Previously: Lily and Alice follow James and Sirius when she sees them pranking the portraits after curfew. However, they lose the boys and are chased by Filch. Lily and Alice split up to try to lose the caretaker and Mrs. Norris. After they do, Lily decides to hide in the dungeons. When Lily's finally confident that she's lost Filch, she stumbles upon Bellatrix Black and two other students torturing Professor Stoughton to get information out of him. Bellatrix catches Lily, who she tortures and starts to carve "Mudblood" onto her wrist. Lily and Stoughton eventually get free, and while he's giving Lily time to escape, Bellatrix murders Stoughton. Ultimately, Lily finds prefects, and Bellatrix kills her crony to prevent him from talking before fleeing Hogwarts. Once she's gone, Lily's overcome with emotion and faints.
Chapter 31: The First Farewell
Lily woke up to Madam Pomfrey dabbing her forehead with a type of paste that felt weird against her skin. There were orange rays faintly peeking into the windows of the hospital wing that hinted at the coming sunrise, but other than that, the night still surrounded her. Lily's eyes fluttered once again, revealing the paste to be a purple similar to that of plumes. That was when she noticed that Pomfrey was applying it over the gash she had received when Bellatrix hurled her into that statue.
"Oh, good. You're awake," said Madam Pomfrey, and she must have noticed Lily's flickering eyes. "Ms. Sterling brought you here. She and Mr. Podmore are both with Professor Dumbledore right now, but the headmaster will be down here shortly to talk to you."
Pomfrey bit her lip, her expression clearly stating just what she thought about Dumbledore intruding on her patient's rest, but she said nothing else.
"What happened?" croaked Lily, glancing around at the other beds in the hospital wing, but they were empty.
Her memories were a blur, but right now her mind could not process anything except that she was now safe. Beside her, her wand and the necklace that Severus had given her for Christmas last year lay on a plain white nightstand whose only decoration was a pot of colorful flowers. Over the back of a chair directly adjacent to the nightstand were her pajamas and now grime-covered dressing gown. Other than that, everything was pristine and in its usual place.
"You passed out," explained Madam Pomfrey as if she did not know that already. "Ms. Sterling brought you down here a couple of hours ago, and I believe that Mr. Podmore went to fetch the headmaster. I need you to stay where you are; your broken bones are fixed, but rest is still needed."
"Broken bones?" repeated Lily.
She shifted, much to Madam Pomfrey's displeasure, into a sitting position so that she could both talk and see better.
"What broken bones?"
Pomfrey looked like she was not quite sure what to think about Lily's obliviousness.
"I'm talking about your ribs and that arm, Ms. Evans. Did you not feel anything?"
She leaned forward to add one final touch of purple paste to Lily's forehead, which Lily winced at but otherwise remained still. There was no longer any pain coming from the area where she had cracked her head open against the statue.
Lily glanced down at her arm which was in a sling and felt the wrapped cloth around her middle, but as she sifted through the events that had taken place, she failed to recall any time when her bones broke. Of course, adrenaline could be a very effective pain killer, and she had been full of it just several hours ago – she had even quickly forgotten about the gash in her forehead that the statue had given her, courtesy of Bellatrix and that hex.
But as clarity of the events came back to her, so did the pain. Everything hurt. Her head hurt, her ribs hurt, her shoulders hurt, and her wrist … her wrist.
Lily brought her right arm closer to assess the damage inflicted by Bellatrix. On her right hand, directly below where someone would normally take her pulse, three distinct gashes stood out against her skin. One long cut, roughly an inch long that ran parallel to her wrist, preceded two shorter ones that were each set apart at forty-five-degree angles before being followed by a short hook that, had Bellatrix not been interrupted, would have formed a near perfect "M" for Mudblood. Lily absentmindedly traced the raw, inflamed skin with her left index finger.
A loud boom quickly drew her from her wandering thoughts, and Lily nearly jumped out of her skin – but it was just Dumbledore pushing open the doors and striding towards where she and Pomfrey were, though the expression he wore was one of a somber and muted – but still incredibly potent – fury. Those blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles no longer sparkled. Instead, they were filled with a kind of rage that Lily hoped she would never see again.
