(Note from the author: These are not my characters, my world, or my
situations. They all belong to J. K. Rowling, and are protected by
copyrights.)
(Note to readers under 13: Again, there's a reason why it's rated what it's rated.)
It was dark by the time that Lily returned home with Harry. She hadn't felt much like going out to dinner with Sirius and her husband, so she had decided to just pick up Harry from his grandmother's and go on home. They had played a few elementary games upon returning, and Harry seemed to be perfectly happy. Lily, on the other hand, couldn't smile all night.
She was ashamed. Ashamed of her decisions in life. Not only not to stand and walk out of the room for her son's sake, but for other choices that she had made in the past twenty years. To go to Hogwarts, instead of just denying herself of her magic and staying a Muggle. That way, Petunia would have loved her. She would have been normal. She would have been . . . happy.
And then ever going on that one first date with James Potter. Trying to see something in him . . . something other than an arrogant jerk. She thought that for a minute, or possibly even a year . . . she had seen a glimpse of it. That's when she had fallen in love. That's when she had been so utterly in love with him that she had told Crouch they were engaged. That one night at the field came back so vividly.
James had been hurt, and needed cared for. Her mouth had opened, and the words had slipped out.
That's why he had proposed to her. She had shown him that she loved him. And he had taken advantage of it. He had taken her into that perfect room, and had gotten on bended knee, and asked for her hand in marriage.
That was her next regret. Saying yes. She had been young. Seventeen. Too young to be married.
And then finally . . .
She looked at her baby boy, laughing and gaaing on the floor. She closed her eyes, trying to keep her tears back. She didn't want Harry to see her crying.
"You must never think that, Lily," she thought aloud to herself, "You can't ever think that again."
She had seen James today, leaning over Remus and his hands balled into fists. She had seen him when Frank had talked about his father. She had seen him with Snape that day all those years ago, holding him upside down and threatening to take off his underwear. There was a streak in James that was selfish, arrogant, and never going to change. She thought he had grown up. She thought he had become a man.
She had been wrong.
The door opened, and the rain poured into the front hall as someone entered.
"Lily!" the door slammed behind James as he appeared in the doorway of the parlour.
"What, James," Lily sighed, grabbing Harry and standing to face him.
James was soaked, his cloak drooping off of him like saggy skin. His bangs were pasted to his forehead as he glared at her.
"Did you talk to Sirius about me?" he said, "After the meeting, did you talk to Sirius about me?"
"I don't . . ."
"Did you?" he demanded, and Harry stopped gooing. Lily had never seen her husband like this before, and she nodded.
"I did," she said, "I'm allowed to talk to him. He's my friend, too."
"Not about me, you're not," James said, "He said you were worried about me. He said you wanted to go into hiding. Is that true, Lily? You think we should go into hiding?"
"I . . ."
"Lily, answer my question," James said tersley, and Harry gave out a whine.
"No, James," Lily said, stroking Harry's head, "No, I think we should stay as a family."
"You can't stand by yourself, Lily, that's it," James said, "You wouldn't join the Order without me. You won't go and leave without me."
"I can stand by myself," Lily said, setting Harry down on the floor as he began to laugh again, "But I know you can't."
James glared at her, and moved closer, his shoes squishing on the carpet, "I can stand by myself. I've been doing it for almost three years, Lily."
Lily glared at him, "Oh, you have, have you?"
"Why don't you just leave."
"Because I won't go without you," Lily said, "We're a family, and I won't get up and go without knowing you're all right."
"I'M FINE!" James shouted.
"Obviously, you're not," Lily retorted, "Otherwise you wouldn't be YELLING AT EVERYONE WHO CARES ABOUT YOU!"
"Why can't you just leave?" James said, "Take Harry with you, and just leave me alone? Just . . . go into hiding and . . ."
And that's when it happened. James's glare broke, and he sunk into a chair, his head in his hands. Lily softened, seeing this reaction in her husband, and sighed a tired sigh. She sat next to him, setting herself on the arm of his chair, and taking him in her arms. He didn't cry. He didn't react to her in any way. He was dying inside, and Lily could see that.
