James sat as straight as could at the family breakfast table and tried not to wince at the clinking of silverware against the fine bone china that went off like an explosion in his aching head. He regretfully realized when he awoke that morning with the sudden and violent need to hurl whatever contents were sloshing around inside his stomach that he was horribly hungover. Had his parents noticed? No, no, he didn't think so. And, anyway, they had probably never had a hangover in their life. His parents? Getting piss drunk? No, absolutely not, could never have happened.
His father shook out that morning's Daily Prophet, earning a glare from his mother who did not believe in reading at the table. James shoveled eggs into his mouth and absently scanned the front page.
"DEATH EATERS SWING VOTE IN THEIR FAVOUR; Talks of a 'Lord of Magic' circulate, Montrose Shacklebolt decries it a cult and demands proof of power, but people want change."
"NEW SPRING FASHIONS IN; Latest robes from Paris feature tasseled cords under bust for this upcoming spring."
"MR AND MRS RASMUS NOTT BACK FROM HONEYMOON; See their collection of art purchased while in Greece and Italy on page 17."
Lucy Snowe, a Muggleborn witch of twenty-eight years, has been reported missing as of last week. Her last known whereabouts were in the Leaky Cauldron where she had reportedly gotten into a row with a patron. It had started as a spirited debate about the political organization known as the Death Eaters, during which Miss Snowe had taken offense. She was noted to have stood up on a table and shouted, "Why are you so afraid of saying his name? Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort! There! I said it!" before storming out of the establishment. She has not been heard from or seen since. The Aurors are still attempting to find out the identity of the man she had fought with. Miss Snowe had once been engaged to pureblood Jeremiah Smith, although it was broken off when– James felt his eyelids droop as he scanned the article. Lily would have an absolute cow over it. "Why do they always have to bring up a woman's marital status?" She demanded time after time in the common room. "We're more than just objects to be bought and sold and married off! And her blood status! Why make note of it at all? Isn't it good enough that she's a witch, same as the rest of us? They have to drag out her entire family tree too?"
It took James a moment to realize it had been a while since his father had turned the page, and now his mother had abandoned her own rule and was leaning over Fleamont's shoulder, her eyes growing ever wider as she read. "What?" James demanded, growing annoyed at their lack of response. "What's going on? What does it say?"
Fleamont looked at his son, then back at the paper, and then once more at James. He set the paper down. James snatched it up and what he saw made his heart drop. It was a picture of himself and Sirius, drunkenly stumbling around his motorcycle. He watched as this black-and-white version of Sirius figured out how to get the thing turned on and then they were zooming off, out of the frame. "ROUND THE NIGHT CLUBS OF MUGGLE LONDON" the headline read. 'Bright Young Things' James Potter and Sirius Black were seen partying into the early morning hours Christmas Day with Muggles at a night club. They, and their half-blood companions, made the papers last summer when Mr Potter got into a physical altercation with Rasmus Nott during a ball hosted by his bride's family.
"It's an absolute disgrace the way these young children run amuck," Mr Cornelius Carrow was quoted as saying after the fight between Potter and Nott. "No honour, no discipline, no respect for tradition. They're no better than those Muggle hoodlums you see running around these days. I tell you, one of the few good ideas the Muggles came up with was the workhouse. Not all Muggles are shiftless and lazy and prone to criminality – quite a few of them are, but not all – and this mixing of degenerates with respectable Muggles has sullied the whole lot! Used to be a wizard could visit Muggle London and not have to worry about his safety, but now they've got those bombs and pistols and they're so violent they have no qualms about using them! A reckoning is about to commence, I promise you that!"
Although Sirius Black has been disowned, James Potter is still heir to the Potter fortune and his father's company.
There was no mention of the accident or Sirius's use of Obliviation. James let loose a small sigh of relief, thankful for small mercies.
"James," his mother's reproachful voice sounded from across the table. He reluctantly dragged his eyes upward. "You promised me you would behave yourself."
