A snapshot on an unfortunate January spent in a cottage on the North Sea while in hiding from Lord Voldemort, Lily Potter learns how to manage and how to live in a world where most failed to simply live. It was a special kind of bravery to wait on the sidelines when loved ones were on the front lines, and while Lily had courage to spare- it can be said that the waiting nearly killed her.
Chapter One
…
Lily looked at the calendar hanging on the wall, a pen in her hand. She wasn't completely sure that it was indeed, January 10th. She couldn't remember if she had crossed off the January 9th yesterday or the day before.
There was no way to know, and it didn't matter anyways, but the thought of being so disconnected from the outside world that she didn't even know the date unsettled her. Every day sitting here was the same to her, a long string of days that began and ended the same, the same meaningless filler in between. Eating, resting, walking; feeding the fire James had set in the early morning. Hiding in the house at the end of the world, their little cottage on the North sea.
It had been a cold January, the mist rising from the ocean below her made everything humid before freezing during the nighttime hours.
Her little house was often cold, even with the fire lit and the drafts shut. It was, quite technically, a Muggle holiday home on the east coast of Scotland. A cottage on the cliffs crusted with salt and filled with the smell of the sea. Wild grasses and flowers dotted the landscape in summer, but this deep into winter ice drives into the house and collects in the doorway, frosts the windows and carries the chill in heavy winds. James did as much as he could with magic to seal the nooks and crannies, but in the end they stuffed rags and bits of flannel into cracks and dressed warm. It was small, their house. Barely big enough for the Marauders, but more than big enough for them. She and James had hung curtains and moved in familiar furniture from her room in her parents house, painted the walls and made polaroid collages in the sitting room. Her record player sat in the kitchen, and they listened to the Beatles and Fleetwood Mac, and James' scratched Pink Floyd record that skipped between Speak to Me and Breathe and hadn't played the second side since sixth year. They drank scalding Earl Grey with too much sugar and slept until noon when James was home. They had friends over when they needed the company and spent nights in each others arms, the still, misty air of the ocean hanging above them like fairies in the moonlight.
James was still working for the Order, still pulling missions and attending meetings back in London. It was dangerous, he knew it better than most, but the thought of waiting while others were fighting was too much to bear. He was gone for weeks at a time, always secretive, and never resolved quickly. Voldemort was getting more and more powerful, and although their numbers within the Order were increasing, they really didn't have much of a choice in backing down. Some were saying they were outnumbered fourteen to one, Death Eaters to members of the Order, and friends were falling every day; Fabian and Gideon had died less than a month before. The war had to end, too many had died hoping to see it for themselves and James would die rather than prove them wrong.
But that world and hers in her cottage by the sea seemed completely separate, there was no war here- no one fought and died in her vicinity. Nobody knew her here, indeed, no one knew that their little house existed at all with so many protective enchantments on it. Both to keep her in and others out, and Lily strained to find need for so much protection. No one knew them here, when they went out, the house was Untraceable, and they used enchantments to alter their appearances. They even made aliases', (Oliver and Jaqueline Quinner) but only used them when they had to. As far as anybody else was concerned, they hardly existed, which consoled James when he was away. At least Lily was safe.
She had no neighbours stopping by, no friends dropping in and no door knocker. She didn't need one, to say the least, because she also had no visitors.
Once a week she went to the little market in town to buy eggs and milk and bread, a piece of meat for dinner and a pound of loose leaf peppermint. Sometimes she went to the coffee shop by the cliffs and had hot tea lattes and biscotti, trying her best not to look over her shoulder as she read her book, her wand tucked up her sleeve. Sometimes Little Women, an old favourite, or maybe Jane Eyre, a Brontë she had started in December and hadn't finished yet. She pushed her tortoiseshell reading glasses up her nose and turned the page, feigning belonging in the Muggle world. Her Scottish accent helped her blend in, but she knew she didn't belong. She wanted nothing more than to go home, back to the wizarding world, in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade with all her friends from Hogwarts. She belonged with people she knew and loved. She belonged with friends that were closer than friends, friends that had become her family in her families place. This strange Muggle world wasn't hers, she was an intruder who would never belong.
