Eclipsed

Madam Pomfrey pushed a loose curl behind her ear, her expression serious as she studied the parchment in front of her. James fidgeted nervously in his seat, a knot tightening in his stomach. He had come to Pomfrey's office expecting their usual, uneventful appointment, but her somber demeanor told him that their November visit wouldn't be so simple.

"Well, James," she began, her voice measured, "there seem to be some significant changes here, compared to last month." 

James felt his heart sink,  and he swallowed hard, trying to push down the rising anxiety burning in his chest. The thought of his vision deteriorating further was one that he had been trying to ignore for far too long. Aside from his O&M lessons with Felicity being  a gentle reminder of his future, James had nearly forgotten about the progressiveness of his disease.

"Significant changes?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.”I’ve hardly noticed anything though.” 

“Vision loss can be sneaky like that,” she reminded him, echoing one of the many pamphlets he’d been given at St. Mungo’s. “More likely than not, you’ve been compensating in other ways, especially with what you’ve learned in your new lessons with Professor Song.” 

James thought back to the various tricks and spells that he’d been working on with her, and thought about how often he'd found himself using them, almost instinctively. How much had changed without him even realizing?  

“Right,” he said, trailing off when his brain jumped to the next crisis-inducing question. “How would this… or would this mean… err, Quidditch? Can I still play?” 

Madam Pomfrey looked over the parchment on her desk again, then back at James. “You said you hadn’t really noticed anything had changed?” 

“No, I really didn’t,” he promised her, a worried expression on his face. His fingers were crossed under the desk, and his toes crossed inside his shoes, praying that she would say he was still okay to play. 

"For now, James, I don't see any reason why you shouldn't continue playing," she told him reassuringly. "But we'll need to monitor this all closely, and if there are any further changes, we may need to reconsider."

A sense of relief washed over James at her words. Quidditch was more than just a sport to him; it was his passion, his escape… it was what he was good at. Without it, he didn’t know who he was, and he wasn’t ready to face that yet. 

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," he said gratefully, a weight lifting from his shoulders. "I could kiss you!” 

Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes. “Please don’t, James," she said, her voice annoyed but her eyes smiling. "Remember to take care of yourself, and don't hesitate to come to me if you need anything, alright?"

“I will, thank you!” he said, rushing out of her office and towards the Great Hall. He could still make it in time to grab a quick bite of food with his friends before dinner ended, and he was hoping to spend some time with Marlene before doing some revisions with Remus, who had proven to be an ideal study-buddy. Remus liked explaining things out loud, and often took the best notes in class, which had been incredibly helpful for James, who couldn’t always catch what was written on the board. He hadn’t ever studied much in years past, but figured that O.W.L.s were as good of a time as any to begin the habit. On top of all that, with Gryffindor’s first Quidditch match of the year coming up, they were practicing more often than before, and his time felt short.

Pushing everything he'd learned at his appointment to the back of his mind was just about all he could do for now; he’d need to stay focused on the positive if he wanted things to go his way. 

James tried to ignore the lingering thoughts over his appointment as he threw himself into preparations for the upcoming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. This season, Ravenclaw boasted a particularly strong team, and James knew that Gryffindor couldn't afford to underestimate them. Under the watchful eyes of Fabian and Gideon, the Gryffindor team trained tirelessly, with practices beginning right after classes and ending as the sun went down. James, in particular, dedicated extra hours to practice, both alone and working closely with Archie and Sam to fine-tune their teamwork. They trained together in the mornings, running drills and plays, honing their coordination until they operated as a seamless unit, while James went out in the evenings alone. 

In the days leading up to the match, James was a bundle of nerves, a far cry from his usual confident self. Quidditch had always been his safe place, his place of strength, but now, for whatever reason, he felt like he was walking on a tightrope without a safety net to catch him. He found himself inexplicably queasy most of the time, his mind constantly drifting and taking him places he didn't want to go. James felt more distracted and clumsy than usual, and most notably to both his friends and enemies, failed to earn a single detention, or even a warning from any of his professors. 

With James unable to figure out why he was feeling so terrible, his friends tried their best to offer support in their own... special ways. While they had given up on getting him to talk about what was bothering him, they found other ways to show their support. Dry toast mysteriously appeared on his plate during meals, and fragile or spill-able objects seemed to miraculously disappear from the vicinity whenever he was around. 

