!GORE WARNING FOR PART 21! feel free to skip it if you want
21. (On days like this I would just disappear if it weren't for you and your love like nails in my feet.)
If Lily had known what was awaiting her on the other side of that Patronus, she might have thought twice about coming to the Order's aid.
Gideon Prewett had sent it, a silvery and whispery wolf, its urgency evident by the message – 'send backup immediately. Death toll unknown, but high'. She is thankful to have her wand tucked behind her ear and nothing better to do before the madness really kicks in.
She leaves the light of the safe house and is plunged into darkness. Everything smells like blood, and guts, and more blood. The stench is strong enough to make her gag every time she breathes, though she imagines this is what she would become if she were to stop – breathing, that is. Her foot is caught on something squishy and she doesn't want to cast a light and look down, but she does despite her better instincts.
Lily is paralysed by panic.
"Lily! Over here!" It takes her a moment to tear her gaze away from the half-eaten remains that make up the floor, and she sees a flash of light and fire instead. The flame lights up the scene: a pack of Inferi, wading towards them through a children's playground, melting as the flames slash through their rotten skin. Emmeline Vance, her face distraught with blood and her hair falling out of her ponytail and into her face, which is odd, because Emmeline is the type of person to always, always, always put her appearance first. "Shield me for a second!"
Lily does as she's told, doing her best to concentrate on the matter at hand – saving people, not trying to keep the bile down. She does her best to ignore the severed limbs littering the floor, blood still flowing as if it happened mere minutes ago. She isn't surprised to see her hand shaking when she lifts it up to cast a shield charm.
"Wh–what happened?" Her stomach rolls.
"Don't know. Ministry received some frantic call, and when we got here it was…" Emmeline shudders. She makes to slash at the last Inferi. "Oh, you bastard. Is your shield charm holding well? Reducto!" The Inferi bursts into a million gore-filled pieces, bouncing off of Lily's shield and splattering against the playground. Lily's chest heaves with a gag. That's going to be a real bitch to clean up.
Emmeline tries to wipe some of the blood off her face, but she only manages to smear it around some more. Lily stares transfixed at the remnants of abandoned life around them. She blinks, then blinks again, rapidly, as she starts to look without seeing. She should have realised that it is inevitable that she would have to fight – and kill, eventually – for the Order. That she could not ignore the brutalities of war forever.
"Lily." Emmeline's voice sounds far away. "Come on. We have to look for survivors."
Lily balls her cloak to her nose to keep the smell away and nods. "Are there any more of them?"
"No clue." Emmeline says as she starts stalking towards the rows of trees lining the playground, her wand held high with the barest of light. "But I'm going to safe a bet and say yes. Hopefully Gid is taking care of them."
"And the medis?" Lily asks, following close behind Emmeline.
"They're going to be laid thin even if it is safe enough for them to all come down. Communication's scattered. We can't risk the Inferi catching sight of a Patronus when we don't know who's doing what. Sparks are even worse."
Lily glances up at the sky, dark yet with not even a hint of stars, with a patch in the corner taken up by a shower of red sparks that have been there for who knows how long. SOS. Lily finds it hard to muster up much resolve when things are looking bleaker than bleak. "Why here?" She half-whispers. "Why now?"
"Try 'because they can'?" Emmeline laughs, though it is bitter and lacks humour.
Before Lily can reply to this, movement up ahead catches their attention. Something light and strange shimmers between the trees, and Lily holds her wand up – whether to defend or attack, she doesn't know – though Emmeline lowers hers as Gideon Prewett strides out towards them. His clothes are tattered and covered in gore, and the light of Emmeline's wand combined with his own sharpens his cheekbones and the dark look in his eyes.
"It's alright on that side." He says as he steps towards them. "Fabian and I took care of them. He's trying to arrange a Portkey for some residents he's found. We're gonna try suss the death toll in the morning." He doesn't need to say 'if we make it', but it is there all the same.
"What's the plan?" Emmeline asks.
Gideon's lips thin into a grim line. "Try to link up with Bones's team."
"Is that it?" Emmeline frowns.
"You got a better one?" He raises a brow.
"Is there any sign of the Death Eaters who brought them here?" Lily asks, lowering her cloak slightly.
He shakes his head. "They were long gone by the time we got here. The town was in ruins when we finally got wind of what was going on. The Oblivators are going to have one hell of a job."
Lily gives a hard nod. "So how many teams are there?"
"Three." Emmeline says. "Gideon's, Bones's, and mine."
Lily's heart drops through her stomach. Whatever hope Lily has left in her is slowly fading out into the harsh night around them, fragmenting into pieces that are snatched up by the dark. She can't remember a time in her life where she has ever been so scared, and it is not just this moment – rather, this entire period of war has suddenly become so much darker. Everything is coated by a layer built up of blood, and rot, and rust, that sits on the top of her bones and slows her movements down; her thinking, too. This is worse than the monsters in her closet, because perhaps she is now afraid of the monsters hiding in her own heart.
She wishes this sorrow and guilt could collide to make a fiery determination within her, but instead she just feels tired. Maybe even numb. "Are we all that's left of your team?"
"Something like that." Emmeline's shoulders slump – with weariness, disgrace, or heartache, Lily cannot tell. "We lost Garrett the second we got here. Pretty sure you were standing on a part of Michelle."
Lily tries to school her face to resemble something that doesn't look like a panic attack, but her stomach is alive with knots and her heartbeat sounds so loud in her fear. "We–" Her breath shudders out of her, harsh. She swallows. "We'll link up with Bones and decide what to do from there. Can we get a movement sweep out here?"
Gideon raises his wand and says, "Homenum Revelio," at the same time that Emmeline says, "Motus Revelio".
