One Heart Beating

One Heart Beating

An empty room, the sunlight casting shadows on what little furniture was in there. A vase stands on a smooth scrubbed table, containing one single lily. Yet, even this is wilting. A man enters the room and stands looking into the distance beyond the window. He lifts the lily gently from the vase and looks at it sadly. A single petal falls to the floor, accompanied by a single tear from the man's eye. The lily begins a graceful descent to the ground. It lands and then is ground beneath a shoe. The man sinks into a chair, grateful for its presence. He rests his head in his hands and starts to remember...

A tree-lined park, the sun shines through the leaves, creating a dappled effect. A beautiful, laughing face, a beating heart, a lily tucked behind one ear. Tendrils of hair stray from their red ribbon. The face is upturned, looking to the sky, looking at the clouds. The man feels safe here. Suddenly, she is on her feet, looking at the man as only a lover can look at their partner. She comes to him, he can smell the heady scent of the lily in her hair. Her favourite flower. She smiles, lighting up her face. He returns the smile, and wraps his arms around her, feeling her heart beating next to his.

The man turns to the lily, now lying crushed on the ground. It was his only memory. The man feels convulsions of utter despair pervade him to the very core. He is gripped by racking sobs and the tears course down his face as the reality strikes him. It wouldn't be long now. They would find him. He remembers more...

He bends his head to kiss her, pulse racing. Their lips meet, and he feels giddy with a sudden rush of emotions. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, with gentle but fumbling fingers. Her eyes sparkle in the sunlight, which is rapidly dimishing,leaving only a memory behind.

A memory. His head snaps up, he did not hear anyone enter the house. He hears feet shuffling quietly beneath him. He stands, for it is time. He walks to the window and allows himself one last glimpse out, at the garden she created, and reminds himself of the love that was put into it. He remembers her laughing gaily, covered in mud, with a broad smile on her face. He pushes up his sleeve and checks his watch. The watch has stopped. He frowns and winds it up, barely breathing as each metallic click resounds. He withdraws through a door in the panelling to his left. This will keep him safe for a while. He takes out his wand and looks at it thoughtfully. His power had been taken from him, but he could still use his wand. He was no longer able to conjure with his hands. No matter. He curls up into the furthest corner of the small, box-like room and reaches into his pocket, bringing out something they had not taken when they ravaged his house. A small muggle photograph of his young wife, smiling prettily into the camera. He wipes the beads of sweat from his forehead slowly with his handkerchief. He could hear doors being kicked open downstairs and heavy footsteps trudging around. They would find nothing. He had left no traces here. He allows himself to step back into his memories.

A pair of unseen hands encircle her neck. Her eyes widen in surprise, and then fear. The man steps back, uncomprehending at first. Of course. He knew they would catch up with him soon. She was too oblivious to his past. How could she know? He certainly could not have told her. He fights to remove the hands, punching air, grappling with a slight breeze. She struggles wildly, trying to free herself, but she is bound by his presence. She clutches at her throat, her breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. She slides to the floor, eyes closed. The presence is gone, and only he is left with his wife in the quiet park. Only one heart beats now. Tears pour down his cheeks and he plucks the lily from her hair. She lies quietly serenely, and he thinks he has never seen something so beautiful. He places the lily carefully in his pocket. One bird dares sing in the otherwise silent park. He rises, and turns away. They would get him. Heart pounding, he runs away from her. He doesn't look back.

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs bring him out of his memories once more. He hears shouts of excitement. They have found the lily. They know he is here. Until that day, when his wife died, his past as a Death Eater had never caught up with him. But then, they had killed the one person he had loved, his wife. He could never have told anyone about his being a Death Eater, not even his wife. And now, because he had defected from the Dark side to the Light, he had paid the ultimate sacrifice. Voldemort had triumphed and he had failed. It would be a matter of minutes now before they found him. He licked his dry lips nervously and rubbed a hand over his three day old beard. Using one hand, but never dropping the photograph, he rakes a hand through his hair and stares at the door. He slips into his memories for one last time.

As he runs, he considers going back, but who would believe he had not killed her? He keeps one hand on the lily, carefully caressing it. It was his only memory. His heart beat rings in his ears. He runs until he can run no more. He rests briefly before running again, running back to the house, and lets himself in through the front door. The maid comes through the door, flustered. She sees him and does not question his urgency. She merely hands him a baby, wrapped in a light blue blanket, fast asleep. He dismisses her and she leaves the house, puzzled. He sets the baby down in the cot in the nursery. He tiptoes out and closes the door. He puts his hands in his pockets and feels the lily. He goes up the stairs, and then up a smaller, more rickety set, to the attic. He finds a glass vase, thrown carelessly into a box of unwanted wedding presents. He takes this and fills it with water. He sets the lily tenderly in the vase on the table by the windowsill.

He could still hear them outside, squawking in glee at this latest relic they had found. The door is wrenched open and the sunlight streams into the damp, dark hole. He is revealed, crouched in the corner. They seize him roughly and bring him, squinting, into the daylight. One speaks.

"James Potter, we arrest you on suspicion of murdering your wife, Lily Potter. Is there anything you would like to say?"

His eyes rove around the room nervously. He feels cold. Sweat collects on his brow and he wipes it away agitatedly. He feels his life slowly, gently being sucked away from him. He has been caught and knows he will die. He thinks slowly, pondering his next move. Protestations of any kind will not help him here. The air seems still and even the sun seems to hide from the Dementors. No birds can be heard anymore. One of the Dementors carries his baby, his beautiful son. His insides rage. His hand moves to his wand and he sees the Dementors start forwards, but one holds them all back. He grips his wand and his knuckles turn white. He points it directly to his heart.

"Yes," he says, simply, "Avada Kedavra."