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James Potter was nothing with his love for others. His love fueled his soul, his entire being. He didn’t know who he was without his love.
He made sure that everyone knew it, too. Every day, he woke up with a bright smile, with loud laughter, encouraging his friends to join in with his happiness and joy.
Some days were harder than others.
Some days, Sirius was wild and angry and didn’t care for anyone, much less him. He wanted to shout and scream and curse anyone who looked in his direction. He wanted to hurt and punch and screech, not allowing anybody within distance to help.
James had to be more subtle, those times. He would suggest pranks, pranks that would ease Sirius’ anger, pranks that would do little harm but still allow Sirius to get his anger out. Even if the Slytherins became angry as a result, their reactions caused Sirius to feel even more pride and joy at what his pranks had created.
Some days, Remus was dull and moody. He hated to ask for help, preferring to sit and stare at his notes until the letters in the words would right themselves (they never did). He would shut himself away in the dorms after a particularly bad full moon, nights where he woke in the morning with the blood of animals around his mouth and the heavy weight of guilt surrounding his heart.
James was creative, though. He could easily pretend he was struggling with the same piece of homework that Remus was on, reading the sections of the books out loud to pretend he was asking a question. If Remus was amicable enough, he was happy enough to tell James his words for his essays and James would write them down.
The issues with the full moon was more difficult to help with. If Remus never hurt another animal, then he wouldn’t feel remorseful. James would barrel his way into Moony’s path as Prongs, goading him into playing games instead of playing with animals, and he would hide any injuries he had as a result of his efforts.
Some days, Peter struggled. He would feel low, unhappy, as though nothing would fill the neverending pit in his stomach. He hid away in an alcove that was hard to find, to remove the mask he always wore and to refuse any temptation to leave.
Those times, James always found him. He coaxed him from the alcove, whether he was in his Animagus form or otherwise, and gently walked with him to the kitchens. He didn’t force him to attempt to fill the chasm within him, but he did offer help with hot chocolate, marshmallows and silence. Sometimes Peter filled the silence, and sometimes he didn’t. He always left with a small smile on his face nonetheless.
James Potter was absolutely nothing without his love. It enveloped his entire being, his heart beat for others, his brain worked for others, his limbs moved for others. If he couldn’t help someone he loved, then he would find a way.
He was nothing without his love.
Even if they didn’t love him back.
The first time James noticed the flowers, he was eleven years old, just a couple of months into his first year. He had just received an owl from his parents encouraging him to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, that they would send his presents on Christmas Eve and then he could spend the holidays with his friends.
He had neglected to mention that only Sirius was staying for Christmas. Remus and Peter were homesick (as was he, not that he would ever admit it) and missed their parents.
(James didn’t know it yet, but Remus was especially eager to return home as his full moon schedule had lined up well enough for him to spend Christmas day with his parents without feeling sick and weary.)
He sent a small letter to his parents, gently asking if he could either stay at Hogwarts for Christmas or bring a friend back home, and it seemed his parents had made his choice for him.
He folded the letter with shaking hands and placed it in his pocket, feeling an odd tickle rise in his throat. He coughed and coughed and hacked until the tickle was gone, and a small flower lay in his hands.
It was the most beautiful shade of pink, the petals lightly curling around the head of the flower as though it were gently hugging the middle. He stared for a moment, in awe of what had just come out of him, before he hurriedly (but softly) placed it in his inside pocket.
He was unsure of what kind of magic this was, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to remove whatever curse this was. How could something be a curse, if it created something so beautiful?
For once, he willingly went to the library, with only one thought in his mind.
James was surprised that the magic library had books on flowers - although, perhaps different flowers held different properties in Potions? Or they could have different uses in Herbology? He was rather intrigued in that, actually, but he didn’t want to move past the task at hand.
The book was heavy, and he huffed and puffed as he finally dropped it onto a spare table. It made a rather loud bang, and he looked around quickly, waiting for Madam Pince to appear from around the corner to scold him. Satisfied that nobody was there, he sat down at the table, pulling his flower delicately out of his pocket and laid it on the table.
It took a long time for him to find his flower, but once he did, he read the passage slowly, tracing the sentences with his finger.
Anemone flower.
Each colour of this flower symbolises different meanings.
Blue anemones symbolise protection from evil, or depending on different cultures, an anticipation of impending evil. Purple anemones represent similar meanings to blue, regarding the protection from evil, in particular evil spirits. Purple anemones can also represent good luck and nobility.
Red and pink anemones, too, have similar symbolism to one another. They represent forsaken or forgotten love, as a result of death or otherwise. Alongside this, they both can represent positivity and a good mood in others, often used in big bouquets to show love to another.
James looked at his flower again. Even with the new meanings come to light (forgotten love - from his parents?), it still looked just as beautiful. He wished there was some way to preserve it, to keep it forever with him.
For the moment, he tucked it back into the inner pocket of his robe, and patted it gently. Even if it was a sign his parents had forgotten how to love him, it was a symbol of his parents still. He would treasure it.
Over the Christmas break, James had cared for the flower, along with the others that followed. They were all pink anemones (forgotten love, forgotten love, forgotten love) and lived next to his bed, in a carefully transfigured pot that he had asked McGonagall to make for him. He had managed to hide his coughs - so long as he didn’t think of his parents too much, the flowers rarely appeared. It was mostly during the night-time.
One day over the Christmas break, Sirius intercepted James as he was gently dropping some water onto his flowers.
“Hey, Jamie,” Sirius said, shuffling in place in excitement, “I learnt something super cool, and I think you’ll really like it. Can I show you?”
James looked up from his flowers, smiling broadly.
“Show me, show me,” he encouraged, turning around and giving Sirius his full attention. To his surprise, Sirius didn’t brandish his wand, but instead pulled out a book from behind him.
It looked like some kind of diary, but the pages were completely blank rather than having any lines to write on. It was bound with some form of leather (dragon leather, maybe, although James hoped it wasn’t, because dragon leather bound books were expensive), and all-in-all it looked very elaborate and nothing all that related to Sirius’ personality.
“Can I have one of the flowers?” he asked, reaching out a hand.
James hesitated, although he wasn’t entirely certain why. His flowers were clean, he made sure that no saliva clung to the beautiful petals or they wouldn’t look quite so pretty. Still, he gently lifted one out of the pot and gave it to Sirius.
The other boy placed it onto the first page of the book, in the top left corner, and finally pulled his wand out of his back pocket.
(They’d been warned by McGonagall not to put their wands in their back pockets, James remembered, in case of bursts of accidental magic while they were still learning. His parents - the tickle rose as he thought about them - had gifted him a wand sleeve that would be automatically fitted to all clothing he wore so he could keep his wand in his sleeve.
Lately, he matched Sirius and kept it in his back pocket.)
“Adservo,” he cast, lightly tapping his wand on the flower on the page, and James watched in awe as it seemingly stuck to the page. Sirius turned to him with a bright smile. “See! Now the flowers won’t die, and you don’t have to always water them.”
