Disclaimer: I own nothing

Written for Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition (will be called QLFC from here on out). Required info can be found at the end.

This is a companion piece, the other piece was written by LittleRed 10609 and is called Lily's Goodbye.

His hand hovered, his quill held tightly in his fingers. Black ink dripped from the gold tip and seeped across the veins of the parchment below. He wanted to tell her the world, to tell her how he had felt in the years they had known each other, to tell her how much he loved her and why. He wanted to list the good and the bad and everything in-between, but it seemed the words didn't exist.

He dropped his hand, the nib meeting the parchment, scratching out the letters of her name. It seemed the best place to begin.

Lily,

James stared at the four letters that somehow held all the meaning in his heart.

He thought of the train, the ride they had taken home from their first year at Hogwarts.

Lily sat alone, her legs tucked up on the seat beside her, her back pressed into the corner where the window met the chair. She seemed entirely uncomfortable, but her eyes never left the pages of her book. She had ignored the squeal of the compartment door and the sound of his footsteps on the floor as he stepped inside. She was entirely unfazed, seemingly unaware of his presence.

"Can I...sit here?" His voice was hesitant and he stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his robes, suddenly unsure of himself.

She looked up at him a moment later, turning her page. "I don't see why not."

Her voice was flat, unfriendly, and any interest she had had in him had already fizzled, her attention placed back on whatever story her book held.

"You're alone." He sat rigidly on the bench across from her, unable to make himself comfortable.

"Fantastic observation, James."

"Your friend, is he—"

Her book snapped shut, the sound of it echoing against the walls of their compartment. "Why does it matter?"

"Right," he answered, his mouth flattening. It didn't. James just wondered if they'd be able to be alone, to have a conversation just the two of them, for once.

He turned his attention back to the parchment, the memory blossoming across his lips in a smile, a huff of laughter. She had avoided him much of that first year and, if James was honest with himself, she had avoided him when possible for much longer.

But the things they had been through with and without each other had pulled them both down a winding road that weaved in and out of darkness. A broken and forked path that had led them here.

Here. That was so many things.

Here, in their first home with rings on their fingers and a child between them, with love whispered in the darkest corners. They were still newlyweds, in a sense, their hands drifting over the curves of one another whenever they could be alone.

Those were the things he wanted to write about, how much he loved her — with and without the clothing between them.

But, here also meant something much more sinister.

Their home had become a prison, the bricks of the house they had once loved now steel bars trapping them inside. The world beyond seemed dreary, bathed in gray. Inside, the darkest corners held more than a certain fondness for one another. With it came anger, frustrations they couldn't expel to the outside world. There was no escape, no time alone, and that wore them down.

But, he loved her. He loved and he loved and he loved her until the space around his heart beat with affection that only she could pull from him. And it had beat that way for so long, sounding out the letters of her name whenever that red hair and those perfect green eyes swam into his vision or across his memory.

He'd held those feelings inside of him much longer than he'd ever said aloud. Long before she could offer him even friendliness, but it had come. James remembered the day she had realized it, offered him the words that were as much a surprise to her as they were to him. He remembered the blush that filled her cheeks, setting each freckle ablaze.

They'd found a bench along a secluded path in Hogsmeade, finding themselves alone in the winter wind that whipped their Gryffindor scarves around them, the cold combated by the down of their coats.

"What?" James laughed at the glint in her eyes, the way she could hardly look at him.

"I didn't expect…" her voice trailed and James wondered if she was envisioning the same things he was. The friendship that had blossomed into a relationship, into this moment. This moment where they seemed completely alone in a world that sped by them. Their time seemed to have slowed.

She inhaled, glancing away once more before looking at him with a renewed strength. Her eyes burgeoned with something new, something he hadn't seen there before. "I think I love you, James Toerag Potter." Her lips quirked into a smile. "I love that stupid messy hair of yours and that arrogant personality. I love the way that you—"

James let out a laugh. It burst from his lungs and she pulled away, pain filling her features. "I love you too," he reassured with a whisper, "I just never thought I'd hear you say it." his fingers dug into the red strands of her hair, pulling her closer. His lips met hers and he tasted the caramel notes of butterbeer that lingered on her tongue, making her impossibly sweeter. He held her in his arms never wanting to let go.

