lily jane

The dusty outline of a square on the bedside table where her record player had sat, still running like a dream with the concoction of charms she and Remus had implemented first year. 

The nick in the wood-paneled floor where the leg of her armchair had dug in after Dorcas danced on it. 

A still-damp spot on the carpet from champagne that had been popped the night before

Echoes of memory littered Lily’s room. Signs of her time here were completely inscrutable to anyone that wasn’t her and overwhelmingly precious for it. Her pillow faithfully kept the secret of her tears when she had maintained an indifferent front during her falling out with Severus. Her mirror reserved its judgement of I told you so despite the many times it had caught a curious, then fond glance at James over the past year. 

The house elves would come round in a few hours to meticulously wipe away any evidence that she had been here. In the fall, a peer she knew, maybe was even friends with, would take her place in this room. The year after that, the same. 

Then a stranger would be arrive. It wouldn’t be “Lily’s old room”. It would return to its former moniker: Gryffindor Girl’s Dormitory, Suite 3A. 

To be young was to live under a delusion of permanence. Up until the latch of her trunk had snapped shut, it had felt like she would always be at Hogwarts. But now, standing on the edge of the doorway to her bedroom and taking in the empty space that she had previously filled, it struck her that maybe growing up was realizing just how temporary life was. 

It could be a terrifying thought, there was the implication that joy was fleeting, or a heartening one, the awfulness in life was transient as well. Always an optimist, she decided it was the latter. She was, after all, a Gryffindor. They took life head on. 

She still went a little wobbly at the operative word was. She was a Gryffindor, she was Head Girl, she was a student here. She felt the impulse to take an orphean glance over her shoulder even as she looked to the promise she saw in the future.

Lily indulged herself. Green eyes cast over the ghosts of the past few years before turning to the doorway where she would make her final exit. She paused with a foot hovering over the threshold. She was heading onto a new adventure, but hadn’t she done this before? Stood on the brink of possibility with a new school, a new home and new relationships ahead of her? 

And it was brilliant, she knew, having experienced it all firsthand. 

.❀.

But all my life–so far–

I have loved best

      how the flowers rise

          and open, how

the pink lung of their bodies 

      enter the fire of the world

          and stand their shining

              and willing– the one

thing they can do before

    they shuffle forward

       into the floor of darkness, they

          become trees. 

The hazel wand undid the binding spell and she watched Lily fall to the wooden floor as she and it came undone. After a quiet thud, she prepared herself for the finale. Dark magic had never left her wand before, not even once. Not even when she and Rosalind killed that defenseless man. It was power Jennifer wasn’t sure she was capable of yet, but seeing Lily squirm and doing everything Jenny wished, it made her feel like she could. She imagined her brother’s face as Lily’s and muttered a quiet, but demanding, “Crucio.”

Except when the spell escaped her wand, the light flickered. It wasn’t strong enough, it hadn’t been cast accordingly. She wasn’t hearing screams of pain. It had been underwhelming, but it was practice. 

She had failed, but wouldn’t let it make the night a complete failure as well. She’d come in and gave Lily the show she’d intended to give somebody tonight. Wrong place, wrong time. Poor Lily.

Jennifer lifted the mask ever so slightly, until her mouth was exposed. It was then, she left her mark on Lily and an essence of Rosalind, a red lipstick stain right to her forehead. She bid Lily a bitter farewell, leaving the muggleborn to be found by the haunted house’s next guests.

.

The impact of crumpling to the floor barely registered, even as Lily’s head knocked against the floor. She had already experienced her fall from grace. Where sensation had been agonizingly vivid, it was now muffled. A ringing in her ear, the reddish tinged expanse of ceiling above her and the dizzying feeling of the room tilting on its axis– adrenaline and the impact to her head had her resting, momentarily, in a place beyond pain.

Her body was still able to recognize what her mind was slow to process. The witch’s quiet utterance had every muscle in her body tightening. After all, fear relied on anticipation. The curse hit her in the center of her chest, pulling her sternum upwards. There was the sharp inhale that always came with the first prick of pain, but the exhale that usually came as it registered didn’t follow. Lily slumped limply back against the floor. Her torturer’s failure was an unintentional act of mercy.

