HP Fic: Ceremony of Innocence
Title: Ceremony of Innocence
Author: parallactic aka Zimquist
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them, and am not making a profit.
Author's Note: Written for the springtime_gen ficathon exchange for junediamanti.
Characters: Lily, Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter
Summary: Harry was born in the middle of a war, during a time of uncertainty and doubt.
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere,
The ceremony of innocence is drowned.
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
--The Second Coming, by W.B. Yeats
Lily found out she was pregnant on a visit to St. Mungo's for spell shock. She asked the healer to repeat himself, because she couldn't have heard clearly; her ears had just been turned back into flesh and cartilage.
"Congratulations, you're pregnant," repeated the healer, this time taking care to enunciate each syllable.
Her robes were sticky with blood, wrists cramped from flinging spells, and despite being young, she ached all over from the demanding hours of being a member of the Order. Lily said, "That's just not possible."
"Well, you are," said the healer, lightly, before his expression changed. "Have you experienced any gaps in your memory? We can run some tests."
Lily stared at the healer, then flushed. "Oh, I know how I could have gotten--I'm married."
The healer relaxed, tension leaking from his body. "That's a relief. You don't know how many times we get that--witches coming in complaining of ailments, surprised they're pregnant, and it turns out they were memory charmed."
"I thought I couldn't, because there's a war on, and you can't raise a child in the middle of a war zone," Lily explained.
"You'd be surprised. There's often a boom in children during wars," said the healer.
*
Sirius came back to his flat, worn to the bone from running another errand for the Order, to find James sprawled on his sofa. James was still and composed, the only thing alive on him his wild mass of hair, eyes hollow, mouth slack, hands a limp curve around a glass of fire whisky.
Sirius flopped down on the sofa, taking care to jostle James, and snagged the fire whisky before a drop could be spilled. "What are we trying to forget this time?"
James elbowed Sirius, and sat up. "She's pregnant."
Sirius let the fire whisky drown out his initial words. When he thought he'd be able to say something non-inflammatory, he said, "You're both quite young; I'm sure you'll manage."
James shook his head, shoulders slumped with the weight of life. "That's just it--I might not. She's not sure if she wants to keep it. Says You-Know-Who loves going after families."
Sirius looked at the stranger his best mate had grown into--a man with a careworn expression, with a wife and child on the way, who was too tired to even think about getting into trouble let alone start anything--and tried to reconcile him with the boy who ran with werewolves, and got into prank wars, and lived for starting trouble.
Sirius felt a stranger use his body to clap James on the shoulder, and say in a voice that couldn't be his own, because it was far too grown up: "You'll manage to convince her somehow."
*
"Come back and live with us, and we'll take care of the baby," said Mrs. Evans, voice barely distinguishable from the low murmur of the lunch crowd in the restaurant terrace.
Lily fiddled with her fork, with the dulled silver knife, centered her plate, smoothed out a wrinkle on the bone white table cloth. "There's a war on."
"Not here, there's not," said Mrs. Evans.
"James wouldn't be able to survive in the Muggle world," said Lily, glancing at the happy faces of the lunch crowd, and at buildings that never thought of defying the laws of gravity and physics.
"James wants the child, doesn't he?" said Mrs. Evans, the compassion in her voice more implacable than a climate of fear and pain and war.
The waitress approached, a stark figure in black and white, blonde hair pinned back with regulation preciseness, gaze sharp enough to dissect an object at ten paces. Lily met her eyes, and recognition sizzled between them.
Sophia started to step back, eyes blanking into a practiced anonymity, when Lily said, "Sophia? Sophia Yeats?"
"No," she said, tone frosting her words. "I'm afraid you're mistaken."
"No, I'm not," said Lily, certainty thrumming through her bones. "You're Sophia Yeats. You were in Ravenclaw, the smartest witch of our year. What are you doing here?"
Sophia's smile sliced across her face. "Seven years of learning how to stopper Death, and transfiguring a desk into a pig, isn't worth much in the Muggle world." She leaned in, as if imparting a great secret. "But this is still better than getting killed by Death Eaters for being born from the wrong parents."
Lily supposed there was a reason she'd been sorted into Gryffindor; she'd much rather be the fool than the coward.
