This Is How Your World Ends

Prompt: S&S James' final thoughts before death.

Fire. Screams.

People circled. Curses flew. In the thick of things: James, wand in constant motion, throwing hexes and jinxes. He cast to incapacitate, to injure, mostly not to kill—

A small distant piece of his mind, insulated from this moment, from the fear and the frenzy, noted that once he would have been harsher. Used more of the probably-lethal spells on the Aurors' authorized list. But James was sick of killing. Sick of death.

James fought today not only for justice or to protect unknown innocents but for his sons. Jules—and Harry. Both lost in this melee. Both too young, too untried for this—James loved a good fight, maybe too much, but right now a sick undercurrent of fear spoiled it. Fear, worry, desperation.

Already James failed them too many times. He'd lost Harry. How far he didn't know yet—to just hatred, or to the Dark—point was James didn't think that could be fixed. And Jules was angry at him, James knew, Jules always wanted a brother, Jules had needed James to be better and James let him down. Merlin but James wished his kids could have lived forever in a world where nothing went wrong. Where they were safe. Where all this shite couldn't touch them.

Impossible wish.

Get them out, though. James could do that. James could get them out alive.

A jet of green light. Sickening. Familiar. A bare inch from James's skin, maybe less, soul lurching in his body, malevolent and lethal and then gone, and he wheeled about, already calling magic to him. Just in time. Another avada. Fast and strong and flying true. Sweep of wand, flex of will, air transfigured to stone in a precise square to take the hit. James laughed. That trick, his specialty, one few could copy. Through the shattering stone-shards came other curses, crueler, subtler things that curved and seeped and couldn't be blocked—he danced through and under them, dispelled those he could not dodge or shield—

On the other side:

Bellatrix, once-lovely face twisted in madness. Screaming wordlessly. She threw herself forward. Under the onslaught James faltered. Stepped back once. Again. Bellatrix fought to kill, to maim. Bellatrix fought without care of collateral and that—

Another avada. In slow motion James watched it soar towards his heart—his hand moving, too slow, with another transfiguration—dread and fear and—

Force knocked him aside. For the second time death missed him by an inch. Back into the fight. This time joined by another face—too familiar, too—Andromeda, too like her sister, all dark hair and eyes, rage and focus. The three of them careened through the fight. Smoke. Screams. Faces blurred, wall of white masks and horror. A body crashed into Andromeda. She stumbled. Bellatrix shrieked, slashed at the opening. Not fast enough. Andromeda recovered, dodged at the last second. Bellatrix pushed her back, and James drove at her back, and then a prank jinx shot past Bellatrix, hit another figure that whipped around, wand out, curses—

Familiar face. Known, unknown. James was sick, James was singing alive with the thrill of the fight, James was drowning in memories of another decade. Another war. Other fights watching Sirius's face twisted up like this, now, like Bellatrix's, mad fury and bloodlust—

Four way duel. Too many spells. Too much happening. Far away a shout cut over the madness: "Dumbledore!" Death Eaters around them began to scatter. James couldn't care. No way to disengage from a fight like this. If you tried you got cut down. You were in it, win or lose, with Bellatrix losing was death, with Sirius losing was death, James had seen him kill and not always quickly, back when Sirius was on his side. Enemy, instinct said, looking at Sirius now; friend, his heart wailed, brother. Sirius who—who Harry loved.

Sirius who Harry needed.

Sirius who James could not kill.

A stunner shot over his head. End this, he needed to end this. Taunt them. Bellatrix and Sirius both, proud, impulsive. "You'll have to do better than that!" James sent fire boiling up Bellatrix's robes. She screamed. Twisted her wand. The cursed flames leapt from her to Andromeda. Splashed off a shield. An opening left while the two of them squabbled, into which James cast again, a brutal curse, nigh unblockable—nonlethal—with Sirius down they could tear Bellatrix to her knees too, Albus was here now, they could win this.

They could all get out—

The world slowed.

James's whole self contracted to a pinpoint of red. It crept through the air. Reached for him. Red. Stunner. Sirius had stunned him. Too late now to block. Too late to dodge.

In the last second James's eyes flicked up. Found Sirius's. Held. Agony flashed between them, agony and shock and horror dawning on that face James knew so dearly, so well—

It'll be okay, James wished he could say.

Red light filled his vision and darkness his mind.

James Potter died thinking that he couldn't wait to hug his son when he woke up.