I watch my new wife from across the room as she cleans. I've told her we have a house elf for a reason, but she insists on helping to dust and fold and polish. I think it gives Lily purpose, something otherwise lacking in the present climate. I watch her deep red hair swing back and forth with her hips like a sheet on a line as she hums some tune or other. I don't recognize it. She's off tune, the notes flailing into the air like baby birds attempting their first flight. I realize I'm grinning like a fool as I watch her, the angle of her slim hips and the heels of her feet as she stands on her toes to reach a distant corner with a dust cloth. My new wife. She's like summer and sunshine and sweltering heat, even though it's February.
It's a funny thing, married life. Being a husband. You wake up in the morning, and you see her lying there next to you, all pearl-skinned and soft breathing, and you think you yourself that you must have pulled over the biggest con in history for this angel to have picked you. She can't know how far beneath herself she's married.
She's been going stir-crazy in this house, battering her wings against the bars, wishing to be free. The shut-away bliss of our stay-at-home Honeymoon lasted all of five days before she started searching out things to keep her busy, and that was months ago, now. I would love to say my male virility is all she needs, but she's a smart one, my flower. She needs more than our bed to keep her happy. If I'm being honest with myself, that's one of the things I love about her. She doesn't work anymore, not since the incident in London. The attack on St. Mungo's in the last week was unexpected, senseless, and brutal. She was luckily able to apparate out after coming to the defense of some of her patients, but I can't bear to think of her getting caught in an attack in London again. Even she had reluctantly agreed that in our present position, caution is necessary.
We aren't that deep in hiding. I think we'd both go mad if we had to do that. But there is enough protection here to make us at least half-way relax. Out here in the country, at my family home, we're more separated from the chaos until we decide to enter the fray on our terms. I've still managed to be useful to the Order while keeping under the radar, and Lily can continue her research here, even if only in books.
I lean against the doorframe, folding my arms over my chest, watching Lily sweep from one shelf to the next, still humming. Biddy suddenly appears in the archway from the entrance hall, holding a small stack of clean linens. "Mistress would like these to replace the ones upstairs, yes?" the tiny, old elf quips with a smile. Biddy had taken an immediate liking to Lily on her first day here (although Lily would be immediately liked by any sane and decent being). I smile, remembering Biddy chiding Sirius and I for our messes as teens, but always making sure to have treacle tart on hand for dessert after dinner, because she knew I liked it. Lily looks down at the elf, a smile on her face as well.
"Of course, Biddy! Thank you!"
"Mistress is most welcome. She does know that Biddy can do that, correct?" Biddy asks, looking slightly amused, watching Lily struggle to reach the top shelf. To Lily's credit, the shelves are quite high.
"Oh, I know, Biddy, but I need something to do. I can't read all day!" Lily replies. She hasn't noticed me yet, but Biddy has. The elf smiles more widely, almost mischieviously. She pulls a hand out from under the stack of linens and snaps two bony fingers. The dust rises off the top shelves and disappears in a shower of cool sparks as the elf grins more widely. Lily looks at her in mock reproach. "Biddy! I was going to do that!"
"Mistress would need a ladder," Biddy replies, giggling, her wrinkly, sagging face alight with mirth before she totters off upstairs to change the sheets. Lily laughs. The sound refracts into rainbows in my ears. I close my eyes and let it drift past, before opening them and seeing her light again. She turns and sees me lounging against the frame, watching her. I must have some kind of look on my face, because she begins turns pink and smiles, shifting a little uncomfortably.
"I got bored, so I thought I might give Biddy a hand with the cleaning," she says, the peachy glow slowly seeping over her pale, pointed nose. I like making my wife blush. I liked making her blush before she was my wife, but I've decided that I like our current arrangement infinitely better. I take a few steps forward, running two fingers over the nearest flat surface as though to test for dust.
"It seems that you pass muster, Mrs. Potter," I say, affecting a formal, snobbish tone. "Your next practical examination of wifery will take place this evening."
"I thought I placed out of that examination about a year ago," Lily says, arching an eyebrow at me and grinning despite the blush over her high cheeks. She moves over to me as she speaks, pushing her arms over my shoulders to twine around my neck. The wonderful warmth and friction of the motion heats me to the core. My grin widens in response to hers.
