The Cold Hard Truth

"Are you sure you can't come out with us to town this afternoon, darling?"

Lily was curled up in an armchair in Dudley's nursery, holding a tissue to her nose, which was woefully red and runny. She was paler than usual, also, her skin pallid and clammy – lacking in its usual lustre and glow, and she was coughing incessantly at various intervals. Her eyes were red from lack of sleep, and her voice was frighteningly hoarse as she croaked out a refusal to her mother.

"I'm so sorry, mother," she whispered, her throat scratchy and dry. "I feel so dreadfully ill with this cold that I simply cannot leave the house."

She was, indeed, suffering from a most dreadful cold, but to Catherine Evans, a cold was just a cold and not any sort of reason to cancel important plans. Her daughter was not dying, nor would she be at risk of doing so, were she to accompany her parents, her sister, her brother-in-law and Mr Chamberly to Brighton town for a day of sightseeing, followed by dinner, and an evening spent at the theatre, and therefore Catherine had been harassing her daughter to get dressed and come with them all morning.

"Oh, but Lily, darling," Catherine implored, clasping her hands beneath her chin and gazing woefully at her youngest daughter, as if Lily had come down with a cold purely to hurt her. "I was so looking forward to spending the day together, all of us, like this. Now we shall have to cancel and make do with another day, and that will be such a bother, and you simply must consider that -"

"Catherine, my love," said Lily's father, striding into the room and taking gentle hold of his wife's shoulders. "Lily is not fit to join us today, and we already have our tickets reserved, so we cannot cancel."

"What are we meant to do with her, if she can't accompany us?" said Catherine in dismay. "Leave her alone in the house? Mr Chamberly allowed all of the staff to take the afternoon and evening off because of the outing; there won't be anybody to take care of her. If she comes with us, at least she'll not be alone if she takes a nasty turn."

"Lily is quite old enough to take care of herself, dear," said Charles, his voice low and calming. "Petunia has said, also, that she would quite enjoy taking a small break from Dudley and Lily has kindly offered to take care of him for the day. As she should," he added, with a smile for his daughter. "She is his only aunt, and does not get to see him nearly enough."

"Did Petunia really consent to leaving her baby in the care of an eighteen year old girl who has no experience in taking care of children?" said Catherine in surprise, as if Lily was not even in the room. "I could hardly imagine she would, where is she?"

Lily tried very hard not to snort with laughter. When she had offered to take care of her nephew for the day so that Petunia would not have to take the child with her for the day, her sister had not been able to deposit the baby into her arms fast enough. In fact, she was in her dressing room right at that moment, doing her hair and singing as blithely as if she were a changed woman. Petunia Dursley did, of course, worship her tiny son, but even the most devoted of mothers need a break now and then.

"Petunia and Evelyn told Lily everything she needed to know before Evelyn left the house earlier this morning," Charles explained to his wife. Evelyn was not only Dudley's nanny, but she had been Lily's and Petunia's when they were children. "Our daughters are sensible girls, Catherine. Lily would not have offered to take care of Dudley were she unfit to do so, much like Petunia would not have allowed her to. You mustn't worry so much, dear."

"Sensible? Hah!" replied Catherine, with a scoff. "I would hardly call it sensible to go gadding to goodness-knows-where about in the countryside on foot, without coach nor horse. That's why she has fallen ill in the first place."

"I really am sorry mother, so terribly sorry," piped up Lily from her comfortable spot in the armchair, because despite her joy at not having to spend the day with her boring host, pretending to enjoy herself when she'd rather be walking on hot coals, she really did hate to disappoint her parents. "I know how much you were looking forward to today. I feel simply dreadful about it."

Catherine looked down at her daughter with a frown, but the expression on her face softened as she took in Lily's flushed cheeks and runny nose, and she lowered herself to her knees before her.

"Oh Lily. Listen to me go on. I'm sure we can do something like this again," she said sweetly, taking her daughter's cheek in her hand. "Don't take any mind of your silly old mother, I was just excited."

"I really am sorry," Lily repeated softly, covering her mother's hand with her own. Catherine smiled at her, and she smiled back. In her own strange way, Catherine Evans really did want the best for her children, and Lily knew that in spite of their differing opinions, her mother really did love her more than anything. "When I do feel better, perhaps tomorrow, I could play the piano for you in the drawing room, if you like. For all of you," she added, looking up at her father. "Mr Chamberly too."

