November
They've barely closed the front door before she's tugging off his coat - damp with rain even from the short distance between the apparition point and the entrance to their building - and pulling at his lapels to draw him in for a kiss. He's never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth (or one to understand her many "Muggle-isms", as he calls them), so he dives in with vigour, wrapping his arms around her waist. They stumble unseeing across the living room until they come to a stop against the wall, and he diverts his lips to trail down her neck.
"I've got you figured out, Lily Potter," he mumbles against her skin.
"Yeah?" she gasps - his hand has slipped under the waistband of her jeans.
"Our first kiss - " he scrapes his teeth gently at the curve of her neck - "was over a desk full of prefect rota assignments - " his fingers slide into her knickers now, and she bucks her hips, her head falling with a clunk against the wall - "and we've just sat through an Order meeting solely about a new reporting system - " she can feel his smirk at her collarbone now, as his fingers slip inside her - "and you're all over me..."
She groans almost against her will. "James," she manages, her voice shaking. "Point?"
"You find paperwork a turn-on," he declares smugly, and returns to her lips for another kiss. This one sizzles between them; she clutches on to him even tighter, feeling that familiar and delicious ache of desire and pleasure building in her core.
He is altogether very good with his fingers – gods, what isn't he good with? - and it's not until she's gasped and keened her way through a knee-buckling orgasm against the wall, and is slumped pleasantly in his arms, that she thinks back to what he has said. "I don't."
"Hmm?" He's distracted now, too, his own arousal more than evident as he continues to press gentle kisses to her neck and jaw.
"I don't find paperwork a turn-on," she says, raking her fingers through the mess of his hair. "That whole new system of reporting was because of you and your ideas to make things better, easier in times of crisis. Everyone was looking at you and praising you and seeing how clever and good you are, and - " She sighs happily. "And that is a turn-on."
He beams. "My biggest supporter," he pulls back just enough to meet her gaze. "How about we go think about how clever and good I am in the comfort of our bed?"
She smirks. "Don't milk this, Potter."
"You know I can't stop myself," he kisses her again, then tugs at her hand. "When you're as clever and good as I am – "
She groans but follows him to their bedroom nonetheless. "I'm going to regret saying this, aren't I?"
He laughs, and gathers her up in his arms. "Probably."
December
"I'm just saying, maybe there's a bit more to her than meets the eye," Sirius was saying, leaning against the coffee table with his legs splayed in front of him. He's holding on to a bottle of firewhiskey as if it might save his life. "Under all that austere tartan beats the heart of a rampant – "
"Nooooo," Peter groans, flinging a sock – she isn't sure where he got it from, as he's wearing both of his – at his friend. "Stop! No one needs those images, Pads!"
"A rampant minx who just needs someone to draw out her wild side," Sirius finishes with a cackle.
"You ought to be locked away somewhere," Remus shakes his head.
"Permanently," Lily agrees.
"For seeing the deeply sexual woman who we previously thought of only as a purveyor of knowledge and taker-away-er of house points?" He takes a long swig from the bottle. "You're with me, right Prongs?"
James pauses in his task of drawing idle circles on her leg with his finger. "I'm sorry, mate, but even I have my limits."
"Pah!" Sirius waves a dismissive, aristocratic hand. "Plebs! Puritans!"
"What will it take it get you to stop talking about McGonagall's sex life?" Remus asks, wiping a hand over his face wearily. The alcohol and the food have made his cheeks glow; she suspects that his proximity to one of his friends adds to that, too, not that she's ever shared these thoughts with anyone. "Or just, y'know, stop talking altogether?"
"If that were possible, Moony, we'd have done it years ago," James smirks.
"You're just testy because it's nearly your time of the month," Sirius points a finger at Remus, mischief in his eyes. "Two weeks ago you'd have found this whole conversation charming."
Remus lands a kick on Sirius' shin. "How many times do I have to ask you not to call it my 'time of the month'?" he demands.
"It's just," Sirius replies with a sweet smile, "it does annoy you so. You get that little crease in your brow."
Remus turns to her in exasperation. "Why," he wonders. "Why are these people my friends?"
She's not fully paying attention now, though, because Sirius' goading comparisons of lycanthropy to menstruation have made her realise something. Quite a significant something, in fact. "Hmm?" she blinks. "Oh. Good question."
