To Ashes

Lily rarely remembered her dreams in full, she was only ever left with vague impressions flashing behind her eyes when she woke, but as she tossed and turned in the Potter’s fine bed every agonizing second felt real. 

She was running through the Forbidden Forest, not just running but fleeing. Scrambling over roots twisted like knuckles at the bases of their trees, slipping on the slick moss-covered stones that sent her skidding to the ground, palms stinging from being scraped over sticks and rocks. But there was no time for faltering, because it was coming. She couldn’t see it, didn’t know who or what it was, but she could feel it. It wasn’t clumsy like her, it didn’t stumble or skid or trip. It was relentless, cunning. A predator toying with its frantic prey. It was excited. 

Thin sunlight was struggling to breach the canopy of the trees, and only served to make the shadows more pronounced, more angular. Each dark slash of shadow seemed to have something living in it, and every time she crossed through one a chill doused her body like she’d plunged into the freezing lake. Some distant part of her mind knew she was dreaming, but another, more ancient part was whispering that the danger was very real. She’d never had a dream before where she could feel the rush of blood through her veins, or the burn of her lungs as she fled for her life. 

Lily tripped again, tumbling head over heels down a slope, tearing through the underbrush and hitting every rock on the way down. She lay on the layers of decay carpeting the forest floor for three shaky breaths before heaving herself to her feet, leaning against a tree as her muscles screamed in protest. Her hand came away wet from the bark, and she glanced down expecting to see dew, but there was no dew. Her hand was slick with blood, trickling down her wrist and dripping from her fingers in fat, heavy drops, falling to water the damp soil beneath her feet. She stared down, numb, but before she could move she felt something grab her shoulder, nails piercing her skin as it -

Lily shot up, chest heaving, clutching the bedsheets around her. Her hands flew to her face and she squinted down fearfully at them in the dim light, expecting to see them gloved in sticky red. Nothing. She turned them over and over and over until she was dizzy, looking for the slightest hint of blood crusted in her fingernails or in the lines of her palms. By the time she finished inspecting them her heartbeat had fallen to its normal rhythm. She still felt bruised. 

She turned her head to find Mary awake and watching her, the dark circles ringing her eyes proof of a sleepless night. She didn’t need to ask Lily what was the matter, their fear hung in the air between them like smoke. Every muggleborn was having the same thoughts that weekend. So Mary and Lily just held each other’s hands under the sheets for a few minutes, silently wondering what their lives would be like in the Wizarding world if, even surrounded by the luxury and power of the Potter’s estate, they were still in danger. 

The grim mood clung to Lily like a mist as they all washed and dressed. Although it did nothing to ease her anxiety, the familiar routine of bumping elbows with Marlene as they brushed their teeth sleepily at the sink and watching Mary carefully unwind her silk headscarf lessened the uncomfortable feeling of being out of place. 

 It was only when she finally plopped down at the table, seated between Mr. Potter and Marlene, that Lily managed to force the  lingering sense of dread down, locking it behind a door in her mind. But, try as she might, she could still hear it knocking.

Looking down at the presentation of the table brought a new, much sillier fear to her mind. There were so many different forks and knives and spoons set out just for her, each  presumably with their own specific purpose. Was this how wealthy people ate? She uncertainly stared at the multiple forks for a moment before reaching for the bowl of fruit in front of her. 

James must’ve noticed her dismay, mouthing the little one on the left as she slid the fruit over to her plate.

Lily pointed to her guess discreetly, raising an eyebrow. James shook his head. 

The little one. He pinched his fingers together to emphasize the size. She grinned as she found it nearly hidden away by the fine cloth napkin, mouthing an eternally grateful thank you back to James.

Lily had no more time to worry over the cutlery as James’s father began to pepper her with questions. James had often told them that his dad held a prominent position in the Ministry, something vague and with the air of great authority, but none of that mystery or power clung to him as he asked her kindly about her family and her schoolwork.

