"I—" Lily falters briefly then, looking away to try and gather her thoughts. She isn't ashamed of the ultimatum she'd given James, but she isn't sure how to word it so that it doesn't sound worse.
"I made him."
Plainly, and she follows it up with: "I made him promise to leave you alone before I would entertain the idea of spending any time with him."
So she'd bartered with herself, essentially, after they had stopped having contact. A more hands-off approach maybe, than before.
For a little while it seems like Severus hasn't heard Lily. He carries on staring at her as though she hadn't said anything, like maybe her answer is so ludicrous or painful that he's incapable of even hearing it, much less processing it. As it does sink in - her words, the way she looks away, her voice, the implication on her whole life and her baby - Severus's eyes change, black going darker, tension flinching over his eyes and brow like frost snapping into place.
It's small. But it's there.
And now it's his turn to stand up. Severus doesn't pace but once, twice, waiting with one hand on his hip and the other over his mouth, turned away from Lily. Like his honest reaction might hurt her by accident, that even if James is the target she might be stuck in the crossfire or emotional blast zone simply because Severus is here, feeling, breathing.
She hasn't cried not because James being six months dead has softened the blow. The idea that learning everything was based off of that initial lie that he'd charmed her with could be softened by half a year is absurd.
She hasn't cried because some part of her doesn't want to cry in front of anyone at all.
She also does not flinch or shy away from Severus' reaction, the sharpness of him. She isn't afraid of him: she never was. But now he's turned away and she dips her head again, hand covering her mouth to stifle the stutter of her breath. She doesn't let out a sob, but maybe it's worse that she's quiet when the dam breaks.
Is it his fault? Everything else is, either in truth or from a certain point of view. If Severus hadn't been the way he was, Lily would never have been left with that as her only way out of being alone. He knows what that feels like-- but Merlin, it burns something awful inside of him, thinking about Albus sitting there with his gentle eyes telling him that if Lily saw the good in James that Severus needed to accept it. But she didn't, she just saw lies.
He doesn't know how he could have been different. The world was so harsh and he felt so small.
Lily doesn't have to make any noise. Severus turns after a while, tension in the air between them a living thing. He goes to his knees at her side and pulls her into an embrace he'd never dare with anyone else, and might not even with her at any other time. He feels dizzy with the strength of his emotions; anger and grief and all else. He doesn't know if he's trying to comfort her or make himself feel better, or if he has the capacity to think straight at all.
Lily doesn't know how to feel at all. Everything she'd known has gotten ripped out from under her and she's left reeling, drowning in something and trying to claw her way out before she's consumed by it.
The embrace doesn't surprise her but it twists something inside her and now she does choke on a sob, arms all but flinging around him. Her face buries in his shoulder long enough for her to try and compose herself but it doesn't work very well: she doesn't move for a very long time, doesn't speak until she feels hollowed out and empty.
Still, the first thing she says is "don't be sorry," followed shortly by, "I wanted you to be safe." That part at least, remains the same.
This sort of physical connectivity still feels unnatural to Severus, but for right now, all he wants to do is cling to Lily like he can protect her, fix everything, like maybe they might both drift away into some unknown darkness if they aren't holding onto each other. He's never felt this particular terror before, twisting his insides, everything cold. His mistakes press into his lungs, making him feel like he's moments from suffocating.
Severus shakes his head, not trusting his voice just yet. He knows she tried, but she shouldn't have bargained herself-- she shouldn't have had to, he shouldn't have left her backed into that corner.
It's been so long, just like it had been so long since they'd held hands like children, that she doesn't want to move. She wants to stay like this, to pretend like nothing had ever happened, like she isn't trying to even out her breathing after losing it in front of her oldest friend.
They've both made mistakes.
She doesn't speak again after he shakes his head: just stays like that, quietly, though she sinks down slightly so they're on a more even level, her head never quite leaving his shoulder. There's nothing she can say now, so she doesn't. Just breathes.
Severus is powerless to do anything. James is already dead. Lily is already dead. He can't pick out a time-turner and go back and fix it all. His guilt over being the messenger of her death is tied up in a hundred other things, no small number of them flinging hatred and blame at Potter. This makes it easier, but it also makes him even more sad. He was never good enough for Lily and he never managed to protect her, but at least he never lied about it.
