See chapter one for all disclaimers.
Author's note: Hello out there to all my wonderful readers. Chapter ten is here - this is the first chapter I've gotten to post from my own home for a while. This computer, I discovered, has no Microsoft Word - no spellchecker! the horror! - but I'm hoping to get it installed soon. It'll make my life so much easier.
So. The excerpt at the beginning of this chapter is of my own devising; it doesn't come from any outside text. The usual disclaimers apply - I'm betting you can guess what's mine and what's not. Enjoy this chapter - and if you feel like it, stop by my livejournal (the link can be found on my author info page; my username is Givemethechild, and if you can tell me where I got my handle from, you get a cookie and a kiss).
chapter ten
There is distinction between jinxes, hexes and curses.
Jinxes: Often the least harsh of the three, they are usually simple spoken-word spells of no severe or permanent nature. They have a wide array of uses, from children's practical jokes to battle magic. The leg-locker curse, for example, is particularly underestimated.
Hexes: Though the term is usually put to describe what is most accurately known as a jinx, hexes are versatile defensive charms or ill-wish spells that range from the spoken-word to maleficia inscribed on bits of parchment, metal, stone, bone, wood, gems, and the like. Hexes can also be symbols: the term originated from the hexagonal figures Dutch-German wizards painted on their houses and barns to ward off vampires, werewolves and pixies. (It should be noted that the Muggles of that place and era picked up the custom of hex signs, but obviously without proper wizarding attention they were completely useless.)
Curses: Most spells in this last category are looked upon as Dark Magic, though there are few that remain unclassified as such. These spells are generally more advanced and do much greater damage than any jinx. Curses are also manifested in a variety of different ways, the most common of which being spoken-word spells and the Evil Eye. However, elements inscribed with written curses also prove effective over the long-term. Trinkets such as voodoo dolls and even some potions are listed in the curse category. Many curses yield long-term, nonnegotiable effects, and some cannot be lifted except by the wizard who cast it.
Lily sighed and tossed the book aside.
It had been a week since the episode in the library, since Maria Welteislehre had stood up and championed her. Lily had been both amazed and embarrassed at the Head Girl's special treatment, not to mention the rapt attention of the rest of her study group. She was gratified that they had thought her idea original and promising, and her high hopes had not yet been dashed; on the contrary, several very good suggestions were made by various members of the group, such as the substitution of copper tabs or needles to read the tape instead of the brass rings Lily had thought of.
Lily was more than pleased with the support she found amongst her fellow charms enthusiasts, but there was one thing wrong. Narcissa Black hadn't yet forgiven her for winning the cooperation of the majority of the group. Normally, that wouldn't have bothered Lily – after all, she could hardly be a best friend to everybody, and she had no such inclinations with people such as Narcissa, but far from just being at odds with the girl, it seemed that Narcissa had taken Lily's achievement as a sign that direct action needed to be taken.
This meant, basically, that for the past half week Lily had been painstakingly avoiding the main hallways for fear that the next random passers-by round on her and soundly jinx her.
Of course, they never did it that blatantly. Generally, they aimed their wand from their sleeve – or, at least, that was what Lily surmised; she hadn't actually seen any of her assailants in the act. However, she had witnessed a number of unfamiliar students, both Ravenclaws and Slytherins, turning away with smirks on their faces as she fell to the floor, victim of a well-placed Jelly Legs jinx, or doubled up in pain at a Cramps Curse.
She'd even discovered a suspiciously dodgy-looking cornhusk dolly in her satchel after one Arithmancy class.
She found it hard to believe how much influence Narcissa Black seemed to have over the younger Ravenclaw and Slytherin boys. But then she realised that she probably shouldn't have been so surprised. Relations between Ravenclaws and Slytherins had been quite good for the past two centuries, the facts being that the Slytherins found the Ravenclaws tolerably intelligent and witty enough to deign to consort with, and that the Ravenclaws deemed the Slytherins generally more enlightened than the hard-headed Gryffindors and the sometimes careless Hufflepuffs and felt it wouldn't slight their reputations to put up with them.
