Music of the Night

Author's note: Yay! I finally finished! Sorry to keep you all waiting; you will not believe the month I had. I started writing, but it was very hard because of a religious restriction that didn't allow me to listen to music for a week and a half, and we all know that I need my music. Then I had two consecutive piano concerts to prepare for, and immediately after that there was the blackout. Then I had that nasty Blaster virus, which took DAYS to remove. While that was going on I started volunteering at a daycamp and I came home exhausted every day from running after six energetic boys. All was going well, save my constant lethargy, and then Tuesday meant I wake up in the morning and can't move my knee. So, I've been hobbling around from doctor to doctor; we still didn't get the results back yet from the MRI. Now tie all that in with summer homework, preparation for school, studying for the PSATs, and you've got yourself one hectic month. But I did it! So here it is!

Sorry for my incoherent rambling, but I figured that if you're still here, you may as well have a somewhat valid excuse for my absence.

And now, here's Chapter 5:

Music of the Night

Chapter 5: Abbandono

Lily made her way lethargically to the Gryffindor table for breakfast. Through her droopy eyes she managed to see where her three dorm mates were busily chattering over their plates of pancakes. She plopped down next to Thalia, who stopped her conversation and surveyed her with disapproval.

"What?" she asked at her friend's "Tsk tsk."

Thalia shook her head. "Lily, Lily. It's only the first week of school, and already you look as though you've just taken a twenty-hour plane ride with a wailing baby in the next seat."

Lily gave a weak smile from behind the hands that were rubbing her weary eyes. "Mm hmm. I don't think I've had a decent sleep since third year."

"You're too hard on yourself, Lily."

Hannah nodded in agreement.

Lily sighed. "I just want to do well, Thalia."

Thalia frowned. "As I seem to remember, you did perfectly well in first and second year too. Not to mention that you were a lot more interesting to talk to during breakfast." She spooned a healthy portion of oatmeal into a bowl and shoved it in front of Lily's drawn face. "Eat up. You need your energy."

Lily picked up the spoon and ate a small bite.

"Honestly, Lily," Thalia started lecturing again. "Not everything has to be perfect. You get Outstanding on all of your papers. And I'm sure that you would still get those marks even if you didn't proofread everything three times over and look up countless other sources just to get more out of the assignment. You're allowed to make a mistake every once in a while. You don't have to be such a perfectionist."

Lily twirled her spoon around lazily. "I'm not a perfectionist. I'm just compulsive."

Thalia patted her friend on the hand. "Yes, dear. You just keep telling yourself that."

Karen snickered. While Lily generally just smiled when something was humorous as opposed to bursting out loud, Karen had a great deal of difficulty concealing her amusement when it came to Thalia's unusually random comments.

Lily looked up and for the first time that morning, her eyes focused properly enough to realize that Thalia was not blonde as she usually was. Quite contrary to her usual mop of yellow curls, on this fine day she was adorned with a shiny sheet of jet-black hair.

"I take it this is one of the latest?"

Thalia beamed. "Ooh! You noticed!"

"Of course I noticed. You aren't exactly being subtle."

"No, I meant because you're sleep deprived. But yeah, this was a new one for this year. It's not a particularly good one, rather feels like hay, but you can't tell by looking at it. The other one I got is upstairs. I swear Lily, when I put it on, we'll look like sisters! Well, better than that actually, considering your sister isn't particularly nice to look at, and I'd like to think that I'd be a tad more attractive than her. Right? Of course. Anyway, that wig's much better. Mum told me it's made from real hair, and you've never felt anything that soft. And it's not from a human either. It's from a sphinx's mane! Now, of course I was a bit worried about that. I mean you know about unicorn hairs, and dragon heartstrings, and how they're used to make wands. Magical core whatsits. So, naturally I was scared that it would explode on my head or let off red sparks or something, but Ted told me it doesn't do that if the creature's part-human because of course then they would actually know what was being done to them and would purposely force any magic in their hair out of it so it couldn't be put to human use. Personally, I'm curious to know how anyone would even get close enough to a sphinx without getting their head chomped off, but I guess a Stunning spell would be okay. But even so. I don't know about you, but I definitely wouldn't want to risk it, pretty as those wigs are."

Lily was spared the delight of answering by the inundation of owls that diffused throughout the Great Hall amidst anxious stares and screechy hoots.

Athena swooped down in front of her glass of orange juice and dropped a letter onto her lap. After a quick peck at the piece of toast Lily put on her plate for her, she flew off to join her winged friends in the Owlery. Lily was about to tear open the envelope when she noticed a peculiar shade of ochre.

A large unidentifiable bird clumsily dropped an envelope in front of Hannah.

Karen looked at Hannah inquisitively. "What's that?"

Hannah shrugged and turned over the envelope. "Oh," she smiled. "It's from my father."

Lily perked up with interest. Mr. Guilford was a highly prominent Ministry official, working for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Lily didn't find this particular branch of government especially fascinating, but as she wanted to work in the ministry one day, she was always eager to learn of the workings and methods of the wizarding lawmakers. Apparently, Mr. Guilford was deployed throughout the globe for the purpose of sighting, Stunning, and taming (or at least monitoring) various magical beasts, all of which were endemic to rather exotic habitats. It appeared that the locale of Mr. Guilford's current breed of attention was no exception.

Thalia eyed the bird, which appeared to be some sort of a cross between a pelican, hummingbird, and lizard. If Thalia, Lily, and Karen looked startled by the strange appearance of this scaly whatsit, Hannah seemed utterly blasé about the fact that her mail had been delivered to her by a nebulous half-breed.

"Er, Hannah?" asked Thalia once she had recovered her wits. "What is that thing?"

"Oh, I don't know," replied Hannah offhandedly. "Just some other creature my father is supposedly domesticating."

