The detention chamber was heavy with a suffocating silence, the kind that made every breath feel labored. The air was thick with grief, the only sound the quiet sniffles and the occasional hitch of a sob. Lily gently moved the book aside, afraid her falling tears might further stain the already worn pages. Her shoulders shook as she tried and failed to compose herself.
Peter broke first, his soft sobs escalating into uncontrollable weeping. His chest heaved as the weight of emotion consumed him. Sirius, usually so composed, folded his arms tightly, his body hunched forward. His jaw clenched, but the tears streaming down his face betrayed his pain.
James sat stiffly; his knuckles white as he gripped his scarf. Silent tears streaked his cheeks, each one a testament to his struggle to hold himself together. Myrtle floated silently beside Lily, ghostly tears shimmering as they slid down her translucent face. The atmosphere was unbearably heavy, and yet, only Severus seemed untouched—at least outwardly. He sat motionless, his face as unreadable as stone, but his dark eyes gazed distantly into his glass of butterbeer, betraying the storm within.
Suddenly, Remus exploded, his fists slamming upon the desks, shattering the fragile silence. "No!" he roared. "No, I refuse to accept this! I will not accept this!"
"Moony, calm down," Sirius said, though his usual confidence was nowhere to be found.
"This can't be…" Remus's voice cracked, his hands shaking. "This can't be how it ends." His hazel eyes glistened with tears as he looked around the room, searching for an answer that wasn't there. "Godric… he… after everything. Why…" His words faltered, breaking into fragments as he dropped back into his chair, burying his face in his hands.
"He's right, isn't he? What's the bloody point of it all?" Remus muttered. "What's the point in any of it if the world's just going to knock you down and keep you there, no matter how hard you fight?"
Peter began to sob openly, clutching at Sirius's robes as he buried his face in his chest. Sirius, caught off guard, awkwardly patted him on the back, though his own composure was crumbling. His usually confident, carefree demeanor faltered despite his best efforts to remain stoic. The sight of his friend so utterly broken seemed to shatter whatever resolve he had left.
In truth, none of them were prepared for the weight of what they felt. They were just teenagers, standing at the threshold of their lives, yet the story had struck a raw nerve. The loss was so profound, so devastating, that even though it wasn't theirs to bear, they couldn't escape its grip. They could feel the grief, the pain, as if it were their own. And perhaps, most frighteningly, they could imagine it happening to them—losing the people they cared about most. That aching, unbearable thought settled heavily on their hearts, leaving a silence between them that felt almost sacred in its sorrow.
Severus watched them all with his arms crossed. The urge to say something cutting, to dismiss it all as just a story, lingered on the tip of his tongue. After all, wasn't it absurd to mourn for people who lived centuries ago, who may not have even existed? But as much as he wanted to sneer and walk away, he couldn't. The story had wormed its way into his mind, unearthing feelings he'd long buried. It unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
"He wanted to be with her," Lily choked through her sobs, her face wet with tears. "Even at the end, he promised he'd love her forever. I can't…" Her voice broke again, her shoulders trembling.
"Poor Raine… poor Godric," Myrtle whimpered, translucent tears rolling down her ghostly cheeks.
Severus exhaled sharply. "Professor Serfence was right, after all," he muttered. "Happy endings are a lie. They don't exist. Not for any of us."
James clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "Those bloody bastards at the Clock Tower. Just like the Ministry of Magic, aren't they? Always meddling in matters that don't concern them." he snarled. "To Hell with their rules and their laws. To Hell with every single one of them."
"Easy, Potter. You might burst a vein," Severus drawled. His black eyes met James's for a moment, and though James glared back, his anger faltered. He didn't have the energy to argue.
"The Clock Tower, much like the Ministry of Magic, ensures our laws are upheld and our world protected from those who would seek to do it harm—Muggles, dark wizards, magical beasts, and the like," Severus said, though a flicker of doubt lingered beneath the surface. "In some ways, I can empathize with Bran. The foundation of society rests on the pillars that uphold it. If those pillars crack or crumble, everything we know—the very fabric of our world—could fall apart. I don't believe it's inherently wrong to cling to such principles."
