Eclipsed

Being alone was dangerous. Sirius knew that better than anyone. With his schedule shifting from day shifts to nights, he could already feel the weight of unstructured days pressing down on him. Too much time alone meant too much time in his own head, and that wasn’t safe—not for him, not right now. So when Effie offhandedly suggested he spend his free hours at the Potters’ house, he didn’t hesitate to take her up on it.

Effie, though technically retired, was always busy, in and out of the house on errands, charity work, social calls. Fleamont, on the other hand, was always home. His health had forced him into full retirement, and though he had good days, there were moments when Sirius could see the wear of it—how stillness didn’t quite suit him, how the quiet of the house must sometimes feel suffocating. In that way, they were alike.

Most afternoons, they sat together in the sunlit living room, the smell of tea curling through the air. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn’t. Sirius found that Fleamont never forced conversation, never pressed when Sirius wasn’t ready to speak. That, in itself, was something new.

One afternoon, Sirius spoke first.

“How did you know?” he asked, voice quiet.

Fleamont glanced up from his tea. “Know what?”

“That you loved Effie. That it was worth it.”

Fleamont set his cup down, studying Sirius for a long moment. “You’re thinking about Remus.” It wasn’t a question.

Sirius hesitated, then nodded. “He’s been away a lot. Work.” The word felt sharp in his mouth, but he swallowed it down. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not the problem. Maybe I am.”

Fleamont sighed, shifting in his chair. “Loving someone doesn’t mean it’s always easy, Sirius. Effie and I—there were hard years. Times when work kept us apart, times when I wasn’t the husband I should’ve been. We fought, we struggled. But love isn’t about never facing hardships. It’s about choosing each other, even when it’s difficult.”

Sirius looked down at his hands. “I don’t always make the best choices.”

“No one does.” Fleamont’s voice was gentle, but firm. “But love isn’t about being perfect. It’s about learning, growing, coming back even when it would be easier to run.”

Sirius exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. He hated how much this conversation was digging under his skin. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Then don’t,” Fleamont said simply. “Talk to him. Listen. Don’t let your fear of failing keep you from trying.”

Sirius swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He nodded, just once.

Over the next few weeks, he found himself lingering at the Potters’ house more and more. Some days, he and Fleamont talked about everything—about magic, about history, about the things Fleamont had seen in his lifetime. Other days, they said nothing at all. And in the quiet spaces between words, Sirius realized something: Fleamont was a father in the way Orion had never been. A steady presence. A voice of reason without cruelty. A person who made Sirius feel like he was something more than the worst parts of himself.

The bright, sterile corridors of St. Mungo’s felt both familiar and unsettling to Lily as she walked alongside Professor Adler. The walls were lined with portraits of past healers, their eyes seeming to follow her every step. The hustle and bustle of the hospital was palpable, with healers and nurses moving quickly from one room to the next, attending to a constant stream of patients.

Lily’s heart sank as she glimpsed the grim scene before her. The hospital had been overrun with patients from recent Death Eater attacks, each arriving with deep, mysterious lacerations that defied conventional healing methods. The wounds were jagged, almost as if they had been inflicted by something more sinister than ordinary dark magic.

Professor Adler, led Lily to a private laboratory within St. Mungo’s. The room was filled with shelves of potion ingredients, delicate glassware, and brewing apparatuses. Despite Lily’s awe over the advanced setup, a heavy tension hung in the air, emphasizing the gravity of the task at hand.

“Miss Evans,” Professor Adler said, as they entered the lab, “I’ve taken you on as an intern for a reason. We’re working on a new treatment potion for victims of the recent Death Eater attacks. The injuries they’re arriving with are severe—deep lacerations that resist our standard treatments. We’re hoping to develop something that can heal these wounds more effectively. Based on the recommendations from Horace, as well as your work in class, I know your abilities and perspectives will be invaluable to the success of this project.”

Lily nodded, her thoughts already racing. “I understand, Professor. I’ll get started immediately.”

“Here we are,” Adler said, gesturing to a workstation. “Your task will be to assist with the brewing of the potion and to examine the samples we’ve collected. We need to understand the nature of these wounds better before we can finalize the potion’s formulation.”

