Don’t
Take another step in my direction
I can’t be trusted around you
Don’t think you can talk your way
Into my arms
“Leave,” Lily managed to croak out. “You need to leave.”
“Lil–” he whispered, taking a step towards her.
“Don’t call me that!” Her voice did break this time. She couldn’t help the sobs that escaped as he pulled her into his arms.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry,” he whispered over and over, stroking her back as she cried. With each comforting touch she felt her heart break even further– the ache in her chest unbearable. And her foolish heart didn’t know. Didn’t understand what her mind knew. Didn’t know that this comfort couldn’t be trusted. It was false and fleeting, and it would leave her alone to pick up the pieces.
I’m burning the letters you wrote me
You can stand over there if you want
I don’t know who you are
I have so much to learn
After the crippling heartbreak came burning anger. Anger that threatened to burn her alive. Anger at him. Anger at herself. Anger at their friends. Anger at the nameless, faceless stranger that had ruined what they had.
Because that was what he was: a stranger.
The James Potter she had known and loved was unwaveringly loyal. He was bright and funny, and he could be arrogant and impulsive, but at his core was unfalteringly good. And he never would have done anything like this to her. No. The person James Potter had become was a stranger to her. Someone who discarded friends like last season’s quidditch gear. Someone who missed dates and had flimsy excuses. Someone who came home late with lipstick stains on his collars. Someone who would throw away her love for pleasure found in the arms of another.
No. She didn’t know this stranger at all. Nor did she care to.
So she let go, and let her anger burn.
She burnt every letter. Every picture. She burned the corsage he’d given her at the Yule Ball seventh year. She burned the little scraps of parchment he’d used to pass notes to her in class– that she’d foolishly kept. She burned the quidditch jersey with his name emblazoned on the back. Then she burned every memory.
Wand in hand, Lily sat on the floor of their– her– living room. She took the photo album he’d put together for their anniversary. Page by page, she stared at the memories gazing back at her, and forced herself to remember. She forced herself to endure every single, painful, one. Then, methodically, she brought her wand to the edge of the page, and watched in morbid satisfaction as the heat curled the edge– distorting the image. She watched until the heat scorched her fingertips. Then she threw the burning memory into the fire and watched as it was consumed whole.
She burned. Her anger threatened to burn her alive. She could feel the weight. Feel the weight of it on her. And it would not burn.
She walked to her fireplace and grabbed a handful of floo powder. “Potter Manor,” she called.
And when the flames flared green, pulled the ring from her finger and tossed it through the flames.
I’m rereading your letters
And watching them burn
James stood by the roaring fire, the warmth didn’t reach him. The flames flickered and danced, but James only felt cold. It was all he would allow himself to feel. The cold kept everything at bay. The cold kept others safe. The cold was his fortress and his prison.
He watched, detached, as he read each of her letters before letting the flames consume them. It was for the best. The line felt like a lie, even as he thought it.
But if she was safe, it was worth it. If they were all safe, it was worth it. He would sell his soul to the devil– what was left of it anyways– to keep them all safe. He had.
And now all he was left with was the cold.
Your enemy whispers
So you have to scream
He had thought he could do what Albus asked of him. To play the double agent. He had the pedigree for it. So he had. He had gotten involved with a genocidal madman and his bigotted psychopath followers in a naive attempt to protect those he loved. An attempt made in the desperation and bargaining of grief.
He had spurned their initial offering, in his boyish idealism, and came home to find his parents dead. The message was clear. Those he loved were not safe. He’d begged his former headmaster to hide them, to protect them.
Albus had informed him, with a little shake of his head, that he could not. He could not protect James’ loved ones. Only James could. And he would have to be cold to do it.
He would not be responsible for the death of those he loved.
So he did it.
He froze them out.
And when that didn’t work, he forced their hands. And one by one, they cut him loose. Until only one remained. One who he could not give up. The one he was not strong enough to leave, but loved too much to lose. The one he had promised forever with. The one he could not lose.
So he had made a plan. To force her to do what he could not.
And it left him cold. So cold, it felt as if he were being burnt.
You have thrown it all away
Stand back, watch it burn
Just watch it all burn
James sat in front of his fireplace, staring into the flames, wishing he could burn.
The fire roared to life with the green flames. For a second he caught himself hoping, beyond all reason, that it was her.
But all that came through was a ring.
A beautiful diamond solitaire that had been accompanied with the promise of forever.
He grasped it against his chest, desperate for the warmth of the one who had worn it. But the warmth faded. And James was left alone. Cold. With only a stone as cold has he.
If you thought you were mine
Don’t