She loved her new home, truly she did. She loved that it was safe, that it was quiet. She loved the texture of the peeling, painted wood of the cottage beneath her fingertips, the paint chipping away as she rubs her hands over the rail. Her new home by the sea was a far cry from their flat in Sussex, and she craved the open space Scotland allowed. The smell of the sea in her bedsheets, the furniture, the way the salty air hangs heavy in the predawn hours. The rising sun casting yellow shadows into her blue kitchen, turning her white cabinets orange in their glow. The way the breeze is continual, cold but steady, blowing through the house, in one window and out another as if the house doesn't matter. Voldemort may have destroyed her towns and murdered her friends and killed their morale, and nearly burned the Ministry of Magic to the ground, but he couldn't take away the beauty of the sun rising above the ocean or even the hope in James' eyes when he came back home safe and sound.
But he wasn't home.
James was gone.
And for now, while she was alone in their cottage by the sea, there was nothing to do but wait for some semblance of normalcy to return, in whichever way it came. Sometimes it was writing letters, to Mary McDonald and Marlene McKinnon, to her sister or Sirius back in London she would never mail. Hours she spent petting Grimm, flipping through photo albums, making boeuf bourguignon with Julia Child and freezing the leftovers. The mornings she would walk to the cliffs and watch the stars sink behind the horizon as the sun rose, feel the icy wind on her face and the chill sink between her cardigans and knitted scarf. And still the wind blows, bends the sea grasses and withered wild flowers and ruffles the curtains in Lily Potter's bedroom, irritates the cat and sends him scurrying from the windowsill. Blows out the candle in the kitchen, and spreads the scent of smoke through the house. But she sits, and reads, and learns and sits in silence. Spent most of the month reading Brontë and Shakespere and Austen, dusting cabinets and drinking coffee.
Waits and distracts herself until her husband would return to her.
James had volunteered for another mission that week. He and Frank Longbottom were in Scotland on a secret assignment for Dumbledore. Personally, Lily didn't understand all the secrecy. If anything, it was clouding their world in even more confusion and fear.
They hadn't heard from Remus in almost a month, and they were both worried about him. Dumbledore wouldn't answer their questions about him, saying he was on assignment and his indiscretion could impend Lupin's efforts. Even though he tried not to show it, she knew James was irritated. Dumbledore wouldn't look James in the eyes and that bothered him. He didn't give anyone straight answers and that nagged on him, he didn't always have the right answers or the proper response and that scared him. Dumbledore wasn't the strongpoint in his life anymore, he made mistakes too. He miscalculated and people they had loved were hurt or killed on his watch. The war had come to him as well.
When James told her, Lily's own suspicions and hidden fears about Dumbledore only deepened. He couldn't truly be trusted, not even for this. What could Remus be doing that was so top secret that his best friends couldn't know about it?
But she wasn't one to ask questions. It wasn't her place to question his methods or judge their outcomes. She wasn't there at the Order headquarters, couldn't be there, and wouldn't be back for quite some time, if this war ever came to an end and she could come out of hiding.
And this bothered Lily too. She wasn't one to sit and wait, the silence of their little house alone was almost deafening. She missed the busyness of the Great Hall and the constant buzz that hung over the Gryffindor common room. She had never liked going home for summer hols, her house had hung in awkward silence ever since her father had died and Petunia started dating Vernon Dursley. She had surrounded herself with loud friends with loud personalties and lots of them, always preferring to be in the thick of things than on the sidelines. But there was no use complaining, and indeed no one to complain to but herself. The Muggles at the coffee shop and the grocer behind the desk didn't care about her problems.
James hadn't said when he would be back, but it had hardly mattered. He wouldn't have known one way or another and Lily was always fond of happy surprises.
