Two: Apologize
"I don't think there have ever been two people more in love."

New day.

The crisp rustle of sheets break the silence of the dormitory as Lily rolls to her side, sighs, tucks her hands beneath her cheek, folded as if in prayer. Her eyes traverse the edge of the drawn scarlet curtain, past the swirling dance of dust motes, aimless and free in the morning light. It's silly, but she finds herself imploring the sun to sink back down the silver horizon. Please. Just until she's ready for what's to come.

Breakfast awaits downstairs. The earliest of exchanges manage to slither through the thin slit between the door and the floor; thick and faint from the distance, but the excitement is unmistakeable. Mary is already up and about. Lily should get up too, but that makes all this end faster, and she can't… she's just not ready yet.

Summer is crashing upon her. The empty house in Cokeworth, one last trip on the Hogwarts Express, a war breaking.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. A certain part of her brain is persistent to take over majority of her thoughts. A certain memory. Very recent. She might have even dreamed of it. She tries to block it out, resumes her futile plea on the universe, plays the sunrise backwards in her thoughts—

But his face splatters itself on the back of her lids anyway, torch-lit and flushed, and everything else—his hands, his voice, everything—explodes in glaring colours with the sun, spills warm and gentle onto her palms.

She opens her eyes to a new day. There's no stopping it.

New day, last day.

And last night, quite possibly, was the last time she'd ever speak with him.

James is awake and refuses to be so.

The sun creeps into the room, reluctant and silent as a thief having second thoughts, blood red in the darkness of hazel eyes tightly shut. His hand darts out from the tangled sheets and grabs the nearest pillow with a groan, covering his face and blocking the spring thief out until his lungs burst and his fingers curl into a fist over his blankets. He pushes the thing up at the last minute, mouth open in a silent gasp, stars against his stubborn lids. The canopy of his four-poster is a brighter red when he finally opens his eyes. It makes his head ache.

New day.

He swings his legs off the bed, soles scolding the cold floor. Glasses on now, arched spine and hunched shoulders tense beneath his flimsy white T-shirt, he runs both hands through his hair and regards the sunrise with half-hearted contempt.

Last day.

If he doesn't talk to her now, he'll probably never get a chance again.

"Did they…?"

"No, I don't think so."

"No, I mean, talk. About… them. Stuff."

Remus rolls his eyes. "Yes, that's what I meant. I don't think they did."

"Where? And why were you there?"

"I was on my way to Dumbledore's."

Across them, Peter's hand hovers in midair over a jar of jam. "Dumbledore's? What for?"

Remus clears his throat. "Oh, erm. Employment." He doesn't look at either of them.

"Right."

More people are coming in to the Great Hall now, and the surrounding chatter is getting denser.

"You know that big arched window on fourth floor?" asks Remus, and they all carry on their mundane tasks as if a pause never occurred. Sirius opens the jam jar for Peter after much struggle on the latter's part.

"With the alcove?" asks Sirius.

"They used to meet there," recalls Peter, nodding his thanks at Sirius.

"Yeah, they did."

"And last night, they just went there?"

"Apparently."

Sirius chews on his toast, frowning at the table. "Did they agree to meet there or something? It's been weeks."

"I don't think they did."

"Did they see you?" asks Peter.

"I hope not."

"What did they talk about then? Heard anything?" asks Sirius.

"No…" Remus mulls over it. "I don't think they stayed there long. James was in the Common Room barely three minutes after I got back, and I wasn't gone long…"

" Moony, you don't think… do you think they got back together?"

"You lot are up early," cuts a fourth voice from behind them, and all of them start.

"Lily, you're not coming?" Mary calls out from the door when she realizes the redhead hasn't moved. Dressed and ready now, Lily doesn't get up. She studies the floor with an uncanny level of concentration.

"We talked last night."

Mary doesn't have to ask who; she comes back in and sits beside her at once. "How did it go?"

"It… I don't know. He didn't say much."

"Did you talk about it?"

"Yes. No. I—I don't know. Sort of."

"Alright." A pause, hesitant. Lily senses the question before Mary drops it on her lap, gently, slowly: "Are you two…?"

"No," says James, shoving a bit of toast in his mouth. His eyes are trained determinedly far on the Ravenclaw table. "We're not back together."

"Okay," says Sirius.

"Sorry for asking," adds Remus.

"Nah, it's alright," he assures them through a mouthful. "It's not a big deal."

