BLAME

Chapter 10: Sleep With the Fishes

“Evans, would you… could I… a word?”

It was very out of character, the way Sirius was looking at her. None of the usual nonchalance when discussing life or death scenarios, bravado when sounding superficial but in fact discussing something deep and meaningful.

“Course, Padfoot,” she motioned for him to come in. “Although I’d have thought I was owed a nickname by now. How long have we been working together?”

“Too long.”

“Feck off,” she said, swinging her leg out and catching his shin. “Everything alright?”

“I’m always excellent, thank you, Darling,” he grinned back. “You, on the other hand, look exhausted.”

“A double round of Crucios will do that,” she shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

He was always watching out for her, in an older brother sort of a way – bossy, argumentative, protective – even though she didn’t need it. He had even tried to secretly swap into some of her Order shifts a few times. She had vetoed it sternly and killed Moody. Remus watched out for her too – making her tea (countless cups of tea), bringing her homemade scones, watering her plants, listening to her rants.

A brief flash of anger crossed his handsome face, as though considering throwing an Unforgivable himself.

“You know, I think the tide may be about to change in this war.”

“It doesn’t feel like it, twenty to one advantage to the Deaters, last I checked,” she said.

“Huh. Despite that, Evans, things are about to change.”

He sounds unusually hopeful.

“You know something?” she asks him, eyes narrowing.

“Rumours, nothing concrete. But if it’s true, the war will be over before the summer.”

She tried imagining it, but bending her mind to peace felt like wading in treacle.

“We could swim at Hampstead Heath,” she said, cautiously, trying it out on her tongue. “Leave our wands on the benches.”

“You could sunbathe on the grass with Moony, Merlin knows how badly he needs some sunshine. You could tread water among the greenery, push Dorcas in and end up getting dunked,” he said.

“We could have brunch in The Lion’s Mane afterwards, a full Irish Breakfast and a pint of Guinness.”

“Four miles from the mayhem of Oxford Street. You could visit Soho later on.”

“We could visit Portobello Road Market, or Brick Lane – get you some sexy leather pants?”

“You could go and see Evita or Cats in the West End. Get drunk and go on a pub crawl or end up in some hot muggle nightclub.”

“Didn’t you use to love escaping out to ogle the punk rock muggle scene, or visit the gay bars, when you lived in Grimmauld Place? We could come with you?” she said.

He gave her a rare smile. No pretence, no façade. “You remembered.”

“I remembered,” she said. “I bet Remus would like that too.”

A shadow flitted across his face momentarily. “Moony could go to see Thin Lizzy at the Hammersmith Odeon. Or Madness, Paul Simon, the Undertones, Spandau Ballet, definitely Siouxsie and the Banshees – they’re playing in December.”

“He wouldn’t let you pay for it,” she reminded him.

“I’d work something out.” There was that rare smile again – soft, almost sad.

“Sirius, what’s wrong?” she said.

“I found out a very important piece of information. You must promise me not to share this with anyone, including Prongs.”

He hadn’t called James Potter Prongs in years. She felt an overwhelming urge to defend James.

“Sirius, James isn’t what you think he is, I know he was a Death Eater, but he’s now… he’s the Red Lion, he’s not a bad man! He’s just someone who has made mistakes, that’s all, and I’m certain that now he’s trying to atone for that, he’s—"

“The Red Lion?” Sirius whistled. “Well, I’ll be damned!”

“I know, it’s a surprise, but—”

“No, it’s exactly the kind of thing Prongs would do, valiant bastard!” Sirius shook his head fondly. “He’s going to be such a smug git when he sees you ogling his arse in that tight—”

“I don’t OGLE!” Her voice went up a notch, cheeks burning.

“Oh yes you do, Evans, you’ve been admiring his arms and his chest and his back and his fine arse since that meeting with Moody,” Sirius smirked at her knowingly.

“Shut up, Black.”

“Don’t bother denying it, you’ve both been mad about each other since Fifth Year – constantly debating everything, pointless endless verbal battles, duelling, witty retorts, cheeky banter, constantly telling anyone who was listening how much you hated each other. I’ve never seen such utter obliviousness in all my life. Exhausting, really.”