"Oh darling, that would be so lovely of you," her mother gushed, stroking Lily's hair. Nothing delighted Catherine more than hearing her daughter play the piano, and she had been harassing Lily to play for Chamberly ever since they had arrived in Brighton. Lily herself adored piano, but she had a streak of contrariness inside of her that made her rebel against the notion of playing for their host. "Spend today relaxing and recovering and I shall bring you back something lovely from town. Something delicious and scrumptious and made of chocolate, perhaps. How about it?"

Lily nodded, with one of her prettier smiles, and Catherine Evans kissed her daughter's clammy forehead as if she were the most precious treasure she possessed. Which, in a way, Lily was.

There were times, Lily reflected, when she really was quite fond of her mother.


"Who was that at the door, Moony?"

"One of the maids at the Chamberly household," said Remus nonchalantly, as he came back into the room where the other three Marauders were lolling, holding a stack of books in his arms that had not been there when he left. "Chamberly borrowed these from my father, and he's given most of the household staff a day off, but he asked one of his maids to return these first."

"How gracious of him," said Sirius dryly, who was lying, as he did every single day, on the chaise lounge with an arm thrown over his eyes; as if being as impossibly handsome as he was an exhausting burden for him to bear. "Allowing one maid to carry those heavy books all the way over to the house, and on foot, no less. He is a champion amongst men."

"He gave the entire staff a full day off?" said Peter curiously, who was sitting on a chair near the chaise lounge, happily tucking into some chocolate cake. "That's very strange. Did the maid mention why?"

"Yes, actually," said Remus, and here he threw a cautionary glance at James, who was sitting on his bed doing nothing in particular. This, of course, immediately caught James' attention.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" he asked Remus, looked up at him in confusion. Remus rolled his eyes in exasperation, and carried on with what he was saying.

"He and the Evans family are spending the day on an outing in town, apart from, well..."

"Apart from whom, I wonder?" Sirius snorted. "Could it be James' new lady friend, perchance?"

"Well, yes, apart from Miss Evans," Remus finished. "She's at home with a cold."

"She's staying in the house alone?" said James, trying and failing not to look too interested. Sirius snorted with laughter again, even though he couldn't see him. Remus sat down on the other end of the bed and sighed, wearily, as if this whole situation was already tiring him out. "There's nobody else there?"

"Well, Chamberly left one or two staff members at the house in case of an emergency, but she is otherwise by herself, yes," Remus explained, and hesitated for quite some time before he continued in his speech, looking most uncomfortable. "The maid spoke to her before she left the house and Lily did ask her to relay a message to you, but I'm disinclined to tell you what it is."

"Why not?" said James petulantly, sticking out his lower lip like a put-old child.

"I could hear you two flirting at dinner the other night," said Remus simply, apologetic as he always was when he felt he had to tell James off about something. James knew that he would, of course, pass on the message that Lily had asked the maid to deliver, but his conscience would only be clear if he could at least give James a sensible warning beforehand. Even though he knew that James was likely to ignore it.

"The entire table could feel the two of them flirting at dinner," said Peter cheerfully, wiping chocolate from the corners of his lips with the back of his hand.

"All except for Chamberly, of course," put in Sirius, with a short bark of a laugh. "He's completely self-obsessed and blinder than Prongs without his glasses."

"I'm not denying that she is a lovely girl, Prongs, and I can understand why you might feel drawn to her, but she is intended for Chamberly and she has said nothing thus far to insinuate that she doesn't intend to be engaged to him," Remus continued. "That isn't to say that I don't think you're more than a match for him, either, I just hope you'll be careful."

"I say ignore him, Prongs," offered Sirius, who still had not moved an inch since before Remus had left the room. "Fight Chamberly to the death, pitch him off the roof, and steal away with her in the night. Women love all of that stupid, romantic nonsense."

"She is very nice," said Peter, who had a penchant for missing the point of conversations. "I think you and she would make a very nice couple, although," he added, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I can't shake the feeling that I have met her somewhere before."

James watched this exchange with furrowed brows and a scowl on his face, and paid no heed to any of it. Well, perhaps a little to Sirius, but only because the idea of pitching Chamberly off the roof was so very appealing that James didn't see how such a suggestion could be ignored.

"I'd like to hear her message please, Remus," he said simply, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I appreciate the concern, but as she is only a girl. I'm not liable to let myself get my heart broken."

