Eclipsed

James hurried down the corridor, his bag slung over his shoulder and his thoughts racing. His last class had run long, and now he was almost late for Quidditch practice. As he weaved through the throng of students, he couldn't help but long for the simplicity of spring break when his schedule wasn't so frantic. 

Although he hadn't gone home for the break, since his father had been sick again, and his mum thought they’d have to take another trip to St. Mungo’s, James, Sirius, and Remus had spent the break together at school. The full moon had fallen during the break, so honestly, James told himself, things had all worked out for the best, and they'd all been together for the moon. Despite missing his parents immensely, and worrying over his father’s health, the break, and his birthday, had been good. The memory of lazy mornings and carefree afternoons felt like a distant dream now, although it had only been about a week ago, when compared to the whirlwind of schoolwork and Quidditch he’d fallen back into immediately. 

Lost in thought, he almost didn't notice Lily standing in his path until she called out to him. "James!"

He skidded to a stop, his heart leaping at the sight of her. "Lily! Sorry, I'm in a bit of a rush."

"I won't keep you long," she said, falling into step beside him. "I just wanted to talk about our project. We haven't had a chance to work on it since before the break."

James sighed. "I know, I'm sorry. It's just been so hectic. I've got Quidditch practice now, and then I've got to work on a Charms essay."

Lily nodded, understanding but persistent. "I get it. We're all swamped. How about we meet in the common room around 8:30? We really need to get this done."

"8:30 sounds good," James agreed, giving her a grateful smile. "I'll be there."

"Great," Lily said, returning his smile. "Good luck at practice."

"Thanks," James called over his shoulder as he dashed off towards the Quidditch pitch.

As the Gryffindor Quidditch team gathered for practice that afternoon, James felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that always came with being on the pitch. The warm, April wind whipped through his hair as he led the team through drills, his focus sharp despite his exhaustion. He’d hoped for a break before practice, but since there were limited daylight hours once classes were over, his only option was to hold classes right after school was done for the day. 

After a brief muggle warm up, the team began with the usual warm-up laps around the pitch, the crisp air biting at their faces. James pushed himself to keep up the pace, determined to set a high standard for his teammates. After the laps, they moved on to passing drills, working on speed and accuracy. Although he was tired, James led by example, showing the younger and reserve players the best ways to throw and catch the Quaffle, and giving great tips to their Keeper and Beaters. 

After doing that for a while, they went over some new plays, which the team seemed to enjoy immensely, including James and Ivy, who’d spent a lot of time together over the past few months strategizing and developing new flight patterns that would not only surprise the other teams, but would play to the strengths of the different Gryffindor players. 

James kept a close eye on the team as he flew, not only participating in these plays himself, but giving pointers and encouragement whenever needed. Despite his tiredness, the thrill of the game kept him going.

As practice drew to a close, he and Ivy dismissed the rest of the team, securing the balls in their cases and making sure none of their plays had fallen out of their notebooks, or any trash had been left behind. 

“Can I ask you something kinda personal?” Ivy asked as they started walking back, and James nodded. “Not sure if you really care, but you look pretty worn out. Everything alright?"

James wiped the sweat from his brow and gave her a tired smile. "I must look awful, since people keep asking,” he joked, and Ivy rolled her eyes. “Just a lot on my plate right now. I'll manage though, thanks."

"Well, if you need anything, just let me know," Ivy said firmly. "I want to see you at your best."

"Thanks, Ivy. I appreciate it," James replied, and Ivy suddenly stopped walking. James stopped too, and his chest tightened as she breathed in and hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Listen, James, this might be kind of awkward, with you being my Quidditch captain and all, but…” she bit her bottom lip, and James knew exactly where this was going. “I don’t know, I think we get on pretty well, and I was just thinking maybe we could go to Hogsmeade together this weekend?” 

His head was killing him, and this was truly the last conversation he wanted to be having.

James sighed, and hesitated, searching for the right words. "Ivy, that's really kind of you to invite me, but now’s just not a great time."

