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Lily Evans wasn’t surprised when, upon her arrival at Hogwarts, she was sorted into Gryffindor. She’d always known she was brave. Fearless, her mother used to say, and she’d believed it. As a child, Lily wasn’t afraid of heights, or bullies, or monsters. New situations made her nervous, sure, but that wasn’t the kind of fear that stifled her or prevented her from acting. It was the kind that made her press forward, study her enemy – that is, the unknown – and stare it in the face until it blinked first. She’d once heard that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself, and she’d taken that lesson to heart.
But that version of Lily stopped existing when her mother got sick. Now, the only things she fears are fear and cancer. And while she suppresses her fears during the day, at night they haunt her – worries that her mother will succumb to the disease before Lily finishes Winter Term, images of a closed casket in her parents’ living room whenever she shuts her eyes, nightmares that Petunia believes magic causes tumors and Lily is to blame, as always.
Lately, Lily often wakes up gasping for air, her lungs tight and her heart racing. The bedclothes are suffocating her, she needs air, so she seeks out the high ceilings and bay windows of the Common Room. If Sirius is down there, avoiding his own ghosts, they’ll play chess or talk ‘til the sun rises, sharing secrets (Sirius is quite good with secrets). If she’s alone, she’ll get a head start on her homework or read a novel until she’s too exhausted to keep her eyes open.
These are the only options she’s ever considered, as she’s never run into anyone else in the common room in the middle of the night. So tonight – when she approaches the couch and sees the firelight flickering off the lenses of a pair of square glasses, perched upon a gentle face under a mop of curly black hair – she lets out a startled “Eep!”
James twitches at the sound and grabs her arm. “What time is it?” he murmurs, stretching his legs as much as the small sofa will allow (it’s not much).
The glare from the fire keeps Lily from seeing his eyes behind his glasses. “It’s half-past three,” she whispers, breathing deeply to steady herself. “What are you doing down here?”
“Half-three? Oh,” James sighs, and his grip on her arm relaxes. His fingers trace her wrist, then the lines of her hand, until finally he wraps her palm in his. “Why are you up, love? Come back to bed.”
Lily is too surprised to move. “What?”
“Quidditch isn’t ‘til six,” he says. Lily steps between him and the fireplace, and she can tell his eyes are closed. His breathing is heavy, almost impatient, but he tugs her hand gently. “Let’s just sleep a bit more, yeah?”
“I—you want—what’s this about Quidditch, Potter? Are you having me on?”
“Uh-uh,” he mumbles. “You’ve got to sleep, love. Better in the morning.” His hand squeezes hers again.
He’s never called her “love” before, and now he’s said it twice. She wonders if his words are even meant for her, or a mysterious dream girl. But he sounds so sure – and so reassuring – that Lily lowers herself to the sofa next to him, as though that makes any sense at all. He sighs, the most contented sigh she’s ever heard, and a surprising warmth spreads through her chest.
“James,” Lily whispers, and his name feels forbidden, intimate on her lips, “I think you’re dreaming.”
“Mm.” He wraps an arm around her waist. “I think so, too.”
She nearly laughs. He’s corny even in his sleep.
If he’s asleep at all, that is.
He gives a gentle snore, and Lily almost giggles again. If he isn’t sleeping, he’s certainly committed to the ruse.
And, honestly? Being there, with him, Lily feels…safe. Fearless, at least for the moment. So she stays on the sofa, curled awkwardly in the cramped space between James’ knees and his chest, until his breathing slows and his arm slips from around her body. Then she stands slowly, careful not to wake him, and covers him with a quilt. She tiptoes back up to her dormitory with her cheeks flushed and a smile on her lips.
She sleeps peacefully the rest of the night.
She’s late to breakfast the next morning. James’ eyes snap to hers as soon as she enters the Great Hall. His brow furrows slightly when she wiggles her fingers in greeting, but he gives her a half-smile before responding to something Remus is saying. Lily sits across from them, and James watches her with his lips twitching as though there are words fighting to escape from his mouth.
“All right, Potter?” Lily asks innocently, as she slathers jam on a piece of toast.
His squints thoughtfully before he speaks. “I’m all right, Evans,” he says slowly. He inclines his head towards her. “And you? Slept in, I see.”
“I did,” she replies. She feels strangely brave as she meets his eye with a cheeky grin. “I slept well for the first time in ages, actually. You?”
“All right, I think.” He looks at her like she’s handed him a puzzle with some of the pieces missing. But he doesn’t press. Instead he says, casually, “I spent half the night in the Common Room, though. My back is killing me.”
“I’m sure,” Lily agrees. Her tone is sympathetic, but her smirk says otherwise. “I can just picture you trying to stretch those long legs on that little couch.”
James’ face lights up, as though she’s given him the answer he was looking for. He shrugs and ruffles his hair. “Wasn’t so bad.” He leans across the table, so close that Lily can see the flecks of color in his eyes.
They sparkle. His smile and his whisper are just for her. “I had the sweetest dreams.”