Sakumo and Obito's Parents* Live AU (7 artworks + drabble)
Team Minato Week Day 3: Any AU. It's not one of the suggested ones, but something I've been thinking about too much :3 @teamminatoweek
Kakashi and Obito prevent the terrible thing (they've noticed something has been really wrong with Sakumo). Sakumo, having seen Kakashi's horrified face, gets horrified himself at what he was about to do — not to himself — but to his son, and feels remorse about having almost abandoned his son.
2. After the Kannabi mission, Minato writes one of the most difficult reports in his career. He has to face the parents: Obito's dad and Sakumo.
Imagine the moment team Minato returns to the village, but without Obito.
Obito's parents, as well as Sakumo, meet them and realize that their son has not returned. Kakashi looks them in the eye and stretches a trembling hand with the goggles in it; they take them, shocked, and feel the sudden dark urge to throw them into something. Or at somebody. The panic. They feel like they're on the edge of a precipice, but a tiny hope that Obito might still be alive — just... lost... just... still breathing — is still there. But then it gets crushed by a detailed report from the team.
The eye. Obito's eye. Their son's eye is looking at them from Kakashi's eyesocket, and they don't know what to think. Sakumo doesn't, either.
They aren't allowed to look for the body immediately because of secret military operations still going on in the area. They grieve and wait. Soon they get the permission to start their search; grimly, they crush a rock after a rock to get to the bottom, and find… the blood… ninja weapons… pieces of his clothing... Obito's headband… But! NO BODY. And again Obito's parents feel shattered. Did the enemy ninja steal his body? Plucked out the remaining eye? Dissected him? What did they do to the corpse of their poor boy? Obito's parents are too late! Too late…
And more weeks of grief and pain ensue.
Until Kakashi starts seeing something with his eye.
Some cave…
After it’s happened a few times, he tells Rin, and she persuades him to talk to Obito's parents.
3. Thanks to Rin, Kakashi approaches Obito's mom and asks her a few questions about the Sharingan. He has to retell her everything again, but in more detail. Kakashi says that he's been seeing something from time to time, but doesn't know what it is... Obito's mom is puzzled, but suddenly a new tiny flicker of hope springs up in the darkness they've been living in for the past few months.
4. Eventually, Obito's parents, Sakumo, and Kakashi find Obito in barely-alive Madara's lair. Black Zetsu escapes, but there is somebody who can capture him and seal him off: Kushina.
5. Kushina loves her secret mission.
6. Jounin Obito, with his parents. Way later :3
***
And if you've read till this point, I have a little drabble for you for dessert about kid Obito getting to know Sakumo. Big thank you to @professor-of-naruto for fixing my mistakes & all the amazing support!!! 💕 💕 💕
***
On warm days like this, Obito loved wandering around in the village and enjoying the lulling buzz of life. Quite often, these walks resulted in curious encounters and even adventures, and today seemed to be the case too. On the hill near the edge of Konoha park sat a man, staring somewhat sadly at the erratic mess of Konoha rooftops and low afternoon clouds, speckled with gold and pink. It was a man Obito had seen from a distance multiple times, but had never had the guts to approach.
Hatake Sakumo had somehow always looked both rugged and elven at the same time. He was tall and wiry, face sun-tanned, vigor emanating from his broad shoulders and spiky silver ponytail, but his eyes were jaded and thoughtful – too many shadows hiding there. There was a certain sternness about the lines on either side of his mouth, but the most gentle and peaceful smile Obito had ever seen offset the rough look of his face. And now, this very smile and a small nod of acknowledgement worked like a magnetic pull on the boy. Enchanted, he came up to the man and sat down nearby.
Kakashi’s father returned to silent contemplation, and Obito bent his eyes to the ground. That man wasn’t a talkative one, pretty much like his son, but did Obito want to know more about him! Sakumo was probably the only person in the whole world who could elicit a huge, brilliant smile from Kakashi. Not that Obito had actually seen that smile (damn mask!), only the crinkled eyes, but more than once, he’d heard their jolly voices and laughter when the pair of them were chatting about the events of the day.
“Hatake-san, nice to meet you. I’m Uchiha Obito,” he began formally, heart pounding in his chest.
Having pulled himself out of his thoughts, Sakumo cocked his head and gave him another serene and endearing smile. “Obito-kun, huh? You’re Kakashi’s friend, right? I’ve seen you playing together.”
