The Hospital Wing was chaos. Two burly Ravenclaws from the seventh year potions class had just come through the doors carrying James Potter. Behind them, a trail of blood led all the way back to the potions' dungeon. Professor Slughorn and Severus Snape had followed it, and were now standing at James's bedside while Lily Evans and Madam Pomfrey were pulling off his blood-soaked shirt and tie. He was cut deeply, viciously across his collar bones, just below his throat, bleeding profusely.

Remus Lupin and Sirius Black had thrown themselves in front of Snape when he came in, shouting at him and ordering him to leave, threatening to slash him to pieces in return.

"There's a counter-curse, you idiots," Snape was saying. "Get out of the way."

"You are not coming near him again!" Sirius snarled.

"Gentlemen, we need to approach this rationally," Slughorn said.

"He'll approach nothing," Sirius said, eyes still on Snape. "This evil, jealous, cowardly - "

"Hexing James while his back was turned - " Remus added.

"You never even saw," Snape said, suddenly raging at Lupin. "You, in the supply cupboard with that girl who plays at being a Veela - "

Lupin lunged at Snape, over Sirius's shoulder, reaching for the front of his robes.

"Shut it!" a voice called over the noise. It was Lily. When the room fell quiet, the sound of James's quick, shallow breaths could be heard. "Severus come here. If there's a counter-curse, you must use it to mend him."

James didn't argue. He might not have heard, his eyes closed, stripped to the waist, his skin white with shock, but his grip on Lily's arm showing signs of strength and will.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Slughorn said.

"A counter-curse is always the best remedy, if he has one," she allowed. "Could take me hours, maybe days to patch him up otherwise, and him bleeding all the while - dangerous."

"Sev, please," Lily said.

Sirius began to protest but Remus raised a hand to his chest. "It's not for us to object if it's what she wants for him."

The remark stung Snape. Yes, of course. As Potter's wife, Lily's say meant more than anyone's. He spun on his heel, fed up and storming out of the infirmary. Let Slughorn threaten all he wanted.

"Sev!" Lily called after him, tears in her voice. "Don't leave me like this. Please."

His face still turned away from her, she saw Snape's shoulders fall. He was relenting, staying, turning back.

"Some privacy," he sneered, brushing past Sirius and Remus as he moved to the bed.

"Yes, let's wait outside, lads," Slughorn said. "Come along now."

Lily stayed close, her red, sticky hands still entwined with James's as Snape stood over them. He drew his wand and began to intone the counter-curse, a low, indistinct incantation, like a song. As Lily watched, James's slashed flesh began to mend, knitting itself together. It began on the inner layers and vessels, stopping the flow of blood, and worked outward, Snape's wand passing slowly over the wound, in one direction, and then the other.

He finished and stood back, the song dying away. The atmosphere in the room was different, something like peaceful. Snape staggered back, drained, disgusted with the damage he'd done, and equally disgusted that he'd been made to mend it himself.

Colour was returning to Potter's face. He was clearing his throat, coughing up fluid that Lily was wiping away with her soiled jumper. It was profoundly intimate, dreadful for Snape to have to see, perhaps worse than watching them embrace each other. Even when awful and mangled, she treated his body as precious, as if she loved him more than anything else she had.

Without waiting for a word of thanks or dismissal, Snape was swooping away, Potter coughing behind him, Lily cooing words of comfort and encouragement, Madam Pomfrey dabbing the closed wound with a dropper full of Dittany.

At the door, Slughorn stopped Snape as Remus and Sirius rushed back into the infirmary. He patted his shoulder. "My dear Severus, why would a promising potioneer like yourself craft a spell as dark as that one? What good is magic like that?"

Snape lifted his chin, speaking to the old man through a sickening, sinister smirk. "Precisely. It is not good magic at all."

Remus used the map to find her, checking it as he left Gryffindor Tower before tossing it back at Peter. "Keep watching it, will you?" he said. "Make sure Snape doesn't slink back to the Hospital Wing."

