Songs:
Claude's Girl- Marika Hackman
Wanderlust- Joep Beving
The General- Martin Phipps
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Lily sat on the bathroom floor, a well-worn book of potions in one hand and her wand in the other, which she was using to entertain Harry while she worked on the potion that she was brewing in the bath.
Between them were ten jars, each containing a gentle flame. She had bought the jars from the village for her planned project of home-brewing some of the potions that were sold in Diagon Alley at extortionate prices. They needed sterilising, thus the flames, which seemed to fascinate Harry.
She and Harry were sat in their underwear. All of Harry's clothes, as well as the dress Lily had bought for Sirius' wedding, were steeping in a sour-smelling potion to stretch. By some inconvenient act of God, both Harry and the baby in Lily's tummy had experienced growth spurts that week.
Lily could hear metallic banging outside, and leaned sideways to peer out of the floor-to-ceiling window at the lawn outside. James and Nymphadora were there, putting the finishing touches on a new swing set, which they had enlarged from the size of a teacup in which it had been packaged. They were both stood wearing thick cloaks, their breath blasting ghostly white in the chilly air of the high altitude.
Lily looked back at Harry, who was watching the flickering flames with a saddening expression of recognition.
Lily pulled herself up against the bath and scooped the sodden clothes out of the potion, letting the excess water cascade loudly back into the bath before dumping them in the sink to drain.
She dipped the tip of her wand into the potion and swirled it around, until the pasty-pink colour dissolved and water returned. Just as she intended, Harry was distracted by this magic, and leant up against the bath to watch.
She continued to swirl the water, concentrating, until the water turned dark blue, and unnaturally deep and clear. The more she swirled, the more components of the Swedish night sky appeared: stars, a big glowing moon, and then on top of all that the magical flickering green and purple dance of the northern lights.
Harry smiled, and watched engrossed.
"Happy Birthday, sweetheart," she whispered.
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As Auror trainees confined to the Grettadam Chamber, James and his peers were generally isolated from the rest of the ministry workers. The Auror department was, agreeably, free from most of the bureaucracy and protocols that constrained the other departments. Plus, Aurors were considered to be the people least likely to be killed in the current social climate. All of this meant that when further murders were reported, Aurors did not respond with as much panic as the rest of the Ministry workers.
James stood with Bertie Weasley beside a kiosk, both of them blowing into steaming cups of tea while watching the ubiquitous Daily Prophet crowds gather around the newspaper vendor yet again.
"Sorry to hear about your friend, James, said Bertie sadly.
James looked up at him. "Friend?"
"Ted Tonks. He was your friend, right?"
"He still is. He's not dead."
"Oh. Yeah."
James looked back at the newspaper vendor. He hadn't really read the Prophet in ages, but he could be persuaded to if Ted had been made famous by his attack. The Prophet, despite its reputation as ill-researched rubbish, had become gospel among the more wary members of wizarding society. Anything written about Ted was being read and believed by thousands.
"What does it say in the Prophet about Ted, then?" James asked Bertie.
"Nothing," Bertie sniffed. "My sister reads that Tiger-Eye magazine. There's an article about him in there and she was droning on about it at breakfast. Says he's a rebel."
"A rebel?"
"Yeah, against all the blood purist people. My tea's too hot, do you think they'll give me a cooler one?"
Out from within the crowd of newspaper-buyers emerged Valentine Grouse, the angry leather-clad trainee whose vendetta against James was purely competitive. To James' surprise and discomfort, she was walking towards them without any expression of anger.
"Three more deaths," she sighed, holding a copy of the Prophet out to them. "Muggles."
James took the Prophet from her and glimpsed at the photograph accompanying the headline: a terraced house surrounded by what appeared to be a ribbon barrier, surrounded by uniformed muggles examining the windows and door frame.
"Who are they?" asked Bertie.
"They're the Police. Muggle Aurors," replied Valentine, taking the newspaper back. "Weasley, do you remember anything from Hogwarts? Did you even attend?"
"You need five E's at N.E.W.T level for your application to even be considered, so I assume he did," James replied for him.
Valentine rolled her eyes, but didn't argue. Instead, she looked down sadly. "One of the muggles killed was two years old. When Lestrange is caught, I'll personally volunteer to examine her mental health."
"I think we can draw our own conclusions about that," replied James.
"My niece is two."
James looked at her. It was strange to picture Valentine with a family, with any sort of warm feelings towards a child, but now that she's mentioned a niece, he could see it. And he could see how upset the news made her.
"It's my son's second birthday today," James told her. "So... yeah, she's... mental."
