All things Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling. This is an amateur work of fanfiction and no infringement is intended.
Title: Lily Potter: Year One, The Chamber and House Secrets
Author: tainteddr34ms
Rating: Mature. Adult themes.
Pairing: Lily/Ginny Femslash eventually.
Beta: Leigh
Author's note: This story probably qualifies as a girl!harry story but it's really about a very dark Lily Potter. Very much AU. Chapter titles are title's and lyrics from some of my favorite songs. A few pieces of dialogue are directly quoted from HPatSS. And please review. Please. Updates will come quicker with reviews. Shouldn't be that way, but they do inspire. It's a fact.
Lily Potter: Year One, A Chamber and House Secrets
Chap 2
Make Believing that I Have a Soul Beneath the Surface
I'm not sure I like Diagon Alley very much. Too many people jostling about, completely ignorant of those of us too short and small to challenge the sea of bodies for space, or air. As hard as the crowd unwittingly tries to pull me away, Mrs. Weasley's grip is stronger. She never lets go of my hand no matter how many directions the bodies try to suck me in.
A weight's been lifted from me. Crying helped. Well, that and the realization I'm not going back, even if I push the Weasleys away, I'm not going back. This isn't a dream, no matter how fantastical it seems. . My life in Little Whinging is over, done for good. Behind me. Like my freakish nature. I killed a Dark Lord when I was a baby and a half dozen people have already stopped us to dramatically thank me as we make our way to Flourish and Blotts. I had to cover my scar by letting my hair hang over my face just so we could cross the street. I'm not a freak at all here. I'm a hero.
So are Mum and Dad. Hagrid told me this morning they died protecting me from the wizard I ended up killing. Not the useless, drug addled drunks the Durseleys portrayed them as. I hated Mum and Dad so much for dying in an alcohol fueled car crash that, according to Aunt Petunia, left me with the lightning bolt scar on my forehead, a permanent testament they loved partying more than me. Every time I looked in the mirror I'd be reminded how much I hated them, hated myself for surviving. I even started to believe I deserved all the abuse the Durseley's doled out to me for surviving.
Stopping at the bookstore briefly, we fetch Ginny. She leaves a large stack of books at the front counter with a promise that we'll be back for them as soon as we finish at the bank. My school books, she explains to me. She still remembers the list from the week before when she got her own set.
The shop buildings we pass look so old fashioned. It's not just the darkened woodwork of their exteriors or the lack of electric lighting; they're cobbled together too closely, like the new's just been shoved in between, or stacked atop, the old, for generations, blending together with no rhyme or reason.
My eyes are drawn to one shop in particular. Its large glass window display is filled with girl's clothes, brightly colored dresses, skirts, blouses and shirts. I've never been allowed girls clothes, just Dudley's hand me downs. The colors and styles captivate me as I stand there and stare. With a quick tug on my sleeve, Ginny pulls me away, leading me towards the biggest building in the place.
It towers over everything else nearby, its snowy, marble façade shining in the bright, late morning sun. Thick, tall pillars line each corner of the building, giving it a Romanesque appearance. It looks so out of place compared to the rest of the shops and buildings, no stacking or blending of mismatched blocks.
As we shuffle up the stone steps, I stare at a small statue of a bearded and deformed man standing at the top. A little squeak escapes my lips as it bows deeply to me.
I shrink into Mrs. Weasley's side as Ginny says, "It's just a goblin, nothing to be scared of. They run the bank."
"They look mean," I say softly, relaxing a bit and letting some space grow between me and Mrs. Weasley.
"Yeah, well, they are bankers," Ginny says, smiling cheekily. Her smile gives me that confusing, falling feeling again.
I can't help the giggle that escapes as we go inside through the silver doors.
-LNP-
As we walk up to the teller's window, one of many along the long counter, Mrs. Weasley says, "Ms. Lily Potter would like to make a withdrawal from her vault."
I have a vault?
The goblin behind the counter looks me up and down a moment then asks, "Does Ms. Potter have her key?"