James felt as though he were overflowing with love, then, and he jumped up from his bed and clutched Sirius close to him in a hug.
“That’s so cool,” James said, grinning widely as he pulled back from Sirius. “You learnt all that for me?”
Sirius flushed, hopping from one foot to another.
“I don’t know, you seemed to really like these flowers all of a sudden,” he said shyly, “so I thought it would be my Christmas present for you.”
James had never felt more loved.
It was the summer after first year when James’ second flower developed.
He, Remus and Peter had been sending letters after letters to one another, keeping in a constant stream of contact throughout the entire summer.
James had gotten no letters from Sirius.
At first, he was worried. What if Sirius’ parents were angry at him because he was a Gryffindor? Sirius had received a Howler not long after they started Hogwarts that was just a long line of insults and shouts from his mother. Sirius looked pale and nauseous as it ended, but he still cracked a smile and a joke.
It was one of the reasons that James loved Sirius. He always managed to find some humour in a bad situation, even his own.
If Sirius’ family were preventing him from sending letters to his Gryffindor friends, then it meant that Sirius would be all alone, and James knew that Sirius thrived off talking to his friends.
Then the doubts started creeping in.
What if Sirius was still writing to Remus and Peter? James was too afraid to ask, just in case it was true. He’d always thought that he and Sirius were the ultimate best friends, just like Remus and Peter were, and then the four of them were normal best friends all together, but what if that wasn’t the case? What if Remus, Peter and Sirius were the ultimate best friends, and James was left alone on the side?
He wasn’t surprised to cough out another flower after that thought.
His pink anemones hadn’t let up over the summer, although he’d had to revert to keeping them alive in his pot that McGonagall had transfigured for him due to being unable to use magic away from Hogwarts. He hoped they would stay alive until they got on the train, so that he could rush to the toilets and preserve them all in his book.
Every time he had a conversation with his parents, there was the constant doubt in the back of his mind. Sometimes the doubt let up when they did something particularly loving - like when his dad asked to play Quidditch with him in the garden, or when his mum asked him to do some baking with her.
It was never enough for James’ flowers to leave, which meant James hadn’t done enough for them to love him.
His new flower was just as beautiful and breath-taking as the pink anemones, and far more recognisable too.
A yellow rose. The petals curled to form the familiar face of a rose, and the thorns on the stem hurt his throat as he coughed it out. He hadn’t taken the book on flowers from the library, of course, but he knew that his mum and dad had been interested in gardening once upon a time, so he figured they may have a book on flowers in the library.
He was lucky.
Yellow rose.
This flower represents a long-lasting friendship. For decades, these flowers have been used to represent gratitude and love between friends. This flower is often given to others due to the vibrancy of the colour providing a symbol of positivity and hope. Alternatively, a yellow rose can indicate apologies between both friends and lovers.
He hoped that his and Sirius’ friendship would last forever, like the yellow roses indicated. A person didn’t have to love someone to be friends forever, did they?
The flower itself, even without the meaning, represented Sirius perfectly. The beauty of the flower contrasted by the sharp thorns on the stems - James didn’t often cough the stem of the flower, only when he hadn’t been able to choke them out for a while, so even though the roses hurt, he knew he wouldn’t have to deal with it too much.
Besides, the flowers were so beautiful that he would happily cough a little bit of blood to ensure that his physical symbol of Sirius was free.
He added the yellow rose to his pot alongside his pink anemones carefully, gently washing the petals of the yellow rose with water to remove any traces of blood from his scratched up throat.
Even if Sirius didn’t love him, James would provide all the love in the world. That’s just who he was, and he wouldn’t want that to change for the world.
James’ third and fourth flowers came in third year. His book from Sirius was overflowing, although Sirius seemed to know and had bought him a new one for his birthday.
He was immensely grateful, even though he knew he was never going to tell Sirius why he had such an obsession with flowers. He kept the specific flowers on different pages, he would never mix and match. One page dedicated to Sirius, one page dedicated to his parents, so on and so forth until the book was completely filled with pink and yellow.
And now, a page each for Remus and Peter.
They hadn’t done anything wrong, James knew. He always worried about whether his friends would want to stay his friends. It was why he acted so happy and joyful and bubbly all the time - if he acted how he truly felt, his friends would surely get bored of him.
Of course, sometimes James did feel happy and joyful and bubbly, but sometimes - especially if Sirius said something in an odd, cold tone of voice, resulting in a bloodied, scratched throat that hurt him for days - he didn’t feel quite so enthusiastic.
Still, it was better to pretend to be happy than be his actual self. If Sirius didn’t love him as he was now, there was no way he would love his actual self.
James always worried that his friends would find someone new, someone better than him. It seemed they had finally done it.
Well, no. Remus and Peter hadn’t been partnered together for a Potions project; instead, Remus had been partnered with Lily and Peter had been put with Marlene. They had each hit it off instantly (and James pretended the only reason he was jealous was because Remus got to hang out with his crush), as had Sirius with his new partner, Mary.
James himself had been partnered with Lily’s friend Alice, who was nice enough, and was also close with Frank Longbottom, who James was certain would be Quidditch captain in the coming year or so.
Still, Remus and Peter seemed to spend the majority of time with the girls, and sometimes Sirius joined them with Mary, and it hit James hard in the chest sometimes that he felt all he could do was cough and choke and hack until his flowers exploded out of him.
He always tried to hold back his coughing fits until the nighttime. Sometimes, this meant he would be oddly silent for a while during conversations, attempting to swallow back yellow roses; as much as the thorns hurt, having his friends be aware of his affliction would be even worse.
And yet, he found himself rushing away from the Potions study group he had found himself a part of after he had watched Remus whisper a joke to Lily, causing her to burst into laughter and repeat it quietly to Peter and Marlene, and soon everybody in the circle knew the stupid joke aside from James, and James had to leave right now before his flowers doomed him.
Doomed was probably the wrong phrase, but it suited the anxiety filling James’ veins in that moment.
He locked himself in a cubicle, collapsing in front of the toilet but still facing away from the seat, because as much as his throat burned as he coughed and vomited the flowers out, he still wanted to save them, he still wanted to preserve them.
It wasn’t the flowers' fault that their beauty was exiting his body in this disgusting way.
It took fifteen minutes before James could finally properly analyse his newest flowers. He knew, in his soul, which flower belonged to which of his friends. He quietly cast a spell to wash the flowers, to bring them back to the beautiful sight they must have been while they were in his lungs, before he gently placed the bouquet of flowers into multiple different pockets (he’d never coughed this many out in a single session before).
Instead of returning to the library, he instead found himself back in the dorms. He sat in his bed, shutting the curtains around him and casting a silencing spell so that, if anyone chose to come up, they wouldn’t be able to hear him. Only after that did he lay out all of his flowers from his pockets and pull out the book from the library.
He took out the flower book every year, now, just in case. Sometimes, James found himself studying the different flowers and their meanings, imagining which flower would belong to who if he ever coughed it out one day. He didn’t have to imagine Remus and Peter’s anymore.
