Four Rookwoods, Three Potters, Two Desserts and One Goyle

If Lily had indeed been a godsister who believe in love and mercy, she would not have abandoned Teddy thus. He was a bit proud to see her taking initiative, but he was a bit worried that they would not be hearing again from the younger Potters. Perhaps when Teddy went to investigate, he would find the two completely sloshed, downing full bottle of whiskey. Or perhaps the room would be empty, and they would be off doing... whatever the two of them had in common, leaving Teddy to a dinner with children, an irritable woman, and an absentee brother.  

"Cocoa. Right." And he busied himself with the task at hand, managing to call out, "Please stay, James. A moment longer."

In all honesty, Lily had just wanted to get away from people who thought they had any right to give her commands. She did not mind being asked to contribute - she understood herself to be the burden she was - but she did not take lightly to assumptions that she was to be helpful. She had come with no objective in regards to Albus. Half of her did not give a shit whether or not he met with James. Why should they care when he had so obviously not? But the other half of her knew she would not be given a choice, and it would be great if her big brother could help her just a little by at least giving her an ally against James. Everyone else but the two of them were set on a big, happy family. She needed someone to help ensure her they did not remain deluded for long.

Lily did not often wonder what went on in her brother's head, for she was too distracted with the mess within her own skull, but now she could practically feel his thoughts. James had never been what Albus had needed, just as Albus had not been what she needed for so long. At one point, they had all been close. Albus had looked up to James, Lily looked up to both, and James had protected them and taught them what he could. And then time naturally changed the order of things. James grew an ego, Albus grew a bitter spirit, and Lily grew distant. Natural growth had nearly killed the connections of their family tree.

Albus wanted Teddy to show up in the doorway and announce James had gone for good. And yet she knew that would not make him happy either.

"Well, if we don't face him, then how will anyone know we're not taking his bullshit. If we avoid him, then we're peacefully coexisting with his bullshit."

He laid down and she watched him, still resting against the doorway. His words coaxed a scoff out of her mouth. "You're stupid - life is hard enough." The words meant nothing. The insult was not deep, nor were her words mean to mean anything, meant to stir him to any action. She was speaking to remind him that she was his little sister, and their brother was a shared burden. If he really wanted to not be a shit brother to her, he needed to join her in this, at the least.

His next words brought forth a much more sincere scoff. "You're the adult," she said sharply back, ignoring the fact that she too was seventeen. Hopefully, the comment would stir proud, pretentious Albus Potter back to his sanctimonious, more-mature-than-you self. Her eyes resting on him like lead, thoroughly unimpressed, she turned her head. "OI! Potter! Up here! Now!" She glanced back to Albus, strolling forward to plop on the edge of his bed. Once she was facing the door again, she muttered, "You're welcome."

“Let me help you then.”

The scraping of a chair being pulled out made Athena Goyle slowly lift her gaze from her son whom she’d been watching as he nibbled on a few carrots. She rested her chin on Augustus’ head and she watched as James lifted Archibald up, sitting him down onto his shoulders as he made his way over to aid Teddy in the hot chocolate endeavour. He started by opening up the cupboards, one hand holding onto Archie’s while the other opened and closed doors until he found the cups. He took them down, handing a small one to Archie much to the delight of the little boy and he smiled up at him briefly before focusing on watching what Teddy was doing.

It was almost as though that preoccupation with something – anything – else was keeping him level headed. It was as though in watching the chemistry of the cocoa being made James was having his thoughts taken off of the desires that were brimming in him, written all over his face in the lines that had appeared, the paleness that had melted away the olive hue that had always seemed to have suited him, leaving him only with downturned lips. His fingers were drumming a nonsensical beat on the counter, his eyes were primed, staring straight ahead, watching every movement of Teddy’s fingers, trained on even the slight twitch of the nerve of his wrist. Even that seemed like a potentially addictive compulsion.

When Lily’s voice called down from upstairs, James looked up. He seemed to have paled even further, as if it was at all possible and he stopped the idle bouncing of Archie’s hand that had been so enthralling to the baby and he hesitantly lifted him off of his shoulders, reaching down to set him on the floor. Archie immediately grabbed out for Teddy’s trouser leg and held out his cup, exclaiming “bisc!” because, of course, he needed it filled, Uncle Teddy, and he needed some biscuits to dunk in his drink. James stepped out from behind the counter and moved up through the kitchen, trailing his hand briefly across Athena’s which she had extended as a last piece of moral support.