The kiss that came next felt like a searing burn and she knew, distantly, that she would be forever branded by this. The gesture was perverse in its gentleness. Nausea mixed with relief as she listened distantly to the controlled tap of footsteps moving away, followed by the door clicking open and then shut.

She lay there minutes. No, hours. Perhaps seconds? Discerning the passage of time was just as elusive as grasping onto a concentrated thought. Lily silently battled vertigo, her eyes rolling around in her head, until finally she managed to push herself up to sitting. The heaviness of her head was matched by an unbearable throbbing, and standing upright had her stumbling several steps backwards. Her foot caught on the trip wire for the Carrie room’s finale. With a creak, the hanging bucket of fake blood dumped its contents over her head.

Out had been her mantra before, and it was her singular focus now. Lily slipped through the puddle of blood at her feet and went clumsily out the door and down the stairs. Moving each foot was like dragging leg through water. She was too concentrated on the herculean effort to notice the shocked expressions of the haunted house goers around her. There it was again, at the end of the hall, that small rectangle of light. Safety was in her sight.

Lily emerged, blinking, into the sun. Her cheap tiara was askew, her dress was torn and if she hadn’t been blinded by sunlight, the blood dripping down her face would have obscured her vision. There were a few startled yelps from the wixen waiting in line, but they quickly tapered away into amused laughter. She couldn’t hear their words, different versions of, “The JWL really committed this year. No one can say they don’t know how to put on a show.” Only cackles, giggles, endless laughter at her expense filled her ears.

They’re laughing at me, Lily realized, lip trembling, they’re all laughing at me. Green eyes skipped from face to face, looking for someone, anyone who would help her. Her head was still pounding, she couldn’t make heads or tails of the people in front of her. To her, it was just a sea of jeers. Her eyes stopped on a witch to her left.

Red hair, red lips, the devil’s smile.

The pieces slotted together. 

Lily opened her mouth and screamed.

Jennifer was thankful she had a mask on, or else she would have caught herself flinching in the mirror adjacent the wixen. “No talking!” Came out a voice so shrill she finally remembered it wasn’t her own. In another motion, Jenny was making sure Lily’s tongue was numb in her mouth and she couldn’t properly talk. On the other side of the door, screams of wandering students through the haunted house erupted. They didn’t surprise Jen, no, but they did encourage her to work at a much faster speed. Jennifer was sure she’d never own the patience it took to take out a long, drawn out attack. But, she felt her short one would leave a lasting memory on the muggleborn.

A snarl twisted on Jen’s lips as she callously pointed the hazel wand towards Lily’s chest. She repeated the spell three times. Pointing the wand at Lily’s cheek the second time and her stomach the third. Each time would’ve felt like a rough blow. Jennifer wouldn’t be surprised if Lily she had the wind knocked out of her as she shivered in the cold.

The first blow was a shock, striking Lily in the dead center of her chest. If her own frantic pulse wasn’t thrumming in her ears, she would have thought her heart had stopped. There was an audible, unsettling clack of teeth as the second punch reverberated throughout her skull. The final hit knocked the breath straight out of her before she could even turn her head to see it coming. She was left blinking rapidly, trying to see past the white spots in the center of her vision. 

Doubled over, uselessly guarding her stomach, her pleading was only a puff of air now. The effort to force even the beginning of a please from her lungs monumental, never mind that she was unable to articulate the word. She felt a bit of wetness on her cheek, drool, maybe, from her tongue being numb and awkward in her mouth. Instinctively, she pushed her hand across her mouth sloppily and looked down at it after pulling it away. A red smudge greeted her. 

Blood.

A renewed chill shot down Lily’s spine. She straightened up, suddenly cognizant of wetness under her eyes as well. With feverish panic, she wiped at them. This was hell, why wouldn’t she be bleeding from her eyes? But her hands were clean. 

Oh, Lily realized, I’ve been crying. 

She turned her tearstained face to the demon in front of her. Defenseless, voiceless, silently begging: Why are you doing this? 

