so scarlet it was maroon
Her breath puffs out into the cold air in a cloud of agony, the arm slung around her shoulders heavier than it should be. She purses her lips until they're bloodless and white, willing back the groan of pain that threatens to spill as the weight she carries slumps further into her left side, aggravating the bruise that has no doubt bloomed around her ribs. Fractured, for sure, but that's a concern she can't allow herself to linger on, not at this moment.
"I'm fine," he tries to rasp, and her stomach clenches painfully at the barely-there strength of his voice.
"Shut up," she whispers, feet dragging over foliage, the sound too loud for her liking, but she hopes—prays, begs—that their enemies can't track where they have apparated to this time. Plus, the Disillusionment charm she'd cast over the both of them a while back still seems to hold, because while she can feel the weight and warmth of James's body against her, he remains practically unseen; just a shimmering outline against the moonless night if one were to deliberately observe from all angles; nothing but a glitch in vision.
"Evans…" His right arm curves inward, the press of his fingertips cold and trembling where they touch the skin above her collarbone. Lily feels the beats behind her ribcage stutter with panic. "Maybe we should stop, just for a little bit."
"Hang on, we're almost there," she tries to reassure, breaths coming out sharper as she tries to recall how much farther the safe-house Sirius had described actually is. If she's landed them at the correct coordinates, they should have at least spotted it by now. Uncertainty sloshing like viscous sludge in her stomach, Lily flits her eyes around the space, desperate, until they land on—
Surely not.
"Come on," she says, hoping against hope that this is the right place and that she's not doomed James Potter to bleed out all over her. Sweat trickling down her brow, Lily fairly drags them to the decrepit-looking abandoned tool shed, the wooden planks holding up its walls all but falling to pieces. It looks barely big enough for one person, but she pulls out her wand, password on the tip of her tongue as her wand curves through the biting air. "Salva Nos."
The emotion that pushes against the walls of her throat threatens to make her cry in relief when a faint glow emanates through the door. Her fingers tighten around James's palm at her shoulder, and she shoves the door inside experimentally with her leg, the shed yawning open into a large space, dusty, stone-walled, and dim, but easily able to host a party of ten.
Thank fuck, she thinks, but habit and caution have her silently casting a Homenum Revelio before she deigns entry past the threshold safe.
The next few minutes pass in a strange sort of blur for Lily—she later thinks of the word auto-pilot, a muggle term she hasn't had to use in years, to describe those moments of murkiness—as she gently settles James down against the furthest wall from the entrance, lifts the Disillusionment, puts up all the protection spells she has in her arsenal on the shed, and produces a Patronus to Sirius. She informs him that they're safe but that someone had betrayed their plan to the Death Eaters, and that she will trust no one but him to come find them in the morning after his own mission if he doesn't hear back from her, since James is in no state to apparate as of now, independently or otherwise.
It's only once she's cast a quick Incendio into the lone fireplace in the room and crouched in front of James's half-awake form that Lily seems to return to herself.
His face is dotted with sweat, complexion ashen, glasses tilted, but what really scares her is his inability to even pretend like he's fine—something she's always taken for granted as a part of his personality. The number of times she has called him arrogant and idiotic over this heroic need to act unhurt floods into her like bitter punch; she'll do anything to see that unfazed smirk now.
"Hey, keep your eyes open, Potter," she whispers harshly, patting at his damp cheek to keep him awake. He groans, pained, but seems to be aware enough to follow her command, hazel eyes blinking open blearily behind smudged lenses. She lets out a heavy breath, almost smiles. "Good. Good, good, keep looking at me, okay?"
"Always. Looking."
She keeps her breathing steady and hands steadier, not allowing herself to read too much into the delirious mutterings as she unbuttons his darkening shirt and gingerly peels aside the fabric from his body. James hisses through his teeth, face scrunched, a vein throbbing at his neck as he pants laboriously. Lily more than understands why; her own insides have recoiled in horror at the sight, bile stinging the back of her throat as she considers how much pain he must be in.
"That bad, huh?"
Her gaze jumps to his, finds him watching her with half-lidded eyes and a dry smile.
"I've seen worse," Lily makes herself say. "Don't take me for an amateur."
