I Was Right
Chapter 6: A Promise and a Feast
For all his foggy lessons on crystal-gazing and astrology charts, Snape had never been taught the most important lesson in Divination; that ignorance is bliss, and happiness is possible only through not knowing the future.
For six months, not counting the summers, he had had all the world--and then it came tumbling down. He should have known it wouldn't last, but didn't know, and so he got his six months.
A week after the confrontation out in the school grounds, Lily finally told James that she thought they shouldn't see each other for a while. Afterward Severus sat with her, saying nothing and feeling no need to. She did cry, but the tears were healing tears--he knew she had been worn out trying to make her relationship with James work, and she was relieved she could stop working.
She didn't mention how her talk with James had gone until several days later. The subject somehow came up during a lull in the library.
"Indira's feeling a bit upset these days," Lily said when Snape commented on her best friend's absence. "Things aren't going too well with Ashok."
"You get that," Snape grunted into his Charms textbook, "with a Gryffindor." He had no active reason for disliking Ashok Patil, the Gryffindor sixth year--it was just habit, being depreciative of Gryffindors in general. Then he realized what he had said and looked up quickly. "Lily, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."
"No, it's okay," Lily said quietly.
"I shouldn't have said that," he went on, just as quietly, but furious with himself. "Stupid Slytherin habit."
"I know," she tried to smile at him and did not quite succeed. "I must have caught it from you. After my talk with James, I made Indira mad with 'stupid, overbearing Gryffindor boys' talk, too. And of course, things are none too comfortable in the common room these days."
Snape fell silent, not knowing quite what to say. Lily had never talked about her break-up talk with Potter...
"I can't really stay angry with him, though, when I think of how he looked when I told him we should spend some time apart," she continued softly. "He was all pale and trembling--he looked terrible, and he couldn't speak for a few moments."
Her eyes were looking far away, a sad look replacing the usual sparkling laughter. Severus wished he could gloat at Potter's misery, but couldn't--not with Lily like this.
"Then he asked if it was because of you."
You? Who was 'you?' Severus had gotten the impression she was talking more to herself than to him, and experienced a moment of confusion. Then, realizing, he scowled grimly. "So that's the 'stupid, overbearing Gryffindor' part? I never thought he'd--"
"I told him it was." She looked him straight in the eye.
A torrent of books fell to the floor as his arm moved suddenly, and he jumped up frantically to gather them.
"Severus," she called quietly from above.
"But why-" he sputtered, still on his knees on the floor, the books lying forgotten. Seeing her warning look, he lowered his voice to a hiss. "Why did you tell him that?"
"For one thing," she said composedly, joining him on the floor and picking up several fallen books, "he wouldn't have believed me if I'd said no. For another, I believe there is some truth in it."
Severus shook his head slowly, looking down at the scattered books without recognizing them. Something warm spread down his chest, choking him at the same time.
"Lily," he said in a voice that did not sound like his own at all, "do you really believe-" believe what? He didn't dare say it.
"It's confusing," Lily went on calmly, hefting the books she was holding onto the table and turning to face him, "but you're the person who stood by my side through it all, the one I could confide in. You are a true friend, Severus, and you don't hurt me or wear me out like my relationship with James did."
Severus felt he had to say something, anything, but nothing came out. What could he say? A thousand sentences came to mind but all of them seemed inadequate, too shallow to express this strange warmth within.
"And you've been in love with me since day one--don't deny it," she said, calmly stating a fact without blushing or looking away.
"I won't," he said very softly. Forgetting everything else, they leaned forward, their knees braced against the books scattered across the floor, and their lips met in a gentle kiss.
It couldn't have lasted more than seconds, but it felt like a very long time, somehow. Flustered, they gathered up the rest of the books without looking at each other and sat down, the scrapes of chairs unusually loud in their ears.
"Lily, there's something you need to know," he said, after an almost feverish hour of silent Defense Against the Dark Arts essay-writing. She put down her quill and looked up, the long-delayed blush creeping into her face as she faced him.
"My family are Death Eaters," he said calmly. "They expect me to become one, too."
"Will you?" The question hung over the table, almost tangible.
He broke into a grin. "No, if only to spite them," he said. "I won't become a Voldemort supporter if my life depended on it."
"Is that a promise?" She asked very seriously.
"Yes." He looked into her eyes, those beautiful emerald eyes that had so often brought out the best in him, the first eyes to show him friendship and laughter.
After a while they remembered the Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. Lily looked down at hers and sighed in exaperation. "There go my Defense marks--I don't remember a word I wrote here!"
"Strangely enough, I'm in the same predicament," Severus grinned. "How about if we look each other's over?"
They spent the next half hour saying things like "No way--there are far more kappas in Mongolia, you dope!" or "Speak for yourself--what kind of self-respecting hinkypunk would ape a grindylow like that?"
