Outrunning Our Shadows

Disclaimer:  All characters (but those I’ve invented) belong to JK Rowling and the respective publishing houses.  No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made on this story apart from the personal enjoyment I get in writing it.

 

Outrunning Our Shadows

 

Sinking Like Stones

 

I had to make sure she’d still be there.  Before I could get to her, though, I had to face the raging hordes.

 

Faces emerged out of the mush of color as I slowed down, nearing the Infirmary.  Obviously awaiting news of the identity of Voldemort’s victim, they stood around the entrance, obstructing movement in or out.  While to some they might appear to be concerned about Lily’s welfare, to me they seemed as tabloid reporters, the first to hear the juicy details of just how Lily Evans broke down when her parents died of You-Know-Who’s curse.  Vultures, all of them, feeding off one girl’s misery.  Had I any tact, I might have reacted differently.  As it was, I lost any composure that I had gained in my mad dash to the Infirmary, and I was consumed in indignant fury.

 

“How dare you, preying on someone’s anguish!  Go back!  Go back to your petty lives and gossip mills!  Her sorrow should not be used to fuel your sorry little lives!”  My voice cracked as I spoke, not shouting, but so cold with the anger I felt toward these rumormongers.

 

“How dare we?  Why then, Mr. Potter, are you here, if not to do much the same?” 

 

The mocking voice came from my left, where two witches stood, the one who spoke twirling her quill idly.  Rita Skeeter and Bertha Jorkins, the two most notorious gossip queens ever to walk the halls of Hogwarts.  Bertha I didn’t mind, for she was harmless in the end, but Rita, who had spoken, was dangerous.  Bertha, a Hufflepuff, would only spread what she had heard without consulting the source.  She never intentionally would skew the truth or try to hurt someone.  Rita, a Ravenclaw who ought to have been a Slytherin, had learned quickly in her youth how to twist one’s words into putty in her hands, to say what she willed, and to pass on to others with a meaning wholly unlike the original.  There had been several times when she had attempted to break up the great quintet of Gryffindors by slipping one or another friend a line close enough to the truth to be believable, but off just enough…just enough to cause temporary, yet painful rifts between the group.

 

I glared at Rita, wondering not for the first time how many lives she had already ruined, and who she would have on future “To-Do” lists.  I am almost sure that she could feel the waves of anger radiating from me, and her smile increased fractionally.  “After all,” she continued, “isn’t news of the afflicted student what you are here to determine?  To inform the populace?”

 

Never more in my life, not even with Snape, did I so loathe another human being.  Snape’s anger toward me and my friends is somewhat justified, for we do attempt, and often succeed, in making his daily life a living Hell.  Rita, however, lives and feeds on deception and untruth.  Not for the last time, I closed my eyes and counted to ten before looking at her with a hard gaze.

 

“Get out, before I hex you all.”  My hand gripped my wand at my side.  I don’t even remember pulling it out.  Several of the gaggle eyed my wand warily, perhaps realizing that my threats were not empty.

 

Before anyone moved or said a word, a strong and very welcome voice reached over the crowd.  â€œThat will not be necessary, James.  I am certain that this group will not be bothering anyone in the Infirmary.  They would do well to remember this morning’s cautions.”

 

Professor Dumbledore stood at the now open door of the Infirmary, fixing each of the “welcoming group” with a stern gaze.  “Please return to class.  As you can see, you are very late.”  The crowd dispersed immediately, as if a Dungbomb had been exploded on the scene.  Having given one last superior smile in my direction, Rita flounced back to Transfiguration.  Dumbledore then turned to me.  “She’s been asking for you.  Come inside.”

 

My anger sapped out of me, I walked woodenly into the room, all attention focused on the curtain pulled around a bed toward the back of the room.  I didn’t even notice that Dumbledore turned and left the room, or that Madame Pomfrey went into her office and shut her door, obviously to give us some privacy.  There were no other students at present in the Hospital, so we were alone, but even if every bed were filled, I don’t think anyone in the room would have existed apart from the figure sitting, huddled, behind the screen.  I approached the curtain slowly, not wanting to startle her, arms hanging useless at my sides, wand dropped to the floor from unfeeling fingers.  The closer I came to her, the thicker the air became.  I could feel her sorrow before I was five feet from the curtain, and the miasma around the area was so thick, I had difficulty breathing.  A lump formed in my throat as I reached out to pull back the screen, sending one last, desperate prayer to the Heavens, that the person behind the screen please not be her.  Unfortunately, as I pulled back the curtain, I saw that it was.

