Sixth Year
We must have died alone, a long, long time ago. Who knows? Not me. We never lost control. You're face, to face, with the man who sold the world. -The Man Who Sold The World/ David Bowie
She could see Mary’s face, across the Great Hall, just like she had so many years ago.
Except this time, there was no spark in her eyes, no glint of teeth from behind her wide stretched lips.
All the life was gone from her, still she was so beautiful.
Lily knew it was her fault.
Old words burned at the back of her throat, tearing her lips, clawing out of her.
She remembered how they had felt, just last week, clouding the air around her, remembered how Mary’s face had fallen when they had reached her, how the world had seemed to slow around them.
Mary deserved better.
She was so beautiful, like Lily could never be.
It pained her to turn away, to tear her gaze from those deep, black eyes, but she did it.
She did it for Mary.
Who was made for greater things than loving Lily Evans.