Chapter Text
The day had been a rollercoaster of emotions for all three of them, and James forced himself hold onto the news. Remus and Sirius looked so exhausted; dropping this bombshell on them now would be cruel. There was also the fact that no matter how safe he felt talking about necromancy with them now, Hogwarts was not the place to bring up this possibility. Everything else he had done would look like childhood indiscretion compared to what he was now planning. It was the type of thing that would see him dead before he could even explain the situation. James was sure McGonagall herself would cast the curse if she found out. So he kept quiet, and when he told his friends that he was fine but that they could discuss things only once they were at Potter Manor, they readily agreed. It was only a three-day wait after all.
But beyond all of the worry of being found out, James couldn't speak of it yet for one simple reason. If things didn't work out, if they couldn't figure out a way to bring Romulus back, the hope would kill Remus. Moony was barely alive as it was; he didn't need James pushing him there any faster. So James waited those three days, hope, nervousness, and apprehension bubbling up within him in equal measure. He wanted his dad. His dad would make this all work out.
The train ride and stepping foot on the platform made him feel nauseous, and he wanted nothing more than to run through the barrier to the Muggle side. Honestly, he didn't think he could ever be here again without wanting to be sick. Luckily, his parents seemed to notice this; they didn't even bother asking how the term had been. They just bundled Sirius and James up and rushed them to the apparition point, only sparing a moment to hug Remus.
With the building nausea and the sudden tug of apparition, James couldn't help but be sick all over the foyer floor. Everyone jumped back, not expecting it, and when he finished, his dad waved the mess away and freshened the air. Euphemia held his face in her hands, cradling his head as if he might break. "Oh, darling, what's wrong?" The back of her hand pressed against his forehead, and the other started dabbing the wet washcloth that Sirius handed her against his face. James just allowed himself to be taken care of and basked in the family's magic as it welcomed him home.
"Just, I really need to talk with dad."
"Are you sure?" She looked him over for any sign of injury. When she found none, she pressed a kiss to his forehead and moved over to Sirius, pulling him into her side, "Let's get you set up, dear. Your room is still ready for you." They left the foyer, Sirius throwing James confused looks as they did.
"James, what happened?" Fleamont Potter looked at his son's chest in horror. There was something very wrong; he wasn't sure what, but his son's magic, the magic he knew like the back of his hand, had changed almost completely. Sure, he could still see that it was indeed his son in that body, but somehow his soul seemed looser. As if James could decide at any moment to leave his body behind and go off into the next great adventure.
"You can see it too?" James' voice was worried.
Fleamont rushed forward, hands clamped down on his son's arms, and his eyes were wide. "James, tell me what happened." It was a command, a demand.
His son sighed, looking far older and more exhausted than the son who had left for school at the beginning of the year. "We need to talk in the room."
Fleamont nodded, marching himself and James through the house. When they got to the door, he quickly pulled a knife, slashed their palms, and pressed them to the door. While it pulled on their magic before finally swinging open. The room was entirely made of hardened red clay, with thousands of intricately carved runes covering every inch. Circles within circles, triangles overlaying squares, pentagrams and polygons, swirling loops twisting through it all, and in the middle of the room, in the middle of a dodecahedron cage, sat a vase.
It was the kind of thing one saw in ancient Greco-Roman exhibits in museums and collections. Simple in shape but with ever-changing carvings. One moment, it showed a girl kneeling before an altar; the next, a man stirring a cauldron; and then three wixen dueling. It went on and on. James had never seen the same image twice.
This was the Potter family avatar.
Most old families had something like this, a physical representation of the family magic that followed the main family line. The older the family, the more powerful the object became. All born Potters were tied to the vase by magic and soul since the founding of their house. It had once just been an ordinary piece of pottery, though a little misshapen due to being made by unskilled hands. The first Potter kept that pot, his first real work, as a reminder of how far he had come. There were, of course, later, more intricate works, bought by nobles and royalty alike, but the first pot stayed. It wasn't just displayed. It was used to hold the water that quenched its creators' thirst on hot days. Sometimes it carried the food he ate, and at others it was filled with trinkets he found while walking about. While this wouldn't usually be anything other than the tale of a once-well-loved bit of work, long ago broken or lost to time, it became something remarkable. The man, the first Potter, from before they were even called that, had been a Wix. At that time, it was common for Wix to go about their life, just using their magic wandlessly and as part of their daily life.
The Potter didn't know how to attack opponents with his magic. If he needed to do that, he would just use his sword. Instead, he used his magic when he created. This vase had been formed under unskilled hands that poured hours and hours into the clay, trying and failing over and over to form it. It was then used to nourish him, always in his presence and that of the magic he naturally shed. And like called to like.
