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aphelion-verse · 2 months

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A little slice of bittersweet

A micro that grew rapidly out of control, whoops! @jilymicro-oops. I've wanted to write a larger piece for ages centered around this type of premise (ie one of them lives). Reading KSFM by @nodirectionhome-ao3 has only cemented this desire. Not sure whenever I'll get to it, or what it may end up looking like, but it was fun to play with this for now. Thanks for the inspiration Cam! I definitely borrowed a bit from your Lily here. Also some inspiration comes from the book Bittersweet which had a really cool chapter about the making of the film Inside Out.

Prompt: Inadequate

Lily always found it hardest to be with herself when the house fell quiet. Rain fell against the window pane, blurring the reddened trees in their back garden. She rested her forehead against the cool glass, her breath adding to the condensation. She wrapped the throw tighter around herself, shivering from the coldness seeping through the pane, matching her insides.

It was the same every year, the sudden turn of season that never failed to catch her off guard. A natural reminder that time continued, and that another year had passed in a daze. One that felt simultaneously slow and quick.

Her eyes closed. Even moving across the country, the memory of Godric’s Hollow haunted her, following her all the way to Brighton. Her last view of it was one of charred ruins. Then there were the other images, the ones that made her wake with a scream caught in her throat night after night. Tears burned, hot and prickling, and she wiped them away as they came.

She could picture him now, knew he would encourage her to get up, put a record on and get to it. He’d pull her up with his large hands, saying something ridiculous to break her out of the ruminating she’d always been good at. When she quieted herself enough, she could almost hear it, the timber of his voice saying her name; how James had always been able to say so much with just those two syllables.

A creak on the stairs brought her back to the present. She glanced over her shoulder towards the hallway where the staircase was just visible. Between the banister was a small face, a mop of dark hair falling into green eyes that blinked at her sleepily in the faint light.

Despite the ache in her chest, she smiled. “You’re up.”

Harry remained silent but continued his descent. In his hands was the blue crocheted blanket Mary had made him in another lifetime, golden snitches stitched into the edges. His bare feet padded softly on the hardwood until he reached where she was perched on the built in window seat. Without any prompting she reached down and scooped him up, enveloping him in her arms and tucking him amongst the fold of the fuzzy throw blanket. His body was soft and pliable with his leftover sleepiness. Lily breathed in the sweet smell of her son, growing warmer with him there .

“Did you have a good nap?” she asked against his neck.

Harry shrugged his small shoulders, burrowing further into her.

Lily stroked his silky dark hair, the exact same texture and look as James’s. Most of the time these reminders were manageable, wonderful even. She was grateful that he’d left a part of himself behind. But at that moment her already tender heart squeezed like a vice in her chest.

She closed her eyes and willed the tears to stay put.

Eventually Harry pulled back and she opened her eyes to find his combing over her features, hot little hand coming to her cheek, voice gravelly from sleep. “Are you sad?”

Lily’s breath hitched as she stared into his face. Of course Harry didn’t just look like his father. Even at three he so eerily read her moods—despite how hard she worked to keep the worst of her grief tucked away from him.

Harry’s brow furrowed and Lily released a breath, taking his hand in hers she pressed a kiss to the back of his dimpled fingers. “A little,” she said softly.

His brow furrowed further. “Mummy, you have to be happy.”

Lily stilled, heart skipping at the certainty in his tone. Another trait he shared with James. She brushed the fringe of his wild hair and kissed the soft skin of his forehead.

“I am happy,” she replied. She touched the apple of his cheek, already less full then they’d been a year ago. “Sometimes grown ups feel happy and sad at the same time.”

Harry seemed to think this over. “How?”

“That’s a good question,” she said, her throat tight even as she couldn’t help smiling at Harry’s intense expression, this side of him the one that was more like her. “I don’t really know. I like to think as we get older and our bodies grow…you can hold more feelings inside you at once.”

“Because you get bigger?”

A wet laugh caught in her throat. “Maybe.”

She didn’t have the first clue how to really answer him. How did you explain to someone so young the way that the years built up around you, unexpected and hard won in many cases. That like a muscle, your ability to carry it all grew stronger, mainly because there was little other choice. Grief wasn’t exactly something you set down.

