Chapter 7: Entrusted Watch
How can I sleep inside my own skin
When it feels like I live in eternal sin
Slicing my fingers, slashing my thighs
Crossing my fingers; hoping to die
The ever watchful eyes of my old headmaster, and dear friend, were adjusted on the school gates on the evening of June fifteenth. His eyes were an intent blue, as if he knew a secret he would not share. A rare half smile lit up his old face, allowing his eyes to sparkle mysteriously.
I wished to know why, but I liked his expectant posture and all-around good nature. It had been such a long time, and I didn't want to ruin a thing.
"Good evening, Miss Evans," Dumbledore said lightly. He turned towards me, a sweet smile on his face. "Lemon drop?" he offered.
"I'm not here to kill you." I told him weekly. I did not want small talk, I did not want a lemon drop, and I most certainly did not want to lie to Albus Dumbledore. It is said that he was the one man that Tom Riddle ever feared, but he was also my mentor, and that made him the only man I could ever tell the whole truth.
"Lily," he began, sighing to himself and taking a single lemon candy and placing it on his tongue. "I believe you know that the phoenix is reborn from his own ashes. At that time, he is not beautiful, nor is he majestic, but he is alive
Forever will each and every phoenix live, his feathers red with his long, bloody life. For this, he is presented with a golden plume." Behind his pointed gaze, a look of deep melancholy glazed the professor's soul, but he smiled unreasonably anyway. He looked so much older than I had ever realized.
"I don't understand, Sir." I told him.
"That, Miss Evans, is the point." He paused, mumbling to himself what I did not understand until weeks later. "For now."
Despite his sincerity, I could not help but think he was not being completely honest with me. People said that Dumbledore was crazy, and while I couldn't agree more, he was not senile. I pretended that he had not influenced me in the least, and let myself forget his words. I didn't need to bother him. The last week and a half of traveling into Hogwarts' Scottish hills took a great deal out of me. I had eaten little, and drank even less. I needed a drink, a nice red wine, perhaps, or maybe a firewhiskey. I wasn't healthy, and I looked terrible. My red waves of hair were a vicious mess of curls. I was scratched and cut up from head to two. I needed a bath. More than anything, I needed Dumbledore's kindness. I wasn't about to pester him with trivial questions and banal conversation.
"You may go, Miss Evans." His eyes twinkled merrily. "I believe there is a vacancy in the Head Girl's dorm. You may take up residence in your old room."
I nodded, quite relieved. "Thank you, Professor."
"Of course,"
And so the days passed. I stayed in my dorm, and the castle stayed away. I rarely ever saw anyone, particularly any of the professors. They had a school to manage, and a war that they had little help to fight. Besides, I had thousands of books to read, ones I had never seen before in my life, let alone my seven years at Hogwarts. I became so caught up in the world of fantasy, and history, and spells, and potions, and all the things that make life magical that I fell away from the world. I began to only correspond with the house elves over meals, rare as those became, that I think I may have lot touch with reality. I was just alone, and I didn't really mind.
I was free inside Hogwarts, though it did bring back so many memories. I should have expected it to all come flying back at me: the good and the bad. There were things I just could not avoid in those walls, things I'm not sure I should ever have experienced in the first place. But there was one day that change everything that ever happened to me in Hogwarts. After that, nothing was so simple anymore.
It was a normal morning when I woke. Although, I suppose now that my scarlet bed was slightly darker than I was used to. I raised my watch so that I could see the time. It was an old Muggle one I had conjured during my journey. The glass was cracked and the silver, tarnished, but it did the job well enough. In fact, it read four o'clock a.m. at the time.
And that would explain the light, I thought to myself.
I pulled on a black robe, a velvet one I had generously been given by the young Mademoiselle Promfery, the only other inhabit of the school whom I hadn't downright avoided. I had never known her very well. She was a graduate of Beauxbatons at fifteen when I was only a first year. She was a good woman, a good healer too. She was always very kind to me, claiming that Dumbledore spoke very highly of me. I doubted those words were very true, but I respected her kindness to me, a Death Eater and a whore who lacked any sort of respectable attributes. She knew my love of luxery, probably from all the way back in my Hogwarts days, and so she gave me her favorite robe. It was her only velvet one, and probably the nicest one I'd ever seen, and she had forced me to except it. Of course, I really didn't need any force to take it. It was so utterly beautiful, and I really had no intention of not accepting beauty.