Gryffindor House Horror Night 

Join Prefects Remus Lupin & Lily Evans in the Forbidden Forest on October 30 from 6 PM to 3 AM for a bit of Hallows’ Eve House camaraderie. Festivities include:

Apple Bobbing: It’s truly trick or treat! Be careful not to bite into a “poison” apple, lest you end up with an innocent jinx for the rest of the night!

Pumpkin Carving: Small prizes to the best, worst and scariest pumpkin.

Muggle Horror Film Marathon: Everything from The Exorcist to new release, When a Stranger Calls. It’ll be a scream.

Lily’s wish was Jennifer’s command.

She took her wand and in one, swift motion, blue ignited from the tip of her wand. The spell didn’t immobilize the person. No, it turned the air around them ice cold. To freezing temperatures. If Jennifer kept the spell up long enough, she was sure she’d seen Lily’s lips turn purple. Jennifer’s two black eyes widened as she watched the witch squirm. It was as though she’d never felt she possessed so much… power. It was almost overwhelming, only a couple spells in. She wasn’t even near the grand finale…

Jennifer cast another spell. This one would cause your skin to crawl, as though spiders were underneath your clothing. In collaboration with the Manic dust, it was bound to be torturous. Something so uncomfortable, you just wanted to itch yourself right out of your own skin.

“You can have a blanket soon.”

At first, the cold brought a flash of clarity, a fleeting moment where Lily knew it wasn’t just what was happening to her that was troubling, but that there was trouble in her very veins. She could feel it pulsing through her, see it in her blurred vision, hear it in the racketing, frantic thump, thump, thump of her heart.

Lucidity was fleeting. Reason dashed away, out the door she desperately wanted to escape through. She thrown over the tipping point, choked by a cold worse than any she had ever known. It cut like razor blades, slicing her nerves. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably as the freeze continued to assault her, unrepentant.

The chill ceased but she hardly noticed, what with the way it had already worked its way down to her bones. Shaking, her hands had a mind of their own, moving slowly over skin until they were frantically making down her arms, angry red lines left in their wake. It was worse than an itch, it was a single-minded obsession. Out, out, out, she screamed silently in her head, mumbling pathetically under her breath out loud. She wanted the fire out, the cold out, whatever had burrowed under skin out, she wanted out.

She looked, wide-eyed and pleading, at the witch who was both her torturer and her would-be savior. “P-please stop. P-please make it st-stop.”

This had been one of the many Muggle horror films Jennifer hadn’t been lucky enough to see yet. But the thrill of horror scared her the same way it scared muggles. The all bled the same, didn’t they? At the end of it all. The were people. Jennifer detested the idea of having to choose between people and made it clear to herself, this wasn’t the mission. Lily just happened to be muggleborn. Like any pureblood could be, she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or more so, on the wrong person’s radar. Now, Jennifer and Rosalind shared this common interest.

“But I’ve shared my toys with you,” Jennifer taunted, head and red hair falling to the side, “Now do the same for me.”

Hazel was directed at Lily’s chest as Jennifer cast a nonverbal, binding Lily is place for the time being. She could move every part of her body apart from her feet, glued to the bloody carpet of Carrie’s room. Jen took this as an opportunity to stoop in closer, circling the Gryffindor around once.

“Colloportus,” She placed on the door. “Now tell me. Fire or ice?”

.

Nonsensically, Lily’s hand went to the crown on her head. Did the witch want her to share it? It didn’t make any sense, but instinct usurped reason and the shaking of Lily’s hands told her she didn’t need to understand to know she wanted no part in this. She had to swallow thickly to wet her tongue before she was able to weakly protest, “I don’t– I don’t want to play anymore.” 

A jinx was the only reply she received. Lily’s eyes flickered frantically back and forth, to the door that suddenly felt miles away, to her now immobile feet, to this uninvited playmate. When the witch stepped closer Lily made a pitiful swipe at the her and cried out when the meager attempt to regain control upset her balance, straining her ankles as they remained rooted to spot while her body nearly toppled over. She had to resort to bending at the waist to steady herself with her hands on the floor before straightening up. 

