Author's note: 2 updates in a day! Yay! (Yes, someone had nothing to do today...sigh) This chapter didn't end up quite the way I had originally planned for it to, although about half way through it I decided where it was I wanted to head with it. And I believe I accomplished that, although I wanted to add more. But I was thinking let's not overplay the moment. I also decided that I'm not going to do it in Lily's POV simply because I want James' opinion of her to show through, and not her opinion of the world around her. Ok, that was a lame description of what I want to do, but hopefully the writing will get it across!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not owned by Percephone. If you are looking for the master, try JK Rowling.
NJ MacReiley - Thank you, you Helpless Romantic. Really trying my best to give Lily a dimension. Hope you are happy with this update!
Nora17- Your review was lovely. I loved your "...this one's actually great!" It made me laugh. And blush. So thanks! You made me feel all special.
xcfsdafasf - Glad you enjoy!
Lia Mac'Kuttler - I like that Mrs Potter reminded you of someone close. Does she still remind you of her now?
Doomonastick - Thanks. I am working...working on seeing whether or not this will remain a short story or actually become one of those 60 chapter stories (haha not!)
To all who read but don't review - Thanks for reading. Should you ever feel slightly compelled to write a review, know that I will gladly read it and respond.
Chapter 4 - Meddling
He could only remember one other time he had ever run so fast, and then, he was convinced that he had actually outrun that time. Snape, such a fool to believe Sirius…Who in the world trusts their sworn enemies anyway? All thoughts of the incident James and company referred to as "The Incident" were thrust from his mind as his legs carried him through the back door, through the kitchen, the dinning room, into the hall only the house elves used, up into that secret passageway his mother was convinced he knew nothing about, up the stairs hidden behind the large portrait of some modern art (which, despite looking like a paint bucket had been dumped over a large canvas, actually suited the secretive feel of this corner of the house), down to the other end of the long corridor and in through the large oak doors of his mother's bedroom. She was there, mouth agape in silent agony, rolling on the floor.
"MUM!" it escaped his lips before he had time to think about speaking. He found himself kneeling beside her, placing his hand in her withered grasp, using his free hand to stroke her forehead. She had done things like this before, rolled off her bed onto the plush purple carpet, rolling on the floor unaware of his presence. The pain she'd feel at times like these were enough to not only blind her, but to cut off any other senses she may have, for afterwards, she would always fall asleep and James would place her back between her blankets, smoothing out the crinkles that showed any trace of a struggle, and she would wake up the next day oblivious that James had indeed witnessed her episodes. She made as though there was no pain, no hurt the next day, as though she was still his cheerful, strong mother instead of the emaciating, frail, insecure old witch she had actually transformed into since the appearance of her sickness. Of course, being the perfect son his mother professed him to be, he also ignored what he knew, casually stuffing it into the far reaches of his mind, unbeknownst to him at this time that it was actually slowly creeping, seeping into his veins, turning him into an introverted, worry-stricken young adolescent whose natural personality would actually have him be extroverted, carefree, mischievous, as he was at school.
His mother zapped him. She never meant to, as her magic was a bit out of hand at this point (which is also why she refrained from performing any spells whenever James was around, even if it meant he was breaking the law. Besides, she still had a strong influence over the Ministry's minions and James had been regarded as "of age" ever since his father had died). The young Potter quickly drew his hand out of hers, slightly backing away as he made himself comfortable sitting on his behind. He gathered his knees with his arms, letting his hands hang loosely clasped together over top of his knees.
"Is she going to be alright?" James jumped. He'd forgotten about Lily. Well, not really, he had just not expected her to be able to keep up with him. Note to self: you underestimate Lily. He felt a bit guilty for having done so, but, seeing as how her breathing was still untameable, he realised that she had just gotten there.
James nodded slightly as she sat down next to him, with his eyes still on his mother, ensuring that her head was far away from anything that may harm it, and that anything that may cause her harm was carefully locked away. He had had the idea of placing everything remotely dangerous (like sharp pointy statuettes and whatnot) in a locked cupboard as one time, his mother's magic had nearly stabbed his baby toe. He was snapped out of his trance when he heard Lily's breathing slow, but it wasn't that that had caught his attention, it was her snuffling.
"You're crying," he said. Obviously she's crying, fool! "She's alright, you know, she'll get through it. She's done this loads of times – " Something about what he said made her cry even more. Inwardly James cursed himself for having thought, merely minutes beforehand, that he preferred a sad Lily to an angry Lily. But now that he had no clue as to why she was crying, and he had no clue as to how to comfort her (his feeble attempts had proven to draw more sobs from her), he concluded that he preferred a smiling, laughing Lily and a calm Lily, then an angry Lily, and a sad Lily came in last place. Way last place.
