Petal in the Rain
Chapter 8 - Vertigo
I'm at a place called Vertigo
It's everything I wish I didn't know
Except you give me something
I can feel...
-U2
June 2, 1940
Ten wizards and two witches were gathered around a wobbly table when James Potter entered the musty wine cellar. A crinkled map was spread over the surface like a tablecloth, pins blinking like buoys cast off into the ocean marking places on the washed-out parchment. James quietly took a seat with a nod to his fellow comrades.
"Is Fletcher still keeping watch, Potter?" Alastor Moody barked gruffly, treating him no differently than the other witches and wizards present, despite his prestigious title.
"Dung's still on watch," James nodded, taking a seat beside Benjy Fenwick. "I still don't know why you'd trust him with our lives."
"We need all the help we can get for this operation, Potter. Beggars can't be choosers," Moody growled, annoyed that the conversation previous to James' intrusion had been interrupted. "He'll do."
"I agree with Lord Potter. Mundungus Fletcher is a crook that shouldn't be trusted," Arthur Weasley reiterated, glad to voice his opinion on the matter. "He's wretched. Probably sell his loyalty to the highest bidder."
"We're not here to talk about Fletcher, Weasley."
"Why are we here, Moody? You've already given us our assignments," Dorcas Meadows cut in, hoping to diffuse the spat. "And why hold the meeting in Paris?"
"If you'd all be quiet and listen, maybe I'll tell you," Moody snapped, furrowing his bushy brows. "I've just received news that Dumbledore and Fudge have spoken to Churchill."
The room immediately went silent, everyone wondering what news Churchill had passed onto Dumbledore. It was evident that the situation was worsening with each day, Denmark falling and the Germans closing in on France.
"From what was disclosed to me, Dumbledore believes that Hitler and Voldermort are not conspiring together as we previously assumed. We have no reason to believe Hitler is under the Imperius Curse, either. Voldermort is merely using this war as a means of starting his own, capitalizing on the fear already gripping the country," Moody began, his chest puffing out as the story began to unravel.
"I don't know whether to regard that as good news or bad news," Kingsley Shacklebolt muttered, voicing the confusion of the group. "Now instead of a magical maniac controlling a dictator, we have a magical maniac and a muggle maniac."
"Why don't we just apparate into Hitler's bedroom and end this war, then?" Caradoc Dearborn burst out, clenching his fists. "We'll get rid of Hitler and then take care of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"
"Churchill has asked the wizarding community to stay out of the war and stick to fighting Voldermort," Moody interjected, looking severe. "We won't be associating ourselves with this muggle war as originally planned."
"But we could be of so much help!" Dearborn continued to protest, obviously eager to see action.
"Our world would no longer remain a secret if we did, Dearborn. Churchill is an honourable man; he wants to follow the basic rules of warfare, and that means no magic."
"I think our involvement in this war would make it a hell of a lot bloodier," James spoke up, his intense expression shifting from the map to Moody. "If English wizards were to participate, wizards all over the world would; just think of the consequences."
"It would certianly piss off all other wizards around the world," agreed Sturgis Podmore. "And that could lead to more support for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
"Podmore, watch your language. There are ladies in the room," Shacklebolt ordered.
"So? They aren't high society folk like Potter here," Podmore spat, disdain lingering in his accented voice as he turned toward James.
Sturgis Podmore had disliked James since their first meeting almost a year ago, partially due to his resentment of nobility. Podmore was twenty-two with blonde hair and blue eyes. Strong, handsome, and sharp, Podmore's only weakness was his lack of wisdom.
"If you've got a problem with me, Podmore, we can take this outside," James glared, his gaze unwavering as he regarded the light-haired wizard.
"Are you going to hire someone to duel for you, your highness?" Podmore returned, his smile ruthless.
"Duel? I thought we'd box. Then again, you probably aren't familiar with the Queensbury rules. Far too refined for a street bloke like you," James smirked, watching Podmore's face turn a blotchy red.
