Title: The Immutable Life of Lily Evans
Author: ThatGirl701
Disclaimer: I own nothing Jon Snow.
Author's Notes: THIS IS MY FIRST FIC SO TRY TO BE NICE. Thank you for reading this...its gonna be one hell of a journey, I can assure you of that.
Prologue
It all began with a knock on a door.
Not just any old door. No, the door this all important knock occurred was on the newly painted entrance of 11 Wendt Avenue, at exactly 7:51am, Thursday July 1st, 1971, in the middle of breakfast at the Evans'.
It was, for Lily Evans, both the start and the end. It was the opening of an existence she barely knew of, fresh and raw and real. Something so new, so full of shock and colour it was overwhelming. But it was real.
Yet, it was indeed the end of a life overflowing with warmth and memories. And the ending of a relationship both Evans' sisters would come to mourn in time. But that is another story for another day. For this is the story of a young girl, whose life changed with a knock on a door.
…
A sharp thump on the door signaled the morning mail had arrived. With overt lethargy, a weary Mr. Evans left the comfort of his sunlit kitchen to voyage down the hall to collect the bills, invoices and arduous essays his aging, and apparently terminally displeased mother sent him every other day. And that, dear reader, was when it started. Approaching the door, Mr. Evans noticed with tired eyes, a lack of mail on the thick carpet. It dawned on him then, in a smother of realisation, that someone was at the door. Shuffling slowly to open it and muttering to himself "what the bloody hell can someone want this early in the morning?", Mr. Evans was seemingly ignorant to the muffled chattering of his two daughters, most certainly discussing what the coming day of holidays would involve. However, his sluggish pace was not from exhaustion, but apprehension. A rough night had not combatted him to face an angry neighbor complaining about the dog again. Little did he know, however, the person on the other side was far from an elderly man with nothing better to do.
Reaching the door, Mr. Evans let out a jagged breath, but despite his apparent tiredness, clasped the brass door-handle with a firm grip. Swinging it open, he was startled to see a smiling young, blonde woman wearing the most eccentric collection of clothes he had ever seen. "Hello", the woman said enthusiastically. In her yellow and red striped top, neon green jeans and worn Chuck Taylors, topped only with a crocheted rainbow hat, she looked absolutely ridiculous, yet, blissfully unaware the strangeness of her apparel.
Mr. Evans simply stared.
"Sir, are you alright?" she asked, her bright demeanor slipping into puzzlement.
"Yes, yes, sorry, err, what can I do for you?" said Mr. Evans.
"Hi I'm Aviva Pondry and I'm looking for a Mr. Andrew, Jessica and Lily Evans?" she said, smile returning to her face. It was at this moment, his heart started beating fast. What did this woman want with his family? Even worse, why was Petunia left out? Faltering for a moment, Mr. Evans glanced down the street. It was a normal day, sun shining, birds chirping, little movement in the sleepy neighborhood, and yet...
"Yes I'm Andrew...", his voice drifted.
"Excellent! It's very nice to meet you Mr. Evans!" she said fervently as she offered her hand, and Andrew Evans, with a weary smile, took it.
"Andrew is fine, thanks . Can I help you with anything Ms. Pondary?" he asked again.
"Pondry, and yes there is actually. Do you mind if I come in? I should like to do this in private…I think you will agree the street, in all of its glory, is not the place to discuss matters of the family" she whispered the last part in, still, a merry voice. Andrew Evans looked around and started to nod. Although this woman was awfully blunt, and was starting to irritate him, he agreed. The street was not the place to confer with him about whatever she needed to talk about.
"Erm, right, yes come in come in" Mr. Evans began to turn, but something stopped him. "Actually, hang on, what was this about again?", Mr. Evans asked. His brain was over-tired and his sleepy disposition was not making the situation easier.
Aviva Pondry hesitated before responding, as if unsure about how to answer. "Your youngest daughter, Lily. She is one special kid". That was all she said, but to Mr. Evans of 11 Wendt Avenue, that was all he needed. And with that, he beckoned her in.
…
There are four things you need to know, dear reader, about our Mr. Evans. The first, and most important, is that he is truly, a man of few words. He is someone who takes the backseat in almost all conversations and someone who is, arguably, always the quietest man in the room. He enjoys the mere act of listening. To watch a person's face while they talk, to take it all in, to hear the sound of their words and the meaning behind them. He was not, and would never be a talker.
The second, and the one I know you are questioning right now, is his incessant and unique ability to read people. Andrew Evans was a person whose silent temperament was often mistook for being a man highly guarded at all times. This, reader, could not be more far from the truth. Over the years of listening and watching, Mr. Evans acquired, developed and refined to a fault, a singular skill of understanding a person by a mere glance. Not only that, Mr. Evans is a very intelligent person. These two qualities make his ability quite lethal. He is not one for liars, and values honesty and integrity above all else. Although, I will admit, today he is a bit off. He had a rough night.
The third is that, despite his incredible gift, he largely chooses to ignore what he sees. When I say ignore, I mean to say that his optimism gets in the way. He is a man who only ever saw, selective or not, the best in people. An attitude of great optimism mixed with quiet anticipation, Mr. Evans was a person who demanded the worth and value from everybody. Perhaps it was his inherent humanity, or perhaps it was, in his years of observing his fellow humans, it seemed only fair to give people the benefit of the doubt, but Mr. Evans could not help it. He whole-heartedly believed that there was good in everyone.
