Title: Never Let Me Go
Author: Nesma
Disclaimer: Not Mine. Obviously.
A/N: An AU Jily fic based on the plot of Never Let Me Go. Hope you enjoy.
When I received my letter, I was elated. As an eleven year old girl that felt trapped in her own body, it felt as if the pieces of my life were finally fitting together and I was going on this adventure that was only meant for me. I thought I was going to lead this extraordinary life that was beyond the realm of my imagination.
If I had known of the horrors in store, if I even had a clue of the pain that I would endure over and over again… I'd like to think that I would do it all over again for them.
As an eleven year old boy in a pureblood family, I knew what the consequences meant for every muggle born that accepted their spot in Hogwarts.
I found out through my dad's friend Harry.
Harry was my Godfather. He used to come over for Sunday lunches. We'd all dress up a bit, dress robes and all, and we'd entertain each other for hours. As I got restless in my seat, he used to propose challenges for me.
He'd lean over on his seat and whisper in my year. "I challenge you to make a bird out of the napkin." Or sometimes it was a paper plane. He'd magic up some pens and paper and we'd play small little games at the table as my parents chit chatted with him. He had this ability to play games with me while holding serious conversations with my parents. Harry coming over to visit us for dinner was a tradition that started when I was only a baby. And it was one that stopped the very summer I received my acceptance letter to Hogwarts.
When I first got to Hogwarts, there was a coldness towards me that I failed to grasp.
It was the way the girls in the dormitory would keep their distance from me. It was the way that they would talk to me in short conversations, as if wanting to prevent befriending me. The only people who I seemed to be able to form any real relationship with, at least in that first year or so, were the other students who were also muggle born.
For two years, we were unaware of the hell we signed up for.
No one expects children to notice the tone of the conversation going from casual to serious. Everyone expects children to remain unware, blissfully ignorant in their own little world when mum and dad have conversations with one another.
Since the age of five, I noticed how my father would frown at the newspaper. How he would silently point to a piece as my mother cooked in the kitchen. How she would always step away from the stove, placing the frying pan on another heater, before reading silently over my dad's shoulder. Her lips would always turn down and after a few seconds of scanning the headlines, my parents would share a glance and shake their heads.
I'd always ask afterwards what was going on. I was always hoping that they would tell me the truth. Instead, my father always boasted loudly and confidently that nothing was wrong. He'd straighten up the paper and hide his face behind it.
Imagine being a young child, knowing that the world you live in had sinister monsters that not even your parents spoke out loud about.
There was one particular instance with my parents that's etched in my mind. During one morning, my father opened the newspaper and gasped. My mother hurriedly came over and dropped her glass of pumpkin juice. The glass shattered into a million tiny pieces and my mom started to cry hysterically, doubling over as she covered her mouth.
My father was quick to discard the newspaper, flick the pieces away with his wand, and hug my mom tightly. I glimpsed at the headline of the paper.
"LAW VOTED IN: MANDATORY ORGAN DONATIONS FROM MUGGLE BORNS."
A few lines in the article made my stomach twist and turn. I pushed my plate of eggs and toast, and pulled in the paper. The law, in essence, forced all Muggleborn witches and wizards to participate in organ donation at the age of 17. Since it was popular belief that muggleborns stole magic, it seemed unfair to kill them outright at the age of 11 when magic is usually present. Therefore, after Hogwarts, they were forced to register with the Ministry and begin donating pieces of themselves until they had nothing left to give. Until they were dead.
During the donation process, they were still expected to be an active member of society and hold jobs. And, any current Muggle borns over the age of 17 were expected to register with the Ministry within the next month to start the donation process.
And that's when I remembered that Harry was a muggleborn.
The next few weeks were a blur. The fear in my household was evident. Whenever Harry came over to visit, my mother was quick to excuse herself as she dissolved in tears almost instantly. My father had a strong upper lip and tried to pretend that everything was normal.
Even when he offered to hide Harry. Make him his half brother.
But Harry refused, saying that it was no use. He was a muggleborn and the Ministry knew that. He had registered earlier that week, terrified that hit-wizards would come to his door and force him into his fate.
And so, he begun the donation process. It felt like every few months a new organ was missing. His kidney. A piece of his liver. His blood. Some bone marrow.
He looked sicker each time too. The color gone from his face. The smile never reaching his eyes. His hands trembled when he played games with me. His voice coated in fear whenever current events were brought up. And the summer in which I was expecting my letter, he teared up whenever he left our home.
Harry had seen me grown up, he had told me more than once that he just wanted to see my get my acceptance letter. That summer, he kept telling me that he was desperate to see me get my letter.
"That's all I want to see. You and that letter." He had repeated nervously, as if trying to convince himself that he would be alive to see it.
I knew that he was expecting for one or two more donations. His time was nearly up, but he was frantic on the absolute need to see my get my letter.
He died mid-donation of a lung when I received my acceptance letter.
The funeral was a quiet affair. We were prohibited from having an open casket since they had removed all organs from him.
Including his eyes.
The funeral was hosted at home and he was buried in our family plot. My father cried for the first time in front of me, and I was terrified. Other people showed up to the funeral, and it was clear who were the muggleborns and who were safe from the donation policy.
The muggleborns looked horrified at the casket. The color drained from their face. They were all very weak, requiring to sit down often and fan themselves. Feed themselves. Some had nervous breakdowns in the small hallways of my home. And others, just looked fearful throughout the entire service.
The purebloods, and even half bloods, looked uneasy. Uncomfortable. They had no idea what to say to the people. So they kept their distance and huddled closer amongst themselves, as if horrible tragedies were transmitted through conversations.
