I know I haven't been here in, well, about two months, but this is 14 pages long, single spaced. so... enjoy.
From Lily Evan's Record of Past Events:
I wish I were a lake.
Everything would be so simple then. No worries, no troubles- just wind and waves and people gazing at you longingly.
I really want to be a lake.
It's night- late at night, and I'm wicked tired. But still, I don't want to go up to my empty room. I can't help thinking- what if it didn't help changing back time? What if James will die, anyway, and it'll be my fault- again? What if it's his destiny to die by my hand?
I don't know what I'd do.
He said some people would remember.
Dumbledore, I mean. When I asked him. When I came to his office that night, after visiting James's tomb. I remember… only briefly. I can't remember that much, anymore.
It was probably around this time of night, and the abnormally bright half moon was up in the sky, outshining the stars. I stood before the statue marking the Headmaster's office, biting my lip.
Out the window, the waves of the Great Lake rippled with intense wind. It was cold, a frosty December cold the slithered into the castle through the old, crumbling walls. It was so silent my own jagged breath was like thunder. Several ghosts misted their way across the hallway were I stood, staring at me with interest as they passed. I nodded at them grimly.
"It's orange-peach mints," said a voice behind me. I turned to see the silvery figure of Nearly Headless Nick eyeing me pitifully. "The password," he added. "He just changed it this morning."
I smiled at him faintly. He drifted toward me as I stared on toward the entrance.
"It wasn't your fault, Ms. Evans," he said kindly. "His death- their death. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time."
He placed his freezing hand on my shoulder supportively, and left.
Tears swarmed in my eyes. Curses seeped through my mind. My fingers tingled nervously.
"Orange-peach mints," I whispered.
The spiraling staircase appeared before me, unfamiliarly freighting and foreboding as I never knew it to be. I forced my tin legs to move, climb step after step until-
"Miss Evans, what a pleasure to see you here at this time of night."
I don't know how Professor Dumbledore noticed I was there. He was fully dressed in an emerald cloak, his spectacles glistening in the dim firelight. A crimson-feathered phoenix sat on a golden perch, his large, black eyes digging holes into my punctured soul. I looked toward Dumbledore, my eyes pleading.
"This is rather an odd hour to visit," Dumbledore cut me off pleasantly, leaning down toward something he was writing, one of Fawkes's feathers held lightly in his hand. "I would have thought you'd be in your dorm, sleeping peacefully."
"It's been hard to sleep peacefully the last couple of days," I murmured.
Dumbledore put down the scarlet quill, eyeing me fatherly. I thought of my own father, lying in a hospital bed with critical burns, unaware that my mum- his love- was dead.
Dumbledore motioned for me to take a sit. I hid my tears with my hair, unsuccessfully.
"I've noticed you took to Mr. Potter's death rather hard," he said grimly. I felt his azure eyes eyeing me, looking into my very soul. "I didn't know you became so close in the last few months- I'm sorry I hadn't-"
"I killed him."
There was silence.
With a deep, tired sigh Dumbledore rose to his feet, rubbing his eyes. He seemed so old then- so worn. I forced myself to look at him.
"I brew a potion- a fear potion. I was mad after- well, when he said those things to me by the lake, right after my mum died-"
"What potion was it?" my Headmaster was searching through his library, taking out ancient, disintegrating texts. "Which one did you use?"
"The…" I racked my brain. "The potion made by Erised. After he made the mirror, he created many other items to show the inner soul- lockets and rings… and the one potion."
"The Greatest Fear Potion of Erised," Dumbledore sighed again. "Very impressive."
I said nothing. He opened one of the books, staring at it for long moments.
"I was hoping you- you would know how to reverse it."
There was a silence for one long, long moment. Dumbledore sat back in his chair.
"Come now, Ms. Evans," he said softly. "You know potions can't be reversed."
I felt my blood run cold, my vision divide. "There must be a way to-"
My head dropped to my chest. A wail made its way up my stinging throat. "There has to be a way!"
