I put a spell on you

Severus spent a couple of hours making his way through the crowd, listening in on conversations, blending into groups and steering discussions towards topics that were of interest to him. He looked into thoughts, picking up names and dates and faces. There was so much he needed to catch up on. But the skeletal image of the world he put together upon his arrival was sound, and filling out steadily. There was a war. A Prophecy. And the Dark Lord returned.

maybe that’s why she notices him so quickly, he’s a dark smudge in what’s become a technicolor world. something old in all this newness; all dark clothing, light skin and an inky sheet of hair that sticks out as much as it always did, as it used to. maybe it’s why she finds herself trailing after him, after something old in so much new.

she stops, lingering just before him, close but just out of reach. those piercing thorns, intended to stave off predators, will just as easily slice a friend as they would a foe. you still have the scars from where you cut yourself reaching in to those sharp edges. "flirting with death again so soon?"

she stands in front of lila - she shouldn't even be here, she's not supposed to be here - like some inverted reflection. the same but so different. deep red hair, a colour so rich and vibrant it can only be inherited, a smattering of freckles across a pert nose and a fierce set to her eyes. she can count the differences - straight and sleek locks instead of curls, chocolate brown in place of deep green, a smaller built next to her taller frame - but the resemblance is undeniable.

they always said my dad had your eyes … she chokes out a watery laugh at that. all her life she's received endless compliments on the particular shade of her eyes - green eyes, rare as can be and yet somehow made even more so by their vibrancy. their rich deep colour; strikingly green, emerald green; forest, jade, summer grass green - and yet it's this small fragment of truth that hits closer to her tender heart than anything that's come before. gemstone green eyes she passed on to her son, to lila's father. "i wasn't sure he was going to get anything from me if i'm being honest.. those polat genes are something else." she wipes under her eyes with the corner of her index finger, catching a rogue tear. a smile tugs at her lips - despite everything that's transpired, all the chaos swirling around her since she awoke resurrected? or perhaps in-spite of it all - she's alive. she's here. "it is really great hair. i'd say you're welcome, but i think you mum had a hand in that too."

lila's words continue to tumble out, one after the other in a rush, almost tripping over one another, all trying to get out at the same time. her heart pangs in her chest, her fingertips aching, already reaching out to touch, to sooth. she halts at the last second, her fingers curling in slightly. what place goes a ghost have amongst the living? for so long she's been nothing more then a memory, a flame reduced to embers nothing but creased pictures and second hand memories to keep alive. "tea would be perfect," if nothing more then something she can warm her hands on - they been so cold, like the last dregs of death clinging to her skin, refusing to let her forget where she's been.

"i just-- i never thought--" a new mother, dead one moment and alive the next, frozen in time, preserved at the young age she perished, now equal with her own granddaughter. "i'm just happy i get to see you, to meet you."

headcanon prompts with questions based on plants   &   what they represent in flower language .  happy roleplaying !!  ♡

abatina :   is there anything in life your muse has changed their mind about over time   (   due to becoming more educated on the topic ,   certain experiences  ,   etc .   ) ,    or that they   would   change their mind about under certain circumstances ?  

acanthus :   is your muse deceptive ,   or willing to lie or deceive to achieve certain means ?   why or why not ?   

aloe :   how does your muse handle grief ?

amaryllis :   what is something or someone that your muse takes pride in ?   how do they express that pride ?   

anemone :   how does your muse view the world ;   as a cruel   &   unforgiving place ,   a land full of wonders ,   or something in - between ?  where does that world view come from   (   what experiences ,   life lessons ,   etc .   ) ?  

angelica :   where does your muse draw inspiration in life ?   what motivates them ?

apple blossom :   how does your muse go about expressing or not expressing their sexuality ?  

bachelor’s button :   does your muse actively seek romantic companionship ,   or cherish the liberties of being single ? 

basil :   does your muse have a love - hate relationship with anyone or anything ?

bay tree :   does your muse seek glory   &   accolades ,   or do they favour a simpler ,   more personal life ?  

begonia :   how cautious is your muse ?   are they prone to noticing red flags ,   or paranoid to the point of untrusting most everyone ?   why or why not ?  

belladonna :   how does your muse respond to silence ?   do they take comfort in soundlessness ,   or seek to fill the void with noise ?   

bluebell :   does your muse learn from their past ,   or are they prone to repeating the same mistakes ?  

carnation :   what is your muse’s relationship with their gender ?   how do they express or not express this relationship ?  

chamomile :   what is your muse likely to take away from a painful experience ?   are they one to be haunted by adversity ,   or to use what they’ve gone through to become stronger ?  

chrysanthemum :   how does your muse express romantic love ?  how do they feel about love as a concept ?  

