A/N: I KNOW it has been a monstrously long time, plese don't kill me, I really did try, I just wanted to find the right way to start continuing, and I wanted time to do it justice, so it's better for me to wait until there's a weekend with no homework instead of cramming it in late at night. Does this explanation get me off the hook puppy eyes
Also, a quick note. I'm looking for a beta for this story, as right now I am editing myself and I think i miss a lot. Anyone interested, or know someone? Do tell.
Bit shorter, but it worked.
Chapter Eight: Movement I: Mercy
James had done nothing but watch her sleep for an hour.
He sat in a chair across the room, by the bookcase, his knees pulled up to his chest, chin resting on them, watching her for any sign of discomfort or distress. He made it his mission to wake her up from any nightmare before they got too bad. That enchantment spell of Dumbledore's was holding out spectacularly, so far.
He tapped his fingers silently against his leg as he stared, his eyes dry and sore from the near unblinking vigil he led. Lily rested on her side, the soft fabric of the bedclothes gathered at her waist, covered in a fluffy white bathrobe, her hair spread behind her on a pillow almost, sickly ironic as it sounded, like fresh blood. There was still no color to her cheeks, but at least now her skin was clearer and her eyes fresh and unmarked with either smeared make-up, tears, or bruises. She was easier to look at physically, if not emotionally. He still clenched his fists when he looked at her and projected his remembrance of the sheer terror in her face when they'd first come into the room hours ago onto her now almost calm expression.
Hours, had it been hours? It felt alternately like days and then seconds. He didn't know if Sirius or Susanna, or both, were still in the common room, and he wasn't really sure how long he'd been sitting here beyond knowing it was close to an hour or more. James didn't even know if he was supposed to be in here. Dumbledore had given no instructions, other than basically telling them not to leave, or if they did to stay in Gryffindor tower. He just felt like someone needed to be watching her. God knew no one had watched closely enough before.
James stretched his legs out, turning and letting them hit the floor, closing his eyes tightly and opening them, trying to get some moisture in them again. His knees protested as he bent them back and forth, the muscles sore and gathered together from staying so long in the bent position. He brushed his fingers through his hair without noticing, catching his fingers in snags and tangles. He needed to move, do something, but he was afraid of making any noise that might wake her.
He got up and looked over the books in her bookcase, all neatly arranged by size and subject, some with notes sticking out of the top. Her book bag was slung over the back of her desk chair, open; he could see the books and quills all meticulously arranged, no stray papers or bent up quills or empty ink pots. Her desk was spotless too, and the floor had hardly anything on it. He almost didn't believe the level of cleanliness she was living in. Surely Madam Pomfrey or Dumbledore had done this…but no, he remembered seeing over her shoulder before.
Her trunk, across the room next to her bedside table, was open, and he walked over to look inside, glancing at the bed for a second. Rather surprisingly, there were wintry muggle clothes tossed inside, a few books he'd never heard of, a black velvet box, and a mess of wrapped sweets strewn throughout the trunk. James smiled with a raised eyebrow, finding it comforting that she was capable of being a little sloppy. He turned to the bedside table, looking at her sideways to make sure she was still asleep. Her face was turned towards him, smooth and comatose, her lips parted just slightly.
He looked back down the bedside table, and examined the things there. It was cluttered, in an organized way, if that was possible. Instead of the usual lamp most people kept on a bedside table, Lily had a mint-green candle sitting on a jeweled clay plate; it looked as if someone had made it for her. James reached down and sifted through a few necklaces and two pairs of earrings, looking at the other things on the table. A hardback book with three woven, colored strings as a bookmark, a bottle of perfume, a red hair ribbon, and—this made his heart skip—a Hufflepuff badge.
