Come Alone

"Come alone."
The letter said.
And he had. God help him, James had slipped out without telling Remus or Sirius where he was going. He’d left a note, but they weren’t supposed to find it until the morning. If they did find it, James supposed, the evening would either have gone well or very, very badly.

He'd driven for about half an hour to the woods outside their old school, and then walked the rest of the way. The yew tree was where they’d always used to meet up. It was secluded, and the little hollow behind it had been perfect for picnics and secrets and nervously wandering hands. Nobody else had known about it, and the letter had said to come alone.
James steadily worked his way across the grounds, past the little chapel and into the woods. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. He was wearing his all-black camo gear. Each footstep was measured and careful. No breaking twigs or shuffled footsteps in piles of leaves were going to give him away. He was a professional.
Of course, so was she. He didn’t expect that she’d be waiting for him under the tree. She was probably watching him from a vantage point, waiting to see if he’d come alone. Of course he was coming alone. The letter had said to. How could he not?

The tree would be coming up somewhere on his right. James took a circular route and checked for unfamiliar sounds. He checked for silence, too, the early warning system of the woods. When there was a predator about the small animals would quieten. But there was shuffling in the trees and some small animal squeaked nearby. It sounded safe.

The yew's broad branches and twisted trunk came into view. It was big and sprawling and more than a little creepy. Yew trees always reminded him of death, apart from this one. This one had always been the beginning of things.
Was there someone under there? It looked like there was. Suddenly James’s fingers itched for his gun, and in compromise he unholstered his knife. The black handle fit his palm perfectly, the vicious blade caught the moonlight and gleamed. There was someone under the tree. Two lumps that had looked like roots were actually legs. Whoever it was didn’t seem to care that they were in no man’s land.
“Lily?” James asked. In the silence of the night, his voice was far louder than he’d intended. He was excited and it was knocking him off his game.
Under the tree, the legs withdrew to curl underneath the body, but there was no answer.
“Lil?” He asked, warily. Why wouldn’t she answer?

She didn’t answer because it wasn’t Lily, and whoever it was didn’t want James to realise until it was too late. And James realised that it was too late. The yew tree obscured his vision - not just in front but above, and the embrace of the branches came behind him now too. Too late, James heard the silence of the forest, and then the crack of a branch and a shuffle off to the side. He spun, raising the knife, and that was the last he saw.

A black hood was yanked roughly over his head and a hand clamped vaguely over his mouth and chin. Someone else wrestled the knife from him and began to put his hands in cuffs. James wondered if this is what had happened to Peter. He got in two nasty kicks, one behind at the knife thief and one in front. The hand over his mouth let go and he heard someone retch.
Good, he thought, and managed to get his hands up to the hood.
Click. Though the noises of the woods around him were muffled through the hood, there was no mistaking the sound of a gun being primed to fire. James waited for them to press it up against his head or his back. That would be something he could use. Even blindfolded he could easily turn and steal the gun from its owner. But the cold steel never pressed against his head. That was smart. This person was a professional.
“Hands down.” Said the voice. Feminine. Familiar, but not Lily. James’s heart broke a bit more.
There was movement around him, and someone caught his wrists and tied them together. When he tried to see how far he could move them, James could only manage a few centimetres each way. They’d looped the tie through his belt loop. How embarrassing.

They walked him through the woods for about five minutes. James recognised the pathways, knew when they’d stepped onto the dirt track that led between villages. They removed his boots once they stopped, and patted down his pockets, relieving him of his gun and two knives. On the second sweep over his body they found the third. It had been secreted into his belt, supposedly undetectable. That was bad news – it meant that they were professionals. But it was when he was bundled into a car that James really began to worry about his situation. Remus and Sirius were none the wiser about where he was, and James was a special ops agent, for gods sake. He’d covered his tracks. They wouldn’t even look for him. James couldn't help but to remember the first briefing room that he'd ever been in. Mounted above the chalkboard where everyone could see it there had been a plaque saying “an agent’s safety is their own responsibility”. Well. James had well and truly fucked that one up, hadn’t he?

The journey took about an hour. At the beginning James felt a couple of left turns and a right, and once they got onto a main road he knew they were heading north. They were travelling at quite a considerable speed, too, if the way James had been thrown against the back of the boot was any indication. That meant that there was money involved, way beyond the capability of the local rebels. Possibly even beyond James’s pocket, seeing as all of his money was tied up and he couldn’t use his ATM card. That wasn't what bothered James, though. 

What really concerned him was that all of this was done in silence. There was more than one person in the car, and the handover had been done without speaking. These were well practiced people who didn’t need to talk to each other. There were no amateurs on the team who needed verbal direction. James managed to free his hands and take off the hood but that didn’t sooth his panic. Usually there would be a tag to pull to open the boot or at the very least he should have been able to kick out a tail light. But he was in a metal box. There were air holes stamped through the top, as if he was a tiger in transportation. These were pros, then. If this was the other way around and he was driving with someone in the boot, he’d probably use a button to open it hands free. That way he could tase the occupant before they could even make a move. He’d have Sirius there with a gun trained on them, too. James wondered what was going to happen to him. If they were going to kill him straight away, surely they’d have done it already? But if they were after information it would be easier to transport and torture him somewhere they knew the lie of the land. And Sirius and Remus wouldn’t know anything about where he was.
James tried not to think about that.
Perhaps this was a Lestrange operation, he thought. High budget, and they trained their operatives within an inch of their lives. He gulped.