Apparently, Hannah was very accustomed to visits by queer species. And it seemed that she wasn't about to divulge the habitat of the rare kind of bird. She let the strange winged creature drink out of her goblet and then sent it off with the exodus of owls. It flew rather uneasily, leaning on its left side. Lily noticed that this was because on wing was slightly larger than the other.

Curious though she was to know more about Mr. Guilford's life in the wild, she knew that it was none of her business. She shrugged and opened her letter, which turned out to be the weekly note from her mother, letting her in on all of the scoop from back home, which was generally as bland as shopping lists to the monthly games of Mah Jong over tea. Lily always read them happily, not because of their "gripping" content, but simply because it was her mother who had written them.

She loved her parents more than anyone else in the entire world. To the ordinary onlooker, they were the typical married couple. But Lily knew better. She was constantly astounded by her father's bottomless pit of knowledge. The conversations between the two of them at the dinner table usually wound up involving something along the lines of Socialism and Capitalism or the benefits of tea versus coffee. Lily's mother never joined in, but always commended her on her sharp wit, and she never failed to try and reconcile any differences between her two daughters, no matter how futile her attempts proved to be. That was what Lily admired most about her mother - her insuperable strength. No matter what obstacle life threw at the Evans family, her mother accepted it without a blink of an eye and immediately resolved to get through it.

Lily didn't know how she could have coped with her Cormagnus powers all these years if it hadn't been for her parents. They were always there to give her a reassuring word and to confide in. They had helped her to calm down whenever she was on the verge of bursting into a fit of tears or a flare of anger. They, along with Dumbledore, were her source of encouragement and inspiration.

She glanced down the table at Sirius Black. She had always considered him to be the last person she would ever even consider pitying, but she found herself doing just that nonetheless.

She didn't know exactly what went on within the Black household, but according to Thalia, it wasn't pleasant. In fact, this past summer the familial situation had gotten so argumentative and intolerable, that Sirius had left and moved in with James Potter.

Lily couldn't imagine that despite Sirius's rambunctious countenance, he seemed to be so plainly unaffected by the fact that his family had disowned him.

She sighed and turned back to her letter, smiling. She was so unbelievably lucky.

Down the Gryffindor table, Sirius Black was oblivious to the fact that he was object of the pity of one Lily Evans. Truthfully, he felt more alive and free than ever before.

Or at least, that was how it appeared to James Potter, who was thoroughly puzzled by such displays of apathy on the part of his best friend. Had he not been brooding for practically the entire summer save the week before Hogwarts began?

"...and I'm running frightfully low on Stink Pellets, so what say it we take a little unscheduled trip to Hogsmeade on Saturday?"

"Padfoot," Remus, always the logical one began, "weren't you just saying a few weeks ago that you had an enormous stock of Dungbombs laid away in your truck?"

"Of course I did, dear Moony, but those are Dungbombs not Stink Pellets. The lovely aromas of the two are completely different. Now would you want a hallway smelling like horse stool instead of skunk? I think not."

"Fine," Remus sighed.

"Me too," James agreed. "I could use a few hours of adventuring."

Sirius grinned gleefully. "Ooh, I'm corrupting the Headboy."

Peter laughed. Remus shifted slightly in his seat.

James noticed Remus's reaction. He leaned next to him so that only he could hear. "Come on, a little trip to Hogsmeade never hurt anyone else."

Remus nodded slowly, and raised his eyes to meet James's. They locked for a second, an invisible flash of understanding passing between them. They had come to a mutual agreement, although James knew that while the end conclusion they had both arrived at was the same, their means of arrival to that conclusion were completely different.

While Remus had assumed that James had wanted to go to Hogsmeade for some time, but hadn't because of him, and was now justifying his excursion, James knew that that wasn't the case. In all truth be told, he hadn't really been in the mood for the great pranks that had made them infamous at Hogwarts. He had come to realize that the tricks he had so thoughtlessly executed in the past could be potentially harmful. The reason he was going to Hogsmeade and taking part in the little schemes his friends had concocted wasn't because he had missed the pranks themselves, but because he felt significantly absent of the bonding the foursome used to have over a good detention. True, there would be a slight possibility of getting caught in Hogsmeade, but no one would be able to accurately accuse him of doing anything dangerous. He would have a nice, safe afternoon with his friends, something he had sorely missed.

"Excellent!" Sirius proclaimed. "I've got a plan all worked out. You see, first we're going to-"

James allowed his eyes to wander over to Maryanne Thorton, a fourth-year who was in the middle of reading the Daily Prophet. He noticed something on the back of the page she was reading, and growing very interested, leaned over to ask if he could borrow the paper.

"Sure," she said timidly, blushing a bit.

"So then, we give that old cat a good kick in the - James! Are you even listening to my brilliant plots to outsmart Filch's officious feline?"

James didn't answer. He just began reading the article.

Remus read over his shoulder. "Did you know her?"

James nodded. "What is it?" Peter asked.

James held up his hand while he finished reading. Then he looked up, a puzzled expression on his face. "It's an obituary. That's that old lady I was telling you about. The one with the broken ankle." He pointed to a picture of a smiling, wrinkled face.

"She was ninety-three years old," James told them, his eyes skimming the article. "Name of Hortensia Platt. Attended Hogwarts in Hufflepuff, worked as assistant to the head of the Improper Use of Magic office, went on a three-hour tour somewhere in the east and was never heard from again until two days ago, when she was checked in to St. Mungo's by none other than Dumbledore himself. Says she died of poor blood circulation and plain old age."

Peter whistled. "Wow. Do you know what she wanted? From Dumbledore, that is."

