JO SPENDS ABOUT NINETY PERCENT OF HER TIME HEALING SOMEONE.

Most of the time, it's her parents. They require the most amount of attention. And Jo just has to do it, she has to tend to their bedside and feed them and clean them and talk to them and make sure that whatever pain they feel is minimal, whatever thoughts they're thinking aren't too dreadful. Jo stays up late into the night brewing elaborate and intense potions and wakes up early in the morning to pour them down her parent's throat. She has to cook for them as well, breakfast, lunch and dinner. Meals that aren't too time consuming but also aren't complete shite, food that's soft enough for them to swallow without difficulty, food that doesn't hit their stomach like bricks.

Jo has to think about her parents all the time, think about how they're doing and how she can make it easier. It takes up so much of her time that Jo almost forgets that they're dying, that she won't have to do it forever. And every morning when Jo wakes up with sleep in her eyes, she hopes it's not the last day she gets to take care of them. She hopes she'll have another day of potions and cooking and cleaning and giving. She hopes it never ends.

But Jo can see it, the way they deteriorate. She can see each day exactly how much life has drained from their eyes. Each day, they can talk less. Their thoughts become scrambled, unintelligible. They start murmuring, start losing themselves. Jo sees it happen, watches helplessly. And eventually, Jo starts to come to terms with it, accepting it. Sometimes she cries at night, careful to keep her tears away from the brewing potions under her. Other than that, though, she really tries not to think about it.

Sometimes James insists on taking care of their parents, ushering Jo out of the house and promising her that he knows what to do, that he has it under control and to please, please go and get some rest.

That's when Jo runs off to take care of Lily.

Jo's tolerance of Lily had slowly been evolving and transforming to a genuine appreciation and fondness. There are things about Lily that Jo used to find unbearably irritating that she now thinks are sort of endearing. Like when Lily gets irritated at James, she scrunches up her nose and purses her lips together tightly like she's trying to physically suppress her annoyance. Or when she laughs so loudly, she snorts. Or when she so sincerely tells a joke that's really not too funny, but Jo can't help but laugh anyway. And Jo's always known that it was easy for people to like Lily. Now she just understands it a little more.

Jo always arrives and Lily and James's new home in Godric's Hollow with potions and creams in hand, eagerly and with a soft smile. It's nice to spend time with Lily. It's easy.

Her belly has expanded, now stretched and robust. Jo can see it pop out from under her shirt as Lily reaches for some tea in her cabinet. A few weeks ago, Jo would've offered to help. She's learned since then that her assistance is thoroughly unwanted. So she sits at the kitchen table, watching. "Green or ginger?" Lily questions, still on the tips of her toes.

"Whichever's closer to the ground," Jo responds back, pulling each of the prenatal positions she's prepared for her sister-in-law and placing them on the table in front of her, not missing the glare Lily shoots her over her shoulder. "Anything new this week?"

Lily sighs, tea in hand as she drops to stand flat on her feet. "Well, I'm always tired. I constantly have to piss. My legs are cramping, and the other day I almost hexed James for breathing too loud."

"Hmm," Jo hums, "he probably deserved it. Which is good, because that's the only thing I don't have a potion for." She points at two potions before her, one in a long, skinny clear vile, the other in a thick, amber glass. "Take these two at night, and this one," she instructs, now gesturing to a large bottle of a shimmering, light blue liquid, "take in the morning. I also made this cream. Should help with skin sensitivity and the stretching."

Leaning against the counter, Lily tilts her head down at Jo. "You don't have to do all of this, you know."

Jo offers back a shrug. "I like doing it. Keeps my mind off things." She gives Lily a tight smile. "Besides, I like helping. Makes me feel useful."

"Well, I certainly appreciate it," Lily responds, placing her kettle on the stove. "I think I would've gone mad by now if not for you. The potions and everything else, it's been such a help. And I hope Alice appreciates it as well."

Jo can't help but snicker. Lily already sounds so much like a mother. "Yes, I think the dozens of thank you notes I've gotten in the post from her, and Frank prove that she does."

"Good," Lily smiles.

A brief silence falls between them. Jo watches with her finger tapping against her knee as Lily brews their tea. Lily makes her tea without magic. Lily does a lot of things without magic. Jo's always fascinated by it, watching her float through the kitchen, wand nowhere to be seen, doing one thing at a time, humming to herself, enjoying the moment. It seems peaceful, relaxing.

Lily knows how Jo takes her tea, just a drop of honey stirred in. She grabs the two cups by the handle, and takes careful steps to her kitchen table, placing Jo's tea down in front of her as she sits. Jo smiles and takes a sip. It's ginger.

Lily wiggles in her seat, a little more stifled by the silence than Jo. She bites down on her lip, deliberating, then turns to Jo, "Can I ask you something?"

With a nod, Jo says, "Go on."

"Why did you hate me so much?"