All of the regret that she had felt minutes before melted away within a matter of seconds. They were both tired. They both just wanted to wake up and be back at Hogwarts. That's all they wanted.
But neither of them would ever get their wish.
"Why won't you just go?" James muttered, sounding beaten.
Lily looked at Harry, staring at his father, and shook her head, "Because. We made a vow, James. That night that Remus almost died. We all made a vow. We look out for each other. We don't leave unless we're all together. Forever alive, remember?"
James nodded, and set his head in her lap. Harry watched his parents with fascination as they sat there in silence. None of the Potters said a word as the rain continued to pound onto their roof and into the gutters. There was nothing to say.
A knock at the door broke the silence, and Lily stood up cautiously to answer the caller.
"Who is it?" she asked, halfway out of the parlor.
"It's the Ministry, ma'am," a familiar voice sounded through the door.
Lily reached for the knob, and opened the door to face, to her surprise . . .
"Remus!" she said, and opened the door for him to come in, "Come on, you're going to get sick out there. I'll get you something to . . . drink . . ."
But Remus didn't move. He just stared at Lily, as if he had never seen her before. Yet his eyes gave him away. They always did. He looked torn.
"Remus?" Lily asked quietly, and then she saw what he was wearing.
A Bowler hat.
"Mrs. Potter, I presume," he said in a mechanical and somewhat artificial voice. He was at work. He was on business. He couldn't make this personal, Lily knew that. Or perhaps . . . maybe he didn't want to.
"Yes, Remus, I . . ."
And that's when the man had broken. His hand began to shake, and he swallowed hard. His face melted, and then somehow became even more far away.
"I . . . I'm sorry, Lily . . ." he started.
"What . . ."
And then she saw them. Two flags. Two flags of memorium. They had been shoved into his balled fist, and now were very crinkled and wet. But they were still recognizable.
"Your mother and father . . ." he said, and Lily screamed. She grabbed him, and he let her cry into his already sopping wet coat, and pound on his back as she howled.
James came to the front hall, and peered out into the rain where Remus and Lily stood. Remus, not seeing James, slowly returned the embrace, and whispered, "It's all right. It's going to be all right."
James stared at Lily, and then at the two flags. The Bowler had finally come. They were dead.
Mr. and Mrs. Evans were dead.
The cemetary was quiet that Sunday afternoon. No one had ever seen a more beautiful funeral than the one given to Henry Evans and his beloved wife. They were buried in the midst of a tree grove, next to their brothers, sisters, and parents. The Evans's lot had grown.
James and Lily stood in front, staring at the caskets as they were lowered farther and farther into the ground. The wind blew in Lily's hair, and her red locks danced across her black dress. James couldn't see this, though. He couldn't take his eyes off of the caskets.
This scene was all too familiar to him.
He knew no one at this funeral, but they all looked like the guests of Wendy's. And then Mum and Dad's. They all looked the same.
The service was given, and the caskets were lowered and buried. Lily was in a trance as James and her walked back to the road. It had been quick for Lily. She had tried to become numb through the entire service, not wanting to start crying in front of her parents's friends.
"It's all right," James said, hushing her as she gave out a sob, "We'll just get home and . . . and we'll talk."
Lily nodded. Her mother . . . her darling mother who had only wanted happiness for her. And her father who had only wanted the world for her . . . it was completely unfair. Everything about their deaths was unfair!
"Shh," James whispered again, and tugged her closer to his side, "Don't cry. Please don't cry."
"LILY!"
Lily snapped to attention, and turned around. There, marching up the hill, was her sister. Petunia was dressed in all purple, and her face was streaked with makeup. She had been bawling during the ceremony, and now she looked ready to kill. A few paces behind her stood a fat, pinkish man, all dressed in pinstripes and white. James and Lily stared at them as they drew nearer, the man behind Petunia running out of breath as he tried to catch up with her.
Petunia marched straight up, to Lily, and raised her hand.
SMACK!
Lily held her face as Petunia wagged her finger at her, "IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU LITTLE FREAK! YOU KILLED THEM! YOU KILLED MUM AND DAD!"
