e v e r y . w o r d . i s . n o n s e n s e . ( b u t . i . u n d e r s t a n d )

Every Word Is Nonsense (But I Understand)
[by victoria p.]

Rating: PG

Summary: She'd thought if she said yes once, she'd never have to again, and now she can't stop saying it.

Notes: Title from "Anna Begins" by Counting Crows.

Date: January 4, 2006

James looks surprisingly innocent while he sleeps. Lily pushes the hair off his forehead and then tucks her head beneath his chin, slowing her breathing until it matches his. They're pressed so close together in the daybed she can feel the steady thump thump of his heart vibrating through her body.

He mumbles something unintelligible and tightens his arms around her. There are circles under his eyes that didn't used to be there, though they are becoming more familiar on everyone's faces; she knows they're caused by the news from outside the strong stone walls of Hogwarts and his worries about his parents.

"They're older, yeah?" he says whenever she asks how they're doing. "Had me late, spoiled me rotten--" and he'll pause, waiting for her to editorialize, and she does, laughing, "they certainly did," but the anger is long gone from her voice, before he continues, "and Dad's hearing isn't what it used to be, and Mum's aim's a little off, and their nearest neighbor's almost a mile away." She nods when he talks like that, and lets him gather her close. She doesn't need to remind him her parents are Muggles, that they don't even know about the danger threatening the wizarding world, and couldn't defend themselves if they did. He visited her over Christmas hols and surreptitiously set protection spells all over the house, as if she wouldn't be able to tell.

She slept with him for the first time that night, shocked and a little nervous that three years of irritation could have turned into something else, something so small and tender inside her that she couldn't even put a name to it for months, like an unfurling of wings, something opening up inside that makes her breathless and shaky when she thinks about it, and now, three months later, as she watches him sleep in the dim light of an unused sitting room on the fifth floor of Hogwarts, she knows it's love.

He says it to her all the time -- when he kisses her in the morning, when he kisses her good night, when he leaves the common room to go to Quidditch practice, and after she passes him the potatoes at dinner. When he touches her, his hands eager and gentle on her skin, as he slides inside her body, he murmurs it over and over again, "Love you, Lily, love you so much," like it's a spell that can protect them both, or a prayer and she's the only answer he'll ever need. It's that, as much as the way he touches her when they move together, that steals the breath from her lungs and her voice from her throat. She has never said it back to him -- she usually gives him a quick kiss when he says it in public, and though he sometimes looks disappointed, he has never complained. He's the most hopeful person she's ever met. To get a date with her, he's had to be.

"You don't have to say it," he told her once, early on, holding her hand in his, his thumb rubbing circles on her skin. "It's okay. I'd rather you not say it at all than have it be a lie when you do."

It wouldn't have been a lie, precisely, because she wasn't sure -- there had been no ringing bell, no choirs singing when she finally said yes to him; she hadn't been paying much attention at all, actually, and it had seemed like the nice thing to do since they were working together as Head Boy and Head Girl. She'd thought if she said yes once, she'd never have to again.

Now she can't stop saying it -- "Yes, James," and "Please, James," and "Oh, God, James," -- and his mouth curls into a warm, smug grin afterward, red and swollen and begging to be kissed again.

"Can't get enough of me, can you?" he'll say after they've caught their breath, trying for urbane and achieving ridiculous. She'll roll them over so she is on top and attack him with tickling hands and kissing lips until they are both limp from laughter as well as sex, and she never wants to leave this dusty little room where they can be together and nothing else can interfere.

She knows she should wake him -- it's getting late and they have responsibilities -- but she knows he didn't get much sleep the night before (it was a full moon, and she's not stupid, thank you very much, though she supposes she can't blame him for not telling her yet, since it's not his secret to share), and he looks so sweet and peaceful.

She presses a kiss to the fluttering pulse in the hollow of his throat and whispers, "I love you," just to see how it feels in her mouth and sounds in her ears. Her voice is hoarse and shaky, and she has to blink quickly to keep away the tears, and that feeling is in her chest again, as if she has run very hard for a very long time, and only now realized she has wings and she can fly. She tries again, a little louder this time. "I love you, James Potter."

He mumbles something that has a lot of m's in it and cuddles closer, his hand warm and comforting on her hip.

She promises them both she will say it again when he's awake, but right now, she thinks he understands.

end

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