Silent Night
James Potter grasped Lily’s hand tightly as his mind tried desperately to understand what was happening.
How could he have gone from the peak of absolute bliss to complete and utter sadness? It felt as if his time with Lily was months, years, even worlds away. Even the slightest contemplation of happiness was distant and vague.
The moonlight from above shot down on Lily’s pale, ghostly face.
Lily couldn’t have forgotten. She was pretending. She would remember eventually, right? She was bound to remember everything that happened; everything she told him. She was just asleep, exhausted, that was it. That had to be it. She would wake up in a few minutes and throw some cheeky remark at him before embracing him warmly in an apologetic hug.
“Lily, c’mon,” whispered James hopelessly, “stop being so damn stubborn.”
James continued to talk to her. He kept begging her to come back, to stay with him, but she didn’t respond.
Somewhere deep within him though, he knew she wasn’t joking or pretending. She wasn’t even being stubborn for that matter. James knew that no matter how many times he told her to wake up (and even if she did wake up), she wasn’t going to remember. Everything would become nothing, and a life-changing revelation would turn back into hidden denial.
Then suddenly, James heard a rustle of grass a little bit away from where he was. A huge wave of relief immediately hit him hard in the stomach. Glancing across the grounds somewhat frantically, he finally spotted a figure stand up with wobbly imbalance in the moonlight. The silhouette began to walk slowly back to the doors of the Entrance Hall as James sprang to his feet. Immediately, with adrenaline pumping vigorously through his veins, he dashed toward the figure to see that it was Remus.
“Moony! Remus?!” asked James while panting.
For some odd reason, Remus ignored him completely and continued towards his destination to the Entrance Hall.
James continued, “You remember, right? Just like me? You know- “
Abruptly, James noticed that Remus’s eyes were glazed over and his pupils were so small it was as if they weren’t even there. Remus’s almond eyes no longer held the friendly warmth in them that James had become accustomed to see.
“Remus?” questioned James in disbelief, but Remus remained unresponsive as he started to climb the stone steps to the Entrance Hall.
James whipped around to see the other three present had also gotten up and were approaching the doors in a dream-like state. They all appeared to be lifeless and wandering around without a purpose, without any trace of emotion. If was as if the people James had known and treasured for as long as he could ever remember were suddenly gone; snatched.
He ran toward Peter and shook him by the shoulders, but the plump boy shrugged him off and continued to walk toward the doors. James ran to Sirius with panic overcoming his mind. He yelled in Sirius’s ear to snap out of it and “wake up” but that received no response. Sirius’s grey eyes were overwhelmingly blank that it momentarily frightened James. Finally, James saw Lily and her emotionless green eyes. In another, desperate attempt, he dashed over to her and tried to stand in front of her, to stop her. She, like the others, however, ignored and avoided him.
“Lily! C’mon, listen to me!” pleaded James helplessly while praying that she would.
He grasped her by the elbow and tried to hold her back, but with a great force, she pulled away from him and kept on walking back to Hogwarts.
James raced back to Sirius who was almost at the doors, right behind Peter.
“Padfoot! Cut it out! Snap out of it! Listen to me, damnit!” hollered James, but Sirius ignored him completely. “Just listen!”
Never in his life had James Potter felt so vulnerable. He was the ringleader, the rebel, but no longer. Now, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much heart he had, he was fruitless and useless. He had lost full and total control.
“Why won’t you listen to me?!” hollered James after the figures now entering the Entrance Hall. Breathlessly, he whispered to himself in defeat, “Why won’t anybody listen?”
“It is because they cannot hear you.”
James’s heart beat increased rapidly as his stomach clenched painfully. H spun around immediately to see where the voice that had answered him had come from.
There, framed by light, standing in the doorway of the Entrance Hall was Professor Dumbledore. His gentle hands were interlocked behind his back, and his half-moon spectacles reflected moonlight off of them.
