PRO-MUGGLE POLICY ENDANGERS INNOCENT WIZARDS
By Abraxas Malfoy

In these troubled and increasingly dangerous times, we, the Wizarding peoples of Great Britain, look to our government for guidance and leadership. Unfortunately, the current administration shows little interest in providing either. Whether this is due to Minister for Magic Eugenia Jenkins' rumored poor health, or whether she simply does not care — only time will tell. Time, however, is growing scarce.

The horrific and brutal murder of pure-blood Harmonia Lufkin was only the most recent incident indicating the need for stricter security measures within the Ministry of Magic and various Wizarding institutions, yet Jenkins does nothing.

For instance, the assault on St. Mungo's worker Clarence Price over the summer was clearly caused by the provocation of his assistant, Elsa Fellowes, a Healer-in-Training of Muggle birth who had recently published pro-Muggle material in this very newspaper. Similarly, in September, three innocent pure-blood Ministry workers were injured during an altercation with a Muggle-born employee.

New information uncovered by Daily Prophet reporter Rita Skeeter suggests that Samuel Cornfoot, radicalized by a pro-Muggle terrorist group, had help coordinating his attack on Harmonia Lufkin from Muggle-borns within the Ministry's employ.

The policies of ex-Minister for Magic Nobby Leach, who resigned in disgrace in 1968, have left an indelible scar upon this country. His obsession with institutionalized blood equality and his maniacal promotion of unpopular legislation has crippled our community. Simply put: The hiring of Muggle-borns at the Ministry and other such noble institutions as St. Mungo's is actively endangering our people.

We must ask ourselves: What is the price we are willing to pay to continue these outdated and illogical practices? For how much longer will we sacrifice the safety of our loved ones for the lofty and questionable ideals of a disgraced ex-Minister?

There is a time and place for leisurely academic discussions of 'equality' and 'blood warfare', yet for now, surely, it is more important to preserve the safety and sanctity of our own community.

Lily lowered the newspaper and looked up at Mary, her expression one of mingled horror and disgust. Bright rays of sunlight filled the Gryffindor common room where Lily had been enjoying a lazy Sunday morning until Mary returned looking grim and clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet.

"I told you it was bad," said Mary glumly.

"It's revolting!" said Lily. "Surely no one will listen to this rot? I mean, come on: 'Three innocent pure-bloods were injured during an altercation with a Muggle-born?' What do you think the altercation was about?!"

"I know, but—" Mary hesitated. "You don't get the Prophet at home, so you wouldn't have seen. This isn't Abraxas Malfoy's first op-ed. He published a few over the summer, all hinting at the same thing, and there's hardly been any blowback. No one seems to want to stand up and say, 'Hey, maybe let's stop the bastards murdering people instead of just blaming Muggle-borns.'" Mary leaned back in her chair, looking miserable. "My dad was in a right state all summer."

Mr. Macdonald, Lily knew, was Muggle-born and worked for the Broom Regulatory Control Office at the Ministry. He was, therefore, the direct target of Abraxas Malfoy's ire.

"'Forget two birds, they slaughtered the whole flock,'" muttered Lily.

"What?"

"It was something Professor Dearborn said—"

"Professor Dreamboat?" a voice interrupted. Lily turned to see Alodie and the other Gryffindor girls settle onto on the sofa across from them. "I have a bone to pick with him," said Alodie. "How in the name of Merlin does he expect us to finish a whole roll of parchment on defensive jinxes by Tuesday?"

Lily and Mary exchanged a look of understanding that their previous conversation was to be shelved for later. Neither of them were particularly keen to discuss the woes of Muggle-borns with their classmates.

"Honestly," continued Alodie, oblivious to this aside, "if he wasn't so damn handsome I think I'd complain."

"I might," said Marlene. "Defensive jinxes are all very well, but we haven't covered any of the required O.W.L. material. It's not fair to sabotage our futures for his political agenda."

"Where are you going?" asked Mary with a frown as Lily stood, abruptly tossing the Daily Prophet aside.

"Er —" she said, grasping for the quickest excuse she could find for her departure. "I forgot. I'm supposed to meet Severus."

