Retribution

Chapter 7

Can You Hear Me Screaming?

A/N - This is my favourite chapter so far for reasons that will quickly become obvious. And that is also why I'm super nervous to be posting it now. Hope you guys enjoy! As always, thanks to my fantastic beta writtenbyfreckles

Brightness filters in, settled lovingly on the hardwood floor of our entryway as I bound down the staircase, feet small and excited, pink dress skimming softly against my thighs. I stop at the landing, notice blooms of paint—red, orange, yellow—staining the pads of my fingertips, nails short and chipped, on hands too young for the body I remember. And yet I know—this is me.

This is me.

"Lily!" A voice calls from deep inside the house, and the familiarity of the warm tone is like honey sliding down my insides.

I want to cry. Instead, I reply in a pitch that belongs to a child. "I'm downstairs, Mum!"

"We're in the kitchen, come here!"

A disappointed sigh whistles past my lips, and I'm turning my head, once, looking at the closed door, the little square of obscured glass which rains in light into the house. And then I've turned around, gait much slower as I make my way into the kitchen.

A woman with the shiniest sheet of blonde hair bustles around the space, gathering a tray in her arms, sliding it inside the oven. She straightens, and looks around to lock gaze with me, her eyes a familiar, startling green.

"There you are," says my mother, waving me inside with an impatient hand. "Sit. Have breakfast. Your father and I need to leave in a bit to get some groceries. You girls have to take care of the house."

"You know Lily's just going to skip out the second that Snape boy arrives."

I twist around, eyes rolling in annoyance as I slip onto the little stool around the kitchen counter and pull a plate of toast towards me. And though I expect my heart to leap or bile to coat my throat at that name—Snape—everything remains steady and controlled when I look at the girl sitting beside me.

"Just because you say you're too old to play with us now-"

"I am!" she snaps. Hair as golden as my mother's falls around a thin face with high cheekbones, a long neck that tilts disdainfully in my direction. She's no more than twelve, this girl, and her stony gray eyes level me with a stare too disapproving for such a young age. "You're childish, Lily, and that boy is very strange. He's always sulking around, looking at you weirdly. I don't like him."

"You don't even know him!"

"Girls, please!" Mum turns around, frown creasing between brows as she massages her temples, a long-suffering sigh dropping from her lips. "Can you please not quarrel before the day's even started properly?"

"Sorry, Mum." And here, even trapped in the body of my younger self, the guilt that churns through me feels real. I take a loud bite of toast. "I'll stay home if you want."

She smiles, something rueful and unconditionally sweet, and I feel a grin pulling at my lips even before she says anything. "You can go, just as long as you're back to help me with lunch."

Before I'm able to voice my gratitude at this, the chime of a doorbell sends me springing from the stool, dropping the half-eaten slice of bread on the plate. "I'll get it! Thanks, Mum!"

"This is so unfair!" Screeches sound behind me. "Lily always gets what she wants!"

"Don't be jealous, Tuney!" I yell, probably a little snarkily, as I skip out of the kitchen.

I want to halt, want to turn, walk back, sit next to the girl—sit next to Tuney—and ask what happened to her, where she is. But I'm trapped inside the whimsy and innocence of my own mind, and have no choice but to watch as I rush through the hall, excitement barely held inside.

A wrench of the doorknob; the grin on my face quickly slipping into a frown.

The boy stood on the other side, in front of me, evidently isn't the one I'd expected to see. This one is scrawny, with muddy knees and a large, toothy grin splitting over his face, glasses so big they slip down his nose, and thoroughly disarrayed, dark hair that he's got a hand stuck into.

"'Lo, Evans," says James, mischief-abundant hazel eyes gleaming behind clear lenses. "You have paint on your face."

I'm placing both hands on my hips, looking down at this boy who's shorter than me, and thinking, for some reason, that I can squash the optimism that overflows from his every pore. "Potter. What are you doing here?"

"Did you think about it, then?" he questions giddily, not humbled by my scrunch-nosed glare the slightest bit. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

My cheeks have heated, and I step outside, over the threshold, and shut the door behind me. "Absolutely not! I could never be a girlfriend to someone like you! You're mean, and cruel, and you trouble my best friend."

Petulance draws over his face as he purses his lips. "Snape's a slimy little creep. I don't know why you're mates with him, Evans. You should come hang out with me."

"I would never—" the irritation chokes in my throat when, in a flash of unexpected movement, James lurches forward and presses warm lips against my cheek. A burning flush crawls over my neck and face, so quick that by the time he leans away, grinning even wider, I'm certain I've turned the colour of the roses swaying in our garden. "What—"

Spluttering cut off by his spilling laughter. "You're so red!"

"What did you do that for?!" I'm screeching, the thud of my heart betraying not just annoyance but an excitement that shouldn't exist to begin with.

"I kissed you." He shrugs, walking backwards, making it so I have to stumble forward clumsily, unwilling to let him go when he's wronged me so. "Boyfriends can kiss their girlfriends, Evans."

"You're not my—" My mouth snaps shut on an offended gasp as he starts moving faster, hands flying up to his lips and towards me in rapid, repetitive successions; some form of obnoxious flying kisses, full with loud smacking noises. "Stop that, Potter. I'm not your girlfriend!"

"Oh, but you're blushing like one!"

A cry of fury tears through my lungs as I attempt to mask the mortification his statement has brought forth, and then I take off after him, feel the balmy summer wind stick the dress to my thighs, the slippers I've forgotten to change out of slapping against the ground noisily. James's eyes widen behind his glasses for half a beat, the delight in them unmistakable, before he turns around and starts sprinting, laughter untempered and shameless.

