And in the Dead of Night (Rose/Scorpius, PG-13)
Author: magic-knickers
Title: And in the Dead of Night
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1300~
Pairing(s): Rose/Scorpius, implied Lysander/Lily
Warnings: language
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Lily is plagued by a voice that nobody else can hear-she can't help but feel that something isn't quite right.
Author's Notes: I loved this prompt so much, and I really hope I did it justice! Beta'd by the lovely stgulik.
Her fork made an ugly scraping sound when Lily dragged it across her plate. She'd woken up tired and groggy, and a headache had settled behind her eyes. As she continued to push her food around the plate, she attempted to listen to the conversation around her.
“You should eat a bit,” Molly told her, making an offhand gesture towards Lily's plate. Two pieces of buttered toast sat untouched in front of her. The more Lily stared at them, the worse she felt.
"I'll attempt it,” she answered, tearing a bit of the corner of one slice off and placing it in her mouth. She immediately swallowed, trying to avoid the taste of it. A wave of nausea swept over her, and Lily stood up, leaving Hugo and Molly to their gossip as she strode out into the Entrance Hall. The sudden urge to retch was so strong that she could barely contain it. Lily quickly veered towards the nearest loo.
She realized her mistake as she was wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, the sick feeling lingering stubbornly. She never used this bathroom, and there was a bloody good reason for it.
“Feeling a little-peaky, are we?” Myrtle crooned from her place hovering above the stall.
Lily said nothing, valiantly trying to ignore the ghost. Her aunt had warned her about Moaning Myrtle, so Lily had managed to avoid this particular bathroom for the five years she'd been at Hogwarts. Evidently, today was not her day.
Forcing the sick feeling down, Lily stood up, cast a breath spell, and walked out of the stall.
“Come...come to me...” a voice whispered.
Lily turned to shoot Myrtle a dirty look. The ghost was perched on one of the nearby sinks, a snarky little grin on her face. “Why would I?” Lily asked testily, trying one of the taps. No water flowed, and, frustrated, she moved over to the next sink.
“Why would you what?” Myrtle inquired, raising an eyebrow. If she'd had the ability to smack ghosts, Lily would have at that moment.
“Why would I come to you?” she hissed, her hands shaking as she scrubbed them clean.
“Are you mad?” the ghost asked, looking rather delighted at the prospect. “It doesn't matter that you're so pretty if you're insane.”
“I am not-”
“Come to me...come,” repeated the mysterious voice. Lily stopped mid-sentence, cocking her head to hear better. As she stood there, silent and waiting, Myrtle shot her an incredulous look, the expression on her face seeming to say, You're mad, Lily Luna, mad, mad, mad.
The voice did not speak again.
“I'm not mad,” Lily finally whispered, dark eyes darting around the room. A sudden chill went down her spine, and her headache was almost completely forgotten.
*
It was on a Saturday when she heard it again.
Lily was sitting in the library, by herself, staring pensively out at the pleasantly blue sky through the window near her little table. The Ravenclaw-Slytherin Quidditch match was going on, something that Lily had felt no need to attend, but that every other student in Hogwarts-save a few Hufflepuff firsties-had decided to watch. Scorpius Malfoy was the Ravenclaw Seeker, and her cousin Rose his biggest fan. Lily didn't think she'd be able to stand sitting next to the girl in her current state of love-induced madness. Maybe she still should have gone to see Al play, but she figured missing this one game would be forgiveable.
Suddenly she heard it again. “Come...” something whispered. It almost felt as if it was spoken directly into her ear. Lily's head jerked at the sound, her eyes frantically searching for its source. Sunlight illuminated the room, and all she could see were countless books lined up on all the available wall space and shelving. Nothing looked out of place.
Lily could see that Madame Pince had not looked up from whatever work she was doing at her desk. Lily had the suspicious feeling that the voice was for her, and her alone.
The thought was ludicrous-maybe she really was mad.
“Come to me...come to us...” The last word was nearly a hiss. Without pausing to think on it, Lily stood up, grabbed her bag, and ran out of the library. The corridors were empty, each and every one, so she had no trouble flying through them, those whispery words guiding her deeper into the castle, until she managed to find herself standing outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom for the second time that month. She hadn't dared venture back after the last time. Still, something niggled restlessly in the back of her mind, urging her forward, urging her inside.
“Back again?” Myrtle asked, the laughter in her voice making Lily's blood boil. She'd always had a short temper.
“Fuck off, Myrtle,” she said, her voice lacking the venom that would make the words truly sting.
The ghost simply smiled, her grey face becoming almost pretty. “You're that Harry Potter's daughter, aren't you?” the ghost asked in an annoyingly sing-song voice.