"Well, I meant you should cook me dinner," I say, dropping the accent, "but-"
I'm cut off as she laughs, releases me, and cuffs me upside the head with the nearest cushion she can reach. "Lily," I warn, "you don't want to start something that you can't-" the next pillow sails across the room. She's got her wand now. Oh, now it is ON. I pull out my wand with a laugh, and cause the next pillow sailing at me to be deflected into the wall. Lily grins, all teeth and flailing arms, as she causes a blanket from the nearby chaise to open fully and come at me like some odd, knitted gray bat, successfully blocking my line of sight. I hear her dart into the next room. Hitting the blanket out of the air with my free arm, I give chase.
This house is a very large manor house. Out in the country, this was where I lived with my parents, where I grew up. There was always so much space, even when my parents and Sirius were living here with me. It always felt like the house was lonely. I always preferred our vacation cottage in Cornwall to here. But now, running through the rooms downstairs, parlor, dining room, kitchen, it's filled with laughter and life as Lily streaks through the rooms. She looks like a streak of paint splashed across a mild-mannered canvas, barefoot, with her vivid hair flared out behind her as she runs. I chase the streak of auburn and the smell of lavender from room to room, laughing as she dodges around furniture. Breathless, I see her hit the stairs, the hem of her dress hitting each rung of the bannister as she surges up them. I'm five steps up when I hear her shout "Glisseo!" from the top of the stairs.
The stairs flatten into a slide, and, cursing, I lose my balance and tumble back onto the floor. "LILY!" I shout in mock outrage. I hear her giggle, and look up. She's standing at the top of the stairs, grinning and twirling her wand between her fingers. She's all tangled mane and out of breath, but looking damnably triumphant. I cancel the spell. She lets out a squeak and rushes down the hall and out of sight. I stumble to my feet, and pound up the reformed steps.
There are a lot of rooms up here to choose from, and I can't tell for the life of me where she's gone.
"Homenum revelio!"
I feel a sense of what direction she's in, down the hall to the right. I'm rewarded when she lets out a gasp, and quips "Not fair, using a spell like that!" I hear her shifting, and I stalk down the hall quickly and quietly, grinning like a wolf after a doe. I can hear her in the guest bedroom, but I can't see her. I walk casually into the room.
"I wonder where my wife is…" I query aloud. The sound reverberates across the quiet room. I hear a rustle of fabric, and I know exactly how she's staying out of sight. I imagine her crouching under the silvery cloak: pale elbows and knees, her hair clinging to the fabric, her warm, damp breath caught beneath the folds. I head for the source of the sound, feeling with my arms out. I feel something in midair, something soft and yielding. Something warm.
"Gotcha!" I shout, grabbing the suddenly squirming, invisible burden. I toss a shrieking Lily, who's feet and legs are now completely visible as she kicks against me, onto the bed. She claws the fabric away as she bobs up and down in place, and it becomes silvery and slithers off the bed. I jump immediately on top of her, abandoning my wand in a nearby armchair. Her legs are still flailing in the air, and both of us are laughing and struggling for dominance. By sheer size difference I win, tickling her into submission, which I know she loathes. I can tell by the way she laughs, like she wants to punch me, but can't quite reach. I feel her skin under my fingertips as her dress rides up her thighs, creamy, so pale I can see the blue tendrils of veins under it. I run my fingertips up one of her legs.
She stops squirming, and lets out a noise that I just want to cover in chocolate and eat for dessert. Blood rushes faster. She reaches up and pulls me down by my collar, and our lips meet. Nothing else matters, except the mind-numbing warmth of her breath on my tongue. She's made of the most tantalizing edges, of downy, feather-like hairs on her torso and the yielding heat of her stomach. We break apart for the merest second so she can wrest my shirt off over my head, before I bury myself against her, blessing every inch, every birthmark, every freckle and flaw. The world goes fuzzy around the edges as the heat rises. I break away again, and she makes a noise of disappointment, but I want to look at her. At my wife.
I'm reveling in the meadows that are her eyes when I hear it. Something downstairs slams. I can feel it vibrate up through the bedposts, into my bones. I hear a crack, and a keening wail fills the entire house, an ear-splitting, horrible noise.
