The Princess with a Crown of Stars
I am not a star.
I am the sky.
I am made of constellations.
The rain hit the pavement with such force Lily thought it might split in two. She was freezing in her pink cardigan, her red hair plastered to her face and her small bag of worldly possessions drenched through. Her wand was gripped tightly in her other hand, and though she could have easily cast a charm to keep her dry, she wanted to feel the rain on her skin. She needed to feel the world sobbing, because she couldn't cry.
Her parents were dead, and she hadn't cried.
Petunia had screamed at her, raged at her, and Lily had hardly flinched. Her eyes stared straight, her brain shut off. She was almost grateful for Tuney's yelling; the silence was the most unbearable thing. So it was to an orchestra of screams and blames and begging and bartering that Lily packed some clothes and robes, her school books and jewelry, and left her house. She couldn't be there.
She'd Apparated out the back yard—no one could have seen her, but even if they had, she wouldn't have cared. She wasn't going back. Lily had every material item she owned tucked in a small suitcase, magically expanded, and yet they meant nothing. She had nothing.
She had Apparated to what appeared to be the middle of nowhere—a gloomy forest behind her, looming hills ahead of her. And, directly in front of her, a wrought-iron gate blocking a path up to a huge stone castle. It wasn't Hogwarts; this castle was smaller, slightly more foreboding. Lily stood before the gates, blinking rainwater out of her eyes, debating whether or not to go in.
Any of her other friends would take her in in a heartbeat, she knew. She was not alone, she was never alone. Marlene and Mary lived close by. Alice and Frank had a flat in Diagon Alley, Peter had a house in Surrey—so why was she here, so far out of her way? Why had Lily ended up at this house, this castle, where nothing but uncertainty lay ahead?
She could leave now, and no one would be any the wiser. She could go home, stay with Petunia and Vernon.
Lily pushed the gates open.
Some of the lights were on, the windows suddenly looking much cozier and more inviting than they had before. The sprawling lawns surrounding the castle were dark, flattened by the rain. The path Lily's boots were crunching along was slick, and she often found herself catching herself before the fall.
The walk was endless. The castle seemed farther away than before, but Lily knew this was just because she trudged along at a crawl, letting the cold and the wind sink into her bones, chilling her to her core. Her skin was as cold as her heart, and it just made her chest sag beneath her thin cardigan. She was a black hole, sucking in everything around her and making it disappear.
Lily wanted nothing more than to sit down and sleep, let the rain wash her away. She would sink into the grass, and flowers would grow where she had vanished. Lily flowers. She almost smiled at this. Almost.
She was almost to the doors. They were huge, carved wood. A brass knocker was inset, shaped like a griffin. Or maybe it was a hippogriff. Lily couldn't tell; the rain was blurring her vision.
She still hadn't cried.
Her fingers were numb around the handle of her suitcase, her shoulder aching from the weight of it. Though her knuckles were white from gripping her wand so tight, she refused to cast a feather light charm. She deserved every inch of this miserable night.
Several feet from the doors Lily stopped. She raised her face to the sky, letting drops of water hit her face, running down her neck. Her eyes found the outline of the coal-gray clouds against the night sky. There wasn't a single star that she could see, even this far out into the country. Her father used to point them out to her: "Orion," he'd say, drawing his finger in the shape. "See the sword? See the belt?" Lily hadn't, but she nodded anyways. "And Cassiopeia," he'd say next, moving his arm across the sky and pointing. "It's a crown, see?" Lily only ever saw a W, but if Dad said it was a crown, then it was a crown, and she was the princess.
Every night in the summer she would lie in the grass, and her father would tell stories of the brave hero and the princess with the crown of stars, and Lily would imagine herself in the sky. What would her outline be? A rough sketch of her body, or something more symbolic? She liked to think that if she were a constellation, she would shine the brightest. Sailors would find their ways home by her light, and scientists would marvel at her beauty.
"You are not a star, my princess," her mother would say, tugging the covers up to her chin. "You are the sky. You are made up of constellations, and your heart is the brightest of all."
It was fitting that the sky was empty, tonight of all nights.
Lily took a deep breath, steeling herself. Still, the tears hadn't come. She had reached the doors, and all that was left was to knock. Something deep inside knew that asking for help was not admitting defeat. If anyone would understand, he would.
I am not a star.
"Screw your courage to the sticking place," she whispered. Her voice could not be heard over the pouring rain. She grasped the brass knocker and slammed it once, twice, three times. She heard the noise echo, magically amplified, through the castle, muffled only by the deafening downpour.
I am the sky.
James Potter opened the door, his eyes heavy with sleep behind his glasses, his mouth an O of surprise. "Lily," he said, taking in her bedraggled appearance.
I am made of constellations.
Lily's lips moved for a few seconds before she formed words. "Can I come in?" she asked. He stepped back wordlessly, and she could see the warm light, the dark cherry wood doors, the books lining every inch of the shelves. She shivered for the first time, and was suddenly aware that if she didn't speak soon, she would explode. She moved numbly past him and into the foyer, dripping on the marble floor.
James left her there, almost running through an adjacent door. Lily raised her dull eyes to the ceiling, arching high above her. It wasn't like Hogwarts', which showed the sky. This ceiling was just wooden beams, meeting in the middle to drip down in diamonds, forming a chandelier that looked like shattered stars.
Her chest was tight, she realized absently. Had she breathed recently? Everything was moving slowly, and suddenly James was back, a thick blanket in his hands, and it was around her shoulders, and she was in the library, in front of a roaring fire, and she had sunk to her knees, gazing into the roaring depths. He was talking, and she was vaguely aware that someone else was in the room as well.
James' mother knelt beside her, a hand on her shoulder, her brown eyes warm and full of concern. "Lily, dear," she said. Lily didn't think she'd ever met the woman before. "Tell me what happened. I can help."
Lily merely shook her head. "You can't," she said hoarsely. Her voice was husky from disuse. "My parents are dead." And suddenly saying it aloud was all it took. It was real, and they were dead, and she would never be their daughter again. No longer would they stare at constellations together, no longer would Lily spend entire days in the kitchen with her mother, Petunia sitting on the counter pretending to be disinterested, but always leaning over to help. No more Saturday night family dinners, no more goodnight kisses and good morning hugs and I'm-so-proud-of-you's and no more letters and suddenly Lily was a supernova, her screams as loud as the rain in her head, her tears mixing with the rainwater on her cheeks, mixing and mingling and becoming one.
She was alone but not alone, in a house that was open to her but not hers, welcome but unexpected. She was finally crying, and for as long as she had drifted through space, she was returning to Earth.
I am not a star.
How long Lily stayed in front of the fire, she had no idea. She fell asleep there, her head spinning and dancing, her universe imploding, unsure of how to continue.
I am the sky.
When she awoke the storm was subsiding, and James was asleep in the armchair behind her, his head at an odd angle, his glasses askew.
I am made of constellations.
The fire was nothing more than a few glowing embers in the hearth, their dying heat warming Lily's still-chilled bones. Everything had ended last night, building to a crescendo of an explosion.
But from every supernova, a new beginning is born.
A/N
Hey guys. I know this one-shot is TOTALLY different from The Road to 100, and probably isn't even compatible with my set up canon, but I'm in a MOOD. I wrote this in about an hour, from 11pm to midnight, and I didn't read it over when I finished. It might suck. It might be amazing. Please tell me.
Love,
Alys