In the week that followed, Professor Slughorn called each of the Followers into his office separately to question them about the night Sally Dearborn disappeared. He was clearly attempting to be tough on them and actually took two points from Slytherin when Severus told him, honestly, that he didn't know what had happened to Sally. Students from other Houses were speculating that Sally's father had pulled her out of Hogwarts to protect her from being a political target, but after being interrogated by Slughorn, Severus was certain they were wrong. Professor Slughorn wasn't much of an actor, and worry had been written into every wrinkle of his soft face. No, Sally's disappearance had been unplanned; Severus was certain of that much.

Mulciber signed the Followers up for a search party in the dungeons, which was largely a farce. Instead of combing the dungeons like the other search parties, the Followers spent the hour eating sandwiches and doing Potions homework in the unused laboratory in Dungeon Four while a pair of pathetic-looking house-elves waited on them. The whole thing was so pointless that even Regulus Black didn't bother to attend. He likely preferred to mope about his dormitory, as he'd been doing since the previous weekend. Severus, being well-acquainted with the benefits of a good brood, left him to it. He wasn't missing much; Severus himself was only able to stave off boredom by making extensive corrections to Avery's homework.

"Did Slughorn have the same look on his face when he was questioning you lot?" asked Mulciber, gesturing for one of the house-elves to refill his mug of Butterbeer. "I thought he needed the loo, he looked constipated…"

Rosier laughed. "Who knew he had such a soft spot for blood traitors? He seemed to actually be worried about Dearborn…"

"Well, he should be," said Mulciber. "She was an obvious target, what with her Muggle-loving father making headlines and all. It was only a matter of time before someone got to her."

That was interesting. Severus paused, his quill hovering over Avery's parchment.

"Who d'you reckon did her in?" asked Wilkes. Mulciber raised his eyebrows, saying nothing, and Avery's eyes bugged out.

"You didn't — when you left the Great Hall…"

"More sandwiches please, house-elf," said Mulciber, ignoring Avery's spluttering.

Severus resisted the urge to hurl an inkwell at the lot of them. He contented himself instead with crossing out another large swath of Avery's essay. Mulciber could make insinuations all day long, but that didn't mean Severus believed him. It was so like Mulciber to act more important than he was. All the same, if he had somehow managed to hurt Sally, and Severus could prove it… Mulciber would surely be expelled, and then the role of mentor would pass to Severus by default. It was worth looking into.

Before leaving Dungeon Four, Severus slipped an extra sandwich into his bag and went to check on Regulus. He rapped impatiently at the fifth year dormitory door, but there was no response.

Severus tried the handle, but the door had been bolted from the other side. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. "I don't have time for this, Regulus."

After a moment, there was a scraping sound as the bolt was drawn back, and the door swung open. "I didn't ask you to come," said Regulus. He looked surprisingly well, considering that his constitution was frail at baseline and he was on his third skipped lunch of the week.

Severus withdrew the sandwich from his bag. "You have to eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

Severus had expected this and decided to leverage Regulus' incomprehensible love of sport against him. "I'm surprised you don't want to eat, considering the upcoming match against Gryffindor. Do you want your brother's House to win?"

Regulus looked for a moment like he was going to protest, but then his eyes narrowed. "Since when do you care about Quidditch?"

"I don't," said Severus. "But you do. So eat."

Regulus reluctantly took the sandwich. "Thanks." He took a bite, and his nose wrinkled slightly. "I don't like liverwurst."

"Neither do I. That's why I saved it for you."

Regulus shrugged. "Fair enough." He took another bite of sandwich.

"I'm not going to ask why you've been moping around, because I don't care," said Severus. "But if you decide to lock yourself away tomorrow as well, I'll endeavour to bring ham and cheese."

"I'm not locking myself away," muttered Regulus. "Thanks, though."

"So," said Severus, feeling he'd buttered up Regulus as much as he was capable, "did you and Avery help Mulciber murder Sally Dearborn?"

Regulus choked on his sandwich. What followed was a long minute of coughing until Severus finally conjured a glass of water and shoved it into Regulus' hand.

"Thanks," said Regulus weakly after gulping down the water. "And no. We didn't help Mulciber murder Sally Dearborn. By the Baron, Severus, your mind must be twisted if you think — even the possibility —"

"It was only logical. I figured being an accessory to murder was a plausible explanation for your sudden mood."