James shook his head. "No idea. She just kept saying she needed to speak to him right away. Didn't even want to stop off at the Hospital Wing." He glanced at the picture of Hortensia Platt, who was waving energetically at him, basking in the sunlight of some unknown desert. "It's a shame. Madam Pomphrey probably could have helped her."

Remus stared at the photograph for a moment longer, and then furrowed his brow pensively. "Seems like she was just holding out long enough to tell Dumbledore whatever it is she needed to tell him. I don't think there was anything you could have done, Prongs."

James nodded slowly, trying to shove aside the feelings of guilt that were slowly consuming him. It wasn't his fault. Hortensia Platt had told him she didn't want to go to the Hospital Wing. How was he to know that she would be sent to St. Mungo's that night?

Sirius, oblivious to James's attempts at settling his self-reproach, shrugged and poured some ketchup onto his scrambled eggs. "Sorry, mate. Maybe planning Mrs. Norris's oh so gruesome demise with me might take your mind off things." He missed the look admonition that Remus shot in his direction.

* * *

It was another typical Transfiguration lesson. Professor McGonagall had tersely taken roll call, before proceeding to write rather complicated notes on the board. The entire class was up and alert, copying them down. Lily Evans was sitting up in her chair, perfectly straight-backed and proper looking. Sirius Black was alternating between taking notes and drawing frighteningly lifelike pictures of their professors in highly painful positions in the margin of his scroll. Peter was watching Sirius's drawing. Remus was trying to listen to Professor McGonagall and poke Sirius in the ribs with his quill at the same time. All Ravenclaws were attentive; all Hufflepuffs' faces were screwed up in concentration. All Slytherins were at the back of the room, some sniggering, some idly staring at the ceiling, and some diligently hanging on to the professor's every word.

Everything was perfectly normal - except for the fact that this time, James Potter didn't understand the lesson.

It wasn't that he wasn't capable of performing the spells correctly. It was just that the theory behind them made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

"...like so. Within two weeks, I expect every pupil in this room to be able to properly Conjure a gerbil that is fully in possession of every one of its organs. As you have already studied Vanishing spells, there should be no reason why this should be extraordinarily difficult for any one of you. Granted, Conjuring spells are a bit more complex, but nothing anyone in this room should be incapable of grasping. Now the first step is - yes, Mr. Potter?"

James, who had just raised his hand, began to ask what had been on his mind. "Excuse me, Professor, but I am not exactly sure I fully understand where the gerbil, or whatever is it that we're Conjuring, comes from."

"Pardon me?"

James sat up straight in his chair, only vaguely aware of the eyes that turned from parchment and blackboard to stare at him amazedly.

"Well, everything has to come from somewhere. It's science. So, I guess what I'm trying to ask is, where does it come from?"

"Where does what come from, Mr. Potter?"

"The gerbils, or coffee, or whatever I'm Conjuring."

Professor McGonagall straightened and stared at him over her square spectacles. Her voice was very matter-of-fact. "This is magic, Mr. Potter. The item, as well as the magic required to form it, comes from within you, as does the magic necessary for every spell you will cast throughout your entire life. That is the basic idea behind witchcraft and wizardry, Mr. Potter. Surely you knew that."

"Of course, Professor," said James, unrelenting. "But the magical substance inside of a wand creates a magical power, or an energy force of some kind that is strong enough to make something float, or light up a room. It's as though a wand works on wind power or something like that. But Conjuring something out of thin air is just defying every law of science. Something can't just be created out of nothingness. Even a dragon's heartstring isn't powerful enough to do away with the laws of science. It just isn't possible."

Professor McGonagall's mouth was going very thin. Clearly she wasn't used to being interrogated. "Well, Mr. Potter. You seem to be forgetting about Vanishing spells in your scientific analysis." It was a bit difficult to catch the subtle sarcasm in her voice. "According to your theory that matter can neither be created nor destroyed, even by magic which has existed since the beginning of time, before these theories were even fabricated, it would be possible to transport a substance over an extended distance. Correct?"

"Yes, but-"

"And therefore, one could accurately assume that if one were to Conjure up a certain substance, say a gerbil, it will be likely that that gerbil would be the very same one that was previously Vanished."

"Well, yes, but-"

"And by that theory, it is very clear that by performing a spectacular feat of magic, it would not only be a demonstration of the powerful forces within ourselves that by which their very nature defy Muggle science, but it would also be congruous with your belief that something can't be created from nothingness."

She stared at James with a slight gleam of triumph. He could hear some sniggering in the back of the room, undoubtedly from those who were more than pleased that Professor McGonagall had picked apart every argument that James had had. Those people, however, soon ceased their sneering when James's hand rose once again into the air defiantly.

Professor McGonagall hadn't noticed, as she was once again facing the blackboard, drawing a diagram of a gerbil's anatomy. "You will notice please, the number of whiskers on each individual gerbil you are working with so that you will be able to picture in your minds the gerbils exactly as they really are. It wouldn't do very well to suddenly have a twitching hair lying on your desk. Not that some of you wouldn't be able to find something rather amusing to do with it, but - what is it, Mr. Potter?"

She had spun around again and addressed him with an exasperated expression.

"Excuse me, Professor, but I was just curious. If everything must come from somewhere, since not even a magic wand can create something from nothing, then where did the first Conjured object come from?"

Professor McGonagall's lips went very thin. "What did you say, Mr. Potter?"

"Well," said James sincerely, his eyes steadily focused on the slightly ruffled teacher in front of him. "Everything has to come from somewhere. So when the first wizard Conjured something, where did it come from?"

Only someone of the most extreme clairvoyance would notice the slight blanching of the professor's face and the faintly confused expression on her face. They were only subtly visible for a moment, because she soon regained her composure and addressed the classroom.

"A very good question, Mr. Potter. Should anyone like to delve into this matter further to answer this question for extra credit, he or she may do so."

