A/N: I hope it's not so full of mistakes anymore. I MIGHT write another
one about what happens after she grows up. Tell me what you think
Disclaimer: All of J.K. Rowling's characters belong to, well, her.
Having Seen Once…
They say I'm pretty. They say it's a shame; a pretty face, wide blue eyes that seem to see beyond what's there. I wouldn't know if I'm beautiful or not. I haven't seen my own reflection since I was eight. In fact, I haven't seen anything since I was eight.
It's not like I was born blind, or I was blinded by some accident in an automobile. That would be forgivable... pure and heartrending, but not a mystery. I can't see for a reason that no one knows, not even myself. I can remember everything clearly, but that means nothing. What I remember certainly can't be real. I have myself convinced that I might have taken a knock on the head, or maybe I had a seizure. That's what everyone else assumes too. It's easy for them to be convinced; they don't have unreal images filling their head every moment every day. I can't see with my eyes open, but I see inside my head all the time. Strange pictures... horrible screams. NO! I'm trying to forget! And yet I can remember the things I'm not supposed to. Things that aren't supposed to happen... but I think they did?
I had just turned eight – the day before Halloween. For my birthday, Mum and Dad gave me a beautiful bike with streamers on the handlebars and a pair of pink sneakers. Aunt Minerva sent me a diary with a pen that wrote in any color I wanted. I remember thinking this pen was strange, but with things like e-mail, video games, and airplanes, I'm sure a simple novelty is a possibility. She also sent me a letter full of Aunt Minerva wisdom. She was my favorite aunt, but mum didn't seem to like her much. Whenever I asked her why, she always turned a bit pink and her eyes bulged out of her head. She said she didn't associate with miscreants like her half-sister. I didn't know what mum meant, because I always got along perfectly with my aunt. We were so much alike. I haven't heard from since I went blind. I don't know why. I don't even worry about it anymore.
I felt too old to go trick or treating, so I set out on my bike, wearing my new shoes, with the exciting prospect of empty diary pages tucked under my arms. Where to go? I was an eight year old with a sense of adventure and a whole suburb to explore. I decided on the abandoned housing projects a half mile away from my house. Technically speaking, they were off limits (if mum ever found out!), but I felt fearless in my pink sneakers.
The sign read "Godric's Hollow". Another sign warned against trespassers. I peered past the hedges only to see a few broken down houses and some trash littering a crumbling walk. It looked like fun! So I parked my bike...and I crossed. I curse my curiosity; it never did me any good.
The broken down houses had disappeared, and in their place stood several odd, but livable, domiciles faintly tinted with the glow of the setting sun. The houses had chimneys that puffed out purple or green smoke, and gardens with a variety of startling plants growing from them. Lights shown from peculiarly shaped windows that were placed at odd angles. At the time, I remember wondering why no children played in the chilly evening, and why, as interesting as they were, the houses were all so tightly drawn up. I was sure that if I tried one of the doors, I would find it locked against me. However was all very cozy, and strikingly parallel to the world I had just come from. It was perfect subject matter for my blank journal. I scrabbled for my pen and slunk down the walk until I found an empty lot with trees I could sit under without being seen. There was a place for a house, but none stood there. I settled down at the base of a large oak and changed my pen to write in green. I don't know why I chose green; blue has always been my favorite color. Blue was the color of the sky and the beach I had went to with Aunt Minerva when I was six. I had saved every blue ribbon I had ever won in essay contests. Blue was my writing color, but that day I wrote in emerald green. It seemed fitting. I began to write down everything; the sounds, the smells, and even the strange shapes the clouds were taking. My writing was so vivid that anyone could read the pages and find themselves right where I sat. I felt like I was weaving pictures instead of words. It was powerful and maybe a little magical. I don't hold with such nonsense as magic, but I might have believed in it right then.
