Corvus
Corvus
(The Crow)
A small constellation in the southern-sky, one of the forty-eight ancient constellations.
Symbolizes prophecies and omens.
A messenger from beyond brings truth cloaked in shadows.
Something shifts after Lily tells James what happened to her parents. It’s subtle at first, not anything cataclysmic—no planets colliding, no plates shifting. It’s unspoken and meaningful, and nothing like the pity Lily once feared.
It’s in the way he seems to know exactly what she needs and exactly when she needs it.
The way he presses a gentle hand to the small of her back when the corridor is a bit too rowdy, steadying her without a word. How he slips her bundles of cheese or crisp apples on days that seem to stretch too long. Or how he’ll seek her out in the library just to make sure she isn’t overworking herself, leaning against the tall shelves with an easy confidence and murmuring, “you work too hard, love.” The kind of thing that makes her insides flutter.
But it’s in other ways too—quietly but so meaningful. So heartbreakingly tender. Things that seem to shatter her and piece her back together all at once.
Like when Professor Dearborn speaks a little too long about spells that draw blood, and her knuckles tense against the desk. Her eyes go wide and her skin pales. James notices, but he says nothing, just slides a hand beneath the table and rests it gently atop her knee, warm and steady.
Like how, when her eyes go vacant and distant, he always seems to notice. It’s on those nights, he teaches her about the stars. Whispers about the constellations, about the myths and legends stitched across the sky. The ones he’s convinced are dotted just for her.
Or in the mornings when he sees the shadows clinging to her eyes, too dark and too deep, he takes her for walks around the lake. He watches how her gaze softens under the afternoon sun and lingers a little too long on the pretty flowers blooming, delicate and brave against the incoming winter chill. He’ll pluck one—just for her. She smiles then, soft and real. And they’ll keep walking as she twirls it between her fingers and he listens intently when she tells him its name, what it means, where it grows and when it blooms.
She tells him too, that her Mum loved flowers. And it’s strange, talking about her parents because for some reason it’s not as heavy or oppressing as it once was. It doesn’t crush her. It feels like maybe something lightens within her just a little.
But she supposes that happens quite often with James.
It happens in small passes. Like when she lets it slip that James’ cologne smells a bit like her Dad’s. When he teases her for being so small, she tells him how her parents were both tall, and she hadn’t inherited a lick of those genes.
He lets her speak about her favorite books. Her Mum’s. Her Dad’s. Even Petunia's, too. And James listens—truly listens—asking thoughtful questions, smiling at all the right moments, the kind of smile that makes her head a little dizzy.
It’s easier with him. Everything is easier. And she doesn’t understand why or even how but she’s decided she’s done trying to figure it out. Because for the first time since losing her parents, she thinks maybe—just maybe—one day she could be happy again.
There’s a lightness to her that wasn’t there before. A spark flickering behind emerald eyes that seems to only be fanned when he’s around. And she wishes, most days, to be invisible. But not with James. Never with James.
And it seems that despite her wishes, she is very much not invisible to the world, as others seem to have noticed the changes, too.
Peter offers fleeting smiles. There’s a quiet understanding from McGonagall.
One watch from the shadows—sneering and glaring. Others hide in dark corners, observing intently and quietly. Some watch with something deeper, as something they cannot name, something greater than Hogwarts begins to unfold. Like a shift in the stars and heavens themselves.
No one—except for Sirius—really says much.
Sirius is not one to stand by idly. No—he takes pride in teasing James every single chance he gets.
Luckily for James—and Lily, honestly—most of his jabs are reserved for the privacy of their dorm. He laughs and rolls his eyes at the fact James seems to spend more time in the library than the Ravenclaws these days. Relentless and merciless teasing when he catches James shouldering her bag, carrying her books or staring at her longingly during lessons, as Sirius so dramatically puts it.
Sometimes, after a long day, James pushes back and says he’s just being nice. Other times, he’ll ignore him entirely—something that has taken years to perfect. But most nights, James just flushes deeply and smiles to himself, something quiet and secret, but without an ounce of shame.
Occasionally, Peter will chuckle too, even join in on a bit of Sirius’ fun.
But Remus—Remus says nothing.
And despite his silence, it’s Remus who has noticed the change more than anyone.
He and James haven’t spoken much since the night of their argument. Between Quidditch practices for James and Head Boy duties for Remus, avoiding each other isn’t particularly difficult. James doesn’t avoid him actively, but between lessons and the time he spends after practice with Lily, well—he’s not exactly going out of his way to mend the distance. Not only does it work in favor because he’s with her but also because he doesn’t even know what to say to Remus.
The air is tense and he feels a little guilty that Sirius and Peter may feel the lingering discomfort. But the air isn’t thick with anger—it’s with hurt and something a bit sad.
James just doesn’t really have anything to say to Remus. Doesn’t have the energy or patience to try and change the mind of someone who only wants to see one thing.
But Remus—he has a lot to say. He just doesn’t know how.
It’s a strange thing really, everyone would always say Remus is the most composed. Most eloquent. But when he sees the way he hurt James, watches all the ways he was so obviously wrong about him and Lily—words escape him.
But he knows he needs to do his damned best to find them. He’s known the second James stormed out all those evenings ago.
The feeling only festered when he saw how attentive he was to a seemingly lighter Lily. But he really knew he didn’t have a choice after Potions today.
They were learning about blood-replenishing potions. The textbook was filled with images of wounds—gaping, torn, deep and bleeding scattered all across the pages.
Remus could see it from across the room—the way Lily’s fists seemed to curl, the way her breathing seemed to turn shallow.
But he saw James, too.
James, who ripped up a piece of scrap parchment and began doodling all over it. Two little stick figures walking over a poor imitation of a hill. Little speech bubbles floating above their heads, filled with Pride and Prejudice quotes he had learned just for her.
Remus watched as he slid it over to her, right on top of the photo of an open wound on page two-hundred and twenty. He saw Lily’s color return. Her emerald eyes sparkled at the drawing, as Darcy walked up the hill to confess to Elizabeth on a steady loop. Her cheeks turned pink and her lips curled into a smile.
She laughed—soft and tinkling and surprised—it was just loud enough to cause her to clap a hand over her mouth as to keep it from escaping.
And James smiled back at her like he’d just won the bloody Quidditch Cup.
James—who Remus opened up to when he was just shy of thirteen. When he told him his deepest darkest secret and in turn he decided to learn to become an Anigmagus.
James—who took in Sirius with open arms after the worst time of his life. Remus remembers stopping in over the summer, dark green paint smattered all over James’s fingers as he waved Remus inside. He told him not to mind the mess, he was just painting Sirius’s new room. Forest green. Sirius’s favorite color.
