I hear Lily's footsteps on the stairs. She's trying to be quiet. Probably thinks I'm still sleeping. Probably doesn't want to wake me. Sorry to tell you, dear, but the couch isn't all that comfy. I snort into my coffee and wait for her. When she comes into the kitchen, she pauses, staring at me for a moment. Then she goes about getting breakfast for herself, without a word.

No "Good morning, James." No "Thanks for banishing yourself from the bedroom while I go through all my mood-swings."

None of that. Just the cold-shoulder. Always the silent-treatment. Oh, but two can play this game, Lily, dear… she won't even know what hit her. I'm done kissing up to her… apologizing… for what, I don't know. It's not like she ever tells me. She'll just decide to stop talking to me. And that's it.

I suppose it could be something I said.

But I say a lot of things. She should know that by now.

Lily sits at the kitchen table, directly across from me. I can tell how hard she's working to not look at me. I wonder where it all went wrong… Everything was fine between us months ago, when we weren't confined to this damn house…

That's what it is. It's this house. This house and its two bedrooms and one bathroom… it's too damn small.

I say my hell is the closet I'm stuck inside
Can't see the light

You know, if we had a bigger house things would be better. We wouldn't pass each other in the halls twenty times a day. We wouldn't have to wait for each other in the bathroom. She wouldn't use all the hot water, so there would be none left for my shower.

We wouldn't be able to hear Harry crying no matter which room we hide in, however far away. We wouldn't have to tolerate each other, because, well… we'd never see each other in such a big place.

And my Heaven is a nice house in the sky
Got central heating, and I'm alright

I wonder what Lily would say if I voiced this to her. It's awfully tempting… But no. I can't take another neck-cramping night on the couch. Saying things just to aggravate her aren't going to help me at this point. So I should probably stop doing that.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can't see the light

Lily's done with her breakfast—toast, judging from the crumbs left on the plate—and is now staring blankly out the window behind me with tired, unblinking eyes. She does that a lot. Just zones off, her eyes fixed loosely on some point beyond the horizon. Beyond this world, maybe. How should I know? She never tells me anything important.

Keep it locked up inside

Don't talk about it

I feel an insuppressible passive-aggressive tendency take hold; I don't fight it this time. If Lily gets to act like a zombie every waking minute, then I have a right to try and get a sign of life out of her, whatever it takes. And after all these years, I know what buttons to push.

I turn around in my chair and glance out the window, making a show of following her gaze, and trying to figure out what she's staring at.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" I comment lightly.

T-t-talk about the weather

Her faces changes instantly. Her eyes lose the glazed-over effect, she straightens in her seat and her skin seems to tighten. I brace myself, knowing what I've done and not caring in the least.

"Too bad we never get to go outside to enjoy it," she snaps, standing up and hurrying away. I watch her, knowing she has nowhere to go. That's another thing about the size of the house. There's nowhere to hide. She runs up the stairs, taking them two at a time in her desperation to, well, get away from me, I guess. I smile despite myself, taking some twisted sort of pleasure in further ruining our marriage.

If we ever get out of here, we can sign up for couple's counseling.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can't see the light

Lily's got herself locked up in the bedroom again. I don't think she's coming out this time. Well, maybe that's what's best for everyone involved… No,of course I would be very distraught if she never came out again. On the contrary, now would be a sublime time for her to make an appearance.

Harry has been crying nonstop for about fifteen minutes.

And it's her turn to change him.

The question is: Will I neglect my only son in order to prove a point with my wife?

The answer is: I wouldn't put it past myself.

After five more minutes of the headache-inducing wailing, I can't take it anymore. Lily must be heartless in order to not respond to that. Alright, alright, maybe I was trying to ignore it, too, but… I was trying to prove a point!

Sighing heavily to myself, hoping Lily will hear, I go into Harry's room. It's immediately apparent that his nappy is quite full. I try in vain to soothe him—really I'm just putting off what must be done. Maybe Lily will come swooping in to save the day.

Taking a deep breath—through my mouth; the smell is horrid—I begin removing his soiled nappy. Merlin, where's Lily? Not to be sexist, but isn't this her job?

Harry has stopped crying, and is staring up at me with his big, green eyes. Why did he have to get those eyes? Shouldn't they be a recessive gene? I mean, I love Lily's eyes; admittedly they're my weakness. I just don't want to be confronted with them every time I change Harry's nappy.

He's still staring at me in wonder, like he's never even seen me before. His cheeks are chubby and blotchy, stained with drying tears. A little bubble escapes from his red lips and pops. He lets out a sound somewhere between a giggle and a burp.

Meanwhile, I haven't made much progress changing him. It's those eyes…

Open up my head and let me out, little baby

Suddenly, I am shoved roughly aside. Lily has arrived. She pushes her hair out of her face and picks up where I left off, changing our son with far more efficiency. I stand by quietly. When she's done she leaves the room and goes back into the bedroom.

'Cause here we have been standing for a long, long time

The door closes. The lock clicks.