After a while of going top speed, the car turned left and then right, and then bumped along what felt like a country lane for about a mile. James heard gravel under its tires, and slowly the car stopped moving. This was when James and Sirius would usually have the most trouble. The boot’s occupant would be panicking and untrustworthy, and would take a little more effort than usual to subdue. James hoped that he wasn’t about to die.

The boot opened. He saw morning light but there wasn’t time to make note of the passing of time. He was pulled - not roughly - out of the car by someone who wasn’t surprised by his freed hands. He squinted against the sunlight, trying to see something that would help him, but it didn’t matter that he’d got his hood off. Every one of the five people around him were wearing black masks which covered their heads, hair, and necks. They were wearing bulky bulletproof vests too, just in case he’d had a gun that they’d missed. And they were all pointing weapons at him. The one in the middle, a person who was short and stocky and utterly sexless behind the mask and vest, jerked their gun sideways.
“Move,” they said. Their voice was feminine but one word gave nothing away. James got a good look at the mask instead. Judging by the thickness and the quality there could have been a voice changer built into it.  His heart, already broken and sinking, sank faster. There was a lot of money in this operation. The car was black and shiny and a probably a recent paint job. Its windows were tinted black. The plates were presumably fake, replaced every trip. Or at least that’s what James would do.

They had parked in the courtyard of what looked like an old farmhouse. On three sides there were red bricked buildings, and behind the car was a drive that disappeared into woodland. The trees were your standard woodland fare. Some oaks, some sycamores. A few beech trees towards the open air, straining to get their own share of the sunlight, to survive. But nothing that screamed location.
Under James’s feet the ground was compacted mud and gravel. It wasn’t red, so probably not coastal, but apart from that gave up no clues as to where they were. The situation seemed more hopeless by the minute. The person with the gun gestured impatiently towards an open door on the right-hand side of the horseshoe shaped buildings, and obediently, James walked where they wanted him to go.
Inside the farmhouse, the walls were whitewashed and traditional. James was steered down a corridor lined with identical locked wooden doors. The ceilings were low enough to hinder anyone over six foot, and the stone floors were covered in places by thick rugs. In any other situation it would have been cosy. Some rich Londoner had probably spent a fortune doing their own house up to look just like it. As it was, James could hear nothing behind each door – the kind of nothing that said there were people waiting for him to walk out of earshot before they resumed a conversation. He was in their headquarters then. There would probably be a war room around here somewhere, covered with pictures of Undesirables.

James was brought up short when the person in front of him stopped. They extended a hand to unlock a wooden door – with an actual brass key, by the looks of it. The door made a loud click and James watched the key disappear back into the person’s pocket. Then the door swung open, and James ducked his head as he was guided through.

It was dark inside. Two windows had been covered with thick velvety curtains, and if James strained his eyes he could see light coming underneath them. He stood for a second, wondering what was going to happen, and someone flicked the light on. Then the door closed behind him, and James was alone.
It was a proper farmhouse that had been acquisitioned for the war, James decided. The floorboards were thick and properly aligned, but covered in the kinds of scratches and scrapes that just couldn’t be faked. It was a small room, maybe a downstairs bedroom once, or a reception room. It had been gutted, and now two battered chairs sat on either side of a battered desk. On the wall hung a painting of a field covered in poppies. The skirting board around the room was clean, but towards the top of each wall the plaster seemed to be cracking, the paint flaking down onto the floor in little piles, like ash.
Why were they being so nice to him? James wondered. Deep down he knew it was because they hoped to change his allegiances. He was, after all, half of a proper British boy with proper British heritage, and the other half didn’t seem to matter because of his money. Never mind the fact that they’d killed his parents for being traitors, killed his friends for being mixed race or Irish or for standing up for the cause. They thought they could turn him. They were wrong.
He sat down at the desk. There was a wastepaper basket next to it, a utilatarian metal thing at odds with the wooden desk. It was big and old, the kind with two sides and no real indication of who should sit where. It looked expensive. Built for two occupants to work together in the last century, or maybe even the one before that. A strange choice if it was intended to intimidate, but an apt one if they meant for James to change his mind and work with them. Not that it would ever happen. If there was one thing James was good at, it was being stubborn. He swung his feet up onto the desktop and was gratified by the mud that fell off them. Maybe he’d grind it in when he had a moment, but instead he thought he deserved a kip before the shit hit the fan. James leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

Half an hour passed. James didn’t have a clock built into his head like Remus did, but he was pretty good at counting the hours. He woke up immediately, and could have looked up, but he didn’t want to give whoever it was the satisfaction. He heard an underling refer to the person coming in as ma’am.
Ma’am as in palm, not ma’am as in ham.
An interesting choice.
The royals always had it the other way – perhaps the Lestrange group were striking out on their own. Fabric shifted against a body. Quiet steps on the floorboards came close to his chair, as if they were looking down on him as he slept. If they were vindictive, they’d hit him now to wake him. But they didn’t. The footsteps went around the desk and whoever it was sat down. The sound of paper rustling, being put down. There was a polite cough, which really confused James. Where was the vitriol? Where were the random blows when he wasn’t expecting them? Why hadn’t they retied his hands? The woman coughed again and James deliberately snored very loudly. There was a laugh.
No. Not a laugh, the laugh. James’s eyes shot open, he sat bolt upright in his chair.
“Lily,” He breathed.
There she was, sitting across from him. She was utterly composed, looking at him steadily as he floundered.
“Potter.”
“You’re alive.” He breathed.
“I should hope so.” Every word was clipped, measured. James drank her in. Her red hair was tied back in a ponytail. She was in a black t-shirt, no jacket. On her left wrist she wore a watch. On her fingers she wore nothing. James curled his hands around each other in an attempt to hide his fourth finger on his left hand, but Lily’s eyes followed his every movement. She’d already seen that it was bare, then.
Unbidden he stood up. Lily’s gaze sharpened. Her gaze flicked sideways. There was a soldier standing in the door with her hand on an unholstered gun.
“Please sit down.” Lily said, evenly.
“Can’t I…” His voice cracked. Why wasn’t she smiling? Didn’t she care that he was there? That he was alive? “Can’t I hold you?” James yearned to reach out for her.
“Please sit down.” She said again, and James conceded.
Briefly, he let himself dream that this was a lie. Maybe they’d injected him with something? LSD or perhaps something tasteless and scentless and mind altering had been filtered into the boot while he’d lain there. She was on his mind every day, after all. All they’d need to do was put someone in a ginger wig and his mind would do the rest. But the rest of the building was fine. The floorboards weren’t moving, and her speech was clear. He didn’t feel sick or dizzy. James felt fine, and he'd never felt so sick in his life.

