Pandora's Box

It was a beautiful day. In the middle of July, with the sun high in the sky and birds dancing in the limbs of the trees that surrounded the small home in Godric’s Hollow. Anne Sullivan-Potter, her light brown hair pulled back into a loose bun, stood on the small stoop at the back door. James, three years old and precarious as only hyper little boys could be, watched the swishing strings of his mother’s apron. She was not watching. He silently clambered to the top of one of the kitchen chairs and reached across the table to the small platter of freshly baked cookies. He tentatively reached for one, his eyes trained upon Anne’s back as she clucked at the chickens and scattered grain to them.

When his hand enclosed around a still-warm, slightly moist cookie, James pulled it close and slid off the kitchen chair. He dived beneath the kitchen table to feast upon his ill-acquired goods. Only the slight movement of the floor-trailing tablecloth betrayed his position.

He munched contentedly on the cookie. The air beneath the table was comfortably warm, and above him, in the second story of the house, he could hear the creak of shifting timbers as his father roamed across the floor. James also heard a soft footfall and the swish of skirts before the kitchen door was closed. James paused a moment in his chewing. He pressed his cheek against the shiny wood floor and peered beneath the small raise of the tablecloth. He saw Anne’s bare feet walk softly across the floor to where the kitchen sink was. She placed the bowl that had held the grain for the chickens in the sink, and then walked away.

James breathed a sigh of relief having not been caught, and finished the rest of his cookie. As he carefully brushed away the signs of his deviance from his clothes, the tablecloth moved. He whirled around to see little Jonathan slip under the tablecloth and sit beside him. James felt a flash of rage at his little brother for invading his special hiding place. “Go ‘way!” James whispered loudly, pushing his little brother from him. Jonathan whimpered and his lower lip trembled. Belatedly, James realized his mistake. If he was mean to Jonathan, then Jonathan would cry and Mum would discover them.

“Wait!” James threw his arms around his brother’s shoulders. “I changed my mind. Don’t cry! You can stay with me!” Jonathan sniffed and relaxed into James’ embrace.

“I’m scared,” Jonathan whispered.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He whimpered softly and pressed one nervous finger to his lower lip. “I see blood,” he said with his eyes wide with horror. “Blood everywhere.” He shivered with fright. James’ arms tightened around him. For some inexplicable reason, Jonathan had been having nightmares for the past three nights of blood everywhere. He said it flowed like a river while body parts floated in it. He woke up each night, screaming of how Oliver, Anne, and he all floated in it. He moaned and cried with pain as he told them of how James cried tears of blood that formed the river.

“Grandmother’s coming,” James said with the sincere belief in someone who, in his innocence, knew would make everything be all right. “She’ll make it stop.” That was what Oliver and Anne had told Jonathan to ensure a feeling of calm upon their hysterical two year old. No one knew what could have caused such horrific visions to emerge in the slumbering dreams of a child, but no one was going to discern it as nothing.

Oliver knew the family history; it was not hard to disbelieve that his youngest son could be a Wanderer, and since Pandora was the only one familiar enough with the Mirror of Rebounds to understand its use and symbolism, she was coming out to speak with Jonathan about his nightmares.

Jonathan sniffled, then stopped. He pulled away from James and sniffed deeply. He glared at James, who had the sense of look guilty. “I wanna cookie!” Jonathan said loudly.

“Shhh!” James flinched and waited to see if Anne had heard them. Jonathan dropped his voice to a loud whisper.

“I wanna cookie! I’m goin’ to tell Mum!”

“Fine, I’ll get a cookie for you!” James huffed with indignation before lifting one corner of the tablecloth and peering around for the sight of his mother. Anne was nowhere near, so he crept out from beneath the table and walked over to the chair again. Jonathan followed closely at his heels, constantly on the lookout for Anne.

As James was climbing the chair, they both heard the kitchen door swing open. Together, they turned and stared guilty, caught in the act of absconding with forbidden food. They had expected it to be their grandmother--they could convince her to give them cookies--but it was not Pandora. Instead, a man they had never seen before stood in the doorway. He was tall and dark; his facial muscles were twisted and bunched together and his eyes were filled with a terrible wickedness. The boys drew back from him, both crying softly in surprise and sudden fear.

His power filled the kitchen like a tidal wave and crushed any good cheer that remained after his startling appearance. Clothed in black, the man was like a sinister shadow from unknown depths of madness seen only in the realm of nightmares. His eyes seemed dead and lifeless, unless there was someone to say the cunning and the knowing in them constituted as life. Emotions did not show, and within the eyes burned the fire of a power the world had never before seen and perhaps never would again.

“What are you doing?” His voice was rich and melodious, a sharp contrast of beauty compared to his physical appearance. James glanced about, mentally calling his parents. He saw Jonathan smile at the man and alarm filled him. He did not like this dark man in the least, yet he charmed sweet Jonathan almost immediately.

“We’re getting cookies!” Jonathan said shyly. James wanted to nudge him in the side. The man smiled. The twisted features smoothed out a moment, and the man seemed very handsome and kind then.

“The ones on the table?” he asked amusedly. “Are you allowed?” Jonathan contrived to look guilty and the man’s smile broadened. “I thought not,” he said softly. He took three steps forward to stand before them. He glanced from James to Jonathan as he slowly reached for a single cookie off the plate. “Which one should I give this to you?”

Jonathan watched the waving cookie eagerly until James pinched him. The man’s eyebrow twitched as James squared his shoulder and stared defiantly at him.

“Go ‘way!” James said firmly, pointing one tiny finger at the door. The man sniggered and the human likeliness in his features disappeared.

“I believe I may like you,” he said softly. “Such a lovely spirit. It soars like a bird, free and majestic in the sky.” He smiled viciously. Jonathan shrank back from the twisted features with a soft cry. He buried his face in James’ shoulder at the sight of the warped hideousness. “It would be a wonder,” the dark man whispered as he bent over, “to break,” one hand reached out to touch the line of Jonathan’s neck, “your wings.” His eyes peered into the depths of James’ heart and soul and saw the potential of what James could one day be. “You are the deserving one to carry on the Snape bloodlines. The one I need to assure Pandora’s neutral attitude. ”

James jumped as the man’s dark blue eyes flashed and burned a bright crimson. With a smile that could only be described as vicious and animalistic, the man stabbed his hand forward. Jonathan barely managed a squeak before his head, jaggedly torn free from his body, flew across the room and thumped against one of the cabinet doors. Blood spurted from his serrated neck. Blood drenched James as if a bucket of it had been tipped over his head. It washed over James’ stunned features while Jonathan’s body slumped forward and slid down the length of James’ body.

