Not Left To Wander

He had received the letter before the normal owl post this morning at breakfast. Post from home was usually very sparse, but he had recognized the Potter crest instantly. James's breath caught in his throat; this could either be mildly boring, or very bad.

Wiping his hands on his trousers, he frowned at the amber brown owl sticking its leg out petulantly as if he had better places to be. Slowly he untied the letter, and the bird flew off. James noticed Remus staring at the letter curiously, and James slid it under the table, not truly wanting any questions to be asked.

"Sorry mate," James mumbled. "I just... er...." But Remus nodded his head knowingly and shrugged, and turned to Peter to make conversation, distracting him from looking James's way. James knew he was lucky enough that Sirius had decided to sleep in late or else he'd demand he should get to read it first, seeing as how he liked James's parents more than James probably did himself, and therefore was entitled to anything they had given their ickle son.

But, as it was that Sirius was snoring, Peter was oblivious, and Remus was a far better friend that James had probably ever given him credit for, he turned his back to the table and slowly pulled off the wax seal to the letter inside.

It simply read:

James,

I wanted this letter to reach you before the post - especially the Daily Prophet - had reached you, as I didn't want you to find out by skimming the morning paper.

Your mother, Aunt Beatrice, and Uncle Edward were killed last night in an attack outside London, at a portkey station. If ever I find those bloody cult members myself there won't be any pieces of them left to send to Azkaban. I'm so sorry, son. I'm a bit tied up here at the moment, as I'm sure you understand, so I apologise for not coming to see you directly.

Keep safe.

W. Potter

James sat stunned, his mouth agape, a ringing noise filling in his ears. His father was a kind man, but was sometimes ignorantly blunt; of all the times... would a little sensitivity kill him?

He almost laughed out loud at his own stupid joke, but the air caught in his throat and he choked back a sob. His mother. Dead. He couldn't even fathom it, couldn't even believe that something so absurd was written on the parchment in his hands. All the color drained from his face; he turned the parchment around helplessly to see if there was some sort of hidden message on the back, something to explain this sudden punch in the gut, or even a small note scrawled on the back telling him what a stupid berk he was for falling for it.

Nothing. No note, no insult, nothing. He felt like he was drowning, grappling for a hold, but finding nothing to cling to.

There was supposed to be nothing out of the ordinary this morning; he had got up, threw a book at Sirius to help wake him up, got dressed, came down to the Great Hall, and was now eating breakfast, and then would be off to class. You just don't get death letters on mornings like these. He reread it, each word becoming branded into his mind. Bloody cult members, his father had said. James thought he was about to be ill. Surely not that great big loony who called himself Voldemort and his followers...? This was madness. Absolute madness.

His vision was swimming and the air around him was closing in. If he didn't get out of the Great Hall now he was sure he'd do something he'd regret, like cry like a stupid girl, or obliterate the table to splinters. Angrily he wiped his eyes, gathered his things, and strode quickly out the door, almost feeling Remus's gaze boring a hole through his back. It didn't matter. They would probably find out soon enough.

He walked numbly all the way to the Charms corridor, a heavy weight settling in his chest, and slumped against the wall next to the door. No one was here yet and wouldn't be for a while, which was fine; he was in desperate need of some silence.

Half an hour later, he had mumbled his good morning to Professor Flitwick, trudged to his usual seat in the back row "reserved" for the Marauders, and forced himself to look apathetic, even though he wanted nothing more than to find those responsible and curse them into the distant oblivion. Students trickled in, and eventually Remus, Peter, and an extremely disheveled Sirius came into the doorway. They took their seats, without a word. He didn't look at them. He couldn't. Remus had surely told them something - how great in detail James didn't know - but as the minutes ticked by the silence between them became grating and horrible. It was so ridiculously obvious that they knew, and James's facade was beginning to slip and he felt himself start to tremble with anger--he wished they would say something, anything, to break this stupid silence.

It was then, however, that Flitwick had the nerve to start the lesson. James let out a breath and slouched back in his seat, knowing he would be unable to concentrate, and succumbed to staring blankly at the wall behind the Professor.

***

It was well over an hour before the lesson finished, and James's mood hadn't improved in the slightest. As he slung his bag over his shoulder, he noticed his friends gazing at him almost expectantly.

"What?" he said shortly. They all fidgeted slightly, except for Sirius, who looked stark-white and averted his eyes from James. This wasn't easy for them, and James knew that; still, he refused to acknowledge it. Death wasn't exactly Marauder material, and anything sentimental was drowned out in the occasional firewhisky, or converted into the aggressions that could be taken out during the full moon run. It was a rift in their boyhood current and left them feeling vulnerable. It was Real Life in which Real Things happened with Real Consequences. And, for teenage boys, it left them in between a rock and a hard place.

