𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 // 𝐉𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐬

Chapter Fifty-Five

PART I REGULUS

You were...the best part for me. Of being here. Of...being.

September 1972

Regulus watches as the train station flies by outside the window. People and buildings blurring together as they pull away from all the things he knows. He can't even see Kreacher anymore. Won't see him again until Christmas.

"C'mon," Sirius nudges him lightly with his elbow. "I'll introduce you to the boys, you'll love 'em."

Regulus looks up at Sirius and doesn't think he's imagining the strain in his smile. Things have been...weird, since he came back from school this summer. Every time they talk it's like there's something they're trying not to say, only Regulus isn't sure what it is. Just knows he's being careful. Tiptoeing around their conversations.

It doesn't help that Sirius has been fighting with their mum more. It's Sirius's fault for shoving the fact that he's a Gryffindor in her face. For bringing up James bloody Potter every five seconds. Even just thinking the name makes Regulus roll his eyes. When Sirius wasn't up in his room writing him letters, he was in Regulus's room talking about him. It got so annoying that one day Regulus just snapped:

"If you love him so much why don't you just go bloody marry him."

Sirius had blinked. "Jeez Reg, excuse me for having friends."

Regulus doesn't know why they can't seem to get along anymore. Why hearing about Hogwarts has stopped being fun and started being aggravating. He just wants things to go back to normal. Wants Sirius to stop picking fights with their parents and looking so disappointed when Regulus doesn't want to pick them with him.

"Pretty sure they're down here somewhere," Sirius mutters as they make their way along the train car, squishing against the wall to allow other students to pass them. Regulus wants desperately to ask Sirius if they can just sit on their own, but he already knows the answer will be "no" and he doesn't want to have to endure the pain of hearing it.

"Ah, yup, that sounds like James's laugh."

Regulus's stomach lurches. "Sirius—"

But Sirius is already sliding open the door, letting loose a flurry of young voices.

"Lads," Sirius throws out his arms. "I've arrived."

"About bloody time!"

A boy with wild brown hair gets out of his seat, instantly pulling Sirius into a hug. He's wearing a pair of glasses, slightly lopsided on his nose, and his eyes remind Regulus of the colour of the creek near their home in Scotland.

There are two other boys in the compartment, both lighter haired, one with a ghastly scar running across his face. He's the first one to make eye contact with Regulus, who is still standing a few feet behind his brother in the open doorway. The scarred boy smiles. Regulus does not smile back.

After a few minutes of Sirius and the bespectacled boy joshing one another back and forth—laughing and babbling and pushing and shoving—Sirius finally seems to remember Regulus is there.

"This is Reg by the way," he smiles when he says it, which Regulus thinks is maybe a good sign, slinging his arm around Reg's shoulders and squeezing. "Reg, these are the boys—Remus," he nods towards the scarred one who offers Regulus a wave, but Regulus isn't sure if it would be odd for him to return it or not so he just keeps his hands in his pockets. "And that there's Peter."

"Hi," Peter says without looking up from the chocolate frog cards in his lap.

"And James."

James.

Regulus has heard that name so much at this point he feels as though it's burned into his brain. Every time it's said he gets a bitter taste in his mouth. But now, as he turns to the boy in front of him, their eyes meet for the first time.

And Regulus's heart hiccups in his chest.

Everything going quiet.

He's sure it's dislike that's making all the softest parts of him flutter.

Sure it's bitterness fizzling in his stomach.

Sure it's annoyance that makes his hand shake when he extends it to the older boy for no reason he can think of.

"Hello," he says to James Potter, who looks down at him with a bemused smile.

"Hi," he half-laughs as he shakes Regulus's hand. Regulus doesn't understand what's funny, but it's not...unusual, for him to get things wrong in moments like this. He's never had Sirius's talent for charming people.

James's handshake is solid without being overbearing. His palm warm when it presses against Regulus's. And his heart does it again.

Hiccup.

Hiccup.

Hiccup.

"Relax Reg, it's not a dinner party, no need to be so formal," Sirius is saying as James Potter pulls away and they all squish into their seats.

The scarred boy is next to Regulus, his face in a book, the other blond one organizing his cards into meticulous piles. Sirius and James immediately fall into easy conversation. Talking too quickly and using too many inside jokes for Regulus to follow.

James Potter doesn't look at him again.

And Regulus hates him.

Hates him.

Hates him.

He flexes the hand he shook. Like he can still feel James's touch.

Hates him.

Hates him.

Hates him.

September 1975

It's embarrassing enough that Regulus has ended up in this situation—pinned to a wall by Nicolai fucking Mulciber, a boy who couldn't think his way out of a paper bag. But it's made even more mortifying when James Potter walks around the corner. Regulus doesn't know what he's done to piss the universe off, but he wishes it would cut him some slack every once and a while.

Not that Potter even looks at him of course—he never does really. The most irritating thing about that, is that Regulus is pretty sure it isn't on purpose. Regulus simply doesn't register for James Potter. At least not until he does something Potter deems worthy of moral condemnation. He is not sparing with his righteousness.

"Got a hot date with the Giant Squid Snivellus?"

Potter has barely spoken before Mulciber jolts back, letting go of Regulus as he falls to the ground, enchanted ropes wrapping around his arms and legs. Potter looks insufferably smug about it, but then, he rarely looks anything else.

"Fucking Potter—"

"Expelliarmus!"

Regulus watches the ensuing chaos with mild interest. Irritated with himself for being impressed by Potter's ability to take on three opponents at once. Thinking anything positive about Potter always feels like the deepest betrayal of himself. But then, he's never been a particularly loyal person.

"I just hope I'm there to see it."

"See what?"

"See them break you."

Regulus flinches at that, not that anyone is paying him enough attention to notice. He knows a thing or two about being broken. He watches the confusion play across James Potter's frustratingly handsome face and feels the tickle of another traitorous thought—that he hopes Snape is wrong. He might find James Potter's moral indignation tiresome, but he can't quite imagine the messy haired boy without it. A broken James Potter simply feels unnatural.

"You want this?" Potter holds up Avery's wand, twirling it between his fingers.

"You know I do, you twat."

Potter nods. "Well alright then," he winds his arm back and chucks the wand down to the other end of the corridor.

"Bastard!"

"Go on doggy, go fetch."

Growling, Avery takes off after his wand.

"Hey!" Mulciber shouts. "Hey wait—fucking—Merlin's tits, wait!"

That's when Jame Potter's face cracks open, joy lighting up his eyes as he starts to laugh. Regulus drops his gaze. Something about Potter is too bright. Regulus doesn't know how to bear it. Far more comfortable in the shadows.

But then—

"Regulus?"

It's an automatic response, looking up, his grey eyes colliding with vivid colour.

James Potter is looking at him.

October 1975

He's drunk.

Which is stupid of him.

People do things, and say things, they shouldn't when they're drunk. And the list of things that Regulus ought not to do or say is longer than most people's. He told himself he wasn't going to come up to the Astronomy Tower tonight. Told himself to just stay at the fucking party. Told himself that James wouldn't even be there—because why would he be?

And yet.

And yet.

Somehow Regulus finds himself climbing the winding steps, pushing open the heavy wooden door, standing a few feet from a beaming James Potter, who looks so beautiful it makes Regulus's chest ache.

To be fair, being around James always makes Regulus ache.

He wants nothing more than to touch him. Not even in a sexual way. He just wants to know if he's as warm and sturdy as he looks. As soft. He just wants to run his fingers through James's hair, down his cheek, along the hills and valleys of each one of his fingers. He wants to worship him.

That probably isn't normal.

The things Regulus wants rarely are.

"You gonna sit down or...?"

Regulus blinks, James's voice bringing his drunken thoughts back to the present. "Right," he nods to himself. "Right. Yeah."

It's hard to concentrate, this close to James, even when he isn't drunk. His eyes forever dipping down to James's mouth, like it has some sort of magnetic pull. Merlin this was such a bad idea. His whole body is buzzing from the adrenaline of the game. The adrenaline of having James Potter's undivided attention. He feels out of control.

"You were brilliant today," James says, Regulus is practically in his lap, close enough that he can see the small flecks of gold in James's eyes.

Stunning.

Every inch of him.

"Yeah?" is all he can say, hoping James doesn't notice how breathless he sounds.

"That feint? It was beautiful Reg, I mean it. I—God, watching you I just—how did I never notice before? How did I never notice what a fucking star you are?"

Regulus snorts. "Literally."

"Yeah," James says without the sarcasm. "Yeah, but you are though."

He doesn't deserve this. He knows he doesn't. The adoration in James's voice, the kindness in his eyes, it isn't fair for Regulus to do this. Let James get caught up in the boy Regulus could be, instead of the one he is. Twisted and gnarled and rotten. Bound to let you down. To walk away when you need him most.

But he's too selfish and too drunk to do the right thing. James's eyes boring holes in his chest.

"Guess you weren't looking," Regulus says eventually.

James pauses, and Regulus wonders if that was a stupid thing to say until; "Maybe. But I'm looking now."

He knows better.

Better than to let his eyes flicker down to James's lips again.

Better than to let himself lean forward.

Fourteen years old and Regulus has never kissed a boy.

He's been kissed.

But that isn't quite the same thing.

Their lips meet and everything inside of him sighs with relief.

Oh yes, oh please, right here. This is where I'm meant to be. Where I should have been all along. Between his lips. Under his teeth. Oh, please, oh please, oh please.

He's drunk.

So it takes him too long to notice that James isn't moving.

When he pulls back he swears he sees horror in James's eyes and all the good feelings that had fluttered their way to the surface crack open and fall apart. Suddenly he feels dead sober. Scrambling to his feet, his whole body shaking. He's gone and fucked it up, of course. He couldn't just be happy with what he had—with their conversations, their budding friendship. He had to take more.

"I'm sorry. Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry I didn't—I didn't mean it." He's backing up towards the door, hands held in front of him. Waiting for the anger. For the violence. "I swear I didn't—" he chokes, he can feel the tears welling up in his eyes.

He won't cry in front of James Potter, he won't. Without another word he turns around and runs.

November 1975

"Merlin's balls—sorry Professor—but James Potter has just stolen the Quaffle!"

James is on another level today. He always plays well but this game—this game is exceptional. It's doing terrible things to Regulus's heart.

"I fucking hate Potter," Barty mutters beside him.

"You just hate that he isn't in Slytherin," Evan is on Regulus's other side, leaning forward over the railing. He's spent more time ogling the sixth year girls below them than he has watching the game.

"He's a showoff," Barty glares at the sky as James speeds across the pitch, pilfered Quaffle in hand. It's not that Barty's wrong, James is a horrendous show off. But he still manages moves that Regulus has barely seen attempted by professionals.

"You sound bitter Barty dear," Evan sings. And then, elbowing Regulus; "You reckon we could bribe Potter to switch houses? You and him on the same team?" he lets out a low whistle. "We'd be fucking unstoppable."

Regulus does his best to ignore the things that idea does to his stomach. Too close to the fantasies he barely lets himself acknowledge. "Potter? James Potter? Leave Gryffindor?" is what he says. "Not in this lifetime. Besides, he's already rich, I'm not sure money would be much incentive for him."

"Ugh, fine, guess you'll just have to win it all on your own then."

Regulus smirks.

He fully intends to.

"Another goal for Gryffindor!"

The stands go wild, their cheers echoing throughout the pitch. And James, being the ridiculous person he is, decides to fly over to them and start giving out high-fives, like some sort of beneficent king.

"What the hell is that!" Barty jabs an angry finger in James's direction. "That can't be allowed! It's a fucking penalty—poor sportsmanship!"

Evan and Regulus both stare at him.

"I don't know if we should bring him to Quidditch matches anymore," Evan says as they watch Barty's face turn red with indignation. "I think it's bad for his health—hey, Barty, breathe okay buddy? It's gonna be alright."

"It's blatant favouritism!"

"I thought you liked favouritism?" Evan asks, and Reg is about to tell him to cut it out, because Barty really does look like he might have a stroke or something, but he's interrupted:

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall's voice comes over the speakers. "Stop showboating and take your position on the field immediately."

Regulus can't make out James's expression at this distance but he swears he can feel him smiling, the joy radiating off of him. Regulus smothers the foolish warmth that tries to pool in his stomach. Whatever this thing with Potter is, he has to keep it contained. To build walls around it. It can't be bleeding into his everyday life like this.

"Fucking finally," Barty grumbles under his breath.

The game starts up again, Macdonald getting hold of the Quaffle, racing towards the goalposts. At this rate it won't even matter if Ravenclaw catches the Snitch.

"And Gryffindor is in possession again!" comes the ecstatic voice of the announcer. "Potter and Macdonald are making a joke of Ravenclaw's defences this game. And it looks like—Oh shit."

The Bludger comes out of nowhere.

And even though he knows that it can't be true, Regulus swears he hears it colliding with James's skull. The "crack" echoing in his chest.

"James," the name punches out of him involuntarily. Luckily the crowd is loud enough that no one seems to hear.

"Holy shit, this game just got interesting," Evan says, leaning so far over the railing that Regulus's hand shoots out to grab the back of his shirt without even thinking.

"Fucking serves him right," Barty adds from Regulus's other side.

Regulus barely hears them. His whole body running cold as he watches James fall. Come on, he thinks, looking around, trying to spot McGonagall. Do something! Save him!

There's chaos—in the crowd, in his head, on the Pitch.

Fuck it.

Regulus reaches for his wand—he doesn't care how it'll look, what people will say, he's not about to just let James fall. His hand trembling as it wraps around the handle.

"And that's Gryffindor Beater, Sirius Black, to the rescue," the announcer says as Sirius sweeps James into his arms, barely keeping his own balance. "Quite the heroic gesture, though that hit looked pretty gnarly, Potter does not appear to be conscious."

Regulus exhales as he watches Sirius land on the field, Madam Hooch darting out to meet them. But the pressure in his chest only increases as James is levitated off the Pitch, still unconscious. Every inch of Regulus desperate to go with him.

He'll be okay,

he tells himself.

It's James Potter.

He's always okay.

He's still shaking, still feels like he's going to be sick. Like he won't be able to breathe until he can touch James. Can make sure he's alright.

Merlin when did this happen?

When did he start caring so much about this fucking moron? A crush is one thing, but this? What the hell is this feeling? He doesn't want to think about it too hard, afraid of what he'll find.

He realizes, suddenly, that he's still gripping the handle of his wand and he lets go of it, cheeks flushing with embarrassment even though nobody noticed—and even if they had they wouldn't have known what he was planning to do.

Regulus will never be the one to save James.

To catch him when he falls.

That will always be Sirius.

You'd think Regulus would have learned their roles by now.

In some twisted way he wonders if this whole mess with Potter has been an exercise in self-flagellation. Getting involved with a boy he knows he cannot keep. A boy who will always belong to his brother. Somehow Regulus has managed to find another way to make himself the spare.

"Reg? Reg?" Evan elbows him again and Regulus blinks realizing he's just been staring blankly at the last spot he could see James.

Evan looks at him curiously as the players take their places again.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he clears his throat, trying to sound more confident. "Yeah fine."

The whistle blows.

December 1975

He's been wanting to bring James to the Room for a while, but he's been...afraid. Like somehow this makes whatever they're doing more real. Escalates things. He wants that, and also wants to run away from it all at the same time. He knows he's playing with fire here. He's not sure when to pull away to keep from getting burned. Hopes if it all goes up in flames James makes it out okay.

"Regulus," there's warning in James's voice.

"The bed is here for a reason Potter," he crowds James against it until the mattress cuts him off at the knees, causing him to sit down.

"Doesn't mean we have to do anything," the look in James's eyes says he wants to though. Dark and a little desperate. That look usually curdles Regulus's stomach. But on James...on James it does something different.

"You've made that abundantly clear," Regulus straddles James's hips, hand on his chest, pushing him down. He pauses then, hovering above him, letting the fear in him spark and fizzle out. He's in control, he reminds himself. Everything that happens is up to him.

James is staring at him, biting on his lower lip, looking uncertain.

"I'm saying yes James," his fingers play with the collar of James's shirt. "But there are—I have—rules." He tries not to wince, even though he hates the way that sounds. Laying his weaknesses out so explicitly.

"Okay," James says, like he doesn't care. Like it isn't something to be ashamed of. "Whatever you want."

Regulus's chest aches.

"Don't—" he struggles to swallow, "don't touch me."

James's hands instantly drop away from where they'd been gripping Regulus's waist and he almost laughs. Especially at the absolute sincerity on James's face.

"Not like that, I mean—" but his voice cuts itself off without Regulus's permission. Incapable of saying it out loud. Of being explicit.

There's a pause and then: "Oh," James says. "Okay, of course."

"Yes?"

James nods. "Yes Regulus, yes."

Regulus doesn't know if he actually likes sex. He's not sure that he's ever...enjoyed it. It's not that he doesn't think about it, of course he does. But when it comes to the actual thing it's always left him...whatever that feeling is after you've had a good cry? Tired. Delicate. Something like that.

Touching James is different. He wants to kiss every inch of him, wants to pull those breathy little noises out of him. He feels James quiver beneath his hands and something hot shoots through him. He isn't used to it. He tries not to be afraid.

He likes it when James starts to lose control. Likes it when he spills into his mouth. Likes knowing that he did that. That he made someone...feel good. He likes that James doesn't try to take his trousers off.

"C'mere," James reaches for him. Regulus isn't expecting it so he freezes, not sure what's happening. What's coming next. Still, he allows James to pull him down on top of him, allows him to press dirty, open mouthed kisses on his lips. Which also surprises Regulus. He wasn't expecting him to want to...after.

His skin is getting that too tight feeling it usually does in moments like this, like any second he's going to rip open, like he doesn't have enough room to breathe. He tries to push it away. Please, please, leave me alone. I want this, I swear I do. But it doesn't work, it never does.

"I need a minute," he pants, James letting go right away. Regulus drops onto the mattress beside him, trying to get his breathing under control.

"You're sure you don't want—"

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. James doesn't push, doesn't ask for an explanation, instead Regulus hears the shuffle of blankets and when he opens his eyes again James is on his back, looking up at the painting above their heads.

"Who are they?"

Regulus blinks, turning towards the ceiling.

"That's Achilles," he points to the hero who is dramatically pushing everyone away, "and that's Patroclus," the pale body in his arms.

"He's dead yeah? Pat-row-what's-his-face?"

Regulus bites the inside of his cheek, trying to hold back a smile at James's terrible pronunciation.

"Patroclus. And yes. He's dead," he isn't sure why that statement feels so heavy. Like a curse. A bad omen. Patroclus's corpse sitting, suddenly, in the bed with them. Before Regulus can think better of it he hears himself speaking again: "They were lovers. Knew each other their whole lives, fought beside one another. They were inseparable."

His breathing has evened out and he wonders if James did it on purpose—asking questions. If he knew somehow, that it would take Regulus's mind off of what they had just done. Off of how vulnerable he was, lying there on full display. Or maybe it was just a coincidence.

"What happened?" James asks.

Regulus blinks, directing his attention back to the painting,"Patroclus decided to do something stupid and noble, got himself killed. It destroyed Achilles, he basically lost his mind after that. He refused to burry him at first, and when he finally let them burn the body he made his men promise that when he died they would mix his ashes with Patroclus's, so that they could be together."

James lets out a low whistle. "Jeez Reg, that's like the most depressing story I have ever heard."

Regulus laughs, liking the way it makes James's eyes go bright, makes his cheeks pink just a little bit. James Potter rarely blushes so it's a sight when it happens. "It's—yeah—yeah a bit. But, I don't know. They loved each other. They loved each other more than anything else in the world; more than power, more than glory, more than winning the war. I've never seen that in real life—never seen people love like nothing else matters. It aches but...in a good way, you know?"

They're looking at one another unabashedly now. No one's eyes darting away, no one's head turning to the side. Regulus rolls forward, closing the gap between them.

"Yeah," James says after a moment, reaching out to tuck a dark curl behind Regulus's ear. "Yeah I know."

The next morning, after a brief whirlwind of scrambling and chaos, James pauses at the door on his way out, turning back to Regulus, crease lines from the sheets still clear on his face. Everything about him is so soft that it almost frightens Regulus. He wants to protect him. He wants to keep him.

Stupid.

"You okay?" James asks, like he really wants to know. The question pulling Regulus out of his thoughts.

"Yeah James," he says slowly, afraid of how much he means it. "Yeah, I'm okay. I might even be happy, if you can believe it."

James's smile is so bright it almost hurts to look at. But Regulus does. Tries to burn it into his memory, tries to make sure he will never forget.

"Merry Christmas Regulus."

"Merry Christmas James."

I love you, Regulus thinks helplessly, watching the door close.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Just—the best part.

PART II REMUS

The flat is empty when he gets home.

For a moment he just stands there, crumpling against the door, staring out at the dark rooms. He knows it's irrational, the spike of fear that immediately drives through his chest. There's no reason for him to expect Sirius to be there. But he can't stop the nervous thoughts.

What if something's happened?

How would you even know?

Eventually he forces himself to move, body heavy as he starts to unpack—which mainly consists of him dumping the contents of his tiny duffle bag into the dirty clothes hamper in the corner of their room.

The bed is unmade, a half-finished glass of water beside it, Sirius's things strewn around the floor. He picks up one of Sirius's t-shirts and clutches it to his chest for a period of time he deems sufficiently pathetic, and then goes into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. There are dirty plates in the sink, a nearly empty bottle of firewhisky on the counter. Remus grimaces.

He reaches for the bottle, holding it in his hands, wondering if he should be worried. Which is a stupid question. Because with Sirius the answer is always yes. He closes his eyes briefly, hands squeezing

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

It's been too long. Too long without seeing him or hearing him or laughing with him. It makes Remus want to tear off his own skin. He looks down at the bottle one last time before placing it back on the counter. He putters around the flat for a little while before eventually forcing himself to sit down on the sofa with a book. It's nearly eight, surely Sirius will be back soon?

Remus can wait.

It's loud voices in the street outside that startle him awake. The book he'd made a pathetic attempt to read slides off his lap and falls to the floor as Remus jolts upright, back and neck stiff. He blinks against the light streaming in from the window—he fell asleep on the sofa. Sirius must have not wanted to wake him.

Or he was too angry to.

Remus pushes that thought away, scrubbing at his face before he gets to his feet and drags himself to the bedroom. He expects to find Sirius, dead to the world, maybe even snoring, but he doesn't. His feet stutter as he enters the bedroom and finds it just as he left it—empty. Dark.

The nervous thoughts are getting louder now.

Something isn't right here.

Remus doesn't bother trying to fix himself up—doesn't bother to brush his hair or his teeth, to shower, or change his clothes. He feels lightheaded as he moves through the flat towards the fireplace. Voice shaking when he calls out "Godric's Hollow."

Surely if something had happened Moody and Dumbledore would have told him? Right? If something had happened to Sirius someone would have told him? They wouldn't just leave him with an empty flat? James or Peter or Lily or Marlene or Dorcas or Frank—someone would have told him.

The fireplace in front of him flickers for a few moments, long enough that Remus is worried that no one is going to answer until finally James's face appears, eyes growing wide at the sight of him.

"Remus!" he says, surprised.

"He isn't here," Remus blurts out, the least articulate way to phrase what he's trying to say. "He didn't come home last night and I don't know where he is, there's no note or anything, and I'm not sure how long he's been gone but it feels like maybe it's been a while and I don't even know where to start lo—"

"Woah, woah," James holds his hands up. "Steady on, Sirius is fine. He's been staying at mine."

"Oh thank god," Remus lets out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding, head dropping down for a minute as he tries to get his pulse back to a normal pace.

"You okay?" James asks gently.

Remus offers him a weak smile when he's finally able to look up. "Scared me is all," the embarrassment is starting to set in—that all it took was one night for Remus to completely lose his cool. "I'm a bit paranoid I guess."

James gives him a sympathetic look. "I think we all are, honestly."

"What is he—" Remus takes a minute, trying to force himself to sound less frantic. "Why is he staying at your's?" he realizes as soon as he asks the question how stupid it is. He knows it drives Sirius mad being alone in their flat.

Something complicated flickers across James's face. "You should—uh—you should come over Moons," there's a pause, James's mouth opening and closing like he can't figure out what to say, eventually he just sighs. "You two should...talk."

Remus nods, hoping the gesture doesn't betray how shaky he feels.

"Alright, yeah, I—give me a few minutes to shower and change and I'll be right over, okay?"

James's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Sounds good mate."

Remus tries not to read too much into it.

When Remus steps through the fireplace into the little cottage a half-an-hour later he finds James waiting for him. He's leaning against his father's desk, hands in his trouser pockets. Remus is taken aback by the sight of him. He looks...exhausted. Bags under his eyes, skin ashen, a noticeable slouch in his shoulders.

"Hey Moons," he says, another one of those flickering smiles, like James is a candle about to go out.

Remus stumbles forward. "What's happened?" he asks, too scared to care about the crack in his voice.

James grimaces. "C'mon, Pete and Sirius are in the living room," and with that he pushes off the desk and starts walking towards the front of the house, Remus powerless to do anything but follow. He thinks this must be a dream, everything feels a little off, a little unreal. He starts counting his fingers.

"That move's illegal!" Peter shouts, him and Sirius sitting on opposite sides of the coffee table, a game of Wizard's chess between them.

"Is not," Sirius says, watching with a smirk as one of Peter's pieces is smashed to smithereens by his rook. "I thought you were supposed to be good at this game?"

Peter glowers. "I'm looking this up, there's no way that's allowed," he reaches into the empty box on the floor, pulling out a small pamphlet and immediately flipping through it.

"If it was illegal the pieces wouldn't have done it."

Peter scoffs. "They would if they were also dirty cheaters."

"What!? Peter! How dare you suggest such a thing! These are some of the most honourable chess pieces around," Remus swears he sees Sirius wink at his Queen. It makes his heart flutter, so reminiscent of the boy he grew up with. Fell in love with.

James clears his throat. "Guys," he says.

Both of them look up, Sirius's eyes meeting Remus's and then instantly dropping back to the board.

"Oh woah, hey Remus! When the fuck did you get back?" Peter asks.

"Uh—" he stares at Sirius, willing him to look up again, but he doesn't. "Last night. Didn't realize everyone was here," he tries to give Peter a smile but doesn't quite manage it.

"Yeah, we've kinda unofficially moved in since—"

"Pete," James cuts him off. "Wanna help me get lunch ready?"

Peter blinks. "Aren't we just ordering takeaway like always?"

"Not today."

Peter's eyes slide from Remus to Sirius and then back to James. "Oh," he says, quickly dropping the rulebook in his hands and getting to his feet. "Right. Yeah, Okay. Lets go."

Remus feels like any minute he's going to crumble under the weight of everything going unsaid in this room. James squeezes his shoulder on his way out, Peter chattering at his side about the technicalities of chess.

Remus has no idea what to do, what to say. So he ends up just hovering there, in the middle of the room.

"Sirius—"

"You have a nice trip?" Sirius cuts him off, poking at one of his knights. "Wherever you went."

Remus doesn't know how to answer that. Things had been good between them, when he left. The best they've been in months honestly. After the visit with Charlotte it felt like some of the resentment faded, like they didn't have to be so careful with one another. He doesn't know what's changed.

"It was..." he trails off. "I don't know. It just was. Sirius please, tell me what's happened? I don't understand what's going on."