"You're dead, Potter!"

"You love me, Evans!"

I press my lips together, refuse to let the inexplicable smile that twitches at the corners slip through. It's a decision well-taken, especially when another voice yells my name, cutting over the roar of the wind and the sound of my own breathlessness.

"Lily!" I twist my head, find Sev standing in the middle of the park we're rushing past. He's got a scowl on his face that's identifiable even from the distance. "What are you doing?!"

"I'll be right back!"

"Lily!"

A few feet ahead, James suddenly halts and turns around, the grin on his face stretching impossibly wide. "Shunning Snape for me, Evans? My God, you must be in love!"

He doesn't even step back, doesn't even brace himself, doesn't even look worried as I barrel right into him, send his glasses flying as we slam to the ground.

"Shut up!"

An ache fills every crevice in my chest as my eyes blink open to a room painted in twilight.

There's no recollection of when I'd slipped into the arms of sleep, nor how long it's been since—just this ache, bending my spine as I try to sit up, calling forth warm tears that trail down my cheeks and blot on the fabric of my leggings. A draw of shaky breath, and then I'm pushing off the bed, swiping away the wetness from my face as I make my way outside, into the hallway.

Bright, artificial white light bleeds into my eyes as I walk down the hall, reach James's room and knock twice on the closed door. It's been over a day since I last stood on this spot, and I wonder how the beat of my heart remains just as unsteady despite the vastly differing circumstances that have brought me here. I suppose the answer has more to do with a person than any particular situation.

Silence greets me for several long seconds, before impatience has me wrenching the knob and entering his room despite the absence of permission.

The space is dark and empty, unused, and the ache in my chest builds.

There's a strange temptation to sit and wait until James returns, no matter how long it takes, but I know that's a foolish whim, one I'm sure to chastise myself for later. So, I close the door, figure there's nothing to do but go downstairs and find someone who'll tell me where he is.

It's only as I've stepped onto the first landing leading to the ground floor that I see a head of dark hair heading up the stairs. The thud of my pulse suddenly pounds right at the base of my throat, fingers stuttering against the bannister as I freeze to the spot.

He looks up, and I feel the rate of blood flow return to normal at the sight of gray eyes.

Sirius cocks a brow. "What're you doing, standing there like you've seen a bloody ghost? Gave me a fright."

"Didn't look like it."

"Yeah, well—" he keeps climbing, "I've seen scarier things."

"Sirius, where's James?"

He's close enough as the question leaves my lips that it doesn't take much effort for me to notice the tension coiled in his shoulders, nor the way a muscle ticks in his jaw as he stops right beside me. "Leave him alone, Evans."

Irritation spins around my veins. "I've heard that before."

Hands settle on my shoulders, turn me around, and then I see—for the first time since I've known him—just how terrifying Sirius Black can look when every line on his face has been etched solemnly, the usual gleam of tease fizzled out from his eyes. "And you should've listened to me when I said it. Leave him alone."

Stomach churning nauseously, I roll my shoulders, push his hands away. "I need to talk to him."

"Why don't you understand?" he snarls; a glint of teeth that has me stepping back against the bannister in alarm. "This is bigger than you, alright? James has a lot on his plate, and he's just trying to hold on, but you're not making it fucking easy for him. You don't know what he's been through, Evans, and hell—I don't even know if you'd understand if you did. He—"

"He kissed me."

Sirius stops, pulls in a deep breath. But the blink of his eyes lets me know his response before the words do it. "I know."

"And you still think I don't deserve answers?"

Something about my question makes his shoulders slouch, and then he's stepping back; aggravation extinguished, replaced by exhaustion. "I never said you don't deserve them. I only asked you not to go looking for them so aggressively, least of all from James."

"Not one of you ever makes any sense." My own anger has bubbled to the surface, pushed bitter words from my tongue. "He's a big boy. If he can snog me in the middle of the night, he's got to have the balls to talk to me about it."

Silence falls, long enough that I think he'll just walk away without saying anything more, but eventually, he shakes his head, looks at me almost pityingly. "You know nothing about him, Evans."

"I know." The truth is a sharp string twining around my flesh and blood heart, squeezing until I feel the pain of it running, stinging through my veins. "I know that. But he doesn't need you to protect him."

"Him?" Sirius scoffs, and there's that pitying look again, that I've learnt I loathe the most on his face. "Unfortunately enough, no one's protecting him."

What he means goes unsaid, but definitely not unheard. They're all protecting me.

"Perfect, you have nothing to worry about, then. Since you wanted me dead anyway." I don't have to fake the bite in my voice, but he doesn't so much as flinch, expression unchanged as he stares at the strain knotting up my neck. "Where is he?"

"Outside," Sirius says, and it takes staggering control on my part to abate the surprise that wants to climb up to my face. He waves a hand. "Go on, then. I've said what I had to say. It's not as if I can stop you forever. I have work to attend to, anyway."

And then he's passing me by, long strides taking him up the stairs faster than I can even draw in a calming breath.

"Thank you," my voice pushes out, quiet but sincere, and I watch as Sirius twists around to look at me, his expression blank. "And I—I won't push him. Not about this."

There's no obvious display of his relief, not even a quirk of lips or a brisk nod of the head. But I still catch the moment when the steeliness melts from his eyes, and that's enough.

That's enough.

"Good," he says, disappearing up the stairs.

