Lily sat in an armchair by the window, staring out at the world outside with an empty feeling. It had fully transitioned to autumn, at that point, and she decided she quite liked the hues of the season; the warmth of the oranges and reds mixed with the coolness of the browns. She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself and sighed, watching as a leaf fluttered down onto the cold, dead grass.
Everything was dead, nowadays. Dead or dying.
How morbid, Lily thought idly. But she couldn't force herself to feel anything besides just sad; her mind drifted towards those she had already lost, those she would probably lose. She closed her eyes and saw James flash across her lids, his notoriously unkempt hair blowing in the wind while he smiled crookedly at her.
There were the small remnants of a smile on her face when she heard the door open, and she turned to face the entrant; she could hear the muttering already, and she knew it would be James, complaining about the bloody cold and the bloody idiotic Death Eaters. He walked into the study, where she currently resided, and leaned against the doorway.
He cocked his head to the side. "What are you doing?" he questioned, but his tone was amused. She shrugged.
"Just admiring the scenery."
"The scenery?"
"Yes. People do that. Admire scenery."
"Yes, they do, but you don't."
She looked at him indignantly. "Not true. I do admire scenery." She turned her attention back towards the window, propping her chin up on her knee. James joined her, sitting in a chair adjacent to hers, studying her for a moment.
"Lily?"
"Hm?"
"Are you alright?" His tone was concerned, and it tugged at her heart. She repositioned herself to be facing him, and suddenly asked, "James, do you think we'll survive this war?"
His eyes flickered fiercely. "I am not going to let anything happen to you. Do you understand me? Nothing."
"I know—it's just—what if…"
"Lily, what's the matter? You can talk to me…"
"I'm pregnant, James."
He blinked once. Twice. He opened and closed his mouth, before standing up and pacing around the room. He rubbed his jaw. Finally, he whispered, "Fuck."
Lily released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. She gathered the blanket tighter around her, chewing her lip anxiously. She knew it best to leave him be for a moment so that he could fully process the information. She found herself thinking of raising a child in this environment—in the midst of a war that she was participating heavily in—and she wondered if it could be done.
She wished she hadn't been so naïve as to think that it couldn't happen to her; there were so many charms and potions and safety measures she could have used to prevent this, to save this innocent child from growing up in such a volatile atmosphere. But what if the baby wasn't even born? What if she died before delivery?
She didn't realize she was crying until James knelt before her and wiped a tear of her cheek. "Lily," he said quietly, holding her face in his, "it's going to be okay. I promise."
"H-how?" she asked, her voice shaky.
He didn't answer immediately. Finally, he dropped his forehead onto hers and sighed. "I don't know. But I'm not going to let anything happen to you—either one of you. Alright?" She nodded. He lifted his head.
"Lily, do you trust me?"
"Of course," she whispered.
He sighed again, and gathered her in his arms before sitting in the chair he had previously occupied. She nuzzled into his body, laying her head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart. They sat that way for awhile; silent, unmoving. Lily listened to the sound of the wind, the way it howled; it reminded her of someone being tortured.
Lily spoke up after a few moments, and she hated how terrified she sounded.
"James, what are we going to do?"