Many were quick to discuss the savageness of the policy, but I thought it was just as bad that many refused to talk to their muggleborn friends now. Protecting themselves rather than helping a friend.
It was in our third year that we discovered the truth. It was an accident, a complete and utter accident that we truth was unveiled to us in such a horrific way.
The muggleborns were only aware of the magical world within the walls of Hogwarts. We understood little of the politics outside of the walls, but generally understood by the quiet whispers and stolen newspaper articles that things were bad for witches and wizards like us. We knew that there was a war brewing, everyone knew that, but we had no idea that the Ministry of Magic was as corrupted as the purebloods whispered and sniggered about.
At the end of our third year, our Defense against the Dark Arts Professor (Professor Witherby) was reviewing old lecture notes with us. Prepping us for the exam. The sun was beaming through the window, and the skies were a clear blue. It was the type of day in which only good things should happen.
Professor Witherby was writing something on the chalkboard, her raven black hair in a high pony tail that swung as she enthusiastically wrote something on the chalkboard. She turned around at us and beamed, eyes crinkling as she pointed to the answer on the board; no doubt hoping to elicit the same excitement among the classroom.
And then the door banged open, and every student turned around in their seat to witness at least five different wizards and witches storm the classroom. Their robes were jet-black and their wands raised, anger evident by their crossed brows and the loud shouting that took place. One witch pointed her wand at Professor Witherby, her hands raised eyes were wide eyed in fear, and with a deliberate flick of the wand; Professor Witherby collapsed on the floor.
The wizards and witches were already levitating her off the ground when Professor Dumbledore came sweeping into the room with Professor McGonagall on his tail. Immediately, the wizards and witches stopped in their tracks as their wands were lowered (except the ones levitating our professor) and their faces slacked of all emotion. The anger that originally charged them in the classroom was gone.
"What's the meaning of all of this?" Professor Dumbledore said quietly, his eyes focused on what appeared to be the leader of the clan.
"Dumbledore, I expect that you know the exactly what's going on. Don't make it harder for us." Said the witch levitating Professor Witherby, her tone cool as she eyed Professor Dumbledore.
"By all means, I understand how difficult it is to charge into a classroom full of thirteen year old children and an unarmed witch. I expect you faced some trouble?" Professor Dumbledore said, raising his eyebrows as suddenly the witches and wizards started to shift in their spot; their uneasiness clear.
"Professor Dumbledore, we have papers from the Ministry of Magic stating that Rose Witherby had lied about her linage to avoid participating in the donor process-"
"As if they would willingly turn themselves in for this savage brutality-" Professor McGonagall snarled, her teeth baring as one wizard even took a step back.
"It is the law. They must do it if they expect to remain in our world." The witch said coolly, and she moved her wand from Dumbledore to McGonagall, an obvious threat.
"You will move aside or else risk getting thrown into Azkaban for preventing us from retaining the organs-"
"She's a human being. She's more than just the organs you wish to steal-"
"They willingly donate. They all understand that if they want to be part of our world, they must contribute something back. Organs are the easiest way to do so." One wizard said harshly, advancing closer to the professors. He had a scar that went from the edge of his outer lip to under his eye.
I shivered in my chair.
"And the mere fact that Rose Witherby evaded the whole donor process since the law was enacted-"
"This is madness. Dumbledore, do something!" Professor McGonagall wailed, her hands on her side and open palmed. We all could hear the plea in her voice. The room was utterly silent, and with nothing from Professor Dumbledore, the wizard and witches transported Professor Witherby out of the room. Professor McGonagall looking aghast as Professor Dumbledore whispered something to her before following the wizards and witches.
Once the room was cleared, with only Professor McGonagall looked at lost at what to say, was when James Potter spoke up. Loudly.
"He's going to save her, right? She can't go through the donation process, she'll die!" James said boldly, and all of the purebloods started to whisper with one another. A few shouted at him to be quiet. And all the muggleborns sat frozen in their chair.
My own stomach felt like ice and I could feel my blood slowing down as the pieces of our years at Hogwarts started to come together.
"Professor Dumbledore can only do so much. I'm hopeful he'll at least be able to… prolong the process in order for her to finish the school year and get her affairs in order." Professor McGonagall said slowly, sounding revolted at the words coming out of her own mouth.
"I don't understand. What's going on with muggle borns?" Cried out Justin, a boy from Ravenclaw who looked at all of us others with a petrified glance.
"Everyone who is not a muggleborn needs to leave this classroom now." Professor McGonagall said quickly, and the students were tripping over themselves as they rushed out the door. No one wanted to be there apparently.
It was only after everyone but the muggleborn students had left did she tell us the truth.
She told us quietly and sadly that the Ministry of Magic believed that we were guilty of stealing magic. That we had to repay this crime by donating organs until the Ministry was satisfied or until we died. She answered us truthfully when we asked if anyone survived and offered us extra office hours if we wanted to come in and discuss our 'future'.
We were still expected to go to our next class after the news broke out.
Professor Witherby returned. Though the spark she had in teaching us was gone, her movements in the classroom were sluggish and slow. And after her first donation, it was difficult to get a smile out of her. She even became fearful of us as the weeks droned on.
After school ended, not even a week after the term was officially over did we receive the news that she had passed away.
But by then, my family had lost a handful of muggleborn friends. And the pain of grief was no longer sharp and piercing but more of a dull pain that I had adapted to.
I was disgusted with myself.
Professor McGonagall had disrupted the flow. We were supposed to remain unaware of our situation until much later. How the Ministry of Magic expected us to remain unaware of our situation when everyone else knew was confusing to me. Though, I can understand why they would want it to stay a mystery.
