she has it all. perfect grades, hair that catches the light just right, a smile that makes everyone feel warm and safe. she’s the dependable friend, the one you go to when you need advice or a shoulder to cry on. she’s the sunshine girl, with a prefect badge on her chest and the most popular boy at school hopelessly in love with her.
but no one asks how lily evans is doing. because why would they? she’s fine. she’s always fine.
her home is a battlefield. petunia’s sharp words cut deeper than anyone realizes. she doesn’t even have to yell anymore—just the disappointed looks, the cold silences, the way she acts like lily doesn’t exist. like she never mattered. freak, unnatural, worthless.
the war creeps closer every day, and lily feels it like a noose tightening around her neck. her parents are muggles—targets. every owl, every headline feels like it could be the one that changes everything. but she doesn’t talk about it. she doesn’t cry. she can’t. everyone is counting on her to be strong.
so she bottles it all up. she smiles, she nods, she listens. but the weight inside her chest gets heavier and heavier, pressing down on her ribs until she can’t breathe.
so she starts cutting because she needs to feel something that isn’t this crushing emptiness. the sharp sting is quick, almost clean, and for a moment, it’s like she’s in control of the chaos. but then the guilt sets in. the shame. what kind of person does this to themselves? she’s disgusted, but she can’t stop.
then there’s the food. at first, it’s not deliberate. she skips a meal here and there because she’s “too busy.” but then she realizes how light it makes her feel, how empty. it’s like she’s disappearing from the inside out, and that feels like a kind of freedom.
every day, she tells herself she wants to die. not dramatically, not in the heat of the moment—just this quiet, persistent whisper at the back of her mind. what if you just… stopped? she thinks about it when she’s brushing her teeth, or walking to class, or lying in bed at night. what if you didn’t have to do this anymore?
sometimes, it’s vivid. she imagines the ways she could do it, running through the details in her mind. the astronomy tower maybe? but then the shame kicks in, this hot, suffocating wave that makes her stomach churn. you’re selfish enough already. don’t make it worse.
but other times, it’s just this hollow ache, this desperate longing for everything to stop. it’s not even about dying—it’s about escaping. she feels like she’s drowning in everyone else’s expectations, their problems, their pain, and she’s so tired of carrying it all. she just wants it to end.
and yet, she doesn’t do it. she calls herself a coward for it, berates herself for being too weak to follow through. you can do everything else perfectly, but you can’t even do this. it’s another thing to hate about herself, another way she feels like she’s failing.
but deep down, she knows why she doesn’t do it. she keeps going because she doesn’t know how to stop. because there’s a part of her that still hopes, even when she hates herself for it. because no matter how much she wants to disappear, there’s a part of her that’s terrified of being forgotten.
she lays in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this is it. is this what life is supposed to be? when will it get better? when will i be free?
but the next morning, she gets up. she smiles. she listens to her friends. she carries their burdens and hides her own because someone has to, and who else is there?
lily evans: the girl who can do anything. except fall apart.
