Four Rookwoods, Three Potters, Two Desserts and One Goyle

A small, fuzzy bee had floated in through the crack between the window and the frame and it had landed on the sill, taking a moment to shake himself free of the droplets of spring rain that had pattered from the clouds to the concrete outside since the faint hours of that morning. He took a further moment and with his little hands rubbed his face. Then he crawled along the tiled sill, passing by a small pot of vanilla pods and a few granules of caster sugar that had been flicked from the ceramic mixing bowl sat on the countertop, and he did not stop until he reached crystal vase where in the last few mornings, Athena Goyle had watched the trumpets of the golden daffodils she’d bought from a stall in town rise from their sprouts and fall into life. The little bee lifted himself into the air, fluttering gently towards the flowers before dipping into the nose, his bum wiggling this way and that as he disappeared into the flower. He was not seen again until he left the flower and entered its neighbour and the process was repeated until, spent, the bee dropped himself back down onto the window sill to rest and wait for the rain to abate its steady rhythm.

Lifting her head, Athena returned her faint, azure gaze to the long, flower peppered wooden spoon in her hand and the lingering cake mix in the bowl she held steady with her alternate palm. With a sharp flex of her arm, she began to twist the mixture back into shape once more, filling it up with air again and beating it out in the same fluid movement. Already, two dozen cupcakes were rising to the steady heat of the fan oven. Both trays were flavoured a little differently but once the icing was applied the amateur baker, whose only cooking success did come from sweet treats, felt that all would be enjoyable, regardless of whether or not the taste was what whoever it was that was eating it usually preferred. If the evening was to prove to be of firsts then the cooking should be the same, she felt, albeit nervously – and thus that was why the task had fallen into the lap of the Goyle woman to construct the meal that would, in theory, bring three Potters back together again. Aurelia and Cecilia were her chief, and brutally honest, taste testers and an invaluable kitchen resource to our budding domestic goddess. Though, their presence did not make the process any smoother.

It was an easy enough job to fix dessert. After having iced what seemed like a million cupcakes, the real centrepiece was constructed and while the smaller cakes were arranged on a stand and put in the middle of the dining table, she hung back with the real dessert, hoping to bring it in later. Yet, in seeing that the cake stand fit so elegantly in the middle of the table, Athena had to return and make a second plate of dessert, anxiety manifesting itself in a need for symmetry. This should not have been what she’d worried after. Her intention that morning had been to make a cake and after making sure Albus went off to wherever it was he went with something decent to eat in his bag, Athena set about baking what she’d wanted to. Her idea, anyway, had been to make dinner to the best of her ability. It had been Albus’ task, usually, while she set the table. She’d wanted to make it up to him, feeling rather silly and useless normally, and wanted to show that nearly a month’s worth of watching him cook had given her a few skills of her own. Now while this was true, she had only been hoping to give the four of them food poisoning. Not six people.

Jaquellene Dyllan’s post was usually well received. Even on that dim, warm morning it had been. Only, what was contained within the letter had given Athena leave to feel nauseous. She had experienced her fair share of evidence of the Potter rivalry and had, during her Hogwarts years, cared to witness many of the break downs in communication and relationship between the three siblings as a whole in very separate but no less poignant ways. At the time she hadn’t cared, for universally understood reasons. Now, however, with changing allegiances and a true concern for the welfare of the man she had come to consider a good friend, her only real friend perhaps, she not only comprehended it a little bit better – there was no more clarity or insight but she did not just simply disregard it for meaningless entertainment. These altercations had been laughable in their prime. Albus, Athena thought, didn’t need it anymore. Yet, the letter did not give much room or even leave to decline. Dinner, it seemed, was about to become more interesting and for all of the wrong reasons.

As the bee left out through the crack in the window, the rain finally having pushed off, finding someone else’s thoughts to play music to, Athena finished up her dinner preparations. She waved goodbye to her little visitor with a twinkle of her fingertips before reaching up to pull the window to its close. Having wiped her hands off on a tea towel, she chased the children up the creaking stairs and set them to getting washed and dressed. The boys were set into clean, smart baby grows and were left to play in the living room while the Athena fixed the girls’ hair and then they too were allowed to go off and play, warned, however, not to get their clothes dirty. Athena then tried to make herself presentable, a little voice inside of her pointing out that she was going overboard. She couldn’t help herself, though. It was important. Her father had always taught her that when something important was happening then you had to dress for the occasion and dress for it she did, slipping herself into a form fitting dark green dress before taming her own curls and pulling them up into a bun, pinning them back with pearl grips. It seemed as though not long after that, the doorbell was ringing and with one last longing look in the mirror, wondering what in Merlin’s name she was doing, Athena went to meet the door.
Much to her dismay, James Potter looked exactly like his brother. He was a little bit taller, a bit broader and wore his glasses high up on the bridge of his nose. He was dressed smartly, though she didn’t expect anything less if she was to be honest, though there was something off, as though he’d been told what to wear and somehow managed to look a little bit uncomfortable as a result. In one hand, he carried a bottle of wine, in the other a bouquet of flowers and with a bright smile he held them out to Athena, momentarily stunning the brunette who managed to recollect herself in time to liberate his grasp of the glorious smelling blooms.

“Thank you,” she murmured, unable to quite gather up a more formal response. “Uh, come in, come in. Gosh, yes. Before you catch your death.”

James chuckled and after wiping his shoes on the mat he stepped inside. It was then that he held out the wine to Athena who was by this point quite unable to school her expression suitably. Shock registered again and James’ slightly unruly eyebrows rose curiously at her from behind the thick, sturdy frames of his glasses. Athena, flushed pink and searching for her words, hugged the wine to her before opening her mouth, snapping it shut with an audible pop when no words came.

“It’s nothing, really,” James promised. “You’re Athena, aren’t you? Jack told me a little about you – but not how pretty you are.”

Athena nodded, again a little bit lost for words. It had been a long time, she realised with a start. Flowers and wine had never been Kendall’s thing but he could pay a decent compliment or two. To have the three combining almost made Athena want to keel over, she had no words for it. She instead cleared her throat, knowing that to fall over would rumple her dress, and directed that she intended to go into the kitchen. Dutifully, James followed, lolloping after her lazily. He must’ve passed by the living room door because once they reached the kitchen, the springing, following steps of the girls and the squeals of “Albus!” rang out. The steps stopped all of a sudden, though, and Athena set the flowers and the wine down on the counter, turning to see Aurelia and Cecilia stood in the doorway, frozen, quite unable to reconcile the man before them with the man that they were used to seeing day in, day out – the only man in their entire lives who had been a true constant.

Athena opened her mouth to interject but it seemed as though ease with children ran through the veins of Potters like chivalry and all of those other Gryffindor traits. James immediately crouched down and a bright, encouraging smile lit on his face as he held out a hand to the girls. Athena watched carefully, unsure whether to hit him with a frying pan or just stay where she was but eventually Cecilia stepped forward and clasped her little hand in his. James chuckled, shaking her hand firmly.

“I’m Ceci.” She introduced herself sharply. “You are not Albus,” she accused him.

“That’s very astute of you.” James commended. “I’m not Albus, no. I’m his big brother, James. Do you have a big brother?”

“Big sister,” Cecilia corrected, “Lia,” she turned, pointing to Aurelia who still lingered in the doorway and James raised his hand, giving her a little wave.

“Hi,” Aurelia offered hesitantly, her hand clasping the doorframe, still quite unwilling to fully enter the kitchen.

“I love your hair, Lia,” James expressed gently, “it’s really clever, isn’t it? Did your mum do it for you?”

“What about mine?” Cecilia buzzed about James expectantly, fixing him with an imploring stare.

“Beautiful,” James assured her with a grin. “Were you in any doubt?”

Cecilia took a minute, then: “No!” And off she went, dancing out of the room, calling: “Bye Uncle James!” over her shoulder, Aurelia hot on her heels as they retreated back into the living room.

