negotiable, obviously, so he supposed tonight was also a bit of a test-run for them too.
They met at a small bookstore near the café, the same one he had gone in when he first moved into the flat which also happened to be one of Regulus’ favourite spots. He was already inside, and James had to search each aisle to find him. He finally spotted him near a display of academic books, his dark figure standing out starkly against the warm light of the shop.
Regulus turned at the sound of James’s approach, silver eyes scanning his form before flicking down to Harry, whose tiny fist was curled around two of James’s fingers. A flash of surprise crossed Regulus’s face before it smoothed into something unreadable.
“Ah, I didn’t realize it would be the three of us tonight,” Regulus said lightly, though his gaze kept darting to Harry.
James felt his nerves tighten. “I hope that’s not a problem.”
Regulus’ lips curved into a wary smile. “Of course not.”
Harry stared up at Regulus, wide-eyed and silent. Regulus, for all his composed exterior, looked like he was staring down a hippogriff.
“Hello,” Regulus said, lifting a hand in an awkward wave, his tone oddly formal.
Harry hesitated, seeming to assess him carefully, then took a small step back to hide behind James’ leg. Only half of his face peeked out as he offered a shy, tentative wave in return. James’ heart squeezed at the sight. He tugged gently on Harry’s hand, but his son held firm, refusing to move.
“He’s just a bit shy,” James explained apologetically.
Regulus nodded, though his own unease was evident. “I know the feeling,” he murmured.
They wandered the bookstore together for a while until James’ face lit up with an idea. “We should pick out a book for each other,” he suggested.
Regulus grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “I feel like this will be harder for you than for me.”
“Excuse me,” James said, feigning offense. “I read! I just haven’t read every book in existence, unlike some people.” He rolled his eyes.
“Yes I know you “read” but in hindsight, I see now why you read so voraciously in the shop. You haven’t read any of these books before,” he laughed, gesturing to the entire store.
“Okay true so your surprise will be a surprise for both of us then,” he corrected, “But really, it’ll be fun.”
“Okay but don’t follow me or else it’ll spoil the surprise,” he said seriously with a raised hand and James acquiesced.
They broke apart and Regulus clearly had more direction than James did because he was off in a dash, definitively turning right at the end of the aisle while he tarried, staring dumbly at the books in front of him before trudging off in the other direction.
As they browsed, James held up books for Harry’s opinion. “What do you think—this one? No? Alright, how about this one?” Harry’s only responses were distracted yeses and noes as he was clearly uninterested in his dad’s dilemma.
At one point, James spotted Regulus at the end of an aisle. Regulus caught his gaze, smirked mischievously, and darted out of sight, disappearing around the corner like a conspiratorial shadow.
Eventually, James found his pick and waited by the front for Regulus to finish which he eventually did a few minutes later. “Hey I thought we were just supposed to pick out one book,” he said, eyeing Regulus’ hands.
“I did,” he said, then, lifting the second book, he added, “The other one’s for Harry.” It was a cartoon book on learning the names of animals and plants in French.
James’ heart clenched as he showed the book to Harry, who, for the first time, reached out to take it himself. Harry looked up at Regulus through his glasses, his green eyes wide with wonder. “Thank you,” he mumbled shyly. Regulus’s cheeks flushed pink, and James couldn’t help but lean in to press a kiss to them.
James had picked Frankenstein for Regulus and while he didn’t know much about Frankenstein, he just liked the name and figured it must be good. Regulus, on the other hand, got him his very own copy of The Hobbit , smiling wide as he handed it to him.
James paid for both, despite Regulus’ protestations, and they headed out together.
“Shouldn’t I be paying if I’m like super rich,” he wondered aloud as they strolled, hand in hand, around the small promenade.
“Well you’re forgetting that I’m also super rich,” he laughed. “And as you don’t really have access to your account, I figure I should be paying.”
He paused, considering, “So if I don’t have access, and my parents are gone, and Sirius was disinherited- who has all of our money?”
