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Out of the five nightstands in the Slytherin boys’ dormitory, two stand out.
They are both cluttered with lots of pictures of the same family: a boy with almond-shaped green eyes and dark hair and a slightly lost expression in all the pictures. A girl with a thin face, wild brown eyes, wilder auburn hair. And a boy with chocolate-coloured hair and … and eyes of an undefined colour.
In some pictures they are muddy brown-green. In others, the colour of his chocolate hair. Sometimes he has amber eyes so astoundingly light that it’s impossible to look away. And then sometimes they’re grey, a shade of warm brown-grey, while in other photographs they’re blue as the sky. And in a couple of others — rarely — those same eyes are turquoise.
Though it’s clear they’re in the same family, these two, there are indicators that they are not the same people hogging two four-posters and a lot of wall space.
The bed nearer to the window has Post-its everywhere, and where the other one has pictures of a blonde boy with grey eyes, this one has those of a girl with very light blue eyes and cinnamon hair that’s on the verge of red. At the bottom of the pictures of the ginger-brunette girl, there are a couple of tiny, tiny hearts.
And the bed that’s next to the one near the window has a notebook placed very neatly under a mirror, while the other has a diary lying open on the pillow.
If someone is to look into the tidier notebook, they’ll find a bunch of Potions notes, a couple of diary entries. And the other one? It’s overcrowded with random doodles, an odd assortment of diary entries, jokes, sarcastic responses to whatever amuses the writer, and, for some reason, some seemingly hopeless pick-up lines.
In some ways, these two appear to be similar, but in others? Opposites.
Two boys practically fly into the room.
One of them has chocolate-brown hair, and, right now, very clearly hazel eyes. Perhaps that explains the colour shifts.
The other has dark hair and green eyes and a slightly lost expression.
They’re almost twins, these two. The brown-haired one is older. But the reason he’s in this year is because — in his own words — he “had the misfortune of being born four days late” on September the third so now he was “stuck in my little brother’s year and find this lame”.
He has thoughts.
As for why he’s in Slytherin, well, he’s always pinned that on his cunning.
“We — shall — not — do — that — again,” the dark-haired boy complains.
“We shan’t,” agrees the older one solemnly. “McGonagall will kill us.”
“She will. James, this was on you.”
“Ah, loosen up, Al.”
Albus and James Potter. If they’re in the same room, it’s considered wise to run.
They’re quite the pranksters, these two.
For a pair of third-years (although James is fourteen), the two of them are very chaotic.
Although for a pair of siblings, they’re very close, too.
They do everything together. Each of them has exactly one secret from the other, though to be fair Albus doesn’t even know he has a secret.
James does know his own secret. And he’s almost certain he knows Albus’s.
Almost, of course, James is never entirely certain about anything like that.
Not in a bad way, of course. He just has a tendency to waver and question everything.
It’s annoying, but what’s more annoying is the fact that, here at breakfast, he is looking at a ginger-brunette blue-eyed girl named Alice Longbottom.
His secret — which he is certain he’s not good at keeping, even if Albus doesn’t know it yet — is the fact that he’s been trying to figure out if third-year is too young to date.
Specifically, he’s trying to impress his best friend.
He’s failing.
Or maybe not. Alice has a nice poker face.
By which he obviously means it’s effective and not that she looks nice.
He’s almost certain of it.
Just like he’s almost certain Albus likes their friend Scorpius.
Romantically.
James smiles randomly, and he has no idea why.
One day, the two of them go off into the Forbidden Forest for no clear reason.
It’s assumed it’s for a prank.
Only one of them comes out.
It’s the younger one.
The next few weeks are a blur. No one knows what’s going on.
Except that everything is going wrong.
The younger one came out, and the older one … did not.
When Albus raced into the castle, sweaty, pale, and almost in tears, everyone assumed that by “help”, he meant maybe having to untangle someone or something from way too many vines.
They were wrong.
All it had taken was one root no one saw coming.
It wasn’t even messy.
It just happened.
And it was beyond help.
It was a crack to the skull, apparently.
Among others, it was that.
That was what, in one instant, changed everything.
A bit of blood could not have explained what it actually did.
Albus doesn’t want the apologies everyone gave him.
He wants his brother back.
But some things are irreversible.
They all say it’s the wrong one that was taken.
