December 15th, 1977

...

Lily walked past her sleeping friends with quiet footsteps, taking care to avoid the creaking floorboards. It was late, long after midnight, and the falling snow and wailing wind muffled the sound of her feet. She opened the door, anticipating one of her friends to wake, but other than the gentle crackling of the stove and the storm outside, her old dormitory was still. Lily reached for her dressing gown and toed on her slippers before shutting the door with a quiet click. She had spent the last three hours lying awake to her dormitory mate's breathing, but she wasn't able to quiet her mind. The turbulent nature of that morning buttressed with the uncertainty of the daylight hours made for restless bedfellows. It was also the first night in over two weeks that she hadn't slept with James, and she hadn't realized how much she needed his gentle reassurance to fall asleep.

Lily had brought a book with her, one of the few things she had been able to retrieve from their dormitory before being confined to Gryffindor Tower. A tissue marked the place where James had read last, and she stole down the stairs intending for stillness.

Snow had fallen heavily all day, and she smiled at the thick flakes swirling past the corridor windows. Lily had initially intended to lay claim to an old haunt of hers—a nook beside the window in the stairwell. But it offered no comfort, and the stairway was cold and still in the moonlight. The warm fires of the Common Room would be a cozier place to rest.

As she walked down the stairs, Lily was surprised to see someone else sitting in her favourite spot beside the hearth. She could only see a head and shoulders, but the tousled hair and familiar posture warmed her heart.

James was hard at work; the coffee table was littered with loose parchment and open books, his favourite griffin feather quill sat upright in a pot of ink. He didn't seem to notice her until Lily flopped down beside him, setting her book down and settling in.

"Jesus, Evans," James said, his eyes wide with surprise. "How long have you been hiding in the dark for?"

"I wasn't hiding," she said, moving to rest her legs on James' lap. He grinned despite himself and leant back comfortably, his notes forgotten. "I just couldn't sleep,"

"Me neither, if you couldn't tell," James said, gesturing to his work with a chuckle. "I'm still working on Amelia' disappearance, and now Frank's. I found some new leads I'm working on,"

"Hm," Lily said, pulling her glasses on and taking a loose bit of parchment in hand. "Do you want some help?"

"I think I'd like the company more," James said.

They sat in silence for a minute or two, the stillness not uncomfortable or unwelcome. James pulled a blanket from the sofa back and tucked it over the two of them, the bright red wool soft against his skin. He picked up the fringe and flicked it towards her, the tassel catching her cheek and making her laugh. He loved this, having this with her. It was so easy, so complimentary. He wished that he always knew how to make her laugh.

The wind howled in the flue, but James pulled in closer, and Lily laid back against his chest, comfortable in the stillness.

"It's seems like a lifetime since we were here last," Lily said, fixing her eyes on the falling snow. The wind had died down, but the snow was falling heavily, thick flakes drifting on the rooftops and window ledges. She had pulled her hair over her shoulder, and a long interrupted column of her neck distracted James from her initial inquiry. She was calm, but something had changed in her. Something near unperceivable, but for as long as James had known her, it was as if she had settled further into her skin. She was relaxed and still, more herself than he had ever seen her. Lily had spent most of that afternoon with her friends, comforting Alice, talking and laughing with one another. James had watched her— not altogether conscious he was doing so—but she didn't need him. It wasn't as if she didn't care about him or want him, but she was in and of herself complete. Lily needed her friends, female company, and the Marauders needed him.

James had spent the afternoon with Peter and Lupin, playing chess, eating sweets, wondering aloud where Sirius was. James felt pulled to him, and despite their recent falling out, Sirius was still his best mate, and as much as he hated it, he loved him. Sirius' hopes and dreams had been imprinted on James, and he felt Sirius' anger and frustration, a lifetime of insufficient parental affection. Looking over at his friends, James wondered how he ever could've fought with Sirius, what had struck him that what he had done—subtle and insignificant at the time, sure—had wounded Sirius beyond what he was capable of repairing. Sirius didn't deserve it, any of it. Sirius didn't deserve his shit, his self-loathing and lack of confidence, Sirius deserved James' full self, and being his best mate wasn't a good enough excuse to give nothing but his leftovers. And Lily too, James thought. She didn't deserve anything less than somebody who was honest with themselves. As much as he tried, James couldn't be the person they wanted him to be, he could only be himself and hope that they loved him deeply enough not to care. He wanted to be so fully himself that there was no doubt that he loved his friends without reservation because he had loved himself first. And as much as he hated it, he needed to apologize to Sirius.