Eager to do something after missing everything, Peter agreed.

Narcissa was in the empty Divination classroom again, sitting on a mound of cushions, staring at an empty, dimly glowing crystal ball, a book open on the table in front of her. With no one else in the room, there was no one for her to drive mad with the influence of her feelings for Lupin

Bloody Severus...

She startled at the sound of the door closing. Lupin, at last. Before she could see him, she could feel him coming closer, like heat from a fire, newly lit, and growing. When his face came into sight, it was impossible for her to smile at him, not until she heard whether James Potter had survived Snape's mad, jealous attack. And not until she knew Remus hadn't come to tell her that after what happened in potions class, he would never be near her again.

Remus said nothing at first. She waited, tense as he walked to where she sat. He was sighing as he bent as if to sit next to her. She braced herself for the blow of hearing him offer her wise, tempered good sense. But instead, he was rolling onto his side, and laying his head in her lap, his face turned toward the crystal ball.

"I'm rubbish at Divination," he said, nestling his cheek against her thigh as her fingers sank into his hair.

"As am I," she said, quietly, awash with relief that he'd come to her, and was touching her, still wanting her. "So you'll have to tell me directly whether Potter is alright."

"He's getting better," Remus said, weary of disaster, sick of talking about it. "He's weak from the loss of blood, but Snape had a counter-curse so the wound is undone. There's hardly even a mark, unbelievable as that is. Awful mess though. Terrifying for everyone."

"Yes, it was," she said. "Ghastly spell. Severus is not to be underestimated. For good or for - not good."

Remus raised his hand and laid it beside his face, on her leg. "Why is your skirt so nice? Our trousers are made of scratchy wool. I thought the skirts were too."

She sniffed. "That's because you're in Gryffindor. The Slytherins who can afford it know to order their skirts and trousers in cashmere."

"Cashmere." He felt the hem at her knee between his fingers. "It's incredibly soft. I've never felt anything like it."

"Only the best for your face," she said, feeling more like herself, smoothing her knuckles into the hollow below his cheekbone.

He sniffed a laugh against her leg, rubbing his face against it, faintly doglike, and in a way she found she adored.

"We'll have to make the best of time alone," she said, speaking the good sense herself. "To prevent any more accidents like today's, we can't be near each other when there are other people close by."

Remus sighed. "It's true. Keeping our distance. That won't be too difficult. Seeing as this doomed thing between us won't last more than a few months, tops."

"What a thing to say," she said, tousling his hair.

He sat up, bringing his face into her view. He looked not only tired but sad, even through his hint of a smile. Bittersweet - that was the best they could hope for. Gently, she kissed him, one hand on his face, her eyes closed as her fingers languidly traced the raised lines of his scars. Her motion set a pace different from their first kiss, as if to tell him to go slowly, and sense everything carefully rather than devouring it. There would be time for that, but not all the time.

He understood and leaned into her, eager and open, always stronger than he looked, taking her in a slow, controlled tackle. The cushions were at her back, inclining her torso beneath his. His nose moved against her cheek, breathing in her smell, floral but musky. Her lips were fuller than his but smaller, delicate, inviting.

He pulled back barely far enough to speak. "I meant I'd never felt a fabric as soft as cashmere before," he said, fingers trailing through her hair, fanning it over the pillows. "This is softer."

"What is? My hair?"

He hummed, lowering his hands to slide them beneath her, filling the curve at the small of her back, arching her spine up into himself. "Your hair, skin, your mouth - everything of yours I've tried. All of it is softer, sweeter than anything."

He was lovely. Too lovely, in need of teasing. "And my teeth?" she asked, nipping lightly at his bottom lip.

"They have their charm," he said, moving away from her tiny bites, kissing down her chin and onto her neck. "Though they may be more to Moony's taste."

"But you and Moony…" she began, breathless now as his mouth moved along her throat.

"...are the same," they finished together, laughing softly at themselves.

