Chapter 8

Oil and Water

The force of the impact sent Lily sprawling on the ground. She lay for a few minutes staring at the sky in a daze, surprised by her sudden change in perspective. She gingerly picked herself up, looking around to see who was the latest victim of her sudden bout of clumsiness. In front of her someone was picking up books and papers that had obviously been scattered when they had crashed. The person's face was obscured by dark, lanky, greasy hair—but she recognized the figure nonetheless.

She grabbed the battered copy of Advanced Potions that had fallen near her feet along with a piece of parchment full of small cramped writing. Clearing her throat she launched into an apology, "Terribly sorry. I seem to be far from my graceful self today. I apologize for knocking your things out of your hands," she hastily shoved the book and parchment at him, noticing his expression that was devoid of emotion. Feeling the silence stretch between them, she started speaking once more, "Again, so sorry. I guess I just didn't…er…see you there, Sn—Severus." His name came out awkwardly from her tongue. She was used to using his surname, but it seemed inappropriate for a polite conversation.

"Evans," he spoke at last, obviously not sharing her sentiments on the use of the last names, "I accept your apology. It is understandable given the events of your summer. To have your life touched by the dark—You-Know-Who must be quite a shock."

She had bowed her head when he had mentioned her summer but snapped it back up when he nearly called her parents' murderer "the Dark Lord." Her eyes narrowed when she heard the way his oily voice caressed the title "You-Know-Who" when most whispered it or trailed off, knowing the listener would know whom was meant.

"Thank you for your…concern," she said primly when she realized he was done speaking.

Excusing herself, she briskly walked towards the lake. She glanced back once to see Snape watching her, an expression of curiosity on his face, his books and papers clutched protectively to his chest. Deeply shaken, she continued at a near sprint to the shade of one of the weeping willows that lined lake. Only when she had reached the shelter of its curtain-like branches did she dare to look back once more, but he had vanished.

She sat on the grass and leaned against the tree's sturdy trunk. She closed her eyes, Snape's eerie tone and expression. Laughter reached her inside her sanctuary as students continued to enjoy the antics of the four boys, but once again she felt remote from it all.

She sat in the common room, idly flipping through a copy of Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul that someone had left lying on the floor next to the armchair she sat in. It was the middle of October and the first visitation to the little village. The entire month had been stormy but by some divine intervention this Saturday had dawned clear and crisp—much to the joy of all the students allowed to go to Hogsmeade.

Lily had spent the earlier part of the day at the village, window shopping with her friends in an effort to reconnect with them. Again and again she'd have to ask someone to repeat what they'd just said or found herself surrounded by laughter at some joke she hadn't caught. Annoyed at herself, she had made up an excuse about a half-finished Potions essay which thankfully her friends hadn't questioned (though they had all exchanged resigned looks she couldn't help noticing).

She had hurried back to the castle, feeling their disappointment like a cloud behind her, their concerned whispering filling her ears with a dull buzz. She kept her mind blank as her feet followed the familiar path to the Gryffindor common room, murmured luctu ploratis to the Fat Lady, and let out a sigh when she found the room blissfully empty.

And now she was sitting in an overstuffed armchair by the fire that crackled merrily, the book of bad omens open in her lap—her silent declaration of "This. This is my life. Bad omen after bad omen." She snorted bitterly as this thought crossed her mind as she stared at the fire.

Lily sank farther into the chair, letting in all her pain at last. She had kept it away by burying herself in homework, NEWT review, and her Head Girl duties. Now, after bothering all her professors to finally giving her all the work in advance, she was done with all her work through the Christmas holiday, could rattle off the answer to almost any question ever known to be asked on the NEWT, and the sound of her purposeful strides down a hallway sent shivers down all students backs—whether they were doing anything wrong at the moment or not. She had nothing now, nothing to keep away the memories of the summer that haunted her, nothing to keep her from dwelling on her lack of any form of communication with Petunia, nothing to bury the lingering embarrassment of her first night back at Hogwarts.

So she let herself spiral into that hole of self-pity that disgusted her and comforted her. No tears came, she was beyond that. No, she simply wondered why. Why? Of course other people had lost loved ones fighting against him. Aurors, ministry officials, outspoken witches and wizards, and the occasional muggle or squib relation had all been killed by Death Eaters or some other form of minion that he possessed. But why had that self-styled lord Voldermort chosen to come to her house that horrid night, had chosen to kill her parents with his own wand?

How casual his voice had sounded when he hissed Avada Kedavra, the words echoing into the street and into her heart as she had fled everything she had ever known hand-in-hand with the sister who the next day would refuse to touch her.

Some part of Lily said that if she could just find out why he had done it, she could rest easy. That with the mystery solved she could laugh again, be happy, and move past that night—let her grief subside from the darkest of black to the grey of something remembered faintly. But at the same time another voice asked what the point was. What had happened had happened and enlightenment on why would change nothing—just move on. And yet another part wanted to pull the grief around her like a quilt, wrap herself in its darkness and let it numb everything else.

Lily's eyes moved from the dancing flames to the window, shocked to find that at some point darkness had fallen. Still the common room remained empty, though she seemed vaguely aware of some of the younger students drifting in and out of it earlier. "Must be around supper," she thought absentmindedly before returning her gaze to the fire. She felt them growing heavier but felt too lethargic to even entertain the thought of moving from her chair and scale the stairs that led to her dormitory. So instead she curled her legs underneath her and tilted her head to rest against the side of the armchair. With a small sigh she whispered, "Just until everyone else gets back…then I'll go to bed…" and fell asleep.

At some point she heard her name being whispered and a hand lightly shaking her shoulder.

"Wassamadder?" she asked groggily, keeping her eyes firmly shut and feeling someone gently pulling her to her feet.

"Up you get, Lily love," the voice whispered again, a voice that clicked as male in her foggy brain.

"Whoyoucallinlub?" she slurred groggily trying to open her eyes but the dim light of the common room was too much for them and she shut them again promptly, swaying a bit.

The voice ignored her and the hand (the more conscious part of her determined that it belonged to the voice) turned into an arm that supported her tired slump.

"Honestly, stop moaning. If you had just taken her up earlier when you had seen her, you wouldn't have been so rudely awoken now," the voice scolded some unseen person or persons, still in a whisper.

Something began to seem familiar about the voice but she was too tired to think about it. How had she gotten so tired? Oh yes, grief had a rather draining effect. She slumped further, letting her head fall to her chest in exhaustion.

"…You on this side and you on this side," the voice ordered and she felt the strong and strangely comforting arm leave. Her arms were placed around two sets of shoulders on either side of her and she heard distinctly feminine grumbles as she let her full weight rest on them.

"Now Lily, just stay awake long enough to get up the stairs. Tomorrow is Sunday and you can have a nice lie-in," the familiar voice whispered to her in a warm tone.

She must have given some sign of that she understood because she was suddenly being half-dragged forward. As she felt herself stumbling up the stairs with her grumbling guides, she heard someone humming a waltz tune that she recalled from a dream, the sound seeming to gently push her forward to where she could finally rest peacefully.