This chapter goes to Daisy for being such a kind soul and genuine person! I don't know if they read this book but c'est la vie!
irenic-dxisy ♥️♥️♥️

(18th February 1978)

The look in her eyes was turning to crystal, tears dripping down her skin, cracking its beauty.

James held her closer, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, hypnotised by the way it turned a delicate blue under his fingertips.

"Ez—"

Mistakes, he realised, were always defined in the past tense. That was why they were only identifiable as one after the fact. He could see it in her eyes, screaming. Mistake.

"I love you," she whispered as he tracked one of the tears, slipping down her cheek to her jaw.

James pulled her into him, burying his head in her hair, faded from cobalt to a golden blonde. It still smelled like lavender.

"I know."

Mistakes. He knew all about them now.

♣ ♣ ♣

(14th February 1978: before)

People stared. They always stared.

Sometimes Esme-Leigh Bisset thought she might get used to all the staring, but ever since word spread that she was taking James Potter on a date, things only got worse. Girls in the corridors, sending her sneers; boys leering, calling her easy, or boys staring wistfully at the girl they wanted to ask out for themselves. But she didn't always feel like a girl to take on innocent dates, she felt like a debt.

Every so often, people would come up to her and try to warn her that she was making a mistake. Of course it wasn't in the same way that Marlene had, they were offering ill judged advice for personal gain, but it didn't undermine the fact they were right. It was a mistake, of course it was. They both must have known that.

But every now and again, a kinder student, usually younger, would come up to her and offer congratulations to them both, deeming them a perfect couple, to which she would smile, but the taste of the word 'perfect' burned her mouth. They weren't perfect, these students didn't know them at all.

The Wednesday fell on Valentine's Day. A date usually considered a nightmare amongst the older students, as twelve year olds scurried around, confessing their superficial love to one another, charming cherubs to recite poetry and serenade the objects of their affections. But for the older students it was a tedious affair. One they would mostly all like to bypass; unless, of course, they find themselves in perfect relationships with perfect partners where nothing could possibly go wrong.

Esme-Leigh fucking hated Valentine's Day. But people were staring. People were always staring. So she took James' hand in the corridors, and smiled up at him when he glanced down.

"Okay, Ez?" He asked.

It shouldn't have meant much. She held his hand all the time, she held everyone's hand, even Sirius when they were walking together, but somehow there was an element of distinction to the way their fingers were intertwined, it wasn't the same. Why wasn't it the same? Why couldn't it be the same.

She had spent months looking for her reason, she'd finally found the beginnings of one and yet it felt impossible to hold his bloody hand. Why did it matter? The answer was it didn't.

"Oui, bien sûr."

Esme-Leigh was a person that spoke through touches. Through the benign brush of her knuckles against cheeks, her pacific fingers threaded through hair, her soft lips pressed to foreheads. Esme-Leigh knew how to speak through less than words, so it quickly became an enigma to her why that right had been revoked since asking James on a date.

She touched everyone she loved, kept them close. She would thread her fingers through Sirius' hair as they sat by the fire in the common room; she would wrap her arms around Remus' neck and read over his shoulder in the library; she would sleep next to Marlene when she felt cold in the night; she would rest her head on Peter's shoulder when Herbology became tedious; and she hadn't seen problem in holding James Potter's bloody hand in the corridor.
Now Marlene seldom looked at her; and Sirius would stiffen when she was near. Remus would study in his dorm and Peter had paired with Callum Wattle in Herbology.

Mary MacDonald was an exception. Her touch was different, it wasn't there as much. And it was demure, and it was meaningful. Nothing was familiar with Mary, they only really talked about the stars and even then, Esme-Leigh could feel her pulling away. Ever since word got out, things seemed to change.

The only person Esme was scared to touch was Mary. That would have spoken volumes if she was not intent on covering her ears.

"Alright then."

♣ ♣ ♣

(14th February 1978 continued)

SEVEN YEAR OLD MUGGLEBORN TAKEN FROM BED IN LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND

"Shit."

Sirius looked up at James from across the coffee table, the common room fire lighting up shadows on his high cheekbones.
"Shit indeed."

"No, don't you remember what happened over the Christmas holidays? This business in Liverpool was meant to stay off the press. The ministry will be after my father's blood."

"Shit."

James nodded, snatching the paper off Sirius and skimming it, a racing heart pumping in his chest.

Late yesterday reports were heard that a boy, 7, was snatched from his home in Liverpool. The boy is reported to be unknowingly muggleborn and little else is known at this time. Aurors have been investigating the case along with two other disappearances in the city in the past month. Deputy, Millard McQuade of the Snatcher Taskforce has refused comment while Fleamont Potter, head of the force has released a statement:

"These attacks were not isolated, nor lucky, and they will be, and are being, investigated thoroughly."

Potter releases this statement from his second home in Cokeworth, Derbyshire where he has been living the past year and a half. Calls for his resignation continue to flood the ministry.

How many more children must go missing?

James felt sick as the threw the paper into the fire. He watched it crackle as it was consumed by the hungry flames.
"I assume you've already read it?"

