The lurking dusk creatures have retired and the crescent moon has traveled partway across the sky when Lily, realizing that she has slowed since the initial anger and confusion dissipated, quickens her stride once more. Although it is only mid-August, the wind carries the earthy crisp of autumn; the trees rustling and the irregular chip of a cricket are the only sound she hears. Shadows surge and recede under the flickering tide of the streetlight above. Unbidden, a swarm of recent headlines flashes through Lily’s mind. Despite her straight back and purposeful step, her hand clenches the wand beneath her cloak. Not for the first time this evening she wonders whether she should just turn back, but at this point she is probably closer to her destination.

Just as Lily thinks this, her wand begins to tingle ever so slightly, as it tends to do around magic fields. Either she is closer than she thought and they have enacted wards, or the Death Eaters are bored and prowling the street looking for victims. The headlines, and the articles following, run through her mind again, like the credits at the end of a Muggle film. Over the past year, she has developed a strange relationship with the newspaper—unfolding each issue with a fumbling, frantic dread, yet clinging to every last bit of news. Besides a singularly disturbing tale of horror, each article shares one common theme: a warning, specifically a warning against everything that Lily is right now— Muggle-born, alone, and outside after nightfall. That’s three strikes against me, she thinks in distress, and hopes she will not become cause for another awful headline. She has never really thought of herself as foolish or rash; that has always been James’s role, and particularly in her current predicament she wonders at this. An ache shoots up and down her shins, feeble protests of her brisk pace, and she breaks into a jog.

As her destination comes into view, she nearly cries out in relief. Her wand is vibrating now—she imagines she can hear it faintly hum—but she knows this magic. It is almost canine in the way that it waits, straining, ready to spring with a snarl. It recognizes her and she slinks through the front door with a well-placed Alohamora and finds the right-numbered apartment. She knocks, the sound echoing awfully in the corridor, but is greeted by only silence.

She raps her fingers against the wooden door once more, and now whispers urgently, “It’s Lily, you can open it.�

The door creaks open, but barely—just wide enough for a small bar of light to fill the opening, through which she sees the wand tip pointed at her.

“Lily?� a whisper replies, startled. “What vegetable did you turn Sirius’s face into last Boxing Day?�

“A cucumber, but that’s technically a fruit, not a vegetable,� she hisses back. If the element of anxiety were absent, she would have to admire the question and answer they have devised. The door opens just wide enough to let her slip in and then Remus closes it behind her and locks it in several places.

“Lily?� he asks again. “Has something happened?�

“Is James all right?� Sirius asks. He is standing at the stove, the paisley oven mitts on his hands looking absurd next to his pale, alert face.

“I—no, everything’s fine,� Lily falters. She almost wants to be able to tell a sensational tale of dodging curses and flapping black cloaks. After the hurried whispers and fear of a moment ago, her reasons for coming now seem at the very least anticlimactic, and most probably pale and juvenile. “James and I, well, we had a—a disagreement, I suppose.�

The words sound pathetic even as they leave her mouth. Judging by the coats flung on a chair, they just got home and Lily feels vain and stupid for thinking they would want her to regale them with her personal woes. She knows she should not have come. Still, Remus takes her elbow and guides her to the table. “Sit down and tell us about it. Do you want some tea?�

“Food?� calls Sirius over his shoulder.

“Tea is fine, thanks,� Lily replies, then turns to Remus. “He cooks?�

“No, that’s just take-away from the Leaky Cauldron. However, he has domesticated very nicely in most other regards.�

“I would elbow you in an affronted manner,� Sirius tells him, mock-hurt, “were I not holding pudding right now.�

A smile breaks across Remus’s face for a second, like a blade of grass cracking through a sheet of cement. It is a real smile, born of pure emotion and not of any social obligation, and it makes his face look lined and worn, as if unused to such a smile. Sirius meets it with a crinkle of his own eyes, and Lily feels swell of affection for the pair of them.

“So what has our James gotten himself into now?� Sirius asks, turning and setting the re-heated pudding in front of them, along with three cups of tea. He rather collapses into the chair on Lily’s other side, looking relieved to be seated. Up close, he looks nearly as tired as Remus.

