Okay, so you know how people use those really annoying clichés like 'bitter sweet' and shit like that to describe what they feel?

I always thought they were just really unimaginative and slightly dim because they had to rely on something as contrived as a cliché to describe how they feel.

That was until now. The irony hasn't escaped me.

The feeling in my stomach? Can only really be described as love hate.

I know, I know, Sylvia Plaths of the world are all coming after me with their ovens and their brilliant minds. Whatever.

Let me try to break it down for you.

At this very moment I'm making my way down Diagon Alley bound for Knockturn Alley where my less than legal task lies.

And my stomach is twisting. and folding into themselves. Bile is creeping up into the back of my throat, and I gag every few seconds. Oh God this hurts so much.

My heart is burning and beating faster than it ever has, and I'm shivering.

I really want to cry, my lips are trembling the way actresses do in movies, but then I remember that crying is for guilt. And I'm not guilty.

I'm angry, and tired.

I cannot live with my boyfriend any longer. I hate him so much, a hate that is so overwhelming that I'm dazed.

So that's why I'm close to my destination. A place that does awful deeds.

I'm standing outside the place. The next cliché I feel is the sensation of being pulled into two different directions.

But I walk in and approach the counter with more confidence than I'm actually feeling. The store front is completely baron of any shelves, any products, anything. The floors are clean swept and the walls are plain beige. This place is completely unremarkable. There is a Man standing patiently behind a desk, causally reading a magazine.

He is nicely dressed, and would fade into the background of any crowd. He doesn't seem the type to belong here.

"How may I help you Miss?" His voice is oily and smooth, and his eyes are shielded and wary.

"I need your help."

"Yes?"

"I'd like to erase my memory. Not the whole thing. But specific events. Can you do that?"

"It's risky and costly."

"Cost doesn't matter."

"Very well then, what would you like to erase?"

I take a deep breath and look him dead in the eye. "I'd like to erase the memory of my boyfriend. James."

He rolls his eyes. "They all do. You don't fit the usual stereotype though. You aren't crying or blubbering or begging."

"Well, you know the saying, still waters run deep and all that."

"The procedure that you are requesting takes a hefty chunk of time. If you are available now, I can begin, or would you like more time to ponder this life altering decision?"

"I don't need to ponder. I need him out."

"Follow me then."

He leads me through a white curtain and into a smaller room that is no more different than the front of the store. There's a desk, a small cot with a soft looking blanket, an end table with tissues and a large stone basin. He takes a seat behind the desk and fishes out a thin book and a quill and a bottle of ink. His long spindly fingers curl the pages over deftly and find a fresh page.

"Name?"

"Lily Evans."

"Irish. My cousin is Irish."

"Good for you."

"How many years approximately will we be manipulating?"

"Eight years."

"Am I correct in assuming that it begins at the beginning and ends at present?"

"Of course."

Cliché the third. It flashed through my mind before I could even stop it. I'm sorry. 'there is a thin line between love and hate.' God I hate how completely lacking of eloquence I am. I can't help it though, that vile piece of filth has done this to me. My mind is screaming at me, asking me if I'm sure. But my heart is sure, so completely sure. All I want is for that asshole to get out of my life.

The man is regarding me, sizing me up. Seemingly satisfied he goes back to the thick creamy paper, scratching his quill along the surface allowing thick black ink to blot in words.

"The payment is one hundred and fifty galleons, if you will."

I fill out a payment slip allowing him to withdraw the money from my joint account with James at Gringotts.

Every movement this Man makes is succinct and orchestrated. He's done this before.

"Alright, let us begin. Ms. Evans if you will kindly take a seat on the bed."

I sit down and realize that the basin is conveniently placed beside me, on the end table. I look inside, but it's empty.

"I need you to sign a waver that declares that you are in a stable state of mind, that you are fully aware of the risks of memory modification and any health problems that occur post procedure cannot be traced back to this establishment. The side effects are as follows: Drowsiness, confusion, disorientation, frustration, memory befuddlement etc. It also includes the agreement that once we begin the procedure we cannot stop under any circumstances."

Sign the form Lily. Sign it. You need this. Sign it. Oh god my heart won't stop beating so loudly, I can't think. Do I want this? Yes. I do. Then sign.

But it's so shady.

You want this. Sign it.

So I Do.

"You are familiar with a penseive?" I nod. "This procedure is something of an experiment of my own making. It is a modified version of a penseive, only much more flexible and malleable. It also continues a connection with the mind, so, while we spend our time within the penseive, we can manipulate the memories there making it much more efficient and less painful. So let's start with your first memory of your boyfriend James. I will provide the incantation and all you have to do is talk."

"Sounds easy."

"Don't be so quick to assume so Ms. Evans."

And there it is ladies and gentlemen. The stereotypical ominous store keeper thing. Here I was thinking this place was worlds a part from the stereotype of Knockturn Alley, and here this Man goes saying something like that.

Fuck Me.

Well…Fuck him. Fuck this. Fuck. Just. Fuck James.

The Man utters the incantation a politely motions for me to speak.

"First year. I'm on the train with my former friend Severus. We're in a compartment and Severus is talking adamantly about Hogwarts and how amazing it will be." I trail off noticing a thin golden line lacing its way through the air from the centre of my forehead and into the penseive.

"Good, good. Keep thinking about it. Great. There it goes. Your mind seems to be much more willing to let go. Due to the nature of this spell, you will just have to cue a hunk of memories with a trigger. Like years for example." He says.

The memory pools into the basin. Gold and shiney. I take a deep breath.

"Second year. On the train, He's bothering me again."

Immediately all of the memories with James and I in second year flood out of my brain.

"Third year, he starts to follow me around."

More memories spill out, long and stringy and mercurial.

"Fourth year, he won't stop asking me out."

My mind starts to reel and I feel light headed.

"Fifth year, he bullies my best friend."

My stomach starts to lurch. So many memories at once.

"Sixth year, he's calming down."

I'm gripping the bed post now.

"Seventh year I'm completely spellbound."

So much just pooling away. And. And the glint in the Mans eye…He's so eager.

"And now. Now. I can't stand to go near our apartment."

The last of the memories slip out of my brain and into the basin. The gold sheen of the memories makes me feel sick, and I puke in the garbage that's located conveniently at my feet.

"Very good Ms. Evans. I'm impressed, memory extraction usually takes up to an hour. It only took a half hour with you."

"A half hour?" I pant. "Felt like seconds."

Stomach acid lingers on my tongue and I can't seem to get a chunk of lunch out of my nasal cavity. All I can smell is stomach acid.

"Ms. Evans, I am obligated to ask you if you wish to continue."

"More than ever." I say.

"Very well. If you will kindly place your face into the memories with me, we will relive your life and rebuild it."

I nod, wipe my nose one last time, and sidle up to the end table. The Man is standing beside me, already bent over the basin.

My heart is beating in my throat, and I swallow hard before letting my head drop into the cool liquid.

Immediately I feel a pull behind my ears and I'm lifted into a world f sickening gold swirls and echoes of memories all around me. I'm tossed around in this limbo for a few seconds before my feet hit solid ground. The man stands follows a few seconds later, looking around hungrily, his wand loosely gripped in his hand.

And there we are.

Severus, myself, Sirius and him. James.

My god he's so small, and young.

I smile to myself.

See you in hell, loser.

A/N:

Alright, so there is the first short chapter of my new story. Tell me what you think.