Finally, their homework more or less corrected to their satisfaction, they said good night and left seperately, as always.
The habit of secrecy had become so ingrained that they hardly had to work to keep their relationship hidden. Hardly anyone knew of their friendship in the first place, anyway. Indira knew, and Potter had seen them just once together and gotten the wrong idea(ironically helping to make it the right idea).
Despite always meeting in secret, or perhaps because of that, the two were always cautious of physical contact--Lily would playfully put Severus' shoulder-length hair in braids, he would sometimes take her hand during a walk in the unused part of the school grounds, but that was about it. And if the occasional kiss was more of the brother-and-sister kind, neither mentioned it.
Nevertheless, now that he had told her about Mother and Septimius, he could talk about everything with her--and the two shared their deepest secrets, fears and hopes in those endless hours as the days lengthened and sunlight beat down ever stronger.
Their fifth year at Hogwarts ended, and while Severus desperately wanted to write Lily, he told her with a heavy heart that they had better not--and this time she understood the real reason.
September came around at last, and Severus was elated as he entered the Great Hall. His family's pressure to commit himself to Voldemort had become palpable over the summer, but he remembered his promise to Lily and had not given in. Now, seeing her over at the Gryffindor table, he grinned broadly and told himself everything would be all right.
Somehow, though, the mood was not all that festive. During the Sorting, everyone noticed that several names were called but not answered to. McGonagall would call a name, wait almost a minute with straight lips and steady eyes when no one came forward to receive the Sorting Hat, then call out the next name. This happened three times, and she was unusually upset, though she tried to hide it. The other teachers looked pensive, too. The Potions teacher Professor Zabini, in particular, looked as if she had been crying.
Then, after an unusually somber Sorting, Albus Dumbledore rose for the usual announcements--except that they weren't the usual announcements. Severus listened with a sinking heart as the Headmaster gravely announced that those three would never attend Hogwarts, and also announced names of those who would never be returning.
Had things gone this far, then, over the summer while he tried to think of Lily and avoid pressure from his family? He hadn't even seen these deaths and disappearances on the Daily Prophet.
"The Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore said, breaking the silence that followed his list of names, "wants us to believe that these deaths are accidents or coincidences--and the Daily Prophet reports along those lines as well. But we must know, we cannot do such a dishonor to the memory of those who have perished at the hands of the most powerful Dark wizard of the century.
"Never forget the names you have heard today. Never forget these students and their families, who died because they would not join the ranks of Lord Voldemort--" general wincing around the Hall-- "-or because they were of Muggle parentage. Their deaths," Dumbledore spoke in a quiet voice that nevertheless strongly resounded in the Great Hall, "will not be in vain as long as we do not despair and do not cease to fight this new threat. Let us observe a moment of silence for our fellow students."
Severus was about to lower his head when he noticed that Mei-lin next to him was looking defiantly up at Dumbledore, her head thrown back and her eyes challenging. Lestrange, Rosier, and Wilkes followed her lead, Rosier smirking as he took in some of the teachers' outraged or uncomfortable looks.
Then Severus glanced over to the Gryffindor table, where Lily had her head bowed down, the look of sorrow visible even from a distance.
He lowered his head, letting his hair fall around his face to conceal the faces of his friends from sight, and tried to think about what Dumbledore had said, but was too nervous. This was the first time he had defied the gang, however small the gesture was; and he certainly didn't like the feeling.
"And now, the feast." Dumbledore's words came after what seemed like an eternity, and instantly the dishes before them were filled with delectable food of all kinds. "Enjoy the feast--remember, we do not really lose as long as we do not despair."
Severus heard scraping chairs all around him. He looked up, bewildered, to see that the sixth and seventh year Slytherins had all risen from their chairs and proceeded to head for the door. Then, hearing a commotion at the staff table, he saw Baddock had gotten up, as well, and was making his way over to his students. Good, at least Baddock has some sense, he thought with relief.
Baddock conferred briefly with the sixth and seventh-years, and Snape caught words like "must voice complaint-" "can't allow-"
Then Baddock looked up and faced the staff table.
"The sixth and seventh year students of Slytherin House and its Head hereby boycott this year's welcoming feast, in light of the biases and slander that mark it," he said coldly.
All eyes turned to Dumbledore, who stood up and said calmly, "I suppose I cannot stop you or the students, Professor Baddock. I will arrange to have food sent to the Slytherin common room.
"I will say this, however," he went on, and there was a steely light in his eyes few in the Hall had ever seen before, "you must realize that more innocent lives will be lost unless we acknowledge the truth about Lord Voldemort--and unless the entire wizarding community works together."
The two men stood for a while, their eyes locked, a contact Baddock broke first. He turned and strode from the Hall, nineteen Slytherins in his wake.
