Le Temps de L'amour
Le temps de l’amour by Françoise Hardy
Quand le temps va et vient
On ne pense à rien
Malgré ses blessures
Car le temps de l'amour
C'est long et c'est court
Ça dure toujours
3rd April 1974
James Potter really needed to get to sleep.
Turning, he spied the charmed clock at his bedside; his birthday present from the Black siblings. A simple muggle alarm clock, charmed to glow at night so he could always read the time - even without his glasses on. It was his companion when he woke early for solo Quidditch practices. At night when he couldn’t sleep.
Godric, he needed sleep.
After all, the Black siblings would be coming to stay, later that day. And he really ought to be up and bright to handle Sirius’s uneven moods.
He simply couldn’t.
Couldn’t shut his eyes for longer than a second. Couldn’t stop seeing their faces, the terror as… he forced his mind away, trying to derail his stressing with notions of Quidditch plays and trying to figure out how to better help Remus on the full moon.
Third year had been… well, difficult.
Sirius had been acting like life was suddenly fixed, as though he weren’t constantly fighting with his brother. As though Remus wasn’t having a rotten time with his transformations as he grew a few more inches. As though Pete weren’t clearly stressed at the way he was trying to ignore Ara’s nightmares.
Ara.
That was the main issue of his life, try as he did to deny it. But the lack of attention from Ara Black was beginning to bother them all.
He understood it, of course. She was off with her Wildflowers, the Marauders trying to pretend like her lack of presence didn’t make them all a little sad. The twins spent less time together now; forming their own friend groups, even if Ara still joined in their pranks sometimes. It wasn’t like she was never around, but it was different.
She’d gone to Lily Evans, to tweak that bloody snake bracelet, not the boys. She’d snuck off to meetings with Dumbledore, without comment or acknowledgement. She’d even bloody punched Avery in the face for him, and then kept it quiet and refused to accept his gratitude (to be fair, it had been posed as a joke).
And he missed her.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face. That expression, as she’d walked towards her uncle at Kings Cross; that awful mix of fear and knowing that James could read so clearly in her eyes. In the tightness of her smile as she waved - even in her laugh, not quite right, a little too harsh.
He’d been horribly reminded of that first Christmas break, watching her walk away and knowing he had no idea how to help.
It was worse for her, in that house. Sirius had told him that, picking at grass by the Black Lake as he recounted time after time that she’d stood before him and accepted their punishments. All on her own.
They hadn’t spoken about family problems, this year. After the betrothal, she’d stopped acknowledging her brother’s comments. Stopped denying them, though too.
Letters from Flint that Sirius stole. The ones James read when the curly haired boy was asleep - his wand light painting them eerily. Each one a little more forceful, a little more cruel. The letters that he knew Remus snuck to read too; judging by the way they were crumpled, clearly scrunched in closed fists.
Trying to think of better things was a little hopeless sometimes. Often, his mind went for the most severe situations - thoughts of his friends secretly loathing him or Ara not breaking her betrothal contract in time.
That was the one he had nightmares about.
Watching her walk down the aisle, cloaked in green and black. Her brothers’ heads on pikes; Walburga cackling as Flint clutched Ara and forced a marital bond.
He’d wake up sweaty and heaving, barley able to stomach breakfast.
With a sigh, James ripped the sheets away - grabbing his glasses as he crawled from his bed. A check of the clock in his room revealed the time; too early to bother his parents or his uncle and aunt. After all, they’d be up soon to sort the house ready for the Black siblings’s arrival.
But it wasn’t too early to pick up his broom and go for a loop around the grounds. Fabian had made them all promise to practice at least once a day, over the summer. Running his hand through his bedhead - he grabbed the broom and made his exit.
He could sleep later, once he knew they were safe.
And perhaps, in the meantime, he’d nick one of his uncle’s books on werewolves. If he couldn’t solve one problem, he’d work on another.
That had always been his way, after all.
——
“Darling, did you see my glasses?” Charlus Potter yelled as he fumbled blindly through his desk papers - feeling for familiar wire as his ridiculous robes got in the way. Dorea had made him dress in his nicest robes; a sign of strength against Walburga Black as they took her children from her. If only temporarily, since he hated the dastardly things. “I don’t want to be late!”
“Why don’t you cast an Accio, my love?” Dorea called from another room - her eye roll audible.
“Because I have no common sense without you.” Charlus yelled back, pulling his wand from its holster to wordlessly cast the charm.
In a flash, the frames popped up from beneath his papers and into his free hand.
“Have you found them?” Charlus looked up with a smile at his wife’s voice - placing his spectacles on his nose to see her clearly.
