Summer.
"[Lily] had a way of seeing the beauty in others even, and perhaps most especially, when that person couldn't see it in themselves."
-Remus Lupin, J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series
A bruised apple; there was no better way to describe the color of Tobias Snape's boiling face. As a blood vessel began pulsing on the thin, withering man's forehead, Severus did his best to fasten his attention to its movement. He found the blood vessel's dance much more interesting than his father's spittle and foul-smelling breath.
His father acted this way quite often, and Severus had finally become blissfully desensitized to the attacks. He still felt the stings, of course, but only if he allowed himself to attend to them. He had learned to distance himself; he hid behind a superficial wall, merely serving as an observer while his father hurled abuse. It was as if he viewed it all from above, watching everything occur within a deep crevice at his feet. The scenery from that crevice never changed; the same threats, the same insults, the same closet always ensued. Tobias Snape had never demonstrated any sort of creativity or innovation on this front.
"You are not my child!" Tobias Snape was spitting, his eyes seeming to push out of his head. Severus noted this with a wistful curiosity- maybe they would finally fall out one day. "You are a devil's boy! Using your dreaded magic to harm me, how dare you..."–as if it were ever Severus' fault—"You dreadful, pitiful little…" his words dissolved into muttering before silence fell for a few moments. Severus shut his eyes, imagining that his father's heart had stopped for just a moment.
"You'd better be in Slytherin," his father's voice had dropped into a flat monotone, almost a whisper; it was somehow more menacing than when his voice had been raised in fury. The grown man stepped forward, backing his son into what now seemed to be his own personal closet. "Maybe then you can learn discipline, like your mother. Maybe they can beat some sense into you, control that rubbish you call 'magic.'"
In later years, Severus would learn to emulate his father's monotone voice and quiet, steady abuse. His father was a very strict man, values centered in normalcy; he believed that wizardry was the work of a devil, an oddity that had been forced upon only the weak. When he was younger, Severus hadn't understood why his father disliked him so much; he had not known what he had been doing to hurt the man. He knew now that the cause of this hatred was the magic that Severus hadn't been able to control.
Slytherin, Tobias Snape had declared many times before, was Severus' last hope. Severus' mother, who was rarely around as she was consumed by her work, was a witch of that House. As the worst kind of muggle a muggle could be, his father knew little of magic, and he had only married Severus' mother before she had revealed herself to him.
His father had been morally forced to stay with her by that time, as they had already had a child; Severus assumed that it was Tobias' idea of dignity to remain with his wife, or possibly that he was just too proud to admit his mistake. Severus often imagined Eileen Prince as having been a kind woman before she had met his father, imagined that now she was an empty shell of some pure, previous self.
"Hideous boy!" his father spat, returning to the topic he seemed to speak of the most. Severus wondered privately if his father's focus on Severus' looks was a result of some dislike of his own appearance. "Any kindness ever shown to you can be no more than pity!"
Severus knew that his mother did not love his father. His father had pretended for her from the beginning, acting the peaceful, loving man; now he was nothing more than a bully. His mother knew, now, the awful man that her husband was. The only reason she remained with him was to hide her own shame.
Severus still did not know what to make of his mother. She was a stubborn woman, but she was also weak. Slytherin had strengthened her just enough to hold her own around the man she had married, to fight back; but it had not strengthened her near enough to leave him.
Severus' father bore down on him, his face still giving off that bruised glow. Severus hadn't responded to his father's rage, which angered Tobias more and more. Severus knew, however, that responding would arouse a result much more painful than the one he would receive if he remained silent.
He had been forced to learn that on his own: silence was safe.
"Rot in this closet," his father hissed. "You ruin everything you touch. You're useless."
Useless. The word echoed hollowly inside his head as the closet door slammed, plunging him into an eerie darkness. The meaning was clear, but he hated that it was so true.
It seemed to be the one thing Tobias Snape hated the most about his son. He was a businessman; his only job was to become more and more powerful, his only wish to have a son, a family, of which he could brag to his underlings.