And by the time he had children, the vase had become a little smoother, a bit tougher, and gleamed when the light hit it just right. He could trust that no matter what, his children couldn't break it. He could let them use it for water or have them study it as he taught them how to make their own pottery. They would turn in, chubby hands, bodies radiating their magic with excitement. And like called to like.
They eventually made their own version of the piece, that first work that took days to weeks to make, but was cherished all the more for what it represented and the hard work that went into it. Each and every one of the Potter's children gifted him their first works. Sometimes squat and round, and at other times tall and thin. They were all imperfect, something no customer would buy, but perfect to him, and he treated them as the precious treasure they were. And once again, he didn't put them on display, never to be used, so there was no risk of them breaking. The Potter didn't think like that. He showed his love through using their works, one always at his side, filled with something or another.
By the time he had great-grandchildren, there were nearly fifty such pieces. Even if one of his many descendants didn't go into the family business, they still made something for him as it had become tradition. After all, it was pottery that made their family wealthy. So the growing collection of pots, vases, cups, mortaria, bowls, and amphorae was used and loved. The more magic they came into contact with, the more durable they became until everyone in the family used only those well-loved pots. They traveled between homes carrying gifts and the bounties of the harvest alike. And the Potter knew just by touch who made which pot as they had been formed with the child's magic steeped into the clay.
So when he died, he asked for one thing, that he be buried with something made by every one of them. And they honored this, his adult family members guiding the young as they made a collection fit for any king, delicate and decorative, along with his own last pot. But once again, the old man did not intend for their hard work to go to waste, so after a period of morning, the family took back the pots, not caring who took whose. And like this, it continued from generation to generation, all asking for the same treatment, until there were so many pots that when the family decided to head north to find new lands, they couldn't possibly take them all.
But leaving any behind was unthinkable.
So they found the first pot, which a family wine maker was using to test her product, and gathered together. They set the vase, now near indestructible, in the middle of the large courtyard of one of their sprawling villas and began to work. They sorted through all of the collected vessels until they found the ones belonging to his children. Both the ones they first made and the ones made for their funerals, and they shrunk them down to lovingly place them in the first Potter's vase. They continued like this, oldest to newest, each passed around and handled with care as they were placed within. And even though it should have been full long ago, it wasn't. Every single piece fit, and it seemed to even radiate with excitement for more. Like called to like.
So another new tradition formed: the vase radiated magic that welcomed each blood member in, and they gifted it their first and last pots, as well as the ones made for funerals. And soon the pot began showing scenes of the life of the family members whose pots were being placed inside. The highs and lows are recorded for everyone to see and learn from.
So now, after millennia, the vase sat in the very middle of Potter Manor and welcomed James and Fleamont excitedly, magic rushing over and enveloping them. Calling to like. They stuck their hands through the metal dodecahedron cage, which was the anchor for the wards. And ran gentle fingers over the smooth surface, offering their magic for the avatar to take. The thousands of runes began to glow, the room so thick with magic it was hard to breathe. But it was also the most relaxing place they could be. They were swaddled by the thousands of magical signatures, wrapping them up like a hug and lingering like a caress as the runes dimmed back down.
James would never be able to explain this place to anyone; this was for Potters alone. Not even his mother had been in here, though she had touched his own first pot carefully as she cried, before his father whisked it away, never to be seen by her again. The vase had become so intertwined with their family magic that their 'milestone' pottery trembled until it was part of the greater whole. This room was warded until none but a bloodborn Potter could enter. This was their family's greatest treasure, and they protected it as it deserved.
There was also the band on one of the handles, a metal so black it seemed to suck in the light around it; the only thing visible was the mark of Hades. It was a much more recent addition, over a thousand years, but the family magic had eagerly welcomed the change. It was the brand of one of a God most of the family had worshipped. After all, everyone returned to the earth one day, and the earth was the foundation upon which their family was built.
James often wondered what had become of the Peverall family avatar, because while the pot bore its mark, it was still entirely a Potter artifact. Since Antioch died without children, it should have gone to Cadmus. But so many families had died out over the years, and their avatars had either subsumed or lost. James couldn't imagine it happening to his own family's avatar, and the thought always caused him physical pain, like his own magic was recoiling at the mere thought.
He also didn't understand families who spoke of their avatar with outsiders or showed it off. According to Sirius, his family had theirs in a sitting room for anyone to see if the door was open. Though at least they kept quiet about how it worked. Honestly, James thought that was a greater indicator of the Black madness than anything else. And when Sirius had keeled over one day after class and cried out for his cousin, Andromeda, James had been shocked. He had never heard of anyone purposely damaging part of the family avatar like that. Even the worst of the Potter still were part of the vase.
