Chapter Text

November 1st, 1975

James stared down at his pumpkin juice. It stared back at him. Above, the clouds sat so low they had shrouded the tops of towers entirely, and reflected the sun's harsh glare directly into the Great Hall. It seemed like some divine punishment for the evening prior. At every table, students blocked the light with their hands or summoned sunglasses or wrapped jumpers around their heads. Filch had already thrown a fit after a peaky-looking Hufflepuff puked onto a stack of scones. James messed with his hair, stomach rolling.

"I've died," Peter complained. "This is hell."

"I'm directing Roshfinger straight to hell as soon as he shows his face," Remus scowled. Dale still hadn't made an appearance in their dorm, and Merlin only knew where he'd turned up. James was honestly astonished so many people had made it to breakfast. Maybe it hadn't been quite the rager he remembered. But it probably was. He got snogged in front of everyone. How shit could it have been?

James gingerly picked up the pumpkin juice. Braced himself. Sipped. He didn't immediately start vomiting, which he took as a good sign. He put it back down. Peter groaned again, and Remus laid his head down on the table. Sirius pulled the hood of his nightrobe down over his eyes. It was a bit depressing. It'd be a miracle if they stayed awake through his whole game. Hell, it's be a miracle if James stayed awake through his whole game, especially if it was a long one. Please let John be on his game today. If ever they needed a quick snitch catch, it was now.

Remus' breathing grew heavier, and Peter broke into a sweat. Sirius managed one bite of toast before vanishing the contents of his plate entirely.

"Woah," Peter said hoarsely. "You can vanish a whole plate of stuff?"

"I just did, didn't I?" Sirius retorted. Peter shrugged, and wiped his forehead. James eyed his pumpkin juice; too soon for another sip, he reckoned. Silence fell, and then was interrupted by the sound of more retching at the Hufflepuff table. Filch howled and screeched, and Peter (among others) clapped his hands over his ears. James craned his neck and saw that the retcher was Paige Nicholson, a fellow fifth year. A group of her friends flocked around her, patting her shoulders and shooting Filch filthy looks.

Eventually, the commotion died down. Remus snored softly. James swirled his pumpkin juice and dared to take another sip.

"You lot saw me kiss Lisbete last night, right?" James asked. Peter glanced up, and shook his head.

"Figured," Sirius said. "Nice one, James."

"Thanks."

"High standards, those thirteen year olds have." James made a face at him.

"She's fourteen."

"Wow."

"Fuck off."

Sirius took two more bites of toast, and James drained his pumpkin juice to halfway empty. They waited another ten minutes and then shook Remus awake, and followed the dribbles of students back up to Gryffindor tower. It seemed like the first and second years were being annoying just to piss everyone else off; they traded caches of sweets even though it wasn't yet nine in the morning and chased each other screaming. John Brown got cornered and interrogated about the Quidditch match later on by a bunch of first years that had already painted their faces in red and gold. Upon escaping, he found James and tapped his watch.

"Thirty minutes, and down at the changerooms. Sober up," he said. James scratched his head.

"You don't know where to get any Pepperup by any chance, do you?" he asked hopefully. John snorted.

"Everyone here who can make it sold out about two days ago because smart people don't wait until they're hungover to get hold of it. You could try Connor, but I sure as hell wouldn't." John walked off, and James frowned and flopped back down on the couch.

Lily and Mary Macdonald passed him by not long after, and he perked up, accidentally kneeing Wormy in the guts as he sat up ("Sorry, Pete, accident.").

"Morning, Evans," he said cheerily. "You want Gryffindor to win today, don't you?" Lily gave Mary a look, and then turned back to him. Her red hair was brushed out past her shoulders, and held with little gold clips. Unlike many, she wasn't still in pyjamas; a brown skirt skimmed just above her knees, made with some fabric he always liked to rub his fingers against, grey tights underneath and a crimson jumper with a high neck. The colour didn't actually make her hair look that shit or anything.

"Mmm," she said. James pressed on.

"And you're good at Potions."

"..Thank you?" Lily narrowed her eyes.

"So...how quickly do you reckon you could whip up the old Pepperup Potion? Like...half hour?" She gave him a strange look, and then laughed. James threw his hands in the air.

"It takes forty minutes to brew after you've mixed all the ingredients in," she told him. "And maybe I have things to do. Why not ask Black? He does well." James gestured to Sirius, who was slumped on the nearest armchair, only his nose and mouth visible from where he'd wrapped himself up in his robes and a cloak.

"He's fucked. Come on, Evans, don't let Gryffindor down," he appealed. She snorted.

"Even if I tried, I couldn't make it in half an hour. Good luck, Potter." She tapped the corner of her mouth. "You've got food or something." He wiped the corner of his, and she walked off, arm-in-arm with Mary.

"Maybe Lisbete could brew it," Peter suggested.

"She's three, she couldn't cast a light charm if her life depended on it," Sirius' voice floated from beneath the dark pile of fabric. James flipped him off.

"She's fourteen. I'm not dating a toddler!"

"Jamie!" came a high-pitched cry.

"I wouldn't be certain," Sirius said. James twisted around, and saw Lisbete running across the common room, frilly pink nightgown billowing. She threw her arms around his head and squeezed him against her chest.

