A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update. I am presently laying on a home made couch (a stuffed sleeping bag) on the floor of my living room typing on a really crappy computer. My neck is sore and the pain in it is only exceeded by that of my back.

I can't believe how many people are reading! Thanks for the reviews to all! (And to those who don't review, your input would be very much appreciated...but no one's forcing you to review...dum di da la la)

I actually started this chapter really earlier on today and found that that chapter I was writing was actually meant for later on in the story. It took me a while to figure out what exactly chapter 9 was meant to convey and I hope I got it right. And I think James and I have made some progress. I think I know what he wants now...I think. (He's still very confusing at times, though. Bloody boys!)

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this story. In fact, I basically don't own anything, except for, maybe, the plot. If you are wondering who this all belongs to, my answer is: JK Rowling.

Enjoy!

Chapter 9 - The Horse (reprise)

Two weeks later, James Potter found himself sitting inside on a rainy day sitting on a deep purple cushion staring at the window ahead as the water slithered down the glass. Rain, how soothing, he repeated over and over to himself until he had managed to convince himself. Not that he didn't like rain, he just didn't like it today. Usually, rainy days at home meant him and Sirius playing exploding snaps or just sitting around on the sofas drifting off to sleep now and again. At Hogwarts, rain meant flying. James loved to fly in the rain, not that it was anything romantic or sensual about it, he just liked climbing up to the clouds, pick a raindrop and race it to the ground (except he pulled up about five feet away from the grass). It was freefalling, complete weightlessness. Yet it was beyond that. A race is not just jumping and falling fast, it's a push, a ruthless battle for complete control over your body and broom. Racing raindrops was his way to experience the thrill of conquering a competitor that was unable to talk or hex or even control its own speed; the raindrop was innocent and had almost a childlike purity, but its pull towards the surface of the earth was merciless. James often looked to his challenger as an ideal. He believed that its incapacity to feel fear, to taunt, and to view itself as incompetent was what made it such a fierce enemy.

Today, unfortunately for him, there would be no racing. There would also not be any lazing around. There would be no exploding snaps, no lame jokes or anything remotely familiar to him. In fact, today would probably end up being the most disorienting day in all of James' young life. And all of this because of the stupid rain.

James, a few days prior to this particular day, had been talking with Lily about her family. She had recently taken to talking frequently of them – even her sister, the horse-like lady – as of late, and James, being the perceptive young lad he often claimed to be (when he wanted to be, of course), had picked up that her constant chatter meant that she was looking for closure. She wouldn't cry, no, she had stopped shedding tears over her parents' death. Instead, she would fidget with whatever object was in her hand, or she would nervously tuck her hair behind her ears. She wanted to do something that most likely concerned her sister, and James had not only detected all of this on his own, he had actually mentioned it to her. She had, of course, denied it all, although not an in-your-face sort of denial, but more of a timid one, like she had been caught with a cookie in her hand before suppertime, and instead of hiding it completely, she meekly held it out and hinted that it was for her friend or something.

Well, James had told her that he would share her cookie with her. Of course, he hadn't said it like that. No, James didn't mention a cookie, for it was his private simile. He had said, with a coy smile, had said, "Lily, if you want to go to your home to do something, you should." She had shook her head dismissively, passing it off as "Useless, a waste of time and breath." But James had already started to know Lily and her subtle attempts to shrug something important off as inconsequential. He refused to try to comprehend it however, as he had already promised himself before that any effort spent on trying to figure out women was futile. So James had smiled again, this time trying to appear serious and supportive while still maintaining that mutual feel of respect and friendship, and articulated, "You wouldn't have to be alone, I could come. That way, if anything gets remotely uncomfortable for you, I'll step in and switch the attention to me somehow." By the look on her face, James had guessed his face had been able to twist into the appearance he had struggled to achieve.

Despite her obvious want to have James accompany her to her home, she had persisted, insisting that he would be "wasting away a perfectly good summer's day." That's when he had resolved that they could go on a rainy day.

