AN: So the first two weeks of school was grueling, the first draft of this chapter was laughable, and my older brother is back in town. All this culminates in a rather late chapter (expect the next to be a bit off schedule, too) but at least it's out. And, ironically enough, at the moment I should be writing an essay on the nature of truth. So enjoy this whilst I take care of that!

Disclaimer: I somehow doubt that it's necessary to flout the fact that I am not J.K. Rowling, and that I sadly do not own Harry Potter.

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Severus stared perplexedly at the pot, allowing the vapors fill his hooked nose.

"Where did you learn all this?" he asked as she attended to the contents of a frying pan.

"There's not much to do when you're in hiding," she said with a shrug, but he could read the satisfaction on her face. "Card games, chess, cleaning, and taking care of Harry—" There was a certain defiance as she said that; Severus had noticed how much effort she put into speaking of her late husband and son, but he didn't mention it to her. "—can only pass so much time. And you know how I hate to reread books."

"So you experimented?" he asked warily. He remembered all too well some of her failed attempts at potions from their younger years. The fact that Hinkypunk skin could not be substituted for Boomslang skin in Polyjuice potions was forever etched into his memory.

"Actually, I started reading cookbooks," she countered. "You wouldn't believe what kinds of things you can do with beef stock." She seemed to attack the contents of the pan with a spoon, looking oddly satisfied as she did. "And I was wondering—when are you going shopping next? There were some things I wanted to try out."

"I'll do it soon," he said evasively. Being perfectly honest with himself, he'd avoided leaving his home unless absolutely necessary. As the days passed, Lily had gotten progressively better… though she still had to rely on potions to let her sleep through the night, and too often her smiles carried an undercurrent of defiance, more for his benefit than out of actual happiness. Her mourning had become private, but it hadn't ended. So she kept busy, doing as much of anything as she could, infusing each task with every scrap of energy she had, and as she did, her smiles became more breathtakingly sincere. Now she occupied herself with cooking more complex meals than he had eaten since graduating Hogwarts, reading as many of his leather bound tomes as she could reach, and cleaning anything that looked vaguely suspicious. Often she invited him to join her, making even the most mundane tasks vastly enjoyable, at other times he contented himself to just stay nearby, stealing glimpses of her as he worked and studied.

He'd also absorbed more sunshine than he had in years—now that Lily was off-limits to the other Death Eaters, it was safe for her to roam outside; oddly enough, she had waited for his assent before leaving the house, likely a habit she had acquired during long months lived in terror. He didn't trust their fear to perpetually win over their twisted malice, though, so he guarded her carefully every time she ventured into his depressingly decrepit lawn.

Granted, Spinner's End was rather dank and didn't offer much for scenery, but she was thrilled nonetheless. More than a year in hiding hadn't allowed her to venture out of doors, and she embraced even his weed-strewn yard with childish delight. Her new project, she'd decided, would be to clear it of overgrowth, tame the foliage, and even plant a few more handsome herbs.

He was summoned away on more than one occasion—evidently the Longbottom family was being targeted by the Dark Lord, but they had disappeared before he got a chance to dispose of them—and always she made a point of not talking about his business with the Dark Lord. Still he made sure to use those times away from her to her benefit: at all times he listened for news of her friends from the Order, always reporting the silence to her as soon as possible.

One particularly satisfying parcel of information passed him—that Remus Lupin (among Potter's old crowd, he was perhaps the most likable, though that wasn't saying much at all) had eluded the Death Eaters once again, wounding three of the Dark Lord's men during the course of a particularly clever escape. The information itself was mild enough, but the prospect of Lily's face when he told her the news galvanized him, and he found it difficult to concentrate as the meeting dragged on into the night. He Disapparated as soon as he could, reappearing in his sitting room—it was dark and empty, as was the kitchen, the cramped dining room, the moonlit garden.

A kind of keen electricity was building within him as he climbed the stairs to her room. He hadn't realized how late the hour had become, how much he truly needed to see her.

"Lily?" he asked softly, tapping at the door. No reply came, but this time he wasn't worried. When a second knock warranted no answer, he eased open the door. True enough, she was nestled in the bed, her face angelic in sleep, her arms arranged serenely around her abdomen, her fair skin almost shimmering in the moonlight that streamed through her window.

She'd taken the Sleeping potion again—the last dregs glowed pearlescent from the crystal goblet beside her bed. The remnant hadn't yet congealed, meaning she'd taken it not long before; it was still fresh, and she remained in the deepest phase of slumber. He crept closer to the bed, telling himself it was only to retrieve the goblet, and then he would leave… momentarily…

Her dark red hair was draped around her pillow, forming a peculiar halo around her breathtaking face. The unhealthy pallor had left her skin, leaving in its place a creamy glow; her lips, again accustomed to smiling, had become full and alluring. He didn't realize what he was doing until his fingers brushed through that cherry hair, smoothing tenderly against her brow. She shifted slightly, as though in a dream; her lips moved soundlessly before they relaxed, her head tilted against the pillow, a faint smile on her sleeping face. He felt his heart catch in his throat, and he sank to his knees, gently lowering himself over her until his face was barely an inch from his, and he could smell her intoxicating breath all around, leaving him drunk and dizzy. He took a deep breath, a sigh, drinking in her scent and his longing.

