FIC: Can't Be Forgotten [Lily Luna/Tom Riddle]
Title: Can’t Be Forgotten
Author/Artist: msqu
Prompt: When the fog is high on the Scottish fens, and the Veil between worlds is thin on Samhain night, it's the best time to summon the dead. Submitted by rzzmg
Pairing(s): Lily Luna/Tom Riddle
Word Count: 4,500
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Well, as you can see in the prompt, we’re going to summon the dead here, so… But nothing beyond that.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: NO CURSED CHILD SPOILERS. Made up historical references are consistent with Pottermore information. Endless thanks to L who agreed to beta for me after all these years after this writer decided to crawl out of a massive black hole to enter the world of writing fanfic again. The title for this story is taken from lyrics to "Cold" by Aqualung & Lucy Schwartz, which is one of five songs I had on repeat while crafting this piece.
Summary: By altering your course by one degree, you can end up somewhere you never intended to be. Lily, driven by a thirst for truth, slips into something no one would ever have dreamed she would do. "Most of the evil in this world is done by people with good intentions." T.S. Eliot
It was an obsession at this point. She knew that. But it was fascinating. Fascination founded in frustration. Lily couldn’t even remember exactly what Jenna Flint had said because she had immediately tried to let it roll off her back. She knew it was something said fully out of spite, Lydia having just lost the Quidditch Cup with her team as Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw in the final match of her sixth year. So Lily honestly had forgotten the words, but she didn’t forget the smirk.
Her smirk and the discarded words had insinuated that Lily had no idea what her parents really had done during the war. Lily knew what everyone else knew, but Lydia insinuated that she knew more.
Going home that summer, Lily had started to take notice of how much her family didn’t talk about the war. Not her parents, not her aunts and uncles, not her cousins. James didn’t care much when she asked him about it, and Albus had cared in a way for a while but didn’t care now, and she didn’t want to rock that boat. Of course her grandmother didn’t bring up anything that even came close to dredging up history of the war, but then there was her grandfather…
Her grandfather loved to talk to her about anything.
But even he wouldn’t speak in great detail, which seemed rather unfair. "You were there," she tried to coax him.
He set down the clock gear he’d been polishing and looked across the cluttered worktable at her. "But you know everything that happened."
"I know what they teach us at school."
He sighed. "Lily, I don’t know everything that happened. No one really does, not even your father. But what’s brought on this keen curiosity?"
"Nothing, I just… I just wondered."
"Ah," he said, "I recognize that look."
Lily frowned. She thought she had been keeping a blank face.
"It’s not wrong for you to want to know more, but it’s hard to talk about for most of us."
He paused for a moment, and his steady gaze left Lily’s face and moved instead to look out the window before he continued. "We lost people, and that alone would be hard to talk about without losing them in a war. The horrible things that happened - some of them happened so quickly we could barely keep up. Many of us don’t know how to talk about them, Lily, or we don’t know enough to piece together the whole story."
Lily nodded.
"You should talk to Teddy."
"Teddy?" she asked.
"He had a lot of questions about the war when he was about your age, too. I gave him a book someone sent us that was published five years after the Battle of Hogwarts. I never read it, but I heard it was one of the best compilations of story at the time. Lee Jordan was a contributor. Teddy may still have it."
Teddy did have it, and he loaned it to her without hesitation. He understood, she realized, more than anyone else the need to know what their parents had done, everything that had happened - his parents had given their lives to the cause. He loaned her three books, and told her that he had more if she was interested. She was. The more she read, the more she wanted to know. He loaned her another four. In the last weeks of her summer holiday, Teddy actually let her borrow a journal his father had kept during the war, part of the full collection his grandmother Andromeda had been saving and given him when he’d come of age.
The journal had revealed so much more. Remus Lupin had clearly not recorded everything in the journal, but there were moments that were so much more real than many of the books she’d devoured so far. Remus’s words breathed life into the lists of things that had happened. All of a sudden, the stories were real, even though the accounts Remus had kept were brief.
His journal had her seeking other journals. She delved into the shelves of rare books in different shops in Diagon Alley and then at Hogsmeade during her final year at Hogwarts.
Having only grasped at vague ideas of what she wanted to do after Hogwarts, Lily threw herself fully into the endeavor to earn top N.E.W.T. levels in Charms and History of Magic so she could work at the Ministry Archives.
When they accepted her for a competitive internship the summer straight after graduating from Hogwarts, Lily wasn’t naïve enough to think it had nothing to do with her last name and the approaching thirtieth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Every five years the Ministry did something to commemorate the date, and after immersing herself into history the way she had, Lily had seen how much her family had cooperated only minimally in participating or sharing any information. If they could perhaps enlist the daughter of the Chosen One, maybe the historical and archival teams would have a better chance at roping in the Potters and Weasleys.
Lily knew she was the token, but she also knew they wouldn’t regret taking her on, and, in return, she would have access, resources, and encouragement to obsessively hunt down more information. As the first few weeks turned into the first few months, they relished her enthusiasm for research and pursuit of leads on both information and then artifacts. The head archivist on the Potter Project couldn’t resist taking her from the pool of interns directly to his central team because he could see that doors opened for Lily Potter that many on his team had been unable to get through - some because her father is Head of Magical Law Enforcement; some because her father is the Boy Who Lived; some because she’s young and enchanting. Lily knows it, too, but she’s grown up in this kind of spotlight all her life, so she’s learned to use every moment of it to her advantage.