Lily nodded, her gaze shifting to a nearby table where a young woman with a bandaged arm was sitting. The woman’s eyes were closed, and her face was etched with pain. Lily felt a wave of sympathy and anxiety wash over her. She took a deep breath and approached the table.

“Hello,” Lily said softly, offering a reassuring smile. “I’m Lily Evans. I’ll be examining your wound to help with our research, and hopefully will be developing a potion that could heal this up quickly.”

The patient opened her eyes, looking at Lily with a mixture of hope and apprehension. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Lily carefully unwrapped the bandage, revealing a deep, jagged cut that seemed to have an almost unnatural pattern. As Lily examined the wound, a shiver ran down her spine. There was something disturbingly familiar about the injury, but she couldn’t quite place it.

She moved on to another patient, this one with similar injuries. The pattern of the lacerations was oddly specific. Lily’s mind raced with half-formed thoughts and memories.

After several examinations, Lily joined Professor Adler at the lab’s central workbench. The professor was focused on a simmering cauldron, her concentration evident in the furrow of her brow.

“Professor Adler,” Lily began hesitantly, “I’ve noticed something about the wounds on the patients. They look strangely familiar, almost like I’ve seen them before.”

Adler looked up from her work, her expression attentive. “Really? What do you mean?”

Lily shook her head, frustration evident in her voice. “I can’t quite place where I’ve seen them. But there’s something about the pattern and depth of the lacerations that seems oddly familiar.”

Professor Adler considered this for a moment, then nodded. “It’s possible that these injuries are unique in some way. If you remember anything more, please let me know. For now, let’s focus on perfecting the potion. We need to be sure it will be effective.”

Lily agreed and threw herself into the task. The hours passed in a blur as she worked alongside Adler, meticulously measuring ingredients and adjusting the potion’s properties. Despite her dedication, the nagging feeling of familiarity remained, hovering at the edge of her consciousness.

The rest of the day was spent between reference books and their cauldrons, comparing the injuries of the victims in front of them to different injuries detailed in various medical texts and analyzing the spells and potions meant to treat them. They began by comparing the magical and chemical properties of the ingredients used in other potions and tried to find parallel, stronger versions of those same ingredients, creating recipes and then hypothesizing over whether or not they’d actually work.By the end of the day, they had pages full of formulas and ideas ready to test the following morning. 

The hospital’s halls were quieter as they prepared to leave, and Lily walked with Adler toward the exit. The weight of the day’s events pressed heavily on her shoulders.

“Thank you for choosing me. It’s good to know I’m actually doing something that will help people,” Lily said, her voice weary but grateful. “I’ll keep thinking about where I’ve seen those injuries, and let you know if I come up with anything.”

Adler nodded, a look of understanding in her eyes. “Thank you, Lily. Great job today- I could’nt have asked for a better assistant.”

As Lily left St. Mungo’s and stepped out into the cool evening air, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of lethologica. The familiar wounds, the strange patterns—there was something significant about them, something that she knew she’d seen before. If only she could remember, it would help in the fight against the Death Eaters and bring some healing to the people suffering from their attacks.

James’ first month working at Thorn’s office had gone great, and his fourth week had started off as expected. He arrived at the office with Dorcas, both of them chatting about the upcoming projects and the strides they were making under their new boss, Elias Thorn, seatholder in the Wizengamot, and one of the only progressive, young politicians in the ministry. The atmosphere was bustling with the usual clatter of paperwork and the hum of magical devices at work.

“Morning, Mr. Potter, Miss Meadowes,” Thorn greeted warmly from his desk, at the front and center of the small office, which was more like a massive room than any traditional, cubicle-d office space. 

“Good morning, Mr. Thorn,” James replied, and Dorcas waved, as they passed by him to the corner of the open plan office, to the tables in the back they’d been assigned to on their first day

James settled into his designated workspace, pulling on his magicked headphones to convert the day's documents into audio. Dorcas set up beside him, sorting through files with practiced efficiency.

Hours passed in a blur of work. The task at hand for the day was reviewing old policies in order to find precedent supporting sentient creature welfare, one of the platforms Thorn’s office was built on. James and Dorcas both felt a sense of purpose doing this type of work, despite the underlying tension that came with knowing that many people were very much against them. 

