The air held a crisp autumn bite as James strolled down Diagon Alley with a bag of sandwiches tucked in his hand. His body ached, and his eyes itched with tiredness, but he had to make it back to the flat to eat his takeaway, because he had gone through the trouble of walking to get it, and Lily had been nagging him to eat more. She's one to talk, he thought, stepping around an empty Butterbeer bottle lying in the middle of the sidewalk. She's getting far too thin. Her face had taken on a hollow look, and he had felt the outline of her ribs the last time he had slipped his hand under her shirt. Lately he pressed food on her any chance he got, so he supposed he couldn't fault her for doing the same.
As he approached their building, he glimpsed motion out of the corner of his eye. He turned, frowning and putting his hand on his wand, but before he could spot the danger he felt his body stiffen. He swayed, his heart pounding and his eyes widening in panic, but a cool, dry hand snaked out and stopped him from toppling over.
"You brought snacks," an unfamiliar voice said, and then the world closed in on James as he was Apparated away from Diagon Alley.
When he reappeared in an unfamiliar, dim building, James tried to reach for his wand before he remembered the Full Body-Bind. As if on cue, his wand flew from his pocket and landed in the Death Eater's outstretched hand. James squinted through the shadows and made out a tall, burly figure. The one from Hogsmeade, James thought, remembering the big man's powerful yet graceful movements.
"Your balance is excellent," the Death Eater observed. James detected a hint of an accent, although he couldn't place it. "Most people would've toppled over." He opened the bag of sandwiches and peered inside, then pulled one out and sniffed it. "What's this? Egg mayonnaise?" He wrinkled his nose and tossed it back into the bag, then selected another. "Corned beef? Ugh, Potter, you have horrible taste in sandwiches."
James would have liked to tell him to sod off and buy his own sandwiches if he didn't care for the selection, but that would have required him to have use of his mouth. Probably for the best, James mused. I don't suppose Death Eaters appreciate smart comments.
"The Dark Lord wants to speak with you, Potter. I'll undo the spell if you promise to play nice." He unwrapped a third sandwich and lifted the bread, then nodded in approval and took a bite. "Finally, something halfway decent."
I hope you choke on it, James thought, hoping he was managing to convey his disgust and hatred with just his eyes. The Death Eater chewed and swallowed, brushing crumbs from his mouth with surprising delicacy, then flicked his wand in James's direction. All of James's muscles relaxed, and he staggered to keep his legs from giving out. He lunged forward, itching to wrestle his wand from the Death Eater's hand, or punch him, or perhaps slip out the door, but the Death Eater flicked his wand again and James found himself slumped on a chair with his hands tied behind his back.
"That's not playing nice, Potter," he said, rolling his eyes and taking another bite of sandwich before he strode from the room, leaving James to struggle fruitlessly against his bindings.
"My apologies. Antonin was instructed to treat you like a guest, not a prisoner."
James stopped leaning sideways to rub the ropes against the side of the chair and hoisted himself upright to see the source of the soft yet commanding voice. The man standing before him was tall and slender, and although his face was shrouded by a hood, James could make out a disconcerting red tint to his eyes. Long fingers drew a wand from the pocket of his robes, and with a light wave, the chair and rope binding James's wrists disappeared, and he was on his feet again.
"I tried to attack him," James explained, desperate not to appear to be some innocent victim, some cooperative sod who would be happy to join a group of murderous bigots as long as he was treated with respect.
"Still," Lord Voldemort said. "It's no way to treat someone of your talent, someone I am hoping to persuade to join us."
"I'll never join you," James spat. He wanted to attack this man, too, but there was something about the quiet power in his voice and the way his long, pale fingers clutched his wand that held James back. He could feel magic radiating off this man in waves, and he suspected he wouldn't even manage to take a step forward before he received worse than a Full Body-Bind.
"He took your wand, too, I see," Voldemort continued, ignoring James's contemptuous response. "That was unnecessary." He pointed his wand at the door, and a moment later James watched his own wand sail through the air to land in his outstretched hand. James stared at it for a moment, stunned, and then he was slicing it through the air and shouting an incantation–
"I'm not interested in dueling you, James," Voldemort said, deflecting the curse with the barest flick of his wand. "You would lose, and that would be a waste of your exceptional abilities. I'd rather put your talent to good use. We could use someone like you, and in return I could garner you the respect and recognition you deserve."
"I said I'm never going to join you." James aimed another curse at Voldemort, then another and another. He was panting from the effort, yet the other man seemed unaffected.
"Dumbledore is squandering your talent," Voldemort said, shaking his head in disapproval. "His little group is disorganized, poorly-run, mismanaged. You're fresh out of Hogwarts, yet you can see he's misallocating his resources, putting time and effort into the wrong places. You should be in charge, not taking orders from the likes of Dumbledore and Alastor Moody."