"Iákōbos," Being suddenly called by his true name was so surprising that James was finally able to look up. Fleamont placed a hand on him, grounding him further.
Something had come over him; the thoughts flashed through his own mind as he watched the pot shift. James continued to stare until Fleamont seemed to realize part of what was wrong, gently pulled James' hand from the avatar, and guided him so he couldn't look at it.
"Dad?" James' voice was still far off, and his head started to turn.
His father gripped James' face in his hands, refusing to let his son look back. The longer James was forced to look at him, the more present he became. "Are you back with me?" If this wasn't family magic, Fleamont might have felt uneasy, but he knew there was no danger here.
"Yeah, sorry. It's just never looked like that before," James was still resisting the urge to look.
Fleamont gave him a long look over, "I think whatever changed within you is causing this. James, you need to tell me what happened. Do we need to leave the room?"
"No! We need to stay," James was firm on that.
"Okay, tell me what happened."
So James did.
When Fleamont found out James had told his friends about their family secret, he couldn't help but huff in aggravation. The stern lecture he was about to give was cut off before it began. "Dad, you don't understand. They both had watchers. Not just the casual kind, but the kind that need to speak. Remus' was always there, and Sirius' was only going between three people but still spending most of its time with Sirius and Regulus. I felt like I was going crazy. There was no escaping it, and no matter how I tried to calm them, neither of them would let up."
Fleamont pulled James in for a tight hug. He had only experienced such a thing during his own seventh year. There had been a first-year being watched over by her mother, and she was desperate. The only thing that kept him from breaking was that the watcher was so focused on her daughter that she never bothered with James unless they were standing next to each other, which made it easy to avoid her. Fleamont had still sent one of the school elves to the girl to provide her with a night light and milk for after nightmares, it had happened a constant strain. Fleamont couldn't imagine holding back for four years with two souls who were so desperate to speak. And the only reason he hadn't seen the problem sooner was that he kept his shield up at all times when anyone not direct family was around. He regretted that now, his son had suffered, and Fleamont could have helped if he had known there was a problem to begin with.
"Oh, James, I'm so sorry," Fleamont rocked his baby boy in his arms. Fleamont might be a necromancer himself, but he wasn't as closely aligned to that side of the family magic, taking after the base Potter magic. But James had always radiated the Peverell magic, ever since he was born; Fleamont could feel it. It had pressed against his own magic as it sought a stabilizing connection to the living. And James, whose magic was once just chilly, was now ice cold.
"I'm sorry, I promise they would never do anything to hurt us. I even got an unbreakable vow from them that covers everything. We all worked it out to make it air-tight."
"I'm sure you did, son," Fleamont would later ask for a copy of the wording. He needed to ensure his family's safety, but for now, he would believe James. "So you allowed his grandmother to speak?"
"She was easy, she still lingers, but shes content most of the time to just watch. She was always worse when Sirius came back to school. I think if Sirius didn't still live with his mother, Melania would be able to rest." James sniffled lightly. "But Remus... Dad, he had a twin."
Fleamont Potter pulled back in shock, looking his son over for any hint he was joking, even if he logically knew James would never do that. "A twin?! But he's... How long?"
"Eight years."
"Fuck," The word was dragged from Fleamont, feeling like a slash against his soul. He knew as well as anyone else that that should be impossible and that every moment must be agony. "How is he still alive?"
"DEATH said stubbornness but mostly sheer dumb luck."
Fleamont went stock still, his words whispered as if saying them any louder would conjure the deity. "DEATH?"
James explained the whole thing, and when Fleamont found out just how close James had been to passing over, he almost broke down. He could have lost his son, and he hadn't been there to protect the most precious person in his life. The only thing that kept him steady was how awed-filled James' eyes were as he told his tale, what he had learned, and the task he was given.
When it was all said and done, Fleamont drooped. He wished he could forbid James from going through with it, but he knew that if he wasn't there to help and supervise, James would do it behind his back. The only thing that made it bearable was that DEATH itself had approved of this course of action and that Loki seemed to be egging it on. Trying this was the kind of thing he had been taught his whole life would not only not work but would kill the person attempting it.
But it seemed they had no choice. The longer Fleamont studied his son, the clearer the red chord that wrapped around him became. He could also see that if this wasn't dealt with before his seventeenth birthday, James' magical core would burst. It was already worringly squished, and by how bad James looked, he could obviously feel it too.