"Sirius was in a rotten mood, he just needed a little cheering up. You know how he gets," James protested, scrounging around for an excuse. Then he sighed again. There really was no excuse, and he was getting tired of trying to come up with new ones. Sirius wasn't thinking, James had said after the 'prank' with Moony and Snape. Sirius didn't understand the consequences. Sirius was angry and didn't know what to do. Sirius had a bad childhood. Sirius doesn't know any better. "I'm sorry." It was getting easier and easier to say that. "I'll have a talk with Sirius. He won't last through Auror training at this rate."
"Sirius does have his troubles. Poor boy." Euphemia shook her head. "I wish he would come back home to us. He needs proper looking after. He never got it from his own mother."
Fleamont had his big hands folded on the table. He was usually silent during these sorts of things, preferring to let his wife take the lead, but now he spoke up. "He's a grown man now, Phemy, he's going to have to learn how to make better choices." He looked at James. "Have you spoken to Miss Evans recently?" He always called her Miss Evans. He was so old-fashioned at times. "I thought her a moral, upstanding sort when I met her at the station last year. She's Head Girl this year, isn't she?"
She'll make a better companion than Sirius is what his father meant to say. "I had actually planned to call on her today," James lied, hoping that it might provide him an out from this awkward conversation.
"That's wonderful. You should invite her over sometime."
James nodded as he slunk out of his chair. "Of course."
"I heard she's a deft hand at Potions. I wonder if she'd want to see the gardens..."
"She'd love it, Father," James called out as he edged out of the room.
"Do send her our regards!"
James booked it.
He made a big show of putting on his coat and gloves, and, as he waved goodbye and stepped out the door, he wondered, why not? Why not go visit Evans? He didn't want to see Sirius right now, and the full moon was coming up so Remus wouldn't be much fun, and if he tried to visit Peter at his family's farm he'd just get roped into doing chores. He knew her address, he'd sent her letters before, but he'd never actually gone there. Snape lives there too, James thought. Or, at least, he did. Technically, he lived at St Mungo's now. But that's where his parents were, and James felt a burning curiosity to see these mysterious creatures. He knew about Snape's mother, of course, everyone did; depending on who told the story, it was either a romance full of passion for a penniless Muggle or a cautionary tale on the dangers of premarital sex. James wanted to see this Muggle who had managed to lure a pureblood girl into a life of penury. He must be very handsome and charming. James imagined him to be a little like Severus, but taller maybe and well-built, maybe with a beard. Yes, definitely with a beard. James could see it, he bet Severus would look good with a beard.
James reached the end of the drive, lifted his wand and said, "Lumos!" and not long after the Knight Bus appeared. He didn't want to risk apparating to a place he'd never been before.
"Where to?" The driver asked.
"Cokeworth."
James could admit that he had grown up a little sheltered, shielded from most of the Muggle world. What little he had seen of it lately mostly revolved around clubs and bars and pubs. He had experienced very little of actual Muggle life. And so, the moment James stepped off the bus onto the curb, his nose wrinkled, and he said, "Ugh, what is that smell?"
A Muggle pushed his way through the half-melted dirty slush. "That'll be the mill, kid," he said as he passed.
Cokeworth had its heyday between 1840 and 1860 when the textile industry was booming, and the town could boast over five different mills. It had been in a steady decline ever since: the old Victorian architecture was crumbling, the streets were in disrepair, many of its residents were out of work. Now, in 1978, it was little more than a relic.
Remus told him that Lily was middle class, and James had believed him. She didn't have as many sets of robes as James or Sirius had, nor was the material as nice, but they were clean and new, and she always had at least two pairs of shoes. But James had imagined something like the picturesque, white-washed cottage Remus lived in with its rambling roses, or even the refurbished country house where Peter lived. Not this squat, ugly thing made of brick with a driveway that took up the entire garden, alongside a row of identical and equally hideous houses, and nary a flower in sight. The only flowers Cokeworth had probably ever seen were Lily and Petunia themselves.
James rang the doorbell and waited patiently for someone to open it.
"Yes?" Mrs Evans asked as she opened the door.
"Hi, Mrs Evans. I'm James Potter, I go to school with Lily. We met on the platform."