The witch circled her and Lily watched the blackhole of her face move through the room. It was surrounded by streaks of orange. Fire, Lily thought frantically, her head is on fire. She’s going to burn me up, burn the whole room. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The room was already growing hotter, Lily could feel sweat gathering at her brow. She tugged at the fabric of her dress where the cheap polyester satin clung to her frame, damp. She couldn’t run, she couldn’t hide. Her wand, she could put out the fire with her hand. Where was it? Why couldn’t she find it?  She had to do something, anything to put the fire out.  

She gasped, “Ice.” 

Gaspard let out a long sigh of relief, and then moved his arms in front of him as if playing the air drums. “Red, we’re going to make magic together. Trust me on this.” He winked, then continued his bouncing around. His level of excitement could not be contained within his body. “Oh no, not a musical.” Gaspard didn’t believe Hogwart to be ready for a musical; besides, those bastards in Frog Choir might audition. 

“It’s Twelfth Night from Shakespeare. Have you seen it? Read it? Whatever.”

.

Lily wondered if Gaspard had a natural penchant for unsolicited nicknames, or if he had been so busy flitting from thought to thought that he had already forgotten her name. She supposed it could be worse, she could be Dicky. 

Assured that she wouldn’t be asked to put on tap shoes, Lily allowed Gaspard’s enthusiasm to catch. She gave a fond nod, “We read it in primary school, for spell-casting. A good spell is about the right combination of words and the proper cadence, just like Shakespeare. If you can appreciate good writing you can do the same with spell-writing. Anyway, I digress.” She scratched at her eyebrow, trying to recall the finer details of the play. “I don’t remember all the specifics. But it’s more comedy than romance, don’t you think? I always thought it was a little unrealistic the way the characters ended up with the person they were really meant for after all these misunderstandings.”

Dorcas accepted the tissue, blotting at her face. “I don’t know yet. It’s really up to Bronwyn, so…” She sniffed. “If she does, I’d want you and Zoe there. And not just so we could get really sloshed afterwards.” She half-laughed, and had to hold in another sob.

“I’ll be there,” Lily assured her without hesitation. Guilt was still settled low in her stomach, reminding her that she should have been there for Dorcas to begin with. “Even if that means skipping out on a Prefect meeting with McGonagall. I’ll tell her to go fu–” she stopped herself short. She had hoped to coax another laugh out of Dorcas, but even talking about telling McGonagall in jest to fuck off felt like a step too far. “I’ll tell her we need to reschedule,” she finished diplomatically. 

“You’re right. He was. He is.” Dorcas lingered for a long moment, letting a few more silent tears fall. Then at last she pulled free of Lily, laughing a little. “Thank you for letting me cry on you in the middle of the day.”

.

Lily shrugged off Dorcas’ gratitude. What were tears between friends? She shouldered her bag, it had slipped from her shoulder during their prolonged hug. She dug around in it for a packet of tissues and her thumb brushed against the soft knit of the hats. They had previously been endearing in their miniature, but now they broke Lily’s heart with their implied fragility. She pulled out the tissue packet and grabbed one for herself before offering them to Dorcas as well. “Have you–” she started, wanting to know if there had been a burial. “Are you planning to have a memorial?” 

Whenever Camille talked to others about her godfather, a discomfort took hold of her. She almost felt like she was lying. That was because anyone would expect, from the word ‘godfather’, that the two would have a warm and close relationship, but that wasn’t the case. Eustace was a distant family friend, and his proximity was, throughout her childhood, mostly stated through gifts and occasional dinners. So when he revealed his magical nature and hers, it didn’t feel entirely different than hearing it from a stranger - in fact, the revelation made him more of a stranger, in her eyes and her family’s. 

In the years that followed, the two had the chance to be drawn closer, but he never felt entirely like a godfather should. Instead, he was a stern acquaintnce who cared for her and who she cared for, and who she trusted, in spite of him never doing anything to really earn her trust. She wouldn’t expect Lily or anyone to understand this relationship, as she was sufficiently confused by it, on her own. But the discomfort Camille felt was not noticeable - it manifested as tensed shoulders and pursed lips, maybe a slight twitch of her head, and this would require maybe years of knowing the girl to tell. Lily didn’t question it, so there was nothing to be explained.

