CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER TWO
You wouldn't believe it.
James Fleamont Potter, Age of twenty-two, signed into a sanitarium due to the fact he cannot overcome his grief.
Due to the fucking insanity it brought him.
He felt as if he had lost his life that night, too. Alongside Harry and Lily's bodies, he imagines his cold, restless self. Glasses awry. He lived. He lived yet failed miserably. He could not move forward or even grow.
Dying would be worse, he tries to convince himself incorrigibly. Still, no logic could rationalize the urge that knotted in his chest to actually…leave.
Even if it was unfair to Lily, Harry, Sirius, Marlene, Remus, Dorcas and Mary.
He wanted to be back into that tub.
Hold Harry once more. He would, without hesitation, trade his life for any of his friends.
For his son.
For Harry.
But after that night– he was too much of a coward to try again.
He, who cannot even warm up his coffee, change his sheets, wash himself properly, brush his teeth or comb his hair. He would pass days by blinking them away in bed and scream-crying in the shower. He, whose shadow was more active than himself. He, whose magic was so fucking bad he couldnt even levitate a single dish.
That was who he was now.
Unable to move on.
Unable to unlock a fucking door.
This all sank in. Soaked through. Engraved itself upon his skin, as if he was not scarred enough.
He wanted to die.
Badly.
Merlin .
At the same time, he wanted to live. He wanted to live for those who couldn't. Because if he didn't– who would?
He thinks back to the empty funeral.
Sirius's grave, nothing but a simple stone. His mother wouldnt even fucking– Not that that awful bitch could ever even compare to a mother– pay for a memorial?
James even heard that his body never even entered the fucking ground. That they stood around an empty grave, because of an overload of bodies at the wizarding mortuary .
It was all so unfair.
Sirius would never want to be cremated. If it was up to Sirius, he would have become a portrait, hung in the Potter Manor for Harry's kids and grandkids to admire. If it was up to Sirius, he would be buried in a glass, for people to admire him.
James actually smiled at that.
He even thinks of Regulus right then. Of the ridiculing.
He doesn't think of him longer than he needs to.
James turns in the bed, his face meeting the cold side of the pillow once more. His breathing improved tons.
That likely also being the only thing that improved.
Since his cheeks were hallowed and his under eyes were purple from the lack of sleep.
His lips were chapped and his neck was covered in nasty red scars.
A sudden thought of Remus popped up, and James felt grievous.
It was snowing outside and James was sitting in his living room, Christmas lights already twinkling. James doesn't remember the last time he had been isolated like this. Lily had left the living room a while ago, likely slipped into another room, sleeping or picking up another hobby out of pure boredom. Knitting last week. Sewing weeks before that. The list is endless. James didn't blame her. It had been quiet for quite some time now and James listened to the serene song playing in his headphones, tapping the walkman in his lap. It was covered in aged stickers. Most of them scarlet. He studied the walkman that belonged to Sirius. He looked back up, matching the beat of the song with his thumb.
"Remus," James overheard Lily's mellow voice in the kitchen. Her attempt to stay quiet only worked partly. He became alert quickly, slipping off the walkman and turning it off. He sat up and his eyes never left Harry, the newborn asleep in his best friend's lap. In Sirius's lap. The baby's fingers wrapped tightly around his pinky. "He loves you. I promise you, he does," Sirius, too, was asleep. He had come back here in a rage. Three or four days ago. "We are all just so on edge," She continued to reassure her friend.
James was surprised Remus was able to find a phone. He was with those werewolves again, a spy for Dumbledore, apparently. Sirius was uncomfortable with how protective he was of their identity. Of their being. They had gotten into a massive fight. And the two had a lot of fights. Especially now. But this one– Remus became for Sirius. "Monsters." That's what he had called them. Only for Remus to retort with a low, audibly hurt, "Then what am I." Sirius became even more enraged. Whilst he rambled on to James, he forced out multiple accusations, even begging James to make Peter the secret keeper.
"He likely didn't mean it like that," Lily tried again, stopping James's train of thought. "Oh, Remus." She said. Saddened. James couldn't see how Remus would ever betray any of them, and he currently wished he had pressed Sirius with that matter. He wished he had shaken Sirius awake and urged him. Made him realise that Remus was not the traitor here. Would that have changed anything? James wished.
He just wished he could forget.
Every last bit.
James had thought of obliviating himself, dolefully. Mary had even mentioned it, desperate to rid of any anguish. In a moment of pure torment, he had even considered it. Wands pointed at another temple, Mary facing him, tearfully doing the same. They just couldnt. Instead, they spent another night alone.
So, everything stayed and replayed and grounded itself deeper.
Like a sombre cloud floating over his head constantly, he had to learn how to live with it and live through it.
He remembers his parents. In their last weeks of life. He was unable to see them most of the time due to the Dragon Pox–
A loud buzz.