"Yes," Mrs. Weasley says, pulling a large, hand sized key out of a coat pocket and sliding it over to him. He steps to the side to examine the key more closely in a dim pool of light cast from a large oil lamp. I gawk dazedly across a long, low table running parallel to the counter. A goblin weighs a fist sized pile of what must be rubies by their red color on a balance scale. I have no real idea of their worth. As the teller steps back in front of us, blocking my view of the gems, I snap out of my trance.
"Everything seems to be in order," he says, waving the key at Mrs. Weasley a few times. Turning his head, he yells out, "Griphook!" I jump a little at the volume, but before I can even blink, there's another goblin standing beside him, bowing.
"Yes, sir?" the second goblin asks. He's shorter and more hunched over then the teller. Meaner looking, with a sharper face and a long, pointed beard.
"Show Ms. Potter to her vault," the teller says, handing the key over to Griphook.
-LNP-
I could've done without the rollercoaster ride, especially one on such creaky, wobbly, wooden tracks. I'm the only one it leaves green though, the other three seem totally unfazed by the hellish ride. I swallow the bile back hard, trying to keep from puking a second time today. At least there weren't any loop-da-loops.
We stand in front of a small, dark, metal door. Griphook inserts my key into the lock and turns it. With a quick, hard tug from the goblin, the door swings opens with a harsh, loud creak. Clouds of green smoke billow out, taking several moments to clear. Eyes bugging, mouth falling open, I'm shocked at the humongous pile of gold coins filling my vault. Reminds me of Uncle Scrooge's money vault in Duck Tales. Not as big maybe, but if you could actually swim in gold coins, I'd be able to without any problem.
I really have no idea how much it's all worth, but I'm stunned. Numbness spreads out from the center of my chest.
"I'm filthy rich and I was forced to live in a cupboard," I say softly through clenched teeth. Barely above a whisper. "He let them… He left me there and let them…" Part of me wants to cry. But I don't. Why? I know I'm safe now, with people who I think care. Oh, and bloody rich too. There's still some anger in me, but the person I want to lash out at isn't here so I bite back the urge.
"Time is money," Griphook says, handing me a small pouch.
"Go ahead and fill it up," Mrs. Weasley says, giving me a soft shove towards the door. As I step into the vault, she adds, "The gold ones are Galleons. There should be some silver Sickles and bronze Knuts in there too. Seventeen sickles to a galleon and twenty nine knuts to a sickle."
I nod, not really paying attention even though I know I should. I just open the sack and fill it with as many gold coins as it'll hold. Amazingly, the pouch doesn't weigh any more filled than empty.
-LNP-
A soft bell rings as we enter Madam Malkin's well-lit shop. A pudgy, smiling woman, wearing plum colored robes, stands in the back of the shop. Beside her, a pasty, pointed faced blond boy perches atop a footstool, trying on a set of unfinished, charcoal grey robes. Another woman kneels next to him, pinning the robe he wears.
The first woman turns to us as the boy gives us a look of pure disdain, muttering, "Weasleys," under his breath.
"Hogwarts, dear?" she asks me.
Mrs. Weasley gives me a little shove towards the lady, saying, "Yes, she needs robes and a uniform."
Madam Malkin leads me over to a stool near the boy. As I stand up on it, she pats my back softly, saying, "Such a shame the robes have to be black, because I have the perfect green for your robes. It would contrast nicely with your red hair and compliment your complexion. I'll be right back."
"So," says the boy contemptuously, nose pointing up. "Where did Weasel's parents dig you up?" I turn to look for Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, but they're busy going through racks of clothing on the other side of the shop. "With that red hair of yours, I'd say you're a relative from a family so poor, being a Weasel is a step up, instead of some mudblood charity case."
I sigh. He'd fit right in with Dudley's gang. Or at least be a good partner for Piers, mean with words instead of fists. I have no idea what 'mudblood' means, but it's pretty obvious it's not a nice word. Sounds, I don't know…racist maybe? I wish Ginny was here beside me instead of on the other side of the store with her mum. I don't know why, but the closer she is the better I feel. He's maybe a year older than me. Hard to tell. He gives me a smug look when I don't answer.