A dark look was exchanged among the Gryffindor girls. None of them, Mary included, liked Severus Snape, but Lily didn't wait to hear the inevitable admonishments. She quickly gathered her belongings and headed for the portrait hole. Her temper felt dangerously close to the surface lately, and she didn't want to get into a fight about politics today. Besides, Marlene had developed a rather irritating new habit of nagging Lily about the Slug Club if she hung around too long, so Lily felt her escape plan was perfectly reasonable.

Perhaps she would go meet up with Severus. They'd hardly seen each other outside of classes, and what few classes they shared offered little opportunity for socializing. Yes, she'd go find him. It was a perfectly lovely Sunday, so she knew just where he'd be.

The library was dim and dusty, despite the faint hope of sunlight that peeked through windows and peered around corners. After hunting around a bit, and picking up a few books she'd wanted anyway, she found Severus tucked away in a corner, barely visible behind the towers of books on his table. He was hunched over an enormous, ancient-looking tome, running his finger along its dusty pages. So engrossed was he that, despite the clack of shoes that echoed through the library's hush, he didn't even notice her approach.

"What's that?" she asked brightly, leaning over to see.

Severus jumped a little, bumping her arm with his jagged, bony shoulder. "Oh, hi," he said, twisting his neck to see her properly. She smiled, and he smiled back. "It's — er — for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Lily glanced down at the book, and Severus made a jerky half-gesture as though to conceal it. The open page showed an illustration of the phases of the moon, coinciding with a man in various stages of a most painful-looking transformation. A werewolf.

Lily frowned. "Our class isn't doing Dark Creatures. Is yours?"

"It's…extracurricular."

Lily gave him a sideways look, then shrugged and plopped herself down in the chair across from him, dropping her own collection of books onto the pile. Severus was always reading about strange subjects that had little to do with their studies.

The sun glimmered in taunting strokes through the library's tall lancet windows. It was unseasonably nice today, perhaps one of the last truly lovely days before the grounds were swept into an irreversible winter's chill.

"It's stuffy in here," she informed him with a covetous glance at the window. "Let's go for a walk."

"I can't," said Severus, brushing a strand of dark hair from his face. "I've got too much to do."

"Oh, come on. It'll be fun! We've got to get you out of this library. I'm afraid you're starting to must."

"I can't."

Lily heaved a dramatic sigh and threw herself upon one of the large tomes before her, laying her head in her arms and looking up at him despondently. "But it's so nice out. There's a sun and everything!" Severus couldn't help but smile at her pantomime of pouting, and Lily felt a small thrill of victory. She knew that she could get him to come along, if only she tried hard enough. "Pretty please? We can grab some sandwiches and make a picnic of it."

She could see him struggling for a moment, tempted, but then he said: "I've really got to finish this. It's important."

He wasn't going to give in. Lily sighed again — a real, exasperated sigh. This wasn't how it was supposed to work. She pushed herself back up off the books. "Fine," she said, rather coolly.

For want of anything else to do, she examined the book over which she'd briefly been sprawled. Its cover glinted in the sunlight, and the tarnished gilding proclaimed imperiously: Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy.

Lily frowned at it. "What are you reading this for?"

Splotches of pink appeared on Severus's normally pallid face. "I — it's — well, I found my family tree."

"I thought your dad was a Muggle?"

Severus scowled. "He is, but my mother's pure-blood, you know. Prince. Look."

He opened the book to a section he'd marked with a scrap of parchment. She pulled it towards her to examine the thin, spidery lines that embellished its pages. Severus pointed to the last name on the tree.

Eileen Prince (1932 - present)

"That's her," he said quietly.

Lily examined the curling script as though it might betray some of the secrets of the inscrutable woman who was Severus's mum. She traced her finger along the line leading Eileen Prince to her parents, Sev's grandparents, Setronius Prince (1901-1958) and Imogen Bulstrode (1906-1970). The Prince line went back centuries…she followed it a few more generations then stopped, shocked.

Solinus Prince (1835-1911) married to Davina Potter (1841-1860).

"You're related to Potter!"

Severus grabbed the book back and examined it, his features clouding. "Barely," he said dismissively. "That doesn't count. All pure-blood families are interrelated in some way."

But Lily was fascinated. She reclaimed the book and flipped a few pages earlier until — yes, there it was. The Potter family tree. God, it went on for pages and pages…tiny, threading lines connecting Potter after Potter throughout history, all the way back to Hardwin Potter (1209-1297) who had married Iolanthe Peverell (1215-1301).