The world suddenly narrowed down to two things: The burning bright crimson red eyes that filled James’ entire vision, and the blossoming pain in the middle of his chest.

From the other side of the house, James dimly heard his mother calling. “James? Jon? What are you two up to?”

“Do not say a word,” the man hissed as he pressed one bloody finger to James’ lips. James stared into the burning, crimson depths and saw his reflection. He watched as the pupils curved slowly from circles into slits. “Do not make a sound.” James heard his mother enter the kitchen just at that moment. He slowly twisted his head to look at her.

“Boys? What are you do--” Her angry voice stopped as Jonathan’s head, propelled by an unseen force, rolled across the floor to bump against her feet. She stared at it for a moment, too horrified to even breathe. She lifted her horror-filled eyes from Jonathan’s head and looked directly across the kitchen. Anne saw the dark man bent over her other son, who was bathed from head to toe in blood. Trembling, she withdrew her wand from her apron pocket and hesitated. Her chest shook with a sob. James looked over his shoulder at her and Anne screamed and rushed forward with her wand upraised.

“Mmm.” The man shook his head and lazily waved his hand. The butchery set that had been a wedding gift to Oliver and Anne from Anastasia and Edwina rattled in their little shelf before being flung free across the room. Anne’s body stiffened as a large knife buried itself up to the hilt beneath her breast bone. She stumbled as another knife buried itself between one rib to pierce her kidney. In slow motion, she stumbled to a halt. A dozen knives slammed into her body. Spots of red surrounded each polished hilt. She stared at James helplessly before her legs buckled and she fell to her knees.

The knives ripped away from her body, side to side, by an invisible force, hurled into the kitchen walls on either side of her. Anne’s body fell face-first into the forming pool of her own blood and did not stir thereafter.

James did not so much as gasp. He slowly looked from his mother’s body to the living room entrance. The pain in his chest constricted his breathing. From the lack of oxygen, James felt light-headed. In the entrance, cradling Jonathan’s head gently in his arms, was Oliver. He had come running at the sound of his wife’s screams, but now was as silent and seemingly docile as James. He gazed across the distance at James and the dark man. His eyes were filled with a sorrow. His chin drooped against his chest and a single tear rolled down his face.

The dark man cocked his head to the side. “Why do you not fight me?” he asked curiously as he dropped a hand onto James’ head. “Your beautiful wife did.” Another tear rolled down Oliver’s face. There was one thing that set Oliver apart from the rest of his family, and this was his complete lack of presence. He could not command the attention of anyone in a room, much less the attention of someone as arrogant as the man once known as Tom Riddle. Still, if for nothing else but what a heart-wrenching sight he made as he gently hugged his youngest son’s head close to his heart, Oliver did have the full attention of both the dark man and James.

“What good would it do?” Oliver asked softly. “You would kill me regardless of whether I fight or not and I’m too weak to harm you anyway.” His gaze settled upon Anne’s still body. More tears rolled down his face. “You know,” he said, “when I see this, I remember blood at the top of stairs; blood that my father shed but left no body to tell a tale of.” Oliver lifted one hand and stared at the blood smeared across it. “I hope you’re happy,” he said, “to have achieved your goal here.” He looked up from the blood and across the distance. His expression was resigned, but in the depths of his eyes smouldered a soul-consuming hatred. “Because you will never succeed. You have already lost; you lost the moment you killed my father.”

“Shut up,” the dark man said evenly and waved his hand. The invisible force from earlier jerked the cutlery in the wall beside Oliver free, whipped around in a half circle, and sunk into Oliver’s back. He shuddered, but remained standing.

“That was the first step down the dark road, and now you’ve been dragged so down far it you will never come back. You’ve lost anything that would ever truly mean anything to you,” Oliver whispered as he stared defiantly at the dark man. . “In the end, you’ll only receive what you create.”

“Shut up!” The knives twisted. Oliver fell to his knees as Anne had. One arm continued to cradle Jonathan’s head close as Oliver placed his free hand over one of his wounds. “A pox upon you,” Oliver whispered. “May the blood you spill be the very blood that destroys you.” Oliver’s voice rose in a level of volume James had never before heard his father use. “So this curse is created from innocent blood, and so the innocent blood curses you!” Oliver flung his blood-covered hand wide. Drops of blood flung everywhere. A single droplet landed on the back of the dark man’s hand and it hissed as it ate through the dark man’s skin like acid.

“Shut! Up!” The knives were ripped from Oliver's back. He flinched and looked from the dark man to James and his gaze softened immensely. The same hand that had flung his blood wide, red and trembling with pain, reached out to James.

“I love you,” he whispered before his throat was slashed open end-to-end by another knife. His arms dropped loosely to his sides. Jonathan’s head rolled free from Oliver’s embrace. Oliver sighed once as his head tilted back, as if to gaze to the sky and ask why. So did Oliver Potter die, brought to his knees by Voldemort, but the Snape pride ran strong in his veins were blood should have even if he did not possess presence, and so he died with his head held high and his eyes open.

James remained silent through it all. The dark man’s hand dropped from James’ head and wrapped around the tiny body. He picked James up and embraced him close before grabbing Jonathan’s decapitated body. “Come,” the dark man said as he swept out of the blood-drenched kitchen. “This,” he smiled coldly, “is no place for a child.”

It was to this blood bath that Pandora came only half an hour later. The scent of death hung in the air, but not like that of the scent of blood, or even the underlying scent of the Dark Arts. She stared at the mindless slaughter before her.

Pandora waded across the pooled blood to her son's body. His eyes stared upward at the ceiling. “Oliver?” Pandora reached out to smooth her hands over his eyes. Rigor mortis had not fully set in, and she was able to close his eyes for the last time.

