Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., or anyone else legally affiliated with Harry Potter, just a fan, people.

Note: I felt like writing this because we are having homecoming at my school right now, and it frankly bugs me like nothing else. Partially out of jealousy for the girls with beautiful lean figures who stand on stage waving to everyone, partially out of scorn because those beautiful women are no more than beautiful women, with no intellectual capacity except on rare occasions. In any case, here is a time when a smart girl gets to the final homecoming rounds, and a time when a smart boy is her official escort.

Not that they would actually have homecoming at Hogwarts, of course, but this is still cute fluff. Enjoy!

Simply a Hogwarts Homecoming

I.

"Sev!"

A voice he had not heard address him directly in a year now shrieked rather below his left earlobe. The thin, gangly 7th year spun about, his usual homely scowl disappearing.

"Lily?"

"Sev."

The girl who met his eyes with such scorn and haughtiness disappointed his eager gaze. He had hoped for the impossible—that she had resigned to accepting him, that she wanted his friendship back again. No. Today she merely wanted a favor. She did not come to make amends. Why should she, after all? He knew her stubborn tendencies, and the girl obviously thought herself in the right. (Well, maybe she did have a good stand, he admitted to himself, but hesitantly.)

"Not that I think anyone would ask you," she began curtly, proving his surmise that she came for business purpose alone, "But you aren't going with anyone to homecoming, right?"

"Snotty now, are we?" queried the Slytherin, but lacking passion in the scalding question. So she had come to rat on him for something. Not that he knew what he had done to deserve such treatment this time. He considered telling her that, yes, Narcissa Black had insisted he attend with her, and wondered if Lily would find herself too stunned to remember that Narcissa had graduated years ago. He decided not to chance this reaction, however.

"But you are correct in speculating that I have no rondez-vous for homecoming. I wouldn't waste my time going, even if anyone would want the scum of Spinner's End, the smelly and greasy git of ill repute, the know-it-all with oily skin?" There. She would not expect him to start off the conversation by demeaning himself. It would save her the trouble, at least, if not inspire a few more tactless epigrams from her own imagination. He tried for more creativity.

"The disdainful and dreary prat who wears his hair like a girl's/ The slimy Slytherin who is coined as homosexual because his conpains have never heard him talk about girls or sex. The misanthrope who cannot even smile. I say, now, what girl would desire such a desultory companion to any social event?"

Lily, as he expected, looked surprised at his outburst, but her eyes appeared more blank than he thought they should. Yet, when he heard her words:

"I would"

he thought himself delusional.

Now the tables turned.

"What?" he spluttered, blinking. Lily's proud velvet lips formed into a sort of pouting frown.

"I said, I would." She still had the aura of having to do something unpleasant about her. "I would want you to take me to homecoming," she repeated as the message rang through her friend's head.

"You don't mean that. Admittedly, you loathe me."

This accusation came more diluted than it may look on paper, however, and sounded more like a statement of plain, long-accepted fact, devoid of the rankling emotions that may have once lived behind the words. Unattached, maybe even isolated, their influence still had a way of semaphoring their meaning back to the mainland. Lily cast her eyes down.

"I don't loathe you, Severus." She had not called him by his full first name in a long time. Snape felt his attention peak. "I'm perfectly serious," she reassured. "Now, if you're about to show me your arse in contempt when I say this, I'll understand. I've treated you abominably this year. If you want, you can see this as a sort of making-up."

Snape softened, but only a bit. "Let me say I could never hold you in contempt," he said stiffly, unable to lie outright about his affection. He knew she knew, though he could never bring himself to explain it aloud. Sometime he would blurt it all out openly, but not soon. Not now.

"But," he added a bit more usual condescending manner, "Why aren't you attending with . . . James Potter?"

A blush fell to Lily's cheeks, visible even in the dim torchlight of the dungeon corridors where they stood, potions class concluded a quarter hour before.

"He's part of the technical management for the dance," she admitted, "Which is a nice way to say he's being punished by McGonagall and has 'volunteered' for duties to recompense after talking back to her in class yesterday."

"I see." Snape's lip curled down. Why could he not question her, why could he not just accept the fact that she wanted to attend with him and leave off at that? He wished his mind would rest, but knew if he did not discourse this thoroughly, the entire time he would either feel she wanted to hang on his arm for some ulterior reason.

