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With his big, grey eyes, long lashes and graceful, slender body, Scorpius was completely different from anyone in the Potter family. James couldn't stop looking. Maybe that was it. He only knew that there had been more than one occasion in which a sudden glimpse of Scorpius brushing his curtain of hair out of his face or stretching up to reach something had caught James's focus and made him forget everything else around him.

So, in a way, what happened was down to him.

Not in a rational way. Logically, James knew Scorpius hadn't done anything wrong.

As they sat together on the bank of the pond, James had caught Scorpius's eyes. James had leaned in. James had pressed forward, and all that Scorpius had done was smile and press his petal-soft lips back against James's own.

Such a blissful moment--pure relief and pleasure. A Patronus moment, for sure.

And now, if James closed his eyes, if he squeezed them shut hard enough to make his temples ache, then he could almost bring himself back there and re-inhabit those exquisite, still seconds

* * *

"But his is better than mine! And he doesn't care about Quidditch. He doesn't even like flying!"

Dad was about to lose it. James could tell. Dad's arms were tightly crossed as if he were trying to hold himself back, and he had that look in his eye. It made James tingle, teetering on the brink of fear and elation. One small push, Dad would explode, and the day would be ruined for everyone. Even Albus. James could do that, if he chose. Something hot feathered through his chest and over his face.

Albus sat cross-legged on the sitting-room floor, surrounded by torn wrapping paper and birthday presents. He stared up at them with the Firebolt resting across his knees. He had that wounded rabbit look that always made James want to kick him.

Mum sat on the sofa behind Al, leaning forward with one hand on his shoulder. Her eyes were fixed on Dad. "Harry," she said. Lily huddled wide-eyed against the armrest, licking frosting off her fingers.

James stared at mum's hand. Al twisted to glance at her, his eyes filling, his own hands trembling on the broom handle.

James looked back at his father. "My broom's a piece of crap compared to his, and you know it."

Dad's eyes flashed and he shouted, "Your broom was state of the art when we bought it for you on your birthday four months ago!"

"Then let him have it!" James made a slashing gesture toward his brother. "He won't even know the difference."

"I'll take your broom out in the garden and burn it," said Dad. "You spoiled, ungrateful little sod!"

Mum stood. "James! To your room. Now."

"What?"

"By the time I count to ten, or I'll be the one lighting the bristles."

James groaned, shot Al a glare, and then stomped out of the room. His heart beat madly in his chest. As he climbed the stairs, he heard his mother continue.

"Harry. I know, believe me, I know. But he's fifteen."

"That boy has had everything. Everything! And it's never enough."

"He doesn't mean it. He's just jealous of all the attention Al's getting--"

"It's my birthday." Al sounded peevish. "I'm allowed attention."

James slammed his bedroom door and turned up the WWN full blast so he wouldn't have to hear any more. Sitting alone on his bed, the adrenaline faded and shame hit him full on. He made a fist and punched the wall; he wished he could go back in time and keep his mouth shut.

His own Firebolt rested in the corner, and as James glanced at it a bolt of guilt hit him. He loved his broom. He'd out-flown half of Hogwarts on his broom, caught the Snitch more times than he could remember, and put Gryffindor well in the lead for the House Cup.

"Fuck." Why was he such an idiot?

He stood, walked to the door and pressed his ear against it. The voices downstairs sounded calm again. They were getting on with Al's party.

Good. He'd wait a bit, then go downstairs and apologise. Poor Al. James had no idea why his brother's fragility made him so uncomfortable. He ran his fingers through his hair and gave it a hard tug.

He'd make it better. He'd help Al with his flying and give him a lesson or two. That would show them all that he wasn't really spoiled and horrible. He curled his hands into fists and pressed them into his eyes for a moment, then retuned to his bed to lie down.

He couldn't turn back time, but he could wait, go downstairs and try to make up for some of the damage he'd caused.

* * *

Mum loved the daffodils that bloomed around the lake--bright horns of yellow, both vibrant and lacy. They blossomed for such a short time though, and James hated the regret in her eyes once she saw them start to wilt and turn brown. Then, one afternoon during fourth year, Neville--Professor Longbottom--had taught him a charm to keep them blooming a few weeks longer. James presented it to his Mum as a Mother's Day gift and she'd practically smothered him with hugs. He'd felt all aglow for the rest of the day.

Two weeks later, all the flowers turned powder-white, then crumbled to dust. Mum was fine about it. James smiled and shrugged, then crept off to hide in the broom shed, hot tears trailing down his cheeks. He wasn't sure why. He only knew that he'd tried; he done his best to keep them fresh and beautiful for her, but it hadn't been good enough.

Now it was summer and their garden was a chaos of colour. The daffodils were gone, but there were violet primroses and dark-red roses so pungent James felt dizzy after sniffing them. Mum seemed happy as ever as she moved through the plants, clipping dead flowers and turning the soil. Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron filled their garden with pruning and watering charms, but James's mum "liked to get in there and get her hands dirty". James loved watching her work. The sunlight made her hair gleam and sometimes her nose would burn and peel, leaving even more freckles behind.

He sighed, prone on the grass, drunk on summer, and pushed himself up onto his elbows to watch as Al and Scorpius tumbled out through the conservatory door and into the sunlight. Scorpius threw his head back--his hair swung with the movement and the sun caught his teeth as he laughed. He looked as bright and golden as a daffodil. James sucked in a breath.

It was like a pull and a jolt and the pop of getting a brilliant idea all rolled into one. Here. Him. This one. A feverish shiver coursed over his skin. He had to look away, certain that what he was feeling must show on his face, must in fact be radiating visibly from his pores.

But nobody's behaviour indicated that they'd noticed. Mum continued with her gardening. Al and Scorpius only had eyes for each other. If James didn't know better--if he didn't know that Al was dating that girl from Hufflepuff--he'd wonder… His stomach tightened and cold seeped through his sun-warmed chest.

Dad exited the conservatory, blinking against the light and holding hands with Lily.

Mum stood up, glowing, and said, "Harry!"

"I thought I'd leave work early and spend some time with my family."

"Uncle Ron's in the sitting room," said Lily, her hand on her hip. "He said you're going to listen to the Cannons game on the wireless."

Laughing and pulling off her gardening gloves, Mum approached him. She let the gloves fall to the grass, and Dad grinned and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

"I'll get some lager from the cooling cupboard and come join you," said Mum. Dad kissed her and for a moment they were lost in each other.

"Me too!" James leapt to his feet. "Can I have a cold lager?" He drew his arm across his sweaty forehead and panted a bit. "I'm about to melt."

His parents drew apart. "Not for another two years," said Dad. "But you can have a butterbeer. Seeing as you're about to expire of sunstroke."

"Fair enough." He moved toward the entrance to the conservatory.

"Are you coming, Al?" asked Lily.

Al and Scorpius looked at each other, noses wrinkled. "Nah," said Al. "We're going to search for shrieking tulips in the woods. Hugo said he found some last week."