Dumbledore skimmed through the book carefully, his long fingers gentle with the old parchment. "Whom did you cast it on? Did it cause the tragedies for Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus-"
"Yes." I said miserably. "Yes, I cast it on them all- I didn't mean to! I thought it was… a prank, or-"
"No potion of Erised would ever be a mere prank," Dumbledore said, and for the first time I saw him truly angry. "You can't change back time, Ms. Evans. You must live with your choices."
I stared at him. "But- but you can change back time. You can! A time turner, or-"
"A time turner cannot go back so many days," he said, frowning in thought. He was considering it! "And in any event, you aren't to be seen, so you cannot very well change anything significant-"
"But there are spells- old runes- that can send ME back in time, back to my own mind, back-"
He was taking out another book, scanning the gibberish lines upon it. I watched, enticed, as he mouthed the words, shaking his head sadly.
"No. It's too risky. You could change the timelines, and-"
"That the point though, isn't it? I want to change-"
"No!" he closed the book shut. I saw the sadness in his eyes, the grief… "No. I'm sorry. You can't… I'm sorry."
From behind us, Fawkes let out a single note. Dumbledore looked up to him, his eyes missing their usual spark.
"I must go," he told me. "Please… Ms. Evans. I will be back shortly."
He was gone.
My heart was pounding. The book was sitting on his desk- and the page, the page where he opened it, was a bit wrinkled between the others…
I rushed to open it.
I glanced over the page.
And every other of the ten following pages.
Then, I started to chant.
From James Potter's Journal:
The big oak doors that marked the entrance to the house of my childhood were shut.
This was not the yard I remembered. The Potter Manor had one of the most impressive entrances in Magical England: the green grass, spreading in every which way, covered by a blanket of rare flowers and colorful mushrooms; the blooming, ancient trees, their brunches burdened with heavy loads of fresh fruit and chirping bird-nests; the house's outward wall, made of faded brown brick from the seventeen hundreds, plants and vegetation webbing their way from top to bottom systematically, flourishing with small white flowers and the butterflies that followed the nectar; the stone trail that led from the gate to this door, lined with small statues made of scarce pebbles in different sizes, their crystalline interiors shining in the sunlight that screened through the thick layers of lush, colorful leaves.
The small pebbles were broken, their crystals foreboding in the star's light. The trees were bare, their brunched naked and cold in a howling December wind. The ground was a swamp of intrusive weeds and mud. The green blankets of plants covering the walls were overgrown, reaching out as if to grab any passerby.
This is not the home I remembered.
But my mother was inside. At the same time while I longed for her gentle touch- to push my hair back, complain about untidy robes, grab my wand to scrub it and ask about the marauders- my heart was cold as this house that used to be mine. That woman was gone. She's died long ago.
Still, my breath came with difficulty. I hadn't seen her in months…
I opened the door.
There was silence.
The room I found myself in was not the one I remembered. It was dark. It was filthy. It was broken both physically and in spirit. The curtains were shoved closed, so even the small comfort of starlight was taken away from this ghost room that used to mean so much.
I didn't pause to stare long at the broken pictures lining the walls, the turned over sofas, the occasional blood spots dotting the floor. I couldn't take it in- didn't want to. What has happened here? Mum wasn't that far gone. Mum couldn't be that far gone.
Feeling alone, I took the Marauder's map out of my bag. I got to keep it that vacation, since Sirius had it during summer, and Remus would in Easter, and Peter didn't trust himself to keep it safe. None of the marauders would be at Hogwarts- we'd all left. But just the sight of the familiar outline, the towering towers, the stretching grass, the whopping willow, and the forest… it made me relax.
Once I put it back safely in the bag, though, I was back in the devil's house.
There was an eerie quiet. No, not even quiet- a total lack of noise. As if Dementors were near by, sucking it away as they did light and happiness. With every tentative footstep I took, a record-breaking earthquake shook the house.
I didn't glance to the kitchen as I passed through it in the hallway, hurrying over to the stairs. Mum would be in her room. She didn't leave there for anything. Not even saying bye to her only son on his last day at home before moving out after graduation.