It’s been three years, and they’re still whispering, this is the wrong brother.
Albus knows this.
Albus can’t stand more than five minutes of attention at once, but James revelled in it.
He was more open. Friendlier. Sharper.
And he was the one they noticed.
With James, Albus had always been more prominent.
Sometimes he wonders why he’d ever said “I hate you” or “you’re an idiot” to James, even if it was only as a joke.
Sometimes he wishes he’d said “I love you” or “you’re the best” more often.
He wonders, and he wishes, and he knows he’s the wrong brother.
Albus would have asked Scorpius out, but he doesn’t.
He doesn’t want to anymore.
Scorpius’s mum has hazel eyes.
Scorpius has his mum’s eyes.
James had hazel eyes.
Albus hates hazel eyes.
Sometimes Alice wakes up and she thinks to herself that she’s going to have to get through another hour of James flirting while pretending she doesn’t care.
Sometimes she wakes up and she thinks she’s going to kiss the idiot today.
Sometimes she wakes up and she forgets for a moment that he’s not there anymore.
It’s been three years, but sometimes she hopes, and sometimes, she convinces herself she’s not wrong.
Albus is too much like his brother.
Same wicked smile (not that anyone sees it much these days). Same heart-shaped, freckled face.
Same tendency to go back over and over to any place that broke him just to prove to himself that he’s okay.
That day, James had insisted on going to the Forest because he wanted to show Albus something.
The last things he’d ever said were, “Al, I’m telling you, I’ll be fine.”
Albus’s last words to James had been, “If you say so.”
He really wishes that he hadn’t let James skip through the woods like of course he wouldn’t trip over a root and fall down a ten-metre drop.
Sometimes Alice looks at Albus, and she swears she sees James at his shoulder.
Sometimes Alice looks at “James”, and she asks herself if seventeen is too young to hallucinate.
Albus looks at himself in the mirror, and he thinks he sees a flash of brown. He thinks he hears a quiet laugh-sob, something he’s heard a million times only in memory.
He looks closer. But there’s nothing.
Seventeen, he decides, is too young to hallucinate.
He forgets the incident.
Out of the five nightstands in the Slytherin common room, two stand out.
They are both empty.
One’s owner is grieving.
The other is dead.
Lily has always believed in living every moment.
She’s also always been a great actress.
And she likes people thinking she’s happy.
Albus wants to go back to the Forest, so that’s what he does.
The teachers don’t seem to have a problem with that.
Maybe they understand.
And he remembers every second of the day.
“So,” Albus says, “what is it that you want to show me?”
"Stop incredulous-ing me! It’s earthshaking, okay?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Albus nods, biting back a smile.
James scowls. “Hey! It’s life-changing, ya know?”
“Definitely.” Albus is quite sure he’s impersonating a bobblehead in the most sarcastic way possible.
James huffs. “You’re just boring, you know that?”
Albus shakes his head. “Idiot.”
“That’s not even a comeback!”
“I’m aware. Your point?”
This is familiar. The two of them are so used to insulting each other in ways no one else understands, “I hate you, you jerk,” is practically a compliment.
They talk like this a lot.
James steps over the tree roots while avoiding the branches like he’s part of the Forest himself.
Albus is a little less confident, but there’s no judgement to be passed on that. Besides, he’s contemplating what “life-changing, earthshaking” place James has found.
Knowing him, it’s probably like an Augurey nest or something. James loves Augureys.
He says it’s interesting, how people think their rain-calls are death omens. James knows misinterpretation from experience — in fact, so does Albus.
“Be careful,” Albus says, even though caution is alien to James.
“Yeah, whatever, Al. I know what I’m doing. Not far now.” Albus can’t see James’s face, but he’s sure that his older brother is rolling his currently blue eyes.
Albus finds them interesting. It’s cool, how hazel eyes change colour based on lighting.
“Still,” Albus says, “this is the tricky part.”
“I’m telling you,” laughs James, “I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so …”
And James skips over the only root in the way of himself and the ten-foot drop.
Except it’s not the only root.
And James Sirius Potter, invincible, immune to all but spiders and small spaces, loses his footing for the first time in his life.
And he free-falls ten feet, the wind blowing away any noise he might have made.
And Albus screams.
Albus remembers. He can’t tell if that’s good or bad.
The Forest feels colder now.
