A/N: Hello, people!
I don't own Harry Potter.
I have no beta.
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-Or better known as... 'Don't Eff with Lily's Baby!' Harry was dosed with a poorly made Love Potion in Chapter 9 which causes some drama in the beginning of Chapter 10, and Lily got revenge. Some people wanted to know what she did.
-The story of how Lily Potter got revenge on the bastard that tried to take advantage of her offspring!
-Lily used Blood Magick.
-Lily is not one to piss off.
-Lily is awesome in this universe and is a bit more Slytherin in her revenge.
~.O.~
Lily Potter eyed the teen as he walked through Hogsmeade, unconcerned with anything that was going on. Completely unaware that he had kindled the ire of the wrong person.
But Lily was crafty. She knew how to get things done. Slytherins did not hold the right to cleverness after all. It was a trait that was very prevalent in her day to day life.
On her hand was a Rune. One of her own making. In her handbag was a charmed plate of biscuits, with a light compulsion placed on them. Each biscuit had been shaped to look like the Rune, and then she had mixed some of her blood into the batter.
Disgusting and definitely considered Blood Magick, but she didn't care. Because this was personal.
Anyone who decided to try to take her precious son's anything without his consent, had forfeited any sort of freedom they possessed! Lily was not above revenge, and she would make this boy suffer for as long as possible, before acquiring the information needed.
He would be begging for the Dark Lord to take him in hand once she was finished.
Beneath the Invisibility Cloak, which she had gotten Hermione to retrieved for her, she slipped into the Three Broomsticks, right behind the boy, and seated herself across from him in the booth he'd selected.
While he looked through the menu, she reached into her bag and slipped the plate of biscuits onto the table, without anyone even noticing. It wasn't shocking. Sometimes Rosmerta would have extra sweets and like at Hogwarts, her House Elves would transfer the food from the kitchens, to the tables.
Food suddenly blossoming on the tables wasn't a shock any longer.
So when MacDougal put the menu down, he didn't seem confused in the least, and reached for a sweet.
He ate three by the time Rosmerta had gotten to his table, and the woman, whom Lily had contracted into silence over the situation, didn't bat a lash at the biscuits that were not from her establishment.
Minutes later, most of the biscuits were gone, and the Hufflepuff was taking his leave, having had a Butterbeer to cool himself down.
Lily took the plate back and exited as well.
Now began the revenge.
The strange feeling began at breakfast. For some reason, Mortimer could not keep his food down, and had gone through the entire school day without eating because the food wouldn't stay down.
He ended up having to take a potion to make up for it.
Then his dreams that night had been hellish. For some reason, he found himself in the Dark Forest, surrounded by Acromantula, and instead of attacking him, they herded him into a circle, where they surrounded him on every side.
And that was when the body appeared. In dreams, nothing ever truly made sense, so he didn't know why the body of Harry Potter was lying before him.
The Gryffindor was obviously dead, his stunning eyes staring up at the dark trees, without any light in them. Just stillness that unnerved the trapped teen.
And slowly, ever so slowly, the head turned to face him where he stood, but the eyes remained sightless.
"Why?" a haunting voice that did not belong to the Potter Heir, spoke.
The mouth was open, but the sound did not match. He could not understand just what was supposed to be happening, but it unnerved him. The dead body speaking was bad enough. But when it started accusing him of… things, he didn't know what to do.
He was weaponless, and the Acromantula wouldn't move away. They only seemed to close in even more.
"Why did you do this?" the unearthly voice whispered again. "Why did I deserve this?"
Potter's body contorted then, torso lifting off the ground and turned slightly, as if to look behind. But the head remained facing Mortimer, even as the spine gave a loud crack as the torso completed one hundred and eighty degrees.
He flinched at the sight. The legs sprawled one way, the rib cage facing the other, and the head remaining unmoving during it all.
"Why?" it repeated.
"Why?"
Why?
He flinched again and stepped away from the disfigured form. It was in his mind.
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY? WHY? WHY?! WHY?! WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY?!
Clutching his hands to his ears, he tried to drown out the incessant questions. The accusations in the tone of the speaker bothering him. As if charging him with some sort of crime.
And it wouldn't end!
Mortimer awoke in a cold sweat, feeling his heart pounding too fast to keep up with.
That was the first night he went without sleep.
The next day, he was unable to keep any of his food down, though Madam Pomfrey could not find any ailments in his system and merely had him take another potion.
That evening, he laid awake for hours, thinking about the dream from the previous night. He'd known that Potter had been taken to the Hospital Wing and kept under intensive care before he could do anything.
He wouldn't have done it in such an obvious place had he known the Dark Lord was sitting with Potter!
Still, was his conscience telling him that he was guilty, or that he was in the wrong? He didn't feel guilty for what he had planned to do, but he was unnerved by the dream. He wasn't good enough at dream interpretation to tell what it truly meant.
That night, he did not get a wink of sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, he found himself and Marietta Edgecomb, sitting under a tree on the school grounds. She would smile and lean in for a kiss, and just as their mouths would connect, a spider would crawl out from between her perfect teeth. And it would scuttle across her fair skin and then slip into her right ear as if nothing was wrong.
And when he tried to pull away, she would latch onto his robes and pull him closer, trailing her mouth over his throat. And like before, spiders would seemed to pour out of the orifice and they would crawl along his skin. The individual spikes of their strange legs everywhere.