“Um... More like a classmate, I guess?” A classmate who wanted to be his friend. Deep down. Probably.
“I’ve heard a lot about you from my son.”
“You have?” Obito’s eyes grew wide, radiating shock and wonder. Of all the things Kakashi and Sakumo could be discussing... Him? Oh, wait. Kakashi had probably been describing to his dad all those stupid situations that involved Obito, or something... They could be funny. In hindsight. Mortified, he hung his head, digging his fingers into the soft grass. So he knows... knows I’m a disaster... knows that I’m nothing like Kakashi…
“He often grumbles about a certain obstinate Uchiha boy who won’t ever leave him in peace. But I can also see how excited he is, looking forward to the fun that every day with you brings.” Suddenly Sakumo laughed, voice deep and resonant. “But around you my little hedgehog is a little standoffish, isn’t he?” (Obito’s ears perked up: A diminutive? For Kakashi? Outlandish). “I can be your friend instead.”
“Is it... Is it okay?” Obito mumbled, still feeling awkward.
“Of course.”
“Hatake-san… Why is Kakashi such a ‘hedgehog’?”
“Sometimes people treat trivial things seriously, and brush serious things off...” he said distantly. “I wish he saw that someday...”
“What are the serious things?” Obito was puzzled. “Just so that I won’t brush them off.”
“I have a feeling you already know,” he said with a playful twinkle in his eyes and ruffled Obito’s hair. “Maybe one day you’ll teach Kakashi a thing or two. If I fail.”
“What do you mean if you fail?!” Obito almost choked. “He listens to no one but you, Hatake-san! And I – I feel like I’m just always getting in the way. He doesn’t care about whatever I say!”
“I don’t think so, Obito-kun.”
“How do you know?”
“If he doesn’t care, then why is he watching us right now and listening to our conversation?”
“What?” Obito looked around nervously. He might have spied on Kakashi… but the other way around? What?!
“Sorry, Kakashi, but you have to come out,” Sakumo called. “I know you’re there.”
And indeed, Kakashi jumped off one of the trees, looking grumpy. “I have to make it clear that I am not a hedgehog,” was all he managed in his red-eared embarrassment.
***
@cool-thymus and I have more Sakumo and the kids art content (Hedgehog Special) 🦔
And if you're STILL here, feast your eyes on the wacky spin-off of the grimdark Kannabi report art (@poetrywise, you absolutely killed me with the description xD):
DJ Minato's psychedelic tunes 😁
*Obito's parents are referenced from the sole photo Obito had on his board both in the manga and anime.
*Obidad's earring is @quintilli0n's headcanon that I genuinely love with all my heart 😁
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green light (2024 ver.)
an: old fic rewrite; the war is over, everybody lives AU. (well, not everybody everybody, but the potter family + sirius + remus + even peter* live.) entire fic under the cut. also on ao3 (better formatted there lol).
* = you'll see.
—
1982
saying certain names out loud still hurts, so they don't.
they wake up early. a nervous hush settles in the whole house, the kind they thought has gone over the past year, but — well, it is october 31st. it's bound to return. not to haunt them, exactly. just remind them maybe. that they ought to stop a bit. commemorate. they owe it to their friends. they owe it to — frank and alice.
frank and alice. water beats down james's bare back and he leans a hand against the tiled wall before him, the other reaching up to massage his nape. he breathes deep slow breaths through his mouth, watches rivulets chase each other on the floor. thinks, what does it take to wash all the guilt away? frank and alice, frank and alice...
he steps out of the shower and stares his reflection down in the bathroom mirror. frank and alice.
yeah. still stings.
he holds lily's hand under the table throughout breakfast, and lily smiles — soft, fond, if a bit incredulous — at his one-handed attempt to eat.
it's still dark when they step out. they don't leave harry. they can't.
they apparate before old rusty gates, harry's tiny fists balling up and clutching james's shirt at the racket, but otherwise staying asleep in his father's arms. he looks so calm, their harry, so content in slumber. james strokes his hair and kisses the top of his head. he's sorry for everything else, he really is. but he's not sorry that harry's here, safe and close and breathing against his chest.
the graves look new. augusta, james guesses with a pang. lily stoops down to press a hand over alice's name, brushing away a stray leaf. they don't say anything. lily sniffs, and james puts his free arm around her.
the walk back out is better, lighter. lily's hand is no longer dawn-cold. harry stirs again, his usual wake-up time now, opening his eyes at the sound of the gates creaking close. for a moment it seems like he's going to cry, but the sun breaks over the horizon, and in awe he watches the light spill onto the dewy graveyard over james's shoulder.