"Poppy," acknowledged Dumbledore, inclining his head in a measure of respect. "I need to speak with Ms. Evans."
"Can it wait?" asked Madam Pomfrey in the way that bordered on confrontational. "I'm sure that Podmore and Sterling can give you as much information as this little girl can. For Merlin's sake, she needs rest, Headmaster! Albus, do you have any idea how much she's been through tonight? She's still recovering from multiple broken bones in addition to the concussion and internal bleeding I discovered – not to mention somebody clearly used the Cruciatus Curse on her."
Lily deduced that the Cruciatus Curse must have been referring to the "Crucio" curse that Bellatrix had tortured her with.
"I'm sorry, Poppy, but Ms. Evans is the only one who can answer my questions, and this cannot wait," said Dumbledore.
Madam Pomfrey glower did not lessen.
"Five minutes, and then Ms. Evans is under my watch," she growled.
"That will do," said Dumbledore, "But right now, it is important that I speak to her alone."
His voice may have been calmly quiet, but it left no room for argument. Even though Madam Pomfrey no doubt wanted to argue until her voice broke, she must have realized that it would not be any use against somebody like Dumbledore, who possessed infinite patience and a slew of other talents. The Hogwarts matron huffily set the bowl of purple paste on Lily's nightstand and hustled back into her office, muttering under her breath the entire way.
Dumbledore approached Lily's hospital bed, assessing her with a look of deepest empathy and concern. He gracefully tucked his long frame into a chair next to her and said, "Professor Slughorn discovered Professor Stoughton's body in the dungeons a little while ago, and I have some people currently watching over both him and Mr. Delran until their families arrive to claim the bodies. Mr. Podmore and Ms. Sterling informed me about as much as they could, but they didn't know everything. Now, I understand what you're going through, Ms. Evans, but I need to know exactly what transpired early this morning."
Lily was unable to speak at first. At Dumbledore's words, the images that had flitted around in front of her eyes so transiently it was hard to make sense of them all, they all rushed back, momentarily smothering her with flashes of green light and Stoughton's screams. The gleam of triumph in Bellatrix's eyes … the suffocating terror … and the pain –it was horrible. Her skin prickled from the raw agony that had seared through her entire body, and she recalled Bellatrix's twisted satisfaction when the torture had finally ended.
The grief that she had held back before finally hit the tipping point, and Lily burst into tears, rocking back and forth in a little ball. Stoughton was dead – murdered in front of her very eyes – and she felt like a part of her had died with him in those dungeons. Bellatrix had taken something with her when she fled the grounds, and Lily knew that hard as she may try to, that night would haunt her in everything she did. Would she see that blank look on Stoughton's face staring back at her in every dream? Would she hear the faint ring of Bellatrix's cackle in every silence?
"Bellatrix," she sobbed, holding her hands over her head while her tears flowed freely. "She – she killed Stoughton."
That was all she could get out before a new round of tears overwhelmed her, temporarily preventing her from speaking at all.
"Bellatrix Black?" asked Dumbledore gently.
Lily sniffled and hastily wiped some tears away from her eyes.
"She wanted – someone – she wanted Stoughton to tell her where somebody else was. I think – he said to tell you that – that Voldemort knows; he knows and is searching for … well, that's all Stoughton could tell me to tell you. I don't know what he was talking about, but … it's just … I don't know – it was so horrible. I don't want to even think about it. Can you – I don't know – is there a potion or something to make me … make me forget?"
Lily was rambling by now. The response was a sad smile, and though it was a half-hearted hope, Lily still felt her heart sink deeper into her chest. She knew – she would forever be cursed to carry those moments with her until the day she died.
"I'm afraid it does not work like that, Ms. Evans. While it may seem like a burden now, time does heal all wounds eventually, and then we are left with a knowledge that only leaves us stronger when up against our adversaries. Now I do believe I have exhausted my allotted time for visitation. I must be going or risk Madam Pomfrey's wrath."
