Disclaimer: Anything you recognize in this story is not mine.
a/n: Freaky beginning, I know, but I swear it's the only freaky part in the whole story (as far as I know... :-... you never know what way you'll turn when writing, but for a very long time it will be the only strange part, and you'll understand it by the end of the story anyways).
I had kind of played around with this story line a little bit before, but I went through and reworked it and made it longer, etc.
Her apprehension built as she gazed at the pale light seeping from the crack under the door, simultaneously rough and gentle against the carpet. She paused, staring at the door, then the handle. Slowly she reached out and pulled the knob. The eerie light which had haunted her curiosity rushed forward into the darkness, causing the previously dark to transform into endless voids of black, and the light to turn so bright her eyes burned. Nothing was in shadow; every surface burned in a hospital white light. Her eyes scanned over the familiar scene: toilet, sink, mirror, and finally bathtub, where her gaze rested. The water rippled slightly without provocation, as if possessed by some surreal force, pulsating as if the innate mass were alive.
It rippled again, the lucid shadows and highlights expanding with the congruent circles. She paused, scared and curious of the body of water. Scared of her curiosity, curious of her fear. She kneeled next to the tub, careful to not lean far enough to see her reflection. The water rippled once more, inviting her to come closer.
Slowly she leaned over the edge and gazed into the now placid water. Her brown hair fell forward in a curtain of curls around her pallid face, her green eyes wide and fearful. Then her reflection smiled kindly at her, though it was more visible in her eyes than her lips. She smiled back, the aura of the room suddenly seeming less intimidating. Her reflection reached a hand forward, the head moving simultaneously backward to accommodate the change of depth, although the surreal action seemed normal in the alternate time. Her hand reached toward the one in the water. They connected, palms perfectly flat against each other, and then their fingers intertwined. After a moment, they released and simply rested one palm against the other. The hands seemed to melt together in the warm water until she could not tell where her hand ended and the one in the water began.
The water grew hot quickly, quickly, becoming more and more uncomfortable. It suddenly turned unbearable, scorching her skin, she screamed as everything plunged into darkness; the black overwhelming her, engulfing her, choking her in the void of nonexistence. The time had not come.
Marianne woke up gasping; half believing she was immersed in water. Her breathing came in harsh gulps, scorching her lungs. Gradually it slowed to the normal stream of air filling and leaving her chest, albeit slightly harsh. She turned in her bed toward the open French doors which allowed the coastal, South Carolina night into her room. The sound of the ocean colliding with the storm wall was strangely comforting, like a lullaby. Sometimes the waves would crash loudly against the barrier with a wet smack; other times the stroke was so small it was barely audible.
The salty air penetrated deep into her lungs, the humidity filling her internally and covering her externally. Subconsciously her breathing fell in sync with the ocean waves. Her fan blended with the breeze, blowing over her body and cooling her sweat. The curtains fluttered around, instructing the moonlight and shadow in a wild tango. All of this offered a panacea for her trouble mind, and she readily accepted the medicine.
Marianne, knowing she would not be able to go back to sleep, reluctantly pulled back the covers. The moonlight shimmered on the waves of the ocean as if God had spilled glitter across the Atlantic. The usual shrimp and casino boats were dotted across the velvety expanse.
She glanced at the bathroom she had just been in. The door was agape, and within the darkness an orange nightlight glowed. Still hot, she pulled her baggy shirt off so that she was only wearing a pair of cheerleading shorts and a sports bra. She walked to the bathroom and stood in the doorway. She reached up to turn on the light, but did not. Instead, she removed her hand, half scared the bath would have water in it once more. Stupid, she thought, and reached up and quickly turned on the light. Stupid, yes, but she stole a glance at the bathtub anyway. She knew she was working herself up over nothing, but she could not help her childish reaction.