He was on his own now. He wiped his hands across his jumper, tugging it down uselessly before pulling absent-mindedly at his collar. He swallowed heavily and twiddled his hands around the banister, pausing at the bottom of the stairs briefly before lifting his foot. He placed it on the first step, the said step giving an unnecessarily loud creak in response. Then he picked up his other foot and plopped it down and for a moment he stood there feeling rather foolish and rightly so for it occurred to him that had he been a better brother then he would have had to have dealt with this night. Had he been a better brother, however, perhaps he would have remembered what that meant.

So, steeling himself, James lifted his feet again and slowly began to climb the staircase, feeling along the grain of the banister as he did so, just in case his legs failed him or in case he needed to orientate himself quickly to turn and run out of the door and down the road to the pub where Jack had promised she’d be. He clung onto the banister at that though, however. He couldn’t leave. No, he had to do this, no matter how painful it was and no matter how nagging the thought was inside him that he was about to be ambushed. They were his family for heaven’s sake – they wouldn’t do anything to him. Were they, though? Were they even family anymore?

James’ form appeared out of the shadow of the upper hall, illuminated by Albus’ beside table lamp. A loose curl had fallen from the front of his hair and bled down his forehead. His eyes were cool and furtive, unsure where to sit. As he rested his shoulder against the archway he found himself glancing between his siblings before looking around Albus’ room. It felt familiar but he supposed it was because it was so very Albus – whatever that meant. He wondered if his own rooms, his living room, kitchen, bathroom and bedroom reflected himself as perfectly. Somehow he doubted it – especially given as he wasn’t entirely sure who he was.

“Hi,” he offered gently, his lips reaching for a smile that he couldn’t quite grasp. It slid away and he looked down at the carpet, folding his arms over his chest. He reached up after a moment and pushed his glasses up onto the top of his head. He smudged his lips together, waiting and wondering who was going to entreat first. He felt as though he was part of a standoff in the Wild West where he was the last native and they the cowboys. He wouldn’t be given much hope, he didn’t think – so he really had to just try and prevent himself from being slaughtered.

“I’m sorry, I’ve ruined your evening.” He began. “All I wanted to try and do was make things better and I get now that it probably wasn’t the best strategy but, to be honest, I’m not even sure what a strategy would be – let alone the best one. So, I’m going to go, probably, and, um… maybe write? Or, um, maybe we could go for lunch sometime in a few weeks or, I don’t know. I get that things are crap. I know that. But they shouldn’t be and I would really, really like it if it was different – if it was better-different, not worse-different and I’ve kind of made it worse-different, haven’t I?”

James smiled wryly, reaching to rub at the back of his neck awkwardly and he looked about for a few moments before dropping his hand back down, useless by his side.

“So I’ll, uh, leave you to it shall I? Because I can take a hint. Should’ve from the beginning I spose. Don’t… don’t hate Athena. Wasn’t her idea. Um. She really … only wanted to, uh, help. Nothing bad. I mean, I mean no harm. Like, I’m waving the figurative white flag,” he laughed a little. “But uhm. No, you should, uh… you guys shouldn’t be mad at her, be mad at me. That won’t be difficult will it?” His lips twitched a little at the sides and he looked down, bouncing his hands idly against his thighs as he waited to be dismissed.

No, that won’t be difficult at all.

"You're stupid - life is hard enough."

It was a queer sensation. There was a sudden spasm in his jaw muscles, an uncontrollable twitch, almost as if his lips had attempted to smile but the attempt had been aborted halfway, cut short abruptly. There was the annoyance of course, the spike of irritation at the blunt, almost disparaging declaration of his mental retardation, made in a tone that brooked no argument, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. But accompanying it was the flare of amusement, the little twitch of the lip, that didn’t quite know who it was laughing at. It wasn’t fond, not quite yet.........but it would soon grow to be.