This was the very worst thing they could do, then. Somehow bring Lily into the fight against him. Why was she going along with this? There was no way – never, not even under threat of torture – that Lily would work for the Lestrange family or join their side.
“You got my note.” Lily said. James felt his face crumple.
“I got a note.” He couldn’t believe that they’d tricked him. The handwriting had been perfect. “I don’t think it was from you.”
“Why not?”
“Lily would never have joined the Lestranges.” James said. “You – the real you – she’d rather have died. We lost too many friends for that kind of betrayal.”
A frown creased the lookalike’s forehead.
“A betrayal?”
“How did you even join this cause?” James shook his head. “I doubt the purists have given up on their values that easily.”
“Me?” Lily sounded outraged. “You’re the purist.”
James shoved his chair back with a screech that made his hair stand on end. “Get fucked.” He spat. “I would never.”
“Why not?” Lily retorted. “What makes you so special?”
James didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about and he told her so, really leaning in to the foul language. They'd never fought like that before. He'd never used that kind of language in front of her, or if he had he'd have apologised straight away. Now James shouted at her until he'd exhausted himself, like a child throwing a tantrum. 

That was when she told him about Peter. She opened the manilla file before her and showed him in no uncertain terms just how he’d been betrayed. There were pictures of Peter at the bank, pictures showing him with Snape and Mulciber and even someone who might have been Riddle, although the photograph was blurry. Initially James didn’t believe it. He flat out denied it – Peter had been kidnapped, all that was left was his finger. Lily pulled out more pictures then, more recent ones with Peter sporting a bandage over his hand and a small, tight grin.
“We’ve frozen all of the money that we could,” Lily was saying. “Your assets won’t be helping the Lestranges anymore, I’m afraid.”
James’s mouth fell open. “My assets?”
Lily showed him spreadsheets and receipts documenting the money that Peter had moved around, switching banks here and there, dropping zeroes left and right until he’d frittered it into several different accounts across the globe. It was clear, damning, evidence. James wasn't in the company of purists trying to make him one of their own, he was with the resistance who thought that he'd defected. That was worse. That was so much worse. James wouldn't be dying with blood in his teeth and a grim outlook, he'd be dying begging for people to believe his side of an unlikely story. His forehead was sweaty and cold. He felt like he’d been eating ice cubes. James's stomach roiled, and after a panicked look towards Lily, he darted towards a wastepaper bin and vomited into it. 
“You’ve got to believe me,” He gasped between retches. “I didn’t know anything about it.”
“Who gave Pettigrew permission to manage your accounts, then?”
“Obviously I did.” James said into the bin. “But it was safer that way. After my parents died I was the next target. I could hardly go to the bank.”
“Hmm.” Said Lily. Behind him he heard her footsteps and he hoped for one futile moment that she would come over to him and see if he was alright. But the door opened, and by the time he choked for her to wait, he was alone again.

They’d had the ceremony on the 25th of June. The safe house had had a small beach and they’d all run into the waves afterwards. James and Lily’s first married kiss had been on the beach, and the second had been salty and windswept. That was nearly ten months ago. James had dreamed of taking her on a honeymoon – perhaps to India to meet some more family, or Iceland to see the beauty of the landscape, or Prague so that Lily could see her first real Van Gogh paintings. He’d never dreamed of this.