"Listen, mate," mumbled Peter. "We read the Daily Prophet."

"Well done," James retorted. "You are so very clever. Reading, and all that."

"We're really sorry to hear--to hear about your... mum," said Remus hesitantly, ignoring James's last comment. Sirius said nothing, but gave an almost imperceptible nod. "I don't suppose... well, that is to say--is there anything? I mean, that we could... you know...." James did know and gritted his teeth, and, not knowing why, felt a sudden anger rise in him.

"Anything?" he asked acidly, darkly, quietly. "Anything? Well, yes, come to think of it, there might be something. Give me one damn good reason why I shouldn't walk out the bloody front door right now and find those bastards, those damned people who-- " He stopped abruptly and swallowed hard. A silence reigned around the four boys; the rift was taking them places where they were unwilling to go and so, without another word, James walked out of the classroom, leaving the other three to pick at their robes and chew on their lips and wonder what in the hell they were exactly supposed to do.

The thing, Remus mused later, about James's anger (however infrequent it was seen) was that it was contained. It was a mass that surrounded him and him alone, and he would not, maybe for the sake of refusing to bother others or wanting to hide it, Remus didn't know, necessarily want to make it known. It was a calm, slow-burning anger, and all the more potent.

But James was not reckless, he knew that too. And as much as they wanted to help, they knew James wouldn't let them; it would be best to let him smolder silently until his anger reduced to an ember.

***

James strode purposefully down the halls, up the stairs, and through the corridors, his jaw muscles working furiously the whole time. "Jobberknoll," he hoarsely told the Fat Lady, who, upon noticing his disposition, swung open without a word, and he clambered inside. He threw his bag on the floor and let himself fall into an armchair by the fireplace. There was no point of even going to lunch; he wasn't hungry and he most definitely did not want to talk to anyone, most preferably for the rest of his life. He could not even fathom how utterly perverse this was, walking through the school corridors, attending lessons, considering eating lunch, while his mother and aunt and uncle lay dead, somewhere, and he was not there with them. He glanced outside the window and saw blue sky and wondered, only for a fleeting moment... what if he should fly his broom down to London? It wouldn't take him that long, what with his new Nimbus....

No, he contemplated. Absurd. Even if he did, what would that accomplish? He couldn't save his mother and the others, and it would be downright idiotic to go looking for the murderers, no matter how his skin crawled for action and his blood thumped in his ears.

Without really wanting to, he slowly pulled the letter from his bag, but did not unroll it. Instead, he fingered tattered edges of the parchment, his jaw clenched at the thought of the words bound inside, and stared out the window unblinkingly.

Well, Potter, he thought. Just what are you going to do now?

He had, in all truth, not one idea.

***

The day continued more or less the way it had begun, James stumbling to each class glassy-eyed and oblivious to most of everything going on around him. Peter, Remus, and Sirius helped as best as they could, which wasn't much, considering James had been trying to avoid them as well.

Finally, at the end of classes, James walked slowly up the stairs from the dungeons of Slughorn's Potion class. Fortunately it was strictly a theory lesson today, otherwise he would have blown up his cauldron, or, better yet, simply let himself drown in it. As he passed the front hall (completely disregarding dining in the Great Hall for supper), he noticed a small group of people gathering, and, as he began to turn to the staircase that would eventually lead to the Gryffindor tower, he wondered idly what was drawing the attention.

It was then that he saw the red hair, like a beacon, in the middle of it all.

Completely forgetting every single emotion that had strangled and dragged him through the day, he hurried over to the crowd, his knuckles clenched white.

"--need to say anything, Evans," Snape nearly spat at Lily.

"You do, I'm afraid," Lily replied coolly, her wand held aloft. A young Ravenclaw girl stood beside her, nearly trembling from head to toe, and looking for all the world as if she wanted to be anywhere in the world but there.

"I know what you're playing at," said Snape, his lip curling. "And you're a fool for doing so." Lily just raised her eyebrows.

"You really think so?"

"I know so. You think you're so clever, so noble, playing the go-between like you actually care," Snape said in an accusatory tone.

"And I'm sure you are oh-so clever yourself, aren't you?" Lily retorted. "The next time you decide to challenge inter-House unity, make sure there isn't a Prefect around first."

"You're a fool," Snape repeated maliciously, ignoring Lily's comment. "What you fail to realise is that your absurd attempts are as worthless as you are, and nothing, not even your esteemed crackpot Dumbledore, can stop Him, you filthy Mudblood!"

There was a collective rumble from those who surrounded them. Everyone gasped, their mouths hung open slightly, amazed at the nerve from one Severus Snape. Everyone, except James.

With a snarl of rage, he pushed through the small gathering, and planted himself in between Snape and Lily, fists raised, disregarding the thought of even using his wand. Snape looked momentarily caught off-guard, but quickly regained his composure, looking at James with utmost loathing.

