Sotto Voce

Chapter 4 - Broken Pedestal

He goes along just as a water lily
Gentle on the surface of his thoughts his body floats
Unweighed down by passion or intensity
Yet unaware of the depth upon which he coasts
And he finds a home in me
For what misfortune sows, he knows my touch will reap...
- - -Fiona Apple "Pale September"

Later, in History of Magic, Lily wondered vaguely if Professor Binns ever vocally deviated from a monotone. It didn´t help that the classroom itself presented favorable sleeping conditions. The room was a particularly old one; the seats worn and warped over the centuries to perfectly conform to the curves of the body.

It also seemed that Binns hadn´t learned his lesson about fireplaces. There was always one crackling merrily by his desk, in perfect view for students to fall into hypnosis by the flames. Lily sat at the front of the room near the fireplace not for an optimum dozing spot, but rather to retain as much heat as possible. The Gryffindors also had this lesson with the Hufflepuffs, who were more than happy to distract Binns and were probably the only house that paid a modicum of attention in the class.

The professor didn´t appear to notice the apathy of his pupils. He spoke in a dreary voice, eyes downcast to stare unblinkingly at his lecture notes. "The castle´s architectural features are among the most unique in the world. As you all know from Hogwarts: A History, the school is host to a myriad of rooms. Most are permanent, such as this classroom. There are some however, that are known to spatially shift."

Binns attempted to yawn, and looked bewildered when he didn´t feel the rush of air into his lungs. He paused, but continued dully. "There are many hidden alcoves in the castle, used for a variety of purposes."

Yeah, like snogging, thought Lily with a snort of disdain. In her years as a prefect she had had to extricate many an amorous student from a convenient broom closet.

The professor didn´t look up from his lecture notes. "One variety of hidden space includes rooms that can only be found if one is not looking for them. Their entrances are hidden, guarded either by paintings or revealed through a contact pattern, similar to the wand-tap movements in entrance to Diagon Alley from The Leaky Cauldron."

Lily perked up a bit. Binns was teaching them something new for a change, but the students didn´t appear to notice. The Gryffindor sitting next to Lily was throwing rejected Bertie Bott´s beans into the fire and looking morose. Lily rolled her eyes and picked up her quill, copying down Binns´ words in small, curvy writing.

"There is a particularly elusive room called the Perfugium, which appears to those in need of sanctuary. It is invisible to all those who have not seen it personally. Those who have seen it can access it for the rest of their lives; the memory of the room´s existence survives even an obliviate, a feature of great interest to charms specialists. It was supposedly created by Rowena Ravenclaw, who claimed to recognize the need to withdraw."

Binns cleared his throat and attempted to turn a page of his lecture notes. Upon finding he was unable to do so, he gave an irritated glance at the papers before continuing. "Rowena Ravenclaw was the founder of Ravenclaw House, but she also was a patron of Stonehenge University for the Magically Adept..."

Lily began to tune him out again. This particular gem of learning had been repeated since fifth year, and she found she could almost recite it verbatim. She was quite curious about his description of the Perfugium, though. It sounded nearly identical to her room off the library, and if it was created by the founder of Ravenclaw herself, it would make sense that it be located near the plethora of books in Hogwarts.

A folded note fluttered to her desk , and she looked at it curiously. It appeared innocuous enough, but surely it was intended for someone else. She began to push it away when green ink materialized on the front.

Go, on, open it. It´s for you, Lily.

She stared at it. Why on earth was someone sending her notes in the middle of class? She was most certainly not accustomed to any form of communication with her peers, especially not the quaint practice of passing notes in class. Nevertheless, her curiosity overcame her cautiousness, and she unfolded the piece of parchment slowly.

Binns is quite the dull chap, isn´t he? Being a ghost is no excuse either. Nearly Headless Nick isn´t nearly this lifeless, if you´ll pardon the pun. Though I s´pose I´d prefer Binns over Moaning Myrtle. Don´t suppose you´ve met her, have you? I advise against it.

She was even more confused now. Idle chatter was not her forte in the first place, and when coupled with the peculiarity of the situation, the whole thing left her rather dumbfounded. Lily folded the note back, smudging the green ink on her fingers. She dismissed it as a weak prank, but decided to keep the note as a memento of the acknowledgement of her presence at Hogwarts.

It was perhaps not the most flattering keepsake, but Lily wasn´t bitter about her social status at Hogwarts. She was merely lonely and a tad envious of her classmates, who laughed together and cried on each other´s shoulders, wrapped themselves up in feuds, fell in and out of love. She was an outsider to the swirling social sphere, and while that sort of ultimate detachment was admired by some, in practice it was a lonesome business. She would have given anything to leap into the frying pan, into the fire. It was too cold outside.

Lily bit down on her quill and chewed absentmindedly. Friendship wasn´t going to be handed to her on a silver platter though, and she had accepted that in many a self-reflection ago. She understood why her classmates didn´t associate with her, and she didn´t blame them. She would feel awkward in their position as well, and she wouldn´t really want to be around such a taciturn, intensely private person. Through observation she found that people generally gravitated towards those that made them laugh, think, feel. She made people feel uncomfortable, and thus they politely overlooked her. It was logical. But logic didn´t ease her loneliness.