Peter seeks someone to exchange glances with at this, but both Remus and Sirius shift their eyes. The silence is short, but choking. Peter breaks it: "Of course it's a big deal." A splinter of incredulity is recognizable in his tone. "It's Lily."

Sirius shoots him a warning look. Remus kicks him from under the table, but he hits James instead.

"Ow."

"Sorry."

"Look, it's fine," says James, annoyed. "We can talk about it. It's been weeks. I can. I'm okay."

"Are you?" asks Sirius warily.

James glares at him, not sure if he meant to. "Yes."

"Okay, so, what happened last night then?" presses Peter, and Remus and Sirius give him a one-quarter pained, three-quarters baleful stare. "What? He said he's fine!"

"Yes, I am," says James firmly, the grip on his fork tightening. "We just talked. Caught up a bit. I was feeling stuffy in the common room last night, fancied a stroll, and she was—"

"Sulking."

"You were sulking," deadpans Mary, frowning.

"Yeah. Last day blues and all. It was a perfectly reasonable time to sulk."

"Also the perfect time to celebrate the year-end over illegally imported firewhiskey, which the rest of us were doing."

"I also did that," nods Lily.

Mary sighs. "And James found you?"

"He did, yeah. Somehow."

"Did he use that map of his?"

"I don't know. I didn't see it with him."

"You didn't ask?"

Lily grimaces. "Mary, I don't think 'did you stalk me here with your map?' would have been a good question."

"I suppose not. So what happened? What did he say?"

She bites her lip, fingers fiddling over her lap. "Erm, he said hello."

"Hello?" asks Peter.

"Yeah. What else was I supposed to say?"

"You could have walked away," Sirius puts in with caution.

"She saw me before I noticed her," explains James. "I didn't think it would be right to run."

"I think she would have understood," says Remus quietly.

"I didn't want to run, Moony."

"So you said hello," says Peter again, and James rolls his eyes.

"Yes."

"And?"

"And I said hi."

"Great," remarks Mary, nodding in feigned interest. "Seems like a great conversation so far."

Lily's laugh is empty. "There weren't many things to say, were there? I asked him how he was…"

"I said I was fine."

"Are you?"

Irritably now: "Yes."

"And then he asked me how I was…"

Mary narrows her eyes. "Please tell me you didn't tell him you were okay," she cuts in quickly. "That you told him you've been better."

"I told him I was okay."

"Prongs, mate, you're not okay," says Sirius. "You weren't bloody fucking okay when we found the dormitory thrashed that night, and you're not okay now. Why didn't you just tell her? She should know."

James frowns at him, the denial tingling on the tip of his tongue. He contemplates saying that weeks have passed since then and he doesn't feel like wanting to blow something up every time he hears those words in his head now, thanks so much, but ultimately decides that all the fuss isn't worth it. He's tired. These are his best mates in the world. And alright, fine, so he's not okay. But he will be. It would be so much easier if he just lets himself go with it, let the natural course of events—of emotions, whatever—take place, bring him where he ought to be, just wait for the proverbial end of the tunnel.

"I tell her I'm not okay and then what?" he says at last, pushing his plate away, not hungry anymore. "It wouldn't have made much difference."

"Lily, that was your chance! You should have told him—"

"I don't really have a right to tell him how I feel though, do I?" says Lily, the weak smile on her face a small attempt to dispel the exasperation seeping through her reasoning. "I mean, it would just have made him feel bad, and I think I've done him that favour enough that one night to last him a lifetime."

"You told me you didn't mean it," reminds Mary. "You cried for days, Lil, you were heartbroken, bloody inconsolable, and you still are. He should—"

"He shouldn't have to do anything anymore," Lily tells her clearly. "I broke his heart more than I did my own. If anyone has to do something, if anyone has to fix things, ever, someday, when all of this is over and he still… it should be all me. I did this."

"I was just going to say he should know. About all this. About what really happened and how you really feel."

Lily's voice is small when she asks, "You think it's wrong? What I did?"

Mary does, but she doesn't say. "Look," she begins, shifting on the bed to face Lily completely, "I understand the… intention, behind it. I truly do. And I—I know circumstance hasn't exactly been in your favour, both of you, and I know that things haven't been going peachy with his family over matters than you think revolve around you—"

"I didn't say they revolved around me, Mary. I just didn't want him to throw away the chance to live a peaceful life after Hogwarts because of me."

