She hated him. She loathed him. She had never in her entire life despised another boy as ardently as she despised James Potter. Despite numerous efforts to distract herself, Lily could not stop replaying the humiliating incident by the lake over and over and over in her head, an endless movie reel on repeat. Why did it have to be James Potter? If she had to humiliate herself in front of anyone in school, why was it always James Potter?

She spent the entirety of her morning Divination class ruminating on just this question…and not paying the slightest bit of attention to her coursework. This was generally all right because they were doing crystal balls today, and all this required of her was to stare vaguely into the foggy orb and look perplexed.

Why could she never come up with the right thing to say back to him, whenever Potter was tormenting her? Filed away in her mind was an excruciating archive of a thousand sharp retorts and clever comebacks that she always thought of just a little too late. If given the proper time to craft her response, oh, she could eviscerate him. One day…one day she'd tell him exactly what she thought of him, and it would feel so good.

"Now…" croaked the wispy voice of their ancient Divination teacher, Professor Pomme. "Gaze deeply into the crystal ball, my dears…lose yourself in its murky depths…open yourself to possibility…"

Lily glared into the crystal ball. She was unsure how she felt about Divination as a subject. Her classmates seemed to think it had some merit. Wenyi and Alodie in particular had gone through a phase last year of consulting tarot cards every morning. Lily, however, had never once seen anything other than thick fog in her crystal ball, or sludge in her tea leaves, or wrinkles in her palms. All the tarot cards ever told her was that she was bad at shuffling a deck. Still, she could understand the allure of the subject…the desire to know what would happen next…

Every moment since that humiliating incident at the lake, Lily had waited on tenterhooks for James to spread it all over school. She knew he would; it was too good a story to pass up. She'd gone to breakfast expecting to be met with hoots and catcalls over toast, but so far no one had said a word to her about it, not even Sirius Black, who under normal circumstances would already have composed a ballad in her honor. Perhaps James had asked him to keep his mouth shut, but why would he do such a thing?

What was he up to?

The waiting was almost worse.

It had not escaped her notice that James Potter had quite possibly saved her life. This uncomfortable notion was easier to dismiss on dry land, where the idea of drowning seemed little more than a fantastical abstraction. She quite liked her little lie that she hadn't needed any help, that she would've been perfectly fine on her own — and indeed, she had woven that fiction into her own retelling of the event to Mary. It made it all a bit more bearable.

But the reality of it was harder to ignore. She need only close her eyes for a moment to find herself sinking once again in the darkening gloom of the lake, to feel the bony grip of grindylows tugging at her robes, grasping her ankles, dragging her down. She could still taste the lake water that had choked her, feel the pressure in her lungs, that strange, burning magic that hadn't been enough to save her…

And James. She could still see him, too. His arm wrapped firmly around her waist as he pulled her up towards the sunlight, his figure rising from the lake like some hero from ancient mythology…

"Oooh, Lily," Wenyi's voice interrupted these treacherous thoughts. Her classmate leaned over with earnest interest and peered into Lily's crystal ball. "Yours looks like water."

"What?" snapped Lily, rather more sharply than she'd meant to. "No it doesn't. It just looks like fog."

"See how it's all swirly?"

"So, what?" Her voice dripped with defensive sarcasm. "Does that mean I'm going to meet a dark, handsome merman or something?"

"No," said Wenyi. "It means you're confronting a powerful uncertainty. Didn't you do the reading?"

"I must have skipped that part."

Mercifully, the bell rang, and Lily as good as bolted from her seat. As she scurried off, she heard Wenyi say, "What's wrong with her?"

"Personally, I've stopped asking," said Alodie.

Lily was several paces down the hall when Mary caught up to her.

"Bit jumpy, aren't you?" said Mary.

Lily sighed and hugged her arms to her chest. "I know. I just hate this so much — waiting for Potter to air my humiliation all over school and not knowing when it's going to happen."

"I think you're making this a bigger deal than it actually is," said Mary, ever the voice of reason. "You fell in the lake. So what? A few people might laugh, but it's hardly social annihilation."

This was true, but Lily didn't know how to explain that falling in the lake wasn't the humiliating part. It was being saved by James Potter that was tormenting her.

