Chapter 6- Lily's Mistake

Slytherin had accepted his change with sneered approval.

The teachers had accepted his change with wary looks over.

He could never have prepared himself for Lily Potter's reaction.

Everyone had noticed the difference in him after the stinging encounter with Saeviour; physically was undeniable, but his mood was fluctuating, dangerously so. The slightest thing could make him snap; he was on edge at all times, his eyes often in a permanent state of Avada Kedavra; he was frustrated with his lack of progress on Quirrel's stutter; he was calmed in the way he only had to wait for Halloween, before he could remove the trace; and he was amused by one Draco Malfoy, who had situated himself as his 'friend'. Everyone except the blonde was steering clear of him; none willing to come face to the face with the darkness that was undoubtedly within. Even Dumbledore avoided his eyes.

He'd been sitting in the library at the time, books spread out around him as he lazily pulled together an essay for Herbology. Every so often he would glance at the texts around him, and then at the roll of parchment he was writing on, before returning to touch-writing and staring out of the large arched windows unseeingly. Every so often, Hermione Granger, who sat in the Transfiguration section, would send him jealous glares in the ridiculous hope that by doing so he would somehow spontaneously combust. He barely noticed the mudblood however, as he skimmed the surface of his mindscape.

The library was full of muffled coughs, hurried whispers, scratching quills, dispirited sighs and the occasional turn of a page. But it was quiet, almost silent, and so Madam Pince did not complain. She merely watched everyone with her beady eyes, as she set about keeping the library in above perfect condition.

The autumn sun was sending golden rays through the crystal, setting the house of books into a hazy glow that only added to the sense of lethargy everyone, except N.E.W.T and O.W.L students, were feeling. It was warm and comforting that, added with the gentle smell of aged parchment, set about an aura of peace and tranquillity.

It was promptly ruined with Lily Potter's reaction.

The fiery red head burst in, her breaths rapid and her grassy eyes blood-shot as though she had been trying not to cry for a very long time. Her wild hair was in a muss around her head, clashing with the obviously male sky-blue robe that had been tossed on hazardously. She frantically searched around, ignoring the disapproving glare sent her way by Madam Pince, and the looks of surprise from everyone but Harry, whose own eyes had glossed over cold emerald and narrowed in distasteful hate. She flinched when she found them, though hurried over all the same; sitting in the un-offered chair across from him.

He raised an eyebrow and said icily, "Yes, Lady Potter?"

The pain in her face delighted him in some part, as his petulant revenge was brought to forefront. Yes, she should suffer, just as he had suffered, and he would stand by and watch, just as she had done. "Harry…" Her voice caught. "I'm so sorry- I had no idea what James was going to do! You're my baby boy and…"

"Stop."

She blinked. "Sorry?"

He sneered at her. "I am no longer your 'baby boy', in fact I have not been for a very long time, Lady Potter. It is only as of late it has been made official." He leaned forward and hissed, "I do not care if Lord Potter never told you of his plans. He merely pushed forth the documents; you and he had disowned me long ago." He leaned back into his chair, picking his quill back up. "I suggest you leave, for I have nothing I wish to say to you."

Tears burned her eyes, and she blinked frantically. "You can't mean that. I'm your mother."

"I have no mother."

She choked, and her bottom lip trembled, before she suddenly gave out a sob. "I'm sorry. Whatever I've done- I'm sorry. Just tell me what I've done, and I'll apologize."

He went very rigid, and it was slow as he turned to face her once more. "Tell you what you have done?"

The library suddenly became very cold. Suffocating, frightening magic crackled in the air as lightening- a few first years whimpered. Madam Pince was frozen to her spot; she had only felt magic like that once, and it had been a very long time ago then.

"You ignored me. You always ignored me. Everything I did right, was snatched away by Saeviour. Everything Saeviour did wrong, was landed on me. I lived in that squib's shadow." He laughed bitterly. "And then of course, when the Dark Lord came and went, the praise was on him. But you forgot me. Do you remember how long I laid in the rubble, knowing my parents wouldn't come and get me?" He ploughed on, ignoring the salty droplets making a river down the woman's pale skin. "And then it was as though I never existed. On birthdays. At Christmas. I didn't get a scrap off the table as you doted on that ignoble, ignorant, illiterate, incestuous, illegitimate progeny of parents who belong to the class of blood traitor." He was practically hissing now, almost slipping into Parseltongue. "And when I was arrested, what did you do? YOU WATCHED!"

Everyone jumped at the furious scream.

"YOU WATCHED AS I WAS DRAGGED AWAY FOR SOMETHING I DIDN'T DO! YOU LEFT ME TO ROT! A SIX-YEAR-OLD CHILD!"

He forced himself to calm, but it didn't stop the hate, the hurt, the bitterness, the rich, unadulterated, loathing to seep through into his last words. "I could have lived without love. I never needed that from you. But what hurts, what has always hurt was that you never fought for me. Not once."

He grabbed his bag, summoning the essay to sit in the safe haven of the leather walls, before storming with the graze of a winter wind, out of the library- his robes swarming out behind him.

And he was right. Lily could see all of that; she could cast her mind back to those years and pull up every memory she had of Harry, and not once had she told him she loved him. And not once had she fought for him. She had never told James off for favoring Saeviour. She had never even remembered to ensure that Harry was with them on birthdays or at Christmas. She had ignored Sirius's begs to spend more time with the youngest twin; she had laughed him off, telling him that she spent plenty of time with Harry. She had lied. Not only to Sirius, but to herself.

She choked, disgusted with herself. Her skin crawled as she tried to flee herself; revulsion scuttling through her veins.

So it was clear to her, that everything that had happened- everything that had shaped her son to be the way he was, was her fault. It was James's too- he would always take part of the blame. But she one of two; and both had failed as parents. As human beings. They had failed a child in such a way that they could never be forgiven.

It was with such self-hate, such self-abhorrence that she fled Hogwarts- not once looking back.

She never made it back to Potter Manor.

She had never intended to go there.

No.

It was in her desperation; it was in her realization that she found herself in the Hogs Head.

And it was in the Hogs Head, her last breath was snatched away.

The morticians said it was alcohol poisoning.

The library's witnesses said it was suicide.

Harry said good riddance.