The only day she didn’t work was Sunday, but even most of her Sundays were given over to reading anything new she’d gotten her hands on. Since leaving Hogwarts and dedicating herself completely to the research, she’d learned even more. Lily was properly horrified by Voldemort and the Death Eaters, the corruption that grew rampant and nearly unopposed at the Ministry. She was inspired by accounts of heroism: small acts from ordinary witches and wizards, undercover work by members of the Order of the Phoenix, seemingly neutral parties who all along were sheltering Muggleborns in their own homes. She was somewhat annoyed her parents never spoke about any of their own experiences and nearly lived as if it had never happened.
To Lily’s surprise, it’s an interview at the end of September with Oliver Wood, Puddlemere legend who fought at the Battle of Hogwarts, that sends her down another rabbit hole. All Wood had said was, "I’ll never understand why anyone would want to split their soul just to remain alive. I don’t go chasing death, of course, but I think all decent people know you live your best while you have time. I guess it’s not supposed to make sense, seeing as Voldemort was pure evil."
It turned over thoughts in her head about other things she’d been piecing together. Voldemort had followers, but Tom Riddle - by every account - had had nearly all of his peers and superiors eating out of the palm of his hand from the moment he’d stepped into the wizarding world. Dumbledore had been the only exception; others respected, admired, fawned over him. Tom Riddle had talent, he had intelligence, he was cunning, and he was handsome. When had he become "pure evil," as Oliver had said? What had driven Tom Riddle to Voldemort? What had changed the man to the monster?
The second week of October, Lily passed through the Leaky Cauldron, into Diagon Alley, and then made her way down Knockturn Alley to the shop numbered 13B. A bell jingled as she entered Borgin and Burkes. Autumn sunshine barely broke through the heavily frosted windows, and only a few candles cast dim light over the artifacts on display in the shop. It was not the first time she’d visited the shop, so the staff did not look at her with too much skepticism. Burke was wary of everyone, but his nephew and assistant Erasmus was much more inviting. Fortunately, Burke was already assisting a much older customer with deep pockets, so Lily waited for Erasmus to approach her.
He did. "Well, well, well, what brings Lily Potter to our humble shop today?"
His smile - closer to a smirk - was exactly what Lily wanted. She knew she could play Erasmus Burke.
It was not uncommon for the Ministry’s Archive staff to come by the shop, but Borgin and Burke rarely deigned to deal with the interns. Lily had no complaints. Erasmus was the same age as her brother James but had been in Ravenclaw. She was banking on the rapport they’d built during her previous two visits and the tendency he’d shown to get carried away explaining details of obscure artifacts.
"Work, of course," Lily responded. "Do you have anything new and interesting to show me?" She only hated herself a very little bit for tilting her head ever so slightly so that she was looking up at him through her lashes.
"You know we don’t sell anything new here," he said, and now the smirk was there outright, "but I might have something to pique your interest. Follow me."
She fell into step behind Erasmus, who led her through some narrow rows to a corner with bookshelves. There were a few books he showed her that she had him put aside to be purchased and delivered to the Ministry Archives. She let him show her a strange silver desk instrument rumored to have belonged to Ulick Gimp, the very first wizard to be named Minister of Magic. After half an hour, she finally stepped a little closer and said, "Now, I’ve already gotten a fair few things for the collections today, but you know I’m on the war history project."
"I do," he replied.
"Tom Riddle used to work here. Do you have anything left that belonged to him?"
Erasmus took a step back and scowled at her. "Are you serious?"
"Absolutely."
"We don’t."
"Oh, come on, surely you’ve got something," she pressed, stepping close again.
He scoffed, "If we had anything of interest, it would’ve been snatched up years ago by his old followers, and I don’t think I would show you anyway. Ministry doesn’t pay what fanatics do. If we have anything, it might be some old acquisition records or bookkeeping or some shite."
"Show me."
"You are serious."
In the end, she managed to get Erasmus to take her into the old office in the back and find the acquisitions book from 1947 that turned out to have scores of entries written by the hand of Tom Riddle. That’s when she touched his arm with her gloved fingers - Forgetfulness Fingers, a prototype glove for her uncles’ shop. He blinked and swayed, disoriented. Lily quickly slipped the book into the bag slung over her shoulder, then, as Erasmus started to come back to coherency, she pressed a swift kiss to his lips. "I should go," she said. "I’m expected back at the Archives soon."
Erasmus leaned close for another kiss, assuming, as was her plan that they’d only been back into the office for a quick snog.
She put a hand to his chest. "Next time."
Sundown on Halloween found Lily Luna Potter on the fen. A chill ran down her spine, but she merely pulled her heavy cloak tighter around herself. Nothing was wrong. She’d read through the ritual. The separation between the dead and the living weakest during Samhain and would allow her to call a spirit. She had from sundown on October 31 until sundown the next evening, and then the window to communicate would be closed.
