@thepotternet and @fanficnet Yule event, day 1: Tom Riddle + coldness
A/N: Just a quick drabble (twas so hard to write afdgdkh, with John Legend’s Xmas playlist on loop). Anyway, enjoy!
His piercing eyes scanned the white stretch of deserted land, silently defying winter to break him, if it could.
An icy smirk cracked his bluish lips. Of course, it couldn’t.
Nothing could.
Nobody.
Alone in a foreign country, he was not afraid.
Why would he? He was the most powerful wizard of all times.
He was mastering life. He was subduing death.
Among the blinding light reflected by the snow, his glare found its aim.
The forest looked like an army of skeletal hands emerging from the depth of the Earth, firing their multiple fingers in the impossible attempt of reaching the pale sun to strangle it.
His feet trailed on the frozen ground, forming a path that would remain marked for the years to come. His steps crushed the snow beneath them like fragile bones, in a blood-freezing regular cadence.
He was not alone, in this foreign country. He was with himself. Another part of himself.
His hand slipped in the pocket of the rough cape that covered his frail body, and met the coldness of metal, the smoothness of a chiseled pattern. His grip closed around the base of a cup.
The breaking of a soul still filled his ears, a sound that would have made the bravest of the wizards recoil, but that pushed him forward. The last cry of Hepzibah Smith was one little, insignificant part of his ascension.
The wind ran in a frightened silence, clawing his transparent skin, his purple veins
Another ugly smile deformed his traits. It did not reach his eyes.
He slowly approached a trunk, the trunk. The image of the ghost hovered before his eyes, her silvery glow, her fluttering eyelashes.
She wouldn’t look at him the same way, now.
He passed his arm in the dark hole, felt the coldness of the tree’s rugged skin, blindly looked for the object that had made him fly all this way to Albania.
His fingers fell on something soft, solid in the inside, and a light flashed in his eyes. His grip tightened around a blue-washed covert, and he extracted it of its hiding.
Very unceremoniously, he dropped the piece of rag that must have once belonged to a dress, and held its content out to the light of the day. It was small enough to fit in the folds of his robes.
He fit it in his pocket, and climbed the hill back toward the road, toward England, toward the beginning of a new era.
Once at the top, he turned back, and gave the lifeless plain, the cadaverous forest, a last look. Maybe he’ll spare this land, when the time will come. But for now, he had something else to think about.
Tom Riddle Jr. liked winter. It was cold. It was silent.
A/N: For my gem wife, @beaubcxton. Darling, this is my idea of that special date they never got to have. I hope you like it, tho it’ll never be as good as anything you write, but the angel that is @hermione-who fixed it with her magic. @reggieblck calling you too, sweetie <3.
Pairing: Jily
***
A Potter never accepts a defeat.
He had kept trying, trying, trying.
He was on the right path.
***
The trees’ naked branches were perfectly still, the castles’ cavities as silent as the approaching Christmas holiday allowed. There was no wind, and thank Merlin, because James Potter was about to ice on spot, even inside the dormitory.
His eyes scanned the grounds, the earth muffled under the thick layer of last night’s frozen rain, and he smiled a goofy smile. He tore his gaze from the window, and swung around to get his muffles before sprinting down the wooden stairs. His hand grabbed the last newel post, almost ripping it from its place, to facilitate his change in direction as he zoomed toward the exit.
The common room was warm from the crackling fire in the chimney, the regular murmured conversations and ocasional laughs formed a pleasant buzzing. James thought that the place had never been this wonderful. But today, everything was.
“Where are you running to?”
Peter’s sarcastic question hung in the air, but it did not matter. Everybody knew the answer.
Caught in his excitement, James didn’t notice Marlene’s sideways smile as she shouted at him to right his glasses, nor did he hear Kingsley's imprecations as they nearly collided before the Fat Lady’s portrait. He didn’t laugh at Remus’ hot chocolate mug almost ending up on the floor as he suddenly appeared in the hallway, nor did he take time to stuck his tongue out to a very flustered Filch -- “No running in the corridors, you duke of limbs!”
In less time than it would have costed Sirius to enrage Professor McGonagall, James’ boots were drowned in the outside snow, his eyes frantic behind his glasses in search of a spot of color among the whiteness. A red spot, to be precise.
“Good morning Potter.”
She was to his right, a foot behind him, grinning like a four year old who’d just won a game of hide and seek.
His heart skipped a bit.
“‘morning Evans.” His tongue was as numb as the rest of his body.
The clarity around made her cheeks look like a rose’s petals, and James sucked in a deep breath at the sight of her red lips.
Her smile widened as she stepped forward. “You almost look decent today.”
He wanted to answer. Really. Something witty maybe. But he could have opened and closed his mouth a thousand times, nothing was going to come out of it.
Merlin, she was gorgeous.
Lily gently tilted her head, amused by the boy’s lack of his usual readiness. “Are we going to stay here for long? I’m becoming an ice cube.”
James shook his head, and premorously offered her his arm, making her laugh.
They began their stroll in silence, her looking at the sky in innocent distraction, him holding her as close as he could without being awkward. The way was empty, except for a couple of squirrels that seemed eager to follow them while rolling in the snow.
The temperature was not as low anymore, and the boy assumed it was because the sun was on its way to the roof of the sky. Or was it because of the growing heat on his face?
If she had been there to watch the scene -- which seemed to come right out of a Peynett drawing -- Euphemia Potter would have told her husband that ‘They look very much in love.’ After an amused look from Fleamont, she would have added ‘The squirrels, of course,’ and then hid her malicious smile -- the one Sirius had taught her -- behind her handkerchief.
But the Potter parents were not here.
It was just the two of them, on a date, finally.
James and Lily.
And the squirrels, of course.