She then turned her back to the class of students conclusively and continued with her lesson.

Sirius elbowed James in the ribs. "Nice going, Prongs. Don't think I've ever seen a student get McGonagall bamboozled." He grinned and proceeded to draw a stick figure strongly resembling the Transfiguration teacher with the body of a hinkypunk.

James turned to look at the faces of his classmates, which were all conveniently turned in his direction. He raised an eyebrow at them as if to tell them that nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. He had merely been a student asking the teacher a question. Most got the hint and returned to their concentration on the lesson or their states of stupor.

Except for one. Lily Evans was staring at him. But the look she wore on her face wasn't one of incredulity, nor was it one of amazement or mockery. If anything it was - confusion? James tore his gaze away from her inquisitive one and held his head high. Why on earth would he make anyone, least of all that know-it-all Evans, confused?

* * *

Lily was seated in her usual armchair a short distance away from the blazing flames in the fireplace. Her back was to the raucous Common Room, so as not to be disturbed as she worked quickly through her considerably sized mound of homework. She knew that as a Prefect and certainly as Head Girl she should have been keeping an eye on things, but she always worked efficiently; in no time at all she would be finished with her work and free to take up her lovable role as Gryffindor Resident Killjoy.

She picked up her textbook to look up the dates of the Gooberick Gremlin Gathering when Thalia plopped herself down onto a nearby sofa, wearing a short brown wig and sucking on a Prune Pop, not noticing that her skin was gradually becoming more and more wrinkled. "Hey, Lily. Why don't you join in the festivities?"

Lily looked up from her sloppy scroll. "What? Festivities?"

Thalia threw up her arms in mock admonition. "Honestly, child. When there is work to be done and assignments to be given in, all the world halts. Seriously, Lil. I don't believe you didn't hear it. Sirius popped open a keg of Butterbeer and a bunch of fourth-years proclaimed it a holiday."

Lily flipped through the pages of her textbook, trying to locate the topic of Elf-Induced Sabotage. "Oh really, now? And what pray tell are we celebrating?"

Thalia looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure." She turned around and hollered at the thick throng of partiers. "Hey! You! What are we celebrating?"

A tall second-year by the name of Bill Weasley shouted back. "I think we're celebrating the first celebration of the school year!"

"Thanks!" Thalia turned back to Lily. "Well, there you have it."

Lily smiled in spite of herself. "Maybe I'll take a piece of candy, but I need to finish this first." She pushed her spectacles up her nose and bent her head down over her nearly completed essay.

Thalia leaned over to see what exactly was so important that it would keep her friend out of the house merriment. "History of Magic? Why on earth are you still taking that? That man is the most boring creature alive!"

Lily muffled a grin. It wasn't right for her to voice her agreement, even though she did think that Professor Binns was the antithesis of a mental stimulator. His voice was dull and monotonous, least of all to mention that he could never quite remember any of his students' names, regardless of the number of years they had been in his class. He still referred to Lily as "Miss Edwin." He even looked remarkably boring and lackluster. His eyes were a blank shade of gray, as was his hair. He always dressed in drab, colorless robes, which hung on his thin frame limply. Even his skin had tinges of gray and beige, as though he had been doused in a Color-Removing Potion as a small child. No, Professor Binns certainly was not the most exciting of characters at Hogwarts.

" 'Those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it,' " quoted Lily.

"Yeah, grinned Thalia. "Pity those goblins never learned history in school. It would have saved them a lot of energy on rebellions."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Mm hmm." She turned back to her essay, giving Thalia the cue to leave Lily to finish her assignment.

Which wasn't all that easy, considering that once Lily had been interrupted she had a bit of difficulty rechanneling her brain into study mode. And the echoing of the boisterous din in the Common Room didn't help either. She enclosed herself in soundproof bubble and tried to clear her mind.

She wasn't quite at par with her former level of concentration, but she found her essay suitable enough, save for her atrociously sloppy handwriting. It wasn't really her handwriting that was the problem; she could write impeccably if she had the time or patience, but given that she had neither of those things when it came to perfecting her cursive, she felt that she had to be content with a less than flawless script if it meant finishing more quickly.

She read through her paper, making red marks here and there. She then performed a special Legibility Charm she had invented the previous year.

Finally satisfied with her work, she placed her spectacles in her breast pocket, released herself from the confines of her sound bubble, and immediately thrust her palms to her ears compulsively. She had chosen the most untimely moment possible to hear again, as a group of fourth years had managed to smuggle a band of Cornish Pixies into the Common Room and were currently jumping on the sofas and armchairs trying to retrieve the belongings that the little devils had so conveniently hung from the crevices in the stone ceiling.

And so, much to her chagrin, Lily spent the next twenty minutes levitating items back to ground level and comforting petrified first years whom she was sure would have nightmares about little blue men for years to come.

When the commotion had subdued and she at last finished consoling a hysterical Miranda Binghamton, she looked around the Common Room, surveying the damage. Not all that much had been ruined. A few pieces of furniture had been rearranged at odd angles, and some in odd formations, but nothing a quick Refurbishing Charm couldn't fix (another one of Lily's handy discoveries). There were candy wrappers littered in certain portions of the carpet where there had been tournaments of Exploding Snap, but aside from that, the room seemed to be pretty much as it usually was. But those pixies...it was a good thing no one ever noticed the high ceiling. The damage they had done was beyond repair.

She lifted her head as the portrait opened and Sirius Black walked in, bottle of butterbeer in hand. "Never fear! The butterbeer is - oh, hello, Lily."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Mr. Black."

"So," he started, trying to hide the bottle behind his back, "I see you've come out of your bubble."