But his wife was a freak, and his son was, too.
His son was ugly; he was mangy, greasy. Early in Severus' life, his father had tried to experiment on him; he had cut off his hair, only to find it had grown back the next day. He had washed it, applied special oils, shampoos, conditioners, moisturizers... none of these had ever helped. The moment his hair became even remotely tamed, it rebelled before the sun rose the next day. All Tobias Snape wanted was to make his son presentable, but it seemed that his son would never look any different. He would always be the skin-and-bones, greasy-haired, thin child that lived on Spinner's End, would always be the dark haired, black-eyed, pale-skinned boy whom nobody liked, with which nobody wanted anything to do.
That was what his father believed, and Severus could not see any reason to believe any differently.
Tobias had tried to put him to work, to make him clean the windows, the floors... after all, if he couldn't make something of his son, why not at least garner menial tasks out of him? But the dishwasher would dirty the dishes, the windows would break, the floors would gather dust as the dust was swept away.
Severus' mother had told her husband, during a brawl about the state of the house one night, that things went wrong when a wizard was upset. That had been the mistake that led Severus to where he was now; that had been when Tobias had lost all hope in him. Severus hated the yelling, and sometimes he wanted to blame his mother, but he knew that it was his own fault for causing the rages.
When Tobias Snape had first come to him with his angry words, an awful mole had arisen in the middle of his forehead. The second time, a roach had landed itself on his nose and clung to him like glue. The third time, the light above him had shattered and the falling glass had cut his wrist, blood flowing freely from the burst vessel as if a dam had broken.
Every time, something worse happened.
Every time, the shouting just intensified.
Every time, Severus tried as hard as he could to refrain from causing his father any more harm. But how could he, when he didn't even know what he was doing in the first place?
That had been years ago, before his mother had begun sending him to the muggle-school to learn his maths, sciences, language, and history.
Once he had learned about books, about what they could offer him, he yearned for more. One day, he found his mother's old study books from Hogwarts, a school that would enroll him when he was old enough. He kept them hidden in this closet, the very same in which his father regularly locked him away, just behind the wall beside the door where his father never bothered to look.
Every time he was locked inside that painfully small, dark room, he would pull a small flashlight from behind the books and pour over them, trying to find solace in the words. Hogwarts: A History became to him what most children would call a storybook. The books from his mother's time at Hogwarts slowly taught him how to control the effects of his emotions on his surroundings, until finally, if he really focused, he could prevent them.
It had been far too late, even then, to convince his father not to despise him for past actions, though.
He missed his mother when she worked. She wasn't so bad as his father, and when she was sober, she was his closest friend, his only friend. But as time passed, as the brawls got worse, he found her sober less often.
This correlated with the amount of shouting in the house.
Once he heard his father's car engine rumble to life in the driveway, and then the crackle of gravel as he rolled away, Severus shined his flashlight at the closet's doorknob. It locked from the outside, as closets often did, but he'd long ago learned how to unlock it from the inside.
It was a simple lock to pick, really, and all he needed to do was push something hard and narrow into the crack of the lock and maneuver it until he heard the clicking of the inner-tumblers. He kept a sharp paperclip behind his books for that exact purpose. His father, it seemed, had never considered his escape a possibility.
After a spare second or two, he heard the final, encouraging click of the lock giving in to his efforts. He opened the door and quietly snuck out, alert for any signs that it hadn't been his father's car he'd heard leaving.
The house was silent.
He placed his stack of books back into its hiding place and turned off the flashlight. He immediately headed out of the house, hoping to drown out his thoughts. The only supervised outside time he got was on muggle-school grounds, and he hated that place almost as much as the other kids hated him.
There were a few kids on his street, though, that weren't as bad as the ones with which he went to school. He liked to watch to these children play in their yards, listen to them talk about their own little worlds.
Most of the children were just a little older than he was, though their laughter was still nicer to hear than the silence in his house. His favorite children to watch were the Evans girls; they were nearly his age exactly, and seemed to always be outside, at the playground not far from his home.