So she kept busy. She cleaned the house top to bottom, wiped down windows and mopped the floors on the off chance they were actually dirty. She learned how to do laundry the Muggle way, hanging the clothes on a line and folding them by hand. It was comforting, it reminded her of sitting on the washing machine and watching her mother fold clothes when she was a child. It was manual, and it gave her something to do. It made her feel like she belonged there.
She went through the old house and hemmed the blankets that had started to fray, cooked and baked for herself and sat still. There was nothing really to do. Not by herself, not while they were in hiding. And certainly not while she was pregnant.
They hadn't planned it, James and Lily. It had been a bittersweet surprise when she was late back in December, a consequence of reality in an uncertain world. She had cried when she broke down and bought the test from the chemist, cursing their irresponsibility, their stupidity in relying on magical protection. She spent two hours cursing magical medicine when the test showed her a positive, and then spent the rest of it cursing herself.
She couldn't have a baby now. Her world was deadly, and no one was guaranteed to make it out alive. She couldn't believe how selfish they had been thinking children would be okay. This was bringing a new life into a world where Voldemort was in charge and death and danger were old friends. This was weakness when she needed to be strong, this was waiting on the sidelines while James fought front and centre without her. She was nineteen and more scared than she had ever been.
It was too early to tell, but Lily impulsively ran her fingers over her belly, feeling her flat stomach that bore life, a child that needed protection.
James found out by accident.
She was getting into bed a couple days before Christmas, wearing the tartan nightie her mum had bought her in sixth year when James came out of the loo with the pregnancy test in his hands.
"I found this in the cabinet, any idea what it is?"
Lily dropped her glasses in shock, and reached to grab it from his hands, but he held it out of her reach.
"That important, eh?" James laughed. "Looks Muggle, did your sister send it?"
"No, she didn't. It's mine, just give it here."
"What is it?"
"Nothing!" she said. "Nothing to worry about, just give it here!"
"Lily!" James said, his eyebrows knit. "What is it? Is it dangerous?"
"No," she said, gritting her teeth.
"Then why are you hiding it from me? It was on the top shelf. I didn't think you could even reach the top shelf, let alone hide anything up there."
"I wasn't hiding it, I was waiting to tell you,"
"Tell me what, exactly?"
She snatched it from his hands. "Nevermind, just give it here, I knew I should've tossed it,"
"Lily," James said, his face white. "You're scaring me. What is it?!"
"A pregnancy test!" she said angrily, tossing the plastic wand at the bathroom door. "Alright? Happy now?"
James stood in shock, his eyes circles as he absorbed what she said. He rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, and stared at her again. Lily sat down on her side of the bed and tried not to cry.
"A what?"
"Pregnancy test. I'm three weeks late," she said quietly.
James was silent for a minute, and Lily forced her gaze downward. He didn't want it, she was sure now. They had never talked about it before, children that is, in more than a hypothetical way and never like this. He had always wanted a baby, she knew, but they were still so young. But he didn't want it, not now, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this baby would never be loved by its father.
"What did it say?" he whispered.
Lily sniffed. "It was positive."
She closed her eyes as tears ran down her cheeks and knit her fingers together. Grimm meowed somewhere downstairs, and the candle burning on the bedside table threw shadows against the walls as James knelt before her.
"And you're sure?" he asked. "From the test?"
"It-it said that it was ninety-seven percent accurate on the box," she said quietly. "So yeah, fairly sure."
James whistled low, and Lily pulled tighter into herself, wishing she could disappear. She had never been scared of her husband before, but the possibilities of his reactions terrified her. He could leave her, she was a liability now. He didn't want it, didn't want their baby and she was terrified.
"We were so goddamn stupid,"
"Do you want it?"
Lily looked up, found him smiling and burst into tears, sobbing into her hands when James pulled her close and kissed her everywhere he could reach. Lily shook in his arms and he rubbed soothing circles on her back as she cried.
"Because I do," he said, "Gods, I love you so much,"
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Don't you want it? The baby?"