Trying to empathise with Valentine was like trying to play fetch with a dragon: bloody unnatural and dangerous-feeling.
"Happy Birthday to him!" exclaimed Bertie. "How old is he?"
Then, Etta Gamble walked past. She was so poised and sparrow-like compared to Valentine, but somehow just as fierce. She smiled curtly at them as she walked past. Seconds later, Andromeda Tonks followed suit.
James blinked. "Andromeda?"
Andromeda stopped, as did Etta Gamble, who turned and looked between them. "Oh, do you two know each other?"
You bloody know we do.
"Mrs Tonks is one of our kind volunteers for this afternoon's workshop," Gamble replied before either of them spoke.
"Workshop?" asked Valentine. "What'll we be doing?"
"Learning the practice of memory extraction," Gamble smiled excitedly. "This'll sort the field-workers from the desk-workers."
Andromeda gave James an awkward smile before following Gamble to the Grettadam Chamber.
"Fuck..." hissed Valentine. "I'm not becoming a quill-dipper. I'm going to have to muck this up to stay in the field."
"What about your track record?" James asked her.
She looked torn, but quickly assured herself: "Nope. Not worth it. I'm the best in the cohort, I can relax on this one. I am not a desk-worker."
James refrained from rolling his eyes. She was right, of course. And he would have to feign ignorance too if he wanted to go out and capture dark wizards. As long as he wasn't paired with Andromeda, who he had a sneaky feeling he might be, he would be able to throw in some mistakes.
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It felt good to be back in London, to breathe in a bit of pollution. Loud noise was invigorating, but the crowds reminded Lily that hers and James' plan to live away from the city was a good thing for their health, sanity and privacy.
She was stood in Madam Malkin's, behind a mannequin to hide from the nosy shoppers who were still intrigued by Voldemort's supposed slayer. The pot-bellied frog of a man serving her stood nervously sweating as Nymphadora twirled around in a brand new Hogwarts robe while still eating her ice cream from Fortescue's. Behind Lily, Harry was on the floor finishing off his too, smearing it on the floor as he did so.
"How does it fit?" asked the assistant, his watchful glare on Dora's ice cream.
"It's a bit big," replied Dora, taking another spoonful of ice cream. "And if feels like cardboard."
"You'll grow into it," Lily told her. "And we'll wash it when we get home."
Dora spun round to face Lily, seemingly enjoying the swishy ends of the robe. "How do I look?"
"Very grown up, Nymphadora" Lily replied. She turned to the assistant. "We'll take it."
As he lunged to remove the robe from Dora's back, Dora looked pointedly at Lily. "Mum'll go mad. She hates owing people money."
"She doesn't owe me a thing," Lily assured her.
Dora raised her eyebrows. "She'll hate that even more."
"Let me worry about your Mum," said Lily as she watched the assistant fold Dora's robe into a box. "She's got enough on her plate as it is, and you need school supplies."
Dora then frowned, and gently placed her ice cream pot on the shop counter. "Can I write to her later?"
Lily nodded. "Of course. I expect she's dying to hear from you."
"I wish I could see her..."
The assistant came around the counter just in time to brighten Dora's expression with a ribbon-wrapped box containing her new robe. Once Lily paid him, she picked up Harry and hurried out of the shop with Dora, too rushed and anxious to deal with the ice cream stains Harry had left on the carpet.
Lily steered Dora to Flourish & Blotts, both happy to have a practice at the "Hogwarts Run" and a little disheartened that her first experience of shopping for school supplies was not for her own child. On top of this was the added irritation of stares. Flourish & Blotts, the most packed shop in the entire alley, made Lily feel hot with anxiety, but determined to breeze through it.
"Look at them," Dora hissed to Lily, watching some older students levitating their purchases, their arms free to browse the books. "I can't wait to do that... Dad says magic was invented by the most laziest of people, which suits me perfectly!"
While Dora spoke, a plump middle-aged lady flanked by two willowy teenage girls tiptoed hesitantly towards Lily, smiling shyly as she approached.
Lily internally braced. She and James had joked about compiling a checklist of the usual things strangers said to them, which had become clichés now. But that would make Lily dislike herself a little, as it was a form of acceptance of her fame. But it could be necessary in the future. There had been too many flustered, nonsensical responses from her.
"Mrs Potter, I'm Doris Feasey. It's an honour to meet you..."
"Oh, gosh. Thank you," was Lily's typical response to this buttering. It didn't sound entirely friendly when Lily said it this time.
"My husband was killed by Rodolphus Lestrange..." the widow, Mrs Feasey, pressed a hand to her chest and closed her eyes as she spoke. "We are all very grateful to you and your husband for putting an end to his wretched reign."