The grass is wet and cool between my toes when I step outside, mud sticking to the underside of my feet, and soft vindication graces me for having decided to leave my shoes by the door. The cover of night stretches inky black overhead, stars far and sparse in the darkness. But I pay this dimness no mind, and relish, instead, in the whip of cool wind against my face, the smell of wet earth slipping into my lungs, the taste of damp air melting inside my mouth.

My bones ache with the disappointment of having slept through a downpour.

He's on the other side of the field, smaller in the distance as he runs a lap with dedication strong enough that he doesn't notice my presence in his haven. I stay there, give him the peace of arriving at his own time, and take the minutes in between to close my eyes, relive the images of a young boy, wild and full of laughter, being chased by a sharp-tongued girl with a heart she couldn't read herself.

A smile blooms on my face.

I sense his proximity not by his voice but by the warmth that skitters over my skin. Eyes open, and James is stood right in front of me, cheeks flushed under glasses that fit him better, shallow breaths fanning out from between parted pink lips. Lips that I now know have touched my skin more than just once on a half-conscious night.

"You, um—hi," he pants, chest heaving noticeably from his run, hair truly wind-blown for once. He's very shirtless, I'm keen to observe. "You missed dinner. Are you hungry?"

He doesn't mention that I missed breakfast and lunch too, and I wonder if he might've missed them as well. But he's still waiting for a response, so I shake my head and give him the truth. "I came to talk to you."

He chews on the inside of his cheek, and for a second, I think he'll refuse, but he simply nods his head, wipes away sweat from his hairline. "Yeah, alright."

But the movement has pulled my gaze to his arms, and I'm reminded of his current state of undress. My face flushes, an echo of my dream. "Do you, uh... wanna put a shirt on first?"

Light shifts in the hazel, and he looks what I can only think to call thrilled. But the change is infuriatingly fleeting, and then he's nodding again. "Hang on a second."

I settle down onto the grass as James jogs back inside the house. The wetness gifted by the rain seeps quickly through the material of my leggings, and I'm certain this little bit of impulse will leave behind grass stains once I get up, but for the moment, I bend my knees, rest my chin atop them, and just... breathe.

His fingers fly along my spine, the faintest touch, before he sits down next to me, expression pulled into concern. "Alright, Evans?"

"Yeah," I whisper, blink at him. "Just—this feels nice. Being outside."

"Sure," he agrees, and then smiles just the smallest amount. "Our arses are going to be wet, though."

I turn my head and press my own grin onto my knee. "That's nice too."

James sighs, deep and relaxed, and I watch with a greedy, sideways glance as he drops back onto his elbows, face tilted up at the sky, torso long and covered by a thin stretch of black cotton. Quiet surrounds us, and he makes no move to break it, or push me to talk, or go back inside. And so we sit, surrounded by nothing but the soft breeze, the faint sound of crickets, and the burden of unspoken words strung in the space separating us.

Courage finds me several minutes later.

"I have a sister." My voice—or rather, the faintly spoken statement—sends him jerking straight again, and though I feel his surprise, I keep facing forward, needing to get the confession out before I look at him or gauge his reaction. "I had a dream about her. And about... you."

He's silent, still for so long that I wonder if he even breathes. "What—what did you see?"

"I think it was home." The grass twists under my palm as I angle my body to the left, find James's face ashen with shock. "We were kids. Maybe ten, eleven? And you—you showed up on my doorstep, and kissed me—" a smile pulls as I tap, once, against my cheek. "Right here. You said—"

"Boyfriends can kiss their girlfriends." His brows have creased in the middle, pain swimming in the greens and yellows and browns of his eyes when I nod. He reaches across the space, fingers long and warm, falling over my knuckles. Just this touch is enough to get the blood singing in my veins. "Lily... how do you—are your memories returning?"

I fall quiet, fearing if I breathe too hard, he'll pull his hand away. "Only what I see in my dreams."

"Have you seen anything else?" He edges closer, the look on his face so desperate that I can only imagine it matches the thirst I tend to hold for answers about this world. "Do you remember any?"

"I remember them all."

He's unblinking; hungry. "What—"

"You knew her," my voice cuts off his question despite its low volume. I'm not sure if the brush of his thumb over my knuckles is a conscious movement, but the sparks are quick to spread all the way to my fingertips. "You knew... Petunia. Tuney. But you didn't mention her when you told me about my parents. What happened to her, James? Why didn't you say anything about her?"

He looks away for a second, face pinched in frustration potent enough that I know this is not information he wants to share. But I won't relent; this part of me that he holds—it's mine, and he has no right to keep it veiled when I've already reached my hand out to pull back the curtain.

James seems to come to the same conclusion himself, because he eventually meets my gaze again, fingers squeezing around mine reassuringly.

"I don't know where she is," he says, and sounds miserable, "but I do know that she left home after—after your parents passed away. Back at Mungo's, they said you were alone when they found you."

I don't allow myself the time to agonize, and rush, instead, to make sense of what he tells me. "Do you know why she left?"

"I—well, yes."

"Tell me."

"Because she's a fucking cow." My eyes widen at the sudden change of his tone, and a deep-seated instinct to defend my sister crawls its way up to my throat. But James spares me no chance to express any such displeasure, and what he goes on to say effectively kills the words in my mouth. "Because the Death Eaters were the ones who murdered your parents, she—she thought that instantly made it your fault. Which makes no bloody sense because the Death Eaters kill anyone who dares to stand against what they do."

My nails dig into the dirt on the ground, and James's fingers curl more firmly around my fist. "My—my fault? Because I have an ability that Voldemort wanted?"

