Search Home Read Write Forum Login Register

A/N: Sup? haha... sorry about the lack of responses, updates and the like. Since I have been working for the past month or so, I haven't had the abundance of time I used to have to work on updating every few days. I hope that you all can find a way to forgive me and keep checking back for updates to this story. For I believe that this story is worth the effort. I am hoping to get the ball rolling as soon as possible. There is Lily's 17th birthday to look forward to, the introduction of her mother's true antics, what Lily will get as a gift from her mother's "hired help" and the secret behind his existance. Also, where is Lily's father, and why is Petunia been such a secretive bitch? haha... yes all that is awaiting you in the next few chapters... Lily's Birthday will be a hoot, or so to speak, so I hope to see you there lol... I hope you enjoy the chapter... it is basically documenting a full twenty minutes of Lily's life... but it is an exciting twenty minutes lol... hope to hear from you in a review and I will get around to responding to reviews that hold questions about the story. Thank you for reading and I hope that you enjoy!


Chapter 4: Threats and Payback

I sluggishly step off the train. All I want to do is fall onto my large bed at home and sleep for the first week or two of the holidays. Maybe then, after I catch up on the year of sleep I have been deprived of, I will be able to figure out an escape plan.



 



Yes, I don’t intend to spend my entire summer at home. I would go to school the following Autumn a complete and utter wreck if that were to be the case, twitching every time someone talks to me (though I can’t say that won’t happen anyway) expecting them to tell say in a vaguely familiar stern tone “fix your posture,” “fix your diet,” “fix your attitude,” and, “fix your life.”



 



Oh god, I can just imagine my black eyes, pale and pasty skin, my slack mouth hanging slightly open letting out a continuous stream of drool drip down my chin if that were to happen. Utterly disgusting.



 



Therefore, when I wake up I will figure out a way to save my sanity.



 



I leave the Hogwarts Express behind me and join the thronging crowd making their way slowly towards the platform’s exit. An echoing din of squawking owls in wire cages, cats of all sizes and colours in wicker baskets meowing disapprovingly at their owners as they swung them around to hug the countless family members who have greeted them on the platform. My welcome party was non-existent of course. Did you really expect my mother to be seen among people like me? Pfft, very unlikely. She will be waiting out the front of King’s Cross Station, the car humming in tune with the radio songs pouring from the new model speakers.



 



I have no idea how I haven’t managed to run head long into anyone yet. Students who once were walking ahead of me continue to stop suddenly sometimes forcing me to change direction slightly until the student branches off to join their relatives.



 



I look on a few reunions feeling my heart tug gently when the mother of the family completely embraces her child or children in a large hug questioning them of their school year, their grades, their lack of memory when it comes to packing up for the year. I plunge on through the crowd unconsciously guilty of my probing and envious stare. Why can’t I have a family like that?



 



Side stepping a cluster of whining and sweet talking third years who surrounded a pair of harassed looking parents, obviously asking to come and stay for a while during the summer, I make a bee-line for the long line leading to the barrier on the far left side of the platform which was also the exit to Platform 9 and 3/4.



 



Joining the end of the line, I stand my trunk upright and wiping the slippery sweat from my hands and onto the legs of my jeans I settled in to wait for the students with various levels of experience with walking through the apparently solid barrier. I wish they would all run and save the time wasted by fretting about getting knocked out by the looming metal exit.



 



I hang my head, diverting my gaze from the exit towards my trunk hoping I have not forgot anything back at the castle. It is an easy mistake to make, and I have to tell you now; what ever you leave behind, no matter how significant, you miss it a lot over the three months you are parted with it.



 



I am sure I have everything due to the incredible weight of my trunk. The line moves forward a few steps and I am forced to drag my luggage a few steps to close up the awaiting gap.



 



Raising myself on my tiptoes, I squint at the beginning of the line where a small commotion is currently taking place. A plume of purple smoke rose into the air and disappeared above our heads unnoticed by most of the distracted participants of the line.



 



What the hell?



 



I forced myself not to push my way to the front of the line and to demand where the origin of the purple smoke was. It wasn’t any of my business at all, and frankly I couldn’t care less. I would only do something, and only if, I am to be standing here for an extremely long time.