Again her lips fluttered, barely a hair's breadth from his, smiling as they formed incoherent sounds that gradually took form: "… mn… James…"

All at once his eyes flared open, he was again awake and alert and about to kiss Lily. He pulled back, his hand fumbling over the crystal goblet as he dragged it away with him. Now he was pressed against the far wall, staring in silent shock at Lily, his head spinning.

He was surprised— appalled that he'd lost control, that he'd almost given in, almost betrayed the woman who had shown no desire to be with him. The thought shamed him—still sullied as he was, his taint even darker against her glistening purity, to even think of doing such a thing against her will, while she slept, while she still loved Potter.

And despite all else, that thought infuriated him. After all, he'd saved her. He'd taken care of her. He'd comforted her. He'd known her longer, better. He'd loved her first. Loved her forever. Where was Potter now? Where had he ever been? And what right did he have…?

Slowly, slowly he forced himself to look away and staggered down the stairs. He had other things to do, he reminded himself. Work to do, potions to brew, a shower to take. Preferably a cold one.

…

The next day he immersed himself particularly in his work, using every subtle excuse to leave a room as she entered it. She noticed—a quirked eyebrow told that much—but there was no trace of comprehension in her expression. So she had no idea. Fine.

A certain awkwardness lingered in his every sense. His mind was torn, half longing to close the gap between them and half determined to keep his distance. He wanted to stare at her constantly, yet refused to look her way; wanted to inhale her intoxicating scent again, yet held his breath whenever she approached. He wanted to reach out and touch her, yet he kept his hands tight inside his pockets as she drew near. It was maddening.

"Erm… Lily?" he said quietly, though he felt like he was straddling the brink of insanity. She looked up. "I'm going to go… shopping. Where did you put that list of things you wanted?"

"On the counter," she said, though her tone insisted that she wanted to know more. Even now she was picking apart his motives, studying his carefully blank expression with her most cunning scrutiny.

"Thank you," he said civilly, retrieving the parchment with a flick of his wand and stowing it carefully in his robes. "I won't be long."

"All right," she replied, and he didn't look her in the eyes as he hurriedly Disapparated.

He Apparated inside the Leaky Cauldron, still trying to get his bearings. The pub had seen better days—its patrons sat huddled together, speaking in hushed tones and glancing over their shoulders as though they expected a raid at any moment; all around hovered an air of despair, almost reminiscent of dementors. Oddly enough, it was a relief from the day's awkwardness, and he found himself sitting at the bar.

"Butterbeer," he told the hunchbacked wizard who was cleaning a few glasses. The drink was slow in coming, and he found himself looking around. A small cluster of nervous witches entered, a dark haired wizard meandered out the back door. There was Nott, an oddly twisted smile on his face despite the gloom, talking quietly to Macnair and Selwyn in one corner. Idly Severus wondered if the stifling despondency had been caused by the arrival of the Death Eaters, or if they had simply been drawn to the paranoia of other wizards. The Dark Lord's servants had adopted a guise of half-secrecy in their allegiance—they found it made for more effective spywork, and helped to keep the Order at bay.

Finally his drink arrived and he gulped it down, laying a handful of sickles on the counter as he held the frothing mug to his mouth. The drink hadn't helped his mood much—rather, he was starting to crave the comforts of his home (mainly Lily's presence there), and consequently he wanted to finish the shopping as quickly as possible. He paced quickly to the back door, slipping quietly outside. The little false alley was deserted, aside from a large black that dog was sniffing at some garbage bins. Feeling edgy, he counted out the bricks, reaching out to tap the right one with his wand.

He didn't even hear the whisper until it was too late—"Expelliarmus!"—and the wand shot out of his hand, falling to the ground with a clatter. He twisted to retrieve it, but a second spell enveloped him, tearing him from the ground and suspending him—upside down—in the air. He swore inwardly, already too aware of his attacker.

"Evening, Snivellus," said Black, stepping into Severus' line of sight. He was smiling, but the expression was almost predatory; the gleam in his eyes came just short of bloodlust. Severus clenched his jaw, but said nothing. Black took a step closer, his wand pressed to his victim's throat. "Give me one good reason not to split you open here and now," he hissed.

His words were carefully chosen, slowly spoken, but he made no effort to hide his hatred: "Because I doubt that Dumbledore will appreciate your methods. He isn't finished with me yet, I can assure you."

"Neither am I," Black growled. "And what makes you think I'm here on Dumbledore's orders?"

