Disclaimer & A/N: Not mine, not mine, not mine. Chiho Saito/J. K. Rowling. If you'd like to read the story I'm basing this off of, check out Chiho Saito's "Love Stories" comics, volumes 4 & 5. (4 for Cupid's Egg, 5 for Cupid's Night)
I know it's been a while…a long while…and actually, I wanted to write more for this chapter but I've decided to push certain things to Chapter 5. I'll try and post somewhat regularly before I take off for vacation at the end of July. I'm so sorry about the delay…it's been horribly busy. Okay, so that's not really an excuse. But I just haven't felt compelled to write anything of late (hated everything I wrote for a while there…I might decide to dislike this, too, in time). I wonder if anybody is still reading this? I must say, though, I really appreciated all the reviews during this expansive non-writing period. Without them, I probably would have just given up and let this fic join all the rest in incomplete-oblivion.
I wrote this from more of a Lily-perspective because…well, because I didn't want her to come off as a complete spoiled brat, which is what she seemed to be leaning toward in the first couple chapters. So, yes, hence the title.
I had always been planning to write a prequel for this (the original Chiho Saito story had a prequel), and so I started posting Cupid's Night because I was stumped for this chapter of Cupid's Egg. Dunno how anyone will react to its ending, but I liked the comic when I read it so….yeah. More later. :)
Chapter 4: A Lily Interlude
The wedding is coming, the wedding is coming, the wedding is coming!!
Lily found herself taken by pre-wedding jitters, if that was at all possible. She'd tried to think of the wedding as a business agreement but…who was she trying to fool?? She was getting married! She remembered the times she and Petunia would dress up in their mother's long skirts, weaving flowers from Mrs. Holcombe's garden into their hair. (Mrs. Holcombe, the cantankerous old woman next door, had chased them out of her yard.) Taking turns to catch the stolen bouquet (an old feather-duster Mrs. Holcombe had brandished at them, before they'd locked her in her own garage)…
She sighed with nostalgia; then groaned as she waded into her magically expanded wardrobe, which was a disgrace as far as organization went. The house-elves had been doing their job valiantly, but Lily had been searching for the past half hour for her robes and, thus, articles of clothing were now strewn every which way. Where're my green robes??
The Parkinsons' was to be the last engagement party she and James would attend before the wedding. Thank Merlin! She was getting sick of all of the events they had to attend—in part because of Terrence's place at the top of Defense and also in part because James was pureblooded heir to the Potter fortune—and could really do with a rest.
James had been given the promotion he'd wanted and deserved, which meant an increase in his workload; Terrence still hadn't completely recovered and was only working part-time, and insisted that Lily do the same because of her "condition," which meant that James had to take on a lot more than his fair share of work. Lately he'd been looking more tired than usual, Lily noticed, with a twinge of remorse. It was her fault…but what could she do?
Terrence insisted on keeping the pregnancy a secret until the wedding. Lily wasn't sure why, but chalked it up to more of Terrence's old-fashioned ideas. Luckily, her condition didn't show much what with her tall, slender frame and the miracles of slimming robe design. She hoped this would last at least until after the wedding—which was approaching in a couple weeks' time—or else she'd never fit into any of the new robes that had been purchased for the occasion.
Tonight, Lily had wanted to look her best (since they'd be attending a party at the Parkinsons'), but decided that would be setting her sights too high. She felt as though she had just been run over multiple times by a steam-roller. A number of highly ranked Ministry officials would be at the gathering, as well as certain members of the pureblood elite, including the Malfoys and Lestranges. Lily didn't know Bellatrix Lestrange or Narcissa Malfoy too well, but she'd seen them look down their noses at people often enough and didn't feel like being the one looked down upon, tonight.
"A-HA—ARGH!" She pulled out a set of slightly wrinkled, sea-green robes and crowed ecstatically to herself as she waved them in the air a few times. Then she choked from all the dust.
Sniffling a little, she cast a few charms to clean and straighten the wrinkles away. Slipping them on, she wondered vaguely when James would be arriving.
A small popping noise answered that question soon enough.
"Miss! Miss!" squeaked the house-elf, hopping from foot to foot in agitation. "James Potter is here, Miss!"
"All right," Lily called, casting a few more spells and giving herself a final once-over in the mirror. She looked all right. "Tell him I'm coming down."
Another pop, and the house-elf was gone.
Lily grabbed her wand and her handbag and left as well.