"Did you, now," said Regulus waspishly.

"Well, even if you didn't murder her, there's still the possibility that Avery and Mulciber —"

"No, there isn't," said Regulus. "Edmund didn't do anything, at least. I was with him the whole time."

"Obviously," said Severus. "Avery's got even less initiative than you have, he's a complete sycophant. The most likely culprit is still Mulciber."

"Sure," said Regulus, "but you wouldn't think — I can't imagine that a student could get away with murdering another student. Not at Hogwarts."

"What about the Chamber of Secrets, thirty years ago?" countered Severus. The story was well-known in Slytherin, as it was usually told to frighten first years. "The giant gamekeeper with his Acromantula, and the girl in the bathroom — nobody would have figured out he'd done it if the Head Boy hadn't had a hunch…"

Regulus frowned. "I suppose."

"Let us pray Chester Fernsby is similarly talented at investigating," said Severus sarcastically, but Regulus didn't smile. "What? You don't want the Head Boy to save the day? He might be awarded a trophy, like the last one was —"

"That isn't funny. We don't know where Sally is, she could be — it isn't right to make jokes —"

"There's also no need to wallow in your dormitory until she's found," Severus pointed out. "It's possible to be concerned for her safety and still eat regular meals. The two aren't mutually exclusive, you know."

Regulus shot him a sharp look. "You wouldn't know the first thing about being concerned for others."

It was only with great effort that Severus avoided thinking about a certain girl with red hair and a laugh like flowing water. "Is that so?"

"You said that you prioritize self-preservation over all else. That you'd place your own well-being over mine every time, if I recall. Did I get that right?"

"Yes," said Severus peevishly, "but I am still capable of — look at the sandwich in your hand, for God's sake, and tell me I'm not concerned —"

"You care about me because you want to stay in Bella's good graces," said Regulus, "but I don't believe for a second that you're actually worried about Sally. And what about Mulciber?"

Severus frowned. "Why would I be concerned about Mulciber?"

"I'd think it would be obvious," said Regulus. "He's not one for half measures — either he killed Sally or he didn't. If he did, Dumbledore will figure it out, and he'll be expelled. If he didn't —"

"...She'll have gotten away," finished Severus. "And I suppose Bella won't be pleased."

Regulus' expression was grim. "I've been writing to her. And she won't be."

"You've heard from her?" Severus tried to tamp down the surge of jealousy threatening to overtake him. "Recently? You've told her about Sally?"

"No," said Regulus at once, "no, not about Sally, it's — it's family matters." He flushed. "Sirius came of age recently, and I'm trying — well, he's supposed to — my parents expect, and if we can buy a bit of time, I'm hoping he'll — and I've got another cousin who Bella says is —"

Severus mentally reviewed the steps to brewing the Draught of Living Death while Regulus rattled on. He had no desire to hear the sordid details of Sirius Black's personal problems.

"Anyway," concluded Regulus at last, "Bella's paying Mulciber a visit tonight, so depending on what happens I guess we'll know if he had a hand in Sally's disappearance or not."

"Really?" asked Severus. "How is she getting to Hogwarts?"

Regulus looked at Severus strangely. "In the unmonitored Floo of Dungeon Thirteen, I'm assuming."

Severus kept his expression neutral, not wanting to give away his surprise that Dungeon Thirteen boasted an unmonitored Floo. In hindsight, it made perfect sense. He'd have thought of it earlier, except he had woefully little experience with magical means of transportation. That was the curse of being a half-blood, he supposed.

That night, after the other Followers went to bed, Severus ducked behind a high-backed armchair in the common room just long enough to cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. Then he slipped out the entrance to the common room and slunk silently to Dungeon Thirteen. The room was dark and eerily quiet, save for the occasional crackle from the green embers glowing in the hearth. Severus crouched behind one of the pristine white sofas and waited.

One hour passed. Then two. Severus wished he'd thought to bring his Potions book; he could have at least gotten some work done while he waited.

Finally, at nearly a quarter to one, the door to Dungeon Thirteen creaked open. Mulciber, wearing dark green pyjamas, padded over to the fireplace and tossed what must have been Floo powder in it. The fire flared brightly, bathing the room in flickering emerald light. Severus shrank back on instinct, though with his Disillusionment Charm he was quite certain he was effectively invisible.

