It's not mine; it's all J.K. Rowling's.
Chapter 15: In Which Lily Avoids Death
Or
In Which Lily Finds Herself in a Bad Situation (On so Many Levels)
Our heroine's last breathtaking insight:
I can see it in his eyes; in the way they're glinting … he's seen the snitch!
ooo…ooo
This is so not good. I'm going to die and it's going to be grizzly.
I'm going to be smashed into a tiny little pancake (well, maybe a big little pancake, but still … a PANCAKE). And after they peel me off of the stand, they're going to have to bury me in a round coffin. Round! That's not normal and ever so disappointing.
My mother will be heartbroken (or at the very least slightly torn up) and my dear old dad might not be able to live with the loss of his youngest daughter (well, except for the fact he's as healthy as a horse, but he might catch a cold or something). I'm too young to die!
Maybe I was wrong and he didn't see the snitch! Yeah, I was probably wrong, you know, except for the fact Mr. Hulk is heading at top speed in this direction, which does slightly indicate he's seen the snitch (but only slightly).
Wait, what about James? I looked over at him and saw the moment where he FINALLY caught on to the whole 'the snitch is next to me' deal. He immediately took off and since he is so much closer it's obvious he's going to catch the snitch. Which means I'm saved.
Yay! Happy dances all around. I looked triumphantly over at Mr. Hulk only to find he was still coming at me.
What the heck? Why's he still coming? He must know he can't reach the snitch in time! He'll smash into the stands … wait … that's the point isn't it?
Oh merciful gods of bright sunny days, please smite Mr. Hulk (or Bryson if you require a real name) with a bolt of happy sunshine-ness (oh, and by the way, last Monday was lovely, excellent work on your part) because if you don't, he's going to crash into the stands as revenge on the Gryffindors and he'll be able to say he was just going after the snitch!
"Holy Fing Shit!" I guess the announcer's caught on to the 'snitch is next to me' thing too. Everyone in the stands turned to look at the announcer (completely missing the fact that we Gryffindors are about to be massacred) who was trying to get the microphone back from McGonagall. He dove at her in what was actually quite an amusing way (mainly because it looked like he was trying to snog her senseless) and grabbed the microphone.
"The snitch is in the Gryffindor stands! Get out of there! Get out of there now!"
I think I mentioned it earlier, but when the snitch is spotted in the stands, fans end up in St. Mungo's for weeks (or they end up dead, but lets not dwell on that (and really it hasn't happened in years, but then again the snitch hasn't been spotted in the stands in years))! People do tend to take the snitch being in the stands rather seriously, thus the announcers reaction and the fact McGonagall just tore her hat in half and doesn't seem to have realized it yet.
Mass pandemonium has obviously broken out due to the announcer's crazed warning. People are screaming, shoving, and in general making things a million times worse. It'd be quite amusing if we weren't all about to die.
"Where is it?" I heard someone cry.
James and Mr. Hulk are now obviously racing for the stands, but James has the lead by a good few lengths. I suppose that's comforting; if I have to die, at least Gryffindor will win the match (and we better win the cup too)!
"There! There it is!" Someone yelled pointing at me (well, more to the snitch that was hanging out with me, but to me all the same). Immediately everyone near me began desperately trying to get away. They opened up quite an astonishing amount of space around me, leaving a circle-ish area with no one in it except me standing in the center.
I backed away from the snitch and it followed me. I tried going under the snitch, but it kept following me.
"You're going to get me killed!" I whispered in anguish to it. I tried to move away again and it kept following. I looked at all of the students who are panickedly trying to get away from me.
I have to stay here. If I leave and the snitch follows me it'll put other people in danger. I'm way too nice. I'm going to get myself smushed for these people. It's the stupid Gryffindor in me.
I mean, let's face facts; if this were the Slytherin stand, everyone would be trying to hide behind each other, putting those with the purest blood in back. And if this were the Ravenclaw stand, everyone would be arguing about the trajectory of the seekers and the best place to stand to avoid being injured. Of course, we can't forget those Hufflepuffs; they'd be loyally offering to stand in front of their friends, to keep them from being hurt.
