a letter | a harry potter fan fiction

“Lily?”

Lily froze on the staircase, hand brushing against stone. There—on the couch. James. Her body slowly became unstuck, thawing again. She made her way down the stairs, clutching the lamp tighter, and ducked her head so that the streaks of flaming hair would hide her red eyes.

“Lily?” James repeated, drawing a hand through his hair and sitting up. “Are you okay?”

She took him in, about to ask the same question back. He was still in his clothes, his rumpled hair matching the wrinkles in his shirt. His face has creases on it from the couch, and he was blinking furiously to wake himself up. Lily wrapped an arm around her chest, feeling her eyes sting.

“I’m fine,” she managed. The words sounded distant and cold, even to her. 

She ignored James, crossing the room to the fireplace that stood across from the couch. Kneeling down, she unclenched her fist and glanced down at it. The letter waited, blank-white in her palm. Her finger was painted with a line of red—a paper cut. She shouldn’t have held the letter so tightly. Lily set the lamp down at her feet. She held out the letter, watching with indifference as the flames ate it hungrily, licking at her fingers for more. 

Suddenly James was beside her, pulling her hand away from the fire. He took her elbows gently, leading her backwards to the couch. A red blanket was placed around her shoulders. Lily hardly felt it. She propped her chin on her knees, unable to take her eyes away from the charred paper lying at the bottom of the fire. James stirred next to her and she finally tore her gaze back to him.

“I’m sorry,” Lily whispered. He shook his head, resting an arm on the back of the couch and watching her carefully. She sighed and turned to him, clenching her jaw.

“I—” she swallowed. “I got a letter from my sister.”

Lily suddenly found she couldn’t continue. Her cheeks were wet, her throat ached, and the stinging in her eyes was growing. She fought back a sob, burrowing herself deeper into the blanket. James wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his chest. She sank into him willingly, focusing on each breath. Finally she pulled back, rubbing her nose.

“She told me not to come home.”

The words hurt more to say them than it had hurt to read. She fell back against James again, aching to be held and comforted. He raised his hand, and she waited for him to run it through his hair. Instead, he ran it over hers.

“Lily,” he said softly, his voice cracking with sleepiness. Was it sleepiness?

She pressed her cheek into the buttons on his shirt.

“She hates me, James. Petunia hates me. She’s my sister.”

James held her silently. Right then it was enough to be held. 

“I’m sorry,” he said finally.

“I know,” she replied into his shirt.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You’re not alone.”

Lily sobbed.