James brushed away the flash of annoyance and kept smiling. It was a beautiful day and most of them were all going to listen to the Cannons game together. Maybe in a bit, James would convince Dad to let him have a lager.

Hugo and Uncle Ron were waiting in the sitting room, Uncle Ron on the sofa leant toward the wireless, which had been placed on the table in the centre of the room. "Hey there, James." He waved without looking. James plopped down next to Hugo and knocked into him with his shoulder. Hugo grinned and knocked him back.

The announcer's voice filled the room. Flying conditions were perfect. It was going to be a great game. If Al preferred to go chasing flowers with Scorpius, then he'd just have to miss out.

* * *

No matter what James did, no matter what he said or tried, Al was still shit on a broom. He just didn't have the knack for flying. James had leapt on his first Cleansweep at age four and never looked back. He knew how to fly like he knew how to walk. Mum said he got that from Dad. Al would lift off, jerk to the left, suddenly zoom five feet upward, angle the broom too sharply, over-steer--basically do everything wrong that could be done wrong. He simply didn't have it in him, and in James's opinion should just give up.

He wouldn't, though. He'd climb on his broom and wrap his hands around the handle, knuckles white, brow creased with determination. "I'll get it, James. I just need to keep trying."

"Maybe it would be easier if we switched brooms. Yours has all that new steering spell-work, and it only makes it harder to--"

"Nice try, Jamie."

James grinned. "That broom's wasted on you, Albus. Just thought it deserved a rider who knows what he's doing for once."

"You wait. I'll be out-flying you by the end of summer."

"Stop bickering," Scorpius called.

They turned toward the lakeside where Scorpius lay on his back, propped up on his elbows. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun and smiled. He wore no shirt, but only an old, faded pair of Al's shorts. His pale almost hairless chest was beginning to freckle beneath his collarbone.

"Why do you always stare at him that way?" asked Al, sotto voce.

James felt his face heat. "Shut up. I'm not staring at anything."

With a shrug, Al re-focussed his attention on his broom. "I'm going to circle those trees." He pointed toward a willow grove a quarter mile in the distance. "Then do a loop over the lake like we practiced the other day."

"Sounds good." James carefully placed his broom down on the grass. "I'll watch and tell you how crap you are after."

Al rolled his eyes, then pursed his lips, creased his brow and lifted off shakily into the air. He jerked sharply upward, tilted to the left, then finally settled a couple yards from the ground. The sun glinted off a bead of sweat on his temple.

T'sking to himself, James turned his attention back to Scorpius. Scorpius looked back and gave him a small, shy smile. Something flipped in James's chest. He hoped he looked calmer than he felt; he walked over and sat himself down by Scorpius's side. They smiled at each other. Scorpius's gaze lingered.

James broke their stare, knowing his cheeks were turning pink. He looked up. Al was just rounding the willow grove. He made a smooth turn and headed back toward them. James lowered his eyes. A family of ducks floated slowly through a maze of water lilies. Something warm tickled his fingers. Scorpius's hand. He turned his head and Scorpius was right there, so close, James could smell the sun on his skin. Without thinking, he leaned in and their lips met, sending soft pleasure shimmering through James's centre.

"James!" Albus screamed.

James pulled away from Scorpius slowly, lust drunk, and watched as Al splashed straight into the lake then disappeared from sight. His mind froze. The ducks quacked madly, flapping their wings. Scorpius gasped, "Al," and leapt to his feet.

James stumbled to his own and raced after Scorpius to the lake. The surface had already gentled, but Al would pop up in a moment. He wondered if they could save the broom. Scorpius dove in, James followed, and they swam toward the centre where Al had vanished. Numb from head to toe by the cold lake water, James stared for a moment at Scorpius, who was gasping and paddling, tears flowing down his cheeks. He wondered why he felt nothing--just cold. Then he took a deep breath, held it, and plunged beneath the surface to find his brother, pull him out, and make everything go back to the way it had been moments earlier.

* * *

People couldn't live through this. It just wasn't possible. Every second of every day was a horror of pain and want, want, want. James had thought he'd wanted things in the past, but he'd never wanted anything as much as he wanted his brother, wanted Al, sweet skinny Al with their dad's eyes, who was always too tender and fragile and who James had let die because he'd stopped paying attention.

He'd have given anything--his Firebolt, his soul--for one last glimpse, one last word. Just enough time to tell Al he was sorry and that he loved him. But Al was gone, just gone. His body rested stiff in a box as Dad, Uncle Ron, Grandpa Weasley, and Neville stood around it, wands raised as they lowered it gently into a hole in the ground. There was more space in the world. Space that should have been Al. Emptiness. A permanently empty spot, and James couldn't bear it, couldn't bear the pain, couldn't stop going over it again and again in his head, wanting to go back and change it, fix it, make things so the accident had never happened.

Mum and Dad didn't blame him. They'd made sure he knew that. Even though he'd been meant to watch over Al. He was supposed to be up there in the sky with him on his own broom. And if he had been… Life now would be entirely different.

Mum wouldn't be sobbing and leaning against Aunt Hermione's shoulder. Dad wouldn't look so shocked and hollow-eyed. Lily wouldn't be sitting hunched in her chair, face puffy, fists clenched, swallowing over and over again, trying hard not to cry so their mother wouldn't feel she had to comfort her yet again.

But it had happened and it was. It wouldn't be undone. Everyone knew that. The dead stayed dead, even when their deaths were a mistake. Even when you could change things to save them in your mind. Even when the person who died was young and good and loved. The dead were gone, forever. James looked forward through his life, now eternally void of his brother, and couldn't see it. It wasn't possible.

People couldn't live through this. It couldn't be done.

After the funeral, during the reception, James spotted Scorpius, his hair bright against the backdrop of dark clothing. Scorpius twitched as if he'd felt James's eyes on him, and looked over. "I'm so sorry," he mouthed, just as he had said, had sobbed, over and over again, that afternoon at the lake. James had been bent over his brother, pumping his chest up and down, trying with desperate futility. There was mud on Al's white face and a water lily leaf stuck in his hair. He'd tasted just like the lake smelled when James tried to kiss him back to life. Only James hadn't been able to do it. He'd tried, he'd tried so hard, but Al was dead and James didn't have the power to save him.

Scorpius virtually glowed amongst the crowd of black robes. For a second, James's nostrils filled with the memory of the way Scorpius's skin had smelt. Then he thought of Al and his stomach twisted in a knot of pain. He didn't respond to Scorpius. He turned away without saying anything at all.

* * *

Back at Hogwarts, because life insisted on progressing even when that didn't seem right, everyone knew to leave James well enough alone. He wanted it that way. He couldn't talk to people. They all looked calm and happy, and he didn't understand that any more. They were going to die and people they loved were going to die. What was there to be happy about?

He went to class. He did his homework. He slept a lot. On good days he felt numb, like a warm, walking Inferius. On bad days he'd think he'd caught a glimpse of Al in a crowd or rounding a corner and he'd want to tear his eyes out when the reality that it wasn't possible punched him in the gut for the millionth time. Sometimes he and Lily would climb to the top of the Astronomy Tower and stand quietly together, holding hands as they looked out over the grounds. Sometimes they'd cry, but they rarely spoke.