"Okay, I have an idea, don't move." Fleamont walked back to the vase, making sure James didn't turn to watch. He cut his hand and reached for the handle. "Golems." And as he tips the vase, silver liquid poured out slowly forming into a journal. With the journal in hand, Fleamont pulled James from the room.
Once they were out, James seemed to be able to focus entirely again. "A golem?"
"A golem," Fleamont confirmed.
"Have you ever?"
"A few times during Grindlewald's war. Do you think you could get Remus here for the rest of break? If we do this, it will be much easier with him here."
James stopped in the middle of their march towards his father's study. "Dad, I don't want to tell him..." He trailed off, rubbing his face. This was too much stress for one fifteen-year-old boy. But they had no choice but to keep moving. "What if it doesn't work? Dad, I'm afraid of what might happen if I tell him about it and it doesn't work."
Fleamont understood him completely. "James, you are the most powerful necromancer our family has produced in a long time. DEATH itself gave you this task, and Loki is on your side. Your mother and I will also be here to help every step of the way. I promise you, you will not have to do this alone." Fleamont wouldn't assure him it would all go perfectly, but he could ensure his son knew he wasn't alone.
James rushed into his father's arms, relaxing into his warmth and taking comfort from the magic that held him close. "I think we can get him here."
Remus Lupin was confused. There had been a knock at the door, his mother got up to answer it, only to call for him. Remus didn't know anyone who lived in their village; he only ever saw them in passing or when shopping. So he didn't know who could be here for him. He put down his book and joined his Ma, only to frown at the sight of James and Fleamont Potter standing in the entranceway.
"James? Did you forget something?" Remus asked, thinking the only thing this could be was James having left something in his truck.
Remus swore that if the cloak had accidentally come home with him, he strangle his friend. It drove Remus bonkers how blasé James was with the incredibly old, incredibly powerful, and incredibly important artifact. When Remus had tried to chide him over it, James had just tilted his head in confusion, saying that the cloak was tied to his family as if it were an extra limb. It always came when it was called for, and James had used it growing up to play hide-and-seek. Remus had just gaped, unable to believe it. James just laughed and said, "Let's play hide and seek." And the damned cloak had flown out of James' trunk, despite it being locked, and wrapped itself around his shoulders. Remus didn't know what to do, so when James just pulled him close, covering them both with it, Remus said nothing.
"Remy, this cloak has been in the family for centuries. I doubt there isn't a Potter who hasn't played hide-and-seek with it. After all these years and all that happiness, it has grown a bit of a mind of its own." James fondly stroked the liquid like fabric. "Relax and concentrate on it. Tell me what you feel."
Remus closed his eyes, let his mind wander, trying to focus on the magic around him. Such things were hard since he could hardly ever feel anything above the feel of his curse, but for a flicker, it was there. And it was so incredibly old and young at the same time. The magic itself was ancient, but the personality it developed was that of a kid. And a mischievous one at that.
Remus snorted, "When it flies up around our ankles sometimes when we're running, it does that one purpose, does it?"
James laughed, head thrown back, and echoing oddly. The cloak radiated a sheepish smugness, like that of a child who got caught doing something they weren't supposed to do but somehow pulled it off. James gently removed the cloak, a fleeting sense of disappointment. "Don't worry, we have plans soon," James Potter soothed a semi-sentient piece of fabric.
So when James showed up, biting his bottom lip and looking up at Remus through his eyelashes, Remus was ready to shake him.
"No, Rem, I have all my stuff. But... can I talk to you in private?" Remus looked to his mom; it was one of her better days, so she readily accepted. She showed Fleamont to the sitting room and left to get tea while Remus took his friend to his bedroom.
James collapsed on his bed, fingers twiddling and looking around nervously.
"What's wrong?" Remus walked forward, squatting down until they were level, forcing James to look at him.
James flinched back momentarily but then leaned forward to wrap him up in a hug. "I can't tell you why until we are at the manor, but I really need you to come with me."
"James-"
"It's a code red," James told him.
"Fuck, okay, let me get packed." Remus stood, starting to gather the few things he had already unpacked.
A code red, originally code reggie, was their term for indicating that something had gone wrong and that they needed to meet up about it now. It also meant someone was probably going to be upset, but that no one was hurt. It said all Remus needed to know to get him moving.
Remus pressed the lid of this trunk closed, tapping at one of the fittings twice, and shoved the now shrunk luggage into his pocket. "Okay, let's go, not sure how to convince Ma-"
"Don't worry, that was Dad's job."
"He knows?"