"It was Aurors who captured Lestrange, Madam, not me."
Mrs Feasey gave a flicker of an embarrassed smile. "Yes, but you killed You-Know-Who, and that's what counts."
Mrs Feasey spoke as though Lily's presumed murder of Voldemort had been an act of kindness; of charity. It made Lily uneasy no matter how evil Voldemort had been. Murder was never justice, and death was never welcome.
Mrs Feasey sighed and looked around the bookshop like God looking out over the world. "I was ever-so pleased when I read that your husband was an Auror..."
Becoming an Auror, actually, Lily thought to herself.
"... we need more men like him out there..."
and women..?
"... the Ministry don't know what they're doing. If they hadn't dawdled on lifting the Unforgivable Curses law, my Evan would be alive today..."
Didn't I just tell you that the Aurors arrested your husband's killer?
"... I do believe your husband will reform the Auror Department once and for all. He's the only man who has the guts..."
How can you talk like this with children around? Is war-talk not private anymore?
"...We need brave men like your good husband who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty. Murder for murder, I say. Real justice for the families. This elite houses should be brought to their knees..."
Beside Lily, Dora dropped a book on the floor. The two women jumped.
"Nymphadora?" Lily stooped down to pick up her book, examining her face as she did so. "Are you alright?"
Dora looked uncharacteristically nervous. As Lily stood up and handed her the book, she felt herself become even more uneasy.
"Goodness, dear!" Mrs Feasey looked at Dora in surprise. "I didn't notice you there! I do beg your pardon..."
Dora picked up her book and stood up, but kept her face down. She did not look at the woman, and instead seemed to shut down. Lily almost nudged her, but it began to dawn on her what Dora was doing.
"My, what unusual hair!" Mrs Feasey exclaimed, toying with the ends of Dora's pink hair. "My girls would die for hair like yours... such a pretty colour!"
Dora avoided her gaze, and looked at Lily with panic in her eyes. Lily's stomach rolled with nervous nausea, and she was suddenly desperate to leave.
"We're in a bit of a rush, I'm-"
"You seem familiar, dear!" Mrs Feasey continued, interrupting Lily. "What did Mrs Potter call you? 'Nymphadora'? That rings a bell, actually..."
Dora had started to back away, but Mrs Feasey was still rolling a strand of her hair when she realised. And she did not let go.
"Nymphadora Tonks?"
Mrs Feasey looked at Lily with a new expression, one that shocked her. She was livid. Around her, several people turned at the mention of Dora's name, and leaned in to listen as Mrs Feasey's glare turned murderous.
"Andromeda Black's daughter?"
Lily grabbed Dora's arm. "We have to go." She pulled Dora towards the door, and the girl dropped her books on the floor again.
"HYPOCRITES!" cried a woman's voice, but it was not Mrs Feasey's. Lily glanced back as she pushed through the shoppers with the two children in her care. Another woman, grey-haired and much older and frailer than Mrs Feasey, followed them through the shop.
"YOU KILLED THE DARK LORD BUT YOU WON'T GO AFTER BELLATRIX LESTRANGE?!" The old woman shrieked.
Lily continued forward, almost breaking into a jog. Some shoppers were craning to watch simply out of the enjoyment of drama. Others were scowling; some at the woman, some at Lily.
"YOU'RE FRAUDSTERS! ATTENTION-SEEKERS! COWARDS!"
Some shoppers began to groan and berate the old woman. Lily felt Dora tug against Lily's arm. She panicked as she felt Dora slip from her grasp.
"You don't know anything, old woman!" Dora shouted at the woman. "Mind your own beeswax!"
Lily grabbed Dora's arm once more and dragged her out of the shop.
In the street, people were standing on their tiptoes to see what was happening in Flourish & Blotts, and began to whisper once they saw Lily march past.
"That old hag doesn't know anything," said Dora angrily. "Don't listen to her. She's probably a blood purist."
They turned into a quieter side-street, which was lined with Floo portals disguised as fireplaces. Lily pulled Dora to face her, and knew that she was hurting her, but Dora did not complain.
"You got scared in there," Lily said. "They know who you are."
"These aren't questions, Mrs Potter."
Lily sighed in exasperation. "How do they know who you are? Was in the Prophet? It's illegal for a publication to publish a picture of a child without their parents' consent..."
"They didn't," replied Dora, suddenly sad now. "There was a description of me..."
"In the Prophet?"
"Yeah..."
Lily stood up straight and ground her jaw in anger.
"There was an article when You-Know-Who died and they couldn't find Bellatrix... they said that Mum was hiding her, and that's why nobody knew where they lived... until the day she found us, and tortured Dad..."