 



My right foot begins to tap impatiently on it’s own accord and I look down at it in wonder. I haven’t been waiting less then five minutes in the line and I am already becoming impatient. Lack of sleep is really getting to me. I never used to be like this at all.



 



The rhythm of my foot escalates, becoming a wild and uncontrollable sound. A few people nearby even turn around on the spot to stare at me and my foot. I just give them a weak smile and a well rehearsed shrug of innocence.



 



As I repeat said shrug for the fourth time in less then ten minutes I hear an echoing bang, a sudden shriek of surprise and a bout of hysterical laughter. There is a rush in the crowd to grow a few extra inches to glimpse what had just occurred. Since I am short anyway, I have no chance of seeing what the hell is going on at the front of the line.



 



I check my watch, noticing the time and cringing inwardly at the greeting mother is surely going to give me when I finally arrive in the parking lot. Meh, it’s always fun to make her late, maybe miss a perfectly scheduled appointment or two. I sigh loudly, a dazed look coming unconsciously to my face as I imagine my mother’s pealing screams of anger. Makes my skin tingle pleasantly just thinking about it.



 



The pleasant thought of causing Mother to be angry is swept clear from my mind when there is a jerk in front of me and the line separates almost immediately. I am uncomfortably confronted with the commotion that is keeping the line at a stand still.



 



My head jerks back to allow my eyes to focus in on a small boy violently writhing in the air apparently laughing his head off at the violent tickling charm that was currently working on his stomach. His hair was a bright shade of violet; his feet stretched to unimaginable size and fitted with large shiny red clown shoes.



 



My lips think about cracking a small smile, but I don’t allow them to. Even as I notice that the boy who is the target of such a cruel prank is one of the Second Years who I despise almost as much as a particular Marauder, the smile doesn’t quite reach the right point. In fact, just as I recognize the boy in the air I also notice the two other boys who are the cause of such a display. One was barking with laughter, pointing and yelling up at the twitching and convulsing boy, the other had his wand trained on the target and was obviously the culprit for this demonstration.



 



The infamous “Prat” with his eyes agleam with laughter and payback was clearly visible at the front of the crowd. His long wand arm extended, gesturing powerfully at the boy in the air, his wrist flicking ever so slightly with obvious ease as he continued to transfigure more of his victim’s appearance. His mouth fixed in a humor filled smile, feeding off the multitude of laughs to be heard from the crowd. All I want to do is wipe that smile from his lips for an eternity.



 



I push through the crowd, barely acknowledging the weight of my trunk that once assailed me so completely. The crowd parted for me, mainly out of curiosity rather than out of respect. I was barely unaware of my wand stealthily slipping in my awaiting fingertips. All I see is the advancing exit.



 



“How do you feel to be humiliated?” I heard Potter question the hovering boy above his head, “How do you like it to happen to you?”



 



“Please! Ha ha! Put – Ha! – Me down!” The boy hiccups, squirming from the unstoppable force that was tickling him.



 



“Change his clothes, James!” Black laughs, “I think it’s the only thing that is missing!”



 



“Anything for Evans,” With a deliberate flick of his wand, Potter transfigures the boys clothing in to pantyhose and a short frilly pink skirt. His top half, however, sported an over sized jumper with the words “Stalker” clearly stitched into the fabric.



 



I must say, that is some handy wand work. But completely unacceptable! Sure the young boy had been sprung by me during the year taking strange and altogether humiliating photographs of me in the grounds, corridors and even a wonky shot of me through the window of the Six Year Girl’s Dormitory which was taken on a broomstick. He had sold them for his own personal profit to the student body and I had just happened to catch him in the act during my prefect duties. Thank god for that! Imagine if Potter had got his hands on one of them? I don’t even want to think of such a thing. It’s just too ghastly to comprehend.



 



That however, did not justify Potter’s actions at all. Not even a little bit. So he deserves the quick and precise charm I shoot at the back of his head. I have to make the stakes fair. Potter had got me too many times during the year. I am just making up for it.



 



I run through the exit making a quick get away. I know that the moment that Potter realizes what I have done he will be hot my tail in an instant, seeking me out like a seeker in a Quidditch match. Stupid metaphor, Potter doesn’t even play Seeker in Quidditch. But it worked well, didn’t it?