"And besides," continued Mary, "he might not say anything at all. He hasn't yet."

"Yeah, that's because he's enjoying holding it over me."

"Or maybe he's just being decent about it? He did give you your book back after all."

"And that's another thing!" Lily heaved Advanced Potion-Making from her bag and flipped through the perfectly dry pages as she walked. "I can't figure out what he's done to it. I've tried all the jinx-reversal spells I can think of, and — nothing!"

Mary regarded her skeptically. "Okay. Wild idea, but hear me out: Do you think maybe you're so determined to make Potter the villain that what you're actually upset about is that he's not acting like one?"

Lily scoffed. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Funny," said Mary dryly. "That was my line."

By the afternoon, however, Lily thought she'd have to at least consider the idea that Mary was right. No gales of laughter met her as she entered the Great Hall for lunch, no snickers followed her through the halls. It seemed as though James really had kept the embarrassing incident to himself, which was surprisingly decent of him.

Too decent. She didn't trust it.

Divination might have been a toss up, but Lily knew for certain that she did not like Ancient Runes. It was quite possibly the most boring class she had to suffer through, if you didn't count History of Magic. (And most people didn't count History of Magic, viewing it more as an officially-sanctioned siesta than a class.)

Lily had only signed up for Ancient Runes because Severus had convinced her to. It was the one class they shared, apart from Potions, which hardly counted anymore since they no longer sat together. Ancient Runes, on the other hand, was a healthy mix of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, all of whom were generally disinterested in the controversial friendship between rival houses. Severus was the only Slytherin in the class, and Remus Lupin the only other Gryffindor, and he mostly kept to himself in the back row.

When Lily arrived to Ancient Runes, Severus was already there, sitting alone at a desk by the window, scowling out at the grounds. He looked miserable — but then, maybe she was projecting. Sometimes it was difficult to distinguish if he was actually unhappy or if that was just his face. All the same, she felt a wave of guilt remembering how she'd blown up at him in the library…and then accidentally stolen his book to boot.

"So," she said, taking the seat next to his, "I just came from Divination, and the jury's still out on whether or not my inner eye needs corrective lenses, but I did have a minor premonition that you were missing this."

She set Advanced Potion-Making down on the desk before him where it landed with an accusatory thump. Severus straightened up and snatched the book.

"I've been looking everywhere for this! I thought I'd lost it!"

"So my inner eye isn't entirely blind? Take that, Professor Pomme."

"Where did you find it?"

"Er…in the library," said Lily, tucking her hair behind her ears with an apologetic smile. "I accidentally picked it up with the rest of my books when I took off yesterday. You know, when I was being all huffy and awful?"

"Huffy and awful?" said Severus, raising an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound like you."

"Yeah, well, we all have our moments, I guess. I've just been a bit on edge lately, with everything in the news, and when I saw that genealogy book I just…snapped. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," said Severus.

She smiled, and he smiled back.

"You've been working on spellcraft again?" she prompted after a moment.

"You read it?"

"I just flipped through a few pages. It was a Potions book, how could you expect me to resist?"

He smiled slightly at this and seemed about to elaborate on his spells, but then his attention was sharply derailed. He sat up, suddenly focused. Lily followed his gaze to see a sleepy-looking Remus Lupin slouching his way towards his usual seat in the back.

Severus's eyes tracked him all the way.

"How are things with Lupin?" he asked in a low voice.

"What do you mean?" said Lily, taken aback by this strange segue.

"He's a prefect, right? You must see a lot of each other."

"Oh…yeah, a bit. I mean, it's going fine. Better than I expected, to be honest. He's quite nice."

"I bet he misses a lot of meetings though. Never bothers to show up for prefect duties?"

Lily frowned. This was true, but she didn't see what it had to do with anything, nor why it was any of Severus's concern. There was a strange look in his eye that made Lily a tad uncomfortable.

"What do you care?"

Severus shrugged. "Just curious."

"I like Remus," said Lily firmly. "He's not like his friends."

"But don't you think there's something…peculiar about him?"

She did, as a matter of fact, but she wasn't about to say so. Instead, she said, "Everyone's peculiar in their own way."

