A/N: Hi! This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction posted on this site, so I hope you like it. It takes place in the seventh year of the Marauders Era, which means that Lily Evans, Severus Snape, James Potter, Remus Lupin and the like are all in their seventh year of Hogwarts. Anyway, I hope you keep reading!

Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's

Dear Petunia,

I haven't written you in forever, and for that I apologize dearly. I kid you not when I say I've lost my quill countless times—James, no doubt, continues to 'borrow it', though I believe borrowing entails returning it, and the lender's consent.

I'm not going to go through this charade of writing you much longer, Tuney. You know I love you immensely, but if you continue to act as if I'd perished long ago, I'm not going to continue wasting my time. You're a wonderful person whom I'm lucky to be acquainted with, Tuney, with or without magic. In fact, sometimes I envy the fact that you don't have to put up with magic.

At any rate, how are you doing? I've missed you since Christmas break. Two days seems like forever, which is particular as last week, when I was on break, went by so fast.

I must go, Tuney. I hope school is going well. Hug Mum and Dad for me, please?

Love,

Lily

Lily Evans smiled at the words scrawled neatly on the worn piece of parchment, and placed her quill down on the deep mahogany desk. The buttery yellow sunlight that jetted through the thick glass window a few feet above her burgundy tresses illuminated the nearly unpopulated library. She allowed her jade green eyes to sweep over the letters one last time before folding the paper into crisp fourths and handing it to her tawny owl, Sorafiore. (So-wra-fee-or)

She spoke solemnly to the young owl. "This is for Petunia, Sora. Be nice - we want her to like us."

With that simple statement, she took hold of the ornate brass handle on the side of the window and yanked it open. A forceful gust of subzero wind tickled the exposed skin of her arms. Snowflakes cascaded heavily from the dreary grey clouds, and though they fell in large clumps, they swirled delicately as if performing an intricate ballet. The petite owl chirped in agreement, elated for the new and challenging assignment, and hopped out of the window. It plummeted several feet before flapping its long wings, and rising up too far for her to see from the third floor window.

"Talking to birds again, Lily?" Without looking, Lily knew not only who the voice belonged to, but also the slight smirk that would be worn on his face.

She turned to face James Potter with a weary smirk equivalent to half of a regular grin, forgetting the open window behind her. "Hello, Potter."

The lanky Quittich player gasped, placing a hand to his chest, mock-offended. "Potter? Are you implying that I am unworthy of a first name?"

Detestation was by far the hardest habit to break. After Snape had...broken off their friendship a year previous, she had become closer to her formal rival, the pure-blooded James Potter. He'd fancied her for years, it was no secret, but ever since he'd returned from summer vacation he seemed much less cocky and conceited and much more mature. That was because, according to a great deal of gossip among the Gryffindor girls, his father had died over the summer. Lily was unsure about the truth to this; she tried to avoid the touchy subject.

But he was still utterly goofy.

"Certainly not, James, I am saying it aloud."

He chortled in response to her snarky tone. "Fine, be that way. Anyway, I've been meaning to speak with you…"

Lily raised her eyebrows in genuine surprise and slid in to her robe, and fastened her burgundy-and-golden scarf around her neck. "Oh?" She faked nonchalance as he led her out of the library. They lapsed in to silence, concentrating on the winding staircases and timing their escape to the ground level skillfully and accurately. After a brief moment, they seated side-by-side on one of the stone benches. They stared at the swooping birds—they were just below the Owlery—for several more moments in a comfortable silence.

Finally, James broke the silence like a cracking through a sheet of glass.

"Would you like to go the ball with me, Lily?"

Severus Snape was having a bad day.

No, a bad lifetime, he corrected himself mentally as he crossed his arms across his green and black tie. His golden dish sat untouched in front of him, though the delicious aroma of the feast wafted from around the Grand Hall tempted him greatly to tuck in to the pork chop display directly to his left. However, Severus told himself that he was not by any means hungry.

The cause of his sour mood? James Freaking Potter, of course. While most of Severus's irritation, and pain, centered on James's wand, this instance was much more sentimental. You see, Potter loved to one-up the greasy-haired Slytherin boy, whether it was because he was physically unattractive or he knew of Snape's interest in the Dark Arts. For example, when Severus earned an Exceeds Expectations in Transfiguration in fifth year, James easily earned an Outstanding. When Snape proved himself decent with a broom (Not that he'd ever dream of playing Quittich, the ruddy sport), James became the youngest Quittich player in years during his second year, playing both Chaser and Seeker.

This was different from schoolyard rivalries, though. This was serious. Potter was dating Evans, and that was intolerable. Snape knew he messed up two years ago when he spat out the profanity at Lily—it was a single millisecond of unthinking stupidity, the biggest mistake of his life. He'd hoped his best friend would forgive him, but she took it as the last straw. That was heartbreaking, but not nearly as bad as what he'd witnessed earlier…

"Hey, Snape, you're coming to Hogshead later?" Avery inquired as the usual pack shuffled down the chilly stone corridors of first-floor Hogwarts. Severus bit his tongue, quite literally, to keep from correcting him aloud: sneaking in to Hogshead, which meant sneaking out of Hogwarts.

Stop thinking like that, Snape, he'd scolded himself. He didn't need a conscience anymore, he told himself; the only reason he had one in the first place was for Lily, and she was friendly with Potter's gang now. Beyond that, he was excited, because a couple of real live Death Eaters were rumored to be at the bar that night, and Mulciber's mum and dad had put in a good word for the trio of Dark Arts-fanatics.

"Yeah, course." Snape smiled eagerly, hiding his resentment. "Lucius is meeting us there, right?"

Lucius Malfoy was a couple of years older than Snape and his crowd, and rather close to the Dark Lord. He was in charge of recruitment, according to Mulciber, and was big in Muggle torture. It was crucial to be on good terms with Lucius if you wanted in with the Death Eaters.

"Yeah, but don't call him Lucius. I won't have you messing this up for me, you hear?" Avery retorted. Snape crossed his arms, not pleased with his companion's tone of voice—he was, after all, a seventh year and was not very fond of being addressed as a dog would.

Peeling his upper lip, murmured the incantation for the Pumpkin Head Jinx (Melofors) under his breath, but Avery cast a nonverbal counter-curse to avoid any unwanted head-encasing with an amused smirk. The pair quickly shuffled outside, and in to the courtyard. What Snape saw made his jaw drop, leaving a literal inch of space between his molars.

Lily, his Lily, was situated next to James Potter, the disgustingly cocky James Potter, with his arm draped around her waist casually. She was grinning widely, as was he, and then—oh, Merlin no!—she twisted on the stone bench to peck his cheek with her full, rosy lips.

Avery merely chortled. "Tough luck, Snape."

Severus sighed; glad he was on the side of the Slytherin table so that he would not have to study James and Lily being all in love. By now, three classes past when he'd originally spotted the two cuddling in the courtyard, it was common knowledge that the school's head jock would be escorting prefect Lily Evans to the Yule Ball. Thanks to Potter, it was also a well-known fact that Snape was attending unaccompanied.

That only left one thing to look forward to—Hogshead tonight.