the hallows - f. weasley

- c h a p t e r - t w e n t y-n i n e -

 James had only really been in a state of excruciating pain of being a few times in his life.

Most of the time, it was from physical ailments—breaking his arm while playing quidditch, flying face first into a tree (which happened a lot surprisingly [not really surprising]), being punched by a certain redhead girl who had become his sister quicker than he thought possible.

But there were other moments when James Potter felt like his whole world was coming to an end—his heart aching to the point where he wasn't sure it was beating anymore.

The times Violet shut them all out—unable to process her feelings without turning into a shell of who she was or when he lost his parents to Dragon Pox. There were many other times—but those were the couple that really felt like he was being stabbed in the chest.

But in his few decades of life—James hadn't felt the pain he had the day he and Lily had to fake their deaths, leaving everything behind.

Lily was belligerent about the safety plan, not wanting to do as Dumbledore ordered. James was right there with her.

The old wizard had given them a charm that would somehow repel the Killing curse. He never explained how he came across the spell, nor would he answer any questions pertaining to it—just repeatedly saying to keep it a secret and they would know when the time was right to use it.

The couple never expected to use it the night of All Hallows' Eve. And they never expected the magic to ultimately kill and destroy Voldemort when it rebounded off the shield around Lily.

And they surely didn't know that when hit with the Killing Curse, their bodies would act as if they were actually dead. Their limbs were locked and eyes glassy, but their hearts still beat in their chest—even if it was barely audible and easy to miss. And that night–as he lay on the bottom steps of his own home, looking like a corpse–James fought. He fought to move, to overcome the spell of the likeness of death. He fought to go and find Lily and Harry–being able to hear his son's screams.

But all he could do was stare up at the crumbling ceiling and listen to the cries echoing around the house.

And that was when Violet appeared.

He heard the gate slam against the stone fence outside the broken front door and could hear Violet screaming his and Lily's names.

He heard and saw everything that happened until Dumbledore came to the house.

He saw the actual horror in Violet's tear-stained and pale face as her dark eyes stared at his still form. She screamed for him to be alive–she begged him to come back, sobbing so hard James was scared she would throw herself into a panic or an anxiety attack. He felt her lips press against his forehead–his glasses being straightened on his face–before whispering her final farewell and moving up the stairs.

He was aware and internally bellowing as Harry grew quiet, as Sirius found him and then Violet and Harry upstairs, as he left and was replaced by Hagrid–taking his son away.

Violet never came back downstairs–didn't come back into his view again.

But her screams and pleas stuck with him. They stuck with him all those years he and Lily were stuck beyond the Veil–never getting updates other than Harry was alive from Dumbledore. They haunted him as he slept, and from Lily's expression when they discussed all the things that could be happening outside of their little secret bubble in the world, James knew his wife's ears were still lingered by the sounds.

There was no other way to describe Violet's screams other than unrelinquished and heart-shattering.

And the day Sirius magically appeared in their backyard–nearly shitting himself after seeing the two alive and happy–the screaming got louder.