The dark room seemed to grow even darker, and as it did so, I could feel myself being pulled into its depths. The more it closed in around me, the more unreal I felt. And then a great squawk reminded me just who I was.
A great crimson phoenix had settled itself on my vanity, nestled against my perfume, a mix of vanilla and ginger, so comfortably challenging my essence with his own. I did not recognize the bird, it could have been any young one for it had not gained a single golden feather. Like me. Like Fawkes, James' olden phoenix. It carried a single letter, my name scrawled effortlessly upon the edge of the slightly torn parchment. Lily. The bird's eyes were set on me, filled with a loving familiarity. So much like Fawkes, who I would never meet again. I missed him, but I settled for the present bird and stroked his elegant head lovingly before taking my letter.
The words upon the parchment were written in an orderly cursive, quite unlike the messy, buoyant hand that wrote my name so sweetly. The words were that of Albus Dumbledore, and I knew this much as I knew the back of my own hand. Of course, I could not remember Dumbledore ever have taking in a phoenix, and such birds were not easily forgotten. The phoenix was the only animal with a soul to match my own. They were beautifully melancholy and held a morose elegance, eternally bound to their sins and their sadness. Much like myself. And for that, I suppose I somewhat hated them, and myself.
'Dear Miss Evans,' Dumbledore wrote, ' Your presence is immediately required at the doors of the Great Hall. P.S. Dress Warmly.'
It said nothing else, though I searched haphazardly for more. I was left only with a dull ache of curiosity and the slight warmth of excitement. Because of this, I felt I had no choice but to acquiesce to the whims of my mentor, a comfused expression upon my pretty face. I could not even begin to consider the old man's mind in the matter. I had not spoken to him in days, and even if I had, I doubt I could guess what was about to take place. Dumbledore was not the sort of man to share his plots regularly, and even of he were, I doubt I would be the sort of person he would tell, Death Eater as I was. I had never killed, tortured, or used a single one of the Unforgivable Curses on a man, wizard or Muggle, innocent or guilty. I was marred with sins, but not of that type. It wasn't as if Dumbledore knew this, of course, and to him, I was a murderer all the same. I was useless under any circumstance, dire or not. What I didn't know, however, was that my escape from the darkness of my master was much more important than I had previously deemed.
I left the dorm, an old denim coat draped over my velvet robe. I suppose it was exactly fashionable, but it was comfortable all the same. It kept me warm as I trailed through the cold, stony corridors of the Hogwarts castle. Besides, I really saw no reason to be fashionable. Even in good fashion , I'd be hated all the same.
It was icy in the empty, old school, but it reminded my of the old comfort I could remember so well.
Candlelit lit the Entrance Hall. I could see it even from my place inside a passage way hidden by the large portrait of the Founding Four, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin, and as I moved closer, hidden in the shadows of the main staircase, a score of voice filled the castle's base.
As closer I grew, I could see figures standing in a perpetual circle, joined by their barren hands. Their maces were blurred my the shadows , but I could sense the magic around me all the same. The chanting rose to a high- pitched scream, and only then did I realize the voices did not speak English, but a language I did not at all recognize. It bore no resemblance to my childhood French, nor my rudimentary Latin, leading me to believe the language was much more ancient than any I was familiar with.
The chorus grew together, softly layered with a mourning one's anguish. It was then that I came to realize that I was experiencing a magical memorial ceremony, and as I came to see it, the voices grew silent, only to rise again in a whispered English, suppressing me with their heartfelt words.
