Hope

She loved to watch him fly.

She hadn't in first year, when she still found herself jumping at the sound of cauldrons bubbling, sparks spouting from wands, and broomsticks whizzing through the air. Or in second and third years, when she began to fully realize the extent of his cruelty, his arrogance. Or in fourth year, when he began nagging her to go out with him. And certainly not in fifth year, when both his bullying of others and his pursuit of her had reached a peak. No, she'd never enjoyed watching him fly then, only her occasional daydreams involving him losing control of his broom and flying into the Whomping Willow.                        

She'd enjoyed those quite a bit.

But she didn't find herself sneaking out to watch him fly, and enjoying it, until this year. Sixth year, which should have been perfect, with OWLs behind her and NEWTs still a full school year away. This year, which should have been just as magical as all those fairy tales she'd loved as a child.

But she was no longer a child, and she no longer loved stories of fantasy and fiction, stories depicting a magical realm in which every princess has a dozen princes, fairy godmothers, and guardian angels to protect her.

Amber hadn't even had one.

`No, Lily, don't go there,' she told herself. `Don't dwell on it.'

But dwell she did, and before she knew it, tears were leaking out of her eyes, down her cheeks, and landing with a soft plop on her lap. She glanced up at the cloaked figure far above her to make sure he hadn't heard the sound. But, no, he was still completely absorbed in his flying.

Amber had been the same, although not with flying; she loved to dance. Lily could remember watching her friend during summer holidays while the two of them lounged around in Lily's room, listening to the Beatles. Lily would sing along, loudly and off-key, but Amber would mouth the words silently, eyes closed, while twirling around the rosebud-themed room, before collapsing onto Lily's bed and talking excitedly about the trip she and her family would take to New York next Christmas, about the ballets she would see and the museums she would visit. She knew that Lily didn't share her enthusiasm for art and music, but she also knew that Lily would listen to her ramblings because she cared.

`Death Eaters don't care, though. And they didn't listen to her, not when she was screaming for mercy or begging them to spare her sister. Maybe if they'd known, known about the museums and the dancing...'

"They would've done the exact same thing."

Lily gasped; she'd spoken out loud, and hadn't even realized it. What if he heard? But, no, he was still flying around, occasionally releasing a trickle of laughter. She shivered, wondering if Amber's murderers had laughed when they summoned the Dark Mark over her house, not a home any more, for home is a place of love and warmth, not screaming and crying and pleading and then, scariest of all, an unearthly silence.

Lily hadn't seen it personally, of course. She'd read about the attack in the `Prophet,' listened to Dumbledore's mournful description of it, had attended the funeral for almost the entire Malkin family, Amber included. There, a Ministry official, in a detached, expressionless voice, had explained how the family had been targeted due to their resistance to Voldemort and their refusal to use their substantial influence, as one of the largest breeders of post owls in the world, to help him spread his power across the seas. She'd heard a fuller, and much more emotional, account from Amber's aunt, who, knowing how close Lily had been to her niece, felt she deserved to know the entire story, complete with all the grisly details left out of the reports of the `Prophet,' the Ministry official, and, yes, even Dumbledore. It was a description that her overactive imagination, so adept at fantasizing about pixies and sprites as a child, had given form to, weaving all the details and facts together into a sheet that Lily, lucky girl that she was, could wrap herself in every night, replaying the scene in her dreams over and over until she awoke, covered in sweat and trembling from head to toe.

Yes, this should have been a perfect year...but it wasn't, for not only had Amber died.... `No, she didn't die, she was murdered,' Lily's mind screamed...not only had Amber been murdered, but it seemed like with her went all the sweetness and light and song from the wizarding world. Lily no longer stared in awe at the site of gophers turning into goblets; instead, she wondered when, and in what way, this piece of magic would be employed by Voldemort and his followers to bring some fresh new torture to those who dared oppose him. Golden unicorns and fluffy Nifflers no longer made her shriek with laughter; instead, she wondered how many unicorns Voldemort had slaughtered to assure himself a ready supply of their blood. Wondered if, perhaps, his followers used Nifflers to locate jewelry and other valuables among the ruins of a house that, along with the family inside, they had just destroyed. She no longer swelled with pride when she learned a new charm; instead, she wondered if the time would come for her to use that charm against another human being, to defend her life or the lives of others.

Once upon a time, happily ever after...the words seemed so hollow now. Magic spells didn't make people fall in love or grow giant beanstalks; instead, they made people scream in pain and watch their loved ones do the same. No one came along, waved a magic wand, and made your troubles disappear; instead, it was more likely that someone would wave a wand and make an entire family, future generations and all, disappear.