*
James would never forget the sight of Edgar Bones, muttering and swaying to himself over the priest's sermon, surrounded by three gleaming caskets that contained the remains of his family. James was surprised that he was still able to be moved; the cemetery had become too familiar, his funeral robes were fading from over use, and mourning had become routine.
"It's almost more of a tragedy that he survived," said Peter under his breath, next to Remus.
"I wouldn't be able to live with myself," whispered Sirius by the side of James.
"It could happen to anyone," said Remus, turning his glare left to right, from Peter to Sirius.
"But the Imperius is the only Unforgivable that can be fought," James said, placing an arm around Lily's shoulder. He felt the solidness of her, and wanted to touch her swollen belly, but felt it would be too inappropriate. He squeezed her shoulder, and leaned into her warmth, knew that he could never, not ever succumb in a million years, not even if it was Voldemort himself who cast the Imperius.
"There have only been two cases in the past year where the Imperius was fought off," said Lily, posture a straight column, unbending and unyielding.
By Lily's side, Dorcas Meadowes said, "That we know of. I'm sure there have been other cases-the Death Eaters just got to them before they could tell of their…success."
Under his hand, he felt Lily's body stretch taut, and hum with tension. "That seems likely," said Lily. "No matter how strong, no matter how powerful, no matter how many protection spells-If You-Know-Who wants you, he'll have you."
The group fell silent. After the service, James gathered with the other members of the Order to recite his condolences; Bones nodded along and recited his responses, his gaze fixed on a point a million miles away.
No one was surprised when, a week later, Edgar Bones was found hanged in his parlor, a miniature portrait of the Bones family clutched in his dead hands. James knew he would have done the same thing if he'd murdered Lily, or their future children.
*
On the day July died, Remus' bones ached from a harsh transformation. The Order fought against the Death Eaters, but no matter how many battles they won, many were lost. Too many. The Order switched their meetings for different days, different locations in the various members' houses. Dumbledore voiced the suspicions of a spy in the Order; Remus didn't know what to make of the strange look Sirius gave him, or why it seemed to occur more and more often.
Remus didn't have time to wonder more, because the world exploded in the shimmer of dissolving ward charms, a chorus of shouts, and a flash of red light. He woke from the stun spell to see Lily's pale face hovering above him.
"James is out cold, and I'm going into labor," she said, then elbowed his head when she conjured a shield charm to block a Death Eater's spell.
They spent the next half hour stumbling over the edges of fights between Death Eaters and members of the Order, trying to get to the fireplace. They got there only to find the fireplace collapsed into rubble.
"I think they warn pregnant women against using the Floo Network, anyway," said Lily, between panting breaths.
Remus asked himself what James would have done. In the end, Remus and Lily had to fly to St. Mungo's on a Shooting Star 500, Lily practically having the baby in mid-flight. She didn't. The baby was born in the corridors of St. Mungo.
In the ensuing chaos, Remus forgot to ask Sirius about his strange behavior. He never did remember to.
*
"I've never held a child; I wouldn't know the first thing to do," said Peter, shifting uneasily on the Potters' couch.
"Don't worry, I know you won't drop him," said Lily, shifting forward in her seat, little Harry scrunching his red face at the change of motion. "Here, you support his head like--Yes, like that. Are you sure you've never held a baby before?"
"That's right, if a git like Sirius can manage it, then so can you," said James, hovering over Lily's chair, and fiddling with the baby's blankets.
"N-no, I haven't. No one's ever trusted me with one before." Peter cradled the baby in his arms, and wondered if he was strong enough to hold little Harry securely. His arms trembled.
"Who else would we trust?" said James, moving to hover over Peter's chair, while Lily eyed him with amusement.
The baby yawned, exposing pink toothless gums, and gurgled sleepily, unnoticing of his effort to steady his arms. Peter was used to this; he'd always taken on thankless tasks just to prove his loyalty. His most recent one would keep the Death Eaters away from his friends, but they would never know of it. He said, "You really t-trust me?"
"Of course," said James, laughing carelessly. "You're not that clumsy, Wormtail."
Peter smiled at his own putdown, while his left wrist burned, and he wondered if all he did was worth this type of friendship.
