Lily.
The final of tonight's Gemma requests. The third in the set. It touches on a relationship I want to explore further.
There’s a knock at the door. I start at a little and my first instinct is to tighten my grasp on the little bundle that is sleeping on my chest. My second is to rationalise this reaction by remembering his promise that he would visit and the wealth of safety that surrounds us in our new seclusion.
I pad to the door, Harry in one arm, wand in the other and pause for a moment before allowing the door to open. As Remus appears, wan and worn, the thudding dread in my stomach that I didn’t even know was there, it subsides.
“Rome?” I ask tentatively.
“It wasn’t built in a day.” He replies, reaching out to touch Harry’s already unruly mop. The formality of code broken, I lean forward and kiss his cheek, smiling softly at the familiar musty scent of my oldest friend. He follows me into the living room and sheds his cloak to the hook by the door. I adjust myself in my armchair and gesture to the chair opposite. Conjuring a mug of tea, we sit in silence for a few moments.
Surely at this point we should have everything in the world to say to each other, but lately silence has become golden. Even Harry seems to know this; he barely cries. Such a good boy.
“James is sleeping,” I explain half-heartedly to Remus, his grey eyes meeting mine in the glow of the fire. He nods in understanding, knowing only too well the stress my husband endures under his sense of duty to his family and the Order. Sometimes I want him to stop, but underlying this is my utterly selfish need to feel protected, as only James can. I look at Remus and through words unspoken I know that this man understands.
“Sirius?” I enquire softly, anxious not to wake Harry. Remus’ eyes seem to glaze over with some hidden tension. I daren’t ask. This climate of anxiety is ripping us apart, from the inside out. I don’t press for an answer.
Minutes pass. The sky outside is getting lighter and my lids are heavy. I feel Remus rest a hand on my shoulder and touch Harry’s face, seeking comfort in his innocence.
When I wake up, he’s gone.
Somehow I know I’ll never see him again.
There’s a knock at the door. I start at a little and my first instinct is to tighten my grasp on the little bundle that is sleeping on my chest. My second is to rationalise this reaction by remembering his promise that he would visit and the wealth of safety that surrounds us in our new seclusion.
I pad to the door, Harry in one arm, wand in the other and pause for a moment before allowing the door to open. As Remus appears, wan and worn, the thudding dread in my stomach that I didn’t even know was there, it subsides.
“Rome?” I ask tentatively.
“It wasn’t built in a day.” He replies, reaching out to touch Harry’s already unruly mop. The formality of code broken, I lean forward and kiss his cheek, smiling softly at the familiar musty scent of my oldest friend. He follows me into the living room and sheds his cloak to the hook by the door. I adjust myself in my armchair and gesture to the chair opposite. Conjuring a mug of tea, we sit in silence for a few moments.
Surely at this point we should have everything in the world to say to each other, but lately silence has become golden. Even Harry seems to know this; he barely cries. Such a good boy.
“James is sleeping,” I explain half-heartedly to Remus, his grey eyes meeting mine in the glow of the fire. He nods in understanding, knowing only too well the stress my husband endures under his sense of duty to his family and the Order. Sometimes I want him to stop, but underlying this is my utterly selfish need to feel protected, as only James can. I look at Remus and through words unspoken I know that this man understands.
“Sirius?” I enquire softly, anxious not to wake Harry. Remus’ eyes seem to glaze over with some hidden tension. I daren’t ask. This climate of anxiety is ripping us apart, from the inside out. I don’t press for an answer.
Minutes pass. The sky outside is getting lighter and my lids are heavy. I feel Remus rest a hand on my shoulder and touch Harry’s face, seeking comfort in his innocence.
When I wake up, he’s gone.
Somehow I know I’ll never see him again.