 

Through the almost visible haze of anguish and pain, I could distinguish the small figure of my best friend, my confidante, normally so strong, now reduced by the worst kind of injury.  Thinking for a moment, I was alarmed at just how small Lily looked, curled in a ball at the head of her bed, rocking silently back and forth as she sobbed.  I knew she was crying, as little gasps for air and hiccoughs punctuated the silence in the room.  My heart broke at the sight of it, releasing a flood of emotion through my veins like fire.  Answering the inner prompting, I walked the rest of the way to the bed, and enfolded my little redhead in a comforting embrace from behind, hoping to get some sort of response.  I always hugged her from behind, and I was silently hoping that this would break her out of her silent turmoil.

 

She jerked as if struck, sobbing on pause for the moment.  As if the touch had been a release, she turned around to face me, eyes red from crying and face still pale from shock.  She flung her arms around me, and I gasped at the strength at which she hugged me back, as if by squeezing the warmth out of me, she could get her parents back.  The tears poured out in a steady stream onto my robes, but I didn’t care.  Lily was more important than my school robes.  At least her crying now was a kind of release, instead of the previous sobbing, which had served only to reinforce her pain.  I don’t know how long I stood there, hugging Lily and rubbing her back as she cried.  At some point, I know, I slipped into memory, when another stood by me as I cried out my heart for my parents.

 

The scene flashed through my head continuously as I sat, later, in the living room at Sirius’s house: 

Voldemort coming through the door, my mom telling me to run and hide, the smell of mothballs in the cupboard under the stairs from where I watched my life be changed forever.  That wand being raised against my mother, those words uttered so casually, tauntingly.  The screams, oh God the screams.  My eyes, frozen open in shock, staring at the man who stood less than ten feet from my hiding place.  That voice, mocking, “So falls the wife, just like the husband.  And so shall all the Potters fall, in defense of some pathetic greater good.”  The footfalls, the rush of air, as he left the house.  The laughter as he cried, “Morsmordre!” and sent a skull into the sky, a mark of his handiwork. 

That laughter haunted me for months, invading my dreams and my waking, daring me to go insane.  I spent the last two days of Winter Holiday at the Black’s, eating little and sleeping less.  During the day, I stared off into space, not rising to laugh at any of Sirius’s jokes, not even focusing on him to convey that I’d heard.  During the night, I stared at the ceiling, reliving the horror throughout the twilight hours.

The malaise that surrounded me followed me back to school, where I was immediately called to Professor Dumbledore’s office.  I honestly don’t remember what he said to me, but I do remember him telling me that someone was waiting for me outside his office, and that I ought not keep them waiting.  Thinking it Sirius of another of the boys, I hesitated behind the gargoyle entrance.  I didn’t feel that I needed to be “cheered up” anymore.   When he then said, “She is waiting, James,” the two guardians sprang aside, and standing outside was Lily, red hair askew in its ponytail, eyes red from suppressed tears, arms open to me.  In her arms, I cried for my parents, for myself, for the injustice of fighting for what was right and being punished for it.  It was her effort that pulled me from the ditch I’d been stuck in, and while I didn’t stop mourning after that, I was able to start on the road to acceptance.

 

Now, it was my turn to act as the rock, to shelter Lily from the storm of her own shadows.  I knew she’d eventually cry herself out, and I hoped that, even if diminished for a time, she’d be aware of her surroundings.  Most importantly, she needed to stop from willing herself into a shock-spiral, trapping herself in her own grief.  The sobs had been reduced by now to sniffles, and I attempted to get her attention.  “Lily…”  I pulled away slightly to get a peek at her face.

 

She gave one last little sniff, and looked up at me, green eyes so full of grief that I very nearly broke down.  When she spoke, her broken voice so alien to her character, I almost didn’t recognize it.  “They’re dead, James…He killed them.  They’re gone.”  She hiccoughed again, burying her head back into my chest, shuddering from renewed sobs.  I petted her head, smoothing the red waves, apologizing for the pain that she was suffering.  “I’m so sorry, Lily.”

 

Her head snapped up.  “Why, James?  Why are you sorry?  You didn’t cause my parents’ deaths.  I did.”

 

Ah, so that was it.  Fault by association.  If she was a Muggle, old Voldie would never have bothered them.  This realization only caused me to tighten my grip on my friend, to fight this guilt trip she’d found herself locked inside.  “No,” I responded softly, “but I did see my mother die right in front of me.  And I did nothing to protect her.”

 

Her eyes narrowed, in displaced anger.  “You were thirteen!  What would you have done, Wingardium Leviosa-d Voldemort out the door?”

