Tears

There was something different about him this year: he had changed, become more subdued, subtle, less of a prankster, less arrogant, cocky, and untouchable. In short, he had grown up. The summer had transformed him.

And they were beginning to become friends, the Head Boy and Head Girl. Until:

***

"Miss Evans? May I have a private word with you?"

"Of course, Professor." To her friends, "You go on to lunch." She turned to Professor Dumbledore, finally noticing the disturbed and grave look upon his face. "Is something the matter?"

"I'm afraid something is very much the matter, my dear," he said as he escorted her to his office. "Licorice."

"What is it?"

"Take a seat, my dear."

She did as she was told.

He turned to the window and gazed into the distance as the autumn rains fell. "We live in dangerous times, Miss Evans."

"Of course, Professor," she acceded.

"However, it is much more dangerous for some than for others."

"I know that, sir."

"Danger is pain, my dear."

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I'm afraid I don't follow."

He turned his sad eyes on her. "Lily, dear, your mother is dead. I'm sorry."

She blinked in disbelief. "Pardon?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Your mother has been killed. By Death Eaters. Your father and sister were not at home during the attack, so they are still alive. But the funeral service will be held soon, and you will be excused from classes for as long as necessary. Your father asked that you be home as soon as possible, so I will escort you home tonight by portkey."

Lily sat frozen in shock.

"May I offer my sincerest condolences?"

"I--" She stood up abruptly. "I have to go."

"Of course, my dear. I will see you at the Great Hall after dinner?"

She barely nodded before walking stonily out of Dumbledore's office, his sad eyes following her.

Somehow, she made it back to Gryffindor Tower. She collapsed into one of the chairs in the common room and stared vacantly at the fire. Thank goodness everyone else was at lunch.

Gone? No. It couldn't be. She wouldn't believe it. Not her mother. Not the woman who had offered her joy and comfort and support and care throughout her whole life. Not her mummy!

The faint but insistent sounds of approaching students shook her from her reverie. She bolted up the stairs to her dormitory and shut the door behind her.

Yes. She had to face facts. She had to face the truth. Dead. Never coming back. Going home, to Dad, to Petunia.

Resolutely, Lily took out a small suitcase and began carefully filling it.

Her hands began to shake. She began to throw in her clothes--anything black--haphazardly. The panic began to rise in her throat: dead.

She couldn't do this. A distraction. She needed a distraction. Slamming the suitcase shut, she grabbed her bookbag and ran to class. Anything to deny the truth.

"You missed lunch, Lily! We brought you a sandwich."

"Thanks." She didn't eat it.

"So what did Dumbledore want?"

She shook her head. She couldn't say it.

"Good afternoon, class. Today's lesson is on . . ." Thank goodness she didn't have to speak.

***

Nothing seemed amiss. She was just as focused on her lessons as ever. She knew she was excused from classes, but she couldn't let go, or else she would completely collapse. She relied on the routine to support her hollow self. There was a haven in routine, in repetition, in the familiar. She would not accept that her tranquility had been shattered. She steadfastly refused.

"Are you coming to dinner, Lily?"

"No, I want to finish my Charms essay: I've almost got it. You go on without me."

Her friends left her in the common room alone. She didn't seem to be acting too abnormally.

Work was her only escape. Until seven o'clock. The clock chimed the hour, and she suddenly stopped. Seven o'clock. There was no denying it. She moved slowly, leaving her books on her neatly made bed, taking just the small suitcase with her.

Dumbledore was waiting for her. "Ready, my dear?" He squeezed her shoulder in a way that was meant to convey comfort, but the meaning was lost on her. Her heart had frozen. All feeling had been numbed.

But then she saw her father.

She ran to him, and he engulfed her in a tight embrace.

"Thank you, Professor, for bringing her," she heard her father say over her head.

"Just let me know when she's ready to return to school," he said kindly. And he was gone.

"Daddy . . ." she whispered.

"I know, honey," he replied softly, squeezing her even more tightly to his chest.

