Scarlet in a World of Grey - Freedom 03
Rating: G
Word count: 1,472
Genre: romance/drama, little bit of angst
Ships: L/J
Status: Complete
Summary: Lily doesn't care...about much of anything anymore. Until one fateful Quidditch match changes everything. Sequel to The Price of Freedom and Consequences. A little less angsty than it has been.
It’s pouring down rain, but even so, the stands are full to overflowing with students and faculty come to see the Gryffindor/Slytherin game. Lily’s best friend shifts beside her, complaining, like everyone else, about cold, and wet, and poor visibility. Lily feels little sympathy. That’s what Impervious charms are for.
Besides, she likes the rain. It suits her mood.
She’s not really sure why she’s here. She feels obligated to show House support, she supposes. She’s never really been all that interested in Quidditch, and she hasn’t any friends amongst the players. So obligation.
Obligation and the rain.
She tilts her head back and watches the players dart in and out of sight through the heavy downpour. It’s hard to tell what’s going on up there. Every so often a flash of scarlet and green drops into sight, Quaffle and Bludgers darting between them. It’s impossible to tell what condition the players are in at this point, but considering House rivalry and the lack of visibility, it’s likely injuries are happening. A lot of them.
Lily’s heart drops every time she catches sight of a Gryffindor Chaser, even though she can hardly tell them apart from this distance. She pretends she doesn’t know why. Just like she’s been pretending that she doesn’t know why her heart drops whenever she catches sight of Potter in the halls or the common room.
It’s easier, pretending.
In fact, it’s easiest when you can convince yourself you don’t really care at all anymore. Lily’s been pretending disinterest so long she’s starting to believe it. She can scarcely remember caring about much of anything.
She brushes wet hair out her eyes and then shakes her head when her friend asks if she needs her hat back. It’s not really all that cold. Rather, Lily’s been cold for weeks now. She can’t really tell the difference.
Suddenly, there are screams from the far side of the pitch. Lily cranes her head, trying to see what the fuss is about. At first she thinks the Snitch has been spotted. Someone in red robes is dropping fast through the pouring rain at a speed that would suggest desperation to finish the game.
Her heart lifts a little; Gryffindor wins are always good for morale, especially when they’re against Slytherin.
Then she realizes the plummeting figure isn’t on a broom. And he has black hair.
There’s only one person on the Gryffindor team with hair that color.
Her heart leaps into her throat and forms a tight little ball. She can’t breathe, her fingers twine tightly together, and she can’t look away, can’t help but watch.
James is still falling and falling and falling. He’s falling head first and way too fast. He hasn’t even hit the ground yet and he already looks broken.
Her vision is blurry and she can hardly see. She blinks, trying to focus, eyes glued to that little bit of falling, falling scarlet, unable to look away as James’s body meets the ground.
He bounces once, twice, and is still.
There is an eerie, muffled silence, like Lily’s head is surrounded by thick cotton batting. She sees people moving in her peripheral vision, sees their mouths move and their hands wave. She sees Professor Dumbledore and several others running down the faculty stairwell, sees the school mediwitch race onto the pitch.
And it’s all happening in perfect, unrelieved silence. It would be unnerving, if she had the ability to do anything but watch James.
Something hot and wet slides down her cheek. She blinks once, twice, and then the world comes rushing back. The screaming and crying of those around her is nearly deafening, and she almost wishes she could go back to the silence. Suddenly, she wants more than anything to run down to the pitch the way the professors are doing now. It’s what she wants most in the world, and it’s the one thing she cannot have.
It’s torture to sit still and do nothing, to watch as the professors shout and scurry, as the mediwitch waves her wand again and again and again. Finally, she levitates James’s body and rushes towards the castle, half the professors racing after.
Lily still can’t breathe.
*~*~*~*
Lily has been sitting quietly in the common room for hours, listening for news. She would rather be in the hall outside the infirmary where everything is happening. Potter is her housemate and she is Head Girl. She could go and show her support, find out what’s going on…but Potter’s friends aren’t terribly fond of her at the moment. Besides, she has no business worrying about his condition.
She’s not sure why she cares anyway. She only knows that she does. And she’s heard nothing, nothing! for hours and hours.
She’s starting to feel anxious at the lack of news.
She waits. She’s patient. People come and go and she tries not to let her heart leap every time the portrait hole opens. Nevertheless, she feels it drop every time she sees a face other than the one she keeps expecting to see.
(She’s not sure which that is, Lupin, Black, Pettigrew, or Potter).
Eventually she falls asleep. When she wakes, it’s to the sound of hushed whispering. An extremely tired looking Lupin is supporting a mostly dozing Black and whispering quietly with Pettigrew as they stagger across the room towards the boys’ stairway.
While all three of them look absolutely exhausted, they don’t look otherwise distressed.
Lily breathes a sigh of relief.