With the way they're standing Remus can only see part of Sirius's face. But he can still read the danger in it. Something barely restrained. Sirius keeps playing with the chess pieces in front of him, pushing and shoving them and generally just egging them on.

"Regulus is dead."

He says it in such a blank voice that Remus almost doesn't understand. Going over the words again and again, trying to make sense of them.

"What?"

"Yeah."

Still Sirius doesn't look up.

Remus feels like reality is slipping through his fingers. This really must be some sort of dream. He just saw Regulus. Just dragged him out of the Ministry.

An unwelcome image flashes through Remus's mind of a little kid standing behind Sirius on the train. He'd looked so concerned, barely speaking to any of them. Curling in on himself the moment he sat down, like he was afraid of taking up too much space. Now that he thinks about it, James might have been the only one Regulus said a single word to that day. Maybe there was some foreshadowing in that, Remus doesn't know.

"How?" he finally manages to ask.

Sirius flicks over his King, the tiny stone figure sprawling across the board. "He chickened out. Got caught. Voldemort took care of him. Didn't even leave a fucking body when he was finished."

"No body?" Remus feels sick.

A little boy with wide grey eyes and a frowning mouth.

"Nope."

A little boy standing always in his brother's shadow.

Remus doesn't know what to say. What to do. He wants to move, to get down on the floor with Sirius and pull him into his arms but somehow that doesn't feel right. So he stays where he is.

"When did you find out?"

"About a week ago."

A week. Remus feels his face drain of colour. Sirius has been sitting with this, dealing with this, for a week. Without him. It's like Fleamont all over again.

"Sirius, I'm so sor—"

Sirius gets up, nearly knocking the chess board off the table. "I'm going to go see if they need help with lunch," he says, hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers as he heads for the door.

"Sirius—"

But he doesn't stop, keeps his expression blank as he pushes out of the room, Remus listening to the distant sounds of voices down the corridor.

"Fuck," he drops onto the sofa, head in his hands. "Fuck."

This is his fault. Properly his fault. He stayed with Greyback longer than he was meant to because he's been getting worried about Gabe. The more time that passes the more Gabe withdraws and Remus doesn't know what to do. He wants him to go see Ava and Liam, but he always mutters something about it being too dangerous. Not wanting them to get dragged into this. Remus is still trying to convince Dumbledore to let him bring Gabe to visit Charlotte but he isn't having any luck with that either.

So he stayed.

And Regulus died.

And he wasn't there.

"Sorry."

Remus's head snaps up, finding James standing in the doorway. He sounds almost as tired as he looks.

"I probably should have stayed to referee that," he goes on, which makes Remus laugh.

"I don't think we're supposed to need a referee."

James just shrugs, walking over and sitting down next to him. "He's hurting."

Remus looks at his knees. "I know."

"He gets angry when he's hurting. Self-preservation and all that."

"I know," Remus snaps. "I'm his fucking boyfriend James, I don't need you to explain him to me."

James goes still beside him, a long pause before he speaks. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to—" he stops, sighing. "I don't like it when you guys fight, that's all."

The shame is instant.

Remus takes a deep breath, running a hand over his face. "Sorry," he says finally, knocking their shoulders together. "I shouldn't have—I didn't mean to bite your head off."

James gives him a faint smile. "Nah, you're alright Moons."

He's more defeated than Remus has ever seen him before. And that's what it is really. Defeat. He's seen James angry, and sad—hell, he's seen him fucking devastated—but he's never seen him so close to giving up.

Remus bites on his lower lip, still pressing lightly into James's side. "How are you?"

James lets out a shaky exhale, looking down at his hands. "You know," he says, dry smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Fucking awful. But...better with those two assholes around," he nods towards the kitchen. "Gives me something to do."

The guilt is big and heavy in Remus's stomach. "I'm sorry," he says again.

James only shakes his head. "S'ok, not your fault," there's a pause and then; "Sirius knows that too."

Remus swallows with difficulty, unable to muster an answer. Clearly James notices because he keeps going: "He loves you so fucking much, you know? I think it scares him to be honest. That he needs you."

"I know," because he does. There was a time when he thought that being with him would help Sirius. Would show him that things could be different. That people could be good to one another. Hubris, he supposes.

There's a long moment of silence between them. Remus can hear the radio in the kitchen, hear Peter and Sirius squabbling over something, maybe the sound of cutlery being dropped, or—knowing them—thrown.

It takes him that long to realize that someone is missing.

"Where's Lily?"

James's face instantly shutters. It's such an uncommon expression on him that it actually takes Remus aback. "She's at Mary's."

"Mary's? Why?"

"She's staying there." Something's wrong with James's voice but Remus can't quite figure it out.

"Did those knobs annoy her out of her own house?" he asks, but James doesn't laugh, doesn't crack a smile, just sits back, running a hand over his face and shaking his head. Remus waits for more of an explanation but after a few minutes pass he realizes he isn't going to get one.

He nudges James's foot. "What is it?"

James shakes his head again, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he finally manages to speak, voice small. Helpless. "Regulus died."

Remus blinks, not understanding, and then—then he sees the crumpled look on James's face and— "You told her?"

"She knew," James laughs wetly before squeezing his eyes shut. "Knew for years apparently."

Remus's eyes go wide. "Oh—wow—okay, well, I didn't see that coming," though he should have. Lily is clever and James is obvious. She probably caught him making heart eyes at Regulus across the Great Hall or something.

"But then..." Remus scrubs at his face. "Why is she at Mary's?"

James just looks back at him, eyes sad.

"There's more?" Remus says finally, speaking slowly, careful with his words.

There's a pause and then; "Yeah," James croaks. "Yeah there's more. But I can't—I can't right now Remus. I can't do this again—talk about this again."

Remus nods. Because he's not about to push James and because he's fairly certain he can fill in some of the blanks for himself.

"Okay," he says finally, "okay." He reaches out and squeezes James's arm, still feeling a little shellshocked.

"The attack on the Ministry," he startles himself when he speaks, not having thought it through. "Regulus could have made that much much worse for us," he struggles for a moment, to decide what he wants to say. How much he wants to say. "He could have made things much worse for me specifically. And he didn't. He...well, he protected me I guess. So...I don't know if that matters but...I thought maybe you'd want to know."

James just stares at him for a moment. "You're the leak?" he asks eventually. "The one who tipped Moody off?"

Remus's stomach feels like it's tying itself in knots. He can't speak so he nods instead.

"And Regulus kept your secret?"

They really shouldn't be having this conversation, but Remus nods anyway.

James makes another pained face.

Open wound, that's the first thing that comes to Remus's mind.

"Thank you," James says quietly.

"Of course."

They sit in silence for a while, both leaning into one another, listening to the distant noises of Sirius and Peter no doubt destroying James's kitchen. Remus takes in a deep breath and then exhales. He can still feel it. That undeniable sense of "right" when the four of them are together. Like this is how they were meant to be, always. Wars, love affairs, all of it comes second to this.

To them.

He closes his eyes for a moment, just...feeling it. "You gonna make things right with Lily?" he asks eventually.

He feels James stiffen. "You think I can?"

"I don't know," Remus frowns. "But I think you owe it to her to try."

James lets out a weak laugh. "I'm gonna try," he says, as though that was never a question. "Of course I'm going to try."

"Good. Whatever you did, she didn't deserve it."

"No," James sounds about a hundred years old. "She didn't."

"Oi!"

Peter's voice comes bellowing from the kitchen.

"Lunch is ready!"

Remus turns to James, brow arched. "Out of ten, how inedible is this going to be?"

"Hey!" James punches him playfully. "The three of us can cook alright?"

"Since when?"

James smiles and it's nice. Makes him look more like himself. "It's just beans on toast."

"Ah well, in that case."

They both get up but Remus slows when they reach the corridor, a sinking feeling filling his stomach as he listens to the voices coming from the Kitchen. "Maybe it'd be best if I—"

"No, you're staying," James says decisively. "It's my house. Besides," he gives Remus a meaningful look, "it hasn't felt right without you."

It hasn't felt right without you either, Remus almost says, even though it doesn't make any sense. Even though he's not sure he could explain how much he feels it. The loss of them. Like he's only the faint imprint of himself when they aren't with him. But then, he probably wouldn't have to explain it. At least not to James.

"Ah—fuck," Peter drops his toast onto his plate, fanning his mouth while Sirius rolls his eyes next to him.

"I told you it was hot," he says, blowing on his own food.

"I dwidn't twink it was thawt hawt," Peter says with his tongue half out of his mouth.

The kitchen is an absolute disaster, though Remus reckons that's not only because of lunch. Dishes and wrappers and half eaten food are scattered over the counters and piled in the sink.

"Really?" Remus asks, as James hands him a plate. "Not one of you can manage a cleaning spell?"

James looks around as though only just realizing that there's anything to clean. "I suppose it is getting a bit dingy isn't it?"

Remus arches his brow, sitting down at the table across from Sirius who still isn't making eye contact with him. "A bit dingy?"

"Alright, alright," James chews and swallows. "We'll clean after lunch okay?"

"We?" Peter demands, looking genuinely concerned. "I don't remember agreeing to that."

"A little housework isn't gonna kill you Peter," Remus says flatly.

"You don't know that."

Sirius snorts. "He has a point." Remus tries to catch his eye.

James glares at the pair of them. "Oh, I'm sorry, is there some other kitchen the two of you have been using that I'm not aware of?" both of them remain sullenly quiet. "No? That's what I thought. You helped mess it up, you can help clean."

Sirius rolls his eyes, but Peter opens his mouth: "Why can't you just get a new house elf already?" there's a petulant tone to his voice, reminiscent of an unhappy toddler.

Everyone at the table freezes, Remus looking from Peter to James and back again. James's face has been wiped of all good humour, Peter realizing his mistake immediately.

"Not that—not that Mimi wasn't like, important and stuff."

"Family, you mean."

Something seems to flicker in Peter's eyes that Remus can't quite figure out, but as soon as it appears it's gone. "Yeah, right. I'm not trying to say she's replaceable."

"Just that I should hurry up and replace her?" James asks coldly, making Peter squirm.

Remus decides to cut this off before it goes too far. "Plenty of people manage to clean their houses without a house elf. I think we'll survive, yeah?"

He looks between his two friends, the tension still so thick he can practically taste it.

"Yeah, definitely," it's Sirius who eventually speaks, nudging Peter with his elbow. "Right Pete?"

Peter's eyes are still locked on James's but eventually he nods, swallowing with some difficulty. "Yeah, of course," he looks down at his toast.

The rest of the meal is significantly quieter.

Peter and Sirius do help clean, and with relatively little complaint. Though Remus catches Peter mumbling curses under his breath a couple times, especially when his water charm ends up spraying him in the face. Still, they manage to get through most of the mess before they lose them; Peter wandering into the living room and, judging by the ensuing noises, promptly taking a nap, and Sirius disappearing into the back garden.

Remus stares at the back door, an ache in his chest. It's hard to be away. But it's always harder to be back and still not be able to touch him. To see him and still feel the distance between them like an insurmountable wall.

"Go on then."

Remus starts and then fumbles, struggling not to drop the plate in his hands, looking up to find James staring at him with amusement. The other boy gestures for Remus to hand over the dinnerware.

"Sorry," Remus mutters, reaching for the next dish.

"Moons," James sounds fond but exasperated, "leave the bloody dishes and go fucking talk to him."

"It's fine. I'll help you finish," he insists stubbornly, earning him a frustrated sigh.

"Mate, if I have stand here and watch you spend another fifteen minutes drying the same plate I'M going to break something."

Remus blinks, looking at the plate in James's hands and then back up. "Oh, sorry I got..." his eyes slide over to the back door, "distracted."

"Yeah, I got that," he rips the tea towel out of Remus's hands.

"Hey—"

"Just go," James nudges him towards the door. "Please, for all our sakes."

Remus frowns but James has already turned back to the dishes, apparently deciding to ignore him. He considers arguing some more, but, unfortunately, this happens to be one of the the few moments in which James is actually being sensible. After another second of hesitating in front of the door, he slips his boots on and pushes outside.

He instantly casts a warming charm over himself because it's fucking cold, even with the sun out in full force. Remus crosses his arms over his chest as he walks down the slope in the Potter's back garden towards the Quidditch pitch.

He doesn't see Sirius until he's almost under him—flying around the miniature goal posts Fleamont charmed into existence back when James could still barely walk. Remus shields his eyes with his hand as he stares up at Sirius, speeding through the sky, dark hair whipping behind him.

He's beautiful when he flies.

Well,

he's beautiful all the time.

Remus sits down on the ground, knees bent, waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

But Sirius doesn't come down, and Remus isn't sure if it's because he's avoiding him or because he really just doesn't want to. His teeth bite into his lower lip as he watches Sirius go round and round and round until eventually he can't stand it anymore.

Admittedly, this is a terrible idea. He knows it even before he swings his leg over the broom handle, even before he pushes off, clumsily, into the air.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." He closes his eyes and then, realizing how ridiculously unhelpful that is, forces them to open again.

He hates flying, at least by broom, doesn't know how James and Sirius do it. He feels completely unstable and vulnerable. There is absolutely nothing sturdy or comforting about a fucking broom. Of all the household objects wizards could enchant to fly, he's not sure why it couldn't have been a mattress or an armchair.

He wobbles, hands shaking as they grip the handle. This was a mistake. This was such a mistake. He's going to fall to his death before he ever manages to speak to Sirius. God, flying broomsticks are so fucking stupid. So fucking—

"What're you doing?"

Remus's head snaps up, causing his broom to bob and him to drop down, pressing his chest to the handle and clinging on for dear life.

"Trying to talk to you," he says in a strained voice, staring up at Sirius who is floating in front of him, a confused look on his face. He's sweaty despite the cold, but Remus supposes flying neurotically around a Quidditch Pitch will do that to you.

"You hate flying," Sirius says finally. Which seems a bit redundant to Remus, but given the current state of their relationship he manages to refrain from pointing that out.

"I wanted to talk to you," he repeats instead.

Sirius watches him for another minute, that same confused look on his face, like he's trying to work something out, before eventually he flies forward.

"Here," he says, reaching over and placing his hand on Remus's shoulder. "You're making this harder than it has to be."

"Woah, woah," Remus says as Sirius starts to try and push him upright again. "What're you doing?"

"You're not sitting right."

"I'm sitting just fine."

Sirius huffs. "Just let me—I'm trying to help. Could you just trust me, please?"

And for a moment their eyes meet, and Remus can tell by the look on Sirius's face that he hadn't meant to say those words. Hadn't meant to drag up all that baggage. A thousand different meanings suddenly floating in the air between them.

Finally, Remus exhales. "Okay," he says, relaxing enough that Sirius is able to gently push him upright again. Keeping one hand on his shoulder and placing the other on Remus's lower back, shifting him toward the tail end of his broom.

"There you go," Sirius says softly. Remus looks over at him, still terrified, though momentarily distracted by how close Sirius is. By the way his sweaty hair curls at his temples and ears.

"And then just," Sirius lets go of his torso and Remus is surprised to find that he actually does feel more stable, "put your hands like this," his tongue sticks out between his lips as he carefully adjusts Remus's hands, the contact making Remus shiver. And maybe he's imagining it. Maybe it's wishful thinking. But he swears Sirius holds onto them for several seconds longer than is strictly necessary.

"There," he pulls back slowly, "better?"

Remus swallows, throat tight. He knows that it's the flying and the cold that have put the pink in Sirius's cheeks, but he can't help staring at it anyway. "Yeah," he manages finally, voice rough, "better."

Sirius nods and for a long moment they just float there, wind pushing against them, rocking them like ships. Remus does his best not to start hugging his broom handle again.

"So," Sirius finally clears his throat, looking off into the distance, "you wanted to talk?"

He had. He really had. Except now that he's here he has no idea what to say.

"I don't want to fight," is what he decides on finally. Childish? Yes, perhaps. But succinct. Honest. Brutally, painfully honest.

He watches Sirius chew on the inside of his cheek, still staring into the distance. "I'm not fighting," he manages finally. "That's what I've been—that's what I'm trying not to do."

And of course, as soon as he says it, Remus can see all the ways it's true. Sirius has been walking away from him all day. Walking away when normally he would shout and yell and fume.

"It's still kinda fighting though," Remus says eventually. "Different maybe but...you're punishing me. Aren't you?"

Sirius sighs, scrubbing at his face. "I don't know what you want me to do Remus?" he says finally. "I don't know how to not be angry about this."

Which is fair.

More than, really.

Remus follows Sirius's gaze. The sky is almost cartoonish today—light blue, with big, fat, white clouds.

"Regulus loved flying," Sirius says suddenly, making Remus start.

He opens and then closes his mouth. It's not the kind of statement that really requires a response, so instead he watches Sirius, waits for him to say more.

"He was going to go pro," Sirius goes on eventually. "You know there were already scouts looking at him? Back when he was at Hogwarts?"

Remus hadn't—though, in fairness, Remus knows very little when it comes to the workings of Quidditch. Still, it surprises him that Sirius knows this. He wonders, suddenly, if there's the chance that Sirius has been keeping a closer eye on his little brother all these years than Remus realized.

"He was going to have his pick. He was going to be a fucking star. Probably play in the world series he—" Sirius's voice breaks and he stops, closing his eyes for a minute, making Remus's heart ache. "How did we get here?" Sirius whispers, face scrunching. "How the fuck did we get here?"

And despite the unbelievable terror it strikes into his heart, Remus lifts one hand off his broom and reaches out, squeezing Sirius's arm.

"You know, sometimes," Sirius says weakly. "I wonder, if there hadn't been a war, would he have left that house with me? Would their hold on him have been weaker, if everything wasn't so...scary."

Remus doesn't know what to say to that, eventually offering up a pathetic; "Maybe."

But Sirius only shakes his head. "But is it the war that made him do what he did? Or was that always in him? Was that person always there? Was he always going to be...like them? Or was it...but he said he regretted it, so I don't know. Fuck I don't know anymore"

Remus blinks, surprised. "He did? He said he regretted joining Voldemort? When?"

Sirius's eyes open. "What?"

"When did he say he regretted it?"

"Oh," Sirius looks suddenly embarrassed, which doesn't make sense to Remus. "He didn't. Never mind. I don't know why I said that."

Which Remus doesn't buy, but he decides to leave it alone. At least for now.

"I'm sorry," he says instead, finally bringing Sirius's eyes back to him.

The other boy gives him a sad smile. "Yeah. Aren't we all."

It's like looking at James all over again. Like losing Regulus has severed whatever thin thread of childhood they were both still clinging to. The ghost of that hope, that naivety, that belief in themselves—that they were kings, that they could do anything. The spark that made them James Potter and Sirius Black has been snuffed out.

Remus's hand slides from Sirius's arm to his face, holding it carefully, finger brushing over his cheek.

"I love you, you know," he says, because it's all he has at this point. He can't go back and change what's happened. Can't fix anything. All he has is love. Which the stories and the poets like to make a big fuss about.

All you need is love.

As they say.

It's bollocks, of course.

A dying man might be loved but it won't put the air back in his lungs.

And that's what they are these days, isn't it?

Dying men.

Sirius's eyes open, the light catching them, making them glow, making Remus's breath hitch, snagging on his ribs. After a moment Sirius turns his head and kisses Remus's palm.

"I love you too."

PART III JAMES

James is outside Mary's house.

It's probably a mistake.

Which is why he's still standing in the street two hours after getting there, not quite able to make himself walk up to the front door.

Because this is probably a mistake.

But what else is there?

He paces back and forth, hands running through his hair as his fingers start to go numb from the cold. His thoughts are all jumbled up, nerves making them tangle themselves in knots. He tries to pick them apart, place them in neat rows. Make sense of them. It doesn't matter how many times he thinks about what he's going to say. What he's going to do. He can't make himself move any closer.

Being in limbo, not knowing where he and Lily stand, whether or not she's going to come back, whether or not they'll be able to get past this, it's torture. Really, it is. It eats him up. But at least it still gives him hope. A chance. Schrödinger's relationship. As soon as he knocks on that door he loses that. There will no longer be a reality in which their relationship is both alive and dead. It'll be one or the other. And he'll have to live with that.

He's almost positive he can't.

"You know," James jumps, spinning around to find Mary leaning casually against her front door, "people are going to start calling the cops if you keep lurking out here."

James blinks, trying to keep his anxiety in check. "I'm not lurking."

"You look pretty lurky to me."

"I'm just standing."

"And pacing."

James rolls his eyes. "Okay, yeah, and pacing."

"Outside my house. For hours."

James lets out a sigh, but instead of walking towards her sinks down onto the curb, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his head. He can't do this. He can't. He has to, but he can't.

After a few minutes he feels Mary sit beside him. She's cut her hair since he last saw her. He probably wouldn't have noticed except he's never seen her with short hair before—a tight, curly afro framing her face. It's jarring because it's different. Because it's new. Because he's known Mary since they were both eleven and suddenly she looks like an adult and he doesn't understand how that's happened. Part of him hates it. Wants things to stay as they were. Wants everyone to stay as they were.

It's childish and doesn't make him feel particularly good about himself.

"Does Lily know I'm out here?" he asks finally, after a long drawn out pause.

Mary snorts. "If Lily knew you were out here she would be out here."

James turns to look at her, trying and failing to work out her expression. No one hides their feelings quite as well as Mary. Not even Sirius. "And you...don't want that?" he asks finally.

"You don't want that," she corrects. "That's why you've been creeping up and down the pavement for the entire afternoon."

James pouts. "I haven't been creeping."

"Mmhm," Mary pulls out a small carton from her back pocket. Placing a cigarette between her fingers before she offers him the box. "Want one?"

James wrinkles his nose. "Hell sticks."

"Pardon moi?" Mary asks, slightly amused.

He nods at the cigarettes. "Fucking hell sticks. You and Lily, I don't know how you do it."

Mary smirks, sliding her's into her mouth and snapping her fingers to light it. "Lily isn't smoking anything at the moment," she says, inhaling deeply and a second later tilting her head back and blowing the smoke up into the sky. "Y'know, you have real shit timing."

James just looks at her, not sure what to make of that, causing Mary to wave her hand impatiently. "Dropping this all on her when she's pregnant. I mean, there are the obvious reasons it makes you a complete dickhead."

"Thanks."

"No problem. But then there's the fact that she can't do any of the things you're supposed to do when someone breaks your heart."

James winces. He never wanted to break Lily's heart. Never thought he could. Always so certain it would be the other way around.

"She can't drink, can't smoke, can't do recreational substances of any kind," she takes another drag from her cigarette. "She could get a haircut I suppose."

"Is that why you cut yours?" James asks before he can stop himself.

Mary looks at him out of the corner of her eye. "Wouldn't you like to know."

There's a moment of silence before eventually James groans, scrubbing at his face and then holding out his hand. "Fuck it. Give me one of those."

Mary smirks, passing the carton over and watching with increasing amusement as James awkwardly places a cigarette in his mouth.

"You've gotta inhale alright?" Mary says as she positions her fingers at the tip.

James rolls his eyes at her. "I know how it works," he mumbles around the cigarette. Mary only grins, snapping her fingers and making the tip glow. James breathes in and instantly regrets every decision he's made in the last few seconds.

The smoke scorches his throat and lungs, and the scratchy dry heat instantly has him coughing, smoke pouring from his mouth.

Mary laughs. "Oh my god, you are tragic."

James glares at her through his watering eyes, before leaning over and spitting on the ground. "These things are vile," he says, bringing it back to his lips for some reason and inhaling again. It's almost an automatic response. It still feels awful the second time but the coughing is somewhat more sedated. "Merlin, I'm so glad neither of you showed these to Sirius."

Mary snorts. "Never. That wanker would make them his entire personality."

James laughs and it feels good, even if he coughs a little bit afterwards.

For a while they just sit there, James very much aware that Mary is waiting for him to speak. To explain himself. He just...doesn't know where to start.

"How is she then?" he finally manages, dreading the answer.

Mary gives him a bemused look. "How's who? You're pregnant girlfriend whomst you lied to and cheated on?" Mary lets out a long exhale, smoke easing from the corner of her mouth. "She's peachy."

"Mary," he says wearily.

"What?" for the first time there's the tiniest edge of anger in her tone. Honestly, James is surprised it's taken this long to show up. "What would you like me to say?" and when he just continues to stare at her she rolls her eyes. "She's...she's confused mostly, if you want to know the truth. It's like you've gone and changed it all. She thought she knew you, thought she knew your relationship, and then suddenly everything is different," Mary exhales. "It's a lot to adjust to."

James fidgets with the cigarette in his hand more than he smokes it, rolling it between his fingers, knocking the ash off the end, knee bouncing up and down.

"I didn't want to hurt her," he cringes at himself. It's such a generic phrase it belongs on a greeting card.

Mary lets the silence stretch on for an unnecessarily long time. Lets James sit in his embarrassment. "You didn't want to hurt her," she repeats finally. "Or you didn't want her to feel hurt?"

That knocks James sideways. "What?"

Mary pauses again, forcing him to meet her stare. "Have you ever had someone apologize to you by saying "I'm sorry you're upset"? Not "I'm sorry I did it" not "I was wrong" but I'm sorry you're upset? I'm sorry you're making this a problem—"

"That isn't what I mean."

Mary arches her brow. "You sure about that?"

"I—" but his voice cuts out. Truth is, James isn't sure of very much at the moment. He sighs, frustrated, trying to get his thoughts in order for the thousandth time that day.  

"I guess maybe I..." he looks very determinedly at his hands, "Maybe I thought that—I hoped that..." he trails off, laughing without humour. "That it wouldn't hurt her, I guess. That maybe she would understand," he briefly squeezes his eyes shut, forcing these vulnerable dreams out into the world. The ones that now taste like ash in his mouth. "I hoped that maybe we were meant to be this way, you know? That I was meant to be with them both. And they would be able to feel that too," his next inhale shakes. "I really wanted her to understand. Because it just doesn't...feel wrong to me."

He can sense Mary scrutinizing him, dark, clever eyes running him over. "Being with Regulus?" she asks neutrally, tone unreadable.

James shakes his head. "Loving them both," he opens his eyes. "It doesn't feel wrong loving them both. I know that it's supposed to. But that itch that tells you you're doing the wrong thing, it was never there. Or at least never here," he taps his chest.

Mary watches him for a moment longer before letting out a heavy sigh. "Merlin, you really are a disaster aren't you?"

That surprises James into a laugh, grateful for the break in tension. "Yeah, absolutely."

"I mean you've fucked this up about as much as you possibly could."

"I realize that."

"And I will vehemently deny this if you tell anyone," Mary goes on, pulling James's attention away from his hands, "and if Lily decides she wants to leave you I will be right there with her, cheering her on, boxing up her stuff," the image makes James's stomach twist painfully. "But I'm still rooting for you James Potter."

A slight prickling sensation suddenly materializes behind James's eyes that he has to quickly blink away. He wasn't expecting that from Mary. Not after...everything. "Oh," he says, and then, before he can stop himself; "Still? I wasn't aware you were rooting for me in the first place."

Mary snorts, knocking his shoulder with her's, James returning the gesture. He takes a drag of his cigarette, just to distract himself from the emotions swelling in his stomach and maybe give him an excuse for the wetness in his eyes. Cars drive past along the street, the sound of children playing echoing from somewhere a few houses down.

