A.N. Much thanks to Typa for being beta.

Chapter 2

She stared at the identical stones fixedly and guessed they had something to do with the sudden appearance; it was too much of a coincidence otherwise. Fearfully, she reached for his face and pressed her fingertips on his cheeks. Her breath hitched, knowing now that he was real.

Almost immediately, a strange sensation flowed from the tips of her fingers up to her body, and her back bowed from the strength of it. She was overcome with a sense of panic and fear, while her body felt like it was being used as a human tuning fork. Waves of vibrations flowed to her from where she touched the boy, not pleasant but not entirely unpleasant either. But through it all, the fear and overriding need to protect the boy she was touching overwhelmed her.

She wrenched her hands away from him and the sensation stopped and the fear disappeared. She looked at him wide eyed, breathing as if she had run miles, but she didn't notice that. She was too disturbed by the sound of a heartbeat other than her own racing in her ears, and with certainty she knew it was the heart of the boy.

“Cursed Morgana!” She gasped. “What? Who?” She stared at the still boy and raised her trembling hands as if she could see the nearly painful energy that had flowed through her. “Be safe, have to get you safe.”

She was on her feet and rushing to his side again, had her arms under his shoulders and was dragging him up before she even thought of what she was doing. “Why? What do I have to get him safe from?” She she said, freezing in motion. The second heart thudding in her ears calmed down, slowing until it was steady.

She had shut her eyes sometime ago and laid her head between the boy's shoulders without realizing, listening to beats of the two hearts, one sounding after the other. Her arms had tightened around him to pick him up, but it was more like she was hugging him from behind while he slumped forward. She came to herself startled; he looked even more like James from behind, perfectly like James.

“Is it really you?” she whispered, half-hoping he would wake up and answer yes, and it was enough hope to get her moving. This time she took a moment to think of how to get him to safety. Holding him with one arm and her leg propped under him in an awkward angle, so he wouldn't slip, she cast a disillusionment charm and another to levitate him beside her.

Her hand freed, she walked out in a brisk pace, trying to hurry without seeming to. She sent a silent thanks to the headmaster for blanking the portraits in his office for their 'delicate' conversation, as he had called it. She gave tight smiles to the few who made eye contact with her; it was near the end of the school year and times were troubled; no one was too friendly. She ran into no one who knew her well enough to stop her to talk, even Snape, who slunk around the Headmaster's office anytime she was here, was absent.

She wiped the trails of tears on her face and brushed her hair with one free hand, wanting no one to stop her to ask what was wrong. They'd been asking for two years and she'd been saying 'nothing' for two years, but they never got the message. Out of the corner of her eye she kept looking for the disillusioned form she was levitating with the silly want to look at his face again, James' face, at James.

Giving up pretense she jogged out of the great doors and down the path to the main gates, unable to wait another second without seeing him again. She kept squinting against the bright glare of summer, doing a poor job of watching her surroundings. A known Order member or at least enemy of Death Eaters like her could never be too careful of sudden ambush.

A twenty-three year old witch in muggle clothes stood apart even in the sparse crowd and then her coppery red hair had always made her easy to find. A second of worried thought crossed her mind where she wondered what James would think of her having cut her hair short after his and Harry's murder. She couldn't bring herself to care after they'd died and in a fit of depression had cut it all off. Now it just about tickled the base of her head - suddenly she wished she had taken care of herself more.

Away from the castle gates, she gave a cursory glance in either direction before stretching towards the nearly invisible form of the boy and apparating with him side-long. She heard the second heart skip a beat in the middle of apparating and the moment they appeared in the dim hallway of her apartment she took off the charm to see if he was okay.

He was fine, or as well as he had been the first time she had seen him. Still grimy and bloody in places; he moaned in pain.

That behooved her to open the lock and levitate him through into her flat. It was a curiously unadorned place, no pictures or other decorations could be seen. The curtains were drawn and only the hazy orange light that the drapes couldn't quite hold back illuminated the simple furnishings. Lily found her way expertly through the mess of her own things left haphazardly in any place on the ground, again she agonized; she should have cared for everything better, including herself.