"Morning," he said when she let go. Lisbete slid onto the armrest of the couch, and laid her legs across him. Cathy appeared behind her, hair a dark cloud, and leaned against the back of the chair.

"Good morning," Lisbete said chirpily, pulling her fingers through the bottom of her golden locks. "That was a great party last night. When's the next one?" James laughed and shrugged.

"Maybe after this match, if we're not all too fucked," he said.

"Ooh!" Lisbete said. Sirius snorted. James sent him a look. Lisbete fired questions at him about the game and what it was like to be all the way up there, with the whole school watching you. James relaxed into his chair, and told her all about how he'd blitzed his tryouts and described in detail how it felt to score a goal. Remus woke up with a start and announced he was going for a nap. Sirius stuck his hand out from beneath his cloak and waggled his fingers goodbye.

"I can't believe it," Lisbete said after a moment, wiggling her pink-socked feet. "My boyfriend, a Quidditch player." James froze. She had a boyfriend? Fuck. Shit. Oh, shit. Since when…? Why had she…?

"Congratulations," Peter grinned at him, eyebrows darting upwards. James shot him a quizzical look, and then…

The sickle dropped.

"Cheers," he said, and took Lisbete's hand, even though it meant his arm bent all funny because she was sitting up higher than him and on an angle. She squeezed it tightly. Had they even...said anything about the whole relationship thing last night? He'd snogged a few girls in his time, and had never considered himself to be dating them unless they had a bit of a talk as well. Maybe that's why they were always glaring at him. Maybe he really was a bit of a cheat or whatever. But that wasn't fair, they couldn't just run around making assumptions. Right?

His headache was worsening.

"You know, I'd better get my shit and head down, I don't want Brown making my hair fall out or anything," James said, letting go of Lisbete's hand.

"Not your hair," Sirius said. "That'd be tragic." Lisbete still had her legs across his lap, effectively trapping him on the couch. He awkwardly shuffled himself up higher, and then lifted his legs up a bit.

"Oh," she said, and swung her legs off. He stood up.

"Alright. I better hear you lot cheering for me," James grinned.

"You bet!" Lisbete said.

"Are you seriously leaving us to babysit?" Sirius asked.

"What?" Lisbete said. James messed his hair and ignored them both, heading for the stairs.

He grabbed his broom (he'd polished it after last practice, which was why it wasn't down in the changerooms) and stroked Ignotus' feathers. He knocked a crumpled bit of parchment to the ground. James kicked it under his bed.

For the first time since he'd made the team (even as a reserve), neither of his parents were coming to see him play. Because of that bullshit fall. The more he thought about it, the more it didn't make sense - okay, yeah, his dad was old, but he'd never been one to fall over at random, and he'd seen something, hadn't he? And then they were deciding if he was senile or not and making him drink sludge potions. And now nobody was coming to watch him play.

He kicked his dresser, and swore loudly as his toe made contact. He grabbed his foot and fell backwards onto his bed, narrowly avoiding hitting himself in the head with the end of his broom. James stared up at the crimson canopy above his bed. He had a girlfriend, now. Maybe fate or whatever was trying to stop Lisbete meeting his parents. Still, it could've done that by just making Lisbete fall asleep in the stands or something, couldn't it? Rather than landing his dad in St. Mungo's? Maybe not. Maybe he ought to have taken Divination, but everyone said it was shit.

He exhaled through his mouth. No Mum, no Dad. It wasn't the same, writing about a match in a letter. And his friends always dicked around in the stands and focused more on their food or who said what rather than what plays were made and was his messy pass really all that noticeable? His parents paid attention. He pushed himself off the bed, opened the window for Ignotus to go home if he wanted, and headed down.

Before he even entered the changerooms, he could hear groaning through the material of the marquee. He'd never been quite sure why they had marquees up instead of just building something out of stone, but it was what it was. Maybe they took them down over the summer or something, and Hagrid set up some sort of 'Really Tall Folk Convention' in their place. James pushed through the door-flaps and stepped inside, nearly tripping over Billy Pomfrey. The fourth year was eagle-spread on the grass, face-down.

"He's been puking," Laura Vickers said. "So he got relegated to floor status."

"Fourth years," Kelsey said darkly, shaking her head. Amy still had dark rings of makeup around her eyes, and Marlene laid on one of the benches, still in her pyjamas and propped up on her elbows. Ludo and John were drinking from flasks (Pepperup Potion, James thought, sniffing the air), and Alastor Gumboil and Micky Hoover glared at everyone.

"Is it true you snogged Lisbete Moult?" Micky asked James. Godric , the third years were gossiping about him? That was sort of cool.

"Yeah," he said, trying to sound casual. Micky screwed up his face.

"That's messed up," he said. Fucksakes. James ran his fingers through his hair.

"She's fourteen. I'm fifteen. There's a year between us! Not five, not fifteen!" he said. Micky blinked.

"I meant, it's messed up to snog your teammate's crush," Micky said hotly. It was James' turn to blink. Alastor threw his hands up in the air.

"What the hell?" he demanded. Micky gestured back at him.

"You may as well just tell him, so he knows he's being a dick!"

"Now he's gonna tell her!"