James rose back up to his full height and turned, putting his hands into his pockets. Athena feigned activity, opening the cupboard to fetch another vase and she filled it up with water before releasing the bouquet from its wrapping, taking a moment to arrange the flowers before setting the vase down on the sideboard behind the dining table. She ignored the Potter stare she could feel on her back, grateful it was only a calm, hazel look instead of those expressive emeralds she so enjoyed looking at when Albus didn’t quite realise she was doing so – or perhaps he did, and just allowed her to look regardless. Athena turned after a moment, meeting the look with a pointed stare of her own and it was James to relent first, unwilling to battle for whatever small victories she and his brother played for over the dinner table.

“Uncle?” He queried.

“The children worship Albus,” Athena’s reply was clipped, strained.

It wasn’t about her, not like this. She didn’t want a reminder that she’d let them get to close to him. She didn’t want to acknowledge that playing happy families had made them into one, that she was their mother and Albus their father without the trappings of marriage and expectations. But without it, they weren’t safe, either. There was only so long they could go on considering Albus a father figure in their life. One day, he’d want a proper family, one of his own. He couldn’t do that with four children that weren’t his. Four children he owed nothing to. They were heavy, dead weights. All of them, even and especially Athena. Yet she’d allowed it. She’d allowed them to fall in love with him, all five of them really in a funny sort of way, and they’d come to rely on Albus and they’d relaxed and they’d let their guards down. She. She had let her guard down. But that didn’t mean that she wasn’t still terrified of being disappointed. It didn’t mean that she didn’t kick herself at night, wondering why she’d let it go on. They loved him. She wanted to say he loved them, too, but didn’t want to make that presumption. Uncle James made sense. But uncle meant Albus really was their father. Uncle meant it was too late to change back.

“I can tell,” James returned with a smile. “They’re beautiful girls.”

“Yes,” Athena nodded stiffly. “The boys, not so much but … yes.”

“Boys too?” James’ face lit up. “My brother the family man, eh?” James rolled his lips together. “I’m nervous.”

“Me too,” Athena grumbled sardonically. James arched an eyebrow. “Well,” Athena flapped her arms up, frustrated. “I feel like I’ve tied the knot and strung myself up, that I’m just waiting for him to be so livid he pulls the lever, you know what I mean? I’m sorry but I wasn’t really given an option here. Did you have to do this now?”

“They’re my siblings,” James murmured. “I need to make things right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to impose upon you like this but I…”

“I can’t cook, James Sirius Potter!” Athena smacked her hand on the table. “And I’ve done three courses and enough cupcakes to ruin every child in London’s teeth! If you don’t sort out your issues then so help me Merlin I will hex you myself, alright?”

“You’re an angel, love,” James grinned.

Heaven help them all. If they could make it through this dinner, Athena was fairly certain they could make it through anything.

Lily did not know what any of these ‘adults’ were thinking. She was constantly reminding them that there were mere years separating her from their own age, and that she legally had control over her actions. Nevertheless, she had been informed that James Potter, her darling eldest brother, was coming to dinner and she would come down and join in the family dinner. Lily had pointed out that it wasn’t a family dinner – their parents would not be attending and a pureblood woman and her four children would be filling those seats. No one had been very sympathetic after that rude little comment. Lily like Athena as much as she liked anybody – trouble was, she pretty much disliked everyone these days, so there was not much favor to be earned.

She did not understand why anyone expected this to be a successful dinner. She was having trouble treating Albus with any decency, as he was the brother who had been emotionally distant for so long. Not only had James been emotionally distant – it was easier to tell jokes than to express genuine concern – but he had been physically and geographically distant in recent time too. If she had trouble forgiving Albus, what made anyone think that James was going to get any warmer of a reception? Who thought this dinner would not end in disaster?

That was the twisted part of this whole night. No one truly believed the three would reconcile, that this night would go well. And yet, they were all forcing themselves through it regardless. Lily did not understand the logic. It seemed very James to do – pressing forward despite the obvious proof of failure. Even Albus – there was always a possibility, even if it was marginal, that things would not unfold as predicted. Lily, however, knew very well that the probability was much higher than the alternate possibility and could not help but think ’Why even bother?’

She had not dressed. She was still in Teddy’s sweatpants and a loose tank top, though a nice blouse and slacks had been hung up on her dresser. She was not sure who had put them up, whether it was Albus or Athena who had placed them during her nap, but she was not dressing. She had not found reason to leave her room save for using the toilet and for the few times she snuck outside when she was home alone for some air. Even when she sneaked cigarettes, she would just open her window and spoke as she sat half in her room, her legs dangling outside. If she had managed this long, she was certain she could continue.

She was reading a muggle book by the name of Ender’s Game when Teddy came in. She did not glance up. He would not convince her to go downstairs. Teddy had been the most lenient on her, the least involved with her rehabilitation. He had been gentle to convince her to do anything she did not want to do, but she knew he was upset with James too. His good-natured exterior would never reveal it, but it might even be him who was hurt the most. He, after all, had been raised with James. They had been closest in age. They had been on a Quidditch team together. Teddy had been the go between for Albus and James. And then James had disappeared.

“You need to eat, Lils.”

“Not hungry,” she responded, continuing on to another page.

Suddenly, the book was closed. Lily started and looked up. Teddy was sitting on her bed, looking at her with his usual kindness, but no more than necessary. “Lily-“

“I’m an adult, Teddy, I get to make my own decisions,” she reminded him, calmly. It had been him, after all, to tell the others that she had a right to decide for herself.

Teddy inclined his head. “Yes. And adults have responsibilities to their families. I would say you have the choice to act like an adult or a child, but you already informed us all that you were an adult. So, I’m sure I’ll see you downstairs, yeah?”

She stared at him a moment. “Eh tu, Brute?”

Teddy stood, grinning at her. “Please – you’re hardly a Shakespearean tragedy. There’s not enough sex involved. Right?”

She rolled her eyes. He smiled and set her book on a shelf, before standing.

“Why aren’t you down there yet?”

She knew she had asked a clever question. If it was an adult responsibility, after all, why was he interrupting her reading rather than catching up with their dear brother? Teddy had already turned towards the door, and he did not turn back. She had struck a nerve, and she was a bit proud of it, too. If she was going to be forced into this, she wasn’t going to make it easy, nor pleasant. That Potter pride ran through her veins, after all.

But then Teddy slowly turned to look at her. That smiling face had drooped into a sad expression, worry line etches in deeply, exhaustion making the young man suddenly look… old. The metamorphogus was in his natural state, but he was suddenly not himself. It was with a jolt that Lily realized how much this dinner was going to hurt Teddy, especially as he would be keeping the peace, when he had just as much right to hurt feelings as anyone, if not the most. And here he was, taking care of her. And now she had mocked him for the very thing he must have been aware of – his own uncertainty in facing the man who had been his best friend.

Shame flooded Lily Potter’s body.

“You don’t have to wear the clothes if you don’t want to,” Teddy said. “Just… come downstairs.”

And he was gone. Lily stared at the door. F*ck.


Teddy entered the kitchen, having gathered his courage in the hallway. His eyes fell on the man who he had helped raise. His breath caught, but it was only a moment. “James!” Teddy gave a wonderfully amicable smile as he approached, offering a hand to his brother – adopted or not, Teddy knew that he was the brother to James Potter. “It’s great to see you. Glad to know it’s a homecooked meal that gets you back around.” He smiled kindly enough, assuring him that there was no harm done. No harm that could not be hidden, that was.

Lily stood in the doorway, lanky arms hanging at her sides. She had not changed. She was in her sweats, her tank, her slippers. She did not care. If James wanted to reconnect, she would not let him reconnect with a version of herself that was not real. She slowly leaned against the frame of the door, her hipbone painfully bumping against it. She was at an all time low of weight, having spent so long with little food but an excess of drugs, and even the weeks back had not filled her out yet.

