When They Were Here by sarinileni

When They Were Here

Listen to: [I Won’t Make You, by Something Corporate]

……

Lily Evans sighed and turned away from the fire, smiling at Catherine Higgins as she did so, just to be polite. Her gaze fell on Peter Pettigrew, sitting in a corner and reading a book. Sirius Black, she knew, was up in his dorm. Remus Lupin was nowhere to be found. And James Potter…

Lily shook her head, wiping sudden tears from her eyes and glaring at the letter she was writing. She couldn’t take it anymore and she ripped it with a violent tearing noise, setting the pieces aflame with her wand.

The portrait hole opened and James walked in with Remus, laughing loudly about something. Lily stared so hard at the table she was afraid she would bore a hole right through the wood and be left staring at the red carpet on the floor.

For him to…to kiss her…and he knew she hadn’t ever…bastard. He hadn’t spoken to her since…and of all places, the Trophy Room?

She dug her nails into her palms, tears dropping onto the smooth tabletop. She wiped them away quickly and turned, hoping he wouldn’t see her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw James and Remus sit with Peter, and then she looked out the window, biting her lip.

James and Remus’s voices died down and she heard nothing: silence. They had halted their conversation. She blinked quickly to keep tears away and then paused when she heard someone drag out the chair next to hers and sit on it.

“Hey,” James said quietly, his voice hesitant.

Lily said something between “Hey” and “Hello”, coming out with a whopping “Hayello.”

She couldn’t see his face, but she was sure he was confused. She shut her eyes for a moment and then turned towards him. He was straddling his chair backwards, leaning his chest against the back and resting his chin on his folded arms. He was watching her curiously, almost as if considering her.

“Have you been crying?”

She started, her eyes locking with his. “No.” Her voice was defiant.

He paused, his eyes bright behind his glasses. “I pretty much always get what I want,” he stated.

“That’s nice to know,” Lily answered, staring at the wall, then glancing over at his face. Her eyes landed on his mouth. She furrowed her brows—she hoped kissing wasn’t as dissatisfying as it had seemed with him. She hoped it was better, much better.

“And I want you,” he continued flatly, his voice sharp.

Lily’s head snapped to the side, even though she had known it was coming. “Pardon?”

“I said, ‘I want you.’ And judging from yesterday afternoon, you’re not exactly opposed to the idea,” he replied. Lily gripped the edge of the tabletop in white-knuckled hands.

“You—you haven’t spoken to me all day,” she managed, her breath coming in short little gasps, blocked by the anger and confusion she felt.

Oh, yes: and the overwhelming desire to jump James Potter and snog his bloody brains out.

“Well, I was rather embarrassed,” he explained.

“Embarrassed!” she cried, dismayed.

“Yes. ‘I’m going to snog you now’ isn’t the most romantic thing to whisper in a girl’s ear.”

“Well, me telling you I’d never kissed anyone before wasn’t all that great either,” Lily muttered.

“Lily,” he said kindly, tilting his head to the side. No matter how many times he called her Lily, she would never hear it enough. She had endured six years of him calling her by her surname, and her first name on his lips was more than she could ask for. “That wasn’t just an innocent peck on the lips. It was…”

“An all-out snogging session?” she supplied weakly.

He nodded, looking pensive. “I don’t…you weren’t…I’ve had a lot of….”

“Was I terrible?” she blurted, voicing the fear that had been plaguing her all day, as well as the one before.

“No!” he said immediately, sitting up in his chair and gripping the sides tightly. “Not at all! Granted, we were a touch sloppy, but that’s not your fault.” He looked at her a long time. “Lily. Really. I didn’t want to stop.”

“Being walked in on by Binns and his first year tutoring student can kill the mood.” Lily gave him a wry smiled and he laughed.

“Look, Lily. You’re different, okay? And I don’t…I somehow don’t know how you want me to act. Usually I can tell whether a girl wants more or not, but you…” He shook his head. “You confuse me.”

Lily’s hand somehow found his.

“I like,” he added slowly, hoarsely, “how you confuse me.”

