November 8th, 1976: Lily Evans

Monday

She throws open the doors of the Great Hall to find the Slytherin table full of maroon hair and frowns. Turning to James, Lily can tell that he and his mates are the culprits—he's not laughing openly, but there's a smug upturn to the corners of his lips. "But why, James?" she says with a grin.

He starts to chuckle now that she's said it, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and holding tight. "It's Quidditch Week, Lily. You can't have thought we wouldn't kick it off with a bang," James reasons.

"Quidditch Week?" Lily repeats, raising her eyebrows.

It's a bland, colorless morning, complete with grey clouds above and a draft that rattles the windows. Remus is battered, Marlene is suspicious, Sirius is guilty—and James is guiding her away from worry, away from everyone, in fact, spinning her around and back out the doors before she's taken two steps inside. "You haven't forgotten, have you, after all the practices Sirius and I have been to lately? Gryffindor versus Slytherin on Saturday—and you'd better be there. The week before the game is always brutal; where have you been for the last six years not to know that?"

Skipping games and going to the library with Severus, Lily thinks, but she suppresses it. "I know, I just didn't realize that a whole week of buildup is necessary—what are you doing?" she says, scrunching up her eyes as James prods the tip of her head with his wand.

"Relax, it's just a Glamour Charm," says James. "I'd think you could recognize one by now—haven't you been helping Mary with them every morning?"

She replies, "Not nonverbally. Is this really necessary?" Lily rakes her fingers through her hair and pulls a fistful forward: it's an auburn shade now, streaked with gold.

James snickers, "Didn't you see the warning flyer in the common room earlier? Anyone with red hair who passes through the doorway may come down with a terrible case of head lice—the Slytherins, now that we've dyed their hair maroon for the next week."

"What a shame," Lily says, shaking her head. "And here I thought that red hair was just a minor nuisance."

"Under different circumstances, I'd say it rather suits you, actually," teases James. He adds, sobering, "For what it's worth, if not for the lice, you wouldn't ever need a Glamour Charm."

With a smile, she leans in and rests her head against his breastbone, accepting a proffered hug. It's nice, whatever she and James are doing together. (Lily can't for the life of her figure it out on her own.) She's not used to letting people in so soon, especially James after all she's put him through and all he's seen of her, and she hasn't forgotten that he may or may not be interested in her, but… somehow, the possibility doesn't scare her.

Sometimes, when she lets herself consider it, it intrigues her.

Hearing a few gossipy fourth years pass them, Lily reluctantly pulls back, though she keeps one hand in James's. "And the highlights? Are those necessary?" she asks playfully.

"Come on, you have to show some sort of Gryffindor spirit," says James, running his fingers through a lock of her hair. "To breakfast?"

"Actually, I'd better go back upstairs, warn Mary about the lice," Lily says, shaking her head.

James grins, saying, "Red again today?" When she nods, he adds, "No one can pull off red as well as you can, you know."

She's smiling to herself all the way up to the Gryffindor Tower.

xx

Tuesday

The wind dies down enough that a walk around the grounds is tolerable—and for that, Lily's thankful, since outdoors seems to be the only place where she can get Marlene alone. "I'm not going to tell you about it," Marlene is saying as the doors swing shut behind them. Lily didn't miss her intonation: not you.

She sighs, "Don't be that way—please? I know from Alice that you spent half of yesterday morning running around trying to find me; what else could you have wanted?"

Marlene shoots her a glare that has her blushing and looking down. "That was before I knew you were going to lie to me."

"I'm not lying to you. I don't want to sell you some story—if I did, I'd keep trying to shove that down your throat long after you figured it out," she argues. "I'm protecting his privacy. You'd understand if you knew—"

"But I don't know, do I, so why should I believe that?" Marlene demands.

And it's killing her because she so wants to give up all this pretending and come clean—Remus is a werewolf—but it's a secret that, lord knows, could ruin his future if the wrong person finds out, and it's not Lily's place to decide who can be trusted. "Because you believe me," Lily says instead because it's the best she can come up with, "because you left your family and took me in to get me through last summer, and you ought to know, after everything, that I'm not going to hide things from you like—like—"

"Like a bitchy little nine-year-old brat," Marlene finishes for her when Lily can't come up with the right words.