"Don't lump all of us in with that reprobate," James argues. "Some of us are perfectly decent people to have as friends – right, Wormy?"
"Right," Peter agrees, although he too is distracted by trying to squish together two mince pies. "Look! Mega-mince pie! I'm a genius."
"Yes," Sirius agrees drily. "You'll be on a chocolate frog card in no time."
"I, um," Lily stands up, "need the loo."
"Thanks for keeping us updated, Evans," Sirius grins. "Have fun in there."
James saying, "It's Potter, not Evans – how many times?" follows her out of the room. She makes her way down the darkened hallway to their bedroom, feeling the effects of the evening's alcohol more now that she's up and moving than she had slumped on the sofa. She tries to blink past it, and fumbles through her bedside table until she finds what she's searching for: a small, leather-bound Muggle notebook that she keeps as a diary-cum-journal. She's never been consistent enough to keep a true, honest-to-god journal, so most of the time it's just used for noting down important birthdays, dentist appointments, lunches with Mary and Marlene. Every now and then she has a day which requires an entry with a bit more detail – the last time she'd done that was a few months ago, when James and Sirius had returned from a reconnaissance mission covered in blood and just about holding each other up. She'd had a lot of emotions to get out that night.
But the other purpose of the diary, one that she'd used it for since the tender age of 13, was to track her periods. Lily was an organised person; she hated the idea that her menstrual cycle could sneak up and ambush her when she wasn't prepared for it. She was also remarkably consistent, once boasting to Mary that she could set a watch by her cycle. Mary hadn't been altogether very impressed.
Given her organisational skills, and her Swiss-watch of a uterus, she's surprised that she's only just realising this now. Because, as she tracks back in the diary, flicking through the weeks…yep. She's late.
Bugger.
"Evans!" comes a voice from the living room. "Hurry up with your leak, love, we want to play Godric's Shots!"
"No we don't!" comes another voice – Remus. "We really don't!"
"Tough luck, Moony, because we're playing," Sirius' voice is getting closer, and then he appears in the doorway. He's still playing to the crowd in the living room as well as to her, sat in semi-darkness on the edge of the bed. "And as Helga is my witness, we will all be absolutely trollied by the end of the evening!"
Bugger and shit.
January
"Happy birthday!" The mattress dips next to her, and she reluctantly peels her eyes open to see her husband beaming down at her. "Twenty years old! How does it feel? Is wisdom racing through your veins?"
She shifts on to her side with a sleepy groan. "Not that I can tell, no."
"And you'd be able to tell," he decides, planting a kiss on her cheek, then her lips. "I've always wanted to be with an older woman. I'm so glad I get to live out that fantasy with you."
"James," she sighs. "I'm not even two whole months older than you."
"Ah, but those two months make all the difference," he grins. "So, breakfast in bed for m'lady. What do you fancy? Scrambled eggs? Poached eggs? Fried eggs?" He pauses thoughtfully. "I'm not sure I know any other types of eggs, to be honest, but I'd give them a bloody good go for you."
"James – "
"Boiled! Boiled eggs," he sneaks in another kiss. "Merlin, can't believe I forgot the king of all eggs. Boiled egg and toast soldiers?"
"Please stop saying the word eggs," she requests, closing her eyes. "My stomach is all over the place this morning."
She doesn't need to be looking at him to know that he is frowning. He holds the back of his hand to her forehead a moment. "You've not been very well lately. Are you coming down with something?"
This is the best way in she's going to get. She hasn't been putting it off, exactly, just waiting until she could confirm the news that could change their lives forever. Yesterday, on her last day as a teenager, she'd sat in the office of the doctor in Cokeworth who's been treating her since she was a baby, and heard the words, 'congratulations'. So, there's no getting round it now. She has to tell her husband.
It's not that she thinks he'll take it badly. He's never been shy about expressing his hopes for their future together – it's just one of the things she so loves about him. It's just…the timing. They're so young, and a war is raging outside their windows, friends and relatives dropping like flies. Isn't it selfish, to be bringing a child into this mess?
Selfish, maybe. But she can't deny the excitement, and the love, that has simmered within her ever since she first realised that she might be pregnant.
