Shopkeepers were taking down the mistletoe and tinsel from Hogsmeade windows; January had fallen, like a hard red berry onto the cobblestones. Down the high street, mountains caught snow in their craggy pockets. The sky was steely and hard, impenetrable. It was too cold to fly. The Hogwarts kids, visible by their identical dark cloaks and eye-catching scarves, were carrying hot potatoes or jars of bewitched fire. Outside the steamy glass windows of The Three Broomsticks, students stamped their boots on the dirty mat while they waited for a table.
"It still doesn't look like anything's going on," said Dulciana, flicking a blond curl away from her eyes. "I mean—everything looks normal. The shops are open. There's no guards.
"They're trying to make it gradual," said Lily bitterly. She pulled tiny crystals of ice off her eyelashes, feeling them melt on her fingertips. "They'll make it so that nobody can say quite when everything went wrong...because every day is sort of the same, only a little bit different."
"It does feel different," said Mary. "I can't describe it, though." Her voice was still soft, quieter than it used to be. Before Mulciber got to her, she had a laugh like a school bell ringing out for lunch hour.
Dulciana put her arm around Mary's shoulder, and Mary smiled gratefully. The girls passed by Gladrags Wizardwear, and Lily couldn't help but stare longingly at the peach silk robes embroidered with a delicate floral pattern. The price tag was affixed with a silver-tipped pin.
"D'you think we'll still have a dance at year end?" asked Dulciana. "I'll just die if we can't have our seventh year formal. I've been waiting since first year. They can't cancel it."
"I don't see why they would," Lily replied, "I mean, as long as it's held within the castle. Why would it be any more unsafe than classes?"
"Because," said a deeper voice from behind the girls, "everyone will be sloshed and incapable of holding a pencil, let alone a wand. Which, to be honest, is why I'm looking forward to it."
"You're butting in!" Lily objected, but she was laughing. James had obviously come out from a shop, for his glasses were fogged up.
"While we're on the subject of my butt—"
"Oh, stop it," said Dulciana, her eyes twinkling. "You're a scoundrel, you know." Mary didn't laugh.
A few paces behind him, his entourage trailed. Black was smoking. The tips of his gloves were cut off, allowing him to dangle the fag like a 1950s film star. Pettigrew was huffing out clouds of frozen breath, trying to catch up. Remus—with whom Lily had been on first-name terms since fifth year—was walking and reading a pamphlet at the same time.
"Come for a walk, Evans?" said James, elbowing Lily.
"It's freezing," she said. "And we're all going for drinks, aren't we? I want a hot cider."
"Going where?" scoffed James. "You've seen the Three Broomsticks; we're too late. The line's too long."
"That's never stopped you before," muttered Lily. "I know you have that Cloak on you all the time."
James cocked his head, scrutinizing her. She felt self-conscious when he did that.
"Fair enough," he said. "But still. Come for a walk. Just for five minutes." He beckoned down a side alley, where two stray cats were curling up around a steaming grate. An elderly witched leaned over her balcony across the alley, and shot a hex at the cats; with feline grace, they merely lifted their hind legs to dodge the curse, and returned to their position.
"Go on," said Mary. "We'll be in line, anyways."
Lily tried to exchange a look with Dulciana, but Black had caught up with her, and they were playfully duelling with each other's swapped wands. Remus and Pettigrew joined Black, Pettigrew seeming more eager than Remus to cheer Black on.
"Alright, okay," said Lily. She pulled her woolly hat down tighter, to cover her ears. "But don't let me freeze."
"Says the ice queen," James retorted.
"I talk to you now, don't I?"
"Seven years in, she talks to me," said James, to an imagined audience. They had stepped away from their friends. "Seven years, and the ice queen has melted."
"I'm not quite melted. I'm...thawing, though," Lily admitted.
Anyone else would have been put off by so unenthusiastic a response to years of pursuit. Anyone but James. He was grinning like the Cheshire Cat, his horn-rimmed glasses crooked on his nose. She wanted to straighten them, but that seemed a bit personal.
"Thawing is good," said James. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, leaving a patched elbow perilously close to her waist. "Honestly, though. Has anyone worked harder for your attention? Who's made a fool of themselves like I have? Who's been stupider than me, on your behalf?"
"I'd call the Muggle police on anyone else, James."
"I'm glad you give me preferential treatment," he said. Their reflections grew and shrank in the distorted glass of old show windows. The butcher shop was closed, and the door covered with brown paper. There was a message scrawled on it: "OUT OF BUSINESS DUE TO UNFAIR LICENSING + TAXATION 4 MUGGLE-OWNED SHOP."
"That's rubbish," said James, more serious now. "They're cowards, the whole Ministry is."
"They're trying to compromise," Lily said. "I guess they think if they give in on some things, it won't have to get much worse."
"It's already getting worse."
"I know," she retorted, and stamped her feet against the cold. Her toes were turning numb. "You know I have to pay a fee now, to re-register for Hogwarts in the fall."
"Really?"
"Yes. Only since this year," she replied. The letter had arrived at her home in August, carried by a stern-looking owl with an engraved metal ankle ring. Her parents didn't understand about the fee; they had never had to pay anything before. Lily had guided them to Diagon Alley and changed the money for them at Gringotts, where the elderly customers had stared at her short shorts.
"My dad thinks there's going to be a war," said James, sotto voce. He ran a gloved hand through his wild hair, a kind of nervous tic. "He says these kind of people never give up without a fight. He said it's gonna be bad, like when Grindelwald was here. I reckon we might have to re-think our plans, y'know, after graduation."
Lily's stomach clenched. She was getting stomach aches lately, ever since the letter. Anxiety. A few times, it was bad enough for her to miss classes, and Madame Pomfrey had prepared a special tincture she could take on the very worst days.