Too bad this isn't the Ravenclaw stand; I think they might be the only ones who would have had a fighting chance.
Great, another count down: I have ten seconds to live.
That's not very many seconds; I wish I had a few more.
Nine seconds.
I haven't written a will! Oh gods, who will get my things? Who would want my things? Good point, no one. So it isn't so bad that I don't have a will.
Eight seconds.
Did the announcer just say my hair is carrot colored because if that little, pompous, ignorant, blind, worthless, useless, teacher-snogging, foul-mouthed, git just said I had carrot colored hair, I'm going to MURDER him! I don't care if I'm about to die. I will come back from the dead and murder him dead, good and dead. He won't be six feet under ground, he'll be sixty-six! Does my hair look carrot colored to you? That's right, it doesn't. And do you know why that is? Because it's NOT! Honestly, "The snitch seems to be following that carrot headed girl." How dumb can you get? He's going to get it!
Seven seconds.
Oh worthless, stupid pieces of sh … shiny paper, I haven't told James I love him! Drat it, I meant to do that. I can't believe I didn't! I mean, I did yell it and his subconscious knows I love him, but he (the conscious part) doesn't! My love life is a failure (although we did get in several very nice kisses before my tragically young death, which will occur in 6.5 seconds). If I had a will I could have written in it that I love him. Ugh, I knew I should have made a will.
Six seconds.
I wish James would say, "To hell with the snitch," in that manly voice of his and rescue me instead. Oh, that was a sincerely sappy thought. I can't believe I just thought that. Where's my team spirit? Of course James can't save me, he must catch the snitch and win the game! There isn't any fuzzy space here, clear black and white (although technically those are both opaque and not clear at all). But wouldn't it be lovely, if he cared about me more than the snitch and winning the game? Of course, he wouldn't since Quidditch is his life, but I would value him above my life … and I think I'm going to go die of embarrassment now. I can't believe I just thought that. I mean, come on. Am I woman or am I a maple tree? The sap must stop now! I refuse to die being all sappy.
Five seconds.
I can't believe I have to die with this ungrateful snitch. I mean, I counseled it, helped it through its many problems, and now it's acting as an accomplice in my murder! Why I ought to melt that ungrateful, spoiled, bratty, little snitch down into scrap metal and make it into a nice chain and I can use to choke that spotty headed announcer (and my hair isn't pumpkin colored either!). I need a vacation (and an anger management clinic (although, if people would just not insult my hair then we wouldn't have this problem. It is auburn (with a slightly more reddish tint), come on people.)).
Four seconds.
So James will catch the snitch in about one second, narrowly avoid hitting the stands, win the game, and find himself girlfriendless (not that I'm technically his girlfriend, but technicalities are over-rated). That's kind of disappointing. I hope he'll be alright, I mean losing a sort-of girlfriend can be rough. I hope Mr. 'I'm a Bad Bad (Extra Bad) Person' Hulk breaks his neck when he rams into me. That would make my impending doom almost worth it.
Oh … that is IT! That is the final straw. I am officially coming back to haunt that scrawny punk announcer kid and boy is he ever going to regret being born. What does he mean, "Looks like the Gryffindor fans are only going to take one loss for this victory and it's not too great of a loss at that?" Not too great a loss! Hello, Head Girl! Yeah, that's me. I'm clearly semi-important. No one loves me! Well, James loves me. So that's one person. Only one person loves me! Maybe it's good I'm dying young. This way I won't have to live out that terrible future involving me living with a bunch of cats and no one noticing when I die. People will darn well be noticing when I die this time. Back straight, Lily, you have to look nice in the photographs for posterity. Should I smile, would that be too much?
Three seconds.