"Yeah, it's a family thing," The way James stressed the word family clued Remus in on what was happening. Not the details, but it was more than enough for anxiety to kick in.
"What if she says no?"
James looked at him as if judging his response and whether he should say anything. Remus furrowed his brows. What could James possibly be worried about?
The punch to the gut he felt when James carefully said, "She will,' was completely unexpected. Remus fully understood the implication of those two words. The unspoken truth of the situation.
"But-" Remus wanted to be indignant on his Ma's behalf, but before he could, James cut him off.
"Remus, do you trust me?"
"Of course! But this is-"
"Remus," The hard edge to his friend's voice was unexpected. "You're coming with me to prevent a code black."
Remus's knees went weak, and he barely caught himself against the wall, James reaching out to steady him. "Fuck."
"Yeah."
They had never needed to call a code black, and to be honest, Remus thought it would only happen when Sirius' mother finally went too far. It meant someone was currently or would shortly be dying. Remus looked up in a panic, "Pads?"
"No! He's fine. You just need to come with me."
"Okay, okay. Just promise me he won't hurt her."
James flinched back, "Of course not! If it comes to that, there are much gentler ways. And give the old man a shot, he can be extremely persuasive."
Remus worried at his lip, on the edge of drawing blood, before he nodded and marched down the stairs. They stopped before entering the room, peaking around the door frame to watch what was happening.
Fleamont Potter was sitting across from his Ma. He was obviously wary but still determined, and his Ma was anxiously wringing her handkerchief. "Are you sure? You know... don't you?" Remus flinched, hating the way his Ma looked in that moment. Her body was curling in on itself as if bracing for a blow, and tears were starting to form.
The older man reached out, gently taking his Ma's hands in his much larger ones. "I am so sorry for everything that has happened to you and your family. Yes, both my wife and I know. And it has never changed our opinion about Remus. You raised a wonderful son."
His Ma nodded, tears now flowing freely, "He's so good, so much better than us."
Remus could take no more; he rushed into the room and swept his Ma up into a hug. He was taller than she was now, and it was easy to hold her as she started to cry. Remus desperately wished he could do something to soothe her. She had been having such a good day, but now she was breaking apart under the weight of everything. Remus closed his eyes so he wouldn't glare at the two Potters. He knew it wasn't their fault, and with a code black, they didn't really have a choice, but it still hurt to know he'd be leaving his Ma here alone. Pa was hardly ever around, always busy working as an excuse for never coming home. Remus knew he couldn't look at his only son without remembering, and unlike his Ma, who could see past it, his Pa never could. She deserved so much better.
Finally, Hope Lupin pulled back, wiping at her tears before forcing a laugh. "Sorry about that, dear. Just had a moment, nothing to worry over. Mr. Potter let me know you were needed over early. Do you want to go?"
Remus wanted so desperately to stay, but he knew he was bout to break her heart again.
Fleamont, who had been watching this with sad eyes, spoke up, "Oh, sorry if I wasn't clear! I just meant for him to come over during the days. I even have a portkey prepared that he can take back and forth." Remus hadn't seen him do it, but he was sure that he didn't have a portkey until his mother started crying. He was holding a small vase, which must have been shrunk before now, out for his Ma to take.
The relieved hiccup that left her as she held the piece of pottery tightly to her chest made Remus want to scream. It was all so unfair. He also wanted to thank Fleamont Potter for recognizing just how much his Ma needed him and for changing course without making a scene. Remus could see the way his Ma was scratching the skin around her thumb, something that she only did when she was embarrassed. Remus knew this because he did it too.
But as he looked to Fleamont, hoping to silently convey his gratitude, the other man paid them no mind; his full attention was on James. And James was standing there looking absolutely flabbergasted, his skin was as white as Remus had ever seen it. He opened his mouth a few times before he finally swallowed so hard that Remus could see his Adam's apple bob from here. Remus would have to find out what had just happened later, but for now, he needed to talk to his Ma. He was also glad she didn't know he had his trunk in his pocket. What she didn't know couldn't hurt her.
"I'm sorry that my thoughtlessness led to the miscommunication. I was just overly excited. I've been learning to brew the wolfsbane potion, and I am finally sure I have it absolutely perfect. I was even able to improve on it a bit; the change should be smoother. I just want to make sure that during this first course, Remus doesn't have any sort of allergic reaction. And since my wife is a healer and I keep a large stock of antidotes on hand, I thought it might be best for him to stay for a few hours to ensure his safety." Remus caught the slight twinge of guilt in Fleamont's eyes when his Ma nearly burst into relieved tears. She was rushing forward to hug the older man around the waist. Fleamont looked at him for guidance. Remus mimed patting her on the back, and the man quickly mimicked his actions. Remus couldn't even tell if it was a lie, but either way, it was the exact story they needed to get him over at the Potters. And it kept his Ma happy, grateful even.
