Chapter Text
Chapter One: The restless returner
‘Night, Padfoot.’
‘Night, Prongs.’
Sirius gave James a grin, then shut the door behind him. James kicked his slippers off and pulled back the sheets. His room was the tidiest it had been since he’d come home in July. Most of the clutter that had spent the summer occupying the floor and the desk was crammed into his trunk, waiting at the end of his bed ready for the morning.
August 31st, 1975.
Once the clock ticked over, September would begin, bringing the start of the new school year. Back to Hogwarts, and back to the strange new normal that had forged itself since that quidditch practice in January of the same year. It was nine months, not even a full year, and yet his life had changed more than it had in all four previous years altogether.
James shook his head. It would be best to clear his head, try not to think about any of it too much. His water bottle was on the bedside table, and he pulled it towards him, draining it quickly. Glasses off, next to it. Alarm set for eight. He closed his eyes and flicked the lamp off. The window was open a crack, just the way he liked it. Time to sleep.
He should have known that life delighted in revolting against his plans. Decades seemed to have gone past, and yet he didn’t feel sleepy at all. He could just about make out the shape of the trunk at the end of the bed, blurred without his glasses. If he had bothered to pull his sleeve up to check his watch, he would have seen that it was nearly half past one in the morning. James sighed and rolled onto his stomach. He’d always been good with maths. It was nine and a half hours until the train left for Scotland, and his sixth school year began.
The first five years, he’d only struggled to sleep because of excitement. The thought of the castle, the sky stretching above it and calling his name, being one of four again, his wand held confidently between his fingers, where it belonged. Now, his stomach felt as if it he was permanently falling from the sky, and his fingers felt slightly tingly. Was he nervous? He didn’t want that word linked to his name. He was James Potter. Nervous didn’t fit at all with that image.
Did it, though? A lot had changed since the last night that bridged August to September. The potion bottles that lined the dresser were in the corner of his vision, and he was too old to think that shutting his eyes might make them go away. His heart jumped awkwardly in his chest, like an insect trapped under a drinking glass. There was a new scar on his skin.
Well. At least he wasn’t going to be the only one marked out that way. He traced it gingerly. It was on his cheek, a quick slash that hadn’t even hurt, as he’d been so numb. Judging by the state the hospital wing had been in, James was far from the only one with an injury. Most of the school had something, and it seemed to be that those who weren’t harmed felt a stinging guilt from it.
He knew there would be more security measures- the list of books had arrived a few weeks back, and there had been a new piece of parchment tucked inside with crystal clear rules about what was and wasn’t allowed. Any practical joke related items were more than likely to be seized and destroyed, under the new rules. James was too busy and too grown up now to think about bringing such trivialities, of course, but he didn’t think he and Sirius would have risked it, even if they had been in the mood. Somehow, James didn’t think Hogwarts would have any issue enforcing the new regulations. Anybody who had any sort of experience with the dark magic that had crept in last year would hardly argue against any safety measures.
James sighed. He and Sirius had spent the whole summer together, but they were in different bedrooms. It seemed both were struggling with bad dreams since the summer. James wished they’d been together. Perhaps Sirius was awake, too.
He got up and padded to the door of his room. He didn’t want to risk waking his mum and dad up. Dad hated the traffic when they drove to King’s Cross, and if he was grumpy, it would be ten times worse. If Sirius was awake, maybe they could go and raid the kitchen. Sirius had a knack for coming up with some pretty good midnight sandwich combinations. It was the only time James ever liked olives. He stole along the passageway and rapped lightly on the door of one of the guest bedrooms. He didn’t want to wake Sirius. Luckily, they’d shared a room for most of their lives since they’d started at school five years ago. James had a good idea of how loudly he needed to knock.
‘James?’
James jumped and turned sharply. It wasn’t Sirius’ voice.
‘Mum?’
‘I thought I heard you get up. Couldn’t sleep? Me neither. Shall we go down and make a cup of tea? That usually helps me.’
He nodded. Euphemia Potter smiled at her son, adjusted the belt on her thin summer dressing-gown, then followed him down the stairs. It was a warm night. Summer might have become autumn only hours ago, but the air was balmy. James walked into the kitchen, which was clean and cosy. Euphemia pointed her wand at the lace curtains, and the window opened, letting in a gentle breeze.
‘I’m going to miss you ever so much, Jimmy. Sirius, too. It’s been such a treat having you both here for the summer,’
She turned the kettle on, then gave him a hug. She put her arms around him very gently, but still held him close. She gave him a shy grin, then ruffled his hair.
‘Look how tall you are getting. My son. Seventeen in March,’
‘Mu-um.’
