Disclaimer: Canon characters, place names, spells, and magical objects belong to JK Rowling.

Author's Note: Minor revisions made 12/2009. The character of Myra Spring was sparked by Geraldine Harris' YA fantasy series, The Seven Citadels, and the sorceress Tebreega. This series is out of print, but if you can find it in your local library, I highly recommend it.

Incendio

Within the spelled rowans lay Myra Spring's cottage, neat and snug in the chilly autumn air. Lily was surprised at how much she could see from the leaded-glass windows. A plump hare nibbled desultorily at some withered berries, then hopped away, unconcerned. Lily could see where she had fallen the night before, the marks of her struggle traced through the deep carpet of pine needles.

"Shall I go out and sweep those pine needles?"

Myra Spring was grey and streamlined, sleek-bodied, reminding Lily of a nuthatch. Birdlike, she darted around the old-fashioned kitchen, preparing a willow-bark infusion. She grated the bark with a sharp knife, dropping the curls one by one into steaming water. "You shouldn't be doing anything at all. You're recuperating, and a guest in my home."

"I'm worried someone will come along and see the footprints."

"We have Muggle hunters up here often enough. They'll come up and cover the tracks for us. You'll see." Myra placed the cup down before her. "Don't drink it right away. Let it steep. I'll tell you when it's ready. In the meantime," she said, "Have a drink of water and some toast. My own homemade sourdough."

Lily nodded her thanks. She spread a piece of toast thinly with apple butter and took a bite. After the horrors of Castle Lestrange, plain food, honestly served, filled more than her stomach.

"How long have you lived up here?"

"Would you mind telling me the year? I don't keep a calendar."

"It's November second, 1981." Only the second morning since James' death? Lily clenched her fingernails into the palm of her hand. She had lived a thousand lives since leaving Godric's Hollow.

"Forty-five years, then. This was my teacher's house once. I didn't go to Hogwarts. Don't look so shocked, child, not everybody needs to. Didn't send my daughter, either. Said she didn't want to go." Myra stirred a bubbling pot at the back of the stove, and replaced the cast-iron lid. "I came here instead. I learned how to grow anything, how to find the wildest plants in every corner of the wood... to make them strong, to help them grow."

The older woman touched an aloe plant on the windowsill. The plant twined its leaves around her fingers in a verdant caress. Lily stared at her. "These desert plants were my teacher's. I found them dense and difficult, so I went to America. I studied cactus first, then the other succulents. I went on to the giant redwoods in California. Hard to leave there. Marvelous."

"Do you take students often?"

"No, not anymore. Severus was my first in twenty years." Myra tipped her head to one side and smiled. "A potioneer, but I like to think I made an herbalist out of him. Hard to get him to buckle down. Always wanting to boil and pickle, not so much weed and water."

"Thank you for last night. You saved all our lives."

"We were up very late with that young man of yours, Melora and I. He led us quite a chase; I almost thought he wanted to die. He seemed very intent on it at the time."

Lily wanted to object to Myra's casual assignment. A door opened, and Melora brought Harry out of the smallest bedroom. The pretty teenager wore her strawberry-blonde hair in a long braid. Harry tugged at it with one hand as he waved to his mother. Lily waved back.

"Mum, I'm taking Harry outdoors to play. He needs some fresh air."

"Wrap him up warm," Myra cautioned. Melora rolled her eyes and brandished a child-sized jumper with purple and olive stripes. The heavy oak door closed behind them. Lily could just make out Harry's happy laughter as he ran around the garden. Myra settled in the hand-hewn chair across the table, and generously smeared her own toast with apple butter. "If you're ever at loose ends, my dear, I recommend playing the wood nymph." Myra's blue eyes took on a dreamy cast. "I made a Muggle gentleman in Scotland very, very happy. I do wonder whatever happened to him... Melora's father, that is."

Lily choked on a piece of toast, but managed to rinse it down with cold mountain water. Myra continued.

"Melora's a half-blood, but she doesn't know it. It doesn't matter a bit. Severus was always so ashamed of his Muggle father: can't say I blame the poor boy. From what I've heard, Tobias Snape was a monster. Go ahead, drink that tea, I dare say it's ready."

Lily nodded over her steaming willow bark infusion, and took a cautious sip. It tasted like the time her mother had washed her mouth out with soap. Slowly, it loosened the aches in her bones and muscles.

"I've never had the Cruciatus curse put on me before. It still hurts, and Severus was as gentle as he could possibly have been." Lily trembled. She remembered being Stunned on the cold, stone floor, when she thought he had turned on her.

"It feels like a sunburn?" Myra turned a clinical squint on the back of Lily's hand. "I'll get you some aloe juice to use in your bath." Myra levered her plump body out of the chair and took a green pottery flask from a high cupboard.

"Even my scalp hurts, and the soles of my feet. I've never had a real sunburn that hurt so much. I always wore a hat when I was a little girl."

"I can tell your mother took good care of you, just from watching you with Harry."

Lily pressed her hand to the bridge of her nose. "Do you really think so?"