Snape stood up. "Alan! Evan!" Lestrange and the others paused briefly and turned to look at him.
"For God's sake, stop being stupid and come back," Snape said sharply.
"Have a pleasant evening, Snape," Lestrange said coolly as he turned away, and he and the others quickend their pace to join the seventh years and their Head of House.
Snape then realized that he was alone at his side of the table, a conspicuous empty space around him and more eyes than he liked boring into him. He noticed movement in the corner of his eye, and turned to see four fifth years, two fourth years, a third year, and a second year getting up to head for the door.
"And where do you think you're going?" He snarled, his voice ringing surprisingly loudly in the nearly silent Hall.
"We-" a fourth year tried to speak, but cowerd at the look on his face.
"Sit down," he said in a dangerously low voice that he knew half the Hall would hear anyway. "I am the only prefect left here, and with our Head of House absent, I am in charge. And I say--sit down and eat!" His voice was so venomous that the fourth year started, and they all sat back down.
He didn't bother to move over to a more occupied portion of the table, and with empty seats for company, started choking down the food which had suddenly acquired the taste and feel of sand. Idiots, every last one of them, he thought as he viciously stabbed a sausage. Can't they see what's going on? Dumbledore should poison the food he sends down for them.
He could hear whispers and murmurs coming from every way, but soon the mood of the feast warmed, more or less. Still, the groups of first years that rose at Dumbledore's suggestion of retirement were very subdued and quiet.
"Slytherin first years over here," Snape called dully. He was doing this job for two years in a row. It was usually a fifth year prefect's job to escort the first years to the dorm, but Ariel Zabini, newly made a prefect, was one of the eight that would never return, the only Slytherin among them. She was Professor Zabini's niece.
As he led the ten-and-eleven-year-olds towards the dungeons, Snape tried not to think of the reception he would get in the common room. The silent treatment, probably. He could handle that--he had never really liked any of his gang, anyway.
Finally they reached the stone steps leading down to the dungeons. Snape took a step down--
And his stomach gave a lurch as his foot slipped. Ceiling and stairs changed places crazily and he came down hard on his right hand.
"Halt!" He shouted in a general upward direction. The last thing he needed was a hail of first years falling on top of him.
As if the word had been a spell, a first year boy who was just about to descend froze midair, then slowly pulled his foot back up.
Snape tried to stand up, but the pain in his left ankle was almost blinding. Momentary pain from twisting, he told himself. He took a few breaths, waiting for it to subside, then limped with a hand to the wall to the bottom of the staircase. The first years looked down from the top nervously.
The stairs looked perfectly normal. A Concealment Charm, perhaps? He took out his luckily undamaged wand and waved it, muttering "Finite incatatem." It took two tries because his wrist didn't move properly, and he felt a mounting rage. I'll get Black and Potter for this, he swore. Making a fool out of me in front of first years..
The stairs suddenly sparkled white in the torchlight, and he heard the first years gasp. "Ice," he said grimly, then transferred the wand to his left hand and said, "Vaporos instanter!"
There was a momentary chill in the air as the ice evaporated in an instant.
"All right, it's safe to come down now," he said wearily. The pain in his ankle had settled down enough for him to walk. "But stay behind me, you never know how many more welcomes the Gryffindors have planned."
They came to the stone wall without any more mishaps, however, and Snape decided he had been lucky. Likely Potter and his gang had had too little time to set up more elaborate traps.
He stood before the stone wall, and looked over his shoulder at the first years. "You must always know your password," he said. "Without it, you will not be admitted into the common room."
He looked at the wall, opened his mouth--and realized he had forgotten the password. No, it wasn't 'pure-blood' or 'Parseltongue.' After falling down the stairs and whatnot, it had fled his memory completely. Small, nervous titters sounded behind him, then were stifled quickly.
What I won't do to Potter and Company for this, he thought venomously. I'll make them recall the school motto--never tickle--
"Sleeping dragons," he said, remembering, and the stone wall slid open to reveal the fireplace and high-backed chairs.
He stood aside to let the first years pass, and if any of them felt inclined to so much as look amused at his misfortunes, the impulse fled at the sight of the poisonous glares he shot each of them. A streak of blood down one side of his face from a cut on his temple helped the effect greatly.
Once the stone wall shut after the last of them, he made his way as quickly as he could to the entrance hall in search of the Gryffindors, impatiently wiping the blood dripping from his chin.
Black was there with Lupin and Pettigrew, chatting and goofing around, as usual.
"Black!" Snape called harshly.
They turned around to face him, somehow managing to look surprised at how he looked.
"Well, what's the matter, Snape?" Black called back. "You look like something the cat dragged in."