"Lil?" His voice interrupts her internal monologue, and she opens her eyes to meet his worried gaze. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's…wrong, as such," she replies carefully, and shifts into a sitting position. He mirrors her actions, taking her hands in his. "At least, I don't think so."
He frowns. "Well, it doesn't sound like you're going to ask for a divorce…"
She smiles slightly. "Don't be daft." She squeezes his hand, draws in a steadying breath, and looks up at him again. "I'm pregnant."
His eyes widen, and he looks down at her flat belly as if he might be able to see through to her womb just from the power of one look. "Pregnant?"
"Pregnant," she confirms. "Had a blood test yesterday. It's still early days, but…yeah."
"Lil…" His voice is so soft, so full of awe, that she thinks she could produce a fully corporeal Patronus right now from the feeling alone. "That's…this is….we're…?"
She laughs, and squeezes his hand again. "We're having a baby, yes."
He gathers her up in his arms, buries his face in the curve of her neck so that at first it's hard to make out what he's saying. "I love you, so, so much Lily Evans Potter," he is mumbling. "Bloody hell, a baby!"
"I love you too," she clings to him, relieved to be on the other side of this revelation. "More than anything."
"This is the best birthday present ever!" he pulls back, cupping her face in his hands and peppering her with kisses.
"Well, it is my birthday, not yours," she points out, but wraps her arms round his neck nonetheless. "This doesn't preclude you from getting me many, many presents."
"No, of course, of course," he agrees, reaching her lips again and melting away any train of thought for a few moments with a lingering, loving kiss. "Okay. Okay, pregnant wife of mine. No eggs. Toast? Tea?"
"I can cope with toast," she agrees. "And the biggest mug of tea you can manage."
"Done." He practically bounces out of bed, but pauses in the doorway to look back at her. He smiles; she smiles back. She feels so full of love and warmth and happiness that she can't even remember why she was so worried even five minutes ago. He has that effect on her. "Did I say I love you?"
She smiles fondly, and smooths out the duvet that covers her. "You did."
"That's a relief," he grins, and heads off to the kitchen, adding from down the hallway, "Because I do love you, as it happens!"
"Good to know," she calls back, and sinks back into the pillows.
February
She's breathing heavily by the time she stumbles through the door to the safe house, half-carrying Dorcas in with her. Her hands are sticky with blood, and she's not sure whose it is, she just knows that it's there, that it made holding on to her wand nearly impossible. But her resolve held, and luck was on their side, because she managed to apparate them through the now-standard four locations before arriving here, in the darkness of twilight in the middle of Wiltshire.
She doesn't make it more than two steps inside before two things happen: one, she loses what little strength she has left at the same time that Dorcas' knees buckle, and her friend crumples to the ground; and two, a wand is held to her face, barely inches away.
"What did you say to me at the bar at your wedding?" Moody demands, not even glancing down at the pale, blood-soaked mess at their feet.
Lily draws a breath to steady herself. "I said, watch out for my aunt, she likes a bit of rough."
Moody scowls, but nods, and lowers his wand. They move together to scoop Dorcas back up and carry her to the sofa. "What happened?"
"We were just gearing up to head home, we'd gathered what little information we could," she replies, sinking into a nearby armchair while Moody begins muttering healing charms over her friend's prone form. "I don't know how, but they saw us. It was – Rosier, I think. And Avery. Flinging curses every which way." She looks down at her hands again, reluctantly wipes them on her trousers. "One of them caught Dorcas. Non-verbal. She went down instantly, it was all I could do to get her out at all."
"You did the right thing," he replies gruffly; on the sofa, Dorcas is beginning to look less pale. "Did you – "
The question is lost to a burst of green in the fireplace, and they both look up sharply as a figure tumbles through. "Lily, Merlin, you were supposed to be back an hour ago," James says, his eyes frantic, his face white. "What the hell – "
Once again, Moody moves to what must feel like a natural position now: brandishing his wand in another's face. "What did you say to me after our first mission together?"
"Fucking hell, Alastor, you know it's – " James scowls, unable to take his eyes off Lily for more than a second. "Fine, fine, I said, we really must do this again sometime."
Moody turns immediately back to Dorcas and resumes his healing spells. "Always have been a smartarse," he mutters. "You shouldn't be here, Potter."
