Eclipsed

The warm September air whipped at James's robes as he navigated the bustling Broomhaven courtyard, his cane tapping a steady rhythm against the cobblestones as he made his way to meet Meadowes, or Dorcas, as she'd begun to insist he call her. Nearly a month into the semester and the initial excitement of starting law school had been replaced by a gnawing sense of alienation. Sure, there was Dorcas, a beacon of support in a sea of privilege and prejudice, but having each other, and their shared experiences as students of color, couldn't completely make up for the undercurrents of bigotry that seemed to follow them around. Even James, who carried the privilege of being from a wealthy pureblooded family, couldn’t escape the nastiness of the largely white, conservative population of the school, and he was sure Dorcas had it much worse. 

One such instance reared its ugly head as they approached the towering oak doors of the Contracts classroom. A group of older students notorious for their blood purist leanings, stood near the entrance, their loud laughter carrying across the courtyard.

As James and Dorcas drew closer, the laughter abruptly died down. The leader of the pack, a tall, sneering blonde boy with a pointed chin, eyed them with disdain.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with mock surprise. "If it isn't Potter and… what's your name again? Mudblood?"

Dorcas bristled, her dark eyes flashing with anger. But before she could retort, James spoke, his voice calm but firm.

"I think you meant to say Meadowes, didn’t you?" he answered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "What a nasty, nasty name to call someone, Blackwood."

The blonde boy scoffed. "Typical blood-traitor rhetoric, Potter," he sneered. “You should both know there’s no real place for mudbloods at a school like this.” 

James ignored him, but Dorcas wasn't finished.

"Actually," she countered, her voice laced with a dangerous edge, "history is filled with examples of powerful witches and wizards who weren't pure-blood studying in this very institution, and in fact, many of the the inaugural students came from diverse wizarding backgrounds, chosen that way on purpose, to support a truly representative justice system. Perhaps you should crack open a book sometime, Blackwood, and see how society is actually becoming quite primitive and regressive… much like you are."

Blackwood's face contorted with rage, but before he could unleash another verbal tirade, the heavy oak doors creaked open, and Professor Merrythought swept out of the classroom.

"Enough loitering, all of you," he barked, her sharp gaze flitting across the group. "Class is about to begin."

The group of students dispersed, muttering under their breath.

These types of interactions, though not always so overt, were a constant thorn in their side as the weeks went on. There were the professors who, despite their supposed expertise in magical law, seemed ill-equipped to handle a blind student, their lectures often lacking the necessary descriptive elements James needed. There were the classmates who would mutter patronizing comments under their breath, their "helpful suggestions" laced with condescension.

One particularly frustrating instance involved Professor Bogbrush, a stickler for tradition who refused to allow any magical recordings in his class. This presented a significant challenge for James, who relied on his Quick-Quotes Quill to capture the crucial details of the lectures.

"As future legal minds," he said pointedly, his voice laden with disdain, "it's crucial to recognize those who might attempt to exploit their… limitations… to gain an unfair advantage."

"Unbelievable," Dorcas muttered, a low growl escaping her throat. 

James’ jaw clenched tight. The unspoken implication hung heavy in the air – that his blindness was a weakness to be exploited, not a hurdle to be overcome.

During an open discussion, a student with a sneering smile directed at James asked, "Don't you find these contracts a bit archaic, Potter? Considering your… heritage, of course."

James felt a familiar heat rise in his cheeks. He opened his mouth to retort, but Dorcas cut him off with a sharp, steely voice.

"Actually, Higgins," she said, her gaze unwavering, "the oppression of sentient beings transcends cultural backgrounds. Perhaps you should re-read the Ethical Guidelines before spouting off such insensitive remarks."

Higgins stammered, the color draining from his face under Dorcas's withering gaze, the beads on the ends of her braids clacking as she shook her head at his idiocy. Professor Merrythought, finally noticing the tension, mumbled about "respectful discourse" and hastily moved the class onto a discussion over another section of the law code.