Before Severus could respond with anything more than a small scoff, Professor Sinistra arrived, and another exceedingly dull lecture began.

By the end of the week, Lily had to concede that perhaps — just perhaps — she'd been the teeniest bit hasty in her condemnation of Potter, and as much as it pained her to admit it, her reaction had possibly — just possibly — been an overreaction. He had not spread the story around school, he had not hexed Advanced Potion-Making as far as she could tell, and as a matter of fact, it almost seemed like he was avoiding her. She supposed she had been rather rude to him when she'd stormed into his dormitory that morning…especially since he had saved her life and all…

Should she apologize?

No. If he'd decided to do one decent thing in the entire five years she'd known him, then…well, then it was bloody well time, wasn't it? She wasn't about to give him a gold star and a pat on the head for being a decent human being for once in his life. And — and her life wouldn't have needed saving anyway if he hadn't shoved her in the lake to begin with!

There. Anger was a much more comfortable emotion.

At breakfast on Friday morning, Lily received a much needed distraction in the form of an invitation from Professor Slughorn for the following evening.

"I thought you didn't want to go to the Slug Club again," said Mary, as Lily beamed at the invitation.

"Well, you know…the food's rather good. And some of the students are quite…nice."

Mary gave her a skeptical look. "Avery and Mulciber?"

"There are students from other houses as well."

As if to illustrate this point, a new voice said: "So, you got yours too?"

Both Lily and Mary turned to see Anson Nott standing behind them, looking every bit as gorgeous as Lily recalled. Mary's eyes widened ever-so-slightly. It was not every day that a tall, handsome seventh year interrupted their breakfast.

"Hi," said Lily breathlessly. "Yeah, just got it now." She gave the invitation a happy little wave.

Anson grinned. "Great. I'll see you tomorrow night, then?"

"Definitely," said Lily.

"Try to make it before pudding this time. I'll save you a seat." And with a wink, Anson took off, leaving Lily a sighing puddle of goo.

"Aha," said Mary, buttering another slice of toast with a knowing nod. "Now I understand."

"Oh, hush."

Lily made it a point to arrive at Slughorn's office promptly this time, determined not to get trapped at the end of the table with Avery and Mulciber again. However, when she entered the office, the large table that usually dominated the room was missing entirely. Instead, the space had been set up as though for cocktail hour. Silver trays laden with drinks and hors d'oeuvres floated obligingly around the guests, of which there were many.

Indeed, the office was far more crowded than Lily had ever seen it, and after a moment of politely elbowing her way through a forest of vibrantly-colored robes and glimmering jewelry, she realized that most of the guests were unfamiliar adults — no doubt Slug Club favorites of years past. She scanned the room for Anson and tried not to look too eager, but she did not like being alone in this crowd. She felt out of sorts, conspicuous. She pressed on deeper into the party, collecting snatches of conversation along with the occasional canapé.

"Well, of course, he's a fair horseman, but a dreadful negotiator. I wouldn't count on finishing that deal for weeks..."

"Oh, Cuthbert, aren't you a sight! Periwinkle is absolutely ravishing on you…"

"I keep saying it makes no sense to split the Beast and Being divisions, but no one ever listens. Meanwhile, we're stuck divvying up funds between the goblins and the ghouls..."

Lily was beginning to despair ever finding Anson at all, when the sight of a velvet-upholstered belly pulled her attention to more immediate concerns. Professor Slughorn was jostling through the crowd in her direction, Corin Mulciber by his side. Lily quickly ducked behind a large, leafy houseplant, hoping he hadn't seen her.

Mercifully, she was not his intended target. Slughorn instead steered Mulciber to the rather imposing shadow of some man whose face Lily could not see from her foliage-obscured vantage point.

"Ah, Barty, there you are! I wanted to introduce you to a student of mine, Corin Mulciber. Clever lad, and very interested in your line work. Corin, this is Barty Crouch, you know all about him, of course, and his son, Barty Jr. is joining us tonight too — what a delight!"

Lily was in the midst of determining the best escape route when a voice called her name. She looked up to see Florence Fawley headed towards her, beaming. "I thought I saw you lurking behind the aspidistra."

