P E T A L I N T H E R A I N
Chapter 11- Revelations
July 9, 1940
Lily couldn't breathe. She raced down the hallway, her lips quivering and her eyes strewn with abashed, panicked tears; paintings and sculptures blurred around her as if they had been freshly painted and left out in the rain, the colours morphing together and shapes becoming indistinguishable.
Lily launched herself up the stairs, climbing higher and higher, and then down the creaky hallway toward the small room that led to the attic. She whipped the door open, almost taking it off its hinges, and entered the quiet space, suddenly forlorn. For a moment she stood confused, her face splotched with tear marks and one of her shoes missing, but then regained her focus.
Lily mounted the stairs to her bedroom in the attic and slammed the door shut, a strangled sob emitting from her lips as she slid against the wall to the ground in a distraught heap. She was sure any minute the walls would restrict around her and swallow her whole, if they hadn't already.
Roxanne was gone, sent away by her parents to a boarding school somewhere in the United States. Most of the girls at St. Madeline's were gone now, evacuated out of a potential war zone by their rich parents. It wasn't safe anymore, not even with soldiers patrolling the streets and warning sirens ready to cry; yet Lily remained, alone in a world on the brink of chaos.
Anger and sadness welled inside her like a wild fire, burning in her chest and then spreading throughout the rest of her body like an infectious disease. Her body wracked with uncontrollable sobs as she sat there, scrunched in a ball in the middle of the cold floor, surrounded by nothing by emptiness. Silence rang in her ears, more deafening than the shrillest of screams, and she struggled to breathe through her nostrils.
It was unbearable to think Roxanne was gone, and the more Lily thought about it, the harder she made herself cry. She'd convinced herself that her suffering was the greatest, greater than anyone's. How could anyone be in as much pain as she was at that moment?
Unbeknownst to Lily, the floorboards around her violently quaking body began to splinter as if put under a great deal of pressure; the sheets on her bed began to silently singe, the edges curling and turning black as if they'd been set aflame. The beams supporting the ceiling rumbled suddenly, years of settled dust floating to the cracking floor.
Lily couldn't control her fevered shaking or the tears of agony that spilled from her eyes. The room was roaring and rupturing with anger and grief, literally cleaving itself in two, but she did not notice, too removed from reality. Lily felt helpless to the powerful emotions dominating her and closing around her throat.
She felt like Alice, the poor girl that had tumbled through the looking glass into Wonderland—a perverted and bizarre place where smirking cats and shrewd abominations of nature poked and prodded at the vulnerable and lonely. Everywhere she looked she saw her own reflection, distorted and deformed, clawing against the mirror she had fallen through.
In a fit of despair and uncharacteristic rage, Lily wrenched the golden locket she wore without fail from around her neck, snapping the chain, and chucked it as hard as she could at the floor. As she let out a gut-wrenching sob and slowly backed against the wall, her eyes closed and her body weak, Lily did not notice the locket open as it crashed to the floor and the glass inside smash. As if the cork of a bottle had been loosened, the two pictures of Lily's parents disappeared in a burst of yellow smoke, leaving behind an empty golden shell.
The locket...it was a symbol of love, a representation of her parents' love for her. It was a piece of jewellery that had been found around her neck when she had been left on the doorstep of a London orphanage, the only thing linking Lily to her past. She'd just been a toddler when she was abandoned, left in the cold to become someone else's problem. Had Lily been deluding herself with thoughts that her parents had loved her?
How could any parent abandon their child...how could she have ever fathomed that they loved her?
Lily felt stupid and overwhelmed with loneliness. The only people she'd come to love were Roxanne and James...both of whom were gone from her life. It wasn't likely she'd ever see Roxanne again, and James...what if he...
Am I tainted? Why am I not worthy enough to love? Even my own parents didn't want me...
Then, as quickly as rage and anguish had filled her up and spilled forth, it stopped. It was as if all the energy had suddenly been sucked out of her and had escaped through the broken window above her bed. Her shaking began to cease, replaced with blurred vision and a burning sensation in her throat. Lily limply collapsed onto her elbows from her sitting position, her mess of hair soon cradled on the floor. Tremendous fatigue washed over her, causing her mind to clear and her eyes to close.
Why can't I remember their faces anymore?
The room stopped shaking, eased into stillness just as the redhead had been eased into unconsciousness.
The Hogwarts grounds were shrouded in darkness, opaque clouds obscuring the crescent curvature of the moon, the only source of light. A buoyant, marshy mist hovered just above the petrichor-smelling lawns blanketing the castle grounds and a temperate wind blew through the brambles in the Forbidden forest, making it subtly sway. Apart from the occasional howl from the woods or shriek from the owlery, the locale was quiet and undisturbed.
Strangely enough, the ancient castle, which was tucked away in a remote valley, did not seem out of place in the Scottish setting. The cold stone was as natural as the lake and crumbling hills that surrounded it; all whom crossed its noble threshold could never fathom it not being there. The spectacular building was a sight to behold—though not visible to muggles—and warmed the hearts of students and teachers alike. Even immersed in the wet gloom it looked inviting.
It was in one of the tallest turrets, second only to the Astronomy tower in size, that a weathered-looking man in violent purple robs paced about an egg-shaped office strewn with spinning and smoking instrumentation. He had a long colorless beard that was matted with rain, suggesting he had been travelling, and half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his crooked nose. Despite his visible frailty—which was evident in his bony hands—his blue eyes spoke of cleverness and vigilance. Tonight, however, they were murky in thought.
Suddenly, a knock sounded on the office door, alerting Professor Albus Dumbledore that his expected visitors had arrived. Side-glancing his shelf of instrumentation, the wizened professor settled into a chair and politely folded his hands on the top of his desk, "Please enter."
Three wizards, all vastly unique in appearance, penetrated the richly decorated office and immediately took seats in the olive, high-backed chairs placed before Dumbledore's rectangular desk.