Without another word, Dumbledore swept from the hospital wing, and a much-harried Pomfrey emerged from her office to continue caring for Lily who silently sank back into her pillow, wishing for sleep and the accompanying obliviousness to come.
~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ 1973 ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~
A somber atmosphere had wrapped itself around Hogwarts by the time James had descended from the Gryffindor tower and entered the Great Hall that morning. He could feel it permeating the air before he had even taken a seat next to a strangely subdued Sirius, the pressing air slowly erasing all the traces of the excitement of last night. Across from him, Remus's expression was one of sadness, and Peter even dismissed biting his nails in favor of staring at his plate without really seeing it. Everybody else was either confused or anxious, and there was no usual morning babble today – even Gilderoy Lockhart's incessant chatter was quieter than usual, which was definitely saying something.
"What's going on?" asked James quietly, glancing up and down the table at his housemates.
Students slowly filed in for breakfast, confusion clear on all newcomers' faces, but they would eventually change to looks of complete shock, and many would burst out into tears. But there was something else that he noticed as well: plenty of the Slytherins joined the mournful mood, and a handful of those James knew were blood purists also looked depressed. If it had been something related to the Dark Rebellion that stirred outside the walls of Hogwarts, those select Slytherins would most certainly not be joining in the grief shared by the rest of Hogwarts – of course, that was only a handful since most looked the same as they usually did.
"Professor Stoughton's dead," stated Sirius in a monotone voice.
He stared at his clasped hands in front of him with an impassive expression, but while it may have seemed to the unwitting outsider that Sirius was merely contemplating some complicated Arithmancy problem, the storm of wild emotion in his eyes betrayed his hidden inner turmoil.
"What?" repeated James blankly, sure that he had misheard.
Stoughton – the domineering, tough-as-nails, indestructible Professor Stoughton who had taught them so much more than just theory and practice – he could not just be dead. It was impossible that anybody could have possiblydefeated him – he was Jack Stoughton for Merlin's sake!
"Stoughton's dead. I overheard that Ravenclaw prefect – I think her name's Sterling – crying to her friends about how Slughorn found his body in the dungeons; they're certain that it was the Killing Curse," explained Remus forlornly.
"But – why? How?" spluttered James.
The shock that had first struck him at those first words out of Sirius's mouth still immobilized him, and it was going strong at that moment with no hint of slowing down. Memories of when his parents had come home from Magic Shield assignments sometimes, looking like James was sure he himself looked now, flashed through his mind. At the time, James could not fathom why his parents were so silent when they had returned from skirmishes big enough to make the front page of the Daily Prophet, but now he understood.
Sirius shrugged helplessly.
"I dunno," he admitted. "If Dumbledore knows, he's not telling anybody – not even the other teachers seem to know what happened."
He jerked his head up to staff table, where some of the teachers were silently conversing. Though the faces contained the same grief as the student population, they seemed to know nothing more than the gossip floating around James.
"Potter!" hissed a voice from behind him, and James jumped in his seat, jerking around to see the newest intruder.
Prewett was standing there, a scowl on her face and shadows under her eyes. She glared at him, hands on her hips and everything, and it was the closest to anger that he was sure Prewett would ever get. Beside her was McKinnon, who completely ignored Sirius's suggestive wink; Prewett must have told her what happened. Neither Macdonald nor Evans were with them, which James did not find surprising: Macdonald had probably been distracted by some highly inappropriate painting somewhere on the way down to the Great Hall while Evans was probably still sleeping up in the girls' dormitory – as far as James could tell, she was worse than Sirius was with getting up in the morning.
"Prewett!" greeted James. The news of Stoughton's death still hung heavy, but he nonetheless gave her a winning grin, albeit it was more tired than anything else. "Congratulations are in order, I see. You and Evans didn't get caught – that's a step in the right direction."
"No, you idiot, Lily did get caught, and it's all your fault," snapped Prewett. "You better hope McGonagall lets her off easy, or I might just end up feeling a little sorry when Lily gets her hands on you."
"Wait, Evans got caught?" asked Sirius eagerly.