Something tugs at James's chest. A new feeling of guilt—or perhaps more accurately, an old feeling resurfacing. It's been a long time since him and Mary have talked. Properly talked. Something has lodged itself between them, built a wall neither of them seemed willing to acknowledge or climb. But things have changed now. Everything is in the open.

"Listen, I've been meaning to—" he stops, grimacing at the business like tone of his voice. He clears his throat and tries to start again, hands shaking so badly he has to drop his cigarette, putting it out with the heel of his trainer. Mary watches him curiously.

"What happened to you...at school—" frustratingly his voice cuts out again, but he sees understanding light up Mary's face.

"Ah," she says. "Yes, being attacked and then having my memory completely fucked by your boyfriend. Please do go on. I'm interested to see where this goes."

James grimaces. Mary has the uncanny ability to put things in a way that allows you no escape. Like having the lights turned on. The curtains pulled back. The mask torn off. James's mouth has suddenly gone dry.

"I'm sorry," the limits of the English language have never been more apparent to him than in this moment. Because that isn't close to what he means. To how much he means.

Mary's face remains unreadable. "I'm going to need you to be more specific. What exactly are you sorry for?"

Regulus is suddenly sitting between them. Maybe he's been there the whole time. Maybe he's been there for years. The wall they didn't want to acknowledge. To climb over.

Eventually James forces himself to speak. "I wanted to be there for you."

She nods slowly. "Funny way of showing it."

"I know," James cringes. "I know, it just felt like—" he tries to explain. "At the time, it just felt like so much was happening all at once and it was all so big and so fucking awful and I just...I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to handle any of it." It isn't that he can't hear how that sounds. How inadequate. But that doesn't stop it from being true. He hadn't known what to do.

He'd only been sixteen.

"But I should have been there for you," he's saying this all wrong. "I should have...figured it out sooner. What to do. What was right." It still isn't good enough. Nothing ever will be.

Silence follows. The noise of James's own pulse loud in his ears. He's sweating despite the cold.

"And what if I can't forgive you?" Mary asks finally. It isn't angry. Isn't mean. She looks at him with honest curiosity.

"That's not why I'm apologizing," he says. "I don't want anything from you Mary. I just—I needed you to know. That I'm sorry. That I haven't forgotten. That I'll never forget." He sounds like a little kid and he can't help wondering when that'll stop. When do adults start sounding like adults?

There's silence, but after a few seconds of tension Mary knocks their shoulders together again. "Thank you," the words sound awkward and stiff in her mouth. She really is so much like Sirius.

He doesn't know how to respond—he certainly isn't about to say "you're welcome." Thankfully, Mary saves him the trouble.  

"It never really stopped after then, did it?"

James can feel his face scrunching in confusion. "What do you mean?"

She waves her cigarette in the air. "Things happening all at once. Big things. Awful things. Things none of use knew how to handle. It feels like it started then, started with that, and then it just..." she trails off, gesturing into the distance.

James waits a moment before nodding. He feels like he hasn't been able to catch his breath in ages.

"There's only four of them now."

James looks at her. "Four of who?"

"Them," she repeats, staring across the street. And then she holds her hand up and begins ticking names off on her fingers: "Snape, Mulciber, Avery and Crouch," there's something sharp in her voice. Something that wants to slice and tear and rip things apart. "Two dead. Four living," and now she turns to James. "I'm gonna outlive them all. Just to fucking spite them. Live until the last one of them takes their finally pathetic breath. Hell," the corner of her mouth twitches upward, "maybe I'll even kill them myself."

From anyone else that would be a figure of speech. A bit of drama. But from Mary, it is almost certainly a promise.

Before anymore can be said she's dropping her cigarette in the gutter and getting to her feet. "Well, are you ready?"

"Ready?"

"To talk to Lily? You know, the whole reason you're here?"

"Oh," James's stomach instantly drops into the soles of his shoes. "Yeah, I—yeah, okay," he moves to get up too but Mary waves him off.

"Nah, stay there. If she decides to murder you I don't want blood on my carpet. Real pain to get out that, even with magic."

Despite his nerves he can't help but snort. "Appreciate the vote of confidence Macdonald."

"Anytime Potter," she calls over her shoulder as she heads back towards the house.

But something isn't quite sitting right with James. "Hey—Mary?" he calls out, stopping her at the door. She turns around with an exasperated look on her face. Probably expecting him to chicken out, but that isn't what it is.

"What I said before, about wishing I could have been there for you," he sees the smallest flicker of surprise before she wipes it away. "That isn't—that isn't really what I was trying to say. I mean, it is, but there's more than that. I feel like it makes it seem like—"

"You're babbling Potter."

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair and tries to get his thoughts in order. "I wish I could have been there for you then, but I also want you to know that I'm here for you now. If you need to talk. If you need..." he loses his words. "If you need anything, okay? I'm here."

Mary just stares at him, expression blank, and after a few seconds James can't stop himself from saying more.

"You're the strongest person I know Mary, honestly. Which is saying something, considering the people I know. You can handle it all on your own, I just—you shouldn't have to."

Something flashes in her eyes that he can't quite place. "I'm just as the world made me."

James flounders. Not knowing what to say. Not even quite knowing what she means. Clearly seeing what a loss he's at, Mary takes pity on him.

"I'll let you know if I need anything, alright Potter?"

"Yeah," he manages, breathing out a sigh of relief. "Yeah alright, deal."

She doesn't say anything else, turning around and heading back inside.

J ames watches the door, hands rubbing nervously up and down his thighs. He feels like he hasn't seen Lily in ages and he fucking misses her. But as more time passes he starts to worry that maybe she isn't coming. That she doesn't want to speak to him. It was always a possibility, just one he was hoping was really, really unlikely. That might have been optimistic of him.

Then the door opens.

And she's there.

James has a visceral memory of the first time he ever saw Lily. He had never felt anything as strongly or as suddenly as he'd felt the urge to be near her. To get her attention, to make her laugh, smile. Of course, he didn't manage much of that in those first years—there was a lot more indignation and glaring. Not that it mattered. He had just wanted the chance to orbit around her for a few minutes. Few seconds.

"Hey," she says, causing James to come back to the present.

He's stood up...for some reason...Lily by the door, like she isn't sure if it's safe to come any closer. Looking at her still makes him feel the same as it did when he was eleven—like he never wants to be anywhere Lily isn't ever again. Except that now that feeling is tied up in guilt and sadness and a bunch of fucking pain.

"Hey," James finally manages.

Neither of them move. The world suddenly going quiet, like it's just them. Lily looks tired, and not entirely pleased to see him, but she isn't aiming her wand at him so James figures that's at least something.

"I thought maybe we should...talk." He braces himself for rejection. He's had lots of practice being rejected by Lily Evans. If she tells him to go he will. It'll break his fucking heart but he will.

"Yeah," Lily says eventually, "okay." James sees her take a deep breath before she starts walking forward.

He'd thought the hardest thing was not seeing her, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe it's harder to see her and know that in some profound way he has lost the privilege of belonging to her. Of having her. Of being had.

He clears his throat. "Er—well, I guess maybe we should..." he gestures to the curb like he's pulling out a chair and sees the faintest flicker of a smile on her face.

"Right, sure."

They both sit down on the cold ground, James quickly casting a warming charm. He sees Lily stiffen the moment he does, eyes closing for a second.

"Sorry," he doesn't know how he's managed to screw this up already. "I can get rid of it if it bothers you, I just thought...because of the cold..."

Lily shakes her head. "No, it's fine I...I guess it's been a little while since I've felt your magic," she opens her eyes and gives him a weak smile. "Wasn't expecting it to...effect me quite so much."

James isn't sure what to do with that, doesn't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing. Wishes he could wipe the sadness out of Lily's eyes.

"You wanted to talk?" she says, after an overly long pause.

"Oh—yeah, I—yeah," he sighs, scrubbing at his face. He needs a second, to get his thoughts in order. He's thrown off by...by whatever they are right now. There's never really been silence between them before. There was anger and passion and friendship and love but never...restraint. Never fear. He thinks that might be what hurts the most. That when she looks at him now, there is fear hidden in the corners of her eyes.

Eventually James reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small vial of clear liquid.

"What—" but Lily stops, and James can practically see the cogs turning in her head. Narrowing down potions by colour, consistency, relevancy. What could James have possibly brought with him here?

"Veritaserum?" she almost whispers, eyes bouncing from the vial to his face and back again.

James nods without really looking up at her, turning the potion over in his hands. "I reckon that you probably don't have...the most trust in me right now," he grimaces. "Which is fair. But I don't want you to have to wonder whether or not I'm telling the truth, you know?"

He looks up and finds her eyes wide—he's never seen anything quite like them, her eyes. He swears they're made of magic.

She's so lovely.

His Lily.

It's hard to think that and not feel as though he's betraying Regulus. But it's true. They were always his. Or maybe, more accurately, he was always their's. He belonged to them. Both of them.

His grief doesn't make him love Lily less.

He simply is...less.

Less without Regulus.

"I can't ask you to do this James," she says finally.

Now it's his turn to give her a sad smile. "You aren't asking. I am. Let me do this Lily—let me make this..." he searches for the right words. "As easy as it can be."

She considers him, green eyes thoughtful as they run him over, and he lets her. James Potter has never been one to hide his feelings. Slowly, Lily nods.

"What do you want me to ask you?"

"Whatever you want."

"James," she cautions, because it is quite something to open yourself up completely, to set no boundaries, to place all your inner thoughts and feelings on display, even the ones you didn't realize you had. But then, it seems only fair, after everything that's happened.

"Whatever you want Lils," he says again. "I trust you."

She bites her lower lip, still looking uncertain. "Okay," she says quietly. "Don't take too much."

He smiles at her. "You got it," he pulls the cork out with his teeth, swallowing a mouthful before he can get too nervous. "That oughta give us, what? An hour?"

Lily nods. "About, yeah."

"I can always take more if you need me to." He puts the cork back in the bottle and slides it into his jacket pocket.

"I'm sure an hour will be enough."

He can already feel the effects taking hold. The buzzing beneath his skin, the loosening of the dozens of knots tying his truths down, allowing them all to float to the surface.

"Okay," James says after a few more minutes, turning to face Lily properly. "I'm pretty sure we're good."

She looks at him, Lily's always had the ability to pin him to the spot.

"Are you okay?" she asks finally, which isn't what he was expecting at all. He can feel his brows drawing up in surprise while his mouth opens:

"No."

He can't help laughing. Maybe it's nerves. Or the desire to avoid the weight of that confession.

Lily only nods, taking it in. "The day of the attack on the Ministry, was that the only time you saw Regulus after he left school?"

"No," the answer is once again out of him before he has any real time to think, Lily's face instantly clouding over. "He was one of the Death Eaters who broke into the shop me and Marlene were guarding," he explains quickly. "That's the only other time I saw him."

"You never went to his house?"

James shakes his head. "Just that once."

"Never wrote to him?"

James swallows, thinking of the letter back at the cottage, the one he's been rereading almost every night since he first opened it. "Not after Hogwarts," he manages finally.

"But—" her voice cuts out and she grits her teeth. "But you loved him? Until the end?"

"Still," James winces. "I still love him."

Lily lets out a tragic sounding laugh. Running her hands over her face as she shakes her head, looking away. James has the overwhelming urge to reach out to her, but he keeps his hands balled in his lap.

"Ask me if I love you too," he says instead.

"God, James—"

"Please. Ask me if I love you."

She looks back at him, eyes glassy. Angry. Disappointed. It feels like a long time before she speaks. "Do you love me?"

"Yes," the word runs out of his mouth. It hurts when he sees actual surprise on her face. "Of course, I love you."

Lily looks down for a minute, clearly struggling with herself.

"You know," she says, after a long pause. "I really didn't think that was going to be the answer."

"Lily—"

"Not under the Veritaserum."

"I love you. I promise."

Lily blinks a few times, tears spilling over her cheeks that she quickly wipes away. "I don't—I don't really see how that's possible James."

He hates this.

"It is. I promise it is."

More tears make it down her face and she lets out a frustrated noise, tilting her head back and closing her eyes.

"I fucking hate crying in fights," she says, only barely talking to James. "It makes me feel so...out of control. So weak."

"You aren't weak."

She scoffs, "You don't think?"

And he isn't sure what to do with that—what she means by it. Lily opens her eyes again, scrubbing angrily at her face with the sleeve of her jacket.

"I want to come home so badly," she whispers, not looking at James. "I miss you—talking to you, touching you, falling asleep with you. After everything that's happened, how can wanting that not make me weak?"

James swallows with difficulty. "I'm not sure I can answer that question."

"No," Lily laughs and sniffles at the same time, wiping her nose. "No I suppose you can't." She stares down at her hands, picking them apart for a minute before she speaks again. "Do you—" her voice wobbles. "Do you still want this baby?"

James feels like the air has just been punched out of his lungs. "Yes."

"Is that the reason you stayed? After you went to Grimmauld? Was it the baby?"

He shakes his head even though she still isn't looking at him. "No. I love you. I want to be with you."

"As much as you wanted to be with him?" and finally her eyes flick up, making James's heart do all manner of clumsy things in his chest.

"Yes," he whispers. She doesn't let him go, gaze holding him down.

"Was I your second choice? Regulus left school and then we got together, if he had stayed—"

James shakes his head. "We'd already...finished, before he left. He—" James has to take a moment, eyes squeezing shut. "I thought I could...I don't know...get him to see things differently. But he—it all went a bit wonky sixth year. All went a bit...wrong."

His chest grows tight at the memories. At how lost and how scared and how overwhelmed he'd felt. How hard it had been to make sense of the boy he knew and the person who had hurt his friend. Had gotten the Dark Mark branded on his skin.

He hadn't wanted to accept it.

Honestly, he still struggles to.

James exhales, forcing his eyes open again, finding Lily watching him carefully.

"You aren't a replacement or a second choice is what I'm trying to say," he finally manages, before giving her small smile. "I mean, you're Lily Evan's for Godric's sake."

Lily lets out a wet laugh, shaking her head. "I still don't know what that means."

"That's because you get to be you all the time. The rest of us have to go without you every once and a while. Have to experience how flat life becomes when you're not around."

She rolls her eyes. "Sounds terrible."

"It is," his voice is more sincere than he intends, maybe it's the Veritaserum. For a moment it feels like they're both holding their breath.

Eventually Lily shakes her head. "I don't know where we go from here."

James takes in a shaky breath. "Come home."

"James—"

"Not because everything is fixed," he explains quickly. "I know that it isn't. And I'll—you know—I'll sleep in Sirius's room, whatever you need, to feel comfortable. But come home so we can...try." He looks at her imploringly. "I want to try Lily. Don't you?"

He can see her arguing with herself and he does his best not to push anymore. Not to fidget, not to look away, not to let the fear in his gut show on his face. Because what if she doesn't? What will he do then?

"Okay," she says the word slowly, like she's testing out how it feels on her tongue.

James does his best to keep his bouncing heart under control. "Yeah?"

"Not because everything is fixed," she repeats his words back to him. "But because I want to try."

James nods his head vigorously. "Yes, okay, yes. That's—thank you." And suddenly James can't help it anymore. "Can I—can I hug you?"

Lily looks surprised for a moment and then her face softens. "Yeah James, you can hug me."

Less then a second later she's in his arms, holding him as close as he holds her. James feels his whole body relax at the contact, burying his face in her hair and breathing her in. Warmth sings through his veins, making him feel...settled. James will never be full again, but at least here, in Lily's arms, he doesn't feel quite so fucking empty.

"Okay," she sighs, pulling back much to James's dismay. She meets his eyes, her's a little red but determined. "Let me get my stuff."

It isn't until the moment that they walk through the front door that James remembers his house is full of Marauders.

"Shit," he says, as loud, belligerent yelling comes from the kitchen. "I forgot they were here." Well, he didn't forget exactly, he's just gotten so used to them being there that he forgot that they aren't usually.

"You really think you can beat me? Really?"

"Of course I think I can beat you! You don't know anything about strategy! You just make things up!"

"Been working pretty well for me in Chess."

"Because you're cheating!"

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

James turns to Lily who, thankfully, instead of looking angry or horrified, is laughing.

"I can tell them to go—I mean—I will tell them to go, obviously," he ignores the part of him that desperately doesn't want to, even though Lily is here now. It's been nice, the four of them back together these past few days, living with one another, like old times. It's been too easy to get used to it. Get comfortable with it. It's the only good thing to come out of any of this really.

"Are they all here?" Lily asks.

"Yeah—like I said, I'll tell them to—"

But Lily waves him off. "No don't, I haven't seen them in ages." She puts her bag down, coat and boots already off, shoving James towards the kitchen.

"C'mon lets go see what all the yelling is about."

"You're sure?" James asks nervously. "Because I swear I'll throw the dickheads out, right now."

Lily lets out a small huff. "I'm sure. Go on."

He wonders if maybe she feels it too—the anxiety about being alone together. About having to try to go back to normal. About how wrong it'll all feel now, their house, their life, everything changed.

"You can't just make up your own rules and pretend you're winning!" Peter's face is bright red as he shouts at a considerably less bothered Sirius. Remus appears to be staunchly trying to ignore them both, nose in a book, a cup of tea in his free hand.

"All rules are made up Peter, you do know that don't you? They aren't naturally occurring phenomena. Some bloke somewhere just decided that this was how things we're gonna be. Well, I'm also some bloke and I decide that things should go differently."

"That's—that's not how games work!"

"That's not how anything works," Remus adds flatly, not looking up from his book.

But Sirius doesn't appear bothered by either of these remarks, shrugging his shoulders, a lazy grin hanging from his mouth. "Maybe not for you lot. But it's certainly how it works for me."

James can't help snorting, bringing both Peter and Sirius's attention towards them, Remus, of course, doesn't look up from his book.

Well, at least not until Peter says: "Lily?"

"Lily?" Remus repeats.

Sirius is already out of his seat, Lily meeting him halfway, the two embracing—Sirius even lifts her a little bit off the ground. "Hey beautiful," he says gently, the address lacking its usual cheekiness.

"Hey," she says softly, pulling back but not too far, just enough to look at him. "How're you doing? I've been thinking about you."

Sirius smirks but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "What? About little old me?" and when Lily doesn't let go; "I'm alright Evans. You know...what about you?"

Her mouth twitches. "You know." That makes Sirius laugh.

"Hey," Remus comes up beside James, pulling his attention away from the other couple. "Do you want us to get out of here?" he asks in a quiet voice.

James looks back at Lily, her and Sirius speaking in low tones he can't quite make out. He realizes he's a little jealous, though he isn't exactly sure of who. After a moment he shakes his head.

"No, Lily said she wanted you to stay," and when Remus looks skeptical; "I want you to stay too."

It's hard to explain, how it feels to have them here. His boys. Together. How much he needs it. How much it's holding him together right now. He wonders if they feel the same. None of them have questioned it, the way they've all just started living together. Peter still goes to work, Sirius occasionally called away on Order business—James hasn't been asked to do anything recently, and he suspects that's Frank's doing—but none of them have even hinted that they need to go home. And he's grateful.

"What do you say Wormtail?" Sirius's voice pulls James out of his thoughts. "You ready for that game of Exploding Snap?"

"Best two out of three?" Peter asks as he gets out of his seat.

"You're on."

"I call playing the winner!" Lily sings, Sirius herding her towards the living room. She meets James's eye on her way out and he thinks he sees her smile grow a little tight. He tries not to let it get to him.

"Hey," Remus nudges him after the others have left, Pete and Sirius arguing about who draws first as they shuffle down the hall. "You alright?"

James tries to smile. "Sure."

Remus gives him a skeptical look but all James can do is shrug.

"She came back," he says finally. "I don't think I can ask for more than that right now."

Remus reaches out, squeezing his arm.

"Oi!" Peter's voice carries from the living room. "What do you think you're doing!"

"Shuffling," Sirius responds.

"The hell you are, I don't fucking trust you—give me those, I'm shuffling."

"Well who says I trust you?"

"Boys, boys," Lily cuts in. "I'll shuffle."

Remus gives James a small smile, "C'mon," he says, nodding his head towards the front of the house. "Lets go make sure they don't kill each other, yeah?"

"Just like old times isn't it?" James says, doing his best to ignore the ache in his chest.

The desire to go back and do it all differently.

In the end Peter beats Sirius.

And Lily beats Peter.

And Remus.

By which point they're all half-asleep. Too tired to even make it upstairs. Carpets and sofas are transfigured into mattresses until eventually the whole living room is nothing but beds and blankets. Peter is snoring before James has even flicked off the lights, Sirius and Remus lying close to one another, James and Lily on either side of them. For a brief moment their eyes meet.

Good night

Lily mouths, making James's breath hitch. He resists the urge to crawl over to her.

Good night

He eventually mouths back.

It takes him a while to fall asleep.

"I just don't understand why we can't help," Sirius says the next morning, unable to keep an entirely straight face as him and James tease Remus who is currently attempting to make them breakfast.

"Yeah, me and Padfoot are well good cooks," James adds from his place on the counter, feet banging into the cupboards below. Peter is slumped over the table still half-asleep, Lily on the otherside of Remus chopping fruit.

"Lily gets to help," Sirius point out petulantly.

"Yes well," the pan Remus is standing over begins to sizzle, "that's because I can trust Lily not to cut off her own fingers," and then, with a significant look at Sirius, "or anyone else's."

Sirius lets out a dramatic gasp. "Prongs did you hear that?"

"Sure did, sounds like he's questioning your knife skills."

"An affront to my honour!"

Remus shakes his head, carefully pouring batter into the pan, tilting it gently this way and that until the whole surface area is covered. It's honestly fascinating to watch.

"I'm French after all," Sirius goes on.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Lily asks, popping a strawberry into her mouth. James tries not to notice the way the juices turn her lips red, looking down at his knuckles instead.

"Um, he's making crêpes," Sirius says. "The food of my people."

"The food of your people," Remus mutters, hip checking Sirius out of the way and sliding the newly made crêpe onto a plate with the rest of them before starting the whole process over again.

Sirius looks like he's gearing up for a big speech when there's tapping on the window. All of them turn to see the little brown owl waiting impatiently with the Prophet in its beak.

Remus gives Sirius another shove. "There, you want to be helpful? Go get the paper."

"But I—"

"Go on, get!"

Rolling his eyes Sirius heads towards the window, muttering something like "my talents wasted" as he goes.

"Lily, did we remember the blackberries?" Remus asks, not taking his eyes off the pan in front of him.

"Uh—yeah, they must be around here somewhere," she starts spinning about herself, eyes roaming over the chaos of groceries on the counter. James is pretty sure they bought out the whole supermarket.

"On your left."

Her eyes flick up to his and for a moment the pair freezes. He can't tell anymore, if the electricity between them is a good thing or a bad thing.

James clears his throat. "The blackberries. They're on your left," he points with his finger.

Lily blinks. "Oh," she pushes a few things aside to get to them, "...thanks."

James is about to say "you're welcome" or something equally stiff and boring, when Peter interrupts:

"Sirius are you okay?"

They all turn their heads, even Remus, who had previously been very reluctant to look away from his crêpes. Sirius is standing at the window, newspaper in hand, owl long gone, just staring at the front page.

"Sirius?" James asks, slipping off the counter, but it's Remus who walks across the room towards him, Lily waving her wand to turn the heat off the food before it burns.

Sirius doesn't look up or give any indication that he's heard anything, just keeps standing there, completely frozen. James feels something heavy forming in the pit of his stomach.  

"Sirius?" Remus asks again, now at his side, hand brushing against Sirius's lower back.

Sirius starts, lifting his head so that James can appreciate how pale he's gotten. "Shit, sorry, zoned out," he says in a falsely cheery voice, tossing the paper off to the side and walking back towards the food. "So, are we done? I'm fucking starving."

He grabs the plate of finished crêpes, flicking his wand so that the fruit follows him as he sits down at the table with a very startled looking Peter. Lily has to scramble to grab hold of the precariously placed knife on the cutting board now following Sirius across the room.

"Fuck this looks good," Sirius says, starting to somewhat manically fill his plate. "Well, go on Pete, dig in."

Peter looks surprised to have been acknowledged and then quickly turns to James with a clear "what do I do?" look on his face. James just nods, and so, warily, Peter starts to eat.

Remus has now taken Sirius's place, standing by the window, staring wide eyed at the front page of the paper.

"Moons?" James finally asks. Remus looks up, eyes drifting to Sirius and then back to James, who arches his brow in question.

"It's Orion," Remus says finally, voice strained as he turns the paper around so they can see the giant moving photo of Orion Black—surely taken several years ago at some Ministry function. He's dressed in fancy robes and grinning in a way that twists James's stomach—reminding him too much of Regulus. "He's dead."

That information really shouldn't be so shocking, considering the shape he'd been in the last time James saw him. But for some reason he still feels his heart catching.

"Shit," Peter looks across the table at Sirius who has not put down his fork, not lifted his head to look at anyone, eyes focused intently on his plate. Remus drops into the seat next to him, James and Lily still frozen in place. None of them really knowing what to say or do.

Sirius seems to swallow with some difficulty, letting the silence stretch on for a good long while before he finally speaks.

"Bad time to be a Black, huh?"

His laughter doesn't reach his eyes.

The boys stay for a few more days after that. Though no one talks about why, especially Sirius. He doesn't mention his father's name once and when anyone tries to bring it up he becomes intensely focused on some task or another—hoovering or looking through Lily's records or broom polishing. But eventually, they do have to leave.

"I'll come by a couple times after work maybe?" Peter says as he pulls away from a hug with Lily.

"That'd be nice Pete," she says, smiling.

"Thanks Wormtail," James wraps his arms around him. Peter was shorter than him when they were kids but they're practically the same height now, a fact James always forgets until moments like this. "For...you know."

He can feel Peter nod against his shoulder. "Of course."

It's a bit harder, letting Remus and Sirius go.

James isn't sure how long Sirius and him stand at the front door hugging one another. Probably an embarrassingly long time but he doubts either Lily or Remus are surprised.

"You can come back, if you need," James says, feeling Sirius nod.

"Yeah I know. Always welcome right?"

James squeezes him tighter. "I'll even make you your disgusting tea."

"Fuck off Potter."

James laughs, turning his head and kissing Sirius's temple, feeling the other boy sag into him a little more. "We can still be happy," he whispers.

This time it's Sirius who squeezes, before reluctantly pulling back. "I believe you," he gives James a half-hearted grin.

"I'll take care of him," Remus says, when it's his turn.

"Take care of you too, okay?"

Remus lets out a huff. "I'll try."

And then they're gone. Leaving James and Lily alone in an empty house.

Things are tense.

They don't...fight, but they don't...talk much either. James moves into Sirius's bedroom, starts going into the Ministry again, helping Frank train the Aurors in flying combat. Lily has her own jobs, though, of course, James has no idea what they are. So avoiding one another is fairly easy. And that is what they're doing, as much as James doesn't want to admit it.

For the first time James thinks he really understands the term "small talk" because every time they speak it all feels tiny. Little words, with little meanings.

Hi.

Good morning.

Nice out today.

We need more milk.

The smaller the words get the tighter his chest feels. Like he's shrinking himself, trying to take up less space, apologizing for being there. For being in her life. A form of penance. James Potter, the loudest and biggest and brightest, shoving himself in a corner. Because maybe if he hadn't been so loud and big and bright he would have been able to see beyond himself. Maybe he would have been able to stop everything from going so wrong.