daffodil :   is your muse one to be loyal in relationships ,   or are they likely to quickly move from one bond to another ?

daisy :   did your muse ever feel as though their innocence had been lost ?   what moment in their life could be described as the end of their innocence ?  

edelweiss :   what was the bravest moment in your muse’s life ?  are they known to be courageous from then on ?  

fern :   does your muse believe in magic or cosmic forces ,   or are they more likely to think their life is ultimately a matter of their own control ?  

forget - me - not :   has your muse ever forgotten something that is or was important to them ?   are they afraid of forgetting things like that ?  

gardenia :   is your muse one to confess romantic feelings early on ,   or to conceal them for long periods of time ?  

gladiolus :   describe a moment from your muse’s life that they will never forget .

goldenrod :   does your muse believe in luck or fortune ?  why or why not ?   where do they believe these things come from ?  

heliotrope :   does your muse believe in soulmates ?

hibiscus :   how does your muse view the gentler ,   daintier things in life ?   as things worth preserving   &   caring for ,   or things only bound to wither   &   disappear ?  

holly :   how strong is your muse’s sense of intuition ?  are they aware of it ?   do they ever fear that it is only paranoia ?  

hollyhock :   how strong is your muse’s sense of ambition ?  what’s something they strive for in life ?  

hyacinth :   is your muse athletic ?   does it come naturally to them ,   or have they had to work for their physique and/or skill ?  

hydrangea :   how much does your muse value communication in their relationships with others ?  are they prone to being misunderstood ?

iris :   if your muse could convey one last message to someone they have lost or left behind ,   what would it be ?  

ivy :   what are your muse’s views on marriage ?   do they believe it is something strictly for love ,   or an institution rooted in business   &   social benefits ?   do they desire or have they desired to be married ?

lavender :   how easy is it to gain your muse’s trust ?  once their trust is broken ,   how might one go about mending it ?  

lilac :   what was your muse’s childhood like ?   how has their upbringing affected them as they’ve aged ? 

lily :   how does your muse view their mother ?  

lotus :   has your muse ever felt as though they’ve been reborn ?  have they ever desired the feeling of a fresh start ,   or a better understanding of themself and/or the world around them ?  

magnolia :   describe your muse’s relationship with nature   &   the natural world .  

marigold :   is your muse prone to jealousy ?  how might they handle envious feelings ?  

mint :   does your muse view themself as virtuous   &   moral ?  what do these words mean to them ?

nasturtium :   describe your muse’s relationship with their birthplace ,   or homeland .  

oak :   who would your muse consider the strongest person they know ?  

pansy :   does your muse often reflect on their own actions ?   do they ever think a lot about the past ,   and what they could have done differently ?

parsley :   describe a holiday your muse enjoys ,   and why they enjoy it .

peony :   what would a   ‘  happy life  ’   look like in your muse’s eyes ?

poppy :   what comforts your muse ?

rhododendron :   is your muse receptive to warnings   &   advice given by others ?

rose :   how much does your muse value other people ?   do they wish to have many friends ,   lovers ,   and/or associates ?   are they an easy person to love ?

sage :   what is your muse’s legacy ?   what do they want to be remembered for   &   what might they actually be remembered for ?  

salvia :   is your muse possessive over people or things that matter a lot to them ?  how do they express that possessiveness ,   or lack thereof ? 

snapdragon :   is your muse merciful ?  why or why not ?

southernwood :   how seriously does your muse take themself ?   do they prefer a solemn   &   intellectual atmosphere or do they delight in jokes   &   banter ?  

sunflower :   what brings your muse the most joy in life ?  

tulip :   how does your muse view people in general ?  

violet :   how does your muse respond to betrayal ?

willow :   how does your muse handle sadness   &   depression ?

1k gifts:  lily evans for @hvitscrks 

He read the letter again, but could not take in any more meaning than he had done the first time and was reduced to staring at the handwriting itself. She had made her g’s the same way he did : he searched through the letter for every one of them, and each felt like a friendly little wave glimpsed from behind a veil. The letter was an incredible treasure, proof that Lily Potter had lived, really lived, that her warm hand had once moved across this parchment, tracing ink into these letters, these words, words about him, Harry, her son.

a small huff of a laugh pushes past her lips, the common muggle phrase "I'll sleep when I'm dead," seeming like the perfect fit to an otherwise unorthodox situation. "probably. but twenty two years might have been enough for a lifetime."

twenty two years. the length of time she herself had (has?) been alive, come and gone, and with it a lifetime of changes; for her dearest friends, for the man in front of her, for her son. she's almost desperate to know it all, to know every little moment, every milestone she missed. she would shove aside her own memories to make room for all of his; the good, the bad, the heartbreaking, the terribly mundane. the moments that shaped the son who now proceeds her. she's missed too much.

