〖and know that I can be pretty mean, but you mean the world to me...〗

♬ 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 ~ 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘺𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ♬

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

This was becoming routine. No matter how they tried to stop it, the war would seep into their once happy home and tear it apart from the inside. Arguing felt like dancing close to a candle. The flame is bright and foreboding, but the melting wax seems too tempting to leave alone. But of course it's never worth touching, because as soon as the burning wax licks skin, it burns and hardens, encasing the touched area with a mark, so as to remind them of the mistake they made.

"You can't keep pretending everything is going to be okay, James, because it's bloody not! I don't need coddled! I don't need sheltered! I'm pregnant, not an infant myself!" Lily's voice carried dangerously through their house, filling James and the rest of their home with trepidation and dread. He hated when Lily was angry, but he hated the fact he was angry too.

"I know that! Of course I do, but you need to take our baby into account! I can't have you off risking your life when it's not just yours anymore!"

"Regardless of our baby, James, I can't just sit back and watch you go off, not knowing when and if you'll come back!" Tears clogged Lily's vision, distorting their happy home into something wobbling and sinister.

"Lily, how can you not understand?!"

"UNDERSTAND WHAT?!"

"THAT I CAN'T PROTECT YOU!"

The house stood still, quiet, waiting. Nothing moved, nothing breathed. Tears still threatened to spill over their eyes but their shouting had been replaced with a thick, palpable silence.

It was a few beats before James spoke. This time his tone was strained, his voice quiet.
"I can't protect you, or our baby if you keep going on missions."

"James," her reply barely a whisper, "I can protect myself."

"I know. Lily, of course I know. But I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to you while I couldn't be there to stop it."

She wanted to go to him, hold him close and promise everything would be okay, just as he had so many times. But just like James, Lily knew it was a lie, and she wouldn't lie anymore.

"James..."

"Please just listen to me, Lily, please," he was pleading now, begging her to understand. The house held its breath...

"Okay, I'm listening."

"I know you want to be involved, I know you feel helpless but this is about more than this war now. It's about our family, and I want more than anything for our family to be okay. So you could work in communications, you could work in strategy, potion brewing, anything. But love, please, please don't put yourself in danger until you're able to again. I know you're capable, but there's more at stake now."

Lily knew he was right. She'd known it all along, but her pride had hurt and her rationality was slipping from the gaps in her fingers every day that the war continued.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah," she took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and taking a small step towards him.
"I won't say you're right. But this is important, so I'll do something else. But James?"

"Yeah?"

"I worry about you too. Just as much as you do me. And I'm going to go crazy if you don't at least promise me you won't take any stupid risks while I'm not there. The Prewett's are gone, Benjy is gone, everything is falling apart. I don't want it to be you next, Sirius dragging you in the door like he pulled in Fabian. I can't see that. Okay?"

"I promise you. Nothing is going to ruin us. We'll make it, alright? We'll make it."

They knew it might have been a lie, but neither cared. Their house felt warm again, the chill leaving and the wax candles dripping with beauty over peril...

The night of Halloween was different. Candles no longer flickered, dripping their scorching wax; warmth no longer radiated throughout the happy memories and half built dreams. Instead, it was almost silent. Nothing moved, nothing spoke, all except for the small boy in the cot, a new lightning scar on his forehead.

The house wept with him because no one else would. Paint peeled off the walls like tears, holes blasted through the ceilings and walls like gasping sobs.

A man on a flying motorcycle took the boy away, leaving the house to submerge itself in silence. No one would venture in it again, not for a long while, and they left behind whispers of a life once happy here. Picture frames smashed, toys broken. Just fragments of the life that could have bled from this house if it's occupants weren't so eager to bleed themselves. They should have learned not to dance with the candle's flame, but instead they danced to their deaths, leaving behind the small boy and a lightning scar to scratch the hardened wax of everything thrown at him.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆
very short but I'm a sucker for an extended metaphor. also my sister is typing so fucking loud I want to cry