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The nightmares had become routine. A shaking Lily would sit up, her breathing heavy and strained as she reached out to grip at the boy lying next to her, her fingers curling into the worn material of his shirt, clinging tightly enough that she’d managed to rip the fabric more than once. If he minded, he never said anything.
He’s a steady force beside her, with a calming heartbeat, and a warmth that could never be manufactured. His arms were still lined with muscle from the days before the war, from the days when he’d be out playing rugby with his mates, and they’re the only thing that can ground her when she’s like this, when they’re wrapped around her waist and herding her in towards his chest.
She would sob until the sun rises, until her body gave out and she slipped into unconsciousness in his arms and he could lay her back down before slipping out of bed to venture out into the world.
He can’t go if she’s awake, they’d all discovered. She’d insist on going with him and cling to his arm until he gave in and stays behind, letting them all go hungry for a day.
Each time he didn’t get back within the hour she’d go into panic attacks.
She’d often thought it was dangerous how attached to him she was during rare moments of clear thinking as she sat on the bed she shared with James and stared down at a picture of her family. Of what was her family.
All she had were the four boys hiding out in the basement of the Potter estate. Remus, Sirius, Peter, and James.
It was just them now, after the Potters died there was no one else, no one that they could trust. They stayed locked up together, only James daring to venture out to replenish their food and medicine stocks for when they’d need it.
The only reprieve she had from the pain of war, from the ongoing rage that came with the loss of everyone you’d ever loved, everyone you’d ever known, was James. With the cracked glasses that he couldn’t get fixed until the war is over. With the messy hair that stubbornly stayed in a disorganized mop on the top of his head no matter how many times Lily dragged her fingers through it. With the smile bright enough to make her forget that she’s so unhappy.
They’d curl up in the dead of night, sometimes just staring at one another, sometimes kissing, sometimes more. There were nights when all she can do is cling to him and beg him to never leave, and he always promised her that he would keep her safe. It’s not what she wanted to hear, because her mother had told her the same thing, her family had told her that she’d be safe, and now they were gone.
She wanted him to tell her that he’d always be there, that at the very end of it all he’ll have his arms around her waist and his nose buried in her hair, with that stupid smile still on his face. She wanted him to be the last thing she saw.
He spoke as if he knew they’d make it out. He spoke like she’d never hear anyone speak before. Sometimes in long drawn out sentences, mixing random and erratic thoughts into one convoluted message that broke in random places where he needed to suck in a breath. Sometimes he’d only murmur soft nothings in the dead of night, things that couldn’t possibly mean anything to anyone, but the emotion behind how he said them revealed how close they were to his heart.
“We’ll name our son Harry,” he’d told her one night, his legs tangled with hers, his fingers running up and down her bare back as he smiled down at her, their foreheads touching. “He’ll have my hair, and your eyes. He’ll have your smarts and my bravery. He’ll come home every day with a new story and a new friend, something better than the last.” He murmured, pausing between every few words to peck her on the lips. She didn’t have the heart to disagree with him.
“You know, it’s weird that you’re Jewish, because you’re made up of Christmas colors,” he noted on a different night, her back pressed against his chest, the blanket pulled tight around them both. She’d turned her head and arched a brow as she stared up at him. He simply smiled and leaned down for a kiss, not bothering to explain himself further.
There were days when she could actually see them surviving, living on past the war. Times when they’d move out of the basement and into the bulk of the house, where they’d fill it with memories and pictures and laughter, spending their days together, whether it was out on the street, or locked up in the bedroom. She could see it. She could see little Harry running around with a wide smile and an infectious giggle, the soft pitter-patter of his feet traveling through the house as he zoomed about from one room to another.
There were days when she could hear the screaming and begging from the streets and she knew the truth in her heart.
They kept their activities to the nights. As much as Remus and Sirius said it was cute, and they didn’t mind, and that it was actually a nice sign of hope, Lily didn’t want to be on display. That, and it made Peter uncomfortable, it was obvious.