"Did a flobberworm eat your brains or something, Black? Of course somebody caught her. Why else wouldn't she have come back to the dormitory last night?" retorted McKinnon in a biting tone. "But don't get too excited since I'm betting that she's educating Professor McGonagall right now about who exactly was her reason for being out of bed last night – you see, unlike yourselves, Lily still has some credibility with the professors here."
That wiped the smirk off Sirius's face quicker than sniffing dragon dung would.
"Is that right?" he challenged, and Sirius faced James. "I'm not so sure about you, mate, but I don't see a squad of G-men appearing anywhere around this place. Dumbledore wouldn't let them to keep him waiting for so long."
Marlene no doubt had an angry retort on the tip of her tongue, but she did not get a chance to say it because before she could, Professor McGonagall conjured some harmless fireworks to catch everybody's attention. The hall fell silent, and the Gryffindor girls headed off to get their own seats while Dumbledore stood up and cleared his throat loudly. It was one of the rare times when James did not have it in him to ignore the headmaster.
"I have no misconceptions that most of you have already heard what transpired in our corridors last night," said Dumbledore gravely. "We lost two of our own when Professor Jack Stoughton and Mr. Toerick Delran was murdered."
Hushed whispers immediately broke out at those words, and James glanced around at the array of expressions: shock from the handful of students who had yet to hear the details, suspicion from the few who remained paranoid about the growing unrest, and tears from the overwhelming majority who were still processing that Hogwarts had lost a teacher and a student in just one night. He himself could not be sure of what his face portrayed when choosing from the whirl of emotions inside him.
Dumbledore raised his hand, and the Great Hall fell silent once more.
"Some of you may notice that there are two others who are not with us here today: Mr. Janson Harem and Ms. Bellatrix Black."
Beside James, Sirius had transformed into a statue, face as hard and distant as marble and hands permanently clenched in unmoving fists. At the mention of his cousin's name, Sirius was no longer confused – he was furious. While the other kids were left wondering how another student could have possibly been involved in not one but two deaths on Hogwarts grounds, Sirius had made that intuitive leap to the answer that James also knew – when Bellatrix Black was involved, there was no doubt that she was the cause of the horror.
"I have no wish to insult Professor Stoughton's memory by hiding the reason why we are burying him, so allow me to set the record straight: Ms. Black and her accomplices killed Professor Stoughton on the orders of the man who goes by the name of Lord Voldemort."
The result was instantaneous: uproar everywhere as some students squeaked in fear and others yelled out challenges like "You-Know-Who's a hoax!" and "Lies!" Peter yelped and ducked down, and Sirius's anger had shot up to the breaking point, evidenced by his swiping several trays of food off the table. Prewett and McKinnon leaned forward to start a hushed conversation, both girls looking terrified.
James did nothing. The last time he had heard that name was in the news after the slaughter in the Ministry of Magic, and he quite honestly had not given that bloke Voldemort much thought after the mayhem had died down. Now, however, Voldemort was once again at the forefront of his mind after Dumbledore had brought him up. Glancing around at his fellow students, James was left wondering just how much he was out of the loop; the people sitting several feet away had winced at just the sound of Voldemort's name, and a Hufflepuff girl of about thirteen had yelped when Dumbledore said the name aloud.
Loud firecrackers burst from Dumbledore's wand, and the Great Hall fell silent once again.
"I realize that many of you do not wish to hear Voldemort's name after learning of his connection with the slaughter at the Ministry earlier in the year, but I urge you all to be on guard. Mr. Delran was killed, but his death was not from an ensuing fight but rather – to cover up the tracks of others. Lord Voldemort is not somebody to take lightly and doing so would be unwise."
"The Aurors think that Voldemort used the Imperius Curse on those poor chaps who blew up the Muggle Liaison Office earlier this year," whispered Sirius, leaning forward towards the other Marauders. "They looked and looked, but the Aurors couldn't find anything in their lives that said those three would support anti-Muggle attitudes."
"That doesn't surprise me," muttered Remus, casting wary glances at bystanders, most of whom were still engrossed in Dumbledore's speech. "I mean, one of those three was Timothy Abbott; he has a nephew in our year, that Hufflepuff Terry Abbott."