She followed the lines back to the present day again — past great-grandfather Gifford, grandfather Henry, great-aunt Davina, who'd married Solinus Prince, and the still-living Fleamont and Euphemia — then she found him: James Potter (1960 - present). The end of the line.

She stared at this for a moment, her mind boggling over the vast stretches of recorded history within one boy's family. She wondered what it must feel like to carry the burden of so many ancestors.

And then there was Lily, who'd never even met her grandparents.

She could feel Severus watching her, but she ignored him, unwilling to meet his eye. She told herself that she was merely curious about Wizarding history, that her interest had nothing to do with the boy in question.

So she flipped to the next page. It contained a lithograph of a grand, sprawling house, brick-fronted and beautiful, tucked into the folds of the English countryside. The caption read: Potter House, current home of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter.

Lily's stomach churned. She remembered Alodie and Marlene discussing James's family. What was it Marlene had said? New money. It didn't look very new to Lily. She'd thought all their talk of "arranged marriages" and "future prospects" to be utterly ridiculous, but it really was a different world. A world of sprawling mansions and fabulous wealth and — look at Potter! He really was part of the pure-blood elite. No wonder he'd said he wouldn't date Lily if she were the last girl in school. Centuries of history, a house that could fit every back-to-back on her street inside its walls…even if Lily weren't Muggle-born, she was still a little nobody from the industrial armpit of Manchester…

And I don't care! she thought fiercely. I don't care what anyone thinks of me, let alone James bloody Potter.

But she did care, of course, because everyone else cared. Oh, Gryffindors loved to pretend like they were above blood discrimination, like they were so much holier than their Slytherin peers, but some of the worst comments she'd heard over the years, the most frequent offenders, the small, incessant, paper-cut wounds…these came directly from her own housemates. They cared, and no matter what Sev had told her years ago about how it didn't matter being Muggle-born — that wasn't true. It mattered. It mattered so much to so many people. It obviously mattered to Severus, or he wouldn't even be looking at this stupid book in the first place.

She slammed the offending book shut, making Severus jump. A few of the surrounding books tottered off their pile.

"Why do you care about this rubbish?" Lily demanded. "None of it matters."

Severus looked startled by her burst of fury. "It's my heritage, isn't it? And it matters to some people…"

"Well it shouldn't," said Lily bluntly. "All this pure-blood, half-blood, Muggle-born nonsense…it's a load of shit, Sev."

Severus fiddled with his quill, uncomfortable. Lily knew that she was being unfair; she wasn't even angry at him, precisely, but she was just so furious with the world that she couldn't contain it any longer.

"Forget it," she snapped. "I'm not going to sit in the library all day. If you won't come with me, I'll just go have a picnic by myself."

And she grabbed her stack of books from the toppled pile on the table and took off before he could say another word.

After leaving the library, Lily headed for the castle doors, stopping only briefly by the Great Hall to fold a sandwich into a napkin and stuff it into her bag. Outside, it was colder than it looked. There was in fact a considerable chill in the air, a touch of frost you could almost taste. It was November, after all. But it was pleasant and quiet, and she was glad to be out of the castle, which had started to feel a bit suffocating these days.

She wandered aimlessly across the grounds and soon found herself coasting the edge of the lake, far from the oft-crowded shores where, in warmer weather, students hung about chatting and dipping toes into cool water. Here, the terrain was rockier, wilder. The Forbidden Forest at her back, she followed a path that wound towards a jut of rock protruding over the lake. A hardworking tree grew at an angle, leaning out over the unknowable depths of the water below, its trunk a tangle of roots over rock.

She settled herself against the tree, glancing down at the murky gloom of the lake as she did so. She pulled the sandwich from her bag, unwrapped it from the napkin, and began to eat, gazing contemplatively at the Whomping Willow, swaying gently in the distance. It looked quite peaceful with its knotted branches floating about, but looks, Lily knew, could be deceiving. She winced, remembering Davey Gudgeon appearing in the common room a few years ago with a bloodied eye among other unsightly abrasions. Rumor was he'd taken a dare to touch the trunk of the notoriously aggressive tree. Lily believed it: Davey had never been the brightest of boys.

Movement along the outer edge of the forest tore her attention away from the Willow. Something rustled along the tree-line. She squinted, but it was too far away to properly distinguish. Some sort of animal, she expected.