—
1983
james is asleep, and lily rolls over to her other side to stare at the window. it's a wider window, and there's a different tree silhouetted against the dark, an unfamiliar picture framed in the night-dimmed white wood. the insects are quieter here, and the stars are... hmm. shier. although it might just be the weather, of course. the lone desk in the room is devoid of her potion books, of her research notes. no quidditch posters are tacked on the walls. no gryffindor things. the shelves, too. the list goes on and on, a disorderly parade of bullet points going too fast, so fast that even james's quiet breaths from behind her can't catch up and calm her down this time: the floors creak in different places. the staircase is longer, wider — not by much, still nothing to james's family house, but the difference is still stark. there is a patch of mildew in a corner of the kitchen ceiling. the cupboards are empty, two spare rooms are unfurnished, they need a new couch, maybe a coffee table, yellow roses in the garden...
she closes her eyes and sighs. for now, she reminds herself. mostly empty for now. and there's nothing wrong with that. there's nothing wrong with coming here, leaving godric's hollow. they needed this. she and james and harry. godric's hollow was home, but it was home during the war, and try as they all did to sweep away the remnants of battle from its corners, it stayed in the air and taunted them every time the house got too still, too quiet. echoes of terrible midnight news lingered, and the constant attacks of... of uncertainty, of terror still. god, the terror. of being shut up forever. of getting fucking murdered when they step out. of losing everything at any given second.
they needed this. this is right. it will be a better home.
a short, stuttering creak cuts through the silence, startling lily's thoughts. she turns, and harry is in the doorway. (they leave the door open so they can hear the house and harry, a habit they haven't shaken yet.) in the dim room, lit only by what little light spills in through the window, lily makes out her son's furrowed brows and the jutted-out bottom lip.
she raises a hand to beckon him in, but before she can speak, james says, "hey, mate," without any indication of having been sleeping at all.
she sits up to survey her husband in surprise, but his currently specs-less eyes are fixed, squinting, on harry, who shuffles into the room feet bare and glasses askew and hair a mirror of the same storm on his father's head. he stops at the foot of the bed and says in his tired little voice, "can i sleep here?"
"of course," says james, who's sat up now as well. "d'you want us to go to your room then?"
"daaadddd," groans harry, and james laughs, and he and lily scoot to the sides so harry can cuddle in between them. the pillows are righted and the sheets are pulled up to harry's chin. his glasses are laid beside james's on the bedside table.
"okay, i think i can sleep now," says harry, eyes already closed.
they all go silent then, james and lily just staring at each other in the dark over their son; wearing the same content, worried, happy, tired, everything almost-smile.
james reaches out for lily's hand, tracing circles against her knuckles with his thumb. harry shifts a little beneath, mumbles, "all right, mum? daddy?"
and their almost-smiles crack into full sigh-smiles of relief; an exhale of happiness they didn't know they were holding in.
"yeah, we are."
"sweet dreams, harry."
—
1984
she wakes up late and james is not beside her when she does. her heart skips a beat, but the panic doesn't last long anymore, and she feels more sure of her steps and the floor and their presence here than she ever was.
three years. three whole years, and it's really, really gone, isn't it?
there are yellow roses on the kitchen table. a cup of coffee charmed to keep warm for a time. a scrawled "morning! :) –james & harry" on a scrap of paper, the torn bottom of a receipt for... milk, she finds. and strawberries. harry was signed by harry himself, and lily wants to cry at the shaky strokes, the crooked lines. she can hear them in the other room where james's window seat project is almost finished. harry is laughing. he asks questions, mocks his dad's shabby handiwork, drops the things he's asked to hand.
roses and handwritten notes and coffee and giggles nearby. this is her life now. she skims the flowers, the sun itself in her heart.
—
1985
"d'you think moony's okay?" sirius asks, sat all thoughtful and cross-legged on the counter, and james wonders if he realizes that this isn't the first time he's asked him this. not even the second time.