James—who wanted to be a bloody fucking Auror not because it was prestigious and surely not cause it would be easy. But because he felt things too deeply to look away, when he could just as easily throw his hands up and play professional Quidditch or live off his family’s fortune.
James—who seems to be the only person to get Lily to smile. Wide and bright and so real. Who tends to her with a softness he’s never seen before in his life.
And that—that—was James.
The real James. The boy, who has grown into a man right under their noses. Who has always been caring and kind and puts everyone before him.
He knew this whole time. He’s always known it.
So why the bloody fuck did he ever try to make James feel any differently?
Remus shakes his head at the thought, disappointment and anger at himself begins to curl in his stomach. Shame for letting things become so warped. For letting his own insecurities seep into the dredges of his mind.
He has to make things right.
“…you’re pathetic, mate, I swear.” Remus could hear Sirius’ voice carry from inside the dormitory. “Besides, you know as well as I do that she’s in the library. You don’t need the bloody map.” He finishes just as Remus pushes open the door.
The conversation stalls as soon as he walks in. Sirius’s smile falters, just for a moment, before he eases it into his signature grin. James, meanwhile, turns away to pretend to make himself busy by his bed.
“Evening, Moony.” Sirius greets smoothly.
Remus nods and supplies a weak wave. “You’re looking for the map, James?” He asks tentatively, voice shaking with nerves.
James turns at breakneck speed, the first acknowledgement from his friend in days. “Uh—yeah.” He responds quietly, eyes cautious.
He’s unsure how to proceed, if Remus knows James is using it to find Lily it may just turn into another argument.
“Right,” he begins softly, padding over to his nightstand and tugging open the drawer and sifting around for the parchment.
He holds it out to James and the air in the room goes still. A peace offering.
With a scrunched brow and slow hand, James grabs it from Remus, offering an awkward nod of his head in thanks.
Without so much as exchanging another word, James turns on his heel, seemingly to grab his wand and head out before Remus stops him.
“James,” Remus calls to him, voice low and uncertain as he turns to face him again, “can we talk? Please?” He pleads.
James tenses, jaw tightening as he avoids Remus’s eye and flicks his gaze toward Sirius, silently pleading for an escape.
And Sirius, is absolutely no help.
None at all.
In fact, he practically leaps from his bed the moment James’s eyes meet his own, shoving his feet into his shoes in record time.
“Pete, didn’t you tell me about that thing we had to do?” He blurts to the blonde.
Peter looks up from where he has been peacefully reading with a scrunched brow. “What are you—”
“You know, the thing. In the common room.” He says with wide eyes as he so obviously tilts his head to the door.
Peter remains unimpressed. “Sirius, I have no—”
He doesn’t let him finish. He just yanks Peter up by the arm and all but drags him toward the door. Peter protests incessantly the entire way out the door, but Sirius ignores him, throwing a deliberately cheery, “good luck!” over his shoulder before the door slams with a resounding thunk.
The second the door shuts and they’re alone, James can practically feel the air become thick and almost palpable in the distance between them.
He slowly circles the room to face Remus who’s fidgeting nervously with his hands, weight shifting anxiously from foot to foot. And with a deep sigh and heavy heart, James nods, settling at the end of his bed and waiting to hear what Remus has to say.
Remus swallows roughly. “I just—I hate this, James. I don’t like tiptoeing around each other. I hate how weird things are.” He begins shakily. “But what I hate more is that I hurt you. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”
And Remus knows a simple apology isn’t enough to erase all the hurt. Isn’t enough to prove he really means it, but James knows Remus down to his very core—and he can feel all the emotion behind it. The guilt. The honesty.
“I just—I don’t understand why, Remus.” James begins defeatedly. “I can’t figure out what I’ve done to make you think the worst of me.” He looks down, shaking his head sadly.
Because that—more than anything—was the worst part. The accusations, the mistrust, they hurt a lot, of course they do, but it’s the why that’s eating at him. The not knowing. The fact he has spent days turning it over in his head, retracing his every step, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that made Remus think he was some awful person, especially to Lily. But he went around and around, and always drew a blank. It was eating at him. It still is.
“It’s not that.” Remus sighs quietly, like he’s scared to say what he really means.
But he owes James. He knows he does.
Remus and James both know friendship isn’t a system of checks and balances. It’s not all give and take, then give back and take more. Neither expects anything from the other in that kind of way. There isn’t a score to be kept, but they both know the friendship should feel equal. Equal in trust, most of all.
“I see you’re different with her.” He forces himself to meet James’s gaze. “And I was so wrong about you and I’m so sorry James.” There’s a beat of hesitation before he continues, softer now. “I suppose I was wrong about Lily, too.”
James stills. “About Lily?” Her name takes over his thought in an instance. Mind shifting to her. Always to her.
Remus nods. “You’re not just good to her, you’re good for her, James, and I’m sorry I ever thought otherwise.”
“But why?” James asks again, desperate for the truth. Needing answers.
Remus’s shoulders hunch and his whole demeanor seems to change into something sad as he lowers himself onto the edge of his own bed, mirroring James.
“I think,” he begins carefully, “part of me saw some of myself in her. Of when I was a hurt and confused kid wrestling the weight of an awful, terrible thing.”
And Remus knows the pain he and Lily experience aren’t the same. That she suffers from a loss she can never undo. That she saw such horrible and awful things she can never forget.
But Remus—Remus knows that he is those awful things. The kind of person who could do those senseless and terrible things under the shine of a full moon.
So it’s different. But it’s still heavy—sitting and weighing on each of them every single day. Something out of both their controls. Neither of them asked for this. And neither of them seemed to want anyone to see the pain that comes with it.
“I just—I don’t know why I freaked out. I mean, it was you who saved me from all of it, Prongs. I don’t know why I ever doubted you couldn’t do the same for Lily.” His voice is thick with vulnerability, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I think that maybe, some selfish part of me wanted redemption. I wanted to prove to myself that I’m strong enough to handle such a burden, even if it wasn’t mine. That I could carry that weight if I had to.” He finishes smally.
James sees his pain and fear laid bare on the carpet between them. It makes his heart twist in his chest. He loves Remus with everything in him—him, Sirius and Peter are his brothers in every single way that matters. And he’s seen the constant struggle Remus has had with being a werewolf.
He’s seen him wrestle with thinking he’s a monster before every full moon and in the days after.
And they try, all of them, to show him he’s anything but and sometimes Remus believes them, even if only for a moment. And sometimes he doesn’t.
And that’s one of those moments. When he thinks the absolute worst of himself. When he’s drowning in a sea of self hatred and James—no matter how hurt he is—knows he needs to pull him out of it.
“Remus,” he begins gently, finally catching his golden eyes. “That’s what friends are for. Weights like yours—like Lily’s—are never meant to be carried alone.” He says softly.