She had battled a bit of a strong wind to finally get to her location - it wasn’t bitter, but it was persistent, and so she was glad the land rose high enough on either side of her to create a pocket of calm. From her research into this summoning ritual, it was unclear how long it might take, or whether she would succeed at all. Summoning a spirit was dark magic, Lily had no question about that, but this obscure ritual at least didn’t require blood sacrifice or incantations in a foreign or dead language. It seemed harmless enough that she felt she wasn’t being foolish in the attempt. She just wanted to talk to him, and this would allow her to do so, if his spirit was amenable. If nothing happened, none would be the wiser, and no one could disapprove. And even if it did work, all she was going to do was ask him some questions. There was no harm in satisfying her curiosity.
Lily settled on a patch of grass and began to build the small bonfire the ritual called for, summoning wood and kindling from the nearby flora. She pointed her wand first at the pieces of wood that would provide the base for her fire, mumbling an enchantment to dry the wood so it wouldn’t make for a smoky fire. She had no desire to inhale smoke all night. After building up the logs, she stuffed dried leaves and big bunches of tall dead grass between the wood. It was nearly sunset when she whispered "Incendio," and the fire burst to life. She stood up and looked around. To her right there was a stream running quietly on to meet a river not far away. Trees completely bare of their leaves stood stoically at the edge of the stream in clumps, their dark silhouettes in contrast to a pale pink glow along the horizon, which gave way to periwinkle, blues, and then blackness as the sun dropped away.
Lily checked her watch. It was not time yet.
She conjured an armchair to curl up in to wait. She pulled a small, tattered brown leather book out of her bag. It was so old the gold embossing its title on the cover had completely worn to nothing, but the first yellowed page read Spirits: Suppositions, Séances, Speaking, and Summoning from the Other Side, no author. She turned to a page she had marked in preparation and carefully read the instructions again for what she was about to do.
Every hour on the hour after sunset, Lily was supposed to burn something that held an impression of the spirit that had passed to the other side of the veil, and speak their name. It was as simple as that. If the spirit chose to answer, it would appear, if not, then… nothing.
It was fortunate that the object she’d brought to burn was a record book that Tom Riddle had written in. There would be plenty of pages to offer up to summon the spirit to whom she so desperately wanted to speak.
Lily put the book back into her bag and then looked at her watch. She’d been very careful to check before leaving that it was aligned with Ministry Definitive Time down to the second. She had also placed a charm on her watch so it would vibrate three minutes before the hour every hour. She couldn’t afford to miss her cue. The instructions for the ritual were simple, if somewhat vague, but one thing had been clear: if the summoner missed an hour, the enchantment would be broken for the night.
It was nearly time. She pulled the acquisitions book out of her bag and opened it to the first page that held only entries recorded with Tom Riddle’s initials. Carefully, she tore it out of the book, ripping from top to bottom. She looked at the face of her watch, and as the minute and second hands moved to cross the 12, she placed the sheet into the fire.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle."
For the next minute, she was silent, her eyes darting around expectantly, but no one appeared, and there were no voices. The only sound she could hear was the rustling of the bushes and grasses at the top of the hill that crested the fen.
After another minute, Lily returned to her chair, drawing her knees up to her chest; she replaced the records book and pulled out a biography to read until the next hour approached.
Three more hours passed, three more pages in the fire, three more summons.
Nothing.
After one in the morning, she thought she heard rustling through the fen that sounded like someone’s footsteps, but no one appeared. She didn’t sleep during that hour, but succumbed to exhaustion again after calling out for Tom Riddle at two o’clock.
She didn’t sleep between three and four either because the wind had picked up to a howl that put her on edge. Lily built up the fire yet again to distract herself from thoughts of how foolish she’d started to think this night was.
She managed to sleep again after the four a.m. call, but when she woke just before five, she was shivering. A fog had rolled up over the edge of the hill and down into the fen. There was still no spirit to speak of after five, but morning twilight started to creep up over the horizon, so Lily stayed awake again. Her body ached from sitting curled up all night in the armchair, trying to stay warm. The fog was thick, but it gradually started to dissipate as the six o’clock hour approached. She tore another page from the book and threw it on the fire.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Now that the sun was beginning to reappear, Lily watched as the dim glow brightened the sky and, just slightly, the fen. She noticed a dark spot of movement and squinted her eyes, pushing her hair back from where it had fallen down through the night.
The fog still made it difficult to see anything too far away, but now she could see the movement was a figure, and the figure was coming her way, walking at a steady pace, but clearly in no hurry. Adrenaline spread through her veins, and she perched herself on the edge of her armchair, one hand gripping the corner of the armrest, her other holding her wand.
As the figure came closer, Lily was fairly certain it was a man. She evaluated every aspect she could as he approached. He wore plain black wizard robes with a long cloak falling over his shoulders, and the hem of his cloak billowed slightly as he strode toward her. He took each step without question. This man did not lack purpose or confidence.
His skin was pale, his hair dark, his figure tall and lithe.
At this point Lily’s chest felt constricted and her heart was in her throat. She knew it had to be him. She felt she should stand as he grew nearer, but she could not bring herself to move.
He stopped two meters away from her and stood perfectly still.
