Blame
It had taken one night for James Potter’s life to be turned upside down. He felt selfish to even think about it that way. He was the lucky one. He wasn’t to blame for the incident like Sirius was. He wasn’t imprisoned for life like Remus. He wasn’t…he wasn’t like Severus. But he had battle scars that no one could see, that would stay with him forever. James would never stop blaming himself for what happened to all of the others. He should have known something was wrong with Sirius. That he hadn’t been himself after the Christmas holidays. He should have gotten to the willow faster. He should have gotten there in time, he should have been able to save Remus and Severus. But he didn’t.
James didn’t know how he ended up knocking down Dumbledore’s office door at 2am that morning. Time seemed to move around him. The next thing James knew was that he was once against staring at the lifeless form of Severus Snape. For a blissful moment, he had thought he had only imagined the whole thing, and that in reality, there would be no body to be found. James had naively hoped that it was all some strange nightmare, and that Severus was really safe in his dormitory in Slytherin. Of course, that was not the case. Dumbledore had moved the body away somewhere with a flick of his wand, and then James once again found himself in the Headmaster’s office. James felt like he was being held underwater. He could hear the old professor asking him question after question, but they were barely more than a distant echo, and James did not register anything he was saying. So Dumbledore pressed his wand against James' forehead, and extracted a long, silvery-blue wisp. A memory. James felt immediately calm. What did he have to worry about? He couldn’t quite remember.
Dumbledore poured the wispy memory substance into the pensieve which sat in one corner of his office. After a few minutes, the professor pulled his head out and snapped his fingers, and the memories flooded back into James’ mind like a fatal tsunami. James cried silent tears, his whole body shaking viciously.
“Take it back, sir. Take the memory back! I don’t want it! Obliviate me.” James demanded. His voice trembled with rage and terror on every syllable.
“Afraid I can’t do that, James.” Dumbledore muttered, shaking his head solemnly. “You will need to give testimony in court. A very grave incident has occurred, my boy. Very grave indeed.” James shook his head. He wanted to protest. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t relive the night’s events before a jury of witch and wizard judges. And he refused to help anyone condemn Remus. It was as if Dumbledore could still see inside his mind.
“James, your testimony might be the only thing that can help Remus Lupin. Show that he did not plan the attack, that it was not premeditated, that he could not stop his actions whilst under the influence of his lycanthropy.” Dumbledore said, a slight pleading tone in his voice.
And how could James argue with that? It was his fault Severus was dead. The least he could do was everything in his power to give Remus a chance.
James didn’t return to his dorm room that night, or the next morning. He simply wandered around the Hogwarts grounds, feeling exceptionally lost and scared. In the afternoon, he’d talked to Remus in the medical wing. No one else had told him a thing about the night’s events. That had been left to James. James had wanted to tell Remus about Dumbeldore requesting his testimony. He had wanted to reassure his best friend that he was not to blame, and that he would do everything he could to prove that. But deep down, James wasn’t even sure if he believed it. Yes, Remus had killed Snape. But it wasn’t really…Remus. Or, it was, but not the same Remus he was 97% of the time. It was all so confusing and complicated. James was scared and frustrated and absolutely exhausted. He needed to sleep. Everything would be fine after a bit of sleep. He would surely be able to make sense of everything moving around him then. James headed back to his dorm room, feeling like he would collapse on every step up Gryffindor tower. Sirius and Peter weren’t there. Good. James didn’t know what he would possibly say to his best friend, his brother, the next time he saw him. Oh, do you feel good about the fact that you killed your enemy and ruined your boyfriend’s life, Sirius? Is that what you meant to do? How could you?
James didn’t think he would be able to sleep, but he was pulled into blissful unconsciousness the moment his head hit the pillow. He didn’t dream.