He stares at me for too long, but eventually nods. "They were looking for you, so she—Evans, stop, it's not your fault, alright? I don't want you doubting that even for a second. Your parents were good, kind people. They were everything the Death Eaters stood against. You barely even pictured in their actions."

My teeth have clamped together. "They came looking for me though, didn't they?"

"That's an unfair correlation. That's like saying all the subjects who lost their families to Voldemort and his Death Eaters should blame themselves for the deaths of their loved ones."

My swirling, embittered thoughts take a pause at this, and I find I have nothing to contradict what he says, especially not when I recall Remus's grief-lined face, his slumped shoulders when he told me about his mum. I look up, see a blaze of determination glowing in James's eyes.

"Thank you," I say, turn my hand so that my palm lies flat against his. An unexplained surge of warmth and electricity passes in the meagre space between the ridges our palms make, and I almost gasp at the sensation, look up to find him staring at me with an emotion intense enough to send the pulse fluttering in my wrist. "What are you thinking?"

James moves so that we're left facing each other, hands still pressed onto the grass between us. A passing breeze sways the strands of dark hair over his forehead, and I'm tempted to reach out and push the locks back, see his expression better.

"What else did you see? In your dreams?"

"Why does it matter?" My gaze travels to his mouth, and I wonder what he'd do if I slipped forward and kissed him, right here and now. "Is there something you're waiting for me to remember?"

His voice drops, so low that I only read the question on his lips. "What?"

"You lied, earlier, when you said that we only knew each other as kids."

He shakes his head, slow, but I see the bob of his throat as he swallows nervousness. "Why would you think that?"

"Because—" my eyes flit over his face, keen to catch even the tiniest flash of emotion, "because yesterday, you said that jumping to conclusions is a lot like me. There's no possible way you'd know that, unless—unless you knew me more recently, is there?"

I watch him as he pulls in a weighted breath, as shadows of the night dance over his neck and jaw, and then he says, "I didn't lie about that. I never said that we only knew each other as kids. I said that we lived in the same neighbourhood for a while."

My heart thrashes and hammers and pounds, and I might be going insane, because I'm pulling out my hand from under his, planting both palms on his knees, frantic. "Don't fuck with me, James. Don't—you saidyou didn't really know me from before. What was that about, then?" His lips part, but my thoughts are scattered, and I'm pushing out another question. "How long, exactly, do you mean by a while?"

Right before my eyes, something in him crumbles. "Please, don't do this."

"No, you don't do this! How long, James?"

Tension unlike any I've ever felt runs through the muscles of his thighs, everything coiled tight underneath my fingertips. And though it probably takes only a few seconds, an eternity seems to pass before he gives me an answer.

"Six years."

"Six—" My mouth opens to a shuddering pull of air, but it doesn't help. I'm breathless and lost. "We knew each other for six years? But you said… you said—"

His eyes are honey and warm and melancholy itself. "I know."

"Why?"

"Because…" he whispers, fingers brushing over my cheekbone, making my lashes flutter. "Because —I'm fucking terrified."

Confusion crumbles my brows, and I open my mouth to ask him what he means, but the question never makes it past my lips, never materializes at all, because blinding pain screeches up the back of my neck suddenly, and I'm gasping, jerking forward, head dropping, uncontrolled, onto James's shoulder.

"Lily?!" His worried call feels distant, and not as if it's pressed right against the shell of my ear. "Lily, hey, what's wrong, what—?"

But he seems to have found the problem without my help, for which I'm grateful beyond belief. My fingers are tremulous over his legs, and a cry wrenches out of my lungs, pierces the night air when James slowly pulls out the object lodged to the back of my neck.

"Fuck!" He throws it to the grass a few feet away, and the sight of it freezes the blood pumping in my heart. A miniscule capsule, with a syringe so thin that my pain-blinded vision can hardly even make it out in the dark. I wonder how something so small can induce torture so acute. "Fuck. Fuck. We need to get out of here! Can you stand? Evans!"

I try to say something, but the world seems to be slowing around me, my limbs growing heavy, body numb. All I manage, instead, are two taps against his jaw. A litany of curses spills out of James's mouth, and then he's scooping me up, jogging back to the house.

"SIRIUS!" His voice is thunder, chest rumbling against my head as he shouts recklessly. "Remus! Peter! We have to leave, now! They're here, they're—"

The groan that cuts off his words alarms me before the collision of his body with the ground does. James's arms give out from under me, and I brace for the impact as much as possible. Shallow scratches from stray pebbles litter the skin of my elbows as I fall with a rattling thud, but I'm shakily pushing up, trying to find him despite the screaming of my liquified bones.

By the time I've turned my head, he's already tossing aside another capsule—similar to the one that had impaled me—to the ground. When he looks up, the distance separating us suddenly feels like a thousand miles instead of a couple of feet.

And then I see them.

A dozen black-clothed figures, headed straight towards us, three of them carrying what look like guns. None of the faces are familiar to me—a fact that's not the least bit surprising—except for one. I recognize the one in the middle; sallow complexion, eyes black as the night, limbs stretched long, crooked nose, oiled hair stringing down either side of his face.

Terror grips me resolutely at the sight of my childhood best friend.

Now just a murderer who wants to capture me.

"Run," James grits out, eyes ablaze with panic as he jerks his head towards the house. They're close enough now that he must sense their presence, and yet, he remains focused on me, jaw set. "Get inside, Lily! Now!"

A whimper falls from my mouth as I struggle onto my feet, movement leaden but possible thanks to the passage of time. Hope seems to bloom in the hazels of his eyes, but it's quick to diminish and morph into horrified disbelief when he watches me move.