“Good,” she whispered, a blush rising in her cheeks.

……

“We’re going to get married.”

Lily glanced up at James’s chin and tilted her head back, smiling. “Oh, really? I wasn’t aware of that fact.”

James nodded thoughtfully. “Oh, yes. See, it’ll happen in June, and you’ll be all in white, and your wretched, batty sister will be there, as well as your benevolent parents—”

Lily laughed. “Of course—that’s it, James…butter me up.”

He leaned down and ran his tongue along her lower lip, pulling out of reach before she could kiss him properly. “Dunno. I think chocolate would taste better with your skin. Tastes good enough already—”

“Mmm,” Lily said, not in the mood to stop his randy words. She rather like hearing him speak like that, actually.

“Anyway.”

“Oh, of course,” Lily said, humoring him. “Continue.”

“Well, we’re going to have a Quidditch theme!”

The idea was so absurd that Lily burst out laughing as he went on.

“No! No, listen! Sirius will be the best man and I’ll be standing there and the rings will be fit around a broomstick handle he’s holding, and you’ll come down the aisle on a broom! And then you’ll get down and we’ll get married and eat a really good cake decorated with quaffles, snitches, and bludgers!

“I highly doubt it,” she remarked.

Suddenly serious, he rubbed his hand up her arm and smiled. “You know I mean it, right?”

She was distracted by the feel of his naked skin against hers. “What? A Quidditch-themed wedding? Your bride will run away screaming.”

“I don’t think so…you don’t really scream. Unless we’re in bed…”

She hit him lightly on the chest. “Well how would you know that? Once isn’t enough to classify whether I’m a screamer or not.”

“You’re a screamer,” James said with feeling. “Definitely a screamer.”

Lily rubbed her foot against his ankle. “Care to put that to the test?”

He grinned. “Of course. But I’m not done yet.”

“Ah, yes. Quidditch. Weddings.”

“I’m serious, Lily. You’re it for me. There isn’t going to be anyone else.”

“Don’t talk about the future, James. It scares me. This is…such a clichéd and magical moment. Just…bask in it.” She ran her fingers lightly down his arm and met his eyes firmly.

“You’re right,” he conceded, his smile only slight.

Her lips tugged upwards a little at the corners and she turned in his arms, settling into his arms with a sigh. The bed was perfect, the pillow just right. The moon fell on a stone in the wall just at her eye level, coloring it a ghostly white against the blackish-gray color of the rest. It looked as if it was waiting for something.

“Get me a quill,” Lily said to James.

“Why?”

“Just get me one.”

“Why?”

She turned to glare at him; he looked innocently back, then quirked a smile and shifted, twisting so he could reach his bag, on the floor. “Ink?”

“No.”

He rummaged around for a quill and Lily stared, mesmerized, at the dark line of hair that ran down his stomach and disappeared, covered, under the bright sheets. Impulsively, she put out her hand to close the scant distance between them and traced that line of hair, her skin flushing. James, who had turned back to her, quill in hand, met her eyes and turned a deep shade of red. He grabbed her hand and kissed the fingers awkwardly, pushing the quill into her hand quickly and taking his eyes from hers. Lily smiled at him, turning back to the wall and scratching at it with the sharp, dry tip of his quill.

After a minute or so she looked up and gave him the quill. He threw it on the floor and grabbed her hand, lying down as closely as he could to her body. Lily shifted, still embarrassed, but felt him insistently wrap his arm around her body. “I love you,” he said simply, and she could feel him smile.

Of course he had said it before. Everyone said they loved each other after a certain point, but this time it really struck her. She truly did want a future with James.

But now they had the present, and the past, and the future was inevitably coming, and Lily took James’s hand and traced their intertwined fingers over the words that were now permanently scratched into the stone, glad that there was some concrete form of her feelings for the boy beside her. She didn’t have to say the words, because he knew them, and he knew he had her.

Lily and James Potter were here.

……

When Ginny Weasley was sixteen years old, she lost her virginity to John Brown.

