Previously: On the train ride home, James overhears a couple of Slytherins bragging about how their parents are in Voldemort's inner circle. James feels sick to his stomach and gets out of there as fast as he can. Lily and James depart King's Cross, having officially finished their first year of Hogwarts.


Chapter 19: Grudges

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The sound slowed worked its way into Lily's head, and she groaned as the alarm clock blared deafeningly in her ears, rudely jerking her from a relaxing dream she had previously been having, which included Quidditch, a hag, and – to her eternal embarrassment – James Potter. It had finally waked her, but Lily kept her eyes firmly shut, hoping that annoying noise would eventually disappear if she simply pretended like it did not exist. After all, there was a little something called a magical miracle, wasn't there?

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Wasn't there?

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Apparently not.

"Shut it, you," grumbled Lily, slamming her hand onto the buttons and trying random switches until the clock's alarm finally ceased.

She twisted over in her bed to open her bleary eyes and peep at the time, her thin sheets tangling in her legs. It was still dark out, and while she had not thought much about it during the winter months at Hogwarts, this was summer – the sun was supposed to rise early in the morning, not lull her into a false sense of night with the predawn darkness slithering through her curtains. That was, until she saw what time it really was: three o'clock in the morning.

Three – in – the – bloody– morning.

"Petunia," cursed Lily under her breath.

There were a couple of brief seconds when she allowed her building rage to simmer before:

"PETUNIA!"

All signs of sleepiness disappearing in wake of her fury, Lily threw the covers back off her legs and flung herself into a sitting position. She grabbed the wand lying on her patterned nightstand next to the unlit lamp – Petunia was dead, dead, dead! After returning from her first year of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, all she had wanted was some peace and quiet – but now her sister was ruining that as well.

Setting her alarm clock hours early, please

With a bang, the door to Petunia's bedroom flung open. Wand still in hand, Lily searched the wall next to her, fumbling with her fingers until she finally hit the switch. She flipped it, and the lights flared to life, filling the previously dark room with the glow of Petunia's floral lamps. The person hidden under blankets shifted slightly at the intrusion, but Lily paid no heed. She stalked over to the bed and ripped the covers off, exposing Petunia in all her nighttime glory, complete with hair curlers and a frilly nightgown that looked a might uncomfortable.

"Wake up, Petunia," snapped Lily, fiercely kicking the bed. "Wake up!"

Petunia moaned and squinted at Lily, feebly raising her hand to her eyes to shield her face from the sudden brightness.

"Som'on say m'name? Whuzz 'a madder?" she mumbled, her voice hoarse and throaty from the deep sleep she had previously been in before Lily barged into the much neater and more girly bedroom – none of that would garner her a slightest bit of sympathy from the furious Lily though.

"I'll tell you what's the matter, Petunia – you! You set my alarm clock to go off at three in the bloody morning!" shouted Lily. "Care to tell me why?"

Which each word, her anger rose, and before she knew it, Lily had her wand pointed at her sister's face, white and silver sparks sizzling and flying from the tip to match her vehemence.

If Petunia had been groggy and mostly asleep before the face of Lily's threatening wand, she definitely was not so now. Staring at the sparking tip of the wand, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, she scrambled backwards with fear, and the blanket tangled even more in her legs in her hurry as her previously quiet room flooded with her deafening screeches of fear.

"MUMMY – DADDY – HELP!"

While it was common knowledge that a sure way to piss off Lily Evans was to wake her before she wanted to, Petunia, from the fearful expression on her face, had not considered that her sister would retaliate with magic – not that Lily would ever actually use her wand and risk expulsion for only her sister, but as it was proving to be immensely satisfying to watch her sister jerk from the same sleep she had so cruelly deprived Lily of, she saw no reason to correct Petunia's erroneous assumptions.

"Petunia, dear?"

"Are you alright?"

"What's going on?"

Voices and scuffles could be heard from the hallway as their parents awoke to the alarming sound of their older daughter's cries for help. Lily barely lowered her wand, and there was a brief second before they both appeared in the doorway, bleary-eyed and pale. Mrs. Evans struggled to tie the knot of her dressing gown while Mr. Evans fumbled with his glasses, both looking as if they expected to find some mad axe-murderer smashing in the windows. When they saw it was only the sisters, they peered at each other, confused.

