Chapter 21
(A/N) Thanks for the reviews! A note to a reviewer,
Evil Panda: Sorry, if you're bothered by how lightly Lily is taking the death of her parents. (I'm sure you aren't the only one wondering)
Lily actually is more bothered by it than she shows, you'll find out in later chapters. She's just holding up a cheery façade so that her friends and students that look up to her won't think of her as weak. Eventually, that mask collapses, but not yet. She's stronger than that.
I notice no one questioned James's ethics regarding his dying mother… I wonder why…
Note to everyone else: I know, I know, it's getting boring! And believe me, I'm working on this the best I can! But you know those long, bridge chapters we all have to endure? Consider this a really long bridge. Next chapter's funeral, anyway. Going up the hill, right now. After that, we climb the mountain. Quite literally, you'll find, later on.
Disclaimer: I own the plot.
*~*~*~*~*
"Snow is nice, isn't it?"
Lily smiled in spite of herself as she sensed someone's presence behind her. "Sirius…" she turned around, flipping her scarf. "What are you doing out here?"
Sirius grinned cockily as he moved from the doorway and took a seat next to her. "Well…" he paused to brush the light dash of snow accumulating on his head. "Peter is trying his hand at muggle mathematics again, Remus sulking in the Common Room, Bella is showing all the other girls her showcase of nail polishes, and James is thinking."
"Thinking?" she feigned surprise. "My, my, we have a problem. Pray do tell, Oh, Great One, what does that have to do with your being out here?" Lily moved toward the rail of the balcony, watching the snow steadily fall from her new position.
"Two things, fairest lily," Sirius held up two fingers for emphasis, joining her at the rail. "One, how do nail polish companies with names like 'Pretty in Pink' and 'Lovely in Lilac' sell, and two, what thought-provoking conversation did you and Prongsy have in the library?"
"Is that it?" Lily raised a delicately arched brow at him, as she idly traced the path of one particular snowflake with her finger. "One, I don't know the sales tactics of the nail polish companies, two, it was nothing out of the ordinary."
"And what, pray tell, is the ordinary?" Sirius asked, watching her with interest.
Lily waved her hand distractedly. "Not that it's anything of your concern, but I called your favorite Head Boy an idiot." She blew at one particular snowflake drifting in her direction, watching it. "Anything else?"
Sirius straightened, leaning against the rail. Looking down, he remarked, "It's a long way down."
"Well, that's a very cynical outlook on things," she replied. Glancing up at a dark, velvety sky, pinpricks of light among the seemingly endless fall of snow, she murmured, "It's a long way up."
Sirius chuckled, looking up. "Yes, it is," he said unnecessarily. After a pause, he murmured, "Really beautiful, though."
Lily smiled. "It is, isn't it?" she tilted her head toward the sky. "It's funny, life. How it can have such beautiful, brilliant, amazing things like this, and still have utterly horrible, terrifying moments pass us. It makes me wonder… are there really such things as destiny and fate? I mean, can there really just be a blueprint for life, where everything is predetermined and we're just… here?"
"I don't know if that's for us to know, Lily," Sirius murmured, casting a glance at her. She was still looking at the stars, a few snowflakes falling in her hair and on her nose all the while. She seemed… ethereal. "Destiny and fate… maybe they're just excuses people make when things don't go their way, or maybe there really is some unknown blueprint for everyone's life, and everything happens for a reason."
She met his eyes with a slight twinkle in her own. "Serendipity, Sirius?" A few of the flakes fell off her nose and scarf. "I didn't realize you were such a philosopher at heart."
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," he murmured, looking back up at the star-studded sky.
*~*~*~*~*
"Remus, am I an idiot?"
Remus looked up from his copy of Witch Weekly he had borrowed from Bella, as he had grown tired of the repetition of articles of muggle killings and the rise of the "Dark Lord" in the Daily Prophet. At the moment, he had been reading an article on the basics of hair care and beauty products.
"James…" he turned to face his friend. "Are you actually serious?"
James shrugged and picked up the discarded Daily Prophet, flipped past the first three pages on muggle terrorizing, and reached the section on garden gnome control, astrology readings, and the daily crossword puzzle. "Absolutely. Have I ever acted in a slightly idiotic manner in the past thirteen years I've been in your acquaintance?"
"Sure," Remus turned to the next page of the magazine. "There was that time, when my father brought me over when we were six, and you turned my cousin into a toad. Then, there was the time when we were eight and you tossed Mr. Finklestein into one of your fountains from the roof, just to see if he'd land on his feet. And, of course, there's all the times you've teased, tortured, and tormented Snape for no legitimate reason."
James frowned, looking up from an article entitled, "Where Have All the Garden Gnomes Gone?" and replied, "The incident involving your cousin was completely unintentional; besides, he was asking for it; when I tossed your aunt's cat off the roof, I was going through my childhood curiosity phase, and the cat left without a scratch anyway, and I do have a legitimate reason to torment Snape… it is my duty as Head Boy to patrol the halls of he school and dictate punishment to those who have shown constant student mistreatment and disrespect." He returned to the article, adding, "So all the above listed events are therefore discounted as they have complete legitimate reasoning behind them all."
Remus let a chuckle escape his lips. "Fine. Consider Sirius, then-"
"You're comparing me to that mental case?"