The three boys make their way across the common room and up the stairs without seeming to notice that Lily is there. She watches them go and then debates what to do. She knows if Potter were still in danger, Lupin and company would still be downstairs. Despite knowing this, she feels no relief.
Lily stands up, intending to just go to bed. Because that’s what she really ought to do, since Potter is obviously fine. When she finds herself standing in the hall outside the portrait hole, she’s…really not sure how she got there.
Her feet carry her away from Gryffindor tower, down the hall, down the stairs, with a mind all their own. Before she knows it, she is standing outside the door to the infirmary. The door creaks when she pulls it open and she flinches, freezing. Head Girl or no, if she gets caught, she’ll be getting detention. She has no business in the hospital wing in the middle of the night.
There is no sound, no clue that anyone was alerted by the sound of the door. Lily breathes a sigh of relief and slips through the crack in the doorway. The infirmary is dark and it takes a few minutes for her eyes to adjust. When they do, she sees two rows of mostly empty beds. The one on the right at the very end is curtained off, and she pads down the aisle in that direction, careful to keep her steps quiet.
She pauses at the foot of that one occupied bed. The form within is visible only by the thin moonlight coming in through a gap in the curtains. His hair is strewn across the pillow in its usual disarray, but the bandages wrapped around his temples aren’t usual at all. Neither are the bandages across his torso, visible where the blankets are pulled down around his waist. There is a bottle of Skele-Gro on the table beside his bed, as well as a whole host of other potions, emphasizing the seriousness of his condition.
Even so, he looks so peaceful, lying there.
Lily quietly steps around the bed to sit in the chair beside it. She hesitates only a moment before reaching out and sliding her fingers carefully under his limp palm. She holds his hand for long, silent moments. She doesn’t know why she’s doing. She doesn’t even have the right to be here, much less touch him, but she can’t help herself. He looks so small and helpless.
He’s James Potter. He’s always been bigger than life.
Lily stays where she is for an endless time, thinking and trying not to think. Eventually she realizes the light coming in through the curtains is turning grey. She stands hastily, but it is with reluctance that she withdraws her hand from his. She looks down at him, and feels her heart break a little to see him so subdued. Gently, she brushes his fringe back with the hand that’s been holding his, then leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to his brow.
“Get well soon, James Potter,” she whispers, and then leaves the room as silently as she entered it.
*~*~*~*
In the bed Lily has just left behind, a pair of hazel eyes flies open in shock, staring in disbelief at the redhead’s retreating back.
Word count: 1,472
Genre: romance/drama, little bit of angst
Ships: L/J
Status: Complete
Summary: Lily doesn't care...about much of anything anymore. Until one fateful Quidditch match changes everything. Sequel to The Price of Freedom and Consequences. A little less angsty than it has been.
It’s pouring down rain, but even so, the stands are full to overflowing with students and faculty come to see the Gryffindor/Slytherin game. Lily’s best friend shifts beside her, complaining, like everyone else, about cold, and wet, and poor visibility. Lily feels little sympathy. That’s what Impervious charms are for.
Besides, she likes the rain. It suits her mood.
She’s not really sure why she’s here. She feels obligated to show House support, she supposes. She’s never really been all that interested in Quidditch, and she hasn’t any friends amongst the players. So obligation.
Obligation and the rain.
She tilts her head back and watches the players dart in and out of sight through the heavy downpour. It’s hard to tell what’s going on up there. Every so often a flash of scarlet and green drops into sight, Quaffle and Bludgers darting between them. It’s impossible to tell what condition the players are in at this point, but considering House rivalry and the lack of visibility, it’s likely injuries are happening. A lot of them.
Lily’s heart drops every time she catches sight of a Gryffindor Chaser, even though she can hardly tell them apart from this distance. She pretends she doesn’t know why. Just like she’s been pretending that she doesn’t know why her heart drops whenever she catches sight of Potter in the halls or the common room.
It’s easier, pretending.
In fact, it’s easiest when you can convince yourself you don’t really care at all anymore. Lily’s been pretending disinterest so long she’s starting to believe it. She can scarcely remember caring about much of anything.
She brushes wet hair out her eyes and then shakes her head when her friend asks if she needs her hat back. It’s not really all that cold. Rather, Lily’s been cold for weeks now. She can’t really tell the difference.
Suddenly, there are screams from the far side of the pitch. Lily cranes her head, trying to see what the fuss is about. At first she thinks the Snitch has been spotted. Someone in red robes is dropping fast through the pouring rain at a speed that would suggest desperation to finish the game.
Her heart lifts a little; Gryffindor wins are always good for morale, especially when they’re against Slytherin.
Then she realizes the plummeting figure isn’t on a broom. And he has black hair.
There’s only one person on the Gryffindor team with hair that color.
Her heart leaps into her throat and forms a tight little ball. She can’t breathe, her fingers twine tightly together, and she can’t look away, can’t help but watch.
