The Death and Resurrection of Lilly Belafonte

There had been so many owls in Biloxi that the locals had started to complain. Hooting, twittering, swooping about, and all in the broad daylight—even ornithologists at the Audobon Zoo in New Orleans were becoming interested. Perhaps most startling, the perpetually drunken casino patrons were noticing that something was awry.

Though none of them knew it, all the fuss was over one small girl named Lilly. If she’d had any friends at the large public elementary she attended, they probably would have nicknamed her Red, or Lil. But she didn’t have any friends, her teachers called her Miss Andersen, and her father never addressed her at all. Only her mother called her Lilly, and only her mother understood what had gotten into all the birds.

One morning in late August, after about a week of frequent owls, Marilyn Octaviana Andersen had finally resigned herself to the decision she had been struggling with for all of her daughter’s life; whether or not Lilly would join the wizarding community. She had watched the girl grow from an unnaturally quiet infant into a completely silent toddler. From clinic to clinic they went, and the most frequent diagnosis was autism, even though Lilly tested lower than average for Mercury in the body. One day, after Marilyn had resigned herself to having not only a squib for a daughter, but a retarded one as well, her little phantom surprised her. Lilly, angry with her father for breaking her doll, had caused his pants to catch fire. JD Andersen cursed loudly for a bit then got drunk, never suspecting how he had come to be aflame, while his wife watched their daughter with a shocked intensity. Later, Lilly had said her first words:

“Mother? I’m sorry about the burn on the couch.”

She was five years old, then.


And now she’s eleven, Marilyn thought forlornly as she watched Lilly prepare a sandwich. Tall for her age, and thin, with dark red hair that she kept cropped short for easy maintenance. Her movements, even in such a mundane task as lunch-making, held such an easy grace that the competence beneath burned like a beacon. Smoothly she slipped the butter knife into the jar, without looking at it, and then spread the mayonnaise across the bread. Her mother noticed, mildly surprised, that Lilly had retrieved the precise amount needed to cover the bread evenly. Though in and of itself it was no great accomplishment, Marilyn couldn’t help but recall that the girl hadn’t even glanced at what she was doing. She lives her life on autopilot, Marilyn thought as she rubbed absently with her forefinger the wax seal on a delicate piece of parchment. But if this is how well she can live without even paying attention… what would she be like fully conscious?

“Lilly?” The girl did not pause as she reached up for a cup on the top shelf, summoning it a foot or so down and into her palm.

“Li” he” her mother repeated, more sharply.

“I heard you, Mother. I am not deaf, only preoccupied.” She pulled the milk out of the refrigerator and poured a glass full.

“There is a fork in your path,” Marilyn stated cryptically as her daughter carried her plate over to the table.

“Every second is a fork in my path.” She took a bite of her sandwich, and seemed to approve of the results.

“This decision will change your life,” her mother pressed, feeling a low frustration gathering behind her eyebrows.

“All decisions do. Presumably you mean this one is going to have a dramatic effect.” Another bite; she got a bit of mustard on her lip, which she licked off briskly.

“I’m surprised you’re not more curious about this,” her mother remarked, folding her arms across her chest. A pair of bright eyes flashed up to meet hers, the sandwich paused several inches from her mouth.

“I am always curious,” Lilly replied, unmoving for several seconds after the words died on her lips. Then, apparently satisfied with the rhetorical effect, she maintained eye contact and took another bite.

“Then why haven’t you—“

“—asked about it? Because you’re going to tell me anyway… why beg?” A sip of milk, and a small contented smile.

“You’ve been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the term begins in a week,” Marilyn announced. Lilly seemed nonplussed.

“I gathered it was something along those lines,” the girl remarked. Another bite. “Is that the reason for the owls?”

“Yes,” her mother replied irritably. “Wizards use owls for posting things.” Lilly nodded crisply, as if in confirmation.

“I’ll be attending, then?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. So shall I?”

There was a long pause. “Yes, you will.”

Lilly, as she had often considered, lived her life in a series of cycles. There were the seasons, of course, and periods of joy followed by seasons of sorrow. Her life was like the inside of a watch—each circular gear completing its rotation, as well as affecting every other gear that turned. She liked to picture herself as a machine, smoothly operating in situations where even the brightest people fell apart.

And then, just after her mother predicted the next great gear to be added to Lilly’s inner workings, another gear shuddered to a halt.

“You’ll go there over my dead body,” a man, ng hng himself known, whispered suddenly… terrifyingly softly… and terrifyingly sober.


A/N
Thank you, Francy! I’m guessing Lucius will come into play a chapter or two after Draco… and just before Severus, who happens to be my favorite character. I’m really excited, though, about all the Slytherin pairings, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.