This was the problem, really. They had been three excessively strong-willed people inhabiting the same house. Of course there was going to be friction. Clashes. But what turned it all from tiny childhood squabbles ranging from laughter to tears to adult arguments filled with stormy silences, was when the discord proved too strong for the love. Or maybe it had been the other way round. They always fought. Maybe the love had frayed in patches and had fallen through.

As James’ footsteps echoed on the stairs, Albus raised a hand and brought it down swiftly, fingers crunching into a palm. The Falcons poster on the patch of wall over the bed peeled itself off and drifted to the floor, an unassuming, unnoticed roll of paper crouching by the leg of his bed.

Then a stranger entered his room.

Albus hadn’t cared to look, all this while, or if one liked to be more specific, hadn’t found himself able to look without giving away the lone weapon he still possessed- composure. But it was a stranger, in a stranger’s clothes, wearing James Potter’s face and James Potter’s glasses, speaking strange words in James Potter’s voice. In the seconds that spanned little sister Lily reprimanding him for his childish grudge, and him finally entering the room- Albus had armed himself in a breath and felt steel coagulate in his heart, cold and inexorable, cold and unrelenting, cold and almost unforgiving. Except he couldn’t be cold about anything related to James, and as his eyes looked on uncomprehendingly at the stranger rubbing the back of his neck until it flamed red, and the image of his brother flicked the collar of his Quidditch uniform back carelessly over his clavicles behind his eyelids, he sat up in a sudden movement, air leaving his lungs and words spinning out irretrievably after it.

“What in the blazes is f*cking wrong with you?”

Because James was babbling. Really, truly babbling, and Albus didn’t make it a practice to close his eyes and fantasise, but for a minute he wished he were back in Fred’s office again, grinning at him in commiseration over sensitive women that made dramatic exits, heart brimming in content over the......people he had left behind at home. Except now he had stepped through to an alternate dimension where James was apologising and nothing, nothing made the blood run black in your veins, your composure crack and slide from sweaty fingers, bloody provoked you as much as a long lost enemy who had done you wrong, who you itched to fight with but wasn’t doing the courtesy of fighting back.  

He swung his legs over to the side, bare feet coming into contact with cold tile with a thump. His palms centred him and propelled him up, weight transferring and resting somewhere between his toes and heels. He rounded around the edge, moving towards the doorway, and came to a standstill a footstep away from his brother. James still had an inch over him.

“We...I. “ He stared at the bridge of his nose, at the spot right between two cloudy hazel eyes, measured and unflinching. “I don’t need your ill-rehearsed platitudes.”

Except of course he had been wrong. There could be something worse than the frustration brewed from someone refusing to give you a target to release your well-deserved resentment at. That something could clog his throat the second Athena’s name was taken from the last person on earth he had expected. It could make the skin on his forearms itch, his toes curl tightly into themselves in the shag weave of the carpet, his gut feel oddly compressed and empty. Air brutely forced its way past his teeth, his uncooperative legs backed up a step, and Albus smiled.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry.” Athena’s features shifted and shimmered before his eyes, caught in a myriad of emotions. Despondent. Hopeful. Shining with gratitude. “I wouldn’t dream of unloading my terrifying ire on her. She’s safe.” He backed another step, smiled wider, drenched in reserve. “Always the self-sacrificing hero, James.”

Who apparently now found it necessary to entreat on Athena’s behalf. Like he had a place to. Like he had a bloody right to. The tornado broke, and Albus couldn’t possibly hope to understand the whirlwind that had descended over his own mind, tossing and raging and drowning out all sound, only watch on as it indiscriminately tore down himself and all those who stood close by.

“Running away like a pansy doesn’t suit you, James.” Control came easy, so easy in the aftermath. Courteous and conversational, his voice was impeccable. “Lets behave like adults,” A momentary shift in glance towards Lily, swift as flame, and back, “-and discuss the problem maturely, shall we?”

He turned, and walked five paces up and down the length of the room, as easy as you please. The index finger pointed at Lily first. “She hates me.”

The right palm came over to rest above the left side of the chest, as if to make a heartfelt promise. “I hate you.”

