Children of the Revolution
Chapter 1: Where Have All The Good Times Gone?
It was exceptionally quiet in the library today, so unlike the common room, and the solitude was particularly peaceful; the only sound penetrating the silence was the occasional rustling of parchment and turning page of an ancient tome. A lone figure could be sought in a dark, secretive corner near the restricted section.
Heaving been up to midnight the previous night studying, and up since half past four this morning, Lily Evans was trying, unsuccessfully, to complete her potions essay. Normally, she would never have been in the library at quarter to nine on a Sunday morning, especially not for a potions essay; normally she was never so distracted from her work. Something was troubling her from the previous night, something unprecedented in her entire school career.
Nevertheless, stifling a yawn, Lily attempted to take in the same sentence she had been reading repeatedly for the last ten minutes,"... Wormwood has a potente narcotic effect on the senses and should...".
' "A potente narcotic effect", you're telling me', was the only coherent thought escaping the haze that was Lily's befuddled brain as she tried, and failed, to concentrate.
Heavy footsteps approached the dusty corner in which she had planted herself amidst a mountainous pile of leather-bound volumes that gave the impression the sixth year prefect was caught up in the industrious pursuit that was academic study. At least, that was the idea.
"Lily...", a strained, cracked voice sounded upon her ears.
In her weariness, she barely noticed the forced self control held in that one word and began to reply, half yawning, "What do want, Pot-," she looked up and her voice failed her. Tears threatened to escape already red and puffy eyelids and a large purple bruise was evident below his right eye as he stared straight ahead, steely and resolute, at the bookshelf and beyond. Her mind raced back to the ominous events of last night.
"Can I sit here?"
Such was Lily's shock that she barely registered he had said anything until he shifted his gaze to look directly into her eyes, half pleading with her, half daring her to question him.
"Oh ... umm, yeah ... Sure," and she began hastily moving the books that had laden the table. "Did you want any of these? I'm not really using them," although she already knew the answer as he mutely shook his head; it was simply something to say in a difficult situation. "No? I'll just go and take them back then, give you a bit of room." He nodded.
As she walked away, staggering slightly under the weight, her mind reeled. She had known there was something wrong last night when she'd overheard the argument. She had heard them bicker before- they were so close it was inevitable- but this was different. Last night, there had been anger, pure anger, and bitterness and disbelief and a great sense of betrayal. They hadn't noticed her of course; she'd kept her head down, almost hiding where she sat. And whilst she hadn't understood the context of the argument at the time, she had no doubt that she soon would. Or at least, a context according to Gwyneth Pritchard. Things this momentous didn't go unnoticed at Hogwarts, and the seemingly more dramatic the events, the quicker the news would travel.
And it had. The common room had been abuzz with gossip and slander this morning: Lily was not the only one that heard the dormitory door slamming last night, however, as of yet, she was the only other person who knew someone had actually left the Gryffindor Tower, and even though she was a prefect and it was her duty, she hadn't the heart to go after them. Of course, the other girls in her dormitory were very much aware she had not come to bed at the time, and was obviously a witness to at least some of the "action". And that was why she had escaped. She would not be apart of inane defamation, besides, people would fill in the gaps themselves and "know the whole story" without actually knowing anything at all.
Hogwarts had always been so...safe. A safe haven in a dark and troubled time that Lily didn't truly understand. But something had changed. It had started towards the end of her fifth year when her first link towards the magical world had failed her so tragically, leaving her more vulnerable to attack than ever and it frightened her. She had never felt so alone. Foul mutterings of "mudblood" and "dirty, thieving breed" followed her around incessantly these days, while others just kept their distance, as if ignoring both her and the discrimination against her (and those like her), would make it all go away, as if it never existed. But she knew otherwise. She knew that they would soon have to make a choice as to whose side they fought for in the war. She also knew that to not fight would be to condone all that was wrong in this world.
And now this.
Somehow, overnight, her one constant in this lonely world had been taken from her. Broken. She wondered if the laughter would ever return; the infectious feeling of hope, purpose and possibility they brought shattered with it.
Her one true constant. Whether through annoyance, exasperation, persistence, or sometimes just damn bewilderment, he was always there smiling. Their relations had improved so much over the past few months; even if they weren't particularly close, there was certainly courteous affection and civility between the them now. But now the light beaming through round "milk-bottle bottom" glasses had died, and the adolescent with an almost childlike sense of optimism and energy had almost aged beyond recognition. James Potter was a broken man.