Disclaimer: characters and world: JK Rowling. Story line and words: mine.

A/N: hello all, I KNOW this has been way too long in coming, I know, 10 months. I'm sorry! I finished the 7th book just the other day and the need to write again overwhelmed me, needless to say, my classes are suffering since i've been neglecting them. I hope you enjoy this chapter, there's more to come. Thanks for being so patient! Abarraine.

Abarraine. 16 October. 2007. (my 8th month annivesary with B. Schmidt-- I love you!! (even tho you will never read this ;))

Christmas Despair

It was like watching a dog get kicked repeatedly; yelping with its tail between its legs, whining and crying out in anguish and fear, its eyes holding all the pain and cruelty for the world to see. But the dog, however helpless it was, couldn't flee, couldn't seek refuge because the assaulter was its refuge.

The pain was all too evident. Everyone noticed it, even after she left. People thought he would liven up some, cheer up now that she had gone. He had won right? Wasn't that how things worked. James had driven her out of Hogwarts, he was more powerful, more respected. But now, when the waves had crashed upon the shore and the sun had come from behind the dark clouds, things in Hogwarts weren't better. The anguish still lingered over the heads of all, spawned by the infamous James Potter.

He was like the poor, mangled canine, James Potter. His eyes were sunken from lack of sleep; his skin was swallow from poor nutrition and little sunlight. His academics dropped, he barely had the motivation to attend class, let alone do the trivial homework. He had walked into a trap, a farce. He had pushed himself to believe what the world knew: that blood was thicker than water, that he couldn't possibly be happy with anyone less than his standard. He was controlled by the politics of his birth. And by God, he had tried to deny it, however in the end, it was unquestionable as to where is alliance lay. He had failed himself, but claimed victory for the Potter name.

But to what price?

For he had failed the only thing in his entire life that had given him a fresh hope: Lily.

For all he knew, she could be dead. Bludgeoned to death by one of his faithful followers. She was a threat to his family – no one needed to openly tell him that. But it was all too evident in the faces of the prestigious.

He had screwed up his life, with one little doubt.

Hadn't the world been raised on doubt? Where would civilization be if they hadn't seen through the doubt? What gave him the right to succumb to it?

James Potter lay in his bed, curtains tightly shut and not making a sound. Silent tears streamed down his face, his thick lashes tickled his cheek as he fluttered in and out of memory. His hands gripped the pillowcase and his hair in a routine aggression. His anger had fled and he was only left with hopelessness. As the curtains remained impermeable to the moonlight, so did his heart to happiness. He breathed in dead, cold air and wrestled with releasing it again. He chocked silently on his shed tears and uneven breathing. But he was silent. He held in his fury and kept his hurt in during those quiet, listless nights. His friends knew of his pain, but what could they do when James never spoke, never looked in their eyes, never came in contact with them anymore. He has ostracized himself from everything that made him James Potter.

All because of one little doubt.

He cursed himself repeatedly for letting his pride get in the way of her apologies – no, it had made him blind to her purity, to how trustworthy she was. The tears stung anew and he twisted in his somber tomb to smash his head into the feather pillow once more, only to release a hiccup of a sob that jerked Sirius from his own restless slumber.

Sirius always slept with his curtains open, relishing the night air that flowed through the open window. He never minded that his privacy was inhibited; he was a frank, open man with little doubts for himself. Or at least that's what he hoped emanated from his being. Everyone had a story and Sirius wasn't to be left out. James had his lineage issues as he was born to one of the wealthiest families in Europe, Remus had monthly struggles that his friends had taken to making a bit easier, still the pain was etched deeply in his face, his arms, and his eyes every waking day of his life. Peter was a squat little man, clumsy and petulant. He was too systematic and struggled with finding his own.

Sirius' issues arose with his family, as was the norm with most people. He was a white sheep, let's say, in a mass of black. His facial features and tendencies echoed those of this brother, mother, and relatives. He had sleek black hair and a slender nose. His eyes were a coal black, tinged with rays of dark blue. However his eyes, those coal orbs, did not send a cold gaze out to the world, one that lacked true, heartfelt emotion. No, he did not carry the apathetic leer that was a trademark of the Black name; rather they held warmth and sympathy, pity and feeling.

As he stared at the closed crimson curtains surrounding James' bed, he could feel his gut stirring, his chest tightening as his best friend, his brother, sobbed into his pillow. "Men are men, they do not express feeling". He knew that was total bullocks, but also knew that the prestigious did not show emotion. That James had been taught, lectured, and controlled for years to never show pain or misery; never to cry.

