The Marauders: Year Six #Wattys2017

As Long As You Want Me

As Long As You Want Me

James flew hard. He flew harder and harder, his hands gripping the broomstick, white-knuckled, pushing himself to go faster, to take the corners at full velocity so that his mind raced and his stomach dropped to the very pit of himself and the broomstick shuddered, on the verge of breaking from the pressure...

Charlus had cried again that day. It'd been horrid. Dora had left the room, unable to take it when they scraped the scales, which were darker and bluer than they'd been before, thicker, too. James had stayed, though, because Charlus had begged him not to go and he'd held onto his son's hand so tightly, the nerves in his fingers seeming to scream into James's skin. James had closed his eyes and let Charlus squeeze his arm just as tightly as he needed to, even to the point that it hurt.

Later, when Charlus was asleep, James had picked up the book that Sirius had left - bored and with nothing more to do, he'd started reading and he found that the book was about a bunch of kids that go travelling through time to save their father and James had felt his heart catch.

He knew what that was like.

She was enfolded in the great wings of Mrs. Whatsit and she felt comfort and strength pouring through her. Mrs. Whatsit was not speaking aloud, and yet through the wings Meg understood words. 'My child, do not despair. Do you think we would have brought you here if there was no hope? We are asking you to do a difficult thing, but we are confident that you can do it. Your father needs help, he needs --" James paused in reading staring at the book, staring at the words he was reading. He started the sentence over, his mind trembling over the words. "'Your father needs help, he needs courage..."

He had put the book down.

But the words echoed in his mind.

We are asking you to do a difficult thing, but we are confident that you can do it. Your father needs help, he needs courage...

Now, James gripped the broom, looping 'round the narrow end of the field again, the broom trembling as hard as James's heart was.

It was then that he saw her - through a cloud of tears that filled his eyes - the lavender of her ginger hair reflecting the moonlight unmistakable. She was standing on his back patio, beneath the glow of the outside lamp he'd left on when he'd gone out to fly. He slowed and lowered the broom to the ground, stumbling as his feet, unsteady from the laps he'd flown, tangled beneath himself and, clumsy, he tripped into the high grass of the field.

Lily Evans ran across the field to where he'd fallen and she dropped to her knees beside him, "Are you alright?" she asked as she grabbed his glasses from the ground, where they'd fallen off his face.

James flushed and nodded, pushing himself up, "Just... going too fast," he murmured. He stared at her blurrily for a moment before she held out his glasses and he slid them onto his face, bringing her into focus.

She reached up and swept a bit of dirt from his cheek that was stuck there from his fall and she said, "Honestly, Potter, you could've hurt yourself!"

James stared at her. "What are you doing here? Sirius and Remus went back to Iceland."

"I know. Sirius wrote me that you were all alone and wanted me to check on you," she said.

"You came here for me?" he asked, incredulous.

Lily looked up at him. "Usually when somebody goes to someone else's house they're there for them, yes," she said.

James didn't know what to say.

"I brought coffee."

He stared at her, wide-eyed, still in a good deal of disbelief that she was there at all.

"Potter?" she raised an eyebrow, "You think you could... I dunno, speak?"

His mouth sort of flapped a moment but he still couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"Honestly! I know I'm asking you to do such a difficult thing," she said in a sassy tone, "Speaking! How could I! But I'm quite confident that you can do it."

The words were nearly exactly the quote from the book and James's mind instantly finished it, Your father needs help, he needs courage...

And, just like that, he lost it.

Completely lost it.

He started to cry.

Lily stared at him, flabbergasted, "I - I'm sorry," she stammered, "I didn't mean to snap at you, James."

But he was choking on his own air and his face went blotchy and he tried to turn away, tried to push himself up from the ground, but his wrist gave out - the bones cracking beneath his skin - a pain he hadn't been going to tell her about before, afraid of looking like a baby - and he fell back toward her and she caught him before he fell all the way. Her arms encircled him. "Blimey," she whispered, "I'm very sorry."

"It's n- n- not y-you," he choked.

Lily held him, "Well what is it? You're a right mess. Is your wrist okay? Did you lie to me before about whether you were hurt? You know, I can't very well mend it if you don't tell me what's the matter!"

James continued choking as Lily took his wrist up in her hand and inspected it, feeling the bones were fractured. "Oh James," she said sympathetically, and she drew her wand and performed the healing charm and James felt his bones warm and tighten as they reformed together and she ran her fingers over them again, checking that it had mended properly and she nodded, satisfied.

Fat tears streamed over his round cheeks and Lily gently removed his glasses again and reached into the pocket he always kept his handkerchief in and pulled it out, sweeping it over his eyes softly, "James, dear, what are you crying for?" she whispered.

"Evans did you - you just call me a deer?" he choked through his tears. "Don't - don't you mean stag?"

"Oi, even when you're crying you've got to make stag puns?" she asked, a tiny smile flickering over her face like the flame of a candle. But he was still crying, so she sighed and pulled him into her, laying one palm over his hair and the other arm wrapped about his shoulder. James Potter melted into her, his arms slipping about her waist.

"My dad's sick."

Lily's nose couldn't help but be buried in his hair the way she held him... and his hair smelled so good - like some sort of manly shampoo and that boy-musky-foresty-Old-Spicey smell, like the jumper she'd accidentally stolen from him. She felt her heart flutter and hoped he didn't hear it skip a beat.

"What from?" she whispered.

"Dragon pox," James said thickly.

It was worse than the word cancer to a muggle.

"He's dying."

Lily's mouth went quite dry.

"I don't know what to do."

To Lily's merit, she did not say she was sorry. She did not tell him it would be okay. She did not say any of the things that he was sick of hearing, instead, she said the words that had been what she herself had needed to hear, the words he'd said to her:

"I'm here for you, Potter. As long as you want me, I'm here."

He breathed in the smell of her soap - roses and vanilla - and he closed his eyes. James whispered, "I'll always want you, Evans."

"Then I'll always be here, won't I?"