" Somebody was going to!"

"I'm not going to tell her," James cut in. How had his romantic rival ended up being Alastor Gumboil? The kid didn't look like he'd hit puberty yet. Fuck. Alastor glared at him. James grimaced, looking up at the roof of the marquee for help. Inexplicably, it provided no advice. He silently thanked Merlin that Sirius wasn't there. He would've killed himself laughing. "I didn't know you liked her, mate. If I had…" Would he really have given in to a thirteen year old? "Well...yeah. I'm gonna get changed."

"You're a woman-stealing whore, James!" Kelsey shouted gleefully.

He hung his broom up, grabbed his robes out of his locker and slipped into the next room to pull them on. No parents to watch, no Pepperup, a girlfriend, and a jealous reserve keeper. Brilliant. His life was turning into one of those radio shows his mother liked to torture him with. Honestly, the girlfriend bit wasn't that bad - she was pretty and nice and everything. He'd been fairly sure she liked him. James just hadn't exactly counted on a girlfriend right at the minute. Not after one snog.

He rejoined his team and sat next to Marlene, who looked fairly shit.

"Connor O'Neill," she croaked, by way of explanation. James winced. Connor had been delighted to provide him and his mates with their first taste of alcohol (aside from stolen sips of champagne or beer from his parents' drinks), and he wasn't sure he'd ever really recovered. Occasionally he pictured himself at a hundred and ten, laying in St. Mungo's, and some pretty Healer telling him it looked like the moonshine had never left his system after all.

"Right," John said, clearing his throat. "You've all made it here, which surprises me, I'll admit, but I'm not complaining. We're up against Slytherin, as you should all know, which means we particularly want to kick their arses to Tipperary and back. First up, can I have a show of hands of people who didn't drink last night?" Little Loretta Flint raised her hand, as did Alastor and Micky, still glaring at James. He pointedly focused on John, who looked incredibly disappointed. "Fucking fantastic."

"Don't be a hypocrite," Kelsey said.

"Don't interrupt your captain," John shot back. "So, because Potter's a genius -"

"Thanks, John," James said cheekily.

"-he didn't let Slytherins into his party. Unless they were hot, apparently."

"That wasn't my rule," James said.

"Nothing like ranking girls on their looks," Kelsey said.

"Both of you shut up or you're on the bench. Point is, the Slytherins are not hungover. I highly doubt any of them have puked on their captain's shoes and then fallen onto the grass and refused to get up." James looked at Billy admiringly.

"He puked on your shoes?" he said.

"One more time, Potter, and I'm permanently replacing you. Anyways, first game of the season, I want to start as we mean to go on. We do alright at our late-season comebacks, but that's a last resort, not a plan. I know everyone's tired today, but that's no excuse. So, what we're going to do is - 'A', switch out our players more. Reserves, all of you are getting game time today. 'B', while I certainly hope you remember the plays we've practiced, I'm not especially counting on it. The Slytherins are good at fucking up our tactics anyway. Instead, just play hard. Do your best not to foul, but just go for it. Chase the ball, smack those bludgers everywhere, be aggressive. Most of us have awful headaches and a few hours sleep. There's anger in there somewhere. Use it. Alright?"

They all murmured agreement.

Livia got Billy off the ground and they all ambled outside for a quick jog to the Gamekeeper's hut and back. Fairly simple. Only Billy and Marlene fell over, and they got back up fairly quickly. Back in the marquee, they attempted stretches, and then John sprayed them all in the face with icy water to wake them up. Freezing rivulets trickled under his robes, and James grit his teeth.

Madam Hooch popped her head in to tell them they had ten minutes to go, and as they gathered up their brooms, Marlene ran to the lav at the back of the marquee. James grimaced; most blokes wouldn't even use it, it was that filthy. The showers got a once-over pretty regularly, but not the toilet. She returned awfully pale and wiping her mouth. John pinched the bridge of his nose.

"That's it, McKinnon, you're benched."

"What?" she demanded. "I'll be fine!"

"You can go on when you haven't puked for twenty minutes," he told her. "Gumboil, you're starting. Vickers, can you go let them know?"

They trudged out to the starting tunnel and mounted their brooms, the reserves heading over to their bench. John got them lined up, which meant that Gumboil was right behind him. James could feel the younger boy's eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. Fucksakes. He would've rathered Marlene puking on him. Then he shook himself; he couldn't worry about some kid whose balls hadn't dropped. Getting involved with third year politics was just embarrassing.

"And we have the Slytherins coming out first!" Lizzie Bellchant announced, voice echoing. "Vanity, Padgett, Mulciber, Talkalot, Black -!" Regulus. Twat, he thought. They'd never spoken without Sirius around, and James resolved that he never wanted to. He was a seedy little twerp, who primped and preened and parroted all his parents' shit.

"Aim for Black," he told Amy.

"Your boyfriend?" she asked. Merlin's saggy balls, what was it with people and his love life? Next thing he knew, he'd be in the tabloids. He wondered if he'd get a cover. His dad had been on the cover of a magazine, but not Witch Weekly or anything. The Practical Potioneer. Riveting. They'd thrown a party when the issue came out.

"The seeker," he clarified, though his words got lost in the roar of the crowd.