"I think that too," said Lily softly. She looked up at James' face, his rosy cheeks and wide mouth. A faint worry line between his brows—it still looked so strange on him, on James Potter, of all people. "James."
"Yeah?"
"Would you fight? If there was a war, I mean?"
He nodded without hesitation. "Definitely."
"It's not a game, though," Lily pointed out. She crossed her arms over her chest, tucking her hands into her armpits. In the icy breeze, her fur-lined cloak swirled about her legs. James pulled his collar up; he wasn't wearing his school-regulation cloak, because of course he wasn't.
"I know it's not a game," he said, sounding defensive. "I'm not a total idiot you know. I'm only an idiot when it comes to you, but I do have a brain."
"I don't think you're an idiot at all, I'm just saying that this is actual violence, it's not like, like Duelling Club or something. People are disappearing."
"Exactly," he insisted. "That's why we have to fight. I mean—why I have to fight," he corrected himself. There was something challenging in his expression, and Lily rose to his bait.
"Well, obviously I'm going to fight too," she said. "I mean, it's not like I have a choice."
"You do have a choice," said James.
"No, you have a choice," Lily argued. "I'm a nobody, a Muggle-born. I don't have family money. They're not after your kind, it's me they want."
"Look, Evans, I'm not—" he stopped, and softened his tone before continuing, more gently. "I'm not unaware of that. Of how it is for you. But if you don't want to fight...you could run."
She shook her head. "This is my home. I don't know any other place."
He sighed, and his breath sketched a cloud before him. "You aren't going to know this place either, pretty soon." James messed his hair up again. "Sorry. I sound morbid. I'm not trying to—I mean, it's Saturday, it's Hogsmeade weekend. It's your day off from this stuff."
"I'm—"
"No, I'll shut up now," he interrupted her. "I mean, I won't shut up, but I will about this."
She giggled. "Okay."
They walked down the lane and emerged on Callough Way, which ran parallel to the high street. The shops were interspersed with private flats, all half-timbered in the Tudor style. There were fewer pedestrians on this street, and most of them were not Hogwarts students. A wizard was up on a ladder, taking down hanging Christmas baubles from Mahmoud & Sons, where the Persian rugs included lifetime warranties on speed and safety.
Lily caught her reflection in the window. Her nose had turned pink from the cold, and her freckles had blanched almost to white; in the summer, they stood out like constellations. James was a head taller than her. Just a few years earlier, he had been shorter than her, short and scrawny, and irritating as hell. He had been the kind of boy who mothers always say only teases you because he likes you, but actually, he just likes to tease you. Or so she thought. Things were different this year. James had wised up a little last year, and though they weren't friends, she hadn't detested him quite so much. They were all starting to get more serious, now that whispers of war had turned into daily news of mysterious disappearances and suspicious Muggle disasters. Then, in August, Lily had received her Head Girl badge in the post, along with the news that she would be working alongside James Potter. What a shock to the system that had been—although five months later, she wasn't so sure Dumbledore had been entirely wrong in selecting him.
Privately, Professor McGonagall had confided in Lily that the decision of who to select for Head Boy and Girl that year was deeply influenced by the worsening political situation. The Heads of Houses had been split in their meeting with the headmaster, and factions had formed; Slughorn and Flitwick felt that a strong prefect background and academic merit ought to determine headship, as was traditional. Sprout and McGonagall wanted students with real defensive skills and the wisdom to be entrusted with vulnerable younger students. As for Dumbledore, he had kept his motivations private, but McGonagall intimated to Lily that the headmaster seemed to view headship as a testing ground for far more important roles in the future.
"What I can say about the selection process is this," said McGonagall to Lily back in early September. "And naturally, this stays between us. This year, we have more important concerns than students out of bed and homework handed in late. We are looking at the potential for serious danger in the outside world, and the headmaster and I are committed to keeping that danger away from our students. Miss Evans, you were selected on the grounds of responsibility, academic merit, excellent relations with other houses and, may I put it frankly, common sense. Mr. Potter has...some of those traits. If he chooses to rise to the occasion, he has the potential to demonstrate strong leadership. And if not—" at this, the professor removed her eye glasses and polished them with a cleaning charm. She shook her head, looking tired. "The headmaster and I have some reason to believe that Potter has more sense than might be immediately obvious. Good luck to you both."
Snow was beginning to fall, just tiny flakes whirling about in the air.
"I guess no Quidditch practice today, then," said Lily.
"People are too soft. I'd practice any day," James retorted.
"No, you wouldn't."
"I really would."
"Wouldn't."
"Would!"
"Wouldn't!"
James swatted at her playfully and then drew his hand back at once, an expression of ambiguity on his face. She was seeing that expression on him more and more lately. He had never seemed at all uncertain about anything until the past year.
They walked past Bughum's, the bakery where old people and goblins ordered their croissants and meat pies. Spicy pumpkin muffins floated around the window spelling out 'HOT' and then 'YUM.' Students preferred Honeydukes.
"My mum likes that place," said James offhandedly. "She gets hot cross buns from them at Easter."
"My mum bakes them at home," said Lily.
"My mum can't bake anything," admitted James. "She grew up with house elves, you know. But we try. I think she fried an egg once. Burnt it."
"The more I learn about magic," said Lily, "the more I realize that magical people are actually useless."
"We try," said James, chuckling. "But we're lazy and spoiled, eh?"
Lily permitted him a smile. "Did it really take you this long to figure it out?" She pulled off her gloves and blew on her fingers to warm them.