"Petunia, I . . ."
"HE DID THIS! HE CAME AFTER THEM! I KNOW IT! THAT DEVIL MAN! HE WAS LOOKING FOR YOU! AND . . . AND HIM!"
She waved a hand at James, and James blinked. Lily looked severely frightened.
"Now, Petunia, dear, I . . ." the fatter man said as he came from behind her, catching his breath. Petunia continued, without acknowledging who James had taken to be her newly found husband.
"IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU, THEY'D STILL BE ALIVE! THEY'D STILL BE HERE!"
"Petunia, it's no use," Lily said, "They're dead, there's nothing we can do . . ."
"YOU SHOULD BE DEAD INSTEAD OF THEM!!!" Petunia screamed, driven to insanity by her own grief, "YOU AND YOUR FREAK FAMILY! ALL OF YOU! THEY WERE GOOD PEOPLE! THEY DESERVED TO LIVE! THEY . . . they . . ."
Petunia broke out into another round of tears, and Vernon . . . that's who James thought it to be . . . went to comfort her. But she just pushed him away, and jabbed another finger at her sister.
"You are DEAD to me!" she cried, "YOU ARE DEAD TO ME! NEVER BRING YOUR FREAK FAMILY AROUND ME! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!"
"Petunia . . ." Lily started, and Petunia pushed her out of the way as she started towards her car, parked in the small road that wound down the hill of the graveyard. Vernon, not saying a word to the Potters, tipped his hat to them and followed his wife out of sight. Lily stared after her sister, knowing it would be the last time that she saw her. She had lost her a long time ago, she knew that. But now it was final. Now it was real.
James looked at his wife, inquisitively. She hadn't yelled back. She hadn't fought her sister. They both stood there for a good long time before James coughed, and continued up the hill.
"She's right, you know."
James turned around and saw Lily standing there, tears streaking down her face.
"What?" he said, and she lowered her head.
"Harry was there, earlier that day," Lily said, "I know that it had to do with him. I know it."
"What are you saying, Lily?" James asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
Lily, her eyes bloodshot, looked to James, and said very seriously, "They weren't looking for me, James. But they were looking for someone else."
In one moment, James realized what she was saying. His eyes grew wide, and he almost felt his own tears well up, "No, Lily, that's not true."
"It's the only reasonable explanation," Lily said, "They thought he was there."
"Lily . . ."
"They came to get rid of their problem."
"Lily!"
"They came to kill Harry, James!" she cried, the tears spilling down her face, "They came to kill my child!"
With that thought, Lily ran down the hill, and back into the shade of the trees. She left James by himself, and didn't think anything more of him. Harry was in danger. Harry was in danger. Harry was in danger.
Harry would die.
"No!" she screamed, and fell onto the ground. All of the patrons had left, and no one was left at the newly dug graves of her mother and father. She layed there in the snow-ridden ground, her hands digging into the dirt underneath the frozen mounds, nails clawing at the earth. It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair! She never asked for this!
She could see the sun setting as she realized that she was feet away from her parents' tombstones. The orange and purple light danced off of the cement that stood, their names engraved side by side for all of eternity. In a hundred years, some people would walk past this spot, and think to themselves, "I wonder who these Evans folks were."
Lily felt herself get to her knees, and her dirt caked hands touch her face. The tears mixed with the melting snow, and all she could do was cry.
"Mum! What am I supposed to do?" she screamed, even if she knew that her mother couldn't hear her, "You can't leave me now! You can't! I don't want to be special, Daddy! I don't want this! I want to be me! I want to be me again!"
There was no answer. Just the epitaph and their names staring back at her, as if long lost eyes of the dead could see no longer and only stared to mock her. Lily fell to the ground again, and hugged the snow.
"Mum!" she whimpered, "It was supposed to be him. I don't want to die, Mum! I don't want Harry to die! Or James . . . or Remus . . . or Sirius . . . or Peter . . . Or Emmeline . . . or Alice . . . or . . . Petunia . . ."
Still no answer came from the silent graves.
