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Summary
But try as she might, night bled into day. It happened in the way James’ eyes darted to the Slytherin table every morning, mouth downturned painfully for a brief moment. It happened every time she turned her head to avoid James’ kisses because she knew Regulus was looking. It happened when she snapped at Black because he was hissing vitriol about his brother, unaware of the pained expression on James’ face. It happened slowly, a trickle, and then turned into a tide that she was powerless to stop. Until she was sick from worry, from exhaustion, dogged by the urgent sense that they were running out time.
Or:
Lily knows they may be young, but they may never have the chance to grow old.