Author's note: It is such a difficult thing to have this huge fic in front of me, and I am just lucky for the continued support of my friend Cuba, the only one who has read the last chapter! I'm glad at least she likes it!
This chapter is dedicated to Ian McEwanwho is a brilliant writer, and is a source of my inspiration.
Chapter 11: Hold Me to the Night
i.
Narcissa watches the wood in the fireplace burn; the oranges and reds flickering between yellows and pinks teasingly like a burlesque dancer, the coals forming shapes she can't find names for.
Her hands work automatically on thin pearl knitting needles, weaving and ducking between the baby blue wool, a pair of booties being born out of her labour.
Lucius would like her to knit with magic, or to give the work to the house elf but Narcissa finds the movement of her hands soothing and the end result a small achievement in her days of leisure.
Her son lies in his magically rocking cradle, she keeps one eye on him at all times, at the small delicate thumb placed hungrily in his mouth, on the soft curling hair and the innocently closed eyes.
He is her perfection.
He makes her marriage of repetition and rituals contain a love that it never did without his presence.
Her husband only loves her as a statement and as an idea; her son adores her with every fiber of his little existence.
She knows by the way he holds his hands out to her, the way he falls asleep on her heavy breast and the way he smiles as little rays of sun dance over his naked body.
She had been so furious at the knowledge of Lily Evan's miscarriage, as she learnt it not to be a mistake but a murder.
Lucius had laughed uproariously with his 'friends', their hands on each others shoulders, congratulating each other for blowing out a candle, a chance at a woman's happiness.
And a small fury was born inside the youngest Black sister, a tight uncomfortable sensation of revenge.
ii.
"You were born with a smile," Remus muses, taking a small drag of his cigarette, "but now the sides of your lips are turning into a frown."
Peter looks up uncomfortably from where his chin is rested on his knee, his fingers pull at the fraying edge of his cloak.
"And is it a crime to be sad now Remus? With this war waging like a storm, with uncertainties and death, is it improper for me to frown?"
His oldest friend raises one eyebrow, his hands moving from cigarette to coffee cup.
"I just don't like to see you sad Wormy, I hate seeing all this sadness, all this waste. I went to take Lily some flowers, she wasn't home. James is still sleeping and drinking away his sorrows at Padfoot's and did you hear? Alice and Frank lost their baby too."
Peter lets his shoulders form a casual shrug before emitting a barely audible whisper, "at least we are all still alive, right Moony?"
Remus smiles and shifts closer, embracing him in a gruff one-armed hug. Not knowing of the traitorous beats of his friend's heart.
"At least we are still alive," he agrees.
iii.
Open.
Severus' lips are still so close to Lily's mouth, she can feel the air from his lungs on her chin and it makes her shiver.
She had buried her memories of Sev after she left Hogwarts, placed in a muddy grave near the playground at Spinner's End, he had fallen away with her tears.
She had given her entire whole heart to James with no patches and no stains and she had believed it would stay in his care until they lay in the ground together.
She felt as if her lips were on fire, little flaming lips of a thousand candles, and she couldn't quite work out if that was a good thing.
Severus brushed the hairs from her cheek and lifted her chin carefully, his eyes finding her own, asking without words if everything was ok.
"I don't know," she trembled, her whole body ached for him and yet her mind trembled and turned shaking tears loose from her eyes, causing her heart to hammer against her ribs like a caged bird.
"I don't know how it's ever going to be ok, how I'm ever going to feel whole again."
Shaking in distress she twists and pivots on the bed, shaking her hands like a mad woman.
Severus catches them up between his own, holding them firm, and through his fingers Lily can feel the gold of the rings on her left hand and she gasps at the memory.
Nineteen years old twisted together on a picnic blanket, her hands in his soft black hair, he reads from a muggle children's book, his laughter embracing her like a cloud, he drops the book carelessly in the grass and turns into her embrace, burying his head in her stomach, kissing the top of skirt with what feels like a thousand lips.
"Lily?"
When she refocuses there is different black hair around her and she hiccoughs slightly.
"I'm sorry Sev but I need to see James."
He lets her hands fall into her lap but keeps his eyes steady.
"I know Lil, I know."