She hides her grin in the crook of her elbow, faking a cough. "Yes, exactly. Look, Marlene—that's Remus's business, and I'm not going to meddle in his life by telling you what he's going through. But don't punish me by keeping quiet about Sirius. I may not have said anything all those times he came over last August, and all right, maybe it's easier just to let Alice dock points and handle it most of the time, but you said it yourself, this is different—"

Marlene interrupts, "Oh, so you'd rather not 'handle me' when there's someone else to do it for you, and you don't trust me enough to tell me your secrets, but you still get all offended when I don't confide in you?"

This isn't her secret; this isn't fair. She doesn't even understand what's going on with Remus: all Lily remembers is meeting James and Peter in the common room that night to heal their wounds, only James said Remus wouldn't let them come, they don't know why, they don't believe his excuses, and it's been so long since he's done it alone, he could bloody well get himself killed in his state, so could she think of some dumb excuse about why he's in the Hospital Wing in case it's an extended stay? Sirius wouldn't come (probably because of Marlene, she knows now), so it was just the three of them traipsing down to his bedside the next morning, and god, all the Healing in the world can't ever erase the memory of seeing him so battered and defeated—and she can't explain any of that to Marlene, and it wouldn't matter even if she could because it isn't something that can be cured.

Lily blocks out the memory of it—what more can she do? "Please talk to me," she says softly, her lip quivering. "It's too much to carry alone."

"Maybe it would be for you," says Marlene, her voice wavering by the smallest fraction, "but I'm stronger than that."

She turns on her heel and marches back to the castle. Watching Marlene's retreating back, Lily heaves a sigh and hopes she can call this progress.

xx

Wednesday

Only James actually calls it Quidditch Week, but he was right about the anticipation, it seems. By Wednesday morning, Lily has heard reports of six scuffles between Gryffindors and Slytherins in the younger years, one of which involved injuries so bad that Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping the student overnight for observation. "I'm just glad that nothing too serious has happened yet," Alice says when Lily brings it up in the dormitory. "Can you imagine what could have happened if older students had been involved?"

"Who's to say they won't be? There's still another three days before the match," says Lily fervently, crossing the room to Mary's bed and murmuring a quick "wake up, Mare, you've got Herbology." Aquarius follows her, leaping onto the bed and licking a dazed Mary's face.

"Don't remind me," Marlene snarls, scraping her hairbrush against her scalp and yanking it through her tangles. (She's been more than a little upset since Sunday.) "Another hour and a half of working with Lockhart—god, why did he have to replace Cattermole?"

Batting Aquarius away as she wakes up, Mary replies, "Let it go, Lene. You can't actually expect me to work in the same group as Reg after what happened in Hogsmeade, can you? Greta's not going to separate from Ver, and Davy is with Reg now, so unless, like, you want to go join Benjy and James and Sirius—"

"Lord, no," snaps Marlene. "Can't we split up or something, though? Alice and I can partner Gudgeon and Cattermole, or—"

"No," says Mary shortly, and they can all tell it's the end of that discussion. "Thanks, Lily, but I think I'm going to go natural today. I haven't done black in a while."

Lily nods and slides off Mary's bed. "You're running a bit late for class—do you want me and Em to bring back some breakfast while you're getting ready?"

"That would be nice—thanks, Lily," says Alice with a smile.

Lily bids them a cheery goodbye and departs, Emmeline in tow. "I hope you don't mind me volunteering you like that," says Lily to break the ice. "I just thought—I mean, I didn't want to leave you out or anything—"

Emmeline folds her hands and looks down. "It's not surprising. You're one of them now."

"One of—I'm sorry, what? I'm not—" She trips over words at first, uncomprehending, unsure. "It's just me. It's Lily."

"It's not," Emmeline says with a tone of finality and a funny little smile at her lips.

To no avail, she mulls this over on the walk downstairs, giving it up when they reach the Great Hall. Lily really ought to talk to her: it's been a while since the days when they were Gryffindor outsiders together, and though Lily's grateful to have the others as mates now, she rather misses Emmeline's quiet companionship that she traded for the girls. "Clearly, we need to catch up," she says hesitantly, gauging Emmeline's reaction out the corner of her eye as they approach the Gryffindor table. She's always on her guard, Emmeline, but she looks at least a little surprised by the proposition. "Do you want to have breakfast together after we drop some food off upstairs?"