"My dear child, nobody could doubt that Harry has a good mother and a good father."

"Severus isn't his father," whispered Lily.

Myra laughed again. "I knew that the moment I laid eyes on him yesterday. Severus could barely stand to hold that baby, he was so afraid something would come off on him."

Lily's answering laughter mingled freely with tears. The line between joy and sorrow wavered like sand brushed back and forth by lapping waves.

"I heard all about you, Lily Evans," said Myra, holding up a work-hardened hand. "You married James Potter?"

Lily sniffled in assent. She stared out the small, diamond-paned kitchen window, watching Harry explore the russet garden. Melora followed, attentive and indulgent. "How is Severus?"

"We've kept him asleep, he's comfortable for now. I believe we healed the cursed wounds. You performed quite a feat last night, getting away from You-Know-Who, and managing to get poor Severus back here in one piece."

"I almost Splinched the both of us, coming out of the Tube station."

"The Tube station?" Myra chuckled.

"Severus told me where their Portkeys were kept, and that's how we escaped. I've still got one. Oh, my God! I'd better hide that ball before Harry plays with it, and sends himself heaven knows where!" Lily leapt up from the table. All her muscles screamed in protest. Myra caught her by the arms. Dizzy once more with pain, Lily slumped back into her chair.

"Sit down! I'll take care of the rogue Portkey, wherever it is."

"Probably right there on the table by the door."

"Yes, you're right. Amazing, how mothers develop the ability to catalog the location of every bit and bob in the house." Myra tucked the rubber ball into a high cabinet and made a great show of locking the door. "There. If it goes off, it'll just disappear?"

"Nobody can trace a Portkey. At least, I don't think so... nobody can officially trace a Portkey. Since this one belonged to Rodolphus Lestrange, I doubt it's in any Ministry records. Do you think we should destroy it?"

"Best wait for our friend to awaken. You know Severus. It's likely he has an excessively clever plan in mind." Myra refilled Lily's cup. "There, dear. That's all the willow bark infusion I can give you today. Any more, and you might have loose stools."

Lily gulped back the tea too quickly and burned her tongue. Of course, she should have remembered that from Herbology and Potions. They were tested frequently on the side effects of their preparations; Professor Slughorn was particularly conscientious.

"Why don't we fill the bath before Melora brings the baby inside?" Lily cast an anxious glance toward the window. "Come, now. Melora's as steady as, what's that wonderful book about the baby-sitting witch? Flies with an umbrella?"

Lily followed Myra into the bathroom, where an old claw-footed tub stood empty and shining. "I wouldn't think you'd know many Muggle stories."

Myra lifted the heavy kettle as if it were weightless and poured the steaming water into the tub. "What else is there to do in the winter evenings, if you haven't got a wireless? The Muggle branch library is right down in the village, at the foot of the mountain. I read to Melora for an hour every day when she was a little girl. You do run out of Wizarding children's books quite rapidly. There just aren't as many choices. Little witches don't read as much as Muggle girls, have you noticed that?"

"I was never around very many wizard children before I went away to school. I'm Muggle-born."

"Yes, I remember. Severus was your neighbor when you were growing up." Myra shook her head. "He shared some rather unkind stories about your older sister."

"Severus and Petunia weren't very friendly." Lily began loosening the cuffs and placket of the long, flower-sprigged shirt dress she had borrowed from Melora. Myra brought yet another kettle of steaming water. "Why not just multiply the water, or heat it after it's in the tub?"

"Severus didn't tell you? Well, I suppose he'd hardly have had the chance. We don't use magic for everyday things, only to serve our calling, or to save a life. Melora argues with me all the time, but she's beginning to see reason.

"The more one uses it for mundane things, magic is diluted. Natural, physical skills go atrophied. Witch, wizard, or Muggle, the human body is magic in itself. All our power comes from the same source, whether it's channeled through a wand, or through my muscles, like so." Myra lifted the heavy kettle once more. Steam swirled around her face, plunging her into obscurity.

Lily stared after the woods witch, seeing her, for the first time, as an outsider. "Why do you believe that?"

"Magic is like the honeybee's sting. It is a gift from Mother Earth, Lily, but it comes at a dear price. Never forget, when the bee stings, she dies."

"So, when Severus lived with you..."

"Lord, yes. Magic is for growing plants and herbs, for making potions, for healing spells. It is not for scrubbing the loo." Lily couldn't help laughing. "Some wizards do get uppity. They say that manual labor puts them on a level with Muggles, but I think you understand, dear. There's only one level for us all."

Lily agreed. Having magic didn't make you any better, or any happier, than Muggles, it merely gave you a different set of tools. What difference did it make, really, whether you used a Scouring Spell, an automatic dishwasher, or a wooden pail and a cake of soap? There was no moral high ground; the dishes were clean. Lily knew that James had never understood, and neither did Severus.

"This tub is as full as it can be. Pour in that aloe juice. We'll give it a stir." Lily uncorked the beautiful little pottery flask, and used a wooden paddle to swirl the water around. "Enjoy yourself, and call me if you have any trouble. Your body has been through a lot."

