Friday, October 14, 1977

Lily always wondered how other people spoke to Professor Minerva McGonagall, especially in this one-on-one meeting nonsense. But also, in general, in the classrooms, or in House Council, or even when they were just passing by in the hallway. Did they say hello, or wave, or smile? In Career Advice, did others nod and agree readily with what McGonagall suggested (aka, ordered)?

She wondered, because she usually treated the professor with an odd mixture of deference and light banter. She was more deferent when it was just the two of them (McGonagall's laser of intimidation and concentration – something about her eyebrows - was frightening when focused on just one person), but she bantered more in class (because that same laser panned out and reduced in intensity when there were multiple targets), and Lily liked to banter a lot.

Today, there was most definitely a great deal of deference involved. Ten minutes ago, she had handed in the first part of her first draft (she had only just started being productive and serious, and Rome wasn't built in a day, right?) to her head of house. And now she was sitting here, silent, watching McGonagall purse her lips every now and again. She was also listening to the occasional "hem" or "haw" that issued out of the older woman's mouth and came to rest on the heavy wooden desk. They were neither positive nor negative sounds, and so Lily just wasn't sure what McGonagall was thinking. Inscrutably omniscient, she was.

Finally, as she stared down at her hands, twisting them nervously in her lap, she heard a terse, quiet, "Miss Evans."

"Hmm?" Lily bit her lip, steeling herself for the worst, the inevitable criticism. What was she thinking?

The Transfiguration professor put the sheaf of parchment onto the desk and slid her hands against the sides to mold them into a nice, neat pile. McGonagall was all about the orderliness of things. "Well." She paused, her eyes large and dark behind the rims of her spectacles, her hair neatly pinned up into a bun, not one strand out of place. Lily wondered how old she was, then wondered why she was thinking about that when she should be focusing on what McGonagall had to say. With some effort, she pulled her hands apart and let them rest in her lap.

Bugger. Now her left knee was jiggling and she stared at it, trying to order it to stop. Was she really so nervous? It was just a stupid application.

"This is a good start."

Lily blinked, those five words slowly sinking into her brain. Surely that hadn't come out of McGonagall's mouth. That was…well, almost akin to praise, wasn't it? "Sorry, come again?" So much for deference; she immediately regretted her tone, waiting for her professor to narrow her eyes.

But she didn't. McGonagall repeated herself, and continued, paging through the sheets, as Lily continued to blink and sit very still, back rigid. "Granted, you still have a great deal to finish – you do realize that the Auror application is extensive? – but this is a good beginning."

"Oh," Lily said finally, weakly. "Thank you." A bubble of hysterical laughter fought to rise up her throat, but she quelled it. Where was the criticism? The scolding? It was what she habitually expected.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "The first couple of pages are fine, though you might want to elaborate further on your seventh-year project, since it appears to be rather complicated. However, on page four, you seem to be missing something."

Lily tried to think. Page four, page four, what the fuck was on that page? "Erm…"

"Your activities outside of academia, Miss Evans," McGonagall clarified. Here was the inevitable eyebrow raise. "You seem to be lacking." With a flick of her bony wrist, the sheet in question was pulled out of the stack and turned around so that Lily could read it right side up. McGonagall crossed her arms.

Lily spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness, her mind darting along convoluted tunnels and pathways. What had she written down? There'd just been so much of it, and James and his gentle reminders about the blasted thing all week had grated on her nerves a little bit.

"Ms. Evans, I do believe that you participate in things besides your studies, do you not?" Lily shrugged, and realized immediately afterwards that she might be appearing insolent. Oh well. "According to your teachers, you are actively involved in the Charms Club and you have been, of course, a prefect for two years." McGonagall peered sternly down at Lily, and the seventeen-year-old girl tried not to cower under that laser beam. Where had the woman learned such a skill? Lily wished she had it. "You left this question blank, and yet you are also our current Head Girl, which I hope you realize is an achievement in and of itself, despite the work involved. Did you forget?" Her tone made that last word sound as if it was the worst sin that Lily could ever have committed.

Lily leaned forward and scanned the sheet, mouthing the words as she read, List any and all extracurricular activities. Oh. That question. "I didn't really feel like I've done much."