Now she could take in every detail of him, and it was exhilarating and terrifying. He was handsome. Every record she’d found of him had said he’d been handsome, and that’s what she’d expected, but she hadn’t expected him to be so strikingly handsome - without question the most handsome face she had ever seen.
But something bothered her. This was no ghost or spirit - and yet he couldn’t be alive. Whatever he was, he was studying her as intently as she was studying him.
"Why?" He finally broke the silence.
"What?"
He arched a single eyebrow. "You’ve been calling for me for hours. You play a dangerous game, calling to the dead. Why?"
Lily raised her chin a fraction of an inch. "I wanted to speak to you."
The corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly. "Surely it’s much more than that, but I’ll humor you for now. What is your name?"
"Lily."
"Lily, if you would be so kind as to conjure another chair?"
She duplicated her own chair, never taking her eyes off him, and he, likewise, did not take his eyes off her as he sat down. He took the chair like a king, and now they were only a meter apart. Lily resettled in her chair, moving from the attentive perched position to one she hoped made her look just as comfortable and confident.
"Tom Riddle?" She had to hear him confirm it.
"In the flesh," he said, "or very nearly."
"I was doubting whether this would even work."
"What do you know of the spell you used to summon me?"
"It’s an ancient rite used to call to those on the other side during Samhain. Spirits can choose to heed or ignore the call. You can beckon every hour on the hour after sundown until the next sundown at the end of Samhain."
He nodded.
"I also wondered if you would come even if it did work."
"How little you seem to know of me then. Or even of this spell."
Lily opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say.
"I heeded your call from the first summons, but with each call, a spirit grows stronger until it takes the form you see now."
"Oh."
"And did you think I would appear suddenly before a stranger without first watching to determine if they were friend or foe?"
"You’ve decided I’m not your foe?"
"Clearly not. I imagine a foe, first, would not summon me from the other side, but if he had, he would not have been so unfailingly patient and persistent, and likely would have pursued other rituals, blood magic that would ensure my appearance."
He let silence spread between them for a few minutes.
"Well, you have me here. You said you wanted to speak to me. What did you wish to say?"
"You said you think I called you for more than a conversation. What else did you think I wanted?"
He cocked his head. "Come now, Lily, that’s not what you wanted to know when you summoned me."
"No, but it’s what I want to know now."
He pursed his lips for a moment. "Are you sure you want to play this game, Lily?"
She never backed down from a challenge. "You think you know me. Prove it."
"You’re a Gryffindor: bold enough to try to summon a spirit from the other side for a conversation, too noble to invoke a blood ritual, but too stubborn to give up. You’re on some kind of quest, but it masks boredom and emptiness in other areas of your life that you would refuse to admit to."
She opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again.
"That’s not everything about you, though. I know it’s just the surface."
He said it like an invitation. It made her want to tell him more, and so she did. She told him what it was like being the third child of famous parents, the stupid things her brothers had done growing up and the good things as well, how she loved and hated Quidditch in equal parts. She told him about her work at the Ministry, which led to getting the book from Erasmus. She told him about summers at the Burrow and her favorite books. She told him important and trivial things, and they flowed so easily because he seemed to just listen so well, and he asked excellent questions, made her feel like everything she said mattered to him. He listened in a way no one had in such a long time that she divulged much more than she’d ever intended.
Finally she realized time was slipping away, and said, "So you’re not a ghost. What are you? How long will you stay like this?"
"Like this? I’m not sure. What am I? It’s hard to say, but you could find out," he said, moving to the edge of his seat.
"How?" she asked, matching his movement without realizing.
Perched there, close to her, he leaned a little closer.
The intensity in his eyes pulled her in, and she leaned further, closing her eyes just before their lips met.
Tom’s lips, his entire being, seemed blurred, cold, not really there the first instant of contact. Then there was a rush of warmth, almost as if what little warmth she had there sitting on the fen in the cold November morning was stolen completely from her, and then he was there, solid and warm himself. He brought both hands up to her face, then one moved to twine in her hair, strong, holding her there. The other hand drifted in contrast softly, delicately down her neck to rest just on her collarbone, and she sighed. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. She reached out to hold him, but then he broke off and pulled back slightly.
Lily opened her eyes in surprise. His smile was alarming, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to move away.
"What-?"
"You’ve completed my crossing over from spirit to flesh."
"With a kiss."
He kissed her again briefly, triumphantly.
"Yes, with a kiss. This ritual wasn’t invoked with blood, so it didn’t require blood. It was simple in its inception, and so it is simple in its completion, and the bonding is straightforward."
Her breath caught for a moment, and she knew she should be truly terrified now. "The bonding?"
"You summoned me, you sealed the connection. As long as you live, I now live. Tom Riddle, in the flesh again."
Lily began to tremble.
Tom stood and drew her up by the hand to stand as well. He captured her lips in another kiss, this one blazing. He wrapped his arms around her, and this time let her return the embrace. It was too cunning, and she knew it, but it was undeniable now.
When he broke off the kiss again, they were both breathless, and he rested his forehead against hers. "I have no complaint, do you?"
She should, she knew she should. This was all kinds of wrong. He was not supposed to be here, a hand cupping her cheek. She’d gone and brought him back from the land of the dead, but who was this Tom Riddle? Maybe there was a chance this wouldn’t end in ruin for them both. That’s what she forced herself to believe.