This state of slight anxiety wasn’t broken when Lily explained her perception of duelling as a life skill, something that one should be familiar with if the need ever presented itself to save one’s life. Camille didn’t attentively cling to the news, but she was aware that she and Lily being muggleborns, they were potential targets. It was the type of worry she chose not to dwell on, and then perhaps not dwelling would be enough a way to handle it so that she’d be spared. An idiotic thought, she knew, but otherwise she felt entirely helpless.

The fact was, far more than all people Camille had met in Cambridge, for example, she had to be prepared. And Lily. It wasn’t fair, and the idea angered her. Couldn’t the threat simply go away if she chose not to think of it? “That’s certainly a good point,” Camille said, looking away, but still decided that she couldn’t fathom joining the duelling club, at this point. Denial would be her path of choice, for now. She hoped it would be enough.

“Will you make sure to let me know the room for MMAC, next Wednesday?” Camille asked, with a somewhat abrupt change of subject, shifting her weight forward in the armchair and flirting with the idea of leaving - she’d already taken a lot of Lily’s time and she’d given her quite a bit to think of. 

.

Lily had thought the conversation was going well. It was refreshing to talk so openly with someone who, although an alumna of a different school, had a home life so similar to hers. But suddenly, with a brusque acknowledgement and question that rung with finality, Camille seemed antsy to leave. Lily worried that her allusions to last year weren’t as vague as she had wanted them to be and it had rubbed Camille the wrong way or upset her. She tried to give the witch the benefit of the doubt. Start of term was busy time, Camille probably had elsewhere to be. Still, Lily felt a touch disappointed in herself. Alice had always had a way of instilling reassurance and ease in others, she was a rock in waves of chaos. Now that Lily had stepped into Alice’s shoes, she hoped it was skill she could learn with time. 

“Sure thing. I’ll make sure you and your LPs know where to go.” She gave Camille a smile imbued with sincerity. “Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything else, yeah? The big and the small, that’s what I’m here for.” 

“Ouch.” He had the decency to wince as he said it, laying eyes on the page pockmarked in red. “Are you sure it’s not for, uh,” he struggled to come up with an R word that was less cruel than Repugnant, but fell short and let the thought trail off before he could make it any worse. “It doesn’t help that she’s so literal,” he offered instead. “I mean, you weren’t wrong on that second one there.” Peter pointed to the page. “Just informal. Which is bollocks anyway. I mean, no one speaks English proper, do they? S’all colloquial.”

“Yeah,” Lily replied with a dejected sigh. It was comforting to know she wasn’t entirely wrong. There was still hope. “I s’pose it is.” The small joke elicited a short-lived quirk of her lips before she resumed staring dolefully down at her litany of errors. 

Admittedly, she had been forced to completely guess for certain questions, but for other she had tried in earnest and still failed miserably. “Okay, what about this one,” she pointed at the next question down. “Jeg er tørst. Kan jeg få drittsekk,” She butchered the pronunciation entirely.

Wendy breathed sharply through her nose. Yes, that was right, she was supposed to be in charge of upholding the standards of the League, wasn’t she? It felt like a fraudulent position now. Wendy cared little about whether someone had shown up for a meeting out of dress or not, but especially she didn’t feel she had the right, of all the members, to lecture the rest about proper behavior. Still, she smiled politely at Lily, reassuringly; it was her job, after all.

“Verbal disclosure is fine. We’ve got to start somewhere.” And documentation would only take a matter of minutes, or so she hoped. “Truthfully, Lily,” Wendy added in a low voice, her gaze pointed and conspiratorial, “this would be the first time I’ve been asked to exercise my duties. We’ll have a go of it, figuring it out together, won’t we?”

.

