Disclaimer:characters, places,background stories… I owe nothing, Jon Snow.
Stranger you look so different
some other thoughts fill up your mind
and you just made it happen
got me thinking of you in my life…
Elisa, Stranger
Of misty mornings and some talking
One
Tracing lazily the rim of cracked glass in the mist on a cold window pane, Lily Evans wondered, among other things, just how hard she would have to bite her tongue to experience, even briefly, the salty, hot and metallic taste of blood in her mouth. A taste that almost felt like the pungent, sultry air of summers back home.
It was late October, already. All the streets back home would probably be covered, if mother nature had played her game as she was supposed to do, in a thin layer of sooty slush. Whereas other places in the Midlands managed to enjoy and thrive in the ripe glory of autumn, Cokeworth was something of a depressing city, all whiffs of chemical vapours and yellowish, faded air clinging to the sticky skin. Taking deep breaths was often not a pleasant affair; you could feel your lungs stifled by the languor, while the steely, methodical clangs of factories filled the otherwise empty stillness.
Puffing hot breath against the glass, and then starting to doodle something which looked terribly like her old red brick detached house, the seventeen-year-old witch concluded that, despite living in the best place in the world she knew so far, it was all right sometimes to miss home.
It must be the excessive weight she had been burdened with since the start of the schoolyear, she considered. It must be the daily uncertainty. It must be people dying (must add the welcome mat) outside. It must be the titles on the Prophet. It must be the growing fear to walk alone at night, to wander along remote hallways, which she used to do, seeking some welcome alone time (are the flower pots still there?). Some restoring silence and quiet. She felt deprived of her right to feel like herself, to indulge in her dumb little habits which made her herself, and she didn't know if she wanted to feel more frustrated or scared. All in all, she felt both stupid (the door looks wrong somehow), since people outside were physically suffering and dying, and violated. All in all, she just wanted to pounce on top of her mum and crush her with her body weight, being a foot taller, and be held quietly and steadily.
Home. Safe. Was it, really?
Focusing again on the window pane, she catched sight of a darker patch beyond the glass, level with her, which was oddly shaped as a human body. A floating, misty bulk.
"Please open the window, it's bloody freezing up here! Let me in! Please!"
A floating, misty, talking bulk .
Lily forced the creaky window open hurriedly, sighing at the sight before her. "Hey there, Cathy. How have you liked the Moor?"
"You think you're clever."
"I was almost suspecting a dementor, turns out it's just a demented."
"Now don't be awful. Stupid Alohomora doesn't work on the windows. Move over, please. Let me in."
The lean, dark haired boy tried to climb in not without some difficulties. The wind made his robes tangle around him, his glasses fogged due to the difference in temperature, and his broomstick threatened to be swept away. Nonetheless, he managed to tumble on the floor in a heap of limbs and fabric.
Lily watched James Potter slowly stand up and lean against the window with a mild degree of curiosity, saying nothing but "You are supposed to attend Herbology right now."
"True, I guess. So do you."
Lily sighed again "I do skip a lot of classes. I'm just good at coming up with excuses".
"Yeah."
"Yeah".
They stared through the window, trying to make out objects and trees in the mist. They kept quiet for a long time, Lily doodling grass and flowers around her house, and James, apparently, idly tracing on the stone windowsill circles and letters she could not quite make out.
"What are you….?"
"Do you mind if I…?"
"You first, sorry" breathed James.
"What are you doing here?", Lily inquired. She was not sure whether to feel bothered by the interruption of her solitary recollection, or pleased to have someone to talk to. Talking to people made her feel more grounded and real, since her mind tended to wander and space out very often, generally. Her mother always said that she had probably spent half of her life locked in her own mind and daydreams.
"… friends, disappeared at dawn 'round Liverpool, and didn't feel like sitting in class anymore, so here I am. And you?"
"Huh, yeah. Sorry, what was that?"
" Two wizards and a witch. Suddenly. Never mind. Why are you skipping class?"
"You live somewhere near Liverpool, don't you?"
"Actually, I don't. More in the countryside around Bristol. Where do you live?"