James has already rushed to Lily's side, his hands skating down her arms, her sides, her face, checking for damage as if it will all be visible. "I told you," he says, his voice low, anxiety like a blade in every word. "I told you, it's not safe to do this anymore. You could've been killed – "
"But I wasn't," she sighs, and closes her eyes a moment. Her head is swimming; she feels like she could crawl into bed and stay there for weeks. "I'm fine, James."
He shoots a quick glance over to the sofa, then to her belly. "Are you?" he asks. "What if – "
"James," she says again, because actually, saying his name feels like a warm blanket being draped over her shoulders. "I have to do my bit. We all do."
"But we're not all pregnant," he points out, which gets the attention of Moody pretty quickly.
"You're pregnant?"
Lily sighs. "No one else knows yet," she tells Alastor. "It's early."
Moody looks like he's torn between answers. He eventually settles for, "congratulations," and then, "you're off active duty, Evans."
"Oh, for fuck's sake – " she starts, pushing James aside so she can stand up. "I'm pregnant, not an invalid."
"You can be helpful in other ways," is Moody's stern reply. "And get yourself checked over by a healer, would you?"
She shoots a glare at her husband, but he still looks so pale, so worried, that it's hard to hold a grudge. She looks down at Dorcas for a moment, biting her lip. "Fine," she says at last. "But this discussion isn't over."
"Of course it isn't," Moody mutters. "Why would it be?"
She sighs, then reluctantly nods towards her husband. "Okay. Let's go," she says, adding to Moody, "Owl us with an update on her?"
"Of course."
"C'mon," James wraps an arm round her shoulders, drawing her back towards the fireplace. "St Mungo's calls."
They step into the green flames, and she thinks about how she may well lose her mind from boredom before this baby is even born.
March
The house is full. Overflowing, even. And that's even without much furniture – they haven't had very long since moving in to get settled, to get used to having more space. But this expanse of space meant that it was the perfect venue for a birthday party, celebrating two of her favourite men. When she'd said that to James, he had been quick to check that he ranked higher than Remus on this Favourite Men list. She had said she would think about that one and let him know.
Sirius has commandeered the record player and is currently blasting out Bowie, throwing himself around the middle of the living room with the kind of hedonistic abandon that he can somehow still make look effortlessly cool. Marlene is dancing with him, laughing as he shouts something in her ear. Across the room, James and Peter are engaged in what looks like a very earnest discussion with Frank and Benjy. She can tell exactly how drunk her husband is based on the fluidity of his movements: every gesture is exaggerated, hands flung wider to make a point. It's very endearing. She's not sure where the other birthday boy is – she hasn't seen him in a while, in fact.
She hauls herself off the sofa and slips through the crowd to the kitchen (where Dearborn and Gideon Prewett are having an intense debate about Celestina Warbeck) to pour herself another glass of off-brand coca-cola, and that's when she spots him. Actually, it's the little glow of orangey-red, the tell-tale burn of a cigarette end in amongst the darkness, that catches her eye.
She slips out into the garden, closing the kitchen door behind her, and Remus turns guiltily. "I thought you quit?" she asks with a grin.
"I did," he replies, smiling sheepishly as he drops the butt and grinds it under his heel. "Just…needed one tonight."
She loops her arm through his and gazes out into the black of the night. As her eyes adjust, she can just about make out the edge of the raspberry bush that's battling through weeds to their right, and the high stone wall that shields the garden from view to their left. "Feeling old?" she wonders.
"No older than I did yesterday," he replies.
"Is it the booze?" she asks next. "Lowered your inhibitions enough to make you crave a fag?"
"No," he replies, voice a little quieter, a little bit more distant. "Don't think that's it."
She turns her head to look at him. "Well, don't make me beat it out of you, Lupin," she says. "I'm a woman of delicate condition."
This brings out a smirk. "Somehow I don't think you'll let pregnancy stop you, Evans."
She manoeuvres her other hand to jab a finger to his ribs – gently, mainly, but enough to make him try to wriggle out of her grip. "C'mon. You can't be out here all broody and glum at your own birthday party. It's not the done thing."
"Ah, well, I didn't realise it wasn't the done thing," he notes, and finally meets her gaze. "I'm okay, really. It's just…being in the middle of all that isn't always easy."