Pandora’s lower lip trembled and her entire body shook with suppressed tears, but she managed to retain some calm as she futilely searched for survivors. Jonathan’s head she found beneath the kitchen table, and it was the sight of this and remembering that Jonathan’s nightmare of blood was the very reason she was here that finally caused Pandora to burst into tears. She held Jonathan’s head close to her heart as she roamed through the house, looking for James. The rest of the house was serene and calm. Only the kitchen showed any signs of the terrible way the lives of those who dwelled in the house had violently ended.

Unable to find anything of James, unable to stand the sight of Oliver kneeling and Anne laying face-down in the lake of blood, Pandora Apparated to her twin daughters’ flat as she still desperately clutched Jonathan’s head close.

Severus Snape would later describe the damage done to Anastasia and Edwina as being torn from limb to limb as if attacked by wild animals. It was too polite a description.

At Godric’s Hollow, Pandora cried. At the twins’ flat, she screamed.

For two days afterwards, the dark man stayed close to James. “Not a word,” he said often, “not a sound.” He kept James and Jonathan’s decapitated body in the same dark room where only a large chair stood. Jonathan’s body had been reverently laid across the threshold of the raised platform the large chair sat upon while James was gently held in the dark man’s lap.

In those two days, neither moved from the chair and James stank of blood as it dried against his skin, flaking away with each movement. His chest ached painfully. The scene of his family’s gruesome slaughter played and replayed not just in James’ mind but also in the shadows. The twisted bodies, the flashing cutlery, the blood everywhere. The recalled scenes were shown to the few Death Eaters, the first of many, that the dark man had acquired.

In those two days, when the Death Eaters were not being shown what had taken place at the small home in Godric’s Hollow, the dark man recited old legends, myths, and even a few fairy tales to James. He petted James’ wild hair and gently ran his hands comfortingly along the small length of the boy’s back as he spoke.

When dusk arrived on the second day, the dark man Apparated from the dark room where Jonathan’s body lay, and appeared at the edge of a small playground. In the distance, James heard childish shrieks of laughter. He numbly twisted his head to look around and saw they were in a Muggle playground. The dark man strode to a bench where a woman, hair gone from raven-black to steel-grey in the course of forty-eight hours, forlornly sat as she wistfully watched the children play.

“Pandora,” he said softly. The woman’s body froze before she tensely turned and looked at him in shock. The dark man smiled sweetly at her before he rested his cheek on the top of James’ wild black hair. He brushed the back of his hand across James’ face, sweeping away the crusted dried blood. “This is the only remaining descendant of both the Potter name and the Snape bloodline. Should you ever wage a direct assault or lead an attack against me, I shall play with him as I play with nothing else, and he shall be as immortal as myself, never to die and escape that which I can inflict upon him. The Potter name will cease to exist, and the Snape blood will never flow in another's veins.”

He held James out to Pandora, and she snatched him to her breast, frightened that the dark man would change his mind and take James back. He stooped low and cupped her face with his hands. “Pandora,” he said, bending low so his lips brushed against the delicate shell of her ear, “withdraw from the committee created to form plans and strategies against me.” She trembled at his touch and gripped James tighter. “Doing so would heighten the risk of destroying my sanctuary for James. Once he is gone, you will have nothing left. After what had taken place two days ago, the world will respect your withdrawal.” He planted a chaste kiss on the corner of her quivering lips, a suitable mockery of how he knew he was the cause of her misery and pain. “I made the assurance that they would understand your pain and need to leave the committee.”

He released her and Disapparated. Pandora sobbed and pressed her face to James’ black hair. He was the only person left in the world for her. Her parents were dead, and the man known as Tom Riddle had killed her husband and children. Knowing well that Tom Riddle meant what he said and said what he meant, Pandora withdrew from the committee. Indeed, she went on to publicly announce that she would never fight against Voldemort. She did all of this after receiving James. All who witnessed her decisions saw her carrying her one immediate family member, still covered in Jonathan’s dried blood. It was the rude shock that awoke the entire wizarding world to the knowledge that another Dark Lord had risen so soon after Grindelwald, one who was ruthlessly vicious. Oh yes, they respected Pandora’s decision to withdraw, especially with the news of the gruesome deaths of her children and grandchild still being learned everywhere.

For many years though, Voldemort remained somewhat inactive, and those who shunned wickedness by believing that such horribleness was best ignored soon forgot what happened, and they dragged the populace with them. The two Potters did not forget though. Pandora was determined that another family would not die as hers had. While she could not attack or oppose Voldemort, she discovered that if she appeared on the scene of his activity and stared at him with disapproval blunt in her eyes and sorrow from remembrance of her family's deaths painted on her expression, he would halt. After she left shortly after promising herself to him as payment for the debt of her adopted son’s humanity when he had been bitten by a werewolf, there was no one left to hold Voldemort back. It was then that people attest his reign of terror truly began.

The dark man had told James to be quiet, to not say a word or make a sound. For a year and a half afterwards, James obeyed. In the first few months, he had recurring nightmares of the bloodbath that took place in his parents’ home. In that year and a half, he slept in Pandora’s bed. He never whimpered or cried when the nightmares came, but only rubbed his head against Pandora’s breast and buried himself further into her arms. He did not know what the dark man would do if he disobeyed, but James could not stand the thought or idea of losing his grandmother in the same manner as he had the rest of his family. For all intents and purposes, she was the only person left in the world for James.

It was Sirius Black who let him believe otherwise. The Black family had stopped by at Dinsmore to thank Pandora for allowing them to move into the woodcutter’s cottage when they had sought her out for sanctuary from the horror that was slowly spreading through the wizarding world. As the parents spoke with Pandora, Sirius, young upstart of a ruffian that he was (or, at least, would one day be), wandered off to explore. He met James, who covertly watched Pandora in the shadows of the hallway.

Sirius watched James as one finger pressed against the corner of his mouth watch Pandora. Finally, Sirius said, “I’m Sirius Black.”

James’ eyes flickered over at the boy, and then turned back to Pandora. She spoke with Sirius’ parents as they thanked her for allotting them protection. Sirius glanced at Pandora as he wondered what captivated James’ attention so. “She’s nice,” he said finally. James looked at Sirius. He studied him, and then nodded once.

“Can’t you talk?”

James stared at Sirius. Sirius looked back at him. Moments passed. Sirius finally turned from James with a small sigh.