Dorea Potter looked radiant that morning. Donning her darkest dress; a deep crimson, lined with gold and silver stitching. Every time he saw her, his face could not help but smile - disbelieving of his luck. After all these years, she was still the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Her glowing kindness never diminished, merely growing and radiating from her pale complexion.
“Indeed, darling.” He smiled, moving over to kiss her cheek in greeting. Cheekily, she titled her head - his lips meeting her own for a moment. “Shall we go over the plan, once more?”
“Walburga and I agreed to meet at Tom’s place in Diagon.” Dorea explained, wrapping a shawl over her shoulders. “Or, rather, Alphard forced her hand.” She frowned, his fingers moving to smooth it out; a chaste kiss between them.
“There is little we can do on the matter, as loathe as I am to admit.” Charlus sighed, linking their arms as they strode to the sitting room. “Speaking of, I believe that someone has borrowed one of my books on werewolf legislation without asking prior.” He loudly lamented as they strolled down the stairs - his ear perking as he heard someone quietly legging it down the corridor. He laughed silently, sharing a knowing look with his wife.
“How interesting.” Dorea spoke as though in musing. “Perhaps it merely sprouted legs and ought to realise that a book on animagus is far more interesting than the wafflings of old men in the Ministry.”
“Do you think Ara will enjoy the new books in the library?” Charlus wondered aloud as they crossed into the sitting room, stepping onto the designated apparation rug.
“I presume so, dear.” Dorea replied with fond amusement, nodding once in permission for him to whizz them away.
It was pleasantly warm that morning, a soft breeze greeting the couple as they landed outside the pub, Charlus glancing around as he had been trained so long ago.
The sight that greeted him was immediately strange.
Suspicious, to even the untrained eye.
There stood the Black twins, both huddled together - arms linked as they scanned the alley with suspicion. It wasn’t the flawlessly organised robes that draped their forms, nor the updo on Ara’s head that felt out of place (though those things were indeed foreign). After all, with their mother it was understandable.
Except their mother was not present. The twins stopped alone; their brother conspicuously absent. As his eyes met Ara’s, meeting with a flash of relief, she nudged her twin. His shoulders visibly dropped as he caught sight; Charlus exchanging a look with Dorea of utter panic.
Because the twins were shivering up a storm, despite the new warmth to the late morning.
Wordlessly, Dorea pulled the two children into her arms. They melted into the touch, held upright by Charlus hugging them from the other side.
Once tears were wiped and the twins were secure in their arms, Dorea asked the dreaded question.
“How long have you been waiting?” Dorea asked, frowning when they both averted their gaze.
“She dropped us here at three.” Sirius whispered after a moment.
“In the night?” Charlus spoke with horror, his hands on the boy’s shoulders pulling them closer. “What about Regulus?”
“She wouldn’t let him leave.” Ara answered stiffly, blinking back tears. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Shall we go home?” Dorea smiled down at Ara, brushing hair from her face as she held onto the girl.
With their assenting nod, the Potter couple apparated instantly; dropping themselves in the sitting room of the Potter home.
Immediately, the twins were on alert. Eyes roaming every portrait, every exit as they always did. The Potter could shared a look; one with far too much weariness and grief for so early in the day. They kept their arms around the twins, reassuring them with kind comforts. Eventually, their shoulders drooped, clearly letting the exhaustion take hold.
It was before Dorea could speak that Euphemia waltzed into the room; a smile that quickly dropped as she took sight of the children.
“Oh you poor dears are shaking!” Euphemia gasped, marching closer as she cast a warming charm. Only Sirius stopped shivering.
Dorea stiffened and promptly released the children, waving her wand in their faces. Their flinches were enough confirmation alone. Still, the diagnostic bubble flashing red for Ara left Euphemia reeling. Nerve damage from Cruciatus torture to such a degree that it was clearly ongoing. Her sister-in-law hadn’t made her privy to the details of the Black family’s crimes, but she was now. And there was no way she would let the children out of her sight.
“Poppet,” she called quietly, smiling at the elf as she popped beside her, “could you collect those health potions that Monty made? Third shelf, the two on the end nearest the door.” With a nod, the elf popped away.
“Come along, darlings.” Dorea smiled warmly, ushering the children into her arms to lead them along the hallway - her husband close as he half-carried Ara through the room. “We’ll have plenty of time to chat this evening. I think we ought to head to bed now, shall we? I’m sure that James can wait to say hello.”
