the dawn will come

She’s drowning in paperwork, and she’s fairly certain she’ll be the first person in the world to have “paperwork” listed as a cause of death if things continue the way they have. She hasn’t even had time to mourn Kingsley, except for the solitary cry she’d had over a cup of tea during the sleepless night after the attack. There’s no plan in place to deal with this sort of thing, nobody to step into the vacated role of Minister, and the power vacuum had sucked her in the instant Kingsley was dead on the ground.

She hasn’t gone home in thirty-six hours. Her son is going to forget her face. She’s going to need to ask James to bring her the entire wardrobe if she can’t figure this out.

Lily takes a long drink of stone-cold tea and grimaces. She should be heading back to her desk to prepare for her next meeting, but her feet have other ideas and take her toward Gideon’s desk instead. “I can’t keep doing this,” she announces with no preamble, her voice low to prevent anyone overhearing. She can’t keep the strain out of her tone, though, the roughness of too much talking and not enough rest. “We aren’t prepared. Nobody knows what to do. All people can do is argue. Am I just supposed to make a decision, here? Are they all just waiting for me to--what, to order someone into office? Or to take it myself?” She gestures with her mug, narrowly avoiding spilling cold tea everywhere.

He sits himself down at the familiar kitchen table—not because he plans on staying for all that long, but because the walk down from the castle has been enough wear on his bones and muscles for one night. He stopped worrying, a long time ago, about looking rude or presumptuous or disinterested for taking the chance to sit whenever possible; it’s a preservation method, saving up his energy for where he really needs it. And if he should be allowed to be comfortable anywhere, it should be his best friends’ house, shouldn’t it?

    ‘No, no, it’s okay, he just mentioned he had something to tell me, asked if I’d stop by when I had a chance, but…’

He glances outside, at the rapidly setting sun. So early, now that it’s October, but it’ll be worse before long, the sun long set before he even gets out of class for the afternoon most days. He doesn’t mind staying late, doesn’t mind sticking around past dark; as far as he’s concerned, he has little left to fear. There isn’t much worse that can happen to him than what he’s already endured and survived. He doesn’t want to inconvenience Lily, by sticking around, but if she’s inviting him to stay…

     ‘I can wait til he’s up. No rush, really. It’ll be good to sit, for a bit, as long as you don’t mind.’

Once, he wouldn’t have even considered the possibility that he might be inconveniencing Lily. Once, she’d been the first person he turned to when he needed someone to confide in. What’s happened, to them, that he feels suddenly hesitant to be in her home, taking up space at her table? 

She’s sitting right across from Remus, and she misses him. It’s a sad realization--she misses him, really, feels the gap between who they used to be and who they are now. Lily’s life is pushing forward, like she sat down to start working as Kingsley’s aide in a run-down office with the pain of losing her wand still sitting sick in her gut and when she looked back up she was married with a kid and not speaking with her best friend.

It feels, sometimes, like she’s on a train that’s careening forward and she can’t find the brakes. That the path her life is on is set, and she has to hold on or fall off; the train will take her where she needs to go and she needs to make sure she’s on it or maybe it won’t arrive in the station at all.

She aches with the desire to talk to Remus about all of this. About the things she’s found, the things she hasn’t told James yet, about how she’s so worried about Harry growing up in this war, about how she’s started thinking maybe Harry needs a sibling for the first time ever, about how scared she is. Remus always understands her, though, and she hopes--she hopes--that he feels it even when they don’t have the words to talk about it right now.

“Of course I don’t mind,” she says softly, in a tone of voice she doesn’t often use and it surprises her a little bit. “It’s nice to have you around, Remus.” Even when we’re awkward and uncomfortable and frustrated with each other. She has a flash of worry--James didn’t tell her anything. Why does he want to talk to Remus? What isn’t he telling her?--that she tamps down firmly. This, right now, is the only stress-light moment she’s had with Remus in a long time, and she’s going to take advantage of it. “How are things at the castle?”