"Would you two quit squabbling? Shacklebolt, we aren't at a dinner party. I'm sure Marlene and I can handle Podmore's mouth," Dorcas scoffed, folding her arms.
"Merely encouraging respect," Shacklebolt frowned. "You were saying, Moody?"
"From now on the Order will be convening in Paris to discuss matters. We haven't found a secure location for headquarters yet. There are too many spies in London; it is much safer for us here," Moody said, narrowing his eyes at Podmore, who looked ready to explode with questions and opinions.
"What if Paris falls to the Germans? What are we to do then? Where should we meet?" Marlene McKinnon inquired, her soft voice barely audible.
"It will make no difference. German muggles are no more a threat to us than French muggles. We'll still meet here, but if it should become too dangerous, we'll switch locations. Now, for your new assignments."
Moody began conveying jobs to the witches and wizards in the room, many of the mandates being recruitment of new members. Three imperative assignments were issued: Dorcas was to be stationed in Denmark as England's newest magical informant, Kingsley was to pretend to be a muggle and work as Churchill's bodyguard, collecting information from the English government, and James was to spy on certain high-society wizarding families, like the Malfoys. Podmore, who had been assigned with recruiting, enviously glared when James received his assignment. Little did Podmore know, James would've swapped jobs with him in a heartbeat; he abhorred attending parties, the perfect opportunities for spying.
"We meet again in a week. Have any information collected ready by then," Moody concluded, shuffling some papers together and instructing Dorcas to roll up the map. "Any issues or prevalent information that come up before then are to be presented to Dumbledore at Hog—"
Moody stopped and shifted his wrinkled gaze to McKinnon. She returned his questioning stare.
"What's wrong, Alastor?"
"What's that noise coming from your bag?" Moody demanded, his eyes darting around the room furiously, then focusing on her rudsack.
"I hear a whistling noise too," Shacklebolt said.
Everyone's attention turned to Marlene. She shrugged and began rummaging around in her bag. Pulling out a spinning, glowing top, she deposited it onto the table and drew in a sharp breath.
"It's my…Merlin."
"Sneakoscope!"
"Wands at the ready!" Moody ordered loudly just as the door to the wine cellar was blown off its hinges and burst into snaking flames.
Hoards of figures wearing thick black cloaks and skeletal-looking masks flooded into the wine cellar, emerging from behind a cloud of dirty smoke. Bottles began to fall off their shelves and shatter, fueling the already unstoppable fire.
James scrambled to gain his bearings, but was taken by surprise and thrown against the stone wall by a particularly nasty Expelliarmus spell. A couple Order members immediately apparated, their eyes burning because of the smoke, while others remained behind to fight.
As James struggled to regain consciousness, he heard a male scream, sensing a flash of green behind his eyelids.
Wake up! Wake up!
James lay in a heap on the ground, the wind knocked out of him and his vision blurred. Pressure was building in his chest; he struggled to breathe as splintered ribs pushed on his lungs. He squinted through the flames and saw a horrifying sight.
Benjy Fenwick was dead, bits of his mutilated body scattered about the room. His head, the only recognizable part of him, was aflame. James felt like gaging, the contents of his stomach threatening to resurface, when he realized a dark figure stood before him, her mouth twisted in a maniacal grin.
"Who would've thought I'd have the honour of killing Lord James Potter?" Lady Bellatrix Lestrange sneered, her voice sharp, yet soft like a snake's hiss. "The Dark Lord will be pleased with me."
James' vision blurred as blood gathered in tiny puddles at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to fight, wanted to speak, but he hadn't the strength to lift his wand.
I don't want it to end like this! Get up!
Bellatrix did not fear retaliation, James curled up in a fetal position, blood pouring from a hefty gash on his head. He was too injured to put up a fight.
She blew James a kiss, her smile widening as the tip of her wand began to glitter green.
June 23, 1940
It was close to midnight. Lily Evans lay nestled in her bed, her bright eyes awake and alert. She couldn't sleep; not with the fresh lacerations on her hand oozing blood. Today she'd gotten strapped for having "bad posture" while waiting in line to enter a class, and yesterday she was strapped for having an "untidy, brutish appearance."