I do not know how long I wrote, but I found myself lost in the writing. It became hard to see, so I leaned my head against the tree to rest my eyes. My black hair was slowly unraveling from it's tight bun, but I could fix it before I got home. I blinked awake what seemed like a minute later, but things were very different. Darkness had completely fallen (I was going to be in trouble, yet again). It was cold, even for October, and the air was tense and frightening. I rubbed my eyes and stood up, only to come face to face with a house. The empty lot was now very much full. A nice two-story building stood prominently in the clearing. It was almost as if the house had been there the whole time, but it was a well-kept secret. (A/N: Ohhhhh….you get it now.) I had to leave, it was late, and I didn't feel at ease in this place that had so inspired me earlier. I turned to go, but something stopped me. Something high and cruel. A laugh. Shouts came from inside the house.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" a man's voice cried out. There was a sound of someone stumbling from inside the house, and a door bursting open. More laughter. I didn't think, I just ran. The door was wide open, but I wasn't sure it was safe to just enter. So I ran to a window nearest to the laughter. I stood on tiptoe and looked inside. The scene that unfolded before my eyes was the last I ever saw.
"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything!" a woman was cowering in the corner, a small bundle in her arms. She was looking at a tall, black robed figure who was brandishing a stick high in the air.
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" He demanded. Then, "Avada Kedavra!"
A bit of green light ensued from his stick, and a rushing noise filled the air. The woman (Lily, was it?) slumped over, unmistakably dead. The man brushed her aside and turned his stick upon the baby. He screamed again, but this time, it didn't seem to go as planned. Green light filled the room. It was the brightest light I've ever seen, indeed, the last light I ever saw. Some force knocked me backwards from the window. My head connected with something, the tree perhaps, and I lost consciousness.
I don't know how much time passed before I became aware of a baby crying. I opened my eyes and blinked, but all I saw was black. The baby wailed and howled, but no one seemed to be around. I sat up, a little unsteadily, and rubbed my eyes harder. Still, I could see nothing. It finally dawned on me, I really couldn't see. I curled up and hoped that someone would hear that baby, and that whoever had killed his mother wasn't still around. It wasn't long before heavy footsteps crunched on the walk. I held myself tighter and prayed that whoever it was could help me. The footsteps went right past me.
"Oh! Lily n' James! NO!" a great rumbling yell filled the air. Just as they quieted, the baby started in again and I heard a gasp.
"Lil' Harry? No, it can't be...could it? It is! You ARE alive. Dumbledore was right."
I didn't know what was going on, but this man scared me, so I tried to pretend I was invisible.
A deafening roar filled the air and I felt the ground shake as something heavy landed within a foot of my crouching form. This was too much, I blacked out again.
"Is she stable enough to perform a memory charm on yet?"
"No memory charm could totally erase what she remembers?"
"So she really saw? She saw Voldemort? She saw his defeat?"
"I don't know. It looks as if she did, poor child. The light that goes with the killing curse must've blinded her."
"An hour ago, I saw you put a little baby on the doorstep of his future. You seemed so sure. What about now? What are not sure of, Albus?"
"How she will deal with not seeing."
"Can't we fix it? She's just a muggle after all. She's scarred by something she'll never fully understand."
"It's sad, yes, but there's no way to fix it. She's not a witch. Any spell I can think of will only work on magical folk."
"So she'll have a half memory of something that will be kept from her, she will never fully forget this, AND she'll be blind forever?
"My dear Minerva, I said the spells would only work on witches and wizards. This does not necessarily mean forever. You yourself at age eight did not go about casting spells and the like..."
The kindly voice faded out. Who were they? Where was I? I couldn't think clearly, and I kept falling deeper into sleep, but there was a man and a woman. The woman's name was the same as my favorite aunt's, but that didn't make sense. I never saw her unless it was summer...
I am now waking up again. That's why I try not to think about it. I try not to believe what I saw because I always slip into like it's happening all over again. I'm eight again, even though I turn eleven at next October...a little over two months from now. I always see it all again, and awake to the whispered voices of the man and woman. Except now, the whispers continue. I am wide-awake with my eyes open (as if that mattered), but I still hear whispering. It sounds more like the fluttering of wings, though. I feel softness on my face and I hear a light hooting sound near my bed. A muffled thump and something lands on my bed. I have to feel around to find what it is. My hands close over something that feels very much like an envelope. When did I get a letter? Why am I imagining owls? I will find out what it says tomorrow. Mum will read it to me. I have so many things that I can't read myself, and she's always been sympathetic in that respect. Except, I won't let her read the diary. It contains something very special to someone, I know it must. That baby who cried, if he lived, he probably never saw his home again. I will find him and give it to him someday. It's something I once saw, but since I can't see anymore, it will mean more to him. Besides, I'll never see again. After all, I'm not what the man called a witch or wizard, am I.