Not colder as in closed-off.
Colder as in the type that makes him wonder, where is my jacket?
Albus closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of leaves, except, as aforementioned, it’s cold. So all he does is freeze his nose, and then sneeze.
Someone laughs. “Same as ever. Hello, by the way.”
Albus jumps, and then he’s falling too, in the same way that James did, James who appears to have said that sentence because that’s his voice, isn’t it?
He stops.
In midair, falling to what would’ve been his death, Albus stops.
When he opens his eyes, he’s hovering in the air, and in front of him is a … ghost?
No, it can’t be a ghost. Ghosts are grey, and this is not.
He’s blushing, for one thing, his freckles standing out on his not-quite-opaque skin. His brown hair is everywhere, and he has his hand over his mouth. His eyes are wider than ever, and they’re not the cerulean blue they were when he died — they’re green, only a bit darker than Albus’s own.
They’re … floating.
Albus almost falls again.
James’s hand drops from over his mouth, hanging by his side, but he still looks horrified.
But he’s, he’s — isn’t he dead?
Or is Albus dead? Or —
“I really should have planned that better! I didn’t mean to almost kill you! This is bad enough already!”
Albus opens his mouth, then closes it again. He is hovering in the air talking to his dead older brother and he has no clue what is going on. He wonders if he’s still asleep.
Then he manages, “Am I … imagining you?”
James (or is it really? Albus can’t tell) looks offended. “First conversation we have in three years and you tell me I’m imaginary?!”
Albus decides that this is indeed James, because no one else says that when they’re dead.
“Okay, so you’re not imaginary. What are you?”
James doesn’t reply for about half a minute, and then he says, “Alright, you need to sit down. Would you prefer solid land?”
“A-and a cup of coffee,” Albus mutters.
James smiles.
Albus notices, weirdly, that he looks about seventeen-eighteen years old … same age he’d be if he were still alive …
His heart almost gives out.
James looks at him funny. “So, uh … this part is gonna be, um, weird.”
And he holds out his hand.
“But you’re not solid!” Albus protests.
James rolls his eyes. “I,” he says, “am not Nearly Headless Nick. Took me six months and a lot of patience to figure it out, but I don’t think I’m a … ghost.” James sounds slightly frustrated, but Albus could be imagining this whole conversation, so he can’t be sure.
Albus takes his hand.
It’s not cold. It’s solid and warm and he feels real, minus the part where he’s flying.
Albus looks at his brother and he can’t hold back the smile.
They sit on a root — not The Root, of course. James walks around it.
“So,” Albus says carefully, “Why are you here?”
Then James does something he’s never really done before. He buries his face in his hands and when he looks up, he looks like he’s about to cry.
Albus stares at him.
“Jamie?”
“Al, you need to let go of me.”
“What?”
“You’re stuck in the past and what happened and you miss me, and I don’t blame you, this is trauma, we were — we were us. But you’re holding on too hard and now I’m stuck too, because — because you’re guilty about it and — Albus, I can’t stay like this. You can’t live like this. It’s not right, it’s — it’s unhealthy.”
James wipes away a tear. He does sound a lot like he’s about to cry.
Albus frowns. “You — I — what?”
“You do realise that you couldn’t possibly have stopped me, right?” James asks softly.
“I could’ve grabbed you or something!”
“No,” James says quietly. “The momentum would’ve pulled you down, too. You couldn’t have stopped me from falling. Or dying. It’s not even your fault. I could go as far as saying it’s mine.”
“Jamie, they told me there was only a one in a million chance that the impact would actually kill a person. And how was it your fault?”
James breathes deeply, and then he says, “Who’s got my Cloak now, do you know? Because it’s not you, so is it, like, Lily?”
“It’s in your old trunk along with your other stuff.”
“What?!” James stands up quickly. “You mean it’s just — and now — but … but then everyone’s just stopped … living … because — Al, this isn’t how it should be?”
“What do you mean by that?” demands Albus.
“I mean that no one actually seems to have moved on and … and now … nothing’s the same and it’s because of — of me!”
Albus is even more confused now. “Jamie, you’re making no sense at all, you know that?”
James sits down again. “I never got to show you what I wanted to that day,” he murmured. “Never.”
“What — what did you want to show me?”