He went there today, and hid himself behind a bush several yards from where they played. He watched, as he always did, as Lily preformed amazing tricks for her sister.
At first, he had dismissed the girl's 'miracles' for idle muggle attempts at magic, mere trickery, but after reading his mother's books, he had begun to notice the indications that it was something much more complicated than that. That had been months ago, and he was still too timid to approach them, even though one of them was a witch.
Lily Evans was a witch. Not only did she preform simple magic all the time, but she... She felt like a witch.
He would go up there today. He would.
As he sat behind the bushes and watched the girls converse, he thought about, as he often did, how alone he was, and his gaze became greedy, jealous of their friendship—something he could never have.
Lily demonstrated, once again, the magic in her blood to her sister. A small red flower's petals opened and closed in her palm; her sister, though, was repulsed, and Lily decided to try the swing set.
As Lily swung, her sister became anxious; Severus finally interrupted them, finally showed himself. He hadn't meant to; he had jumped to Lily's rescue on impulse. And as the girls left him, stomping off for home, he knew just how horribly he'd messed up his one chance.
He sat down hard on the bench beside the bushes there on the playground, staring at the red flower that the two sisters had left behind. He found that he wanted so badly for Lily to understand—she was a witch; she was like him, when nobody else save his absent mother was.
It seemed that everything his father had said was true. He'd tried to make friends before, but everyone had either ignored him or left him, laughing at him. He'd thought maybe the Evans girls would be different... But it was his fault, wasn't it? Next time he would think of something better to say... next time he'd find a better way...
Would they come back, if they knew he was there?
He hunched over on the bench, gaze drifting glumly to the grass near the sandbox, for a long time. He thought he might have dozed off, for the next thing he knew, night had begun to fall. He thought that his father must have gotten home by now, but then again, wouldn't he assume that Severus was still locked away? He didn't want to get up and leave yet, to return home. He sat silently, picking at the skin of a leaf, slowly tearing it to pieces. Why had he even tried?
...
When the dimness truly began to gather, he reluctantly stood to leave. Upon getting to his feet, however, he saw something duck down behind the huge oak tree that, when the sun was shining, had shrouded the playground in shade; the hasty movement was just sudden enough to catch his eye. He slowly moved closer, trying to get a better look at what had caused the disturbance. He had already assumed that it had just been a branch blown back by a gust of wind, but he would do anything to stall his return home. He closed the distance, rounding the tree slowly. He finally reached the side of the tree that had been previously facing away from him, and he found himself face to face with Lily Evans.
It was dim, but it was not too dark to mistake her. She was shorter than her sister, not as bony or as stiff. Her hair was longer, and a dark red where her sister's was a light brown. She had a kind, smile-ready face. Lily wasn't smiling now, though, and there wasn't kindness in her eyes; She gasped at his sudden appearance and tripped backward on a tree-root. She grunted when she hit the ground.
"Ah!"
"I-I'm sorry," Severus stuttered, still surprised to see her out alone so late. He leaned down a little, offering her his hand. "Are you okay?"
She scooted away from him at first, pouting, and he frowned, frustrated that he had really made that bad of a first impression. But she didn't get up to leave just yet. He waited, still expecting a response. He withdrew his hand hesitantly, but then slowly offered it again, hoping she would take it.
"Yeah," she said hesitantly. "Yeah, I'm... fine."
"Good," he breathed, looking at his awkwardly outstretched hand.
She watched him silently for some time, and finally he returned his eyes to her face. He found himself flushing, glad for the dimness of the evening. He wondered if her parents knew she was out. And where was Petunia? Weren't they usually together? What was she doing here so late by herself? How had she gotten here without Severus noticing?
"You're staring at me," Lily said, squinting at him through the dimness.
"I just..." he coughed, "I was just wondering what you were doing here so late."
"Why would you call me a witch?" she asked, out of the blue. She changed the subject so quickly Severus couldn't help but pause. He was still holding out his hand. She took it finally, filling the silence with the movement. Her hands were cold, Severus noted. She had let him help her up.