Ivy's expression shifted slightly, a mix of disappointment and understanding. 

"You’re great, really," James said quickly, feeling a bit awkward “ but I think I can only focus on school and Quidditch right now.” 

"I get it, James. No hard feelings." She mustered a weak smile, and jogged ahead, waving back as she took off for the locker rooms. "See you later"

James walked the rest of the way alone, feeling bad but not lingering on it; by the time he got to the locker room he was already thinking ahead to his essay, and to the project he was working on with Lily that evening. First stop, the showers. Next stop, library. 

James awoke with a start, his body jerking upright. Disoriented, he glanced around the dimly lit library, the darkness outside the windows indicating it was well past evening. Panic set in as he remembered his promise to meet Lily in the common room at 8:30.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, hastily gathering his notes, parchment, quill, and books, which were hastily scattered around the table. He dashed out of the library, his mind racing. Lily was going to be furious with him.

The corridors were eerily silent as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. His footsteps echoed in the empty hallways, the flickering torchlight casting long, dancing shadows on the stone walls. He rounded a corner, his thoughts consumed with how he was going to apologize to Lily, when he suddenly heard hushed whispers.

Before he could react, a group of students stepped out from the shadows, blocking his path. James squinted, trying to make out their faces in the dim light, but with their hoods drawn low over their heads in the dark corridor, 

"Well, well, if it isn't Potter," drawled a voice that James knew could only belong to Snape.

James tried to draw his wand, but his reflexes were too slow. Before he could even get a proper grip, he felt a sharp pain in his back as one of them hit him with a stinging jinx, and his wand went rolling out of sight.

"What's the matter, Potter? Lost without your mudblood friends?" sneered another voice, likely Mulciber.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The world tilted, and James stumbled, his limbs suddenly feeling heavy and unresponsive. He fell to the ground, his wand slipping from his grasp. He felt his body lock into place, unable to move. Panic surged through him as he lay there, completely paralyzed. 

"What's the matter, Potter?" Snape taunted. 

James tried to muster a retort, but he was literally frozen, unable to speak. His limbs felt like lead, and he could only watch as the Slytherins advanced on him. There were more than two, but in the dark, there was no way to tell who was who. 

"How's that, Potter?" Snape sneered, leaning in close. "Still think you're untouchable?"

James could hear the smirk in his voice, and it made his blood boil. He tried to move, but the spell had rendered him powerless. His father had been right, when he told James being at Hogwarts would be dangerous, with the terrorists on the rise and unable to defend himself in the dark corridors of the school.   

"You're always strutting around like you're better than everyone," Mulciber spat. "Blood traitor."

"You and your half-breed pet better think twice before coming for me again," Snape added, his voice cold and cutting.

"Enough of this," Nott finally said, stepping forward from the small group, his voice filled with malicious delight. “Snape, why don’t you take off his glasses.”

Snape complied, and with a cruel smile, removed James’s glasses. Now, unable to see a thing, James’s heart sank. He knew what was coming next... not exactly, but definitely nothing good.

“He probably wouldn’t be able to tell who cast it anyway,” one of the voices called out, laughter rippling through the group.

"Conjunctivitis!"

It wasn’t just one voice, but many that cast the spell in succession. Instantly, James felt a burning sensation sear through his eyes. He tried to reach up and rub them, but the paralysis held him completely still. His eyes burned not only from the spell but from the tears that began to well up, the pressure building as his eyes swelled shut.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor as the Slytherins ran away, their laughter fading into the distance. James couldn’t hear them over the rush of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart.

That was it, then. The last thing he’d ever see was Snape’s grimy face laughing at him. What a karmic way for things to come to an end. 

James lay there panicking for what could’ve been ten minutes, or could’ve been ten hours. He was in the dark, in pain, and so, so afraid. He lay motionless, his body aching from the cold stone floor. He was vaguely aware of footsteps approaching, but he couldn't see or call out for help. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and hope. He couldn't tell who it was, and his mind raced with the possibility that the Slytherins had come back for more.