Remus shrugged. "It seemed like an appropriate analogy for the moment," he said, before continuing, "Consider Sirius, James. He's an idiot, acts like he needs to be committed, pronto, but he's actually an extremely intelligent individual with more depth in character than we'll ever know. Then, you have Lily, who seems calm, cool, collected, and conservative on the outside, but somewhere under her cold exterior is a bubbling seventeen year old girl with more enthusiasm and brains than possibly the entire year put together. And of course, there's Peter. He's a little clumsy, blunders around a bit, and not that articulate, but deep down, he's got more understanding in human morality than most professors here, albeit he's not that great at math, but he's still good at something extremely useful. So really, there's a surface exterior of everyone, which is how they act in public, then there's the inside, which is how they act in private."
"So, what are you saying, that I have an alter-ego?" James frowned.
"Something like that," Remus nodded. "What I'm saying is that you feel like you need to live up to certain standards and expectations everyone has set for you, which is why you act in a way that a few certain individuals may perceive as… idiotic. Lily's words, I'm guessing?"
"Right," James grumbled. As an after statement, he added, "If Peter's an excellent human moralist, he's still got nothing on your psychology skills, Remus."
"Thanks," Remus murmured, flipping to the next page of the magazine.
*~*~*~*~*
Lily sighed, staring at her trunk. The funeral was in a mere two days, and still the feeling had yet to register to her. People had always said that it would never get any easier.
She pondered this statement. Was it true? If it was… She didn't feel as affected. It was getting easier, she had realized. She was beginning to enjoy life again. She could pass a day without wanting to break down and cry. Should she feel guilty? She had asked this question to herself many times. And still, she had received no answer.
Deciding that staying in her room wouldn't help matters, she lit a thin taper, donned her bathrobe, and walked into the Common Room. As she took a seat on the couch before the fireplace, she noted that the fire was still on.
Who on Earth leaves fires going at midnight? She wondered.
The fire flared in response, laughing, dancing, mocking at her, similarly to a lion would its prey. Lucky for me, Dumbledore does, it seemed to respond.
Resting her chin on her palm, she frowned. Talking fire? That was certainly out of the ordinary, even in the magical world.
Never heard of the expression, 'spitting fire'? It began to die down. As it reached the hot coals at the bottom, it flared up again. You know, Evans, you should be going. Midnight doesn't like intruders. Neither do I.
Lily stared intently at the fire. It wasn't alive, and yet she appeared to be holding a conversation with it, however one-sided it was. How strange.
Alive? It seemed to ask. My existence can be described as life, can't it? I am given a life, however short-lived, and I eventually die, only to be replaced by another.
Paranoia, she told herself. I have finally submitted to my paranoia. What else would explain this?
The fire danced before her, darting back and forth, tongues of flame flitting in front. Many things, it told her. But why bother? You have convinced yourself that I am your mere imagination anyway. You know, we're very much alike, Lily.
Giving up on ignoring it, she murmured aloud, "How?"
Well, the fire died down again, as if in thought. We can both flare up at any given moment, due to our…for lack of a better word, fiery personality. I can provide a safe haven and comfort for some, and at the same while, be a force of destruction to others. It's not the potential, Lily; it's the decision of what you do with it that makes all the difference.
I don't want to be a force of destruction, she found herself thinking.
What about me? The fire seemed to be hurt. Have you ever thought of how I feel about it? Perhaps I overestimate you, Lily. You're more like a firecracker than an actual fire. Everybody in awe of your brief, yet brilliant, light, that you don't even notice that you slowly consume yourself into nothing.
It playfully darted before her. Or Vesta, with her sacred, eternal fire. Made eternal by others.
"Hardly," she said aloud.
No? You're right; you hardly have the makings of a goddess, much less a goddess of hearth. Too flighty. So if not that, perhaps you are a simple candle fire, your life bringing light and hope to other lives, while your own life depends on them, depending on if they keep your light steady and shining, or if they choose to blow out your flame before you can do any good. And all the while, you slowly burn yourself down. Rather gloomy, isn't it?
She decided that the fire must be a very cynical being.
And the fire accordingly responded, Cynical? Perhaps I am. But what else can one in my position be, when their life rests in someone else's decisions?
Make the best of it, she thought to herself.
Do you truly believe that? The fire paused, as if waiting for her answer. After a short while, it resumed its darting. Well, Lily, I have given you my suppositions as to which you are, and have come to the conclusion that you are neither fire, nor firecracker, nor goddess, nor candle. Who are you, then? Self-evaluation has always been a good judge of character, in my opinion.
Who are you? She asked.
Me? I am nobody, who are you? Are you nobody too? Then there's two of us- don't tell! They'd banish us, you know, it replied, as if laughing at her again.
"How dreary to be somebody," Lily recited aloud. "How public, like a frog. To tell you name the livelong day, to an admiring bog. Dickinson."
Out of this silence I picked a welcome; and in the modesty of this fearful duty, I read as much from the rattling tongue of saucy and audacious eloquence.
I never realized fire could be so well read, she thought, as somewhere in the North Tower, the old grandfather clock chimed in the midnight hour.
As if on cue, the fire seemed to whisper, Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.
"A preference for Shakespeare?" Lily murmured, as the fire flickered slowly. It was dying, she had noted. It was no longer flaring in a playful, lively, manner, rather, it was flickering on and off like a lamp with an indecisive owner.
