December 28th, 1975
Sleep no longer brought him peace. His dreams were on fire. They burned through his skull. When he woke (if you could call it waking) they were seared against his eyelids. He convinced Regulus to bring him the paper when he was finished with it, hoping for distraction, but it only made things worse. The gaping holes in the paper were more worrisome than the stories that remained. Sirius knew there was more going on in the world than Mrs so-and-so cheating on a Quidditch player. The headlining page wouldn't be about the bake sale at UML. Had Regulus clipped them in an attempt to keep him calm, or for some nefarious worship? It was impossible to know. Regulus didn't speak when he slipped it under the door. It took Sirius two days to finish one crossword, a personal low. His body ached. His head ached. His bottle of Firewhisky was dangerously close to empty. He threw open the curtains, seeking sun, and the white light cut through him like a knife. He threw them closed and dashed to his bed. It was fucking shameful. The room reeked of musk and his unwashed body,
He got almost all of his homework done. His teachers were always pleasantly surprised when he turned in completed work after the holidays. They probably assumed that he was on some kind of best behaviour when he was at school. But no, Hogwarts was the only place where he felt he could relax. In two and a half days, he finished all his textbook readings, wrote an essay for History of Magic, answered the questions they'd been given on the readings for Transfiguration and Charms, sketched diagrams of the plants they were starting next term in Herbology, and was more than halfway through the novel they were to read for Muggle Studies. It was the only thing that hadn't made him want to tear his hair out, or beat his head in with his pillow.
It was a book called Animal Farm, and it had been written thirty years earlier. When Professor Clearwater handed out the copies, Sirius had thought to himself, 'what the fuck?' He liked muggles. They were cool. They had some cool ideas. It buggered his brain that they'd consider a story about animals to be something for teenagers to read. It was like the present that Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella gave him (he had been permitted, very briefly, to make an appearance downstairs on Christmas Day to receive his gifts, and then was locked upstairs again) – a small, illustrated book about a dragon and his rider. It was straight from the children's section. Uncle Cygnus said they didn't know to 'what standard' Gryffindors were able to read. Mother cast a silencing spell on Sirius, so he wasn't able to say a word. He'd wanted to scream. It was torture. Regulus got a new cloak and cufflinks, and plenty of praise for his high marks. Sirius sat in the corner like a child.
Animal Farm was a much better read than Uncle Cygnus' book.
It wasn't the children's book Sirius expected. Professor Clearwater gave them each a pen (muggles used them instead of quills) and sheets of paper clipped together with a small metal piece in the corner (it was called a 'staple'). Sirius preferred scrolls of parchment, but Professor Clearwater was very big on doing things the muggle way. It was part of learning about them, he claimed. The sheets were printed with questions about the book. Sirius had nearly finished the text when he looked at the questions and realised he had no idea what half of them meant. It was a good story, but what did it have to do with Russia? He pulled out his textbook, but it shed no light. Professor Clearwater said they would learn the context of the book next term, but how the fuck was Sirius supposed to answer the questions that were due when they got back before he was taught anything about it? It was illogical. He threw the papers aside and laid in his bed for another hour or so, melting into his blankets, losing himself in the warmth of the bed and the moulding, shifting skin around his cheeks. He was rotting. And those damned questions weren't going away.
He crawled out of bed, head throbbing, and stumbled to his desk. Sirius grabbed the papers off the floor and held them up close to his face. They were still nonsense. 'Explain how the pigs' move to the farmhouse represents Stalin's move into the Kremlin.' Who the fuck was Stalin? He frowned, trying to think. He conjured up pictures of…a factory? The little section in the back pages of the Daily Prophet that listed muggle events and trivia? He put the papers down and found the newspaper Regulus brought him. He rifled through it until he got to the 'MUGGLE TIDBITS' part. A tiny, black-and-white photo showed the columnist, a wizard named Tavion Smethwyck, who toyed with his floral hat in the picture. Sirius scanned the half-page. Something about a Bohemian Rhapsody (what?) and Hot Chocolate (nice), the Americans going to metric (why?), a television show ending and another one celebrating its fifteenth anniversary. Sirius rolled his eyes. It reminded him of the Pepperup operas on the radio, which went for years with no real point. Wormy's mother was a Pepperup disciple. She proudly boasted when they visited that she had only ever missed four episodes; one on her wedding day and one on each of the days her children were born. Sirius would sooner kill himself than end up with someone like Mrs Pettigrew.
Smethwyck didn't mention a Kremlin even once, or what Stalin did. He only discovered that the Queen had sung the song with the funny name. He crossly shut the paper and tossed it aside. Fucking useless. He took his wand, sat on his bed, and shot random hexes at the walls. He left charred black marks on the striped wallpaper. His head hurt. He ducked under his bed until he found his old textbooks, from first year. He tossed them in the fireplace, and twirled his wand.
"Incendio." The books caught alight. The fire crackled heartily, as if he'd lit it hours before. Once the room was sufficiently hot, Sirius pulled off his robes and tossed them onto the floor. They joined mountains of dirty robes bridged by books, spotted with boulders of crumpled parchment, freckles of cigarette ash, and dried lakes of spilled Firewhisky. Loose fibres and sticky leftovers of drink stuck to the soles of Sirius' feet. He touched his hair. It was nearly as greasy as Snivellus'. He disgusted himself. It was much too hard to have a shower, however. The thought of calling Kreacher to get Mother to unlock the door so he could ask her if he could shower, and then getting into the shower and scrubbing himself and washing his hair and rinsing his hair and rinsing the soap off his body and stepping out and drying himself and getting dressed…It was way, way too much. Easier to feel like shit.
Watching his books burn grew boring. He didn't touch his Firewhisky – that mouthful had to get him through another week. He was out of cigarettes. He wasn't allowed to send letters. Any letters he received were going to his mother. There was only one vice left to him, and he wasn't sure he could manage it. James would laugh at that. He didn't want to think about James when it came to this. James would laugh again – 'came, hey, Sirius?'. He gritted his teeth and tried to think. He looked at the pictures on his wall. Women bent over motorcycles in all sorts of provocative positions. He liked the motorbikes. The girls were fit too, big boobs, big eyes, everything that was meant to be attractive. Sirius closed his eyes…
Nothing.
Fine. New topic. Marlene. He actually could have gone there with her. Her hair was growing out, and she had a decent taste in music, for a girl…he remembered kissing her, but not how it felt. It was like looking at a photograph. She'd been on top of him, in her bra, the perfect opportunity. Why hadn't he taken it? Why did he feel like he was in History of Magic? This hadn't bothered him before – well, not much. He just got on with the task and it all worked out how it was supposed to. He wanted a cigarette. He wanted his friends. He wanted to hear James laughing, and to see Remus' sly smile, like he wasn't enjoying himself. Then Sirius would crack a joke and Remus would laugh and he could forget about being in his parents' house. Remus could roll a cigarette like nobody's business, his long, nimble fingers working it. He had a certain look when he was concentrating, eyebrows flat, brown gaze intent. They'd all sit on the end of James' bed, and Remus would offer to roll one for Sirius. Sirius would say 'I love you, Moony,' and they'd laugh, and Remus would get to work. His knee would brush Sirius', almost poking through those brown muggle trousers he liked so much. He'd lick the paper, tongue darting out for a rare second.
What?
Sirius jolted. It took him a moment to get his breath. It was obviously a delayed reaction to the posters, or to Marlene. He'd just been distracted. He wriggled until he was flat on his back, and thought of kissing Marlene. He and Remus had spoken about it before.
"I want to feel like a man, and I want to feel loved," he'd told Remus, as if that wasn't just a mouthful full of cringe. But it was true. He'd thought fucking Marlene would do that. Remus' face changed. He was close enough to touch.
"That sounds like a, erm, really good plan." And that funny feeling twisted in Sirius' stomach. Remus was the last line of defence. He was supposed to tell Sirius it was foolish, and that he ought not to be in a rush, and ought not to do it just for the sake of it, and that it wouldn't be fair to Marlene. Remus wasn't supposed to think it was an, 'erm, really good plan'. He was meant to say no, and Sirius would say yes, and then they'd actually determine the best path of action. Why had Remus been so supportive?