Sirius nodded, "worth checking before you chucked it into the fucking inferno, but."

"Yeah, well..."

They said nothing for a pregnant moment, the electric buzz of the common room filling their ears instead.
When James spoke again there was worry etching into his voice, clouding the clearness.

"What is that bastard hiding?"

"Your dad?"

"Who else?"

"Who knows."

James frowned into the fire, staring as the picture of an angel faced little boy burned before his eyes. Maybe the press had a point?

"Why wasn't my father out there with Millard? Why can't he leave the house for too long? What's keeping him in Cokeworth?"

Sirius stretched, apparently not caught in the same staring contest with the newspaper that James seemed to be.
"Prongs, I'd tell you I don't know. But I'd waste my breath because you knew that already." He paused for a moment; James was about to entertain the idea that Sirius was doing so for dramatic effect when a small hoot came from the windowsill.
"Though I suspect that the appearance of your dad's owl might shed some light on the situation."

James turned his head around to see one of the ministry's owls being stroked by Sirius and clutching a letter in her beak.
"Give me that now," Sirius cooed, "give it here, there's a good girl." Slowly he plucked the envelope from the creature's beak before handing it to James.
"I'm going to get some food for this poor bird. I'll be right back."
He nodded and Sirius disappeared up to the boy's dorm, opulent snowy owl in his wake.

The letter was clearly his father's writing and it appeared to have come from the Ministry offices judging by the wax seal bearing a capital M on it.

James,

Chances will be good that you've read the paper by now (and I hope you've done the crossword by now because I'm struggling a little bit too much with 15 across) and I want you to know that Millard has returned home from Liverpool. There wasn't much more he could do. It transpired that the memories of the stolen boy that came back were tampered with. The first girl taken, the one that returned, didn't remember the event at all.

The other two are still missing and I've got people working on it. Your friend Jasmine Sempere has been tireless recently, I think she's on the verge of a real breakthrough some time soon.

However the main reason I write to you is to ask you something. You know I don't like debts– so let's call it a favour. I need you to watch all your students very closely. You're Head Boy but you need to think like the son of a detective. If you see, hear, smell, feel anything of interest then write to me or Millard.

All the best,
Your doting father.
(ps. I wasn't joking about 15 across!)

James smirked and wrote a reply on the back, using a quill someone had left on the table abandoned.

I'll keep an eye. Tell Millard I send my best.

Your loving son
(ps. dittany)

Once Sirius came back down he tied the letter to the bird and sat back down beside him. They said nothing for a very long time and the common room was beginning to clear out when Sirius spoke.

"It's Valentine's Day. Where's your girl?"

"Where's your boy?"

"Prefect rounds. Don't make me ask again, Prongs."

James laughed at the lowly sarcastic tone his best friend used.
"I thought you disapproved of me and Ez."

"Of course I approve of you and Esme-Leigh, just not together."

"Then you don't."

Sirius let out a breathy laugh, his head hitting the pillows of the couch and he continued to chuckle.
"Perhaps not. But speaking as a former avoider of my feelings, I don't recommend this. I spent about two months sleeping with Keegan Trista in our sixth year. It only made me realise how much I wanted Remus instead. I respect your right to fuck this up," Sirius paused, a hideously handsome grin on his lips, "but I don't want a front row seat to the fallout. However I would revel in saying I told you so."

James gaped at his best friend, partly betrayed, partly amused, and equally intrigued as to why he was being so cavalier. Sirius usually felt with his whole being, so indifference was easier to fake than it was to achieve for someone like him, and yet his face was a professionally poker one.
"Fine. We'll call it a deal."

"I don't want to see you fail, James." Sirius' voice was quiet but he heard just fine.

"Failing isn't something I do. But this," James gesticulated vaguely, "this is something I need to do for myself.

Eventually Sirius shrugged.

James smirked.

♣ ♣ ♣

(14th February 1978 continued)

Marlene was sleeping in her old dorm room, leaving James and Esme-Leigh completely alone as they both lay atop his blankets on the Head Boy's bed.

Moonlight trickled though the curtains and Esme wondered if he'd left the curtains that way on purpose, just so the moonlight would fall on her translucent skin.

James lay with her head on his shoulder, the skin of her back exposed to the light from the backless nightdress she wore. He trailed his fingers up and down her skin, marvelling at its softness and how horribly breakable she seemed in this position. The weight of her head was light and the arm she held around his waist wasn't tight, nor assuming.

"You have very narrow hips," she muttered quietly, an inch of lightness in her tone and James chuckled.

"Shut up."

"I mean it," Esme pressed, squeezing the arm that sat around his waist as if to prove a point.
"Teeny-tiny."

"I have normal hips."

"I'm joking, it's cute."

He nearly laughed, instead electing to smile.
"Hips can't be cute, Ez."

"Sure they can. They're not, like- medical anomalies or anything. Just a little narrow."

"Well I'm not built for motherhood so that's probably just biology giving you the wider hips."

