Ritual

"Do you trust me, Jim?" Lily glanced up. She had learned, from living the past nine years in close proximity with a group of boys who didn't especially care what annoyed each other, and in fact took reckless advantage of these facts, that nothing aggravated James like being called "Jim". It was a sure way to catch his attention, but you ran the risk of catching his fury as well.

James continued to stir the soup, a Muggle habit he had inexplicably picked up from his Pureblood mother, but Lily could tell, by the suddenly tense set of his shoulders, that he was frowning. She placed the bread on the table and went to stand next to Sirius, his fingers on the edge of the counter grazing the small of her back; she wondered what he was on about this time.

"Don't call me Jim," James muttered, bringing the spoon to his lips for a stolen taste.

"Look, just answer the question, alright?" Sirius shifted impatiently, and Lily realised that he was trying to make a point. "Do you trust me or not?"

"Course I trust you." James shrugged matter-of-factly. "That's what this whole secret keeper business is about, I thought."

Sirius sighed. "This isn't just trust in general, James. This isn't like trusting the restaurant down the way to make your curry properly, or trusting the sitter not to drop Harry on his head, or trusting Dumbledore not to get us killed when he sends us about for him." Sirius gestured indistinctly, flailing about in the air. It was the first time Lily had seen him truly frustrated in weeks. "You have to trust me more than anyone else. You have to trust me with everything."

James nodded again, still watching the soup. ("A watched pot never boils," chimed a voice it Lily's head; it sounded obnoxiously like Petunia, and Lily suddenly wondered who was watching whom, and who would wind up boiling, in the end.) "I do trust you, Padfoot, is the thing, and you don't seem to understand that."

"You trust me with your life, then."

James nodded, spinning to grin mischievously for a moment. "Let you take me up on that damn motorcycle, don't I? If that's not trusting you with my life, I don't know what is."

He turned back to the stovetop before Sirius' expression changed, face hardening and shoulders tensing. Lily watched him warily, wanting to soothe but not knowing how. For all Sirius' easy camaraderie with James, he had always been a bit of a mystery to Lily, standoffish when asked about the truly important things.

"James." Sirius very nearly growled, his voice a low rumble that Lily felt resonate throughout her body, reminding her of two clumsy cello lessons from her childhood, and she wondered when they shifted, how it came to be that she was leaning on him, all her weight pressed against his shoulder. "Answer the damn question. I'm trying to be serious about this."

James chuckled, obviously ready to make the familiar joke, and Sirius tensed further. Lily's hand darted out, seemingly of its own volition, and wrapped itself around her husband's upper arm, skin smooth and comfortingly warm under her fingers. The kitchen was small enough that she didn't need to move to touch him, and remained pressed against Sirius as he turned, her hand trailing down his arm until their fingers tangled.

James' face changed as he took in the situation, Sirius' inexplicable solemnity and Lily's growing worry, confusion. He pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose and leaned back against the stove, crossing his legs at the ankles.

"So," he started, voice carefully cautious, the tone of voice used to pacify desperate animals. "This is important, then." No one remembered when "important" gained a new meaning, involving any combination of danger, hiding, pain, fear, death, and lies, only that it had. Lily stiffened, wondering suddenly if Harry was sleeping peacefully.

Sirius nodded briskly, jostling her. "There's a ritual, really, to start the process off. We can't start on any of the potions or the charms until the trust is formally established. It lays the groundwork for everything else."

James nodded slowly, twice. "And you know what to do?"

"Yes." Lily glanced from James up to Sirius, and saw they were staring at each other with a single minded intensity she hadn't seen since their days in school. She thought of playing Quidditch with them: all three had been Chasers, but James and Sirius played seamlessly, the core of the team itself, moving with grace and ease, wordlessly communicating around her, as if she weren't there at all. She tightened her grip on James and grabbed Sirius' sleeve desperately with her other hand, anchoring herself between the two of them. The air in the kitchen was thick, the seasonings in the soup overwhelming her senses. They were all three tensed, waiting for something to begin.

"Do you trust me, James?" Sirius' voice rang throughout their flat, rich and full, well bred, and demanding the truth. There was an added timbre to his voice, magical and aware, not accepting lies. Lily, who researched the Fidelius charm for an essay in sixth year, was struck for the first time by the fullness of the magic, by the knowledge that they were placing their lives in the hands of another.

James answered without hesitation, voice steady though his face rapidly paled. "Yes." The process was increasingly ceremonial; Lily felt a gong should have sounded at his reply.

Sirius nodded slowly, nearly bowing. "Do you trust me with your life?"

"Yes." James responded as quickly as before, but no longer in jest. Sirius was foolish often, headstrong and impulsive, but he was violently loyal, and James did trust him. He was the obvious choice for Secret Keeper.

"Do you trust me with the life of your child?" Lily's eyes flicked towards Harry's room, really just a curtained-off corner of the living room, and then back to Sirius. She saw strength in his face, love and bravery, and in that moment would have given him Harry to raise as his own.

James nodded tersely. "Yes."

He paused momentarily before asking the next question. Lily was watching James, not Sirius, but James' gaze didn't waver, which she took to mean that Sirius' didn't, either. They hadn't once looked away from each other. "Do you trust me with the life of your wife?"

Lily didn't gasp so much as she inhaled long and loud. James stroked her hand calmingly with his thumb before replying. "Yes."

"You trust me with all things?" Sirius, completely motionless against Lily, seemed to have ceased breathing.

"Yes." James' face was frozen, expressionless and pale, eyes wide behind his glasses. The air seemed still around them, too heavy to breathe and full of danger, possibility. Lily was simultaneously relieved and terrified; she didn't realise that she'd started to cry until James pulled her against himself, eyes still locked on Sirius. They clung together for an eternity, trapped in a world outside of their control. For the first time in her life, Lily was inside magic, inside a spell and a potion and a charm.

Eventually, Harry started to cry, voice sleepy from the other room. Lily blinked, shook herself, and pulled away. As quickly as that, the contact between them lost, the atmosphere changed, no longer formal and deadly.

"I'll deal with him," she murmured, leaving the room. James and Sirius looked away, laughing nervously, and both went for a beer. No one noticed when the pot, forgotten on the stove, bubbled over.