"Yes, Mr. Black. You see, surprisingly enough, some people actually do homework in the Common Room, rather than encouraging younger and more innocent children to break into Professor Kettelburn's office and swipe a cage-full of fully grown, hyperactive Cornish Pixies, who derive pleasure from wreaking chaos and hanging valuable possessions, some of which are irreplaceable, from the ceiling, which, by the way, is a thousand years old and is now permanently damaged."

She never raised her voice, but her penetrating green stare was enough to unnerve even the likes of Sirius Black.

He looked up at the ceiling, and ignoring the large cracks and spots of black tar that had been spewed all over the stone surface, commented, "Well, it certainly adds character to the room."

Thalia came down the stairs of the dormitory looking around the somewhat chaotic room. She then noticed Lily and Sirius in the corner, and understood immediately why Lily looked so reproachful and why Sirius was wearing his face of cherubic innocence.

Lily hadn't realized that Thalia had come in. "Yes, Mr. Black. You would think so. I, however, would beg you to reconsider before endeavoring to further corrupt the students who look up to you as a role model, for some reason unbeknownst to me or anyone else of sound mind."

She then turned around, rolled her eyes at Thalia with exasperation, and walked straight-backed up the stairs to her dormitory.

Sirius and Thalia stared after her.

"Is she always this charming?" he asked her.

"Just when she feels threatened," Thalia answered.

"Threatened?"

Thalia turned to Sirius. "I asked her a similar question once. That was her answer."

Sirius looked puzzled. "Threatened from what?"

Thalia shrugged. "I didn't really think about it at the time. She always says weird things. I just figured it was one of those things that she alone understood."

Sirius stood for a moment. "Well, I don't think it pays right now to try and figure out the way the mind of our dear Head Girl works. I'd best get to sleep before the House Elves get here to clean up the mess. If I look at another House Elf, alive or stuffed, I think I'm going to gag."

* * *

The firelight cast an eerie dimness in the squalid chamber, illuminating Lily's hair, making it appear to be a vibrant shade of copper. She squeezed the woman's sweaty hand. She could feel her own perspiration and tension mingling with the pain of the woman.

Lily placed her other palm on her mother's forehead, brushing the sweaty wisps of blond hair out of her pale face. Her mother looked so much older in the glow of the flames. Despite the shadows covering her face, the creases in it were more noticeable than they ever had been before, lines of worry and anxiety, but also of hope and determination.

Mrs. Evans' breathing began to get more sporadic, as though she was gasping to retain every ounce of oxygen still left in her frail body.

Lily propped her mother's head further up to chest, helping to support her, helping her breath. Her mother gripped her hand, and pressed it down to the cold stone floor. Lily winced at the pain of the jagged rock digging into her skin, but didn't cry out. Her mother needed her.

Mrs. Evans took a painfully strained intake of air, and spoke to her daughter. "Lily," she whispered weakly.

Lily brushed a thumb across her mother's profile. "Yes, Mum. I'm here. Don't worry. He can't hurt you anymore." She felt tears forming in her eyes. I mustn't cry now, she told herself. I have to be strong for Mum.

Her mother shook her head and coughed, spitting up blood, blood to mirror the warm red liquid oozing out of a wound in her chest. "No, Lily. My time has come," she rasped. Lily shook her head. "No, Mum. You're going to be fine."

Her mother wouldn't listen. "Lily, don't be afraid. You have to be strong. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. Remember that. Don't give in. Don't..."

She stopped speaking, and with a last breath of life, she was still.

The tears flowed freely now, making Lily's vision watery and blurry. "No," she whispered. "Come back, Mummy. I never meant for this to happen. Come back, Mummy."

She took her mother's limp body and pressed it against her, weeping for the woman who had raised her, who had taught her strength and endurance, who had always been there as a beacon of hope.

A large black dog nuzzled itself against her shoulder, staring at the lifeless body of Mrs. Evans. A luminous beam of light seemed to radiate from its bulbous yellow eyes, consuming the corpse in an ethereal incandescent glow. The light grew brighter and brighter, and then it was gone, and so was the body of Lily's mother.

Lily covered her face in her hands, collapsed on the hard stone, and wept mercilessly, cursing herself and the one who had dumped this torturous misfortune upon her and everyone she loved. She felt the sadness and despair flowing through her veins relentlessly, empowering her. She didn't notice the footsteps clopping towards her, nor the howls of hundreds of dogs, moaning and sharing in her misery.

She shook back and forth, vibrating as the river of helplessness flowed down her face. When she looked up to the Heavens to ask what she could have possibly done to deserve this, she saw not the circular ceiling she had expected to see, but something far more terrible.

She found herself gazing into a pair of blank white eyes, eyes belonging to the creature, to the thing, to the most terrible creation she ever could have dreaded to behold.

The leathery black body, the reptilian face, the emaciated form of a forsaken, skeletal horse, the webbed wings unfolded, poised to take flight.

It was a thestral, the sign of something that Lily considered to be far worse than death itself. It symbolized the witnessing of the loss of a human life, the act of seeing someone's heart stop its beating, lungs cease their breathing, and feelings going numb.

She had just seen her mother die, and now here was the proof of it.

Lily Evans' eyes flew open as she sat upright in her bed, panting, gripping her sweat-soaked sheets tightly with white knuckles. Her face was still wet from the unstoppable flow of subliminal tears. She tried in vain to steady her erratic breathing, to return her racing heartbeat to normal. But it was no use. The images of her dead mother's body hanging limply from her arms were too freshly branded in her mind. And she hadn't forgotten those mournful howls, and that portentous serpentine face, with those blank empty eyes. Those eyes...

Blankness.

Absolute nothingness.

The way a life's steady flame could just be extinguished. Without any warning.

And suddenly turn to blankness.

Nothingness.