"'All that'?" she repeats. She pauses, considering what she has seen from the sobriety sidelines this evening, and her expression softens. "You mean, Sirius all over Marlene."
He looks away, shifts uncomfortably. "Lily – "
"I'm not blind, unlike your other friends," she points out. "I have a finely tuned intuition."
He clears his throat. "I don't have any right to be upset, or – or annoyed – "
"You're entitled to your feelings," she tells him firmly. "Does he know?"
Remus shoots her a stricken look. "Christ, no, don't be stupid!"
"I'm not sure we can expect him to be feeling you up instead if he doesn't know how you feel," she remarks softly. "And also, don't call me stupid, I'm a woman of delicate condition."
He laughs, the sound quiet and a bit sad. She pulls him closer and rests her head on his shoulder. "Are you going to use that as an excuse for the next five months?"
"Might as well," she confirms, and gives his arm a squeeze. "How long?"
He sighs. "Too long."
"Well," she says, "you're in your twenties now. Maybe it's time to speak up for yourself. What's the worst that could happen?"
She doesn't need to be looking at him to know the expression on his face. "You mean, apart from friendship destroyed, embarrassment and shame running rampant, and unending awkwardness?"
She pulls back and fixes him with a smile. "He who dares, wins," she replies. "Have courage, young Gryffindor. He who laughs last, laughs longest, and so on."
He returns her smile with a sceptical one of his own. "That delicate condition is frying your brain," he notes, with an exaggerated sigh. "Such a shame."
"Watch it, Rem," she tugs at his hand, back towards the house. "C'mon. Let's celebrate a new decade in style."
As they head inside, Lily doesn't fail to notice two gazes that are directed their way: James, of course, could find her anywhere. It's Sirius' burning eyes that bring about a smile, and a nudge to her friend's ribs. "Party time, dear-heart."
April
She rests an arm on the swell of her belly and watches fondly as the two men fuss around her. Sirius brings over a footstool, even going so far as to lift her legs up for her. James has brought over a tray with a steaming mug of tea and a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits. She takes a biscuit, and a large bite, before she says anything. "I just felt a bit dizzy. You didn't need to do all this."
"Lily Evans Potter," Sirius intones solemnly, "there is no 'all this'. We would do it in a heartbeat, for the protection of you and Mini Prongs."
"But I feel fine now," she points out. "And the dizzy spell, such as it was, happened yesterday."
"Yesterday, today," James replies cheerfully. "What is time, really, but a social construct?"
She frowns. "What?"
"Make sure you drink that tea before it goes cold," he adds, carefully placing the mug in her hands. "You have to stay hydrated."
Sirius busies himself plumping the cushions around her. "So, as happy as I am to play handmaid to my favourite redhead, I'm sure you didn't ask me round for this."
She catches James' eye, and smiles. "No, that's true."
"So what is it?" Sirius asks, leaning back against the other end of the sofa, propping his feet up next to hers. "Don't tell me – you want me to be there at the birth. I'd be honoured, truly, and I've been practising breathing techniques for the widening of the cervix just in case."
"No," she says quickly, "no, no, don't ever mention my cervix again, Black, do you hear me?"
He casts her an affronted look. "Charming! I'm a very relaxing presence, I'll have you know."
"We don't need you as a birth coach," James pipes up. "We need you to be godfather."
The silence that follows is so all-encompassing that Lily briefly wonders if their friend has slipped into a coma. Finally, though, he finds his voice. "Godfather?"
"Yes," James confirms patiently.
"Me?"
"Yes," Lily agrees. "You."
"Godfather?" Sirius asks again. "As in, sleeps with the fishes, I'll make him an offer he can't refuse, on this the day my daughter's to be married?"
James sighs heavily; Lily can see the regret in his eyes that he ever took Sirius to the muggle cinema to watch that film, let alone took him to see it four times in one summer. "No, the less crime-riddled version. You know, a normal godfather."
Sirius nods slowly, clearly still processing the information. There's a pause. "Me?" he asks again.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Pads – of course you," James rolls his eyes. "You're my best friend, my brother, we both trust you more than anything, you're – you're fucking family, okay? And we know that if anything happens, you'd – "
"Hey, whoa," Sirius interrupts, "nothing is going to happen."