"They're nice," I eventually say in a defensive whisper, fighting the urge to look down at my feet. I don't know why I say anything, I hate confrontations. Or I used to. A small inferno burns in my chest and tummy, wanting to lose control. Ginny and her mum are the nicest people I've ever met, so I need to do something. Or at least say something.
Lifting my head, I run my fingers over my forehead from bottom to top, pulling my bangs up with them. His eyes widen in surprise when I look directly at him. "You're Lily Potter!" he gasps, seeing my scar. The first few times people saw it was kinda nice, but being famous gets old very fast. But fame has its uses.
"Yes," I say with more force than I'm used to. I sound kinda barky.
"You should pick better friends," he says. "The Weasleys may be old blood, but they betray everything that means." Huh? He sounds like a Nazi. Or at least like he's of noble birth but just hasn't caught on to the 20th century yet. Maybe a bit of both? No way to know if I'm right, but I have the strongest feeling his family was well acquainted with Voldemort, even friendly. "The Potter name still means something. Don't destroy your reputation by associating with the wrong kind of families." Yeah, a bit of both.
"Almost as bad as being a mudblood," he mutters, like he's unsure he wants me to hear or not. So much venom in the last word, I have to resist the urge to take a step back and tumble off the stool.
"What's that mean?" I ask in a stern tone. Well, the sternest tone I can manage, anyway. At least I don't sound like the pipsqueak I normally do.
"Muggle born," he says. "Or descended from muggle born. Filth!" He barks the last word. I already learned what muggle means. Non magical. Mum was muggle born. I wish I knew a good hex. He just insulted her. And me too. Twice, since that's the second time he's used the horrid word. Out of touch noble and a Nazi for sure.
Hagrid told me this morning that Mum was nothing like my relatives made her out to be. She died in a war, trying to save me; not as a drug addled drunk in a car crash like I'd been led to believe.
Not that I'd actually do anything if I knew a good hex anyway. Or maybe I would. I have no idea. Honestly, I can see myself embracing my anger once I know enough to get away with it. On the other hand, I can also see me just trying to hide in a corner somewhere, hoping I won't be noticed.
"And who would you be?" I ask, surprising myself by matching his contemptuous tone and mixing in some confidence. More confrontational than I intended, but I'm done being walked on. I won't take the bullying anymore. Especially not about Mum or the Weasleys.
"Draco Malfoy," he answers with a slight nod, like his name should carry some great weight.
"My mum's family isn't magical." I say, my voice never losing its edge.
He looks stricken as he goes pale, like he has a lot more to fear than a tiny, eleven year old witch who wanted to disappear a few moments ago. But then again, I'm famous for killing a Dark Lord, so maybe it is me he fears after all. Especially with the anger I know has to be twisting my face.
"I'm a second year," he says, like his words will somehow erase his meanness. He frowns as I shrug.
My body starts tingling all over as the small inferno consumes me, becomes a firestorm of pent up rage. My hair billows like a strong gust of wind blows it about. But there's no wind, just me.
A look of panic crosses his narrow face. "Look, I'm trying to help you…" It's pretty obvious he has no idea I'm clueless about magic.
"Whatever," I say, interrupting his apology.
"I come from a proud, pureblood family dating back…"
"That doesn't make you better than my mum, or me," I say. Under my breath, I add snidely, "Maybe more inbred than us…"
"How dare you!" he seethes, his fear forgotten.
"How dare I?" The inferno explodes, consumes me. I burn with intensity, wanting him to hurt. He launches backwards off the stool with a tremendous amount of force. His back slams into the wall hard. He slides down till he's sitting, dazed.
The woman pinning his robes finally speaks. "I think it best you two don't speak to one another anymore," she chastises us. Looking right at me, she adds, "Accidental magic still has consequences."
I want to say, "But I didn't do anything!" but before I can open my mouth to defend myself, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny finally return. Summoned by the commotion, most likely.
If looks could kill, Malfoy's glare would disintegrate me on the spot.
"Yet it's still accidental," Mrs. Weasley says, sticking up for me.
