To Mubina, better known as .com,
Wishing you a very Merry Christmas.
Love your Secret Santa
If there was one universally accepted truth, to end all universally-accepted-truths, buried deeply under hopes and dreams and love, it was the truth that life isn't fair. Not one fucking bit.
It was impossible to determine which had the worst atmosphere; the suffocating street filled to the brim with spluttering shoppers, desperate to beat the darkness and smoke in order to complete their Christmas shopping, or the inside of the spacious flat perched above the cityscape. Inside was a scent of unease, a blend of mildew and fret coupled with a sink full of dirty dishes and dust covered furniture. Though the windows were firmly shut, the flat was terrifyingly cold, as though there was no life within. Another truth – there was no life in wartime, only death or survival. On that bitter thought, James Potter rose from the chair by the forgotten hearth, and resumed the pacing he had abandoned only moments earlier.
It was not yet seven and he had already driven himself to the point of near-madness. James had thrown a Quaffle (with pin-point accuracy) at Peter's head, called Sirius a "wanking cock-face" and smashed eight plates. Remus at least had the sense to stay away, after his friends failures. If she were here, Lily would have told James that this kind of behaviour wasn't healthy, in her practise-made-perfect prefect voice, but Lily wasn't here and therein laid the problem.
If it had been any other day, James wouldn't have been as concerned. He knew what Lily was capable of (having been on the receiving end of hexes for centuries) but after reading the reports and realising the extent of the threat, James was bloody-well petrified. Inferi. Vampires. Voldemort.
It took everything in him, every ounce of willpower, to fight the urge to apparate into the unknown and bring his Lily back. But under the strict orders of Mad-Eye, to not "cock everything up, Potter" and the anti-disapparation charm on the flat, he was forced to stay idle. Like a piece of worthless furniture. Waiting and watching for his wife to come home.
Of course, she wasn't actually his wife, yet, but by Merlin it sure felt like it. Every memory in his aching head was of Lily, tainted by the bitter stain of war. Dancing in the kitchen, lying under the stars... how many stolen kisses did they have left?
They were still bloody children, barely eighteen, fresh out of Hogwarts and still green to the art of war. In her absence, James had composed list upon list, written on scrap parchment, of all those that have caused his suffering. Every scratch of the quill promised suffering, a solemn oath of revenge. He'd read the names so oft that they were memorised: Voldemort, for this damned war, Dumbledore, for convincing them to fight, Snivellus, for being a git, and lastly Lily, for causing such heartache.
When would she come home? It was Christmas Eve, and James needed her more than ever. Dropping to his knees, he prayed to every known deity.
"Please, oh God, oh Merlin, let her be safe. Bring her home. Bring her home. Bring her home."
The minutes ticked on, infuriatingly, mockingly, until the clock was smashed too.
Bent double like beggars under sack.
The words had floated through her mind as she covered her mouth with dirt-caked hands. Lily's eyes had welled with tears as she trudged forward, never bearing to look back. Under her tattered robes she looked the part of a beggar; skinny, scratched and probably stinking of death and decay. The ground below her feet was no longer firm, but slippery, unable to hold the world's weight that balanced precariously upon her shoulders. Smoke filled her lungs, sending her falling, coughing and cursing, to the ground. The mud was warm with blood, sweat and tears. Knock-kneed, coughing like hags we cursed through sludge.
The words of Wilfred Owen haunted her, serving as a reminder that she would soon be lost; another child pawn, slaughtered in the game of monsters. She was terrified, had never known such potent fear. It seemed just yesterday she was buying a wand, with promises of romance and floating feathers. Not war... never war... she was still a child.
As was James, and Remus, Sirius and Peter too.
Gideon and Fabian had been children, until mere moments ago. Shoulder to shoulder, they had fought until felled, taking down those that threatened Lily. The masked ones had been cruel, unknown death eaters, destroying the greatest brothers she had ever known. It was no easy death, not for blood traitors. Asphyxiation and cruciatus curses before that final killing curse. As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. She would never forget the sight. In all my dreams, before my helpless sight. She had stopped the remaining Death Eaters, breaking her vow to never take life. This was no game, she was not perfect. Not anymore.
As she lay, still in the mud, Lily let out muffled screams, and clawed at her arms. She couldn't keep going. Like a prayer, she screamed to those that had chosen her fate.
"Let me die. Let me die. Let me die."
"Now, now, Evans, hush. What would Jamesy say?" A distant voice wheezed
Oh. James.
Thinking of James hurt. James was innocence and warm and safety. Before this fray. Before hell had opened and devoured everyone she loved.
