hogwartsexpress

[hogwartsexpress]

𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐠𝐞𝐭  𝐨𝐧  𝐚  𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧  ...  𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫.  you  write  your  name  on  the  window  ,  you  disappear.  there  are  places  like  this  everywhere  ,  places  you  enter  as  a  young  girl  from  which  you  never  return.  [  @hogwartsexpress  ,  penned  by  sarah  for  @nobodyssoldier  ]

𝙻𝙸𝙻𝙰 𝙻𝚄𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙰 𝙿𝙾𝙻𝙰𝚃 …  24 years old  ,  cis  woman  (she/her)  ,  halfblood  ,  gryffindor  ,  student  (auror  track)  ,  knights 𝙻𝚈𝙳𝙸𝙰 𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶𝙱𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙾𝙼 …  24 years old  ,  queer  (she/they)  ,  pureblood  ,  hufflepuff  ,  student  (healer  track)  ,  knights 𝙵𝚁𝙴𝚈𝙰 𝙶𝚁𝙴𝚈𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 …  26 years old  ,  transfeminine  genderfluid  (she/they)  ,  halfblood  ,  slytherin  ,  student  (unspeakable  track)  ,  erinyes-wraith  double  agent

[hogwartsexpress]

his  words  hit  her  like  a  curse  —  stop  that,  stop  saying  that  —  and  she  flinched  despite  herself.  there  was  something  in  his  voice  she  couldn't  bear  to  hear,  something  that  made  her  chest  ache  with  a  pain  firewhiskey  couldn't  touch.  "  what  else  am  i  supposed  to  think?  i  know  you  want  revenge.  i  know  that  you'd  rather  it  had  been  me  who  died  that  night.  "  or  maybe  that  was  what  she  wanted,  in  her  heart  of  hearts.  better  herself  than  anyone  else.  "  why  wouldn't  you  want  me  dead?  i  would,  if  it  were  me.  "  her  voice  cracked  on  the  words,  raw  and  honest  in  a  way  she  hadn't  allowed  herself  to  be  in  so  long.  i  do,  sometimes.  want  me  dead,  she  almost  said  but  held  herself  back.

"  you  don't  know  me  anymore?  "  a  bitter  laugh  escaped  her  throat.  "  that's  a  lie  and  we  both  know  it.  we've  known  each  other  our  whole  lives. "  she  swallowed  hard,  fighting  back  the  words  that  threatened  to  spill  out.  "  even  now,  after  everything  —  "  she  cut  herself  off  before  she'd  said  it:  you  still  know  me  best.  it  terrified  her,  how  he  could  still  see  right  through  her.  he'd  always  been  able  to  cut  to  the  heart  of  her.

why  didn't  you  ask  me  to  stay?  it  echoed  in  her  mind,  stirring  up  memories  she'd  tried  so  hard  to  drown  in  firewhiskey.  her  hands  gripped  the  counter  harder,  knuckles  going  white,  as  if  she  could  anchor  herself  to  this  moment  and  keep  from  being  swept  away  by  the  tide  of  regret  threatening  to  pull  her  under.  memories  flooded  back:  the  way  he'd  looked  at  her  that  last  day,  like  she  was  something  unrecognizable,  something  monstrous.  she  deserved  that  look.  she  deserved  so  much  worse.  that  look  haunted  her  dreams  more  than  any  kill  ever  had.

"  i  wanted  to,  "  she  whispered.  the  firewhiskey  had  dangerously  brought  her  emotions  right  to  the  surface,  and  now  everything  was  bubbling  over.  "  but  i  —  i  didn't  have  the  right.  not  after  what  i  did.  not  after  your  father.  i  thought  i  was  doing  the  right  thing,  letting  you  go.  "  her  fingers  trembled  against  the  counter.  "  i  thought ...  i  thought  maybe  if  i  let  you  go,  you  could  heal.  be  whole  again.  "  without  me  there  to  break  you  further,  she  didn't  add.

the  truth  of  it  burned  worse  than  any  firewhiskey:  she'd  helped  orchestrate  the  resurrection  that  had  torn  their  world  apart,  had  been  one  of  the  ones  to  push  for  it  the  hardest.  she'd  been  so  certain  she  was  doing  the  right  thing,  so  desperate  to  fix  everything,  to  bring  back  her  own  father,  that  she  hadn't  stopped  to  think  about  the  consequences.  about  what  it  would  do  to  everyone.  she'd  been  so  focused  on  her  own  desperate  need  to  make  things  right,  that  she'd  forgotten  what  it  might  cost  others.  the  road  to  hell,  they  said,  was  paved  with  good  intentions.  she'd  learned  that  lesson  too  late.

"  i  thought  i  was  helping,  "  she  continued,  her  voice  barely  above  a  whisper.  "  i  thought  i  could  make  everything  right  again.  but  i  just  made  it  so  much  worse.  i  keep  doing  that.  trying  to  fix  things  and  just  breaking  them  more.  "  she  felt  that  familiar  burn  behind  her  eyes,  the  threat  of  tears  she  hadn't  allowed  herself  to  shed  in  years.  she  couldn't  look  at  him  as  she  spoke,  couldn't  bear  to  see  the  hatred  or  worse  —  the  emptiness  —  in  his  eyes.  instead,  she  stared  at  her  hands,  remembering  how  they'd  once  felt  tangled  in  his,  how  he  used  to  hold  her  when  everything  felt  like  too  much.  before  she'd  ruined  it  all.  before  she'd  become  the  very  thing  she'd  always  fought  against.  how  many  nights  had  she  spent  remembering  those  moments?  how  many  bottles  of  firewhiskey  had  she  emptied  trying  to  forget?  sometimes  she  thought  she  could  still  feel  the  phantom  warmth  of  his  touch,  a  ghost  that  haunted  her  more  persistently  than  any  wraith.

"  you  were  right  to  leave,  "  she  admitted.  "  i  would  have  left  too,  if  i  were  you.  sometimes  i  think  —  "  she  cut  herself  off,  biting  back  the  words  she  couldn't  say:  sometimes  i  think  you  should  have  killed  me  that  day  instead.  it  would  have  been  easier,  wouldn't  it?  cleaner.  he  could  have  had  his  revenge,  and  she  could  have  paid  for  what  she  did.  her  fingers  traced  the  scar  of  her  unbreakable  vow  before  she  could  stop  herself.  "  look,  you  can  hate  me  all  you  want,  "  she  said  quietly.  "  but  don't —  "  she  caught  herself,  steadied  her  voice.  "  don't  throw  your  life  away  because  of  what  i  did.  your  father  wouldn't  want  that.  "

he's never believed killing could make someone a monster. he's never believed it because of her. she didn't need to tell him what had happened, and he knew, even back then, he didn't need to know. anything lila did, he would forgive. that was what he'd thought. perhaps he'd found his limit. why was he still so afraid that she might find her limit with him? " it had to be done. " he repeated. did she think that was how he felt about her? something to put down and be done with. the thought made his stomach curdle. " stop that. stop saying that. i don't know what you want to hear, but you won't hear it from me. and you didn't make anything easier for me. " terrified, so terrified, that the truth might creep out. he could not kill her. he would lay his life for her, still, despite everything, if he had to. he was always at his weakest when it came to her. you can't die. how funny, that he could have said the same to her. his mouth parted, closed. he wanted to say her name again, but he was afraid that it would say everything. admit all he could not. it was why he'd taken to calling her polat, even in private : he needed the distance, or else he was taken over by memories. by that feeling she invoked within him that had never gone away. the thought of her wanting him alive made him feel ... strange. he tried to lesson the true intent of his words, knowing she could see through him. " a war means everyone's at risk. i have to think realistically. " he had no response for what she said next. two, three, four beats of silence before he finally spoke again. " you don't know me. we barely know each other anymore. " weak-whispered lie. there was something tying them together that didn't have a name : he would always know her, and she would always know him, and that was their little cycle of tragedy. he should try to snip it right here and now. but the only way to do so would be to be truly cruel, and his tongue might be a knife, but it could only cut lila so deep before he'd rather turn it on himself. instead, he allowed himself another moment of vulnerability, if only because he was so sick of hours spent wondering. " come back? why didn't you ask me to stay? the day i told you i was leaving. "