Swallowing hard, he turned the badge over and back on the table running his thumb over the engraved badger and 'H', a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure quite how he knew exactly what it meant, but he did. It was like a flame just sprung up in his mind, and he remembered clearly the Hufflepuffs standing by the door when he'd asked Lily for the password…his hand shook. It was unspeakable what this badge being here meant. How could he have been so careless, so stupid…he could have…
His paralyzing thoughts were interrupted by a short whimper. He let the badge slide from trembling fingers and looked to the bed. Her brow furrowed in the middle and she flexed her hand on the pillow next to her cheek. James moved in front of the bedside table and reached out hesitantly, touching her shoulder when she whimpered again.
"Lily?" he said quietly. She shrieked. She sat up before he realized she was awake and pressed herself back against the headboard, her shoulders shaking, knees pulled up to her chest. James pulled his hand back, his heartbeat irregular, and breathed in steadily, still speaking quietly.
"Calm down. You're safe." He said soothingly, not daring to move for fear of causing her to scream again. "It's me, Lily."
"James?" she asked softly, her hand reaching up to push hair behind her shoulders. She stared at him, unfocused, her voice weak and unsure. James nodded, stepping closer until he stood against the side of the bed, so maybe she could see him clearer through the fading spell in her eyes. He saw her throat move as she swallowed; she closed her eyes and opened them slowly.
"You scared me," she said, almost inaudibly, her voice hoarse. "I thought you were…someone else."
"I'm sorry," James said immediately, mentally kicking himself. So much for making sure she didn't get afraid. He saw her eyes drift to the hand he still had next to the Hufflepuff badge, and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, looking it at, mesmerized. James suddenly wondered why Dumbledore hadn't removed it, or if it had simply been overlooked. He moved his entire hand over it, hiding it from her view, curling his fingers around it.
"Just don't think about it, Lily." He advised, sliding his hand with the badge in it behind his back. He let it fall to the floor and nudged it under the bedside table with his foot. He wondered if he told her that for herself or his own peace of mind. As if she couldn't think about it. As if he couldn't.
She didn't say anything, she just looked at him with a hint of disbelief in her eyes, and he really couldn't blame here. What kind of comfort was that, telling her not to think about it? Hadn't that been what she'd been doing, ignoring it? James opened his mouth and closed it, feeling miserable. Lily turned her head away and plucked at the sheets for a moment; she put her head on her knees and he heard her breathe in shakily. She was crying.
James sat tentatively on the edge of the bed and reached for her hand on the pillow, covering it with his. She curled her fingers under his, and he tugged on her arm gently, pulling her towards him. She let him put his arm around her shoulders and leaned back in the crook of his arm, her face shielded by a curtain of hair.
"I can't stop thinking about it," she said, raising a shaky hand to her eyes. "It overshadows everything…I can't look at myself." Her voice quivered as she tried to keep it steady. James squeezed her shoulder, turning her closer to him.
She spread her hand across her face, pressing her palm into the bridge of her nose. She didn't say anything else, but her shoulders shook and she still cried, her lips moving every once in a while, like she was trying to speak. He didn't press her, suddenly thinking of what the men from magical law would make her repeat…
"You didn't do anything wrong…you can't think you did," James said, for some reason thinking of Sirius's harsh words of reality in the common room. "They got rid of him, Mul—he's gone."
"He is never going to be gone." She whispered tensely.
He bit his lip; they cracked beneath his teeth, dry from being wet with nerves all night. Wasn't she right? Wasn't that the same thing that Sirius had already warned him about? She will never be the same! And he remembered more of Sirius's words, struck with how wise his best friend really was, and wanted to apply them to Lily, more than anything, to make her believe it. You don't blame yourself for something you can't help and will never change…but that sounded so wrong. To say that felt wrong. It had applied in James's angry situation, but to say that to her seemed harsh, unfeeling. He kept his mouth shut.
Lily looked up at the same time as James, both having heard the soft knocks against her door. She drew her hand under her eyes, her shoulders shifting away from James. He removed his arm and got up, walking to the door without thinking, having no intention of letting anyone but possibly Susanna in the room. He opened the door a crack and his eyes widened, he pursed his lips.
