Chapter Text
Yes, Goodness knows
The Wicked's lives are lonely
Goodness knows
The Wicked cry alone
Nothing grows for the Wicked
They reap only
What they sow
Lily
Looking around the town she is shocked by the lack of color, grays fill every space, including the people celebrating. She thinks back to her home in Kansas, golden fields and green pastures filling every direction. But here, in the place that once seemed so colorful, she is surrounded by more dreariness and hatred than she ever felt back home.
There is no place like home .
Except there is. This place is exactly like home, even if she didn’t notice at first. Both are filled with anger and bigotry. Both lacking brightness and warmth. She stares up at one of the only colors beyond gray in the entire town. Green . So much green.
But the green isn’t soothing like plentiful fields, a sign of new beginnings. Instead it is painted in harsh lines, hatred pouring out through every brush stroke. She stares up at a familiar face and feels a pang of regret.
Sirius, the Wicked Witch of the West IS DEAD
Around her she hears harsh voices, their words so similar they are chorusing in her ears, “He’s dead”.
A bubble appears on the horizon, a sight that immediately makes her feel calm. James.
“Come on! James the Good has arrived to celebrate the death of the Wicked Witch” Lily smiles grimly at the person passing by, knowing James is doing anything but celebrating.
The bubble floats gently atop a bright red pedestal, which is in turn held up by a roaring lion. She smiles gently to herself, James really does enjoy a spectacle.
He appears, a wide smile stretched across his face as he surveys the citizens of Hogsmeade. To the crowd, his charm radiates confidence, but Lily knows better. She watches him closely, noticing the cracks beneath his cheerful exterior—the flicker of sadness in his eyes that his grin can’t fully hide. His gaze sweeps the crowd, brightening momentarily when it lands on her. But then, his eyes catch the poster behind her: Sirius’ face marred with angry red lettering. The smile falters—just for a heartbeat, just for her—before he reins it back in, the mask slipping into place as he turns to address the crowd.
“It’s good to see me isn’t it.” a slight pause as cheering occurs, “No need to respond that was rhetorical”.
Cheers are surrounding her, but the only words are death death death. Every person’s happiness is reliant on the death of another. Of a man so great she cannot share in their joy. She looks around at the hatred surrounding her, masked as a celebration, and for a moment she wishes she had returned home.
One voice rises above the others, “Is he really and truly dead?”
James silences the crowd with a flick of his wrist and begins to speak “Let me set the record straight. The melting occurred at the thirteenth hour, the direct result of a bucket of water thrown by a female child” He pauses with a glance at Lily, tears welling in her eyes, “Yes. The Wicked Witch of the West is dead.”
Silence follows for a moment, then a voice rises, “No one mourns the wicked!”
Cheering fills the square, fire beginning to take over the banners. Images of Sirius are burning, flames and smoke taking over the small town. She looks up at James amongst the chaos, a smile is still plastered on his face, but his eyebrows are furrowed in worry. He takes a step back, retreating further onto his platform and rising a protective bubble around himself.
“Wait!” a young boy pushes forward, a shock of blue hair setting him apart, “James! Why does wickedness happen?”
James glances at Lily again, but answers the question from inside the safety of his bubble. “That’s a good question, one many people find confusifying.” He pauses and pops his bubble once again, “Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?”
“Sirius had a childhood. He had a father, and a mother, as so many do” James freezes after this as the crowd grows angry.
“I have a father and mother too, but I didn’t become wicked” an angry man yells from the back.
James smiles kindly at the man, although Lily can see bright anger burning in his eyes, “I know, but some people have a mother and a father who should never have become parents. He was hated for his green skin, treated as wicked before he ever had a chance to prove them wrong. Even though this isn’t a reason to become wicked, surely no child deserves to be treated in such a way”.
He looks around the crowd, smile still glued on, but eyes ensuring no one argues with him, “I must be going, what with the wizard’s recent departure.”
James is disappearing inside of his bubble when the same little boy calls out again, “Was it true you were his friend?”
James freezes, staring at the little boy. He looks up at the bubble with hopeful eyes, a burning gaze that leaves her with a familiar ache.
“Yes” it is a near silent whisper.
Shocked gasps surround Lily. What if he is wicked too? What does this mean? Questions begin to swirl angrily around her and she shakes her head violently at James. He stares back at her and with grim determination he continues.
“Well it depends what you mean by friend. I did know him.” He stops briefly with a sad smile, “Our paths crossed at school. But you must understand, it was a long time ago, and we were both very young…”
Lily stops listening, familiar already with the tale. Instead she seeks out the boy. Almost immediately she sees him staring back at her and they walk out of the crowd together.
Standing in front of the boy she wraps her arms around him, “Teddy, where is your father? No one has seen him for months.”
With a smile he glances back at the charred remains of a poster behind him, “You will never guess who we found.”