He wanted to smile.
He didn't.
"It wasn't an insult."
"My parents think it is."
"Well, they're wrong," he spat indignantly, without thinking; he realized his mistake almost as soon as he'd made it. When she shrunk away from him, he hastened to stop her. "No, wait!" he hastened to say, grabbing for her wrist.
He hadn't meant to do that.
She stopped and turned to look at him again, anchored by his hand, giving him another chance. It might be his last. He flushed even redder when he met her eyes.
"Watch," he pleaded, and held out the hand that wasn't still keeping her still. He closed his eyes and concentrated, and when he opened them, the same small red flower that Lily had manipulated for her sister appeared in the palm of his hand. She gasped in excitement, and came even closer to him in order to examine the flower. He sighed in relief. Her hair brushed against his neck; it was still warm from a day spent in the summer sun. She smelled like peppermint.
"You can do magic. You're a witch," he urged her again. "And I'm a wizard."
She smiled at him then, a silent, meaningless grin; nevertheless, he found himself staring. Nobody ever smiled at him.
She held out her hand, and from her palm bloomed a dark flower. It appeared to be a dandelion, only rather than white, it was black in the setting sun. He stared down at the flower he was holding, desperate for a place to put his eyes. She giggled; he hastily hid the flower behind his back. He flushed, but he was more pleased than he could have imagined. Was this what it was like to have a friend?
"It happens at home, too, doesn't it?" Lily asked, speaking again. "Magic, I mean."
"Yes." He hesitated. "Until we learn to control it, it will happen without us even trying." He thought of all the times he had accidentally hurt his father. "Sometimes it's a bad thing," he whispered, voice hollow. "I gave my father a mole once."
She giggled again. He marveled at her laugh, absurdly happy that he'd been the one to induce it.
"I think I might have made Petunia trip in the sandbox once," Lily laughed. "She deserved it, though."
He chuckled, then stopped, his eyes widening slightly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed.
"Why isn't Petunia a witch?" Lily wondered aloud, a curious expression wrinkling her eyebrows. "Or Mum and Dad?"
Severus shrugged. "I don't know. Some people are just born with magic in their blood, I guess," he decided. "I'm magic because my Mum was."
Lily smiled again. "Wow. So you always knew." She seemed to marvel at the thought for a moment. "How do we learn how to control it?"
"Well–" he began, pausing before going on. "...You have to get training at Hogwarts. You'll go when you're older."
They were still standing behind the tree, and the sky got darker and darker until he could only clearly see the silhouette of her figure.
"Where's Hogwarts?"
"I don't know," Severus shrugged. "Somewhere in Scotland, I think."
"How do we get there?"
"A train'll come when we turn eleven."
"But how come-"
"Severus!" His father's voice drifted in on the wind, interrupting Lily, and sounding angry even over the distance. He flinched. His father had noticed that he was no longer in his closet, then. He wondered if his prison would be moved. How would he get out, if he were locked away for real?
"That's you?" Lily asked, noticing his reaction.
"Severus Snape," he affirmed, biting his lip nervously.
"I'm Lily Evans," she returned, reaching out a hand. But of course, Severus already knew her name. He shook her hand anyway, wishing he didn't have to go back with his father. It was so much nicer to talk to Evans than to him.
"Nice to meet you," he said, sullenly.
"SEVERUS!"
He shivered; this time it sounded even louder, angrier. He was going to be in for it, tonight. He didn't want to go back.
But he had to, didn't he?
Lily seemed able to tell. "You better get home quick before it's worse," she said softly, kindly. Kind? To him? "But can you meet me here again? Maybe tomorrow? I wanna know more about magic."
"...Maybe," he hedged, surprised that she wanted to talk to him again; he hoped that he could find a way out next time. All the while, as he felt the fear rushing through his head, he also felt a sort of excitement. He had made a friend, no matter what his father had said. She wanted to talk to him.
