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Someone stole the lightbulb.
James makes this observation as his sweat-drenched back rests against the bathroom's door where he found his shelter in.
The empty light socket stares down at him and James can feel its judgement crawling all over his skin.
You did this to yourself, it whispers viciously. You did this to her; to them. You deserve this pain. Take it; take it all in.
He can't argue the point. If it wouldn't be for his, as Sirius once proclaimed, White Knight Syndrome they wouldn't found themselves in this situation.
Instead, James would take them someplace nicer; perhaps to the beach, like the one near Land's End. Lily would wear that long, flowy, white dress; the one with a splatter of cherries on it, cherries almost as red as her hair. And she'd laugh that laugh of hers, the one reserved just for him when she's uncontainably happy. And Harry would finally see a real beach, a real sand, not like the one they magicked up for him in their living room.
Harry!
The thought rips through his mind with more strength than a strayed bludger.
Merlin, he didn't even think about him until now. What kind of a father doesn't think about his son?
(This one apparently; the one who lets other men make decisions about what's good for his family).
Is he in here?
No. Lily wouldn't bring a child to a place like this. Especially not when it's so crowded.
So where is he? With Mary? Did she get a sitter for him, so she could go out every once in a while? Does this mean she's got some new friends?
A boyfriend perhaps?
It had been over two years since he — since it — happened, and Lily is lovely, beyond lovely, for sure she isn't lonely unless she wants to be.
(And he wonders whether her heart has forgotten him as her mind has).
He sighs. The pain in his skull is still insistently throbbing, effectively immobilising him from any sudden movements or clear thinking; he wants it to stop but he is also aware that it is the only thing grounding him at this moment.
Weak.
He's always been too weak and too young to fight this tragedy that laced itself inside his veins.
Any other man would have protested harder, would not have consented to this, but James was scared, barely twenty-one with more blood on his hands that there ever was in his body. He just wanted to fix things, make the world a little safer for everyone, for his family, for himself. He didn't know it would come to this.
After he went missing during his reckless, unsupervised mission; and everyone thought all hope was lost, Dumbledore came for tea and left with a belly full of biscuits and Lily's memories in his pocket.
James didn't know that asking his old mentor to save his family would lead to this.
"Saved them", James beseeched him. "I'm begging you, no matter what happens to me, they have to live. Do what you need to do to save my family. I trust you, I know you'll make the right choice."
Choice.
In the end, it was James's choice that had robbed Lily of hers.
Since the beginning of this nasty war James was forced to lie, to kill, to do things he will have nightmares about till the end of time; but this – what he has done to his family – is the one thing he will never forgive himself for.
He raged, he threw things around, he threatened, but the damage was done, and Lily and Harry were gone. Safe.
Wasn't that the point of it all?
And now she's here, and so is he, but he's supposed to keep his distance.
Out of sight, out of mind.
But can he really leave this place without taking one last look at her?
It feels like torture to be apart from her on a daily basis, but now when she is this close – within arms reach, her perfume is still clinging to his sweater when she brushed past him, not even stopping to apologize for the intrusion on his space or to acknowledge the pieces of his long-inert heart that have crept behind her.
He aches, physically aches for her. He wants – no, needs – to feel the warmth of her body close to his, to touch her small soft hands one more time, to have her eyes gaze into his and recognize him, and hold him, and forgive him.
But he cannot have that. Not now; maybe not ever.
He wants to scream, he wants to destroy something but everything that was ever remotely his was already taken from him.
You frail, spoiled thing, the voice – light socket's? his own conscience's? – sends shivers down his spine. You thought that just because you love things you deserve to have them?
How come his life came to this? Hogwarts Golden Boy; with a smile full of spring, and sun-crinkled eyes. What a laugh he become, what an irony every praise he ever received turned out to be.
The damage is irreparably done – there's no countercurse for Obliviation Spell. The only known way to reverse it's to put the mind through so much pain so it could break the wall separating consciousness from the memories itself; James would rather tear his limb one by one that to let Lily suffer for a second in her life.
Dumbledore in all his calculated wisdom didn't merely took her memories but also planted new ones in place old ones.
This way James became a nameless scoundrel who got experience the bliss of her company long enough to give her Harry but not long enough to find a reason to stay. Easy solution – she won't miss what she doesn't want to remember. With new memories came a new name – one that he doesn't know, and a new address – one he definitely shouldn't know but now strongly suspects is here.
Giza. Egypt.
Lily's family wasn't poor but they would have to spend years of savings to be able to afford a trip like that. So maybe her deeply unsated desire to travel lured her to settle here, now that she had the opportunity.
He remembers how they promised each other – on one stormy night back when they were still clueless kids sitting on the couch in the Common Room – that they would see the world together, explore every uncharted territory, go where no one ever dared to go before. But then the war came, followed shortly by Harry and the bloody prophecy, and they knew that nothing ever will be as important and precious to them as their little boy.
Or maybe James has got it all wrong, and Lily was put here on purpose. Dumbledore's got connections everywhere, lots of friends; for sure some of them would agree to take a woman with a child under their care. But why would the professor choose a place like Egypt to hide the palest woman in the world? Lily sticks out like a sore thumb even in a place like England, easy to imagine how striking she's here. James on the other hand, with his dark skin and even darker hair, easily blends in which is exactly why Moody chose him for this mission. Did he know?
Is this his way to punish James for his stunt in Inverness? If so, the punishment doesn't fit the crime this time around.
Unless Moody doesn't know, and it's simply fate's work that brings him with Lily back together.
What does she need you for? the voice doesn't give up. They're better off without you. Do you want them to end up like Longbottoms?
No!
Never.
Lily's safe and clearly happy, which means that Harry is safe and happy; that's the only thing that matters now.
He raises slowly on his shaking legs, propping himself on the door, and takes few deep breaths to get rid of nausea.
There's a mission that needs to be finished, human lives are at stake. Order trusted him to do this, and he's got enough of being a disappointment in everyone's life.
The effects of cold water that he's just splashed over his face quickly fade when he gets to see his own face in the mirror.
Even if Lily would still have her memories it's doubtful she'd recognize him.
The most accurate way to describe his current state is rough. His hair, once thick and luxuriant – a true family heirloom, a source of pride and exasperation of every Potter – now overlong and unkempt; a light scruff on his face that he kept on since it showed up around his nineteenth birthday, now is a full on beard, and to say that's not a good look on him may be an understatement. From what he's able to make out underneath all that facial hair, his complexion looks almost ashy, which only deepens the dark grooves beneath his eyes and makes him seem like he lived through more than he should.
Since there's no point in putting any order to his appearance he heads towards the door. Just as he's about to turn the knob, the pearly sound of delighted laughter reaches his ears.
Lily.
Is this place really that small or is it simply his earing so desperate for that laugh that he catches even its faintest note?
He can't go back out there. He can't stay here either.
He does what he should do from the start.
He apparates away without looking back.