Damn her curiosity.
Author/Artist: msqu
Prompt: When the fog is high on the Scottish fens, and the Veil between worlds is thin on Samhain night, it's the best time to summon the dead. Submitted by rzzmg
Pairing(s): Lily Luna/Tom Riddle
Word Count: 4,500
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Well, as you can see in the prompt, we’re going to summon the dead here, so… But nothing beyond that.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: NO CURSED CHILD SPOILERS. Made up historical references are consistent with Pottermore information. Endless thanks to L who agreed to beta for me after all these years after this writer decided to crawl out of a massive black hole to enter the world of writing fanfic again. The title for this story is taken from lyrics to "Cold" by Aqualung & Lucy Schwartz, which is one of five songs I had on repeat while crafting this piece.
Summary: By altering your course by one degree, you can end up somewhere you never intended to be. Lily, driven by a thirst for truth, slips into something no one would ever have dreamed she would do. "Most of the evil in this world is done by people with good intentions." T.S. Eliot
It was an obsession at this point. She knew that. But it was fascinating. Fascination founded in frustration. Lily couldn’t even remember exactly what Jenna Flint had said because she had immediately tried to let it roll off her back. She knew it was something said fully out of spite, Lydia having just lost the Quidditch Cup with her team as Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw in the final match of her sixth year. So Lily honestly had forgotten the words, but she didn’t forget the smirk.
Her smirk and the discarded words had insinuated that Lily had no idea what her parents really had done during the war. Lily knew what everyone else knew, but Lydia insinuated that she knew more.
Going home that summer, Lily had started to take notice of how much her family didn’t talk about the war. Not her parents, not her aunts and uncles, not her cousins. James didn’t care much when she asked him about it, and Albus had cared in a way for a while but didn’t care now, and she didn’t want to rock that boat. Of course her grandmother didn’t bring up anything that even came close to dredging up history of the war, but then there was her grandfather…
Her grandfather loved to talk to her about anything.
But even he wouldn’t speak in great detail, which seemed rather unfair. "You were there," she tried to coax him.
He set down the clock gear he’d been polishing and looked across the cluttered worktable at her. "But you know everything that happened."
"I know what they teach us at school."
He sighed. "Lily, I don’t know everything that happened. No one really does, not even your father. But what’s brought on this keen curiosity?"
"Nothing, I just… I just wondered."
"Ah," he said, "I recognize that look."
Lily frowned. She thought she had been keeping a blank face.
"It’s not wrong for you to want to know more, but it’s hard to talk about for most of us."
He paused for a moment, and his steady gaze left Lily’s face and moved instead to look out the window before he continued. "We lost people, and that alone would be hard to talk about without losing them in a war. The horrible things that happened - some of them happened so quickly we could barely keep up. Many of us don’t know how to talk about them, Lily, or we don’t know enough to piece together the whole story."
Lily nodded.
"You should talk to Teddy."
"Teddy?" she asked.
"He had a lot of questions about the war when he was about your age, too. I gave him a book someone sent us that was published five years after the Battle of Hogwarts. I never read it, but I heard it was one of the best compilations of story at the time. Lee Jordan was a contributor. Teddy may still have it."
Teddy did have it, and he loaned it to her without hesitation. He understood, she realized, more than anyone else the need to know what their parents had done, everything that had happened - his parents had given their lives to the cause. He loaned her three books, and told her that he had more if she was interested. She was. The more she read, the more she wanted to know. He loaned her another four. In the last weeks of her summer holiday, Teddy actually let her borrow a journal his father had kept during the war, part of the full collection his grandmother Andromeda had been saving and given him when he’d come of age.
The journal had revealed so much more. Remus Lupin had clearly not recorded everything in the journal, but there were moments that were so much more real than many of the books she’d devoured so far. Remus’s words breathed life into the lists of things that had happened. All of a sudden, the stories were real, even though the accounts Remus had kept were brief.
His journal had her seeking other journals. She delved into the shelves of rare books in different shops in Diagon Alley and then at Hogsmeade during her final year at Hogwarts.
Having only grasped at vague ideas of what she wanted to do after Hogwarts, Lily threw herself fully into the endeavor to earn top N.E.W.T. levels in Charms and History of Magic so she could work at the Ministry Archives.
When they accepted her for a competitive internship the summer straight after graduating from Hogwarts, Lily wasn’t naïve enough to think it had nothing to do with her last name and the approaching thirtieth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Every five years the Ministry did something to commemorate the date, and after immersing herself into history the way she had, Lily had seen how much her family had cooperated only minimally in participating or sharing any information. If they could perhaps enlist the daughter of the Chosen One, maybe the historical and archival teams would have a better chance at roping in the Potters and Weasleys.
Lily knew she was the token, but she also knew they wouldn’t regret taking her on, and, in return, she would have access, resources, and encouragement to obsessively hunt down more information. As the first few weeks turned into the first few months, they relished her enthusiasm for research and pursuit of leads on both information and then artifacts. The head archivist on the Potter Project couldn’t resist taking her from the pool of interns directly to his central team because he could see that doors opened for Lily Potter that many on his team had been unable to get through - some because her father is Head of Magical Law Enforcement; some because her father is the Boy Who Lived; some because she’s young and enchanting. Lily knows it, too, but she’s grown up in this kind of spotlight all her life, so she’s learned to use every moment of it to her advantage.