Jo has no reaction to this question except to raise the cup of tea to her lips and take a sip. She had always been anticipating this question, knew it would come eventually. Jo had previously toyed with how she would answer, coming up with reasons and excuses but now that it's been presented before her, she's suddenly not so sure. "Suppose I had my reasons," Jo answers, and places her cup down on the ground before her. "I would say that I didn't really care for the way you treated my brother, but I dunno. Suppose I had always been a bit jealous of you."

Lily sputters. "Jealous? Of me? Why the bloody hell would you ever be jealous of me?"

And Jo can't help but laugh. "I dunno. Suppose it does seem stupid now. I just," she pauses, sighs, and drops her shoulders, "I didn't like how easy it was for people to like you. Everyone's always liked you, even when you hated them. I'm, well, I'm more of an acquired taste, I suppose. I thought Remus liked you more than me. Peter and Sirius as well. I thought Dorcas and Alice and all of my friends and even my parents would eventually, too. I thought if they were around you being lovely enough they'd be sick of me being, well, me."

Lily looks like she doesn't know what to say. Her expression is blank, shocked. She blinks a few times, green eyes adjusting and readjusting. The freckles splattered across the bridge of her nose twist and shrink as Lily scrunches up her nose. "Wow. Jo, I just-" she blinks, and shakes her head. "You know that's absurd right?"

Jo taps her fingers against her cup, chewing on the inside of her lip. She thinks of how it felt to watch her mother, with round cheeks and bright eyes, laugh until her face was red, head rested on Lily's shoulder as Jo watched from the dark. "It's easier to know that now than when I was feeling it." Jo frowns, now remembering how she made Lily's eyes well with tears. "And I am sorry for treating you so horribly. It's not a very good excuse for it."

There's a few deep breaths from both of them before Lily continues. "You know, I can't say I don't understand. I actually," she starts, and her cheeks turn pink, "I've felt the same way about Dorcas before."

Jo's eyes nearly pop out of her head. "Meadowes?"

Lily lets out this embarrassed little laugh. "Yeah. Of course, now I realize how ridiculous it was. But when her and Marlene started getting closer, I did feel like she was taking my best friend from me." She gives Jo a wistful smile. "It seemed so serious back then, like the entire world was collapsing."

"Yeah," Jo agrees, "it's something like that."

"James helped me see past it, though," she tells Jo, straightening up and giving her a knowing little smile. 'Boys can be good for things like that."

She takes another sip of her tea. "At least they're good for something," Jo responds, suddenly trying not to think too much.

Peter's somehow made it onto her list of people she's started taking care of as well. But that one's a little less direct.

He's seated in Jo's living room now, rambling on about something that makes Jo's head hurt. Peter talks a lot. Jo doesn't even bother to give him the courtesy of "yeah, I get it," or "hmm-mmm," and Peter doesn't even notice that she's stopped. He just keeps on going and going, like there's so much stuffed inside of him, tangled and mangled, that no amount of ranting at Jo could expel it. And it first it didn't bother her, she had figured he would get tired of it soon enough. But he's endless, and it drains her.

"I'm just tired of being the punching bag. Everyone thinks it's alright to just constantly take all their aggressions out on me and I'm sick of it," he rambles from her armchair, sunken in deep, with a lit cigarette in his hand. Jo half-listens from the kitchen. The full moon's coming up, and she needs more wound-cleaning potions. "And I mean, I understand that it's a difficult time for everyone, but I'm sacrificing myself, putting myself at risk, and not getting anything in return! I'm just mocked like I'm a stupid little kid again."

Jo lifts her head up from her cauldron to raise an eyebrow at him. Peter isn't looking at her, he's not even looking in her direction. He's watching Juniper as she sits on the carpet before him, licking the end of her tail. Jo could tell him that perhaps he should not expect praise for doing the right thing. Or maybe that the light teasing he gets from his friends isn't really comparable to those suffering under the growing power of the Death Eaters. Jo thinks about asking him what it is that even really does in the Order that he thinks is such a risk. Because she's seen Remus come back from parlaying with werewolves unable to even walk, had to heal Sirius and Marlene after they had been cursed so harshly, they couldn't even breathe. And she'd only ever seen Peter sit silently with his eyes fixed on his lap at Order meetings.

But Jo doesn't say anything, she turns her attention back to her potions, and Peter rambles on, not caring whether or not Jo's still listening, not even looking up at her once.

The Order takes up a great deal of Jo's time as well. And even though she's not fully certified as a Healer yet, she's the closest thing they have as a member. Jo never has missions. She never has tasks to complete or orders to execute. Instead, she has Order members arriving at her doorstep, bloodied, cursed, broken. And she just has to drop everything and fix them. That's her job, so that's what she does.

And it's not too far off base from what Jo was expecting. She knew this is what it would be like, but she feels so horribly ill-prepared for it. People she's never met bleeding all over her kitchen floor, experiencing a pain so severe it manifests in screams that ring throughout Jo's bones. They plead and beg with her for help, for her to ease their pain and to please make it stop. She does what she can and cleans up the blood when they're gone.

