Chapter 6
"Oh for the love of—I don't have enough—what the fuck" The exclamation echoed through the room, a tumultuous cascade of frustration that seemed to punctuate the charged air. Each word tumbled from his lips, carrying the weight of exasperation and an unmistakable edge. His dark eyes flashed with irritation, a storm brewing beneath the surface.
"— and you didn't even—she told you—," Sirius spat out, his hands gesticulating wildly, expressing the depth of his exasperation, fingers clenching and releasing with every syllable. "Moony say something to your best friend,"
Remus, sitting nearby, shot a sharp look at his husband. The lines etched on his face mirrored Sirius's intensity, an unspoken understanding passing between them. "Oh, so he's my best friend now? He's your best friend too, asshole," he retorted, his anger a match for Sirius's fire. The air seemed to crackle with tension as their exchange unfolded.
"You reacted the same way he did when it happened to us. Don't get me started—" he began but was quickly interrupted.
"At least I kissed you, not like this asshole here," Sirius interjected dramatically, a sweeping gesture directed at their best friend sprawled on the floor. Their friend lay there, a pitiable sight, whimpering pathetically and muttering unintelligible things.
Remus couldn't help but roll his eyes in exasperation, a deep sigh escaping his lips. "Oh, for the love of Merlin, James, please summon whatever shred of dignity you have left and get yourself from the floor," he commanded, his tone a mix of frustration and concern. His hand firmly gripped by him the arm, attempting to coax him into a more upright position, away from the embarrassing scene he was causing.
James, however, remained obstinate, clinging desperately to a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey as if it were his only anchor in the tumultuous sea of emotions. His disheveled hair and disoriented gaze painted a picture of a man on the verge of unraveling.
"No, Moony," he whimpered, his voice cracking. "I'll get over it, but first, I need to make a scene."
"You're being so utterly uncool right now, Prongs," Sirius mocked, his usual wit temporarily abandoned. "I can't even come up with any jokes to lighten the mood, and you know I always have a quip for every occasion. Always. That's how profoundly affected I am."
James, now seated on the cold, unforgiving floor, looked utterly defeated. His fingers traced the label of the firewhiskey bottle, lost in a spiral of regret and self-pity. "I know, I—I don't know why I did that," he murmured pathetically, his words a pitiable confession. "She's going to hate me."
Remus let out a heavy sigh, his fingers tightening around James' arm as he pulled him upward. "Your biggest concern at this moment isn't just her, James. It's your son. The one who, when he discovers what you did, will hex to death. You, my friend, are on the precipice of idiocy. You're going to need to kneel and grovel for forgiveness like your whole life depends on it if you want her to forgive you for that little stunt."
Sirius leaned casually against the polished oak of the door frame. "Let's run through this again because it sounds too absurd to be real," he remarked, his tone a blend of incredulity and irritation. "You thought it was a good idea to corner her and get her horny in the darkest nook of the library, and surprise, surprise, it blew up in your face. She gave you the mother of all blue balls. Then, in a moment of emotional vulnerability, she spills her heart out, confessing her love for you. And what do you do? Chicken out and leave her stranded there? James, mate, I'm so fucking tempted to knock some sense into you with my fist. Or maybe you just don't love—"
"Don't you dare, Pads. Don't you fucking dare finish that sentence," James snapped, his hazel eyes ablaze with a mix of vulnerability and anger. The room seemed to shrink, shadows dancing across the walls as emotions flared. A tense silence hung in the air, thick with the weight of unspoken words."I panicked, okay?" he continued, his voice tinged with regret and frustration."One thing's to fool around with her, harmless flirting, and another thing entirely different is... for her to confess that she loves me. That she truly loves me."
His hand ran through his tousled hair, fingers trembling with the admission that hung heavily in the air. "It's been almost sixteen years since I've heard those words from her mouth, Pads. You know how frustrating it is to see your wife, who has absolutely no idea she's your wife, and not be able to say anything to her?"