The first, newly penned Mad-Eye Moody because of his dishevelled features and blue, magical eye, wore a shabby leather overcoat, thick boots and an unmistakable glower. To his right sat his powerful counterpart, Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had dark skin, a bald head and broad shoulders, while to his left sat Lord Frank Longbottom, a young, handsome wizard that stood out because of his esteemed title. All three were Aurors, dark-wizard catchers and protectors of justice; more importantly, they were all in the Order of the Phoenix.
"I appreciate the three of you coming on such short notice. Dumbledore began smoothly, his characteristic smile—a smile that spoke of confidence and unspoken secrets—upturning his withered lips, "I do apologize for the late hour, but an urgent matter of importance has just come to my attention. It must be dealt with immediately."
Moody grunted and straightened in his chair, his magical eye whizzing around in the socket and his normal eye, almost chatoyant, crinkled in skepticism, "Why is it you haven't called an Order meeting then, eh? Why are the three of us the only to hear of this?"
Dumbledore blinked at Moody's gruffness, but the smile on his lined face did not falter, "The Order shall know of this matter in time. Until I build upon my original plan, I think it best that only a few people be trusted with it. I will ask the three of you to regard what I am about to tell you as top-secret."
Kingsley raised an eyebrow, looking mildly intrigued, but only Frank Longbottom, who was a good twenty years younger than the rest of the wizards in the room, looked stunned to be depended upon by Dumbledore with information of such magnitude.
"Does this have anything to do with the war?" Kingsley inquired in a deep, masculine voice, articulating the question both Moody and Frank were mulling over, "Has Churchill finally agreed to let us—"
"This has nothing to do with the muggle war; rather, it concerns Voldermort and the inevitable wizarding war," Dumbledore grimly interjected, closing his eyes and pausing for just a moment; he unexpectedly pulled an unmoving photograph from one of the drawers in his desk and turned it so his confidants could see, "Alastor, Kingsley…perhaps you remember Marquis Everard?"
Depicted in the black and white picture, the edges curling with age, was a blissful-looking couple in front of an opulent manor with gingerbread trim. The male, Marquis, was tall and slim, a bushy moustache bristling under his nose and a bowler hat atop his head. His eyes were smiling and he had an arm around his petit wife, Esmeralda, who was delicately cradling an infant dressed in lacy swaddling clothes.
"I went to school with Marquis Everard. Kingsley began slowly, his eyebrows crinkled in uncertainty, "He was a nice bloke, his family was well-off. Wasn't his father—?"
"Emmett Everard, a former headmaster at Hogwarts." Dumbledore affirmed, the twinkle seeping back into his blue eyes, "That's his estate in the background of the picture. The Everard bloodline is almost as infamous as the Black and Malfoy bloodlines. Marquis was the last male heir in the Everard line, as I found out many years ago."
"What ever happened to him? I don't think I've seen or heard of him in years." Kingsley continued, wondering how an old school friend factored into the impending wizarding war, "Last I heard he was causing his pureblood family grief by marrying a muggle—I think her name was Esmeralda."
"They did in fact marry, despite Marquis being threatened with disinheritance. Dumbledore smiled at the thought of such scandal, "Not many in this day and age would dare go against their family, never mind back then, but Marquis did and he remained heir to the pure bloodline, which was besmirched with the birth of his half-blood daughter."
Yet again Frank Longbottom, the only pureblood wizard in the room, seemed alarmed by the story, "How did Headmaster Everard treat Marquis thereafter? I mean, he not only disobeyed his family, he compromised the bloodline…"
"Though I do not have all the facts, I am confident in one thing: Emmett Everard loved his son unconditionally." Dumbledore replied, expecting such a reaction from Frank, "It is my belief that the love Headmaster Everard had for his son is the reason his grandchild is still alive today."
For once, Alastor Moody had been caught off guard; his mind was working so quickly, trying to piece the story together, he hadn't time to voice all of his questions. The three Aurors remained quiet, yearning for Dumbledore to go on instead of delaying him with their comments.
"Though Marquis married a muggle, his father did not disinherit him or banish him from the Everard manor. Instead, he let Marquis live in his house with his wife, and when his half-blood granddaughter was born, he rejoiced. I always thought Emmett was born well before his time." Dumbledore mused, pausing momentarily as if he were reminiscing days spent with the headmaster, "I was much younger when he was headmaster at Hogwarts, teaching Transfiguration between travelling and researching. He confided many things concerning his family to me.
It was curious to me, then, considering how Headmaster Everard loved his son and grandchild, that he did not mourn when Marquis and his little family tragically died when the Everard manor burnt to the ground."
Silence followed Dumbledore's words, though Moody nodded his head in understanding and a grave dawning spread over Kingsley's features, "Yes…I remember now. That happened almost twenty years ago…I'd completely forgotten about Marquis…"
"It happened precisely sixteen years ago, Kingsley." Dumbledore corrected softly, taking the photograph with one aged hand and scanning it nostalgically, "It was highly publicized in the Prophet. There was even a funeral, though no bodies were found in the wreckage to fill the caskets."
He paused again; Moody's eye swivelled back and forth from Dumbledore's wrinkled face to the tattered photograph, "What does Marquis Everard have to do with anything, Dumbledore?"
"He has to do with everything, Alastor," Dumbledore replied, his blue eyes sharpening, "Now, shall I continue?
As you all know, after Headmaster Everard I became headmaster of Hogwarts. It was shortly after the death of his son that Headmaster Everard fell ill and died; I always wondered if it was out of silent grief, which he never voiced. I was friends with Emmett, and after the death of his son he never mentioned his name again.
Everything about the Everards struck me as odd, though I seemed to be the only one perturbed. I had taught Marquis at Hogwarts when Armando Dippet was headmaster, and he was exceptionally bright, receiving excellent O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S. I wondered how he could've possibly died in a fire when he knew so many spells and charms that could've easily saved him.
So, when he died, I decided I'd curb my curiosity—which I had kept from Headmaster Everard while he was alive—by conferencing with his portrait in my office."
The flaming embers in the felicitous fireplace shimmered orange against their coal-black counterparts, casting warm shadows on the opposite wall, which was filled with portraits of sleeping men and women who had previously presiding over Hogwarts school. There was Phineas Nigellus Black, wearing a dark cloak with his eyes shut (though any who knew him would be aware that he was secretly awake and listening), Dexter Fortescue with his rusting ear trumpet resting in his lap, Dilys Derwent, and lastly Armando Dippet, who was snoring softly.
