Disclaimer: as well as owning nothing associated with the Harry Potter universe, the title is from a Jackson Browne song (and has nothing to do with the song itself; I'm just pants at titles), and I owe a great debt to Dee (suzies-q) who helped me A LOT with this. Oh, and it's AU.

There's always call for levity in dark times, and times have not been darker in living memory, so Lily and James are taking their wedding planning very seriously. For them, it is just a marriage certificate, a piece of paper that formalises what they know already to be true: that this is it; that they will be staying with each other until they are old and white-haired. But for their friends, it is a wedding, a party, a chance to celebrate, and that is something that comes all too rarely these days. And so, everything must be perfect.

"Which means no lilies," Lily says, laughing at how crestfallen James looks.

"But you're called Lily—" he begins.

"And you're more original than that, come on," she says, pulling faces at him. "Let's not be clichéd. I'm thinking winter roses. Red and white, for Christmas? It'll look properly festive... Or we could go even more seasonal, and have me carry a poinsettia down the aisle."

"A holly wreath," James says, his lips twitching. "You could dig out your old Herbology gloves to carry it; they'd really go with a fancy white dress..."

"Mistletoe," Lily says. "Or is having a poisonous plant in your bouquet considered bad luck?"

"I don't know, but at least if things do go wrong, we're already in a church," he replies. "Everyone'd already be there for a funeral, it'd be like a two-for-one deal at the supermarket."

"Oh, don't!" she says, but she's laughing, and so is he, and their plans are getting more and more outrageous and ridiculous ("I'll come down the aisle on Sirius's motorbike!", "Well, I'll turn up on a unicorn, dressed as Father Christmas!", "I'll come in fancy dress too, as a Christmas tree", "No, actually carry a Christmas tree in your bouquet!") when the door bursts open, and Sirius strides into the room, looking angrier than they've ever seen him.

They're both instantly alert, wands out and pointed right at him, but he ignores that and their demands that he identify himself, and punches their kitchen wall, yelling in frustration. It takes both of them combined to calm him down, and it's nearly half an hour before he's ready to tell them what's got him so wound up.

His voice has a false cheery brightness to it when he says, "I had a visitor today. My dear, dear brother," and Lily and James exchange glances, both knowing that no good can come of this.

"What did he want?" Lily asks tentatively.

"He wants me to join them. The fucking Death Eaters," Sirius replies, spitting the words out. "He thinks I'm misguided, I've been swayed by my friends, but it's time for me to return to 'where I truly belong'. He honestly thinks that I still belong there. Still. That I buy into all their shit and..." He trails off and gives another roar of frustration. "He wants me to join them in killing people. That's what they're doing, and he thinks he can justify it somehow. He makes me sick."

James reaches across and squeezes Lily's hand, and she's grateful for it. Sirius's anger doesn't scare her, but the way he talks about them killing people does. Because they're not killing people. They're killing people like her.

Later, much later, when Sirius is calmer and they're sat drinking Firewhiskey in front of the fire after eating shepherd's pie for dinner (and the utter normality of it soothes her, because who can think of Death Eaters and shepherd's pie at the same time?), Sirius sort of smiles and says that he told Regulus he wasn't his brother anymore. "I told him I'd got three other brothers, and I didn't need him anymore. He's as dead to me as the muggles they kill."

And that is how it starts.

"My Lord," Bellatrix all but purrs, her brow furrowed, "there is no one more ashamed than I of my cousin's behaviour. But, as he is a blood traitor, why do we want him to join us?"

"It is a sad but true fact that we need more members—more suitable members, of course," Lord Voldemort says. He is pacing around the room, and only the best, those at the very top are allowed to see him like this. If it was anyone else, Regulus would describe him as worried. "Your family is one of the oldest in this land; your blood is the Purest. It is regrettable that your brother—" Here, he nods towards Regulus, who swallows nervously, "—might find himself...misled, shall we say, in his youth, but Lord Voldemort can forgive those who repent. He is, by all accounts, a skilled wizard, and his stock is Pure. We could do well to persuade him to join us, to get to him before that muggle-loving fool Dumbledore will."

"With all due respect, my Lord, I fear you may be too late," Rodolphus says. "We had intelligence just the other week that many of those in that circle joined Dumbledore's little club straight away after leaving school, including the elder Black."

