A/N: It's great to know that I have such a following of informed readers. Yes, I know, JKR said in an interview that Lily is definitely in Gryffindor. Unfortunately I only found this interview the day before I posted the last chapter and I have been planning/writing this fic for four months. I decided it was too late to change this element of the plot. I apologise for my inadequate research. I did not even think to check the interviews, I merely scoured the books for any mention of Lily's past. It is a fairly minor part of my story; I believe that after this chapter it will only be mentioned in passing. Please consider this fic to be slightly AU if you like. Special thanks also to Astral, who convinced me to change my dates by bringing an exact canon date to my attention.

Thanks also go to whichever fanfic I read the "Bravery, intelligence, loyalty and evil" in - I can't remember author or title, but the idea was so brilliant I had to use it!

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling, not I. I hope I won't embarrass her too much by what I do with them. : )

The Promise Ring - by The White Lily

Chapter 21: Lily Evans, Head Girl of 1978, Slytherin House

"My mother was evil?" choked Harry

"Of course she wasn't evil, Harry!" sighed Hermione. "What? Do you think that 'Slytherin' means the same thing as 'evil'?"

Harry just stared at her and finally decided that she was off her rocker. Ron voiced Harry's thoughts out loud. "Yes!"

Hermione sighed again. "She was Muggle-born! Do you really think she could be a pureblood supremacist?" Seeing that they still looked sceptical, she continued, "If you were creating a school and you picked the four cardinal virtues to represent houses, what would you pick? Bravery, intelligence, loyalty and evil?"

"What else are those slimy Slytherins?" scoffed Ron.

"Determined," said Hermione. "Shrewd. Focussed. Just because you hardly ever get an evil wizard who isn't those things, doesn't mean that you can't get good wizards who know what they want and will do what they need to do so they can get it. The difference is that the evil wizards don't temper these good qualities with morals. But that's the same in all the other houses as well!

"'Gryffindor' doesn't mean the same thing as 'good' – look at Peter Pettigrew! His bravery didn't do him much good when he used it to betray his best friends. Cornelius Fudge was a Hufflepuff and he's turned out to be so loyal to his point of view that You-Know-Who has come back without him noticing! Rita Skeeter was a Ravenclaw. She used her intelligence and learning to become an illegal Animagus, so that she could find out people's secrets and ruin their lives. Are any of those much better than a dark wizard?"

Harry had to admit that he couldn't argue with that - but still…

"Most of the greatest Aurors were Slytherins," Hermione pushed on. "Mad-Eye Moody was a Slytherin. Professor Figg was a Slytherin. Your mother was a Slytherin. I'd list more, but you probably wouldn't know who they were. It's not what we are that defines us as people, it's what we choose to make of ourselves."

Suddenly struck by a sense of déjà vu, Harry found himself remembering what Dumbledore had told him after he had come back from the Chamber of Secrets. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.

"I'll have to think about it," he said finally. "It's just a bit to wrap my head around, you know?" Harry paused, as he thought back over what Hermione had said, "Hang on… Did you say that my mum was an Auror?"

Hermione nodded. "Yeah – it says in there that she was heading off for Auror training as soon as she finished school. Your dad was going to play Quidditch professionally – but I can't remember for which team."

Ron looked at her incredulously and started to splutter, but Harry just nodded. "Can I borrow these?" he asked, waving both books at Hermione, then holding them against his chest as she nodded. "Thanks. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

"Yes," she said. "You remember what I said about the thing in Cedric's death notice, where they asked donations to go to The Order of the Phoenix? I couldn't find any record of an organisation like that, but I looked through some back issues of the Prophet from years ago and I found a whole lot of obituaries that said the same thing. I found something linking all the deaths." Hermione paused, waiting for one of them to ask what it was.

Harry finally gave in. "What?"

"They were all killed by You-Know-Who," said Hermione with a lopsided smile. "That's what it means, you see? It means that Cedric's family believes that You-Know-Who killed him."

"I know," replied Harry. "They told me that they didn't blame me at the end of the last year. I'm glad they believed me, at least," he said morosely.

"I also wanted to talk to you about grief," Hermione cut in, seemingly changing the subject. "My mother had a talk to me when I got home and I found it really helped to understand the phases I experienced. I know that you seem to be coping with it well, or at least you are now. But after I got home from our trip to Diagon Alley, I realised that there are others around who aren't coping so well and that it might help you to understand what's going on inside their heads."