That's what her mother always felt was synonymous with giving up. The loss of the will to live and to risk and to journey forever onward, hurtling through the rapids, tearing through the forests, sojourning through the desert of seemingly endless sand. That was what it meant to abandon life: to give in to emptiness, to be no one, to be nonexistent.

Lily closed her eyes and inhaled slowly through her nostrils. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She breathed spurts of air out of her pursed lips. She brushed her loose sleep-tossed curls behind her back and opened her eyes.

She tried to draw comfort from the moonlit loft, bathed in a soft glow from the full, round orb radiating its light through her window above her bed. The scarlet bed hangings were dappled with shadows, creating a winding web of intricate patterns on the rippled sheets.

She took one deep breath, and pulled back the curtains in one dreaded sweep. Everything was just as it should have been. No one else had drawn their curtains that night. Thalia was curled into a ball, her face completely covered in her yellow coils. Hannah daintily lay on her bed, her chest rising and falling peacefully in rhythmic steadiness, looking absolutely elegant and regal. Karen was sprawled out across her mattress, arms and legs sticking out of it. Her thick black hair glinted red and was gathered up around one side of her face, which wore a stubborn pout.

Karen and Thalia's discarded laundry from the previous day was still strewn about the floor sloppily. The numerous picture frames were placed upon all four dressers, their hosts snoozing peacefully in their casings.

The room held an aura of tranquility and harmony. Surprisingly, Lily had not anticipated this. For a moment after she threw back her curtains, she had half-expected to see the room in absolute chaos and to find her friends sobbing for the misery inflicted upon them all. But it had only been a dream. Albeit a terrible and foreboding one.

What about that dream? What did that mean?

Lily rubbed her temples in a clockwise motion. She tried further to exorcise the images of that night's nightmare from her memory, but each time, she was absorbed by a feeling of the ultimate sadness and sense of helplessness.

She rose out of bed and pulled one of her long black robes on over her flannels. She rummaged through her trunk, looking for the pass Dumbledore had given her for any late-night (or early morning) outings to her special room. She supposed just the fact that she was Head Girl would be enough this year to warrant a nocturnal wandering, but given that Filch was the one patrolling the corridors, she took the pass with her anyway.

She slid into her slippers and, shivering, took her wand and silently slipped out of the doorway and through the portrait hole to the corridor beyond it.

It was a chilly September night, especially in the middle of the night in a drafty castle. She uttered a Warming Charm and then lit her wand. In the dim patches rippling off of the stony walls, she was reminded of the half-shadowed face of her dead mother. She tried to push the image aside, forcing the wet droplet in the corner of her eye to revert back into her head. She would feel better soon. It was just a little bit closer.

She wasn't actually sure where she was going at any given point in time. It seemed as though her legs were leading her, and she was simply following their guidance. She walked along the familiar path, and although her destination was a positive, welcoming one, and although most would have felt the peaceful silence of the castle to be very comforting, at that moment, everything to Lily seemed to be a sign of foreboding.

She found herself in front of a large sculpture of Orpheus at his lyre. "Abbandono," she muttered.

A few notes of a harp were heard, almost as though the wind were carrying them on a breeze. Orpheus's body shifted slightly to the right, revealing a large mahogany door, and a knob embedded with tiny, delicate crystals. She pushed it open, and her heart grew hopeful as the room was bathed in her wandlight.

She felt her eyes going bright and she beheld what to her was the most beautiful thing in the world.

She reached out a hand to touch the gleaming mahogany Steinway grand piano. The small shaft of yellow light beaming from her wand reflected against the glossily polished wood, creating glowing patches on the walls and ceiling. She pushed the cover back and pressed a finger down on an ivory key, creating the beautiful pitch that soothed her soul.

"Lumos fax," she muttered. Her wandlight grew brighter; it seemed as though the little piece of wood was not a wand but a torch, giving fuel to an intensely radiant flame that illuminated the entire chamber with a dull glow, casting eerie flickers of shadows along the keys, making them appear to Lily to be even more alluring and beckoning.

She sat down on the wooden bench and placed her slippered right foot on the brass pedal. Then, without warning, the compulsion hit her. The images of her nightmare swam before her and she knew nothing other than that she had to rid herself of the sadness and pain. She pressed her fingers down onto the keys forcefully, creating a full yet graceful sound.

And then she began to play.

She felt rather than controlled her fingers as they flew across the keys, leaving behind a trail of melodious echoes and transcendent blends of sound and ardent feeling. She moved her foot up and down, pressing the pedal, making the tones echo on top of one another, building the foundations of the tower, upon which each separate timbre rose above its predecessent layer. The reverberations resonated off of the walls, filling her ears with the voice of the song.

The image of the reptilian face, those emaciated flanks, and the blank eyes evanesced from the insides of her closed eyelids. It was trickling through a filter in her mind, the drops flowing down through her fingertips and into the keys. With the nightmare ran her anxieties, fears, and pressures. Nothing else mattered at the moment, except that she was there at her piano, creating and becoming one with the musical life-sustaining force that had kept her going for all of her years.

She poured her very soul into the keys, feeling rather than hearing, as the music's purity and richness deepened and crescendoed. She swayed back and forth, succumbing to the majesty and emotion that was filling her ears. As the resounding melodies shifted and swirled, she inhaled deeply. Her mind was a whirlwind of color; as the tunes reached their heights of intensity, so did the rainbows. Shades of maroon twisted with arcs of magenta, blending together in a veil of scarlet. A small glow of shimmering jade snaked into the crimson, mingling with hues of sunshine yellow and violet.

A cool breeze from the open window blew in gently, carrying with it the harmonies of the galaxies and heavenly angels. There was a burst of emerald, and the stars danced their intricate steps, flawlessly twirling in their orbits with their sophisticated and dizzying footwork.