“I did hate him,” she said stubbornly.

“Nah, you didn’t,” he laughed, head thrown back in glee. “You only hated him in First and Second Year. By Third Year you were both flirting with each other.”

“I don’t suppose I did. Feck. Damn. Fuck. Fuck!”

“There she is,” Sirius said, pulling her into his side and squeezing her shoulder carefully.

“I like him, Padfoot, I like him a lot. Too much, probably. Is that wrong?”

“Prongs is a good man, he was always the best of us, Evans.”

She must have looked surprised.

“Don’t ask me how I know, but James did not tell Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow, he didn’t try to kill him - on the contrary, he saved him that night and then took the blame for something that was not his fault. Snape knows the truth, so do I. Don’t tell Prongs I know, don’t tell anyone. I’m confident that he’s been working as a double agent for Dumbledore since the start.”

She could do nothing but stare at him as her mind tried to process this information. He held out his hand and she grabbed hold of it.

“There is one more thing I need to do, one small thing, Evans, and then I’ll explain everything, I promise.”

She nodded, still unable to speak.

“I never deserved you – Prongs, Moony, Peter, you – and I never forgot that. You were always on my mind, still are.”

“Oh, Padfoot.” Her voice trembled as she pulled him in for a hug, as though holding him tight might put into words what she couldn’t say. “You deserved so much better than this, and if you’re right, maybe you’ll let yourself find it once the war ends.”

“When this war ends, I’ll find peace at last, I promise you.”

And despite the reassurance, when he left, her unease multiplied. She disobeyed Poppy’s orders and got out of bed, finished brewing another batch of Blood Replenishing Potion, folding sheets, dressings, blankets. It was no use, the dread would not leave her. And for some reason she thought of James, as though he could help her.

***

“Where is she? Is she safe? What have you done with her?”

The Infirmary door slammed shut behind him with violent force, almost taking it off its hinges.

“What’s wrong?” Lily said, stepping out from the alcove, dropping the gauze bandages she had been folding.

He stopped short, hazel eyes burning, shot with molten gold.

“I thought you were… I came back and you were gone, and I assumed, I thought… fuck, Lily!” In two strides he was right in front of her. “I thought they took you!”

This man who looked like he wanted to murder anyone who would dare hurt her; this man, who had been through so much, who was looking at her with relief and fear and something so alive it took her breath away; this man, this beautiful, brave man… you brave stupid bastard, ruining your life to save someone else’s, letting us all believe you had become a monster, all this time working to bring Tom Riddle down, all the loneliness, the darkness, the loss…? Jesus wept!

She wanted to tell him that, more, much more, and usually she was quick, witty, faultless in sharp one liners, but today? She placed her hands on his chest, looked up at him, her emerald eyes vivid, shining and wide like a fever dream.

“Kiss me,” she told him.

He didn’t move, a crease on his forehead.

 “It never made sense, you becoming a Death Eater; you were always on our side, weren’t you? Don’t try to deny it, James.”

She watched his Adam’s apple move up and down, the emotion in his eyes, like he wanted to admit it but couldn’t.

“Maybe they swore you to secrecy – Dumbledore, was it? The auld feck. I don’t care, you may deny it, but I know the truth in your eyes.” She still had her palms on his chest, could feel his heart racing. “I’m sorry, mo Cuishle*, you deserved better.”

***

Her eyes had always bewitched him, even as far back as he could recall, when he thought the intense feeling in his chest every time they spoke was pure irritation. Almond shaped, surrounded by a wide forest-green limbal ring, such a dazzling, clear emerald colour they seemed almost surreal, otherworldly. They had caused him more than once to lose focus, to falter mid-argument, lost in them until he forgot what he was thinking – Remus had called him “bewitched, bothered and bewildered” and laughed at him when he seemed unsure whether to agree with him. And yet the strong auburn brows, the jut of her chin, the press of her lips, the wild spark in them now – all spoke of something tangible, real, so alive it took his breath away.