Mulciber leaned over the fireplace, put one hand on the mantle, and muttered something indistinct. After a moment he pulled back, and Bella stepped out of the flames. She was taller and noticeably thinner than the last time Severus had seen her.

"Well?" she asked. The flames carved deep shadows into the angle of her jaw.

"Dearborn's been taken care of," said Mulciber.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I took care of her."

Bella arched a single, haughty eyebrow. "You alone?"

"That's right." Mulciber's chest swelled self-importantly. "I caught her off-guard on Halloween. One Killing Curse was all it took. What's left of her is behind a tapestry on the third floor."

Bella smiled and cupped his face between her long-fingered hands. "Augustus. My darling."

Mulciber gave what he clearly thought was a modest shrug. Bella tilted his face towards hers, and for a moment it looked like she was going to kiss him. Then her lips brushed past his cheek, and she whispered into his ear. "You lie."

She moved so quickly Mulciber didn't have a chance to react. With a few swift movements of her wand, Mulciber was suspended in the air as if by an invisible noose. He gagged as his hands scrabbled at his neck.

The muscles in Bella's wiry arms were taut as she pointed her wand at him. "You think you can lie to me, Augustus? To ME?"

Mulciber made a choking noise that might have been a 'no'. Bella jerked her wand upward, her face contorted with fury, and Mulciber collapsed in a heap on the ground.

"Your mind betrays you," she spat.

Mulciber's voice was hoarse. "Bella… I —"

"You have failed me. Again and again, you have failed me."

"Bellatrix," panted Mulciber. "Please."

She stooped and pressed her wand into his cheek. "CRUCIO."

It was nearly morning before Bella grew bored and vanished into the fire, her long black robes swirling behind her. Mulciber lay unmoving on the floor for so long that Severus almost considered intervening; eventually, though, Mulciber managed to pull himself upright and staggered out of Dungeon Thirteen. After another half hour of waiting, just to be certain, Severus followed suit. As he headed towards the Great Hall for breakfast, Mulciber's screams echoed in his mind like a particularly disturbing melody.

Mulciber had been stupid to think he could lie to Bella, but their midnight meeting had certainly been enlightening. If he truly hadn't ambushed Sally on Halloween, then that narrowed the list of potential culprits down to the other Followers — or Dumbledore, or Sally's father, of course. Severus doubted one of the other Followers had tried anything; Wilkes and Rosier were capable of violence but unmotivated, while Avery and Regulus were too neurotic to draw a wand on Sally without soiling themselves first. As for Dumbledore, that old warlock was always seven steps ahead of everyone else. Severus wouldn't have been surprised in the least if Dumbledore had conspired with Caradoc Dearborn to take Sally away from Hogwarts for her safety. In fact, this was what had likely happened, considering the news that Sally was missing hadn't even made the Prophet.

Mulciber didn't attend any classes that day, so Severus was forced to go to their dormitory to talk to him. He hovered over Mulciber's sleeping form like a bat for nearly five minutes, hoping the force of his glare would wake him, but Mulciber didn't stir.

"Augustus," said Severus at last. "Wake up."

Mulciber let out a long groan before rolling over. He recoiled as he realized who was speaking to him. "What do you want?"

"It's time for our ritual," said Severus.

Mulciber grunted and turned away from him. "Today's ritual is cancelled. Go stick your greasy nose in your Potions book or something."

"You wound me," said Severus, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Mulciber made a rude gesture at him. "Go away, Snape."

Severus didn't move. After a moment, Mulciber groaned with frustration and threw a pillow at him. "What is wrong with you? I said GO AWAY."

"You were stupid to lie to Bella."

Mulciber's heavy brow furrowed. "Who told you —"

"It's obvious," said Severus. "I don't feel sorry for you at all. You should have known better than to lie to her."

"Snape, I am half a second away from hexing you —"

"Terrifying." Severus' voice was as smooth as poisoned honey. "I just wanted to congratulate you. Keep up the good work, Augustus."

"The…" Mulciber blinked.

