A/N: Yes, I know that I haven't updated Lily in forever but everything that could happen has happened. School, writer's block…you name it, it's there. I am currently working on rewriting it a bit to make it better and have started a new short story (max. five chapters but probably not even that) inspired by my stay on the Mediterranean. Its title is Topless; that may give you some ideas, though the rating will not be over T and even then only because I'm paranoid.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter, it's all the wonderful and fabulous Joanna Kathleen. 99 Miles From L.A. is from the Art Garfunkel album Breakaway. I suggest listening to it if you've never heard it; it's a great song and the feel of it really helps the story is you can read and listen at the same time.

And so, without further ado, I give you…

99 Miles From L.A.

Keeping my eyes on the road

I see you

It's been months since I've seen you, yet I can still picture you perfectly.

Flowing red hair, glowing eyes that sparkle with laughter and light up when you see me. A figure worthy of modeling and yet you are content to stay at home, in the kitchen, the way your mother did.

Six months we've been apart because of my job. It is the first and last time that this will ever happen.

I knew going in as an Unspeakable that there would be times when I had to leave, but I was only supposed to get the short missions, leave the long ones to my unmarried partners. Most of them are; this is the equivalent to being a computer geek in the Muggle world. Very few of them are ever lucky with love because of this job, I was lucky to have found you when I was eleven, even if it took us years to get our act together.

Keeping my hands on the wheel

I hold you

Every dream, every moment I have spare, I think of nothing but you. Of the last time I saw you and the last time we made love. Of how I got up and left the next morning before you woke up, leaving a rose on the pillow and a note proclaiming my everlasting love for you.

I think of the way you feel when I hold you, resting your head on my chest with your arms wrapped around my waist. The way you bury your face in my shoulder when you cry. The way you have to stand on tiptoe to kiss me and how I still have to bend down a bit to meet you halfway.

I think of the way you curl up using me as a pillow when we go to sleep. Your head on my shoulder and your legs twined with mine. Of the way I can't sleep on my back anymore unless you're there.

99 miles from L.A.

I kiss you

I miss you

Please be there

I'm nearly to L.A. to return the car I borrowed from my employer and then I Apparate back to the Ministry in London.

I'm almost home and I pray that you're there. I disappeared with a night's notice for supposedly only a few weeks that somehow turned in to six months. I hope that you stayed to wait for me and didn't move to stay with your parents or one of our friends because you got so lonely waiting for me. With the way you tease me about being insecure, I hope that you haven't run off with someone. I can't really help it; what guy wouldn't covet you?

In many of my dreams, I replay our last night together, in others I simply kiss you before holding you for hours on end, all the times when I wished that a moment would last forever with you in my arms.

Passing a white sandy beach

We're sailing

Everything I pass reminds me of you. Even if it wasn't here, I remember times we spent at the beach or on the water, both discovering our love of the ocean and sailing that led us to buy a house on the coast.

I remember the way you look in your bikini, lying in the sun to attempt to bring a little glow to your skin before it turns bright red to match your hair. The way you shriek when I sneak up on you to carry you off to the water. The way you cling to me in the water as the waves crash around us, as if you're afraid that they'll tear us apart forever.

I remember the first time we went sailing, with friends of ours who lived on the coast. The way you were terrified and exhilarated as we flew through the water, comparing it to flying a broom. The way your eyes lit up when I showed you the house on the cliff and the dock where we could tie up a boat. The way you declared that the rambling mansion had to be ours because it was perfect.

Turning the radio on

We're dancing

That song comes on the radio as I'm driving. The one we danced to at the Graduation Ball, when you were finally able to tell me that you loved me. The one we danced to whenever it came on, no matter what we were doing, sometimes letting food burn. The one we danced to at our wedding three years after graduation to the day. The one we danced to on our first anniversary and probably will on the next.

I remember how you looked in detail at each of these events, though any other details elude me.

In your emerald gown at the Ball, outshining every other star in the sky. Standing in your pajamas, cooking eggs (that ended up burnt) on our first morning waking up together in our own apartment. Wearing jeans and a burgundy sweater at your parents' house at Christmas. In that little black dress on your eighteenth birthday. In a linen skirt and a pale blue blouse in the park on your lunch break one day. In that pale green satin dress that had every bloke in our favorite restaurant staring when I proposed. In your indescribably beautiful cream silk and lace wedding dress that I couldn't wait to take off of you. In a black silk negligée on our anniversary before we got to the 'fun part'.

99 miles from L.A.

