Jiffy

Lily glances briefly at the door of the bathroom, where she can hear the shower running.

“For a lot of reasons,” she says truthfully. “Why do you ask?”

Harry sighs. “Sirius said sometimes love ends. Will you stop loving Dad?”

She brushes his hair softly, but Harry’s gaze doesn’t move; he is fearful of her answer, Lily understands it.

“No, I don’t think I will,” she assures him. “But let me explain something. When Sirius says love ends… I think he meant that some relationships end.”

“Like his and Carl’s,” Harry agrees. His lips curve down. “He told me they broke up. Why doesn’t Sirius love him anymore?”

“I don’t know. Only Sirius can tell you that.”

“I don’t want to ask him, he was… Sirius looked sad. I never saw him like that.”

“Well, the end of a relationship can upset you.”

“But if they don’t love each other anymore—”

“Even when you know the best thing is to be apart, it might not be easy. When you are in a relationship, there is love, but there are also other things: the dreams you had, the memories you shared, the care you might still feel for each other. It hurts to let them go.”

“If it hurts, then shouldn’t they be together?”

“It’s not just because it will hurt you that you should avoid it—do you know when you scrape your knee and we clean it before healing it?”

“The potion burns,” Harry says automatically. Then he blinks, eyes widening, turning to her. “But you say it might get infected if we don’t clean.”

“Sometimes we bear a little pain because we will feel better afterwards. Sirius will be happy again.”

“I liked Carl—can I still like him if they are not together anymore?”

“Of course you can.”

“Sirius said they are still friends.” Harry fidgets with his hands for a moment. “If you and Dad break up, will you still be friends? Can I still be with both of you?”

She pulls him closer, taking as a sign of his distress that Harry doesn’t complain to be held in his arms. “Nothing that ever happens between your father and I will change how we feel about you, Harry,” she promises him, staring him deeply in the eyes until she sees his acceptance of these words. Then she smiles. “I don’t believe your father and I will split, if that is bothering you.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, I don’t. No one can know for sure, I just… have faith, I guess. I think your father and I went through a lot of things and that made our love stronger. I know everyday I wake up realizing he still reminds me of the boy I fell in love with and for all the other things that changed, I realize that’s a new reason for me to love him.”

“Even when he annoys you?”

She winks conspiratorially at him. “He hasn't really annoyed me ever since he was sixteen, but don’t tell him that.” Harry laughs. “You asked me why I love your father—well, because of who he is. I love every little thing that makes James be James. I can’t explain more to you. One day you might understand.”

Harry wrinkles his nose, skeptical now, the face of a seven-year-old kid who can’t really grasp the concept of love; whatever he is going to say, however, is broken by a sudden song coming from the bathroom.

“Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Please don't take him just because you can…”

Harry throws her an unconvinced look. “Even when Dad sings like a banshee in the shower?”

Lily looks fondly at the door. “Especially then.”

A sigh escapes his lips; Harry is clearly giving up understanding this.

*-*-*-*

Harry’s eyes are haunted.

It’s not surprising considering everything that happened, and yet Lily feels this goes beyond the grief for Dumbledore. She places a hand over his shoulder; Harry takes a moment to turn to her.

No, he takes a moment to take his eyes off Ginny's figure, sitting under a tree by the lake.

“We are leaving,” Lily tells him. “Your father and I will be back for tomorrow. For—”

“Yeah,” he says, interrupting her, as if he can’t stand to hear about the burial. She wonders if it’s this event that will make everything that happened feel real to him; if maybe Harry is just pretending everything is normal just for a moment longer.

He turns back to stare at Ginny’s figure; her hair is floating with the wind, and Lily knows she is waiting for Harry. For her boyfriend.

They are dating now and yet, with everything that happened, there was never a moment to acknowledge it, to celebrate, to tease them. She hates so much that this war is stealing time from them—

“How did you know Dad loved you?”

Lily blinks, startled, turning to stare at her son, but Harry isn’t looking at her. She doesn't need to follow the direction of his gaze to understand his question.

“Well, you know your father, he was vocal about it.” There’s a tease in her voice that doesn’t subdue Harry’s mood. “You can’t ever know.”

Harry frowns; he wasn't expecting this. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if your father loves me, I am not in his heart.”

“Of course he loves you—”

“I know the signs. I know that he looks at me sometimes as if he can't believe he is seeing me. I know there is this laugh he saves just for me. I know he buys apples in the market even when he claims it’s the most boring fruit in the world because I love them. I know that sometimes we are sitting side by side and we are doing completely different things, but he takes my hand and kisses it, almost without noticing it, just to let me know he is there. But at the end of the day, all I can do is believe that he loves me and for the past eighteen years I had no reason to believe otherwise.”

“But you love him—right?”

“Ever since the 1978 New Year party.”

“You fell in love with him at a party?”

“No.” She can’t help the smile. “That was just when I realized I loved him. We were celebrating with our friends, there were fireworks in the sky and everyone was happy and I looked at James and I thought I wanted to share that year with him. All 365 days of it. And that’s when I knew—but I loved him long before, I just hadn’t realized until I did and then... it changed and evolved and there was never a day since then that I didn't come to the same conclusion.”

“And for all this time… you always stayed together?”

“Yes. Well, there were some days we didn't see each other—”

"But you never broke up." He breathes deeply. “Do you think—do you think people might fall out of love if they are apart?”

She glances at Ginny’s distant figure.

“I think people fall out of love because they change. Only we are changing all the time, we are never the same person we were moments before, and it might be easier to stay in love if you are seeing and living through all those changes. But it’s not about being apart or together. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Whoever said that was a prick.”

She rolls her eyes, but lets it slip. “Do you wanna talk about what’s going on?”

“No, not really.” Harry sighs. “I think I just wanna enjoy one more day.”

“Okay.” She hesitates just for a moment. "You should tell her."

"I can't—I don't—" Harry looks infinitely older when he turns back at her. "Love is something out of someone else's life for me, Mum."

*-*-*-*-*

They are laughing together.

It’s a happy fresh laugh, born of some silly joke that neither can recall probably, lost in their banter, lost in their moment.

Lily exchanges a glance with James—he is grinning, clearly very happy with what’s unfolding in front of him—, and then they quietly slip away inside the house, leaving Harry and Ginny in the garden. Neither seems to notice them; they are talking about a nightly flight now, and Lily gathers it will take them a few hours until they remember anyone else.

She watches her son’s face for a moment. Alight with happiness; wrinkles at the corner of his eyes born not of concerns, but of his laugh; green eyes glistening, gaze unable to focus on the Golden Snitch he is supposed to be looking for, instead deviating to the red haired girl who seems to dance with him in the air. It’s been the same every day of the summer since they started dating again.

Sometimes Lily feels as if she is watching a masterpiece being painted.

Later, when Ginny is gone, she finds Harry sitting on the stairs by the porch, watching the starry sky above them with a quiet smile on his lips, crickets chirping around them. It’s a warm night, but she can feel the wind changing.

“You should come in, it’s getting cold—”

“I am in love with Ginny,” he says. His voice is low, not because he is ashamed, but more as if he is testing the words in his mouth, as if he has just now realized. And then: “I love her.”

Amazement. Acceptance. Happiness.