"Padfoot the mongrel? Why not him, then? I suppose James would trust you with him better than just letting you go alone, or allowing you to find a tertiary escort."

"He's got plenty of other choices," Lily grimaced. "Besides, he's too . . . well . . . James thinks I'm going with him."

"I see" Snape repeated. But Lily found something objectionable about Sirius Black? Maybe the girl had hope of recovery yet.

"Anyhow," Lily went on, "He's got a fifth year in tow right now that he seems to want to hang on to. And Black's never really shown an interest in me. I'm mainly just . . . there, to him."

Haven't you noticed that of all the attractive girls in the school, you are practically the only one who can say that after seven years? Snape thought ruefully. Yes, undoubtedly the stag had chosen to reign in his friend from making her his territory! James must really like the fish in his nets this time. Again, for not the first nor last time, Severus wondered why he went on like he did, pining himself to hell while she rode off in the sunset mounted on the knee of her Gryffindor Gene Autry.

But no! She stood here now, before him, asking him to take her to the dance. Maybe his unabated patience had finally given him the chance he needed to mend her opinions of him, that he might switch places with James in suitorship. But oh, he did not mean to count his chickens before they hatched!

"Lupin, then?" he queried almost absentmindedly.

"He's indisposed, he said."

Ah. Snape recalled that Homecoming, two nights away, took place on the advent of the full moon. He had no doubt of Lupin's true calling as a werewolf, and thought about hinting at it to Lily—though he remembered that he had done so before, and she fervently believed the creature had some very uncanny coincidences and closed the subject blindly. She would not really dare to think ill of Potter or his friends, though she had no aversion to blaspheming them before her childhood friend.

"Pettigrew?" Snape asked, though not serious by this point.

"Would you ask Peter if you were me? I think not!" A hint of amusement glinted in her eye, and Snape took advantage of it to bestow a hasty half-smile before it went away again.

"So. I still don't see why you should come to me, now," Snape stated, though he felt quite rejuvenated at the moment. Dancing with Lily—her hands on his shoulders, his on her seemly hips, his nose occasionally displacing a lock of her beautiful hair with a soft touch—his near future. Of course, not that he felt good about the dancing part, but he could manage well enough in a mirror, so why not with her?

"Because I don't want to go with someone I don't care a fig about, that's why!" Lily exclaimed almost violently, cracking her knuckles as she always did in exasperation. Snape pretended to 'give-in' to her demands.

"Oh, all right. Fine," he almost spat out, but caught himself in time. "I'll be there," he sighed instead, and bowed in a swift, precise motion. Lily took his hand and pressed it in a way that would send any man into screaming hysteric proclamations of love—any man except Severus Snape, who only thought them.

"Thank you. I know I can depend on you," she said, rather plainly. Then she walked away—simple as that! Well, what did he expect; she had fallen into the clutches of Potter's Marauders. Snape knew, though, that she still had hopes of rescuing; she needed him to help her.

II.

Two days later, in dress-robes that reeked somewhat lightly of moth-balls, Snape admired his sullen picture in a cracked mirror. He could not vainly deny how well he looked out of his usual student garb. His hair, combed so that the part lay on the side instead of the middle (for once!) felt strangely heavy but looked more decent than ever before. His nose looked masculine and Romanesque in the half light of his room, and the voluminous sleeves of his robes made his scrawny arms look more thick and muscular. His eyes peered from their sockets in a less retreated way, and appeared less sunken.

But Snape knew well, never trust a mirror except when under the brightest of lights. Diverting his look reluctantly from the glass, he raised his hand and sent a freshening-up charm to the lamp in the otherwise abandoned dorm room. Sadly, as expected, with the new illumination came stark reality.

The gawky, awkward, vulnerable teenage Snape, no longer elegant or admirable, glared back from the sheen of the looking-glass. Then, for the first time in a long while, Severus' bosom heaved with a heavy sob. Jealousy the culprit. Unveiled, pure and exact jealous rage for James Potter. Oh, how could he ever achieve that godlike status in Lily's heart and affections? Why did he dream?

III.