Remus clamps his eyes shut, undeserving of such kindness considering all he’s done. “I know that—but I couldn’t do that for Lily. Not like you do for her. Not like you have for me.”
James shakes his head. “It’s not just me, y’know. You have Sirius. You have Peter. And we all have you.” He says with a small lopsided smile. “I’m not half as insightful as Sirius or as gentle as Peter, I know that. Just like none of us are as wise as you are.” He explains. “I may not be able to understand as much as you or Lily do about what it means to be hurt so deeply by something. But that’s why she needs you, too.”
Remus looks on at James with wide guilty eyes. Because even now—James is making him feel better. That gnawing feeling begins to eat at his gut in shame for ever doubting his friend.
“Lily can have us both. It doesn’t make you or her weak for needing someone. Or for not doing things on your own. Remus—you already deal with so much and you’re still kind and clever and you’re bloody Head Boy. I know it’s hard to remember you’re more than what you become on full moons, but you are. Don’t doubt that. And don’t use Lily to make up for that, either.” He says the last part a bit more firmly than the rest, his protective instincts crawling into his words.
“Thank you, James. Really.” Remus says thickly, because what else can he say? He doesn’t deserve this. “I’m so sorry I ever doubted you. I was protecting and that really was unfair to you. All of us have seen the man you’re becoming and I’ve seen it especially with Lily. You’re different with her and I guess between that and my own insecurities. I spiraled and I’m so sorry.”
James swallows against the tightness of his throat. “You keep saying that—that I’m different with her.” He points out.
Remus nods, “because you are, mate. It’s like you seem to know exactly what she needs before she even needs it. Like you’ve become so in sync in such a short amount of time and even the last week alone—I’ve seen Lily smile more.”
“She—she told me, you know. About her parents.” He says quietly, as if that would explain everything Remus has seen.
His eyes widened at James’s confession, “she did?” And he doesn’t know why he should be so surprised but he is.
He nods slowly. “Yeah, she told me that she told you too. I dunno, ever since it’s like… I just have this urge to get her to be happier. Lighter. I mean, no one should ever have that kind of pain.”
“James, Lily—she didn’t tell me about her parents. I found out by accident. She didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Really?” He asks in disbelief.
“I was with her when she saw a Thestral and I had put it together.” James’s heartbreaks at the thought alone. “But she was adamant to keep it secret. The fact that she told you, willingly. She really seems to trust you.”
He bites his lip at the weight of the words. The way they make his heart skip and his ribs tighten with affection and care and something else he can’t quite place.
“Can I—” he clears his throat nervously, “can I tell you something a little mad?”
“‘Course.” Remus nods, leaning forward slightly, brows pulling together in anticipation.
James exhales sharply, running a hand through his already mussed-up hair. He doesn’t know how to articulate it. How to even begin to put into words the seemingly universal and intrinsical—prophetic—pull toward Lily.
He has tried to push the feeling down since the very first moment he saw her. But it’s like anytime he’s around her, even thinks of her—the feeling swells and rises tenfold. Bubbling over and threatening to burst any day now.
“I feel…” he begins unsure. Words don’t seem sufficient. He wishes he could rip open his chest and try to make Remus see what he feels. “Connected to her. Like—almost like she’s showing me that I’m,” We’re, “meant for something greater than all this. Greater than Quidditch or being an Auror. Then Hogwarts. Magic, even.” he pinches his temples and rubs them harshly. “It’s been driving me absolutely mad, I can’t understand it. It’s like—it’s like she’s leading me around on some sort of invisible string but she doesn’t even know she has the other end. I never even remember giving it to her in the first place. Like she’s always had it.”
Remus tilts his head, considering his words, and for a horrible long moment, James braces himself for laughter. Teasing, even. Maybe some sort of rational counterpoint.
“Is that—is that mad?” James asks, unable to take the silence after he feels like he just exposed the deepest parts of him to Remus.
Remus seems to consider it a beat longer before slowly, ever so slightly, he begins shaking his head. “No.” He says steady and certain. “Maybe I would’ve thought so a week ago but now… no.”
But it’s not enough for him. He needs reassurance, some sort of guidance through the tangled web Lily seems to be weaving, one he’s twisted and cocooned in and doesn’t wish to be free of. Terrifying and captivating all at once.
Remus, luckily, goes on, “I dunno how to explain it, mate. I’ve known you for years and I’ve never seen you like this, but you’re right sometimes it’s like more than that. Like I can feel the air get lighter, I guess.” He tries to explain, before giving up and shaking his head. “Maybe we’re both mad.” He chuckles.
James cracks a small smile as a laugh bubbles past his lips, tension bleeding from his taut shoulders. The words settle something deep within him—it’s not an answer, not even close, but acknowledgment he’s not completely barmy.
“Maybe.” James agrees, grinning despite himself.
Remus looks at him and beams, pink scars creasing into the divets around his mouth as he does. It melts into something smaller but no less affectionate.
“I really am sorry James.” He says again, sincerely and honestly.
James sighs and shakes his head. It hurt, sure, but Remus was his best friend. In what world would they not have worked it out? And not only did they talk through it, but Remus offered James parts of himself he kept hidden, letting him shoulder a bit more of that weight. And in turn, Remus saw James—the real James—for all he knows he is. For what he’s become.
“I forgive you, mate. I mean—I was always going to. You know that.” James says softly.
Remus nods. “I know, but I’ll prove it to you, James, will. I know words aren’t always enough, just—I’ll show you somehow.”
And he can tell that it means a lot to Remus and it means a lot to James, too. So he nods. “Thanks, Moony.” He says easily, though his leg bouncing and fidgeting hands betray him.
Now that Remus can breathe a little easier and feels a bit lighter, he just now notices how restless James seems. The way his fingers seem to be itching to reach behind him and his eyes keep flicking to the door.
Remus rolls his eyes affectionately and then smiles knowingly. “Just go to the library. She’s bound to be there.”
“I dunno what you mean.” James plays off.
Again, Remus just rolls his eyes and chuckles and James seems to lose all pretenses of keeping up appearances, because with a loud sigh, James snatches the parchment from behind him.
“Like I said, why are you bothering with that? Where else does Lily hangout?” Remus jokes.
He shakes his head, pulling his wand from his back pocket. “I like to be sure.” He defends weakly. “Y’know I still have some of a reputation to uphold. I can’t just go into the library for no good reason. People might get the wrong idea.” He explains with a smug smile.
“Says the guy who sleeps with Pride and Prejudice under his pillow.” Remus retorts.
James flushes and ignores him, tapping his wand onto the old parchment. “Aren’t you still supposed to be groveling?” He grunts.
Remus laughs and shakes his head. “It’s sweet really, I mean maybe a little—”
But Remus doesn’t finish, because across from him James goes stiff. The pink in his cheeks washed out as he becomes as white as a sheet. His eyes wide and frightened and he scans the map.