"It helped to hear it repeated at great volume, you know, from someone whose opinion I valued. "
She couldn't prevent herself from flushing hot, despite the cold. He had never made a secret of his feelings for her—quite the opposite—but they had become friends, real friends, this year, and it was different. They were Head Boy and Head Girl, and they had responsibilities together, but they had fun too. Late nights in the library, Lily studying, James writing his essays effortlessly, and spending the rest of his time bugging Lily, making her laugh, distracting her from her work—and where he had once been a mere annoyance, she was starting to appreciate his madness. He was still conceited and spoiled and his sense of humour could border on cruelty, but what Lily hadn't known until the past autumn was that he was brilliant—not just strong academically, but wildly intuitive, and the speed at which he grasped new concepts was astonishing. She practiced incantations and wand movements over and over, trying to absorb the spells into her muscle memory; James only had to read the incantation once, and he was already altering the spell, strengthening or changing its direction and longevity, playing with fields of magic like an angel plucking a harp. She knew from second-hand gossip that he and Sirius Black had performed some crazy original magic on a number of occasions, and that he and his gang were in possession of a number of enchanted objects that enabled their exploits on and off school grounds. But none of that would have been enough to de-stabilize Lily's longstanding antipathy towards him if she hadn't learned of James' unshakeable loyalty, the extraordinary goodness he extended quietly to the people he loved. It was intimidating, this secret knowledge—Lily wasn't quite sure what to do with it. How many people knew James, really knew him, outside of that airtight clique he had formed with Black, Pettigrew and Remus?
James led her down Callough Way, seeming entirely confident in his direction, though they weren't really going anywhere in particular.
"How's your herbology project going?" he asked. Lily was completing an independent study project for NEWT herbology, a class in which she excelled.
"Swimmingly," said Lily. "My mandrakes have formed cliques and refuse to photosynthesize with outsiders. Professor Sprout said she walked in on them stashing something away in a hurry."
"Excellent." James grinned. "Have you checked the roots?"
"They're spelling out naughty words, but nothing really four letter-ish yet," Lily said.
"Aah, give them a few weeks, then."
"I need them ripe by March, though."
"Why's that?"
Lily lifted her hat to rub the tips of her freezing ears. "I'm using them for a very complex potion for NEWTs. And that's got a schedule as well."
"Right," said James darkly. They walked on, Lily pulling her hat back down past her ears. James didn't like any talk of potions. Lily was still partnered with Severus, and though they no longer spoke except to mutter, "Stir it again," or "Pass me the flask," Lily's long since dissolved friendship with Severus bothered James. He no longer badmouthed Severus directly to Lily, or hexed him (at least to her knowledge), but she knew the antagonism between them remained. Their mutual hatred was a sore spot, a small but painful ulcer in her growing friendship with James.
"Right turn," muttered James, and she followed him into another alley, this one even narrower. Icicles hung from rusted drainpipes, leading to glossy patches of ice on the cobblestones The alley's end appeared bright, startling white; she didn't understand until she and James emerged on the back side of the Callough Way buildings. Past the tiny fenced in yards, there was a shallow strip of snowy field that ended in a steep drop-off, down to a valley sixty feet below. In the distance, the gunmetal-grey silhouette of Hogwarts pierced the clouds, and mountains of granite were sketched roughly, as though by a stick of charcoal on its side.
"How did you know this place?" murmured Lily. She stepped closer to the drop off, careful of her footing.
"I know every place in Hogsmeade."
She threw her head back and laughed into the glowing grey of snow and sky. "You really are something, James," she said. "I don't know what—but something."
"Yeah, um..." he said, and stepped closer to her. "It's Saturday, you know."
"Yeah, we've established that." Lily fixed him with a sarcastic look. She knew her eyes captivated people, and used them to her advantage now and then—maybe we all have a little Slytherin in us.
"You know what that means," said James, and when he grinned, his dimples showed. He had a smile like sunlight flashing on a thousand Galleons.
Lily rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too. "It means you're going to ask me out again."
"Yup."
They had come to a truce that September, when Lily and James had begun to meet privately to discuss Head duties. She told him she couldn't tolerate the daily harassment, the performative showboating for her attention and humiliating public propositions. It had to stop. To Lily's surprise, he had agreed to cease his constant romantic intrusions, and had even promised not to ask her out in front of other people. But he wouldn't agree to stop asking her out entirely, and he held firm on that front, so they negotiated an agreement that permitted James to ask her out no more frequently than once a week, and never publically. What began as a ceasefire had become an tradition and an inside joke for the two of them; every Saturday, without fail, James asked her out on a date, and every time, she politely turned him down. Then, together, they laughed off the absurdity of the weekly rigmarole, and went back to being friends.
"So, er..." James raised his eyebrows, and pushed his crooked glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "I guess I've given up the plot, then. But here we are, so..."
Lily caught a snowflake on her tongue. "Don't you get tired of this, James?"
He looked up at the sky before answering. "Which part of it? The asking? Or getting rejected?"
"Both, I suppose."
"I'm bored of getting turned down. But no—I'm not bored of asking."
"But you get the same answer every time," she pointed out.
"Except for the last time I ask you," James said. She could see her face reflected in his hazel eyes; her nose was pink, her skin blanched from lack of sun. "Any week now, it could happen. I look forward to it. Maybe it could even be today."
"Oh, James..." she sighed. "You're a terminal optimist."
"Why shouldn't I be?" he asked, and nodded towards the wild Scottish landscape before them. "Look where we are. And what we've got. Less than one ten thousandth of the population has magical abilities, and we're in it."
"I know I'm lucky," sighed Lily. "I'm just not particularly feeling it this year." She didn't know why her eyes were watering, all of a sudden. She wiped a tear away with her gloved hand. "Sorry. Like you said, it's—it's Saturday. We don't need this. School's stressful enough."
Lily was ready for his witty reply, but he said nothing, just wrapped his arm around her shoulders with uncharacteristic gentleness. She looked up at James, but he was staring out at the mountains, his striped scarf flying in the wind like a knight with his pennant.
She sniffled. "This whole thing...these so-called Death Eaters..."