"When do you think Bella will decide we need someone a little more capable as our mentor?" Severus took a certain savage pleasure at the way Mulciber's eyes widened. Apparently, the idea hadn't occurred to him. "I'm predicting one more blunder will do the trick. What say you?"

"You're delusional," spat Mulciber. "You think Bella would pick you over me? You're nothing. Your blood's dirtier than a house-elf's, nobody in their right mind would take orders from you —"

Severus' mouth twisted angrily, and he drew his wand. "You dare —"

"Go ahead," said Mulciber. "Hex me with one of your little spells. It doesn't change the facts. You're only a Follower because Lucius felt sorry for you —"

Severus cursed Mulciber with a particularly uncomfortable facial rash and stormed out of the dormitory. The spell would wear off in an hour or two, so he wasn't overly concerned. It was better than what Mulciber deserved.

Lily perched on a windowsill in a seventh-floor corridor, alternating between working on her Charms essay about the five principles of colour-changing and watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice for their upcoming match against Slytherin. She chewed on the end of her quill, then dipped it into her inkwell and began her second paragraph. The desired colour must be a compliment of the base hue, she wrote. To obtain shades outside this range, multiple charms must be precisely layered according to…

She glanced out the window. Half a mile away, on the Quidditch pitch, the Gryffindor Chasers were practising some sort of complicated manoeuvre. A blur of crimson leathers that looked to be James Potter broke away from the group and did a few loops around one of the goalposts.

Lily hoped they could beat Slytherin next week. She hoped they humiliated Slytherin. She could feel in her gut that Mulciber's group had a hand in Sally Dearborn's disappearance. She would bet every Galleon of her Hogwarts stipend on it.

"Lily?"

She blinked, turning away from the window. Mary MacDonald was looking up at her, a copy of the Daily Prophet clutched tightly in her hands. "Mary. What's wrong?"

Mary shook her head. "Nothing. It's, erm, it's good news."

Lily bent her knees to her chest to make room for Mary on the windowsill, and Mary hoisted herself up to sit beside her. "If it's good news, then why do you look like someone died?"

"Oh," said Mary. Her voice was much higher than usual. "It's just… It's the Muggle-born Protection Act. It passed." She thrust the rumpled copy of the Prophet towards Lily.

Lily unfolded the newspaper. Emblazoned on the front page was a photo of Caradoc Dearborn, who looked weary but triumphant as he raised a hand towards the camera. Below him, in bold letters, the headline read: Muggle-Born Protection Act Approved by House of Lords, to Become Law.

"Wow," said Lily. Her voice sounded hollow. "That's brilliant."

"Yeah," said Mary, wrapping her arms around her knees. "It is, I guess."

They looked at each other. Mary's brown eyes were large with worry, and Lily knew she must look similar. "What are we going to do, Mary?"

Mary's eyes welled with tears. "I don't know. I don't want my family to have to — to hide, or move, or leave Middlesbrough because of me. I'd rather go back to the Muggle world."

"You don't mean that!"

"I do," said Mary, although tears were running down her cheeks. "I'm not like you. I'm not good at magic. I was never going to be anything impressive. I could rejoin the Muggle world, get a normal job… I was thinking I'd quite like to be a flight attendant…"

Lily could feel her heart breaking. "Do you really think you could leave all this behind?"

"I don't know. Maybe it'll just be for a bit. Until everything with that Dark wizard blows over."

Poor Mary, thought Lily. Poor, naive Mary. "You know it won't be that simple."

Mary sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve. "McGonagall wants to meet with all of us — the Gryffindors with Muggle parents, I mean — this evening to talk about what comes next. For our families. So we know our options."

Lily looked back down at the Daily Prophet. "They're still not releasing the details of the Act publicly?" Mary shook her head, and Lily bit her lip. "I suppose that's a good thing. It'll keep that information from falling into the wrong hands."

"I guess," said Mary. She checked her watch and clambered off the windowsill. "I've got to go to Muggle Studies. See you this evening?"

Lily hopped off the windowsill and threw her arms around Mary. They held each other tightly for a long minute. "It'll be okay," murmured Lily as she smoothed Mary's hair. She wasn't sure if she was trying to comfort Mary or herself. "Everything's going to be alright."

Later that evening, Lily knocked on the door of Professor McGonagall's office, and the door swung open of its own accord. The office had been rearranged; Professor McGonagall's desk was nowhere in sight. Instead, there was a circle of twelve chairs in the middle of the room.