Lily waited until Myra closed the bathroom door. She hung the dress carefully on a wooden, leaf-shaped hook behind the door. She dipped one toe into the water, and found it the perfect temperature: steaming gently, but not hot enough to shock her tired muscles. The aloe gave a soft, supple feel to the water. She hadn't had a real bath since Halloween morning, back in her own home in Godric's Hollow. Later, she would have to give Harry a good soak and scrub. Even his hair was beginning to stink. What a sweet relief it was to be with Harry again.

Lily relaxed as long as she could. She thought, again, of the year Severus had spent in this house. Lonely and heartsick, pouring out his heart to Myra Spring, and, judging by the affection she bore him, treating the charismatic witch as the mother he never really had.

Just before Easter of their final year at Hogwarts, Eileen Prince died of liver failure. They were all studying for examinations when the word came. Lily remembered trying to corner Severus in the library, to give him some kind of comfort. Severus' cold stare drove her away. Hatred, she could have understood: jealousy, she expected. The boy she once knew so well seemed emptied from within, hollowed out.

That was 1978, the year before she and James were married, when she, herself, was completely happy and fulfilled. Even the growing threat of Voldemort hadn't yet dampened their spirits. Lily remembered James waking up beside her, completely hung over, on the morning after Petunia's wedding. James had been in fine form. He only just missed being tossed into Azkaban for violating the Statute of Secrecy. He hadn't been able to resist teasing the Dursleys. Aided by several glasses of champagne, Lily had given herself a stomachache laughing.

Lily rested her temple against the cold porcelain of the bath. Her auburn hair trailed, serpentine, into the water. Tears welled up again, and she let them flow.

Myra knocked urgently at the door. "Lily? He's awake. He's asking for you."

Lily tugged quickly at the old-fashioned chain. The bath water swirled slowly downward. She scrubbed herself dry with a scratchy towel and tossed it onto the floor. Hurrying, she missed half the buttons on the dress, and she was still buttoning when she rushed into the largest bedroom.

Severus lay diagonally across the small bed, too tall to lay straight. Half-delirious, his fevered gaze shone far brighter than usual. A cooling mug sat on the bedside table, emitting astringent steam. Lily knelt beside him, taking his large, white hand in both of hers. "Thank God," she whispered.

"There's an entity you don't hear a witch speak of very often."

Lily smiled. "I can't believe you're alive."

His fingers twitched in her hand, no more than a flutter. "Where are we?"

"Myra Spring's."

"And the boy?"

"Outside, playing with Melora. Her new favorite toy, apparently."

Severus' involuntary laugh turned into a choke. Lily quickly helped him reach the mug at his bedside. His lips curled with distaste as he swallowed. "This must be Myra's house. No one else brews such offensive infusions."

"Shut up, Severus, and be grateful you're alive." The woods witch entered, carrying a blue-glazed bowl and a face cloth. "Your leg is a ruddy mess. How many times did they use the Cruciatus curse on you?"

Severus raised his hazy stare to Lily's face, beseeching. "He's tired. We should go."

Myra set the blue bowl on a three-legged milking stool, and placed the face cloth in Lily's hand. "He'll rest easier if you bathe his forehead." Lily sniffed at the bowl. Myra smiled, enigmatic. "It's just water. I'll be back."

Gingerly, Lily wet the cloth. The squeezing motion burned the back of her hand, pulling the overly sensitive skin taut over her knuckles. "I hurt you," said Severus quietly.

The face cloth touched his forehead, cool and damp, like a dew-covered leaf. "It's all right. Better you than them."

"It's not. I never wanted to hurt you."

Lily rinsed the cloth and squeezed it out once more. "I know. It was a good idea, though. It let us get away."

"I should never have done it. All I heard in my dreams was your voice... screaming." His voice rose, and his breathing came harder. Lily lay her hand tentatively at the base of his throat. The quick pulse hammered against her fingers.

"Calm down," she said with alarm. "I'm going to have Myra sedate you again." Lily started to rise to call for the woods witch, but Severus' hand clasped hers more tightly than she thought possible. "Let go of me!"

"Forgive me."

"Of course I forgive you, now let me go!" Severus abruptly released her. Lily stumbled, bumping into the milking stool. Water sloshed all over the floor. Lily moved to mop up the spill. With the grinding ache in her legs and back, she couldn't bend down far enough. "Myra," she called thinly. "Help!"

"I shouldn't have let you do so much. Go and lie down. The walking wounded are the worst patients," Myra clucked. "Severus, don't be a menace. Lily saved your life."

Lily tried to speak to him, but Severus turned away from the open door and closed his eyes. Lily could only touch the back of his hand before she went back to her own bed.

As Lily left the room, the memory of her feather-light touch made Severus burn with more than a fever. Better to have died to save her than to endure such suffering. Separated from her by the memory of that ignorant braggart, Potter, and by the existence of the child, his little duplicate. Even Dumbledore had not been so cruel. Severus gulped the draught too quickly and fell into sleep once more.