Of course, nothing came free, and Lily wondered exactly how much Narcissa was paying these young men (and sometimes women) to attack her whenever she had her head turned the wrong way.
All she really knew, though, was that when she caught the occasional glimpse of the flaxen-haired girl in the corridor or at the door of a classroom, she looked as pleased as the cat that finally had the mouse.
She didn't mention any of this to her school friends; she refused to be humiliated by admitting that she was having a hard time taking care of herself. So she simply steered clear of large, crowded hallways, and at all costs she avoided being caught alone out on one of her walks, which were by now becoming a regular part of her day.
As were visits to Hagrid.
Lily got out of her bed, throwing the book down on the mussed covers before going to get her cloak out of the wardrobe. Wand in hand, she left Gryffindor, acknowledging with a nod Sirius and Remus, who were sitting at a table in the common room, studiously bent over some scruffy-looking pieces of parchment, before slipping out the portrait hall and into the main part of the castle.
She made it out to the grounds without incident, and she found Hagrid in his hut, washing out a teapot. He greeted her warmly, insisted that she make herself at home, and apologetically informed her that she was just a moment too late for tea.
"That's all right," Lily assured him, and politely waved away his offer of some homemade fudge. "How are you?"
"Ah've been jus' dandy," said Hagrid. "Been helpin' Professor Kettleburn a bi'… learnin' some stuff I didn' know…."
"That's great, Hagrid," Lily said. "What kind of stuff?"
"Oh, differen' things," Hagrid said, waving a dismissive hand. "A bi' here an' there. Wha' abou' you, though? Doin' all righ' wi' yer studies?"
Lily nodded. "Oh, sure. We've been studying some brilliant stuff in Charms." She hesitated a moment before starting in on an explanation of what she'd been up to with her revision group, and then admitted the troubles she was now having with Narcissa Black.
"And I can't really tell anyone about it, either," Lily finished. "I mean, even if she is being dreadful, I could hardly rat her out. That's the lowest of low responses. And like I said, I've been ignoring it, but it does get kind of difficult to do that when your hair's on fire and your fingertips are glued together."
Hagrid chuckled a bit. "I understan'," he said. "I understan' perfectly. O' course you won' rat 'er out. Bu' yeh can' let 'er go on botherin' yeh like tha'."
"I know," Lily sighed. "But I can't think of anything else I can do, aside from ignore it and try to keep my head down. You get this kind of stuff, going to a school this big. It'd be silly to think otherwise. It really could be worse, you know."
"Sure," said Hagrid, "bu' when it start's interferin' wi' yer studies, tha's when yeh gotta take action. Yeh haven' tol' anyone yet?"
"No. It's my own battle; I'm not going to drag my friends into it. For one thing, Sirius would take any excuse to do his cousin some harm."
Hagrid laughed outright at that. "Righ', righ'. Well, what I'm sayin' is this: if nothin' else, get yerself ter th' library an' do some studyin' on jinxes an' the like. Practice 'em on yer own. Then use 'em when yeh need 'em."
Lily looked doubtful. "That's a good idea, Hagrid, but there's just one thing wrong. These – attacks, or whatever – they're sudden. Sometimes I don't even see who did it. And when I do, they're already halfway down the hall, or there's someone in the way."
Hagrid shrugged his massive shoulders. "All's else I can say is t' go ter Miss Black 'erself and 'ave a word wi' her. An' if tha' doesn' work, give 'er a taste of 'er own medicine."
"You mean – tell the boys, and have them follow her around and jinx her?" Lily's tone was incredulous.
"No! O' course not. If jinxin's what she needs, jinx 'er yerself. But I wouldn' advise it. Yeh'd be better off ignorin' 'er or defendin' yerself when needs be."
Lily bit her lower lip. "I suppose you're right, Hagrid," she said. "I guess I'll just wait it out. I mean, she can't keep this up forever, can she?"
Hagrid chuckled and shook his huge head. "Nah. She'll ge' tired o' 'er little game, an' then yeh'll be done."