"Okay," she chirped, quietly. "Good luck," she added, flashing one more smile at him and handing him her flower, the black dandelion. He hesitated, but took it after a moment, giving her the flower that up until this point he had held behind his back. She took it, smiling at it, before she turned her smile up to him. She hesitated, but finally gave him a one-armed hug. He stiffened in surprise.
"See you tomorrow, Severus."
"See you... Evans..." he called, but she had already run off to her own home. She left him standing there, still feeling her farewell on his shoulder. He stared after her even after she had disappeared into the darkness, smiling just a little bit.
She'd addressed him as-
"SEVERUS!"
That snapped him from his daze, and he turned around and ran as fast as he could for home.
...
In the morning, Severus' head was pounding. He sat up on his bed, wondering how he had gotten there. His father's conversation with him still rang in his memory.
"Where the hell were you, boy?"
"I wasn't far, I swear! I just met this girl in the neighborhood..."
"You stay away from girls," he snapped. "You don't be careful and you'll hurt one."
"I wouldn't do that! She's my... She's my friend!"
"Any friend of yours is a liar."
"But I–"
"DON'T YOU DARE TALK BACK TO ME ME, BOY!"
It suddenly came to him from where his headache had come. He gently covered the red mark on the side of his head with his hand, where his father had knocked him to the floor. He hadn't eaten supper that night. His stomach snarled at him. Had he even eaten lunch?
"Wake up!" his father's shout echoed through the house and into his little room. "Get down here and eat!"
Severus got out of his bed and hurried down the slim staircase.
His room wasn't very large, nor was it incredibly small. He didn't like it, though, because it was always too bright. There were several windows, and no curtains. It wasn't particularly the brightness that bothered him, but the fact that his father merely wanted him shrouded in it, as if he were a demon that needed purging. Maybe he thought it would brighten his hair or eyes, darken his skin. It had so far done no such thing. He didn't spend much time in his room save to sleep. Usually, the closet was where he spent most of his time, and there wasn't any light in there.
When he reached the living room, he realized how he'd gotten into bed.
His mother was home. It had been five days since she had last gone, and now she was back, sitting at the table and scrolling over a Daily Prophet that she must have gotten from work. When his father turned around to look in her direction, the title on the front changed to 'The Times'. A charm.
Eileen didn't particularly like Severus, either, he could tell; but at least she took care of him. She glanced up lazily when he entered the room, quickly returning her eyes to the paper.
"Hello, mum," Severus said, quietly.
"Quiet son; she's tired," his father spat, but it was obvious that the demand for silence was a selfish one. His mother noticed.
"Don't tell me what I am, Tobias," she said carelessly, flipping a page of the Times, which was actually the Prophet. "Leave the boy alone, too. What'd you do to him when I was gone?"
"He surpassed his curfew," his father said, though he actually hadn't, "And he needed discipline. Boys like him," he gestured at Severus as if he were a rather nasty bit of stain on the carpet. "They need it beaten out."
"What," Eileen Prince said ferociously, "do you mean by it?"
"I mean," his father hissed, setting down the pan with which he had been making himself eggs, "your bad blood."
His mother stood and smacked the table; a plate appeared at Severus's place, the two eggs from the pan sizzling atop it. His mother's face was awfully sour as she defended her heritage. His father just yelled all the louder to get his voice to carry over hers.
Severus shoved both of the eggs into his mouth whole, one after the other, scorching his tongue and throat. He ran out of the house before either of his parents could pay him any more attention.
It was around nine in the morning from the position of the sun. Certainly Lily was awake, but she wouldn't be at the playground, yet. There was little for him to do but wander, now that he'd so fortunately found his escape.
And so he did just that, leaving the clash and clangor of the battle behind and walking down the street. His hands were in his pockets, and he thought about what Hogwarts would be like.