The only room in the house worth her own notice was her bedroom, and here was the odd sight of dozens of photographs in frames hung on the walls but all with their faced turned toward the walls, so one could only see the backs of the frames. A simple bed with white coverings sat made in one corner of the room. The open closet showed a sparse wardrobe. She levitated him to the bed and stopped just short of laying him on it.

After looking at him pensively for a second she turned on her feet and levitated him into the bathroom instead, like everything else in the flat it was simple and unadorned. She sent a charm at the faucet impatiently, warm water rushed out into the tub.

Then for the first time since the panic to get him safe had started, it slowed down when she caught herself with him in the mirror of the bathroom. She saw herself keeping him afloat with her wand, and for a moment it was like old times with James, her and him sharing the sink. Something heavy and tight settled in her throat and she turned away from the mirror to look at him, looking faint.

“I miss you so much,” she said, holding her free hand to her mouth to hold back the threatening sobs. Then with determination she stepped to him and brought him closer with her magic, she started again where she had been and reached up for his hair. He was taller than her, being levitated off the ground, but she still reached him; her fingers threaded through his hair as she stood tiptoe. The texture and feel was too familiar, evoking so many memories she couldn't think but that part of her dream had come true, one of them had returned to her.

Running her fingers through she finally rested her hand next to his cheek and that sudden energy roared through her again. Her back bowed, she lost her magic; both the unconscious boy and she fell to the floor. Her chest heaved in fear and in the aftereffects of that unpleasant sensation of having even the smallest part of her being shaken from the rest.

Panic gripped her heart and the second heart she had been hearing since she had touched him the first time. Both raced, discordant and scaring her all the more over the panic and terror blinding her mind, leaving only the desperate need to protect him. She jumped, trembling from the energy, and summoned her wand with her hand and a forceful incantation.

She realized she hadn't set up the wards when she'd come back to the flat and in this moment that seemed a fatal mistake. She cast magic with speed borne of primal fear and recast protection charms three times before she stopped and gained a sense of herself again.

She stood in the doorway of the bathroom with one hand holding the frame to steady herself while she panted. Her white T-shirt over her pleated skirt was soaked with cold sweat. She rubbed her neck in a nervous gesture and felt the strangeness of not having her long hair there waiting to be brushed aside or tied up.

Finally she looked back into the bathroom to see the painfully familiar boy splayed on the tiled floor. Pressing her back against the door she slid down to sit on the floor and watched him in apprehension.

“Who are you?” she suddenly shouted, and her strained voice echoed in the bathroom.

She could see that though he looked like James he wasn't exactly like him, there were subtle differences she wasn't sure she could point out yet. But most of all this was someone younger and thinner than her husband had been when he'd died. Then there was the most horrifying feature of him, above his shut eyes and round glasses was a miniature of the scar that had marred the entire body of her baby. She ran her hand through her own hair in frustration and got even angrier when it wasn't the right length to be properly run through, it only came to the base of her head now, leaving her neck bare. Snape had said it looked good on her; she had hated it even more since then.

She crawled over to the body and mindlessly began getting him ready for the bath. She went to take off his glasses and stopped, fingers hovering over the spectacles; it was an odd intimate gesture between her and James. At night, in bed she would always take his glasses off before she kissed him. Burying that thought she took the nearly identical glasses off, but her skin still burned warm in memory of what usually followed this.

Deliberately keeping her eyes away from that awful scar she divested him of the cloak he was wearing. Underneath were muggle clothes, more difficult to undress than robes. She would have to touch his skin at some point if she was going to pull off his shirt and his jeans. Starting with something less troublesome she took off his shoes and socks, then grabbed her wand and just sat with a quizzical look.

Never before had she used magic to take off a man's clothes or her own. She didn't know quite how to go about it, there may have been a charm for it but she didn't recall seeing it. With a shrug she began experimenting with summoning, levitating, banishing the shirt and undershirt he was wearing. After struggling for ten minutes in which she positioned him uncomfortably, he was without his shirt, and she contemplated his body.

He was missing James's scars but had others which James did not have. He was even thinner without the clothes than he seemed with them on. Her hand drew to trace the long and deep scars on his arms but held back remembering what happened every time she touched his skin. Resting her hand firmly in her lap she just looked at him and finally realized that she was looking at a half naked boy on her bathroom floor. She blushed furiously and looked away, her emotions already troubled by how much he looked like the love of her life.

