Fill Me Up With Fire
He finds himself empty with the kind of feeling of fill me up, I'm missing something here and he tries his hardest to plaster up the hole. Tries to find replacements where he can.
One has red hair with inches of re-growth and green eyes that just aren't bright enough, but it's the closest he's found and it's still not good enough. Lily will never grace his sheets with her fire hair and never again will she look into his eyes with the green that forests dream of holding.
Her life (liven so perfectly day in, day out) was thrown away as effortlessly as a rag doll, her limbs falling to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. The darkest beauty you could ever imagine. The image of another's memory tainting the inside of his brain so much stronger, more potent, than the image of his own disillusioned memories of her. Like this death is so much worse than it could have already been.
His mind enjoys warping its way to tease him, to mind-fuck him over the hardest it could so that the wound will never stop hurting. So that he'll never forget the way that she laughed when she was with him, throwing back her head of hair for it to rustle in the wind. So he'll never forget the way her face looked when she was protecting her only son, (the most physical evidence of her undeniable love for James. The arrogant imprint of their time together. Jostling himself in his face every time he tries to think that maybe she could of loved Sev instead.)
He wants to believe that they could have been together; he wants to torture his heart into the thinkings of false hopes and remember the pain - remember her - and become a master of the pain so that he'll always live with her in every second of his every day.
Never forgetting, never forget keeping off his largest fear of her leaving him forever. Of her face fading into blackness and her kind voice saying the words "I love you" slipping from his memory.
The human mind is merely a sieve and he awaits for this memory like many others to slip through the cracks, but he holds on with all his might never leave me alone, I can't live without you and when he looks into Harry's eyes all he sees is hate carved into the same pattern Lily had after he called her a mudblood but it's the most tangible form of her he can have.
Protect it, part of his mind demands, protect him. And another part just wants to rip those pretty little eyes out of the head that doesn't deserve to have a piece of Lily Evan's in it.
His life has become a theatre show and he finds himself to be more of a puppet than an actor with two conductors pulling his strings instead of one. He leads a double life yet no life at all; in the anti-glory of the war he forgets to live and all that remains inside of him is her (with the fiery red hair that so matched the look in her eyes as she pulled him under under under). He's sinking into memories but doesn't mind a bit and would never want to take a breath except the conductors pull him up and out of his miserable happiness.
He wanted to be the one that had died for her. That had placed his body in the most physical way on the line for her existence to continue. It would've been a pointless gesture, merely two deaths instead of one, but one that he would've done so willingly. He doesn't want to live in a world without her; he doesn't want to live in this world.
Only remaining to carry on her honor, to lay out his life in a much more intricate (meaningful is questionable, does it even make a difference he asks and curses to himself most nights) way than James had.
He guards her protection more than that of the man she had chosen, and this is his existence.