James huffs like he knows she's full of shit; she almost wants him to call her out on it, if only to assure her that he's still in his senses, that he can still breathe despite the blood that runs dark and deep down the right side of his abdominals, cutting diagonally in a dangerous gash down to his left hip. She swallows past the ache in her sternum. The fact that he hasn't completely passed out is a miracle to be sure; given his state, he's inordinately lucky they seemed to have missed his vitals.
Lily points her wand to the wound, struggling, for a moment, to decide where to start form. Her hand trembles, and she can't figure out if it's from anger or fear or the blood she's just now noticed coating her own fingertips from when she'd been supporting him.
Stop, she tells herself. Stop. Focus.
"Hey," James whispers, eyes closed, head tilted back against the wall. "It's okay. You won't hurt me."
She takes a moment to absorb the impact of his words, and then grips her wand tighter. "Don't be too sure about that. I haven't yet decided that I'm not mad at you."
"Lily—"
But she's already begun stitching his skin back together, healing spells murmured under breath as her wand flies over his skin with precision. James grits his teeth, his jaw clenched tight enough to shatter, and she tries to hurry along to spare him as much pain as possible. The vile magic lingering in his wounds fights her at every step, reopening the cut in certain spots as she progresses to another. It's like nothing she's ever worked on, and not for the first time, she wishes she was more adept at dealing with dark injuries.
Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, Lily exhales heavily, sitting back on the cold ground and letting her wand clatter to the floor between them.
Her temples throb, arm muscles sore, every inch of her body bone-tired and exhausted.
But she's done it; the wound has been closed to the best of her ability, leaving behind a long but thin, angry scar over his torso. He'll need a Blood Replenishing potion to fully regain his strength, but she's positive any imminent danger on his life has passed.
James had submerged into sleep halfway through the process, and now, as she looks at him, his chest rises and falls with even breaths, expression no longer twisted in pain, lips no longer a terrifying white.
Wetness unexpectedly springs into her eyes, a barrage of emotions catching up to her as she recalls how, when it'd become obvious that the mission they'd been assigned to was doomed from the beginning, with Death Eaters cornering her and James as soon as they'd set foot inside the Crabbe Manor's foyer, and when the first attack had predictably landed on Lily—some dark spell hitting her straight in the ribs—instead of escaping immediately and apparating away like they'd been trained to do, James had—
She glances at him now, once more, and marvels a little—knowing, all the while, that he was incredibly stupid, that she's being incredibly stupid, now—at how he had shouted her name, loud enough to be heard in between the volley of spells and cackles from the Death Eaters, and then all but shoved her behind him, screaming for her to get out.
It had taken her a second to realize what he was saying—to leave him, there, with scum who would no doubt love to tear him to pieces, and run to safety herself—before new anger had flared; at him, at them, at the whole fucking situation. She'd managed to take down three, maybe four—it's hard to recollect now, in the aftermath. Over time, the numbers have blurred in her mind, the fact of it only settling deeper and darker inside her chest—before she'd cleared a path that would lead them right out of the house. And that's what it had happened; James's idiotic bravery leaving his back wide open to a coward's attack.
If she'd only turned around sooner, she could've spotted Flint lurking around the corner, could've immobilised, or at least, disarmed him faster. Instead, she'd instinctually shouted James's name, fear freezing her limbs like she'd never experienced, and watched him turn around at the call and take the full force of the spell to his front.
Of course, she'd gotten them out of there, somehow—though, she doesn't think she can give the exact details of the escape anymore, not with how adrenaline and panic had been powering her actions throughout. She remembers stunning Flint and cursing him with a hex for good measure, though Merlin knew she'd wanted to do worse, a fact that has goosebumps rising against her arms presently despite the warmth still trickling out of the fireplace.
The first place she'd apparated them to—an old house near Laburnum Gardens that used to be the Order headquarters a few months back, before Moody had decided they had to keep moving if they didn't want to end up dead meat—had been tracked in no time.
Lily has no idea how. Perhaps the Death Eaters had discovered the place eventually and put up spells to inform them if someone were to appear there. The ensuing terror had practically choked up her throat like a thorned vine squeezing her windpipe.
James, even through his rapidly deteriorating condition, had taken down two of the five death eaters while she'd fought off the rest.
