Auction - AU: Ghost

Talk Like Shakespeare - Write about someone dying on their birthday.

Jelly Bean Day - Raspberry - (pairing) JamesLily, Spoiled Milk - (theme) loss


She can still feel his touch lingering on her body.

It was the little things. A kiss on the lips, his fingers intertwined with hers, his foot nudging hers. It was his presence that calmed her, her rock to cling on to.

And now he was like this. Cold and empty, his lips forever sealed shut, his eyes never to open again. His soul had long departed his body, but it had been merciful enough to leave her something to mourn, to let her tears fall on.

Had his soul gone to heaven, she didn't know. It deserved to move on, after all of the good things he had accomplished in life. He had such a pure soul. If it went to hell, she would march straight to Satan himself and demand a refund.

.

It was supposed to be a good day. It was his birthday.

They had planned an elaborate celebration for him, a celebration that would fulfill his wishes.

And then, that was when things gone horribly wrong.

.

The funeral was a quiet affair, with few attendees, primarily his closest friends and family, all to see his rotting corpse. She felt sick.

Why create such a spectacle over a person who was long gone? Why honor them when they were not there to appreciate it?

That was a twisted, warped way of thinking, but it was the only way she could think. Her old self would've chastised her for it.

But her old self had vanished, to be replaced by more depraved version. Her husband's death had done nothing except change her in drastic ways, ways which were not good.

She was mad, almost deranged. Her family and friends gave her a wide berth, knowing she could lash out at any second. There was the added fact that she was a powerful witch with powers unrivaled by no one.

The hospital classified her as certifiably insane. She was locked up in a cell, alone with only her lunacy for company. The hospital figured that if she was confined for some time, it would help settle her "temporary" bout of mania.

It didn't.

She was sent to an asylum after she was released for almost killing the doctors who treated her. There, it was hell from there on out.

But she wasn't crazy at all.

It was something else driving her madness. Things that no one else ever saw or diagnosed, for it was invisible to the naked eye.

But she saw it. No one else did, but she did.

It was a ghost.

It was a ghost that haunted her dreams and her reality. It was a ghost that lingered with her, no matter where she went.

It was a ghost.

.

A menacing figure stood at the door, his snake-like eyes boring holes into each and every one of them. Several hooded figures flanked him, ready to attack at his command.

"How quaint," said a silky, smooth voice that made her want to punch him in the face, "a birthday party. How lovely. Too bad I have to crash it."

Her hand searched for her wand, and a terrible realization struck her: she had left it upstairs. She was virtually defenseless against a man who was feared by many, not for his brute strength, but for his mercilessness.

James moved in front of her, his own wand out. "Why are you here?" he snapped, his other hand clenching into a fist.

Voldemort laughed, a harsh sound that grated against her ears. "Do I need to have a reason to be here?"

"True," James acknowledged, and she stifled a gasp, "like the time you ruthlessly killed those Muggle babies without a valid reason?"

She didn't know if he was being stupid or brave; she just prayed that whatever tactic he was using, it would work.

She was vaguely aware of others being still around them, not moving a muscle, watching the confrontation. She hated them all. Why were they like this, when there was the threat of death hanging over their heads?

Voldemort just laughed again. "You're young," he observed, "and incredibly blinded. But I can remove that mask and show you the real world."

"Not likely," James spat defiantly. "I would rather die than side with you."

"Ah, the male bravado," the snake-eyed man sighed, but this time mirthless. "I know exactly what you're feeling, young man. Oh excuse me, it's James."

"It's Potter to you."

"That's what your father was called, no? Oh wait, he's dead, so that name passes on to you. I forgot."

He's trying to goad him, she realized. He mustn't take the bait.

"Don't break," she whispered, both to herself and James.

.

She was breaking. She had no James to support her. She was being ripped apart at the seams and there was nothing holding her together.

She was utterly hopeless.

.

James followed her advice and didn't break. He was strong and steady and unwavering, and it made her more proud of him. This was why she fell for him. His tenacity, his penchant for sticking up for his family and friends- frankly, it made him more appealing.

If they made it through this, she would reward him.

"Don't use his name in vain," James growled. "He was a good man, a better man than you will ever be."

Voldemort's face twisted into an ugly snarl. "Well, I suppose you'll just have to join him then. Avada Kedavra!"

James didn't have a chance to defend himself. Her scream resonated above all of the others' as James fell to the ground like a marionette whose strings had just been cut.

And then, power surged through her as her pain took over. The sheer force of it overwhelmed her, and next thing she knew, black robes were strewn on the floor as she fell on her knees.

Everyone whom she loved was shielded from the blast, but Voldemort was lying on the floor, dead.

.

She was insane. She kept seeing ghosts of him surrounding her, whispering in her ears.

One day, she would see him again. She would make sure of it.


1017 words