(Severus has to force himself to stop thinking about it to forestall a memory overtaking him: Albus, sitting across from him, his voice weary but frightening. If the prophecy had never been handed over, then Voldemort would still be alive...)
Nothing to do but sit on the floor of his office and hold her. In time they'll have to get up and move on, but for now, it's just them.
At some point she sits level to him, on the floor, not caring and not thinking about anything at all. She's angry, and distraught, and exhausted. There is nothing left for her at home, and all she has left is here.
Here, where her fingers curl at his collar, clutching the fabric in her fingers at the back of his neck.
(Part of her thinks about James, wonders if a part of him ever did change for her. It tightens her chest and she screws her eyes shut, keeps her mind blank as possible instead.)
Eventually she'll get up to leave, linger in the door, then go to think alone instead of going back to Medical. For now, this is enough.
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no subject
"I made him."
Plainly, and she follows it up with: "I made him promise to leave you alone before I would entertain the idea of spending any time with him."
So she'd bartered with herself, essentially, after they had stopped having contact. A more hands-off approach maybe, than before.
And James lied to her about it.
Cool.
no subject
It's small. But it's there.
And now it's his turn to stand up. Severus doesn't pace but once, twice, waiting with one hand on his hip and the other over his mouth, turned away from Lily. Like his honest reaction might hurt her by accident, that even if James is the target she might be stuck in the crossfire or emotional blast zone simply because Severus is here, feeling, breathing.
He is so angry.
no subject
She hasn't cried not because James being six months dead has softened the blow. The idea that learning everything was based off of that initial lie that he'd charmed her with could be softened by half a year is absurd.
She hasn't cried because some part of her doesn't want to cry in front of anyone at all.
She also does not flinch or shy away from Severus' reaction, the sharpness of him. She isn't afraid of him: she never was. But now he's turned away and she dips her head again, hand covering her mouth to stifle the stutter of her breath. She doesn't let out a sob, but maybe it's worse that she's quiet when the dam breaks.
no subject
He doesn't know how he could have been different. The world was so harsh and he felt so small.
Lily doesn't have to make any noise. Severus turns after a while, tension in the air between them a living thing. He goes to his knees at her side and pulls her into an embrace he'd never dare with anyone else, and might not even with her at any other time. He feels dizzy with the strength of his emotions; anger and grief and all else. He doesn't know if he's trying to comfort her or make himself feel better, or if he has the capacity to think straight at all.
"I'm sorry."
no subject
The embrace doesn't surprise her but it twists something inside her and now she does choke on a sob, arms all but flinging around him. Her face buries in his shoulder long enough for her to try and compose herself but it doesn't work very well: she doesn't move for a very long time, doesn't speak until she feels hollowed out and empty.
Still, the first thing she says is "don't be sorry," followed shortly by, "I wanted you to be safe." That part at least, remains the same.
no subject
Severus shakes his head, not trusting his voice just yet. He knows she tried, but she shouldn't have bargained herself-- she shouldn't have had to, he shouldn't have left her backed into that corner.
He was never safe, but it's not her fault.
no subject
They've both made mistakes.
She doesn't speak again after he shakes his head: just stays like that, quietly, though she sinks down slightly so they're on a more even level, her head never quite leaving his shoulder. There's nothing she can say now, so she doesn't. Just breathes.
no subject
(Severus has to force himself to stop thinking about it to forestall a memory overtaking him: Albus, sitting across from him, his voice weary but frightening. If the prophecy had never been handed over, then Voldemort would still be alive...)
Nothing to do but sit on the floor of his office and hold her. In time they'll have to get up and move on, but for now, it's just them.
no subject
Here, where her fingers curl at his collar, clutching the fabric in her fingers at the back of his neck.
(Part of her thinks about James, wonders if a part of him ever did change for her. It tightens her chest and she screws her eyes shut, keeps her mind blank as possible instead.)
Eventually she'll get up to leave, linger in the door, then go to think alone instead of going back to Medical. For now, this is enough.