The library, their haven for studying, wasn't without its challenges either. An elderly librarian, her gaze lingering on James's cane, spoke in slow, patronizing tones each time he asked for her assistance, questioning his ability to comprehend not only legal complexities, but the English language in general. As much as James wanted to tell her off, though, he needed her on his side, and tolerated this condescension the best he could. 

These blatant displays of racism and ableism were interspersed with more subtle microaggressions, coming from all angles. The professors hardly acknowledging James's well-researched legal arguments, the surprised glances when Dorcas participated actively in class discussions, the whispers that followed them down the hallways, laced with a thinly veiled disdain for their presence. 

Despite their best efforts, the initial excitement of law school had waned, replaced by a gnawing sense of alienation. The subtle digs, the surprised glances, the professors who seemed to hold the two of them to a different standard – it all began to take a toll. James found himself questioning his abilities, his voice growing quieter in class discussions, until he felt himself giving up again.

One particularly trying day, after enduring a particularly scathing lecture from a professor who openly questioned Dorcas' magical lineage, they opened their notes up in a hidden corner of the Broomhaven solarium. 

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the gentle dripping of water and the rustling of leaves. 

"I feel like I'm drowning here, Dorcas," James finally confessed. "I can’t keep up anymore.” 

"James," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "We both know this isn't about the material. You’re more than capable of handling these classes."

James sighed, his frustration spilling over. "It's just… exhausting," he admitted. "Feeling like I have to constantly prove myself, that I don't belong here. I don’t know how you aren’t feeling this way.” 

“I am, though,” Dorcas replied, and quickly turned to him, her eyes filled with a newfound determination. "But you know what?" she said, her voice firm. "We can't let them win. We have a right to be here, just as much as anyone else."

Her words resonated with James. He straightened his shoulders, a spark of defiance igniting within him. He wouldn't let the prejudice define him. He would use his education, his voice, to fight for a more inclusive magical world.

The crisp late-September air blew in through the open window as James fidgeted in his room. Today was Petunia and Vernon's wedding, and excitement crackled through him. He'd never been to a Muggle wedding, or even a white-people wedding for that matter, and the novelty of it all fueled a nervous energy that had him pacing the threadbare carpet, and all thoughts of school set aside for the weekend. 

Sirius, sprawled on the lone armchair like a lanky black cat, watched James with amusement. "Easy there, Prongs," he drawled, his voice laced with a teasing lilt. "You'll wear a hole in the floor before you even get there."

The biggest challenge, for James, was attire. Formal wear for wizards was a flamboyant affair, all billowing robes and ornate waistcoats. Muggle fashion was something James hadn’t quite gotten a handle on, especially since there wasn’t exactly a reason for him to pursue it. Robes made his life easy, and a t-shirt and trousers never needed to match when they were hardly ever seen. In an attempt to help him out with this event, though, Effie had sent a couple of dress robes and other muggle pieces, mostly traditional Indian-muggle clothing that James was attempting to choose from.

Merlin's beard, Sirius," he muttered, his voice laced with a hint of frustration, "how do Muggles manage these? All these buttons and… loops… why do they even bother?"

Sirius, sprawled on his usual rickety armchair, chuckled. "Patience, Prongs," he drawled, his voice thick with amusement. "Remember, elegance is about confidence, not how many times you stab yourself in the eye while trying to get dressed."

James scowled playfully. James, despite his reservations about the groom, was determined to make a good impression on Lily's side of the family at least, and knew that looking nice would play a role in that.

The sherwani was his father’s, and it was a deep shade of blue, a color he vaguely knew his mother favoured, shimmering faintly with a subtle magical sheen, adding a touch of wizarding flair to the otherwise Muggle attire, a crisp brown kurta, its fabric intricately embroidered with golden thread and a pair of dark, well-fitting trousers over nice black dragonhide boots. 