Why did he keep thinking about Remus?
Unadulterated euphoria flooded him for a few blissful moments. Then Sirius was left with the last word on his lips; Remus.
He fought through the fog in his brain and hurled himself out of bed. He grabbed a fresh set of robes from his wardrobe and pulled them on. Once he'd done that, he sank onto the floor, overpowered once more. The steam rolled out of him. He should've stayed at school. He should've stayed and fought and yelled when his mother stormed into the school demanding answers. He could outrun her. He could sprint into his dormitory and know she wouldn't dare to enter the Gryffindor common room, not for a second.
He was such a fucking coward.
He curled into himself and let the fog swirl, shrouding his senses. When the pain dulled, he staggered to the door and tried the handle. Locked. He rubbed his face. There was no other option. His mother knew every way to cripple him, didn't she? He was declawed. A dog with no bark and no bite.
"Kreacher," he whispered hoarsely. "Kreacher."
The elf appeared atop a mound of clothes. Sirius turned away. He knew that fucking piece of shit would have that smug smirk, as if Sirius calling on him made Sirius more of a Black. Sirius generally disagreed with the notion of decapitating an old elf and hanging their head on the wall like a trophy, but he wouldn't tear up for Kreacher, he wouldn't even frown. He could feel that stupid elf sucking it all in, memorising every flaw in Sirius' skin, counting the piles of clothes, so he could gloatingly relay the scene to his mistress.
"Does Master Sirius need me?" Kreacher taunted. Sirius balled his fists.
"Don't get the wrong fucking idea," he spat. Kreacher sniffed.
"Oh, Master Sirius swears at Kreacher, but Kreacher doesn't mind, Kreacher knows just what Mistress thinks of nasty little would-be blood traitors, of filthy little Gryffindors, Kreacher knows what she intends to do to mouthy little boys…"
"Shut it!" Sirius shouted. Kreacher was forced to obey. Sirius gritted his teeth. "Just…ask Mother…if I can use the library. To finish my homework." Kreacher sneered. Sirius pressed his palms into his eyes. "Go. Tell me what she says." Kreacher popped away. Sirius screamed into the air, and let it hang. Why couldn't he have been born as James Potter? Hell, he'd take Remus Lupin compared to this. One night a month to have parents who weren't complete shit to you. Fuck, he'd take Peter Pettigrew, pampered and spoiled and snivelling, but with it not mattering in the end, because his mother baked him food and hugged him tight and kissed him and said she loved him and meant it. Sirius would have to run his own baths but he'd do it if it meant he didn't always feel like he was about to fall. At home, he always felt a second away from falling off his broomstick. He grabbed tufts of his hair and tilted his chin up so he didn't cry like a girl and give mother another reason to annihilate him.
Crack. Kreacher returned. Sirius wiped his face.
"What?" he demanded. Kreacher's ears sagged. Sirius perked up. Anything that made Kreacher sad was surely good for him.
"Mistress is wanting to see Master Sirius downstairs, and is asking Kreacher to bring him down." He'd expected that, though it didn't make it any better. He pulled on a bedrobe. Kreacher snapped his fingers and unlocked the door. Sirius grabbed his wand and slid it up his sleeve before leaving. Kreacher took the lead. Sirius followed him downstairs to Mother's parlour, where the door was open. It doesn't matter. You're just going to ask if you can use the library. Just one part of your own fucking home. She cares about your marks. She'll let you. She'll let you. And then the nastier voice inside his head asked, wouldn't she just love it if you failed? Then she could say she always knew how stupid you were. It's not as if she wants you to succeed at Muggle Studies, for fuck's sake. He squared his shoulders and stepped inside.
The Christmas decorations were gone already. The room was spotless and without a hint of cheer. It was more impersonal than the Ministry's atrium. Mother's back was to him. She stood in front of the fire, a silhouette, her dark hair pulled back and her robes flowing to the floor. Sirius opened his mouth, preparing to humiliate himself and ask.
"Don't speak," she ordered. He clamped his mouth shut, glaring at the back of her head. "You may use the library provided Kreacher is with you. You have a package from Flourish and Blotts. In future, do not order without my permission. Take it and leave." A package? Mother flicked her wand and it appeared on a small side table. He snatched it up before she could vanish it. He held it close to his chest. He hadn't ordered a package. Was it some sort of sick joke? He'd open it and it would be a check for a thousand Gringotts and a notice to move out. That wouldn't be so bad. It would be a threat and a photo of his friends. It would be a card that said she'd never loved him, she was only pretending. It would be a card that said she'd love him forever and he truly was breaking her heart. It would be a notice of expulsion from Hogwarts. It would be the letter Dumbledore never sent from that dumb prank.
"Leave," she said, her voice low and cold. He hesitated. Every nerve in his body screamed that it was a trap. She turned her head sharply, so he could see her profile. She fixed her eyes on him. His muscles coiled, ready to run. "Go. I don't want you here."
This time, he did as she said. He left, hugging the package to his chest, and bolted up the stairs. Regulus stood outside his bedroom door. He was dressed to go out, in velvet robes and a travelling cloak.
"Sirius," he said, and he looked lost. "Are you coming?"
"Coming?"
"To the Mulcibers'," Regulus elaborated. They were leaving? Mother was in a hurry. That explained it. That explained why Sirius could use the library; there was no risk of him accidentally running into Mother and ruining her day. Good. Sirius didn't want to see her either. And he was glad that he wasn't going to the stupid Mulcibers'; he hated Mulciber.
"No," Sirius said. "Have fun with your little Death Eaters friends, though, Reg. Have all your little playdates been the things you've been clipping out of the papers?" He didn't even shout; he kept his voice low enough that only Regulus could hear. His little brother's face hardened.
"I was doing you a favour, giving you the newspapers," Regulus said coolly. "I won't bother. I ought to go now." Regulus pulled himself up to full height (still two inches shorter than Sirius) and marched to the stairs. As he drew near, Sirius leaned forwards and stomped. Regulus flinched. Sirius laughed.
"I can see why they'd want you. You're so very brave," he drawled. Regulus didn't look at him. The vein in his neck pulsed hard. Sirius clenched his jaw and stormed away.
He slammed his bedroom door behind him, leaving Kreacher on the landing. Fuck him. Fuck Regulus. He tore into the envelope. A bit of parchment fluttered to the ground. In his hand was a rectangular mirror, rimmed by gold, reflecting his face back up at him. He pressed a finger to the dark circles under his eyes. Had he slept too much, or not enough? He turned the mirror over. There was no inscription. Was she trying to be smart with him? Mother loved things like that. When he'd been younger, when he'd still been invited out with the family, she would take him and Regulus shopping with her for her 'friend's' birthday gifts. A healthy cookbook for the witch who needed to lose weight and didn't have a house elf to cook for her, a love potion for the one fighting with her husband, make-up with glamour enchantments for the plain one, perfume for the one who stunk. She thrilled in explaining it to them. A mirror to take a good look at yourself and reflect. He tossed it onto his bed like it burned to the touch.
He bent down and snatched up the note. It wasn't a full letter. In a hand he would have known anywhere, it read 'Say my name. Trust me.' Relief flooded him. Sirius dropped the note, and looked into the mirror once more.
"James," he said. The mirror rippled like a pool of water. His reflection blurred into nothingness, and darkness took its place. "James," he urged.
"Hang on!" The voice was distant and tinny. He recognised it. Hope sprung inside him like a fountain.
"James?"
"Yeah! Hang on!" The darkness shifted, and there was a burst of light. It was a golden halo framing James Potter's face. He was really there, in the mirror, messy hair and glasses askew and a broad grin across his face. His crimson bed hangings in the background, the black of his robes marking the bottom corners of the mirror. James. Sirius drunk in the sight of him like a man lost in the desert. "It's good to see you, mate," James said, after a long moment. Sirius' eyes prickled, and he ducked his head.
"You found a way around my mother," he said, amazed. James chuckled.
"'Course I did. Some old witch isn't going to stop me from seeing my best mate. You didn't think I'd let her beat me, did you?"