As he sat there now, he wasn't sure he had done the moment justice. Hadn't given her what she deserved.

He'd loved her long before she felt it too, loved her still. But, the reasons from then and now differed. Now, he loved the weariness in her eyes when she returned from tending Harry. He loved the gentle snores that filled the darkness of their room at night, even when it kept him awake. He loved the way she was there, that she had stood beside him even in the darkest moments of their lives.

And those moments...they had had more than enough of them.

The neon flames of the floo burned away, casting them into a darkness lit by only the occasional candle. It felt all too accurate. Lily crumpled beside him, the tears she'd held inside now dribbling down her cheeks as she sobbed against his chest. His own tears seemed frozen, unable to come, though he felt them welling in the corners of his eyes. It couldn't be true. Not Harry, not them…

He shook his head, shook away the thoughts of "what if" and the wonderings of if Dumbledore could be wrong. It was nothing but false hope. Even if James hadn't believed the words that tumbled from the man's whiskered lips, the broken parts of Dumbledore's soul, the sorrow, the regret, shone through every feature of his face.

There was a prophecy, that they knew, and there was no escaping it.

James blinked away the memories, the last the most painful of all. He felt a sigh catch in his throat at the thought that that was what led him to this moment, to their bedroom on the second floor of their house, writing his goodbyes. His goodbyes that in that moment only amounted to her name and spots of falling ink

He felt so very broken, far more than when he had set out to write this letter, but this, he knew, would be his final goodbye.

He'd seen the papers, the articles of the Daily Prophet growing more fearful, more fear mongering by the day. He knew that he and Lily — and most especially Harry — had no chance of defeating the monster that searched for them. He knew that this was only the beginning of the war and feared he would not live to see the end, but he hoped perhaps against rationality that Lily would.

He stared at the scrawling of her name again, the ink that had faded in his distraction and began to write once more.

Lily,

Do you remember how much you hated me? You could hardly stand to look at me most of our first year. All right, so maybe that was partly my fault, but as a childish, eleven-year-old boy I only wanted to be your friend. Maybe I saw the potential for more, even then. Maybe I already knew how much I could love you. I have thanked everyone from Merlin to Salazar for bringing you to me, for letting you love me back, and now, we're here.

It hasn't been easy, Godric knows it hasn't. And there are things I wish were different, normal. I wish we hadn't been rushed by forces beyond our control, I wish we didn't have to hide away, but that doesn't change how much I love you. Maybe it's even made me love you more. All those stupid little fights we've had since we were locked away here, all the things we've said to each other, I wouldn't take them back. Even the hardest moments with you are ones I will never regret. Should I lay dying, I will think only of the way I love you, how fiercely I love you, how we fought this war together and became new people because of it.

I only wish we got to see the end, but I fear we're both aware that's not the case. We know what's waiting for us and I hope that Peter will be the final force that stops that danger from coming.

Whether you read this at my grave or by my side when this is all over, know that my love for you and Harry was always there. That I always tried my hardest to keep the two of you safe. You are my family in this world and beyond.

With all my love,

James Toerag Potter

He set his quill aside, reading the words that had poured from his heart as he scrawled. He knew every one of them was true and hoped only that she did, too.

"James!"

The call of his name pulled him from this pool of memories and he folded the letter in thirds as he listened to the sound of her footsteps below, the wail of his son. "Yeah?" He called back, bringing his quill to the parchment a final time.

"What are you doing?" Lily called back, the sweet notes of her voice fringed in frustration.

"Nothing...nothing," he called hurriedly, standing from his chair. "I'm coming."

He stepped across the room, sliding the letter into his bedside table and taking a final glance at what he'd written across the outside.

For Lily, when I'm gone.

Link/Title: Moments in Ink

Team: Pride Of Portee

Position: Beater 1

Main Prompt: The Rebel- Goal: revolution OR Fear: no power (I focused on "no power")

Additional Prompts: James Potter and Love Letter

Word Count: 1800

Summary: The end feels so close, the threat of Lord Voldemort looming just in the shadows behind them. James feels rushed, powerless, and this is the only thing he can think of to solve it: his final love letter to Lily.