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hh_mirror((Backdated to Halloween.))
It was odd, really, the way the human mind worked. The way a person, normally quite rational, could be consumed with what she knew was an irrational thought. A flight of fancy, a nightmare best regulated to under beds or inside closets, could become as real as the waking world; even whilst the person fights against it.
For example, Lily knew that tonight was just another night. A simple span of twenty-four hours; much like the day before and the day after. All Hallows Eve though it may be, Witch though Lily may be, she ascribed it no special powers or sway over the ooglie-booglies that haunted mortal imagination. It was simply a day of revelry - of costumes and candy and silly pranks. Nothing magical about it; at least, nothing more magical than was about any other day in a wizarding school.
Why, then, after a brief moment of relief with the Feegles and their Halloween mischief, Lily had found herself unable to do much else besides lock herself in her room behind far too many wards and curl up in a corner, wand out, she couldn't have said. Nothing was going to happen. Just because this was the night she'd died - the night James had been murdered - didn't mean a sodding thing. Voldemort wasn't going to burst through her room door and kill her again. She wasn't going to get an owl saying there'd been an attack on Harry. No Dark Mark floating over someplace she'd been too late to arrive to, no blank stares from bodies she had to bury with no one left to mourn them.
She knew that. And yet.
All the candles Lily owned were lit. In the far corner of her room, back firmly wedged against the wall, Lily's gaze kept flickering from the window to the door and back again. Defensive mode. But not against Voldemort. Because she knew that he wasn't a threat - or, rather, that he was a threat she could handle, one she understood and could ward against. And she wasn't afraid of an attack; not more than she usually was.
A small seed of thought had started to take root at the back of her mind, pushed down by the everyday noise of Lily's life, but not hindered in its growth by the lack of attention. Louder, now, was this idea, this fanciful thought that Lily knew - just as she knew Voldemort wasn't at this moment on his way up to her rooms with wand out - was entirely impossible.
What Lily was really afraid of at this moment, what had her curled up in the corner of her room, eyes wide open and jaw set, wasn't the thought of a replay of that night seventeen years (or, for her, five months) ago. It was the notion of a reversal.
Time seemed to have lost its once firm hold on the world, throwing the students and staff of Hogwarts into odd sort of in-between space where there weren't any rules to cling to any longer. Lily had come back, thrust forward seventeen years. To her, though, it'd been a matter of seconds. She also hadn't returned the same day she'd died, instead jumping back five months in the year. Time was, indeed, off its rocker and doing the funky chicken with Santa Claus in the Bahamas.
What Lily feared, irrationally she knew, was that once Halloween flipped over to the next day, the day she'd never gotten to live, she would...disappear. That all of this was simply a short reprieve and her Halloween now would turn into the last Halloween and she would once again be in that room, listening to that laugh, seeing James lying lifeless in the next room, and pleading for her son's life. That this time, the flash of green light wouldn't bring her to the Sorting Room. That she really would die, that whatever cosmic mistake had brought her back would reverse itself and she would be gone. That the tentative life she'd begun to carve for herself in this new world would be taken from her.
All she wanted was to have Perry hold her until the sun rose and her fears were proved false. She needed to feel connected; as if by anchoring herself to someone she could stave off the nothing she dreaded would overtake her. Lily wanted Sirius to hold her hand and tell her, again, that he wasn't going anywhere, because, maybe, that meant she wasn't either.
But, as had happened so often since coming back, Lily found herself unable to reach out to ask for those things. She should be able to handle this, she was being insane, she couldn't put her irrational fears onto them. They shouldn't have to deal with her, with this. Twice Lily nearly summoned over a bit of parchment and jotted off two owls, twice she stayed her hand. She was fine. Everything was fine. There was nothing to be afraid of.
In her room, with the candles burning steadily and causing shadows to dance on her walls, Lily curled up, chin resting on her knees, and waited for the morning. Alone.
It was odd, really, the way the human mind worked. The way a person, normally quite rational, could be consumed with what she knew was an irrational thought. A flight of fancy, a nightmare best regulated to under beds or inside closets, could become as real as the waking world; even whilst the person fights against it.
For example, Lily knew that tonight was just another night. A simple span of twenty-four hours; much like the day before and the day after. All Hallows Eve though it may be, Witch though Lily may be, she ascribed it no special powers or sway over the ooglie-booglies that haunted mortal imagination. It was simply a day of revelry - of costumes and candy and silly pranks. Nothing magical about it; at least, nothing more magical than was about any other day in a wizarding school.
Why, then, after a brief moment of relief with the Feegles and their Halloween mischief, Lily had found herself unable to do much else besides lock herself in her room behind far too many wards and curl up in a corner, wand out, she couldn't have said. Nothing was going to happen. Just because this was the night she'd died - the night James had been murdered - didn't mean a sodding thing. Voldemort wasn't going to burst through her room door and kill her again. She wasn't going to get an owl saying there'd been an attack on Harry. No Dark Mark floating over someplace she'd been too late to arrive to, no blank stares from bodies she had to bury with no one left to mourn them.