She was not going to speak first. She was not going to do anything. She had showed up.

(OOC: Wasn't sure if I was meant to reply but I, uh, did. (: Um, so, yeah. Hah. Sorry!)

“Are you on a hot tin roof, Mr Potter?” A dulcet tone murmured, caressing the shell of his ear lobe as it ghosted through the ringlets at his nape. For a moment, he could smell the hot vanilla of her skin and the raspberry tartness of her pitch hair. Yet, as his gaze grew strong again, the flickering yellow light dancing into his cool, hesitant hazel stare, there was no nearness to her, the whispering breeze could have been quick and imagined. He found her, holding her vigil by the stove, her fingers rising to a steeple on the counter behind her, interwoven between each rib a checked towel to protect her thin, pale palms from the scalding, remonstrative burn of the oven’s stomach, the little, grasping limbs only trussed together crudely by roping, delicate purple veins. Yet, she was strong, angular and wasted but worthy, indeed, of great respect, of great love, he found.

“I think so,” he admitted in a whisper, his fingers groping uselessly, pulling around the hem of his blazer. His lip caught between his teeth and his gaze averted, to the floor to the wall to the ceiling and back to her. Her own mouth twitched, the burgundy-painted lips unfurling from each other into a pitying smile that with a start he realised he was both grateful for and resentful of. She, too, seemed to sense it for she joined her lips once more and turned, reaching up for the cupboard door from which she removed a champagne flute. He watched as she took from the refrigerator an emerald bottle sparkling water she poured into the glass. With the cap replaced, she returned the bottle to the door of the fridge but her hand lingered around the side as her eyes lifted back to his, quietly accusing him of staring while remaining fair and gentle.

“What’s your poison then, James?” She inquired lightly, her long, pointed nails drumming a nonsensical pattern into the grey plastic they were rested against. “Beer?” She offered, seeming to sense the sudden insecurity that he felt well up within him like a malevolent tsunami. His smile was incredulous, sweeping up to his eyes and manifesting sorrowfully. His feet shifted his body weight, far less than it had been while he was still playing Quidditch, from side to side, his gaze guiltily spying a leaf sprig pointing out from underneath his shoe. His head rose again, a few vertebrate in his neck twitching aggressively at him, causing the lines by his eyes to seize up as the pain darted through him.

“No,” he muttered finally, hastily adding, “thank you. I’ll be fine without, I think.” He managed another smile but averted it as he felt her eyes leave him, furiously digging his hands into his pockets as shame flirted across his cheeks, painting the pale skin scarlet. The sound of the hinges cracking open again and the smothered crack of a glass snapping to the counter dipped past his ears. James lifted himself, stepping forward a little, his hip grazing the back of one of the dining chairs.

“I like to drink sparkling water in champagne glasses,” Athena confided, removing the bottle again from the fridge to top up her glass and fill his. “I can’t drink anymore either, really. One glass and I think I’d even burn the dessert. Who’s your sponsor?”

“Fred,” James gruffed, his eyes widening at the sides. “How-”

Athena didn’t move to explain. All she said was: “It’s not about how you fall off. It’s about getting back on.”

James blanched, his face draining of all colour as he nodded to her, his hands shaking as though they were being picked at by the rain that was once again tumbling down upon the patio, dancing to the rhythm of the howling wind. He took the glass gratefully, his lips parting to let the chilled water slip down his throat, soothing the dry scratchiness that he had worked into it as his shrill voice had accused Jack of being irresponsible for letting him do what he had thought in the Ministry would have been such a good, logical idea. His smile once he’d swallowed and wetted his lips with his tongue was genuine, thankful, but he ridded his mouth of it when he caught sight of the periphery glare and the twitching cheeks of the woman before him, who sidled so smoothly past him, setting a basket of fresh, buttered tiger bread down onto the table.

The Potter man opened his mouth again, determined to make small talk. A pointed look sent over his shoulder made him turn, his shoes scuffing a little across the floorboards as his hands lifted out from the silk pockets of his trousers. His breath caught in his throat and all of that work the water had done was suddenly for nought. His smile was tense, false and terrified. He flinched involuntarily, taking a half step back, his knee locking painfully in place as he forced himself to stay where he was, to greet the man he should have known, should’ve remembered. Teddy Lupin – a name James only knew through scouring the photo albums, trying to find some sort of recollective purchase on his own person, as much as anyone else’s.

A large, warm hand clasped around his own, fingers squeezing his in what James would have possibly taken as an encouraging, reassuring manner but all he felt was begrudging hostility – though whether he was irrational for that or not, he could not tell as he slid his hand out from beneath Teddy’s, his smile tumbling away as the words clicked within his mind. A cooked meal. Something so trivial – unless you were the one who made it. A selfish act would be to lift a finger, turn ahead, pretend to care because of a meal. Was it a selfish act he would have completed, fulfilled wantonly, without thought? He imagined so. Was he supposed to laugh, he wondered. Was his smile supposed to be genuine and not tight? Was he supposed to have told Teddy something to put him at ease? He couldn’t. He couldn’t bear to open his mouth. He could barely feel the air tickling his lungs. Suddenly the low light of the kitchen was too little, or too much, he couldn’t tell.

“It’s going to be a Chinese take-away at this rate,” Athena’s voice floated glibly over his head. Teddy’s eyes averted, an instinctive glance in the direction of the sound. James deflated a little, taking the moment of lapsing eye contact to repose, respire and try to stifle the tears wailing within him, threatening oh-so-seriously to make their presence known. The gaze soon returned and James squared his shoulders, erecting himself once more, forgetting the drooping flower façade that he felt like – or, perhaps more accurately, demolished house debris, making a small pile on the kitchen floor.

As he lifted his head, he found another person lingering in the doorway. Lily Luna. James swallowed on nothing, his throat rubbing awkwardly against itself. He wetted his lips, feeling the beginnings of breaking skin roughing up beneath the lap of his tongue, and he brought his hand to his neck, pulling, rubbing at the skin, the hair there catching in the rings on his fingers and coming out with them, his nerves unable to quite find the connection to alert him to the fact that it was hurting. His hand dropped and clanged uselessly against his side. There were no words. There would never be any words. None that would stick. Not for the man who was only brought back by the offer of a hot meal.

A distant cry met James’ ears. His eyes darted past Lily Luna but found no sign of the source of the sound. Heels clapped across the floorboards and a head of dark curls bobbed past. James followed Athena, watching her as she departed from the room, wincing visibly when she left his sight. He took a step away from Teddy, wanting to put some distance between himself and Teddy. He grabbed up the glass he’d unwittingly put down on the table, desperate to give his hands something to do. He turned his back, his mind registering that it was a forbidden rule in duelling but he paid it no heed. His other hand picked up the tea towel Athena had abandoned and he turned his gaze to the oven door, wondering after its contents. It wasn’t sufficient cover though. The silence stretched but still there were no words.

Sniffling accompanied the return of the heels and James lifted his head to see Athena squeeze past Lily Luna, a hand lingering briefly on the girl’s narrow shoulder before striding back into the room, bouncing a baby in her arms, whispering a few comforting words in his ear, the boy nodding in response as he scrubbed at his cheeks with his little fist, the other curled around the leg of a stuffed giraffe. Another was close behind, dragging a stuffed bear along the floor with him, his face screwing up. An imploring look was shot in his direction and James only just managed to put the glass and the tea towel down before he had a bundle in his arms. Athena then turned, scooping up the other child before fixing James with a steady glare.

“Speak,” she commanded in a hiss as she bruised past him, opening the oven door.

