Final edit done on the 19th of October, 2017. I will no longer touch this work though please point out any grammar mistakes if you see any. Thank you for taking your time to read this. I can see that it's a bit messy but I hope you enjoy :)
I have no idea where this came from, but I know that Lily-luna/Voldemort pairing has struck me down. I don't even know if it can be classified as pairing but here it is and here it stays. Bellatrix anyone?
Pairing: Lilyl/Voldemort
Water Lily
Where art thou, Dark Lord; Where art thy body, livid and restored?
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Harry tells her how he fought many battles. Many, in which he was injured either physically or mentally, and how the scars still run deep in his heart.
Lily is five years old and she listens her father talk as Albus and James play Quidditch outside. It's winter evening and there's a thin snow blanket on the ground. She watches the fine frost powder that descends with cold November. Footprints litter their backyard and lead to the grove behind their two-storey house.
A crash and a whoop later James' laughter is heard. Ginny rushes outside, shouting and waving her wand. Lily turns around to see how her mother runs across the backyard and into the forest where Albus has run. She turns to face her father instead of the ever darkening grounds and skies.
"Dad, how do you die when you're immortal?"
Harry turns to look at her, his attention grabbed away from the yard and back by Lily who stares at him.
"I don't think anyone can be called immortal. Voldemort used unorthodox ways to obtain something that resembled immortality but wasn't."
"But he was immortal when he had that something?"
"Yeah, he was," Harry takes a sip of his coffee and sputters when it's gone cold. "But his ambition made him crueller than anyone else." He dabs the corners of his mouth.
But a five-year-old hardly cares about that. Harry swoops Lily from the floor into his waiting arms, a smile gracing his well aged face and Lily sputters. The cat on the rug raises its head and squints.
"He was a scared and frail old man who just feared death. Don't mind him much. There are many people like that in the world."
"Really?"
"Really."
And Lily thinks she hears melancholy in her father's voice.
.
.
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No one usually likes to talk about this almost forgotten Dark Lord. Their father may share a few anecdotes but that's usually it. When they ask something about him, they're usually rewarded with trepidation. Afterwards Harry apologizes and starts speaking to Lily, whose persistence is without an equal. No one else even dares to speak the Lordship's name, even though her father tells her that he's no more. That dad killed him. Harry makes sure to always add, when Ron isn't nearby, that Voldemort killed Voldemort. Lily thinks it's a bit weird for a war hero to be so reluctant to accept his own kill. Uncle Ron is always telling things about Harry that Lily thinks are a little exaggerated according to the dumbfounded face Harry used to wear in the Christmas gatherings at The Burrow almost every year. But in the end, her father petitions that it wasn't him; It was the wand he threw into the deep gulley under Hogwarts' bridge.
During the late hours, the adults are downstairs. Their hushes conversations and laughter fueled by wine carry through the floors. Upstairs, Lily fingers her quilt and tries to ignore Rose's snores. Biting her bottom lip, she ponders if it's still there for the taking. The Elder Wand.
That night, she dreams of a faceless stranger who she names Riddle. Palms sweating, face contorted in excitement so that it resembles a beast, she sees him finger a wand. But when the wood turns to dust and dust to bone, she wakes.
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During another night, when Ginny is held behind by a charity party, Lily throws her legs over the bed's side. Hastening her steps with her soft teddy bear in a fierce hug, she travels to the kitchen. She's hungry and wants her chocolate chip cookies before going to sleep, not caring whether they actually give her holes to her teeth. She can drink milk to cure that. The last upper tooth on the right side is hurting but her mother's challenging air is waking the children's competitiveness. Albus already tried the night before and Lily swears that she will be The Potter and get the coveted prize.
She pokes the hurting tooth with her slick tongue and afterthoughts entertain her.
Rubbing her eyes, Lily pushes a squeaky chair right next to the counter and reaches out with her small hands. She hopes it'll be enough to reach the damned jar.
The jar slips past her hands and crashes onto the floor. The noise is enough to make her pray for a better New Year. She frowns at the excuse of a jar. How dare it. Then a piece of the ceramic mess catches her eye. Resting next to a large briefcase, she's able to make out three letters shining in the moonlight.
RAB.
The previous words were Trabant Over You. Even so, it's enough to make her stop for a second and stare as a false déjà-vu springs forth from the pits of her memories. A squeak of flooring coming from the lobby almost gives her a heart attack.
"Honey, what are you doing?" Harry rubs sleep from his eyes and Lily's gaze shifts from the floor to her father in panic. She sputters and her hair falls over her shoulders, her maroon eyes wide, going back and forth.
"It wasn't my fault."
It sounds bad when it leaves her mouth and Lily scolds herself inside her mind.
"You should go to bed. I'll fix it." Harry yawns and takes Lily up from the chair and lowers her to a place where there are no pointy dangers waiting to prick skin. Harry waves his wand and the jar is fixed. Frowning at her father, she points at her abandoned teddy so that Harry would pick it up.
