&some nights i call it a draw |OPEN|

[Lily Evans]

Justice. Will. Be. Served.

The newest headline of the newest front page of the newest issue of the Daily Prophet. Profound proclamations of justice; a word that Lily Evans did not fully comprehend. After all, it meant something different to everyone, didn’t it? Justice. THE word. THE thought. THE philosophy. “What’s real justice, anyway?" Lily mumbled. For every action a reaction, you reap what you sow, the consequence of your actions. YOUR actions. To. Be. Held. ACCOUNTABLE. Pay the bloody PRICE and fill your SENTENCE (&punctuate). A balancing act: So then: the question, THE question, because it is not a QUESTION of IF you should be punished, but HOW, how my dear Watson? Retribution? (To satisfy the offended party, of course). Deterrence? (Strike FEAR in the offender and everyone else; do not do this or ELSE). Rehabilitation? (Reform! You know not what you do, what you've |done|) Incapacitation? (Rendered incapable, protect society). Reparation? (Repay, repay, repay your debts & compensate). Denunciation? (We. Do. Not. Approve.). Or, of course, of course, death. The ultimate price to p a y.

And the Ministry absolutely must promise payment to those who had lost so much everything. One ankle crossed casually behind the other, socks smooth against her skin. Not a hair out of place, not a crease in the uniform, not a trace of the thoughts (&feelings) on her face. Just another piece of the scenery, cool in the morning air. Folding the paper neatly in her hands, Lily glanced around the grounds, cool fall air tinging her cheeks pink, carefully leaning against the fence outside the gamekeeper's hut; filled with plump pumpkins. An odd way to convey a providing justice though, wasn’t it? Serving. As if it were a commodity, something to be bought&sold (and served). Place it on a platter, silver would be best, but bronze will do, and offer it up to the oh-so-hungry masses to devour and beg for more. Almost insulting. No. It was insulting. Lily felt insulted.

Fingers clutched at the paper, c R i N k L i N g the edges, b l u r r i n g the words, just here and there, mostly there. For a moment she just want to … to … set it on fire (slash & burn). Let it be nothing more than ashes. Dust to dust. Teeth bit down along the line of her lip, the feeling slowly fading. No, no. It was not the paper that disturbed her so, after all. Not even the ill choice of words (although, quite frankly, the sentence struck a n e r v e). It was everything behind it; the underlying connotations. What it MEANT… for everyone and anyone. Brushing the hair from her eyes, she peered back down at her shoes, knocking the one toe against the other casually. Justice, she supposed, gave people purpose. And people desperately needed purpose. Even if, misguided. The need for CONVICTION of the CONVICTED. And she? Lily could not say with any certainty that she had any purpose; feeling aimless, wandering vagabond, unable to make even the slightest of difference (detention!). Broken compass. North, north, north, which way was north? In need of direction. She wanted desperately to do something and yet... here she was, doing nothing, nothing, nothing. If you don’t know where you’re going, it doesn’t matter which way you go.

[James Potter]

and i'll keep trying till the world ends.

The Forbbiden Forest is one hell of a fantastic place to hang out, according to James Potter. Ignoring the whole 'it's dangerous in there' part, the forest was a place that took his mind of things. True, there were centuars in there, along with other creatures. Werewolves, perhaps? He could only laugh at that thought. So far, he hadn't really met a werewolf on their monthly 'expeditions' other than Remus, but even if he does come across a werewolf, he'd know how to handle it. Or, he'd know how to outrun it. He could change into a stag just like that these days, and he loved it.

He usually did not hang out in the forest alone. The rest of the marauders, or at least Sirius, was with him. The pair of best mates loved the thrills of hanging out in the forest. Plus, they always knew where to go and where not to go. Perhaps it came from being animagus, James wasn't sure. But somehow, he seemed to know it when a certain part of the forest was dangerous, and never ventured out there. It'd have been nice to be hanging out with Sirius, planning another prank or hexing Snivellus.