It was Frank Longbottom who first noticed a portrait missing, "Where is Headmaster Everard's portrait? Shouldn't his be right after Armando Dippet's?"
"Excellent eye, Frank." Dumbledore beamed proudly at the young wizard, suddenly rising to his feet and wandering toward the door; the three wizards stared at him curiously, "I wondered the same thing when I first began using this office. I was so eager to get answers, but it appeared Everard did not have a portrait like all of his predecessors and I would be left to wonder…but I was wrong."
Dumbledore stopped by the ochre door, flanked by two red, fringed window panels, and pulled one of the gold-threaded cords. Two things happened: the red curtains swept aside to reveal bare wall on both sides of the door, and the stone wall opened like a window on each side of the door, sliding back to reveal two muddy canvasses.
"Whoa." Frank Longbottom breathed inaudibly, his eyes fixed on the two portraits, along with Kingsley and Mad-Eye.
In one canvass sat the former headmaster, Emmett Everard, whose alert eyes were open and instantaneously widened at the sight of Moody, Kingsley and Longbottom. He wore an unusual cobalt hat and had a short, stubby beard that extended from his chin up to his ears.
In the other canvass stood two stunning people, a man and a woman, who looked as if they had just broken away from whispering secrets in each other's ears. They were an older version of the smiling couple in the picture Dumbledore had previously passed around, though the man was now clean shaven. They too were frozen in disbelief.
"What is the meaning of this, Dumbledore?" the portrait of Headmaster Everard demanded, his tone less-than polite and his eyes panicked, "I trust you with the life of my granddaughter and ask for your silence and you bring these three here?"
"You and I both know I cannot execute such a plan on my own, Emmett." Dumbledore replied calmly, as if he hadn't been scolded by the portrait, "Each of these wizards, who I might add are trained Aurors and Order of the Phoenix members, will play a crucial role in protecting your granddaughter."
Moody and Kingsley shared confused looks, while Frank look stupefied; Dumbledore continued to reason with the previous headmaster, "I am doing my best to enlighten them on your family's past so that they may fully understand the importance of our situation."
Headmaster Everard looked unconvinced and side-glanced the portrait housing his son and daughter-in-law; Marquis shared a meaningful look with his father and turned his regal stare toward Dumbledore, "Whatever you think is best, Headmaster. Esmeralda and I trust that you will do everything in your power to protect our daughter."
Dumbledore smiled at Marquis approvingly, then turned back to the three befuddled wizards, "Please, gentlemen, take your seats and I will continue the story."
Dumbledore kept the curtains drawn as he settled behind his desk once more, winking briefly at an awed Frank "As you can see, I did manage to find Everard's portrait, though it was weeks after I took office. He was quite surprised when I did, for he intended to reveal himself when the timing was right.
At first he was reluctant to tell me anything, preferring to leave the portrait or ignore my very personal questions. It wasn't until a year later, when the other empty portrait he had hidden filled with the images of his son and daughter-in-law that he decided to include me in his secret plot.
As you all know, a portrait cannot be filled with the image of a person until the time of their death. So, as you can imagine, it was interesting that Marquis and Esmeralda did not appear in their portrait until years after Everards death."
"Are you saying that Marquis and Esmeralda didn't die in that fire?" Kingsley Shacklebolt inquired hesitantly, stealing another look over his shoulder at their portrait.
"Precisely." Dumbledore declared slowly, the firelight reflecting on his glasses, "Headmaster Everard did not mourn the death of his family because he was the only one who knew they were still alive. Now, this is where the story gets interesting."
This time Dumbledore pulled out a flat stone basin that fit in the palm of his hand and deposited it on the desk before the three wizards. Closing his eyes and pointing his wand to his temple, a thin silvery substance slithered out of his head and weightlessly floated into the basin.
When Dumbledore pulled his wand away, the wispy matter condensed and began to form into the tiny figure of a woman. The outline of her body was slightly blurry, but the Aurors could still make out her striking translucent features, such as her bulbous eyes, which looked lifeless, and her frizzy hair. Dumbledore's eyes were transfixed on the woman, who suddenly started to talk in a distant, spine-chilling voice…
Born of muggle and magic
both the halflings of dynasties pure
One with the gift of serpent speech
the other, courage and will to endure
The first, older and hungry
will rise with dark power
The second, young and blooming
will vanquish him in time's bleakest hour
Not because of her strength
nor the emerald in her eye
instead because of her royal marriage
and the baby born nigh
The diaphanous figure of the seer swirled upwards and evaporated across the ceiling after the cryptic prophecy was uttered. The three Aurors, who had stiffened when the creepy voice sounded, were fixated on Dumbledore, their eyes hungry for an explanation of the esoteric speech.
"I'm sure you've all heard of Cassandra Trelawney, the esteemed seer?" Dumbledore pronounced more than inquired, his blue eyes sharpening as he continued, "She recited this prophecy almost twenty years ago, around the time Voldermort began recruiting death eaters. Cassandra had been in Hogsmeade to visit two of her old friends; Emmett Everard, headmaster of Hogwarts, and Igor Karkaroff, headmaster of Durmstrang."
"Karkaroff?" Mad-Eye demanded angrily, a scowl forming on his gnarled face, "We've got him waiting in Azkaban for a Wizengamot trial. He's suspected of being a death eater, the scum."
"I'm glad you mentioned that," Dumbledore said curtly, then continued, "As I was saying, both Everard and Karkaroff heard the chilling prophecy. Everard told no one of it, never one to believe in divination, but Karkaroff did. I am unsure if Karkaroff had already become a death eater and immediately informed Voldermort himself, or if the information was just passed along. Regardless, Voldermort found out about the prophecy.
As I'm sure the three of you have deduced, he is the first "halfing" mentioned. Descended of the pure Slytherin dynasty, though his father was a muggle, Voldermort was rising at the time and could converse in parseltongue.
Naturally, he believed he was the first halfling of the prophecy and became obsessed with the other halfling, who was purported to bore the child that would one day vanquish him. So, the hunt was on."