I can see James clearly now; he doesn't look so good. This game must be taking a toll on him. Or, I guess, maybe it could be that he's a mite bit upset that his girl (sort of) is about to be made into a lovely pancake corpse. Well, I guess it's alright if he's conflicted as long as he doesn't do anything stupid like trying to rescue me instead of grabbing the snitch. Or heavens forbid trying to do both at once. As it is he's having to come in upside-down to snag the snitch, but if he tried to get me too, he'd have to let go of his broom and then we'd both die. And if James died I'd feel ever so guilty. Although, I would be dead and, thus it'd be hard to feel anything at all, but I'm sure I could manage somehow. I do excel at making myself miserable.
I closed my eyes as I felt James swoosh by me. I'm about to die.
I felt a tug on my waist and I was instantly weightless for a few disorienting seconds. I opened my eyes to find myself perched (sprawled really) across James Tristan Potter's broom, watching Mr. Hulk ram into the stands bellow.
I think I have a slight problem.
"Oh gods, I just … I just." James was shaking. His hands were trembling around my waist. "I lost … I didn't catch the snitch. Oh gods. Oh gods."
"James …" I ventured, but was cut off by his head falling forward to bounce rather pathetically on my shoulder. I think he may have just had a mental breakdown.
"What the hell, Potter!" The announcer bellowed. "He just lost Gryffindor the game to save that girl! What was he thinking? Is he mad? It's just a freakin' girl for heavens sake! That's the first time in his career with the Gryffindor team he hasn't caught the snitch and, folks; I must say I'm disappointed. This couldn't come at a worse time and it may even put Gryffindor out of the running for the cup."
Why did he have to rescue me? I'd rather be dead! This is so embarrassing.
Sirius pulled up on his broom a few feet from us. "Prongs!" James looked up, while I sat there stock still, twiddling my thumbs.
I was confused by their lack of conversation, so I looked up and it turned out they were communicating in Marauder speak, meaning no words. I've studied it a little over the years and I think it's some sort of sign language where symbols represent ideas and when certain symbols are used in conjunction with other symbols they represent different ideas. On the whole a very complicated way to communicate if you ask me, but no one did because no one cares what I say. Take right now for example. I have something very important to say, but would anyone pay me a bit of attention if I said it? No.
The silence (well, silence between Sirius and James, the pitch, on the other hand, is no where near silent, it's filled with a cacophony of people who are alternatively angry, pissed, angry, shocked, outraged, pleased, and sadistically evil. This combination obviously doesn't make for a lot of silence.) was broken by Sirius shouting, "Mate, I know, but they don't!"
"Umm … excuse me," I ventured. I'm so uncomfortable right now. I mean, the situation is way uncomfortable (especially for a Quidditch fan like me), but well there are other things, pressing things, making this the most uncomfortable experience of my life.
"What?" Black snapped, clearly in a rather bad mood.
"I … I don't think he's caught the snitch," I said, with a gesture toward Mr. Hulk. James and Sirius both whipped their heads in that direction.
"How could he not have caught it?" James asked no one in particular (which was a lucky thing since I was the only one who could answer that was me and I was still working up the courage). Sirius whistled as some of the 6th years rolled Mr. Hulk over a bit to look for the snitch, which didn't appear to be in residence from this point of view (and their point of view, since it wasn't).
"Well, I'll be! I can't believe it! That lucky son of a …" McGonagall has obviously recovered well enough to yank the microphone away at the hint of un-tasteful language, and I must say it's a relief, it was getting on my nerves and only think if my mother's foul language detector was here, we'd all be in for it.
"Bryson apparently missed the snitch somehow. Lord knows it must have been hard to manage that! I mean the bloke practically flew right into. You'd think he could've at least pinned it. I guess the cosmos has decided to pay Potter a little favor for his good deed."
"Thank you gods!" Sirius shouted, touching his forehead in what actually looked like real reverence. James was just gaping like a fish. I think he might have gotten a little too used to the idea he had lost spectacularly.
"James, James, James, Are you LISTENING!" Sirius yelled.
"Yeah, yeah," James responded distractedly.
"Mate, we're still in the game, go set Evans down somewhere and get back in, we've got a chance!" Sirius grinned wolfishly. "And Evans, although I know it's tempting to draw Jamesie-boy's attention during the match, tone it down until after and I promise he's all yours." For his last comment he pulled a spectacular eyebrow raise, which got plenty of spluttering from James.