"I don't want to die," she cried out again, and then closed her eyes, "What am I supposed to do? What am . . . I . . . supposed to . . . do . . ."
And then no more tears came. No more tears could be given for her lost family. So she lay there, an empty shell . . . filled with guilt, with regret, and with hate. Hate for everything she had ever known. Hate for the letter from Dumbledore that had invited her into this world. Hate for James. Hate for Petunia. Hate for Voldemort.
When she opened her eyes again, she was on her back, staring up at the sky. It had darkened, and now the stars were beginning to peer out from the white clouds. A little closer to home, a saddened face towered over her, looking at her in sympathy.
James lent a hand to help her up, and she took it. He hoisted her up, and helped her clean off her dress.
"You're wet," he said, "Come on, let's get going."
Lily was as numb as she had been through the funeral service. She barely felt James put his arms around her as they started back up the long hill.
"I hate him," Lily muttered.
"Hate who?" James asked, almost in a dull tone.
"Voldemort," Lily said, "I hate him. I . . ."
"Lily, don't do that," James said, recognizing an anger that had boiled inside of him the night of his parents' death, "Don't say that. Revenge doesn't help. It never will."
"It'll help me."
"No," James said, "Revenge just causes more death. One thing leads to another. You have to understand that. You can fight him, but don't let it consume you."
"If Voldemort had his way, we would all be dead right now," Lily said blatantly, her eyes narrowing, "He would have me killed, and Harry too. I hate him just for that."
"But we're not dead."
And with that comforting thought, the two of them reached the top of the hill. James headed for a tree to ready a Portkey that he had registered for. Lily stood there, emptied of energy, looking at her feet.
"Does the pain ever go away?" she asked as James tapped the trunk with his wand.
James stopped, and looked at his wife hesitantly. Then, he said, "No. It doesn't."
Lily nodded, "I thought so."
James gave the tree one more tap, and then motioned for Lily to touch it. Together, they were transported far away from the cemetary, and those onlookers who may have been watching these two broken mourners lost sight of them as the last ray of the sunset disappeared from the tree grove, and into a memory of the past day.
(Note to readers under 13: Again, there's a reason why it's rated what it's rated.)
It was dark by the time that Lily returned home with Harry. She hadn't felt much like going out to dinner with Sirius and her husband, so she had decided to just pick up Harry from his grandmother's and go on home. They had played a few elementary games upon returning, and Harry seemed to be perfectly happy. Lily, on the other hand, couldn't smile all night.
She was ashamed. Ashamed of her decisions in life. Not only not to stand and walk out of the room for her son's sake, but for other choices that she had made in the past twenty years. To go to Hogwarts, instead of just denying herself of her magic and staying a Muggle. That way, Petunia would have loved her. She would have been normal. She would have been . . . happy.
And then ever going on that one first date with James Potter. Trying to see something in him . . . something other than an arrogant jerk. She thought that for a minute, or possibly even a year . . . she had seen a glimpse of it. That's when she had fallen in love. That's when she had been so utterly in love with him that she had told Crouch they were engaged. That one night at the field came back so vividly.
James had been hurt, and needed cared for. Her mouth had opened, and the words had slipped out.
That's why he had proposed to her. She had shown him that she loved him. And he had taken advantage of it. He had taken her into that perfect room, and had gotten on bended knee, and asked for her hand in marriage.
That was her next regret. Saying yes. She had been young. Seventeen. Too young to be married.
And then finally . . .
She looked at her baby boy, laughing and gaaing on the floor. She closed her eyes, trying to keep her tears back. She didn't want Harry to see her crying.
"You must never think that, Lily," she thought aloud to herself, "You can't ever think that again."
She had seen James today, leaning over Remus and his hands balled into fists. She had seen him when Frank had talked about his father. She had seen him with Snape that day all those years ago, holding him upside down and threatening to take off his underwear. There was a streak in James that was selfish, arrogant, and never going to change. She thought he had grown up. She thought he had become a man.
She had been wrong.
The door opened, and the rain poured into the front hall as someone entered.