"Dora..." Lily sighed again, this time to calm herself. "Don't upset yourself. We'll go home and bake Harry's cake and you can write a letter to your mother-"
"I saw the Prophet from the day after Dad went to St Mungos. It was in your kindling basket."
Lily internally kicked herself. Why didn't she check the newspapers? And why did she keep them in the house?"
"It said that Mum and her sister are working together, and they planned the attack on Dad to get rid of him. They mentioned me. They said I had pink hair. Not many girls have pink hair, Mrs Potter. That's how they all know."
Lily put Harry down on the floor and put her hands on Dora's shoulder. "None of that stuff is true, Dora. Your Mum is a brilliant woman and she loved your father and she would never-"
"I know," said Dora sadly. "I just wish everyone else knew that. People at school are going to think I'm from an evil family."
Harry put his arms around Dora's legs and hugged her. "Don't cry..." he told her.
As they walked towards a floo portal, Lily cast her mind back to Hogwarts, back to the gossiping and the camps of various blood loyalties, and how much Sirius had suffered. She wondered if Dora was as strong as him, or if he had always been as strong as he'd looked.
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On the last day of August, the four of them woke up early to dress in their finest. James and Lily dressed by candlelight, and as Lily began to dress Harry in a starchy white shirt, James went to the bathroom.
It was already occupied, and the door was ajar. Nymphadora stood at the sink, staring sadly at herself in the mirror. Her hair, once rose-pink, was now mousy brown.
"Dora?" James nudged the door open. Her reflection met his gaze. "What have you done?"
Dora picked up a bottle of potion from the sink shelf and showed him. "It's only temporary. Mrs Potter bought it for me."
James balked. "Why would she do that?"
Dora returned to staring at herself in the mirror. "I begged her for it. I just... wanted a change."
They threw the pink floo powder into the fireplace as soon as the sun began to rise, and seconds later appeared in rural France.
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James was surprised to find that he believed that if his best friend were to get married anywhere, Normandy was the best place for it.
The wedding was held in Isabelle's family's medieval castle, which was dark grey and vampiric, and was surrounded by miles of fragrant lavender fields. Beyond the castle was a cliff edge. The place smelt of salt and lavender and the sea breeze made his wife look pretty and his son ran laughing up and down the lavender rows and James understood completely why Sirius would love his wedding venue: it had the splendour and gravitas of Hogwarts, the grandeaur and sense of empire that James' childhood home held for Sirius, the gothic romance that was the structure of Sirius' soul, and the delicate beauty of Isabelle herself.
Sirius was married in a banqueting hall, in front of dozens of empty pews.
Only ten of the thirty pews were occupied by guests, the others seemingly too terrified by the times to venture out.
James stood beside Sirius and watched the back of his head as he wed Isabelle Sommier, who looked like a princess.
Harry sat on the front pew quietly beside his mother, who wore a blue dress, whose tummy bulged, who looked like an angel.
Remus sat on the other side of Harry, and seemed just as discomforted by the empty space beside him as James was.
Behind them, Andromeda sat with her arms wrapped around her daughter, who leaned into her mother like a sleepy toddler.
Emmeline Vance had turned up, with a nervous Cornelius Peck beside her. She grinned at the ceremony and gripped his hand.
Augusta Longbottom sat next to them, and Neville used her lap as a pillow and snored through the entire thing.
Isabelle's french relatives sat on the other side of the room, and James wondered how many of them could understand the ceremony.
Sirius and Isabelle promised many things to each other. James looked for any flicker of hesitation or dread in Isabelle's face, but was shamefully disappointed to see none. Even standing behind Sirius, he could see his big victorious grin. He stood taller and appeared older. Only one other person had managed to make him look so proud of himself, and she was no longer here.
Why couldn't James be happy for his friend? Why couldn't he pat him on the back and bounce around excitedly like Sirius had at James' wedding? Because felt as though someone were watching him, and he knew who was in his head.
Was she at peace? Even now?
He saw her with Sirius, stumbling around the Hogwarts grounds with him, hands locked together in a clumsy, carefree dance. Her blonde hair in the wind.
Her laugh haunted him.
He had always felt that she was not entirely gone. Just as she had taken a piece of Lily's heart with her when she died, there was a part of her that lived in Lily.
Perhaps she would be reincarnated in the baby. The thought terrified him. But he could believe that Lily could carry a daughter as free and powerful and as secretively dark as Marlene.
Marlene.
A glimmer of her still lived.
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A/N: That wasn't as long as I thought, sorry.
N x