"Not being able to tell her the truth, not being able to tell the most incredible woman in the world that she is my wife, that her best friend is our son. Do you know how difficult it is, how painful it is for me to see her sixteen-year-old self and have no idea about our life together? Because in my head, we're married. In hers, I am just the father of her best friend." A deep breath escaped him, trembling with the weight of unspoken longing. "I come every night to this fucking room, to these walls full of our memories together, and I fucking miss her. I miss my Hermione. I miss my wife."
Tears streamed down James's face, leaving a trail of vulnerability in their wake. "So yes, I'm sorry for panicking, and I know perfectly well that I screwed up, but give me a fucking break. And don't you fucking dare insinuate that I don't love her. She's my soulmate. I married her, for Merlin's sake. She's my wife. I love her."
"We get it, Prongs, we understand. It's just you took us by surprise. S' all," Remus sighed, stepping forward to place himself between his husband and his best friend. The room, caught in the crossfire of emotions, seemed to exhale as if holding its breath.
"Let's all calm down and find a solution. Right, Pads?" his husband, however, remained locked in a silent standoff, his stormy gaze fixed on James. Remus insisted again, his voice carrying a note of authority. "Right, Pads?"
"He fucked up; let him fix his own shit," The curly haired man hissed, his eyes narrowing as he maintained a glare that spoke volumes.
James shot an indignant glare at his best friend, his eyes ablaze with frustration. "Oh, don't be such a hypocrite," he spat out the words, the tension between them palpable. "You did the same thing when Moony confessed his feelings for you in fifth year, and you whined like a little bitch for weeks until I helped you."
Sirius, usually quick with a retort, was momentarily silent. The weight of James' accusation hung in the air before he reluctantly sighed, his expression begrudging. "Alright, fine. We'll help you," he conceded, the words leaving his lips with visible reluctance. "But if you screw up again, I'll personally put you back in the bloody portrait you came out of."
A burst of laughter erupted from the trio, a brief respite from the brewing storm. However, the mirth was short-lived as a sudden heavy pounding reverberated through the room, causing the laughter to die away. The sound of the doorknob rattling filled the air, a dissonant echo against the walls.
A voice, thick with anger and frustration, cut through the tense atmosphere. "JAMES CHARLUS POTTER. I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE. OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR IMMEDIATELY, OR SO HELP ME, I'LL THROW THIS DOOR DOWN. YOU'RE A DEAD MAN WALKING. DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD."
The room fell into an abrupt hush as the three Marauders exchanged bewildered glances, their mirthful banter instantly subdued by the unexpected onslaught on the door. The knocks reverberated through the space with a force that seemed to mirror the vehemence in the voice beyond.
Sirius, ever the irreverent one, was the first to shatter the silence, his dark eyes widening as he emitted a low, appreciative whistle. "Well, that's your kid, Prongs. And by Merlin's beard, he's inherited your mother's Black temper."
James, still recovering from the unexpected interruption, shook his head in disbelief. "That's not my mother's temper. That's one hundred percent Hermione's temper coming through. Harry may have my looks, but trust me, he's a mummy's boy through and through. Can't blame him, though. Smart lad."
The door rattled again under the force of the furious pounding. The voice outside, unmistakably Harry's, reverberated through the room, carrying with it a mix of frustration and impatience. "DAD, I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE. DON'T BE A BLOODY COWARD AND OPEN THIS DOOR. UNCLE PADS, UNCLE MOONY, DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT HIDING HIM."
"Oh, Godric," Remus chuckled heartily, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement as a memory played vividly in his mind. "Do you remember that memorable episode when Hermione got positively livid with James? She thought her precious baby boy had vanished into thin air, only to discover that James, in his exhausted stupor, had ingeniously cocooned little Harry in the folds of the Invisibility Cloak."
James let out a good-natured grumble, a mix of irritation and embarrassment evident on his face. "I was practically sleepwalking through that day," he protested, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Harry was a mere four months old, and Hermione, bless her soul, desperately needed a break. So, being the doting husband I am, I volunteered to soothe our little tyke and, well, I reached for the first thing my sleep-deprived brain could latch onto – my Invisibility Cloak."