James had been about to attempt another spell, but he paused with his wand poised in front of him. Lately he had been frustrated by the Order's lack of progress, and more than once he had wondered whether his talents could be put to better use than staking out seemingly-empty buildings. But how did Voldemort know that? His hand flew to his head as a thought occurred to him: had Voldemort been sifting through his thoughts without him even realizing? He imagined those long fingers flipping through his thoughts like someone would flip pages in a book, and he felt suddenly exposed, as though a whole room full of people were seeing him naked. Dorcas had taught them all a bit of Occlumency, and he scrambled to construct the mental walls as they had practiced, but he had never been a very good Occlumens, and his defense was feeble at best.
"I'm never joining you," he said for the third time, putting force behind his words despite the prickle of unease lurking at the back of his mind. "You may as well kill me."
Voldemort gave a tiny shake of his head. "I already told you, I'm not interested in killing you. What good would that do either one of us? I'd rather have you join me. You would be in my inner circle – the most powerful, the most talented, the most trusted. You would have a chance to explore your untapped ability, to learn magic you've never attempted. You could accomplish so much more. Your friends are holding you back, James."
James. The sound of that soft voice speaking his first name was unnerving, almost like Voldemort considered James a friend, an equal. He's not my fucking friend. The faces of his friends burst into his mind, and a white hot rage filled him, burning away all other emotion.
"Don't fucking talk about my friends. They're everything to me. If you're trying to persuade me, that's probably the worst thing you could say. Why would I join you, when you don't think half of my friends even deserve to live? You're the one wasting your time, because nothing you say is going to convince me, so either kill me or let me go."
His heart pounded in his ears and heat flooded his face. When he glanced down at his wand, he saw his hand trembling. He longed to hurl more curses, fire them off one-by-one until something finally broke through, but he wouldn't give Voldemort the satisfaction.
"I'll give you some time to think it over," Voldemort said, his calm voice so contrary to the fury roaring through James. "I'll seek you out in a few days, once you've had a chance to consider my offer." He inclined his head, more of a bow than a nod, and the movement made his hood slip, giving James a glimpse of white, waxy skin. "It was nice to meet you, James. I'll be in touch."
He slipped through the door, his feet moving soundlessly across the floor. When the door opened again, James hardly had time to register the red Stunner hurtling toward him before everything went black.
When he came to on the sidewalk of Diagon Alley, the first thing he saw was the discarded remnants of his sandwiches littering the ground. There was a crust of bread, a smear of egg and mayonnaise, a sad slice of corned beef lying beside the torn paper bag. He heaved himself upright, then checked his pocket for his wand before beginning the trek back to the flat. With every step he took, he heard Voldemort's soft, urgent voice speaking his name. James. James. James. Before he stepped into the flat, he leaned against the doorframe and took deep breaths, forcing back the hot bile that rose in his throat.
He was lying in the dark pretending to sleep when Lily slipped into bed beside him. Her skin was cool against his feverish lips, and he clung to her, taking comfort from the familiar scent of her hair and the press of her slender body against him.
"Did you eat?" he asked out of habit, because this had become a constant refrain between them lately. He was afraid if he didn't ask, she wouldn't remember to eat, or worse – she wouldn't bother.
"Yeah, we stopped at the chip shop around the corner and ate while we watched the building," Lily said, rolling over to face him. "Moody wouldn't approve." She imitated his gravelly bark. "You can't reach for your wand if you're stuffing your face!"
James grinned. "Yeah, well, Moody can afford to miss a meal or two. You can't." He ran his hand down her waist and trailed his finger along the sharp jut of her hip bones.
"Don't be a nag," she said, leaning in to kiss him. "Did you eat?"
He remembered the bits of sandwich scattered across the sidewalk and fought off a wave of nausea.
"I had some sandwiches," he choked out, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to stave off the creeping panic threatening to overtake him.
Marlene repressed a yawn and glanced at her watch. "This last hour is going by so slowly," she moaned. "I can hear my bed calling my name."
Lily raised her eyebrows. "Is it your bed calling your name, or the person waiting in your bed for you?"
"Just my bed today," Marlene said, smirking. "Last night was a different story, though. That's why I'm so bloody tired."
"Ooh, Moody wouldn't approve." Lily giggled, then arranged her face into a disapproving scowl. "You should never stay up late shagging the night before a patrol – that's how the Death Eaters win."
"You're right," Marlene said, looking contrite. "I'll give up shagging."
Lily laughed and nudged her. "No you won't."
"No I won't," Marlene agreed. "It's too much fun." She stifled another yawn and pushed her hair out of her face.
"Go home," Lily urged. "I'll finish the rest of the patrol."
Marlene's eyes widened. "That's the number one rule of patrols – don't leave your partner alone. Moody would murder me."
"Moody won't find out," Lily said, shrugging. "We've only got forty minutes left anyway. And if it makes you feel better, you can cover me next time I need to leave early."
Marlene rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet before nodding and heaving herself to her feet. "You're a lifesaver, Lily. I'll make it up to you. Next time James is waiting up for you, I'll stay and finish the patrol while you go and do whatever unmentionable things you two like to do." She paused, narrowing her eyes. "What is he like in bed?"
"I'll tell you next time," Lily said, grinning and hoping Marlene wouldn't remember she
had made this promise. "Go on, before I change my mind."
