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It’s the annual sorting feast of her seventh year and the tension in the castle is palatable. The First Year students don’t notice, of course, but each time one gets sorted into Slytherin there’s almost an expectant edge to the atmosphere, and even the Professors seemed stressed. Of course, with Voldemort’s power growing and his grip upon almost a quarter of her cohort evident from snide comments and ‘accidental’ jinxes the resentment for that particular house is unsurprising. But as another student, a Parkinson, walks over to the table she can’t help but want to stand and shout. They’re only children for heaven’s sake, and part of the reason, she’s always thought, that the Slytherins grow up to be ‘Dark’ is that they are expected to, even by the very people sworn to protect them. James is silent beside her, seeming to have matured over the summer, failing to snicker with Sirius and Peter, as is his usual wont, and she knows that soon the lot of them will have to face the students they grew up with.
The last pupil is sorted and Professor Dumbledore stands. Before he can say a word, there’s a crack, and a flash of light that has everyone reaching for their wands. Lily’s is already in her hand, and as she leans back to see the cause of the disturbance, ready to leap to the defence of her students, her eyes fall upon a woman with bright, beguiling eyes and silvery blonde hair, dressed in strange lilac coloured robes, wand in hand as if she’d just finished casting a spell. There’s something in her other hand, and it disintegrates, turning to dust.
“Hello everybody,” she says in a singsong voice, a smile on her lips, and the silence in the Great Hall is deafening. The woman spins on one foot until her gaze settles on the Headmaster.
“Professor Dumbledore! How wonderful to see you alive.” This is perhaps the first time she’s ever seen him lost for words. She can’t blame him. The greeting is most unusual, and almost implies that the woman thought the Professor was dead. There’s a whole list of questions she’d like to demand answers to, starting with how in Merlin’s name the woman managed to get in here when the anti-apparition wards are in still in effect. She can feel them thrumming in her veins, the magic intimately familiar to her. Lily realises she might get a chance as the woman turns again, meets her gaze and grins widely with surprise. She skips down between the tables, stopping directly before her.
“You know, in the end, he’s worth it, Lily Potter.” She feels James stiffen beside her but she doesn’t pay him much notice because there’s a rushing noise in her ears and her heart is thudding strangely. Did the woman just say Potter?
“My name is Lily Evans,” she says, because she can’t think of anything else to say. The woman smiles, and leans close, and strokes her cheek.
“Is it?” she asks kindly. She leans back, and looks thoughtful, never once dropping her gaze.
“You know. You have your son’s eyes.” Lily’s frozen in her seat, but she can feel the weight of every person in the room staring at her. There’s another crack and flash, and she is infinitely grateful for this distraction as she’s unable to process what she just heard. The new arrival stumbles as he lands and is glaring at the woman in front of her. He tucks his wand away and is clutching a strange device in his other hand.
“Luna! Get back here. You can’t just play around with time. What if you know someone, or…” His voice trails off as he gazes around.
“Oh no. Just my luck,” he mutters. The woman, who is evidently named Luna, skips back to him.
“Don’t be mad. I was just interested to see if they worked.”
“You couldn’t have chosen a worse time period if you tried,” the man growls. He’s got dark hair that flops over his forehead and into his eyes, and his jawline is reminiscent of James’. Dumbledore, finally, choses this moment to interrupt.
“Excuse me, but if I may be so bold, who are you, and how exactly did you come to be here?” The man swivels, and she can see his fist clench.
“Professor,” he says, sounding choked. He runs a hand through his hair, and straightens his stance, rolling his shoulders. He coughs.
“My apologies, Professor. We’re part of a joint task force between the Aurors and the Department of Mysteries from…” He pauses and checks his device. “24 years in the future. And if Luna would just get over here,” he hisses the last bit because Luna has taken a seat at Ravenclaw table and is eating grapes, a dreamy smile upon her face. The Ravenclaws look like they don’t know whether they want to keep her, or banish her to another land.
“We’ll be out of your hair.” Time travel. It seems ludicrous. Almost more ludicrous than Luna’s statements.
“Rubbish,” Lucius Malfoy announces, standing, wand in hand. Typical. The man turns to face him, a look of disgust upon his face when he sees the blonde.
“Of course. Malfoy. Go stick your nose back where it belongs: Voldemort’s arse.” There’s a gasp and Malfoy turns red and Lily cannot believe his nerve. The arrogance! Malfoy sneers and curses him and the man wandlessly and wordlessly shields himself and those around him, and then summons the wand with a roll of his eyes. She has to admit that it’s an impressive display of power.
“Are you ready now?” Luna asks, and drifts back towards him. He glares at her, then snorts a laugh.
“Am I ready,” he grumbles. He tosses the wand toward Professor Dumbledore without a second thought, and Luna touches the devices he’s holding. They clasp hands.
“Three… Two… One…” On the last count the man looks at Lily, and she sees her own eyes staring back. Then there’s a flash and their visitors are gone, leaving a stunned and awed school.
She turns and stares at the table, and the silence of the Hall gives way to a quiet babble that is slowly building. She wants to believe that the eyes she saw were not her own, but the words of Luna echo in her mind. You have your son’s eyes. There was no mistaking the blazing green that stared back at her. She’s disturbed from her reverie by a nudge from James, whose grin lights up his face. He’s not too bad looking, she thinks, although that had never been the problem.
“What dya say, Evans?” he emphasises the last word, and winks at her. “Will you go on a date with me now?” She sighs, and rolls her eyes, but can’t help the smile that forms.
“I suppose I better,” she says, and he crows, and pulls her into a warm hug, and all in all she doesn’t think it would be that bad if she ended up marrying him.