The flower he knew was Peter’s was a bright orange. It had almost a gradient colour, beginning at a lovely red at the bottom of the flower, then transitioning into the vivid orange as the petals grew.
Remus’ flower was a vibrant, beautiful blue. There were multiple shades of the blue within the one flower, and James found himself unable to take his eyes off the beauty of the flower for several moments.
He shook his head, opening the massive book to find the flowers.
Orange tulip.
These flowers, at their basis, signify understanding and appreciation. Expanding further, they have a multitude of other meanings. They symbolise joy and enthusiasm, happiness and positivity, creativity and warmth, optimism.
Cornflower.
Resilience, loyalty and hope are big qualities of this flower. The loyalty and trust aspects of this specifically come from the vibrant blue colouring, in which this colour also promotes peace and relaxation. Moreover, as a national symbol, the cornflower is associated with freedom.
The symbolism of the flowers cemented who they belonged to even more. Peter craved positivity, Remus craved freedom. Peter exuded warmth and creativity, Remus was nothing but loyal and hopeful.
James stared at the meanings for a long while before he finally began to preserve the flowers into his newest book. His new flowers were just as beautiful as his last ones, and they fit his friends perfectly.
He would always, always love his friends, and he would always, always try and make them love him back.
His flowers for Lily surprisingly developed only in fifth year. James was unsure of why they hadn’t occurred previously, with how much hatred Lily seemed to hold for him, but he supposed maybe he himself didn’t know how much he truly loved her.
The expression of pure, unadulterated hatred on her face had sent him reeling back, clutching his chest in anguish.
“That was cruel,” she shouted, pointing at him with a sort of fierceness that James had once admired in her, that now felt so, so wrong directed at him in this way. “No - no matter what anyone says, treating someone like that is horrid! It’s cruel, and unfair, and you’re a bully for doing it!”
James just opened and closed his mouth, as though his vocal cords suddenly ceased to exist.
“And you!” she whirled on Remus and Peter, then. “Just standing there, having the gall to laugh and act like it’s all a joke. You’re all cruel.”
Lily turned as if to storm away, but halted as James finally spoke his piece, gesticulating wildly.
“He doesn’t get to talk to you like that,” he said, pointing at Snape with his wand, a small amount of pleasure filling his stomach as the boy jolted backwards slightly. It abated quickly at the sneer on Lily’s face as she watched. “That’s a horrible word, Evans, and he shouldn’t ever use it, especially not to someone he calls a friend!”
“Besides,” Sirius drawled, “he isn’t exactly the most innocent person in the world, is he? Have you not seen how he and his ugly group of friends treat the first years? Death Eaters in training, the whole lot of them.” He spat on the ground.
“You’re right,” Lily conceded, yet the fire in her eyes didn’t disappear, “he shouldn’t have called a friend that word, but he’s not my friend. And nor are you, not after that. You’re lowering yourself to their levels, and that’s unneeded and rude.”
She finally turned, then, tossing her hair behind her shoulder and angrily walked towards the school, no doubt to talk to her friends and rant about all that had happened.
Snape hissed something behind gritted teeth, and Sirius pulled his wand out in an instant.
“Want to repeat that, Snivellus?” he snarked, lazily gesturing with his wand. “We have a lot more where that came from, you know.”
James could feel the flowers forming in his lungs, and he was suddenly hit with an inability to breathe. When Sirius turned to him, expecting him to continue their jabs and jeers, he was instead hit with James scrunching his robes in his hand near his chest, gasping and gasping for air.
“Fuck - Jamie? Are you okay?” asked Sirius worriedly, turning his back on Snape with a speed no one would have expected (aside from James, of course, Sirius did a lot for people he liked).
“Good,” James choked out, trying to swallow against the barrage of flowers and petals that begged to exit his mouth, “go.”
Not allowing his friends a moment to catch up, James darted towards the school, heading for a different door than Lily had gone to (there was no need to make his flowers worse for the moment). He was slower than usual, which was expected with how little oxygen he had in his lungs, but the surprise of his running off seemed to have stunned his friends into not following.
He ran into the nearest toilets, slamming the cubicle door shut and finally choking out the flowers in his lungs.
The floor was a collection of colour, something both beautiful and sickening. It wouldn’t look out of place in a museum; the abstract flowers lying on the floor of a bathroom stall looked oddly romantic yet heartbreaking at the same time.
He was unsurprised to see his yellow roses, orange tulips and cornflowers on the floor. The more time he spent with his friends, the more time he lived with the flowers in his lungs, the more often he coughed out his flowers for them.
The newest one, though. He recognised it in an instant, from how often he read the flower book from the library.
Acanthus. It was as beautiful as it was harmful. It reminded James heavily of Lily, with a kind personality but a fiery streak.
The thorny leaves of this flower had left his throat woefully scratched, but James still found it worthwhile to cough it out. The beauty of the petals built upon one another were almost too good to be true.
He was grateful that he carried his flower book with him almost everywhere, so he didn’t have to attempt to place the flowers in his robe pockets to carry back to the dorms, avoiding everybody until he could preserve his flowers properly.
This would be a beautiful start to his newest book, James thought, these acanthus flowers.
He gently sorted out the flowers into careful piles, ensuring that any blood from his throat was washed off the petals. His orange tulips and cornflower piles were the smallest, then his yellow roses were abundant, and finally his newest acanthus formed the largest pile of all.
James was unsure of how long he’d sat in the bathroom, murmuring the preservation spell under his breath as he laid the flowers, one-by-one, in his book. When he’d finally completed it, he took a deep breath, then let it out, scrunching his nose at the smell of his breath. Thankfully, he’d learnt a breath-freshening charm long ago, and with a small wave of his wand, he shut his book and stood up, prepared to act like nothing ever happened.
Later that night, when all of his friends were sound asleep in their beds, James pulled out his flower book once again, quickly finding the page for Lily’s flower and reading it slowly.
Acanthus.
This flower holds connotations from Greek mythology. It symbolises unrequited love and beauty, alongside an unprecedented and artistic beauty. It is well known for its resilience in all conditions, able to thrive even in the worst of times. Most of all, the acanthus represents joy, love, and life.
Yet again, his flower had managed to describe one of his loves perfectly. James didn’t know why he was surprised anymore.
The train ride home once fifth year was finished was one of the worst experiences of James’ life. After everything with Snape and Sirius, resulting in James running headfirst to block Snape from heading towards a creature who had no mind of his own - well, everyone was cold towards each other, to say the least.
James didn’t know what to do. He felt guilty for loving Sirius as much as he did (his voice was harsh and broken almost all of the time since it happened), with the clear evidence being the amount of yellow roses preserved in his book, yet he couldn’t stop. He would never stop.
He tried his best to take no sides, to be the middleman, almost, but the person he was, the almost reputation he held - he couldn’t do that. It was either be ignored by both Remus and Peter, or be looked at longingly by Sirius.
Two flowers were worse than one, as beautiful as they were.
“I -” Sirius began, his voice low and quiet.
“Save it,” spat Remus, not bothering to look away from the window. “Later.”