"dunno," says james, feigning distractedness. good thing it doesn't take much at the moment. he looks at his reference sheet for recipe number three, taped on the wall, barely making out his own handwriting. cooking without magic is such a hassle. but he's in charge of it this year, and — because he's a proud dumbo, an arrogant toerag — he asked lily and harry to get out of the house while he cooks up the greatest dinner of their lives, so that none of lily's interventions or harry's endless bouts of 'taste-testing' ruin it. yeah, he thinks, because he's ruining it on his own just fine, thank you. "hey, will you pass me that jar — no, not that — yes. thanks..."
silence. james glances at sirius without moving his head, and is filled with exasperation at the look on his face. he asks, "look, why don't you just owl him?"
"he might still be mad at me," says sirius, and the immediacy of his response is proof, yet again, of how much he's been thinking about this.
not that james hasn't been. it's just — moony needs it. he needs to be away and sulking or whatever right now. but he'll be back. james is sure. till then there's nothing to do but wait.
which sirius sucks at, apparently. "d'you think i shouldn't have said anything?" he asks.
james stalls by ticking off two more instructions, probably getting the measurements wrong, but what the hell. "i don't know," he answers eventually.
sirius rolls his eyes. "loads of help, you are."
he gets a puff of flour in the face for that. james didn't need to look at him to aim. he smirks when he hears him cough and swear.
and then, later, while sprinkling salt (that's definitely way too much salt than just the required 'pinch'), james adds, quietly, "no, i don't think so."
"huh?"
"i think it's good that you — " james repeats, but he is distracted, because he looks up and notices how clean sirius looks. james is like, marinade-smeared and flour-dusted all over. "you know," he starts, "you're no better help than harry around here. at least he doesn't ask stressful questions while i work."
"first of all, you're not working," sirius retorts. "you're — i don't know, bullshitting this. second of all," this he says with a hand held up to silence james, who was about to talk back, "so it does stress you out. i knew it. you were trying to be all cool about it but i knew."
"oh, shut up. of course it stresses me out, padfoot, you always stress me out. you're an extremely stressful person. and this is even especially stressful. you're my best friends. but — like i said, i don't think it."
"don't think what?"
"that you shouldn't have said anything. i think it's good that you told him. otherwise it would have been this big wedge between you two, and no one would like that. not me, not lily, not you two."
sirius frowns. "so you like that he's not talking to us?"
"he talks to me," james points out, "and lily."
sirius arches a brow at him.
"fine, i don't like that you two aren't talking. but you obviously still feel guilty. you're always so... polite. so careful around him. you don't think we don't notice? and that wouldn't change unless he forgives you, which would never happen if he didn't know you had an offense to begin with."
"yeah, well. now he knows, and he hates us."
"just you, mate."
"thank you, prongs."
james drops what he's doing. "of course he'd react this way! you did tell him you didn't trust him. that you thought — "
" — i thought he was the spy, yeah. but that was before, you know that. you know it, don't you?"
"i do know it, padfoot."
"now i know — for sure — that i can trust him with my..."
"your life?" james prompts, when sirius leaves the sentence hanging.
"well, no. i don't know. my motorcycle, maybe."
"same thing."
" — true."
they stare at each other; sirius drags his gaze away first to pull his god this is so stupid face. "why did i have to fucking tell him? it's long over. we're all okay now. i should just have kept it to myself. forever. god."
"stop beating yourself up. you — hm. you get a point for honesty from me."
"it wasn't even honesty. it wasn't like anyone asked."
"well, you were drunk. we all were a bit."
"i screwed up."
" — yes, you did."
sirius looks scandalized. "wow. you didn't even hesitate."
"i've already made two excuses for you and i'm this close to dumping this casserole over your head," says james. "let's give him a week, okay? no — three more days. if he still doesn't talk to you then, i'll talk to him. but let him stew for now, yeah?"
sirius sighs. he doesn't say yes or nod or anything, but james can tell when he concedes. they leave the topic at that, and sirius begins his three-day wait by finally jumping off the counter to help. he briefly surveys james's dish (or what atrocity has become of it), narrows his eyes at the godawful handwriting, and then thumps james on the head. "you forgot number four, master chef," he points out, jabbing a finger on his cheat sheet.
"oh goddamn it..."
—
1986
harry goes missing. sirius picks remus up from hogsmeade and they drive to the potters' on his motorcycle, sirius barging in before remus can knock.
"how long does it take you two to change?" sirius scolds james and lily, while they all rummage around harry's usual hiding places, finding nothing. "you got fucking distracted, didn't you? i swear to god — "
"he wishes," snaps lily. "he was being an idiot."
