Chapter Text
Lily Evans squinted at her notes.
The matrices were wrong. Elemental circles were supposed to overlap with their corresponding element; they shouldn’t ever cross with body, mind, and soul matrices; the reactions usually resulted in death.
She huffed slightly, the problem was that fire was connected to blood, which was also connected to a time ward in this runic sequence. And it needed to connect for her ward to work.
She’d been working on this project for almost the entirety of summer, and now, three months into her sixth year at Hogwarts she was finally read up enough on theory to start experimenting. Professor Babbling had cautioned her against it; what Lily was attempting had never been done and the professor didn’t want such powerful runes being messed with on school grounds. She’d cautioned Lily to wait until she graduated and got her runes apprenticeship to do this.
But Lily wanted this finished by graduation. If she succeeded by seventh year, she wouldn’t even have to have an apprenticeship. She’d be automatically promoted to Ward Master. It was only fair she thought mulishly.
If James Potter was being allowed to train for a Transfiguration Mastery over the summers and Severus for a Potions Mastery then why shouldn’t Lily be allowed? Sirius Black — the absolute git — was competing with Marlene for a Defense Mastery Apprenticeship all while already having an Astronomy Apprenticeship. She refused to have the position of top student in her house’s year taken by those idiots because they were allowed to train and study over the summer.
Besides, if she graduated with her Runes Mastery she could go straight into an apprenticeship with Professor Flitwick for a Charms Mastery as well. When she’d presented the idea to him he’d been thrilled, before murmuring that Charms was one of the harder Masteries to get. Ten Years she’d have to study directly under him acting as a teachers aide — and he didn’t want her attention split between him and Wards.
He’d advised with a feral grin and equally feral wink that the only way to accomplish her goals was if she were to graduate with her Ward Mastery; and the only way to do that was to invent a new Ward.
That had been at the beginning of fifth year. Now, over a year later it was nearing the end of first term for sixth year, and she was well on her way to creating something that would hopefully earn her her Masters.
The basis of the ward was simple. Protection. It echoed in every stroke of her ward paint. But unlike most wards, this was not tied to a place or object, but something far more precious.
Blood.
One of the first lessons Lily had learned upon entering the Wizarding World was that to witches and wizards, blood was everything. Who came from what family — how old the magic that ran through your veins was.
It had been her many debates with Marlene and Dorcas that had sparked the idea.
A ward that would protect not your house or possessions but your blood. It would be invaluable for the pureblood families that sneered down at her own dirty blood.
The runic ward was simple, it was made to be tied to two people or a family line. Upon being enacted, the ward would tether itself to the magical core of the Head of the family, and then focus on the Youngest members that were directly related to the Head’s family, as well as the head of the family’s spouse. Those below the age of magically maturity. It would passively monitor their health and magic. The ward provided a soft loop of feedback to the head of the bloodline about their children’s wellbeing. If any of the children were to be in danger of any kind the Ward would flare around the left hand of the Family Head, alerting them of the situation as well as a direct awareness of their situation. It also would be tied to their spouse — but only in the way that a spouse would be able to sense the children as well, and a vague knowledge as to their spouses overall health. Not nearly as strongly as the Head however.
If the child was in mortal danger, then the ward would act as a port key, transferring them to the Head, or the Head’s magical partner. And if neither were available, then it would go to the nearest family member capable of caring for them. If there was no direct bloodline; it went to the nearest cousin line or distant relative, and so on and so forth.
The problem was that it was a quadruple matrix that would have to be linked in a loop, and Wards Matrices were notoriously explosive towards matrices that didn’t handle the same elemental properties. Space and Time were cold. Associated with ice and water. But Blood and Magic were hot. Associated with fire and earth. Lily was having to create linking chains between them, long looping scripts of runes that translated into what basically amounted to the words “from me to you” and combined that into “flow”.
The links should take the icy stasis of Space, and filter it naturally into the flowing river of Time. That alone was difficult. Space notoriously did not want to move. It, much like ice, was cold and still.
And that wasn’t even accounting for how to turn the rushing waters of time into the thick slow mud of earthly blood. And then the burning heat of light and magic.
But Lily was sure she was getting it; her papers had yet to explode. The runes she was painting onto the floor were shimmering faintly with magic, but the links were glowing as she formed the chains connecting the elements. She could taste the magic. Her hands were stained a rust color from the red wood paint she was using to carefully scrawl out her work.
Like usual, the amount of energy going into linking the magic together was exhausting. Constant pin point precise measurements that had her head throbbing and arms aching as she carefully started inking the runes for light, and protection.
She slowly formed the connection rune from blood to fire. Inking small runes for protection and stability along each intricate matrix.
The room around her was silent. Marlene had fallen asleep on the couch to her left an hour ago, golden hair a tangled mess. Dorcas was sitting across from her on the couch reading. Her dark eyes scanned over her book. Occasionally they’d flick up to focus on Lily. Heavy with disapproval.