She kept her knees together, raised in a peak and tipped to one side of him as he leaned over her. The weight of his torso on top of hers soothed and pleased her, and she held him close, her hands on his back as he kissed her with slow, melting pressure, learning the feel of her. It went on and on, this indulgence of the need they'd felt for each other all day, and the building of more and greater needs.

Finally, he pushed himself off her, his voice in his sigh, hovering over her, propped on his elbows, flushed and short of breath no matter how slowly they went.

"What is it?" she said, rising toward him. "You don't look like you want to bite me this time."

He laid his hand on her cheek, his thumb outlining her lips. "I want to look at you. How could I not want to take a little of our time to look at you, up close like this?"

She rose to kiss his forehead, but the movement was also one of sliding out from under him, sitting up. "You'd better look at me while I tell you what else I learned from reading all about betrothal contracts yesterday," she said, reaching for the book on the tabletop.

He sat up sighing again, straightening his clothes, and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her into his lap with her book, careful not to reveal too much. "Right. How bad is it?"

"It's fascinating reading, actually," she said, cracking the book's spine as she settled into him as if he was a lanky armchair. "Did you know, Lupin, that magical creatures can enter into bonds with each other? Even non-magical creatures can do it, like the swans at my grandparents' estate. They enter into bonds for life, real ones, but without words or certificates or officials. Not Veelas though," she hurried to say. "Veelas want human partners to bond with, in spite of all the paperwork that entails. Just as werewolves are drawn to humans to satisfy their hunger, we're drawn to humans to satisfy - well."

"Alright, alright," he said. "Lucky eternally bonded swans. Now back to the tedium of human contracts."

She clucked her tongue. "Weren't you listening to me in Creatures class? Betrothal contracts are no longer legally binding in Britain. They're a custom more than a law."

"Yes, but a custom that will see you ostracized, homeless, penniless," he said. He was brushing his nose against her ear, muttering, "See, I was listening."

"Even so, my sister Andromeda survived all of that when she married a Muggle-born man and my parents turned her out of the house. And I think I know how." She sat up taller, twisting to face him, pleased with her theory. "Daughters of old families generally have a lump sum of gold in their own name stashed at Gringotts. It's meant as a dowry, but it doesn't take a genius to see that it could also be a safety net for girls who cannot abide their arranged fiancés and need to escape. It lets the family support them in advance and still maintain the appearance of having disowned them."

Remus frowned. "How is that better than simply forgiving the daughters and letting them live at home until they find someone they like?"

She blinked at him. "It's about honor, of course. Saving face. The family doesn't have to go down in history as truce-breakers."

Remus shook his head. "Alright. If they like. So if you broke with Malfoy..."

"I might not be destitute. Not at first. I would have to work eventually - "

"Or find another rich git."

She ignored the comment. "I think the money is set aside intentionally. It's a mercy from the family. But," she paused, "there is a magical aspect to the engagement bond between us as well."

Remus shuddered. "What does that mean?"

"Vows," she said. "There was a ceremony when Lucius gave me the opal ring, after the agreement was signed. It was quite formal. You know, flashy but dull, with me in some ridiculous dress, and speeches, and both of us making pledges of loyalty in front of our families."

Remus scoffed. "Loyalty? Oh dear..."

"And whoever breaks them first pays a penalty," she went on. "Usually a temporary suspension of wand use or something else related to magical practice. It's difficult and humiliating and - "

"Not honorable?" Remus finished.

She nodded, watching his face as he considered it. Wand suspension was a significant punishment, but with a Muggle for a mother, he knew it could be done. Something else was making him frown. "So," he began, "how are your pledges not broken already? Surely, snogging werewolves must count against them."

"No, actually," she said. "As long as I don't lose my virginity, I'm safe with you."

He clenched his eyes closed and shook his head once. "What?"

"Well, they had to give the women something after they let men have the engagement period as a time for one last venting of their sexual energy," she said, indignant. "Lucius has certainly never pretended he's saving himself for me."