James flinched awake, rubbing his chest. He did not know if he was happy to be awake or not. Every night he wished he would wake up and nothing of what happened would be true. Everything was one big nightmare. The thought was scattered across his mind in various ways. But then he would wake up, and he would face the room alone as everything else. He was covered in sweat, his breathing uneven. The sound left a nasty discomforting chill to run down his spine.
They really should replace that sound, he thought to himself.
He sat upright, trying to recollect what he had just dreamt of. It was Halloween, of course. He didn't dare close his eyes and just stared forward, because if he did, he would see Lily. He would see Sirius and Harry. So he stared at the ugly patterned carpet, trying to wake up properly. He did so for minutes. Then, his stomach made a strange sound.
He looked out of the barred window at the peculiar flowers. Most of them were basic flowers, ones you could find in a muggle flower shop. Others, he had not yet seen before.
They were colourful, and unlike other flowers, actually looked alive.
He sat on his bed for a little while longer, watching the flowers sway elegantly.
There was no sound besides his heartbeat and breathing. He supposed it must have been another charm, to keep the patients calm.
Another buzz.
Breakfast was over and so was his time to shower. He leaned his head back against the wall, continuing to watch the flowers.
Another buzz.
And another.
An another.
James felt as if he was making excuses. Excuses for himself.
scorning his needs, James let impotence win once fucking more. Whatever had been harrowing the inability to overcome– move on from– his grief and kept James in a state of dolour this past year, it began feasting on his indolence.
Once again, he was lodged in. Unable to move.
Once again, he was blinking away his days, his only time indicator being the loud, aberrant buzzes.
Days passed.
Days passed and James had not taken his eyes off of the pretty flowers.
They were far more lively than he was.
Far more vibrant and sublime.
When he realised that May was drawing closer, and was notified breakfast had started, he decided to go out and eat.
He had to get better.
Recover.
That's what he kept reminding himself.
His limbs were mere flesh on bone and nothing more. His throat ached for hydration and walking was troubling, yet, he did it. He got out of his room by a simple knock on the door and walked through the hall, which seemed to be buzzing with the sounds of people. He held onto a railing installed on the wall, following the colourful arrows on the carpeted floor. They all carried words like Lavatory and Eating Hall .
The walls were simple hospital green and the doors were an amber-coloured wood.
He nudged open the door to the eating hall, finding different people sitting at the long wooden tables. It reminded James of the Great Hall. It missed the bewitched ceiling and Dumbledore, but it felt similar.
He sat down at an empty spot, a plate appearing before him, painted with flowers and green briars. The smell of fresh toast and dairy filled his nostrils, his stomach begging for food. He took a hold of a piece, spreading the butter on top. His hands ached, but he was too hungry to think of that.
"Potter? Is that you, really–" He heard a familiar voice.
He set down the toast he was hungry for and looked at the man now sitting beside him.
"Ted–" Tonks smiled at him, the corners of his eyes creasing slightly. James sat up.
"How have you been?"
"Likely not any better than you've been," Ted looked around, "I heard about– eh, Lily and Harry," He looked back at him. James was ready to end the conversation there, opening his mouth. "I know how you feel, mate," Ted said, short and curt, as if it stung to interpret. James looked at him, realising Ted had lost a child and wife of his own.
James felt incredibly guilty.
"Like your whole world's been taken from you." He continued anyway. He put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly, "It isn't easy–" He looked at him a moment longer, "But you'll get better." James tried, "Nonsense," Ted scoffed, taking it very personally, "I won't get better. None of us will get better. We learn to cope. That's all this place is good for. To become sane. Not better, James," Ted looked at him with a serious eye. James felt as if he had swallowed his own tongue.
"I didn't mean to–" Ted sighed, sitting upright, "I know, I know," He got up, glancing at James's buzzcut, wanting to change the subject.
"New look?"
"Cut it crooked." Ted snorted, patting the back of James's neck, "Well, if you ever need a break or to relax, I'm always around." James nodded absentmindedly. Ted left the hall after that and James turned back to his toast, which was now cold and sticky. He sighed, pushing the plate aside and getting up, a buzz sounded seconds after, the food disappearing.
He wandered the singular hall, noticing Pomfrey forgot to mention there to be a library and a receptionist. She likely remembered he was not fond of spending his free time in the library and rather spend it outside.
But with the inability to even go outside, he had to alter to different things to keep him busy.
He entered the tv room, noticing a variety of people sitting around. He also came to notice no one had their wands, then realised he hadn't even bothered to pick up his. He was so used to doing everything by hand, now.
He sat down in one of the armchairs, which was a strange velvet colour. He spotted a shelf, filled with comics. He never knew wizards were interested in the likes of Marvel and DC . He himself hadn't even heard of Garfield. He took a couple, dropping them in his lap. He saw many familiar ones like The Hulk and The Amazing Spiderman . His eyes then stuck to one he remembered from the dormitory back at Hogwarts.
