Snapshots: Grieving

[toujours_nigel]

“Excuse me, Professor, but Professor McGonagall says she needs to see Potter and Black immediately.”

 

The Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Charms class turns around curiously; Potter and Black being summoned in the middle of a lesson is usually the effect of spectacular pranks, which to the best of everyone’s knowledge, neither has been planning for the morning.

 

Professor Flitwick seems as surprised as everyone else. “She does?” he asks nervously, half-expecting to see jelly-beans issuing from a Ravenclaw’s toe. “Well, go on then, collect your work later.”

 

“Remus, take down my notes, will you?” The brunette nods, looks enquiringly at the other.

 

“It’s OK, Lily’ll copy for me.” They walk out, shouldering their bags. The fifth-year messenger has already scuttled off to safety. She is rather afraid of the ringleaders of the Marauders, as which Hufflepuff is not?

 

“Professor, you wanted to see us?” Minerva McGonagall looks up, her face soft, almost as though she has been crying.

 

“Come in. Boys, I’m afraid I have bad news.” Both stiffen instantly, instinct making blood beat dizzily.

 

“Dorea died in her sleep last night. She had been ill for a long time, but your father did not...” Neither boy is listening, James has sagged onto the floor; Sirius, for once indifferent about him, has clenched white-knuckled fists and is staring blindly at her.

 

“Not very tactful, are you?” Lucius Malfoy slides to his knees, holding James up. “Hardly the best way to tell the lad...”

 

McGonagall frowns, wet eyes narrowing ominously. “Mr. Malfoy! I will not tolerate disrespect from the likes of you. Dorea Black was one of my closest friends. I am as hurt by this as anyone.”

 

“I know, Professor,” he returns, tone as insolent as ever, slapping James lightly. “Still, not very tactful.”

 

“Shut up, Lucius. Gryffindors don’t need to be diplomatic.” Sirius voice is strained, but he leans down, helps the older boy pull James up. “Prof., I... when do we leave?”

 

“You may go now. The teachers will be informed and... come back whenever your father can let you.” It is Charlus she refers to, Lucius notes wryly, and Sirius nods obediently, far too preoccupied to register the slip.

 

They arrive at the Potter house in minutes, Lucius summoning their cloaks and leading them to the boundaries of Hogwarts. The house is in a state of chaos, as though with Dorea’s death, it has become merely a collection of bricks again.

 

But the boys are not left unattended to wander blindly among the distracted mourners. Charlus is still grieving and it is Andromeda who comes to receive them, murmuring a quiet few words to Lucius that make him squeeze her hand and glide away. She takes them to Sirius’ room, James’ has been given to Lucius and Cissa and all the spare rooms are occupied by sundry members of the Black-Potter clan.

 

“Meda, how come you’re... I thought they... what happened?” Sirius is leaning against a bed-post; James is slumped against the other, not quite up to talking yet. But he looks up, watching Andromeda’s face curiously.

 

“Sirius, now is not the time,” she answers. “I heard what happened and I came, that’s all.” They nod, too weak to enquire further, neither caring that this is a near-miracle.

 

The funeral takes place at dusk, the long line of mourners wending down to the crypts. Though they don’t know it, a huge dispute has taken place while Andromeda was helping them settle in. Both Pollux and Cassiopeia had wanted their ‘baby sister’ buried in the Black Family Crypt; Orion and Cygnus had sided with them. The Potters had been equally adamant that Dorea be buried with the Potters. Lucius had been summoned to calm both sides when the noise threatened to overspill into the outer rooms where the unrelated mourners where waiting, stunned by this unbecoming display. But it had been a pale, drawn Charlus who finally settled the matter. He had been sitting with the corpse silently, but had finally raised his weary head.

 

“I want to be buried with my wife,” he had said, voice worn with grief and everyone had quietened.

 

So now she is being carried to the Potter crypt, lowered into the dark; her husband of twenty-seven years clutching with desperate strength at her son, as though to ascertain that a reason for his existence still remains. James stands white-faced, still unable to believe that his mother will never come back. Henry Potter stands behind his brother, ready to hold him up if he collapses again. The Blacks stand slightly apart, Sirius in front, grieving nearly as much as James. Walburga sniffs into a lace handkerchief, turning away from him; Sirius cannot help smirking, this is the first time he has seen genuine tears on his mother’s face. Regulus, ever the attentive son, pats her gingerly on the shoulder. Pollux is perhaps the one truly most affected...his frame shakes with stifled sobs.