-LNP-
A tinkling bell jangles overhead as we step into a cramped, dusty shop. The back of my neck prickles as I take in the gloomy quiet of the place. Like an old library, but bristling with latent power barely under the surface. So many questions float through the back of my mind, but I swallow the urge to ask them. It'd take hours to answer them all anyway.
"Good afternoon." I jump at the soft voice of the old man looking me over with wide, pale eyes. Like he sees straight through me; down to the core of who I really am.
The intensity of his gaze disarms me a moment, making me shiver. I awkwardly utter a polite, "Hello," as I step back into Mrs. Weasley, leaning against her a bit.
"Ah yes," he says. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you today, Lily Potter." Not a question, a statement. "You look just like your mother, even if you have your father's hazel eyes." I'm not sure how to respond. I have no idea what Mum looked like, never even seen a picture of her. Or that Dad had blue eyes. The old man's unblinking stare creeps me out. It's like he's seeing more of me than I'm comfortable sharing with anyone, especially someone I just met.
He steps out from behind the counter and kneels in front of me so we're practically eye to eye. I try to blink as I see myself reflected in the moisture of his silvery eyes. I want to take my glasses off, see if that'll reduce the intensity of his creepy gaze.
He reaches up and presses a bony finger against the scar on my forehead. "And that's where…" he trails off and clears his throat gruffly before continuing, "I'm sorry to say I sold the very wand that did it," he says. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…" Shaking his head, he stands back up. Relief washes over me as his attention turns to Mrs. Weasley.
I miss the conversation between the two, too busy thinking about the wand he just mentioned. I don't really care about my scar, well I do, but not about the wand giving it to me. The other things that wand did that night is where my mind gets stuck. Taking Mum and Dad from me, killing them. The old man made it, gave it to Voldemort. I don't know what to think beyond never trusting the old man.
Ginny must notice I've gotten lost in my head because she gives my shoulder a soft squeeze and says, "He's like that because he has to match your wand to you." I nod in reply.
"Well, now - Ms. Potter. Let me see," he says, turning his attention back to me while pulling a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
Guessing, I raise my right arm since I'm right handed.
"Hold out your arm. That's it," he says, measuring me in so many different ways I can't keep track. "Every wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Ms. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another's wand." The tape measure, now acting on its own, is busy irritating my nose as he pulls a box from the shelves.
"That will do," he says, the tape measure dropping to the floor in a crumpled heap. "Right then, Ms. Potter. Try this one first. I have a funny feeling the others will be a waste of time. Very unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. Just take it and give it a wave."
My fingers grow warm as I take the wand. Red and gold sparks shoot from the tip as I give it a quick swoosh from my head down towards my feet. Ginny claps loudly as Mr. Ollivander mutters, "Well, well, well…how curious…how very curious…"
He takes the wand back and puts it in its box. As he starts wrapping the box in brown paper, I ask, "What's curious?"
He gives me the creepy stare again. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Ms. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother gave you that scar."
I gulp, not liking the sound of that at all. "Can't I have a different wand?"
"I'm afraid not. The wand chooses the witch… I think we must expect great things from you, Ms. Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great."
I don't like Mr. Ollivander. I give him the seven Galleons he asks for, hoping to leave his shop as quickly as possible.
-LNP-
Crying and purging weren't the best start to the day and Ollivander's left me completely creeped out, but today's turned into maybe the best day of my life. It's deeper than being rescued by Hagrid. More than realizing I have a new life. I have two people who I know actually care about me. And the truth about Mum…she loved me, so did Dad. They were protecting me when they died. The Durseley's are the ones who're worthless excuses for human beings, not Mum and Dad.
Thinking about the Durseleys sours my mood a bit so I quickly change the course of my thoughts as we sit in the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for our lunch to be served. I shoot Ginny a small, giddy smile. Feeling this way about a girl? Yesterday, I'd have been devastated, just more proof of my freakish nature. Today? Well, my feelings aren't something I plan on letting her, or anyone, find out about. But I know they're not wrong. Everything else the Durseley's taught me is a lie to justify their hate and abuse. Why should their hatred of gay people be any different?