James was glued to the spot momentarily. He felt his scarlet cheeks were hot and stained with tears that he never even recalled shedding. His breathing had become heavy from panic and frustration, and each breath seemed to take a toll on his lungs and chest. James’s round-rimmed glasses were slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose, and his face bore despair.
“We need to talk, James.”
The Headmaster’s office never seemed to change. It always had many different and unique silver trinkets placed on various spindly legged tables. The walls also never ceased to change and were always lined with the portraits of previous Headmasters (which was tradition).
It was no different when James entered the marble walled, circular office.
Dumbledore strode over to his desk, and as he did so, some of the sleeping portraits began to stir and whisper amongst themselves.
“The events that unfolded tonight were not intended to happen,” he began as he sat down opposite James across his grand desk.
The Headmaster’s voice went into one ear but out the other. James could no longer keep focus or control. He drowned out the words Professor Dumbledore was saying to sit in a dark place within his mind that rang with the question: Why? Why did they have to forget? It was unfair, it wasn’t right. That man, that pale faced man, had no right to erase or tamper with the minds of his friends and Lily’s. That heartless bastard had no right.
A sudden anger for the spell caster hit James hard, and he felt his hands curling into fists that shook violently.
“The reason why Tom was here tonight was because he made an appointment with me.”
“What?” asked James suddenly as he caught what Dumbledore had just said.
“He asked if he could come to the school for a request. I let him.”
“You mean- “
“The pale looking fellow that seemed to command the four of his ‘friends’? Yes.”
“You let him?!” asked James, suddenly incensed with anger. “When you knew he was dangerous with his Death Eaters, or whatever the hell it’s called. You knew he was dangerous! YOU KNEW!”
James was almost at the point of screaming, and suddenly, he let his anger for the calm old man overcome him. He stood up quickly, and his chair was sent falling backwards with a hard thud. He threw all the papers and small trinkets littering Dumbledore’s desk onto the floor to crash violently. Frustration, irritation, and disbelief went into the pit of his stomach as somewhere within him felt betrayed. It was as if somebody he had always trusted his life with, someone who he respected beyond reason had suddenly turned on him.
Dumbledore was the reason why Lily and the Marauders, the people he cared about most, had their memories erased. They would go up to their dormitories, wake up, and would know nothing of what happened, maybe less than that. He didn’t know. All he knew was that a part of his friends’ lives would always be missing, and it was all Dumbledore’s fault.
James turned to the nearby bookshelf and ripped several thick books off the shelf and threw them on the ground savagely.
Dumbledore observed him closely, and (for some odd reason) the Headmaster had a sinking suspicion that he would later see the same anger reside within somebody else…
“You have every right to be angry with me, James,” said Dumbledore with a frighteningly calm tone. “I underestimated the risk in inviting Tom for a private meeting. I had assumed that Tom’s friends would follow through with his ‘orders’, but I overlooked the idea. I had not contemplated that they would come onto the grounds and attack students to pass the time for cruel entertainment.”
James’s skin bubbled with white anger, and he had to muster all the self-control he had to restrain himself from going at Dumbledore; to hurt or break the old man. He wanted his Headmaster to feel the same pain he was feeling now: the pain of losing a love, part of his friends, and part of himself in the process.
“I am deeply sorry.”
“You’re sorry?! That’s all you can bloody say?! That won’t bring back their memories, their realizations! Nothing, it’s gone! EVERYTHING IS, AND ALL YOU CAN SAY IS YOU’RE SORRY?!”
Many of the portraits whispered with shock and astonishment at James’s fierce tone, but he didn’t care. He no longer gave a damn.
“I still made cautionary steps, however,” continued Dumbledore. “I made sure that Tom would visit me late at night, past curfew, so all students would be in their respective common rooms.”
James faltered slightly from these words, and he felt as if his words were unjustified.
“Are you blaming my friends for being out late? Is that it? Are you trying to blame them for your foolish mistake?!”