Then, everything changed in an instant.

A deafening explosion rocked the office, the force of it throwing James from his chair. He hit the ground hard, his hearing instantly obliterated by the blast. All he could hear was an overwhelming, high-pitched ringing. Panic seized him as he realized that through the smoke and haze, he couldn't see even the shadows and blurs he usually could. He felt for his cane, and it was nowhere to be found, along with his glasses, which were probably somewhere in the rubble falling around them. 

The room was plunged into chaos. Papers and debris filled the air, and the acrid smell of smoke stung his nostrils. James' heart raced, his chest tightening as he struggled to orient himself. Disoriented and terrified, he groped blindly for something, anything, to anchor himself.

Dorcas was also thrown by the blast. She lay stunned on the floor for a few moments, her ears ringing. She quickly scrambled to her feet, searching for James through the haze of smoke and dust.

"James! James, where are you?" she called out, her voice muffled to her own ears.

James was beyond hearing her. The sudden combination of sensory overload into sensory deprivation sent him spiraling into a full-blown panic attack. He clutched at his chest, his breath coming in short, painful gasps.

Dorcas saw him not so far away, her own panic barely contained. She crawled beside him, trying to steady him with her presence. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder, but he pushed her away, unable to distinguish friend from foe. His eyes were wide with terror, his body trembling uncontrollably.

The room around them was a scene of devastation—overturned desks, ashes falling all around them, shattered glass, and injured colleagues crying. The smoke thickened, making it harder to see and breathe.

"James, it's me, it's Dorcas," she thought she said loudly, but her words were lost in the void of their mutual deafness.

James' mind was a whirlwind of fear and confusion. He felt utterly alone in the darkness, every sound muted, every movement a threat. The walls seemed to close in on him, the claustrophobia amplifying his panic.

“Dorcas!?” James shouted, but his own voice barely registered against the high-pitched ringing in his ears. His hands reached for something safe to touch, but everything felt hot and sharp. He couldn’t see her, couldn’t hear her, and the panic clawed up his throat like a living thing.

“James, I’m right here!” Dorcas said, urgency lacing her voice. She reached for him, trying to steady him, but he jerked back instinctively, his body tense with fear. “Damn it, James, we have to move!”

She tried again, hands firm but gentle as she grabbed his wrists, but he fought against her touch, breathing fast and shallow. He was in full-blown panic, his mind grasping for any sense of control, but everything was just noise and chaos and darkness.

Dorcas hesitated for only a second, struggling against his strength before guiding his hands to the ends of her braids, letting his fingers brush against the familiar wooden beads. “James, it’s me,” she urged. “Feel this. It’s me.”

His fingers twitched, brushing over the carved beads, the same ones she’d told him excitedly about getting a few weeks ago, the ones he heard clinking as they walked through the ministry together almost every day. “Dorcas?”

“Yes. We have to go,” she pressed. “Come on.”

Before she could pull him up, rough hands grabbed her from behind, yanking her away.

“Let’s go, miss!” one of the Aurors barked, urgency thick in his voice. He was moving quickly, trying to clear her from the wreckage, but in doing so, he wrenched her away from James.

James felt the loss immediately. One moment, his fingers had brushed those beads, the one thing tethering him to reality—and the next, she was gone.

“No!” he shouted, thrashing as hands closed around his arms. More hands. Too many.

“Easy, Potter—”

“Don’t touch me!” James twisted violently, fighting against their hold. He couldn’t see them. Couldn’t hear them properly. The last time people had grabbed at him like this, it had been a fight for his life. He didn’t know if these were Aurors or Death Eaters.

“James, it’s the Aurors!” Dorcas shouted, struggling against the ones pulling her away, but her voice was swallowed by the commotion.

“Let her go!” he bellowed, shoving at the people trying to restrain him, blind and deaf to anything else. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest constricting. His fists swung wildly, catching someone in the arm, the jaw—he didn’t know. Didn’t care.

"Dorcas, where are you?" James shouted again, but his words were more desperate now.

Dorcas, in tears, desperately pleaded with the Aurors. "He’s blind, and I don’t think he can hear you right now- he’s probably really scared! Please, be gentle!"

