Masks
by DrunkyWinky
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. How could I ever own something real?! Only JKR can.
Chapter 1: The Streets You're Walking On
The streets you're walking on
A thousand houses long
Well, that's where I belong
And you belong to me.
The phone rang, its pointed and high-pinched twisted music filling the space of the once calm home. Again. Its sound maddened her. It had rang all day long and now, as she thought she would finally get some peace and well-deserved rest as the sun slowly lowered himself into sleep, it rang again. She glanced irritated at her sister, sitting across from her, as she shoved a forkful of pasta in her mouth. The redhead only glanced quickly at her, half-apologetically half-irritated herself, then rose from her seat sighing for the millionth time that day and muttering a quick apology to her parents as she ran to the receiver up the stairs. She knew who it was, as her ear lingered on her sister's steps, following them almost absent-mindedly; she knew who had been calling all day. She knew it when she heard her sister's shout for the millionth time since the beginning of their holydays, she knew it when the phone was thrown against its receiver, and her sister's infuriated heavy steps could be heard at the kitchen door.
"Bloody Potter." Lily swore under her breath, sitting back at her spot on the peaceful dinner table. She looked at her, her eyebrows raised in mock surprise, a grimace twisting her lips. "Don't swear, dear." She faintly heard her mother say from across the table, as her dad looked amused, almost curious and happy at his daughter. "Sorry" her sister muttered back "but I'm definitely going to curse him if he dares calling again. What a-" but her sentence was broken short by the phone's ringing. Again. And she shot up fuming to yell at her oh-so-fervent admirer across the telephone wire.
It would probably have been entertaining to try and understand how the said boy had ever got their phone number, or even more interesting, how he had known there were telephones spread across the world. She could have waited patiently for her sister to come down, to ask her about him, talk to her like they used to, or, more probably, start up a fight again, as they had they been doing for nearly 5 years. But as the phone rang for the third time, she stood up, excusing herself hastily, and decided she would go for a walk. It wasn't too late yet, and the street was safe enough for a night-time peaceful walk around the neighbourhood.
Grabbing her thick winter coat, she got out into the dark, cold winter night, hugging herself against the falling snow on her blond locks. The front garden lamp drew a faint golden aura around her shivering body, partially hidden in the obscurity. The shadow moved on its spot, as if hesitating, taking in the weather and cold, looking at her surroundings. She drew a shaking hand towards the doorknob, nearing back towards warm and comfort. But a sharp ringing shot up in the darkness, from the closed windows of the house, followed by a scream of fury, and she pulled back her hand, shaking her head violently.
She started to drag her feet up the street, towards no real direction, trying to clear her thoughts as she moved lazily away from the warm, pointed noise emanating from her home. It was darker than it should, the sun had just set beyond the skyline, but it did not bother her, she was happy to be concealed under it. Everything was still, people seemed to have retreated into their homes, sinking warm against the rash winter ravaging the outside. Only the faint lights which had crossed the thick heat-keeping curtains illuminated the deserted road. When the apparent stillness convinced her that she was alone, a shadow moved a few feet away from her. She jolted from surprise and her first thought was to run away, back to her house and parents, it was a stupid idea to go out in the first place. But it moved again, against an old and flawed lamppost, and she thought she had blurrily distinguished a strand of raven long hair moving in the weary light. Her curiosity hesitatingly took over, and moved her feet towards the secret figure, slowly but surely, she got within a few feet from it, until she could make out its face in the dark.
The boy then moved out of the shadow where he had been hiding, sensing more than seeing her penetrating stare. He leaned against the streetlight, looking straight at the upper window of her house, as if he was trying to discern any form in there that might save his life, a gleam of hope carefully hidden behind his dark eyes. Hers studied him, recognizing him instantly but as she wanted to record any change, any aspect she would be able to criticize later.
"What are you doing here?" she blurted out finally, after long moments of silence. She tried to make eye contact with him, disdain clearly stretched over her face and look.
"Free country," he answered bluntly, not taking his eyes from the golden-lit window, "can stand wherever I want." His face looked at least as disdainful as hers, but he was taller and seemingly stronger through his bony figure. However, she decided to stand her ground, even though she did not really feel like starting a fight that night. Except with Potter. She could burn him alive whenever possible. He would learn not to deafen her, oh he would.
"I mean, why aren't you at school? It's Christmas holydays. 'Thought you didn't like to come back to see your family." She said, peeking at what she knew to be one of his sensible points. His eyes slid quickly towards her, burning her owns in the darkness.
"I always come back home on Christmas holydays." He said, keeping his cold and infuriatingly calm composure while his eyes slid back towards the familiar window.
"No you don't. Only when she does, or when you can be with her." She knew she might be pushing him a bit too much, but she could not help herself, there was something that was bothering her severely as she nodded her head towards her house, not taking her eyes off his face.
"You wouldn't know." He said simply, clearly hating that she had noticed it, and obviously ignoring the fact that she cared enough to have. She shifted her feet awkwardly as she understood the meaning of what she had said, she could not even tell why she had noticed it, why she ever cared to check whether he was home or not. She shifted her weight again, studying his face and look, the religious reverence with which he looked at her sister's window.