Alastor Moody's eyes were nearly bulging from his skull; Kingsley Shacklebolt was gripping the arms of his chair with an iron clasp; Frank's jaw looked as if it had been dislocated because his mouth was open so wide. Behind them, the portraits of the Everards looked dour.
Dumbledore was not disconcerted by the staggered looks of his associates and continued, "Voldermort had made it a priority to find a young girl fitting the prophecy's description. She is illustrated as being a half-blood like him, half of her family being revered purebloods and the other being muggle, "blooming" and having "emerald" eyes. He therefore had his patrician death eaters keep a close eye on the rest of the magical nobility.
Then, a year after the prophecy was professed, a scandal in the Everard family; the heir to the name and fortune, Marquis, marries a muggle."
"And they have a daughter…" Frank whispered, his amber eyes aflame with understanding as he mirrored Dumbledore's penetrating expression.
"Mere weeks after the baby was born, Emmett was tipped off by his old friend Cassandra that Voldermort was interested in his grandchild and planned to kidnap her," Dumbledore explained, his mouth moving quickly beneath his overflowing facial hair, "for you see, she was born from a pureblood and a muggle with the greenest pair of eyes I've ever seen, and she was named Lily, after the flower, or bloom.
Headmaster Everard had barely given the prophecy he heard so long ago another thought, but when he recalled it he could not ignore how perfectly his baby granddaughter fit the description. He immediately set to ensuring the safety of his family.
With their daughter, Marquis and Esmeralda went into hiding and Emmett set his family-owned manor on fire, reporting that his family had perished in it to cover their tracks."
"It all makes sense now…" Kingsley whispered, his eyes suddenly darting to the portrait housing Marquis and Esmeralda, "but you said Marquis and his wife appeared in their portrait almost a year after you became headmaster, meaning they must have died a few years after going into hiding?"
Dumbledore nodded, "Voldermort was not fooled by the fire. It took him a few years, but he tracked the Everards down. They were hiding in Poland, waiting for word that Voldermort had been apprehended before they returned to England. They had faith that their daughter wasn't the only one with the ability to stop him; but, alas, they were both found."
"What happened to the baby? Was she killed too?" Moody gruffly asked, though from the conversation Dumbledore had had with Everard's portrait he gathered she wasn't.
"No. Near the end Marquis sensed they were being followed and knew they would soon be exposed, so he made preparations to hide his daughter where Voldermort wouldn't think of finding her." Dumbledore explained efficiently, "She was sent to a poor orphanage in London where she would remain until she was old enough to attend a private school. They decided to send her to an expensive etiquette school in the hopes that she would be integrated into the aristocracy and procure a baby from a royal marriage as the prophecy mentioned she would.
It's been nearly eighteen years, and Voldermort has still not found the child."
"Voldermort didn't torture them or feed them veritaserum to figure out where they'd sent the baby?" Kingsley inquired sceptically, slightly awed that the Everards had kept their daughter hidden, "Surely he had the means."
"Oh, Marquis and Esmeralda were certainly tortured," Dumbledore spoke softly, his voice beginning to sound tired, "but Marquis wiped both his and his wife's memory of their child so, no matter the means, Voldermort would never find out where they had sent Lillian Everard.
Of course, in death, Marquis appeared in his portrait and revealed to his father where he and Esmeralda had sent her, but it was not until tonight that I was informed as well."
"Why weren't you informed at once?" Moody growled automatically, looking ready to rise from his chair, "If the girl that is prophesized to save us all from the Dark Lord is alive, she should be under the Order's constant protection! How do you even know she's still alive if no one has been to check on her?"
"If you'd let me finish," Dumbledore said quietly, blinking at the red-faced man, "Marquis charmed a locket that he fastened around his daughter's neck when he sent her to the orphanage. It has two purposes: one, to conceal any magic that may take place around her from those whom are also magical, and two, to act as a means to watch her from their portrait."
"So Marquis and Esmeralda can see what she's doing right now?" Frank looked shocked at the prospect.
"They can only see and magically protect Lily when she is wearing the locket, which she hasn't been doing regularly for the past couple months," Dumbledore explained, "but tonight, while wearing the locket, she went into…let us say a magical fit…and she smashed it. She broke the charm, so she is no longer magically concealed and we cannot keep an eye on her.
After conferencing with Emmett, Marquis and Esmeralda have decided it is no longer safe to keep Lily at her school, where she has recently been displaying uncontrollable magic. It will not be long before Voldermort finds and kills her."
Frank looked defiant at the possibility, "We won't let that happen. That's why you've called us here, isn't it, Dumbledore? We're going to find her a new hiding spot and keep her protected."
"In a fashion, yes," Dumbledore began, folding his hands and sighing, the three Order members looking determined due to the prospect of such an imperative assignment, "It will be our mission to kidnap her before Voldermort does. My plan is for you three to see her safely to a small cottage on Windermere Lake, where she will stay until I personally move her to Hogwarts for the summer. We set out tomorrow morning to take her away and erase all traces that she ever attended St. Madeline's School for Girls."
The room plunged into silence, Dumbledore's long tale more dire and serious than the professional Aurors had anticipated. This witch, Lily, was the catalyst to ending the war with Voldermort…a simple girl who had no idea she was a witch or that she was being hunted by the most dangerous dark wizard the world had ever seen. She was oblivious to the sacrifice and planning that had gone into her protection, as well as her prophesized fate.
Hours later…
The streets outside were still; no jostled movement or streaks of brilliant light disturbed the muddy canvass that was night. It was uncomfortably hot—the kind of hot that caused annoying perspiration and feverish mutterings—which made sleeping near unbearable. A nasty heat wave had washed over London with the commencement of summer, bringing with it sporadic bouts of thunderous rain and a general feeling of unease. Many didn't dare go outside, the humidity insufferable and fear causing most to feel insecure; London was quickly becoming a ghost town.
There was no evidence of a breeze, no evidence of mischievous human activity, and no evidence of life existing beyond the grimy and broken window in the attic.