Esme-Leigh seemed to consider this for a moment before tilting her head up to face him, "you mother Sirius enough. I'm surprised we don't all call you maman."

"Shut the fuck up and go to sleep."

Esme laughed into James' chest and tried to do just that. Eventually she complied and fell into a light slumber, dreamless and safe.

James, however, had no such grace. He continued to trace lines of beauty spots along Esme-Leigh's back, seeming to glow under the spectral, purple moonlight. She had fallen asleep in her born veela appearance, devoid of the modifications she made to herself with her powers. Blonde hair spread across his quidditch jersey and nestled in his neck; James knew that long eyelashes concealed honey brown, sparking eyes. She was beautiful, and lying with her was nice. But he had never felt so painfully alone in all his life.

During the night they'd spent in each other's company, there had been a million chances to kiss her, she'd been close enough this whole time, but it felt wrong. It felt like it might have been ruining something, breaking this lie they were swaddled in.

Perhaps he wanted to play pretend for a little while longer, because somewhere deep down it was obvious they both knew that once they kissed it would be over. They wouldn't feel everything they wished they could and the distraction would fade away. They would prove their friends right and everyone else wrong...

Lily's skin was lighter than Esme's.
James cursed himself for thinking it, for thinking of her, but it was impossible to stop. Even with Esme-Leigh– all he'd ever wanted since he was a child, all he'd ever been told he'd wanted– even then she thought of her. It was a sickness. Love. It must make people sick.

Sleep felt like drowning that night, even with Esme to anchor him. It only felt like she was pulling him down deeper into the depths of a midnight black ocean...

(14th February 1978)

News did not wait for frivolous holidays. Indulge Cafe was decorated with strings of paper hearts draped across the counter, but the festive decorations did nothing to detract from the grievous headline of the paper one of the customers said Lily could borrow.

CHILD, SEVEN, TAKEN FROM BED- MARKING RECORD HIGHS

The headline read, followed by a picture of a rosy cheeked little blonde boy that made Lily's heart ache.

"Terrible, ain't it?" One of the customers said. There were two of them, sitting on the bar seats and shaking their heads gravely at the news. Lily hummed in agreement as she read on.

Late last night, reports were heard of another child to go missing. This marks an all time record of missing persons cases open in the 1977-1978 years. Little is known about the case and once more, officers are still trying to determine how these missing children are connected.

A statement was issued from the child's family early this morning—

Lily discarded the paper, unable to read any more and feeling slightly nauseous.

"You alright, love?" Asked the kindly man that had offered her the paper.

"Who can be after news like that?"

The man nodded. He looked about fifty with greying hair and a friendly smile. Something about him reminded Lily of her father. Perhaps it was the unlit cigar he was twisting between his fingers.
"It's alright. They'll catch these bastards. My wife works for the police– CID, she says there's a team working on it day and night."

Somehow this didn't reassure her. It felt more sinister than the Criminal Investigation Department but Lily daren't say it to the nice man. Instead she smiled and nodded, wishing to be talking about anything else.
"Do you want another tea?"

"I wouldn't say no. Thanks." He offered her a demure smile which Lily returned before she set about making him another tea.

While her back was turned she realised the other man at the counter hadn't said anything to her since ordering. It was something that struck Lily as odd. Why sit at the counter and not speak to the barista?

Once the tea was filled, Lily turned back to hand it to the grey haired man when she briefly locked eyes with the other. He didn't react. Lily frowned. This man seemed oddly familiar, something about him was disconcerting.

That was when she remembered the postman. It was him. It must have been. There had been a postman that delivered Lily's letters that gave her the creeps, his eyes looked hollow and his face peculiarly familiar. It had to be him. Who else would it have been?

♥ ♥ ♥

(14th February 1978 continued)

The night came in as something weighing on her shoulders. It felt heavy, the blackness like oil and the stars nowhere to be seen, smothered in the otherworldly darkness.

It had been a while since Lily had looked out her window for Lucifer, but the devil hadn't frequented her street in a while either.
Lampposts provided pools of amber light to shine down on the concrete. There had been rain earlier that day so the light used the puddles to reflect back up at its source. The effect resembled a spiral, like the one Alice might fall into that brings her to Wonderland, but just when Lily begun expecting a rabbit with a pocket watch, there he was.

The devil came in any forms, and Lily would recognise him anywhere. Lucifer found his way back to her street corner. He was smiling. Most of his face was obscured and yet somehow she could feel his unnerving smile as it tore through her body, sending tremors of terror down her throat.

Lucifer winked, and then, like oft before, he was gone...

Hours later, Lily attempted to bring back her guardian doe as sleep evaded her. She thought of the happiness and safety that had coursed through her veins when the doe had appeared with her. She pictured the magic, like she used to when working on flowers; she pictured it as a silver thread, sewing together every fibre of her being, putting her together and rearranging everything how she pictured it.

Blue seeped from thin air, forming something, before gently fading away. It hadn't stayed long enough to take shape, but it had been beautiful.

Lily went to sleep dreaming of a lonely doe, cantering through the woods. Then she dreamt she was a hunter, watching it like prey through the barrel of a gun...