"Yes," she said. It was her flesh and blood and she wanted it more than anything, loved it more deeply than she had ever loved before and Lily was startled by her own conviction.
"Good," he said, placing a warm hand over her belly. "Because I already love our baby so much. This baby is a living example that we're alive. We have to live in war, we can't just survive it. We can't put our lives on hold because Voldemort's still in power. This baby is a gift, and I want it, Lily. I really do."
"But this means that I can't help anymore," she whispered into his chest.
James sighed and pulled her close.
"Yeah, I guess it does."
Lily tucked herself further into James' chest and suddenly it hit him like a train. Lily was going to have a baby, he was going to be a father. Bloody hell.
"I'm yours forever, Lils," he whispered because he was scared too. "If we lose everything, I'll always have you."
"Not always, James," she said. "we're not exempt from the war. Not even here."
"No, but for now, we're together and that's all that matters."
…
So even though they both hated it, she was alone. He was away, and by someone's perverse idea about justice, they were in even more danger than usual.
Voldemort was after them.
Why them in particular the Order had spent the better part of a month trying to find out. What did Voldemort have against them? Was it because they had refused to join him when he threatened them all those years ago at Hogwarts? Was it the two other times they had faced them after that? All they had ever done was survive, pushed forward and lived to fight another day. But Voldemort wasn't just after them, but after a baby. Their's in particular.
Dumbledore hadn't explained it any further than that, but Lily and James had understood that it meant going into hiding, not telling anyone, not even their friends where they lived. It meant solitude and loneliness. It meant not seeing her mum for four months and her old roommates for over a year. It meant missing out on parties and birthdays and anniversaries because they were holed up by themselves at a cottage at the end of the world. It meant only seeing her husband whenever he could make it home, which was nowhere near often enough.
She knew that he couldn't stay- she knew that he would fight the whole world and kill Voldemort himself if that meant that she would be safe forever. She knew that he had a world to save and that it was her job to keep her own little world safe in any way that she it meant making casseroles for the Order meetings, often it meant making leaflets for the resistance effort. But most of the time, it just meant finding ways of keeping busy while their baby grew within her.
She stood for hours in front of the full length mirror, hands cupping her stomach, imagining the life that was growing within her. From her estimations, she was just over twelve weeks- she measured her belly once a week. It was the end of January and she was alone. It was the new year, it was 1980 and that meant new beginnings, new hope, new chances for laughter and family and love.
It was 1980 and their child would be born this year. It was 1980 and Lily Potter had just turned twenty.
James made it back just before midnight, a single cupcake in tow. He lit the candle on top and sang happy birthday to his wife, kissed her when she blew away the light. They broke it in half and shared it, frosting and cake landing on cheeks and lips and fingertips.
"I love you so much," he said, "Happy birthday, darling."
And in that moment, it was enough.
...
By January, she was about two months into her pregnancy, and even though she could barely tell that anything was different it felt like her whole life was changing. Their baby was growing within her, and she came to realize that as long as she was safe, their child would be too. Being safe was worth being lonely.
She didn't go to her coffee shop as much, and didn't linger at the grocers. She started Emma and finally finished Jane Eyre, spending the majority of the week in the window seat in the kitchen, Grimm on the windowsill and a pot of Earl Grey beside her. She was scared of her own shadow and hated herself for being so afraid, but more than anything, she was afraid of her fear being justified.
In the darkness of their bedroom she nightmared, Voldemort haunting her subconscious with green spells and unlocking doors. She grew afraid of noises in the night and stunned the cat thinking it was a Death Eater at three in the morning. Her world was quiet but the wind was howling and she was alone and more afraid than she had ever been. But this was war, and the home front was just as bad as the front line when it came to fear.
So she was in hiding, in a little cottage by the sea where nobody knew them where he could never find them. Even Sirius and Peter and Moony didn't have their address.
In her more cynical moods, Lily wasn't even sure if their house had an address.