Then, two pronounced pops echoed over the landscape, sudden and unnatural. They were loud enough to awaken the sleeping redhead, who had opened her eyes to discover herself sprawled on the floor in the middle of the attic. When Lily groggily pushed herself up and focused her emerald eyes, she noticed her destroyed locket lying in a mass of shattered glass. She picked the trinket up, disoriented, the cool chain slinking between her fingers like running water.
With a wave of reluctant misery, Lily realized the black and white pictures of her parents had gone. How could it be? She searched the hardwood for small bits of paper, running her hands along the floor and cutting her knuckles on the broken glass, but she found nothing in the mess.
"...there's an apparition charm on the school. We'll have to go up through the front door."
Lily momentarily stopped her search, deep voices drifting from the school grounds up to her window. Her crystalline eyes sharpened as she got up from the floor, forgetting the locket as she stealthily shifted toward the window like a snake over water, making sure to keep herself hidden.
Two cloaked figures lingered near the grand oak tree planted awkwardly in the middle of the school lawn, both holding long, spindly looking instruments. They remained shadowed and inconspicuous, both talking in deliberate tones, unbeknownst to Lily's calculated eavesdropping. She was unsettled; not because both figures seemed tall and broad, their voices deep and purposeful, but because of the chilling white masks that hid their faces. Lily couldn't imagine why two grown men would be lurking on the grounds in Halloween costumes; however, from their private conversation, Lily gathered they had more than child's play in mind.
"How are we supposed to know which girl it is?"
"Whichever one displays magical ability...we'll have to check each one and Obliviate them after."
"What's the plan if she puts up a fight? Stun her?"
"From what the Dark Lord says she won't have a wand...it should be effortless."
Lily recoiled as one of the figure's heads intuitively tilted toward her open window, flinging herself against the wall and out of sight. Her heart rapidly pounded in her chest as she covered her mouth with her hand, terrified that the strangers would hear her sharp breathing.
The two figures did not see her, instead treading the mushy grass and heading for the front door of the brick school.
"The doors locked." one of the strangers announced stupidly, trying the handle.
"Are you or are you not a wizard?" the more authoritative figure spat viciously, "Alohomora!"
Lily froze, chills inching up her spine and causing panic to well in her stomach. They'd gotten into the school without a key...
Their strange conversation reeled in Lily's head, playing over and over again like a broken record. These two men spoke of wizards and wands and a Dark Lord... It sounded like the rubbish that made up children's fairytales...
Then Lily remembered the letter she'd received over a month ago, a letter stating that she was a witch...
Suddenly a crash sounded from downstairs, followed by the muffled cursing of, Lily guessed, the stupider of the two masked men. Lily hadn't a clue what they were doing, but she instinctively knew it wasn't good. They spoke of finding a girl...a girl with magical ability...and obliviating all those who did not. What did obliviate and stun mean? By the tone of their voices, it didn't sound positive.
The hair on the back of Lily's neck reared like a frightened cat's when the nearby staircase creaked under pounding footsteps. Her mouth went dry, fear formulating behind her pupils.
Scrambling, Lily dropped to her knees and pocketed her locket, the only possession she valued. Her eyes flitted about the room, looking for a way out, and just as she decided upon leaving the attic and finding another room to hide in, Lily heard the intruders, clear as day, outside of her room.
"We'll both endure the torture curse for this." the sulky, smaller man hissed fearfully as he collapsed into a chair in the room outside the attic, "There's nothing magical here as far as I can tell."
"Homenum Revelio." the sharper man said silkily, a pause following his strange, elegant words, "I wouldn't give up so quickly, Wilkes. There is another person nearby...check the attic, now."
Lily froze, stricken with fear as she covered her mouth with her hands, bile threatening to spill from her throat onto the floor. The only escape was out the window, but there was no way she climb out soundlessly or fast enough. She was trapped.
The bulkier of the two men clambered up the stairs of the attic—a mask still plastered on his face—and tried the handle of the attic door. It was locked, but instead of skilfully picking it open like a normal burglar, he muttered something under his breath that caused the door to open on its own.
Please God, make me invisible. Make me invisible so I can survive this.
The two cloaked men entered the barren room and shut the door, taking in its old, frazzled appearance. The bed was unmade, the sheets astray and singed at the edges, a large fissure ran down the middle of the splintered floor, the windows were broken, and shattered glass coated every surface. It looked like a tornado had blown through.
"She was most certainly here…" the tall man whispered, his voice laced with danger as he carefully walked to the middle of the room, glass menacingly crunching under his shoes. Each footstep made Lily's heart palpitate faster, "Check under the bed, the wardrobe and the trunk."
The other man did as he was told, even popping his head outside the window. It wasn't until a sliver of light fell upon Lily's face when knobby fingers appeared beneath the lid of the trunk, lifting it upwards, that she fearfully closed her eyes and stopped breathing, afraid to see the figure's triumphant smile. She could feel his warm, stinking breath on her neck; hear the intensity of his dog-like panting.
But Lily did not hear his satisfied chuckle or feel him roughly pull her by the arms out of the trunk in which she hid and present her to his malevolent partner. Instead, as if by some miracle, he idly closed the trunk lid and continued searching the room for her.
"There's no one here, the charm must just be picking up the other girls in the school." the portly man explained in annoyance, stopping his search, "Perhaps she climbed out the window before we arrived…"
"The Dark Lord will not be pleased. He expected to have the girl by tonight. He has been waiting for a long time." the other man said more to himself than his companion, scooping up a piece of glass in his ashen hand and examining its reflective surface, "We shall take care of this tomorrow morning. We'll have the nuns hand her over to us, and no one will even notice her missing."
The two hooded men swept out of the room and slammed the door shut behind them, leaving the attic in a tomblike silence. Lily could hear them ambling down the stairs.
It wasn't until their voices ceased sounding on the grounds and two strident pops echoed that Lily dared lift the lid of the small trunk and peer out. Her heart was in her throat, her stomach twisted into knots when she shakily climbed out and crept toward the window to see the grounds void of the terrifying intruders.
"How did they not see me?" Lily whispered softly, her unfocused eyes staring out into the night as reason and curiosity began to tame her instinctive fear, "I was an arms-length away..."