“I…” James opened his mouth, a syllable breaking forward without thought. He snapped it shut again as he reaffirmed his hold on the baby who had laid his head against his shoulder, cuddling close to his giraffe. The boy wasn’t about to provide any insight, it seemed. James half-wished Lily Luna was still a baby, not an adult that could easily and rightly rebuke him. James began to rub circles into the little boy’s sock-clad soles and his teeth came down once more over his lower lip, trying in vain to get something out of himself. Anything. To no avail.

“I didn’t come here… to eat.” James ground out, his shoulders straightening up. “I came here to fix things. With everyone.” He swallowed. “And I’m not going until it is… fixed, I mean. I won’t. I’m not.”

Soft, clever fingers danced over his nape, digging in with unprecedented, sly proficiency at the pressure points on his neck and shoulder. A voice more akin to a panther in tights than a fully grown woman purred in his ear. “Good?”

Fred surveyed the blonde balanced on both armrests of his chair through half-closed lids, lips broadening in satisfied lassitude. Maybe there were some hitherto undiscovered side effects of working in the Department of International Magical Cooperation on the fingers, as this was the first time he was sampling from this section of the government; but damn the woman knew how to use her hands. Head reclined comfortably on the headrest, chin tilted up, he chose to keep it one-syllabled and easy to understand. Surely all the paperwork that the lackeys of that Department hefted around would have eradicated a few brain cells. “Good.”

The touches grew lighter, fleeting; then started inching dangerously upward. Fred almost sighed.

The fingers were snapped up by his, eyes still closed, reflexes impeccable. He quirked an eye open, and was bestowed by Miss Hot Hands’ affronted face. The smile was slow and indulgent as of a child. “Not the hair, love.”

The woman pouted. Fred half expected her lips to swallow up her face. “But it’s shiny.”

“I’ll Owl you my shampoo.” He dropped her fingers, then slid firm palms around her stick-like waist and hoisted her off, heels kicking and all, off the chair and onto the ground. “And a dandruff remedy.”

Hot Hands’ jaw dropped in outrage. “Freddie!”

“Only my mum calls me that, love.” Fred bestowed a last smile at her, a little pitying, then his eyes slid past her as they would an inconsequential piece of furniture, a little irked that it was obstructing the view of the door. “Come in, Al.”

Albus Potter ducked in, outfitted in his standard white shirt and black trousers fare, the beginnings of a smirk hovering at the corner of his lips. It morphed into an expression of utmost amiability as he laboriously sidestepped the woman and came before the desk; the sound of petulant huffing, clicking of stiletto heels and the rather violent banging of a door followed soon after. They winced in harmony, then Fred felt the rather inevitable grin stretch across his face- his cousin’s lower lip was twitching rather violently.

“You keep the most lovely company.” The battle had evidently been won, because Albus said it with a perfectly straight face.

The conflicting urges of grinning wider, or flicking the idiot on the forehead warred briefly inside; Fred settled it by raising an unaffected brow. “Covetousness is one of the greatest sins, you know. Done yet?”

“Four hours in the most Mysterious bowels of the Ministry? Of course I’m done.” Albus tossed it into the air, elbows resting relaxedly on the headrest of the chair on the opposite side of the desk. Fred snagged the whizzing cube out of the air with an index finger and a thumb, then tilted the puzzle box artifact all ways to make sure it hadn’t been trifled with. Potters could never be trusted that way. His index nail scraped an absentminded rune against one of the wooden surfaces, any tampering wouldn’t be visible outwardly, the aura needed to be tested. “How many hours did it take you?”

“Ninety minutes.” The words were a couple of octaves away from being a drawl, for which Fred was thankful; Albus had dropped the rather vexing habit he’d picked up from Scorpius Malfoy since Hogwarts, but could relapse at the most irksome moments. Of course not to say that Fred didn’t drawl himself- hypocrisy he felt, was a rather useless accusation: however did treating oneself and others by the same standard make any sense? “Can’t blame me for taking the chance to explore.”

“No.” Fred said, and didn’t bother wondering if someone had mentioned Jimmy Potter to his younger cousin- volunteering free information had been bred out of the nature of an Unspeakable long before their training came to an end. “What did you find?”

“413.” Albus’ right hand was fidgeting in the air- or rather the fingers bending and flexing rapidly with an odd rhythm in the empty air, like swiping across an invisible set of strings. He seemed disinclined to sit. “That’s the three digit code for the spell required to unlock the cube, at least according to Gamp’s basic Arithmantic principle.”

“Thanks.” A wave of the hand unlocked the bottommost right drawer of his desk- it creaked open, and Fred let the cube roll off his palm inside.

“For telling you something you already knew?” Albus’ expression was in direct contrast to his restless fingers- constant, and a little amused. “You’ve been doing this for years, you probably knew the code with half an hour. We did Gamp’s Spell-naming Convention in seventh year, and I stopped falling for your dumb jock act in fifth.”

Fred’s lips curved up, slow despite the blatant provocation. “I must have called you for a private tour of the DoM, then.”

“No.” His cousin corrected, remarkably patient. “Because spell 413 doesn’t exist yet.” And perhaps patient was too kind a word, because in the very next second, “You may whip my arse in Runes and riddles, and whatever bang-up weapon you’re playing with next, but you’re pants at the ingenuity required to create something new, Freddie.”

“Not poncey enough to create fairytales? I’ll persist to live, thanks.”

“Give me a fortnight.” And he was turning, and his momentum had sent the chair spinning along with him, and Fred’s lips moved before he could think. “Al.”

Albus stopped, and turned. His normally straight and unfussy hair was in a bit of a mess, little black tufts sticking out behind his ears and curling outwards from his nape. There was a flush of colour high on usually pale cheeks, lines around his eyes, and there was a little blob of pink on his right cuff, like paint.

“You look happy.”

Albus blinked for a while, eyelashes closing and opening on green eyes. His fingers stilled in - Fred realised rather abruptly- playing air guitar, falling by his side. Then the hint of a smile touched his face, a true one, and his voice rang strong and clear. “I am.”

The silence that pervaded through the room after he exited it was palpable.

Fred didn’t do guilt. It was a pointless emotion. Even over the fact that he’d concealed the information of the eldest Potter brother working in his own bloody department from his friends, his family. James had been in no fit state to meet anyone, no matter how many unimpressed glares Jack might shoot his way- heck, he himself hadn’t believed the Healer’s f*cking report for weeks after he’d seen it. Even now, there was a little part of his mind that hoped for James Potter to crack out the brilliant whites he was famous for any minute, straighten up from that stupid, nervous slouch and announce April’s Fool, and that they’d all been magnificent gits to believe that anything could happen to him in the first place.

But there was a mild twinge at the back of his head, and that twinge prevented him from following Albus home right now. Because he knew what awaited him there. He knew why both James and Jack had been missing from office that day, and he’d called Albus in to help him, and the boy’s stupid, brilliant mind prevented him to spend more than four hours solving pointless puzzles. And that same mind would be unable to cope with the sight of his brother, in flesh and blood, and lines would be drawn and prides would be stung. And Fred would flay the skin off the person who dared suggest that he was fleeing the conflict again- like he’d done the last time for America, because. Because Fred had gotten to know Albus better in these past months, and had felt affection and protectiveness sprout in its wake, but James was still James, despite everything. He would take James’ side, because that was what they always did, and Albus didn’t deserve it. So for his own sake, he would walk into this today alone.

And though he couldn’t possibly be guilty.....the voice that whispered in his head could scarcely be denied.

He’s always walked alone.

~x~

I remembered black skies
The lightning all around me
I remembered each flash
As time began to blur....

Albus didn’t remember what was the name of the song his hands had been playing out since morning. Something distinctly Muggle though, because the chords rung too true to heart, and Wizarding songs rarely ever held that kind of honesty. Sometimes he thought it ran in their blood, their inescapable genes, born out of centuries of hiding from the Muggles- deceit and lies and false facades.