And that was how she sat, in her own world of musical nirvana, releasing herself of her pain and worries, thinking only of the beautiful richness that the world was capable of offering if only one knew where to venture.

The calm that was her music had left behind a tranquil air, creating a still atmosphere free of trepidation or burden. Lily sat on her bed staring out of the window pensively.

It was a moderately clear night. Several small tufts of fluffy gray cloud scattered the night sky. The round, full moon shone from where it was half-concealed by a cluster of airy cotton, its rays escaping from its thin, insubstantial veil. The stars sparkled equally as bright. Each individual orb twinkled sporadically, and yet, it looked as though they were all pooling together collaborate efforts to choreograph their inspirational dance.

Lily smiled and pulled her robes tightly around her as the thrill of the harmonious panoply of stars shot up her spine. It was in times like these when being a Cormagnus definitely had its advantages. And while Lily generally tried not to think about her subhuman anomaly, she was sometimes thankful that she had this special ability, the capability to pour out all worries through her fingertips. She didn't know how others managed keeping everything bottled up inside. Although, she reasoned, they certainly don't have to worry about committing a genocidal temper tantrum.

She glanced around her room. Regular use over the past six years had certainly added a few of her own personal touches. The design of the chamber was very plain; like many of the Hogwarts classrooms, this one was walled with stone, and the windows set in the thick rock were wide and square. In her fourth year, Lily had decided to redecorate. She had hung copper drapery on the walls to give the room a warmer atmosphere, and had lined the window frame with a copper border that complimented the purple tones in her piano very nicely.

Of course, it wasn't actually her piano. The one she had at home was very well made and it had a nice sound, but the quality was not nearly as full, as orchestral, as the one in Hogwarts.

Dumbledore had showed her to her chamber shortly after that first meeting on her first day of school. He had explained that the piano hadn't been used in over seventy years; the Muggle Studies professor at the time had been smashed into a double bass by a very forceful (and extremely faulty) Levitation Charm, and had been confined to the Hospital Wing for several weeks before the faculty mediwitch had been able to get rid of the rumbling echoes bouncing off the inside of his skull. Narrowly avoiding a lawsuit, the school governors had claimed that weighty musical instruments were safety hazards and were prohibited from use (a decision, which to Lily upon her first news of it, was complete balderdash and simply an unwarranted pretext to excuse students' and professors' uncontrollable clumsiness). The piano had been collecting dust for quite some time, and Dumbledore had honestly noted that he could think of no better person than she to tune it back into shape.

Thus, the room that Lily had called her own for six years had become her sanctuary, and eventually her Head Girl's quarters. Generally, the Head Boy and Girl's dorms were located one next to the other, so as to be convenient for meetings, small squabbles, and the like, but Dumbledore had told her quite rightly in the letter of notification that she had received in regards to her Headgirlship that he was certain she would rather have no other room other than her own.

She had been quite pleased when she had poked her head into the room on the first day of classes. A bed had been moved into the room just below the window; as she had a passionate penchant for stargazing, this was quite convenient. Several of her robes had been brought to her room as well. Her trunk had still remained in the dorm with her fellow Gryffindors. While it was certainly peaceful to have her own quite chamber, there was still that special sisterhood that stemmed from living with her three friends that she couldn't bear to part from.

This room, her room, held an entirely different significance and essence. This was the room where she was free to let her soul run free. It was her haven, her escape. In her first few days at Hogwarts she could be found there faithfully every night, releasing herself of the pent-up tears of homesickness. As the years passed, she had learned to better control herself, and save for the infamous occurrence at the lakeside at the end of fifth year, she had had no major slip-ups. Granted, occasionally she would shed a teardrop or two, but in retrospect, she was overall very proud of herself.

But she didn't know how on earth she would have been able to make these same claims had she not been able to make music. The very thought of the melodies dancing through the air thrilled her. The capability to let everything run free, rampant among the stars, floating amongst the seraphim and nephilim, free of human access... That was music.

Lily pulled her knees in closer to her chest as she gazed out of her window. The branches of the trees of the forest beyond rustled slightly, and wide, almost visible eddies of warm wind blew the fallen autumn leaves around in wide spirals. A deer poked its head out from behind a green bush; it turned its head from side to side and sprinted off toward the forest in long, even strides.

As if the deer had given her the cue that her time of reminiscence was through, she lay back on her bed, closed her eyes, and fell into a deep sleep once more, this time with the images of the dancing stars and the colors that were life and music filling her dreams.

* * *

Far away from Lily Evans' bedroom, atop a green hill moist with pre-dawn dew, a tall figure robed in black stood beside a lonely grave. Beyond the hill was a dim view of the silhouetted town of Little Hangleton, which was quiet in a nocturnal slumber. A lone gray cloud drifted in front of the full moon, obscuring the epitaph of the tombstone.

The robed man pulled up his black sleeve, revealing a forearm of taut gray skin, tattooed with the image of a morbid skull with a snake protruding as a tongue. He pressed his forefinger to the image and a low hissing escaped, a combination of the voice of the fearsome serpent and the sizzle of burning flesh. The man barely flinched; pain was merely a manifestation of fear, a contortion of what a human would like to believe is an expression of consciousness, a direct result of physical awareness. This specter knew better. To reveal one's self, to succumb to the frivolities of the interaction between receptors and brain, was far too mortal, too human.

And speaking of human...

A hooded figure had just Apparated with a loud crack to stand directly in front of the grave. He knelt low and kissed the hem of the phantom's robes, whispering, "You called, my Lord?"

"Rise," the Dark Lord said icily. The coldness in his voice was matched by a brief gust of wind that blew across the hill. The clouds parted and the moon was visible once more. The Death Eater's shadowy hood rustled, and the moonlight glinted off of his several long golden locks.