♥ ♥ ♥

(16th February 1978)

Lucifer had no time in Lily's life during the day. He was furthered from her thoughts when the sun was up, providing a saving grace that the doe couldn't last night. Sunlight was a cure for most things. The rain had cleared, leaving behind muddied grass and patchy puddles in the park, Lily hardly noticed them as she walked with Dorcas to her house. Alice and Frank had gone to the later's house to be with her grandmother and do some more wedding planning– an activity which Dorcas had dramatically claimed she'd had her fill of, for at least, a fortnight. Lily had shared the sentiment, which left the two of them walking home together.

It was merely days ago that Dorcas had told Lily about Scott. A boy she's suggested Lily go on a date with. From what Dorcas told her, he seemed like a decent person, although they'd never spoken. Scott was a year older than them and went to the community college. Lily had asked Cristian about him–it was late one night as they worked at the cafe together– and he'd said Scott was wonderful, so really what had she to complain about?

She'd gotten regular letters from Marlene, Sirius had been a keen writer as well. They'd told her all about their football team practises (each with contrasting opinions on James' captaining techniques but all seemingly doing well). Remus had written too, he'd spoken about how Sirius secretly loved the copy of The Catcher in the Rye Lily had given Remus for Christmas. According to him, Sirius didn't do books, but this one was enchanting him. Lily was thrilled to hear it, of course.

One thing that had struck her as odd was that no letters went into great detail about James or Esme-Leigh. James had written, of course, but no-one else seemed to have any riotous tales to tell and James' letters had become increasingly less about stories from the private school, and more about nonsense designed to make her laugh. Perhaps it would have been sweet if she wasn't disconcerted.

"You still on the planet?"
Lily's head shot up to see Dorcas frowning at her.

"What?"

"I just told you that Scott likes photography too. I've actually been telling you a lot about him but I'd be more useful talking to a brick wall."

This made Lily laugh, lighting up a little as her thoughts tore away from grasp.
"Please."

"Lily, you don't need to pretend with me. Just to him. Pretend you like him, for one day. That's all."

She sighed, drawing in an arduous breath, with a touch of dramatisation.
"Fine."

Dorcas grinned.

♥ ♥ ♥

(16th February 1978 continued)

When Lily returned from Dorcas' house to her own, the change in atmosphere was nearly tangible. A sense of foreboding wrapped itself around Lily's trembling shoulders like a blanket. The air tasted of electricity and it crackled around her.

The first thing Lily saw was Petunia, standing with her back to the wall, her head leaning against it as her mother cluttered something from the kitchen.

Petunia locked eyes with her younger sister, blonde hair obscuring most of her face and cloaking it in shadow, but her eyes were bloodshot and murderous– raw like a wild animal. Lily said a prayer of thanks this look was not directed at her. Nevertheless, thunder was in the air.

"Tuney?"

"Our bloody mother, Lily. Our bloody fucking mother."

There needn't be more said. A bang sounded from the kitchen and Faith Evans appeared at the door frame, leaning against it for support. She said nothing.

"Mum," Lily breathed, an edge of sympathy she didn't know was left leaking out of her like the dregs that stuck to the bottom of a glass.

"My Lily," Faith smiled, her eyes watering but no tears fell down her cheeks.

"You don't understand, Lily. If you knew what's been going on—"

"—please," breathed their mother, a note of desperation clipping its way into her tone.

"I tried to give her good news! I tried to help! And what did I get?! You getting fucking DRUNK!"

"—YOU JUST TOLD ME YOU'RE GETTING FUCKING MARRIED, PETUNIA! HOW WOULD YOU RATHER I REACT?!"
Faith's screams were shrill and cutting, they sliced Lily's insides like a knife.

"LIKE A NORMAL MOTHER!" Petunia matched her tone, tears welled in her sky blue eyes as well, but they too did not fall. Lily felt like an outsider to the scene, watching it from a million miles away.

"I expect you to hug me, and kiss me, and tell me congratulations, and that you'll support me, and that dad will walk me down the isle! I don't expect you to ruin everything you touch!" Petunia let out a dry sob, saying her next words deathly quiet, "I just want you to be my mum."

Faith turned to see her eldest daughter though cloudy eyes. Tears finally slipped down her cheeks like rain as it slipped down the window pane.
"Leave me alone, Petunia. I don't want to say something I'll regret."

Without a word Petunia left, Lily following close behind.
The world buzzed when they entered the hall, a taste of electricity still buzzing somewhere. Lily wondered if perhaps the rain would fall now, and it would be fitting in a sense, but it refused.

Her sister left to climb the stairs but Lily stayed in the hall for what must have been nearing hours before she finally followed her. It was dark out the windows, and a storm had finally settled itself on the horizon, gusts of wind rattling and whistling round the house.

Those sounds would have drowned out the noise from her parents bedroom. The quiet sobs that sounded too similar to the muffled groans of the floorboards.
Lily ventured as close as she dared, peering though a crack in the door, to see her father with his head in his hands, shaking with heartbreak.