[hogwartsexpress]

lila  watched  through  half-lidded,  chestnut  eyes  as  scorpius  checked  her  pupils  with  the  candlelight,  fighting  the  urge  to  flinch  away  from  his  careful  examination.  it  was  almost  uncomfortable  being  held  up  to  the  light  like  this—a  strangely  vulnerable  feeling  that  made  her  want  to  crawl  out  of  her  own,  freckle-dusted  skin.  the  candlelight  felt  too  bright,  too  exposing  in  the  dim  of  night.  could  he  see  her?  really  see  her,  past  all  her  carefully  constructed  walls,  past  the  brave  faces  and  sharp  smiles?  could  he  see  the  cracks  inside  her,  how  darkness  had  started  to  consume  her  from  within,  the  way  she'd  begun  to  welcome  it?  and  if  he  could—if  he  could  see  all  of  that,  all  her  repulsiveness—why  was  he  still  here?

"  i  didn't  realize  we  had  an  audience,  "  she  muttered,  trying  for  lightness  as  cleo  circled  them  anxiously.  but  her  attempt  at  humor  fell  flat,  broken  by  a  sharp  intake  of  breath  as  another  wave  of  pain  radiated  from  her  stomach.  the  venom  from  the  curse  still  burned  through  her  veins  like  liquid  fire,  making  her  head  swim  with  memories  of  that  suffocating  darkness.  of  fighting  blind,  of  healing  her  attacker's  wounds  while  her  own  still  bled.  why  hadn't  she  tried  to  heal  herself  first?  was  there  something  in  her  that  wanted  it—that  sweet  release  of  death?  that  refused  to  stop  chasing  after  it,  night  after  night,  duel  after  duel?  "  suppose  i  can't  sneak  anything  past  your  kit  these  days.  she's  like  a  bloodhound,  that  one.  "

she  reached  for  the  tea  with  trembling,  pallid  fingers,  more  to  have  something  to  do  with  her  hands  than  any  real  desire  to  drink  it.  the  familiar  scent—too  hot,  exactly  how  scorpius  always  made  it—helped  ground  her  in  the  present  moment,  pulling  her  back  from  the  edge  of  those  memories  she'd  rather  forget.  the  mug  warmed  her  ice-cold  hands,  reminding  her  that  she  was  here,  she  was  alive,  she  had  survived.  again.

"  i  had  it  under  control,  "  she  said  softly,  though  they  both  knew  it  for  the  lie  it  was.  her  stomach  wound  spoke  otherwise,  as  did  the  way  her  hands  shook  around  the  mug,  the  unnatural  pallor  of  her  skin  beneath  its  constellation  of  freckles.  "  really,  scor.  it  wasn't—  "  she  broke  off  as  cleo's  paw  tapped  against  her  shoe  again,  a  gentle  reminder  that  she  wasn't  fooling  either  of  them.  the  kit  had  always  seen  right  through  her  masks,  just  like  her  owner.  "  okay,  fine.  maybe  it  got  a  bit  dicey  towards  the  end.  but  i  handled  it,  like  i  always  do.  "

she  didn't  tell  him  about  waiting  in  that  suffocating  darkness,  trying  to  heal  the  wraith  while  her  own  blood  pooled  beneath  her,  the  copper  scent  making  her  dizzy.  didn't  mention  how  the  unbreakable  vow  had  felt  like  it  was  strangling  her,  how  she'd  almost  welcomed  it—like  maybe  this  was  what  she'd  been  looking  for  all  along  when  she  made  that  vow.  not  redemption,  but  punishment.  not  protection,  but  permission  to  let  go.  didn't  speak  of  how  the  darkness  had  clawed  its  way  inside  her  chest,  leaving  her  feeling  hopelessly,  helplessly  alone,  wondering  if  this  was  how  her  father  had  felt  in  his  final  moments.

instead,  she  focused  on  the  steady  movement  of  his  hands  as  he  worked,  the  familiar  comfort  of  his  presence  beside  her.  it  was  almost  like  being  back  at  hogwarts,  when  everything  was  simpler.  "  thanks,  "  she  whispered  finally,  the  word  catching  in  her  throat  like  a  confession.  for  the  tea.  for  not  telling  her  mum.  for  understanding  why  she  couldn't  stop  fighting,  even  when  it  might  kill�� her.  for  being  here  in  the  dead  of  night,  patching  her  up  without  judgment.  for  seeing  her  at  her  worst  and  staying  anyway.  "  i  don't  suppose  you'd  believe  me  if  i  promised  to  be  more  careful  next  time?  "

Scor had on the soft kind of slippers, missing most of a sole they dampened the sound of his steps against the floorboards so that Cleo would stop nipping at his ankles in frustration when they haunted Grimmauld in the early hours. There were only so many times ones’ literal fucking soul could relay that you sounded like an Erumpant crashing around in a cutlery drawer before you submitted yourself to some mild indignity. 

It neared two in the morning as he shuffled up to the kitchen counter, he leaned forward with a creak to flick the muggle kettle on and the small red light turned his fingers briefly crimson. Scorpius fished out a teabag and plopped it into the bottom of a chipped Chudley Canons mug, the kettle's happy bubbling drowned out the sound of his long yawn. Cleo poked him none too subtly in the shin with her snout and he rolled his eyes. He turned to pry the lid off the tin of biscuits and tossed her a small chunk of ginger snap that she crunched on like he often starved her for days at a time. One teaspoon of brown sugar and a splash of milk followed boiled water and the mug steamed, a perfect tea tan. 

Furred ears swiveled and suddenly Cleo trotted away from him down the hallway toward one of the parlours. He only eased into a somewhat stiff lope after her when he caught what she whispered back to him with a twitch of her whiskers.

“I smell blood.”

Scorpius paused in the thin shaft of diffuse light in the doorway, his palm hovered against the wood while he took in the room. Stained russet cloth, a cluster of bottles on the table beside her. Nascent candlelight flickered and lit one half of Lil’s face, the other side cast by the dark in stark shadow, he let out a tired sigh and scrubbed his free hand over his eyes and forehead. He shuffled across the room and plunked the mug of tea down next to her, something of a peace offering, he cut his eyes to hers briefly to ward off any complaints. Too hot to drink just yet, it’s how he takes his tea, lump it. 