My mind was elsewhere as I climbed. I thought of my dad, and what he would have said had he seen everything that was going on. I thought of Dumbledore, the minister, the whole wizarding world- what would they have said? Would they have done anything at all to help? Were they on Laurence's side, with all his donations, or were they on mine?
I threw my bag to my room, a floor under my location. A cloud of dust rose where it fell. Before Mum's door, I stopped.
I didn't mean to. My hand was already reaching for the handle, already twisting to turn it and enter the room- when it froze.
Call it instinct. Call it a sixth sense. I don't know- but I didn't want to go into that room.
Where else do you plan to go? A mocking voice said inside my head.
I looked at my frozen hand, inches from the metal doorknob.
I opened it.
On the bed, my mum looked like she was sleeping.
She was a very beautiful woman. Unblemished skin, long, wavy hair. Very petite; I was taller then her by fourth year. She looked like an angel, laying there on the dusty mattress, unmoving, her chest still.
I didn't need to walk closer. I didn't need a pulse, didn't need to look into her glazy, motionless eyes to know.
No, the mother I remembered wasn't there anymore.
At first, I didn't feel much. It wasn't grief. It wasn't anger. Hell, it wasn't even confusion- nothing like when Dad died.
It was just… curiosity.
And a burning, undeniable need for revenge.
I walked leisurely out the room, trying to keep quiet. Laurence should be in the house still. I will find him. I will kill him.
I have been waiting for this.
I searched. He wasn't on any of the four upper floors. I took a short cut to the basement- not there, either. I rushed back upstairs. Mum's room met me again. Not in the crime scene.
I climbed down.
The Princess is cleaning.
Scrubbing floor, dusting shelves, fluffing pillows and splashing water over tile floors. It is so so filthy.
The Princess can't think. She can't think of anything. All she sees is dirty floors and spilt sauce and oily pans and dusty curtains. She is going mad. Can't think. Can't do anything.
Where is the Prince? Why doesn't he save her?
The Prince always saves his Princess.
He said he would write.
From James Potter's Journal:
He was nowhere.
I've covered every floor. Opened every closet. Streams of sweat mingled with misplaced tears I barely noticed. Jagged breath. Pumping heart. And me, stumbling along, half blind with unbalanced glasses. He couldn't be gone. I needed him here. I wanted this. Needed this. If I didn't do this…
Then what the hell do I do?
I closed my eyes; leaned back on the nearest wall, trying to calm the rushing blood from gashing out of my improperly healed wounds.
It wasn't a wall.
I fell through a door.
And there was my bag.
I was back in my room, staring up at the ceiling, my back aching with something sharp and painful stubbing at my skin. A familiar light-headedness engulfed me. Was I bleeding?
Apparently so. I had landed right on my bag- broken the mirror Sirius and I shared into two neat pieces. It would take seconds to fix it, but someone was already there…
"Hi! Prongs, you there? Wormtail can't find you anywhere! It's a full moon today, mate, we gotta go! Prongs? HI! I do not like being ignored, and I've got lots to tell you, and-" The voice made my back hurt even more. I took the pieces out of the bag, stared into the bigger one. My face was immediately flooded with light from Sirius's apartment. I saw him there, my best friend, gaping at my contorted, wet face. We said nothing.
"She's dead, Pads," I whispered. "My mum's dead…"
"James, wait, I'll be right over!" He put the mirror down, cursing every word his father ever taught him. Where were his shoes?!
Turning on the spot and still shoe less, Sirius apparated to the entrance of Potter Manor. The house glared down at him with unfamiliar foreboding. He skipped thorugh the house without really seeing it- didn't really want to see it. Back in his apartment, on the James's background inside the mirror, he'd seen red and gold wall paper, parts of a majestic, gold brown bed, and that picture of the four marauders grinning and hitting each other under the tree by the lake. That was James's room. He'd been there enough times to know every inch. He rushed to the floor. No time to waste. No time to waste. A thought accumulated in his mind- something Prongs had said at the beginning of the year, inside his room in the new dorm he shared with Lily Evans after the latter cursed him in front of the whole school. Something about a knife, and James, and blood…
But he wouldn't do that.