Gideon shakes his head. "Nothing except earthworms. Might be worth Apparating to the edge and walking from there. You know how to do a Portkey spell?" He directs this last part to Lily, who nods. "Good. We'll need to Portkey whoever we find out of here and to St. Mungo's. Best if we do groups of them, but our main priority is getting people to safety."
He draws his shoulders back, squaring up for what's to come. With an almost comical salute, he Disapparates.
The moment before she twists into nothing feels much like a dentist visit – strapped in the chair, waiting for them to pull the tooth and get it over with.
The air she appears in is cool on her face, and they are standing on a grassy hill, overlooking the town. It is almost peaceful in the midst of all that's going on, and she's tempted to just close her eyes and fall to her knees, maybe pray that this whole night is nothing more than a bad dream. That is, until she actually takes in what she's seeing.
The night frames itself as a horror: instead of street and house lights, there are fires scattered across the town to break up the blanket of darkness. Smoke curls up into the air, but it is nothing compared to the Dark Mark that sits in the sky, mocking them. It is eerily silent. She presses her lips together and tastes blood.
Emmeline Apparates beside her before she can do so much as grit her teeth. Gideon is standing near the edge of the clearing, looking out with concentration.
"There's sign of wand light towards the west." He says, rubbing his chin. "Reckon it's our best chance at finding them quickly. Em, stay here and keep watch. If it's them, I'll come and grab you. If not, we'll come and grab you anyway."
"If you're not dead first." Emmeline quips weakly.
They turn on their heels and Apparate again. This time, they don't plunge themselves fully into darkness; there is Edgar, surprise and wariness highlighted by his wandlight. There is Sirius, nearly slipping in a cascade of blood. And there is James, his wand trained on them both, though he lowers it when he realises who it is.
"Lily! Holy shit, Lily, are you okay?" He rushes forward, holding her by her arms.
"I–I don't know." She wants to let the words spill out of her mouth – that she is not good at this, that she has hung her head on the battlefield too many times now, that out here she is nothing more than instinct, and she struggles far too much in accepting her own raw humanity. That she is only ever full of doubt now because she has seen people be wrong in war, and here it costs much more than a bad grade.
That this is too much for her – the blood, the guts – that she doesn't know how people can hold themselves together when she is little more than body parts stitched together by splinters. That she wants to go home, to forget this night, to curl up next to Petunia and be read The Tale of Peter Rabbit again by her father.
That the deep pressure of war is something that needs to be torn out of her before she ends up clawing and ripping out her own heart just to feel a moment of peace.
But she smiles shakily, thorns studded in her chest. "What's going on here?"
Gideon and Edgar are talking to each other, though she cannot hear the words. She only has eyes for James.
"Found a pack Inferi trying to get in through this house. They were looking for some kids who'd managed to hole themselves up in the attic. They're safe, now." He adds at the look of horror on her face. "We've just been trying to clear survivors out."
"Weird, though." Sirius pipes up from the front steps to a quaint porch. "I've never heard of Inferi travelling together before, and I've heard a lot of shit from my dear old mum." He says this last part with faux sweetness, so acidic it's made to rot.
"This whole thing is…" She shakes her head, breathily trying to find the words. "Out of control."
"I'm really glad you're alive." James says. "I'd kiss you, but…" He lifts one shoulder in a shrug.
"I'm glad you're alive too." She laughs in a frail way despite the tears that are welling in her eyes. All she wants to do is shudder and weep for a childhood that is no more; for all the friends she has lost along the way. "Both of you. I'm just –"
"I know." James says soothingly, and he goes to run a hand through her hair before stopping himself mid-way.
"You may as well." She says. "I'm already a complete mess."
His chuckle is weak. Her hair slides sluggishly over her shoulder as he pushes it back. She wants to kiss him, because the thing about kissing is that it's a whole lot like laughing. If you find something funny, it doesn't matter how long it's been or what the circumstances are. Even if there is nothing funny or romantic about this situation at all.
But James says, "Come back to my parents' place when this is all over. You shouldn't be alone. We can build a fort if we don't pass out first."
She looks down. "James?" She lowers her voice, just enough for him and Sirius, if he strains, to hear. It's a good thing Sirius is too busy trying to look through the dark windows to bother. "Do you ever think of just not going back? Just – going to holiday on the coast, forgetting this whole thing and living our lives?"
"Hiding?" James asks dubiously.
"I guess."
"No."
"Would you hate me if I never stepped foot outside a safe house again?"
"I could never hate you."
There is a long pause. She thinks of a life she could be living right now – where he kisses her on a beach at dawn, the sky a pale blue that bleeds into pink and is mirrored by the ocean, and no dark can hide in that lightness, in the happiness that would live inside of her. People would get hurt. Havoc would erupt across Britain, and people would die. All because Lily is sick of being scared all the time. Because she is not strong enough to keep standing.
Part of her would like to think it's for his benefit too – of course it would be – because she has seen his horror-struck face when he thinks no one is watching. That this is hard on him, too. He may have to kill childhood friends, the ones whose families are higher up than his and wear their family crest on their chests like it proves their worth, the ones who have fallen for misconceptions and lies. That he may cry onto her shoulder again and again, for what he has done, for what others have done. That she'll find herself wishing that she can be strong enough to bear this for both of them. That things might be okay.
Lily closes her eyes as if it is painful. "Let's find survivors."
22. (…though nothing is damaged, everything is changed.)
"Mary—" Lily reaches out in time to stop her friend from falling through the trick step. Lily blinks, startled even though she is not the one a centimetre away from the trouble of a stuck leg, and it feels as though a weight is pressing down on her heart. "This is the second time today."
"Right." Mary shakes her head, causing her gold hoops to shake with her. "Sorry."
Mary is usually the more focused of the two; always grounding Lily when she gets away with the fairies, always reminding them all what's due and when, only losing focus when a boy or something sparkly comes by. Lately everything is drawing her attention away, from a scrape on the banister to a portrait that's looking at her a little weirdly.