Scor couldn’t help the soft scoff at her words, shaking his head before producing his wand and starting to trace it gently around her. The gash on her abdomen appeared fairly well sealed and there was a measure of the Blood Replenishing potion missing, which accounted for the slight coughing he’d heard before he’d come into the room. 

“Unless I can see through a bit of you, I’m not going to tell.” He murmured in placation while he flicked his wand, floating the candle and passing it over one cheek then the other, focused on the dilation of her eyes. 

In the scant few seconds that had passed Cleo seemed torn between wanting to comfort Lily and avoiding her. In the end she came up with something of a compromise and leaned her haunches against the redhead’s ankle, every now and then tapping the top of her shoe with a fluffy paw. She stood with a hushed whine and circled them a few times when nausea strayed too near, clearly worried about their dear friend. 

[hogwartsexpress]

lila  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  silver  moonlight  spilling  through  her  window  as  she  pressed  her  palms  against  her  burning  eyes.  every  moment  with  oleander  played  through  her  mind  in  a  vicious  loop.  merlin,  she'd  been  pathetic—voice  full  of  desperate  longing  as  she'd  practically  begged  him  to  come  home.  the  firewhiskey  had  made  her  soft,  made  her  forget  the  careful  fortress  she'd  built  between  him  and  her  heart.  his  gaze  on  her  palm  still  burned  like  fiendfyre  against  her  skin,  that  treacherous  flicker  of  concern  in  his  eyes  sparking  a  little  ember  of  hope—only  for  it  to  be  snuffed  out  when  he  left.

what  had  she  expected?  that  he'd  suddenly  forgive  her?  that  he'd  run  back  into  her  open  arms?  that  they  could  somehow  resurrect  what  they'd  been  before  she'd  helped  burn  his  world  to  ash?  a  sound  escaped  her  throat—something  between  a  laugh  and  a  sob,  too  raw  to  be  either.  some  gryffindor  she  was,  too  much  of  a  coward  to  keep  her  own  heart  behind  its  walls.

the  bottle  of  firewhiskey  called  to  her  from  her  bedside  table,  but  her  hands  shook  too  violently  for her to  open  it.  good.  she  deserved  this  knife-edge  clarity,  deserved  to  feel  every  jagged  piece  of  her  shame  cutting  into  her.  deserved  to  remember  exactly  why  oleander's  eyes  held  such  venom  when  he  looked  at  her  now,  why  he—

a  sudden  crack  shattered  her  spiral  of  self-loathing.  she  whirled  toward  the  sound  just  in  time  to  see  james  crumple  onto  her  pillow,  blood  staining  the  fabric  a  violent  crimson.  for  a  heartbeat,  she  could  only  stare,  her  alcohol-addled  brain  struggling  to  separate  nightmare  from  reality.  then  she  saw  the  bruises  blossoming  across  his  face,  and  something  ignited  in  her  chest,  almost  burning  away  the  alcohol's  haze.

"  jan?  "  her  eyes  blinked  rapidly  as  she  tried  to  force  sobriety  through  sheer  willpower.  "  what's  going  on?  what  happened?  "  but  she  already  knew,  could  see  the  truth  etched  on  her  brother's  face  before  she  forced  out  her  next  words:  "  did  ollie  do  this?  "

Where: 12 Grimmauld Place, Lila's Bedroom

When: 26 of December, late

Who: @lilys

A loud Crack! and Jan found himself collapsing head first onto Lila's pillow. His head throbbed and the familiar metallic sting of blood rang in his throat.

He had made a huge mistake. One of many.

He didn't know what he was expecting when he ran after Ollie, but he supposed this didn't come as a shock. A bruise was expected, even welcomed. He knew what that meant. It was the silence, the melancholy, the kind that his father now didn't--couldn't--show, that drove him insane. When he was younger, he knew exactly where he stood after a proper punishment was chosen for blowing up the kitchen or hiding the cat.

Now, he wondered if he walked in front of him, grabbed his face and screamed I hate this I hate this I hate me if it would elicit any sort of response. And he was too scared to try.

So it would result in some injuries. At the end of the day, it's what he deserved. Downstairs seemed to be silent, clean up from the dinner long gone. He groaned as guilt filled him, lifting his head delicately to let it sit between his hands.

[hogwartsexpress]

the  way  he  looked  at  her  palm,  at  the  hidden  scar  of  her  vow  —  her  skin  prickled  with  something  she  refused  to  name,  a  desperate  fire  of  longing  and  almost  hope.  for  just  a  moment,  his  gaze  held  that  old  softness,  that  familiar  concern  that  used  to  make  her  feel  like  she  was  worth  saving.  it  was  as  if  he  still  cared,  and  the  bitter  knowledge  tore  through  her  like  a  knife,  wounding  her  than  his  anger  ever  could.  so  what  if  —  underneath  all  that  resentment  —  the  love  was  still  there,  buried  deep  in  the  ground,  lying  right  beside  his  father's  corpse?  it  would  not  change  things,  would  not  erase  the  distance  between  them  or  wash  the  blood  from  her  hands.  she  had  forfeited  any  right  to  his  care  the  moment  she'd  helped  tear  his  world  apart. she  wanted  to  make  him  understand  that  the  unbreakable  vow  hadn't  been  about  disadvantaging  herself  in  battle.  it  was  about  stopping  herself  from  becoming  the  monster  she  feared  she  already  was,  about  preventing  herself  from  crossing  more  lines  that  could  never  be  uncrossed,  from  spilling  more  blood  that  could  never  be  washed  away.  but  most  of  all,  she'd  done  it  for  him  —  to  atone  for  what  she'd  done  to  him  and  his  family,  for  the  way  she'd  helped  break  something  that  could  never  be  fixed.  what  did  it  matter  if  she  died  in  the  process?  she  deserved  it.  after  everything  she'd  done,  death  would  be  a  mercy  she  hadn't  earned.  maybe  that  was  what  she'd  been  seeking  all  along  when  she  made  the  vow  —  not  redemption  but  punishment.  (  she  imagined  it  sometimes,  in  her  dreams:  oleander  killing  her.  he  was  always  more  merciful  than  she  deserved,  his  hands  steady  and  sure  as  he  ended  her  life,  his  eyes  holding  that  same  softness  they  had  now.  ) but  the  words  died  in  her  throat,  too  honest  to  be  spoken  aloud.  "  it  doesn't  matter.  it  had  to  be  done.  "  she  finally  said,  her  voice  barely  above  a  whisper.  his  words  rang  in  her  ears:  sometimes  killing  is  needed,  even  if  it  hurts.  it  brought  forth  a  memory  she'd  tried  her  hardest  to  forget:  the  first  time  she'd  killed  someone — her  ex-boyfriend, adonis — she'd  shown  up  on  oleander's  doorstep,  wrecked  with  guilt  and  self-loathing.  he  hadn't  asked  questions,  just  held  her  while  she  shook  apart  in  his  arms,  her  hands  still  smelling  of  smoke.  she'd  fallen  asleep  beside  him  and  left  before  sunrise,  too  ashamed  to  face  him  in  the  light  of  day.  "  somehow,  i  thought  you'd  be  happy  i  did  it.  easier  this  way,  isn't  it?  getting  the  job  done?  "  when  he  spoke  of  not  wanting  neville  to  return  until  he  was  gone,  lila  felt  the  words  like  a  physical  blow  to  the  chest.  the  implication  hung  heavy  between  them:  he  was  planning  to  die  in  this  war.  just  like  she  was.  they  were  both  racing  toward  their  own  destruction,  two  shooting  stars  burning  themselves  out.  "  don't  say  that,  "  she  insisted,  in  spite  of  herself.  "  you  can't  die.  "  what  would  this  all  have  been  for,  if  he  just  let  himself  die  in  the  end? the knowledge of his murder should've sickened her, should've pushed her away, but it didn't. not yet. "  ollie,  stop.  i  know  you.  i  know  you're  not  a  monster.  "  she  said,  fiercely,  vehemently.  "  if  you  killed  someone,  you  must've  had  a  good  reason.  they  must've  deserved  it.  you  don't  need  to  torture  yourself  for  it.  just  ...  come  back,  we  can  make  this  right.  "

