Who: James Potter and Derek Dobbs
What: :(
Where: The Longbottom's
When: Early this morning



James wasn't sure how he was still standing. He muttered quickly to Alice before watching Frank sprint out; apparently Emmeline wasn't in the house. That was---that was all they needed. Alice hadn't reported any foul play in the house, the girl was just gone, and now---and now James was left to tell Derek that his fiancee was dead.

To--to get himself to think that, to get his feet to move toward the room that Alice pointed out, where Derek was---James somehow completely turned off his mind. He was a messenger, he was not a grieving cousin, he was not a bruised and battered member of the Order of the Phoenix, he had one goal and one mission. He had to tell Derek that Dorcas was dead. That---his life was going to change forever, and that they'd never get married, and they'd never laugh about alliteration ever again--

No, no, he had to stop thinking because if he thought he'd never be able to do this and Derek would end up finding out by the newspapers or---James had to be the one to tell him. They were this close to being family, he had to be the one to break the terrible news. He stared at the ground as he knocked, hoping that Derek was in a deep enough sleep to not wake up, and give James a few more hours to prepare himself for this. They'd come straight from the fight, he was sure he was still bleeding somewhere, so the rush of the battle was what had forced James to make this seemingly mile walk to Derek's room.

Of course--the door did open, but James couldn't raise his head just yet.

To say that Derek hadn't seen something like this coming was untrue. The minute Dorcas had disappeared, he'd had a sneaking suspicion that something wasn't right. But earlier in their relationship, prior to his knowledge of the Order of the Phoenix, she had done quite a bit of disappearing and acting extremely secretive. Once he had been told, however, Dorcas had said that there was no point in worrying about her, because she was in danger whether she was working with the Order, on the field for her job, or simply walking down the street. But she hadn't come home this time, and Frank had told him she'd been kidnapped. Aside from the terrible rage that had broken, Derek had every intention of going to help find her, which was clearly not allowed. The last thing he remembered was Frank having to restrain him and administering something that slammed into Derek like a ton of bricks.

His sleep had been uncomfortable, his subconscious unable to shake the urgency of having to find Dorcas and ensure her safety. The last hour had been drifting slowly out of unconsciousness, gnawing stress trying to rush the waking process. The knocks at the door brought a surging bout of wakefulness within him, however, and his thoughts flew to Dorcas soon as his eyes opened.

"Frank, I swear to god I'm going to murder you," Derek snarled at the knocker, throwing the covers off and leaping out of bed to open the door, fully intent on getting one good punch in before assessing the matters at hand. But by the time he pulled the door open, he had to drop his fist, because it wasn't Frank at the door. It was James Potter, looking worse for the wear, to put it nicely.

"James?" Derek eyes widened. "What's the news? Is she back?"

He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this--how had he convinced himself that this was going to be swift and easy? James couldn't believe he'd made himself believe he'd actually be able to push his emotions aside long enough to tell Derek the devastating news. Why was he here? He---he should be the one being told this news, that the woman who was like his sister was dead and gone, people should be treating him with sympathy and sad expressions, it---how had this fallen on his shoulders? Why had he accepted this bloody responsibility?

James forced himself to look up at Derek, finding one moment of strength and willing himself to use it to get this done. He straightened his shoulders, trying to stand as tall as he could without his chest collapsing from the physical and emotional pain that he was currently pushing deep, deep into his gut. He had to, he just had to say it and then it would all be over. That was it, just say it and be done with it, maybe the pain would go away then--

"Derek," James let out hoarsely, and just attempting to speak, not even her name shot tears to his eyes. He looked down again, taking in quick breaths to try to regain some sort of that strength he thought he had, "Derek---"

His eyes widened as he looked at James, his throat constricting. James couldn't even get the words out--this was not going to be easy, Derek could see. And if it wasn't easy, this meant bad news. His fingers gripped the doorway, knuckles turning white.

Trying his best to recall what had happened prior to his losing consciousness, the best Derek could make out was something involving Dearborn, Dorcas, and the Death Eaters, but what had happened? Derek didn't even know how long he'd been out, this was the small amount of information he had to work with.

"Do they still have her? Has Dearborn--what--is there no hope, then?" It didn't matter if the trade-off was going to go wrong, because Derek was perfectly content taking matters into his own hands, should the Order decide it was too risky. He was not allowing this to happen, he was going to get her back--regardless of whether or not he had help. James would have to understand that, surely? Perhaps he'd even aid him, if they schemed secretly.

How could he tell him that there was no hope? James looked back up at Derek, wondering what kind of joke the forces of nature were using upon them to make him use those words. No hope, there was no hope. The Order was completely fucked, the death eaters who they were, they had no fucking secret identities anymore---there was more than a good chance that all of their houses and families were going to be fucking attacked and hurt and---killed.