Lily´s eyes began to drift shut when the tattered quill she had been chewing on was plucked out of her hands. Her eyes flew open in surprise, and looked down at her desk. A sugar quill was lying there, and there was another note attached to it.

If you want to chew on a quill, at least chew on one that tastes good.

Lily traced the words of the note, more of the liquid emerald color staining her fingers. She noted absently that the ink was the same color as her eyes, and absently twirled the sugar quill, crystal and translucent and sweet, between her fingers. Some of the sugar was already seeping into her skin, and she chanced a delicate lick.

She smiled involuntarily. The only times she had been in Hogsmeade were in her capacity as a prefect, when she patrolled the town and guided the younger students. She had passed by Honeydukes many times and eyed the gorgeous display of sweets but had never purchased anything in the store, or most of the town for that matter. She´d heard students rave about butterbeer but had never sampled the golden, effervescent liquid herself.

The only things that she had purchased in Hogsmeade were gifts for her family, and even then, they were usually small trinkets that she modified on her own, employing her skill with charms. The Evans family was rather tight on money. Harold Evans was a teacher at a local college, and Rosemary Evans was a nurse who worked at a small hospital in the countryside; they had meager salaries, but hearts of gold. Lily adored them.

They spent most of their combined income to send Lily to Hogwarts and it left them with little other opportunity for luxury. Petunia had always resented the lack of money, and Lily suspected in the deepest of her heart that one of the reasons Petunia was so attached to Vernon Dursley was his paycheck, fat enough to match the rest of his body.

Personally, Lily was disgusted by Petunia´s relationship with Vernon. It was always "Vernon, sweetums, you work too hard!" or "Cupcake, do you have the keys?" That sort of saccharine phoniness was absolutely repulsive to Lily, especially considering Petunia´s rude behavior towards her, which was most incongruous with her sugary "fiancée" persona.

Perhaps it was just a latent fairy tale complex, but Lily had always wished for the elusive concept of true love. She wasn´t asking for a knight in shining armor; just someone who would love her for who she was, someone who would enjoy being around her and understand her. Lily sighed. It was probably more plausible to request the knight.

There was a tap on her shoulder. Lily snapped abruptly out of her reverie, realizing belatedly that she had been daydreaming. Her glazed green eyes refocused quickly to look into the handsome face of the Head Boy. Lily´s throat went dry very suddenly, and her cheeks flushed pink.

James smiled warmly at her, his stormy grey eyes sparkling. "I just wanted to tell you that McGonagall advised us to start planning the Halloween Feast. Do you want to come by my room sometime tonight?"

"Halloween Feast?" she repeated stupidly. Slapping herself mentally, she took a deep breath in an attempt to collect herself into a semblance of an intelligent being.

"Yes, that sounds fine. What time shall I stop by?"

"After dinner, maybe. Nine o´clock sound all right with you? My room is guarded by Don Juan - he´s a couple of flights of stairs past the Fat Lady. I doubt you´ll miss him, as he´ll probably try to woo you."

Lily nodded wordlessly, not trusting herself to speak.

James´ smile intensified into a brilliant grin. "I´ll see you then."

Her eyes trailed him as he rushed out of the room, and she wondered with a mixed sense of anticipation and dread what the night would bring.

***

Hours later, she found herself more than slightly vexed. James had neglected to tell her the password to his room, and the portrait of Don Juan, who, she thought with irritation, was far too attractive for his own good and was ridiculously obsequious. For the past half-hour, the painting had been flirting shamelessly with her, spouting mangled Shakespearian sonnets and starry-eyed sentiments.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes upon, my dove. Your eyes are the color of the dazzling Mediterranean, of the sweltering, fertile jungle fauna that drips with glistening, wet rain," Don Juan said breathlessly, as if rain was some sort of mind-blowing, blush-inducing erotic liquid.

"And your ruby lips against that snow white skin! It is enough to make a man dizzy with desire," he purred. "I could take you to the zenith of satisfaction, the pinnacle of lust -"

Lily glowered at him, eyes flashing and teeth bared. "Look, you impertinent, testosterone-driven, narcissistic excuse for a piece of canvas, copulation between us is impossible in the first place, and second of all" - her voice lowered to a growl - "I know what you do with Sir Lancelot when you think nobody is looking. Now let me through."

Don Juan paled considerably, but he gave her a weak, charming smile and acquiesced by opening the door. She tossed him a smirk before stepping inside James´ room.

"James? Sorry I´m late, the painting -"

The apology died stillborn on her lips. James was hunched over in his marble bathroom, pallid and trembling violently. Lily rushed over without pause, kneeling next to him. She put two fingers next to his jugular artery and noted with alarm that his pulse was unusually slow. His forehead was breaking out in a cold sweat, and his pupils were so contracted that his eyes looked like solid steel.