The room resonated with understanding chuckles, and even Sirius couldn't suppress a hearty guffaw at the memory. "Well that episode marked the beginning of a week-long nap at our flat. And, if memory serves me right, Hermione banned you from baby duties for a while and refused to let you anywhere near her baby boy. Can't blame her, really."
"I still don't know how you managed not to completely screw up that poor kid," The werewolf teased, a glint of mischief in his eyes as James let out an irritated grunt, a mix of embarrassment and fondness evident on his face. "Must be Hermione's superior parenting genes."
The bespectacled wizard's voice echoed in the room, a blend of protest and paternal pride. "Hey, he's my son too," he declared, his hazel eyes gleaming with a mixture of defiance and affection. "Harry's the youngest Seeker ever. Those are my Potter genes in there, alright."
"And I think that's about it," Lupin scoffed, a playful smirk crossing his lips as he exchanged a high-five with his husband. "I don't know how Hermione can put up with you Potters. I honestly would have jumped off the Astronomy tower by now."
"She ended up marrying me, didn't she?" he retorted, sticking his tongue out at his best friend, his tone brimming with smug satisfaction.
"Are you sure she did it voluntarily?" His best friend teased, his gray eyes glinting wickedly. "Maybe she was drunk or high that day."
The door crashed open with a resounding bang, the sudden force echoing through the room, and there he stood – Harry, his once-messy hair now a wild mass of electrified strands crackling with an otherworldly energy. The vibrant warmth that had once illuminated his chocolate eyes, so reminiscent of his mother's, had been eclipsed by two angry, abyssal voids that bore into his father.
"You and I," he hissed, his voice dripping with scathing bitterness, "are going to have a little chit chat." Time seemed to freeze as he closed the distance between him and his father in an instant. His fist connected with James' jaw, a sharp crack reverberating through the room.
"Harry, Harry, I can explain." He instinctively raised his hands to shield his face from his son's unrelenting blows as he tried to speak through a rapidly swelling lip. But Harry saw nothing but red. Images of deep sadness and shame imprinted on the faces of his best friend, his mother replayed in his mind like a haunting film. Each punch he landed on his father's beleaguered form seemed to echo the pain etched on those he cared about most.
"Fuck you, you don't have to fucking explain anything to me," Harry spat vehemently, straddling his father and punctuating each word with a savage blow, the anguish in his heart manifesting in the physical assault. "You promised me you wouldn't hurt her. You swore you loved her."
"I love her!" James cried out desperately, his voice a mixture of anguish and sincerity. He reached out to grasp his son's arms, attempting to halt the relentless assault. Blood trickled from his battered nose, and bruises started to bloom on his already bruised face. "I do. I love your mother."
Remus and Sirius exerted every ounce of strength they possessed to separate the fiery father and son duo. The air crackled with tension as Harry, his eyes ablaze with anger and hurt that mirrored the intensity of a rabid dog, fought vehemently against his uncle's restraining grip. His muscles strained against the hold, the raw emotion emanating from him almost tangible in the room.
"Let go of me, Uncle Moony. Let me at him," Harry growled through gritted teeth as he struggled to break free.
Remus, whose strength rivaled that of any in the room given his condition, found himself engaged in a relentless battle with the youngest Potter.
"Harry, listen to me. You have to calm down," he implored, his voice carrying a soothing yet urgent tone. The lines etched on his face revealed a deep concern for the well-being of both father and son.
"Calm down? CALM DOWN?" Harry's outburst reverberated, his gaze fixated on his father with a potent mix of betrayal and disgust. The room seemed to tighten in response to the force of his rage. "How am I going to calm down when my best friend—she may be my mother, but first and foremost, she's my best friend—how am I going to calm down when I found her crying helplessly, completely and utterly destroyed and ashamed? Although she doesn't want to tell me, I know it's your fault. SO DON'T TELL ME TO FUCKING CALM DOWN."