"Nah," Sirius said. He had been terrified he would spend an eternity locked in his bedroom. James smiled easily.
"Merry Christmas, Sirius. Belated, but don't mind that."
"Merry Christmas, James."
December 31st, 1975
James grinned at his mother, and awkwardly shifted the bag he held. Well, it was more of a briefcase, he insisted. Briefcases were much more manly. It was brown leather, and stamped with his initials, but what really mattered were the contents. Namely, the contents that rolled around and clattered together as he shifted his weight.
Mum raised her eyebrows.
"I'm taking gifts, for the Vanes. As they're my gracious hosts," he said. Mother pursed her lips.
"It's butterbeer, isn't it? I can tell your father that it's butterbeer?" she asked. James put his hand over his heart.
"Of course, Mum. Golly gee, what sort of son do you think I am?" he asked, mock-offended. "You know me. I don't put up with any of that partying nonsense. All rubbish designed to rot your brains. I only care about my O. ."
"Oh, don't lay it on too thick," she said, "not even a Hufflepuff would believe you."
"I love you, Mum," James said earnestly, and kissed her on the cheek.
"I love you," she replied, and pulled him into a hug. The bottles in his briefcase rolled and clinked. Mum sighed. "You be safe. Don't do anything stupid."
"Mum."
"Fine, don't do anything reckless. And have a good time. Look out for the girls. If you need, floo back here, bring whoever needs a place to sleep, and we'll look after you all. I don't want you sleeping on the Vanes' lawn, you'll catch a chill, understand? And if there's any girls, or any muggle-borns, and they don't have somewhere to go, you bring them here. It's not safe these days for them to be wandering around alone." James pulled a face at the lecture.
"It'll be alright, Mum."
"Promise me, James."
"Alright, alright, I promise I'll bring any lost souls back to your halfway house," he swore. "Though I don't know if the birds will buy that my mum insisted they come home with me."
"James!" She ran her fingers through her greying hair. "Don't talk like that with your father around, he'll drop dead." Dad was asleep already, despite it only being seven. He rose with the sun and went to bed as it dipped below the horizon. He'd twisted his ankle coming down the stairs the day after Christmas, and no matter what potions he took, the pain remained. He smiled when James came in to his room. The wrinkles around his brown eyes had never looked sadder.
"I'll be alright," he said, taking her hand. "It'll be alright." He squeezed it. She squeezed back, twice.
"The Vanes live in a muggle neighbourhood, don't they?" she asked quietly. "The latest attacks have been in muggle neighbourhoods."
"On muggles," James reminded her, and then felt guilty. As if their lack of magic made it okay. That's not what he'd meant. "The Vanes will have wards. There will be two fully grown wizards – and a bunch of ones who are decent with a hex or to, yours truly included – against anyone who comes looking for a fight. Besides, the bad guys celebrate New Year's too."
"You've got your wand?"
"'Course. In my pocket." Mum slipped her fingers under his chin.
"I wish I was young," she rued. "Go on, then, before I change my mind."
"Love you, Mum. I'll be home for breakfast," James said. He kissed her on the cheek and headed for the fireplace. He grabbed a fistful of floo powder, tossed it in, and followed it with, "The Vanes' House, Folkstone." He gripped his briefcase tightly, waved goodbye, and let the flames take him. He couldn't wait until he could get his apparition license. It was much quicker – and much cleaner. He could do without the soot in his hair. He hummed to himself as he raced past a variety of fireplaces. He had a song from the radio stuck in his head. He'd forgotten to write down the name, but it was real catchy. Sirius would call it girly and Remus would say it was too upbeat, but James loved it all the same. He shook his head from side to side.
Wind rushed around him. He leaned forward and stepped into the Vanes' living room. James grinned from ear to ear. Brilliant. It was early still, only half hour in, but there were a few people around. '76' balloons drifted through the air, glowing yellow. A platter of snacks had been set out on the table. James wandered over and set down his drinks. They joined a rather dismal crew – a bottle of wine and a bottle of ale. Who was Glen catering for, their parents? He grabbed one of the beers he'd brought along and a pumpkin pasty joined it.
"James Potter?" asked a younger girl. He glanced up. She smiled at him, showing her crooked teeth. "You're chaser for Gryffindor, aren't you?" He swallowed his bite.
"That's me," he told her, and held out his hand. She took it gently, and they shook. She looked vaguely familiar. "And you must be -?"
"Joan. I'm Glen's sister," she said. That explained it. Their hair was the same dark shade, and their noses were alike. "I'll tell him you're here."
"Thanks," he said. She hesitated, mouth open. "Alright?" he asked. Joan inhaled sharply.
"Yeah. Yeah. Just – what do you think of the pasties?" She bit her lip. He took another bite, and smiled broadly, giving her a thumbs up with his free hand.
"Really good," he said, after finishing his next bite. She beamed.
"Oh, brill! Thanks. I made them."
"You did a good job."
"Thanks!" she scurried off.
James chuckled, and polished off the pasty before looking for mates to hang out with. No way in hell could Sirius make it, and Remus and Peter had been seconded by their families for the holidays, which was a bit of a bloody nuisance. If Dale had been invited, he would be here, but James wasn't sure that Dale met Glen's 'standards'. Lisbete wasn't here; he'd owled her and asked, but her parents wouldn't let her. James' plus-one had gone unused. He swanned through the slowly growing crowd, dodging a gaggle of fourth year Ravenclaws and a gathering of Hufflepuff prefects. Someone tossed a frisbee (Joey Jenkins, nice), and that was when James found Glen. Glen shouted, barrelled to the middle of the living room, and whipped out his wand.
"ARRESTO MOMENTUM!" he screamed. The frisbee stopped. The party stopped with it. Celestina Warbeck filled the silence as her song played over the radio, crooning, "This feeling's utter bliss, yet something seems amiss…" Glen stared at the frisbee.
James mussed his hair, and strolled into the centre of the room. He plucked the frisbee out of the air. Glen blinked. James held it out for him.
"There you are," James said coolly. Glen took it.
"Thank you," he said. He cleared his throat, and then proclaimed, louder, "No frisbees in the house!"
Predictably, the crowd dispersed, grumbling a lot. Glen wrung the frisbee in his hands. James wavered, and then clapped him on the shoulder.
"Alright, mate?" he asked. Glen started, as if James hadn't been there a second ago.
"Yes," Glen said. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you." Bang! Glen jumped. "Fuck me!" he muttered. James chuckled. He'd never heard Glen swear before.
"Didn't put protective charms on everything?" James asked. "Rookie mistake. It'll be right, just 'reparo' it all up before your parents come downstairs." Glen sniffed.
"I did, actually. I appreciate the advice, Potter, but I'm quite fine, thank you." James shrugged.
"Whatever, mate. Thanks for the invite. Have a good one, hey?" James turned to leave, but felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Would you mind taking your shoes off?" Glen asked. He gestured to a pile of discarded boots and heels. James raised his eyebrows. "Mother doesn't want them on the floors, she just had them charmed," Glen explained.
"Yeah, righto," James said. Glen nodded and jogged off, shouting after someone else. James took off his shoes and chucked them in the pile. Weird. He went to search for someone he actually liked. Well, Glen wasn't the worst, but he had a large stick up his arse, like most of Ravenclaw. It was too much for James to bother with.
He wove through the growing crowd (two people flooed in, one after the other), and craned his neck. Glen's guest list only had a little overlap with that of Sirius' birthday, for instance. Lots of Hufflepuffs, and not the cool stoner ones. A group of girls from his year waved, and he waved back, but didn't dawdle. He found his way back to the snack table. Joan Vane brought another platter out, and a familiar brunette grabbed a drink. Thank fuck, James thought.
"Marlene!" he called. The brunette spun around, and grinned. It was Marlene alright. Her shaggy brown hair dusted her shoulders, and large, dangly, multicoloured earrings swung back and forth as she moved. She'd taken a little from the magical column, a little from the muggle; she wore blue bell-bottoms, a long-sleeved button up patterned with orange flowers, brown boots, a brown cloak, and a brown witch's hat. She looked great. James hadn't realised how fit she was before.