Precisely at the named hour in a named locale in the Great Hall, Snape stood, aloof and nervous. People clanked at him with pity or outright scorn, depending on their sex and house.

Alaina Edgecomb, a matronly Hufflepuff, approached him—the only kind soul who did. For a very short while during his sixth year, they had dated, though not too seriously on Snape's part. They had not even gotten to kissing or beyond, Alaina's hugs upon their initial greetings rather knocked out any desirous urges he might have had if ever he even experienced them for her. Mainly, their conversations consisted of such uninteresting material as:

"So, today I found distinct ire in the fact that the concept of urmanli sorobis and its counteraffects to styrachnine are included in our textbook when the ideas formulated on it, even today, are highly complicated and mainly theoretical. They provide no basis, no facts, no material that can be proved or disproved. They lack hypothesis, dammit, and I went to tell Slughorn exactly what I thought, whereupon he proceeded to laugh his head off and said I was a young man with too many ideas!"

"Oh, Severus, you're so smart. I don't think you have too many ideas. It was mean of him to laugh. I love you."

Consequently, the result inevitably was that they never had any real, deep intellectual talks that were not completely one-sided, and Snape found himself not even trying to vent his emotions and thoughts to her. He never said the 'l word' to her, though she used it glibly with him, and he never felt like saying it, either. Snape did not know why he had 'got' with her at all, except that perhaps her 'I like you' note, passed in Arhithmancy, had come in one of his occasional cycles of 'I must get over Lily or I'll never be anything in life'.

He had to admit, he rather liked the fuss that Alaina made over him all the time, but only at first. He told himself that he felt the deepest, most sincere affections for her, but realized the mistruth of that idea after a week. A month later, for all his ho-humming about not wanting to hurt her and debating with himself over what to do, finally he told her after a huge test in Arithmancy. She took it hard, but seemed to have recovered moderately by this moment at the Homecoming Dance.

In her usual motherly manner, she bustled over to Snape.

"Hi Severus," she said, shy. Apparently, she still held him in higher regard than he would have preferred. Rather too kindly for a Slytherin, Snape took her hand and brushed his lips just barely against the soft, rather plump flesh.

"Alaina." He felt a brief shudder pass though her, probably of delight, and he hastily dropped her hand—but not too hastily.

"How are you?" she asked concernedly, gazing into his eyes, and he felt only the inclination to sigh bitterly. Oh, how sad she seemed! But he reused to do anything about it. Not when his heart lay anywhere else. Happily, he realized he had not thought of her in ages. Maybe he should try to more, he reasoned.

"Quite all right, and yourself?" he replied civilly.

"Oh, fine." She scanned him up and down appraisingly. "I haven't seen you in the dining hall much this year. You've lost some more weight, and getting far too thin. I demand that you start eating more. Or else you'll have me to contend with, I say."

"I'm surprised you think I've lost weight," Snape replied, furrowing his brows. "I rather fancied I gained some lately. I might not be in the hall much, but, when I am, I certainly make up for all lost meals." He grinned almost savagely. Lies, lies, completely lies. Why did he feel the need to assuage her fears? Maybe his kind streak was showing a bit more than usual, perhaps.

Then a flash of red hair caught in his peripheral vision.

"Wonderful, I'm glad," breathed Alaina, but Snape ducked away with a brief excuse.

"I'm sorry, I must go," he muttered, and so left Alaina gazing after him with a brief expression of hurt. He chased and caught Lily's arm.

"Lily!" He rarely could bring himself to pronounce her name—it felt like serving a wedding cake in a toilet bowl, somehow—but every time he did, he saw her eyes flutter in delight. This time, no exception—but the sensation only lasted a minute, as she glared at him. Oh, but she held the Hufflepuff in envy, then?

"I thought you said-" she began angrily, but stopped when Snape started to laugh.

"You catch me with the only girl who ever liked me starts dominating my presence, and you instantly assume I have feelings for her. So like a woman!"

Lily lowered her lids, then raised them again.

"Who do you have feelings for, then?" she prompted.

"This is neither the time, nor the place," Severus replied, though he felt certain his eyes betrayed the answer he verbally evaded.