Martin Evans loved his wife, Lily knew just how much, and seeing him like this, broken under the pressure of a storm, broke her heart for him. Martin loved Faith, more than words and she repaid him with drink, oblivion.

If this was love then Lily didn't want anything to do with it.

She turned her back on her father– he wouldn't want her to see him like that– and retreated back to her room, feeling like an enemy fallen behind the trenches, lost in no-man's land.

Lucifer was in the street, braving the eye of the storm, Lily could feel him there, his presence. She did not give him the satisfaction of meeting his eye. Instead she put on a record, to block out the shells firing around her head, and the sobs from her parents' door.

Lily let her head fall back into her shoulders, too heavy for her neck to carry, weighed down by memories, and empty of the dreams that once made her weightless.
She wished for silence.

(17th February 1978)

Mistakes are made all the time. The scale of which can never fully be measured until they have been made. Hindsight indulges mistakes, regret fuels them and people seem to make them, again and again.

"What happened this time?"

This time.

Trudy Nott shook her head, unable to reply but instead allowed herself to fold into her best friend's arms. Aliona was tall, her cheek turned against Trudy's forehead, warm and soft.

"You had another argument." It wasn't a question but Trudy nodded her head anyway.

Ozma and herself made mistakes, all the time, and they always ended up something like this. With Trudy wrapped up in the arms of the only person who had been by her side the whole time, and Ozma somewhere else in the castle; somewhere that Trudy would eventually track down, they would apologise to each other, and kiss it better. It had become a routine, lead by a string of mistakes.

"Is it pointless asking what it was about this time?" Aliona asked and Trudy nodded again, nestling herself closer into Aliona and she held her tightly.

"Alright. It's alright. I love you to the moon and back, okay? It'll be okay."

When they pulled back slightly their eyes met. Aliona's sparkling silver eyes were clouded with tears.
"Why are you crying for me, Al? I got in the fight."

She nodded, her wine red hair ticking Trudy's cheek.
"I know. I do."

"Then why?"

There was a curt laugh, not bitter, just miserable.
"Because you need to go and apologise."

"It wasn't my fault."

"I know, darling, I do. But you should."

Their eyes remained locked, gravitated towards each other, Trudy's eyes like pools of beautiful brown carrying such innocence.

"Sometimes I don't want to apologise," Trudy whispered, "is it worth it?"

A breath. A broken breath. Carrying secrets that would never leave Aliona's lips.
"Of course it's worth it. Go."

Trudy went and Aliona continued to quietly cry.

♣ ♣ ♣

(17th February 1978 continued)

It was becoming more frequent, that Trudy would find Aliona, tears streaming down her beautiful face and fragmenting it like china.
It was becoming more frequent that she would make the mistake of holding Trudy closely, stroke her hair then then convince the girl she's in love with to apologise to her girlfriend. Again and again, she would make the same mistake. Torturing herself with the knowledge that she deserved it.

Trudy had bore her heart to Aliona that night in sixth year, she had confessed her love and Aliona had ran away, shocked, shamed and faced with the terrifying realisation of just how much her best friend meant to her. But before it was too late, the chance– that tiny, fleeting, wonderful chance was stolen from her.

Everything she looked at was suddenly a reminder of Trudy. Her hairbrush, an old jacket, a bracelet her mother had gotten for her that she hated. Everything in the dorm felt like hers, she was drowning in reminders, memories, detriment.

She had to get out. Go somewhere. Did it matter?

"Marlene?"
Aliona frowned as the Head Girl appeared in the doorway.

"That's my name."

"What are you doing in your old room again? It's not even dinner yet."

Marlene smiled, a distant expression clouding her face, "I'm looking for something to do. Care to take a walk?"
Without much else explanation, she winked and was gone, turning on her heel.

Instinctively, Aliona followed, scurrying after her as they passed though the portrait hole and down the stairs.

"Oh, you're here? Perfect."

"May I ask where it is we're going?"

Marlene spared her a glance, her blue eyes carried something important.
"We're going to pay the hospital wing a visit."

"Why?"

"There's been an attack on a muggleborn, we're going to see the boy and ask him what he remembers, if it's anything we can use to pin it to any of the Death Eater scum, then we take it to the MPP."

Aliona nodded just as they rounded the corner to to hospital wing.
"Before we go in, how old is the boy?"

They stopped walking, Marlene holding a hand out to cease their movements.
"You might want to take a second."

"What do you mean?"

"The boy's a first year. He got pretty battered up, I know what it must be difficult to see it, especially after your attack. But I can go in alone if you like?"

A wave of dread flooded the corridor and consumed every pore of Aliona's being. She knew what it felt like to be broken a million times over; she knew what it felt like to constantly feel like you're playing catch-up; she knew what it was like to be threatened with death, to be called filthy, and inferior, and weak. But Aliona wasn't as weak as her aggressors would hope, she was not deterred.
But this boy, the first year, innocent young boy, ruined by prejudice before he knew how to cast a simple defensive spell.

Eventually, she shook her head.
"No, I want to go in. I want to help him."