Lily allowed a smile to creep onto her face. "Yeah. That's what I'll do. Thanks, Hagrid." Once again declining the gamekeeper's offer of fudge, she left the hut to return to the school.
But as she crossed the grounds, out of sight of Hagrid's cabin now, she spied not one but two cloaked figures, both identifiable as Slytherins by the green and grey piping around the hems of their hoods.
No sooner had Lily laid eyes on them did she draw her wand. She could tell these two intended trouble just by their walk, which was restless and quick, and Lily felt the back of her neck prickle with sweat. Oh, god, wasn't this perfect? Her fingers tightened round her wand, and she desperately wished that the two figures swiftly approaching meant to pass her by without incident.
But her hopes were dashed almost immediately, as one of them lifted a wand, aimed it, and shot a blistering white curse at her, all within the span of an instant.
Lily managed to dodge the curse, but just barely: she felt a dagger of heat rip through the bell of her sleeve, missing flesh by mere centimetres. She stumbled and fell to the ground, and struggled to get her wand-arm out from under her, but before she could manage it, the other Slytherin blasted her with a spell that hit like a skillet to the head. Lily rolled with the force of the spell, feeling the pain blossom and unfold in her frontal lobes like some vile flower. Her forehead stung acutely, and when her hands went to her temples she thought she felt a smear of quickly cooling blood.
She let out a whimper as the two Slytherins drew near. But they didn't pause to attack again; it seemed that they had finished their business with her, and they merely passed on beside her, the hems of their robes brushing her body as they overstepped her.
And for a long moment she lay there, feeling the ebb and flow of blood within her pounding skull. She hadn't felt a curse like that ever before in her life. Along with the ache in her head, she felt a curious filthiness inside, as if she was terribly ashamed of herself, mind, body and soul. The sensation was soon accompanied by a curious, strong depression, and she let out a sob as she rolled over onto her stomach and painstakingly got to her feet. Her stomach lurched, and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick, but she managed to contain herself.
She continued up to the castle, drawing her cloak around her tightly as the cool wind nipped about her. Something dripped into her eye, and when she dabbed at her eyelid her fingers came away red with blood. She withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket and blotted her forehead, and she discovered a line of cuts that were bleeding profusely.
Slightly panicked, she was grateful when the castle doors opened for her, and she could pass through into the warmth of the front hall. The heat, such a contrast to the chill outside, seemed to alleviate the shame she had so suddenly and inexplicably felt, and she proceeded up through the corridors of the school, feeling slightly better inside.
On the third floor she passed a gaggle of little Slytherins, who took one look at her and erupted into muffled giggles. Lily immediately stiffened, wondering what they found so amusing – she touched her bleeding forehead self-consciously, dabbing it again with her already stained handkerchief.
Further down the hall she encountered an older Hufflepuff, who stopped in the middle of the corridor to blatantly stare at her as she passed. She ignored him, and continued hastily for the nearest bathroom.
And who should she have met, not six metres from the entrance to the lavatory, but Severus Snape.
Forehead carefully covered with her bloody handkerchief, she glared at him, as if daring him to make a comment. But her fierce expression had no effect on him but to arouse his curiosity, he stepped forward to intercept her. She dodged him, and the hand he stretched out with which to catch her, and she slipped into the girls' lavatory before he could say anything. Safe from him, she went straight to the nearest mirror and removed the handkerchief that was obstructing her reflection.
She gasped.
On her forehead, a series of razor-sharp cuts formed a string of letters, appearing backwards in the mirror. But she could decipher them without much difficulty: there, in the centre of her forehead, just above her eyebrows and spelled out in clear capital letters for all to see, was the word 'MUDBLOOD'.
It still wept blood, and Lily touched it gingerly with her handkerchief: now that she could see the injury she realized how much it really hurt. She went to one of the stalls to get a wad of toilet paper, and she cleaned up the cuts as best she could; she rinsed out her ruined hankie and, having wrung it dry, put it again to her head. She then left the bathroom.
And outside, Snape was waiting for her. This time, she had no chance to avoid him; he caught her by the elbow, quicker than a striking snake, and addressed her.