And then she broke into dry, wracking sobs.

***

The funeral was over, affairs were in order, and there was nothing left for Lily to do at home. Throughout everything, she had been calm, collected, and cold. Other than her initial outburst upon seeing her stricken father, Lily had not permitted herself any other emotional indulgences--even when she was alone. Not even Petunia's incessant railing against her cracked her icy shield. She had not shed a single tear. Not even on her last night home, when her father told her how it had happened.

"Daddy, how did she die?"

He gave his youngest daughter an unutterably sad look. "You don't have to know, Lily."

"Yes, Daddy, I do."

"Petunia doesn't know."

"Tell me."

He hugged her close and began, "I had gone out to pick up Petunia from the hairdresser's. Mummy was going to fetch Petunia herself, but she had been doing so much chauffeuring lately that I insisted she stay home that afternoon." He swallowed. "It was only a twenty minute drive." His voice strained. "We came back, and the house was in shambles. Petunia called the police, but I wouldn't let her inside until I had made sure it was safe. And there she was." He closed his eyes. "She was lying--dead--on the kitchen floor. Her eyes--empty. Gone. Forever." He sobbed. Lily held him close. "I couldn't let Petunia see. Couldn't let her see. Dead."

Lily shut her eyes, trying to make the vivid image of her mother's discarded shell disappear. It was burned forevermore upon her mind. She held her father and rocked back and forth. But not a tear could she shed. Not yet.

She couldn't shake the image of her mother's broken body from her mind. How could she see it so vividly? Shrieks, crashes, hisses. Avada Kedavra. A blinding green light. Silence.

Her father's shuddering grief recalled her quickly to the present. Of course she couldn't see what had happened. Her father must have been confronted with a much more horrible image, with the gruesome reality that was beyond the power of imagination.

There they sat, clinging to one another, one dissolved in tears, the other stiff and dry-eyed, but both hurting so very acutely.

"Dumbledore said they were called Death Eaters."

"Evil wizards who despise humans born with the capability for magic."

He pulled back and looked at her with horror as realization struck. "Honey, no! It isn't your fault! Not in any way can it be construed as your fault!"

"Daddy, how can I think otherwise?" she asked helplessly.

"It isn't your fault, Lily! You have to believe it. I can't have you carrying that burden for your whole life! If anything, I blame myself for what happened. If I hadn't insisted--if I had let her go and I had stayed home instead--"

"No, Daddy! I wouldn't want you gone, either!"

He gave his daughter a watery smile. "Let us come to an agreement, then. I won't blame myself if you don't blame yourself."

"Alright," she consented, despite knowing that neither would fully be able to comply, knowing that the gnawings of guilt would haunt the backs of their minds despite everything they tried. "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you, too, Lily."

She stepped through the great oak doors, back into the halls of her beloved institution. But she could not appreciate the tall grandeur of the castle. Her head and heart were too heavy: her eyes could hardly see beyond her own feet.

"Hey, Evans! Where have you been?" came a jovial voice.

It took so much effort to just lift her head to look at the face of James Potter that she could not bring herself to say anything. Instead, she succumbed once more to the pull of gravity and walked on.

But the hollow, empty, desperate look in the once bright eyes of Lily Evans, though glimpsed only for a second, said it all and broke James Potter's heart.

***

"Lily! Where have you been for the past week? We've missed you!" greeted her friends as she entered her dormitory.

"Potter's been very glum about performing his Head Boy duties all by his lonesome self," said Avalon suggestively.

"Has he?" Lily replied apathetically, deliberately unpacking her clothes.

"Of course, you nitwit! He clearly still fancies you."

"Does he?" Her tone forgot to change.

A pause. "Lily, are you all right?"

"Fine, Avalon. Just . . . tired from the traveling."

"Where did you have to go? What for?"

"Home. For . . . I have to go talk to my professors and get all the work I've missed."

"But Lily! We've already--" Lily hurried out before Avalon could finish. "We've already collected it all for you," she finished lamely.

