Shrapnel
You okay?
The two words are folded in a plane of parchment, which glides along the arm of James' fireside chair to knock neatly at his elbow. Something pulls at his bottom lip as he reads them, makes it slide between his teeth.
Two words, her handwriting, and they nearly send him over the edge.
A painful furrow appears between his brows as he looks over his shoulder. Lily's right where he knew she'd be, looking at him from her usual table near the window with empathy drawn on her face. The moment their eyes meet James shakes his head slightly, a silent answer to Lily's written question. She rises to her feet and softly makes her way across the common room to stand beside him.
He opens his mouth, tries to form words once, twice. On the third attempt a strangled croak is the only sound he makes, the trace of oncoming tears embarrassingly evident behind it.
Lily's curled on the carpet by his feet in a fluid movement, a hand pressed against his knee. She squeezes; the pressure's almost painful, but he's grateful.
"It's okay," she says, her voice fierce over the noise of the crowded common room. "It's going to be okay."
James grabs her hand, their fingers tangling unorthodoxly. Lily doesn't blink as she stares into his face. James knows she won't move until he finds the strength to talk.
"All Summer," he manages, just barely. Then there's a hand strangling his throat, blocking the words. Lily keeps her eyes trained on his, and she breathes in deeply. He follows, shakily.
"All Summer, I was by his bed. The elves even … even put cot on the floor, so I wouldn't have to leave. And then in that second-last week, my Hogwarts letter arrived …" His left hand, the one not holding hers, fingers the badge pinned to his collar. He finds some strength there, and in the light shining behind her eyes. There are tears shimmering there, too. James has a brutal awareness that if he lets his own spill, she'll follow instantly. He doesn't want to see Lily cry, and he blinks harshly.
"My letter arrived, and he was so happy. So fucking happy. He was better, from then until I went back to school. And Mum sent me a letter last weekend … Mungo's said he was making progress. And now-"He holds his hand in the air without purpose. There is no purpose.
"It's the third week. Your Dad's not supposed to die in the third week of your Seventh Year."
"No," Lily says quietly. "Mine died in Fourth."
The words punch him in the gut, so quickly they don't immediately register. Then they do, and he wishes they hadn't.
"Shit, Lily, I'm sorry, I –"
"No," she says, and there's a power in her voice that he hasn't heard before. "Fourth or Seventh or First, it doesn't matter. He's gone, and he's not coming back, and every day you're going to wake up and remember that. James," a single tear falls, and his thumb brushes it away as it meets her cheek, "it's always going to hurt. But it's not always going to feel like shrapnel."
He doesn't know how to respond, to say thank you for the way she's blocked out the noise he can't get away from: the clamour of the Gryffindors and the words circling his mind. James knows that Lily knows he's no good with expression, so he grips her hand tighter and latches onto the last thing she said.
"Shrapnel?"
She gives a teary chuckle, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his clenched knuckles. "Bloody Pureblood."
She understands, and it's tangible in the way her fingers coil beneath his own. It's a lifeline, his lifeline, and he holds on for all he's worth.