It was this that made him a highly likable individual. The curious concoction of a no-bullshit attitude and unfounded optimism, laced heavily with the humour only a quiet man could possess, created an alluringly interesting personality. Mr Evans was friends with almost everybody, and greater still, to Petunia and Lily, a perfectly wonderful father. However, Lily and her father were exceptionally close. Mr Evans loved Lily's humour and stubborn nature; it made her excellent at a bit of dinnertime banter. Likewise, Lily worshipped her father. Their relationship was something of a friendship rather than that of parent and child. Their bond was built on mutual trust and respect, and both were the better for it.
And the fourth and final thing to know about our Mr. Evans of 11 Wendt Avenue, was that his wife was dying.
…
"Err, can I get you anything?" Andrew Evans asked sheepishly to the blonde woman now sitting across from his youngest daughter. The tiny kitchen, homely and simple, had a quaint feel to it. Lemon yellow walls with white trim held photographs of life through the eyes of the Evans's. Scattered in no particular order throughout the room, pictures of two girls growing up through the years, with the occasional appearance of their doting parents. One particularly large one, next to the window, showed a tall, willowy woman, with kind eyes and a natural smile, looking adoringly at her fresh-faced, lively husband playing with their two daughters. Petunia and Lily, dancing around him, looked as if to be in a state of total euphoria. It was this photo Aviva Pondry was examining with fascination when Mr. Evans interrupted her train of thought.
"Oh, no thank-you, I've already eaten" she said ceremoniously. Looking back at the girl in front of her Aviva smiled kindly. "Is Ms. Evans here? I would like to do this with both parents present if possible" she said. Mr. Evans face dropped incrementally, but Aviva picked up on it immediately. A hint of red nudged at her cheeks as Mr. Evans started to stumble through an explanation.
"Err, she erm, she is not home, at the moment, err, unfortunately, she is sick, you see…" he said. Aviva lowered her eyes and looked at the scrubbed wooden floor. All of the photos around the room showed a happy, loving family. That was the thing about frankness, Aviva thought to herself, sometimes it can put you in a spot of bother.
"…I can tell her, I guess but yes, no she isn't here…" Mr. Evans finished. Aviva slowly looked back at him. With an uncomfortable confidence she met his tired eyes and, for a second, she saw immense pain behind his green irises. With a quick nod of her head, Aviva glanced at Lily, who was sitting with a passive yet, not entirely emotionless look on her face. Sadness was creeping into her little face, but had not yet settled to become a permanent occupant. Lucky, Aviva thought. There was time.
"I am so sorry, Mr. Evans, I really am. I didn't realise… Should I come back later or…?" Aviva blundered out. Her usual composed and unruffled character was crumbling. This was going to be a hard one.
"No, no it's fine. Stay, I'll talk to her about it later. Honest" Mr. Evans said, arms up, proving to her that he was being truthful.
"OK… ok. Alright, well, I may as well stay. There's no point wasting time, you know. Mr Evans, you may want to be sitting down. Alright, good, thank you…". It continued like this for a while. Aviva was obviously thrown, and the quiet of both Mr. Evans and Lily was encouraging her to ramble. Pull yourself together Aviva thought. Now was not the time to jabber on.
Eventually she got there. "As I mentioned before, I am Aviva Pondry, and I am here, on the behalf of both the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to inform the both of you that Miss Lily Evans is a witch". Confusion was the only word that could describe was Aviva saw. Usually, Aviva would be to-the-point, but delicately and with as much sensitivity as she could muster. Her positive attitude and blunt way of speaking made her the best at her job. But even the greats can fall from the top. And Aviva wasn't falling, she was plummeting.
Mr. Evans, was, as I said before, a man of few words and this situation was no different. Shock was clearly plastered on his face; Aviva's own face told him that. Yet he stayed silent, taking what she had said in. She was telling the truth, he could tell by the way she held herself through the short statement; with a firmness and finality in a voice, and decency in her posture. Maybe she's crazy… Mr. Evans thought. Her clothes were horrid and she seemed unusually perky for someone who had evidently risen early to come to their house. Maybe…. Mr. Evans glanced sideways at Lily. The flush on her cheeks and the guilty, yet stifled look in her eyes told him everything. She knew something he didn't.
"Oh my goodness, I'm sorry, that did not at all come out like I intended it to. I am so sorry" Aviva started. She looked at Lily, who despite everything, did not have a hint of shock on her face. In fact, Aviva thought she saw something there that she didn't expect. "You already knew" Aviva said, her mouth slowly forming into a smile. Lily matched Aviva's expression.
"Yes, well kind of…yes I knew" she said, grin getting wider with each word. She turned and look up at her father, who also did not look as shocked as Aviva thought he would have. At this point, there was usually question after question. A look between Mr. Evans and Lily told Aviva that a silent confession, forgiveness and recognition had taken place within a matter of seconds. Mr. Evans, who felt that he should be angry or hurt started to say something, but thought the better of it. He'd had a rough night, in the sake of his utter and immaculate honesty, the one person Mr Evans had never been truly angry with in the entirety of his existence was the girl with long auburn hair and emerald green eyes sitting in front of him with a cheeky smile on her freckled face. He knew then what he had to do.
"So, when does school start?".
THANK YOU FOR READING. It was a bit slow but hopefully you stick around! Leave a message and I'll see you soon.