Academically, the year was going to be a write off. James had never been one to get all Outstandings, but he'd achieved a steady stream of EEs in his O.W.L.s. It was obvious that his professors were going easy on him--because they knew what he'd been through and because he was a Potter--but his marks were still abysmal. He thought about leaving. He thought about going home. He thought about being trapped in the house with his grieving parents, surrounded by reminders of Al as a baby, a toddler, a child, an awkward adolescent, and he dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands.

So when Christmas arrived, he decided to stay at Hogwarts. Lily begged him to reconsider and Mum sent him an owl demanding he come home. Dad said nothing and his response spoke loudest.

The Potter family was broken. Forever. And it was James's fault. He wouldn't go home again until he could fix it, until he could look his father in the eye again.

Al loved Astronomy but was shit at potions. He had their dad's hair and eyes, but Mum's freckles across his nose. He could wind James up to a rage with a single word, and knew nothing about Quidditch; he liked all sorts of girly things like animals and flowers, and deep down James knew, he knew, that Dad had loved him best. But they could have a conversation just by giving each other certain looks, without even opening their mouths. Al could make James laugh until he almost wet himself by imitating Aunt Hermione or Grandpa Weasley. He'd had a shy smile that made him glow when he was relaxed. And he'd only been fourteen years old. Just a kid.

It was wrong for him to be gone. Obscenely wrong.

So, James wasn't going to go home. He wasn't going to go on as if this was the way life was now. Life was broken. James had broken it.

He curled his hands into fists. What was he supposed to do? Give up? His dad hadn't given up, not ever, not even when his own life was at stake. When something was broken, you tried to fix it. James could do that. He'd force his fingers into the fabric of reality and tear it apart if he had to. He'd bring back that golden afternoon before their lives had imploded and show them all that he'd done it, that he cared that much.

He'd show Al. He'd prove how much he really loved him.

* * *

A time turner would be useless. You could go back in time, but you couldn't change what had happened. History was an immutable block, solid as steel and stone. James imagined throwing himself against it, over and over again, until he was torn and bloody--a satisfying vision.

Several years after the war, they'd erected a statue in the courtyard at Hogwarts depicting James's father as Master of Death. The effigy of his father stood broad-shouldered and grim-faced, looking unfamiliar and much older than seventeen. A bronze cloak hung down his back, charmed to shimmer the figure into nothingness only to reappear moments later. In one hand the figure held a replica of the Elder Wand, in the other a smooth, dark stone.

James stood beneath the statue. His father, larger than life. He'd saved everyone. He'd been willing to give his own life for those he loved.

James hadn't been able to save his brother who was just one person--just one kid. What must Dad think of him? His eyes ran over the statue again. The Cloak: James could hide, cut himself off from the world, save them from having to look at him and remember how he'd failed, save himself from having to see the look in their eyes. The wand: all powerful, it could do anything. Anything except bring back his brother. The stone.

The stone.

A cold shiver ground through his body. The stone. How could he not have remembered sooner?

He could see Al again; hear his voice. James hugged himself. Al. Something bloomed between his ribs: an impossible yellow flower; sunlight glinting off Scorpius's hair.

He didn't understand why something soft and bright made him feel so scared.

* * *

Coming up with the idea was one thing. Actually getting the stone and enacting his plan was another. The stone was lost--famously lost. Father was always very clear on the rare occasions he talked about it. He'd left the stone in the Forbidden Forest and never went back to retrieve it. In the back of his mind, lurking amongst guilt-tinged and unwanted thoughts, James considered that might have been selfish on his father's part. Then again, at the time Dad hadn't known what would happen to Al.

James doubted Accio would work. If it did, someone else would have found the stone ages ago. He could do it the hard way, just crawl through the dirt and search until the stone was re-discovered, but if there were a short-cut, he'd rather take it.

Maybe a different kind of magic. There had to be something. Maybe he'd find it in a book. Madam Pince gave him a suspicious glance as he entered. It wasn't as if he never went to the library. He just usually needed a bit of activity going on around him before he could concentrate on schoolwork. The Reference Section seemed like the obvious place to begin, but James found himself standing blankly before shelves and shelves of books with no idea where to start. He pulled out one thick book, Gone but Not Forgotten: The Encyclopaedia of Rare and Useful Charms, and paged through it. The magic looked ancient and complex--way beyond his ability. Sighing, he shoved the book back onto the shelf.

A soft noise made him turn his head.

Scorpius stood at the end of the aisle, staring at him. James's heart jumped.

"James," said Scorpius, and walked toward him. His arms were full of books.

"Oh…" James took a step away, which made Scorpius halt.

His bright hair hung limp against his face. He licked his lips. "I miss him too," Scorpius said in a shaky voice. "He was my friend. My best friend."

"I... I know." James clutched at the bookshelf and held on.

"Please." Scorpius moved toward him again. James remained frozen." I need… I need…" The stack of books shifted, Scorpius tried unsuccessfully to right them, and they toppled to the floor. His face crumpled.

James's pulse raced. He had no idea what to do. He felt numb and brittle. Scorpius moved up close. He pressed his head against James's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his back. "Please."

Something un-knit inside James, releasing a flood of heat. He returned Scorpius's embrace and squeezed. He had to. He couldn't hate Scorpius, not when he was so clearly feeling the same things James was, or near enough. Not when holding him felt so good--so much better than he deserved.

That night in bed, he thought of Scorpius and remembered how his lips had felt pressed against his own. A warm shiver rolled through his body. It had been such a lovely moment, bright and golden. He could remember every detail--the scent of sun-drenched skin, the ducks splashing through the water, the pleasure hooking behind his navel and pulling him closer to Scorpius. It was such a delicious memory, James almost felt okay for a moment.

Then he fell asleep and dreamt that there had been a crazy mistake and Al was still alive. He came back to Hogwarts, forgiving James for everything. When James awoke, Al was still dead, though, and he pressed his face into his pillow as hard as he could, until there was no air left to breathe.

* * *

Bruised and filthy, James staggered out of the Forbidden Forest. The last of the evening light slipped away as he walked, aching and disappointed, back to the castle. Dad had never told anyone where he'd dropped the stone; it could be anywhere. Maybe, James had thought, maybe luck would be on his side. He was meant to see Al again; he had no doubt. So maybe the stone would call to him and he'd find it. He searched and searched, used every Summoning Charm he knew, disturbed a clutch of bloodthirsty Red Caps, picked up a nasty rash from Merlin-knew-what, and was finally chased out of the forest altogether by an angry looking centaur.

Searching by hand wasn't going to work. He needed magic. Powerful magic.

The night was chilly. He pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and covered himself. He'd found the Cloak in the back of the wardrobe in his parents' room a year or so ago. It had promised all sorts of fun and freedom then. Now it only meant that he'd be able to sneak back to Gryffindor Tower without being bothered by Filch or a roaming professor. He'd need a shower and something to soothe the burning red pustules on his leg. Then sleep, hopefully a dreamless sleep, and in the morning another day to get through.