James stopped his pacing, his brow furrowed. "Do you think this looks alright?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

Sirius, ever the fashion critic, raised an eyebrow. "Well, Prongs," he drawled, a hint of amusement in his voice, "you certainly won't blend into the crowd. I approve.”

Standing with his nose up to the full-length mirror, James could only make out blurry shapes and splashes of color. But with Sirius' approval ringing in his ears and the cool feel of the fabric against his skin, he felt a surge of confidence. 

The doorbell rang, a sharp peal that sent a jolt through him. "That must be Lily," Sirius said, his voice tinged with a hint of laughter. "I’ll get the door."

He grabbed his cane and glasses, and headed for the living room, ready to head out. 

"There you are, James," Lily said, her voice bright as she kissed him chastely. "Ready for the big day?"

James puffed out his chest, a touch of pride in his voice. "Absolutely. Sirius tells me I look rather… dashing- what do you say?"

Lily walked closer, her hand reaching out to brush against the fabric of his sherwani. "You do," she admitted, her voice carefully neutral. "Very… unique."

James's smile widened. "Unique in a good way, right?"

"Of course," she said, her voice laced with a hint of something he couldn't quite decipher.

Relief flooded James. He was sure Lily wouldn't sugarcoat things, and her hesitant approval meant the world to him. "Thank you," he said, a genuine smile returning to his face.

Lily forced a laugh. "You look lovely," she repeated, her heart sinking a little. She imagined the sea of pastel-colored dresses and crisp dark suits, and James's outfit, a beacon of vibrant color and cultural fusion, standing out in stark contrast. She pictured the whispers, the curious stares, and a pang of guilt twisted in her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she patted down his unruly hair and squeezed his arm gently. "Come on then," she said, her voice laced with forced cheer. "Let's get ourselves to the wedding before the ceremony starts."

A swirling sensation enveloped James, a familiar but always disorienting feeling of Apparition. Lily held onto his arm tightly, her grip anchoring him as the world solidified around them. They landed with soft thumps on the uneven gravel of a back parking lot, the scent of freshly cut grass and exhaust fumes replacing the familiar smells of his flat.

"Here we are," Lily said, her voice a touch strained. James, oblivious, took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. "The church is just over there," she continued, pointing in a vague direction before remembering, “about a two minute walk from where we’ve landed.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Let's head inside," she said, before taking his hand and placing it on the inside of her elbow. 

James, trusting in her guidance, followed her steps, a hand in the crook of her elbow. He felt a slight shift in the atmosphere, a hushed reverence and a chill to the air that settled upon him as they neared the imposing stone structure of the church.

Together, they entered the back of the small, stone church. The interior was dim and cool, bathed in the soft glow of stained glass windows..The air hung heavy with the scent of flowers and something vaguely aromatic. Lily guided him towards a small, empty pew tucked away in a corner. Sitting down, James strained his ears, trying to decipher the ceremony unfolding before him. He could hear the rhythmic chanting of prayers, punctuated by gasps and sniffles from the congregation as the couple took their vows. 

James, unfamiliar with the ceremony and with the couple, felt a strange sense of detachment throughout, sitting and standing when prompted, his mind wandering the entire time. He focused instead on the texture of the worn wooden pew beneath his fingers, the subtle changes in Lily's breathing beside him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the ceremony concluded. As the final notes of the recessional hymn faded, a jovial vicar with a booming voice announced, "And with that, I pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride!"

 A wave of relief washed over James, and a smattering of applause erupted from the congregation, followed by a slow, shuffling movement as guests began to file out of the pews. James, unable to see the commotion, felt Lily nudge him towards the aisle.

"Alright, it’s time to brave the reception," she whispered, her voice laced with a hint of apprehension.

As they entered the hall, Lily's mother, Rose, with her warm smile and kind eyes, embraced James tightly. "Hello James, it’s me, Rose. Lovely to see you again! And what a… unique outfit," she added, her amusement thinly veiled behind her smile.