He was utterly, imperfectly human— and James' many flaws were no mystery to him. There were enough faults, James thought, and he had no business dwelling on them. He might have hair that stuck up on end, lanky limbs, a voice too loud for his own good. But what did it matter? It was who he was, flawed and personable and himself. There were no others like him, he was singular unto himself.

It was his downfall, thinking that he was lesser and insignificant when he had no business thinking so. He might feel that he was unimportant to the world, woefully negligible in the grand scheme of things, and he'd be right. But was there any point? Why push towards greatness when an open grave was what awaited him? What was the end goal, if not happiness and satisfaction with the people he loved?

James knew that his parents expected great things of him, but loving gently and living loudly was just as important. Living every day like it was his last, not leaving anything behind and unsaid. Lily had told him once that tomorrow was promised to no one, and she was right. His parents were older, and as much as they tried to downplay it, their days were numbered. They wouldn't be around forever, and their goals and aspirations and dreams would die with them.

James' father had held off selling his business for years, hoping for a child, perhaps, to take up the mantle in his place. It wasn't like his parents discouraged his dreams, they'd love him just the same no matter what it was he did with his time. But he wanted to make them proud, just the same. James wanted to prove that he was worth something, that his talents weren't going to waste, that he would do something worthwhile with his life. For years, he had entertained the suggestions of going professional with Quidditch, playing for England in the World Cup. His dad had bought him his first broom for his first birthday, he couldn't imagine life without flying. But there was the war to think about, and with Lily leaning against him and the storm blowing, a future other than Voldemort seemed improbable, impossible. Was there a life for them to look forward to once this mess was over with?

"It has been a lifetime," James confirmed, thinking just the same. The last time they had sat on this sofa together…it felt like years ago. He still remembered how her lips trembled against his own, how she had sighed into his smile, the feeling of her so close against him. James had missed her last night. His bed felt so empty without her in it, and he knew that it hadn't been that long, and she might feel differently but had she missed him too?

Lily leant further into his side, pulling the blanket up to her chin. James wished that he could be as calm as she was, but whenever she sat next to him, his pulse raced, and he couldn't help it—he reached for her, pulling her closer to him. James didn't want to be possessive, but as much as she needed her friends and the Marauders needed him, James wanted her too. Not necessarily to himself, but close at hand. She had such a calming effect on him.

She was wearing her nightie under her quilted dressing gown, and the memory of his hand on her hip flooded his mind. She had been so confident and suave like it was intentional like she had planned for James to find her like—like that, bare and wanting. Waiting for him to come closer, to touch her in places he had only thought about. And it wasn't like he hadn't thought about it, loving her in that way, but she hadn't agreed, hadn't told him in so many words that this was what she wanted. He had wanted to, oh, he wished he could be spontaneous and romantic, because she did want it, didn't she? Couldn't she tell, didn't she know how much he loved her?

All of James' life, the facts and nuances of his existence were black and white, good and evil, right and wrong. The rulebook had been set, and James was nothing if not consistent. He had fought with Snape and the Slytherins for years, but not for the reasons people thought they did. They took jinxes and curses too far; they fought with younger kids and believed in blood purity and the overarching rights of Purebloods. They had never gone beyond what was acceptable, less than they deserved, surely. It had served him well, but life wasn't black and white. A myriad of colours had burst into his life, and good wasn't all that distinguishable from evil, not anymore. Good people did evil things in good faith, and a redemption story was possible with any of those he had faced. His judgement was fallible, James wasn't the best man for every job, and not every fight needed him at the helm. James knew that Dumbledore was looking to him to set the example, and even though he hated it, he had stayed put. He had chosen to comfort his friends and watch out for Lily when he'd rather be out, looking for Frank. And since Sirius had taken the Map, they would have no advantage over the Aurors in locating him anyway.

One of the only things keeping him from tearing the Common Room apart to search for Frank was Lily's steady hand on his thigh. That whole day, while they were comforting Alice or eating the food the house-elves brought up, she had stayed beside him. His personal relationship with Frank was sparse. He had been Gryffindor's keeper for three years, they had been on the same Gobstones team in second year, and they had duelled more than once in Duelling Club. But Frank was steady, steadier than any of the Marauders, he had an easy-going personality and was a good man to have around. James knew that the news that Frank was dating Alice troubled Lily, and he hated that part of the reason she hadn't known was because she was living with him and not with her dorm mates.

