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It's surprising, how easily the word slips out. That's the first thing Lily notices; the fact that the word flows so smoothly from his tongue, followed by the look of horrified shock at what he's just said. The word rings in her ears. It's not even that she's particularly surprised by it – she's well aware of what the rest of Slytherin call her – but it's the knowledge that it's him.
…filthy Mudblood…
James's face is furious, as if he's the one insulted, and she hates him. She hates them all. Fight-or-flight kicks in, absurdly, and she flees after unleashing her anger at James, knowing her friends will follow, knowing they will care. She's lucky, in the respect that the Gryffindor girls are as loyal as Hufflepuffs when it comes to protecting one another and regardless of how she acted towards Severus, what he has said is unforgiveable. That night she doesn't sleep but refuses to cry; anyone who chooses something as petty as blood over a beautiful friendship is not worth her tears. The murders and tortures of innocent Muggles and Muggleborns that haunt the headlines and obituaries of the Daily Prophet? That's worth crying about.
She will not permit herself to cry over someone who to her is already as good as dead.
The next morning, she heads downstairs to breakfast with her head held high, ignoring the whispers and stares of other houses. It's startling how quickly Gryffindor realigned itself around her, after proving she wasn't a Slytherin at heart. On one side is Emmeline, nattering away to Mary and Dorcas, who are sticking close by. On the other side is Remus, who surprised her by waiting in the Common Room. They are chatting about nothing in particular – light-hearted topics, like how did he find question ten on the Defence paper – all said with a smile and a laugh. Of the girls, Lily is the only one who knows Remus' secret, although she suspects Emmeline can smell a rat. Regardless, the gaggle keeps away unwanted attention, but Lily can hear the remarks all the same.
"Merlin, she looks happy…" "…glad she realised he's a bastard…" "…why'd she put up with him for so long?" "…I heard they were dating."
She snorts at the last one. She knows Severus never will be good-looking, and she has never fancied him. How funny the rumour mill could be.
By the time they arrive at the Great Hall the whispers have subsided somewhat, but Remus still chooses to sit closer to the girls than he normally would. He's a peacemaker, Remus – he doesn't get involved in the Marauder conflicts with Slytherins, but Lily has heard occasions where he's made them think twice afterwards. She heaps food onto her plate, not caring what she picks up, and idly pokes at the breakfast. She's not hungry, particularly; unconsciously she had sought out the familiar shock of black hair from the Slytherin table, and seeing him there had sent a pang of something she couldn't quite identify – regret? Anger? – through her, and had put her off any food.
"Lily?"
She turns at the sound of her name, keeping her face a calm neutral. "Yes?"
Severus flinches slightly at the coolness of her voice. "Can I talk to you?"
She stares at him, taking in his oh-so-familiar features. "I don't see what you could possibly have to say to a Mudblood like myself. I thought I was beneath you. Now if you'll excuse me…"
"Is he bothering you, Evans?" Sirius swaggers in, looking so confident, and though she's never been able to bring herself to like him up until now, she is ridiculously grateful for his presence.
"I would have thought it was the other way round, Black – after all, can't have my blood sullying him." She turns away, focusing on her breakfast again. Behind her, she can hear Sirius growling.
"You're disgusting, mixed up in the Dark Arts. You know that?"
"Oh really?" Severus' voice is cruel, sharp as a knife. "Your brother seems to think differently." She can't help it, she looks over towards the green-and-silver-clad table, and sees a smaller replica of the aristocratic nose, floppy hair and steel eyes staring back, looking somewhere between scared and defiant.
"Leave." At that point, she puts a finger on the emotion she felt when she had first seen Severus – loneliness, pure and unadulterated.
"Why should I listen to you, Black?" Merlin, how had she not noticed his sneer before?
"Actually," James interrupts, "I think that would be a wise idea." And all the anger from the day before is back in full force, but she can't bring herself to aim it at James, because Merlin knows he's trying, he's trying to be this good person. So when she turns and sees wands being drawn, she knows she has to intervene.