Lily had been deceived. She'd believed that Hogwarts and the wizarding realm in general would be like living in a dream world of fairies, dragons, and shooting stars, only the dream would never end and not only would Lily be able to witness it all but be a part of it, be able to live, breathe, and fully experience a world that most people only visited at night, during slumber.

`It was a dream,' she realized, `and now I've woken up.' Woken to a world in which people killed others based on purity of blood alone, in which they delighted in torturing mothers to death in front of screaming toddlers, in which they had the power to completely enslave you, mind, body, and soul, and make you do things so horrible and inhumane and disgusting that they could only be described as evil. A world in which a 16 year old girl, whose biggest sin was staying out past curfew to stare at the stars' reflection in the lake, was killed without a second thought.

Though she tried to keep her mind occupied on schoolwork, taking on extra courses and tutoring sessions, her thoughts inevitably drifted back to Amber, and to her newfound knowledge that magic, despite its gleaming wands, flickering spells, and glistening potion vials was very, very dark. At these times, she'd sneak outside, sit on the Quidditch bleachers, and stare at the night sky, focusing on the patches of black between the glittering stars, patches that she'd never noticed before a few months ago.

It was on one such occasion that she fell in love with his flying.

How to describe it? The glee in his voice as he softly chuckled, the gentle whooping and swishing as he dived, turned, somersaulted, /danced/ in the air, and that look of wonder, of amazement, of pure, unadulterated joy in his eyes. And then it was gone, and he was back on the ground again, quietly walking back to the castle to, no doubt, meet up with Sirius and plot ways to sneak into the girls' Prefect bathroom or teach the suits of armor how to curse in various languages. He had limited his own cursing, although his was done with a wand and aimed not so much to scandalize the professors but to terrorize the students. He'd stopped, though, sometime during the beginning of the year, following some huge fight he'd had with Sirius that had apparently spread to Remus and Peter, the other two members of the infamous Gryffindor quartet, for all four had seemed forlorn and withdrawn for weeks. Lily still didn't know what had happened, but all she knew was that he was quieter now, and a bit more somber.

Except, of course, when she saw him flying, like he was tonight. His black hair flew in front of his glasses, but he just swiped it away with one hand, the other clinging tightly to his broom as he plunged to the ground, following a corkscrew-shaped path, pulling himself up just before he hit the ground. His legs tightened their grip on the broomstick and he let both of his hands go, allowing them to wave above his head freely while he giggled- James Potter could giggle? Who would have thought...- with delight. Then, replacing his hands on the broom, he started flying in lazy circles around the Quidditch pitch. As she watched him soar through the sky, she was reminded of the feeling she'd had the first time she'd visited Diagon Alley, opened a spell book, waved her wand; a feeling like she was floating on air, or perhaps pure euphoria, rising above the clouds into a utopia that, if she wanted to, she would never, ever have to leave. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open in silent laughter, and Lily was reminded of a young girl silently singing, eyes closeed, as she twirled and spun. It was a comforting, familiar sight that struck Lily with a powerful sense of deja-vu--and hope: hope that perhaps this world wasn't all darkness; hope that being a muggle-born witch didn't mean you were targeted for death by evil but targeted for greatness by light; hope that magic wasn't a weapon with which to cause pain but a beautiful gift that she should be grateful to have received--a gift she could use to help others and to return some of the laughter and song to the wizarding world.

She glanced at her watch; 9:42 pm. She'd been lost in her thoughts and in his flying for a good 40 minutes. She glanced up again at the sound of a sigh, followed by a soft thump as he landed on the pitch. She watched him head toward the broom shed before getting up herself and exiting the Quidditch stands. She heard James's laughter in her head, mixing with Amber's, and she felt truly happy for the first time in months.

The next day, she staggered into the Great Hall, loaded down with textbooks and teaching guides for the second year Ravenclaws she'd be tutoring later in Charms. She sat down next to Alice Crollen, smiled at her tiredly, and turned her attention toward her porridge. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw James and his gang walk in, and when he noticed that she was aware of his presence, his hand automatically flew to his hair, ruffling it. Rather than groan, though, as she so often did at this gesture, she was reminded of messy black hair flowing in the wind, partially obscuring a face alight with happiness and hope, and she smiled brightly, greeting him with a "Good morning, James," before turning back to her breakfast. She could hear his gasp at this unorthodox greeting, as well as the loud slap when Sirius, a few moments later, told him to stop grinning like an idiot and sit down already. She felt herself start to grin, too, at the thought of the upcoming Quidditch match, which James and his friends were now loudly discussing.

After all, she did so love to watch him fly.