Remus dropped his head on her shoulder. "I do not understand pure blood families. Not at all."

"Don't bother trying too hard," she said. "It comes down to there being other kinds of betrayal besides sexual infidelity during the engagement."

His head perked up suddenly, as if he'd just realized something he wanted badly to say out loud.

"What is it?" she prodded when he didn't speak.

He stammered for a moment before choking out a word. "Virginity," he said. "Don't lose your virginity? So you and Malfoy - he's never - I mean, even though he can take you anywhere, no chastity charms, no chaperones, you and he - you never - "

"Oh, no," she said, slightly alarmed. "No, he's never had me. No one has. The closest I've ever got to it was - I suppose it was you lying on top of me just now."

Remus sighed in such relief he fell forward onto her shoulder again. "Thank the stars. I mean, it should be nothing to me," he said. "It won't be me who - I know that, but - I'm just glad that for now, while we're like this… It's better."

She cleared a wayward wave of coarse brown hair from his forehead. "Yes, it is."

There was heat rising in his chest. She was moving off his lap, her head higher than his now, hands on his shoulders, pushing him against the cushions, following as he laid back. Her hair fell around their faces as she kissed him, less slowly and leisurely than before, possessive, hot.

His hands were on either side of her ribcage, fingers splayed, rising and falling with her breaths. She was less Lucius Malfoy's than he had feared. When she remembered a man's body heavy on her own, or remembered the body under hers, it would be his, Lupin's - at least for the time being.

"Remus," someone called in a loud whisper from the doorway.

He bolted upright, bringing Narcissa with him, setting her primmly next to him, clearing his throat. "Pete?"

"Yeah, sorry," he said, not coming any further into the room. "It's just that I was watching the map, like you said, and - he's here. Lucius Malfoy is in the school right now."

The headmaster paced in his office. Fytherly Undercliffe had just come from the Potters' manor, where another portrait of himself hung in their upstairs corridor. He had brought back a troubling report when Dumbledore sent him to give the Potters news that James had been injured. Fleamont Potter was ill, so sick Euphemia would not be coming to see to her son.

It was bad, but there was no time to dwell on what it might mean. Not when Lucius Malfoy was swaggering up the stairwell into the office.

"Excuse me, Professor," he was saying. "I know you sent for my father-in-law-to-be, but he sends me in his place. You see, there's word of Dragon Pox spreading through the country's elderly, and as he is on the cusp of old age himself, Mr. Black has asked that I deal with our young Snape. "

Dumbledore regarded him over the tops of his spectacles. Snape was among the students whose parents did not visit the school. Since Cygnus Black had started bringing Snape home with Narcissa to teach him extra lessons on holidays, he had stepped forward as a contact for him. It had always been a mere formality. But now, after the attack in the potions dungeon, Snape was in need of discipline, and counsel from a mentor.

Dumbledore, however, was openly dismayed to see Lucius Malfoy sent as that mentor. "This is a very serious matter. It can't be resolved with mere detentions and scoldings."

Lucius stepped closer. "Truly serious indeed. We are truly shocked with Severus. Why, he's all but," Lucius faltered, fighting to speak the next words. "He's all but family."

At Lucius Malfoy admitted that a half-blood wizard could be anything like his family, Dumbledore's eyes widened, and then twinkled. He might not have believed what he heard, but it was good to hear all the same. "Very well," he said.

He set about fussing over making tea for his guest, and a moment later, Severus Snape and Horace Slughorn had joined them.

Lucius clapped Severus hard on the shoulder. "Right, my boy. Let's get to the bottom of this."

Slughorn retold the story of the attack while Snape sat in an armchair, hands folded, eyes fixed on his unpolished shoes.

"I don't understand," Dumbledore said. "A sudden, unprovoked, violent attack on a student you haven't rowed with in years, Severus? Surely something instigated it?"