He wouldn't have to go home every night, for starters. His parents wouldn't always be around to wake him up when he was attempting sleep, or yell at him to release their own anger. He wouldn't be dealing with the same kids at school... no, these kids would all be just like him. And maybe these new kids would leave him alone... Or maybe they would be more like Lily and talk to him, even after he'd made a mistake. Wasn't he going to be sorted into a House? Weren't people in the same Houses supposed to like each other, to be the same?
But then would he be in the same House as Lily? Lily was everything Severus was not.
He shook his head. He wouldn't think about it; he still had two years before he got his letter, anyway.
It was Saturday, and most everyone was still at home, taking time to wake up.
He jumped when he heard barking coming from the inside of a house at his passing. He knew the dog's name. Boxer. He'd heard the owners scold him before.
He found he was headed toward the playground, despite the fact that if ever Lily and Petunia showed up, it would be mid- to late afternoon when they did. But he didn't know where else there was to go, and he certainly didn't want to go home.
When he sat on the bench from which he had spotted Lily the night before, the sunlight warming his cold skin, he thought of his father.
"Your bad blood."
Bad blood. Was it a bad thing, to be magic? Was it a bad thing not to be magic? He had both kinds of blood. But Lily... What about her?
She was magic. But her parents weren't... And neither was her sister.
It didn't matter, he thought. She was just as capable of magic as he was... More, he wouldn't doubt.
He stared at a small patch of white dandelions sitting a few meters away, just to put his eyes on something. Where did magic come from? Blood didn't matter, obviously.
He stared up at the sky, his neck curved against the head of the bench, thinking about blood and magic. His head still hurt, and he was still tired from a night of fitful sleep. Eventually, he fell into a sounder sleep, as he knew that he wouldn't have to wake to his parents' shouting.
When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was Lily sitting beside him on the bench, swinging her legs beneath her and watching him. Then, all at once, he became aware that his mouth was hanging open and his arm was thrown over the top of the bench, his nose pressed against his elbow, facing her.
"Evans!" he startled, straightening as quickly as he could and closing his mouth. Unfortunately, his bum slipped on the seat, for his position had slowly sunken downward in sleep; he ended up sprawled on his back in the grass below her.
He scrambled to stand straight, his blood burning beneath his skin. Lily was laughing breathlessly, tears leaking from her eyes. Severus stood there in front of her, at a loss for words. He looked down at his feet.
Lily was still laughing when she attempted to speak.
"I'm sorry..." she choked. "I didn't... think... you would jump…like that..."
"Yeah, well," he said sheepishly to the patch of grass to the far right of her feet.
"So what were you dreaming about?" she asked, her legs swinging back and forth again as she was continually assaulted with fits of giggles.
He thought back at the fleeting memory.
The closet door had been slammed in his face. The flashlight had been missing; he couldn't find his books, or the paperclip—he was truly trapped. He had sat there, crying though he had become impervious to the dark long ago.
He covered his face with his hair, ducking his head. "I don't remember."
"I had a dream last night," Lily interrupted absently, "I dreamt that I had a magic wand and when I waved it, you turned into a bunny rabbit and hopped into a hat," she said, giggling more now. "I'm not sure where the hat came from, though," she added. "Weird how dreams don't really make much sense."
"Interesting," he allowed, even though the hat wasn't the only part of the dream that, by muggle standards, shouldn't have made sense to her. His face finally started to cool down. "Why a rabbit?"
"I dunno," she said, shrugging. "Regular magicians do that sort of thing. You were cute and white and you kept twitching your whiskers."
"You mean muggle magicians?"
"Yeah," she corrected, nodding once. "Those ones."
He studied her. She really didn't know much about the wizard world at all, not even what to call those that weren't magic.
"What?" she asked. He realized he was staring at her again.
He struggled for something to say. "Do I look much like a white rabbit to you?" he asked quietly, tugging at his greasy, disheveled black hair. Her hair was nicer, disheveled in a different way; it was just a little frizzy, like it had been through a whirlwind. He looked away again, not entirely sure why he was blushing this time.
"Yes," she insisted, surprising him. "You're really pale, did you know that?"
"Yes," he sighed, eyes on his shoes.
