This one-shot was inspired by David Cook's "Leave A Light On". I listened to it over and over again -- it's just that awesome -- and eventually this plotline popped into my head. It's fluffy, so be warned. I'm sort of iffy about it, so please R&R!
Oh, and I made the title up on the spot. Tell me if it made you laugh?
Fritz and the Candle
The sunlight streaming through the window, accompanying the morning, struck her fiery red hair, casting many a colorful shadow upon the opposite wall. She sat in the rickety wooden chair, her torso stretched out over the equally rickety table. The tiles of the kitchen were cold, but her feet had been resting on the same stones long enough that she had adjusted. As she slept, she murmured, she snored.
It was a wakeful sleep, and she had often sat straight up in her chair, casting a fearful glance at the clock. Upon realizing that it was not yet dawn, she had relaxed, placed her head back atop the table, and continued to wait. Now, at almost seven o'clock in the morning, she had finally drifted far enough into dreamland that a simple meow from her cat was not enough to wake her, though, normally, it would. Outside the kitchen window, bordered by a bright yellow curtain, birds chirped merrily, welcoming the morning. Fritz sat on the windowsill, glaring at them, wishing them to come inside, please, so he could eat them. Again, he meowed, but Lily did not hear him.
She was having too good a dream.
She knew, far in the recesses of her mind, that it was too perfect to be real, too fantastic to exist. In this dream of hers, the entire world was right and safe and good. There was no danger to hide from, no evil force threatening lives. There was no death, in this dreamworld of Lily's.
Just then, the enormous grandfather clock, that James had insisted on keeping from the pile of wedding gifts, struck the seventh hour. Bong! Bong! Bong! Lily started up from her seat, deeply shaken. Her relief at the sound only being a clock quickly transformed into panic at the fact that he was not yet home. He had said that he would be home by seven, and yet, he was not here. Lily's mind instantly jumped to the worst possible conclusion: that he'd went and gotten his bloody self killed, that he was being held hostage by a horde of Death Eaters, that he would never return.
Her right hand instinctively flew to cover her swollen belly in a gesture of protection.
He had promised that nothing would go wrong – that was the only reason she'd allowed him to go on this all-important mission in the first place. They were in grave danger -- he knew that, the Order knew that -- which was the reason why they were in hiding. But James had suddenly been needed by Dumbledore, for what reason Lily did not know. She hadn't wanted him to go. Dumbledore had given James the choice; that was his way. Dumbledore knew that it was dangerous, that Lily wouldn't want James to take any chances. But he also knew that James wouldn't turn his back on people in need if he could help it. James had talked with Lily for what seemed an eternity, and they had finally come to a compromise. He'd promised not to do anything stupid – here, she had scoffed – and she would let him go, providing he returned by seven o'clock in the morning. A passionate kiss goodbye, and he was out the door.
Lily had eaten dinner alone, staring morosely into the flame of the solitary candle atop the table. Now, as she sat there in that rickety chair, her hand protecting the growing baby inside her, she gazed again at the still-burning candle. The wax was dripping so profusely that it created an enormous puddle around the candelabra. She wouldn't put out the light until he returned – she had made that promise to herself right after he'd left.
He had left.
She stifled a moan when she glanced at the clock again and realized it was fifteen minutes past the hour, already. Fifteen minutes could change a life, she thought. Or destroy three. Lily let out a strangled sob again, and her left hand instinctively flew to help cover her belly. Abruptly, she pushed her chair back from the table and joined Fritz by the windowsill. The scene outside was picturesque; the garden James and Lily had planted was in full bloom. Bees buzzed from bud to bud, and the birds continued to chirp beautiful melodies. It reminded her of one night from a time that seemed so long ago.
Two lovers lounge on a picnic blanket, occasionally interrupting the sound of silence with a sigh, a yawn. To their right, a tiny sparrow begins to serenade them, and the boy chuckles.
"Seems like one little bird is happy that you finally accepted," he laughs, nudging the girl's shoulder playfully. She giggles, and glances up at the sparrow.
"I wonder why he's really singing, though," she muses, brow furrowed in thought.
"Well, you know what they say," he murmurs, also studying the bird. "He doesn't sing because he has an answer. He sings because he has a song."
She finally let the tears flow freely, now, and Fritz looked up at her, startled. The drops fell from her cheeks and plopped onto the two hands that rested atop her rotund stomach. "Shh, shh," she whispered, as if soothing the baby growing within her. "Everything's going to be alright, sweetie." Fritz crinkled his nose in disgust – he liked to contemplate the birds in silence, thank you very much – and left the kitchen, his tall tail swinging in defiance.
"James, honey, please come home," Lily sighed to the window. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
Lily whipped around, and thought her heart would just up and explode. James stood in the doorway, jet-black hair just as disheveled as before, looking ever so sheepish. "Darling, I'm so sorry I'm late-" But he was distracted by the tear tracks running down her cheeks. "Were you crying?" he rushed up to her and tenderly brushed the drops away with his thumbs.
"Yes, I was bloody crying," Lily whispered, soaking in his very existence. "You gave me a scare!" she scolded, still gazing upwards. "Don't ever do that to me, ever again. Please."
He laughed gaily at her face, happy that he was forgiven. "I'll try not to disappoint," he chuckled, flashing a pearly white smile.
"You'll 'try' not to get yourself killed?" Lily repeated, disbelief coloring her voice. "You'll 'TRY'? No, no, James, you'll do more than-" But she was cut short. James scooped his wife up in his arms and kissed her, reminding her that he was here, that he would stay here, that he would never leave her.
Two lovers' shadows share a passionate kiss in the joy of being reunited. Silhouetted against the window overlooking the garden, James, Lily, and soon-to-be Harry Potter blossom in the light of a single candle sitting atop the rickety wooden table in the kitchen.