 



The muggle part of King’s Cross station materializes before my very eyes, and for once in my life (and this is a big call here) I don’t have to force the smile mother adores so much onto my lips. It’s already there, practically beaming and desperate to be seen by the milling crowd. I drag my trunk, somewhat, awkwardly behind me, feeling the weight of it beginning to slow me down. But I had to get out of here quick smart. Potter will notice the charm working on his head as I think in a few moments time and I must simply vanish into thin air to not be caught. I look up and around, hoping to find a nearby exit to make my escape route out to the parking lot. But instead of an exit I see a large black and white sign, bobbing above the heads of the crowd. “Evans” is printed upon the sign in large bold letters. I shrink away in surprise. That is simply abnormal. What if it is Potter and it is all a trick?



 



A large group of businessmen talking among themselves hurry to a arriving train on Platform 9 and I am able to see for the first time the possessor of the sign while I frantically attempt to hide myself. Obviously my attempts are pointless for I can see the man as clear as day.



 



His long black jacket, gleaming white pressed dress-shirt and precision ironed black pants sparkled at me in the mass of color from the surrounding crowd’s garments. His black drivers hat was set at a strange but comfortable angle on his combed blonde hair. You got to be kidding me?! Mother hired a chauffeur?



 



I am very surprised! I never thought she would go this far! The neighbors hate us enough as it is! But no, I bet that wasn’t enough for mother dearest. I’m sure she wanted the neighbors to loath us, envy us and all round want to be us. That would be her ultimate dream.



 



Why am I so nervous? My feet stumble and trip among themselves as I attempt to approach the tall man in a manner that would show off my family. But as always, I fail miserably. I can’t pretend to be someone who I am not. That’s just pathetic and goes against everything I believe.



 



I cringe inwardly when I notice him stare right at me. He is accessing me; sizing me up in other words. Or at least his look is giving me that impression. On second thought, I won’t bother with this fancy schmanzy way of travel, though I have always wondered how it would feel to be in a limo. I’ll take a cab! I’ll do anything! Just please let me escape his gaze, his probing stare. As I watch him, as though transfixed unfortunately, he draws his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and withdraws a wallet sized piece of paper. He brings it to his eyes and gazes at it, then back at me.



 



Oh god, it’s a photograph. The smile upon my lips ebbs away immediately.



 



As though he had decided that I am the one he is after, he swings the large sign under his arm and starts to approach me, his eyes directed at my trunk in a hungry manner, a smug smile reaching both sides of his face as he fixes his hat. Oh god, what the hell does he mean to do to my precious belongings.



 



I freeze mid step and decide to change direction, opting to merge towards the exit in a stealthy manner instead. It is as I come to be a few meters from the exit, my stalker-like-chauffuer hot on my tail and my trunks handle now cutting deep into my fingers as I desperately pull it behind me I hear a terrible yell of anguish followed by a shout of horror.



 



I can almost see the look of triumph leap onto my features and I can’t stop from turning on the spot and looking back at the entrance to Platform 9 and 3/4. Potter is standing there, his posture rigid with a kind of haunting fury, his hairs repeatedly running themselves through his black hair, tuffs of which falling to his feet.



 



I turn around quickly in the hope of ducking behind a large family who just happen to be wearing clothing that match the color of my hair. But as I go to move I am shocked to find the chauffeur smiling at me, tapping his shiny feet in a ghastly rhythm. My eyes widened in fright, but I have more pressing matters than hired help wanting to deliver me safely home. Potter was chasing me, and if he caught me… gosh I don’t even want to think about it.



 



“EVANS!” I hear Potter shriek. Yes, the best idea is to escape quickly.



 



Swinging my gaze back to the towering chauffer I notice him eying my bag in the same haunting manner as before and I immediately was hit over the head with an idea. Ha! You thought it was a hex didn’t you! Pfft as if!



 



“Miss Evans, would you like me to take your ba –”



 



“Yes take it! Where is the car parked?” I ask distractedly chancing a glance over my shoulder.



 



“In the taxi rank,” The chauffer shrugs carelessly as though he didn’t care breaking the law, “Linda wanted it that way.”