Dorcas had argued vehemently against this, stating that they should listen to Professor Babbling and wait. Marlene had also been hesitant, but in the end both her friends had agreed to come with her. They figured Lily was going to do it anyways, and it was best to have some supervision.
Lily couldn’t be bothered with showing too much remorse at Dorcas’s looks.
James Potter always got up to using his knowledge in the most ludicrous ways and Dorcas didn’t look at that prat like she was looking at Lily. Hell — Frank Longbottom had created a new defense curse that could force the victim to kneel until the caster said the release spell and no one had blinked twice.
A part of her mind knew she was being purposefully obtuse on the subject; she knew why all her friends had been against it, why Professor Babbling had requested she not do anything without a master present. Wards and Runes were notoriously finicky. Like transfiguration, a messed up spell or ritual could often result in a permanent problem.
She just couldn’t mess up then.
Lily leaned back, blinking down at her work. Exhaustion was ripping up and down her spine. Her fingers were burning and she didn’t have a doubt in her mind that when she washed away the runes paint they’d be burned bright red from the amount of raw magic she’d channeled through her skin into her brush and paint.
“I think, I think it’s done?” She called.
Dorcas was up in a flash. She was a slight girl, with dark chestnut brown curls that were cut short like a boy's hair. Her face was angular and sharp. With a pointy nose and slanted lips she looked almost like a bird. Skin the color of freshly turned clay; a dark almost brown but more tan color.
Her sudden movement woke Marlene who had had her legs stretched across her girlfriends lap. The blonde fell to the floor with a yelp.
Marlene was the opposite of Dorcas. Where Dorcas was small and almost built like a fairy. Marlene was tall. With a strong jaw and a curvy body, long straight blonde hair and dark blue eyes. She blinked blearily from the floor, groaning into the cobble.
“Are you sure? Is it linked properly? It won’t burn you alive when you activate it? You won’t go crazy? Be ripped to shreds? Have your body transported to god knows where?” Dorcas demanded sharply. Lily nodded dutifully, pointing to each matrix that protected the castor of the ward with a calmness she didn’t feel.
Dorcas was bad at emotion, and she already heavily disapproved.
“There are ten matrices and five spell chains protecting the caster of the spell. And, once I activate it, I have no magical bloodline so there won’t be any obvious effect. I'll get a tattoo of the rune on my left hand and arm, which would act as the alarm if I had any children or heirs, but other than that nothing should happen. Right now we’re testing to see if the rune will set properly.” Meeting the smaller girl's eyes Lily inhaled sharply, solemnly announcing. “If the ward doesn’t flow naturally it won’t bind, and if it doesn’t bind naturally, I have a fail safe — that circle there.”
She pointed at the only blank space of the array. The array was shaped like a crossed diamond, rigid lines marching in a perfectly symmetrical pattern like a compass. And what would be north had a single small space. A perfect circle with runes for nullification, and disruption marching around it.
“If you put red oak paint on your hand and infuse your magic there, it’ll directly cut off the ward and turn it off instantly, the magic already in it will be cycled naturally into the castle.” Lily informed her.
Dorcas raised an eyebrow, looking grumpily impressed. Marlene, who had recovered from being dumped on the floor and was intensely studying the array, whistled sharply.
“Damn Lily this reeks of maternal magic, you don’t even have a kid.” She snickered, sharp eyes absorbing the runes. No doubt reading the magic over the actual array. The McKinnon’s were all powerful magic sensors; and it was likely what Lily had created was a fascinating sight for her friend. She tilted her head, tapping her wand against her thigh.
“You have a good flow, the magic is already cycling, it’s waiting for the blood that will activate it. Very well balanced.” She hummed and then circled the array. Hesitantly she peered at the space in the direct middle of it, eyes narrowed in concentration. “It’s reaching. Are you sure it’ll be ok that you don’t have a magical family yet?” She asked and Lily flushed — she wasn’t sure. Logically the rune should remain dormant on her arms until she did but . . .
Time magic was notoriously a nightmare to handle. It was almost a living thing. There was a reason that it was a locked study under the ministry.
“Yes. I have six matrices that should nullify the reaching and render it dormant until I do have an — er — heir to the Evans name.” She flushed when Marlene flashed a feral grin at her.
That was the thing. If this worked; Lily Evans would be registered as a new Wizarding Clan Name in the ministry — not to be confused with Rosier Evans. Likely they’d have her change her name. But if her family married only wizards and no muggles or direct Muggleborns for three generations — they’d be considered pureblood. If she married a pureblood now their children would be considered pure.
Not that Lily cared about that. But Marlene had been thrilled at the idea of another Matriarchal Family Magic being born. Right now it was only the Bones and the McKinnons that passed on the title of Lord or Lady to the eldest Daughter and only the eldest daughter. Most families it went to the eldest son, and for half of the others it went to the eldest child regardless of gender.