Merry and tragical! Tedious and brief! That is, hot ice and wonderous strange snow. For never anything can be amiss, When simpleness and duty tender it, the fire seemed to rasp out, as the glowing embers which fueled the fire turned a deep red, a glowing orange, slowly being smothered by its own ashes.
And thus, the night ended.
*~*~*~*~*
As the overcast sky turned from a velvety blue to a dull gray, snow covering the grounds a blinding, dazzling white, Lily Evans stood at the frozen lake site, her arms wrapped around her in a feeble attempt to keep the cold out.
The snowstorm hadn't ended; rather, it had slowed. Indeed, as she stood there, feeling her toes freeze off all the while, a few solitary flakes were still drifting down from the seemingly endless gray sky above. She let her mind wander and found herself wondering what it'd be like to be one of those snowflakes drifting downwards.
Digging the tip of her shoe into the snow, she wondered if it would be lonely, plummeting downwards in the great, vast sky, just a few others drifting along as company, or if it would be exhilarating, the long drop from the sky to the ground. Maybe it would be an unhappy journey, not knowing whether or not one would melt upon impact or be separated from the other billions of white specks along the way.
A few of the snowflakes fell upon the frozen surface of the lake, and she could almost hear the soft, padded, sound it made as it hit the hard, cold ice.
Her situation was a different one from that of most people, that much she would owe up. Different, like every crystalline flake drifting downward, not a single one being exactly alike. Or at least, that was what she had been told. But had every snowflake been examined and compared? What if one single snowflake had the exact same design, texture, size, and shape as one crafted centuries ago? What if her own life was parallel to that of someone who had lived before her? Or, perhaps, even after her?
Questions she would probably never receive an answer to.
Her eyes resting back on the lake, she noticed a single swan in the center, waddling back and forth in the little water left which hadn't been frozen along with the rest. It was stranded, she realized, unable to fly with the rest of the flock to warmer places, abandoned and left alone.
She wondered vaguely why no one else had noticed this poor bird. It was obviously in distress, its wings flapping occasionally, as if in a desperate attempt to attract some attention of some Good Samaritan for help.
It was the flapping that had caught her notice, and it was the flapping which had drew her attention the left wing of the swan. It was broken. The feathers were ruffled, and it flopped a little as it came up and down.
She felt for the swan; it was how she felt. Abandoned, lonely, hurt, and… helpless. Brandishing the wand in the pocket of her sweater, she pointed the tip at the bird and murmured, "Sano osum." It let out a loud honk and ruffled its feathers, but showed no other sign of healing. Rather, it continued to waddle back and forth in a distressed manner.
Deciding that it must not realize its ability to fly, she whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa." The swan let out another honk as it was lifted from the lake and spread out its wings, flapping rapidly, holding itself in the air. "Consummatio Devotionis."
The charm removed, she watched as the swan left the small patch of thawed ice and flew above the Forbidden Forest and out of her sight.
A feeling caught in her throat- what was it, pride? For a swan?
Sighing, she watched her own breath vaporize. Stranger things had happened.
*~*~*~*~*
James frowned, looking out the window.
She was still out there. Evans, that was. She had been outside before breakfast, it appeared, and she hadn't ever bothered to come in, not even when the storm picked up its speed again, carrying out its duty with a vengeance. Greenhouse Number Eight, used only by seventh years and staff, located in the deep, grassy, crevice, apart from the other greenhouses, had already been buried six feet under the snow.
His view of his fellow head student standing in the snow was obstructed when, seemingly out of nowhere, a flurry of brown hit the window. Opening it, he found the brown flurry of feathers curled in a tight ball was his mother's owl, Titan.
Taking the little fellow by the one talon protruding out of the tight ball, James shut the window and set the owl in front of the fireplace in half amazement, half amusement. Indeed, the situation might be funnier had Titan not appeared so deathly ill. The owl popped one eye open and squawked in terror.
James had an odd feeling this was due to the "experimenting" he and Sirius had performed on Titan over the summer, with a few test prank spells intended for use on Snape and various other vile beings encountered during the school year.
Too weak to fly away, in another flurry of feathers, Titan still made a brave attempt, but succeeded only in flopping from the coffee table into James's lap. After this episode, he fainted. Whether out of terror or fatigue, James couldn't tell, but set the owl gently aside and pried a sealed envelope out of his talon.
The letter it concealed smelled of a familiar scent- lavender mixed with a slight hint of rosemary, sweet fern, and teaberry. It was the scent of his mother's room- lavender perfume, teaberry flowers at her bedside, and sweet fern and rosemary from the aromatic candles set out by the house elves.
Sure enough, as he read the heading of the letter, it read, in a fancy, embossed, glossy, script, his mother's name. He quickly scanned the letter, reading,
"Dear James,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wish I could say the same for myself, as well. How are your studies going? Well, I hope? Top in all your classes, still, I expect. I am terribly sorry that I could not come and deliver this letter myself, thus, I sent Titan. How is he, by the way? I imagine the journey must be tiring for him, as it is snowing out of my bedroom window as I write this.
Ah, well, James, you know your mother was never one to make small talk. So, the point of this letter? I can almost see your brow furrowing as you read this. You look so much like your father. I was hoping to express my wishes of you coming home sooner, but I didn't want to worry you. I realize that is probably what I am doing with this letter, anyway, but a mother wishes the least ill worry to her children as possible.
