Disclaimer: I own nothing; all belongs to the fabulous JKR
A/N: The idea for this came to me in the park as I watched this adorably tiny old man fly his kite—I've never seen a kite go that high before; it was really incredible. Anyway, that's the inspiration here. That and, of course, Deathly Hallows (even though there are no DH spoilers here—don't worry if you haven't read it yet!).
To those of you awaiting a new chapter in The Night Will Throw You Away...it's coming, I promise! I just got a bit sidetracked, with Deathly Hallows and the resulting burst of inspiration (two fics in one day!).
You know the routine...review!
Staring at the Sun
I've always been a dreamer
I've had my head among the clouds
But now that I am coming down
Won't you be my solid ground?
—The Perishers
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You unravel the thin white string, your fingers working nimbly; you're desperately trying to block out Dumbledore's advice because you're not ready to stop fighting, to stop standing up to Voldemort, to just—to just hide. The Gryffindor in you rebels at the very thought of simply hiding when your friends are dying; you ought to be out there, ready to die with them, ready to die for them.
The sun is shining brightly today, your last day of freedom. It's almost cruel, this beautiful day, because you know that you won't be able to enjoy another until Voldemort is defeated and you're not sure you'll be around that long. The wind picks up your hair and you toss the kite James made for Harry up into the air and unravel more string.
The kite—diamond shaped, with the Gryffindor crest blazing proudly on the front—falls pitifully to the ground and all the fear and tension that has been building in your chest since Dumbledore left half an hour ago bursts out of you. Tears of frustration burn in your eyes and you snatch up the kite before you collapse onto the ground, crying and wanting hopelessly to wake up from what has to be a long nightmare. You want to wake up and be seventeen again, in your bed at Hogwarts, basking in the warmth of first love.
"Give it here."
You look up, squinting against the bright sunlight. James is standing over you, little Harry twisting in his arms and reaching out towards you. He wants his mummy and sometimes you're still shocked that that's you—you're only twenty-one, after all—and that familiar love warms your heart.
"Give it here," he repeats, holding out little Harry, who's still twisting as mightily as his small body will let him, and nodding at the kite you're still holding. Silent, you hand James the kite and Harry clasps his chubby little hands in your hair gleefully as you take him.
James gets out his wand and something surges in you and you cry out before you can stop yourself, before you can remind yourself that it doesn't really matter, "No, don't!"
He looks at you questioningly, pocketing his wand, and you say, a bit feebly because you're embarrassed at your overreaction—it's just a kite, after all— "That's cheating."
You can't explain why you want so desperately to do this without magic, but the fact remains that you can't stand the idea of James making the kite fly without the wind—the real wind.
He stares at you through his glasses, and you can feel a blush creep up your face because his eyes always seemed to see right into your soul. You wonder what he;s thinking as he looks at you, sitting childishly on the ground with his son in your arms, tearstains on your face, unable to even fly a kite.
"Alright," he says finally, and he goes to your other side, facing the opposite direction you had and launches the kite into the air as you did minutes before. It soars and your heart goes with it because you know his wand is still in his pocket.
You stand, your arms tight around Harry, who is contentedly chewing on the ends of your hair.
"How'd you—"
He grins mischievously at you and you're seventeen again, basking in the warmth of first love. "You weren't facing the right way," he tells you, unravelling more string as the kite soars higher. "You were standing with the wind, not against it." He turns his attention to the kite, the sun glinting off his glasses and you wonder how your heart has enough room for the love you have for him and Harry.
James begins to walk backwards from you, his eyes on the ever-climbing kite. You follow, because you suddenly don't want to be separated from him on this, your last day of freedom. You want to be as close to him as you possibly can. If Voldemort is after you, after your son—your resolve hardens and you hug Harry closer to you because nothing is going to happen to your son while you have life still left in you.
James motions you closer and says, his voice low as though the kite might scamper away if he speaks too loudly, "You just have to keep going back; that makes it go higher." He holds the string out to you, scooping Harry up from your grasp and you look up at the kite and are stunned to find that it's still reaching further upwards. You take the string from him and release more and your eyes sting at the brightness of the sky.
"It'll be alright, Lily," James says and you avoid his eyes because you don't want to start crying again, not when James is being so brave. You were in Gryffindor too, after all.
"How do you know?" you want to know, and then everything spills from you as though a dam within you had broken.
"How do you know, James? We're—we're twenty-one years old and we have to go into hiding? We have to hide while Sirius—Remus—Peter—our friends fight and die?" Hot, angry tears prick your eyelids and you blink them down your face, blaming the blazing blue sky from which you haven't torn your eyes.
"You realise," you continue, voice breaking, "that this is the last time we'll be outdoors until—until he's defeated? That we may not even be around when he's defeated?" You risk a glance over at him; Harry's taken the glasses off James' nose and stuck them in his mouth, grinning happily up at his father.
You're hit with the full effect of those hazel eyes and you almost drop the wad of string you're holding.
"Lily," he says, setting Harry down to toddle aimlessly around your feet, "I know." He puts his hands on your shoulders and looks down at you; you feel a pair of small arms wrap themselves around your ankle and when you look down, you see that Harry has sat himself down at your right foot, arms hugging your leg, James' glasses laying forgotten at his side.
James continues, "So what if it's our last time outside? So long as it's not Harry's last time, it's not important. And—" his fingers slide under your chin and you remember how, at your wedding, he did the same thing before he kissed you, "—we'll still have each other, yeah? That's enough for me."
His thumbs wipe away the tear tracks that are streaked down your face and he does kiss you, like he did at your wedding, and Harry giggles from your feet, clapping his tiny hands together.
The wind brushes your hair from your shoulders; you remember that this is your last day of freedom and you break away reluctantly from James and look up at Harry's kite, a tiny dot in the deep blue sky. James' arms are around your waist and his lips touch your temple and you have this feeling—call it a mother's intuition—that this won't be Harry's last time to feel the sun on his face as he sits in the grass.
And you realise that this isn't your last day of freedom, because freedom is being with your husband and your son. Freedom is knowing that you and James have done everything in your combined abilities to keep Harry safe.
"It'll all be alright," James tells you again, and he sits next to Harry at your feet. You watch with watering eyes as Harry's Gryffindor kite soars ever higher.
A/N: A little sappy, a little sad...and I know nothing about the technicalities of kite-flying, so forgive my mistakes.
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