(Lily did not tell Marlene that she’d likely be the latter. Discriminating by gender was a hard no for her.)
“All right.” Dorcas sighed, “We should just do it then — it’s almost one AM and we have charms in the morning.”
Marlene immediately backed up almost ten paces from them. Dorcas dipped her hand into the rusty ward paint and then kneeled by the blank space, turning serious brown eyes on Lily and tilting her head. Obviously waiting.
Lily kneeled directly opposite of her at the other end of the array. Slowly, she inhaled, pulling her small silver ritual knife from the sheath on her arm — a birthday gift from Remus when he’d heard she was studying for a Wards Mastery.
She could see the faint shift from Marlene out of the corner of her eye, her friend was frowning heavily. Blood Magic was allowed in Wards and Rune’s — but only just. It was heavily frowned upon, and according to Marlene and Dorcas and Sirius Black (the git had overheard them arguing on it and had taunted her for three hours until she’d hexed him to have warts and green skin). She would likely be considered a Grey or outright Dark family merely for the fact that this ritual was basically — when you boiled it down — a blood ritual.
She didn’t even feel the cut as she pulled the blade across her palm. It cut deep, but her magic was roiling in her veins in spite of her earlier exhaustion and she couldn’t even register the pain that was surely there.
Blood welled up; so much darker than the paint she’d been using and Lily felt a little faint at how much of it there was. Distantly, she wondered if she’d actually cut herself to the bone.
She could feel the Array now, as her blood dripped down her arm. Reacting as if it sensed her blood just above it, her sacrifice.
Carefully she pointed her wand at the pooling dark red blood in her hand. She felt almost lethargic as she spoke the incantation. As if magic was swirling up through her chest and throat, flooding her voice like a heavy powerful beast.
She couldn’t have stopped the ritual even if she wanted to.
“Vita et sanguis meus defendat. Congelo, fluere, submerge, urere. Urere, urere, urere.” She breathed, and frost climbed up her spine and burned her throat as water dripped down her skin, the blood in her hands was rapidly rippling, thickening and dripping from her fingers like sand or mud or both. The second it touched the array, magic roared.
She could hear Marlene yelp — Dorcas shouted, but she was blinded by the light. A sudden flash of light that blanked out the entire room. An awful burning pain erupted almost at the same moment along both her arms as her hands jerked down as if they had ropes tied to them. Ripping her whole body down, her knees slammed into the floor almost at the same time that both her palms connected with the ward. Fire was ripping through the skin of her hands and wrists. Red and black ink wrapping up around her arms.
She was pretty sure she screamed.
Something was sinking into her chest — like an anchor or a spear. It latched tight onto something she hadn’t even been aware was there. Burrowing into it like an arrow aimed true and she wailed at the feeling.
My Magic — it’s in my magical core. The thought made her want to throw up even through the haze of pain — but she couldn’t, because she was frozen, raw magic binding her into stillness more surely than any rope or even spell could. Her body freezing as the ice on her spine sunk into her bones, traveling up through her teeth and into her head where —
She could feel it searching. Ripping through her blood and magic and stretching out repeatedly, looking for the family it was supposed to connect her too. To bind her to. But there was none. Lily was muggleborn — she had no magical family and the magic thrashed with displeasure along her spine, burrowing into her skin like the brutal strike of a whip. Determined as it reached — stretching through still, quiet, cold, dipping into fast, rushing, flow and — There!
The sensation slammed into her all at once. A small heart beating erratically into a tiny chest. Little gasping breaths and fear fear fear. It was dark and cold, and hunger raking the small body that Lily suddenly knew as if it was her own, skinny too weak arms, and pain, and —
The anchor flared.
Heir Potter-Wyllt, young, underage, damaged, dislocated shoulder, malnourishment — unacceptable.
The Ward yanked. Ripping that small body through fast, rushing, flowing, and pulling it through still, quiet, cold, and just as fast as the agony came, it was over.
Lily wheezed, panting heavily and frantically as the ward sunk back into her core, satisfied with its works. She was aware, some extra sense she’d never known she had suddenly bright and flaring. Statistics and sensations she didn’t know rushed through her like fireworks. She could feel that small heart beat, nestled under her ribs next to her own as if she had two hearts instead of the one.
She struggled for a second, gasping deeply, eyes wide and unseeing as she stared down at her black stained hands. She heaved, a quiet tugging sensation — fear, pain, confusion — jerking her head up automatically.
Her magic was reaching out down this new tether before Lily could even react. Soothing, rushing along aching limbs, infusing warmth, comfort, safety, mine.
She was meeting a pair of eerily familiar green eyes. She blinked once, twice, taking in the sight before her numbly.