The only day she didn’t work was Sunday, but even most of her Sundays were given over to reading anything new she’d gotten her hands on. Since leaving Hogwarts and dedicating herself completely to the research, she’d learned even more. Lily was properly horrified by Voldemort and the Death Eaters, the corruption that grew rampant and nearly unopposed at the Ministry. She was inspired by accounts of heroism: small acts from ordinary witches and wizards, undercover work by members of the Order of the Phoenix, seemingly neutral parties who all along were sheltering Muggleborns in their own homes. She was somewhat annoyed her parents never spoke about any of their own experiences and nearly lived as if it had never happened.
To Lily’s surprise, it’s an interview at the end of September with Oliver Wood, Puddlemere legend who fought at the Battle of Hogwarts, that sends her down another rabbit hole. All Wood had said was, "I’ll never understand why anyone would want to split their soul just to remain alive. I don’t go chasing death, of course, but I think all decent people know you live your best while you have time. I guess it’s not supposed to make sense, seeing as Voldemort was pure evil."
It turned over thoughts in her head about other things she’d been piecing together. Voldemort had followers, but Tom Riddle - by every account - had had nearly all of his peers and superiors eating out of the palm of his hand from the moment he’d stepped into the wizarding world. Dumbledore had been the only exception; others respected, admired, fawned over him. Tom Riddle had talent, he had intelligence, he was cunning, and he was handsome. When had he become "pure evil," as Oliver had said? What had driven Tom Riddle to Voldemort? What had changed the man to the monster?
The second week of October, Lily passed through the Leaky Cauldron, into Diagon Alley, and then made her way down Knockturn Alley to the shop numbered 13B. A bell jingled as she entered Borgin and Burkes. Autumn sunshine barely broke through the heavily frosted windows, and only a few candles cast dim light over the artifacts on display in the shop. It was not the first time she’d visited the shop, so the staff did not look at her with too much skepticism. Burke was wary of everyone, but his nephew and assistant Erasmus was much more inviting. Fortunately, Burke was already assisting a much older customer with deep pockets, so Lily waited for Erasmus to approach her.
He did. "Well, well, well, what brings Lily Potter to our humble shop today?"
His smile - closer to a smirk - was exactly what Lily wanted. She knew she could play Erasmus Burke.
It was not uncommon for the Ministry’s Archive staff to come by the shop, but Borgin and Burke rarely deigned to deal with the interns. Lily had no complaints. Erasmus was the same age as her brother James but had been in Ravenclaw. She was banking on the rapport they’d built during her previous two visits and the tendency he’d shown to get carried away explaining details of obscure artifacts.
"Work, of course," Lily responded. "Do you have anything new and interesting to show me?" She only hated herself a very little bit for tilting her head ever so slightly so that she was looking up at him through her lashes.
"You know we don’t sell anything new here," he said, and now the smirk was there outright, "but I might have something to pique your interest. Follow me."
She fell into step behind Erasmus, who led her through some narrow rows to a corner with bookshelves. There were a few books he showed her that she had him put aside to be purchased and delivered to the Ministry Archives. She let him show her a strange silver desk instrument rumored to have belonged to Ulick Gimp, the very first wizard to be named Minister of Magic. After half an hour, she finally stepped a little closer and said, "Now, I’ve already gotten a fair few things for the collections today, but you know I’m on the war history project."
"I do," he replied.
"Tom Riddle used to work here. Do you have anything left that belonged to him?"
Erasmus took a step back and scowled at her. "Are you serious?"
"Absolutely."
"We don’t."
"Oh, come on, surely you’ve got something," she pressed, stepping close again.
He scoffed, "If we had anything of interest, it would’ve been snatched up years ago by his old followers, and I don’t think I would show you anyway. Ministry doesn’t pay what fanatics do. If we have anything, it might be some old acquisition records or bookkeeping or some shite."
"Show me."
"You are serious."
In the end, she managed to get Erasmus to take her into the old office in the back and find the acquisitions book from 1947 that turned out to have scores of entries written by the hand of Tom Riddle. That’s when she touched his arm with her gloved fingers - Forgetfulness Fingers, a prototype glove for her uncles’ shop. He blinked and swayed, disoriented. Lily quickly slipped the book into the bag slung over her shoulder, then, as Erasmus started to come back to coherency, she pressed a swift kiss to his lips. "I should go," she said. "I’m expected back at the Archives soon."
Erasmus leaned close for another kiss, assuming, as was her plan that they’d only been back into the office for a quick snog.
She put a hand to his chest. "Next time."
Sundown on Halloween found Lily Luna Potter on the fen. A chill ran down her spine, but she merely pulled her heavy cloak tighter around herself. Nothing was wrong. She’d read through the ritual. The separation between the dead and the living weakest during Samhain and would allow her to call a spirit. She had from sundown on October 31 until sundown the next evening, and then the window to communicate would be closed.
