Godric's Hollow

Lily wakes flat on her front on the floor, her limbs spread out and a cheek pressed against the carpet, and she feels the itch. There’s a cold breeze coming through the open, singed doorway, and there is orange sunlight filtering through the window. She is relaxed but she feels sick, her muscles aching and her head throbs. It is dawn.

The room is orange - yes, she remembers bickering with James over the colour - with little lion designs lined a few inches from the ceiling. There is a toy chest and a couple of book cases, and when she lifts her head…

To the left there is a baby’s cot. The room smells like wet smoke, as if the house had caught on fire overnight and the rain had extinguished it. This, she reflects, may have happened.

“James,” she calls, and her voice is weak, so she tries again, lifting herself up to sit. “James!”

“I’m here!” he answers from another room. She stands, wobbles a bit, and moves through the house; down the stairs and through to the front room.

James is standing, silhouetted against the audience of an open, red and gold sky. The whole front wall has been destroyed. He is just staring out into the front yard, the wind blowing his shaggy black hair and his creased, twisted clothes. She pulls the sleeves of her jumper over her cold hands, and steps up to his side. Together they take in the scorched edges, the dawn, the thick, rolling fog at the perimeter of the garden.

“My God,” she whispers, “what happened here?”

“I don’t know,” he says hoarsely, and his face is slack with fear and wonder, an open expression that only Lily sees when it is just the two of them.

Standing on the damp, dusty wood of this room, looking out into the morning, makes her feel like she is onstage and that strange, almost alive roll of fog is watching them.

She clasps a hand on his arm and gently steers him away, and through the arch that separates the front room and the rest of the house. She is taking care of him, because someone has to keep their head now, and she pulls out a chair at the breakfast table in the kitchen and makes him sit down.

Then she turns to the counter, and makes some tea.

She cannot remember what had occurred last night, and, she assumes, neither can James. Perhaps they had been Obliviated; after all, the dizziness and confusion are symptoms of such memory charms. James likes lemon in his tea with sugar, no milk. Lily likes milk but nothing else. How many times has she made tea for them?

“Perhaps I should floo-call someone,” says James, his voice stronger now. Lily sits and they sip their tea. Finally their eyes meet.

“Am I pregnant?” she asks, curious.

His eyes drift down her body, and then up again. “I don’t know, are you?”

“There’s a crib in the spare room.”

“Is there?”

“Yes.”

“Right.” James nods absently. “What about Sirius’s room?” James is referring to the other spare room; the one Sirius always kips in when he comes to stay over.

“Not sure; haven’t checked.”

A gust of wind comes through, howling. James reaches for his wand from his back pocket and casts a charm to block the arch. Transparent blue magic shimmers and fixes itself over the opening. The wind stops and it is not so cold anymore.

“Perhaps we had a baby,” Lily continues.

James taps his fingers on his cup. “Merlin, what a thought.”

“But where is it now?”

“He.”

“’He’?”

“The child was a boy.”

Lily stares at him. “Oh. No, you’re right.” Her eyes glance to the side as she thinks, tries to remember. “But he’s not here. Not anymore. Is he?”

“No,” James agrees sullenly. “Not anymore.”

After, they explore the house. The dining room is untouched, and the study under the stairs is fine too. Upstairs, their bedroom is a little messy: the bed unmade and yesterday’s clothes on the floor. The bathroom needs a clean but otherwise it is normal, and Sirius’s room, having not been slept in for some time, is just as boring and neat as usual. Their last stop is the… well, Lily decides to call it a nursery.

There’s a mobile of pretend snitches hanging over the crib. The crib itself however, is cold and empty, but the little rumpled blanket suggests it was slept in.

They stand together, holding hands, and stare down into it, for the longest time. But time, it seems, does not belong here. The baby is in a better place, this they both know. They will see him eventually. They do not need to ask, they just feel it, and because time does not exist, neither does waiting.

Lily goes down into the study and picks a book to read - The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, to be exact - while James explores the garden. The sun is up and shining, but the fog is still there, unrelenting and broad, so neither of them can see anything beyond their property. If they try to leave, they will get lost. It is a knowledge that is stable in their minds, even if they cannot remember where they had obtained it.

Lily makes a little dinner. There are no clocks in the house, so they go to bed when they feel tired. Their bed is warm and smells like humans. They are both still young; James’s shoulders are broad and smooth, his hands dry and firm as they run up her body.

“This is real,” she says softly, and smiles for the first time that day. He grins back and the heavy sorrow inside her dissipates.