I personally do not see the worry in my situation, and meet it with indifference. Your father, on the other hand, worries greatly about my 'condition'. I do wish he would stop referring it as that. 'That nefarious condition'. Hmm. I should hope that you would inherit his looks and my sense. The manner in which everyone acts about me is fatuous, bordering paranoid insanity. However, as not to worry your father even more, be a dear and come home for the weekend. Your Professor Dumbledore has informed me it is alright, and, with a hint of humor, that you wouldn't likely be missing much due to the fact that your Herbology greenhouse and Care of Magical Creatures class would be impossible to reach through the snow. Always appreciated his sense of humor.
Your Mother,
~ Nina Potter ~."
James reread the letter again before finding a ticket on the train to home. A lump forming in his throat, he folded the letter up and placed it back in the envelope.
*~*~*~*~*
"Strolling the grounds, Miss Evans?"
Lily turned around to meet the bemused eyes of none other than Albus Dumbledore.
If her cheeks could flush any more than they already were, they would have. "Oh," she sighed. "I was just taking the time to admire the scenery. This-" she waved her arms around her, "-is the very… oh, essence of Hogwarts, I suppose. You, sir, I'm sure, know that already, but…"
The Headmaster met this statement with a nod and a twinkle in the eye. "I have familiarized myself with the grounds many times, Miss Evans, and I still find a new thing each time," he smiled. Gesturing towards the fog settling over the icy surface of the lake, he said, "And it continues to amaze me still, the tranquility and mystique of it all."
"Oh, yes," she nodded, as the fog created a damp atmosphere. The flurry of snow passed her.
"Ah, well, I suppose I should be going now," Dumbledore said with a smile. "One enjoys solidarity best alone." With a wink and the tip of an invisible hat, he walked back to the castle, humming an old tune from a muggle musical. Turning around for one last glance, he added, "Oh, and Miss Evans?"
"Yes, sir?"
"We all have our inner demons," he said. "And we all should listen to them. They possess a wisdom we could never fathom if we tried. I imagine yours would be telling you to go inside and eat once in a while." Sighing, he said wistfully, "Alas, I must agree with them. Food is the basis of our survival, isn't it, Miss Evans?" Turning around again, he continued to hum to himself.
Shaking her head, Lily laughed to herself. Albus Dumbledore was a difficult man to understand. Though, perhaps she shouldn't read too much into it. After all, perhaps his simple requests really were simple; perhaps he really had just wanted woolen socks for Christmas.
She picked up a stone and threw it at the surface of the lake.
By the time she finally went inside, it was well past since lunch had been served and she was left to rely on her resourcefulness for food.
*~*~*~*~*
James Potter stared at the envelope in his hands.
It was just like his mother to try and belittle her illness, as to not worry him. It didn't fool him at all; he knew just how serious it was, along with everyone else in his house. It appeared that a deep air of misery hung in the Potter Mansion, since the summer before he left for Hogwarts. Why his mother tried still to disregard her "condition" when everyone else handled it with extreme solemnity was beyond him. It was quite obvious that-
No, he did know why his mother acted in the manner she did. She did so not just for those around her, but for herself, as well. His mother was not one to laugh in the face of death; she was the one who seemed never to meet death, even if knocking on its door. She would never fully admit to her dwindling strength, ailing health. Rather, he knew, she would keep attempting to find the humor in the situation right up to the moment she uttered her last breath, as if it was just a silly cold which she would recover from soon. And, in a way, he knew, everyone else in the house, deep down, felt as if she would pull through as well. They figured she would still somehow live to look back and laugh at it, despite their grave manner.
He himself never being at home long enough for this to rub onto him, he found their ways petty and a poor way to ignore the world around them.
It was similar to his opinions on his parents' marriage. Despite the fact that they kept up a cheery façade, he knew that they were never in love. There might have been something there, once, long before he himself had come along. But whatever was once there was gone, replaced by a mutual respect, a slight liking, and over all, no feeling. They were happy, though. It passed his understanding how they could be happy with this arrangement, but never felt the need to ask. It wasn't his business, was what he could understand.
Understanding was what he was. His mother had brought him up to understand, wanting him to be able to comprehend those around him. To give him a compassionate heart, an empathetic nature, had been her goal. His parents had wasted no money on finding him the finest philosophers, moralists, scholars, and the like. It seemed as if they had succeeded.
They had given him a greater understanding of the human psyche, taught him the ways of the human mind until he knew it like clockwork, and had helped him cultivate practically a sixth sense for detecting the emotions of those around him.
In an indirect way, they had all given him ammunition against his superiors. He was able to read into their actions, expressions, gestures, and words, with more accuracy than mind reading. He could predict their next words, judge their character, and, yes, understand them completely.
He never questioned these abilities; they came as naturally to him as breathing. On his own, he learned to flatter more effectively and to insult with equal potency.
It was in this way that he had learned just how to get on Lily Evans's last nerve.
It was quite simple, actually. In flattering others, he would comment on a lacking feature.
To one subdued, bland daughter of a colleague of his father's, he had told her she possessed a radiant charm which positively captivated him from the moment he had met her. She had said it wasn't so, that he was just "saying that", and invited him to tea promptly afterwards.