The subject of this discussion could not have been clearer if Hermione had been shouting the name Cho Chang.

"There are five main stages of grief. Any one can take as long as required and they can reoccur or be a bit out of order. The first stage is denial or shock. It takes a while for it to sink in that something's actually happened. I think that it hadn't really hit anyone properly until they went home for the holidays that Cedric was dead." Harry winced at the matter-of-fact tone in which she said the word dead, but nodded for her to continue when she made to stop talking.

"The second phase," she continued, "is anger, often directed at the wrong person. A person who's dying might blame their doctor. Some people blame themselves even though it's not their fault." Hermione studiously avoided looking at Harry as she said this. "And… a person whose friend was murdered might blame the last person to see him alive."

Hermione paused for a moment then continued in a low but adamant voice, "She's not going to listen to rational explanations or realise how her actions are making you feel. It's not even really her fault; it's partially her grief making her irrational. She has all this anger and she has to direct it somewhere. The wizarding world hasn't heard any evidence beyond Dumbledore's word that You-Know-Who's back, so she can't blame him. Do you see that you're the only one left? I'm sure she doesn't really think that you killed him, or at least she won't after she's properly come to her senses. But she's got to work through this and it's going to be pretty tough on you in the meantime."

"So what do I do?" Harry asked, sure he knew the answer already.

"Nothing," said Hermione firmly. "She hasn't chosen to let you in; you can't help her, so all you can do is ignore her."

Harry nodded. That was the answer he had feared. Sitting still never suited him; it always made him nervous and fidgety. If there was nothing he could do, though…

"So what have we got to look forward to?" he asked bitterly. "I mean, what are the next stages?"

"The third stage is bargaining, but that never lasts very long, because no one has the power to take away a loss like that," said Hermione dismissively, before continuing in a more sombre tone. "Fourth is depression, that's where you really have to worry about someone because they won't tell you how they feel and if it's too bad, they're likely to try something drastic."

Harry found himself remembering one night at the beginning of the summer, when he had woken after a nightmare. He had gone down to the kitchen to find a knife and then stood in the downstairs bathroom, holding the long, sharp carving knife against his neck. He remembered thinking that it would be rather ironic for the Dursleys to have to clean up after him for once in his life. After a lengthy internal debate, he had ended up returning the knife to the kitchen. The Dursleys had been none the wiser the next morning.

He suddenly found himself feeling quite sorry for Cho. If he could make her feel better by letting her yell at him, then so be it.

"After that is acceptance," Hermione was continuing. "That's the final stage, where the person comes to accept that the loss has happened and will not change, but that their life goes on regardless."

Harry sighed, "I hope she gets there eventually." They all sat in silence considering that for several moments.

It was Ron who eventually broke the silence. "So," he said lightly, "you're sleeping with my sister, Harry!" Harry looked up quickly, worried that Ron might be serious and was quickly reassured by the grin on his face. "You'll want some tips on how to deal with her, then," continued Ron in a stage whisper.

"Ron!" warned Ginny in an ominous voice.

"Should you ever find yourself at her mercy, know that she has one vulnerable point – she's tremendously ticklish."

"Ron," Ginny hissed, "I do not appreciate you sharing that bit of information." She didn't manage to say any more though because Ron had lunged at her and proceeded to worm her into a position where he could tickle her effectively. Hermione was laughing hysterically at the antics of the two siblings and Harry wasn't far from doing the same.

By the time that Ron had wrestled Ginny into an inescapable position, Hermione had managed to recover enough to rescue the other girl by dealing Ron a blow with her pillow. Harry joined in, taking Ron's side and attempting to incapacitate Hermione. Harry's glasses went flying almost immediately, but he didn't care that he couldn't see more than three blurs instead of his friends as the situation rapidly degenerated into a free-for-all pillow fight.

His conscience asserted itself briefly, but he remembered his resolution of the summer: have enough fun to make up for all that Cedric would have had, all that his parents would have had. A pillow hitting his face brought his attention back to the fight and Harry waded back in with a vengeance, his pillow dealing deadly blows left and right.

As the first pillow burst, showering them all with downy white feathers, the four friends collapsed in a giggling heap on the floor. Somehow all the issues they had discussed didn't seem quite so life threatening any more.