As darkness fell and the shadows deepened, students drifted off to bed, and James settled in to study. All of the anxious energy from the day had left him with jitters and an uneasy restlessness that he couldn't shake. He was caught up with his homework, and his mind drifted to the conversations he had had with Lily about Crouch. Something about his sudden and shocking reappearance in the bowels of the castle didn't sit right with James. It seemed uncharacteristic and suspicious that he was seemingly captured and left to rot. How had he found himself there? What did he have to do (if anything) with Moody and Amelia's disappearance? Was he hiding something? James wished it was as easy to pour a vile of Veritiserum down the codger's throat and call it a day.

And as much as he hated it, he knew that it wasn't the answer, Dumbledore had trusted them to come to a conclusion about all of this, and James wished that he had more to offer. Even his most barmy daydreams hashing and rehashing the night they found Amelia in the Room of Requirement yielded little in the way of answers. There were simply too many unknowns. She might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, she might've seen something she ought not to have. James knew first hand that a misplaced memory charm had a habit of ricocheting, doing more harm to yourself than to your assailant if improperly cast.

James knew that Dumbledore had a Pensieve, a stone basin intended to re-live past memories. He didn't want to bother Amelia, he knew that she was still confused and disturbed by her lack of memories, and he didn't want to make it worse. James had been putting off asking her for weeks, afraid that she would reject him, and they'd be worse off. He couldn't imagine how traumatic it must've been to be bound and gagged, taken away from her friends, and for what? What had it accomplished? Whatever had happened before James and the others had rescued her was as much of a mystery to her as to anybody else.

"I missed you," Lily said suddenly, startling James out of his thoughts. "Last night, I looked for you in my sleep, but you weren't there."

James smiled sadly. "You needed to be there for Alice,"

"You wouldn't go back to our dormitory if you had the chance?"

"Of course I would," James said. "But we have to be here too. I distinctly remember that it was you who told me that we couldn't be an island,"

Lily looked ahead, her eyes sparkling in the firelight. "Alice is hurting, Frank meant more to her than I realized." She took a deep breath, facing him with a grim expression. "She's asleep, all of them are. I ended up giving her something of Moony's to help her sleep."

James hoped she didn't finish her thought. He knew enough about missing person cases to understand that the first few hours were critical, and so far as they knew, there was no trace of Frank anywhere. He had disappeared, and if Sirius knew where he was, he wasn't offering any information.

"They'll find him," Lily said firmly as if she knew his thoughts. "They have to,"

"Would you go out and look for him?" James asked. "If Dumbledore and McGonagall hadn't ordered us to stay put?"

"Of course I would," Lily said, a faint tone of indignation in her voice. "Frank's innocent, he deserves to be found, to be happy; however he wishes it. It's the right thing to do, I just hate—" Lily sighed, leaning forward onto her elbows. "I hate being stuck here, I know we have to set the example, and all that, but I'm frustrated, angry, even, at Dumbledore for keeping us here."

James nodded, "Tomorrow, we'll do it, okay? Even if we're not given permission,"

Lily smiled, her face wan with deep shadows. She looked older than seventeen as if the worries of their situation were squared on her shoulders alone. "Sure," Lily said, even though her voice was thin and brittle. She looked more upset than James could understand. But he couldn't imagine what had made her this way. She didn't care about Frank like—like that, did she?

"Are we okay?" She said quietly, fiddling with the hem of her dressing gown.

"Why wouldn't we be okay?" James asked, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion.

"After this morning," Lily said, fighting to meet his eye. "I know we haven't talked about it—but did you, did you like it? What we did, I know it's further than we had gone before. Did I go too—mmpf,"

James kissed her soundly, running his fingers through her loose plait, hovering on his forearms on top of her. He tried to pour his determination, his apologies for earlier hesitancy and immense admiration for her into his kiss, framing her face with his hands. She smiled, openly, with abandon—happy and content. She chased after him, tangling her fingers in his curls and pulling him closer to her, wrapping a knee around his leg to brace herself. James tried to be gentle, but she was so close; she had chosen to be here with him, kissing him like this. She had wanted to share this moment with him, and he wasn't about to let it go to waste.