Not towards Godric's Hollow.

Towards him.

"What are you doing?" James yells, seems to curl into himself under the stress. "Get inside, Lily!"

For the first time, I'm forced to consider the fact that I may not be the insane one between the two of us. Because if James thinks I'm going to leave him out here and run, while he's at the mercy of such monsters, then there's no bigger fool I've ever known; no one more delusional I'll ever know.

But before I can so much as touch him, a voice that is both familiar and foreign snarls viciously.

"Oh no, you don't!"

And then I watch, with no small amount of terror, as Snape brings both his palms down flat against the ground, and frost ghastlier than I've ever imagined pours out of his fingertips, slithers along the grass and stones and rain-soaked earth, until it's clambered over my feet, over James's shins as he sits kneeling, and still keeps going and going and going.

When I pull in a trembling breath, it's like the ice has coated me wholly, inside and out. When I exhale, the breath of misery puffs out in the form of cold smoke, but none of this manages to make despair claw into my heart like the sight I find when I twist my head around does.

He has frozen the entire façade of the house in a thick wall of ice.

"Why didn't you listen!" James yells, face coloured in frustration. He still hasn't spared a glance to the Death Eaters stood behind him, though I suppose now, with our legs fixed to the ground, it's impossible for him to do so. "If you'd just gone inside—"

"Then nothing." I shake my head, tilt his face up with my hands. "I wouldn't have left without you anyway."

Agony grows in his eyes. "Fuck, Evans."

"I must say, you look much more humbled like this, Potter. Grovelling on the floor." Snape sneers, and before either of us can react, he sends another blast of that sinister ice shooting at James's spine. I feel fingers curling around my heart, tearing it open, when he cries out in pain. "The suppression serum is rather effective, isn't it? Now, you understand what it's like to be helpless."

"Stop!" I scream, bent at the waist as I try to keep James looking at me. "Stop, please! Stop hurting him!"

Snape's eyes, brimming with malice and loathing so far, turns abhorrently soft as they travel up to look at me.

"Come with me, Lily." He holds out a hand. "You're the one He wants. If you come with me, you'll see the greatness we can achieve. You have so much potential! You can change the world—"

"Fuck you!" I spit instantly, nausea gurgling in my stomach at his veneration. "Don't you fucking dare come closer."

His eyes narrow. "What have Potter and the rest been telling you? You don't know him, Lily. He wants to cage you and stop you from realizing your powers. He's using you. They're all using you!"

A soft crack splinters through the air during the insanity he spews, and there's not enough time to prepare for Sirius's abrupt presence beside us, because he's immediately got one hand wrapped around my arm; the other around James's.

"Well, better us than you and that psychopath, Snivellus." He smirks darkly.

"Shoot him!" Snape cries, hatred flowing like froth from his mouth.

But they're not fast enough.

I barely catch the quiet click of triggers that presumably send those capsules filled with serums shooting at Sirius, before my body undergoes the horrifying sensation of being turned inside-out. The very next second, I'm stumbling onto a carpeted floor, feet burning at being wrenched out of frozen ground.

"Where the fuck were you?!" James shrieks at the floor, still visibly awash in the after-effects of the serum. I wonder what it does to a normal person like him, if he's in more danger than the rest of us. The thought is enough to shove my mind into hysterics. "I'd been screaming for ages, Sirius, what the fuck!"

"It's 9 PM on a Tuesday. You know where I was!"

None of this means anything to me, but it clearly does to James, who falls aggravatingly quiet for a few seconds. His elbows shake violently as he tries to sit up, and I'm almost lurching forward to help him when he manages, falling onto his back so that his shins are no longer pressing onto the floor. I notice the fabric of his joggers has ripped clean in those areas, skin rubbed raw and painfully red beneath.

He turns his head, holds my gaze. "You alright?"

"Not at all."

A nod, and then he glances at the ceiling, chest heaving hard. "Yeah, fair enough."

The sound of hurried footsteps breaks my attention, and I look up to find Remus skidding to a halt inside the living room. Beads of sweat have flowered over his hairline, skin pasty with apprehension. "Thought I heard you lot in here," he says, the casual words only slightly belying the fear evident in his tone and expression. "Good thing, since we have a fucking ice wall blocking our doorway and that was really putting a damper on my options. I'll admit I could've gone without seeing Snape for another century, at the very least."

"You and me both, mate," James groans, pushing himself upright with a wince marring his features. Seems like the serum must be wearing off for him too. I let the knowledge weave relief through my bloodstream. "He was just as pleasant as ever. From what I gathered though, they've been tasked to take Evans back with them." Here, he looks at me again, conviction spilling generously from every pore of his being. "We won't let that happen."

Despite the inopportune moment, the beat of my pulse is helpless; the effect of that gaze unstoppable.

"Fucking bastard sent Reg to mess with me."

Sirius's bitterly spat proclamation is quick to pull me out of my thoughts, and as my mind goes through the sluggish process of connecting the name with the person, with the relation, silence befalls the room, stretched taut and volatile. I try to recall the faces of the other Death Eaters who'd stood spectating Snape's cruelty, awaiting his orders, but find that I can hardly remember anything beyond the fear that had gripped my throat in those moments.

"Are you certain it was him?" James ventures after a few beats.

"I think I can recognize my own brother."

"I know, mate. I just—" He sighs, feels for the wall behind him before stumbling onto his feet unsteadily. The pallor of his face is a good enough indicator of the discomfort he's still suppressing. I should know; I feel the same thing weighing down my body. "I just don't want you to assume the worst. He may not even want to be here."