He already did it once.
"Prongs!" gasping, panting, staring every which way in full out panic, he stormed into the room like a mad wolf searching for its pups. The sight that greeted him made his blood freeze solid.
James was sitting on the floor, his back to the bed. He was facing a grand mirror stretching the full length of the opposite wall. His head lolled back onto the mattress, the glasses disorganized over closed eyes. Trails of blood leaked from underneath him, sickeningly painting the floor red. He was motionless, all sweaty and dusty and disgusting, his hands weak and lifeless in his lap. Sirius stopped breathing.
Breath. BREATH. It's not hard. You've done it before. He thought, wanting to hit someone (preferably with jet black hair and a very stupid, frustratingly fretful mind). "Why the hell are you bleeding? Do you want me to -"
"The mirror broke," James protested, blinking as he lifted his head. Sirius faked a smile. What a Christmas.
Something had to be done.
"Listen, you dolt, stand up and come on." He tried, changing the subject. James seemed to straighten at the familiar teasing tone. "We gotta go. Full moon, remember? Remus is-"
"Oh, right! Merlin, I completely forgot."
"What time is it? We gotta-"
Sirius shook his head, as James leaped up, almost fell, and then walked shakily toward the door. That's Prongs for you. Too caring for his own bloody good. No, don't think about the fact that your Mum just died, no! Think of the poor transforming werewolf doing it without company…
They ran downstairs, James a bit behind, due to some less then satisfactory healing on Sirius's part. Their feet hit the floorboards shatteringly, almost breaking the crumbling wood.
A screeching halt.
"What is it?" Sirius demanded, thoughts flying everywhere. What if he'd want to bring Mrs. Potter's body, or… James could do that. His mind worked almost as crazily as Sirius's.
"I forgot my bag."
"What? No, come back here! We don't have time for this! Moony must be-"
"The Map's in there!"
"Well-…" Headache. Big headache. Unbalanced James was a handful. "Well, wait, then, I'll-"
"Just go, I'll catch up!"
"Don't be stupid, that's-"
"Like you said, Moony could be changing any second now!"
Like hell I'm leaving you alone, Sirius thought, sprinting after Prongs. He paused halfway up the stairs, listening.
There were voices coming from the basement. Clanking of bottles, someone singing.
"Come on Padfoot, if we don't' get going, we'll never-"
"Right. Let's go." His distraction worked. Added with James's own talent of suppressing unpleasant memories, all thought of his mom had drifted away.
He wouldn't say anything. There was no point.
By the gate, though, James looked back, traces of sorrow peeking into his eyes.
"You know, I kissed Morla," Sirius mused. James's head turned to him, almost breaking in the process. "She slapped me."
Laughing hysterically, they moved away from the house's protective spells, and apparated away.
From Lily Evans' Record of Past Events:
I spent the night by the lake, staring at its ripples. I couldn't sleep. Just… think, think, worry, curse, cry, sob, fear, all the emotions mixing together with confusion and I don't know what else.
I had to find out.
Light was forming on the edges of the sky, spilling onto the forest, as I made my way to an apparition zone. The stars were hidden by thick, dark clouds; the ground covered by snow. Once I could see the white rooftops of Hogsmeade village, I paused, taking a big breath.
And I was by the Potter Manor, racing though the familiar halls, searching for a sound, a scream of pain and suffering. He could be dead. James could be dead all over again- and it'll be my fault, all over again, and I had not gone through all of that for it all to happen all over again- all over again…
I screamed his name, screamed for Laurence, for house elves, fro the mother I knew was dead. No one answered but my own echo, vibrating back, making my heart speed, my sweat tickle. What if he were dead? This was the day. Today he died. I've been here already, in this past memory that wasn't really the past, looking for a sign of life- and I found him, we hid, we bonded, and then I told him I loved him- told him I loved him… and he died. It was now. It was repeating. I've already seen Mrs. Potter dead in her bed, just as I remembered- it was me, Laurence, and James, inside this house that was locked by a spell laid by Potters. It was, and now it is- again. Repeating. I will not let it repeat.