"Yeah..." he said softly. "Idiots, the lot of them. Idiots with wands, even worse."
"It's why—it's—" she swallowed. "It's part of the reason, you know, the reason I...don't know if I could say 'yes.' Because it's not that I don't like you, James. I mean—I didn't like you, but now I think...I may have misjudged you. And I'm sorry for that."
"How do you mean?" he said.
She nodded towards him. "Well, look at you," she said. "You're a pureblood...your family's Sacred 28, and you've got money...and I'm just a middle class girl from a Muggle family."
"So what?" said James, somewhat sharply, though he did not take his arm away from her shoulders. "I don't care about blood. Or money."
Lily sighed shakily. James lived in a world of heroes and villains, a black and white paradise from a children's cartoon strip. He'd grown up under draped velvet and scalloped plaster, and he's never known real compromise. People never stared at him, except in admiration or envy.
"It's not about what you think," said Lily. "It's about...look, do you know what people will say? If I go out with you, they'll think I'm doing it for protection. They'll think, 'Oh, she thinks she's safe if she's in with a pureblood,' or at the very least, they'll think I'm after your fortune."
James shook his head in disbelief. "Bloody hell, Evans. I thought you were above that kind of stuff. Who cares what people think?"
"Because it's not just about my reputation, James," she replied hotly. "It's about...being Head Girl and setting an example. And I don't want kids to look at us and think they'll be safe if they date a pureblood, because they won't be. And also because...because..."
"Because what?" said James. He let go of her and rubbed the back of his head, messing his hair up again. "Because you think you'll stupid for changing your mind about me?" He laughed coolly. "I've been willing to look stupid for you all along."
"That was for your own amusement. Not for me." Lily stepped away from him. A few strands of red hair had flown loose from beneath her hat, and were flying wild in the wind like errant sparks.
James looked genuinely upset now; his skin was flushed pink, and his brows were knit; his mouth was twitching as though he was trying not to pout. "You know...," he spat, "I've made a lot of effort for you. I changed. And I know—I know you don't owe me anything, but I thought we were friends, and the very least you could is just...treat me like a person, the person I am, and not some collection of demographics that are inconvenient to your reputation."
"That's not fair—"
"No, you know what's not fair?" he interrupted loudly. "Acting like I've got no skin in this. Like, for you, everything's real but it's all just a game to me."
"Isn't it?" Lily retorted. "What have you got to lose?"
"You," he spat. And he stormed away from the cliff side, disappearing into the alley. Lily followed, running to match his long strides, but when she was still halfway down the alley, he was silhouetted against the brighter opening to Callough Way. James opened his rucksack. It looked like he was miming at pulling something out.
"James, don't—" she cried, but it was too late; he vanished beneath the Invisibility Cloak. His footsteps were still visible in the light dusting of snow between the rubbish bins, but the cobblestones of Callough Way were tattooed with many overlapping sets of prints, and she could not track him.
Lily stared up and down the street. Men were unloading boxes from a horseless cart, levitating them into stacks on a wheelbarrow. The snow was falling heavier now, a swirling about her, a glittering cyclone. She leaned back against a cold brick wall, took off her gloves, and sucked on her frozen fingers. The world beyond the snowflakes was soft and muted; even his name was silent on her lips.
He was calm and jovial when he rejoined their party in the Three Broomsticks, shoving his way between Black and Pettigrew with a quip, as though nothing had happened between them at all. They ordered a pitcher of Butterbeer for the table, but Black and James ordered Hurricanes for themselves. A Hurricane was a nasty storm-in-a-jar comprised of 20 proof grain alcohol, pixie bile, blackberry cordial, the tempestus charm, and a reduction of Firewhiskey and hot chili pepper extract. The boys raced to slam their Hurricanes back, and Black won; James ran to the loo a few minutes later and returned looking pale and sweaty. He did not meet Lily's eye when she passed him a hastily conjured towel to wipe his face.
There was no such thing as "alone in the common room." Too many students were night owls, procrastinators, or midnight snackers to find any privacy in the common room at any hour. To compensate, an unwritten code governed the conduct of students finding sanctuary in the Gryffindor common room after eleven or so. No one disturbed Lily when she rested on the divan long after midnight, staring at a ceiling mural of an angel aiming her golden bow at an apple in a serpent's mouth. Seven years into her schooling, she was still discovering new icons, carvings and insignia in the walls of Hogwarts. Would she ever truly know the place?
The shadow of a cat flickered past her socked feet, and she wriggled her socked toes at it. I don't want to leave, she thought. There can't be anywhere better than here. And even if the wizarding world weren't collapsing in on itself, she would still never want to hang up her school robes in a few months' time. Hogwarts wasn't only her home; it was her entire social and intellectual ecosphere. Even she students she hated most—Mulciber, Avery, and once upon a time, James Potter—were crucial fixtures of the world she knew. Outside, a world of strangers in strange times awaited her.
Lily folded her hands on her lap, and watched reflected firelight lap across the ceiling mural. Orange, crimson, mustard and gold; colours she had come to love. At first, Lily had not been thrilled to be sorted into the house of the brave and foolish. It was a travesty, at age eleven, to be separated from the only friend she had in this bizarre, extraordinary new world. When the newly sorted first-years were lead out of the Great Hall, sleepy and overstuffed, the last thing Severus had whispered to her before they parted was, "Watch your back. I'll meet you beside the mermaid fountain tomorrow." She was terrified. And then it turned out that maybe it was Sev who should have been watching his back, all along.
Lily heard a familiar creak, and turned to watch the round doorway behind the Fat Lady's portrait swing open, and then quietly ease its way shut. There was no one there, which meant that it must be James or one of his friends. The soft shuffle of footprints past her confirmed her suspicion. The door to the boys' dormitories opened and shut. They were gone, but she continued to stare at the door, scarred with carved initials and swear words, tattooed with the graffiti of students past. It took a long time for her to realize she was hoping that it would open again, that James would come out and show himself. He didn't.