It made Remus feel bad for deceiving her like this, so he focused on James instead, who was still darting looks between the vase and his father. Whatever that vase really was, it must be extremely important. But that was a question for later.
"Since I'm already here, I wondered if it would be too much to ask to take him for the rest of the day?"
"No, of course, no, it's perfectly acceptable!" Hope rushed, thoughts of Fleamont taking back his offer obviously running through her mind.
"Also, since I have you here, my wife has been wanting to speak with you about some treatments she thought might help Remus. Would you mind meeting up with her a few times to get his medical history?" Remus could tell Fleamont noticed just how lonely his Ma was, and that he was doing this to cheer her up, but the question just set her off again. They both knew that Remus still being alive was a medical miracle, and his Ma had always been extra sensitive when healing was brought up.
She flinched so hard that the vase she had been clutching onto like a lifeline dropped, and Remus only had moments to catch it. James was cringing, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, keeping himself from reaching out for it. Fleamont, on the other hand, hadn't made a move, obviously trusting in whatever enchantments it held to keep it from breaking. "Oh, yes... Of course, I would love having her over." It was like his Ma hadn't even noticed what had just happened, looking off into the distance before she gathered herself together and produced the widest, fakest smile Remus had ever seen. It was like a blow, and he couldn't help but pull her in again.
His Ma was his rock, and Remus did everything he could to be the same for her. It was always worse after he had been gone for school, but within a few days of having Remus back within her sight, she would calm down.
After a moment, she shoo'd him away, "You best be off, make sure you're on your best behavior."
"No need to worry, Ma, I always am." Remus's smile was crooked.
Hope slapped his shoulder playfully, "Don't you try that with me, I know the boy I raised."
They were both smiling now. It was soft and sad, that of two people who were broken but still moving forward. Because really, that's all they could do, counting each day as a blessing, not thinking of anything but the here and now. They said their goodbyes, Remus giving his Ma another hug, and carefully placing the vase on the mantle, before following the two Potters out into the front garden.
The moment they passed the wards, Fleamont gripped their biceps and pulled them along as he apperated. They landed in Potter Manor's foyer.
Remus always felt odd standing on the beautiful mosaic flooring in the entrance, a giant canvas depicting the Potter crest and family motto. But before he could study it further, Mr. Potter was turning and pulling Remus into his chest as hard as he possibly could. Remus could only stiffen; it had been years since he had been hugged by a man, and it was strange to be so surrounded. His thoughts were miles away, but his body was latched on for a reason he couldn't understand.
"I am so sorry," Fleamont whispered.
All Remus could do was nod, not sure why he was even doing that.
"Remmy!" Sirius yelled as he rushed into the room, all boundless excitement.
Remus pulled away from the arms holding him reluctantly, leaving them open for the expected hug from Padfoot. Sirius was talking a mile a minute and looking up at him with sparkling grey eyes. James was hanging back when Sirius turned to search for him, waving him over to join in. It had only been a day, and Remus had already missed them so much.
They stayed like that for a minute, Sirius wiggling happily between them like he did in his animagus form, when they heard the click of a camera. Mrs. Potter was now standing next to Mr. Potter, a fancy camera in hand and a smile on her face.
"Mom!" James moaned, burying his face in Sirius's hair.
"It's just good to see you all so happy," And while she said that, Remus knew from the many stories James had told them that she was more than likely taking pictures to use as blackmail material. According to James, his mom was the best prankster around, and he was only following in her footsteps. He had once said something similar to McGonagal, and the women had just looked off into the distance and shuddered. James subsequent detention was writing lines about bad influences, though only Remus seemed to see the connection.
"Come now, we have much to talk about. The elves have made all your favorites."
Remus suddenly remembered that he was here for a code black. The Potter strongly believed in everyone sharing the same meal, as it put less stress on the house elves. So, Mrs. Potter arranging for all their favorites to be present said a lot. Remus noticed that Sirius was just as confused; obviously, all three Potters knew what was going on.
Euphemia poured the tea and waited for them all start eating before she spoke again. Remus was watching her warily, unsure how to feel. "Now, I hear you three are planning to dedicate yourselves to Loki during the upcoming full moon?"
A quick shared glance between them before they all nodded firmly. Euphemia smiled, taking a sip of her tea. "How lovely! Do you have everything you need?"