Halfway up the staircase he found Scorpius huddled and shivering on the steps. James paused, tempted to slip by him without a word. He was so exhausted, though, and his chest ached with disappointment. He pulled off the Cloak, making Scorpius gasp, and sat down next to him.

"You waiting for me?"

Scorpius nodded. "What happened?"

"Hmm?"

"You look like you were dragged behind a horse."

"Oh." He swallowed. "I was… looking for something."

"While you were being dragged behind a horse?" Scorpius gave him a tentative smile and James felt himself returning it, although his lips felt like hard rubber.

"No, but a centaur almost did for me. They really don't like it when you--"

"You were in the Forbidden Forest? But that's not allowed. And kind of mental."

James studied Scorpius's face. He had delicate bones and light, pure skin. His eyes drew James in again, made him want to move closer and take root. Scorpius put a hand on James's knee. There was soil under his fingernails from all the time he spent in the greenhouses. He and Al would go searching for weird plants while everyone else stayed in and listened to Quidditch on the wireless. If anyone was going to understand what James needed to do, it would be Scorpius.

"I need to see Al again. Just one last time."

Scorpius stared. Then he creased his eyebrows and shook his head. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going to find the Death Stone."

"The Death Stone?"

"From The Three Brothers. You know."

"The fairytale?" Scorpius pulled his hand away, looking frightened.

"It's real. My dad used it." Scorpius's eyes only grew wider as James explained his plan.

"James, it's not real. It's just a story. I know people say that about your father, but--"

"No. You don't understand. It is real. And I'm going to find it and I'm going to bring Al back." His voice was too loud. They were going to be caught out of bed after curfew.

"Well, I don't know. I always thought… but, James." Scorpius took his hand now and squeezed it. "Don't do that. It's not a good idea."

James's skin prickled. "I just want to see him again. For a little while. To say sorry."

"I'd love to see him again too, but we can't. You know that."

"We can." James yanked his hand away. "Stop being awkward. I can do it. I just need the stone."

Scorpius leaned sideways against the banister and his face fell into shadow. James crossed his arms. This was a mistake. Scorpius didn't understand. James was alone, all alone with his memories of Al. Until he found the stone he would stay that way, cold and removed from the rest of the world. He braced himself to stand.

"Maybe," Scorpius whispered, "maybe it would help. If you could really do it."

"Yes." James relaxed and turned to Scorpius, catching and holding his gaze. "Yes! It's just that it happened so quickly." He touched Scorpius's shoulder. "I wasn't ready. If I'd had the chance… I don't think he knew… knew how much…"

Sliding an arm around James's back, Scorpius moved close again. They looked at each other and James remembered Scorpius shining in the sunlight and how he'd seen so clearly what he was meant to be to him. Just like the last time, James leaned in and kissed him. And also like the last time Scorpius gently kissed him back.

Maybe it was going to be okay, he thought as his heart sped up and the cold of the night melted away. Maybe he could live through this.

Scorpius pulled away. "We'd better get to bed. Merlin knows how late it is and we've got classes tomorrow."

"Sure, all right." He snuck in one last quick kiss, and with a soft laugh Scorpius brushed his thumb along James's cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow." They stood. James didn't want to let go of Scorpius's hand. "I've got a free period after lunch."

"I've got Potions then. After dinner? Meet you by the Trophy Room?"

"Yeah. Perfect."

"All right, then."

"All right."

James watched him descend the staircase on light, graceful feet, then turned to head toward his own bed. He thought he might actually be able to sleep.

* * *

He decided to go home for Easter. He had to. Mum had practically begged and even Dad had written specifically to ask him to come, saying that they needed to all be together, to be a family again. Al would have wanted that.

So James went home. Maybe he hadn't been eating as much as before, but he still thought his parents overreacted when they saw him. He let them fuss. Maybe they needed to show how much they cared about him. Lily helped out with holiday preparations and tried to get their parents to smile, but she was young and resilient. She'd always been more practical and was clearly already moving on.

Of course she hadn't been there; she hadn't let Al fly into the lake.

When his father sat down next to him on the sofa and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, it centred James. He felt safe; he felt important. For the first time since he could remember, he had all his father's attention. It should have been wonderful, but instead made him sick with self-hatred. Life was bitterly cruel, giving him everything he needed to feel whole when he was so shattered. Nothing, not even his father's undiluted love, could piece him back together. And Dad was only doing it because of what had happened to Al. It wasn't worth it. Yet he also hated himself for not being able to take what his father offered.

Mum touched him, petted him, hugged him and tried to get him to eat. James did everything he could to make her think he was going to be okay, but the effort was exhausting. There was only one thing that would make him okay.

He returned to school even more determined to find the stone.

* * *

Scorpius put it all together. He provided the last piece of the puzzle, the thing James needed most. They sat together in the library--James staring blankly at his Transfiguration textbook and Scorpius shifting in his seat and chewing his fingernails until James turned to him and asked, "What? What is it?"

Scorpius swallowed, looking uncertain. "You're still going to try and find that stone?"

"Yeah, I am." James met his eyes and didn't falter.

After taking a deep breath, Scorpius said, "I, well, I might have something that could help you. But you have to promise me you'll only use it once and then let him go. You need to move forward. We both do."

He pulled a large book bound in dark-red leather out of his satchel and placed it flat on the table. Peeling gilt letters in an almost indecipherably fancy font spelled out something like Séo Bóc Drýcræft. "It's really old. Been in our family forever. And a lot of the spells are… Well, Father would be very angry if he knew I was showing this to you. So just between the two of us, yeah?"

"Of course," James replied. The book looked heavy, as if it were made of stone or metal rather than parchment and dragon skin. When he touched it to open the cover, his fingers prickled.

"Here." Scorpius reached around him, pressing his chest against James's shoulder, and turned the pages of the book.

James tried not to be distracted by the warmth and pressure of Scorpius's body. As the pages turned, he caught glimpses of things that made his stomach tighten: a drawing of a man with six arms and no hands, a knife sticking into an eyeball, a reddish-brown handprint. He couldn't read the ancient text; the letters looked strange and the words unfamiliar. "Wow. This is really old."

Scorpius nodded, tickling James's ear with his fringe. "Grandfather didn't know when it first came into our family's possession. We've just always had it. It's worth more galleons than you can imagine." He stopped leafing through the book and settled on a page with no illustrations, just a lot of strange words. "I can read it a little bit. Enough." He pointed to a line written in larger, darker letters than the rest. "It says 'A Spell for the Recovery of Items Forever Lost'."

There was something about the book that made James want to slam it shut, yet he found he couldn't look away. He stared at the words until they imprinted across his mind and he could see them reversed, light against darkness.

"How does the spell work? Is it dangerous?"

"That's the thing. You need a sacrifice. Something precious, as precious as the thing you want to find. Something it breaks your heart to lose." Scorpius's finger quivered against the parchment.