I'm pretty sure I'm gay. Didn't realize it before today, but the more I think about it, the more I see myself that way. A small part of me wants to panic at the thought, but it's drowned out by the much larger part of me feeling relieved. I'm serious about never letting a male touch me again. I was vaguely worried hormones would betray me sooner or later, but now it looks like I don't have to worry about it at all.
I catch Mrs. Weasley giving me an intent look. "Ginny," she says, turning to the girl. "Can you go check on our order? Tom seems to be taking longer than usual." Ginny pops up from her seat and dashes over to the old, wooden bar across the room.
I start to fidget when Mrs. Weasley turns her gaze back to me. "You like her, don't you?" she asks me.
So much for keeping my feelings secret. "Uh, yeah, she's the first friend I've ever had," I say.
"No, I mean you like her like her," she says, repeating 'like' twice so I can't mistake her meaning.
I look up at her face, expecting to see anger and rejection but she looks calm. I'm not sure what to think. "Uh yeah…If it's a problem, I'll…"
"It's not a problem, dear," she says. "I just think I should warn you. Not everyone in the family will be comfortable with the idea, she may not be either."
"I'll try to hide it better," I say.
"Don't hide who you are," she says, shaking her head. "Just be prepared she may not return your feelings. And if the others figure it out and give you any grief, tell me so I can deal with them. Don't let them make you think there's anything wrong with you."
I nod, relieved, and take a deep breath. She's either a lot more perceptive than I thought or my face gives away a lot more than I'd like. I'm not sure I can stop the goofy, giddy smiles when I look at Ginny, but I need to try. People knowing I like girls isn't anything I want to deal with anytime soon. I'm only just eleven after all.
-LNP-
Lunch is so good, easily the best shepherd's pie I've ever had. The Leaky Cauldron may be a dim, grungy little pub, but the food's fantastic. Further proof looks can be deceiving. I didn't expect my birthday lunch to be so wonderful.
As I finish the last bite of probably the biggest meal I've ever had, Hagrid lumbers up to our table. I was so caught up in just getting away from the Durseleys' this morning that his immense size didn't really sink in. He must be half giant, well, if giants are real anyway.
"Hi Hagrid," I say, smiling up at him as Mrs. Weasley offers him a seat at our table. Ginny nods at him in greeting, giving a quick wave hello, her mouth too full for speech.
"Hi Lily," he says. "Molly, Ginny," he adds with a nod at each of them as he sits down. "I din' get a chance ta give yeh dis' dis'morning but I got sommat fer yeh here." He reaches into a huge pocket in his giant coat and pulls out a squashed brown box. "I might'a sat on it at some point, but it should taste all right." He puts the box down in front of me.
I give him a big, toothy grin as I open the box. My first ever birthday present. "Thank you," I say. Inside is a slightly smashed chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and 'Happy Birthday Lily' written in green icing. I pull it from the box and set it on the table.
"There's enough for everyone," I say, doubting I have room left for a slice but I wanna try. It is my first birthday cake, after all.
"We'll need some plates and forks," Mrs. Weasley says, getting up from the table and heading over to the bar.
"Thanks," Ginny says, smiling at me, setting my heart all a flutter.
"I got yeh a right prop'r birfday present too," Hagrid says, reaching into another large, also bulging, coat pocket and pulling out a smallish bird cage with the most beautiful baby, snowy white owl. "Yeh need a familiar. A toad'll get yeh teased sommat fierce 'n cats make meh sneeze, so I figured she'd make yeh a right'n good familiar."
As he's about to put the cage down on the table, he hesitates a moment then stretches an arm around the table and hands me the cage. "I din' expect Molly ta be too happy with a bird cage on the table."
"Thank you, Hagrid," I say, taking the cage and placing it beside me on the floor. "She's beautiful."
"What're you gonna name her?" Ginny asks.
"I have no idea. Need to think about it. I've never had a familiar before." I push a finger between two of the bars and the owl hops over on its perch and gives the tip a soft peck. "Morgan." Not sure why I just picked that name, but it seems to fit her. She gives a sharp, little bark of approval.
"She barks," I say, surprised.
"Aye," Hagrid says. "Snow owls be'a barkers 'n chirpers instead o' a'hooting."
Continued
