Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. How...disappointing.
A/N: I am so grateful for ALL of your reviews! Keep 'em coming!
(Also, I am not 16. Sorry about that!) :)
Enjoy xx
It's bitterly cold on Sunday, and most of the shops aren't open, so I walk down to Leicester Square. It's bustling with people, like Tom said it would be, so I sit down on a vacated bench and pull out my book, red hair fluttering in the breeze. Half an hour later, I stand up, legs wobbly, and stroll around the base of the monument, admiring it, before walking off to find somewhere to get some breakfast.
Two cups of coffee and three pain-au-chocolat later, I walk back to the Leaky Cauldron, hand hovering protectively over my now virtually empty purse. As I pass the electronics shop next door, I catch a snatch of a conversation as two snooty-looking women stride past.
"Filled with Muggles and Mudbloods, as usual! I do hate London!"
"And I do hate people who break the Statue of Secrecy." I mutter quietly, but apparently not quietly enough, because one of the women whirls around, face sharp. I step backwards as I recognise her, hand going to my pocket for my wand, but of course it's not there.
"Look who it is, the Mudblood Evans."
"Bellatrix Black."
"What are you doing so far away from home?"
"I don't think that's any of your business, quite frankly."
"Ah, well, you see, Mudblood, it is too my business."
"Really? How's that?"
"If you're going to make smart remarks like that, then you shouldn't be ashamed of them."
"If anything, you should be ashamed. How dare you call me a Mudblood, like it's an insult to have to work twice as hard to get anywhere in wizarding world. How dare you call me a Mudblood, all because my parents can't just buy me a job, and I might have to work for one. How dare you call me a Mudblood, when, let's face it, I'm twice the witch you'll ever be!"
"How dare you speak to me, you filthy little-"
"Mudblood? Possibly?"
The witch next to the her snorts, and I squint at her, trying to think where I've seen her before.
"Do you think this is funny, Andromeda?"
"Just a tad, Bella."
Bellatrix lets out a snarl, whirling around to face her sister, who I now recognise, and Andromeda Black winks at me, then jerks her head to the side discreetly. Smiling gratefully at her, I take the hint and quickly disappear into the crowd, slipping in front of a large group of shoppers, all carrying what seems like hundreds of shopping bags. My hand drifts to my pocket again, fingers reaching out to hold my wand and closing on empty air. I feel lonely, vulnerable, unstable without my wand. It was my one source of something magical at home, and my anchor at school, the one thing that I could rely on to always work, always help me if I needed it.
And I chucked it away.
A wave of remorse hits me like a punch in the gut, and I stop in the middle of the street, causing the shoppers to curse under their breath and swerve around me.
I left it behind. Not just it, but Hogwarts, and Charms and Exploding Snap and Sugar Quills.
The Gryffindor common room and the Heads' dorm and the Great Hall and the library.
The thrill of perfecting a new spell and the joy at seeing my Patronus and piggyback rides and late-night swims in the lake.
Early mornings with hot chocolates on the table and laughing rides on the Hogwarts Express and cosy nights in front of the fire.
Alice, and Sirius, and Remus and Peter.
James.
I suck in a breath, ragged and gasping, head spinning, and I need to calm down, I know I do, so I start walking automatically towards the Leaky Cauldron, or where I think it is, and bump into someone, apologising quietly. Pushing open the door, I ignore Tom's call of "Lily!", and run up the stairs, along the corridor, into my room, slamming the door. I start to pace, which is something I obviously picked up from James, and the repetitive movements help, so my breathing evens out, becoming deep and slow, like I'm relaxed.
I'm not relaxed.
My book doesn't help; I can't focus. Drawing is out of the question; my hands are shaking too much for me to draw anything.
Eventually, I kick my shoes off and curl up on my bed, pulling he duvet over me, ignoring the oppressive heat. The covers envelope me, like a hug, like a pat on the back, and it makes me feel mildly better, like the sight of a chair when you've been walking for hours, or a cup of icy lemonade on a really hot day. Breathing normally again, I lay back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling, riding the wave of emotions flowing through me like a professional surfer. The sunlight streams in through the window like a friendly wave, and the idea of that makes me smile, that even the sun wants me to get up.
So I do.
I pull the covers off and take a minute, composing myself, then slip my shoes on, ready to go back out again. I'm just counting out the last of my remaining money to put in my purse when there's a knock on the door; housekeeping.
"Just a second!"
Scrambling around, I shove the rest of my coins into the bottom of my bag and run over to the door, pulling it open so that the breeze blows my hair back. "I'll be leaving in a second, I've just got to..."
I fall silent.
The man at my door is James Potter.
I have written a haiku, on how much I like cliffhangers. Would you like to hear it?
I'm guessing you know.
But I like cliffhangers lots.
Cliffhangers are great.
Thank you, and reviews make me update faster! As you can probably tell!
Adios, Buenos noches and all of the above,
She-who-loves-fanfiction xx