"So help me Merlin himself, if you don't apologise as if your very life is at stake, I will make it so," James said darkly, filled with rage.

"Potter, I don't need your--" Lily started in a shaky yet defiant voice, but James cut her off.

"You do. I don't care what you say; I'm not letting this pathetic excuse of sniveling grease talk to you, or anyone that way."

"Hit a nerve, did I, Potter?" sneered Snape. "How unfortunate; you'll see soon enough just where her--" he flicked his dark eyes over to Lily, smirking, "--unity gets her." James took a menacing step forward, making Snape cower backwards.

"If you do anything--"

"It won't be me who's doing anything, you idiot, and you can be sure that anyone who gets in the way of what has to be done will come to the same fate."

"How dare you threaten anyone, especially right here on Hogwarts grounds!" Lily said furiously, now stepping into the conversation. "I ought to report you direct to Dumbledore himself--"

"Like that would do any good," replied Snape lazily, thoroughly enjoying their helpless anger. "Not even he can stop what's been--" he cut himself short as if he had just remembered something. Slowly, a horrible, malevolent smile stretched across his face, and he turned to James.

"Of course, you would know, wouldn't you," Snape simpered, barely containing his glee. "Though I don't suppose there's nothing you could do about it. You can't run to your Mummy for every little thing."

No one even saw James move to reach for his wand. It was at Snape's forehead in an instant; he cried out as he fell backwards on to the floor. James stood unmoving above Snape, his wand still pointed at his head. The intensity in James's eyes made Snape clamp his mouth shut on instinct, if only for a brief amount of time.

Other than James's laboured breathing, everything became suddenly silent and still. No one dared to move, not even Lily; everyone stared, waiting for some kind of explosion.

But it never happened.

"If I ever," James began slowly, in a deadly low voice, letting the emphasis of each word hit the air with a penetrating fury, "hear anything as stupid as that come out of your mouth again, you won't even have the pleasure of regretting what you said. And don't you ever even consider threatening Lily again, you worthless bloody git."

For a moment it was silent again, and then quite suddenly he turned around, making Snape jerk with involuntary fear, and made his way to the front door. Snape watched motionless, and then his face contorted from fear to a seething anger, and he pulled himself up from the ground.

"You coward!" he cried. "You coward! Come back and finish what you started!"

But James did not turn around.

***

As autumn was slowly waning and winter found itself in its place, daylight, too, was becoming more scarce. Though only mid-dinnertime (the Marauders found that their stomach was a better timekeeper than any clock), the sky was beginning to darken into a orange and gray haze. Leaves fluttered about around James's feet, and he crunched through them with a furious pace. In all his years, he didn't think he had ever felt so angry, so helpless, and, of all things, so intimidated by Snape.

Snape. James stopped for one brief second to kick a nearby tree. He knew. He knew. And probably not just the Prophet's version of it all. To have Snape dangle that knowledge right above James, just out of reach, was more than he could bear.

A rustle in the trees behind him brought him suddenly out of his thoughts. He looked around, a bit surprised as to where his feet had brought him. Then again, perhaps not; he was probably in the Forbidden Forest more often than Hagrid, the gamekeeper.

He stood stock-still for a few long moments, taking in the silence, and tried very hard to let his anger dissipate. But the longer he stood, the more frustrated he became; he raked his hands through his hair, hating everything about Snape and Slytherins, and growing up, and the utterly helpless feeling pervading his gut, and his mother, aunt, and uncle for not being quicker, or more aware of their surroundings, and everything in between. He needed an outlet, he needed something, he needed....

A thought entered his head, and flowed through him like the calm of the ocean. It was so obvious it was absurd, what with him being in the middle of the Forbidden Forest anyway.

And so, he closed his eyes and concentrated, and quite suddenly a great stag stood where James had been.

He tossed his head, feeling the weight of the antlers, and felt his anger and fear melt away like the remnants of a dream. The only thing he was concerned with now was freedom, and running until his legs gave way.

***

It was a considerable amount of time later before Prongs trotted back to where a school bag lay on the ground. He snorted and gazed up through the trees, not yet wanting to revert back to petty things such as schoolwork and revisions; not only that, but it was by far much easier to ignore the events of today. But it was getting late, and if he didn't hurry, Filch would lock the doors of the castle for the night. He definitely did not want to explain that to the Headmaster.

James shifted back, feeling collected and quite at peace. He picked up his bag, and, after a moments pause, rummaged through his bag and triumphantly pulled out his Invisibility Cloak. He had hastily stuffed it in there a few nights previous after a nightly run to the kitchens and fortunately had yet to put it back in his trunk. The Map was still up in the dormitory, though; he would just have to be extra alert.