perceptive eyes trailed towards her palm. not so long ago, he might have reached out, curled his hand over her own & traced his thumb right where her fingers touched. offering comfort to lila had never been an obligation to him : it came to him as naturally as breathing, once. now he stood there, almost awkward, wanting to break the distance between them and wanting her as far away from him as possible in equal measure. he used to make things grow, and now he only breaks what he touches. he was a danger to her. longbottom. it should make him happy, that she's stopped calling him by his name. she had no right to refer to him informally. they were enemies. and still it was so hollow to hear. " then you see what a disadvantage you've forced yourself in. " he was almost scolding her. another flash of rage rose within him, directed at her for all the wrong reasons : how could she have taken away a form of protection from herself ? " sometimes killing is needed. even if it hurts. " though he'd stopped feeling guilty about the blood on his hands a while ago. that was how he knew redemption had slipped away from him. it took a monster to fight monsters, and that was what he had become. he wanted lila to see that. he wanted her to put an end to him. wasn't it only fair for it to be her that killed him ? he might walk right into the knife if only she asked it of him. if only she hated him the way he needed her to. he leaned against the counter, the only way of stopping himself from reaching out and making sure she's steady. " i don't think i want him to come back. or if he does, i hope it's — " when i'm gone, he doesn't say. let the implication hang between them. she was right. his father would want him with his friends. he'd want him to take some vow to never kill and be good. for the first time, his gaze softened. " i can't leave daisy. " but it wasn't that simple, either. " you're wrong, lila. i am too far gone. being a wraith isn't the only way to be a monster. this — " his fingers brush over the wound. " i killed the person that gave me this, and i felt proud of it. i would do it again. that's why i didn't heal it. "

[hogwartsexpress]

[ remains of the polat family residence, godric's hallow. 1 november 2028. @wartorns & @jansirac ] neville's  words  still  echoed  in  lila's  mind,  an  endless  loop  of  despair:  he's  gone,  lila.  i'm  so  sorry.  the  words  circled  like  vultures,  feeding  on  what  remained  of  her  hope.  even  neville's  voice  —  always  so  steady  and  gentle  —  had  crumbled  around  the  edges,  like  everything  else  in  this  war-torn  world.  for  hours,  they'd  pleaded  with  their  mother  to  let  them  see  what  remained  of  their  house.  ginny  hadn't  wanted  them  to  witness  this  —  their  childhood  home  reduced  to  wreckage.  but  they  needed  to  see  it.  they  had  to  know. now  lila  stood  in  what  was  left  of  their  living  room,  her  hands  trembling  despite  her  desperate  attempts  to  still  them.  the  air  pressed  heavy  against  her  skin,  thick  with  the  acrid  smell  of  ash  and  dark  magic.  this  room  had  held  so  many  memories  —  homework  sprawled  across  the  floor  while  her  father  helped  with  defense  against  the  dark  arts  essays,  morning  dueling  practice  before  breakfast,  quiet  evenings  by  the  fire  when  he'd  tell  stories  of  his  adventures.  it  was  unrecognizable  now. cruel  sunlight  pierced  through  a  jagged  hole  in  the  ceiling,  casting  harsh  shadows  across  the  devastation.  scorch  marks  marred  the  walls  where  curses  had  struck.  the  furniture  lay  splintered  and  scattered  —  the  old  armchair  where  he  used  to  sit  was  now  nothing  but  kindling.  she  remembered  curling  up  in  his  lap  there  when  she  was  small,  feeling  invincible  in  his  embrace.  harun  polat,  the  hero  of  the  wizarding  world,  had  seemed  immortal  then.  how  wrong  they'd  all  been. family  photos  that  had  once  lined  the  mantlepiece  lay  shattered  across  the  floor,  smiling  faces  obscured  by  cracked  glass.  in  one  frame,  partially  buried  in  debris,  her  father's  shining  eyes  caught  hers  through  the  spider-web  fractures,  holding  all  the  warmth  and  pride  she'd  never  feel  again.  quickly,  she  turned  away,  blinking  rapidly  to  stop  the  burn  of  tears. her  fingers  brushed  against  something  solid  among  the  debris.  lila's  fingers  closed  around  his  old  auror  badge,  its  golden  surface  now  tarnished  and  dented.  the  metal  was  warm,  as  if  it  had  absorbed  the  morning  sun,  and  for  a  moment  she  could  pretend  it  was  still  warm  from  being  pinned  to  her  father's  chest.  she  gripped  it  until  the  edges  bit  into  her  palm,  welcoming  the  sharp  pain.  it  was  better  than  the  hollow  ache  in  her  chest,  the  grief  that  threatened  to  consume  her  whole. a  floorboard  creaked  behind  her  —  jan  or  altan,  probably,  coming  to  check  on  her.  she  quickly  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  sleeve,  though  no  tears  had  fallen,  a  reminder  to  be  strong.  “  it's  gone,  ”  she  murmured. she wasn't sure if she was speaking to her brothers or herself.  “  everything  …  it's  all  gone.  ”  lila's  fingers  tightened  around  the  badge  until  she  felt  blood  well  up  beneath  her  nails.  the  pain  helped  focus  her  mind,  turning  grief  into  something  harder,  something  she  could  use.  “  someone  needs  to  answer  for  this.  ”