“Of course you’re friends with Evans, why else would you spend nearly as much time arguing with her as you spend hanging out with us?” Sirius had told him in Fifth Year.

“Friends don’t disagree all the time,” he had answered, annoyed.

“That’s practically all we ever do, that, and tease you mercilessly, and yet you call me your best friend,” Sirius’ eyebrow raised, like the condescending git he was.

“Fuck off, I hate you.”

“Exactly.”

“You care about her opinions, you care so much you can’t help seeking her out, storming ideas together and coming up with something at the end which is a much better understanding of whatever it is than either of you had separately,” Remus added, looking up over his book.

“Like you complete each other,” Sirius smirked. “Like both of you on your own are only half-finished sentences.”

“The whole is greater than its parts,” Remus tried not to smile back.

“A symphony instead of a tune.”

“Oh fuck off, both of you.”

But they were right. He never learnt as quickly than when Lily and he worked together, never improved his duelling tactics as well as when he fought her, never felt as alive and free and challenged as when they were together. Mary Mac had once explained the concept of mindfulness to him. And he had realised every moment spent with Lily was grounding, intensely in the here and now.

Spring of Fifth Year and they had started spending more time together, not just banter, debating – quiet times, walks in the grounds, lying against the huge elm tree beside the great lake, more intimate conversations, more vulnerability. Still cheekiness and sass from Lily and ribbing and goading from him. But more – he realised he was madly in love with her just before the day at the lake after the OWLs, when he had gone and ruined it all**, Lily had ended her friendship with Snape, and before they could rebuild anything – the day that ruined his life.

He placed his hands on either side of her face and kissed her, slow to start, nerve endings on fire as she reciprocated, as she pulled herself closer to him, gripping his arms tightly as though afraid of letting go. He stopped to kiss her forehead, to hold her in his arms and feel the joy of that moment - the affection he felt, the love, the missed opportunities, the misunderstanding, the loss, the wait, the relief. When he lifted his head again her lips were parted, swollen, and the look in her eyes, the curve of her lips – it was overwhelming. Somehow she knew and believed the truth, believed in him.

He lifted her chin, his thumb caressing her full lips. 

“I’m in love with you, James,” she said, eyes never leaving his.

And then they were entwined, his hand behind her neck, and low on the curve of her back, pulling her closer, her arms wrapped around his neck, her body pressing into him, kisses hot and deeper, breath hitched. Somehow, they ended up against the wall, still not close enough, Lily taking his hand and pulling him onto the infirmary bed, climbing onto his lap, her nails digging into his shoulders, her firm lips catching his bottom lip and pulling, soft but heated.

“James, please.” Somehow full of need, pleading, and yet an order. He could never refuse her.

In one fluid motion, he had removed the v-neck Healer’s top, and then her deft fingers were unbuttoning his olive-green robes, pulling them off, her hands moving down his shoulders and arms, pressing her teal bra into him, as he looked up at her in awe. Even in his dreams (back in Hogwarts, when he didn’t understand what it all meant) he couldn’t have imagined how stunningly beautiful she was, all of her, somehow in his mind all the more perfect for the bruising on her side, the faded scars along the back of her forearm, the stretchmarks on her thighs; the liquid emerald of her eyes hardly visible behind blown pupils, the flush on her cheeks, the freckles across her clavicles, across the bridge of her nose, his hands in her hair, auburn waves falling over her shoulders, catching the light, soft moans falling from her mouth as they rocked, then later lifting her up easily and placing her on the bed, watching her eyes all the while as his hands and lips moved lower and she bit her lip, calling out his name, loud and wanton and so perfect he couldn’t stop until he heard her unravelling and the bliss in her cries three times.

He hadn’t allowed himself to feel anything for so long. It felt like a dam breaking.

“I’m in love you, Lily,” he said, his voice low and hoarse, his lips kissing the soft skin down her neck and over her chest.

She stared back at him.

“I love you, Lily Evans.”

“Come here,” she said, and he was leaning down over her.