She turned on the sink. The rushing water turned white in its hasty escape from the faucet. Caught in a childish trance, her hand slipped out to touch the opaque column, half-expecting resistance, and experiencing a vague shock when there was none. Unanswered questions buzzed in her mind, and in her confusion she chose to ignore them. She had had similar dreams before: the reflection, the touch, the blackness, all familiar. Her fingers curled around the velvety roughness, allowing it to slip through the tunnel she made with her thumb and fingers, but then quickly squeezed her hand closed, disrupting the flow. She wondered what Anna Lee would say if she knew; she did not care very much about analyzing dreams and such, and she did not really want to sound like a frightened three-year-old. Nah, there was not reason to ask. Shaking her head, she quickly cupped her hands under the stream, and when enough water had pooled in her palms, she splashed it over her face, washing her sleep away. She retreated back to her bed, and decided to wait there for dawn.
On the other side of the Atlantic, the sun was just beginning to rise. Lily Evans and Michelle Benedict were both silent and pensive as they rested against the rocks overlooking the ocean. The velvety blue of the water glimmered as the sun prepared to peep over the edge of the earth. Navy gave way to violet, which in turn changed to a deep scarlet, each color flowing into the next and blending perfectly. The tip of the sun peeped over the horizon and the scarlet gave way to pink, all of the colors spreading gracefully as the sun progressed. The water reflected the sunrise: it was a blinding peach closet to the sun, and fading out to deep purple along the farthest corners of the horizon. The waves crashed against the rocks, sending droplets flying into the air. Then they would fall back to the rocks, some water slipping back to the ocean over time-worn abrasions and crevices, other drops becoming caught in pools of pink and purple. The wind blew, whipping their hair and baggy t-shirts. Sea-spray blew over their bare feet and the hems of their rolled up jeans, but they seemed oblivious.
"Kind of sad, isn't it? Our time at Hogwarts almost being over, I mean," Michelle said pensively.
"Christ Michelle, you're so sentimental sometimes," Lily said with a laugh. "We still have two more years in that place. Lighten up, would you?"
Michelle, however, did not laugh. She squinted at a spot just above the sun, the orb itself being too bright to look at. It was now completely above the horizon, the sky around it a pale, powder blue rimmed with pale peach and pink, the sea just below the customary aqua. "It's just..." Michelle paused, her mouth slightly open, waiting for the words to form. She was not sure how to describe the way she felt. The loss, almost guilt, of growing up, of not being innocent anymore. The way she wanted to travel back in time so that she could relive being young and carefree, to a time when 'war' was just another word. She could not decide how to phrase this without sounding pathetic, so instead she leaned back once more against the rocks and looked out to sea, shaking her head.
Lily became distracted once again by her thoughts. She was thinking about a boy – a boy she loathed. A gorgeous boy with bizarrely messy hair and hazel eyes by the name of James Potter. She had met him on the Hogwarts Express on their first train ride. She had been the new muggleborn, naïve to the ways of the wizarding world. He was the well-known pureblood (not that he cared), raised in such a way that he knew no world other than the wizarding one. Both were interested in the exact same things: Quidditch (once Lily became acquainted with it), Defense Against the Dark Arts, and anything from a foreign culture, all of which James seemed to know everything about – or at least he thought he did. This annoyed Lily to no end, and the feeling was mutual. Whenever one proposed an idea, the other, inevitably, propagated a contradictory idea.
Last year, fifth year, both applied to be president of the Dueling Club. Both excelled in Defense Against the Dark Arts, after all, and were at the top of their class. James had proposed they try a co-presidency, but she turned down the compromise – kicking off a tense, dreadful competition. During a particularly nasty meeting, they dueled; both ended up in the hospital wing. Severus Snape, already disliked by James Potter for his obsession with the Dark Arts, among other things, ended up becoming president, much to Potter's chagrin. Needless to say, Potter made sure everyone knew was better at dueling between him and Snape. In fact, James often flaunted his incredible intellect and skill at magic, and his extraordinary Quidditch abilities enlarged his image, as well as his head, even more.
Michelle had once suggested to Lily that James actually liked her, but was only frustrated and confused and probably showed off when she was around only because it was his "animal instinct" to do so. Lily was incredulous of that idea; Potter definitely did not, could not, like her. Michelle had an extremely strange but simple logic about humans and their animalistic traits, though she was also very observant of people and could often see through any façade they may try to use. However, Lily was not sure if what Michelle had said was sporadic rambling of sporadic thoughts, or something she had observed many times. One could never tell with her.
