If there was one thing worse for Lily than not getting her way, it was getting it. She didn't think he would take her literally when she screamed at him to sod off. It had never happened before.
When the propositions and one-liners ceased sometime during her sixth year, Lily began sleeping with the oatmeal-furred teddy bear her roommates couldn't remember having seen since she was eleven.
When she saw him sitting beside the pureblood Ravenclaw Emily Lonson, she resisted the urge to yank out the honey hair the blue-eyed girl tossed so languidly over one shoulder and turned an abrupt about face. She didn't stop walking until her knees collided with her own bed.
When she spent the last of her Christmas money on a dodgy packet of purple pastilles she bought off of the boy who met her under the portrait of Nolfavrell the Odious, they put her in the hospital wing for the better part of a week. (Just as she'd planned.)
She rips a snarl of hair from her scalp as it caught in her rubber band. She curses him.
She nicks her ankle, shaving in the bath. She wishes him syphilis.
Those who favored the use of their limbs began to avoid her, just as she had wanted.
It seemed what Lily truly wanted, she feared as well.
When she saw him leaning over the cobalt water of the lake, chucking dung bombs at the mermaids who had surfaced from the deep- the giant squid was mucking about again- she wished more than anything that he would fall in. (When he lost his footing and nearly pitched headfirst into the outstretched- green- arms of the mermen below him, she gasped. She'll never admit having to bite her lip to keep from screaming WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA, and bearing him out of harm's way.)
She thinks about him. The fingers running through her hair become harsh.
She should've been in Slytherin. She is too proud, and too much of a coward for her own good. She wants to reach for the silky strands that hang languorously from the head in front of her in History of Magic. (She is too afraid- what might her classmates think?)
She is weak, she decides after she flees for the forbidden forest when she hears footsteps behind her on her dark walk. She is weak, and she is a coward (she curls unobtrusively at the roots of an ancient oak, eyes large with fear). Who would put her in Gryffindor? The footsteps are quicker and louder now. There's something about the cadence of them that she recognizes. But it can't be.
When she sees his nearly colorless eyes flash in the dappled light, she is sure.
"You?" The unexpected sound of her incredulous voice rings in his ears and he stumbles, jumps, and trips. He is spitting blood at her feet now. The red is beautiful against his pale skin. "What are you doing out here?"
"Oh, you know, fancied a nice jaunt through the forbidden forest… perhaps a chat with the centaurs, they're just so hospitable- a nice little romp with the thestrals- I was following you, lack wit, what do you think I was doing?"
"But…" But he didn't want her anymore. "Why?" The look in his eyes was more incredulous now than when she had first spoken.
"Are you that thick?" She nodded wordlessly. The sneer that twisted his lips appeared more distorted than ever against the blood that dripped down his chin. (He'd cracked a tooth, she observed, as she watched him tuck the white shard into his pants pocket.)
"Lily. I love you. Why I would love the stupidest, silliest girl in school, even if you are rather magnificent… Some kind of proverbial, karmic flaming bag of shit I'm sure." He muttered the last words, tongue twisted with amusement.
"I hate you," but she was the one to lean towards him and wrap her dry lips around his wet ones- the taste of his blood and his mouth was the most beautiful and midnight taste she could remember. Her fingers twirled through his straight, silvery hair. She pulled back from him, her own lips cherry with his blood, her honey eyes so like her mothers. "I wish I could say I didn't feel the same, Scorpius. Father will be so proud." (He pushes her back down against the tree, and her head cracks painfully against a knuckly root but she doesn't notice.)
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Finite incantatem.
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Well. It's a bit of a piece of crap. I've been wanting to do something NextGen, though, and I liked the idea of the beginning being ambiguous as to whether it was Lily and James, or Harry's daughter Lily.
Any thoughts? Constructive critcism, as always, far more than welcome.