James chuckled good-naturedly. "That’s exactly what Lily said. Unique in a good way, right, Mrs. Evans?"

Rose patted his hand affectionately. "Indeed. And I’ve told you before, it’s Rose. Now, come along, I'm sure you're famished after all that… ceremony business."

As they entered the reception hall, a cacophony of sounds assaulted James – the clinking of glasses, the chatter of excited voices, the rhythmic whoosh of the buffet line. Lily, sensitive to his preferences in unfamiliar situations, squeezed his arm and guided him towards a quieter corner of the room.

Lily's face, usually radiant, seemed clouded with worry. James could sense the tension radiating from her like heat waves. They joined a cluster of guests, some of whom Lily introduced as her relatives, and some as family friends of the Dursleys: a portly woman with a tightly permed hairstyle who stared at James with undisguised curiosity, and a tall, thin man with a perpetually pinched expression who barely acknowledged him, even after James introduced himself and shook hands with everyone who’d introduced themselves to him. 

The first subtle jab came disguised as a compliment. "You speak English very well, young man," the portly woman declared, eyeing him from head to toe. James, ever polite, offered a courteous smile. "Thank you, ma'am. I was raised here… in England."

The next came wrapped in ignorance. "Goodness, Lily, was it?" a woman with a shrill voice remarked, her gaze flitting between James and Lily. "How do you two… communicate? Does he understand sign language?"

Lily bristled, but before she could retort, James stepped forward, his voice calm and collected. "Actually," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument, "I'm blind, not deaf. I can hear everything you’re saying, and to be perfectly clear, I generally have a good sense of what's going on around me."

A flicker of surprise flitted across the woman's face, quickly followed by a strained apology. The pinched-faced man, however, remained silent, his gaze lingering on James's cane with a mixture of disapproval and pity, before the woman dragged him away, and Lily and James were, momentarily, left alone. 

Lily stared at James, a mixture of admiration and worry swirling in her emerald eyes. "James, that was…" she began, searching for the right words.

James offered her a calm smile. "Necessary, Lily," he interrupted gently. "Ignorance, and prejudice, need to be challenged."

Throughout the afternoon, there were more snide remarks and ill-disguised stares, from both sides: Evanses and Dursleys, as well as the friends Vernon and Petunia had invited. James did their best to meet them head-on, his wit as sharp as his mind, with Lily strangely silent by his side. He countered ignorance with knowledge, rudeness with dignity. However, even James's resilience had its limits.

After an hour or so of forced conversation and thinly veiled hostility, James felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He leaned towards Lily, his voice barely a whisper. "Lily," he murmured, "would you mind terribly if we took a step outside for a minute?"

Lily nodded immediately. "Of course, James. Let's get some fresh air."

Taking his arm, she guided him through the throng of guests, ignoring the curious glances and hushed whispers that followed them. Stepping outside into the cool evening air, James felt a sense of relief wash over him. The oppressive atmosphere of the reception hall finally lifted.

He took a deep breath, the crisp night air cleansing his lungs. Lily stood beside him, her hand resting gently on his arm. "You handled yourself brilliantly back there," she said, her voice filled with admiration.

James let out a humorless chuckle. "Brilliantly? Or did I just alienate you from half your family?"

Lily squeezed his arm. "No," she countered firmly. "You stood up for yourself. You showed them exactly who you are – intelligent, dignified, and not to be messed with."

James leaned against the brick wall of the church, his hand gripping the folded up cane in his pocket tighter than necessary. The forced smiles, the veiled insults, it all played back in his mind like a scene from a particularly unpleasant dream.

"Lily," he said, his voice tinged with a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. "Do you… do you feel embarrassed by me?"

Lily's initial reaction was denial. "What? Of course not, James! How could you even think that?" Her voice was laced with genuine hurt.