“When is later?” demanded Sirius, his anger rising as quickly as it always did. At least that didn’t change (that was the reason the prank occurred in the first place).
“When Remus says it’s time,” Peter said tiredly. He clearly didn’t want this animosity happening as much as James did.
“Which is?”
Remus said nothing, choosing instead to open the window on the train and pull out a cigarette and a lighter, blowing puffs of smoke out of the window once he lit the cigarette.
Normally, Sirius and Remus would be sat opposite each other on the train, both by the window. Remus would light a cigarette, and Sirius would lean forwards, closer and closer until Remus laughed and let him take a drag. The two of them would pass it to one another until it was finished, where Sirius would sneakily use a banishing charm before they left the train, leaving no traces of it ever happening.
This time was nothing like the normal. The last train ride had been returning to Hogwarts after Christmas, and James could have sworn nothing would have pulled the two apart. He and Peter shared eyerolls and sniggers behind their hands, straightening their faces every time one of the other boys looked their way.
Now Peter kicked his feet on the floor awkwardly, and James was on the verge of throwing up.
He thought it was from the anxiousness, but the rising thorns in his throat soon proved otherwise.
“Be - be right back,” he said, quickly exiting the train carriage with a speed he didn’t think was possible on foot, rushing into the nearest bathroom with his hand over his mouth. Dropping in front of the toilet (but never aiming towards it, no, preservation was the key), the flowers smoothly, achingly, agonisingly left his throat.
This was the worst it had ever been, James distantly recognised, but he still wasn’t intending to tell anyone. He hacked and coughed and vomited until every last petal, stem, thorn was out of his stomach and lungs, and then choked out more for good measure.
He huffed and puffed once he was done, a hand curled around his stomach as tears leaked out of his eyes. There was blood surrounding the flowers, creating a gory yet still elegant image. He croaked out a spell to clean all of the mess off the floor, and continued with his established routine.
Separate the flowers into piles (Sirius and Remus held the biggest piles this time).
Preserve the flowers using adservo into his book (it was never going to leave his side again).
Clean off any remaining tints of blood from his throat from the flowers (he couldn’t really tell, anymore. Besides, the blood sometimes made it look prettier).
Pretend that nothing had ever happened.
James held his head up high, book hidden in his robe as he flushed the toilet (not that he’d used it, but appearances) and left. He took a step back when he saw Lily at the sinks.
He hadn’t realised how big the bathrooms on the Hogwarts Express were before this. It probably had something to do with the magic, he would assume, but it felt even bigger when he knew he had accidentally walked into the wrong bathroom.
“Hey,” Lily said, although she didn’t sound as cold or short as James expected her to. “Was that you? Are you feeling sick?”
James’ eyes widened as he realised he had forgotten his silencing spell - he’d had to start using one, in case the others followed him to the toilet after his multiple abrupt exits. It happened too often for him to forget, and yet he somehow had.
“Ah, you know me, Evans,” James attempted to brush her off, “I just ate too many sweets from the trolley. I’ll know better for next time.”
“You missed the toilet,” Lily pushed. “I heard you use the vanishing and cleaning spells. I was going to offer myself, but you cast them so quickly I didn’t even get the chance to ask.”
She squinted her eyes at him, a worried look upon her face.
“Do you - often do this?” she asked slowly, and her evidently concerned expression made James taste the flowers in the back of his throat again. He couldn’t afford another coughing fit, especially not with Lily right here.
“Do what?” he asked, trying to go for the oblivious route.
“You know…” Lily said, as though she didn’t want to actually state what she had seen. “That.”
“Clean up after myself?” questioned James. “I know I’m spoiled, but my mum and dad would be very unhappy with me if I made a mess and just left it for someone else to deal with.”
“No!” Lily exclaimed, clearly annoyed. For a moment, she looked as though she was going to give up on the conversation entirely (as had been James’ intention from the start) before she steeled herself. “Do you often make yourself throw up?”
James blanched. That wasn’t the question he expected to hear out of her mouth.
“Excuse me?”
That simple question seemed to spur Lily on, creating an entire line of conversation that James wished he wasn’t a part of.
“You do this a lot,” she said, “you run into the bathrooms. You stay there for a short time sometimes, but then you can also stay for ages, and when you come out your eyes are always red and you’re always clutching your chest. You know, making yourself - do that - it can have really serious consequences in the future.”
James tilted his head, confused. Sure, his eyes were red when he finished with his flowers - sometimes the process of coughing them out hurt - and he was usually clutching his chest either out of shortness of breath or he was simply hiding his book.
“You look fine, James,” Lily ground out, clearly not wanting to admit this part. “You don’t need to - to make yourself throw up to make yourself look good.”
It was that line that suddenly made everything click in his mind.
“Merlin, no,” he said quickly, “no, that’s not what this is. I swear.”
Lily laughed, then, although it wasn’t full of humour, but rather more incredulous, as though Lily couldn’t believe James expected her to believe his words.
“I promise,” James vowed, “I’m not making myself throw up. I’ve been ill a lot, I don’t like going to Madame Pomfrey unless it’s serious. Come on, do you think my friends wouldn’t have talked to me already about this? They’re with me all the time, they would know if I was making myself ill.”
She still looked unsure, but nodded.
“And if I asked Remus?” she said. “Would he agree?”
James shrugged.
“I don’t usually tell them I’ve been feeling sick,” admitted James, knowing there was a flaw in his plan. He hoped that Lily wouldn’t reach out, that she was still too angry to, but she reached out to him, so who knew? “But probably?”
With that, James waved her goodbye and left the toilet, straightening his robes and smoothly walking back to his carriage.
“Everything good, Prongs?” asked Peter, and Merlin, why was everyone asking that now?
“Perfect,” James replied, shooting Peter a smile with too wide, too bright teeth.
James had been gifted a new book by his parents the moment he arrived home. They said it was a late birthday present, but James knew that Sirius must have owled his parents and told them that James was nearing the end of his latest book.
How Sirius knew it, James was never going to know. Nobody had even seen the contents of his book, not since Sirius had first preserved his first flowers, so long ago. He knew they would ask why he had so many of the same flowers preserved - surely he should be making a collection of different flowers, and not the same five?
Still, he was grateful to receive this latest book, even if he wouldn’t be able to use the spell to preserve his flowers until he got back to Hogwarts. The pot that McGonagall had transfigured for him so long ago still held its use every summer, often overflowing with flowers that James would carefully place into his trunk so he could preserve them on the train.
James didn’t know if the flowers were magical in nature - well, no, he knew they were magical, they grew from inside of him - but he wanted to know how they stayed alive for so long without him having the proper tools to care for them. He was grateful nonetheless.
He already knew that his latest book would almost entirely be dedicated to Sirius. There would be a couple of pages with pink anemones, that was undeniable when he was back home for the summer, but the yellow roses and their vibrance would rule this book.
It was the first summer since first year that Sirius hadn’t sent a single letter to James. He gathered that Remus and Peter were also receiving nothing, seeing as they were infinitely more cold and mad towards Sirius than he had been.