A few minutes later the door opened again. James had not returned to the chair. Instead he was sitting as far away from the entrance as possible, leaning against the clean skirting board and watching the paint peel above him. He hadn’t been thinking of anything. He couldn’t.
A short woman with close cropped hair was first in, followed by a Black man holding a cloth bag and a glass of water, both of which he put on the desk. Last was Lily. Now that she wasn’t behind the desk James could see that she was wearing army fatigues on her legs, capped with big black boots. Months ago James would have made a comment about what a man has to do to get court marshalled around here, but he got the distinct impression that it wouldn’t go down well. The shorter woman made a beeline for the bin. She made a face when she saw the sick but picked it up anyway, and carried it out of the open door. It was Lily who closed it behind her.
“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” James’s throat caught and he coughed. Lily put the glass of water on the floor, within reaching distance, and then retreated to the desk. The Black man looked down at him.
“If you could stand up it would be very helpful.” He said to James. For a second he worried that they’d torture him in front of Lily, but then…
“Kingsley.” James said. “Shacklebolt. You were a couple of years above me.”
Shacklebolt inclined his head. “Would that we could meet under different circumstances.”
“You’re not going to torture me, are you Shacklebolt?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not the type.”
With that matter put to bed, James stood warily. “What’s in the bag?”
“Clothes.”
“We need to check you for identifying marks.” Said Lily.
It sounded as if she was speaking through gritted teeth, not enjoying James’s camaraderie with her fellow soldier. Identifying marks? Not likely. They were looking for tattoos. James stripped off his jumper and his t-shirt, not looking anywhere but directly at Lily. She didn’t seem affected by him the way he was by her, but that had always been the way, hadn’t it. She’d fought against his affection at every turn, only submitting to it once he’d utterly exhausted his efforts. James lifted his arms and did a slow turn under Shacklebolt’s scrutiny. He heard an intake of breath, but didn’t let himself think about Lily. She was untouchable now, behind some wall. Maybe she'd been brainwashed. 
“You’ve got some scars.” Noted Shacklebolt when James had his back to him. It was true. James’s once unblemished skin had now picked up an exit wound in his chest and it’s matching partner in his shoulder. There was a stab wound on his hip partially concealed by healed road rash from a nasty crash from which he and Sirius had barely escaped with their lives. James finished his revolution.
“Trousers.” Shacklebolt gestured at his legs, and James peeled off his socks for good measure. Standing there in his pants, Lily finally began to take notice of him.
“No tattoos.” Shacklebolt said.
“We’ll see about that.” Lily said, and her voice shook.

They sent him left down the corridor, under orders to shower with Shacklebolt as his minder. James didn’t even mind. The water was hot, there was a loofah and plenty of soap. Kingsley didn’t look away while James was scrubbing his junk, but at least he looked like he felt bad about it. Afterwards, when James was wrapping himself in a fuzzy towel, Shacklebolt stuck his head out of the bathroom door.
“He’s clean!” James heard him shout. Whoever he was shouting to didn’t shout back, but James hoped Lily heard. The clothes they had for him would’ve been James’s size six months ago, but they hung big on him. After half a year of splitting rations with Sirius and Remus and hunting rabbits for protein, James was almost all lean muscle.
Kingsley was called away and a freckly soldier barely out of school returned him to his room. The desk was still there, now with a tray of potatoes and some kind of meat stew. They’d added a camping bed, too. It was light but strong, and when James tried to bend one of the bars that made up its structural support, he found that he couldn’t. They hadn’t bolted it down. They clearly thought he might be trouble, but not a threat. James was usually good at solving puzzles, but this was too difficult even for him. They’d brought him in thinking him a traitor of the worst kind, funding the purist cause, but they hadn’t hurt him. They’d checked his body for tattoos and found none. They’d given him new clothes and a good dinner but locked him back in his room. What was that supposed to mean?
James intended to find out.

The freckly soldier brought him dinner that evening and breakfast the following day. Both times the plastic tableware that they’d given him bent and broke within five minutes, but the food was tasty at least. Eggs and toast for breakfast, which James ate blearily. His bed, while comfy, did little to keep warm, and the blanket that they’d given him seemed to be more of a placeholder than something that would provide him with comfort.
They didn’t seem to care that he hadn’t slept well. Between breakfast and lunch, and lunch and dinner, they’d grilled him. James had told them only the truth – Peter had disappeared eight months ago on a routine walk along the safe house boundaries. James, Sirius, and Remus had been waiting for instructions ever since, but it seemed that the chain of command above them had all but dissolved. Dead-drops were never collected. Promises of rations didn’t materialise, and then the promises stopped altogether. Even the number for their bimonthly check-in call had been disconnected. He told them all of this hoping that Lily would materialise in some sort of karmic reward for his good behaviour, but she never did. Even when he swallowed his pride and asked Kingsley if she was there, if she would come, the man shook his head with kind eyes.
“Best not to think about it, Potter.” He said.
But it was impossible not to.
James went over and over it in his head. The questions she had asked him. The way she had looked. The insistence that Kingsley stay with him when he was showering to keep an eye out for tattoos. They’d even looked under his tongue and inside his lips, just in case he’d turned into one of those emo kids with a mouth tattoo. James didn’t understand it. Did she want him to be a purist? Why wouldn't she just look at him?
James had been trying to gather information too, but it was much harder for him. Nobody was lining up to answer his questions. Instead he had to glean it where he could, ask mischievous questions and hope that he got more than an eyeroll. But the only thing he’d got so far was the freckly kid heaving a wistful sigh when James mentioned surfing, and that only confirmed what he already knew – they were a long way from the sea.
He thought about how Lily had looked, too. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail but it looked long, far longer than it had been in years. Maybe no hairdressers around, James thought, but more likely that she just didn’t want to cut it. So Lily was either high up in the organisation, or none of these people cared about the way their soldiers looked, as long as they were good at their job. Hopefully both.