Hearing Myrtle say her father's name triggered a memory for Lily, a long-ago childhood story. Doing her best to ignore the ghost, Lily reached out for a broken tap at one of the bathroom sinks. She could remember the story now, the story of her father's second year at Hogwarts. Basilisks and the Chamber of Secrets and petrification, Salazar Slytherin and Tom Riddle, his heir. Lily's father never told her where the entrance to the Chamber was, and she'd never asked.
“I died down there,” Myrtle whispered.
Dad can't speak Parseltongue any longer, Lily thought to herself as she continued to stroke the tap, the one with such a peculiar shape.
“That's where I died,” Myrtle repeated.
Finally turning towards the ghost, Lily couldn't help but feel a little bit of pity for her. Moaning Myrtle, the girl who never had the chance to live.
“I'm sorry for that,” Lily answered.
Taking one, final look at the broken sink, Lily turned on her heel and left.
*
It was late in the evening when it came again.
“Come...come...come...”
The words brushed against her ear like a caress, and Lily woke up with a gasp. It was pitch black in the dormitory; no light streamed in through the window.
New moon, she thought, sleep clinging stubbornly to her mind. The threads of her dream-Lysander Scamander's doe-like eyes and his long, slender fingers-lingered for a moment, and Lily physically shook herself in an effort to wake up.
“Come to me...”
Shaking herself again, Lily sat up right in bed, her scarlet sheets falling off her. She shivered at the sudden cold, goosebumps rising up on her skin. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and for the first time since early childhood, Lily felt fear.
She stood up, grabbed her wand, and made her way downstairs, careful not to wake her dorm mates on her way out. Her feet whispered across the stone floors. Lily shivered again. The shift she was wearing acted as a horribly flimsy barrier against the chill that seeped into the castle during the winter evenings.
“Come to me...”
The Fat Lady swung open for her without protest-a rare and strange occurrence-and the corridor was both empty and silent. Lily didn't know what time it was, but it simply felt late, as if she was doing something terribly indecent by being awake at this hour. This had to stop, though, and Lily planned on stopping it now.
“Come...come...come to me...”
Lily pushed the door to the girls' lavatory open. Myrtle was nowhere in sight. It was surprisingly dark, even darker than the corridor, and she paused a moment to let her eyes adjust. Bravely, she stepped forward, right up to that broken sink. In the gloom, she could see the tap was shaped like a snake - why hadn't she noticed before?
She had the fleeting thought that something wasn't quite right-her father lost his ability to speak Parseltongue after Voldemort's death, yet it wasn't even his gene to pass. But Lily quashed the feeling down. Something like anticipation built inside her.
“Open,” she whispered.
The Chamber opened.
Title: And in the Dead of Night
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1300~
Pairing(s): Rose/Scorpius, implied Lysander/Lily
Warnings: language
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Lily is plagued by a voice that nobody else can hear-she can't help but feel that something isn't quite right.
Author's Notes: I loved this prompt so much, and I really hope I did it justice! Beta'd by the lovely stgulik.
Her fork made an ugly scraping sound when Lily dragged it across her plate. She'd woken up tired and groggy, and a headache had settled behind her eyes. As she continued to push her food around the plate, she attempted to listen to the conversation around her.
“You should eat a bit,” Molly told her, making an offhand gesture towards Lily's plate. Two pieces of buttered toast sat untouched in front of her. The more Lily stared at them, the worse she felt.
"I'll attempt it,” she answered, tearing a bit of the corner of one slice off and placing it in her mouth. She immediately swallowed, trying to avoid the taste of it. A wave of nausea swept over her, and Lily stood up, leaving Hugo and Molly to their gossip as she strode out into the Entrance Hall. The sudden urge to retch was so strong that she could barely contain it. Lily quickly veered towards the nearest loo.
She realized her mistake as she was wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, the sick feeling lingering stubbornly. She never used this bathroom, and there was a bloody good reason for it.
“Feeling a little-peaky, are we?” Myrtle crooned from her place hovering above the stall.
Lily said nothing, valiantly trying to ignore the ghost. Her aunt had warned her about Moaning Myrtle, so Lily had managed to avoid this particular bathroom for the five years she'd been at Hogwarts. Evidently, today was not her day.
Forcing the sick feeling down, Lily stood up, cast a breath spell, and walked out of the stall.
“Come...come to me...” a voice whispered.
Lily turned to shoot Myrtle a dirty look. The ghost was perched on one of the nearby sinks, a snarky little grin on her face. “Why would I?” Lily asked testily, trying one of the taps. No water flowed, and, frustrated, she moved over to the next sink.
“Why would you what?” Myrtle inquired, raising an eyebrow. If she'd had the ability to smack ghosts, Lily would have at that moment.
“Why would I come to you?” she hissed, her hands shaking as she scrubbed them clean.
“Are you mad?” the ghost asked, looking rather delighted at the prospect. “It doesn't matter that you're so pretty if you're insane.”