"If he is really a lost cause, then we must kill him—as we must the others," Voldemort nods. "I had hoped that the Prewetts, one of our oldest families...but no. Dolohov and his men have their orders there. What to do about Black, though..."

"My Lord!" Bellatrix says, but Regulus interrupts her. After everything, he will not have Sirius's death be his fault, no matter how misguided his brother is.

"Perhaps, my Lord, I might make a suggestion?" he asks. Rarely does he speak in meetings; truthfully, he is surprised to find himself allowed in this particular inner sanctum. But Voldemort nods, encouraging him to continue. "When I spoke to my brother, he mentioned that he has other brothers now, i-instead of me. He is loyal to them. But he would follow them, I think, if they joined you."

The Dark Lord's face gives nothing away, but he waves a hand to indicate that Regulus should continue. "Two, I feel, would be of no use to us—Remus Lupin, well, you know what Snape has told us about him. Peter Pettigrew also...the Pettigrews are not the sort of family we want associated with us. He does have a Ministry job that might prove useful, but what I was really thinking was: James Potter."

"The Potter heir?" Lord Voldemort asks.

Regulus nods. "The Potters are a Pureblood family—not as old as my own, but their lineage is impeccable. James, the sole heir, has been my brother's best friend since they were eleven—where one goes, the other will follow. You could get both for the price of one, so to speak."

"You make a good point," Lord Voldemort says. "Another Black, and a Potter to boot. We would be foolish not to consider it. But, if you had no luck in persuading your brother, could you do any better at persuading the Potter boy?" He seems to be scrutinising every thought Regulus has ever had, and it's with a carefully blank mind that he replies.

"Potter is engaged to be married to Lily Evans, a mudblood," he says. "It is common knowledge that he would die for her. If we were to suggest that, by joining us, he might perhaps save her..."

"Then we might, in time, erase thoughts of her from his mind?" Lord Voldemort asked. "Yes. Good. And you are sure that your brother would follow the Potter boy?"

"Positive," Regulus promises.

This is it. This is how he will save Sirius. It will work—it can't not. And, in the end, the only person who it won't work for is Lily Evans, and mudbloods like her are ten a Knut. He doesn't care about her—but he can use her for his own ends. He holds his breath whilst the Dark Lord considers this, and then nods, and Regulus relaxes.

He will bring his brother back to his rightful place. He will.

Regulus approaches James at the apothecary in Diagon Alley, if not in broad daylight, at least when there's still enough twilight to see each other without magical aid. "Good afternoon, Potter," he says, his tone so friendly and innocuous that James doesn't know quite what to do, or even if he's dreaming at how completely and utterly bizarre it is to be approached by his best friend's Death Eater brother whilst out shopping for Potions ingredients.

"That'll be three Galleons thirteen Sickles," the man behind the counter says, and there's an incredibly awkward moment whilst James fumbles with his change and Regulus hovers on the side and James, young as he himself is, suddenly feels incredibly old, looking at the boy.

"So, how are you?" Regulus asks, following him to the shop door once he's paid and collected his goods. It's a testament to just how much older and wiser James feels that he decides there's no risk of being attacked by him, and lets him follow him out onto the street.

"Oh, you know," James says, waving a hand vaguely and wondering whether or not Regulus knows that the Death Eaters killed a member of the Order—a good friend of James's—last week. "Same old, same old. Yourself?"

"Yes, good," Regulus replies, distracted. James wonders if Regulus even knows that he belongs to the Order. Maybe not; it is, after all, supposed to be a secret organisation. "I have to ask you something," he blurts out, and James's eyebrows shoot up. "Is Sirius safe?"

"How...what do you mean?" James asks. "Safe from what?"

"I know you both think that you're so righteous, supporting Mudbloods and whatever else it is you do," he begins. James flinches at the word, but Regulus doesn't react. "You're both wrong, of course; Purebloods are the only true masters of magic, but I can see why you both believe what you do." He says this so earnestly that James would laugh if it wasn't so utterly depressing: Regulus believes that he has an innate superiority because of his blood status in the same way that most people believe that Monday will follow Sunday. To him, it is just a fact, and there is no point trying to argue with him.

And so, James decides not to.

"Riiight," he says slowly. "Listen, I have to go." He doesn't even bother to make an excuse, giving a half-hearted sort of wave before attempting to disappear further down the Alley.