Sirius shakes his head, as if clearing away the thoughts. "How the fuck did they even find us?!"

James runs both hands through his hair, pulling at the strands in distress. "It's hard to tell with them. It could've been anyone with any kind of ability. We might've been careless."

"Let's get out of here, right now," Sirius says. "Snape will find a way to break down that wall any minute, and I can't keep dodging those fucking shots while also trying to get you lot to safety."

"I need to take care of something first." James blows out a breath. "You take Evans out of here, and—"

"What?" My eyes shoot up, incredulity painted in the tone of my voice as I, too, make a concerted effort to pull myself upright. James doesn't respond, his eyes hard on Sirius, so I move to stand right in front of him, try not to slouch with exhaustion despite the sludge circulating within me. "What do you mean by 'take Evans'? I'm not going anywhere without the rest of you."

Agitation reddens his face when he looks at me. "It's not us they want. Why can't you see that?"

"It's not you they want alive, you mean?"

"For fuck's sake, Lily, I can't bear the thought of them taking you away!" he roars, so loud and sudden that Remus noticeably flinches in my periphery. But I will not be cowered, not by him, not about this. He must see the defiant tilt of my chin, because his next words come out on a growl. "Why are you doing this? Why don't you understand what's at stake here?"

"Because I don't fucking care!" And then I've taken another step forward, close enough that he can see the determination I want to convey. "Why don't you understand that I have nothing else in this world apart from this house and the four of you? Why are you so obstinate about wrenching me away from the only thing I know?"

He looks at me, prolonged, protracted. "Lily…"

"Let's get out of here, James." I wrap my hand around his arm, anchor myself to his familiar warmth. "All of us. Sirius is right. Let's leave right now."

"Where's Peter?"

James's gaze snaps up at Remus's question, brows immediately furrowed, concern quick to emerge. "What do you mean? Wasn't he inside the house?"

"No, I—" Remus swallows, "I thought he was with you."

Aching silence blankets around us, all of their faces etched into a single, burning expression: unveiled worry.

Remus moves first, feet hurried as he rushes to the staircase leading to the first and second floors. We follow, the pain and sluggishness brought on by the serum now dulled to a mist, and I feel like my heart pounds precariously close to my mouth as I halt to a stand behind the men.

"PETER!" Remus shouts, only for his voice to ricochet back down to us. He pulls in a shaky breath, tries again. "Peter, where the hell are you?! We have to get out of here!"

I'm distracted from his seemingly futile attempts by a faint cracking sound from behind. A confused twist of the head, and then I'm greeted with a sight that has my eyes widening, a scream tearing my throat apart as I barely manage to get the warning out.

"Look out!"

I don't know if they're able to hear me in time, let alone if they move out of the way, but the shock and the remnants of the serum still slowing me down make it impossible for me to dodge the shards of ice that whiz through the air as the frozen wall covering the doorway shatters into a thousand pieces. I'm thrown back down to the floor, chunks of flying ice slicing open my cheek and arms during the impact.

They don't let me stay down for even half a breath.

Pulling my elbow at an agonizing angle in his haste, Sirius screams at me, "get up, get up!"

I'm biting my tongue to arrest the whimper that wants to escape, and letting him fairly drag me away from the entrance, sharp fragments of ice pressing into my bare heels. My eyes lift, strangely caught onto the shoes still resting against the wall beside the door, and disbelief seizes me at the realization that it must've been only a half hour ago that I'd taken them off and stepped outside onto the rain-soaked grass.

A harsh roar explodes through the space, and my heart plunges to my gut when I notice the unknown, hunkering man stood amidst the rubble of ice, a wild glint in obsidian eyes.

But then I'm being dragged sharply, being wrapped up inside arms strong yet trembling. James's lips press onto my forehead in less of a kiss and more of a desperate attempt to feel. He's got me enveloped so tightly that I don't even have the luxury of tilting up and looking at his face. All I hear is the repeated chant of my own name whispered into the crown of my head.

That's fine with me, I think, just as long as—

The thought dies half-formed in my mind, overshadowed by the discomfort of being teleported once again, without signal, the sensation getting increasingly familiar but no less jarring with time. When we're stood under the cool breeze of the outside air once again, I'm immediately pushing away from James's embrace, stomach lurching nauseously. My throat burns as I retch, emptying nothing but bile onto a bush nearby.

"What the fuck happened?!" I groan, eyes scrunched closed as tears roll down, sting at the slash on my cheek. "I saw someone just… ram into the thick ice and break it as if it was made of straw."

"Avery," Remus pants from nearby. "He's got an insane amount of strength. Should've guessed Voldemort would send him here."

Another bout of nausea. "Fuck."

"Only a matter of time before they realize where we are," his uneasy voice carries through the drumming of pulse in my ears. I cough a couple of times, straightening. We look to be on the southern side of the house, hidden from the view of those gathered near the front entrance. "Let's just find Peter and get out of here."

"James thinks the Death Eaters have him."

Sirius's strained tone makes me whirl around, tension coursing through every single cell in my body as I take in the resolute expression James wears. He looks at me, unblinking, and I anticipate the words, loathe them undeniably more, before they're even out of his mouth.

"I'll go get him."

Fear sinks me under. "No."

He's silent, and apologetic, and I hate it.

I hate it.

I hate him.

"We'll get him and leave together," he whispers, hand already held out to Sirius. "I promise."

But something erupts inside me; something violent and frantic and terrified, because before I can think through the implications, I'm careening forward, watching as Sirius takes hold of James's arm, preparing to teleport away. And I also identify the exact moment he realizes what I'm about to do; gray eyes widen, in surprise, in horror, but it's too late, because my fingers have already skimmed James's knuckles.

