Date: December 12, 2000 Characters: James Potter, Lily Evans Location: His office, and then her flat Warnings: (if applicable)low, possible language? Public/Private: Private Summary: Trying to be the brave Gryff he is and explain Status: Incomplete
He wasn't sure about sending an owl; he had actually never asked her the best way to get a message to her, and that was part of the problem. James knew little to nothing about Muggle ways of communicating, and he thought that Lily used them exclusively. And as the days had turned into weeks, he had written and disposed of several letters to her, all that he thought that would be too incriminating. He had wanted to tell her everything; he had wanted to tell her about his hours of hunting and tracking the criminal that had committed those horrific crimes against the youngsters. But as he had written out note after note, he had cast a non-verbal spell burning them, much like he had done to the letters he had written her all those years ago when he'd been away at school. Her knowing about the Wizarding world, especially the criminal aspects, might only pull her into it, triggering some sort of need in her to take matters into her own hands; it was the last place he wanted her, potentially putting herself at risk.
And then had come the defeating results, to catch the culprit only to have to shift the blame to some hapless, defenseless vampire. That was what had sent him into his stupor, his utter sense of guilt and failure. And he had been utterly indecisive how to approach her, and how to apologize for being away for so long. He had no words to explain how low he felt about all of it; he was quite certain she would not even speak to him, after everything that had transpired. He had gone to visit Harry on his own, when he had chanced across a small article in the paper that he read about his son's injury. And he had hoped he would cross paths with her, there, at the hospital but he wouldn't let himself linger there too long. He wanted to see her, ached to see her, but he didn't want to cause any kind of scene with her while Harry was ill; he felt torn and terrible, knowing she probably needed him the most at this time.
So work became his obsession, again, practically sleeping at the office so that he wouldn't have to face his empty flat. He had gotten news when Harry had recovered, even as he let his work occupy his every moment. And as the weeks turned into months, James felt himself losing track of what was real and what was imagined, as he tried in vain to allow his emotions to numb. He was certain that she would be furious with him, and try as he might, he could not articulate what kept him away. If he'd been brave enough to search his soul, he would have known that he was terrified of her anger and of her rejection.
After working through yet another weekend, with the family House-elf fetching him hot meals at his office, James had decided that he needed to do the honorable thing. He would send word to her, and have his House-elf take it so that none would be the wiser; if she would allow him to come, he would. If she wanted an end to this torment, he would give her that as well; he owed her that much, for turning into the worst sort of fiance. He decided to send flowers as well, a bouquet that he hoped would express how much he missed her. He thought about jewelry as well, and had found a charming emerald bracelet for her, in the hopes that he might be able to give her something else as well. It had been fool hearty, he realized, but he hadn't been able to stop himself from buying the expensive piece; it lay in a black box, in his inside pocket of his robes. It had been there for over a month, as a reminder of his failure to face her contrasting his utter devotion for her.
"Take this to her, and try not to startle her," he had directed the House-elf, pointing to the bundled flowers and a small note he had written and re-written a dozen times, almost daily it had seemed.
Dearest Lily,
I am an utter cad and a fool. I have allowed other things to occupy my time whilst all I can think of, dream of, is you. Please forgive me.
May I call on you?
Yours, James Potter
He gave a heavy sigh and crossed to look out the window of his office as the House-elf disappeared with a loud crack. It was growing dark and starting to snow, and the last thing he wanted to do was return home to an empty cold house.