Marlene blew her a kiss, then turned and Disapparated with a soft pop. Lily sighed and leaned back against the wall, shifting her legs and adjusting her wand when it poked into her thigh. This was a new assignment for the two of them – an unassuming cottage with an overgrown front garden – and after watching for over seven and a half hours, they had seen no one go in or out. Why are we even bothering to watch this place? she thought, pulling at a loose thread on her jeans. I could take a nap and it wouldn't make a difference.
As if on cue, her eyelids drooped, but she forced them open and rubbed her eyes. Another half hour, she told herself. Another half hour and I can crawl into bed next to James. I can make it.
She had ten minutes left when she got to her feet to stretch her cramped muscles. As she brushed dirt from her trousers, her gaze fixed on the cottage door, she sensed movement behind her. She whirled, wand raised, but the Stunning Spell hit her before she had time to register her attacker.
She awoke in a strange house full of ornate furniture and antique knick knacks. A bronze statue of a hippogriff swam before her eyes, and then she watched a tall, slim figure enter the room, covered by a cloak and a dark hood with eye slits.
"Miss Evans," he said, inclining his head. "I've only ever seen you from afar. It's nice to finally meet you."
His voice sent a chill through her body, setting her teeth on edge and freezing the blood in her veins. He didn't introduce himself, but there was no need – the authority in that soft voice left no question in her mind. He's standing right in front of me. If I'm fast enough, I could kill him.
As if she had spoken the thought aloud, the man in front of her shook his head and pulled a long, slender wand from his pocket and twirled it in his fingers. It wasn't a direct threat, yet she heard the message loud and clear: If you attack me, you'll regret it.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered, her voice breaking on the last word. She thought of James, tucked under the duvet in their flat, and a sharp stab of anguish ripped through her as she imagined his grief if she never returned home.
"The question is, what can I offer you?" he said, his words sliding off his tongue like silk. "Of course I want your talent on my side, but in return, I'm prepared to offer you an elite rank among my inner circle, all the power you could ever desire, and the recognition you deserve."
Lily stared at him, openmouthed. "You want me to join you? But I'm exactly the type of varmint you're trying to stamp out of existence." When he made no reply, she went on, "I'm Muggle-born. A Mudblood. You know, those pesky people you've spent the last few years killing for sport?"
His delicate white fingers closed over his wand, and he peered at her through the slits in his hood.
"We both know you're not like most Muggle-borns." There was the tiniest hesitation before the last word, as though he had been about to say Mudblood and had refrained out of deference to her. She was absurdly grateful for the courtesy – No, you idiot, it's not courtesy, she thought savagely. It's flattery – he's trying to manipulate me.
"What do you mean, 'we both know?'" she spat, her fingers inching toward her wand.
Before she had time to even brush the handle, he flicked his own wand and sent hers soaring into his outstretched hand.
"I don't think so, Miss Evans," he said, and although his face was concealed, she detected the hint of a smile in his voice. "But that's exactly what I mean. You have have nerve. You have talent – real talent. You have more magic than most Purebloods – even your fiancé, with his boasting and his showy spells and his place of honor in Dumbledore's little group. Why shouldn't you get some of the glory?"
She thought of James's excitement when Dumbledore had approached him to join the Order; his eager anticipation when he had served his first patrol with Moody; the determined set of his jaw when he had returned to the Hogsmeade battle after tending to Lily's wounds. Why should James get all of the glory? she thought, and then she was instantly ashamed. James worked tirelessly to make sure every one of their friends was getting by, and he never lost faith in the cause no matter how many endless patrols he served or how dismal the news in the Daily Prophet. How could I betray him that way? She fought off a stab of guilt and vowed to never confess these shameful thoughts aloud.
"I have no interest in joining you. You're wasting your time." She saw his eyes widen behind the folds of his hood, and she continued, her voice rising. "There's nothing special about me. I'm just like anyone else – Muggle-born or Pureblood, or Half-blood, or whatever. Blood doesn't matter."
"Hmm. What does matter, then, Miss Evans?" His tone was light, interested, as though they were having an academic discussion. In a way, I guess we are, she mused, marveling at the absurdity of the entire situation.
"Your talent matters," she said, before realizing that was wrong. She thought of Severus, bursting with talent but willing to toss aside years of friendship for a bit of acceptance.
"You don't sound sure," Voldemort observed. "Would you like to change your answer?"
Lily swallowed as her mind filled with all sorts of noble, Gryffindor answers: Love. Courage. Loyalty. But she couldn't repeat that sort of sentimental rubbish to this intelligent, calculating man – he would laugh in her face, or worse, dismiss her with a lazy flick of his wand. She dug her fingers into her palm, vacillating between answers, her heart racing as though she were about to take a difficult test, as though she had to come up with the correct response to avoid letting a professor down. She thought suddenly of all those nights spent poring over textbooks in her first year, squinting in the dim wandlight, sweating under her blankets, forcing her eyelids open for one more page. She was convinced she had to know twice as much as the kids raised in magical families – what if she got something wrong and everyone cast sidelong glances her way and assumed it was because she was Muggle-born? But that was ages ago, she reassured herself. I don't have to prove anything to anyone – not anymore.