"Okay, fine," James waves a dismissive hand. "You're going to be a great godfather, mate. So, we're not asking. We're telling. You're the godfather. Alright?"
Sirius looks over at Lily, and she smiles back. "Alright, Black?" she adds.
He laughs, blinking fiercely all of a sudden – she knows that if he cries, she will too. "Okay. Fine. You twisted my arm."
"Good," James grins. "That's settled, then."
Sirius pauses before flinging his arms around them both, into a strange, awkwardly-angled hug that feels wonderful nonetheless. "Thanks," he laughs again, a bit breathlessly. "For – you know."
"We love you, Sirius Black," Lily replies, giving him a squeeze. "Even when you're being a certifiable nuisance."
"Oh, Evans," he sighs, and presses a sloppy kiss to her cheek – she squirms out of the hug, laughing. "You say the nicest things."
James can't seem to stop beaming. "We're going to talk to Moony and Wormtail, too, make sure they know they're still important, still part of the baby's life and upbringing and all that – just, tricky to have three godfathers, you know?"
"Absolutely," Sirius agrees. "And when you've got the best, why go for the rest?"
Lily shakes her head. "James, you have created a monster."
"He created this monster a long time ago," Sirius grins. "He should've known I can't have too much positive praise and hugs."
"Well, you live and learn," James shrugs with a smirk.
"So, now then," Sirius leans back again, drumming his fingers idly on the arm of the sofa. "A 'My First Broomstick'? A sack of Zonko's finest exploding wands? What does one get one's godchild for their first ever present?"
"Nothing that explodes," Lily cut in firmly. "It's a baby, Sirius. A blanket or a cuddly toy will do."
He looks offended. "I'm not going to insult my godchild with some common or garden blanket," he insists. "They can get one of those off any old random passer-by."
Lily shoots James a look. "You're going to need to keep him in control," she says, as if Sirius isn't even there. "We can't parent him, too."
James is too busy looking thoughtful. "My First Broomstick, though, Lil…"
Sirius lets out a triumphant cackle. "Oh! This is going to be fun."
May
"Right, Rosie, that's the sink sorted." James' voice pulls Lily's attention from her mother, diligently knitting in the armchair across from her, and up to her husband. She can't help but smile at the sight of him: his sleeves are rolled up, his wand tucked in his jeans pocket and his hair even more dishevelled than usual. In fairness to him, he has spent the past fifteen minutes waging a war with the pipes under his mother-in-law's sink. "What was next on the list?"
"James, love, you can sit down," Rose replies fondly. "I didn't invite you two over just to put you to work, you know!"
"I'm happy to help," he reminds her with a grin. "Some of these Muggle tools are great fun."
Since her father died last summer, James has been determined to fix every tiny thing that might have gone wrong in Rose Evans' home. Through a mixture of Muggle methods and Charms know-how, he has most things under control, and Lily is well aware that it puts him even further ahead in the sons-in-law rankings than he already was. Not that Vernon is much competition, to be frank.
Still, it warms her heart to see him so keen to take care of her mother, to make sure she's safe and comfortable and everything is running smoothly. Plus, he's always been better with a project – he's not as good at watching someone knit and talking idly about herbaceous borders as Lily is.
"Well, if you're sure," Rose hesitates. "It's just, that whizzy thing you did a few months ago with the water heater has – I don't know, can magic run out?"
"I'll take a look," he promises, pausing to drop a kiss to the top of Lily's head before he disappears upstairs.
"You've got a good one there, my girl," Rose smiles.
"Don't know how I nabbed him," Lily replies with a grin. "Luck?"
Rose shakes her head with a chuckle, returning to her knitting. When it's finished, it will be a sage-green onesie to go with the tiny socks and hat she's already made. Lily envies her patience with the craft – she can't maintain her focus long enough to produce much of value. "Do you want another tea, love? Something to eat?"
She rubs her belly idly. "I know we only just had lunch," she sighs with a smile, "but I'm already hungry again."
"I was just like that with you and Tuney," Rose nods. "Your father said I was bottomless!" She laughs. "Cheeky bugger, he was."
Lily smiles, the pleasant memories invoked still tinged with grief. She's not sure she'll ever get used to her dad being gone. It took her months before she stopped looking for him when they arrived at the house; she still half-expects him to answer the phone when she calls. "I'm glad it's not just me, then."