She knew she had to decide. It was cruel to lead him on this way, always rejecting him with a hint of a tease, with the suggestion that her answer might change any week now. And though Lily would deny it to anyone who asked, she knew she had been flirting with him mercilessly all year. James took it all in stride, with his trademark cheeky humour; he was usually buoyant as a gas balloon, and not prone to fits of melancholy. Unlike most boys, James could joke about his longstanding unrequited crush, admit to his feelings whilst somehow maintaining his top position in the male pecking order. His outburst on Saturday was out of character. Last year, Lily would have chalked it up to a growing sense of entitlement. But now, she suspected it might be a sign of the depth of his feelings, which intimidated and excited her, all at once.
In truth, her heart ached for him. When he showed up late to class or skipped dinner, Lily noticed, always waiting with anticipation for the sound of laughter like a drumroll, announcing his presence. Sitting in the row ahead of James in Charms, Lily would steadfastly refuse to turn around or acknowledge his existence, but waited with private glee for the tapping of an enchanted paper plane against her shoulder blades. In a less complicated world, they'd have gotten together ages ago.
Lily rolled over, facing the crushed velvet back of the divan. She closed her eyes and breathed in its musty scent, the smell of thousands of teenagers and spilled beers and charms gone up in smoke. Seven years ago, she'd sat in a tiny parlour on a chesterfield that smelled like this, and accepted a cracked mug of tea from Mrs. Snape. She knew that Sev must have trusted her, because he allowed her into his home...she remembered the house he was ashamed of, the furniture that barely fit in the tiny rooms, wide black eyes watching her while she swept her bare feet across the floor. They hid behind a stack of enormously heavy cast iron cauldrons and he showed her the tarot cards he'd found in a rubbish bin in Diagon Alley.
Severus had pulled out two cards printed with mysterious, medieval-looking illustrations. Some of them were degraded by cigarette burns, or tea stains.
"That one's for you," Sev had whispered. "The Sun. Warmth, celebration, positivity, living in the light. And this one's for me. It's the Hermit. "
"What's it symbolize?"
"Being alone, inner knowledge, discipline, logic and intelligence."
She had laughed, not knowing how badly right he was. "That sounds like you, Sev."
But there were no more tarot cards, no more "tightrope walking" on the low brick wall separating the yards behind the terraced homes. She had renounced their friendship. Lily still felt his gaze on the back of her neck when she passed him by, but Severus understood that the gulf between them had grown too wide. He no longer slept outside the portrait hole. He knew they were done.
Lily's eyes burned; she was remembering his rare, secret smile. The first time he flashed her that smile was on the slide in the dilapidated playground. It turned white-hot in the August sun, and was impossible to play on in the summertime...unless you had some miraculous way of turning the slide cool as a fresh cucumber, which Lily and Sev had figured out without wands. That was their first project together, and they finished it the summer before Year Five. To this day, Lily could still cast a wandless cooling charm, but only if she scrunched up her eyes and summoned that memory; silver slide, rusty ladder, and the rattling of swing set chains in the background.
It seemed absurd to be putting James off all for the sake of a friendship long gone. Surely, her loyalty to a memory could not outweigh James' naughty grin, or the way he shrugged on his rucksack, one strap always too loose. Black was more handsome, more polished, and Remus was kind and mature beyond his years, but one time, during the Charms study hall, James had hoisted himself into the air with Levicorpus, let a bottle of ink in his pocket spill black all down his trousers, just to make her laugh. And Lily saw in her mind's eye the bright yellow tarot card with the man in a tunic, stepping of a cliff's edge, a rose in his hand. Spontaneity, adventure, reckless abandon: The Fool.
The fire crackled on. She heard a child mutter, "I don't want to play, I'm too tired." Muffled snogging from the alcove of bookcases tucked behind the stairs. She ran her fingers through her hair, scratched her scalp.
It would be an easy decision but for two luminous years, when she and Sev were thick as thieves, building their imaginary palaces and pulling the unrefined magic out of each other raw. In Lily's mind, every day was high summer, every evening was bright and hazy and they were never finished playing when the streetlights came on. Then Hogwarts came along, and ruined everything between them. They tried to repair things over the summer, then they tried to pretend nothing was wrong. And when that didn't work, they tried mild civility, but last summer, he wouldn't even buy cigarettes at the chemist where they once melted Caramac bars with their minds.
Why would I choose Severus?, she thought, bitterly. I don't owe him anything. He has nothing for me, not anymore. The slide in summer, dazzling silver. He's got repulsive friends. They'd climbed over the fence into the empty schoolyard, levitated stones over the hopscotch court. Mudblood. When they looked up at the looming silhouette of Hogwarts that first night, she'd instinctively grabbed his hand. Why I am doing this? The Hermit and the Sun. He won't even look me in the eye. Her Toot-A-Loop wireless crackling between them. Dark magic, that's what he loves. Four bare feet dangling over the river...
Lily rolled over, swung her feet onto the floor and stood up. Her vision blacked out for a moment, before returning; before her, several first-years were playing board games before the fire spitting sparks dangerously close to them. They looked up at her warily, expecting to be ordered to bed. She gave them a teary smile, and the youngest one, a boy, grinned back at Lily shyly. He was skinny, with messy hair, and his pajamas were baggy on him. Suddenly, she was struck with a vision of a child, a maybe-someday dream of a green-eyed boy in oversized pajamas. Her heart felt searing hot, painful and pleasurable at once.
"You ought..." She cleared her throat. "You ought to get to move a bit away from the fire, yeah?"
The children hurried shuffled away from the hearth.