“James?” He asks tensely, instantly rising to his feet.
In two strides, he’s across the room and moving to glance over his shoulder as his friend’s hand shake and knuckles turn white around the parchment.
Remus sees it right away, his own breath catching at the sight.
Because Lily is not in the library.
She’s still and unmoving in the middle of a corridor.
And she’s not alone.
Lily walks the now-familiar path to the common room, scolding herself under her breath as she walks. She hadn’t meant to leave her studying, but she needed to grab a fresh well of ink from her dorm.
Quills and ink were one of the many things she was still adjusting to. Never did she think she’d miss the convenience of a simple pen as much as she does right now. A Muggle luxury she had taken for granted—one that would certainly stop her from the constant staining of her fingertips.
She reaches the fork in the corridor and hesitates, James’s voice echoing in her mind. “Always follow the unicorn tapestry,” he had told her.
She spots the shimmering silver thread woven into the fabric, easing a little as she traces the familiar path to the portrait hole.
She smiles at the thought of him—and not for the first time she wonders what her parents might have thought of him.
Her Mum would have loved him—would have fussed over him and called him handsome, and pointed out to Lily how tall he was. Lily would have flushed in embarrassment but also in affection. And she wouldn’t have disagreed. Her Dad would have been hesitant but he would have eventually come around. James would find a way in—as he seems to always do. They’d have bonded over sports, James would have eagerly explained Quidditch and her father would have listened intently and catch on much faster than Lily. In turn, her father would have introduced him to rugby. James would ask tons of questions, but her Dad would answer them with a quiet kind of amusement.
He’d have turned highlights on the telly and James would have marveled at the technology. Her Dad would have chuckled deeply before glancing at Lily and saying something like, he’s better than Vernon, at least. Which wasn’t exactly a difficult feat, but she would have understood what he really meant.
I like him.
She smiles sadly at the thought, swallowing the lump in her throat. Thinking of things she’ll know she can never have. Things that will always be some played-out, imaginative scenario in her head.
The way she thinks in things like would haves and could haves now still sting. The sadness is there, it never goes away. The grief threatens to swallow her whole, too, but beneath it all is a guiding light. Something light and twinkling.
That feeling has helped her start to maybe believe in things like the heavens, and her parents finding peace—even maybe they’re proud of her.
Sure, Hogwarts isn’t university, but she’d like to believe they’d be proud of her anyway. Of finding herself and trying to carve out her place in a world she may finally fit into.
Lost in her own little daze she doesn’t even register the patter or feet clicking down the corridor from behind her.
“You!” She hears someone call, “I have been looking for you.”
Lily flinches at the sudden voice, body tensing as she turns sharply on her heel.
Before her, is Professor Trelawney, looking just as unsettling as she had on Lily’s first day. She remembers the encounter well, it’s not something she’s been able to shake despite James’s assurances and Dumbledore’s insistence. She can still feel the unmistakable chill that had curled down her spine. The woman’s lingering words like a dark shadow in her mind, oppressive and cloying. Warnings of danger. Cries of anguish.
Lily forces herself to be still. Wills herself not to panic. It’s just a teacher. Just another professor.
“Me?” Lily’s voice cracks as she begins taking slow steps back, careful not to trip on the grooves of the uneven stone.
“Yes. Yes.” Her breath comes fast, she takes a large step closer to Lily, bony fingers reaching out.
And before Lily can react, the woman’s hands grasp her own.
Trelawney’s grip isn’t nearly as tight as the last time but nonetheless unsettling. It chills Lily to her very bones, sending an icy shudder through her. She watches the professor’s eyes through the thick round glasses, as they slowly become hazy and unclear.
“The stag,” she whispers hoarsely, almost painfully, “he has begun breathing life back into the forest.”
Lily tries to shake her grasp free, but is to no avail. “I don’t—I don’t understand.” She whispers trying to remain calm but the tremor in words betrays her.
She tries to tug her wrists back but long bony fingers curl around her pulse point and press down until Lily’s skin turns white.
“The way will be charted, under the guidance of the stars and the moon.” She begins. Then, suddenly, a singular tear trickles down her hollowed cheeks. “Be wary!” She cries, voice echoing and bouncing against the walls and arches of the castle. “The prey threatens to squeal. The thorns—tightening. The snake lies in the grass. The sapling may map the path but only if—” the woman stops with a sharp inhale of breath, as if it’s all left her body and she’s fighting for it back.
And the words were complete and utter nonsense. Indecipherable even by someone with Lily’s brain, but the intent was clear. The raw emotion and fear and terror coming from the other woman as her grip becomes ironclad.
“Wilting,” Trelawney says next, it starts a whisper, but then she keeps going and it just gets louder and louder. More pained. “Wilting. Wilting. Wilting…”
It becomes a chant. It almost feels like an oath. Something sacred and that cannot be undone. A fate sealed to Lily forever, for better or worse.
Unease begins to cloud Lily’s brain too. It feels like her ribs are shrinking and squeezing the confines of her chest painfully. Worry begins to curl in the pits of her stomach making her legs shake and her head foggy. She feels a little dizzy as she continues speaking, almost as if she’s under some sort of spell.
She begins seeing flashes play in front of her like flickering photographs. Blood on the carpet. The deep slashes in her parent’s chest. A man yelling. Someone crying—not her–someone younger. A child maybe. Dread and fear begins to consume her as her pulse quickens and pounds against the pads of Trelawney’s fingers. Each thump syncing with her desperate cries.
“Lily!” A familiar voice cuts through the tension, helping to ground her back to reality.
“Lil.”
A second voice—softer, steadier—breathes, closer this time. Warm hands settle gently on her shoulders, grounding her. A firm chest presses against her back, solid and familiar.
She turns, green eyes colliding with melted honey and molten amber, framed by familiar wiry glasses she’s come to know so well in such a short time.
James.
Despite the death grip on her hands, something in her core loosens at the sight of him. The world, though still off-kilter, becomes a little less suffocating. Her hurried gaze flicks past him, finding Remus. He’s already moving, voice low and steady, as he tries to calm Trelawney down.
She can hear Remus’s voice float over—soothing and gentle—her eyes stay on James.
She shakes her head, “I don’t know—I don’t—” She whispers frantically, breath hitching as panic claws at her throat.
“‘S alright Trouble. Breathe a little, yeah?” He whispers in that way that seems to melt her a little.
His hands slide down her arms, patient and gentle, as he carefully begins to pry Trelawney’s curled fingers away. They’ve loosened a bit under Remus’s coaxing and with a final nudge, Lily’s free.
The second the grip is gone, Lily feels her chest loosen as James gently guides her back and out of the woman’s reach. Just in case.