She had battled a bit of a strong wind to finally get to her location - it wasn’t bitter, but it was persistent, and so she was glad the land rose high enough on either side of her to create a pocket of calm. From her research into this summoning ritual, it was unclear how long it might take, or whether she would succeed at all. Summoning a spirit was dark magic, Lily had no question about that, but this obscure ritual at least didn’t require blood sacrifice or incantations in a foreign or dead language. It seemed harmless enough that she felt she wasn’t being foolish in the attempt. She just wanted to talk to him, and this would allow her to do so, if his spirit was amenable. If nothing happened, none would be the wiser, and no one could disapprove. And even if it did work, all she was going to do was ask him some questions. There was no harm in satisfying her curiosity.
Lily settled on a patch of grass and began to build the small bonfire the ritual called for, summoning wood and kindling from the nearby flora. She pointed her wand first at the pieces of wood that would provide the base for her fire, mumbling an enchantment to dry the wood so it wouldn’t make for a smoky fire. She had no desire to inhale smoke all night. After building up the logs, she stuffed dried leaves and big bunches of tall dead grass between the wood. It was nearly sunset when she whispered "Incendio," and the fire burst to life. She stood up and looked around. To her right there was a stream running quietly on to meet a river not far away. Trees completely bare of their leaves stood stoically at the edge of the stream in clumps, their dark silhouettes in contrast to a pale pink glow along the horizon, which gave way to periwinkle, blues, and then blackness as the sun dropped away.
Lily checked her watch. It was not time yet.
She conjured an armchair to curl up in to wait. She pulled a small, tattered brown leather book out of her bag. It was so old the gold embossing its title on the cover had completely worn to nothing, but the first yellowed page read Spirits: Suppositions, Séances, Speaking, and Summoning from the Other Side, no author. She turned to a page she had marked in preparation and carefully read the instructions again for what she was about to do.
Every hour on the hour after sunset, Lily was supposed to burn something that held an impression of the spirit that had passed to the other side of the veil, and speak their name. It was as simple as that. If the spirit chose to answer, it would appear, if not, then… nothing.
It was fortunate that the object she’d brought to burn was a record book that Tom Riddle had written in. There would be plenty of pages to offer up to summon the spirit to whom she so desperately wanted to speak.
Lily put the book back into her bag and then looked at her watch. She’d been very careful to check before leaving that it was aligned with Ministry Definitive Time down to the second. She had also placed a charm on her watch so it would vibrate three minutes before the hour every hour. She couldn’t afford to miss her cue. The instructions for the ritual were simple, if somewhat vague, but one thing had been clear: if the summoner missed an hour, the enchantment would be broken for the night.
It was nearly time. She pulled the acquisitions book out of her bag and opened it to the first page that held only entries recorded with Tom Riddle’s initials. Carefully, she tore it out of the book, ripping from top to bottom. She looked at the face of her watch, and as the minute and second hands moved to cross the 12, she placed the sheet into the fire.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle."
For the next minute, she was silent, her eyes darting around expectantly, but no one appeared, and there were no voices. The only sound she could hear was the rustling of the bushes and grasses at the top of the hill that crested the fen.
After another minute, Lily returned to her chair, drawing her knees up to her chest; she replaced the records book and pulled out a biography to read until the next hour approached.
Three more hours passed, three more pages in the fire, three more summons.
Nothing.
After one in the morning, she thought she heard rustling through the fen that sounded like someone’s footsteps, but no one appeared. She didn’t sleep during that hour, but succumbed to exhaustion again after calling out for Tom Riddle at two o’clock.
She didn’t sleep between three and four either because the wind had picked up to a howl that put her on edge. Lily built up the fire yet again to distract herself from thoughts of how foolish she’d started to think this night was.
She managed to sleep again after the four a.m. call, but when she woke just before five, she was shivering. A fog had rolled up over the edge of the hill and down into the fen. There was still no spirit to speak of after five, but morning twilight started to creep up over the horizon, so Lily stayed awake again. Her body ached from sitting curled up all night in the armchair, trying to stay warm. The fog was thick, but it gradually started to dissipate as the six o’clock hour approached. She tore another page from the book and threw it on the fire.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Now that the sun was beginning to reappear, Lily watched as the dim glow brightened the sky and, just slightly, the fen. She noticed a dark spot of movement and squinted her eyes, pushing her hair back from where it had fallen down through the night.
The fog still made it difficult to see anything too far away, but now she could see the movement was a figure, and the figure was coming her way, walking at a steady pace, but clearly in no hurry. Adrenaline spread through her veins, and she perched herself on the edge of her armchair, one hand gripping the corner of the armrest, her other holding her wand.
As the figure came closer, Lily was fairly certain it was a man. She evaluated every aspect she could as he approached. He wore plain black wizard robes with a long cloak falling over his shoulders, and the hem of his cloak billowed slightly as he strode toward her. He took each step without question. This man did not lack purpose or confidence.
His skin was pale, his hair dark, his figure tall and lithe.
At this point Lily’s chest felt constricted and her heart was in her throat. She knew it had to be him. She felt she should stand as he grew nearer, but she could not bring herself to move.
He stopped two meters away from her and stood perfectly still.
Now she could take in every detail of him, and it was exhilarating and terrifying. He was handsome. Every record she’d found of him had said he’d been handsome, and that’s what she’d expected, but she hadn’t expected him to be so strikingly handsome - without question the most handsome face she had ever seen.