The Death Eater adjusted his hood and mask and raised himself up, though not nearly to full height. He kept his head bowed, as though it wouldn't even cross his mind nor that of anyone else to even attempt to be as high and lofty as his Master.

"How many new recruits do you have for me tonight, Malfoy? Your current number is staggeringly low. I am beginning to think that the problem lies not with the subjects themselves but with the missionary."

Voldemort's red eyes stared into the slits of Malfoy's mask, holding his gaze. The Death Eater did not back down. "I apologize, My Lord. The wariness of ministry officials has increased considerably. It is becoming increasingly difficult to keep an eye out for those that appear to be on the right side, and even more tasking to successfully corner them and offer them a chance to serve My Lord. I am ashamed, My Lord. I know excuses are of no value."

"Yes, Malfoy," Voldemort said pitilessly. "I have heard this all before. It is beginning to grow rather monotonous." He took a small step forward. "Do you know what is the one thing I detest most passionately in the entire realm of existence?"

A menacing wind blew among the trees bordering the graveyard. As the leaves rustled, they created patches of shadowy gray upon the Dark Lord's face, accenting those red cat-like slits. Malfoy felt his heartbeat quicken, but stood his ground, unrelenting.

"No, My Lord."

"The one thing, aside from muggles, who are by themselves in their entirely own category of my abhorrence, that disgusts me above all else is the very idea that one of my servants is not living up to their full potential." His stare intensified. "Do you know why that is, Malfoy?"

"No, My Lord."

Voldemort whipped around, robes swishing behind him. He extended his long arms outward, as if embracing some invisible force of evil. "Do you know what it is to have power, Lucius?" he asked in a booming voice. "Power is not merely a proclamation of authority or influence. It is a state of mind. It is knowing that you are bound by no limitations, freedom from the jurisdiction of those who claim to rule you. Power is might. Might over mind, the ability to enter peoples' thoughts and dreams, to haunt them in their every waking moment, to possess over them an inexorable control merely by existing."

Voldemort whirled around and pointed a bony finger at his chest. "I, Lucius, possess that control. The wizarding world trembles at the very sound of my name. The worst nightmare of nearly everyone in the magical community is to return home to find the mark of my supremacy hovering over their houses. Destruction, devastation. All necessary components of power. Power is might. Might is fear."

Voldemort lowered his hand and whispered into the dank night air, his voice carried by the wind. "For a Death Eater to doubt himself is to doubt my strength. For a supposedly loyal servant of mine to fail to carry out my orders on the pretext and impression that he is 'not worthy' or 'unable' is an insult to both my intelligence and my authority. My followers were handpicked. I have chosen for my army only the elite whom I deem fit to serve my purposes. I will not have them prove me wrong."

Voldemort raised his head, red eyes blazing. "To doubt one's own abilities is to lack strength, Malfoy. It is to feel pathetic and undeserving. He who is mighty, powerful, and indomitable, never doubts himself."

He leaned in very close to Malfoy's face. The Death Eater could feel the malodorous stench of decay and evil of the Dark Lord's breath. "You, Lucius Malfoy, are a disappointment to me. You have such potential, such vigor. You come from a prominent wizarding family. You are cunning, sleek, and thirsty for influence. You recognize pain for what it is - an inevitable part of existence. You accept it and embrace it, knowing that with each blow, you become more tolerant of the unsuspecting and often devastating calamities that the sadistic Sisters of Fate will throw your way." Voldemort was enunciating each point carefully, emphasizing them by slowly holding up one gaunt finger for every admirable asset of his servant.

"You possess the qualities necessary for inheriting a portion of my future worldly gains, but the one thing that is holding you back is your pitiful lack of self-assurance." He stood back and surveyed Malfoy with a look of mild disgust, and then of contemplation.

"Clearly, you are not cut out for ministry work. You knowingly defied my orders, however remorseful it made you feel. Weakness, Malfoy, is a terrible thing."

He removed his wand from within his black folds and twirled it between two very long fingers. "Although, perhaps a slight alteration of agenda is necessary."

Malfoy looked fearfully at the wand, but at the same time tried to mask his trepidation with a guise of curiosity. He bowed his head. "What am I to do, My Lord?"

A cluster of gray storm clouds blew in front of the moon, casting eerie shadows from the stars along Voldemort's face. The wind began to blow more fiercely, warning of an early autumn storm. The Dark Lord's black robes whipped around his skeletal figure like rabid snakes.

Voldemort paused, pensive. "Apparently the Ministry is not well enough suited for you. You shall try a different, and likely more effective approach."

Malfoy raised his eyes.

Voldemort continued. "You will recruit the young. They are more impressionable. They easily succumb to the allure of greatness and power. Yes, they will be fine servants." He paused. "Very well, Malfoy. You may rise. You have a new mission. I will inform you of the identities of our potential accomplices in several weeks' time. Until that moment, I expect you to prepare yourself for the task you are set out to do. Remember what I have taught you of weakness and dignity, Malfoy. Set your mind on the proper course. You have potential, as I have told you before. Do not disappoint me again."

Malfoy straightened his bent figure. "Yes, My Lord." He tightened the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms, preparing to Apparate.

"Lucius?" Voldemort said as though as an afterthought. "I do suppose you remember that I do not take it lightly when I am disappointed." He twirled his wand once again and then raised it to the level of Malfoy's chest.

The Death Eater's breathing quickened, and he prepared for the pain, the excruciating sensation of being pierced with scalding hot knives over every inch of his body.

"Fortunately for you, Malfoy, I will let this one slide," Voldemort lowered his wand and inserted it back into his robes. "Consider it a wedding present."

He gave a high, cold cackle, ceremoniously waved his left hand in the air, and with a sickening crack! and a small gust of wind, he was gone.