There were a lot of things that made Peter uncomfortable. He didn’t like Lily, not as much as he took to James or Sirius, and some part of her kept insisting it was because of her heritage, though she didn’t want to think that was true. He didn’t like Remus all that much either, not after the boy had come out as gay. She didn’t tell James how she felt; scared that he’d tell her she was being an idiot. She didn’t want him to pick his friends over her, especially one that he’d known long before her.
There were long times of inactivity, where they’d all just sit around in silence, Lily sitting between James’ legs as he wrapped his arms securely around her, the other three dotted about the room, staring off into space, lost in their own thoughts. There were times when they were all yelling and arguing so loud she thought that people outside could hear them over the sound of the bombs.
It took almost a year for them to finally reach a point where they knew they couldn’t just hide away any longer. News had reached them through James’ trips out of the basement, the Nazis had taken over the area and there were to be nightly house checks starting in only a few days.
Lily hadn’t slept that night; she stayed awake to James’ soothing touches and his stories of their future family.
She rose out of bed the next morning, her head swimming and confused, worry battling with knowledge in the pit of her stomach and making it necessary to run to the bathroom and dry heave over the toilet bowl for a good hour.
When she had returned back to the communal living space, she saw all the boys huddled together, speaking in soft tones, their heads bent low and she knew what was happening immediately.
“I’m not leaving if James isn’t.” Her voice was rough and quiet, the sounds struggling to make it out of her dry throat, scratching by painfully. Green met hazel as he stared up at her, slowly rising and leaving the circle of boys incomplete.
“Lily, you have to,” He told her quietly, his hands settling onto her shoulders. She stared down at them as if they were foreign, as if they hadn’t mapped out her body or memorized every inch of her skin. When she finally dragged her eyes up to his she saw tears in them for the first time in months she’d come to know him. He’d never cried, she was always the one crying. Everything was wrong, and turned around and the world was growing cold.
It was the first time she knew with complete certainty that she was going to die. There was no other choice, no other option, nothing else that could have affected the outcome. She was going to die, but damn the world if she wasn’t going to do it by his side.
“-If anything were to happen to you, I’d… I wouldn’t… You have to go, you have to let Sirius get you to safety, you have to.” He finished off what must have been an emotional speech, as there were tear tracks on his face when she finally tuned back into the world around her. It almost felt like a dream when she cupped the sides of his face, as he had done so many times for her, her thumbs dragging smoothly across his cheeks to collect the moisture and brush it away.
The silence lingered between them before she spoke. “I’m not leaving,” was all she said, but the finality of it, the way she gently sank the crescents of her fingernails into his skin must have told him how serious she was, how dead set against the entire concept she was.
Their lips grazed and for the first time it left her numb and empty as he pulled away.
Plans were made, goodbyes were said, and then it was them, just the two of them, left alone in a space that had been filled before.
She dragged him into bed as she had every night for months before that, she settled herself down in his arms and pressed small, shaking hands to his sturdy chest to feel the constant hammering of his heart under her palm, and for the first time in weeks, she smiled.
Noise broke through the haze of their happiness early the next morning, and James had risen to grab his gun, a last effort to keep them safe, but Lily didn’t allow it. She’d run out of the room, grabbing his wrist in the foyer of the house she’d never had the chance to actually admire before she’d been locked away, and she turned him until she could see his face.
“Lily, I have to-“
“Smile,” She’d interrupted him, her fingers sliding into the thick waves of his hair, twisting the follicles until she was gripping to him for dear life, even as he stared down in complete confusion at her.
“This is all I need, just smile.” She begged, her eyes brimming with tears. All it took was one last whispered, “Please,” and he’d forced something out for her, his lips curling up, one side higher than the other, and his teeth completing the picture until he was dazzling her with that stupid, ridiculous crooked smile of his.
And she could hear their life ringing out in the shot that was fired. She could hear little Harry running about and screaming his laughter, his feet dancing over the hardwood floors. She could her James’ breath dancing over the shell of her ear as they slept comfortably, wrapped up in each other’s arms for years to come. She heard their wedding bells, and she heard her own laugh. And she heard happiness for the last time.