He doesn’t have the energy to go through it all again, finally coming down from the adrenaline rush of Remus having woken him up, surprised him in his most vulnerable state, not prepared in the least to face the people he had hurt the most. It feels like he’s run a marathon, or that he’s been crying for hours, the way his body just feels so tired, breath a little too hard, everything slow and foggy. And the thing is, he knows that with Lily there’s nothing he’ll be able to say or do that will be enough. Hell, that’s what he’s expecting with everyone, now, given  everything he’s seen so far. 

It just makes him wish even more that someone would be brave enough to do what he hasn’t been able to do himself. More cowardly thoughts that he just can’t shake in the face of everything he’s fucked up. He had come back to try to be brave for once in his sorry life, and even that hadn’t worked, the chance destroyed before he even got it. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that Lily, or Remus, or anyone else would have enough pity, or trust, to give him the chance Dumbledore was going to.

And so what was the point? 

Maybe the only way to do what he’d wanted now was to just give them the satisfaction of seeing him suffer for what he’d done. 

“Dumbledore shouldn’t have sent me. I’m too weak, too much of a damn coward. When they realized I was a spy, they tortured me. I wasn’t strong enough to give up my life, though, and they made me believe that somehow it might be better, to at least be seen. I regretted it from the moment I did it, but I was too afraid to know what to do,” he shakes his head. “They saw the worst of me, and encouraged it. Seeing the way they laughed at what I’d done to you all, it wore me down, made me want any chance to fix things; I wanted to leave, but I was too afraid. It took a long time to figure out how to get back without anyone noticing before I crossed the border, but I sussed it out because of Sirius doing the same.”

Peter pauses, trying to catch his breath, calm the way his whole body seems to be shaking. He can’t look her in the eyes. “I thought…I thought maybe if I made it back, and told Dumbledore everything I knew, everything I had told Riddle before he had the chance to use it all, maybe I could change things, even though nothing can take back what I did,” he explains, with a sigh, voice quiet. “He was gone before he could tell me what to do, though. But I still have to try. I’ve got nothing left, if I try, and fail, and you all decide I deserve to die instead, well, I deserve it. At least I’ll have tried.”

She barely blinked at him while he gave his sorry excuse for an explanation. Lily has a lot of questions to ask, is burning with them, sick with them, even, but she won’t ask. At least not now--not for a long time, if ever. Questions like why did you do it and who did you endanger to save your skin and why didn’t you just die on their side, stay their problem and not become mine. Her eyes are steady on him, boring into him, watching for signs of a lie.

He’s scared, that much seems obvious, genuinely scared but that could be anything. Scared that she’s going to hurt him. Scared that she’s going to snap his wand. Scared that she’ll kick him out of the castle and tell him to fend for himself. Peter Pettigrew has a lot of reasons to be scared, Lily knows, and she figures there’s an extra reason crouching behind her, something looming ahead: she’s going to tell James.

She shoves that thought from her head forcefully. Later. She’ll figure that out later. God, she can’t tell James, how could she even get the words out?

Later. Lily exhales, a hiss through her teeth. Does what she does these days: takes her head and sets it on straighter. A few degrees to the left. The personal passions of Lily Evans-Potter exist in her periphery, but they don’t press at her eyes when she looks at Peter now. Her own style of leading, not Dumbledore or Kingsley or Remus but her own. Her hands tremble, still: she can’t make it all go away yet.

“You’re not going to die,” she says, suppressing the irritation that wants to creep its way into her voice. “Not tonight, at least, and not in my care.” Oh, how much she wishes she didn’t have to say that. Because it seems so justified. Take the rat out of the equation. As easy as setting down a trap and letting the rodent fall into it. Humane, even. Best for everyone involved, after what he did.

But those thoughts disgust even her, even through her anger. Murder is hardly the appropriate solution to any situation, and Peter does not seem to be an active threat. He’s been here, hiding out, long enough, to have done someone harm if he’d intended to, and he clearly hasn’t taken any opportunities to do so. Even if he hadn’t known she and Remus are wandless, he could have done something. Escaped or snuck up on Remus in the middle of the night and--

Well. He didn’t, and that’s what Lily is focusing on now. There’s too much to unpack in his response for one conversation. Her head is pounding and work is going to be hell tomorrow.