But the blood soaking through his shirt had darkened enough by then that Lily had known she could only chance one more side-along with him—a mad risky one at that—if she wanted him to live. And though her insides had shrieked with hysteria, she'd walked towards James, one hand reaching out to grasp his, rope his arm around her shoulders, and think of the most unused safe-house she could, one where even most of the Order members couldn't track them.
And then she'd spun on her feet, landing them to safety.
At least a temporary one.
Lily sighs again, wincing mildly at the ache in her chest, but the thought of performing more healing magic invites fatigue into her entire being, so she simply scoots against the floor, twisting around and leaning back against the wall a few feet away from James.
The firelight dances over the angles of his face, the days' old stubble over his jaw. His head lolls gently to the side, and she bites the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. But who's looking, really? So she smiles, shifts closer, and carefully slips a hand around his chin, guiding his head to rest on her shoulder. His hair sticks to his forehead with sweat, and she brushes away the strands even as something akin to heartbreak twinges inside the muscles of her chest.
She hopes he recovers soon. She doesn't fancy fighting off another hoard of Death Eaters alone right about now.
Lily wakes up to the pain of her lungs compressing tightly, a gasp tearing past her lips, eyes flying open wide, watering, fingers scrambling.
"Stop, stop, stop, don't move!"
That's James. His face swims into view, a deep frown and a determined set to his jaw as he looms above her. She realizes she's lying horizontal on the floor, the cold seeping into her back through clothes. The space around them remains dim, orange light still glittering softly, which must mean it hasn't been all that long since she'd dozed off next to him against the wall.
"I'm going to lift your shirt," he tells her, as if she'll stop him, as if it doesn't hurt just to breathe. She grinds her teeth and cuts a sharp nod. His fingers are warm as they grip around her top and tug upwards—gentle but quick—and Lily notices, through the tears in her eyes, as he grimaces at the sight. "Merlin, Evans, couldn't think of healing yourself first, could you?"
There are a lot of things she wants to say to him at that, but all she manages is, "Fuck you."
"Would've been better if you weren't awake for this part," James mutters, almost under his breath, and glances at her, once, eyes clear and worried. "Hold tight, this will hurt."
She clenches her hands into fists, clamps her mouth shut, and nods again.
The pain is ridiculous as it concentrates on her ribs. This has to be worse than just some fracture, Lily thinks, eyes squeezing tight, a cry clambering up her throat but dying before she lets it out. She breathes hard, sees agonized colours burst behind her lids, and counts nonsensically in her head while James works to fix whatever is wrong with her.
Minutes pass—hours, years, it feels like—before the throbbing subsides.
Her lips part to an intake of cool air, and she stares up at the stone ceiling dazedly.
"It's okay, it's done," James whispers, fingers splaying softly over the bare skin of her midriff to reassure her with the touch. She's grateful for it, but suddenly feels scalded by the contact. He must sense her abrupt stiffness, for he sighs heavily, smoothing down her top before helping her sit up against the wall again.
"It was slow magic," he explains, kneeling before her, gaze caught on her lap. "Spreading to your lungs and cutting off your air supply."
"Wonderful."
His eyes find hers then, a wry smile curling over his lips. "Alright?"
"Having the time of my life, why do you ask?"
"Never a simple answer from you," he says, but he sounds not at all displeased by it. Lily finds it challenging to keep holding his stare, especially as the light in the hazels grows sincere. "Thank you."
She shakes her head. "We're even."
"No," insists James, reaching out, slow, and letting the pad of his thumb brush against her cheek. She thinks the spell might still be affecting her for how difficult it becomes to pull in air. "No, we're not. I'm sorry."
"You don't need to apologize," she makes herself say, stomach churning as she holds his wrist, pulls it down so that he's not touching her face anymore. She watches him swallow, watches the hurt that flashes over his eyes, and thinks him the cruellest person she knows. "Just don't be so keen to shove me away from the fight next time. I can handle myself."
"I know that. Of course, I do. But they got you with that spell and I—" He stops, breathes sharply through his nose, and then takes a moment to rub at his eyes wearily under his glasses. "That's not what this is about, Lily."