He’s watching her carefully, his brows knit with worry, but her eyes stay locked Remus, who is still murmuring to the professor in hushed whispers. She watches as clarity seems to return to Trelawney. Her hands still and her tears drying as she blinks at her surroundings. As though she’s waking from a dream she doesn’t remember slipping into. Just like before—that very first day—she doesn’t even seem to recall how she got here.
“Hey, you okay?” James sounds desperately from beside her.
They only become clear after a few beats of silence—it feels like she’s surfacing from underwater, shaking liquid from where it’s flooded her ears. The way he says it, low and insistent, tells her it’s not the first time he’s asked.
“I—” she begins, turning to face him, but the words get caught in her throat.
His eyes are so earnest, but there’s something somber and suddenly words fail her.
He can see some sort of struggle strike her as her eyes widen and he looks down to see her hands still trembling.
“You’re shaking.” He whispers, reaching both his hands to encase her smaller ones in his to steady them.
She exhales shakily, as her own hands instinctively curl into his, grasping at his warmth. The familiarity. His calloused hands and long fingers begin rubbing small, smoothing circles atop her knuckles. Little by little, the worry eating at her begins to chip away. Each absentminded pass of his fingers a silent promise: I’ve got you.
He looks as if he’s about to speak, but whatever he’s going to say doesn’t come out, because Remus walks over.
“She’s going back to her quarters,” he tells them, jerking his chin over his shoulder at Trelawney’s retreating figure. “You alright?” He asks next, concern evident in his tone as he looks to the auburn haired girl.
She forces herself to nod. “Yes, I’m—yes.” She says though neither James nor Remus seem to believe her.
She remembers her last interaction with Trelawney, her first day here. She remembers in the days after James’s unwavering comfort and insistence that Divination and Trewlawney specifically, is a load of rubbish.
And both boys have been exceptionally kind to her since, especially in the wake of telling them about her parents.
She didn’t want to put another thing on them or herself, for that matter. So over and over she reminds herself what James swore.
Nonsense.
Don’t believe it.
With a shaky breath, she speaks, “I’m fine. It was nonsense. That’s all.” Trying to convince herself more than them.
“Lily—” James starts unconvinced, guilt clawing deep within him. Worried he’s encouraged such a dismissive outlook.
“Really,” she pleads, voice barely above a whisper, “it’s okay.”
And James looks like he’s going to press her, but then Remus—ever perceptive—seems to get the hint, silencing his friend with a look.
“Let’s all just go back to the common room, yeah?” Remus suggests.
James again hesitates. He doesn’t want to just let this go, but then Lily speaks.
“That would be nice.”
And how can James deny her anything?
So, slowly the trio starts to the portrait hole. Remus keeps the conversation moving, effortless and casual in his ability to distract. James stays close—too close, maybe. Like he thinks she might disappear if he strays. His hand remains at the small of her back, warm, steady and reassuring.
She tries to let it anchor her. Tries to answer Remus’s questions about lessons with some semblance of enthusiasm or at the very least some indication she’s present.
But her mind is elsewhere.
Much like when Petunia called her an albatross, it just keeps playing, each time seeping something darker into her mind. But somehow, it feels worse than before, like an omen branded against her soul.
That word, it loops over and over, echoing in her skull like a curse she can’t unhear.
Wilting.
Our dearest James,
We haven’t heard from you in quite a while. How is your final year panning out? How are lessons? How is Quidditch? Your father is particularly eager for an update on Potions—so much so that I had to restrain him from writing to Horace himself.
While we seem to barely hear from you these days, Sirius, on the other hand, has been writing often and enthusiastically goings-on at Hogwarts. Particularly about you.
He tells us there is a girl.
A Muggle-born, brought to Hogwarts as a new student under the most unusual and mysterious circumstances. Your father and I have served on the board for many years and never once, since our own school days, has such a thing happened.
Sirius says you seem quite taken with her. That she’s clever and that she gets you to smile more. He even claims you seem to be trying harder in Potions just to impress her. Your father and I may need to thank the young lady personally for your good marks.
But, truly—what is she like? What do you like about her? Where is she from? How is she adjusting to being a witch? To Hogwarts? What’s your favorite thing about her—her beauty? Her brilliance? Her kindness?
I do hope you’re being kind to her, James. Not that I doubt it, you’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve, so proudly. But you know me, I’ll never pass up an opportunity to remind you to be a gentleman!
I can practically see you rolling your eyes as you read this and I have a sneaking suspicion you won’t answer at all, instead scolding Sirius for being a gossip. Just remember, son, Christmas holidays are not as far away as you think. If you don't answer now, you will then.
We love you so much, our darling boy. Study hard. Do your best. Be kind. And kick Ravenclaw arse this weekend (your father wrote that, not me).
Love you always,
Mum and Dad.
James lets the letter flutter onto his bed with a deep sigh, as he scrubs a hand down his face.
He loves his parents—he really does. And, he loves Sirius, too. But bloody fucking hell, would it kill him to keep his mouth shut for once? It’s bad enough he’s on the end of relentless teasing in his dorm but now he goes and tells his Mum?
And bless her, but she is so damn nosy. Always in his business. Always begging James to settle down soon with a nice girl, despite the fact he’s barely shy of nineteen.
His parents weren’t big into Pureblood society and customs. Not like the Blacks, the Mulcibers or Averys. They never put much stock in blood status or the rigid societal customs that came along with it. But one thing that had stuck with them, for some inexplicable reason, was the old-fashioned notion of courting and marrying young.
Not that they’d rushed into it themselves. They didn’t have a mass of children like other pureblood families. In fact, his mother didn’t have him until she was nearly fifty, choosing to focus on her and her father’s careers, a sentiment they always encouraged in James. However, his Mum particularly, never missed an opportunity to point out that having a partner to navigate such a thing with is what she calls a gift.
He stares back at the letter a little horrified at the thought of what exactly Sirius wrote to them and even worse—the idea of Lily ever seeing it.
He flushes hotly in both embarrassment and anger as he again, wants to know where the fuck Sirius and Peter have gone? He hasn’t seen them since the end of lessons today. Of course, he had headed to Quidditch, but he usually catches them back at the dorm when he pops in before heading to find (pretend to run into) Lily.
He suppose he’ll be able to sort Sirius out later.
For now, he folds the letter neatly and hides it under a chocolate frog in his bedside drawer. Next, he fumbles around for the old familiar parchment, tapping his wand with a quiet murmur as the ink bleeds to life.
He supposes Remus was right the other day—Lily is always in the library. But after finding her in the corridor with Trelawney, it’s like his protective instincts have flared tenfold.
She hasn’t even mentioned it.
Not once.
Not even in passing.
And that’s sort of the problem.
He was worried about her.