But there was no one there.
Eventually, my sprint subsided to a sobbed walk. It was a huge house. It had the feel… the feel of something dead inside. Mrs. Potter lying so gray and cold on the bed was one, and the smell of decaying food, filth, broken toilets. My mind played tricks on me- around every corner there was a pool of blood, behind every chair scattered bones. Knives became weapons. Dust became ashes. I remembered the way he looked- the beautiful hazel eyes, so alive, so real… the light dieing, replaced by a flash of green. The body collapsing to the floor, toppling over like a rug doll. And then that same body, gray and cold, among other gray, dead bodies, staring up at the doll white ceiling. And then the tomb. And then everything else. And me, by the lake, alone, with all these things I've done and seen and only I remember…
There was no one there.
I collapsed in the kitchen, shaking, crying. Is he dead? Is he not? Am I to blame- again?
From the window I saw the sunrise was almost complete. It was morning.
And then… then I heard a voice. Bottles, someone moving, falling, laughing hysterically in the basement.
He was alive.
He was in the house.
He was… singing?
From James Potter's Journal:
So my mom's dead.
Merlin, I… It's morning now, Sirius of course still sleeping. I've just finished writing everything that happened in the Manor. And I've realized that I haven't thought of my mum… since Sirius came.
It was Laurence. Get Laurence. Have to get, find, kill… So blind. So stupid.
He wasn't even there.
And I… I guess I was trying to forget. To not think about it. That I was an orphan.
Everyone is an orphan at some point.
But not at eighteen.
I can't really think straight. Probably has to do with the fact that we've been up all night. I do love full moons, and I don't care what Remus says- after we get through the transformation, it's life itself. As usual, Prongs managed to clear my head. It seems that every time I transform into my trusty Animagus form, everything's fine again. We ran, we played, we teased and jumped at each other. And when we were all human again, we sat on the roof of that old cabin, like we always did at the roof of the Gryffindor tower, freezing to death even with the cloaks and the warming charms and everything. And we just talked. Sirius told us of his disastrous meeting with Morla. Peter told us, rather reluctantly, of some strange dreams he's been having. We quickly set him straight, and all the weariness evaporated. Remus let us know about some fight he's had with Coral. She says she say a vision of him heating her.
Sirius almost fell off the roof with laughter.
And then I told them of my mum.
And it was like- yeah. Ok.
And that's what I love about the marauders. They get things. They don't pity. They don't… judge. They just get it. So I told them, and we all sat there in this supportive silence because in a way, we were brothers. And we didn't need to say anything after all we've just confessed to.
As the sun rose, we left. Dropped Remus off with Coral, who was teary and apologizing. That fight of theirs won't last very long. Peter went off somewhere, and Sirius pushed me into his flat, into a sleeping bag, zipped it, and started snoring.
I can't sleep.
Because, apart from my mum being dead…
There's something I forgot.
Morla's lips were huge.
Red. Soft. Beautiful. She was wearing black, her face with no make up, smelling of the normal lavender he always smelled in her hair.
She was running away. Why? Why can't she wait? The forest was dangerous, and… Bellatrix? What the…
He fell off the sofa, right onto the empty sleeping bag. Squinting up against blinding light, he glowered at James, who looked down at him, too serious and grim.
"What the hell-"
"I'm going to get my mum."
"Listen, Prongs, your mum…"
"I know she's dead. I didn't forget."
There was a little anger in that tone. Dare you suggest I forgot about my mum when I actually did.
"That's not what I meant."
"I have to get her body. I can't leave her there. He may still be in the house."
"Which is another reason why you shouldn't go."
"I have to."
They looked at each other.
"Fine," Sirius said finally. James smiled bitterly, turning to get in a better position for apparation.
Sirius went to get his shoes.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking for my shoes. I can never find them when I need to. Did you pull a prank, so I can never find them?"
"Yes. I did. Why are you looking for your shoes?"