"I don't believe any of James Potter's favourite hobbies include any sort of peaceful affairs. Do you?"

"This is different. People die. They're dying out there as we speak. Being hunted. People have died. I can't bear the thought of having anyone hurt because they're with me, or because—"

"Do you honestly, honestly think that that boy's going to keep his meddling nose off all the mess now that you've broken up?"

"Hopefully."

"We both know he's not. Hell, the whole world knows he's not."

Lily swallows. "That's his call. I did what I could do. I gave him a choice."

"No," counters Mary swiftly, firmly. "I love you, but that's exactly the opposite of what you did. So I'm saying now, Lily, you give him a chance to give you another chance. Tell him what happened, tell him you freaked out, tell him they got to you and you're sorry and you didn't mean it and you love him—"

"Mary."

"—because you do. You do."

"I… It might be too late."

"He deserves to know."

From the breakfast table, some empty floors and moving staircases below:

"Do you think you and Lily would ever…"

"No."

"Why not?"

The answer still makes his jaw clench, still drains his face of its colour, but the world doesn't stop this time. James shrugs, and life goes on.

It's something he's told himself many times at this point: "Because she could never be happy with me."

On the threshold of the Common Room, Lily pulls Mary back in gently, for the last time, for one last broken question before Lily drops the subject: "I know I've done it in the worst way possible, I know I broke him and it was horrible and I am horrible and he could probably never forgive me for it, he shouldn't, really, but… but if we ever… if I ever tell him, everything, do you think there's the slightest chance that he'd…"

Mary smiles, puts an arm around her shoulder and steers her towards breakfast. "I don't think there have ever been two people more in love."

It wasn't a yes. It didn't feel like one much either. But it's enough.

The students filter out of the train doors in excited, chattering clumps. Lily watches as eager first years run back to their waiting parents, owl cages and trunks too big for their small frames, some still in their uniforms. A number of seventh years have lingered around the station, swapping last minute goodbyes, doling out promises here and there, all too careless around words Lily's almost sure would break the moment they roll off their tongues. She can't remember how she's imagined this to be, she must have thought of this last day at some point, but her heart aches at the sight of all of it.

Mary hugs her goodbye, promises to keep in touch. Her tears cling onto her long lashes, but they don't fall. She smiles at Lily, sad and sincere and overwhelmed—thanks for everything, Lily, I will miss you so much—before she parts. Lily watches her disappear through the barrier with her parents. For a moment she imagines coming over to the Macdonalds'—they have, after all, extended an invitation as they always have—but besides no longer having Hogwarts to go back to this summer, Lily has to stay in Cokeworth this year. Petunia has owled her a few months prior. She's moving out. The house will be empty if Lily doesn't come home, and although she has right and reason to find a place of her own now too, it doesn't feel like the right time to leave yet. She still doesn't know what to make of that, of Petunia moving out; she hasn't been addressing it in any way back in Hogwarts. But now she has all the time in the world to wallow in the fact that she's on her own.

She hauls her trunk and pushes through the crowd. She's a few yards from the barrier, thinking of her mum—of quiet breakfast, of her dad's spoon clinking against the inside of his coffee cup—when James catches her eye. He's with his mother. Sirius has just come over to them when James looked around and found her, of all people, for some higher order's twisted joke maybe. His hand twitches, but it could only have been her imagination. She waves weakly at him in spite of herself, not able to go on without any sort of goodbye. Her heart rams itself against her chest as if it's beating its last. It does feel a bit like dying, she reckons, drowning in goodbyes and feeble promises and being pinned down without preamble by her favourite shade of hazel like that. She smiles at him, a sigh more than anything, lump in her throat and half her heart sliding down her sleeve. He smiles back. Nods stiffly. Then he shifts his gaze, fast, fidgety, unnatural enough for Sirius to finally notice. He follows James's abandoned line of vision and glances at Lily, but he doesn't linger for long. He resumes listening to Mrs. Potter's animated talk as if nothing happened.

Lily doesn't look back as she crosses over to the muggle world.

She's surprised when Sirius emerges onto the muggle platform shortly after, sans James and his mother. He passes by her; head high, eyes ahead, mouth thin. Lily crosses her arms.

And then she starts going after him, not really thinking on it lest she backs out.

"Sirius?"

No answer. It's a struggle to keep up with him, but she doesn't stop. They find themselves outside and Sirius still won't spare her a glance.