Lily can't really blame Mary, not after what Mulciber did to her, and while she understands, she can't help but feel like Mary should be more relaxed around her friends. She so desperately wants to believe that several years of close friendship can be strong enough to overcome fear. She wants to be an anchor on her sinking ship, but she doesn't know if Mary will let her be.
"What were you saying, Lils?"
A small, strained smile pushes its way onto her face. "Nothing, Mare."
23. (I'll be good, I'll be good, and I'll love the world like I should.)
James's curiosity is piqued when Lily shows up to Sirius's so-called 'birthday party' without so much as a card, let alone a proper present. It is only the five of them crammed into Sirius's apartment, fresh out of Hogwarts, though they're under strict orders from the man himself to be less awful than usual to him.
Lily kisses Sirius's cheek and moves to the side so that James can put Sirius in a headlock and ruffle his hair. "How's it feel to be an old man?" He asks joyously as Sirius tries to wiggle out of his grip.
"Good until you showed up."
James pulls a face and releases him. "Are you going to tell me to get off your lawn? Chase me into the streets with a walking stick?"
"Something like that." Sirius says with ease and raised brows. "I can think of plenty of places to stick it up."
"Peter's nose, perhaps?"
A noise of indignation comes out of Peter's throat. "What happened to maturity?"
"We've never had any of that."
Lily slinks over to Remus as Sirius, James, and Peter discuss the logistics. One of Remus's arm is wrapped in a sling, and he smiles at Lily when she stops in front of him. "Want to help me with something?" She asks, a cheeky smile dancing on her lips.
His brows furrow, and his smile is questioning. "With what?"
"Never you mind. Where does Sirius keep his motorbike?"
"Out front." He leaves no place for doubt, and he says it not of paranoia, but of observation. "Why?" He narrows his pale eyes.
"Cover for me, okay? Tell them I'm having the most awful cramps the world has ever seen if you have to. I'll be back in five minutes."
She leaves him to stand there with no further explanation, slipping out through the front door when she's sure they're too busy trying to play catch with a sloppily wrapped present. It is foolish to think they won't notice her absence quickly, but Lily prefers to be foolish.
She makes her way down the stairs of the muggle building, her feet thudding against each step, and out into the muggy air of the street. The sky is dark with clouds, the air cold enough to bite, the one-way street empty of people, and she spots the red, gleaming motorbike in all its glory in no time at all.
It is parked just a little to the left of the building, and she thinks that the fact he will have to find a new — and hidden — parking spot after she's done will be worth it. Her heart stops, hammers, then starts in on an excited pace that can only be matched to her brilliant smile.
She crouches beside the bike and discretely pulls out her wand and a piece of parchment from her pant pocket. Charming all her pockets to be as deep as a suitcase had been a truly great investment, even before she'd begun to plan this. She can keep all sorts of goodies down there, half of which she's already forgotten she'd packed. She begins to read the words from the parchment like a soothing prayer, moving her wand to point at varying parts of the bike.
Lily is good at many things, but charms is something she not only excels in, but she loves it in a way that overwhelms her with gratitude. Sure, there is potions too, but every time she flickers back to the green light of the dungeons she thinks of Snape cornering her when her partner was off sick or Slughorn praising her despite her muggleborn status. Charms is something her wand is made for, something that had picked her especially, and had always come as easily as brushing her hair.
Lily moves her arm over and over, checking and rechecking each part to make sure it is as perfect as she has practiced, and her motivation is only fuelled by what she imagines will be the look on Sirius's face when he realises what she's done. It is strange to think she hadn't had much of a premonition of what he would become to her all those years ago — on a carriage, on a train — but maybe it is not as weird as she thinks. So much of what makes magic magic is the fact that you don't see it coming at all.
Sirius is the brother she'd never asked for, but cherishes all the same.
It is a few minutes later, with cold cheeks and a pink nose, that Lily rejoins them, her back to the door as she closes it.
"Hey Lils," Sirius calls from over his shoulder. The boys are currently in the middle of an exploding snap game, which seems to never get old. "Feeling better?" He grins, but the lack of teasing makes her feel like she's gotten away with it. James is looking at her through suspicious eyes, but he doesn't say anything until the game is finished and they start handing out plates for food.
"You're not on your period." He states quietly. "I memorised your cycle. What's going on?"
"I'd say that's weird, but you learned Remus's quickly enough. Pass the salt?"
"Say please and don't avoid the question."
"Maybe you should take your own advice. I'll start: please pass the salt." She holds her hand out expectantly, giving James a look that feels so reminiscent of Petunia that she cuts it out.
He passes her the salt. She says, "you'll see with everyone else. It's a surprise."
"I can practice my surprised face in the mirror if you'd like."
"Go on, then, but you still have to wait."
"You're no fun." He sticks his lower lip out in a dramatic pout.
"Don't be so sure about that." Lily says lightly, before moving over to sit with Peter and the conversation is closed.
That is, until Sirius announces it's present time and he'll be rating each present out of five. "This one is from either Remus or Lily. You two can't wrap for shit," he says, pointing between James and Peter.
"Lily's the shit wrapper, actually." James says. "Mum always said Santa would force-feed me coal if I didn't fold the edges and put a bow on a gift."
"Right, so this one's yours. What is it?"
"Open it and find out." James rolls his eyes, but smiles all the same. He wraps an arm around Lily's shoulder and pulls her closer, squeezing her gently with excitement.
Sirius tears the paper off with no regard for James's meticulous wrapping, grinning wickedly at the stack of lewd muggle magazines peeking out from underneath a bottle of Ogden's.
"Nice." Sirius says with an air of condensation, grin still intact, as if James is puppy who has managed not to chew on a shoe. "You're not very original, are you?"