James hesitated, then shrugged. “Er—I'm not entirely sure, but pure-blood families usually follow primogeniture. Since you’re technically dead, everything would’ve gone to Sirius anyway. Even though he was disowned and blasted off the family tree, I don’t think your mother would’ve gone as far as changing the will. For all her awfulness, she was obsessed with the Black family line, and that included you and Sirius. Your cousins are all women as well, so…”
“ So I’ve been slaving away and boosting France’s economy for absolutely no reason,” Regulus joked, laughing.
They arrived back at the park—the same one where Regulus had given James his own handkerchief back—and settled on a bench. Harry chose to wander off, cautiously approaching the slides and other children.
“When you get back, eventually,” James began, his tone careful, “do you think you’ll keep the café?” He realized as he spoke that they’d sidestepped this topic entirely, along with many others.
They had never once discussed whether Regulus even wanted to return to the wizarding world. He’d left when Voldemort’s power was growing, driven by a sense of hopelessness. And now, they were essentially in the same situation. Regulus would have to remain hidden for safety. But even after Voldemort was defeated—because James couldn’t accept any other outcome—would he still want to stay away? What kind of life would await him in a world where people might spit on him in the street or attack him for his past affiliations, unaware of the truth? James knew all too well how stubborn the public opinion could be. He also had to admit that the muggle world was growing on him too, he wasn’t sure it’d be possible to abandon it entirely.
Regulus, however, didn’t seem burdened by these concerns. He answered simply, his tone earnest. “Of course I would. While I may not remember my life before, I remember every moment of starting the café—how terrified I was that it would fail, how I counted every dollar only to see it eaten up by taxes. I can’t just walk away from all of that.”
“You were wonderful at Potions.”
“Making coffee is essentially like making potions isn’t it?” he laughed and James could only imagine Slughorn’s indignation at that. “And while we’re on the topic, can I ask what a Prongs Special is?” He looked up at him with a wry and disbelieving smile.
“Marc told you about that? A customer just came up asking for a surprise so I sort of came up with it on the spot,” he explained.
He nodded slowly, “Well about three people ordered your little surprise drink today and neither Marc nor I knew how to make it.”
“Three people?Really?” He couldn’t believe it.
“It would seem that the customer told his friends about it and they came in wanting to try it and were sorely disappointed without you there.”
“Now I’m truly invaluable,” he grinned and Regulus just rolled his eyes, turning away despite his amusement.
James watched as Harry called out, “Watch this!” before climbing the steps to the slide. He slid down with gusto, landing unceremoniously on his bottom when the slide ended a little too abruptly. James quickly offered a wide grin and an enthusiastic thumbs up, knowing the gesture would ward off any tears. Harry, unfazed, laughed to himself and scrambled back up the stairs to do it again.
Turning to Regulus, James noticed him watching Harry with a soft smile as well. There was a warmth in his expression, a quiet amusement that James rarely saw in others when observing children.
As a parent, James had mastered the subtle art of feigning fascination. Sure, everything your child did felt magical and extraordinary in the moment, but watching them eat dirt, spin in circles, or leap off couch cushions wasn’t inherently awe-inspiring. Still, it was crucial to show support, no matter how mundane their actions might seem. But Regulus’s gaze wasn’t feigned—it was genuine, his grin wide and earnest as though Harry had just performed his first spell.
James swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat as he spoke. “I hope it’s okay that I brought him. It’s just… Harry means the world to me. And so do you. I’d never try to force parenthood on you, but seeing you two get to know each other—it would mean…” His voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. “It would mean everything to me.”
Regulus leaned closer, linking their arms with an easy familiarity. Sitting back, he crossed one leg over the other, his tone light but sincere. “If it were any other kid, I might not be as thrilled. But Harry? He’s actually pretty cool.” He punctuated his words with a playful wink before turning back to watch Harry, who was now toddling toward the swings.