It was true. His robes and hair disheveled, walking with a limp and his face bleeding, Snape had to admit he wouldn't make for a very imposing sight.
"Let's see if Dumbledore's sentiments match yours, Black," he sneered, coming face to face with the tall Gryffindor. "Did you think that was amusing, trapping a stairway where any blundering first year might have broken a leg and making a fool of me in front of my House first years?"
"Snape, what are you talking about?" Black said with maddening innocence, while Lupin and Pettigrew exchanged confused looks, throwing Snape into further rage.
"Don't lie to me!" He yelled. Just then a stab of pain shot through his ankle and he stumbled, catching himself against a pillar.
"If you need your leg fixed, don't come to us, go to Pomfrey," said Black nonchalantly. He did look grudgingly concerned, however, and walked toward his archenemy. "Look, I'll help you get to-"
The next moment, Black found himself looking down the length of a wand.
"I don't need your help," Snape whispered. "Just because I'll be an outcast from Slytherin now-"
Things were just getting ugly (and interesting for the bystanders) when someone else entered the scene. "Sirius! Severus!"
"Lily?" Black said, and Snape wondered through the fog of pain and embarrassment how much Black knew. It soon ceased to matter as Lily came to stand next to him. He dropped the wand--his fingers weren't really working anyway, and he realized his wrist had become very swollen.
"Sirius, what's going on here?" Lily demanded.
"Nothing! I didn't lay a finger on him, I swear! He just shows up looking like--like that, then raves about our trapping some staircase to show him up.."
"And you didn't?"
"No! I mean, we didn't even have time, and anyway we wouldn't have done that--someone could have really gotten hurt, and someone really did get hurt--" Black stopped suddenly.
Snape watched as realization dawned on both Lily and Black's faces. What? He wondered irritably. He was feeling stupid in more ways than one now.
Lily turned to him. "Severus, I'll take you up to the hospital wing. Let's go." She bent to pick up his wand and put it in his pocket for him when she saw he couldn't use his fingers. She looked very grim as she helped him through the halls to the infirmary.
Under the ministrations of Madam Pomfrey his swollen and pained ankle quickly healed, and so did his wrist, which turned out to have a fracture. While waiting for Madam Pomfrey to attend to some other students and get bandages and potions for him, Snape grumbled to Lily, "Why didn't you let me get him?"
"First, fighting and magic usage in the hallways are against the rules," she replied.
He rolled his eyes. "I used magic to get rid of that booby trap anyway. What's one more rule-breaking while you're at it, especially if I can get Black?"
She looked at him sternly. "Removing the trap was different. There are exceptions to every rule. And second," she went on before he could reply, "you were in no condition to 'get' anyone. Third, Sirius and the others had nothing to do with the staircase prank."
"What?" Thunderstruck, he looked at her as if she had started sprouting horns. "What do you mean, they didn't..?"
Lily sighed. "Can't you see, Severus? Sirius always owns up his pranks. And he just didn't have time to set up any kind of trap, because like everyone else he went straight from the Hogwarts train to the Great Hall. And Sirius and Remus and the others don't play pranks that can get people hurt, like you got hurt today."
Snape suddenly felt sick. Was she saying--
"It was the Slytherins who did that, Severus. For your act of defiance to the group."
"Merlin's beard," he said slowly. Yes, it all made sense. That was the Slytherin style--sneaky and vindictive, unoriginal and unamusing, uncaring of injuries, even of the first years in their own House. Plus, they'd had the time and opportunity to do it.
His heart sank for the second time that evening, and to cover it up, he let loose with all the things he would do to his so-called friends. None of these were even remotely legal, all involved the Dark Arts, and all were frighteningly possible for him. Then he recalled who he was with and turned to see Lily looking at him, her eyes serious.
"Do you really mean all that?" She asked quietly.
"You know my reputation, Lily," he said, wishing he had kept his mouth shut. "But no, of course I don't mean them," he said quickly. "except maybe the Scalping Hex on Lestrange-" he paused at the look on her face, abashed. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"It's okay," she said, though her smile seemed a bit shaken. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "I trust you."
As Madam Pomfrey came for him with the bandages Snape looked at Lily, astonished once more at her strength--the strength, he knew, of people who had been loved and knew it. Something he did not have, and never would.
He did not feel bitter--he seldom felt bitter these days--but he wished he had some of that strength to give back to her, not always be on the receiving end.
He was a weak person, he knew it. Just as people who grow up being loved possess inner strength, the unloved are very frail inside. It was why he sought approval and a sense of belonging so desperately.
And now he didn't even have that.
No matter, he thought as he left the infirmary and said good-night to Lily. He knew he had guidance and strength now in someone who, for reasons he could not fathom, cared for him. He was no longer alone.
He watched as Lily disappeared down the corridor, darkness swallowing a point of light as she went.