Sister Agatha was hell-bent on punishing Lily for being caught out of school after dinner three weeks ago. Lily had slipped back into the kitchen, absolutely gleeful due to her afternoon with James, only to find Sister Agatha awaiting her return. Lily was marched straight to Agatha's office and strapped. The bruises didn't hurt as much as having to witness Roxanne receive the same punishment for helping her.
Now, Sister Agatha used any old excuse to strap Lily, wanting her to pay every day for her blaspheme-like behaviour and blatant disregard for the rules.
Lily didn't care about her hands or the hellish bitch that pretended to be a nun. In fact, at the moment she didn't care about anything at all. She'd spiraled into another one of her volatile, self-destructive mindsets.
Why does my life have to be like this? What did I do to deserve being treated like vermin?
Anger and sadness swelled inside of Lily, the mixture and intensity of such emotions making her feel ready to implode. Hot tears threatened to pour down her face, but she held them back, not wanting to expose her vulnerability to even the attic spiders.
Why do I have no one in my life that loves me?
Just then, as if her emotion had magically converted into energy, the glass pane in the window above Lily's bed began to crack, seemingly put under a great deal of pressure, and exploded into a million small shards. Lily sat bolt upright, her cheeks tear-stained and her red hair askew, surveying the glittering pieces on the attic floor. Lily looked out the window, hoping to spot the perpetrator that had broken the glass, but saw no one.
"Someone must've thrown a stone..." Lily mumbled, wiping her eyes and carefully stepping around the glass, looking for a rock or heavy object that could've been pitched into the attic.
Lily got down onto her hands and knees looking for the destructive object, light from the moon aiding her vision, but found nothing. The sporadic jolt of motion momentarily preoccupied her troubled mind, and just as she began to drift back into her hopeless respite, another strange occurrence jogged her sanity.
She gasped, tripping over her trunk in surprise as an owl with ruffled feathers and a well-behaved stare appeared in her window, clutching in its talons a proper-looking envelope. The owl's peculiar yellow eyes were trained on Lily.
"What the devil's going on?" Lily whimpered, unsure of how to get the bird out of her room, "Out, out! Shoo!"
The owl remained, looking slightly perturbed by the redhead's awkward gesturing. It stuck out its leg in annoyance, presenting the letter to her.
That's it, I've officially gone loony...
"What's that...a letter?" Lily spoke to the owl, thinking herself mad for doing so. "You want me to have that letter?"
The owl nodded its head.
"Cripes!" Lily recoiled, realizing the owl had understood her. "I—this is crazy! I'm not taking that! You'll bite me! Owls are wild animals…"
The brown-speckled owl narrowed its eyes at the girl and made a persistent hooting noise, its rigid leg still stuck out at an odd angle.
"Alright, alright! Don't make a racket," Lily hushed the beast, cautiously stepping towards it and reaching for the letter.
Once Lily had collected the parchment, the owl turned and fluttered back into the sky, assimilating with the inky canvass. Lily watched it disappear and trembled as the night air nipped at her bare arms. What's going on?
Almost frightened to read the contents of the letter, Lily curled up on her bed and wrapped a tattered blanket around her shoulders. Ripping open the envelope, Lily pulled out a letter, written in green ink, and began to read:
Dear Ms. Evans,
It has been brought to the attention of The Improper Use of Magic Office that you have performed multiple spells and charms (a boiling charm and an assortment of destructive spells) in a predominantly muggle school, and though you are legally able to perform magic outside of school once you are seventeen, we feel you are endangering magical secrecy by blatantly performing magic in the presence of muggles. Though no charges will be laid, the Improper Use of Magic Office implores you to take more care. If this recklessness continues, the Ministry will revise their decision.
