Lily crouched in her room, photographs slipping like weeds through her fingers. They were all of her and James. Slick smiles, shiny eyes, none of it real. None of it permanent; eventually the paper would crumble and fall apart, the figures in the frame blissfully unaware that they were now separated too, held in place by only a few fragile threads of paper.

She tensed at a sound from behind her—but it was only the wind, creaking past the trees. James was still at Hogwarts, of course, probably still unconscious. Quickly she stuffed the rest of the photographs into the box she had laid out before her, along with a wedding autograph book she had found stashed in a bookcase. There was barely enough room, as she had spent the last ten minutes shoving some of her other things—her wedding dress, presents James had gotten her—in there too.

Grunting slightly with the effort, she lifted the box and tripped down the stairs, praying she wouldn't fall and break her neck. Well, at least then she wouldn't have to confront James.

But she made it safely down to the ground floor, and so she would have to confront James. She set the box on the table and waited behind it, as though it would shield her somehow. She stood there and listened to the ticking clock on the mantle that seemed to count out each of her heartbeats, matching them with perfect, synchronized regularity.

Ironically enough, he arrived when she was in the bathroom. Lily had just emptied some soap into her palms—at least he's not catching me with my pants round my ankles—and the smell of honeysuckle flooded her nose, even as she fancied she could hear an intake of breath from the other room. She rinsed her hands, not wanting to go out there with goo all over them, biting her tongue. Every passing second would make what was about to come more and more uncomfortable.

Just get it over with, Lily.

She'd rehearsed what she was going to say, in front of the mirror. She'd muttered to herself as she piled things into the box, raking her hands through her hair and trying to picture James's reaction—anger? Unbelief? Desperation, shock, all of them at once; she had pushed the images away, unable to concentrate with the roiling anxiety that they called up in her stomach.

She took a deep breath and pushed the bathroom door open. She entered the room, and though she was prepared to see James, she had not been expecting the tall brunette who was with him.

There were a few seconds of silence as the three of them looked back and forth at each other. Lily felt a strange absence of shock, as if she had been expecting rain and gotten a report of sleet instead. Rain, sleet; who cared? What was the difference, really?

"Lily," James finally said, as if he had never said the word before and was just trying it out. He pronounced it deliberately and loudly.

Lily was overcome by the urge to say "James" in the exact same tone (and wondered whether if she did, the strange brunette would say her own name), but managed to resist it. Instead she folded her arms and assumed the pose of a deeply disappointed housewife.

"James," she said, "what the fuck?"

It was as if he had been waiting for this. Immediately he switched into a stuttering, panicky explanation. "I didn't know you'd be home yet," he said, the words stumbling over each other. "I thought—you'd still be at the castle—"

"I thought you were in the Hospital Wing," she said clearly. "Why aren't you there? Did you meet her there?" She indicated the woman with her chin. The brunette's eyes were widened and darting back and forth between her and James, and somewhere deep down Lily found herself hoping she didn't think Lily was going to pull out her wand and start hexing her. She actually felt calmer than she probably sounded. "I never thought the Hogwarts hospital wing was a place to pick up a date, but I guess I was wrong to overlook it. Was she in the next bed?"

"Lily—I—" He battled against something stuck in his throat for a minute. "I can explain—"

"Did you not go to the hospital wing, then?"

"I woke up before anyone got there," he muttered, almost ashamed. And still the brunette hadn't said anything. The ensuing silence, where Lily stared firmly at her and James stared firmly at the floor, was almost funny. Almost. Lily still felt that anxiety, and realized how ridiculous it had been. James was the one who was stuck in this situation. He was the wrongdoer. Not her.

"She's just a friend," James finally said.

Oh god you said it I didn't actually think you'd say it

"Oh, James."

He met her disappointed, almost amused gaze with a wavering and almost tearful one.

"Merlin's baggiest pants, but I thought you'd have enough guts to tell me the truth." As no change came over his face, as he didn't open his mouth to speak, her amusement changed suddenly to rage. "You could at least give me enough thought…enough respect…to tell me the truth." She indicated his face. "There's her lipstick on your cheek, for one thing."

James jerked as if he had been shocked.

"Don't bother to explain," she continued. "That's all the explanation I need." She hoped he couldn't see her hand shaking.

"What's this?" he asked after half a second. It took her a moment to realize he meant the box on the table.

"Oh, that." It seemed kind of feeble to say Well I was going to leave you anyway. But what else could she say? "Those are some items I thought I wouldn't need to take with me. Maybe you'll keep them, maybe she'll wear them, who knows." She looked like she might be able to fit into Lily's wedding dress pretty well. Maybe she would wear it.

"What—where—" James walked over to the box and began rifling through it. She fought back a glare at the sight of his hands on her dress, ruffling the fabric. It wasn't hers anymore. She didn't want it, didn't want anything smeared with his…essence.

"I'm leaving, James."

And finally he did look at her with comprehension, and it was as she had imagined. The brunette seemed to melt into the background, blur into the wood.

"Lily," he said. "Please. I can—"

"But I can't," she said, and took her coat from where it was hanging on the back of her chair. "I'm sorry, James, but you're an ass, and I'm leaving. I hope you two are happy together." It sounded to her ears like she was quoting from a script, but the words had the desired effect. James was staring after her, the brunette was still looking nervous, and with a dash of pleasure she noticed that James's hand was shaking. So she had caught him sober. He would remember this. And not come knocking on her door at two-thirty the following morning, hopefully…

Which would be pretty hard, considering she hadn't told him where she was going.

A place that was, at least for the moment, home.

Spinner's End was dark and quiet at night, and Lily could almost fool herself into thinking it was like any other street. Almost. The hush of darkness had settled into the alley like soot, coating it with a blanket of stillness, muffling the noise of the river and the sounds that came from the wind whistling around the brick walls.

"Don't you miss the house?" His fingers were tracing the side of her wrist, playing along the edge of the bone. "And the view of your nice suburban street?"

She didn't respond for a few moments. "Well," she said eventually, "my parents and sister and I went vacationing in Milan a few years ago. Our hotel was on the bank of a river. It was so beautiful. They had the most fabulous Italian ices downstairs. Petunia and I would go crazy for them. At night the stars would glisten on the water and throw moving light onto the ceiling. And you could see the mountains in the distance." They had risen above the city, she remembered, blank and tall and startling in their blackness. "The city lights would twinkle beyond the river. You could smell pasta and pizza and garlic for hours after sundown."

"So you're trying to tell me it was beautiful?"

"Hmmm. Yes. But I couldn't really sleep there. It was nice, but it wasn't quite home…" She could see the edge of his face, just barely reflected in a faint shaft of moonlight coming through the window. "When we came home the first night it was different. I had already grown tired of endless pasta and Italian ices and finally I felt much safer. Much more comfortable. And at last I could sleep."

She knew Severus was thinking of the insomnia she had endured for the past few months, which she had told him of, about how she could lie in bed for hours after James was asleep and only be able to stare at the darkness.

"Can you sleep here?" he asked.

She considered. Already that slow and peaceful stillness was creeping over her body and mind, a feeling that often eluded her when she was with James. Now the thought of sleep, rather than some lofty goal she could never reach, seemed utterly possible and delightful, as accessible as a warming cup of tea.

His fingers found her palm and began tracing something into the skin, and after a few seconds she realized what he was spelling out: L-I-L-Y. Her name.

"Yes," she said. "Now that I'm home."

THE END

A/N: Hope you enjoyed.