A final turn, and he was at the farthest end of the room from James. “You- I still don’t have the slightest clue what you’re doing here. Yet beyond all logical explanation, we all stand here,” And they were too, at the three points of an invisible triangle etched in the room, “-within the walls of the same room. What measures do you suggest we apply to make things.......” He paused, the mildest of concern edging his words. “Uhm, ‘better-different’? Perishing of curiosity here.”

Albus almost smiled, almost admitted that she knew him well enough to appeal to certain sides of him, but his insistence to be miserable owned him. Lily knew this was exactly the problem with most people within the home, most people the Potters knew. At some point or another, they had all realized how beautiful life was and all had felt undeserving, unworthy. Everything else was now a play for repentance, a self declared punishment, and they were all too damn embarrassed to admit that it was their own damn fault. So they blamed each other. Lily had blamed Albus and James. And though she knew they had made mistakes and not done their brotherly duties, she refused to trick herself into believing the blame was solely on their shoulders.

Lily was pretty good at accept blame, really.

Her call hung in the air, and she got the most amusing visual of a timid James staring up the stairs like a cartoon deer staring down the barrel of a gun. The visual was aided a moment later by the hesitant creaks of stairs, and soon James had joined them. She did not move from her place in the doorway, and she did not greet him. She already had. She stared straight at Albus, her eyes on his. He had an ally if he wanted one, if he didn't do something stupid to lose her.

Why? Lily did not even know what she wanted to come of this interaction. She had been placed on the battleground, and her uniform did not match either side, and both seemed to have cause. Part of her just wanted to survive the crossfire. Another part of her had been stirred by the adrenaline of conflict, and now wanted to see some change for the better.

As James spoke, Lily could not help but year her eyes from one brother to the other, openly staring at James from behind like he was insane. Albus spoke and, while it wasn't polite, it was exactly what needed to be asked. It was becoming more and more clear to Lily that they had missed something. Even the way he stood was wrong. Less athletic, more effeminate, more uncertain. His voice lacked its bravado and confidence, his charismatic air had been replaced by one of nervous hesitancy. Something had changed. This was not James Potter.

But this poor stranger was at James' trial.

Albus got in his brother's face, obviously more courageous when facing this weakened version of his usual tough brother. Lily stepped forward, ensuring that she was standing next to her brothers, in the position of referee, though she might not stop a fight from happening - wait for both to weaken, then finish them both off. Kidding, of course, sort of. Albus seemed to think better of speaking for her, for which she was glad.

Lily's dark, deep eyes moved from brother to brother, taking everything in, trying to find the missing pieces that would change this puzzle into one more pleasing to look at. Albus spoke and spoke, and when he didn't speak, his expression told all. He was not having any of it. James was no match for his little brother anymore, that much was certain. But neither had ever been match for her, and once she figured it out, she knew the blow would end this for the night. She just had to pick it.

Albus brought her adult comment back to her and she scoffed, muttering more to herself than to anyone else, "Yes. Let's beat our chests like mature adults." Again, the sort of comment that would have once infuriated James and amused Albus. But they were now all too grown up for sincerity and humor.

And then Albus spoke for her. It was something he had always been careful of doing, as he had always been one of the few to understand her need to feel like an individual in control of her own thoughts and feelings. The other Potters had thought she had desires to be included more, but Albus had understood. Now, either out of ignorance or in his play to make a more dramatic point, he had broken that, shattered the alliance she had formed with him.

But it also brought out a good question? Did she hate him? She had, for awhile. She resented him. She didn't think of him as a brother most of the time. But she knew she loved him. And she knew she loved James. Not on the warm, fuzzy way - but in the way that made her feel saddled with them for life. She knew he would always be somehow involved in her heart or mind, whether or not she liked him, and that she chose to let him remain apart of who she was. And to her, that was a love much more important than like or dislike.

Was it possible to hate someone you loved?