Lily spent a lot of time looking at pictures, the silly polaroids she had taken at Quidditch matches and in the common room. She labeled them and cried over them and slid them neatly into albums so they wouldn't ever be lost or chronicled her years at Hogwarts- those seven glorious years when she was innocent and happy and free. Those days long gone when her friends didn't have to worry about the war and their parents weren't pulling them out of school so they could go into hiding.
She had a picture of Severus on the day they met, the pigtailed head of her older sister in the background. She had pictures of getting onto the Hogwarts Express in her first year and memories of meeting James and Sirius and Remus on the train. She had pictures of Hogwarts castle, of her friends and teachers that had dominated her life for the first few months of first term. She had photographs of her first year dorm, of her, Marlene, Alice, Mary and Amelia Bones all crammed onto her four poster, eating sweets and laughing. She had pictures of the Quidditch Pitch and the Forbidden Forest and that strange tree on the grounds she wasn't supposed to go anywhere near. She had photos of the Great Hall at Christmastime and the snow fight they had had on Christmas day, the snowmen they had built on the grounds beside the loch. She had pictures of Diagon Alley from her second and third years, picnics with her roommates by the loch, dates in Hogsmeade and drinks in the Three Broomsticks.
No matter what she had once said about her now husband, Lily Evans had a a lot of pictures of James Potter.
She had pictures of him sweaty with messy hair after Quidditch practice. She had ones of the Marauders coming out of the Three Broomsticks laughing at the top of their lungs with their arms around each others shoulders, tipsy and rosy cheeked. She had pictures of Marlene and Sirius kissing after they won the championship for Gryffindor, the next picture blurry because James had kissed her too and pulled her towards him. She had pictures of their wedding- her walking down the aisle with Sirius and Remus on either arm, she had pictures of her and James kissing at the alter, her throwing the bouquet, cutting the cake. She had pictures of him sleeping the morning after their wedding, half-naked with his arm around her waist. She had photos of their first flat in Sussex, pictures of the nights the Marauders had crashed at their place after partying. She had pictures of the stars, photos of the beach at sunrise at the cottage in Scotland. Lily took pictures of her belly every morning in the mirror, keeping track of her babies growth even though it seemed as though time stood still for her.
Every day was the same, a long string of the same things repeated over and over again. But the fear remained, plateauing with time, and eased with reading. She took to visiting the ancient bookshop in the village, and fell in love with the books she had read as a child, the classics, fairytales, old cookbooks and brought the lot home to be enveloped with words and stories and other people's problems as a balm from her own. She balanced the new addition on her knees, her reading glasses on her nose covered in blankets. She left with a shaking wand hand, groceries in one hand, her book bag in the other. And when the owner began to recognize her, she left and had yet to return. As much as she hated reading the same books over and over again, she loathed the idea of leaving her little house. It would shatter the illusion that she was safe and that nothing could happen to her.
But she had too, magic couldn't make groceries after all. She went to the little market for the essentials once a week, for milk and bread and chocolate, looking longingly at the Rieslings and Chardonnay's she could no longer enjoy. It wasn't as if they were poor- James' fortune ensured that they would never have to work a day in their lives if they didn't want to. It was the Muggle-ness of it, of the unfamiliar notes and coins that she hadn't used since she was eleven. It was the fact that she had to use magic to change her face and physique so no one would recognize her. It was her confusion as to where she belonged, because she was in hiding and the Muggle world wasn't home for her anymore.
...
After not being by herself for her entire life, Lily learned the value of her own company.
She had breakfast every morning on the cushion facing the west window, mug of tea at her elbow with the cat curled up below her. Grimm wasn't a recent addition, she had had him since she was eleven. But like her, he spent most of his time alone, usually sleeping in the attic or lying in a patch of sun. He didn't have anywhere to go either and that comforted her.
When James was home, they'd spend every second together- always beside the other in fear that he'd be snatched away and leave her alone again. They'd spend hours curled up in bed, sleeping or talking or not doing anything at all. But they were together, and that was what mattered, until he was wrenched from her once again.