Weeks pass.

A new year begins that no one seems particularly enthused about.

Time drags on.

James said he would fix this. Said they could still be happy.

He wants to make good on those promises, but sometimes the weight in his chest is too much. The grief. The loss. Sometimes he thinks he's mourning Lily as much as Regulus.

Then, one day, he comes home and finds her sitting at the kitchen table.

"Oh," he stops in the doorway. "Hi."

By and large the two of them have been spending very little time in common areas, both preferring to hide in their rooms.

She gives him a weak smile. "Hi," and then, clearing her throat. "Sit?"

James's heart drops into the pit of his stomach as he sinks into the seat across from her. He doesn't like where this is going at all, knee bouncing nervously up and down under the table.

"James—"

"Look," he cuts in, leaning forward. "I know I haven't been doing this right, that I said I wanted you to come back so that we could try and then I've just been...staying out of your way."

"James—"

"But it's only because I don't know how to—to start I guess? And I don't want to push too hard. I want to give you time and space and, y'know," he runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "But I've let this go on for too long and it probably feels like I'm not putting any effort in at all. But I swear I am—or, I want to be. I just—just need to figure out—"

"James," she speaks loud enough to shut-up the spiralling thoughts in his head, causing his eyes to snap up and meet her's. She doesn't look angry, just a little exasperated, and if he's feeling generous, there might even be some fondness there.

"This doesn't all fall on you," she says finally.

"I'm the one who fucked it up though."

"Maybe, but I agreed to come back. Which means we're both responsible for making this work. And I haven't...haven't exactly been pulling my weight either," she chews on her bottom lip for a moment before confessing: "I think I'm scared, to be honest with you."

James gives her a weak smile. "Yeah," he croaks, "me too."

"I've been talking to Alice," she says eventually. "And she thinks it might be good for us to...see someone."

James blinks, forehead scrunching in confusion. "See someone?"

Lily has started picking at her fingers the way she often does when she's nervous. Chewing on her words before she says them. "Yeah, like a...you know, a Mind Healer."

That word sits in the middle of the table. It's big and obtrusive and James can't see around it as much as he would like to.

"You think we need to go to therapy?" he doesn't know why that idea bothers him so much, except that somehow it feels like admitting defeat. That he failed in some way. That the two of them are...not strong enough to solve this themselves. His parents, after all, never needed to go to therapy.

Lily sighs. "I think...I think I don't know what I'm doing," she admits finally, looking up at him. "This...thing...between us, I don't know how to approach it. I don't know how to talk about it. It's too big."

"We can handle it," James says. "We can get past this, I know we can."

Lily looks at him sadly. "I hope so. But not on our own I don't think." And when James continues to stare at her, fighting his own internal battles, she eventually goes on. "Please," her voice is raw. "I think we need help. I need help."

I want to help. Let me.

But he swallows that thought, because despite all his inner protests, he knows she isn't wrong. Knows he's so far out of his depths right now that he can't tell which way is up or down.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah," even though it kills him to say it. "Lets...find a Mind Healer."

The look of relief on her face almost makes it worth it.

Their Mind Healer is a woman in her fifties named Katherine—she insists they use her first name. She has large, thick, purple rimmed glasses, that hang on a chain around her neck, shockingly white hair for someone who isn't that old, and a tendency to wear very chunky and colourful jumpers.

She's nice.

Though James doesn't think she necessarily likes him very much. Not that she's ever rude but often, when he answers a question, she'll tilt her head to the side and give him a patronizing smile that suggests she doesn't quite believe him.

James doesn't think he's lying. Exactly. But he's maybe...not being completely open. Trying to find the answers to her questions that he thinks she wants. That he's supposed to have. He's pretty good at reading people, at figuring out what's expected of him, he always has been. Except that every time he thinks he has the right answer he gets one of those looks, and an increasingly frustrated noise from Lily.

Personally, James feels like therapy is not at all what it's cracked up to be. Sure, things were tense before, the pair of them tiptoeing around one another. But at least they weren't fighting. Now though? Well...

"I don't understand why you're so pissed at me," James snaps. They've come home from their third session and Lily is stomping around the house, slamming cupboard doors.

"Because that was a colossal waste of our time, again!" she reaches for a bottle of beer and then, realizing the minute she has it in her hand that she can't actually drink it, glares viciously at it. Like its just greatly offended her.  

"Well I don't see why that's my fault," James shoots back. "You're the one who wanted to go to therapy not me!"

"To try to help us fix this," she slams the bottle so hard on the counter that James is honestly impressed it doesn't crack.

"Well it's not my fault it isn't working!"

"You're not even trying!"

Which James thinks is entirely unfair. "Yes I am!"

"Bullshit James, that's bullshit! You sit there like you're a politician giving fucking press releases!"

"What the fuck does that mean?" James's hands have curled into fists. Lily rolls her eyes which only infuriates him more. "No, really Lily, what the fuck does that mean? What the fuck do you want from me? You wanted to run away to Mary's—"

"Run away?"

"So I let you go—"

"Oh how fucking gracious of you."

"You wanted to go to therapy, I'm going to therapy. I'm sitting in a room with some lady that we don't even know and I'm—"

"Doing nothing!" Lily cuts him off. "You're doing nothing. You're giving nothing—therapy is work James. You have to be willing to do the work, to look at yourself, to be honest. I swear to god we sit in that room and I feel like we've gone back to being thirteen years old with you acting like some pompous dickhead."

James throws up his arms up in frustration. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"You're putting on an act!" she shouts back. "You're putting on an act James, that's what I'm talking about and it's not goddamn helpful. It's the fucking reason we're here in the first place. You keep trying so hard to be this perfect person—this person you think people want and you end up hiding all this shit from everyone. It's not healthy and we can't—I can't do this if I don't even know who the fuck I'm doing it with."

Her face is flush, hair falling out of the bun at the back of her head.

"I mean, who are you James? Do you even know?"

That strikes a nerve, one that cuts right through him, hot and sharp. Which should maybe make him pause, make him take a deep breath. But James is too fired up to do anything but be on the defensive.

"That's a stupid question—you're being ridiculous."

She shakes her head, running a hand over her face before pushing past him and heading for the door.

"Oh great, are you leaving again? Real helpful Lils! Go on then, go talk shit with Mary."

"Fuck you Potter!" she shouts as he follows her into the front hall.

"Yeah fuck you right back!" he snaps, the door slamming in his face.

Before he can stop himself he drives his fist into the wood in front of him, leaving behind a dent. Pain vibrates from his knuckles all the way up to his elbow, the splintered wood scratching up his hand, leaving it red and dotted with blood, already starting to swell. He could fix it in a second but he doesn't, preferring the ache to the emptiness he knows he'll feel when it's gone.

He does fix the door though, before grabbing his jacket and Apparating to Sirius and Remus's flat. It's a bit rude, admittedly, turning up unannounced, but he just can't stand it. Being in that house. If they're not home he'll go to Pete's. Or fucking Frank's. Anywhere.

"Oh," Remus says when he opens the door, blinking at James several times before stepping aside and gesturing him in. "Are you okay?"

James immediately starts to pace, hands running through his hair.

"Sorry, Sirius is out doing—well, I don't actually know what, presumably something for the Or—James your hand!"

"It's fine," James mutters, still pacing.

"It's bleeding."

"It's fine."

"Uh-huh, okay, I'm going to need you to sit down," Remus takes James firmly by the arm, and while he considers fighting him he ultimately allows himself to be dragged over to the sofa. Remus sits on the coffee table across from him, taking James's hand gently in his, he looks at it for a moment before his concerned eyes flick up to James.

"Who did you punch?"

James looks away. "My front door."

Remus hums. "Well, I mean, it could certainly have been worse." He pulls out his wand, James hissing at the sting of his healing spells. "Oh come on you big baby, it doesn't hurt that bad," Remus nudges his foot good-naturedly.

"So," he lets James have his hand back, putting his wand down on the table, "you wanna tell me why you punched a door?"

James sits back, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the floor. "I'm losing at therapy," he says eventually, causing Remus's eyes to widen.

"Okay, jeez, lots to unpack there," he lets out a breath. "You're in therapy?"

"Lily thought it would be a good idea," he kicks at the table leg. "She was fucking wrong."

"Because you're losing at it?"

"Exactly."

Remus is quiet for a minute, watching James. "Has it occurred to you that therapy isn't something you win or lose?"

James scoffs. "No."

"Well, that might be your first problem."

"Oh there's more than one? Goody."

Remus smiles dryly. "Tell me James, how exactly does one win at therapy?"

James shifts his glare from the floor to his mate, who laughs, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Listen, you said it, I'm just asking. Cause honestly, I have no idea."

James grumbles, trying to figure out exactly what it is that stops him from being...a hundred percent honest in these sessions. That makes him recoil at the idea of telling Katherine exactly how he feels, exactly what he's done.

"You...I don't know, you show them that you're not...broken. That they can't fix you. That you can do it yourself." James stares resolutely out the window, not willing to look at Remus, not willing to admit that he knows how ridiculous that sounds. Eventually he sighs.

"You know, my parents? They never fought. Not once. They were never mean to one another, never hurt one another, they never did anything worth fighting about. They were just...disgustingly in love. I think it might have fucked me up a bit honestly, seeing two people love that perfectly," he blows out a breath, aware of Remus's eyes on him, of the way he's listening intently. Remus has always been a good listener.

"I want to be like that, you know? But it feels like the way that I love is just...all it does is make everyone's lives harder. It's too much. It's too loud. Too overwhelming. I can't seem to rein it in. I do it all wrong. I love people all wrong. Or something—fuck—ignore me, I'm talking rubbish," he mutters, shaking his head.

Remus keeps watching him, long enough that James starts to fidget. "You don't know what they didn't tell you James," he says gently. "You don't know what their marriage was like behind closed doors. I don't think—" he cuts himself off, biting his lower lip. "I mean, I'm no expert, but I don't think anyone loves perfectly. Fuck, I don't think anything that actually exists in real life is perfect."

James frowns. "Maybe," but he's not sure he agrees.

There's something sad in Remus's eyes that James can't stand, so he drops his gaze back down to the floor.

"You know," Remus says. "It's okay to be broken sometimes. After everything we've been through...I think we get to be a little broken."

James doesn't bother pointing out that he and Remus have not been through the same things. That Remus's life has been, by any measurement, far more difficult.

"What if—" he stops himself, taking a deep breath. "What if I can't be me and be broken?"

Remus's eyes widen but he still takes his time before he speaks. "What if that's the only way you can be you?"

James huffs out a laugh. "Merlin, this is getting too fucking philosophical."

Remus grins. "A bit yeah," and then, more sincerely. "Needing therapy doesn't mean you've lost James. Doesn't mean you love any worse than anyone else. So just, y'know, maybe let your guard down a little yeah? It might actually help."

James sighs, dropping his head back against the sofa. "Fine. I'll...try."

"Good boy."

He rolls his eyes, kicking Remus who kicks him back.

"How're you and Pads doing then? Things...better?"

Remus grimaces, tilting his head from side to side. "They're...I don't know. I get the feeling he's holding himself back. Which...is fair I guess. No use getting comfortable with someone who's constantly disappearing for weeks at a time. But..."

"You hate it?"

Remus laughs without much humour. "I fucking hate it. Makes me want to break things most days," he lets out a weary breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just keep thinking—when this war is over, we'll be okay. We just have to make it out of this. We just have to survive that long. Because I know we're meant to be together, I just fucking do. But not...like this. So if we can just hold our breath a little longer...except it's hard to see an end these days isn't it?"

He looks up at James who feels his chest grow tight. "Yeah."

"It feels like we're just gonna be trapped like this forever."

"That," James agrees, "or we'll, you know, die."

Remus lets out a startled laugh. "Fuck me, that's morbid. You really do need therapy."

"Oi!" James smacks Remus with one of the sofa pillows, which Remus promptly rips out of his hands and hits him back with.

When James gets home he can hear the sound of Lily's record player. He stands at the bottom of the stairs for a minute, taking a deep breath and trying to gather his courage. It's dark out, most of the lights in the house off, though as he climbs up to the second floor he can see the warm glow spilling out from under their bedroom door. Or, at least, what used to be their bedroom.

He knocks. "Can I come in?"

There's a pause, and he wonders if maybe she didn't hear him, but then:

"Yeah, you can come in."

Lily sounds almost as tired as James feels.

He finds her lying on her back on the floor, only the softest lamps in the room lit, giving the space an undeniably safe feeling. The song playing is by a Muggle band, James can't remember the name but he's heard them before. One of Lily's favourites.

Well, I've been afraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you

The haunting voice fills the room, aching with nostalgia.

But time makes you bolder

Even children get older

And I'm getting older too

James forces his feet to move, walking over to Lily and lying next to her on the carpet. They're close but not touching, both staring up at the ceiling, the lyrics washing over them.

"You were right," James exhales. He feels her turn her head but keeps his own eyes on the ceiling.

"I was right?" she repeats slowly.

James nods. "I've been—" he struggles for a moment, a part of him desperate not to give up this truth, this ugly insecurity, "trying to prove to myself—to you, to Katherine—that I don't need therapy. That we don't need therapy. And that isn't fair," he sighs, finally forcing himself to look at her. "I told you I would go, I told you I would try. I want to. I'm going to...be better. I promise."

She studies him for a moment, James unsure if the silence is a good thing or a bad thing until he feels her hand slipping into his. They touch so rarely these days that the contact sends electricity shooting through James's arm, his eyes dropping down to the place where they meet. Marvelling at them.

"Thank you," Lily says finally. And then; "I'm not just going to leave again you know," and when James looks at her confused; "I walked away today because I needed space. But I don't want you to worry that every time I'm upset now I'm just going to disappear for a few weeks. I made the decision to come back. So I'm here, a hundred percent. I'm not going anywhere okay?"

James finds himself squeezing her hand without even meaning to. "Okay," he whispers.

They don't talk too much after that, just listening to the music, lying beside one another. When James wakes up in the morning, the sun slipping through the window, and finds himself still on the floor, hand still wrapped up in Lily's, he can't help but think that this is the first time they've slept in the same room in months.

And something like hope starts to bloom in his chest.

PART IV LILY

Lily never thought much about being pregnant.

She thought a little about getting pregnant.

About giving birth.

About being a mum.

But the actual being pregnant bit she never spared much thought for. It isn't quite as exciting a daydream she supposes. It's only now that it's happening that she realizes what a mistake that was. That apparently there are lots of rules about being pregnant that everyone seems to know except her.

It's because all those people have mother's, whispers the cruel voice in the back of her head.

There are lists of things she can't eat or drink or do, and at least three potions she's never heard of that she's now drinking everyday. One of them is an anti-nausea potion and thank Merlin for that, because the term "morning sickness" is entirely inaccurate and, as far as Lily is concerned, far too cutesy for a condition that involves being hit with the overwhelming need to vomit at random moments throughout the day.

She feels completely ill-equipped to deal with being pregnant—this thing that is supposedly natural. Maybe that bodes poorly for her as a mother. Like if she had a proper maternal instinct she would know how to do all this already. Honestly, Lily has no idea. She never asked her mum what it was like being pregnant. She thought she would have more time.

At least she has Alice.

"This is it?" Lily asks warily as they stop outside a shop in Diagon Alley with painted pink bricks and white shutters. An enchanted baby doll is sitting on the sign laughing and giggling.

"Yup," Alice says, frowning slightly. "Bit...much, isn't it?"

"A bit, yeah."

"Do you want to turn around and go back to mine and eat crisps and gossip?"

Lily laughs. "Yes, but I should probably get like...a crib at least? I hear those are important."

"Mm," Alice agrees. "Alright then, lets give it a go shall we?" she smiles at Lily as she links their arms. "Maybe the inside won't be so..." she gestures at the giggling baby and Lily snorts.

Unfortunately, the inside very much is still so...

"Pink," Alice says, a little dumbfounded.

"And blue," Lily adds. It's like there's a wall dividing the store in two.

Alice walks over to a shelf with baby bottles made to look like tiny butterbeers and a onesie that says "Daddy's drinking buddy" on it. She scrunches her nose. "Really?"

On the other side of the aisle, there appears to be something with a tutu attached that says, in sparkling letters, "heartbreaker".

Lily can feel her anxiety mounting as she looks around the store. Whatever this is—she hates it. But what does that mean? Shouldn't she be excited to buy things for her baby? Isn't that a whole thing? Why does she suddenly feel like she can't breathe?

"Where did you get your stuff?" she asks Alice as they start cautiously making their way further into the store.

"Frank's mum mostly," she shrugs, squeezing some teddybears as they walk by who growl playfully at them. "She kept all his baby stuff so we're basically set."

"Oh," Lily hadn't even thought about that.

"I'm sure James will have a bunch of stuff, I can't imagine his parents throwing out anything he ever touched honestly," she smiles and Lily does her best to smile back, though she doesn't think she quite manages it. Alice's expression quickly dims. "Hey? What is it?"

Lily shakes her head, looking away for a minute, allowing her fingers to trail over a row of tiny baby towels they're walking by. "I just—" she isn't sure how to explain. "I really miss our flat."

Alice looks at her, a slightly confused expression on her face. "Your flat?"

"I know it wasn't anything special," certainly nothing like the Potter's cottage, "but it was...ours, you know? We went and saw it together, decided to rent it, filled it with all our crappy furniture and our tacky posters that didn't even have frames. And it was, you know, a complete disaster of course. But every inch of that place was ours. The two of us. The life we were building together."

She pauses, expecting Alice to speak, but she doesn't. Somehow knowing Lily has more to say.

"Now we live in his house," she goes on. "Surrounded by his stuff, his childhood, his family. We sleep in his room. And I'm just slotting myself in. Forcing myself into a space where I don't even know if I belong—"

"Lily," Alice says sadly, but she waves her off.

"Everything is his. But I want this baby to be ours, you know? I want to look at this kid and see myself too, and not just the next Potter heir," she sighs. "Does that sound mad?"

Alice shakes her head. "No. Not at all."

"Good, because I do feel a bit mad sometimes." They come to a stop in some random aisle.

"Do you have any of your stuff you could use?" Alice asks. "Old baby stuff I mean?"

"Dunno." She has vague memories of cleaning out her childhood home with Petunia after their mother died, but honestly it's all such a blur. She can't remember what they kept and what they threw away. "My sister would probably know."

"You should ask her," Alice says, not fully understanding how complicated that would actually be. "It might help for you to have some of your stuff around, you know? Some of your life?"

Lily makes a noncommittal noise, stepping a little too close to a shelf of pacifiers which all the sudden start making very suggestive sucking noises.

"Jesus," Lily jumps back. "Literally what the fuck?!"

Alice is laughing and somewhere by the cash Lily swears she hears someone muttering unhappily—no doubt the shop owner coming to tell them off.

"Okay, that's it, can we get out of here?" she grabs hold of a still giggling Alice, dragging her towards the exit.

"Your face!"

"Yeah, yeah," she pulls out of the aisle and almost runs right into a woman in what looks like an old candy striper outfit—pink pinafore, white collared shirt underneath. Cleary the shop owner.

"Oh, sorry," Lily says startled, stumbling back as Alice attempts to get herself under control.

The woman surveys them with an unhappy expression. "Can I help you girls with anything?"

"Actually my friend was really interested in those pacifiers—ow," Lily stomps on Alice's foot, giving the shopkeeper a forced smile.

"No, nothing, thank you. I think we're done looking."

The woman doesn't move at first, eyes running them up and down. "This is an adult store you know, the sweet shop is another block over."

With that she sniffs, head held high as she steps out of their way. For a moment Lily is too thrown to move. Neither Alice nor her are really showing yet, they've put on some weight, but they're wearing coats, and if you hadn't known them before than you might not notice their bellies. It's clear that when the shopkeeper looks at them she doesn't see two expecting mothers. She sees children. The idea that they're having babies probably seems ridiculous to her. Honestly, it seems a bit ridiculous to Lily too most days.

"C'mon Lily," Alice takes the lead, pulling Lily towards the door and back out onto the street.

It's snowing now, Alice tugging her hat down over her ears as Lily follows her along the road. She wonders what it'll be like when everyone can tell—wonders if every time a stranger sees her in public the first thing they'll think is "what kind of a girl gets herself in a position like that?" She supposes she should have had these thoughts before it's just...everything's happened so fast. But now she can't help looking at the faces she passes. Can't help wondering what they think of her.

Can't help wondering what she thinks of her.

"That woman was such a cunt."

Lily is startled out of her spiral, unable to stop herself from laughing. "Alice!"

"What?" Alice asks, grabbing hold of Lily's arm as they keep walking down the street. "She was!" and then, casual as anything, as though nothing's happened—which Lily supposes, in the grand scheme of things, it hasn't—she goes on; "Lets go to the Leaky, yeah? I'm starving. Plus I really have to pee."

Lily laughs.

It takes her a few days, but eventually she does call Petunia. Asks to meet for lunch. Well, actually, she asks to come over but Petunia insists they eat out. Lily expects that has something to do with her not wanting Lily around Vernon. Considering what an unimpressive person he is, her sister is constantly afraid of somehow falling short of his standards.

It's been a long time since they've spoken, and Lily finds that she's nervous as she walks up to the small restaurant in a suburb just outside of London. Hands fiddling with her sleeves.

Petunia, of course, is early. So Lily gets to enjoy the distinctly uncomfortable sensation of feeling her sister's critical gaze on her as she is lead to the table by the hostess.

"Thanks," she says to the woman as she sits clumsily in her chair, a menu placed in front of her.

She always feels big and loud and awkward around Petunia, who is none of those things. If the word "dainty" was a person it would be Lily's sister.

"You made it," Petunia says flatly.

"Of course I made it," Lily tries to smile but it doesn't feel quite right on her face, and Petunia certainly doesn't return it, if anything she looks suspicious. "Well," Lily isn't sure why she sounds so out of breath or why her cheeks are so hot. "This place is nice. Have—er—you been here before?"

"Me and the girls come here for lunch every other Tuesday."

The "girls" is a group of women Petunia has been friends with since primary school. Lily has never much got on with them. To be honest, she's not entirely convinced that Petunia gets on with them either but they certainly...look the way that Petunia wants to. The way they dress and the places they go and the families they come from. Lily is almost positive that's the only reason they're friends, because otherwise she can't think of a single thing they all have in common.

But then, it's not as though she knows much about her sister these days.

"Great," Lily manages, maintaining her false cheer. "Then you can tell me what's good."

Petunia gives her a long look before dropping her eyes down to the menu. "Their salads are lovely."

Lily does her best not to cringe.

In the end, she gets the chicken parmesan, because she likes it and can't ever seem to figure out how to make it right on her own—she's still looking for a spell. Petunia does, indeed, order a salad.

"So..." Lily starts awkwardly, once the waitress has left them.

Petunia arches her brow. "So?"

"How are you? How are things?"

Her brow does not lower. "Really? This is what you wanted to talk about?"

Lily shifts uncomfortably in her seat, suddenly worried she didn't dress well enough—it's not that this place is fancy but it's certainly nice, and she's only in a pair of stretchy black trousers and an oversized jumper.

"Isn't that what people ask each other?" she says hopefully.

Petunia's eyes narrow. "People, maybe. But not you. You never ask how I am. I've barely heard from you since we finished dealing with mum's stuff."

Lily winces, knowing it's true. "Well, it's not like you've called me either."

"You don't have a phone," Petunia points out flatly.

Right.

"Written me then."

Petunia stares at her. "And how would I send this letter exactly? By raven? Badger? Or is there some other creature you're using these days?"

Lily rolls her eyes. "You can send me letters using the Muggle post."

"Muggle," she repeats the word with intense dislike and Lily sighs, because she really should have known better than to say that.

"Okay, look, I'm sorry I haven't...been around. Things are..." how to even explain. "A bit dangerous in my world right now."

"Oh you have your own world do you? How nice."

"Is that the only part of what I just said that you heard?"

Petunia glares. "Just eat your pasta Lily." She herself makes an angry stab at the lettuce in front of her. Lily vehemently refuses to touch her food out of principal. She's a grown-up after all and Petunia doesn't get to tell her what to do. However, after a few minutes of Petunia ignoring her, and Lily's stomach grumbling, she eventually gives in.

They eat in silence for the most part, Lily letting the tension simmer down as she tries to work up the courage to ask what she came here to ask.

"So," she tries again, taking a gulp of her water, hands a little shaky when she sets it down, "do you know what happened to our baby stuff?"

Petunia stiffens. "Why?" she asks tightly, as she sits back, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

Lily is starting to feel a little too hot again, tugging at her collar. "Well I just can't remember what we did with it when we cleaned out the house and—I mean, it would be nice to have, for, you know...our kids."

Petunia keeps staring at her and Lily can feel herself shrinking under her hard gaze, the restaurant suddenly too full and too small, the clinking of cutlery making her wince.

"I have it," Petunia finally says.

Lily blinks. "You...have it?"

"The baby stuff, yes, I have it."

"Oh." There's something about the way that her sister says it, like a challenge, it's not that that's unusual for Petunia exactly, but Lily is getting the sense that this is something she's going to have to ask for delicately. Petunia is never a fan of giving things to Lily, hasn't been since the day Lily got her Hogwarts letter.

"That's great," she goes on, smiling again. "Would—I mean—would you mind if I took a look at it? Maybe took some of my things?"

"None of them are yours."

That startles Lily. "Some of it must be."

"No," Petunia says pointedly. "Everything you had was mine first. So all of it, is technically, mine."

Lily grits her teeth, doing her best not to lose her patience. "Okay, well, would you mind if I took some of it anyway?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes I would mind."

"Why?" Lily demands. "It's not like you're using it."

Petunia doesn't say anything, and after a long uncomfortable moment of silence reaches for her water and takes a sip. Lily feels something itch in her chest.

"You're not using it?" she repeats, getting the same blank stare. "Right?"

Petunia clears her throat. "I am actually."

It takes several moments of stunned silence for Lily to process that statement. "You're pregnant?" Her eyes go automatically to her sister's stomach which is, of course, largely covered by the table. "How far along?"

"Almost five months now," Petunia actually smiles when she says that, placing her hands on her belly and now Lily can see it—the roundness. Subtle, but there.

"That's," Lily swallows, not sure why this is making her emotional. "That's really—that's really great Tuni, I'm so happy for you, wow."

Her sister looks up at her, beaming. Actually beaming. "So you see, I'm going to be needing the baby stuff."

Something tugs in Lily's chest, her nerves returning. This whole conversation is so surreal. It feels like barely anytime has passed between the two of them playing in the park at the end of the street and now. Sitting here. Both pregnant. Barely anytime. Or maybe lifetimes. It's hard to tell which.

"Yeah of course," Lily finally manages, voice a little rough. "But—um—but do you think there's anyway we could share?"

Petunia's expression instantly shutters. "Why?" she asks sharply, and then her eyes drop down to Lily's stomach, which isn't showing much, but enough that once it's pointed out... Petunia's gaze snaps back up. "You're pregnant?" an accusation.

Lily gives her a wavering smile. "Surprise?"

For a second it feels like Petunia stops moving completely, frozen in place, and then: "You got married?"

Does she sound hurt?

"No," Lily falters. "Er—no—it wasn't exactly planned."

"Jesus Christ Lily. With who?"

"My boyfriend, who do you think?" she bristles. "You met him at the funeral."

Petunia makes a face. "The one with the horrible hair?"