This was hardly the time for morbid thoughts though, and Albus balanced a brown paper bag, perched rather precariously on his left palm, while he fiddled with the keys with his right. Purebloods. Too high up on their Abraxans to pay attention to doorbells.

The knob twisted, then unlocked with a smooth click. He stuffed the keys back into his overfull pockets, hand recommencing to play the glorious riff which he had left off, pushing open the door with his elbow. The fragrance of vanilla ice-cream emanating from the bag was rather heavenly. He felt ravenous.

Like a startling sign
That fate had finally found me
And your voice was all I heard
That I get what I deserve....

He hummed a little as he stepped inside, brushing the soles of his shoes rather vigorously against the doormat. The house was unusually quiet- maybe Archie and Gus were still sleeping. Or more likely- planning an ambush. Good thing he had a bribe to mollify them.

He turned round the corner. “Look what I brou-”

The fingers stilled.

So give me reason
To prove me wrong
To wash this memory clean
Let the floods cross
The distance in your eyes..

Archie, safe in the crook of....familiar, strong arms- yawned. The sound was very loud in the room.

Albus felt his lips stretch, slowly. Tautened into something like a smile. His legs took a step forward. Then another.

“I was...... unaware you were having....friends over.” Lily. Teddy. Archie. Gus. Athena. The room had never been so full. Especially Lily. She hadn’t come down ever since he’d brought her here again. Had. He walked over to the kitchenette, past......and his hand felt around, fingers searching for the cold scrape of iron against the pads, the nail where he usually hung the keys.

He turned, and Athena was right there, holding on to Gus, next to Archie and......and she was dressed differently, and some distant part of his mind noted that she looked lovely. Maybe it was a little crazy to prefer jeans and woolly sweaters and striped socks.

His gaze drifted over the little sea of frosting and spongy, brown blobs on the table, and he cleared his throat. “I...didn’t know you baked.” He cleared it again. His mouth had dried, and something rock solid caught in his throat. It hurt every time he tried to speak a word. It bled.

Give me reason
To fill this hole
Connect the space between
Let it be enough to reach the truth that lies
Across this new divide.

His eyelids closed, and the room was fuzzy when they opened again, like it was a dream. Dream. Something got stuck in the base of his throat, clotting his breath, and it was probably laughter- but it would tear his cords apart if he tried to force it out. His left palm was cold, and he unclenched it, and looked down to see crumpled brown paper. Ice and vanilla, pallid and colourless, trickled meaninglessly past his wrist.

“I didn’t disturb anything, did I?”

Lily was absolutely and utterly irked, but nothing registered on that dull face of hers. She would never show any sign of life, because it would mean she would get the attention of those around her. She just wanted to be done with this all. She could not imagine what was going on in Athena’s head – but she could hardly bring herself to care either. She could muster some consideration for how Teddy felt, now that she had seen the hurt in his soul. But Athena had chosen to ally herself with Albus. She had chosen this life for herself. The brothers and Lily were stuck with each other. Even Jack had been careful to keep herself separate from this trouble – a surprising show of intellect from the redhead. Only Athena had chosen to be apart of this mess, and it seemed only she was willing to put work into it.

James spoke, but Lily knew it was all in vain. She vaguely wondered if he knew how useless the effort was too. She wished to turn to Teddy, to scoff, to find some allegiance there. But when she glanced to him, he was chewing on his lip, looking at James with mingling hurt, hope, and guilt. Lily knew Teddy felt as though he should have tracked James down, but he had not. He had tried, at first, but he had given up much quicker than he would have if had been Lily or one of the younger cousin. He had claimed that James was an adult and had the right to find solitude. No one had bought it. Especially not Teddy. But still… it was not his fault. Surely he knew that.

He didn’t.

Teddy reached forward and clasped a hand on James’ shoulder, softer than they had when they had exchanged those manly punches and grips. He looked into James’ eyes, ensuring that he was being honest. James before had lied too often to guarantee absolute honesty now. Too many claims for sobriety, too many claims for change. But James must have passed the test. Because Teddy gave him a bracing smile and reassuring squeeze. “We’re glad to have you back, James. Really.”

“Ha,” Lily muttered, a bit under her breath. It garnered a quick turn from Teddy, though, and she stared back, the action itself defiant though no passion remained in her face. She had given up – the ultimate act of betrayal to a Potter.

They heard noise and they all turned to look at the door. Perfect. Albus came in, looking utterly at a loss. Lily did not know how to handle this situation. What side was she supposed to be on? She was upset with both brothers, and to go against one would look like sympathy for the other. Joining Athena meant choosing Albus. And to add her allegiance to Teddy was to support both brothers, something she was unwilling to do too. She was at a total loss.

Lily smirked, though the expression did nothing to her eyes. “Not at all, Alby,” she said, using the word she had used so often as a child. “We’re already quite disturbed here, don’t you think?”

Teddy turned and approached Albus, saying, “Al, James has come back to make amends.” He looked to James, nodding. It was his turn.

The distant tick-tock of the clock mounted ever so slightly lopsidedly on the wall in the hallway filled the silence, steady and telling of the moments passing through their fingers, the moments that could have been spent in laughter; in anything other than the hurt that seemed to be exchanged from fingers to palm by every wizard in the room. The second hand seemed to regulate the flow of blood through her veins, seemed to chime in and out the shake of her hand over the countertop. It seemed to adjust the rhythm of Teddy’s sway from side to side and the way James gently bobbed Archie up and down and the soft inhale and exhale of Lily’s breath, filling and departing her chest. All of it was just being frittered away, for nothing, too. Only the warm weight of her son against her seemed to ground her to the ridiculousness of the reality she had found herself in, the layers of loyalty, hers, if Lily’s face were to betray anything at all, misplaced – in the wrong Potter. Another poorly made bed.

A gush of air that Athena hadn’t realised she’d been holding within her parted her lips as Teddy spoke and she sagged visibly against the countertop, relief flooding through her. An absent kiss went to Augustus’ head and she turned, her gaze flicking down to the oven briefly. Dinner couldn’t come soon enough. She moved again, shifting Augustus in her arms as she did so. James, she saw, shifted himself, a breathless smile taking over his face. It made him look young, for the barest of moments. She didn’t know who looked their age. All had been knocked down, stifled. Even the children sometimes looked weary of the world. But James, for that pinch of a second he fitted his twenty-four years. Young, again, but with the crinkles of experience around his eyes.

“I… really… thank-” James’ eyes lifted from his god-brother’s face, the smile dropping from his face as his gaze landed on Lily.

Athena felt a reflexive stab of annoyance rattle within her and she opened her mouth to object to the attitude, the parent within her acting up, but before she could utter anything, the sound of the door shutting resounded through the house, biting at the lobes of her ears with sweet vengeance. She hadn’t planned for this eventuality. Somehow she’d found herself hoping that Albus wouldn’t walk in, that maybe he’d go out with Fred or something – anything – to avoid this. Athena closed her eyes, praying that when she opened them, it would be a normal night where they’d given up trying to get Lily downstairs, sent food upstairs and went and sat in the living room. All of them. Their little family. Not this big one, all defensive, defiant and determined to be so broken all holed up in the kitchen, only one wanting to try but, words failing him, unable to do anything. James should’ve waited. But then, nothing waited for family, she knew that. They all knew it too. But in each other, they were blind to it, hate masking everything.

“Don’t- can’t bake.” Athena gasped out, her house of pliable cards tumbling around her. “I just sort of put eggs and flour in a bowl and they were born in a baptism of oven and frosting. It’s a miracle. Hallelujah.” She couldn’t mask the crack in her voice or the guilt she felt within her stomach like an abject sickness. She didn’t think, either, that she could bear the guilt and as Lily’s voice rattled out through the kitchen, the oven timer began quietly to beep by Athena’s hip, a merry antithesis to the tension in the room.