“Well, we came here because Mum and Dad said that Missus Potter is the only person that You-Know-Who isn’t going to bother.” Sirius looked to James to see if the other little boy would respond. James frowned thoughtfully. He could hear Mrs Black thanking his grandmother for protection. Did this mean that the dark man, this Voldemort, the person his grandmother called Tom Riddle, was not going to hurt them if he spoke?

“She’s very strong,” Sirius said uncertainly. “Mum and Dad said You-Know-Who wouldn’t never attack Missus Potter because she’s strong.”

James felt a stirring deep in his chest. For the first time since his parents died, the pain in his chest disappeared. He felt himself swelling with pride to know that this person, the one everyone said was so strong, belonged to him. He turned to Sirius with a haughty expression upon his face. “Of course she is,” James said knowingly. “She is my grandmother.”

“You speak. Good; come play with me.”

Pandora attested James’ “awakening” from the frightfully silent, haunted little boy that he was after his family’s deaths to Sirius Black. That day, she saw her grandson laugh for the first time in a year and a half as he and Sirius played together in front of Francis’ portrait and Francis refereed their game. It was not a truly complete recovery though. James would not fall asleep unless she was home, even if she went on a trip and would not arrive home until almost close to morning. Until his sixth birthday, he continued to sleep with Pandora, curled against her side as she had one arm protectively wrapped around him.

Pandora had a difficult time disciplining James. She did not want to hurt him and perhaps, inadvertently, force him to recall memories better left forgotten. She allowed him to run free and wild, rambunctious in behaviour and naturally mischievous to the point of being obnoxious. James loved her dearly for it.

When James was five years old, Remus Lupin came to Dinsmore with his family. Their original purpose was to seek Pandora’s help for a cure. She was, after all, a master in the Defence of the Dark Arts, and Francis’ name and genius was still remembered by scholars such as Remus’ father, Favian Lupin. Pandora could not help and, loathed as she did to send them away without help, she allowed them to stay near Dinsmore and sealed off some passages of Dinsmore’s catacombs for Remus’ use during the full moon.

Remus and James quickly became friends, only half a year after James met Sirius. Little more than a year passed then, until the fateful day when Pandora took James to Diagon Alley for supplies. There they met a little gutter rat, dark and dirty, underfed and naturally suspicious, who had been given the key of entry through Pandora’s explanation to James on how to open the passage to Diagon Alley.

James had not meant to insult the gutter rat. When he helped the gutter rat to his feet and saw the gutter rat’s eyes, it triggered a memory. Even if the gutter rat’s black hair was matted and tangled, it hinted of curls. Even if the gutter rat’s eyes were as black as his hair and they held a wary fear, James saw shattered innocence. As different as the gutter rat was, James saw his little brother, Jonathan, in him. Perhaps it was the fear in the gutter rat’s eyes, or perhaps it was the dawning horror or realization.

For whatever reason, James saw Jonathan and the memory of little Jonathan’s body sliding down against his vividly played in his mind. In that moment, he felt blood wash over his features. He rubbed his hand against his clothes to check if there truly was blood covering him from head to toe even as he continued to gaze into black eyes.

The little gutter rat ran away, deeply hurt and offended though James could never say why. That, James supposed, was the last he would ever see of him, but it was not. A month later, late at night, James lay awake for Pandora to come home. He heard her arrive, so he wandered into the kitchen to see what she was doing. He noticed she had the little gutter rat from earlier. The gutter rat looked sullen and suspicious. How else was James to react but demand to know why he was here? Upon learning that Pandora had every intention of keeping the little gutter rat, James found he was not surprised. It made sense then, why this little gutter rat, now known as Severus, had reminded him of Jonathan. Perhaps their meeting was meant to be; foreordained, if one cared to be philosophical of the matter.

James was not a stranger to the Snape family heritage. He knew about the Mirror of Rebounds. He did not like it in the least. In his child’s mind, he blamed the Mirror of Rebounds for his family’s deaths. The Mirror had shown Jonathan of James crying a river of blood, a dream that James felt symbolized their brutal slaughtering. If the Mirror of Rebounds had not shown Jonathan this dream, then their deaths would not have taken place.

Reminded of that, remembering always of how very much Severus was like to dear, sweet Jonathan who had trusted the dark man, James found he could not truly trust Severus. It was difficult for anyone to perceive how Severus Snape could possibly be anything like Jonathan, but James saw something in the depths of Severus’ black eyes that reminded him of the family he had once had.

Oh, it took a while to even love him. Pandora showed Severus fondness from the start, and that blossomed into love as her care grew.

James found it difficult to love this strange, black-eyed child who did not trust anyone but Pandora and portraits of dead persons. He found it harder to trust Severus, because Severus looked, moved, and acted as if the whole world was going to hurt him. He had a prickly bearing and a bitter wall hoisted between his heart and the rest of the world.

James did try though. By the time he and Severus were eight, an understanding seemed to have developed between them. Yes, James was troublesome and carefree while Severus was distant and serious, but they decided that what would be, would be. James could be troublesome and carefree, but Severus had taken upon himself to be sure that James stayed out of trouble. He rarely succeeded, but the intent and attempts were there.

Their roles had switched. No longer was Severus, with his great mistrust and wariness towards gifts of kindness, like James’ dead little brother. Suddenly, Severus was the older brother, the one who would try to keep the little ones out of harm and, if that did not work, bandage the hurts and pains. How odd, because James had always before attested Severus to being the little brother, the one who had to be shown that the world was not what he thought it to be, yet still needed to be sheltered and protected.

It was then that James knew he loved Severus.

And yet . . .

And yet, for all their switched roles, James found he could not confide in Severus. Why? Why did he have such difficulty telling Severus things that he effortlessly told Sirius and Remus without worrying? Was it because Severus had a dark air about him that told of a horrid lifetime, of abandonment, of pain and abuse? Was it because Severus did not trust him either? James knew that Severus did not trust him. The way Severus watched him with his black eyes, the way he crossed his arms before himself or hid in the dark shadows of Dinsmore, the way he would flinch when a grownup besides Pandora touched him, all spoke of how Severus could not trust. Perhaps because Severus would not extend trust to him, let alone anyone but the woman who gave him a new life, James could not trust Severus in return. Or perhaps the most likely reason was that, even if James could consider Severus the older brother, he would always remember that one moment when Severus made him recall the feeling of being drenched in blood.