"Cokeworth."
"Oh, the town near Exmoor. Stopped there once to have a cuppa on our way to the Park. Nice place. Love the nature."
"Quite the opposite. Halfway between Birmingham's outskirts and Dudley. Factories, bricks, concrete and all that stuff. What are you doing here?" Lily wanted to know.
"Told you, felt like taking a break." James shrugged.
"I mean, here. Why are you here."
James fell silent for a beat. Then, "Saw you staring dumbly out on my way to the Owlery. And I stopped to ask you, really, what's the point in staring out when you can't see a bloody thing."
"But you didn't. Ask me."
"No, you're right. I forgot."
Lily watched the wizard fidget and shift uneasily, like he felt uncomfortable in her presence. Like he were tense about something. "Do you mind if I stay here?" she suddenly uttered.
"You were here first, Lily."
"I know. But you seem to mind."
"Not at all. I was only thinking 'bout things. I'm sorry."
"Not at all."
They kept standing there, James slumping slowly, and Lily wringing her hands, her fingers, the leather strap of her schoolbag. Then she decided to bring up something, a thought that had often crossed her mind.
"We have some time to talk."
"Indeed."
"It feels like we were strangers."
"Which pretty much is the truth."
"But I know things about you, and vice versa."
"Who says vice versa anymore?"
"I don't think we're strangers. We're neither friends, nor strangers. But I feel like we've wasted precious time being stupid. We could have been friends, if we had really tried. It's sad."
James quirked an eyebrow, muttering bitterly and distinctly "Well, no lack of trying on my part, anyway. But you're right; we've actually seldom talked talked."
"Some people think we don't talk to each other, because eventually we would end up shouting at each other, being impolite and not proper. Truth is, I never shout to anybody. I enjoy being quiet."
"I know."
"But you're not. You're different from me. Like, loud and lots of guys know all about you."
James smirked at an inside joke. "Most of my deepest and intimate thoughts, those I really care about, those I keep quiet, though".
"That's the point of them being intimate thoughts."
"It is."
"I see."
Lily added a long puff of curled smoke coming out of the chimney of the bi dimensional tiny replica of her own house.
"That is not what I meant to say at all."
"I'm confused."
"I don't usually talk to you because I dislike you. We talk in my head when we meet, lots. Thing is, I don't have any energy nor motivation to initiate a conversation."
"You don't have the energy to talk to me," James repeated skeptically.
"To you and people in general but a few. I mean, really really talk. Have you ever found it hard, initiating a meaningful and smart conversation with someone in your head and all goes downright smoothly, but then you open your mouth to talk and just, what's the point, why bother at all?"
"Possibly. I'm still confused. What do we usually talk about?"
"The weather. What we are supposed to do as Heads, in this situation. I mean, people dying. I'm scared as much as the next muggleborn. I'm only a young girl. Some disagreements. Some explanations. If you managed to do that tricky bit of wrist movement for the Bubble-Head Charm. We were supposed to learn it by the end of sixth year, but somehow I've found myself getting distracted every time I try to perform it. What are you thinking about right now, James Potter?"
"The weather"
"Charming. But you look lost to me."
"That is because your words are barely making sense, Lily!", he huffed.
"No, I mean, you look very lost. You do look lost."
"So do you."
They sat there for a while, breathing in slowly the same silence. James deliberated whether it was the case to let it out that he, too, however strong he might appear, was terrified by the times getting darker and darker each day. Fear had seeped into him just as poison, the kind of poison than did not kill. It paralysed, leaving its victim aware and on edge and helplessly screaming deafening silence.
The same silence that the witch beside him took upon herself to break, unknowingly, effectively putting an end to his reverie.
"I feel lost most of the time. I miss home. I mean, it felt like to be born the second time around when I learnt about magic, but I miss my family. Down to my mean sister, but she is my sister and I love her as much as mum and dad. And no amount of magic could ever make me forget about that".
James cast a glance sideways, a quick one. Then he seemed to change is mind, and started properly looking at her, trying to keep his expression blank.