"I don't have to answer to you," she said, grinding out each word. "I dunno what you thought you saw in my head, but that's not me. I want nothing to do with any of this."
"Think it over," he urged. "You Gryffindors are quick to dismiss anything you see as unchivalrous or self-serving, but what's the harm in doing something for yourself for once? I'll ask again in a few days, once you've had a chance to consider the opportunity."
Her fingers grew clammy around her wand as she waited for him to say more. "What–?" she asked finally, staring into his fathomless eyes.
"You're free to go," he said, nodding at a spot behind her. She whirled and saw a door, the brass doorknob glinting in the flickering light, beckoning to her.
"What?" she repeated, her eyes locked on that doorknob.
"You'd better get a move on, Miss Evans," he said, extending a graceful arm to point to the door. "If you hurry, James won't even notice you've been gone."
She turned back to face Voldemort, then took a step backward, followed by another. She edged toward the door, then reached behind her and yanked it open. When she hurled herself through it, she turned and strode briskly through, shuddering as it swung shut behind her with a puff of air. She broke into a run, hurtling through the house and out into the chilly autumn night. By the time she turned on the spot and Disapparated, her heart was hammering in her chest.
She didn't stop running until she reached the flat and tumbled through the door, bent double. Cold sweat rolled down her forehead and dripped down her back as she tiptoed through the dark living room, heavy with cigarette smoke, and slipped into her bedroom. The sound of James's slow, steady breathing filled the room as she left her clothes in a heap on the floor and crawled under the covers. She was convinced James could hear her heart pounding as she wrapped her arms around him and rested her forehead against his chest, taking deep breaths until the panic subsided.
"I missed you," he murmured, his voice heavy with sleep. "How was duty?"
"Fine." Her voice sounded flat, dead, yet James was too tired to notice. "It was fine."
"Did you eat?" He slid a hand up her back, trailing his fingers along her skin.
"I–" She scrambled for a lie, but her fevered brain was too exhausted even to come up with a fictional dinner. "No."
"Evs." There was a gentle rebuke in his voice as his other hand found her face, his thumb resting against the side of her lips. "Do you want me to make you something? We have bread, and eggs, and maybe cheese, if Pads didn't eat it all…"
"That's okay." The thought of food turned her stomach, and she tightened her arms around him, afraid of where her brain would go if he left her alone in the dark. "I'm not hungry. I'm knackered. I just want to fall asleep with you."
His body tensed as though he wanted to argue, but then he relaxed against her and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. "Okay, but that means you have to eat an extra big breakfast tomorrow. I'll go out and get us something before I have to leave, alright?"
"Alright," she sighed, her breath stirring his hair. "Will you rub my back like you were doing before? That felt nice."
She leaned her head against him, waiting for his soothing touch to drive away the shame and unease left behind by the last hour's encounter. It never did, even after she slipped into a fitful doze, punctuated by dreams of that soft voice and those long, pale fingers.
The clock on the wall ticked as James sat slumped on the couch, tossing a Quaffle into the air. His movements were jerky, agitated, and he derived no pleasure from the repetitive motion. Beside him, Lily paged through the Prophet, her knee jiggling and vibrating the cushion beneath him. In front of them were two sandwiches, untouched, and two glasses containing the dregs of a bottle of elf-made wine. James glanced at the clock, willing the hands to move so he could go to bed without arousing suspicion. His brain was in turmoil, tumbling through thoughts of his body seizing up as the Full Body-Bind froze his muscles in place, Voldemort's intoxicating voice infecting his mind, the burn of the ropes against his wrists. I'll be in touch, Voldemort had said after bidding James goodbye like a respected colleague. He had been jumping at every sound, every motion in the corner of his eye, yet so far there had been no sign of Voldemort or anyone Death Eater-adjacent. When would he be in touch?
"Can you stop doing that?" Lily snapped, glaring at the Quaffle in his hand.
"What?" Panic leaped in James's chest – had she somehow detected his shameful thoughts?
"That's the third time you've hit the ceiling," she said, her eyes still on the Quaffle. "It's driving me mad." She flipped the page of her newspaper with a snap.
"Sorry." He stared at the Quaffle in surprise, because he didn't have any memory of throwing it hard enough to hit the ceiling. "I think I'll go to bed anyway."
He set the Quaffle on the seat beside him and set off for the bedroom. When Lily lay down beside him a few minutes later, she reached for him, but he flinched away from her. Voldemort's voice was echoing in his head, and it felt wrong to enjoy Lily's warm, loving touch when his mind was filled with such vile thoughts.
Hurt clouded her face as she pulled away, her brows knitting together.
"Are you mad at me?"
Sadness washed over him, followed by a weariness so intense he could hardly keep his eyes open. He sighed, then reached over and squeezed her hand.
"Of course not. I'm just tired." He watched her for a moment, noticing the tension in her jaw and the nervous jiggling of her knee. "Are you mad at me?"