Lily rubs her eyes, finally, pressing until little spots burst on the backs of her eyelids. Peter’s still there when she opens her eyes, and she can’t help scowling a little at him. “What is it you want to try, Peter?”

     ‘Oh, mummy wants ice cream, huh?’ he says, finally breaking away from the kiss and moving to scoop Harry up in his arms, burying his face in Harry’s stomach for a second before settling him in one arm. Harry’s getting so big, almost too big for this, but it won’t stop him, not until he physically can’t lift him anymore; he’ll carry him as far as he can or until Harry inevitably squirms and whines that he wants to get down and walk himself, whichever happens first.

When Harry had been younger, James used to refuse to put him down, would carry him about the house, through the village, just about anywhere. Now, it usually takes more energy than its worth to chase after Harry for long enough to catch up and scoop him off his feet because Harry runs everywhere, like he skipped right over walking into sprinting whenever he can manage. 

     ‘Then I guess we’d better get ice cream, right mate? Wouldn’t want to disappoint mummy, not when they’re letting us spoil our supper for once.’

Not that Lily was anything resembling a disciplinarian when it came to Harry. Surely Molly Weasley would disapprove of how much both of them indulged their son, but James couldn’t help it, not when it brought a smile to Harry’s face, not when some things were so bad that it made holding onto the good things– like ice cream, and nights with his family– all the more important.

Lily was not raised in excess. Their upbringing was more: summer jobs, making ends meet, learning to sew their buttons back on when they fell off. Perhaps that’s why Petunia ended up the way she did, idolizing the perfect shrubberies in front of nice houses and never playing in the dirt once she learned how difficult scrubbing grass stains out was. She tied her hair with ribbons she soaked in bleach and scoffed at the rips in Lily’s trousers. They were never a prim child. They took their childhood and ran with it, instead of away from it.

Raising a child with excess, though, didn’t have to be a bad thing. Marrying James, they had access to a financial comfort Lily hadn’t ever dreamed of in their childhood, and they couldn’t help but use it to ensure the best life for Harry possible. A home in Hogsmeade, near all the other children James knew, toys and sweets here and there. As long as they balanced out the indulgence with lessons about fairness and sharing and generosity, Lily was pleased with their parenting so far. James may be more of a natural than them, but Harry was turning out to be an alright kid, they thought. Biased, of course, but there was nothing to be done, there.

Maybe it was best to let James use both hands to hold Harry, big as he is, but Lily can’t help but slip their hand into James’ free one. Not ready to let go, yet. There’s something secure in having him in their grip.

“Ice cream is our supper,” they proclaim with another wink to Harry and a squeeze to James’ hand. “Maybe a chocolate frog after?” Lily wasn’t one for sweets, typically, but tonight seemed as good a night as any to spoil Harry half to death. They felt buoyant, lighter than they had in a while.

when: october 21, early evening where: lily’s @llilyevans-potter

Marlene is still terribly shaken – it was only the night before that they were out with Fletcher, that the two of them had seen Death Eaters in Scotland. That they were almost stupid enough to bound off into their almost certain death. They told the necessary parties, went through the proper debriefs and intelligence reportings. Now, they’re on their own – aimless and with an empty house. They spend most of the day cleaning. The house is in fine condition but it keeps their mind and hands busy enough that they don’t have to think for a long stretch of time.

Until Lily gets off work, at least.

At that point, they make their way to the Evans-Potter (Potter-Evans?) household, apparating to near the village and then walking the rest of the way. Once Lily opens the door, Marlene offers a wavering smile. “Hey, Lils,” they greet. There’s still fear and something else heavy in their chest, but it never fails to brighten them, the sight of their close friend. “Wasn’t sure if you heard about last night…”

Lily’s been jumping out of her skin since the news came. Too nervous to finish a cup of tea, bile at the back of her throat leaving a bitter-metal taste creeping across her soft palate. Death Eaters are here and she doesn’t feel safe, not anymore, constantly fighting the urge to call out sick and stay home and hold Harry and James as if shielding them with her body could keep them from the enemy.