He is being cheeky. What is the point of putting night clothes on before they go to bed if they are only going to take them off again? And oh my, he feels so real, and even if part of the house has blown apart, they are forever whole, together.

Always.

The days go on like this, with silent understanding. There is no rush where there is no time. Sometimes things happen though, and it confuses Lily.

Like the time she went into the study and she heard a creak. Then the case with their photo albums in it, bumped, and one album and was lifted from the shelf by an invisible presence. Lily had watched it silently float across the room, through the house and leave, all by itself.

And then there were other things moving. Possessions misplaced; both from the house, and the garden.

The house, it seems, is patching itself up. Some days, a wheelbarrow sits in the front room, with cement and a mini shovel in it, with a pile of bricks nearby. For a long time James and Lily sit on the floor and watch as the shovel smears cement on brinks, and layers another brick on top. Lily calls out - “Hello! Anyone there?” - and the mending of the front wall abruptly stops. She thinks she can hear someone running away, then, but she is not too sure she heard right over the howling of the wind.

Over many days the room is mended. Eventually, Lily knows not how long, a new door is put in place and even a brass doorbell, and a window is fitted, too. The wall gets painted on both sides in the colours to match the rest of the house. Their old furniture is taken away and replaced by new, modern things. James and Lily rejoice by making love on the crisp, floral couch. They make a little habit of it; seeing if they can fill the room and cover every surface with sexual love. Lily often ends each session by giggling at the naughtiness of it, while James growls into her red hair that she is ‘spoiling the mood’.

James kisses her on the stair and tells her that she is the most beautiful thing in the world, and that he has been in love with her since he was eleven. She laughs and pushes him away teasingly, only to be grabbed by her hips, and they make love again, on the stairs against the railing. It is as if they are on their honeymoon, the one they never got to have before because there was too much to do, so much war to be preoccupied with.

James tries to use the floo several times. Lily believes he does not particularly want to contact anyone, it is just curiosity. After all, neither of them have been to work nor spoken to anyone but each other and they know they cannot pass through the fog. The floo, it seems, does not work. Although, when Lily tries fire-calling Sirius, the green flames flare up, before they turn orange again.

It is soon after this, that Lily checks on Sirius’s room and finds that it has changed.

The bed has been made differently. Instead of boring white bed linen, they are dark blue and made of pure cotton, and the curtains have changed too. When Lily opens the once empty wardrobe, she finds nice, expensive men’s clothes inside, both wizard and muggle. The drawers in the bedside table have things in there: a couple of paperback books, some parchment, quill and ink, and some letters, stuffed back in their ripped envelopes. She does not touch them, as she suspects they may be private.

And, one extraordinarily stormy afternoon (as the days are almost always bright and sunny here) the brass doorbell tinkles.

Lily goes to the door, feeling only mild inquisitiveness, and opens it.

She gasps and gives the visitor a welcome grin, then grabs his wet body and pulls him into a ferocious hug.

“Oh Sirius, it is so good to see you!” She closes the door, and turns, shouting: “James! James, come quick! Sirius is here! Sirius has come!”

Sirius, all the while, is looking pale, drawn and shocked. As James bounds down the stairs, Lily notices his long, knotted hair, his black, torn robes and the lines on his unshaven face.

James come in and grins, slapping his friend over the shoulder. “Merlin’s snotty nose hairs, Padfoot,” says James good-naturedly, “you look terrible!”

Sirius says nothing.

They each grab a wet arm and steer him to the kitchen. “I was wondering when you’d get here, Padfoot,” James chats as the two men sit at the table. “Your room has been made up and everything. I hope you can stay for a while. It’s just been the two of us, eh, Lily?”

“Yes,” agrees Lily happily as she makes some tea.

“Not that I’m complaining, of course.” James leans over and peers closely. “Mate, you are looking a bit old…”

Lily does not hear much more of the one-sided conversation, as she is hurrying from the room to get Sirius a towel and blanket.

When she comes back, Sirius looks up at her, and his mouth twists into a smile. “You’re looking good, Rabbit.”

Lily and James laugh. “I forgot you used to call her that,” says James.

She proceeds to towel dry Sirius’s long black hair and the men talk. “Well,” says James with an impatient wave of his hand. “What’s been going on with you? You’ve grown; I haven’t seen you for such a long time. How’s Moony? Wormtail?”

James must have said something wrong, because Sirius is scowling. “Don’t you know?”