"Miss Evans," said Professor McGonagall, who was sitting in one of the chairs, her back ramrod straight. "Please have a seat."

Lily sat down with a glance at the other Gryffindors. The majority of them were younger students who she recognized but didn't know the names of, although there were a few older students as well. Mary was seated next to Professor McGonagall, and she gave Lily a little smile, looking considerably more cheerful than she had earlier.

Peregrine Flint patted Lily on the back as she sat in the unoccupied chair beside him. "Evans. Good to see you."

Lily gave a start. "Peregrine? Aren't you — I thought —" His family was definitely one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, weren't they? What was he doing here?

Peregrine grinned at her confusion, and the freckles on his cheeks bunched up. "My little sister's a Squib."

"Ah!" said Lily, flushing. "I'm sorry — I had no idea."

Peregrine shrugged. "Nobody does. The official story is we sent her off to Beauxbatons last year. Though 'Beauxbatons' in this case means 'Wycombe Abbey.'" His grin widened.

A tiny first year girl with skin as pale as alabaster scurried into the last empty chair with a frightened glance at Professor McGonagall, and Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "Good of you to join us, Miss Roberts. Now that we're all here, let us begin." Her tone was brisk as she shuffled the papers on her lap. "As I am sure you're all aware, the House of Lords approved the Muggle-born Protection Act this morning. The Minister for Magic, Harold Minchum, is expected to sign the Act into law sometime in the coming weeks. Professor Dumbledore has asked all the Heads of House to meet with our respective students with immediate family members who are Muggles to discuss the next steps."

Lily didn't like the sound of any of this, and by the looks on the other students' faces, she wasn't the only one. She raised her hand in the air. "Professor? When you say 'next steps', do you mean… Does Dumbledore want us to comply with this Act?"

Professor McGonagall's expression was grave. "He thinks it would be wise. The situation is even more dire than the Prophet has been reporting."

"Really, Professor?" said Peregrine, whose grin had vanished. "Because it's bad enough what they're printing already, about the random disappearances of Muggles…"

"Those disappearances are not random," said Professor McGonagall sharply. "The Death Eaters — a group I would hope you all are familiar with — are targeting Muggles with connections to the Wizarding World. With connections to the Ministry, to be exact."

Lily felt like she couldn't breathe. "Like Sally."

McGonagall's eyes flashed towards her. "Exactly like Miss Dearborn. Several members of the House of Mages have personally lost loved ones as a result, and at least one member of the House of Lords. These" —her nostrils flared— "these despicable murders are an act of cowardice intended to pressure the Ministry into retracting the Muggle-born Protection Act. They have not succeeded. This is in large part because, despite the opinion of a handful of radicals, the rest of us believe that you belong here." Her hawkish eyes swept over each student as she spoke, blazing with conviction, and a lump hardened in Lily's throat.

Peregrine was frowning. "Who in the House of Lords lost a family member? I didn't hear anything about that, and, y'know, my uncle's a Lord…" He trailed off, seeming embarrassed to have brought up his family's status to room full of Muggle-borns.

Professor McGonagall eyed Peregrine sharply. "Flint, you are an intelligent young man. Which family of the Twenty-Eight makes the most obvious target for these cretins?"

Peregrine's shoulders sagged. "The Weasleys."

Lily recognized the surname, as there had been several Weasleys on the Gryffindor Quidditch team during her first years at Hogwarts. Aside from their bright red hair, they hadn't stood out much to her. Why would they be a target for Death Eaters?

Professor McGonagall nodded curtly, acknowledging Peregrine's response, and began to pass around the stack of papers she was holding. "All Muggles who can prove ties to the Wizarding World have several options. The first, which the Ministry most highly recommends, is resettlement."

A small squeak escaped the pale first year's throat. Professor McGonagall glanced sharply at her. "Do you have something to say, Miss Roberts?"

The girl shook her head quickly, looking at her feet. The other students were similarly trying to avoid Professor McGonagall's gaze. Well, fine, thought Lily. If she and Peregrine had to be the designated spokespeople, then so be it. Lily raised her hand.