She immediately recognized the symptoms as picrotoxin poisoning, recalling the first time she had been a hospital, at age eight. A man had come in with the same symptoms as James had now, and her mother had treated him quickly and effectively. Lily had been astounded at the cool efficiency with which her mother dealt with the crisis, and had since then been witness to many more maladies, but that first incident had ingrained itself firmly in her mind. Lucky I know my poisons, Lily thought grimly.

She pushed James´ hair back from his voice as he leaned over and violently emptied the contents in his stomach into the toilet. He continued to shudder in her arms, breathing uneven and deep. She steadied and held him with a calmness that surprised even herself, and conjured a glass of water, charming it with the remedium charm, which would act as an antidote to any poison. It was a complex medical charm, and she waited for the tell-tale color change that signified successful imbuement. Sure enough, the peculiar cerulean color flushed through the water, whirling rapidly through the glass.

James had stopped vomiting, and was now looking miserable but slightly better. Lily eased open his lips to let the enchanted water trickle down his throat. He swallowed a bit before sputtering. He weakly shook his head.

"Shh, love, drink it. It´ll make you feel better, I promise," she said soothingly, stroking his hair tenderly.

James looked up at her dolefully, but obeyed her and swallowed dutifully with a grimace on his face. His eyelids drooped close as he lost consciousness, and Lily checked his pulse again, which was increasing to a normal rate. His body was reacting perfectly to the charm, which had adapted itself to include a sedative.

She used a mobilicorpus spell to levitate James to his bed, decorated predictably in Gryffindor colors. She set him down softly on the ruby-colored sheets and looked critically at him; his clothes were drenched with sweat, and looked very uncomfortable. She didn´t know of any spells which would automatically undress him, and the only thing that came close to that was a dissolving charm, but she doubted he would appreciate that.

She would have to do this manually. Lily bit her lip and loosened his scarlet and gold tie carefully, and struggled a bit while pulling his cashmere jumper above his head. That was wasn´t part of the uniform, she though vaguely, wondering if his family had money. Her thoughts took a different turn entirely after looking at his body, blushing a bit. His Oxford shirt was clinging tightly to his skin, showing every curve of muscle through the semi-transparent fabric.

Her hands trembled as she undid each button and she peeled the shirt off of him, fingers brushing his damp skin. She gulped. His muscles were finely cut, from Quidditch training most likely, and were taut and carved like marble into his pale flesh.

She pulled off his black leather loafers and navy socks, pulling up the leg of his trousers. Lily noted with discomfiture that his trousers were in no great state either; she´d have to divest of those as well. She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. She was blushing again, but the rest of her felt unnaturally warm as well, to the point of discomfort. Lily wasn´t sure whether this newfound feeling of stifling warmth was better or worse than feeling like an ice sculpture.

She began to undo the zipper oh-so-slowly, willing herself not to slip. Her hands were shaking in earnest now. Lily genuinely hoped James was still unconscious, but made her touch as feather-light as possible as a precautionary measure, both for his modesty and hers. She was hardly used to physical contact, and such intimate physical contact was making her burn with embarrassment and unease.

At least James wasn´t awake to notice her - he probably would be horrified at the idea of her coming into such close contact with him. That, or it wouldn´t even matter to him. I could be a house elf for all he cares, she muttered in a rare voice of sourness that was frighteningly akin to Petunia´s.

Lily scowled with frustration at herself, sighing with relief upon getting the trousers off. She hurried to put his clothes in the laundry for the house-elves and took a washcloth from the bathroom, running it under cold water and squeezing it out so that it was cool and damp.

Lily gently pressed the cloth along his wiry frame, and plucked his glasses from his face, running the chilled material along his brow. She observed with relief that his temperature had cooled down considerably. James´ pulse was normal once more, the poison bonding and dissolving harmlessly in his bloodstream with the help of the antidote.

Lily pulled the burgundy covers over his body and returned to the bathroom to dispose of the washcloth and clean up a bit. She glanced up at the mirror; the bright pink was fading from her skin, but she splashed her face with some frigid water anyway. Logically, she knew she really had nothing to be embarrassed about. She had taken care of James without pause, and he hadn´t been conscious to notice she had undressed him anyway. Still, his very propinquity, even when he was sick, seemed to be enough to make her blush. If anything, it was James who might be embarrassed, being seen in a moment of vulnerability and illness. Lily felt a bit better thinking about that - it was difficult to stammer around someone whose hair you´ve held back while they vomited, she thought with a smile.

She returned to the bedroom to check on him briefly. Lily gazed at him. He was still incredibly handsome, despite having been sick so recently. While the color still hadn´t returned to him, the unusual pallor and absence of the spectacles gave him the look of a Greek statue. His thick lashes and perpetually disarrayed hair looked glossy and raven-black against the sharp white angles of his skin, lending an odd but attractive harshness to his handsome features. She brushed away a lock of dark hair that had fallen into his eyes.

James outstretched his hand towards her and murmured something that sounded like "angel." His lips curved up in a dreamy smile, and Lily´s heart couldn´t help but melt - he looked so oddly beautiful and fragile and alone swathed in those dark sheets. She bent her head down, curls falling over her face, and she brushed her lips softly against his. Only when she pulled away did she realize just what she had done.

Lily fled.