"Come on, old girl. Up you get." The voice repeated, as warm hands clasped her elbows.
"I-I can't" Lily had cried, surprised she could even muster a voice. "I don't have the strength."
"Think of something powerful then."
Love. Love was powerful, wasn't it? She and James were in love, once upon a time before the war. The first time he had told her, she was wearing his Quidditch jersey, and little else. He had looked at her, through sleepy hazel eyes, with a cocky grin on his face, as she jumped on the bed.
"If you keep doing that, I won't make it to round five"
"Five? Overestimate yourself much dear? We're only on three."
"Mm, give me a minute." He had said, hooking a hand around her ankle and dragging her towards him. She fell onto his chest, laughing all the way, and ruffled his hair.
"I love you, Lil"
"Lil? Oi, red?" Benji Fenwick let out an impatient sigh and hoisted Lily to her feet. She had never been more grateful to see his impish face; that mass of blond curls amidst all this chaos. Her best friend, just a young boy, two years younger than she, was playing toy soldiers. Children ardent for some desperate glory.
"Are you hurt?" She fretted, once upright. Immediately her hands went to smooth his hair, as her eyes searched his face for signs of injury.
"Fit as a fiddle, mum, now let's go. That fiancé of yours will tan my hide – and not in the good way, if you know what I mean – if you aren't back soon."
"Stop lusting after my man, you perve. Are you sure you're alright? I saw you with the Inferi."
"You'd taken most of them out, it was just the stragglers after. They were no match for me. I reckon I'm invincible, so fret not."
Little did they know that he was to be dead by the month's end. Her beautiful, heroic blond boy would be mutilated. Just golden locks and hacked out flesh. He had saved her this one time, but no one would hear his cries as they rang through the cold December night.
Somehow, James had managed to fall asleep. Granted, it was a light, fitful slumber, but it was still the most rest he'd had in weeks. It was approximately 10, when he woke to the sound of thumping against the door. He ignored the crick in his neck, and rushed, expecting to hear the worst.
Yet there she was.
Safe.
"Oh Merlin, Lily." His eyes trailed the length of her battered body, taking in every bruise and scratch. She let out an unrecognisable response, which Benji, standing in the shadows, translated.
"We're the only ones left from tonight's expedition."
James nodded slowly, and beckoned for both of them to enter the flat. Benji floo'd directly to his mothers, with a promise of tea-cake and Doctor Who on the morrow.
When they were finally alone, James let the past days anger wash over him; because he'd be damned if he didn't get out all this angst before Christmas.
"What the fuck were you thinking?"
Tired as she may have been, Lily was always prepared for an argument.
"I beg your pardon?" she hissed, rising from her favoured chair.
"You bloody well should be begging my forgiveness."
"Your forgiveness? For doing my duty? James, there were fucking Inferi tearing apart the streets. Do you know how many people died? All of them. Twenty-three Muggles, James. Twelve witches. Don't lecture me on this. Don't you dare... because you weren't there. You didn't see what it was like." Her hands were gesticulating wildly, creating a vaguely threatening atmosphere.
"WELL YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT WAS LIKE HERE" James bellowed. He stormed around the flat, furious, before turning back to face Lily.
"Oh, I'm sure it was so difficult sitting here. Was the seat lumpy? The bad smell off-putting? Were you worried you would miss out on freshly baked cookies." Lily snarled.
"Don't – just don't. You know what was difficult? Coming back from work and hearing that you had gone on some fatally fucked up mission, with a three percent chance of survival. Difficult! I had to stop myself from getting involved, because I'm not allowed to be involved in Order business, because I've got to keep the Potter name out of conflict for now. What if you had died? What would I have done? Sat here and waited for a fucking owl to tell me that everything was over? Lily, what if you had died?"
It was quiet for a moment. The flat was filled with tense air, heated bodies and the sound of deep breathing.
"Nobody lives forever, James. You would move on."
He let out a bitter laugh, and sat down on the floor, placing his heavy head in his weary hands. Lily followed suit.
"I've tried moving on, or have you forgotten sixth year already? Nobody else compares to you. I love you." Through his harsh breathing and her own, Lily nearly laughed at the contrast from the first time he had uttered those words. They had been so wonderful, naive summer-children ignorant to pain and suffering. Cocooned in the four-poster bed, they had been James and Lily, seventeen and in love. Now though, they sat side by side, fatigued and frightened.
"Do you though? God, James, are we? Are we still in love?" She whispered. Outside, the sky wrecked torment, roaring with thunder and washing away the devastating fires.
"Of course we are; how could you even say that?" He was quiet too, almost uncharacteristically so, as though the weight of the words would crush them.