"Evans, you're bleeding."
"Well spotted, Snape," Lily said, but the shock of seeing the epithet inscribed on her forehead had shaken her; she could no more conjure up a scathing tone of voice than her own Patronus. "Let me go."
It was too late, though; Snape had caught a glimpse of the wounds on her head. "Merlin!"
"Let go, Snape."
Surprisingly enough he complied, and she started off down the corridor. He followed.
"Evans."
Lily didn't reply.
"Evans, stop."
"Leave me alone, Snape. I'm going to the hospital wing, and if you're still with me when I get there, I'll tell Madame Pomfrey that you did it."
"Who was it?" said Snape, seemingly deaf to her threat.
"Snape, didn't you just hear what I –?"
But he cut her off. He grabbed her by the shoulders and, with surprising force, pushed her against the wall. A line of fear surged through her stomach: she saw his expression in the torchlight, and his eyes were like fire in a mask of ice.
"Don't snap at me, Evans," he said in a low tone of voice, deadly calm. "I know that curse. It's filthy, even by my standards." His tone was self-deprecating, and she knew it wasn't just for her benefit at the moment. She shuddered in his hands.
"I know that," she said. "I can feel it. It feels filthy. Please, Snape, let me go." She struggled against his hands, mortified at being restrained and exposed by a boy she could only graciously refer to as an acquaintance.
He let go of her arms, but did not step back, and kept her pinned against the wall with his presence and his eyes. "Do you know who did it?" he said again.
"I didn't see," she said miserably. "They had hoods."
"Did you recognize the voice who cast the spell?"
"No," said Lily.
"Would you be able to recognize it if you heard it again?"
Lily suddenly put her hands on his shoulders and shoved him away. "Leave me alone, Snape."
"Don't you push me, Evans. I'm trying to – "
"What, help me?" Lily interrupted. "For your information, Snape, I don't need your help. I'm going to the infirmary, and then I'm going to forget about this."
Snape's expression was scary. "You're going to let whoever did this to you get away with it?"
"Don't you think I get enough of that attitude with Potter?" Lily said harshly, her anger overcoming her fear for a moment. "Let me alone. I can take care of myself."
Snape scoffed. "Sure you can," he said. "That's why you're walking around with a filthy word cut into your head."
Without another word Lily moved around him and sped down the corridor. He did not follow her this time.
She arrived at the infirmary in a few minutes. The mediwitch didn't ask questions, merely gave her a bit of chocolate to cure the self-loathing the curse had brought upon her, and then cleaned her cuts with a stinging potion, bandaged her head, and gave her a small bottle of elixir which she instructed her to apply to the injury once a day for the next week.
"That injury is magical," said Madame Pomfrey disapprovingly. "I can't heal it any faster. All I can say is keep it either bandaged or suffer the stares without. And take that potion; it'll scar without."
Lily thanked the nurse miserably and departed from the hospital wing.
"Merlin, Lily, what happened to you?"
That was Cordelia, of course.
"Um…." Lily stalled for time as she straightened the flap of the satchel she was putting away. "I ran into a spot of trouble with some, uh, Slytherins on the grounds earlier."
"Ye gods, what happened?"
Lily gave an uncomfortable smile. "Uh, they thought it'd be clever to express their anti-Muggle sentiments on my forehead."
"Oh, Lily," Eliza said softly. "Does it hurt much?"
"Not really," said Lily truthfully. "Madame Pomfrey did a good job bandaging it up. And it'll be better in about a week, I think."
"Merlin's beard! What kind of spell did they use on you?" Cordelia exclaimed.
"A nasty one," said Lily.
There was a momentary silence. "Well," said Cordelia at last, "let's see."
"Cordelia!" Eliza cried. "Don't be disgusting."
Lily managed a chuckle. "That's all right, 'Liza," she said. "But there's really not much to see, Cordelia."
"It's bleeding through the bandages," Cordelia pointed out. "It's got to be something."
