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Title: Different Kinds of Magic
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: pg
Character, Pairing: Alice Longbottom, Alice/Lily
Disclaimer: JK Rowling's
Warning: Reference to character death
Notes: Alternate Universe
prompt 010, 'Last', for 100_women Fanfic Challenge
Different Kinds of Magic
Occasionally someone will ask you, “What ever happened to Lily Evans?”
The only response you ever give is, “I don’t know.” You don’t. You don’t know. No one knows what happens when you die. No one knows where Lily is.
You keep it in mind, whenever you are on the hunt, that the very next Dark Wizard you catch may be the one who killed her and scrawled ‘Mudbloods Beware’ on the door to her flat. You excel at your work, because you bring this single-minded viciousness to each mission.
Lily had beautiful hands, large and pale, with long graceful fingers. She played the piano. You’d never seen one before. The first time she played for you, it was pretty and you liked it, but you certainly couldn’t understand the enchantment it held for her. When she finished, you tapped your wand against the instrument and made it play the song again, all by itself. You smiled, watching the keys move without her body swaying above them. Lily gave a little laugh, but her eyes showed she was hurt and you couldn’t understand why.
She kept her lips painted bright red, so that when you looked at her, and you were always looking at her, all you could think of was kissing her, of smearing away the make-up until it was just her flesh underneath yours.
She told you, that last year at Hogwart’s, right before the holidays. She was packing her trunk to take home, and she told you that her stay in the Wizarding world was coming to a close. “I like magic,” she said. “It’s fun. But I’ve known since I was five years old that all I want is music. You know, Muggles use the word ‘magic’, too. We say something’s ‘magic’ when we mean that it’s special, very beautiful and rare. That’s how I feel about music. For me, music is magic, and nothing we do here could ever compare.” It just seemed impossible. You’d never heard of anyone deciding to live their life as a Muggle. You didn’t know how to tell her that you wanted her to stay. And even if you had the words, you didn’t want to do that to her, make her have to choose. She wouldn’t have chosen you, anyway, just as you couldn’t have abandoned magic to be with her. She did ask. She did say, “If this, you and me, means so much to you, then come with me.” You could only shake your head.
The last time you heard from her was when she sent you a photograph. It meant so much to you, to know that she still thought of you, meant immeasurably more when news of her death arrived a week later. It's a static picture, a Muggle one, but she charmed it so that when you, and only you, hold it in your hands, the music plays. On the back, Lily had written, ‘I think of you when I play this song’.
When you hear the cascade of notes, you feel as though the song was inspired by yearning. You picture her at the piano, again, imagine her hands racing over the keys. You remember her utter captivation as she played. When you hear this song, you hold the wonder of a different magic.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: pg
Character, Pairing: Alice Longbottom, Alice/Lily
Disclaimer: JK Rowling's
Warning: Reference to character death
Notes: Alternate Universe
prompt 010, 'Last', for 100_women Fanfic Challenge
Different Kinds of Magic
Occasionally someone will ask you, “What ever happened to Lily Evans?”
The only response you ever give is, “I don’t know.” You don’t. You don’t know. No one knows what happens when you die. No one knows where Lily is.
You keep it in mind, whenever you are on the hunt, that the very next Dark Wizard you catch may be the one who killed her and scrawled ‘Mudbloods Beware’ on the door to her flat. You excel at your work, because you bring this single-minded viciousness to each mission.
Lily had beautiful hands, large and pale, with long graceful fingers. She played the piano. You’d never seen one before. The first time she played for you, it was pretty and you liked it, but you certainly couldn’t understand the enchantment it held for her. When she finished, you tapped your wand against the instrument and made it play the song again, all by itself. You smiled, watching the keys move without her body swaying above them. Lily gave a little laugh, but her eyes showed she was hurt and you couldn’t understand why.
She kept her lips painted bright red, so that when you looked at her, and you were always looking at her, all you could think of was kissing her, of smearing away the make-up until it was just her flesh underneath yours.
She told you, that last year at Hogwart’s, right before the holidays. She was packing her trunk to take home, and she told you that her stay in the Wizarding world was coming to a close. “I like magic,” she said. “It’s fun. But I’ve known since I was five years old that all I want is music. You know, Muggles use the word ‘magic’, too. We say something’s ‘magic’ when we mean that it’s special, very beautiful and rare. That’s how I feel about music. For me, music is magic, and nothing we do here could ever compare.” It just seemed impossible. You’d never heard of anyone deciding to live their life as a Muggle. You didn’t know how to tell her that you wanted her to stay. And even if you had the words, you didn’t want to do that to her, make her have to choose. She wouldn’t have chosen you, anyway, just as you couldn’t have abandoned magic to be with her. She did ask. She did say, “If this, you and me, means so much to you, then come with me.” You could only shake your head.
The last time you heard from her was when she sent you a photograph. It meant so much to you, to know that she still thought of you, meant immeasurably more when news of her death arrived a week later. It's a static picture, a Muggle one, but she charmed it so that when you, and only you, hold it in your hands, the music plays. On the back, Lily had written, ‘I think of you when I play this song’.
When you hear the cascade of notes, you feel as though the song was inspired by yearning. You picture her at the piano, again, imagine her hands racing over the keys. You remember her utter captivation as she played. When you hear this song, you hold the wonder of a different magic.