"Had to give you something lackluster to make up for Christmas. You got how many technowhatevers again?"
"Three, and mind your business. A solid three for you James." He tuts. "Peter, what have you got for me?"
Peter's gift turns out to be a very odd cookbook — odder than odd, even — which earns himself a four, and Remus's gift consists of a studded dog collar and some Russian literature; a four point five.
Then all eyes swing on Lily and the burning gap where her present should be. Sirius narrows his eyes. "Listen, Evans, if you're planning on giving me a gift in the way of physical favours, I'll have you know—"
"Ew, Sirius." Lily pulls a face, and Sirius looks affronted at the fact that she wouldn't find him attractive to abandon all pretence otherwise. "Your gift is outside."
James makes a shrill noise of confusion, but by now they are used to strange and dramatic James noises, so they all ignore it. They clamber to their feet, and Sirius leads the pack out the door and down the stairs with his head held high, his shoulders squared, and his hands swinging.
They make it outside and he says, lacking no enthusiasm, "right. Where is it?"
"I reckon you should sit on your bike, Sirius." She replies with a smirk.
Peter gives her a confused look from the side. James makes a sad, pathetic noise. Sirius doesn't bat an eye, and straddles his bike.
"Well?"
"Turn it on." Her amused smile grows wider, and so do the curious looks.
A beam of blinding light then covers the empty parking spot in front of the bike, the revving of the engine loud enough to piss off all the neighbours. He turns the handle, and it takes off like a shot, a surprised bark of laughter escaping him, too, as he soars into air.
"Lily fucking Evans." Peter marvels appreciatively beside her.
"Be careful you don't crash into someone's roof, you moron!" Lily calls after Sirius, half-wishing she'd had the foresight to at least put a bubble of silence around them. Ah, well. Sirius has always enjoyed making a scene.
He swoops back down, grinning roguishly at them. He looks straight at Lily, his lips moving into the softest expression she's ever seen on him. Making Sirius Black smile is like making nice with Voldemort. These aren't forces you want to play with.
"Wanna take a ride, Evans?"
"On your bike, I hope." James pitches in.
"I would be honoured."
"Careful, Prongs, I might just steal your woman."
"She'd kick you in the balls every chance she gets."
Lily hops on behind Sirius, wrapping her arms around his waist, her eyes wide with nerves and her smile a little helpless. "What's the rating on this present?" She murmurs.
Sirius revs the engine again. "A fucking seven."
24. (Maybe they should kill your pony. They? I don't even know who they are. I wouldn't kill your pony. I'd like to believe it, anyway. I'd like to believe I wouldn't drag you out in to the woods and leave you there, either. So far, it hasn't come up.)
It starts when James remarks one morning, "you're very short, Evans."
"You're just freakishly tall, Potter." She replies cooly, spearing a piece of bacon with her fork and holding it to her mouth. "Didn't I used to be taller than you?"
Mary, who has been applying bright red lipstick to her lips beside them, her breakfast long discarded, and has thus been spying on them through the reflection of her compact-mirror, says, "you just shrunk in the wash. Potter's been stretched." She rubs her lips together, either dissatisfied or just trying to get the product more evenly spread.
Lily points her fork at Mary as if she has a point. "Should I make a 'what's the view up there like' joke, too?"
"Oh, why not. Be a daredevil about it." Mary closes her mirror with a snap.
"At least I'm worth my weight in gold." Lily looks at James, where contempt collides with a coy little smile on her face. "Your weight is measured in other substances."
"Really big heavy dragons?" James offers. Then, because he can't quite comprehend what would compel a fourteen year old girl to change the colour of her lips, he asks, "Mary, why'd you do that?"
"Do what?"
He points at her lips. "That."
"Why not?" Mary sounds a little annoyed, and a crease forms between her brows.
"Because it looks like you've just eaten the heart of a man." Sirius says, which is probably up there in the most juvenile responses anyone could come up with. "A man with a very bright blood colour."
"And so what if I have?" She waves them off just as Lily sets down her fork and wipes her own mouth with a napkin. James doesn't know why his eyes wander to her hands, to her covered lips. He doesn't know why he suddenly finds them so fascinating, doesn't know how to diagnose this feeling. He tries not to search the shadow of her knuckles for things that are not there, though he's never really known how to put a stop to thoughts he cannot pin down. He also tries not to sniff too hard, because if he's not mistaken, Lily has started wearing perfume on the vulnerable curve of her neck. That, or she just always smells like jasmine.
"Some of us have been invited to Slughorn's end of the term party." Lily explains on Mary's behalf, though the way she says it is closer on the spectrum to cold than it is anything else. Not quite, but almost. "And some of us want to look good."
"Is that supposed to be code or something?" James asks. "And what does that have to do with painting your face?"
Lily rolls her eyes as if his stupidity is painful, and he notices just how green her eyes are. Very green. Green, like how he wanted to make his bedroom walls the most violent shade of it he could find when he was younger. Green, like the colour of envy. Green, like a fucking Monet painting, which she incidentally looks like she's just stepped out of. He swallows.
Lily stands up and swings her bag over her shoulder, clearly oblivious to his woes. Her skirt moves in a not-entirely-decent manner. "Just because you don't like to put an effort into your appearance, doesn't mean we all do the same." She mocks.
James hears an abrupt bark of laughter from across the table, and Sirius is shaking his head with a grin split across his face.
Lily ignores them both, and instead turns slightly on her feet. "See you tonight, Peter."
James swings a look of accusation at Peter as Lily and Mary saunter away, bracing his hands against the table as he leans in close. "What's that supposed to mean?" He levels.
"Lily invited me to be her date." Peter replies defensively, halfway through chewing his toast. "For Slughorn's party-thing tonight. What?"
