Eclipsed

James woke up with his head pounding, his body heavy with exhaustion and the lingering effects of last night’s drinking. The room was bright—too bright—and he could feel the light pressing against his eyelids, irritating and sharp. With a groan, he reached out, his fingers skimming over the coffee table until they found his dark glasses. Slipping them on, he let out a slow breath. It didn’t do much for the hangover throbbing behind his temples, but it made facing the day marginally easier.

Swinging his legs over the couch, James steadied himself before pushing upright. He moved carefully, one hand trailing along the wall as he made his way toward the kitchen. The faint, comforting scent of tea met him, accompanied by the low murmur of voices.

“Hey, James,” Dorcas called as he stepped inside. “It’s just me, Chris, and Mrs. Lupin in here. How are you holding up?”

James nodded in her direction, grateful for the warning. “Could be worse,” he admitted, voice rough from sleep. “Could be better.”

Hope turned from the stove, her expression warm despite the shadows of worry beneath her eyes. “Morning, James. I’m making tea—would you like some?”

“That’d be great, thanks,” he said, dropping into a chair. His usual seat, thankfully empty. “How’s Remus?”

Hope’s voice softened as she poured his tea. “I think he’ll be alright.” She set the cup gently in front of him, her touch light against the table. “And thank you, James, for calling your mum. I don’t know what we would’ve done without her.”

James took a careful sip, the warmth settling in his chest. “I’m just glad she could help. Remus means a lot to all of us.”

A weighty silence settled over them, last night’s events still heavy in the air. Across the table, Christopher cleared his throat. “I hate to rush off, but I need to get going. It’s Easter, and my family’s expecting me.”

James nodded in understanding. “Go, enjoy it. And seriously, thanks for everything last night.”

Christopher clasped his hand briefly before standing. “Take care,” he said before bidding Hope a polite goodbye and stepping out the door, Dorcas following to see him off.

When she returned, she sank into the chair beside James. They sat quietly, sipping their tea, the unspoken question settling between them.

“What do you think Remus has been up to?” Hope finally asked, cautious but firm.

James exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “I wish I knew. He’s been so secretive about it, which isn’t unlike him, but you know… ”

Hope hummed in agreement.

Before they could delve further, a sharp knock sounded at the door.

Dorcas frowned. “Chris must’ve forgotten something.” She stood and crossed the room, but when she opened the door, she sucked in a soft breath of surprise.

Standing in the doorway, his blue eyes twinkling with quiet gravity, was Albus Dumbledore.

“Professor,” Dorcas greeted, stepping aside.

Dumbledore inclined his head politely. “Miss Meadowes. Mr. Potter.” He stepped into the kitchen, his gaze landing on Hope. “Mrs. Lupin. I hadn’t expected to find you here.”

Hope straightened, a flicker of something guarded crossing her face. “Professor Dumbledore,” she said evenly. “Would you like some tea?”

Dumbledore’s smile was small, unreadable. “No, thank you. I came to return something of Remus’s.” He pulled a wand from his robes, handing it to Hope. “He left it with me before his trip.”

James’ brow furrowed as he took the wand from the older man. “Why would he—”

Before he could finish, another voice cut through the room. “James, do you have any pain potions? Remus could use—”

Lyall Lupin stepped into the kitchen and immediately stopped short. His gaze locked onto Dumbledore, shifting from concern to sharp-edged fury in an instant.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, voice taut.

Dumbledore remained composed. “Lyall—”

“You’ve been using him,” Lyall snapped. “Sending him off without a second thought—treating him like he’s expendable–”

Hope moved quickly to his side, pressing a gentle hand to his arm. “Lyall, atal hyn rhag gweiddi, os gwelwch yn dda. you’re going to wake him up with all this racket. 

Lyall didn’t back down. “What exactly has Remus been doing for you, Albus?” His voice was quieter now, but no less fierce. “We’re his parents. We have a right to know why our son’s lying in the other room half-dead.”