***

The light was gone, the bruising sunset faded, the candlelight glowing, hours later, talking softly, laughing together, still kissing, teasing him, watching his pretend outrage with glee, and screaming when he tried to tickle her, sharing dreams about the future if Tom Riddle fell. James’ smile wide, all the tension gone from his body and soul; the beauty of him.

“Gods, you’re so bloody gorgeous, James, look at you, like a muggle ad for aftershave,” she sighed, leaning over and kissing him fondly.

“A what?”

“Ah nothing, you just remind me of some big-headed muggles who strut across a stage wearing tight trousers and knowing smirks,” she supplied.

“And you like these muggles?” he asked, unsure if she was complimenting him.

“Oh I like them,” she said. “Just not as much as I like you.”

“And you like me quite a bit?” And there was that knowing smirk.

“Ah, sure, you know yourself...”

“Do I?” Now he looked slightly concerned.

“Is it not obvious?”

He looked confused, so she kissed him and touched him until he was left in no doubt.

“You know, you changed me for the better, James,” she said afterwards, voice still panting from the exertion.

“What? How?”

“That day by the lake when I gave up on the stupid idea that I could fix Sev, that I could make him see sense. I had been too loyal, too blind to notice just how far gone he was at that stage. It was the right call. And after you left, I thought about the James Potter I knew – the boy who always stood up to the bigoted purebloods, who argued against injustice, who swore he would fight against Riddle, and I said that’s going to be me. I knew becoming a Healer would help our side, but I always dithered between that and fighting with the Order. After you left, I thought fuck you, Potter, I’ll do both.”

“I never thought you needed changing,” he said, pulling her closer and kissing her forehead.

***

Finding out that James was the Red Lion (such a Prongs move) had been a huge boon. He had been wondering how to pinch the suit from under his nose. But it hadn’t been so difficult after all - laughter and bedsprings squeaking drifted from the infirmary as he passed by.

“Nice one, Evans,” Sirius smiled to himself.

Thanking his lucky stars, he had thrown up a silencing charm and hurried to the room James Potter was occupying. He was right to assume the clever bastard would have found a stellar hiding place for it, seeing as up until recently, he had been storing it in Voldy’s lair. But sharing a dorm with your best mate for five years allows you access to all sorts of memories. And where had Prongs hidden stashes of contraband firewhisky, Zonko’s trick wands, sneakoscopes, Stink Pellets and Tempest in a Bottle for years? Underneath his bed, attached to the bottom side rail with a signature extra-strong sticking charm, and wrapped inside his Invisibility Cloak.

“Et, voilà!” Sirius murmured to himself triumphantly.

He looked at himself in the mirror, now donning the tight, black superhero outfit with the crimson Lion on the back. Confirming he looked unfairly spectacular, he adjusted the fit with a deft flick of his wand, threw up the collar of the black flowing cape and placed the mask over his face.

“Looks better on me. Black’s more my colour pallet, Prongs, you should have gone for a maroon shade.”

He carefully placed two sealed envelopes addressed in his elegant script to Remus Lupin and James Potter on top of the bedside locker, a concealing charm in place. He had thought about saying goodbye, properly, to Prongs and Moony. But he was too afraid. Afraid of chickening out. James would quickly have figured out he knew something, and spoiled his plan. He knew he would have ended up hugging the man, and a hug from Prongs was not the sort of thing that made you want to throw your life away – quite the opposite. And Moony? Well, if that man had kissed him, held his hand, if Remus Lupin had so much as looked at him with his moss green eyes, feverish with longing, bursting with joy? His plan was dead in a ditch.

So he avoided them, and avoided Minnie and Poppy, Benji and the rest of the Order members. Lily would understand. A small sacrifice to save the Wix world. Lily never called Voldy by anything other than his real name.

“I’m not coming to fight you, Riddle, I’m coming to kill us.”

He threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself and disappeared into the night.

Notes

   *My pulse (my love who makes my heart race)

** For description of what happened before/during the prank, see Boys Don’t Cry