She sighed, pulling her hand away and tugging the blanket up to her chin. James could feel her drawing into herself, constructing walls like he had tried to do when Voldemort had pawed through his thoughts.
"No," she said, her voice distant and listless. "I'm just tired, too."
They fell asleep lying inches apart, yet James couldn't remember the last time he had felt so alone.
When he woke in the morning after tossing and turning all night, his eyes burned and his limbs ached. He dragged himself out of bed, then forced himself into clothes and trudged down the stairs and out into the morning air for his daily run. The weight of the past few days slowed him down, yet he plodded on, dodging puddles from last night's rain. Even the rush of air in his face and the pounding of pavement under his feet did nothing to dispel the vague, sick worry plaguing him. He urged himself forward, his wand gripped in his sweaty fingers.
When he passed a narrow alleyway, he just had time to notice a figure lurking in the shadows before he felt himself pulled sideways as a Disillusionment Charm trickled down his neck.
"Don't be a hero," an unfamiliar posh voice murmured, nodding at a spot behind James's shoulder.
He whirled and spotted three hooded figures lurking out of sight in the alley across the way. They all clutched wands that were pointing in his direction. He swallowed, feeling his wand slipping in his sweaty grasp, but he didn't return it to his pocket.
"We're going on a trip, Potter," the same voice said. "No funny business."
He grasped James's arm, and then they were whirling through space and time to emerge in the spacious drawing room of some unfamiliar manor. The prissy lace curtains and softly dozing portraits practically screamed Sacred Twenty-Eight, and James took a savage pleasure in marring the perfect carpet with his wet, muddy trainers.
"Sorry for the theatrics," Lord Voldemort said, entering the room with those disconcerting silent footsteps. "Although I'm guessing you're no stranger to a bit of theatrics. Dumbledore was never subtle."
James could feel the indulgent smile dripping from the words, yet his own face remained stony.
"You could've saved your mates the trouble of kidnapping me," he said coolly. "Like I said before, I won't be joining you."
Voldemort exhaled, and James could see his breath stirring the hood that concealed his face. "That's a pity. May I ask why?" His tone was even, measured, as though James had turned down a party invitation.
This is absurd, James thought. How is this even a conversation?
"I've already explained why." He stared at those eye slits, wondering if these would be the last few minutes of his life. With a pang, he remembered the distance that had separated him from Lily last night, the quick kiss he had planted on her forehead before slipping off for his run. I should have held her all night. I should have held her and stroked her hair and kissed her a hundred times. Now I'm never going to come home, and she'll think–
"Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?" Voldemort took a step forward, close enough for James to see the red rimming those cold, dark eyes. "I can offer you power, prestige, the respect you deserve. You could have your pick of any woman, rather than having to settle for someone beneath you–"
"I don't want any of that." A righteous fury filled James, making his hands tremble as blood roared in his ears. "Don't you dare fucking talk about her like that. Don't you dare talk about her at all." He shot curses blindly, hardly aware of what he was doing, but Voldemort deflected them one by one, his wand moving no more than an inch each time.
"You'll need some practice before you master Unforgivables," he said calmly. "The power is there, but your intent needs a bit more bite behind it. You've got to wear down those pesky Gryffindor morals that are getting in your way."
"Just fucking kill me," James panted, chest heaving from the exertion of the last curse. "If you're hoping to see me crying and looking pathetic, you're going to be disappointed."
"I am disappointed," Voldemort admitted. "But only because you won't join me."
"Well, disappointment is a part of life, I suppose," James snapped. "Go ahead and get on with it."
He clenched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth, bracing for the impact of a Killing Curse. Lily filled his mind, her face alight with joy on the day he had proposed. He closed his eyes and let the scene envelope him.
Waves lapped at their feet. James felt a warm tear splash down onto his skin as he watched Lily admire the diamond that sparkled on her finger. Her lips tasted of salt, and more tears rolled down her cheeks and mingled with his as they clung to each other, dazzled by overwhelming joy.
The beach dissolved into another scene.
His friends lay clustered together on the floor of the Great Hall, an open bottle of firewhisky beside them. He and Lily were cocooned together in a sleeping bag, her hair spread out across his chest.
"Don't you want kids?" he asked.
A smile spread across her face. "Of course I do." Her hair fell into her face as she leaned in to kiss him.
"You can stop with the sentimental memories." The words shattered James's concentration, and he pried his eyes open, still expecting a curse to hit him at any moment. "I'm not going to kill you – not today."
His robed arm reached out, and James jerked back, suspicious. Voldemort didn't raise his wand, but wrapped his long, pale fingers against James's arm. They were cool against James's sweat-soaked skin.
"Give Miss Evans my best," he said, Apparating them with a pop and a whirl of colors and shapes.
When James reappeared in the alley, he could still feel the imprint on his arm where Voldemort's hand had been, although the other man was nowhere in sight. The scent of baking bread wafted from the bakery to the left of the alley, and he could see people ambling along the sidewalk, beginning their shopping for the day. He shivered in the autumn wind as he heaved himself upright, clutching the wall behind him for support. I'm alive. The thought gave him no comfort, because if the punishment for defying Voldemort wasn't death, what would his punishment be? The uncertainty sat like a lead weight in his stomach as he walked slowly through Diagon Alley and back to the flat.