A short, distressed-looking woman stood there, in front of a much taller, stronger looking man whose face was set and pale around two liquid brown eyes. He had dark reddish hair and a long nose; she was light brunette with soft, almond-shaped green eyes and hands clasped in front of her. They had to be Lily's parents. James had never seen any woman so similar to her in face as this woman.
"I'm sorry...we were looking for Lil—I'm Lisabeth Evans?" she sounded so uncertain of herself, like she was completely lost.
"Oh! Um, yeah she's—she's here." James said, his voice deeper than usual. Lisabeth Evans looked a little confused, if not upset, and turned to look who James assumed was her husband, before looking at him quizzically. James opened the door wider, it suddenly clicking in his head that her parents probably wondered why he was in her room with her.
"I'm James. James Potter." He clarified. He held out his hand, as he'd always been taught to do by his mother, and Lily's father reached beside his wife and took it firmly, nodding. His eyes betrayed that he'd been told every detail of what had happened. Lisabeth Evans's eyes widened slightly.
"Oh," she said. Apparently Lily had talked about him, for the look of recognition in her eyes wasn't exactly new. Her husband nudged her from behind and Lisabeth stepped into the room beside James, looking immediately to the bed, where Lily still sat against the headboard.
"Mum," he heard softly, shakily, still grasped by her imposing father.
"Edward Evans, Mr. Potter." He said in a deep voice, though very low. He glanced at his wife and Lily momentarily and then back to James. "Headmaster spoke to me about you, son." He said, nodding at James. James swallowed and shrugged a little, unsure what to say. Edward Evans studied James for a minute and released his hand, straightening up. "Give us time with our daughter." He requested, as if anyone would refuse him that. James slipped past him silently and heard the door shut behind him, closing out Lily and her parents.
He couldn't comprehend the thoughts going through either of her parents minds. He imagined them; contacted by the school they'd trusted with their daughter's well-being and told something like this. How could they, already unfamiliar with this world and probably wary of whatever Lily came home talking about, with the witchcraft and strange magical theories, ever trust a place like this again, where they had no control over the protection of Lily. He shuddered, standing on the stairs still, thinking about what his own mother's reaction would be to him disappearing into the muggle world. She wouldn't be able to handle that. And for this to happen, something unspeakable and nearly impossible—at Hogwarts, of all places—to her, to Lily, someone only recently of their world…no wonder there were secrets between universes.
James rubbed his forehead hard as he walked down the stairs, not even looking as he took steps and walked across the familiar common room. Sirius's robe was wadded up on the floor in front of the fire, next to a pair of sneakers and socks, but he was nowhere to be seen, nor Susanna.
James wondered vaguely where they were, whether Susanna was telling the tale to Alice and Sasha, or if they'd both been taken to Dumbledore for questioning, and he was next. He thought about that session dubiously, apathetically. He didn't want to repeat anything he'd seen again, not when it entailed describing Lily in vile terms to perfect strangers. It wouldn't stop him from bringing justice, but it would make it then thousand times harder.
He opened the door to his room and left it cracked as he entered, looking around at the mess of clothing, books, old homework assignments and random trinkets strewn on the floor, and the messy unmade bed. The mess suddenly bothered him, it reminded him of what a mess things really where, of how unorganized an unobservant he was. He was blind to things falling apart around him. He wondered if the pristine cleanliness of Lily's room, of the sudden sort of jumbled mess in her trunk mirrored her life—composed on the outside, a mess inside, like his room reflected his obliviousness. In the back of his mind, he laughed at himself for all the ridiculous metaphors he was applying to something as simple of the level of organization in his room, but everything was wrong and messed up now, so why shouldn't he?