"Why do you look like you want to strangle Peter, James?" Sirius asks with heavy amusement, as if the answer isn't tucked away in his brain. He's always down for a little bit of trouble, especially when it's at James's expense.
"I'm not. I'm thinking about where the best place to dump his body is."
Peter lets out a strangled cry. He looks between James and Sirius, alarmed and in search of some kind of reasonable explanation. Like he'd ever find it between the two of them. "What did I do?"
Sirius shrugs. "Beats me."
It hangs over him like a dark cloud for the rest of the day, and he can't figure out why.
It's there when he chews on the end of his quill in Defense and stares at the back of Lily's head, wondering what on Earth is going on in that mind of hers.
It's there when Remus asks him why he's so quiet, and if he could possibly stop trying to expand his toad because it's quite a horrible sight, thank you very much.
It's there when Sirius hops onto the table in the Great Hall and Professor McGonagall has to threaten him with a detention to get him down, even though there is a smile hidden in the straight line of her lips.
It's there when he tries to force the thoughts to make sense, and all he can picture is lily-pad green and Peter's stubby fingers.
And it's very much there when he sees them that night, Lily in a pale blue dress and her hair tied up in some intricate updo, meeting Peter who's put in as much effort as he can for a night in a bunch of stuffy people's presence – oh, and Lily's – and it's there when he gets up to pace for the rest of the evening.
Trouble, James thinks darkly, I'm in so much fucking trouble.
Oh well. He's always liked trouble.
25. (Saying your plans out loud is a good way to hear God laugh.)
Marlene raps her perfectly manicured fingernails against the table, her other hand supporting her chin as she looks out the window. She is on break from what she refers to as her 'fucking stupid job at the training pitch', yet she doesn't look like she's spent the last four hours getting grilled by coaches and sweating the hard work out.
Dorcas sits beside her and across from Lily, the clueless look she'd always had in school replaced by loss and resignation. She blows a puff of air out to try move a dark strand of hair away from her face.
Mary sits beside Lily, all shorts skirts and tight blouses. She, too, is on break from her job — this one Marlene describes as 'Mary's stupid, pointless job in the Ministry's personal fucking post office'.
It is the first time they have all gotten together since the summer after Hogwarts, when Marlene had first shouldered her way into a reserve Quidditch team and Mary was juggling internships. When the war wasn't so deeply ingrained in their bones, like tattoo carvings and scorching ink. When they hadn't lost the innocence in their eyes.
"Any news on your aunt, Mary?" Dorcas's voice is still dreamy, but now with a permanent hardened edge.
"Last I heard, she got accosted by dolphins in the nicest way possible."
"What I wouldn't give to be at the beach." Dorcas sighs, then adds almost accusatorily, "you know, it's not fair that we can do all this magic yet we can't just go on random holiday trips. I'm so sick of all this rain."
"What, is it messing up your hair?" Lily teases with a smile.
"Yes! I spend so long styling it, only for it to get frizzy the second I step outside."
"There's nothing else for it, then. You're going to have to be locked in."
"Oh, don't!" Dorcas cries at the same time as Mary says, "that wouldn't be so bad."
Marlene picks up a slice of pizza, watching the cheese that still clings to both the slice and the plate as if it is some mysterious artefact.
"I want to see the mountains, too." Dorcas adds like she had never been interrupted. "I want to learn how to cook and paint without feeling rushed. I want to skip the fighting and just get to the peace we're promised. I know we're fighting for things, real things and real people, but we're fighting for ourselves, too, and it just feels like I'm fighting with myself instead. I want to feel like I have the rest of my life ahead of me, you know?"
There is a quiet murmur of agreement.
"Would you hold it against me?" Dorcas asks, dark brows furrowed. She is serious now. "If I left and never came back to see what this war turns into?"
"That depends." Marlene says, taking a bite of her pizza.
"On?" Dorcas prompts.
"If I can come with you."
Lily smiles. "You'd get lost without her help, Cas. We'd have to helicopter you out off a mountaintop."
"You'd have to what?" Dorcas asks politely, as she always does when it concerns muggle things.
"I'm going to Spain." Mary blurts out. It is so unexpected that it gives the girls pause, a moment to blink, think what? before they look at her for an explanation. "Someone from their liaisons office recruited me." She rushes through the words, as if she's desperate for them to understand. "Said there's a good job waiting for me with lots of money. Also the boys aren't too harsh on the eye." She doesn't meet anyone's eyes. "I can't do this anymore. I might live past the war, but I might not actually survive it. It's taking everything, and I can't just keep living in fear every single day, waiting for them to finally finish what they started in that stupid classroom."
Lily puts her arm around Mary's shoulders and lets her lean against her and envelop her in the smell of french pear. She knows that none of this is fair, that this all started because what? Some muggle-born looked at a pureblood weird, all those years ago, and so they told their friends, and their friends told their friends, and it spiraled from there? That they thought 'how dare those muggleborns steal our jobs, teach our children, talk to us like we are one of them?' That they let those beliefs get thick, and brutal, and become principles that they would base their own personal systems around. That it would turn to hatred, and war, and bloodshed. They wanted muggle-borns gone, and they would kill to do it.
Mary sniffs, trying to swallow the burning in her throat, and Lily makes a soft hushing noise. "Don't." Mary says guilty. "I'll ruin my mascara if I cry."
They laugh, a watery sound, and Lily presses Mary closer to her. She wants to go with her, and not just because they haven't been an ocean apart before, but because in every quiet moment she has to herself, she selfishly wants to escape. She is doing this all for a good cause, she knows, and she will not quit, but she wishes she didn't have to do this in the first place. That she could live how she wanted, unburdened by war and the prospect of time. That she could laugh and smile with her friends and not feel the strain of her heart breaking.