"Lily!" the door slammed behind James as he appeared in the doorway of the parlour.
"What, James," Lily sighed, grabbing Harry and standing to face him.
James was soaked, his cloak drooping off of him like saggy skin. His bangs were pasted to his forehead as he glared at her.
"Did you talk to Sirius about me?" he said, "After the meeting, did you talk to Sirius about me?"
"I don't . . ."
"Did you?" he demanded, and Harry stopped gooing. Lily had never seen her husband like this before, and she nodded.
"I did," she said, "I'm allowed to talk to him. He's my friend, too."
"Not about me, you're not," James said, "He said you were worried about me. He said you wanted to go into hiding. Is that true, Lily? You think we should go into hiding?"
"I . . ."
"Lily, answer my question," James said tersley, and Harry gave out a whine.
"No, James," Lily said, stroking Harry's head, "No, I think we should stay as a family."
"You can't stand by yourself, Lily, that's it," James said, "You wouldn't join the Order without me. You won't go and leave without me."
"I can stand by myself," Lily said, setting Harry down on the floor as he began to laugh again, "But I know you can't."
James glared at her, and moved closer, his shoes squishing on the carpet, "I can stand by myself. I've been doing it for almost three years, Lily."
Lily glared at him, "Oh, you have, have you?"
"Why don't you just leave."
"Because I won't go without you," Lily said, "We're a family, and I won't get up and go without knowing you're all right."
"I'M FINE!" James shouted.
"Obviously, you're not," Lily retorted, "Otherwise you wouldn't be YELLING AT EVERYONE WHO CARES ABOUT YOU!"
"Why can't you just leave?" James said, "Take Harry with you, and just leave me alone? Just . . . go into hiding and . . ."
And that's when it happened. James's glare broke, and he sunk into a chair, his head in his hands. Lily softened, seeing this reaction in her husband, and sighed a tired sigh. She sat next to him, setting herself on the arm of his chair, and taking him in her arms. He didn't cry. He didn't react to her in any way. He was dying inside, and Lily could see that.
All of the regret that she had felt minutes before melted away within a matter of seconds. They were both tired. They both just wanted to wake up and be back at Hogwarts. That's all they wanted.
But neither of them would ever get their wish.
"Why won't you just go?" James muttered, sounding beaten.
Lily looked at Harry, staring at his father, and shook her head, "Because. We made a vow, James. That night that Remus almost died. We all made a vow. We look out for each other. We don't leave unless we're all together. Forever alive, remember?"
James nodded, and set his head in her lap. Harry watched his parents with fascination as they sat there in silence. None of the Potters said a word as the rain continued to pound onto their roof and into the gutters. There was nothing to say.
A knock at the door broke the silence, and Lily stood up cautiously to answer the caller.
"Who is it?" she asked, halfway out of the parlor.
"It's the Ministry, ma'am," a familiar voice sounded through the door.
Lily reached for the knob, and opened the door to face, to her surprise . . .
"Remus!" she said, and opened the door for him to come in, "Come on, you're going to get sick out there. I'll get you something to . . . drink . . ."
But Remus didn't move. He just stared at Lily, as if he had never seen her before. Yet his eyes gave him away. They always did. He looked torn.
"Remus?" Lily asked quietly, and then she saw what he was wearing.
A Bowler hat.
"Mrs. Potter, I presume," he said in a mechanical and somewhat artificial voice. He was at work. He was on business. He couldn't make this personal, Lily knew that. Or perhaps . . . maybe he didn't want to.
"Yes, Remus, I . . ."
And that's when the man had broken. His hand began to shake, and he swallowed hard. His face melted, and then somehow became even more far away.
"I . . . I'm sorry, Lily . . ." he started.
"What . . ."
And then she saw them. Two flags. Two flags of memorium. They had been shoved into his balled fist, and now were very crinkled and wet. But they were still recognizable.
"Your mother and father . . ." he said, and Lily screamed. She grabbed him, and he let her cry into his already sopping wet coat, and pound on his back as she howled.