"Thanks." Lily turned around and headed to bed. The dormitory stairs creaked beneath her feet like piano keys.
The wild wind was tearing his hair almost off his head as he sped through airy heights. James sped upward in a dizzying spiral, and when he felt he was about to vomit, he slammed on the breaks and paused, mid-air, imagining applause roaring from the empty seats around the pitch. He didn't always need to fly for audience, for the adoring crowds lived in his head, somewhat childishly. James dove back downward and swooped in circles around the flag-wrapped spectator towers. It was freezing cold and his breath tasted like spearmint and pine forests. He could not stop himself from grinning like a madman when he flew.
"ARE YOU COMING DOWN, OR NOT?!" came a posh sounding voice from the ground. James looked down at his best friend, only to feel his glasses slipping off his nose; he reached for them, but they plummeted to the snow. Hoots of laughter drifted up to meet him. Without his glasses, James was forced to ground himself. He grinned at the dark blur who came to greet him.
"That'd do it," said Sirius, still chuckling. "You're late."
"Shut up." James was on his hands and knees, searching for his glasses in the snow. Cold seeped through his robes.
"I've already got them, you dolt," said Sirius, shoving the item in question into the 10-centimetre radius around James' eyes of clear vision. "Come on, Prongs, we're having a massive all-house snowball war on the lake."
"All-house?" he wondered, skeptical.
"That's what I said. Even Slytherin."
"Jeez," wondered James, wiping snow off his glasses. "How've we managed that?"
"It's obvious, isn't it? We provoked them."
"Aah," James grinned. "I like that strategy." He replaced his broom in a red-and-gold painted shed. The door had a padlock with four shining golden symbols on it; James tapped his wand in a complicated pattern on the hourglass, the leaf, the window and the ourobouros, in order to lock it.
He followed Sirius across the snowy grounds. They cut through the courtyard and passed under grandiose stone archways glittering with tiny snowflakes. Down a passageway with stone walls to the left, and tall hedges to the right. As they emerged from the passageway, Sirius slipped something small and white from his pocket and offered it to James.
"Really?" said James. "I doubt I'll need it today."
"You can never be too careful," said Sirius, who lived his own life by the opposite motto. "Anyway, you've got garlic breath."
"No, I don't."
"Do."
"Don't."
"Do."
"OI, PADFOOT! PRONGS!" yelled Peter, from fifty metres away. He was standing on the frozen lake, a fluffy scarf framing his round, pink face. "GET OVER HERE!" A snowball smacked him in the cheek, spraying flecks of white across his shoulders and hair. Peter grabbed his wand.
"Is she playing?" said James.
"What d'you think?" said Sirius. "Also: take the damn mint."
"Probably digging a trench, lying in wait," James said, looking up at the dull white sky as he thought. "Building some complex enchantment so she can get a whole tsunami of snow going before she strikes. Waterproofing everything she owns."
"Take the mint."
"She'll cast an ever-freezing charm, make sure to get us below the belt."
"Prongs..."
James pushed his glasses up his nose, a nervous tell if there ever was one. "I'll probably be five minutes, at most."
Sirius grinned, flashing an array of flawless white teeth. "Might be more than five minutes this time. I have a feeling."
"You have loads of feelings." James looked over his shoulder, towards a cluster of teenage girls sheltering beneath a shimmering golden heating charm. "Maybe you should see a soul-stirrer."
"I mean it, Prongs. Haven't you noticed she's been acting kind of—"
A bucket's worth of snow suddenly engulfed Sirius's entire upper torso, turning him into a marble bust of himself. James snickered with glee.
"You liked that, didn't you," said a mild-mannered voice, approaching from behind James. "I felt it was the right moment."
" 'uck oo," came the muffled voice of Sirius, clawing the snow off his face.
"Excellent timing, Moony."
Remus couldn't help beaming from the compliment. "Are you seeing Evans today?"
"Yeah, I'm off," said James, exaggeratedly casual. "Shouldn't be more than a moment.
"Good luck," said Remus. A strange expression passed over his pale face, one James couldn't read, but it was gone before he could think about it.
The frozen lake was a minefield of exploding snow. James was hit in the face with several snowballs, knocking his glasses askew; before he could fix them, another enchanted snowball would smack him hard in the stomach, or a shower of bewitched flurries would rain down on his head. A group of second-years giggled when James walked through their amateurishly enchanted snow-nado, which listed to the left and didn't stir up quite as many flurries as might have been desirable. He clapped his hands over his head and made an exaggerated ducking motion as he walked through the whirling snowflakes, which made the kids jump up and down with excitement. When charmed snowballs whizzed at ankle level, he jumped over and under them, nimble as a tap dancer.
James was excited and nervous, but the chaos relaxed him. More than anything, he hated stillness; he couldn't live in the calm between moments. There was nothing between a smile and a frown for James. He could not observe when centre stage beckoned—and it always did. A snowball fight, a Quidditch match, a daring romp in a dark forest, the full moon winking through the trees at him like an empty spotlight. When Lily Evans first scowled at him, his brain lit up like a slot machine, and when she said, "I despise you," he heard, PLEASE PLAY AGAIN. Her wild red hair signalled to him like three cherries in a row. There was no backing down from that kind of a direct challenge.
And even if she was rejecting him, at least she was rejecting him, James Potter, and not some other bloke. In every cloud, a silver lining.
"Are you looking for me?"
Her voice. She was crouching on the ground, warming her hands above a jar of pink flames.
"Yup." He crouched beside Lily and pulled off his gloves. Beneath her knit cap, her hair hung in clusters damp from melted snow. "Aren't you fighting?"
"It's brutal out there." She laughed. "I'm taking a little break to warm up. When I get back in, I want to be in good shape. You know I fight dirty."
"You really do," James said.