In my dormitory, there was another muggleborn named Mary. She had a round face, rosy cheeks, and dark brown eyes. Her blonde hair was straight and I often had fun braiding it in different styles. We were friends.
And yet, when we heard the news of our fate, she took it very differently than me. I was scared. Absolutely fearful and dreaded how fast time seemed to move. But despite this fear, there was a small voice in my head soothing my fears.
Since we were allowed to gain access to the uncensored newspapers, it was plain as day that people were furious over the policy. People were fighting about it. Writing about it. And protesting it on a weekly basis. It was easy for me to see the hope in our future.
It was difficult for Mary to see the same thing.
And one day, I came back from the library after curfew. Only by ten minutes, but late enough that when I walked into the Gryffindor common room I had already missed the visit of Professor McGonagall.
The room was in utter chaos. People were crying openly, hysterically so, laying out their grief and pain and sorrow for all to see. Some were shouting at the purebloods as they stood stiffly in their spot, arms crossed and avoiding eye contact.
The closest person to the door was James Potter, he was hunched over, his lips in a stiff line.
"What's going on?" I whispered to him, glancing at him before standing on my tip toes as I gazed at the mess in front of me.
He glanced up from his stare at his feet, his hazel eyes obscured by his frames. But it was clear that there were tears in them as he stared at me.
"We should get out of here." He said quickly, reaching down to grab his bag. I must have looked puzzled at him.
"Trust me. I promise you I'll tell you what's going on… but not here." He said hurriedly, throwing a glance behind him before opening his bag and pulling out a silvery cloak.
"It's past curfew." I said stupidly. Unsure really what to say.
It was the first time a pureblood really spoke to me. More than a few forced lines. It was the first time it felt as if a pureblood saw me as a human rather than a pity story.
"It's alright. I have ways around this castle. Promise to keep a secret?" He asked, looking over his shoulder again.
"I promise." I said. He nodded grimly at me.
"Good." And he threw over the silvery cloak over the pair of us. I was huddled closely with him, and stared up at him in bewilderment.
"Follow my lead." He whispered, and I followed him mutely as he pushed open the portrait hole, careful not to trip, as we walked out of the bustling common room.
"Are you going to tell me now-" I asked quickly, feeling an overwhelming amount of fear in my throat as we walked silently down the hall.
"I'll tell you in a classroom. I'd rather not break the news to you under an invisibility cloak." He said quietly, but there was a tone of kindness that I was unaccustomed to. He would often grab my arm to steer me in one way or another. Other times, his hand just stayed on my arm as a comforting fact. I blindly followed him in an empty classroom.
It was only when he threw off the cloak did he break contact with me, quick to lock the door, cast a silencing charm, and turn on the lamps.
"I suspect I'll want to sit down for this?" I asked quietly, dropping my own bag on the floor as James grimly nodded.
I sat down on the hard floor and he sat across from me. His hands in his lap as he pushed his glasses nervously up his nose.
"Please spit it out." I pleaded, leaning forward, my own hands nervously gripping one another as I nervously observed him.
He looked up, his eyes bright with tears again. "It has to do with Mary." He whispered, his eyes averting upwards before they found mine.
"She's-she's dead." He croaked out. And I could feel my own face transforming, becoming hot with fear because I knew that wasn't the end of that line. My lips turning down, as my heart thundered.
"How?" I gasped out, as I started to realize that my breathing was become erratic.
James open his mouth a few times and then he looked down on his hands.
"She-she killed herself." He said, forcing the words out of his mouth and I could tell it was a struggle. But it was harder to take in the news, and it felt as if I could understand different components of the news. And once it all assembled together to portray the horrible picture of the situation…
I lost it.
She was hysterical. Crying, her eyes rimmed red within seconds. She kept hyperventilating, almost as if she was drowning in the air. She was hysterical and she had every right to be.
As a fourteen year old girl who had just lost her best friend through a suicide… I almost felt like she handled the situation with grace.
"I-I-I knew she was sad-sad." She stuttered, her arms crossed over her chest. Her hands gripping her arms so tightly I feared her nails would rip through the robes. "I kne-knew that she took Professor Witherby's death hard." She choked out, and it was at these words that I shuffled from being across to her, to being by her side. I quickly wrapped my arms around her as she unwrapped her own arms and gripped my back tightly as she used the front of my robes as a tissue.
"I'm so-so-sorry." She wailed, she sniffled loudly and I found my grip tightening around her. "I'm sure-sure you have better things to be doing."
"That's where you're wrong. I can spare a few hours or days for you."
"But I'm a mudblood." She said sternly, and in such a way that she stated it more as a fact rather than the revolting name that it actually was.
And that's when I realized that the isolation that the purebloods held on tightly to caused far more pain than they could imagine.
"You're not. You're just a witch who lost someone important to her. And I'm a wizard that wants to help. Let's leave it at that." I said quietly, hoping that the quiver in my voice wasn't obvious. I was so bold at the time that I gave her a small kiss on the top of her head. We sat in the middle of the night like that for a solid fifteen minutes. Her sniffling breaking up the time intervals.
"James?" She mumbled weakly after a while.
"Yeah?" I mumbled back.
"I don't want to go back. I… I don't think I can go to the room." She said fearfully, and I remembered shutting my eyes and yelling at myself.
"You-you actually can't sleep in your dormitory tonight. There is a mandatory investigation and a deep cleaning that the house elves have to do. You and the rest of the girls are supposed to be sleeping in another year's dorm room. Or in the common room." I finished lamely, a dull weight hitting my stomach as the silence settled around us.