On another note, Ms. Evans, I am startled to find you have absolutely no records or magical registration at the Ministry of Magic. As it is evident you are a witch and part of the magical community (though you attend a muggle school), it is imperative that you register with us. I have personally delved into your muggle records (which I accessed from the British government) and realize you haven't any parents (my condolences); therefore, if you do not register with the Ministry within a reasonable timeline, I shall send a Ministry representative to your place of residence to set up your magical records and establish you in the wizarding community.
Until then, please control your temper.
Tiberius Ogden,
Improper Use of Magic Office
Lily's mouth hung open in stupefaction. Rereading the letter only worsened her confusion. She looked out the window again, hoping to spot the prankster that was tormenting her with broken windows and rubbish letters, but saw no one.
Shattered windows.
Owls delivering letters.
Ministry of...Magic?
As it is evident you are a witch…bullocks! Lily didn't know what was going on, but resolutely decided she wasn't going to fall for some stupid prank and look like a fool. It certainly wasn't Agatha's doing, and Roxanne wouldn't dare, knowing the mood Lily was in, which left Acantha. Lily knew the Greek beauty hated her guts and would relish in humiliating her; it was logical to assume she was the one who sent the idiotic letter.
"Ha, ha!" Lily laughed sarcastically, bitterly shredding the letter into bits and throwing them out the window, "If Acantha thinks I'm believing this rubbish for one second, she can think again."
Lily pinned a moth-eaten sheet over the broken window and plunked her head on a pillow, deciding to clean up the glass in the morning. She glared into a shadowed corner of the room, devising a plan to get back at Acantha as her lids gradually became heavy…
"Wake up, mate. You're home."
James Potter stirred, hearing a familiar voice. He struggled to open his eyes, even the slightest motion causing pain to cradle in his chest. He painfully groaned, his sweaty hair plastered to his face as he arched his back.
"You gave me quite the scare, mate," Sirius divulged, restlessly watching James grapple for comfort. "I don't think you know how lucky you are…"
"What's happened?" James managed, his head spinning as he maneuvered into a sitting position. "Is Arthur…?"
"Don't over exert yourself," Sirius soothed, his voice uncharacteristically concerned. "Arthur is excellent. Running around with those twin boys of his in St. Mungo's while you were still in your coma. Managed to break a couple ribs, did you?"
"No kidding," James groaned. "How long have you been sitting there watching me?"
"Hours. You look so adorable when you sleep," Sirius grinned, rolling his eyes at James' disgusted scoff. "You've been unconscious for almost three weeks now. You were released from St. Mungo's yesterday when you're vitals returned to normal. I've been bored for weeks now, prick."
"Well I appreciate you playing nurse, but I'm afraid I'd rather have one in a short skirt," James cracked half-heartedly, smiling despite the pain.
"I bet I'd look fabulous in a short skirt," Sirius crossed his arms comically. "This nurse you fantasize about wouldn't be a certain redhead, would it?"
James blushed, something he only did in the presence of his true friends.
"Have you seen Lily these past weeks? I hope she's well," James turned to Sirius, weeks feeling like one night. "Are you sure it's been three weeks?"
"No, I'm lying," Sirius rolled his eyes. "I've been too preoccupied trying to find a way of playing cards with a man in a coma to think of Lily, mate."
"What would you do without me?" James chucked a pillow at Sirius, almost knocking him off his chair.
"Oi! I'd have to hang out with Remus, and all he does is read. So I'd watch Remus read," Sirius replied, turning serious. "That reminds me. You need to tell me what happened that night in the wine cellar."
She blew James a kiss, her smile widening as the tip of her wand began to glitter green…
"If it wasn't for Arthur," James began, staring off into the distance, reliving the scene. "And then Benjy…"
His head, the only recognizable part of him…
"Miraculously he was the only one killed," Sirius whispered, trying to decipher James' emotionless expression. "You weren't the only one injured though. Turns out Moody lost an eye."
"He must have been one of the Order members that stuck around," James said, looking detached at the thought of an eyeless Moody.