"It is?" Lily said, distracted, and went to the mirror at the wardrobe to examine the bandage. Sure enough, spots of blood were already appearing on the snowy gauze. "Bloody hell, it is."
"You told Professor McGonagall, didn't you?" said Eliza.
"No," said Lily. At the other two girls' scandalized expressions, she explained, "Well, she'll see soon enough on Monday, won't she?"
"That's not the point, though, is it?" said Cordelia irritably. "Aren't you going to make sure those Slytherins get detention or something?"
Lily heaved a sigh. "It's not that big a deal, really," she said. "I mean, what am I going to do? I don't know who cursed me. I didn't see their faces. And it was more a scare thing than actually an actual intent to hurt me. And I have the feeling that it won't happen again."
Because she was certain this was what Narcissa Black's indirect attacks had been leading up to.
"Really, I'm fine," she repeated. "Don't worry about it. In a week I'll be done with it and I won't have to think about it again."
Cordelia got up from her bed and began to pace the room in an agitated manner. "But Lily, don't you see? It's not a matter of how badly they hurt you, but the fact that they did intend to scare you. It's the idea of the thing that's so… repulsive." She stopped before the fireplace, turning to look at Lily with a disgruntled expression. "You can't let them push you around like that just because you're Muggleborn."
"What do you expect me to do?" said Lily. "Retaliate? That's exactly what they want. I'm going to ignore them. I'm going to hold my head up despite this stupid bandage, and I'm going to make sure they know that they can't get to me by petty curses and insults. Believe me, Cordelia, I'm far from letting them 'push me around.'"
Eliza smiled from her chair by the fire. "Good for you," she said. "Deal with it nobly. That's the best thing you could do."
Cordelia sighed. "Well, as long as you know what you're doing," she conceded at last. "But, Merlin, Evans, don't you know how much this makes me want to torch the entire Slytherin house?"
"They're not all bad," said Lily, thinking of Maria Welteislehre and Snape.
"Bad enough," said Cordelia indifferently. "You're brave, Evans; I couldn't stand to ignore something like that."
Lily didn't know what to say to that, as flattering as it was, so she remained silent and returned to her bed.
Later that afternoon, when the boys inquired how she had injured her head, she explained to them that she had stepped onto a staircase just as it was beginning to move and had taken a tumble. That diverted any more questions they might have posed, and though it did open the way for some persistent jokes at her expense, she felt the alternative would have been far more uncomfortable. She couldn't have born giving James and Sirius an excuse to open attack on the Slytherins.
But her evasion ended up being a waste of time, for by the very next afternoon – a Thursday – a considerable percentage of the student population had noticed Lily's unique headgear, and rumours concerning the extent of her injury had begun to circulate. Some of them were startlingly accurate, and Lily could only surmise that those few students she had passed on her way to the lavatory the day before had blabbed about what they'd seen.
She had no doubt Narcissa Black had divulged a few of her own details, as well. Lily suspected even more that Sirius's devious cousin was behind the attack when, upon arriving at her charms meeting Wednesday evening, the girl ignored her save for a smirk upon seeing her bandages and a distinctly amused expression at hearing Lily's feeble attempts to evade Maria Welteislehre's and other club members' enquiries.
At any rate, by the time lessons had been let out Thursday afternoon, James Potter's confrontation was not only unavoidable but also completely expected.
"And not only did I hear some Ravenclaws talking about it, I heard some Slytherin third-years going on about some sort of Dark curse this morning," he was saying in the tones of one deeply aggravated. "After all that, not a single mention of an accident on some stairs."
Lily regarded the boy blankly. "People like flashy stories," she said. "Of course they'd be talking about Dark curses and duels and the like. Who'd be interested in someone falling down some stairs? The truth is far less glamorous than the fictions some people think up."
Potter scowled. "I'm not stupid, Evans," he said. "I'll bet that if you really fell down some steps you'd still be in the infirmary, and probably unconscious."
Lily shrugged. "What can I say, Potter?" she said, aware that they were standing in the middle of an open corridor, and wary of starting up a huge argument for fear of bystanders observing. "If you don't believe me, fine, but don't come asking me to tell you something different. Do you think I'd spill anything to you if I was lying? I mean, come on, James. How thick do you think I am?"