"oh i'm being an idiot — " begins james, but remus and sirius cut him off.
"you were arguing?"
they (that is to say remus) find harry in the cramped cupboard under the stairs. he fell asleep. with james's invisibility cloak, which he procured without the knowledge or permission of his parents, as it turns out, and honestly sirius doesn't know whether to be admonitory or proud about that, and is only glad that it's not his business to be either.
"i was only going to scare you," harry says, looking properly guilty. "but you took so long to come down! i fell asleep."
"you succeeded, mate," says remus. "we were all very scared."
"never ever disappear on us like that again," lily tells off harry, but she's hugging him so fiercely, and james is still raking his fingers through his hair, wild-eyed, but is now also looking at his wife and son like he's forgotten whatever petty fight held them up upstairs. as he should, really.
james kisses her long and hard on the doorstep before she leaves to meet some important guy for work or some other. remus, who's leaving with her as he's supposed to go back to hogwarts now that the problem's solved, rolls his eyes while he waits for the gross affair to finish. sirius is staying in the house with james. he fakes retching gestures at the conitnued kissing, making harry giggle.
later, in the living room, sirius and harry swap chocolate frog cards. james is in the kitchen, doing the dishes. in the late afternoon lull, harry softly confides to sirius that while waiting in his nook earlier, before he fell asleep, he thought his parents might never bother to try and find him anymore.
"nah, they'll always find you. did you see them? they were all — " he makes exaggerated expressions of anguish. harry laughs again.
"but i was 'sleep then. what if i wasn't? what if i'm just lost?"
"they'd still find you."
"even if i have the cloak?"
"why are you lost and wearing the cloak?"
"um. i dunno."
sirius nods solemnly. "even if you have the cloak."
"even if it was under aunt petunia's stairs?"
sirius laughs. "even if you were under my mum's stairs."
harry grimaces at that. and then, "uncle moony found me though," says harry.
"does it matter?" says sirius, rumpling harry's hair. then he gently rights his glasses. "he just beat your dad to it. and me. and your mum. but one of us is always, always going to find you... oh, look — " he fishes a card from his deck, trapping it between index and middle finger and then flicking it neatly towards harry's pile. "it's your granddad!"
the longer harry stares at it, the deeper the lines between his eyebrows get. "why is... um, my hair's not gonna be like that when i grow up, is it?"
—
1987
lily shifts in her seat so she can look miss cole square in the eye. beside her, james squeezes her hand, but she doesn't know if he's just being twitchy. "i just don't see how anyone can turn someone else's hair entirely blue," explains lily, "without the other's... ah, full participation."
"and eyebrows," james reminds her, nudging her side.
lily nods. "and eyebrows, yes. thank you, james."
"you're welcome, lily."
miss cole looks positively pained from behind her desk, with her lips pursed mcgonagall-thin and her beady eyes sinking beneath her frown-lines. she inspects james and lily and harry, the last standing beside his seated father and is still glaring in contempt at the other boy in the room. kevin. big burly kid who could so easily have been dudley's twin brother, if not for his hair (and eyebrows) being the most vivid shade of lapis lazuli at the moment. his parents (filthy rich from what they've heard) are not around; he's accompanied instead by a furious, flustered, really bewildered nanny named (nicknamed?) baby.
"kevin says he did it," says baby, pointing a wrinkly-knuckled finger at harry. she speaks in this loud spitting hiss that's her attempt at 'keeping quiet' after getting told off so many times for being so loud. "kevin would never do this to himself — "
"oh, why not? it looks amazing on him," says james, straight face and amazement and concern and all. harry's glare breaks, but he has the sense to bite down on his lip to keep his laugh in.
harry doesn't get in too much trouble for it, thank god, mostly for lack of evidence. lily had a point, and miss cole is driven to just conclude that the boys must have just agreed to mess around and color kevin's hair, and kevin initially agreed, except now he looks (even more) ridiculous and he's not happy about it. (what happened, really, if anyone wants to know, was that between morning break and maths kevin wanted to give harry a free haircut, because he thought his classmate 'four-eyes' looked stupid with his 'mop-head'. he stole harry's glasses, cornered him, held him by the collar and loomed triumphantly over him with a pair of scissors — then harry grappled blindly at his head and his hair was just — suddenly. all. blue.)