Disclaimer: All of J.K. Rowling's characters belong to, well, her.
Having Seen Once…
They say I'm pretty. They say it's a shame; a pretty face, wide blue eyes that seem to see beyond what's there. I wouldn't know if I'm beautiful or not. I haven't seen my own reflection since I was eight. In fact, I haven't seen anything since I was eight.
It's not like I was born blind, or I was blinded by some accident in an automobile. That would be forgivable... pure and heartrending, but not a mystery. I can't see for a reason that no one knows, not even myself. I can remember everything clearly, but that means nothing. What I remember certainly can't be real. I have myself convinced that I might have taken a knock on the head, or maybe I had a seizure. That's what everyone else assumes too. It's easy for them to be convinced; they don't have unreal images filling their head every moment every day. I can't see with my eyes open, but I see inside my head all the time. Strange pictures... horrible screams. NO! I'm trying to forget! And yet I can remember the things I'm not supposed to. Things that aren't supposed to happen... but I think they did?
I had just turned eight – the day before Halloween. For my birthday, Mum and Dad gave me a beautiful bike with streamers on the handlebars and a pair of pink sneakers. Aunt Minerva sent me a diary with a pen that wrote in any color I wanted. I remember thinking this pen was strange, but with things like e-mail, video games, and airplanes, I'm sure a simple novelty is a possibility. She also sent me a letter full of Aunt Minerva wisdom. She was my favorite aunt, but mum didn't seem to like her much. Whenever I asked her why, she always turned a bit pink and her eyes bulged out of her head. She said she didn't associate with miscreants like her half-sister. I didn't know what mum meant, because I always got along perfectly with my aunt. We were so much alike. I haven't heard from since I went blind. I don't know why. I don't even worry about it anymore.
I felt too old to go trick or treating, so I set out on my bike, wearing my new shoes, with the exciting prospect of empty diary pages tucked under my arms. Where to go? I was an eight year old with a sense of adventure and a whole suburb to explore. I decided on the abandoned housing projects a half mile away from my house. Technically speaking, they were off limits (if mum ever found out!), but I felt fearless in my pink sneakers.
The sign read "Godric's Hollow". Another sign warned against trespassers. I peered past the hedges only to see a few broken down houses and some trash littering a crumbling walk. It looked like fun! So I parked my bike...and I crossed. I curse my curiosity; it never did me any good.
The broken down houses had disappeared, and in their place stood several odd, but livable, domiciles faintly tinted with the glow of the setting sun. The houses had chimneys that puffed out purple or green smoke, and gardens with a variety of startling plants growing from them. Lights shown from peculiarly shaped windows that were placed at odd angles. At the time, I remember wondering why no children played in the chilly evening, and why, as interesting as they were, the houses were all so tightly drawn up. I was sure that if I tried one of the doors, I would find it locked against me. However was all very cozy, and strikingly parallel to the world I had just come from. It was perfect subject matter for my blank journal. I scrabbled for my pen and slunk down the walk until I found an empty lot with trees I could sit under without being seen. There was a place for a house, but none stood there. I settled down at the base of a large oak and changed my pen to write in green. I don't know why I chose green; blue has always been my favorite color. Blue was the color of the sky and the beach I had went to with Aunt Minerva when I was six. I had saved every blue ribbon I had ever won in essay contests. Blue was my writing color, but that day I wrote in emerald green. It seemed fitting. I began to write down everything; the sounds, the smells, and even the strange shapes the clouds were taking. My writing was so vivid that anyone could read the pages and find themselves right where I sat. I felt like I was weaving pictures instead of words. It was powerful and maybe a little magical. I don't hold with such nonsense as magic, but I might have believed in it right then.