"James! Oh my god, James!" Lily's voice broke through the darkness, filled with worry and urgency.

"Remus, he's here! Help me!" she called out, her voice trembling.

Moments later, Remus appeared, his wand out and ready. "Finite Incantatem," he murmured, waving his wand over James. The paralyzing jinx lifted, as did some of the burning in his face, and James tried to sit up.  

His breath hitched. "Lily? Remus?" His heart pounded, his fear making it hard to think clearly. "I can't... I don't know if it's really you."

"James, it's us," Remus said gently, kneeling beside him. "We're here to help you. You're safe now."

James hesitated, still unsure, his mind clouded by fear and pain. "I... I can't see anything. How do I know it's really you?"

“It’s really us,” Lily said gently, and after a moment, pressed James’ glasses against his hand. “It’s Thursday, our night for prefect rounds, you know.”

"James, what happened?" Remus asked.

James reached up to touch his eyes and flinched from the pain. "Snape and Mulciber, I think, and some other Slytherins" he croaked, his voice hoarse. "They... they ambushed me." 

Lily's eyes flashed with anger as she looked around for James’ wand, which had rolled partially below a statue. "Those bastards. Are you okay? Can you see?"

James shook his head weakly, and while Lily didn’t know about James’ choroideremia, Remus’ eyebrows creased immediately in concern. 

Remus reached out, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "James, it's okay. You're going to be alright. We're taking you to the hospital wing now."

Their familiar voices and comforting touches began to cut through the haze of his panic. "Please... help me," he whispered, his voice breaking.

"We've got you," Remus said firmly. He and Lily carefully lifted James to his feet, supporting him on either side.

As they stumbled their way through the corridors, Lily kept talking to him, her voice a soothing constant, as Remus' hand maintained a firm, yet gentle grip on his arm. "It's going to be okay, James. Madam Pomfrey will know what to do. Just hold on a little longer."

James tried to focus on her voice, using it as an anchor. The darkness and pain still loomed large, but he clung to the hope that they would soon be at the hospital wing.

As Lily and Remus guided James into the bright lights of the hospital wing, they got their first clear look at him. His eyes were swollen shut, the skin around them inflamed and red, a painful-looking combination of bruising and the crusty effects of the Conjunctivitis Curse. It was a horrifying sight.

Madam Pomfrey rushed over, her face going pale with shock. "Merlin's beard, what happened to him?" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of concern and urgency.

"They attacked him," Remus explained, his voice tight with worry. "Snape and some other Slytherins, we think. They used a Conjunctivitis Curse and some sort of paralysis jinx."

Madam Pomfrey wasted no time. "Lay him down, quickly." She gestured to a nearby bed, and they carefully helped James onto it.

As soon as he was settled, Madam Pomfrey dismissed Lily and Remus, who anxiously waited outside the curtained-in area. Pomfrey leaned in, examining James’ eyes closely. "This is… not good," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. She straightened up and called out to Remus. 

"You know where the Floo is in my office, right?” He nodded, and Madame Pomfrey pointed her wand over, and unlocked the door. “I need you to call Healer Dedworth from St. Mungo's immediately. With everything he has going on with his eyes already, I just… I’d rather be safe than sorry."

Remus nodded and hurried off to make the call. Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey directed Lily to fetch Professor McGonagal before she began working on James, applying a numbing salve to his eyes to ease the pain and reduce the swelling. "Hold still, Mr. Potter," she instructed gently.

James winced as she worked, but the relief was almost immediate. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice weak.

“How about you just get some rest, for now. Let’s see what Healer Dedworth has to say when he arrives, alright?” 

Minutes later, Pomfrey’s office doors flung open, and Healer Dedworth strode in, a tall, imposing figure with an air of authority, still wearing his dark green healer’s robes. He carried a leather bag, and his shoes clicked as walked briskly across the wing. 

"Where is he?" Dedworth demanded, his tone brisk but professional.