"What do you mean by 'resettlement', Professor? Will my mum have to move to Leicester, or —"

"Not Leicester, Miss Evans," said Professor McGonagall, who looked like she was trying to phrase things delicately. "The Ministry is recommending America."

Several students gasped. "You're joking," said Peregrine. "America? But you can't even Floo there… For how long?"

Professor McGonagall shut her eyes briefly. "These resettlements are a great undertaking on the part of the Ministry and the Magical Congress of the United States, Flint. It involves not only the forging of papers, but the creation of a whole new identity. Those who resettle will appear to always have lived in America and will have no ties whatsoever to Britain. Such resettlement would be permanent."

Peregrine kicked the leg of his chair with his heel, looking furious. "And would we be allowed to visit, at least?"

"Peregrine Flint," said Professor McGonagall softly, "surely you know the answer to that question already."

Lily's throat was completely dry. "So that's the — the recommended option," she said. "What other choices do we have?"

"Safe houses," said Professor McGonagall. "Fidelius charms. Obliviation. It's all in the paperwork, if you look it over."

"Fidelius…?"

"It's a spell that makes a secret out of someone's location," said Professor McGonagall. "Only those privy to the secret can find the person in question."

That didn't sound very impressive to Lily. She wasn't about to ask her mum to play a version of magical Hide-and-Seek with the Death Eaters. "Okay," she said, folding the papers and putting them into her bag. "I'll talk to my mum over the Christmas holidays and see what she thinks about all this."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "If your mother has questions" —her eyes swept the room— "if any of your family members have questions, I would be more than happy to answer them. I am available by owl or Floo at any time, and I can make house visits if necessary."

"You should visit my family," grumbled Peregrine, "and talk them out of sending my sister to bloody America."

"Rest assured that we will discuss all the options," said Professor McGonagall. She stood up and smoothed her tartan robes. "Back to Gryffindor Tower, then, all of you. It's getting late."

Lily hung back while the rest of the students filed out. "Professor," she ventured, as Professor McGonagall was shutting the door.

"Yes, Miss Evans?"

"I have a question."

"If it's about the Muggle-born Protection Act, then I must ask that it wait," said Professor McGonagall. She drew her wand and began to return her office to its normal arrangement. "I know the contents of the Act are very upsetting, so I think you ought to sleep on it before we discuss in greater depth—"

"It's about Sally Dearborn, Professor."

Professor McGonagall's wand stilled. The furniture that had been puttering around the room came to a halt. "And what," she said after a moment, "pray tell, is the question?"

Lily spoke quickly so she wouldn't lose her nerve. "There's all these rumours about what might have happened to her — because of who her father is, you know. Some think she's gotten hurt, but most people are saying her father pulled her out of Hogwarts and is keeping it quiet. But I saw Caradoc Dearborn's picture in the papers, and he doesn't look happy, does he? You'd think that if his proposal passed and his daughter were safe, he would look less worried."

The chairs resumed their scurrying around the room as Lily spoke. She peered at Professor McGonagall, who appeared to be focusing intently on the rearrangement of her office. "I am still waiting for your question, Miss Evans."

"Oh," said Lily. "Right. I suppose I'm wondering — do you know what happened to Sally? Is she alright?"

Professor McGonagall always carried herself with an intensity that belied her age, but at that moment she looked older and more tired than Lily had ever seen her. "I wish I could tell you that Sally is safe," said Professor McGonagall. "I wish I could assure you that her father knows where she is. But neither I nor the Headmaster know what has happened to her."

Lily suddenly felt very small. "I see. I was hoping…"

"That my answer would be different?"

Lily nodded.

"I wish it were," said Professor McGonagall. She peered over her square spectacles at Lily, and her expression softened. "You can rest assured that the Headmaster and I are doing all that is within our power to find her."

Lily took a deep breath. "I want to help."

"The sign-up sheet for search parties —"

"No offence, Professor, but those search parties are useless," said Lily. "Sally went missing because of the Death Eaters, just like the other Ministry-related disappearances, isn't that right? Do you really think What's-His-Name would stuff her in a broom closet for a bunch of students to find?"

Professor McGonagall paused. "I have raised similar concerns with the Headmaster. He believes, however — and I share his opinion, to an extent — that the ingenuity of the student body is not to be underestimated. You are a resourceful group."