“Nothing like being the first,” Lily quipped with an awkward laugh. As much as she appreciated Wendy’s kind efforts to put her at ease, it only served to foster new worries. If Wendy rarely exercised her authority, it would be all the more obvious who was pointing the finger. She felt the phantom restraint of a familiar hesitation. She was going to have to be that girl again, the othered one who disgruntled her fellows with dissent. She stood firm in her conviction that someone needed to say something about this, but it didn’t stop her from feeling like a tattle reminding the teacher homework was due. 

For a few moments, genuine worry coursed through Gaspard’s veins. He was not familiar with rejection, often resorting to begging and even bribery to get his way. However, once Lily’s reasoning met his ears, he relaxed instantly and laughter escaped his mouth. “Oh, babes, you’re cute.” Gaspard dabbed at his eyes while his laughter died down. “You’re in good company. I don’t reckon anyone I’ve cast has any real experience.” He swatted his hand in front of himself. 

“But that’s where I come in handy. I’ll make a star of you yet, Red.” 

.

Lily opened her mouth to reiterate that she really, really wouldn’t have a clue what she was doing. It wasn’t that her skill was amateurish, but the fact that there was no skill at all. Before she could speak, she snapped her mouth back shut. It was fruitless. She had hoped to decline with tactful subtlety, but subtlety obviously wasn’t something Gaspard did well. 

While contemplating how to best change tack, she found herself reconsidering. If she was just a regular student, how she spent her time would be at her discretion. As Prefect, however, there was a certain amount of community building involved. It was up to her to be supportive of her classmates. You were only as good as your word, and her endorsement of the idea moments ago would sound hollow now if she professed disinterest. 

Lily hesitated, taking in Gaspard’s eager grin. Against her gut instinct, she conjured a smile and agreed. “I guess if you’re that confident I can be useful, why not? It’ll be fun.” 

The countdown began, two dark brown, almost black, eyes boring into the grandfather clock downstairs. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. 

Slowly, Jennifer sauntered up the stairs. It was only because the coast seemed to be cleared that she was taking the risk of exposing herself to others. The next group of people would be in soon enough, but not soon enough for the Muggleborn’s sake. It dawned on Jennifer, as she took step by step, that she could have just as easily disguised herself as Olin Burke, her brother. He’d have been framed, he’d have been kicked out of school. But Jenny was discovering that she wanted his fate to be much darker than a haunted house prank gone wrong.

This was what Rosalind deserved. This is what doubting Jennifer’s loyalty got you.

Jennifer entered the final door, using the hazel wand perched between well manicured fingers to shut it with a creak, leaving a cloaked Jennifer alone with the prom queen.

“Don’t move.”

.

Lily moved from room to room, falling down a rabbit hole of horror and smiling all the while. A sister with blood smeared across her cheek and charmed pitch-black eyes jumped out and Lily pulled her into a hug before parting ways with a sloppy kiss to her cheek. Tassels hung from a doorway meant to spook her merely tickled instead, sending her into a fit of giggles so vicious that she was in tears by the time she managed to control herself. She was floating, no, dancing through Wimbourne House, her movements clumsy and fractured by flashing lights.

By the time she finished her lap around the first floor, her jaw was aching from clenching her teeth in a manic grin. Her path led her to the foot of the house’s staircase. She stared up a thousand steps to the sliver of red and blue peeking out of the doorway at the top. That was her room. She was having such incredible fun going through the house. “I want to play too,” she whispered with aching earnestness, and mounted the stairs.

Her feet grew heavier with each step. A journey that should have taken seconds felt like it took hours. Reaching the landing was a relief and Lily eagerly pushed the door to the Carrie room open. The bedroom furniture had been moved out, leaving room for the recreation of a campy American prom. The glittering letters and backdrop drew her into the room. Lily was lost in wonderment at the glued-on sequins, which to her were a thousand tiny rainbows.

A familiar voice drew her attention from the kaleidoscope of color. Green eyes rolled around in their sockets as Lily tried and failed to focus the figure in her field of vision. It was a witch, she thought, but it was impossible to say who. The witch’s silhouette duplicated, came back together and then split into thirds. There was a gaping black hole in the center of her face. Lily’s tongue darted out, licking her lips nervously. Why was her mouth so dry?