[hogwartsexpress]

she  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  reach  her  hand  out  —  to  gingerly,  gently  trail  her  lithe  fingers  along  his  wound.  does  it  hurt,  ollie?  she  wanted  to  ask.  will  you  let  me  fix  it?  but  the  knowledge  that  he'd  only  flinch  away  from  her  poisonous  touch  kept  her  hands  placed  firmly  at  her  sides.  digging  her  red,  red  nails  into  her  palms  until  they  carved  faint  crescent  moons  into  her  skin,  she  relished  in  the  pain,  the  bite  —  it  was  only  what  she  deserved  for  her  traitorous  thoughts.  she'd  lost  the  right  to  care  about  his  wounds  the  moment  she'd  inflicted  far  deeper  ones. the  firewhiskey  burned,  but  not  enough  to  dull  the  edge  in  his  voice  when  he  spoke  of  his  father.  (  it's  my  fault,  it's  my  fault,  it's  my  fault,  a  voice  in  her  head  repeated,  a  sickening  mantra.  death  would  never  be  so  merciful  as  to  give  up  his  freely-given  sacrifice.  )  her  fingers  tightened  around  the  counter's  edge  until  her  knuckles  went  white,  fighting  the  urge  to  wrap  her  arms  around  him  like  she  might  have  once,  before  she'd  torn  their  world  apart  with  her  own  bloodied  hands. "  a  proper  match?  that's  rich.  "  a  bitter  laugh  escaped  her  throat,  raw  and  hollow.  "  haven't  you  heard,  longbottom?  i  couldn't  kill  you  even  if  i  wanted  to.  "  the  words  slipped  from  her  lips  before  she  could  think  better  of  it,  her  inhibitions  loosened  by  the  alcohol  swirling  in  her  system.  filled  with  an  overwhelming  urge  to  slit  her  own  tongue,  she  sheepishly  looked  away,  her  fingers  instinctively  touching  the  back  of  her  palm,  tracing  the  scar  she  kept  glamoured  —  how  foolish  could  she  be,  telling  the  boy  who  wanted  to  kill  her  most  that  she  couldn't  even  properly  fight  back?  the  unbreakable  vow  sat  like  a  noose  around  her  neck,  one  she'd  tied  herself,  but  the  worst  part  was  that  even  if  she  hadn't  taken  that  vow,  she'd  still  let  him  kill  her.  maybe  that  was  even  what  she  wanted,  at  this  point. the  truth  of  his  words  about  neville  made  her  hollow  chest  ache,  guilt  eating  away  at  her  insides,  threatening  to  consume  her  whole.  neville  had  been  too  good,  too  kind,  too  willing  to  see  the  best  in  everyone  —  even  her.  even  now  that  she'd  proved  that  she'd  never  deserved  such  gentle  mercy.  even  after  she'd  taken  his  son's  gentle  love  and  twisted  it  into  something  dark  and  venomous. "  you're  right,  "  she  whispered  back,  voice  thick  with  everything  she  couldn't  say.  "  he  was  too  forgiving.  far  too  forgiving  of  me.  "  she  pressed  her  palms  flat  against  the  counter,  trying  to  ground  herself,  to  stop  the  rush  of  self-loathing  that  threatened  to  pull  her  under.  “  but  you're  wrong  about  one  thing.  he'd  want  to  come  back  for  you.  he  loved  you,  more  than  anything.  “  she  knew  that  she  ought  to  stop  now,  knew  her  next  words  would  only  wound  them  both  further,  but  the  firewhiskey  had  loosened  her  tongue  and  she  couldn't  seem  to  stem  the  flow  of  words:  “  it's  not  too  late,  you  know.  you  can  still  come  back  from  this,  come  home  to  us.  you're  not  too  far  gone  that  this  can't  be  fixed.  “  unlike  me,  she  thought  but  didn't  say.  some  things  were  beyond  fixing,  beyond  forgiveness.  ”  you  know  it's  what  he'd  want.  ”

her stare was a weight on his entire self. at his side, his hand flexed. idiot, you should have healed yourself properly, he thought. he must make a strange, unfamiliar sight. worse, he wondered if she saw the scar as a weakness. there was a time where he would have trusted her with his life, and it had been a mistake. he needed to remind himself of that before he started to blind himself into thinking that she might care for him. " still dramatic as ever. " the words came out softer than he intended. like how he used to tease her. her bitterness, her fury – he preferred that to her making herself small. even embroiled in hate – it had to be hate – he wanted to see her animated. ridiculous. he should be glad that his presence seemed to upset her. instead, he feels guilty. had always told himself he would never be another person for her to regret. just another broken promise between them. " besides, killing an opponent that way is dishonorable. death should be a fair battle. " oleander the liar. sometimes he felt incapable of harming her even if he wanted to. ( nevermind that he already had. nevermind that he'd been the one to leave. ) his eyes narrowed. they met her own. " is that what you think of me? that i'd kill you with your back turned, or while you slept? i'd want a proper match, polat. " he grabbed the firewhiskey, careful not to let their fingers brush. drinking it felt like relief. " i do blame you. " the words came out in a snapped rush, his knife of a tongue striking quick and sharp. " just not for this. you aren't the one he'd be upset with, anyway. he was always too forgiving. "

[hogwartsexpress]

she  watched  as  sirius  processed  the  strange,  mystifying  reality  before  him  —  her  father  not  just  grown  up  but  with  children  of  his  own,  children  named  after  sirius  and  his  companions.  jan  sirac,  altan  server,  lila  lunara.  three  echoes  of  a  future  he'd  never  gotten  to  see,  breathing  and  laughing  and  grown.  his  gaze  kept  catching  onto  her  features,  no  doubt  recognizing  the  ghost  of  his  friend  in  her  face  —  the  brilliant  shock  of  copper,  the  same  heart-shaped  face,  even  the  way  her  eyes  shone  with  a  radiant  warmth  when  she  laughed  (  or  so  she'd  been  told  ).  the  resemblance  to  her  namesake  was  something  she'd  grown  up  hearing,  but  watching  sirius  reconcile  it  now  was  something  else  entirely. sirius  himself  was  different  than  she'd  always  imagined  —  this  larger-than-life  figure  who'd  fallen  through  the  veil  with  defiant,  barking  laughter.  the  sirius  before  her  was  younger,  less  haunted  beneath  his  dark  eyes.  sitting  here  now,  she  could  see  fragments  of  the  boy  he  must  have  been  before  azkaban  hollowed  him  out.  it  was  unsettling,  seeing  him  like  this.  whole.  unbroken.  the  man  in  her  father's  photographs  had  always  looked  …  fractured,  somehow.  like  someone  had  taken  all  his  pieces  and  stitched  them  back  together  wrong.  but  this  sirius  —  this  impossible,  miraculous  sirius  —  carried  himself  with  an  easy  grace  that  spoke  of  someone  who  had  never  known  azkaban.  someone  who  had  never  needed  to  remember  how  to  be  human. “  always  happy  to  teach  an  old  dog  some  new  tricks.  ”  she  teased  back,  eyes  sparkling  with  something  she  didn't  dare  name.  (  hope,  maybe?  )  with  a  quick  accio,  lila  summoned  the  firewhiskey  she  kept  stashed  in  her  room  —  what  used  to  be  the  first  floor  guest  bedroom.  “  has  anyone  given  you  the  tour  yet?  jan's  up  in  your  old  room  now.  afraid  you'll  have  to  fight  him  over  it  if  you  want  it  back —  but  i  wouldn't  bother  if  i  were  you.  merlin  only  knows  what  he's  been  up  to  in  there.  ”

25 DECEMBER 2030 / 𝟏𝟐 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄

of all the strange and uncomfortable truths to arise over the course of the past seventy-two hours ( and there have been many ) the fact of harun polat being not only an adult but a father is among the hardest to reconcile. and yet the evidence stands before him with winged eyeliner and an attitude, calling him old while simultaneously offering a lifeline in the form of hard liquor. merry christmas, indeed.

the girl is at once achingly like his lila and also not. it's the sort of resemblance he ought really to have grown accustomed to as she grew from a toddler into an adult. but as it stands, he's facing off against the jarring truth of their similarities laid bare and finding it ... pretty fucking weird, honestly.