He had always dismissed Divination as rubbish, he had once encouraged her to drop it the first time it happened. And she trusted him and did just that. But this time, she was truly shaken but still didn’t broach the topic. And then—nothing. No mention of it. No passing comment. No indication she’d even been thinking about it but James just knows she has.
Remus told James to leave it, that Lily had enough going on and maybe she just simply didn’t have the mental space between her six NEWTs and stinging grief to decipher the words of some barmy charlatan.
But James couldn’t seem to just push it aside. To just write it off as nonsense like he’s done in the past.
It’s weird that it happened twice, right?
He tries to shake off the thoughts that have been haunting him for the past few days as he laces up his shoes and starts the now well practiced path to the library.
His feet carry him as he moves fluidly and weaves between the tall stacks of books. The smell of old pages and having to narrowly dodge floating books has become familiar to him as of late. Silently, he begins crafting a believable reason for being here—something other than just Lily.
Transfiguration homework—he decides, though he already borrowed Remus’s book days ago. Well, Lily doesn’t need to know that.
He swings a right toward the History of the Troll Wars section, heading for the small alcove he knows she favors. A deep feeling of familiarity aches and swells deep within him as he navigates his way through the rows of books. It sets something alight. Something warm blooms in his chest.
And there she is, just as he expected to find her. Tucked into her own quiet corner of the world. An array of books fanning around her. Her fingertips stained with ink and hair cascading around her face like waves rippling quietly across the lake at dawn—like some sort of ethereal halo.
Her ribbon, a soft blush pink, ties back some of her hair, making her even more striking. It reminds him of delicate pearls that belong to the sea. Of the color of her cheeks when he compliments her. The gentle curve of her lips.
He’s always thought she was lovely, her ribbons, too. A small touch that was so Lily—so wonderfully her. But last week, when he complimented the deep maroon silk threaded into her hair—saying it matched the changing leaves—she quietly admitted she wears them for her Mum.
That it was her mother who wove soft pastels and rich shades of ribbon into her hair, every morning before she headed off to school. And she continues to wear them today. Lily told him that she continues to do it for her. That they remind her and still feel like her Mother’s love.
And it’s her tenderness, her kindness and vulnerability. Just how feeling she is—it’s all part of what makes her even more beautiful in this eyes.
“Well, well,” he calls out playfully, “if it isn’t the most brilliant girl in all of Hogwarts, how is she tonight?”
She looks up at him, eyes softening and cheeks flushing that shade of pink. “You’ll have to let me know when you find her.”
And his first instinct is to politely scold and remind her that he was obviously speaking about her. But when he steps forward to do just that, something in her shifts.
He watches curiously as she hurriedly slams shut the book she was reading so intently just a moment ago. Her hands then scramble to arrange it to the middle of the pile, almost like she is trying to hide something.
And it was subtle, nondescript, but he noticed. He notices everything about her.
James just raises an eyebrow and plops in the chair across from her. “So, what are you up to?” He asks hoping to probe some information from her.
She can hear the hint of suspicion in his voice. She tries to school her expression into something calm. Casual. “Just the Transfiguration essay.”
Her hand vaguely gestures to the green Transfiguration book open somewhere on the table, hoping it’ll be enough to convince him.
“Ah,” he breathes, sounding a bit calmer as he relaxes back into the chair, long arms spread across the backs. “That’s just what brought me here.” He lies—like he told Remus days ago he does have some reputation to maintain, even with her. “I mean two cited sources? What am I, the bloody librarian?” He huffs.
Lily giggles behind her hand before shifting her eyes to scan the spines of books stacked between them. James watches her tongue poke ever so slightly past her lips as her fingers wiggle in the air as if searching for something. Suddenly, she moves her hand to dance along books, before pulling one out, toppling a few over with the movements.
“Here, this is the one I used. But I’m not telling you the chapter. I can’t do everything.” She teases smugly.
He fakes hurt, reaching forward for the book, “you drive a hard bargain, Evans.” He quips with a wink, leaning to grab at her book.
He moves to take it, but as soon as he lifts it up, he stops at what he finds beneath it—
Unfogging the Truth: A Beginners Guide to the Art of Divination.
“Lily—” he begins a bit tensely.
She flushes deeply but it's in shame—she snatches up the book and moves it away from him, as if it could undo what he saw.
“It’s not—it’s not a big deal, really.” She stammers uncomfortably.
“If it’s bothering you, it is.” He points out gently, soft but firm.
She sighs, dissolving like snowflakes under the morning sun at those kind, caring eyes. “I just.. I know you said it’s all nonsense but it just makes me feel so—so heavy. I can’t really explain it.” She lowers her voice, eyes staring to the side, almost like she’s embarrassed. “I just thought maybe, if I knew more about it, I’d be less afraid.” She shrugs like it’s nothing.
But it’s not.
Not for the first time since the second incident, has guilt begun to pool low in James’s gut. Like it was him who dismissed her feelings the first time and in turn taught her to do the same.
He shakes his head slowly, “I never meant to try and get you to feel a certain way, Lil. To think a certain way about it. I’m sorry if I have.” He says sincerely, biting his lip in worry.
Instantly, Lily shakes her own head, the motion so firm it almost dispels the doubt in his mind. “It’s not that—you didn’t.” She promises before pausing to glance back at the book. “It just is a little scary.”
His heart aches a little at her words. The way her gaze seems to be trained on the cover of the books and not at him. He watches her fingers deftly fidget with the edge of the worn pages.
He doesn’t say anything—not sure what to say. But it’s like Remus said to him when he apologized days ago, sometimes words aren’t enough. He has to show her.
“It’s silly, I know.” She dismisses smally, as if to downplay it.
“No, no—not at all.” He insists so firmly and so sure that she tilts her head to meet his unwavering gaze.
She opens her mouth to respond, but then he’s moving, cutting off anything she was about to say. He springs from his seat and circles around until he’s right beside her. He pulls out the wooden chair, scraping it loudly against the old mahogany floors.
He sits down, his warmth pressing into hers as he leans across her, arm brushing her shoulder as he grabs for the Divination book.
“That’s what she wants, Lily, for you to be afraid. For you to have to mull over this and torture yourself with it.” He begins, palms atop the book as he turns to meet her gaze.
“James—” she breathes uncertainly.
“But anyone could do it. And I don’t say it to make you feel a certain way or to think one thing. I’m going to show you.” He finishes, leaving no room for argument as he throws the cover open.
Lily doesn’t say anything, too intrigued by his sudden determination and wondering what he’ll do next.
James flips through things like star charts, section on astrology. Secrets in the Crystal Balls: Polishing the Glass for a Clear Future. and What Tea Leaves Say About You.
Then he finds it, spread across two pages, a large palm etched with colorful lines that seem to weave and diverge and intersect all at once. Each line has its own unique shade as it matches the small color-coordinated key printed to the side.