"Oh, yes, of course. Come in, come in. Lily isn't home right now. She went for a walk."
"In this weather?"
"I figured she'd be alright to go. She showed me a charm she learned. A heating charm. Neat little things those are. Really saves on our electricity bill. Please, have a seat."
"If it's alright, I think I'll go look for her. Do you know where she was heading?"
"To the park. I can give you directions."
"Thank you, Mrs Evans. Do you mind if I use your bathroom first?"
"Of course, just right upstairs."
James went up the stairs. The house was small, about the same size as Remus's cottage, and upstairs there was just the bath with two bedrooms on either side of it. He went into the bathroom and lifted the toilet seat; he couldn't help but notice a sanitary napkin lying openly in the trashcan next to the toilet as he did his business. Was that blood? He could feel himself blushing hotly and hurriedly flushed the toilet before skittering out of there.
Lily's bedroom door is open, James thought as he came out of the bathroom. The room had to belong to Lily and her sister. The door was cracked, and he could see two beds with a dresser shoved between them, one covered in Gryffindor red and the other in pink frilly lace. James glanced down the stairs. Mrs Evans was still in the kitchen. Cautiously, he crept forward, pushing the door open all the way.
It was small and cramped. No wonder Lily and Petunia were always at each other's throats. There was no room to breathe in here. James stepped inside, making his way along the winding path between the mounds of discarded bras, old receipts and empty bottles of Cresta. Girls are gross, James thought as he came up to the small desk the two sisters had somehow managed to fit inside their bedroom.
James scanned the collection of books lined up along the top of the desk and stacked up on the floor beside the chair. He didn't recognize any of them. The Last Unicorn, Tuck Everlasting, The Feminine Mystique... That last one definitely belongs to Lily, James thought, picking it up and feeling its heft. He flipped it open to a random page. Over and over again, stories in women's magazines insist that women can know fulfillment only at the moment of giving birth to a child. They deny the years when she can no longer look forward to giving birth, even if she repeats the act over and over again. In the feminine mystique, there is no other way for a woman to dream of creation or of the future. There is no other way she can even dream about herself, except as her children's mother, her husband's wife... Definitely Lily's. He set it back down, his eyes drawn to a slim booklet half-hidden between the thick volumes.
Protect and Survive was the title, and underneath it were the words, This booklet tells you how to make your home and your family as safe as possible under nuclear attack. Nuclear? James had heard that word before, he was almost positive. He flipped through it, slowly sinking onto Lily's bed as he saw pictures of a strange mushroom cloud, of a house being torn apart by a mysterious wind, of dust falling. If Britain is attacked by nuclear bombs or by missiles, we do not know what targets will be chosen or how severe the assault will be...
James shoved the booklet back where it belonged, his eyes drifting over the photographs pinned to the wall. Most of them were of Petunia cuddled up to a rather large Muggle man with very little neck. There was just the one of Lily. Lily and Snape. Together. They looked to be about nine or ten. Lily had her arm wrapped around Snape's neck, and Snape was grinning. Grinning. A big, open smile showing his crooked teeth. James had never seen him smile like that. He traced the picture with his finger, waiting for it to move, for Snape to close his mouth and sneer, but this was a Muggle photograph. Snape was frozen in time, a happier time.
James hurried down the stairs. "Thank you, Mrs Evans. I'm going to find Lily now," he said as he came down the stairs.
"Alright. Tell her to be home for dinner."
"I will!"
The park might actually have been pretty come spring, but right now it was covered in dirty, soot-specked snow. The trees were leafless and grey, the sky was grey, even the snow was grey. Everywhere was grey. The only colour was Lily's red, red hair waving in the breeze. She was sitting at the base of a tree, smoking a cigarette, a crumpled pack lying beside her. "Potter," she said as he approached. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you."
She blew out a puff of smoke and put out her cigarette in a clump of snow. James didn't like smoking, and he especially didn't like it when girls smoked, but he suddenly found himself drawn to the smell. It reminded him of something... He took a seat next to her, and tried to catch a better whiff of it.
"How was your Christmas?" Lily asked.