She brushed the crumbs from her lap and pulled a book at random from her bag. She was surprised to find herself holding a battered old copy of Advanced Potion-Making. This wasn't one of the books she'd meant to check out. Frowning slightly, she opened it and almost immediately recognized the cramped handwriting in the margins. This was Severus's book. She must have grabbed it by mistake when she'd left the library in a huff.

She felt badly about that. It hadn't been fair to blow up at him. It wasn't his fault the world was so awful. She'd apologize when she saw him next and give him back his book. Curious, she flipped through the text. Severus had annotated almost every page, crossing out sections of recipes and adding his own little scribbles. A few additions, she noted with amusement, were things they'd argued over, such as when Severus tried to convince her antidotes were a waste of time (just shove a bezoar down their throats), or when Lily had tried to convince Severus that crushing sopophorous beans was more effective than cutting them. But there was far more here than just potions…she noticed numerous little spells cluttering the margins. Levicorpus. She wondered what that did…

She was still absorbed in the book when a voice jerked her out of her reverie.

"All right, Evans?"

He'd appeared as if out of nowhere, standing there with his usual air of entitlement. James Potter. One arm hung by his side, the other ruffled his already messy hair. He watched her with an almost patronizing smirk on his stupid face.

Her eyes narrowed.

"All right," she said coolly, returning her attention to Severus's book. Maybe if she ignored him, he'd just leave.

Yeah, right.

"What are you doing?" asked James.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Sitting on a rock in the cold, reading a book," James responded, a note of amusement in his voice. "The real question is why."

"Maybe I want to be alone."

"Oh." A pause. "So, what are you reading?"

Lily ignored him. Some people could not take a hint.

"Right," drawled James. "Someone's not feeling very chatty today."

Seconds later, the book slipped from her fingers and flew into James's outstretched hand. Lily whipped her head up towards him; he was examining the cover with an an infuriatingly innocent expression.

"Give it back, Potter."

"What, I can't look at it?"

"Not without permission, you can't!"

"Well, apparently I can."

Lily got to her feet, glaring. "You are such a prat. Give it back."

"I just want to see what you're reading," insisted James, and he flipped through the pages with a bemused expression. "Why do you have a N.E.W.T.-level Potions book? Really, Evans, you've out-swotted yourself."

Lily felt herself turning an impressive shade of scarlet. She imagined what Severus would say if he knew James Potter of all people had his hands on this book.

"Blimey, is this your diary? You can barely read the text for all these scribbles. What does Muffliato mean?" He turned the book sideways, trying to decipher Severus's cramped handwriting.

"It's not mine, and I'd appreciate if you gave it back."

On this last word, she lunged for the book, but James lifted it swiftly above his head, grinning. "Might not want to try out for Seeker just yet," he teased.

Lily flushed. "Do you ever get bored of bothering me?"

"Not in the slightest. You're so delightfully bothersome."

"Ha ha. It must be exhausting being so clever all the time."

"Well, it's a heavy burden, I admit, but I bear it admir—hey!"

Lily had turned away as if giving up, then lunged and got a grip on the book, taking him by surprise. But he held tightly, still with that same amused expression, and for a moment they struggled foolishly, like two children caught in a strange game. Then Lily let out a triumphant, "Ha!" as the book came loose from his hand. She took a step back to secure her victory…and landed on a slippery knot of tree roots. The force from the liberated book and the slip of slick root combined in horrible tandem, and for a second neither of them quite realized what was happening — James still gripping a book where there was none and Lily with her mouth half-opened to gloat of her victory — and then, with a terrible splash, Lily went careening into the lake.

As soon as she hit the surface, she felt the air knocked out of her lungs. The icy cold water pierced her with a thousand tiny knives. She gasped, kicking her feet to keep above the surface.

"Are you all right?" called James from the rock. He looked simultaneously anxious and as though he was trying very hard not to laugh.

It took Lily a moment to regain her voice. When she found it again, it did not have nice things to say. "You fucking bastard!" she cried, and she hurled the now-sopping book at him with all her might. It missed and landed with a vague squelch on the rock.

This seemed to break James's composure, and he burst out laughing.

"Here," he said, trying to collect himself as he leaned over the rock. "Give me your hand."