the sharp whistle of the kettle cuts through the kitchen, yanking her from the depths of her thoughts, shattering the small wave of silence that had settled around them. she rises to collect the kettle, making quick work of filling both his and her cup. "I might come bug you for a sleeping draft later though, professor."

there wasn't a need for introduction. no indication necessary of whom the son, his son, had meant because he knew. deep within those familiar shades of emerald, james knew entirely whom it was that stepped through the veil. for what felt like an eternity of constriction within his breathing, oxygen had found itself way into his lungs once again. lethargic bones awakening in their strength while he followed behind the young potter. could he have been considered the young potter when their ages were equated? the father couldn't be certain. all that was known while feet shuffled behind harry was that she was alive. lily was not far from his reach. 

ten nights. he spent ten restless nights in the silent despair of grimmauld place. down the hall, the gentle snores of his best friends, on the occasion he would find his way inside one of the rooms to remind himself of the company he kept close. but most evenings, he would walk the hallway of grimmauld. a widower ghost of grimmauld's past haunting the very halls he once walked through - with her. his mind wandered to the first meeting. when wild, hazel hues found her among the crowd of first years. he remembered the way her smile made him feel as though it were the first warmth of the spring sun after the coldest winter. he remembered how her amber hair was perfectly tied, orderly curls strung back like a drawn curtain from her face as she walked the corridors. he remembered his fifth year when sirius teased him for the glances at her across potions class. how his response was an arrogant grin of, 'we'll see who's laughing when she says yes to going to hogsmeade with me this weekend.' she never did. 

she was always too good for him. too good for this world. 

in the dim lighting within the ministry, james could see the same when he looked at his son. the tireless dark blues and purples that dressed his eyes could see it. the nerves that rattled every movement, or lack thereof. as if he could read each passing thought that raced through harry's mind, standing in front of the door that held their most beloved there. it wasn't until he felt the grip on his sleeve that it confirmed it. the childlike, sought after comfort that he was deprived of after he was gone. after he was ripped from them. their time together was as fleeting as the hold on his sweater. the pit in his stomach returned, swallowing down the inequities he felt when he looked at the intimidation fastened on his son's brow. oh, how he wished that he could wipe that way with ease. he had to try. 

gentle fingers reached for the son's own. close in proximity, james found harry's in an act of reassurance. i'm here, my son. until the very end. 

despite the impatience that stirred low within him, james fought every ounce of impulse while he waited. he wanted nothing more than for harry to be prepared. to gather each inch of his courage to see his lily face to face. how he knew of the love that would fill his eyes at the sight of her, just as he did ten years ago to james. she was sunlight. joy, in human form. he couldn't wait for harry to feel it for himself. 

the click of the door had him taking the lead, his hand secured in his son's own for guidance. solace. hazel eyes found her. the scorching sensation in them returned at her visage. for a youthful man that was built on the hardiness of bravery, dignity - he crumbled inwardly in an instant. 

"lily - " 

“not harriet, please no, take me, kill me instead –“

when a cloaked monster invaded their home, their sanctuary, a wand pointed at her chest and a derisive command to step aside. her husband, her brave, invincible james lay somewhere at the bottom of the stairs – she heard him fall, that sickening thud fractured something deep inside of her, something irreparable — and the world was lesser for it. the precious seconds her bought her, that has cost his life would not be in vain. she would pour every last thing she had into protecting her child; there was nothing she wouldn’t give. with the crib at her back, harry’s little fingers grabbing for her between the bars, she could do nothing more but beg.

“not harriet! Please… have mercy… have mercy…”

all her life she had been fielding complements for the shade of her eyes - such a beautiful shade of green, such remarkable gemstone eyes; jade green, forest green, emerald green. all her life she was told green was such a lovely colour, but this green? this green is ugly and hateful and coming straight for her, for her baby.

her eyes fly open, her last words echoing through her mind, ricocheting violently. she resumes her pacing, rubbing at her breastbone; it aches like it’s only just happened. like she can still feel the force of that spell crashing into her, stealing the very life from her bones. but it didn’t just happen; she died that night. dead. but no longer. somewhere there is a tombstone with her name carved into it and yet here she stands; breathing, talking, living. 

the unspeakable had no answers for her; nothing real anyway. he only repeated something that sounded impersonal and rehearsed, like he’d done this very thing dozens of times now. like coming back from the dead is in anyway a normal occurrence. he left her in this room where she had been pacing since. wait, he told her. but who had time to wait? where is my family? find my family!