There was a little boy sitting in the middle of the now dead array. He was tiny. A small round face that should have been chubby with baby fat, and was instead unnaturally thin. Dark inky black curls tumbled around his face, tangled and oily — matted. He was wearing a too big stained gray t-shirt, and the sleeve was slipping off his shoulder, revealing dark bruising in the shape of fingers. There was a bright red burn mark on his hand.
Something violent twisted in Lily’s gut at the sight, and she flexed her magic — still wrapped tight around her charge, and watched as the bruising faded slightly, the burn, disappeared entirely.
She knew everything about this boy she could physically know.
Two years, five months, and ten days old. He has bad vision, a minor concussion, malnourishment, and slight atrophy in his arms and legs. Curse Scar on the forehead — unharmful.
And then,
My Son, My heir. Heir Potter, Heir Wylt.
“Oh.” Lily choked. Her voice was rough — from screaming or crying Lily didn’t know. She felt like some had ripped a hole in her chest and shoved something else in it.
He has my eyes. The thought ripples through her like an avalanche. Because he did. The exact same shape and color down to a T. Wide and bright; an unnerving green. Severus had once told her her eyes were like fresh clovers in the spring, beautiful. She had laughed, face flushed with mortification and called him a weirdo but suddenly she understood the fascination.
The little boy blinked furiously, his eyes watering, bottom lip trembling. He shifted slightly, tilting his head, and his matted mess of hair shifts, revealing the bright scar on his forehead, it stands out like blood on snow. He's so pale — as if someone painted a lightning bolt from the heavens cracking across her baby's forehead.
The boy inhales sharply, and trembles blinking rapidly, then he starts to sob. Tiny heartbreaking whimpers that rip from his chest and build into soft cries.
Lily is moving before she even registers it. Rushing to the center of the array and scooping her boy — my son — up into her arms. She barely notices the razor sharp flares of pain that races up her hands at the contact.
The boy startles harshly, jerking back like he expects to be slapped, but the second Lily touches him he goes boneless. Flopping against her chest as she scoops him into her arms. Her magic flexes around the bond that now tethers them together, and the boy relaxes completely into her, sniffing into her throat, smearing tears there but she doesn’t care. Her heart is racing — is he supposed to be this small?
“Shh, Shh, it’s ok darling, you’re safe now baby.” She murmurs. Terror is pulsing through her veins now. Common sense starting to cut through the haze of magic.
If this is her son — this is her son — She can’t have a baby — Lily would fucking never allow her child to be in this condition — she’d slaughter anyone who laid their fucking hands — how? She didn’t have a kid for fucks sake — she’s only fucking sixteen, doesn’t turn seventeen until April —
“What. The. Fuck?” She barely realized the words were from her until her beautiful baby jolts against her skin, sniffing in between his hiccuping sobs. Instantly she’s humming soothingly, rocking him as she turns to her friends.
Her eyes widened in alarm at the sight of them. Marlene is gaping at her son, face a mixture of horror and exasperation. Dorcas is muttering ferocious curses under her breath, she’s spread out flat on her back, chest heaving and blinking dizzily up at the ceiling — she’s a good twenty feet from the array — as if she’d been thrown back.
“Lily — Lily is that — did you — LILY?!” Marlene hisses, she strides across the room, eyes wider than moons as they flick over Lily’s boy, observing the magic that Lily can feel but not see like her, and back up to meet Lily's eyes. “No he is.” She breathes, voice awed.
“Oh my god, Lily, you pulled your future kid back through time.”
Panic strikes Lily again even as she rocks her still sobbing boy back and forth.
“That — that’s impossible.” She hisses almost frantically. Marlene points at her then at the boy, whose tiny legs have wrapped around Lily’s waist, and whose too thin arms are clinging to her shoulders.
“Then what the actual fuck —“
“Watch your mouth —“ Lily snarls, one hand cupping the back of her son's head, gently rubbing circles into his scalp as he shrinks against her with a small flinch.
“What in the name of Merlin is that then, huh?”
“He’s —“ she’s about to deny it. But suddenly she can’t. Because it feels like magic is choking her, ice filling her throat and chest. The thought of denying him, unsettling something in her so deeply that she’s clutching him tightly to her before she can think it through, twisting her head to press her lips into his hair and breathe him in. He smells like old grease, smoke and bleach. And under that, a faintly warm soft scent that has every muscle in her chest relaxing. She loves him so much it physically hurts.
It’s irrational. Lily has never been pregnant. She’s not a mother. She technically has never seen this child before, has never even felt him.
It doesn’t change the howling sensation in her stomach and throat. The way her magic screams in protest, he fits perfectly in her arms. His weight — while too light — the most natural thing she’s ever held before. He’s hers.
“I-“ she stammers, then;
“He’s my-my baby.” She whispers it, throat too tight and Marlene makes a sympathetic face.