"When?" She asks quietly. She can see the sun glint off the tears in Mary's eyes.
"Three weeks from now."
"Will you come back for the wedding?"
"And let them lot be your maids of honour? Fat chance." She huffs.
"I'm holding you to that, MacDonald. I don't trust anyone else to take care of my makeup."
Mary, who loves them but leaves them, sniffs again. Lily supposes that they are all the same, really, a quartet of girls with their hearts in the right places, who have followed each other into war because they love each other, but aren't made for it all the same. Because once a Gryffindor girl –
It should worry her that she doesn't know how that sentence ends anymore. Not exactly, anyway.
"We're going to be okay." Lily says, looking at Marlene and Dorcas with a fierce determination on her face. "All of us. We're going to see the end of this war, and we're all going to get married and have kids and retire and complain about how much our backs ache. And we're going to be happy about it all, too."
"What part of having a sore back screams happy?" Marlene asks.
Dorcas says softly, "because it means we're alive."
26. (The terrible things that happened to you didn't make you you. You always were.)
Lily is fifteen when she thinks she's a little closer to understanding what it means to love someone wholeheartedly. She's not sure if she'll ever really know, because she is smart enough to respect that love is the purest magic of all, the strongest, too, and also the most elusive. She is spending the last few weeks of summer break with Mary on her farm, which makes a little and a lot of sense, considering who Mary is and more importantly, what she wears.
It is on the cusp of nightfall one evening as they look up at the sky and try to point out random constellations, trying – and laughably failing – to name them in their ancient tongues, that it happens: Mary calls for her dog to finally come in for the night and the forest on the edge of the paddock calls even louder, but Beetroot comes home anyway.
She knows that there are no lines in this world, that nothing is strictly this or that save for a few exceptions, and she knows that this means something because she can feel it in her chest. She isn't the type to spell it backwards, but she knows that it is love. Not some kind of shade, either. Rather, it is at the very heart of the definition, or another key piece to unlocking the big, mysterious, wonderful mystery that it is to love.
And on some days in the future, this knowledge will be comfort. On others, it will not.
27. (One day I will laugh and no loneliness will fall out.)
She thinks Alastor Moody's grand speeches about vigilance and constant doom are beginning to get to them, because why else would they react the way they do one unfortunate afternoon?
It happens as she walks down a more quiet street of London, the handle of a plastic shopping bag sitting against her wrist and trying to sear into her skin as she returns from her hunt for groceries. She wants to cook tonight, even if she's nothing more than just okay at it, and she's trying to figure out with James how she's going to set it all up when she sees a black hood out of the corner of her eye.
James's reaction is just instinct at this point, so rooted in his brain that he pulls his wand out of his pocket and yells a spell before he can even think it through. There is a thud as the dark figure hits the ground, and she hears James let out a heavy breath. She is oddly silent beside him.
He finds her staring at her, and is about to go off to scrounge up more Death Eaters when she grabs his wrist, shaking her head sadly. With her other hand, the one whose arm has the bag hanging off it, she lowers his wand gently. "No, James." She says softly.
He looks at her with confusion, then looks at the man, and horror dawns on his face. There is no mask to hide behind, only a hoodie pulled up and covering his hair, wearing jeans and sneakers; the whole shebang. Lily lets go of James to walk towards the man and crouch beside him. She Enervates him and then Obliviates him as if this is a regular occurance, a nurse with a patient she knows like the back of her hand.
But James had known.
He had thought.
Lily helps the man up and convinces him everything is completely normal, and walks back to James. She brushes his hair away from his eyes. He sighs against the ache between his ribs. "It's okay, James."
"I thought…"
"I know, James. It's normal."
"Not for me." He whispers. "This doesn't happen to me."
She gives him a flicker of that sad, reassuring smile. "It happens to everyone, hon."
"It doesn't happen to you."
"I was half a second from hexing him myself." She laughs wearily. He takes her hand, his arms feeling like lead. "Come on. Let's go make some cottage pie."
28. (I brought some marshmallows. Let's burn this world down.)
When Lily had come to Hogwarts, she hadn't meant to make Alice Fortescue her surrogate big sister.
She is in her sixth year when Lily is in her first, and she has a lot of patience considering Lily is an excited eleven year old who has just been introduced to the wonders of this new world. They are almost always running into each other at the library, where Alice is trying to study various difficult things at once and Lily is trying to get her hands on every magical book she can. Her thirst for knowledge is a wolf, and it is starving.
In the end, Alice ends up helping her find the books that will be most helpful – 'learning how to reseed plants in the southern hemisphere is not going to come up any time soon in your life, Lily' – and they sit at opposite ends of the same table, working through different sets of homework.
"Why do you want to be an Auror, Alice?" Lily whispers in the library four months into the school year, her red hair tied back in a ponytail and her young face full of freckles and curiosity. She's finding this Transfiguration essay particularly painful, and would much rather bother Alice than write any more about how wandwork and incantations work together. "It seems like a lot of work. Lots more than being a police officer."
"Because we need more Aurors than ever right now." Alice explains. "And I think it's an important job. Someone needs to protect the peace around here."
"Here, like Hogwarts?"
"I suppose."
"Do we have Aurors protecting us at Hogwarts?" Lily marvels. "How come I've never seen them?"
Alice bookmarks her page, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear and peering up. "No, Dumbledore's protection is plenty. But someone needs to be out there in the real world making sure none of this… dark magic," she wrinkles her nose, "makes its way here."
"Dark magic?" Lily bristles.
"Mmm. There are some really nasty wizards out there, Lily." She pauses, as if she doesn't know how to form her next sentence, or if she should at all. Finally, she pushes her reservations aside and says, "Lily, there are some people out there who really don't like muggleborns."
"I thought being a muggleborn wasn't a problem."