Either way, the conceited boy was a perfect match for his best friend, Sirius Black. Black disagreed with his family's black-and-white pureblood ethics: pureblood good, muggleblood bad. Regarded as the black sheep of the family, he was often mentally abused or neglected. As a result, he often preyed on the other students to feel power and pulled attention to himself through any means possible. These faults corrupted his naturally buoyant personality. The result was a cynical ass who loved to joke around and play plenty of pranks.
Remus Lupin, the third member of their gang, evened out Potter and Black by being every bit as level-headed and analytical as they were conceited and rash. A prefect, he worked hard to earn prestige from his teachers and was loved by all that knew him, Lily and Michelle included, for his sweet, playful demeanor.
Peter Pettigrew completed their gang; he did not excel as high as the other three in intellect or magical ability. He was their mascot, cheering them on in every venture, a sort of portable audience. He was their guinea pig for pranks, and even though he took a great deal of slander from Potter and Black, the other three protected him and incorporated him into their group like a younger brother. The intricacies of their little social square really were quite interesting, Lily mused. They were all so different, and for different reasons, but seemed to fit together perfectly; like it was destiny's choice that they would meet and become friends.
"What're you thinking about?" Michelle asked her softly.
Lily frowned at her friend, sitting up Indian style and resting her forearms over her knees. "Nothing," she answered dismissively, then looked back out at the ocean.
"Potter," Michelle said matter-of-factly. The corners of her mouth twitched; she knew Lily would retort.
"I am not!" Lily said defensively. Of course she was, but she was too stubborn to admit to Michelle she was thinking about that insufferable prat so early in the morning.
Michelle laughed in an incredulous manner and cocked an eyebrow at her friend. "Yes you are! You have that look you get when you're thinking about him, like a... an affectionate scowl, I guess – don't you even try and deny it!" She laughed at her friend's defensive expression: eyebrows drawn and forehead wrinkled, her mouth open, ready to retort.
Lily gave Michelle a quizzical look, rolled her eyes, and shook her head, then looked back toward the horizon. She scratched her leg and pulled down the cuff of her pants; the sea-water made her skin itch and feel sticky.
"Whatever."
They both knew each was too stubborn to concede to the other, and neither felt like arguing about something so petty on the last sunrise of the last day of summer.
The tense moment passed, but Michelle was not done with her teasing. With a twisted smile at the back of Lily's dark red head, she posed her question with an innocent voice: "Looking forward to seeing him tomorrow?"
Lily turned her head and narrowed her emerald eyes at her friend, who was smiling shrewdly. Michelle's hair looked quite beautiful, the wind tousling her honey curls, giving her a very natural look to compliment her lack of make-up. Suddenly Lily's eyebrows shot up, her expression one of remembrance.
"Did I tell you he sent me a letter at the beginning of the summer trying to APOLOGIZE for what he did to Snape?" she asked with a laugh. "I'll have to show it to you once we get back. You'd almost think he believes everything is fine between us now. Ha! It's not me the little bastard needs to apologize to, anyways."
Michelle smiled. "Still, a letter? Of apology? You should frame and file it, Lily, it's the first sign Potter's shown of actual maturity," she said sarcastically.
Lily's smile twisted slightly as she flicked a few small rocks into the ocean. "I bet Lupin made him do it."
"Probably."
Lily glanced at her watch. "Damn, it's almost seven. We've been sitting here for almost two hours now. We should probably go back before the bitches wake up," she said, referring to her sister, Petunia, and her sister's friend, Elizabeth. The Evans had allowed the four girls to spend a week by themselves at their vacation cabin so long as they "stuck together like peanut butter and jelly." Needless to say, they avoided each other at all costs, giving Michelle and Lily freedom and a time to be alone, except for the mornings and some nights when they encountered the other two.
So, they stood up and brushed the sand and small rocks off of their clothes. Then, with one last glance at the ocean, they stumbled up the rocks using arms and legs until they reached a narrow path. They journeyed back to the cottage, each entranced by her own thoughts once again.
THE IDEA FOR AND SOME WORDS/SCENTENCES IN ANYTHING IN ITALICS IS FROM EITHER THE APRIL OR MAY 2004 ISSUE OF SEVENTEEN MAGAZINE, BUT IT SEEMED TO FIT.