"Sirius…"

She moves to put a hand on his arm, but he tenses, finally turns to her with an impatient huff and a stiff half-glance; earnest in making clear how much he really doesn't want to deal with her. "Evans."

Lily feels herself shrink. "Look, I know you hate me…"

He cocks an eyebrow. "I don't."

"You haven't talked to me in a while."

"'Cause you're an idiot."

"I know."

"Do you, though?"

This probably was not the best idea. "I just wanted to tell you—"

"Is it me, really?"

"Sorry?"

"Is it me," he repeats, and although his voice maintains its steely slant, there's a new softness in his stare that reaches Lily and settles in the pit of her stomach as guilt. "Is it me you really want to tell things to?"

She swallows.

"I can call him back right now."

"No, don't." She doesn't know if she meant that, but it was out there before she could help it.

"Fine then." The ice in his voice is back. "What is it?"

Truthfully, she doesn't know. She didn't have a particular direction for the conversation when she followed him out. Trying not to let it show, she quickly racks her brains for something, and when she finds one, it's a relief to feel content about it. To know she means it with all her heart: "Take care of him, yeah?"

It is immediately apparent that it was the wrong thing to say. Sirius's jaw hardens. His expression blooms from the winter in his eyes, cold and grey as only a Black can muster. Before she knows it, all too soon, he's turning away again.

"I had to do it," she says desperately.

"No, yeah, you've had this conversation with Moony," he throws over his shoulder. "I got it the first time he told me."

"Sirius…"

"What?"

"I'm so sorry."

He's walking away. Lily doesn't know why she's following, but the strain on her arms as she heaves her trunk to keep up with him is very much real.

"Walk away, Evans."

"You're really never going to talk to me again? Ever?"

"Maybe."

"That's a shame, you know."

He halts, and Lily almost bumps into him. "What do you want?"

"Nothing. I don't know. I wanted to say sorry."

"You already did."

"And I didn't want to go out there where I probably would never see you lot again without… I don't know, I just wanted you to talk to me, and… here we are."

"You want to talk?"

Truth be told, Lily falters.

"You really want to talk?"

Softly, and a little too much like a question: "Yes."

"Alright, let's talk." He turns around fully. He drags his trunk in front of him, a blatant, physical barrier, as though they aren't apart enough in other ways as it is. The thing makes a sharp, clicking noise against the ground, and Lily steels herself. "I haven't been speaking with you because I didn't want to say things that I would probably regret later, and I didn't want to hurt you any more than you already are, because I know—I know—you are hurt, you and Prongs can be as bloody fucking obstinate about it as you want, but neither of you are fooling me. I know you can't entirely be some heartless, soulless bitch. And you know what, Evans? I want you to be. I wish you were a heartless, soulless bitch, I really do. Because if you were it would be so convenient, so much easier for me to hate you. But no. You're actually brilliant—were brilliant—not bad a company at all, and maybe I miss you, maybe we all fucking do, and it… this whole thing sucks. My best mate is out there perfectly, utterly convinced that he's ruined your life, that he's made you unhappy, and we both know that's not even a million universes close to the truth. He's hurt. I don't know how you did it, how the hell you could do it, but it was a shitty move. I can't believe you. And I hate—sodding Godric, I'm terrified, alright, that we might not be enough to ever fix him. And I owe him. I owe him everything, Evans. You know that. And I can't do anything."

She doesn't think anyone's ever held anything as tightly as she does her trunk; her palms are starting to hurt, nails and handle digging on her skin, but she ignores it, wills all of herself to focus solely on not crying, no, she's not going to, she has no right—but even without blinking the tears pool in the corners of her eyes and silently taunt her to fall.

But they won't. She won't.

"So if this is nothing but a well-intentioned parting reminder to take care of him," finishes Sirius, breaking pace, looking away upon noticing her expression, probably hating her for it, "it's fucking unnecessary. Also insulting, if I'm going to be honest. Forgive me for getting a tad bit offended."

So there. There's that, and Lily doesn't know what to say. She feels horrible, but she can't think of any set of words specific and accurate enough to tell him how much. There's the urge to say sorry again, and she opens her mouth—but decides against it. He's right; this is nothing but a lame attempt to speak to him about James, but it's not going to fix anything. It's unnecessary. Insulting.

So she nods. And then she walks away like he earlier bade her to, walks away as she should.