Give Miss Evans my best. The words sent a stab of panic through him every time they replayed in his head. They echoed over and over, taunting him, growing louder until he could hear nothing else. Give Miss Evans my best. He trudged through the day, trying in vain to drown out the refrain. Give Miss Evans my best. By the time he collapsed through the door of the flat at the end of the day, he was desperate to see her. He stumbled through the living room, tripping over a forgotten Quaffle, and pulled open the door to their bedroom – empty.
"Evs!" he called, peering into the bathroom and double-checking the kitchen. "Evs, are you here?"
"What're you shouting for?" Sirius said, squinting at him as he lifted his head from the sofa.
"Where's Evans?" he demanded, raking a hand through his hair.
Sirius frowned and glanced at his watch. "Isn't she on duty until six? She's not even late yet. What're you looking all panicky for?"
James shook his head and stared at the door as he took quick, shallow breaths. "I just have a bad feeling."
"She's fine, Prongs." Sirius jammed a cigarette into his mouth, then threw the pack to James.
He was so agitated that the packet hit his fingers and bounced onto the floor, and when he bent to retrieve it, his hands shook as he tried to light a cigarette.
"She's fine," Sirius repeated, frowning at James through a cloud of smoke. "Smoke your cigarette and quit panicking like a lunatic. She'll be home any minute."
"Right." James nodded and took a drag on the cigarette, his eyes never leaving the door. "You're right. I'm panicking for nothing."
But he couldn't get the sound of those words out of his head.
Despite her fervent desire to keep the entire debacle a secret, Lily had confided to Dumbledore about her encounter with Voldemort. He had listened to her confession without passing judgment, except to remark that they would halt surveillance of the cottage for the time being. Instead, she and Marlene were back in front of the shack in the woods, hiding out behind the same cluster of trees. A group of Death Eaters had entered the dilapidated building over an hour ago, but so far they had not reemerged. Lily tapped her fingers against her wand until sparks flew from the tip, making Marlene jump backward in surprise.
"First rule of wand safety," she said, shaking her head in disapproval. "No unnecessary wand fiddling."
Lily forced a smile. "Is there such a thing as necessary wand fiddling?"
"If you ask any wizard, all wand fiddling is necessary," Marlene said with a wicked grin.
Lily started to reply, but the words died on her lips as she spotted movement at the door. Lily spotted Mr. Scraggles's long, lank hair as he and a companion levitated a third unconscious figure through the trees and disappeared behind the shack.
"What–?" Lily whispered.
Marlene put a finger to her lips, then drew her wand and got to her feet. "Wait here," she mouthed before tiptoeing after them through the trees. Technically this was protocol – one of them was meant to always have eyes on the door, while the other was authorized to investigate anything suspicious, provided it was safe to do so. Still, the scenario left Lily with a growing sense of unease. In the dying light, the trees cast long shadows, and she jumped at every rustle of leaves or sigh of the wind.
When another figure emerged from the door, Lily's breath caught in her throat. She flattened herself against the tree as he made his way along the path. Her fingers tightened around her wand as she considered Disapparating, but she wasn't supposed to leave Marlene. Any moment now, the figure would reach the edge of the wards and Disapparate, as they always did once the meetings ended – except this time, the figure continued.
Lily heard a murmured incantation, and then a spell whooshed over her head. Hominem Revelio, she thought in a daze, moving to block the next spell, but her sweaty fingers lost their grip.
"Crucio!" the voice cried – a woman's voice, Lily realized – and then she lost track of all coherent thought as pain consumed her body. Fire raged under her skin as her nerves burst into flame. Invisible knives sliced her limbs and stabbed her organs, while an unbroken scream ripped her throat raw. Her vision went dark and all sounds faded until there was nothing but the pain, devouring her whole.
And then it stopped. Tears streamed from her eyes as she gasped for breath, cold sweat soaking her t-shirt as a rock poked her back.
"Did you like that?" the woman asked in a low, breathless voice.
Lily blinked away her tears and saw her wand dangling lazily from the woman's left hand. Her thoughts were as thick and sluggish as her body, yet she scrambled for an escape. Marlene was nowhere to be seen, and it was too risky to make a grab for her wand… Her hand inched outward as her fingers brushed against the ground and landed on a small, sharp rock.
"...wanted to kill you to teach you a lesson, but the Dark Lord has other ideas," the woman was saying. "He is more merciful than I am – but of course, he knows best."
Lily focused on the dark eyes flashing through the slits in the mask. Her fingers closed over the rock as her other hand gathered up a handful of dirt, and then she hurled the dirt and the rock into the woman's face. There was a shriek and a clatter as she dropped Lily's wand – Lily caught it and lurched sideways, turning on the spot and Disapparating. As the scene swirled and blurred around her, she heard the Death Eater's furious shrieks following her back to her flat.
When she got through the protective wards to stumble through the door, she found James pacing the living room, tossing a Quaffle into the air with quick, restless movements. He turned his head at the sound of the door closing behind her, and the Quaffle slipped through his fingers as he lunged forward and pulled her into his arms.