"Ready?" John shouted.

"And now we have Brown -" John flew out, "-Wood, Vickers, Potter -!" James kicked off the ground and followed Laura out of the tunnel. Wind flew past his face, and he accelerated upwards, before following his teammates into a dive past the Gryffindor section of the stands. People cheered and whistled. Habitually, he looked over at the parents' section, eyes scanning the crowd - and then he remembered. He slowed his broom as he reached the center of the pitch, landing softly and forming a semi-circle behind John. Alastor stopped beside him. James wished Marlene was there instead.

Madam Hooch walked out between John and Emma Vanity, the Slytherin captain, her whistle glinting in the sun. Both John and Vanity had dismounted their brooms. "It's the opening match, and you all ought to make it a nice clean game. Shake hands, now." They did. "On the count of three." John swung his leg over his broom. "One, two, three!" She blew her whistle loudly. James kicked off the ground and soared into the air, heart pounding in his ears. The burst of sunlight stung his eyes, and he shook his head to clear his vision.

The Slytherins had the quaffle first, and sour-faced Padgett ducked and weaved expertly. James tailed him, slamming into his side once, but Padgett didn't drop it. A bludger clipped the tail of James' broom and he spun aside. He looked up to see who had aimed it, holding one hand up to block the sun, but the glare was too bright, and he couldn't hear the commentary over the Slytherins' chants. Alastor let the quaffle in and Padgett punched the air victoriously.

Alastor let two more goals in before John switched him out for Marlene at Amy's shouted urging. A bludger nearly knocked Laura off her broom, and Loretta Flint came in for her. Kelsey flew neck-and-neck with Vanity, trying to protect the quaffle, and yet Abbott from Slytherin hit a bludger at Loretta, who was barely ninety pounds soaking wet. James hollered at her and she dodged, the bludger whizzing just past her ear.

"Don't be a cunt!" Amy shouted at Abbott. "She doesn't even have the quaffle, you snot-nosed bitch! That's a fucking foul!"

"Stop shouting and fucking defend her!" John screamed at his sister.

Kelsey threw the quaffle through the hoop from thirty feet away, and the Gryffindor stands got to their feet, shouting and shooting red sparks into the air.

"And Gryffindor finally scores, putting it at ten-thirty to Slytherin!" Lizzie Roper said, voice echoing. John swore loudly, and flew higher in search of the snitch. Amelia Mulciber got the quaffle and James marked Padgett hard. Padgett promptly started flying in circles, and James stuck to him, stomach gurgling. Suddenly, the crowd roared.

"Is she - wow! Yuck!" Lizzie said. James glanced up. Marlene vomited loudly from fifty feet in the air. The whole game stopped to watch her, doubled over on her broomstick, retching furiously. "I think that's a first. At least, in any match I've commentated," Lizzie said. Madam Hooch blew her whistle furiously.

Alastor was bought back on, considerably more shifty after his history of failure. Slytherin scored four more goals, and John stopped admonishing Amy for her swear-ridden shouts. James wrestled the quaffle from Vanity and sped towards the goals as quickly as possible, red robes flapping furiously in the wind. He aimed at the lowest hoop and threw as hard as he could. It grazed Talkalot's fingers but slipped through. James threw his head back, sighing in relief. Briefly, he considered doing a loop of celebration, but he hardly wanted to do a Marlene. John would've murdered him. He looked out at the parents' stand, and saw a few faces he recognised from dinners or his parents' birthday parties, but none belonged to his mother or father.

James scored four more of Gryffindors' seven goals. John offered to switch him out, but he was doing alright, so Loretta got switched for Livia McLaggen, who quickly scored. But the Slytherins slaughtered them; Alastor only blocked two shots. Ludo and Amy gave as good as they got, slamming their bats into the bludgers, but they missed the Slytherins just as often as they made contact. Amy ended up throwing her bat at Vanity, giving away a penalty, and Micky took her place and spent half the time hanging around the goals, shouting a conversation with Alastor over the sound of the crowd. James came across the snitch quite by accident and shouted at John, but Black was closer. Ludo hit a bludger in their direction and the snitch zoomed off; Black sneered as he flew past.

"Got shit up your nose?" James yelled after him.

After two hours, the Slytherins lead by ninety points, and John had threatened everyone on the team (excepting the youngest three players, who hadn't attended the party) with death, mutilation, the snapping of their brooms, and Amy. He also stopped by the Gryffindor stands to yell at Connor O'Neill for poisoning 'their one shot at stopping the Slytherins scoring', also known as Marlene, which offended Alastor so much that he flew away from the goals and let the Slytherins get within three feet of the hoops before scoring twice more

"Do you want to join me in a suicide pact?" Kelsey asked cheerfully as she passed James by.

In the end, Black caught the snitch, and the Gryffindors flew off the pitch with their heads hung low. Silence shrouded the changing room, and John kept sighing loudly. James got in the showers quickly, relaxing under the hot water. Maybe it was a good thing his parents hadn't been there. He turned the taps and opened the door of the stall, throwing a towel around his waist and another around his shoulders. John was waiting for his stall.

"Potter," he said, jabbing him lightly in the chest. "You're banned." James started, and nearly dropped his towel.