James followed Remus's line of sight to the Hufflepuff table, and sure enough Terry Abbott sat with the rest of his housemates. Unlike the others, however, Terry remained silent throughout Dumbledore's whole spiel, intense but resigned at the same time.
"I know that many of you would like to say good-bye to Professor Stoughton, which is why Hogwarts will be holding a memorial service. Classes have been suspended until the service is done to allow us all time to grieve, and Madam Pomfrey and other staff members will remain available should any of you need to talk to somebody. That is all for now; you are dismissed."
It was a mark of just how somber the day's mood had turned when neither James nor Sirius said anything about cancelled classes.
~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ 1973 ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~
Lily was less than a ghost as she drifted aimlessly around grassy shore of the Black Lake. It had been two days since Bellatrix murdered Stoughton, and Madam Pomfrey had only grudgingly agreed to let Lily out of the hospital wing, though Pomfrey had kept her more out of concern for her mental trauma than any broken bones. In the end, Lily's begging for a change of pace had persuaded the matron to discharge her so long as Lily promised to talk to somebody about what had happened. Thankfully, though, Madam Pomfrey had given her a supply of a sleeping potion that created a dreamless slumber – Lily highly doubted that she would have refills, but luckily, she knew how to make her own.
Because Lily had no intention of following through on any of Madam Pomfrey's terms.
When Alice finally found out that her friend was stuck in the hospital wing, Lily did not bother disproving Alice's assumption that Lily must have taken a tumble down a flight of stairs that night when they needed to escape Filch and Mrs. Norris – actually, Lily did not bother to speak at all for the entire visit. Both Marlene and Mary had been there too, but in the news of Stoughton's death, they did not cut off Alice's nervous rambling either and must have supposed that Lily was merely grieving the loss of a good teacher like every other student in the school.
So now Lily was left wandering the empty Hogwarts grounds until Stoughton's memorial service started in a little over an hour. Students and teachers alike were getting ready at that moment, and wizards and witches from around the country slowly trickled in for the wake from their lodgings in Hogsmeade, but they remained confined to the castle where the funeral would take place. Lily was already dressed for the service, so she had seized the first opportunity to escape to the fresh and revitalizing air.
The dark shadows lining the edge of the Forbidden Forest teasingly tempted her from afar, and for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts on the little boats, Lily found herself drawn to the looming woods. She had never intentionally broken any rules before; sure, she had cast her fair share of jinxes on school grounds, but those times had always been a response to those who attacked first. Now, however, she did not automatically dismiss the idea of entering the forest. It was not because there was something in there that she needed or because a Gytrash was chasing her to the trees, but simply because she could.
A sharp gust of wind blew in her face and jerked her from the guilty fantasy. No, what was she thinking? The rules were not created just so students could have a fun time trying to break them; they were created to keep people from doing things they were not supposed to do. Lily shook her head before hurrying away from the taunting Forbidden Forest.
~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ 1973 ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~
Plunk – plunk!
James tossed another skipping stone across the gently rippling surface of the lake.
Plunk – plunk – plunk – plunk!
Stoughton's memorial service was already underway, but instead of sitting in the Great Hall while nameless person after nameless person kept giving speeches about how kind and great Stoughton was, James stood at the edge of the Black Lake, clad in his best and only black dress robes as he skipped stone after stone across the lake. He already knew what they were going to say: he was the kindest man I've ever met … nobody else is going to set another example of that type of generosity … he came here to teach young minds….
What a load of dragon dung, thought James as he flung another skipping stone with a renewed vehemence.
All those people were wrong about his professor. Seriously! What were they even thinking when they said those things? He was not a gentle, loving teacher who graduated school with the sole desire to tutor children – Stoughton was tough, he only ever said what others were doing wrong, his career was that of an Auror, and he was anything but gentle – particularly when speaking to those children, such as himself and Sirius, who stuck Dungbombs in his desk and interrupted class on a regular basis.
But Stoughton was also one of the best people James would ever meet.