He gave Remus a rather stony glare and Remus had the good grace to look ashamed, although not entirely convinced by James' assurances. Sirius was still sniggering to himself on the lounger, and Peter was scratching his own head in confusion as he tried to wrack his memory.

"Oh, crickets!" he was whispering to himself. "I shall be driven clean mad until I remember where I've met her before!"

"Very well," said Remus, after a long pause. "Miss Evans advised Chamberly's maid to tell you that she sends you her regards; she very much enjoyed the book you loaned her and asks if it would be possible to borrow another."

James took in this message in silence, a strange feeling churning in his stomach. He wondered if it were possible that she had stayed home from town on purpose, knowing that the house would be empty, in the hopes that he would pop over for a call.

"That's all she said?" he asked Remus, just to be sure. "She sends her regards and would like another book?"

"That's all I was told, at any rate," said Remus.

"Hmm. I see," said James, as if this meant nothing particularly special to him, even as his heart started racing at the idea of going to Chamberly's house to see her. He got up from the bed and wandered idly towards the door, hands in his pockets, looking as inconspicuous as if he had just stepped out to get a bite to eat. "I think I'm going to go for a walk."


Almost as soon as her family and Mr Chamberly left the house did Lily whip out the potion she had been hiding beneath a cushion and down it in one gulp, effectively curing herself of the cold that had been entirely self-inflicted by yet another potion she had made several days before they had travelled to Brighton in case of emergencies such as dreadful family outings, the remains of which had been poured out of the window and were now working strange wonders of one of Chamberly's rose bushes.

The maid that Chamberly had ordered to return John Lupin's books to him had been due to leave the house just minutes after the family, and Lily had cornered her in order to pass a message to James Potter, something that would have aroused the maid's suspicions had Lily not been so convincing when it came to playing innocent. She had left nearly five minutes ago, which meant that she would probably arrive at Meadowbrook Lodge in about fifteen – perhaps longer if she were weighed down by the books. Lily had been sorely tempted to bewitch the books to make them as light as a feather, and it frustrated her greatly that she could not, for obvious reasons. The poor maid was frail, and carrying those books must have been such a trial for her.

All in all, it gave Lily about an hour to spare before anyone arrived at the house, that is, if James Potter were to take her innocuous comment in the way she had hoped him to take it, and came over to call. Lily was not so arrogant as to think he might have any great desire to see her, but certainly she believed he was arrogant enough to wish to further his own plan against Chamberly.

She walked back into the nursery and blew a kiss at her little nephew, who was lying in his crib, before sitting in front of the mirror and examining herself. In case Potter was coming, she needed to wash and make-up her face and do up her hair in preparation for his arrival. That left just enough time for her to play with the baby for a little while and be fresh for when the hideous cretin came to the house.

Unfortunately for Lily, that was exactly the moment that her nephew decided to start crying.


"He has gone over to the house, hasn't he?" said Remus, staring out of the window. James had been gone for nearly ten minutes and Remus would have bet his life that he had Apparated over to Chamberly's manor almost as soon as he was out of earshot.

"Yes, Moony," said Sirius, in his half-asleep state. "He has."

"He is completely out of his mind," Remus continued, for he could not help but feel concerned for his friend, and for the girl he was so freely attaching himself to. "Isn't he?"

"Yes, Moony," Sirius repeated, seeming not to care much either way. "He is."

"This is going to cause a big commotion sooner or later, isn't it?"

"Yes, Moony." Sirius yawned. "It is."

"And this will turn out badly for everyone involved." Remus was sure that James was going to come off the worst in this scenario. "Won't it?"

"Not necessarily," piped up Peter from the corner all of a sudden, his voice unusually high, and a little wobbly for some reason. The two boys looked at him in curiosity, Sirius even sat up from the lounger; the smallest Marauder was red in the face, and smiling most delightedly to himself.

"Why not necessarily?" said Sirius, trying not to look too curious. "I thought yes necessarily."

"Yes, Peter," Remus agreed, and raised an eyebrow at the expression on his friend's eager looking face. "Why not indeed?"

"Because," said Peter happily, practically bursting with excitement; he looked up at his friends and let out a giddy, silly little laugh. "I just remembered where I've met her!"


"Dudley, please," Lily pleaded, but it was no use, the baby had long since settled into a crying habit that his mother and father had as of yet been unable to break. "Please, Dudley, stop crying. Your aunt Lily is about to die of frustration, and if that happens, your grandmother will surely kill her stone dead. Please, darling, please."