He had finished his little tirade and she brought a fist up to her mouth, faking a weak little cough - Lily could even cough in sarcasm. Looking between both Potters, she asked "Perhaps I could interject here?" And, of course, she didn't wait for an answer. Her eyes fell on Albus.  "I liked it much better when you didn't speak for me. Let's go back to that system, okay?" She turned to James. "I don't hate Albus. I hated Albus, because I didn't understand him. He hates you, and tries to be indifferent to me, because he doesn't understand who he is to us." She glanced at Albus. "Two can play at this game. Also, you need to tone down the defense about four hundred percent. James on top form isn't clever enough to trick both of us and Teddy. I don't think this was a clever ploy for love - and if it was, why now? Merlin, use that obnoxiously overused brain of yours. Running away is a pansy thing. And James has always said he was allergic to pansies so that brings us to the questions that need to be answers before Jerry Springer, Potter edition." She turned to James, reaching up and pulling his chin so he was looking right a her. "What the hell happened to you? What trend you into this James? Why do I feel like at any second an alien is going to burst out of your chest?"

(OOC: This is soooooooooo naff, I'm sorry.)

There’s a curious little feeling that the English language has long lost a word for. It’s that feeling you get that’s somewhat outer worldly. It’s knowing that right before your eyes your life is falling apart. It’s knowing it, but being utterly powerless to stop it. Usually, you only feel that spiralling, sickening feeling perhaps once in your life. Being a Potter, being that very creature, it meant that you would always have more than your fair share of those feelings. Of that feeling. The feeling of utter helplessness, especially in the face of something that should not have evoked it.

I hate you.

They say hate is a close relative of love -- a fine line or some such bollocks. As a younger man, perhaps James Potter might have rolled his lips, curling out his words in some illusion to that belief. He would lean on something, arching his pretty little eyebrows, and he’d smirk, his eyes alight with provocation, with life, with belief that he was right. Just as then, now he opened his mouth but no sound came out. His eyes were a cloudy mess of basic, human emotion. He didn’t have any words. There were no words to express this feeling.

I can try and find some for you though. D’you know what James felt? He felt a tightening of his chest. His lungs felt scratchy. His hands grew sweaty and his throat constricted. His body started to grow hot and cold, changing as though someone was flicking a switch and his shoulders trembled, his hands unsteady by his sides, as he stared at his brother. Tears had formed imperceptibly at the sides of the hazel gaze as he beheld the emerald ones that stared back at him so full of fire, so full of pain.  

“Albus…” he whispered, “please … you…”

James closed his eyes. Lily spoke. Then, her hand was at his chin. His eyes flew back open. Found hers. His chest heaved, his lips parting to let free the ragged breaths that jumped through him. His heart thundered, his head pounded and he wrenched himself roughly out of Lily’s grasp. His gaze narrowed as he brought his hand up to his chin, rubbing across it, then across his head.

“I’m sober, Lils,” he exhaled, slipping from his usual preference to call her by her full name, sans nicknames. “I am sober and I’m fucking miserable.” He laughed wryly, standing a little taller, opening up his chest cavity. For a moment he almost looked like himself again. For a mere slither of time he was that James that had stood in the Leaky Cauldron having gotten into a brawl out of sport. Because he was cocky, big headed, and believed in himself. His belief here was no less resolute. He was sober. He was miserable. Yet he was here.

“And I love you. Both of you.” He admitted softly. “And when I said I wasn’t going when something was resolved I meant it because I want to be a part of your lives as your brother not someone you… you resent so very much. I want to make up for everything… please. Just, let me. Let me try and make it up to you. I…”

James didn’t want to turn it into a sob story. But they needed to understand, didn’t they? They needed to get it. To see it. He felt like he was wasting his breath, though.

“I got obliviated,” he said with a heavy sigh. “When I woke up, they detoxed me, got me sober. It feels like a do-over. I work in the Department of Mysteries. I’ve got a dog. What I’ve neglected to do is try and make things better with someone other than Fred and he… doesn’t believe it’s really me so it’s been a struggle. I’ve had to find me again and I’m not who I was before. So I’m trying. I want to make things better between all of us. I have been a terrible brother and I don’t want … I don’t want to be that guy anymore.”

Please. Just. Don’t hate me. Please.

How.

How did they find it so bloody easy?

So ridiculously easy for them, to toss four letter words around like it was nothing. Worse, they weren’t even being friggin’ whimsical about it. They meant it. Every single bit of it.

You went up to them and asked them about it too. ‘How? Why? How do you love me?’

And they’d look back at you, brow clouded over in confusion if it was James, a generous eye roll if it was Lily. The answer would stay the same. ‘Because you’re family.’