James was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, running a hand absently through his hair. Lily took the moment to look him up and down and felt absurdly pleased to see him not only dressed so formally but also holding a pale cluster of starflowers in his hands. As she reached the bottom, he held them out to her, his mouth twisted into a familiar lopsided half-smile. Her heart skipped a beat as she took them, though she made sure her features were schooled into their usual polite expression.
"Thank you." She couldn't help smiling as she tucked a few into her hair.
James shrugged and looked away, and she turned so he could help her into her cloak. If she hadn't been so busy adjusting the cloak, she might have noticed him blushing slightly. The color deepened as she pinned a few on his robes, boutonniere-style.
They arrived at the Parkinsons' castle more or less on time and were divested of their cloaks and directed through the hall. The hum of voices and music could be heard and as they entered the room, Lily gasped slightly at the sight of hundreds of glowing lights floating about. On closer inspection, they turned out to be tiny creatures—fairies?—clothed in weak colored light and trapped within near-transparent bubbles made to levitate at random above the guests' heads. Many of them looked heavily sedated, while a select few seemed to be struggling to get out. Lily clutched James' arm in horror as she watched a nasty-looking house-elf materialize in a corner and prod at one of the bubbles with his finger…every prod seemed to cause the creature inside excruciating pain…
They shed a beautiful colored light on the room, though.
James put a hand over hers as he pulled her firmly into the room, and she was reassured somewhat by his warm, steady grip. The two of them were immediately pounced upon by the host and hostess, who had just been ingratiating themselves with the Malfoys, by the looks of it. Lucius and Narcissa looked as bored and haughty as ever, as they reclined on one side of the table. The barest inclination of heads to acknowledge James' presence; that was all they volunteered.
The music temporarily ceased as the guests took their places at the table; the usual congratulatory toasts were made and then everyone sat down to the meal.
Lily and James were seated by the Parkinsons, of course, and surrounded by a motley assortment of guests: the elderly Boneses, a tottering Mr. Whisp, a bulky Mr. Volkov, and the young Malfoy couple. The table stretched down the room and as the wizards and witches sat down, food appeared on their plates and wine in their goblets. Introductions were given and surreptitious glances at place-cards were cast; and as the courses progressed, the conversations began.
"Jolly good tofu," commented Mr. Whisp loudly to Mr. Volkov, who sat next to him. He wiped his bald head with a stiff white handkerchief as he took another large bite. "You'd never know it isn't meat. Excellent."
"Yes, vell done," agreed Mr. Volkov, although he knew it was really meat, not tofu, and probably of some endangered species. Actually, it tasted like augurey to him. He had already inhaled a helping and was starting on a second, which had immediately appeared on his plate. A Beater needed his strength, after all, endangered species or no.
"I say," Mr. Whisp continued loudly. "Why isn't anyone talking?"
Mr. Whisp had been quite deaf for decades, but people respected him too much for his contribution to literature to ever complain. Several people at the table turned to look at him with raised eyebrows and the hum of conversation faltered.
Sensing social strife, Mrs. Parkinson rose to the occasion—literally as well as figuratively, her ample bosom swelling in its fabric—by casting a quick de-amplifying spell on Mr. Whisp.
"Well, then," she said with false cheer. Her pug nose wrinkled slightly in distaste. She turned to Lily, who was sitting on her right. "Are you enjoying the food, Miss Evans?"
"Yes, thank you," Lily managed demurely. A wave of sickness was washing over her at the sight and smell of the meat, and she barely managed to keep her expression neutral as she sipped her water. She suddenly felt very, very tired.
There was an awkward pause.
"And when are you expecting the new arrival?" asked Mrs. Bones, in an attempt to be friendly. Lily jumped and looked up, alarmed, before she realized that Mrs. Bones was talking to Narcissa Malfoy, who was very publicly pregnant in maternity robes of the latest design. Lily quickly looked around to see if anyone noticed her shock, but everyone's eyes were riveted on the Malfoys. She felt James' hand clasp hers reassuringly under the table, as though he knew what she was feeling, and looked up in surprise. He was drinking from his goblet and didn't make eye contact with her. All the same, she felt comforted, and took up her fork once more, giving his hand an answering squeeze.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Malfoy looked too affronted by Mrs. Bones' question to answer. Mr. Malfoy stepped in calmly, answering in barely civil tones, "If we had wanted to broadcast the date, Mrs. Bones, we would have made an announcement in the Daily Prophet."
Mrs. Bones, rebuked, turned back to her plate. Mr. Bones looked insulted and sputtered a few times before his wife put a restraining hand on his arm. He subsided but continued to throw the Malfoys some very dirty looks all through the rest of the meal.