harry and kevin mutter their respective apologies, as asked of them by miss cole, and harry glances warily at his parents when the counselor asks them to shake hands. lily nods; james smiles at him, puts a hand around his shoulders and urges him forward. harry swallows at the glint in kevin's eye when he takes his small hand in his hammy fingers, ready to retaliate — but then james cocks his head to one side and — lily couldn't entirely see, standing behind, but she's pretty sure james just gave kevin the look. not the glare, he reserves that for equal grounds. it's the look; that calm, icy, smug, unhinged james potter look that knows it can't lose and dares you to try. it has made fully grown adversaries waver in the past, so lily can only imagine how downright terrifying that could be to a seven-year-old.
kevin drops harry's hand in barely two seconds. he's out of the office in five.
james glances back at lily to smirk. she smirks right back.
—
1988
the parlor is crowded, but they find an available table for two in the patio, under the shade of a giant green umbrella. halfway through his ice cream (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts), harry adjusts his glasses and opens his mouth to say something, but his uncle moony beats him to it: "the answer is no, harry."
"i wasn't gonna ask again!"
"alright. what is it then?"
"i was only going to say... that i promise not to tell anyone. i promise. not even daddy. or mum!"
remus laughs. "d'you think they don't know?"
harry's eyes widen, and he actually drops his spoon in disapproval. "they know what your boggart is? why won't you tell me?"
"because i don't want to lie to you. you're a grown up now, as you're so constantly reminding us — and we're friends! but i also don't want to tell you what it is yet."
"but — "
"come on now, harry."
"but now you're missing the list."
"i'm truly sorry about that."
harry pouts, digs in again, and then, "okay, what about your patronus?"
remus considers this for a moment. "wolf," he says quietly.
"cool."
remus beams at him. "yeah, cooler than your dad's. and padfoot's."
"oh. hm. well, i don't know about that," he quips honestly. "i do like that dad's is a stag... hey, uncle moony?"
"yeah?"
"what about uncle padfoot? does he know? i won't tell him, if you're worried about that."
remus chuckles, leaning over to wipe chocolate off harry's nose. "i'm sorry, he knows. look, how about i take you to hogwarts next sunday? i'll take you to the kitchens. that'll make up for being the lame uncle, won't it?"
harry lightens up. "really?"
"yes."
"yes! yes, please. thank you."
"alright then."
"can we go on saturday?"
"ah, no. the joke shop's opening on saturday."
"oh, yeah..."
ice cream is finished and the walk home is a quiet, autumn-colored calm. when the crowd thins on a particular stretch of the road, harry nudges remus's side. "hey, uncle moony."
"i really hope you're not going to ask me again."
"i wasn't."
"go on, then."
harry grins up at him. "i don't think you're lame at all."
—
1989
"you're kidding," says james, reverent and awestruck, and lily knows she's made the right decision.
"we're not," she replies in sing-song.
"but this is... this is the latest comet." he runs his hand along the smooth length of the new racing broom, mouth still open in amazement. "how — "
"we all pitched in. sirius and remus and — "
"and me!" says harry, jumping in and hugging what he can reach of james. he's been bursting since the idea came forth, and it's a miracle, really, that he managed to keep the secret in until now. "i pitched in! i broke mr. jupiter!"
"you broke mr. jupiter?" says james, torn away from the moment at once. "but mr. jupiter was for your broom! and you love mr. jupiter! you loved his smooth pink butt!"
harry giggles. "mum bought me another one. it's a tardis piggy bank! it's bigger on the inside. and uncle moony said hogwarts has brooms there i can practice with, dad, and uncle padfoot said he'd buy me a broomstick himself once i'm a really, really good flier. and, dad, they said — you're going to play in the world cup."
"oh. i — who said?"
"all of us," says lily, smirking.
"that's... the world cup. huh."
"yeah!" says harry, almost yelling now, practically bouncing in excitement. "you're going to play for puddlemere united, aren't you? i mean, the wasps are fine too, and i suppose the magpies would be excellent as well, but — "
"easy, harry," says lily. her grin is ear-splitting.
james holds up a hand. "alright, back up one second — but, lily, your work — "
"they've given me permission to work on the potions research at home. i can use the spare room upstairs — don't worry, harry and i have it all sorted out. right, harry?"
"yeah, we have." harry holds up his palm for a high-five, lily gives it to him, and james grins at them fondly.
