Summary: Lily hates James. James loves Lily. Lily has a secret which James has found out, and now she's afraid he'll tell. Begins with an excerpt from Order of the Phoenix, no longer in Harry's POV, but through Lily and James. Now DH compliant, so some spoilers! Rated M for adult themes in later chapters and some language.

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you may in any way recognize. All of the characters save for a few of my own imagination belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 11: Room 313

Lily was standing in a hospital corridor. She had changed out of her bloodied nightclothes, and she was wearing a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt. She had washed her face, but she hadn't done much else. She knew that she must look frightening, but at this point she didn't much care.

Dumbledore had arranged for her to floo out of Hogwarts into St. Mungo's by six in the morning. After her fainting spell Dumbledore had led Lily to a guest room of Hogwarts and advised her to rest. Lily hadn't managed to do anything of the kind. She had cried to herself very quietly until Professor McGonagal had arrived with the necessaries she'd be sent to gather from Gryffindor Tower. Neither Cassandra or James were with her.

Dumbledore sent for her when it was 5:45 in the morning. Lily had never noticed how eerie the halls seemed at such an early hour, when it was so dark and so tiring.

And so now, exhausted into almost a stupor on her feet, Lily stood in the blindingly white corridor of St. Mungo's after flooing into their first floor fireplace. She was waiting for the receptionist to find the room where her mother was in.

"Lily Evans?" a voice asked.

Lily turned to find the very kind face of a short and petite woman wearing white robes and sensible shoes. Her hair was light brown and fell into short layers around her face. She wore silver rimmed glasses that were perched daintily on her nose in front of familiar hazel eyes.

"Yes," Lily said uncertainly.

The woman stuck out her hand. Her face was a mixture of odd things: pity, hope, genuine understanding. "I'm your mother's doctor, Madame Potter."

Lily nearly choked. "Potter?"

The woman smiled wryly, "I take it you've met my son James? He speaks of you often. I'm sorry we had to meet under the circumstances."

Her words brought the cold chill of reality upon Lily again. "Yes. Me too."

"Well then, your mother is on the third floor. Let me walk you up there, your sister is in the waiting room."

"Petunia's here?"

James Potter's mother nodded, "Yes, your sister actually arrived just after the attack. If she hadn't your mother wouldn't be here right now."

Madame Potter led them to a flight of stairs at the end of the hall. They walked quickly up, stepping lightly.

"Is my mother going to be alright?"

Madame Potter paused, an odd look on her face, "We should wait till we are with your sister. There's a lot we have to go over." Lily felt her heart squeeze a little tighter within her chest.

They went up to the third floor, and Madame Potter opened the door. A little desk was stationed right out side of it where a harried looking witch was making notes on parchment. A waiting are was on the left, and a long hall was to the right. Petunia was sitting in the waiting room.

Lily found it very odd to be looking at her sister whom she hadn't spoken to in over a year. It seemed to her that Petunia had grown very rigid. Where Lily only wanted to slump into one of the red armchairs strewn about the room, Petunia sat on the edge of hers, with her back straight.

Petunia stood up when Lily and Madame Potter entered the room. Madame Potter nodded once to her, and Petunia returned to her seat. Madame Potter gestured for Lily to sit as well.

Lily sat in the chair opposite Petunia. She tried a watery smile but Petunia ignored it, looking instead at James's mother.

"Well, I'm going to be quite blunt. The news is not good. Your mother has very specific wounds, which I am rather shocked by. Your father was murdered very quickly through the Killing Curse, and that is the way most of Voldermort's victims are killed. That this dissecting curse has hit your mother is confusing to me."

"So, you can fix this," Lily asked. Lily knew of dissecting curses. They ranged from those that could give small paper cuts to those that could cut a person in half. They had been used as a wizard's form of the muggle guillotine in France in the time of Napoleon. If Lily's mother wasn't dead, surely the wizards and witches at St. Mungo's could patch her up.

Madame Potter hesitated, "The problem is, there seems to be a missing link between this curse and other types. Everything we have tried... your mother just doesn't respond to treatment. If... if we can not figure out something soon, she's lost too much blood..." she trailed off.

Lily's throat had suddenly grown very tight with unshed tears and anger. "Can I see her?" she choked out.

Madame Potter nodded. "I think that's best." Lily stood and then looked at her sister. "Pet?"

Petunia seemed to pull herself out of a trance. "No. I have already seen mother."

Lily flinched at her sister's tone. Pressing her lips together with resolve she followed Madame Potter down the long hallway to a room labeled 313.

Her mother was lying on a white hospital bed, the sheets pulled up around her body. She was very pale and she looked clammy with sweat. Her upper hairline was soaked with sweat.

Madame Potter went up to her mother, "Mrs. Evans?"

Lily's mother opened her eyes, "Yes?"

"How are you doing right now? Any pain? Your daughter Lily is here to see you."

Lily's mother looked to the door and smiled. "My baby. Come here." She stretched her hand out.

"Can I get you anything Mrs. Evans?" Madame Potter asked.

"A glass of water please dear."

Lily moved slowly towards the bed. She was trying not to cry, but it was a losing battle. She wanted very much to be strong for her mother.

Her mother patted the bed next to her. "Sit."

"Should I?" Lily asked uncertainly. She remembered the wound from her dream was on her mother's side.

"Please." Her mother wore her stern look and Lily obeyed.

Gently her mother took her hand. She made to sit up and Lily almost shouted, "No!"

Mrs. Evans was taken aback. She lay her head back against the pillow.

"I'm sorry," Lily said. "I just don't think you should move much right now.

"You know just how to take care of everyone Lily," her mother said, her lips forming a wry smile.

"Lily, there is something I never told you..." she trailed off, and Lily became much more aware of how weak her mother's voice sounded.