Harry clambered onto a swing but struggled to build any momentum. James was about to intervene when Regulus stopped him with a gentle hand. Rising from the bench, Regulus approached the swing, moving with the cautious determination of someone stepping into unfamiliar territory.
It was like watching two skittish creatures cautiously sizing each other up. Harry eyed him warily at first, but Regulus softened his approach, matching Harry’s pace. After a brief standoff, Harry relented, kicking his legs as Regulus moved behind him. Minutes passed and before he knew it, the two of them were grinning at each other as Harry rhythmically moved back and forth though never too far out of reach of Regulus’ careful hands that never left the swings.
Once Harry was sufficiently tired, James carried him as they walked back to Regulus’, wanting to drop him off first before making his own way back home. It was dark and quiet but not as cold as it usually would be as the first whispers of spring slowly started creeping towards Paris.
“Today was nice,” Regulus murmured at his side.
“It was,” James agreed easily. “Will you be at the Cafe tomorrow morning?’
“No, I’ve got another appointment with Mayfield and I have to use the ‘portkey’ she gave me. I can’t lie that I’m a bit nervous about that, I’ve left it in my dresser terrified that I might accidentally touch it and be sent to St. Mungo’s while half- dressed.”
James couldn’t imagine that without laughing, “You have nothing to worry about- it’s easier than apparating.”
“Thank god for that.”
"By the way, how have your memories been? Any more spontaneous recoveries since Mayfield adjusted your potions?" James asked.
He shrugged, “I’ve been getting some more but I don’t know. It still feels like I’m just watching someone else’s memories a lot of the time, like I just can’t believe that was all me. He went a bit quiet then, dropping his hand in favor of pulling his sleeves over his own hands, tugging at the fabric. “Mayfield mentioned she’s hit a wall, like everything after what must be my last year at Hogwarts has been locked away- she’s trying her best but it’s not looking too good.”
“You never mentioned that? How long has that been happening?”
He chewed the inside of his cheek, “It’s been like this for a while now. Her finding the memory of me torturing that muggle was the first real breakthrough she’s had in a couple weeks now. It’s why she’s been so focused on my earlier years at Hogwarts rather than what happened later. I didn’t tell you because I was worried…”
“Worried about what?” They made it outside his flat now but neither of them made a move to go up, instead staying out on the deserted pavement.
“I didn’t want you to be disappointed, I know how hard you’ve been trying and how worried you’ve been and I don’t want you to take on any additional stress and it’s hard to not feel like a disappointment when there’s all this pressure on you,” he admitted like it pained him greatly to say so. He looked at Harry and kept his voice low as he continued, “Sorry.”
James relaxed, “C’mere.” He pulled him in for a hug, Harry tucked snuggly on his side. “You don’t have to apologise to me, I’ve told you a dozen times now, your memories are secondary to everything else. Nothing hinges on them okay? Your old memories and you now are two completely separate things.”
Some of the tension escaped Regulus then but clearly not enough, “I would invite you upstairs but…” he gestured to Harry currently drooling on his shirt.
"Next time," James reassured him, leaning in for a kiss. With a smile, Regulus headed inside, and James watched until he disappeared before turning back for the walk home.
____________
James hesitated, taking a step further inside the flat. “What do you mean, Pads? I’m back! I thought you’d be glad to see me.”
Sirius stepped back, maintaining the distance between them. His expression was cold, unrecognizable.
From the kitchen, Remus stared at James with a strange detachment. “We don’t want you back,” he said simply, as though it were the most obvious truth.
“What?” James asked, his voice cracking under the weight of their rejection. “What are you talking about?”
Sirius’s tone was cutting. “We’ve moved on, James. You died. You can’t just decide to come back whenever it suits you.”
“No, you don’t understand!” James pleaded, panic clawing at his chest. “I never died! Lily, Harry, and I—we went into hiding. We’ve been hiding this whole time!”