"Just let me finish this row and I'll make you something," Rose promises. "Savoury? Sweet?"
"Both?" Lily wonders. "Or is that greedy?"
"Don't be daft, my love," she replies with a smile. "You're growing a child in there – there's no such thing as greedy."
She accepts this with a nod, letting her gaze wander – it lands on a framed photo on the mantelpiece, where Petunia and Vernon smile blandly at the camera. "How's Tuney getting on?"
"She's tired, poor dear," Rose says. "Only a month to go, though, so the end is in sight."
It's strange to think that there ever could've been a time when the two sisters would have been thrilled to have their babies so close together, delighted that the little cousins would grow up and become friends and be so involved in each other's lives. But the last time Lily had ever thought that their lives would be so intertwined was ten years ago. A lot of water has flowed under that particular bridge since then.
"You should ring her," Rose suggests, setting her knitting aside and getting up. Lily watches her with some concern – her mother always seems to be weary these days. "I'm sure she'd love to hear from you."
Lily can't hold back a snort. "I doubt it, mum."
Rose sighs, holding her daughter's gaze a moment. "I do so wish you two could mend fences," she says. "Family is so important."
"It is," Lily agrees, feeling a flash of guilt and swallowing it down. It's not like this is her fault. "I'm just saying, maybe you should be pointing that out to Tuney, not to me."
Rose clucks her tongue, leans down to give her shoulder a squeeze. "I know, love. I know." Straightening up, she heads for the kitchen. "Cheese and chutney sandwich? And a slab of Victoria sponge cake?"
Lily lets her head sink back into the sofa. "It's like you can read my mind."
Rose's laugh is fond, and genuine. "That's motherhood for you, my dear."
June
The English weather is nothing if not mercurial. Not two weeks ago, she had been wrapped up in James' jumper (hers no longer fitting very well), taking her careful research notes as close to the fire as she could get without igniting something. Now, however, they are three days into a heatwave that has rendered her an overheated, sweaty incubator, craving even the hint of a breeze. No such luck.
She is making do by sitting in the garden, protecting her skin from the relentless sun by sitting under the shade of the apple tree. Her feet rest in a bucket of cold water, just about the only thing keeping her sane at the moment. She'd kill for some ice cream, actually, but that would involve getting up. It doesn't seem like it would be worth the effort.
Everything is an effort, now. The baby is due in five weeks and seems to enjoy spending its time sitting on her bladder, or kicking her in the ribs, or wriggling around with such intensity that it's a wonder it hasn't just popped out accidentally. She isn't surprised that the child is a wriggler – it is, after all, James' offspring, and James would struggle to keep still if you paid him.
The nights are unending because she can't find a position to sleep in that's comfortable for longer than three minutes. Then, the days come, and she doesn't have the energy to do much of anything at all. Her work for the Order has slipped in standard somewhat, which probably explains why she's not been given much to do lately. All that, along with a craving for salty foods and a constant need to urinate, and she's finding pregnancy to be a bit of a challenge.
James seems to adore her being pregnant. He'll happily rub her feet, or fetch some insane sandwich, or adjust her pillows at 3am. He tells her she's beautiful every day – several times a day, in fact – which she tries her best to believe. He murmurs to the baby, making up stories about dragons and goblins and princesses who are, without fail, red-heads with bright green eyes. He watches her, even when she's not doing anything of note, with a look in his eyes as if he can't quite believe his own luck.
Without him, she'd have lost her marbles months ago.
She shifts in the deckchair, lifting one foot to trickle water over her shin. It's quiet, here, something she used to find a bit unnerving – too used to the low buzz of noise that comes from growing up in a busy town – but has come to find calming. Birds sing in the tree above her, a call and response just soft enough to make her eyelids drift shut. Maybe a nap wouldn't be such a bad idea…
She's not sure how much time has passed when she hears the kitchen door close, and the sound of footsteps across the paving slabs that span the back of the cottage. She cracks open one eye, then the other, as James wanders over to her with a cheerful smile. "Look at you," he sighs happily, leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss. "You're a goddess."
She makes a 'hmm' noise against his mouth, waiting until he pulls back to reply. "What, the goddess of sweat?" she asks. "Patron saint of beached whales?"
