politics and privilege ; a james/lily drabble.
Politics and Privilege
RATING: PG-13.
PAIRING: James/Lily.
WARNINGS: None to my knowledge.
SUMMARY: Lily can't hold in her emotions any longer. Written for fyearya's prompt at the short and sweet ficathon.
DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I am merely borrowing them.
She draws a broomstick, a field of stars, a daisy on his leg as they sit through dinner at the Potter house. Something was unravelling inside her, burning through her veins, but she kept the mask of polite interest on her face as she listened to the guests whose names she didn't care to remember whinge about the deterioration of wizarding rights.
James' parents are the nicest people Lily thinks she has had the pleasure of meeting and she wonders how her boyfriend convinced them to let her stay for the second week of Christmas holidays and, even more shocking, convinced them that she could share a room with him. She wasn't complaining--having someone who was unwilling to let go of her waist in the middle of the night was better than central heating. She didn't miss Petunia's constant glares and petulant silence when addressed or her mother's infuriatingly constant lulls in her routine where she couldn't bring herself to move or her father's ghost hanging like a thundercloud, leaving their lives overcast as they bit back the mentions of him that were now second nature, ingrained in their minds.
She swallows her self-perceived witty remarks, too razor sharp for a dinner party, keeps her tongue in check as she listens to these people lounging at the height of society, the most minor disturbances in their control sending shockwaves through their functionality. James is quieter than he has been all week, maybe quieter than he's been in the entirety of their acquaintanceship, his jaw tensing as though he can read her thoughts. She draws a firework, a club, a television. Lily wants to throw her fork at the wall, scream her lungs out, something, anything that will make these people see that the changes happening are necessary, that history requires, nay, demands revolution. The world needs discomfort and sorrow before their happier counterparts can reappear.
But she remains silent, only speaking when addressed. When the bell is rung and the house-elves clear the table, she asks to be excused and doesn't wait for James--he has to keep up appearances for the sake of his family's reputation, after all, and she's just the fascinating Muggleborn girl with whom James was smitten.
The coat she grabs belongs to James, though she realises it too late as she drapes it over herself. At least it may keep her warm against the winter chill, she thinks, as her hands rummage in his pockets for the hidden carton of cigarettes and the lighter she hid alongside it. She hates smoking and always has--the man she called the bane of her existence smoked too often for a time, and a man she loved and called Daddy smoked so much that it blackened his insides and put him in the ground--but she takes a cigarette anyway. She blows out the smoke in rings and they're almost opaque in the cold.
A pair of arms encircles her waist and she doesn't even have the sense to hesitate, leaning back into his chest. "I thought you said smoking was a slow and painful death. You know, despicable." His light tone is tinged with confusion and she merely takes a drag once more.
"I'm feeling rather despicable myself tonight, so I guess it's fitting."
His hand reaches for the cigarette and before she can protest, he takes it hostage, putting it to his lips and inhaling before letting it drop to the floor, blowing smoke from his mouth as his foot puts out the smouldering ash. "Tell me," he says, so quietly she almost misses it. She turns around and he's close, too close, but she doesn't succumb to the urge to kiss him.
"These people," she starts, the determined anger blazing in her eyes. "They complain about the littlest things and none of them see the big picture." She bites her tongue and nearly draws blood as he brushes her cheek with his thumb. She can see the argument brewing in his mind--he's never been good at hiding things from her--but he remains silent, willing her to continue. "Your lot thinks they have so much too lose but they don't know the half of it. How many Muggleborns do you see directing the ebb and flow of wizarding society? How many of them have fortunes that never run out? There's not a one."