There was a marginal amount of trust. It never failed to amaze James to know he could trust Severus with his life, or to help him with little things. But secrets? He knew Severus could keep them, but he could not find it within himself to speak them. He did not know why this was. Perhaps because they trusted one another enough not to test the trust from time to time. It seemed to James that he and Severus did not need to do things to prove one another’s dependability.

It just was. What lay between them existed like the sky existed, like Pandora’s love existed, like they existed.

When they met Lily for the first time and played together in the sandbox, James and Severus trusted one another enough to lead each other on with insults, jests, and jibes to see if the child they played against believed in magic or not.

They did not mistrust or resent one another so much that this did any harm to one another or they took such insults and jibes to heart. On that level, James and Severus were not at all serious with one another, though on all other levels they treated each other with high levels of sombreness. It was difficult for James to maintain such quiet dignity, so when Sirius would suggest a prank to be pulled on Severus, James readily agreed to it.

After all, as much as he loved Severus, James felt that Severus truly needed to lighten up. If James, who had seen murder in its ugliest and most violent form wrought upon the most precious people in his life at such a tender age and could laugh later in life, then so could Severus. As far as the pranks went, Severus tolerated them with a wounded air. He never tattled anymore than he seemed to dwell on them, which led James to believe that Severus was willing to forget about such matters as soon as he finished snarling and lecturing James and Sirius.

It was a joyous time for James. He had family once more; a brother, a grandmother-turned-mother, and wonderful friends. He actually looked forward to going to Hogwarts. While Pandora would not be there, it was an adventure waiting to take place, and Severus, Sirius, Remus, and Lily (all, of course, whom James considered part of his family) would all be there as well. James did not care which House he winded up in as long as he was together with everyone. It was all very exciting. His life was beginning anew, heading in a radically new direction.

His Sorting should have been a wonderful time. He should have been standing on the threshold with a bright, eager smile plastered to his face. However that was not to be.

James felt something was wrong the moment he saw his cousin Lucius look at Severus down the length of the boat they sat together in along with Peter. He was right to be worried. James was distracted by one of Lily’s questions when his fear of something wrong happened, so he did not realize how exactly both Peter and Severus winded up falling out of the boat. The first thing he knew was a gigantic splash off to his left, and Lucius started to laugh. James whirled around to see one of Severus’ hands desperately reaching upward out of the dark water as Peter thrashed about.

James knew at the moment he saw Severus bob to the surface and then get shoved under by the panicking Peter that Severus was in a world of trouble. He lunged over the side, ignoring Remus’ cry of, “James! No!” and fell headlong into the frigid waters. He splashed ungracefully over to where Peter was. Cries and yells rang across the lake’s surface as others’ attention was attracted.

“Sev? Sev?” He grabbed the side of the small boat Lucius was still in, chortling with smug amusement, and flung an arm around Peter. He ignored the other boy’s cries of fright as he pulled the thrashing body over to the side of the boat. “Sev? Where are you?” Cold fright filled James. It settled in the centre of his chest. When Peter clung tightly to the boat’s side, James released him and ducked under the water. He stared into the bleak depths, his vision blurry and distorted. His chest ached, and it was not from the need for air. He thought he saw a wave of bubbles and foam below. James swam to the surface, took a deep breath to plunge down again, and was yanked out of the water by one large, meaty hand.

“Let me go!” James struggled uselessly against Hagrid’s grip. “My brother is there! He can’t swim!”

“Shh.” Hagrid opened his coat and tucked it around James’ form. “Th’ merpeople’ll get him right out.”

“No! I’ve got to help him!” James cried and struggled against Hagrid in vain. His eyes lingered on the spot he had last seen Severus go under.

“There be nothin’ we kin do,” Hagrid said. “If ye stay in the water, ye’ll get sick. We’ll go right to Dumbledore and tell him what happened. He’ll get yer brother.”

James sagged against Hagrid’s arm. He did not notice the tears that flowed down his face as he thought of how it seemed he had just lost his brother all over again. He could not explain how the ball of ice and agony in his chest choked him, how each time he took a breath pain lanced down his spine from his heart. When they drew inside of the cavern and McGonagall came down the staircase to greet the new first years, Hagrid told her of how one of the students fell out of the boat and went under the water.

As Hagrid rushed onward to inform Dumbledore of this news, McGonagall cast drying charms upon both James and Peter. She questioned them and Lucius of what happened. James refused to answer her questions.

“My brother is the lake! We can’t leave him there!” James pointed behind him at the direction they had come.

McGonagall gazed at James with understanding eyes. “We will help him,” she said. “If he fell in the lake, he would attract the attention of the merpeople. They do not allow humans to stay in the lake, and will take him to the shoreline immediately. Professor Dumbledore is being fetched right this moment and we will help young Mister Snape. He will be all right.”

If Severus was to be all right, then why did James hurt so much? Dumbledore, upon learning what happened, announced the beginning of the Sorting and moved off with Hagrid to the lake’s shore. McGonagall continued with the Sorting as if nothing happened. James’ tears stopped when he saw Lucius Malfoy Sorted. The worry and frustration evaporated beneath the hot tidal wave of anger that swept through him as he saw his cousin smirk at him. Slytherin? How could someone as spiteful, as vicious, as, as . . . well, as awful as Lucius be sorted into Pandora’s House? How could he so be cheerful when his cousin, Severus, was probably swimming with the fishes right now, and it was all Lucius’ fault!

The rage still burned in his heart as he stared daggers at Lucius.

“Potter, James? . . . Potter, James . . . Potter, James!”

One of the children behind him still waiting to be Sorted poked James in the back. He jumped guiltily, and realized it was his turn. He hurried to the stool and sat down on it. From his vintage point, he could see the six faces of the remaining first years, and the dining tables of separate Houses where the students lined. He felt a heavy weight settle upon his head and a voice spoke within his mind.

“Hmmmm . . . It seems you are more worried about your brother’s fate than what House you would wind up in. I see courage in you; dollops of bravery! All of this stems from your past. Tell me, are you aware of why?”