James sheepishly scratched his cheek, "Yeah, we got almost everything. It's just... canyougetmeaflockofravens?"
Euphemia blinked, "Dear, you're going to have to repeat that for me."
"Can you get me a flock of ravens?"
Euphemia hummed for a moment, "I can see why you would go that way. Of course, we'll get you what you need. You know when they come back, with how everything is aligned, there will be changes, correct?"
"Yeah, I figured. With how some of the rabbits at school behave..."
"Ravens were a good choice," Fleamont noted, quickly summoning a pen to set up the purchase. "A representation of an enemy of one deity, and an ally of the other." Fleamont looked between them, "I'm assuming James will be doing that part?"
Remus took another bite and nodded, more than a little put off with how casual this was. Sirius flinched slightly next to him, and without looking, both James and Remus patted one of his thighs.
"Probably the best choice and nicely balanced. I'm assuming you'll be wanting 21? Will you be using the circle in the yew clearing?"
"Yes, 21 should do. And if you don't mind-"
Euphemia waved her hand about, "Of course not, dear, it would be perfect. A little far from the manor, but I'm sure you'll be up for the hike."
"And you know we can't join you, right?" Fleamont asked.
"We would invite you if we could, but we know that it's supposed to be private." Remus had already thought of this when James brought up using one of his family circles. The one they planned to use was in a clearing of a grove of yew trees. And now that Remus knew about the Peverall family magic, it made complete sense that they had a stone circle that was basically dedicated to necromancy.
The older Potters shared a long look, a whole conversation shared without words. "We'll be within shouting distance in case anything goes wrong." Euphemia's words were careful.
"Nothing will go wrong, we've been planning this for years now!" Sirius took another bite of his pot roast sandwich. He obviously wasn't paying as much attention as Remus was if he hadn't noticed the tension.
"Why do you expect things to go wrong?" Remus set down his cutlery.
Fleamont sighed as he leaned back, holding Euphemia's hand within his own. "It's not that we're expecting things to go wrong. In fact, we suspect it will go better than anticipated. But there have been some... unforeseen additions."
"Is this the code black?" Remus looked at James, who was twiddling his fingers and refusing to look at anyone.
"Code black?! But-!" Sirius dropped his food all overhimself as he looked around wildly.
Remus gripped the back of Sirius's neck, forcing the boy to go still.
"I hate it when you do that," He mumbled when Remus let go, body still loose.
"But it works," Remus teased lightly.
"So a code black?" Sirius cleaned himself with a swish of his wand. He leaned over the table like a general waiting for answers on why a mission had gone to shit.
Fleamont and Euphemiia looked confused, and James seemed unwilling to speak up, so that left Remus to explain. "We came up with a set of phrases to let each other know when something major is happening. A code black means someone is currently dying or will soon die. It's our drop everything and do exactly as told phrase." Remus looked back at James, "James informed me there was a code black when we were back at mine."
"I'm sorry that my son worried you so. He wasn't exactly wrong to use such a phrase, but it might have been best for him not to." Euphemia gave James a long look, her eyes speaking of understanding, while her frown showed her displeasure.
Remus wasn't about to explain to her just why James had used it. It had driven home just how important it was to convince his Ma to let them leave. And that James was more than willing to bewitch her to make it happen. Remus was still upset about that, but he hoped that by the end of this conversation, it would all make sense.
"James told us about what happened a few nights ago." Fleamont's words were carefully measured, showing no hint of how he might feel on the subject.
Remus and Sirius flinched at the reminder of that awful night, and James just curled into himself more. Remus reached around Padfoot's shoulders so he could rest his hand on James' arm. The teen sighed and let himself fall against Sirius' side to find comfort.
"We have to thank you both for taking care of him and keeping a level head during such an... unusual situation."
It was clear that both adults were trying their hardest not to bring up any of the emotions the trio might have felt that day. All they could do was nod, because of course they had taken care of James; he was theirs, and there was just no other choice. Remus pressed his fingertips down, digging into the soft flesh, to reassure himself.
"Yes, that must have been hard," Remus caught the flash of distress in Mrs. Potter's eyes before she tucked it away. And he only now realized what would have happened if James hadn't come back. Learning about it after the fact was only marginally better than experiencing it. Remus could easily imagine that finding out something happened when you weren't there could easily make you feel helpless. And probably left a last anxiety about letting James out of their sight.
"So code black?" Sirius asked, trying to force the conversation away from feelings he wasn't ready to deal with.
"Well, the reason the reaction was so extreme is..." Fleamont looked at Remus, face pinched. "Well, there's no easy way to say this, Remus, but your brother isn't dead."