"It's not." Alice says patiently. "But some people think that it is. They think that because they don't come from a 'pure' bloodline, they are lesser than them. It's not based on anything real. If ever, it's the purebloods with the problems."
"How so?"
"Well, there's a lot of inbreeding in pure bloodlines." Alice replies conspiratorially, or at least conspiratorially as she can be in a quiet, library-voice. "They produce more squibs than anyone, which also shouldn't be a problem, because non-magical people are worth just as much as anyone, but they still see them as some kind of disappointment." Alice leans back, shaking her head. "There's a lot of weird politics to it, Lily. But there's no point keeping it from you. Wizards can be pretty awful sometimes."
Lily sticks her lower lip. At first, she can't wrap her head around it – how can someone hate someone for something that they can't even see? That doesn't affect them in the slightest? But then she remembers all the things Petunia says, like when they passed two grown women holding hands in the street one day, and Petunia's nostrils had flared as she dragged Lily to the other side of the road, talking about the indecency of it all. Of how Petunia had barely written to her since she'd left for Hogwarts, of how their last proper conversation had been about Petunia calling her a freak.
Sometimes looking at Petunia is like looking in a mirror, like looking in a history book, like seeing what Lily was and is and could be capable of becoming. It is like losing an argument with the correct answer: can't you see, Petunia? You are trying so hard to protect me, but you are trying to force me to be something I'm not and never will be, and in the end, all you're doing is hurting me.
She feels her throat constrict, and she looks up at the ceiling to try to stop the unshed tears. Then – "Alice?" She asks in a strange voice.
"Yes?"
"Why is Frank Longbottom hiding behind that shelf and staring at us?"
Alice, to Lily's surprise, blushes and ducks her head. "Can you keep a secret?"
Her eyes are as wide as saucers. "Yes. What is it?"
"Well, I just don't want Florence to find out, because she'll tell everyone and never let me live it down, and–"
"Alice, what is it?"
Alice clenches her jaw as if that can hide all the red in her cheeks. "Frank… might have asked me out last week. To Hogsmeade."
Lily claps a hand over her mouth to muffle her squeal, because Merlin knows Madame Pince won't forgive the noise even if it's in the name of love. "Alice! That's – Was it romantic?"
"It was… polite. Chivalrous. He asked me out after Potions."
"I'm sure Slughorn will be pleased to know someone found love in his classroom." She rolls her eyes in that cute way that only an eleven year old can pull off. "You can go up on his wall of fame."
Alice grins lopsidedly. "I'll be sure to thank him at the wedding." She says sarcastically, then bites down on her lip. "Should I go talk to him?"
"I think he wants you to."
Alice seems to take a moment to think it over, then gets to her feet. "Would you mind looking after my stuff for a minute?"
But Lily doesn't see Alice again until that night, after the library's closed and she's writing a letter to Petunia by the warmth of the common room fire, her finished essay tucked away to the side, when Alice rushes over and thanks her for looking after her stuff and apologising for letting time pass her by. Lily smiles easily, as if the movement could ease some of the heaviness she feels in her chest. She is happy for her friend – she really, truly is, because she has never met a guy so lovely and considerate as Frank (then again, every guy she actually knows is eleven and a jerk) – but the letter in her hands pushes down on her like a weight.
The next week, she sees Alice holding Frank's hand in the hallway, and there is still no reply from Petunia.
29. (It isn't the storm that makes the ocean dangerous.)
Lily had a crush on Anthony Rosier.
It lasted for approximately two days, but it absolutely consumed her for those forty-eight hours. She had thought of those sleepy green eyes – the ones he always used to dismiss her entirely, sometimes crinkle in a sneer – and that light blonde hair, that handsomely gaunt face and those dark brows. She wanted to indulge in a fantasy where he would be different, smile at her, and love her despite it all. They would sneak around, meet in broom closets late at night and enjoy the thrill of secrecy. Maybe she'd just been reading one too many of Petunia's romance novels, but the prospect was alluring.
Then the two days were up, and Lily was left with a downbuzz, shame, and the thought that maybe she's just attracted to trouble, not boys with prejudices she can't change.
And at the end of that unwritten love story, Anthony Rosier is the reason she becomes a murderer.
It is not fitting in the least, because Lily likes it when things fit, even if it's in some roundabout, ironic way, but this is just… life, simply put. The words are just a part of an impossible choice that can not stay impossible, it is just kill or be killed. The words fall out of her lips before she can think too hard about it, about how she will no longer be the same girl she was one spell ago.
Lily had looked at that face for hours – a lifetime ago now, but really it is just six years ago – so of course she recognises his face now, hidden under the mask, even if his jawline has chiseled out a little. He recognises her too, made evident by the widening of his eyes, and he hesitates when he lifts his wand. His companion is not as slow.
She is cornered, two to one, and it is her only option left.
Lily cries for days after, curls into bed in between a sandwich of Peter and Dorcas, who hold her and pet her hair until she cries herself out. They tell her random things about their days, about their childhoods, about their opinions on different Italian foods, just to spare her from having to think about a heart that is cracked by a curse. James holds her tight and pets her hair, feeling the sobs wrack her body and just lets her be.
If there had ever been a way she could have backed out of this war, it is long gone now.
30. (And the end is unknown, but I think I'm ready as long as you're with me.)
She looks beautiful, Lily thinks, and she wishes her mother was there to see it. But she isn't, and that's that.
She smooths down her white dress with shaking hands, filled to the brim with nervous anticipation and happiness. There's a bit of sorrow in there, too, because her father isn't there to walk her down the aisle and her sister isn't even bothering to show up. It almost dredges up an overwhelming sense of loss; that in order to get her life of happiness, she has to give up so, so much.