"James!" she exclaimed. She jogged over and quickly hugged him. James laughed. "You don't know how desperate I've been," Marlene said, adjusting her grip on the bottle in her hand. "I thought I'd be stuck with Alisha all night." No Lily, then. He supposed it wasn't her scene anyways. He didn't know why he'd expected her.
"What's wrong with Alisha?" he asked.
"Nothing," Marlene said quickly. "Well. She's a bit of a lightweight." She gestured over her shoulder. Alisha sat on the carpeted stairs, retching into a green bucket. Tarush Varma had an arm around her, and dutifully attempted vanishing charms on the vomit. James raised his eyebrows.
"Her and Varma?" he asked. Marlene smiled wryly.
"Til sunrise," she winked. He glanced down at her boots.
"Didn't Vane tell you to take them off?" he asked. Marlene laughed.
"Yeah, but he didn't stay to check. They're good shoes. I'm not taking them off," she said. James looked down at his feet and wiggled his red-socked toes. "Nice," Marlene said.
James cast his gaze across the crowd once more, and ran his fingers through his hair. "You haven't seen Dale, have you?" Marlene made a face.
"Nope. Guess Glen didn't want it to be that sort of party."
"Bastard." James shook his head. Marlene snaked her arm around his, so they were linked.
"Mm. I think I know someone who might have something, but you'll need your money, Potter. And your manners."
"Anything."
"Anything?"
"Anything." James paused. "It's not a Slytherin, is it?"
"Nope," Marlene grinned. "Have you actually got money on you?" James patted the pocket of his robes.
"A couple of galleons." Marlene's eyes widened.
"Nice. Let's go." She tugged his arm and began to skip. James joined her. The two of them skipped through the part, clinging to each other with their linked arms. Marlene nearly ran into a Ravenclaw from the year above. James tapped Laura Vickers on the shoulder on the way through, and she rolled her eyes. Marlene opened the back door, and the pair of them stepped into the garden.
It was cold out. Marlene shivered. James winced. The wind whipped their hair. It smelt of salt. The Vanes lived on a hill; James craned his neck and could see the whole town, with its twinkling lights, and beyond that, the ocean. Dark waves lapped at the shore. The garden itself was a fair size – there was no room for to play Quidditch or anything, but there was a paved section with a table and six chairs, some grass, and a garden shed. Rosier and Crabbe, from the year below, sat on the ground, huddled together in Rosier's cloak. In the murky darkness, by the fence, the end of a cigarette glowed orange.
"Knew she'd be out here," Marlene said. "C'mon." They skirted round the giggling fourth years and headed towards the cigarette. Believe it or not, there was a girl attached to the end. She exhaled a cloud of smoke, and glared at them.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Hi, Amy," said Marlene, her voice very high-pitched.
"Hello," James added, flashing her his winning smile. Amy Brown frowned, and looked them up and down. Silence hung in the ocean air. James plowed on, and held out his hand. "Have your holidays been good?" Amy touched her fingers briefly to his hand.
"Fine," she said. She took another drag. James nodded encouragingly.
"Sweet," he said. He looked at Marlene. She clasped her hands together loudly.
"So," she said, tapping her knuckles on her chin. "Amy. I – we – were wondering, if…you, Amy, might have anything – er – fun, that we could…give you some money for?" Amy stared at them. James ruffled his hair, and tried a different angle with his smile. Marlene squished her face up. Amy sucked on her cigarette. A long moment passed. She exhaled. James slid his hand into his pocket.
"I have like, a couple of galleons," James said casually.
Amy sighed. "Do you know how often I have to listen to John complain that his players are turning up to training high?" she asked.
"Oi, that was Pomfrey last session, not me," James said.
"I haven't been high at training since November," Marlene protested.
"We don't have training now," James added. "So it doesn't really matter."
"Yeah, and you've been high at training before," Marlene said. Amy pursed her lips, and flicked ash from her cigarette.
"You're not helping your case, McKinnon," Amy said. She folded an arm across her chest.
"You can call me Marlene," said Marlene.
"No," Amy said. Marlene closed her eyes, and shook a finger.
"Great."
"Come on, Amy," James said. "It'll be fun. You can join us."
"Can I, now?" Amy raised an eyebrow. "So glad I'm allowed to smoke my own weed, Potter. You're every bit as chivalrous as Evans says." Marlene coughed. Lily.
"She talks about me?" he grinned. "I always knew she liked me."
"You have a girlfriend," Marlene reminded him. He frowned.
"I know. Lisbete. She's great. I wish she'd come."
"Is that the first year?" Amy asked.
"No," James said, as Marlene said, "Yes."
"She's fourteen," he clarified. "I'm fifteen. It's not a big deal."
"Hm," Amy said, looking unconvinced. James threw his hands in the air.
"I'm not a creep!" he protested.
"You just enjoy the hero worship," Marlene smirked.
"Shut up, both of you," Amy said. James obeyed, but locked eyes with Marlene to make it into a contest. She raised her eyebrows and narrowed her eyes. It was on. Amy gave a long-suffering sigh, and butted her cigarette. "Come on. We'll use the shed."
James and Marlene trotted behind Amy across the damp grass. The Vanes were good people, he supposed. Glen was what people called a 'good kid'. He was a prefect, he was in Ravenclaw, he'd never got a detention in his life. In the Vanes' world, garden sheds were for keeping broomsticks and boxes of baby clothes. Glen went in there when his mother asked him to. They lived in a good neighbourhood where people respected fences, and teenagers spent their time at chaperoned dances or something else popular about a hundred years ago. Besides, they were muggles, and muggles couldn't cross the Vanes' wards.
All of that was to say, the shed was unlocked. Amy snorted. Marlene pressed her lips tightly together, and looked as if she might crack. James gave her an intentionally smug look. She flipped him off. He blew her a kiss. Amy pulled open the shed door. The three of them ducked inside. James wished his mates were here. He liked Marlene, and Amy was…well, a teammate, but they weren't any sort of replacement for Sirius and Remus and Peter. He wanted Peter's incessant chattering about if they would get caught, and Remus' sly remarks, and Sirius ought to be the one flipping him off, not Marlene. James patted his robes, just to check that his mirror was still at home. He and Sirius had spoken every day since Sirius got it, sometimes for hours, but he'd left it at home for the party. He knew what Sirius was like, and a drunken mirror-call would rub salt in the wound. He'd already concocted a version of the party to tell his mates, sensing that it wouldn't be so wild that other stories would get out: he hung out with Marlene, which was fine, nobody could do much because Glen was so uptight, they had a few drinks (and now a joint) and it would've been a hundred times better if the boys had been there. It was all true, of course. It still felt a bit devious. A bit Slytherin. He just didn't want to be a dick. Maybe it wouldn't come up at all.
(That was too much to hope for, he knew, deep down, because when had Peter not asked for a blow-by-blow of his holidays? But here, James chose to be an optimist.)
Amy pulled out her wand, whispered something, and tapped a stack of folded chairs. Three jumped out and unfolded, ready to be sat in.
"Woah. My mum didn't even let me bring my wand," Marlene exclaimed. James fist-pumped.
"I win!" he shouted. Marlene clapped her hands over her mouth.
"Oh, shit! No, that's not fair! Recount!" she howled.
"Shut up!" Amy snapped again. James swigged the last of his drink and set it on the floor. Marlene flopped into a chair. James did the same. Amy glared at them both, sat down, and reached into her robes.
"I've got my wand," James whispered. "Mum wouldn't let me leave without it. In case we get attacked." Marlene crossed her arms.
"If we get attacked, I'm flooing my mum to shout at her," she said. James laughed.
"Do you really think they'll let you floo?" Amy asked, her words cutting through like a knife. Marlene blinked.
"It was a joke," she said.
"I'm not laughing," Amy said. Her fingers rolled a joint. She didn't look down. Her eyes were intent on Marlene.
"Sorry," Marlene said.
"It's so fucked up," James said, putting a hand on his knee. "Like, what gives them the right? Who are they to say who should have magic and who shouldn't? One of these days, somebody's going to kick their arses. They can't go on like this."
"They will, though," Amy said, absent-mindedly. James raised his eyebrows.