With the lunch they’d given him proper metal cutlery. James took the fork and snapped a tine off, hoping that he could make his escape before they noticed the broken cutlery. But when he went to pick the lock of the door, it swung open. Was it possible that it was a mistake? Surely the freckly soldier had left him unguarded and the door unlocked on purpose? Maybe it was some kind of test.
James sat on the bed and thought for a few minutes. It seemed too good to be true, but there was always that possibility that the soldier really was as inexperienced as he looked. Besides that, if they came by now and found him waiting with the door open, they weren’t going to reward him for good behaviour. They would lock the door and make sure it would never happen again. Whereas if he went wandering and got caught… at least he could claim curiosity.
James slid off the bed and left his room. The corridor was as dark as it had been in the morning, but this time he could hear the sound of conversations, words murmured behind the wooden doors. James walked along silently, listening for something familiar, something like home. Something like Lily. At last, he found it, but it wasn’t what he wanted. Instead of her breathless laughter or the sound of her singing, he heard sobs. Horrible, awful, wracking sobs.
Without thinking he pushed the door and it swung open. Inside the room was similar to his in size only. A rug lay on the floor, the bed had a thick blanket and pillows, and mounted on the wall where a television could have been was a huge corkboard. It took up more space than it should have done. The window was partially obscured, and James noted through habit rather than interest that it was a nice view of a nice day, and the roses outside were all about to bloom. He also noticed that the corkboard was covered in documents and string and mugshots, some of which James recognised. Remus, Sirius and he stared out of the wall. Peter was next to them, and next to him were the faces of all those that Lily suspected were his peers – Mulciber, Yaxley, Avery.
But James wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at Lily, who had been doubled over on her chair, heaving with those awful tears. As she began to look up, another face appeared at the door. James knew that he should recognise this woman. She had familiar features, and she seemed to recognise – even expect – him. Testament to her training, no surprise showed on her grumpy face. Instead, she pushed the door closed. The last thing James saw was Lily’s face.
He turned and fled back to his room. It did not surprise him when he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock not long after.

Shacklebolt was the one to bring him dinner, and the one to let him out to use the bathroom. By that point James had also had to relieve himself in the bin which had been mercifully emptied by the short woman the day before. This time he brought it with him. No point making enemies with the soldiers.
“So you went for a wander?” Kingsley was saying. James nodded.
“I was curious. And the door was open.”
“Not that it stopped you from vandalising one of our forks.” James blushed. Having Kingsley around was weird – a bit like hanging out with the older brother of a friend – and when he admonished James, however gently, it made him feel guilty.
“I hope the kid didn’t get in trouble.” James said. That wasn’t true. He didn’t care about the kid at all, but he was wondering about the structure of this organisation and trying to seem a sympathetic character. Being all friendly about the freckle-faced incompetent soldier from yesterday would be a two birds, one stone kind of situation.
“Not really.” Said Shacklebolt. “He won’t be guarding any more prisoners for a while, but he misunderstood an instruction. We were going to leave your door unlocked today, not yesterday.”
James’s ears pricked up. “Is that so?”
“We’ve looked at the evidence and compared it to what you said yesterday and the day before. You don’t have tattoos that identify you as the enemy. Your family have a long history of supporting our cause. There’s a strong chance that you’re telling the truth.”
“I am telling the truth,” James said firmly. And then – “My family supported a lot of causes. You’re clearly not a school after a scholarship or planning a mufti-day marathon, so can I assume that you’re the resistance?”
“You know what they say about making assumptions, James.” Kingsley said, albeit with a twinkle in his eye. It also didn’t escape James’s attention that he’d called him by his first name. It was progress.
“Is Lily alright?” James asked suddenly. He hadn’t known he was going to say anything, but the thought of her in that room with the miserable faced short woman made his heart ache inside his chest.
“I can’t talk about that.” Admonished Kingsley. “But she’ll be away for a few days. Stop asking.”
“Stop asking?” Spluttered James. “Not bloody likely. She’s my – ” Here he cut himself off. “She was my girlfriend. For a long time.”
Kingsley heaved a sigh. “I know.” He said gently. “But that won’t help anything.”

The few days that Lily was supposed to be away turned into two weeks. They gave James a proper blanket for the bed and let him eat in the mess hall with the soldiers, albeit at a different table, under someone’s watchful eye. It didn’t matter that they’d given him some creature comforts. It was still rough. Sirius and Remus would be tearing their hair out about his disappearance, no matter the jaunty note he'd left for them. Why hadn't he taken it all seriously? And then there was the matter of Lily. James got it now. He understood why she had taken all of these precautions. In each round of questioning they'd focused on another thing that had made him look guilty. Holidays that he'd taken before the fighting had started, to areas which ended up populated with Lestrange's supporters. They were also areas which all of the rich purists went to, James had protested. The whereabouts of Peter Pettigrew. James had explained that he hadn't known Peter's whereabouts for the best part of a year, that he and his friends had found his finger and thought that the worst thing Peter could be was dead, not an informant. Never a traitor. James still felt his stomach turn when he thought about that, but this time managed not to be sick. The money. Yes, the money would have been tricky to explain if James had been pictured at the cash points, but he pointed out quite reasonably that he hadn't been. The pictures of James, shaking hands with Riddle, of all people. It was a good fake, James granted, but fake nonetheless. It was the only thing he couldn't prove he hadn't done, and the least likely of all of them. It didn't matter that they'd seemed to absolve him of each crime after they questioned him about it - each new topic had James tossing and turning through his sleepless nights. How could Lily have welcomed him with open arms when she'd suspected him of all of that? How could she ever trust him again? All of James’s bad habits crept back in. He started to bite his nails, tossed and turned when he was supposed to be sleeping, and eventually cracked and asked the freckled boy for a cigarette. The soldier – Higgs was his name, and it turned out he was only a couple of years younger than James – eyed him suspiciously, as if James was setting a trap.
“I’ll see what I can do,” He said, and led James back to his room. It was a short while later that there was a knock. All of the soldiers had taken to knocking, although it meant very little. If James did not respond they came in anyway. But it was nice to have the pretence.
“Come in!” He called, expecting Higgs with bad news or Kingsley with a wagging finger and lecture on lung health, but it was the short woman from Lily’s room. This time James recognised her.
“Mary.” He said.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Took you long enough.”
“You changed your hair.” James retorted. She’d grown out her fringe and stopped wearing glasses. She’d also lost weight, started wearing coloured contacts, and taken to dressing in all black. It was no wonder that James had struggled to reconcile the student he’d last seen two years ago with this woman.
“Amongst other things.” She said. “I hear you’re after a vice?” She drew a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket and knocked it. Two cigarettes jumped halfway out.
“I didn’t know you smoked.” James said.
“I don’t. Not really. I’m on one a week. Sometimes I stretch it out to two.”
James nodded. Cigarettes were too expensive for any kind of daily consumption, and rarer than gold now. If there was one thing the Lestranges had got right, it was cutting down on tobacco sales, but James would rather smoke until his lungs turned black than admit it.
Mary jerked her head. It was reminiscent of the way she’d jerked the gun at him when he’d first arrived at the farmhouse.
“Come on then.”