"You saw Benjy's… state, didn't you?" Sirius sensed James was having trouble internalizing the image. "Now that the war's started, we'll all be seeing things like that. What's wrong, mate?"
"It was Bellatrix," James snapped, turning to Sirius, who looked as if he's been branded with a hot iron. "She killed Benjy. She almost killed me…"
"What? Bella?" Sirius muttered, his eyes alight with fury, "That black-haired devil? I had my suspicions she had joined the cause, but…fuck."
"I haven't told Dumbledore yet—I doubt it'll make any difference. Didn't Bellatrix disappear to Transylvania?" James asked, desperately trying to rid himself of the image of Benjy.
"She's been missing for a while now. Merlin, this confirms why my family has been in such good spirits lately. The Blacks are always proud of racist sickos," Sirius mumbled, his disgust evident. "How lucky am I to be associated with such a lovely bunch?"
"My family isn't exactly perfect either," James interjected, frowning. "Speaking of bitches, how did my mother react to my coma?"
"She was in hysterics at the hospital. Began screaming at a healer, demanding she immediately revive you. She kept going on about how you were the only male heir to the Potter dynasty, blah blah blah," Sirius leaned back in his chair.
"Ah yes, my death would be quite the tragedy. Who would carry on the Potter name?" James gritted his teeth together, resentment for his mother deepening.
"Your father showed up, too," Sirius continued, folding his arms. "He seemed genuinely concerned. When it was confirmed you'd be fine he flew back to Egypt or wherever he came from."
A lonely maple—first rooted in the earth nearly a hundred years ago—scraped the sky outside of James' window. The morning blush smoothed over the edge of the horizon, transitioning from a burning orange to a glassy blue. The maple partially obscured the awakening sun, casting a romantic glow about the room, and James couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia.
"I can't expect someone of such importance to compromise his career for his son, can I?" James growled, throwing the sheets off his bed and propelling to his feet.
"Hold on, buddy! You shouldn't be up, you're still recovering!" Sirius jumped up and placed a hand on James' shoulder, attempting to push him back down.
"I'm not staying cooped up in this miserable house," James returned, shoving Sirius' hand from his shoulder and thrusting open the doors to his wardrobe. "I need something—rather, someone—to distract me from this hell I'm living in."
"You still haven't given me details about your encounter with Bella," Sirius protested. "And what am I? Chopped liver? I wait three weeks for your consciousness and you ditch me the moment you wake up?"
"You know I appreciate you being there for me," James said seriously, pulling a clean shirt over his head. "You're there when no one else is. I know I can depend on you. I just need to go and see Lily."
"Lily? What's that wench got on me? Aside from a lovely pair of—"
"Unless you want your clock cleaned, I'd stop right there," James threatened, grinning at Sirius' abashed expression. "When I'm with her I think of nothing else. My worries just seem to…I don't know, dissipate. Besides, she'll think I've abandoned her if I wait much longer to see her."
"This is the bloody thanks I get for nursing you back to health," Sirius muttered comically, preparing to apparate. "Go to your lady love—see if I care."
"Pop back around dinner, I'll be ready to give you details then," James promised, offering Sirius an apologetic smile. "I just need some distraction from this mess for awhile. I'm also worried about her."
"Honestly, you wake up from a coma, having almost died, and you're worried about Lily? Why don't I book the chapel and tip the priest already?" Sirius rolled his eyes, unable to stay mad at James.
"If it'd make you feel useful," James grinned. "See you tonight."
"Maybe. I might have to distract myself with some of my own lady friends, so no promises," Sirius mocked, turning his back on James.
"Shut up, I know you'll be here."
"I hate you… see you tonight…"
After Sirius' haughty exit, James attempted to tame his mop of black hair—to no avail—and decided to walk to Lily's boarding school, eager to take in the fresh air. Once outside, James' ribs began to ache, the fresh skin on his chest protesting under the contortion; however, the pain quickly abated once nerves nestled in the pit of his stomach.
What am I so afraid of?
It wasn't nerves. It was intuition.