So here he was, on a rainy day, sitting on that deep purple cushion, inwardly cursing his Gryffindor-noteworthy loyalty to friends. Lily was upstairs in her room getting ready. His mother was contacting the Ministry to have them connect the Evans' fireplace to the Floo Network for the day. But what was most irritating about all this was that James' stomach was twisting and shrivelling at the thought of spending time alone with Lily and her not-very-gorgeous sister, who would most likely fight, or cry, or do some unfathomable thing girls tended to do together that would leave James both uneasy and extremely dim-looking.

A slight shuffle behind him alerted him to his sudden company. He didn't turn around, as he wasn't compelled to do so. Instead, he waited until Lily herself walked into his line of view to look up at her and nod his head in acknowledgment. Such a petty attempt to distract oneself of the inevitable crash and burn of upcoming events. He sighed inwardly. Maybe going with Lily wasn't such a good idea.

"So, you're positive you want to come?" she inquired nervously.

No. In fact, I'm quite sure I want to stay here and wait for you to send word. He smiled reassuringly. "Yeah, o' course. I suggested it, did I not? So why would I back out on you now?" He could picture himself jumping off one of the hoops on the Quidditch pitch at school and landing in the sand heap that somehow reminded him of Lily's sister. He envisioned himself dying there.

Lily seemed to relax at his words. It was a good thing, then, that he lied with ease when it came to being the supportive selfless b – friend. Friend. They were friends. At least there was that. So, he, James, was her, Lily, friend, and a friend in need needs a friend. And that was James. James was her…

"James? Come, your mum said all was ready, and I sort of want to get this over with right away…" she trailed off, not blanching like he wanted her to. Instead of being nervous, she now appeared self confident, in control. And yes, right now, she was in control – over him at least. He could never leave a friend high and dry. Gryffindors – nay, Potters – were not like that. Not like that at all.

He heard himself growl in his mind, though he knew he hadn't really growled. Why was he having such a hard time with this particular decision of his? Didn't he just tell Lily that HE suggested he come along to keep her company and so HE would not back out on her. Yes, yes he had just said that. He reasoned with himself that he had never mentioned gladly tagging along to her parents' house – her home.

He stood, shaking his left foot free of the cramp it suffered. "Let's go, then!" He put on a smile. He tried to make it a fake smile, but he couldn't. There was something funny about him privately arguing with himself about how unhappy it made him to go see the blonde thing Lily called a sister while Lily believed he had no trouble with it whatsoever.

She smiled back.

The Floo trip was nice. It provided a distraction for James. Not that taking a trip down the Floo network was anything new to him, quite to opposite actually, but the familiarity of the green flames swallowing up his form felt, well, nice. And he imagined it looked nice too, but that was only his inner self granting his mind an escape from the harsh reality of - what had Lily called her? P…Pina? No, it had a 't' in it. Pita. Pen...Penutia. No, Petunia. Yes, that was her name.

Stepping out of the fireplace and into the green carpeted living room of what was the Evans's home, James was finally able to trace why he was so engrossed in negative thoughts about this happenstance, this meeting, of sorts, between that girl and him. At first, it seemed a little illogical to him, but gradually, as he poked and prodded around in the depths of his twisted mind and heart, James uncovered the truth: he personally viewed Petunia Evans as a threat.

Why? Not because she was fairly unattractive. James' late aunt had been one of the most unattractive people in the world and he hadn't felt threatened by her. Then why? Maybe, maybe it was the fact that she was a Muggle. No! his own head answered him. Muggles weren't much to be frightened about. Even if he wasn't legally allowed to do so, James could easily disapparate out of the home if Petunia tried any funny Muggle business. He was also a very bright, very adept wizard with impeccable reflexes and knew enough spells to not only protect himself from crazy delusional Muggles but also how to protect them against themselves.

As he stared at her abnormally long neck, her odd teeth and mat of blonde hair, James (shivered) and concluded that there was nothing imposing at all about the woman. Perhaps she was a bit snide looking, but beyond that, James found nothing intimidating about her.

"GET OUT NOW!" The shriek might have caused James' ears to explode had he not been so deeply absorbed in his own thoughts. However, it only snapped him out of his reverie and slapped him with the fact that Lily and Petunia had already begun arguing.