John was her best friend—a Hufflepuff, and one of the sweetest people she had ever met. She didn’t know exactly how it had come about, but one moment they were running from Filch and the next they were in a wing of the castle she had never seen before.

And it had happened.

It was a tiny room, but it had a nice bed which was somehow made with freshly laundered sheets—Ginny could tell the smell of clean laundry anytime. One moment they were staring at each other, breathing hard from their run, and the next they were kissing, and then they were lying down, and then—

Ginny had no morning after.

Straight away, they had both clumsily apologized, he more than her, and then they had talked for the better part of an hour, both knowing that it had truly been a mistake. It was not something that would happen again, they both knew, and the knowledge saddened Ginny. She had always wondered what it would be like to have John as a boyfriend, and knowing they had no passion was a disappointment.

John insisted on escorting her to Gryffindor Tower and Ginny let him, bidding him goodnight and collapsing on her bed, where she curled up and winced from the soreness. She was slightly dissatisfied with the entire experience, and she rolled over, staring blankly up at her canopy until she fell asleep.

She passed many days like this, acting normal during the day but suffering from terrible bouts of insomnia at night. Was that truly what sex was like? Was there really nothing special about it?

Two weeks later, in the middle of the night, she found herself back in that blasted room, searching for answers. The sheets were fresh again and she collapsed on them, breathing in the clean scent. She turned her head to the side and wondered whether anyone else had ever done this. As she lay there, she realized what she was seeing.

Carved into the wall was a sentence that stopped her heart. It was at perfect level for someone to write at if they were lying on the bed, much like she was doing now.

Lily and James Potter were here.

Ginny felt a flush start in her neck and continue up to her cheeks. She touched the scratching, feeling tears well in her eyes. She had seen pictures of Harry’s parents, had always wondered whether she would love someone as much as they had loved each other. She had been there when Harry had stared at a picture or a letter or some other article that even briefly mentioned his parents, had the seen the look on his face when Ron was hugged by Ginny’s mum or praised by her dad. To have lost her virginity in the same place where she was sure his parents had lost theirs made her feel dirty.

It also made her feel wonderful.

She felt like a thief, as if she had robbed something of Harry, while she knew that she hadn’t really. She began to sob heavily, the sounds out of place in the air of the room. She had given the most precious thing she had to a boy she didn’t love, not on any level above platonic, in the very place... And Lily and James, Harry’s mum and dad…they had been so in love.

Something she would never tell anyone was that she had thought about Lily and James—shagging, having sex, making love. When she had been in her fourth year there was a time she could clearly remember where she had imagined their hips fitting neatly together, pounding relentlessly against each other until Ginny’s own face turned red and she buried it in her pillow—she had put herself and Harry in his parents’ places. To Ginny, they were the epitome of all that was romantic.

“Oh—Harry,” she sobbed, mourning what he had never had, the unconditional love every child has from their parents.

…Ginny had always fancied herself in love with Harry.

--

This was a bad idea.

Ginny wiped sweaty palms on her robes and shifted, waiting impatiently for Harry to leave dinner. Ron and Hermione had already left but Harry remained inside, doing what, Ginny didn’t know. He finally came out five minutes later, staring into space and walking with his shoulders slightly slumped.

“Harry?” she called out, her voice hoarse. He stopped and turned, his expression not changing, even when he saw her.

“Ginny. Is there something you need?” He sounded tired, worn out. Ginny bit her lip, wondering whether this was the best idea.

Yes, she thought, seeing in her mind’s eye his face when someone talked about his parents.

“Could you please come with me? I need your help with something.”

He sighed, glancing up at the stairs, as if towards his bed, but then he smiled slightly. “Sure, Ginny. Lead the way.”

Ginny let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. She debated whether to hold out her hand for his and decided against it, turning and leading him down the hallway instead. She almost got lost but remembered to wait until the stairs changed before taking them up to the highest floor of the castle.

“Where – are – we – going?” Harry puffed, leaning heaving against the railing.

“You’ll – see,” Ginny replied, wondering how she and John had run up these stairs the other night.