"Why are you carrying a wand?" Lily asks when given the toy. Harry mutters something that sounds like 'don't mind it' and heads off to the living room. Lily never asks why he's awake at this hour and doesn't ask for a story, the mood not being quite right.
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The turn of the year is a bit odd because Lily is visiting a church for the first time. Gravel rustling beneath her shoe soles, she crosses the threshold of Parish Church of St. Clementine and hears quiet chatter immediately. Observing over her shoulder, Lily sees that a wooden cart led by a horse is travelling along the gravel road that cleaves the village. The horse puffs and Lily takes a couple of steps back to gaze the animal and its owner's course. Opposite the church, old women let out barks of laughter and wave their palms enthusiastically.
It's not any warmer inside the church than it's outside. Everyone is wearing their outer coat and a necker and the womenfolk have their hats on. Whitewashed walls have candles and the light that shines through the stained glass windows creates a magical atmosphere.
Lily takes a couple of steps in and takes a seat on the last row's wooden bench. She has never been able to stand around her grandparents' grave for long. There's no bond because she has never met either of them, but her parents spend quite a while at the grave.
The pair in front of her is discussing in low tones how their potted seedlings are and will they be alive next summer. The priest is doing something at the altar and a couple of people trickle in to walk along the aisle to their benches. Lily does not know if there are witches and wizards among them. She still doesn't recognise all the Hollow's residents though she's old enough to make sparks come out of her father's wand.
The atmosphere feels incredibly elaborate but Lily doesn't feel anything. Her head empty, the only thing her memory supplies her with is death.
Thoughts shift and she ponders on disparity. A couple of years from now on and she'll be far away somewhere around Scotland, with her own wand, learning how their world and society work. She hears rustle from the doorway and soon someone is patting her shoulder. It's Ginny.
"Your father's done. Let's go buy some fireworks."
"Yeah."
The feelings of disparity disappear. Gazing over her shoulder upon the doorstep, she realizes that which has been told to her over and over again during her life. Muggles and all things magical live in different worlds. Because these people exist, she cannot fly outside on a broom without wards. She cannot do magic or laugh as their cat turns blue. Only because these people exist, she cannot be normal.
"Mom, listen," Lily interrupt when they walk with Harry towards their house that's right next to the church. Ginny hums. "Why do Muggles exist?"
"What?" Ginny stops and stares down at her daughter.
"I don't think I like them very much."
"And...why is that? Did someone in the church say bad things to you? Forget about those."
Lily is quiet for a while.
"I wish they went away, Muggles. Let them go on a holiday. Forever. Then other kind of people could move in here." Lily is aware that she's being ogled at. Ginny is dumbstruck and notices that Harry is already at their front gate.
Without any prompting, her thoughts turn to Fred and her heart bursts. Small chips of discussion return to her from a time when there was a war and she fought against such ideology. Ginny is snapped back to reality when Harry calls their names from afar and she pulls Lily along by hand.
"We'll talk about this inside," she orders and Lily is perplexed. Surely there would be no problems if the Muggles had magic too? After all, they'd just be weaker than real wizards and witches...or then not. But maybe she'd be able to be herself in other places too than just inside their four walls and at The Burrow.
The very idea of it irks her.
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(Perhaps it's impossible for the younger generation to understand something about war heroes' pain after all.)
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Harry told her of the diary made of blank pages; of the locket of Slytherin; of the ring of Death; of the golden cup; of the diadem tempered into something anew in the maws of a fire lion; of the loyal Naga and finally of himself.
But now they were all gone. All dead and rusty and they were not coming back. The red corruption reeking like the destroyed metal of the locket. Voldemort laughs in derisive mirth - in agony. But even he's rusty and somewhere far, far away and neither her father nor mother (or she) can reach the dead.
Alone, among her quilts and quills and away from prying eyes, Lily suddenly realizes that she's curious. She wants to meet him. For some reason. That reason seems forbidden and it's tucked away from prying eyes.
That night, the arched vaults disappear from her mind and for once, she does not dream of what Hogwarts will be like. Wide awake, she stares the ceiling that shimmers with magic-made stars. Biting her bottom lip, she can feel an ugly emotion swelling inside her chest. It makes her feel ill and then angry because she doesn't know why it's there.
She opens her mouth.
And closes it. Lily takes a deep breath, and another.
"Tom Riddle."
The feeling dissipates. But that's not the name she had intended to say at all.
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Ginny is with Harry, scratching his back and biting his lips. Her back arches and she lets out a breathy moan. She fingers Harry's biceps and the man looks at her once before breathing in her scent by burrowing himself into her neck. Ginny feels how perspiration is sullying their sheets and she feels a vicious need so she grabs the man's hair, earning her a yelp, and forces them to turn over, kissing his chest, riding him.
All thoughts forgotten.
Though Albus will remember what happened because Harry can't concentrate at all when it comes to sex with Ginny.