"I wonder why she had to go home?"

"I don't know. Clearly not for a happy occasion."

***

"You look tired, Lily. You should get some sleep. I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning. The work can wait until tomorrow," said Faye gently.

"Alright. Thanks, guys." She was just glad to finally be alone. She had tried to take refuge in all-consuming work, but there were too many interruptions, too many hails of "Welcome back," "Where've you been" etc. etc. She tried so hard to act normally, and to those who didn't observe too carefully, she only appeared rather tired.

Thankful for some solitude in which to let her carefully crafted façade crumble, she crawled into bed and drifted off into sleep.

CRASH! SHATTER! BOOM! Growls deep in the throats of angry men. Running, tripping, panting. A tall, dark, hooded figure suddenly looming in her path. A gnarled, knuckly, ghastly hand holding a long, menacing wand. A shrill scream. A green light. Absolute stillness. Blackness. She was dead.

Lily jerked awake, terrified. 2:15am. She had died in her dream. You never die in dreams. You always wake up right before they can kill you. "I died," she whispered. Too afraid to return to sleep, she kicked off the covers and descended into the common room, where there was still light, where the darkness was still being held at bay. She took out her work, and began again to suffuse herself in the comforting familiar feel of work.

***

She was hyper-attentive in classes, studying every spare minute of every day, bringing books to meals and reading under the pretense of eating. She threw herself into her Head Girl duties, planning and running the prefect meetings, patrolling, doing everything to keep herself as busy as possible. She was always last to leave the common room at night and first to be there in the morning. No one knew she didn't even venture to sleep. Every time she had dozed off, the same terrifying dream came back to haunt her. She abandoned sleeping altogether. Sheer and utter terror kept her awake.

They didn't notice, though. Make-up is a wonderful thing. They just thought she was trying to catch up. They didn't realize she wasn't sleeping at all or that she was hardly even eating. Most people didn't notice something was wrong. Most people.

One night, patrolling the halls, "Evans, is everything all right?"

"Of course. What do you mean?"

"You've just seemed a bit . . . I don't know . . . off lately."

"I'm fine, Potter."

"You haven't been eating, and you seem tired and tense."

"There's nothing--" A loud crash cut short whatever she had been going to say. "Come on." She hurried away.

James ran a hand through his hair with a sigh and followed less enthusiastically.

***

"Lily, are you sure you're all right? You've lost a lot of weight, and you haven't been eating or sleeping right," ventured Avalon four days after Lily had returned to school.

"I'm fine. Just worried about all this work I've got to catch up on."

"I don't think that's all that's bothering you, Lily. You never told us why you had to go home."

Lily looked up, slightly panicked, and scanned the library. Too many people. She shook her head violently.

"Let's go outside. Leave the books for a minute." Avalon dragged Lily out of her seat and led her outside tot he lake. "Lily. What happened?" she asked gently, trying to peer into her friend's face.

Lily resolutely kept her eyes on the ground.

"You can tell me, Lily. If you don't want anyone else to know, I won't tell. I promise. But you've got me worried. Please. Tell me what's wrong."

Her voice was barely a whisper, and Avalon had to bend close to hear her. "My mum. She's dead."

"Oh, hon! I'm so sorry! Come here." Avalon drew her up into a tight hug, smoothing back Lily's hair in a comforting gesture. "Go ahead, dear. Just cry and let it all out."

"I can't," whispered Lily, her face buried in her friend's shoulder. "I can't cry. I want to, but I can't. They just won't come."

"Shh, it's alright, sweetheart. They'll come. When you're ready. It'll be alright. I'm here if you need me."

After a moment, Lily drew back. "Thank you, Avalon. We should really get back to studying. I really am still behind."

"Do you need any help?"

Lily shook her head. "Thank you, though."

***

"Lily, you should go to sleep. The professors understand that you've been gone for a bit and it'll take you some time to finish catching up. I won't let you be the last one up in the common room," interrupted Avalon.