To one particular witless, fussy, nosy socialite who came to pay a call on his mother, he had said that she had such an astonishing wit, such an elegant grace, of which he had never come across in all his years. She had nodded vigorously (looking, in his opinion, much like a parrot bobbing its head) at this and said that she was glad someone was sensible enough to see it, unlike some others who would remain nameless, while jerking haltingly in the direction of her sixth husband, Walter Hiltford, owner of the Hiltford Wizarding Family Insurance Company, sole heir to a vast fortune.
Thus, to Lily Evans, who, he had found after study of her character for several months, went out of her way to surprise others with unorthodox actions and responses, and detested the unspoken yet well-defined rules of society, he had commented casually during the First Year's Picnic Weekend that she conformed within the lines of society surprisingly well (for someone of her upbringing, he couldn't help adding) and her predictability had shocked him. And, of course, he had said it off-handedly, not to her face, but to Remus, in a way which she would most certainly overhear.
She had refused to speak to him and look him in the eye until summer break after that incident.
As if suddenly realizing what he was thinking, James groaned. Why was it that whenever he was thinking, every event would somehow relate to her? She was, by far, the most ubiquitous person he had ever met.
Sighing, he pocketed the envelope and its contents, resolving to dwell on it over a butterbeer and a large helping of pie in the kitchens.
*~*~*~*~*
Lily sighed, turning the butterbeer bottle slightly, her fingers circling the rim idly. It was slightly sticky.
The house-elves had been more than happy to comply to her wishes by presenting her a large three-course lunch, most of which consisted of salads, pies, and butterbeer. Putting on self-pity weight was the last thing she wanted- needed, in fact- right now.
The fire of the kitchens was warm and soothing, she had found, and had chosen to sit at the table closest to it, as the house-elves busied themselves with laundry, preparing supper, and, it appeared, creating medicines for Madame Pomfrey. Occasionally, one or two would come by and ask her if she needed anything, but other than that, she was left to dwell on the recent turn of events her life had taken alone.
Her own life seemed too depressing to dwell on, however, and she decided focusing on other things might be of benefit to her mood.
Things such as the upcoming Valentine's Day Ball.
The entire school was buzzing about the ball, revolving around an event which she found pointless- utterly pointless; a pathetic excuse for card companies to mass produce cards for money, for people to buy those stupid little teddy bears, and just another day set aside for people to bat their eyes at each other. Honestly- it was in honor of a martyr- whose end had been tragic and pointless, just like the holiday itself. Or, at least, that was what her primary school teacher had told her.
But then, she was reminded of her parents, who loved Valentine's Day, and showered each other with gifts as if they were still dating. She remembered that her father would always give his wife a breakfast-in-bed, complete with burnt toast, rubber-flavored pancakes, and an odd, homemade, slightly off tasting syrup creation he made himself. Her mother would always laugh and smile at her husband, and say tactfully, "Thank you, Richard, dear. The way in which you poured my orange juice is perfect- just the right amount- an obvious sign we've known each other far too long. And the way you washed this tray- not a speck of dirt or grime. Oh, and this lovely daisy! Mm, you know just how to spoil me, dear. I must be the luckiest woman in the world." Laughing, she would then whisk away the tray and hum on the way downstairs.
And that was the way she and Petunia had woken up every year on Valentine's Day until her eleventh birthday- to her mother's melodious laughter.
By the time she and her sister ran downstairs to meet the school bus, her mother would have already prepared a breakfast with toast which wouldn't substitute as an excellent drawing charcoal, edible toast, and actual syrup, as well as their lunch bags. Remembering the lunch bags, she smiled slightly.
Every year, her mother would pack something special in their lunch, with a small note attached to it, much to Lily's delight and Petunia's embarrassment. Nothing big, really- a few homemade, heart-shaped cookies, maybe a small stick or two of sugar cane (as an eight year old little girl, Lily had thoroughly enjoyed sucking the sugar cane until all the sugary juice had come out completely.), or perhaps a small bit of apple strudel her mother had baked the night before. Her mother had continued to send her these little lunches every year, even after she began attending Hogwarts.
The last note she received, she remembered, had read something along the lines of,
"Dear Lily,
I hope they're feeding you well enough back at that school of yours; your Aunt Ellis claims that the last she saw of you this winter break, you were skin and bones! Well, here's your cookies- baked them myself- don't forget to share with your friends! Have a nice day!
Hope you enjoy the cookies,
Love,
Mum
PS
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo!!!!!!!! ".
The notes always sent her a wave of nostalgia, homesickness, and a sense of familiarity- her mother always wrote the same things, and the cookies, strudel, and candy would always be homemade, of course. It was something she had gotten used to, something she had taken for granted. There was no need to tell her… she knew she wouldn't be getting a note this year. The thought brought a bitterness to her mouth which she was sure wasn't a result of the sweet butterbeer she had been drinking.
Brandishing her wand, she twirled it idly between her thumb and fore finger, ignoring the flood of warmth it instantly sent through her.
She supposed it was this wand which had started all her problems. Well- not the wand specifically, but everything it represented- magic, particularly.