"She doesn't want to even see you, you know." She said after a moment, she had somehow, between two fights, got wind of her sister's argument with that smug boy in front of her a few months before. Sometimes a long neck and a good hearing is all you need to listen to secret conversations. She knew it had bit him, by the way he moved his foot ever so slightly off the ground and settled it back, trying to keep irritation from showing on his forever calm face.
"Oh, you wouldn't know that either." He said, a smirk curving his thin lips, turning into an almost mischievous smile. He looked down at her for the first time, to see the effects of his words on her. "She won't talk to you, won't share her secrets with you. I know. She hasn't since she found out she was a witch, at first, then when you despised her and she found out about that letter you sent to Dumbledore, asking –"
But a bright flash of pink cut him off, slicing his cheek into fire in the cold night. He put his hand on the spot, crouched on the ground, nearly fell over in the snow. It had been sudden, but not unexpected, and it sure would leave a rather obvious red mark. He looked up at her and saw her fuming, her cheeks were flushed red, but not from cold, and her slapping hand hung blatantly at her side.
"Don't you dare." She said angrily. But her voice seemed somehow muffled, as if she was suppressing something else, maybe tears, and he knew he had hurt her, he had dared to utter the unnameable truth. The truth he knew she was aware of but would never admit it, the truth Lily was aware of and which had destroyed her. That truth that would be truth until they both admitted it was and then it would fade into an old fake nightmare that no longer, that had never, existed. The truth that they were no longer like sisters, but cold strangers living under the same roof. Her voice acknowledged and hated it, but he could do nothing about it. He would never.
He stood up wearily, leaning back against his lamppost, an almost defying look on his eyes facing her anger, reading through her expression as she stared into the sickening depth of his. They stood there for another long moments, not knowing whether to move, to turn their backs to each other, or just to stand there. He went back to his silent vigil, as if it tied him with invisible bonds. She turned her head back at her house, it wasn't that early anymore and the warmth of her room against the rash cold she was standing in seemed incredibly appealing, so she forced her ear to detect any sort of pointed, hateful sound ringing into it. It was still there, she noted, ringing, crying desperately for someone to plug it off the wall at once. Maybe Lily would grow tired of it and break it against a wall, sending the Potter voice into nothingness. But for now, she seemed to be rather enjoying his obstinate nature and let it ring, and so it would until her father would turn it off himself. And so she stayed, in the cold, with that strange yet familiar boy from the lower street.
He seemed to register her decision, letting his eyes slid for a short moment down at her face again, then turning them back towards the golden square on the dark house.
"How is she?" he said, after a long pause. His eyes stared determinately into the dark, not wanting to let any emotion apparent, although his voice sounded almost like a confession, an admission. She was surprised at first, the nagging feeling of this short and apparently meaningless sentence of his being an opening-up, the first she ever really witnessed, of his cold mask. But she shook it away, not wanting to believe that he trusted her enough for such thing, taking it like any other casual question about the weather.
"She's fine." She answered, not wanting to let too much understanding in her tone. "'said she's having a lot of fun here but seems like she'd rather be back to that school of yours, as always." He nodded, and she knew he too would rather be there. She would rather be there.
"What...What's she been doing?" he muttered with some apparent difficulty, it seemed to be the hardest task for him than to let his emotions, his care shown.
"Trying to get that Potter boy off her back." She said disdainfully "He's been calling all the time, maddening freak." A snarl covered her lips, matching his. He noticed it, the same opinions he had of the character stretched upon her face. A small and trembling smile somehow made it through the thickness of his cold mask.
"A real dork, he is." He said, all his hatred for Potter thrown into his voice, almost matching hers. She was surprised to find they had something in common (even though not for the same reasons. She doubted he had such an animosity because of some never-ending ringing threatening to deafen her forever, or even for his freakiness), and most strangely, that they could discuss it without being embarrassed in their disdain of one another.
"Yes. A real one. Even worse than one, I'd say." She supported, making him smirk slightly and let his shoulders relax against the hard lamppost.
They stood there, in the cold darkness, until it was too dark for them to see each other and she had to go back to her warm room and him to his cold, violent house. She would come out of her house every night then, secretly wanting to meet him, not admitting it even to herself. They talked. Like normal people, they only talked, chatted away about nothing, provoking each other on their differences, discussing her sister's doings, sharing their hatred of Potter. Their masks slowly sliding away from their faces as they found a new companionship in one other, as the night darkened in and the cold sharpened against their bodies. Only to slid back into place as they parted, mutely, towards each of their houses. And they would meet again, the following night, on the same streetlight, under the same golden-lit window, to discuss some of the day's events, some of Potter's renewed stupidities, some of Lily, and fell into a comfortable silence, each submersed in their thoughts, uttering small insults to one another and sarcastic remarks. Until they had to leave, each to their school, and the masks adjusted themselves back on their noses, pinching them high and cold against the vile trivialities of the world.
A/N: hope you like it...er...Yes, well, I am insane.
Throughoutly inspired by CraigThompson's Blankets.Even though I just noticed it as I looked back at his drawings. They're awesome, by the way.
Song "Swallowed in the Sea" by Coldplay
Please R&R! xD