"Banned?" he repeated. Fuck, he'd scored the most goals of anyone on the team! What else could John want from him? He'd been the star player!

"From throwing any more parties the night before a match. Do it again, and I'll stick my wand where the sun doesn't shine. Right?" James nodded, relieved. "Good." John stormed into the stall, slamming the door. James rubbed his eyes. What a day.

November 2nd, 1975

Lily checked her watch again. Six twenty-five. They'd agree to meet at twenty-past to be there on the dot of half-hour. Lily brushed her hair back from her face. It wouldn't do to be caught around here with obscured vision. Just because of the dark and all. Mainly. She'd gotten the odd glare from students entering their common room, but for the most part, Lily Evans dressed up for a dinner party looked different to Lily Evans on prefect patrol to people who didn't know her well, and so no remarks were made. She never bothered with this much make-up for class, and her shoes added an extra few inches, taking her from average to tall-ish.

The wall behind her shuddered, and Lily looked up. A gap appeared in the stone, revealing a dark passageway to the Slytherin common room. Mulciber and Wilkes emerged, their fine dark robes perfectly tailored. She smiled politely in recognition. Mulciber turned his head and looked past her as if she didn't exist; Wilkes didn't smile, but gave the slightest incline of his head before continuing down the hall. Lily folded her arms across her chest, leaning against the cold dungeon wall. Six twenty-six. She adjusted the band of her watch, making it tighter and then loosening it back to its normal length. She fiddled with the rings on her hand, of which there were two (one plain gold band, and one topped with a chunky garnet, a present for her fifteenth birthday from her aunt). Six twenty-seven. She pursed her lips.

Another shudder ran through her, and one-by-one, the stones peeled back and revealed the tunnel. This time, it was Severus. His hair hung limply past his chin, and on his scalp had a stiffness to it that she pinpointed as being the result of hair gel. The patches on his robes didn't seem so noticable (it could've been the lighting, but she thought there was a quality to it that resembled a well-done colour-change charm), and the scuffing on his shoes wasn't half so bad.

"You look nice," Lily said, smiling at him. He gave her a shaky smile back, and the lump in his throat bobbled.

"As do you," he said. No mention of his lateness. So long as they weren't late for the dinner, she supposed. She linked her arm in his, and noticed him stiffen.

"There's nobody around," she said pointedly. He looked around (not taking her word for it, she thought) and then nodded. "Come on, I want to get a good seat."

"Of course you'll get a good seat," Sev said. "Professor Slughorn always gives you a good seat."

"Rubbish," Lily said, but he was right. Oh well. It was nice, for a change, to be given priority on something, especially in the sort of environment where purebloods expected the best seats and the first dishes to go to themselves. She never got over their eyebrow raises or exchanged looks when she was awarded the honour, and suspected that was why Professor Slughorn kept doing it; she'd spotted his sly smirks into his goblet when it happened.

They arrived right on the dot of six-thirty, and Lily started to apologise profusely to Professor Slughorn, who was heading the table. He waved his hand.

"No need, no need, my dear girl, we wouldn't have started without you. Do sit down - Miss Vanity, you don't mind moving next to Wilkes, do you? Ah, thank you." A spot had been made for Lily at Professor Slughorn's left, opposite Dirk Cresswell. There was no seat there for Severus.

"I told you," he said, pulling his arm away. Lily followed his gaze. Mulciber headed the other end of the table, with Wilkes and Black and Crouch and now Vanity. It was funny, how Slytherins made up over half the club, she thought. Maybe it was just that as their Head of House, Professor Slughorn knew them better, and saw the potential in them more easily. Maybe it was that they came from influential families and so he made assumptions. Regardless, she was the only Gryffindor in the group, just as Nancy Corner (who sat between Vanity and Pandora Ollivander) was the only Hufflepuff.

"Thank you, Professor," Lily smiled, brushing her hair over her shoulders and taking the proffered seat. Professor Slughorn snapped his fingers, and an enchanted goblet lifted into the air and filled Lily's golden goblet. It then filled Severus', who had taken the seat next to Sirius' brother. She sent him a reassuring smile. He looked away. Her face turned tight. She sipped her drink, which seemed to be a sparkling apple cider.

"Now, now, I'm so glad you could all make it," Professor Slughorn boomed. "It's been far too long since we've had a meeting, hasn't it? Ah, the busyness of academic life! Tell me, Mulciber, Ollivander, Vanity, Corner, how has seventh year been treating you?"

"Rather as you said, sir, quite busy," Mulciber said. "But all worth it in the end, to secure our futures."

"Yes, yes, of course; you will be looking at applications soon, I expect." Mulciber smiled, but his eyes didn't. Lily regarded him suspiciously.

"We can start applying at the end of December," Nancy Corner said earnestly, as if Professor Slughorn didn't know all this and counsel the Slytherins on their after-school opportunities. Still, he nodded as if he was interested.

"And are you still looking at the Healers' Academy? You know, I taught many of the professors there Potions, when they were at Hogwarts. And an old pal of mine works in the admissions office…"

"Yes, it'd be my dream to go there. UML would be wonderful too, of course, or even the university in Ireland. But the Healers' Academy...well, you can't beat that!"

"I'll say!"

