Modern Gentleman

Disclaimer: Everything you love about this story isn't mine… but I'm going to keep writing anyway in hopes that you'll like the tales I weave as much as the characters that make them.
Author's Note: I find it only right to warn that this chapter might tug at your heartstrings a bit. Necessary for the progression of the story, loves; I promise all is with good reason. Oh, and I should mention that the last chapter received a veritable re-write… you owe it to yourself to read it over.

It was mid afternoon the same day before anyone managed to catch up with Lily after Professor McGonagall had called the bright young girl to her office. She'd found herself a lovely little spot beneath a young oak on the castle grounds near the lake, protected to her satisfaction from the sun that constantly threatened her perfect skin. Lily's black robes were scattered beneath her, legs folded neatly at her side on top of the great span of black fabric. She took a moment to smooth her pleated grey skirt over her legs before placing the leather bound book she had been reading back on her lap. There was a tear-stained piece of Muggle stationary tucked into the page she had open.

Brilliant emerald eyes stared across the lake for a moment, towards the Forbidden Forest. Taking a shaky breath, Lily read the letter over to herself once more. She'd recognized the handwriting to be her older sister's almost at once.

Lily, - 'had Petunia struggled whilst deciding how to address it; this letter?' the golden-haired beauty wondered.

Please understand this letter is quite difficult for me to write. We have been exactly close in years. – Years indeed, though it was through no fault of Lily's own, she reminded herself, that she and Petunia were not close; the young witch had exhausted herself trying to patch their strained relationship.

Forgive me if this all seems rather blunt, but you'll understand I no longer know exactly how to speak to you anymore.

There was an accident. – and that was the way her older sister had decided to tell her? So plain, so blunt… so void of emotion.

Last night, sometime between the hours of three and four in the morning, Father was driving the car home from Auntie Kathleen's in the country. I've not a clue why he thought it necessary to drive home so late at night. – 'She'd always been one to chastise, even her own parents, that Petunia,' and Lily frowned and the realization.

Father fell asleep at the wheel. He was killed instantly. Mummy is in the critical care unit at Bethlem Royal Hospital. The doctors say she hasn't got much longer.

Hurry home, Lily. Vernon will be at King's Cross to pick you up first thing Saturday morning. – Hadn't she even the decency to come herself?

Your sister, Petunia

With a heavy heart, Lily set aside the book she had placed the letter in, frowning as the tears welled up in her eyes. It was too much to keep them from falling anymore. As she muffled a sob, her head fell into her hands and, despite all her best efforts, she trembled; reduced to a small child, fearful of what the future would hold. Faced with the reality of losing her father and terrified at the possibility of losing her mother, Lily let her tears fall, unashamed.

Like most girls of sixteen, Lily couldn't imagine a life without her father. He was the man who had adored her, spoiled her beyond measure with bednight stories and piggy back rides. He'd been there to pick her up each time she'd fallen when the girl had been learning to ride her bike. Her father had been the one to teach her to tie her shoes, kick a football through a goal; he'd fostered her love for classical literature and well-tuned ear for rock and roll music.

He was supposed to be there with her on her wedding day, to walk her down the aisle. It was a day she'd been dreaming of her entire life and he'd never get to see how happy she would be. Her father was supposed to be the final judge of character in the man that was to be her husband; to give her away at the altar. He was meant to spoil his grandchildren, bounce them happily on his knee and listen to their laughter fill his heart. He was supposed to love them as he'd loved her.

But it had all been taken from him…

And by the sound of Petunia's letter, her mother wouldn't be far behind.

Fortunately, Professor McGonagall had been more wonderful than words could describe. "I have a letter for you, dear. It didn't arrive to us by owl so it couldn't be delivered in the morning post." The letter had not been opened and Lily wondered if her professor meant for her to open it while they were together in her office. "Oh!" the older witch exclaimed, "Excuse me, dear." She turned in her chair and crossed to the window. Sunlight bathed her form as she studied the courtyard below; Lily was satisfied with this form of privacy.

Without further hesitation, she tore into the letter. Recognizing the scrawling penmanship to be her sister's handwriting, the red head felt her breath catch in her throat. She read it once, twice, three times before dropping it to the floor. A pained sound escaped her throat and the professor was at her side immediately; having obviously recognized the reaction of her favorite student. "There, there, dear," she comforted Lily, patting and smoothing her fiery locks. "It's quite alright. Cry all you need."

After what had seemed several hours, Lily murmured into her professor's shoulder, "But… what about my finals?"

"Let me take care of the technicalities. You run along and find a place to yourself; perhaps a bit of sunlight on the grounds will do you some good," the older woman handed Lily a handkerchief. "We'll arrange your trip home first thing in the morning."

"Yes, ma'am," she picked up the letter her professor had just skimmed and turned to leave.