"No," he said indignantly, "no, we can't let them. We can't just sit here and let them fucking murder people. I don't know what the Ministry reckons they're doing, but -"
"And what are you going to do about it, Potter?" Amy asked. James threw his hands in the air.
"Teach them a lesson! What do you think I do at school?"
"So it's a hero thing, not just that you think they're dickheads?"
"I – it's both!"
"Then why do you only go after that Snape kid? Why not someone actually shitty, like Selwyn?" Amy spat. James blinked.
"Selwyn?" James knew him as a prat from Slytherin. A fuckwit, but one he didn't run into nearly as much as Snape. "What's the difference between him and Snape? I see Snape more. Why would I go after some sixth year?" The girls were silent. Marlene twisted a chunky orange ring on her finger. Amy lit the joint with her wand. She inhaled.
"I'd rather be locked in a dark room with Snape," she said, exhaling.
"It'd only take a jinx to knock him down," Marlene added. "Just like, a flick of your wand, and pow! He's down and crying for Lily." James snorted.
"Selwyn's not that big a bloke," he said. "If I was going to be scared of one of the Slytherins, it'd be Jugson. But none of those wankers scare me."
"Yeah, well, you're a boy," Marlene said, rolling her eyes. The girls shared a meaningful look. James frowned. What was up with that?
"Oi, I reckon girls can take down blokes," he said. "Especially one like Selwyn." He'd seen Lily Evans at the other end of a wand, and reckoned no guy would want to piss her off. He never meant to piss her off; it just happened. It was only easing.
"Thanks for not being a misogynist," Amy said flippantly. "Here, Potter." She handed him the joint. He took it, and inhaled. The leaf mulch in his mouth along with the smoke made him cough. Amy snorted. He passed it on to Marlene.
The three of them sat in silence for a while, letting it sink in. Marlene eventually began blabbering about her favourite band, and James laughed and made retorts he wouldn't remember in the morning. The shed grew hazier, and Amy kept rolling, until they ended up laying on the floor, James and Amy levitating objects over Marlene's head as she tried to grab them.
"You fuckers!" Marlene shouted. "You fuckers!"
"Catch!" James said, and sent a gardening glove flying upwards. Marlene thrust both hands in the air. The dirty glove hit her in the face, and she coughed and spluttered, throwing it off. Amy giggled, which James thought must've been a first.
"Fuck!" Marlene shouted, loud enough that it hurt James' ears.
"Can I tell you a secret, Marly?" he asked, probing the remains of the leaf in his mouth.
"Tell me!" Marlene said eagerly.
"One day…soon…I'm going to. Going to. Roar, you know? Be an animal." That was weird. He'd never thought about how weird it actually was before. It had just been a good plan. But he was going to have animal feet. And an animal mouth. Did animal food taste good when you were an animal? What would he be?
"Ew," Amy said.
"Like a lion?" Marlene asked.
"Oh, yeah, probably," James said. "I'll go up to…to Snape, or Selwyn, or whoever, and I'll roar at them. Ready?... ROAR!" He did his best impression of a lion. Marlene cracked up.
The shed door opened.
"What are you doing?!" Glen Vane demanded shrilly. James winced at the introduction of new light – the glow of the lights of the house danced across the backyard.
"Fuck me," James groaned, covering his eyes.
"Get out! My father will kill me! Get out!" James shook his head. The next thing he knew, Glen grabbed his arm and hurled him upright. James stumbled and grabbed the shed door. He stared at Glen, bewildered.
"I didn't know you had that in you, mate," he said. Glen was a bit of a beanpole. Glen paled.
"You've brought drugs into my house," he said hoarsely. "Fucking Gryffindors. I should've known." James threw his hand over his heart in mock-offence.
"Glen, language, please." James lowered his voice. "Your little sister's here, you know. What if she hears you?"
"Get out," Glen said, fixing his collar. "Get out."
"Alright, mate," James said. "Just – just – mate, I think you need to calm down."
"I think you need to get out."
"What about the frisbee?"
"Please. I don't want you in my home." Glen pointed to the gate that divided the back garden from the front. "I'm not comfortable with drugs being used in my shed."
"You're being a dick, mate," James said. "Can I get my shoes? I even did what you said and took them off."
"You're being a dick!" Glen said. His sculpted face reddened. "You've come into my house, you've used illegal substances, and now you're refusing to follow my wishes – and you still have your shoes on!" This was directed at Marlene.
"Sorry?" Marlene said. "I just thought it was kind of a stupid rule."
"I don't care what you think. It's my house. And I'm asking you to leave."
"How are we meant to get home?" James asked. Glen covered his eyes with his hand and shook his head.
"Please," he said. "It might be funny to you, but it's not funny to me. I'm going to have to clean the shed out when I intended to have an enjoyable time with my friends. I can't have you coming back into the house, you reek. I'm not doing it to be cruel."
"You're such a fucking Ravenclaw," Amy said. "Come on."
Amy grabbed Marlene and James by the arms and pulled them away from Glen. They hurtled towards the gate. It swung open, anticipating them, and they left the Vanes'. The moon was over half-way full, and joined the streetlamps in their quest to allow James to see. Maybe he was imagining it, but he thought he could hear the ocean lapping at the shore. He looked down the street. A few other houses shone with lights, and the sound of chatter and music wafted down the road.
"What now?" he asked. "Knight Bus?"
"No, I'll be sick," Marlene said faintly. James thought hard.
"We could go back in and steal his brooms?" he suggested. "I'm great at flying, I'll get us all home." Amy looked up from her watch and sighed.
"It's only ten-thirty," she said. "I don't know about you two, but I'm not letting Vane ruin my night."
That was how the three of them ended up in a dinghy pub a mile down the road. James' red socks now had holes for his freezing pink toes to poke through. The three of them sat in a booth way up the back with muddy pints, and watched the drunken, singing locals as they sipped. Under the table, James held his wand in one hand and a handful of knuts in the other.
"Fucking – I know there's a spell for this," he said. "There has to be."
"A pity you don't bring your textbooks to parties," Amy said.
"V-Vane would have them," Marlene hiccoughed over her drink.
"I'll get it," James assured them. He had to, because they were two drinks in each, and none of them had so much as a shilling on them. That was what muggles used, right? It sounded familiar from Muggle Studies, he thought. He had the weirdest nagging feeling that something was off. Whatever, he thought. It'll be alright.
He pointed his wand at the knut in his hand. "Shillingus," he whispered. It stubbornly remained a knut. "Bugger. Shillifors!" Nothing.
"Come on, Potter," Amy said. "I've nearly finished." She raised her drink. It was less than a quarter of the way full.
"You try," he said. She pulled a face.
"Not bloody likely. You're the Transfiguration prodigy."
"Huh. Did I tell you about that?"
"Only five times before you started trying spells," Amy said, rolling her eyes.
"Well, it's true."
"Come on then, prodigy," Marlene whisper-shouted. James ruffled his hair and tried again.
"Shillifungus!"
In the end, after three drinks each, James admitted defeat and chucked a bunch of knuts on the counter before they fled. He felt a bit shitty about it, but hey, if the barman found a wizard who knew the spell, he could spend it. It wasn't like they were stealing. He draped an arm over Marlene's shoulders and moved to throw his other arm around Amy; she flinched.
"I wish Sirius was here," he mused aloud. "He'd rib me 'til I remembered."
"I'll rib you," Amy offered, sticking out her elbow. "A nice jab."
"I was just thinking," Marlene said, as they started down the street, "the Ministry will have picked up all the attempts at magic. Will they just blame it on the Vanes?" James hadn't thought of that. He ran his fingers through his hair. They all looked at each other, deadly serious; and then James burst out laughing. The other two followed.
"Oh, fucking shit, Vane'll kill me," James gasped.
"There's an owl!" Marlene screamed suddenly, and jabbed her finger at the sky. "Bloody hell, they're coming! RUN!"
They sprinted downhill, James' poorly-covered feet beating the stony street. Vivid, bright-coloured building passed them by. Marlene stopped at a lamppost and clung to it, puking.
"Good thing we didn't use the Knight Bus," Amy muttered.
"I told you I felt ill," Marlene groaned.