"there's also that prophet column still going," continues lily, "and the boys already said tom can handle the joke shop just fine on his own now. i just thought... you haven't forgotten, have you? i know you always tell me it's okay, but i see you when you play with harry, and... it's always been your dream. you can now, james. go for it."
james exhales a shuddering sigh of disbelief, overwhelmed. and then, shaking his head at... them, at the feeling of being with them here, now, god — he drops the broom and takes his wife's face into his hands. her lips taste like flying, like winning, like lily evans under the beech tree by the lake that very first time, and so, so, so much more —
"good thing uncle padfoot's not here," remarks harry, righting the broom up from the floor and watching his parents in equal euphoria. "you guys are disgusting."
—
1990
kingsley shacklebolt is minister for magic, and james doesn't have to (re)practice his patronus charms, because it's a tall, bushy-eyebrowed auror who leads him down the poorly lit corridor and not a swarm of hooded barbarities who want to suck out his soul. the auror leaves him by a cell almost to the end of the hallway, and there's nothing at first, just varying shades of darkness everywhere james turns, the echoing beats of water dripping, the muffled rage of waves around the island. he thinks he can hear laughter from somewhere close; a cold, high-pitched female giggling, and he considers just walking out because — christ. this place is mad. but then there's movement from the corner, behind the bars, and then he's in front of him, and james... doesn't know. feels a lot of things. wants to punch him, most of all.
"prongs," says wormtail. no — peter. peter pettigrew. his voice is a scratchy whisper, his face sunken and his hair a long wispy dead mess. he's thinner than james has ever seen him.
"shut up," says james, voice low. he feels the urge to back away one step, not expecting peter to cling on to the bars and hungrily squeeze his face through them to see him.
"prongs." he says it so reverently, like a god's name. "i'm — what are you — " he's surveying james up and down, drinking in anything he can from beyond azkaban. "prongs, fuck, i'm so happy you're here — "
"i said shut up. i didn't come here for you."
peter looks surprised, then hurt, then his grip on the metal loosens as a maniacal grin starts to spread on his lips. "clearly, you did. you can't help it. dear god, i can't believe i almost gave up."
james blinks at him in incredulity. "what?"
"i am sorry, prongs. i am. and i knew you'd know that, i knew you'd come back for me, but it's been so long — "
james starts to laugh. "are you insane?"
peter shuts up.
james looks at him, really looks at him, and the anger threatens to bubble up the surface again. but he holds himself down, keeps his clenched fists on his sides. he takes a deep breath, licks his lips, and then: "we're happy."
"i'm — sorry?"
there. that's why he's here. not to lash out, but to... to drop the last of what's still been weighing him down. and now that he's said that, we're happy — he didn't know it's what he was supposed to say, didn't plan it. it just sort of came out. but now he does feel like he just rid himself of the last of it. the last bad thing.
his hand slackens. he thinks of his first world league match next month, of sirius and regulus talking again, of remus getting promoted in hogwarts. lily and harry brewing potions in the spare room. idle evenings eating ice cream at the town plaza fountain. the joke shop's first anniversary. that time they danced to the weird sisters' new song in the rain... "we're happy," he repeats. "me and lily and harry. sirius. remus. everyone left is happy, pete. everyone alive."
peter opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
"and i don't know if i've forgiven you. maybe i have, or maybe... i don't know, maybe i just stopped going back. i certainly haven't forgotten, but trust me, i will. soon enough no one will even remember you anymore."
"i'm..." but there's nothing peter can say now. maybe he really is sorry, and maybe it'll never be enough, but james doesn't care. and he knows that peter knows this, sees it on his face, because his former friend cuts his sentence short. "james..." not a god anymore.
"i'm done with you," says james, knowing it in his heart to be true. "goodbye, wormtail. from all of us."
and he's sure then that he really isn't angry anymore, that he's okay, truly and finally, because the name no longer hurts so much as it did years ago.
the same way, he thinks as he walks down the halls of the most desolate place on earth, feeling so strange to be so... so full of light, in a place like this — the same way frank and alice (and marlene and dorcas and benjy and gideon and fabian and all the others) haven't stung in a long while.
fin
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆˙⟡٠⭑.
bookmark/kudos/leave purple hearts on ao3? :) thanks for reading!
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After the Fire ~ Epilogue
Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a grievously wounded Thorin is brought back to the kingdom of Erebor, which is still mostly in ruins. Although he’s survived the wounds he received at the end of Azog’s blade, his recovery is far from complete. Grief, regret, anger, all are making his journey that much more difficult and the physical recovery isn’t quite the most difficult challenge he faces.