If possible, McGonagall's left eyebrow would have shot past her hairline. As such, despite said receding hairline, the sheer impossibility of that meant that her eyebrow, impeccably plucked into shape, rose a good three centimeters higher than normal. Which was still frightening. "Ms. Evans, you never fail to amaze me," she said sharply. "Listen to me."

Lily was all ears.

"This is an application. A panel of Aurors will read it, and they will make a decision. About you." Why was the blasted woman stressing so many words? McGonagall's eyes were sharp, focused; Lily cowered under the intensity of her laser-beam gaze. "Not about anyone else. And they need to know everything. As such, you need to stop being modest and start bragging."

"B-but –"

"No objections," McGonagall said firmly, and Lily clammed up. With another sigh, the woman deftly slid Lily's page four into its rightful place in the stack (Lily watched and said nothing, wondering if this concluded their meeting). Then the professor folded her arms again and leaned back in her large leather chair. "So. You will write all of your achievements down. I also understand that you have been tutoring?"

"Well, it's required of the Head Girl." Lily couldn't help but let the puzzlement show on her face. "Every Monday, with one of the prefects." In fact, she had a group of fourth years to see next Monday.

Was that – was that an eye roll? Was McGonagall rolling her eyes at Lily? Merlin, she must be exasperated, to resort to such measures. They'd ventured far beyond the lands of the eyebrow raises. "Besides the requirements, though I know that you often go over the time limits." Well, Lily enjoyed explaining things to other students. It was something she was good at. "Professor Thorn" – who was Professor Thorn? Lily didn't think she'd ever had him – "mentioned the other day" – Merlin! Did all their professors just sit around and gossip? - that you have been helping Miss Stewart with her term project."

Miss Stewart? Did she even know a – oh. Bugger. They were talking about Jennica. The little third year with the pigtails and a Muggle Studies project. Why, just last Sunday, Lily had sat down with Jennica and gone over her essay for a couple of hours, revising and rewriting the thing until Jennica had gotten everything down pat. Therefore, using her brilliant deduction skills, Lily figured that Professor Thorn must be the Professor of Muggle Studies. Which was probably why she didn't know the man. Woman. Whatever. "Not that much help," she muttered, willing her hands to stop twisting and lay flat on her lap again. "She just asked me out of nowhere."

Hmm. Lily seemed to be trying McGonagall's patience, because her next sigh seemed to be rather frustrated. And world-weary. "Very well, so it seems like nothing to you. Nevertheless, I expect to see that written down somewhere in this stack for our next meeting, as it will help you to stand out." McGonagall was stern. "Which is important." Lily gulped. "Is that clear?"

Lily nodded meekly, feeling the tip of her ponytail swish against the back of her neck. Right. Since her next meeting was two weeks from now, she had plenty of time – it didn't seem like much, yeah?

"…and I also expect to see the next four pages. Completed," McGonagall was saying. Damn. But that seemed to be the end of this hellish business…for today, anyway. Lily was halfway out of her chair when she heard, "Also, don't forget about your interview."

"Sorry, what?" She sat back down, her bag falling to the ground with a resigned thwap! "Interview?"

Lily would've sworn up and down that a thin-lipped smile appeared on McGonagall's face for just a split-second. "Your interview. With Alastor Moody."

"The head of the department?" She squeaked, suddenly finding it very difficult to speak.

McGonagall nodded slowly, as if she were talking to a dimwit (which, in a sense, she was). "In February. All prospective applicants have interviews. This is discussed on page fourteen, but I would infer from your reaction that you have not read that far." She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. "Very well. Have a good weekend, Miss Evans." Ah, the eternal disappointment.

Lily Evans never failed to disappoint.

She blinked, then realized that she'd been dismissed. Oh. "Erm…bye, Professor." As fast as she could, Lily clumsily tumbled out of her chair and out of the room entirely. Since she was hurriedly securing the flap of her bag as she crossed the threshold of McGonagall's office, she missed the step, and, therefore, practically fell onto someone. "Umph! Sorry!"

"Whoa!" Of course, with her luck, it was Sirius Black who caught her. Sirius Black, who didn't like her, and was staring down her with something akin to bemused irritation. "Watch it, Evans."