...
James came home more often than not with either Moony or Sirius by his side (no one would talk about the war. Neither would bring up the Order or the Aurors or how many people had died that week. That house was a safe haven and existed completely separate from Voldemort and the Death Eaters and the blood prejudice that existed all around them. In that place there was no war, no tears or crying or pain. There was a lot of liquor, and it peeved Lily off that she couldn't forget her worries as they could anymore.)
They'd spend the evening laughing and joking and eating casseroles and banana bread before sending the unhappy Marauder on his way so the heartsick couple could spend the night side by side. They'd talk about the future like it would never come, talking about who their baby would grow up to be and the adventures they'd have. They talked about their families, about the friends they hadn't seen since seventh year that they would never talk to again.
They didn't know it then, but you think had, talking like that. That future they had once imagined never was coming. Not for wasn't healthy, but Lily didn't care. James was there, and when they were together everything would be okay. They'd then spend the night on the little balcony under the stars, blankets and pillows making a little nest for them. They laugh until they cried when it rained and the sheets got wet and the cat hid from all the thunder and lightning.
They lived like they were the only people left in the world.
And maybe they were. Life passed with hours turning into days, days sliding into weeks, and months. Nothing ever changed, and for them nothing ever would. It would always be the same, and as long as they were together it wouldn't matter in the least. Sometimes they'd spend the entire day in bed, cuddling, eating pancakes with crumbs falling into the sheets. They'd have whipped cream and pound cake for supper and talk well into the night.
Sometimes the baby would kick and they'd marvel at the sight. Lily's waistband got bigger everyday, and as much as she dreaded having their child out of the safety of her belly, she longed to meet them. James did too, he couldn't wait to be a father. Loyalty to his own was engrained on his soul. But eventually, the bubble would pop- someone from the Order would send an owl and James would scowl at the letter in its claws. It meant that he had to be away from Lily and the baby and their cozy little house. It meant that he had to leave again. Every time it got harder. She'd invite him back to bed and even though they both knew that he couldn't, it hurt to leave her alone. It hurt to have to abandon his wife because the world was at war and the Order needed him to fight. It got harder and harder to fight for his life knowing that if he died Lily would be alone.
She'd raise their child by herself and their baby wouldn't know its father. He was distracted, the bits that made up who he was were conflicted. He didn't live for the thrill any longer, he didn't put himself in danger unnecessarily so he could be the hero. Fighting for the Order became a chore, and he hated it.
Frank felt it too- his wife was pregnant as well, living somewhere in Ireland with his mother while he was away. He hated leaving his wife alone as much as James did but they didn't have a choice in the matter. Voldemort was after a baby that was going to be born at the end of July and both of their children fit the requirements. They could not, and indeed, would not let him succeed. Life was too precious for that.
It was too sacred to be gambled and thrown away. It had to be protected, and even though James and Lily understood what that entailed they were only twenty years old. And twenty was too young for life to be held in the balance. Twenty was too young to be waiting for time to pass, too young to be pregnant and separated.
But they also understood that this was life in war. This is what it was to love so deeply that it ached to be away for even a it was a blessing, and they were thankful. Truly. Because they were alive and together and that was more than others who had already lost someone. So she would wait, and he would fight and together look forward to a day where they could be together once again.
…
Edited (07/01/17)
I got a lot of inspiration for the location of Lily and James' house from the scene at the end of At World's End, where Elizabeth is waiting for Will at the top of a cliff with their son. The rolling hills and sheer cliffs and wide open ocean really inspired me as somewhere Lily and James would go to be in hiding, somewhere a lot like the desolate landscapes the trio went while they were on the run in DH, or indeed even where the Dursley's took Harry to the Hut on the Rock in PS, a place so rugged a magic of its own is at work there.
(Also shoutout to Bronze Cat for helping me out with British geography, you're the best :)
Love,
Violet Sky