Authors Note:
Grimoire is a fanfiction based entirely upon a Lily and Scorpius' relationship. It's a dark story, and will alarm some, but that doesn't matter to me. My plans are to expose the raw humanity behind decisions and what makes certain people good, or evil. I know the characters may at times appear to be a little O-O-C, but thats because the things I will have put them through will change them.
Story idea, plotline, text all belong to rewind and BEGIN AGAIN.
Characters, names, places, ideas, and else belong to the lovely and talented J.K Rowling.
Enjoy - and please do read & review!
---
Prologue:
When all is said, dying at the hands of someone you love is an easy matter.
They don't prolong it, nor do they make the hate and guilt all the more turmulous. They simply point, speak, and then it's all over. One brilliant flash of green light, and then there's no more heartsore wandering and nights of endless weeping. Certainly, death comes easier to some than it does to others - in my short life, I've known grown men who've wept piteously like a baby, struggling and writhing to get away from the hands of their tormentor. I've known others who have raised their chins and met their killers square in the eyes, daring them not to look away. As my dad told it - many, many times - my grandparents were like that. Lily and James Potter; two names the wizarding world would always remember. But they had died at the hands of somebody truly evil - someone they had struggled against.
Scorpius was not someone I hated, not somebody evil - he was someone I loved.
We had begun our relationship halfway through our schooling years at Hogwarts. He was two years older than me and handsome, albeit sinister, and of the Ravenclaw house. I, happy in Gryffindor, had almost always wondered about the pale, almost sickly looking boy with white-blond hair that had wandered the corridors. He was a model student, and the teachers had loved him - just as they'd loved me - but there was some air of solitude about him. During my common-room nights I would sit around the fire with my friends, and they would tell me stories -how his father and my father had once been enemies, how they had been pitted against one another time after time. Both of them had played a crucial role in the Second Wizarding War; my father leading those that were good, and his father hidden amongst those that were bad. Ultimately, though, Scorpius' father had backed down, unable to stand a place in the cruelty he should've partaken in. And my father had won.
Such a gap, I had been told, could never be covered. Malfoys and Potters would not mix; could not mix. My mother - and my father, after a little hesitation - begged to differ, although Uncle Ron seemed quite amused at the idea. "A Malfoy and a Potter, friends?" he had roared with laughter, "There's a new one, Harry ... she's got a great sense of humour." But it had not been humour and my dad had not laughed; he had seen the uncertainty in my eyes. Chocolate brown, those eyes were, not the vivid green of my brother Al's, or my father's. I was not fond of them, not at all, despite the many, many times my mother assured me I was beautiful.
Finally, in our fourth year I confronted Scorpius. We became friends after my rushed explanation I'd been watching him all these years - and he had said the same of me. But friendship slowly blossomed into something else; I understood him as truly as he did me. He was lonely, and I, overshadowed by my brothers, constantly searched for somebody to make me feel more alive. Scorpius often complained bitterly of the resentment he had faced because of his surname, whereas I hated the awestruck glances and adoring gazes I'd recieved for bearing the name of 'Potter'. We both longed for anonymity and companionship; to be understood and to be heard, not for what we appeared to be, but for what we were.
Our relationship was bittersweet and lovely. It was like the blooming of a flower; it unfolded sweet and serenely and caressed both of us in it's warm grip. We had no need for foolish words, for silly dates and laughter and games - while we indulged in them occasionally, it was each other's company that we craved. The only trap between us was our blood; Scorpius held Muggleborns and half-bloods in contempt, and I hated him for the behaviour that had been programmed into him by his relatives. As we spent more time together, that residing hatred began to diminish.
However, news of an uprising was beginning to take over our thoughts and primary concerns. Words that 'Voldemort's Successor', a young man known as Bryce Xander was beginning to gather power and sought revenge for his beloved master's death, tore what could've been good and pure to pieces. Scorpius had far too long been supposedly aligned with what was dark and seductive whereas I was a symbol of righteousness and purity and belief. Scorpius retreated further and further into himself, becoming a haunted shell of his former self, and I was dragged back into the roaring red flames of Gryffindor with my brothers, proclaiming the defeat of Xander with joy and pomp. But he still rose; not even foolish children's words could stop him.
And in my fifth year at Hogwarts, when it seemed all this would end, everything began.
----