“Well, it’s like this,� Lily begins, then stops. She takes a sip of tea and does her best not to spray it all over as her tastebuds burn. She tries again. “You know the sort of thing James has been doing for the Order—mostly recruiting, supplying puff pastries for meetings…the sort of thing that we all have been doing so far. But Dumbledore just offered him a…well, I guess a promotion of sorts. He wants him to keep tabs on Death Eaters, even confront them, and he might be called upon to fight. Basically, Caradoc’s old job.� Her voice catches a little and she loses her thread of thought for a second. She manages to take a real sip this time and swallows heavily, but Sirius interjects before she can continue.

“So that’s good, isn’t it? He’s always wanted to fight, and here’s his chance…� He trails off, and Lily sees Remus shoot him a quick look.

“That’s just the thing,� Lily says, and suddenly she feels the pressure building behind her eyes. “He keeps saying how great it is, that he has this wonderful opportunity, but I just can’t see how, and then I feel so… awful because I feel like I should be happy for him. How can I, though, when it’s just so dangerous? All I think of are the horrible things that happen to other people, and then I feel like he thinks I don’t trust him. I do, but I just don’t think this is something he needs to do. I understand that he wants to take a stand against Voldemort. Believe me, I want to, as well. But aren’t we already taking a stand? Couldn’t we defy him just as well by living our lives normally and refusing to let him affect us?�

The pressure reaches some critical point. After all the fear, anxiety, and outright confusion of the past few months, she has never yet cried, and some little part of her has prided herself in this. But now tears rush out, like a river whose floodgates have finally broken, carrying along with it everything that she never could admit out loud. “And I suppose I’m mainly scared for him. He’s already taking far too many risks just by being in the Order and by being with me. Why does he need to add to it? I…worry about him all the time. I thought he might be happy just how we are and I—I really thought that one day we might even have a family, but—but now…�

She hiccoughs slightly and fidgets with the chipped handle on her teacup, willing her tears to stop. Remus lays a comforting hand on her back, and no one says anything until she has regained control.

“Lily,� Sirius begins gently, “has James ever mentioned the summer before seventh year at Hogwarts to you?�

Her forehead creases slightly. “No.�

Sirius nods. “Well,� he begins, leaning backwards and clasping his hands behind his head like an old man telling war stories to his wide-eyed grandchildren. “Well.� Lily has the distinct impression that he is enjoying himself.

“It was a year after I ran away, and I was staying at James’s place for the holiday. We had decided that that summer, the last summer before we left school, would be the best yet. Roaming around at night, hitting clubs, showing off my motorbike in front of Muggles…� A phantom grin flits across his face. “So one of the first nights, we were strolling—all right, strutting—along downtown. We see this group of people shouting and all these bright lights.� He glances at Lily as if expecting her to make some connection, but she frowns quizzically and motions for him to continue.

“Anyway, we hear all this and think whoa, there must be a great pub over there, and we cross the street. Suddenly, this old woman runs past us, and she’s crying and bleeding and shrieking ‘Madmen! Someone help!’ And that’s when we realize that they aren’t just shouting, the people are screaming. And the lights aren’t neon signs, they’re spells—curses, and bad ones.�

Lily’s eyes widen in sudden comprehension. Gloucester was the site of one of the very first public Death Eater Attacks, and one of the most violent. “You saw it?� she whispers. “What’d you do?�

“What could we have done? We were in the middle of a Muggle area, still in school, completely terrified. We didn’t realize exactly what was going on just then. All we knew was that there were at least twenty full-grown wizards killing Muggles and blowing up the sidewalk while people were standing on it. Merlin, we were getting spattered with other peoples’ blood…We couldn’t handle it. We ran.

“When we arrived at James’s house, we just stood there for about fifteen minutes before we fully realized what had happened. I was shocked, but remember, I’d grown up with some of Voldemort’s biggest supporters, and I had been hearing about the terrible things wizards can do all my life.