A thought occurred to Lily, the most imaginative and illogical she'd dreamt in awhile. She was scared to turn around and look at her face in the mirror, though she wasn't sure if that was because what she imagined was true or because it couldn't be true.
All her life she'd struggled to define herself, to figure out what made her special and set her apart from others. She could immodestly admit that she was wittier than most, much bolder than most girls her age and that her eyes were the greenest she'd ever seen...but that wasn't enough. She'd always felt different, like an alien among her peers; the feeling was both terrifying and comforting.
Lily yearned to be set apart from others not because of her lack of wealth or due to her orphan status, but because of who she was and what she could accomplish. It was, however, very hard for her to figure out whom she really was when her past was lost along with her parents.
Lily mustered the courage to look over her shoulder into the dusty mirror opposite her bed. The image that met her made her gasp, realization spreading throughout her newly-energized body. It affirmed what she thought, and despite the trauma of the night, a smile flitted across her face.
She was invisible.
Lilt got up off her bed and walked closer to the mirror, her reflection absent from the reflective glass. Her wonder-filled eyes softened as a novel feeling coursed through her body and filled her with newborn possibilities—possibilities which momentarily distracted her from her harsh, scary reality.
"I'm a… witch." Lily murmured in awe, running her fingertips along the cool glass of the mirror and examining her transparent hands.
She stood in front of the mirror for nearly a half an hour, motionless, frozen as if she had sprouted roots that had grown through the floorboards. She pinched herself multiple times, but she was not sleeping.
Later she quietly crept back into her trunk and shut the heavy lid in case the masked men returned. She began forming a plan for the next morning.
The corridors in St. Madeline's were quiet; the students who remained there were still in bed, as well as many of the nuns. Only the cooks and maids were awake, but they remained busy in the kitchens or the dining hall, preparing for breakfast. Streams of blue light poured through the glass doors at the front of the school, making dust swirl in the illuminated beams that kissed the floors, while the soft pitter-patter of rain sounded on the front stoop, mingling with the gentle rumble of thunder.
The basement door creaked open and Lily Evans stepped out, having ducked in previously because one of the morning maids had turned down the hallway she was occupying. When she was certain the coast was clear, Lily stepped back out into the hall and made for Sister Agatha's office, her school pumps clicking all the way.
The double doors, stained a deep mahogany with bulbous brass handles, loomed before Lily like the doors of a prison cell. Etched on the golden plate mounted on the entrance was Sister Agatha, Headmistress. Lily pressed her ear to the door to check if anyone was inside, and when she heard no sound, she began picking the gritty lock with one of her hair pins.
A click reverberated down the hall and one of the gilded doors opened.
Lily slinked into Agatha's office and quietly closed the door behind her, praying had been undetected. When she turned to take in the décor of the office, Lily noticed it was just as Agatha had left it; shadowed, with the curtains shut, smelling strongly of lemon oil and barren. Lily felt a nervous sensation in her belly as she pierced the room, for she felt a set of eyes on the back of her head, watching her every move.
Brushing away the uneasy feeling, Lily paced behind Agatha's polished desk and pulled open the largest drawer filled with student files. Lily's hand brushed over multiple names, her eyes momentarily stopping to nostalgically take in the name of her best friend, until it paused.
Lily's heart stopped as a cold feeling crept up her arms and fizzled at her finger tips. Her file, which she'd plucked from the drawer to examine, was empty. Her name, once written in perfect cursive, now read Anna-Lily Pevans.
"What…?" Lily whispered as panic welled in her extraordinary eyes.
Lily realized that not only had someone found her file and stolen all the information inside of it, they'd also altered her name. Whoever had beaten Lily to finding her file had seen to it that she appeared to have never attended St. Madeline's. It was her intention to destroy the file herself, but someone had done it for her…
Just then a slip of paper fluttered out of the file she presumed to be empty and landed near her feet. Lily scooped up the page and knelt behind Agatha's desk to read it.
Anna-Lily Pevans
Birthday: June 5, 1922
Parents: Arthur and Leigh Pevans
Current Location: Australia until the war is over…
The sheet continued to provide information concerning Anna-Lily, including her banking expenses and grades—all of which were made up, for there was no student with such a name at St. Madeline's. Whoever had stolen her file and replaced it with faulty information had gone to a lot of trouble to do so…
Lily placed the sheet back into the vandalized file and closed the drawer, supposing it would do no good to steal it. She didn't quite know how to feel about it. The only people Lily supposed could've done it were the masked men that broke in last night looking for her…but when she overheard them talking they didn't seem to know her name. If so, how could they know which file was hers? Did they take her file to ensure that there would be no information to give the police when the nuns reported her missing?
The more she thought about it, the more it scared her. Just as Lily got up from the floor to leave, the brass handle began to turn—as if in slow motion—and three voices sounded behind the door. The hot blood in her veins turned to ice as she looked about the room for a hiding spot.
"Please gentlemen, come in," a large woman beckoned politely, opening the door to the office and gesturing for the two business-like men that followed her to sit in the chairs before the desk, "Shall I have one of the maids fetch some tea?"
"No. We would like to get down to business straightaway."
Lily nearly choked; Sister Agatha, the person she hated most in the entire world, had returned to school just in time for her grand escape.
Even more disturbing, so had the two masked men.
Two gentlemen followed Sister Agatha, who appeared to have gotten larger on sick leave, into her office, both dressed in formal black suits. One, who Lily instantly recognized because of his malicious, hushed voice, had slick blonde hair that draped down his back and a snobbish disposition. His transparent gray eyes coldly scrutinized every detail and he impatiently tapped the floor with an odd artefact; a black cane with the silver head of a fang-bearing snake. In contrast, the other man was shorter and plumper with round watery eyes and a receding hairline.
"Of course, gentlemen; let me open my filing cabinet. Shall we begin with the names of those girls who remain?" Sister Agatha asked pointedly, settling herself at her desk and moving forward in her chair.