A Complete Guide to Palmistry, is bolded and centered at the top. Words like, Heart Line, Life Line and Fate Line jumping out at him as he scans over it a few times.
After a few moments he holds his hand out, palm up as he wiggles his fingers with a come here motion.
“Alright, Evans, put it here.” He tells her confidently.
She hesitates, “James, I don’t know…”
He smiles at her then, soft and easy. “C’mon, humor me a bit, love.”
And that word—love—settles something over her, like a gentle weight. Her resolve slips as she quietly lays her hand atop his in quiet surrender.
Her hand is smaller than his, skin soft and cool against his warmth. He curls his fingers around her without thought. He uses his other hand to trace his fingers delicately along all the grooves and divots etched into her skin. He moves slowly, as if memorizing every curve.
She shivers under his touch. So featherlight and gentle. But something is blazing in his wake. Like he’s setting a path of embers alight on her hand, blazing something into her skin, licking flames into her very bones.
He traces the curve from her thumb to her pointer finger. Eyes focused intently on the line as he briefly flicks to the book beneath them.
“Heart Line,” he tells her, “looks like you’re warm and affectionate, Trouble.” He winks up at her.
She flushes and bites the inside of her cheek as he returns to his work.
“Strong Sun Line, too,” he hums, continuing to glide his fingers atop her skin, “and here we—oh.” His words cut off abruptly, and eyes widen slightly, his focus narrowing on something. She watches the color drain his face.
Her heart skips a beat. “What? What is it?” She asks frantically, panic creeping into her voice.
James says nothing at first. Instead, he presses his fingertips gently against the skin beneath her thumb, gaze flicking between her hand and the book. His brows furrows and Lily leans in closer, hoping to see what he does.
“James.” She presses, worry thick in her tone.
“‘S nothing.” He mutters, but his voice is shaking. Briefly, he catches her panicked eyes and sighs in defeat. “Your life line, it just looks a bit shorter than the diagram, is all.” He tries to sound casual but his voice continues to falter.
She pulls the textbook closer, holding her own palm beside it as she identifies what he means and—oh—he’s right. Hers is half as short as the one drawn, probably less than that.
Panic flares within her as she begins thinking of her parents, whose lives were taken too soon. Of how death seems to always be stalking her quietly.
“It’s probably nothing, I told you it’s shite.” He tries to soothe her, but to no avail. “Maybe the proportions are off, I mean your hand is—”
“Let me see yours.” She blurts out.
“What?”
“Let me see yours. Please?” She pleads.
With a heavy sigh, he hesitantly turns his palm over. She wastes no time as she intently begins to inspect the lines of his hand, moving with quiet determination. Quickly, she identifies his Life Line, running the pad of her thumb over it in a few passes.
He melts a little under her touch but he can’t help but notice the same thing—his is pretty short, too. And maybe such a thing should raise alarm, make him slam the book shut and run from his problems. Never think about this again, even.
But it doesn’t, in fact, he’s pretty calm about it all, a stark contrast to Lily, whose eyes widen in terror at the sight.
“James, oh my god.” She breathes through her panic. “How are you so calm?” Her voice breaks.
He chuckles, “Like I said Lily, it’s all crap, but besides,” he uses his other hand to gently grab her wrist, turning it so her palm is face up and her knuckles lay against his open hand. “They’re the same length.” He points out steadily.
She furrows her brow, he says it like it’s a good thing. Briefly, she wonders if her getting close to him is why it’s so short. If she’s the albatross or a wilting flower after all—some terrible danger that’s now looming over him and threatening to take.
Her brow furrows. “So we’re both going to die young?” She whispers hoarsely, words tight with emotion.
“No, Lily,” he insists calmly, gaze unwavering, “you’ve only just found out you’re a witch. The world is cruel, but not cruel enough to take what you’ve missed out on so soon.” He smiles at her, a smile full of warmth and conviction. “You’ll run the Potions Association. Become the bloody Minister of Magic. I’m sure of it. You’re destined for greatness. No silly little line—not even the world would take that from you.”
Lily is speechless for a moment, breath catching in her throat. She looks into his eyes, heart swelling in a way she can’t name. His words cut through her doubt and touched something deep within her. The sincerity in his voice. The honesty in his golden eyes.
He’s so close and unwavering, she can feel his breath skate across her nose, something fresh and arm. A comforting lull against the pounding of her heart.
“You’ll live ‘til a hundred years old, probably more than that.” He smiles, looking down briefly at their matching lines. “Looks like we’ve got a long life ahead of us. The both of us, yeah?” He whispers.
She glances down at their hands. And everything else seems to fade. The worry. The doubt. The pain.
All she sees is how her hand seems to rest so perfectly in his own. She traces their palms, looking over his lifeline, then at her own. But it’s not just that—it’s all of them. Every single groove and score seems to perfectly mirror his own. Sun Line. Heart Line. Fate Line. Each one dances across her skin looking just like his.
He looks on too, seeming to notice just as she does. His larger palm begins to curl over her smaller one, fingers caressing the pulse pounding against her wrist before his finger moves to dance over her Line of Fate. Exact same length as his.
“Do you believe in fate?” He whispers hoarsely and quietly, voice dripping with something vulnerable. Raw, almost.
Lily’s heart stutters. It’s the same question she asked him the first night he taught her about the stars.
His lips are hot against her ear and suddenly it feels like he’s everywhere. Like he always has been.
She shivers, unbidden, as she considers the question. She knows, somewhere embedded deep in her chest, buried under her heart and guarded by the perfectly crafted walls she’s built brick by brick. The ones he’s expertly began to crumble and chip away at. Her answer hangs in the air, unspoken. The question is clear—this isn’t about fate, not completely, anyway—it’s about them. The strange and beautiful and now undeniable things unfolding between them.
“I—I don’t know.” She says honestly.
It’s all so confusing. When she sits beside him, her palm matching his own, skin pressed against his. Their souls dancing around one another in something that feels eternal and kismet—she feels like the answer is yes.
Unequivocally yes.
But then she thinks of everything that brought her to this moment. Of all the confusion, loss, grief—the blood that still stained the cracks of her childhood home. The pain burned into her for eternity, the very pain that broke her.
“I think about everything that happened. Everything that brought me here, to Hogwarts.” To you. The words don’t leave her lips, but she feels them all the same. “And I think that no one’s lives–especially my parents’—are worth all the magic in the world.” Her voice is wavering, quiet and shaking.
He squeezes her hand against his own, watches as her free hand swipes beneath her eyes.
“Because if fate is what took them away to give me this, then fate is cruel—and I don’t know if I want any part of that.” She confesses somberly. Voice raw and aching.
“Lil,” he breathes, his own voice thick and heart clenched as the hurt pulses between them.