"Voldemort was there," James let out, thinking that maybe if he described the events it would let him lead into things--easier. "We thought it was just going to be a--we thought they were expecting us to at--at least fake a trade-off, but they--just wanted to fight and----and---she fought, Derek, she fought like the---the best damn auror I've ever seen, it--Voldemort just---"

James let out a shuddering breath, eyes locking onto Derek's because---he had to look him in the eye, he deserved to be looked in the eye, "I'm sorry, Derek, he---he killed Dorcas...Derek, I'm sorry--"

The processes of Derek's mind must not have been working correctly.

Because if they were, the phrase James Potter had uttered would have contained the word "killed." And if he were to have used that word, in reference to his previously kidnapped fiancee, that meant...

That would mean she was dead.

He froze--a basic skill they had learned in training. That when a situation was spiraling beyond one's control, ceasing all movement seemed to allow the brain to quickly devise ways of containing the problem. There was nothing physical about this problem, absolutely nothing he could solve, were it true, but his very muscles seemed to have turned to stone. Derek appeared to be looking James's straight in the eye, but he couldn't see him. He couldn't see anything.

If the wall he was clutching could have crumbled to dust simply based on how hard he was gripping it, it would have. Wishing to be able to demolish the entire house with sheer physical strength, the force he was applying to the doorframe was astronomical. He wanted to--he was quite sure that if he opened his mouth, nothing but screams would be heard, but he was able to utter just one word. "Wh-when?"

"This morning," James muttered, feeling ashamed that he had to give the details. His entire body was shaking and he was completely unsure of how he was still standing, still reacting as calmly as he was. Maybe--maybe he was focusing hard enough on Derek, that it was keeping his own body from revolting in the pain Dorcas' death had brought him. James knew it was there, he'd felt a stabbing, horrendous pain in his chest when he saw her lifeless body, but it was certainly doing a good job of lurking inside of him, letting Derek---letting Derek have his full attention. "Aurors showed up---they have her body."

Her body. Dorcas wasn't his cousin anymore, she was just a body in a bloody morgue that couldn't smile or laugh or punch him when he was being dumb---James blinked furiously, looking down at the ground once more as the pain began to break through once more. No, no---Derek, he had to keep Derek---if it had been him, and someone was telling him that Lily was dead, James knew he would have to be put out of his bloody misery on the spot to keep him from destroying everything in sight.

"You need to stay here," James said, remembering what Frank had ordered just a few mintues prior, "we don't know if it's safe."

It was at that precise moment that Derek ceased to see color. Not through some horrific scientific phenomenon, but simply because the comprehension of the news he was given snatched all ability for him to bother cognitively processing things like color. It seemed almost frivolous, when he should have focused all his energy, as many aspects of his being as he could possibly conjure, into mourning, yes, but also exacting some sort of revenge. His fingers began to shake violently against the wall and his hand curled into a fist which still reverberated softly against the wall.

Thus far, he was surprisingly calm. Aside from the shaking that was emanating from his very core, he had not dissolved into tears or a terrible rage--also aside from his half-hearted attempt to force the wall apart. Derek was slipping into this mode because his mind recognized that the love of his life, literally the only support he had, was dead. But subconsciously, he knew it was all lies. Derek knew that when he went home tonight--for how could they keep him here for so long, if Dorcas wasn't dead?--she would be there. She would be trying to cook for him, as an apology for making him so worried. But she would still be there, still laughing, still smiling.

No.

No, she wouldn't be.

His delusional little fantasy of seeing her in his apron and whacking him a towel while calling him names flickered in and out. His balance seemed fine, but the room was starting to shake from beneath him.

"Do you--" he had to close his eyes, trying to avoid breathing because it would only come out in shallow gasps. "I-- thank you for--telling me, but I need-- I just need a few moments, to--" Derek opened his eyes to look at James, trying his hardest not to let his feeling of helplessness color his features, or the despairing rage that felt as thought it were literally erupting in his chest, "I'm sorry--"

James faltered, watching Derek implode upon himself. He didn't know what to do. He---he had no idea what to do. James had been on the receiving end of bad news, but he'd never had to be the one to witness the terrible reaction, he---James took control with Order situations, but that was being a leader, that was taking charge of a situation he had helped create. He--he was one of the reasons why this man in front of him, why this man's life was over.

He took a step back, completely lost as to what to do now. Should he just leave Derek? He could, he should---James would want to be alone. Alice would be okay, Alice would be able to knock him out, right? Right, he'd---let her know and--James ran his hand nervously through his hair, an old habit he hadn't been bothered with in what felt like years. Derek needed to deal with this, Derek--he needed to deal with this, he had to get home to Lily, he couldn't breathe anymore and he needed her to help him and---James felt like a complete coward for starting down the hallway, but--but--

They'd finally hit him with something he couldn't fix, something he had no bloody idea how to make better.