Hey all! For those of you who read my other story (the one that I removed): I decided to take it off because the beginning was wrong. I wasn't going to continue the story, but I stumbled upon the material that I hadn't deleted and I remembered the plot. So this is the same story, with just a different beginning.
I tried to take a different wack at things, so let me know what you think!
PLEASE review! It helps so much!
Disclaimer: I hereby state that I do not own any of J.K.Rowlings work (characters, setting, etc.)
Dancing on A Flame of Fate
Prologue:
The day dawned bright and clear. Two weeks until school was over, but for Lily Evans, it seemed like a lifetime. The only thing that got her through that particular day was the prospect of dance lessons after school.
"Ms. Evans!" the teacher's piercing voice cut through Lily's delirium. The fourteen year old picked up her head from her desk, red locks tumbling over her shoulders. Her eyes drooped, and she yawned rudely.
"Yes, Mrs. Scolarie?" Her classmates around her giggled, and her Petunia scowled.
"May I ask why you are sleeping through my lesson?"
Lily nodded her head, becoming a little more aware of where she was. Sitting up a bit straighter, and covering up a stretch, she smiled pleasantly (almost mockingly) at her boring teacher. "Of course you may, you are the teacher."
The girls around her gasped. On any normal day, Lily would have been sharper. She would have kept her mouth smartly closed, and her head off her desk, however much effort it would have taken. But it was not a normal day. It had started off bad, and it had gotten worse.
And now, Mrs. Scolarie was standing in front of her, tight lipped and angry. "I'd like to remind you, Ms. Evans, that final exams are next week, and the grade you receive from the tests will determine next years classes, and your final average this year."
Lily groaned, and, forgetting herself yet again, buried her head in her arms. I can't deal with this! she thought, Not today. Not now.
"Ms. Evans…" the teacher's voice held a warning that all the students knew only too well.
Petunia spoke up from beside her sister. "I'm sure she understands, Mrs. Scolarie." The teacher turned her beady eye to the Lily's blonde twin.
Petunia gulped and shrunk back from the teacher's gaze. "Thank you, Petunia. But may I remind you that you are twins, not the same person. Keep your comments to yourself. I am sure Ms Evans can speak for herself."
Lily groaned loudly and mumbled, "I realize that the finals are important," she picked up her head and gave the teacher a blood-freezing glare. "And I am sure that I will do just fine on the exams."
Mrs. Scolarie smiled, Lily had walked right into her trap. "Then I see no reason for you to come to class the rest of the week. You are dismissed, Lily Evans, and I expect to see full marks on those exams. You have a weekend detention with me, Saturday and Sunday from six until noon. I will see you then."
The students in the class clucked sympathetically for Lily, and Petunia frowned and tears filled her eyes for her sister. Lily, however, merely stood. Grabbing her sack, she marched out of the room.
Her head banged with a coming headache. Her throat became tight with emotion. She pushed open the doors of her local high school. The heat hit her immediately. It swamped her, made her feel like she was swimming. The air was sticky. There was not a cloud in the sky. The sun shone down on the hot pavement.
Like the heat had moments before, her emotion hit her. Her throat choked up, and a deep sob wracked her body. Oh, what a mess I've made. She knew there was absolutely no way she would come close to passing Mrs. Scolarie's exam. She would fail, and her foster parents would be utterly disappointed.
The teenager checked her watch: 12:30. Lisa's would be open. She could pop in early and dance for a few hours before her lesson. She hugged her bag to her chest and ducked her head from the burning sun. Quickly she made her way from the school. Across Main Street, over to High Lane, and over the old metal bridge. Lisa's was a big building on the corner of Mill Street. The gorgeous red head opened the swinging doors and headed into the airconditioned space that made up the dance hall.
However, though the heat had left her, the sticky feeling stayed with her. She felt repressed. She felt as if she was suffocating. Maybe I'm getting sick, she thought to herself. She shook her head at her own folly, Or maybe you miss your parents. A tear escaped the corner of Lily's green eyes.
Wiping it away quickly, she promised herself that she would feel better as soon as she started dancing.
She quickly changed, dawning on her black leotard and tight workout kapris. Her shoes were next. She carefully picked out her points. She felt like being challenged today.