"What on earth is going on here? It's three o'clock in the morning," said Mr. Evans finally. "Lily, why aren't you in your own bed?"

Here, Lily glared at Petunia.

"That's exactly what I was wondering, Daddy. Petunia thought it would be funny to set my alarm clock to go off thirty seconds ago."

Mrs. Evans frowned heavily and said, "Petunia, dear, that is really uncalled for – you owe Lily an apology."

Petunia's face, previously pale, was now bright red.

"She was going to jinx me, Mummy! She was going to jinx me with … that stuff she learned at that – that school," defended Petunia, seemingly unable to bring herself to say "magic" and "Hogwarts", to which Lily rolled her eyes.

"'That school!' – honestly, Petunia, at least say something more original," mocked Lily. "It's no use slighting me when I'm too busy laughing at you and your obvious lack of vocabulary. Maybe if you –"

"Don't tell me what to do, you little witch!" snarled Petunia through gritted teeth.

"Hey! You're the –"

"ENOUGH!"

The one word rang through the house, and both sisters jumped and turned to face the source of the furious, sudden roar – their father, who stood rigid but shaky with anger.

While it was quite easy for everybody to forget that Lily was not the only Evans to have a temper, that did not mean she was the only Evans to have a temper – she had to get it from somewhere after all. Mr. Evans may have mellowed with age and experience, but on the exceptionally uncommon occasion, one could catch a glimpse of the quick-tempered rage he shared with his youngest daughter. It happened rarely – perhaps it was the lack of sleep or maybe it was the repetitive routine, but whichever one, this was one of those exceptionally uncommon occasions they now found themselves in.

"Richard …" calmed Mrs. Evans.

She tried to hold her husband's shoulder, but he ignored it.

"I haven't the faintest clue what destroyed your relationship, but whatever is going on, I expect it to stop right now!" said Mr. Evans in a low voice, giving each of his daughters a stern look. "You may not think of each other as you once did, but while we live under one roof, you will get along – for all our sakes. Now, your mother and I are going back to bed, and if either of you so much as thinks of waking the other, that person will have a new bedroom in the basement. Are we understood?"

"Yes, Dad," mumbled the girls in unison, looking down to the floor.

Not much could have abruptly stopped Lily in the middle of such a heated argument, but in the face of her father's own anger, she drew up short, instead choosing to stare at her bare feet.

"Good," said Mr. Evans. "Now – Lily, I believe your bed is in the other room."

Lily shuffled past her father without much protest, but at the doorway, she sneakily threw one last hard glare at her sister before returning to her own bedroom.

~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ 1972 ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~

"Jaime! How many times do I have to tell you to stop playing with that?" said Mrs. Potter, quite exasperated as she bent down to fix James's collar to the dress robes he had – very grudgingly and with much complaining – changed into. "For Merlin's sake, you'll only make it worse, you know."

James groaned and fidgeted as he glanced around the elegantly decorated chamber that would be his prison for the next five hours. The Ministry of Magic was hosting some benefit where they would recognize any new Order of Merlin awards, new heads of departments, etc.… At least that was why his parents said they had to be there, but James had overheard his mother telling his father that it was mostly a party for Minister Jenkins or something else that was boring and of no particular relevance to James and his life.

"Euphemia, there you are!" yelled somebody in a warm greeting. "I was wondering when you would show up!"

Both of his parents, who had been watching James in case of an escape attempt, turned to the person, and so did James. A woman who looked to be in her fifties or sixties waved at them. She was tall with some flecks of grey near her ears in otherwise brown, closely-cropped hair, and he had to admit that she looked slightly intimidating, not unlike Professor Banks. The only difference was that the new woman smiled – something Banks would never do.

"Millicent, so good to see you!" welcomed Mrs. Potter. She glanced down to her son and said, "James, I want you to meet Millicent Bagnold. She was just promoted as the new Head of the Auror Office – Millicent spent a decent amount of time as an Auror heading up a joint task force between our departments before her promotion to chief of her office."

James assessed the woman standing in front of him, everything from her friendly but guarded demeanor to the determined spark in her eyes. Bagnold certainly looked like somebody who could take charge, but he would have picked her to run the Improper Use of Magic Office or something, not the Auror Office. She did not look … tough enough to wrestle with Dark wizards and Azkaban inmates – perhaps some Mandrakes or other nasty plants, but not the Knights of Walpurgis by any means.