Is this what would happen when he finally kicked the bucket? James was positive that Sirius would make sure other people stayed on track when delivering his eulogy – but at the same time, what would people be doing when it came time for James's funeral? If there was one thing he did not want to happen, it was a tear-filled wake like the one Stoughton had in the Great Hall at that moment. His entire school career so far had been devoted to lifting everybody's spirits, but if they –
"Potter?"
James gave a startled jump at the quiet voice and turned around at the unexpected interruption. He had not expected anybody else to be out here, but apparently, he was not the only one who found it too difficult to stay in the Great Hall to listen to a parade of heart-wrenching tributes from people he hardly knew.
"Hey, Evans. I didn't expect anybody else to be out on the grounds today," said James.
He tried to offer her a comforting smile but for the first time in his life, James could not even do that.
The barest trace of a smile flickered briefly on the corners of Lily's lips, but it disappeared just as quickly. After his initial greeting, Evans wordlessly tilted her head down, staring at the sand as she tucked a stray lock of red hair behind her ear. Like James, she was dressed for the service, in sleeveless black dress that hung around her thin frame modestly. However, other than the blue stone that always hung around her neck on a silver chain, Evans had made no effort to pretty herself up at all. Her skin was pale, and somebody – it must have been either Prewett or McKinnon – had obviously tried to comb her hair, but that effort was rendered useless in the wind of the Black Lake.
But the biggest change was in the eyes. Ever since James had known her, those green eyes had always been so vibrant and full of emotion, whether it be joy or anger, but now that sparkle had disappeared, replaced by a sorrowing bleakness that had no place in Evans's life. The emerald green was gone, replaced with gloomy color that only darkened her eyes and smothered the brilliance into nothingness.
"Neither did I. Apparently, we both can't stand the Great Hall right now," said Evans in a soft tone that was so different from the strong voice she normally possessed as she nervously wrung her hands together.
A sharp breeze caught her hair, and she hugged herself before stepping closer to the lake while James studied her closely. There was no anger at all from the prank she had walked in on several nights ago, only a desolate sadness. If she had not said his name at the beginning, James would not have been sure if Evans knew who she was talking to, but considering all that had happened recently, today it did not matter if they were the best of friends or the worst of enemies. James was certain that Evans had liked Stoughton as much as he had and was devastated by his death, just like he himself was. Today, they were just two thirteen-year-olds who had lost a beloved teacher.
"Yeah, well … I'm saying goodbye to Stoughton my own way, and I don't need to listen to a bunch of people telling me how awesome he was to remember him," said James, throwing yet another skipping stone across the glassy surface. A couple of curious merpeople poked themselves into the air to investigate the source of the stones, but James ignored them, and before long they had disappeared beneath the surface again.
"It would be nice if you could forget that," murmured Evans, tossing her hair back as she watched the progress of the skipping stones.
She continued to rub the inside of her wrist, and with a start, James realized that she was not simply wringing her hands. Instead, her fingers were – almost unconsciously – tracing an oddly shaped, partially healed cut that James was certain had not been there several days ago. As if she sensed his staring, Evans quickly dropped her arm to her side, hiding the wound from James's view and determinedly not looking him in the eyes. It did not look too deep, but he would not be surprised if it ended up scarring.
James badly wanted to ask where she had gotten the cut, but from the way Evans refused to meet his questioning gaze, he was not likely to get a straight answer out of her, so he just chucked another stone, this one a reddish-brown and shaped like a ragged star, into the water. They stood next to each other without saying another word after that, but James did not mind. The silence was the most peaceful conversation he had ever had with Evans, and to be honest, her presence was strangely comforting as opposed to the loneliness he had initially hoped to escape to.
Plunk – plunk – plunk … plunk … plunk …
The stone skipped several more times until James could no longer hear the splash before sinking to the bottom of the lake. James leaned down to pick up another and turned it over several times in his hand. This was a good one, circular and perfectly flat. He glanced over at Evans, who stood still while she watched the rocks bounce away, and the forlorn look in her eyes tugged at his heart just as much as Stoughton's death had – and that was when he decided to take a step into the unknown and try cheering her up, even it was only for a little bit.
"Have you ever tried?" asked James, offering the stone to her.