They ran again until they were out of breath, and now they could see the sea. Boats bobbled in the harbour. They followed the road around and stumbled through an empty carpark. At the end of it, there was a ledge, and beyond that, a heap of mossy boulders. The trio paused at the carpark's end. Beyond the rocks was the ocean, dark as midnight and rippling, stretching out to the continent. To their left was the town, and further over, white cliffsides that kissed the ocean as far as the eye could see. A dim lighthouse poked out to their right. It had a better view, but right now, his feet hurt and his legs felt like lead.
"Well," James said, after a moment. "Come on, then." He stepped out onto the rocks. They were easy to follow down, even in his inebriated state. He soon reached the lowest point, with the water coming in only a foot away from him. He sat down. The wind chilled him and he shuddered involuntarily. The girls climbed down the rocks, and Marlene sat next to him. Amy sat next to Marlene, though some distance away. They watched the ocean rise and fall. 1976, James thought. It didn't excite him as much as he reckoned it ought to. Instead, there was a little knot of dread. James pushed it down. It'll be right. Voldemort will run out of puff anytime now. The wizard had cast a shadow over most of James' life; it could only go on for so long.
Slowly, the inebriation ebbed. For a long time, he was mesmerised by the sea. He watched the waves come in and out and in and out. It was nice to not have to think. It was what he liked about flying.
A motorcycle rumbled across the road along the shoreline. The yellow glow of its headlight momentarily blinded him. It drew him from his reverie. He watched it disappear up the hill, and then turned his eyes to the girls. "We should hang out more often."
"No," Amy said. "No. This is one-time-only." Marlene blinked sleepily. She had lain down on the rocks, hands on her stomach. Now she sat up.
"But we're your Quidditch buddies," she said, pulling Amy into a hug. Amy strained against it.
"Fuck you guys."
"Fuck you back," James said.
"No thanks," Amy replied.
"Are we sleeping here?" Marlene yawned. She rubbed her eyes, and dark makeup littered her cheeks.
"No thanks," Amy said coolly.
"Let's get the Knight Bus," James suggested. He looked at Marlene, and she nodded weakly.
They clambered off the rocks and walked back to the road beyond the carpark. James grasped his wand firmly and stuck out his arm. In a matter of seconds, the large purple bus appeared.
"You guys ready?" he asked. "I reckon it'll be a wild ride."
That was not only true of the Knight Bus.
January 3rd, 1976
Severus was on Lily's bed. In her bedroom. And she was on the bed too, still in her pyjamas. He dug his nails into his arm, just to be sure that it was real. He was here. He'd been in her bedroom before, of course, but that had been before they'd gone to Hogwarts. And there had never been any reason to shut the door. Now, the door was shut, and Lily was clad in grey tracksuit bottoms and a loose green jumper. It suited her better than the school robes. The tip of her nose was very red.
His plan had almost been thwarted. Petunia didn't like the idea of Severus being up there. It wasn't 'proper'. Severus trudged to the Evans' house in the pouring rain, and knocked on the door. Petunia answered, and turned her nose up, frowning.
"Go away," she said. "Don't you have a shower to be taking?" Potter and Petunia were cut from the same cloth, Severus reflected. Both were arrogant prats.
"Where's Lily?" he demanded. Petunia's face hardened.
"Nobody wants you around," she hissed. "Get out of our garden. Leave her alone." Severus bristled. His wand was in his pocket. He glared at her, making eye contact, and touched it. Her gaze flickered to his concealed wand, and back to his face. Petunia paled.
"Is someone at the door?" Mrs Evans appeared behind Petunia. Her eyes were the same as Lily's, though her hair was blonde, and the years had worn her thin. Petunia resembled her, though Petunia was much more awful. "Oh, Severus. Hello."
"Hello," he said. "I want to see Lily." Petunia inhaled sharply.
"She's not well," Mrs Evans said. Not well? And they weren't letting him in? Yeah, because that was logical. Locking her up from the only people who could help her, great idea. Fantastic. Why were muggles so stupid?
"What do you mean?" he demanded. He hadn't seen her since Christmas Day. Nine days. Since they'd met, he'd never gone so long without seeing her. It ached.
"What do you think?" Petunia shot back. He clenched his fists. He didn't deserve to be spoken to like that. Like some piece of shit. He could hex her before she could blink, and she'd be too stubborn to ever get it fixed by magical means. Silly cow. It was tempting. He supposed he wouldn't be invited inside if he did that, however. It would have to be a last resort.
"She's been very upset," Mrs Evans said. "I think she thinks it was something to do with…well…"
"Your lot," Petunia spat. "Go home. You'll only make it worse."
"Petunia," Mrs Evans chided. Severus smiled slightly. Petunia scoffed.
"I have a letter to write. Vernon's asked me to talk to his sister, you know. She's like Lily," Petunia said. What? Severus gaped.
"Magical?" he asked. Petunia looked outraged.
"A freak!" She stormed inside. Mrs Evans blinked in her wake, and adjusted her skirt.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Come in. Lily could use some company. You might…understand it better than we can." She frowned. Severus narrowed his eyes. What did she have to frown about? But he schooled himself into being the very picture of politeness.
"Thank you," he said. Mrs Evans nodded, and stepped aside. Severus entered. He couldn't help but to look around, wide-eyed like a simple child once more. When he'd been younger, he'd dreamed of living with the Evanses. All the lights in the house worked. The wallpaper was light, and covered all that it was supposed to. Yes, there were a few shoes strewn about in the entryway, but they were all in range of the wooden rack. He recognised Lily's boots. A family photo hung on the wall, each member perfectly still. Lily's cheeks were plumper, and her hair hung in two braids. Severus guessed she was thirteen in the picture. Petunia's hair was bobbed, which confirmed his suspicions; she'd changed her hair when she went to London, along with everything else. Or, mostly everything else. She had always been a bitch. It was just that Lily only started to believe him when she left Cokeworth. Elsewhere in the house, a television crackled. A door slammed.
"Don't mind her," Mrs Evans said, glancing upstairs. Severus remained silent. He headed up the stairs.
Lily's door was undecorated. He didn't knock. He knew what she needed. She needed someone to listen, someone who, as Mrs Evans said, could understand. Who knew her better than him? He'd known her longer than anyone at Hogwarts. He'd seen every side of her. He'd seen her do her first bit of controlled magic. Nobody else could claim that. Not those daft girls from her dormitory, not Potter, not that lecher Vane in Ravenclaw. Only him.
He closed the door behind him, and stepped over the piles of clothes on the floor, grabbed the pile of books on the end of her bed, tossed them onto the floor, and took their place. Her knees curled up to her chin. She was so beautiful. Her eyes were rimmed red, and tears clung to her long, dark lashes. Pink flushed her cheeks. Her lips were wet and thick. Severus wanted to take her in his arms right then and there. Could he? She wasn't looking at him. He slipped an arm around her. She didn't flinch. She looked up at him, her eyes glittering jade and emerald. He was paralysed.
"You came," she said.
"I wanted to come sooner," he assured her. "I did everything I could." He had sat around waiting for her to come to him. He was naturally the one she would confide in, so it would only be a matter of time. Or so he had thought. It only occurred to him about an hour ago that she may have been too traumatised to make the journey to his house. So, Severus dressed in muggle clothes, and became her knight in shining armour. He battled the cold and the wind and the sad faces that peered out through the gaps in curtains, now that every reasonable family kept their children inside for fear there would be another attack.
Neither of the Snapes noticed Severus leave.
"Are you eating?" he asked her, and slipped his hand down to her waist. He rued that he had not touched it more; perhaps then he could have told if she had lost weight. He stroked her shirt with his thumb. She twitched. It was obvious to him that nobody had touched her recently. In too long. A girl like Lily ought to be hugged often and lovingly. If she had only let him date her, he could've given her that. But no, according to Padgett, Vane fancied her again and she had feelings for him too -
"It's my fault," she whispered hoarsely, breaking into his train of thought. His mouth went dry. She clapped a hand over her mouth, and squeezed her eyes shut. Fat teardrops ran down her splotched cheek.