"That being said…" he added, "when those principles become so rigid, so absolute, that they blind us to compassion and humanity, then perhaps it's not the world they're protecting at all… but themselves. So, for once, I agree with you," Severus said, his expression unyielding yet contemplative. "Some things… some things shouldn't be decided in absolutes. Not something like this."
The room fell silent again as they each wrestled with their own emotions. For once, their usual hostilities were set aside, if only because the weight of the story left no room for anything else.
"Godric was a hero. His friends were heroes. They gave everything," James muttered. "I thought—after all they went through, after everything they sacrificed—the least the world could've done was let them be together. That after all that pain and suffering, they'd have earned it." He paused, his jaw tightening. "And still…"
"It's not fair," Sirius growled, his teeth clenched, fists tight by his sides. "Someone has to pay for this. I swear, there are people in this world—people in power—who cause so much pain and walk away without a scratch. It makes me sick."
Remus exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "That's the world we live in, Pads. Victory is never a certainty, and when it does come, it's always at a price." He paused, his gaze drifting into the distance before his expression shifted.
His eyes widened as if struck by a sudden thought. "Hold on a moment—I've just realized something. In our History of Magic lessons, they spoke of the Founders and their descendants. But Godric Gryffindor? He never married, and he certainly never had an heir."
The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in like a stone.
"Now that you mention it…" Sirius began. "Moony's right."
"Then…" Peter murmured as realization struck.
Lily's hands flew to her mouth, her green eyes brimming with tears. "He kept his promise," she choked out as sobs overtook her. "By God, he truly kept his promise to Raine. He said… he swore she'd always have his heart."
"Like a therianthrope," Myrtle murmured softly. "Like Lumea and Uther. Godric loved her, and only her. To his dying breath—only her."
"I just… I can't wrap my head around it," Sirius said. "To love someone so fiercely, with that kind of unyielding fire, and to stay true to them—no matter what. Even knowing she doesn't remember him." He paused, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it? If any of us will ever find a love like that."
The group sat in stunned silence, the magnitude of Godric's devotion settling over them like a heavy, suffocating blanket. It was a love that transcended time, a tragedy that none of them could forget.
Severus's gaze shifted to the clock on the wall. He inhaled deeply, straightening in his chair. "I think we've had quite enough of this book for one evening," he said, though a faint tremor betrayed his emotions. His dark eyes turned to Lily. "And I dare say we'd all benefit from setting this story aside. At least until we're… better equipped to handle it."
Lily nodded softly, brushing away the remnants of tears from her cheeks. "I agree," she whispered, closing the book carefully as though it might break beneath her touch.
"Any objections?" Severus asked, his gaze sweeping over the group.
None of the boys responded, they only nodded solemnly. Chairs scraped against the stone floor as they rose to their feet, each moving with a heaviness that matched the mood. Lily tucked the book into her satchel, the strap hanging limply over her shoulder. Myrtle, spectral and shimmering faintly, turned away without a word. She drifted into the wall, her soft, ghostly sobs echoing briefly before fading into the silence of the castle.
James opened the door, allowing Remus to walk out first. Sirius followed, an arm around Peter, who was still sniffling and shaking. Lily paused in the doorway and turned back, her emerald eyes falling on Severus, still seated at the table.
"Are you coming?" she asked gently.
Severus nodded curtly. "In a moment," he said, gesturing to the scattered remnants of their gathering—the crumpled crisp packets and the empty butterbeer mugs. "Someone has to clean this up."
Lily hesitated, then nodded. "Alright." She stepped out, the door creaking slightly as James held it open for her.
James and Severus exchanged a glance—muted, almost understanding—before James followed her out, shutting the door quietly behind him. In the newfound stillness of the chamber, Severus sat motionless for a moment. His breath hitched, and slowly, his shoulders began to shake. He pressed a hand over his eyes, but the tears spilled freely, tracing pale streaks down his face. A choked sob escaped his lips, followed by another, raw and anguished. He slumped forward, his forehead resting on the table as grief he couldn't name tore through him.
In the quiet, his cries filled the room, echoing softly off the cold stone walls—a sound of sorrow that no one would hear.