Lily barely refrains from pointing out that Petunia is hardly in a position to be disparaging the looks of anyone's significant other.

"Yes, that's the one," she says tightly. "So I was hoping that—"

"Hoping that what?" Petunia demands. "Hoping you could swoop in and steal the spotlight?"

"The spotlight?"

"Just take whatever you want and disappear back into your own little world, leaving the rest of us behind without a second thought?"

Lily makes a frustrated noise. "That isn't fair."

"Isn't it?"

"No," she runs a flustered hand through her hair. "I think about you—" Petunia scoffs. "I do! But you don't want me here Tuni, you've made that abundantly clear, so what do you want me to do? Just come around every few weeks and let you use me as some sort of punching bag?"

Petunia shakes her head. "Forget it."

But Lily can't. She leans forward, halfway across the table, trying to get closer to her sister. "I miss them too."

"Shut up."

"And I'm sorry I wasn't there when dad died, and I'm sorry you had to take on so much of the work when Mum got ill."

"I said shut up," Petunia's voice quivers.

"But I swear I tried! I did my best. I was just a kid—"

"And what was I?" Petunia doesn't shout exactly, but her voice certainly raises enough to get the attention of the surrounding tables. Lily couldn't care less but she instantly sees her sister's shoulders pull back, her chin lifting.

"Petunia—"

"This conversation is finished," she fishes around in her purse before pulling out her wallet and dropping a few bills on the table. "That ought to cover lunch," she says as she rises to her feet.

"Tuni—" Lily feels very small all of the sudden. And very young. And very very alone.

Her sister fixes her with a cold look. "Don't call me again."

Lily watches Petunia walk away.

The last words her sister will ever say to her ringing in her ears.

Lily doesn't go home.

Isn't sure she quite knows where that is anymore.

She ends up sitting in front of her mum's grave. She was always going to visit, of course. But somehow visiting has turned into hours of sitting, talking, thinking. This, Lily realizes, is the closest thing she has to an anchor. To her childhood. To belonging. Her eyes trace over the words carved in front of her for the dozenth time, finding no more comfort in them now than before.

She lets out a shaky breath, closing her eyes. "I don't know what to do," she whispers, even that feeling loud in the empty space around her, the sky overhead turning navy blue as evening creeps in. "Mum I don't know what to do. I really need you to tell me." She sniffles, wiping at her face. "Am I making a mistake?" she laughs wetly. "Have I made any choices recently that aren't mistakes?"

Lily can feel the cold biting at her cheeks, she needs to refresh her warming charm but she doesn't reach for her wand. Listening instead to the sound of the wind, to the distant noise of traffic a little further off. Listening for her mum.

"Hey," comes a quiet voice behind her.

Lily jumps, eyes flying open as she turns around to find James standing on the path a few feet away, looking a little sheepish in the lamp light.

"Hi," she blinks. "Er—what are you doing here?" It's then that she sees the flowers in his hands—yellow daffodils, her mother's favourite. "You remembered," she says, before he can answer.

James looks confused for a moment before he follows Lily's gaze. "Oh—yeah. Yeah well, we were getting them a lot once she was in the hospital and I—I mean I know we can conjure them but it feels better when they're real. Anyway, sorry, I'm babbling."

He hasn't moved, hasn't left the path, like he's waiting to be dismissed.

"What are you doing here?" she asks again.

"Well," James rubs nervously at the back of his neck. "You said you were having lunch with your sister, but as long as I've known you you've never willingly spent more than an hour with her," Lily snorts, even though, all things considered, it isn't really funny. "So when you didn't come home I figured you probably came here. And when you still didn't come home I figured...maybe lunch was, y'know, hard. And maybe you might need some company?"

When all Lily does is stare back at him he quickly goes on.

"But I completely understand if you wanna just tell me to fuck off."

She laughs a little, rubbing at her nose. "No," she says finally. "No, it's—thanks."

James relaxes. "Of course." But he still doesn't move.

"Well?" Lily arches her brow. "Are you just gonna stand there or are you going to give her her flowers?" she nods towards the headstone.

"Right—yeah," James starts forward, placing the bouquet gently at the base of the stone before sliding off his backpack and Jacket, transforming the latter into a blanket. "Here," he says, and Lily gratefully slides onto the soft material.

"Thanks, I should have thought of that but..." she trails off and James only nods, sitting next to her, not needing her to explain. She notices the purposeful space he leaves between them. He's been good at that, since she's come back. Somehow knowing instinctually that intimacy—all intimacy honestly—would be hard after what happened. Letting her take the lead. Never initiating anything.

"What's in the bag?" she asks finally.

"Huh?"

She nods at the backpack he dropped next to them.

"Oh!" James perks up. "Right, look at this," he unzips it and pulls out a bottle, handing it over to Lily.

"Now this just seems cruel," she says as she stares down at the beer.

"No, no, look!" he points to the label, and Lily squints through the darkness to see the small words printed at the bottom.

Alcohol free

She stares at it for a minute and then up at James's hopeful face. "You...got me alcohol free beer?"

"I'm gonna get rid of the other stuff when we get home," he says, grabbing his own bottle and twisting off the top. "You can't drink, I can't drink, only seems fair yeah?" he holds out his bottle and Lily taps her's against it without even thinking. She watches with bemusement as he takes a sip.

"Any good?"

James seems to consider it. "Well, as you know, I have a very refined palate."

Lily snorts. "Yes, very refined. What was it you and Sirius we're eating the other day?"

"Pickle sandwiches."

"That's the one."

"Like I said," he shoots her a grin, "Refined palate."

"Uh-huh, and what does your refined palate say about the non-alcoholic alcohol?"

James smacks his lips. "A good vintage—"

"Oh fuck off."

"Hints of oak and cherry."

"Forget I asked."

He smiles holding his open bottle out to her. "It's good, try it." And even though she has her own she takes it.

"Well?" he asks, eyebrow arched as she hands it back.

Lily wobbles her head from side to side. "Not bad," looking down at the bottle in her hands she sighs. "I can't wait until I can get properly drunk again though."

James laughs, the noise bouncing around them. "One day huh?" his eyes drop to her belly before looking away.

After a few moments of silence she lies back on the blanket, looking up at the sky as the stars start to fade slowly into view. It's peaceful and she lets out a big breath, trying to release some of the stress and anxiety that's been building up in her all day. It only takes a minute or so before James is lying down beside her.

"Do you remember," she asks, still looking up at the sky, "that night I found you drunk in the back garden at Mary's party?"

James snorts. "Yeah, bit fuzzy, but yeah."

Lily pauses and then; "You were looking at the stars."

She can feel the slight shift in him. The tensing.

"Yeah," he says finally.

Lily brings her hand up, rubbing her sternum, trying to ease some of the pressure building in her chest. "I thought it was Sirius who'd told you about them. But you said it wasn't," she swallows with difficulty. "It was him, wasn't it?"

James stays silent for a minute and then: "Yeah, it was him."

She already knew the answer so she doesn't know why it still feels so sharp. Her hands gripping the blanket underneath her, eyes squeezing shut. She feels embarrassingly close to tears which she is blaming entirely on being pregnant.

"That night," she manages, when she can finally trust her voice not to wobble, "you told me I was a force," she feels James turn his head towards her but doesn't look. "That that was what you liked about me, not that I was beautiful, but that I was...god what did you say again? — a storm." She laughs a little wetly. "That," her voice thicker than she would like it to be. "That meant a lot to me."

"Lily," he says softly, but she shakes her head.

"Now when I look back it's like—he was always there, you know? In all these moments that I thought were about us, there was this other person there and I didn't even know it."

Silence follows those words, of course. Lily doesn't even know what she expects him to say. But she can practically feel him thinking next to her.

"You know," his voice a little wrecked when he finally does speak. "I think he kinda felt the same way about you."

That's enough to get Lily to open her eyes, to look at him. "What?"

"He always felt like you were the person I was supposed to be with. And I—" James stops, chewing on his lower lip for a moment, brow furrowing. "I didn't see it that way. Not once. But I never stopped having feelings for you. Even if I tried not to think about it. I'm not sure that there's ever really been a moment, regardless of who I was with, that I didn't want you both."

Lily doesn't need Veritaserum to know that James means that. Now it's his turn to shut his eyes, face crumpling.

"God, I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Lily asks.

James lets out a shaky exhale. "I never wanted either of you to feel that way."

"What way?"

"Like you didn't mean everything to me."

Lily doesn't know why her breath catches in her chest. They're quiet for a moment. James still with his eyes closed, Lily's gaze running over the planes of his face; the bruises under his eyes, the small curls of dark hair at his temples, the smudges on his glasses.

"James?" she says finally.

"Yeah?"

She takes a breath, steeling herself. "I don't think Regulus was a very good person," because she has to say it, because she's worried that sometimes that gets lost. And it can't. It's important to her that it doesn't.

James's face grows sad again, and Merlin does it hurt, watching his lovely mouth turn down, his eyes squeezing themselves more tightly closed.

"No," James finally manages, "maybe he wasn't. But he really fucking wanted to be," when James's eyes open they're damp and Lily can't stop herself from reaching out and wiping the tears off his cheeks. "And that has to count for something right?"

She keeps her hand on his face, gentle, holding. "Yeah," she manages, even though she doesn't know if she believes it. "Yeah it counts for something."

They lie there for so long that Lily eventually falls asleep. Only partially waking up when James scoops her into his arms. She makes a sort of grumbling noise, not quite awake enough to form actual words.

"Shh," James says softly. "I'm just gonna Apparate us home okay?"

Lily hums, burying her face in his chest as she feels the familiar dizzying sensation of Apparation. She'd forgotten what it was like—being held by James. The warmth. The strength. She really does love him a horrible, horrible amount.

"Almost there," he whispers. Lily can feel him moving under her but she doesn't open her eyes. "Here you are," he gently lowers her down, Lily groaning and rolling over. She can hear the sound of James laughing softly.

"Let me get your boots off would you?"

She feels him take off her shoes and jacket, feels the blanket being pulled back and then wrapped around her. Everything is vague—impressions—disembodied noises and sensations that her brain doesn't quite process.

"Alright, good night you nutter," she feels him pull away and before she has time to think she's blinking her eyes open.

"James," her voice heavy with sleep.

"Well look at that, she speaks," he says lightly, pausing in the doorway.

"Come back."

There's a beat.

"What?"

Lily pats the bed next to her. "Stay. Please?"

James hesitates, and even in the dark and her half-conscious state she can see the concern in his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"I'm tired James, not drunk."

He laughs at that.

"I'm sure," she tries to make her words as sturdy as possible. "Would you just—just come here?"

That seems to be enough for him, she watches through the shadows as he takes of his own clothes—jacket and boots falling to the ground before he crawls into bed, leaving space between them as he always does. Lily lets out a little huff before reaching over and arranging him how she wants him.

James laughs. "You're the big spoon huh?"

"Always," Lily yawns, burying her face between his shoulder blades.

Enough time passes that Lily is almost properly asleep again before she hears him whisper the words:

"I've missed you," into the dark.

She wants to tell him that she's missed him too but she's too tired, so instead she just squeezes him really, really tight.

Gideon and Fabian are the first Order deaths that really hit Lily. All death is awful, of course. But she'd known Gideon and Fabian. Worked alongside them. Gone to the pub with them. Danced at Alice's wedding with them. They were only a few years older than her.

And now they're dead.

"Shit," Sirius hisses under his breath as they watch the caskets being lowered into the ground.

"Yeah," James says beside him.

It's wet and miserable and grey. Lily's stomach too big for her to do up her coat, which makes her feel ridiculous. Marlene shuffles over, taking her arm and placing her head on Lily's shoulder, sniffling.

"This is so fucked up."

Lily nods, watching as the family walks up one by one, dropping handfuls of soil into the graves. She sees Molly Weasley, her eyes red, ginger hair pulled back as she carries a baby and a handful of dirt, whispering something when she reaches the graves that Lily can't hear. Tears dripping down her face as she turns away.

Alice is one of the last people to walk up. She has none of the obvious signs of grief—face clean, robes orderly. But it's that stiffness, that formality, that gives her away. Alice who is usually so open and loose, today is cold and tightly held. An Auror through and through. She's one of the people who found their bodies—Gideon and Fabian. Sent after them when the brothers didn't return. They think it took quite a few Death Eaters to take them down, they certainly killed enough in the process. Moody talked at the service about how impressive that is.

But Lily doesn't think the Prewetts are much concerned with how impressive their sons were at the moment.

She reckons they would rather them have been mediocre and alive.

When Alice is done and the graves start to be filled in properly, she comes over to them. Mary is immediately at her side, arm around her back, and that's when Lily notices how pale Alice looks, like she's ready to collapse.

"Hello darlings," she says with a half-hearted smile.

"What do you need Alice?" Sirius asks, face as sober as Lily has ever seen it. Him and Remus look like they're leaning pretty heavily on one another. Each holding the other up.

Alice lets out a breath, her smile wobbling as she blinks the wetness out of her eyes. Lily wants to tell her it's okay to cry but she knows Alice. Knows how much she'd rather take care of everyone else than be taken care of herself.

"Will you lot come over then? For supper? Drinks?"

Frank isn't there. As Moody put it, he couldn't give everyone in the department the day off. Frank wasn't happy, but he also isn't one to go against a direct order.

"Yeah, 'course we will," James says, returning her smile. "Me and the boys will even cook. We make a mean beans on toast, isn't that right Moony?"

Remus rolls his eyes but Alice laughs. It isn't quite the noise it usually is.

"Yeah, no, we're getting takeaway," Mary says.

"I second that," Dorcas pipes up.

Sirius turns to her, mock indignation on his face as he clutches his chest. "Et tu, Brute?"

"Yeah okay, simmer down there Black."

There's a tension that runs under the conversation, threatening to crack the thin mask of normalcy they're attempting to maintain. Each one of them looks delicate. Their brevity, their good humour, all breakable.

"Alright, well, lets say our goodbyes and head out of here yeah?" Alice leans a little bit more into Mary when she speaks.

There's mumbled agreements, some of them filtering off towards the family, the rest drifting down the small slope towards the front gates. As Marlene peels off to walk down with Dorcas, James and Sirius talking quietly already ahead of them, Lily notices someone hanging back by the graves.

"You alright Pete?"

He doesn't look up, staring intently at the fresh earth like he's trying to work out some sort of riddle. The wind whistles through the tombstones around them, blowing Peter's hair into his eyes—it's grown longer recently, longer than Lily has ever seen it before. She resists the urge to reach over and brush it out of his face. It's difficult not to want to take care of Peter. It always feels like he needs it more than the others. Like without a little help he might easily lose his way.      

"If they hadn't fought," Peter says finally, still looking down at the graves, "they would still be alive."

Lily blinks. "What do you mean?"

"Prewett, it's an old pureblood family. If they hadn't fought, Voldemort wouldn't have killed them. They'd still be alive."

Lily isn't sure what to do with that. After a few moments of silence she finally manages to work some words into her mouth. "Yes, but then other people would be dead."

Peter finally looks at her, brow furrowed. "What?"

"Somewhere out there, people are alive because Fabian and Gideon chose to fight."

Peter considers this for a moment, before his eyes slide back to the graves in front of them. "I don't know those other people," he says finally. "But I knew Gideon and Fabian. Have since I was little," Peter sniffles. "Gideon wanted to open a pet shop, he was wicked good with animals. And Fabian wanted to paint portraits," his voice cracks and Lily reaches out, squeezing his arm.

"I wish they hadn't fought," he says finally, voice small. "I wish they were still alive."

Lily doesn't fault him for any of this. She knows well enough how careless grief can make you. Besides, who hasn't wished something terrible at the deathbed of a loved one? Hasn't wished that it was anyone else there besides them. Someone else's mother or father or brother. Let someone else feel this pain, anyone but me.

"Come on," she says eventually, sliding her arm through his and linking them together. "Lets go join the others huh?"

Peter gives her a small smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah alright."

It doesn't feel like they're trying to win a war anymore.

It just feels like they're trying to survive one.

The difference is subtle maybe, but important. They don't talk much about defeating. Just don't die. That's the Order's new motto.

Don't die.

Don't die.

Don't die.

It's what they repeat over and over again the night Sirius shows up on their doorstep, Remus in his arms, bleeding. Unconscious.

"I can't make it stop," Sirius is pale, teeth chattering as James pulls him inside. "He just showed up like this and I tried everything but I can't make it stop—I can't make it stop—I can't—"

"Okay Pads, it's okay," James says calmly, even though his eyes are full of fear.

"The kitchen," Lily's already moving down the hall. "Put him on the table."

The boys follow behind her, Sirius shaking so badly Lily is surprised he hasn't dropped Remus. But when he lies him down he does it with so much care you'd think Remus was made of glass.

Lily quickly steps forward. Remus's shirt is covered in blood but it isn't ripped. No entry point—no place where he was stabbed or shot or clawed. She waves her wand and his shirt is gone, revealing a clean gash cutting him open from his hip to his ribs. For a moment Lily is struck dumb by it, by seeing Remus revealed in this way. Peeled open like fruit.

"Fuck," Sirius sobs behind her, bringing her back to the present.

"You tried Episkey? Ferula?"

"Yes."

"Dittany?"

"Yes—fuck, I tried all of that shit James."

"Okay, okay sorry I just—"

"It's a cursed wound," Lily cuts them off, eyes trailing around the smooth edges of the gash. "Like the one Frank had after your fight with the Bulgarians, you remember?"

"Shit."

"What do we do?" Sirius steps forward, eyes pleading, panicked. Lily doesn't think she's ever seen him look so young.

"I'll have to brew a potion, and you," she summons a towel from the cupboard and presses it into Sirius's hands. "Are going to hold this against the wound. It needs pressure to slow down the blood flow." Sirius is already moving to Remus's side.

Lily turns to James. "Get me my cauldron and the potions book in your father's study—the green one with the purple spine."

James nods, hand pressing reassuringly to her lower back before he goes. Lily quickly starts rummaging through the cabinets and drawers, pulling out ingredients—anything she thinks she might need.

"Don't die okay?" whispers a small voice behind her. "Don't die Rem. I don't want any of this without you. So just—please don't die."

They say it too, when James and Marlene disappear for days, Moody unwilling to tell them where they are or what they're doing or when they'll be home.

Don't die.

Don't die.

Don't die.

"He'll come back Lils," Sirius reassures her. "He always comes back."

Don't die.

Don't die.

Please don't die.

Or when Lily wakes up one morning with blood in her knickers. Hands clutching her belly.

Don't die.

Don't die.

Don't die.

"There, you see it?" the Healer asks, smiling with her wand held over Lily's stomach, the blurry image of a baby projected in front of them. "Strong heartbeat and everything. It was just a scare, probably caused by stress."

Lily still isn't breathing properly, eyes unable to look away from the image in front of her.

"God he's getting big," James whispers, their hands twinning together.

"Sure is," the Healer smiles. "Looks like you're gonna have a very hearty baby."

Lily feels something tug on her chest. "You're sure he's okay though? Positive? There aren't any other tests you need to run?"

The woman gives her a patient look. "We've done a full workup on the pair of you, you're both in perfect health."

Lily nods, trying to get herself to relax. To believe her. "Okay. Thank you."

"Of course," the woman's eyes bounce between Lily and James before she says; "I'll leave the three of you alone for a minute shall I?"

Lily gives her a small smile, eyes going back to the projection of her baby. James collapses into the chair next to her, dropping his forehead onto Lily's shoulder and letting out a heavy sigh.

"Lets not do this again, yeah?"

Lily can't help but laugh, though it ends up sounding a bit more like a sob, causing James's head to pop up.

"Oh hey," he says softly, running a comfortingly hand through her hair. "It's okay. He's okay. Everything is fine."

"I know," she hiccups. "I really do. I was just worried there for a moment that—" her voice cuts out.

"I know," James says, squeezing her hand. "But look at him," he nods towards the image. "You're taking such good care of him. He's going to be okay."

I don't know what I'm doing, she almost says.

What if I'm screwing it up?

What if I never get better?

What if I always feel this scared?

She doesn't say any of that, of course. Instead what comes out of her is; "How can you love someone you've never met this much?" which in the end is maybe the same thing.

James just shrugs. "Because he's ours," as though that explains everything.

"Ours," Lily repeats, looking back down at her belly, free hand resting protectively on top.

Don't die.

Don't die.

Don't die.

Sometimes, Lily will catch James staring off into space, eyes out of focus, expression sober. Sometimes she'll catch sight of a little red ball passing back and forth between his hands.

She's never sure whose heart is breaking more in those moments.

It's a month after the hospital visit that Lily is reading in the living room when a glowing white stallion bursts through the front door.

"Shit," she drops her book, hand clutching at her chest as the Patronus gallops into the centre of the room.

"Lily?" comes James's worried voice from upstairs.

She's about to answer but the horse speaks first;

"Alice has had the baby," Frank's voice fills the room, Lily can hear James coming down the stairs. "It happened fast, don't ask me how she managed that, but—yeah—he—I have a son," Lily can practically hear the smile in Frank's voice and she feels her eyes filling with tears because being pregnant makes her cry at everything. Not that she minds much this time.

"His name's Neville," Frank is saying as James comes into the room, eyes going wide at the sight of the horse. "He's healthy—they're both healthy, both beautiful," Lily thinks maybe she isn't the only one getting weepy over this. "Okay, okay, I have to go," Frank laughs. "Alice wants you to come see him though—tomorrow? Everyone will be here I expect. A proper Birthday party. Okay, okay, I really do have to go. See you soon though."

The horse shakes his mane before dissolving into mist, leaving James and Lily staring at one another across the room, Lily sniffling and wiping her eyes.

"They had their baby?" James asks.

Lily nods. "Merlin he sounded so happy," laughing a little. "I haven't heard Frank that excited about anything since Quidditch."

James smiles as he sits down next to her on the sofa. "Surprised he didn't name the kid Quaffle honestly."

"Alice would never let him."

"Don't underestimate Alice. She's been known to go off the rails every once and a while."

Lily looks over at him, eyebrow raised. "Really?"

"What? It's a compliment. Honestly, I don't think Sirius has ever actually been on the rails."

Lily laughs again, shaking her head and leaning into him. "You're ridiculous."

For some reason that makes James stiffen. Lily tries to move away but he quickly wraps his arm around her, pulling her back against him. She can feel him forcing himself to relax—breaths controlled, like he's trying to calm himself down. She wonders what she could have possibly said to set him off.  And she has no idea how to ask without making it worse.

"We don't have a name," James says finally. It's so not what Lily was expecting that it takes her a few minutes to really understand him.

"Oh," she says when it finally hits her. "Right, yeah...forgot about that."

That makes James laugh, easing the tension out of his shoulders. "We could just call it baby?"

Lily snorts. "No we absolutely could not."

"What about kid? Kid is a great name!"

"Why do I feel like I'm going to have to explain to you the difference between naming and labeling? Also in what world is kid a great name?"

"Oh come on! 'Hey kid! Over here kid! What're you doing kid?' rolls right off the tongue. Very catchy. Very versatile."

Lily shakes her head, punching him lightly in the chest. "We need to come up with a proper name for him."

"Ugh, proper, that sounds terrible."

"Says James Potter, that's the most proper English name I've ever heard."

"Oh sorry Lily Evans, if only my parents had gone with something more adventurous like naming me after a flower."

She pinches his side and he messes up her hair, the pair wrestling on the sofa until Lily eventually finds herself on top.

"Alright, alright, cease fire," she pins his arms over his head, James's bright eyes staring up at her, all earlier awkwardness forgotten. Before she can help herself she dips down and kisses his mouth. Quick. Chaste. Still, when she pulls back he smiles dopily at her.

"Our son needs a real name."

"You're very picky for someone who didn't even remember naming was a thing until five minutes ago."

Lily rolls her eyes, sitting back and blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "What about Fleamont?"

James pauses, expression growing serious as he straightens out his glasses.

"I'm not sure I'd...want that," he says finally. "Fleamont will always be my dad, you know?"

Lily nods, because she does know. "I feel the same way about my father's name," she sighs, running a hand through her hair and looking out at the room. "I don't want him to spend his whole life being compared to a ghost."

"Yeah," James agrees. "Yeah, totally."

James's stomach interrupts the moment with an absurdly loud growl.

"Oof, okay," he gets off the sofa and offers Lily his hand. "I can't think on an empty stomach. We can brainstorm names after we eat. You good with spaghetti?"

Lily smiles. "Yeah, alright. I'm gonna put on some music."

James taps his nose. "Good thinking, that's bound to give us tons of baby names," Lily shakes her head as he starts walking towards the kitchen. "Oi! What's that Muggle singer you like? The one who dances like a possessed scarecrow?"

Lily snorts. "Mick Jagger?"

"That's the one!" James shouts from the other room. "Jagger's not a bad name."

"Absolutely not!"

"Why?! Who wouldn't want to be friends with Jagger Potter!"

Lily rolls her eyes as she walks up to their bedroom. She never bothers moving the record player, not when she can just magic the sound into any room she wants it in. She bends over to start flipping through her albums when an ache radiates through her lower back.

"Ugh," she pauses, hand resting on the wall as she breathes through it. She's so big at this point that just walking up the stairs does her in. "Don't take this the wrong way," she whispers, looking down at her belly. "But you really suck sometimes."

As if in response, she feels a small kick somewhere far too close to her bladder. "Cheeky," she murmurs, reaching for her records again. She skips over the Stones, not wanting to encourage James, looking for something slower—Ella Fitzgerald or Peggy Lee or Otis Redding.

"Ah ha!" she pulls out her copy of At Last! accidentally grabbing the record behind it as well, which she proceeds to drop on the floor.

Lily groans. The floor has become enemy number one. Nothing is quite so bothersome these days as having to pick things up. She considers just leaving the record for James to get later but then it registers with her what it is.

"Oh," she stops, staring at it for a moment before clumsily bending down and picking it up. It's older and rougher looking than most of her collection. "Hello," she runs her hand over the cover.

Lily very much believes in fate when it comes to music. That every once and a while a song plays at just the right time, in just the right place, for just the right people, because it was meant to. Because they needed to hear it. To mend hearts or break hearts or topple empires. Music, as far as she's concerned, is the purest form of magic.

"What's this one?" James asks when she comes into the kitchen, groaning when she sits down at the table. Her lower back is being a right little bastard. A gentle pulsing pain pushing against her spine.

"I don't think I've heard it before," James continues, waving his wand just in time to stop the pot of water from boiling over on the stovetop.

"It's my dad's, I got it when we were cleaning out my parents house," she closes her eyes for a moment, listening to the song—the big band sound, the intricate trumpet. It reminds her so much of her childhood she can practically taste it.

"Sounds kind of sad," James says, causing Lily to open her eyes. Her hand goes to her stomach, rubbing slow, comforting circles.

"It's not. Actually, it's rather happy."

"Oh yeah?" James places the pasta in the water before turning to face her, leaning against the counter and giving her a look clearly meant to indicate that he's listening. Ready for more.

"It's supposed to be someone welcoming their lover home after the war. It's about all the time they have now—to talk, to kiss, to be together. About how much they've missed one another, but the waiting is over. They've made it through. They can finally be together. Be happy," her voice gets unnecessarily choked up at the end and she coughs, trying to hide it, unable to hold James's stare.