Emmeline says slowly, "Margaret and I…"

"It's one meal. You can make it up to Maggie," Lily coaxes her, tossing a few apples and rolls into her bag before turning back around.

Though she spares a glance for the Ravenclaw table, Emmeline nods, giving in. "All right. Breakfast," she agrees timidly as Lily pushes open the doors.

Lily repeats, "Breakfast." They start to mount the staircase again, both smiling, albeit a bit timidly, and she finally feels like something is going right for her, like she can forget for a moment or two that everyone's in big trouble: she, Remus, Marlene…

It doesn't last long. "Do you hear something?" Lily asks. The halls aren't echoing with just their footsteps anymore; there's some sort of scuffle in the background, some shouted incantations.

"Hear what?" Emmeline is saying, but Lily's already rounding the corner, her bag clunking painfully against her thigh, and then she knows that there's no need to explain this. It's Sirius versus the Slytherin Beaters, Amycus and Alecto Carrow, twins from their year. He's holding his own, but all three of them look pretty battered, and she's horrified.

"Sirius, don't!" Lily yells, worming her way out from under the strap of her bag and whipping out her wand. "Protego! PROTEGO! EXPELLIARMUS!"

As Sirius and the Carrows fly apart, one of the wands flies into her free hand—Amycus's, she notes with relief. She hastily disarms Alecto and Sirius, then stashes all three wands in her robe pocket and cautiously drops the shield. "Can you find Alice or someone to handle this, Em?" she says, glancing over her shoulder—but Emmeline's already gone, replaced in the unexpected form of Dorcas Meadowes, the Head Girl.

Dear lord.

"Vance ran into me in the corridor, said there was a duel going on," Meadowes says breathlessly—has she been running to get here? "A pre-match dispute, I assume?"

"It looks like it," says Lily, looking to Sirius. He nods, cold fury fueling a spark in his eyes. "But I don't think anyone's seriously injured."

Meadowes sighs, but her fist clenches around her wand—she means business. "All right. Thirty points from Gryffindor, sixty from Slytherin, and don't let me catch any of you fighting again in the next week, or I'll see to it that you don't play on Saturday. Can you make it to the Hospital Wing on your own, or do I need to drag your arses down there myself to ensure that Madam Pomfrey takes a look?"

They go of their own accord, though not together. What were you thinking? Lily mouths furiously at Sirius; he brushes past her with a silent I'll tell you later, and she intends to hold him to it.

Once the Carrows are gone, Meadowes compliments her, "You handed that well, Evans." Lily's surprised, but she hides it, offering Meadowes a half-smile. "From what Vance was saying, it was pretty bad. Curses flying everywhere—"

"I cast a pretty strong Shield Charm," says Lily modestly, shrugging. "But thanks."

"Either way, five points back to Gryffindor for wand-work and quick thinking—actually, no, let's make it ten. Gryffindor's going to take quite a hit when they finally catch Potter's gang for the lice," says Meadowes. She grins as she departs, a few maroon stripes still in her hair gleaming under the lamplight. It only reinforces Lily's notion that she's not half bad for a Slytherin: Fabian must not be as crazy as everyone thinks for going out with the girl.

It's not until she's back in the dormitory, passing over food and gossiping about the fight, that it occurs to her that Emmeline blew her off for breakfast.

xx

Thursday

Sirius won't talk, so she goes to James instead, catching him alone in the common room the following evening. "He wouldn't even mention it to me—I didn't find out about it myself until Defense Against the Dark Arts today. Andy held him back after class to talk to him about it."

It's late—late enough that they're the only ones still up. The last fifth and seventh years finally went up to their dormitories about ten minutes ago, leaving them alone: the other sixth year girls are all in bed by now, Sirius and Peter at Remus's bedside in the hospital wing. "But why?" Lily persists. "I know he's a bit… aggressive, but he's not the type to attack people for no reason, is he?"

James says, "It's probably just the timing. Inter-house tensions are high to begin with this week, and then there's Regulus… Sirius reckons he joined up with Voldemort last summer, that's why he left home." He trails off for a minute, looking morosely into the distance, then continues, "And before the full moon, Remus was avoiding us, skipped a class or two—and he kept talking about Belby like he's a threat."