I do not know how long I wrote, but I found myself lost in the writing. It became hard to see, so I leaned my head against the tree to rest my eyes. My black hair was slowly unraveling from it's tight bun, but I could fix it before I got home. I blinked awake what seemed like a minute later, but things were very different. Darkness had completely fallen (I was going to be in trouble, yet again). It was cold, even for October, and the air was tense and frightening. I rubbed my eyes and stood up, only to come face to face with a house. The empty lot was now very much full. A nice two-story building stood prominently in the clearing. It was almost as if the house had been there the whole time, but it was a well-kept secret. (A/N: Ohhhhh….you get it now.) I had to leave, it was late, and I didn't feel at ease in this place that had so inspired me earlier. I turned to go, but something stopped me. Something high and cruel. A laugh. Shouts came from inside the house.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" a man's voice cried out. There was a sound of someone stumbling from inside the house, and a door bursting open. More laughter. I didn't think, I just ran. The door was wide open, but I wasn't sure it was safe to just enter. So I ran to a window nearest to the laughter. I stood on tiptoe and looked inside. The scene that unfolded before my eyes was the last I ever saw.
"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything!" a woman was cowering in the corner, a small bundle in her arms. She was looking at a tall, black robed figure who was brandishing a stick high in the air.
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" He demanded. Then, "Avada Kedavra!"
A bit of green light ensued from his stick, and a rushing noise filled the air. The woman (Lily, was it?) slumped over, unmistakably dead. The man brushed her aside and turned his stick upon the baby. He screamed again, but this time, it didn't seem to go as planned. Green light filled the room. It was the brightest light I've ever seen, indeed, the last light I ever saw. Some force knocked me backwards from the window. My head connected with something, the tree perhaps, and I lost consciousness.
I don't know how much time passed before I became aware of a baby crying. I opened my eyes and blinked, but all I saw was black. The baby wailed and howled, but no one seemed to be around. I sat up, a little unsteadily, and rubbed my eyes harder. Still, I could see nothing. It finally dawned on me, I really couldn't see. I curled up and hoped that someone would hear that baby, and that whoever had killed his mother wasn't still around. It wasn't long before heavy footsteps crunched on the walk. I held myself tighter and prayed that whoever it was could help me. The footsteps went right past me.
"Oh! Lily n' James! NO!" a great rumbling yell filled the air. Just as they quieted, the baby started in again and I heard a gasp.
"Lil' Harry? No, it can't be...could it? It is! You ARE alive. Dumbledore was right."
I didn't know what was going on, but this man scared me, so I tried to pretend I was invisible.
A deafening roar filled the air and I felt the ground shake as something heavy landed within a foot of my crouching form. This was too much, I blacked out again.
"Is she stable enough to perform a memory charm on yet?"
"No memory charm could totally erase what she remembers?"
"So she really saw? She saw Voldemort? She saw his defeat?"
"I don't know. It looks as if she did, poor child. The light that goes with the killing curse must've blinded her."
"An hour ago, I saw you put a little baby on the doorstep of his future. You seemed so sure. What about now? What are not sure of, Albus?"
"How she will deal with not seeing."
"Can't we fix it? She's just a muggle after all. She's scarred by something she'll never fully understand."
"It's sad, yes, but there's no way to fix it. She's not a witch. Any spell I can think of will only work on magical folk."
"So she'll have a half memory of something that will be kept from her, she will never fully forget this, AND she'll be blind forever?
"My dear Minerva, I said the spells would only work on witches and wizards. This does not necessarily mean forever. You yourself at age eight did not go about casting spells and the like..."
The kindly voice faded out. Who were they? Where was I? I couldn't think clearly, and I kept falling deeper into sleep, but there was a man and a woman. The woman's name was the same as my favorite aunt's, but that didn't make sense. I never saw her unless it was summer...
I am now waking up again. That's why I try not to think about it. I try not to believe what I saw because I always slip into like it's happening all over again. I'm eight again, even though I turn eleven at next October...a little over two months from now. I always see it all again, and awake to the whispered voices of the man and woman. Except now, the whispers continue. I am wide-awake with my eyes open (as if that mattered), but I still hear whispering. It sounds more like the fluttering of wings, though. I feel softness on my face and I hear a light hooting sound near my bed. A muffled thump and something lands on my bed. I have to feel around to find what it is. My hands close over something that feels very much like an envelope. When did I get a letter? Why am I imagining owls? I will find out what it says tomorrow. Mum will read it to me. I have so many things that I can't read myself, and she's always been sympathetic in that respect. Except, I won't let her read the diary. It contains something very special to someone, I know it must. That baby who cried, if he lived, he probably never saw his home again. I will find him and give it to him someday. It's something I once saw, but since I can't see anymore, it will mean more to him. Besides, I'll never see again. After all, I'm not what the man called a witch or wizard, am I.