"I have every right to be here," Lily spoke with a deathly calm tone. James' arm hairs stood up. Being animagi sometimes helped him with instinctual things. The arm hair thing was an obvious sign that Lily was about ready to kill, or something to that effect, the next person who rubbed her the wrong way. Apparently, Petunia wasn't daft either and the purpleness of her face subsided into an angry red. She abruptly turned on her heel and exited the lounge with her nose in the air.

"Lily," James began, "I'm sorry – "

"Sorry for what?" she snapped. "That you came?"

He actually felt both offended and guilty at her response. Offended that she would ever think him in such a cowardly fashion and guilty that he, in reality, was being cowardly. "No," he replied softly. "I was just going to say that I'm sorry I didn't come in earlier. I mean, the entire purpose of my being here was so that you could avoid that." He meant it. He decided that he did. He also decided that he would henceforth direct all his attention to Lily (today) unless she demanded otherwise.

"Sorry then. Suffice it to say that I'm not feeling very patient right about now." James nodded in total understanding. Well, he thought he understood, but he couldn't keep thinking. He had to focus.

Lily brought him outside of the area where the green carpet was, and took him up blue carpeted stairs with a white wooden banister all the way to her parents' room. James noticed the carpet in this room was also blue. Then he realised he was staring at the carpets instead of Lily. Focus!

"You can come in," she said monotonously. He entered the room for one sole purpose: to uphold his promise to keep his attention on the red haired girl.

But stepping into the room of a friend's deceased parents whom he had never met proved itself to be more moving than he had imagined. The bed was made, the soft beige covers pulled tightly over the mattress, the mounds of pillows stacked nicely at the head of the bed. The closet door at the far end of the room had two doors, and one of them was just a crack opened. He found it odd. It was as if they still lived, as if Lily's mom or dad had just gone into the closet to retrieve something only moments ago. When James' father had died, no one had ventured into the things he had left behind except his mother. Going through his father's personal belongings had felt like an invasion of privacy to him and thus had not been able to help his mother sort out through things.

He wondered if Lily would have the same problem.

"Doesn't it smell good?" James nodded absently. "James, what are you staring at?"

It appeared to be like a photograph except without motion. It was odd and perplexed James, to say the least. "Is that you?" he asked, stepping up to the night stand on the left of the bed and pointing at the red haired smiling girl in the…well, photo thing.

Lily smiled. "Yup. And that's my Mum." James looked beyond the girl and into the eyes of the young woman behind her. He envied the youth of her mother. Although, now that he thought about it, young or not, her mother had died.

"She was very elegant," James pointed out. "Shame you didn't inherit that from her gene pool." He added that to throw her off, to tease her out of what could potentially turn into a crying fit.

"Ha. One for Potter, none for Evans. But we've only just begun, and heed my word, wizard, I will have my revenge!" She smiled at him and headed towards the closet.

He moved on to other furniture where more of those non moving pictures sat. He looked into the unfamiliar faces of Mr Evans and his wife holding a baby, then of only them together, then of two young girls sitting at a wooden table outside.

Then it hit him. Not a simple slap of the face, but a full out blow to his head. Realisation dawned on him like a speeding raindrop and James stopped breathing. He knew now, knew why he hated Petunia so before ever having stepped foot in this house. Lily – this was her home – and she might, well, want to stay here instead of the Potters'. Which was fine by him, as it was her decision, but he knew that, if Lily did, in fact, choose to spend the rest of her summer here then he would feel jealous of Petunia. So that meant that Petunia wasn't a physical threat to him, but rather, her role in Lily's choice was what threatened him. She could have been nice to Lily and invited her in for tea, sitting down with her and chatting animatedly about some childhood memories they shared together. Who would pick him and his old mother over that?

"What are you thinking about?" He jumped and shrugged at once. It was an odd combination but he managed it.

"I guess I'm thinking about your sister. Were you two ever close?" Lily placed her hands on her hips and glared into his eyes. He wouldn't dare even think of trying to push that conversation further.

"Come." She turned 'round and walked out the door. Lily was weird. And strong. He hadn't seen one tear fall from her green eyes.

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled patriotically.