He felt guilty that he wasn’t nearly as mad as the others, but he just couldn’t help it. Who would James be without his love for Sirius?
No one, that’s who.
(His throat was more cut up and bloodied than it ever had been before. The thorns from the roses were more prominent, stem after stem breaking apart from the flowers in the time it took for them to exit James’ mouth. Sometimes, the thorns cut James’ tongue, his mouth, resulting in James refusing to eat anything for fear that he would get an infection and have to finally, finally reveal what he had been going through.)
His own summer was much quieter than normal, and he knew that his parents were worried about him. How could they not understand that they should be worried about Sirius?
Sirius, who was home, alone, without any of the usual support he had to pull him through.
Sirius, who had parted from all of his friends on awful terms, who had looked more haggard and exhausted every day.
Sirius, who - who had shown up at his door in the middle of the night?
James had been struggling to sleep, as he always did. The underneath of his bed was filled with flowers that he had been coughing out through the night (he needed a new pot, he realised), but he felt the tingle of the wards being breached.
Instantly, James jumped out of bed, grabbing his wand, and wiping his bloodied mouth with his duvet. His parents always scolded him if he moved when there was a potential danger around, but James couldn’t help but be hopeful.
Rounding the corner, he remained out of view as his dad opened the door. The moment he saw Sirius on the other side, though, bloodied and bruised, James swallowed down the thorns and pulled the boy forwards in a gut-wrenching hug.
The thorns hurt on their way back down, but James wouldn’t regret it for the world. Not when his best friend was finally back where he was supposed to be - hurt, but he would be okay.
Sirius’ arms gently wrapped around James’ torso, squeezing the other boy as tightly as James was to him.
“I’m sorry,” choked out Sirius, hiding his head in James’ shoulder as he spoke. James could feel the other boy’s tears on his shirt, but neglected to mention anything.
“You’re okay,” James promised, holding Sirius even tighter, even as the air in his lungs decreased. “I have you.”
James would always hold Sirius together, even as he broke at the same time.
In sixth year, James developed flowers for someone he had never, ever expected to.
He had started to hate his flowers in sixth year. They were constricting his ability to play Quidditch, which James honestly believed was his favourite hobby. His friends had made up, especially after the hell Sirius had experienced over the summer, and yet James couldn’t even enjoy it.
The flowers consumed his every waking moment, his dreams, everything. Bursts of colour filled his many, many books, to the point that James had to buy a new one each Hogsmeade weekend.
It was all getting too much, and that was why James had made this decision. If he didn’t love his flowers anymore, then he didn’t deserve to live without them. He had made the conscious decision weeks before he finally walked up the stairs to the top of the Astronomy Tower, but he never had the time to fulfil his wish.
One day, when he was truly ready to go, when James had spent every minute he could running to the bathroom and throwing up flower after flower, stem after stem, thorn after thorn, his throat bloody with the effort, the other Marauders had stopped him in his tracks, begging him to plan out this latest prank that Sirius and Remus had begun to think of.
Now that they weren’t arguing, Sirius and Remus were somehow closer than they were before. Peter had confided insecurity in James before, that their group would fracture, but James knew that the others would never let that happen.
He’d helped out with the prank, even though all he did was swirl his tongue around the blood in his mouth, attempting to make sure that his grin wouldn’t be a vibrant red while the others did all the work.
Finally, a week after that, when Sirius and Remus were nowhere to be found and Peter was off with some Ravenclaw girl that James didn’t care to find out the name of, James finally had the time to leave.
He wouldn’t be cruel. James had found the notebooks that had the most amount of flowers for each person (Sirius had five to himself, almost) and had written their names on the cover, hiding them in his trunk just in case he chickened out.
(He knew he wouldn’t, but he had to plan it out anyway. James Potter was a lot of things, but a coward was not one of them.)
His legs felt simultaneously heavy yet light as he walked up the stairs, his face the perfect picture of bliss. As he reached the top of the stairs he took a deep breath, a real smile appearing on his face for the first time since he’d arrived back at Hogwarts.
James had never felt so ready in his life.
And yet, his footsteps slowed as he reached the edge, a foreboding feeling at the back of his neck. He reached back and rubbed it, looking around. He must be paranoid, right?
No. In the corner, shadowed almost perfectly in the hue of the moon, was another student. James wondered if this person would have watched him walk to the edge and throw himself off, or whether they would have tried to intervene.
It didn’t matter now, anyway. James was glad he had a contingency plan, because he would never subject another person to his own issues. It was why he had so many flowers in the first place.
“Sorry,” he murmured to the person, still cloaked in darkness. “I was looking for a quiet place to think. I’ll leave you alone.”
The person tilted their head, before moving forward so they were enveloped in the light of the moon.
And really, who would be the worst person to see at the top of the Astronomy Tower, when James was so ready to end it all, but Sirius’ little brother?
“Potter?” asked Regulus, a sneer set upon his face before he shook his head, the sneer being replaced by a small scowl. “I -”
Regulus looked small, James realised. There were tear tracks down his face, although he clearly hadn’t been crying in the last few minutes. His eyes were puffy, but not red, and James knew he was the perfect person for this situation.
He walked forwards towards the alcove that Regulus had been hiding in, easily sitting down while Regulus looked on in aghast.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked after a moment, like a deer in the headlights.
(James internally laughed at the similarity.)
“Well, I wanted a quiet place to think,” James repeated, “and I figured, if you’re up here, why don’t we have a quiet place to think together?”
Regulus narrowed his eyes.
“I don’t think anywhere is quiet when you’re involved,” said Regulus, although he did follow James and sit down next to him, tucking his knees in so he would take up less space.
They sat in silence for a while, before James inevitably broke it. Quiet, as much as he used it as his excuse, was not his thing. He’d always wanted to go down kicking and screaming - although James supposed the flowers would be a much more serene way to leave. He shook his head before he went down that trail of thought.
“Are you okay?” he asked instead.
Regulus put his head on his knees, looking for all the world like there was nothing less he wanted to talk about. James felt uncomfortable for a moment. It was so easy to cheer up everyone else, why did Regulus have to be so hard?
The younger boy stayed quiet for a while, to the point where James leaned his head on the back of the alcove and closed his eyes.
“Do you know much about Astronomy?” questioned Regulus. He wasn’t responding to James’ question, but James got the feeling that he didn’t want to talk about it. He wouldn’t force it, especially not when the other boy wasn’t even that close to him. He was just dealing with him, if anything.
“Not really,” James responded, tilting his head at the boy. “Tell me about it?”
Regulus blinked. “Are you sure?” he asked, seeming shy all of a sudden. The scowling Slytherin that James first encountered seemed to have completely disappeared, as though it were a front all along. James truly wasn’t that surprised, Sirius was wearing a mask most of the time too. “I know stars and planets aren’t the most interesting to everyone.”
“Tell me,” said James again, smiling. “I know yours and Sirius’ names are from stars, but I don’t know what ones. Can we see them from here?”