The caterwauling charm. I set it to warn of an unwelcome presence in the house. Judging by the noise downstairs, it's several unwanted presences. A moment later it's silenced with a swear from downstairs. I start hearing crashes in the kitchen.
I freeze. So does Lily. Her eyes fly wide open. I reach over, grab the cloak from the floor, and pull it over her. She makes a noise of protest, but I give her a severe look, before sliding gently off of her. I can hear the voices downstairs as I move to the door to the landing. I only hope Biddy got out when she heard the charm.
A voice echoes at the foot of the stairs. It echoes the supersensory spell I used earlier. I feel like something low has swooped over me, like a sheep that's just felt the shadow of a dragon in the air. "Definitely someone in here, Bella," I hear the deep voice call back into the kitchen, where the sound of shattering china can be heard, ringing through the house like so many miniature explosions.
"Is it him?" a drawling woman's voice calls back. I hear footsteps.
Shit.
Bellatrix.
I knew I should have killed her the last time I saw her.
"I don't know, but there is definitely someone upstairs." The male voice sounds familiar. but I can't quite place it. I hear footsteps on the stairs now.
"James!" Lily hisses from the bed. Her voice issues from a body I can't see. I used to lend it to Sirius, and he would talk from under it, but there is always something unsettling about a disembodied voice. "Get back under here!"
"It's no good, I won't fit," I mumble. I can barely fit under the cloak by myself these days. Even if I scrunched myself up as much as possible, I would still have something exposed. Making a split second decision, I plaster myself to the wall behind the door. It would open inward, giving me the advantage, and hiding me from view for at least for a few precious moments. The footsteps pause outside the door. I think of performing a disillusionment charm, but too late. I'm too cramped back here, and if I so much as think too hard, I will give myself away.
I'll be damned, damned STRAIGHT to hell, if Lily has to watch me die. That would kill her.
No, worse than that.
It would break her.
The very last thing I do in this world will NOT be to shatter my beautiful, strong, blunt, prideful wife. I will burn first.
I watch the light under the door from the hall get blotted out by moving footsteps as the door swings on its hinges, the wood-grain nearly hitting me in the nose. I'm thankful I didn't remove my glasses earlier, because I can see the back of the head of Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix's convenient husband. No love lost there: a marriage of convenience and pureblood politics. I can almost see him step into the room. I try to judge exactly where he is, but it's hard without being able to see him. I hear his heavy, booted footsteps pace the floor, and move toward the dresser at the end of the room opposite the bed. If he takes one more step, he'll see me, and I'll be stuck here.
I make the call. Pushing the door away from me, I hit him with a silencing charm. I watch him whirl on me as his mouth works, but no sound comes out. But his wand begins to crackle with red, venomous light. Before he can aim properly, he's hit out of nowhere with a stunning spell and topples to the floor with a resounding thud. It seems to echo down the hallway, like a bell summoning people to an execution. His spell rebounds off the wall and smashes the window to shards. Internally, I crumple into a ball as I hear heavy footsteps from downstairs. The screech of chair legs against the floor, and pounding of foreign feet up the stairs. I wheel around, to see Lily throw the cloak off herself, to get a better range of motion. She has her wand out, trained on the door, and her eyes flash panic and her breath hitches. They're coming. She knows it. I know it.
I spare her a glance. Our eyes lock for the barest second, before I hurl myself through the door. Gripping the frame with my free hand, I use the spell Lily had the moment before. Aiming at the stairs, I fire the spell. I hear a loud swear and a thump at the lower end.
"THERE'S SOMEONE UP THERE!" a female voice screams. I hear the creaking of wood as the stairs pop back to their original form.
I dive back into the room, where Lily is scrambling to her bare feet. I watch her shove the cloak under the bed. I grab her and jerk her violently toward the door, pushing her in front of me. I can still feel her hand in mine, her nails digging into my flesh painfully. A red flash streaks down the landing and misses my head by inches. I look around. Bellatrix is at the top of the landing. I see the rage and glee in her face as she races after us. I shove Lily into a door on our left so quickly that I nearly send her sprawling. There's a concealed staircase behind one of the tapestries that the servants use. She scrambles to her feet and lurches behind me. "Lily, what are you-" I start. She reaches past me just enough to slam the door behind us, take aim and shriek "Colloportus!" The door squelches shut. I hear Bellatrix and someone else throwing curses at it.