"No," he said. "No, no. Shh." That was what you said when someone cried, as best he remembered. He'd read it in a book somewhere. Lily had skinned her knee at the park, and sobbed, and Mrs Evans knelt down and murmured something similar. Maybe. It had been a long time ago.
"It's my fault, Sev," she repeated, dropping her hand away from her face. "It is. I read the Prophet. 'Attacks occurred in areas where one or more muggle-born wizards reside, though at this time, Aurors are investigating whether this implies causation.'"
"You didn't kill anyone," Severus argued. His Lily wasn't a killer. She was good, profoundly pure-of-heart. She didn't have it in her to cast an Unforgivable Curse. Her pretty lips couldn't form the words, her slender wrist couldn't flick her wand in the right motions. She didn't burn with the fury needed to murder someone with a wand-wave.
Lily sighed. She ran her fingers through her thick, sultry red locks.
"If I didn't live here, they wouldn't have gone after her. You can't deny that." Her voice crackled. "It's because of me."
"No!" Sev pulled her closer. She squirmed. He tightened his grip, but she broke free, and laid down on the bed. His heart skipped to double-time. "It's not."
"It is. I'm not stupid, I know it is. Even fucking Petunia knows it." It was a coarse word to begin with, but it sounded so much worse when it was Lily vocalising it. She wasn't that vulgar.
"That bitch doesn't know anything," he growled, trying to be comforting, patting her leg. She pulled her legs up towards her. His hand slid off her leg.
"She's dead," Lily said, staring at the ceiling. "Gone. Forever. You know – you know, I'm not allowed to go to the funeral. Mum and Dad and Petunia are, but not me."
"I'll stay with you," Severus offered valiantly. She shook her head.
"Mum's staying." And if the wizards who murdered that woman return, what can Mrs Evans do? She'll run to the telephone to call a policeman. It was so absurd that Severus nearly laughed. Lily and her mother would be cold before two useless muggles could show up in a car to look around and proclaim that yes, hm, it looked like they were dead.
"Keep your wand on you," Severus advised.
"Jane hates me. She thinks I had something to do with it. Petunia's right." Lily's voice broke. "If I hadn't gone off to fucking Hogwarts, nobody would've died. I was so fucking selfish. I just thought about what – what I wanted, and I wanted to be a witch, well, I should've thought about the consequences-"
"You are a witch!" Severus burst out. "Hogwarts, the magical world – our world – is where you belong." She wasn't listening. Her eyes were glossy. Severus slammed a fist down on the bed. She didn't flinch. This wasn't what was meant to happen. She was to be upset, yes, but he would comfort her, she'd cuddle into him, he'd tilt her chin upwards, look into her red, puffy eyes, and kiss her and taste the salt of her tears and feel the warmth of her mouth.
Lily shrugged him off. A fierceness danced behind her eyes. Severus stared. She looked up at him. If he hadn't known better, he would've called it a glare.
"I know I'm a witch," Lily said flatly. "But I'm not just a witch. There's a reason they call me 'muggle-born', Sev, even if you like to ignore it. I'm muggle too. And because I am muggle-" she sharply inhaled, "-Jane's mother is dead. Dead. The police are at a loss, they kept asking me the same things, over and over-"
"What?" Nobody told him that the police had questioned her. How was that allowed? The Ministry ought to have intervened by now, to have made everyone forget that Lily was ever there. He bristled.
"I understand why they're asking me," Lily sniffled. "Jane saw me through the curtains. I left, Mrs Simmons left behind me, and she disappeared only to turn up on the riverbank the next morning. They'd be stupid not to question me."
"But you're a girl," Severus said incredulously. "You're…Lily."
"I'm well aware, thanks," she snapped. "Do you really believe there aren't any female Death Eaters? Is that really a rule? Never mind if she's the best wizard that's been in the last century, she can't sign up to be a mass-murderer because she has boobs?" Lily demanded. Her tears dried on her cheeks. Severus shuffled backwards. Accusation flared in her eyes. Heat rose inside him. She expected an answer. He stiffened.
"How would I know?" he asked, consciously changing his voice to the one his dormmates knew best. Measured. Cool. She looked away from him.
"Well, you don't have any girls in that group of yours, do you?" she said, staring at the roof.
"So you think we're Death Eaters?" he shot back. His heart beat hard against his chest. Lily covered her face with one hand. She inhaled deeply. Severus' muscles tensed. Would she shout at him? Would she cry again? He hadn't planned for this. She pressed her fingers into the soft round of her cheek.
"I'm sorry," she said, finally. Severus touched his hand to his collar.
"Do you think we're Death Eaters?" he asked again. He almost didn't want to know. He had to know.
"Sev," Lily said. "I don't want to talk about it." Silence hung between them. She rubbed her face. "Please? Can you just…listen?"
"Of course," he said quickly. Lily laid her hand on her thigh. He steadied himself with a deep breath, and took it. She didn't pull away. He squeezed it. "You can tell me anything," he said, earnestly. Lily nodded.
"I know," she said. "I just forget sometimes. I – I didn't find out 'til that Saturday…"
December 27th, 1975
Oh, no, they weren't 'questioning' her. It was an 'informal chat'. That was why they sat in the Evans' living room, rather than in the police station, and why Lily wore pyjamas and her hair in two plaits rather than a sensible outfit that made her look twenty-one. The two officers sat on the sofa, while Lily sat in one of the two armchairs. Mum brought out a cup of tea.
"Thank you, Anita," DCI Thompson said. His son Dennis had gone to junior school with Lily when they'd moved to the area, and as such, he'd been present for her ninth birthday party. His wife was Mrs Simmons' best friend.
"Cheers, 'Nita," DS Scott added, lifting his teacup. Mum spared no expense, bringing out her good china. DS Scott was Dad's friend Malcolm Scott's rather more useful brother. Everyone, Lily mused, was connected in Cokeworth. There were only so many people in town.
"You're very welcome," Mum said. She at least looked presentable; she'd had a grocery bag slung over her arm when she opened the door and saw the policeman stomping up the path. Mum smoothed her skirt down and sat in the vacant armchair. Lily swallowed. A knot tightened in her chest. If it was just a 'chat', why did she feel like she was going to be sick? DCI Thompson smiled at her, and her guts rumbled. She wanted to take her mother's hand, but that would be childish. She settled for clasping them, and pressing hard into her lap.
The men sipped their tea, and Lily shifted. Every second was agonising. Mum put her cup of tea down on the table.
"It must be so hard for you both," she said gently. "I can't believe it. Thank you for the work you're doing."
"It's been hard, yeah," DCI Thompson acknowledged. "It's bloody tragic. Everyone loves the Simmons. And the poor chap who found her... It's enough to send him mad, it is. I told Rich myself. He's beside himself, 'course, I would be, if it were my wife."
"Of course," Mum agreed.
"Somebody has to do the job, though," DS Scott said, puffing his chest out and grimacing. Lily disliked him immediately. He was Malcolm's baby brother and was far closer to Petunia's age than DCI Thompson's. He reminded her of Potter, but only the bad bits, as if someone had taken Potter, given him too much power, and drained his sense of humour and charisma.
"Of course," Mum said, softer.
"It's not easy by any stretch," DS Scott continued, "but it's important. You know, without people like us, doing our job, there'd just be murders on every street corner. They proved that, you know, I saw it on the telly. Without police, a hundred-and-ten percent more people would be killed every year." He smiled with his teeth, which sat in straight white rows, like they'd been cut-and-paste from a magazine. Nothing was crooked, none were tinted even the slightest bit yellow, there were no chips from childhood, not even a bit of spinach between his teeth. Malcolm's face was friendly, but DS Scott's face was like a politician's. His friendliness was store-bought. He was the sort of man Petunia would defend to the ends of the earth. Lily wanted him out of the house.
"Is that so?" DCI Thompson asked, raising his eyebrows. DS Scott nodded seriously.
"Absolutely. Did you really not know this?" His chuckle was hollow.
"Well, thank goodness you're here," Mum remarked, giving Lily a look. At a different time, Lily might've smiled. Today, she pulled her legs up and crossed them. DCI Thompson cleared his throat.