"You're a member of his little army—I don't care why you've come, you still have to face him afterward." The blood was rushing into his head, which made it incredibly difficult to think clearly.

"James is dead," said the crazed man, ravenous fury spilling into his voice. This was no longer their old schoolyard loathing.

"And you think me responsible?"

"You sold him out to Voldemort!" he snarled, driving his wand painfully into the hollow of Severus' throat. Those words struck a nerve, but he didn't dare let it show. He kept his face carefully composed. Even a flicker of weakness now would cost him his life—years of following the Dark Lord had taught him the necessity of self-control.

"I did nothing but repeat the ramblings of a drunken fraud." There was no point in lying about that—the very fact that Black had come to him with the accusation proved that he knew about the prophecy. "Who do you take me for—their Secret Keeper?" It looked like Black had been struck, and his wand fell a few inches.

"How did you know—?" he demanded.

"Tell me," Severus sneered. He had to hurry things along. "Did you have a point in coming here, or were you merely hoping to please a crowd?" He almost regretted it. Black's features evened, his eyes narrowed, his grip tightened on his wand as he remembered his purpose.

" James is dead," he repeated venomously. "So is his son. Where's Lily?"

Severus didn't answer.

"Where is she?" Black repeated, and red sparks flew from the tip of his wand, scorching his victim's robes where they landed.

"She's safe," he said at last, keeping his face carefully blank.

"Answer the question." There was murder in his eyes now. His knuckles were white around his wand, his mouth opened—

There was no way around it anymore; Black had already guessed, and that meant he had scant reason to keep Severus alive. And if he died, then Lily would—

"If you take her from my house you'll be putting her in even more danger," Severus said, his words falling from his mouth in a rush. He was dizzy and his skull was throbbing painfully, but he stared his opponent—his childhood enemy—in the eyes.

"'More danger?'" Black sneered. "Than in a Death Eater's hovel? That's likely."

"As long as she stays in this Death Eater's hovel, she's safe." He clenched his teeth, furious that he had to explain himself, but pressed on, forcing his words to rush from his mouth. "She's there on the Dark Lord's whim—"

"You think I care what Voldemort wants?"

"—and that means the Death Eaters can't touch her! Not without openly defying the Dark Lord, and they won't risk that—if you steal her away now, if it looks like she ran away, then she'll be the one in defiance—she'll be hunted down and slaughtered like an animal."

"I'll protect her," Black growled. "Dumbledore will—"

"Of course," Severus felt his lip curl. "Because that worked so well last time."

"So you expect me," Black seethed; his teeth were bared in a feral snarl. "To just sit back and leave James' wife in your slimy hands?" Severus' eyes narrowed. "Then you're mad, you sick b—"

"That's unfortunate," he interrupted. "Because Dumbledore does. And so does she."

Black's face twitched, and an awful heat was beginning to emanate from the tip of his wand. "Prove it."

Of all the demands, all the accusations, this one nearly struck him dumb. How on earth was he supposed to prove anything, hanging in the air as he was?

"She's staying with me by her own choice," he began, still searching his mind.

"That's nothing the Imperius Curse can't inspire," Black retorted cruelly, his eyes reduced to slits.

"I would never—" he was cut off by a flick of Black's wand, which made him jerk violently in the air and slam hard into the brick wall. As he did, a scrap of parchment fell from Severus' pocket, neatly folded even as it fluttered to the ground.

"That!" he said quickly. "She wrote that a few days ago." For a moment, Black remained still, staring coldly up at him. Then he drew a silver knife from his robes, laying the blade on Severus' throat before he pointed his wand at the parchment. He never broke eye contact.

"Accio!" he growled, and it zoomed into his hand. He glanced quickly down—it was a shopping list, written in her hand but otherwise not extraordinary.

"This doesn't prove anything," Black snapped, though his eyes had returned to the parchment.

Glass cleanerWormwoodBrown sugarAsphodelAniseBrown RiceChicken (get a good price) FlourAshwinder eggsRaspberry TeaMore inkPowdered MoonstoneSyrup of HelleboreChocolate. Don't forget!

Severus watched Black's face as he reread the list, going over the last line over and over again with his eyes. He could almost see the thoughts whirling behind those smooth features.

'Chocolate.Don't forget!' It was written almost playfully, a chiding reminder to a friend. Snape was clever, but even he wouldn't have considered such a mundane detail, something so entirely unSnapeish…

"If Lily comes into any danger, I will be the first to know of it." Severus spoke slowly, steadily, meeting Black's gaze even before he looked up from the parchment. "And I'll personally take her to the Order of the Phoenix. I swear it."

"I don't trust you," he said warily.

"Then you'll have to trust her," he replied quietly. "She's clever—if she wants to leave, she'll find a way." He might have said something more, but he didn't get a chance. The sounds of footsteps behind the door disturbed their conversation. In that moment he plummeted to the earth, landing in a heap. By the time he righted himself to look around, Black was already gone.