A/N: Written for the Houses Competition. Thanks to Cat, AJ, and 2D. Lotta love for you gals.
House: Ravenclaw
Category: Themed (Deception)
Prompt: Magic 8 Ball
Words (excluding a/n): 2117
Harry's cries rip through the air, splitting the heavy silence that envelopes the three of them.
Lily sighs wearily, rubbing at the mauve shadows smudged beneath her tired eyes, a reminder of the slow-paced monotony of the life that she leads, that she has dreamt of all her life. Now that she has it, she is so bored, so stifled that she thinks she might choke on the mundanity of it all. "James…"
"On it." He lifts himself from his chair, his ever-present smile faltering as Harry howls louder. The living room door shuts behind him with a click, and Lily can almost feel the air buzz with something different, something electric. Her breath hitches in her throat and she glances at Sirius out of the corner of her eye.
He is draped across the sofa, all leather, too-tight denim and teasing half-smiles. Harry is still screaming and he shoots her a look that says, I dare you. But Lily is no longer a lionhearted Gryffindor girl with freedom and a heart that can start racing whenever a boy so much as glances in her direction. She is grown now, and she has a child and a husband that loves her with every breath in his body. She is not meant to fall head over heels in lust with his best friend, even if he won't stop looking at her in a way that makes fire roar through her veins until she is burning.
"Like what you see?" Sirius asks, amused, and Lily flushes as flaming red as her hair. She hadn't realised that she'd been staring so openly. He tucks a stray strand of hair that has escaped from his topknot behind his ear. "Lils, I know we said we would talk about this anymore, but -"
"No," Lily snaps, keeping her voice sharp and final, not leaving room for the hint of indecision that she can feel creeping up on her. "I love him, Sirius, I do. And there's Harry, it's different now, and we can't…" She trails off, unable to let the words out. It's been months of lingering glances, touches that send tingles up her spine and nights spent curled into each other, whispering promises of stopping into each other's bare skin and she still can't admit to herself that this is the person she's become.
"Lily, we're not doing anything wrong." Sirius sounds like he's trying to convince himself and she can't help but let out a ghost of a laugh, because it is all so fucking wrong. They are dancing on a cliff edge, one wrong step and they will be in free fall.
"Are you serious? I'm cheating on him, we're deceiving my husband, your best friend. James, Sirius." Even as she says it, she can't stop staring at Sirius, at the way his ripped jeans are slightly too tight, at the trail of dark hair that is running down the strip of skin that is peeking out of the bottom of his band t-shirt. She itches to lean across the sofa and press her lips to his, breathe in the scent of nicotine and freedom. Lily thinks she might because why else would she be doing this, if not for the thrill that rushes through her whenever he is near?
Then Sirius coughs, eyes fixed on the worn carpet, and she realises that Harry has stopped bawling. James is stood in the doorway, eyes flickering between the two of them. He is confused, Lily can tell, he can feel the energy that hangs in the air between them.
"Right then," Sirius says, glancing from Lily to the door. "I should probably be off."
"You sure, mate?" The look of disappointment on James' face makes Lily's heart crumble, ever so slightly. Things haven't been the same, not since Lily decided to knock down her white picket fence, and she can see James struggling every day to work out why. Lily's almost disappointed that he hasn't figured it out, because maybe it would be better to be a two-timing temptress than trapped in a life of routine and lies and happiness plastered on like a mask. Sometimes she thinks that he does, somewhere deep down inside him.
"Bye, mate. Me and Remus'll be round for Sunday lunch, yeah?" James nods and Sirius leaves, the rush of cool air that floods in through the open door extinguishing the flames inside of her that James has never been able to set alight. The mention of Remus makes her chest sting and she can't help but remember her first real friend in first year, the little boy with wide eyes and more secrets than a boy should have to carry. Now, he is a man that swears like a sailor and is deeply in love with the person that shares Lily's bed. Lily almost wonders what that eleven year old girl with her shining emerald eyes would think, the girl who still believed in one true loves, knights in shining armour and happily-ever-afters, about her life and what's become of it.
James sinks onto the couch next to her and swings an arm around her shoulder. It is too tight, too close and Lily feels like she's suffocating. "I'm worried about Sirius, Lils. He's been a bit off with me, don't you think?" Guilt rises up in her throat, acidic and harsh, but she forces it down because she is in this deep now, she's already thrown caution and safety and stability to the wind and there's no turning back now.
"Mhmm," Lily replies, noncommittally. It's safest, she thinks, to not really speak around him. To only let her words tangle and trip out, only let poetry drip like honey off her tongue, only really be her, when she is around him. "I need a breath of fresh air."
Lily doesn't stop to see James' reaction, only shrugs off his arm and strides into the hallway. She grabs her coat off the hatstand, and wraps it around herself, breathing in the smell of cigarette smoke and Sirius' shampoo. He'd worn it the last time they'd been together, saying he liked wearing something that was hers. She walks outside and down the gravel path through their front garden, leaning against the picket fence. It wobbles slightly, and Lily wonders if it's a sign. Her breath snakes out, wispy tendrils curling and dancing in the still October air. The cool wind that Lily normally relishes does not clear her head, only rattles her bones, sends a chill through her body. She is cold and fucking lonely and the empty silence of the night is too much.