She felt herself blush brightly as he steadied her. As she looked up into his cool grey eyes, she saw James and Isabella out of the corner of her eye. Bugger. She would make a fool out of herself in front of a big audience. "Sorry," she muttered. He nodded, his face implacable, and swept past her into McGonagall's office. She watched him go, feeling rather unsettled. He was so aristocratic, and poised, and impossible to deal with.

"Don't roll your eyes, Lily." Isabella stepped forward and adjusted the other girl's robes, clucking her tongue. "It's not very becoming."

"What are you even doing here?" She let Isabella work her magic. "It's a Friday night; shouldn't you be out with a bloke or something? Or in the dormitory?" James was hovering (not literally) behind Isabella, and Lily smiled at him, feeling rewarded when he grinned back.

"I had plans with Emmy tonight, but now you and I can't go into the dorm room because she and Fiona are fighting again," Isabella informed her, a faint trace of amusement in her eyes. As always, she was elegant and dignified, her long black hair pinned up into an elaborate hairstyle.

Lily sighed. Two and a half months into school, and the two were on their third? fourth? big fight. Isabella had always been content to let them work it out amongst themselves, but Lily always felt that they needed help sorting it out. It was always awful when their friends didn't get along. "I'll handle it later."

"It's pretty bad," Isabella warned. "I'm not even sure what their problem is, but I think it started at lunch, since they weren't talking during Herbology." They probably were fighting over nothing, as usual. Last time, it had been about the fact that Emmy had forgotten to copy Charms notes for Fiona when Fiona was in the Hospital Wing. Fiona claimed that Emmeline had been unnaturally distracted by her bloke and that she was acting like a skirt, while Emmeline insisted that Fiona had never asked her to take notes in the first place (Lily was never the assigned notetaker when someone was absent; she had miserable handwriting). Isabella was still talking, oblivious to Lily's opinions. "Hey, where were you at lunch, anyway?"

She wrinkled her brow, trying to remember. "Studying. I forgot about a Transfiguration exam."

James spoke up, cutting into the girls' conversation. "How was your meeting, Lily?" It was late, and so his tie was loose, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. There were dark shadows underneath his eyes; he looked exhausted.

She shrugged. "I guess I'm making progress. Hey!" She put a hand on her hip. "Did you know that we have to have interviews?"

He nodded complacently, his hair falling into his face. "Of course. It's in the application."

"You never mentioned that!" She tried to look appalled but secretly she was just happy to speak to him – she hadn't really seen him lately. Or his friends, for that matter. Were they up to something? Well, if so, she was sure to find out eventually.

He cocked an eyebrow. "You didn't read the application."

"Of course not!" She turned to Isabella, her stomach growling. "Is dinner still open? I'm starving!"

"Yeah, but I already ate, sorry." The other girl really did look apologetic. "I was just on my way over to see Laurel before I ran into this one" – she gestured at James – "and Black; I think Laurel wanted to play some chess."

"Laurel…" Lily scrunched up her nose in thought. "Leighton? In Ravenclaw?" She hadn't know that they were friends. Isabella inclined her head. "Okay, fine." She glanced at the tall, lanky boy, who was staring off into space. "James, you coming?"

"Hmm?" He blinked slowly, his long lashes bobbing up and down. Had he not gotten enough sleep? Normally, his reflexes were much faster. "Oh, um, sure. Sounds good. See you later, Marquez."

Isabella gave a slight wave to both of them and began to walk away. Lily and James watched as she went to leave, then stopped and turned back. "Wait, I almost forgot. This came for you while you were with McGonagall." She handed the redhead a thin envelope before she left for good.

"Hmm, let's go, shall we?" The pair of them started walking in the opposite direction of Isabella, their footsteps loud in the otherwise empty corridor. Lily assumed that most people were already at dinner, or in their common rooms. It was a Friday evening, after all. "So, what is that?" James nudged her, staring down at the letter with interest.

"I dunno." The front of it read simply: Lily. Damnit; it looked aggravatingly familiar. She flipped it over and slid a finger under the flap, opening it swiftly. "Oh, it's nothing." As she moved to slip the scrap of parchment into the pocket of her robes, he snatched it from her. "Oy! Give that back!"