 

It seems strangely surreal, to sit in this house and know that Dorea will not walk by, crisply issuing an order or gently fuss over Quidditch injuries or broken hearts. It is, he knows, as odd for Lucius and Narcissa as it is for him and James. Bellatrix has not come, she cannot... Voldemort, he thinks bitterly, probably doesn’t consider a relative’s death any reason not to turn up for work. Better this way, safer. He doesn’t think Lucius could bear her presence here today, anymore than him.

 

Charlus has retreated to his study again, the Blacks have gone home. It is almost midnight when Narcissa finally forces them to go to bed.

 

No-one remembered, perhaps, that there would be two boys sharing the room tonight; as it is they curl up at opposite ends of the four-poster, desperately wishing they could be alone and as savagely thankful that they have each other to lean on.

 

It is Cissa again, who wakes them the next morning. She never tells anyone, even Lucius, how she found them.

 

“Charlus doesn’t seem to want to come out. I think we should just let him grieve,” she says, keeping her voice carefully brisk, it hurts her as much to see him as to see these two. “But, you have to get back to school. It’s for the best; you’ll cope better once you’re with your...friends.” She cannot help the slight grimace that crosses her face and James grins.

 

“We’ll go back, Cissa. It was... good of you and Lucius to come.”

            “Of course we came, Dorea was good to us, she meant a lot to everyone. We’re glad to help. Now just get back to your lives, will you?” They nod and she leaves, pecking them on the cheek as she goes.

            They leave in the afternoon, Lucius hailing the Knight Bus and frightening the conductor half to death. He himself leaves in a few hours; Charlus Potter mourns his wife alone in the splendid mausoleum his house has become.

 

***

 

Hogwarts seems strangely cheery after the near silence of James’ house. James revives on the return journey, impossible not to, really, when the bus is running on a single set of wheels and you’re cursing the driver inventively in Latin. Remus is the first to notice them as they troop into the Great Hall during dinner. Lily starts and almost runs to James, then checks herself.

 

They slip into the old routine, wolfing down dinner, swatting Peter because of his stupidity, trooping up to bed. If Sirius hears wracking sobs from James’ bed in the middle of night, if Remus notices that Sirius’ bed is empty by 6 a.m., they keep it to themselves.

 

The next morning, James skips breakfast. Lily suggests taking him some, but pipes down when Sirius glares at her. Nor does she suggest going to check up on him when he fails to turn up for McGonagall’s class.

 

It is Sirius who answers for him, not that he needs to, for McGonagall takes one look at him and excuses them both from classes that day and can be heard muttering audibly about irresponsible parents who are too immersed in their own grief to realise how badly their children are faring, all through lunch.

 

Sirius slips back up to their dorm., finds James sitting on the parapet, looking down. He moves silently, yanking the other boy down, away from the window.

 

“What were you trying to do?” He asks, voice shaking, because, oh god, he cannot imagine how Charlus could live after losing wife and son in the same week. Nor can he imagine how he would survive without James.

 

“I just realised, she won’t ever scold me about flying riskily again. D’you remember, that time Lucius dared us to lean from the owlery back home and Mum caught us and yelled at us for nearly an hour?” Sirius nods, eyes filling with sudden tears. “She won’t ever do that again. I wasn’t… just leaning out, that’s all.”

 

“I know, just...don’t do it again, OK?”

 

James nods, walks towards his bed, then suddenly collapses, crumpling to the floor in a heap of robes. Sirius bends to him, stroking hair and back, muttering soothing nonsense. When the sobs seem to cease, he pushes the unruly locks back and tries to stand up. James clings closer.

 

“Don’t go...please.” he whimpers and it’s all Sirius can do not to hold him close.

 

“Just gonna get Evans. She’s worried about you.”

 

“Don’t go, don’t need her.”

 

“She’s your girlfriend, she loves you.” Why it still is so hard to say, two months after their first date, he isn’t sure.

 

“She didn’t know Mum. You did. Don’t need Evans. Need you. Besides, you love me, don’t you?” Sirius rears back in pure shock, but James is clearly not in any mood to taunt him.

 

He settles back, putting an arm around the other boy...maybe this is how it was supposed to come out, who is he to judge?

 

He pulls James into a hug, rocking him. “Yeah,” he whispers, “I love you.”

 

*** 

 

They sleep in the same bed that night, James’, curled around each other, James’ silent tears seeping through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. It means no less than it did the night before last, and he knows, they both do, that it cannot mean anything more.