 

Good, I got the tears to stop.  “And what would you have done, cursed him from halfway across the country?  It wasn’t your fault.”

 

She didn’t answer, but bit her lip.  I almost cheered, seeing her be herself enough to show old habits.  She always bit her lip when thinking hard or arguing with herself.  I pushed her further.

 

“Look at me, Lily.  Show me you’re in there.  We need you out here.”  I lifted up her chin, so she was forced to look at me.  Her eyes glazed over, staring over my shoulder at something I couldn’t see.

 

“You don’t need me.  You have the Marauders.  I need them.  And they’re gone.  I don’t have anyone else.”  As she said this, she disengaged herself from me, and turned around to lay down on the bed, facing the opposite wall.  “Please go back to class, James.  Maybe you can come visit me after dinner.  I appreciate you coming to check on me.”

 

Conversation over.  Crap.  There was nothing I could say, nothing I could do to tip the scales back in my favor.  Me, the Great and Almighty James Potter, had lost Lily Evans to her grief, and had let her slip back into a state of numbness and misery.  Her parents, you see, were two people who she cared about most in her life.  I’m only one, and right now she didn’t realize just how much I cared for her.

 

I walked out of the Hospital Wing, toward Dumbledore’s office, because I couldn’t imagine going back to class, and I knew I needed some advice from someone with a little more experience than this sixteen-year-old.

 

We’ve waited so long

For someone to take us back home

It’s just takes so long;

Meanwhile the days go driftin’ away

And some of us sink like a stone,

Waiting for mothers to come.

 

~~~~~

 

As it turned out, Dumbledore was waiting for me, and so the excuse I concocted on the way to his office was abandoned as he asked me to sit down with him by the fireplace.  I chose a red squashy armchair, and tried to think of something appropriate to say.  I stared into the fire, as if a solution to this mess would come by Floo Powder to help make things right again.  That was the problem.  Things were off.  Lily was in pain, and she had thought I didn’t care about her.  She had thought we didn’t care about her.  And I didn’t know how to fix this.

 

“I was informed by Professor McGonagall,” the headmaster began, interrupting my thoughts, “that you displayed an unusual reaction when informed of Miss Evans’s situation.  Are you alright, James?”  I looked over at him questioningly.  His blue eyes twinkled over his half-moon spectacles, but his countenance was of concern rather than amusement.

 

Since my parents died in third year, I’d often found myself talking to Professor Dumbledore about not only my problems and concerns, but also those of the Wizarding world.  I had always been able to speak candidly with my father, and while Mr. Black was now as close to a father as I would get on breaks, he and I never had long talks by the fire about controversial issues like Voldemort.  Instead, I now sought out the headmaster, who would never hedge around the truth, and would often help put things in perspectives that I could understand, despite my youth.  Our talks would range from five minutes to an hour or two, mostly at my request, but occasionally he would seek me out for my thoughts on a particular matter.  He told me he was looking for the opinions of a knowledgeable student, and as a Prefect I was considered a student leader, but I knew he also was watching out for me, and I was grateful.  Our talks were not always of a serious nature, and sometimes we would pass the evening laughing at the latest pranks that the Marauders had played.  Dumbledore, of course, could not take away House Points after the fact, nor did he ever seem less than amused by our creative plots.  Today, however, I sought him out not as a man who would laugh at my mischief, but as a man who had eight times as much experience as I, and might be able to give me some direction.

 

I wasted no time with inanities or small talk, knowing that he would not be fooled by a flippant remark.  “Why the Evans’, Professor?  Did he say anything, like…like last time?”  I asked outright, trying to understand the reason for innocent Muggles to be killed.  After all, they weren’t Aurors bent on Voldemort’s destruction.  And so shall all the Potters fall, in defense of some pathetic greater good.  God, that voice poured salt on so many wounds.

 

The price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings

 

Recognizing the fact that I was not concerned with my own well being, Dumbledore sighed, looking into the fire as I had.  “The Ministry says not.  However, there have been reports linking Miss Evans to the fall of Lord Voldemort.  Such reports have not, of course, been proved or disproved.  I believe, however, that the Evans’ were simply caught in a very wrong place at the worst possible time.”  All humor gone, Dumbledore looked his age, an old man with the world on his shoulders, who was trying to run a marathon.  “The sister, however, was found by the Clean-Up Squad to be screaming her head off about how ‘the daughter would follow soon.’  I am not certain whether he meant her or Miss Evans.”

 

I thought it over, trying to make sense of how out of all the Muggles in Europe, Voldemort would have chosen the parents of a witch by chance.  As soon as Dumbledore said ‘sister,’ though, my head popped up and my eyes narrowed.  “Petunia lived?”

 

“Yes,” said the headmaster, “she had been in the backyard, I suppose, at the time.  At least now Miss Evans has some family to count on when she goes back home.”

 

Oh no.  The only family that she has left hates her.  No wonder Lily was so broken down.  I mentioned this to Dumbledore, and told him what happened in the Hospital Wing.  “She won’t even talk to me, Professor.  What should I do?”

 

After a moment, he turned back to me, eyes troubled.  “We must stop Miss Evans from harming herself, physically or mentally.  Please continue to talk to her, James.  She needs you more than she’ll ever admit.  And we’ll need her to be strong in the war against the Dark Lord.  She will have more reason that almost any of us, yourself excluded, to see Voldemort defeated.”  He looked so serious, I understood how he could be so admired and feared by the majority of the Wizarding world.  I nodded, hoping that he would give me some direction as to how I could help Lily.  Continuing, he added, “Reach to her through her weaknesses, use the tools you’ve gained as her friend to reach her on the level of a friend and confidant, as opposed to just a fellow student.  She’ll need her friends now, more than ever.  Surely you remember, James, how hard it was to live without your friends to support you?”

 

I didn’t answer, but only nodded again, distracted by my thoughts.  I remembered how I didn’t want jokes by Sirius when I was sad, but wanted instead to be hugged by one of my best friends.  She never left me alone the first few days, I remembered, always waiting near me, hovering in the shadows for me to go to her for help or support.  In the end, I did.  I felt better.

 

Getting up quickly, I muttered a quick “Thanks” to Professor Dumbledore and made my way to the entrance.  I heard him call to my back, “We are stronger together than separate, James.  Try not to take it all on your own shoulders.”  I quickly amended my plans and checked my watch.  Seeing it read, You’ve missed class, you naughty boy!, I walked back to the Tower, knowing that there would be three people waiting for me.  Hopefully, we could work together to bring our little redhead from sinking further into her sorrow.

 