James couldn't imagine anything he wanted as much as Al. He glanced at Scorpius's light, warm face. Everything was dark and murky--everything but Scorpius, who shone so brightly James could feel it in his chest. If he were trapped beneath black water, then Scorpius was sunlight above, breaking through the surface and beckoning him back to life.

His mind focussed and his stomach turned over. He knew exactly what he'd have to sacrifice in order to bring Al back.

* * *

As they stood at the cusp of the Forest, James couldn't define how he felt. There was too much inside him--dread, longing, terror, anticipation--it all beat within him, making his head spin. He held tight to Scorpius's hand and tried to ignore the panic and beginnings of a whole new kind of grief. Al was most important. He was doing this for Al.

Scorpius gave him a squeeze and then let go. He spread a cloth on the grass, then took Séo Bóc Drýcræft out of his satchel. He looked at James. "You're sure?"

James nodded, and Scorpius placed the book on the cloth and opened it to the appropriate page. The strange words didn't look any more reassuring than they had in the library.

"Okay. Take out your wand."

James did. Scorpius looked at him with warm focus and James watched his face as he explained how to cast the spell, what to say and how to move his wand. He loved the way Scorpius's lips moved as he spoke. A pinprick of anger spiked through his forehead. It wasn't fair.

He turned away. Focus. After taking a deep breath, he recited the words to the spell and called to mind his sacrifice. He cradled the image in his mind, held it softly, and let it brighten and warm him one final time. Soft happiness radiated through his chest--but no. He didn't deserve it. He'd given up the right to that sort of thing.

Okay, he thought, ignoring the sick burn in his stomach, take it. And with his mind, he gave the memory and everything it meant a little push. It melted away slowly like a cloud disappearing down a tunnel.

For a moment he felt blank and empty. Then he blinked and lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the morning sunlight.

He knew exactly how to find the stone.

The knowledge tugged like a thread in his skull. He could see the way in his mind as if it were a map: a streak of pale-blue light lead through the Forbidden Forest. The path gleamed and then faded, rhythmically, in time with the pulse beating in his temples.

"Did it work?"

James jumped. He'd forgotten about Malfoy. "Yeah. It worked." He handed the book back to him, then looked toward the trees again, opening and closing his fists. "Thanks."

"Shall we go in now? Or wait until Saturday?" He sounded plaintive, almost whiny.

"I'm going in now." He glanced at Malfoy, who stood wide-eyed while hugging the book to his skinny chest.

"Okay. Just let me put this back in my room. I can't let anything happen to it."

"You're not coming with me."

Malfoy sucked in a breath and his eyes got even wider.

"Go back to the castle," James continued. "I'll be fine. Thanks for the help, but I need to do this bit on my own."

With his fingernails digging into the book leather, Malfoy swallowed, then said, "What did you do?"

"Don't worry about it." Each moment he waited, the pulsing in his head grew more insistent. He began walking toward the forest, thinking of Al, of his eyes, his birdish posture, the images so vivid he could almost see him.

"James!"

James gritted his teeth, then looked back over his shoulder.

"Me? You sacrificed me?"

With a shrug, James said, "I guess I did."

Malfoy didn't move. He just stood there with his creased, wet face. James turned back to the forest and forgot about him completely. It was time to go fetch Al.

* * *

The path wound through the trees. He'd been walking for ages, but didn't feel even slightly tired. His shin bled where he'd banged it against a rock; there was no pain, only focus, only the desire to move forward, toward Al. The light began to dim as the greenery thickened; the air grew cold. James inhaled--the bright perfume of the living trees blended with the musk of the mulch beneath his feet. He rested his palm against a tree trunk, breathing deeply. He felt as if he could walk forever.

The deeper he travelled into the forest, the closer together the trees grew. There was no longer a clear path, just a maze of twisted roots and rotting leaves. A black, tangled lattice of branches blocked out the sky, keeping the forest dark and pungent as a verdant cave; James made his way via wand-light. He grasped a low hanging branch to pull himself over a fallen trunk. His hand came away sticky and trailing spider silk.

The ground began to slope downward. He was getting close; the pounding in his head told him so, and his heart responded in tempo. His vision narrowed and he stumbled over a root. Al. So close. The light from his wand wavered and James saw that his hand was shaking.

Just ahead, the trees parted and James could see a clearing. He knew the stone was there, somewhere on the ground near his feet. He fell to his knees and began to search, pulling up fallen branches and digging through the dirt, mulch and strange, sticky glue that coated the earth. Then, in the clearing, something large shuffled about. James froze.

It hadn't occurred to him that he'd be putting himself in danger; he'd been too focussed on his task. The shuffling, crackling sounds grew louder and James moved forward. Some dark and misshapen thing--about the size of small horse--scuttled about in the clearing in a struggle with a young deer. The faun bleated and bucked, but the creature--and now its many hair legs came into focus and James recognised it as an Acromantula--forced it down, spitting silk from its body and binding the poor thing into immobility.

James could hear his own heart beating inside his head. As if the sound were clearly audible, the monster paused, shuffled about, then fixed all of its plentiful eyes directly on James. For a moment they stared at each other, then the spider went back to its weaving. The faun's struggles grew weak.

James threw himself to the ground again and dug, ignoring the pain as a fingernail tore and his knuckles split. He was getting nowhere, the spell had stopped working, and he was about to be devoured by a horrible giant spider. No. The spell hadn't broken, he was just in a panic--the light still throbbed within his mind. He went still. He inhaled and concentrated, squeezing his eyes closed. Once his mind was blank, his hands knew what to do. James let them move. He reached out until his fingers brushed against something hard. Upon opening his eyes, he saw a thick tree root. Embedded in a winding gnarl, rested the stone. For a brief moment it shone with intense blue light. James squinted. Then the light popped out of existence and the spell dissipated.

He grabbed for the stone, but the tree wouldn't let it go. James clawed at the root; he tried to peel the bark away. The stone was lodged fast. He glanced into the clearing and saw that the spider was looking at him again. His breath hitched in his chest, and as the spider began to scramble toward him, James remembered he had a wand and cast a desperate Reducto! at the root. It exploded. He grabbed the stone.

There was no triumph or relief, though, because the spider was coming closer and moving fast. James tried to push himself up, clutching the stone tightly in his fist, but his shoe slid through the damp leaves and he fell. The sound of the spider's clicking mandibles merged with his racing pulse. James did not want to die this way. He scrambled backwards, then rolled over and finally got to his feet. He gripped the stone so hard his hand went numb, and ran.

* * *

The density of the forest saved him. The spider was too big to follow. Still, James didn't dawdle but crashed through the trees, hoping fervently that he didn't disturb anything else that might be awake and hungry. It took a long time to find his way out. The spell had led him to the stone, but it hadn't provided directions back to safety.

It was early afternoon by the time James, sore and exhausted, reached the outskirts of the forest. He let himself collapse onto a fallen log and caught his breath. Then, not really believing he'd succeeded, he opened his hand and looked at his prize.

There it was: the Death Stone. It was smaller than James had imagined. On closer examination he discovered a thin crack down its centre. Maybe it was broken. Maybe it wouldn't even work.