She continued to run her fingers through Harry’s hair, willing herself to think. She had a pile of books on how to talk to children about death and loss. Purchases she’d made out of desperation when Harry had begun speaking in more complex sentences, which had soon turned into questions she felt completely inadequate to answer.

Really, that was the matter of it all. She felt inadequately up for the task of raising Harry without James. Trying to explain to him again and again why his father was gone. That there was a sadness inside her that would never leave. That a piece of them would forever be missing.

Then there was everything else that came along with parenting. The big emotions that often took hold of her young child, the curious questions that were only growing more frequent. James would be a million times better at answering them than her. At all of it. He’d always known what to say and do. He’d always been the light that kept them all going.

She looked down at the crown of Harry’s head, now resting against her chest. All of James’s light shone through him. For Lily he kept the darkness at bay. She knew this was an unfair burden to place on a child. But it was true. He was the reason she kept going at all. The purpose that made her pry herself from bed each morning. Still, she wanted to do better.

She pressed her lips to his hairline. “Do you remember when Padfoot brought you a new broom?” Harry tilted his head, eyes meeting hers before he gave a nod. “You were so excited and happy, but then what happened?”

It only took a second for her to read the memory in his eyes. “I fell down,” he murmured, “and my knee got blood on it.”

She remembered that afternoon clearly. The bittersweet feeling of watching Harry fly higher than he had in the past. His small body already so adept and confident. He’d flown in large circles around the forested garden surrounding the tiny cottage that had belonged to Remus’s parents in Wales. The entire time she’d been unable to avoid remembering James encouraging a tinier Harry on his first broom ride. The sheer pride on his face—that would still be on his face if life was fair.

Not that she wasn’t grateful for Sirius, Remus and Mary, who were there to cheer him on, but James’s absence had been glaring and unshakable. Then Harry had taken a corner too fast, slamming his legs onto some rocks.

Lily traced the side of his face. “How did that make you feel?” she asked quietly.

Harry paused, squeezing his well loved blanket. “Sad… and scared.”

“I know sweetheart. You were hurt and that’s normal to feel. Do you remember what happened after though?”

He went still, then his eyes brightened. “We ate ice cream.”

Lily smiled. “Exactly. Uncle Padfoot saw that you were sad, so he cheered you up.” Harry nodded along and she tilted his chin so they were gazing at each other. “Sometimes sadness helps other people see that we need them.”

There was far more complexity to it than that, but she knew this type of conversation would happen over and over throughout her son’s life. She’d already had to explain difficult things to him, swallowing down the pain of Harry slowly forgetting his father outside of pictures and memories shared by her and others. Another cruel part of time passing. Though the memory of a much younger Harry searching repeatedly for James in the months afterwards had been its own agony that she would never want to repeat.

The pain was inevitable, and Lily didn’t have all the answers, but she was determined to do her best. She refused to have Harry be afraid of his feelings. James had been brave with his love. They would be too.

Harry was quiet and she kissed the top of his head again. “It’s okay to feel sad, it doesn’t mean you won’t be happy too.”

“You’re happy now?” he asked and she smiled through the tears gathering in her eyes.

“I’m very happy to be here with you right now. But I’m also sad because I miss your dad today.” Harry nodded thoughtfully and she continued to run her fingers through his hair. “I also think my heart has grown a lot, so it can hold all of that. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” Harry said softly. His small fingers fiddled with the buttons of her blouse. Lily let the rain fill the silence, hoping that she was saying the right things.

When Harry looked back up at her, there was curiosity shining in his eyes. “Mummy?"

"Yes, love?"

A smile tugged at his lips as his hands framed her face. "Do you need ice cream?”

A hiccupped laugh escaped her and she hugged Harry tightly. All of the happiness and sadness swirling inside her as she felt the weight and feel of him. That the cheeky baby that James had known and loved was still there, even as he continued to grow and learn in leaps and bounds.

“You’re a bit of an ice cream monster,” she said finally, when she relaxed her hold.

He eyed her like he’d suspected her of having gone mad. “No. I’m just Harry.”

She taped his nose, smiling as she took in every detail of her sleep rumpled little boy. “Is that so? Alright, Just Harry…should we have a teeny tiny bite of the good stuff?”

His returning smile was all mischief, and right then the familiarity filled her with gladness. She stood up, hoisting Harry onto her hip, the blanket falling away.

“Let’s get to it then.”

#squeezed my heart #ugly crying #jily

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