A house-elf came quickly to clear her tray, only to return within seconds with another tray of chocolate chip cookies. Taking a bite out of the soft, chewy, cookie, she couldn't help but think her mother's was better. Her mother had known just how she liked her chocolate chip cookies- not an excessive amount of chocolate chips or cookie dough, but just enough so that she could nibble an end and still savor the taste of both chocolate and cookie. And it wouldn't be this soft, either; her mother left them in the oven so they would have a slight crisp to them, without burning them, as she had always liked a crunch to her cookies, to enjoy the slightly over burnt taste.
As much as Hogwarts food was gourmet, it just wasn't the same as her mother's cooking. This had never really bothered her before, until…
Her thoughts drifted back to her wand. If she hadn't gone to Hogwarts, her sister might still like her. If she hadn't gone to Hogwarts, she never would have met James Potter, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, or Lucius Malfoy. If she hadn't gone to Hogwarts, her skills would never have gone to an extent which even a feared, powerful, wizard would consider her a potential threat. If she hadn't gone to Hogwarts, her parents might still be alive.
It's not my fault I went to Hogwarts, she thought.
A nagging voice in the back of her mind argued, Oh? You weren't forced to come. You could have ignored it and dismissed it as junk mail. You could have cast it aside indifferently. You could have written back politely telling them you were perfectly happy where you were and had no desire to learn at a school of magic. It was all your choice. You wanted to come here.
Frowning, as she continued to twirl her wand, she supposed that nagging voice was right. Well, it was your decision to come here. But then, Petunia hating you was something beyond your control. You knew it. You could see her built up animosity every time she passed you the butter at the dinner table. That was part of the reason you decided to come, wasn't it? And meeting those people… There are worse people out there, aren't there? If you hadn't come to Hogwarts, perhaps you would have met them anyway. As for your skill… don't you think it would have developed anyway? When a person has a skill, they can ignore it all they want, but it'll never disappear. Besides, Voldemort kills muggles as well, doesn't he?
But by coming here, I targeted my parents, she countered, as a few sparks shot out of her wand.
Well, I suppose you did, then. Now what? Are you going to spiral down into a pit of self-pity? Or will you begin blaming yourself for their end over and over and over and over until your mind can't take it anymore? Well, if you want to give it all up, why don't you just snap your wand in half right now? Or, if you get really desperate, just point it towards you and 'avada kedavra' yourself out of here… Don't tell me you're scared now. Are you?
After a pause, the voice continued, Well, you're decisive. You know, it's people like you that give consciences like me a bad name.
Lily sighed irritably, shooting off more sparks from the end of her wand. These little conversations with her subconscious self were getting tiring, annoying, even. She didn't like it- talking to herself had never been a favorable pastime for her, and thinking to herself- well, that just proved she was a borderline lunatic!
Pausing, she raised her wand at the fire, beginning to raise it every time one of the angry flames flared up, adding a glowing spark to the fire each time. She supposed orchestrating fire wasn't the most interesting or constructive thing to do with her spare time, considering the fact that she had a Herbology essay due in a few weeks, but really, who needed constructive and interesting when one had plain old pointless? Having a point was highly overrated, anyway.
Sighing, she continued to control the fire's flaring, choreographing its every move.
*~*~*~*~*
James let a chuckle escape his lips as he realized what she was doing… He had wandered in for a pre-dinner snack when he noticed her sitting there morosely, looking as if her pet owl had died, whilst whimsically conducting the movements of the fire.
Crouching behind a rack of chamber pots, he went unnoticed by the house-elves and… her. As she continued to "play" the fire, he studied her the best he could from his view. She had changed in the past month or so- she looked different, so very much more different than she had when they had all first boarded the train in September.
It wasn't something he could exactly place his finger on; she hadn't grown taller, she hadn't done anything with her hair (not even her shampoo had changed, he knew- her hair still had the familiar fragrance of rain, crushed rose petals, and something else he never did find out, but always identified as something very Lily Evans-ish), she wasn't wearing a stitch more of cosmetics than before.
No, it was something in her eyes and something in her voice. A blank look was more often on her normally expressive face than not, and she carried herself with a silence which warned others away, her eyes speaking for her.
The eyes… for some odd reason, James had always found himself fascinated with her eyes. They were a deep green, not just a pale green, not a light green, but green. Her eyes had always been the most expressive part of her, despite her fiery, auburn hair- that was Sirius's niche, teasing her about her hair when they were younger- he himself had always been captivated by her eyes, her one particularly arresting feature.
Really, when a person thought of it, her hair was nothing special, she wasn't exactly an extraordinary beauty, her height average, her legs- the only reason he thought of this was due to Sirius's odd fascination with legs- average, as well. It was her eyes, really, which left such a lasting impression on people.
She would always flit her eyes around a room before entering it, never making unnecessary eye contact with anyone, a calculating look in her eyes. To him, they had always been cold and distant, occasionally something else of a similar nature, but it seemed her eyes had many more expressions than he'd seen. Lately, however, there was a lonely, wistful, distant, bitter look to her eyes, when the emotion wasn't already carefully hidden.
He watched as she let a small sigh escape from her slightly parted lips, turning her gaze around the room.
Deciding to make his presence known, he cleared his throat.
*~*~*~*~*
Slightly alarmed, Lily turned to the spot of the noise, her eyes showing relief when she realized it was only Potter- two run-ins with the Headmaster when they both knew very well she should be in the Common Room or library, practically any place but there, couldn't be a good sign.