And it makes her exhausted, limp and weak. But at least it keeps her mind off Regulus. For the most part.

When she does think of him, it's always quick flashes of memories. She doesn't allow herself anymore. The way his eyes shine lighter under the sun, a paler shade of green. How soft this skin of his hands were as he caressed the curve of her cheek, ran them along the length of her arms. She thinks of him smiling down at her, his laughter. She thinks of the twists and pulls in her gut as he kissed her. She thinks of warmth and ease. Jo does not think of him scowling. Sobbing. Fighting. Choking. Drowning. She does not think of him with a locket tight around his neck, sinking into black waters, skin tinted blue.

The dreams have stopped. That's helped.

What doesn't help, though, is James, and his constant insistence on talking about him.

He stands in front of the stove, back to Jo as he cooks something that smells so good it makes Jo's mouth water. He stops by to cook her dinner at least once a week. It's nice, and makes Jo feel like someone else is taking care of her, for once. "I'm sorry Jo," he says to her, "I just don't get it. I feel like, like it would be like snogging an evil version of Sirius."

Jo narrows her eyes at the back of his head, chin resting on her hand. "Piss off." she grumbles.

James continues on over the sizzling of the food like he had not even heard her. "At least when you fancied Remus, that I understood."

"How'd you know about that?" she shoots back at him, cheeks turning red, feeling a bit silly that she's still embarrassed over it.

Now he looks over his shoulder at her, taking a moment to shoot her an unimpressed look. "Josie, please. I'm your brother. I read it in your diary." Jo scowls, and wishes she had something nearby to throw at him. "And everyone fancies Remus at least once. I think even I did at one point."

Jo struggles to maintain a frown. "Do you have a point here James?"

"I'm just saying," he continues, "that out of every single person at that school that you could've gone out with, I'm just confused that you picked Regulus Black. I mean, listen, I appreciate it when a lad's good looking-"

She is beet red now. "James-"

"-but maybe you could've picked someone else good looking that wasn't my best mate's estranged brother," James stresses, plating the meal he had made her and sending it in her direction with the flick of his wand. "And maybe, maybe, I was wrong about him, I'll maybe admit that. But I'm just saying, would've been easier if you went out with one of the Prewett's."

Jo rolls her eyes, fork in her hand and shoveling down a mouthful of her dinner. "Because I didn't want to go out with one of the Prewett's, alright? Get it over it," she grumbles with her mouth full.

James chuckles lightly, tossing the dishes into the sink. He's wearing his mother's old apron. He doesn't take it off until Jo's finished her food and he's cleaned every dish, cup, and piece of silverware they own. Jo thinks he just likes wearing it. "Have you heard from him at all?"

Jo tries not to flinch. She purses her mouth tightly and twists it, trying to suppress whatever it is she's feeling. "No," she answers, only able to give James one word on it.

Her head is turned down, eyes fixed on her plate. She can't see James's expression and she doesn't want to see it. That stupid look of sympathy that makes her feel like a small child. That stupid look that reminds her so much of her mother. "He'll be okay, Josie. Dumbledore's brilliant. If Regulus could find out where one of those things are, I'm sure he'll be able to as well."

Guilt pings throughout her chest. She knows, definitely, that telling James about the horcruxes, and Regulus's plan to destroy them, was the correct thing to do, was the most she could do to try and help him. But it still feels like a line crossed, like a betrayal of him.

At the very least, it made Regulus a hero in James's eyes. Though, she wishes he wouldn't ask after him all the goddamn time.

James reached out to Jo's plate and pinches a piece of chicken between his fingers, stealing it for himself. She doesn't protest. He crosses his arms over his chest. "So, Josie, do you love him?"

"Bloody hell," she exclaims, dropping her fork against the counter, "can we talk about something else please, for the love of Merlin?"

James nods, leaning forward to ruffle the top of her hair. "He'll be okay, Josie, don't worry."

That night, Jo lets herself think of Regulus. She thinks about him as much as she likes. Sweet memories, bitter anxieties, she lets it all come to her unfiltered. His eyes, his touch, his words, his arguments, she recalls it all, lets it wash over her. Jo lies in her bed, blanket pulled up to the top of her chest and she stares at her ceiling and becomes covered in the thought of him.

It doesn't hurt to think of him. Not in the way it felt to fight with him, not in the way it hurt to fight for him. It is not a strong, stinging ache that crumbles and crushes her. No, it is a low, beating longing, settled in somewhere deep in her. It thumps and throbs and Jo falls asleep with that feeling in her chest, and for the first time since he left her in her bedroom, she dreams of him.

But it's not of his blood or his screams or his lungs filling with water. It is of his knuckles going white as his hand tightens around his wand. It is a light shining in his eyes. His head emerging out from breaking waves. Gasping and inhaling. His curls hanging in front of his forehead, water dripping form them. It's him living.

And for the first time in what feels like years, Jo gets a good night's sleep.