The two Blacks did not reply. They merely followed her lead, allowing her to bring them to a bedroom; knowing they would refuse sleeping apart. Regulus’s calm green space felt most apt. If he was not with them, at least they could feel his presence through his room.
They let the Potter couple tuck them into the bed, feed them potions and promise them that everything was alright.
Dorea knew they simply didn’t believe it.
With the twins asleep in Regulus’s room, Dorea carefully shut the door - casting a monitoring charm to alert her as to when they woke. Turning to her husband, her words halted. His face was rather pinched, fists clenched so hard they were shaking as he turned from the door to look her in the eye.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, voice so oddly level and calm for the fury that burned in his dark eyes.
“Because you barely let them go back anyways.” Dorea admitted, stubbornly lifting her chin to face him. “And I can hardly let myself do it either. But the Black family have sway in the Ministry, and ties to a new group of Purebloods with rather questionable morals. I cannot move against them. Not until the twins are of age.”
“It’s not fair.” Charlus cursed, his fists unclenching as he sighed heavily.
“No. But you remember how hard it was to get just me away from them.”
Neither liked to remember the familial details of their courtship. Of the dinner with he Black family that had led to Charlus’s father cursing the Black house and storming away. He had died four weeks later. Some sudden illness, one that took him within the day. He and Fleamont had come out of school for the month, to help organise the funeral.
In his month of grieving, Dorea’s parents had confirmed her betrothal to the Malfoy Heir of the time. By the time they were both back at Hogwarts, they knew they had little time to figure a way to be together. And it had been rotten luck that they’d been caught and she’d been disowned.
“I’m so sorry, my love,” Dorea placed a hand on his cheek, “I can’t imagine the stress this puts on you.”
“Go to Effie. I’m sure she has questions.” Charlus leant into her palm, a silent promise that all was well between them.
Dorea waltzed slowly to the sitting room, taking tea with Euphemia as she digested the previous events.
“How do you expect me to let them go back there again, now I’ve seen this?” Euphemia spoke accusingly, no milling around the matter. Though she had been a Slytherin, time with the Potters had softened Euphemia’s more sneaky nature. She was too blunt, despite her niceties. Her tea was untouched; eyes burning as she looked to her sister-in-law with hurt.
“That was why I did not inform you, Effie.” Dorea sighed, placing her teacup in the saucer. “It was a burden I intended to face alone.”
“How could you let them go back there?”
“Believe me, it was the single most difficult decision of my life.” Her neutral mask faulted slightly; eyes shining, lips turning downwards at the corners. “The only compromise I could make, to have them in our lives, was to relinquish them as Walburga demands. She is bitter and vengeful, and the best I can do is what we have currently.”
“Are you giving up?”
“Certainly not.” She gasped, as though terribly offended. “Those children are as good as ours, and we both know it.” Euphemia nodded casually. She accepted the love she held for those children so wholly. They were hers, and they were Dorea’s. “Charlus is still working with some old colleagues on potential legal routes. I have Alphard quietly backing me, trying to turn the family against Walburga. We will get them out of that House.”
“What if we take too long?”
“I cannot answer that. We can only hope and work our hardest.”
The Potter women did not speak any further on the subject. Instead, they sipped their tea in silence - the weight of their responsibilities so very paramount. They both had come from Dark families and Darker households. And the Potter family had always been so very keen to welcome new members.
As they stewed in their plans and dreading, both women missed the messy haired head that bobbed between the gap in the doors. They missed the boy, glasses askew and shirt crooked, an expression of deep and dreaded pondering that painted his usually smiling face.
——
Ara woke to crackling pains like lightning coursing through her veins. Heat and frost in waves across her body as her mind churned out nightmares.
But there was something else too.
The warmth of her twin brother curled beside her was minute compared to the comforting hands stroking her hair and humming.
Blinking away confusion, the girl forced her eyes to adjust to the dark, spying the kind eyes of Charlus Potter in the darkness. It was silly how much he and his brother looked alike; so similar to her own brothers.
His hand stilled briefly, her fingers moving to latch onto his. To pull him closer and onto the mattress from his chair.
“Don’t fret, little one.” Charlus whispered with a warm smile, tucking the hair behind her ear as he sat on the side of the bed. “We have time on our hands.”
Maybe she was dreaming.
“Will you stay?” She whispered, looking away in preparation; already tense.
“Of course.”
Her eyes shot to his in disbelief, blinking in awe. Ready to apologise and tuck herself back in.
He did not give her the chance.
Instead, he moved to lay beside her - pulling the child into his side as he soothed her.
She slipped back into slumber; her twin dozing in her mind as they listened to Charlus’s lullaby.