The Autumn Air
The orange sun lazily drifted behind the horizon, coloring the approaching night dark purples and fiery reds that faded into a rich inky blue. Scattered clouds and stars were barely discernable as a stillness seemed to hang in the brisk air.
But she was restless. She knew she was holding up better than her husband- who didn’t bother to hide how disgruntled he was with the whole situation-, but still, she wished she could be out there, with a real job, with friends, with normal cares and worries.
No, she had a job of staying put, receiving little news, watching isolation take its toll on her family. Her son deserved more than this- the opportunity to go to the park or else to another child’s house. But really, she knew he didn’t understand being cooped up. He was just a baby, a harmless vulnerable baby. Better to keep him under her wraps, especially seeing a darkness- vile evil- was spreading swifter than the phoenix could fly. She knew that- she had heard of the McKinnons’ death and had bawled for a good day or so. Maybe it had been a week. She lost track of time while in isolation. But even remembering that event brought tears to her eyes now, hot and blinding.
The Order was having so much trouble and definitely did not have the advantage that the other side did. This fear, on top of everything else, was one of those opponents stronger than they, driving them back to depths of utter hopelessness and despair.
She was sitting on the couch- not a special one, just a piece of furniture that served its purpose, which was to be sat on. She glanced at the clock ticking away, but then quickly berated herself. What was she waiting for? Did she expect the world to suddenly become peaceful by midnight? That suddenly all would be well and everyone would be happy?
Sighing, she let her gaze wander around the living room: a table, some chairs, perhaps a photo. Not much. Dumbledore had said to keep things simple- they might have to move again. She didn’t want to think about it.
It irritated her, more than she let on, because she didn’t need to fuel her husband’s anger and restlessness. But deep down, she was just as apprehensive and maddened- by this never ending wait. Her days trickled by slowly, agonizingly, and it just got worse with each living minute.
Sure, she had been overjoyed when Harry had taken his first step. When he had gotten a broomstick for his birthday and zoomed around laughing, nearly running over the cat. When Harry made fascinated noises as James displayed tidbits of magic. But those moments were just blips in this dry wait. This paranoid wait. This ever-stretching, lasting, disgusting wait.
A floorboard creaked somewhere and startled her so much that she immediately stood and whipped out her wand, braced for a duel. Then another chastisement. Nothing there. Nothing. Just a house being a house.
She let her arm fall to her side, her wand just dangling in her pale fingers, and she leaned back, allowing her eyes to close briefly. A sickening image of Voldemort appeared. She gave a cry and quickly sat up, her green eyes flying open and searching for comfort. Her body shook involuntarily and she tried to calm herself down. Nothing there. It was nothing. She was a Gryffindor, for crying out loud! Why was she so antsy?
Deciding it would be best to get up and do something before she went completely off the bend, she slowly slid off the couch. Maybe she should go and bother James. He had decided to take an early night in, complaining of a headache, but she knew better. He was hoping to wake up from this nightmare. Harry was in his crib, unaware of all the dangers circulating. Only she was up, frightened of the stale air permeating throughout the tiny house.
Halfway to her room, she paused. It was very silent and she hated it. Too silent. She really needed some night air, even if it was just to hear noises and be reassured that England was still alive. She hesitated on this thought, but Dumbledore hadn’t said anything about a stroll in her own backyard. It was just to clear her mind, calm down, enjoy nature.
So she made her way to the coat closet, knowing that she should at least wear some shoes or slippers outside, and maybe a coat in the chilly autumn air.
A sense of foreboding came over her when her hand closed around the handle of the closet. She noticed the door itself hadn’t been closed all the way and a sight rattle came form inside. She almost turned away, but her bravery- stupid bravery- won out. Hoping that a rat hadn’t found its way in, she determinedly opened the door. The world dropped beneath her, her lungs collapsing as she fought for breath. She screamed so loud and she almost fainted, a millions images shunted aside by the horrific one planted in front of her.
It was her baby boy, limbs mangled and bloody, his little chest unmoving and his face deathly pale, drained of blood, strangely empty, as though nothing inhabited him anymore. The sickly blue tint on his young skin told her that he was obviously dead.
Crying hysterically, she knelt down to the floor and reached for her son, wanting to hold him, breathe life back into him, rub warmth back into his icy looking skin. As her hand almost enclosed on the tiny wrist, her husband came barreling in, wand raised high, wildly searching about for the problem.
–Lily, what is it?†he yelled, panic in his eyes as he reached the front of the open closet.
She only sobbed harder, and her reflexes made her hand retrieve back to cover her tear stained face.
–Lily, get out of the way.†His voice was strangely calm, assertive, and, at the same time, soft, warm, loving. She looked up at him and saw that he had pointed his wand at her dead son.
–James, what are you doing?†she shrieked. –Put that thing down!â€
All rationality was gone. She struggled up and tried to wrestle James’ wand out of his hand. The image of her dead baby burned into her mind, refusing to leave. She heaved huge, racking sobs as she fought James.
–Lily, LILY! It’s a boggart! I just checked on Harry. He’s fine!†He righted her and brushed the flyaway red hair out of her face.
–Boggart?†she repeated, as though she had never heard the term before. Her eyes glazed over and felt the sense to vomit, greatly dizzied by her efforts.
James set her aside and strode towards the dead baby. Crack! Instantaneously, it grew into a dead woman with long red hair, not a mark on her, but clearly not alive and ghostly pale- it was her.
–Riddikulus!†James shouted and the boggart became something unrecognizable before disappearing into the tense air.
He turned back to her, not angry or sad, but forgiving and understanding, for she could tell that he had been shaken up by the image, too. She felt a huge sense of relief. Suddenly, staying cooped up didn’t seem so bad. At least she had James- her protector- and Harry.
James wrapped her into a hug and kissed her forehead. –It’ll be alright, Lily. We’re on the right side. It will all be worth it in the end. You’ll see.â€
Amazed by such a mature statement, she smiled weakly and thought that perhaps now would be a good time to get some long awaited sleep. Maybe it would pass the long wait. She certainly didn’t want to stay up, the boggart still clearly etched in her mind.
Before turning in, she checked in on Harry, and felt content to watch him snooze peacefully, his chest rising slowly, a little hand curled around the blanket. Safe and sound in the tiny crib.
With a little sigh, she stroked his hair softly, commanding her mind to memorize the warmth that emanated from his body, trying to block out the earlier image. She would protect him, she would always watch over him. She didn’t need a job- she saw that now. She already had the best one anyone could possibly imagine- being Harry’s mother.
With a last glance to the sleeping babe, she blew him a gentle kiss and closed the door. She could see that the night had finally descended, the moon starting to rise in the distance, full and bright. She allowed herself a brief prayer for Remus, who surely needed it, wherever Dumbledore had sent him. On this thought, she fervently hoped that her husband was right- that it would all be worth it in the end.
The inky sky was silent, foreboding, wisps of coming evil on the falling stars. But for now, the autumn air held sentiments of change and remnants of strength for all who wished to partake of it.
The Autumn Air by Nagini Riddle
Story Notes:
In case context is an issue, assume that this is the autumn before the Halloween Night that Voldemort comes into Godric's Hollow.
Chapter Endnotes: My boggart would be... I don't know. But I do know that I appreciate ALL comments, whether they say that this is awful or that it is excellent. Besides, reviews help my long wait. :)