What Have We Wrought
By Yugogirl
Part 3/3
Finally, the day came when all of Lily's preparations were complete. As James dropped off to sleep beside her, she felt guilty that she'd given him a glass of wine laced with a sleeping draught. However, she didn't fancy trying to explain what she was doing, or where she was going, when she slipped out of the house tonight.
She winced getting out of bed. Baby Harry was particularly active, providing a welcome distraction from what she was preparing to do. Every kick, every toss and turn in her belly, reminded her of the importance of tonight's task.
The instructions had required the spell be performed at a relative's gravesite. Lily had decided upon her grandmother's grave. The poor woman had lost three out of four children, before finally carrying Lily's mother to term. Lily thought that that might have a bearing on the positive outcome of her task.
Although she was dabbling in the Dark Arts, she'd convinced herself that the only thing that classified this particular spell as dark was the animal sacrifice. She tried to convince herself that she felt no guilt about that aspect of the spell. After all, her neighbor's cat had fortuitously led her to a rat's nest. She appropriated one of the babies before the cat could make a meal of it. What was the life of one baby rat, originally destined as cat food, compared to the life of her baby son? It didn't bear thinking about. Nevertheless, she felt a bit of disquiet at the impending sacrifice.
Her torch did not seem to make much of a dent in the forbidding darkness. She set it down, making her preparations in the uncertain light. She fired the coals in the brazier, setting her cauldron on top. After laying out her supplies, including the caged rat, she began. She slowly added the ingredients in their specified order, stirring and chanting. She nearly gagged when a stray breeze wafted the noxious fumes in her face. She forced down her nausea, knowing that any stop along the way, now that she'd begun, would prove disastrous. Finally, she was down to the last steps. She cut a lock of her hair, tossing it on the brazier. As if flared, she grabbed the unfortunate rat, holding it tightly above the cauldron. As it was her child's heart that was defective, the rat's heart was required to complete the potion.
She felt as if she were divided in two. One portion of herself, coldly, calmly, and dispassionately completed the spell. The other hovered above the scene, appalled. She chanted the final words of the incantation, as the rat's heart was separated from its body, and added to the cauldron.
With her final act, her two selves were abruptly reunited. The air surrounding the cauldron was suddenly whipped by an invisible wind. Green fire flared brightly, expanding to envelop her in its hellish depths. The pain was so sudden, so intense, and so abrupt, that she felt, for a moment, as if her own heart had ceased to beat. She did not even have the breath to scream as she curled down to the ground, finally, blessedly, losing consciousness.
An indeterminate amount of time later, she woke up, her body one tremendous ache. She blinked her eyes as her thoughts rearranged themselves. She shivered, and not just from the cold. The brazier had long since gone out. The faint hint of dawn on the horizon did nothing to ease the oppressive darkness which surrounded her. She wanted to get out of here, as fast as possible. She was loath to touch any of the items that she'd brought with her, feeling the darkness which emanated from them. Her thoughts seemed slow and sluggish.
Finally, she decided that the only thing she absolutely should not leave behind, was the book. This was not because she felt any great obligation to return it to Snape. Rather, she feared what might happen should anyone else stumble across its contents. She did not want to touch it. Fortunately, she had wrapped the brazier in a cloth. As she did not intend to keep the brazier, she covered her hand with the cloth, and thusly, covered the book.
She made her way slowly home, her feet dragging. As she neared the cottage, she suddenly realized that Harry's restlessness had a pattern to it. In fact, it was more than restlessness. She was in labour.
She took a long, hot shower, still not feeling clean even after the water had begun to go cold. Her contractions were still paced well apart, so she knew that she had some time before she would actually be giving birth. She looked in the mirror, and, for a moment, did not recognize herself. She looked washed out, totally drained. She heard James beginning to stir. At least she could use the fact that she was in labour as an excuse for her appalling condition.
She did not know if, later, there would be a price to be paid for what she'd done this night. However, the one thing that she now knew, with an unshakable certainty, was that her child would live.
~end~