the sound of the door has her whipping around, fingers tangled in the mess of burning waves. james steps through the door. only he appears before her twice, mirror images that stop just past the threshold. not only was she resurrected, but now she’s hallucinating? “james?” his name is a scrap of a whisper caught in the wind, her voice raw and cracked. she blinks once, then twice, but the glorious mirage before her doesn’t waver. she’s not seeing double. close, but not quite; there’s her james but then.. he’s shorter and the eyes, those eyes.. but the tears, tears are flooding her vision, blurring, and smudging everything together.

literature family: lily evans for @stvrmhondss​

But the others... Remus, Alastor, Pandora, Regulus. Where on earth did he even begin? Two of them died believing he was a monster. The others had been gone for so long, it felt as if a yawning chasm had opened up between them all.

And then there was her. He barely let his mind wander to Lily Evans Potter. The rest of them may have deserved this hell, but she certainly didn't.

Fourteen hours. Fourteen hours since he'd stepped from the veil. ( Why am I here? ) Had he not given enough? Sacrificed his everything? Every bit of his health, his reputation, anything and everything that could have been of use. Now? He existed without purpose, without even the meager comforts of his own belongings and walls. Now he was stuck in the miserable Black family home, with ghosts of his past all ready to descend upon him. Remind him of all his great failures.

Truly, this was hell.

Uselessness was not a feeling he was accustomed to. Being out of control? Of course, but even then, Albus had been there to direct him.

Sat on the bed in the room that had been dubbed his, he examined his hands quietly. The house had fallen silent some time ago, the waning gibbous moon shone brightly, illuminating the room. His stomach growled. Another bitter sign of life and a reminder that he'd had nothing but a weak cup of tea and his heart medication. Grimacing, he stood from the bed and carefully opened the door, staring out into the hall. For just a second, he considered padding into the kitchen as his animagus. It would surely be quieter, attract less attention. ( don't be stupid. ) He banished the thought, finally stepping out.

Mercifully, he made it into the kitchen unbothered and alone. Or at least, he thought he had, until he'd picked up the kettle and turned to see HER. He froze, like a school boy caught doing something naughty.

Lily looked as if she'd walked straight from his memory. So little had changed that Severus had to actually remind himself it wasn't some sort of dream. What did he expect, really? Sixteen years now separated them in age, twenty-one, if counting the five years Severus himself had spent dead.

"... Ah, excuse me." He was relieved that his voice held steady, one of his many masks settling into place. He stepped past her to fill the kettle at the tap, setting it immediately on the stove. The last time they had spoken had only ended in tears— and now? With all he had done and the blood on his hands, he felt less like he had any right to speak to her than ever.

"... I won't intrude long," ( In the kitchen? Her presence? The house? Who knew. )

she knew he was here - or rather, she had heard whispers of his name, heard it from the lips of her son actually, that his is a name that eventually joined all the others on a very long list. but the flurry of her own unceremonious arrival and the chaos that proceeded, had only just begun to settle, or as much as it can when the dead don't stay buried. so yes, she knew, but she hadn't seen him - not wandering the halls, not milling about the common rooms - she didn't have the time to dwell on it, not with everything else (not with harry and james and sirius and remus,) not until now. not until he's standing before her, nearly frozen solid at the sight of her.

he's different (silly girl, the world does not stay stagnant just because you were; silly girl, everyone has changed but you.) of course he is. he's older. his eyes - smudged with slight hues of blues and purples that come from a lack of sleep, of rest - are darker somehow, harder. his shoulders were always curved, always slightly hunching in on himself, bend that much more, weighted down like atlas; buckling at the sides, pressing and straining to lift a load only he can see. the boy he once was, she knew. the young man who's actions broke her heart, she mourned. but the man before her? has lived and seen and experienced years she will never see. years she can only hope to touch through the taint of memories, the stagnant snaps of photographs.

his voice breaks the silence (the words crisp, like the bite of fresh winter air) but the air feels thick. like it's some tangible thing, taking up residence and filling the e m p t y spaces around them. his movements are swift, making quick work of filling kettle and placing it on the stove, careful to move around her, careful not to touch and silence falls once more.

while it's only been months to her - months since they last saw one another and even more since their last conversation - to him it's been years. she is surely an apparition of a past long left behind. trying to meld what she's heard of this man, of this person in front of her, with the boy still living in her mind feels like a impossible task. he became a professor. was witness to her son's years at hogwarts, to his discovery of magic.

"i suppose i haven't aged a day, have i?" the corner of her lips pull up into something of a wry smile (more for herself than anyone else,) her fingertips clutching her own now empty mug. her emerald eyes find him and hold steady, "you though.. you look tired."

lily evans, 30 january, 1960 – 31 october, 1981.