Jasna Stoneham is no stranger to loss, as she is a survivor of Smaug’s wrath upon Esgaroth. When she is asked to help the dwarves healers of Erebor, her instinct is to say no, but she needs the job, and so agrees to it. However, no one told her that of all the patients, she would be responsible for the king himself, Thorin Oakenshield.
Unfortunately, the road to recovery isn’t necessary a smooth one, but if there’s one thing Thorin will learn, it’s that Jasna is just as stubborn as he is and for every step back he takes, she is there to push him three steps forward. And Jasna will soon find out that there is a gentle, softer side to the dwarf king, one that very few people have ever seen and one he fights to keep hidden from her as well. But like his recovery, that is also easier said than done.
Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Jasna Stoneham
Characters: Jasna, Thorin, Dwalin, Thranduíl
Warnings: None
Rating: T
Word Count: 737
Tag: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketchy-loo6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @buckybarnes-thorin @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms
If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!
Previous chapters can be found here.
A Year Later
A gentle breeze rustle through the grass, through the leafy canopies on either side of the river and the sun filtered through to keep the chill from the breeze. That didn't stop Jasna from unfolding a small, pale blue blanket from the bag she’d brought to place over the baby, who slept peacefully in her basket, which was set alongside Jasna on the bigger blanket Thorin had spread out for them earlier.
At not quite three months old, Elina already resembled her father with her shock of thick black hair and pale blue eyes, and Erebor’s newest princess had no idea how much of a celebration her arrival brought. In some ways, the dwarves were still celebrating.
“Was she cold?”
Jasna looked up to see Thorin on the edge of the blanket, standing just far enough away so the water dripping from his hair and body didn't land on his daughter, and she smiled. “No, but you know me. I worry. And I know she’s fine and will let me know if she’s too cold, but I cannot help myself.”
She peered about Thorin to smile at the laughter and splashing still coming from the river. It was a glorious day and the dwarves had all decided to treat themselves to a day off. It had quickly become something of a party, with fires being built and food and drink brought out as well. The tang of roasting meat hung in the air, as both Óin and Glóin manned those fires to cook for everyone else.
Thorin sank onto the blanket on the far side of Elina’s basket. “She’s up.”
“Is she? I thought I had at least another half an hour to go.”
“She thinks otherwise.”
“She usually does.” Jasna smiled, passing him a towel. “Just in case.”
“She’s fine.” He gently eased Elina from her basket and cradled her against him and for probably the millionth time, Jasna could not believe how at ease he looked with the infant in his arms. He’d been terrified of hurting her at first, but once she and Narnerra convinced him he truly had nothing to worry about, he relaxed.
It was a sight to see, the mighty King Under the Mountain and his daughter, for no one could reduce him to mush quite the way this one tiny girl did and anyone who saw them together smiled and sighed wistfully at the sight.
Jasna sat up, shifting to sit beside him, and leaned her head against his shoulder. “This has been a wonderful day. I don't wish to see it end. Look at them.”
She nodded toward the river, where Fíli and Shael splashed about, oblivious to everyone around them as he caught her around the waist and drew her in for a kiss. “He is so happy now.”
“He has everything he wanted, and that’s because of you, mesmel,” Thorin told her, leaning to press a kiss into the top of her head. “We all have everything we wanted because of you, you know.”
“I just happened to be able to help.”
“And you did.” He shifted to set Elina back in her basket, where she lay there just watching them with wide blue eyes, which slowly closed once more. “I survived and found my One, I saw my daughter born, and am able to finally, finally be happy, Kíli has survived to marry his Tauriel and see his son born, and Fíli has survived to walk again and to find his One in Miss Whitbow. And Mahal willing, they will also be blessed with pebbles of their own. And none of this would have happened, had it not been for you.”
She smiled, tucking her head against his shoulder once more. “You should go and enjoy yourself. It isn’t often the King Under the Mountain is allowed a day off.”
“I will.” He reached to catch her by the chin, and tilted her face to his. “It also isn’t often you and I are afforded a quiet moment, either.”
With that, he bent to her and his lips met hers in a soft, teasing kiss. No, they weren’t often given many quiet moments these days, but Jasna didn't mind that so much as it meant she savored these moments so much more. And with that, she slid an arm about his neck and lost herself in the fire of his kiss.
The End
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