They went down the corridor and out of the door into the sunlight. James had seen more of the farmhouse in the last week than he’d expected to. Every morning and afternoon he joined Kingsley on his training run, a two-mile circular route that hugged the borders of the farm’s land. They would run it twice with some soldiers, and James frequently saw other soldiers in the fields and the woods. Just that morning James had seen an unfamiliar woman with pink hair being noisily sick down an oak tree. Pink hair. James would have recognised her if he’d seen her before, but she was entirely new to him. How many hidden buildings were there on the farmland? He still hadn’t seen everyone who lived at the base in one place. It could have been anywhere between twenty and one hundred, possibly even more. James hoped for more. The resistance needed all the help they could get. He and Mary stood at the farmhouse wall, looking out over the fields glowing with golden corn. They smoked in silence. The cigarette was fine. Nasty. James remembered why he’d stopped smoking but he puffed along anyway.
Mary spoke first, but she was in the position of power. James hardly counted it as a win. “So you’re part of the resistance.”
“I am.”
“You understand why we had to keep you here?”
“I do.”
“You understand why Lily had to ask you all of those questions.”
James hesitated. “I – I understood then. I don’t understand why she’s gone away now. I don’t understand why she won’t talk to me.”
“Mad-Eye runs a tight ship. It’s not about you.” Mary said, and closed her mouth again. God, it was like pulling teeth.
“Who the hell is Mad-Eye?” Mary looked guilty, and looked behind her before answering. “He’s the one in charge. His real name’s Moody but he’s got a false eye.” She tapped her left cheek. At any other stage of his life, James would have been fascinated by stories of this weird soldier with the fake eye, but all he could do was think of Lily and force himself to nod along. “It’s this weird blue colour. And he’s got a false leg, scars all over his body. He’s truly been through the wars. Anyway.” Mary became business-like again. “I don’t think he minds it. Whenever a Private slips up in front of him they only get the Mess Hall, which he saves for punishing people for stuff he thinks is fine. But don’t tell anyone I called him that, ok? I have to look professional.” 
“Have I done something wrong?” James blurted.
“No.” Mary tipped her head up and closed her eyes. The sun shone on her face and for a second she looked quite pretty. “You must understand. Pettigrew didn’t just steal your money, he laid tracks for us to follow. Almost always untraceable, but once we found some strings to pull, you looked very guilty. From what we could tell you’d been syphoning off to the Lestrange cause for years. Your signature was on some of the paperwork. Black and Lupin, too, although it was harder to believe that Lupin had anything to do with it.”
“And if anyone had thought Lily’d known, they’d have fired her.”
Mary’s response was sharp and immediate, like a knife through the ribs. “Killed her. This isn’t Dad’s army, James. We’re trying to save people here. If anyone had even suspected that you were involved with the purists and Lily had known, they’d have buried you both in the woods out back.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder.
“Why me?” James groaned. It wasn’t a question for Mary, it was a question for the universe. Mary dropped her cigarette, ground it under her black boot heel and lit a new one. She offered James the pack. He took another.
“You were a golden boy. Went to a few purist parties when you were younger – much younger,” She granted, seeing James open his mouth to protest. “They could have got to you after your parents died. For all we knew, you could been responsible. We had to check.”
“Is that where Lily is? Checking?”
Mary shook her head and tutted, as if James was a slow child. “We’ve finished looking into you already.”
“So I can go?” The thought hadn’t occurred to James before. He’d settled in quite nicely, even enjoyed having group meals in the canteen. It hadn’t been on his mind that he could just get up and leave.
“Where?” Asked Mary. “Back to your base? Back to eating rabbit salad every day?”
James shrugged. “It’s nice to have a choice.”
“None of us have a choice anymore, James.” Mary had been a bit of a joker back in the day. She’d chortled with the rest of the class over the Marauder’s better pranks and even pulled some of her own. Now she sounded serious.
James exhaled smoke that seemed to mingle with the black clouds on the horizon.
“Looks like rain.” He said, just for something to say. In the distance by the far end of the field, a convoy of Land Rovers and farm equipment started up the track to the farmhouse.
Mary watched them impassively. “It’ll be good for the crops.” She said. “And we can get away with having more activity on the farm.”
James was once again struck by the nonchalance of her tone. Was it put on, or had she always been this practical? Either way, she was a born soldier. Mary gave nothing away unless she wanted to, and James thought that she’d probably learned more from him through this conversation than he had from her. It was strange. He’d never been good at this spy vs spy business. That was for Sirius, and sometimes Remus when they needed someone brilliant but unassuming. James had usually been the burglar, someone who posted himself through a window after dark and downloaded all of the useful information he could find.
“Who’s that?” He asked, gesturing at the approaching convoy with the stub of his cigarette. James could see now that there was a pair of black cars nestled in the middle. He wondered if there were people in them.
“That’ll probably be Lily.” That time the nonchalance was definitely faked. James looked at Mary and saw her wearing a grin that stretched from ear to ear. James felt electrified. He didn’t know if he should go back to his room or stay out. Would she want to see him? He wanted to see her. He wanted to see her even if it was for more passive stares and monosyllabic answers. The cars entered the wood that surrounded the entrance of the farm. She would be back any moment. James’s feet were rooted to the floor.
“It’s ok, Loverboy.” Mary said, still smiling. “Give her two minutes.”
But James didn’t want to give her two minutes, he wanted to go now, and his longing showed clearly on his face.
Mary rolled her eyes. “Or we could go now. Jesus.” She looked longingly at the remainder of her cigarette and stubbed it out, and then went with James to the courtyard. Higgs was pulling the gate open. It swung wide and he bolted it down, and then straightened up into a salute. James felt a bizarre burst of pride for Lily and all of the deference that Higgs was showing her.