Lily looks around the room in a panic. Without giving her time to take a breath, I cross the room, pull aside the tapestry panel disguised against the wall, and open the door to the servant's passage. Lily stares at me like I've just saved her life. I wish I could accept that as true, but we aren't out of this yet. She rushes into the passage, and I follow, quietly shutting and sealing the door behind us as the tapestry swings back down. I can hear the other door to the room behind us begin to splinter under the weight of the onslaught being pressed against it. Lily says something with a flourish of her wand. I realize she's cast a charm to prevent us from being heard. "We need to stop for a minute," she says, and I realize she's completely out of breath, nearly collapsing. "Where does this come out?"
"In the kitchen, bottom floor," I say.
"If we can just get out the back door into the garden-" she starts to reply, her voice low in spite of the muffling spell she's cast. Our heads snap around when a resounding crash peals through the space. The death eaters are in the bedroom five feet above us. Lily moves faster than I do, pulling me down the stairs, through the shabby door at the bottom, and into the kitchen. I close the door behind us, barely, as we whip through the frame. I narrowly dodge the table in the middle of the room. There's a kettle whistling on the stove. I can feel my wand in my hand, gripping it so tightly that my pulse throbs through my fingers. Time slows. Lily's hair is a beacon of red, shimmering light in front of me. The steam whirls through the kettle spout as we both make it to the garden door. I see the snow on the ground through the panes of glass as Lily sets her hand to the knob…
And is promptly launched backward into a nearby counter. I watch the glass in the door shatter with the force of the spell. I watch shards streak across my own hands as I throw them up to shield my percussive force feels like someone has thrust iron rods through my ears and into my brain. I realize I'm on the ground about a moment after I land there, watching Lily slump over and hit the ground and curl into a ball with a cry of pain. I can hear them clattering through the house. They all know where we are now. I see Lily uncurl with a grimace of effort, shaking her head as though to clear it. I scramble over on my knees to her. The palm of her hand, the one she touched the door with, is badly burned. The skin is angry, red, and blistered, even charred in places. She doesn't seem to notice as she grapples across the floor for her wand. I feel flames burst into being in my mind, angry, enveloping, consuming. I hardly notice that my own hands are bleeding from multitude cuts as I inwardly consume myself in an inferno of rage that anyone would dare, DARE to hurt my wife, the reason I have to live and breathe. Someone is going to die before this is over, and it won't be her, and it won't be me.
We both watch as a curse sails in through the door to the dining area, and bursts against a neighboring countertop. They are cautious, testing us. There aren't many of them, then. They didn't expect this kind of resistance.
"Lily," I say loudly, as another spell sails in, hitting closer. "Cover me!"
She nods, wand out in her marred hand, and I feel another surge of anger. I use it to fling myself around the corner of the counter, getting a good view of the doorway. The door is open, and a male Death Eater is peering around the corner, tossing curses. I aim a stunning spell at him. It glances off the white molded door frame, leaving a black gash in the wood, barely missing the man's nose. I can't tell who it is from here. All the better. No face means he isn't human, and is nothing. I realize suddenly that he is the only one at the door.
"LILY!"
But she's already trading curses through the shattered window in the garden door with Bellatrix. It has to be Bellatrix, because she's laughing maniacally. The noise echoes through my head like shrapnel through my brain. I swear as another curse flies from my wand. The doorframe explodes this time. The culprit on the other side only barely manages to duck out of the way in time. I take a last look at Lily. She's up on her feet, and she's moved to better cover under a window. I turn and hurl myself at the door, just as the man looks around. Goyle. Only one that big and hulking I can think of. I slam into him around the doorframe. Wand forgotten, I haul back and punch the huge, bullish man in the face. He nearly topples over backward. I'm sure I've broken some bones in my hand. I punch all wrong, with my thumb inside my fist. But at the moment, I can't feel it.