"And Miss Evans," McGonagall's voice stopped her in her tracks; she'd lost any of the warmth her earlier actions had suggested and, instead, had returned to her normal, stiff posture. "You'll know where to find me, should you require anything at all."

The girl nodded, murmuring a soft 'thanks', before pushing her way through the doorway and rushing to a spot near the lake. It was there she had been seated since receiving the letter. Sitting up straighter and holding her head high she drew a shaky breath and glanced back towards the castle. There was a robed figure approaching her and she quickly wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeves. She was Lily Evans, after all, and Lily Evans did not cry… at least not in front of anyone else.

The moment the figure ran his hand through the dark mess atop his head, Lily's heart sank.

"Alright, Evans?" he questioned, taking the last few steps towards her in a jog.

"Oh James," her voice sounded nearly breathless as she turned her attention away from him and back towards the Forbidden Forest. Admittedly startled by her use of his first name, James quickly pushed the realization from his mind and sat down beside her. Before he could speak, however, Lily cut him off; her voice hoarse, her words desperate, "Please, can we not do this today?"

Her eyes were dark, her gaze lowered, but James could tell she had been crying. His mouth fell open as he stared at the vulnerable, delicate beauty he'd lusted after for six years. Though he'd never seen her looking so upset before, her tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes didn't make her any less beautiful in his eyes. Placing a hand on her forearm, he narrowed his eyes, studying her.

Feeling her breath catch in her throat, she looked up at James. Lily blinked, before she closed her eyes, sighing, "I'm not in a mood to bicker."

Biting his tongue, James took some advise Remus had given him in hopes of saving his friend's ill-fated conversations with Lily Evans; take a moment to consider what you'd actually like to tell her before just saying the first thing that comes to mind. He moved his hand from her forearm and placed it in his lap, finding that any sort of contact between them would probably not be welcomed with the warmth and admiration he desired. Their eyes met again and he offered her a sad, apologetic look, "I'm sorry it bothers you so much… me asking you out. I won't do it again."

A strange feeling overcame her with this confession and her heart did an uncomfortable flip-flop in her chest. Biting her lower lip she tried to hold back the tears.

"I suppose you don't want to tell me what's wrong," James had turned to look back towards the castle, noting the encouraging figures of his three best friends, the Mauraders, in the distance. He turned away from them and looked at the girl beside him longingly. His voice sounded pained as he asked, "Should I go fetch Alice, then?"

Lily simply nodded her head, the sobs she had wanted so desperately to hide from him racking her slender frame.

"Oh, Lily!" he exclaimed, hesitating for only a moment before rising to his knees and wrapping his arms around her shaking shoulders. "I can't leave you here like this. Please stop crying. I didn't mean to upset you… honest!"

He rested his cheek against the top of her head, letting his left hand lace through her silky hair, an action he'd only dared dream of in his most secret reveries. It felt natural to have her so close to him, in his arms. His right hand fell to her waist, a gesture that could only be determined as comforting. Touching Lily Evans, though one of his most desperate desires, was the furthest thing from his mind in that instant. His mind briefly wandered to his friends, standing atop the hillside, probably bewildered beyond belief that he was actually embracing Lily Evans, the girl of his dreams, without receiving a well placed smack to his face or watching her storm off in a rage. But she needed his attention more than his befuddled Mauraders and he quickly brought his focus back to the little red haired girl crying against his shoulder.

And he needed only a moment to note that she hadn't pulled away…

She moved her head slightly back and forth, indicating between her sobs that these tears were not the effect of his normal antics. Forgetting exactly who James Potter was to her, she clutched his shoulders desperately, clenching the smooth fabric of his robes in her tiny fists like she'd never let go. His response to her despondency was subtle; James turned his face into her radiant hair and took a deep breath, inhaling the subtle scent of lavender and honeysuckle.

Lily wasn't sure for how long they'd stayed like that, but eventually her tears subsided and she felt rather guilty for involving James in the moment she was at her most defenseless. Pulling away from him slightly, Lily gazed into James' eyes and saw only puzzlement and something she wouldn't allow herself to perceive as admiration there. It had been most uncharacteristic of her, of course, to allow herself to fall into his arms. He didn't say anything and didn't move away from her. His hand was still resting protectively on her waist, the other wound in her hair.

Feeling so grateful she couldn't imagine words, even in her mind, to describe her appreciation that he'd remained silent instead of digressing back to his normal pattern of immaturity, she reached to her side and found the book that still lay open with the letter inside. Picking it up, she handed it over, watching his expression turn from uncertainty to sorrow. His eyes peered over the letter at her but she wasn't looking at him anymore. Instead her attention had turned to her hands, resting gently in her lap.

"You don't have to say anything," she whispered. She met his gaze again as a single tear fell from her glimmering eyes, "Thank you, James Potter, for staying."

He wiped her cheeks clean with the back of his hand.