Traitor
When Lily learns of Severus's betrayal, she is not surprised. She feels nothing except a vague regret and a sense of "he is only a stranger to me". But she does not say any of this out loud. He thinks he has turned back to Dumbledore because of her—he does not even realise that she does not want to be worshipped, (or dictate him like a gospel). She loves James, because although he is sometimes blunt and unintentionally cruel (in the way only spoiled children can be) he does not worship her. He loves her earthily. James has no delusions about either of them. He will laugh when Lily explodes a cauldron because she has accidentally cut her finger on the silver blade, and then gently bandage her hand. But Severus's face would have clouded over, his brows would have lowered and his voice would have gone that little bit taut—then he would have insisted on making the potion again after spelling her wounds closed.
Severus's healing spells used to sound harsher than anything she's ever heard, and don't work half as well as they should. But to be honest, Lily doesn't mind, she likes the occasional gash of red to remind her that she is alive, and there are many dead, but she is not one of them. Lily likes examining her cuts, the ripe crimson of the blood, the murky brown of the dried wound, the solidified scab and finally the raw pink flesh that has healed. It gives her faith.
She remembers the only time she spoke to Dumbledore (really spoke) while she was at Hogwarts—it was after her appointment as Head Girl—she and James had been having tea with Dumbledore and she had dropped a teacup and cut the palm of her hand (and James was exclaiming in terror). But she had only stared at the gash in awe and something like reverence. Dumbledore had looked at her then, over his half-moon spectacles and asked her to stay while waving James out the door.
"Miss Evans, shall I heal the wound for you?" his eyes twinkling that impregnable blue.
"No, sir, I can manage a healing charm," but she made no move to draw her wand and only stared at the trickle of blood.
"Are you well Miss Evans?—another cup of tea, perhaps?"
"Will tea fix things, sir? You know sir…there has always been something I hate about the wizarding world."
"And what might that be, Miss Evans?" His voice was as polite as ever, but she felt that he was softly laughing at her.
"There is not enough blood. Soldiers bleed, and they should because blood is valuable and their causes are valuable. Wizards die so cleanly, poison or war. Avada Kedavra–ed corpses are bloodless and soulless and worthless."
He looked at her like a child who has finally discovered the use of something. "Ah, how very wise of you Miss Evans. It is rare that such flaws are touched upon. Wizards like to think that they invincible—I myself do not like the sight of blood…such power and such weakness," the last part he muttered to himself, he paused and Lily saw that he was old. "Is there something you would like to tell me, Miss Evans?" his brows lowered, and he peered at her.
Lily did not like conversational mazes, or corners, she (by her own admittance) was a straight forward sort of girl, and didn't see why other people should be anything less than frank. "Sir, I wonder if there is going to be a war. There is already so much hate inside Hogwarts, and I am afraid."
And Dumbledore steeples his fingers and finds those things in her eyes that he needs.
The first time she spoke to Dumbledore (really spoke), he recruited her for an army—or as she prefers to think—she allowed herself to be swayed to a greater cause. (After all, she hadn't forgotten those years spent with Severus, practising paranoia and finding masters.) But she has chosen as best she can.
So when she sees Severus at one of the Order's meetings, pinned in the doorway by hostile eyes, she does not say anything. (She remembers what happened last time—and honestly, she is tired of defending someone who wanted to kill everyone like her, for God's sake. He would argue otherwise, but she saw the way he strode around the castle in seventh year.) He used to be her friend: she can still remember every reason they were friends, and regrets sometimes that her youthful self could not want to be more. But she knows, whatever he says he has done for her, she can never accept it. He has to save himself.
Then, the tense moment is over, when Dumbledore lays a hand on Severus's shoulder and guides him through the Order members. He passes her and they share a glance through their lashes—in that tiny fraction of a second, he looks the very same as the day he first met her.