And then I'm standing over ice, breath caught in my lungs, stomach once again roiling, right in front of the Death Eaters.

Chaos has simmered, and bubbled, and spilled over.

The starless night is friend and foe alike; it shadows the figures dressed in black, but also lends us the blanket of darkness for a handful of seconds that prove to be everything we need. Just as soon as I realize our sudden presence has confused the Death Eaters, held them back from shooting recklessly, I feel long fingers wrapping around my wrist again, and look up to find Sirius's jaw clenched hard enough to shatter.

"Fucking idiot," he says, and I can't conclude, with confidence, who amongst us he refers to.

Desperation flares, and I try to snatch my hand back. "No—"

But he's already taken me with him; again, and again, and again.

We flash past men and guns and bewildered gasps, so quick and fleeting that I can pay attention to nothing except keeping a grip, feeling myself, existing. I'm certain Sirius is trying to punish me for my folly, and succeeding too, for when he teleports for the eighth time in quick succession, I start fearing that the next moment when I reappear, I'll have left a part of my body behind, unable to pull it along fast enough. But it never happens, and we keep jumping, and I think I try to scream, or maybe I do scream, but the sound has no time to materialize.

Stop, my insides shriek.

Stop.

Go back.

Get James.

And then, suddenly, we halt.

There's no warning or preamble or time to pull in a breath before I've hunched over and vomited onto someone's foot. The hand that had held my wrist moves to curl firmly around my waist, and I almost shove him away, but the knowledge that I have no strength to hold myself up without help stops me.

"Leave him."

The hissed demand has me raising my head, finding, with a jolt of surprise, that Peter stands before me, his face flushed pink and dotted with anxious sweat as he stares back at us. We're somehow suddenly at the edge of the forest, a fair distance away from the house. I struggle to gather my bearings, but my mind is slow to understand that Sirius's words were not for Peter, but for the Death Eater who's got a hand clamped around Peter's arm.

I shift my gaze, and see gray eyes and staggering beauty and a reproachful curl of the mouth; all of it familiar, all of it new.

"Let him go, Reg," Sirius repeats, and shoves at his brother hard enough that he drops his grip from around Peter's arm.

Within a beat, Peter's at my side, moist palm sliding into my own. I wonder if I should apologize for puking on his shoes, but figure there are things more dire to worry about at the moment.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he squeaks nervously.

"I can stop you, you know," Regulus says, the gun in his hand limp by his side. "I'm the only one who can. That's why He sent me. All I have to do is touch you."

My heart thunders as I connect the threads, as the realization dawns, gradual but sure. Sirius had known Peter would be with Regulus.

How?

A flick of eyes between the two brothers, a replay of Regulus's words, and the truth strikes in my skull like a resounding gong: he has the ability to nullify abilities. He's the only one who could've prevented Peter from turning invisible and escaping.

"You'd have to stop being a coward first," Sirius whispers, and before anyone can react or so much as blink, he unwraps his hold from around me, snatches the gun from Regulus with a firm tug, and shoots his own brother on the arm.

My gasp of surprise, Regulus's cry of pain, Peter's grip tightening around my hand—

Every fucking sensation and sound disappear to a sudden flash of bright, golden light bursting behind us, painting the darkest of nights in a glow so bright and beautiful it's almost haunting.

But no—I twist around, feel the static in the air crackling on my very skin, under it, raising my hairs on end—this is not just light. Another flash; another burst of gold and white. My blood sings at the visceral familiarity, the soft caress of blinding power.

It's lightning.

It's thunder.

It's—

"Oh, thank fuck, the serum's worn off, then," Sirius breathes, relief splayed over the sharp lines of his face. "I was worried he was just playing the martyr by telling me to leave him there as a distraction."

I press a hand to my chest, try to calm my reeling mind. The memories play out, unbidden, behind my eyes. Deliberate touches, soft brushes, sparks down my spine. It'd been him, all this time, I'd been feeling him.

I can't think. I can't breathe. Tongue glommed to the roof of my mouth.

The next blaze of electricity is accompanied by a wave of agonized cries ringing through the air. It's that sound that pushes out my question on a gasp.

"How?" There's no point trying to control the trembling of my fingers as I look at Sirius. "You said—you said he doesn't have any powers!"

"I never said that," he dismisses, lips pursed as he looks down at Regulus, still flat on his back on the ground, panting as he glares up at the flashing sky. "Why the fuck would I say that?"

But I'm shaking my head, delirious about getting him to remember. "You did, just two days ago. You and Remus, in the kitchen, you were talking about James, and you said—he doesn't do anything. Do you remember? It was when Remus was complaining about your teleport—"

"Fucking hell, Evans, is this the time?" His snap is laced more with begrudging amusement than genuine annoyance. He turns his head towards the house, back to me; a disdainful quirk of brows. "You're turned on, by this, aren't you? You're thrilled."

The gnash of my teeth threatens to fracture my jaw. "Sirius."

"I never said that he doesn't have powers." He reaches out to hold my hand again. "I only said he doesn't do anything. He doesn't—doesn't like to use it."

A thousand questions swirl in my head, each more pressing than the one before, but I pull in a calming breath, ground myself to the situation around us, and understand the gravity of Sirius's earlier admonition.

This really isn't the time.

And so, I nod. "Let's go help him."

Right before we're tugged away from the spot, Peter's voice floats over to my ears in a choked noise.

"I don't think he's the one who needs help."