And you’d stare back at them, helplessly. And they’d regard you like an idiot, to fail to understand something so integral, so simple. Something which even children understood with complete ease. Something no one ever bothered to explain.

‘Because you’re family.’

Gryffindors. The sixteen year old’s voice inside him scoffed, a little fondly, a little wearily.

For Albus, it had never been that simple.

Oh, he got it alright. It was some sort of universal rule, inscribed somewhere in the Great Laws That Be, that a mother adored her own child and a brother loved those who shared his own blood, and a son wept for the death of his father. He understood he was supposed to worry when his little sister started mixing around with the wrong sort and ruined her academics, and supposed to love his mother’s cooking more than anything else in the world, and supposed to love his brother and look up to him with the fierceness of a thousand suns. Supposed to.

He tried. He really did. His heart did race to unparalleled speeds when he’d discovered that blotch of blood splashed over the willow branch just before he’d found Lily, a flash of cold had congealed in his gut when one James Patterson’s obituary had been published in the evening Prophet a midsummer ago, and he’d never be able to look at a broom again without remembering his mother. But when Lily had knocked on his door several weeks ago, blank eyes and thin form curling uncooperatively on the couch- he’d made one initial attempt, then desisted, even though sass didn’t put him off as much considering she’d F*** learned it from him. James hadn’t crossed his mind for several weeks when he’d passed through his porch today. God, Lily interjected in the conversation with flashing eyes just a second ago, thanking him not to speak on her behalf..........and he’d grown so fixated on James that for the last five minutes, he’d forgotten that she wasn’t a child. He’d forgotten that she served any other purpose in this room but to prove his point.

In Albus Potter’s messed up heart, people weren’t beholden to love by the blood they shared with him, unlike any other normal person in the world. No one was beholden to his love by anything. Oh he’d smile at them alright. He’d incline his head, and listen to their secrets, and offer a comforting word, and maybe even a comforting hand, or a Galleon, or a wand for the cause. But that wasn’t his love.

Maybe this was why people mistook him to possess the same altruism that his father did. Because they knew that if pushed, in the right circumstances, he’d help anyone and everyone regardless of who they were. They thought that elevated the status of all men in his heart. They failed to see that it actually degraded them all. Because he’d do it for anyone.

At the same time, hatred wasn’t the same as indifference. Hatred, resentment, hurt........whatever you’d call it, but Albus felt something for James Potter, and as long as that something still existed, the elder would occupy a place in his heart. And he felt guilt for Lily, if not love- and that would do. It would do.

But Albus wasn’t aware of any of the above. He was only aware of a strange, belated, almost detached sense of numbness......the one that comes in the aftermath of great shock. The one that plunges over your head like a cresting wave, fills your ears with water and sets them ringing like old, distant bells at toll. The kind that makes your kneecaps quiver, and wonder absently which way was up and down, and wiped your mind blank like an uncreased sheet of paper and filled your chest to the bursting till Albus felt like laughing and laughing until the world shattered to a million fragments around him.

“I got obliviated..........It feels like a do-over................... I work in the Department of Mysteries..........make things better with someone other than Fred and he…..”

Fred. Albus had thought his cousin liked him now. Fred. James. Lily. Athena. Too many people. Too many people. Albus hadn’t even realised when his heels had knocked against the clawed leg of the bed from backing up one step too many, when the light had grown too bright and had started pricking at the corner of his eyelids. Behind them, Lily smirked her glorious smirk and her pert, button-like features morphed to those of Mum’s, who laughed heartily and swung her fire-red mane over her shoulder and Jack’s face peeped out from behind them, stubborn chin dimpling under the force of the smile and too many people.

His chest was shaking. With silent laughter, Albus realised, or something of its ilk; and drops of moisture were gathering at the corners of the hazel eyes he was watching -and oh Merlin he couldn’t believe it, that was James, and yet not James, not James at all- and Albus F*** wheezed with laughter because it was typical, wasn’t it? That even after being robbed of all that made him James, his elder brother would have trumped him so spectacularly, won the fight so easily, almost like he was smirking at him from the beyond and Albus was a kid clenching his fists and stamping his feet and asking- Obliviation? Seriously? If it weren’t such a ludicrous thought, he would almost have thought James had done it deliberately; it was so him, to find a way to make Albus want to rip his hair from the follicles with the frustration in spite of everything, absolutely helpless.