"I'm sorry," she whispered after a few moments of soundless cries, during which Gwendolyn's mouth sporadically moved up and down, her eyes tightly shut, and her chest heaving under the pressures of gravity. "It's just, this is exactly how I pictured my mom's death, her slipping off her bed in the dead of the night to be found later the next morning by my sister." James had officially never felt more uncomfortable in his life. What was it she expected him to respond to that? He searched his mind, every dark corner for anything, and when nothing came of his query, he cursed girls for making the oddest comments at the most weirdest times, causing the boys who sat beside them to sweat for fear of not being able to live up to their twisted expectations.
Instinctively, throwing his caution to the wind, James reached out with his far hand and placed her head on his shoulders, meanwhile wrapping his right arm around her shoulders, rubbing them gently as she buried her head in his shoulder. Had it been any other time, he would have laughed at this sight. But the seriousness of it all had abruptly cut off any sign of amusement. He sighed. Lily cried some more, but she had closed her eyes and seemed able to face whatever inner demons she had surfacing. He finally took his mother's hand, confident that she was sleeping now, and not in her trance, and pondered the situation. He felt much calmer than he had before, much more comfortable despite the fact that his mother was passed out on the floor and that Lily Evans was silently weeping on his shirt. He was neither anxious, frightened, nor worried. Somehow, he felt that something had lifted off his shoulders, not an entire responsibility, but his duty to keep these regular occurrences (minus the Lily crying thing) completely his own. He found comfort in comforting Lily (Does that makes sense?) and in his peaceful mother.
A while passed before James realised any time had gone by at all, and it was only the threat of growling his stomach posed that had lifted him from his reverie. Lily had stopped crying, though her eyes were still red and puffy, her nose still looked as though a river might flow from it, and dried tears plastered her face, yet despite all this, she looked…soothed. Slowly, she raised her head from James' shoulder and looked at him, though she avoided his eyes. "Are you hungry?" he asked. She looked about ready to say no, but something (the growling of his stomach, perhaps?) changed her mind and she nodded. Taking his cue, James untangled his mother from the heap of covers of her bed, placed them back on her king sized mattress, leaving one side of the blankets folded to allow room for him to slip his mother in. Picking her up from the rug, he laid her softly in her place, covering her with the blankets, once again smoothing out the crinkles. He looked down at her white hair, the wrinkles on her forehead, the lines at the corner of her eyes that became much more prominent when she smiled, her thinning lips, and realised for the first time that his mother looked so much happier when sleeping. He figured it was her dream, but something about the peacefulness of her face made her look much more genuine than her smiles she directed at him whenever he spoke to her, hugged her, or just walked into the room.
Lily stood, obviously waiting for him to stop staring at his mother. He complied with her silent wishes, and together they exited the quiet room, breaking free of the aura of it all. Not that it felt gloomy or anything, it was simply…different, almost as though the air in the hallway was fresher than the air of the master bedroom.
They ate leftover turkey in silence. James was fine with that. He wasn't in much of a mood to talk, although he realised that he had been about to tell Lily something before his mother had screamed. He dismissed the idea of telling her now, however, as right now, going into a description of how happy it made him to finally get to know Lily (and vice versa) seemed thoroughly inappropriate. Besides, he was drained of all energy and he wanted nothing more than to take off his socks and crawl under his bed sheets, undoubtedly sleeping away the imagery of his mother, locking it into the confines of his memory never to be bothered with again. As they climbed up the front stairs, Lily, again in the lead, stopped, again, and turned to speak to him.
"I don't want to sleep alone tonight." He was shocked. Lily Evans was in an odd way asking him to accompany her to bed. Or was she? Girls! They were so weird sometimes. Once again, James found himself fruitlessly searching for something to respond with. She stood staring at him, meeting his eyes with a stern look on her face. James made a second mental note this night: 'look' does not have to be spoken to mean business, but can be replaced by the 'look' on her face.
"We could sleep in the lounge? On the sofas?" Her eyes told him he was being inconsiderate, so he waited for her to speak.