Werewolf, by Night.
It belonged to Peter.
He even charmed it so it wouldn't be stained with chocolates or tea. He kept it in a case, as it was his most precious possession (Besides his chocolate frog card collection).
James traced the comic grimly. He paged through it, narrowly, gripping onto the edges.
James would never grasp why Peter did what he did. It would forever plague him. James did not even know if he was still alive or if he had already passed.
He had not bothered to pick up the paper in ages, now.
James had been sick and tired of the immature mockery.
Besides that, seeing Regulus' face every single time he turned a page became haunting. Distressing. Regulus began to plague him. Was he alive? Was he not? Did he pass outside of Brittain? Was it Voldemort? Was it by his own hand?
Of course, any sane person, in their rational mind knew he was dead. Any sane-minded person knew. It was obvious. But it would gnaw at James, like any other thing he did not and does not know the reasoning behind. It practically drove him insane.
So he stopped reading.
He closed the comic eventually, breathing out with trouble.
He glanced around the TV room once more.
He wondered if he could visit around the hospital. Maybe check up on Frank and Alice. He felt like it would only be right.
He spotted a familiar face.
Further up in the corner, muttering words to herself, concentrating, sat Emmeline Vance.
"Em," He spoke quietly, sitting beside her. She glanced at him briefly, continuing to piece together the jigsaw. "Six is one, one is whole," She muttered constantly, "…Em?" James tried once more, "Not alive, not dead, but lives in constant dread," James leaned back against the wall, timid, unable to call for her again.
Her once beautiful amber hair was now a short pixie-like haircut, "No regret. No regret," It seemed like she was piecing together a jigsaw puzzle. Yet, the pieces didn't– they didn't fit correctly. She fit whatever seemed to fit in her perspective, not looking at the whole picture and the end result. The end result was catastrophic, but she seemed content. "Lives off virtue, but treads on sin."
James didn't get why and wouldn't bother to ask, reluctant.
She continued to mutter the same verses, her hands trembling as she picked up the jigsaw puzzle pieces, rearranging them.
He got up after, watching her continue to rock slightly, muttering strange, dull riddles.
He continued his trip through the sanitarium, finding himself before an unlabelled and colourless door. It was simple metal and he, to his surprise, could hear flanking noises on the other side.
He pushed the door, curious, and it opened with a loud creak. Then, everything went mute. James blinked slightly. He coughed once the smoke escaping the room hit him.
"Close it, smartass!"
One of the boys tugged James inside, Shutting the door quickly. Another opened a window, making sure the smoke drifted there instead. James covered his nose with his jumper, it lifting from his stomach. "Merlin's balls," A girl coughed, leaning closer. James shifted against the wall, creating a distance as she studied him, confused, "You are that bloke from the news– that one from the order," She inhaled the smoke from her blunt, it escaping her nostrils, "Didn't you kill Voldemort?" "What?" James almost sounded distraught.
A boy in the far corner snorted, letting his head fall back.
James quickly recognised him to be Gideon Prewett, "He didn't kill Voldemort, Pen," Gideon glanced at James with a tired eye, his pupils dilated. He looked thinner since the last time James had seen him. His hair was longer and it suited him. The scars across his jaw shined a silverish gold in the dim light of the room, just as he remembered. "Voldemort, after all, is not dead." "Dead, gone, same thing!" James felt strange, holding his eye.
Gideon then grinned slightly, a frenulum piercing decorating his teeth.
He sat up, lazily, glancing back at the girl. "Isn't, Pen." "No, no, no– dont make a fucking fool out of me, I know what I am talking about," She pointed the cigarette-formed drug at James, "Go on, you did, didn't you?" James hesitated, "I dont really– don't really remember much," He rubbed the back of his neck, "Kind of got knocked out."
"By that noseless bastard?" Pen asked pressingly, "A follower of his." Gideon sat up, "Told you," "Sod off." She flipped him off, leaning back in another corner of the small space. "Sit with me, James," Gideon called for him. "Ah! So I did read about you!" Pen spat frustrated. The other boy, who had tugged him inside, wrapped an arm around James, "The boy doesn't even know you!" Gideon looked at him sorely, about to speak up. "I do– actually," James glanced at the unfamiliar boy, moving from under his arm, "We–" "studied together." Gideon cut him off.
James furrowed his brows.
He righted his jumper.
Though that was not wrong, he was going to mention The Order instead. Since it was more recent. He brushed it off, sitting beside Gideon.
He attempted to ignore the strong stench of cannabis and cologne.
They sat right under the window, the air cool. Gideon easily rolled up a blunt, licking the edge, his piercing visible. James watched curiously, tugging at the end of his jumper. With a croaky, "here," Gideon held out the blunt for James.