"Like a rabbit," she smiled. "You just need whiskers. And bigger ears."
"Well, I don't have them. So…" He wasn't sure where he was headed with the next sentence, though.
"What sort of animal am I?" she asked, beaming.
He studied her again. Her hair was a dark red, but it shown brighter in the sunlight; her eyes were emerald green, and they brightened whenever she laughed. She was always smiling, and she could never seem to stay on the same subject for much longer than a few seconds. He didn't know much about her yet, but it was difficult not to feel like he did. He found he was staring at her again, but decided that the situation dictated that he do so.
"A bird," he found himself saying. "One of the small ones. Like a mockingbird."
"Why?" she asked, brow furrowing.
"Because you're excited a lot. You have a big smile. Mockingbirds are singers and... I don't know," he mumbled. "Just... Fits you."
She grinned. "Petunia! What do you think Petunia is?"
Severus frowned. "I don't know much about your sister," he muttered, or you, for that matter. "And I don't think she likes me." Not that many people do.
"I think she's a dog," Lily said, suddenly.
"A dog?"
"Ha! See?" she snickered. "Like me, when you called me a witch. That was my reaction, too."
"Why is she a dog?" Severus asked, trying to puzzle it out from what little he knew of her.
"She protects me," Lily said simply. "And she's tough and loyal. She's a little bit of a nuisance at times, though. And her temper is short. But I would trust her with anything, I think."
"Huh," was all Severus could think to say in response. It was… a sensible conclusion.
"So tell me about Hogwarts," Lily quipped, turning to fully face him and crossing her legs on the bench. "What is Hogwarts, anyway? You mentioned it last night. Oh! And I want to know about wands. And magic, Sev, magic."
Severus was overwhelmed; it was as if the world was moving too fast for him all of the sudden. He could tell how difficult it would be to run out of conversation with Lily Evans. She talked as if she didn't have much time before the world ended.
It wasn't a bad thing. He hadn't spoken so much in his entire life, but there was something that felt even stranger than talking, though he couldn't pinpoint what it was.
"Well," he began, still recovering from his initial shock at the speed at which she'd spoken. He sounded very slow in comparison. "I've never been there before. But I've read in my mother's books, and I think that it's a huge castle with heavy doors and a bunch of secret passages..."
...
Lily listened to him with rapt attention; she was the perfect audience, mouth hanging open just the slightest bit as he spoke. She didn't attempt to veil her apparent interest, instead nodding excitedly whenever he paused, and urging him on whenever he tried to refrain from rambling and leaving her out.
And so he sat there, recalling everything he could from the countless books he'd read, and when the sun began nearing the horizon, and the sky dimmed, he still wasn't done. In fact, he'd only just finished half of what he knew about Hogwarts, not even touching on Azkaban and Hogsmeade and the other schools. Most of this information came from his mother's history books, but the important bits came from his mother's own mouth; he could still remember when she used to tell him stories about Hogwarts, before things had gotten too sour between his parents. He connected the stories and tried to paint a picture in his mind of what it was like. It was this crude, makeshift image in his head that he described to Lily.
"Where is it, really?" Lily asked, referring to the last thing he had mentioned. Severus snickered beneath his hand at the whine in her voice. "You said Slytherin house is near the Dungeons, but where near the Dungeons?"
"I don't know," Severus admitted, frowning. "And I just... Well, it's getting late. I don't want to be any later than I was last time."
"Oh," Lily said lightly, and when she didn't pursue the subject of 'last time' any further, Severus felt a rush of gratitude. It was as if she knew when urging him to speak wouldn't bother him, and when to leave the subject alone. "I think Petunia's going to start worrying about me, anyway."
Petunia had come and gone; the moment she saw Severus, she had called Lily over. They had talked for a short while, Lily shifting her weight from foot to foot in impatience.
Petunia had hissed and spat, eyes narrowed, but Lily had seemed to stand her ground. Petunia left then, stomping off the playground with her arms crossed, letting out a petulant huff. Lily had watched her go; Severus, as he was unable to see her face from his angle, hadn't been able to tell if the exchange had upset her. After a few moments, though, she had come scampering back to the bench, where she had urged him to continue.