Though they were squatting on a frozen lake and snowballs criss-crossed the air above their heads, he felt like they were sheltering in a private chalet.
Lily dipped her fingers into the jar, first one hand, then the other, careful not to touch the flames. Her green nail polish looked nearly black in the pink light.
"I feel like I should say sorry," breathed Lily, just loud enough for James to hear.
He shook his head.
"I didn't mean to..." she began. Lily looked up at him. Her wide-set eyes and red eyelashes and nearly translucent brows made him shiver. "I didn't mean to imply that you didn't really care about the...you know, the stuff that's been going on."
"Well, I do care," he said automatically.
"I know," she whispered.
His ankles were starting to ache from crouching, but he stayed put. "Evans."
"Yeah?"
"It wasn't right." James sniffed, breathed in the cold, clear air. "I mean—what I did. It was messed up."
"I forgive you."
"I mean, it was like—" he ran a hand through hair, messing it up. "After it happened, I felt really stupid so I thought, y'know, better to just let it go. 'Cause I shouldn't have just walked away. But then it seemed like if I said something it would just make it worse."
"It was partly my fault—" Lily began. Why did her voice have to be a little husky and musical, like a cellist warming up in the orchestra pit? Was it really necessary? Was it not enough that her eyes were like jewels and she was brilliant and brave and—
"No, it was me," said James. "But I guess you know why."
"Sort of."
"Because I get stupid around you," he admitted, sheepishly. "Do you mind if we stand up?"
"No, of course not," she said, and they stood up, Lily picking up her jar. James bent one leg, and then the other, shaking out the cramps. He was rewarded for his efforts by a snowball to the back of his head.
Lily threw her head back and laughed. He took the opportunity to sneakily Summon a ball of snow into his hand and when she closed her eyes, James nailed her in the face.
"Pfft!" she spat out the snow.
"Who's laughing now?" he taunted. "Stay vigilant."
"I'm always vigilant around you!" she said, brushing snow off her nose, and then she paused. "Alright, that sounded a bit weird."
"I like weird," said James.
"Is that just your way of saying—"
"Yeah," he cut in, and his cheeks were pink, but he wasn't ashamed to admit this thing that everybody already knew, this thing he had about her that used to be kind of a joke and people only half-believed it, but now people were realizing that it was real, had always been real.
"James," said Lily quietly. "I, er...I thought about stuff. This week."
"What stuff?"
"This stuff," she nodded towards him. "Our stuff. You can hold the jar if you want to warm up."
"Thanks." He took it from her hands. Was it warm because it held fire, or was it warm because Lily held it? "And by 'our stuff,' you mean..."
"The obvious." Lily had this way of sweeping him into that green gaze and holding him there, like he was a swimmer pulled down by the jade-green undertow. "Us."
"Is there an 'us?'" he said, way too eagerly. And he couldn't stop one hand from connecting with his hair again, fluffing it into horrid disarray. To cover it up, he added, "I thought there wasn't. I thought you'd rather have an 'us' with the Giant Squid."
"The Giant Squid has plenty of admirers of the female persuasion. We've got pin-ups of him. It wasn't an insult."
James grinned, (probably like an escaped mental patient, he thought.) "Blokes like the Giant Squid too."
"It's the seventies," Lily smiled. "Everything's allowed now."
They shared a laugh, but it was short; the joke wasn't big enough to stretch cover all the tension. He thought of his Cloak, how it couldn't hide any more than two of his friends at a time now.
Lily looked down at her boots, pulled her hat down tighter over her damp hair. "I wanted to say—"
"I mean, I—" James began, at the same moment. They stopped speaking; she giggled, and he grinned. James reached forward and brushed a snowflake off the sheepskin collar of her coat. It was a bold move, and he half-expected her to knock his hand away, but she didn't.
"You go on," he said.
"No," she shook her head. "It's nothing. You go."
"Okay." James glanced at the ground, and saw their feet pointing to one another. His boots were water-stained leather purchased in Diagon Alley. Hers were a bulky Muggle model, rubber and nylon with a rainbow stretched across each calf. He briefly imagined Lily shopping for winter boots in Muggle London every July, and then remembered that she didn't live anywhere close to London. "I know I probably sound mad to you, Evans," began James.
"I already know you're mad."
"Right. Anyway. It's Saturday again, so I get to ask. Go out with me? Come on. I'll make it worth your while."
"Oh, god," said Lily. Smiling, she bit her lip.
James raked his hair again, feeling the icy wind tickle his messy locks, like the black keys of a piano.
"Just the once," James persuaded. "I mean, not just once, but once to start with. I can't be that bad."
Lily shrugged. "You aren't that bad," she admitted.
"There's no Hogsmeade tomorrow, but we could go skating on the lake," said James. "Or nick something from the kitchens. Stay inside, even. I'd let you choose, I'm a gentleman, aren't I?"
"You're definitely a...man," said Lily.
James smirked, and squeezed the flaming jar between his hands. In the distance, a male voice yelled "PRONGSY. YOU DONE WITH THE BIRD, YET?"
"PISS OFF!" yelled James back at them. He couldn't even tell whether it was Sirius or Peter or Remus from this distance, nor did he care.
"Sorry for that," he said, smiling sheepishly at Lily.
"It's okay," said Lily. She peeled off a glove, rested her bare hand an inch or two above the flaming jar that James still held. Her proximity was a lightning bolt through him, pulsating heat. "We all have dumb friends. Okay, some of us more than others. But I've...I've had dumb friends too."
They both knew what that meant, and to his credit, James kept silent for once in his bloody life. He stared at her fingernails, the chipped polish as green as her eyes.
"I'll be done my homework by half-eleven, probably," said Lily quietly. "I'll be in the library."
"With Dulciana and Mary?" James said, breathlessly.