There's also the fact that she feels like she's wearing a different set of bones, and because of this, she is so undeserving to wear this dress. How can she keep a white dress clean when she had been covered in blood only a month ago? When she had murdered a man to save herself? That she might be able to wash it off with peroxide, cold water, and a second wash, maybe even burn the whole damn thing, but she cannot say the same for the blood on her hands?
She feels like she's only the stones of what was once a city, but that's still enough to build a home.
"Wow, Lily." Marlene breathes. Lily had told her bridesmaids to wear whatever they want, even if it is ridiculous, and so Marlene's tall and slim figure is wrapped in a bright yellow dress. Lucky bitch can even go strapless. Her dark hair is braided back, and she has a swoop of eyeliner to accentuate her dark, dark eyes. "You look so beautiful. No offence, because you always look beautiful."
"Jeez, Marls, that wasn't offensive until you said 'no offence'." Lily replies with a buzz of electricity.
Everything Marlene has left unsaid trembles in the curve of her mouth. She smiles brilliantly, even though she is trying so hard not to.
"Come here." Lily says, walking forward to embrace Marlene.
"No, no. You're going to ruin your hair." But she hugs her back just as tightly anyway.
"Is this touching moment over?" Mary interrupts with her hands on her delicate hips. Her face is too intense to be relaxed. "I have to put more blush on you."
"Why, though?" Lily whines as she pulls away from Marlene. "I'm ginger. I'm already bright red."
"If you want to go out there looking like a ghost with all that fountation on, then be my guest."
Lily sits back down in the little stool, grumbling all the while. "If anything goes wrong, I'm going to blame my lack of breathing on the dress."
Mary dusts the rouge against her cheeks, her tongue sticking out a little in concentration, and Lily does her best to be a willing patient – and that means no squirming. She closes her eyes, trying to focus on anything that will get rid of the butterflies in her stomach, from white chocolate covered slices and how much she loves her three best friends, and forces her hands to steady. Marlene comes behind her and tries to pin more of her curls back.
"It's just the vows," Lily starts, and Marlene shushes her.
"It'll all be fine, and then afterwards we'll all have a good happy cry and party the night away."
"Party the morning away, too." Mary adds, then steps back to take a good look at Lily's face. Lily's hands pluck restlessly at her white dress. "Ugh, you look so good. All the thanks to me. And your genetics, I guess."
"Thanks." Lily says, grinning a little.
Dorcas chooses this moment to burst through the door and do a little wiggle. She wears a flowing, coral dress that doesn't clash too badly with her dark hair, and it swishes around angelically. "We're good to go, ladies."
"Wait!" Lily cries, and comically reaches to grab her polaroid. "I need a picture to commemorate the last time none of us were bound by husbands."
Mary says, "Lily, you've practically been married to him since seventh year."
"The idea of husbands! The sexist one, where they never help clean up and you end up slaving away over children with no pay or acknowledgement!"
"James would never do that to you!" Dorcas laughs.
"Yeah, but you lot aren't so lucky."
"Marlene is." Mary says. "She has all the luck."
Marlene pulls a face, and Lily tells them to all get together to take the picture.
"Wait!" Mary exclaims. "Who's going to take it?"
"Are you a witch or not?" Lily challenges with a smile, setting the camera up against the counter before the mirror, then standing amongst her friends.
"You sure act like one, sometimes." Dorcas points out.
Mary goes to argue, but Lily waves her wand to charm the timer, and they all settle down to beam wildly at the camera together. The background will be a war, but the picture won't show it. Instead, it is just three wild, beautiful, and happy girls, leaning against one another and laughing like they have no other care in the world.
"Okay, for real, Lily," Dorcas's voice is laced with impatience, "you have to get out there before he thinks he's getting jilted at the altar!"
There is a squeal of excitement from Mary as she links her arm through Lily's, one last time as children, and they follow Marlene and Dorcas's lead outside the door and towards the entrance to the church. The light is dim through the hallway, and she watches the way their dresses move in the low-lighting. Her nerves grow stronger every time she looks at the bright light of the entranceway up ahead.
The music starts. Lily wants to laugh.
Dorcas and Marlene go first. They throw rose petals gracefully as they walk, though she sees Dorcas throw some directly at Fabian when he whistles. The pews are full of people – mostly James's relatives or people who his mother invited, because for some reason he is related to a whole bunch of saps and Euphemia wants to show them off to everyone she's ever met.
Mary looks at her. "You ready?"
She is.
They step forward together and Lily cannot keep the grin off her face. She waves at the people they pass, because she is not made to be serious, even if it's the so-called 'biggest day of her life'. Why be traditional when her family are not here to hold her to it?
Alice and Frank Longbottom smile at her from the edge of one pew, as they had insisted that they provide the auror protection she didn't know a wedding deserved. Greta Catchlove is there with her new beau, her blonde hair waving down her back as she smiles at Lily. Euphemia and Fleamont sit up in the front row, looking as elegant as ever, and Euphemia is already blotting away tears of happiness as she passes them.
And then there is James. He stands next to Sirius, who is standing next to Remus, who is standing next to Peter. James's grin looks like it is permanently carved into every inch of his face.
Mary passes Lily off to James. "Have fun. Keep it PG, will ya?" Mary winks, then goes to stand beside Marlene and Dorcas.
"Jerk." Lily says without any heat. James takes and squeezes her hands. His eyes seem to ask 'cold feet?'
He had asked that a lot during their preparation, as if he is trapping her into it too early, but there is always a 'never' on the tip of her tongue. In many ways, this is exactly like she's always dreamt, and that's the funny thing, the way it seems to be so much more than anything she's ever wanted from her wedding. Her mother is gone, her father before that, and Petunia has been lost to her for perhaps even longer. But the people who are here… perhaps they are her family now, too.
James looks at her with such tenderness in his eyes. "Cold feet?"
"Never." She says, without skipping a beat.