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Blood.

I was sitting in the kitchen. It was April. Spring was beginning to creep into our lives, subtly, hidden. I was trying to eat a banana, but it was gradually being covered with red blood spots, dripping oh so slowly. Every time I reached for a piece of fruit, the soft, pastel yellow became tainted until there was no more yellow and no more banana and a sudden rush of tears came down my face. My cries summoned my mother who cut me a new banana and bandaged Petunia's cut and smiled and told us what to do next time and made it all OK.

She always made it all OK.

Blood.

I was cutting beef. I don't remember why. Slicing and dicing, the smell of cold meat entering my subconscious. I brought the knife down with perfect accuracy and squirted myself in the face with cow's blood. I caught sight of myself in the dark windows. My face was stained crimson, the thick red sap dripping onto my clothes. With my bloodstained hands, I looked like Lady Macbeth. The image burned into my mind.

Dumbledore told us we needed to go into hiding. Voldemort was coming, James and I moved ever closer to death. As I held Harry in my arms I saw the blood dripping from my hands, just like that night. I looked into his trusting eyes as they grew heavy and finally closed. I turned to James. I've killed him rests unspoken on my lips.

Blood.

'Lily Evans.' I greeted my potions partner.

'Sirius Black.' The messy-haired boy gave a malicious giggle and turned to his friends. Boyish laughter echoed around the dungeon. I felt that cold rush of irritation. I was often told I was hot tempered, but I had to disagree. I was cold tempered. Whenever something roused my temper I grew cold, stiff.

'Come, come. Mr Black, Miss Evans, is it? You haven't even started. Miss Young and Mr Lupin have almost finished their's! This really isn't good enough!'

This Black kid was really pissing me off now. He turned to his friend with equally messy black hair, burst out laughing and gave me a pitying look that said very clearly, You're just not cool enough.

I swallowed my frustration and looked at the instructions on the board. Right. Frog spleens and locusts. I put a healthy measure of each into a bowl and starting crushing them with a pestle, as the instructions said, carefully averting my eyes from Black. I was doing the patented Lily Evans Holier Than Thou and it sure as hell made me feel better. But suddenly it was all ruined.

I felt something wet splash all over my face. I caught sight of myself in the cauldren. It was a deep purplish liquid. I looked at Black who was pissing himself with his messy-haired mate, still holding the frog spleen with whose blood he'd squirted me. I glared at them. Black's mate stuck out his hand.

'James Potter. Nice to meet you.'

Blood.

I've never been in such agony. My stomach felt like it was about to rip open. My spine felt like it was going to give up the ghost. I was screaming, just about ready to die. James looked at my face, contorted with pain and asked if there was anything he could do. I looked at him, wondering if he was kidding.

'Get it out.' I said coldly. He went white and wisely stayed quiet.

And as if it had never been, the pain stopped. I sighed, pure relief. James got me settled on a bed and went to get me a cup of coffee. He hardly reached the door before the pain came again, worse than the last time. He ran back to the bed, held my hand and told me to breathe. Why thank you James, love. I knew there was something I was forgetting. I glared at him and, with a look of relief on his face he went to get me that cup of coffee.

And suddenly the pain came again and it was worse, so much worse and someone told me to push and I pushed and someone told me to push harder and I tried but I couldn't and then they told me it was OK and I tried again and I pushed with all my might and suddenly there was a rush of blood, hot and slippery and I lay back and I'd never been so tired in all my life.

But the moment I'd lain back I had to sit up again. And just for a moment, I resented it. And then James handed me the baby and the thought disappeared from my mind. I smiled and wiped a spot of blood from the cheek of my child. I looked at James. Our child.

Blood.

I was sitting in a café in Hogsmeade. It was seventh year, near Christmas. I sipped a cappuccino opposite James Potter. He was staring at me silently, sipping eggnog. I put my hand out on the table, palm up. I expected him to take it. Instead he put his next to mine, palm up. He looked at me.

'Look at that.'

'What?'

'Your veins. My veins. Practically identical.'

'What do you mean?'

He smiled wryly, but his eyes remained serious. 'I mean, Voldemort. Favoring so-called 'pure-bloods'. Does my blood look purer to you?'

I studied the greenish lines under our skin. 'Not at all.'

Blood.

'Tunia! Tunia! Why do I have to have red hair?'

'Don't call me Tunia. Because it's in your blood. Your genes. We learnt it in Science.'

Now that Petunia went to High School we heard a lot about Science.

'What's wrong with my blood?'

Petunia pointed to my heart. 'Bad blood,' she said simply.

'Huh?' I was confused.

'Bad blood,' she repeated. 'From your dad. He's a bad man. Mum said.'

I looked down at my chest, chewing on this. I finally reached a conclusion. 'So. How do I get rid of it? I don't like red hair.'

Petunia's face smiled an evil smile that scared me. She reached for my wrist and drew a line down it with her nail. 'Cut along here with a knife. That'll get rid of the blood.' She tossed her head and walked off.

I looked down at my chest, at my wrist and at Petunia's back. Bad blood.

Blood.