She shakes her head, unwilling to let anymore tears fall tonight. “Do you? Believe in fate, I mean.”
She watches something flicker behind his eyes. She remembers the way he spoke to her that first night under the stars. How he traced Auriga into the sky, telling her all it represented. For someone so quick to scoff at Divination and prophecies, he had been just as quick to wonder if maybe there was something out there bigger than them, moving pieces they couldn’t see. Tying threads that will never break.
And before he met Lily—James would’ve said no. Without question or hesitation. He would’ve laughed at such a fantastical notion that things like the ways the stars align and that everything happens for a reason, has any stock in it. But now…
“I’m starting to think maybe things aren’t as black and white as I once thought.” He admits.
Slowly, he lifts his free hand, moving it to brush back a lock of auburn hair that falls in front of her face. Gently, he tucks it behind her ear and looks into her emerald eyes. They sparkle with unshed tears, but something else, too. He looks into them and thinks he could map the stars in them. Her eyes flutter shut at his touch and as she exhales through her nose. He leaves his fingers there, warm and gentle as they skate down the curve of her jaw.
“It’s hard to believe that everything happens for a reason—but maybe, I dunno, some things are just meant to be, you know?” He lets out a quiet chuckle. The sound causes Lily to blink up at him, long lashes fanning against her flushed cheeks.
She begins nodding softly beneath the pressure of his fingers along her skin. Turns her hand over to press it against his palm, lacing her fingers within his.
His hand dwarfs hers—more calloused and weathered from Quidditch. Lily’s are small and delicate, in the ways he is not.
And yet—they fit.
Perfectly, even.
“Maybe I’m starting to see that, too.” She whispers.
Her words are something secret, just for him.
All for him.
The moment passes, but it lingers between them for the rest of the evening. James stays there, pressed against her, a little too close, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She curls into him, letting his warmth settle around her like something familiar.
He flips absentmindedly the Divination book while she scribbles her Transfiguration essay against her parchment furiously.
Between the scratch of her quill, are the sounds of his laughs as he commends how ridiculous the book seems to get as he goes on.
Things like, what your favorite color says about you—hers is purple, “like the color of lilacs,” she tells him.
Which apparently makes her compassionate and kind, which he rebuttals smoothly, “he didn’t need a bloody book to tell him that.”
Then she blushes–and he thinks his favorite color might be pink. He glances at the book, sees some rubbish about falling in love and after that he slams it shut.
Instead, he shifts his focus to watching Lily work, tilting his head as he studies her like she’s the most interesting thing in the world. And fuck Quidditch—this easily becomes his new favorite pastime.
Eventually, she tells him he’s too distracting, which does nothing but absolutely feed his ego as he chuckles and helps her pack up her things before slinging her bag over his shoulder. A fight she’s long given up on.
He tells her to have sweet dreams and promises to see her in the morning. She flushes—again—and returns the sentiment in kind. There’s a brief moment she leans forward and James thinks she might hug him, even brush a fleeting kiss to his cheek, but she grabs the strap of her bag and skips away.
He drags out the walk to his dorm, looking down at his palms the entire time. His eyes trace the curve and the indents and he remembers how they matched Lily’s. He wonders if the book had anything about that—he supposes he’ll have to check.
It has to mean something right? Some sort of physical confirmation that this isn’t all in his head. That fate may not always be kind, but it is real and maybe—just maybe—it’s bringing them together.
The thought makes him feel boyish and giddy and definitely mad, but he smiles despite it as he reaches the familiar door to his dormitory.
Inside, he hears familiar voices floating behind the door. And it was undeniable Lily was a distraction—his favorite one, mind you—because he forgot how bloody pissed off he’d been at Sirius for writing to his parents.
When he steps inside, the scene surprises him a bit, Sirius is sitting rigidly at the end of his bed. Remus is turned toward the center of the room with a quiet kind of defeat. And Peter—someone who really values his downtime—is pacing the carpet and chewing at the end of his now nearly gone nails.
“It’s probably nothing.” Remus assures from across the room.
Peter shakes his head. “No you don’t understand, it was—”
“Prongs! We’ve been looking for you.” Sirius calls a little too stiffly as it halts both Peter’s words and movements.
“I was here earlier. You guys weren’t.” He explains. Next, he scrunches his brow, his annoyance replaced by a pit of concern, “what’s going on?” He asks tensely.
Both Remus and Sirius’s eyes flick to Peter.
“Peter, are you alright?” James asks nervously as the tension seems to pulse in the air.
Nervously, he expels a loud breath, “well, remember a while ago, when you were worried about Lily,” James feels himself go cold at the mention of her. A stark contrast to the usual warmth. “And we had promised if anything weird happened we’d let you know.”
James bites the inside of his check roughly, hoping the pain will ease his anxiety as he offers a monotonous nod.
“Well, you see, I was in Divination earlier.” Peter begins.
And James sighs sharply, he’s had enough bloody fucking Divination these past few weeks to last him several lifetimes. He resists the urge to roll his eyes and rip his hair out. Instead, he just signals for Peter to go on.
“Right, well we were doing an assignment that had to do with reading other people’s tea leaves. And Trelawney was giving a quick reminder on how to do it. And well, you know—they all mean different things, like a circle is progress or a line is change or oh! A duck is–”
“Peter. Focus, mate.” Sirius says firm, but gentle.
The blonde soon shakes himself from the nervous ramblings. “Sorry.” He blushes. “Anyway, well Trelawney, in hers she said she saw a wilting flower.”
And it’s that word—wilting—for whatever reason it seems to prickle at James’s nerves, something unsettling clouding his thoughts, as needles skitter down his spine.
More than that, though, it’s the way Peter is talking about the wilting flower, whatever it means. Like some sort of dark omen or curse.
“I don’t understand.” James says honestly, but his voice trembles.
He sees Peter gulp, “well a wilting flower, it represents death. Someone dying.”
Still unsure why it’s got Peter so tense, James presses on, “okay?”
“She said…” Peter begins before briefly stopping, as if willing himself to find strength.
He sighs, his clenched shut and fits curled at his side. When he speaks, his voice is trembling and broken. Like he’s afraid of what he has to say. His voice comes out sticky and hoarse.
“She said the flower was a lily.”
James jolts suddenly, instinctively his eyes flick back down to his hands. Eyes tracing the line on his palm—the same tauntingly short length as Lily’s.
He wonders if it was always meant to mean something.
Lily said fate was cruel.
James believed it surely couldn’t be this relentless. He promised her as much.
And yet.
He thinks of the invisible string he was sure had threaded them together. It suddenly feels tight, suffocating. Inescapable.
Dread pools deep within him, foreboding and awful. Briefly, he remembers when he silently decided, days ago, he never had a chance against fate when it came to Lily.
He had never meant it like this.