"No need to act like a lunatic, Prongs," Sirius said from the sofa. "She's fine."
"I just had a bad feeling," James murmured, pressing his lips to her cheek. "I dunno why, but I thought something might have happened to you."
Lily pressed her lips together as her stomach roiled and saliva filled her mouth. She gave James's shoulder a gentle shove and stepped backward, taking slow, careful breaths.
"What's wrong?" James asked, his voice rising in panic.
She shook her head, then leaned forward and vomited all over the floor. It splattered onto her shoes and coated the strands of hair around her face. Her legs buckled, and she tried to lurch toward the sofa, but James put a strong arm around her before she could fall.
"Shit. Maybe you're not fine," Sirius said, budging over so Lily could collapse down beside him.
"We have to go back for Marlene," she choked out when the nausea receded. "I left her behind, and you're never supposed to–"
"Evs, what happened?" James Summoned a dish towel from the kitchen and began to dab the vomit from her hair, but she waved him away.
"It was a setup," she said, wincing as she remembered the way she and Marlene had fallen right into the trap. "They lured Marlene away, and then one of them attacked me. I dunno how she knew I was there – he must have seen it in my head."
A prickle of fear rippled through her as she imagined everything else Voldemort could have gleaned from sorting through her thoughts. She glanced at the door, heart pounding as she imagined him standing outside, whittling down the protective spells.
"What did they do to you, Evs?" James pushed her hair out of her face and cupped her cheek, his eyes wide with concern. "Did they hurt you?"
"I'm fine." She closed her eyes against the glare of the lights as her head began to throb. "She Crucioed me a bit, that's all."
James gave a strangled cry and pulled her into a hug. Her soiled hair pressed against his cheek and neck, but he didn't seem to care as he stroked her back and held her.
"I'm so sorry," he murmured. "This is all my fault."
She frowned, but something else nagged at her, and she struggled out of his embrace.
"We've got to go back for Marlene," she repeated, urgency lacing her voice. "She shouldn't be alone out there."
"I'll go," Sirius said, getting to his feet. "Pete should be home. I'll get him, and then both of us will go check it out." He paused halfway to the door and turned, interest creasing his face. "Evans, the woman who attacked you, was it–?"
"Your cousin?" Lily swallowed as she remembered the woman's bright, manic eyes. "I think so."
"Shit." Sirius shook his head. "How'd you get away?"
The ghost of a smile lifted Lily's lips. "I threw a rock in her face."
Sirius's eyes grew comically wide. "Fucking hell, really? Evans, remind me to shake your hand when you're not covered in vomit. Bella's a fucking scary bitch, and nothing scares me. Pour her a drink, Prongs – she deserves it."
He looked at her for another moment, face alight with wonder, before turning on the spot and Disapparating.
"Do you want a drink?" James asked uncertainly.
"No." She wiped her sweaty palm on her trousers, then took his hand. "James, why would you say this is your fault? This is because of me, because I–" She fought back a sob as Voldemort's soft, persuasive voice filled her mind. "Because he tried to recruit me, and I threw it back in his face. Although…" I'll ask again in a few days. "I was meant to think it over, but he must've seen in my head that I was going to refuse anyway…"
"Evans." James's sharp voice startled her out of her tangled musings. "Who tried to recruit you? Voldemort?" His voice hitched on the last syllable, and she squeezed his hand as she nodded. "Fuck, Evs, why didn't you tell me?"
She shook her head and leaned back against the sofa, suddenly too weary to stay upright. "I dunno. I was ashamed – ashamed that I was stupid enough to let them take me – Marlene left patrol a little early, and they ambushed me–"
"She should never have left early!" James said, eyes flashing with anger. "I don't want you patrolling with her anymore–"
"It wasn't her fault," Lily said, too exhausted to take offense to his overbearing tone. "I told her to leave."
"It's absolutely her fault!" James insisted. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."
"It's not just that." She rubbed her eyes, trying to stave off the tears threatening to pour out. "It's hard to explain, but I…"
She struggled to put the vague sense of shame into words. How could she describe the infinitesimal flicker of desire when he had described his vision for her future, the tiny flare of pride when he had described her as different from other Muggle-borns? Of course she wasn't tempted by his offer – she would rather die than join the Death Eaters – and yet…
"It wasn't that I wanted to join," she said slowly, choosing each word with care. "I wasn't considering it – not even a little. It's just that…"
"Now you understand why some people do consider it?"
She lifted her head to look at James. "Exactly. How'd you know that?"
He raked a hand through his hair, and she noticed the pallor of his skin and the dark circles under his eyes.
"Because he tried to recruit me, too."
The words sent her thoughts whirling. "What? Why didn't you say anything?"
He shrugged. "Same reason you didn't tell me. It fucked with my head. And then…" His face twisted with pain. "When we met the second time and I told him to sod off, he said 'Give Miss Evans my best,' and I fucking knew that was bad news. I knew, and I still let you go off to patrols, because I was ashamed to tell you."