James lifts his eyebrows in surprise. “No, I don’t. Enlighten me, Oh Wise Bastard.”

But Sirius is shaking his head. “Not now,” he growls. “All you need to know is that Harry is okay.”

Lily stills. James too, has frozen.

Harry…

…Harry.

My son.

And then Lily catches James’s eye, and they smile at each other, remembering together. Harry is okay now, that is good, and we have confirmation from Sirius.

She lifts Sirius’s chin up and gives him a stern, mothering look. “I think you need a bath, Padfoot, and then you’re going straight to bed.”

For many days Sirius sleeps. Sometimes he comes down for tea or goes to the bathroom to bathe, but truthfully they all know they do not need to eat here. They are kept in a temporal nothingness, where food is only for pleasure and age does not increase.

Lily suspects that Sirius is remembering. He is remembering his past life and wondering about his ills, his decisions, his loves. She thinks he does not sleep as much as he makes out to; more that he lies awake. Sometimes she goes in to see him, and combs his hair, and talking to him in a soothing voice about the good days, because Lily knows that Sirius is dwelling on his past hardships.

One night, he comes down for supper. Lily makes apple pie with homemade cream, because she knows Sirius likes it. She and James find out that Sirius has been waiting, even though waiting is an insubstantial concept in this house.

“Am I allowed to stay here?” he asks James.

“For as long as you like,” James answers cheerfully.

“I would like to stay, at least until Moony gets here.”

Lily serves her men, placing their plates on the table in front of them. “That room belongs to you now, Sirius,” she tells him, “and when Remus comes, he can share it with you.”

He looks up at her with sad eyes. “I’m not sure if he’ll want to…”

“Of course he will,” Lily dismisses.

“It’s just that, I wasn’t a very good friend to him near the end of my life.”

Lily sits and places a soft, thin hand over his cold one. “He’ll come, and then he’ll forgive you. He’s not one to hold a grudge, our Remus, is he?” she adds with a grin at James.

Lily wonders if Remus will come soon. A part of her misses him; they both had so much in common. And then there is poor little Peter; would he come home too?

One night, in bed, while Lily is curled around James, he whispers in her ear. They are words that have only become real since the fog appeared.

“We’re dead, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” she whispers back, “I believe so.”

One day, Lily goes back to check on Sirius only to find him gone from his room.

She finds him in the nursery. Only, when she comes into the room, she sees it has completely changed. No longer is the crib and toys there; instead there is a large bed that almost takes up the space of the room, with modern dressers and a nice big wardrobe.

Sirius is sitting on the bed, back to her, staring out the window. He does not look up when she comes in, nor when she opens the wardrobe to find it full of nice men’s clothes, much like Sirius’s. She wonders briefly if this will be Remus’s room.

She walks over to Sirius and touches his head. “You have such lovely hair, Paddy,” she tells him softly. “May I brush it again?”

He grunts. Beside him is her old photo album; the one that went missing a while ago. And against the bedside table is a very beautiful racing broom. Sirius will not look up; he just watches as the fog outside rolls against the golden-splashed sky. She runs her fingers through his long black hair, now so much thicker and healthier than when he had first come back to them.

They stay like that for a while. Lily watches Sirius watch the fog.

Later, Sirius will not talk at dinner. Lily makes seafood marinara; rather exotic compared to her upbringing of meat-and-two-vegetables.

Whatever it is he is waiting for comes about half-way through their meal. He tenses visibly, sitting upright in his seat with nostrils flaring as if catching a scent on the air. He gets up and goes to the front room…

…and goes to the front door…

And opens it.

“GO AWAY,” Sirius booms, and Lily and James sigh together, as if they have been expecting this. Which they may have, Lily is unsure. “GO BACK!” Sirius continues. “YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE!”

There are exclaimed protests from the person at the door, their voice unfamiliar. Lily and James come over to see that Sirius has taken hold of the newcomer’s shoulders and is trying to shove the person back through the door. “Go back,” Sirius is saying frantically. “Go back through the fog, hurry, it might not be too late -“

“Forget it Sirius!” exclaims the newcomer, and Lily is quite shocked to see this person. It is a man that she swears looks just like James. “It is too late, I’m here now, I belong here, with you.”

“You’re too young,” Sirius is protesting, breathless now with what seems like fright. But the man pushes past him and up to Lily and James, who are holding hands.

He smiles broadly, and he is such a handsome young fellow, with big bright green eyes and a funny scar on his forehead. “Hello Mum, Dad.” Then he leaps forward and pulls her into a tight hug.