Her work is as meticulous as ever but she’s got an energy that didn’t exist before. Something scared. Something fighting through her bravery and determination, weakening the edges of her anger. She pushes against it. She does her job. It’s all she can do to keep herself from vibrating apart.

When she makes it home, she boils the kettle and forgets it, then boils it again and taps her fingers on the countertop and stares at the wall and jumps when there’s a knock on the door. Merlin, Lily, get yourself together, it’s not like the Death Eaters are coming to your door--yet, she tells herself, they aren’t here yet. They could be. Someday.

She’s relieved to see Marlene, nonetheless. Looking as ready to fall apart as Lily is, and she’s grateful for that, really. Grateful that she doesn’t have to be brave just because they are being brave, and that’s what they’ve always been, right? Brave, together. Lily pulls Marlene into a rough hug, feeling a little desperate until she gets her arms around them. Grounded.

“Wine,” she declares suddenly, pulling away. “Or firewhiskey. Do you have a preference?”

There’s a strange mix, in his chest, between relief and worry, when Lily answers the door. On one hand, if Lily is there, and smiling, it must mean things are alright with James, must mean he’s okay no matter what’s kept him from coming to the door. On the other hand, he’s… he’s not sure how to act, around Lily, anymore. Doesn’t know how to explain to her that nothing he’s done is meant to undermine her, even if it’s ended up looking that way.

The problem was that Remus had started the Insurgency long before anyone had any idea Dumbledore might die. He’d started off testing the waters, quietly, talking to people he knew were as upset as he was by Dumbledore’s secrecy, by his tactics, by the lack of a result, people who had lose faith or were losing faith in the Order. The idea had been to gather those people and, with them, take more direct action.

And then Dumbledore had died, while he was still gathering support, and suddenly opposing the Order wasn’t opposing Dumbledore, but the people left behind in his wake. People like Lily. But Remus Lupin had always, always been a stubborn thing, been too long holding a grudge, and he didn’t have the patience, anymore, to sit around and watch someone try to reform the Order when he’d already set his own wheel in motion. 

Which left the question, of course, of what to do about Lily. A question he had no answer to. 

Still, he steps inside when she asks, wipes his feet on the doormat and unwraps his scarf from around his neck.

     ‘Of course,’ he says, ducking into the familiar cottage out of the cold and into the warm comfort of the home James and Lily have made together. Only a tiny bit of envy, in his chest. ‘Cheers, tea sounds lovely.’

Her home and family had sprung up almost by accident. She hadn’t consciously built it, no, she’d just stopped and looked around one day and there she was, with a husband and child, a house that had bits of her and James all over it. It wasn’t idyllic and it wasn’t what she’d dreamed, but it fit, somehow, the person she was now.

(Sometimes, she comes home and this place feels alien to her. Like it’s built by and for a Lily that doesn’t exist, a role she’s playing when she’s not at work, or maybe an entirely separate Lily Evans-Potter, maybe there are two of her running around and she’s intruding on her counterpart’s life.)

When she goes to make tea, it takes her a moment to locate the necessary parts of the process--she should be familiar with her own kitchen, in theory, but she isn’t usually here enough to make much use of it. James is the homemaker, between the two of them. Inevitably, when she goes to the cabinets to find something, she ends up distractedly complaining to James about the current state of the Ministry and opening doors blindly until he steps in.

“What brings you by?” she asks, setting the kettle to boil. “If it’s James you need, he fell asleep putting down Harry. He’ll be awake in a half hour or so, I’ll guess, or I can wake him now if it’s urgent--?” She chatters because it’s easier than confronting the swollen elephant in the room, always between them. Easier to ignore it if you talk through it.