"I'm glad to hear that," said Lily, "because I'm going to need more resources to find her. Getting access to the Restricted Section of the library would be a good start, I think."

Professor McGonagall almost smiled. "Do you have any spare parchment?"

Lily left the office a few minutes later, clutching a permission slip for the Restricted Section. Instead of returning to Gryffindor Tower, she headed for the library on the first floor. Professor McGonagall had recommended a few books on the theory of tracing magical signatures.

She had work to do.

James spent the following week rigorously training for the match against Slytherin. He put himself on an all-protein diet and was averaging eight eggs a day, and he spent so much time practising drills that even his dreams were filled with Quidditch. The end result of all this was that he felt quite confident by the time Saturday rolled around. The day was overcast and quite windy — objectively poor weather for Quidditch — but that didn't dampen James' spirits in the least. He was confident his team could handle flying in adverse conditions.

"Right, you lot," he said in the changing room after they had all gotten into their Quidditch robes. "We've got one objective for this match: humiliate Slytherin."

"Fantastic," said Marlene. She and Sirius knocked their bats together. "Let's show those pure-blooded arseholes how real wizards play Quidditch."

"That's the spirit," said James, deciding it was best not to point out that the Gryffindor Quidditch team was also composed exclusively of pure-bloods. "I'm not content with just beating them. I want to see them crushed. Simon, don't let them get so much as a shot at those hoops. Parvana, if you can catch the Snitch in the first two minutes, I will personally take you to Hogsmeade and buy you whatever you want. Am I clear?" The team nodded; Parvana's face was set with determination.

"Excellent," said James, shouldering his broom. "Let's go spill some serpent blood."

It didn't take long for the match to grow dirty; apparently, the Slytherins had planned to release their pent-up aggression during Quidditch just as much as the Gryffindors had. Madam Hooch called the first foul on Mulciber, who was one of Slytherin's Beaters, when he sent a Bludger careening into Parvana while her back was turned. James watched the whole thing happen, his blood boiling, and nearly pulled out his wand to retaliate; only a look from Sirius stopped him. After Mulciber's foul, Peregrine Flint sent the Quaffle through the hoop with ease, scoring the first points of the game.

Gryffindor scored three more times after that in quick succession, and the Slytherins grew furious. Evan Rosier and Adrestia Carrow, two of the Slytherin Chasers, managed to get on either side of Otis Podmore, nearly crushing him and causing him to drop the Quaffle. Sirius retaliated by sending not one but two Bludgers soaring towards Regulus, who had to do an impressively complicated corkscrew twist to avoid them.

"He flies well," commented James as he caught up to Sirius.

Sirius grunted. "Shame he's pursuing a career in the Dark Arts instead of Quidditch, isn't it?" A Bludger whizzed past Sirius, narrowly missing his head. Sirius turned, bat aloft and rage in his eyes.

Mulciber was hovering not twenty feet from them, looking amused. "I don't appreciate people talking badly about my friends, Black."

Sirius looked like he wanted to leap off his broom and strangle Mulciber. "You —"

"Head in the game, Padfoot!" said James, and he sped past them; Peregrine Flint had just tossed the Quaffle his way.

But Sirius couldn't seem to focus. Every swing of his bat sent a Bludger towards either Regulus or Mulciber. Regulus appeared unbothered by this, as he dodged each Bludger easily while scanning for the Snitch. Mulciber, on the other hand, retaliated by focusing his Bludgers exclusively on Parvana.

"SIRIUS!" bellowed James after Slytherin managed to score their first goal. "You realize there are more players on the field than just your brother, right? Where were you just now, Carrow had a clear shot —"

Sirius crossed his arms. "I'm trying to knock some sense into Reg."

"Right," said James, "I'm not asking for much, only that you lay off the family drama long enough to actually defend our Keeper if need be —"

"Sod your Keeper." Sirius made a rude hand gesture and flew off before James could respond.

James groaned in frustration and ran his hands through his hair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mulciber swing his bat and send a Bludger barreling upwards, towards Parvana —

"Parvana!" cried James.

She twisted away on her broom, but it was too late; the Bludger smacked into her thigh, and she let out a cry of pain.

"Alright, Parvana?" asked James, flying upwards to meet her.