Marlene nodded, "okay then," she said, taking Aliona's hand.
"The boy's name is Benny Crowlin, he's just turned eleven yesterday and the poor boy's not feeling great."

With that, Marlene pushed open the doors to the hospital wing to reveal a relatively empty place, discounting a Ravenclaw with a quidditch injury and a second year Slytherin with, what appeared to be, a potions accident. But at the end of the rows of cots there was a small boy sitting up, rubbing a pair of brown eyes sleepily.

They approached him gently and he managed to smile when he saw them, russet red hair flopped into his eyes but they seemed too dull for such a small boy.

"Benny, darling, did we wake you?"

Benny shook his head, seeming a little bit star struck at the sight of Marlene sitting on the edge of his bed. Aliona sat on the other side and he wasn't entirely sure where to look.

"No, I was waking up anyway. Is everything okay?"

Aliona chuckled softly, "we were about to ask you the same question, Pet."

"I'm surviving. Madam Pomfrey said I'll be patched up by Wednesday next week."

Marlene laughed at the child's optimism, "you'll be the talk of all the girls– surviving an attack like that! And look!" She gestured to a thin red line on his neck, "a scar! The girls will be all over that. Chicks dig guys with scars." She was smiling as she spoke but Aliona saw the pain in the oceans of her eyes, they spoke more than words.

This made Benny laugh, his eyes lighting up and Aliona got the impression that was the way they twinkled perpetually before the attack.

"You think so?"

"Definitely."

Benny grinned, tracing the scar line on his neck back and forth as if he hadn't known it was there before.

"Benny, sweetheart, can we ask you a few questions about your attack?"

"I don't mind. I don't know much."

"Alright then," Marlene said, "can you tell us what happened?"

Benny's eyes crinkled shut for a minute as if he were trying to squeeze the memory out.
"Not really."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't remember much."

The two older girls shared a look Benny didn't seem to notice.
"What do you remember?"

"I... I remember walking back to Ravenclaw, and then I remember being carried by someone up the stairs to here... and... and I remember pain. Lots and lots."

"Memory charm," Aliona muttered to herself before looking at Benny once again, "you've been very brave, sweetheart, thank you."

"It's okay. Thank you for talking to me. I get bored when Paula and Greg aren't here."

"Well hopefully they pop back soon. We're going to go now, Benny, alright?"

Benny nodded, "okay."

Marlene ruffled his russet hair before getting up to leave, Aliona began to follow her before a realisation held her back.
"You go ahead. I'm going to talk to Benny for a second."

"Alright, I'll see you at dinner."
She was gone.

Aliona turned back into the hospital wing with a new purpose. She may know nothing about what it's like to have someone love her; she may not know what it's like to stop making the same mistakes time and time again; she may not know a number of things but she did understand being muggleborn. She understood looking over your shoulder, staying quiet, keeping your mouth shut. She knew about the pain he described, the hurt. She could understand this little boy more than most.

"Hey Benny!"

"You just left?"

"I know but I thought I'd come and stay a little longer. Say, Benny, have you ever heard The Tale of the Three Brothers?"

The boy shook his head, a lopsided grin spreading across his face, "nope!"

"Well you're never too old for a bedtime story. Accio Tales of Beedle the Bard!" A book landed in Aliona's lap and she grinned at Benny. "Ready?"

So she read to him. She read him fantastic tales of wild adventures until he entered a land of dreams far from the torture of the real world...

Aliona Connolly understood many things about people. She understood when someone needed silence; or a shoulder to cry on; or the words they wanted to hear, even when it hurt to say them; and she knew especially when someone needed a distraction.

She wasn't just reading for Benny, she was reading for herself.

♣ ♣ ♣

(19th February 1978)

James didn't know how long he'd been running for, just that he'd woken up with a start before sunrise and beat it out to the castle grounds. The air was cold and slightly bitter and the icy pain felt like an embrace from something sinister but he kept running. Before long he began to wonder what he was running from.

Today was the Hogsmede visit, it was too early to tell if it was going to rain on his date with Esme-Leigh. He hoped not, but James wouldn't be surprised to learn that the weather was against him too...

The sun was above his head when James stopped running, sweat rolled down his forehead and his breath seemed to have taken leave from his body.

He'd been running for his life. And yet he still did not know what from...

In the Head's Dorms Marlene was waiting when he arrived back. Her hair was tied in a plait and she played with the ends absentmindedly, pretending not to notice him as her eyes skimmed over a book on Defence.
James ignored her, walking to the bathroom and taking a shower instead.

He was walking back into his own bedroom– now fully dressed with wet hair sticking flat against his head in curls– when Marlene stopped pretending James didn't exist.

"You know it's a mistake, don't you?"

He stopped, turning back around the face her but not meeting her gaze.
"May be."

"Alright then. Make the mistake, see if I care."

She cut off the scoff rising up his throat with a wave of her hand, "I love you, you know? I just wish you'd know what to do with it."

Then, to his complete surprise, Marlene stood up and approached him. He kissed his cheek, something somber crept up into the warmth of her lips. It felt like an apology, though it wasn't hers to give. She shouldn't have been sorry.