"No?" Her heart thrums. "What's it about then? I can't think of anything else you need to apologise to me for."
He gives her a look. "Stop it."
She scoffs. "Stop what? I don't understand you. I've stayed away. What more do you want?"
"I've never asked you to stay away. I've never wanted that!"
"Come off it, I'm not blind," she snarls, despite her every attempt to act nonchalant. "Everyone in the fucking Order can tell how weirdly you've been acting the past few weeks. You won't talk to me, you won't look at me. For Merlin's sake, James, you asked Moody to not pair you with me for missions."
"How—" His lips part, eyes widening. "How do you know about that?"
"Does it matter?" She asks, and fuck, she hates that her voice is losing its edge now, morphing into hurt instead of the anger from a few seconds ago. "You could've just said—so that I didn't look like a fucking fool in—" she gasps to a stop, redirects: "I deserved more than that. I thought we were mates. Best mates, even."
"And that's why I couldn't—" He seems to war with himself, fingers carding roughly through hair. A second of silence ticks by, and he looks at her, hard. "I didn't want to hurt you."
Lily shakes her head, realizes there's a tear trickling down her cheek. "I'm so confused. What happened? I thought… for a second there, I really thought—" she swipes at her face, "but was it really that awful being around me? What did I do?!"
"Nothing!" James groans, and reaches out to clutch at her hands, grip tight. This time, she doesn't have the strength to push him away. "Nothing, Lily. It wasn't you. You were—you are perfect."
"Stop. Please just stop saying things like that when you have no intention to…"
He blinks, waits for her to finish what she's saying, but she can't. Face flaming, heart on her tongue, the one time she wishes he would interrupt her with his own frustrations, he remains quiet, eyes clearing, slowly but surely.
"Intention to what, Evans?"
"Fuck you, seriously," she spits, because he must know.
He keeps watching, patient. The air around them stings her skin with charge, and she glares, unspeaking.
His hand skims higher, finds the pulse on her wrist. "Intention to what?"
"Think it's time we leave, Potter," Lily says, leaning back to put some modicum of distance between them. "I'm fine now, and I think you should be okay to apparate—"
"Bloody hell, if I'm wrong about this…"
She frowns, confused if he's talking to her or if she's heard him right or if he was even listening to her at all, when suddenly, with a purposeful, blazing sort of glint in his eyes, James gives a sharp tug on her wrist, pulling her right against the warmth of his chest, his nose skimming hers with the movement.
There's a thundering behind her rib-cage as she mutters, "What—"
"No," he whispers, swallows visibly. "I don't think I'm wrong about this."
And then his lips are on hers.
The first slide of his mouth is gentle, warm, overly cautious, and it liquefies her very bones with the feelings it invokes in her. Oh, she thinks, brows pinching, free hand rising to the nape of his neck. His skin is burning under her fingers, and she's glad she's not the only one in this torture. The second kiss is hers, face leaning forward as he considers pulling back. She makes to shift for a better position, and in that second in between, James breaks away to pant, "Was I—"
"No," she says instantly, laughs a little, probably delirious. "Not fucking wrong."
But when she tries to resume the kiss, he keeps her away with a soft pressure against her jaw, other hand still brushing soothingly at her wrist.
"Good," he whispers, too seriously for how weightless she feels right then. His chest expands with a breath that looks difficult. "Because I'm in love with you, Lily Evans."
Her fingers slip down to his shoulders, mouth falling ajar. "What?"
Oh God, Lily thinks. How's she meant to go on in life?
"I love you," he repeats, firmer this time, though by no means any less vulnerable. His eyes remain on her, assessing. "And I'm sorry—so fucking sorry for making you think me distancing myself from you had anything to do with you at all, when it was just me and my fear of fucking everything up. Which, I suppose I went and did anyway."
She licks her lips, mind whirring. All these days, worrying about what had gone wrong…
"So you were not mad at me? You didn't hate me?"
"Never," he implores. His knuckles rise up to brush against her neck. "I couldn't do that if I tried, honestly. I was just—I couldn't bear being in the same room as you and continue pretending to be your mate without wanting more. And I thought I could live with it because there's nothing that made me happier than being around you. But nothing more painful either. I was out of focus during missions with you, and you wouldn't even realize it, because you're always so fucking brilliant. But I knew it was only a matter of time before my carelessness got us into some mess, and I couldn't—I couldn't live with myself if that happened."