"God bless the Bones family!" they cried, their voices becoming increasingly quieter. "God bless Regulas Black! God bless Chauncy Jones! God bless Andromeda Black!" A few voice faltered there, a voice or two crying, "Dria!' and a few ladies back sobs, and then continuing, "God bless Artemis Rose! God bless Lucius Malfoy!" With the final mane, of the boy who came to save me, and died doing so, the voices feel silent, stumbling slightly to their halt. A few loud sobs could be heard until single, very familiar voice called out loudly, "And god bless Lily Evans!"
I wanted to yell at them, all of them. I wanted to cry and say, "I'm not dead. I'm not dead, James. I'm right here, alive. I'm not dead." But no words could escape me. I was alone and cold. It wasn't so entirely different from my time in the faux glass house. I was free now, but still caged in my silent hell. I wasn't dead, but in oh, so many ways, I was. My heart beat, and my eyes saw the world, and breaths beat through my lungs, but at the same time, I was dead. How can I put into words the emotions that I felt? I was cold and rotting, but not buried and gone. How was my presence so painfully obvious to me and yet so oblivious to James, to every one?
"I'm sorry, Miss Evans."
I jumped in start.
The old wizard invaded my vision, and I coward away in fear. How could a man be so horrible as to make me watch such a horrible sight? It was inhumane. And yet he was sorry. Sorry. The word did nothing. It gave me no consolation in the least. I just wanted to finally be completely dead.
"You will be." he told me.
I didn't understand.
"You will die, Miss Evans, but not yet. You cannot die because you must live."
"Why?" I asked him, my despair all too evident on my face. Why live when everything I had ever wanted was gone. Why go on when I was so terribly unhappy? Why go on with out James, without Tom, only with abyss?
My attention was diverted to the only figure remaining in the Entrance Hall. A large bird sat on his shoulder, sulking with the man. James and his Fawkes. He looked incomplete.
The old man sighed, removing his glasses from his face. He looked uncomfortable, and reasonably so. Fatigue stained him with wrinkles, and age gave his auburn hair a silver tint. He sighed once again and then looked straight into my eyes. I did not cower at all. And then he said, "So that you can gain your golden plume."
A/N: ONE MORE CHAPTER UNTIL THE END!
How can I sleep inside my own skin
When it feels like I live in eternal sin
Slicing my fingers, slashing my thighs
Crossing my fingers; hoping to die
The ever watchful eyes of my old headmaster, and dear friend, were adjusted on the school gates on the evening of June fifteenth. His eyes were an intent blue, as if he knew a secret he would not share. A rare half smile lit up his old face, allowing his eyes to sparkle mysteriously.
I wished to know why, but I liked his expectant posture and all-around good nature. It had been such a long time, and I didn't want to ruin a thing.
"Good evening, Miss Evans," Dumbledore said lightly. He turned towards me, a sweet smile on his face. "Lemon drop?" he offered.
"I'm not here to kill you." I told him weekly. I did not want small talk, I did not want a lemon drop, and I most certainly did not want to lie to Albus Dumbledore. It is said that he was the one man that Tom Riddle ever feared, but he was also my mentor, and that made him the only man I could ever tell the whole truth.
"Lily," he began, sighing to himself and taking a single lemon candy and placing it on his tongue. "I believe you know that the phoenix is reborn from his own ashes. At that time, he is not beautiful, nor is he majestic, but he is alive
Forever will each and every phoenix live, his feathers red with his long, bloody life. For this, he is presented with a golden plume." Behind his pointed gaze, a look of deep melancholy glazed the professor's soul, but he smiled unreasonably anyway. He looked so much older than I had ever realized.
"I don't understand, Sir." I told him.
"That, Miss Evans, is the point." He paused, mumbling to himself what I did not understand until weeks later. "For now."
Despite his sincerity, I could not help but think he was not being completely honest with me. People said that Dumbledore was crazy, and while I couldn't agree more, he was not senile. I pretended that he had not influenced me in the least, and let myself forget his words. I didn't need to bother him. The last week and a half of traveling into Hogwarts' Scottish hills took a great deal out of me. I had eaten little, and drank even less. I needed a drink, a nice red wine, perhaps, or maybe a firewhiskey. I wasn't healthy, and I looked terrible. My red waves of hair were a vicious mess of curls. I was scratched and cut up from head to two. I needed a bath. More than anything, I needed Dumbledore's kindness. I wasn't about to pester him with trivial questions and banal conversation.
