Summery: What happens when Lily starts geting visions everytime she is near James? Does the bright green light and lightning bolt scar mean anything?
Um, this one is pretty dark.
On the evening Lily Potter discovers she’s pregnant for the third time she begins to dream in color.
Remarkably, she dreams of the first loss. The one from when she was still Evans, a month before becoming Potter. The remembered images are hazy, washed through a filter of heavy oppressive blue. She watches as if from afar as dream-Lily folds herself into a window seat. Her head turns towards the window as she pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. The sounds of their low voices from the other room waft over her. They’re three waiting for Peter to arrive and Lily remembers all too well what is buzzing around her mind right then.
Should she tell him?
Does it even matter anymore? He never knew she was pregnant. If he had, he would just hold her close and tell her it was for the best. There will be other babies under better circumstances.
He’s right, she knows he’s right. This is no time to think of having children. This is no world to bring children into, when everyone is frightened and looking at one another with suspicious eyes.
Peter’s entering the yard, closing the gate behind him and Lily closes her eyes, turning her head away from him just as he raises his hand to wave. In the next moment, there’s a knock at the door. James is calling for her, asking her to get the door, and when the knock comes again, the sound of chair legs scraping across the slate in the kitchen fills the cottage. “I don’t know where she’s gotten too…” he says and Lily ignores him as he passes through the front parlor without noticing she’s there. He comes back with Peter in tow.
“Sorry about that, mate. I thought Lily was in here, but I must have been mistaken.” Peter turns and catches Lily’s gaze from the window seat. He gives her a smile she can’t quite comprehend, but doesn’t let on to James she’s there. Shivering slightly, overcome for a moment, she thinks, he knows. He knows about the loss and he’s happy about it. And then she forgets about Peter and begins to wonder if the baby had been a boy or girl and doesn’t realize how much she wanted this until the choice was taken from her.
She awakens alone in the morning, her arms wrapped tightly around James’ pillow.
Later, after she’s puttered around and drank her tea, she lies on the sun-warmed bed and wonders where he is. It’s been days since she’s seen him. Or any of them. “Let me come,” she begged on the morning he Apparated for who-knows-where.
“No,” he said as he pulled her to him and hugged her fiercely. He was still smarting over her near-capture at the hands of Voldemort on their last mission. “I can’t lose you, Lily. This one, this recovery is going to be bad.” She nodded her head, tears filling her eyes.
She overheard Sirius when he floo’d the message about the mission to James. Edgar Bones had been one of the very first wizards she had met when they joined the Order of the Phoenix. He was the one who had taken the young Marauders under his wing, taught them everything he felt they needed to know in those early days.
The idea of him and almost his entire family being lost… Lily just had a hard time wrapping her mind around it. She refused to think of his Muggle-born wife Shirley and their twin three year old girls. She prayed the girls were okay. James had refused to say.
The what-if thoughts kept swirling in her head. What if it had been James and not Edgar who had been attacked and killed? What if she had been the Muggle-born murdered in the night? What if it had been Sirius or Remus?
Funny, how she doesn’t worry so much about Peter like she does the others. Peter, like his animagus always has a tendency to land on his feet.
Lily is frightened. Every day, more and more stories are being published in the Daily Prophet about the Death Eaters. Pretty soon the whole entire Wizarding world will live in horror of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. What Lily fears though are the stories not published; the ones too horrific for public consumption, the ones James tells late at night when she’s holding his shaking body after he awakens from nightmares. The ones that very well could be told about her one day.
She only wants him home, here with her.
She wants him home so she can sit across from him and hold tightly onto his hands. She wants to crawl into his lap and wrap her arms around him when the blood drains from his face in fear of the future. She wants to finally tell him of the other ones.
She wants this one to thrive so she has something to tell.
She lays back down on the bed and daydreams. This is something Lily has done in the past pregnancies, something which allows her to imagine for just a moment what it will feel like the first time her child moves inside of her. This is just a heartbeat she takes, all alone, with her hands on her still-flat abdomen before the fear of loss sets in.
Her eyes grow heavy until crimson overtakes her.
