For those of you reading my other story, TSBU, I apologise for not updating in a while. It's just that I've gotten caught up with some family stuff and I hadn't had the time, but I promise to have the next chapter up during the next few days!

Anyway, this is a little something I came up with while I was away. It's a bit more, shall we say, morbid, than what I usually write, but not by much. Hope you guys like it.

Promises

Knock knock.

Lily Evans raises her head a fraction, before letting it fall back against her pillow, her crimson curls spread around her like a fiery halo. She closes her eyes tightly, willing whomever it is knocking on her door away. It's probably Marlene McKinnon or Mary MacDonald, her best friends. They've already been down to visit her thrice in the last two hours, yet she refuses to open the door. She doesn't think she has the energy to face anyone just yet.

"Open up, Lils," a male voice calls out, making the young redhead open her eyes again; it's probably Remus, she figures. "I know you're in there."

She lets out tired sigh as she turns to face away from her bedroom door, before whimpering out a soft, "Leave me alone."

"Not a chance," the voice responds, before a deafening crack echoes throughout her room. She turns around and blinks once, twice, thinking it is just a trick of the light. But it isn't. James Potter is standing with his back to what used to be her door, looking awkward and shy. He gives her a sheepish smile as he raises a hand to his raven hair, dropping it at the last minute.

"Sorry about that," he says, not sounding sorry at all. With a flick of his wand, the door repairs itself and he looks around the dark room, before his soft, hazel eyes find Lily's usually bright, green ones, which are now dull and hollow. "Merlin, Evans, you look like hell. And you don't smell so good either. When was the last time you ate? Or showered?"

"I'd be lying if I said I remembered," she says, laying on her back. She stares up at the ceiling, trying to avoid James' gaze.

James sighs as he crosses her bedroom in three easy strides and throws the window open, allowing in a gush of warm, summer air. Lily closes her eyes, rejoicing in the feel of the warm air against her skin. When she opens her eyes again, she finds James standing over her, peering earnestly at her, a concerned look invading his handsome features.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" she whispers as she stares up at him.

"Well, I was, er, worried about you," he says after a moment. "We all are. Nobody's seen or heard from you since your parent's funeral and that was almost two weeks ago."

"Well, as you can see I'm fine. Great actually. Why shouldn't I be? I mean it's not like my ex-best friend joined Voldemort after he promised me he would never do such a thing or like my sister is giving me until the end of this month to find somewhere else to stay before kicking me out. Oh, and not to mention that my parents are dead and I have Voldemort to thank for that," she manages to choke out, before closing her eyes again, blocking passage to the tears that are now threatening to make an appearance. "Everything is just bloody perfect. So you can go and tell Marlene and Mary that. I'd like to be alone now."

"They didn't send me here, if that's what you're thinking," James says with a sigh as he leans against the pale yellow wall next to her bed, hands in pockets. "Actually, they have no idea I'm here."

This surprises her and she opens her eyes a fraction. "Exactly why are you here, then?"

"I already told you, I was worried," he says, avoiding her gaze. "You are my friend, you know, and I, er, care about you," he adds after a moment, sighing again.

"Oh," she says softly.

"I could leave now, if you'd like," he says reluctantly, but for some odd reason, she doesn't want him to leave.

"Or you could stay if you'd like," she says after a moment, closing her eyes. A silence settles around her and she figures he must have left. She doesn't know why that bothers her, but it does.

"So what have you been doing for these last two weeks? Apart from not showering, obviously," he says suddenly, slightly startling her. She opens her eyes and finds him sitting on the floor next to her, his back resting against her bed, playing with a loose string in the edge of her bed sheets. She rolls on her stomach and places her face several inches away from his, resting it against a thin arm, her hair spread out behind her.

"Thinking," she breathes out.

"What about?" he asks, turning his head to look at her.

"Death."

"A bit morbid, don't you think?"

She ignores his comment as she traces the patterns of her orange comforter. "It's funny how death works. How you can be alive one minute and the next you're gone. I mean, I had just talked to my mum a few hours before her death. We had been planning what to do for my father's birthday; he'd be forty-nine next week," she says with a sigh. "It's hard to think that I'm never going to see them again. She blames me for their death, you know," she adds, raising her head and looking up at him. "She says if I wasn't what I am, then none of this would've happened."

James runs a hand through his already untidy hair as he leans his head back. "It's not your fault, you know? They were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Your parents weren't the only ones who died that day; hundreds of muggles died. It had nothing to do with you; surely your sister understands that?"

"It'd be easier if she did, but she doesn't. I guess it's easier to blame me than it is to accept their death. And it kind of is my fault," she says, placing a strand of hair behind her ear. "If I hadn't bought them the tickets to see that play, then they would have never been there and they'd still be alive. Maybe Petunia has a point in hating me."

"Now you're just being stupid, you know that?" he says, his voice adopting a serious tone that Lily had never heard before. "It was going to happen, regardless of whether they attended that play or not. Besides, everybody dies eventually."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No, I'm just stating the facts. Without death, there'd be no life. It's just how it is."

Lily stares at James, a small smile appearing on her face. "Who knew James Potter could be so deep?" she says after a while and James breaks out into a lopsided grin. Her smile fades as she considers her next question, her appearance turning serious once more. "Have you ever given it any thought? Death, I mean."

His grin diminishes as he passes a tanned hand through his hair again. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't," he says finally. "It's hard not to, with this war going on around us. But I figure if I can die fighting for what I believe in or protecting those I love, then maybe death isn't so bad after all."

"I know what you mean," says Lily, resting her cheek against a pale hand as she stares out her window, observing the trees swaying in the distance. "You know, I've always had a feeling that I'd die young."

"No kidding."

"Mhm. But I always thought that if I could die for a good cause, then maybe dying young wouldn't be so bad. If my death could make a difference, then it would definitely be worth it."

"Yeah, but luckily for you, Ms Evans, you're not dying."

"Oh, but I disagree. We all die eventually, remember? And if it's not today, then maybe it'll be tomorrow. Or the next day. Or—"

James turns his body around, facing her as he places a finger on her lips. "Of course everyone dies eventually. But you're not going to die today, nor tomorrow, nor anytime soon. You're going to die until you're old and wrinkly. That's a promise."

Lily looks at him long and hard, before sighing warily. "Don't make promises that you can't keep, James," she says finally, her voice tired.

"You're right," he says, sighing as he runs his hands through his hair. "But that doesn't mean I can't try. Nothing's going to happen to you as long as I'm here."

Lily sighs as she directs her gaze out her window again and she's surprised to see the sun is already setting in the horizon. She knows that James will leave soon, but she doesn't want him to. Not now, not ever.

"Stay with me," she whispers, turning her gaze back to him. He looks up at her and he knows she's not speaking only about tonight.

"Always," he murmurs, taking her hand in his and bringing it up to his lips. It comes out sounding like a promise, one that he is willing to keep, no matter what it costs him. "Always."

Yes, I know, "Always" is Snape's line, but I just couldn't resist adding it. And besides, the last line was the first thing I wrote when I sat down to write this story. So it's all good, I guess.