“Damn you are raw from that ward.” Marlene rocks back on her heels slightly, looking suddenly faintly green. “Oh Merlin, how are we going to explain this? You can’t just walk around with brand new ritual tattoos coating your arms and a fu—freaking toddler at your hip.”
That same crushing panic wells up in Lily’s throat. Putting the boy down is unthinkable. He’s exhausted, whatever the ritual did drained his energy and aggravated his injuries and in spite of his mostly soundless cries against her neck she can feel that he's close to passing out. That he needs food, water, rest, he has a cut on his calf that’s infected and shes only able to handle superficial bruising and wounds not this —
“He’s hurt.” She says the words, but her voice comes out wrong, high pitched and strangled. “He’s-he’s hurt.”
She isn’t breathing right, it feels like a too tight band is wrapping around her throat and chest, her breath is wheezing in her throat because —
Because she is sixteen and holding a baby that is hers in every way possible even though she has never given birth. Because she thinks she might have just created a highly dangerous Blood Ward Ritual, and simultaneously molded her magic into something that will biologically pass down.
Because she doesn’t know what to do or who to go to — how to explain that she broke about a hundred school rules. (Don’t use Ward rooms without Professor Supervision, Don’t be out after Curfew, Experimental magic must be supervised by a TA or Professor) that somehow she is cradling the most beautiful thing she’s ever held in her arms. That he’s hurt and something must have happened to him to make him hurt. That the very nature of the Ward means that he was near death when he was jerked to her through time and space. That she’s in so much pain it’s a miracle she hasn’t toppled the fuck over. That she might get arrested, expelled, her baby might be taken and he was already being abused —
A panicked high pitched noise rips from her throat and her boy startles against her.
Alarm flashes through Marlene’s eyes at the sound and she blinks, hands flying up.
“Hey, deep breaths Lily come on it's ok —“ She breathed, stepping forward with a concerned look, but Lily just stepped back, making another noise.
“Drink this now.” It’s Dorcas' raspy voice that slices through the fuzzy feeling building in her throat and eyes. She’s holding a tiny vial up, it’s milky white like a pearl. A very strong calming drought.
Lily cannot bring herself to release her grip on her baby. She tries to convey that with her eyes, that if she even takes one finger off him she’ll shatter.
“The magic is still really high right now. She won’t be able to let go of him until he’s getting help with whatever is wrong with him, give it to me.” Marlene hisses, Lily barely hears it as she stares at them.
Dorcas gives the vial to Marlene, who quickly unstoppers it and carefully steps forward, voice low and soothing as she murmurs.
“Lily, can you open your mouth for me, sweetheart?” The words ring around Lily’s head, they make sense but they also don’t. Her magic is obsessive, racing up and down this new bond — this new tether — and reporting the list of her boy's medical history over and over. Pulses of it keep flooding along a different tether as well — but she’s so focused on her son that she barely notices it. She opens her mouth and barely manages to swallow the creamy liquid. It tastes like liquid moonlight mixed with a warm fire, chasing away the panic that was clogging up her throat.
Suddenly she can breathe.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do.” Dorcas’s voice is tight, eyes darting around the ritual room. “You stay here Lily — do not leave. Marlene is going to go get professor McGonagall, and I’m going to go get Madame Pomfrey. We’ll be back in less than half an hour. You just try and figure out the kid's name, and where he's from. How old he is —
“He’s two years, five months, and ten days old.” Lily says automatically. The panic is gone, instead there’s a tepid sort of calm swirling around her. “He’s dehydrated and experiencing mild magical exhaustion as well as malnourishment, he has an infected cut on his left calf, slightly infected burns on his hands and severe bruising along his back and spine, his shoulder was dislocated but I fixed it.” She can’t seem to stop the words pouring from her mouth. “He’s going to pass out from exhaustion in twenty-two seconds. He is Heir Wyllt and Heir —“ She barely manages to strangle off the last word, eyes widening comically.
Dorcas raises her eyebrows, but there’s a small smile on her lips as she bows her head to Lily and says —
“Well met, Lady Wyllt.”
“Well met, Lady Wyllt.” Marlene echoes, the same delighted expression as Dorcas spreading across her face. Lily blinks in shock.
They are gone before she can demand what the fuck they’re talking about.
•••••••••••••••••••••••
Marlene isn’t even trying to conceal her presence as she races from the Ritual Rooms and up through the small back rooms behind the Great Hall then through the terrifyingly empty hall itself and out towards Professor McGonagall’s office. She can feel Dorcas’s presence slip from her as they head in opposite directions though and mourns the loss. The morning sun glow of her girlfriend's magic rapidly fading in the opposite direction of her own path.
The woman’s office is directly tied to her private quarters, she’s always there, and Marlene knows she’ll probably know Marlene is there within a few seconds of her entering the hall. That doesn’t stop her from racing at full speed to the office.