“Albus I…” James wasn’t strong enough, his voice breaking into nothingness as the crisp, metallic sound of tray and oven shelf meeting drowning him out. Athena flinched, sighing a little as Augustus relinquished himself from her grasp, narrowly sliding past the scalding oven door on his shaky path to Albus whose leg he threw his arms around tightly, face pressed against his trouser leg. Athena, glad of both hands albeit more unsteady now than ever, managed to retrieve the pride and joy she’d spent hours fretting over from the oven and set it on the side.

“Albus…” James began again. Athena turned and over her… Albus’ shoulder she looked pointed at James who blanched under her dark gaze. Her impatience, however, seemed only to spur him on and he raised an awkward smile to his lips. “Look, I… I am here to try and make things better. No, I am here to make them better. There’s not try there’s…” he closed his eyes and Athena shook her head, returning to the beef fore rib that she’d pained over all afternoon and much to her delight it came away, the bone intact but the slow roasting made the beef unbelievably tender. She wanted to punch the air in delight but a combination of the shoes and the fact that even a knife couldn’t cut the tension in the kitchen.

“Dinner is ready,” Athena announced glibly, her gaze flitting to her Potters. “So get out of my kitchen, pick up my babies and sit down at the table, for heaven’s sake. Lily Luna Potter,” she looked up at the girl, extending her hand, gesturing with her index finger to one of the chairs at the table. “This isn’t a contest. I can move faster than you. Sit yourself down otherwise I’ll put you there myself and you’ll be there for the next week and a half. Albus Severus,” her gaze moved again. “Acknowledge your brother otherwise the wind might change that three-quarters pained, one-quarter constipated look on his face will stick. James Sirius. Man up. Talk to your siblings like human beings. They’re not babies anymore. You won’t fix this with a few household charms. Edward Remus Lupin. Get over here and help me with the veggies.”

James was the first to move, rightly terrified. Athena knew a sinking ship when she saw one and she was determined to keep it buoyant, even if she was doing it by herself. James met her gaze from across the room and she pointed to her chair. He seemed to realise it, too, for he took a hesitant seat, lowering Archibald down onto his knee when he was sat firmly. Archie looked up at him, confusion riddled on his face. Obviously, he wasn’t Albus, which seemed to have bothered all of the children from the beginning. But he wasn’t James either. Athena, as she stole a look over, couldn’t see the Quidditch player who was photographed falling out of nightclubs with buxom blondes and his teammates. She couldn’t see the man who was hounded for a mistake. One that he should have known better than to have started but one that he wasn’t wholly to blame for. Life happened. Shit happened. He was never forgiven for it, either. Not by the public. Not by his family. It wasn’t fair for there to be only four people in the world who forgave him. Fred, Jack, Teddy, herself. They weren’t important. Not really. Teddy more so but not as important as Albus and Lily. Not as important as his family.

Beef was plated up along with a helping of the beetroot and horseradish that had gone in with it. Teddy seemed comfortable enough with the balsamic salad and Athena busied herself with sharing out the spicy sweet potato chips – more crisps than anything else now – onto each plate. Then, casting one last look at Teddy who she’d also tasked with doling out the green beans and some purple sprouting broccoli into a dish, Athena sent the plates in the direction of the table with the flick of her wand, smiling brightly as her girls appeared in the doorway. The children, at least, would mitigate the language, she figured, but she’d need to take them off before it became too heated.

“So sit down,” Athena repeated shrilly. “And talk.”

She took a seat at the end of the table with the girls, leaving the Potters up the other end to battle it out. She helped Cecilia cut up her meat and Aurelia, more in tune with the tension than her sister, wisely chose to eat and say nothing. The babies, however, seemed to have a mutual interest in the chips but more as a stabbing mechanism than anything else. Athena shook her head and with her wand sent a zap of magic in the direction of James and the way he jerked suddenly meant she’d gotten on target.

“So, a writer, eh?” James began brightly, picking up his fork. “Sell many, uh, books?”

Athena wanted to slap herself. Or James. Preferably James. Then maybe Albus. And then Lily. Rinse. Repeat.

It was like a familiar, oft lived-in nightmare.

It used to linger at the edges of his consciousness during the day, completely forgotten, waiting till the fell swoop of night to claim his mind. It used to dog his heels like a particularly vengeful shade, a cloud that scarcely seemed visible against the bright glare of the sun when one shielded their eyes and glanced up, but threw its shadow over you the second your eyes darted to the ground. It had been years, absolute years since he had had that nightmare. In the space of that time, so many insignificant details and blurred to misshapen smudges on his memory- but somehow the trail of that particular dream remained, concealed but not fully gone, still paper-fresh in his eyes when he chose to close them.

The dream would start anywhere, absolutely anywhere. The beginning never mattered- Hogwarts, London, King’s Cross, a random ditch in a field. It would play on, the reel turning in and onto itself, and then. Then it would hit a familiar hitch. The people around him in the dream would fade out, voices unfocused and turning to incoherent, incomprehensible static, his feet would take another step- and there he would be, at the porch of Godric’s Hollow. No matter the history, where he had been, how the dream had begun, happy, terrifying, melancholic....somehow all paths would lead to this. The front step of the place he’d spent his childhood in.

He’d know what to do the instant he reached there, push open the door, drift in, hear the door click shut behind him. Hear the steps creak beneath his shoes as he made his way to the second landing, and duck into the doorway of his old room. Then the door to that would shut too, the desolation of the house breathing heavily on his skin: and the nightmare would begin.

It never sounded so frightening, recounting it to himself in the pale, trickling light of the morning dawn as he used to jerk up from sleep, sheets sodden and sticking to his skin. If not that, the continued repetition of the dream, night after night, surely should have worn down the sharp, rustless prick of fear in his breast to something more bearable.

But it remained, that one, all-encompassing, heartwrenching moment of sheer panic when the door closed behind him and he whirled around, short of breath, feeling a realisation that had dawned on him every night that preceded it......there was no way out. No doors. No windows.

Except one. He’d slowly, with a single finger, push at the windowpane and the entire frame would swing open, eerily silent. He’d swing his gangly- eleven, thirteen, sixteen, it was all the same- year old legs out, test the parapet outside and inch by inch, painstakingly, try to make his way down. Those two stories somehow always managed to tower above the ground, the convoluted space and dimensions of dreams making the hard dirt seem more than fifty feet down. His foot would dangle in air, searching for a foothold to let himself fall through another inch, fingers sweating through their grips on the sill, one misstep threatening to rob his breath from his lungs.

On his way, he’d eventually pass across other open panes below, and that would be when his limbs would lock into place, joints freezing- because there were people inside, the faintly terrifying sounds of footsteps and clinking of glasses and laughter drifting outside, and if even one of them glanced outside, they’d see. They’d see him flattened to the wall, heart regurgitated through his throat, tongue bitten into two by his teeth, trying to escape. So he’d bite his tongue again to ground him, blood swelling up inside his jaw, thighs quivering in exhaustion, spending hours before each agonisingly careful step, thinking: maybe. Maybe this time. This time he’d make it all the way down, and take to his heels the moment they impacted the ground, and-

And, inevitably. No matter how much he crushed his breath to his chest and curl his body within and move a centimetre a minute. Somehow, somehow, that stupid, blasted sill outside the lowest windowsill, looking into the kitchen would always creak- his mind crunched up in fearful hope releasing in resignation, the long, trailing sound hanging for several fitful seconds in the air before they’d all turn, necks twisting as one, directing the same, pupil-less stare at his sweat-streaked face, and the curse would be reinvoked, and there he’d be. Sealed in his room, right at the top again.

And that was the nightmare. Not the lack of exits, the windless stagnant air that hung heavy in his lungs, the soulless eyes, the mindnumbing height. It was the journey, the ache in his hamstrings when he hung by his wrists hours at a time, the thrice-damned spark of hope that kindled itself every singly f*cking time he made it within twenty feet of the ground, only to be snuffed away when the eyes came and he was pulled up again. Dragged back from whence he came. Again and again.