"That's the big boss?" said James skeptically after a little bit. "Where's your eye patch and scars?"

"James!"

His mother looked as if he had just badmouthed the Minister herself. Euphemia Potter may have been soft-spoken and stoic most of the time, but she was not above scolding somebody when they did something she did not like – such as James briefly tarnishing their family's pristine image.

Bagnold, however, simply laughed like she found his question more amusing than anything else.

"Those Dark wizards have to best me in a fight first. I learned dueling from Flitwick himself, and it'll take more than a couple of predictable curses to bring a former Ravenclaw like myself down. But don't worry – I'm sure that eye patch will come eventually, young Potter," she said.

"Jaime, why don't you go see what kinds of snacks the buffet table has," said his mother. "Just be sure to be at our table in thirty minutes."

The dismissal was clear, so leaving his parents to chat about adult matters that he was clearly not allowed to hear about – not that he was very interested in boring Ministry chitchat to begin with – James took to exploring the area he was confined to with only his wand and a pair of much-hated dress robes. Why his parents even insisted he come, he had no idea, but there was nowhere else he could go to wait out the party – the room lacked unattended broomsticks and he could not Apparate yet.

Most of the guests were adults, but once in a while James spotted a kid in the crowd, looking just as bored as he was. Most of them looked to be from the pure-blood families he knew to steer clear of, such as Rabastan Lestrange and Mulciber, but he also spotted Alice Prewett and Marlene McKinnon several times. James was desperate for company between his regular visits to the snack tables, but as the two girls looked like they were talking about girly things, he had no desire to intrude upon them, instead continuing to wander and eavesdrop on conversations he passed.

"… I heard Celestina Warbeck is performing tonight …"

"… you think it's about time they started? We've been doing nothing for an hour now …"

"… Barty Crouch is making a speech tonight. I've been wondering what he thinks of that new legislation Dolores drafted …"

They were all about random topics James did not hold the slightest bit of interest in, but that was before he heard his mother's name issue from the lips of a couple old warlocks. The moment "Euphemia Potter" reached his ears, James stopped short, ducking behind a pillar so that he could pretend to merely loll about, seemingly bored from the uninteresting Ministry event when in reality he was straining his ears as far as he could to pick up on the discussion he had accidentally dropped in on.

"… has been arguing with Minister Jenkins a lot now. Each time someone sees her exit the Minister's office, she's angrier than an insulted hippogriff, I tell you. Mark my words, there'll be a new Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures before long. Whether Jenkins fires Potter or if she just ends up quitting, she'll be out by the end of the year," promised one middle-aged wizard who munched on a Pumpkin Pasty.

"Shame," said another wizard, this one a little younger than the first. "Euphemia does a good job. She's a little too liberal when it comes to some particular beings for my taste, but that department is one of the few that is actually making progress right now, what with that Dark Wizard and his Knights, and all."

"Did you hear about Jenkins's legislation that passed the Wizengamot several months ago, the one that makes all Muggle-borns take the W.O.M.B.A.T.s after finishing school?" asked a third, a wizard with frizzy white hair. "There's a lot of debate about whether this means she's going to go after Muggle-borns more, or if it's simply some precautionary measures – complete opposite of Leach, she is."

"Leach was a stupid one, Canktus," said the first, sounding rather exasperated. "If you ask me, we just need to do away with Muggle-borns altogether – how many actually end up doing something good anyways? They don't know about our world to begin with, and those people are barely talented enough to repair a broken dinner plate. No wonder the Sorting Hat always throws the lot of them into Hufflepuff."

James felt his anger rise swiftly at the wizard's words. Though the Potter family history was well-known and stretched back to the fall of the Roman Empire, that history was ripe with generations of Potters fighting for Muggle rights – and James had no wish to disappoint his ancestors. He stepped out from behind the pillar he was standing behind, fully prepared to give the old warlock a piece of his mind, despite the fact that the warlock in question was many times his senior, but somebody else got there first.

"Oi – Waddling!" shouted a man standing about ten yards away from Waddling's little group – he must have also overheard the Muggle-born comment, only he was quicker to respond to it than James was.

