Jily one shots

Lilys first victory

Disclaimer: written by @just another cliche

Lily Evans was scared.

She was not scared because of the impending war invading every breath, every cell of every body. She was not scared of Voldemort (Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort - he who had a name, so why the heck should she not use it?) nor because she had seen glimpses of the Dark Mark on some of her classmates (a slip of the robe, trembling hands, painfully clutching their left forearm). She was not scared because, as a Muggle-born (a highly visible one as Head Girl), she was one of the main targets of attacks, and each night was a night spent wondering whether her family was alive and being unable to mail them everyday due to worries of interception and death, whilst each day was spent dodging hexes.

No, none of this frightened Lily Evans. What frightened her was the realisation that Hogwarts had lost its ability to charm and protect, that people here just didn't seem to remember how to or what a smile was.

It did not start suddenly. No, in the beginning of her seventh year there were undeniably a few faces missing, but people had still smiled, had held hands, had joked with one another. Gryffindors had still guffawed at the nonsensical hijinks of the Marauders and their victory at Quidditch games, Ravenclaws had still tittered behind their hands and had roamed around the halls with the power of knowledge, Hufflepuff had still chuckled to themselves in delight and savoured the days basked in the sun. Slytherins had still smiled when something went right in their favour and had shone with their ambition to out-do the others.

But slowly, the oppressive air of the war waging outside crept into the air of Hogwarts, claiming each victim slowly, wrapping itself carefully around them so not one cell in their body could escape. It had been both silent and lethal.

It started with the Muggle-borns, tired from being targets of attacks, of never knowing when they would be called up to the headmasters office to be informed of their loved ones being brutally tortured or murdered ('We're terribly sorry, we were too late, it was an unexpected attack...'). Tired of a Ministry that made empty promises of supporting and protecting them in these dire times. Tired of being told that it was best to keep their heads down, to take the abuse thrown at them by their own classmates, to not be noticed lest retribution come in the form of the mangled bodies of their parents, their siblings, their friends. Some of them left, never returning to Hogwarts, opting to immerse themselves into the Muggle world completely and pretending to never have heard of the Wizarding world. Some never came back because all that was left of them were ashes and broken memories and so much pain in the hearts of those who had survived.

Those with affiliations with the dark side were no better, and soon their victorious and predatory smiles soon faded into unfathomable fear and lethargy, where they roamed the halls with one hand tightly clasping their wands and the other curled up in a fist. They jumped at every sound and their eyes spoke of horrors they had had to witness, of the part of them that they had lost in joining this vicious cause. They cursed to survive, not for joy. Frightened that anyone could be their enemy at any turn, even those who were supposed allies to their cause, frightened of the pressures and expectations that were too heavy for even adults to carry placed on their still-developing shoulders.

There were those who chose to stay neutral and avoided those with firm allegiances ('I'm so sorry Lily, but my mother said - you understand don't you?', 'Avery, I don't think I can do this any longer...let's break up...') and every breath was painful, every step was cautious and every glance was weary. Somewhere in between protecting themselves and their families and losing their friends and their loves, they lost their smiles.

Those whose alliance stood firmly with the light, walked through the halls with the air of the elderly who had lived through many wars, not what should have been school-children brimming with excitement of the knowledge to be gained. Where there used to be smiles were now worried frowns or careful apathy, and like those who had turned to the dark, they roamed the halls with one hand tightly clutching their wands, and the other curled up in a fist. Their bleary eyes rested heavily on the seats where their friends used to sit, those who had disappeared, those who had passed away.