The first in was a big Land Rover, driven by someone wearing a flat cap pulled low over his face. The second was driven by Kingsley, the third and fourth were the mysterious dark cars with tinted windows. The two black cars parked in the middle of the courtyard. James got the impression that they were the main event. The last two were another Land Rover and a tractor, moving surprisingly speedily. People poured out of the vehicles wearing the all black mask and Kevlar get-up, and James got a strange sense of déjà vu. This was exactly what had happened to him, but from an alternate perspective. Intrigued, he perched on the low brick wall next to the gate and watched.
The boot opened, and someone launched themselves out. James caught only the end of what he was saying. The rest had been swallowed up in loud swearing. “- if you’ve hurt him, I swear!”
He was sandy haired and lanky, and despite the fact that he was somehow thinner than he had been two weeks previously, James would have recognised him anywhere. Remus Lupin brought his centre of gravity down low, arms out warily as if he was surrounded by dangerous animals.
“Come on, then!” He shouted, sounding for all the world like a hooligan starting trouble somewhere.
“Remus!” There was Lily, stepping around the back of the black car. “It’s alright. There’s no need. I promise.”
James watched as Remus faltered and stammered as he adjusted to the new situation. “Lily?” He asked, eyes still wild. “Where’s Sirius?”
“He should be just a minute.” Lily said dryly, and then the other boot was opened. Sirius also launched himself out. Like a superspy from an action movie, he rolled across the gravel, flicking his arm out.
Someone shrieked.
“Sirius!” Lily yelled. “Sirius, stop!”
And he did stop, just in time to watch yet another soldier – seriously, how many were there? – fall to the ground clutching their leg. Out of their calf protruded a small knife. There was a hush. Sirius picked himself up, stood next to Lupin. They both looked prepared to fight to the death, but their eyes were on Lily. Lily’s eyes were on James.
“It’s alright.” She said again, patting the air down with her hands in the universal body language for everybody please calm down.
But Sirius pulled another knife from somewhere, and seized the soldier who was lying on the ground. He pulled them – their cap fell off – and James did recognise her after all. It was the pink-haired woman from the woods.
“Did you forget to search him?” She shouted, managing to sound indignant and sarcastic even while Sirius dragged her towards him.
“I will slit her throat!” Sirius shouted, his voice hoarse and dangerous. Lily had gone very still. Her eyes darted between James and his friends, as if she was trying to say something.

“Stop!” James shouted. “Padfoot, stop.”
His mate jolted and swung his head around, looking for him. James slid off the wall and approached with his hands up.
“It’s me.” He said, and waited for Sirius to relax. While he didn’t drop the knife, he did let go of the pink-haired woman and stood up.
“Where the fuck have you been?” He demanded, and before James had the opportunity to speak, Sirius had travelled the meters between him and pulled him into a tight hug. To anyone else watching, James and Sirius were embracing like brothers. But within earshot, they would have been able to hear frantic call-and-response questions.
“Are you alright?”
“Peaches and cream. I even get lie-ins.” Any other response would have been unacceptable, and Sirius would have been back on high alert.
“Are we in danger?” He asked. He was so close that James could smell his shampoo.
“Showers only, no sunshine.” That meant no exposure. That they were safe.
“Really, James? Are you sure?”
“We’re groovy, Padfoot. I’m sure. I promise.” Sirius stopped talking then, and hugged James properly.
Another pair of arms joined, and James saw Remus’s gaunt and lined face.
“All good?” He asked.
“Peaches and cream.” James repeated. “I even get lie-ins.”
“Any danger?”
“Showers only, mate. No sunshine. We’re groovy, Moony. I promise.”
A shadow passed across Lupin’s face, and he slumped. His forehead rested against Sirius’s shoulder.
“You had us worried, mate.” He said. “Leaving us that fucking note?”
James cringed. “I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to find it. I was never supposed to be gone for so long.”
Remus scoffed and Sirius rolled his eyes.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” he said, and stepped back with his hands in the air, dropping the knife.
Remus and James watched as the soldiers gave him a thorough pat-down, despite Sirius’s indignation.
“I gave you all my weapons!” He protested. The pink-haired woman scowled as she was loaded onto a stretcher and taken off to the medical bay.