"Because, nothing makes sense anymore. This isn't how it's supposed to be. Tuney kisses Vernon, and they watch soaps and go dancing and we don't do anything. Except fight. I thought we'd have each other memorised by now, but there's a new scratch every day. I feel like a ghost James. We're dead. We're dead. We're dead." He sensed the trauma, as the light faded from her eyes, and immediately swept her into his arms. She let out loud wracking sobs, into his shoulder.
"I-I killed someone today." He barely heard the words as he rubbed her back rhythmically. "It wasn't Avada Kedavra, but they still died and it was my fault. I'm a terrible person."
"Shh, stop, Lily look at me. You're perfect, don't doubt it. They died because of Voldemort. Not you. We let the war come between us, it won't happen again. I won't let it. I swear to Merlin, I love you. Forever. You're all I ever wanted, emotional scars and all, and you're one of the only reasons I haven't hightailed it out of this fucking mess. We'll make it out, together. We're not dead yet."
He pulled them both to their feet, refusing to let her out of his arms. James pointed his wand at the record player, dropping the needle.
"What are you doing?"
"We, are dancing, love. Try to keep up"
They barely heard the music, swaying instead to the beat of their frantic hearts. James' arms were warm as they circled Lily's back, hers were soft as they trailed along his stubbled jaw.
"Why are you so spiky?" She teased
"Because it's sexy. You love it." He teased back. It was so easy, falling into this routine, falling back in love.
After a few minutes of gentle swaying, James' fingers crept along the base of Lily's tattered shirt. While she was momentarily distracted – humming along to Amortentia's latest hit – James swept his hands along her smooth skin, tracing the edge of her bra.
"D- ah – Dancing wasn't supposed to be a thinly veiled euphemism, was it Potter?"
"Can't blame a bloke for trying. We haven't done this for a while, either Evans. –"
"– and whose fault is that? You're always bloody sleeping"
"Well you aren't going to get any with that attitude." He chortled, undoing the clasp and allowing the flimsy fabric to fall to the floor. She contemplated a witty retort, but settled with shucking his shirt and deftly sliding her hands over his stomach. Hers was soon to follow, and James barely let the skin goose-pimple, before capturing a rosy nipple with his teeth. Lily moaned as his tongue flicked and lavished her flesh, switching dutifully between each perky breast. Oh how she'd missed this.
"Alright, I give in; I'm still in love with you." She sighed, pulling his head up to meet hers. Lily thrust her body eagerly against him, winding her fingers in his impossibly soft hair. Their teeth clashed in a flurry of heated kisses, as James hoisted her up against the wall.
Drawing away for air, James let out a residual groan, and thrust against her, through too-many-bloody-layers. He fumbled with the zip of her jeans, in desperate haste to touch every inch of her. She giggled.
Lily fucking Evans was topless, pinned up against the wall and laughing. If that didn't sum up their relationship, he didn't know what would.
"Me thinks someone is out of practise."
"Yeah, well a week is a long time. We haven't held off this long since NEWTs week."
"I don't ever want to go a day without having you, again."She said, nipping along his jaw-line. That was all the encouragement he needed, managing to finally rid her of the ruined garment. Her knickers, pink and lacy, are paid little mind as he hoisted them down her ankles, and filled her with two fingers.
"Fuck, James"
He loved hearing her say that, and it's everything he can do to not come in his pants. With the borrowed patience of a saint, James slid his fingers along her sopping slit, teasing her clit with his thumb. She rocked against his hand, urging him to go further, and soon he was obliging her, pumping them inside of her throbbing cunt. The first is over in a matter of seconds, as Lily cums screaming his name and a stream of expletives. He wanted to do it all over again, except now she's pulling at his trousers and pushing him backwards. Soon enough, they're on the hard wooden floor, with Lily rocking her naked body along his hardened cock. His hands cup her tits as he grinds them, determined to make this as pleasurable for her as possible. In a flurry, his briefs are also of, and Lily is guiding him along her slit. He groaned, grabbing her back roughly, as the tip of his penis is encased, creating an experience of heaven on earth. Then he's inside her, and they see stars.
"Fuck"
"Oh God"
Breathless, they lay on the cold wooden floors, hand in hand. There's a sweet sense of innocence, ironically, after they defiled every surface in the lounge room. ("I'll never look at that sofa again") It's as though the war doesn't exist, when they're together. For now, they are alive and happy, coiled in the afterglow of glorious sex. It is sure to fade, like their faith in the old lie, told with such zest, dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori.
"So" James begins, winking over at his splayed out fiancée, "up for round five?"