chapter the third: hello, people i killed

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Its only when James beckons me forward, hazel eyes gleaming with joy, that I step across the threshold. It seems like an immovable force guides me into the room, and I feel as if everything's about to change. Not only because I'm finally face to face with them, and now that I know this room exists, my half-created plans of just letting it all fade to the background disappear.

"How are you, baby?" Lily asks, and then James inserts himself into the conversation to make me sit down on the couch in front of them. I carefully do so, feeling as if I might send the scarlet couch careening to the floor. The nausea bubbles up in my system again, and I wonder if they would flip if I threw up on the nice carpet. Looks Persian. I look up at them, and they both wince.

"Oh, fawn, what happened?" James asks, moving forward to look as if he could leave the portrait and look over me in person. "Nothing," I say, glancing around the room. "Just got into a fight."

Lily sighs, and I look back over at her. "Just like your father, then." He pouts, and leans closer to his wife. "How can you say this stuff about me, Lily darling?" He turns to me, and I don't know how to react. "Your mother's mean," he says, exaggerating his pout. Lily smacks the back of his head and he whines.

I feel as if I shouldn't be here. Their real kid should be here, talking to them. Not the daughter of their killer. I swallow heavily and place a fake smile on my face. Of course, they figure it out immediately, and their friendly bickering stops. Great. Another thing I've fucked up.

"Prongslette, are you okay?" I look up from my silent scanning of the carpet to find them staring at me, concerned. I try to smile, yet again, and Lily sighs. "Darling, what's wrong?"

The words bubble in my throat, but I don't want to say them. I don't want them to know, and I don't want them to exile me to the streets. Not that they would, I try to remind myself, forcing myself to look at their eyes, so lifelike and so cheery, despite them actually being six feet under. "Nothing. Just still feeling the fight."

James nods understandingly, but the two share a concerned look when they think I don't notice, and I realize that they most certainly don't believe me. Of course not. I guess the whole parenting lie detector works even if you're not their child. I want to ask them, demand from them on how they could act like they loved me, how they could sit here and be cordial, when I was the reason why they ended up killed.

Lily asks me questions, like about how I'm doing at Hogwarts. James intersects (and recieves a slap on the back of the head) and he asks what house I am. "Gryffindor," I tell him, smiling for what almost seems to be sincerity as I remember my friends. And then I remember the test results. The smile drops, and the charade feels shattered. Come on, you can't even pretend to be their daughter right.

"You know you can talk to us, right?" Lily suddenly says in the awkward silence, and I look up at her. It bubbles up, the pain and the anger and the how can you talk to me-

James, sensing the tension, babbles on about his days in Gryffindor house. I nod along, and laugh - genuinely- when I realize that the Snivellus of his stories is the one and only Professor Snape. "He hasn't changed much," I tell them. "His hair is just as greasy, too."

That makes James laugh, and Lily rolls her eyes fondly. Still, even with the joy and talking to them about the chaos of Peeves loose in Hogwarts, the doubts creep back in. Traitor. Liar. You're pathetic.

So when Lily talks about the house in Godric's Hollow and their neighbors, the words finally spill out. "How can you even talk to me?"

The two stop their banter about old Bagshot and turn to look at me. "What do you mean, Prongslette?"

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