This time she dreams of the second one. She awakens alone, surrounded by red. Thick and viscous, clinging to her parted thighs, and covering the white sheets of the bed. The unrecognizable sound coming from her throat is high and wounded. Her gaze swings wildly around the room, searching for her murderer.
She is alone… except not. Red, red, everywhere is red.
There are faces in the mirror across from her, some watching her, some screaming in pain, in fear. She swings her legs over the edge of the bed, never taking her eyes from the reflecting glass. The walls are covered with splatters of scarlet, and a blood soaked wand is clutched in her hand.
Finally, her eyes drop and she looks at the wand in wonder. She opens her fist, and the wooden rod falls to the floor, clattering loudly in the quiet room. She stares at the blood as it drains off the wand, running up the walls towards the mirror. Somehow in this dream reality, it doesn’t surprise her.
The mirror drinks the liquid and the faces become more visible. She knows these faces. These faces of the dead are tortured, twisting in and out of the frame, each vying to show her their visage. These are the dead faces of living people she calls friends.
Her breath hitches as she recognizes the faces of Marlene McKinnon and Dorcas Meadows swirling in the smoke of the glass. She stands on shaking legs and takes the few steps until she is standing in front of the frosted glass. Suddenly so tired, she raises both of her hands and she rests them palm-flat on the wall behind the mirror. She no longer recognizes her own reflection. The face is pale, streaked with red. Her eyes are large, pupils dilated.
The only sound in the room is a rhythmic pit pat of dripping blood. A corpse in the frame comes forward, not a corpse – Edgar Bones! baring yellowing teeth at her and she cries out, flinching away from the wall. The wand is back in her hand and she brandishes it above her head, stabbing, stabbing at the mirror, wanting to break the glass. Not stopping as she finally reaches her goal, the glass shattering around her feet, slicing her bare legs and feet.
She erased the faces and the future they foretold.
Lily awakens with a shudder, the sun has sunk below the house and the room has grown cold. Her eyes fly to the mirror, blessedly clear. Just a dream.
Only a dream.
Not until the sound of a loud crack reverberating through the house does Lily realize how jumpy she’s become upon awakening from her nightmare. She closes the book she was reading and stands up, carelessly throwing it behind her.
Her heart racing, she moves through the cottage quietly, understanding at once it very well may not be James who Apparated into her home. There is no call of her name, no announcement he’s home.
On the mantel in the parlor a clock ticks off the seconds. It’s the loudest sound in the house.
She steps into shadow by the kitchen door and peers around the jam. The room is alight in shadows jumping along the walls from the fireplace. Cold ice shivers down her spine as she realizes James is sitting at the table, his face in his hands. He’s not moving, not breathing and then his hands come down and he turns his head upwards toward the ceilings. Lily watches him silently, taking note of the deep circles under his eyes and the lines that have recently formed around his mouth. Worry lines, her mother called them.
He looks like a corpse. Lily jumps as a knot pops in the fire and her elbow catches on a vase and it crashes to the floor. James is up in a flash, wand straight and true, aiming for her heart.
She stumbles backwards, not recognizing this James, this wild James and the edge of the rug she trips on very well might have saved her life. A flash of red streaks over her as her head connects solidly with the wooden planked floor.
Darkness engulfs her.
Green this time. Not lost yet. She pulls her arms around her midsection protectively. Not this time, she screams into the abyss. Green surrounds her, lightning flashes in the distance. She’s holding him, her son as she runs through the house. Will not let him harm her son.
She’s running from James. Running from the Inferi he was forced to become. Screams from below, the cackle of laughter. Her son crying in her arms, can’t find her wand, can’t Apparate.
Green, green the windows are smashing below. The baby is crying, shush, she says as her voice trembles. Smoke billowing through the cracks in the door. She smells the heat. Her mind is slowly going mad. The floor beneath her feet trembles and sags. Must protect him. Must not die. Must protect him. Must not let him die.
The nursery door smashes open. Green, green, lightning scar. A flash of light--
She awakens with her head in James’ lap and his tears on her face. “I’m sorry, Lils,” he whispers.
“Me too,” she whispers back. “I’m pregnant.”