Regulus gave a true smile, then, gesturing for James to lay down on the floor of the Astronomy Tower with him so they could gaze upon the stars in their entirety.
He chatted far more than James had ever expected him to, pointing to the different constellations and explaining the origins of each one with an eagerness James shouldn’t have been surprised by. It seemed that there was at least one thing in the Black household that wasn’t traumatising, to say the least.
James absently wondered whether Sirius remembered any of this information, before he shook off that train of thought and continued listening.
Regulus spoke until it felt like hours had passed, quizzing James on different stars and planets until James felt he could almost take an Astronomy exam there and then, and get an Outstanding, too.
Finally, he ran out of breath, breathing deeply before he turned to James with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Thank you for listening,” he whispered. “I - I was having a really, really bad day. Thank you for listening, and thank you for being here.”
James knew that Regulus didn’t mean for him to read between the lines, but he did. Regulus was planning the exact same thing as James, except he didn’t know James’ own plans.
And he never would, James promised to himself. He wouldn’t ruin that twinkle, the twinkle that looked just like the stars in the sky.
“Anytime,” James murmured back softly. He sat up, stretching before he finally stood, reaching out a hand and helping Regulus up, too. “This time next week?”
Regulus scoffed, hiding a grin as he waved James goodbye.
And James cursed everything as he felt the familiar bloom in his chest, the familiar tickle in his throat. The coughs and hacks expelled flowers from his lungs as he fell back onto his knees on the Astronomy Tower.
This was a beautiful white flower, not unlike one that would be central at a wedding. He held it carefully as he walked through the school corridors back to his dorm. James didn’t know how he didn’t walk past anyone, as entranced in the new flower as he was, yet he somehow was lucky enough.
Or unlucky? He didn’t know anymore.
He sat in his bed, curtains drawn as he pulled out his book on flowers, instantly flipping to the right page through muscle memory of his memorisation of these flowers.
Hydrangeas.
These flowers come in all colours. White hydrangeas symbolise new beginnings and rebirth, with many positive connotations. There is a gentleness and elegance to these flowers, due to the poise and beauty once the flowers are compiled together. Furthermore, purity and innocence are also symbols of these flowers, indicating a fresh start in life.
Regulus was a changed person, that James knew even from one night at the Astronomy Tower.
He just wished that he didn’t love so easily. He hadn’t wanted another flower to add to his collection.
Seventh year was the worst year for James and his flowers.
If James had thought completing his OWLs was difficult with five flowers, studying for his NEWTs with six was far, far worse.
He still couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. He still put his all into his love for everyone, sending his parents weekly letters (they were ill, at the moment, and James desperately wanted to be home to care for them, but he knew they wouldn’t want him there), making his friends smile, joking around with Lily when he and her patrolled in the evenings, and meeting up with Regulus every week at the Astronomy Tower.
He hadn’t expected Regulus to keep up their tradition. Part of James wondered whether Regulus felt as lonely as he did, that the unexpected friendship they had on the first night was something that Regulus craved, too.
Or, maybe, Regulus kept returning to the Astronomy Tower for the same reason James had first gone there. Maybe Regulus was as finished with life as James was, and James kept interrupting his attempts whenever he showed up.
Even if that was the case, James wouldn’t stop going. He truly loved Regulus, now, he had the flowers to prove it, and he wouldn’t let him leave this world.
James was unsure whether Sirius was aware of the arrangement he and Regulus had. Part of him hoped that, when Sirius found out, he would be appreciative that Regulus was changed. Merlin, even James’ flowers said that Regulus was reborn.
Patrolling with Lily in the evenings became one of James’ favourite pastimes, too. It was only a couple of times a week, the prefects ought to be doing it more often than the Head Girl and Boy, but James and Lily had quietly confided in each other that they liked the serenity of the late night walks.
Lily had warmed up to him towards the end of sixth year, James had found. She smiled more often at him, tucking her hair behind her ears as they spoke, and even laughed at his jokes every once in a while. James wouldn’t be stupid to assume that something was happening between them, but Lily’s acanthuses appeared less and less frequently.
Still, that didn’t mean they never appeared. His trunk was almost completely filled with his flower books, now. James could feel it in his bones that the flowers were occurring too often, and yet he found that he didn’t care.
He loved his flowers, even if he had a momentary lapse in judgement the previous year. Did he want to be alive? No. Sometimes, it hurt and burned his soul to think that none of his favourite people loved him back. Would he live anyway? Of course.
He would do anything for the people he loved, after all.
One day, though, James knew it was going to be a bad day. He’d had a lot of them, recently, having to hide the flowers more often than usual and sometimes even needing to cough in class because he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach the toilet in time.
Bad days meant that James struggled to keep any food down, not that he ate much nowadays anyways. Eating meant he would inevitably throw it up with the flowers later, and James hated to waste food. Bad days meant that James struggled to get out of bed. The weight in his lungs was too heavy, too strong, and truthfully, James would happily lie there for days, if not for his friends.
That morning, though? James wanted nothing more than to stay asleep.
Even as his friends awoke for the day, getting ready for lessons and making as much noise as possible in an attempt to wake him up, James didn’t move. He slowed his breathing in order to fake being asleep, even though he barely had enough oxygen to breathe as it was.
Then, finally, his bed curtains were ripped open, and the sunlight streaked across his bed.
He groaned, curling into a ball on his bed, clutching his stomach and chest in pain.
Oh, he vaguely thought to himself, I am definitely not going to be able to move.
“Up you get, Prongs!” Sirius exclaimed cheerfully, jumping onto James’ bed and hugging him from behind. Then, in a swift movement, he yanked the duvet off of him, leaving James shivering, still holding his chest in agony.
Sirius didn’t speak for a moment, tilting his head in confusion.
“You all right, there, Prongs?” asked Peter, edging closer to the bed. He, too, didn’t seem to know what to do, other than to carefully place James’ duvet back on him, tucking the boy in gently. “Not feeling well?”
James nodded faintly, curling into the blankets even more, scrunching his eyes shut in defence against the sun.
Remus felt his forehead, wincing at the heat exuding from it.
“Maybe it’s best you stay here for the day, okay?” he said, frowning. “If it gets any worse, we’ll take you to see Madam Pomfrey at lunch.”
James murmured a response, although he didn’t quite know what was going on. He was thankful when the others left the room, Peter shutting his curtains so that he could be in the blissful darkness yet again.
The moment the door shut, James quietly coughed and hacked the flowers that had formed throughout the night onto his bed. As long as he hid them by the time the others came back, everything would be all right.
Yet he couldn’t seem to stop coughing and spluttering. All six of his flowers erupted from his chest, creating wave after wave of anguish, blood dripping down his lips onto the bed, and James hazily realised that he might be dying.
The thorns from Sirius’ yellow roses scratched and tore his throat apart, causing even more blood to bubble and escape James’ mouth, turning his pillow into a crime scene of despair and suffering. Thankfully, James had barely eaten any food for the past few days, so he didn’t have to deal with the stench of food, only the smell of the stomach acid that left his throat alongside his flowers.