"Wait!" Regulus half-shouts, sounding so stricken and panicked that James is surprised into doing just that. "Listen, you and Sirius, if you keep this up, you're both going to be in grave danger," he's talking fast and low, now, and James has to lean in to hear him properly. "You're both Purebloods, and so you're valuable to the Dark Lord. He understands that it's easy for people to...to make mistakes in their youth, maybe have their heads turned by the vocal minority, like Dumbledore, or by flighty young women of questionable parentage."

The speech has a learned-by-rote quality, and is hastily and unconvincingly delivered. James finds himself imagining Lily's reaction to being described as a flighty young woman of questionable parentage, and is so amused by the image that he almost misses Regulus's next words.

"The thing is, though, he won't be patient for long," he says. "He can forgive a few mistakes made when you're young and ignorant—" The irony, James notes, appears entirely lost on him. "But soon, he won't! You and Sirius need to join the right side, and quickly!"

"Sirius is perfectly fine as he is," James says carefully. "He's made his choice, you've made yours. And, if I were you, I wouldn't go talking about the 'right' side around him."

A look of sheer desperation crosses Regulus's face. "The Dark Lord will kill all of those who won't join him," he says urgently. "That will mean you and Sirius, too. You've got to join us!"

He shouts the last part so loudly that two old women exchange bemused glances and cross the road to avoid them. James stifles a sigh. "So you reckon I should join you and then Sirius will?" he asks, surmising that this is what Regulus really wants, and saying it like he's seriously considering the idea.

Regulus looks delighted that he's caught on so quickly and nods vigorously. "Yes, exactly right," he says. "Sirius has always respected you, and he'd follow you anywhere. And a family like the Potters—well, you'd be very welcome within our ranks."

"I see," James says thoughtfully. "And—do tell me. Where exactly does my muggleborn fiancée fit into this picture?"

Regulus flinches. "You're not still serious about her, are you?"

"Well, she's got the fitting for her wedding dress this weekend, and we sent out our invitations last week, so...yeah, I'd say things are pretty serious," he says. "Why, would that bother you? Or your boss?"

Regulus looks crestfallen, but only for a moment. "If you don't join us, something terrible might happen to...to some people you love!" His voice breaks on the last word, and James finds himself feeling genuinely sorry for him and his delusions. He's a child still, only 18, and he's been suckered into joining the latest gang of overgrown playground bullies because he's too young to know any better.

But then, he reasons, Sirius had the same upbringing Regulus did, and he found it in him not to join them. Other Purebloods whose upbringing encouraged, to a greater or lesser extent, if not killing muggleborns, at least their own innate superiority to them—people like himself—litter the Order. Some of them turned their backs on their families; even his own parents, who would be as loath to join the Death Eaters as they would harm their only child, worry about him being in the Order and encourage him to take a less vocal stance against Voldemort. And for anyone in the organisation, regardless of blood status, there is a constant fear of something happening, to themselves or their families. They don't join for glory and heroics. They join because they're intelligent enough to make the right choices.

And if Regulus isn't...well, that's not James's problem.

"I don't think me joining you will reduce the threat to Lily, or anyone else, at all," he says carefully. "What would is people like you joining us. We outnumber you, and we will beat you. You may try to kill us, but we have the law on our side. Scaring people into keeping quiet will only work for so long. Eventually you're all going to be stopped. Don't you want to be on the right side of history?"

Regulus rolls his eyes. "There's no 'right side of history', at least outside of storybooks," he scoffs. "There's only people who are worthy, and those who aren't. You would do better to go back to associate with more of the former."

James opens his mouth to respond angrily, but the futility of it all hits him and he closes it again, sighing. Regulus is an idiot and the way he talks about Lily makes him furious, but he doesn't feel threatened by him at all. He's just a child playing at games he doesn't properly understand yet. But he's not scary.

"You know what, Reg? I think we've said all we have to say," he replies, tucking his bag of purchases more securely under his arm. "I'll see you." And he turns his back and apparates away.

As expected, Lily finds the whole thing amusing when he explains it to her—especially Regulus's description of her as 'a flighty young woman of questionable parentage'. She jokes about it with the other young, female muggleborns in the Order: "We should make a club," she says to Abigail Morrison, after one meeting. "We can have shirts, and everything!"

