Disclaimer: I do not own this setting or these characters. J.K.Rowling does, bows down
A/N: Thankyou to Rowan Arkenson – my only reviewer and my lover and my inspiration. Also thankyou to LadyWhisp, on livejournal, my major inspiration for this story. Xx
Chapter Two.
Eating seemed trivial, pointless, nowadays. Lily looked thin, pale and fragile, she looked awful and she knew it. She didn't care enough to do anything.
"John?" she whispered. Bleary eyed. Thinking had all been a dream. Hoping it had.
"No, it's James. Lily, are you ok?" James was holding her.
"What?" she looked as though she had been out of it for a long time.
"Lily, you fainted,"
It was almost the end of the day, and they had been walking through the corridors when, suddenly, Lily had fainted.
Her eyes were glazed over, a white film preventing her from seeing the world around her as it really was.
"John," she whispered again, delirious with hunger and grief.
She had loved him, still does. Tears started to leak from the corners of her eyes, spilling and dripping down her cheeks.
"Lily, lily I'm taking you up to your dormitory," James told her: Helping her to sit up and leading her through the corridor. Struggling up the stairs to hold her fragile body. She wasn't there - Not really.
Lily's area of the dormitory was a mess. Clothes strewn everywhere, bed unmade. Photos and memoirs of John littered the floor and any available surface. Her face was ashen and hair unkempt as she collapsed onto her bed.
She pulled James onto the bed with her and grasped hold of him. Muttering under her breath.
"I'll never leave you, I'll never let you go," she moaned in James' ear.
"Lily, Lily," James said gruffly. Pushing her away.
But she clung to him, as though her life depended on him. She was so sure, so sure it was John there.
Lily," James said, "you have to accept it, John's dead,"
Lily was unable to listen. She just kept moaning. Her words were on the edge of hearing, but there was something dark about them. Something black. Almost as though this wasn't Lily, not at all.
She started to moan again. Her eyes blank, pupils so huge you could barely see the white. She was dribbling, salivating all over her quilt. And scratching, scraping at her arms making the bare skin turning red and raw. It was as though she was still asleep.
Her unseeing eyes stared at the room not seeing anything. They seemed to glare right through James, the sight of someone he knew so well was unnerving, and a shiver crept down his spine.
"Lily, Lily," he whispered, almost scared to make a noise in case she heard him and did something, just something.
Her arms reached out to the bedside table. He assumed she was getting a tissue to wipe her eyes.
"Look," James said, "I'm just going to go and tell Dumbledore why were aren't in his lesson, ok? I will be back as soon as I can." And with a careful, concerned look at Lily he rushed out the room.
But Lily hadn't noticed anything. She was in a trancelike mode. Eyes wide and empty, not seeing, not hearing, not noticing. She focused on the pain. Nails tearing away at her pale flesh: over and over again on the same place. Hoping for blood, wishing for her blood.
She stood and moved across the room. Almost gliding - Like a spirit, like something unreal.
It was dark in the room. November nights fell early and the inky blackness penetrated everything. It was still before dinner, but the darkness reigned. The only source of light was a single candle, standing on her dresser. Glowing brightly, a light in amongst the impenetrable dark.
She was sick of it, of everything. She hated him for leaving her. Hated him for the pain she felt. She hated Voldemort with a passion, with every ounce of hating in her tenuous body.
Picking up the candle she marvelled at its beauty, like a single figure standing out from the crowd. She sat down on the bed and stared at it, it was almost as though she had never seen a candle before – something new and known. Experimenting with it she held it close to her face and felt the warmth penetrate her stone cold body, and icy mind. She tipped it on its side. The hot molten wax dripped onto her leg, but she didn't feel it. The flame flickered, but it didn't seem to move if you held the candle sideways. The flame enchanted her. She was awestruck by fire. The warmth had spread down the candle-holder to her hands. She held it with her right hand and tipped it touching her left arm with the flame. She held it there. Watching the bright yellow light blacken her fair hairs. The flame spread, feeding on her skin, charring her flesh. But still she felt nothing. The blackened look of her once pale skin was scaring her, the way her skin was almost bubbling below the surface. She dropped the candle. Jumping up as if she was afraid of it. Stepping back she gazed at the increasing flames engulfing her bed and eating away at her bedding, greedy for more.
She stepped forward slightly, almost in the midst of the fire and waited for the flames to embrace her. Waited for the tickling sensation around her body to begin. Waiting to be encased by fire. She laughed. The first truly audible noise she had made in days.
The room was filling with smoke quickly: Thick and black. The stench of scorched flesh and the burnt remainders of her room filled the air.
Pounding footsteps entered her dormitory. But she neither heard, nor noticed them. She didn't acknowledge anything. Didn't take note of a dark shadow slipping into her room.
She stared as the flames crept along the carpet to her feet. Those seconds felt like eternity.
James was in the room. Peering through the smoke - Attempting to make some sense of the situation in hand. The copious blackness was making it almost impossible for him to breathe.
"Lily," he screamed, staring in disbelieve at the figure consumed by smoke. She was a silhouette against the sparking dancing colours of the tempestuous fire. All alone, in a rut of no hope.
He dashed forward. Horror and fear was pulsating in his chest.
"Lily," he cried again.
But still she didn't hear. Didn't move. James rushed in: Fear and anxiety pulsating in his chest. He grabbed her. But he feet seemed stuck to the ground. Stuck fast. She wouldn't move.