While most of their classmates wisely gave James his space during what appeared to be an off-week, a certain group of Slytherins—dubbed “Death Eaters in training" by the rest of the Fifth Years—decided to capitalize on James' vulnerability. While Snape was never directly involved, James, Sirius, and Peter had their suspicions that he was the one behind much of the menacing, if not orchestrating it from behind the scenes. Whether it be a shove from behind, or a trip jinx from seemingly out of nowhere, in the days leading up to the big game, James was on edge and exhausted constantly, from when he left the dormitory in the morning to when it was finally time for bed. 

The morning of the match dawned with a mix of nerves and excitement swirling in James's stomach. Rising with the sun, he tiptoed through the dormitory, careful not to wake his sleeping roommates. After a long, hot shower, he slipped into his favorite warm-ups, soft black pants with a Gryffindor red jumper adorned with a Quidditch ball pattern that zoomed around the fabric at random intervals, which had been a birthday gift from his parents years ago. 

With his uniform and gear meticulously packed, including his helmet, goggles, and the pin from his old Captain, Flora Brown, James made his way downstairs, hopeful that he might be able to stomach something beyond a slice of toast before the game. However, his plans to sneak down to breakfast unnoticed were thwarted by the sight of Lily and Marlene, cozied up on the couch like a pair of sleepy cats in front of the fireplace.

Marlene, ever the early riser, flashed James a knowing grin as he descended the stairs, while Lily, still wrapped in her sleep attire, cast a halfhearted glare his way.

“James!” Marlene called, her attempt at a whisper carrying over the silent common room. James smiled, his unease momentarily forgotten. 

"Morning, Marley," he answered, walking over to join them. "Planning on wearing pajamas to the match, Evans?" he joked, in lieu of greeting. 

Lily’s cheeks flushed almost as red as his jumper, and she shot him a mock glare, her braid frizzy and tousled from sleep. "Very funny, Potter. Unlike you and Marlene here, I prefer to rest, and will be saving my energy for the game," she retorted, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice.

“So you’ll be cheering me on then?” he replied cheekily, and she stood from the couch, rolling her eyes at him. 

“Goodbye, Potter,” she answered in response, already headed back to her dorm room. “Have a good game, Marlene!” 

“Thanks, see you later!” Marlene smiled up at James. He offered her a hand and pulled her up off the couch. “I was thinking of trying to eat something before the game- you want to join me?” James ran a hand through his hair without thinking, and Marlene blushed. 

“Sounds wonderful,” she said, grabbing her own bag from the floor where she’d left it. “After you, James.” 

Looking at the situation objectively, James had absolutely nothing to worry about. He was truly playing at his best; he hadn’t missed a single pass, or a shot through the goalposts, and Gryffindor was in the lead by a significant margin. Regardless of these cold hard facts, though, he couldn’t help but feel inexplicably... afraid. As he flew around the pitch, ready for the next play, every fiber of his being felt like he was being electrocuted in the most unpleasant way. It was as if an invisible hand had pressed down on his chest, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get enough air inside. James’ internal monologue was wrestling with the real life voices of Fabian and Gideon in his head, trying to see which could shout the loudest. 

PASS TO JOHNSON – 

what if the helmet stops working and a bludger comes up and – 

FLY RIGHT, THEN UNDER PARKIN TO –

someone could come up from below and you’d never see –

FAKE TO THE LEFT, THEN THROW THROUGH THE RIGHT –

and if you miss the quaffle then everyone will hate – 

JOHNSON ON YOUR – 

and you’ll be thrown from your broom and probably – 

"AND BLUME’S GOT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS THEIR FIRST MATCH OF THE SEASON!" The jubilant cry shattered James's trance-like state, snapping him back to reality. In what felt like an out-of-body experience, he floated down to the ground with the rest of the team to congratulate Ivy on her catch. 

In a daze, James followed the rest of the team as they made their way to the locker rooms to change out of their Quidditch robes and prepare for the wild party Gryffindor would be throwing that evening. He sat on the bench in front of his locker, generously waving everyone else into the showers first to cover up the fact that he felt so dizzy that he didn’t think he’d be able to stand under the hot water without collapsing. 

After about thirty minutes had passed, and the last person had come out of the showers, James had no excuse not to take his turn. Hoping that the last person would leave quickly, he walked slowly and carefully towards the back of the locker room, but instead of heading right for the showers, took a left towards the toilets, quickly finding the stall on the furthest end and locking himself inside. 

James slammed the toilet seat closed and dropped onto it hard, his breaths picking up and panic in his chest rising as the facade he’d been wearing fell away. Although the room seemed to have gotten unbearably warm in the past few minutes, his teeth couldn’t stop chattering, and waves of hot and cold passed through his body uncomfortably, over and over.