"I was trying to avoid Professor Slughorn and Mulciber," said Lily rather sheepishly.

"Good instinct. We're over here, come on." She grasped Lily's hand like an old friend and began to lead her through the crowd, pausing only to select two coupes of champagne from a nearby tray, one of which she handed to Lily.

Lily hesitated, feeling a touch awkward. "Am I allowed? I mean, I'm technically underage, and this is a school function."

"I won't tell if you won't," said Florence with a wink.

So Lily sipped the champagne. "I didn't realize it was a whole party tonight."

"Oh, none of us did, but Sluggy does this sometimes. He enjoys hosting these little networking events. He tries to invite guests that'll be good connections for future jobs and such, but it's all politicians tonight and none of us are very interested, so we're hiding out by the baby grand like a bunch truants."

The 'we' Florence referred to, Lily soon discovered, was a small gathering of mostly Ravenclaws who had indeed set up camp around the piano. They were a very handsome group, she noticed. Not a shabby trouser or scuffed shoe among them.

One boy, who Lily recognized from the previous dinner as Phineas Phillips, appeared to be holding court with the others from his perch on the piano's bench. A girl with a short, black bob was seated atop the piano's lid laughing delightedly at whatever he was saying. And there, behind them, a drink in his hand and a grin on his face, was Anson Nott. He looked up as Florence and Lily approached, and his smile brightened. Lily felt a flutter in her chest.

"Look who I found," said Florence happily. "Lily, do you know everyone? That's Phineas at the piano, Caoimhe, Henrietta, and I know you know Anson, because he was just telling us all about your Boggart."

"Oh god, yeah," said Lily with a light laugh. "That was…an interesting evening."

"So it actually happened?" said Phineas. "And here I was accusing Anson of lying about a pretty girl to get out of Quidditch practice."

Lily, who was trying not to smile too broadly at the thought of Anson referring to her as pretty, said to Phineas, "You're on the Ravenclaw team too?"

"Captain of the Ravenclaw team, thank you very much. Taught Anson here everything he knows."

"I'd cop to it, if I thought you could bear the weight of your own ego," replied Anson. Then he turned to Lily. "Has Slughorn made you do the rounds yet?"

"I've avoided it so far."

"Lucky you," said Henrietta. "I've only just got away. I swear, if I have to listen to one more lecture on the fungibility of goblin silver…"

They all laughed, and so Lily laughed too, and she didn't even think they noticed that she'd laughed a few seconds too late.

The evening passed quickly and delightfully in the company of her new friends — and under the wing of Florence's warm welcome, they truly felt like that. Friends. They spent the evening lurking in corners, sipping too much champagne and giggling as they avoided the politicians. Phineas and Henrietta delighted in giving her the rundown on all the Slug Club's gossip, while Florence occasionally interjected comments like, "Oh, do be nicer, Phin, darling," and, "It's really not your business whether she jinxed her nose or not, Henry."

Anson had stayed by her side all night long. It felt like a daydream of someone else's life.

The Ravenclaws, Lily noticed, were quick to distinguish themselves from the Slytherin attendees. They were invited for their brains, not their blood — though no one denied that Slughorn put great stock in ancestry.

"Take Sirius Black," said Phineas as they left the party several hours later. "Nothing against the chap of course, but it's obvious why Slughorn wants him. A fresh bud on a very old tree, and all that. And that pal of his, Potter — he'll be invited next year, mark my words."

"Why's that?" asked Lily, unreasonably annoyed by the prospect.

"He's bloody rich, isn't he? It's not the only thing Sluggy cares about, of course, but it does help pay the price of admission."

Florence made a disgruntled sound of protest. "Oh, Phin, stop. You make us all sound like such unbearable snobs."

"Well, if the shoe fits," said Phineas with a grin. "But I can get away with it, you see," he added conspiratorially to Lily. "I haven't got the family business to fall back on — or daddy's name. All I've got is raw talent and an attitude. Stick with me, Lily. We're kindred spirits."