His eyebrows furrow as his eyes scan her face and for a moment she's afraid that she went too far, but she's spoken her mind and now she would have to face the consequences. "Lily, when have I--"
She presses a hand to his chest, purposefully avoiding his gaze as she focuses on her fingers against his clothing. "I never meant you, James. But... But we lead such different lives," she says, her frustration palpable. "You've lived in this society your entire life. You have a family fortune and powerful connections. You're an only child who is spoiled by his parents." She gives a small smile at this, clenching her fingers into his shirt before taking a gulp. "I have an older sister who hates me for who I am and how I've accepted this life, a mother who can't move on with her life after her husband passed on. I was completely in the dark, under the impression that what I could do was wrong... That there was something horribly wrong with me until one day someone told me I was a witch. We're taught to believe that witches are fantasy, that they're all terrible and corrupted and green.
"I have no strings to pull when I leave Hogwarts, and the war isn't making it any easier. Sure, a great deal of people don't care a whit for what my family tree looks like, but for every one person who doesn't care, there's one who turns his nose up at us, who treats us like dirt." There are tears brimming in her eyes now but she wills herself not to cry, not yet. "And being ignorant of it is almost as bad as being guilty of persecuting. It's this unspoken war between the Muggle and Wizarding worlds and if I'm forced to choose a side, how can I? How do I choose between my family and my future? And the victims--being alone terrifies me. What if I'm next?" Her voice breaks as she presses her face into his chest, her shoulders shaking with her futile attempt to stem her crying.
He holds her close and waits there in the cold with her, waits until she can turn her face up to look at him. She knows she must look like a complete wreck, her makeup smudged, eyes red, lip almost bloodied by her teeth worrying at it, but somehow he still looks at her like she's the most beautiful woman in the world and she feels dizzy with how lucky she is.
"They don't understand," he says fiercely, leaning down to press his lips to her forehead. "I--I know that I'm not an expert and I don't know how it feels to be in your place. I don't claim anything of the sort." He looks so apologetic that she wants to punch his chest and tell him everything is okay, but it's not, nothing will be okay until the war is over but even that remains tentative, happiness precariously placed on the edge of a cliff. "You have to help me understand and then we can make everyone else listen. You won't have to do this alone because I'll never let you out of my sight."
She bursts into tears, clumsily pressing her lips to his before burying her face against his neck. They remain outside in the cold, but she doesn't feel its claws now that they're together.
RATING: PG-13.
PAIRING: James/Lily.
WARNINGS: None to my knowledge.
SUMMARY: Lily can't hold in her emotions any longer. Written for fyearya's prompt at the short and sweet ficathon.
DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I am merely borrowing them.
She draws a broomstick, a field of stars, a daisy on his leg as they sit through dinner at the Potter house. Something was unravelling inside her, burning through her veins, but she kept the mask of polite interest on her face as she listened to the guests whose names she didn't care to remember whinge about the deterioration of wizarding rights.
James' parents are the nicest people Lily thinks she has had the pleasure of meeting and she wonders how her boyfriend convinced them to let her stay for the second week of Christmas holidays and, even more shocking, convinced them that she could share a room with him. She wasn't complaining--having someone who was unwilling to let go of her waist in the middle of the night was better than central heating. She didn't miss Petunia's constant glares and petulant silence when addressed or her mother's infuriatingly constant lulls in her routine where she couldn't bring herself to move or her father's ghost hanging like a thundercloud, leaving their lives overcast as they bit back the mentions of him that were now second nature, ingrained in their minds.
She swallows her self-perceived witty remarks, too razor sharp for a dinner party, keeps her tongue in check as she listens to these people lounging at the height of society, the most minor disturbances in their control sending shockwaves through their functionality. James is quieter than he has been all week, maybe quieter than he's been in the entirety of their acquaintanceship, his jaw tensing as though he can read her thoughts. She draws a firework, a club, a television. Lily wants to throw her fork at the wall, scream her lungs out, something, anything that will make these people see that the changes happening are necessary, that history requires, nay, demands revolution. The world needs discomfort and sorrow before their happier counterparts can reappear.
But she remains silent, only speaking when addressed. When the bell is rung and the house-elves clear the table, she asks to be excused and doesn't wait for James--he has to keep up appearances for the sake of his family's reputation, after all, and she's just the fascinating Muggleborn girl with whom James was smitten.