She knew that. And yet.
All the candles Lily owned were lit. In the far corner of her room, back firmly wedged against the wall, Lily's gaze kept flickering from the window to the door and back again. Defensive mode. But not against Voldemort. Because she knew that he wasn't a threat - or, rather, that he was a threat she could handle, one she understood and could ward against. And she wasn't afraid of an attack; not more than she usually was.
A small seed of thought had started to take root at the back of her mind, pushed down by the everyday noise of Lily's life, but not hindered in its growth by the lack of attention. Louder, now, was this idea, this fanciful thought that Lily knew - just as she knew Voldemort wasn't at this moment on his way up to her rooms with wand out - was entirely impossible.
What Lily was really afraid of at this moment, what had her curled up in the corner of her room, eyes wide open and jaw set, wasn't the thought of a replay of that night seventeen years (or, for her, five months) ago. It was the notion of a reversal.
Time seemed to have lost its once firm hold on the world, throwing the students and staff of Hogwarts into odd sort of in-between space where there weren't any rules to cling to any longer. Lily had come back, thrust forward seventeen years. To her, though, it'd been a matter of seconds. She also hadn't returned the same day she'd died, instead jumping back five months in the year. Time was, indeed, off its rocker and doing the funky chicken with Santa Claus in the Bahamas.
What Lily feared, irrationally she knew, was that once Halloween flipped over to the next day, the day she'd never gotten to live, she would...disappear. That all of this was simply a short reprieve and her Halloween now would turn into the last Halloween and she would once again be in that room, listening to that laugh, seeing James lying lifeless in the next room, and pleading for her son's life. That this time, the flash of green light wouldn't bring her to the Sorting Room. That she really would die, that whatever cosmic mistake had brought her back would reverse itself and she would be gone. That the tentative life she'd begun to carve for herself in this new world would be taken from her.
All she wanted was to have Perry hold her until the sun rose and her fears were proved false. She needed to feel connected; as if by anchoring herself to someone she could stave off the nothing she dreaded would overtake her. Lily wanted Sirius to hold her hand and tell her, again, that he wasn't going anywhere, because, maybe, that meant she wasn't either.
But, as had happened so often since coming back, Lily found herself unable to reach out to ask for those things. She should be able to handle this, she was being insane, she couldn't put her irrational fears onto them. They shouldn't have to deal with her, with this. Twice Lily nearly summoned over a bit of parchment and jotted off two owls, twice she stayed her hand. She was fine. Everything was fine. There was nothing to be afraid of.
In her room, with the candles burning steadily and causing shadows to dance on her walls, Lily curled up, chin resting on her knees, and waited for the morning. Alone.
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Date: 2006-11-15 08:53 am (UTC)Up and off the bed like a shot, Lily growled, "Loo," before stalking over to her bathroom and shutting the door - perhaps a bit too firmly. Sliding down to sit on the floor, head tipped back and resting against the wood, Lily rubbed her eyes with her fists and sighed. So, this was what going mad felt like. Bloody brilliant.
Taking deep breaths, she tried to find some sense of calm. The further along into this fucking night she got, the worse she seemed to feel. She stood and paced, back and forth, in the tiny room. The more she paced, the more agitated she got. About everything - the fact that she wasn't strong enough to deal with this, the fact that she had died, the fact that there wasn't any way to talk about this and yet she wanted to so badly. But what could she say? 'I died and it sucks, cause I came back. Because people shouldn't be able to take a tour of their own grave, because everything is the same and yet so very different, because I can barely remember the person I was before.
Because I hate James for not being here to talk about this with.'Footsteps becoming quicker, breathing more ragged, Lily clenched her hands into fists. It wouldn't do any fucking good to talk about. And she didn't want to talk about it. But she did. She just...
With a loud shout of frustration and rage and grief, Lily picked up a glass from her sink and sent it hurling across the room. It shattered against the wall and Lily stared at the spot where it had hit for a long moment, shoulders heaving with every breath. Her eyes were dry, though, and her expression blank. Then, slowly, she relaxed, her tense posture melting a little as she closed her eyes and turned away from the broken glass.
Right. Shaking slightly, Lily walked over to the sink and stared at her reflection before splashing some cold water on her face. She scrubbed her skin with a towel, focusing her breathing, trying to pull herself together.
Calmly, she opened the door and walked back out to the bed. Once more she took her seat, again wrapping her arms around her legs. "So, did we find those breasts and cars yet?"
Yeah, she was fine. No worries, here. Face carefully blank, Lily reached over and took Sirius' glass from his hands. Drinking was an option. Drinking until she passed out was actually sounding like a sodding good option at this point.