It's all any of them ever think about anymore—what it'll be like, when the war is over. Honestly it feels pornographic, her daydreams of domesticity, of an average life. Lily blushes just thinking about it.

"My dad loved this song," she pushes on when neither of them speaks. "He used to play it when he was in a good mood and force my mum to dance with him," Lily smiles at the memories. "Or if she was busy sometimes he'd dance with me and Tuni, we'd stand on his feet, waltzing around like idiots."

Lily remembers her and Petunia watching their parents dance. Remembers giggling and thinking how silly it was. What she wouldn't give to go back. To watch them one more time.

James pushes off the counter and steps towards her, hand outstretched. She looks at the hand and then up at his smirking face.

"Dance with me," he asks—well, asks might be a bit generous. There doesn't sound like there's much room for refusal. Lily still tries though.

"Don't be ridiculous—James, I'm a whale, I can't dance."

"You're perfect," he says without missing a beat. "Dance with me."

Despite everything they've been through, Lily still feels herself blush at that—the honest and sincere way he says it. She slips her hand into his and lets him pull her to her feet, the pair of them starting to sway. And yes, it feels a little silly, but it also feels very, very important. And Lily doesn't know how to explain that.

"Who is it?" James asks eventually.

Lily blinks, lifting her head off his shoulder. "Who's who?"

"Who's the song by?"

"Oh," it takes her a minute to drag the name out of her sleepy mind. "Harry James."

He looks at her. "Harry James?"

"Yeah?"

Something comes over his face, it reminds her of being at Hogwarts, the way he would look right before he was about to pull some ridiculous stunt or just do something absurdly James Potter-like.

"Harry James," he repeats again. "You know, my grandfather's name was Harry."

Lily has no idea where that's come from. "Was it?" but James is barely listening to her.

"Harry James," he keeps mumbling. "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" and then, cheeky grin on full display; "Harry James Potter."

There's a beat of silence. And then, for whatever reason, Lily finds herself laughing.

"What? Why is that funny?" James asks indignantly, the pair of them coming to a stop in the middle of the kitchen. "What problem could you possibly have with that name?"

Lily only shakes her head. "No, none. It's perfect."

"It—wait, really?"

She smiles, going up on her tiptoes so that she can reach his mouth. "Yes," she says against his lips. "A bit of me and a bit of you. I love it."

James kisses her back before smiling smugly. "Well, obviously, I came up with it."

Lily is about to quip back when a sharp pain shoots through her lower body. "Ah," she hisses, grabbing her back and hunching over. The joy is instantly wiped from James's face.

"Lily? Hey, are you alright?"

She gives him a tight smile. "Yeah," she exhales, James helping her sit back down. "Fine, just back pain, cramps."

"Should we go to St Mungo's? Do you need me to call a Healer?"

But she shakes her head, those are the last two things she wants. "No, really James, it's fine."

He kneels down in front of her, hands on her knees, looking at her with concern. "You're sure?"

She smiles again, this time a bit more reassuringly. "Positive," her eyes flick over his shoulder to the steaming pot behind him "Now go check on the pasta will you? I'm starving."

James waits for another minute before squeezing her knees and going back to the food. "You'll tell me if it gets worse yeah?"

"Of course," her hand is on her stomach again, making those slow circles. The last notes of the song floating through the room.

You'll never know how many dreams

I've dreamed about you

Or just how empty they all seemed without you

So kiss me once, then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It's been a long, long time

She does not tell him when it gets worse.

Which it does.

She lies in bed and begs herself to go to sleep, hoping that after a few hours of unconsciousness it'll pass, but it's impossible to get comfortable when it feels like a rusty fish hook is being dragged through her lower intestines. Eventually, when she's sure James is asleep, she gets out of bed and starts pacing, hand on her lower back, breaths slow and controlled. In a way she goes into a bit of a trance, riding the waves of pain as they come. Breathing through them.

She doesn't let herself think about what this might be.

What it almost certainly is.

She just keeps telling herself that eventually it will stop.

It will pass.

Because she isn't ready.

I mean, yes, sure, she's ready to not be carrying a whole other life around with her everywhere she goes. But she isn't ready to be a mum. To have a baby. She just—she needs more time. Just a little more. She needs to be more in control. So it has to wait. The baby has to wait.

"Lily?" James murmurs, squinting up at her, barely awake.

"Sorry, just feeling a little restless," she smiles tightly, though she doubts he can see her in the dark. "Go back to sleep, I'll lie down in a minute."

Thankfully he does, his heavy eyes drifting closed again. A second later he's snoring. James doesn't believe that he snores, Lily's thought about recording him, playing it back for him, but she never has.

She isn't sure how much time passes between one moment and the next. She can't look at the clock. Can't think about anything except breathing and not screaming. Or crying. Or doing anything else.

This will go away.

It always does.

"Lily?" this time James sits up, rubbing at his eyes, hair a mess. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she whispers, as casually as she can. "Go back to sleep."

Much to her irritation James does not go back to sleep, but instead continues to sit there, knees bent under the blankets, watching her pace. If she thought she could, she would get back in bed just to put him at ease. But right now moving is the only thing keeping her sane.

"Is this the same pain from dinner?" James croaks.

Lily grimaces but doesn't answer. Doesn't want to. Breathing in and out, she demands that her body stop. Stop this. We're not doing it. Not yet. Not yet. Please not yet. She isn't ready. She doesn't know when she will be but she certainly isn't right now.

Along with the aching in her lower half something has started to claw desperately at her chest.

Panic.

She's panicking.

Somehow knowing that doesn't help.

"Lily, I think we need to go to the hospital," James says finally, yawning.

She shakes her head. "It's nothing."

"Lily."

"I'm not going to the hospital!" she snaps, stopping her pacing so she can glare at him. Unfortunately, her body chooses that moment to let loose a particularly brutal pain, the shocks of which rumble through her like thunder.

"Ah," she gasps, grabbing the wall for support.

"That's it," James gets out of bed, pulling open his dresser and searching for trousers. "We're going."

"I said no!" Lily hisses, teeth clenched.

"Something is clearly wrong—that or you're having the ba—"

"Shut up," she's frustratingly breathless, panting like she's just run a mile, sweat dampening her hair. Her skin.

James looks at her, concern wafting off of him, trousers clutched in his hand. "What's happening right now?"

She doesn't have an answer for him. Doesn't know how to tell him that she feels like she's doing this on her own. That she's felt alone since the day she watched him fall apart over someone else and suddenly realized that they weren't on the same page about anything. The months of work they've done don't feel like enough. Not now. Not in this moment.

But more than anything, she doesn't know how to tell him that she's scared.

Scared of being a mum.

Scared that they've made the wrong decision.

Scared of how much she loves him and how much that hurts sometimes.

So she doesn't tell him any of that. Instead she waddles past him out of the room. "I'm not going to the hospital," she snaps on her way.

"Lily—"

But she slams the bathroom door on him, locking it for good measure before kneeling down on the bathmat, hands clutching at the side of the tub as she tries to breathe. Tries to bargain with her body.

I'll be so good if you just stop.

Stop please.

I'll drink so much water.

I'll get eight hours of sleep.

Just please, please, don't do this.

I thought I could handle it but I can't.

I can't.

As the next sharp pain shoots through her she can't hold back a shocked sob, heart hammering faster than she's ever felt it go before. "I want my mum," it's not the first time she's thought that. Not the first time she's made that plea. Voice coming out small and weak. "I want my mum." She was never meant to do this without her. She isn't sure how she's supposed to now.

There's gentle knocking on the door. "Lily?" James asks softly.

Lily squeezes her eyes shut, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Please," her voice is raw. "Please just go away."

He could open the door, of course, a simple Alohomora would do the trick. But he doesn't. She can feel him standing there on the other side. Feel the warmth of him even through the walls.

Eventually he sighs. "I don't know what to do here Lils."

She half-laughs, half-sobs. "Me either."

He doesn't say anything else, the pair of them lapsing into silence and eventually Lily drifts, consciousness fraying around the edges as her forehead presses to the cold porcelain tub.

She doesn't know how long that period of time stretches on for. Of silence. Of stillness. Her grasp on time at the moment is, admittedly, fuzzy. But at some point there's knocking on the door again. This time decidedly less gently.

"Alright babe, we're gonna need you to open up."

Lily lifts her head, blinking the blurriness out of her eyes. "Mary?"

"And Marlene!" Pipes up another voice.

"Dorcas is also here."

Lily just stares at the door, fairly certain she's hallucinating.

"Oi, Evans," comes Mary's voice again. "You alive?" she's joking but there's definitely an edge to her voice of genuine concern.

Lily coughs, clearing her throat. "Er—yeah—I—yeah." She thinks about getting up to answer the door but can't quite bring herself to move. "You can come in I just can't—" but she doesn't even manage to finish her sentence before the door is springing open, Mary and Marlene coming in, Marlene wearing a pair of purple pyjama bottoms with tiny snitches all over them. Mary in sweats and a jumper and wearing her glasses—a rare sight. Dorcas is a little behind them, she gives Lily a soft smile that Lily returns shakily.

"Here," Mary plops down on the floor beside her, handing Lily a water bottle. It's not until she sees it that she realizes how thirsty she is.

"Thanks," her hands shake as she gulps down the water while Mary reaches over to push some of the sweaty hair off her forehead. When she's done she places the bottle down on the ground, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and looking up at her friends.

"What're you doing here?"

"Well," Marlene is standing just over Mary. "James is kinda freaking out a bit."

"Because you started having a baby and then locked yourself in the bathroom and refused to go to the hospital," Mary says bluntly, somehow managing to startle a laugh out of Lily.

"Oh."

"To be fair," Dorcas says, leaning against the closed door. "I'd probably do the same."

Marlene turns to her, bewildered expression on her face. "What? Why?" and then quickly; "No offence Lily."

"None taken."

"Because babies are scary," Dorcas goes on. "I'd want to hide from it too."

That makes Lily laugh again, though this time she winces, pain flaring up through her stomach. She grabs hold of Mary who doesn't even flinch.

"You can't hide from it," Marlene goes on. "It's literally inside you."

"I can try," Lily heaves, breathing through the pain.

Dorcas nods as though that makes perfect sense. "Exactly."

"Mar," Mary interrupts them as Lily's fingernails dig into her arm. "You wanna wet one of those washcloths with cold water?"

"Yeah, of course."

Lily hears the tap running, which is when she realizes that she's closed her eyes. She opens them, finding Mary's gaze intent on her. "Sorry," Lily whispers, voice hoarse, but Mary only shakes her head.

"You have nothing to apologize for."

Before Lily can speak Marlene is back with the washcloth. "Here," Mary gently tilts Lily's head forward, placing the cold cloth on the back of her neck. Lily lets out a heavy breath. "Feel good?"

She nods the best she can. "Yeah."

Marlene comes up behind her, kneeling down and rubbing soothing circles into her lower back. Lily doesn't know if she wants to laugh or cry. They stay like that for a while, no one talking, Lily breathing through the pain, until a loud bang irrupts from downstairs.

Lily's head pops up, the washcloth falling to the tile floor. "What the fuck—"

Mary rolls her eyes. "Dorcas, can you go tell those fucking idiots to please not blow the house up right now?"

Dorcas gives her a two fingered salut. "On it."

"What the hell are they doing?" Marlene asks, collapsing against the wall across from the tub.

"Who knows."

Lily's eyes travel back and forth between the pair of them. "I'm sorry, who are we talking about?"

"The boys are here as well, though we figured it was best if they stayed downstairs," Mary explains.

"The boys?"

"Remus, Sirius, Peter," Marlene ticks them off on her fingers.

Lily stares at her. "They're all here? Why?"

"Well, it's like I said," she goes on, looking a little apologetic. "James was kinda freaking out so I think he sort of—"

"Called everyone."

"Jesus," Lily runs a hand over her face.

"On the bright side," Mary goes on. "At least now he has something to distract him so he's not up here fretting."

Lily laughs a little, dropping her forehead onto the tub and breathing out. "Merlin this is such a mess."

"Nah, it's not so bad," Marlene says. "Though you are kind of stealing Alice's thunder."

Lily snorts and then grimaces, hand going to her stomach. "Stop making me laugh, it hurts."

Mary's hand finds the back of her neck and gives it a comforting squeeze just as the door opens again.

"The idiots have been wrangled," Dorcas announces, a little breathlessly.

"You're a star," Lily hears Marlene say before the unmistakable sound of a well aimed kiss.

"So I've been told," Dorcas murmurs.

There's another few moments of stillness, where they let Lily breathe, Mary's hand never leaving her neck.

"Here," Mary says eventually, placing the water bottle back in her hands, "drink. " Lily does, taking small sips, evening out her breathing, settling her stomach. "Someone want to go smash up some ice cubes for her to suck on?" Mary asks, hand gently rubbing up and down Lily's back.

"We're on it!" Marlene says, and Lily once again hears the sound of the door opening and closing. She slumps forward a little more, putting all her weight on the tub. Eventually she's able to lift her head enough to look at Mary.

"How do you know what to do?" she asks weakly, ignoring the sparks of pain running through her stomach.

"I'm a wealth of knowledge," Mary says dryly, causing Lily to give her a faint smile. "But in all honesty, I'm just doing what I used to do when my sister had the flu growing up."

"Ah, of course," Lily's too tired to laugh. "Childbirth and the flu, practically the same."

"That's what I figured," before her expression grows more sincere. "But my expertise is gonna run out when we get to the actual birthing portion of the night," she pauses when Lily looks away. "We really need to get you to the hospital Lily."

Lily winces even though she knows Mary's right. "I'm scared."

"Of going to the hospital?"

Among other things.

"Of making it real," she whispers.

There's a pause before Mary leans forward, laying her head down on the edge of the tub next to Lily's, their noses nearly touching. "I hate to break it to you babe," she whispers back, "but it's already real."

Lily closes her eyes and lets out a shuddering exhale. "I know."

Another monstrous pain hits her and she groans, going up onto her knees. "Fuck," she hisses. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Mary's hand moves to her back, a comforting pressure between her shoulder blades.

Lily feels like every organ in her body is being squeezed—which, admittedly, is what is happening, so fair enough. But still. Bloody unbearable.

"It hurts so much."

"I know, you're doing beautifully."

"I can't—I can't—I need something to fucking—" her voice breaks off in a moan.

"We need to get you to the hospital for that."

Before Lily can force herself to speak again Marlene and Dorcas come bounding through the door—well, Marlene is bounding, Dorcas is walking at a very reasonable pace.

"Ice chips achieved!" Marlene holds out the small bowl proudly.

Mary doesn't take her eyes off Lily, brow raised in question. Lily doesn't need words to know what she's asking.

"Er—guys?" Marlene shakes the bowl of ice looking between the pair in confusion.

After a long pause Lily finally sighs, nodding her head.

"Forget the ice," Mary says, slipping her arm around Lily's waist as they both struggle to get her on her feet. "We're going to the hospital."

"I am thoroughly in favour of that plan," Dorcas says from the doorway.

"Okay, right," Marlene tosses the ice chips in the sink. "Operation get Lily to Mungo's," her eyes then flick down to Lily's sleep pants and something crosses her face. "Might wanna get you a new pair of trousers though Lils, looks like you might have—er—had an accident."

Lily blinks. "What?" she looks down only to find that she's wet herself. "Oh fuck me, really?"

"Don't worry about it," Dorcas says casually. "Mar peed herself after drinking too much at the pub like two weeks ago."

"Oi!" Marlene turns around and punches her in the arm. "You were supposed to take that to the grave!"

Dorcas rolls her eyes. "Please, you've done way more embarrassing stuff."

"I don't think you peed yourself," Mary cuts through the chatter, arm still wrapped around Lily, holding her up because standing is feeling extremely difficult at the moment. "I think your water broke."

Lily blinks. "What?"

"How long ago did this happen?" Mary asks, but Lily only shakes her head.

"I don't know, I was crouched over and I'm already sweaty and I didn't even notice honestly. I—"

But she curls over as another contraction slams into her. They're definitely getting worse and this is by far the most painful. "Ahh," she cries out, trembling.

"Fuck," she hears Mary hiss as she helps lower Lily back to the ground because that's where she's going whether she wants to or not. "There's no way we're getting her to the hospital like this, she's too far along."

Lily drops her head onto her chest. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"You mean she's having the baby here?" Marlene demands. "In the loo?"

Everything feels blurry from the pain—too loud and too bright—like Lily's going to pass out, and all she can really focus on is breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Her brain short circuits every time the contractions hit. Slashing through her stomach like a dull blade.

Mary takes a deep breath. "Okay, tell the boys to get us a Mediwizard—Floocall Mungo's or go to the hospital and kidnap one for all I care."

Marlene nods. "Yup. Got it!"

"Okay, Lils, lets get you out of these wet trousers alright?" Lily whimpers and Mary runs a soothing hand through her hair. "It's going to be okay, I promise. We can absolutely do this."

And somehow, when Mary says it, Lily almost believes her.

"Dorcas, can you help me get her up? Get these off?"

A second later Dorcas is at Lily's side, her two friends helping her stand, Dorcas holding her steady while Mary pulls down her trousers.

"Here, maybe it'd be best if we got in the tub? More support and less...mess?" Lily steps into the tub without complaint, letting Dorcas lower her down as the pain dulls for just a moment.

"Fuck," she sighs for the hundredth time. "Fuck this is mental."

"It's fine, right Dorcas?"

Dorcas smiles a little. "Totally fine."

Lily shakes her head at the pair of them, eyes a little misty. "You lot are mental then."

"Says the girl who started having a baby and decided to lock herself in the bathroom. Honestly Lily, and I thought I was the drama queen," Mary gives her a wink.

"Oh fuck off," she groans just as Marlene comes back into the room.

"Okay, okay, okay," she doubles over, gripping her knees, out of breath from running up and down the stairs so much. "So they're gonna go to the hospital and see if they can bring someone back with them but," Marlene looks at Lily who feels like she's barely keeping up. "James really wants to see you first."

They all turn to her, making Lily squirm. She knows this should be an easy answer. An obvious one. But after a second she shakes her head. She's worried they'll ask her to explain but Marlene doesn't miss a beat.

"Got it, I'll tell them to get fucking going." And the next second she's gone again.

"I just," Lily says between breaths as Mary kneels next to the tub. "I just can't. Not right now, he—" she squeezes her eyes shut. "I love him. I love him. I want him here. But it's too hard right now. I can't."

Mary reaches out and takes her hand. "That is completely, one hundred percent, okay."

"Here," Dorcas comes over, crouching down with the previously abandoned ice chips. "Thought we might want these again."

Lily lets out something between a laugh and a hiccup. "Thank you," she takes some ice, before dropping her head back against the cold tiles and closing her eyes.

The pounding of feet up the stairs signals Marlene's return, speeding into the bathroom.

"Guess who I've found?" she says gleefully.

"Please say someone with a medical degree," Mary replies.

"I second that," Dorcas chimes in.

Marlene's smile doesn't shrink. "Nah better." Lily is vaguely aware of the noise of someone approaching behind Marlene, the pain building inside her again, making it difficult to focus. Marlene steps aside with a flourish revealing—

"Holy shit," Mary says at the same time that Lily cries; "Alice!" followed quickly by: "What the hell are you doing here? You just had a baby!"

Alice is dressed in a baggy t-shirt that must be Frank's and flannel pyjama bottoms. She looks tired but otherwise good. Eyes bright as they stare down at Lily.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing giving birth in a bathtub?"

Lily groans and then the contraction really hits her and it turns into more of a grunt, forcing her to curl forward over her stomach.

"Alright, okay, you're okay sweetheart, we've got you," Alice maneuvers her way through the bathroom until she's crawling into the tub by Lily's feet. "How far apart are the contractions?" she asks Mary.

"Not very."

"Not very? I'm gonna need something a little more precise than that Macdonald."

"Well I don't have anything more precise than that Longbottom."

Alice rolls her eyes. "Can someone please start timing these contractions?"

"On it!" Dorcas calls, pulling out her wand and transfiguring Lily's toothbrush into a stopwatch.

Lily makes a small whimpering noise. "Fuck, fuck, what're we going to do? What if something goes wrong?"

"Hey," Alice says softly, squeezing Lily's knees. "The boys have gone to get a Mediwizard okay? I promise you we have plenty of time before this baby comes, so you just need to stay calm and breathe. Nothing is going to go wrong. We're all right here for whatever you need, okay?"

Lily closes her eyes, squeezing Mary's hand and exhaling. "Okay." And then she grimaces.

"Is that another contraction?" Alice asks.

"Yes," Lily forces out through clenched teeth, opening her eyes to see Alice looking over her head at Dorcas.

"How long was that?"

Dorcas looks up from the watch. "Two minutes."

"Huh," Alice says, turning back to Lily.

"What?" she asks, voice strained as she tries to talk through the pain, surprised Mary hasn't said a word since she's definitely squeezing the shit out of her hand. "What's wrong?"

Alice shakes her head quickly. "Nothing! Nothing's wrong, just—uh—" she gives Lily a bemused smile. "That baby might be coming a little sooner than I thought."

PART V JAMES

James and Sirius have been asked to leave the hospital.

Well, that might not be entirely true.

James and Sirius have been escorted by security out of the building and are now anxiously pacing outside. At least, James is pacing, Sirius is more...leaning.

"—it's not like we punched anyone!" James rails, indignantly throwing his arms around. "We were just telling them, calmly," Sirius snorts but James ignores him, "to get their heads out of their asses and help out my pregnant wife—"

"Girlfriend."

"What?"

"Girlfriend," Sirius corrects, bringing James up short. "You said—er—wife."

"Oh," James blinks a few times. "Oh well..." there's a small awkward silence as James tries to figure out where the hell that mental slip came from. "You know what I meant."

Sirius nods. "Yeah mate, I know."

"And they bloody kicked us out!"

"Out of order."

"Completely out of order!" James's voice echoes a bit, bouncing off the courtyard they're currently standing in.

"Moony will sort them out," Sirius says, with an unshakeable level of confidence. "And, I'm gonna be honest, I was definitely about to punch at least one of them."

James snorts, rubbing at his face. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Yeah me too." He lets out a heavy sigh, walking over to Sirius by the wall and sinking down to the ground. "I just want to be useful."

Sirius nudges him with his foot. "I know."

Another pause and then. "She didn't want to see me."

Sirius sighs, "I know."

James shakes his head before dropping it back against the brick wall behind him. "Sometimes," he starts, "I think it's getting better, you know? That we're...healing...and then other times..." I remember that I'm never going to see him again. Other times Lily walks into the room and won't even look at me.

"It hasn't really been that long, all things considered," Sirius says eventually. "Maybe it'll get easier?"

James scrubs at his face, "Yeah," he croaks. He doesn't know what time it is. He knows it's light out—the sun hanging offensively bright in the sky above his head—but that could mean anything. Late morning? Early afternoon? All he knows is he's been up for hours and it's making his whole body feel heavy.

"There are good moments," he finds himself saying, "like really good moments." He thinks about last night, about dancing with Lily in the middle of their kitchen. "I just can't figure out if that's normal, you know? That those are just...moments. That there is so much in between."

Sirius sighs, finally sinking down beside him. There's silence before he speaks. "You reckon it's just us?" he asks finally, both of them looking at each other. "Are we the problem? Or is this just...what it's like?"

"What it's like?" James asks.

Sirius waves his hand in the air. "Being a grown-up."

James thinks of his parents. Of Remus's parents. Of Sirius's. Finally he shakes his head. "I have no fucking clue."

Sirius lets out a huff. "Me either."

At that moment the front doors fly open and both of them jump to their feet, Remus and Peter walking towards them.

"I don't see a Mediwizard," James says warningly.

Remus shoots him an unimpressed look. "You know, as a general rule, if you want people to do something for you it's really best not to try and fight them."

"Unless they're being absolute bellends," Sirius says, which earns him an equally unimpressed look.

"We should have left you both behind."

"Remus, the Mediwizard?" James asks impatiently.

The other boy rolls his eyes. "They're backed up, they'll be able to send someone in a few hours."

"A few hours!" James demands.

"Two or three," Remus elaborates reluctantly.

"Oh absolutely not!" he starts towards the doors but Peter impedes his path, a rather apologetic look on his face as Remus grabs hold of Sirius who was following behind him.

"No, no, no," Remus says firmly. "You two go in there and it'll be ten hours before they bother to send anyone."

"She needs someone now not in three hours! Jesus Christ." James tries to move forward again, and again Peter blocks his path. He glares at him. "Pete, I love you, but if you don't get out of my way I will use force."

Peter grimaces but stays staunchly where he is. "Sorry Prongs, but Moony scares me more so..."

"James," Remus says wearily. "Please, I get it, you're stressed, but fighting everyone in that hospital is not going to fix anything."

"You don't know that."

"James."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck—fine. FINE," he turns to Remus who's standing a few paces behind him, still holding onto Sirius's arm. "So what do we do now?"

There's something like pity in Remus's eyes. "We go back and wait."

James shakes his head, throwing his hands up in the air. "Great. That's just fucking—fat lot of use I am."

"James—"

But it's too late. He's already Apparating away, not interested in whatever placating statement Remus is about to make. He stalks up to his front door, listening to the distinct "pops" of his friend's appearing behind him. The minute he steps inside he hears screaming. It stops him dead in his tracks. He's never heard Lily's voice sound like that before.

He feels Sirius come up beside him, and then Remus, Peter. They lean against him, letting him feel their weight, their presence, as he stands uselessly at the bottom of the stairs and listens to one of the people he loves most in the world in pain. Unable to do anything about it.

"This isn't bad," Remus says finally, voice quiet. "I know it sounds...but this isn't bad."

James nods numbly. He knows that, he supposes, but at the moment it's hard to believe.

"C'mon," Sirius nudges him into the sitting room, practically pushing him onto the sofa. "You want some tea?"

"I'll make it," Remus says, going quickly to the kitchen.

Sirius sits down next to James, the noises from upstairs still drifting through the floors. James rests his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. "I hate this," he murmurs. He's never been good at waiting. At being still. At doing nothing. He wants to fix things.

"Yeah," Sirius says beside him. "I know."

So they sit.

And they listen.

Hoping that any minute the wards will charm and the Mediwizard will appear.

Remus and Peter start playing a game of chess at some point, while Sirius stays glued to James's side, even when Peter asks if he wants to play the winner. He presses into James, just like he'd done at the door. Not talking, just a constant steady presence.

I'm here.

I'm here.

I'm here.

And then they hear running. James's head pops up just as Marlene skids into the room. Her hair has been thrown into a sloppy bun, strands escaping in all directions making her look a bit mad. And there's blood. Blood on her shirt.

"James," she says, and his heart lurches in his chest even after he registers the smile on her face. "Come, come, come."

"Is she alright?" James stumbles to his feet, Marlene already bounding out of the room like some kind of over energized rabbit.

"She's totally fine. They're both totally fine."

He's halfway up the stairs before he registers that. "Both?" his mouth feels dry. "You—the—the baby?"

"The baby," Marlene confirms, beaming at him over her shoulder. "Just wait until you—god James he's so—" but they've made it to the bathroom door now, it's wide open, the room inside an absolute mess. There are clothes and water and blood—fuck why is there so much blood?

Dorcas is sitting on the toilet lid, she smiles wearily at him as he walks in, Mary at the sink washing her hands, Alice kneeling down beside the tub and then—

James's brain freezes for a minute, pulling him up short in the middle of the room. The sudden movement—or lack thereof—seems to catch Alice's attention, because she looks up.