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The Granger-Weasleys and the Dursleys come to dine during the next weeks thought at different days. Weasleys' parking is loud and garners some spectators in the Hollow. The Knight Bus would have whisked the magical family to almost their front door under three hours, but they arrive by car and Lily watches from her own room's window on the second floor how Ginny comes to greet them through the front door and the Ford depopulates. Ron keeps brushing through his hair with his fingers in an embarrassed mannerism as Hermione scolds him for the loud car horn honking. There's a small chaos on their yard. Molly ja Arthur have tagged along. Rose ja Hugo run inside the house and Lily hears the front door slam open. She corrects her curtains, hides a thick notebook she had held against her breast and checks the state of her clothes from the mirror. She's seemingly tidy.
When the Granger-Weaslys are all inside, there's hustle and bustle inside the house.
When the Dursleys arrive, the house, as opposed to the earlier, becomes even quieter. Lily also doesn't bother to groom herself as well. She hasn't belonged into the friend circle of Dudley's children for years, although they know her well for being older. James keeps them company and Albus has crowded into his room with his potion experiments. Lily descends due to her mother's request and goes straight to hug Dudley and his wife. She talks a bit and takes her juice and some cookies from the table and vanishes to upstairs. She doesn't have almost anything common with these Muggles. Neither of Dudley's children are magical. Lily doesn't understand the point of these visits on a deeper level. Her father and his cousin don't really have anything to talk about either.
Not really, she grew severe and thought. The notebook and many other books are open on her writing desk. Lily sits down on her writing chair, opens one of the drawers so that she can set her drinking glass and cookie platter in there as if it was a small table. Nothing bothers her now. The others socialize or are on their own so she begins to write in her dusty rose coloured room into her notebook that isn't locked by anything else but its covers.
It's quieter during the evening. Nothing can disturb Friday's telly hours at this point in life. Not even if some of Albus' potions do explode upstairs and shouting ensues on James' part. Yes, the only thing left to do is turn the volume sky high and hope the smell of burned vinegary Nirnroot doesn't do tricks and put anyone's nose out of commission for weeks to come. Lily has other business to attend though.
The wood in her fingers feels sleek. Tended to.
It's colour is stained ochre in the late hours in her desktop lamp's light.
(Though she wonders. Harry had probably never again touched it after he hid it from the Ministry when they looked for it. She heard him discuss it with someone in their fireplace late at night. A stupid place for such an important conversations. But she learned that her father is a good liar and tells lies. They can't find it because Harry probably stole it from Voldemort's corpse so long ago,- right after everyone else had run towards them in the final battle. Her father's a thief. It probably feels wrong to stare at his own wand and then take a look at its brother, who is feeling neglected as it hasn't cast any spells for over a decade even ((though Harry has tried to use it when he has lost his own wand for a day or two).)
She makes her pencil-case into a golden coin with it. It requires a real effort.
The Yew is waiting for something.
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At seventeen, she knows very well the benefits of onesided attraction. No one can know that for sure but the way she handles the Dark Arts books that she secretly reads tells more than words. Harry's regret is pushing him down. He regrets telling his daughter about Voldemort. Regrets telling her of the Horcruxes and the battles. He regrets her but still loves her. The way he loves Ginny and the way he thinks of Voldemort. The world is tinting grey again and Harry hears trains' whistles in his nightmares although the never ending abyss right behind Lily is telling them both that this is a choice she has to make alone and the train station right in front of her is very inviting in its blandness. She's in the middle. Hanging off from her beliefs, from fairy tale knowledge and Voldemort, who sits in the train station, mulling over his losses, eyes burning but only as embers or maybe he has already forgotten the battle, the great fire, the grey and black colors and Harry. Mostly Harry.
His hate is gone, for nineteen years it has been, and he is currently in something between tolerance for his wounds and boredom and empty space in his chest where the hate used to be. The infant under the bench screeches and Riddle from the diary is clutching his chest in pain, benches away from the snake man. The rest of the trinkets are abandoned somewhere else but not on the tracks and Lily, when she realizes this, is not so sure she can find them all. She needs her father to complete the puzzle as he's the last piece. Always the last. Always.
("Daddy, do tell a tale. A tale of dragons and the Dark Mage."
"Only the first, fourth and seventh year have dragons," Harry remarks.)
Her notebook filled with plans and experiments, her eyes ablaze with fire. For she's going to do something no Death Eater or sympathizer could and she's going to be remembered. The Dark Lord is going to praise her and the itching fake of a Dark Mark she made by herself can be made real, when the bone wand touches her arm (she needs to mark for the ritual. It's acquired from a runaway Death Eater who happily cut a piece of his skin off and burned it into her).
The red hair remains stained with crimson and old necromancy as Lily sighs and relieved laughter escapes her. She feels like this is her personal ritual passage to the next level, to help her become an adult; to accept that this is what she will devote herself to. It's really not that different from a seventh year's career choice, she hums and blows a stray lock of hair away from her face where it tickles her cheeks and nose.
Tell me a fairy tale gone wrong.