The conversation lingered on healing, and then to Quidditch, which prompted Professor Slughorn to describe an incident he'd witnessed in the top box that previous summer that left Dirk Cresswell banging his fist on the table and Pandora Ollivander with tears streaming down her face, doubled over laughing.

"And whatever did happen to her hat?" Lily asked, and Slughorn threw his hands in the air, shaking his head.

"I do not know, my dear, I could not tell you! I do hope they didn't really need to travel all the way to Zambia to retrieve it, though."

It turned over to Pandora Ollivander, who sat next to Lily, and had been squirming in her seat since she'd arrived.

" So, " she began breathlessly. "I've actually been working on an idea. A project. A legacy, if you like. See, I was thinking, wow, I only have one year left at Hogwarts! What have I done? What mark have I left?"

"You've made a mark on me," Emma Vanity said gruffly. "Celtic Camp, fourth year." Pandora clapped her hands together.

"Oh, you do remember!"

"I'm not likely to forget marching four miles in the middle of the night because you had a hunch and I didn't fancy being skinned alive for letting my buddy go off on her own," Vanity said. Pandora gazed dreamily into the distance.

"What a night." Lily looked across at Dirk, who squinted his eyes playfully.

"So, what did that thinking about your legacy get you, Dora?" he asked. She blinked a few times, and patted her wispy hair down.

"Oh, yes. Well, I was browsing the archives one afternoon - the Hogwarts ones, of course - and saw that we once had a newspaper club. Well, four times, actually, but no incarnation has lasted more than a decade. I thought that was quite sad. I'd like to write for a living when I finish school, and it's an important skill to have besides - think of all the essays we write! And so, this knowledge swirled around in my head for a few days, particularly one morning when I woke early to observe the -"

"And I suppose you had the idea of making a newspaper club? To have as your legacy?" Wilkes interrupted. Pandora looked at him owlishly.

"Yes. Exactly. How did you know?"

Professor Slughorn chortled, and clapped his hands together. Meals appeared on each of their plates, alternating between chicken and fish from person to person. "My apologies. I was getting rather hungry. Shall we eat? Do continue telling us about this idea of yours, Miss Ollivander."

Pandora leapt on the opportunity. Lily relished her silverside, and found that a snap of the fingers was all one needed to have their glass refilled with the non-alcoholic cider (Slughorn had clarified when Crouch eagerly asked him, and then given Mulciber a wink with the promise of something later), and dinner was quite enjoyable, all in all, even with Pandora talking about her club. Honestly, it didn't sound that bad, once you cut through the chaff of her ramblings.

"I'd love to join," Adrian Stebbins said. "Photography's a pet interest of mine, you know."

"Truly?" Professor Slughorn said. "Stebbins, you need only worry about being in front of the camera! They'll be clamouring for photographs of you to go to print alongside your papers." Stebbins laughed awkwardly.

"A photographer would be brilliant,' Pandora said. "It's not a proper newspaper without photos."

"I'd be happy to write here and there. Not all the time, mind, but the occasional academic piece," Wilkes said. Huh, Lily thought. He sat at Mulciber's left, and had cold eyes and a ring on his finger larger than any Lily owned, and indubitably more expensive than perhaps her entire collection put together.

"Would you?" Pandora said. "Wow, that'd be excellent! I knew I could count on you guys."

"What is the Slug Club for, if not making connections, eh?" Professor Slughorn boomed.

Black, the slowest eater, put his cutlery together, and Slughorn promptly vanished the remnants of their meals. Somehow, Pandora convinced most people to lend something to her new project - Vanity said that as a Quidditch captain, she'd be happy to be interviewed about her team, and Crouch vowed to buy a copy and get the other second years excited about it. Dirk said if he had time, he'd submit the odd language piece, and Nancy Corner asked if they could have an advertising page, for tutors or club event or used books.

"We have a system in Hufflepuff where we encourage everyone to post on the noticeboard if they need help with something, and we do our best to provide that help, but if we could create an inter-house system, I think that could really help friendships between houses. And of course, we in Hufflepuff don't always have the best students at everything, no house could, so it might even provide a higher quality of help sometimes," Nancy said. "And all the clubs advertise with fliers if they have a fundraiser or what-have-you, but to have a central place to put it, that would be really handy."

Professor Slughorn ended up summoning parchment and quills and an inkpot for them to write on, and the plates were moved aside as the table turned into a drawing board.

"I'd be happy to write about politics, or society events or something similar," Mulciber offered. The scratching of quill on parchment stopped abruptly.

"Oh, that's brilliant!" Pandora said, jotting it down. Lily squinted at Mulciber. She highly doubted 'society events' would cover the antics of the Queen's family. Call her crazy, but she would've been less surprised if he'd danced naked in the middle of a Quidditch match than if he wrote about muggles. No, as best she could reckon, ' society events' meant pureblood shenanigans. Gossip. What a brilliant contribution to a newspaper, she thought. Just what we need - what ugly frock did Mrs. Ministry-Wife wear at dinner? How would Mulciber even know? Unless there was an underground network of dinner parties apart from the Slug Club gatherings.