~~~~~

 

Even the Fat Lady seemed subdued as she accepted the password, “Peter Peter Pumpkin-Eater!”  I walked inside, looking for my friends.  The Marauders minus me and the redhead were sitting closest to the fire, in a small group.  A cry of “James!” came from one of them, and they all stood as I approached.

 

“Any news?” Remus asked, wringing his hands, brows knit in concern.  “McGonagall told us what happened, and you just took off like a man possessed!  Did you see her?  Is she alright?”  He always was one to worry about the welfare of our entire group.  No matter how hard his monthly transformations were on him, how much they took out of him, he always cared for the rest of us first.  To see Lily injured must have been Hell for our Moony, especially since she was one of a handful who accepted him for who and what he was.

 

I shook my head, sitting down by the fire, soaking in its warmth.  The guys sat around me, Remus and Sirius on either side, Peter on the floor (I’d taken his spot, it seemed).  I told them what had happened in the Hospital Wing, and mentioned that I’d gone afterwards to talk to the Headmaster.  Sirius was the first to offer a suggestion.

 

“Perhaps a prank?  Wouldn’t Snape dancing the YMCA around the Hospital Wing make her feel better?” Typical Sirius.  Always trying to solve a problem with humor.  We loved him for that (as a friend, mind you), but in this situation, we all knew, even Peter, that he was out of place.  Realizing this by our looks of Sad, sad Sirius…get a clue, he shrugged, muttering something along the lines of, “It was worth a shot.”

 

We sat, quiet, for a few minutes before Peter piped up with an idea.  “What are Lily’s pet peeves?”

 

“How could Lily’s pet peeves help us out right now?  We need to have her feeling better, not feeling like she doesn’t have any friends!”  Remus said, shooting him down directly.  Sirius, too, looked to be irritated.  I wondered if they’d been ignoring Peter’s comments all evening. 

 

I, however, was thoughtful.  Maybe not tonight, but later… to bring her out of her shell…my mind again wandered back three years

 

I’d told Lily, during one of our late-night chess games, that I hated people staring at me, not saying anything.  When she asked why, I had said it made me feel like I was inadequate, and that I was expected to either say or do something.  I hated to feel like they were waiting for me for some reason. 

After my parents had died, and I was trying to get back into the swing of things, I was walking around the school and from class to class in a sort of daze.  Still quieter than normal, leaving the pranking to Sirius and Remus and Peter, I spent most of my day existing.  It seemed a logical road to take for the moment.