"You know," Severus began, seemingly out of the blue. "I can see the dog now."
Lily giggled. "She's a good sister, though, whether she be a little overprotective or not. I haven't told my parents I'm a witch, yet, Sev," she added. "I'm not really sure how."
"Just show them," Severus frowned. "Show them what you can do. Tell them what I said."
"It sounds too crazy, though," she protested. "How could they believe me?"
"Just try," Severus urged, and then frantically, "I have to go. My mother's home... I don't know how long she'll stay."
"Okay," Lily said, and after bidding him a quick farewell, she skipped off to her house, humming some muggle tune under her breath. Severus sat watching her for a moment, still trying to puzzle out what had been so strange about talking to her.
Severus thought about her on his way home. He thought about her reasoning into calling Petunia a dog, and he a rabbit. He thought of her quiet, polite acceptance of his excuses. He thought of her equal capacity to talk and to listen. She had been able to purposely manipulate a flower, before even learning what magic was. He thought of how she must have learned as she went, remembering and becoming familiar with the feeling of performing her 'magic trick.'
There was something peculiar about her. It was as if she had grown up centuries ago, but kept all the proclivities and interests of a girl of nine. Being nine-years-old himself, he was surprised to see the mixture of maturity and carelessness that she exemplified. His classmates had been nothing like him, but there was something in Lily that he felt like he could relate to, though he doubted she could relate to him.
It wasn't until he was about to fall asleep that night that he realized what had been so strange about their conversation earlier that morning.
She had called him 'Sev.'
...
The next day, he sat waiting for her on the park bench again, taking care to remain awake. Suddenly, the strangest birdcall he'd ever heard reached his ears. He stood up and approached the sound, wondering what type of bird it could possibly be. He didn't have time to contemplate it much further, for once he reached the small tree from which the call had come, he was immediately tackled to the ground by something nearly his size. He landed on his back, staring up incredulously at a smiling Lily Evans; a piece of paper was rolled into a cone and taped to her nose, which, as she was on her hands and knees over top of him, was a breadth away from poking his own bulging nose.
She wore a white shirt that was much too large for her, and a gray sheet was tied around her back in addition to grasped in the fists of her two hands, which were pressing his arms to the ground, holding him still until he stopped struggling. It suddenly occurred to him what she was attempting to do. It was the most poorly improvised mockingbird costume he could imagine.
"Tweet," she said flatly, completely serious.
He stared at her in utter shock, mouth agape, hair splayed out behind his head like a black halo.
And then he began to laugh.
It was a soft whisper of a laugh at first, but as she returned the smile, and the movement of her cheeks broke the tape's hold on her skin and sent the cone spiraling onto his face, it became a laugh in earnest. And then he was laughing more than he ever had before, more than he ever imagined he would. His stomach and chest began to ache; tears fell from his eyes.
"There!" Lily said, laughing with him. She fell to the side, lying on the ground next to him. She sounded triumphant, but didn't explain why. Instead, she hit his shoulder playfully. "Next time you have to dress up like a rabbit."
"I don't have any rabbit costumes," he got out, still laughing. "What kind of rabbit has dark hair?"
"What kind of mockingbird has red hair?" Lily countered, sternly, as if his was not a proper excuse. "But I'm a beautiful bird, right Severus?" The look she gave him, eyes threatening, brought more laughter, coming easier this time. He looked up at her again, her hair flying wildly in her face, frizzy, the same color as the freckles that spattered over her nose. Her eyes were an even brighter green with the intensity of her gaze. Those eyes gleamed with the demand that he compliment her costume, no matter how poorly thrown together it appeared.
He decided it was best not to argue.
"Yeah," he agreed, still grinning. It was an odd, unfamiliar feeling to be happy. "A beautiful bird."
Reviews requested; if you notice any, please point out grammatical errors or typos.