Obliviate

Chapter 10 - You're So Brave

When the Hogwarts Express pulled away from the station, Lily kept glancing back at the thinning outline of the castle. She was leaving the Tree behind for the first time since planting it, and even though it had promised her it would be safe, a low knot of worry had settled in her chest.

Alexander Dimitriov of Durmstrang had won the Triwizard Tournament, leaving Hogwarts in low spirits, but none more so than Ravenclaw, who had finished third in the House Cup. The loss pressed on Lily's mood, the whistle of the train sounding almost mournful. She made herself a silent promise: next year, she'd do better.

James, already riding high on his Quidditch fame, along with Gryffindor having won the House Cup, had been invited to join the Wimbourne Wasps as a reserve Chaser. He strutted around the house all summer, tossing a Quaffle from hand to hand and signing his name on scraps of parchment.

Summer at home was warm, noisy, and full of family, but in the quieter hours, when her brothers were elsewhere and the house felt too still, Lily's mind drifted back to the echo she'd seen. The pale-haired boy with the guarded eyes, the voice of someone she knew, though she couldn't yet name.

It wasn't just curiosity. It was the way they he looked at the unnamed voice. It didn't fit the history she'd been taught. Every time she replayed the vision, she caught something new, the almost imperceptible lean of his shoulders toward her, the quick half-smile before the image faded.

By the time August rolled around, the memory had sharpened into an itch she couldn't ignore. She needed to know if it had been real, or just some strange trick of the Tree's magic.

When she returned to school in September, the first thing she noticed was how much the Tree had grown again. The ceiling in the Room of Requirement seemed even higher, and the golden glow of its leaves was brighter than ever.

Lily's eyes snapped on the figure sitting under its canopy, her heart felt as though it had stopped, then slowly increased in speed. During the holidays she had seen Scorpius, but not so alone and privately. 

Scorpius was waiting for her there on the first evening back, sitting with his back against the trunk, a book open in his lap. His smile was easy when he saw her, but she could tell from the way his brow lifted that he knew something was already on her mind.

"Long summer?" he asked, closing the book but keeping a finger between the pages.

Lily stepped forward, the familiar warmth of the Tree wrapping around her like a soft shawl. "You could say that." She sank down opposite him, her eyes tracing the way the golden light caught in his hair.

Scorpius studied her for a moment. "You've been thinking about it, haven't you? The vision."

She didn't bother denying it. "I can't get it out of my head. It felt... real. And the Tree called it an echo. If it happened once, maybe it could happen again."

His expression tightened. "And you want to see more."

"Yes." The word came too quickly, too firmly. She lowered her voice. "There was something in the way he looked at her. Something... important. I need to know what it means."

Scorpius tilted his head, searching her face. "What if it's something you're not ready to hear?"

"Then I'll deal with it," she said quietly, almost defiantly.

His gaze dropped to his hands. "What if I'm not ready to hear it, he is my father after all." Lily's eyes softened. 

A rustle overhead drew their eyes to the Tree's branches, leaves shivering in a soundless wind. The voice slipped into Lily's mind, soft but edged with warning. Time is not your enemy, but it is no friend either. Step carefully, young one.

Lily's fingers curled in her lap. She didn't want to be reckless. But she also knew this wasn't going away. "I'm going to find a way to see it again, with or without you," she told Scorpius, voice steady.

His gaze lingered on hers for a long moment before he sighed and leaned back against the trunk. "Then I guess I'd better be there when you do." 

***

The first few weeks back at Hogwarts were a soft blur of new schedules and cooler weather. September bled into October, and though Lily fell back into the rhythm of classes, the echo she'd seen in the summer still threaded quietly through her thoughts.

She didn't rush to the Tree at first. Instead, she visited in the evenings, sometimes with Scorpius, sometimes alone. They'd talk about school, Quidditch, or nothing important at all, letting the golden glow of the Tree wash over them. But every time she looked at its branches, she felt that memory stir, the pale-haired boy, the guarded eyes, the voice she almost knew.

The Ravenclaw common room was its own cocoon, filled with parchment dust and low laughter. Even there, surrounded by friends, she'd drift into thought until Kara nudged her with a quill.
"Still thinking about that weird thing you won't tell me about?" Kara teased.

"Maybe," Lily replied with a faint smile, not quite meeting her eyes.

By the fifth week of term, her patience frayed. She started visiting the Tree earlier, staying later, searching for the same shiver of magic that had shown her that first vision.

The Room of Requirement seemed to notice. Shadows stretched deeper in its corners, the warm air cooling into something crisp and watchful. The Tree's leaves whispered faintly, like they were keeping something from her.

"You're trying to force it," Scorpius said one evening, sitting against the trunk and watching her pace beneath the branches.

"I'm not-" She stopped. She was.

"You don't even know what will happen if you push too hard."

Lily ignored him and stepped closer to the trunk. Her palm pressed against the bark, and heat rushed up her arm, quickly followed by a sudden, biting chill that made her teeth clench.

The Tree's voice slid into her mind, sharper than before. Time is not your enemy... but it will cut you if you grasp too quickly.

The air seemed to twist. In the corner of her vision, shadows gathered into the faint outline of two figures, the beginnings of something she needed to see-

Scorpius's hand caught her wrist, pulling her sharply back. "Enough." His voice was low, tight. "You're not doing this alone." 

That night, Lily's dreams swirled like smoke, disjointed shapes and half-formed words. Somewhere in the haze, she was small again, no older than five, her legs swinging from a chair far too big for her. The scene looked golden and warm. The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and parchment, and a warm voice murmured close to her ear.

"You're so brave," the woman said.

The air turned colder, shadows thickening until she almost gasped herself awake. Now the voice was saying it again, lower, softer, almost tender. But this time it wasn't to her. It was to him.

She jolted awake before she could see his face clearly.

Her skin was clammy, her heart in her throat. It was only a dream, she told herself, but the words stayed with her like a whisper pressed into her bones.