So much of James was mirrored in Fleamont Potter’s face that Lily was inclined to trust him immediately. As she ate, it was difficult to untangle James from his father, and their identical mannerisms made it even more of a puzzle. Lily could see in Fleamont all the parts that had gone on to become his son’s - the long nose, the same sweeping brows, the same distracted ruffle of his hands through his hair. Blood was a funny thing.

She  looked up in the midst of her conversation with James’s father to find Mrs. Potter staring at her son so intently over the breakfast table that Lily started to wonder if she was performing some kind of magical x-ray. 

“You’ve been smoking.” She said finally. 

“I have not.” His indignation was so believable, Lily was nearly inclined to forget that they’d spent half the night on the balcony. 

“I wouldn’t bother lying, son.” Mr. Potter said easily as he reached for the butter. “I could never get a single cigarette past her.”

“You’re going to scold me and not Lily?” James’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline in disbelief. 

“Oi!” Lily glared at him, the traitor. To her immense relief, James’s mum didn’t seem even a little put out that a witch she’d taken into her care was enabling her son’s smoking habit.

“I’m sure Lily’s mum and dad are more than capable of scolding her, she doesn’t need some woman she just met doing it for them.” James winced slightly, eyes sliding to her in silent apology. Tension shot like electricity through her friends, she could almost see the spark of it racing from one to the other.

“Actually, Mum -”

“It’s true.” Lily interrupted. “My dad always used to give me the third degree when he caught me. Quite right, too.”

Mrs. Potter’s face softened, just slightly, enough so that Lily knew that she knew. The conversation moved along easily, and Lily was left with the dull ache of the memory sitting in her chest.

It was only after the fifth round of Exploding Snap that Sirius dragged Marlene off to the broom shed, claiming the day was too beautiful to have both feet on the ground. The others trailed behind, groaning good-naturedly and tugging along a blanket to sit on and a basket of snacks pressed upon them by a stern house elf. 

Lily felt a hand, warm and calloused, slip around her wrist, and glanced up to find James looking down at her intently. Her first thought was to marvel at the honeyed brown of his eyes in the sun. 

“I want to show you something.” 

Her eyes dropped to the hand still wrapped around her arm. James snatched it back, two spots of color blooming high on his cheekbones. Lily tried not to think about how much she liked the sight of him flushed.

She grinned. “Okay.”

It was as beautiful as she imagined, towering bookcases sprouting up like trees towards the distant ceiling, rolling ladders clinging to their bellies like climbing vines. Cushy chairs sat in clusters around the room around various fireplaces, and vast windows let in wide swaths of sunlight. Tendrils of that light were creeping their fingers across the shiny wood floor, and all Lily could do was stare. 

She lost track of time, drifting from shelf to shelf while James watched her patiently from where he was splayed out across an armchair. She had so little time during the term to read for pleasure, but it was one of the great loves of Lily’s life. She’d inherited it from her dad, who’d signed her up for a library card as soon as she could be trusted to hold a book without teething on the cover. 

Lily didn’t mean for it to happen, but one by one books piled up in her arms. She glanced down after a while and was surprised by what she’d been hauling around. 

“You can take them back with you.” 

She gaped. “I can’t take your parents’ books.” Even as she protested, she hugged them more tightly to her chest. 

“Lily, there are literally thousands of books in this room. My parents will be thrilled they’re getting some use.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“How will I get them all back to them? My owl can’t carry all of this.”

James gave her one of his very patient ‘Lily, we're magic” looks, so she conceded the point.

She plopped down into the chair facing him, arms finally feeling the strain of the weight of her prizes. It was a good ache, and she felt something start to untwist in her chest.

“I’m sorry about breakfast.” James started tentatively. Lily didn’t have to ask what he meant. He was watching her closely, poorly hidden concern painted across his face. 

“S’okay. It was kind of nice actually, to talk about him. I never really do, anymore.” 