After what seemed like ages, he heard the door to the locker room slam shut, and as if on cue, his stomach rolled, and he hopped off the seat and threw it open, just in time for the little food he’d consumed that morning to make a reappearance. Between the crying, shallow breathing, vomiting, and trying not to lose his glasses down the toilet in the process, he hadn’t noticed someone new entering the locker room. The knock on the stall door caught him completely off guard. 

“I’m fine, just some food poisoning,” he managed to get out, although extremely unconvincingly. “You can just go.” He tried taking some deep breaths, hoping to hold himself together until whoever it was left. 

“James, I think it would be pretty hypocritical of me to leave you here alone, wouldn’t it?” With a hushed alohomora the stall door unlatched itself and swung open. James kept his eyes cast towards the floor in the general direction of the toilet, so the first thing he saw was a pair of worn, but cared for, brown leather work boots, laced tight around skinny ankles. He forced himself to look, and it was Remus standing there, bundled in his coziest burgundy jumper and his father’s old coat, a wooly, faded brown number that fell just below the knee. 

For some reason the thought of Remus coming to find him was both a relief but also too overwhelming to process, and James began to cry even harder, which didn’t help the hyperventilating in the very least.

Remus didn’t hesitate, and as easily as James had done for him, he kneeled down beside his friend. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” he murmured, voice gentle. “Just breathe, James. You’re okay.”

James tried to comply, sucking in shaky breaths between sobs, but he felt like his chest was constricting with every inhale.

“Here,” Remus said softly, placing a warm hand on James’ chest. “Focus on my voice. Try closing your eyes.”

James nodded weakly, squeezing his eyes shut against the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

“That’s it,” Remus continued, his tone soothing. “Breathing in... and out. In... and out.”

James gradually managed to regain control over his breathing, the hyperventilation easing into a more manageable rhythm. His stomach still churned unpleasantly, but the worst of the nausea seemed to have passed. James leaned back against the side of the stall, feeling drained and overstimulated, and strangely, relieved that Remus was the one who found him.

“It’s weird to be on this side of it,” he mumbled hoarsely, his voice raw from the tears.

Remus snorted. “Can’t say I envy you,” Remus replied, giving James’ shoulder a squeeze. “Do you need anything? Water? A moment alone?”

James shook his head. “Just... stay,” he whispered, feeling a pang of embarrassment at his own vulnerability.

Remus didn’t hesitate. He settled beside James in the stall, the sounds of the locker room fading into the background. After a couple minutes, James finally spoke.

"I'm scared, Moony," he admitted shakily, whispering as if saying it too loud would make it more real.

"What are you scared of, James?" Remus' voice was gentle and soft, in a way that James had never heard it before. 

"I'm scared that I won't know when to stop playing. I think in the end, I'll push myself too far and I'll go out in some awful disaster. I don't want my memories of Quidditch to be painful. I don't want it ripped away from me."

Remus listened, quickly cluing into exactly what James was talking about. "You're not alone, in feeling that way," he replied earnestly. "It's normal to have doubts and fears, I think, especially when we don't know exactly what to expect. I definitely think about those things a lot too, when it comes to my… issues… and what I can do now versus what I’ll physically be able to do in a few years.”  He shrugged. “We just have to stay a little more self-aware for the time being.” 

James nodded, his throat tight with emotion. "I know, but... it's hard for me to even think about. Quidditch has always been my thing. It’s my life, it’s my dream, my escape, my everything.  I don’t know who I am without being an athlete. I don't think there's anything else I'm good at."

Hearing the wetness in his voice, Remus pulled his friend over into a tight hug. "You're stronger than you realize, James," he said softly, releasing James and staring at him, nose to nose. "You have friends who care about you, who will support you no matter what. You'll always be James Potter. You’ll always be an incredible friend, an amazing wizard, a wonderful son, and a Marauder- for life- Quidditch player or not.” 

"Thanks, Moony," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Remus offered him a reassuring smile. "Anytime, Prongs," he said. "We're in this together, remember?"

James realized in that moment that for Remus it wasn’t just a saying. They really were in it together. Remus’ body was giving up on him in almost the same way James’ vision was. Although both sounded completely awful, he felt a bit of warmth, knowing that someone else understood, in a twisted way, just how he felt. Gratitude flooded James as he clasped Remus' hand, and with a gentle tug, James pulled himself to his feet, seeking comfort in the best way he knew to find it. He buried his face in Remus' shoulder, finding solace in the simple act of being held. They stayed there for a second before Remus pulled away. 

“I love you, Jamie, but you reek. Get in the shower so that we can head up to the party- I hear it's gonna be a good one."