The Road

Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold

It's always summer, they'll never get cold

They'll never get hungry, they'll never get old and grey...

The road stretched in front of her, and although she could only see a little way into the mists that shrouded it, she knew it went on for longer than she could imagine.  Behind her, a child was crying, and something in her wanted to turn around and comfort the poor thing -- but ahead of her, the road beckoned, shining even through the mists that wreathed it. 

"He's safe now, Lily."

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, echoing inside her mind.  It was terribly familiar, but the all-pervasive fog blinded her thought just as it blinded her sight, and she couldn't remember anything.  "Am - am I Lily?" she asked, trying desperately to catch threads of memory that seemed to swing tantalisingly away from her reach.  She wanted to step onto the road, she wanted it more than anything, but some inner part of her yearned for that child who was wailing heart-brokenly behind her.

Then James stepped out of the fog, a hand held out towards her, and she went to him and buried her face in his chest.  He wrapped his arms around her and held her.  "He'll be all right.  We've done all we can do for him now, Lily."

"I can't - I can't just leave him, James!"  The words erupted out of her, betraying a depth of feeling she hadn't known she possessed.  "I can't do it!"

"We have to."  His voice echoed her pain, but he held her firmly.  "He can't come with us, and we can't go back to him." 

"How will we know he's safe?  What will happen to him?"  Lily tried to turn around to catch a glimpse of her son, whose wailing had subsided into a soft, desperately lonely keen. 

The mist surrounding them suddenly seemed to condense, to solidify into a hard, glass-like substance containing them.  The road glimmered enticingly ahead still.

They were standing in the ruins of what had apparently been, until recently, a neat and welcoming cottage.  Something had devastated the building, and now timbers and bricks lay splashed all around them.  Beneath Lily a woman was sprawled on her back, her green eyes glazed and staring, her skin white enough to shame the cold stars that glinted above them.  James tensed, holding Lily even closer.

Near the dead woman, their son --Harry.  He was named after my grandfather.  Harry James Potter-- was kicking feebly at the air, bleeding profusely from a sharp gash on his forehead.  Lily made a convulsive movement towards him, but James held her back.

"He'll die, James!  He can't lose that much blood!"  Vaguely, she noticed the edges of the scene dimming, felt the mist closing around them again. 

"Lily - we can't do anything."  James's face was screwed up in an expression she knew too well -- it was the one he wore when he hated what he was doing but knew it to be right.  "We can't.  And look -- he'll be taken care of."

A limp figure at the outskirts of her vision -- which seemed to have narrowed to the limits of the ruined house - moved a hand dazedly, pushing itself upright.  As the person stumbled towards them, he came into focus as Sirius Black.

"Sirius will look after him, Lily," James said firmly.  "We can't, not any more.  We've done our best."

Painfully, Lily nodded, unable to take her eyes from Harry.  Sirius had fallen to his knees not far away, near yet another man who lay unmoving.  He seemed to be crying.

"I only hope it was good enough," she murmured softly, the rising wind tearing her words away.  James tucked her cold hands into his, and they stood silently for a while longer.  Wizards and Muggles alike were descending on the destroyed house; Lily cried out when a familiar giant-like figure scooped up Harry and turned away with tears running down his face.

"That's it, Lily ... that's all we were allowed to stay for."  She kept watching the retreating giant until the mists closed about her again.  James, holding her hands still, gestured towards the gleaming road.  "We have to go."

Silently, Lily stepped onto the start of the cobbles with him, and together they began the long journey.

A/N: All together now, awwww.  ::grins:: Hey, fluff is all-pervasive.  Even the best aren't proof against fluffy tendencies, and I'm definitely not the best.  So... deal. 

As usual, everything belongs to J.K.Rowling.  And they reckon we're not supposed to covet our neighbour's goods...  ::scowls::  Oh, and the verse is from Fastball's The Way, copyright 1997 Hollywood Records.