❝𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘴...❞
~*~*~*
Lily Evans was the first ever witch not to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in attempt t...
This chapter is dedicated to lilypotter07seekerjust for being here I guess! Thanks for the support! Love you ♥️♥️♥️
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
(11th April 1978)
When Mary MacDonald awoke, something felt different. There was a shift in the air, a hole that nothing would ever fill. She looked up from her bed to see the one opposite her left empty in the morning light, neatly made and cleared of any traces there had been a girl there just the night before.
Her side of the wardrobe was empty as well, everything she had ever loved was gone. Her lavender shampoos and spearmint toothpaste from the bathroom; her favourite pair of black boots from the space beside the door; and the ring she wore everyday on her middle finger– the one James bought for her.
The only thing left was her Gryffindor scarf, it was left over Mary's bedpost. Instinctively, Mary picked it up and held it close to her chest. It smelt like vanilla, cherries, and something sad. Endings and forevers.
Only when her MPP badge had spun three times did Mary notice and pick it up. The message broke her heart, and she wondered if the sound would wake up Trudy and Aliona.
I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Please forgive me, and hopefully forget me. Esme-Leigh x
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
(6th April 1978)
Lily saw the flowers were missing from the table the next day. She found them instead, piled into the bin along with shards of broken glass.
"Well done."
Startled, she turned on her heel to see Petunia watching her like something dirty, to be despised. "What?"
"Mum and dad were happy and you weren't for five seconds, so you made a scene."
Lily glowered at her sister, an anger she was becoming familiar with burned white hot in her veins. "You know that's not the case."
"Do I?" Petunia asked incredulously, throwing up her pale manicured hands to the ceiling. Her hair looked it's wildest when she was angry, usually so sleek and perfect, suddenly appeared like there was a storm in the kitchen. "Because you seem to have made a habit of it. Ever since we found out you were a freak—"