"Damocles Belby?" says Lily, surprised. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"Dunno. None of us know," James sighs. "I reckon he's just on edge about the whole of Slytherin House these days, and the Carrows were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Lily muses, "Huh. Belby."

They sit quietly for a minute, the room silent apart from the pat-pat-pat of rain against the castle. She says, finally, "I don't think I mind you lot being there with Remus when he transforms… I did at first, but from the looks of it, it's much worse on him when you're not there, and you seem to have a handle on staying alive when you're there. You're all still completely daft for putting yourselves in danger like that," she says quickly when he starts to chuckle, "but on the flip side—it's sweet of you to do it for him."

"Insults to my masculinity aside, glad to have your approval," jokes James, smiling warmly. She feigns irritation, but her halfhearted complaints are lost against his chest as he scoots in closer on the couch and wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"I guess this means you were right about Quidditch Week," Lily mumbles sheepishly, her words muffled.

James laughs again, shaking his head. "Guess so," he echoes. "How could you not have noticed until now, though, honestly? Macdonald's the clueless one, not you."

"Be nice. Mary's not as thick as people give her credit for," chides Lily gently, tilting up her chin to meet his eyes. "But really… I suppose because of Severus." James stiffens but nods for her to go on. "He'd always point out all the stupid things people did whenever a match was coming up, of course, but I just—well, neither of us ever got into the sport, so we never really stopped to notice that all the drama was in the week leading up to the game, or that it was at its worst for Gryffindor versus Slytherin. We wouldn't even go to the games; we used to spend the morning of a match working on Potions essays together in the library."

"You mean you've never seen me in a Hogwarts match before?" says James incredulously. She shakes her head, sheepish. "But that's just—it's—that's a disgrace to the noble Gryffindor name!" he declares grandly, gaping at her.

"Come on, it's not that bad—I saw you at the Prewetts' place last summer, remember? And I'm going this year, too," Lily says in her defense, grinning.

He maintains, "But to have skipped every match for five years…"

"It's not a crime to dislike Quidditch, James." He doesn't look like he can handle this revelation, so she elaborates, "It's not that I don't like to fly, but making a sport of it—to me, that's like taking something beautiful and, I don't know, taking all the wonder out of it. All that competition—it's like you're focusing so much on the heat of the moment that you forget why wizards invented broomsticks in the first place."

"People didn't dream up broomsticks because people like to be up high, they just wanted to move fast," says James lightly, but she knows from the look on her face that he's taking her seriously. "You can't really feel the wind on your face if all you're doing up there is floating in the clouds."

Sighing, she asks, "How is it that you're able to make things like that look decent?"

"Things like what?" repeats James blankly.

"You know. Sports, pranks, the whole nine yards," Lily lists, ticking them off on her fingers. "Not that you make me want to go hex a Slytherin or anything, but—I never used to be able to understand you, you know that."

"Oh, so now you're claiming to have me all figured out?" James teases.

She doesn't smile, necessarily, but the corners of her lips turn up. "You're not the kind of person I'll ever have all figured out, I don't think, but you make me want to at least try."

"Good save. Nicely done," he mocks, but he gives himself away by squeezing her shoulders.

"They're onto you lot about the head lice, you know," Lily informs him after a pause. "Dorcas Meadowes told me so after she broke up the fight yesterday. She knows it was the boys, at any rate, even if Dumbledore doesn't have enough proof to punish you yet."

"Oh, but I'm one step ahead of you, Lily; McGonagall docked twenty points for it after lunch. Since when do you talk to Meadowes, anyway?" he adds offhand, straightening up.

She shrugs and says, "I don't, really. We just got to talking a bit yesterday after Sirius and the twins left… she seems nice."

James agrees, "She's all right, Meadowes. She's a Slytherin for a reason, but she's not filth like a lot of them—she's more towards the 'resourceful' and 'ambitious' end of the spectrum, if you ask me. She'll have a hard time serving a successful term as Head Girl, though; from what I hear from Remus, she's an easy target for the prefects."

"That's what Alice says, but I think I understand where Dumbledore was coming from, giving it to her," says Lily thoughtfully. "Haven't you noticed that none of the fights this week have involved first years? It sends a good message, pairing her up with Kingsley. It may be too late for some of us, but…" She swallows painfully, thinking of Severus.