It wasn't that Lily wasn't popular. On the contrary, she was the life of the party… among the muggle-borns. Most of which were scattered around the houses. But in the Gryffindor house? Her closest friend just killed herself. There was no other dorm room that she could really sleep on the floor, so to add insult to the injury, she would be sleeping in the common room. A public shaming of her status and a reminder to herself and everyone exactly of her fate.
"You can sleep in our dorm room. I can sleep on the floor and you can take my bed." I said quickly, supplying a solution. There was a beat of silence. Her not immediately rejecting the idea meant that she was considering it.
"I couldn't make you do that." She mumbled in an unconvincing tone. I grinned to myself because I knew it was a matter of politeness at this point. Another round of negotiations and I was able to secure her a bed away from the public eye.
There were friends I could have asked. To sleep on the floor of the fifth years would have been possible. Even the sixth years. I was friendly with the muggleborns in the house. But it was the way that James held me, the way that he talked to me, the consideration he had to pull me out of the situation that made me feel closer to James than any other person that night.
It was the way that he seemed to be looking over my back, a secure safe feeling that I missed that made me agree to sleep in his dormitory amongst his sheets.
I spent a good week in his room, in his bed, and with his friends before finally securing the confidence to re-enter my own room. And by then, we had sealed our fates as friends for the time being.
Fourth year came to a swift end, and I spent the majority of the time chatting with Lily. We discussed everything in only the way young teenagers could. We wondered out by the lake and talked about Mary. A lot. We talked about the horrible donation policy. I told her about Harry. And she was kind enough to endure my pain; though it was nothing compared to the burden that she had to carry. By the end of the year, it had felt like I had given my soul to the girl.
It's extremely dramatic thing to state, but at the time, at the age, it felt completely true. I was miserable to be returning home without her witty remarks. Without her teasing tone. Without her laughter filling my ear. I was moody with my parents and snapped a lot at Sirius. It was only when he suggested that invite Lily over for the week that I perked up that summer.
I was fortunate enough that Lily agreed to my week plan fast enough.
Petunia helped me pack my bags when I visited the Potters. No doubt she was ecstatic of the week without me. That was another horrible hurdle that I was grappling with; both worlds refused to have me. Well, except for the Potters.
As soon as I entered the house, Mrs. Potter was quick to give me a large hug and give me a tour of the house (James grumbled behind her the whole way). She even shooed away James when she showed me my bedroom. Though, the second she left, James was by my side pestering me for a round of exploding snaps.
With my suitcase on the bed, abandoned completely, I eagerly sat on the floor with him as we played exploding snaps. And it felt like we were back at Hogwarts rather than in the real world. And I couldn't have been more grateful for that moment.
I had my first kiss with Lily that summer.
We were walking by the stream near my house. She was leaving in the next two days, and while the week had been filled with lazy summer day activities, the gloom that had followed me with her absence was slowly reappearing.
I enjoyed her company. I liked how she had her arms out like a cross when balancing on slippery rocks. I laughed at how easily she burned and liked how her skin felt underneath my hand when I rubbed the aloe cream on her back after a particularly nasty burn.
And if I was more honest at the time, I liked how she smiled. I liked how the dust of freckles across her nose made a constellation that it felt like only I could see. I liked how her laugh could brighten my day and I liked the witty remarks she hurled my way. I liked everything about her and I felt like I was bursting out of my skin to tell her.
But I was a fifteen (or fourteen?) year old boy and I was never that great with words.
And so, by the stream near my house, I grabbed her arm and kissed her roughly on the lips. One hand on her cheek, and the other on the back of her head (I had many restless nights trying to imagine what it was like to have the dark red hair between my fingers).
And for a second, in that adrenaline rush, I thought I had made a horrible mistake. That despite my bold move, this could be a disaster.
It was only when I felt her arms snake around my waist, pulling me closer, and her opening her mouth against mine that I shock of happiness rushed through my body, making my toes curl in delight.
We never really established what we were after the kiss. We had few other stolen moments (including one sneaking into my bedroom) but that was it that summer. Though, our letters to each other were longer and ended with XOXO rather than, 'yours'.
When I boarded the train for our fifth year, I had to go to the front with the rest of the prefects of that year. I slight dread as I wanted to hang around James and my own friends. But nonetheless, I spent the first hour with prefects.
The next half an hour patrolling. And then I was finally able to seek James. However, he was surrounded by his friends. And that was awkward enough, so I gave him a quick hi before finding my own group of friends.
It was only when I was stepping off of the train that I felt a pair of hands grab my arm and pull me to the side. I would have protested, if I didn't see the messy black hair from the corner of my eye. I grinned sheepishly to myself as I followed his hurried steps to a more secluded place.
Just as we rounded a column, I felt James push me up against the column and I felt his lips on mine. A shot of adrenaline melting through my veins as I found my fingers curling around the strands of his hair and a groan from his lips made me grin. A few hurried seconds of hands roaming my body before he pulled away, placing his forehead on mine and breathing heavily.
"You have no idea how much I waited to do that all summer." He said breathlessly.
"I can tell." I whispered back, feeling confident in my ability to make the boy melt.
"Date me." He said hurriedly, his hazel eyes boring into mine. I felt my own widen in shock.
"Date you?" I said incredulously, and luckily James had such an ego that he wasn't hurt by the statement but more annoyed by my inability to absorb the situation as quickly as he wanted me too."
"Yes, date me. Come to the Three Broomsticks with me and have fantastic snogging sessions with me after a victory on the pitch. Be my girlfriend so that I have an excuse to punch every guy who flirts with you in the face. Date me." He said, his mouth tripping over the words, his excitement showing through.
"Alright. I'll date you. Be your girlfriend and all of that." I said, and the smile he gave me made my heart leap out of my chest. It wasn't long until his mouth was on mine again and he was so bold as to sneak a hand under my shirt, leaving a trail of fire wherever it went.