"Cause I'm coming."
"No you're not."
"Yes. I am."
"She was the closest thing for a mum I've ever had."
James sighed. "They'll be behind the toilet. They're always by the toilet, or inside the fireplace, or inside the fridge."
From James Potter's Journal:
We arrived in the manor, rushed to Mum's room. She was there, as dead as before. My heart sunk. What was I thinking, that she'd come back to life?
"It's awfully messy in here," Sirius commented, pointing at all the bottles littering the floor. I stared at them, not really seeing.
"I think I'm gonna take one last look at the place," I mumbled, as Sirius picked Mum up with a charm. He nodded. He got it. I would never set foot in here again. I had to… say goodbye.
I started with my room, packing some things I can't not have. Gifts from my parents- those that I'd treasure till I die. The prank book I've memorized but swore to pass on to my own kids one day. Some photos. The room was packed with trivial object, stuff that seemed so important just last summer. Now they're so… simple, childish, silly. I sent what I collected off to Sirius's. Then I went to the window.
It was early morning. The sun rose maybe twenty minutes before, and the sky was brilliant and colorful. A crumbling wooden tree house invited me to play with it from the huge, ancient maple tree that stood by my window. My dad built it for me by hand. I was five at the time, but I've used it up till last year, with Sirius, and the others when they visited. Behind it was our yard: Mum's garden, abandoned and lifeless. Dad's old cabin, weak, squeaky, and dusty, where he built things like he loved to do, filling up our house with home made projects that only half worked. The little closet where we kept Quidditch supplies: full of spider webs and broken brooms. Two of the three polls we used to practice with, ragged and worn. The antique bench swing my parents fell in love on back when my grandparents lived here with Mum, half buried in the dirt.
I closed the curtain, and walked away.
Sirius was right where I left him. It doesn't take so long to levitate a corpse. I suspected he was taking his time to give me a chance to do whatever it was I planned to do, alone.
Smiling tiredly, I walked down the stairs. The upper floors had guest rooms, libraries, dance floors, and huge dining rooms we've rarely used. That wasn't my house. My house was down stairs- the kitchen, where I could always find mum, cooking something. Dad's office. The breakfast table we ate every meal at. The entrance hall, the play room, the studio, the patio, the living room, the…
There were voices coming from the basement.
Why were voices coming out of the basement?
I walked carefully, trying to listen, toward the cellar. Someone was definitely in there.
I put my ear to the door, biting my lip. …It was a girl. She was… crying?
"Hi, Prongs? You've been down there for, about seven centuries now. You know how extensive my attention span is."
Guess who that was.
I would have shushed Sirius, who was calling me form all the way upstairs, but right then, a high-pitched scream pierced the silence.
I pulled at the handle violently. It was locked. Whoever it was, she was begging- screaming, sobbing, crying… And then I heard him: Laurence, laughing, taunting, enjoying her fear. Their voices penetrated through the gray stonewalls. I listened at the wooden door again. Another sobbing scream pushed me back a few feet back, my ears ringing, my anger boiling.
It was Lily Evans begging for mercy inside.
I took out my wand, pointed it at the door, and blasted it open with one swift hand gesture. I heard mad footsteps upstairs; Sirius was coming a ta full out sprint, probably as Padfoot. I let the dust settle.
The first thing I saw was the smooth, alabaster skin of Lily Evans, crouched and cowering in the corner, with her blazing, fiery hair tumbling around her bare, naked shoulders. Once I tore my eyes off of that unbelievable image (Lily Evans, sobbing, frightened, alone…) I notices the figure shedding a shadow over her, tilting this way and that with drunkenness: Laurence, taking off his cloak to reveal a disgustingly hairy back.
He was raping her.
There was a very protesting, astonished noise. I think it was me. My hands were moving, weaving curses at this bastard that destroyed the last shamble of stability that was left in my life. Somehow I'm next to Lily, trying to hide her from him, trying to protect her, because she's this tiny thing staring at me with petrified, pleading green eyes that grow bigger because of the huge tears sliding down her white cheeks. Laurence stood up, staggered. He raised his wand and before I could blink, a huge hole was blasted on the wall right above our heads. Lily and I yelled together as chunks of stone and granite fell on top of us. I tried to shield her, but Laurence wasn't done. The next curse was the Crucio.
