The Marauders: Year Seven Part Two

A Bunch of Old Lie-Abouts

Everyone in the Resistance was in the Lupin house when James and Lily stumbled in moments after the Death Eaters had left. James had his arm around Lily and she was clutching onto him as though she'd never let go, her head against his shoulder. They were both worn and bruised, Lily's hair a mess, James had blood on his chin that had come from his lip, and a gash across his right cheekbone. Lily was shivering, her shirt torn at the sleeve, revealing her shoulder to the cold air.

"JAMES!!!!!" Dora ran for the door and engulfed them both into a hug against her, crying as she kissed James's face repeatedly. Charlus loped over quickly, too, hugging them from the opposite side so that they were a great huddle of Potters and Evans.

"My boy, my boy," Charlus was muttering over and over, "You don't think son, you don't think..."

There was a cough after several long moments were afforded them for their reunion and the family broke apart, Dumbledore smiling pleasantly from where he stood before the fireplace floo, his hands tucked behind his back. Around the room sat Alastor Moody, Minerva McGonagall, Elphinstone Urquart, Filius Flitwick, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Dorcas Meadows, Bilius Weasley, Chriselda Blythe, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Frank Longbottom and his mother, both of Marlene Mackinnon's parents, and even - though much more worn for wear than he'd ever been before - Ned Veigler. There were a couple others, too, who James and Lily did not recognize. The full Resistance had been assembled for the occasion...

Perhaps it should've made James happy to see, perhaps he should've been thankful that their lives were worth the effort it no doubt took to assemble such an impressive collection of people. But instead something inside of him started on a low burn just looking at them all, sitting about the living room, as he limped into their midst with Lily Evans safely at his side.

Dumbledore held out a hand, "Come now, both of you, have a seat," he urged them. "Nudge over, Edgar," Dumbledore said, nodding to a man with a thick dark beard on his chin and deep set eyes, one of the ones that James didn't recognize. James and Lily were made to sit, and cups of tea were offered to them, and a blanket was put about Lily's shoulders as she shivered with the cold and the after-effects of the shock.

James looked about at them, waiting for someone to speak.

"You could've been killed," Dorcas said, breaking the silence. Her voice shook. "What were you thinking?"

"That Lily needed me," James answered flatly.

"Yer damn lucky to still be struttin' about with all yeh limbs," grumbled Moody, who, James noticed, was now sporting a wood apparatus at the end of the stub he'd been given by previous battles against the dark forces.

"I'm not strutting," James answered, "I'm not proud of what I did. I could've done a lot better than I did. I have a lot to learn about fighting. I'm aware of that." He looked around at them.

"He disarmed You Know Who," Lily spoke up.

"It was nothing," James answered to her, flushing, even as the Resistance members mumbled their appreciation of what she'd just said.

"Regardless of your abilities," Dumbledore's voice broke through the muttered admiration, "You should have waited for help, rather than going into the fray alone."

James grit his teeth. "There might not have been time to waste. By the way, if you lot didn't notice, I actually did alright, seeing as we're both here and considering the circumstances are relatively unharmed, aren't we?"

"You got lucky this time," Dumbledore admitted, "But next time you might not have that same luck. You should never enter a battle alone, and most especially not in the heat of passion --"