She needs Sirius.
Lily walks inside, muttering some excuse to James about Harry keeping her up and needing some sleep. He nods, of course, pecks her on the head and says, "I love you." Lily grimaces and tries to mask it with a smile, the kind a faithful, loving wife would give.
The stairs creak as she walks up them and Lily suddenly feels oh-so old. They'd told her she was too young for a husband, for a child, but she was flighty and selfish and almost in love. Not quite enough, though, for the small cottage and even smaller life. Her bedroom feels cramped, the crimson walls pressing in on her, the smiling pictures that line the wall mocking her as she pulls a brush through her hair, gets into her flannel pajamas. Lily lies in their cold bed, the sheets scratching at her legs. Far too soon, James crawls in beside her and his breath smells of coffee and lifelessness, his heartbeat pounds out a steady pattern that is too loud and makes her want to scream.
Eventually, when his deep breathing lets her know that he is sound asleep, Lily throws his clammy hands off of her and gets out of bed. The stars are pinpricks of light in the velvet of the sky, beacons of hope that let her know that there is something more out there, if only she goes out and gets it. This life of sleepy, repetitive days mixed with short, delusional nights in grotty hotel rooms is not what she's made for.
She is passion and fire, heat racing across soft skin, made for men that are blazing infernos, smoke, and a thousand lit cigarettes, and together they will watch their world burn.
Only, there is a green-eyed boy sleeping in the room next to her, and she loves him with the fractured shards that are all that's left of her heart. She knows that she is balancing on a knife-edge and whatever she does now could be the end of everything.
But she has always been one for risk-taking, a lady of luck. When she was little and a single choice did not have the power to bring her world down around her, she'd ask a toy and call it magic. Now that she knows what magic is, now that she's seen where it's gotten poor Benjy Fenwick, Dorcas, Gid and Fab, the McKinnons, her, she thinks she prefers the not-knowing of her childhood. So, because why the hell not, she's come this fucking far, she reaches into her bedside drawer and reaches far inside it. Her fingers brush quills and old photographs faded and warped with age, until they clasp around a familiar shape. Lily brings out the ball, the onyx shining in the faint moonlight.
Should I go and see Sirius? Should I break apart my marriage, ruin everything that I know I should want? Should I break James' heart, abandon Harry?
The words sound as sharp as betrayal and deception inside her head, and she looks at her sleeping husband, but feels nothing. Lily shakes the ball, once, twice, three times and glances down.
Definitely.
The Magic 8-Ball never lies.
Not like she keeps doing, lie upon lie upon lie. But with him, Lily can fly, leave perfection and expectations far behind her, break free of the chains that tie Lily to the ring on her finger. Freedom already tastes sweet on the tip of her tongue, and sparks race across her body. Already she is trembling with exhilaration, so she scribbles a note to James on a spare bit she finds lying on their bedside table.
James,
Alice fire-called, something's going on with the baby and she wants me to come over. Won't be long, don't worry,
She hesitates, sucking on the end of the Sugar Quills that James still insists on buying. Even writing the word, Love, feels wrong, somehow. Instead, she just scribbles her name, in a sprawl of emerald ink.
Lily.
She turns in a circle, the floorboards creaking underneath her feet, takes a deep breath and says, "Sirius' flat." Lily's stomach flutters and she can't tell if it's from the apparition or just pure euphoria.
Lily lands in Sirius' living room, and it smells of nicotine and him. There are unwashed dishes piled up by the sink and pizza boxes littering the floor. Lily has an urge to tidy things up, straighten the cushions on the overstuffed couch but she restrains. That is not the girl she wants to be, not anymore. A Ramones song is blaring from inside the bedroom and Lily walks towards it, one hand resting hesitantly on the doorknob.
The Magic 8 Ball is cumbersome in her pocket and she takes it out, turning it over and over in her palm. It is smooth and feels like safety and all the things she is about to leave behind. Lily thinks she might ask it another question, one last time, but she doesn't. She is no longer the girl who relies on destiny, she is carving out her own path and she will walk it.
Together, they are going to make a different kind of magic.
She opens the door and Sirius is sprawled across the bed, grey eyes stormy, face clouded in the shadows of the darkened room. He sees Lily and smiles, but it is not quite as wide or as bright or as hopeful as when they still believed in fairy tales. He looks broken, and she wonders if it's her fault. Even if it is, she will take the shards and fragments, stitch them back together as best she can, and drown in them.
They kiss, then, and although it is painful, a Crucio straight through her heart, at least she feels something. And the searing sparks that are running through her are the infinitely better than the nothingness and blind, foolish love that James gives to her.
Lies can buy an eternity, and right now, what they have, the burning passion and not-quite love, seems endless.