"Well, yes," Lucius drawled. "You just said so yourself, Professor. Years ago Severus and the Potter boy were adversaries. Such wounds never leave us. Some fester with time rather than heal. It's unfortunate Potter didn't realize that earlier, but he is no less guilty of his past assaults."

Slughorn grumbled. "I was there too and I suggest a different provocation. There was some talk, even by Severus himself in the infirmary, about one of our potions students being an active Veela. Other students reported having a similar feeling. And, forgive me for saying so, Severus, but if you were feeling a magically intensified romantic jealousy toward James Potter, it is possible you may have lashed out and - "

Snape turned his head, leaning away from Lucius as he interrupted Slughorn with a laugh.

Slughorn nodded. "Hit a nerve, have I?"

Dumbledore took it over. "Veela? None of our current students are known to have any Veela nature about them."

Slughorn gave a mighty sigh. "Haven't I always said, Albus, that the students shouldn't still be here with us once they come of age? It's too much, managing grown adults with their feelings and egos and abilities, coming into their own in all sorts of unforeseeable ways - "

"Yes, so you've said, Horace. But which student is this alleged Veela?" Silence followed, and in it, Dumbledore looked at all of their faces. Snape was twitching and laughing bitterly to himself. Lucius Malfoy looked even whiter than usual, his lip curled, no longer speaking up in Snape's defense.

Slughorn looked tired. "No one I spoke with would hazard a guess, but - "

"Oh, just tell them, Lucius," Severus snapped.

Lucius lifted his chin, his voice cold. "I have no idea what you mean."

"For stars' sake," Severus spat. "She's tried to tell me, and Regulus, and you as well. We all laughed at her, but she's come into it on her own, apparently. That can't be argued with any longer."

Lucius veered away, his tone loud and animated again. "What was that spell you used, Severus?" he said. "You're crafting your own violent spells now, are you?"

"Tell them," Snape insisted. "Tell them about her in your own way, or I shall tell them in mine."

Dumbledore smoothed his beard. "The only other Hogwarts student you are connected to, Lucius, is Narcissa Black. She was in the room when Potter was attacked. Are we to understand that - "

Lucius cut him off with a laugh. "It's a childish fantasy of hers, yes," he said. "Embarrassing. I've never seen any sign of her being a Veela but her own wishing for it."

Dumbledore let out a long breath. "Yet, it stands to reason that the closer she gets to a romantic milestone such as your wedding day, the more active her Veela nature would become," he said.

Lucius sat back, stunned to be suddenly personally implicated in the attack on James Potter.

Dumbledore went on, nodding. "This needn't be a crisis, and it needn't interfere with Miss Black's schooling. Perhaps you haven't yet studied such matters, Lucius, but once a Veela is properly bonded to a partner, her influence will no longer diffuse over other people. It will stay within their pair. And since the pair of you have already made engagement pledges, I hope moving up the rest of your wedding plans should not be too much to ask. Not if it preserves order in the school and, ultimately, in the wizarding society that depends upon it. Don't you agree, Lucius?"

His mouth opened, then closed. He had planned on touring Europe all summer as an unmarried man for the last time. It was going to be spectacular, wild and free and raunchy. And now this. But he was not about to stand here in front of witnesses and break the engagement pledges either. That would leave him spending the summer with no wand at all, not to mention losing everything the Malfoy line stood to gain in yet another alliance with the Black family.

Dumbledore waited, watching his face. Professor Slughorn sat up from where he'd been slumped on the sofa with his head in his hands. "Well, Malfoy? You were always a good citizen of the school. And not just the school. Hogwartd is a pillar of British wizarding society. You won't let us all down now, will you?"

Lucius swallowed the lump in his throat. "It is not a decision to be made alone. I'll answer after I speak with Narcissa."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet, clapping his hands. "Horace will take you to her."

On the sofa beside Slughorn, Snape was laughing again, cruel and low.