Treading trodden trails for a long, long time

Sirius comes over, a welcome surprise. Lily puts on a smile for him, and he would never guess that it's the first time I've seen her smile in weeks. His visits are growing less and less frequent as the war rages around us. He gives us the news, which turns out to be a long list of causalities. He holds his godson, who's almost a year old now.

Lily takes Harry to bed and goes to sleep herself a short while later. She kisses me on the cheek before going upstairs. Even if it's an act to convince Sirius everything's alright, it makes me feel better. She tells me not to stay up too late. I don't know why. I haven't anywhere to be in the morning.

Sirius and I go through more firewhiskey than is wise or healthy. We laugh louder than we should—if we wake Lily, she doesn't come down. We stay up past the darkest point of the night, to see the sky begin to lighten again. It's like there is no war. It's like I'm not imprisoned in my own home. It's like… the good old days again.

I find sometimes it's easy to be myself

At some point, our laughter dies, and we run out of things to say. It's a comfortable silence. Not like the kind that usually plagues this house. I look at the clock—it's past four. It's a wonder our conversation didn't run dry sooner.

"Well, Prongs," Sirius says. "I reckon I should be going now. It's been fun, but I've got things to do tomorrow. Or later today, I guess." He sighs like having something to do is the worst thing he can possibly imagine. "See you. Take care. I'll try to make it for Harry's birthday."

I smile and thank him for stopping by, tell him to take care, and watch as he walks out the front door—something I haven't done in months.

Sometimes I find it's better to be somebody else

The door closes behind Sirius. I stand there a moment until I hear the crack of Disapparation. Then I turn and start up the stairs. They creak under my feet. I hop over the one that creaks the worst. It's like the trick steps at Hogwarts. You just have to memorize which one it is, so you don't step on it. The same concept applies. Only I wouldn't be able to remember which steps were the ones to avoid if I went back to Hogwarts.

I used to know that place like the back of my hand. Now I have trouble picturing my favorite secret passages in my mind.

The door to the bedroom is closed. I'm sure Lily is awake, so I don't want to go in there. She'll pretend to be asleep, of course, but she's always been unconvincing. I peek into Harry's bedroom. He's sitting up in his crib, peering out behind the slats with wide eyes. The slats look like bars. It's almost like he's in jail.

I see you young and soft, oh little baby

I crouch down beside the crib , and wrap my finger inside his short stubby ones. They barely make it all the way around. His skin is warm and smooth.

Little feet, little hands, little feet, little feet, little baby

Harry doesn't make a sound, just slowly squeezes my finger tighter. He's been crying less and less as he nears his first birthday. It can't be natural. The silence of the house has permeated him—infected him.

One year of cryin' and the words creep up inside
Creep into your mind, yeah

I tug my finger out of his grasp. He doesn't protest, doesn't make a sound—just lets go with a quiet acceptance. I open the door to the bedroom carefully and slowly. The room is not dark to my surprise. Lily is lying on her side of the bed, the left side. She's not even pretending to be asleep. She stares up at the ceiling, unresponsive as I take the right side.

The light is still on and neither of us makes to switch it off. The quiet is conspicuous—an elephant in the room.

So much to say, so much to say, so much to say, so much to say

The silence remains unbroken. We don't say anything—maybe by force of habit, maybe because of our own pride.

So much to say, so much to say, so much to say, so much to say

Lily sits up, still not glancing in my direction. For all she looks at me these days, I could dye my hair purple and she wouldn't notice.

"I'm going to check on Harry," she mutters. She stands up and heads for the door.

'Cause here we have been standing for a long, long time

"He's not crying," I point out. "He doesn't cry anymore."

Lily gives me a strange look; it could be because of what I said, or because she'd forgotten what I look like—forgotten that she'd married a man with such messy hair."Of course he still cries."

With that, she slips out the door. I hear the floorboards in Harry's room groan, protesting movement at this late hour when we should all be comfortably asleep.

I wait for her to come back. For five minutes. I watch the second hand on the wall clock. Ten minutes pass. I swear I can see the hour hand creeping along. I haul myself out of bed and tiptoe out of the room, down the short hallway and into Harry's tiny bedroom.

Lily's curled up in the armchair next to the crib. She's asleep.

Treading trodden trails for a long, long time

I watch her—fluttering eyelids as she dreams (what about, she never tells me anymore), heavy breathing; a borderline snore. She would kill me if I ever told her she snored. So, I've kept it to myself. It's my little secret that I hope no one else knows.

Harry is awake, sitting up, clutching the bars of his crib. He watches me with those inquisitive green eyes… And I know that I'll never be able to escape them.

Open up my head and let me out, little baby

A/N: The "them" at the very end refers to the eyes, not his family…

Again, the song is "So Much to Say" by the Dave Matthews Band. One of my all-time favorite songs by one of my all-time favorite bands! The italicized and indented lines are the lyrics. I suggest you listen to the song if you're not familiar with it—the feel of it, which you don't necessarily get from reading the lyrics, really influenced James's voice and the mood of this story in general. Besides, it's just an awesome song.

Please leave a review! –Jenni