James sighed. “Don’t make me say why,” he said softly, remembering spilt blood and his father’s voice rising to curse Voldemort. He could feel the wet warmth of blood on his face and soaking through his clothes. Reminded as such also reminded him of Severus. “Hurry up and chose. Sev’s in trouble.”

“And a severe lack of patience! Ah, I very much like your spirit. You would make an excellent Gryffindor, you know. Just for the record, there were very few instances when someone with Snape blood has ever gone into a House other than Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Well, just one instant. No matter though! We shall make it two!”

With that, the Sorting Hat declared Gryffindor.

James refused to remain still even then. As soon as the Sorting Hat had been removed from his head, he hurried to the Gryffindor table to tell Frank of what happened. He fidgeted nervously in his chair, welcomed comforting hugs from Sirius, Remus, and Lily, and even finally worked up the courage to speak to Peter, who was sort of the reason why Severus had fallen into the water.

Peter, he found, was sorry for what he did.

“I d-didn’t mean to,” Peter stuttered softly as large tears rolled down his cheeks, “He was nice to me, and I-I didn’t w-want to hurt hi-him in any w-way.” He then squeaked and hid beneath the table when Lucius turned around at the Slytherin Table and smiled wickedly at him. Sirius reacted to that. Any one who could be sweet enough to be worried about Severus (James withstanding since they were brothers and brothers didn’t count), and knowing he was the reason why Severus was not to be found was someone who needed to be taken care of. Lily questioned this twisted logic, but Sirius paid no heed as he wrapped one arm around Peter and comforted him.

With that loose end tied up, James wandered off to look for Dumbledore. He found the old headmaster in the hall. He looked worried as he spoke to McGonagall. Regardless of how rude it was to interrupt people as they spoke, James hurried over to them and yanked on their robes. They dropped their eyes to look at him. The pain in his chest swelled and grew until he felt it in the very tips of his toes.

“You can’t find him, can you?” He felt unbidden tears well up in his eyes. Did he lose another brother? Did James lose the only person in his life whose cold confidence and air of willful ambition seemed to lend James strength? One tear rolled down his cheek.

“Severus is not to be found amongst the merpeople. They said he was there and now he is gone. We do not know where.”

“You’ve lost him forever, haven’t you?”

McGonagall frowned sternly down at him. “Forever is a long time, Mr Potter.”

“But he’s gone.” The tears were coming faster. “I’ll never see him again, just like Mum and Dad and Jonathan.”

Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged worried glances. Dumbledore patted James on the head. “Now, Mr Potter, you’ve already given up faith on your brother. That is disappointing. You always need to have faith in him, because in any situation, I am quite sure that Mr Snape is capable of taking care of himself.”

“But he couldn’t swim! How was that taking care of himself?” James jumped away from Dumbledore. He took several deep breaths, and then looked at the two adults. “Where’s Grandmother?” he asked. “She’ll get Severus. She has to.”

Again, Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged worried glanced. “We will inform her,” Dumbledore said.

“She’ll come.” James looked at them, his face damp with tears. “She’s strong.” He rubbed his eyes irritably. McGonagall held her hand out to him.

“Come with us,” she said. James rubbed his eyes and grabbed her hand in his own. He almost ran to keep up with the swift strides of the two teachers as they hurried to Dumbledore’s office. As they swept past Flitwick, who was scurrying through the hall with one of the Ravenclaw prefects, Dumbledore told him to inform him should anything about Severus Snape be known. The gargoyle in charge of guarding Dumbledore’s quarters scrambled quickly out of their way. It watched them with wide eyes.

Dumbledore marched directly over to the fireplace where a single log sat. He pulled a stool close and settled himself comfortably upon it. He pointed his wand at the wood. “Fervens.” Fire leapt upward, the orange and red flames licking suddenly at the log. McGonagall dropped James’ hand and grabbed up a tin from off the fireplace’s ledge. She pried the lid off and offered the contents to Dumbledore. He took a handful of the white powder within it and threw it into the fire. The flames turned a cold blue and the heat that had been drifting from it disappeared.

“Pandora Potter; Dinsmore,” Dumbledore said. The flames lowered, and then flared up. A woman’s voice drifted through the flames.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Hold on.” Dumbledore patted his beard as the sound of footsteps floated from the fire. James perked up at the familiar sound of his grandmother’s leather-bottomed slippers padding against worn wooden floors. Pandora’s face appeared in the fire.

“Yes? Oh, good evening Alb--James?” Pandora’s eyes were wide at the sight of James’ tear-streaked face. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” She glanced quickly around the room. “Severus--”

“--is missing,” said Dumbledore. Pandora frowned and he held his arms out to ward off any words she would say. “He fell out of one of the boats the first years were riding in.”

“Is he all right? Severus can’t swim--”

“Well . . .” Dumbledore sighed. Pandora’s frown deepened. “I will tell you the matter directly and bluntly: your grandson fell out of the boat and was shoved under water beyond help. Hagrid brought the matter directly to me, and I immediately sought the merpeople of young Severus. They said he had been in the water, but is no longer there.”

“Where is he?”

“The best I can conclude is that his innate magic saved him by lifting him out of the water. We don’t know if this is so as of yet, but there is a search party being organized.”

Pandora closed her eyes momentarily. They opened and focused upon James. “Are you all right, sweetie?” she asked him. James shrugged.

“I’m worried about Sev.” He looked at her hopefully. “You have to help him. Won’t you?”

“Professor Dumbledore is doing the best he can. I can’t be of any help from where I am.”

“No, I want you to help. You have to come save Severus. Please.”

Pandora looked closer at James. “What’s wrong?”

James tried to stop the tears again. “I’m worried,” he said finally in a frail voice. “If you don’t come and help Sev, then he won’t be helped.”

Pandora seemed to lean closer. “Why do you feel like this?” she asked softly.

James shrank back from the sharp, searching look in her eyes. “It hurts. It hurts like Jonathon. Please come for Sev. You have to.”

She said nothing for a few moments, and then nodded her head sharply. “I’ll be right there,” she said. Her head disappeared and footsteps hurried away from the fire. Dumbledore waved his hand and the magical fire snuffed out immediately.