***
Even a year later, it was still strange to walk into the dorm room and find no sign that there had once, not so long ago, been two other boys living here too. The dorm that once belonged to all of the marauders always felt far too large for just Peter and James. The two empty beds haunted the room like ghosts, serving as a constant reminder of everything that had gone wrong. Since Remus had been taken away and Sirius left, Peter and James had only really had each other. The girls were there too, but they didn’t really get it. No one knew what really happened to Sirius, Remus and Severus except James and Peter. No one else knew Remus was a werewolf, and Dumbledore had given them strict instructions to keep it that way. The official story- the lie- was that Severus had been bludgeoned to death by the Whomping Willow, and that, in an unrelated incident, Sirius and Remus had run away so they could be together without the scrutiny and judgement of their peers and families.
Even if they had ever wanted to talk about it, Peter and Remus were under strict instructions to never reveal any details about the brutal reality to anyone else. As a result, they clung to each other like flotation devices in stormy seas. They both felt shipwrecked, and like everything was trying to pull them underwater. They were there for each other during the memorial service the school held for Severus. They were there for each other every passing day in which no one heard a peep from Sirius Black. They were close, bonded in a way that could only be achieved through exceptionally tragic circumstances.
James was haunted by nightmares of that night. Most nights, he would be attacked by visions of Severus’ dead body, his lifeless eyes. In silent moments, James could hear remnant echoes of Severus Snape’s last words. The pleas for him to protect Lily.
The beautiful fire-haired girl had completely lost her spark after Severus had died. Like James, Lily had lost two of her best friends in one night. Severus had been there for her entire childhood, and Remus had been her biggest supporter since she came to Hogwarts. And then they were both gone, just like that. It was inconceivable, how so many lives could be forever changed in what seemed like the blink of an eye. For months after the incident, Lily Evans had only drifted through the motions like one of Hogwarts’ ghosts. She had barely eaten, she was frail and seemed to be devoid of emotion. James was much the same. But a year later, they were both doing better. James and Lily, as well as Peter, had been attending regular counselling sessions with a softly spoken middle-aged witch named Estelle, who had been highly recommended by Madame Pomfrey. She was a good listener, very easy to talk to, and she had a calming presence that just helped make sense of the world and all its woes. James’ work with Estelle had very gradually helped him realise that he was not at fault for anything that had happened that fateful night, and that it was okay to want to move on. There were still good days and bad days, but things were getting better. Slowly but surely, James was adapting to the new normal. He was finding himself again.
James was so consumed in the aftermath of Severus’ death, that he had not noticed the tides of war creeping up upon his life. His grief and guilt blinded him to the rising tensions throughout the magical world, and he was oblivious to any violence or danger until once again…it was too late. Estelle was killed.
Lovely, kind, gentle Estelle. The woman had likely never even harmed an insect, and was always striving to help everyone. She had been targeted by a group of terrorists now calling themselves “Death Eaters”, purely because of her blood line. Through no fault of her own, Estelle had been a witch born to muggle parents, and for that crime, she paid the ultimate price.
Estelle’s death sent James spiralling once again. All the progress they’d made together, all of his gradual healing, was undone in an instant. Over the past year, James had grown to care for Estelle as though she was his family. Perhaps an aunt, or something of the like. She was the one person James could talk to with wholehearted honesty. Her death cut him deeply. James felt like he carried some of the blame for Estelle's death. He should have seen the signs. Maybe he could have saved her somehow. Estelle would hate to see James deteriorating back into that self-destructive way of thinking. She had put so much work into fixing his issues, using terms like ‘saviour complex’ and ‘survivor’s guilt’ and ‘post-traumatic stress disorder’ in an effort to help James understand his own mind. Only for it all to be completely fruitless in the end.
Remus was in Azkaban and Severus was dead and Estelle was dead and no matter what anyone told him to the contrary, James felt like he was to blame for the destruction of all of those innocent lives. Deep down, he knew it defied logic, but James truly felt that he could and should have been able to save all of those people from their fates.
If there was one thing James took away from all his time with Estelle, it was that he could not change the past. Fine. He would just have to change the future. He couldn’t let more innocent people be attacked or killed or criminalised. He needed to do something. He needed to fight.