|Lily Potter and the Dragon Headdress
Author: E. Solomon PM
Lily Luna Potter is entering her first year of Hogwarts. What dangerous adventures await our free-spirited protagonist? Who are the Ebrils and what nefarious plot are they brewing? And, most importantly, what is the Dragon Headdress?Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Adventure - Lily Luna P. & Hugo W. - Words: 1,750 - Reviews: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 01-04-13 - id: 8876679
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: This is the story of Harry Potter's youngest child, Lily Luna Potter. It is the first in a series of seven that I largely have planned out in my mind as well as on paper. Unfortunately, I own not a lick of Rowling's beautiful work. Enjoy!
The taste of salt and mold was heavy on the boy's tongue as he walked down another grimy corridor. It resembled the countless others he had made his way through to get here. Unlike most of the others, however, this one was unique in that no cells flanked him on both sides. No hollowed eyes watched him as he passed by these stained walls.
He had found the prisoners in the cells scary at first— he thought they seemed more like skeletons being pulled by invisible strings than actual humans. Their faces had been devoid of any emotion that he could see. One had babbled incoherently and another had pressed himself up against the bars and cackled madly. Such were the occupants of Azkaban.
Had the boy been alone, he would have surely turned back long ago, but he was not alone. Ahead of him a tall woman strode forward with a smoldering determination. If there were anyone that stuck out like a sore thumb in the grim surroundings of Azkaban it was this woman.
Her silky raven-black hair cascaded behind her in waves of curls like a billowing thunderhead. She kept her amber eyes trained on the far end of the corridor, where two men donned in black robes stood guard on either side of a cast iron door. Her eyebrows formed a neat arch that accentuated her high cheekbones and pointed chin. Her lips, as usual, were pursed in…irritation? The boy could not tell. Pursed lips could mean a lot to him: disappointment, anger, frustration. The woman rarely smiled, at him at least.
His mother's lack of affection never seemed to deter the boy from idolizing her. He admired the powerful woman before him. Regal, queenly— those were the words most befitting of his mother. He struggled to keep up with her long strides.
Behind him his sister walked at a more leisurely pace. Over the years, she had managed to develop an immunity to their mother's constant disapproval. He almost envied that in her.
She was looking blankly at the wall when the boy turned to look at her. On more than a few occasions the boy had been informed that he and his sister did not resemble one another in the slightest.
Her hair fell in silver-gold layers; his, in wavy raven-black— not unlike his mothers. She had electric blue eyes, whereas his (again like his mothers) were a wolfish amber. And lastly, she was rather short and he rather tall and bulky. Although his mother was a tall woman, he liked to think his physique was something he had inherited from his father, along with his jaw and nose. The only thing that his sister could be said to have inherited from her mother was her fair skin. Both women's skin was creamy white.
Their mother showed little affection for either of her children, which had oddly bonded the two at a young age. In each other was someone that they knew they could always lean on.
His sister seemed to feel his gaze and turned to meet it. He gave her a reassuring smile, which was silly. She wasn't the one that was nervous. Why should she be? The entire family's future hadn't been thrust onto her shoulders. No. The wrong wand had picked her; or rather, the wrong wand had chosen him.
His mother came to a stop in front of the two guards. "I'm here to visit my husband," she said. The boy knew that tone: thinly veiled contempt. He had been on the receiving end of it often enough.
One of the men stepped towards his mother with an outstretched hand. "Papers." His voice was gruff and businesslike. The boy could hardly keep himself from staring at the ostensible scar that covered the man's face from jaw to temple. The guard must have noticed because he looked down at the boy menacingly, but the boy found the man far less unnerving than the prisoners below.
His mother handed the man the papers he had asked for. He scanned them and then thrust them back to his mother. A grunt and a nod at his companion later and the other guard had removed his wand and made a complicated swishing motion with it. The door swung open with many a groans.
The boy, his mother, and his sister strode into an elongated room with a cell that dominated the far wall. The change in atmospheres was startling. In the corridor outside it was bitingly cold regardless of how tightly he hugged his thick robes and in here it was as though a hearth lay just out of sight.