She shook her head. "Alone." Lily touched the jar's edge, daring the flames to lick her. "Are you—"
"Not busy. No," whispered James.
"Okay," she said. And then, a little more brightly, "Yeah. Okay."
His heart was racing like a greyhound, so like an idiot, he said, "Don't burn yourself."
"I won't," she murmured. "There's a charm on it that—"
"Of course. You're brilliant. Of course there would be."
"James," said Lily, but she didn't really sound exasperated. Was it his imagination, or did she linger on the long a just a beat too long? Lily had only begun calling him by his first name that September, after they become Head Boy and Girl. The first time that she said "Stop that, James, it's annoying," he'd gone up to the boys' dormitory and punched the air. And then Remus had socked him in the head with a pillow. Now, Lily was looking at him with the hint of a smile, her lips purple from the cold. He saw his glasses reflected in her pupils, and wished he'd taken the stupid mint.
"We can do anything," said James. "We could even study."
"I said I'd be done studying," Lily pointed out, but her eyes sparkled.
"I know. But—I just mean—we could. If you wanted to. I wouldn't study in general, but with you, I would." And because he couldn't hold it back anymore, he let her see his smirk, but it wasn't a smirk anymore, just a cheek-splitting grin. The two of them stood silent for a moment, just looking at each other like maybe the whole world was a snow globe, and the sky was glass and the war was just the coruscation of enchanted icicles whizzing over their heads.
"Help me make a snowball," said Lily shyly. She was flushed—maybe from the cold, or maybe not. "A big one."
"It's not about size, Evans, it's about stealth and velocity," he replied. This was his element; the perfect prank. He couldn't fight the urge to show off in front of her. "Who's your target?"
"Just help me make it, first," she said. "I've seen you use a spell..."
James placed the jar of flames carefully on the ground. He pulled his wand out, and drew his wand in a triangular shape across the snow. "Volvo Nix Volumina," he commanded, and the crust of snow beneath their feet peeled back like an orange skin, revealing the mottled black of the frozen lake below. The snow rolled together, forming an orb more perfectly round than anything he could have shaped by hand.
"You can change the size of it with a simple shrinking or expansion charm, but that's about it," said James. "The key is to ambush your mark."
"Sounds like you know a lot about that," remarked Lily, picking up the densely packed snowball.
"Me and Sirius always—"
But the perfect snowball nailed him, and snow was filling his open mouth, his glasses streaked with white mush, and he heard her laughter inflate, like a billowed sail. Snowflakes caught in the gap between his incisors.
"I got you!" shrieked Lily. "I got you! How smart are you now? With your own spell—bet you regret that now..."
He had to gingerly replace the jar of flames on the ground before he could wipe snow out of his eyes, and he bent over to spit out snow onto the glossy black ice.
"Volvo...Nix..." Lily muttered, gathering up a new ball, though her spell wasn't quite as neat or polished as James' own. He smugly noted how uneven her snow orb was as moved towards her, not yet standing upright. Her wand moved in the air, but just as she whispered, "Volumina," he grabbed her around the knees and stood upright, hoisting Lily over his shoulder.
Lily screamed and laughed, pounding on his back. Her hair tickled his ears.
"Not so fast, are we?" said James, as he began to run.
"Put me down!"
"I don't think so."
"James! Put me down...I'll hex you, upside down!"
"Try me," he said, enjoying the way her thighs flexed as she kicked, fruitlessly.
He ran, lopsided, across the lake, laughing. Lily's hair smelled like smoke. Snowballs smacked him in the chest, hit Lily's puffy jacketed torso and her boots. A cluster of second- and third-years were attacking each other from behind packed-in walls of snow, crouching like they were in the trenches. James had almost reached his seventh-year friends, when a glittering black eye caught his attention from all the way across the lake. He tensed automatically and stumbled, then fell backwards; Lily tumbled forward and off his shoulder, half-somersaulting onto the snow.
James nervously checked her expression, but it was obvious from Lily's rosy-cheeked smile that she hadn't seen the figure slouching across the lake.
"I'll get you back," she was saying. "I swear."
"I know you will. I look forward to it."
"No, you don't." Lily stood up, stomped her feet to remove excess snow from her boots. "I'll get you when you're least expecting it. When you're asleep. When you're playing Quidditch. When you're hexing someone else. When you're eating. When you're passed out. When it's raining. When it's sunny. When you're on the toilet. When you're in combat, when you're literally at war with Death Eaters, I'll get you back. Any time. You'll never be safe."
"Jeez, Evans. " He lay down on his back, staring up at the flat white sky, the same stupid smile affixed to his face with steel bolts. The snow cushioned his head, wet his hair. "Today, you won the battle. I won the war. I'll never let you forget it, either."
Lily walked to his side, bent over him, her hair dangling forward above him, and he wanted to catch it in his hands like a Golden Snitch. She smiled shyly at him. "You're relentless, Potter."
He pressed a toe of his boot against her shin in response.
"You'll catch a cold like that," she murmured.
"Help me up, then," said James, reaching out for her, and for the first time, she took his hand.
No one took any pictures that day. Eventually, the snow melted, and the puffy coat was donated, and the boots were worn to shreds and then Vanished. The clouds evaporated and the sky has changed colour a million times since then. Pewter to white to crimson and scarlet and periwinkle-petal-purple and the steel of thunderclouds. James and Lily didn't kiss that day, nor did they become official until two weeks later. They fought in the snowball war, got soaking wet, and went inside for hot cocoa when they couldn't take the cold any longer. Sunday was their first date; then everything got better and the colours were casino-bright, blazing, until it all got darker and much, much worse. This is not that story. This is a fragment of it. Only two Saturdays in January, frosty, snow-dusted, two foolish teenagers on a frozen lake, pink noses, bulky jackets, cloudy breath, impossible grins, wondering: How could life be so sweet, so easy?