It was a sight, or rather a sound, that stayed with Sirius his entire life. Watching the moonlight spray across the curtains to James' secure barrow. But what could he do but stare and listen to the heart-wrenching sobs that seemed to faintly echo through out the room. To confront the matter would surely humiliate James, but it was all too worth it.

Lily was gone. Gone. She'd left the refuge that was home to him. He could see no sense in it. He knew that the populace of Hogwarts had been hard on her, but he never believed that she would give up so damn easily. She was stronger than anyone he'd ever known. Of course, when you come from a background such as Sirius' you seem to mesh your troubles into the backdrop and envy others. Yet he knew pain, and he knew people who knew pain. And she was walking through a world of pain.

James had once stripped her eyes of their fear, of her agony and torment. He had brought the witty Lily Evans to light and the battered Lily Evans was left to sit in a far corner, hopefully never to be revisited. He had taken a somber, acting girl and showed her the world. The world that had only kept her in it's shadows, now she saw the flowers in bloom, the sun's tickling rays that could grace her auburn head and turn her nose to freckles. She giggled and laughed, she smiled and her eyes were happy. She was happy. For the first time since she was a little girl she knew happiness. The warmth in her belly and heart was foreign but delightful, addicting and damn, so right.

Everyone knew it. Knew the transformation and the light that radiated off of Lily shown ten fold in James. With Lily by his side, his smile was forever lopsided on his chiseled face and his contentment for life was forever a vibrant display of his character. He was cheerful, somewhat behaved, spectacular and brilliant. Sure, James had always been a prized child, but now his abilities and personality had taken a sharp turn towards the better. The world, as he had come from was full of gay parties and frivolous galleons. James' dreams were short-lived as most came true. He had always been a happy child.

However one day, James learned of the legacy, the true commitment that belonged with such fortune. He undoubtedly knew all along, but it did not faze him, because he had not found her yet.

It was Christmas Eve; the Potters were entertaining their usual pompous guests at the annual Potter Christmas Promenade. The champagne was exceptional and the gowns were magnificent. The candlelight floated above head with the hollies and mistletoe. Cherubs flew plucking their instruments and presenting guests with small trinkets. The ham was scrumptious and the escargot impeccable. The music was lulling and yet alluring. It was tantalizing and ignited passion in all those that lent it an ear. The ballroom was crowed as hundreds of couples graced the marble floor, their shoes scuffing the creamy enamel, and then miraculously disappearing as a charm took care of the damage. The wreaths of garland and drapes of green and red flowed together in what could have been a shimmering stream of beauty.

It was a typical night. The moon was fading as thick clouds quickly swept over it, promising a romantic snowfall. It seemed paradoxical that such a grand night would bring about such despair.

Lily was attending the Promenade for the first time. Her dress was modest and elegant, as she would meet the Potters for the first time, as well. She wore her hair down, classic of her humble personality, yet in her attempts to draw less attention to herself, she had brought more. Her beautiful auburn curls were the envy of many females who had spent hours and precious galleons perming their own locks with charms and curlers. Her beauty was earthen and breathtaking. If James had not already been in love with this auburn siren, he would have been able to label this night,the night he fell in love.

As it was, the night started wonderfully with a glass of champagne and crackers, a waltz here and there and several touching smiles. However as the night led on, James found his parents, Julian and Éa, to introduce his redheaded love.

Their smiles were fake, their enthusiasm stringent, and conversation forced. They knew Lily was a Muggleborn, only a mere bump in their smooth lives. She was the threat of humiliation and the downfall of the Potter name. She was a simple fancy that they knew James would out grow. They tried to show interest in Lily and at first forced a few monotone sentences, but their attention was focused on James. They saw the way he looked at Lily with eyes bright that overflowed with abundant happiness.

They drew focused on this Lily, the one James desired, and proceeded in making a travesty of her. She stuttered a bit as they became more insightful in the conversation by teasing around the topic of her and James' relationship, demeaning it to a mere childish acquaintance. They tiptoed around her bloodline and made whimsical remarks that were nothing more than degrading. Lily tried to keep her head high, but she trembled slightly under their petulant gaze. As the Potters, deluded her very integrity, and all with words spoken in a saccharine tone. They attacked her with contempt that was hidden behind their façade of magical elitism.

James watched, horrified, as Lily struggled to recognize the bashing of her existence and cover it up as though they were merely discussing a patch to rain, sprinkling over the tender earth. James was rooted to the spot, torn between undermining his parents and undoubtedly causing a scene or watching his Lily suffer under the would-be tender gaze of parents. He could see her slender hands clenched white on the glass of champagne in her hand and the confusion and humiliation steal the sparkle in her emerald eyes; however, her stance and mannerisms were confident and controlled. But before he could finally intervene, the sugary interrogation was over. His parents focused their attention on a guest over Lily's shoulder and glided away from the trembling redhead without so much as a "wonderful to finally meet you, dear".

