Chapter Text
James and Lily ended their relationship in August 1978. The official response that James used, whenever someone felt the unbearable need to remind him that his relationship with the woman he had been in love with for years had came to an end was that "they wanted different things at the moment" and "that maybe in the future they could try again". It was a convenient excuse, since Lily was no longer in England. She was on a high-profile mission on behalf of the Order, where exactly no one knew, it was classified information.
Deep down, James preferred not to know.
Because if he knew, he was able to drop everything to go after her.
The worst part of their breakup was that James had no idea why Lily had suddenly decided that they were not a good match. They had been together for months, shared an apartment, had their wedding scheduled! And everything was going well between them. Or as well as it could be considering that they were in the middle of a war. Despite the stress, anxiety and fear that undeniably inhabited their hearts, both Lily and James were focused on doing their best to bring about the end of Voldemort. They worked excellently dueling side by side, and so skillful was that partnership that the Dark Lord even offered a place for the couple among his fellow Death Eaters.
The Lord had made his proposal three times.
And the three times he had had this great audacity, he had been answered with a vehement negative.
It might be ridiculous, but James felt his heart warm as he remembered those occasions. He felt that those experiences solidified the connection between him and the redhead.
And between battles, and strategic meetings with the Order, they still had the opportunity to enjoy some tender moments between them. Simple things like shopping, or dining together, but which still carried great meaning, and a sense of domesticity that comforted and filled him inside.
And then, something happened. One day, when Lily arrived home, she looked like someone else. Distant and vague. Insecure. Almost scared.
At the end of the week, she gathered her things and left.
James spent weeks trying to understand. Reassessing everything he had done since the moment they were together. Everything he had said. Even everything he had in mind. The inconsistency of that decision was leaving him so bewildered that he would not be surprised if she had examined his mind and discovered something.
Of course, Remus had been the first to remind him that there was nothing to discover. James was an open book, for his friends and, especially, for his bride. He didn't understand why Lily did what she did, no one who knew about the case seemed to understand, but the truth was, there was nothing James had done wrong. He had introduced himself as an exemplary boyfriend.
The conclusion hit James with the weight of a ton. If he hadn't done anything wrong ... That meant he wouldn't be able to fix the situation, either. There was nothing to fix, there was nothing to ask for forgiveness. And James felt his throat dry, his heart tighten and his legs wobble. He dreamed so many times of apparating to where his redhead was and throwing himself at her feet and begging her forgiveness. He thought of countless gestures of love, thought of everything he was willing to do, what he was willing to sacrifice, to get her back.
James Potter was a man of countless talents. He had a natural ability for almost anything he tried, he was charming, charismatic and impeccable in appearance.
However, those who knew Potter intimately knew that his true gift was to love.
An unbelievable skill, certainly an inheritance from his parents and that ran in his own blood. James Potter was capable of loving with the intensity of a thousand suns, and when he contemplated the possibility that he had been unable to love Lily enough to make her stay, the world seemed to darken around him.
All his life, that had been his main function, to love the parents who wanted a child so much, to love Sirius during the wet dawns they spent side by side, with the Black boy sobbing on his shoulder, to love him enough so that his childhood traumas were made to be only distant memories. Loving Remus enough until he was able to love himself, forcing him to love himself because how could Lupin despise someone who was so genuinely loved by James Potter? To love Lily Evans for all her qualities and flaws, to love her enough to give her strength to survive in the world to which she belonged, but which seemed to hate her so much.
To Love. To Love. To Love.
It was what James Potter was born to do.
And now?
And now he wasn't sure if he knew how. If he ever knew how.
But he couldn't let his devastated heart interfere with what he had to do. He was a valuable soldier in a war that had already torn the lives of so many young people, wizards and witches, he had a mission. So James gave himself up completely to work. His focus from waking up to the last moments of consciousness until he gave himself up to his deserved sleep was his responsibility to order. Missions, battles, meetings. Nothing else filled his time, nothing else seemed to matter. Sirius and Remus were concerned, they were sharing a loft not far from where James lived, now alone, and were trying to invite their friend over for dinner, going out or even spending the night.
James never accepted, he knew he needed to remain strong for those two, and he was afraid that if he let them get too close, he would fall apart. James would return to normal one day, when he was strong enough to face everything without feeling that he would burst into tears until he sobbed, when he had finally overcome his feelings and moved on. Everything would be back to normal.
The problem was that months passed and the moment did not seem to come.
So on that cold Wednesday, James felt entitled to lie down comfortably in his bed and drink. Drinking too much while drowning in self pity.
It was then that desperate knocking on the door woke him out of his trance, and with the wand in his hand, very cautiously, he answered the call.
Nothing in the world could have surprised Potter more than the image of Regulus Black on his door. He was shaking, bleeding and scared. There was a slightly stunned look in his eyes - as if he were drugged, and he looked as if he had been assaulted. Among the injuries that James could identify, his right arm was the one that attracted the most attention, being a mixture of black and red. He was completely soaked.
"C-can I come in?"
"Well, seeing that you are a Death Eater and we are in the middle of a war." James said. "I don't see why not"
Before passing out, Regulus Black whispered in his arms:
“I didn't know where else to go”