At this point, with a blast of music, one of the more brash leaders of the school announced jovially that the time had come for the house queens and their escorts to advance to the center of the floor for the declaration of that year's Hogwarts Queen, and the first dance. With a sinking feeling, Snape's memory whipped back to an image of a black ballot box in his common room . . . Lily's name scribbled on a slip of paper . . . the paper going inside . . . damn! He forgot she was a candidate for Queen!

A week ago, he recalled some inquisitive Ravenclaws muttering about some certain calculations that, since Lily was head girl, her likelihood of winning the popular vote was increased by 57. Very aware of his awkwardness, Snape went, arm and arm with the only girl he could ever think of as a queen, to the center of the dance floor. From Lily's expression, she had not expected this, either.

Somewhere behind a row of teachers, an exasperated ejaculation of dismay and horror shrieked, but went unnoticed by the rest of the world. Snape mused privately: Finally, I score against James Potter, and he damn well knows it. Despite himself, he let a smug smile emerge upon his countenance.

Three other girls with three other boys stepped to the center of the floor—one girl from Slytherin, one from Hufflepuff, and one from Ravenclaw. None of them as radiant nor beautiful as Lily, of course. All the boys seemed more than nervous at this great social experiment, and all the girls seemed anxious themselves.

The energetic teacher at the head of the floor seemed self-interested in his lecture, and talked on for what seemed a very cliché eternity. Then, with a drumroll from somewhere in the orchestra alcove, he vomited, "And now, I am proud to present our 197? Hogwarts Homecoming Queen—Lily Evans!"

Cheers erupted from all the Gryffindor house, not to mention a good deal from the other three houses. The vast majority had voted for the talented Gryffindor. It figured.

All at once, the music started. A simple, slow waltz by that genius, Strauss. Everyone backed away from the center stage, the Hufflepuff girl sobbing on her escort's shoulder all the while, the other royalty melting into the masses.

Snape and Lily faced each other. Lily's cheeks flushed pink. Severus' ears, he knew, tinged red, so he hoped his hair covered those apparatus well enough.

"We ought to start," Lily whispered, and stepped towards him. Nodding, he accepted her hand and placed his own gently on her waist. Then, as though carefully rehearsed, they stepped in perfect unison, like they belonged to one body – one mind - one soul. Not a sound emerged from the lush quiet of the crowd.

One two three. One two three. The soaring music had ensconced them and drawn them into another dimension.

One two three. One two three. Step here. Step there. Strange how he knew exactly how to move, where to move, when to move. Well, perhaps not so strange, considering the hours he had practiced. It certainly paid off, anyways. Snape never felt so divine. The steps soon came naturally, and Snape could focus on the extraordinary woman in his arms.

Yes, a woman. No longer the flighty, practical girl he knew and had worshipped as a child, but a well-developed, delicate adolescent of chaste and pure nature. A sudden thought came to him—why did he feel his studies in the dark arts could compare with her? If he could have Lily by merely abandoning the rather dangerous interests? Did he really think it a choice?

The song ended, after long last, and the rest of the school applauded them enthusiastically. The next piece began, and the people around them began to mill and start forming their own sets of couples.

A few girls without partners leaned against a wall, along with Alain Edgecomb. Panging with pity for a brief moment, Snape felt that the girl really pained for him. Her eyes unabashedly gazed at him and Lily, even as the people gathered around them. He turned his attention away. Poor girl, but she could never understand . . . this heaven. Oh, how he longed to keep Lily in his arms forever! On an impulse, he leaned into her ear and whispered the most sincere and heartfelt statement he could muster. The closest thing he had ever come to saying 'I love you' to her.

"I'm . . . I'm giving up the dark arts, Lily."

The girl pondered this for a moment, keeping her eyes on the floor as the music continued to sway maniacally and almost bouncily.

"Liar," she finally decided.

IV.

Though they stayed together the rest of the night, dancing on and off as obligation demanded, Snape knew he had killed the small seed of hope for salvation in Lily's heart. He had truly lost her. If she could hold no faith in his words, then he could not keep faith for attaining her hand.

After the dance, she never approached him, completely abandoned him. They never had another intimate conversation. He never physically touched her again. After her death, he remembered this night in longing, and decided his fatal mistake had to have been those last words. Never could he forgive himself.

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