"Sometimes I think of my family together, and me here, quite alone, you know. And I feel utterly lost, and miserable."
"I thought you were happy, here. You seem usually cheerful enough to me. Popular. Professors do like you too, even though you're more insolent than myself."
"I'm sometimes popular with guys because I'm not ugly. That's it."
"But you can be fun and kind. That is why people generally likes you."
Lily seemed to consider something, contempt painted all over her face. James merely stared for a minute, then deadpanned "You're being strange, Evans."
"Well, damn, go and ask my purist mates just how much they generally like me. They'd like me best dead, I'm telling you. Blood, James, it always comes down to blood nowadays, and that's it. That is why, ultimately, I'm going to be left alone because my friends will be scared and my Muggleborn friends will be all dead before or after me, and we can fight only so much."
Lily twisted the ends of her hair, tugging it, annoyed.
"I'm sorry, I've just snapped at you. I beg your pardon. Don't be mad. I have to look strong, cheerful and flippant. Honestly, I have to try and try harder every day. It's another way to fight, to me. Truth is I feel everyday more lost. I feel like I were trying to swim into the sea with the waves spraying salty water down my nostrils and my throat and it becomes raw but I keep snorting it back even if it hurts twice as much because otherwise I would just drown and all my efforts, what would be of all the efforts I've made up til now then? "
James pressed his lips in a thin line, and fingered his tie pensively, turning his back to the window, and staring the stone floor in front of himself.
"Thing is, I'm each day more aware that the rocks I might cling to for safety are being submerged by the water. And I might have had some fire, but it's bound to be put out soon if I am to end up quite alone. Because, even if I fancy professing myself strong and independent and what not, I'm only just scared of drowning lonely, since that's what I'm going to be eventually. And that's what I am now.", Lily pressed on. "You're lucky, but myself, I've already lost my best friend to this war. No time, and all the friends I've made here, and the acquaintances, it will be all gone down the drain. I want to be held by my mum, and be lied to, hearing her say everything's going to be sorted out. I miss people I can trust. And it cuts deeper than you can even imagine or understand."
The wizard's first instinct was to let the annoyance at her subtle hint, his supposed inability to understand, take over him . Piled upon that stood, moreover, the mention of what – or whom- could not safely be discussed between them. Prying apart all the layers of irritation and nasty retorts he could have come up with, James stood to ponder a long time. Then, munching on a thought, he sighed slowly.
"You might be right to an extent. But give me your hand."
Lily, puzzled, raised her hand obediently. Grabbing it, he stated, "You know I'm a pureblood."
"That's not getting the short end of the stick, what with the juncture..."
"It is, more than you can even imagine or understand", he murmured. And then, "Yeah, but listen to me for a minute. Lend me your wand."
"You have yours."
"I've solemnly sworn not to hurt girls with it. Lend me your wand."
Lily rummaged absent-mindedly for a while in her discarded book bag, before drawing it. Her hand, palm up, was still in James' one.
"Here. Hey. Wait. What do you mean, hurt?".
"Thank you ever-so-much", he said, with a flourish, then he whispered "Diffindo", just as Lily yelled "No fucking way, you don't!"A neat cut appeared on both of their hands, stretching from Lily's palm to Potter's knuckles. Some drops of blood splattered the worn out stones underneath them.
"I understand you've finally lost the plot, James Potter. Kindly care to explain yourself?"
James hinted a smile. "I admit it's a tad extreme, but what I'm trying to do is prove a point. Can't you see? Our blood is the same. We bleed the same. Red and all."
"Well, that's because we're both bloody humans and not Unicorns, innit?"
"Exactly my point. Don't you see?"
"Yeah, I'm not sure…"
"Don't give a sodding rat whisker about blood!" He started at his own loud exclamation, but went on all the same. "For me, you and I are worth the very same. I, for instance, like you enough to want to stick around you, that is, if you allow it. Until our bloods will be the same colour, you're gonna bear with me being around you. I'm sure your friends feel the same way", he added, rushing the last part. Then, softer, "I can see how having lost a, ah-" he swallowed, "…precious friend, in the past, might have undermined all you believe in now. But, Evans, and I'm really trying hard here to-"
"I get what you mean, James."