She’s never seen anything like the magic that had wreathed Lily just minutes before. It had been ancient magic. Magic with a mind of its own bound to the rails Lily had set for it. Swirling in chaotic crushing patterns through the array.
She hadn’t told Lily — her best friend had been in a state of utter shock and extreme panic after what Marlene was automatically dubbing The Incident — but the boy hadn’t appeared through the folds of space and time. He’d come from Lily. As if the magic had ripped him from Lily’s own body — but that was impossible. The boy was clearly older than a newborn baby. He was two, a toddler, old enough for his magical core to have formed, and to have wounds and injuries. If the magic had simply been forming an heir from Lily’s blood and magic he not only would have likely been the same gender as her, but also would have been a newborn that looked almost identical. Instead he was a he, with clearly other features.
Hauntingly familiar features — but Marlene was not even going to look at that can of worms.
The problem with displacement through time was that if a child traveled as far back as the boy had to his obvious mother, then almost 100% of the time the child would disappear instantly.
Children were a one in a million chance, the conception of a child was entirely dependent on which child was born. If Lily in the future didn't have sex — Marlene shuddered at that image — at the exact date, time, and way that she did when she conceived the future baby then it would be an entirely different baby born. No matter if she was with the same person.
And what was worse was how tightly Marlene could see that the ward had bound mother and son together. Lily likely wouldn’t be able to leave the toddlers immediate presence until he had a completely clean bill of health. Something that was impossible at Hogwarts. The castle was more and more dangerous with each year — there was a constant strain over the students; felt from their parents' political opinions and thoughts. War was imminent and everyone knew it.
McGonagall would know what to do. The woman knew everything. She’d get Dumbledore and Dumbledore would also know. Marlene tried to soothe herself with the thought but nothing stopped the panicked way she slammed into the Head of Gryffindors Office, nearly screaming as she yelled out
“PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL!”
She almost screamed again when there was no instant reply but as soon as she began to draw in breath a large portrait of a Lucas Belby — a famous duelist — slammed open to reveal an irate Professor McGonagall wearing only a sleeping gown. Her hair was down, the strands a mix of silver gray and brown. The woman hefted a truly severe glare Marlene’s way over her half moon glasses, and if she was in her cat form Marlene was positive she’d be spitting and hissing at her.
“Ms McKinnon.” She hissed, voice low and deadly. “Someone had to either be dead or dying for you to barge into my office yelling like a chicken with its head cut off at two in the morning!” She wasn’t yelling, but her voice was perhaps the most ferocious Marlene had ever heard it be, and she took a half step back, before regaining her previous urgency. Lily was waiting for them; they had less than thirty minutes until the Calming Drought wore off.
“Professor please — it’s Lily she — we were,” Marlene stammered, panic tightening her throat as she stared blankly, realizing she had no idea how to explain what in the seven hells was going on. Professor McGonagall's face wrinkled into concern as she took in Marlene’s state. Covered in dust from the magic that had torn through the room, eyes wide and panicked with a bruise on her jaw from being slammed away from the Ward Array. “We need your help.” She said weakly.
In an instant, Professor McGonagall snapped to attention. She flicked her wand and Marlene watched as her bed robes transfigured themselves into her usual emerald robes, her hair gathering itself back into its stern bun as she conjured a green ribbon to hold it back.
“Is Ms, Ev—“ She coughed. “Is she injured?” She demanded, skipping over what Marlene knew she had felt. The inability to call Lily ‘Evans’ anymore. Lily had no idea that she’d just broken her name. Had reforged it in magic itself and been dubbed the Lady of a new magical house that she created (or reclaimed) in the process. Marlene had tried to explain to her friend that that’s what powerful magic did; it branded your family for generations. Wyllt was her family name now, and this magic was theirs.
There hadn’t been a new family in nearly three generations now. It was going to be all over the Prophet in the next few days. Hell, Wyllt might not even be a new family — it could be an old family who died out and their family magic had simply claimed Lily. She’d been reaching into ancient magic for that ward, something Marlene had been too stupid to recognize until it was too late.
“She’s — she’s —“ Marlene stammered, her heart was pounding too fast, hands strangely shaky as she tried to inhale slowly to settle herself. Rune Burns on her arms, probably severe magical exhaustion, not to mention whatever the fuck that ritual had taken from her to manifest her son here. “She’s not going to die.” She said weakly. Professor McGonagall cursed and gestured angrily.
“Let’s go then, quickly McKinnon, I need to assess— Where is Lily?” She quickly nodded and started to leave, Mcgonagall walking briskly next to her as they nearly ran back the way Marlene had gone.
This at least once as something Marlene could answer confidently.
“The Warding Ritual rooms.” She breathed, McGonagall gave a startled and confused look her way then nodded flicking her wand a silver cat kept from it jogging beside them as McGonagall snapped out,
“Go to Poppy, Bathsheba, and Dumbledore and tell them ‘I need you immediately in the Warding Rooms, a student is likely injured.’.” She snapped and the cat dipped its head, and rippled, separating into three less bright shadowy cat forms and racing off.