****
The weeks drifted by at Hogwarts, the rhythm of school life resuming its familiar cadence, yet the story of Godric, Raine, and their companions lingered in the hearts of the knowing few—none more so than James Potter. At times, he would find himself staring blankly out of a window during lessons, his mind elsewhere, until Professor McGonagall's stern voice or a flick of her wand snapped him back to attention. It was absurd, he told himself, to feel so deeply for a boy from centuries past—a figure from history books or, worse, possibly from a tale more fiction than fact. And yet, James couldn't shake the sense of kinship he felt with Godric Gryffindor.
In Godric's story, James saw not just a legendary founder, but a boy like himself: fiery, determined, and willing to risk everything for those he cared about. A boy from a modest beginning, driven by an unwavering belief in what was right. The thought filled James with a strange mix of admiration and longing. He often imagined Godric not as a distant figure from history but as someone he might have befriended, someone who would have fit seamlessly into his circle. Together, they might have laughed, schemed, and perhaps even fought side by side.
But it was the love between Godric and Raine that struck the deepest chord. A love so fierce, so unwavering, that it defied the cruelty of the world around them. James found himself wondering if he would ever know such a bond—if he could ever feel for someone the way Godric had felt for Raine. And more importantly, would he have the courage to defend that love, no matter the cost.
The story haunted him, not as a mere tragedy, but as a mirror. It stirred questions within him—about bravery, loyalty, and the lengths one might go for the people they love. It was a fire he couldn't extinguish, one that burned brighter with each passing day, urging him to be not just a boy, but a man worthy of the legacy left by those who came before.
The chimes of the Hogwarts clock tower signaled the end of the lesson as James began packing his bag, carefully tucking away his books and inkwell. Before he could leave, however, a familiar voice called out behind him.
"Mister Potter."
James turned to see Professor McGonagall standing by her desk, dressed in immaculate emerald-green robes over a crisp black blouse. Her greying hair was pulled tightly into a bun, and her stern blue eyes met his as she gestured for him to step closer.
"A word, if you please."
James raised an eyebrow but stepped forward, his curiosity piqued. "Yes, Professor? Is something the matter?"
"It has come to my attention," she began, adjusting her rounded glasses, "that you've been… distracted of late. And it's reflected in the quality of your work."
"Oh…" James muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, Professor. I'll make sure to do better."
"I've no doubt you will, Mister Potter," she said evenly. "But I must ask—what is the cause of this distraction? Is there something troubling you? Family matters? Friends?"
"No! No, Professor," James replied hastily. McGonagall's sharp gaze narrowed at him. "I'm just… a bit overwhelmed, that's all. I've set rather high expectations for myself."
"Hmm." Professor McGonagall regarded him carefully, her expression softening ever so slightly.
"Aspirations are admirable, Potter, but a clear mind is essential. Overburdening yourself will do you no favors. The last thing I need is for you to end up in the Hospital Wing."
"I'll do my best, Professor," James said with a firm nod. As he turned to leave, he hesitated, then pivoted back toward McGonagall. "Professor… may I ask you something… personal?"
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, her expression cautious but curious. "That depends on the nature of the question, Mister Potter."
James shifted his weight, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Have you ever been in love?"
Her blue eyes widened slightly, though her composure remained intact. "My word, Potter, what's prompted this line of inquiry?"
"Nothing, really," James replied, shrugging lightly. "Just… abject curiosity, I suppose."
McGonagall removed her glasses, placing them gently on her desk. For a moment, she seemed to weigh her response. "Well, to humor you… yes, I have. A long time ago."
James tilted his head, intrigued. "If you don't mind me asking… what happened?"
McGonagall perched on the edge of her desk, her gaze momentarily distant, a flicker of sorrow softening her stern demeanor. "We were young and deeply in love," she began quietly. "But we came from… different worlds. And back then, the world was far less accepting than it is now."
James listened intently, sensing the weight of her words.
"I was only a few years older than you, working for the Ministry of Magic," she continued. "Many of my colleagues held deeply entrenched prejudices, their views governing every facet of their lives. When he asked me to marry him, I faced a choice—our love, or a world that would never allow us to be together."