" i'll have you know i'm a spring chicken. not a day over seventy-one. "

still, he pushes himself up out of the armchair he'd been occupying and glances pointedly around the living room, now decked out with photos of the polat family as opposed to portraits and pureblood propaganda. " i might have once, " he acknowledges. " but rumour has it this old man is a little behind the times so by all means — show me the booze. "

[hogwartsexpress]

in  spite  of  herself,  lila's  dark  eyes  scrutinized  the  boy  in  front  of  her  a  little  too  long,  slowly  taking  him  in,  noticing  that  he  looked  just  a  bit  scruffier  and  leaner  than  he'd  been  the  last  time  she'd  seen  him.  there  was  a  new  wound  on  him  that  she  hadn't  seen  before  –  a  shoddily-healed,  jagged  laceration  that  ran  the  length  of  his  left  arm,  red  and  almost  blistering.  it  sickened  her  to  think  how  he  must've  gotten  it,  why  he  hadn't  properly  mended  it.  (  did  he  like  this,  the  pain?  licking  his  own  wounds?  )  but  what  made  her  heart  ache  the  most  was  how  bone-tired  he  looked,  the  enervated  way  he  carried  his  body.  he  looked  almost  dead  behind  the  eyes,  a  snuffed  fire. it  was  a  force  of  habit  –  the  incessant  need  to  make  sure  he  was  still  in  one  piece,  still  the  boy  she'd  always  known  –  ingrained  in  her  by  years  of  fervent  loving  and  caring.  and  in  the  dead  of  night,  old  habits  died  hard,  kicking  and  screaming.  (  just  like  the  love  did.  )  she  loathed  that  heart  of  hers  right  now,  for  still  beating  the  same,  burning  for  him  as  always,  when  she  knew  that  he  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  see  her  buried  six  feet  under  the  ground.  how  could  she  be  so  pathetic,  a  love-sick  puppy  begging  to  be  thrown  a  bone? “  right  then,  ”  she  murmured  back  when  he  finally  spoke  back,  catching  herself  and  forcing  herself  to  look  away  –  at  anything,  the  chipped  cups  strewn  along  the  counter,  the  grandfather  clock  beside  him.  of  course  he  wasn't  staying,  of  course  he  was  leaving  again,  leaving  this  place,  leaving  jan,  leaving  her.  “  …  what're  you  even  doing  here  anyways?  i  knew  jan  invited  you,  but  surely  there  were  better  things  for  you  to  be doing?  ”  there  was  an  edge  in  her  voice  now,  a  bitterness  that  can't  be  helped.  something  inside  her  bristled  at  his  usage  of  her  surname,  as  though  they  were  merely  strangers.  “  people  to  kill,  plans  to  sabotage?  unless  this  is  it  and  you've  got  some  grand,  master  plan  to  snuff  me  to  death  with  my  own  pillow ...  ” then  it  came  out,  the  real  reason  he  was  here  –  neville  was  still  gone.  oleander  was  just  a  grieving  boy  looking  for  comfort  over  his  dead  father,  and  she'd  just  managed  to  twist  the  knife  that  she'd  torn  into  his  back.  “  i'm  sorry,  ”  she  said,  voice  softening  again.  “  i  thought  –  ”  but  of  course  not,  that  would've  been  too  easy,  too  simple.  “  come on, please, just ... don't  start  blaming  yourself  now. " she implored, reading his face immediately. " it's  not  your  fault.  it's  mine.  blame me, if you have to blame someone. ” she  held  out  the  bottle  of  firewhiskey,  offering  the  rest  to  him.  it  was  all  she  could  give  him,  at  this  point.  how  pathetic  indeed.

he shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be here, he should not be here. momentary peace that he should not be a part of, because he hasn't been peaceful since his father fell. grimmauld place felt stifling, filled with people and memories and so many things that make him want to tear his hair out. why even bother with momentary celebrations? couldn't everyone see that something had been broken irreparably, long before the veil between the living and the dead had muddled? worse still, he'd blinked and found himself alone. tired of stewing in his thoughts, he slipped away to the quiet — the kitchen seemed empty enough. immediately, he's met with a sight that tinges the decision with regret. in a sea of red, he could still recognize her by a single strand of hair. lila lunara was a forest fire, burning his mind to ash for longer than he'd be willing to admit. for a moment, he thought he was imagining her, the illusion breaking when she made herself smaller. the sight bothered him, his mouth twisting. stop that, he wanted to snap. you think a wounded puppy act will work on me? the most indecent part was that it did work, worry for her rising. ridiculous. she didn't need him to worry about her. " kitchen's more yours than mine, polat. " were the words he finally settled on, stepping inside. he was too exhausted to be angry, only able to muster brief waves of ire. the silence that follows was uncomfortable. insufferable. the moment his next words left his mouth, he feels he's only made it worse : " he didn't come back. " there were variables to why. good reasons, a thousand probabilities. still, a part of him felt he might be the reason. that his father was too ashamed of what he'd become to return. he nodded at the bottle in her hands. " is that empty yet? "

[hogwartsexpress]

[  number  12,  grimmauld  place,  the  living room.  20  december  2030.  @revcntulet ]

it  was  the  dead  of  the  night  when  she  had  finally  been  able  to  return  home,  and  she  prayed  that  her  mother  hadn’t  stayed  up  waiting  for  her.  lila  didn’t  want  her  to  see  her  like  this,  couldn’t  bear  the  thought  of  how  her  mother  would  look  at  her  –  or  the  words  she  was  bound  to  say.  she  was  sure  that  she  would  suggest  that  she  shouldn’t  return  to  hogwarts  yet  –  or  perhaps  not  at  all.  and  that  wasn’t  an  option  that  she  would  even  entertain.  she  wasn't  a  coward  or  a  deserter.  she  had  to  come  back.

she’d  been  trying  her  best  to  be  quiet  while  she  applied  the  essence  of  dittany  onto  the  ruddy,  new  laceration  on  her  stomach,  but  the  medicine  stung,  almost  more than the  venom from the curse,  and  she  couldn't  bite  back  her  whimpers.  it  was  surprisingly  painful  to  rapidly  heal  your  own  body.  lila  knew  that  it  was  through  sheer  willpower  (  or  stubbornness  )  alone  that  she  was  still  conscious  –  yet  she  refused  to  call  out  for  help.  it  was,  again,  the  stubbornness.  she  forced  herself  to  choke  down  the  blood-replenishing  potion  despite  its  coppery,  metallic  taste,  but  she  couldn’t  help  but  gag  a  little  as  it  made  her  way  down  her  throat.