He curled even further into the foetal position, feeling tears leak down his face as he coughed and coughed and coughed. He wished he had more time, he hadn’t even labelled his latest books - what if Lily got the wrong one, or nobody knew what their flowers meant?
Even those thoughts left James’ mind soon enough. The flowers calmed down, although James knew they were just waiting for another round, waiting for James’ body to be ready to expel them again.
James didn’t think his body would be ready again. The blood on his pillow seemed never-ending, dripping down the side of his bed. Even some splatters had landed on the curtains, and James prayed that it wasn’t obvious from the other side. He was surrounded by flowers of all colours, almost as though he was already prepared for his funeral.
That made James faintly laugh. He had been preparing for his funeral with these flowers for the last seven years, and now it seemed he may finally be having it.
His eyes drifted shut, with one last yellow rose leaving his throat, tearing him apart from the inside one last time (his throat rarely healed before the next lot of flowers appeared).
James, strangely enough, woke up when the door to the dormitory slammed open. He still felt hazy, probably from the blood loss, yet part of him wanted to see who was at the door. The other parts of him, that wanted nothing more than to continue dying (because that was what this was, James was actively dying, he had been actively dying for years and now the final act was upon him) begged him to fall asleep, to concede to the eternal slumber that had been waiting for him for oh-so-long.
He could hear murmuring at the door - ah, it probably was Sirius and Remus and Peter, come back to check on him. Well, they didn’t need to anymore. There was probably nothing that could save James now, and he was okay with that. Happy, even.
“Should we wake him?” a voice murmured, although James was too out of it to know who was speaking.
“We need to see if he’s feeling any better,” another responded. “He was proper burning up this morning, but you know how he’s been at the moment. Illness after illness - I think we need Madam Pomfrey for this.”
“Evans asked where he was this morning,” added someone else. “She said she’s been worried about him for years, especially with how much he’s been disappearing around breakfast and dinner.”
James could hear someone walking towards his bed, although he couldn’t open his eyes to see. That probably should worry him, but James felt too at peace to care.
“Is that - flowers?” the person asked. James’ flowers must have fallen off his bed as he coughed them out, he realised. He hoped they didn’t look too bloody.
“You think Prongs learnt how to conjure flowers on his day off?” someone snickered, although their laughter died off quickly the closer they got to his bed.
“I’m opening his curtains,” the first voice said, “I don’t like this.”
And then, all at once, James’ curtains were thrust open. Normally, James would flinch or wince away from the light, but the afternoon sunshine was warming him. He hadn’t realised how cold he felt.
“What the fuck?”
Pure chaos. One person moved all of his flowers off of him, embracing James’ body to their chest as the others panicked in the background.
“Stop!” said the person holding James - it must be Remus, although likely any of them could hold James now, he felt like he’d thrown up every organ in his body. “Sirius, run and tell Pomfrey we’re bringing James to her, and Peter, grab some of the flowers just in case they’re why he’s coughing up blood.”
As if the word was magic, James weakly coughed again, spluttering as another barrage of flowers left his lungs. He cried as his throat was ruined even more, pressing into Remus’ chest for comfort, before he couldn’t hold himself up anymore, his head flopping.
“Fuck, James, hey, hey,” someone said, tapping his cheek over and over. “Open your eyes, come on, Jamie.”
James could hear how important this was to this person, so he really tried, opening his eyes as best he could, but all he could see was a blur of black hair.
“Siri?” he murmured, wanting desperately to reach out and stroke the other boy who seemed distraught over something. James didn’t know what, but he would find out and he would fix it. He always did.
“Yes, Jamie, it’s me,” sobbed Sirius, holding James’ hand close to his chest. “You’re going to be okay, you just need to keep your eyes open, okay?”
James nodded, but even he knew that was a losing battle. It was hard enough to keep his eyes open, even if Sirius wanted him to.
“Sirius, go!” snapped Remus. “Madam Pomfrey needs to know what’s happening. Peter, go with Sirius with the flowers you have, I’ll meet you there, just go.”
With that, James drifted off again, vaguely hearing the patter of feet running out of the room. He felt a hand lightly tap his cheek and he groaned, tears running from his eyes yet again.
“I know, I know, James,” murmured Remus, who had suddenly started moving with James in his arms. “You have to stay awake though, okay, bud? You can’t fall asleep.”
“Please,” James begged, although he didn’t know what he was asking for. To sleep forever? For Remus to love him?
“I’ve got you,” Remus promised, “but only if you stay awake. You can do it, James.”
James whined loudly, somewhat aware that they were now in the corridor, heading towards what he assumed was the Hospital Wing. Was Remus hurt? Why would he be carrying James if he was hurt?
He could see faint blurs of people, all stopped to a halt in the corridor. He thought he saw some pointing in his direction, and he wondered if he looked especially terrible today.
James reached a shaking hand towards his mouth, the only thing he could even try and move, and was shocked when he saw the blurred red all over his hands. He looked up to Remus in fright, whimpering into his chest.
If he was any more aware, James knew he would be infinitely embarrassed of the amount of people witnessing him act like this, but for the moment, he couldn’t care. He was pretty sure he was dying.
“Dy-ing?” he pushed out, those simple syllables straining his throat and vocal cords, causing another wild rush of pain within him.
“No, no, you’re okay,” Remus whispered, pulling James even closer to him, if that was even possible. “We’re here, you’re okay.”
Remus mumbled those same words over and over again, and James wished that he had never seen him in this state. Remus didn’t deserve this.
It was with that final thought that James finally succumbed, and closed his eyes.
“No. No! James, I swear to Merlin, open your fucking eyes right now!”
And, as much as James wished he could fulfil Remus’ last wish of him, he couldn’t.
The darkness was almost as pretty as his flowers.
When James woke up, he half thought he had died. For the first time in a long, long time, he could breathe.
He mumbled under his breath nonsensically, turning his head to try and escape the sudden light in the room before he stilled. This didn’t feel like his bed - hell, he would normally have heard his friends begin getting ready before any light even breached his curtains.
He opened his eyes instantly, before shutting them almost as quickly, groaning at the sudden light attacking his eyeballs.
“Now, let’s try that again, shall we?” a warm voice said next to him.
The lighting lessened, and James carefully squinted his eyes open, unsurprised to see Madam Pomfrey at his bedside, smiling softly at him.
“How are you feeling?” she asked gently. It was the nicest she had ever been to James, he realised, aside from when he, Sirius and Peter would visit after the full moon, and even then James didn’t think he had ever seen this smile from her.
James swallowed, getting ready to respond, before he halted. Swallowing again, and again, and again, he was surprised to have the absence of pain in his throat. Suddenly, he shot up, clearly shocking Madam Pomfrey as she moved backwards.
“What have you - done?” he accused, voice croaky, yet James didn’t care for water right now.
He couldn’t feel the thorns, he couldn’t feel his flowers.
Madam Pomfrey tutted, as though she didn’t quite understand the atrocities that she had committed in removing James’ flowers.