Her voice faltered briefly, but she pressed on. "Because I loved him, I chose to walk away. I couldn't tell him why—not with the laws as they were. He left, never knowing the truth."
James swallowed hard. "That's… heartbreaking, Professor. I'm so sorry."
McGonagall shook her head gently, offering a faint, wistful smile. "It was a lifetime ago, Mister Potter. I still think of him, of the life we might have had. The promises we made." Her smile deepened, bittersweet but resolute. "And yet… I'd make the same choice again."
"If it's any consolation, Professor, I'm glad you're here," James said, offering her a genuine smile.
McGonagall's lips curved into a faint smile. "That's kind of you to say, Mister Potter." Her tone softened as she continued, "But let me leave you with this: mourn not what is lost, but cherish the memories shared—the feelings, the warmth of those treasured moments. No one can take that from us." She paused, her expression distant. "Life, you'll find, is often an act of letting go. But the deepest pain comes from the moments where we fail to say goodbye."
James gave a small nod, his expression thoughtful. He turned, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and left the classroom without another word.
Left alone, McGonagall sat in silence, her thoughts drifting to the past. A flood of memories rushed over her, vivid and bittersweet. As a single tear slipped down her cheek, she allowed herself a moment to remember what might have been.
****
As James stepped into the hallway, he tightened his scarf against the biting chill that had seeped through the castle. The frost-covered gothic windows glistened faintly; their intricate panes opaque with ice. The thought of Christmas being only weeks away reminded him just how quickly time had passed since they last paused on the book. Every time he tried to bring it up again, his friends would find excuses to avoid it, still reeling from where the story had left off—not that he could blame them.
Turning to head down the corridor, he nearly collided with Lily. She stopped abruptly, her breath quick, eyes wide as though she'd seen a ghost. James stumbled back, startled.
"Lily, what on earth?" he exclaimed, his hands instinctively gripping her arms to steady her. "You look as if you've had the fright of your life!"
"James, I've been looking everywhere for you!" she said breathlessly. She opened her satchel, revealing the journal inside, and pointed at it with urgency. James flinched, his eyes darting nervously around the hallway.
"For Merlin's sake, put that away!" he hissed. "Have you lost your mind? Don't wave it about like that out here!"
"Get your friends and meet me in the Detention Chamber tonight," Lily instructed firmly.
"Wait, what? What's going on?" James asked, his confusion mounting.
"I read ahead a few pages," she said, her grin breaking through the urgency. "And you're not going to believe what happens next!" With that, she turned on her heel and hurried off. "Don't forget—tonight!" she called back over her shoulder.
"Lily, wait!" James called after her, but she was already gone. With a sigh, he shrugged, muttering under his breath, "Moony was right—we're all getting far too obsessed with this."
****
As the promised hour arrived, the group gathered in the Detention Chamber. James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter sat alongside Lily, Severus, and Myrtle. The table was scattered with bags of crisps and a jar of butterbeer, ready to be poured. Lily had been flipping through the next part of the journal, reading excerpts aloud, her voice drawing gasps and murmurs of astonishment.
Everyone listened intently, their eyes wide with a mix of wonder and disbelief. Severus sat back in his chair, arms folded, deep in thought, while Myrtle floated nearby, her ghostly hands clasped together in gleeful mischief.
"Bloody hell," Sirius said, shaking his head. "Sounds like a proper adventure."
"I can't wait to see how this one turns out!" Peter exclaimed, crumbs falling as he crammed another handful of crisps into his mouth.
"That said," Remus began, glancing around the table, "I do hope things take a brighter turn this time. The way the last chapter ended… well, let's just say I was too gutted to eat for a day."
"Speak for yourself, Lupin," Severus interjected with a slight scowl. "I could barely get out of bed."
James leaned forward. "Well, let's not dwell on that. I've got faith in Godric and his friends—they'll find their way back. They have to." He glanced around at the others, determination flickering in his eyes. "And on that note, I reckon it's time we dive back in."
Lily smiled, the faintest glimmer of excitement in her eyes, and turned to the last entry in the journal. As her voice began to read, the room seemed to shift, and once again, they found themselves immersed in the mythical land of Avalon.