REVIEW!!! (I'll love you forever!! muah)
a/n: Freaky beginning, I know, but I swear it's the only freaky part in the whole story (as far as I know... :-... you never know what way you'll turn when writing, but for a very long time it will be the only strange part, and you'll understand it by the end of the story anyways).
I had kind of played around with this story line a little bit before, but I went through and reworked it and made it longer, etc.
Her apprehension built as she gazed at the pale light seeping from the crack under the door, simultaneously rough and gentle against the carpet. She paused, staring at the door, then the handle. Slowly she reached out and pulled the knob. The eerie light which had haunted her curiosity rushed forward into the darkness, causing the previously dark to transform into endless voids of black, and the light to turn so bright her eyes burned. Nothing was in shadow; every surface burned in a hospital white light. Her eyes scanned over the familiar scene: toilet, sink, mirror, and finally bathtub, where her gaze rested. The water rippled slightly without provocation, as if possessed by some surreal force, pulsating as if the innate mass were alive.
It rippled again, the lucid shadows and highlights expanding with the congruent circles. She paused, scared and curious of the body of water. Scared of her curiosity, curious of her fear. She kneeled next to the tub, careful to not lean far enough to see her reflection. The water rippled once more, inviting her to come closer.
Slowly she leaned over the edge and gazed into the now placid water. Her brown hair fell forward in a curtain of curls around her pallid face, her green eyes wide and fearful. Then her reflection smiled kindly at her, though it was more visible in her eyes than her lips. She smiled back, the aura of the room suddenly seeming less intimidating. Her reflection reached a hand forward, the head moving simultaneously backward to accommodate the change of depth, although the surreal action seemed normal in the alternate time. Her hand reached toward the one in the water. They connected, palms perfectly flat against each other, and then their fingers intertwined. After a moment, they released and simply rested one palm against the other. The hands seemed to melt together in the warm water until she could not tell where her hand ended and the one in the water began.
The water grew hot quickly, quickly, becoming more and more uncomfortable. It suddenly turned unbearable, scorching her skin, she screamed as everything plunged into darkness; the black overwhelming her, engulfing her, choking her in the void of nonexistence. The time had not come.
Marianne woke up gasping; half believing she was immersed in water. Her breathing came in harsh gulps, scorching her lungs. Gradually it slowed to the normal stream of air filling and leaving her chest, albeit slightly harsh. She turned in her bed toward the open French doors which allowed the coastal, South Carolina night into her room. The sound of the ocean colliding with the storm wall was strangely comforting, like a lullaby. Sometimes the waves would crash loudly against the barrier with a wet smack; other times the stroke was so small it was barely audible.
The salty air penetrated deep into her lungs, the humidity filling her internally and covering her externally. Subconsciously her breathing fell in sync with the ocean waves. Her fan blended with the breeze, blowing over her body and cooling her sweat. The curtains fluttered around, instructing the moonlight and shadow in a wild tango. All of this offered a panacea for her trouble mind, and she readily accepted the medicine.
Marianne, knowing she would not be able to go back to sleep, reluctantly pulled back the covers. The moonlight shimmered on the waves of the ocean as if God had spilled glitter across the Atlantic. The usual shrimp and casino boats were dotted across the velvety expanse.
She glanced at the bathroom she had just been in. The door was agape, and within the darkness an orange nightlight glowed. Still hot, she pulled her baggy shirt off so that she was only wearing a pair of cheerleading shorts and a sports bra. She walked to the bathroom and stood in the doorway. She reached up to turn on the light, but did not. Instead, she removed her hand, half scared the bath would have water in it once more. Stupid, she thought, and reached up and quickly turned on the light. Stupid, yes, but she stole a glance at the bathtub anyway. She knew she was working herself up over nothing, but she could not help her childish reaction.
She turned on the sink. The rushing water turned white in its hasty escape from the faucet. Caught in a childish trance, her hand slipped out to touch the opaque column, half-expecting resistance, and experiencing a vague shock when there was none. Unanswered questions buzzed in her mind, and in her confusion she chose to ignore them. She had had similar dreams before: the reflection, the touch, the blackness, all familiar. Her fingers curled around the velvety roughness, allowing it to slip through the tunnel she made with her thumb and fingers, but then quickly squeezed her hand closed, disrupting the flow. She wondered what Anna Lee would say if she knew; she did not care very much about analyzing dreams and such, and she did not really want to sound like a frightened three-year-old. Nah, there was not reason to ask. Shaking her head, she quickly cupped her hands under the stream, and when enough water had pooled in her palms, she splashed it over her face, washing her sleep away. She retreated back to her bed, and decided to wait there for dawn.