"Stop it!" She leaps up from the table, not caring that the Hall has gone eerily silent, not noticing that both boys are watching her with anger tinged with lust. She turns to glance at James. "He's not worth it."
James cocks an eyebrow, lowers his wand. She turns to Severus, her pulse racing, her eyes hard.
"You heard Black. Leave."
And he does, and just as she sits down she hears the whisper of a curse she was told about by him in fourth year, and the cry of James as his arm starts gushing blood, and all of a sudden the fire is back in her veins, and she shouts the first curse that comes to her head.
"Furnunculus!" Severus dodges it, allowing it to hit Avery, who has decided to join them. With a cry of pain he retreats as the boils break out on his skin, and Sirius smirks, starting forward. Snape points his wand at him and shouts Impedimenta but is blocked by a hasty Protego from Peter, who decided to join the fight the moment he entered the Hall. Both Sirius and James turn to appraise Peter, when Severus sees his chance and sends James flying wordlessly into the wall, where he lies in a crumpled heap. He reaches out to grab Lily, but just as he does so she flicks her wand at him, hissing "Relashio!" He reels back, wincing, and all Lily can think is where is Dumbledore where is Dumbledore where is Dumbledore when the door to the Hall is flung open.
The Headmaster looks nothing short of furious. Severus' wand is still pointed at Lily, and he lowers his arm, abashed. No noise is being made.
"It is a solemn day when students are duelling like their lives depend on it before they've had the chance to live," he begins, surveying the Hall with what looks like distaste, but Lily thinks is disappointment. "I can assure you; no matter how much it pains me to admit it, that there will be more than enough time for this later in life. Let us hope you have not picked the wrong side all too soon." He heads up to the staff table, McGonagall at his side, and she sees James being helped away by Madam Pomfrey. Sirius storms out, Remus following him, Peter grabbing a slice of toast before hurrying out, and she knows better than to follow them. Instead she heads back up to her dorm, Emmeline at her heels. It is all she can do not to think of the coming summer, and the knowledge that summer means Severus.
It is all she can do to hope he doesn't turn up at her window at three am, armed with pebbles and that smile he reserved only for her, like he did what feels like a lifetime ago.
That summer is uneventful, uninspired. Remus writes, as do Em, Dorcas and Mary. She doesn't receive a single letter from James, which is surprising – ever since he got her address in third year (he stole it off Remus, he later confessed) he had sent her a letter two or three times a week, much to her annoyance. Somehow, she misses them, though she will never admit it.
She read somewhere that you dream in black-and-white, but now her nightmares are in Technicolor. She dreams she is running away from Death Eaters, their wands flashing green all around her, and she just as the final blow is about to be delivered, she wakes up; a mess of sweat and tangled bed sheets, and the knowledge that this is likely her fate.
What scares her more than the dying part is the bit where those stupid masks fall off, and Severus is the one to cast the last spell.
One night, after a particularly bad rendition of the same vision, she wanders over to the bay window, draws back the curtain and sits, before letting the fabric fall back into place. She stares into her back garden, allowing herself to remember days long gone where she would share homework answers on the lawn and secret silly smiles late at night. She wonders when she grew up and when he changed into the unrecognisable boy she will have to learn to despise. A flicker of movement catches her eye, and she holds her breath. She knows he won't be able to see her unless he fully comes into the garden from the woods beyond her house, but the knowledge that he is there is enough to make her heart race with concern. But when a fox comes into view instead of her old best friend, she realises learning to hate him won't be all that hard.
In that moment, she wants him to suffer as much as she has been, for his Freudian slip clearly hasn't cost him all too dearly.
Half a mile away, across the thin sliver of a river, a tall, pale boy with a sallow complexion stares at the moon and thinks of all he has done wrong. He would give everything back – his proficiency in class, his natural Occlumency that he reckons could fool the Dark Lord, anything – to see Lily smile again. He makes a vow with himself, that night, not to intervene in her life any longer. Provided she's happy, he's happy.
But one night, all those years later, as he holds her broken, unscarred, perfectly imperfect body, he wonders if he should be glad for the choice he made.