It was a controversial decision. I heard that nearly the entire fifth year class debating about the fact that we were dating. If we should be dating. If it was safe. If it was wrong. If it was kind of me to grant this… blessing or pleasure in Lily's life. How I was going to deal with the inevitable end of the relationship.
Because the horrible, sinking truth of the matter was the fact that there was only one way our relationship could end.
I may be a Potter, a pureblood, but there was only so much time my name could buy her.
There was no denying the fact that she'll die before me. And that was a fate that I kept pushing out of my mind, hopeful that the Ministry would change their mind in time for us to have our happy ending.
One thing I was happy to have that fifth year was my confidence.
When the whispers muttered that I was so lucky to have James that I could smile to myself, averting my eyes to the ground to avoid the gossipers the shame of me openly laughing at them.
While I believed that I was lucky to have James, James was certainly lucky to have me.
Our first year of dating, and even our second year, was ordinary. We snogged, we kissed, we experimented with our bodies like all teenagers do. We fought, we yelled, we made up. We restarted the whole process over and over.
She got to know my friends better, and I got to know hers. For a while, it felt like any other dating scenario. We refused to really look towards the future. How could we? How daunting it would be to have our future loom over us so magnificently that it could deter us from loving each other.
But by our seventh year at Hogwarts, it was impossible to avoid the future. Our time was slipping through our cupped hands and we were desperate to collect some more time.
At the start of my seventh year, I spent the first five minutes of the train ride throwing up on the Hogwart's Express bathroom. Unfortunately, it was habit for me to do then. The intense fear of my future traveled with me wherever I went. It stifled my hunger and ability to be happy. It felt like it was eroding my body, destroying every aspect of me until I was completely depleted.
To be fair, my reaction to seventh year was quite normal. I expected, and even planned, on getting ulcers at some point this year. Several muggleborns in their seventh year develop them. For the second they step outside of Hogwarts, their safety net is gone. There is always that risk that you'll be called in for the mandatory donation. For some people, it could be as long as a year or two. Others are unlucky to be called in within days after graduation.
And though I was still with James, I was terrified of my unknown timeline.
That entire seventh year was horrible. The Lily I fell in love with had disappeared, obscured by the depressed Lily in her place. I couldn't blame her, I even felt myself get draped in a cloak of misery a few times that year. And despite working together as Heads… there were times I thought I had lost her.
It was only when I admitted to her that my family was able to pull some strings, guarantee her a year without participating in the donation process that I started to see the smiles that I missed so much return to her face.
I felt guilty. Horrible even that I had so readily accepted the Potter's help of securing me a donation free year after Hogwarts. When James first told me, I was elated that I had a whole another year with James. Another year of happily dating one another.
But then I felt sick with guilt. I hid it from James. But alone? I was a wreck. I cried in my room when no one was around. I threw up in the toilet. It all escalated to one horrid patrol night when I was with James, we were navigating the dark halls when the dull stomach pain burst into a burning sensation.
I collapsed to the ground and I was lucky enough that James kept his cool. He scooped me up in his arms and jogged towards the Hospital wing, refusing to leave my side as the nurse did her own magic.
Towards the end of our seventh year, I took Lily down to the classroom where it all started. It was a quiet night, it was right before our own graduation. And it felt like time was suspended, there was a great excitement that came in sporadic bursts.
And then I felt as if I was drenched in water when I thought of Lily.
But that night, I focused on how the light hit her face and how her body felt when it was flushed against mine. A kiss lead to something much more that night. Perhaps we both sensed the overwhelming fate of our relationship but wanted to make the night count.
I felt something ignite within me as I kissed her against the wall. There was a rush, no, a need to touch every inch of her skin. Our robes were off extremely quickly, but it took a while before anything else came off. I went slow, as if it were our first time, tracing her spine with my fingers and hers teased the edge of my trousers.
And then, as if we were both inspired, there was fight to get everything off. Her traces made everything come to life and soon we were one. And in the few blissful seconds after the heat of the moment, as we lay panting on the floor of an abandoned classroom, I was content with life.
If I was smarter, if I had realized it sooner, I would have remembered that I forgot to use a special charm.
I forgot about the night.
The next day was graduation and when they called my name, it sounded more like a death sentence rather than a congratulation. I laid awake that night in James' arms, as he snored peacefully, about how my life was officially over.
And then, four months later, I laughed at my foolish and childish thoughts as I held a positive pregnancy test in my hands.
As a muggleborn, Lily was supposed to report the pregnancy. In cases like these, they strongly advice the women to terminate the pregnancy. It wasn't always the case though, but the Ministry was starting to become more corrupt. And suddenly, the half-blood population was starting to become nervous, wondering if they would be the newest portion of society to be forced into the donation policy.
That and the fact that she wasn't married. A child that was doomed to be an orphan… well, it was very easy for wizards and witches to talk scared and pregnant muggleborn mothers from the pregnancy.
Of course when she told me the news, I proposed to her on the spot. It was a no brainer for me. I was even excited to propose. Lily was less elated with my timing, but she accepted regardless. It was a quiet wedding, it was at my parent's house and only a few were invited. There were a number of our friends who turned their noses up at us, claiming we were irresponsible but we couldn't care less.
I was ecstatic to be able to create some family with Lily. I felt lucky that she carried the child to begin with. For in the end, and unless something drastic happened, it was going to be much harder for Lily to go through the donation process. Granted, it gave her something to live for… but a mother's love can only last so long.
The Potters came to my rescue again, smoothing things over with my agent that was responsible in checking in with me and ensuring that resist the temptation of utter self-destruction. Usually, pregnancy would fall under that category and was punishable.