"Well look who it is," she smiles, sweaty and tired. "Sorry, I'm in your spot."

She moves out of the way, squeezing James's shoulder as she passes him. "I think maybe we all have something very urgent that we need to do downstairs right now at this second."

Mary snorts.

"Oh—yeah—that thing," Marlene grabs Dorcas's arm and starts hauling her towards the door.

"Jesus Mar," James can hear them distantly in the corridor, "dislocate my arm why don't you."

And suddenly it's just them.

James.

And Lily.

And—

"Look Harry," Lily says, voice rough, "that's your dad."

James swallows as the baby—pink and blue and painfully beautiful—looks up at him. Giant green eyes and small slicked tuffs of dark hair. For a moment he can't breathe. Overwhelmed by it all.

"James?" Lily asks, the smallest hint of concern creeping in to her voice, which is when James realizes that he hasn't said anything since he stepped into the room.

"Hi," James sounds wrecked and Lily laughs a little.

"Hi."

And suddenly he's at her side, dropping down to his knees, kissing her temple.

"Oh don't, I'm so gross," her squirming makes the baby squirm, scrunching his little chubby face, and puckering his little chubby mouth.

"You're so beautiful," James says in a hushed voice, something prickling behind his eyes. "You're both so beautiful. I—"

And he can't.

He really can't speak.

He just wants to gather them in his arms.

He just wants to hold them for the rest of his life.

"We did alright huh?" Lily asks.

James half-snorts half-sniffles. "Us? Please, this was all you," his voice cracks as he greedily takes in the sight of their baby. Their son. He reaches out his hand, gently running his fingers along Harry's little arms.

"He's so perfect."

"I know," Lily whispers back. "I just want to squish him."

That startles a laugh out of James. And then he's leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the top of the baby's head. "Hello Harry," he says in the same gentle voice. "Hello, hi, hey, it's so good to see you. I love you so much. I'm gonna love you so much."

"Do you reckon it's possible to love someone too much?" Lily asks, sniffling herself. "Because I think I might."

James looks over at her. Cheeks flushed and eyes bright, hair plastered to her face with sweat. Before he can help himself he kisses her again—her cheek, her forehead, her nose.

"James," she laughs.

When he pulls back their eyes fall into one another, catching each other, and holding, holding, holding.

"Marry me."

The words are out of his mouth before he has time to think about them. And while he is, admittedly, a little startled by his own brashness, he doesn't regret it. Not a bit.

Lily's eyes go wide. "James—"

"I know we aren't perfect," he goes on. "I know we have so much still to work through. But can you honestly look at me and say that this isn't forever? Because even in the worst moments, the hardest moments—the ones that burn and ache and sting—I feel forever when I look at you."

They're close enough that he can feel her breath hitch, so can the baby, who makes a slightly disgruntled gurgling noise.

"James," she says again, like his name is the only thing her mind can wrap itself around.

"I love you," he knows he's crying. A complete and utter mess. He reaches forward, cradling her face in his hands. "It's all I really want to do honestly. Love you. Love both of you."

Lily lets out a wet laugh, as she turns her face to kiss his palm. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yeah—yes, okay, it's absolutely mental but yes," she shakes her head, leaning forward to kiss his mouth. "I feel forever with you too," she says against his lips. James wraps around her and Harry—who squirms again but miraculously does not start crying—burying his face in Lily's neck.

"Alright?" Lily asks, turning her head to nuzzle his hair.

"Yeah," James exhales, letting go of all the anxiety and fear he's been holding since he woke up last night to find Lily out of bed. "I'm just really fucking happy you're both okay."

Lily hums, kissing the top of his head. "Me too."

"Knock, knock," Alice sings as she taps on the bedroom door sometime later, Sirius standing just behind her.

Lily and James are both on the bed, Lily under the covers, James on top of them, baby Harry asleep in his arms.

"Oh—whoops, sorry," Alice's voice instantly drops to a whisper as they come into the room. She goes to Lily's side, stroking her hair. "You're looking better."

"Probably the shower," Lily's voice is heavy with exhaustion but she has a dopey smile on her face. "Well, that and the lack of blood."

Alice snorts. "Personally, I thought you looked quite dashing covered in afterbirth."

Lily makes a face. "Gross."

Sirius hasn't made it past the middle of the room, eyes on the baby in James's arms, he looks like he's been hit with a stunning spell.

"Well?" James asks softly. "You gonna come over and meet him or are you just going to stand there gawking?"

Sirius blinks, like he's waking from a trance. "Right—yeah—'course."

He walks over to James's side, unable to look anywhere but at the baby.

"This is Harry," James says, smiling. He's already obsessed with the feel of the warm body in his arms—his little breaths and snorts turning James's heart to goo.

"He's so..." there's aw in Sirius's voice. "He's so small."

"Oi! Give him a minute, he's only just got here. He'll grow. Least that's what I've been told."

Alice lets out a huff of laughter but Sirius's face remains uncharacteristically sober. After a few more seconds of silence James starts to get a little worried.

"Sirius?"

Sirius swallows before looking up and James sees his eyes are wet. "Sorry," he clears his throat, quickly blinking the moisture away. "I just—that's your son, you know?"

James gives his friend a soft smile. "Yeah," he says. "I know."

"I'm gonna buy him so much shit."

James almost forgets to be quiet then, biting his lip at the last second to hold back a full laugh, Harry fussing a little in his arms at the movement.

"Oh God," Lily says, sounding more fond than horrified.

Sirius's eyes go to her. "You did real good Evans."

She smiles at him. "I did, didn't I?" And for a moment they all just bask in it. The warmth and softness and love that seems to be bleeding out of every corner of the room.

"So," Alice says eventually, "not that I don't want to spend every waking moment with you and your lovely bundle of joy. But is there a reason you summoned us?" she waggles a finger between herself and Sirius. "Because I have to admit, I do feel a bit like I've been called to the Head Master's office."

Lily snorts. "As if you were ever called to the Head Master's office."

"She's right, this is nothing like that," Sirius adds. "You're inner swot is showing Longbottom."

Alice rolls her eyes. "Oh well, pardon me for not purposefully pissing off every Professor in the whole school."

"Come now, it was hardly EVERY professor."

James makes a skeptical noise.

"Pretty sure Slughorn was obsessed with us."

"Likely a bit hacked-off we never went to his parties though."

"Pfft, those weren't parties. More like...meetings."

"Work-dos."

"Family obligations."

"Alright," Alice interrupts, turning to Lily. "I'm assuming there's something you wanted to tell us?"

Lily smiles, biting her lip as she reaches out and takes Alice's hand. "Yeah," she says, before looking at Sirius. "We were wondering if you two would be willing to..."

"Be Harry's God parents," James finishes for her.

There's a beat of silence.

And then Alice squeals, which has Lily laughing and sh-ing her at the same time.

"Sorry, sorry," Alice says, hands clasped over her mouth as she does a little happy dance.

"Is that a yes?" Lily asks.

"Oh don't be silly, of course it's a yes!" throwing her arms around Lily and squeezing her unreasonably tight.

Sirius's reaction is somewhat more subdued. His eyes going wide—threatening to fall out. "Me?" he asks James quietly.

"Yeah, of course you. Who else would it be?"

Sirius looks uncertain, it's an odd expression on him. "I dunno, Frank or Remus, they're..." but he doesn't seem to know how to finish that sentence.

James wants to reach out to him, but he settles for looking. "No," he says, as sincerely as he can manage. "You. I want it to be you. If, y'know, if you're willing?"

Sirius holds his gaze. "Of course," and then, after a moment. "I just met the little bugger but I'd die for him in a heartbeat."

James smiles. "I know you would."

The Mediwizard does come eventually, performing a few diagnostic spells and determining that everything is all right. He gives Lily some potions and salves to help with her recovery, though largely he just recommends she gets as much rest as she can. A bit difficult when everyone is crowding around them trying to get a better look at Harry.

"He looks a bit like a naked mole-rat doesn't he?"

"Merlin Peter."

Eventually James is convinced to put him down in his crib. The house slowly emptying out until it's just the three of them.

"James, come to bed," Lily half-laughs.

But he can't stop looking at Harry. Can't stand not being next to him. Touching him. "He's such a good baby," James coos. "He barely cried at all."

Lily snorts. "Yeah well, I'm sure that'll change in a few hours when he decides he's hungry."

James can't be mad at that, he wants to cry when he's hungry too. And there's nothing wrong with a little midnight snack.

"James," Lily hisses, though she can't keep the warmth out of her voice. "C'mere. You haven't slept in like twenty-four hours."

After a few more seconds James sighs, tearing himself away from the crib and crawling into bed with Lily. He slips his arm underneath her and she rests her head on his chest. He can already feel sleep pulling at him, even though five seconds ago he was more than willing to stay up all night watching Harry. But before he can completely drift away he finds himself speaking:

"You didn't want to see me."

"Hm?" Lily mumbles.

"When you were—when you were having the baby. You didn't want to see me."

There's a pause and James thinks maybe Lily has fallen asleep.

"It's still...work, to trust you sometimes," she whispers into the dark room, James can feel the vibrations of her voice in his chest. "And I just...I couldn't do that work then, I didn't have it in me. Does that make sense?"

James closes his eyes briefly, trying to swallow the way that stings. "Yeah," he says finally. "Yeah that makes sense."

He feels Lily lift her head, so he opens his eyes, looking down at her. "It's getting easier though," she says, before leaning up and kissing his cheek. "I'm still glad it's you."

James's breath stutters in his chest. "I'm glad it's you too."

Lily is still in bed when the knock on the door comes the next morning. James doesn't think much of it. Pretty well everyone promised to come back and visit so he's not exactly surprised. He doesn't even bring his wand, walking to the front door in a t-shirt and his pants.

Dumbledore's eyes sparkle when he opens the door.

"Oh," James comes up short. "Er—hello?"

The older man gives him a tight smile. "Good morning James. I do hope you'll pardon the intrusion, but I heard you had a son yesterday?"

James can feel the confusion pinching his face. "I—yeah I—are you here to see the baby?"

The way Dumbledore's smile flickers makes something heavy fall into the pit of James's stomach.

"Not quite," the old man says eventually. "May I come in?"

The wedding is small. They have it in their back garden. Fireflies charmed to light up the sky above their heads like a blanket of stars. It's the beginning of fall but it's still warm.

Frank finds James before the ceremony, fidgeting with the collar of his robes in the bathroom mirror.

"Here, let me,"  he says, batting James's hands away. "You're only making it worse."

James sighs but doesn't fight it, tilting his head back slightly to give Frank better access.

"How're you holding up?" he asks.

"Fine."

"Show off."

That makes James laugh. "Sorry. I'll try to be more panicky."

Frank only rolls his eyes, stepping back and admiring his work. "Well, at least now it doesn't look like you're trying to strangle yourself."

James's hand comes up, gently brushing over the fabric as he looks at himself in the mirror, a vague sense of longing pulling at his gut. In another life, he thinks, it would be his father here helping him get ready.

"They would have been so happy today," Frank says, like he can read James's mind.

He tries to smile. "Yeah," his voice cracks.

"Who do you reckon would start crying first?"

James snorts. "Fleamont, easy."

"Yeah, 'course."

James exhales, leaning forward and gripping the sink in front of him. Today is a good day. It is. But it's also...hard.

"I didn't expect to be missing so many people on my wedding day."

Frank gives him a sympathetic look. "They're here, I promise you. The people that matter are always here," he gives James's chest a gentle nudge, before his eyes trail around the room, up the walls, like he can see Effie and Fleamont in the wooden beams.

"I know that the wedding had to be here for other, less sentimental reasons, but it feels right. Feels like they're still a part of it, you know?" Frank looks at James whose heart swells just a little too big for his chest.

"Yeah," he manages to choke out. "Yeah it does."

It had been a fight to get Dumbledore to let them have any kind of celebrations at all. Especially considering that, as of tomorrow, James and Lily will officially be in hiding. Luckily they had just about every Order member on their side and eventually Dumbledore caved. It would probably be safe, Dumbledore allowed, to have a small gathering at their home. So here they are, getting married. Saying goodbye.

"Oi!" Sirius's voice comes hollering up the stairs. "You lot done making yourselves look pretty? We've got a wedding to get started!"

James and Frank share a look of joint exasperation.

"I hope Remus never proposes," Frank says as they walk out of the bathroom. "Cause Black's gonna be a nightmare of a bride."

James laughs, getting to the top of the stairs before he feels his sleeves. "Shit—forgot my cufflinks."

Frank looks up at him, a few steps below.

"Go ahead," James waves him off already turning back for the bedroom. "I'll be right there."

"Better hurry or you'll ruin Sirius's special day!"

James shakes his head as he walks into the bedroom, hands going for the cufflinks sitting on top of his dresser. That should be the end of it. Over. Done. But for some reason James lingers. Before he can really think about what he's doing his hand opens the top drawer, reaching inside, wrapping around the small wooden box at the back.

He opens it carefully, pulling out the Quaffle and sitting down on his bed. He feels the familiar ache he always does when it sits lifelessly in his palm. He rolls it around, watching the golden initials glinting in the light coming from the corridor.

"Do you feel betrayed?" he whispers to the ball. "Or do you understand?"

That it's still love.

Always love.

He squeezes the ball tight before bringing it to his lips.

"I wish you were here," which is an absurd thing to say, but he feels it all the same.

Because he wants to marry Lily. He just wishes Regulus was with him too. At his side. Smirking. Making sharp remarks about the guests as they arrive. Sneaking James soft smiles when he thinks no one is looking. Bickering with Sirius about the music. James closes his eyes for a moment and exhales. He knows that's not how it would have been, even if Regulus was alive, even if he had come to Godric's Hollow, it was never going to be like that.

But oh how James wants.

"PRONGS! Stop playing with your hair and get down here!"

James sighs. "I'M COMING YOU LUNATIC!"

He gets up, moving to put the Quaffle back in its box, but at the last minute his hand seems to take a detour. The ball ending up in the pocket of James's robes instead.

It's a few hours later—after the ceremony, during which James cried more than Harry ever has, and dinner, during which several glasses of wine were consumed—that Sirius pulls James clumsily into the quiet of the house. None of the lights are on so they can only see one another by the warm glow that spills in from the back garden.

"I have something for you," Sirius says, hand warm on the back of James's neck. He's surprisingly serious for someone who, only a moment ago, was doing the worm in the middle of the dance floor.

"Padfoot, I love you, but I'm taken," James holds up his hand. "I'm maaarrriiieeeddd."

He should probably stop drinking.

"I had you first and Evans knows it," Sirius says, causing James to snort as the pair of them stumble around. "But listen LISTEN this is important."

James does his best to school his expression into something that says "I am listening" but judging by the look Sirius gives him he doesn't do a very good job. Sirius squeezes the back of James's neck before bringing their foreheads together.

"I'm here."

"I know that."

"No, really James. I'm here. I know that it'll be..." he swallows with some difficulty, "harder now, what with..."  the alcohol seems to have robbed Sirius of his ability to finish his sentences.

"The hiding," James decides to help him out, feeling Sirius nod against him. In the dark the light catches Sirius's eyes, making them look like water.

"But I will always be here, always, always. Okay? For you. For Lily. For Harry."

James's chest is starting to feel uncomfortably tight. "I wish you and Moons would just move in."

Sirius laughs quietly, though there's something heavy about it. "It never feels right, does it? All of us not being together."

James shakes his head. "No," he whispers, like it's a secret. "Never."

A new certainty seems to take hold of Sirius and he pulls back from James, who sways unintentionally into the empty space he's left.

"That's why I want you to have this."

At first, because of the light, and also because of the alcohol, James can't tell what it is. It looks...wet...maybe? And then he realizes—

"A mirror?" James takes the ornate handle he's offered and holds the mirror up.

"They talk to one another," Sirius explains as he shows James its twin. James squints at his best mate.

"Talk to one another?"

Sirius nods at the the item in question. "Look at the reflection."

So James does, expecting to see the blurry image of his own face. What he ends up seeing is the blurry image of Sirius's face. His eyes snap up, and then back down, multiple times.

"We can use these," Sirius says when he decides that James has been confused long enough. "No Floo, no letters. I'll always have this with me okay?" James looks at Sirius again, his swimming eyes holding him. "Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, you'll be able to contact me. Okay?" He grabs hold of James's neck again with his free hand. "I'm here."

Fuck, James is too drunk for this many emotions.

"That goes both ways," he finally manages. "I'll carry it, always."

James isn't sure who moves first, but the next thing he knows they have their arms wrapped around one another, the embrace almost violent, almost knocking them off their feet.

"I really love you, you know," Sirius says into his shoulder.

James squeezes him tighter, as though worried he's going to suddenly disappear. "I love you too."

James didn't want to make Sirius the Secret Keeper.

I mean, he did.

But.

He didn't want to give Remus and Sirius something else to fight about.

Another ocean in their relationship that neither of them could cross.

Another thing they couldn't say.

So James had wanted to pick someone else.

Except.

Except he couldn't.

It was Sirius.

It was always going to be Sirius.

Harry provides a good distraction at first. Babies, it turns out, take up quite a bit of time. Convenient, since now Lily and James have so much of it. It isn't terribly noticeable at first, that they're prisoners. It doesn't really sink in until the day James tries to go flying and finds that the wards Dumbledore set up won't even let him in the back garden.

It is a shock to no one that James is terrible at staying put. Being still. Quiet. Patient. He talks to Sirius every day. Sometimes Remus is there. Sometimes Peter. They tell him what's going on—at least to the extent that they're allowed, which, thanks to Moody, is not much. James becomes increasingly bitter about this since obviously he isn't the fucking spy is he? And It's not like he can see anyone to spread information. But apparently Moody doesn't believe in exceptions.

"I probably won't be able to talk tomorrow."

Sirius looks nearly as miserable as James feels, sitting slouched on his sofa, hair in a messy bun, heavy bags under his eyes. Remus is sitting next to him, cup of tea clutched between both hands.

Merlin, James can't help thinking, when did we all start looking so old?

"Why?" he cringes at how petulant he sounds, but if Sirius notices he doesn't comment, only blowing out a breath that disturbs some of the fly away hairs framing his forehead.

"I—"

"Sirius," Remus warns, earning him a glare from both of them.

"Who is he gonna tell Remus? Honestly."

"You don't know who's listening," Remus insists.

"I promise Harry won't snitch," James intends for it to be a joke but the bitterness in his voice is undeniable.

Remus gives him an apologetic look. "Listen, I know how mental this sounds—"

"Do you?" Sirius demands, and now they're all glaring.

"Yes. I do. But we have no idea how these mirrors even work—how easy they are to hack into. Not to mention our flat."

"Our flat?" Sirius repeats. "What the hell is wrong with our flat?"

"It could be bugged! It's not exactly a secret that we live here, in this very busy, well known location."

Sirius lets out a heavy sigh and, James assumes, throws his arms in the air, because for a minute he gets a very good look at the ceiling.

"Jesus Christ Remus."

"I'm just saying!"

"You're just fucking paranoid."

"No shit I'm paranoid! Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Oh don't start—"

"OI!" James shouts, free hand massaging his temple. "Enough, enough. Merlin, you'd think you two were the ones locked up in a house together."

Both of them look a little embarrassed, which isn't really what James wants either.

"Sorry James, I just—"

But James stops Remus with his hand. "It's fine, really, you're right—"

Sirius scoffs.

"He IS right," James sends Sirius a pointed look. "So lets just...talk about something else. Okay?"

There's a tense moment of silence before Remus eventually clears his throat. "How are things, you know, with you and Lily?"

How are things with Lily?

That is an interesting question.

They're around one another all the time, inescapably so, with a new born baby who—despite being extraordinarily well behaved, James still maintains—loves to get them up several times a night. Lily only knows how to take care of a baby the Muggle way and James the magical way, and while most of the time those two systems cohabit nicely, every once and a while they do clash. Like when James charmed the teddybears to watch Harry for an hour while he chatted with Sirius the other night.

Still, despite it all, James thinks that oddly, miraculously, they might actually be—

"Good," he says finally, eyes refocusing on his two mates who are now watching him rather intently. "Maybe it sounds weird but I feel like we've been...missing Harry, y'know? He...everything just makes more sense with him."

He doesn't mention the way he sometimes fantasizes about what it would've been like, to introduce Harry to Regulus. To see him holding him. How that...makes sense too. Fills in some gap for James.  

Sirius looks completely lost but Remus offers James a soft smile. "I'm happy for you."

Regardless of how well he and Lily are coping James still feels about ten seconds away from pulling his hair out most of the time. He's already read pretty well every book in the cottage—Remus has agreed to have Sirius bring him more—and he's grown so bored that he's actually dragged some of his father's old potions stuff out of the basement and started experimenting.

"If you accidentally curse us I'm going to be so unimpressed Potter," Lily says one day, bouncing Harry up and down on her knee as she watches James hover over a bubbling potion.

"O ye of little faith," James says, chopping up a frog's foot.

"I have seven years of potions's classes that tell me not to trust you with a cauldron."

"Oi!" James says mildly offended. "I was good at potions."

"It's more your evil mind that frightens me, not so much your lack of ability."

He shoots her a cheeky grin. "You think I have an evil mind? Gosh golly gee Lily Potter, are you trying to seduce me? Cause it's working," he winks.

Lily tries and fails to keep a straight face, eventually laughing, which causes Harry to make some happy gurgling noises James assumes are him joining in.

Sometimes he loves them so much it hurts.

He starts staying up later, because it's one of the few ways he can be alone. Get some space. Lily and Harry asleep upstairs while he fiddles with his potions. One night, for some reason, he finds himself casting his Patronus. And then he does it again the night after. And after. And After. He doesn't know why.

Well, okay.

Maybe he does know why.

It sits with him, a calm, soothing presence. Filling James's nights with a safe blueish glow. And whispered conversations.

"What do you reckon Reg?" he says softly. "Do we crush the the pomegranate seeds or put them in whole?"

Funny. But he swears the stag is listening.

It's only shortly after James discovers that the invisibility cloak allows him to walk through Dumbledore's wards that the old man comes round asking for it. He doesn't think it's a coincidence, nor does he appreciate being treated like a child—having his toys taken away. But the problem with Dumbledore is, as much as you might want to, you can't ever say no to him.

Well, unless you're Mary Macdonald.

But almost no one is.

Dumbledore says he'll give it back. That he just needs it for some research he's been doing. James doesn't say much to him. Teeth clenched, hands in fists. Every fibre of his being revolting against the idea of handing it over. But in the end he does.

Of course he does.

His last bit of freedom.

He's not sure Dumbledore knows what he's taking. Or maybe he doesn't care.

All of their communications have to go through Sirius, who, to his credit, takes on the task of letter carrier graciously. James knows Lily is lonely. She does not have a magical mirror instantly connecting her to her friends. Hell, she doesn't even have an owl anymore. And while Sirius does his best to make regular visits, it's difficult.

Lily writes a lot of letters. There's not much else to do to be fair. They sit on her desk and wait for Sirius to come pick them up and James fights the urge to ask her what's in them.

It's none of his business.

But he can't help but wonder.

Harry is in the sink—too small for the bathtub—wet and rosy cheeked and smiling as he plays with the little rubber Snitch James conjured for him. Harry isn't talking yet but he is smiling. He smiles a lot. And the gurgling has definitely started to sound more like laughter.

"I think we might have a Seeker on our hands," James says as he works the baby shampoo into Harry's impressively thick hair.

"Oh yeah?" Lily is only half-listening, sitting in the empty bathtub behind him, reading through the letters Sirius brought over earlier that day.

"He's obsessed with this thing," and then, to prove his point, he picks up the Snitch in question and tickles Harry's little belly with it. "Isn't that right, huh? Isn't that right?"

Harry makes that gurgly-giggly noise and James can't help but beam back at him.

"To be fair," Lily says, "you're also obsessed with it and you're a Chaser."

James considers that for a moment. "True enough I suppose."

He's just towelling Harry off—who is beginning to get a little grumpy—when Lily gasps. He turns around to find her scrambling to her feet, eyes wide and on the letter in her hands. He feels his heart stutter.

"What?" he asks, trying to keep the panic out of his voice as he holds Harry a little closer. "What's happened? What is it?"

But then Lily is laughing. "Marlene and Dorcas," she looks up, eyes bright. "They're engaged!"

"Holy shit," James says, before looking guiltily down at Harry and whispering; "Don't tell anyone I said that."

Harry just blinks up at him, making an unhappy noise. Clearly someone needs a nap.

"God I can't believe this," Lily is practically vibrating, standing in the middle of the tub and bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. James can't help but smile. "Apparently Marlene is the one who did it, bought a ring, got down on one knee, the whole thing."

"Makes sense," James says, kissing the top of Harry's head just because it's there.

"Man I just—" some of the bubbling excitement drains out of her. "I can't believe I can't see her," and then, looking up at James fiercely, as though expecting a fight. "There's no way I'm not going to this wedding."

James nods even though he knows it isn't up to them, not really. Lily knows that too so there's no reason to point it out. "I can't imagine they would have it without you."

Lily looks back down at the letter, and James can practically feel the longing wafting off of her. "I just don't want to...miss everything, you know? I just want to be there. Does that sound awful...selfish." She suddenly looks at Harry, guilt clear in her eyes, like she's done something wrong.

"No," James steps forward, kissing her head too. "No it doesn't."

It's only been a few months, but James feels it too.

Like the world is moving on without them.

It's fucking terrifying.

His Patronus trails around the border of the room. And for a moment all James can do is stare and ache.

"Bones is missing," Sirius's haggard voice comes through the mirror.

"Bones?"

"Frederick Bones."

"Shit."

Sirius nods in agreement. "Connor, Mark, Kathy, a few others I don't know, all dead— Order meetings are a rather intimate affair these days."

"Oh my God James! James!"

James comes running into the living room from the kitchen to find Lily and Harry on the ground. She looks over at him, smiling widely.

"Harry's crawling! Look, look, look," she scoots back a little and then holds out her hands to Harry who is currently on his belly. "Come here darling, come on, come here!"

Harry makes a bit of a face—James secretly thinks of it as his poop face—before all the sudden getting his hands under him and dragging himself forward towards Lily.

"Wow look at him go," James says as Lily gathers the baby in her arms and nuzzles at his head.

"You hear that Harry? You did such a good job. Now I just need you to say momma."

James rolls his eyes. "His first word is gonna to be dada and we all know it."

Lily looks up and sticks her tongue out at him and James laughs.

"I don't know, I think he might be a Beater," Sirius holds one of Harry's little arms up. "Look at these things, rippling mate."

James snorts from where he's sitting in the armchair across the room. "If rippling muscles were a requirement for a good Beater you wouldn't have even been allowed on the Pitch."

"Wow, rude," he dips his head low, whispering to Harry conspiratorially. "Don't listen to your dad, he doesn't know what he's talking about. I'm well fit. "

Harry giggles, likely because Sirius's breath is tickling his cheek, but Sirius still looks up at James triumphantly. "He thinks I'm funny."

James rolls his eyes. "He thinks his toes are funny."

Sirius makes a thoughtful expression before looking down at Harry's socked feet. He reaches out and gives one a light squeeze. "To be fair, they are kinda."

"Oi!"

"What! I'm just saying—"

"Boys," Lily chides playfully as she walks into the room, putting a bowl of crisps on the table before sitting down on the floor, leaning back against James's legs. "Am I going to have to separate you two?"