"'Dear Lily,'" he read, that glint in his hazel eyes back. "'Just wanted to say that I'll be passing through Hogsmeade next weekend, and Nancy told me that it's also a Hogsmeade weekend for Hogwarts students.'" She attempted to snatch the letter back, but he held it just out of her grasp. A flicker of remembrance, of what had happened last time James had been around one of these letters, flashed into her mind.

"Oh, c'mon James. Be a gentleman and hand it over!" she pleaded, giggling a little bit. They passed a handful of students, ignoring the looks that were thrown their way.

"Sorry, no morals." He kept reading and laughing, keeping the parchment away from her fingers. "'Could we have tea? Let me know.'" Abruptly, his voice changed, becoming serious. "'Love, Thomas.'" She looked up to see that his grin had vanished, and she ducked her head back down. They walked momentarily in a tense silence, Lily staring at the floor, wondering what he was thinking. Was he upset? But he didn't have any right to be, not really. She and James were friends, and that was all.

His voice broke into her thoughts. "So…Thomas is still writing to you." He sounded careful, forcibly light. "And he still loves you." Pause. "I…I thought you two broke up."

She looked at her hands. They were small, she thought, and her nails needed trimming. "We are," she said finally. "It's complicated."

"Want to talk about it?" His eyes were unreadable. She wondered what was going through his mind.

She gave him a one-shouldered shrug. "He wanted to be friends, and he claims he still likes me a lot. He knows that I don't like him, though." She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear as she said, "I think, anyway."

"But he's still writing. Bit of a persistent bloke."

She forced herself to be flippant, to keep the tone of their conversation light. "I'm hoping he'll just give up eventually." They were at the entrance of the Great Hall, and the sounds of happy, well-fed children filtered through the doors. "There's only so long a bloke can chase after a girl, right?" She didn't wait for him to answer; with a faint sigh, she yanked Thomas' letter away from James' unresisting fingers as she hurried into the hall, heading towards the Gryffindor table.

Hopefully, there was pie for dessert.

Saturday, October 15, 1977

"Lily?" Fiona came out of the bathroom in a dark blue towel, her hair sopping wet and dripping everywhere. "What's wrong?"

Hmm, her own hair was everywhere too. She ran a hand over it, pulling her hair away from her face. Her movement caused the bed to shake a little, and she readjusted her seated position, her legs dangling off the ground. "It's nothing, really."

"Oh, Lily." Fiona sat down on Lily's bed and patted her hand comfortingly. "You can't lie to me. What happened?" Out of all of their friends, Fiona was the one with a preternatural gift for knowing when people lied. Especially Lily.

"It's nothing!" she insisted. She realized that she and Fee were rather sorry excuses for seventh years; what had happened to their poise, their confidence, or their popularity? Instead, the two of them were sitting on a bed in their dormitory room, completely alone. Isabella was most likely in the Astronomy Tower with Edgar Bones (she and Fee were still in a fight that was apparently about nothing) and Emmeline was in the Owlery, sending a letter to whichever Prewett brother it was that she was seeing.

"Oh, give me that!" Why did everyone insist on stealing her letters from her? What happened to privacy? Fiona attempted to seize the parchment, but Lily was quick on the uptake this time around and sat on the letter. Hah. Success!

"All right," Lily relented. She looked down at her coverlet, her fingers tracing the design of rearing lions, embroidered in the color of red wine. They'd had the same bedding when they were first years. That was what she loved about Hogwarts, of course; the immutable ways of the castle that were just endlessly comforting. "It's from my mother."

"Bad news from home?" Fiona leaned out over the floor and wrung her hair out, the water dripping in beads from the tips of her hair to the plush carpeting. It had gotten long since she'd last cut it over the summer; it was almost halfway down her back now.

"Make sure you put a Drying Charm on the floor when you're finished," Lily commented absently, handing the other girl a hairbrush. With caution, she pulled the crumpled letter out from under her arse and showed it to Fiona. "Petunia's engaged."

"Oh? To who?" The blonde girl walked over to her own bed and flipped open her trunk, rummaging to find clean clothes. "Hey, have you seen my pyjamas?"