Goyle clearly hadn't expected a physical assault over a magical one. I hit him again, and put my full weight behind it. I hear a crunch, and he goes over, hitting the floor bodily. I disarm him for good measure, and hex him so badly that he's covered in boils. I kick his wand spinning into the next room. Suddenly, I feel someone back to back with me and nearly jump out of my skin. I wheel around, wand ready, but it's Lily. Bellatrix has backed her into the dining room with me. I wheel to face her too.
I realize, too late, that my movement was a mistake. An egregious, terrible mistake. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something large and black materialize with an undulating shimmer.
"Potter and Evans again, I see," a high voice drawls. My skin is suddenly searing with goose pimples. I know that voice all too well. It's the voice I heard on the night I nearly lost Lily the first time. But we'd had backup then. Neither of us thought to call for it this time.
We are alone.
I wheel back around to train my wand on Voldemort. He sends a powerful curse that I just barely manage to shield us from. Damn. I can feel Lily shaking next to me, but she pipes up anyway.
"Potter and Potter," she spouts, almost conversationally, sounding far less afraid than I know she must be.
Pride and love explode in me like fireworks, momentarily outshining the fear and anger. That's my beautiful, brave, witty, completely crazy wife, correcting the most dangerous dark wizard ever to have lived.
Voldemort ignores her, staring at me. "Where's your little friend, Potter?" he whispers. "I want to have a word with him." I stiffen in shock. What on earth would he want to talk to Padfoot for? What had he gotten himself into? Beside me, I feel Lily control the impulse to wheel around and stare, an impulse that doesn't go unnoticed. Bellatrix flips a curse at her, which Lily deflects with ridiculous ease. Did I mention talented, earlier? Funny how you focus on the oddest things when faced with close to imminent death.
"What do you want with Sirius?" I ask, eyebrows contracting.
Bellatrix laughs her crooked, razorblade laugh, a laugh like steel thumbscrews and salt rubbed into wounds. It reminds me of Walburga's laugh. Insanity does run in the family, although it seems to affect the women more than the men. Then again…
"We seem to have lost my little cousin Regulus," Bellatrix purrs, pacing up the floor in front of Lily menacingly. I feel my wife sink her her stance into her feet, holding her ground, centering herself for a fight. "Perhaps you know where he's gone?"
"Regulus joined your little pureblood party, did he?" I ask, my eyes not leaving Voldemort. "Not surprising. He always was a little piece of shit. We have no clue where he is. Was he late for tea or something?" I let out a humorless chuckle. Voldemort's eyes flash. "It is unlike one of my more dedicated servants to simply disappear," he says quietly. "I would like to know where he's gone. Perhaps his brother knows where he is."
"Sirius isn't his brother's keeper," Lily pipes up, practically scoffing. "He broke from the family two years ago, wasn't it, James?"
"Three, actually, and hasn't seen them since," I reply. "Why the hell would he know where your little follower has gone?"
"Well, perhaps we should all wait until Black gets home," Voldemort leers at me. "Perhaps then I can ask him myself." Bellatrix laughs.
"He doesn't live here anymore," Lily says calmly.
"You're lying, mudblood. You shouldn't lie to Lord Voldemort. He always knows."
She is lying. Sirius has a room upstairs, although he isn't home much, with all the Order work he does. Lily's ears flush. I see them out of the corner of my eyes.
We can't stay like this much longer. The stand-off won't last, and we are outmatched. There have to be more of these bastards on the way. We're cornered, both exits from the room are being covered. We need a distraction, but I can think of nothing. So I keep talking.
"So exactly what do you need Regulus so badly for, anyway?" I ask, doing my best to sound unimpressed. "He isn't exactly your biggest talent.
"Like we would tell YOU, Potter," Bellatrix begins, but she is cut short by a glance from Voldemort. Those slit-pupiled eyes are unnerving, always, to look at. They look like ice chips and obsidian blades and everything in the world that would cut you to ribbons one slice at a time. He looks back at me and smiles, looking for all the world like a cold, smiling corpse.
"I think, Potter, that Regulus is a pureblood who remains faithful to me. I do not take lightly the errant slaughter of my followers." His tone is light, casual, as he talks about the potential murder of his disciple. It horrifies and transfixes, the way he talks. It makes so clear Voldemort's only true care, himself. How others cannot see this, how he has followers, is beyond the comprehension of my thoughts. Suddenly, I watch him tense, marvel at how quick his reaction times are, and prepare myself for a counter that I hope I can put up in time. I can feel Lily tense, ready for the conflict.