James looked at it, hesitant, "I've never smoked one like this," He took hold of it, pinching at the end. Gideon held up a lighter, "Ever held a cig?" "Hmph," "Hold it like that."
There was more tension than James expected such a simple exchange would involve.
He was more attentive, too.
He inadvertently observed and rethought Gideon's physical build.
He had without fail, ever since James had first seen him, been a broad guy. His shoulders had always been detailed with muscles. Especially when playing Quidditch. Even now, his hands were itemised with veins.
James leaned more into the wall, near Gideon.
His breathing was slow and his eyes were focused on James's lips, where the blunt rested now. Different from James', his lips looked healthy and soft. He flicked on the lighter, causing James to look back at him, and burned the end of the blunt, James's throat filling with the herbal smoke. He coughed at first, taking the blunt from his lips to recover.
Gideon watched amused, leaning back with his lap out first.
James couldnt keep his eyes on Gideon's trousers a moment longer, his eyes watery.
He cleared his throat, breathing in the smoke again. James glanced at the other two who sat in the room. They had knowing, foolish grins plastered across their faces, sniggering quietly. The drugs, perhaps.
"So, what was your name?" The boy questioned, now sprawled out in the girl's lap, who went by Pen. Pen ran her finger through the boy's apparent dark brown curls. He had thick, bushy brows and his skin was olive, seemingly smooth.
"Hm?" James glanced at him directly again, "James Potter," He held his hand out. The boy leaned on his elbows, shaking his hand firmly, "Amir Shafiq."
They all sat like that for a long while, the noise outside dying down over time. Gideon had closed his eyes, his breathing even. James felt strangely relaxed and calm.
Even when he did think of anything he normally would have trouble with thinking about, his mind felt too numb to process the grieving emotions, exploring the foreign, euphoric sense of state he fell in instead. Everything seemed brighter and sharper.
He could not tell what time it was, but everything went by so, so slow. "How've you been?" Gideon asked quietly, head tilted closer to James. "Hmmm–" James dragged out, feeling a sudden need for laughter, "Great." His lip split into a grin, tilting his head towards Gideon.
They gazed at each other and James felt his brows draw together, surprised by the sudden feeling in his abdomen. He had never really– never really thought to translate the sentiment since he had felt it an insufferable amount of times. It felt just as tense and– Gideon's eyes slowly drifted back to James's lips.
"We should go," pen popped her lips, defusing the tension ever so little and getting up. Amir held onto her, grinning manically. He winked at James, playfully, before leaving the room with Pen, the two barely holding back their laughter.
"What was so funny?" James glanced back at Gideon amused. Gideon grinned slightly, "Nothing." James felt clueless as to why the tension built up.
He felt ecstatic.
"We should probably go–" He got up, almost losing his balance. He didn't think the drug would make him feel this clouded. He leaned up against the wall, huffing a laugh. Gideon watched him, crushing the blunt onto the wall, "Alright." He got up easily, clearly no stranger to the drug. He leaned by the door, waiting for James, "Can you even walk?" He asked, grinning.
James huffed again, taking a couple of steps forward, trying to push away the cloudy feeling. Instead, he felt as if the ground beneath him evaporated and stumbled forward, right into Gideon's arms.
Gideon laughed, heaving James up. "Alright there?" He asked, James now on face level. Both their pupils dilated. James hummed faintly, holding onto Gideon's jumper. Gideon rolled his eyes, opening the door, "Let's get you to your room," Gideon glanced at him, "In one piece."
He took ahold of James's blunt and threw it out of the window, closing it up.
James's lips lifted every once in a while without a specific reason.
He was just so fucking happy.
They finally got to his room, luckily in one piece. Gideon tried to knock as quietly as possible, the door opening. He dropped James onto the bed, looking around. James watched him, leaning against the metal-like head of the bed.
"Oi, you've got sights in the garden?" Gideon leaned on his window sill, inspecting the bewitched garden. "You dont?" Muttered James, eyes now on his ceiling. "Mhn Mhn," Gideon turned to him, "I'll get you dinner." James shook his head, already nauseous at the thought. "No– no thanks." Gideon raised a brow, "I had a large lunch." James justifies.
"Just some lemonade? To sober up?"
James recognised, almost instantly, that his throat felt incredibly dry, suddenly forlorn. Longing for some lemonade.
James's eyes drifted back to him, "Sure."
So, Gideon brought him a large glass of lemonade, sitting beside James's bed. Gideon seemed to handle the drug far better than James. He had already sobered up, explaining it had something to do with metabolism, James barely remembered any of it.
Not remembering the fact Gideon's eyes didn't seem as blue by the end of the night, rather green, and his face less red, rather pale. His teeth were straighter and– James doesn't recall.
He did, in fact, remember drifting off.