Author's Note: Well. This is a tad atrocious. I wrote it during my classes and typed it up when I hadn't gotten a good nights sleep in ages. I was going on three hours rest. Lovely, yes? There are sure to be thousands of grammar and spelling mistakes and at the moment, I'm too tired to fix them. This is extremely short and the next chapter was originally part of this one, but I thought I'd split it up, just for fun. Review please, tell me what you liked/disliked. Make my exhausted day. Oh, and thank you to those who did review. :D
I screamed. Loudly. I had managed, somehow, to doze off and the memories haunted me, flashing vividly behind my eyes. Each sensation remembered as powerfully as when it had happened. I kept screaming, but no matter how cacophonous, no matter how piercing I tried to make my voice, the images and the feeling of pure terror would not ebb.
"Lily?" The soft voice was new. Never before had it made an appearance in my nightmares. "Lily!"
I screamed again, but the deep baritone would not go away. Instead it seemed to grow louder. It sounded oddly familiar. What was this new torture?
"Lily!" Strong, very real, arms grasped my shoulders. The contact seemed to be exactly what I needed to break through the horror.
Thrashing, I continued to scream, until I opened my eyes and saw that I was, in fact, in my dormitory and not in the one dreaded place. Chest heaving, I peered up at the owner of the voice with wide, frightened eyes.
"You were screaming." James stated, simply. "What happened?"
I just continued to stare up at him, desperately trying to breathe past the lump lodged in my throat. I longed for him to leave so that I could allow the terrified tears that were threatening to spill from my eyes go. But I was afraid and I didn't want him to leave me all alone.
"Lily, what happened to you?" He asked fiercely. I could see that this question wasn't restricted to that night.
"N— nothing." I said, my voice feeble. "I'm fine."
My watery eyes and shuddering frame must have given away my fib for he said, "Lily. Tell me what the hell scared you so badly. You're bloody shaking. What happened?" His eyes burned down into mine and I was tempted to tell him. I knew I couldn't though. I couldn't let anyone know how truly weak I was. I couldn't let anyone see how cowardly, how un-Gryffindor I was. "Lily. Tell me."
Instead of giving in, I burst into tears. Great, heaving sobs reverberated through my frail body. I covered my face with my hands, trying to hide my shameful face. James' arms wrapped around me, pushing m against his broad chest. When I tried to pull away, recoiling from the skin to skin contact, he just held on tighter.
"Lily, Lily. It's okay. Don't worry. It's okay. You're safe." He murmured into my hair. He was trying to be comforting, trying to fix me, but I was beyond being comforted. I was beyond repair.
"I'm not." I admitted. "I'm not okay."
"Lily, what happened to you?" He whispered softly, though his concern was the loudest thing I had ever heard in my life. Again, the question was referring to what had changed me. What had changed me from the bubbling person I had once been. The person I had been only two months ago.
My thoughts flashed to the dark alley. To the long knife flashing silver in the moonlight. I shuddered at the memory of such helplessness.
"Nothing." I answered, eyes downcast.
"You can tell me." I could see the undying promise shining brightly behind his eyes.
"I can't." My voice was hollow, the life that had once filled it gone. After all, I was no more than a shell now. "It doesn't matter anymore." I lied unconvincingly.
"It matters to you." He whispered.
"It was just some Muggle, okay? That's all." My words were only half-true. It was just one lone Muggle, but it was not okay; it never would be.
"You're not telling me the truth, Lily. I look at you now and you're not here. You are not Lily Evans. That spark in your eyes is gone. The pink flush of your skin is gone. The shining gold of your hair is gone. You are gone. What happened?"
Maybe it was his concern for me. Or maybe it was the way he said my name or the manner in which he spoke of the old Lily Evans. Perhaps it was how he refused to let it go. Whatever the reason, he was the catalyst that cracked my carefully cultivated façade. He broke down the floodgates that I had so desperately been trying to hold up. He was the reason my mind now swirled with memories of the one thing I longed to forget.