Madam Pomfrey guided him to James's bed. "Right here. He's been hit with multiple Conjunctivitis Curses and a paralysis jinx. The swelling is severe, and I am worried about further damage to his corneas."

Healer Dedworth nodded, assessing the situation with a practiced eye. "Alright, let's get to work." He smiled down at James. 

“Hello, James, it’s me, Alvin!” He said, in what he thought was probably an uplifting voice. James wasn’t convinced. 

“Hello Alvin,” he replied, still quite anxious about the other healer’s presence. “I’m guessing things aren’t looking great, are they?” 

Dedworth sighed. “I can’t lie, James, it’s not looking too good up here. But Poppy and I will do our best. Poppy, why don’t we let James rest while we take care of this?” 

Pomfrey agreed, and guided a Dreamless Sleep potion into James’ hands, which he drank quickly. James, exhausted but grateful, managed a small smile. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice weak.

Dedworth nodded, patting James’s shoulder reassuringly. “Just rest, young man. We’ll take care of this as best we can.”

As James drifted off to sleep, his eyes still swollen and painful, he felt a brief sense of comfort, knowing he was in capable hands. The effects of the potion quickly overtook him, and he fell into a deep sleep.

Dedworth began casting a series of intricate spells over James, each one glowing softly and enveloping him in a cocoon of healing magic.

“Corneal repair,” Dedworth muttered, his wand moving in precise, controlled motions. Madam Pomfrey handed him various potions and salves, assisting wherever needed. “We need to prevent any further damage to his corneas and reduce the inflammation.”

As Dedworth worked, the swelling around James’s eyes began to diminish slowly. “This will take time,” Dedworth said quietly to Madam Pomfrey. “The damage is extensive, but we might be able to reverse some of it if we’re careful.”

A few minutes later, the doors to the hospital wing opened again, and Professor McGonagall and Lily entered, their faces filled with concern as they approached Remus, who’d taken a seat on an empty bed and watched the closed curtains around James’ hospital bed. 

“How is he?” McGonagall asked, her voice tight.

Remus shrugged. “They’ve been in there the whole time. I’m not quite sure what’s going on.” 

Looking between the two worried teens, McGonagall placed a gentle hand on Lily’s shoulder. “Miss Evans, Mr. Lupin, you should head back to the common room now. There’s nothing more you can do here tonight.”

“We want to stay,” Remus protested, his voice firm despite his exhaustion.

McGonagall’s gaze softened, but her tone remained resolute. “You’ve done all you can. I will notify you immediately if there are any changes. Please, get some rest.”

Reluctantly, Lily and Remus nodded, knowing they had no choice. “Alright,” Lily whispered, and let Remus walk her by the hand towards the doors. 

“Try to rest, both of you. He’s in good hands.”

Professor McGonagall stood watch outside the pulled curtains, waiting for the two healers to update her on the situation. 

Once they finished their work, Dedworth stepped back, wiping his brow. “That should do it for now. The swelling will go down gradually, I hope.” 

After opening up the curtain so that McGonagall could check in on her student, the three headed towards Pomfrey’s office to discuss the situation further.

Healer Dedworth took a seat, rubbing his temples in thought. McGonagall sat across from him, her expression as severe as ever, while Pomfrey prepared tea, trying to calm her own nerves.

Dedworth sighed deeply. “I won’t lie to you both. While we managed to prevent the immediate damage from worsening, the long-term prognosis for James’s vision is uncertain. With his condition, any additional trauma to his eyes can have severe repercussions.”

Madam Pomfrey placed a cup of tea in front of Dedworth and one for McGonagall. “But there’s a chance that it could clear up completely, isn’t there?” she asked, “Especially since we were able to treat him so quickly.” 

McGonagall leaned forward, her sharp eyes piercing. “James is young, and resilient. Certainly that must count for something.” 

"I've done what I can for now," he began, glancing at the stack of parchment on Pomfrey’s desk. "But the scarring on James’ cornea is extensive. Given the severity of the conjunctivitis curse and the delay in treatment, his vision is likely to be significantly impaired."