Potter's eyes widened behind his glasses. "I'm not calling you thick, Evans," he said. "I'm saying your story doesn't fit."
"Oh, so you're calling me a liar," said Lily lightly, feeling guilty at the fact that not only had she lied about her 'accident', but she was also enjoying the way James's face was getting redder and redder in his frustration.
"I'm not calling you anything!" he said, running nervous hands through his hair. "And why are you making all these accusations? I'm just asking because I'm –"
"Me?" Lily laughed. "Making accusations against you? James, really. This whole conversation started because you think I'm lying about why I'm wearing these dumb bandages. No, I don't care if you're curious. I told you what happened, and you coming around, begging for juicy, nonexistent details is not appreciated. Did it ever occur to you that if I had lied, I might have had a reason for doing so? That I might not have wanted to divulge any particulars? Or did you not know that it's simply rude of you to question a friend's integrity for the sake of your own curiosity?"
James stared at her. "Merlin, Evans, what's your problem?"
Lily merely looked at him. Was that really supposed to be his response? Merlin, Evans, what's your problem? He looked about as frustrated as she felt. Honestly – how juvenile could he get? Why was it always like this? Why couldn't the boys even pretend to be mature about anything? Here James was, prying as if he had every right to know what she didn't want to divulge, while he and the boys shared a boatload of secrets of whose weight she couldn't even begin to contemplate.
She began to turn away, and he caught her by the arm.
"Look at me, Evans; we haven't finished this conversation!"
Lily struck his hand away with a vehemence she hadn't expected to display. She strode away down the corridor, ignoring his astonished expression and the bald interest of the casual observers. No doubt there'd be talk about that scene later, Lily knew, but she couldn't care less at the moment. James's childish pig-headedness bothered her more than she could describe; and at the moment she was only intent on getting to her dormitory before she burst into tears of frustration.
Snape, on the other hand, was a different story altogether.
That evening they had a transfiguration lesson together, and he didn't remark once on her injury. He was a little more distant than usual, a little more guarded – careful of her, it seemed, but that could have been attributed to a number of things: the upcoming Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match, for one, or the fact that the last time they'd spoken they had very nearly come to blows, and he was feeling just as sheepish about that encounter as she was.
All in all, the hour and a half was relatively painless and productive, despite the fact that Lily hadn't taken a lesson from James in weeks, and Lily felt much more at ease with him when they parted for dinner.
And Friday he surprised her very much by seeking her out personally in order to deliver something to her.
She sat by the lake, a book laying forgotten in her lap as she watched the giant squid sunning itself, a pale shadow right beneath the surface of the cold water. She was alone beneath her favourite tree, hidden from the castle's sight by the boulders that rose up behind her, though not untouched by the cool breeze, which drifted through her little hiding spot, ruffling the branches of the tree above her and tugging at her undone hair.
He found her there, and announced his presence in a low voice. "Evans."
She started, but relaxed when she saw who it was; she allowed a faint smile to touch her mouth as she beckoned him near. "Hi."
"Are you engaged?"
Lily glanced down at the book in her lap and shook her head. "No, just sitting here thinking. What's up?"
She watched him approach, saw the cautious tension in the lines of his limbs as he came to stand beside her, one hand on the brief stone wall behind her. He was silent for a time, and she sat there watching him. He did not look at her, but instead studied the worried waters of the lake. His face was expressionless, she could see no telltale twist in his features to betray his thoughts, and she wondered how easily he might read her own expression if he were to scrutinize it as carefully as he did the grey expanse of the lake.
Finally, he spoke. "I wanted to apologize for my house."
Lily blinked. House? – Oh, yes. She shook her head. "It's quite – ," she began, meaning to wave away the apology he was offering – if that was what it truly was; apologies from Snape were rarer than rubies – but he interrupted her.
" – Inexcusable," he said, his tone so brittle she was sure it might break if she spoke too soon. "What they did was inexcusable. I'm ashamed to say I am in any way associated with them."