He understood the reason behind his parents' rudeness. He knew that they only did it to protect their own name, to ensure the desired breeding of the Potter line. But to James, all of that was nonsense, utterly and completely irrelevant to his life. Lineage was a thing he easily dismissed. He hardly considered such things during his sixteen years, but here it was, the blatant disrespect for Lily was more than a slap in the face; it was a blazing yellow vulgar sign that showed James that his opinions and desires were worthless. He had no will of his own and he knew that the romantic aspect of his life would never have the possibility for change. And he felt damned, as if his dreams were too miniscule to even be noticed.

How was it that when he wanted anything, a trip to Australia, the newest, most expensive broom on the market or box seats at the world cup, he got it, but when it came to something of immense importance to him and his future, what he wanted wasn't even calculated into the equation.

There he stood that Christmas Eve, gazing off into the streaming red and green banners, the music luring all around him, and Lily, standing a meter away, looking down at her feet, lost. She was lost and shuffled in the mix.

His eyes blurred with unshed tears as he gazed hard at a dancing couple in the distance, the woman was swaying in the man's arms and she smiled serenely as he whispered surely sweet nothings in her ear. They were peaceful, they were blessed, and they had the life he dreamed of. One where he wasn't a string puppet, dancing to the beat of another's drum. His gaze was blurred by red as he swam in and out of desires and anger. It wasn't under she touched his arm that he looked down and noticed her standing there, pathetically small and out of place. He saw it now, how ordinary she was. How sincere and humble of an air she portrayed.

And that humbleness, that sweet delicacy was what made him kiss her wholeheartedly under the floating cherubs and mistletoe. The kiss that he held her petite form close to him in the midst of hundreds of magical elite, of the ministry's finest, his best friends, and above all, in front of his irate, shocked parents.

Reality flooded back and hit James full force in the chest as he thought of that kiss, of the night that he had announced (with actions) that he was serious about Lilea Kensley Evans. He choked on his sob as he turned, once more in his bed to shove his tear-swollen face in the pillow. The nights were like this; tainted with memories and the utter depression that he had tried to hold at bay all day emerged in full. They were unforgiving and sleepless.

His head throbbed as he pictured her sweet face, smiling up at him. Her full lips forming the words "I love you, James", and then her delicate arms looping around his waist as she rest her head on his chest. The pressure of her touch felt so real he ripped open his eyes, hoping above all that she was there. The darkness met his gaze, his sheets were twisted and ruffled, but he was the only one in his bed. He had no more comforts in his life, no more sweet treasures. He had forsaken it all. He had turned into his father. No, maybe he had finally rendered some common sense and let the dream of him and Lily fly out the window, hopefully never to return.

He tried to tell himself that he didn't need her; he was back to this again. If he didn't need her so much, why in God's name did he still have to repeat that phrase, 'I don't need Lily, she's nothing but a manipulative, poor muggleborn'. He knew it was nonsense to repeat the lie, to deny himself the only true happiness that he had found in this foul world.

As much as the truth threatened to envelope his thoughts, he cast it aside. He knew Lily was the one for him, he knew she had never laid a hand against him, and most of all, he knew she was in more pain than he could ever be. But he was a chicken, a toser and an arse who wouldn't go against authority. He was the ultimate, cocky, rambunctious conformist, the one who wore their tie perfectly in every class, then in solitude let out his true self. He was uptight and stressed, he had a fetish with ironing, he needed things to be in order… but with a jolt, he sat up again, throwing his covers off in the realization that in all the while he had been with Lily he hadn't ironed one thing. He hadn't worn a tie straight in months, it was always lopsided and feverishly put on as he knew he no longer had to impress anyone. He wasn't uptight and let simple mistakes slide, he even said the word "ain't" on occasion to Lily's glee. Sirius had even mentioned the change and congratulated Lily in her success.

She made him better. And he knew that by appeasing his parents, he would never be happy. He would never be the true James Isaac Potter.

That left him with only one thing to do: find Lily Evans.

Find her and beg her to come back to him, to take him back and love him forever.

The bed was suffocating that night as he lay there, waiting for the beams to illuminate his crimson curtains. He waited for the first light to get the hell out of Hogwarts and onto the Hogwarts Express to find her.

The next morning, as Sirius rummaged through his drawer for a clean white shirt and yelled at James to "get your scrawny arse out of bed!" he realized that there were no sounds at all coming from James' bed. He was gone.

A scrap of parchment was laid peacefully on his ruffled pillow: "I've got to find her. Be back soon."

comments, concerns? reviews would be spectacular, thanks!

Abarraine.