But the Potters intervened and I was safe.
My child was safe.
Pregnancy was absolutely terrifying to me. It astounded me how Lily could carry herself like an angel despite carrying a baby in her uterus (her uterus, not stomach as she would remind me often). After my parents were able to secure Lily a safe passage for a bit, we were able to move into our own small house.
A few months later, and Lily was going into labor. I still remembered the night her water broke, how we timed the contractions on the sofa of our living room, leaving as soon as they were 7 minutes apart.
And in the end, we had a baby boy. And Lily was kind enough to allow me to name him Harry.
When Harry was born, I cried hysterically afterwards. The witches told me it was all the hormones. James thought I was that happy.
In truth, I was crying for everyone; but especially myself.
Lying on the table, the lights in my face, utterly exhausted from the labor. The baby cries filled the room so heavily that I felt that I was drowning in them. I was panting, and choking out tears as James gripped my hand in excitement.
"It's a boy!" They shouted, and I gulped, my head hitting the pillow as I tried to gather my wits together.
"Lily, you did it." James said happily, kissing me softly on my forehead as I felt my own eyes flutter shut. The cries feeling like they were getting louder.
What was I thinking carrying this pregnancy? How selfish was I? I was going to die and James was going to be a single parent. The kid will be without a mother. Without a shred of doubt.
The magical world as we knew was collapsing around us. The Death Eaters were gaining control at a steady rate. Muggle killings were on the rise. Creatures that were only written about in the restricted section of Hogwarts were joining the war on Voldemort's behalf. It felt as if everywhere I looked that the country was crumbling into itself.
"Want to hold him?" The witch asked, interrupting my thoughts and my eyes flew open as I looked up at the beaming witch. And despite my urge to just run away from the room, I still opened up my arms as she placed my son in my arms.
"There you go!" She said brightly. "Congratulations." She said, before turning on her heels and giving some space for James and her to fall in love of the bundle of sheets in her arm.
"He's perfect." James said quietly, his eyes completely memorized by his child. His fingers brush the forehead, and the size different is almost intimidating. The baby rustles in the blankets, his eyes tightly shut.
"Names?" I asked weakly, feeling my panic ebb away and slowly return in saves. Fearful when the waves would engulf me.
"What do you think of the name of 'Harry'?" He asked tentatively. And I feel a small smile pulling at the edge of my mouth.
"He certainly has enough hair for that name." I said jokingly, and I could hear James' deep laugh as my fingers brushed against the black hair of our baby.
"Harry it is then?" He asked. And I nodded my head slowly.
"Harry it is." I said finally, and James kissed me again on my temple.
Newborn babies are hardly exciting. But we took photos nearly every day. It felt as if Harry was racing against the clock to grow up. It was astounding to see him truly open his eyes (they were emerald green like his mother's) and when he started to make several different facial expressions.
After two months, we got Harry's first real grin. I was holding him when it happened, Lily's head was nestled on my shoulder as we stared down at our child. We gave him a simple hello and he grinned. Lily laughed, and I could feel the tears hitting my shirt as I felt my heart bursting with love.
This memory is etched in my mind so well, because after that miracle, there came a knock on the door. It was normal since we were expecting company. Lily left my side to answer the door.
It was a ministry official, alerting Lily that by the end of the month she was expected to go through her first donation process. It was a blood donation.
But Lily collapsed to the floor in a fit of hysterics after the ministry official left. For it was a warning that her timeline was just beginning.
I was lucky. They started me off easy considering I had just given birth. It was just blood this time. And it was going to be just blood for a few months. I would be giving more blood than some of the other muggleborns. But part of it had to do with my blood type. It was rare and valuable in the wizarding world.
I was just thankful that they had postponed the organ donations for a year and a half.
Harry was two years old when Lily had to undergo her first organ donation. The first one was a piece of her liver.
She went through her day in a haze, clearly going through the motions without any emotions to guide her. It was only after she had tucked Harry in his bed, reading him countless stories, did she led her guide down.
She stumbled out of Harry's room and I glanced up from the book I was reading. She had her face buried behind her hands, her red hair in a messy bun. It took only a second before the sob escaped. Another second or two before I had abandoned my book and rushed to her side. Engulfing her in my arms I slowly rocked her as her tears started to fall down rapidly.
"Shhh." I shushed, mimicking the tactics we used on a crying baby Harry.
I don't insult her by telling her it's going to be okay.
Harry didn't understand what was going on as we took a trip to the hospital.
"Is mummy sick?" He asked in a confused tone, my hand gripping his tightly as we made our way across the foyer of the hospital.
"No… Mummy just needs to give up a slice of her liver. For the good of the cause." I said in a deadpan voice, unable to muster the courage to try and present the situation in any other way.
"Mummy okay?" He asked, and I could understand his confusion. He was, after all, a toddler and the word 'liver' was not part of his vocabulary.
"Mummy is going to be fine." James said in a reassuring tone. And I knew that he was squeezing Harry's hand by the way Harry dissolved into a fit of giggles. Making my heart surge with love for the bundle of joy that I created.
But I met reality when I started the check in process. I was isolated from my husband and child as they made me sign papers after papers. It was only when I was in my dressing gown, settled in my bed, only hours away from the procedures that they allowed them to come in.
James was gingerly pushing Harry into the room, who was still mastering the ease of walking. He was holding a bouquet of flowers and James sheepishly grinned at me as Harry tried to stand on his toes to present me his gift.
"Well, isn't this a nice surprise." I whispered hoarsely, grasping the gift from Harry and smelling the flowers. "They are lovely. Thank you Harry." I said in a sing song voice, awkwardly placing the flowers on the side table next to me.