James says, "It's like that saying about old men starting wars and young men fighting them. The only reason the Slytherins are endorsing all the blood purity shit is because of how they've been raised and what they've been told by the old blood families. If they can break the cycle early, there won't be anything to fight about; Voldemort will be outnumbered."

Lily curls up against him, taking in his words. "You'd make a good leader, you know that?"

His answering smile is melancholic. "As would you."

xx

Friday

Potions class is painfully awkward. It's the only class the Gryffindor and Slytherin sixth years have together; add that to Lily avoiding Severus, Remus and Belby exchanging significant looks, and Sirius sending Alecto Carrow death glares, and it's almost more than any of them can take. Mundungus Fletcher is the only remaining Slytherin who isn't holding a grudge against anyone in the room, but his good nature only aggravates the other students.

And worse, Slughorn is eager to play on the competitive mood. "First pair to successfully brew the potion earns ten points to their house and a free pass to the Slug Club's next gathering!" he announces, clapping his hands once with excitement. "So get to it! Sirius, Remus, I'm going to have to ask you to separate—back with your usual partners, please."

"Get me out of here," Sirius mutters to them out the corner of his mouth as he passes, begrudgingly taking his seat next to Marlene.

"For once, I'm going to have to agree with Sirius," Lily sighs, flipping through her textbook to the appropriate recipe. James grabs her free hand under the table and doesn't let go.

Class is only five minutes underway before Marlene's frustration with Sirius seems to outweigh her recent spat with Lily. She makes a point of following Lily to the ingredient cupboard, then says under her breath, "Tell me again how I landed him as my partner."

"If I recall correctly, you blew up our potion on the first day, so Slughorn split us up and put you with Sirius," says Lily, her grin widening at the resentful look Marlene gives her. "Good luck!" she adds cheekily, though she's just as anxious as Marlene seems to be.

"Same to you," replies Marlene, sensing this, as she gathers her ingredients in her arms and walks back to her seat.

They're all thoroughly disgruntled by the end of the period; so much so, in fact, that Sirius and Marlene are speaking normally again (Lily isn't sure how long that will last). At least, semi-normally. "And now I have to put up with Black for another hour and a half before dinner," Marlene accuses, jabbing her thumb into his chest, "since all the other boys will be in class, Remus is out of the Hospital Wing, and he has no friends outside of Gryffindor."

"You make it sound like my good health is a bad thing," says Remus, feigning hurt. He was finally released from Madam Pomfrey's care this morning during breakfast, and apart from a few blue-green bruises and a splint on his left arm, he's well on the way to a full recovery.

"If my presence is so offensive to you, I'll just find Gid or Benjy or someone," says Sirius, rolling his eyes. "I'm not antisocial, McKinnon."

"No, just socially incompetent," Marlene says scathingly, crossing her arms. "You disgust me, you know that?"

James shakes his head at their antics and takes hold of Lily's wrist, tugging her out of the group. "If you're finished with the theatrics, Lily and I will be going now; we have a report due for History of Magic in four hours."

"But I finished that essay two weeks ago," she protests feebly, though she lets James pull her along. "You'd better have written yours already, or—"

"It's written," says James, shushing her, "but who else am I supposed to enlist to proofread it, Amelia Bones? We can't have that."

As it turns out, James's essay needs a lot more than a little proofreading, but Lily lacks the patience to give it more than a quick read-through. "You have to do your own work, James, I'm not just going to rewrite the whole thing for you," she says to answer his protests.

"You'll regret this when I don't talk to you in class today," he says, half threatening, half amused.

"Oh, lord, I'm just dreading the thought of being able to take notes in peace for once," Lily replies, grinning back at him.

"How else do you think you'll get through the period?" he retorts, but his face falls as he turns back to the essay, daunted.

But Lily knows James better than that by now, knows him well enough to be sure that he'll keep a hand on her knee and a steady stream of whispers in her ear. He'll finish the essay just in time—probably score an "O" on it, too—because he may be a procrastinator and lack much respect for the rules, but he's the type of bloke who, like it or not, always pulls through in the end.

"Good luck," she tells him, even though he doesn't really need it, and she really means, Make me proud tomorrow.

He says with a sheepish smile, "Thanks"—I will.