"You may go, Miss Evans." His eyes twinkled merrily. "I believe there is a vacancy in the Head Girl's dorm. You may take up residence in your old room."
I nodded, quite relieved. "Thank you, Professor."
"Of course,"
And so the days passed. I stayed in my dorm, and the castle stayed away. I rarely ever saw anyone, particularly any of the professors. They had a school to manage, and a war that they had little help to fight. Besides, I had thousands of books to read, ones I had never seen before in my life, let alone my seven years at Hogwarts. I became so caught up in the world of fantasy, and history, and spells, and potions, and all the things that make life magical that I fell away from the world. I began to only correspond with the house elves over meals, rare as those became, that I think I may have lot touch with reality. I was just alone, and I didn't really mind.
I was free inside Hogwarts, though it did bring back so many memories. I should have expected it to all come flying back at me: the good and the bad. There were things I just could not avoid in those walls, things I'm not sure I should ever have experienced in the first place. But there was one day that change everything that ever happened to me in Hogwarts. After that, nothing was so simple anymore.
It was a normal morning when I woke. Although, I suppose now that my scarlet bed was slightly darker than I was used to. I raised my watch so that I could see the time. It was an old Muggle one I had conjured during my journey. The glass was cracked and the silver, tarnished, but it did the job well enough. In fact, it read four o'clock a.m. at the time.
And that would explain the light, I thought to myself.
I pulled on a black robe, a velvet one I had generously been given by the young Mademoiselle Promfery, the only other inhabit of the school whom I hadn't downright avoided. I had never known her very well. She was a graduate of Beauxbatons at fifteen when I was only a first year. She was a good woman, a good healer too. She was always very kind to me, claiming that Dumbledore spoke very highly of me. I doubted those words were very true, but I respected her kindness to me, a Death Eater and a whore who lacked any sort of respectable attributes. She knew my love of luxery, probably from all the way back in my Hogwarts days, and so she gave me her favorite robe. It was her only velvet one, and probably the nicest one I'd ever seen, and she had forced me to except it. Of course, I really didn't need any force to take it. It was so utterly beautiful, and I really had no intention of not accepting beauty.
The dark room seemed to grow even darker, and as it did so, I could feel myself being pulled into its depths. The more it closed in around me, the more unreal I felt. And then a great squawk reminded me just who I was.
A great crimson phoenix had settled itself on my vanity, nestled against my perfume, a mix of vanilla and ginger, so comfortably challenging my essence with his own. I did not recognize the bird, it could have been any young one for it had not gained a single golden feather. Like me. Like Fawkes, James' olden phoenix. It carried a single letter, my name scrawled effortlessly upon the edge of the slightly torn parchment. Lily. The bird's eyes were set on me, filled with a loving familiarity. So much like Fawkes, who I would never meet again. I missed him, but I settled for the present bird and stroked his elegant head lovingly before taking my letter.
The words upon the parchment were written in an orderly cursive, quite unlike the messy, buoyant hand that wrote my name so sweetly. The words were that of Albus Dumbledore, and I knew this much as I knew the back of my own hand. Of course, I could not remember Dumbledore ever have taking in a phoenix, and such birds were not easily forgotten. The phoenix was the only animal with a soul to match my own. They were beautifully melancholy and held a morose elegance, eternally bound to their sins and their sadness. Much like myself. And for that, I suppose I somewhat hated them, and myself.
'Dear Miss Evans,' Dumbledore wrote, ' Your presence is immediately required at the doors of the Great Hall. P.S. Dress Warmly.'