But something bothered her. This was no ghost or spirit - and yet he couldn’t be alive. Whatever he was, he was studying her as intently as she was studying him.
"Why?" He finally broke the silence.
"What?"
He arched a single eyebrow. "You’ve been calling for me for hours. You play a dangerous game, calling to the dead. Why?"
Lily raised her chin a fraction of an inch. "I wanted to speak to you."
The corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly. "Surely it’s much more than that, but I’ll humor you for now. What is your name?"
"Lily."
"Lily, if you would be so kind as to conjure another chair?"
She duplicated her own chair, never taking her eyes off him, and he, likewise, did not take his eyes off her as he sat down. He took the chair like a king, and now they were only a meter apart. Lily resettled in her chair, moving from the attentive perched position to one she hoped made her look just as comfortable and confident.
"Tom Riddle?" She had to hear him confirm it.
"In the flesh," he said, "or very nearly."
"I was doubting whether this would even work."
"What do you know of the spell you used to summon me?"
"It’s an ancient rite used to call to those on the other side during Samhain. Spirits can choose to heed or ignore the call. You can beckon every hour on the hour after sundown until the next sundown at the end of Samhain."
He nodded.
"I also wondered if you would come even if it did work."
"How little you seem to know of me then. Or even of this spell."
Lily opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say.
"I heeded your call from the first summons, but with each call, a spirit grows stronger until it takes the form you see now."
"Oh."
"And did you think I would appear suddenly before a stranger without first watching to determine if they were friend or foe?"
"You’ve decided I’m not your foe?"
"Clearly not. I imagine a foe, first, would not summon me from the other side, but if he had, he would not have been so unfailingly patient and persistent, and likely would have pursued other rituals, blood magic that would ensure my appearance."
He let silence spread between them for a few minutes.
"Well, you have me here. You said you wanted to speak to me. What did you wish to say?"
"You said you think I called you for more than a conversation. What else did you think I wanted?"
He cocked his head. "Come now, Lily, that’s not what you wanted to know when you summoned me."
"No, but it’s what I want to know now."
He pursed his lips for a moment. "Are you sure you want to play this game, Lily?"
She never backed down from a challenge. "You think you know me. Prove it."
"You’re a Gryffindor: bold enough to try to summon a spirit from the other side for a conversation, too noble to invoke a blood ritual, but too stubborn to give up. You’re on some kind of quest, but it masks boredom and emptiness in other areas of your life that you would refuse to admit to."
She opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again.
"That’s not everything about you, though. I know it’s just the surface."
He said it like an invitation. It made her want to tell him more, and so she did. She told him what it was like being the third child of famous parents, the stupid things her brothers had done growing up and the good things as well, how she loved and hated Quidditch in equal parts. She told him about her work at the Ministry, which led to getting the book from Erasmus. She told him about summers at the Burrow and her favorite books. She told him important and trivial things, and they flowed so easily because he seemed to just listen so well, and he asked excellent questions, made her feel like everything she said mattered to him. He listened in a way no one had in such a long time that she divulged much more than she’d ever intended.
Finally she realized time was slipping away, and said, "So you’re not a ghost. What are you? How long will you stay like this?"
"Like this? I’m not sure. What am I? It’s hard to say, but you could find out," he said, moving to the edge of his seat.
"How?" she asked, matching his movement without realizing.
Perched there, close to her, he leaned a little closer.
The intensity in his eyes pulled her in, and she leaned further, closing her eyes just before their lips met.
Tom’s lips, his entire being, seemed blurred, cold, not really there the first instant of contact. Then there was a rush of warmth, almost as if what little warmth she had there sitting on the fen in the cold November morning was stolen completely from her, and then he was there, solid and warm himself. He brought both hands up to her face, then one moved to twine in her hair, strong, holding her there. The other hand drifted in contrast softly, delicately down her neck to rest just on her collarbone, and she sighed. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. She reached out to hold him, but then he broke off and pulled back slightly.
Lily opened her eyes in surprise. His smile was alarming, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to move away.
"What-?"
"You’ve completed my crossing over from spirit to flesh."
"With a kiss."
He kissed her again briefly, triumphantly.
"Yes, with a kiss. This ritual wasn’t invoked with blood, so it didn’t require blood. It was simple in its inception, and so it is simple in its completion, and the bonding is straightforward."
Her breath caught for a moment, and she knew she should be truly terrified now. "The bonding?"
"You summoned me, you sealed the connection. As long as you live, I now live. Tom Riddle, in the flesh again."
Lily began to tremble.
Tom stood and drew her up by the hand to stand as well. He captured her lips in another kiss, this one blazing. He wrapped his arms around her, and this time let her return the embrace. It was too cunning, and she knew it, but it was undeniable now.
When he broke off the kiss again, they were both breathless, and he rested his forehead against hers. "I have no complaint, do you?"
She should, she knew she should. This was all kinds of wrong. He was not supposed to be here, a hand cupping her cheek. She’d gone and brought him back from the land of the dead, but who was this Tom Riddle? Maybe there was a chance this wouldn’t end in ruin for them both. That’s what she forced herself to believe.
Damn her curiosity.