“That’s disappointing,” Remus said with a huff, his tone devoid of its usual warmth. He swiped a hand in the air to dismiss him and before James could respond, the scene twisted and warped. The walls of Sirius’ flat melted away, replaced by the eerie stillness of a dark forest. The cold bit at his skin, and the sound of his breathing felt too loud in the heavy silence.
Behind him, Peter stood, glaring down at him with unbridled disdain. “It’s a shame you survived,” Peter sneered. “I was always looking forward to killing you.”
James recoiled, spinning around, “How could you say that, Pete?”
Peter’s face twisted into something monstrous, his voice dripping with venom. “I only took this mission so I could kill you myself. You’re nothing but a pompous, egotistical arsehole who ruins everything you touch. Do you even realize what you’ve done?”
James stumbled backward, the ground beneath him shifting as Peter loomed larger, his surroundings stretching until James was no more than an insect at Peter’s feet.
His face contorted with disgust as he sneered down at him, “Lily was living a perfectly normal life till you went and knocked her up, trapping her with a kid that she didn’t even want. Harry is an innocent child that you dragged into this world, winding him up as the child of some prophecy because you couldn’t handle being alone for more than five minutes. Regulus was fine, the perfect pureblood child, till you harassed him into dating you and he wound up a thick-headed fool that killed himself to escape you. Do I even need to continue?”
Anger flared within James, burning away his shock. He tried to lunge at Peter, but the distance between them only grew. No matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t reach him.
Peter’s voice became mocking. “Resorting to violence, are we, Potter? You’ve changed—more angry, more desperate. Don’t think I don’t know what you did to those Death Eaters.” His tone grew darker. “If you think destroying that Horcrux will absolve you, you’re wrong. Your hands are stained with their blood, and nothing can wash that away.”
Then Peter screamed. A horrifying, unearthly sound tore from his mouth, his face splitting open as his screams shattered the air. The sound pierced James’s ears, reverberating in his skull and rattling his very bones.
A sharp sting broke through the chaos, and James gasped, his eyes flying open.
Lily was there, leaning over him, her face tight with concern. He blinked, glancing down at her hand, which was flushed red. He realized, belatedly, that she had slapped him awake.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse.
Lily pulled him into a tight hug, smoothing his hair with trembling hands. “It haunts me too,” she whispered.
Her words offered little comfort. The weight in his chest remained, heavy and unmoving.
____________
“They’re coming when?” James asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Sirius Black is saying the Order is being meeting at seven tonight,” Kreacher grumbled, barely pausing as he polished the floorboards with meticulous care.
James tilted his head. “Why are you—?”
Kreacher cut him off with a huff. “Because Kreacher will not be having a gaggle of wizards criticizing the floorboards of the most Ancient and Noble House of Black. ”
James bit back a laugh, noting how Kreacher puffed up with pride as he worked. “Right. Well, I’ll do my best to keep the explosions to a minimum,” he said, only half-joking.
Kreacher muttered something unintelligible and James returned to the library.
For the next two hours, he focused on brainstorming increasingly creative methods to destroy the Horcrux but after his concentration waned, he got up and wandered to a different section of the library.
He then found an alcove that was unlike the rest of the library. There were no ominous tomes bound in cracking leather or books dripping with dark magic. Instead, the shelves were filled with colorful spines and animated covers: children’s books, histories of Quidditch, and biographies of famous witches and wizards smiling cheerfully from their illustrations.
James blinked, momentarily stunned. He hadn’t imagined such a cheerful corner could even exist in Grimmauld Place. As he ran his fingers along the shelves, he found a familiar series of books: The Curious Adventures of Minchie and Tales! that must’ve belonged to Sirius and a grin spread across his face. He recalled how he, Sirius, Remus, and Peter had devoured every installment of the series as schoolboys. The excitement of a new release had been the highlight of their Hogsmeade weekends, often making Flourish and Blotts their first destination. They’d grab their copies and rush back to the castle, spending the day buried in the pages. It was always bittersweet, finishing the book within hours and then agonizing over the wait for the next one.