Marlene swallowed harshly and started to jog.
••••••••••••••••••••••
Her boy was so small in her arms. As soon as the girls had gone Lily hobbled over to the wall and sank down to the floor, allowing her body to sink back against it, exhaustion rippling through her form. It was second nature to turn the toddler in her arms so she was cradling him in a Princess carry. Her aching arms adjusting him like he really was a baby. And he was a baby — if he wasn’t malnourished he’d have the chubby cheeks and baby fat he was supposed to have. A tubby little body of a baby on the cusp of toddlerhood. Instead he felt like nothing in her arms.
He had passed out almost as soon as Dorcas and Marlene had raced off. If it wasn’t for his heart, beating against hers, as if some divine being had plucked it from his chest and placed it safely within her own, she would have panicked at the fact.
His little hands were cradled against the awful shirt he was wearing, and in spite of the calming drought Lily felt like sobbing as she stared down at that tiny, too thin face. From this angle — with his eyes closed — he looked nothing like her. They had the same eyes and nose, and she suspected they’d have the same hands when he grew. But that was where the similarities visually ended.
The wild inky black curls on his head — no matter how matted and dirty — were shockingly familiar. Horrifically familiar. A mixture of horror and mortification raced through her at the recognition that flared to life in her chest.
There was simply no way.
James Potter had been the absolute bane of her existence for the better part of the last five — nearly six — years. She’d met him in her first year when she’d been sorted into Gryffindor. She’d sat between him and Marlene at the opening feast and he’d twisted so sharply to talk to her he’d knocked over her pumpkin juice, which had split all over her plate and herself. And then he’d laughed.
She had hated him instantly — purely on principle of the fact that he hadn’t apologized until after a teacher had come over to help.
Over the months of first year she’d grown to have lots of reasons to hate him. He was loud, and arrogant. Convinced he needed to be the center of attention in any room. He’d play jokes on any and everyone — occasionally ones that left the recipient in tears from skin that was the wrong color, or other bodily changes they couldn’t fix.
Not to mention the vicious downright cruel targeting of her then best friend Severus Snape. (Although now that she was older she’d grudgingly admit that their pranks on Severus hadn’t turned particularly mean until the smaller boy had gone back after them. Sev gave as good as he got.)
If all of that wasn’t enough to make her blood boil in his presence then his attitude towards her absolutely was. Ever since that first dinner, James Potter in all his eleven year old glory, had declared himself in love with Lily. He’d loudly and exorbitantly exclaim how pretty she was, or ask if she’d go on a date. He’d comment on her hair — how red it was (“Not Weasley red! Yours looks more like ruby’s and theirs is more like carrots and who likes carrots?”) about how pretty her eyes were, (“they look like my Da’s potion for good dreams! Like emeralds!”), and anything else he could think to compliment her on. And no matter how angrily she snapped at him he’d still talk, and smile at her, and ask her out. It was awful.
As they’d grown older the compliments and talk had grown more and more complex, and more and more embarrassing. It hadn’t been until the previous fifth year that James had actually started slowing down. His comments had been less loud, less obnoxious, less frequent. Instead of yelling after her every time she entered or exited a room; he’d stare contemplatively.
His dark brown eyes focused on her with a solemn sort of intensity that reminded her of how he looked in class when trying to figure out a very complicated spell. Something that, when aimed at her, felt ten times more threatening. Sometimes he wouldn’t look up at all, and Lily would find herself watching him curiously; half tense as she wondered if he’d yell at her across the common room. Sometimes, he’d catch her watching him and his friends, and he’d quirk this tiny little half smile at her, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head. It made her chest tighten; and she’d whirl away as fast as possible.
She’d been quietly anxious all last year, wondering if he’d randomly snap out of this polite funk. Mostly, she was relieved he wasn’t being so awful anymore. That while it seemed as if he hadn’t quite moved on from their nonexistent relationship, he’d almost . . . accepted the fact that Lily did not return his feelings.
And now she was holding a child. A perfect tiny child, that had James hair, ears, and jaw, and Lily’s nose, lips, and eyes. Her magic hummed happily along the bond between her and her son; the spell was tuned to recognize whether a child was born in the family or outside of it — to make sure no illegitimate or bastard children were lost — and her boy was legitimate. Born out of a strong marriage bond. Heir Potter as much as he was Heir Wyllt.
The thought was inconceivable.
Lily had grown up in a simple structured muggle life. With a doctor for a father and secondary school teacher for a mum.
Up until she’d gotten her Hogwarts letter she’d always expected to follow in her mothers footsteps. Get some job as a teacher or nurse, marry a calm boring husband, and have a couple children who she’d then take time off to take care of. It was expected; it was normal.