My knees buckle onto the grass when Sirius drops us on the eastern side of the house. Stomach empty and head abuzz, nothing seems to hurl out of me any longer, just dry heaves that make me feel like I'll never walk straight again.

In the two seconds it's taken for us to bring Remus from the back of the house and land here, against the wall, my body seems to have deteriorated beyond measure, and I realize—for the first time—that I probably hadn't ever recovered fully to begin with.

"Stay here," Sirius pants, the right side of his face lit up brilliantly for a beat. "I'll go get him."

"I'm coming," I cough, try to stagger onto my feet.

But it's Remus's hands that are pulling me back, firm and unrelenting on my shoulders. "Stay here," he says, voice austere. "If you go there, it'll just take them more effort to keep you protected. Don't forget why they're really here, Lily."

Sirius doesn't wait for an answer, simply steps back to teleport away again. But my brain must be slowing, because he doesn't move, doesn't disappear, even as the seconds tick by, even as colour drains from his face entirely.

I watch, terror rattling inside my hollowing heart, as a tiny trickle of blood trails down Sirius's nostril.

"Fuck," Remus breathes, fingers turning cold and clammy against my skin. "Fuck, Sirius, are you okay?"

He swipes fingers under his nose, pulls his hand away to stare at the smeared blood almost distractedly. "I think I might've overdone the teleporting for today."

"So, you..." Peter swallows, eyes wide and brimming with unguarded despair. "You can't get us out of here?"

But there's no response louder than the silence that greets his question. Sirius's face mirrors the expression of unadulterated dread that I assume sprawls over my own, but for a reason different than the one voiced by Peter.

Almost like we're both tugged by the same thread of panic, Sirius and I rush towards the entrance, my fingers dragging over the outer wall of the house to help me stay on my feet. Footsteps follow behind, alerting me of Remus and Peter's presence. And when we turn the corner a few seconds later, the scene I encounter effectively runs my mouth dry, pauses the beats against my chest, lungs stumbling over the last breath I'd pulled.

Because while I've been exposed to the brilliance of his power and the brightness that seems to penetrate beyond the world and my skin and my heart for the past several minutes, watching James, now, in this moment, feels akin to beholding...

A God.

Gold wreathes around his arm, as if the lightning powers straight from veins and blood down to his fingertips, spreading out and expansive in an ethereal web of sparking thunder. Even from the distance, the hazel of his eyes seems to glow splendidly, glasses struggling to reflect light from both sides. A strange sensation builds and whorls in my stomach at the sight of his hair, wilder than I've ever seen, as if possessing a life of its own.

If I'd believed my blood to be singing in the presence of this power, James looks to be... breathing it; living it.

I don't think he's the one who needs help, Peter had said earlier.

Now, as the Death Eaters create a wide arc several feet away from James, faces shielded with arms, and guns lying useless atop the melting ice, I properly appreciate the truth behind that assessment. He's painted the sky so bright that the night looks to be driven away.

"We have to get him out of there," Sirius breathes beside me, and I finally feel my heart slam back against the walls of my chest, as if it's just recalled how to function again. "He can't sustain like this. This level of power, it'll... it'll drain him soon. And Snape's not attempting to attack right now, because he knows he's useless as long as James keeps this up. He's waiting for an opening."

My hands, shaking uncontrollably, latch onto Sirius's upper arm, nails practically digging into skin in vehemence. "Help him."

He looks down at me, face slack with apprehension. "I don't know if I can get us out of here after that... even if I do manage to jump there and back."

But logic and sense have eluded me completely, and all I know is the desperation clawing at my insides, needing to pull James to safety. "I don't care!" My eyes look around helplessly, find no answer in any of their expressions. "Just get him out of there, please!"

"Lily—"

"GO!"

The piercing shout has me twisting on my heel, finding James looking right at us—no, right at me—even as his hands remain splayed out, a constant churn of lightning keeping the Death Eaters at bay. The strain of his own power throbs in a vein on his neck, but his eyes, they're pleading, soft and warm and so, so familiar.

"Go!" he yells again, slowly sliding one hand away from the men before him to the house at his back, so that he faces us fully now. The effect of his halved attention becomes immediately obvious when the Death Eaters who'd been cowering or lying flat on the ground a second ago, seem to get a semblance of mobility back. "Sirius, go, take her!"

Fear carves me up from inside.

"No," my voice is a sob wrangled from deep within. "No!"

Any effort to deny James this one fucking thing I cannot bear to go through with unravels completely when Sirius grips my elbow achingly tight, Remus and Peter stepping up beside me instantly. Shock and anger have me fighting against their hold, but Sirius looks at me, voice quiet, and says, "I'll come back for him, Evans. I promise. He's the only one with an ability that can be used for offence amongst us. We're all dead if they catch us."

Doesn't he understand?!

I don't care!

"NOW!" James shouts.

And then, lightning spirals out of his other hand, smashes through the door, windows, rooms; splintering the air surrounding Godric's Hollow, raining glass from the house in a shower of heartache and lost memories. At the same time, my gaze catches onto Snape as he lets out a shriek of fury, palms falling flat against the ground once more to prevent our escape.

So, despite the fact that a sharp-bladed knife rips through the muscles of my heart, despite the taste of ash that coats my tongue at the words, I push the words out, closing my eyes as tears roll down.

"Bring him back, Sirius."

A final lurch, and we've abandoned the place I called home.

A/N - Before I'm attacked by pitchforks, you can't say I didn't drop hints about James 😂 Love you all! Please leave some reviews and come talk to me on Tumblr! This chapter was... a lot.