"Fine, same as always. You?"
"Same as always," she parroted.
They sat there, not saying anything. James scrambled for a topic. "I didn't know you smoked."
"I don't," Lily answered, and said nothing more. There was a dark, brooding expression on her face, and he wondered at it.
"Hey, Lily, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"What's a nuclear bomb?"
Lily finally turned to look properly at him. "You want to know what a nuclear bomb is? Alright, I'll admit, that one surprised me." She took a few seconds to gather her words. "It's... you know what a bullet is, right? A gun? Think of it as a giant bullet that can be dropped from the sky. It can wipe out all life for miles and miles wherever it lands."
"Oh... but if it dropped here I could just use Protego to keep myself safe, right?"
Lily laughed. "You wizards are funny. Sure, Potter, if you want to think that. Anyway, the real problem isn't the bomb, it's the fallout. Fallout is the dust the bomb releases. It's poison."
"Why would Muggles invent something like that?"
"Why did wizards invent the Killing Curse?"
She pulled out another cigarette, lit it with a little wandless magic, and took a drag. James closed his eyes and breathed in the scent.
"Hey, James?"
"Yes?"
"Can I kiss you?"
James snapped his eyes open, his heart thundering. "Umm..." Smooth, real smooth, idiot. This was his chance! Lily wanted to kiss him! And he didn't even have to pester her into it! "Who am I to deny such a beautiful woman?" Ugh, that was dumb. But Lily still tilted her head, her lips softly parted, and James, unable to hide his smirk, swooped down. The first thing he noticed was the taste. She tasted like tobacco, and James thought he would be put off by that, but he wasn't. He wanted to taste more of it. He lifted his hand to cup her jaw, slipping his tongue along the edge of her mouth, and...
It felt off. Her face felt weirdly small, and her lips were too soft, like kissing an overripe peach. He wanted something harder, something rougher, something... A memory slipped quietly between his thoughts, a memory of Severus Snape leaning against one of the greenhouses, smoking this same brand of cigarette, his angular jaw moving, thin, hard lips wrapped around–
James's brain stuttered and tried to restart as Lily pulled back with a frown. "I thought you'd be better at that," she said. She gave him a small, lopsided smile and a friendly pat on the knee. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find someone to practice with. I better get home."
"I'll walk you!" James said, leaping to his feet. Those crazy thoughts about Snape were pushed into a dark corner of his brain; he needed to focus on Lily. He needed a distraction, and Lily was beautiful. Perfect. She looked like one of Titian's goddesses.
"Come on then. Let's go the long way."
The long way apparently went through the town's roughest neighborhoods. "I'm not allowed to come here by myself," Lily mentioned offhandedly as she kicked at a broken bottle left lying in the gutter. "My Dad is convinced I'll get kidnapped and murdered if I step one foot inside Spinner's End, never mind that I'm a bloody witch." The houses that crowded on either side of the street were derelict, ancient things left untouched since the days of Queen Victoria. Lily pointed to one of them. "That's where Sev lives. Or, well, he used to. I don't know if he still does. I haven't seen him around anywhere. I came here the first day back and banged on the door. His dad answered. He was falling down drunk, but he still tried to take a swing at me with his bottle when he realized I was a witch. Fucker."
She flicked her eyes at him. "Don't suppose you know where he went, do you?"
James swallowed thickly. He should tell her. Why didn't he want to tell her? She probably wouldn't even visit him, she's stubborn like that. Too proud. And even if she did Snape wouldn't let her in. James was the only one he considered worth talking to. Warmth bloomed in his chest at the thought. Just him. Only him.
But Lily...
There was a chance, a slight chance, a miniscule, tiny chance... that Snape would throw open his door the moment he heard Lily wanted to see him... he might run into her arms... and they'd go off and sit close enough together that their knees touched and whisper, whisper, whisper like they used to do at Hogwarts, ignoring everyone else, their eyes only on each other...
James shook his head. "No, I don't know any more than you do."
Lily pulled out another cigarette. "Yeah, thought not," she said bitterly.
"I'm sorry," James said, not meaning it one bit.