explosions in the sky | frank & james
Frank used to be - or still was, when in earshot of Moody - an Auror. Through the years he had championed the upholding of order in the wizarding world through combat; through peril; through bravery. Certainly, he had never been the first to sound the war trumpet and charge out into battle, but he was consistent in his values and persistent in his efforts to do as his job asked. He had struggled to seriously injure at first, and still aimed his hexes - in the unlikely event that they were cast in the first place, and that his time-mastered disarming charm had not sufficed - to strike with minimal impact. For Frank had grazed in both pastures now turfed up in war against the other; furthermore he was the same person, more or less, as he had always been.
So it was with difficulty, and a dead weight upon his chest, that he had fathomed out what the difference was between these two sides. If he, affable Frank, patient Frank, had survived happily enough in both camps, what was it which separated them? Fundamental differences in their ideals, their morals, were not enough to sway one side as just and condemn the other as evil, in his eyes. Granted, it was a conflict which had endured time and time again throughout the history of their world, but wars over morals were a paradox; neither side could be perceived as the moral good to anyone else besides allies of their own moral persuasion. It was impossible. Yet if these conflicts - these bloodsheds, and their devastation, and all of those embittered massacres in the streets - if these conflicts had any right side, it had to be determined another way.
Frank had learnt how.
It manifested itself in his career; in his handling of others. Those wars, those battles, they were without a good and a bad usually because both sides engaged in the bloodshed. Both sides killed; both sides enforced their own form of tyranny over the other. But it did not have to be so. The morally deserving victor could exist - if they did not kill, nor exact their own oppressive regime, nor go out of their way to inflict misery. Thus, Frank only worked when he was asked. He did not seek out enemies, nor did he persecute those who had not yet been proven guilty. He did not torture, nor paralyze, nor kill. (No dignified Auror should, it was known, yet a law’s mere existence did not guarantee its respect.)
Indeed, he suffered many days of torment during the worst heights of the war. On several occasions, people spat at his feet. Once, almost at his face; the venom was swallowed, though, at the sight of Alice sticking near. You might as well be one of them. You were always halfway there. Frank did nothing about this. He understood that those grieving could easily lash out, when they saw his mission to detain their mother’s or father’s or child’s murderer had been completed without leaving them close to death themselves. He bore the brunt of the derision for the sake of salvaging his own morality, a compass which had been thrown off-course with the revelations of his cohort’s true alignment.
There was only one condition in which Frank would be rash: if his wife was in danger. Then, he could kill. Then, he would kill. Indeed if, on any of their missions, Alice fell, he would crucify the guilty three times over. But at that present moment, following that rupture in the peaceful dusk, Alice was not in danger. No agitation had come from the forest save his own rustling of the branches in following James.
Now that he had found him, drawing to a halt, the pulse in his temples throbbed and his ears rang as James shook his head in vigour, protesting fervidly against Frank’s hesitation. “There’s nobody here, James,” he soothed. “Nobody around for miles upon miles, at least. I’ve been out there all day and not heard a thing.” Searching the other man’s face for any sign of relent, he tried a different approach. “It might’ve just been a seagull bashing into one of the wards, for all we know. And there are wildcats in these woods. So if you go rushing off and get devoured by a panther on your way, it’ll all have been for nothing.” With his eyebrows knotted together, Frank pressed a comforting smile. “We’re better waiting. The others back there, they have experience — they might’ve had something like this happen before. Come on, James,” he finished, and nodded his head back in the direction of their cottages.
James scoffed. Nobody there. Right. And he was a hippogriff. There was no way a seagull flying into the wards would make that kind of noise. No, this had been a true explosion. It had been nearly as loud as the time he’d casted a confringo in the courtyard without knowing what it could do-- and he had only been a few steps away from that explosion. No, there was something out there. Someone was either extremely hurt or Death Eaters were trying to get past the wards. His grip on his wand tightened.
Frank’s attempt at calming him wasn’t even close to being as successful as he was sure Frank hoped. Instead, it only made him antsy and furiouser and furiouser as the minutes ticked by. He tried to listen to Frank talk him down since he was sure it would be the right thing in the end but he had never been one for planning anything. It just wasn’t his style. Especially since James was sure it was only a waste on time. It would all explode in on itself once they got to where they needed the plan anyway. That was how it always happened. He’d learned that lesson through plenty of experience pranking the people of Hogwarts.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t respect Mad-Eye and the other older Order members, but James would probably never get used to not being the smartest person in the room (sans Lily and Remus, occasionally). James had been the one people turned to when something like this happened. Well, maybe not something like this exactly-- but whenever they were in unknown territory James was always the one his friends looked too for leadership. Unless you were Sirius who tended to never listen to anyone, but that was alright. Every good leader needed a second who had their own ideas; their own brain. Too bad his friends weren’t the only people here or he’d be halfway to the blast sight by now.
“Experience?” James spat out, “They’ve been here only a fraction longer than I have and nobody’s talked of any explosions before... Not to mention, Remus certainly would have told me if there was one, even if nobody else talked of it.”
His anger bubbled up inside him and James rolled his eyes vigorously. Frank was being ridiculous. If it had been Lily to follow him out-- James paused. Lily. He turned to Frank, wild-eyed and the fingers that were alright tightly wound around his wand turned ghostly white. He hadn’t seen Lily anywhere right before the blast went off. Thinking on it, he hadn’t seen her for hours. Of course, there was always the chance she could be out on the mist dock and that she was completely fine but James had a sinking feeling in his gut. He could feel his pulse rising as he started to panic.
“Lily could be out there, Frank. She could be hurt.. Or worse. I have to go. I have to go make sure--” He trailed off, starting back towards the explosion again. His steps were slow though, and unsure, as if he were sleep walking.