“I am not-”
“Come to me...come,” repeated the mysterious voice. Lily stopped mid-sentence, cocking her head to hear better. As she stood there, silent and waiting, Myrtle shot her an incredulous look, the expression on her face seeming to say, You're mad, Lily Luna, mad, mad, mad.
The voice did not speak again.
“I'm not mad,” Lily finally whispered, dark eyes darting around the room. A sudden chill went down her spine, and her headache was almost completely forgotten.
*
It was on a Saturday when she heard it again.
Lily was sitting in the library, by herself, staring pensively out at the pleasantly blue sky through the window near her little table. The Ravenclaw-Slytherin Quidditch match was going on, something that Lily had felt no need to attend, but that every other student in Hogwarts-save a few Hufflepuff firsties-had decided to watch. Scorpius Malfoy was the Ravenclaw Seeker, and her cousin Rose his biggest fan. Lily didn't think she'd be able to stand sitting next to the girl in her current state of love-induced madness. Maybe she still should have gone to see Al play, but she figured missing this one game would be forgiveable.
Suddenly she heard it again. “Come...” something whispered. It almost felt as if it was spoken directly into her ear. Lily's head jerked at the sound, her eyes frantically searching for its source. Sunlight illuminated the room, and all she could see were countless books lined up on all the available wall space and shelving. Nothing looked out of place.
Lily could see that Madame Pince had not looked up from whatever work she was doing at her desk. Lily had the suspicious feeling that the voice was for her, and her alone.
The thought was ludicrous-maybe she really was mad.
“Come to me...come to us...” The last word was nearly a hiss. Without pausing to think on it, Lily stood up, grabbed her bag, and ran out of the library. The corridors were empty, each and every one, so she had no trouble flying through them, those whispery words guiding her deeper into the castle, until she managed to find herself standing outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom for the second time that month. She hadn't dared venture back after the last time. Still, something niggled restlessly in the back of her mind, urging her forward, urging her inside.
“Back again?” Myrtle asked, the laughter in her voice making Lily's blood boil. She'd always had a short temper.
“Fuck off, Myrtle,” she said, her voice lacking the venom that would make the words truly sting.
The ghost simply smiled, her grey face becoming almost pretty. “You're that Harry Potter's daughter, aren't you?” the ghost asked in an annoyingly sing-song voice.
Hearing Myrtle say her father's name triggered a memory for Lily, a long-ago childhood story. Doing her best to ignore the ghost, Lily reached out for a broken tap at one of the bathroom sinks. She could remember the story now, the story of her father's second year at Hogwarts. Basilisks and the Chamber of Secrets and petrification, Salazar Slytherin and Tom Riddle, his heir. Lily's father never told her where the entrance to the Chamber was, and she'd never asked.
“I died down there,” Myrtle whispered.
Dad can't speak Parseltongue any longer, Lily thought to herself as she continued to stroke the tap, the one with such a peculiar shape.
“That's where I died,” Myrtle repeated.
Finally turning towards the ghost, Lily couldn't help but feel a little bit of pity for her. Moaning Myrtle, the girl who never had the chance to live.
“I'm sorry for that,” Lily answered.
Taking one, final look at the broken sink, Lily turned on her heel and left.
*
It was late in the evening when it came again.
“Come...come...come...”
The words brushed against her ear like a caress, and Lily woke up with a gasp. It was pitch black in the dormitory; no light streamed in through the window.
New moon, she thought, sleep clinging stubbornly to her mind. The threads of her dream-Lysander Scamander's doe-like eyes and his long, slender fingers-lingered for a moment, and Lily physically shook herself in an effort to wake up.
“Come to me...”
Shaking herself again, Lily sat up right in bed, her scarlet sheets falling off her. She shivered at the sudden cold, goosebumps rising up on her skin. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and for the first time since early childhood, Lily felt fear.
She stood up, grabbed her wand, and made her way downstairs, careful not to wake her dorm mates on her way out. Her feet whispered across the stone floors. Lily shivered again. The shift she was wearing acted as a horribly flimsy barrier against the chill that seeped into the castle during the winter evenings.
“Come to me...”
The Fat Lady swung open for her without protest-a rare and strange occurrence-and the corridor was both empty and silent. Lily didn't know what time it was, but it simply felt late, as if she was doing something terribly indecent by being awake at this hour. This had to stop, though, and Lily planned on stopping it now.
“Come...come...come to me...”
Lily pushed the door to the girls' lavatory open. Myrtle was nowhere in sight. It was surprisingly dark, even darker than the corridor, and she paused a moment to let her eyes adjust. Bravely, she stepped forward, right up to that broken sink. In the gloom, she could see the tap was shaped like a snake - why hadn't she noticed before?
She had the fleeting thought that something wasn't quite right-her father lost his ability to speak Parseltongue after Voldemort's death, yet it wasn't even his gene to pass. But Lily quashed the feeling down. Something like anticipation built inside her.
“Open,” she whispered.
The Chamber opened.