The Aurors, though well-meaning, were unable to calm James. The panic and disorientation made him a formidable opponent, and they found themselves forced to subdue him with more force than anyone had hoped. One Auror used a Stupefy to knock him out, ending the frantic struggle.

Her voice cracked as she saw James collapse, his body going limp. Tears streamed down her face as she continued to yell at the Aurors. "How could you? He’s terrified! You’ve done more harm than good!"

A couple of Aurors tried to calm her down, but their efforts were futile. They were too focused on the immediate aftermath of the explosion and the injured to fully address her outrage.

"Miss, please calm down," one of the Aurors said, trying to de-escalate the situation. "We had no choice. He was fighting us. We had to subdue him to get him to safety."

"You should have known better!" Dorcas shouted, her voice hoarse. "You could have listened to me! You’re supposed to protect people, not hurt them!"

Dorcas, coughing and crying heavily, was led away from James by another Auror, who tried to give her some space to calm down. She was taken to be treated for her own injuries—scrapes and bruises that she barely noticed through her worry. James and Dorcas were both taken to St. Mungo’s.

James woke to the soft hum of hospital machinery and the gentle beeping of a heart monitor. His hearing was partially restored, though a faint ringing lingered in the background. As James began to stir, his panic flared up. He tried to sit up, but there was something around his face, and his breath came in quick, shallow gasps as he struggled to control the rising tide of anxiety. It was only an oxygen bubble, which had been placed over his face, and Effie quickly removed it as she noticed him trying to sit up.

“Easy, love,” Effie said softly, her hands gentle as she helped him lie back down. Her eyes were filled with concern, but her voice was steady. “It’s me, Mum. You’re in St. Mungo’s. You’re safe.”

James’ eyes opened, blinking against the harsh hospital lights. He squinted, trying to focus on the forms around him. “Where’s Dorcas?” he asked urgently, his voice trembling.

“She’s okay, just some scrapes,” Effie reassured him, her voice steady. “She’s being treated as we speak.” 

James breathed a sigh of relief before moving onto his next priority. “My glasses... could you please–” he held out his hand, his sensitive eyes already protesting the horrible fluorescents.

“James, it’s Lily. I’m here too.” 

He smiled, but it was more of a wince. “Hi love.” 

She squeezed his hand, and she set an unfamiliar pair of glasses into them. I’m sorry, but they weren’t with you when you were brought in… I’m not as good at transfiguration as you, but these will have to do for now.” 

James adjusted the glasses, the unfamiliar weight somewhat grounding and the lack of light a relief. “What happened?” he asked, reaching for Lily’s hand, and she met it and held tight. 

Effie took a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly. “It was a Death Eater attack. They bombed Elias Thorn’s office in retaliation for the Muggleborn-rights bill he was working on. The blast caused a lot of chaos and injuries.”

“And why do I feel so awful? Did I get hit by something falling?” James shook his head. “I can hardly remember it.” 

“You were in a state of panic,” Effie explained softly. “The Aurors had to stun you to get you out safely. You were resisting a lot— you punched someone in the face, apparently. That’s why you’re feeling so disoriented and upset.”

James' face turned red with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to... I just...”

“It’s alright,” Lily said quickly, trying to soothe him, “Nobody was mad, except Dorcas maybe, I’d say, but she was only mad at the Aurors for knocking you out in the first place. You were just scared. It’s a normal reaction.”

James reached under the glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “What about Thorn? Is he alright?”

The words hung heavy in the air, and Lily and Effie exchanged a worried glance. Effie took a deep breath, her voice wavering as she spoke. “Sweetheart, Mr.Thorn didn’t survive the attack. He died in the explosion.”

The news hit James like a punch to the gut. He sat in stunned silence, processing the weight of the loss. His eyes welled up, but the tears didn’t come. The reality of Thorn’s death was overwhelming, and James struggled to find words or emotions to express his grief. As the minutes passed in silence, the atmosphere in the room was thick with the gravity of the situation. The beeping of the medical equipment and the distant murmurs of hospital staff provided a stark backdrop to the somber reality they all faced, that things in their world were about to get seriously worse.