“Where did you do your training, Disneyland?” The pink-haired woman was called Tonks, and she had hobbled into the mess hall a few minutes after James, Sirius, and Remus had been shepherded in. They were being overseen by Mad-Eye Moody, who really did look the way Mary had said. When they'd walked in with him behind them the benches had scraped back as everyone stood deferentially. There was no other security detail on them, which told James that again, Mary had been telling the truth. This Mad-Eye was a big deal.
Pink-haired Tonks was currently complaining at the soldier who’d overseen clearing Sirius for weapons, something that apparently should have been easy given that they’d surprised him in the shower. But in the trousers that Sirius had demanded he be allowed to put on he’d had three knives stashed, and they’d only found one.
It was the worst pat-down I’ve ever had, Sirius had said. Scooby-Doo could have done better, even if he was a non-sentient Great Dane. James had missed his sense of humour. He’d also missed the fond exasperation that so often coloured Remus’s smile.
“Shut up, Tonks.” Said the man grumpily, through a mouthful of mashed potato.
“Or what?” Tonks demanded, slamming down her fork. “Will you stab me in the leg and hold a knife to my throat?” She stamped her hand on the man’s plate. Mashed potato and gravy shot up his uniform and splattered on his face. He stood, furious, and Moody stood too.
“Sit down, Purkiss.” It was the kind of voice you’d use to command a dog. The man did indeed sit down, with his tail between his legs, and wiped his face with his sleeve.
“You’ll be redoing your weapons search training.” Said Moody.
“And Tonks, you’ll be on mess duty for a week. Don’t disrespect the uniform.”
Purkiss went a shade of puce but said nothing. Tonks muttered venomously under her breath. James looked back to Sirius and Remus, who were watching the display.
“This place looks fun.” Remus said wryly. “You two will fit right in.”

The chatter that had built up after Tonks's culinary warfare suddenly silenced. James looked up, wondering if Lily had joined them all for a meal. But it was Mary who stuck her head round the door. She was looking for someone, but when people noticed her laser gaze, the room quietened respectfully. Even Tonks and Purkiss stopped moaning to their respective friends.
Mary’s eyes rested on James, Sirius, and Remus. “James,” she said. “Have you finished eating?”
James looked down at his plate. The sausages had been delicious. He’d pretty much scraped it clean. “Yeah.”
“Come with me, please. Evans would like to speak to you.”
The room went silent. James stood, and he was in the uncomfortable spotlight. Every eye in the place was on him. He felt like a kid, going to ask a girl to dance at the school disco. 
Sirius and Remus nodded at him as he went past. 
"Good luck, mate." Remus mumbled under his breath.

Once they were in the corridor, Mary elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t say yeah to me like that, ok? Even if I’m not your superior, I’m theirs, and they don’t need to forget that.” She didn’t sound pissed off though, she sounded like James’s mate from school. James grinned at her with a toothiness that he didn't feel.
“Yeah, ok.” Mary scoffed and shook her head.
They went out of the left-hand side of the farmhouse horseshoe and entered the right. Instead of turning towards his bedroom, though, Mary led James to the wooden door where James had heard Lily crying weeks ago. James raised his hand to knock, but Mary batted it down and grabbed him by the collar. For a bizarre moment he thought she might try to kiss him, but she brushed her hands against his t-shirt, trying to smooth out the wrinkles, and let go again. Then she rapped on the door – the swift rat-tat-tat that James had come to recognise from the soldiers on base – and ruffled his hair before marching off down the corridor.

“Come in.” Lily sounded weary, but when James came through the door she stood.
That was already against protocol. From what James had seen, superiors in this operation stayed seated.
“James.” It sounded like a sigh.
“Lil.” James said. Then – “I mean Lily. Evans.” And he raised his hand to his head in a half-hearted salute.
“It’s still Lily.” She said, smiling. “I haven’t changed my name.” She leaned against her desk, and then braced her hands on it as if she had been about to jump up and sit but then changed her mind. “I haven’t changed any of my names, actually. It’s still Lily Evans-Potter.”
James’s eyes went to her ring finger, and found it bare the same way it had been every time he could bring himself to check.
“Moody says we can’t wear rings on active duty.” Lily said. “I wear mine on a chain around my neck. Have done ever since we found out you were alive.” She pulled aside the neck of her t-shirt and there, gleaming against her skin, was a golden circlet. Relief washed through James and made his knees buckle. He clutched for the chair beside him. 
“I didn’t know – you thought I was dead?” James felt as if he was in a dream. Any moment now he’d wake up on his bed, alone.
“They released your body. We later found out it was someone else. Obviously.” Lily pushed her hair back and James saw that her hands were shaking.
“And then you thought I’d switched sides.” It was amazing that James was managing to sound collected. The only thing keeping him a respectful distance from Lily was the fact that he couldn’t move at all. This chit-chat was banal, meaningless. He could feel every second going by.
“The paperwork was convincing. Turns out Peter had become very good at faking your signature over the years.”
James nodded. “It saved time with the start-up. I couldn’t always be around to sign something. We’ve always been able to fake each other’s handwriting.”
“They faked pictures too. You and Riddle shaking hands. You with a gun against someone’s head. You – ” Lily was knotting her fingers. “You understand why we had to do everything we did, don’t you? Why I had to leave you alone?”
“Mary explained, Lil.” James said gently. “I get it.”
“Oh. What did she say?” Lily’s shoulders crept down by a few centimetres. She took her hands off the desk.
God, there were only feet between them for the first time in months.
James managed to speak. “Apparently Mad-Eye would plant us both in the woods out back.”
Amazingly, Lily laughed. “He would. Without flinching.”
By accident, James met her eyes.
He stared at her, and she stared back at him.
“Lily.” James croaked.
“Is it too late?” She asked, in a rush. “Have I ruined it?” Her eyes shone.
Now James could move, and he delicately stepped forwards. The floor creaked beneath his feet.
“Never.” He said. And before she could say one more thing, he took her cheek in his hand, and kissed her.
It felt like coming home.