Parvana sat up on her broom and touched her leg gingerly. "Ask me again in five minutes," she said, her expression grim.

"That bastard won't leave you alone. Say the word I'll turn him into a Flobberworm after the match."

"No need," said Parvana. She looked down at Mulciber, who was hovering far below them. He leered at them and mouthed a word that James was certain was offensive. Suddenly, Parvana smiled — the smile that meant she was about to do something incredibly reckless — and tugged her broom downward. James' hair blew back as she passed him in a steep dive.

Otis Podmore tossed James the Quaffle, which he tucked under one arm as he sped towards the hoops on the Slytherin side of the pitch. He dared to glance downward for a moment. He couldn't catch so much as a glimpse of gold, but Parvana had better eyes than he did, she knew what she was doing —

She slammed into Mulciber, and the two of them hurtled towards the earth, a tangle of broomsticks and red and green robes. A strong gust of wind nearly knocked James off his broom; as he righted himself, he saw that the wind had accelerated Parvana and Mulciber's descent. They seemed to be grappling with each other, trying to knock each other off their broom —

Ten feet above the ground, Parvana used her knees to pull up on her broomstick, and they both jerked to a halt. Mulciber was trying to grab her braid, but Parvana caught his arm; it looked like she was trying to push up his sleeve. As she and Mulciber flailed about, she used her legs to flip him upside-down, though her hands were still encircling his wrist.

There was a faint crack, and Mulciber's face twisted in pain, his mouth open. Parvana disentangled herself from Mulciber and pushed away from him. As she soared upward, she raised one hand in the air. She was clutching a fluttering golden ball.

The Snitch.

An enormous roar went up from Gryffindor's side of the stands, and James grinned so widely his cheeks hurt.

"That's how it's done, Parvana!" he said. He joined her on the pitch as Madam Hooch blew her whistle, signalling the end of the match.

Parvana was beaming. "The Snitch flew up his sleeve while he was patting himself on the back about hitting me with that Bludger." She glanced towards the other end of the stadium, where Professor Slughorn was examining Mulciber's hand, which was dangling at an odd angle.

James followed her gaze. "Did you break his arm?"

"His wrist," said Parvana. Her gaze grew distant, as if she was remembering something, and her fingers closed around her wrist. "It was a long time coming."

"You're amazing," said James. "You're the best Seeker ever. You —"

With every word he said, Parvana's smile grew wider and wider, until she threw her arms around him, and she kissed him on the cheek — and her lips were soft, and she smelled like sweat and Quidditch leathers and wet grass —

Somebody whistled loudly, and they broke apart. Sirius strode towards them, clapping appreciatively. Beside him, Peregrine Flint and Marlene were exchanging looks, grinning.

"Putting on a show, are you?" asked Sirius. He gestured towards the stands, which were still full of students. "Should've known you'd be the exhibitionist type, Prongs —"

James gave him a half-hearted shove. "Jealousy isn't a good look on you."

"Everything's a good look on me. And who said I was jealous?" Sirius glanced around at their teammates. "Marlene, fancy a snog?"

Marlene pretended to retch. "No offence, but I don't exactly play for the same team as you, Black, if you get my drift —"

That didn't make any sense. "Er," said James, "what team are you on then, Slytherin?" He laughed a little at his own joke, but nobody else did.

Marlene glared at him, and James came to a sudden realization. "Oh."

"Oh," repeated Marlene with a smirk. She jerked her chin towards Parvana. "Keep celebrating your victory. We'll meet you back in the common room."

Parvana started to blush. "That's not… we can — we'll all go — "

"Nah," said Peregrine. He plucked both James and Parvana's broomsticks out of their hands. "You two go on; we'll take care of these."

James looked at Parvana. Her bravado had faded; she was biting her lip. "I'm a bit sweaty…"

"So am I," said James. "I don't mind if you don't."

Behind him, Sirius and Marlene were pretending to vomit, but he ignored them. He took Parvana by her hand; she was still wearing her Quidditch gloves. "A couple of laps around the pitch, then, and back to the changing room?"

Parvana's fingers curled around his. "That's perfect."

It was.

A/N: Sorry that James is dating the wrong person now, but this is a Rite Of Passage for Jily ships so hopefully you are not too surprised haha. Let's see how Lily reacts to this development... :) Until next time!