Sitting alone in the forest with the possibility of seeing Al so real, James wondered if it wouldn't be for the best if nothing happened. He was messing with things you weren't meant to mess with. He knew that. And Cadmus Peverell's story hadn't ended happily.

James gritted his teeth. Maybe he was strong enough to handle what ever happened next, and maybe he wasn't. Either way, he had to at least see Al long enough to tell him he hadn't meant to let him die.

He was still deep enough in the woods to have privacy. He shoved the doubts to the back of his mind. He closed his eyes. He turned the stone over in his hand once, twice… By the third turn he'd stopped breathing. The forest stood silent around him.

Then a leaf rustled and he felt the slightest shift in the air. He opened his eyes. He inhaled. Al stood before him, grinning shyly with his hands in his pockets.

James started to shake. He hadn't, he realised, truly expected it to work. Something inside him, his sense of certainty about the structure of the world, crumbled to pieces. "Al," he choked, and got to his feet.

"Hey, James."

Al looked radiant and unreal. He wasn't solid, but he wasn't ghostlike either. His eyes shone as green as they'd been in life. He shook his head to move his fringe out of his eyes and James thought the familiar gesture would make him die of love.

He leaned forward, arms outstretched in an attempt to embrace his brother, but immediately lurched back again, shocked. Al wasn't solid; James's hands had slid beneath Al's surface, and inside he was icy-cold.

"I'm sorry," gasped James, he looked at his hands, then back at Al. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

"I know. I know, James."

"I didn't want you to die. I tried to save you. I did. But I couldn't."

"Of course you tried. You did everything possible."

"It wasn't enough. Al, oh, Al."

"It wasn't your fault, James. I know that. And I know that you loved me."

"I did. I do. So much. You have no idea how much I've missed you, how much we've all missed you."

"I do know. Of course I know."

James couldn't stop talking. He fell to his knees and let it all pour out, repeating himself over and over again. Al spoke words of comfort and acknowledgement but it wasn't enough. It could never be enough.

It was almost evening by the time James left the forest, the stone clutched firmly in his fist, with his brother at his side.

* * *

Now that James had Al back, everything else fell away: his friends, Quidditch, schoolwork, even his family. He sat through classes; he did his homework to get it done, but neither his heart nor his mind were invested. When Professor Longbottom took him aside to ask how he was doing, James managed to put on a bright face and assure him that he was sad but getting by. He kept his shoulders hunched and his head down. For the most part, people continued to leave him alone.

And once classes were over for the day, he'd find somewhere quiet and empty and he'd take out the stone again to see Al. He was going to tell them--Dad, Mum and Lily. They'd want to see him again just as much as James had; he was going to share. Just not yet.

He and Al sat side by side at the top of the Astronomy Tower. The Cloak meant James could travel through Hogwarts whenever he liked, even after midnight.

He gazed up at the stars--some twinkled like fairy-lights, some shone bright and yellow, some dull and blue. Al had once told him that starlight took so many years to reach the Earth, it was likely that he was looking at nothing but luminous echoes. The stars that emitted the light had burnt out and died long ago.

"Everything that exists was created in the heart of a burning star," Al had said. "Houses. The trees. Our bodies and the blood that makes them live. We only exist because once upon a time a star exploded and created the elements."

So it was possible, James imagined, that he and everything around him were the results of the death of one of the stars above them that night.

He didn't know what Al was made of. It didn't matter. As they sat together stargazing, it was almost as if Al were still alive.

James leant back on his arms and let the night breeze brush the hair out of his eyes. "They never should have given you that Firebolt. It was too much broom for you."

"It was just an accident, James. Stop looking for reasons. It wasn't anybody's fault."

James turned toward his brother. "Did… Did it hurt? When you died."

Al smiled and tilted his head to the side. "No."

"You didn't suffer?"

"Not at all. It was over in seconds."

"I can't stand thinking that you suffered." James's words tumbled over each other. "That you were afraid and in pain."

"Well, I didn't suffer." Al spoke in a slow, calm voice. "So it's okay." He put his hand on James's knee.

The chill iced through the fabric of James's trousers, numbing his leg. He didn't move away. He wanted the contact even if it hurt. "If I'd been faster, maybe I could have stopped it from happening. If I hadn't been distracted by…" He stopped. He remembered the kiss. He just didn't remember why it had happened. The whole thing felt flat, like a Muggle photograph he'd once seen and turned away from, because its stillness gave him the creeps.

"By Scorpius. I know. Of course I know. But I promise, it wouldn't have made any difference. You couldn't have done anything to save me."

As Al looked at him, his eyes so warm and open, James wondered how he could ever have thought him annoying. He was perfect. James just hadn't been able to see it at the time.

The next morning, James slept through breakfast and Potions. He dragged himself out of bed in time for Transfiguration, but found Malfoy sitting cross-legged on the floor outside the passage to Gryffindor Tower.

He sighed. "Waiting for me?"

Slowly, Malfoy got to his feet. He stared as if James were some kind of dangerous creature. "I was." His eyelashes fluttered. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine."

Malfoy took a step toward him. "Have you seen him, then?"

James stiffened. "That's none of your business."

Malfoy pursed his lips, then said, "I showed you the book. You wouldn't even have the stone if not for me. So I guess it is my business."

"And I guess I don't give a damn." James moved toward the staircase, shouldering Malfoy out of the way.

Malfoy grabbed a hold of his arm. "Wait. I'm sorry. I don't even care about the stone. I'm just worried about you."

"Don't be. Or do it on your own." He felt Malfoy's fingers digging in. He kept his face averted.

"Do you know what it's like? Knowing that you chose me as your sacrifice? That you felt that much toward me… And now you don't any more?"

"I don't know what to tell you." He didn't hate Malfoy or want to hurt him. He simply felt nothing toward him at all.

Malfoy swivelled until he was directly in front of James, so close James could feel his breath against his skin. "It was real. And if it was real, then it will come back."

James didn't know what to say. He shoved Malfoy, not violently but firmly. "I have to get to class." He started down the staircase.

Malfoy stayed behind, calling after him. "I'm still here, James. For when you need me."

"Great. Thanks for letting me know."

Malfoy didn't speak again. James floated through the rest of the day until it was time once again to see his brother.

This time he went to the back of the library, which was deserted, as it was around two in the morning. James leaned back against one shelf of books and Al faced him, leaning against the shelf across the aisle.

Al looked different somehow. His skin wasn't as luminous and there was a darkness beneath his eyes. "Do you feel better now that you've seen me?"

"I do. So much." James smiled, showing Al that it was true.

"Then I should go. It's not right for me to spend too long here.

A spike of panic shot down James's spine. "What? No! I'm not ready. I still need you, Al. Please."

"You still need me?"

"Yes!"

Al lowered his face. "Well. All right."

James swallowed. "What do you mean 'spend too long here'?"

With a shrug of his shoulder, Al said, "The stone wasn't meant to bring people back forever. Once you've said everything you need to say, it's best I move on."

On reflex, James grabbed for Al's wrist. His fingers slid right through.