No one in the Order seems surprised that the Death Eaters have tried to recruit James or Sirius; most of the Purebloods have been approached at one point or another. "It's 'cause there's a limited supply of us, really," Fabian Prewett says knowledgeably. "They know they've got to keep us around because there's only so much 'pure' blood to go around." He makes enormous air quotes around the word pure and rolls his eyes, and James agrees with how silly it all sounds, in the safety of their meeting house.

"You can unlearn blood traitor behaviours," his brother Gideon adds, "but you can't un-kill someone. They still want us to join them—and Mol and Arthur have been approached too. And, you know, the Weasleys have been called blood traitors since the last blood war, in the 1660s. They must be getting desperate."

No one is worried by the threats—or more worried than they already are—except Alastor Moody, but as old Mad-Eye's always paranoid about something, James isn't unduly stressed himself. Even Sirius is more upset with Regulus's behaviour than anything, but he seems resigned to it, now, more than anything.

And so September turns into October and then November with little change except in the weather, and the growing levels of excitement within the Order over something good for once: Christmas, and James and Lily's wedding. It is to be held on the day before Christmas Eve, and it is going to be a happy occasion. Everyone agrees that this is what they all need right now, a proper celebration and a really big party, which is exactly what Lily and James are determined to give them.

The end comes one day in mid-December, when the two of them are sorting out last minute wedding details and singing rude versions of Christmas carols in front of the Christmas tree and it's all so innocuous that, later, he realises, they should have known.

Lily is pretending to attack James with a rouge piece of tinsel when Sirius bursts through the front door again, this time even more frantic than before, and she's still half on top of James, tinsel dangling in front of his face, laughter dying, as Sirius drags them apart. All three are shouting, trying to understand what's going on and demand Sirius identify himself.

"You've got to come now," Sirius says, hauling James to his feet. "It's—it's Remus. He's...he's been..." Sirius's voice breaks and he turns away, not completing his sentence, but James's stomach plummets and he sees his own grim expression mirrored on Lily's pale face.

"Where is he?" he asks roughly, but Sirius just shakes his head.

"Come on, I'll take you," he says.

"Go!" Lily urges. "Go. I'll alert the Order." He barely has time to nod before Sirius has his arm in a vicelike grip, apparating him away from the flat; he's being squashed from all sides and then they land, shakily, on some deserted moorland.

He just registers the fact that it is oddly deserted, with neither Remus, nor anyone else, in sight, and then his wand flies out of his hand and he's blown backwards by the force of a full body-bind.

"Polyjuice," Sirius says, almost apologetically, and James just lies there, completely unable to do anything. "I'm sorry, I had to. I have to get you to join, or Sirius won't be safe." He waves his wand, and the body-bind loosens around his face, so he can talk, and James has never felt so furious in all his life.

"You think kidnapping me will be enough to get me to join?" he spits at him. "And you think that, even if Hell froze over and I was foolish enough to join you, Sirius would blindly follow? At least give him the credit you won't give me!"

Sirius's features are starting to melt into Regulus's now. "You'll join," he says, almost sadly.

"I fucking won't," James snarls. He's still lying on the damp, cold grass of wherever he's been taken, trying so hard to break free of the invisible bindings but still unable to move anything below his neck.

"You will," he says, and now he won't meet James's eyes, and James gets the first glimpse of pure terror, an icy lump in the bottom of his stomach and an instinct that tells him something terrible is about to happen.

"Why," he says, and it's not a question—it's a demand. He's no longer angry, he's petrified beyond belief and there's a thought forming at the back of his mind that he cannot give voice to.

Regulus swallows. "My role was to take you away from your house, to get you out," he says and no and no and no, James will not allow those thoughts, will not allow it to happen—

"The Mudblood first," Regulus says. "And then your parents, and your other friends, Lupin and Pettigrew, until you can't bear to see the bodies mounting up any further, until you'll join us and—"

It takes everything he has, but through a combination of accidental magic and brute force, James breaks free of the body-bind. It surprises Regulus enough that he is too shocked to move out of the way when James punches him square in the face, breaking his nose. The sight of his blood on his hand is almost enough to make James lose it completely, to keep punching and punching him until he is a broken, bloodied, battered mess on the floor, to do to him what he does to others, to Lily.

But it's the thought of her that keeps him going, that tells him where his priorities lie. He contents himself with one good punch, a nose so solidly broken that even magic will not be able to fully heal it, so there'll always be either a slight ridge or a need for glamour charms; picks up his wand and disapparates back to their flat. The whole episode—from "Sirius" arriving to him appearing back—probably takes less than five minutes, but it feels like half a lifetime.