It is difficult to say whom Pandora came for. Obviously she would have come if summoned for the sake of Severus, but there remained the greater favour and love she held for James than anyone else. After all, James was her one blood descendant, her first and now only grandson, and always suspected of any traumatic damage the events of his family’s deaths may have created. For him, she would have come also. Perhaps, if James had not asked her to come and Dumbledore said her presence, while welcome, was not needed, she would have remained home. But to ease the pain James felt, even more so because he said it hurt like his dead brother, Pandora came.

Little less than a quarter of an hour after Pandora had been notified, James, who watched from an upper window, saw Pandora land before the great front doors with Severus in her arms. The pain in his chest disappeared immediately. James met with his family within a hall just outside the infirmary. “Grandmother!” he called. "Sev!" Giddy with delight, he threw himself at his grandmother and brother. Pandora slowed her quick pace enough for him to keep up with. He peered worriedly over her arm at Severus. "Is he okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern. "I jumped in after him, but I couldn't find him and Hagrid pulled me out." Pandora already knew this, but James spoke purely for Severus’ sake.

"He will be fine."

"Where was he?"

Immediately, James noticed how Pandora seemed to flinch at his question. She did not meet her eyes as she skirted around a straightforward answer. "By the shore," she replied finally. “I found him by the shore.” James felt it was the truth, but she was hiding something because her answer rang hollow. Even Severus’ eyes were more hidden than usual.

James released Pandora and stared after her, deeply hurt that they would keep a secret from him. He followed after them like a dejected shadow. He silently watched as Madam Carnish and Pandora fussed over Severus as he shivered. James decided to ask Pandora of the truth later, and decided to help Severus the best he could. James took Severus’ dripping robes as soon as he had been stripped of them and carried them off to a linen basket. He returned in time to see Pandora informing a House Elf she wanted a thin, hot soup.

Albus Dumbledore entered the infirmary by the time Pandora had received the soup and was setting up a tray to keep it on as she fed Severus. James found himself with nothing to do, so he satisfied himself by sitting on the edge of the bed. Words were exchanged in order to discover what happened. When Severus’ opinion of what he thought happened, James watched as his older brother sank into the depths of the folded warmed blankets. “I think that Lucius meant to scare us,” he said.

James could remember the times when Lucius used to visit Dinsmore with his parents. He never liked his cousin, even if Pandora had told him to behave. Lucius seemed to him to be arrogant and there were times when Lucius had taken something from James and destroyed it. James never told Pandora what he had done; instead, he and Sirius would get revenge on him by doing mischievous things they knew Pandora would never punish them for.

James gazed at Severus with concern, knowing full well how cruel Lucius could be when he was in the mood for it. When Dumbledore asked Pandora where she had found Severus, she gave him the same answer James had received. Even Dumbledore knew she was not saying everything, and again James felt the same flare of resentment.

That passed almost immediately when he learned that Severus would receive his own Sorting Ceremony. He eagerly told Severus of how the Sorting had been like the in the Great Hall. He recalled as many details as he could, and those that he could not he made up. He could just imagine Severus’ sarcasm upon learning how worried he had been.

McGonagall brought the Sorting Hat into the room, closely followed by Lily, Sirius, Frank and Remus. She perched the Sorting Hat on top of Severus’ head. James watched Severus’ face closely. He hoped that Severus would be a Gryffindor too. Severus was strong and brave, even more than James. If they were together in the same House, then it would be almost like home. He even told Severus something to that affect. “I hope you wind up in Gryffindor too. Then we can all be together!” He ignored the look of disgust on Severus’ bony face.

To James’ dismay, the Hat announced Slytherin. James felt another ache blossom within his chest. Severus looked at him smugly as Pandora beamed proudly. But that was the House that Lucius was in! James knew, without being told, that from the moment Lucius learned which House Severus was in, Severus would be in great danger. “That’s where Cousin Lucius went,” he whispered when the adults had moved out of hearing. The others seemed to sense how James felt, because they too looked worried.

Henceforth, James donned upon himself the task of being the Older Brother. His decision to do so seemed to go unnoticed by Severus, since Severus still acted as if he were the older brother. Knowing the danger Lucius posed, James sought to keep Severus well in his sight and met with him on a steady basis. Doing so told Lucius of how much attention James was paying his brother, how very little would escape his notice. If Severus moved oddly, looked strange, or there was discoloration upon his body, James would know almost immediately .

James got together with Severus early every morning. He would bound across the room from the Gryffindor table to the Slytherin table and then came back--usually with Severus on tow. After a few weeks, people became used to seeing the one little Slytherin eating with his brother at the Gryffindor table. James would make sure that Severus would not escape by engaging him in conversation about his day, his classes, news from Pandora. Anything he could get Severus to listen to without leaving abruptly was reason enough for James to rattle on about. James decided that the longer Severus was in his sight, the less chance he had of getting hurt by Lucius.

As the weeks progressed, James discovered another method of keeping Severus close or, in the very least, on a regular schedule that brought Severus close to him.

Peter, because he had been rescued from the waters (sort of) by James, clung to James as his protector as easily as he had clung to Severus as his protector on September first. Seeing another human so much like his younger brother, innocent and in need of protection from the harsh world, James allowed Peter to cling to him. When James learned of how Peter was often ignored by their fellow Gryffindors merely because Peter lacked presence nearly as much as Oliver Potter once had, James declared Peter one of his best friends and brought him into the inner-circle where only Remus and Sirius dwelled.

Only once did Sirius try pulling a prank on Peter, as he did everyone else. James made Sirius swear he would never again toy with Peter in any way after James learned of how Peter had been “chased by g-g-ghosts a-and locked in-in a d-d-dark, d-d-dank clos-set with a-a B-b-b-b-bogey!”

When James learned of how Peter was lagging in his classes, he tried to help Peter study. However, James was not the teaching sort. Peter needed someone articulate enough to explain a single meaning in so many different ways. That was where Severus came in. James had always admired Severus’ quick tongue and sharp wit (so long as it was not used on him, of course). He knew that Severus was good in his classes and that the professors sometimes paired him off with slower students.

With Remus and Lily to help temper his quick tongue and sharp wit, James coaxed and pleaded Severus into tutoring Peter. When James saw how successful that was and how it occupied Severus, who generally spent a great deal of his time reading and sulking in some obscure corner and ignoring the world in general, he decided the idea was good enough to work again.