Before James would call her back, Marlene left and he was alone again, feeling like he'd rather be out running. He still didn't know what he was running from...

(18th January 1978)

A mistake is defined in the past tense. An act that is wrong. A misfire, cannot be made without the trigger pulled, a mistake cannot be prevented– it has to be made in order to be labelled a mistake.

Lily Juliette Evans had known this her whole life. She had grown up around the mistakes made over and over again. She had been raised in the motivation of the mistakes her parents had made in keeping her from her magic. She had been surrounded by mistakes and, in doing so, made herself determined to avoid them herself. But mistakes are defined in the past tense, and so Dorcas had taken her to her date with the boy Scott. And he had been nice; and he had smiled; and he had been charming, and sweet, and thoughtful. And she hated it.

Scott was something to be appreciated but not used, to Lily at least. He was like the trinkets on display in Alice's grandmothers house. Admired for admiring's sake; to use them would feel like a crime.

And so Lily felt like a criminal. She felt like she was using Scott, and nothing made her forget.

"Are you sure you'd rather go home?" He asked her as they continued down her street, nearly reaching the bottom. He had given her his coat but she had given it back by now and was beginning to shiver. Scott had jet black hair, and it sat much more controlled than James'; his skin was darker too, but their eyes were both a similar hazel. Though Lily knew that if she looked into Scott's eyes she would not see the same thing she saw in James'. In his eyes was a look that bore into her soul, reading every raw and ugly crevice, as well as everything beautiful that came too.

"Quite sure. Thank you." Lily smiled at him, he was taller than her but not as tall as James. She felt like a criminal to even compare them in every way, but there was something about every boy that would just never quite be him for a while.

They stopped in front of Lily's house and Scott left without trying to kiss her, which Lily was grateful for.

♥ ♥ ♥

(18th January 1978 continued)

Scott was barely gone ten minutes before Lily left the house again. This time she had a mistake in mind.

The pub Lily first been in, that summer day, was busy at night on a Saturday. She hadn't been back since then, unsure if she were barred but no-one stopped her at the door.

"What are you drinking?" The barman asked and Lily hadn't thought of that yet.

"What's your pleasure?"

"Whiskey then?"

"Gets you drunk."

The barman laughed and turned his back to pour her the drink, "Irish alright?"

"Irish is grand, thanks."

He placed a glass down rather unceremoniously on the counter and Lily handed him money.
"Thanks," she said, sliding the coins over the counter when she realised he wasn't taking them.

"Oh no," the barman smiled and pointed behind him to a good looking black boy with inky hair and an alluring smile, "compliments of that gentleman, there."

Lily nodded to him, "thank you," she told the barman and took her money back.

"So... will you talk to him?"

She shrugged, "mistakes should be made."

The boy waved at her and Lily waved back, coyly, forgetting what it meant to be coy. She hadn't needed to be coy with James, he always knew without her having to act it out. But she'd learned, recently especially, that mistakes are defined in the past tense.

So she spoke to him. Forgot his name. Danced with him. He probably told her his name. Had another drink. Forgot his name. Danced again. His name was irretrievable. Kissed him. All she could think about was his name.

She could kiss another boy's lips and consume herself with the thought that they would never be as soft as his, as reassuring as his kiss.

Lily would hate herself in the morning, but for now she could forget. Allowing the pain to dull into something she could carry.

(18th February 1978)

It should have felt forced. It did a little, at first, but now Esme-Leigh laughed as she allowed herself to be guided by the hand away from Hogsmeade's lustrous streets, dimly lit in the late afternoon.

They ran away from the village like escapees, giggling as if they'd pulled off some sort of tremendous heist in smuggling themselves out the streets. They ran together, hand in hand until they reached a clearing; James seemed to recognise it but Esme had stopped, dropping his hand but not her smile.

"Where are we?" Some of her earlier trepidation had clouded over her once more. At the beginning of the day she'd been apprehensive, worried that holding his hand would ruin things, worried that making a joke, or ruffling his hair was too friendly. As the day went on it had felt normal– like a reason.

"Middle of nowhere."

"Is this where you woo all your ladies, mon amor? Because I'm not remotely impressed."

James grinned, biting back a laugh and he looked beautiful.
"You're not impressed, yet. Check behind that tree."

"The tree?" Esme turned her back and walked towards the tree he was pointing out, it was a sturdy oak thing, twisting and crouching with age.

"The very same."

Esme-Leigh laughed but did so, finding behind one of the roots two broomsticks, one belonging to James, and the other—

"James, did you steal Sirius' broom?"

"Yeah I did. So here's hoping he doesn't want an after dinner fly because he'll bloody skin me."

"James!" Esme cried, picking up both brooms with an air of reverence and handing him his own.
"Is that why we're here?"

James nodded, a shy smile blossoming on his lips, "of course. I know how upset you were that you couldn't try out for the team this year. And you loved time trials, so I thought we could do some here before we go home." He sounded unsure and Esme wanted to kiss him.