He is so ready to find her dead that, when she croaks out his name as he bursts through their front door, he honestly believes that they're saved once more: they've been lucky before, they'll be lucky again. She's on the floor and she's bleeding, white-faced, but she will be okay.

"James," she croaks, and he hurtles over to her, already sending his messenger Patronus to Sirius and Remus and Peter, and it's the rush of joy he feels on finding her blessedly alive that enables him to send it. "James—"

"Ssh, ssh," he soothes, lifting her into his arms. He freezes when she lets out a feeble moan of pain, and for the first time it dawns on him just how much blood there is on the carpet and on her front and not in her. "It's going to be okay. You're going to be alright," he says, though even to his own ears, this sounds pathetic and worthless.

"James," she says again, and she sounds pathetic and that is not right because she is Lily Evans and she is a thousand, million things before she is pathetic. "They—they came—"

"I know, I know," he says, gently stroking her hair. "Save your strength, love, the others are on their way. We're going to get you out of here and you'll be taking them on again in no time. You're gonna have to really get them, now, as punishment! Payback!" He has no idea what he's saying; the words coming out of his mouth barely seem to be English, let alone coherent sentences, but Lily makes a sound that might be a laugh.

"Got one—already," she wheezes, reaching up ever so slightly to point at a black mound in the corner, which at first he hadn't noticed, and now realises is a robed Death Eater, whether dead or just Stunned, he cannot tell. The small movement seems to make her bleed still more, and he is so, so petrified he can barely speak.

"I love you," she says.

"No," he says, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks. "Lily, no. The others are on their way, just—just hold on. We'll get you to the hospital and you're going to be fine—"

It sounds like more of a threat than a promise.

"It was Septumsempra," Lily manages, and the fear and terror are so overwhelming that for the first time he cannot even be furious at Snape. "Cursed wounds. Can't...be healed."

"Ssh, shh," he says again, stroking her hair and why aren't Sirius and the others here yet why why why

"I love you," she says again, and he can almost feel the life draining from her along with the blood.

"No!" he shouts, and it scares them both still further.

"I love you so much," she says.

"Lily. Lily," he says, and there are tears beginning to work their way down his cheeks.

"I love you," she repeats and dear God, he'd take anything other than hearing her say this again and again and again.

"You're going to be fine," he says, voice breaking. "You're not hurt. You're going to be okay. The others are coming."

"I love you, James Potter. You are the best of me," she says.

"No," he whispers, and he's shaking so much he can barely hold her. He registers the yellow-brown of the carpet becoming stained darker and darker with the red of her blood, and how they'd laughed at the carpet's ridiculous colour a few weeks ago, when they'd moved in.

"We'll have to change this!" Lily had said, and oh sweet Merlin, they didn't mean change it to this colour.

And how can she be dying in their living room? It's so stupid it can't be real.

"I love you," she whispers.

"I love you so much," he replies. "Please don't leave me. Please." He's crying uncontrollably now, and she doesn't say anything else. She just looks straight at him with those brilliant emerald eyes he's loved for years, until they close and she stops breathing.

Sirius and Remus arrive together, only moments later, and it takes both of them to prise him away from her dead body. There is nothing else they can do.

They bury her two days before their wedding should have been, five days before Christmas. Remus takes charge of most of the funeral arrangements; the only thing James can bring himself to do is insist on the winter roses she wanted in her bouquet adorning her coffin, and to refuse point blank to have any lilies anywhere near the service. He remembers very little of it other than blind fury at her headstone reading 'Lily Evans' and not 'Lily Potter'.

"Life will go on!" they tell him at the funeral, but this is a lie. Time goes on, but life just happens to people around him. Other people die; she is no longer the most recent or the most tragic fatality and people begin to forget.

(Not him.)

Voldemort is defeated: Regulus discovers his Horcruxes, and together he and Sirius destroy most of them before the Order actually believe that he has joined their side. There is infighting and threats and betrayal and it's all so trivial to him now Lily is gone. He spends most of the time he isn't mourning genuinely amazed that anyone has time to care about anything now she's not there.

The final showdown happens at Frank and Alice Longbottom's house, but he isn't there. The Order get word that Voldemort is going to go after their baby son, Neville, believing he might somehow cause his downfall, and they resolve to lure him in and finish him off once and for all. James is volunteered to be part of a smaller guard who keep Neville away, in a safe location for the night, just in case something goes wrong (it doesn't; both baby Neville and his parents survive unscathed, although they do lose members in that final battle).