He squats down at her side, brushing a tendril of hair from her forehead. "Don't speak about my wife like that," he scolds. "She's glorious and I won't hear any different."
"My apologies," she smiles faintly. "Good day?"
He shrugs easily enough. "No one got injured, so," he replies. "Remus is back. He was at HQ earlier. Sends his love."
She rests her hand over his, which has found its way on to the swell of her belly. "We should invite him round," she notes. "All the lads. Before baby arrives and we forget our own names from exhaustion."
"Only if you're up to it," he agrees, and smiles. "Can I get you anything? Name it, it's yours."
She pats his hand. "You could help me up," she decides. "Need the loo again. And…ice cream."
He wraps one arm around her back and helps lever her out of the chair. "You deal with the loo, I'll deal with the ice cream."
"If I ever need your help with the loo," she sighs, taking his hand again as they start the slow, plodding journey back into the house, "it'll be a dark day indeed."
"But you know I'd do anything for you," he reminds her. "Even – "
"Don't say it," she warns. Inside the kitchen, it is surprisingly cool, and she shoots him a look. "Did you…?"
"Cooling charm," he confirms proudly. "In every room. Can't have my beautiful wife suffering now, can I?"
"Ugh," she sighs, and stands on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. "I love you, you clever bastard."
He laughs. "Right, off you go, before you wet yourself," he reminds her – not the worst idea, given her memory seems to have taken a battering from the pregnancy, too. "I'll nip out to the shop and buy every ice cream available."
"Chocolate," she decides, heading off towards the bathroom. "And something fruity, too!"
"Leave it with me, Lil," he calls after her. "Your wish is my command."
She smiles fondly as she closes the bathroom door, and is not remotely surprised when he returns, ten minutes later, arms laden with two plastic bags filled with treats.
July
James is pacing. She's lost count of how many laps he's done of the small hospital room but she knows it must be somewhere in the hundreds by now. After all, they have been there for at least six hours.
It was the middle of the night when the contractions started; her waters broke around breakfast time. For now, though, things seem to have hit a plateau. The baby, having decided to make an appearance, is apparently having second thoughts.
Sirius had arrived around ten, crowing, "I hear you've been here since the arse-crack of dawn, Evans!" James had been too tired to correct him on the name. He had taken her husband off for a wilted bacon sandwich and a cup of very strong coffee while she made the most of some relative peace. Now, Sirius has gone again, promising to return later with Remus and Pete ("but only once things are all clear down the business end, Evans, we don't want to traumatise poor Moony!") and leaving James to continue on his cycle into madness.
She watches his face, and smiles. "James."
"Hmm?" He stops, as if realising for the first time that she is, in fact, in the room too. "Yes, my love?"
"Come and sit down, would you?" she gestures to the chair at her bedside. "You can't keep up this pace or you'll collapse before the baby arrives."
"Wouldn't want to miss it," he concedes, flopping on to the chair and taking her hand. "You okay? Need anything? Water, ice, erm – " He pauses thoughtfully. " – I'm not sure what else you're allowed, to be honest."
"I'm fine," she promises, giving his hand a squeeze. "Don't worry."
He cracks an anxious smile. "Easy for you to say."
"People have been having babies for a very long time," she points out. "Far more daft women than I have managed it. I'll be fine."
"I know you will," he agrees. "I just…want to meet him. Or her."
"Last chance to place your bets, actually," she realises, flinching as another contraction pulses through her. He strokes her hair until she's on the other side of it. "Boy or girl? What do you reckon, Potter?"
He stares thoughtfully at her belly. "I think…girl."
She smiles. "I think boy."
"You just think that because you want to be contrary," he smirks.
"I don't!" she protests. "I genuinely think it's a boy."
"Well," he smiles, and leans in for a soft kiss, "there's only one way to find out."
"Yes…I think the ball is rolling on that one already," she murmurs against his lips.
"Boy or girl, I know they'll be brilliant," he decides. "How could they not be, with your genes?"
She chuckles. "A combination of you and me," she notes. "Pretty good odds of being brilliant."
They share another smile before the door swings open, and they turn to see the Healer. "Right," she says, matter of fact and calm. "Let's see about having a baby, shall we?"