The lighting had vastly improved in this room so that the boy could make out the form of his father sitting on a thin, rickety mattress. His father's head turned as the trio entered and he stood from his bed to the accompaniment of creaking springs.
"Elspeth," he whispered lovingly through the bars as his wife broke into a wide smile that revealed a set of perfectly even teeth. His mother smiling was so rare that the boy was momentarily caught off guard. She had not seen her husband for six months and seemed more than overjoyed to be reunited with him. The boy couldn't help but think resentfully that she had not smiled like that upon his return from Hogwarts at the beginning of the summer.
It was surprising to the boy that his father's limbs had retained most of their musculature despite his two years in captivity. In fact, his father almost looked bigger than the boy remembered him. Indeed his face looked nothing like the drawn withering beings beneath them. Not even his spirit seemed to have diminished if his smiling expression was anything to judge by.
Elspeth all but ran to his father and embraced him as best she could through the bars. "…six months…so difficult…that blood-traitor Potter!" He only heard snippets of his mother's hushed conversation with her husband, who had cupped his hands around her cheeks and tried to soothe her with reassuring whispers. The boy couldn't help but feel like he was intruding on something; as though his parents' intimacy and affection was not something their children deserved to witness, let alone receive.
Then his mother's voice started to rise in cold fury. "He is nothing! I could kill him easily. Give me the word, Adonis, give me the word and I would bring you Potter's head myself!" His mother was breathing heavily, but still held fast to Adonis' muscular frame.
An amused smile lit Adonis' face. It was the same face that the boy had been told he was the spitting image of. He regarded that as the highest of compliments, though remarks that his spellwork was the best of any wizard in a generation had also been welcome. His father had a strong jaw and a blunt, slightly flattened nose. Yes, this comparison with his father was definitely his favorite.
"Shhh that won't be necessary, Beth." His father let his hands fall from Elspeth's face and turned to the boy. "Baoth," he said.
Baoth stepped closer to his father's cell. "Yes, father?" He held his chin high and was pleased to find that his voice came out clear and level.
"Your mother told me in her last visit that the wand chose you."
It was not a question, but Baoth responded regardless: "Yes, it did." He wished that they could talk of more. He wished to ask how his father was, if he was treated fairly here. He did not dare to ask these things for fear of making his father appear weak.
"I would ask to see it, but the scum confiscated it when you arrived no doubt." Baoth gave a slight nod, to which his father spat unceremoniously on the floor of his cell. "And the Headdress? Have you found it? I've been locked away for two years, boy," his father sneered.
Baoth wished more than anything that he hadn't flinched at the scathing in his father's tone. "I- I- I've…" Baoth took a quick silent breath to steady himself. He had nothing to fear, he was here to bear good news— news that would make his father proud of him for once. "I've located the entrance. I began the Trials at the end of last year, but needed more time to finish them." His father had crossed his arms and was looking at his son with something the boy couldn't place. Not approval. Not even acceptance. Just neutrality. But it was better than disappointment. "I…I think I will have finished them before next year, if what I've read pr-proves true."
Baoth waited with baited breath for his father to say something…anything! Finally his father gave a nod of acknowledgement and turned to his sister. "And you, Lilith, were you chosen?"
Lilith showed none of Baoth's trepidation in her response. She smiled cockily at her father. "I was."
Adonis appraised both of his children and finally seemed satisfied with their reports. "See, my darling," he said to their mother, "destiny itself is on our side. Soon, our children will deliver to me the power to escape this godforsaken prison." He looked distastefully at his surroundings, and then turned back to his wife with resolve twinkling in his dark onyx eyes. "And with my newfound freedom, I will have Potter's head for myself."
Adonis wrapped his wife in an embrace.
Looking on, Baoth decided that nothing would stop him from bringing what his father had said into fruition. This was his chance for redemption. This was his chance to earn his parents' approval. This was his chance to win their love. Nothing would stop him. He was the Dragon and those that opposed him, the Ministry, and Potter would all burn just the same.
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