"Fat chance," Lily spat as she started swimming to the edge, her cloak fanning out behind her in the water. She wasn't about to accept help from the idiot who'd pushed her in.

"I'm very sorry," James said formally, but the sentiment was somewhat undermined by the chortles he choked back.

"You seem it."

He extended his arm out to her again, but she swatted it away.

It happened as she reached for the rock to pull herself up: A tug at her foot, the squeeze of long, brittle fingers around her ankle, and before she could even shriek, something tugged and pulled her under.

Water flooded her lungs from the surprise plunge. She wrenched her head around and nearly screamed in horror at the creature that clung to her ankle. Horrible green skin and sharp, bared teeth. By the time she had named it — a grindylow — another had appeared, and Lily realized with sinking horror that her wand was tucked safely in her bag on the rock above. She choked and struggled as they tightened their grip on her ankle; more appeared and began to grasp at her cloak, pulling her down...

And without her wand, what could she do? Contorting, she pried at the fingers clutching her ankle, but as she pulled off one beast, another appeared, then another…and another…and then something very strange happened: She felt as though time slowed down, and there was something inside her burning, and it wasn't just her struggling lungs. She felt a fire beneath her skin, kindled by her own panic — some strange, wandless magic, and it was bursting. One of the grindylows let go with what might've been a yelp.

But it wasn't enough. They were dragging her down…the hazy barrier between sky and lake was glowing dimmer in the distance…and she couldn't breathe…she kicked and kicked, but she couldn't free herself…this was it, she thought wildly, she was going to drown…she couldn't breathe…she couldn't…

But then Lily felt fingers on her waist, and they were different from the brittle bones of the grindylow. They were firmer, deliberate, pulling her upwards. She saw a jet of boiling water hit one of the grindylows, a burst of red blossoming on its green skin, and she felt her ankles released. She kicked her feet and struggled to swim upwards, but she needed oxygen, and she was weak for lack of it.

The hand around her waist held tight, and she realized through the murky haze that it was connected to an arm…which must be connected to a body…and the body was pulling her upwards, upwards…

With a great heave, Lily felt herself hoisted from the water and onto the rock. She spluttered and coughed as she fell upon the rough surface, taking great gulps of air and trying to readjust her breathing. There was an unpleasant ringing in her ears.

Seconds later, a figure rose from the lake, spraying water everywhere. He too took deep, ragged breaths with his hands on his knees, but then he straightened up…and he looked perfectly striking, standing there on that rock, his wet black hair plastered to his face and…no, hang on. That was the lack of oxygen to her brain talking. He looked stupid, because he was stupid, because this was Potter — James Potter — standing over her, lording his victory, enjoying her humiliation, as always.

"Are you all right?" he asked with another spluttering cough, tapping his glasses with his wand to clear off the water.

Lily didn't respond. She was still shaking from head to foot, her body reeling from both the cold and the lack of oxygen. She forced herself up into a seated position and peeled off her cloak, which was waterlogged and sopping and not doing a thing to make her warmer.

James was leaning towards the lake, inspecting the murky water with interest. "Grindylows," he said, sounding more fascinated than upset. "Who knew there were grindylows in the lake! I didn't. Did you?" He turned back to her. "Hey—" and his voice dipped with something like concern as he knelt down beside her. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Then he turned very pink and looked away.

Lily was suddenly uncomfortably conscious of the fact that her soaked skirt was clinging quite unambiguously to her skin, and her white blouse was almost certainly see through. "I'm fine," she snapped, hurriedly reaching for the dripping cloak she had just removed and throwing it over herself as imperiously as she could manage. The effect was rather muted by both her continued shivering and the cloak's sodden squish. Her cheeks were burning in humiliation. She fastened the cloak with trembling fingers, grabbed her bag, and stood glaring at him for a moment, daring him to say something.

He did not.

So she did the only thing she could think of: She yelled at him. "I would've been fine, you know. I didn't need your help!"

And then she stalked off.

She expected him to laugh at her, to call out sardonically that she had been doing quite a nice job of saving herself, and he was terribly sorry he'd intervened, but he did neither. He just stood there, slightly pink and with an extremely bewildered expression on his face.

If the wind had been blowing in a slightly different direction, or if the squelch of her waterlogged shoes had been slightly softer, Lily might've heard the whisper, faint and furious, that floated towards her from the boy on the rock by the lake:

"Fuck."