"Flowers from me." Harry said slowly, glancing down on the floor.
James wordlessly made his way to my bedside, he leaned over and had his forehead resting against mine.
"Daddy picked them out. The little bugger was too distracted by the magical carpets to help out." James whispered and I snorted until I was laughing harder than I could recall for that month.
If I was on my way to hell, I might as well try to enjoy the journey.
Lily took nearly a year to recover from the donation.
Lily was strong. Lily was a force to be reckon with. But the blasted healers decided to see what would happen if they took a bigger portion of Lily's liver than normal.
The result? A complete disaster. Lily had medical complications, they were worried at one point that she would die on the table. Of course, they reassured me that they would never let that happen considering the lack of donations Lily had provided.
I felt my fingers curl into fists as the anger pulsed through my veins, a glance towards Harry reminded me that despite me seeing Lily as a human, a witch, a wife, and a mother; she was nothing more than a sack of organs for the hospital to snatch.
A full year for Lily to begin to feel normal. A full year until she was really able to join in on the games that Harry created in his mind. An entire fucking year of panicking over every small pain and dull ache.
And shortly after the year, a few months or so, she was called in for another donation process.
This time, it was for a bone marrow.
The recovery after the bone marrow transplant was a little over a month.
And Harry was now three years old. And he was able to speak in full sentences. And he ran up the stairs and always tripped after the last step. Always. Despite me chiding him to take the steps slower, and despite his father having a stern conversation.
Harry was starting to notice that I was sick too often, visiting the hospital too much, and he kept asking what illness I had. He kept asking if I was sick and it was so painful to tell him that I wasn't sick. There was no illness killing me as much as the bigotry of the Ministry of Magic.
It pained me to admit to my three year old son that there was no health condition killing me.
It took a full year, or so, until Lily was called for another organ donation. Her timeline was irregular. We spent many nights discussing how hers seemed to be drawn out while a number of her friends were already on their last donation.
I mused my thoughts out loud to my parents during a floo session. My mother looked down silently, and I realized with a jolt that my parents had extended the gift of life for Lily a bit longer.
The kidney donation was the worst. It took a year and a half to fully recover. Harry was four and a half years old as he proudly told people.
I wouldn't know though, I spent a fair amount of time in my bed. Going through mood swings and drinking one point after another to prepare my body for the inevitable fate.
It was during my recovery phase that I mapped out a will, planned my funeral, and started writing letters for Harry to read when he's older.
I also wrote some for James, because he needed it just as much as Harry did.
Lily was called for a lung donation, for a date shortly after Harry's fifth birthday.
Lily seemed unfazed when she received the news, but she knew her ending far better than I did. I slapped a cup off of the table that shattered into a million pieces. Harry looked up from his breakfast, petrified at the anger that was pumping through my veins. Lily merely told me to clean up the mess as she went upstairs to her room.
I huffed as I got down to the floor to pick up the pieces, warning Harry to be careful as he pushed himself away from the table and scurried out of the room.
I assumed that he was going to the living room to play with his latest gizmos.
It was only when I walked up to the bedroom that I shared with Lily that I found him snuggled with Lily. Her dark hair pushed to the side as he clutched her tightly. Lily looked up, gave me a small and sad smile before kissing the top of Harry's head.
I melted, of course I did, and joined the pair of them on the bed.
James' parents were very kind throughout the ordeal. A few days before Harry's birthday, they offered to take him off of our hands for a night.
"Just go on a date, make sure he takes you somewhere nice!" His mother told me, and I laughed heartily at her tone. She was very adamant of giving us plenty of time.
I agreed to her terms, and handed Harry over to her. And on her advice, I went to the hair salon to get my hair and nails done. It had been a while since I splurged on such luxuries, but it was nice to pretend that this was a small treat rather than a big one.
I spend the afternoon picking out an outfit, a small black dress that I loved.
And when James came home that day, he had a bouquet of flowers for me. He kissed me hard on my mouth. It was meant to be a greeting kiss, but it was the way that he seemed to be looking for me with a bouquet of flowers that made me want him right then and there.
I gripped the front of his robes tightly, opening my mouth to deepen the kiss. And it was me who pushed up against our front door, a rather loud thud as my hands worked quickly at his shirt. I was thankful that James went along, his hands making an absolute mess of my hair.
It was another hour before we were able to leave the house to make the dinner reservations.
We tried very hard to make Harry's birthday a fun affair. We got balloons, animals, and even a clown for him and his friends.
Our friends understood our pain, and if anything went the extra mile to help out. Alice came over early to help Lily set up for the party, Sirius even made an appearance as a dog to make Harry laugh.
In my mind, I thought we were doing great in covering up the tragedy that was going to hit our house. I thought we did a good job with covering our pain with a smile.
It would be years later, when talking to Harry, that I would discover that he was like me. He realized how grave the situation was based on how grand the party was.
The mere fact that we remained silent when it was clear that there was a monster ravaging in our lives was enough to make him worry.
On my last day, Harry walked with me to the hospital, James gripping his other hand. I kept having to swallow the lump in my throat over and over again as we got closer to the hospital. When we finally arrived to the front desk, I crouched down to Harry's level.
"Alright Harry, you know mummy has to go in." I said hoarsely, raw fear tearing apart at my body.
"I know." Harry whined, rolling his eyes as I allowed myself to chuckle.
"You'll be a good boy?" I asked, cringing at myself.
"Yes." He said somberly.
"I love you Harry." I croaked, covering my mouth with my hand as I felt my eyes brim with tears.