The terrifying thing, he realizes now looking at Lily as she stops just in front of him, is that he’s not sure how she’s going to react to anything he says. Even if it’s going to be a toss up each time he is reunited with someone again, he can predict what most people will do. Anger, usually just accompanied by harsh words spat at him, maybe the threat of a punch or two, but nothing far beyond that. Even his best friends, he’s fairly sure, wouldn’t do much more, and if they did, he wouldn’t fault them, hell, he wishes Remus had killed him in that tunnel, instead of calling Lily to pass his judgement.

And she surprises him, in his worry, instead of any of the expected reactions, asking him for his wand, holding a hand out expectantly, and he feels his heart hammer in his chest even stronger. It’s a trap. It has to be a trap, at least that’s what his exhausted, paranoid, fight or flight brain is telling him. There are a few options. She takes it, and she uses it to kill him. She takes it, and uses it to threaten-slash-torture him. She takes it, and she snaps it in half, and he’s suddenly even more useless than he already is to everyone. For some reason, that’s the worst option in his mind. To be here, utterly alone, around everyone he had hurt and betrayed, and suddenly powerless, it’s a terrifying thought. It makes him consider running, again, turning to a rat and leaving now. 

But he doesn’t, because he wants to try, has to. And he can’t help but hear the prophecy repeated in his mind, as he looks at her. With a deep breath, he pulls his wand from his pocket, and gives it to her, deflating a little as he does so, resigned to what may come next. “You can ask me whatever you want, do whatever you want to me. I have nothing left to lose. I came back to try to fix even an ounce of the harm I caused, and if it’s too late for me, then that’s your choice, it sounds like,” he says, voice flat, quieter now.

She doesn’t want to talk to him. She doesn’t want to look at him, even; being in the same room as him makes her want to throw up, hearing his voice makes her sweat. She always had her doubts about Peter--even when he was just an Order member, even when he was James’ best friend, James’ last friend left because Dumbledore sent off the rest. And then he sent Peter, too, except Peter turned against them. Peter was alive because he’d cared more about living--living any kind of life, even a terrible one--cared more about that than he cared about keeping everyone else safe.

But if she was who she wanted to be, she had to swallow the bile and do what was necessary. What she knew was right, even if it hurt her down to the very marrow to do it.

For a split second, Lily just stares at his wand. She hadn’t actually expected him to obey her. They’d never had a great relationship, Lily and Peter, and she had always suspected why but loved James’ loyalty to his friends too much to ever confront Peter about it. Maybe things were more desperate than she thought. Maybe he was more desperate than she thought. Somehow, that makes her feel worse about the whole situation.

She takes the wand like she’s sure of it, ignores the strange sensation it elicits in her magic-starved fingertips. Shoves it in her pocket, where he’d have to fight her to get it back, and by the looks of him he wouldn’t win a fight without magical intervention.

I have nothing left to lose, he says, and she doesn’t believe him, because it sure looks like he’ll do anything to save his sorry skin.

He’s still here, and he’s given her his wand, set himself at her mercy and Remus’ too. For better or for worse, she has to try to be a leader, try to be someone who’s earned that role.

“Tell me what happened. Why did you come back?”

It’s stupid that he wishes that he’d have a little bit of time before having to go through the same motions again. It’s not a mercy he deserves, he’s well aware of it, but he’s not sure he has the strength left in him to try to make someone else understand why he did everything he did, why it’d be better to just kill him now, and get it over with, for everyone involved.

Now, he’s just tired, and his body feels like it’s run a marathon, or cried for hours straight, when really all he’s done is have to start facing the people he’s hurt the most. 

It doesn’t take long for her to burst through the door, for her to come towards him, seemingly ready to have a go, which, of course, he can’t really blame her for, but he does wish he’d had a bit more time to prepare for. 

He puts his hands up in front of him as an instinct, because that seems like the only really response he’s been able to manage to seem harmless, defenseless in the face of the hurt he’s caused.

It doesn’t particularly feel worth it to try to apologize, when he’s spent the past hour doing so to Remus, all while knowing it’s fruitless anyway, that no one is ever going to truly forgive him for what he’s done, and he doesn’t deserve the option of being forgiven, anyway. It won’t be enough to tell her that he hates himself just as much as they all do, that he also wishes he was dead.