*
The end.
Author: parallactic aka Zimquist
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them, and am not making a profit.
Author's Note: Written for the springtime_gen ficathon exchange for junediamanti.
Characters: Lily, Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter
Summary: Harry was born in the middle of a war, during a time of uncertainty and doubt.
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere,
The ceremony of innocence is drowned.
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
--The Second Coming, by W.B. Yeats
Lily found out she was pregnant on a visit to St. Mungo's for spell shock. She asked the healer to repeat himself, because she couldn't have heard clearly; her ears had just been turned back into flesh and cartilage.
"Congratulations, you're pregnant," repeated the healer, this time taking care to enunciate each syllable.
Her robes were sticky with blood, wrists cramped from flinging spells, and despite being young, she ached all over from the demanding hours of being a member of the Order. Lily said, "That's just not possible."
"Well, you are," said the healer, lightly, before his expression changed. "Have you experienced any gaps in your memory? We can run some tests."
Lily stared at the healer, then flushed. "Oh, I know how I could have gotten--I'm married."
The healer relaxed, tension leaking from his body. "That's a relief. You don't know how many times we get that--witches coming in complaining of ailments, surprised they're pregnant, and it turns out they were memory charmed."
"I thought I couldn't, because there's a war on, and you can't raise a child in the middle of a war zone," Lily explained.
"You'd be surprised. There's often a boom in children during wars," said the healer.
*
Sirius came back to his flat, worn to the bone from running another errand for the Order, to find James sprawled on his sofa. James was still and composed, the only thing alive on him his wild mass of hair, eyes hollow, mouth slack, hands a limp curve around a glass of fire whisky.
Sirius flopped down on the sofa, taking care to jostle James, and snagged the fire whisky before a drop could be spilled. "What are we trying to forget this time?"
James elbowed Sirius, and sat up. "She's pregnant."
Sirius let the fire whisky drown out his initial words. When he thought he'd be able to say something non-inflammatory, he said, "You're both quite young; I'm sure you'll manage."
James shook his head, shoulders slumped with the weight of life. "That's just it--I might not. She's not sure if she wants to keep it. Says You-Know-Who loves going after families."
Sirius looked at the stranger his best mate had grown into--a man with a careworn expression, with a wife and child on the way, who was too tired to even think about getting into trouble let alone start anything--and tried to reconcile him with the boy who ran with werewolves, and got into prank wars, and lived for starting trouble.
Sirius felt a stranger use his body to clap James on the shoulder, and say in a voice that couldn't be his own, because it was far too grown up: "You'll manage to convince her somehow."
*
"Come back and live with us, and we'll take care of the baby," said Mrs. Evans, voice barely distinguishable from the low murmur of the lunch crowd in the restaurant terrace.
Lily fiddled with her fork, with the dulled silver knife, centered her plate, smoothed out a wrinkle on the bone white table cloth. "There's a war on."
"Not here, there's not," said Mrs. Evans.
"James wouldn't be able to survive in the Muggle world," said Lily, glancing at the happy faces of the lunch crowd, and at buildings that never thought of defying the laws of gravity and physics.
"James wants the child, doesn't he?" said Mrs. Evans, the compassion in her voice more implacable than a climate of fear and pain and war.
The waitress approached, a stark figure in black and white, blonde hair pinned back with regulation preciseness, gaze sharp enough to dissect an object at ten paces. Lily met her eyes, and recognition sizzled between them.
Sophia started to step back, eyes blanking into a practiced anonymity, when Lily said, "Sophia? Sophia Yeats?"
"No," she said, tone frosting her words. "I'm afraid you're mistaken."
"No, I'm not," said Lily, certainty thrumming through her bones. "You're Sophia Yeats. You were in Ravenclaw, the smartest witch of our year. What are you doing here?"
Sophia's smile sliced across her face. "Seven years of learning how to stopper Death, and transfiguring a desk into a pig, isn't worth much in the Muggle world." She leaned in, as if imparting a great secret. "But this is still better than getting killed by Death Eaters for being born from the wrong parents."
Lily supposed there was a reason she'd been sorted into Gryffindor; she'd much rather be the fool than the coward.