"I love you mummy." He said quietly, and he was the first one to throw his arms around me. I clutched him tightly, burying my head in his small shoulders.
"Will I see you after the surgery?" He asked, his voice muffled by my hair.
No.
"Yes." I lied, hating that I was doing the very thing that I promised I would never do to my baby boy. Lie to his face so boldly.
But I had a small silver of hope, and I couldn't resist passing it down to him.
"Okay then." Harry said abruptly, pulling apart from the hug. We stared at each other for a bit. I leaned forward to give him a kiss on his cheek and he was quick to do the same before turning around to look at his father.
"Come here you two." James said, crouching down to our level as he engulfed us in a hug.
"I love you two so much." James said, and I knew we were in trouble by the way his voice wavered.
"Let me go say bye to your parents." I whispered to James, breaking away from my family.
Mrs. Potter cried, and gripped me tightly as I hugged her. Mr. Potter gave me a quick hug, and I realized that he was trying to keep his composure. I knew the tears would fall at my funeral. After thanking them for everything, I turned around to see a broken James a few feet from me. Harry had clearly wondered off.
And James and I collided into each other. Running straight towards each other as we latched on tightly to one another. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, like I've don't so many times before, and started to cry.
It took me a second to realize that I wasn't the only one crying. James hands kept clawing at my back, there was a fear in him that I never felt before. His breath warmed my neck and I felt myself go weak as I realized it was the last time I would feel his breath on my neck. His heart beating so fiercely against mine.
"I can't, I can't, I can't do this James." I whispered frantically, and I pulled away a bit to see his face and he shook his head fiercely, biting down on his lower lip as the tears slipped from his eyes. He didn't bother to wipe them away, so I did it for him.
"Yes you can. You're going to be okay." He spat out, the words almost sounding gibberish between his quivering lips.
It was the first time he told me I was going to be okay during the donation policy. It was the first time he lied to me. And I was okay with it.
My eyes scanned behind him, there were healers watching. A respectable distance, hands behind their back. One stared boldly on our goodbyes, as if we were a show for him to enjoy. The others averted their gaze. And finally, there was a ministry official in all black staring coolly at us. Daring me to run, daring me to even try and defy the fate that was so cruelly handed to me.
I was considered an extreme flight risk because of my family.
I buried my face again in his chest as I start hyperventilating, my heart thundering madly. I was a fool, but I still hoped for a miracle to fall upon us.
"Never let me go." I whisper frantically in his ear, fearful of the selfishness in my actions but reassured as James' grip tightened around me. His breathing slowing down as he mulled over my words.
"Never." He whispered, and he pulled away this time to give ma sloppy kiss on my lips. And I melt into him, worried my knees would buckle, terrified of the scene I was creating for my son. But in the moment, I couldn't care less. My arms were around his neck, trying to be as close to him as possible. His arms were tight around my waist.
It was a sloppy and hurried kiss at first, until it slowed down. We weren't trying to claw at one another to get under each other's skin. Instead, we were clutching tightly on one another and this moment. Hoping to freeze time and remain in our little world.
But one of us pulled away, resting on each other's forehead. My hands falling back on his chest, his heart beating wildly underneath my hand. I gaze up from my lashes, blinking away tears.
"Never let me go." He whispered hoarsely back, his forehead on mine, his hand on my face, his thumb creating small circles. I concentrated so hard to remember how his rough skin felt against my face, how I must have looked to him, cheeks flushed and wet.
"Okay." I whispered back, lying to him as boldly as he did to me moments before.
It didn't take a seer to tell us the outcome of the surgery. She died in the middle of the transplant, and they reassured us that they were able to harvest many organs. The healer thought that it would be a comfort for me to know of all the lives my wife had saved with her donation.
As if she did this willingly. Lily had a great heart and was generous with her time. She was a fantastic witch. She was a wonderful mother. But it sickened me that people were trying to portray her as this unselfish person who willingly gave away her organs over her family.
It was an insult to her memory to portray her any other way but herself.
The funeral was a blur. I hid out a majority of the time with Harry in his room, holding him closely. Furious at my sadness, knowing that Lily would have given up anything for more time with our son.
Six months later, I take Harry to the stream where I first kissed Lily. As the smart kid, he was fully aware that this was a special spot for me and Lily. He was still a kid, so I spared how our doomed faerie tale played out by the stream. Instead, I told him that this was the spot that I fell in love with her.
I sat at the bank of the stream and watched as the water jumbled over one another as I took a deep breath. Harry was near the edge, bending over to let his hand float over the current, enjoying how the water could rush furiously or trickle down slowly.
Watching him, it felt as if my entire life was laid out in this spot, and beyond the tress Lily was hiding from me.
And perhaps, if I was patient enough, if I looked hard enough, if I held my gaze long enough; a tiny figure would emerge from the trees. That a flash of dark red hair would appear and become larger until I could see a smiling Lily. Lily would wave gracefully at us before crossing the stream, her arms outstretch to create a sense of balance. She would tip from side to side, sticking out her tongue in mock concentration for Harry's benefit. And Harry would laugh happily and join his mother…
Beyond that, I can't envision any sort of fantasy. To say that it was painful to do so would be a mild way to put it. It reopened the wounds that I had tried desperately to conceal, it made me have a bitter taste in my mouth and it made me furious at the world. At the Ministry. At everyone who was lucky enough to have more time than they knew what to do with it.
And in the end, I have to remind myself that no one is lucky enough to have enough time. That the lives she saved were no different than the ones we led, we were all racing against the clock until we took our last breath. There was never enough time, but we are all fortunate enough to have some.
I have to remind myself that I was lucky to have her at all.
We all were.
Never let me go.
A/N: Love it? Hate it? Review it!