Consuming Shadows

Chapter 32

Sirius watched her from where he was leaning against the bathroom doorframe, not even attempting to hide the disapproval that dug lines around his mouth.

Lily ignored him as she adjusted her hair with all the care of an artist; ensuring that the black strands were impeccably styled. The last few years of her life had been solely dedicated to maintaining the image of Amelia Evans – perfecting the act of the magically-weak witch, whose only redeeming qualities seemed to be her talent for potions, and her son.

She knew how to present herself just so to convey her role convincingly; to escape suspicion and get what she wanted from those around her.

Slipping that mask on was as easy as breathing for her now.

But she never forgot her roots – never forgot what she had lost. What was stolen from her.

Her eyes critically scanned her altered features, scrutinising every inch for the slightest hint of a flaw.

She could not afford to make any mistakes today, not with what she was about to do. All it would take was one little thing going wrong and it would all fall apart.

She looked harder.

Lily knew that she was attractive. Even without the fabled pureblood genes, she had always been considered pretty. But that had not been enough back then.

As Harry grew, it was obvious to her that he was taking after his father in terms of looks. He so clearly had the features of a pureblood line, and Lily had been pressed to explain why that was.

So, she had chosen a glamour that emphasised her natural beauty into something more sophisticated, to stop the awkward questions before they became a problem.

Lily had made sure that Amelia Evans was a gorgeous woman, and over the years she had handled plenty of would-be suitors, fending them off with soft smiles or vicious words.

She was effortlessly able to use her looks to her advantage if she had to, not matter how it gnawed at her. Because it always felt like a betrayal to James to so much as flirt with another.

But this...

This was completely, frighteningly, different. She had charmed many a man before, she knew how it worked. But she had never tried it on someone even close to Voldemort's level – both in magical prowess and sheer dangerousness.

If this were anyone else, she knew she would have a chance. But Tom Riddle, Voldemort, whatever he went by, would likely never fall for such a ruse.

She was insane for even contemplating it. Everyone thought so, and had made their opinions known quite vocally during the meeting.

But she knew something they did not.

"Forgive my forwardness, Mrs. Evans, but you look stunning this evening."

Just the memory of his words, his eyes, his tone, shook her to her core.

Riddle had made the compliment sound genuine that night – so genuine in fact, that she honestly believed he was telling the truth. At the time, she had been too uncomfortable with the man's attention to really understand the intent behind his words. She had been trying to see the whole picture while missing half the puzzle pieces.

So she had chalked it up to the professor just being a disturbing old man and a Death Eater sympathiser.

But now that she knew who he truly was, she could not help but feel a greater unease at the Dark Lord's casual admiration, and at what it meant.