Mr. Whisp had returned to his meat and was clumsily cutting it into tiny pieces. Volkov was still wolfing down his nth helping, but at a somewhat reduced rate. How does he do that?? wondered Lily, uncertain as to whether she should be appalled or amazed.
"Since we're speaking of the Daily Prophet," said Mr. Parkinson, a gleam of something in his eyes, "I saw a most…interesting…article the other day about Dark Force Defense. Seems there was another attack in Manchester but no one apprehended for it and no clues as to who could have done it."
"There have been rumors that the recent change in administration is to account for it," Mr. Malfoy stated, his cold gaze sweeping from Lily to James and back again. "I believe Mr. Potter has quite taken charge of affairs in the Defense league?" His eyes seemed to bore into Lily.
Lily, shocked, wasn't quite sure of what to say. "I—"
"If we wanted everyone to know about it, we would have posted a notice in the Daily Prophet," said James wryly, touching his napkin to his lips. "I wasn't aware that the shuffling of administrative positions in Defense was something you concerned yourself with, Mr. Malfoy." His hazel eyes glimmered dangerously at both the Parkinsons and the Malfoys across the table. He took a sip from his goblet again, and Lily noticed that his hand was perfectly steady. She clasped his other hand under the table, wishing she could help somehow.
"Of course I'm concerned," Malfoy returned, a little sharply. "I have a family at risk here, as well. The Ministry is overtaxed as it is. If we cannot rest assured that we are safe in our beds at night, then I hold Defense responsible."
"You might still take your concerns to the Ministry, your influence certainly—" burst out Mr. Bones. He sputtered a few times, again, and Lily exchanged a sympathetic look with his wife.
"Ah, yes, your—family—" James went on as though Mr. Bones hadn't spoken, his eyes going mockingly to Narcissa Malfoy's abdomen and returned to Lucius' face. "—is at risk, you say. Excuse my directness and ignorance, but who, and what, exactly, do you believe your family is at risk from?"
Mrs. Bones gasped audibly before clamping a hand over her mouth. Even Volkov stopped guzzling his wine for half a second, glancing at James as though he'd just noticed his presence at the table, before returning to his food with a shrug.
Malfoy looked incensed, finally. But Mrs. Parkinson, not wanting a commotion at her home, once again interrupted a tense situation. "Is everyone ready for dessert?"
The plates were cleared abruptly and a variety of desserts appeared. Lily could feel the bile rising in her throat as she stared at the blanc mange. It was quivering, as though it were alive. Or was she imagining things?
"Did someone say something?" Mr. Whisp blinked confusedly.
"I vasn't done," complained Volkov, with a dark scowl.
"Pity," muttered James. He pulled his hand away from Lily's and took up his fork.
The rest of the meal went in smooth, if tense, silence.
Both of them were very quiet during the car-ride home. They had decided on Muggle conveyances for the time being, telling their friends they thought them quaint and romantic when actually Lily wasn't up to apparating and floo was out of the question in formal, or even semi-formal, attire.
James was leaning his head tiredly against the window as the car bumped down the streets. Lily took the moment to watch him unobserved as she mulled over the evening's events. She yawned silently and wondered at the intense look on his face as he had spoken, glad she had been with him and that she would be marrying him and not someone like Mr. Parkinson or even that strange Volkov character who had eaten about eight helpings. Of course, it was just a marriage in name; but all the same…
They said their goodnights quietly. Before James could apparate home, though, and before she ran up the stairs to her room, Lily looked him directly in the eyes, tugged his head down to her level, and kissed him softly. Before he could react, she let go and hurried away.
That night as she prepared for bed, she thought about everything that had happened in the past couple of months. Finding out she was pregnant, hearing the news of her baby's father's death, seeing James in the Leaky Cauldron.
Incredible, she thought, as she remembered his lopsided grin. At least he didn't recognize me.
As she turned down the covers and got into bed, she was once again plagued by worries, as she had been since all of this had begun. Was she ready for this baby? And what about the threat of Voldemort? Defense had been receiving threatening letters again; she had rerouted most of the post directed to Curruthers' office to be delivered to their home so she could at least take correspondence off James' hands. The situation was escalating and she couldn't very well sit back and let things continue the way they were. What should she do?
But as Lily's eyes drifted shut and she felt herself fall under sleep's heavy hand, all she could really recall were pale clusters of starflowers, and the feeling of James' hand clasping hers under the table.