Somewhere Too Far » Lily and James

ONE | Year Seven

"Three turns should do it." - J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

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Freak.

The room was dimly lit; hardly anything could be discerned, save for the open green flames that erupted from the chimney rather precipitously. Lily looked around blankly, unaware of her whereabouts, only conscious on the way her hands sweated and her heartbeat sped up.

Freak. Monster.

The words were voiced airily and dreamily-scathingly so. Though cloyingly sweet, they cut through her like sharp daggers. What made matters worse was that she knew that voice. It had, after all, haunted her for years during her childhood.

Startling her, the licking emerald flames rose parted to reveal a shape within their sparks -- an erect body. It was thin and lean, with short chestnut feathery hair and a face familiar to Lily. Lily backed away from the fire, but soon found the task to be impossible, for the space she had attempted to put between her and the person in the flames narrowed peculiarly. The foreign room was closing in on her steadily, the walls adding pressure to her tense shoulders and making her deliberately squeeze her eyes shut. Lily's breathing began to rag unnaturally and her head pounded like thunder. What was going on?

Freak. You're a freak, Lily.

It was Petunia. Lily could barely recognise her sister through the sallow greenish tint allowed by the hot glow of the live fire. It sifted and hissed around Petunia as she stood ceremoniously, looking down at Lily with what looked very much like disgust. The crackling, green tongues of fire only added to the boldness in Petunia's eyes and the illegitimate pride of her stance, making Lily bite her lip until she was drawing out blood.

"Tuney," Lily whispered, her voice cracking.

Petunia's voice came again, although her lips were not articulating the seething words. Instead, the voice seemed to seep into Lily's ear and twist itself around her brain, leaving cold echoes ricocheting against the walls of her head.

You're a freak. You're a monster. Freak. Freak. Freak. FREAK!

Lily didn't really wang to cry, didn't want to cower in the corner and sob until the voice drowned out. She didn't want to do any of those things, but she felt oddly cold, wintry. So much that she would take a dementor's kiss with open arms to spare herself this torture. She was perfectly capable of pulling out her wand--her beautiful willow wand--and word out hexes and spells to silence her sister. But she couldn't--she wouldn't bring herself to do it. Not when Petunia wouldn't come out unscathed.

So she cried and cried instead, throaty sounds from hollow sobs to shaky breaths escaping her chapped lips. She muttered incoherent words, vain pleadings. But Petunia didn't stop. Not until she had sauntered with uncharacteristic graciousness out of the fire, the flames following her lead as green serpents, and was towering beside Lily's quivering frame.

Lily turned to her shakily, hoping to see forgiveness in her eyes. Forgiveness for being the freak she'd just been called-for not being like her sister. But instead of compassion, she saw a blank solid stare of nothingness. So empty, so dark, yet so deviously infinite, that she screamed her lungs out.

Then she woke with a start.

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King's Cross was crowded as usual. The morning was misty and cool; families made their way through the crowd constituted of your normal people: businessmen in their suits and dress shoes, large families with chubby toddlers, young kids carrying their baggage. . . . There was nothing to indicate that there was anything abnormal about the place. The trains gave out their usual steam, the kids ran around with their coats and scarfs-everything ensued in a fashion that of a normal train station.