"What about your mother's room?" She seemed relieved that he had allowed her input on the matter. "She might need you again tonight. I saw a couch that I could sleep on, you can sleep in your mother's bed." James agreed for the sake of agreeing, though he didn't much like the suggestion, not at all actually. His mother would be fine. The episodes only came once to four times a week, not a night. He'd much rather sleep But she wouldn't understand. James tried to look at it from her perspective and reasoned the following: Lily's mother died alone. She probably did not wish for his mother to die alone either, but she wouldn't die tonight, James knew this. She was too strong and besides, no one had announced to her that James was ready to say farewell. The truth was that in reality, James wasn't quite sure he was ready to let his mother go, even if it did mean more sufferance for her.
Once Lily's bed had been set up on the couch (what with fluffy pillows, extravagantly expensive bed sheets and a cover), James made his way to his mother's bed. He hesitated. His father had slept on this side of the bed, and the last memory James had of his father was of him laying here, his mother beside him and James on the other side, holding back his sobbing whilst trying to stay strong for his mother. Not such a good thing to place in your head before you fall asleep, James reasoned, and found himself throwing all his attention on Lily. She was most likely already sleeping by now. Crying did have that effect. He knew that the last time he had cried the way she did, his head had throbbed with the most unbearable pain, something had blocked off his chest, like a lead weight settling in just to annoy him. His arms had also gone weak, as had his legs, and his eyes…he had barely been able to keep them open.
…Much like now…slowly, his eyes closed and gradually, a wave of welcomed darkness took over, sending James off to dream land.
Stirring from Lily's couch abruptly broke his sleep. Light was finding cracks between the curtains to slip through, though no one's face was in their path. Reaching over, James picked up his glasses off the nightstand and looked in Lily's direction. She smiled weekly at him, eyes still having a difficult time adjusting to the morning. She looked better than she did last night, all rested and all. She looked refreshed.
He smiled back at her, a sort of good morning smile he used whenever he didn't feel his voice could handle whispering. At this, her smile grew wider.
"James?" James shoulders shook. Lily hadn't said that, his mother had. That meant Mrs Potter was awake. That meant… "Honey, why did you two come in here so early? Let your ol' mum sleep a while, it's still dreadfully early…" she was mumbling. She was a morning mumbler. Always had been, always will be. In fact, it is possible that James inherited this trait from her, but this very morning, who could tell? He was mute.
Lily decided to stand and walk over to his mother's side of the bed. Please don't say anything, Lily, don't say a thing! In his mind, James pretended he was sending her brain messages or something, imagining his words floating out of the top of his head into her ears. When she opened her mouth, James swore he'd take on the study of legilimency and occlumency.
"Mrs Potter, are you feeling better?" she had a worried look on her face, the sort of look a mother gives a child when he has a fever.
"Yes, Lily dear, why ever wouldn't I be?" His mother looked confused. "James, why wouldn't I be fine?" she directed an accusing glare at her son, although a trace of fear fluttered in the corner of her eyes.
Realising that James was not about to say anything (he was simply looking at his mother's face, making everyone in the room feel extremely uncomfortable), Lily spoke up once more. "Last night, Mrs Potter, you screamed. James ran in here to see what happened. You fell out of your bed, Mrs Potter, and James took care of you." James caught tears welling in his mother's eyes. She looked as though Voldemort himself was in her room threatening to murder all the ones she loved. Perhaps, in a way, this is the same feeling Lily's words had sent through her heart.
"No," she whispered softly, 'no," she whispered again, although this time James looked away and gave in to his nervous impulses: pushing his glasses up his nose, ruffling his hair, flicking his fingers. "James," she sighed, "get out."
He hadn't expected that. That was why he had jumped immediately out of bed. Whenever his mother said something in that low of a tone, that meant roughly the same thing as saying "look" at the beginning of a sentence. Except it meant more. It meant, in one simple word, obey.
"Mrs Potter – "
"Take your friend too, James Edgar Potter. I don't need your help. I don't need anyone's help. You should have stayed where you were, James Potter, you should have left me alone." James' chest dug into his lungs. He felt as though he couldn't bring air to them. She had never been this angry with him. Never.
"Yes, ma'am." He pleaded with Lily to drop it, to turn around and follow him out the door, but Lily was shocked and didn't notice. She simply stared at his mother with a look of pity and sorrow in her eyes. "Lily," he said, voice cracking from both the morning and the stress the situation was causing him. She looked at him apologetically.
"James, I – I'm sorry," she said, still not moving. "I, I thought you," she struggled to find her words. He was curious to know what it was she was feeling inside, what she was thinking about, concerning his mother's reaction. But on the other hand, he was scared that Lily, blunt girl, would come out and say it right then. "Mrs Potter, your son," oh no! James head erupted in a panic. How to get Lily Evans to shut up? That was something not even Dumbledore had managed to figure out, and now James, him, he was supposed to keep her from saying anything more.