Remus couldn't move; he felt like he had been hexed with a body bind. "I saw it," he didn't know where the words came from, surely it wasn't him speaking.
And then rage, rage like he had never known before, his body standing as he flipped the table in front of him, "I saw it!" He screamed over and over, spit flying from his mouth.
But the Potters did nothing, they only watched him with pity as he body kicked and screamed.
Calm.
His head was floaty, and he looked down at his hands, at the food flung across the floor, along with the broken table. He could see that in Euphemia's hand was an empty vial. The scent of lavender came from his mouth.
'Ah, a calming draught,' He thought.
Remus looked down at Sirius and James, both of whom were looking at him with shocked but understanding eyes.
"I- I'm not sure what just..." He trailed off, standing in the middle of the destruction he caused. Remus couldn't understand why he had ever been so angry; there was no need for anger.
"I'm sorry about that, dear. I hoped the splash in the tea would be enough to work." Euphemia stood, clearing away the mess as he walked over to him. "I'll have to note that you need a double dose next time." Her wand moved in intricate patterns, observing the reactions of the spells. "It looks like it will wear off within the next ten minutes; better get as much as we can out now." She pushed him gently back down to the couch.
Remus watched her take her seat. They had just told him his brother was alive, but that couldn't possibly be right. He had seen it. He still saw it in every one of his nightmares. She sighed, quickly floating another cup of sweet, milky tea over to him. He took it in hand, enjoying the warmth against his fingertips and the smell of Darjeeling. Remus took a sip; it was excellent tea after all, no need to waste it.
"Remus, son, can you look at me?" Fleamont asked, and of course, Remus could; it was easy. "Okay, I'll try to make this as quick as possible, so when the potion wears off, you will be able to process what was said." Remus nodded. "When James used his powers that night, Loki, at least according to DEATH, pushed him through to the beyond."
"That's a dick move."
Both Potters blinked rapidly for a moment before breaking out into amused laughter. Remus liked their laughs and was glad he could make them laugh.
"It was very much a dick move. But he had his reasons, so I guess we'll have to forgive him." Euphemia shrugged.
Fleamont cleared his throat and started speaking again. "James ended up in the between, not really dead but also not really alive. At least less alive than when he normally uses his powers. Hel greeted him and explained what was happening. I'm sure you know that magical twins share a bond?"
Remus rubbed at his chest at the sudden pang of agony at just the thought.
"Yes, you would know better than any of us ever could." The man sighed, looking pained at just the thought of what Remus must be going through. "When you were attacked, your brother wasn't ready to move on. He was still in the in between, waiting for you to join him. But somehow, according to Hel, at least you both were stubborn and lucky enough for him to wind up stuck there. He couldn't truly die while linked to you. Apparently, a giant wolf is with your brother, holding the fraying strand of your bond together while lying on your brother and forcing him to stay still."
"Moony?" Remus was starting to feel something, but it was just out of reach.
"Moony. Apparently, since you are still bound, you are acting as an anchor to keep him alive. It probably would have never changed if it weren't for Loki. He pushed James into the in between, so he became wrapped up in your bond. Tangled in it but not part of it."
Remus felt his lip quiver, "So he's not dead."
"No."
Remus turned to look at James, studying the boy and wondering if he could force himself to see the link that was apparently still there. He couldn't.
"Now, we wish we could give you more time, but we need to have everything set up to bring him back when you do your ritual." Mr. Potter did look truly sorry, but it was overshadowed by determination.
"Romulus will be back?" His voice was small, and the constant background ache he always felt was building. As if now that he fully recognized it was still there, it refused to be ignored. Ever since that night, he had thought Moony had been trying to drive him crazy. He had thought that the curse was somehow using its bond to make him feel like it was his brother. And in part that was true, he was feeling Romulus along with Moony. And suddenly, he loved that fucking wolf more than he had ever hated it. Something within him rumbled, pleased to be recognized and appreciated. "I'm so sorry, Moony," he whispered as he rubbed at his chest.
"We think we have everything figured out. James didn't want to bring it up until he could talk to me to make sure it was even possible. So if everything goes well, your brother will be back soon."
Remus looked to James' emotions, finally starting to leak back in. James had hidden this from him, and he could be nothing but grateful for it. He launched himself across Siri's body, lying over his lap as he hid his face against James' stomach. 'Thank yous' falling from his mouth like a rushing stream, each one slipping and melding into the next. But he didn't cry. He hadn't been this happy since he lost Rom, and now he would be getting him back.
"What do we do?" Remus asked, determination to help filling him.
"Here's the plan," James spoke as he smiled down at Moony.