I want you

I need you

Please be there

I'm nearly there and I have nothing on my mind but you. I've had nothing but you on my mind for the last…oh fine, six months.

It may be degrading to my ego that you always say is too big, but I will admit how much I need you beside me. Partially to just have you here, but also to be the envy of every man to have you on my arm.

I've woken up every morning, thinking that I'm back home. Then I realize that you're not curled up beside me or on top of me. That I'm in California, 6000 miles from you, but only 99 from getting home.

The windshield is covered with rain

I'm crying

I'm driving north again, glad for the fact that, in the rain, no one on the 405 is looking anywhere but ahead.

I'm here for another few weeks, they said. I replied that if they kept me for more than a week more, I'd leave and go home, whether or not they would fire me.

I cast a spell on the car, making it drive on its own before I break down in tears. They gave me this date three weeks ago, saying that I could go home.

It's not fair.

For once I think that you would agree with me, instead of telling me that life isn't fair.

Pressing my foot on the gas

I'm flying

A quick Disillusionment and I'm off into the air. Pressing down, I shoot across the rainy sky, hoping that if I got back faster that I could be done faster.

I'm flying, closing my eyes and trying to imagine myself on a broom.

I remember the time in our seventh year when Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup. You weren't playing because of an injury in the last match, so I flew over to you and pulled you onto my broom and the two of us flew over the Forbidden Forest to our hidden clearing, the one Potters have told their sons about for generations as a place to take their redheads.

Counting the telephone poles

I phone you

I almost break my promise and contact you, but I give up when I hear my own voice on the answering machine. You could be out shopping, or with one of your girlfriends, or even just didn't catch the phone and assume it's a wrong number because they don't leave a message.

I've done this several times, and I keep hoping that you'll get around to changing the message the way you keep threatening to because you say I sound stupid, just so I can hear you.

Reading the signs on the road

I write you

I've written you a letter every day, all 180-someodd that I've been here so far, but I've been good and haven't sent a single one. I guess I'm being sentimental; when I get home, I'll give you the huge stack of letters to read, the only way I can legally tell you what I was doing.

I write you another as I fly over the freeway, soaring over the gridlocked rush-hour traffic that lasts hours. I'm telling you all of my sorrow over not being able to see you for another week.

99 miles from L.A.

We're laughing

We're loving

Please be there

A week later and I'm almost to L.A. again, this time finished and leaving no matter what they tell me. I put the car on magical autopilot again and allow myself to reminisce again about the times we've had together…

The car is turned in and I'm headed to the International Apparition Office. I don't have to go there; I have enough fame and money to get me through the red tape, but for once the legal way is faster and cheaper.

I get to our house on the cliff and find it empty.

I walk through, hoping to find some clue as to where you are. The message board in the kitchen has a note on it; I can't read it until I'm close. I can tell that there has been a note there every time you've gone out, just in case you're not here when I get home.

Harry,

At Mungo's with Ginny. Come ASAP!

Ron

You didn't even write this one, your brother did. I'm almost afraid to go, but I do anyway.

The Mediwitch at the front desk was having a slow day for once, only a few for Spell Damage and one for the maternity ward. The man Apparating in just made her day that much more exciting.

"My name's Harry Potter and I'm looking for my wife Ginny. Her brother brought her in and I got a note saying they're here but I don't know why and…"

"I should have thought it was obvious," she replied. At his furious look, she glanced at the roster. "Room M91, down the hall to your left."

He ran off, wondering about her comment. Clearly she didn't know that he had been away for six and a half months.

He saw the entire Weasley clan, down to all of his eleven nieces and nephews.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Harry," Hermione said. "Don't you know which ward this is?"

"Oh just go in dear," Molly said as she came out.

Harry entered apprehensively. He didn't understand what Hermione meant.

"HARRY!" Ginny screamed. The small pink bundle in her arms wailed at the volume and pitch of her shriek. "Shh, Mummy's here," she crooned.

Harry couldn't speak.

"I found out a few days after you left," she explained. "I'd like you to meet your daughter, Vanessa Lily Potter."

A/N 2: Yeah, yeah, the ending doesn't seem to really fit, it just goes off on a tangent, but whatever. I like it and I think it's cute, no matter what you say (though I would like some reviews to give me ideas of what you are thinking hint hint; I'm not a Seer you know, much as I would like to be).

A/N 3: Yeah, I know, another A/N, but I thought that any of you who are reading this who have read Lily (and if you haven't, do) would maybe like to know that I am almost ready to repost, as in by the end of June.