For a time they were silent. The breeze's whispered conversation with the rattling tree branches was suddenly audible, though not comprehensible, and Lily's mind drifted to and fro like some vague zephyr.
And then, with some awkwardness, he sat down beside her, smoothing his robes beneath him and arranging his long legs so they didn't even accidentally brush hers. Maintaining the ten-centimetre gap between them, he folded his arms over his bent knees, reclining in silence with her. Though not close enough to touch him, Lily could feel the tension in his limbs, knew that he was all but shivering like a terrified thing. She refrained from touching his arm; though she would have understood the gesture as a reassuring one, she was quite certain that he would not, and she could all too easily picture him bolting like a startled deer.
"I can't say I'm proud of what my housemates have done in the past, either," she said at last, voice so soft as to almost blend with the hushed voice of the breeze. "But I can't say I'm totally ashamed of them. They're human, they make mistakes, and sometimes they're too stubborn to admit it. But – but we have to excuse it, because we all do it."
His silence flustered her. What was he thinking? Why was he not interrupting her? She wanted to stop, but that would be giving up, so she pressed on. " – We always see everyone else's faults, and never our own, and when they're pointed out to us, we react hostilely."
He turned to look at her now. "This is what you think?"
"I – it's how it is," she said, declining amendment in favour of speaking her truth. "Don't you agree?"
He studied her carefully, and then his head dropped in a curt nod. "Yes. It's an unfortunate truth, but it is."
She smiled at him. "Is that why you came? To apologize?"
He looked sharply at her. "For them," he said.
"They're forgiven," she said with a pointed look at him. "I forgave them the moment they did it."
Snape scoffed, but a moment later looked embarrassed for doing so. But he said: "Did you forgive them because you wanted to, or because you didn't want to trouble yourself with finding out who did it?"
Lily looked at him in surprise. "I… what?"
"I mean, if you knew who it was, would you change your mind about forgiveness?"
Lily stared. "You know who –?"
Snape scoffed in earnest this time. "Of course I don't," he said. "But if you did – would you change your mind?"
Lily couldn't say. She – she, who prided herself on her relentless pursuit of truth – she had not thought of that, and could not answer him. And instead of feeling confused and embarrassed as she expected she should have, she felt a surge of appreciation for this boy whom her friends derided for being self-obsessed and petty. And then she felt a discomfiting twinge as she realized that she had been lecturing him on looking inward, when he was obviously far more expert on the subject than she.
She had to smile. "You got me there," she said. "I'll have to think about that."
Snape's black eyes were inscrutable. "Yes," he said; "you will."
She had to confess, she was eager to see him fly again, too. Since that ground-breaking January match, she hadn't seen him in the air once, except for a fleeting glimpse through a window of the Slytherin team practicing in the distance. Lily hadn't ever made a habit of visiting matches in which Gryffindor played no part, and for her to have shown up at a Slytherin/Hufflepuff game would have been irregular and awkward to explain. But she certainly showed up at the match Saturday, and that afternoon, the entire school was stunned to witness Slytherin soundly thrash Gryffindor a second time.
Lily watched Snape's second coup with extreme satisfaction, feeling guilty at the same time that she could so betray her house, even if it was only to herself that she did so. This guilt was weak and short-lived, though, despite that last shred of loyalty within her that screamed against its defeat, and she eventually overcame it, telling herself that it was simply by twist of ill fate that she had ended up in Gryffindor in the first place.
She met him afterward, he still damp from his shower and glowing from his victory, she all but exclaiming over him in her eagerness to let him know she favoured him. He seemed bewildered at her gently insistent praise, but he wasn't hostile as he had been after his first win, and Lily was overjoyed with this small success.
"When is your next game?" she asked him, when she had finished congratulating him. He glanced down the corridor, as if checking for eavesdroppers – of course he wouldn't want to be seen talking with her; even if she was marginally intelligent, she was still a Gryffindor, and Lily didn't hold it against him – and then, satisfied with the corridor's state of desertedness, he told her.