“So, Potter...” He glanced sideways at her perfect profile. Her words, when out of her mouth, turned into graceful clouds. “Justify yourself for making me skip my saturday morning visit to the library when it’s below zero outside.”
The first draught of the day sent chills running down his spine. Or maybe it was her grip, tightening delicately.
James cleared his throat.
“Reading too much isn’t good for your eyesight, you know.” She couldn’t hold back a snort, one of those she used to offer him when he widely flirted with her, but she was ready to decline. Except this time she hadn’t. “It’s true! Plus, it’s not good for your mood, breathing book dust all day long. You’d turn into a red headed Moony. We don’t want you to wear unmatching sox and become addicted to chocolate, do we?”
Her laugh was a bubbly hint of spring in this early stage of winter. James could have sworn she sounded like flowers blooming.
“So what should I become addicted to, Potter?”
The mischievous glint in the green of her eyes was something that had only very recently appeared, in the last months.
He was going to fall back into muteness, embarrassed by what this question could mean. After all, he assumed that it was what she wanted: to have the last word.
But a Potter never accepts a defeat.
“Learned to be tricky, didn’t you?”
“Yes. From a real expert.” Hadn’t she been so close, James could have thought he’d daydreamed about her wink. “So?”
What could he do but smile?
“So you talk too much, Evans. I say you should make your feet work more and your tongue rest.” Lily raised her eyebrows, and her look followed the direction in which he was pointing. “See the bridge? Shouldn’t be more than thirty meters away. The last to get there is a-”
But she had already sprinted forward, ready as she always was to win a competition, the two squirrels trailing behind her with happy squeaking.
It took James a good fraction of second to stop gazing at the flames of her hair against the white landscape, and to move from his position. She had gained some advance, but he could make it before her easily.
A Potter never accepts a defeat.
He felt the air burn in his lungs, his muscles awakening after a week without Quidditch practice, and the adrenaline shooting him forward like one of Dumbledore’s spells. He heard her broken breathing, some meters before him, and pushed harder on the ground, his boots making the snow creak like broken shell nuts.
He was not more than three meters away from her…
Her inhaling waves were stressed.
A Potter never accepts a defeat.
Two meters…
She glanced behind her shoulder, and let out a high-pitched cry of surprise.
A Potter never accepts a defeat.
One meter…
Anybody else would have surrendered, preferring to let their heart recover a normal beat instead of winning a stupid race.
A Potter never accepts a defeat.
When they were just a few bounces away from the river, James gave one last effort.
But, right when he could have bypassed her, his legs slowed down, and a moment later she was perched on the first of the three stone stairs that started the bridge.
A Potter never accepts a defeat.
But a Potter knows to choose the right victory.
Holding her ribs, bent in two, struggling to inhale any air in between her chuckling, she was the best view James had ever had the chance to see.
“Nice run, Evans.” He was quicker than her to stabilize his breath, obviously. His hair was ruffled, he pushed his glasses up with a finger that would have been all sweaty, in another season. “Let’s see if you can do it again, shall we?”
“Shut up, Potter.” She muttered. “You talk too much.”
He bursted in a loud laughter, and stepped forward to offer her his help.
Had the squirrels not been there, maybe nothing special would have happened that morning. But the little animals found themselves right on the spot where James’ feet was set to land, and he lost his balance in an attempt to avoid them at the last moment.
He was going to fall sideways, but Lily was fast in catching his arms, pulling him near her. They found each other nose to nose, close enough to inhale the same air.
James’ heartbeat had climbed up to his ears.
“Look.” Lily whispered with a shy smirk. “I’m taller than you.”
Her eyes were magnets that attracted his.
“Only because you’re on a step, Evans.”
This was his very breathless attempt to cool his nerves down.
There was a pause. They didn’t notice the icy wind anymore.
“I’ve dreamt of this for quite some time, you know.”
“What? Being taller than me?”
“No.” She leaned forward, and James’ mouth became incredibly itchy. “This.”
Her lips were as soft at the snowflakes that were falling from the sky, sprinkling their hair with Nature’s pureness. The skin of her face brushed against his, her hands getting lost in his hair.
He had dreamt about it countless times, inflicted his wild imaginations to his friends for years, depicted the most hopeful scenarios, but nothing of what he had pictured was worthy of being compared to this moment.
Eyes closed, James kissed her back, circling her waist with his hands, tenderly pressing her body to his. A cherubs’ choir had set up a grandiose show in his mind.
On the border of the path, the two squirrels had stopped chasing each other. Their little eyes were fixed on the young couple, their muzzles shaking, as if in approval. One of them even seemed to sketch a malicious smile.
James felt Lily’s cold wrists on the back of his neck, her smile against his.
It was evident that the snow was falling, now, that they should probably head back to the castle if they didn’t want to be buried.
But before that...
“What do you think about this, Evans? Want to withdraw your affirmation?”
He was referring to the time she had told him he was probably awful at kissing.
A lost sun ray reflected in her white teeth.
“I guess you’re an ok kisser, Potter.”
“I know r- What? No. No way. I am an outstanding kisser. You were just too amazed to realize it.”
Her hum of indecision got a smile out of him.
“I’m really not sure, Potter. I think you’re just average.”
“And I’m telling you, you’re wrong.”
“Oh, really. Then what? It’s my word against yours.” Lily whispered.
She was teasing him, and it turned his inside into a big knot.
He could have shrugged, rolled his eyes.
But a Potter never accepts a defeat.
“I say have the right to a second round, to prove you wrong.”
The squirrels turned their back on the river and sped toward their tree, leaving the place entirely still. The mass of clouds above them separated, letting the sun bath this white parcel of the world, the wind sat down, waiting to see.
As James’ mouth found Lily’s again, the winter seemed to hold its breath.