From the view of those who entered Agatha's office, the front of her desk was a solid piece of carved wood. While sitting at it her legs would never be in view. It was in the alcove where Sister Agatha's legs belonged where Lily hid; this not only prevented the masked men and Agatha from noticing her, but it also prevented her from seeing the identities of her soon-to-be captors.
Lily silently whimpered; her spine was flush with the back of the desk. Sister Agatha's pointed shoe was almost touching her leg; if she kicked it Lily would surely be exposed.
"How many girls still reside in this school, Sister?" the blonde man asked silkily, propping his cane on the nun's desk and moving forward; the pudgy man remained silent, "We, at the Bureau, need to garner an idea of how many girls we'll have to relocate to safe houses outside of England, you see…"
Sister Agatha pulled a stack of files from her desk—the same files Lily had just riffled through—and plunked them in front of the men, "I expect we have about twenty girls still here. Some parents haven't gathered their daughters yet because they haven't yet made suitable arrangements or their boats haven't landed in England. As I'm sure you two gentlemen know, the ports into Britain are heavily guarded these days—"
"This shall factor into our decision, of course. Have you any girls that won't be looked after? Perhaps because…they haven't any parents? These types of girls would be our first priority…"
Lily's eyes went wide beneath the desk; she was the only orphan at St. Madeline's.
"We do have one particular girl…" Sister Agatha began slowly, her voice becoming thicker and strained at the thought of Lily, "She's an orphan…an awful lot of trouble, this girl. I imagine she's the type that should be last in line to receive such protection. The other girls have wealthier families, and—,"
"What is this girl's name?" the slick man cut in sharply, ignoring Sister Agatha's protest, "I should like to meet her without delay. Where is her room?"
"The name is Lily Evans. We have limited space, you know, so she's been placed in the attic…" Sister Agatha started uncertainly, afraid the two representatives of the National Children's Bureau would condemn her for such poor treatment of a student, "But really, gentlemen, I'm sure there's a better candidate—"
"She's perfect. Won't you hand me her file?" the taller man snapped, holding out his hand impatiently as the nun bit her lip and began to shuffle through the papers.
"How strange…her file doesn't appear to be here." Sister Agatha sputtered, the instantaneous rage on the man's face making her stagger blinkingly, "One of the other nuns must've taken it to another office. She's really quite a troublemaker, I'm sure they—"
"Forget the file then. Bring us up to her room at once. Don't you know we have other places to be? A bomb could drop at any moment and you're making us wait." the man demanded rashly, his disguise, like his tolerance for the muggle, beginning to shatter.
After all, he hated muggles.
"M-m-my apologies! If you will just follow me, gentlemen." the nun rose from her seat, her putrid feet still inches from Lily's face, and left the office with the two men marching in her wake.
Lily immediately sprang upwards, perspiration blanketing her forehead, and peeked over the desk. She saw the rotund man's feet disappearing up the stairs in a thunder of heavy footsteps, Agatha having left the doors to her office open, and realized it was her chance.
She had to run.
Lily jumped to her feet and looked about the room wildly. She's prepared a small bag full of bread, a few containers of water and some pound notes she'd nicked from the kitchen earlier that morning, but she hadn't thought to bring the bag with her. It wasn't her plan to escape now, but she no longer had any choice.
Beneath the bookshelf on the opposite wall was a pedestal table filled with assorted objects, one of them being a small wooden jewellery box. On the lid there were imprints of cherry blossoms outlined in gold leaf, while around the edge of the box was foreign text, perhaps Japanese.
Lily crossed the room and wrenched the box open, running her hands over the few gold chains and crosses in the first shelf before removing the top layer. As she had anticipated, in the bottom lay three stacks of paper money, bound together with elastics. Empting out the book bag that hung on the back of Agatha's chair, Lily filled it with the money and slung it over her shoulder.
She lingered in the doorway for a moment, looking down the length of the corridor outside to be sure no nuns or students were prowling about, before slipping out of the office toward the door.
Bits of diluted light filtered through the double door entrance, and once Lily reached it she threw her weight against it, making a loud thudding noise. She gulped back panic when she realized it had been locked and felt the breath leave her lungs as she reached on the tips of her toes for the manual cylinder lock near the top of the door. Fucking common! Oh my god, oh my god, please open, please—
"Lily Evans, I presume."
Just as the lock slid open, Lily felt a knobby hand grab her shoulder and spin her roughly around. Lily yelped, her eyes filling with terror, as she stared into the blue eyes of the stocky, brutish man that she thought had disappeared upstairs. She recognized his stinking breath from the night before and could barely choke back her alarm.
"Thinking of running, were you?" the bulky man laughed hoarsely, bearing his butter-coloured teeth as he menacingly grinned down at the speechless girl, "We've spent a great deal of time trying to find you, my dear…!"
Lily made to run to the left, but both of the man's enormous hands clamped on her upper arms, rendering her motionless, "Let me go, p-p-please! I'll do anything—"
"You're a pretty thing, aren't you?" the ugly man whispered dangerously, briefly removing a hand from Lily's arm to comb it through her long hair; Lily stiffened in fright, "Such a waste. I do wish you were my plaything…but you know… Lucius isn't back yet…I might as well have some fun with you…"
Just as the man's grimy hand slid from Lily's rouge hair to the hem of her kilt, his bulging eyes focused on her exposed legs, Lily abruptly turned the handle of the door with her free hand and threw her weight backwards, sending the door flying open and the grotesque man, who had been leaning on the wooden frame, plunging to the ground.
Squinting in the pouring rain, Lily steadied herself with the door knob and skittishly stepped around the momentarily befuddled man, breaking into a frenzied run. With her pack slung over her shoulder, Lily tried to make a mad dash for the street, wet hair obscuring her vision, but the man effortlessly caught her by the ankle with his sweaty palms. Lily screamed and tumbled to the ground, scrapping her knees and elbows, and struggled to free herself as the animalistic brute clawed at her legs and flashed his yellowing fangs.
"LET ME GO!" Lily screamed shrilly, fearful tears welling in her eyes as her tendons and muscles exploded in panic; her attacker looked like a tiger deranged with starvation, ready to devour her.