Once he'd collected himself, James slipped the stone carefully into his pocket and crept out of the library. He tripped over his own feet and almost fell; he was so tired. Maybe he should leave Hogwarts and find somewhere he could be alone. Somewhere he wouldn't have to creep around.

Malfoy cornered him again the following day. James had retreated into the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, and Malfoy must have followed him, because he showed up seconds after James sat down and rolled the stone over in his hand. At first James panicked, but then he realised that Malfoy couldn't see Al. Al was there only for James.

"Sorry," he whispered to his brother, and put the stone away. Then he turned to Malfoy. "Do I look like I want company?"

Malfoy stood stiffly, his arms straight at his sides. "He was just here, wasn't he? I saw you say something."

Maybe if James just stared silently at Malfoy long enough, he'd go away. Instead Malfoy crossed his arms and stared right back. James's jaw twitched. Malfoy stood straight, all elegant angles. He never slouched. His pale hair feathered up in the breeze then settled down again. It looked soft. James remembered that he'd felt it and it was soft.

He shook his head. "Fine. Yes, he was here. Now he isn't. What do you want?"

With a sigh, Malfoy walked over and sat down next to James. He must have come from one of the greenhouses, because James smelled something grassy.

"What do you talk about with him?"

James could feel Malfoy watching him. He looked down at his fingers, which were folded in his lap. He wouldn't talk about Al with anyone else. He couldn't.

"You look ill, you know," said Malfoy. "Your face is blotchy and your lips are really dry looking."

"Gosh," said James. "Thanks."

"You promised that you were only going to tell him you were sorry and then let the stone go. 'Just for a little while,' you said. Did you tell him?"

"Of course I told him."

"And what did he say?"

James felt his eyes fill and bit down hard on his lower lip. "He says he forgives me. That he knows it wasn't my fault."

Scorpius stared at the trees for a moment. Then in a quiet voice he asked, "Do you think it's really him?"

"Of course it is." James got to his feet.

"It just sounds like maybe he's telling you what you need to hear. Like maybe he's actually a part of you."

"That's a lie. He's Al! He's my brother. Do you think I don't know my own brother?"

"The dead don't come back," said Malfoy.

James glared at him.

"I'm sorry." Malfoy gently touched James's hand. "But they don't."

"Why would you say that? You want to ruin it? I thought you 'cared' about me."

Malfoy stood as well and moved closer to James. "I'm doing this because I care about you."

"Then stop. You're just making it worse." He turned to leave. When he heard Malfoy trying to follow, he spun and pushed him so hard Malfoy collapsed into the dirt on his back. Breathing hard, James looked at him. Malfoy didn't look angry. He looked sad. And James wished he hadn't pushed him.

You couldn't change the past, though, so he spun around and walked quickly out of the forest.

* * *

"How is Scorpius?" asked Al.

James's eyes widened. "He's… fine. Well, he said he misses you too. But he's fine."

"Are you with him?"

"What do you--?"

"You know what I mean. Are the two of you together?"

"No!"

"It's okay," said Al. "I don't mind if you are."

James squeezed his eyes shut then opened them again. Al looked different, less shimmery and more solid. "You minded before, didn't you?"

"I guess." Al sat still, elbows resting on his knees. "It was weird. And… I didn't like Scorpius paying so much attention to you. He was my friend. It was like you were trying to take him away from me."

"I'm sorry. I never meant to do that."

"I know you didn't."

The forest was staring to feel like home. James only went back to the castle for meals and classes, and today not even those. He only felt at peace alone, surrounded by trees that shielded him from the sun--with Al.

"Where do you go when you're not with me?"

Al ran a finger through his hair and winced. "I… It's like… Gosh. I don't really remember. I'm not sure it's anywhere, really."

"So why do you want to go back?"

"Because I belong there. Being here hurts, James. It's not real, and I can see you fading away more and more every day."

"I don't want to go on if it means losing you."

"You've already lost me. I'm lost."

"You don't seem like you used to. You're more… wise."

"I'm not really me. You know that."

"What are you then?"

"I'm everything. I'm a memory." His gaze remained steady. "I'm death."

And that was it, James realised. That was just what he wanted. Death. Because the idea of living on, of experiencing any pleasure, felt painfully selfish with his brother lying dead in his grave.

It was dark when Scorpius showed up. He held a plate of roast chicken and potatoes from the Great Hall. James was so hungry he couldn't help but wolf the food down.

"You look like you haven't eaten in days," said Scorpius.

Blinking, James realised that he hadn't. "I'm fine."

Scorpius was silent. He stood, while James sat on his log staring at Scorpius's shoes. Then Scorpius gathered up some sticks and lit a small fire. He sat down across from James. The firelight flickered across his face and clothes. James watched him without speaking until the flames began to burn spots into his vision.

Scorpius looked calm and solemn. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"Maybe. I don't know." He looked into Scorpius's eyes. Why did he keep coming back? Why did James keep letting him?

Scorpius went away and James arranged a pile of moss and leaves into something like a bed. He didn't want to go back to Gryffindor Tower with its crowd and noise. He held the stone tight in his hand while Al sat silently on the log, watching him fall asleep.

* * *

Al didn't seem to have much to say anymore and James had too much. All the memories crowded his mind. He wanted to go over them with Al, to show that he remembered, that he'd never forget.

"You were the best brother anyone could have asked for. Do you remember when I was ten and you were nine and we got into Dad's firewhisky? You started imitating Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione. It was so funny I almost wet myself."

Al didn't smile. He just stared at James, looking firm and vivid and miserable. "It wasn't always like that, was it? I wasn't perfect. Sometimes you hated me. It's true. You just don't want to remember."

"I remember… I just don't want it to have been that way. I wasted so much time. I'm sorry, Al. I'm so sorry. If I'd known we'd only have you for a little while, I'd have had more patience. I'd have loved you harder."

"Of course you would have. But it's too late now. Love me now. Love yourself. Let me go."

James's heart beat hard and slow in his chest. He was desperately cold, but he didn't care. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I can't. I thought I'd be able to, but I can't."

Al didn't ask again. He just kept looking at James.

When Scorpius arrived that evening, James didn't let go of the stone. Scorpius handed him a plate of food, but James just set it on his lap without eating. He was scared that if he let Al leave, he wouldn't come back.

Somehow, Scorpius could tell. He looked at James and then squinted at the air where Al was standing. "Is he here now?"

James didn't answer.

"What does he look like?"

"He looks like Al." He stood up and the plate of food fell to the ground. He walked toward his brother and cupped his cheek in his hand, ignoring the chill that spread through his fingers. Al gazed back at him, his eyes deep as a well. "He's getting closer. More vivid."

Scorpius moved and then knelt to clean up the spilled food. "It doesn't mean he's becoming real, James," he said. "It means you're getting closer to him, to what he is. It means you're dying."

"I belong with him."

"You don't. You belong here in the living world. Merlin. You chose a dead person over me."