Lily, to my intense annoyance, was perverse in her pursuit of me.  She followed me around when I was alone, seeking me out in the Library, finding me sitting out by the lake, and would just stare at me, waiting silently.  I knew what she was doing, I knew I was a prat to have told her how to push my buttons, but I tried to get past it.  After two weeks of having eyes on me for most of my waking hours, I felt like a hunted animal, running from some buried evil that, surprisingly, wasn’t Lily.  Eventually, she found me outside near the Pitch, and I snapped.

‘What?!?  What do you want me to do?  Break down and cry in front of you?  I’ve done that already!!  They’re gone, and there’s nothing I can do about it!”

Still she waited, silent, almost afraid to say anything.  To my horror, it looked like she was crying.  Her green eyes were wide, and a line of tears ran silently down her cheek.  She didn’t attempt to wipe them away.

It was the realization that she had followed me around for two whole weeks, that she cared enough to seek me out for two weeks, that finally broke through to me. I felt like I’d been abandoning my friends, and my life, and I wished I could take it all back, so that Lily wouldn’t have to cry anymore.

 

Back in the Common Room, I’d been staring at the Fire for a few minutes when I realized that we needed to break Lily out of her grief by reaching out to her soft spots – the places where she connected with her friends and her life.  But not tonight.  Tonight she needed dinner and the company of her friends.

 

“I think the house-elves should know that their favorite redhead is hungry for a feast.  Big enough that four people need to bring it to her.  What do you guys think?”  I said, slowly, looking around at my mates.  Three nods later, we left the Common Room en route to the Kitchens.

 

~~~~~

 

Well, that’s the last time I ask the house-elves for a feast.  I’m going to be sore tomorrow!  We struggled under the weight of all the treats that Tibby and the other house-elves piled in our arms for Lily.  She was always a favorite of theirs, asking little beyond a small sundae when the rest of us would empty their larders in search of sufficient sustenance.  In my own defense, I’m a growing boy.

 

We all gulped as we walked into the Infirmary, walking slowly again toward the back wall where our friend was suffering.  Madame Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, and so we breathed a small sigh of relief for this small favor.  This time, it was silent behind the curtain, as Lily slept, red hair splayed out on the pillow like spilled paint, peaceful in her slumbers, oblivious now to her sorrows.  Hating to wake her, we tip-toed to the adjacent bed, piling the food on the tray tables in between the cots. 

 

We then waited, quietly conversing about what I’d missed following my precipitous departure from Transfiguration.  To me, it seemed a year ago, when I’d abandoned all decorum and gone running through the corridors.  I cringed, realizing suddenly how many detentions Filch would be likely to dole out, as well as how many points I lost from my House for missing classes.  Seeing the nauseous look on my face, Remus coughed lightly.

 

“You have been excused from all unusual behavior today, Prongs, in case you wondered.  Dumbledore told McGonagall after our class this morning.”  I let out a whoosh of air, relieved.  The other three laughed lightly at my discomfit.

 

Lily chose this exact moment to wake up and notice our presence.

 

I was never more proud of my group than that night.  We pulled ourselves together behind one of our number, just as we’d done when we discovered Remus’s lycanthropy.  We ate together in the Infirmary, and still had enough left over to feed a small army.  Lily cried and hugged each of us, and all four of us were in tears at one point or another, trying to cheer Lily up as simply as we could with our show of support.

 

After about an hour, when the food had been packed away and the tears wiped away, Lily told us that Madame Pomfrey had cleared her to return to the Tower whenever she felt ready.  Together, we walked down the hallways of Hogwarts, five Gryffindors, arms locked with each other, not laughing but smiling slightly, all of us glad for each other’s company.  As we reached the Fat Lady, Lily stopped and turned to us.

 

“Thank you, guys.  Really.  You don’t know how much that meant to me.”  She paused, smiling at each of us in turn.  She stopped in front of me, arms out, and I stepped in to hug her tightly.  Her voice was soft, meant only for my ears.  “Thank you, James.  I know I snapped at you before, but I’ll be needing you for a while…to get through this.  I--is that alright?”

 

I tightened the hug, smiling down on the petite fireball.  “Of course.  Just returning the favor.”

 

With that, we entered the Common Room, standing behind Lily as we would for as long as Lily needed us to be there.

 

~~~~~

 

A/N:  And there’s chapter 2.  I hope that you like it, I know it’s a little more serious than I first planned it to be.  To give songwriters their due, the first set of lyrics is from the Counting Crows – “Amy Hit The Atmosphere.”  The second, from “Mrs. Potter’s Lullabye.”  Both songs are found on the This Desert Life LP.

 

As always, any reviews or comments are welcome and appreciated!