"Umm … there's a slight problem," I said. They both looked at me.
"Are you hurt? You're hurt! Oh my gods! Where? Is it bleeding?" James sure knows how to take an idea and build on it without the least bit of confirmation.
"Shut-up, James. What sort of problem, Evans? We haven't got all day Davenport's only called a quick time out to see if Bryson's still conscious and capable of flying."
"The snitch …" I started only to be cut off by Sirius.
"Don't worry, cupcake, James will find it. That's what he's good at."
"But …"
"No buts, ok? James, take her down and stick her by Ally, she'll keep her out of trouble."
"Wait … you don't understand."
"You are hurt! I'll take you to Madam Jeffries right now. You should never have left the hospital wing; you're probably catching your death too! Where'd I put my cloak, you can have that."
"For heaven's sakes James, your cloak is in the locker room and Evans is bundled up right fine (which was a lie, but I decided not to comment). Now what is it we don't understand?" Sirius looked over his shoulder at Davenport who was watching Bryson testing out his slightly ruffled looking broom. I frankly surprised the fellow can still fly (it did appear he was having trouble walking when he stood up, though, so I guess I'll just have to be satisfied with that.
"I know where the snitch is." Yeah, boy do I know. At least, I hope it's the snitch. I mean if it's not the snitch I've got an even bigger problem than I originally thought.
As it is I hate the rules of Quidditch. Why must the seeker catch the snitch? Why can't I just catch it and hand it to him? I mean if they're going to have these useless, stupid rules they really really (infinite number of reallys) ought to make a rule about the snitch not going down (or just plain into period) the shirts of helpless young girls! Do you have any idea how mortifying this is? I have a snitch … a SNITCH down my shirt. It's nicely wedged into my bra and apparently the only way I can get it out (due to the twisted, freakish, satanic, and sadistic rules of Quidditch) is to have a seeker reach DOWN my shirt and get it! DOWN my shirt! That's a negative on my allowed touching scale. That's a million times negative. That's infinity negative. But I suppose if I have to chose which seeker I'd prefer I'd chose James (and really it wouldn't be so bad. As long as the sneaky little bugger didn't try anything!). I mean, who else would I chose. Mr. Hulk? Ha ha ha. That's so wrong it's almost funny. Nah, it's just plain wrong.
I suppose it says something about cosmic irony that when James opted to save me instead of catching the snitch, the snitch got caught in my shirt by accident (at least I assume it's an accident. If it's not that snitch is one sick little fellow).
"What!" James and Sirius chorused in unison. Those two spend way too much time together.
"I know where the snitch is."
"We heard you! Where is it?" Sirius cried, reaching over to grab me by the shoulders. I froze. If I move I have the sneaking suspicion Sirius might just fall to his death. That boy, could he not just stay on his own broom?
"Umm … it's … well … it's right here." I'm in so much trouble; I can't just come out and say it's down my shirt. I can't!
"Huh?" James said, his forehead scrunching up, looking absolutely adorable.
"It's … it's currently located under the … umm … fabric I am using to … act as a … oh for gods sake, it's down my shirt!"
Sh … Sherbert Shining Shelves, I think I said that out loud. Oh, yeah, definitely. It's either that or James' eyes just decided to relocate themselves to outside of his head for no particular reason. Maybe I'll just die of embarrassment now and save myself some trouble later.
ooo…ooo
I hope everyone liked this chapter. Reviews are always appreciated, but completely voluntary.
Apparently I'm supposed to start replying to reviewers by this new private message thing, so I'm going to give it a shot. However, because I am supremely lazy in all likelihood I will only reply to people with questions and/or comments that necessitate replies. Of course, this leaves everyone else out to dry, but I do appreciate your reviews even if I don't reply. If this plan is complete crap let me know in your review and I'll try to come up with something else.
Thanks and Hugs to everyone … and their uncles.
(And special thanks to my beta, Daystar.)