And again, and again, and again.

James brought any student he knew who was having difficulty in classes to Severus to be tutored. Severus grunted, gritted his teeth, glared at James, but never complained. James loved him all the more for it.

But Severus needed to get out more than just tutoring. All work and no play made Severus a very dull boy, after all. James forced Severus into as many activities as he could; yet the only one that held Severus’ attention for any reason was Quidditch. It was not so much as Severus liked to play Quidditch, or even fly for that matter, but that he enjoyed both the quiet company of Lily and Remus and James’ habit of flying.

James loved to fly. In the air, he was as free as the wind he danced with. In those glorious moments when he was suspended above the ground, caught within the chances between being hurled endlessly through the blue skies and plummeting to the ground far below, James felt power lines that arched through and beyond reality. James was beyond the reach of time in the air, an endless ball of energy and life that could survive all mishaps.

How could Severus possibly not care for something like this? Quidditch combined this endlessness with the heady rush of competition and desperation for a catch, of power and the struggle thereof. How could anyone possibly not care for this? James scoffed at Severus’ lack of interest in flight or Quidditch, and felt sorry that his brother could not know and therefore understand such a tangled web of magnificent feelings and wonder.

In their third year to Hogsmeade everyone went regularly. Severus was always towed along, almost like excess baggage. He grumbled, complained, and made sarcastic comments of how fun brought out the idiocy in people, but the others ignored him. James knew Severus spoke out of habit, and not maliciousness or genuine dislike. At least he hoped that was the explanation for Severus’ constant bad mood.

If the bad mood was genuine, James attested it to Lucius. The rumours that Lucius eagerly spread around Hogwarts were difficult for James to put a stop to. He fretted over the malicious lies. Each one he heard he told Severus himself, so Severus would not overhear them from someone who believed the lies or use the rumours against Severus. James made sure no one could harm Severus with twisted and biting words. Severus acted as if he cared less for the rumours, but James felt otherwise. In some level, surely Severus chafed against the vulgar and cruel slanders. Even Pandora was shocked to learn what a few were and went out of her way to give a piece of her mind to Romono Malfoy for his son’s behaviour at school.

James did not take Severus everywhere or tell him everything that he did. There are few wise things that one could say to their elder brother, and saying that he, James, was one of the biggest troublemakers at school was not wise. The Marauders, as Lucius had named the quartet that included James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter, did more than cause mischief. They were the peacekeepers and the justice administrators. Those students who were bullies, cheats, liars, and overall wicked in their behaviour and were not caught and punished for it soon met the Marauders. Younger students learned that if they had been wronged, they were to see James or Sirius.

It was another foreshadow of what James would be. In his youth, he built the foundation of what he would become. As an Auror, James would fight for justice, to preserve rights and freedom, and would protect those not strong enough to do so for themselves. It was always apart of James’ nature to help those who could not help themselves. Everything came full circle, as History repeats itself with the past giving birth to the future and the future aging into the past.

James helped and protected because somewhere within himself was a little boy who could not protect himself, who was too weak to protect his family.

Learning that Remus was a werewolf was a momentous event in James’ life. He learned quite by accident. On home for Christmas vacation in their third year and Pandora off to confront Voldemort once more, James searched for something to read. In Pandora’s library, tucked within the pages of a book he had never seen before entitled, Study of Voodoo Magic, James found a letter. Pandora had tucked it in a chapter that read “Voodoo Uses To Cure Magical Maladies.” Curious as to what it was about, James read the letter.

It was addressed to Pandora, over eight years ago. It was from Favian Lupin, who asked Pandora if she knew if there was any known possible cure for lycronthopy. My son, the letter read, was bitten by a werewolf. Remus possesses a tender and loving personality, hardly unsuitable to match that of a werewolf’s! My wife and I love him too much to put him down, since he does not deserve that. Even if he is a danger, we know he would not purposefully harm humans as other werewolves have in the past.

That was as far as James read. He slammed the book shut, shoved it back on the shelf, and ran all the way to Remus’ home. Remus cried upon learning that James now knew of his “sickness.” James held Remus as tears fell down his face.

“I couldn’t tell,” Remus whispered into James’ tear-damp shoulder. “I couldn’t tell anyone that I’m a monster. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m sorry.”

James repeatedly told Remus that it was fine, he did not mind not being told, Remus was still his friend. He swore up and down how he would do his best to find a cure for Remus and, if that was not possible, would at least help ease the pain from that one time each month he reverted from being gentle, patient Remus to a cursed beast.

Pandora found James searching her library for information on werewolves. She raised an eyebrow at the gigantic pile of reading material he had gathered together. James looked at her with a grave calmness.

“I know,” he said softly. “He’s my friend, and friends help one another.” He went back to his reading. “I will find a way to help him.” Pandora stood up and walked off. She soon returned with a single book. She set it before him. She then selected a book out of James’ pile of information and rifled through it.

“I have scoured this library six times over for help. I asked your grandfather if he could come up with anything. Nothing ever came to be. The life of a werewolf is a cursed, horrid life that spins further and further out of control, and not something I would ever wish upon my enemies. I do not understand how the Lupins can possibly cope with the pain of knowing how much their loved one suffers. I cannot, nor will not, forbid you to do something you will do regardless of what I say. I do know you are mature and responsible enough to handle matters like a young adult. Remember to stay out of trouble above all else, and do not get bitten. I could not bear for any of my grandsons to suffer as Remus does.” She found a place in the book and held it out to James. He accepted it.

Pandora bent over to plant a quick kiss on the top of James’ head and walked off. James looked at the books Pandora had given him. The one she had rifled through the pages of she left open on a new chapter that read, The Calming Influence of Magical Animals. He picked it up and looked beneath it at the other book she had given him.

Animagus: Finding Your Aspect

author's notes: I call this Pandora's Box: prologue 1/2. This is because, thus far, the prologue is over twenty thousand words. It's a mini story unto its own right, and quite literally has a life of its own. The reason why I jumped back into the past instead of continuing along the line of Harry's and Severus' predicament of living together is because James' past is important as another point of view from Severus' rather biased letter, and some very important clues for later on in Harry's adventures.