"Lily," he interrupted.
"Don't try to protect me, James. I am your mother, I can handle whatever a teenage witch has to say. So go on then, Miss Evans, what is it?" James couldn't bring himself to look at his mother, but then again he didn't need to. He knew she was angry, he knew she would never forgive him for what Lily would say.
"I am just shocked, is all, Mrs Potter. Here James sat by your side for at least two and a half hours, watching you flinch in pain, seeing you suffer, rolling on the ground covered in cold sweat, tangled up in your blankets. And today, today you shrug him off. At least thank him for staying by your side! He did exactly what any proud parent would want him to do! He – "
"Miss Evans, do not meddle in things you do not understand." Her voice was cold. Icy.
"I could have said the same to you a few days ago at the train station, but I didn't. Do you know why?" No response. James was ready to kill himself though, for he knew whatever was coming up would ultimately be the death of him. "Because I know when to accept help, and I am grateful for what you did, and forever indebted towards you and James for taking me away from my sister. And no, I do not understand what sort of illness you have, and I don't understand the relationship between you and your son, but then again, Mrs Potter, you didn't understand what was happening with me that day did you? You didn't know that both my parents had died this year, you didn't know that I was left in the custody of my older sister for the next year or so. My older sister whose sole purpose in life is to treat me like an animal just because I have abilities she does not. But you decided to meddle in my business anyway, didn't you? Well, here I am, Mrs Potter. Except the tables have turned. You are sick. Your son is taking care of you. Acknowledge it, Mrs Potter, and stop acting so strong. James is old enough, strong enough. And acting like nothing is happening only makes it more difficult to accept it." Lily's eyes had welled up with tears, and her cheeks had gone a very deep shade of red.
On the bed, his mother sat quietly, staring into Lily's eyes. James was nervous. He could see the sparks flying through the air, the exchange of the Gleam of Death from one witch to the other. He wasn't stupid, James actually prided in the fact that he was quite the perceptive one when he wanted to be, and now just happened to be one of those times. Lily hadn't just said that in defence for him, although that made up the beginning of the argument, but she had obviously said it in a way that was much more personal to her. Perhaps her father, who had died of cancer, had played the same part as his mother. Or perhaps the fact that her mother's aneurism had been without warning had made the two deaths even more unbearable than they needed to be. It was possible that Lily wanted nothing more than to express what she felt was important in times like these. But she was right. Both were. Lily did not understand fully the situation at hand. She was an outsider looking in, trying to figure out the complex dance he and his mother had been dancing ever since his father had died.
Sometimes, though, you needed an outsider to tell you the flaws of your plans.
James' mother closed her eyes, swallowing back saliva that had obviously pooled in her mouth during her staring match against Lily. He felt bad for his mother. She hadn't even had a chance to shoot down Lily. Lily had made her point, and what a clear point it was. His mother, o strong one, had actually been beaten by her son's classmate.
"We'll be downstairs, mother," James placed his hand on Lily's lower back and led her towards the door.
"I'm sorry." James stopped moving. There was an echo in the room. Lily had mouthed the words, but the voice had not been hers. His back straight (from shock), he turned to look in his mother's eyes. Surely there was sarcasm there, or perhaps a faint smile to hint that she was up to no good. But he looked on with no avail. She was being sincere. The bottom of his stomach gave way, and that seemed to have unlocked the door of his memories. Every time he had helped his mother as she lay on her back on the rug, every time she had pretended to start a spell but James, knowing how much pain it would cause her, had jumped in and muttered the incantation ahead of time…every time she smiled at him and told him how much he reminded her of his father…Everything that he had worked tirelessly to hide away came with full force to the front of his head.
"Me too," he whispered softly. He would have stayed there for an entire month, in front of his mother, not moving, trying desperately not to breathe, but the feel of Lily's hand on his back snapped him out of it (whatever 'it' was) and together they made their way down to the kitchen letting his mother have her privacy.
He turned to Lily as they were walking down the stairs, and for one moment, just one inkling of a second, he felt this over empowering urge to scream at her, to let loose all his rage at her having rocketed the balance his relationship with his mother that he had worked so long to equilibrate.
Instead, he smiled weakly and said a simple, "thank you."
Next chapter: Debating whether or not I should continue this day or have a bit of a time lapse...we'll see. I'll think about it at work.
Oooh, great news - I'm almost cured! I love you, personal immune system, you are so hard working and efficient!