James smiles sadly. “A little ahead, there’s a little bridge-thing that crosses over this canyon. On the other side, there’s this — clearing sort of thing. It’s beautiful. You could ask Scorpius Malfoy out in there.”
“Ask Scorp — James!” Albus can’t help it, he scowls, but James laughs.
“And you need to do that, too, you do realise you’d make an awesome boyfriend, right?”
Albus shakes his head. “Here I am, arguing with my dead brother about dates.”
James grins. And then he stops grinning. “It’s a romantic kind of place, the clearing. I wanted to ask you if it was a good idea to ask Alice out in there. That’s what I wanted to show you. And … and she doesn’t even have an actual boyfriend right now, does she?”
“I think she liked you, Jamie. I think she liked you.”
James stares at the forest floor like it’s done something to offend him — which, come to think of it, it has.
“I should’ve just asked her. I don’t know why I didn’t. No, actually, I do. I was scared.”
“But she would’ve obviously said yes!” Albus says. Because it’s true, back in fourth year James and Alice had been so desperately in love.
“I’m not like you, Al!”
“What d’you — that’s not even —”
“You remember at the station in first year I told you only one of us was going to be a Gryffindor?” James says.
Albus thinks that’s irrelevant, but he nods. “But then we were both in Slytherin.”
James nods. “I didn’t mean I was going to be a Gryffindor. Look at you, Al. You’re three times braver than me. I’m scared of — of everything!”
“That’s not true,” Albus says. James was the outgoing one, wasn’t he?
“It is. I was scared. And so I decided I’d ask you if I should ask Alice.”
“But you were braver than me.”
“No, I wasn’t! Al, it took me ages to summon up the courage to face you like this. I’m scared of everything and I’m selfish. I liked being around you even though you needed to let go of me, can you believe that?!”
Albus blinks and then tips his head to one side. “Are you suggesting that … because you were scared … you dying is your fault?”
“Yes.”
Albus sighs. “Oh Merlin’s beard, James. Oh Merlin’s beard.”
James looks at him very carefully. “What?”
Albus turns to him and smiles. “You are an amazing person, you know that? A bit confusing, but amazing nevertheless. And I love you.”
There. All the things he’s been waiting to say.
James smiles too, although it’s sad. “I know. But you need to let go, see? I — because if you don’t, I’m going to be stuck. And you know I hate being stuck.”
Albus nods. “Does that mean I’ll stop seeing you randomly in the mirror? Or hearing you laugh?”
James nods sadly.
Albus relaxes a bit. “Oh, okay. Because that was creepy.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, it was entirely unintentional.”
“I figured,” Albus says. “You’re just going to go poof?”
James thinks a bit, and then decides, “No. I don’t think it works that way. It’s gonna take time. Hey, Al?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell Alice that I wouldn’t mind if she got a boyfriend.”
“I’ll say that. And I’ll ask Scorp out.”
James grins. “Please. I might just die again if you don’t.”
Albus laughs. Actually laughs.
James laughs right back.
They stand there, smiling.
And then Albus wraps his arms around James one last time.
“Those were pretty stupid last words, huh?” James whispers.
“I love you, you horrible person.”
“Tell me something I didn’t know.”
Those, in Albus’s opinion, are much better last words. He steps back.
He closes his eyes, and when they open, James is gone.
He smiles again, even though he has no clue why.
A week later, Albus stumbles into his dorm, overly giddy from laughing.
There’s something on his bed.
A picture of an eighteen-year-old boy with brown hair and hazel eyes and freckles.
On the back are the words:
You let go.
PS If anyone asks, this is an artistic rendition. Totally did not borrow your camera.
Albus smiles.
Albus is twenty-three now, and married.
He’s got an adopted daughter.
Someone left her at their doorstep, and now she’s a Malfoy-Potter in her own right.
Albus couldn’t help naming her Jane.
Somewhere in the place dead people end up in, he imagined James laughing.
On the wall is a picture.
A picture of an eighteen-year-old boy with brown hair and hazel eyes and freckles.
People keep asking how it’s there, seeing the subject died years before it appears to be taken.
Albus grins and tells them it’s an artistic rendition.
Somewhere in the place dead people end up in, he imagines James laughing.
And he laughs too.
Somewhere in the place dead people end up, James Sirius Potter laughs.
He’s not scared anymore.
He’s dead, but he’s not scared anymore.