Finally, they stood out side the door to the room. Ginny paused until she caught her breath and then swung open the door, stepping inside and letting Harry walk all the way in ahead of her. She shut the door and leaned against it, drained.

One look at Harry’s haunted eyes and she knew that doing this would help him, no matter what it did to her. “I wanted to show you something.”

She dared to take his hand. He looked down at their intertwined fingers and his face became resigned. “Ginny, look—”

She wasn’t listening.  She led him over to the bed and crawled on top, pulling him with her. True fear passed over his face and he tugged away, but she held his fingers tightly and yanked him onto the bed. She placed his trembling fingers on the engraved stone and watched his face change as he read the words.

“My…mum? And my dad?”

She nodded, staring at him.

He swallowed hard and turned his face to her. “You think they…here? For the…the first time?”

Ginny nodded.

Harry nodded, his eyes full of something that almost hurt her to see.

“I…thank you. Thank you so much. That’s…wow…”

And then they were kissing.

……

Ginny knew she should feel like a whore, sleeping with two blokes within a month of each other, but she couldn’t bring herself to think like that when Harry was caressing her back so tenderly.  One of her legs was draped over his hip and her cheek was resting lightly against the damp skin on his chest, her torso pressed onto his. She was all but lying on top of him.

“That was….”

He squeezed her hand in reply and she lifted her head to look at him, meeting his nervous eyes. It had been awkward, to be sure, but then again, Ginny had had hardly any experience at all.

“It was…nice…having our first times in the same place my parents…did…” he managed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Ginny stilled, putting her head down on his chest again. His hand was in her hair now. Her fingers traced over the letters that formed Lily and James’s names and she frowned.

“I’ve…I mean…” She hesitated, not wanting to tell him what she knew she had to say.

She felt his skin heat as he flushed, his skin turning red. “Oh…well, um…that’s okay, then.”

“It was really a mistake,” she told him steadily, her words dropping onto his chest. “This was much different.”

He rolled over onto his side and she pressed back neatly against him, clasping his hands in hers and holding them over her stomach. As they lay together like spoons in a drawer, she rubbed her cheek against the rumpled pillow and breathed in a unique combination of Harry, herself, and something that was entirely foreign, something heavy and salty and erotic.

“It was here, though…so we did have our first times here, didn’t we?”

Harry’s fingers tightened around hers. “Who…?”

“John,” she filled in. “It felt…wrong…after I found it,” she said flatly, pointing to his parents’ names. “Because I thought you deserved to be here more than I did. I’ve got parents. You…you should have seen this before I did.”

He buried his hot face in her neck and shook his head. “No…it’s okay.” His pause was long and meaningful. “You like me?” he said, a statement that turned into a question.

“I love you,” she said after a moment, her correction shattering the silence between them. What returned was an even more awkward atmosphere.

“Why?” he managed, his words thick and slow. “I’m…I’m grumpy and moody and I…I’m not easy to get along with. You know that, of all people.”

She plucked at the bedsheet with two of her fingers. “Dunno. I just do…I don’t care about all of that. That’s you. You’ve got to trust me on this, Harry…I’ve never wanted anyone more that I want you. Not like this. I know…”

He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “What if it doesn’t work? Then what?”

“Then,” she answered, “you’ll move on.”

The silence was deafening as Harry considered this: there would be no one else for Ginny. He hugged her tightly, almost as if he knew how terrified she was at the prospect of having to let go of Harry. She had wanted him for long he was like a part of her. If you cut off too many branches on a tree—it eventually died. Harry was one of her branches—her most important.

“It’ll work,” he whispered fiercely in her ear. “I swear to God—it’ll work out.”

Her breath hitched and she nodded quickly. “Go to sleep, Harry,” she answered softly. “You’re so tired.”

He nodded against her the back of her neck and sighed, slumping. Ginny reached out her hand, still caught in his, and drew the sensitive pads of her fingers over the slightly sloppy writing that had started this. It was beautiful, yet the angles were sharp and awkward on the letters.

Almost like Harry. Almost like her…

…almost like the both of them together.