The redhead cracked a smile for the first time, since the start of their absurd conversation. "I definitely allow it. You're a good person, and I am thankful for it. "
And then, Lily Evans went very, very silent. She considered him, took in the boy for what might have been the hundredth time since her arrival seven years ago at the castle.
She thought, she analysed, she reflected. And she kept looking at him all the time. While intent on doing so, a plethora of old and well known emotions seemed to swell up in her. They were, apparently, heavily equipped and fully intentioned to siege a good portion of her guts, wrapping her heart up tighter than the springy birthday gift box her girlfriends had presented her last year, and spreading like poison ivy up her throat, pricking at the corners of her eyes. However, she allowed only a faint cloud of that intensity surface and show through her gaze. To an inattentive observer, which more or less described James Potter's condition in that very moment –being in a very similar inner turmoil, throwing in only some more embarrassment at his own outburst- , all of this was utterly lost. "Different", she mused, after a while.
James cringed.
"Do you think I am?"
"Do you wish to be?"
"I am not sure. Dunno. In a way, perhaps. Not really, I suppose. Kinda like myself. Seven out of ten parts, let's say. What do you think?", he breathed, fidgeting, visibly distressed.
Lily took time to ruminate upon the question before replying, meekly. "People change only marginally. In the vast majority of cases. No, I think you're pretty much made of the same old scrawny stuff whose stink I smelt the first day in the train. Only taller. And more able to behave". The witch raised her eyes and smirked, wistfully. Then, as an afterthought, she added "Do you think we've changed, huh?"
"I've once read something from a Greek bloke who claimed that we're different every passing minute, just like a river."
"I've heard this one, too. I think also, though, the river stays the same. The water is only farther down along the road, the impression it leaves shapes the river's bed, its course, isn't that so?"
James traced the scar on his knuckles, frowning thoughtfully.
"You didn't like me."
"Not true at all. But since we are all grown up, I'm only more able to show the fact I do appreciate you as a person, with THAT water farther down along the road."
"You mean the past."
"I mean us acting like 15-year-olds, which, actually, we were. But I do like you enough to want you around me, James Potter."
"I appreciate that."
She looked for a moment at the cut on her palm, squinting at it. Then, she muttered. "You know, I think I'm not going to heal it the easy way. I want a nice scar, muggle way."
"How so?"
Lily flushed slightly. "Because, this is ", she cleared her throat a bit before elaborating, "what is going to remind me every, every day, of the two of us today. And of the absurd way in which James Potter decided to wreck my body forever, 'just to make a point'."
James traced his own scar, trying to hide a smile. "Now you're making more sense than earlier".
"I guess you're just coming to terms with the language spoken by my soul. And I on the other hand am learning how to deal with your intimate part. No pun intended."
"Very poetic. Say, do I have to put dirt on this scar to keep it on my hand forever? I think I want to keep it, too."
Their eyes met; full of mirth and so different from the way they had looked just a chat ago.
"Wouldn't suggest that. You'll catch blood poisoning and die."
"You can't catch blood poisoning. You develop it."
"Still the result is the same. You, coffin, gravestone. In case of dedicated friends, a nice, heart-wrenching epitaph."
"How do muggles heal cuts, then?"
"Just keep it clean, let the blood clot and stuff like that. Stitches, sometimes. "
James gaped. "Stitches? Like those in mum's knitting?"
Lily chuckled mischievously. "The very same. And, picture that, you can choose the colour of the thread you want woven in your body. By the time you turn an old gran you look like a giant moving tapestry, if you're clumsy enough. Muggles are brilliant, huh?"
"Dog's bollocks!"
It was not, neither it would have been, the first time that Lily Evans had caught a glimpse of why James Potter was, to put in his own words, "generally well-liked". Because good feelings, and good actions, and good people, had a way of worming into hearts and defend their place with claws. Which was, exactly, what an unplanned, unwonted conversation had spurred, unbeknownst to the two teenagers.