“It affected James a lot more than I would have thought, though. He was shaking the rest of the night; he kept wanting to go and try to fight those wizards. I actually had to take his wand to keep him from Apparating back there. He didn’t act like himself again for almost a week. He kept asking, ‘Why didn’t I help them?’�

“But what does this have to do with—“

Sirius cuts her off but this time Remus speaks.

“Throughout the rest of the year, Voldemort’s attacks became more widespread and—well, I suppose you know as much about them as anyone. Mr. and Mrs. Potter had a lot of connections, and he knew many of the Ministry people that died. And James…somehow I think he felt responsible for them. As if he could have prevented them all by stopping that first one back in June. But, on some level, I think he also recognized himself in those Death Eaters, and was frightened at how easily he could have turned into someone like…well, like that.�

“One day,� Sirius continues, “he told me, ‘I used to hex people and hurt them all the time. Just like those Death Eaters. I could have become one of them. What if that had been me? How could I have lived with myself?’� Sirius takes a sip of his own tea, and gazes out into space for a moment. “I told him he was mad, but the truth was, I’d wondered the same thing myself more than once.� Remus lays a reassuring hand on Sirius’s arm, and Lily has the sudden impression of them—indeed, the whole Order and anyone trying to fight—just barely staying afloat in a swirling sea, as confused as she is. They’re not looking for answers, just clutching at their rafts for some sort of comfort and hoping that what they are doing is right.

“Anyway, after that James told me that he had made a promise. He said ‘I’m not going to let anyone else get hurt. I’ve done enough stupid things, and from now on, I’m going to do something that matters. I want to stop this war, if it’s the last thing I bloody do.’�

A silence follows the story’s ending. Lily remembers how changed James had seemed seventh year and feels small and naïve for thinking it had all been for her. There is a guilty sort of fascination in discovering something so significant about someone she thought she knew so well—she is simultaneously hurt that he never told her about something so essential, ashamed that she should feel hurt, and, somewhere, a little awed and intimidated.

Remus makes a shrugging motion and clasps his hands like a psychologist offering up an interpretation. In any other circumstance he would make a wonderful professor, Lily thinks. “So I suppose that’s why James is so eager to move up in the Order. It’s not that he wants to play some kind of hero, and it is definitely not that this is more important to him than you—“

“Definitely not. You should have heard him talk about you in school. Actually, no, you shouldn’t have. It was quite repulsive, really,� Sirius interjects and Lily smiles in spite of herself.

“This is James’s way of dealing with his own regrets and with his own experiences. It’s not in his nature to sit around and just watch injustice; you know that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t take action.�

Finally, Lily nods. “He always has to be in the thick of things,� she murmurs. She drains her cup, adjusts the bottom of her sweater, and makes to leave. “Well, thank you to you both. I…have a lot to think about now.�

“Oh no, you’re not going anywhere,� Remus drags her back to the table. “Do you think we’d let you go outside at night after a half-hour of talking about how dangerous it is?�

“James would rip our faces off if something happened to you,� Sirius says.

“Er…thanks?�

While Sirius and Remus clean up the kitchen, Lily sits in the living room, where today’s Evening Prophet, thrown haphazardly onto the coffee table, catches her eye. Does she dare? She stares at the title and it stares back, at least as well as a title can. She knows the inky black letters have the power to be both reassuringly solid and ruthlessly frank. Curiosity and dread play tug-of-war with her resolve, as she reaches for it and then pulls back, forward, back. They are the steps to a familiar dance she dances each day with the morning news. Finally, curiosity winning as always, she grabs the paper and flips it open in a motion just a little too abrupt. Galleon Value Plummets as Economy Sinks, the first article tells her. Below, a public official comes under fire for a questionable use of a hex, and a gap-toothed old wizard explains his opposition to the new dragon-control legislation in Scandinavia.