Shaking his head at the memory, James pulled one of the books from the shelf and sank into a nearby chaise. He stretched out, crossing one ankle over the other, and began to read.
He didn’t remember dozing off, but he jolted awake to find Kreacher standing alarmingly close, his bulbous eyes mere centimeters from James’s face.
“James is needing to get up now,” Kreacher barked, his voice urgent.
James startled, leaping to his feet, “Right! Thanks, Kreacher.”
The sky outside was dark; it must have been nearing seven. He hurriedly tossed the book onto the table and dashed out of the library. In the hallway, he snatched a finger sandwich and a biscuit from the tray Kreacher had prepared, scarfing them down as he stepped onto the pavement. With a quick spin, he apparated, the air cracking sharply as he vanished.
____________
James picked up dinner on his way home, and as he and Lily sat down to eat, she spoke up, breaking the quiet of their evening.
“I bought boxes today and started packing up my clothes,” she said, her voice light as if not wanting to trigger another breakdown. “We don’t have much, so I should be done soon. It’s not like I can’t pop by whenever I need something, right?” She smiled weakly, taking another bite of her pasta.
“Of course,” he replied immediately, but the words felt a little hollow. He considered urging her to stay, to take more time to settle, but she clearly already had the same thought in her eyes. Her silent plea stopped him, and he quieted, turning his focus back to his food.
“You know what I was thinking about today?” he asked, attempting to shift the subject.
“Hm?” she hummed, looking up at him curiously.
“That book series… The Curious Adventures of Minchie and Tales! ” he said with a smile, his voice softening as the memory pulled at him. “The way me and the boys loved it. I hope we can get them for Harry once he’s old enough.”
“Oh, I loved that series too,” she mused, gesturing with her fork. “The third one was the best.”
He blinked in surprise. “You read that?”
Lily smirked at his expression. “Of course I did.”
“You’re kidding,” he said, and then to her latter point. “And the third one was hardly the best. Everyone knows it’s the fifth one.”
“No way,” she countered with a laugh, her eyes glinting. “The series was dragging on by then. The dragon lore in the third book was the real highlight.”
He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Hardly.”
“I’m serious,” Lily said, leaning forward. “I looked it up back then.”
“Of course you’d do recreational research on a fictional dragon.”
She shot him a deadpan look. “I did it because it’s fascinating. The dragon from the story, Pebbles, was inspired by a real one named Azrythar. He was a black-armored dragon with violet flames hotter than any fire, capable of destroying anything. He was known to make deals with witches and wizards—though they always came at a cost, or so the lore says. No one knows if he’s still alive, but he was definitely real."
James blinked, staring at her, “Lily, that sounds like a made-up story to scare kids.”
“It’s more than that,” she pressed. “Azrythar’s flames were so destructive, they say the Fiendfyre Curse was inspired by them. You know what Fiendfyre is, don’t you?”
“Dangerous, cursed flames,” James muttered, his brow furrowing. “Impossible to control.”
“Exactly. And if Azrythar’s fire was the blueprint for Fiendfyre, imagine how much more powerful it must be. His flames didn’t just destroy—they unmade.” Her words hung in the air, heavy and unsettling. James tried to laugh it off, but the idea clawed at his mind. He said nothing more, and Lily didn’t push.
Later that night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the thought consumed him. A dragon with fire that could destroy anything—curses, spells, objects imbued with the darkest magic. A fire strong enough to destroy a Horcrux.
It was madness. It had to be. But the more he thought about it, the more that fragile spark of hope took root, burning hotter with each passing second. If Azrythar was real, if his flames still burned somewhere in the world, James might have found a way—a terrible, impossible way—to end this nightmare once and for all.
The hope twisted in his chest, heavy with dread. He didn’t know what was more terrifying: that the dragon might not exist, or that it might.