He hugs James after, and James pushes him back gently after a moment, his hands on the man’s shoulders, and James looks him up and down. “My, my, Harry,” he grins, “you sure have grown.”

Lily touches a hand to her son’s soft hair. “We were in the middle of dinner; would you like to sit down with us?”

Harry’s smile only gets wider, his eyes sparkling in glee. “Yes please, Mum, I’d like that.”

He turns to Sirius, who is glaring profusely, and embraces him too. “Oh Sirius, I missed you so much. I’m so happy to be here…” and then Lily and James leave and go to the kitchen to serve Harry some dinner.

“He’s too young,” Sirius is grumbling, as they eat at the table.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Honestly Sirius, I’m not a child anymore.”

“How old are you, darling?” asks Lily.

Harry cannot seem to stop smiling. He sits up proudly. “Eighteen. I was in a coma for two months after the battle with Voldemort, and I let myself go on my birthday.”

“Not much older than we are, then,” James comments.

Sirius ignores him, still glaring at Harry. “You should have stayed,” he persists, his hands clenched on the table. “You’re too young to die. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

But Harry is shaking his head. “I defeated Voldemort, there was nothing left for me to do.”

“What about your friends! Ron and Hermione -“

“Are engaged to be married. They can look after each other.” He gives Sirius an earnest look. “There was no reason for me to be there anymore. I served my purpose. Everyone is free now. Sirius,” - he puts his hand on Sirius’s clenched one - “I’m home.”

Sirius’s face is pinched, and Lily fears he may be about to cry. “Moony…”

Finally Harry’s smile melts away. “It’s the only thing I regret. I had to leave him behind, but I’m sure he’ll come eventually.”

And Sirius does not have much to say after that.

Later that evening, while Lily and James are relaxing and Harry and Sirius are upstairs, talking again, the doorbell chimes once more.

Lily goes to the door to see a young man with dark hair and grey eyes, on the front step, staring back at her curiously.

He smiles politely. “Mrs Potter? Hello, my name is Cedric Diggory. Is Harry home?”

“Yes,” says Lily, stepping aside and letting him through. “Are you a friend of his?”

“Yes,” answers Cedric, looking around. “We went to school together. You have a nice home, Mrs Potter, Mr Potter.”

The men nod politely at each other as Lily calls for Harry.

He bounds down the stairs and into the front room, Sirius in tow. Harry looks surprised to see his friend Cedric, but he steps up and they embrace.

“I heard you’d come, and I thought I’d pay you a visit.” Cedric chuckles. “Gosh Harry, you’ve grown.”

Harry blushes. “Come to my room. How have you been? Where are you staying?”

They walk away, and Lily hears Cedric answer, “I’m staying with my grandparents at the moment. Things get a little dull…”

“Who is he?” Lily asks Sirius once the new men are gone.

Sirius goes over to James and sits next to him, and Lily sits on an armchair. “Voldemort killed him, right in front of Harry’s eyes.” He scowls. “Harry was only fourteen. And that Hufflepuff boy - he was only in his sixth year at Hogwarts.”

“Not to worry,” says James lightly, “they’re alright now, aren’t they?”

Cedric stays with them for a few nights, and when he leaves, he and Harry promise each other to visit. Cedric explains to Lily that the fog is not a fence, but a means of travel, like the floo. You can go anywhere you want; all Lily has to do is walk into the fog and think of a destination. It is important to concentrate really hard, he tells her; otherwise you may drift around forever.

Lily knows more people will come. Remus will come for Sirius, and they may stay or they may go, but Sirius is adamant about staying at their house until Remus does arrive. She knows more friends and acquaintances will come and say hello, and talk about their Beforelives.

Foes will come too, and apologies will be said. Bellatrix will come for Sirius, and Petunia will come for Lily, and Harry mentions one day that even Tom Riddle will come to them to make amends, and Draco Malfoy will come for Harry too. Sirius and James will one day leave for a little while, and search out Severus Snape, and say sorry, and Severus will forgive them.

Harry will leave too, she believes. She knows he likes it here in this house, where he can reminisce about the childhood he never had. But he is grown up now and she and James do not know him very well, and soon Harry will grow weary of their comfortable, quiet home, and go and find other places to dwell. Sirius and Remus will also leave eventually, and find their own home to haunt together.

But they will always come back to visit. And every time the doorbell chimes, Lily or James will answer, and let the visitors inside with full-hearted salutations.

End.