He had been leaning against the wall opposite of the chamber pots, but he was now making a move for her table.
"May I…?" he gestured towards the seat across from her.
Nodding briefly, she cleared the table of the several rolls of parchment and textbooks she had. "So…" she offered the plate of chocolate chip cookies to him, "May I ask the reason for your traipsing into areas of the school both you and I know you shouldn't have knowledge of?"
Chuckling, he replied, "I could ask the same of you."
"Right-o, then, neither of us will touch upon this subject again," she murmured, reaching for another cookie. "So what brings you here, then?"
"Oh, you don't know?" he raised a brow. "I'm madly in love with you- I stalk you by day and watch you sleep every night. My obsession drives me to the brink of insanity, but you are the very substance of my life." Taking a bite of his cookie, he continued, mouth-full, "I can't breathe without you, eat without you, live without you. I will never have another love like this. Please…"
"Argh!" she covered her face. "Next time you profess your undying love for a girl, try doing without showering her with cookie crumbs!"
Swallowing, James wiped his mouth quickly. "I came down here for a snack," he answered. "And I got one."
"You could have said that; it would have saved a lot of unnecessary, unfortunately identified, flying objects spewing at me," she smiled bitterly, her chin resting on her fist.
James smiled briefly, as her gaze was directed at the fire, twirling her wand idly again. "First a rain fetish, then a strange fascination with snow, and now pyromania, as well?" he asked with a hint of irony in his voice. "What next- don't tell me, you're becoming a bibliophile and giving up the rest of your life to study under Madame Pince regarding the enthralling study of preserving books."
"Not quite yet," she murmured, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly. As she tilted her head to study the fire, her fingers flew back to her wand. "Though I will admit to the accusation of pyromania in the mildest form."
"I suppose I can see what you mean by it," he turned to the fireplace as well. "It seems… well, alive, almost. And it probably is the most alive, non-magical, inanimate object you can find. Actually, Sirius and I used to joke about you being a lot like fire, that you'd spit fire whenever you spoke."
She angled her face in a manner which turned her attention to him, with the fire still in the corner of her eye, the fire illuminating the side of her face. "I'm like fire?" she seemed mildly amused. "There are many forms of fire, may I ask which one?"
"Oh, no form in particular," he shrugged. "Just the concept, the essence, of fire, I'd say. Sirius always used to say it was because of the color of your hair, whereas I always said it was in the way you'd speak to us and the way your personality would flare up so often. It was an oft debated topic, actually," he laughed shortly. "We would spend hours arguing about it at night, when neither of us could sleep and counting sheep became too juvenile. Some six hours into the night, Remus or Peter would always yell at us to shut up, and tell us that with our carrying-ons, it would seem to anyone else that we had an incredibly huge crush on you, which would always mute us immediately."
"Funny," she murmured. Taking one last glance at the fire, she turned back to him. "So, might as well use this opportunity to discuss the final plans- we start decorating in two days, anyway."
"What's to discuss?" he frowned, turning to face her as well. "Isn't everything finished?"
Lily shrugged. "All but the exact music pick. I've been letting the girls poke and pry through all the records; the way I figure it, they'll pick the more popular songs which all revolve around some star-crossed love story or other, pretty much perfect for the occasion anyway."
James frowned. "But we need a decent amount of songs featuring the swing music of the forties. I don't think they'll…"
"Oh, that's done. I've just left the popular music to them. Who knows what they'll end up picking- with the muggle themes, I doubt half the school population will have heard any of the songs," she shrugged. "So I'm relying on their good taste to come up with something even the magically brought up students will be able to enjoy."
"Good strategy," he quirked a smile. "On my part, the decoration orders are coming in tomorrow, but I won't be here to receive them-"
"Neither will I," Lily frowned. "I'll be gone for just tomorrow. I suppose one of the teachers will make do, then."
"I suppose so," he shrugged. "Anyway, since neither of us will be home tomorrow, that leaves us two days to check the orders and decorate the Great Hall, and on the morning of the ball, we'll have to meet with the organization committees of the houses to add the finishing set up touches. How's that for you?"
"The same, pretty much," she sighed. Glancing around the kitchens her brow furrowed, and she asked, "How did you find this place? I won't tell, I promise."
James shrugged. "Oh, one of our late-night run-ins with Filch led to us stumbling into this. Sirius… figured out how to open the door somehow, and, well, that's basically how it's been since second year."
Lily sighed, staring at the cackling fire which she no longer controlled. She liked it better this way, she supposed, its unpredictable ways were much more interesting to watch than something she could control and predict the next move of. "Second year? Well, you beat me to it, then. I found this in my third year. Not much of a place, then. The school has added so much more supplies since then."
"It has, but it never did get into the habit of technological advances," James murmured. "I suppose they thought it was too much of a bother, electrical wiring and such when they had magic to fuel it anyway."
Mildly surprised, she asked, "You know about electricity?"
"My father," he explained. "Muggle magical relations, he was sure I was educated and brought up both ways."
"Muggle magical relations?" she raised a brow. "Politics? What, your father works for the Ministry of Magic? Or is he just extremely politically correct or has an odd obsession with muggles?"