She leant back against the cushions, breathing heavily against his shoulder. James kissed the column of her neck, the sensitive skin behind her ear, and she scrunched her throat and laughed.

"Shh!" He chastised, kissing her with a broad smile on his lips. "We're not as alone as we usually are,"

Lily moved to sit up on her elbows, and James hovered above her, a knee on each side of her hips. "I missed you, all curled around me last night,"

"I missed you too," James confessed, "I couldn't fall asleep without you. James tried to keep the truth of his statement out of his eyes. The real reason he missed her was more than just her presence, but her warmth, the reality that she had chosen to stay with him rather than her mates. The smell of her hair, the softness of her skin…James was growing fond of having her close.

"We could, y' know, stay here," Lily said, scooting over so there was room beside her on the sofa. "Compromise,"

"I like the way you think," James said, waiting for her to shift before resting beside her, both of their heads resting on the same pillow. Despite his restlessness, James fell asleep in minutes; his face tucked in the crook of her neck with his arms pulling her close.

…

It felt as if only minutes had passed before James woke to a hand shaking his shoulder urgently. It was still dark—the fire had died to embers long ago— and he fumbled on the coffee table for his glasses before the blurry face of Sirius appeared, staring down at him.

"Jesus, Pads," James whispered, rubbing his eyes and falling back into his pillow, against Lily's still sleeping form. "It's early,"

"I found a lead about Frank," Sirius said bluntly, dressed and alert and annoyed. "If you're still interested,"

"Course I'm interested," James grumbled, sitting up and pulling his legs out from under the blanket. Lily was still fast asleep, and James wondered how Sirius felt about finding him like this, asleep with Evans in the Common Room. He moved to kiss her but hesitated at the last minute—trying to pass it off as searching for his wand, but Sirius snorted and leant against the mantle as James sat up.

"Dress warmly," Sirius said. "I found Snape and Regulus in Hogsmeade,"

"What does that have to do with Frank?"

"God, you are dense in the mornings, aren't you?" Sirius said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a scarf, winding it around his neck. "We need to hurry,"

James threw on a pair of trousers and the jumper he had worn the day before while Sirius waited in the Common Room. Lily was still asleep, but James hated to leave her like this; without a note, without an explanation. He tore off a piece of parchment and scribbled out an apology, tucking it into her open palm before crawling through the portrait hole.

They took a detour back to the Head's dormitory for the cloak, and Sirius waited outside while James rummaged through his trunk. Lily's discarded nightie was lying across his unmade bed, and James paused, took a second to run his fingers over the soft satin before shaking his head and reaching for his dad's old cloak.

Sirius led him down a familiar path, and when he murmured the password into the humped back witch on the third floor, James jumped down the narrow passage without question. They slid down the slide and emerged into the earth lined path they had crossed many times over the years.

"You think Snape got out through here?" James asked, lighting the tip of his wand and taking the lead in the darkness.

"Only logical exit," Sirius said with a shrug. "I spent most of the night down here waiting for them to return.

"From what?"

"God knows," Sirius said.

They walked in silence for longer than what was comfortable. James tried to think of something to say, something anything to fill the emptiness that sat between them. The air was thick with it. James was torn between thoughts that finally they were getting past this…whatever it was that stood between them. James didn't feel as if he had done anything worth a reaction to this scale, and he wanted to say something, but what? What could he say to heal a rift this thorough, this enormous? Stick to the facts, James thought. Stay close to this moment, and don't ask for more than you bargained for. Sirius was complicated, but a good man for a crisis.

"Why did you leave yesterday?" James asked.

There was quiet for a minute or two, and in the faint light of the tunnel, it was difficult to see his expression. Sirius' wand was held out in front of him, forever onto the next thing. Not staying with the present, but looking forever onward. James had respected him for it, the future was the best he could hope for when today was difficult and the past impossible. There had been so many times when James wished he had said something, anything to prove that he was going to be there for Sirius, no matter what. They were brothers until the end, but would Sirius forgive him after all that had happened?

"Why didn't you follow?" Sirius said, his expression uncharacteristically unguarded. James realized, maybe for the first time, that the hurt that he had inflicted had been more profound than he realized.

"I didn't know you wanted me to," James said.