On the other side of the Atlantic, the sun was just beginning to rise. Lily Evans and Michelle Benedict were both silent and pensive as they rested against the rocks overlooking the ocean. The velvety blue of the water glimmered as the sun prepared to peep over the edge of the earth. Navy gave way to violet, which in turn changed to a deep scarlet, each color flowing into the next and blending perfectly. The tip of the sun peeped over the horizon and the scarlet gave way to pink, all of the colors spreading gracefully as the sun progressed. The water reflected the sunrise: it was a blinding peach closet to the sun, and fading out to deep purple along the farthest corners of the horizon. The waves crashed against the rocks, sending droplets flying into the air. Then they would fall back to the rocks, some water slipping back to the ocean over time-worn abrasions and crevices, other drops becoming caught in pools of pink and purple. The wind blew, whipping their hair and baggy t-shirts. Sea-spray blew over their bare feet and the hems of their rolled up jeans, but they seemed oblivious.
"Kind of sad, isn't it? Our time at Hogwarts almost being over, I mean," Michelle said pensively.
"Christ Michelle, you're so sentimental sometimes," Lily said with a laugh. "We still have two more years in that place. Lighten up, would you?"
Michelle, however, did not laugh. She squinted at a spot just above the sun, the orb itself being too bright to look at. It was now completely above the horizon, the sky around it a pale, powder blue rimmed with pale peach and pink, the sea just below the customary aqua. "It's just..." Michelle paused, her mouth slightly open, waiting for the words to form. She was not sure how to describe the way she felt. The loss, almost guilt, of growing up, of not being innocent anymore. The way she wanted to travel back in time so that she could relive being young and carefree, to a time when 'war' was just another word. She could not decide how to phrase this without sounding pathetic, so instead she leaned back once more against the rocks and looked out to sea, shaking her head.
Lily became distracted once again by her thoughts. She was thinking about a boy – a boy she loathed. A gorgeous boy with bizarrely messy hair and hazel eyes by the name of James Potter. She had met him on the Hogwarts Express on their first train ride. She had been the new muggleborn, naïve to the ways of the wizarding world. He was the well-known pureblood (not that he cared), raised in such a way that he knew no world other than the wizarding one. Both were interested in the exact same things: Quidditch (once Lily became acquainted with it), Defense Against the Dark Arts, and anything from a foreign culture, all of which James seemed to know everything about – or at least he thought he did. This annoyed Lily to no end, and the feeling was mutual. Whenever one proposed an idea, the other, inevitably, propagated a contradictory idea.
Last year, fifth year, both applied to be president of the Dueling Club. Both excelled in Defense Against the Dark Arts, after all, and were at the top of their class. James had proposed they try a co-presidency, but she turned down the compromise – kicking off a tense, dreadful competition. During a particularly nasty meeting, they dueled; both ended up in the hospital wing. Severus Snape, already disliked by James Potter for his obsession with the Dark Arts, among other things, ended up becoming president, much to Potter's chagrin. Needless to say, Potter made sure everyone knew was better at dueling between him and Snape. In fact, James often flaunted his incredible intellect and skill at magic, and his extraordinary Quidditch abilities enlarged his image, as well as his head, even more.
Michelle had once suggested to Lily that James actually liked her, but was only frustrated and confused and probably showed off when she was around only because it was his "animal instinct" to do so. Lily was incredulous of that idea; Potter definitely did not, could not, like her. Michelle had an extremely strange but simple logic about humans and their animalistic traits, though she was also very observant of people and could often see through any façade they may try to use. However, Lily was not sure if what Michelle had said was sporadic rambling of sporadic thoughts, or something she had observed many times. One could never tell with her.
