For Dee. I own nothing.
It's strange, but the little cottage seems even smaller without James. It should feel larger, Lily thinks, without his tall frame brushing against the beams, but it doesn't. It feels colder, too. She shivers, tugs her jumper – his jumper – over her gently swelling stomach, and goes to turn on the radio. A cheery Christmas song begins, one she remembers from her childhood – just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring-ting-tingling too …
They haven't put the Christmas decorations up yet, she realises suddenly. They got them out, the other day, but then they were called away … Her eyes light on the box, shoved behind the sofa. She needs something to do to pass the time, to take her mind off things, so she turns the volume on the radio up and reaches for the box. They do Christmas the Muggle way, because James doesn't mind, and he gets that Lily needs some connections to her old life. Some of the decorations have come from her parents, but most they went and bought last year, special things that are theirs, that they chose together. Husband and wife. It still sounds bizarre, even though they've now been married over a year and have a baby on the way.
It's completely dark outside by the time James returns. Lily lights the candles in the window and waits for him, a sudden painful stabbing sensation in her gut, because while she's been singing along to Christmas songs and draping tinsel over the room, he's been going through hell, as if they don't go through enough every day anyway. The pain intensifies when James appears in the doorway: it's sleeting horribly outside, but the defeated, deadened look in his eyes tells her that's not the reason for the wetness on his face. He looks much, much older than nineteen.
She swallows, and begins tentatively, "is he …"
"Gone," says James hoarsely.
He bows his head and she rushes to him, pulling him into her arms and holding him as he presses his face into her hair. There's nothing she can say, because everybody who's ever known James Potter knows how much he loves and adores his dad, and everybody who knows him now knows how much he's been suffering these last few weeks, since Aegeus went into hospital and James has had to watch him fade away.
After a few moments, she feels James' hands move to gently rest on her stomach.
"It's OK," he whispers, and she's not sure if he's talking to her, or himself, or the baby, or perhaps all three. "It's OK … we're OK."
He lifts his head and meets Lily's eyes.
"As long as I've got you - I'll be all right," he says, and it sounds like a promise.
"Yeah you will," she tells him forcefully. "You're not giving up on my watch, Potter."
The radio starts playing a slower song, a man's soulful voice crooning throatily to a brass band about treetops glistening and children listening, and one of James' hands slips to Lily's waist, the other to entwine his fingers with hers, and they sway slowly on the spot, holding each other tightly.
"We haven't danced since our wedding," Lily murmurs.
"You've improved since then. You're not treading on my feet so much."
He suddenly spins her around as the song reaches a crescendo, twirling her away from him and expertly back into his arms, still swaying rhythmically.
"Show-off."
He grins down at her. She can still see the sadness in his eyes, the loss - but she's made him smile, and that's enough.
The song ends and the signal goes, dissolving into static, but they keep dancing.