With forced clinical distance she attempted the same process with his jeans; swearing if it didn't work she would just vanish them. Apparently Alohomora worked as well on belt buckles and buttons as it did on locks. Luckily the jeans at least came off when she summoned them and she piled them in a corner with the rest of his clothes. Now he was just in his boxers and she was forcibly reminded that she had someone who could be potentially masquerading as her husband in her bathroom, naked. She consoled herself with the fact that she had a wand and he was naked, being nude in a fight always throws off your concentration.

At least that is what Sirius used to say from his surprise duels with friends in the boys' communal bathrooms at Hogwarts. She blushed in memory of the explicit detail Sirius had provided of these magical brawls, apparently ambushing someone when they are naked in the shower is excellent strategy. Shaking her head to clear her wayward thoughts she levitated him into the tub of hot water.

For more her own sake than any concern for the boy's modesty she left the boxers on, they seemed clean anyway, compared to the rest of his clothes. He sank into the water and she kneeled by the head, taking off her heels so she could fold her legs under. With her wand she charmed soap and a bath sponge to clean him. The grime was washed away from his face and chest, the cuts here and there showed up worse over the cleaned skin. Shampoo in his hair made a riot of foam and bubbles in the water, while she directed the work with her wand, careful not to touch his skin; she did not want to feel the terror and panic that came with his touch.

But when the sponge came to his back she couldn't help herself and grabbed it from the air to wash him herself. This too was an intimate memory but she simply couldn't resist, and gently, with delicate care she cleaned away the sweat and troubles of battles she did not know he had been in. With smooth strokes she felt the contours of his body through the sponge and with that she touched him finally without any physical pain.

The busy sound of sloshing water and soap scrubbing around died away as she quietly and with building emotion took care of him. Looking at him from behind she couldn't see the difference between him and the man she'd buried. She had one leg in the water to join him, to hold him, to be held by him when the thought of what had happened the two times she'd touched his skin stopped her. She looked at him miserably, so close to what she needed and yet unable to grasp it. With a shuddering sigh she stepped out of the tub and drained the water while keeping her face away from the boy to collect herself. She felt weak, helpless and very alone.

Unable to just leave him wet in the tub she dried him with a few charms and went looking for something he could wear. There was only one place in her flat that she had men's clothes; she went to the small storage by the kitchenette. Pulling out packed boxes and suitcases, she hesitated on the ones she wanted; they were James's clothes. She refused to throw them away, but couldn't bear to keep them out either. The only other was a smaller suitcase of Harry's things, and even seeing that unopened was enough for a complete breakdown, she kept it in the far corner behind other things.

Braving her own grief she popped open the yellow suitcase and tried to look at the robes and things in it dispassionately. The day had been unfairly trying on her already. Usually she had herself wrapped in a cloak of cold distance that kept her safe, from behind which she dealt with her every day life, but today, Dumbledore first and then the appearance of this boy, had torn that away from her. Not wanting to touch her husband's clothes with her bare hands she used her wand to find an older robe of his he didn't favor. Taking it she escaped, leaving boxes and such from storage out in the hallway.

Another session of improvised magic and she had the familiar stranger in the large chocolate robe and had laid him on her bed. She watched him in the dim sunlight from behind the curtains, sleeping peacefully. The face and the way his body was in sleep so reminiscent of the one she'd lost that she couldn't but stand there transfixed.

Denying all sense and reason she gave into her heart. She climbed into bed without changing out of her clothes or even taking the time to take off her hose. The slightly bigger robe covered most of his hands, she opened his arms to make a place for herself, making sure that wherever she touched he was clothed, and then hugged him. She held him with all her might burying her face in his shoulder and putting his listless arms around herself, so that from the outside it looked like he was holding her too. But she didn't care, for the first time her bedroom smelled of home and she sank into it.

“Thank you,” she whispered over and over again. For his smell was home, and regardless of what he looked like, that alone was enough truth for her.

She left caution and questions for another time, in this moment there were only the two hearts beating inside her and she was lulled to sleep by them.