Dumbledore’s expression remained calm, but the weight in the room shifted. “Lyall, I assure you—”

The commotion had, in fact, stirred the others from their slumber. The younger crowd began to emerge, groggy and disheveled, still half-asleep as they stumbled into the kitchen. They looked around in confusion, their minds slow to process what was happening.

Lily rubbed her eyes and blinked at Dumbledore in surprise. “Professor? What are you doing here?”

Sirius, who looked the worst of the lot, his eyes bloodshot and his hair sticking up at odd angles, took one look at Lyall’s furious expression and Dumbledore’s calm demeanor and immediately assumed the worst. “What have you been hiding from us?” Sirius demanded, his voice hoarse but filled with accusation. “What’s he been doing for you?”

Dumbledore raised a hand, as if to calm the room, but the tension was already too high. Lyall’s accusations had set off a chain reaction, and everyone’s curiosity and concern were quickly turning into anger.

Hope, sensing that Lyall was about to explode again, grabbed his arm and gently but firmly began to pull him back towards Remus’ room. “Come on, Lyall, take a breath,” she urged, her voice soft but insistent.

Lyall resisted for a moment, his eyes still locked on Dumbledore, but Hope’s pleading finally got through to him. All eyes turned back to Dumbledore. The group surrounded him, their faces a mix of frustration, confusion, and lingering anger.

“Please,” Dumbledore said calmly, “let’s all sit down. I’ll explain everything.”

Reluctantly, they all moved to the living room, sitting in various chairs and on the couch. Dumbledore remained standing, his presence commanding the room as he prepared to reveal the truth.

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting the concerned faces of everyone in the room. “Remus has been working on a sensitive and dangerous assignment. His task has been to gauge the stability of various werewolf packs. He’s been living with them to assess their conditions and determine if they are at risk of falling under the influence of the Death Eaters.”

Sirius, still recovering from his hangover, shot a glare at Dumbledore. “Why couldn’t he tell us about this? Why keep it a secret?”

Dumbledore’s gaze was steady as he replied, “The nature of Remus’s work required a level of confidentiality to ensure his safety and the success of the mission. The fewer people who knew, the less risk there was of information leaking to those who might exploit it.”

Hope, looked stricken but resolute. Lyall stood next to her, his anger giving way to a weary sadness.

“Why Remus though?” Marlene asked, looking to Sirius. “Wouldn’t he be at risk to be bitten if he’s spending so much time with werewolves?” 

Sirius looked to Lyall and Hope. 

Lyall’s face was taut with a mix of sorrow and resolve. “Remus has been a werewolf since he was four years old,” he finally said, his voice strained.

The girls—Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas—looked at each other, surprise evident in their expressions. They tried to keep their shock hidden, but it was clear that the revelation had impacted them deeply. The rest, who knew, seemed disappointed, but unsurprised at what Remus’ true responsibilities had been. 

Dumbledore took a moment to allow the room to absorb the weight of the new information before continuing on. “Remus has been working under me as a member of a secret group called the Order of the Phoenix. This organization is dedicated to fighting against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. We operate in secrecy to protect our members and our mission.”

Lyall’s face twisted with a mix of disbelief and anger, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. His fists clenched at his sides, the knuckles turning white, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might lunge forward, demanding an answer Dumbledore would not—could not—give. His entire frame trembled with barely contained rage, years of frustration and fear for his son boiling over. His voice, when he finally spoke, was rough with emotion. "You knew. You knew he’d be hurt, you knew he could die, and you let it happen."

Hope, sensing the rising tension like a brewing storm, stepped closer, her voice gentle but firm. “Lyall, please, let’s not do this now. Let’s go see if Remus is awake, sut mae hynny'n swnio?”