He followed her to what was unmistakably Lily's room. It was a simple room with a small bed with soft yellow covers and white and sky blue walls and furniture. There were non-motion pictures scattered everywhere in her room. Photos of people James never knew existed. And, undoubtedly, every one of them were Muggle.

"My extended family, James." She had caught him staring at the photos again. He felt mesmerized by them. He couldn't help it. Wizard photos were magically enhanced to allow for motion. Thus, often, witches and wizards in photos could be seen waving and smiling, or dancing…but Muggle photos, they were, extraordinary. They captured one single moment in time and froze it. There was nothing moving, and what had been moving at the time was blurred out. There was nothing alive about it, except for that weird feeling of haecceity. He had always known that every breath one inhales is different from the others in the sense that time is linear and thus, everything you experience only happens once. Bumping into someone in the corridor in front of the one eyed witch may happen a hundred times between the same people, but every time will be different than the one before and the next. There was no such thing as duplicate happenstances, as identical occurrences. Everything happens one time, and that one time is now. Those pictures those Muggles took captured that very moment when something unique was happening and made it possible to view for centuries more. A wave of goosebumps tickled his spine. Here and now, that was reality, his reality, and his entire life existence depended on him living this moment.

Snapping out of his thoughts, James smiled at his own sense of acuity.

"You are sort of a spacey one, aren't you?" Lily asked mockingly. He guessed she had been trying to catch his attention.

"Sorry," he said pathetically. He wasn't sorry though, not even that he had broken his promise (yet again!). The feeling he had experienced was nothing to feel sorry about.

Lily turned around and led him out of her room, bringing along a large duffel bag. James hadn't the time to notice what it was Lily had retrieved from her room.

She brought him back to the lounge where, not only the fireplace but also Petunia sat waiting for them. Or just Lily.

"I'm leaving now, Petunia," Lily announced in a authoritative voice. "I have no time for your childish accusations and misinterpretations of my words. Good bye to you, Petunia."

Petunia looked about ready to take off her slipper and chuck it at Lily, but instead she turned her long nose slightly towards James. "What are you staring at? You filthy excuse of scum!"

James was officially aggravated. He couldn't stand when wizards and witches called each other Mudbloods, and definitely could not stand having a Muggle call him filth just because he was a pureblood. How bigoted of her! "Listen, you – you miserable Muggle." He glanced at Lily, whose mouth had opened as she had been about to say something. "I didn't do anything wrong to you, so leave me out of your grudge. And, actually, your sister probably didn't do anything wrong either so just relax. We're about to step into that fire and out of your life, so just, erm, breathe or something while we go along on our way."

"Tell your boyfriend not to direct his clumsy speech at me, freak!" Why did this Muggle have to make life so hard on herself?

Lily grabbed her wand. James knew the spell she was thinking of using, or rather, she was working on at the moment because of the way she flicked her wand. Her motions were so accurate, so precise…

"Lily, don't! You could get sent to Azkaban for that!"

"It'd be worth it." She hesitantly tucked her wand back into her pocket. No one noticed what Petunia was doing at this point.

"Nothing's worth living in close proximity of Dementors, Lily. You should know that they take their duty very seriously, and take great pleasure out of making those they guard suffer." He grabbed the pouchfull of Floo powder from his pocket and offered some to Lily. "I guess that's why you-know-who's got them to turn to his side. They share that in common."

Lily motioned for James to go in first. "Right. Go on, I'll be right behind you."

She wasn't right behind him. In fact, it took her half an hour before she stumbled into the lounge in his home. Her face was red, with a few smudges of soot.

A/N : Tomorrow I will post up little notes responding to all who have reviewed. I just can't stand the torture of working on this stupid computer! The agony of old technology!

And a little FYI - Haecciety is a real word. Actually quite the fascinating word at that (one of my favourites). Here is the definition (from the Phrontistery):

Haecciety hek-see'i-tee, n (Latin, from haec, this)

The aspect of existence on which individuality depends; the hereness and nowness of reality. First coined by the philosopher Duns Scotus, haeccietyis that sense one gets of being in the present tense, the pure experience of a single moment in time.

Beautiful word, isn't it?