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The Black Rose by Dormant Volcano
Chapter 1 : 1
Rating: 12+Chapter Reviews: 3

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 "Quick! The baby's coming!"

Her 3 year old heart had been overjoyed. A little brother to play with would be even better than toys or dolls with their irritating sinister fake fixed perfect smiles. She looked down at the little one's closed eyes. The baby wasn't that pretty as her mother had claimed it to be. A small red bawling face. But the eyes. Green eyes. Like her mother's. And hints of black hair too. Like hers. With a wide smile, she cradled him fondly. Days passed. He occupied all her parents' time. She could barely play with him. He cried, made a mess, ate and slept. That's all. In spite of her gladness, she felt a bit lonely. She noticed things a child shouldn't. Understood them. But her heart was her age. It clouded and tried to conquer her thinking. One night, feeling scared of ghosts, she crept to his cradle and managed to fit in beside him. He was not so ugly looking now. Suddenly he started crying. Puzzled and a little panicked, she tried to hush him. Her mother came running and lifted her hand.

"Don't disturb him while he's sleeping!" She swayed holding her cheek. Her mother with a stricken look tried to hug her. She slipped away, ran to the wardrobe and hid inside it fighting tears. It was the first time she had been hit because of someone else. Her brother too, at that. She always had a deep fear inside her of abuse after spending one evening in a muggle house watching the TV thingy without her parents around.

Something inside her changed. Jealousy is not an emotion that is controlled easily. It settles on you and refuses to let go.

He's a baby. When he grows up, it'll be alright.

Then one day, she heard them talking about the prophecy. Her mother crying, her father comforting in a choked voice. She didn't believe in prophecies. She started to do things. Teasing her brother unkindly, calling him the worst names she knew, sometimes making up random words. Yet at night, it all came back to torture her into feeling guilty. Soon a year passed. And another three months. Till that fateful night came.

"Run Lily! He's here!"

Puzzled and curious, she followed her very scared mother clutching her brother.

"It's not working! Why isn't it working?" Her mother's panicked tones.

The door flew open. Her mother dropped the baby into the cradle and stood in front of it. A dark cloaked figure. Voldemort. The prophecy was true.

She watched her mother plea for her brother's life offering her life instead. The figure raised a wand.


She threw herself at her mother trying to pull her away. Her mother shoved her blindly. Striking the wall with her head, she looked at her dazed.

Grief-stricken. For her husband. Desperation. To protect her son…

With a sinking feeling, she realise that her mother had nothing to offer her. She didn't exist in her life. Perhaps she never had. A green light. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the open blank eyes. More sinister than her dolls. She wondered dreamily if her father was the same. He was. All because of…

She looked up. The dark lord was gone. Her brother was crying. A scar on his forehead. Somehow standing up, she went over to him. He was alive. She wanted to hug him but stopped. She still loved him. Yet something had… disappeared. She felt oddly disconnected from the world.

It isn't his fault. It isn't his fault. He didn't ask for all this.

Hatred and misery rose in her suddenly. She hated her parents, their friends, the world, herself…but she did not, could not hate him.

He became quiet and closed his eyes. He looked so much like her father. He opened his eyes…and she saw her mother.


Breathing hard, she ran… where, she didn't know. Why… she didn't know. She sat for hours in a dark alley. Soon it was night. A shadow appeared. It was him. Voldemort. He had come for her. He looked down at her, compassion and something like kindness in his eyes and held out his hand to her.

He is evil. He killed your parent…whom you hate.

For years she had been fighting with her heart. Suddenly she was tired of resisting. She wanted someone to hug her and make her feel warm again. That may never happen.

She reached out.

His hand enclosed hers in a warm grip.

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