"Hmpf," Sirius said, switching hands and tucking the other deep into his pocket. As they had walked, the temperature had dropped steadily—not quick enough to notice immediately, but James followed Sirius and switched wand hands, tucking the other deep into his pocket. Ice had melted and frozen in rivulets on the tunnel walls, and the air condensed and froze, the air hanging heavy and cold.

"Why didn't you get the others?" James whispered.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "You're the quickest with a wand, and we need to move quickly. Moons and Pete are still sleeping,"

"So was I," James said, but if anything, it only led to Sirius pick up the pace.

They made it to the cellar door of Honeyduke's in good time, and after taking a peek upstairs, motioned for James to pull the cloak out of his pocket and throw it over their shoulders.

The two of them huddled behind a tower of barrels and listened for movement. James knew that the shops were closed, but never before had he seen it so empty—dust and silence filled the air, and they would have to be more careful to escape detection. There was no telling how far ahead of them Snape was, and James hadn't asked if Sirius had news on their proximity. He looked over to gauge his reaction, but he was still, guarded. And when he rose to move, James hastened to follow.

The door to the sweetshop was open and creaked as they passed it.

"God, this is desolate," James whispered, and Sirius nodded, walking down the high street with careful precision. James had had his father's cloak since his first year at Hogwarts, but this feeling of invisibility in broad daylight was still disconcerting. Sirius stayed to the shadows, ducking between buildings to disguise their feet beneath the cloak and James followed by instinct. If it was working, James had no idea. They had seen no one, with no indication of a large gathering of any kind. Was it possible that the Death Eaters could be this close to Hogsmeade after all that they had already done?

The sunlight was weak, and the early day shadows cast ghoulish blackness over the street. James knew that Hogsmeade would be empty, the shops were closed, and the storm was only getting worse. Any villagers left around would be tucked inside on a day like today.

What was Snape doing here? There was no reasonable explanation to be out of the castle. Before today, he was sure that the Marauder's were the only ones to find the passage through the humped-back witch, the last of the seven secret passages they had found. His breath fogged up his glasses, and he stopped to clear them on his jumper. The thick wool was damp, and the resulting wipe left them dirtier than they had been previously, but James shoved them on his nose and looked for where he had last seen Snape.

"Wait," James said, and Sirius slowed to a stop. Fifty feet in front of them, a lone figure paused between two buildings indistinguishable in the storm. It was difficult to see with the snow and the dampness of his glasses, but if he wasn't mistaken—

"It's Snape," Sirius confirmed.

Before they reached the impasse, Sirius drew out his wand, and James followed suit. Despite all that Lily had told him about Snape's redeeming qualities, God— James hated Snape for what he had done to her. James held his wand tightly, pointing it at Snape's back without remorse, and followed him into the shadows.

…

Lily woke to more than one whispering voice, and before she was fully awake, she reached beside her for James, but he wasn't there. Her fingers searched the cold bedsheets, but it must've been hours since he had been gone. She moved to sit up, and a crumpled piece of parchment fell from her fist.

"Lils—," a voice said from beside her. Marlene? She wasn't sure.

The handwriting was his, but the urgency was all Sirius. They had left to follow a lead about Frank, and he didn't want to wake her. He promised that he'd be back before she woke up, but then where was he? He hadn't included many details about their search, or where she could find him.

"Lils, you need to see this—,"

"In a minute," Lily said impatiently, flipping the note over and then crumpling it into her pocket. "What is it?"

"It's James," Alice said hesitantly, her big eyes full of tears. "We wanted to let you rest before—,"

"What happened to him?" Lily said, standing. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, first Amelia, then Frank and now James? What had she done to deserve this? "Where is he?"

"No, not where," Marlene said, moving into Lily's line of sight. "How, Lily. He's bleeding out, bleeding since they found him, and they can't stop it. He's—he's calling for you."

...

Hey friends!

The title from this chapter is from a mid 17th century Jesuit hymn titled the Huron Carol, and since we're well into December now, I've been listening to Christmas music to get into the mood, which is wreaking all sorts of havoc into the recently played playlist :)))))) This is the lead up to the finale of act 2 of this piece, with one more act to come.

(Also, if anyone can explain to me why y'all like chapter 11 so much, you'll get an OC named after you. For pity's sake, it's driving me nuts.)

Much love,

V