BOOM.
The dining room table explodes.
Splinters fly everywhere, large splinters. I grab Lily and pull her down, rolling her closer to the door to the main entrance hall. Voldemort has conjured up a shield charm so powerful that the rest of the splinters are deflected toward Bellatrix, who incinerates them, managing to catch the largest and most dangerous before they reach her. As Lily and I scramble for the door, chairs begin to hurl themselves at our attackers. I snag a quick glance at the kitchen door. Standing there is Biddy, an ancient, tiny sculpture of bones. Her hands are outstretched menacingly, a knife in one of them, the other clearly being used in magic against the dark wizard in front of her. She's given us the blessing of time. I lock eyes with her, and she knows it. I know it. I lose sight of her as she causes the curtains to pull the rod down and fling themselves at Voldemort. Lily drags me to my feet and we stumble through the open doorway.
I hear several more crashes, a loud female shriek of pain, and then that high voice cry a curse to horrible not to hear. I see a flash of green light bounce off the light-colored walls, and part of my childhood dies as I make a dash for the front door. If we could only get out, get past the gate, we could apparate.
The next few moments are again that suspended reality, that sense of slowed time, as we pelt down the entrance hall. Curses are flying from behind us. Lily is throwing up a shield charm. I deflect a separate curse from rebounding onto us. The door is right there. So close.
"Bombarda!"
A curse sails between us, hitting the door and nearly blasting us off our feet again. But this time, I heard the spell, and so did Lily. We are ready for it. Bellatrix might be good, but verbal spells come with disadvantages, for all their power. We are back on our feet in half the time, and now the door is gone. We launch ourselves past the frame, race down the steps. Cold blasts into us like a fury. Neither of us are wearing shoes. I can feel the cold in the bones of my feet. I look back to send a jinx. The two Death Eaters behind us are racing after us, Voldemort is screaming something at them, and gliding forward himself. Lily sends a disarming charm over her shoulder that comes so close to disarming him that I see fury erupt further over his features. Hexes flying, screaming, running for our lives, and then we're through the wrought-iron gate. We don't run through it, we literally blast through it ourselves with another curse. We face each other, both looking toward the front door. They're nearly on us.
I feel Lily grab my hands, nails practically slicing into them, and turn on the spot. Pressing darkness invades all of my senses. I can't breathe, my head is spinning out of all control. It seems to go on forever. All I can feel is Lily's hands in mine. You know your life is crazy when apparition is more peaceful than situations in which you find yourself in the material plane.
We come out the other end, our feet slam so hard into the ground that be are both brought to our knees. I don't open my eyes. I just grab Lily and crush her to me. We are both breathing so hard that the sound echoes around us like the ringing in our ears. It takes me a moment to realize that I can hear birds, seabirds, and the rushing of the shore. I pull back and look at my wife. She's still shivering. Her injured hand is blistered, raw-looking. Her knees are bruised, and she has a few cuts on her neck from flying glass. I see a scrape on her arm where she must have caught it on something. She moves tenderly from her spot, like she's trying to unfold from the husk of a seed; painful, reluctant. I watch her sit fully in the sand.
"Where are we?" I ask, not daring to take my eyes off of her, making sure she doesn't vanish from my sight.
"Somewhere safer," she says, quietly, her face turned out toward the sea. She's whiter than the sand by far, and more fragile than the cracking, plaintive cries of the gulls above us. It's freezing out here. I begin to shiver. Safer. Not safe. Nowhere is safe anymore.
I stand up, my body screaming in pain and chill, and extend a hand to her. "Let's get somewhere warm," I say as she takes it. She'll freeze out here, and soon, if we don't get somewhere indoors.
"Just a few minutes," she murmurs. "Please."
I watch her stare at the sea. The wind pulls her hair out all around her, making a halo of dark red around her pale, angular face, floating like a cloud. I feel her hand in mine. It's warming. There's still life there, and love. After a few minutes, she begins to shiver herself. I pull her close, preparing to apparate.
There may not be anywhere that is safe anymore. But safer, to me, is wherever she is.
And that's where I'll stay.