“I’d love to hear about him.” He prompted gently.

She hesitated. One prickly reminder was enough for the day. “Not today.” She said slowly, then hurrying to continue as she saw James start to apologize again. “But soon.” 

He smiled. “Soon.”

They found their friends at the quidditch pitch, after a brief detour to Lily's room to deposit her stack of books. The rare wash of morning sunlight had faded into an overcast afternoon, and the blanket they sat on was slightly damp with dew.  Lily hugged her knees to her chest to keep away the chill, waving away Remus’s offer of his cloak. He and Mary were talking idly to the side, but Lily and Peter quickly fell into an enthralled silence as they watched the brooms speeding over their heads. 

James had snatched up his broom to join Sirius and Marlene, and they were now engaged in some complicated drill that Lily couldn’t follow. During school matches she usually kept her eyes on Marlene, and James was often lost in the mess of the game, but with just the three of them flying Lily had a chance to really watch. There was something mesmerizing in the way James flew, it was like the broom was an extension of himself, like he was always meant to be airborne. He circled and dove and flew with such grace that she couldn’t look away, his hair a dark halo whipping around his head. Lily had only ever felt panic when on a broom, but James’s face was serene, as if flying were as natural as breathing to him.

Lily eventually became vaguely aware that someone to her right was trying to get her attention.

“Sorry?” 

Remus grinned. “See something you like?” He repeated. Peter sniggered on her left. She felt the quick burn of flush spreading over her cheeks. 

“Dunno what you mean.”

“It’s alright, I know that Quidditch drills can be so riveting.”

Lily rolled her eyes and turned pointedly to Mary. She was smiling along with the rest of them, but it was brittle, stitched together. It didn’t reach her eyes. Lily could feel her friend’s weariness and unease in her own chest as flashes of the previous night’s dream came back to her. 

“I brought some sleeping draught with me.” She murmured, for Mary’s ears alone. Mary perked up a bit.

“Did you brew it?” Her voice was hopeful.

“Yep. I forgot about it last night, everything was…well, you know.”

Mary sighed in relief. “The strong stuff. I’ll need that tonight. Madam Pomfrey always gives out that watered down piss. It doesn’t really do anything.”

Lily’s responding laugh was cut off by a distant shout, half muffled by the wind, and they looked up to see that the players had touched down. Sirius was waving impatiently over at them, gesturing in a way that meant nothing to Lily, but apparently made perfect sense to Remus.

“Do they need you to play?” Mary asked Remus.

He laughed slightly as he stood. “If that’s what they want they’ll be sorely disappointed.” With a parting nod he strolled over to the others, hands thrust into his pockets. 

“Don’t they need you too, Pete?” Lily asked absently, watching Remus’s head bend to Sirius’s, his hand finding a place on the other’s shoulder. 

“Nah,” he said easily, squinting as he watched the huddle of heads and brooms on the pitch, “I’m useless.” 

Lily frowned. “Why would you say that?”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up, giving him the impression of a very startled owl. “I mean, s’true isn’t it? I’m not like them.”

“But you said useless , Pete, that’s not true.” Mary’s voice was despairing. 

“I just meant that they’re good at everything.”

“Peter, no one is better at Arithmancy than you. Not even Remus.” 

“And you beat them all in Herbology last term.” Mary added. 

Peter flushed and gave them a hesitant little smile, but Lily had a sinking feeling that he didn’t believe them. She and Mary wheedled him into a conversation about Arithmancy, insisting that the only reason Sirius even passed the class was because of the hours Pete spent tutoring him and helping with his assignments. By the time Remus came back, Peter was doing one of his funny little impressions of Sirius that had Mary nearly in tears laughing. 

It was as close to a perfect afternoon as it could be, but Lily’s anxiety was like a clenched fist in her stomach. As the day wore on, Lily found herself glancing again and again at the distant edge of the woods, at the shadows cast by the trees. They seemed sharper than they should.