Pulling it over himself, he walked up to the front entrance of the castle, and very, very slowly opened the door. He went silently up to the Gryffindor tower, avoiding every creaky, invisible, and sinking step along the way, and was quite relieved when he reached the sleeping Fat Lady.

"Jobberknoll," he whispered, pulling off the Cloak.

"Of course, dear," slurred the Fat Lady sleepily, and the portrait opened. James grinned to himself as he stepped inside. Not a soul would know where he had been.

Or so he thought, before Lily Evans looked up at him from a sofa by the window, irritation shown clearly on her face.

"Potter," she growled, slamming her book shut, and rounding on him. "Where, might I ask, have you been?" James stood surprised, his mouth opening and closing, but he could not seem to get his voice to work. Could she have been waiting for him?

"I--what?" he tried.

"Really, now, it's not that hard of a question. You almost didn't make curfew." James scowled, not exactly in the mood for patronizing.

"'Almost' doesn't really count, Evans. I'm here, aren't I?"

"You've got a leaf in your hair."

James froze. Slowly his hand went to his head. He found the leaf and pulled out the leaf, mussing up his hair in the process.

"So I did," he replied nonchalantly, moving towards the boys dormitory. "Thank you so much for your services. Well, g'night."

"Which means," Lily said, ignoring him and moving to block his way, "You've been outside." James rolled his eyes.

"Your logic is astounding. I do hope you've learned more than that here."

"Where were you?" Lily asked, ignoring him once again.

"Does it matter? I just wanted some fresh air."

"Four hours worth?"

"Yes. The air and I, we're good mates. And now, I want to sleep, so if you'll excuse me--"

"James...." she said carefully, suddenly not wanting to meet his gaze. For his part, James was nearly floored. In all his years here at Hogwarts, he didn't think he had ever heard her use his first name, save the beginning of first year, maybe. He held his breath.

"I--well... I saw the--the Daily Prophet, and--"

James closed his eyes, feeling his heart sink to his feet. This was something he most definitely did not want to discuss right now, especially with Lily. Even more than that, he did not want a heaping a pity.

"--and I just wanted to tell you that I'm really s--"

"Don't," James cut in through gritted teeth. "Just... don't. I don't want to hear it." Lily's brows knit together, and she looked a bit put-out.

"Well, don't think that I--"

"Listen, Evans. I've had a really long day, all right? And right now all I want to do is sleep, and the only thing preventing me from doing that is you." He began toward the dormitory staircase.

"Well, pardon me for showing a little concern!" said Lily, now confused to the point of frustration. James whipped around, not quite believing what he was hearing.

"Concern? Since when have you ever shown any concern for me?! It would be right foul of you to hate me all these years, and then quite suddenly change your mind about things. I don't want your pity, if that's all you're trying to give!"

"Not pity," she replied coldly. "Just... concern."

"Right," he muttered bitterly. "Concern. Right." An uncomfortable silence fell between them both, though neither made any move to leave the room.

"You didn't have to do what you did today, you know," Lily said finally, sounding less acerbic.

"Yeah, well," James replied, looking anywhere but at her. "He's a git. Deserves to be hexed into next term."

"But you didn't."

He turned to look at her, her calm, observant, and - oh Merlin help him - wonderfully beautiful face, and gave a hint of a smile.

"No," he said. "I didn't."

"I have to tell you, though," Lily said grinning, "he was absolutely furious. Even more so than if you would have hexed him, I think." At this, James had to laugh.

"Of course. That would be it, wouldn't it? All this time we've had it backwards. All he needed was a... a stern talking to." Lily tried to hold her face impassive, but then she too began to laugh.

"Genius," she said, trying to press her lips together to keep from laughing, but to no avail. "Goodness. You lot have a gift for knowing exactly how to torment a person. It's an art, really."

"You think so? Well done, Evans, hiding your true admiration toward us all these years! I would have never known."

"Admiration! Ha! I can read a certain book and admire it, but I don't have to enjoy it in the slightest. There's quite a difference."

The embers in the fireplace were popping and dying out slowly, leaving the room cool and silent. James looked at Lily for a long moment, and swallowed.

"Well," he said. "Well. I'd best--you know. Sleep. Long day tomorrow, and all that."

"Tomorrow's Saturday," she replied softly. James winced slightly.

"Well, you know, all the same. Quidditch and revisions, and--and everything. So, goodnight, I suppose."

"James," she said, and he wished with all his heart that he could stay. But he couldn't. Not now. Not tonight. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Nervously, tentatively, and so very slowly he reached out to take her hand and hold it, if only for a brief second, if he could. But she made no move to pull away, and it felt as if his heart was about to leap out of his chest. He held on to her hand; but most importantly, he held on.

"Yeah, Lily, I am."