It was quiet in the house. James could hear the floorboards creaking under his bare feet, could feel his heartbeat thundering in his ears. The spell residue was cloying, sticking to him, making him feel suffocated, uncomfortable. But his comfort, his safety, his anything was the last thing on his mind, because the house was quiet.
It was the middle of the night when the wards had started burning, alarms going off. He had been alone, planning for the next Order raid on a suspected Death Eater meeting. He had never in his life felt his core burning up like that, a deep sense of wrong and caution overwhelming his every sense. He had almost teared up, taking a minute or two to calm himself before moving.
(He wonders, later, if Lily had fallen during those precious minutes, if he could have saved her had he left immediately, had he not been such a novice regarding wards, had he-)
He had sent off an urgent patronus to Dumbledore immediately, before rushing through the doors and apparating as soon as he was out of the wards. And then he had come home, and it was silent, an eerie quiet that only served to discomfit him even more. The kids aren’t crying, Lily didn’t rush to the door when it opened, a thousand things seemed wrong, and James just wanted to sob.
He wouldn’t, of course not, because maybe the kids fell asleep early, maybe Lily was exhausted, maybe she had gone out and he’d find a note in their bedroom, maybe it was all fine and they’d all laugh at his panic in the future. He could almost imagine it, Lily and him sitting on the balcony, her red hair glinting in the sunlight like the embers of the common room fireplace, her-
A choked sob echoes around the dark room.
The world seems blurry around the edges. He can feel a distant voice muttering no over and over again, and thinks it might be him. He kneels next to Lily, pushing her hair back from her face. Her skin is so pale, why is it so pale, why won’t she move, why won’t she breath, why-
James knows he should move on, he had kids to check up on, but he couldn’t bear the thought of ever moving. It felt as if roots had sprouted from the ground to chain him right there, his body so heavy that it felt impossible to shift even slightly. He felt he would wither away right next to Lily, drown them both in his tears, scream until his throat bleeds.
After kneeling next to Lily for what seemed like an eternity, tracing over every freckle, muttering something incomprehensible that he couldn’t understand himself, he forced himself to be a father, moving to the twins’ room. The silence didn’t bode well, but he couldn’t imagine more loss, couldn’t comprehend the implications of the silence.
The door creaks open, and James thinks he should be relieved at the sight of his two boys, alive, but his heart and his brain felt empty, drained of all possible emotions. Harry and Jules are both quiet, with Jules sitting tiredly as Harry pats Jules’ forehead again and again. He picks both of them in each arm, kissing their foreheads, barely noticing something wet on his lips.
He sits on the floor, utterly exhausted in every possible way, and doesn’t move from his vigil when the wards alert him of a visitor. Either it is Dumbledore, or it is not, and he gets to meet Lily sooner than he thought. Harry is finally babbling now, pinching and patting to see why his father won’t respond, and Jules is already trying to pull away, bored of being held.
Footsteps come upon them, and James looks up to see Dumbledore. He finally let go of the twins, and slumped back. He wanted to ask Dumbledore to revive Lily, somehow, to bargain with Death itself to bring Lily back, to do something to repay all that James had done, but he just couldn’t muster up the energy to open his mouth. Lily’s face, so pale, her freckles the only splash of colour on her face, her hand gripping her wand so tightly, her eyes-
He wanted so desperately to believe that this was a nightmare, if only to be able to do anything for a moment, but somehow, his heart had broken into too many pieces for any part of him to believe that it’d been fake, that it will be over soon, that he could just open his eyes and see Lily’s green eyes staring at him, twinkling and sparkling with life.
He tuned back into the real, desolate world, only to notice that nothing had changed. Dumbledore had picked up Jules, Harry was still babbling on the floor, distracted by Dumbledore’s gaudy robes, which couldn’t have been more inappropriate if they tried. Dumbledore was muttering something about family and grief and magic, but James simply had no mind to actually listen.
Dumbledore paused expectantly, and James nodded, not knowing or caring to know what he had just agreed to. He just missed his Lily-flower. He missed her eyes, he missed how the rest of the world disappeared when he looked at her, he missed her bright smile, he missed the way she would have known exactly what to do right now to bring him out of this haze, he missed how she would have smacked him for ignoring the kids, he missed-
He missed her.
Dumbledore said something else, and picked up Harry, slowly walking away. Jules giggled at his free reign and started crawling down the hallway, not even looking at James. James sat there all alone, eyes blank and unseeing.
The house wasn't quiet now, every hallway ringing with the sound of his hollow screams and broken sobs.
(Months later, Dumbledore would tell him about the prophecy, repeat what he had told him that night, and James would nod. Because he could move now, but his heart was still withering by Lily’s side.)