The charged atmosphere hung thick with unspoken pain, the room itself seemingly unable to contain the emotional maelstrom unleashed by Harry's vehement words. Each syllable carried the weight of a fractured bond, leaving the onlookers suspended in a moment that held the potential to redefine the very foundations of their relationships.
"Harry, please, just hear me out," James pleaded, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and deep regret as he looked at his son. "I know I fucked up, but I'm going to fix it, okay?" He reached out tentatively, as if trying to bridge the gap between them, but Harry jerked away, a seething resentment burning in his eyes freeing himself from Remus.
"You're not going to fix shit," he hissed, his voice trembling with a raw intensity. He jabbed his finger into his father's chest, punctuating each word with a palpable force. "You're going to get away from her and leave her alone. I don't want to see you talk to her, I don't want to see you looking at her, and I definitely don't want to see you near her, do you hear me? If I see you near her, I don't give a flying fuck if they expel me from this fucking school, I'll kill you."
James, feeling the weight of his son's wrath, struggled to maintain composure. "You will not do that," he retorted, his tone now cold and imperious with paternal authority, a feeble attempt to regain control of the situation. "You're my son, and I may have let you land a few hits on me, but that doesn't give you the right to tell me what I can or can't do. I'm your father, Harry, not the other way around."
"I can't even look at you now," Harry's voice dripped with disdain as he spat on the ground. His eyes, once bright with a mixture of admiration and yearning, now bore a profound disappointment. "I honestly wanted this, you know?"
The patriarch of the Potter family stood there, his expression a mix of regret and confusion. The air crackled with the intensity of the moment as Harry continued to bare his soul. The room seemed to shrink, suffocating them both in the uncomfortable truth that hung in the air.
"You have no fucking idea what it's like to grow up without parents," His voice wavered with a mix of anger and vulnerability. He ran a hand through his unruly hair, a gesture that he had inherited from James. "To hear a thousand stories about how much you loved each other and the sacrifices you made for me."
As he spoke, the teenager's gaze drifted to an old portrait on the wall, frozen smiles of his parents and their friends mocking him with their unattainable happiness.
"When Mione managed to get you out of the portrait, I thought, 'This is great. I'm not an orphan anymore,'" His words lingered in the air, heavy with the ache of dashed hopes, each syllable was a dagger that pierced James' heart. "For a moment, I was able to go back to being a teenager, who does stupid shit and gets in trouble with his best friends, and not The-Boy-Who-Lived who everyone feels sorry for not having parents."
The room seemed to echo with the silence that followed, a silence heavy with the weight of shattered illusions and unmet expectations. James took a hesitant step forward, a futile attempt to bridge the emotional gap, but Harry quickly pulled back, his body language a clear boundary.
"But after the stunt you pulled the other day," Harry shook his head, as if trying to dispel the memories that haunted him. His brown eyes, so akin to his mother's, were now clouded with sadness, making James physically ill. "I almost prefer not to have a father."
"Stay away from me," He pleaded, trying to make his father understand the depth of his pain "And certainly, stay away from her. If you really love her as much as you say, leave her alone."
The room held its breath as the ultimatum hung in the air. James, hurt and frustration etched lines on his face aching, whispered, his voice barely audible "You can ask me for anything you want but that, Harry. Not that."
His son's gaze bore into him with an intensity that could cut through steel. His eyes, usually warm and inviting, were now narrowed in a harsh glare that seemed to sear through the very soul. In a swift, decisive motion, he turned on his heel,not sparing even a fraction of a second for a final glance at anyone. The door, caught in the forceful wake of Harry's departure, swung shut with a resounding slam. The echo reverberated through the room, emphasizing the abrupt departure and leaving an indelible mark on the now empty space.
As the door closed, Remus and Sirius, left in the aftermath of Harry's exit, exchanged glances laced with concern and uncertainty. "Holy shite," the gray eyed whistled, his eyes widening in genuine astonishment. He couldn't help but cast an admiring glance at the now vacant space where his godson had just been. "This easily beats any fights that occurred during Black family gatherings."
