A/N: This is a birthday fic for Black Boxed (formerly Lil'MissChris) in response to the Birthday Fic Exchange on HPFC. It's early, but happy birthday! Wishing you all the best for the coming year and beyond. :)

When you were five, you wanted to be a princess. When you were ten, you thought that if you married your best friend, a Prince, then technically you would be. When you were fifteen, you wanted to be a Healer, to bring something positive into a world of overwhelming negatives. Now, you're twenty-one, and you have far more humble dreams.

Survival, for your son and your husband and yourself. Is that too much to ask? Sometimes you think it might be, when there are people dying every day, people you knew and loved and didn't think you could bear to lose, and every day you wake up, still blessedly alive.

This isn't what you thought your life would be like, not even when the reality of the war set in and you knew that it wasn't just something you talked about in the corridors of Hogwarts anymore, but something brutal and terrifying and inescapably dangerous.

You thought you'd be able to walk hand in hand with James in Diagon Alley, or even just down the street, your joined hands a wordless testament to the fact that the two of you have something special and precious and unbreakable between you.

You thought that you'd be able to take Harry to the beach or the park when he was young and watch his eyes light up with everything so new and unfamiliar, and you and James would smile at each other and the miracle you had created.

You thought that James' laugh would never change, or that he'd never stop saying "Seriously, Sirius," just to be annoying.

Instead, you can barely leave the house or have any visitors, James is becoming increasingly subdued as cabin fever takes its toll, and you realise that life doesn't offer any sort of certainty beyond the current moment.

It's raining steadily as you sit and stare blankly out the window, your mood almost as black as the sky outside. Your eyes are painfully dry and don't want to stay open, but you won't let them close. Sleep is no longer a refuge for you, and all your fears play themselves out in your dreams. Night after night you're confronted by vivid and varying scenes. Sometimes James is murdered, sometimes Harry, sometimes it's both of them. And then there are the times when you are gone and they move on without you, and you're not sure what hurts the most; the prospect of losing them, or the idea that you are so fleeting and easily forgettable.

Inevitably, you'll toss and turn and wake up with tear tracks on your cheeks and James will be awake, ready with tissues and open arms, and he'll hold you until you fall asleep again, wishing for a few hours of rest. Dumbledore has given you Dreamless Sleep potion, and you know that James takes it occasionally, but something in you rebels against the idea of becoming too dependent on a short term solution. Besides, you want to be able to wake up quickly if you have to, in case Harry needs you, or the worst happens and you need to run away.

You hear James' footsteps and hastily blow your nose and try to look like you're not far too close to falling apart. You hear James' voice in your head, telling you he loves you, and you see Harry's smile, and your heart lightens, just a little.

"Lils, I made you a cup of tea, one sugar, a little bit of milk, just how you like it," James says, gently placing the cup on the coffee table. He knows how jumpy you are these days.

You thank him, mustering up a small but grateful smile and you know that you're so lucky to have him and Harry and the relative safety of this little house in Godric's Hollow and, war or not, you really wouldn't have it any other way.