 



I fight the urge to raise my eyebrows at the strange sentence he had just mumbled in his deep voice. It is not unusual for mother to knowingly break the law, for she believes, of course, that she is above the law at all times. My surprise is mainly the fact that my mother has allowed this man, who is of lower class, to use her first name when speaking of her at least. I wonder if she allows him to address her like that also. Hmm, strange. Never mind, I can find out what is going on with that at a later date. For now, I have more pressing matters.



 



“May I borrow your jacket?” I ask quickly, knowing full well how abnormal my request must sound, “And your hat?”



 



The chauffer looks at me quizzically. I sigh and glance over my shoulder. I can clearly see Potter plowing through the crowd. As I turn back to the irritating chauffer I hear an old woman cry is surprise as, I assume, Potter pushes her out of his way.



 



“I’ll answer your questions later, just please give them to me!” I say hysterically, not knowing why I am freaking out like I am. He can’t do anything to me in muggle view. Even he isn’t low enough for that sort of thing. He is pretty low though, so I wouldn’t at all put it past him.



 



As though he were made for it, the chauffer strips his jacket and hat off in moments and quickly hands them to me. I don the black jacket, letting go of the handle of my trunk for that one extra moment. A second later, the chauffer was dragging it along behind him heading towards an alternative exit to the one I was eying off.



 



“Keep the motor running!” I call and run off, jamming the hat onto my head as I jump into a crowd of people traveling to a funeral probably. Strange how people seem to be color coordinating with the crowds they are walking with today. Ha ha!



 



I merge to the left, and then to the right hearing Potter’s angry shouts just behind me all the while. I chance a glance behind me and I am overcome by Potter’s glaring eyes and shiny crown. He is completely bald! That hex worked better than I thought it would!



 



I dodge a pair of women pushing prams ahead of them hearing a small giggle as I flash in and out of view. Just-a-few-more-meters. I have never run this much in my life.



 



Staggering and almost tripping on a rouge foot in my way, I almost fall on the exit door knocking it open effortlessly. Gaining my balance once more, I stop at the exit and wait for Potter to catch up with me. We have been running after one another a lot lately, haven’t we? Eww. Just the thought of it gives me the urge to shudder with disgust.



 



He comes through the exit, puffing and carrying on like he is about to die. And this boy is supposed to be fit. Pfft!



 



“Evans! Change it back!” He yells at me, his red face extremely close to mine.



 



“No,” I say loud enough to gain a few looks, “I can’t. I’m not magic Potter! You will just have to wait for it to grow back the natural way.”



 



His face contorts into a nasty expression and he leans in close to me, he then whispers in a threatening sort of way, “This is not over, Evans. I’ll get you back. You just wait. Watch your back, because I will get you.”



 



He then turns on his heal and marches back through the exit, the door slamming in his wake. The sound jars me. And for once, I think that I may have gone too far.



 



HA! Of course not! “The Prat” bald? Oh gosh, that is priceless.



 



I almost skip to the shiny new limousine parked in the taxi rank. I can see all the taxi drivers muttering and cursing to themselves as they fought over the limited space available.



 



Just as I reach the back door, the jacketless and hatless chauffer steps out and I slip of the jacket and hat and return the to him. He smiles as he takes the jacket and asks approvingly, “Was that some sort of spell you cast on that boy?” He adds a large wink for effect.



 



I don’t answer. I just disregard the question completely, opting to yell at mother when I see her next. How could she tell him about my secret?! Instead I ask, “What is your name?”



 



“Jack,” He answers immediately opening the door for me as he does so. I sit down in the cool leather seat and am immediately engulfed in artificial cool air. Mother sure did go all out this time.



 



“Thanks Jack,” I reply, giving him a rare smile. He closes my door and walks around to the driver’s side ignoring the cursing taxi drivers.



 



“Where to, Miss Evans?” Jack asks.



 



I sink deeper into my seat, glancing out the window. I see the Marauders, Potter as bald as an old man cursing about his hair to a older woman who was currently hugging Sirius Black a little too tightly for the boy’s comfort. My eyes linger on the scene for a moment before I answer, “Home.”

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it, please leave me your thoughts. and hopefully I will have an update for you sooner than the previous. Only 3 five hour shifts this week so you can count on a update... I promise *holds out pinkie*

Track This Story: Feed


Write a Review

out of 10

JOIN HARRY POTTER FANFICTION


Get access to every new feature the moment it comes out.

Register Today!