The anxious feeling lessens as Lily finishes scanning the headlines. Only on the fourth page does a small insert catch her eye. Former Schoolteacher Missing. She learns that her Defense teacher from seventh year—who had recommended her to the Law Enforcement contacts, who would sit on top of his desk with a cup of coffee and answer all their questions frankly—has not been seen for a week. It is not that Lily is completely shocked—after all, he did give several public lectures reproaching the prevailing attitudes towards blood purity—but her school years have always been positively sacred to her, innocent and golden. She feels angry, violated, to have something like this ruin her vision of Hogwarts as an untouchable sanctuary. Now, there is something personal to draw her in. Already Lily has felt surrounded by the war, but now she feels submerged in it, and has a nagging feeling that when she resurfaces she will finally need to do something.

She looks over to the kitchen, to Sirius and Remus as they finish the dishes: Sirius gripping Remus’s shoulder for balance as he reaches to put a cup in the top shelf of the cupboard and keeping his hand there a moment longer; now they are finished and flick the remaining soap bubbles at each other, grinning. They are just as submerged as she is, yet they have managed to take it in stride. They have a strike against them just as Lily does: Remus for the stain on his life that he never asked for; Sirius, for his hot temper and righteous rebellion against his family; and James, too, ever incorrigible James, for being altogether too talented, too involved, too intense, too compassionate to keep himself from diving into the fray. Yet how can they all manage to keep their heads above the surface, whereas she cannot even read the newspaper normally?

Still clutching the paper and not quite focusing her eyes, Lily plods into the kitchen. The other two turn to her, the bubbles still popping faintly like cereal in milk.

“Professor Higgins went missing,� Lily says faintly. The implications of the statement linger like a cloud.

There is a blank silence, and something heavy passes over Sirius and Remus’s faces. In mutual understanding all three link hands, and in that instant Lily can feel something solid and comforting, something she cannot quite identify. Then they release and continue as if nothing has happened. Remus shows her to the guest room. Sirius hands her a pair of sweatpants to use as pajamas.

“You know, many girls would kill to be in my trousers,� he says with a wink. Lily giggles at the irony, but once he has left, she squints at them suspiciously and shoots a thorough cleaning charm at them before putting them on.

As she lays waiting for sleep, Lily stares at the ceiling. The paint is not quite smooth, and the little plaster bubbles and pockmarks catch the moonlight in little specks like stars, or ripples on a sea. It reminds Lily of summer nights in the country, in a happier time, and a wave of aching nostalgia, and then of frustration, washes over her. She wishes, more than anything, that she could be brave and strong and sure like James and Sirius and Remus and Higgins. More than anything, she cannot stand feeling powerless and vulnerable, and she wishes she could take control and act, instead of sitting agonizing over the morning paper.

She thinks back to that moment in the kitchen, when they had briefly grasped each others’ hands for support, and in an illuminating flash, she realizes—she realizes how they all manage to stay afloat. In that brief moment of contact, where there is something that does not just slip away with the waves, you can kick off and return to the surface. And if you can keep kicking, maybe you can outlast the storm. It is not madly thrashing about, nor is it just holding on to a piece of driftwood and wondering where the tide will take you; it is truly treading water. Sometimes it just is not enough to simply run with the current; sometimes the wind is so strong and the waves so high that doing nothing cannot possibly keep your head above the surface. Sometimes, you believe in something so strongly that you must struggle against the raging seas, even if the only result is staying in the same place. And if that place really matters to you, Lily thinks, well, then you only try harder.

Sleep finally overtakes her in between the exhaustion of epiphany and the peaceful, contented flush of understanding. She dreams of the same thing she has been dreaming of lately—of darkness and hooded cloaks and the anonymous fog of dread—but something has changed. She is no longer trapped, helpless; rather, she moves forward, and off in the distance, she can glimpse a bright hope dawning and thinks she can even see a pathway that leads to it.

When Lily awakes it is to the crackle of bacon and the murmur of voices and the raucous chattering of birds on a bright August elm tree. Her feet find a pair of slippers and she pads into the kitchen, where she is not in the least surprised to see James, tangle-haired and wonderful as always. His eyes meet hers, and in them there is nothing but understanding. She sits close by him and he folds his arm around her. He does not scold or question her, or even tell her how worried he was. He knows her and she knows him and, as he offers her a piece of toast, she knows that they will both keep treading water, and get through this together.