‘Handsome, too. I know you keep saying that Lily’s just a friend, but you’ll have all the girls after you. If that’s what you want,’
He grinned and got two mugs out of the cupboard. His dad travelled for work every now and then, and his mum liked collecting mugs from the different places they visited. James had always liked the Colosseum mug best. The newest one had come from New York and was shaped like the Empire State Building.
‘Decaf for me, too. I’m hoping to get some shut eye before we go off to London,’ said Euphemia. She yawned and sat down at the breakfast bar. The fruit bowl was in front of her. She took a bright red apple and used her wand to slice it into segments. ‘How are you feeling about going back?’
‘Fine.’
He should have known by now that that was never a response that got you off the hook when it came to adults. Madam Pomfrey hated it. James gave a wry grin. The kettle hissed. ‘Fine, then. A bit nervous. Mostly because of the new rules.’
‘It’s very good that they’ve been so proactive,’ his mother replied, though a frown had crept across her usually cheerful face, ‘Dad and I have been a little worried, of course, but we haven’t even thought about not sending you back- I know a few other parents have, but Hogwarts is a safe place. Safer now that they’re being so cautious.’
James nodded. He turned away from her to pour the scalding water over the tea leaves and let himself exhale. It wasn’t just the memory of the attack that was worrying him.
‘And you’ll be doing your N.E.W.T.S,’ continued his mother. James stirred the teabags, watching as the tannins blossomed into the water. He turned, and went to the fridge, finding the milk jug. He’d painted it with haphazard splotches of red and blue when he was about seven, and he’d been mortified to come home for the Easter holidays in his first year, with Sirius, to discover that his mother still used it.
‘Have you packed all of your medication?’
There it was.
He poured a little milk into each mug, then returned the jug to the refrigerator, which was covered in magnets. His mother was a souvenir seller’s dream.
‘Yeah.’
She smiled at him, nodding her thanks, as he put the mug down on the counter, and hopped onto a stool. She indicated the apple slices with a little tilt of her head. James took one, and let the sweetness run over his tongue. It was a good apple. Crisp, sharp, just the right tang.
‘Dad and I are so impressed with how well you’ve done to manage it all,’ his mum began. She looked at him so affectionately that he wanted to reach out and hold onto her hand, but he was sixteen, too old. ‘You should be proud.’
James shrugged. ‘I can’t really not manage it.’
He was so desperately hoping she wouldn’t bring it up, but she did. Of course. That’s what mums did.
‘I know Dad has said a few things,’ every word was carefully chosen. Euphemia took a sip of tea. ‘I think it’s taking him a little bit of time. When you first got ill, we thought it was some sort of really bad virus. I’d never really heard of chronic illness. With it being a lifelong thing, it will just take Dad a bit longer. It doesn’t mean he isn’t proud of you or thinks any less of you. I know it’s hard for you. And for him. Try to think of it as showing how much he loves you.’
James nodded, and kicked the bar of the stool he was sat on. ‘I know.’
His mother wasn’t letting go. Most people who didn’t know her very well would have attributed James’ stubbornness to his father, but she could be just as dogged. ‘Don’t stop taking your medication,’ she said, and touched his hand. Her hands seemed so small, now, compared to his. ‘It will work out, Jimmy. He just needs a bit more time.’
‘He didn’t seem very impressed last week after cricket,’ James shot back, before he could stop himself. He shook his head and looked down into his mug. His tea was still too hot to drink, but he burnt his lips in a futile attempt to look unbothered.
‘I know,’ Euphemia exhaled, and a lock of hair that had escaped her night-time plait twitched by her cheek. ‘I think it was shock. You go very pale when you faint, James. Sometimes your breathing can sound a little odd. It does take some getting used to.’
James shrugged. He looked down at the marbled pattern of the countertop, trying not to let his face show how much he still felt the barb. The lawn had just been cut, and the grass was crying out for sport. His father had found the old cricket bat and ball, and corralled James and Sirius into a game of French cricket. He was too old to risk a bludger and play quidditch with them, now. Euphemia had come out into the summer house to watch, her latest embroidery project abandoned in her lap so that her hands could clap. She was too engaged with the game to sew, anyhow. James had got caught up in the excitement and before he knew it, he was face-down in the grass, shaking. He’d fainted. It wasn’t at all unusual, given he suffered from POTS, and he'd come round quickly. His mother had run over with a glass of cool water, and he’d sat up and been fine in a matter of minutes. His father had walked away, heading to the owlery. James and Euphemia knew all too well that if Fleamont was going to the owlery with that expression, the only company he wanted was from creatures.