Evans started at the little interruption before she processed the simple question. She stared at the stone, and, unless James was mistaken, a grin – small, but there in her delicate features all the same – broke out. She took the rock tentatively and weighed it in her hand.
"Of course, I've tried, and I do it the way you're supposed to do it – bet I can get it at least twice as far as you can."
James chuckled.
"Is that a challenge, Evans? If so, you're on. My old man taught me how to get these things to go far, but by all means … give it your best shot. You won't even make it halfway."
Evans laughed and shot him a mischievous look before curling her wrist around the stone, and the playful twinkle in her eyes told James that she had skipped stones many times before. In a single deft motion, she drew just her arm back, elbow bent, before fluidly casting her hand forward. The stone hurled across the Black Lake: plunk – plunk – plunk – plunk – plunk … plunk … plunk … plunk … But it soon become clear that neither one of them was right in their prediction: the stone last hit the lake before sinking next to where James had sent his.
"I'm not sure," teased James. "It looks a little short to me."
"Oh, hush, Potter; you just don't want to admit that you were wrong," quipped Evans, lightly prodding him on the arm.
She then glanced up at the sky that was starting to slowly turn orange from the sunset.
"It's getting late. We should be heading back soon."
"But Evans," pleaded James in a tone not unlike the one he used on his mother when bargaining for a later bedtime. "It was just getting fun."
It was so weird: at the moment, James could almost imagine himself friends with Evans while they took turns seeing how far they could get the stones. The air between them was not tense or competitive, but relaxed. However, James knew that this moment was an anomaly, brought about by Stoughton's death, and he also knew that when they would see each other in the Great Hall for morning breakfast, it would be back to the old ways of bickering and conflicting personalities. From the distant look in her eyes, Evans was just as aware of how limited this time was.
"Fine, Potter," she said with an annoyed eye roll that James had grown accustomed to. "Stay here and wait for somebody to catch you, but I'm leaving. It's been a long day."
She turned around to start the trek back to the Gryffindor common room, and James bent down to study the remaining stones. He was just about to pick the next one up when Evans spoke one more time.
"Hey, Potter?"
"Hmm?"
James glanced up to see Evans had not moved from her original spot; instead, she was cautiously studying him with uncertainty in those green eyes of hers. After a pause, Evans opened her mouth but then closed it just as quickly, seemingly unsure of what to say, but in the end, she must have decided that honesty was the best policy.
"Thanks. For this, I mean. I wasn't sure if I would be able to handle … y'know … today."
He would not have blamed her if she had just hurried along after that but considering that Stoughton's abrupt death had thrown both of them off the usual back and forth banter between them, James was not sure if he was sorry that this unreal moment had to end eventually or if he would once again be left alone to his own devices. However, that was when Evans did something else as well, something completely and totally unexpected.
She hugged him.
It was a brief hug, the kind of hug that people gave when they were saying good-bye, but it was a nice hug nonetheless. The sudden action had taken James totally by surprise, and for a second, he was not sure what he should do. After his astonishment had subsided, however, he returned the warm gesture, and James found himself comforted by her soft affection. If James was being honest with himself, he would have been content to stand there forever. However, Evans soon released her arms, a faint pink on her cheeks as she nervously tucked a stray strand of hair back into the thin headband she wore.
James cleared his throat awkwardly.
"What do you say to coming with me to the Great Hall?" he asked. "We should be there for the last sendoff before his family takes the casket back for the burial; Stoughton deserves that much from us."
There was silence and then: "One final goodbye?" asked Lily, raising her head and meeting his gaze squarely.
"The last," agreed James, and together, they headed up to the castle.
Did any of you catch the irony in that statement? Because that's what I was going for.
Also, Lily's scar on her wrist is meant in no way to be like Harry's. Its meaning is purely psychological, and I have two separate scenes planned later down the road where it will come into play. Again: perfectly ordinary scar. Nothing special about it.
You have reached the end of second year, ladies and gentlemen. If you just click that lovely little "next" button you see at the bottom of your screen (or wherever it is on your computer), you can continue on to the third year.