From Lily Evans' record od Past Events:
James's scream soon subsided. I thought he lost consciousness, but he was probably just dazed. I was beginning to realize what was going on, as Sirius battled the older wizard.
When I destroyed the potion, it worked, my spell was gone, which meant the marauders were safe.
But because I came here and got myself locked in a room with John Laurence, I forced James into a possibly fatal situation.
James could die, I realized.
He could die now.
And it'll be because of me.
I pushed him off myself, straining to stand. He will not die again. I haven't gone through all that just to live through it over again!
I stood up on shaky legs, grabbing for my wand- it was a few feet away. Sirius yelled something, and suddenly there was red- blood, blood everywhere- I grabbed my wand, sending a protego curse to reflect Laurence's next curse from hitting Sirius right in the chest. Laurence looks around to see who just interfered in his fun. His tiny, crazed eyes landed on me. He flattered a look at my bare chest, my naked body. I saw James picking himself up between the stone fragments. Then Laurence raised his wand arm, smiling.
James leaped off the floor, pushing Laurence into the opposite wall. He missed by mere centimeters. I could almost feel my heart stop.
I saw the green light hit the wall, a hair width from my shoulder. James and Laurence were battling on the floor. Sirius was sending curses here and there, trying to get the big man trying to squish his friend to death. He has a knife, I suddenly remembered. Then a wave of green engulfed me.
The force of the Avada Kedavra propelled away from the shuttered wall.
I sunk into a sea of blackness.
We're in the hospital.
It's oddly familiar in here. I don't really understand why, but it seems like- like I've been here very often. Which is not true, of course, maybe once or twice in my entire life- but still. Know where all the bathrooms are.
We're because Lily- stupid, foolish Lily- got herself raped. Yeah. I know. James said they found her a distance away from his house, naked and unconscious. They don't know who raped her, but I have a pretty good idea.
A death eater, of course. She's a known, gifted muggle born walking alone in the street. Why not?
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
We are all sitting around her bed- me and Coral, Remus (who looks even sicker then usual, and I think I should know why, but I don't), James and Sirius.
Sirius. Who refuses to look at me.
Lily did wake already, and told me she's a stupid bitch. I told her she was, but she shouldn't linger on it- that's why I love her. She giggled, and then lost consciousness again from the sedatives.
She has a concussion, see.
A bad concussion. And lots of cuts all over her body- some seriously deep.
Coral and Remus are sitting so close together you can just tell they had a fight. I don't know why, they're so perfect for each other, but they did. So I'm keeping an eye on them instead of… well, instead of nothing.
James is really worried about Lily. I can tell. Maybe it's the fact that he hasn't taken his arms off her. Maybe it's the fact that-
Sirius just left the room.
I think I'm gonna follow…
Aly followed him to the lobby.
She may have thought she was being discreet, but she was mistaken. He would notice her short black curls everywhere.
"How can I help you?" there was a small stand in the lobby, and a tired guy looking at him with half closed eyes.
"Just a butterbeer, please."
"Hot or cold?"
"Cold." That guy was in no condition for heating magic.
The man took out an icy bottle, and accepted Sirius's two sickles. Sirius searched the room for a place to sit. It was full, so he settled on the wall next to reception.
"Very odd in there, isn't it?" Aly said coming to lean beside him, taking swing from a steaming butterbeer mug she held with her fingertips. Sirius ignored her. They stood in silence for a moment, but Aly's patience was the shorter then most dragons. "Are you trying to prove how mature you are? Cause it's really not working."
She rolled her eyes, taking out something from her bag. From the corner of his eye, Sirius saw the TWH plans. "comeon. I'm not doing this whole thing by myself."
He looked away.
They stood in awkward silence for another moment, before Aly opened the folder and began flipping pages.