Lyall exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his emotions. His eyes remained hard, flickering between Dumbledore and the others in the room, but he gave a stiff nod. Hope reached for his hand, fingers squeezing lightly, grounding him just enough. She began guiding him back toward Remus’s bedside, though Lyall muttered under his breath, his frustration not fully quelled but momentarily subdued.

Dumbledore’s gaze swept over the remaining group, his expression unreadable yet expectant. “Now that you are all aware of the situation, I will extend an invitation for each of you to join the Order. It is a critical time, and every able hand is needed. However, if you choose not to join, I must insist that you keep this information confidential. The stakes are too high for any lapse in secrecy.”

James swallowed, his fingers gripping the edge of the table. Despite the rush of uncertainty twisting in his gut—his doubts about his own usefulness in combat, his fear of failure—he nodded along with the others. He wasn’t about to back out, but the reality of the fight ahead loomed large in his mind.

One by one, the others voiced their agreement to join the Order. Marlene’s voice was steady with conviction, Mary followed with a determined nod, and Dorcas—ever pragmatic—simply said, “Someone’s got to fight.” Sirius, beside James, leaned forward slightly, his voice low but firm. “I’m in. Whatever it takes.” He glanced toward Remus’s room and then back to Dumbledore. "We're not just sitting on the sidelines."

Dumbledore nodded, taking in each response carefully. His expression, though composed, carried something that might have been relief. “The next gathering will be in May. The location will be disclosed closer to the date, but for now, please consider this a priority. The nature of our work requires discretion and dedication.”

With that, he offered a final nod and a quiet wish for Remus’s speedy recovery before sweeping toward the door. It closed behind him with a soft click, but the weight of his presence remained, pressing down on the group like an unseen force.

A silence settled over them, thick and heavy. The morning light filtering in through the windows did little to chase away the exhaustion clinging to their bones.

Lily, unable to fight it any longer, curled up on the couch, her head resting against a cushion. Within moments, her breathing evened out, her exhaustion claiming her. The other girls exchanged looks before quietly slipping out, followed by Peter, who hesitated at the door before nodding once to James and Sirius and stepping out into the corridor.

Now, only James and Sirius remained. James pressed the door closed and made his way over to the kitchen table, slumping into a chair and pushing his glasses up over his eyebrows, fingers lightly pressing against his eyelids. 

Sirius sat down beside James, his arms resting on the table, fingers interlaced. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—dark, contemplative—betrayed the thoughts swirling beneath the surface. “So, what do you think? About joining the Order, I mean.”

James let out a breath, running his hands down his face. “I’m in, obviously. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.” He hesitated before admitting, “I just don’t know how much I can actually do.”

Sirius turned to face him fully, his brows furrowing. “Don’t sell yourself short, Prongs. We’ll figure out where you fit in. You’ve got more to offer than you think.”

James managed a small, tired smile. “Thanks, Pads. I hope you’re right.”

A beat of silence stretched between them before Sirius spoke again, his voice quieter, more thoughtful. “We can’t tell your Mum and Dad about this.”

James hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee. “No, not yet. They wouldn’t understand… and if my dad thought we’d be in danger he’d worry himself sicker than he already is.”

Sirius nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. You’re right.” He let out a slow breath, eyes flickering toward the closed door. “We keep this under wraps until it’s safe.”

James exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly. “It’s really happening, isn’t it?”

Sirius didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and rolling it between his fingers. He didn’t light it—just held it as if the familiar motion would steady him. “Yeah, it is.” His voice was quieter than before, almost resigned.

James glanced toward the window, the sky outside painted in the soft pastels of early morning. He thought of his parents, of their quiet, steady lives, of the way they had begun to build something worth protecting. He thought of Lily, fast asleep on the couch, and of everything she stood to lose.

“Then we better be ready,” he murmured.

Sirius flicked the cigarette once between his fingers before tucking it away. “Yeah. We better be.”

Neither of them spoke after that. There was nothing left to say—only the quiet hum of their thoughts, the weight of their decision settling in around them like an unspoken promise.