Either way, the conceited boy was a perfect match for his best friend, Sirius Black. Black disagreed with his family's black-and-white pureblood ethics: pureblood good, muggleblood bad. Regarded as the black sheep of the family, he was often mentally abused or neglected. As a result, he often preyed on the other students to feel power and pulled attention to himself through any means possible. These faults corrupted his naturally buoyant personality. The result was a cynical ass who loved to joke around and play plenty of pranks.
Remus Lupin, the third member of their gang, evened out Potter and Black by being every bit as level-headed and analytical as they were conceited and rash. A prefect, he worked hard to earn prestige from his teachers and was loved by all that knew him, Lily and Michelle included, for his sweet, playful demeanor.
Peter Pettigrew completed their gang; he did not excel as high as the other three in intellect or magical ability. He was their mascot, cheering them on in every venture, a sort of portable audience. He was their guinea pig for pranks, and even though he took a great deal of slander from Potter and Black, the other three protected him and incorporated him into their group like a younger brother. The intricacies of their little social square really were quite interesting, Lily mused. They were all so different, and for different reasons, but seemed to fit together perfectly; like it was destiny's choice that they would meet and become friends.
"What're you thinking about?" Michelle asked her softly.
Lily frowned at her friend, sitting up Indian style and resting her forearms over her knees. "Nothing," she answered dismissively, then looked back out at the ocean.
"Potter," Michelle said matter-of-factly. The corners of her mouth twitched; she knew Lily would retort.
"I am not!" Lily said defensively. Of course she was, but she was too stubborn to admit to Michelle she was thinking about that insufferable prat so early in the morning.
Michelle laughed in an incredulous manner and cocked an eyebrow at her friend. "Yes you are! You have that look you get when you're thinking about him, like a... an affectionate scowl, I guess – don't you even try and deny it!" She laughed at her friend's defensive expression: eyebrows drawn and forehead wrinkled, her mouth open, ready to retort.
Lily gave Michelle a quizzical look, rolled her eyes, and shook her head, then looked back toward the horizon. She scratched her leg and pulled down the cuff of her pants; the sea-water made her skin itch and feel sticky.
"Whatever."
They both knew each was too stubborn to concede to the other, and neither felt like arguing about something so petty on the last sunrise of the last day of summer.
The tense moment passed, but Michelle was not done with her teasing. With a twisted smile at the back of Lily's dark red head, she posed her question with an innocent voice: "Looking forward to seeing him tomorrow?"
Lily turned her head and narrowed her emerald eyes at her friend, who was smiling shrewdly. Michelle's hair looked quite beautiful, the wind tousling her honey curls, giving her a very natural look to compliment her lack of make-up. Suddenly Lily's eyebrows shot up, her expression one of remembrance.
"Did I tell you he sent me a letter at the beginning of the summer trying to APOLOGIZE for what he did to Snape?" she asked with a laugh. "I'll have to show it to you once we get back. You'd almost think he believes everything is fine between us now. Ha! It's not me the little bastard needs to apologize to, anyways."
Michelle smiled. "Still, a letter? Of apology? You should frame and file it, Lily, it's the first sign Potter's shown of actual maturity," she said sarcastically.
Lily's smile twisted slightly as she flicked a few small rocks into the ocean. "I bet Lupin made him do it."
"Probably."
Lily glanced at her watch. "Damn, it's almost seven. We've been sitting here for almost two hours now. We should probably go back before the bitches wake up," she said, referring to her sister, Petunia, and her sister's friend, Elizabeth. The Evans had allowed the four girls to spend a week by themselves at their vacation cabin so long as they "stuck together like peanut butter and jelly." Needless to say, they avoided each other at all costs, giving Michelle and Lily freedom and a time to be alone, except for the mornings and some nights when they encountered the other two.
So, they stood up and brushed the sand and small rocks off of their clothes. Then, with one last glance at the ocean, they stumbled up the rocks using arms and legs until they reached a narrow path. They journeyed back to the cottage, each entranced by her own thoughts once again.
THE IDEA FOR AND SOME WORDS/SCENTENCES IN ANYTHING IN ITALICS IS FROM EITHER THE APRIL OR MAY 2004 ISSUE OF SEVENTEEN MAGAZINE, BUT IT SEEMED TO FIT.
REVIEW!!! (I'll love you forever!! muah)