"Thank you for letting us into your home, Anita, Lily," he said. "Now, would you mind if I asked a couple of questions? Just as part of our little chat. DS Scott will take some notes, if that's okay." DS Scott snatched up his notebook, and clicked his pen so ferociously that Lily wouldn't have been surprised if he stabbed somebody with it.
"I'm okay with it if Lily is," Mum said. All eyes fell on Lily. She slid her thumbnail against the red thread of the armchair. There was a dent from where she had sat on the armrest as a child, leaning over her dad as he read the paper in the evening, before they'd had a television. Petunia sat on the opposite side, and the two of them would read aloud titles, or make their dolls run up and down Dad's arms.
She swallowed. "Yeah. It's okay."
"Could you tell us your full name, please, Lily?" DCI Thompson asked, with a smile in his voice.
"Lily Joy Evans."
"And your birthday?"
"30th of January, 1960."
"So you'll be sixteen this month?"
"Yes."
"Congratulations," DCI Thompson said. Lily nodded.
"Thank you."
"You'll have to watch out for the boys then, 'Nita," DS Scott laughed. Lily's faint smile dropped. Mum didn't laugh.
"So, Lily," DCI Thompson said, steering the conversation back onto the road, "what school do you go to? It's out of town, isn't it?" It took all of her self-control not to glance at her mum. It would look suspicious. She was used to lying about where she went to school, but DCI Thompson and DS Scott weren't only prying neighbours, they were police. If they were so inclined, they could write a letter to her supposed school and ask if she really did attend. Worse, they could telephone them. Then there would be questions asked. Well, more questions. There was over a week left until she could return to the wizarding world, and escape this investigation. She didn't want to make the decision; she wanted Mum to answer and choose for her. But was there even a choice? How could she tell the truth? Well, DCI Thompson, I'm in my fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Would you like to see my wand? It was absurd.
"Sorry, I zoned out," she said. "Um, I go to St. Margaret's. It's in Suffolk."
"Suffolk?" DS Scott looked unimpressed. "Petunia went to the local, didn't she?"
"Our Lily got a scholarship," Mum interjected. Lily thanked her lucky stars.
"Good on you," DCI Thompson said. "You won a few awards in junior school, didn't you?" Honestly, Lily had nearly forgotten about them. Nobody at Hogwarts cared about how well she'd done in English. Marlene had given her the strangest look when Lily mentioned how weird it was that Hogwarts didn't offer English. 'Why would you need a class all about how to read and write?' she'd asked, bewildered. 'You do that in every subject!'
"Thanks. A couple," Lily answered. DS Scott wrote on his notepad. Lily was sure the prize she won when she was ten would be crucial to the case. Definitely.
"Now for the harder questions," DCI Thompson said, and he had the heart to look apologetic. Lily plucked the thread on the armrest. "When did you get back to Cokeworth?" Lily counted the days silently.
"Sunday," she said. DS Scott zealously noted this.
"You haven't gone anywhere else while you've been on holidays?"
"No."
"Alright," DCI Thompson said. He sighed, and referred to a page he had with him. Lily pulled the thread harder. Mum uncrossed and crossed her legs. "So, you went out on Christmas Day?"
"Yes."
"And what was that for?" Lily slid the nail of her forefinger under her thumbnail, and picked at the thin layer of fluff beneath it.
"Um, I went to see my friend, to give him his Christmas present." DS Scott raised an expectant eyebrow. Lily swallowed. "Um, his name is Severus, Severus Snape. He lives in Spinner's End."
"Right. Snape, Spinner's End," DCI Thompson summarised. "And he could confirm this?"
"No!" It flew out of her mouth. Her heart pounded in her throat. But no, no, he couldn't confirm it. She knew Sev. He wouldn't take kindly to muggle policeman interrogating him. He'd probably try to hex them – as a warning, he'd claim, but it would really be because he was in a temper. And if they saw Mrs Snape's battered little frame, questions would be asked. If Tobias was home, DCI Thompson would be lucky not to come away bruised, and the house would be torn apart by police or turn to hell. She was the only person permitted anywhere near that brutal hovel of a home. Sev would never forgive her if she led the police to him. "No," she repeated. "Um – he didn't answer." Oh, my god. They know. They know I'm lying. They know, they know, they know –
"So you still have the present?" DS Scott asked. Don't let it show. She swallowed.
"I left it at the door." DS Scott scoffed.
"It rained later, it probably got ruined," he said. Lily made a show of biting her lip and looking downcast.
"I know. I just didn't think." She hated this. She hated lying. She felt queasy.
"So you went to Spinner's End to give your friend a Christmas present. He didn't answer, so you left the present there. Did you come home after that?" DCI Thompson summarised. Lily nodded. "Which way did you come?"
"Through the park," Lily said.
"Was anyone in the park?"
The questions rolled on. No, no, no, I don't know. DS Scott took notes with a vengeance. The stairs creaked and Lily knew her father was on the other side of the living room door, the same way she knew which of the girls in her dormitory was tossing over. Lily didn't know the science behind it, but it was a comfort.
It took an hour. Lily's head spun.
"And you didn't see anyone else on the street?"
"No," she said.
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure," but then, was she? There might've been someone. It had been nearly a week ago; she didn't remember every detail.
"And there was a dog?"
"In Spinner's End, yes."
"In the yard?"
"Yes."
It went round and round and round.
Finally: "Thank you for speaking with us, Lily. It's been incredibly helpful," DCI Thompson said. Lily set a third empty teacup down on the table. Their fine china had been used up, and Mum had turned to the normal cups. Now Lily had to pee. Just my luck, she thought glumly.
"You're welcome," she said, using the same measured, polite voice she adopted when an adult wizard she didn't know spoke to her.
"We'll come back if we have any more questions. Which we may. We need to get to the bottom of this," said DS Scott.
"Lily leaves for school next Sunday," Mum said. "They don't like telephones there. She'll be harder to get hold of."
"Well, the school needs to co-operate with the police," DS Scott said. DCI Thompson cleared his throat.
"We'll do our best to get everything we need from Lily before she leaves. If we do determine a suspect and charge them, she may need to return to testify."
"I can do that," Lily promised, and knew full well she would never have to. They'd never catch whoever did it. How could they catch a wizard? They'd look for the route the person took home, never thinking that they could appear and disappear at will. They'd examine Mrs – no, the body, and search for a cause of death. No muggle coroner could find evidence of the Killing Curse. Her heart hurt.
Jane would never know how or why her mother was murdered.
Lily would be the only one who knew Mrs Simmons and the truth.
She kept it together. Barely. The policemen thanked her mother profusely for the tea, Lily profusely for her time, and then headed out.
"Lily," DCI Thompson said quietly, once DS Scott was stomping around the front garden as if he might find a clue. "If you think of anything else – drop around to mine and I'll talk to you and record it, right? If I'm not there, the wife'll ring me up. I know it can be – erm -" he significantly looked over his shoulder, towards DS Scott, "- it can be intimidating coming to the station. But no matter how small it is, you pop round, alright? Even if it's just, 'I remember I saw so-and-so in the garden', or, 'there was a bin knocked over three doors down'. Anything that stuck out to you."
"I will," Lily said. She wished there was something she could tell him. I saw a man in black robes with a mask, and he pulled out a stick and whispered something like 'abra cadabra'. By the way, maybe you should go to London and go into this little old pub and see if there are any 'Aurors' around? It wasn't fair. The muggle world was helpless and the wizards wouldn't care enough to launch their own investigation.
It was enough to make her want to cry.
"Alright, love. You take care now," DCI Thompson said. He patted her on the shoulder and left the house, shutting the door behind him.
Lily took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself.
"Lily?" Her mum put a hand on her shoulder. Lily's bottom lip wobbled.
"Mum?" she said hoarsely.
The dam burst.
A/N: I'm so sorry about the wait! As soon as exams were over, I got a job, and it just all spiralled out of control. But I'm back on track, already 1/4 through the next chapter, and with a good idea of where the story is going. I hope you're all doing well! Thank you for your continued support. Also, I changed my tumblr username - you can now come find me at ohmygodshesinsane. I post updates on how the chapters are going and sometimes upload sneak peeks or talk about the characters! I'd love to see you over there :)