But James wasn't convinced. He tilted his head slightly, a gesture that spoke volumes despite her not being able to see it. "Then why didn't you say anything back there? You’ve been so quiet, ever since we arrived, and I feel like I was… fending them off alone."

Lily sighed, running a hand through her hair. "James, I was only trying to keep things calm. I didn't want to cause a scene."

"And that's the problem, isn't it, Lily?" James continued, his voice low and steady. "Silence can be just as deafening as ignorance. You could at least have challenged them with me, shown them that we don't tolerate that kind of prejudice- that it’s not just me in this… that we’re facing it together."

A sharp retort rose to Lily's lips, but something in James's voice, a flicker of hurt that mirrored her own rising anger, stopped her. "James," she began, "I wasn't trying to leave you alo—"

"But you did, didn't you?" he interrupted, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You did leave me to handle them alone. Because deep down, Lily, I think… I think you… you are embarrassed of me."

The accusation hung heavy in the air, a sharp blow aimed straight at Lily's heart. "Embarrassed of you? James, how can you even say that?" she retorted sharply, tears welling up in her eyes. "I love you, for God's sake! You are who you are, and I wouldn’t change a thing about you.” 

But the words rang hollow, overshadowed by the stark reality of what had happened in the reception hall. 

Hurt and anger warred within him. He knew Lily loved him, but sometimes, love demanded a voice, a willingness to stand up for the person you cared about, no matter the cost.

"Don't want to be seen with a blind, brown boyfriend? Don't worry, I won't make it difficult for you anymore," he answered coldly, and turned away from her, his heart a leaden weight in his chest. “Enjoy the party,” he muttered, and without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel, unfolding his cane and heading off, away from the sounds of the party inside.

Lily reached out to him, a desperate plea in her voice. "James, hold on– " But he shrugged her hand away, anger masking the vulnerability beneath. 

"I think I need some space,"

Frozen in place, her cheeks blazed hot and her eyes burned.  This wasn't how the evening was supposed to end.

Turning the corner, James sank down onto a curb, his seat hitting cold concrete, hurt radiating through him like a physical ache. Tears welled up in his eyes. He felt foolish. Not only had he fucked up things with Lily and her family, again, but he wasn’t allowed to apparate, and he had no idea where he was. 

“Fuuuck.” he breathed. 

Taking a deep breath, and hoping there were no muggles around, he fumbled for the two-way mirror tucked away in his pocket. It was a long shot, but it was his only hope. He whispered Sirius's name into the cool surface, his voice thick with emotion.

A moment later, Sirius's face materialized in the mirror, his expression etched with concern. "James? What's wrong?" His voice rang through the small space, a sharp contrast to the quiet night.

James wiped at his eyes, his voice shaky as he recounted the events of the reception, his argument with Lily. Shame burned in his throat, but he forced himself to speak.

"I… I'm at Petunia's wedding reception," he choked out, “or rather, I’m somewhere near the reception.” James sighed shakily. "And I just… I need someone to get me out of here."

“Where’s Lily?” Sirius asked, concerned, and James just shook his head. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Sirius didn't hesitate. "Stay put," he commanded with a sternness that hardly disguised his concern. "I'll be there in ten."

He and Lily hadn't spoken since their fight on Saturday night, and James didn't even know if he wanted to. He had felt so... hurt by her silence in the moment, and didn't know what to make of it. Did she regret their relationship? Did she agree with her awful relatives? The thought of those possible realities gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

After sulking around the apartment all of Sunday, he found solace in the familiar warmth of the solarium on Monday afternoon, a haven of sunlight and sprawling spider plants. Dorcas, ever perceptive, sensed his foul mood the moment they settled into their usual study nook.

"Everything alright, James?" she asked, her voice a gentle rasp.

"Just… processing the weekend," he replied, his voice carefully neutral. He couldn't bring himself to share the details of his fight with Lily, not yet. It felt too raw, too vulnerable.