Lily laughed. The coupe of champagne Florence had handed her at the beginning of the party had not been her last, and she was feeling warm and affectionate towards everyone, even the outlandish Phineas Phillips, who she might otherwise have found a touch abrasive. It was just the four of them now, Phineas, Florence, Anson, and herself; the other girls had gone off on their own earlier. The foursome strolled carelessly through the dusky halls towards their common rooms, unconcerned by curfew or the waft of alcohol on their breath, full of that casual confidence that Lily had only ever tried on.

"Ignore him," said Florence, rolling her eyes. "Phin likes to be provocative. It's true that some invitees are selected more for…pedigree than performance, but that's hardly indicative of the whole. Look at our darling Anson, here. He just had his third paper published in Charms Today! That's got nothing to do with blood."

"Stop it, Flor, you'll make me blush," smiled Anson.

"Yes," drawled Phineas. "I suppose daddy's name didn't do darling Anson much good anyway, did it?"

"That's enough, Phin," said Florence, suddenly sharp. Then her gentle manner returned, and she said, "You're being quite unpleasant tonight, darling. No more champagne for you. Anyway, this is where we get off. Ravenclaw Tower is this way. Are you coming, Anson?"

"Actually, I thought I might walk Lily back to her dorm," said Anson. "If that's all right, of course," he added to Lily, who was utterly delighted by the prospect, but played it cool.

"Sure."

"Perfect," said Florence. "Then I shall have Phin all to myself to chastise him for his beastly behavior." She wove her arm through Phineas's in a graceful swoop and began to lead him away.

"You're a proper cunt, Nott," called Phineas cheerfully over his shoulder.

"Phin!" cried Florence.

And then they were gone.

Lily shuffled her feet for a moment, suddenly shy, but Anson just smiled. "Which way? I've never been to Gryffindor Tower, believe it or not."

"Oh, right." They took a left turn and began to climb one of the narrow stairwells that led up towards Gryffindor Tower. She wasn't sure if it was the torchlight or the champagne, but she thought he looked lovelier than he ever had before — which was quite an achievement.

"What did Phin mean?" Lily asked after a moment. "About your dad?" Normally, she would never have asked such a prying question, but the champagne had softened her inhibitions, and her curiosity overwhelmed her restraint.

"Ah," said Anson. "Nothing, really. Phin just likes to remind me that I only got invited because of my surname — which is probably true. My uncle was an old favorite of Slughorn's back in his day, you see — but Sluggy was rather disappointed to learn that my uncle and I don't speak."

"No?"

"No. He actually — well, he refuses to acknowledge my existence."

"What? Why?"

Anson shrugged. "Well, he didn't approve of my mother, to tell you the truth. She's — ah — she's Muggle-born. My dad's family was…pretty old-fashioned, and they refused to recognize the marriage, so as far as they're concerned, I'm my father's half-blood bastard."

"God," breathed Lily. "How cruel."

But Anson didn't seem troubled by it. "No real loss to me. And Phin didn't mean any harm, by the way. He's just got a bit of a chip on his shoulder of his own. Flor's always very concerned for my feelings about the matter, but I'm not bothered. I'd much rather earn things on my own merit."

Lily beamed. "I think that's very commendable."

They had nearly reached the top of the stairwell. The entrance to the Gryffindor common room was — sadly — just down the next corridor. She tottered slightly in her heels as she climbed the last few steps, and Anson put his hand on her waist to steady her. "Careful."

"Thanks," Lily half-giggled. "I guess Phin wasn't the only one who had too much champagne. I better get it together though — can't let the first years see their prefect tipsy."

He still had his hand on her waist, and in this cramped little stairwell, he was very close…so close, in fact, that she could smell his cologne, the soft whisper of vetiver and patchouli. "I won't tell," he said, and he pulled her closer still…and then — she couldn't have told you how it happened, but he was kissing her — or she was kissing him — his lips soft, his breath sweet with champagne. He smiled his sunburst smile, stroked her cheek and kissed her again, and Lily found herself wondering why she had ever been worried about breaking out of her bubble, because outside her bubble the world was perfect and pretty, and out here, people were good-intentioned and kind-hearted, and out here, Anson Nott was kissing her in the stairwell to Gryffindor Tower.