*
James would never forget the sight of Edgar Bones, muttering and swaying to himself over the priest's sermon, surrounded by three gleaming caskets that contained the remains of his family. James was surprised that he was still able to be moved; the cemetery had become too familiar, his funeral robes were fading from over use, and mourning had become routine.
"It's almost more of a tragedy that he survived," said Peter under his breath, next to Remus.
"I wouldn't be able to live with myself," whispered Sirius by the side of James.
"It could happen to anyone," said Remus, turning his glare left to right, from Peter to Sirius.
"But the Imperius is the only Unforgivable that can be fought," James said, placing an arm around Lily's shoulder. He felt the solidness of her, and wanted to touch her swollen belly, but felt it would be too inappropriate. He squeezed her shoulder, and leaned into her warmth, knew that he could never, not ever succumb in a million years, not even if it was Voldemort himself who cast the Imperius.
"There have only been two cases in the past year where the Imperius was fought off," said Lily, posture a straight column, unbending and unyielding.
By Lily's side, Dorcas Meadowes said, "That we know of. I'm sure there have been other cases-the Death Eaters just got to them before they could tell of their…success."
Under his hand, he felt Lily's body stretch taut, and hum with tension. "That seems likely," said Lily. "No matter how strong, no matter how powerful, no matter how many protection spells-If You-Know-Who wants you, he'll have you."
The group fell silent. After the service, James gathered with the other members of the Order to recite his condolences; Bones nodded along and recited his responses, his gaze fixed on a point a million miles away.
No one was surprised when, a week later, Edgar Bones was found hanged in his parlor, a miniature portrait of the Bones family clutched in his dead hands. James knew he would have done the same thing if he'd murdered Lily, or their future children.
*
On the day July died, Remus' bones ached from a harsh transformation. The Order fought against the Death Eaters, but no matter how many battles they won, many were lost. Too many. The Order switched their meetings for different days, different locations in the various members' houses. Dumbledore voiced the suspicions of a spy in the Order; Remus didn't know what to make of the strange look Sirius gave him, or why it seemed to occur more and more often.
Remus didn't have time to wonder more, because the world exploded in the shimmer of dissolving ward charms, a chorus of shouts, and a flash of red light. He woke from the stun spell to see Lily's pale face hovering above him.
"James is out cold, and I'm going into labor," she said, then elbowed his head when she conjured a shield charm to block a Death Eater's spell.
They spent the next half hour stumbling over the edges of fights between Death Eaters and members of the Order, trying to get to the fireplace. They got there only to find the fireplace collapsed into rubble.
"I think they warn pregnant women against using the Floo Network, anyway," said Lily, between panting breaths.
Remus asked himself what James would have done. In the end, Remus and Lily had to fly to St. Mungo's on a Shooting Star 500, Lily practically having the baby in mid-flight. She didn't. The baby was born in the corridors of St. Mungo.
In the ensuing chaos, Remus forgot to ask Sirius about his strange behavior. He never did remember to.
*
"I've never held a child; I wouldn't know the first thing to do," said Peter, shifting uneasily on the Potters' couch.
"Don't worry, I know you won't drop him," said Lily, shifting forward in her seat, little Harry scrunching his red face at the change of motion. "Here, you support his head like--Yes, like that. Are you sure you've never held a baby before?"
"That's right, if a git like Sirius can manage it, then so can you," said James, hovering over Lily's chair, and fiddling with the baby's blankets.
"N-no, I haven't. No one's ever trusted me with one before." Peter cradled the baby in his arms, and wondered if he was strong enough to hold little Harry securely. His arms trembled.
"Who else would we trust?" said James, moving to hover over Peter's chair, while Lily eyed him with amusement.
The baby yawned, exposing pink toothless gums, and gurgled sleepily, unnoticing of his effort to steady his arms. Peter was used to this; he'd always taken on thankless tasks just to prove his loyalty. His most recent one would keep the Death Eaters away from his friends, but they would never know of it. He said, "You really t-trust me?"
"Of course," said James, laughing carelessly. "You're not that clumsy, Wormtail."
Peter smiled at his own putdown, while his left wrist burned, and he wondered if all he did was worth this type of friendship.
*
The end.