The coat she grabs belongs to James, though she realises it too late as she drapes it over herself. At least it may keep her warm against the winter chill, she thinks, as her hands rummage in his pockets for the hidden carton of cigarettes and the lighter she hid alongside it. She hates smoking and always has--the man she called the bane of her existence smoked too often for a time, and a man she loved and called Daddy smoked so much that it blackened his insides and put him in the ground--but she takes a cigarette anyway. She blows out the smoke in rings and they're almost opaque in the cold.
A pair of arms encircles her waist and she doesn't even have the sense to hesitate, leaning back into his chest. "I thought you said smoking was a slow and painful death. You know, despicable." His light tone is tinged with confusion and she merely takes a drag once more.
"I'm feeling rather despicable myself tonight, so I guess it's fitting."
His hand reaches for the cigarette and before she can protest, he takes it hostage, putting it to his lips and inhaling before letting it drop to the floor, blowing smoke from his mouth as his foot puts out the smouldering ash. "Tell me," he says, so quietly she almost misses it. She turns around and he's close, too close, but she doesn't succumb to the urge to kiss him.
"These people," she starts, the determined anger blazing in her eyes. "They complain about the littlest things and none of them see the big picture." She bites her tongue and nearly draws blood as he brushes her cheek with his thumb. She can see the argument brewing in his mind--he's never been good at hiding things from her--but he remains silent, willing her to continue. "Your lot thinks they have so much too lose but they don't know the half of it. How many Muggleborns do you see directing the ebb and flow of wizarding society? How many of them have fortunes that never run out? There's not a one."
His eyebrows furrow as his eyes scan her face and for a moment she's afraid that she went too far, but she's spoken her mind and now she would have to face the consequences. "Lily, when have I--"
She presses a hand to his chest, purposefully avoiding his gaze as she focuses on her fingers against his clothing. "I never meant you, James. But... But we lead such different lives," she says, her frustration palpable. "You've lived in this society your entire life. You have a family fortune and powerful connections. You're an only child who is spoiled by his parents." She gives a small smile at this, clenching her fingers into his shirt before taking a gulp. "I have an older sister who hates me for who I am and how I've accepted this life, a mother who can't move on with her life after her husband passed on. I was completely in the dark, under the impression that what I could do was wrong... That there was something horribly wrong with me until one day someone told me I was a witch. We're taught to believe that witches are fantasy, that they're all terrible and corrupted and green.
"I have no strings to pull when I leave Hogwarts, and the war isn't making it any easier. Sure, a great deal of people don't care a whit for what my family tree looks like, but for every one person who doesn't care, there's one who turns his nose up at us, who treats us like dirt." There are tears brimming in her eyes now but she wills herself not to cry, not yet. "And being ignorant of it is almost as bad as being guilty of persecuting. It's this unspoken war between the Muggle and Wizarding worlds and if I'm forced to choose a side, how can I? How do I choose between my family and my future? And the victims--being alone terrifies me. What if I'm next?" Her voice breaks as she presses her face into his chest, her shoulders shaking with her futile attempt to stem her crying.
He holds her close and waits there in the cold with her, waits until she can turn her face up to look at him. She knows she must look like a complete wreck, her makeup smudged, eyes red, lip almost bloodied by her teeth worrying at it, but somehow he still looks at her like she's the most beautiful woman in the world and she feels dizzy with how lucky she is.
"They don't understand," he says fiercely, leaning down to press his lips to her forehead. "I--I know that I'm not an expert and I don't know how it feels to be in your place. I don't claim anything of the sort." He looks so apologetic that she wants to punch his chest and tell him everything is okay, but it's not, nothing will be okay until the war is over but even that remains tentative, happiness precariously placed on the edge of a cliff. "You have to help me understand and then we can make everyone else listen. You won't have to do this alone because I'll never let you out of my sight."
She bursts into tears, clumsily pressing her lips to his before burying her face against his neck. They remain outside in the cold, but she doesn't feel its claws now that they're together.