On his face, under his shirt, into his trousers. They were everywhere! No matter how much he tried to move, no matter which way he twisted or turned, they kept on coming!
Into his mouth and his nostrils. His ears. Forcing their way into his eye sockets, the piercing pain of their legs blinding him.
He could feel them trying to crawl down his throat. Almost like being stabbed from the inside out.
And this dream would keep on coming and coming when he closed his eyes.
So he tried taking some Dreamless Sleep, and found out that he could not awaken until the dream was over, and the dream seemed to last forever.
And what those spiders did to him. He shuddered just thinking about it!
By day three, he had already accepted that he had some sort of illness and that he wouldn't be able to eat. Madam Pomfrey had the potion ready for him when he went to see her that day.
Since no one seemed particularly worried about it, he decided that it was just a bug, and that he would focus on more important things.
Until Divination came around.
Usually he ignored Trelawney's mumblings, but when she focused on him suddenly and told him, 'You have greatly wronged another!', he found himself listening.
"You!" she had exclaimed. "You, my dear, have made yourself an enemy! Yes, those in great power know of what you have done! They seek to tear you down, and your punishment will not be all they seek."
Trelawney then went on about his misdeeds, in which none of them were true, so he had decided to brush off her warning that 'things would never get better' and continue on with his life.
But then the third 'dream' happened. And he knew something strange was going on.
This time, he found himself seated at a table. There was no light. It was just pitch black, darkness, but for some reason, he could see the table and chair perfectly.
Out of the darkness, morphed a woman with fiery red hair, and familiar green eyes.
"Why did you hurt my son?" she demanded.
"What did he ever do to you?" a second voice sounded, making him spin around in shock.
Another woman. The same woman.
He looked back, finding the exact replica standing where she was supposed to be. There were two.
"You're just jealous of him."
Three.
One by one, he was being surrounded by Harry Potter's mother. And she looked incredibly displeased. As if he'd done her a great wrong.
'You have greatly wronged another!' seemed to ring through the room in Trelawney's voice.
"Why Harry?"
"Why anyone?"
"What gives you the right?"
"Are you a rapist perhaps?"
"Some rapists get castrated in the Muggle World."
"Yes, but that would be too easy for one like you."
On and on, the various women continued talking. They accused him of murder and rape and torture. They called him horrible names and enumerated the various punishments that would happen should he have been a Muggle.
But he wasn't any of those things. He simply wanted Potter to be so enamoured with him that he would follow everything Mortimer said. And once Potter was out of the way in the tournament, he'd give the other teen the antidote. After having him make a fool of himself first of course.
The women pushed him to the ground. The one he couldn't see. They spoke as one, though there had to be thousands of them.
"This is what you get!" the group said. "And for every night you resist, it'll only get worse.
"WORSE!"
Feet lifted and stomped down on any part of him they could reach, and Mortimer was caught under the assault, unable to flee as his target's mother beat the shite out of him.
After that dream, he refused to try sleeping.
It was in History of Magic that he had fallen asleep and was awoken by someone pointing out that he had soiled himself and the chair he was seated on.
Why? Because in his strange dream, he was being constantly fed food and water and it wouldn't stop! It just kept coming, and the red haired woman would not let him refuse, just continuing to feed and feed, forcing his mouth to stay open at the appropriate times and making him swallow when necessary.
And even as he expelled the food in the only way he could, she would not clean him up, so he had just sat in the metal tub, surrounded in his own filth as she shoveled more and more food into his mouth.
He couldn't stop. It had hurt so much, like it had been real. His stomach just wouldn't expand to hold the food and his bladder had hurt with so much weight placed on it.
And the more he defacated, the more food she gave him. The combined scents becoming unbearable.
With the embarrassment from the effects of that dream, he had gone to the lavatory in hopes of righting himself, but found the scents within to be too much.
He vomited up what little was inside his stomach, because of the scent. He hadn't eaten in three days, and the thought of eating made him vomit more.
His soiled clothing and his body were completely covered.
He'd passed out at some point, due to too much sensory overload.
By the end of the week, Mortimer MacDougal was sitting in the Hospital Wing, unable to eat, sleep, or use the bathroom.
He felt as if he was being stretched out, like when his mother would roll out the dough for biscuits.
The dreams had persisted and had gotten worse, with Trelawney's warning ringing in the background as Lily Potter took vengeance for her son, plaguing Mortimer's every thought, waking or otherwise.
It had been almost a week since the strangeness had occurred, that he could no longer take it anymore.
He was not sorry about what he'd done, but maybe the torture would end should he confess. One week in Azkaban versus this hell was so much better, he was certain!
Struggling out of the bed, he gripped the walking stick that had been provided for when he wanted to move.
The teen hobbled out of the Wing and down the stairs, making for the Great Hall, where he knew everyone would be sitting down for the usual evening ritual that he couldn't think about without vomiting.
Using all of his energy, he pushed the one door open, and hobbled inside, ignoring the stares and whispers of the students.
The Dark Lord was seated at the center of the Head Table, like usual. The man had not left the castle in days. Not since Potter had fallen prey to Mortimer's potion.
Falling to his knees before the table, the teen confessed, "My Lord, I dosed Harry Potter with a love potion."
And if he thought that that was the end of his troubles. He was so wrong.
A/N: Another is done!
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CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.