James came to the front hall, and peered out into the rain where Remus and Lily stood. Remus, not seeing James, slowly returned the embrace, and whispered, "It's all right. It's going to be all right."
James stared at Lily, and then at the two flags. The Bowler had finally come. They were dead.
Mr. and Mrs. Evans were dead.
The cemetary was quiet that Sunday afternoon. No one had ever seen a more beautiful funeral than the one given to Henry Evans and his beloved wife. They were buried in the midst of a tree grove, next to their brothers, sisters, and parents. The Evans's lot had grown.
James and Lily stood in front, staring at the caskets as they were lowered farther and farther into the ground. The wind blew in Lily's hair, and her red locks danced across her black dress. James couldn't see this, though. He couldn't take his eyes off of the caskets.
This scene was all too familiar to him.
He knew no one at this funeral, but they all looked like the guests of Wendy's. And then Mum and Dad's. They all looked the same.
The service was given, and the caskets were lowered and buried. Lily was in a trance as James and her walked back to the road. It had been quick for Lily. She had tried to become numb through the entire service, not wanting to start crying in front of her parents's friends.
"It's all right," James said, hushing her as she gave out a sob, "We'll just get home and . . . and we'll talk."
Lily nodded. Her mother . . . her darling mother who had only wanted happiness for her. And her father who had only wanted the world for her . . . it was completely unfair. Everything about their deaths was unfair!
"Shh," James whispered again, and tugged her closer to his side, "Don't cry. Please don't cry."
"LILY!"
Lily snapped to attention, and turned around. There, marching up the hill, was her sister. Petunia was dressed in all purple, and her face was streaked with makeup. She had been bawling during the ceremony, and now she looked ready to kill. A few paces behind her stood a fat, pinkish man, all dressed in pinstripes and white. James and Lily stared at them as they drew nearer, the man behind Petunia running out of breath as he tried to catch up with her.
Petunia marched straight up, to Lily, and raised her hand.
SMACK!
Lily held her face as Petunia wagged her finger at her, "IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU LITTLE FREAK! YOU KILLED THEM! YOU KILLED MUM AND DAD!"
"Petunia, I . . ."
"HE DID THIS! HE CAME AFTER THEM! I KNOW IT! THAT DEVIL MAN! HE WAS LOOKING FOR YOU! AND . . . AND HIM!"
She waved a hand at James, and James blinked. Lily looked severely frightened.
"Now, Petunia, dear, I . . ." the fatter man said as he came from behind her, catching his breath. Petunia continued, without acknowledging who James had taken to be her newly found husband.
"IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU, THEY'D STILL BE ALIVE! THEY'D STILL BE HERE!"
"Petunia, it's no use," Lily said, "They're dead, there's nothing we can do . . ."
"YOU SHOULD BE DEAD INSTEAD OF THEM!!!" Petunia screamed, driven to insanity by her own grief, "YOU AND YOUR FREAK FAMILY! ALL OF YOU! THEY WERE GOOD PEOPLE! THEY DESERVED TO LIVE! THEY . . . they . . ."
Petunia broke out into another round of tears, and Vernon . . . that's who James thought it to be . . . went to comfort her. But she just pushed him away, and jabbed another finger at her sister.
"You are DEAD to me!" she cried, "YOU ARE DEAD TO ME! NEVER BRING YOUR FREAK FAMILY AROUND ME! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!"
"Petunia . . ." Lily started, and Petunia pushed her out of the way as she started towards her car, parked in the small road that wound down the hill of the graveyard. Vernon, not saying a word to the Potters, tipped his hat to them and followed his wife out of sight. Lily stared after her sister, knowing it would be the last time that she saw her. She had lost her a long time ago, she knew that. But now it was final. Now it was real.
James looked at his wife, inquisitively. She hadn't yelled back. She hadn't fought her sister. They both stood there for a good long time before James coughed, and continued up the hill.
"She's right, you know."
James turned around and saw Lily standing there, tears streaking down her face.
"What?" he said, and she lowered her head.
"Harry was there, earlier that day," Lily said, "I know that it had to do with him. I know it."