"Well, if there's going to be an article on society, there may as well be one on the muggle world too, shouldn't there? To represent both sides?" Lily said, sounding innocent. "I'd be happy to write it. Maybe we could proofread each other's articles, Mulciber? Get a taste of the other's life," she joked. Mulciber stared at her. Professor Slughorn belly-laughed. Lily arched an eyebrow. "What is it, sir?" He gave her a look, corners of his lips twitching furiously.

"I think that sounds fantastic," Pandora said, adding it to her list. Severus caught her eye and shook his head, pulling a face. She shrugged back at him, suppressing a chuckle.

They spent another half-hour mapping out plans for this newspaper, which had inadvertently turned into more of a Slub Club project than a Pandora project. Of everyone, only Sev didn't offer to contribute something to the paper, and seemed more interested in staring at his plate. Slughorn interpreted that as hunger, and finally rolled up the scroll of parchment and retrieved the plates with a flick of his wand, before getting the house-elves to send up dessert. Lily helped herself to a piece of pie and then a custard tart as Dirk went on about the peculiarities he'd noticed in the incantations of spells in the Middle Ages as opposed to the modern day, which lead into Mulciber talking about some fancy grimoire his family had passed down for generations. Nancy Corner then bought up her grandmother's penchant for domestic spells, and why didn't they learn domestic spells at school? To which Slughorn regaled them with a tale from when he was at school, and there had been an elective class to learn 'homemaking spells', which boys had been banned from taking ( typical, Lily thought).

"And I never forgave her," Slughorn chuckled, before shaking his head. "No, no, that's nonsense, of course I did. But as a young lad, it was quite embarrassing to have my hat fall apart in the middle of a Hogsmeade visit. She's much better at domestic spells now, but she failed that subject, and Mother banned her from mending anyone's clothes after that." He checked the time with his engraved pocket watch, and exclaimed loudly. He sent Black, Crouch, and Dirk off, not wishing to make them miss their curfew.

"Don't have too much fun without me," Dirk warned Lily, waving his finger. She mock-gasped, putting her hand over her mouth delicately.

"Oh, Dirk, I wouldn't dream of it," she said, voice high and posh. He laughed.

"Night." he said, raising his hand in farewell.

'Night," she said.

Once the younger students had left, Professor Slughorn headed to his cupboard, and pulled out a bottle of brandy. "Now, now, just a snifter, and I trust you all not to go advertising this. But what is a dinner party without a drink?" He poured a small bit for each of them. Mulciber looked quite at home with a glass in hand, as if it was a nightly ritual of his. Lily tried to catch Sev's eye. His face was drawn, and his fingers trembled ever so slightly. For a moment, their gazes met; and then he quickly looked away, fixating on a point on the rug. She wanted to go to him, to set his glass aside, to put her arm around him and take him out to the grounds to lay under one of the big trees and talk to him. She didn't. Mulciber and Wilkes hovered like the stench from the river by Spinner's End, and she knew he had to prove he could handle the stink. It was stupid, though. They were foul, regardless of whether they offered to help Pandora or not.

She sipped at her own drink, and wrinkled her nose. It was stronger than she'd expected - but then again, she probably ought to have expected something strong, with it coming from Slughorn. Mulciber drained his glass quickly and wheedled his way into a refill, after searing that, "no, sir, of course it's just between us," probably secured by the fact that he was of age, after all. Sev's was still untouched. They had all abandoned the dinner table and milled about the rest of the room now. She caught him by one of the bookshelves.

"Hey," she said lightly. He glanced over his shoulder at Mulciber and Wilkes. Lily scoffed lightly."Anyone home?"

"They'll talk," he said, voice low.

"Okay. I want to talk." Severus said nothing. "I'm sorry I couldn't sit with you." You probably wouldn't have wanted to sit next to me anyways, so your 'friends' didn't get all pissed off, but whatever. "Do you want me to take your glass?" He stayed silent. She pursed her lips. If he was just going to ignore her -

"Please." Oh. Right. She took the snifter from him. Her wand was tucked away in her purse, but vanishing spells could be tricky, so she just positioned herself near a potplant and tipped the drink out as quietly as she could. He stayed at the bookshelf. Once it was empty, she handed him the glass back.

"There you go," she said. He inclined his head. What was it with that? Not even a 'thanks'? She fiddled with her watch. It could be up to him to make the conversation. A minute passed in silence, and she sighed. "I'm not actually capable of making you a muggle-born just by talking to you, you know."

"How was the party?" he asked flatly, not taking his eyes off the books. She cocked her head to one side, looking at him quizically.

"It was fine. I think the Quidditch team learned their lesson after yesterday's loss. Marlene kept me up half the night puking her guts out," she said. He shifted uncomfortably. She looked at the book he was looking at; the writing on the spine had completely worn away, leaving traces of gold curves.

"I heard Potter snogged someone," Severus said. Lily looked at him for a moment, and then realisation dawned; she laughed out loud. He looked at her sourly.

" God, Sev, not me. I would never. It's some blonde girl not in our year. I played against them in pong. Did you really think -?" she laughed again, and shook her head. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"I didn't say anything," he protested; there was a light in his eyes once more, though, and he looked rather less constipated. "I just thought - I know he likes you -"

"He likes teasing me," she corrected. "I would never. I can't believe you!" She hit him lightly on the arm, and the ghost of a smile flitted across his face. Her shoulders loosened; her shoes didn't seem so tight.