Clarity has her frown clearing. "So you asked Moody to not pair you with me."
"Yes," James sighs. "Though, evidently, he didn't give two fucks about my request."
"You could've just told me, you know? It's not like I would've hated you."
"Not that simple, is it?"
Lily considers that, considers all the moments she could've said the words, too, but never let herself. Fear—so irrational, so stupid—so gripping. "No, I suppose not."
"I'm sorry," he repeats, head falling to gently lean against her sternum. Surely, he must hear how her heart rattles inside. "I don't expect you to forgive me completely, or even want anything to do with me at this point, but… I don't want you to go on thinking that I hate you."
She almost wants to laugh then, wants to shove his shoulder and ask what the fuck he means by even want anything to do with me when she's practically tripping over spaces to all but sit on his lap. Instead, she bites her lip, threads fingers through the mess of his dark hair, and says, "James?"
He looks up, seemingly steeling himself against her response. "Yeah?"
"You're a bloody idiot," Lily smiles; smiles brighter than she ever has in her life as she leans down to whisper the words against his lips. "I've been in love with you since we were seventeen."
His hands fly to her waist as he tries to reel back with a muffled, "What?! That's two—"
But she simply tugs on his lips with her teeth in admonishment, and breaks away for long enough to say, "Shut up. Kiss me."
The grin that blooms on his mouth, then, is more than a little awed, and Lily finds herself sighing heatedly when he cups her face, tilts it for a better angle, and kisses her like he wants to empty all the emotions he's ever felt into that single contact. She slips her tongue along the seam of his lips, desire bubbling in her stomach when James groans, deep, the warmth of his mouth a taste so addicting that she knows she will never recover from it.
His right palm slides down her sides and hips in maddening strokes, and sneaks up the hem of her shirt to paint a path from her stomach to her back, resting flat against her spine. She thinks his touch might be branding her skin, the way it burns her very core, but it only seems to propel her want, lips and fingers and sense scrambling like they don't know how to get more, do more.
James's other hand snakes down to the curve of her arse, the sensation of it delicious enough to send her muscles clenching, and uses the pressure there to slide her forward, more comfortably onto his lap. Lost as she is in letting him do whatever the fuck he pleases with her, it's only when her fingertips are skimming down the hard muscles of his shoulders that Lily notices a different kind of tension knotting up the side of his neck.
"Shit," she curses, pulling away with a harsh exhale, and proceeds to release a few more expletives as James watches on with swollen lips, crazed hair, and dilated pupils. "What the fuck is wrong with me? We need to get you to a healer."
"What? No, Lily, stop—" he tries to prevent her from wriggling away, but can't entirely mask the grimace that pulls at his expression at the jerky movements. "I'm fine—"
"Don't say you're fine, look at your damn face," she huffs, red-cheeked, and already clambering to her feet. The after-effect of the spell on her has left behind a dull squeeze around her left lung; perhaps she ought to get that looked at, too. Merlin, the things emotionally-rife confessions and a bit of snogging made you forget. "Stop looking like that. Sirius is going to come and find us if he doesn't hear from me by morning anyway."
He looks at her hopefully. "Well, there's several hours until then."
"James," she laughs, and wants to smack him over the head. "Don't even try. If you start bleeding again after I spent so much time and effort into healing you, I am going to murder you."
"Okay, but does this murder happen before or after we snog some more?"
She works hard to keep her stare unimpressed.
"Oh, fine," he eventually relents, letting her help him onto his feet. Lily frowns when he teeters a little unsteadily, but he simply beams, taking the chance to wrap an arm around her waist and press his lips to hers. "Look at you, so worried about me. I fucking love you."
She rolls her eyes, wants to hate how her pulse flutters.
"Is this how you're going to be from now on? Bloody unbearable." But then, as she pulls out her wand and gets ready to apparate, can't help but add, "Yeah, okay, I love you too."
They disappear to the sound of his warm laughter.
A/N - Thank you for reading! Find me on Tumblr at maraudersftw. And as always, please leave some lovely reviews xx