that  was  when  cleo  came  in,  closely  followed  by  scorpius.  she  knew  the  kit  must’ve  heard  her  –  that infuriating animal hearing.  lila  heaved  a  soft  sigh,  knowing  that  she  was  in  for  it  now.  at  least  it  had  been  scorpius  and  not  her  mother,  she  supposed.  “  –  i  know  how  it  looks,  but  you  should  see  the  other  guy.  ”  she  let  out  a  wry  laugh  that  made  her  insides  twinge  with  pain,  reverberating  from  the  center  of  her  stomach  wound  to  the  rest  of  her  small,  bone-tired  body.  she  bit  down  on  her  tongue  sharply  to  stifle  herself,  almost  hard  enough  to  make  it  bleed.

that  was  just  it,  wasn’t  it?  she  hadn’t  seen  the  wraith.  he’d  come  out  of  nowhere,  so  suddenly,  so  quickly.  one  minute  she  had  been  taking  her  usual  shortcut  home  through  the  back  alleys  of  diagon,  and  the  next,  there  had  been  nothing  –  nothing  at  all.  a  darkness  that  had  been  so  enveloping  that  it  clawed  its  way  inside  of  her,  leaving  her  feeling  hopelessly,  helplessly  alone.  once  again,  she’d  been  forced  to  struggle  through  a  fight,  having  nothing  to  rely  on  but  her  instincts  and  quick-thinking,  barely  making  it  out  alive.

when  she’d  finally  managed  to  knock  the  wraith  out  cold  with  a  powerful  stunning  spell  that  sent  him  hurling  towards  the  alley  wall,  she’d  shoddily  healed  herself  as  much  as  she  could.  then  she’d  done  what  she  had  to  do:  removed  the  wraith’s  disillusionment  charm,  waited  several  minutes  for  the  peruvian  instant  darkness  powder  to  wear  off,  and  repaired  his  broken,  bleeding  body  just  enough  to  ensure  that  he  wouldn’t  die.  every  moment  that  passed  by,  she’d  only  grew  more  furious,  absolutely  seething  with  rage  –  at  him,  of  course,  but  also  at  herself. 

this  was  her  own  fault  in  the  first  place.  what  an  asinine  idea  that  unbreakable  vow  had  been.  she’d  had  her  reasons,  and  she  still  believed  in  them  –  in  the  honor  of  accepting  consequences  for  her  actions  –  but  if  she’d  died  of  blood  loss  while  she  waited  for  the  darkness  to  subside  to  heal  the  very  person  who'd  injured  her,  she  would  have  never  forgiven  herself.  a  ludicrous  way  it  would’ve  been  to  go  –  choked  to  death  by  her  very  own  leash,  strangled  by  a  noose  of  her  design.  (  then  again,  it  was  only  what  she  deserved,  wasn’t  it?  she  knew  that  it  was.  that  was  why  she  had  done  it.  )

if  she’d  had  enough  strength  left  in  her,  she  would’ve  brought  the  wraith  into  the  safehouse  with  her  and  left  him  in  the  hands  of  the  order,  but  she  hadn’t  trusted  herself  not  to  splinch  due  to  her  injuries.  he  could  go  on  to  hurt  someone  else,  and  it  would  be  her  fault  for  not  stopping  him.  at  least  she’d  seen  his  face.  she  would  remember  it  for  next  time.  (  she  would  be  fooling  herself  if  she  didn’t  think  there  would  be  a  next  time.  there  always  was,  these  days.  )

“  –  look,  i  know,  but  just  ... don’t  tell  my  mum,  ”  she  murmured,  finally.  it  came  out  more  like  a  plea  than  she’d  meant  for  it  to.  “  she’s  got  plenty  she’s  dealing  with  already,  and  i  don’t  want  to  add  more to  the  list.  i’ll  be  fine  –  as  soon  as  you  patch  me  up  a  bit.  ”  she  looked  at  him  expectedly,  hopefully.

[hogwartsexpress]

[  number  12,  grimmauld  place,  the  dining room.  24  december  2030.  @lilaevren ] it  was  almost  like  looking  into  a  mirror  —  an  inverted  one,  perhaps,  but  still  a  mirror,  her  own  reflection  gazing  back  at  her.  (  or  maybe  she  was  the  reflection.  )  the  thought  settled  like  lead  in  lila's  chest  as  she  took  in  the  young  woman  before  her:  lila  evren,  twenty-four  and  burning  bright,  gloriously,  defiantly  alive.  she  was  warm  and  golden  and  real  in  a  way  that  made  lila's  breath  catch  in  her  throat,  in  a  way  that  made  her  feel  like  a  ghost. it  felt  wrong,  somehow,  to  be  the  same  age  as  her  grandmother.  to  be  standing  here,  worn  thin  and  weary,  while  her  namesake  blazed  with  youth  and  vitality.  time  was  supposed  to  flow  forward,  not  sideways,  not  in  these  strange  loops  that  left  lila  dizzy  and  displaced.  she  couldn't  help  but  wonder  if  this  was  how  her  father  felt  when  he  looked  at  old  photographs  —  if  he  saw  his  mother's  ghost  superimposed  over  faded  paper,  eternally  young,  eternally  untouchable,  forever  trapped  in  that  moment  before  everything  changed. lila's  throat  constricted  around  words  she  couldn't  say,  apologies  that  stuck  like  thorns  in  the  prick  of  a  finger,  drawing  blood.  i'm  sorry,  she  wanted  to  tell  her.  i'm  sorry  i'm  probably  not  what  you  wanted.  i'm  sorry  i  took  your son's  eyes  and  turned  them  into  something  haunted.  i'm  sorry  you  never  saw  him  grow  up.  i'm sorry you're here, and it's my fault. i'm  sorry,  i'm  sorry,  i'm  sorry.  but  these  weren't  words  meant  for  right  now.  so  lila  swallowed  them  back  and  faced  her  grandmother  with  a  thin  smile. "  i  —  sorry  for  staring.  it's just ... you just look like ... they  always  said  my  dad  had  your  eyes  but  ...  he  really  does,  doesn't  he? " she mused, voice frenetic with a nervous energy. " but  hey,  looks  like  i  got  your  hair  ...  think  i  got  the  better  deal  …  "  not sure what to say, she  cleared  her  throat,  she  kept  rambling, unusually anxious:  ”  are you comfortable? can  i  get  you  anything?  tea,  maybe?  ... you  like  tea, right? i mean, we've got everything, really, if you'd prefer something else. aunt hermione keeps us stocked up —  ”

[hogwartsexpress]