"It's not your fault," she said, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"Yes it is!" The desperation in his voice cut through her weariness, and her heart twisted in her chest as she watched tears spring to his eye. "He went after you to punish me, and I wasn't there to protect you. If you hadn't gotten away…"
She wrapped her arms around him, and they clung together as his tears splashed onto her skin. Her shoulders shook as she gave in to her own tears, and for a few minutes neither of them spoke. When James finally released her and wiped his eyes, he took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair.
"We can't keep things from each other any more," he said, his voice shaky but strong. "He's smart – he must've known we would keep it from each other, otherwise why would he approach us individually? He wants to drive us apart, and we can't let him." He leaned in to kiss her, and she could feel him trembling with mingled fear and fury. "We're a team, Evs, and we're stronger together."
She nodded, sniffing and wiping away a stray tear.
"Although," James continued, his face relaxing into a smile, "you did okay on your own. Did you really throw a rock at Bellatrix Lestrange?"
"It hit her in the eye," Lily said, feeling a stab of cruel satisfaction as she recalled Bellatrix's shriek of pain. "And then I got her with a handful of dirt and gravel, so she dropped my wand. It was really just luck."
"That wasn't luck," James said, his smile widening. "You're smart, Evs. That's why he wanted you, even though you're not the sort of person he'd normally try and recruit."
"Because I'm just another Mudblood, you mean?" She remembered Voldemort inclining toward her and murmuring, We both know you're not like most Muggle-borns. The thought made her want to vomit all over again.
James winced. "I wish you wouldn't say that."
She shrugged. After looking into Voldemort's red-tinged eyes and experiencing the agony of the Cruciatus Curse, the word had lost its bite.
"Alright, come on," James said, getting to his feet and pulling her up beside him. "We need to wash the sick out of your hair, and I think the warm water will be good for you."
"You don't need to help me," she protested, leaning against him as they made their way to the bathroom.
"I want to," he said firmly, tightening his grip on her as her legs wobbled beneath her.
He turned on the shower and let the room fill with steam as he helped her out of her clothes, leaving them in a heap beside the toilet. She closed her eyes as the scalding water enveloped her and pounded her skin. A familiar floral scent filled the air, and then she felt James's gentle fingers working shampoo through her hair.
"James," she murmured. "You don't have to."
"Shh, Evans, let me take care of you." He guided her head under the stream of water to rinse the shampoo, keeping his other arm around her waist. She sighed and relaxed into his touch, grateful for his reassuring, solid presence.
When her clean hair hung dripping around her face, he turned her around and wrapped his arms around her, letting the hot water beat against her back as they held each other in the steamy air. Her fear and shame ebbed away, leaving her hollowed out and empty and impossibly tired. She wanted to cry again, but the tears wouldn't come.
"I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't talk to me," she whispered, running a hand through James's damp hair.
"I didn't want you to think of me differently." He kissed her wet hair and trailed his fingers up and down her arm.
"I wouldn't. You can tell me anything, even if it's something you're not proud of. You don't have to be perfect."
He pulled away, and she noted how vulnerable his eyes looked without his glasses.
"You're just such a good person, Evs," he said, placing both hands on her shoulders. "I… Fuck. I just want you to be proud of me."
She brushed a bead of water from his forehead and smiled. "I am proud of you. You're the driving force behind all of us being in the Order. Without you, we'd probably all fall apart."
Something flickered across his face. "I–" he began, but then he shook his head and grinned. "Let's get out," he said, reaching around her to shut off the water.
When she emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, emitting a cloud of steam as she led James to the bedroom, she found the living room occupied. She stopped short, pulling her towel tighter around herself and moving closer to James.
"I hope we aren't interrupting," Sirius said, smirking and nudging Marlene. Across from them, Peter stared determinedly down at his lap, his cheeks flushed.
"Don't be an arsehole, Padfoot," James said, lifting the hand that held his towel closed to give Sirius the two finger salute, then scrambling to grab it again when the towel came unwrapped.
"Come and have a drink," Marlene urged, giggling and raising her eyebrows. "With or without clothes. It'll help with the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse. Drinking, I mean, not being naked. I have no evidence on that."
"Mary will be back soon," Peter added, eyes fixed on the floor.
James leaned close to her ear and brushed his lips against her neck. "We can just go to bed if you'd rather. You've had a long day."
Lily cast a longing look at the bedroom door, but when she saw the hopeful expressions on her friends' faces, she heaved a sigh of resignation.
"One drink," she murmured. "And then bed."
Her hand snaked around his waist, toying with the border of the towel and his bare skin, and then she grabbed his hand and led the way to the bedroom.
"Fine, we'll come have a drink," she called over her shoulder. "We're just going to put clothes on first."
She closed the door behind them with a snap and reached for James, glad for another few moments alone.
"I love you," she whispered as her towel slid to the floor and he guided her down onto the bed. "No more secrets."
"No more secrets."
He cast a wordless Silencing Charm, then tested out its efficacy by pressing himself against Lily and making her gasp. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and resigned herself to make the most of the precious few minutes before their friends got impatient and started knocking on the door.