Just then, the heavy oak doors to the solarium creaked open, and Lily stepped through. Her eyes immediately found James, and a flicker of pain crossed her features.

Dorcas, sensing the tension, nudged James subtly. "James, Lily is coming over here… Do you want me to give you two some privacy?" she asked, her voice laced with understanding.

James hesitated, then nodded. "Sure. Thanks, Meadowes."

Dorcas gathered her books and retreated to a secluded corner, leaving James and Lily alone amidst the whispering fronds of the hanging plants.

As Lily approached, she didn’t announce herself, but James knew she was there. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. James, his voice tight, broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Alright, Lily," he said, his words clipped. "What do you want to talk about?" After another moment, he raised a hand, his voice firm. "Let me guess," he said, his words laced with bitterness. "You want to apologize?"

Lily's voice trembled as she spoke. "James, I'm so, so sorry I didn't say anything on Saturday. I’m sorry I let you deal with everyone like that alone. Seeing you… seeing you be… belittled like that, spoken down to… it angered me more than I can express."

He sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment. "You watched it happen, Lily, and said nothing. You saw how they treated me, and you…"

"I didn't know what to say," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "It all happened so fast, and… “ She paused, searching his face, which remained impassive. "Honestly… there was another reason I hesitated."

James raised an eyebrow.

"Petunia," Lily admitted, her voice laced with a mixture of shame and frustration. "Ever since we were children, she's hated me. And all these years, I've been trying so hard to gain her approval. I was afraid… afraid that if I stood by you, openly, it would only push her further away." Shame bloomed in her chest as the words left her lips, and tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. "I know it's a pathetic reason, James. But… I don't want to lose my sister completely."

A heavy silence descended upon them, broken only by the gentle rustling of leaves in the warm breeze. James, processing Lily's words, felt a surge of understanding battling with the hurt that lingered within him.

James remained silent for a moment, digesting her confession. The revelation hung heavy in the air. James hadn't considered the burden Lily shouldered, the tightrope she walked in her attempt at maintaining a semblance of a relationship with her sister. Shame tinged the anger in his chest.

"Lily," he said, his voice softer this time, " Being afraid is… normal. But you can't let fear dictate your life, or our relationship; that's where things go wrong." He paused, then continued, "I love you, Lily. But love shouldn't be about silence and fear. It should be about acceptance, about standing up for each other, even when it's hard. I'm facing this shit everywhere I go: at school, in the world, and when I'm out with you, I want to be sure that I don't have to deal with it alone. It's too much for me. I can’t be with someone who won’t stand up for me when I would sacrifice anything to stand up for them. I don’t think that’s fair at all."

Lily stepped closer, her hand reaching out to tentatively touch his arm, but withdrawing before she spoke. "I know," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "And that's why I'm here… because I can't lose you. You're… you're important to me, James. More than you know. I won’t make that mistake again." 

“You promise?” he asked sternly, aware that he was looking away from her but not wanting to make himself vulnerable yet. 

“I swear it. Solemnly.” 

A warmth bloomed in James's chest despite himself. He reached out, his hand finding hers, the familiar touch a silent reassurance. "Then let's be brave together, Lily," he suggested, his voice filled with a stern resolve. "Let's not bottle things up, not fight or storm off. We can be honest, open, and face these challenges… as a team."

Lily's face broke into a smile, a radiant beacon that chased away the shadows of doubt. "A team," she echoed, squeezing his hand gently. "I like the sound of that."

They stood there for a moment longer, a newfound understanding simmering between them. The awkwardness hadn't vanished entirely, but the fragile framework of a new bridge had been built.

"So," James finally broke the silence, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Would you care to hear about the finer points of goblin trade negotiations while I try not to lose my lunch?"

Lily smiled. "Sounds wonderful, James. I’ve never wanted to hear about something more!"

He cast a quick scriptio sonorio and the text from the book read aloud. The weight of the argument had lifted, replaced by a fragile hope for a stronger, more open relationship.