But Sirius seemed so..off these days. James knew his best mate was having major problems with a certain brunette called Zara, and it scared James to see Sirius so broken. James was usually the broken one, the one who looked dejected after Lily turned him down again and again. Sirius was the happy, i-don't-care-for-relationships one out of them all. And it was downright confusing to see him in such a state.

He knew he should probably be with his friend, trying to sheer him up, and James had been doing just that. But right then, he needed some time alone. He desperately wanted to ask a certain redhead to the ball, but he had a feeling he was going to get rejected again. He usually took it to his stride, but these days, he couldn't understand just why she wouldn't at least give him a chance. Just once. Nevertheless, he was valiantly going to try again that day. The small walk along the edge of the forest was to clear his head and give him enough motivation to ask her again, and not get dejected if she turns him down.

He was just walking back towards the castle, determined to find Lily, when he caugh a glimpse of red hair. Immediately, a grin spread across his face. Speak of the devil - eh, no - angel! She was right there, looking absolutely livid about something she was reading...the Daily Prophet. It was just like her to get angered over issues happening around the wizarding world. Merlin, that girl didn't know how to relax.

"Oi! Evans!" he shouted, breaking into a jog towards her as he ran his fingers through his messy, jet black hair. Yup, he was going to ask her out. Again.

[Lily Evans]

&no end in sight

Such thoughts!

Once, she mentioned these thoughts to someone. In passing, of course. Shouldn’t have said anything at all, didn’t she know better, she certainly knew better. And they told her--That's gloomy. Pause. And ridiculous. Summed up all her thoughts&feelings (oh the feelings) into two short statements: two[2] adjectives. Gloomy. And oh yes, don't forget, ridiculous. Off in the distance, Lily caught the sound of a bell ring, ring, ringing, the sound r e s o n a t i n g in the air, in her chest, in her heart. Clear as a bell. Gloom. And. Doom. Doom, doom, doom, whom. For whom the bell tolls--. Shoulders slumped uncharacteristically, as for a moment she allowed her muscles to relax, the tension smoothing out beneath her skin, bones loose beneath the fiber. Ring, ring, ring. "Yes, yes. I hear you." For whom the bell tolls. That's it, isn't it? That's the saying? That's all? Unfinished, wasn't it? The bell tolls for WHOM? For WHOM is that bloody bell tolling? B e l l taking its t o l l.

At least it wasn’t for her. One nice thing about being past OWLs… didn’t have classes all day, classes were selected, but much harder, thus the free periods given to the older students to work on their studies. Study hard! OWLs may be past, but NEWTs were in the near future. Eyes directed towards the forest, the line of trees lingering close, the fresh forest smell heavy in the air with damp soil and fallen pine. Never been in the forest other than in authorized circumstances with proper figures of authority. After all, the first day of every year the rule was repeated: don't go into the Forbidden Forest. As if that were not implicit in the name itself. Lily followed the rules. Rules were there for a reason. Rule bound, that Lily. Unlike some certain other people she knew who will not be named but may or may not be sixth year male Gryffindors who disregard every line of every rule of every day.

Oi. Evans. (!)

Speaking of… that voice so familiar now, practically ingrained in the crevices of her brain, ricocheting along the lines of her skull. Over. And. Over. And. Over. Folding the paper in her hands, she turned around, watching as he hurried over, running a hand through his hair (always, always running a hand through his hair—surprised he wasn’t bald, really). Lily wondered vaguely if perhaps there were a potion to make hair fall out… what would James Potter do, who would he BE, without that untidy mop on top of his head? What was she thinking? Somehow he always managed to... to... get under her skin. Crossing her arms, she leaned back against the fence, one ankle sliding behind the other. “Potter,” she replied, tone even and unimpressed. Demeanor neutral. Never give him an inch, he’d take a mile (and then another…and another…). “I’d ask if I can help you ,but I think you’re beyond help.” Eyebrows furrowed for a moment, just a moment—always so laid back, carefree. No worries of justice for him. No, she supposed not. What would he know of muggle killings and disappearances? Too busy strutting around the school. Fingers curled into the paper again. “Whatever it is, my answer is no.”