“I know, I know,” he says, the words sounding a little strangled, like they’re being ripped from his throat, instead of said of his own volition. He backs up as she moves towards him, until the back of his legs hit the edge of the desk, and he can’t go any further without looking away from her. But there’s no way he can risk looking away, even for a second. It’s funny how it only took an hour for his tune to change. Or maybe it has more to do with who he’s now being confronted with. It would feel right, for Remus to cause the pain, or Sirius, or James, but the idea of suffering at the hands of anyone else, without the promise of release, turns his stomach, makes him want to transform and run.

Lily’s never been the violent type, no. She has a temper, but she rarely solves problems with fists, not being the kind of person where a punch thrown would do anything more than invite a beatdown. She’s passionate but not stupid, and she has spent her entire life standing while others try to force her to her knees. And all she wants to do, right now, is hit him, punch him until her knuckles bleed and she feels vindicated in the traumas he’s complicit in. Maybe Peter didn’t cause anything that happened to her, but he knew what they all went through and made his choices anyway.

But this is not about her, and she’s not deluded enough to think that taking out vengeance on Peter Pettigrew will do anything to heal the never-healing wounds inside her. All Lily has to do is look at Remus and think about Sirius and James to know this has nothing to do with her. This is about the people he’s hurt and the wrongs he’s committed and her own desire to wipe the sniveling expression off his face and replace it with a bloody nose is something she needs to get over right now, because if she wants to lead the Order she’d better start being a fucking leader and not an emotional wreck.

She stops just short of crowding him and holds out a hand, palm-up. “Give me your wand,” she says, cold and still, fury raging but controlled for now. "If you want me to believe anything you have to say, give me your wand before you say it.” She’s not one for second chances, either, but Dumbledore was, and Peter here means Dumbledore let him in and Peter’s the only voice left to speak for their arrangement. But she won’t trust him until he’s as stripped of power as she was, when she first came here.

He’s still stunned, honestly, every single day by the family he’s managed to have despite everything else in the world. He’d resigned himself, by the time he finished Hogwarts, to the fact that Lily Evans would probably never give him the time of day ever again– and it seemed like they’d surprised themself with it just as much as they’d surprised him when they decided to give him a shot, but he was grateful every day for it. Because Lily was everything he’d always liked about them and so much more, brilliant and determined and… sweet, in moments like this, an incredible mother.

He leans in, one arm around their shoulders, one moving to muss Harry’s already messy hair – partly to keep him close, in hopes he won’t run off again in sheer excitement about the promise of ice cream – and kisses them, quick and soft.

      ‘See, Harry, mum’s always got the best ideas. That’s why you’ve got to listen to them, when they tell you what to do, right?’ And then, to them, a little quieter, ‘I’ll have to send Kings a personal thank-you note. D’you think a box of chocolate would suffice, or should I order flowers instead?’

Public displays of affection aren’t really Lily’s thing, anymore, if they ever were. Few people in school knew that Severus Snape was their best friend, and they’d kept their relationship with James fairly lowkey for an impressive amount of time.They were not opposed to physical affection, though they rarely initiated it. But James was a study in the phrase “the exception that proves the rule” in Lily’s life.

Because James was very affectionate, startling Lily at first with how easily he pulled them in for a hug and or got their attention with a touch to the arm or a hand on their back. Touch was comfort, a kind of communication Lily wasn’t accustomed to having but had learned to depend on with him. Reassuring to reach out and feel him already there, waiting.

The kiss is unexpected, but any thoughts Lily might have about being embarrassed to do this here--still loitering in front of the Tonks house--were banished by the realization that it had been far too long since they’d shared more than a quick kiss before Lily rushed off to work. Today, they decided, they couldn’t begrudge James (or themself) any public affection that they might typically save for the privacy of home. They deserved one afternoon of being in love and showing it unreservedly.

“Flirting with my boss won’t get me more days off,” they answer, a little breathless, smiling and not yet pulling away from the kiss.