"What are you saying, Lily?" James asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
Lily, her eyes bloodshot, looked to James, and said very seriously, "They weren't looking for me, James. But they were looking for someone else."
In one moment, James realized what she was saying. His eyes grew wide, and he almost felt his own tears well up, "No, Lily, that's not true."
"It's the only reasonable explanation," Lily said, "They thought he was there."
"Lily . . ."
"They came to get rid of their problem."
"Lily!"
"They came to kill Harry, James!" she cried, the tears spilling down her face, "They came to kill my child!"
With that thought, Lily ran down the hill, and back into the shade of the trees. She left James by himself, and didn't think anything more of him. Harry was in danger. Harry was in danger. Harry was in danger.
Harry would die.
"No!" she screamed, and fell onto the ground. All of the patrons had left, and no one was left at the newly dug graves of her mother and father. She layed there in the snow-ridden ground, her hands digging into the dirt underneath the frozen mounds, nails clawing at the earth. It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair! She never asked for this!
She could see the sun setting as she realized that she was feet away from her parents' tombstones. The orange and purple light danced off of the cement that stood, their names engraved side by side for all of eternity. In a hundred years, some people would walk past this spot, and think to themselves, "I wonder who these Evans folks were."
Lily felt herself get to her knees, and her dirt caked hands touch her face. The tears mixed with the melting snow, and all she could do was cry.
"Mum! What am I supposed to do?" she screamed, even if she knew that her mother couldn't hear her, "You can't leave me now! You can't! I don't want to be special, Daddy! I don't want this! I want to be me! I want to be me again!"
There was no answer. Just the epitaph and their names staring back at her, as if long lost eyes of the dead could see no longer and only stared to mock her. Lily fell to the ground again, and hugged the snow.
"Mum!" she whimpered, "It was supposed to be him. I don't want to die, Mum! I don't want Harry to die! Or James . . . or Remus . . . or Sirius . . . or Peter . . . Or Emmeline . . . or Alice . . . or . . . Petunia . . ."
Still no answer came from the silent graves.
"I don't want to die," she cried out again, and then closed her eyes, "What am I supposed to do? What am . . . I . . . supposed to . . . do . . ."
And then no more tears came. No more tears could be given for her lost family. So she lay there, an empty shell . . . filled with guilt, with regret, and with hate. Hate for everything she had ever known. Hate for the letter from Dumbledore that had invited her into this world. Hate for James. Hate for Petunia. Hate for Voldemort.
When she opened her eyes again, she was on her back, staring up at the sky. It had darkened, and now the stars were beginning to peer out from the white clouds. A little closer to home, a saddened face towered over her, looking at her in sympathy.
James lent a hand to help her up, and she took it. He hoisted her up, and helped her clean off her dress.
"You're wet," he said, "Come on, let's get going."
Lily was as numb as she had been through the funeral service. She barely felt James put his arms around her as they started back up the long hill.
"I hate him," Lily muttered.
"Hate who?" James asked, almost in a dull tone.
"Voldemort," Lily said, "I hate him. I . . ."
"Lily, don't do that," James said, recognizing an anger that had boiled inside of him the night of his parents' death, "Don't say that. Revenge doesn't help. It never will."
"It'll help me."
"No," James said, "Revenge just causes more death. One thing leads to another. You have to understand that. You can fight him, but don't let it consume you."
"If Voldemort had his way, we would all be dead right now," Lily said blatantly, her eyes narrowing, "He would have me killed, and Harry too. I hate him just for that."
"But we're not dead."
And with that comforting thought, the two of them reached the top of the hill. James headed for a tree to ready a Portkey that he had registered for. Lily stood there, emptied of energy, looking at her feet.
"Does the pain ever go away?" she asked as James tapped the trunk with his wand.
James stopped, and looked at his wife hesitantly. Then, he said, "No. It doesn't."
Lily nodded, "I thought so."
James gave the tree one more tap, and then motioned for Lily to touch it. Together, they were transported far away from the cemetary, and those onlookers who may have been watching these two broken mourners lost sight of them as the last ray of the sunset disappeared from the tree grove, and into a memory of the past day.