She told Sev about Potter's face each time she'd beaten him in pong, and how Peter had fallen onto his hands and knees upon returning to the common room, and how quiet the Quidditch team had been since the game, pouting miserably from couches. Severus actually smiled at some of it.

"I wish the Slytherin team had been quiet about their win," he admitted. "But I think they'd still be quieter than 'quiet Gryffindors'. That just sounds like an oxymoron."

"A little bit," she agreed.

All too soon, Professor Slughorn cried, "Look at the time!" and goodbyes were made. Lily took Sev's arm, and he didn't even tense. They were the last to slip out the door, and barely crossed the threshold when Professor Slughorn hollered after them.

"Ah - Miss Evans - would you mind very much staying back for a moment? I want to have a word with you," he said.

"Sure, sir," she said, and shrugged at Sev. He pulled his arm away.

"Goodnight," he said softly, and without waiting for an answer, started down the dungeon corridor. Lily stepped back inside Slughorn's expanded office, and he shut the door behind them.

"Is everything alright, Professor?" she asked. He had his back to her, picking up the brandy bottle from the table.

"Ah, yes, yes, as I said, I just wanted a word. Nothing serious. Just about something you said this evening." He hurried off with the bottle, bustling over to his cabinet. She took a tentative step towards him. There were but ten minutes until curfew; and while prefects were allowed out later, she was hardly dressed for duty. But Professor Slughorn's parties were well known - a student caught out late in cocktail attire rarely got a detention, though the other teachers certainly grumbled about it. Professor McGonagall had once threatened to start hosting Quidditch Enthusiasts' meetings at midnight, just so Professor Slughorn could get the other end of the stick, dealing with students roaming the corridors at all hours on account of some other teacher's inclinations.

"I was only joking about the Cockroach Clusters," she said lightly. He laughed, but it wasn't his usual laugh. Naturally it wouldn't be about anything as simple as that. Her teeth grazed her lip, right as her stomach started to sink. Her comment, the look. She walked towards him, straightening up, and her heels clicked on the stone floor. "Muggles are at least relevant to the school curriculum." He sighed. That was it, then.

"Are you a legilimens by any chance, Lily?" he asked her wearily, shutting the cabinet door.

"Not that I know of," she said. He turned to face her, hands clasped together.

"I, personally, would find an article on muggles interesting. They are a bit of a curiosity, after all. But not everyone thinks that way, and I know that my own house tends to be guilty of that. We Slytherins value tradition - wizarding tradition," he said. Lily furrowed her brows.

"I value tradition, sir. My own family tradition. I have the right to write about it," she said, her voice very determinedly even. He pressed a finger to the spot between his bushy eyebrows.

"You do, yes. It's Miss Ollivander's paper, and I've no place moderating what does or does not make the cut - and as I say, I would be interested in reading about the things muggles get up to. Honestly, I would! Lily, you're a bright witch with a bright future. With your work ethic and talent, you could work in any field you put your mind to. And I would hate to see your potential wasted - that's precisely why I'm talking to you now. Others make inflammatory comments simply for the sake of being inflammatory, and they are, in my view, simply lost causes. But I know you, and I know you say such things because they are things you believe in. And that's admirable. I just -" he looked down, scratched his cheek, and then looked back at her. She steeled herself.

"Yes?"

"You've probably heard the phrase, 'it's not what you know, it's who you know'. It's unfortunate, but true to life. And while you are welcome to hold those beliefs - I would never encourage anyone to give up what they believe in - I just want to make sure you understand that speaking your mind may have repercussions. In future. In networking, in knowing people of benefit. Many do hold more traditional values - traditional wizarding values, that is - and while they might be happy to work with a muggle-born, especially one of your calibre, they may not...especially enjoy being reminded of the fact, or being challenged or asked to compromise their beliefs. They especially do not like being made a fool of."

"With all due respect, sir, Mulciber makes a fool of himself, he doesn't need a muggleborn's help," Lily said. Professor Slughorn tugged the collar of his robes.

"I would hate to see someone with your potential waste it on a few remarks here and there. I appreciate your wit, but others won't."

"If an employer is happy to miss out on my potential because of a few remarks here and there, then that's their loss. I don't want to work for a bigot," she said.

"Lily, don't mistake me -"

"I'm not," she said sharply. He stopped. "Sorry, sir. I know you're trying to help. But I'm not going to censor myself just so the Mulcibers of the world feel more comfortable." He nodded his head.

"That's your decision, of course, and it's admirable to stand by what you've said. But I couldn't stand by and not make sure you understood. It would be a crime," he said. She studied him. He sounded sincere, and more than that, she believed he was sincere. He had hand-picked her for the club, knowing that she was a muggle-born, knowing that there were purebloods in her year who would've thought the spot was meant for them.

But the sincerity didn't mean he was right.

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate you looking out for me," she said. "But I'm going to stick to my guns." He smiled at her.

"I shan't pretend I understand what those are, but I think I do understand what you're saying. Very well. I shouldn't have expected any different from a Gryffindor. Goodnight, Lily."

"Goodnight, sir," she said, and left, wondering if that was a compliment.