James had been diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome in February of that year. It was not a good memory at all. It all stemmed from one perfectly ordinary quidditch practice. He’d fainted once, and he’d dismissed it as a one off. However, in the next few weeks, having fainted a few more times, he’d tried to tell himself there was no problem, and then fallen from his broomstick during a quidditch match. He’d ended up stuck in the hospital wing under Madam Pomfrey’s eagle-eyed watch for weeks. It had taken him a while to come round to the diagnosis, too. Life had changed drastically. But that was at least somewhat reasonable, given it was James’ own body. His father didn’t have to put up with the indignity of it all, or the inconvenience. There had been a few clearly intentioned comments about unnecessary medication and “over dramatics” since James had arrived home for the holidays, but his father actually walking away from him had really stung.
Euphemia rubbed James’ hand. ‘It’s hard, seeing people you love in pain. You’re too young to have experienced it, yet, thankfully. Let me talk to your dad again, little and often. A bit like when you’re working with Athena,’ she said, passing him another chunk of apple. She let her hand rest on his for a second longer than it needed to. ‘You know that me and your dad are a little older than your friends’ parents. It takes people from our generation more time to come round.’
James did manage to crack a smile at that. His teeth sliced through the skin of the apple, and the tang exploded on his tongue. ‘You’re not that old, Mum.’
‘Older is what I said, thank you, James Potter. Don’t you go calling me old.’
She winked. Her skin had more wrinkles than it had had when she’d dropped him at the station six years ago to start at Hogwarts, but she still looked just as bright eyed and beautiful as she always had. He suddenly felt his stomach twitch again. He was going to really miss his mum.
Once they had finished the apple and drained the tea from their mugs, Euphemia yawned, and glanced at the clock above the stove. ‘Quarter past two. Goodness. We’ll have to leave here by nine, or your father will be going mad about us being late. You know what traffic is like around King’s Cross on the first of September. I hope you and Sirius are packed.’
James grinned, as he put the mugs in the sink. One of the house elves could give them a wash in the morning. ‘I think I am. Well. Mostly. I’ve forgotten something every single year so far.’
‘That’s not an achievement!’
‘I’ve never forgotten my broom.’
‘Of course, you haven’t. I’m glad about that. I suppose a broomstick would be rather an awkward thing to post.’
She turned the kitchen light off. ‘Have you had enough water?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Of course. I never thought I’d feel annoyed by summer weather, but I don’t feel like I’ve drunken enough water since the end of April. I want cool days back.’
It was one of the annoying everyday realities of POTS. He spent his life drinking water, now, which meant he spent a ridiculous amount of time going to the toilet or looking for somewhere to refill his water bottle. Water conjured with the aguamenti spell never tasted right.
Mum kissed his cheek again, once they were at the top of the stairs. ‘Sleep well, Jimmy. If you need me, you can always knock.’
He nodded and pattered back to his room. Athena had come in through the open window whilst he was downstairs and was perched on one of the bedposts. She hooted softly when he came through the door and ruffled her feathers.
‘Catch anything, yet?’ he said, and stroked her. Her feathers were liked warm water under his fingertips. He slid under the covers, not bothering to close the curtains properly, or the window. He could see the indigo streaks of the sky, and the breeze was calming. The moon wasn’t visible, but he knew without seeing it that it was almost exactly halfway through the cycle.
James had a surprising knowledge about some things for a boy of his age, and one of these was the moon and its given state at any time of the month. It was the sort of thing you had to know when you were friends with Remus Lupin.
He’d be seeing Remus in the morning. Peter, too. And Lily. That thought did something to ease the knot in his stomach, though it tightened another knot he’d been trying to ignore. Once he was on the station platform, he felt sure that he’d forget every worry. They’d all seen him at his worst, and still stuck by him, even if it had taken some time.
Last year, they’d gone from a group of four to a duo rather quickly, after Sirius had made a decision that still kept them all awake some nights. James shook his head, then decided that no matter how bored he was, he wasn’t going to dwell on it. Long, lonely days had stretched to weeks, then months, whilst Remus recovered from the physical injuries he’d sustained, and they all tried to work through how much it hurt in the other way. Lily had grown closer to both James and Remus, whilst it had pushed Peter away. Perhaps that was the silver lining from the attack that Mum always told him to look for. It had proved that squabbles about girlfriends and being left out were second to being there for one another.
Give it twenty-four hours, and he’d hopefully be fast asleep, back in the dormitory with the three other boys. How long had it been since they’d slept in the same room? February. Goodness. More than half a year.
He kicked the sheet and looked out at the sky. ‘Come here,’ he clicked his tongue, and Athena happily fluttered down and nestled next to him. Dad had made the a joke over the summer that Athena had clearly neglected reading the guide on proper owl conduct. The night air had scented her feathers with a cool, clean smell, and he breathed it in. Her heartbeat pattered right where his fingers were. ‘That’s my girl. Back to Hogwarts in the morning for us. I’m glad you’re excited.’