The man had to be about the same age as Bagnold, but that did not stop him from striding right up to get into Waddling's face. Onlookers stared at the scene as the man growled, "Want to say that again, Waddling? Except this time, you can repeat that to all the people who knew Victoria Gobsworth – let me tell you, that Muggle-born could probably beat you with both hands tied behind her back. She also happened to be my wife. Or how about you repeat what you just said to people who knew Magnolia Rears. You remember Magnolia, right, Wendell – she's that Auror who repelled twenty Dementors at once."

Waddling looked like the man had slapped him.

"Those were exceptions, Fenwick," he retorted, now angry as well. "Muggle-borns only cause trouble, what with all the special treatment they demand. They need to be –"

"You need to shut up, Waddling," shot back Fenwick. "It's the arrogant arses like you who cause the problems, not them."

James bet that if the debate continued any longer, the two wizards would end up in a real fight, but that was when an announcer standing at the podium called in a magically magnified voice for all witches and wizards to move towards their seats as the awards ceremony would commence in five minutes – cutting off Waddling and Fenwick not a moment too soon.

~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ 1972 ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~

"Lily, you have mail!" called her mother through the screen door, interrupting Lily, who had been rereading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe for the hundredth time, comfortably curled up on a blanket outside while soaking up the golden sunlight. When she discovered that she had finally achieved the lightest tan from all the time spent outdoors with Severus, Lily had been thrilled – no matter how hard she tried, she was always the only one to return to school with pale skin, much to her continual displeasure.

At Mrs. Evans's announcement, Lily jumped up and ran for the cool, air-conditioned kitchen, pausing only to grab her blanket and book to bring them inside. Though she had been keeping in touch with her friends from Hogwarts and the Daily Prophet owl always woke her up every morning with the newspaper, she had not heard from any of the girls since last week. She still had Severus who she hung out with every chance she had, but it was still nice to get correspondence from her other friends as well.

"Who is it?" asked Lily as she burst through the door and into the kitchen.

"Alice," said her mother, glancing up from the tacos she was currently making long enough to nod her head in the direction of an envelope of parchment that lay on the dining table. A mighty pleased Marigold perched on top of a cabinet while Crackerjack watched Alice's owl intently. Across from the odd duo of animals sat Petunia, who had been busy with her summer homework the teachers at Hartlem High assigned her – though she was currently distracted from her homework and now glaring at the envelope as if it had ruined her favorite dress.

Lily snatched it up, ignoring Petunia's open dislike she always showed to Crackerjack and herself. It was addressed to her in an untidy scrawl that she quickly recognized as Alice's handwriting, and she wasted no time in tearing it open. The letter itself was of average length, written in the same messy script that was on the outside of the envelope, but the writing was legible enough to not take long to decipher.

Dear Lily,

Guess what? Professor Banks resigned from Hogwarts! I overheard Mrs. Marchbanks telling my mum at a Ministry party that she made me go attend that Banks is in Albania doing some "top-secret" work for Professor Dumbledore – long story short: she's no longer the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. You can't see it in this letter, but I'm dancing with joy and singing 'Praise Merlin' at the top of my lungs. The only sad thing is that you can't join my one-person party I'm throwing in my bedroom right now in celebration.

I really miss you. It's good that we can write each other and all that good stuff, but don't be surprised when I tackle you next time we see each other at King's Cross. Pity you and Mary couldn't have come with Marlene and me to the Ministry party because it would have been so much more enjoyable with all four of us there, but I doubt you would have wanted to come since it was just five hours of a bunch of boring people making speeches.

Anyways, I hope you've been having a great summer. See you at Hogwarts!

Sincerely,

Alice

Lily could not help her smile as she reread the letter, particularly at the part about Professor Banks's resignation. Since Alice had started a mini feud with the strict teacher on the very first Defense Against the Dark Arts class they sat in for, she could entertain the entirely plausible idea of Alice's little one-person party and would not have put it past the bubbly blond to complete it with a band, some food … the whole shebang, really.

Hopefully, her friend would get along better with their next teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts.


Also, just in case any of you thought that it felt like James's scene came out of nowhere, I wanted James to catch a glimpse of Voldemort's effect on the real-world rather than just school, and a Ministry party seemed like the perfect place, so … y'know … ergo: Ministry party.