The morning of… (L/J)
It wasn’t the customary ray of golden light spilling on her face that awoke her, for the sun never rose that day. It chose to remain hidden behind its thick shroud of clouds. It was, instead, a pair of familiar, warm lips brushing her shoulder that roused her from sleep.
“You’re staring, Potter,” she mumbled, bleary and eyes still closed. At the sound of his soft chuckle, however, she opened one eye, peering up at him through her eyelashes. She arched an eyebrow when she fully took in his expression, opening the other eye and sitting up soon after. “It’s rude, you know,” she began conversationally. “Looking at me like that and not doing anything about it.”
James grinned, catching on at once and leaning in to kiss her. “Well, I’ll have to do something about that, won’t I?” He shifted to better kiss her jaw and neck, the mattress creaking slightly with the movement. “Wouldn’t want my wife to think I’ve got horrible manners.”
Lily’s hands were already tangled amidst the hair at the back of his neck while his slid down the curve of her waist, pulling her close. Their lips had just found each other once more, when a stirring cry from the next room caused her to break apart.
“Harry’s awake,” she said.
Breathless and frustrated as he was, James buried his face in the crook of her neck, unmoving.
“Go get him, yeah?”
James grunted something unintelligible against her neck.
“See?” she said, smug smile tugging at her lips. “He’s calling for you.”
James lifted his head. “You taught him how to do that,” he accused in a failed attempt to look cross, but standing to his feet nonetheless and slipping into a pair of trousers. Lily only grinned, shrugging as innocently as she could.
She had enough time to throw one of James’s shirts over her when he returned, a babbling and content Harry in his arms, eyes bright with the crying that had only ceased at the sight of his father.
Lily took her son and kissed his nose in good morning. When asked to do the same in return, the baby pressed his open mouth on his mother’s cheek with a small smacking of his tiny lips, no doubt his version of a loving kiss. “Now one for dadda,” Lily told him, and Harry repeated the action on James’s cheek, who laughed loudly.
“Now, where did you leave his costume?”
Lily stood from the bed and walked to the chest of drawers by the window. From the top drawer she pulled out what looked like a miniature set of Quidditch robes. “Who did you say he was going to be again?” she asked, holding them up in front of her and staring at them, brow furrowing in confusion.
“Josef Wronski,” replied James as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Inventor of the Wronski Feint.”
“Wonky fen!” cried Harry happily at once.
“Wronski Feint,” corrected his father, chuckling.
Lily rolled her eyes, but joined in his laughter anyway, sitting herself on the bed once more. “James, I never got that right no matter how many times you told me. I doubt a one year-old would.”
“I’ll teach him,” he replied solemnly, glancing down at his son who had resorted to babbling with prolonged m’s and b’s, all while playing with a fistful of his mother’s hair.
Lily, momentarily wincing when Harry tugged hard on a lock, pointed out, “He’s only one, James. He’s not going to learn much.”
“Oh, I know,” he replied quickly. “He doesn’t have to learn it all now. I meant, eventually. We’ll have ages. I’ll teach him everything there is to know about Quidditch,” there was a glint of excitement in his eyes and anyone would have found it impossible to retort. “Won’t be easy now since he’s only a baby, but I’m persistent. I’ll get it right some day.” And he looked her straight in the eye, a smirk pulling at his lips, when he added, “I always do. I did with you after all, didn’t I?”
Lily watched him carefully, a fond smile dawning on her face. “I love you.” The words rolled off her lips as naturally as they always had.
James beamed at her before leaning in for a kiss. His forehead was still pressed to hers when he murmured in return, “I love you, too.”
Her pulse quickened. It always felt like the first time.
“Reckon if the weather is nice tomorrow,” James started, his attention back on Harry. “I’ll take him out to the yard with that broom Padfoot sent him for his birthday.”
Harry’s tiny head perked up at the sound of his godfather’s nickname. “Pah-fu!” He repeated over and over again, cut short by the sound of parents’ laughter. He found the sound contagious for he too started to giggle. For that small moment, there was no war. They were a family— a normal, happy family that didn’t have to hide; a family that had many years of laughter promised to them; a family that couldn’t be torn apart.
Lily’s gave way to a small sigh. “Merlin, Halloween already,” she said quietly, watching Harry as he flapped his hands about happily, still mirthful. “I lose track of the days in here.”
James sensed the shift in her tone. Smile slipping slightly, he moved beside her, threw an arm around her, and pulled her to him. He pressed his lips against her temple and hoping to dissipate a bit of her worry, he offered, “I’ll make dinner tonight, after we put Harry to sleep.”
It worked for his wife laughed. “You always say that, liar,” she teased.
But James shook his head, saying very seriously. “No, I’m serious this time. It’ll be just you, me, a burnt conglomerate that we’ll probably have to throw out, and that Muggle record you’ve been trying to get me to listen to for ages.” He stole one kiss before adding, “Promise.”
In memory of Lily and James Potter, but more so, in dedication to all the wonderful, talented people I’ve met thanks to them.