[  number  12,  grimmauld  place,  the  kitchen.  26  december  2030.  @oleahnder ] this  holiday  felt  like  drowning,  eclipsing  even  last  christmas  —  her  first  without  her  dad  by  her  side.  he  was  somewhere  upstairs,  barricaded  in  his  self-imposed  exile  from  the  festivities,  from  her,  from  the  simple  act  of  existing.  she  hadn't  thought  it  possible,  but  her  heart  splintered  and  ached  more  than  when  he'd  been  dead,  somehow.  he'd  become  less  than  a  ghost  in  his  own  home,  a  shadow  stripped  of  everything  that  once  made  him  burn  so  bright,  and  she  bore  the  crushing  weight  of  his  devastation.  every  fractured  piece  of  their  family  had  been  wrenched  apart  by  her  own  bloodied  hands:  neville's  brutal,  senseless  death;  the  yawning  void  in  her  father's  eyes;  daisy's  descent  into  darkness;  oleander's  caustic  rage;  the  brittle  smiles  and  forced  laughter  of  everyone  else.  she  could  feel  their  pain  so  deeply,  so  strongly,  because  it  mirrored  her  own  —  these  days,  she  was  so  full  of  grief  and  rot  that  she  felt  almost  sick  with  it. lila  fled  to  the  kitchen  at  the  first  opportunity,  desperate  for  some  quiet.  collapsing  against  the  counter,  she  pressed  her  palms  against  her  eyes,  fighting  the  tears  that  threatened  to  drown  her.  she  couldn't  allow  herself  to  cry,  not  even  now  in  her  solitude,  and  more  than  that,  she  hadn't  earned  the  right.  why  should  she  be  the  one  to  crumble?  if  oleander  was  here,  his  lips  would  curl  into  a venomous  sneer,  saying  this  was  exactly  what  she'd  wanted.  the  thought  twisted  in  her  chest  —  she  had  never  wanted  this  devastation,  would  carve  out  her  own  heart  to  undo  it  all.  but  still,  she  denied  herself  even  this  small  mercy, the quiet release.  it  should've  been  you,  whispered  that  ever-present  voice  —  her  conscience,  she  supposed,  knowing  with  bone-deep  certainty  that  she  deserved  death  far  more  than  neville  or  her  father  ever  had. get  a  fucking  hold  of  yourself,  she  told  herself,  forcing  her  head  up  and  stumbling  towards  the  wine closet  to  grab  a  bottle  of  firewhiskey.  she  uncorked  it  with  trembling  fingers  and  took  a  desperate  swig,  savoring  the  way  it  burnt  through  her  chest.  good,  she  thought.  exactly  what  she  needed,  what  she  deserved.  lila  had  nearly  emptied  the  bottle  when  oleander  materialized  in  the  doorway,  and  her  fingers  gripped  the  glass  so  tightly  it  almost  shattered.  at  first,  she  thought  he  must've  come  to  confront  her  —  to  try  to  hurt  her  like  she'd  hurt  him,  but  then  she  caught  the  flicker  of  surprise  across  his  face  and  realized  he  hadn't  expected  to  see  her  either. " ollie —  oleander. " there  were  countless  things  she  longed  to  say  to  him  –  mostly  an  endless  litany  of  apologies  –  all  things  that  oleander  had  already  heard  and  refused  to  accept.  so  instead,  she  uncharacteristically  made  herself  smaller,  stepping  aside  for  him.  " i've  been  trying  to  stay  out  of  your  way, "  she  murmured,  voice  surprisingly  soft.  " if  you  want  me  to  leave,  i  understand. "  she  wasn't  sure  where  she  would  go  or  what  excuse  she'd  stitch  together  for  everyone  else,  but  she'd  figure  something  out.  it  was  boxing  day  after  all.

[hogwartsexpress]

lila  had  never  cared  for  grimmauld  place.  ever  since  the  polat  family  moved  in,  the  order  had  made  their  best  efforts  to  dress  the  decrepit,  decaying  halls  up  into  something  homely  —  the  revolting  images  of  walburga  black  no  longer  permeated  the  walls,  and  most  of  the  outdated,  ornate  furniture  had  been  replaced  with  cozier,  more  cheerful  decor.  but  still,  the  house  felt  achingly haunted  —  it  held  too  many  ghosts,  too  many  shadows  of  the  war.  you  could  feel  it  in  the  way  that  the  floorboards  still  creaked;  you  could  taste  it  in  the  air,  metallic  and  sharp,  like  a  tongue  bitten  to  bleeding. some  things  could  never  be  scrubbed  away  no  matter  how  much  you  cleaned.  (  just  like  her  bloody  hands.  ) in  a  way,  she'd  always  been  right  about  grimmauld  place  and  its  ghosts.  after  all,  the  proof  was  sitting  right  in  front  of  her,  startlingly  real.  to  think  that  somehow,  someway,  she'd  caused  this ... caused him ...

“  well  …  i  suppose  you  would  know  where  we  keep  the  whiskey.  ”  she  replied  back  with  a  wag  of  her  eyebrows,  trying  her  best  to  seem  casual,  as  though  this  was  a  typical  december  evening.  the  wine  cellar  remained  in  the  same  place  as  it  had  always  been.  lila  had  been  trying  (  and  failing  )  not  to  drink  in  the  house,  now  that  she  lived  with  her  father  again  —  not  that  it had  made  any  difference  in  his  opinion  of  her  …  “  what do you say, old man? fancy  a  drink? i've got some firewhiskey stashed away. blishen's, not that cheap shite ...   ”

25 DECEMBER 2027 / 𝟏𝟐 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 ( OPEN )

sirius takes a long, slow sip of his champagne and looks around ( not for the first time ) in wonder. grimmauld place, once as suitably dour and dilapidated as its name-sake might suggest, is lit up in shades of red, green, and gold; warm lights strung between the doors and curled around the bannisters. the memory of his mother, and of a childhood spent kneeling to her tyrannical regime, has never felt quite so festive.

" i've never needed a reason to get pissed, but if i did, i reckon this would be an absolute belter. "

[hogwartsexpress]

𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑹𝑶𝑫𝑼𝑪𝑰𝑵𝑮  𝑳𝑰𝑳𝑨  𝑳𝑼𝑵𝑨𝑹𝑨  𝑷𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑻  …  24  years  old,  cis  woman  (she/her),  halfblood,  gryffindor,  auror-in-training,  knights  leader,  𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚑.

[  𝑨  𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑫𝒀  𝑰𝑵  ...  ]  you  are  all  bluster  and  torrent,  a  firestorm  with  skin  —  your  eyes  are  the  color  of  black  woodsmoke,  always  burning,  and  your  fists  are  always  clenched  so  tight  that  your  red,  red  nails  bite  furious  crescent  moons  on  your  palms  —  girl,  that  fury  deep  within  your  core  that  burns  as  sweltering  as  fiendfyre,  it'll  consume  you  if  you  let  it  /  a  legacy  that  weighs  as  heavy  as  atlas's  celestial  spheres  —  you  are  a  walking  memorial  of  a  girl,  named  after  a  martyr  and  a  maverick  —  you  are  never  only  yourself  but  all  of  the  names  who  came  before  you,  and  an  amalgam  of  their  faces  haunts  you  when  you  look  into  the  mirror  —  you  will  always  carry  your  mother's  hard  blazing  look  and  her  ferocity,  your  father's  stubborn  twist  of  the  mouth  and  his  grief,  your  grandmother's  heart-shaped  face  and  her  devotion  /  a  meadow  of  wildflowers  wilting  away  in  the  blistering  heat  of  summer,  you're  burning  up  in  all  this  heat  —  your  once-bleeding  heart  has  become  this  shriveled  little  thing,  wasting  away  in  the  sun  /  the  duality  of  phoenix  fire,  bringing  destruction  and  rebirth  —  how  many  times  have  you  died  and  been  reborn  again?  girl,  you  are  death-touched,  death-starved,  death-enamored,  death-sick  —  in  your  dreams,  you  build  coffins  with  your  beloved,  and  you  wake  up  with  this  gnawing  ache  you  can't  shake

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