Mechanically and uncharacteristically, he bent down and picked up a few shirts off the floor, slowly moving onto the rest of the room. He didn't stop until dirty clothes were piled in the corner for the house elves, robes were folded or hung up, socks and underwear were back where they were supposed to be, and the bed was made neatly. He removed the crumbs off the floor and the dust off the furniture with a muttered spell, and ironically thought about how proud his mother would be. He was turning into his mother, actually, if he was resorting to cleaning to take his mind off things.
He suddenly wondered if his parents knew what was going on. If anyone knew. If it was in the Prophet or around the school. He realized he had no idea how something like this would play out. Lily was seventeen, so were he and Mulciber, and Sirius and Susanna as well. And it wasn't some practical joke gone wrong, where someone innocently got hurt, it was a heinous crime, one that landed some older wizards in Azkaban, though it didn't happen quite as frequently as it seemed to in the muggle world. He didn't know if there would be a trial at the ministry, or what kind of punishment Mulciber was eligible for, but the crushing weight of all of it seemed to fall on him suddenly, like he hadn't before realized the magnitude of the entire nightmare. He didn't even know the rules for something like this, happening at school, where the student was under guardianship of students, yet of age. Or of how Lily's parents could proceed, knowing nothing of magical law.
His head pounded with all of it, the headache stabbing. He groaned, wishing that there was any way to just change it all, to fix it all, wondering if there was probable cause for him to request a time-turner…but no, then Mulciber would hurt someone else, or something worse…it was never wise to play with time but he wanted to, almost needed to change everything—he had never wanted to change anything this badly before.
James stopped rubbing his head sharply as the name Mary McDonald surfaced in his head. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten that…this surely proved everything she'd said that no one had believed. He thought of Ricky, of how Ricky had always told her story stubbornly, angrily, hating everyone for denying her words, even if she had been a tale-teller. No one had believed Mary because…because why? Because she was someone people hadn't really liked? Would they believe Lily, him? Would they believe Sirius and Susanna, as witnesses? Mulciber had gotten off, even though Dumbledore had believed in her and all the grave mistakes of those higher in justice than him, who blocked Dumbledore's protests and ignored Mary's parents and shut Ricky up had rebounded and hit Lily. James clenched his fist at his side, suddenly seeing clearly ever moment when this could have been prevented.
The Hufflepuffs by the door. Believing in Ricky. Two things that might have stopped it. And seeing that, he saw more. They could have patrolled together, they should have. He should have paid better attention to her panicked reactions to Mulciber; he could have investigated that one bloodcurdling scream, what if that had been him? These thoughts were overwhelming.
Hogwarts had always been so safe. So wonderful. No one had ever once questioned the welfare of their child when they packed them off too boarding school, no wizarding parent thought twice about letting an eleven year old stay at the school the entire year without going home. He couldn't imagine it changing, but now it had, it infinitely had, and who knew if it would ever be the same? The revealed danger inside the school, the reminder that wizards went bad even as youngsters, reflected the outside world, the growing threat of the self-acclaimed 'dark lord' and the danger and creeping fear that was starting to infect every one. James knew it was getting worse than people generally knew; his father worked for the ministry, came home tired and haggard, and worried every day. It was almost like there was nothing nice left anywhere.
James pulled at his hair and went into his bathroom, slamming the door behind him, not helping his headache at all. Still, the sound soothed him some, though it was nonsensical. He reached into the shower and turned the water on cold, cold as it would go, and bent forward over the sink as he waited for a moment for the old pipes to steady the stream of water. He always soaked in cold, pounding water when he was upset—the colder the better. It just seemed to freeze everything out, to harden him, until he could think about nothing but how damn cold it was, and he pushed himself until his lips turned blue and his fingers wouldn't bend and then he stopped, momentarily numb to everything. He stared at his reflection as he jerked off his clothing violently, desperate for that feeling of complete ice, and kicked them into a corner. He took time to push the lock on the bathroom door in before he stepped in and immersed himself under the chilling downpour.
--Do not slack off on reviews. I got a wonderful response last time, please don't forget! Reviews keep us authros going. So 10, though I'd love more!
Alexa