"He's insulting our son's toes!"

Sirius scoffs. "Please, if anything I was complimenting his well developed sense of humour."

Lily snorts. "Well, at least you're not arguing over something silly."

"Silly?"

"Us?"

"Never."

"Can't even picture it really."

"Nor can I Prongs, nor can I."

"You're right," Lily half-laughs, reaching for the crisps. "Don't know what I was thinking."

There's a small pause, Sirius playing with Harry while James watches, feeling more at ease than he has in days. Maybe weeks. The impatient buzzing that's recently been growing louder beneath his skin has turned down to a quiet hum.

"So," Lily asks. "How're things? How's Remus?"

Sirius shrugs, still playing with Harry who is making a series of nonsense noises. It's his new favourite thing. Like he's talking back to you even though he doesn't know any words. Sometimes James babbles with him.

"Moony's fine, or, you know, was the last time I saw him."

Ah.

Gone again then.

It's been years of this now. You'd think they'd all be used to it but somehow it never feels mundane, Remus's disappearances. Never feels routine. It's isn't that they all haven't vanished from time to time, but Remus's disappearances are certainly the longest and the most consistent. And he is, as Sirius always very bitterly points out, the most secretive.

James and Lily exchange a quick glance and James opens his mouth to say something comforting when Harry beats him to it.

"Moomy, moomy, moomy," he mutters, pulling on Sirius's collar. Lily pops up onto her knees.

"Did he just say mommy?" she asks excitedly.

"No way," James will not be losing this battle.

"I told you I was gonna be his first word!"

"He did NOT say mommy, you're hearing things Evans."

"You wish Potter."

"Oi!" Sirius interrupts, still looking down at Harry. "Would you two shut it, the kid is trying to talk."

They quiet down, though James does nudge Lily with his foot, causing her to retaliate by elbowing him in the shins.

Harry has largely gone back to his regular string of indistinguishable noises and James can practically feel Lily getting ready to go get the Pensieve so they can all replay the memory and listen to Harry say it again, when—

"Moomy," pulling his fingers out of his mouth and looking up at Sirius. "Moony."

There's a beat of silence.

"Did he just—"

"Moony?"

"Moony!"

"What the hell!" James exclaims, throwing his hands up. "How does Remus get to be MY son's first word when the bastard isn't even here!"

Sirius says nothing, staring down at the Harry with something complicated in his eyes, causing Lily and James to once again share a glance. A few more seconds pass before James prods:

"Padfoot? You doing alright over there?"

"Yeah," Sirius croaks. "Yeah just..." he lets the sentence hang so long that James is certain he isn't going to finish it but then: "I think Remus feels a little on the outside these days...it'll mean something to him, that Harry knows his name."

"Well," there's a small tremor in Lily's voice. "I guess I can get over losing then."

There's a pause before she looks pointedly at James. "Pfft," he scoffs. "Not me, I'm still fucking livid."

That makes Sirius snort, Lily punching James's thigh.

"Moony!" Harry exclaims excitedly, making Sirius laugh more.

"Yeah buddy," he says softly. "Moony, Moony, Moony."

The day that James tries to use the mirror and Sirius doesn't pick up he knows something is wrong.

He doesn't know how wrong, of course. Not yet. But it's enough to start him worrying.

He sits on the end of the bed with the mirror gripped between his hands for close to an hour trying to get a response. But none comes.

That's when the panic really sets in.

He paces around the room, not wanting to go downstairs and frightened Lily before he has some actual information—something more than his gut intuition and the certainty that Sirius would never willingly not pick up when he called.

He watches time tick by and does his best not to chew through his own cheek. Every few minutes he tries Sirius again but there's only silence, only James's reflection staring back at him. One hour turns to two. Then three. And then, finally, he hears a voice.

"James?"

He lifts the mirror up to eye level, the relief at seeing that Sirius is okay short lived when he takes in his pale face and the blank look in his eyes. When things get bad, truly bad, Sirius shuts off. Regulus was the same. A family trait—a way to protect themselves from the horrible things they had no choice but to live through.

"What is it? What's happened?"

James has an eery memory of sitting on the floor of his father's study, asking Sirius similar questions before having his world torn apart. He tries to push that away. Dragging up old pain won't help him now.

"Is Lily there?"

"Not in the room with me."

Sirius nods. "You should go get her." His voice is even. Empty. Some people might mistake it for calm. James is not some people. He sees it for what it is—devastation.

"Sirius—"

"She needs to hear this too. And it's better...not being alone."

James swallows with difficulty. "You're scaring me Sirius."

The other boy only nods. "Go get Lily."

He doesn't bother fighting it, happy when he goes downstairs and finds Harry already down for his afternoon nap, that'll make things easier. Lily looks up from the book in her lap, giving James a small smile until she sees the expression on his face.

"What is it?" she asks.

James only shakes his head. "Sirius wants to talk to both of us."

He sees Lily's eyes drop to the mirror in his hands and then slide over to Harry. "The kitchen?" she says after a moment, and James nods, the pair of them quickly moving into the other room.

"Hey Lily," Sirius says wearily when they're seated at the table, both visible in the mirror's reflection.

"Sirius, what's going on?"

For a moment he just looks back at them, mouth half open, struggling around the words, like they're trying desperately to scramble back down his throat.

For the first time there's a crack in his mask, pain flashing in his eyes. He closes them briefly, taking a deep breath. "The McKinnion's were attacked," James feels the sensation of cold dread dripping down his spine, Lily rigid beside him. "They—they're all dead." His words quiver even while his expression remains unchanged. "Marlene's dead."

Lily shakes her head. "No."

"It looks like it was fast. Not much—I don't think she—" Sirius's voice cuts out and he closes his eyes again.

"No," Lily repeats, before standing up and walking out of the room.

"Lily—" James is half out of his seat already. "Sirius I'll call you back okay?"

"There's something else," the crack in Sirius's voice brings James to a halt. He inspects his friend's face.

"What?"

Sirius sighs. "Dorcas is missing."

"What?"

He hears a loud bang in the other room and looks nervously down the hall. A second later Harry starts to cry.

"She wasn't with Mar. She was working and when she heard she fucking took off," Sirius wipes a hand over his face. "We're looking for her but, god, I don't know. I feel like she's gone and—" his voice breaks again.

Dorcas and Sirius have been working together a lot James knows.

And Marlene—

There's another bang, Harry screaming his little lungs out now.

"Fuck—okay I have to go. Are you—is Remus?"

Sirius shakes his head. "It's fine. Go. I'll call back when I can yeah?"

James nods. "Be careful."

He doesn't know who he's supposed to go to first; Lily or Harry. He's shaking and a little cold and he knows he isn't processing anything, that this will hit him like a brick wall later but he's grateful for the numbness now.

He finds Lily in the study, door flung open, her wand in her hand as she fires spells at the fireplace.

"Lily—"

"I need to get out of this house," she waves her wand, casting god knows what. James is fairly certain Dumbledore fully took them off the grid and he's pretty sure there's no way for them to reconnect on this end. "I need to see her."

"See who?" James asks, taking a tentative step forward, both arms raised.

"Marlene. I have to see her."

"Lily—"

"She isn't," Lily snaps, firing another spell that bounces off the mantle causing James to duck. He can hear Harry screaming and it's twisting up his stomach. "She's hurt maybe, or something, but she isn't—she isn't—" Lily just shakes her head, tears filling her eyes. "Not Marlene, you know? She's so—she has so much life and she's so smart and so strong, so she just can't be—she can't be. It isn't possible."

She raises her wand again but this time James moves, stepping in front of her. "You've gotta stop, you're gonna do something to the house, it might hurt Harry. You have to stop."

Lily blinks, looking at him for the first time. For a moment he's worried that she's going to fire anyway but she doesn't, instead she pushes him out of the way and starts for the front door.

"Fine, I'll just break the fucking wards then."

"Lily!" he follows after her, walking by the living room where Harry wails for their attention. "If you break the wards you're putting us at risk."

"I don't care," her hand on the doorknob. "Something has happened to Marlene and I need to find her, I need to be with her, I need to—to—"

He wraps his arms around her from the behind, pulling her back into the house.

"Let me fucking go James!"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but I can't. We have to think about Harry, we have to—"

"Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!" she's sobbing now, kicking and punching as James drags her back into the living room.

"I'm sorry," his voice wobbles. "But we can't do anything."

"No."

"Lily—"

"This can't keep happening!" she shouts desperately, voice scraping itself raw on her teeth. "How can this keep happening? How can we—no, I won't. I won't lose her. I can't lose her. Please let me go. Please, please I just need to see her. I just need to hear her voice. Please. I can't do this again. I can't lose someone again. Please."

They've somehow ended up on the floor, James curling himself around Lily as she stops fighting him and starts just crying. Shaking so badly James can barely keep his grip.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, kissing her temple. It's all he can say. It's all he has. "I'm sorry." He hears the scratchiness of his own voice. Harry howling in the background. "I'm sorry." He thinks he's crying now too and he hopes Harry can't see. He hopes he has no idea what's going on. He hopes he never remembers this moment.

Hopes his life isn't a series of moments just like it.

It takes Voldemort himself to kill Dorcas. Though she manages to take quite a few of his followers down with her.

They can't go to the funerals, of course.

Lily shuts herself away in their bedroom.

Harry's first birthday comes and goes. They bake a cake, they sing songs, Harry makes an absolute mess.

Sirius sends him a toy broom which James honestly falls in love with as much as Harry does. The kid taking to it like it's the most natural thing in the world—speeding around, giggling. James is jealous honestly. It's been ages since he's flown.

That night he stays up late, his Patronus glowing brightly beside him as he sits with his head in his hands.

"I don't want his whole life to be like this," he says.

He doesn't know who he's talking to.

Well.

Okay.

Maybe he does.

"Trapped in this house. He should be outside, he should be surrounded by family and other kids and not just our fucking misery." Because nothing has been the same since Marlene and Dorcas. How could it be?

"This house is full of grief," James sighs, scrubbing at his eyes. "I don't want his life to be full of grief," and then: "I don't want my life to be full of grief."   

It's a month or so later that Sirius shows up unannounced.

He looks nervous, like he hasn't been sleeping, pacing up and down their living room as they watch from the sofa, ringing his hands, pulling at his hair. It feels like they wait a long time, his anxiety too loud to interrupt, to cut through, filling the whole room and making all of them squirm.

Until eventually he stops, eyes wide, begging them to understand. "I think you need to pick a new Secret Keeper."

Which is not at all what James was expecting.

"What?"

"I think I'm too obvious," Sirius goes on, with the air of someone who has had this thought again and again and again. "And I'm worried—I'm worried that they'll be able to kill me. And if they do then you won't be safe anymore." James can't quite understand why he looks so guilty. "I would die for you, for all of you, in a heartbeat. You know that," he looks pleadingly at James who nods quickly.

"Of course I do."

"But I don't want to be the reason you're not safe. I don't want to be the reason—" he swallows. "You need a new Secret Keeper."

James wants to argue with him, but he isn't sure that Sirius is entirely wrong. It's not exactly a secret how close they are, and while Sirius might not mind dying for them, James certainly doesn't want him to.

"Who are you thinking?" Lily asks eventually. "Remus?"

There's that guilt again. Sirius looks away, shaking his head. "No, still too obvious," James thinks there's more than that but Sirius doesn't give him the chance to push. "Peter."

"Peter?" James asks, surprised.

Sirius looks up again, more certainty in his gaze. "No one will suspect it. Not him. Not Pete. No one ever thinks it's Pete, not even back in school."

James chews on his bottom lip, thinking, before he looks to Lily.

"It makes sense," she says finally.

He isn't sure why it doesn't feel right, why the idea makes something itch inside of his chest. Eventually he turns back to Sirius. "You think this is our best option?"

Sirius nods. "They'll come for me, it's only a matter of time. At least this way, if they manage to...at least this way you'll be okay."

Which couldn't be further from the truth.

If Sirius dies James dies. But he doesn't bother pointing that out. Doesn't think he needs to. Clearly this has been weighing on Sirius, so, eventually, he nods.

"Someone should go get Pete."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Lily dashes up the stairs, leaving Harry and James to stare at one another, James holding a camera.

"Don't look at me," he says to the one year old. "I don't know what she's doing."

Harry gives him a wide eyed blink. "Moomy."

It isn't that Harry hasn't learned any other words, he has. Like broom, and hungry, and no. But the only name he seems to have picked up is Moony. For whatever reason.

"Not quite buddy," James says as he hears the sound of Lily running back down the stairs, skidding into the living room.

"He needs his hat!" she says breathlessly. "It makes the whole thing."

"Uh-huh."

She shoots him a glare as she pulls the round cap with the pointed stem over Harry's head. Stepping back and smiling. "There, perfect."

In fairness, the hat really does pull it all together. Little Harry sitting in the middle of the sofa dressed like a very convincing pumpkin. "Okay," James says, lifting the camera up to his face, "say cheese."

Harry smiles most of the time so it isn't hard to get a good picture. Honestly James thinks he could stare at him for hours—his big green eyes, his dark peach fuzz hair, his chubby cheeks.

Perfect.

Everything about him is perfect.

"Oi!" James laughs as Lily rushes into the frame, jumping on the sofa and peppering Harry with kisses. "M'am, please, you're harassing my model." Though he snaps a few more photos while he says it.

"I can't help it, he's so cute," she pulls Harry into her lap, his hat lost as she bounces him up and down on her knee. "Aren't you?" she says in a baby voice, leaning forward to brush their noses together. "Aren't you just the cutest?" Harry giggles and James puts down the camera, coming over to join them.

"We should have bought sweets," he says, arm draped over Lily's shoulders, pulling her into his side. "Bit of a sad Halloween without them."

Lily laughs. "He's a baby, he can't eat sweets."

"Who says they would be for him?"

Harry is playing with Lily's necklace and occasionally interspersing his baby babble with actual words. Something about the moment—the three of them sitting together on the sofa—makes James feel settled. Almost calm. A rare thing these days.

"Take him for a minute?" Lily says as she shifts Harry to James's lap, "I'm just going to run upstairs and put on some music."

"If it's not Monster Mash I don't wanna hear it!" James shouts after her.

"You know, sometimes I can't tell who the baby is, you or Harry!"

"Oi!" and then, leaning down and whispering to Harry; "It's me, but don't tell her I said that."

Harry just blinks at him, and then giggles, causing  a smile to spread across James's face.

"You really are unfairly cute," he goes on in the same quiet tone. "I'm not saying you should be grateful, but we honestly outdid ourselves with this," he waves his hand vaguely at Harry's face, which, of course, has the toddler reaching out and trying to stuff James's fingers in his mouth.

"Hopefully you get your mum's eyesight along with her eyes though," he goes on as Harry attempts to eat him. "The glasses are a real pain especially on the Pitch," another smile creeps up on him. "Merlin, I can't wait to watch you play. You're gonna be brilliant, I can already tell."

Sometimes, when he looks at Harry, when he thinks about everything he wants to show him and tell him and watch him do, he feels like his chest is too small. Like it can't hold the impossible amount of love he has for this one little being.

"This doesn't sound like Monster Mash!" he says, as Lily starts coming back down the stairs.

"That's because I have taste," he watches her face warm as she comes through the doorway. "Aw, you two look so cozy."

"Excuse you, we're very fearsome, isn't that right pumpkin?" he leans down and presses a kiss to Harry's forehead causing him to squirm.

"Uh-huh," Lily climbs back onto the sofa, curling into James's side. She hums along to the song which Harry seems to enjoy quite a bit, clapping and reaching for her. In general he's an excellent source of entertainment. Sure, his abilities to articulate thoughts and move are limited, but Harry's always doing something. And everything he does is fascinating to James.

That's when he feels it.

A slight tremor.

But it isn't coming from the ground, like an earthquake, instead it's the space around them. The air rippling.

Lily instantly sits up. "That was weird."

Quiet falls over the house. A moment ago there was the noise of children out on the street, banging on doors, demanding sweets. The popping of Apparation as people jumped from one neighbourhood to the next. Talking. Laughing.

Now.

Now there's nothing.

Not even the wind.

It's unnerving.

Wordlessly James slides Harry off of his lap and into Lily's arms. "James?" she asks, whispering, because it suddenly feels as though they need to be just as quiet as their surroundings.

Which is when James realizes; "The music's stopped."

Lily's face scrunches up as she looks towards the ceiling, like she can see the record player. "Strange," she murmurs. "I wonder if the needle got stuck?"

Sound is a wave. Physical even if we can't see it. And all James can think about is that tremor. Powerful enough to knock the music out of the air.

"The wards," he says finally. Moving faster now, towards the window. "It's the wards. They're broken."

"What?" he hears the panic in Lily's voice a moment before he's able to see outside. Able to see the man walking leisurely up their front steps.

"James—"

"Lily it's him," he feels his body go numb, preventing him from being able to process those words. "You have to run." There's scuffling on the front stoop. The door's locked of course. A laughable precaution.

"Run?"

"I'll try to hold him off," James is already heading for the front door. "Find a way out. Get Harry somewhere safe."

The doorknob turns

"James—"

"Lily. Please."

He's shaking as he listens to the sound of her running up the stairs, reaching for his wand and laughing when he finds it isn't there. He has no idea where he left it. In the kitchen after fixing a quick snack? The living room floor after playing with Harry? He barely needs it at all these days, he's gotten lazy with it.

Of course, he's been wand-less in moments like this before. Like when he was fifteen. Standing in the Shrieking Shack between Snape and Remus. Things worked out alright then. Maybe he'll pull it off now too?

The sick feeling in his stomach suggests he doesn't quite believe that.

Funny, how everything speeds up and slows down all at once. Seconds stretching into hours, the door opening for lifetimes. His lifetime. And the many lifetimes he didn't live. James feels himself splintering even before he sees Voldemort's face. The strings attached to all his possible endings being snipped one by one. All the choices he could have made falling away.

This is the last one.

There will be no more.

Where once there were multitudes now there is but a single boy. Naked. And alone. Standing at the front door of his family home. Meeting an unexpected guest. In a way, this is just how it all started.

He considers charging, maybe he can knock the wand out of the other man's hand. Maybe, in the end, Voldemort will be taken down not by some great feat of magic but by desperate fists. It's only a fleeting thought however, not even lasting a second.

The minute that James meets the older man's eyes it's already too late.    

The spell cast.

As all his lives play out before his eyes in the pitiful moments before he dies, only one thought really rises above the other's. So that, the last thing that James Potter thinks about, with his beating heart and fluttering pulse, is Sirius Black.

A moment in a train carriage, their eyes crashing into one another for the first time, like two suns colliding. He was bright without Sirius, but he was brighter with him. His universe set fundamentally to rights the moment they shook hands.

If Sirius dies James dies. And if James dies—

Sirius.

He barely feels it when the green bolt slides between his ribs. It's just a shiver really. A chill. Not so bad at all. Maybe it didn't work. Maybe something went wrong. Maybe he's still breathing.

Except that he's falling.

Crashing to the floor as the world becomes a mash of indistinguishable sounds and colours.

Oh Sirius, I'm so sor—

Inhale.

Exhale.

Exhale.

Exha—

PART IV SIRIUS

He feels it all.

All at once.

Inescapable.

He feels it all.

And it hurts,

hurts

hurts.

PART V REMUS

When Remus comes home the flat is dark.

PART VI MARY

It's been years since Mary Macdonald last stepped foot in Hogwarts. Probably just as long since she last stared across a desk at Albus Dumbledore. The quality of the experience has not improved.

"Petunia Evans."

"It's Dursley, actually," Dumbledore corrects her mildly.

There is something like rage humming beneath her skin, so close to the surface it's practically reaching across the desk. He should really be more careful.

"Lily would never have wanted that."

Dumbledore inclines his head in agreement. "Alas, the guardians she did want are currently indisposed."

Imprisoned.

Insane.

Mary's nails dig into the arms of her chair as his blue eyes stare calmly back at her. Twinkling. Like he's enjoying this.

"Then let me take him."

The older man arches his brow. "You want to raise their baby?" he tugs lightly on his beard. "I must admit Ms. Macdonald, I am rather surprised. You always seemed so reluctant to get involved."

It's an obvious attack. Boring and uninspired. "Yes, well, I'm full of surprises."

He smiles. It isn't reassuring. "You certainly are. Unfortunately, the child has to stay where he is. Though I'm sure James and Lily would have appreciated your willingness to help."

Mary barely holds in the urge to rip their names out of his mouth. "Sorry," she says, voice blank. "I misspoke earlier. What I meant to say was; I will be taking Harry. Seeing as he is not yours to give away I actually don't require your permission. I just needed to know where he was."

She moves to get up but Dumbledore's words stop her. "I do actually have authority in this matter, as it happens. Since Remus Lupin was Black's legal common law partner, and the two named guardians have been deemed unfit to make decisions, the power of Harry's guardianship falls to him," still smiling. "And he has chosen to defer to me."

"Bullshit," she snaps. "Remus is catatonic, he can barely speak let alone legally consent to anything."

Dumbledore opens his palms to her. "The Ministry disagrees with you."

"Fuck the Ministry."

"If you'd like to check this with the Minister I can certainly organize a meeting—"

"Fuck the Ministry and fuck you," her vision blurs around the edges, seconds away from exploding. From burning the school down. "I'm taking Harry."

She doesn't wait for a reply, turning on her heel and heading towards the door. The only thing stopping her from reaching for her wand is the knowledge that Harry already has one person who was meant to care for him in jail. He certainly doesn't need another.

"Ms. Macdonald."

She doesn't stop.

Has no interest in what he has to say.

Never has really.

"Ms. Macdonald—Mary."

Hand on the doorknob.

"29 Hendford Hill."

She freezes, her whole body going stiff.

"That's your brother's address is it not? Damian?"

She turns to face him, the rage transforming into something else. Something like acid. Something like fear. Dumbledore is standing now, illuminated by the tall windows behind him. He almost glows.

"You will leave Harry Potter where he is," all warmth gone from his voice. The curtain pulled back. The Wizard of Oz revealed. "You will not speak to him, you will not write to him, you will have no contact with him at all."

She wonders how they all missed it. How they couldn't see. She doesn't know if it would have made a difference. Maybe they'd all still be gone even without Dumbledore's help.

"And I promise," the old man goes on, "to show your brother the same curtesy."

To let him live.

For the first time in years, Mary Macdonald feels herself crack.

PART VII PETER

Peter has never given much thought to what kind of person he is.

Those larger questions, the ones that try to tear life open and understand it, never appeal to him. Those are Remus's specialty.

Peter simply is a person. That is enough for him.

When he feels desire he moves towards it.

When he feels fear he moves away.

He does not think life is meant to be more complicated than that. We're animals after all. Things only mean more because we decide they do.

Death, is one of those things.

Peter has lost himself to grief. To the pain of it. The ache. But that was before he realized he had a choice.

Death hurts because humans decide to make it hurt.

They decide you should cry.

Tear your hair out.

Scream.

So you do. But death, like life, has no inherent meaning. It simply is. A fact. A state of being. There's no need for all the theatrics. No need to tear yourself up about it. If you simply ignore everything you're taught, death can be something quite mundane.

Well.

Other people's deaths, in any case.

Peter first learned this as he stood over Marlene McKinnon's body.

Initially, there was that swelling of feeling. That ache. That pain. But then he'd made himself stop.

Stop.

Stop it.

It doesn't mean anything. Doesn't actually hurt. You just think it does. You've just been taught that it does. But that isn't actually how you feel.

In the end her death had seemed almost dull. Like there really ought to have been more to it. He'd stood over her, eyes staring up at him unseeing, and thought; "that wasn't so bad." He could do it again. If it was necessary. If he needed to. If it kept him alive. Because that did matter, that always mattered.

Peter mattered.

That's what the Dark Lord said.

It was one of the many reasons he was growing tired of his school friends. Especially Remus and Sirius. Listening to them suspect one another. Giving each other credit for his work. At first he had taken it as a compliment, that they didn't think he would ever turn on them, but he quickly realized that wasn't what it was. They had simply forgotten to consider him all together. He was a non-factor. Too lowly even to be suspected.

Voldemort, on the other hand, never forgot about Peter. He corresponded with him frequently, smiling whenever Peter came to see him. There had been no more fuck-ups since the travesty at the Ministry two years ago, and that had placed Peter firmly back in the Dark Lord's good graces. The Dark Lord had even revealed his identity to his more high-ranking followers. Forcing Lucius Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange to thank him for his great service. When there were meetings he sat at the head of the table.

It was impossible not to notice him.

Not to see him.

Not to consider him.

Still, it wasn't actually his intent to give James up to Voldemort. At least not at first. It meant a great deal to him that James had decided to change his mind. To make Peter the Secret Keeper—as he should have been all along honestly. Sirius was far too brash for something like that. Too careless. Peter had always felt he was the obvious choice.

For a while he had become quite devoted to James again, visiting often, delivering whatever it was that he and Lily needed, playing with little baby Harry. He'd honestly started to reconsider things. Clearly James was coming around, seeing him the way he had when they were kids, before Hogwarts—as someone worthy of his time.

He mattered.

Peter mattered.

But more and more he noticed that all James ever wanted to talk about was the others; Sirius, Remus, Mary, Alice, Frank. It was never questions about Peter. He had come up with dozens of excuses he could use to explain his frequent absences but he never needed them. No one asked where he'd been or what he was up to. No one cared much how he spent his time.

There had been years when he had been James Potter's closest friend. His only friend, really. They had spent nearly every day together. How could James just forget that? Toss it all aside for Sirius? It wasn't that Peter didn't like Sirius. Or Remus. Of course he did. But he didn't like them more than he liked himself.

James had seen something in him once. Something that had made him leave a room full of people to follow Peter upstairs. Somehow he'd lost sight of that. But Peter was tired of being forgotten. And tired of being afraid. They all thought they knew better than him, but they were on the wrong side. The losing side. And while all of them sunk Peter floated.

Regulus Black left a hole in Voldemort's ranks. His family name would have made him the obvious choice to be Voldemort's protégé. He wouldn't even have needed to work for it,  to prove his worth—it all would have been handed to him. But he bumbled it. He hadn't figured out what Peter had—that you get to choose what matters. What means something. You get to choose what is right and what is wrong.

Peter thinks again of the memory of Marlene's dead body.

It had been right, in the end, that she die.

Right for him anyway.

And now he can take Regulus's place the same way Sirius has taken his—there's a neat sort of symmetry in that.

So though it took him a few months to decide, he did eventually turn James over to Voldemort. And he expected the same nothing as he'd felt with Marlene. Really this ought to be even easier, since he wouldn't be there.

And in a way, it was. There was no fretting—well, not much fretting—no tearing out of hair, no crying. Peter simply went about his day like anyone else. And yet. At exactly 8:32 pm on October 31st 1981, Peter's world dimmed.

He would argue with himself about this for years to come.

Because that was absurd.

The loss of one person could not possibly alter the universe so greatly.

But somehow all colours felt suddenly less vibrant. The food he ate less tasteful. Every piece of music, every summer's day, every touch—duller.

He was certain he was making it up.

Certain.

But what he could not deny, what he eventually accepted the day his own hand wrapped around his neck, was that no matter how high he rose, how far out of the muck and dust of the war he was able to elevate himself, how close to the top Peter Pettigrew got.

He never did feel the sun again.