"We'll be playing Ravenclaw next Saturday," he said.
"So soon?"
"If we want to stay in the running for the Cup, we won't object," said Snape dryly.
Lily twitched a smile. "I'll be sure to attend."
He looked half-alarmed, and she could see faint lines of suspicion at the corners of his eyes, but he didn't object to her promise.
They were caught in a sudden awkward silence, she leaning uncomfortably against the stony wall of the lower castle, he standing stiffly near, hands betraying him as they clenched each other before him. Lily strove for something to say, and unexpectedly remembered their last conversation and her own midnight reflections on it. She had to speak then, and she did so before he took advantage of the quiet to take his leave.
"Yesterday you asked me whether I would still have forgiven the two who did this to me – " tapping her still-bandaged forehead, "– if I knew their identities."
Snape cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, entreating her to continue almost as if he were interested in what she had to say.
"I thought about it all last night," she went on, "and I came to a conclusion."
Still that raised eyebrow; she paused for effect, singularly selfish.
"I realized that I still would have forgiven them."
He looked uncomfortable a moment, and he opened his mouth to speak, but then he reconsidered. A sort of flush seemed to spread momentarily over his cheeks, and suddenly he gave a curt nod of his head, which might have been mistaken for a bow, and departed without a word more. Lily watched him go in astonishment, wondering whether she should go after him and demand an explanation, but she decided against it. After all, even he couldn't have found offence in her words, and his reasons for fleeing – for that was what he had done, of course; there was no other word for it – were probably of a delicate nature he would have been reluctant to divulge and hostile to the one who asked it of him.
So instead she returned to her own dormitory, and studiously did not think about their strange exchange.
She really was too naïve, he thought as he all but fled back to his dormitory. Too kind-hearted and far too generous. Was she truly that good, or had she said that simply to make an impression? Somehow, he doubted his latter suspicion. Though earlier he might have believed it of her – maybe even wanted to believe it – he couldn't convince himself that she was as duplicitous as that. He didn't know her, didn't know her at all, really, but he felt that deception of that nature would be impossibly for her to emulate.
She was singularly unique; even he could see it.
But her words had unnerved him. They had unnerved so much as to take the edge off his victory; now, instead of feeling smug and triumphant, he simply felt wrung, like the damp towel slung over his shoulder. He found his way to the Slytherin end of the castle, and, ignoring the few congratulatory noises from his housemates, he took himself away to his dorm.
It was cold there, but warmer than the company of his peers, and there he could be left in peace to think. But his mind, cloudy in the absence of the adrenaline that had rushed his system an half hour before, couldn't wrap around the subject to analyse it. Evans was a subject difficult enough when he was feeling his best, but he couldn't leave it alone; the memory of her attitude toward him in the hall wouldn't leave him alone. She had praised him – Merlin, how she had praised him! He was unsettled by the memory of it, of how her face had literally glowed with enthusiasm, how her clear green eyes had sparkled with it, how her entire body had expressed her favour….
…how her hand, in one unguarded moment, had flickered out, as if to actually touch him.
That memory in particular bothered him. He could still see the flush on her high cheeks, the awkward twist at the corner of her mouth as the errant extremity hastily withdrew and hid like a guilty thing. And then she had asked him about the next match.
Severus, returning to real time, groaned and rolled over to bury his face in his pillow. Merlin's spit, this was more complicated than transfiguration.
He suddenly lifted himself up on his arms to glare at his carved wooden headboard. And why was it, he wondered? Why was it that he could spend hours with Maria, drinking tea and 'chatting' (as Maria termed it), but two minutes with Evans turned him into a marble statue, incapable of expressing thoughts in an inoffensive tone, though inexplicably he wished it were otherwise?
He knew the answer to that before he even asked the question, though. It was as plain as the unfortunate nose on his face.
Evans was a Gryffindor.
And Muggle-born.
Simple as that, really. He couldn't get past the fact – no matter how much his logical mind protested against the prejudice, he obviously couldn't leap that hump.
Again, he buried his face in his pillow.