Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling – if I was, I wouldn't have to worry about paying for school – and therefore do not own Harry Potter or any related enterprises.
Broken eyes glared out at him from under burning hair, accusations littering the air between them, history fraying the once silken rope that tied them together. She had once been like the confetti that rained from the sky at every celebration during her childhood – bright, delicate, beautiful, never-ending.
Laughter had bubbled forth like spring water from full, bowed lips as she danced through endless hours that would have reduced any other child to tantrums and tears. Her skin glowed like the purest pearl with the sun reflected in it, untouched by any of the freckles her family was famous for. But the little girl's eyes were what made everyone's breath catch and heart swell, for nothing in the world was more emotive than that child's eyes.
Large almond eyes like a slightly-overcast January sky framed by miles of delicate lashes that caressed her cheeks every time she blinked, they could make you cry just as easily as they could grab your heart and make it dance. No matter what she was feeling, her eyes always burnt like the midnight stars, exuding an omnipresent inner glow that could burn as easily as it could freeze.
She had been an unstoppable force, always jumping without even glancing over the edge. Nothing fazed her, because she was never given a reason to believe that she couldn't do anything. No one was entirely sure when that brilliant child was replaced by the harsh creature in front of him now. All they knew was that the flame that had burnt so brightly behind her untouched skin had died, and instead of confetti she was now just shattered glass that – in rare moments – could be mistaken for glitter.
Cherubic lips were coated in layers of crimson, stark against bleached skin that had dulled so much as to appear translucent. Bones jutted out above hollow cheeks, the shadows under her eyes matching those that danced within those haunted orbs. The leather pants that sheathed her mile-long legs seemed more like a coat of shiny black paint, revealing nothing while showing everything. A red and black corset top didn't even try to cover anything, starting above her navel and only coming high enough so as to be legal in public. Six inch simple black stilettos completed the look of the lost; the only part of her to remain unchanged were the wild titian curls that framed her pentagonal pixie face.
As a child, she had always reminded him of a wild tree sprite, laughing and dancing with flowers stuck haphazardly in her hair. When they used to run barefoot through the meadow, he would always let her get the lead then wait for the moment when she would look back at him, a teasing smile on her face as her eyes gleamed with exuberance. That image of her would always be stuck in his mind, no matter how much she changed.
Now as he stared her down, he realised that this image, too, would be imprinted on his memory forever. A child no longer, she was an avenging angel cursed to live in a world with demons, heavenly origins melding with the fog of daily existence.
The creature in front of him was not the woman he had searched for years to find – she was in no way related to the memory of that beautiful little girl. Setting out, he had hoped to be able to save her, to relight the fire in her eyes. But that flame was hope, and this creature had no hope; this creature wanted nothing to do with hope.
So, clutching the memory of his little sister to his heart, James Sirius Potter turned and walked away from the shell of Lily Luna Potter. He did not look back, for if he had he might have seen one last spark light up those brilliant eyes as a single tear ran down her ivory cheek.
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