"I suppose you could say he works for the Ministry," James said carefully. "He actually doesn't care for muggles that much. It's not a prejudice against muggleborns, or anything of the sort, it's just that he wants to keep up appearances… The Potter line has had magical blood coursing through their veins for hundreds of generations, even past the Malfoy family's bloodline. Records trace it, or something like that. So, really, my parents are holding a heavy weight on my shoulders as to who I consort with- particularly girls I consort with. They prefer girls brought up in the magical high society, which really disgusts me, actually, and-" he paused mid-sentence. "Why am I telling you about this?"
She shrugged. "Don't ask me."
"It's because you're very…" he paused, choosing his words carefully. "… easy to talk to. I'm sure I'm not the only one who finds this to be true, despite our… history."
"Did James Potter just compliment me?" she feigned surprise.
James shrugged, getting up to leave. "I told you already. I'm madly in love with you and stalk you day and night, remember?"
Tweaking her nose (a very annoying thing her grandparents did), he picked another cookie from the tray and strode out of the kitchens.
*~*~*~*~*
By the time it was morning, the snow had turned to rain again overnight, much of the snow left over from the storm washed away as a result. The skies seemed a dull gray, covered in a blanket of gray clouds, a light drizzle in the morning air.
For Lily, it reflected her mood, as she slowly, methodically, packed away what was left to be packed away in her trunk. Really, she would be coming back tomorrow morning, so she supposed all this was really just unnecessary, but she continued packing as she always did for trips, humming and occasionally singing softly the lyrics of "Danny Boy" as she packed. It had been one of her mother's favorite tunes to sing to her as a child, to lull her to sleep on her especially restless days, and the song had stuck with her throughout her life, being one of the first melodies she had learned.
"…'Tis you, 'tis you must go, and I must bide… But come ye back when summer's in the meadow, Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow, 'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow… Oh, Danny boy, oh, Danny boy, I love you so…'" The song died on her lips when she looked up to see James Potter leaning against the frame of the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face. "May I help you?"
The expression of confusion quickly passed through his face before he quickly gathered his wits enough to say, "Oh, no, I was just stopping by to tell you that I'm leaving in about fifteen or so minutes…"
Frowning, Lily paused to check her watch. "Well…" she glanced up again to meet his eyes while hurriedly grabbing a few books from a bookshelf and tossing it into her trunk, "You met me just in time. I'm leaving in seven minutes. Was there… anything else you wanted to discuss?"
"Not… Not really," he frowned, watching her hastily shove a few more books in her trunk. "I just… thought I should tell you that… Well, never mind. It wasn't important, anyway."
"Well," she murmured, kneeling to close the latches on her trunk, "If you felt it was important enough to go out of your way to come up to the Girls' Dormitories to tell me, than I'm sure it's important to tell me now." She let a sigh of relief pass as she shut the latches, leaning now against the bedpost of Evelyn's bed, her trunk at her feet. Brushing a stray strand out of the way, she looked up again. "So… what was it you were going to tell me?"
Something which looked strangely like embarrassment to her crossed his face as he cleared his throat. "Oh, it was…" he cleared his throat again, "… nothing, really. I just wanted to stop by and say…" he swallowed, the unreadable expression back. "I just wanted to say that I really am…" he swallowed again, clearing his throat. "I just wanted to tell you that I really am sorry about your… parents."
Lily's eyes softened almost immediately, her hand gripping the bedpost. "Oh… James, I really am… thank you," she murmured. "You know, you already said it once be-"
"I know," he cleared his throat again. "I just wanted to say it again before you… left. Well, I guess, I really should be going now. You should too, actually. I, um… well, goodbye…" he turned slightly at the doorway, pausing, before adding almost as an afterthought, "… Lily."
With that slightly incoherent statement, he left the dormitory, leaving only Lily standing there in a slightly dazed manner. Had he just…? The moment not completely registering to her, she raised her hand slightly and murmured softly, "Thank you… James."
*~*~*~*~*
(A/N): Ack, I know, I'm evil. I'm so sorry, to all you faithful readers! And flamers- did I deprive you of another story to flame? So sorry about that. It's just- well, a day became a week, a week, a month, and a month became several months, so… Well, I hope you enjoyed that chapter. They're warming up to each other!
To Come: Not much L/J interaction to speak of. It picks up from here, James going to visit his mother, Lily, her parents, Amazing Grace is thrown in there, in what very possibly may be the shortest chapter ever to come from me. Recollections, organization of thoughts, and tying of some very loose ends will occur before proceeding to the chapter after the next, not just in the chapter, but various typo errors throughout the story, as well. The next chapter is something of a close to the long bridge chapters. In the next chapter, to be vague, a letter, James Potter Sr., Petunia Evans, rain, and an overall bittersweet mood set. After the chapter, things will perk up, and their actions won't consist of just talking- I realize that they're getting boring, but please realize: 1) it's a bridge, and 2) they're growing up and maturing as the story progresses. But not to worry, I can promise you plenty still, with the Valentine's Day Ball (a little late, I know), Petunia's wedding, later on, and a very big… school trip of sorts.
Don't forget to tell me your favorite and least favorite chapters! And help me out- tell me what you like and dislike about them. My writing will improve for the better that way! So don't forget to r/r! I promise it won't take as long for me to update… maybe by the end of next week or so… I have a science quiz to study for, lab to finish, science project, and history project… I'm busy! But I'll see what I can do… by next week, maybe? Just do your part and r/r!