Not since her seventh year at Hogwarts did Lily remember having to cope with such stress; only this time, it wasn't her marks that were in danger -- it was the privacy and safety of the Order of the Phoenix, the lives of those who depended upon it, and James's freedom.
His freedom. . . . The only thing harder than the destruction of the Order for Lily to imagine was James behind bars. He couldn't survive a life like that, Lily knew; as the days passed leading to James's trial, she witnessed his slow, steady deterioration in spirit as hope for his acquital diminished. They had decided to tell the truth: that James had been summoned to the place of Ellen Bones's death and had his memory of her murder erased. There was certainly not enough evidence to prove him innocent; but the key thing was, there didn't seem to be enough evidence to prove him guilty either.
"My hope -- my assumption is that the circumstances which you can relate to the court clearly connotate the fact that someone framed you," Lily told him during one of their many business meetings at the dining room table adjacent to the fire in Godric's Hollow. She searched through her bundle of research parchment and pulled out several specific sheets. "Obviously, this isn't an unusual case. Other forces have used Memory Charms to replace blame in the past; our only disadvantage is the time this happened. The Ministry is looking to bring you down, but if you stick to the truth nothing can go wrong."
During Lily's speech, James only stared at her as he leaned his chin against his arms crossed on the table. He didn't respond. Lily put her papers down.
"Potter, are you listening to me?"
"Yes, I am, actually," James said half-heartedly. "L -- You know, whenever you tell me nothing can go wrong, I actually believe it for a moment."
James was then severely aware of her piercing eyes on his; he'd almost called her Lily again. He realized he was thinking of her as 'Lily' in his mind, now, instead of 'Evans'. Funny. It had taken him so long to get used to that when they'd started dating, and when they'd broken up, his mind had slipped easily back into 'Evans'-mode again. Now, suddenly, her first name was coming to him without thought.
He needed to get away from that green light; he hid his face in his arms. "How many days do I have left?"
"Many," Lily said softly. "They can't put you in Azkaban. I won't let them."
"How many days?" James repeated, looking up. She hesitated, and then --
"Two."
James put his head back down. "I think I watched Ellen Bones die that night," he whispered.
Lily looked away, her tears sudden and unexpected. She swallowed hard and said in a voice stronger than she felt, "Are you remembering something?"
James shook his head. "I don't remember any of it, any of that night."
Well, he remembered the party. He remembered watching Frank and Alice Longbottom dance, and that searing pain in his heart, and going into the kitchen with it -- and then nothing.
Lily was silent and he looked up to see her face stricken with grief.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry," he murmured. She shook her head dismissively.
"No, you need to tell me anything that's on your mind. Even a sliver of memory could help some evidence surface."
"This won't help. Lily, I can't help thinking I could have saved her. If I was with her when she died, I could have -- done something different . . ."
Now it was James's turn to confront tears, of guilt. But he was able to hold them back as Lily reached across the table and took his hand and held it.
~*
Sleep. Sleep was what James needed. He hadn't had a good night's sleep for over a week, and he was exhausted.
Exhausted, but not tired, somehow. Wearing his drawstring sleep pants, James was sitting on the couch in front of the fire in his bedroom, looking into it thoughtfully. His mind was fatigued, his body felt as though it needed to shut down for a few hours in the night, but he couldn't imagine sleeping right now.
Would this be his last night in Godric's Hollow? Would this be the last time he ever felt the warmth of a blazing fire in his room before being shipped of to Azkaban, where he would live in fear and despair for the remainder of his long life?
He was still, thinking . . . despairing. . . . What hope do I have?
The fire seemed to answer -- it flared up briefly into the shape of a woman.
James's mind shifted. Lily. She is my hope.
Lily. He couldn't think of her without his mind swirling into a tumult of confusion. There was no doubt she cared about him; she had done so much for him in the long previous days, it was obvious.
But was there something more than that?
Doubtful. She had broken up with him.
Then James realized that the fire was taking shape again, the same as before, this time clearer -- sure enough, a moment later, Lily herself stepped out of the fireplace, rubbing soot from her eyes.
"Are you doing okay?" Lily asked. James started to nod, but then realized that wouldn't be the truth.
"Stayin' awake."
"No, you're not. Get up, you're going to bed." Lily put her hands out to James. He struggled to stand, and succeeded, but had to lean against her for support.
"Oh! Potter . . ." Lily breathed in surprise. James felt his mind slipping away; somehow it was easier to let go of consciousness now that Lily was here. They walked to his bed and he was vaguely aware of her voice, "Now get undressed. Take off your shirt." But then, his legs bumped into the bed, and he layed down in it, immediately succumbing to the soft cotton sheets.
Lily sighed and removed his shirt herself, then his socks and pants. She took off his glasses, cleaned them, and put them on the nightstand, and put out the fire. Embers remained, casting the slightest glow about the room.
Lily stood next to James's bed, looking at him for a long time. His face was content, almost childlike, as he slept. Her heart hurt for him, feared for him.
Then she turned and started to leave the room, thankful that for the first time since that Christmas party James was at peace, and hoping against hope that that peace would not be disturbed by the events of tomorrow, whatever they would be.
But, after a thought, Lily passed the door and continued to his closet. She opened it, fished around for an old t-shirt behind his work robes and cloaks, and took off her own clothes. She pulled James's shirt over her head, brushed out her hair, and went back and climbed under the covers next to him, curling her arm about his chest, wondering, if he had been awake, what his reaction would have been.
~*
James awoke to a most pleasant feeling: Lily's arm draped across his chest.
He turned his head and looked at her in astonishment. She was still sleeping, her forehead pressed into his shoulder. He looked down and noticed he was only wearing his underwear, and that Lily was wearing one of his shirts.
Amazing. James allowed himself to indulge, just for a moment. His sweetest dreams had come true as he dreamt them.
He felt like lying there forever. He could have spent forever mulling this over in his mind, working out its meaning, but there was no time. He only had forty minutes until his trial.