"Yes mum?"

"You're grandmother's sister, your great aunt Tula, she was a witch."

"Really?" Lily asked her. "Why didn't you tell me... I thought you and dad had been so excited when..." Lily's throat choked up a bit at talking about her father. She swallowed the feeling down.

"I didn't want to scare you." Her mother wasn't looking at her right now. She was looking off into the distance.

"Scare me with what?" Lily asked concerned.

"Well, you see Lily, your great aunt died very early. In fact she didn't live past the age of twenty. I was four when she died."

Lily was quite confused. What did this have to do with her? "How did she die?"

Her mother looked her in the eye now. There was a crease of worry in between her eyebrows. "She wasn't a normal witch. She was a prophetic."

"A prophetic? You mean a seer?" Lily asked. Lily didn't really believe in seers. She did well enough in divination, but she didn't see it as a viable source for answers, and their loony teacher, a man by the name of Professor Snaghorn, didn't paint the profession as a very sane picture.

But Lily's mother was shaking her head. "No dear. I am sure that the word is Prophetic. They are much more powerful than seers. And much more reliable as well. However, they can not call on their power through tea leaves or crystal balls or other nonsense that seers can." Her mother paused here and began to cough. The cough sounded wheezy and wet, and it jolted Lily back to the reality that she was sitting on her mother's hospital bed, and that her father was gone. Lily felt tears form in her eyes.

Of course her mother noticed. Gently her mother wiped underneath her youngest daughter's eyes. "None of that right now. Things are going to be hard, but you will survive this." Her words were cryptic, but before Lily could ask what she meant, her mother continued, "Prophetics, they see through dreams."

Lily felt her face drain of color.

Her mother was eyeing her oddly, "Yes, I expect that this assertion has struck a nerve. I suspected of course when you were home for Christmas. Now I am certain."

"Certain of what mum? What's going on?" Lily's voice must have had a note of uncertainty in it.

"There now darling, calm down. I know very little about it myself. You must ask Dumbledore when you return to school. I only know stories your grandmother told me and my own experiances."

"Your own... you're not a witch are you?" Lily felt like she was missing something.

Her mother laughed, "Oh goodness no. I am regular enough. You're the first witch in the family since Auntie Jane. No, this Prophetic line passes generally through a matriarchal line. Your great great grandmother was one, and then she produced one witch and one squib, is that what it is? Neither showed possession of the skill. Oftentimes it lies dormant. Your great grandmother, the squib had two daughters as well, your Auntie who went to Hogwarts, and your grandmother who was a muggle. Your Auntie was a prophetic. And then your grandmother had me and your Aunt Tulia, and lord knows neither of us showed any talent for anything magical. And so I had Petunia and you, Lily, and it seems to have cropped up once again."

It sounded to Lily that her mother's tone indicated that she was trying to make light of the situation. But the worry line between her eyebrows remained.

"How did she die?" Lily repeated, her eyes on her mother's face.

"Many... many prophetics don't survive very long. Your great great grandmother was a tough one, she even managed to have a relatively normal life. It takes a type of fiber to retain ones wits with it. Your Aunt Jane went nutty, and she threw herself out of the third floor window of your grandmother's house after a particularly nasty dream." Lily's face must have shown something on it, though she was trying to be calm while she processed the information, because Lily's mother now sounded distressed, "but that doesn't mean it will happen to you. That doesn't mean you will..." she began to cough again, this time long and violent.

Lily stood up from the bed, "Mum, would you like a cup of water?"

Her mother shook her head through the coughing. On the last hack she spat blood onto the bedsheets. Lily's green eyes grew wide, "I'm getting the doctor." She made to leave when her mother, white faced and clearly in pain grabbed her arm. "No!" she wheezed, "There isn't any time. I love you Lily, I love you and don't want to leave you or your sister, but there simply isn't time. I have to tell you, warn you."

"Warn me what? Mum, please let me get the doctor, please." Lily felt tears spill and her voice cracked on the second please.

"You are strong, my beautiful daughter. And life will give you great awful choices. You must make the hardest choice in your life, if it means saving the one you love. Ask Dumbledore... ask him," her mother began to cough, much more violently. A droplet of blood rested on her lip as she whispered, "Ask him about your heritage. Learn to control... control dream... I love... I love you... both... tell her... tell..." her mother went limp against the bed.

"Mum!" Lily screamed. She dove down beside the bed gripping her mother's shoulder. It felt so very fragile in her hand. "Mum?" Lily asked horrified. Her mother's eyes were shut, and faintly, slowly, she whispered simply, "Love," before she was finally and completely gone from the world.

"Mum? Mummy... please, please get up. Please." Lily whispered, still holding onto her mother's hand. She didn't notice the tears as they fell from her eyes. She ignored the painful lump in her throat. All that mattered was that her mother open her eyes right now, and for her life to continue the way in had been.

But her mother's eyes remained closed, and her hand grew colder in Lily's own. A great awful wailing filled the room with a banshee-like lament. Lily heard footsteps, and the sound of a glass of water clattering to the floor. A gentle hand clutched at her shoulder, Madame Potter, but Lily wrenched her arm away, "Leave me alone," she cried. "Leave me alone."

She was desperate, alone, cold, holding the hand of her dead mother, and she realized then that the wailing was her own, coming from deep within her soul. "Please." She whispered, but she didn't know to whom or for what.

And then she felt a warm and strong arm encircle her waist and lift her up. Limply Lily dropped her mother's hand and was carried away from Room 313. She was carried to the waiting room cradled in the arms of someone with a familiar smell and sense of security.

As the arrogant toe-rag, the egotist with the messy hair sat down still holding her close and kissing her gently on the forehead, Lily whispered, "Oh James, what's wrong with me. I don't think anything will ever be right again."