It was a childhood nightmare. Because it plagued him in every waking moment now, and somehow he’d never known it. The undeniable tale of Albus Potter’s life. That no matter how many maps he drew, how many people he trusted, how many paths he flung himself into. Someway, somehow, he’d always feel that accursed hook digging into his ankle and pull him all the way back to square one. The entire world seemed to turn its soulless eyes on him and smile- Well, well then, Potter. Why do you try? Why do you even waste your ignominous breath? When you know what your place is right from the beginning?

In recent memory......there was Jack first. The one whom he had gathered all his hopes in, maybe in delusion, maybe in immaturity. But he had, and he had spilled half his life’s truths, and she had denied.....and in spite of Rebels and plots against the Ministry and first loves....there he was, right where he had been ever since he’d set foot into the world. Alone, grasping, nowhere.

This time.....he hadn’t even see it coming. Hadn’t even had the time or leisure to gather up his breath in fortitude and take a plunge- for there had been no plunge. He’d just sort of wandered into this place, where he received glowing smiles and painted walls pink and cooked with a companion whilst listening to the radio. He hadn’t even taken deliberate steps, just sort of meandered into this life he was oddly content in, and fooled himself into thinking that it....they didn’t matter. That for once, he didn’t want anything from other people, but of course he was lying- because otherwise this piercing pain lancing through his chest as Athena doled out salad and beef and one of his boys remained pillowed on a knee other than his own- wouldn’t sting so sharply of betrayal.

She hadn’t betrayed him- she didn’t know enough to. Only their family knew, maybe Lysander, and Jack. She couldn’t have known what she was doing, baking cupcakes for his arrival, placing Archie in his arms. But the only traitor here was him, still standing awkwardly, like a stranger in his own house, watching everyone seated at the table. A traitor to his own delusions, because as ridiculous, childish.......selfish as it sounded.....Albus had never known it in him, but he had, in some forsaken corner of his mind, labeled these five people as his own.

And how ironic was it, that these five didn’t include his own sister, or even the godbrother he’d worshipped as he had grown- but whimsical Cecilia, staid and sparkling Aurelia, the thumb-sucker Augustus, the mischiefmaker Archibald. And Athena, the thread, the connection weaving them all together, frayed and weary and standing strong, indispensable. They were people, they had met other people before, they had had fathers and brothers and husbands, yet he was not possessive towards them, but covetous. He had met them inside a bubble, a bubble where they needed him, and somehow he’d fooled himself into thinking that they’d need only him for as long as time existed. He’d thought them to be his personal little miracle, sent on this earth only to soothe his void, and now others- his blood family were now others- were surrounding them and talking to them and laying claim to their words and looks and smiles- and Albus was back to square one.

“Albus......look I’m here to-”

His teeth pressed against each other, hard enough to splinter. That voice shouldn’t be so familiar. Shouldn’t.

He had done such a brilliant job of acquiescing his non-existence till then. Couldn’t he humour him? Pretend not to know him? He’d done a rather fantastic job of it, up till date.

Perhaps, just to get over it, to quiet the roaring storm of his head and avoid everything, he might have just edged forward, sat on the corner of his seat, swallowed the food and said nothing for the entire duration. Just like any other Potter-Weasley dinner. But then, that idiotic mouth had to open, and Albus simply couldn’t find a good enough reason to keep it in, any longer.

“So, a writer, eh?” James said, Quidditch player James, mindblowing dueler James, darling of the spotlight James, noble Hero James, James-Sirius-Potter James. “Sell many, uh, books?”

The silence that followed, lade the air with strain, fragile enough to crack. And crack it did, shuddering into a million fragments.

“You think this is funny.” He almost didn’t recognise his voice, in the aftermath. It sounded too cool, too precise, to be his. “You think this is hilarious.”

It should be cracking, a reedy little thing belonging to a sixteen year old, because that was how he felt right now, rather than the first time he was facing down James Potter as a fully grown man. “If you’ve come here for amusement, and trifling.” For thinking you can hit a poor quip and shoot a crooked smile and we’ll all fall worshiping at your feet. Again. “Then I simply don’t have the time for this.”

Thank God he didn’t sit down, the chair would have made an awful creaking sound if he had and he’d had to stand up again, drawing back from the table. His plate, laden with a bare dollop of salad and no beef, made enough noise as it is, snatched from the countertop as it was, pinced firmly within fingers grown white. “Thank you for the food.” His voice told the general direction where Athena was still standing and he didn’t whirl in dramatics as he might have six years ago- but pivoted quietly in place and turned to leave. He spared no second glances at Teddy or Lily- he simply had voiced that which most were thinking anyway, and owed no apologies.

He’d be having dinner in his room, over his parchments and books and candles. Looked like nothing much had changed after all.

Lily had wanted this trainwreck to happen quickly so she could go back upstairs and finish the book she was almost finished reading. The food smelled great, certainly, but that had little effect on whether or not she was actually going to eat. The plan had been simple – she was going to wait for everyone to reveal their true colors and admit that they were never gonna be the big, happy Potter family the early newspapers had painted them as, and then she was going to skip dinner for a book and the rest of her Firewhiskey. It was a grand plan, and it seemed to be going well thus far.

But, as she saw it actually unfold, she was irritated to find that this was not how she wanted it to happen. She wanted Athena to get on Albus’ side so they could both feel rightful in ejecting James permanently from the home. James’ ego would kick in and he would announce that they could return at anytime to beg his forgiveness, before he disappeared to marinate in a nearby pub. Teddy would run from person to person in the attempts to make peace before being told unanimously that the help was unwelcome. Hurt, he would leave them alone for long enough to pretend like it had never happened. And, in the meantime, she would get plenty of sleep and reading in.

But it was unfolding improperly, and soon Albus had removed himself. She supposed she could do all of the damage on her own, but (like it or not) she needed the place to stay. Living with Teddy would mean she was expected to do better than she currently was, improve faster, try harder. Living with James probably meant starvation – which, while tempting, would prevent her from enjoying the few pleasures she still found in life. This was all going wrong.

So, she decided to do what she did best and surprise everyone. Athena would only upset Albus further, she was certain. The kids would not navigate the dangerous subject well enough. James would probably somehow get a fist fight between the two going. And Teddy looked miserable enough that Lily just wanted to spare him – it was not a practical move, to spare him, but one made out of love. It was, honestly, the least she could do.

She had taken a seat at Athena’s request, but now she stood, her chair squealing its protest. “I’ll get him.” It was an odd sentence coming from her. Here was the girl who had not managed to do anything for herself in the past weeks, and now she was offering to do something for the household. Teddy stared at her openly, and she was sure he was not the only one with the same feelings. Before anyone could count it strange, however, she left them all to their own devices, following Albus.

Teddy stared around the table. “Anyone… fancy some cocoa?”

She found him in his room – it had been the first time she had stepped foot in his room for… well, years. When she had moved in, she had never found reason to come in. And now she never found reason to even leave her room, let alone venture through her brother’s place. She leaned in the doorway, staring at her brother. A few moments passed before she finally decided to speak.

“If you don’t eat dinner with us, nobody is going to realize how funny my insults are. All of my classic Lily wit will be lost on them.” She did not speak with jest in her voice or her tone, keeping that dry humor that she had always had, the humor that, of all, Albus had seemed to appreciate most. For a second, she was almost acting like a good sister.