Lily slept bent sharply at the waist, sitting on a hard wooden stool, her head on the thin hospital mattress where James slept while his blood replenishing potion did its work. Madam Pomfrey knew who Lily was to James, and she didn't send her out at the end of visiting hours. Instead, she brought Lily another glass of her special cranberry juice and set it on the table next to James's head, like a promise of better things to come for newlyweds spending their first day back in daily life in the Hospital Wing.

James stirred in his narrow bed, frowning and rubbing at his chest. It wasn't much motion, but it was enough to wake Lily. She sprung to sitting, feeling for the pulse in his neck the dim light. It was strong and steady, perfect.

"What are you doing sitting there?" James said, blinking, working to smile.

"I couldn't very well leave you and go to the tower alone," she answered. "It's too cold up there without you."

"I don't mean that," he said. He had taken her wrist and tugged at it, urging her into the bed alongside himself. "There's no need for you to sleep rough when I have a bed."

"I wouldn't call it rough," she argued, snuggling her way beneath his blanket, kicking off her shoes. "But this is nicer."

She lay higher on the pillow than him, his face against her sternum, her chin pressed to the top of his head. He sighed through the knit of the clean jumper Marlene had brought her. "Great first day of school as husband and wife," he said. "Always wondered if Snape had that in him."

She hummed. "I don't understand what came over him. He was cold and aloof in Divination this morning, but not enraged, not murderous."

"It's not you he wants to murder," James said.

"But he healed you."

"Not until he made you cry, begging him to do it."

"He was under the influence of the romantically active Veela," she said. "If Remus is too lovestruck to do anything to stop it, Dumbledore will have to. She's engaged to that Malfoy anyway. I feel sad for Remus, but it's already doomed. He needs to leave it alone."

James sighed again. "I know it makes sense when you say it," he said. "But what if - what if it was us who was doomed? Just like everyone says we are. Think about it, love. What do we do whenever someone tries to tell us we're doomed?"

"That's different." She smoothed his hair from his forehead, kissing the bridge of his nose. "I'm the doe to your stag. Your twin star. Mother of your dark-hair foretold son. Oh, but let's not talk about it. I don't want you upset. I want you to be flawlessly happy as you recover. Like, tomorrow we'll go up to the tower and stay there, just like you wanted."

His hold on her waist tightened. "I won't be happy if I feel like you're held capitve as my nursemaid," he said. "It's not even a week into this marriage and I'd rather not have already turned out like my mum and dad, you spending all your time waiting on feeble little me."

"You don't feel at all little or feeble to me," she said, running her hand along his arm.

"Where is my mum, anyways?" he said, lifting his head to scan the Hospital Wing for her, in spite of the fact that it was the middle of the night and he wasn't wearing his glasses.

Lily hadn't thought anything of Effie's absence. Her own mother never came to Hogwarts. She wasn't sure she could even see it. But the witch mothers did come when their children were in the Hospital Wing. It happened all the time. "Maybe they don't bring in parents when you get hurt once you're of age," she said.

He shook his head, still worried. "But she'd want to come, no matter how old I was. It's strange."

Lily massaged his temples with her thumbs, still set on the losing game of keeping anyone flawlessly happy. "Maybe she's got some notion about respecting my responsibility as your wife," she tried.

"Maybe," he allowed. "But I feel - wrong. Like something bad is happening."

She looked into his eyes. "Something bad has happened, darling. Your childhood rival turned some never-before-seen dark magic on you, causing you to nearly bleed to death in my arms. It was bad. In fact, it was," her voice choked, "the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

They were close enough in the tiny bed that James hardly moved at all to kiss her, gently enough to be tender, passionately enough to let her know he was still himself. "I'm alright," he said, brushing her tears with the tip of his nose.

"The time," she hiccoughed. "I thought the time might be up already."

He kissed her again, her mouth salty with crying. "No, we're still here," he said as he pressed her palm against his heart. "See? Alive. Together." He paused, sounding something, a word in his mind that seemed to have arrived from somewhere outside himself, almost like a half-formed prophecy of his own. He spoke it.

"Forever."