Lily sat quietly in Arithmetic, staring blankly at the blackboard as girls scrawled down formulas and equations to solve. Her rouge tresses shaped her face, limply draping down over her ears as opposed to being tied up. Roxanne sat beside her, vigorously finishing her homework, while Sister Agatha watched the class work from behind her desk, her eyes calculating. Lily avoided eye contact with her and kept silent, hoping not to accidentally goad the woman into further brutalizing her hands.
A ray of sun swirled in through one of the classroom windows, illuminating a patch of her fiery hair. It was a beautiful morning, but far from pathetic fallacy.
The letter Lily had received the previous night still remained transfixed in her mind. Acantha hadn't once smirked or coyly remarked since the letter, making Lily think perhaps she hadn't sent it after all. Part of her wished the letter were real—almost like another world she could escape to—but such things just weren't fathomable.
Wonderful things didn't happen to her.
James. Lily could barely muster his name without crying. She hadn't seen him in over three weeks. He was wonderful. Just the thought of someone caring for her...but she wasn't going to think about it. Lily knew eventually he was going to fade out of the picture—she was just an amusement to him. She secretly feared he'd eloped in France with some rich bombshell. What chance had she?
Wait…do I even want a chance? He's nobility…I wouldn't want a life like that anyway. He's not that great! Bugger…I think too much.
"Miss Evans, I recommend you quit daydreaming and finish your homework," Sister Agatha snapped from across the room, smug as half the class began laughing at Lily's startled face.
It was obvious humiliating Lily gave Sister Agatha great satisfaction.
"Don't," Roxanne whispered to Lily, watching her cheeks redden angrily.
"Really? Well, I recommend you stop eating cookies and stick to vegetables so you'll look less like a whale and more like a human," Lily retorted, her eyes alit with fury as the class gasped at her disrespect.
Like a fraught fish, Lily took the bait Sister Agatha had thrust into the pond.
Calmly, as if ascending from confessional, Sister Agatha crossed the room and stood ominously before Lily's desk, her probing dark eyes trying to decipher the school girl's challenging expression.
"Follow me," Sister Agatha breathed, her disciplinary demeanor unyielding in front of the other students.
Roxanne dug her fingernails into the soft wood of her desk as she watched Lily rise from her seat and follow the brutish headmistress into the hall. Panic threatening to escape from her throat, Roxanne buried her face into her hands, praying Lily would not get a worse thrashing than her last.
Out in the hall, Sister Agatha halted in front of the ajar basement door, her cool composure vanished, replaced with broiling rage. Roughly grabbed hold of the redhead's arm, Sister Agatha shoved her toward the door, inclining her to go into the basement.
"I have been most tolerant of your bratty ways, Miss Evans, but it ends here. I'm going to teach you to respect your elders, do you hear?" the nun hissed menacingly, not wanting her colleagues to become alarmed by her shouting and come out into the hall.
"How can I ever respect you when all you've ever been towards me is cruel?" Lily replied, her expression suddenly growing serious. "Since my first day at this academy, you have treated me like dirt. "Woman of God" my ass! It is your actions that have driven me to despise you."
Sister Agatha was momentarily flabbergasted. She had never been scolded by a seventeen-year-old. She was a nun, a servant of God; her actions were pure and chaste. How dare this child mock her vocation?
The only way Lily was going to learn her lesson and embrace God was through punishment.
"I am God's faithful servant. You will obey me."
"You are nothing but a monster," Lily spat, years of insult, violence and humiliation spilling out of her and hitting Agatha square in the forehead.
Without warning, Sister Agatha raised her hand and slapped Lily across the face with unsuppressed force. Lily, taken by surprise, lost her footing and fell backwards. Sister Agatha yelped as Lily limply tumbled down the stairs into the basement, crashing into a wooden shelf stoked with glass bottles.
James Potter stood in the front hallway of the school, frozen in shock.
Author's Note
Thank you to all those who rewarded me with their reviews! : ) Please continue reading & reviewing!
Much love,
- pratty-prongs-princesse