"Shut up, wench!" the man growled dangerously, red veins snaking into the whites of his eyes as he covered the hysterical girl's mouth with his repulsive hand; Lily contorted her neck, wrenching her lips free, and instinctively bit down on two fingers of the man's hand, causing him to yowl in agony.
The man, now furious, subdued her wild kicking by looping one arm around her legs and, with his emancipated hand, forcefully struck Lily across the face, causing her to go limp and her thrashing to cease. As he reached for his back pocket, ready to extract his weapon, a beam of red, agile light rocketed over Lily's wilting figure and seared his left shoulder, making him recoil in pain and drop his thick, stubby wand.
Lily gasped as the man fell backwards, clutching his painful shoulder and muttering an assortment of curses; though her vision was blurry, she saw her attacker's eyes suddenly grow wide as he spotted something across the empty street, "MALFOY! SHE'S DOWN HERE, SHE'S—ARGH!"
Lily stifled a scream as another bolt of light, this time blue, bluntly hit the grizzly man in the face and caused his once watery indigo eyes to spill over with a black, congealing substance; it was one of the most gruesome things Lily had ever witnessed, for the man appeared to be crying tar. He flailed and let out a blood-curdling scream, clawing at his ruined retinas like a possessed man fighting an exorcism.
"MY EYES! I CAN'T SEE; MY EYES!"
Lily fervently crawled as far away from the distressed man as she could, horrified at what she was witnessing. She felt the contents of her stomach lunging up her throat and had to clap a hand over her mouth and look away to stop from crying out. Lily turned away from the man towards the street, hoping the aversion would help her pull herself together; instead, she grew more panicked as she saw a middle-aged, poorly shaven man sprinting towards her from across the street, a wand in his hand…
"Wilkes?" a voice sounded from above, causing Lily's frazzled attention to advert to her attic window; a man with lengthy whitish hair was leaning out the window, his disbelieving eyes matching the astounded expression on his perfect face.
Just as his eyes began to progress from his associate to the petrified girl slumped in the grass nearby, Lily turned and staggered to her feet, scampering in the opposite direction. She screamed as a purple shaft of light missed her by inches and blew a hole in the ground, but she steadied herself and kept running, adrenaline and fear urging her forward.
The black-haired man that Lily had spotted across the street was running toward her, his determined features and serious demeanour now discernable; Lily despairingly came to a halt, ready to veer to the left to escape him, but he did not slow as he approached her.
"GET INTO THE STREET! KEEP RUNNING!" he demanded authoritatively as he ran past her, a long instrument grasped tightly in his hand; his brown eyes were tough and vigilant, "FIND COVER!"
Lily hadn't the chance to reply or even think; the nimble man suddenly threw himself on the wet ground, somersaulting to his feet and racing towards her blonde attacker as a bolt of violent jade light narrowly missed him…
Lily gasped and instinctively understood he was trying to defend her. She didn't have time to comprehend what was going on or what fear-inspiring things she'd just witnessed; all she knew was that she was in danger and she had to escape.
Lily blindly hurtled into the street, soaked hair whipping her in the face as she jerked her head around to see if she was being followed. A few people congregated in front of shops and pubs watched her bizarrely run past, but she paid them no mind. Her lungs were screaming for oxygen, but she did not pause to catch her breath.
Having no concept of her dodgy surroundings or the shady district she had just hurtled into, Lily turned down a thin, abandoned alley, hoping she had lost anyone that might have been trailing her. As she headed for the piles of trash and green dumpsters at the end of the alley, tired and unfocused, a door suddenly swung open and Lily, who was taken by surprise, was pulled inside the grimy brick building.
Plunged into darkness, Lily reached her breaking point and began to wildly scream and thrash out at her attacker, whose face she was unable to see; the only problem was, no sound was emitting from her throat.
"It's alright! Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you! Lumos."
Suddenly the inside of the abandoned warehouse was illuminated, as well as the identity of the man that was attempting to restrain Lily. Lily's panicked eyes flitted from the face of the young, attractive man that held her forearm to the exceptionally long wand he held in his other hand, the tip ablaze like the flame of a candle.
"If you promise not to scream, I'll give you your voice back," the man began slowly, warily watching the redhead, who looked on the brink of hysteria.
Lily bit the bottom of her lip and side-glanced the warehouse door before meeting the chary gaze of her captor and nodding meekly. The man sighed and muttered something under his breath, pointing his wand at Lily's throat; she scrunched up her eyes, thinking it would hurt, but merely felt a rush of air swirl up her windpipe.
"Bloody hell." Lily gasped, coughing slightly as she clutched her throat in disbelief and looked up into the man's eyes, "What's going on? What do you want with me?"
"Listen Lily, I don't have time to explain. I know none of this makes sense, and you don't know me, but I need you to trust me." the man breathed earnestly, appearing almost as unnerved as she was; Lily couldn't mistake the sincereness in his eyes and felt instinctively compelled to believe him, "Will you trust me?"
Lily suspiciously eyed the pleading man with his outstretched hand for a moment, taking in the regal shape of his face, the pale colour of his eyes and his straight brunette hair. Again her curious eyes fixated on his wand, the mysterious instrument of magic she had glimpsed tightly clutched in the hands of many since the night before.
It had all happened so fast—the masked men trying to kidnap her, breaking in Agatha's office, running away from school…and now, discovering she, like all the other people she'd encountered in the past 24 hours, was magic.
Everything was strange and frightening, but Lily couldn't help feeling she had finally uncovered the path she was supposed to be on. It was like she'd taken a detour and been led astray, and now, with everything that had happened, she was beginning to discover who and what she truly was.
The magical world in which she belonged was beginning to reveal itself, and Lily couldn't fathom walking away from it.
Without a word, Lily's tranquil eyes, the colour of emerald, met the stranger's and she took his soft hand in her own. He nodded with a small, reassuring smile and closed his eyes; Lily breathed deliberately, trying to calm herself as she experienced the sensation of being hooked by her naval and pulled backwards.
The dusty warehouse plummeted back into its empty darkness. They were gone.
Author's Notes
THANK YOU to all the loyal readers & reviewers that have expressed how much they enjoy this story and all my stories!
Love ya'll xox
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