“No, James, that is not what I am saying,” said Dumbledore with a sharp sigh, and for a second, James felt he had past some imaginary line of Dumbledore’s respect and calmness. “In life, our choices affect how life turns out. I was giving Tom a chance when he came to visit me tonight. I admit I am a foolish old man in believing that there is always good intention in everybody. Trust is my greatest fault. It is unfortunate that the five of you were out at that time, at that exact place, but it happens. Coincidences happen, James, and some are good, while others aren’t.”
James’s heart sunk and bitterness crept into him.
“So that’s it?” he questioned. “They were supposed to forget, is that it?”
“I am afraid there is nothing anyone can do now. What’s done, Mr. Potter, is done.”
“Can’t you do something? Can’t we tell them the truth? Can’t some potion or spell or something bring back their memories? Can’t... “
Dumbledore shook his head slowly, silencing James, before explaining, “The mind is a complex system made up of memories and emotions. Altering the mind is a complicated process with many risks. I don’t know how changed the minds of your friends will be after Tom used his memory charm. He will most likely be the only one who will ever know. Tampering with memories and explaining events that ‘did not happen’ according to a person can put them into great shock and danger. The truth can shatter a person, James. It is not wise to rearrange complex matters such as the mind.”
James felt the last part of Dumbledore’s sentence linger through the air.
“Sir, then how come- “ started James with a sudden question coming to mind.
“How come you did not forget? That is an excellent question that I believe only you can answer.”
James searched his Headmaster’s wise face but found no answer within it.
“Athena’s Chalice is not actually a potion, sir, but a type of drink that can be brewed. The drink, I believe, is composed of fine grapes…”
Could it possibly…
“It is true that many consider Athena’s Chalice a drink rather than a potion, but it is still said that if a person has a large exposure of this brewed potion, their senses will heighten…”
That potion, the Athena’s Chalice. The potion that Snape had “accidentally” spilled. The same one he had spent at least two hours scrubbing away on his hands and knees.
“…and especially their memories. Some have even said the potion can stop memory loss. It is very effective with the mind.”
It is very effective with the mind…
James abruptly understood why he had not forgotten, why the spell had not worked on him. He had inhaled the harsh stench of the Athena’s Chalice for a long period of time; a long enough period of time for it to have a short but slight effect on him.
At once, Dumbledore seemed to have noticed James’s hazel eyes light up with realization.
“It was that potion. The Athena’s Chalice,” stated James somewhat distantly.
“Ah, the potion that holds many qualities; some discovered and some yet to be. A potion that heightens the senses, especially the mind.”
Especially the mind…
“I wish I had forgotten,” said James abruptly and bitterly, and Dumbledore gazed at him intently. “I don’t want this burden on my shoulder to know something and keep it away. Hide it away from the people I…”
James stopped uneasily. He felt that maybe if he didn’t say who the spell affected, it wouldn’t affect them by some miracle.
“You care about the most?” finished Dumbledore for him.
James felt his heart lurch awkwardly. “Yeah.”
“The truth is a difficult thing to carry, James, especially when the ones you love are the ones that don’t know it. The truth leads a person on a very lonely trail, but I believe that the reason why you were the only one to remember was not just a coincidence though. You were destined to walk on your own path.”
Destined to…
So was it destiny that finally, after so many fruitless attempts, that Lily admitted she loved him on the same night she would forget ever telling him?
James glanced into the sad pools of blue water that were his Headmaster’s eyes before turning to grasp the door knob. He couldn’t take being there in that room. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts and the memories of tonight; the only ones that were left existing. He wanted to run away and retreat into the silence of his dark thoughts; into the silent night.
On his way out, however, he stopped mid-way in the doorway and faced Dumbledore.
“Professor, I don’t know if this job exists, and if it does not, I will create it. I now know what I want to do with my life,” he said, and Dumbledore observed the tall teen sadly over his half-moon spectacles. The Headmaster knew somehow exactly what James Potter was going to say. “I want to make sure that something like this never happens to anybody else.”