"Just let me finish this essay."

"Fine. But I'm staying here until you do, and then I'm making sure you go to sleep--not bed, you hear: sleep!"

Lily smiled at her friend's playful admonitory tone and continued working.

"Aha! You're done! Now it's off to bed with you, my dear."

Lily didn't resist her friend's gentle urgings. Before she knew it, she was curled up under the covers, waiting for sleep to come with Avalon sitting nearby watchfully. She didn't want to go to sleep, but knowing Avalon wouldn't sleep until she did, she pretended to close her eyes.

That same horrible scream shattered the silence, and Lily bolted out of bed, sweating, terrified, and wide awake. She couldn't go back to sleep. She couldn't dare. One more of those dreams and she would lose her grip on sanity.

Hands still trembling from the aftershocks of the dream, she made her way down to the common room, stoked up the fire, and opened her precious books once again.

Hours passed.

"I thought I'd find you up."

She jumped at the sound of his voice and looked up to find him directly in front of her. She hadn't heard his bare feet traversing the floor.

"It's three o'clock in the morning. Isn't it a bit early, even for you, Evans?"

"Why should it be?" she asked defensively.

"You've been going to bed excessively late and getting up excessively early for days on end. You can't be getting enough sleep."

"I'm behind in my schoolwork."

"How can you not fall asleep in class at the rate you're going?"

"Discipline."

"Lily." He sat down next to her on the couch, dropping what little semblance of playfulness he had adopted at the beginning of the conversation and speaking with sincere earnestness. "What's the matter?"

"I've already told you, I'm fine. Nothing's the matter," she snapped, edging a little away from him.

"Don't tell me nothing's the matter. I know better than that. You hardly eat, I've never seen you sleep since you've come back, you've been avoiding people, you're exceedingly jumpy and defensive, and . . ."

"And?"

"You look unhappy." Did he sound slightly distressed?

Lily just blinked, surprised.

"I know you're trying to act as though nothing is wrong, but I can tell that something is bothering you, and I don't think hiding is going to help. Please, Lily."

"I don't have to tell you anything, Potter!"

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I'm not asking you to tell me anything, Lily. I'm just concerned, and maybe you should talk to someone about whatever is going on. Someone you trust. I don't like to see you like this."

She leaned her elbows on her knees and hid her face in her hands. "I'm sorry, James. I'm just--you're right--and you're so good for caring--but I just--" her voice faded to a whisper and her throat constricted, "I'm afraid."

"What are you afraid of, Lily?" he asked softly.

Her shoulders began to shake violently. "Death Eaters killed my Mum."

He immediately put his arms around her shoulders. She didn't pull away.

She struggled against herself to speak. "I wasn't there, but every time I close my eyes, I see her body, and every time I fall asleep, I dream terrible things. I see how she died." Wordlessly, he pulled her closer to him so that her head leaned against his chest. "How they did it. Her screams. And I die, too." She looked up and stared him straight in his sorrowful hazel eyes, exposing him to the undiluted fear and despair in her completely dry eyes. "I die, too!" She immediately looked back down and began rocking back and forth in a slightly crazed manner. Her voice was suddenly flat. "She's dead. Gone. Forever. Nothing can bring her back."

"I know how you must feel."

She pulled away abruptly. "Do you?" she spat, voice sharp with bitterness, pain, and skepticism.

He gazed at her with soft, hazel eyes. "My father was killed over the summer."

Her anger immediately fell away and was replaced by a stricken expression. "I'm so sorry. I--"

"It's alright, Lily."

She buried her face in her hands again. "I'm such a terrible person."

"No, you're not." He pulled her into his embrace once again and rested his chin on the top of her head. "You're sad and alone and helpless and afraid. And there's nothing wrong with that." He gently kissed the top of her head.

She sniffed. "I want my mummy, James." And then the blessed tears came. She sobbed and sobbed, and he held her. She cried and cried until she slipped into sleep--blissful, peaceful sleep. And still he held her.