It said nothing else, though I searched haphazardly for more. I was left only with a dull ache of curiosity and the slight warmth of excitement. Because of this, I felt I had no choice but to acquiesce to the whims of my mentor, a comfused expression upon my pretty face. I could not even begin to consider the old man's mind in the matter. I had not spoken to him in days, and even if I had, I doubt I could guess what was about to take place. Dumbledore was not the sort of man to share his plots regularly, and even of he were, I doubt I would be the sort of person he would tell, Death Eater as I was. I had never killed, tortured, or used a single one of the Unforgivable Curses on a man, wizard or Muggle, innocent or guilty. I was marred with sins, but not of that type. It wasn't as if Dumbledore knew this, of course, and to him, I was a murderer all the same. I was useless under any circumstance, dire or not. What I didn't know, however, was that my escape from the darkness of my master was much more important than I had previously deemed.
I left the dorm, an old denim coat draped over my velvet robe. I suppose it was exactly fashionable, but it was comfortable all the same. It kept me warm as I trailed through the cold, stony corridors of the Hogwarts castle. Besides, I really saw no reason to be fashionable. Even in good fashion , I'd be hated all the same.
It was icy in the empty, old school, but it reminded my of the old comfort I could remember so well.
Candlelit lit the Entrance Hall. I could see it even from my place inside a passage way hidden by the large portrait of the Founding Four, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin, and as I moved closer, hidden in the shadows of the main staircase, a score of voice filled the castle's base.
As closer I grew, I could see figures standing in a perpetual circle, joined by their barren hands. Their maces were blurred my the shadows , but I could sense the magic around me all the same. The chanting rose to a high- pitched scream, and only then did I realize the voices did not speak English, but a language I did not at all recognize. It bore no resemblance to my childhood French, nor my rudimentary Latin, leading me to believe the language was much more ancient than any I was familiar with.
The chorus grew together, softly layered with a mourning one's anguish. It was then that I came to realize that I was experiencing a magical memorial ceremony, and as I came to see it, the voices grew silent, only to rise again in a whispered English, suppressing me with their heartfelt words.
"God bless the Bones family!" they cried, their voices becoming increasingly quieter. "God bless Regulas Black! God bless Chauncy Jones! God bless Andromeda Black!" A few voice faltered there, a voice or two crying, "Dria!' and a few ladies back sobs, and then continuing, "God bless Artemis Rose! God bless Lucius Malfoy!" With the final mane, of the boy who came to save me, and died doing so, the voices feel silent, stumbling slightly to their halt. A few loud sobs could be heard until single, very familiar voice called out loudly, "And god bless Lily Evans!"
I wanted to yell at them, all of them. I wanted to cry and say, "I'm not dead. I'm not dead, James. I'm right here, alive. I'm not dead." But no words could escape me. I was alone and cold. It wasn't so entirely different from my time in the faux glass house. I was free now, but still caged in my silent hell. I wasn't dead, but in oh, so many ways, I was. My heart beat, and my eyes saw the world, and breaths beat through my lungs, but at the same time, I was dead. How can I put into words the emotions that I felt? I was cold and rotting, but not buried and gone. How was my presence so painfully obvious to me and yet so oblivious to James, to every one?
"I'm sorry, Miss Evans."
I jumped in start.
The old wizard invaded my vision, and I coward away in fear. How could a man be so horrible as to make me watch such a horrible sight? It was inhumane. And yet he was sorry. Sorry. The word did nothing. It gave me no consolation in the least. I just wanted to finally be completely dead.
"You will be." he told me.
I didn't understand.
"You will die, Miss Evans, but not yet. You cannot die because you must live."
"Why?" I asked him, my despair all too evident on my face. Why live when everything I had ever wanted was gone. Why go on when I was so terribly unhappy? Why go on with out James, without Tom, only with abyss?
My attention was diverted to the only figure remaining in the Entrance Hall. A large bird sat on his shoulder, sulking with the man. James and his Fawkes. He looked incomplete.
The old man sighed, removing his glasses from his face. He looked uncomfortable, and reasonably so. Fatigue stained him with wrinkles, and age gave his auburn hair a silver tint. He sighed once again and then looked straight into my eyes. I did not cower at all. And then he said, "So that you can gain your golden plume."
A/N: ONE MORE CHAPTER UNTIL THE END!