His breath returned to normal, his laughter finally stilled, and the cause of his amusement was so macabre that it was hilarious. He was helpless.

“You can’t love me.” Was the first thing he voiced after it was all over, almost kind. “You don’t know me.”

He straightened up, the lines of his face smoothening, and Albus couldn’t have known it, but the almost neutrality of that expression, its coolness- stung more than any slap across the face could have. The reason being he wasn’t speaking to James Potter now, he was speaking to a stranger, and somehow, inexplicably, that was worse.

“You’re right,” He said, eyes scanning unreadably over still, still painfully familiar features, that unruly hair, that straight sloping nose that belonged to them both. “You’re not who you were. You don’t have to make up for anything. You’re not a terrible brother because......”

You’re not him. If you had been....... And there was something strange, inexplicably tight curling around his gut at the thought. ..you’d never have bothered to come back.

“..because you aren’t my brother.”

And that was exactly what this stranger wanted, forgiveness that wasn’t his served up to him on a platter- but somehow, it smelt like condemnation.

James tore himself away, in a motion much more violent but less permanent than the last time he tore himself from their lives. Lily no longer cared about that. She did not know what she cared about anymore, especially in regards to her f*cked up family. She wanted the truth, and she wanted normality. That was what was so frustratingly stupid about all of them. They had all claimed they wanted to just be normal. That was what Lily had grown up on. 'We just wanted to be treated like normal people. Not like we're special. Just normal people.' But James wanted to be the best Qudditch player the world had seen, and Albus wanted to be the smartest man alive. Lily had never understood. They were exasperated by those who treated them specially, and they were agitated by those who did not recognize their genius. Lily supposed she had never wanted to be normal. She had just never wanted to be a Potter first.

He was sober. Lily glanced to Albus, lifting an eyebrow as she muttered, "More than we can say about me." Of course, James had no idea of that, and she did not see why he needed too. Not yet. She was not one to hide things, but she also wasn't ready to start going to meetings and working on twelve steps. So why get him all excited about bonding in that way, or worried about getting her to jump on the sobriety wagon? And again - she really did not want to get sober yet. She still had some of her own drowning to do.

She needed to shut up. Her instincts kept telling her to relieve the tension, the Weasley in her uncomfortable by any expression of emotion or vulnerability. She kept opening her mouth for the sake of filling the silence between them, as there had been silence for too long. She was acting like a very cynical version of her godbrother, really. And, as much as she loved Teddy, he was too soft to solve the rough issues of the Potter siblings. He was too full of familial love for them to understand why getting along was so hard for them. She needed to be Lily Potter. Not Teddy Lupin.

Lily glanced to Albus as James admitted the reason behind his absence. In an instant, she believed him. It explained too much, it fit the bill, and it was not the sort of thing that James would make up. But what were they supposed to do with that? They were not the sort to just allow for a do-over, forgive and forget. There was too many other sins that had never been addressed, and all could not be forgiven for the sake of one accident, right? It wasn't fair on James, but there was no avenue that was fair for the younger Potter siblings, either. And, well, they all know that life was a b!tch.

Any desire to break the silence was lost by her inability to say something that would do any good. She did not know what to say.

So she looked to Albus, who was not exactly her closest brother anymore, but was definitely not as much a stranger. It was hard to reconcile, looking at the two men, that any of them were actually her brothers, that she shared DNA with either of them. She could see cheekbones that looked familiar, a similar eye color, a matching chin. But they seemed like random coincidences, not actual connections, not threads that tied them all together. Somehow, they were complete strangers and yet the two people she understood the best.

They all needed a good dozen sessions with a family psychiatrist.  

Albus did not say what Lily wanted him to say. His words hung in the air, and she knew that they could not be taken back. Even if she could snatch them back, Lily did not think she would be able to with a certainty of mind. There was something true in everything he said. And her positivism was slowly being quenched by the reality Albus was presenting. And her youth did not give the solidarity of mind she wanted. She was torn between two brothers who were both somehow right and wrong at the same time.