Harry, bored of his parents kissing long before Lily was, grabs the hand in his hair and starts tugging to get James’ attention. “Mummy wants ice cream,” he says, as if James is somehow prohibiting Lily from fulfilling this grand desire. “C’mon!”

She’s working well past midnight, too afraid to even look at the clock after all this time. She’d gone home for dinner, just to spend a little time with James and Harry, but returned while James was putting Harry to bed--she had to, she’d apologized, she’d given James a kiss and Apparated back. There were meetings to prepare for, reports to deal with, Kingsley’s schedule to put in order. Too much to do. She was drowning in it.

And then a wolf appeared in her office and everything just froze, for a crystalline moment, at the words Peter’s here.

Lily gaped at the silvery figure. The message was so simple and so loaded. There was only one Peter he could’ve meant, only one Peter who’d been on their minds. Only one Peter who’d turned his back on them. Destroyed James for weeks, shaking in her arms, wracked with sobs over the friend who’d ruined them. The fourth goddamn Marauder who’d turned out to be no better than a common rat.

She’d assumed he was dead, when news of him stopped coming in. She’d been glad he was dead. And now he was--alive, alive and in Hogwarts, and Remus was calling her at fucking--one o’clock in the morning--and she had to go now, because if she didn’t go now then Peter might have a chance to slip away. And Lord knew Lily Evans-Potter was not going to let Peter fucking Pettigrew get away.

A quick letter to toss on Kingsley’s desk, saying she’ll be in late tomorrow, and Lily’s off to the Floo, where there’s a direct line to Minerva’s office. She’ll wake Minerva, most likely, but there’s no chance to wait to write ahead, and without a wand she has no Patronus to send. Lily tumbles out of the fireplace, sending sparks flying, rushing past a sleep-startled Minerva with some hasty apology.

She bursts into Remus’ office with enough force that the door hits the wall behind it. Her eyes scan the room, finding Remus’ grim expression, his own eyes directed at--Peter. There. Lily advances on him, already snapping, “you--fucking--bastard--”

     time. 19 October, evening      place. Lily and James’, Hogsmeade           ( @llilyevans-potter )

It takes him longer, these days, to recover from the full moon that it used to. It used to be, he’d spend a day in the hospital wing and wake up the next morning feeling more or less back to normal– at least, in a world where tired was his constant state. But some combination of the pain in his body and the too many thoughts weighing on his mind makes it harder, now, so by Sunday he’s still tired, still aching, still fuzzy from it. 

James, when they set out Friday, though, had mentioned wanting to talk to him about something, something he’d seen, something he was worried about, and Remus had promised to come see him soon as he was feeling up for it, and so he set off from the castle just after dinner and headed down to the village to see what it was he’d wanted.

As he approaches, it looks darker inside – a few lights, but not as many as James usually likes to keep on when he’s home, especially in the fall when it gets dark so early. Maybe he’s just missed them, maybe James has taken Harry to the Weasley’s for dinner or something. Still, he gives it a shot, knocking on the door briefly before he sets off to find his friend somewhere else. 

      ‘James? You home?’

She hasn’t the heart to wake him.

It’d been quiet in the house, since James took Harry to his room to read some books before bed, Lily staying behind to clean up after his bath--necessary tonight, since Harry’d taken a tumble (an intentional one, she was fairly certain) into a pile of dirt at the park and had come home with dust in every crevice. She had her suspicions that she and James had their fair share of dirt in their hair, too, but convincing her husband to get in the bath was a very different process that she was planning for later.

It had gone quiet, by the time she finished cleaning, and James nowhere to be found--she’d found him laying in Harry’s small bed, legs dangling off the end, Harry curled up against his side. Both fast asleep, the book he’d been reading dropped onto his chest. Lily pulls her cardigan close around her and stands there, transfixed, a smile playing at the edges of her lips as she draws the obvious conclusion. No sense in waking them, she thinks, not when it’ll wake Harry too. Surely James will wake up after a few minutes, cramped and uncomfortable as he looks, and detangle himself.

Ten minutes pass of her watching and the only thing moving in the room is their bodies as they breathe. She’s startled suddenly by the sound of a knock on the door and moves quickly to intercept it, not wanting her serene little scene interrupted this way.