Even Rookwoods could stomach a dinner together. Even Rookwoods who in their Machiavellian style of rearing their family could play nice for half an hour and stretch to an hour for the sake of polite conversation. Rookwoods. People who jostled for hierarchy, to rise up through it, as though they were animals. It had to be. They had to be. Raghnall was not a man who would tolerate twenty years of pettiness. Perhaps twenty years of mutual desire to maim and kill - it was what bred competition in them - but he was loath to put up with the snarling little jibes. Here, in a house they wouldn't have all fit into with people who had a highly specialised and developed moral calibre, the pettiness didn't even have time to kick in verbally the proverbial olive branch had already been thrown out of the window, sans James but that would take a bit of time as the window was only small.

Swallowing a mouthful of salad, oddly tasty but not highly nourishing for a man whose taste for red meat had lingered on in this incarnation, James put down the fork again. But for a smattering of dressing at the tips of the Prongs, it looked untouched. He realised that if he put the chair back gently in its rightful place where the score marks didn't quite begin, it would too look untouched for the evening. Then if he turned, donned his coat and walked out through the front door, the same would be achieved. Perfect. Darling. Absence. Of him. With a click of a lock, a squeal of a zip and a few clapping retreating shoes on slick pavements, he'd be gone. Yet he lingered on, a spirit that wouldn't pass on, with a child on his knee fussing over chips and nonsensical items on the table.

Lily would go. It passed through Athena, that realisation, like the Bloody Baron would when she turned up late in the evenings of her sixth year having been up in the Ravenclaw tower with the latest chapter, the latest conquest. The cutlery grew slack in her grasp and her lips turned down at their scarlet sides. She listened to the light flutter of feet on the floorboards, all the evidence there was that Lily Potter was moving around and when the stairs began to whine balefully, Athena dropped the cutlery altogether, her disdainful eye finding no joy in the food spread out before her. The colours and smells were suddenly sickening. All of a sudden she was back in her leaky cell with a lump of stale, mouldy bread for company and faux nourishment. The children ate on, chipper and fortunately ignorant.

James picked up his glass of water, the veins in his hand popping out with the force of the action. The glass flinched a little but didn't splinter, his anger abating at the reminder that the weight in his lap was that of a delicate child. One that didn't need to be on the receiving end of any disputes. So he drank. One. Two. Three. Four gulps. The water was gone. He abandoned the glass back on the table top, all taste for the water disappearing uselessly within him. He wanted hops. He wanted barley. He wanted grapes. He wanted malt. Not this. Not hydrogen and oxygen. It wasn't enough. And merlin, he wanted a line of something, anything, to make him feel himself again.

"Can you take him, please?" He croaked miserably, looking over at Athena whose wide eyes registered his concern, yet did not concede to him. Two shakes of her head. No. No, I will not take him. You hold him. Anchor on an ebbing of course ship. He the anchor, you the ship. You hold him. Steady yourself.

"Please, Athena," he whined. Two further shakes. James reaffirmed his hold on the baby, steadying Archie in his lap, though it was no defiant action. Archie gurgled in response, shooting his fist up to James, the little hand stuffed with sweet potato.

"Cocoa?" Ceci perked up suddenly, her smile growing exponentially on her mouth. "Can we, Teddy?"

Athena didn't see any reason why not now. She herself wanted an excuse to leave and plot her revenge tactics on Jack Dyllan whose hair brained idea had been just that - hair brained and unachievable. Bizarrely enough, there wasn't enough Rookwood in these Potters to provoke civility. Or rather, not enough Black or Prewett or whatever pure blood family they stemmed from. Antagonistic though the Rookwood dinners were, all disputes were sorted out. For too long had they been separate and isolated, both from within the society they had stemmed from and from the one they had been brought into. They had no society, and thus, they had nothing. There was nothing to mediate the wrongs. Teddy’s good-intended attempts to do so ended in his own personal isolation. They didn’t want to know. Not really. None of them did.

“I should go,” James muttered miserably. “This was stupid.”

Sometimes, he wondered. For purely scientific reasons. How he would react if James died.

It wasn’t that shocking a thought anyway. For all these days, weeks, months.....had it been a year?- since his brother went missing, he could have been dead for all that any of them knew. For all that Albus knew.

He’d deny it, but sometimes on nights when his mind wandered from the words on the page, when his fingers stilled on guitar strings and paused to hear them resonate in the silence......he’d think. Think that maybe James had been discovered, somewhere, his guts ripped apart by some Dark curse wrought by a maniacal idiot who still wished to revenge the Dark Lord on their father; or maybe found cold and still in some ditch, alcohol fumes wafting to the air, face half buried in the mud- and no one had bothered to tell Albus. Forgotten it, maybe, in the confusion and the earth-shattering grief that must commence with the ignominious death of the great James Potter.

And that was why he still had a subscription to the useless rag that was the Prophet. Even if none but the deepest, darkest, smallest part of him would admit it. But for the past year.......for every single day, Albus had bought the morning, afternoon and special editions of the newspaper, and had gone through the obituaries.

He would have cried, that he was sure of. Whether of loss, or mind numbing relief; that he would never know.

But the news so fearfully expected never came. There were no big, black, bold headlines proclaiming the sadly premature death of the eldest son of Harry Potter. And there would have been. After all, for months before his disappearing act, when he was still somewhat in the public light, the papers had told Albus more about his brother’s life than James himself ever had.

Perks of being a Potter. Something in his mind said- very, very wryly, and Albus watched his teeth bare into a smile in the looking glass.

He placed a morsel of the salad onto his tongue, and rolled it around a bit, juices sinking into his tastebuds. Delectable. He personally preferred and made it a little lighter, and a bit more fragrant- but it was delectable.

The door creaked open.

It was Lily..........clever James. Did he realise that the only person who’d be able to coax Albus out of his defensive, reflex plaster of Paris mode was the younger sister Albus himself was trying to become family for again? Trying to make him aware of his own hypocrisy? Useless; Albus wasn’t trying to mend bridges with his sister. He hadn’t gone into her room after that day, with the cigarettes- Teddy was the one who did all the entreating. He hadn’t stomped into her house and blended in seamlessly with the people she considered her own and made jokes as if everything were alright. He wasn’t trying to make her like him, forget love. He knew she wouldn’t. Not if they shared a single gene in common. He wasn’t trying to smooth over relations and win her love- he was being there for her when she needed him. Giving her what she deserved. Not demanding anything in return. Not expecting anything in return.

James wasn’t like him though. Never had been- not even when they were little, and had been friends. It was a fact he had been painfully, starkly aware of all his life.

Lily surprised him though. “If you don’t eat dinner with us, nobody is going to realize how funny my insults are. All of my classic Lily wit will be lost on them.”

Eat here with me then. He didn’t say it. Of course he didn’t.

He might have taken the easy way out, replied back in as generously a dry tone on what a grievous loss that would be, no smart arse comments for an entire dinner; then smiled politely in a way that meant nothing and asserted his comfort in his own room. But this was Lily, and he had promised his honest, unmasked feelings, not empty words- even if it wasn’t love.

“We promised not to take any of his bullsh*t, anymore.” The swear left his tongue as quiet as a murmur, detracting nothing from effect. “Remember Lils?”

He laid the ceramic plate with the uneaten salad on the side table, gently, then let gravity have its way, back of thighs hitting the bed with a soundless thud. His head fell back, hair rustling against cotton pillow covers, back pressed straight into the mattress, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His hands drew up to fold themselves under the back of his neck, pillowing his head higher. He felt sixteen again, grounded in his room of his own jurisdiction. He wasn’t aware of his voice exiting his throat, of words colliding with the bland, empty walls. “It can’t be this easy. This can’t be this easy. I refuse to make it so.”

Then emerald eyes flitted to the side and pinned themselves to the girl standing by the door, and there was nothing adolescent about them.

“Tell him if he really wishes to bear the burden of being the only Potter who’s not a coward,” Albus’s lips parted sharply on the ‘o’, teeth closing quiet and tight on the final consonant. “Then he has to still his shaking knees and walk up here himself and have the guts to admit there’s something wrong in the first place.”

I’m f*cking tired of pretending.