She turned to Albus. Her eyes were cold, and she was practically a mirror of the middle Potter sibling. The mask he always put on every morning somehow seemed to fit her better - she had grown into his hand-me-downs. And for one second, as she held his eyes, she prepared him for what she was about to say. Because she knew it was horrible, but she was not going to feel bad about it either. She meant every word of it.

"Knowing you doesn't make it any easier to love you, Albus."

She took a step back, looking at both of her brothers with dull eyes. "None of us are exactly brothers or sister to each other. But we're still family - genetically, if anything. And that means if at least one of us is at all capable of not being a horrible little shit, than the others share those genes. And we can at least start there." She shook her head. "So can we just f*cking stop with the you-ruined-my-childhood bullshit. I was there. If I recall, no one died, except mum and dad, and we were supposed to not pay them back by being rotten to each other. We're each given a few people in our lives who are supposed to love us know matter what. We already lost two of them. Let's stop being prats."

She crossed her arms. "Or let's keep doing it, change our names, and never talk to each other again. I'm tired of the in between. It's stupid."

“I might not be your brother,” James replied tersely, “but you’re still a right foul git, you know that?”

There was something to be said about the Weasley temper. Coupling that with the slightly less than welcoming traits of the Potter household then you made for a rather potent bunch of people. Hindsight, ever twenty-twenty, should have told those who had conspired to bring them together not to do so. Nevertheless, here they were, the three Potters, ruinous than ever. Even if James wasn’t the same, the combustion was still there. It was part of what made them all siblings – that inability to know when to stop.

“And,” James went on, adhering to this dismal trait, “if you could be bothered to get off of your high horse and give me a chance then maybe I would be your brother.”

Lily seemed to be the voice of reason but James, clenching his fingers into his palm, feeling his nails slice into the skin, he couldn’t find it within himself to simmer down. He wanted to force the issue, regardless of sense. He wanted to be a part of their lives but he felt as though he was a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. He felt as though his shape had changed and the place where the old James Potter puzzle piece should’ve gone didn’t quite work with him anymore. He had changed. The puzzle remained the same.

“I’m not trying to be a prat,” James stated, folding his arms over his chest, his gaze never leaving Albus despite acknowledging Lily’s words. “I want us to be a family again. It won’t be the same and it won’t be the ideal but I’m damned if I’m not willing to try. I want you in my life. I want to make up for where I failed you.”

Where? Everywhere, he knew. He shouldn’t have given into the hype. Yet, at the same time, he could rationalise it somewhat. He’d been a teenager – scared, half-orphaned and without a mind for any of the responsibilities real life was affording him. In lieu of accepting them he’d taken a different route entirely. He’d become the willing poster boy for the Wizarding World – the hero that fell into the huge shoes that Harry Potter had left behind him. It would be madness to suggest he’d fulfilled that role. But he’d tried. Lord knew he tried. It was for naught though, ultimately, when he’d lost everyone he loved.

Even those who he’d clawed back, they didn’t trust him. Fred doubted his very existence sometimes – or, at least, such was the look in his eyes. It was as if he was waiting for the charade to fall, for James to wander back to Quidditch, return to his harem and pick up where he left off. There was no charade. There was no Quidditch for the man who was now ironically petrified of heights. He didn’t want a harem. He hadn’t rolled around in the sheets with someone for knocking on six months – if not eight or nine. It wasn’t a life he knew how to lead – though he did know he hated the jumpers he persisted in wearing.

“I love you,” James repeated. “Both of you. And you can renounce me as much as you like, Albus, but at the end of the day I. Am. Your. Brother. I’m your flesh and blood and I’m not demanding respect I’m demanding a chance. I want to make a better go of this. But if not, then fine. Fine.” James threw up his hands. “Fine.”

But Lily was right. She was so right. This was an insult to everything they’d been left behind but at the end of it, it wasn’t up to him. James knew in his gut he could make good what he’d mucked up so badly in his relationship with Lily. He felt like he could do that with – not ease but something at least. He could do it. With Albus it was a different ball game entirely. The cards, the best ones at least, were all in his hands. Bugger.