Instead she mounted Sirius' broom easily, like learning to breathe again. As soon as she kicked off the ground everything felt okay, like she'd never truly landed.

"Getting a feel for the air?"

"I've missed it for sure."

James grinned, circling her once before shooting off backwards, "come on, we can warm up! Catch me!" With that he turned and shot off down the clearing, soaring over the trees and laughing raucously.

"Regardez!" Esme replied though she wasn't sure if he'd heard because wind was already whistling though her hair and he was moving faster.

She sped off, a grin splitting her cheeks and the smell of crisp winter air was rich in her nose. She chased him like a dream...

♣ ♣ ♣

(18th February 1978 continued)

The sun wouldn't take long to set by time they arrived back at the castle. The grounds were mostly empty as Hogwarts students were at dinner, leaving the open air apathetic to their laughing as the pair returned.

Esme-Leigh glanced down at their intertwined hands, wondering if they could be her reason, but James had a look in his eye, and the wind blew a bitter warning round their ears.

They stopped by the castle doors, Hagrid's hut down the hill below them, by the rock that people would sometimes smoke behind between classes to avoid getting caught by the professors. The sun was ablaze with fury, the wind was soft, like it were whispering it's warnings, slipping behind their eyes and telling secrets.

There was something inside her that knew, course there was, but pretending was half her game. It helped.
"I had fun today," Esme-Leigh said, smiling up at him. There was a foot separating the two of them but neither stepped closer for the time being.

"Me too."

"You gave me something, you know?"

James frowned, his eyes were a peculiar shade of gold in this light, something dark but not sinister, curious.

"What's that?"

"You gave me back flying. I thought that flying was something that didn't belong to me anymore. I threw away my broom, you know?"

"You did?"

Esme-Leigh hadn't intended to be closer to him, but now he was close enough to touch by accident.
"Yeah," she was breathless as she smiled, "and I would call it perfect but I hate that word. Je déteste ça! It's... c'est..." her breaths were nearly gasps. He was close to her, he was holding both her hands. "I just... I hate that everyone thinks I'm perfect and admirable, and unblemished and unable to have something messy and stupid and..." her hands broke free from his, trailing up his shoulders instead.

The air was cold as it nipped her skin but it was fading. He was looking at her like she was something in between; she hadn't hung the moon, but she had collected the stars. She looks back at him and she sees a reason. She has to know if he could be a reason.

"James?"

"Ez?"

Esme-Leigh let's her wards fall. Her blue hair turned to her veela blonde, and her eyes a soft chocolate, rich and raw.

"Esme?" James asked again.

"Hmm?" Her fingers dances over the back of his neck, toying with the raven hair there. Suddenly she became aware of his hands, warm and settling on her hips.

James' face is still a picture of complexity, like he's fighting his own war somewhere in his head.
"What are we doing?"

"No idea." And she kisses him.

His lips are the only warm thing in sight aside from his touch. It's warm and smells like butterbeer and bonfires.

It's not right. Somethings not right.
There were supposed to be fireworks, but instead she felt sick.

Esme clung to him as they kissed, holding onto him desperately, not wishing to break away and see the regret in his eyes, the mistakes floating in the hazel, piercing stare. She kissed him because when they broke apart, she would have to confront that she was wrong. It was never him. It was never her.

She had thought, one day, a long time ago, that it might have been. When they were younger and didn't quite know what love looked like, Esme-Leigh thought it might have been her. But now, as their lips connected, she knew it had never been the case.

James pulled away first, slightly out of breath but his eyes were shining differently, glistening with a pain neither could put into words but both seemed to understand. A mutual understanding crossed them, it burned somewhere deep, somewhere in their souls.

James rested his forehead on hers and they allowed their breathe to mingle. Holding each other together as they simultaneously fell apart. James closed his eyes, probably trying to imagine they could go back in time, back to when they didn't need to know. They could pretend that nothing had happened and it could go back to the way it was.

Slowly, James locked her eyes with his, pulling back just enough to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Esme let it turn blue as he touched it, and he was enthralled for a moment.

"Ez—" he whispered and she knew why.

Because all their lives, the world had expected they would fall in love, and they would be perfect for each other and that would be that. But now they knew for sure that the dream was destroyed. The 'what if' had faded into the air like the smoke of a candle that had been blown out. Because she had kissed him, and it felt like nothing at all.

"I love you," she whispered desperately and she meant it– with all her heart– she meant it, just not in the way she wished that she could.

James nodded, pulling her head into his chest and resting his chin on her head. He smelt of the bonfires he tasted like, as well as other things hard to distinguish. He held her close, stroking her hair as her tears landed on his chest.
"I know. I know."

They stayed like that until time lost it's meaning.

Mistakes. She knew all about them now...

Yeah so... drama :))

Sorry it's been about a month, I've had a lot of stuff to do- preparing for other projects alongside exams and things so yeah. One day I'll finish this book... one day.

This chapter was so good in my head and now editing it- it makes so sense ugh

Anyway, thank you for reading!

Love,

Abbi♥️