Worried that Scorpius was going to cry, James glanced at his earnest face and felt something faint but familiar. The way he spoke and pronounced his words--it made James's chest warm. He liked Scorpius, he realised. He couldn't help it. He liked the way he moved and looked, everything about him.

But it didn't matter, because James didn't deserve to be happy. He didn't deserve that kind of love. Not only had he killed his brother, but now he was torturing him, keeping him imprisoned in a world that hurt him. James was wrong. He was a monster.

Scorpius moved up close and slid an arm around James's shoulders. James let him for a moment, shocked by the shiver the contact sent through his body. Then he pushed Scorpius away.

Scorpius didn't let him. He wrapped his arms around James and when James used his diminishing strength to struggle, Scorpius only held on harder. He was remarkably strong for such a skinny kid. Finally, with a sigh, James collapsed against him. Together, they fell to the ground.

"I'm here," whispered Scorpius. "I'm here. You don't have to do anything. You don't have to think anything or feel anything. Just lean on me. I'll hold you."

Something disintegrated inside James's mind and he whimpered, grabbing Scorpius tight. It felt so good to hold someone warm and solid.

"Let the stone go," Scorpius continued. "Please, James. You're killing yourself. And I can't stand it. I feel like it's all my fault."

"He wants you, James," said Al, off to the side. "Kiss him. It will make him happy."

James jerked himself away from Scorpius. "No," he said. "I'm not going to replace you with him. I need you. I need you here."

Scorpius grabbed his shoulder, but James got to his feet and ran.

* * *

By the time James arrived back at the fallen log he now thought of as home, Scorpius was gone. He didn't come back that night. James ached with hunger. He hugged himself and watched Al, who watched him back. Al had grown bright and vivid, almost luminescent, while James felt faint and pale.

"Please," whispered Al.

"I can't," replied James. He couldn't let his brother go forever. It would be like letting him die all over again.

The snap of a twig alerted him to someone else's presence. He assumed it would be Scorpius, but when he looked up he saw, instead, his mother. She was holding a bouquet of daffodils. They looked bright and alien in the dim forest light.

Shocked, James got to his feet and then swayed with dizziness.

"Baby," Mum said, then ran to him and pulled him into her arms.

James melted against her. He felt like a baby, like a small helpless child. He wanted to close his eyes and curl up against her forever.

"Scorpius told me where to find you. I'm taking you home." She squeezed him tight and then tighter; the world lurched as she Apparated him away.

They didn't arrive at home, though, but in the graveyard where Al was buried. "Come," said mum, and led him to the stone that read Albus Severus Potter. She kept the flowers in one hand and James's in the other. "You know I lost a brother too, right?"

His face heated. He did know that. He just hadn't remembered.

"We were both in the castle, fighting, when he died. And I wondered for years if I'd have been able to save him in I'd been there."

"Do you think you could have?" James's voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. The words felt like muddy stones against his tongue.

"He died, James. If I'd been there, if I'd have been able to save him… Who knows? It doesn't matter, because what happened happened." She turned and kissed him on the cheek. "Al is gone, and it hurts, it hurts so much. But the hurting isn't going to help him now. You need to…" She brushed her hair out of her eyes and held James's face in her hand. "You need to concentrate on all the other people who love you, who are still here--me, Lily, your dad, Grandma and Grandpa. There are so many people. You're a very lucky boy, James, being so loved."

James leaned his forehead against her shoulder.

"We're all still here. And if you want to honour Al, then use what you've learned. Love us. Realise that we might not be here forever and treasure every moment."

James nodded against her shoulder. He hugged her tight, but thought about how hard it was to love everyone as much as you could all the time, when they made annoying chewing sounds or stole your best shirt or fussed over your hair or spoke to you like you were a child. He'd just have to try. That was all he could do.

Mum pulled away, then brushed the tears off his cheeks. She handed the bouquet of daffodils to James. He laid them down over Al's grave.

"Say goodbye," she said.

James stared down at the gravestone bearing his brother's name. "Goodbye, Al."

Behind him, Al remained silent, but James could feel his presence as clearly as if he were real.

* * *

Mum took him home, made him eat and bathe, then put him to bed. Then she went downstairs.

As quietly as he could, James crept into Al's room. It was still just as he'd left it, although Mum had clearly been tending the potted plants along the windowsill, because they were lush and thriving. James looked at the books, the discarded clothes, the cartoons and astrological charts scrawled on parchment. He felt his brother more vividly then than he ever had in the woods. It made him dizzy with both grief and joy.

In the corner stood Al's Firebolt. It looked good as new. James turned to Al. "Is it okay if I--"

"Take it," said Al, smiling for the first time in weeks. "I give you my permission."

James took a piece of parchment off Al's desk and scribbled down a note, then he opened the window and whistled. Moony, the family owl came swooping in. He landed on James's outstretched arm. James fastened the note to his leg and sent him off again.

The broom flew just as beautifully as he'd imagined it would. It took him a while, but eventually James reached the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, where he landed and made his way to the clearing in which he'd been living. Scorpius was already there, waiting for him.

They walked side by side until they came across an old and dying cherry tree that loomed over the crumbling remnants of a stone well. Its trunk was split and gaping in the centre, yet it was just beginning to blossom. James looked to the side. A small spider skittered over a moss covered stone. It wove around a late blooming snowdrop, whose petals shone white and trembling against the rich brown of the earth. A crow on the ground picked at the corpse of another unlucky bird, drawing its meat out in strings, then flapped up to land on a tree branch and feed the morsel to her chicks. The air was close and cold and smelled of rot and burgeoning life.

He stared at his trembling fingers. His hand clutched the stone like a bony claw. He looked at Al--heavy with misery--then at Scorpius, whose face shone golden and hopeful in the light of his wand.

"I can promise you one thing," said Al. "One day we'll be together again. And that day will rush toward you like thunder, faster than you could ever dream."

James tried to breathe in. The air felt thick and icy.

"Look at me," Al continued, and James looked. There was nothing left of the brother he remembered in that drawn, shimmering face. "Now close your eyes."

James did. And he saw Al there too, but Al as he remembered him, bright, alive, sometimes whiny, sometimes brave, sometimes silly, sometimes solemn--green-eyed, clumsy, clever and loved. "I miss you," he choked. "I'll miss you for the rest of my life."

"And then you won't."

He had to force his hand to open. The fingers didn't want to uncurl. The stone sat on the flat of his palm. He took one last look at Al and then, before he could consider another thought, he shifted his hand. The stone tumbled free. James imagined it must have made a sound when it hit bottom, but he was too busy staring at the empty space in which his brother had been standing to notice.

He felt so, so cold.

"You're shivering," said Scorpius and cast a charm on James that sent warmth curling through his skin and limbs. Now James was only cold in his centre.

"It's going to be okay," Scorpius continued. "I know it doesn't seem so right now, but it is. I promise."

James slid his eyes toward Scorpius, who looked faint in the darkness, but real, alive and there because he wanted to be.

Scorpius stretched out his arm, reaching for James. James looked at Scorpius's hand with its earth-stained nails and shaking fingers. He took a second to breathe, then reached back and grasped it in is his own.

-- The End