Madam Pomfrey leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "How much worse are we talking?"

"James already struggles with blurred vision and light sensitivity due to the choroideremia, and his already severely myopic vision. The conjunctivitis curse has exacerbated these issues. He'll experience more pronounced blurriness, heightened sensitivity to light, and potentially more frequent headaches. It’s going to be a challenge for him," Dedworth explained, his voice steady but tinged with worry.

Professor McGonagall, who had been pacing by the window, turned sharply. "Can it be reversed?"

Dedworth shook his head slowly. "Reversal isn't possible. We can manage the symptoms and try to prevent further damage, but full restoration is unlikely."

McGonagall looked between them and nodded in understanding, her stern demeanor softening slightly. “So, what are we looking at in terms of his recovery?”

Dedworth sighed, rubbing his temples again. “The best-case scenario is that we can manage the inflammation and reduce some of the scarring, but it’s unlikely his vision will return to what it was before the attack. The additional damage means he’ll struggle even more with his existing vision. We acted as quickly as possible, but there isn’t much we can do beyond this point.”

Pomfrey poured more tea into her mug, which she’d drained quickly. “We’ll need to monitor him closely. Potions, salves, anything that might help reduce the scarring and inflammation. But we have to be realistic about his prognosis.”

McGonagall’s face was a mask of concern. “Understood. And what about his parents? What should I tell them?”

Dedworth hesitated, glancing at McGonagall. “There’s another situation. Fleamont Potter has actually been in St. Mungo’s for some time now. Effie, you know, is a colleague of mine, and I’ve been seeing quite a lot of her lately. I know she hasn’t told James yet; I’d imagine she didn’t want to worry him while he’s at school.”

“Effie must be going through so much,” Pomfrey said softly. “What exactly is Fleamont's condition?”

Dedworth sighed, looking grim. “He's been diagnosed with an aggressive form of Phoenix Fire Syndrome, something having to do with an overexposure in his lab. It’s been resistant to many conventional treatments, and while they finally found something that’s working, it was not looking good for a while.” 

Pomfrey’s eyes filled with sorrow. “How is she managing?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, “but she’s doing it, and shielding James from as much as she can.” 

Pomfrey sighed, rubbing her temples. "We need to inform his parents. They need to know what’s happened to their son."

McGonagall nodded in agreement but hesitated. "What about Effie? With Fleamont’s condition, I’m worried about burdening her with more bad news."

Dedworth looked between the two women, his expression conflicted. "Why not wait until he’s begun to improve? She’s under so much stress, I just wouldn’t want to throw too much at her."

"But she needs to know about James," Pomfrey insisted. "We can’t keep this from her."

McGonagall sighed deeply. "I guess the question is more how to tell her. She’s incredibly strong, but everyone has their limits."

"Let’s approach it sensitively," Dedworth suggested. "We’ll give her all the information but also assure her that James is receiving the best care possible."

Pomfrey nodded. "And we will emphasize that we’re hopeful he’ll adapt.” She stood up decisively. "I’ll write to her tonight. I’ll ask Dumbledore to deliver the letter in person and be there for her when she reads it."

McGonagall placed a hand on Pomfrey’s shoulder. "Good. And try keep James’s spirits up. The last thing he needs is to lose hope."

Dedworth gathered his things, preparing to leave. “Keep me updated, please. I can come back if you need me.” 

They waved him off into the Floo and the hours ticked by, as Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall sat in the dimly lit office, drafting and redrafting a letter to Effie Potter. The two women, both seasoned in handling crises, found themselves unusually overwhelmed by the task. Finally, as the clock struck three in the morning, they folded the final draft and prepared to have it sent over to Dumbledore for delivery.

"I'll seal it and pass it along first thing in the morning," McGonagall said, her voice heavy with exhaustion. "Let’s get some rest."

Pomfrey nodded, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes. "Just a few minutes," she murmured.