Lily Evans wanted to fly.
Sometimes she'd stand in her backyard and spread her arms out. She'd let the wind move through her hair and lean back a little. She hoped that someday the wind would pick her up and carry her away.
It never happened.
Sometimes she'd get angry.
One time, she climbed up to her tree house and jumped, flapping her arms as hard as she could, as if they were wings.
For a moment she was flying.
Then she fell …
… And so did her world.
-
James Potter half wished he'd never seen her. Then he wouldn't have to feel the way he feels all the time. Then he wouldn't have to suffer. She'd stood at his door, stared at him with her pursed lips and cheeky glint in her eyes.
He'd wanted her to come in, to talk to him, to show him that she was nothing special, just an ordinary girl living in this extraordinary world.
But she walked away, leaving him mystified.
He'd met others girls over the years. From innocent flirting to nighttime visits, yet no girl could touch his heart. He always sought her, the one and only, who'd make his heart beat faster. The one who resisted his charms, his berating and all other tricks he'd tried to woo her with. The one who took his heart from him accidentally, and had lost it, unable to give it back.
He'd fallen in love with her.
Yet, she had no idea.
That's why he wished that he'd never seen her.
-
Maddy Castles watched them from far away.
Her mother intrigued her the most. She was like an innocent child, subjected into a world with no warning and no means of escape. She was trapped in a prison, watching a broken record, playing the same day over and over again.
Her heart leapt when her mother smiled. She always saw a vision of her, walking down a pathway in a beautiful white gown, which trailed down her perfect body, clinging to her small hips. Her long, curly, blonde hair bouncing off her shoulders, and the blue flowers in her hair, bringing out the colour in her magnificent, impossibly blue eyes.
She glided along, one hand reaching towards her garden, touching each flower as if it were special. A small, coy smile sat on her face, but she never looked at her daughter.
She always walked away.
She wished her father would never look at her. He always regarded her with disappointment. She knew that look in his eyes. He only wished that she'd been as beautiful as her mother.
She wasn't, and he hated her for it.
-
Remus Lupin didn't ever get angry.
When he was supposed to get angry, he just didn't. Sometimes, he found it strange and frustrating. Other times, he just felt he was floating in the fog, blocked off and never quite comprehending what was going on. It just slid off him and he'd forget about it.
Yet, today, for once in a very long time, he was angry. He was seething. His breath coming out in white mist in front of him. His eyes were narrowed and his shoulders shook. The wind was pushing his sandy blonde hair about, whipping it into his eyes.
He didn't care though. He felt angry, and that felt good.
They'd betrayed him, his secret, for their own personal gain. His, look for every good in the situation, mind told him it was about time they did. They'd held onto it for so long, risked their lives and all they cared about to keep it safe.
Regardless, he was angry. That was all that mattered.
And today, he made sure everyone knew.
-
Charlotte preferred to be called Charlie. She thought it was cute.
She also thought Mark Grady was cute. She liked to fantasize about him during class; her favourite class to fantasize in was History of Magic. Just him and her, in her own little world, where he'd touch and kiss her and do things to her that she was scared to even think about. Most of all, he would love her.
Her family was rich; her parents had married without love. They'd given birth to her brother without love, and they'd given birth to her without love. She'd grown up without love. All she knew was pride.
Yet, that way, something was always missing.
Love, she told herself.
Love would make her whole.
-
Sirius Black was supposed to be in Slytherin, like his brother. Sirius Black was supposed to be an intimidating and powerful man, like his father. Sirius Black was supposed to be faithful to his family, like his mother had always been.
Sirius Black was none of these things.
He was a Gryffindor. He was a kind and caring person, and he hated his family.
They knew.
That's why he did it.
He ran. They hit him for the last time, they cursed and yelled at him, and he wouldn't take it anymore. No, he was done with fighting them on their territory. He couldn't win in their territory. He had to find and make his own.
That way they couldn't hurt him anymore.
That way he was free.
At last.
-
Melinda Roeton had smooth, white skin, like a porcelain doll. She had long, brown, and straight hair that fell like a sheet across her back. She had the most piercing, fiery, and exotic green eyes that people often got lost inside.
She was the picture of perfection. She was the envy of every girl. Her beauty was the desire of every man. Her heart was as pure as solid gold. She was always happy.
She always told them she was fine, but it was only her best friend that knew any better. Only Lily understood. That was what she had concluded. No one else could understand. That's what she told herself.
She wished she couldn't sleep. She didn't want to. Sleep terrified her.
It was the blood.
It was everywhere, on the floor, bloodshot eyes, a blood-splashed wall, blood on the bed, on the chair, and even on the windows.
The mirror had a bloody palm print.
She'd touch it, and behind her, a face would appear. It had her green eyes. It had her white skin. It had her brown hair and the boy behind her would look at her, with his deeply sad, dark eyes.
When she'd turned to face him, he was further away from her then she had imagined. He raised his arm, reaching for her with his hand.
She knew what he wanted, what he was asking.
He wanted her to come with him.
-
Peter Pettigrew had always prided himself on being a good and loyal friend, even if he lacked the ability to stand up for them, he was there for them when they were upset. He regarded himself as a listener. He liked to listen to their problems. He liked the secrets they confided in him. It made him feel special and trustworthy.
Yet, listening to their problems, - it made it easy for him not to have to talk about his issues. He just had to compare them to others and his issues would feel insignificant. He liked it like that. He felt happier that way.
Peter, also, had always prided himself on being a good eater and if he ever skipped a meal, he was always the first to make it up. That was why he was on his way to the kitchens that night, when all others were in bed, and the corridors were deserted. He couldn't miss a meal.
He had the trusty Marauders' Map with him, and oh, he loved that map. His days of punishment, for being out of bed well past his bedtime, were a long time over. He didn't fancy punishment one bit.
Yet, punishment wasn't on his mind as he stared down at the map and saw that only a few corridors from him, was another person, depicted as a mere dot. The dot didn't do her any justice, he decided. Just as he had decided that she was the love of his life, the first time he had seen her, and every time he saw her with those boys who didn't treat her right, he vowed that when she was his – and yes, one day she would be – he would never treated her that way. She was a Goddess, and that's how he decided that he would treat her.
Quivering with excitement at such a unique opportunity, he headed directly towards her. If there was one thing that he'd learnt in his days of listening, it was that when people were out late at night by themselves, they had something on their mind. Something he wanted to listen to.
The floor outside the bathroom was sticky and wet but the darkness concealed his first warning, and as he pushed open that forbidden door, he wished it hadn't been him standing in the doorwar, his eyes, staring down at the horrific scene in front of him.
The mirror scared him the most.
The red writing had the formed the shape of the words 'I'm Coming'.
His Goddess was dead.
Yet, the hatred that fuelled inside of him, that moment, as he stared at her lifeless eyes, was not for himself, or the person whose had been the catalyst in creating this dreaded girl's motivation for death, it was for her.
She hadn't let him listen.
Now, she'd left him.
Broken hearted.
She was dead, and with her, apart of him died too.
The part that cared.
-
It was, as they sat quietly around the table, where nothing but silence had ever presided, that he knew what it meant, what it truly meant to him, and to his students.
The war had begun within them, their bodies and to the very core of their souls. They finally understood.
For the war had truly begun.
It had begun because it had claimed its first victim.
An Innocent child, caught in the hands of fate.
Their innocent child.