James is still falling and falling and falling. He’s falling head first and way too fast. He hasn’t even hit the ground yet and he already looks broken.
Her vision is blurry and she can hardly see. She blinks, trying to focus, eyes glued to that little bit of falling, falling scarlet, unable to look away as James’s body meets the ground.
He bounces once, twice, and is still.
There is an eerie, muffled silence, like Lily’s head is surrounded by thick cotton batting. She sees people moving in her peripheral vision, sees their mouths move and their hands wave. She sees Professor Dumbledore and several others running down the faculty stairwell, sees the school mediwitch race onto the pitch.
And it’s all happening in perfect, unrelieved silence. It would be unnerving, if she had the ability to do anything but watch James.
Something hot and wet slides down her cheek. She blinks once, twice, and then the world comes rushing back. The screaming and crying of those around her is nearly deafening, and she almost wishes she could go back to the silence. Suddenly, she wants more than anything to run down to the pitch the way the professors are doing now. It’s what she wants most in the world, and it’s the one thing she cannot have.
It’s torture to sit still and do nothing, to watch as the professors shout and scurry, as the mediwitch waves her wand again and again and again. Finally, she levitates James’s body and rushes towards the castle, half the professors racing after.
Lily still can’t breathe.
*~*~*~*
Lily has been sitting quietly in the common room for hours, listening for news. She would rather be in the hall outside the infirmary where everything is happening. Potter is her housemate and she is Head Girl. She could go and show her support, find out what’s going on…but Potter’s friends aren’t terribly fond of her at the moment. Besides, she has no business worrying about his condition.
She’s not sure why she cares anyway. She only knows that she does. And she’s heard nothing, nothing! for hours and hours.
She’s starting to feel anxious at the lack of news.
She waits. She’s patient. People come and go and she tries not to let her heart leap every time the portrait hole opens. Nevertheless, she feels it drop every time she sees a face other than the one she keeps expecting to see.
(She’s not sure which that is, Lupin, Black, Pettigrew, or Potter).
Eventually she falls asleep. When she wakes, it’s to the sound of hushed whispering. An extremely tired looking Lupin is supporting a mostly dozing Black and whispering quietly with Pettigrew as they stagger across the room towards the boys’ stairway.
While all three of them look absolutely exhausted, they don’t look otherwise distressed.
Lily breathes a sigh of relief.
The three boys make their way across the common room and up the stairs without seeming to notice that Lily is there. She watches them go and then debates what to do. She knows if Potter were still in danger, Lupin and company would still be downstairs. Despite knowing this, she feels no relief.
Lily stands up, intending to just go to bed. Because that’s what she really ought to do, since Potter is obviously fine. When she finds herself standing in the hall outside the portrait hole, she’s…really not sure how she got there.
Her feet carry her away from Gryffindor tower, down the hall, down the stairs, with a mind all their own. Before she knows it, she is standing outside the door to the infirmary. The door creaks when she pulls it open and she flinches, freezing. Head Girl or no, if she gets caught, she’ll be getting detention. She has no business in the hospital wing in the middle of the night.
There is no sound, no clue that anyone was alerted by the sound of the door. Lily breathes a sigh of relief and slips through the crack in the doorway. The infirmary is dark and it takes a few minutes for her eyes to adjust. When they do, she sees two rows of mostly empty beds. The one on the right at the very end is curtained off, and she pads down the aisle in that direction, careful to keep her steps quiet.
She pauses at the foot of that one occupied bed. The form within is visible only by the thin moonlight coming in through a gap in the curtains. His hair is strewn across the pillow in its usual disarray, but the bandages wrapped around his temples aren’t usual at all. Neither are the bandages across his torso, visible where the blankets are pulled down around his waist. There is a bottle of Skele-Gro on the table beside his bed, as well as a whole host of other potions, emphasizing the seriousness of his condition.
Even so, he looks so peaceful, lying there.
Lily quietly steps around the bed to sit in the chair beside it. She hesitates only a moment before reaching out and sliding her fingers carefully under his limp palm. She holds his hand for long, silent moments. She doesn’t know why she’s doing. She doesn’t even have the right to be here, much less touch him, but she can’t help herself. He looks so small and helpless.
He’s James Potter. He’s always been bigger than life.
Lily stays where she is for an endless time, thinking and trying not to think. Eventually she realizes the light coming in through the curtains is turning grey. She stands hastily, but it is with reluctance that she withdraws her hand from his. She looks down at him, and feels her heart break a little to see him so subdued. Gently, she brushes his fringe back with the hand that’s been holding his, then leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to his brow.
“Get well soon, James Potter,” she whispers, and then leaves the room as silently as she entered it.
*~*~*~*
In the bed Lily has just left behind, a pair of hazel eyes flies open in shock, staring in disbelief at the redhead’s retreating back.