It's Sirius who pushes for James to be part of Neville's guard, away from the action. He says it's because James is the best they have at Concealment and Disguise, and this is probably true, but James knows the real reason: Sirius is scared he'll do something stupid and get himself killed.

He doesn't want to die, as such; he's not going to jump in front of some Death Eater's Avada Kedrava, but at the same time, he doesn't want to live without Lily. When he tries to explain this, the others think he is suicidal, but it's not that. His reason for living has gone, but he is still alive. He can exist, but he cannot live.

Others forget, they move on, and he cannot blame them for doing so. But he also cannot stop himself feeling like he's living in a world without colour, without love, without life, now she's gone. He doesn't visit her grave, ignores the bloodstained carpet, moves out of their flat. He sorts out her possessions, keeps a few and gives away the rest. Time goes on.

And on, and on.

Lily Potter never existed. Lily Evans is forgotten more and more each day. One morning, he wakes up and realises he cannot remember what her voice sounded like, and instead of breaking down at this, it's almost a relief to realise. Perhaps this is letting go, moving on.

He does very little for the first few years after her death and Voldemort's defeat. The Order remain together for a couple of years; there are still those who would support Voldemort and perpetuate his ideals even though he is gone who have to be dealt with, and there are other tasks that need to be completed to get wizarding society back on its feet, and he helps with all of this.

And then one day, he gets up to find a newly widowed Minerva McGonagall standing on his doorstep, telling him about how the school needs an extra Transfiguration teacher now, and how she expects his application on her desk by Monday morning. It is, of course.

He starts back at Hogwarts and learns everything she can teach him about education and how to carry on living with a broken heart.

He's a good teacher—strict but popular, and his students learn a lot from him. And if there's parts of the castle he won't tread, because they bring back too many memories of her and him and herandhim, well, he's not the first Professor with certain idiosyncrasies to walk the halls. He likes the students: they don't ask him about her, but it doesn't feel like an insult like it does with his friends and colleagues. The students couldn't be expected to know Lily; adults couldn't have been expected to forget her, and yet they did.

Worst of all, he does, too.

Professor Potter is, to his friends' amusement, very popular with the upper school girls. And the lower school girls. And quite a number of the boys, too. He's kind to them, lets them down gently when their crushes get too much and never oversteps any boundaries—it's not hard at all. What is, is the response to the students who try to find out more about his personal life. "Is there a Mrs Potter?" they ask breathlessly, and he always, automatically defaults to 'yes' before remembering that no, Lily never was a Potter. And still this is the hardest part.

And then, one innocuous Thursday in late November, many years after she's gone, he's walking down the Transfiguration corridor and sees two seventh years, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley holding hands and laughing together without a worry in the world, and all he can see is Lily and himself, aged 17 and ridiculously in love and equally as naïve and stupid and it's not fair because they were that happy, once, too, and they had no idea what was going to happen.

He stares after them, transfixed, as they round the corner, then ducks inside an empty classroom and collapses into the nearest chair as a fresh wave of pain hits him, and even after all these years, it still feels like a knife in the chest. Ron and Hermione would argue all the time when they were younger, but it was as plain as day that they were going to end up together, and they'll probably get married, too. And it's not fair, because that's what he and Lily did, and they were supposed to get married, too.

There's a certain level of his brain that realises he's mad for blaming the two of them for being happy; they're not the first students in a relationship he's seen, and they certainly won't be the last. He can't go round shouting at them, or any other couple, for it—he'd be locked up.

And yet.

And yet. He clutches hold of the desk to stop himself running after them and screaming at them in a blind fury for daring to be so happy.

"I thought I was going to get married, too," he'd say. "Look what happened to me!"

And then—after all this time—Lily's voice. "Look what has happened to you."

Six words. And her voice, for the first time in years. Maybe because the two students reminded him of them—of her —or maybe because, finally, he's listening properly, finally hearing her.

He's spent too long listening for what she might have been—what she never was—and he didn't appreciate what she was. He knew her best of all, and he's spent so long mourning what she wasn't that he forgot what she was. But she's been there waiting for him all this time, and there, in the deserted classroom in the cold evening, he cries for her, his Lily Evans.