"Hmm." She mused. "I think I'm gonna change the muggle bands. Don't you agree? It'll be too complicated to find one that's already aware of wizards, and wizard bands are better, anyway. Maybe a group from Slytherin? They have great sounds, and-"
"What do you want from me?!" Sirius practically yelled, turning to her with burning eyes. He expected her to shy away with surprise. She gave him a leveled look, and then glanced around the now silent lobby.
"Follow." She commanded, turning to leave, completely sure he would.
Seething, he turned away from her. Insults run through his mind. Maybe Aly was more suited for him as a dog then a man.
Out of nowhere, there was a piercing pain in his ear. Aly's small fingers pulled him after her, wordless.
She drugged around the hospital, searching fro an empty room. There were none, not in the middle of a wizard war. Eventually, she let go of his ear. He kept following.
"What are you talking about?" she asked. Sirius blinked, trying to remember what she was talking about. When he did, he flared up all over again.
"You slapped me! You made it very clear that you're not interested- so I back off, and now you can't just let it-"
"You kissed me!" she yelled back, in the same tone, her anger flaring just as fast as his. "How was I supposed to react?"
"I don't know! I don't know, Morla, but slapping me didn't make the experience very-"
"I'm sorry I messed up your sick version of picking me up, but-"
"I wasn't picking you up, I didn't know what I was doing!"
"I noticed that!"
"Merlin! All I wanted was to show you the sodding plans and go on with my life-"
"No, you were planning to show me the sodding plans, kiss me, and tempt me into some broom closet so you can-"
Aly gasped. His eyes were thrown open by the surprise from that thing that just came out of his mouth.
And since Aly slapped him. That too.
They stared at each other.
And then she started laughing.
From Lily Evan's record of Past Events:
My eyes flattered open.
James leaned toward me, his face inches way from mine. Alive. Breathing. Not dead.
I stared into his eyes, but he didn't seem to notice I've woken- he just stared at my face, his hazel orbs terracing my hair, my skin, my eyelashes-
He jumped back, thoroughly frightened.
"Merlin, Evans, warm a guy, wont' you!"
I managed a weak smile, feeling oddly lightheaded, as if dreaming. "Sorry."
He pushed the glasses back over his nose. "Are you ok?"
"Um… I should probably tell the healers you're awake. I'll just-"
"Please don't," I begged, feeling trapped. I've developed a very bad outlook on healers, mediwitches, and hospitals in the last couple of weeks. "Just… stay with me a while."
"Just stay here?"
He stayed a little longer.
"…Just, sit here."
"Sit and stare at you."
"I- no," I coughed uncomfortably. "I just don't want to be alone."
"Well, you're awake, and I would really love to stay… stay, but I'm really, ah…" he trailed off.
"Yes." He seemed grateful.
"I guess… I guess you could call the Healers, then. If you're bored and all."
James gave me a suspicious look.
"Are you being sarcastic?"
"…No," I said, confused.
"I'm being nice, Potter. Perhaps that's a term you're unfamiliar with."
His face visibly relaxed. "That's more like it. I thought the whole hit in the head thing messed you up or something."
He stood up, grinning idiotically. Then a thought seemed to occur to him, and he sat right back down.
"Ah. Could you do me a favor?"
"That depends," I said, sitting up in bed despite his protest. "Does it involve-"
"Please don't tell anyone who raped you."
I couldn't help it: my mouth dropped to my lap, my eyes opened wide. "Excuse me?"
He didn't want me to tell on Laurence? Well, ah, well… I have nothing to say to that. Absolutely nothing.
"It's just that- err, I'm trying to deal with this. My mum died, and if the ministry was to know he did it- well, there would be a huge investigation and… and we couldn't very well bury her, couldn't… it'll just be a dishonor to her, it'll ruin her… death."
He looked at me pleadingly. A mixture of sadness and embarrassment filled his eyes.
I nodded slowly. This was none of my business; anyway- I shouldn't have even been there. James could have died all over again just because I was so damn-
"You're awake, Miss Evans!" said a Healer.
Oh, dear God.