“Remus?” she pulls the door open, pokes her head out, sees her friend loitering on the doorstep. Her faces clouds briefly in confusion before she clears it and smiles. “Technically, yes, he’s home, but not--” She shakes her head and laughs a little. “Come in, will you? It’s too cold to keep the door open. I’ll make tea.” She’s hopeful, can’t help it, her smile gentle, feeling lighter tonight than she has in weeks. No matter how bad things have been between her and Remus--how tense and uncomfortable--turning him away at her door will never be an option.

He and Harry are just leaving the Tonks’ after a nice chat and a couple of biscuits, a few more than he’d strictly told Harry he was allowed to have but, well, it’s hard to say no to a face like Harry, especially about something as harmless as biscuits. Harry’s telling him a story, about something he did during the day, keeps getting confused halfway through his sentence, like he’s wont to do lately, getting so worked up and excited about the thing he wants to say that his brain’s moved on before his mouth can catch up, half stammering, repeating the start of his sentence again, when–

     ‘Mummy!’

It’s only once Harry is off like a shot, sprinting full tilt down the path, that James hears Lily’s voice, looks up and sees them approaching, and his face lights up. Harry nearly tackles them – he’s getting so big, now, James is afraid soon he’ll be able to – with a hug around the legs, and James waits until the two of them make their way back up the path to him to open his arms up wide, pull them both into an embrace, grinning like a madman all the while.

     ‘Lil,’ he says, letting out a breath of a lap, surprised and delighted. ‘I thought you were working late again? Not that I mind, of course, but…’ Merlin, he needs this, a breath of fresh air in the midst of everything else happening. Full moon tomorrow, and he’s the only one here to see Moony through it, not to mention there were four owls today.

Pausing to let Harry collide with their legs, Lily thinks oh, Merlin, he’ll actually knock me over soon and, stung by the force of their love, swiftly bends down pull him tight for a hug. He’s all smiles and hair in his eyes, and they’re going to cry one of these days if they let themself dwell too long on how much of a kid he is and not a baby anymore.

“Hey, buddy,” Lily says in his ear, surprised to find they’re a little choked up. They quickly convince him to release his death grip on their legs, swinging him up into their arms--when did he get so heavy?--so they can retrace Harry’s steps back to where James is waiting, looking a little stunned but no less beautiful for it.

They’re grinning too, matched delight, pressing in close to the hug and not pulling away entirely when James releases them. “Kings let me go early,” they say, feeling breathless though they’ve done nothing more strenuous than lift their own child. “Something about being tired of seeing my face and the hole I’d paced in the carpet.” Harry’s wiggling, grown too large to comfortable be held on a hip, and Lily reluctantly lets him slide back down to the ground.

“Thought I’d go for some ice cream,” they say casually, winking at Harry--whose face lights up, somehow brighter than before, which they hadn’t thought possible--but keeping one arm around James’ waist. “And you know I never can finish an ice cream alone.”

They can’t move fast enough through the Ministry halls, almost tripping in their haste. Lily stops and takes a breath: keep calm, don’t fall and break your nose, you have to look professional here. You have to at least try.

And it’s not like James and Harry will vanish if you don’t get there fast enough, they reassure themself. They keep a schedule even if you don’t. James had left the Ministry not too long before Kingsley had waved a hand, saying, go home, Lily, the Ministry will survive without you for a single afternoon, and since then Lily had made a beeline for the exit. For once, Lily had not stayed behind to protest, to stare Kingsley down and insist they had too much work to get done to leave now. They’d been doing that near-constantly for ten years. They’d missed out on enough time with their family to keep doing it now.

Lily’s out of the building and Apparating into Hogsmeade maybe a half hour after James, already brimming with excitement about the surprise. By the time they run up to the Tonks household, James is coming down the path with Harry and they’re ear-to-ear grinning.

“Hey, strangers,” they call a split second before James sees them, too wrapped up in whatever Harry is telling him. “Mind some company?”