Lily tilted her head. "I think Emmy stole them because Isabella hid Emmy's under my bed. I have an extra pair in my trunk." She nodded towards the foot of her bed. "Go ahead. And apparently it's some bloke called Vernon." She frowned.

"Thanks. They might be a little short, though. I'm a bit taller than you." Fiona started rummaging around in Lily's trunk, a dark and strange storage space that was decidedly messier than Fiona's clean and organized trunk. "And wasn't she seeing umm…Mitchell? Back in July?" She pulled out a pair of blue flannel pants and a spaghetti strap shirt. "Thanks, love. And why did Isabella hide Emmy's PJs?"

"I think Emmy stole a shirt. Or something." She folded up the letter. "And I think it was Mitchell, but maybe it was Vernon. I don't know." Lily rolled onto her stomach and propped her chin onto her hand. "Why wouldn't she tell me?" she asked. The real question was, why didn't she and Petunia get along?

"When was the last time she wrote to you, anyway?" Fiona pointed her wand at the cuffs of her pants, magically lengthening them.

"I dunno." But she did. It had been fifth year, when Fiona had screwed up a midnight brew of Pepperup Potion and accidentally dissolved all of the bones down Lily's left side (Gryffindor had lost major points for that debacle). Lily had been forced to go to St. Mungo's, and Dumbledore had even brought in her parents. Okay, so Petunia hadn't come, but she had written a card.

"So, when's the wedding?" Fiona leaned into the mirror. "Do you think my nose is too big?"

"What? No, of course not." Lily rolled her eyes, then looked at the letter again. But she'd already read it, and reread it, and read it a third time too. She'd practically memorized it, all of the familiar words in her mother's familiar handwriting. "Petunia and Vernon haven't set a date, but they're thinking…sometime in the spring." She hung her head off the bed and stared at the damp spot that Fiona had forgotten to charm dry. "Wait; that means I can't be there, because we've got exams. That's so…so… mpf!" She was having difficulty finding words for it. Petunia was petty, sure, but she'd never been so actively cruel before.

"Oh, Lily…" The other girl sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Lily's hair. "Your parents won't let her do that, right?"

"I don't know." Lily blew a strand of hair out of her face. "I mean, I used to know them, but now? It is her wedding, after all. It's her day."

"I wouldn't worry about it, love. Everything will work out." She sounded calm and reassuring. Maybe Fee was right. Maybe Petunia really would come to her senses.

Doubtful. "It's just…" She craned her neck to look up at Fiona. "I know that we don't get along, and that she calls me a freak, and everything, but I didn't think that she was so serious about it all! It's just magic, right?" With a flick of her wand, she charmed the carpet dry. "It's nothing terrible, and while it's not always harmless…"

"Some people just don't understand."

"I thought that we'd make up eventually, you know?" She turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. "Like…ten years from now or something. But apparently not."

"It's just a wedding, isn't it?" Fiona swung her legs onto the bed and then promptly laid down next to Lily. "I mean, most wizards aren't even bothering with the big ceremony anymore, what with…things the way they are."

"You don't get it." She sighed. "If it were me, it wouldn't be a big deal or anything, but since it's Tuney…when we were little, she used to plan her dream wedding. She was the bride, and I was the ring bearer. Or the flower girl." She thought for a moment. "Or the wedding planner."

"Who was the groom?" Of course Fiona asked that.

She laughed and admitted, "Our dog." Then she sobered up. "But basically, for Petunia, her wedding is the most important day of her entire life. And she clearly doesn't want me to be a part of it, so…" She drifted into silence, and they stared up into nothing together. Lily was grateful that Fiona didn't try to say anything that would be meaningless comfort.

She didn't know how long they stayed like that, on their backs, faces tilted up, but eventually Fiona's hand somehow found its way into her own, and Lily realized that she had tears in her eyes. That was when it hit her, how much this truly meant. She'd always thought that this feud meant more to Petunia than to her, but she'd been wrong, hadn't she?

Fiona squeezed her hand, and she realized that this was what she needed. This was what mattered.

So what if her family didn't want her. After all, she'd found another one.

ooo

Only a few more updates before we catch up! Thanks for sticking with me, favoriting this story, and reviewing! You guys are the best.