The magical world was different. At the age of eleven Lily had suddenly been thrust into a world that didn’t really care about her gender; instead it cared only for her abilities and blood. A world that was full of loud messy brilliant feats that made absolutely no sense and also made perfect sense.
But some small part of her had always held onto that image; not out of willingness, but rather out of obligation or maybe some form of muscle memory. Something that insisted that Lily would grow, and she’d marry, and live a boring life with a husband that didn’t really care about her all that much.
Loud, brash, arrogant James Potter, as much as he was awful, as much as Lily hated him, was the exact opposite of that. He was outspoken, constantly shouting his affections and intentions. Once Severus had sneered that he was everything that Gryffindors stood for, and at the time — Lily, who had not yet realized Sev was turning into as much of a git as James (if not more so). Had quietly agreed with him.
The idea of marrying James was mind boggling. The notion of having a child with James, even more so. And yet the knowledge settled warmly in her chest, had magic coiling pleasantly through her bones. As if it was right, more natural than breathing.
“Lily!” The voice ripped her from her spiraling thoughts. It was Professor McGonagall’s voice but she’d never heard the transfiguration teacher actually say her first name — let alone any students first name now that she thought about it — and she barely managed to tear her eyes away from her son.
“Professor,” she gasped, her eyes locked on the woman and the familiar sight of her emerald and gold robes and strict bun had something tight loosening in Lily’s chest, emotions welling as she recognized a teacher. She blinked once, throat and chest tightening, arms reflexively pulling her child closer to herself.
Marlene was right behind the professor, and —
She blinked furiously, as Professor McGonagall kneeled next to her. Hands fluttering over Lily and eyes wide with astonishment as she looked at the child in Lily’s hands.
“What happened?” She demanded, at the same time that Lily choked out.
“Somethings really wrong with him — he’s hurt —“ Lily could feel the exact moment her body overruled the effects of Dorcas’s calming potion. A hitched sob interrupted her words, she could feel the band snapping tight around her lungs, making her breaths stuttering and shrill. “He's —“ she choked,
“Hey, focus on me you silly girl.” Professor McGonagall ordered sternly, one of her hands gently resting on Lily’s arm while the other waved her wand. Lily shuddered as a cold sensation slipped over her. Diagnostician charms. After five years as a muggleborn at Hogwarts, Lily was unfortunately very familiar with the sensation.
What gave her pause, halted the panic in her chest; was the dull tugging sensation from the bond with the boy in her arms telling her that benign magic had just been cast over him as well.
He shuddered slightly, curling into Lily and Lily wasn’t able to stop the tiny gasp of pain as his head rubbed again raw burns on her hands.
“Good heavens! Ms —“ That was Madame Pomfrey’s voice, but the words choked slightly in the Medi Witch's throat. As if they’d been clamped off. Lily blinked up at her, noticing her slightly disheveled appearance, then the large brown bag she was clutching, and finally Dorcas hovering behind her.
“Lily needs another calming draught Poppy, and ritual salve for her hands. As for the boy — I’m not sure what to do there.” Professor McGonagall grit out. She was still kneeling, one hand still clasped on Lily’s shoulder, bracing the girl to keep her from keeling over.
“Move then Minerva! Let me see them.” Madame Pomfrey snapped, Lily blinked in shock at the tone. She felt rattled; as if something had picked her up and squeezed and shook. Now that her boy had passed out; she was getting feedback from her own body and there were definitely issues.
There was an awful sort of ache along her muscles, a stiff sort of burn as if she’d ran too much and pulled all her muscles at the same time. The burning sensation was concentrated along two places though.
One directly over her chest, under her breast bone, hot and boiling as it pushed against her sternum, the other was wrapped around her hands. Her hands that feel as if they’ve been submerged in boiling hot oil.
She can help the frantic trembling that started to spread over her. The wheezing gasps of pain as her boy slips from her arms and into her lap as her hands release their grip. She’s shaking wildly — she’s aware, eyes peering at her hands, at the bold striking lines painted across them. As if someone took pitch black ink and used her skin as a canvas. She can make out tiny patterns of dancing runes and enchantments wrapped around her fingers and palms. The skin between each mark was puffy and a bright red from irritation.
She heaved slightly, a jolt of pain pulsing through her even as Madame Pomfrey started frantically slathering her hands in a thick ointment. Black spots dancing in front of her eyes as she slammed her head back against the wall, a high pitched noise tearing from her throat. Almost distantly she could hear Madame Pomfrey saying something in a frantic tone of voice to Professor McGonagall, but the words weren’t processing. Instead sounding strangely muffled and slurred, as if they were being spoken in an entirely different language.
She had one brief second where her eyes met Madame Pomfrey’s and to process the sudden hardening of the woman’s features before the woman raised her wand, the tip glowed a faint purple as she murmured out a spell. There was a burst of some sweet scent in Lily’s nose, and then she knew no more.