“Now, young man, you have been in that bed for the last several days - why, I only just managed to pry your friends off of you! Lie back down right now, while I go and get you a nutrient, pain and blood-replenishing potions.”
James, as angry as he was, still would never risk her wrath, and did as he was told, even as the rage brewed inside of him.
Was it nice, not being in pain with every movement of his throat? Yes, of course it was. James would still prefer his flowers back.
He obediently took the potions she gave him, alongside some small sips of water, before she put her hands on her hips and gestured for him to speak again.
“Where are my - my flowers?” he asked, sounding timid even as the anger coursed through his veins. On the off-chance that Madam Pomfrey hadn’t removed his flowers (even though he couldn’t feel them in his lungs, he couldn’t feel anything at all), he didn’t want to be rude.
The woman softened, and she gently gave James a book that had been left on his bedside table.
“All of the ones you coughed up, the day you came here,” she said softly, “they’re all here, in this book. Mr Black filled it up for you.”
James’ heart exploded with love for Sirius, then - and his lungs did, too.
He coughed and coughed and hacked until the beautiful, beautiful yellow roses left him, the stems longer than ever before, yet not harming his throat in any way - at least, James couldn’t feel it hurting, even as the blood on the flowers said otherwise.
Pomfrey looked simultaneously saddened and alarmed, and she gently placed the flowers in a vase next to James’ bed.
James stared at it in wonder for a moment, before he narrowed his eyes at Pomfrey.
“Why can’t I feel them, then?” he asked. “If they’re still in me, in my - in my lungs, why can’t I feel them anymore?”
“That’ll be the blood-replenishing and pain potions,” she replied, her lips downturned. “It’s the best treatment for this disease - besides removing the flowers -”
James interrupted her in an instant. “Not happening.”
Pomfrey continued on, “- or discussing with your family members why you feel this way.”
James balked, glancing at Pomfrey with a questioning look.
“What do you mean, disease, anyway?” said James. “I’ve been coughing these up for years, I’ve never read anything about it in the library.”
“Mr Lupin will be able to explain it to you as well as I can, now,” Pomfrey said, eyes warming at the mention of her (not that she would admit it openly) favourite student at Hogwarts. “He has been reading all about Hanahaki disease.
“When someone experiences unrequited love to a severe level, their body has no way to expel this love that they’re feeling, so it appears as flowers that grow in their lungs.”
James wilted, unlike the flowers inside of him, a burning sadness growing inside of him. He swallowed down the flowers when he felt the slight tickle in his throat, not wanting that sad expression to appear on Pomfrey’s face again.
“They really don’t love me, do they?” he murmured, looking down and playing with his bedsheets in an attempt to quell the tears that threatened him.
“Of course they do,” Pomfrey comforted, laying a gentle hand on James’ shoulder. “This disease - when someone loves others so, so much, and yet they don’t believe anyone could love themselves - well, it can occur that way, too.
“I have seen the lengths that your friends have gone to,” she added. “They try to sneak in every night - once, I even saw them manage to train a rat to bring you gifts while you were here. They’ve researched this disease, they’ve sent letters to your parents informing them of everything that’s happened - James, if I may, I have never seen a group of friends love each other quite as much as yours love you.”
And yet, as much as James wished he could believe it, he knew it couldn’t be true.
How could a magical disease, one that planted flower seeds in his lungs, be caused by his own belief that nobody loved him? No, it wasn’t possible.
Pomfrey could likely see the disbelief in his eyes, and she walked away slowly, opening the doors to the Hospital Wing. All at once, three boys who had clearly been listening in to their conversation toppled onto the floor, not expecting the sudden door opening.
“Go on, boys,” Pomfrey encouraged, for once not telling them off for eavesdropping. “You’ve waited long enough.”
Sirius had already stood up and ran to James’ bedside before Pomfrey even finished her last words, jumping onto his bed with ease and clutching the boy to his chest.
“Never do that again,” he ordered as his voice trembled. “That was the worst thing I think I’ve ever seen, Prongs, and I live in my house.”
James gave a weak laugh, then (Merlin he loved Sirius’ humour) and hugged the boy back.
“I’m sorry,” he said once Sirius had let go. He turned to face Remus and Peter, who were both sat on chairs either side of his bed. “I just - you guys didn’t - I know you care, it’s not your fault that it’s become -”
He shrugged, all of a sudden too exhausted to try and explain himself.
He knew they cared, it wasn’t their fault that it wasn’t to the level that James cared for them, was it? It wasn’t their fault that they couldn’t ever love him.
“Stop right there, Jamie,” said Peter, wagging his finger. “I know what you’re thinking, and no. We care because we love you, and we’ll convince you until you don’t need those flowers anymore.”
James gaped. How had Peter guessed that was why he had kept his flowers, even while knowing they were killing him?
“Although…” added Peter, suddenly looking shifty. “I would like to know which one’s mine. You know, if you don’t mind sharing.”
James laughed, even as Remus clearly glared at Peter for asking. They’d likely talked about it before coming here - hell, Peter and Sirius had probably theorised which was theirs and who the others belonged to, up until Remus shut the conversation down.
“No, it’s okay,” James said, sitting more upright with Sirius sat right next to him on the bed. He moved so he was cross-legged, gesturing for the other to sit on the bed with them. “I don’t mind telling you.”
And so he did, starting with his parents’ flowers, all the way through the Marauders, Lily and finally Regulus. When probed, James awkwardly explained their meanings (the only one he was truly embarrassed of was his parents - forgotten love, forgotten love, forgotten love - all the others just embodied his friends perfectly). Sirius acted shocked when Regulus’ name popped up, but James knew Sirius had been using the map to see where he went each week.
“It’s all platonic, or familial,” James finished off, flushing at the direct look from Remus. “Well, aside from Evans, but that was obvious anyway. I, erm, I wasn’t hiding it to try and, like, make you guilty when it came out. It’s not your fault, you know.”
“We know, James,” said Remus, ever the patient one. Sirius seemed inclined to disagree, but Remus kept him quiet with a single look. “We just have to convince you that we love you.”
James silently believed that was a foolish thing to try and do, but he wouldn’t tell his friends that. Besides, they would want to try and do it even more with that knowledge.
James Potter was nothing without his love for others. It consumed him, to the point that he developed a disease as a result of how much he loved others, and how little they loved him back.
Yet, little by little, James was beginning to believe that, maybe, his friends liked him. Maybe even loved him.
James’ flowers never truly disappeared. He didn’t know if it was because of his self-doubt, or whether, sometimes, his friends truly did stop loving him for a time, but they always receded after a while.
He knew that there were some cases where the Hanahaki had to be imminently removed for fear of the patient’s death. He was forever thankful that his best friends had found him when they did, or James wouldn’t have even had the choice to remove his flowers at all.
The flowers left, then returned, then left, but all six never returned at the same time. This, James found manageable. He wasn’t dying at every moment, anymore. He wasn’t even just surviving.
James Potter was living, and he was living for everything, not just his love for others. And that, his friends believed, was an achievement in itself.