The room echoed with the tension that hung thick, and Remus, the ever-pragmatic voice of reason, shot his husband a stern look. "Pads, now is not the time," he scolded, his gaze fixed on their best friend. The latter had slumped into a chair, his shoulders carrying the weight of dejection. He rested his elbows on his knees, hands running through his tousled hair. A cocktail of frustration, sadness, and anger painted his face with a raw intensity
"Fuck, shit, fuck," James roared suddenly, the outburst cutting through the heavy silence. He shot up from the chair, delivering a swift kick that sent it clattering across the room. Taking a few deep breaths, he managed to regain some composure, then calmly picked up the chair, an apologetic look in his eyes as he addressed the werewolf. "I'm sorry, Moony."
"Anyone want something to drink?" Black inquired, already pouring himself a generous measure of whiskey. His husband declined with a subtle shake of his head, maintaining a watchful eye on James. The latter, however, went straight for the bottle, his fingers curling around it as if seeking solace in the amber liquid.
The dimly lit room cast long shadows on the faces of the three men sitting around a weathered wooden table, the air now heavy with the pungent scent of whiskey.
James wore a deep furrow on his forehead as he stared into the distance, a bottle clutched tightly in his hand.
"I really fucked up this time, didn't I? I fucked up my marriage and now my own kid. Great." he muttered, The lines etched on his face seemed to deepen, and a weariness settled in his eyes.
Sirius leaning back in his chair with an easy nonchalance, watched his friend with a sly glint in his eyes. He casually reached for his own glass, swirling the amber liquid within as he spoke. "I don't think you fucked up," he remarked, his tone light but his eyes betraying a keen understanding.
Remus, weariness evident in his haggard expression, looked at him with disbelief. "Didn't you just hear what Harry said?" he exclaimed, frustration and astonishment lacing his voice.
The curly black haired man raised an eyebrow, maintaining his smirk, and took a deliberate sip of his whiskey. "Crystal fucking clear, Moons" he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "He said not to get close to her, to stay away from her, and leave her alone," he continued, his voice taking on a suggestive tone as he locked eyes with James.
"Pads, I don't quite grasp the direction you're steering this ship," James sighed wearily, his countenance reflecting both fatigue and emotional exhaustion. He summoned a worn rag and a makeshift ice pack, pressing them against his face in a futile attempt to soothe the ache from the bruises.
"Harry explicitly warned you to steer clear of Hermione, but he never specified..." The shaggy wizard trailed off, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. The other two Marauders exchanged impatient glances, silently urging him to cut to the chase. Suddenly, the twenty-one-year-old's eyes widened dramatically, resembling saucers in their sheer astonishment.
"Oh, Merlin, Pads," James erupted with infectious excitement, a hearty laugh escaping his lips. "You're absolutely right."
"Could someone please enlighten me on what's going on?" Remus inquired, his gaze darting between his two friends.
Sirius leaned forward, his intense gray eyes locked onto Remus, a mischievous glint playing in their depths. "Harry never once uttered a word about Hermione not coming close to Prongs," he asserted with a rare tenderness, a soft smile gracing his features as he turned his attention to James, the man he considered a brother despite the lack of shared blood.
"So," he declared, his voice carrying a subtle urgency, "that's precisely what we're going to do."
Remus furrowed his brow, still caught in the labyrinth of confusion. "I don't understand how that helps us," he admitted,
"We are going to help Prongs make up with Kitten, and we'll do it Marauder style, just like the good old days," Sirius declared rising from his seat, crossing the room to envelop his best friend in a tight hug.
James, overwhelmed with gratitude, reciprocated and cupped his face, their foreheads meeting in a shared moment of unspoken understanding. Emotion brimmed on the hazel eyed wizard as he whispered, "I love you, brother. I don't know what I would do without you."
"And what exactly is the 'Marauder style'?" The werewolf inquired, well aware of the potentially chaotic consequences that often accompanied the dynamic duo of Potter and Black when spurred.
"Causing trouble," James and Sirius replied in unison, their expressions transforming into identical, devilish grins.