Lacing up her shoes, she gracefully stepped out into one section of the emansive dance studio. Picking out a selection of music, she took her position and danced. She danced as she had never before. Her dance was mournful. It was angry. She didn't stumble. She didn't fall. Her body led her through a series of complex moves, each one as slow as the last. Standing on tip toe, sweeping her arms slowly about her, dipping gracefully down toward the ground, then up at the sky, she danced. Her thoughts left her. She merely lived in the moment.
But somewhere, deep within her, she felt a stirring. It was a silent stirring, like a ripple on a calm lake, or a slight rustling among a field of flowers. But she felt it. It tickled her conscience. And as she danced, her mind observed this stirring.
But as the CD came to an end, she found that she had to put in another and stretch, and she forgot about the stirring. Her lesson came and went. As she brought herself past Lisa's counter, a news headline caught her eye. It read, "Fifteen killed. Two Suspects," Lily began to read the article.
"Last night, guests arrived late to a house party, only to find the hosts and the guests murdered. A mark of a skull appeared above the house. Doctors investigated, but found no real cause to the murder. It was not poison, and no marks of struggle adorned the bodies. The only clue we have is the look of pure horror marked upon the victims faces."
Across the article were two pictures of the suspected killers. A man and a woman.
Lily shook her head sadly and returned the newspaper.
And as she walked the stairs to the outside world, the oppression came again. It weighed her mind. She walked out into the stifling heat.
Her walk was graceful. She never stumbled on things. But as she left the comfort of the airconditioned dance studio, her foot kicked something hard.
The object skittered out in front of her, bumping over the rough pavement. Lily looked curiously down and bent closer to observe the object. Her hands came in contact with a smooth box. It was small; she was able to grip it easily with two hands. It's sides her smooth, though. And there showed no sign of a top or a lid, though Lily could tell that the box was hollow.
She was curious about it, so she placed it silently in her bag for later examination.
And she began walking again. Except this time she headed to her house the back way. She didn't know what possessed her, then, to take that route because it was surely the most dangerous way. But she would later know that it was because of the box.
She passed through the back of the large town. Her angry thoughts left her. She simply walked.
The scenery passed before her, and she tried to concentrate on that. Each house was the same as the last; same shape, same color, same yard, same distance apart. She sighed and dragged a hand through her hair. Petunia would love this. She often talked about how perfectly manicured her yard would be. Lily knew she wouldn't be like that. She didn't know what she wanted, so long as it had to do with eccentric flowers and didn't have to do with sameness.
She came around the bend and turned onto Cracked Street. She should have gotten the hint from the chipping paint and the flicker of shadows, or even the twisted, depressing, abandoned houses, or perhaps the overgrown lawns. But she failed to notice any of these signs.
Looking back at that particular moment in her past, Lily would know, again, that what had occurred was all due to the box.
A finger tapped her shoulder. "Excuse me, Miss," the voice was deep and gruff. Lily whipped around, startled out of her reverie. "You wouldn't happen to have any spare change on ye, would ye?"
In his hand was a thick bat.
A footstep crunched behind her. "We would be awfully gracious if you would lend it to us," that voice was a woman's, silky and smooth.
Lily glanced behind her. Why is life so unfair? She groaned to herself. She recognized this couple. It was the couple from the newspaper. Lily felt a burning hate inside her.
How could someone kill a household of people? she thought. Rage bubbled inside of her. She forgot to be afraid. "Why did you do it?"
The woman sneered. "Orders. Though a stupid muggle like you wouldn't understand," The word 'muggle' had slid right over Lily, for she was too captured in her rage.
A pitching voice suddenly broke through. "Lily?" It was Petunia, "What are you doing over here?"
Lily looked over to her sister. Why does she always pop in at the worst of moments?
"Ah, this must be your friend," said the man, "We'll deal with her first." He pointed his thick club at Petunia. "Avada-"
"Don't you touch her!" shrieked Lily. Something snapped in Lily. It was one thing for one's parents to be stole away, but for one's twin to be hurt…Lily had had enough suffering. She wouldn't allow Petunia to be taken from her.
When she snapped, a burning power took her over. It pulsed in her veins and throughout her body. She flew at the man, her eyes no longer green, but burning fire. Orange flames licked her legs, though she was unharmed, and fire balls grew in her palms.
The man didn't know what hit him. Neither did the neighborhood. Because everything about Lily blew up.
Lily was hurled into darkness.
A single box clattered onto the ground.