Dudley had been sobbing wildly without a break for close to twenty minutes and Lily had been driven distracted trying to calm him down. Offerings of food had not satisfied him, she had checked his nappy, found nothing and changed him anyway, sung to him, danced, and made funny little noises with his little stuffed bears, but still the insufferable child had cried ever onwards. Lily was ready to take a flying leap out of the window and leave him to his own devices.

"Dudley," she hissed, as the baby began to scream even louder than before, at a volume that could probably have smashed windows and alarmed all bats and dogs within a hundred mile radius. Even the two staff members that Chamberly had left in the house – both of whom were men and utterly useless in such situations – had left the building in a hurry, citing a need to tend to the garden. "Dudley, you insufferable little urchin, you have convinced me beyond all conceivable measure that I shall never, ever have children."

She was at her wits end – her face was yet untouched and her hair had been left loose and was hanging down her back – aside from the pretty dress she had managed to swathe herself into before the baby had started to wail with any real vigour, she did not look fit to be seen. She hoped to God and all his angels that James Potter had not decided to come for a call because she most certainly would not be ready to greet him by the time he managed to walk over. Unless, of course, she killed the baby and then herself, which would at least give Potter something to talk about when he returned back to Meadowbrook Lodge – she had heard that discovering a dead body was a most interesting thing nowadays.

"Dudley," she begged her nephew one last time. "Dudley, please don't cry, I beg of you, and if you do stop I promise that I won't throw you off the roof like you so thoroughly deserve."

It didn't work, of course, the baby only cried louder than ever, and in her moment of desperation Lily was forced to do something that she had promised herself never to do in Chamberly's house, and indeed, something that her mother would have killed her for: she reached into her silken stockings and pulled out her wand.

"Right," she said, waving the wand threateningly above the baby's head. "I will find something to keep you quiet or I do not deserve to be a witch, do you understand me? Of course you don't, you're a baby. I am talking to a baby like I would talk to an adult. Because I am mad, Dudley Dursley, utterly mad, and because nobody else in this bloody house -" It was a testament to how irked Lily was, for she absolutely never swore, it was a detestable thing to do. "- treats me like an adult, so I may as well speak to the one person whom I suppose is considered to be on my level, mayn't I?"

The baby merely continued to scream and cry and generally work her up into near heart attack.

"I hate children," she said to nobody in particular.

Another five minutes were spent thinking of inventing ways to cheer up the baby, including conjured bubbles, flower petals, colourful beams of light and silly little puffs of coloured smoke. Nothing had any effect on baby, and Lily was just about to abandon all hope and burst into tears when she remembered in the nick of time that Dudley had fallen foul of colic, and all it would take to make him stop crying was a very simple calming charm.

"Aequus," she muttered, pointing her wand at Dudley's tummy with grimy resignation, for if this did not work then nothing ever would. To her absolutely shock and delight, not only did the baby stop crying, but he smiled up at her as if he had not just spent the past half hour screaming the house down, and began to play with his little toes, perfectly at ease with himself and his surroundings.

"Oh, thank God," Lily sighed in relief, collapsing against the edge of the crib and resting her head against her arms. "Oh, I can hear again, I can hear again, Merlin." She never wanted to move from that spot again. "I am never having children, never."

It was at that moment, and that moment precisely, that she heard a movement from somewhere behind her back.

She froze against the crib like a stone statue, and her heart clenched in fear. For several seconds, she listened breathlessly, hoping beyond hope that what she had just heard was a figment of her imagination, and that she had actually been driven demented by the baby's wailing, but it was not to be, for she heard somebody step into the room, and she was sure beyond all reasonable doubt that her secret had been discovered.

She didn't think twice; her wand was still in her hand. Within a second she had whipped around and pointed her wand in the direction of the door, shouting the incantation before she even had a chance to register who exactly it was who had happened upon her.

"Obliviate!"

Her view of the perpetrator was obscured by the dazzling flash of blue light that shot towards him or her and she felt relief fill her insides for a moment so brief that it could not have existed, for her spell was immediately and inexplicably deflected, shot to the left and hit the mirror she had only just been examining itself in; it shattered, and when the blinding light was gone she was left dumbfounded and staring at none other than James Potter, who was also holding a wand, and looking at her in very much the same way.